My friend, Alec Leamus, finding himself unable to complete either 
of two very promising stories he had begun, wrote me on 1 May 2004 
and asked me if I would finish them for him.  Accordingly, in June, 
I posted the revised version of "Rita's Department Store 
Adventure," complete in 5 parts, having written the last chapter 
and a half and edited the rest (in places, quite extensively).  I 
have long been convinced that Alec was writing a classic of the 
genre, and it's a pity he couldn't finish it himself.  AR stories 
are not really my métier, but I hope I did a creditable job on it. 
It was considerable work, but great fun, too.

Along with a draft of half the fourth chapter of "Rita," Alec 
also sent me a partial and very rough draft of the present story.  
I have kept his basic plot, but have revised, expanded, and 
re-written it considerably.  Much of the early and middle portions 
derives from Alec's draft; the last third is virtually all mine.  
Unfortunately, there is no way I could have made any of the 
characters in this story even remotely likeable -- in the usual 
sense -- as long as I remained true to my conception of them 
(which may not, indeed, always be quite the same as Alec's).

I am certainly departing from Alec's idea of Bethany.  He conceived 
of her as almost a complete goody-two-shoes, and I stuck with that 
in my first version of the story.  But I was never really satisfied 
with it, although I wasn't exactly sure why.  Then a couple of my 
friends concluded (independently) that the karma was wrong -- so I 
revised Bethany's character pretty thoroughly.  I like this version 
much better.  Perhaps I've gotten it right, at last.  

Note that Rhoda is unique among the characters in my stories, in 
that she is younger than 18 -- only 13, in fact (though she's 
quite precocious).  But it couldn't be helped.   




                   THE SPIDER AND THE FLY

                             by 

                 C. Lakewood and Alec Leamus




It was late dusk, and 18-year-old Bethany Harris stood in the 
shadows, looking up at the big white house with the ancient 
trellis running up the back.  She was nervous.  It was not 
really because she feared she'd be recognized if seen -- after 
all, she and her mother had lived in this town for just under 
three months, and she knew hardly anyone.  And the trellis, 
though somewhat rickety-looking, should easily support her 
slender frame.  No, she was nervous simply being in proximity 
to this house and the spawn-of-evil child who lived there: 
Rhoda Westmore.  Bethany had sworn she would never even go near 
the Westmore house again -- but now she was getting up nerve 
enough to burglarize it.

"Oh, god," she muttered.  "How close to rock bottom am I?"  She had 
experienced a series of catastrophes in the last twelve months: her 
parents' separation, the divorce, selling the only home she'd ever 
known, having to give up on becoming prom queen, her mother's new 
job (which involved a lot of business travel), moving here -- with 
Bethany's graduation from high school sandwiched in, together with 
the realization that, in all the turmoil, she'd missed the deadline 
for college admission and scholarship applications -- and, now, this.

She stood there, with every nerve on edge, remembering....

		******************************         

Last week had marked her fourth time as a babysitter for Rhoda, and 
the job had become unbearable, even though Mr. and Mrs. Westmore 
were nice enough.  Well aware of their child's bad behavior, they 
not only paid well above standard rates, but had even authorized 
Bethany to "discipline" young Rhoda -- explaining, in so many 
words, that they meant for Bethany to take Rhoda over her knee and 
spank her, bare-bottom, if necessary.  Bethany didn't object to 
this in theory, for she had been babysitting for years and had 
often felt the need to spank many of the children she'd looked 
after.

But 13-year-old Rhoda was at least 5'1" tall and weighed about 105 
pounds or more, while Bethany was barely 5'2" and less than 110.  
It would therefore have been quite a chore for Bethany to try 
taking Rhoda over her knee.

Besides, Bethany preferred to psychologically manipulate rather 
than to physically coerce.  Most children were easy to manage; 
adolescents (prey to hormone-driven mood swings) were often even 
easier; and most adults carried some karmic baggage that could 
be used to influence them.  But she'd found Rhoda's behavior 
disturbing, often infuriating.  Rhoda was diabolical in her 
uncanny knack for finding a person's most sensitive inner 
buttons and then pushing them.  

In some ways it was perhaps easier in Bethany's case than with a 
lot of others, for she tended to think herself smarter than 
everyone else and, of course, never needed much prompting to talk 
about herself (especially nowadays, considering all that she'd 
been through in the last year).  When she finally caught on, 
Bethany was astonished (and a little jealous) to perceive the 
degree to which Rhoda had developed her skill for manipulating 
others, at such a young age.  Of course, it helped that Rhoda was 
also deceptively cute, highly intelligent, and often extremely 
charming.  

Bethany, on the other hand, had something of a tendency to 
under-estimate people, which sometimes led her, unawares, 
into a kind of naiveté.  She was bright enough -- especially 
in academics -- but, in plain common sense and practical 
"street smarts," she had some flaws that could be exploited 
by someone more subtle and adroit than herself.  In the 
beginning, in fact, Rhoda could con Bethany into agreeing to 
almost anything.  She became progressively more demanding, 
however, and eventually pushed Bethany too far, too fast.  
As a result, after the fourth session of babysitting, Bethany 
had called up Mrs. Westmore and lied to her, citing other, 
unspecified "responsibilities" that prevented her sitting for 
them any more.  (As a goodbye gift to Rhoda, however, she had 
strongly suggested that the next sitter Mrs. Westmore hired 
should be bigger, more authoritarian, and more physically 
assertive.) 

Bethany was a great believer in "situational ethics" and often 
resorted to telling less than the absolute truth in order to 
wriggle out of sticky situations, piously reminding herself that 
a white lie is frequently the best option available for all 
concerned.  In this case, while primarily wanting to extricate 
herself, Bethany was also reluctant to admit (even to herself) 
that she could be consistently outwitted by a 13-year-old.  

She was, however, smart enough to see that Rhoda's bad behavior was 
only further fueled by the Westmores' futility as parents.  Though 
they did punish Rhoda often, it did not seem to have any effect.  
Everyone in the neighborhood was well aware of the infamous 
Westmore child, and several of Bethany's new acquaintances had 
warned her not to even think of baby-sitting "it."

(Most people wondered why the Westmores didn't just send Rhoda away 
to a boarding school.  Some believed that the girl would eventually 
run away, and that would be that.  Until that time, however, many 
of the townspeople avoided the family when they could or remained 
wary when they couldn't.)

To their credit, the Westmores did try to rise to the occasion, 
though they were a little unorthodox in their parenting.  They 
discovered (after taking Rhoda to numerous counselors, camps, and 
shrinks) that conventional methods of correction would not work.  
Very "hands on" parents and methodical in their ways, when they 
locked onto a system, they stayed the course until the experiment 
had clearly failed.  Then they would move on to the next system, 
in their ongoing attempt to "better" their daughter and themselves.  

The system currently being tried out was "Age Regression."

Even though Bethany had been warned, she still was taken aback when 
first introduced to young Rhoda.  The girl was sitting on the couch 
in the lounge, swishing her legs back and forth.  She was outfitted 
in a short, pale blue and white party dress, with her blonde hair 
done up in two braids.  On her feet were frilly socks and white 
patent maryjanes.  She looked about 6 years old instead of 13.
 
Mrs. Westmore immediately commanded Rhoda to stop pouting and get 
up to meet her babysitter.  Rhoda still resented being saddled with 
a sitter at her age and just glared at Bethany, who, for her part, 
stared incredulously at Rhoda's outfit.  She was quite familiar 
with how adolescents dress, having frequently seen dozens of them 
at the mall.  And it always seemed that the average 13-year-old 
girl typically tried to look 21.  She was usually dressed in a 
blouse or t-shirt and a short skirt or jeans, lots of makeup, and 
even heels.  She walked around talking on her cell phone and acting 
snarky and "grown up."  

But this dress was a punishment for Rhoda.  Somewhere in her online 
quest, Mrs. Westmore had stumbled across a parenting website 
detailing this particular punishment, and it seemed to fit.  Rhoda 
had been caught driving, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes (even 
on school grounds), violating curfew, ditching school, and so on.  
It was as if she was trying to grow up overnight, skipping the next 
half dozen years and going straight through to adulthood.  What 
better way to take her down a few pegs than to confiscate all her 
regular clothes and force her to dress in this ultra-juvenile 
manner?  Mrs. Westmore had painstakingly found these dress designs 
and had had them made to order.  (Rhoda did think about taking a 
pair of scissors to the hated clothing, as she had done with other 
outfits in the past, but she'd had second thoughts when her mother 
informed her that these things were all she had now, and nudity 
was the only alternative.)  Of course, when she went to school, 
she wore the prescribed school uniform.  So, all in all, Rhoda's 
sartorial freedoms were very much limited.

Similarly, the Westmores had completely transformed Rhoda's room 
into that of a child.  There was a PC, but Bethany was sure that 
it had been straitjacketed by encrypted "parental controls."  Gone, 
of course, were the band posters.  Gone the CD player, the TV, the 
paperback romances.  Instead, there were kittens and butterflies 
and lots of pink frills.  Anyone stumbling into that room would 
fully believe that it was inhabited by a child (a rather inane 
child, at that).  

In fact, the godawfulness of that room had aroused some pity even 
in Bethany.  And that, combined with her reckless greed, had 
ultimately resulted in her standing in the Westmores' back yard, 
eyeing the upper window.  

Her birth control pills were somewhere there in Rhoda's room.  
On her last night in the house, Bethany had left Rhoda to amuse 
herself experimenting with a purse-load of cosmetics while she 
had gone off to forage for something inconspicuous and easy to 
steal (cash preferred).  Finding nothing suitable, she was 
thoroughly bummed when she returned to that room and saw what 
Rhoda had done to herself.  Instead of the clown face Bethany 
had been expecting, Rhoda had actually made herself up with skill 
and restraint.  She looked years older and quite sophisticated.  
And she smiled, smugly, at Bethany's astonishment.  It was the 
last straw.  Nothing was working out for Bethany, and she bubbled 
over into a terminal fury.  The rest of the evening was far from 
pleasant.  

Late the following day, she'd discovered that her pills were 
missing.  After a thorough search, she had come to the conclusion 
that Rhoda had lifted them.  If Mrs. Westmore or her husband found 
the pills, they would certainly question Rhoda, and she would have 
no hesitation in ratting Bethany out.  Normally, that would have 
been okay, except that it would get back to her mother when she 
returned from her current business trip.  Since the divorce, 
Bethany had carefully developed the advantageous appearance of 
a very close and honest relationship with her mother.  But all 
her work would be for nothing if her mother found out she was no 
longer a virgin.  Her mother would freak, ground her -- and make 
sure she stayed grounded.  God!  Maybe she'd even quash Bethany's 
college plans and make her get a job at Mickey D's or become a nun 
or something.  

Bethany knew that the pills must be in Rhoda's room.  The girl 
would not have risked leaving them elsewhere in the house.  It 
was Friday night, and Bethany was counting on the Westmores 
following their normal routine: going out.  She couldn't knock 
on the front door and face them, because of her "white lie."  
Besides, it would be awkward to try to search Rhoda's room with 
her presence known.  With that in mind, Bethany weighed her 
options and decided that, if she could time it out right, she 
could climb up the trellis, sneak into Rhoda's room, find the 
pills, and get out before anybody knew she was there.  It was 
a daring plan (possibly even hare-brained), but she could think 
of nothing better.   

		******************************   

The trellis was not nearly as treacherous as it looked.  After all, 
it was only two stories, and Bethany did the climb carefully.  The 
window was already open a crack, so it was no trick to ease it the 
rest of the way up.  Slithering into the room, she could hear Rhoda 
downstairs arguing with her parents and hoped that would continue 
for a while. 

Bethany searched through various boxes.  Nothing.  She looked under 
the bed and then behind the children's books.  She opened a drawer 
and daintily lifted a few pairs of ruffled panties.  Still nothing. 
She was careful not to disturb the room, since her plan was to be 
as ninja-like as possible, slipping in and out.  Optimistically, 
she was also hoping to meet up with her current crush later, at 
Frankie's Cafe.  (She'd first gotten to know Jeremy last week, and 
he'd casually told her he'd be there again tonight.  That was his 
cool way of asking her out without actually asking -- minimal 
commitment required on both sides.)  So there was really not a 
lot of time to waste.  She continued her search, but still found 
nothing. 

Suddenly, the loud voices downstairs went quiet, and Bethany was 
petrified by the sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs.  She 
could tell it was Rhoda.  She quickly closed the window, then 
dropped and rolled under the bed.  

A moment later, Rhoda burst in and slammed the door behind her.  
Bethany tried to quiet her excited breathing and carefully lifted 
up the edge of the bed ruffle.  Rhoda was looking at herself in 
the mirror.  "Yuck!" she exclaimed.  She was still dressed as a 
6-year-old.

She untied her hair ribbons and threw them on the bed.  She then 
undid the rubber band at the end of each braid and shook out her 
blonde hair.  Stretching her arm behind her back, she untied her 
sash, unzipped her dress, and shrugged it off.  The dress joined 
the ribbons on the bed.  Beneath the dress she wore a training 
bra that looked a little small on her.  She took off the maryjanes 
and ceremoniously dropped them on the floor.  She pulled off her 
socks and flung them into the white wicker clothes hamper at the 
foot of the bed.  She stretched and let out a low moan.  Shedding 
her training bra and then her ruffled panties, she stretched and 
moaned again and then massaged her not-so-small breasts.  

Bethany was transfixed by this startling metamorphosis.  She knew 
that Rhoda had turned 13, but had no idea how well-developed she 
had become.  Her breasts seemed almost as big as Bethany's, and 
she had hair "down below," too.  In fact, out of her clothes, and 
with a little makeup, Rhoda could probably pass for 16...maybe even 
18.  Bethany searched her mind, trying to remember what her own 
13-year-old body had looked like.  But five years had passed since 
that time, and she had too successfully blocked out that awkward 
period.  She was always smaller than the other girls and always a 
little self-conscious about her size.  In high school, however, 
she'd learned how to rise with the cream, and now, at 18, she was 
semi-independent, and next year she would (finally) be going away 
to college.  

Meanwhile, Rhoda was staring at herself in the mirror with a good 
deal more satisfaction than she had a few minutes before.  She 
caressed herself and struck a couple of poses, as if she imagined 
breaking a lot of hearts in junior high.

She eventually sighed and went into the adjoining bathroom.   When 
Bethany heard the shower through the closed door, she knew she was 
safe, temporarily.  She scrambled out from under the bed.  A moment 
later, she spied her pill case, peeking out from the backpack worn 
by a stuffed Smurf perched on a small table next to the bathroom 
door.  Bethany picked it up and stuck in her purse.  Home free!

As she moved back to the window, however, the bathroom door 
suddenly opened, and a shriek halted her in her tracks.  Rhoda 
stood naked in the doorway for a long moment, then grabbed a 
towel and covered herself, without taking her eyes off Bethany. 

"what the crap are you doing in here?" Rhoda yelled. 

"Rhoda, honey, are you alright?" her mother called up the stairs.  
"We don't have time for games right now.  Teresa will be here any 
moment, and then your father and I have to go." 

Bethany looked pleadingly at Rhoda and murmured, "Please don't say 
anything." 

Rhoda, smiling an evil smile, walked to the bedroom door and opened 
it.  "I'm fine, mother.  I thought I saw a bug." 

"Okay, honey, please be good tonight." 

"I will, mother."  She smiled again, shut the door, and turned back 
to Bethany. 

"Thank you for not giving me away, Rhoda." 

"What are you doing in my room?  You're not a perv, are you?"
 
"No, I left something here, and I didn't want to...uh...disturb 
your mother and father, so I....  It's fine, now.  I just...."  
Bethany stammered, then caught herself, as she realized she was 
explaining herself to a 13-year-old girl.  "I have to go," she 
said as she moved toward the window again. 

"I see you found your birth control pills," Rhoda said, flatly.
 
Bethany looked back and smiled.  "Rhoda, honey, listen....  I'll 
tell you what -- I'll come by next week and take you for pizza, 
my treat.  Just please don't mention this to anybody."  Bethany 
turned back to the window once more. 

"If you open that window, I'll scream so loud."  Rhoda's lips 
smiled, but her eyes showed she meant business.
 
Bethany knew this game all too well.  "Okay, Rhoda, honey.  What 
do you want?" 

"First of all, you can drop the 'honey' bull shit.  I am not a 
little girl, you know.  I may be young, but I'm not stupid.  I 
know why you came in here.  You think you can just sneak into a 
house and steal and then sneak away?"
 
"I wasn't stealing.  It's mine," Bethany whined.
 
"Doesn't matter, you're trespassing.  I could have you arrested." 

"Look, what do you want?  Money?  All I have is forty dollars." 

"No, I have something a little better than money in mind," Rhoda 
said, slyly. 

"Rhoda, hon...um....  I really don't have time for this.  I need 
to get going." 

Rhoda calmly walked back to the door and opened it.  "Mother!" 

Bethany blanched, panic-stricken. 

"Yes, dear, what is it?" 

"Sorry, mother, nothing."
 
"Rhoda, take your bath and get into your nice clothes for Teresa.  
And do it NOW!  Quit stalling."

Bethany was shaking as the full import of her situation sank in.  
She was stuck here in a room with this evil child.  If she bolted, 
she would surely be caught sooner or later, for Rhoda would tell 
everyone everything -- more than everything, probably, embellishing 
it with a sexual sub-text.  And, even if someone did believe the 
simple truth, there would always be a little doubt...which would 
keep rearing its head, poisoning job prospects, college 
recommendations, friendships, even romances....  Bethany's 
mind reeled with possibilities of her reputation just dangling 
there, at the mercy of this 13-year-old. 

"Switch with me," Rhoda said. 

"What?" 

"Switch with me.  Just for a little while.  I haven't been out 
of this house unsupervised for over six months, and I need to 
get some air." 

"Fine, but what do you mean switch?"
 
"I mean you be me.  The sitter's new; she doesn't know me."
 
"You're crazy, Rhoda.  That's a stupid idea." 

Rhoda moved to her bedroom door.
 
"Okay, okay, I get it, but no one going to believe I'm you.  I'm 
18, and clearly not 13."
 
"I can make it work, but you have to do everything I tell you to.  
Or I'll tell everyone that you were spying on me while I was 
undressing and taking a shower." 

"Rhoda, you have a horrible reputation in this town.  Why would 
anyone believe such a wild story?"

"Because you are here, where you're not supposed to be.  Trust me, 
I can make them believe it." 

"But isn't there something else I can do instead?  This seems 
really silly.  The sitter is going to know I'm not you.  I mean, 
I would know."
 
"Well, it'll be your job to be convincing.  If you screw it up, 
you'll only be hurting yourself." 

Bethany hated that last phrase; she had used it on Rhoda twice, but 
to no avail.
 
"Look, Rhoda, I'll take you out with my boy friend, I'll buy you a 
beer, and I'll even let you smoke....  But not now.  Now I have to 
go."
 
"It IS now, or I go downstairs and tell."

Bethany thought that she could wait until the parents left, and 
then it really wouldn't matter, but, at that moment, they both 
heard the door bell ring.
 
"Hi, I'm Teresa," floated up the stairs. 

"who's Teresa?" Bethany whispered.  

"She's the new sitter, since you were...busy."  Rhoda cocked an 
eyebrow.  "I haven't met her, but I understand she's a Chicana 
from the West Side.  I don't think she's all that smart, so you 
don't have much to worry about there." 

("Great," Bethany thought.  "That's all I need.  She's probably 
an illegal, too.") 

Rhoda stood up, hands on hips, and looked Bethany up and down.
 
"It's now or never.  Which is it going to be?"
 
"For how long?" Bethany sighed. 

"Just a couple of hours...till, say, 10.  I want do some shopping.  
The mall's open late tonight." 

"Alright, but you be back here at 10 -- no later."
 
"Fine. Now let's get to work.  To start with, hold up your hand."
 
"What?" 

"Hold up your hand...and repeat after me: 'I swear....'"
 
Bethany sighed and raised her hand.  "I swear...." 

"That I will trade places with Rhoda and pretend to be her tonight. 
In addition, I promise to do everything in my power to convince 
anyone here that I am only 13.  And I will do everything that Rhoda 
says." 

Bethany repeated everything, except the last sentence.  She shook 
her head and lowered her hand.  "I am NOT going to do everything 
you say." 

Rhoda shrugged.  "Just right now, so I can get you ready for your act." 

"Then," Bethany said, raising her hand again.  "I promise to do 
everything that Rhoda says in order to prepare me for this 
evening's pretense." 

"Great," Rhoda piped.  "Alright, now strip down.  Everything off."
 
"What?" 

"You said you would do whatever."
 
"Look, I thought I would just stay up here and make a little noise 
so she knows you're up here."
 
"Oh, no, no, no....  You still have to go downstairs eventually, 
meet Teresa, and then have a civilized dinner with her.  That's 
the procedure -- all part of the punishment."
 
Bethany sighed as she pulled off her embroidered peasant blouse 
and then her stylish high-heeled boots and white jeans.  Soon 
she was standing in her bra and panties and boot socks.
 
"Come on, we don't have a lot of time.  Suppose Teresa comes up 
here and finds us like this.  Could be awkward explaining this 
situation, huh?"

"Good point," Bethany said, as she reluctantly pulled off her 
socks, then unhooked her bra and shed her panties. 

"Now, into the shower."
 
"I don't need a shower," Bethany said. 

"Yes, but I am supposed to be taking a shower, and, besides...," 
she leaned close and sniffed.  "You're wearing makeup and perfume.  
I'm not.  You might seem a little fishy to Teresa.  She may not be 
an Einstein, but I don't imagine she's a dim-wit, either."

Bethany, already feeling self-conscious standing naked in front of 
Rhoda, capitulated and moved toward the bathroom. 

As she passed the full-length mirror that hung on the door, 
she noticed that Rhoda's breasts seemed just slightly bigger 
and fuller than her own.  Bethany's breasts were large in 
circumference, but slight in mass -- and looked as flat as 
inverted saucers.  Flat.  Flat chested.
 
She was more than a little disconcerted.

It was almost a relief to step into the shower and begin lathering up. 

Rhoda, standing outside, continued to give orders.  "Be sure to 
wash thoroughly.  Use the shampoo in the red bottle."

Bethany was not happy about using an inferior hair product, but 
she figured that that was just part of the price she had to pay 
to placate Rhoda for the evening...and for that "harmless" white 
lie to Mrs. Westmore.  If only she had agreed to babysit tonight, 
she wouldn't be in this scrape.
 
"And don't forget to shave," Rhoda said.  "Everywhere." 

Bethany opened the shower door.  "What do you mean 'everywhere'?"
 
"I mean underarms, legs, and crotch."  

Bethany gaped at her.
 
"Look under my arms: nothing," Rhoda said, raising her arms.
 
"Yesss....  But you have hair...'down there.'  So why should I 
shave...?"
 
"Because it will help with the illusion.  Suppose Teresa gets it 
into her head to help you dress for bedtime.  That might be 
awkward...rouse suspicion.  But, if there's nothing there, she 
won't think anything of it at all."
 
"Fine.  It's just hair.  Whatever."  Bethany retreated.  It WOULD 
grow back, but she hated to imagine how itchy it was going to be 
when it did.
 
Rhoda added, with a sneer in her voice, "And do a good job, or I'll 
go back over it and make sure it's done right....  And, by the way, 
if you know about my 'hair...down there,' you obviously WERE spying 
on me." 

Rhoda closed the bathroom door on Bethany's sputtered denials.
 
Bethany stepped back into the shower and began shaving, trying to 
be as thorough as possible for Rhoda.
   
She heard Rhoda moving around the bedroom for a moment, and then 
the bedroom door opened, closed, opened, and closed.  She shivered.  
 
Suddenly, the bathroom door opened. 

"Knock, knock," Rhoda mocked.

"What?"

Bethany turned off the shower and opened the stall door slightly.  
Rhoda flung it wide open. 

"Face me.  Arms up."  

Bethany raised her arms and put her hands on top of her head.
 
"Oh, I get it: inspection time.  You are really getting a kick out 
of this, aren't you?"
 
Rhoda tilted a blue bottle and poured some creamy amber substance 
into her hand and rubbed it into Bethany's underarms.  She then 
applied some more down Bethany's legs -- and a generous portion 
onto her crotch. 

"What is that stuff?" Bethany asked.
 
"Lotion.  It'll help to smooth off any stubble you missed."
 
"Whatever.  Just hurry; I'm getting cold.  And I really don't 
think you should be touching me like that." 
 
"Relax, I'm almost done.  Just turn around so I can do the backs 
of your legs." 

Bethany turned around as Rhoda smoothed lotion down her legs and 
slathered some into her butt-crack.
 
"I think that's enough," Bethany said, turning around.
 
Rhoda smiled complacently.  "All done." 

"Hey!  This stuff is burning.  What's in this lotion?"

"It's hair removal cream.  My mom uses it.  Really good stuff."
 
"Dammit, Rhoda, you can really damage someone's skin if you're not 
careful," she said, quickly turning on the shower and trying to 
dance around the spray as she adjusted the water temperature and 
force.
 
"It's fine.  Mom uses it all the time.  She got it from a doctor." 

Bethany heard the bathroom door open and close. 

Meanwhile Bethany washed and rinsed to extinguish the burning.  Her 
legs soon felt okay, but the hot tingling lingered on in her pussy 
and butt-hole.  At length, she finished up, stepped out, and began 
drying off.  
 
As the fog on the mirror began to clear, she was a little taken 
aback at her reflection.  She was used to the flat chest and 
narrow hips and childish butt, but now she was HAIRLESS, too.  
She lifted her arm and ran her hand underneath.  It was smoother 
than she had ever gotten shaving.  Then she slowly moved her hand 
down to her pubic area.  "It" was very, very smooth.  She marvelled 
that there was no stubble at all; it was as if she had never had 
hair there.  There was some redness, but little discomfort, on the 
outside.  (Inside, however, it was still buzzing.)  She continued 
drying herself and got a bit of a shock when she ran the towel over 
her bottom, which she found to be not merely hairless, but also 
smooth and silky.  She flinched, as she felt in between her cheeks. 
It was weird...but sort of sexy.... 

Bethany wrapped the towel around herself and opened the bathroom 
door.  The sight that greeted her stopped her cold.  There, 
standing in the middle of the room, was Rhoda, dressed in 
Bethany's clothes.  Rhoda had apparently put on everything: 
blouse, jeans, boots, and all.  (Bethany was chagrined to see 
that they fit her amazingly well.)  Rhoda had even found some 
time to apply a bit of makeup.  With her hair pulled back 
slightly, she looked thoroughly adult.

"Hey, you're wearing my clothes!" Bethany bleated. 

"what am I supposed to wear?  My mom's stuff is way too big, and 
I can't go out alone in any of mine, you know.  Besides, I'm not 
wearing ALL your stuff...."  She grinned.  "Your bra was too 
small."

Bethany's head was swimming.

"So, anyway, let's get a look at you," Rhoda said, as she swiped 
away Bethany's towel.
 
"Hey!"
 
"Hands at your sides.  Remember, you said you'd do everything I 
told you to."
 
"Yes...."
 
Rhoda then stepped up close to Bethany, who realized that they 
were now the same height.  Perhaps Rhoda was even the taller.
 
Rhoda proceeded to feel under Bethany's arms and, kneeling, 
inspected her legs and bottom. 

"Wow, that stuff works great!  You're as smooth as a baby...'down 
there.'  But it does look like you've been playing with yourself...."
 
Bethany blushed red. 

"Rhoda, stop it."
 
Rhoda swatted her bottom.  "Quiet!"

Bethany jumped.  "Please, Rhoda, this...this inspection has surely 
gone on long enough.  Just let me get dressed...."  She was feeling 
uncomfortably diffident towards Rhoda. 
 
"Well, there are your clothes," Rhoda said, gesturing in her best 
Vanna White impression.  Laid out on the bed was one of Rhoda's 
typical punishment outfits.  It was a short, frilly party dress, 
a pink and white confection, the kind of dress a 6-year-old might 
wear to church or a birthday party.  There were little socks and 
panties and a training bra.
 
"I thought I was going to wear some pajamas or something.  I can't 
wear that." 

"Sure you can.  Besides, you have to go down and have dinner with 
Teresa.  If you recall, my mother is very explicit with her 
instructions about how I'm to be treated.  Remember?"

"Yes."  Bethany did remember all the small punishments she had been 
told to administer while babysitting: certain games and certain 
foods and certain books and television shows -- designed to suit 
a 6-year-old and to humiliate Rhoda.  Imposing them had rather 
embarrassed Bethany, but she had found it kind of fun, too.  It 
was going to be a lot less fun, now.
  
But, grateful to be getting dressed in anything, she pulled on 
the panties and then the training bra. 

"This is too small," she complained, squirming.  

Rhoda snorted.  "Okay, Miss Tits, I must have tightened it up too 
much.  I can loosen it a little."  Rhoda stepped behind her and 
adjusted the straps.  Bethany caught a glimpse of herself in the 
mirror and was horrified to see that she looked even more 
flat-chested than usual.  She hardly noticed Rhoda putting her 
into the dress.  She did rouse herself enough to put on the socks 
and shoes.  Surprisingly, the shoes apparently fit. 

Moments later, Rhoda was standing over her, braiding Bethany's hair 
into two pigtails.  Lots of practice in doing and undoing her own 
had given her a certain amount of skill.  She finished by tying on 
the very two ribbons she had tossed off before.
 
Bethany stood up and wobbled unsurely.

"Ow, these shoes hurt.  I don't think I can wear them.  They seemed 
to fit when I was sitting down, but now they pinch my toes. "

Rhoda, ignoring the complaint, stepped back to admire her work 
and almost stumbled in her new boots.  Recovering, she directed 
Bethany's attention to the long mirror.

Instead of the confident, soon-to-be college student of voting 
age, she saw a little girl of twelve or thirteen.

She couldn't believe it.  Somehow a strange transformation had 
occurred, and she had been reduced to a child again.  Awkward, 
inexpressible thoughts and feelings seem to rise up to the 
surface of her mind as she stood open mouthed, staring at her 
reflection.  She looked at her braids with pink bows at the ends, 
at her frilly little ankle socks, her shoes, and her embarrassingly 
short dress that didn't quite cover her ruffled panties.  In those 
clothes, and with her innocent, fresh-scrubbed face, she could 
easily be mistaken for a child.  Indeed, she looked very much 
like Rhoda.

Rhoda stepped over to the window and watched her parents drive 
away.  She then opened the window and looked down.  "Wow, how 
did you do this?" 

"Just use the trellis....  And please be careful."  Bethany looked 
at the ground below and imagined Rhoda falling and the chaos that 
would ensue, with the Westmores returning home to discover Bethany 
dressed as their child and Rhoda on the back lawn surrounded by 
paramedics.  Bethany shook her head, as if to dispel this image, 
straightened up, and faced Rhoda.

"Now, you can't be late, 'cause I'm meeting Jeremy at Frankie's."

Rhoda paused at the window.  "Who's Jeremy?" 
 
"Jeremy from the computer store.  I told you about him.  You 
know -- tall, dark hair, looks like that new guy on 'Buffy.'  
We sorta have plans to hook up tonight...." 

"Isn't 10 a little late to be beginning a date?  What time's your 
curfew?"

"I don't have one.  Mom's out of town."

Rhoda giggled.  "Anybody'd think you had a curfew before sundown, 
looking the way you do....  And you're obviously much too young 
to be going out on dates at all." 

"Stifle yourself, Rhoda!"
 
"I don't think you should use that tone with me, young lady," 
Rhoda said, smiling thinly.  "I mean, just look at yourself."
 
"I know.  You dressed me like this.  I wouldn't even have to be 
like this if you'd learned to behave yourself and....  Oh, dammit!" 
She sighed and sat down on the bed.  "Just be careful going down.  
And don't be late.  We have a deal, and, if you break it, I'll 
find a way to get you back.  I promise you that."  (That sounded 
so lame, she thought.)  

"Sure thing," Rhoda answered, flippantly. 

It didn't sound as though she was taking this seriously.  And, in 
fact, she wasn't.  She was free for now and intended to use every 
moment to the fullest.  Wasting no more time, she climbed out the 
window and onto the trellis, then clambered quickly towards the 
yard below. 

Suddenly aware of missing something, Bethany looked around the 
room.   Her purse?  Where was her purse?  She stuck her head 
out the window, and, sure enough, half way down to the lawn, 
slung over Rhoda's shoulder, was the purse. 

She called, in a frantic stage whisper, "Hey!  My purse!" 

"I know, I'll bring it back," Rhoda answered, continuing her 
descent.  "See you!" 

Rhoda reached the ground and scampered through the hedge that 
separated the back yard from the front.  She stood for a moment, 
breathing deeply, and then walked off down the driveway.  Bethany 
watched all this and noticed how confidently Rhoda moved.  She 
did seem a little bit more grown up.  If only she would behave....

She pulled her head back in and realized that Teresa was shouting 
at her, "Rhoda Westmore!  You come down here righ' now."

The sudden reality of her situation drove all other thoughts from 
her head.  It was show time, and she was scared -- afraid of being 
discovered, which could be far worse than being treated, for the 
next couple of hours, as someone who was 13-going-on-6.  Her mind 
was a blur.
 
"If you don' come downstairs righ' now, I'm gonna have to come up 
there, and tha' would be bad for you."
 
The one thing Bethany had going for her was that, unlike Rhoda, she 
was not out to play mind games or create problems or compete for 
power.  For the next two hours, she would behave. 

Recognizing the tone in Teresa's voice, she knew she'd better get a 
move on.  Nervously, she stepped out of the bedroom and descended 
the staircase to meet the sitter, who was waiting at the foot of 
the stairs.  She could feel Teresa's eyes moving over her, studying 
her.
 
Teresa looked to be about eighteen herself, but was much bigger 
than Bethany.  She must have been at least 5'8" and 150 muscular 
pounds.  She was the sort of girl who would have been labeled a 
"jock" or even a "dyke" at her old school, and who always 
intimidated the hell out of Bethany in junior high -- especially 
in the showers after P.E.  (And the aftereffects of that damned 
lotion were still bothering her some..."down there.")
  
Bethany tripped on the next to last step and fell heavily onto 
Teresa.  

(Damn these shoes!)

At that point, still operating on the theory that Teresa was a 
wet-back, Bethany made another questionable decision and broke 
out some of her high school Spanish:

"¡Ay!  Perdóname, por favor, chica.  ¿Como está?  Lo siento 
mucho...."  ("Oh!  Pardon me, please, girl.  How are you?  
I'm so sorry....")

"Cu' the crap, kid."  Teresa's angular features were set in a scowl.  
"Didn' you hear me callin' you?" 
 
"Yes, but I was in the bathroom," Bethany answered without 
hesitation.

Bethany had not wanted to look directly at Teresa, fearing that her 
face would give her away.  But Teresa leaned close and grabbed 
Bethany by the chin, so that the two were eyeball to eyeball.
 
"Okay, Rhoda, you look a' me when you speak to me.  Le's ge' 
somethin' straigh'.  I know all abou' you -- I been fully warn'.  
An' le' me tell you somethin'.  I'm no' sof', like tha' other 
sitter.  I help' raise my two younger brothers, so I can handle 
you easy.  An' your paren's give me freedom to punish you.  If 
you do like I tell you, we'll ge' along jus' fine.  If no', 
there'll be trouble.  An', believe me, you don' wan' no trouble 
from me.  Do we understan' each other?" 

(Bethany was mortified and shaken, but, at the same time, relieved. 
Her disguise was holding up.  It was humiliating, but temporary.  
Soon it would be bedtime, and that would be that.  It was a little 
scary, though, and made her feel even smaller, having to stand 
there and let Teresa, towering above her, berate her.)  

"Y-yes, ma'am," Bethany murmured.

"Okay."  

("Perfect," Bethany thought.  "Give her her props.  Don't challenge 
her authority.  Just knuckle under, and things'll go smoothly.  
This Teresa certainly is a goon, though.  I'm a little surprised 
she hasn't called me a 'maggot.'  But, then, maybe this hard line 
would have worked out better in dealing with Rhoda than the 
psychological approach I tried.  It's sad to think so, but Rhoda 
may well have needed a drill sergeant more than a counselor.  It's 
just that I'd felt sorry even for Rhoda, the little bitch, when I 
first met her and saw how they made her dress.  Though she might 
have deserved it, still, how humiliating that had to be for a 
precocious 13-year-old...how devastating to her self-esteem.  It's 
uncomfortable enough for me, and I know it'll soon be ending.  
Hmmm, I guess maybe I'm beginning to feel better about this whole 
impersonation thing....")
 
"I see they were righ' -- you are a little big for your age," 
Teresa commented.
 
"Yes, I had a growth spurt this summer," Bethany answered. 

"Well, it's dinner time.  Go wash up."

"Yes, ma'am."  Bethany started off, but, as she did so, she 
misstepped and almost fell again.  

(Goddamn these shoes!) 

Washing her hands, she began shaking with apprehension.  Despite 
her successful first meeting with the Teresa, she was sure that 
she would be caught sooner or later -- but, even more, she felt 
ridiculous.  She hated this dress and the way it rustled when she 
moved.  And these damned awful shoes!  But she began to see why 
this was such an appropriate punishment for a hellion like Rhoda, 
who was constantly pushing the envelope and trying to grow up too 
fast.  The little bitch had even been caught twice driving.  
Driving!  She was 13 and didn't even have a learner's permit.  
Then a stunningly disturbing thought hit her: Rhoda had taken her 
purse and therefore her car keys.  Suddenly Bethany was worried 
about all sorts of things, and wild scenarios played through her 
head -- all of them ending up with her trying to explain to an 
apoplectic judge why she'd lent her car to a 13-year-old. 

Bethany returned to the dining room feeling distracted.  She was 
no longer concerned merely about being discovered trespassing in 
Rhoda's bedroom.  Now she was not only worried that Teresa might 
penetrate her makeover, or that the Westmores might come home 
early and blow her cover, but, worst of all, that Rhoda might be 
the cause of some ghastly, multi-car pileup on the interstate....

Then she smelled the wonderful aroma coming from a basket of 
biscuits on the table and realized how long it had been since 
she had eaten.  She picked up a biscuit and nibbled on it.  
Heavenly!

She was about to take a big bite, when Teresa suddenly came up 
behind her and grabbed her arm.  The biscuit went flying, 
glanced off the table, and hit the floor, breaking into several 
pieces.

Teresa snarled.  "Firs', I didn' give you no permission.  Secon', 
tha's no' yours.  So, thir', you clean it up...ever'thin'...an' 
be quick."  She paused and smiled, thinly.  "¡Pronto, chiquita!"

And she marched back into the kitchen.  Bethany, crouching over 
the fragments of biscuit, heard Teresa return a moment later.  
She looked back and saw the sitter was carrying a stout but whippy 
switch....  

"Your paren's, they give me this...tell me use it you give me 
troubles."  

Teresa's grasp of the language seemed to deteriorate as she 
became angrier.  But Bethany hardly noticed; she had more 
pressing concerns. 

"I-I'm cleaning it up as fast as I can, ma'am," she whimpered.

"No' fas' enough."

Teresa swung a forehand uppercut at Bethany's perfectly positioned butt.    

Ssssswickk! 

"Aaaaah!  Please, DON'T!"

Ssssswickk!  Ssssswickk!  Ssssswickk!

Bethany desperately snatched up the last crumbs.  As she deposited 
them in the garbage, she was aware that her pussy was beginning to 
burn again.  Was getting spanked a turn-on?  WAS she a pervert?  
How embarrassing!

She tried to put those thoughts out of her mind, but that then left 
room for worries about what catastrophes Rhoda might be concocting. 
Bethany shrugged, disconsolately, and again reminded herself of the 
plan to stay on Teresa's "good" side, if at all possible.  

She rubbed her tender bottom, ruefully.

		******************************                   
 
But Bethany's continuing preoccupation with her sore bottom, her 
tingling pussy, and a number of imagined "worst cases" involving 
Rhoda evaporated suddenly when dinner was served. 
 
Teresa's dinner consisted of Caesar salad, braised pork chops, 
hash browns, french-style green beans, biscuits, iced tea, and 
peach cobbler à la mode.

Bethany's dinner was a raw turnip, a big bowl of microwaved 
oatmeal, and a large glass of prune juice. 

She also immediately forgot her plan of maintaining a low profile.

"I can't eat this...this slop.  I won't!  I demand real food, like 
you've got, you...you...."  Bethany was livid.

Without a word, Teresa got up and stalked off to the kitchen.  A 
moment later, she was back, and placed in front of Bethany a second 
raw turnip, a second bowl of oatmeal, and a second glass of prune 
juice.  

"After you finish your firs' helpin's, you can have more.  An' make 
sure you clean up ever'thin'," Teresa said, in a perfectly bland 
voice.

"No!  I certainly will not."

Teresa laughed, throatily.  Then she sat down, grabbed Bethany, and 
easily hauled her across her lap.  She flipped up Bethany's dress, 
skinned her ruffled panties down and completely off, paused for a 
moment to admire the four red stripes left by the switch, and then 
began flailing away at the defenseless pink butt.

Slap!  Slap!  Slap!  Slap!

You don' talk tha' way to me.  Understan'?' 

Slap!  Slap!  Slap!  Slap!

"Yaaah!  Please!  I-I understand.  Please -- not so hard.  I'm 
s-sorry, ma'am.  Sorry!"

Slap!  Slap!  Slap!  Slap!

"You be even more sorry if you sass me again."

Slap!  Slap!  Slap!  Slap!

Perhaps exacerbated by the pain inflicted by Teresa's strong right 
arm and callous palm, the burning itch in Bethany's crotch flared 
up again.  The double torment was almost unendurable, and she began 
uncontrollably grinding her inflamed pussy down onto Teresa's knee.

Slap!  Slap!  Slap!  Slap!

"Please, ma'am.  Oh, god...oh, god....  Aaaaaa!"

"Wha' you doin', you dirty girl?  Oh, you gonna pay...."     

She stood Bethany up and, ignoring her sniveling, looked first with 
scorn at the girl's reddened, hairless, and drooling pussy -- and 
then with fury at the mess it had made.

"Look what you do on my knee, you dirty girl.  You clean tha' up.  
Righ' now!" 
 
Blushing, Bethany reached for a napkin, but Teresa slapped her hand 
away.  A slow, evil smile spread across the Latina's swarthy face. 

"No....  No napkin, no towel.  You use your smar' mouth, tongue...."
     
So Bethany had to lick her own juices off Teresa's knee.  She 
gagged at the very idea, initially, but then, surprisingly, 
didn't find the actual task all that distasteful.

		******************************                 

She ate her meal silently, seated at a low table, on a hard stool, 
still pantyless.  Chewing glumly, Bethany cursed her own lack of 
self-control (never really her strength, anyway).  She did manage 
to make it through her double helpings of turnips, oatmeal, and 
prune juice without further incident -- though her bowels were 
already beginning to complain.

When, at last, she'd finished, she rose and timidly held up her 
hand.

"M-may I go to the b-bathroom, please?"

"You wanna take a bath?" Teresa sneered.

"N-no....  I-I have to...to t-take a c-crap.  Please."

"Firs', I see your cun' slobbered all over the stool.  You lick 
tha' up."

She smiled in satisfaction and genuine amusement as she watched 
Bethany lick her seat clean.

"May I go now, please, ma'am?" Bethany quavered when she'd finished 
the clean-up.

"Now you do dishes."

So, Bethany washed and dried the dinner dishes by hand, while 
Teresa supervised (and ate a second dessert).

After that, Teresa made her beg and grovel and prance around in the 
"potty dance" for a few minutes, during the course of which Bethany 
grabbed hold of her crotch.

"Don' you play with yourself, you dirty girl," Teresa snarled.  
She reached out, seized the offending hand by the wrist, and 
smacked it, hard.  It was a simple act, but one that spoke 
volumes.  It was the kind of thing that you did to a child, 
and Bethany felt it.  She was also intimidated by the fact that 
Teresa stood over her, glaring down, seeming so much bigger and 
more powerful and...and adult than her.  Stunned, she stood 
open-mouthed for a moment.
   
"I-I wasn't...."  Bethany cringed under Teresa's glare.  "I 
mean...I-I'm s-sor-ry.  I won't do it again, ma'am...."  She 
surrendered.

Pleased with her victory, Teresa allowed Bethany to scurry off to 
the downstairs half-bath. 

		******************************            

After the first gush (and before the second, which she knew was 
coming), Bethany sat, in a cloud of her own stench, and speculated. 
It was true that Teresa was a heavy-handed brute, even worse than 
the bullies at school.  But that couldn't explain everything.... 

Teresa's manner had been intimidating from the beginning, without 
the slightest attempt to bond.  She never asked Bethany about 
school or family -- or, for that matter, about anything else.  
And even mediocre baby sitters know that bonding is important, 
both for manipulating the child and for impressing the parents 
into giving you repeat business.  (When the parents come home and 
question the kids, ideally, the sitter should have seemed neither 
too lax nor too demanding.)  It's good to bond a little, but you 
must also be firm enough -- otherwise the little bastards'll walk 
all over you.  Bethany had already decided that she had been much 
too kind to Rhoda.  In contrast, Teresa (who, despite some 
linguistic shortcomings, did not seem to be stupid) had made 
absolutely no effort to be at all friendly.  It didn't really 
make sense.

But, on a happier note, Bethany smirked when she thought about next 
Friday, when Teresa got to babysit the real Rhoda.  She wondered 
how that was going to play out.  Perhaps a week's absence would 
cloud her memory?  Not likely.  Teresa would definitely be puzzled, 
but probably wouldn't raise any questions, for fear of seeming 
delusional.  She'd just make a point of tromping on Rhoda extra 
hard.  It'll serve both of them right....

Suddenly, there was a hellish pounding on the bathroom door.    

"Whew!  I can smell the stink ou' here.  Now, you don' screw aroun' 
no more.  Almos' 10 o'clock and time for herbal tea and then sleep."

Almost 10 o'clock!

Returning to the kitchen, Bethany found Teresa standing there with 
her hands on her hips. 

"Are you sorry abou' bein' a dirty girl?" she asked.
 
"Yes, ma'am," Bethany answered contritely, staring at the floor and 
still trying to play the part.
 
"Look a' me," Teresa commanded.  "ARE you sorry?" 

Bethany looked up. "Yes, ma'am." 

"So.  You gonna behave?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"Okay.  There's your tea.  I'll be righ' back."  Teresa exited, 
smiling thinly.

Bethany sat down at the kitchen picked up the mug of tea, sniffed 
it, and took a tentative sip.  It was a little bitter, but not bad 
-- and certainly tastier than her dinner had been.

Cradling the mug in both hands, between sips she looked up at the 
clock: two minutes to 10.  Aaahh!  She'd made it.  Now she would 
soon get her own clothes back and go off to meet Jeremy.  
Satisfied, she drained the mug and leaned back.

She sighed.  This evening had been so exhausting....

She could hear voices coming from the front room, but garbled, 
muffled, really weird.  Oh, god, she was so tired.  She couldn't 
get her eyes to open more than half-way.  Her brain was still 
working, more or less, but the messages it was trying to send 
out were not being received by the rest of her body.  The lines 
were down -- and, for some reason, that seemed funny.

Then Teresa returned, along with two burly men in white jackets.  
And Bethany thought that was absolutely hilarious.

As the funny men led her, still giggling, from the house, Bethany 
had the vague, passing thought that she was forgetting something.  
But it was past her bedtime now, so she'd have to try to remember 
it tomorrow.  

		******************************

At that very moment, in Room 949 of the posh Crowne Plaza Hotel, 
Mr. and Mrs. Westmore were conversing.  

"I know you're feeling guilty, dear," he said.  "And so do I, but 
it's no use.  It had to be done.  And it's for the best, I'm sure, 
that we're not there when the...er...'attendants' come for her 
tonight.  I'm afraid there might have been a 'scene' otherwise.  
This way, and under cover of night, it should happen as smoothly 
and quietly as possible."

"Oh, I know.  I suppose you are right," she replied.  "But that 
awful place....  It almost seems more like an insane asylum or 
a penal compound than a boarding school."  

"Be that as it may, the Samuel Cale School is fully accredited and 
has an excellent reputation for handling behavioral problems in 
perverse females -- which, let's face it, is exactly what Rhoda is. 
We know there's nothing medically wrong with her, and nothing that 
psychiatry can remedy...."

"Yes, I guess....  It's just...well, the strict discipline and all 
those humiliating punishments for breaking the rules...and not 
being allowed to communicate with us for the first six weeks....  
I just hope and pray two things: first, that they do straighten her 
out and, second, that she doesn't hate us afterward." 

"That's all we CAN do, now," he said, shaking his head.  

		******************************

Meanwhile, not more than a mile away, in a modest late Victorian 
two-story, Rhoda had already ransacked Bethany's bedroom, packed 
two suitcases and a duffel full of clothes and choice doodads, and 
stowed her loot in the car.  She was now finishing up an e-mail
note to Mrs. Harris, using Bethany's PC:

        Dear Mom,

        I tried to stick it out, but I just can't.  Too much has 
        happened this past year.  I don't even know who I am 
        anymore.  So I'm going away for a while to try and sort 
        things out.  I'll come back when I get my head straight.

        Love,

        Beth


Rhoda smiled at the deliberate grammatical error in the third line.  
"Verisimilitude," she murmured.  She clicked on "Send," logged off, 
and left the house, thoughtfully turning out the lights, except for 
a dim one in the foyer.  She felt better than she had for a long 
time.  Her grand adventure had begun.
 


