Babysitter Becky

[PeculiarChangeling]

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Of course. It was my idea, wasn’t it?” 

“You won’t be able to use safewords. I’ll do my best to make sure you’re happy, but I can’t promise this won’t go wrong.” 

“I trust you. We’ve talked about this before, that’s a risk I’m willing to take. Use your best judgement.” 

“Okay, baby. If you’re sure, then I need you to sit down, relax, and look deep into my eyes.” 

…

I woke up, my head feeling a bit fuzzy. What did I do last night? 

Thinking back… I couldn’t remember. Me and my babysitter - she was too ‘cool’ to be a mommy - had had some dinner, put on a movie, then… went to bed? I was snuggled up next to her now, so that must have been it, but I couldn’t remember. 

I was still sleepy, and thought about setting a snooze alarm, but now I was a bit worried by the hole in my memories. I didn’t get drunk or anything, did I? I’m not hungover. 

“Becky,” I mumbled, still feeling a bit sleepy. “You awake?” 

“Huh?” she mumbled, rolling over to glance at me, propping herself up on an elbow. “What is it, baby?” 

“I don’t remember going to bed last night. Did I, like, hit my head or something?” 

She smiled, leaning over to kiss me on the forehead. “No, baby, you just fell asleep during the movie. You were so tuckered out, I thought you’d just want to sleep.” 

I nodded. It made sense, though it meant that she’d dressed me in my pajama pants while I was asleep. “I must have been tired, because I’m still a little sleepy.” 

Becky rolled her eyes. “You’re just still waking up, baby. You know what would really give you some energy?” 

“Coffee?” I suggested. 

Her face flashed with a playful smile, and she announced, “Tickle fight!” 

My eyes widened in surprise as she pounced, getting on top of me. I squirmed, but even if she was shorter than me, she had the advantage of striking before I could have seen it coming, and in a moment, her hands were on my sides, fingers wriggling up to my armpits. 

I giggled, shaking my head and protesting. “No, no, stop!” I laughed, fussing as she- 

In an instant, my bladder gave in. There had been no pressure, no warning, but I was suddenly wetting the bed. I couldn’t stop giggling, but the joy in the laughter vanished as I was overcome with surprise, embarrassment, and uncertainty. 

My babysitter didn’t notice until she felt warmth on her leg and looked down, noticing the growing puddle around my crotch. “Baby!” she said, surprised, returning her gaze to me. She wasn’t upset. In fact, she was smiling, amused. “What was that you said about not wearing your diapers to bed?” 

I felt my cheeks turn beet red, but when I opened my mouth to say, ‘I didn’t mean to have an accident, that was real,’ all that I said was, “I had an accident.” 

“Well, I can see that!” Becky decklared. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll get you nice and cleaned up, then we’ll go have breakfast, okay?”

I nodded, briefly wondering what was wrong with me, but though it was momentarily concerning, it didn’t seem to bother me that much. It had just been a freudian slip, that was all. Besides, Becky got it. 

Hopping out of bed, my babysitter took my hand, pulling me up into a sitting position and finally to my feet. “You want me to dress you, baby?” 

That sort of special treatment was usually reserved for one of our playdates, but if she was offering, I was more than happy to nod my head in compliance. 

I expected her to walk over to my dresser to pick out some clothes, but instead, she hooked a finger through the waistband of my PJ bottoms and pulled, dragging me forward. It wasn’t a strong pull, but I seemed unable to resist the tug, following along helplessly as she walked me out of our bedroom, down the hall, and into our playroom. 

It wasn’t a huge space, but it was put together with a lot of care and love. We’d painted the walls with pink polka dots and blue stripes, there was a padded changing table against one wall, and a crib against the other. We hadn’t had enough room to set up a playpen, but there was a baby gate that she could put in the door, and a little TV for cartoons. 

Having a babysitter who worked in construction was great. Becky had made my crib and changing table herself, long enough to actually be comfortable for me, and to support a tall, chubby baby’s weight. 

Still… what were we doing here? 

“Huh?” I said, but she only patted the top of the changing table. 

“If you’re going to be having daytime accidents,” she said, opening the drawer beneath the table and retrieving one of my diapers. “Then I want to make sure you don’t stain the furniture. Hop up!” 

I wasn’t about to argue with what amounted to an unscheduled play session, even if the circumstances were a surprise. I used the little steps to clamber up, lying down on the plasticy, padded surface. 

My babysitter was quick, but not so quick that it wasn’t any fun. She rolled up my wet PJ pants, giggled at my sodden underwear, and pulled off my shirt. “Butts up!” 

I obeyed, lifting my bottom off the table as she slid the diaper underneath. Once I had the padding underneath me, she snatched a handful of baby wipes, running the cold, damp cloth up my legs to make sure I was properly clean and nothing had dried on me. Adding a liberal supply of heavily perfumed powder, turning my crotch area pure white. 

Rubbing the powder into my skin, my babysitter said, “We’ve got to make sure you smell like a baby now, don’t we?” 

I smirked. “At least for a little while.” 

“Stinky diapers still smell like a baby, silly,” she teased, pulling the diaper up around my waist. We hadn’t skimped on quality when we stocked up, and they were appropriately thick, pushing my thighs aside. I could close my legs, if I had to, but there would be much rustling and crinkling if I tried. 

“Alright, you’re nice and secure,” my babysitter said, running her finger around the waistband and leg bands, ensuring there would be no leaks. “Sit up!” 

I did so, as she bent and retrieved my pink ‘Mommy’s Little Baby’ onesie. A patch had been stitched over ‘Mommy’ that read ‘Becky’, to make sure it was accurate, and near the crotch, the fabric was faded almost white from the amount of times it had been bleached clean from a leak. It was my favorite. Maybe it wasn’t as photogenic or nice as my newer ones, but it was weathered with a lot of love and many long days as Becky’s baby. 

She slipped the garment over my head, did the snaps on the shoulder, then had me stand so she could do the snaps around the crotch. “Breakfast?” 

I nodded, agreeably. “Breakfast!” 

We went downstairs together, Becky humming a little tune while I walked with a more pronounced waddle than usual. I almost stumbled going down the stairs, but she was there to catch me before I could stumble. 

“Is my baby a little clumsy this morning?” she asked, raising an amused eyebrow as she held an arm to my chest, one stair lower than me. 

“I…” I frowned. I felt like I should be concerned about the lack of balance, and the accident for that matter, but it didn’t seem to bother me. “Hold my hand?”  

“Of course.” She stood on tip-toe so she could kiss me on the cheek, then took my hand and helped me down to the first floor. 

We reached the kitchen, and Becky let go of my hand so she could walk to the closet. My heart leapt as I guessed what she was going for, and she came out a moment later with my high chair, unfolding the legs and setting it by the table. 

“Up?” she asked, patting the seat. 

I was more than happy to comply, clambering up into the extra wide seat. “Not that I’m complaining, but why the special treatment this morning?”

“No reason,” she replied, flipping down the tray and moving the simple peg latch so that it wouldn’t shake. “Pancakes, or waffles?” 

“Waffles!” 

I swung my legs and danced my hands on the small tray while my babysitter went about preparing breakfast, mixing the batter, putting coffee on to brew, pouring a glass of orange juice, and finally filling up the waffle iron. 

Setting out a couple plates, she waited for the first waffle to be done, then loaded it up, coating it with a generous helping of whipped cream and a handful of milk chocolate chips over the top before drizzling strawberry syrup over the whole thing. As the waffle iron dinged, she took the second one out, added a pat of butter and a tablespoon of maple syrup. 

“Here you go!” she exclaimed, setting the second plate on my tray with a plastic, kid-safe fork. “Eat up!” 

“Why don’t I get whipped cream?” I complained, looking forlornly at the first waffle, which was practically just dessert. 

“Because,” Becky explained, setting the cup of juice on the tray with it. “Growing babies need to eat healthy.” 

“Growing?” I smirked, looking down at myself. “I don’t think there’s any growing left in me.” 

She giggled, pinching one of my love handles. “Well then, tall, chubby babies should do what their babysitters tell them and not make a fuss.” 

I groaned. “Can I have some coffee, then?” 

“And make you all hyper? Why would I do something silly like that?” She smiled, then paused. “Hmm…” 

“What?” 

She frowned. “I forgot something. Wait here for a couple minutes?” 

“Sure, of course.” 

Becky left the kitchen, and I heard her footsteps on the stairs as she went away. 

A few seconds passed, and I eyed the kitchen counter, where fresh coffee and all the sugary fixings for my breakfast were sitting. It didn’t sound like my babysitter was coming right back. I could help myself while she was gone, and even if she found out later, it wasn’t like I disliked being punished. 

Reaching around the tray, I felt for the peg latch that held it down. Once I had it in my hand, though, I... 

A moment later, I was dancing my hands on the tray on either side of my plate, humming a little tune. 

“Huh?” 

I’d been… trying to get to the counter. All I had to do was get out of the chair and walk over. Reaching for the latch again, I…

I took a sip of the orange juice, then nearly spat it out. “What the heck?” 

I couldn’t undo the latch. I had no idea why, but I couldn’t. Since I wasn’t slim enough to try and wiggle out of the chair, that meant I was stuck, unless I wanted to throw myself to the side and topple the whole thing. 

That would have been too much of a hassle, and my babysitter would have heard me anyways, so there wasn’t any point. Pouting to myself, I cut up a bite of the slightly-syruppy waffle and took a bite. 

I had to admit, even without whipped cream, Becky’s waffles were delicious. I ended up eating the whole thing in a handful of bites, and getting a little syrup on myself in the process. 

By the time I could hear her return, I’d finished the waffle, and drunk most of the juice. 

“I’m back!” Becky declared in a singsong, carrying a large, white bib in her hand. “I didn’t want you to drip on your onesie, so- oh! You already ate.” 

“I was hungry, it was yummy,” I shrugged. 

She glanced at the coffee pot, which was as full as it had been, and the whipped cream can, which hadn’t moved. “Well, you’re a very good baby for eating just like I told you, but I’d hate for the bib to go to waste since I spent all that time finding where I’d put it. Do you want seconds?” 

“Of course.” 

She tied the bib around my neck, poured fresh batter into the waffle iron, and ate for a few minutes while the batter cooked. She was done eating by the time the waffle was done cooking, and when she took my plate, I was surprised to see that she went for the whipped cream. 

“Really?” I asked, excitement plain in my voice. 

She winked over her shoulder at me, loading up the waffle like she’d done with her own. “I thought you deserved a treat for being so obedient while I was gone.” Walking over the plate, she took my fork, cut up a bite, and held it up. “Open wide?” 

She fed me the whole thing, one bite at a time, getting no shortage of whipped cream and strawberry syrup all over my face. When my plate was clean, she wiped me up with the bib, undid it, and finally undid the latch. 

I wanted to tell her that I hadn’t been able to undo the latch, but that would mean admitting that I hadn’t been as obedient as I’d initially suggested. I decided to bring it up later. 

As soon as I got to my feet, she took me by the hand, leading me back up the stairs. I wasn’t sure where we were going, but the rest of the morning had been fun and I wasn’t about to start arguing. I toddled behind, my balance still as poor as it had been, as she led me into the play room. 

“I’ve got some work to do,” she said. “So I’m going to put on some cartoons for you to watch for a little while. Okay, baby?” 

“Eh,” I shrugged. “I might play Animal Crossing then, or just screw around on the internet. I’m not sure I want to watch cartoons right now.” 

Becky giggled. “You’re too little for those things! It’s adorable that you want to play like you’re a big kid, though.” Reaching up, she tapped her index finger against my nose, adding in a high tone, “Boop!” 

I opened my mouth to complain, then shut it and turned beet red as I felt sudden weight and mass start to fill up the seat of my diaper. The squelchy sounds and crinkling were more than enough of a tell on their own, even if the back of my onesie hadn’t actually bulged out in response to my sudden, inexplicable mess. 

“I-” I stammered, confused and embarrassed. “Um… I…” 

Becky wrinkled her nose a little and smirked up at me, but she didn’t comment on what had just transpired. Instead, she reached for the TV remote, turned it on, and said, “Have fun, baby! I’ll be back in a couple hours to check on you.” 

“But…” I started, glancing up at the screen. Nick Jr. was on, the same channel as always, and as soon as I looked at the cartoon that was playing, it had my full attention. 

I plopped down onto the floor, vaguely aware of my mess flattening and smushing in my diaper, but most of all I was fascinated by the show that was playing. Becky ruffled my hair, then I heard the door shut as she left me be. 

It was unclear how much time passed, or exactly when my thumb went into my mouth. At some point I had to pee, and since I was already in a diaper and I didn’t want to get up or look away from the show, I just wet my diaper. 

When Becky returned, I was in the middle of an episode of Paw Patrol and I didn’t look up. 

“Hmm,” she mused from behind me, stepping into the play room and shutting the door. “Do I smell a stinky baby?” 

“Huh?” I asked, turning my head so that she was in my peripheral vision without looking away from the TV. 

“I said, do I smell a stinky baby?” she repeated, smiling down at me. 

“Uh… I dunno.” I turned my full attention back to the show. 

Becky crouched behind me, reaching back to squeeze the seat of my diaper. It squelched, and I wriggled in discomfort, but I kept watching my cartoons. Still apparently unconvinced, Becky worked her hand under my onesie, popping the snaps, and folded it up so she could pull back the waistband of the diaper and confirm. 

“Yup!” she declared. “That is one extra smelly baby. I think it’s time you had a diaper change.” 

“No!” I protested, not wanting to get up. “I’m busy!” 

“Sure you are, stink bug,” she said, tugging on the waistband of my diaper as though it were a leash. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

I followed the pull, though there was little force behind it, getting to my feet and shuffling backwards as she pulled me away from the TV. I tried to dig in my heels, but the single finger she had hooked around the back band of my full diaper was too strong for me to resist, and I could only backpedal wildly while trying to keep the TV screen in my line of sight. 

Only once she had me up on the changing table did I stop trying to pull away, and once I was lying back she walked over to the screen and pressed the ‘off’ button, killing the playful sounds of children’s television. 

I blinked, momentarily wondering what I’d found so fascinating, but then my babysitter was standing over me, studiously working to change my diaper. A shower would have been more efficient, but this was more fun, and after some light teasing over how smelly I was, Becky got me clean, powdered, and in a fresh diaper. 

“Now,” she said, snapping my onesie shut as I lay on the quilted changing pad. “I think a certain baby was just a little fussy earlier. Is someone feeling cranky?” 

“No,” I said, sheepishly. “I just… the cartoons…” 

She arched an eyebrow down at me. “Uh-huh. The cartoons you didn’t want to watch?” 

There was no good response. “Uh… yeah. Those.” 

“Right, then, I think it’s time this baby had a little nap.” 

I sat up, alarmed. “But I’m not tired!” 

“Sure you aren’t. Fussy, cranky, complaining about every little thing - all symptoms of a tired baby in need of a nap.” 

Crossing my arms, I insisted, “Really. I’m not tired at all.” 

She shrugged. “How about this. You lie down for five minutes. If you’re still not tired, I’ll come get you. Fair?” 

I thought about it for a minute. “If I don’t fall asleep in five minutes, can I finally have some coffee?” 

Becky laughed. “Sure, baby. That sounds okay.” 

I stood up, following my babysitter as she led me by the hand to my crib. It was all for show. I wasn’t tired at all. She tucked me in, pushing the blankets up to my chin and making sure I was properly cozy. 

“Five minutes,” Becky repeated. “I’ll have the baby monitor turned on so I can hear you. Okay?” 

I bobbed my head in agreement. “Okay.” 

She slid the side of my crib up into place, did the latches, and smiled at me. “Have a good nap, baby.” 

“I would, but…” I yawned, deeply. “I’m not… tired…” 

My babysitter switched off the lights and left the door open just a crack. 

I wasn’t tired, but it wouldn’t hurt to close my eyes… just for a minute. 

When I fell asleep, a couple seconds later, I was smiling. 

 

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These characters appear in another story, "Becky and the Brat", which is a Patreon exclusive and will not be posted on DeviantArt. If you want to read it, subscribers can find it here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/becky-and-brat-36918548

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