Babysitter Girlfriend - Ch 2

Sitting on the couch, watching Grace go about the room with nervous energy, Brad tried to decide if he wanted to keep sitting on the edge of the cushion, letting his feet hang, or if he would rather slide back on the cushion and rest his back against the cushions behind him. He was uncomfortable on the edge, but sliding back would mean his legs would stick out straight in front of him, his feet standing up in a way that seemed to emphasize how small he had become. When Grace began closing the blinds and sliding the curtains shut, Brad decided to slide back on the couch and pull his knees up to his chest, resting his feet flat in front of him. Although he felt very small curled up like that, he also felt protected with his legs providing some sense of security.

Grace put on the lights in the darkened room and dimmed them, creating a moody atmosphere. Then, she turned the TV on and tuned it to a random kids channel, playing some cartoon show. With everything arranged to her satisfaction, she directed her attention back to Brad, and walked around the coffee table to join him on the couch.

Brad was frightened to see her ass lowering toward him, thinking that she was about to sit on him, a scary prospect considering she weighed several times as much as he did. However, she sat directly to the right of him instead of on top of him. The cushions sagged somewhat beneath her weight, tipping him subtly closer to her, as if he were in space, being drawn toward her gravitational pull. She crossed her legs and looked down at him with a pleasant smile on her face.

“Now, we should be safe to do whatever we want,” Grace said.

Brad heard music come from the TV, some cartoon child singing a pleasant song with an innocent voice.

He gulped and said, “Grace?”

“What is it, honey?” She reached her left arm over his head and rested her hand on his left thigh, letting the weight of her arm pull him even closer to her. He felt surrounded with her looming over him.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he said, deciding it was best to talk about her first.

“Me too,” she said, sighing in pure contentment and leaning against him. “I really couldn’t get you out of my mind, my little man.”

“I was thinking about you a lot, too,” he replied. “Now that you’re here, we can pick up where we left off.”

“That’s true,” she said.

“You just need to make me older again, and then we can… you know.” He had to fight the urge to cross his fingers.

In the cartoon, the children had begun to argue.

“Hmm,” Grace grunted. “Well… I dunno. We don’t… have to.”

“W-what?” he said.

Grace fell sideways on top of Brad. It was so unexpected that he barely had a chance to react. Before he could get away, he found himself lying on his back with her sizable breasts pressing down on his chest, the weight of her body pinning him in place beneath it, sinking him into the cushion. Face-to-face again, she smiled at him.

In the cartoon, children were laughing.

“Kiss me,” she said as more of an order than a request.

Watching her lower her face down to his, he cried, “Grace! St-”

She plugged up his mouth with her own and moaned through the kiss with ecstatic glee.

Again, Brad felt overwhelmed by her size and power. He was helpless to escape her. Below, his body betrayed him, and he felt himself getting hard. He hoped that he was too insignificant in size there for her to notice.

Pleasant music played, filling up the silence.

After what seemed like a minute of kissing, she let him come up for air.

He gasped for breath, and she giggled.

“You are so… adorable,” she cooed. “My perfect little angel.” She caressed his cheek with her fingers.

“Please,” he begged her. “Make me older, again. Wouldn’t you enjoy this more if I was a man?”

“But, you are,” she said. “You’ve got a cute little body, but I can see it in your eyes. You don’t look at me like a little boy would. You know what I want. I can see you wanting it, too. I can even feel you wanting it… down there.”

His face warmed beneath her breath.

“I can see fear in your eyes, too,” she said, her smile fading. “It’s not a little-boy fear, like you want to pee your pants or something. It’s a man fear. Terror. You know dark things that no child would understand. I see it there, deep in the dark center of your eyes.”

Brad felt like a mouse trapped beneath a cat’s paw, as if at any moment, rows of sharp teeth would clamp down on him and end him. Cold, dead, predator eyes gazed deeply into his own, showing no hint of concern for him.

Tears began to roll down the sides of his face as the end credits were rolling on the cartoon.

“Oh,” Grace said, blinking, as if the sight of him crying had snapped her out of a trance. “S-sorry.” She lifted herself off of him, but he did not move except to cover his eyes with his forearm.

Brad heard her walk away. Then, the TV went silent.

“You want to be older,” Grace said, more as a statement than a question.

He wiped his eyes dry and nodded.

“But,” she said, now forming a question, “how would that work?”

“What?” he asked, turning his face to her.

“If you’re older again, back to your regular age, then I won’t have a good reason to be here. I would just be on a date with a young man,” Grace explained. “I wouldn’t be allowed to do that. We’d both be in trouble if anyone found out. Being your babysitter means I’m allowed to be here.”

Brad saw a third option in which the two of them were not in a relationship at all, but he could tell that this option had not occurred to her.

“So,” she said, concluding her argument. “You need to be a boy I can babysit in order for us to be together.”

Brad used the time he spent sitting up to think up a counter-argument she might accept. “How can I be your boyfriend like this?” he asked, gesturing toward his immature body. “I can’t do what a grown up could do for you. We might be together, and you might have some fun pretending with me that we’re a couple, but it won’t go anywhere. It can’t. It physically can’t.”

“Hmm,” she grunted. “Is that what you think?”

He nodded.

She was silent for a long moment, and he could see her formulating a plan.

“Grace,” he said. “It’s time for this to end.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll give you a chance to go back to normal, but you need to give me something back in return.”

Brad did not like the sound of that. “What is it that you want?”

Grace removed her ear rings, one after the other. Then, she stepped out of her shoes. “I want you to finish what you started that day when we were interrupted.”

Brad watched as she pulled her shirt up over her head and started unbuttoning her pants.

“Just make me older,” he pleaded. “I’ll do it then, gladly, if you do, anything you want.”

Grace began to set her clothes down neatly on a chair beside her, taking care to make sure they would not get wrinkled.

“If you manage to satisfy me,” she continued, “only then will I return you to normal.”

“I told you. I can’t,” he said. “Not in this body.”

“I believe you can,” she said, smiling, as her underwear came off. “You just need to give it your all.”

With every stitch of clothing she had been wearing neatly placed on the chair and her shoes stood beneath it, she stepped up to him and he cowered slightly beneath her imposingly feminine form.

“Take it or leave it. This is your only chance. You get what you want if you give me what I want.”

Brad sighed and began to follow her lead with his own clothes.

***

Grace had intended this to be the conclusion of their interrupted encounter in her bedroom. To compare the two events, though, was to show this second attempt to be almost a parody of the first.

Before, Brad had stripped her nude with his own hands, urging her past any reluctance she might have been feeling. Now, the roles were reversed with her pressuring him to continue, helping him undress.

He had been so much bigger than her, then. Now, she seemed gigantic. Laying on her back on the couch, she positioned herself to give him access, but she showed no indication that she intended to assist him. Instead, she just waited patiently for him. He would need to navigate his way over her.

He took the lay of the land. Her hands crossed above her head, fingers resting on her elbows. Her feet resting flat on a cushion, her knees bent, standing up, spread just wide enough to make room for him between them.

He climbed up on the couch at her feet and proceeded forward, feeling a little trepidation about passing between her thighs, each leg seemingly as thick as a tree trunk. He feared being squeezed between them. Crawling up her body, he headed for her head to start the foreplay up there.

He tried his best.

Everything felt awkward. She laid there, trying to hide the amused expression on her face. He gave her lips some attention, and she did not resist. Then, her huge, unwieldy breasts received some attention. He was fumbling around, hesitating and uncertain. It was a struggle to build up any momentum. When he felt that he had accomplished everything he could up above, he crawled back down between her legs.

Then, they progressed beyond what they had achieved before. He entered her. However, as soon as he moved at all, he slipped out again. Starting over, he moved less with greater caution, but he could sense how ineffective that would be. He just did not have enough of himself left to have any hope of pleasuring her. Still, he refused to give up, not yet at least. He kept on trying, discovering that his mouth was about level with her breasts, which he took advantage of. Despite it all, he had the horrible sense that he was still getting nowhere.

It was comical. Every attempt he made to act mature only seemed to emphasize how childish he had become. More than once, he heard a murmur from her, which could have been either an impatient moan or a stifled chuckle. As hard as he worked, he felt little or no response.

How pathetic! He felt so useless. Still, he desperately kept trying.

He crawled back even more and resorted to using his mouth, his little tongue being just as substantial as any other part of his anatomy that he might employ but somewhat more dexterous. He tried his best but ended up only accomplishing getting his face slicked over with her fluids and making his jaw sore. She remained unmoved by his weak stimulation.

“Hmm,” she grunted, disappointed. “Looks like you were right, afterall. I can see you gave it your best try, and yet...”

“Turn me back,” he begged, again, wiping his face dry on his arm. “I can’t stand this. You don’t know how hard it is to be a grown up mind in a kid’s body.”

“You didn’t earn it,” she said, sitting up and setting her feet on the floor before standing up to tower over him again. “You didn’t give me what I want.” She stared down at him, an idea forming in her mind. “Still, maybe I can make things easier for you this week.” She walked over to the chair with her clothes resting on it.

His heart sank. “Grace…” He got to his feet and approached her slowly, as you might do for a mad person holding a gun.

He watched as she fished a familiar black and red stone from a pocket. Turning to face him, she held it up between them. “You say it’s hard being a grown up mind in a kid's body. What if I gave you a mind to match the body?”

“Wait!” Brad said, holding his hand up, defensively.

Grace closed her eyes. The fissures in the stone glowed reddish orange. Warm energy flowed through the room, like a blast from an unseen oven. Then, the light brightened, blinding them. Suddenly, it went out and the room felt normal, again. They were clothed again. Brad could see her dressed and could feel clothes on his body, but something seemed to have gone very wrong. He watched as she put the black stone away in her pocket.

Brad stood there frozen for a moment, unable to move a muscle, unable to even speak. Then, to his horror, his body began to move on its own. He tried to stop moving or to yelp in surprise, but he had no control of himself at all. He felt possessed, and it terrified him.

His head turned without him intending it, looking at the TV. He wanted to turn to face her and plead for help, but when he tried to turn to face her, his head did not move.

“Grace?” his mouth said by itself with a far more childish intonation that he would have used.

“Yes, Bradley?” she replied.

“Can I watch some TV?” Brad felt like a puppet, being forced to speak someone else’s words.

“What’s the magic word?” she asked, chiding him.

His head turned to face her, at last. “Can I please watch some TV?” he whined.

“Yes, you may,” she replied, smiling.

Brad felt his face smile. How horrifying, being forced to smile when he felt like screaming.

His body raced over to the TV and settled in on the couch as Grace put on a children’s show for him to watch. Then, she took a seat on the chair beside him.

Brad wanted to beg her to give him back control of his body, but he could not even turn his eyes to look in her direction. He could not even blink. He was stuck watching the inane show that the boy controlling him wanted to see. It left Brad feeling like a hostage, strapped to a chair. Never before had he wanted to escape his own body, but now he felt trapped within it.

With nothing to do but think, Brad started to wonder about the boy who had taken him over. Was this just some younger version of himself? Was it a new mind and personality created by Jennifer? Did this boy have any idea that Brad was inside of him, witnessing everything he did? Brad tried to scream in his mind, to get the boy’s attention.

Can you hear me?! Brad thought as intensely as he could. Do something if you hear me. Move your left hand! Stand up! Do anything!

The boy did nothing in response. He just sat there with his attention fully immersed in the TV show.

Brad mentally screamed as loudly as he could.

Still, there was no reaction at all.

Brad felt like crying in despair, but he could not even squeeze a tear out of his eyes.

The boy made his mouth giggle instead in response to the TV show.

This is hell, Brad thought. I’m in hell.

Brad tried to turn his attention away from what was happening, but he could not stop experiencing what the boy was seeing and hearing and feeling. If only he could will himself unconscious, he would get some escape. That seemed to be impossible, though. He was stuck experiencing it all.

This is going to be a long night, he thought.

***

Time dragged on, worse than in any punishment he had suffered through. Being only a mute witness to the boy who had taken over his life left him feeling utterly hopeless. All he could do was wait, hoping sleep would come soon to give him some relief from this boy-shaped prison.

In the meantime, he was made to play with toys and babble pointless words to his babysitter and to himself as the boy forced him to pretend various fantasies. Brad began to hate the child. Wanting to give a name to his unintentional tormentor, he started calling the boy “Bradley.”

Bradley had some habits that absolutely disgusted Brad. The boy had no compunctions about using his body in rude ways. He would burp whenever he felt like it. Farts happened just as freely. His fingers, still dirty from touching various objects, would find their way up his nostrils. He would dig around for boogers, and if he found a particularly juicy one, it would end up in his mouth.

Brad experienced all of this, first-hand. He smelled the gasses that the boy released. He felt the stickiness of that finger up his nostril, and he… tasted what came out of it. Disgusting! He wanted to vomit, but he was stuck with that gross flavor in his mouth.

Mercifully, the boy grew sleepy when it began to get dark outside. Bradley asked to go to bed, and Grace led him through his bedtime routine. Brad was happy to be put into pajamas and tucked into bed, and when the boy shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep, Brad welcomed the temporary oblivion that came with it. In those last moments of consciousness, he allowed himself to hope that he might wake up back in control again. However, he suspected that this torture was unlikely to end anytime soon.

To be continued...