Hypnotizing the Babysitter
Chapter 1

Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Mind Control, Hypnosis, Heterosexual, Fiction, Light Bond, First, Anal Sex,

Desc: Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A lonely man hires a young woman as a live-in babysitter, and then begins to wonder about the source of her psychological fixation on hypnosis and submission.

This is a chronicle of the most important two weeks of my life. First things first, though. I should warn you about this story. For, while the title is certainly accurate ... and while this tale really IS about me hypnotizing the babysitter ... and while it really IS about how this girl's head was filled with all sorts of enticing and passionate suggestions ... and while it IS about how these suggestions led her to engage in extremely arousing and exotic sexual relations with me ... I feel obligated to inform you that this story is NOT actually about what you THINK it's about.

Now that you've been properly cautioned, and if you are so inclined, I invite you to read on.

MAY 19th

I was a wreck. I hadn't been out of the house in months. Well, not except for the normal, non-entertainment reasons. I dropped off my daughter at pre-K and picked her up from daycare on most days. And, I shopped for groceries and clothes and shoes for my little Tina. And, I still ran 5K twice a week during breaks in my schedule. But I hadn't been OUT, if you know what I mean.

I got these weird, wild, off-the-wall ideas in my head, for some reason. And that's what had happened that evening. I decided I HAD to get out of the house. Get out anywhere. I arranged for our regular babysitter, a young tenth grade high school student that was the daughter of a guy who did small plumbing jobs in town. (And before you get ideas that I was destined to wind up stalking this underage little gal, I should mention that this was NOT the babysitter our story is about. You'll meet her soon enough.) I was walking in the general direction of a bar that used to be a favorite of my wife. She was in Portland, so there was no danger of running into her there.

Almost as an afterthought, I realized that I probably didn't have enough money, and I started digging in my pockets in order to take financial stock of the evening. I had a twenty and a five. The sitter would take care of the twenty ... I'd HAVE to pay her for two hours, minimum. I racked my brain. Monday. It was $4 domestic bottled beer night. I could just make it ... for one beer, plus a tip. Tomorrow, the auto-payment on the credit card would take effect, and I'd be solvent. God, this was the pits. (Of course, things weren't really THAT bad. I could always dip into my savings account or increase my credit limit, the way my card company tried to get me to do three or four times every year. But that would be admitting defeat; and if I could just hold out ... if I could just make ends meet a little while longer ... I was SURE things would come my way.)

I started to feel the world closing in on me again. My heart began hammering in my chest. Crap! I stopped and leaned heavily against a tree only five houses up the street from my own.

"Evenin', Reggie. You okay?" The question floated out toward the street from the darkened porch.

I straightened myself upright. "Hi, Sam. Yeah, just resting. Nice night."

There was a hesitation. "Sorry to hear about you and Rita."

I kept the sigh out of my voice. I didn't know if he could see my shrug. "It happens. Catch you later, Sam."

"G' night, Reggie."

I walked on toward the waterfront. In all my born days, I never, ever could have imagined that I would be prone to panic attacks. I'm a big guy, athletic, strong ... and, I like to think, stable. When a problem presents itself, I always step back a pace and judge my options. Calm. Self-assured. A good man. A good father. For a long while there, I had been a good husband.

My heart rate was steadying out, and I took a deep breath. There was little doubt what was causing this. The psychiatrist knew. I knew. But knowing didn't seem to make it any better.

Nine months ago, I had left home on a business trip. The first leg of any travel entailed an hour-and-a-half drive to either Portland or Boston to catch a plane. On this particular day, my flight had been cancelled, and the next one on the schedule would have put me into Denver too late for my meeting. So, after conferring with my office, I'd driven back home ... where I found my wife and her best friend's husband in our bed. I'd never seen it coming. Didn't have a clue.

There had been individual counseling and couple's counseling and marriage counseling. I'd gotten a shrink and a specialist to help with the horrible insomnia ... which had led eventually to the panic attacks. But, like I said, knowing what causes something doesn't always mean it's going to go away.

And, eight weeks before this (the start of our story), Rita had dropped the next bombshell. Oddly, though, this time, it didn't seem to faze me. The bad marriage wasn't a result of the infidelity, she said. Rather, the infidelity was the result of a bad marriage. It wasn't my fault, she explained. (WHY do women always say that?) She simply didn't love me. She hadn't loved me for a long, long time, now. She wanted out. And, like always, I stepped back a pace and judged my options. Fine. Whatever. Let's get this over with and get on our lives. I just didn't care anymore.

We didn't fight. We didn't even get lawyers. We did it through something called "Divorce Mediation." She floored me by suggesting that I keep primary custody of little Tina AND the house. She'd simply sign her share over to me. She only wanted our daughter two days a week and every other weekend. It took me awhile to see her reasoning behind this. We had moved to Maine to be close to HER family. There was really nothing to keep me there after the split unless I kept the residence and promised to raise our daughter in it. She figured that giving me the house would do that, and she'd always have easy access to her child while living near her family.

It was a BIG place; six bedrooms, four bathrooms, and it was on the National Register of Historic Places; some treaty had been signed there the better part of two centuries before. It had been hard getting the house in the first place, financially; but she was a doctor and I earned even more than she did. We'd gotten it while the economy was down; and now that times were better, houses in our little seaside tourist town were skyrocketing in value. (A couple movie stars had bought places there.) I figured I could just swing it economically on my own, but financial plans never work out the way we hope; and now I was "house-poor." Without access to her salary, after the mortgage payment, taxes, insurance and utilities, I was literally living from paycheck to paycheck.

I walked into the bar portion of the pierside restaurant, greeted the bartender, and ordered my bottle of Sam Adams as if I actually had more to spend than the fiver I slapped down on the bar. We chatted awhile. He told me it was a shame about Rita. I'd almost perfected my sad-smile-and-shrug routine. "It happens," I told him.

It was warm for May, and I took my bottle and drifted toward the tables outside. While tourist season would officially begin with Memorial Day in less than a week, there were only locals present and the place was sparsely populated. I was actually beginning to think I was going to be allowed to sip my beer unmolested when both Tod and Teri Ramsey barked my name in unison from a small table near the railing. I contemplated how I could get out of sitting with them, and couldn't figure any solution. I realized I shouldn't have tried going out yet. It was too soon. I pasted on my bravest face, went over and sat down.

They offered their condolences about the breakup, pushed gently for juicy details they could pass on to the local gossip mill, but mainly settled for my nondescript answers. We talked about the kids ... their two boys and my daughter ... and about upcoming events. I was immensely sad to realize that, in lieu of talking, I had been drinking, and now my beer was empty. It was early yet to be heading home, but there was really nothing else to keep me there. However, when I tried to make my excuses and leave, they both protested to the extent that I just sat there, pretending there was still something in the bottle. Without meaning to, I started talking about the house and its associated expenses. I even mentioned that the simple luxury of having a babysitter was more than my budget would allow nowadays.

Teri got a look in her eye that was something between devious mischief and determined resolution; then she got up from the table and headed inside without a word of explanation. I turned a questioning gaze toward Tod, but he just shrugged, indicating that there was no attempting to explain women. She returned with another round of drinks, set them on the table and announced that neither of us was to go anywhere until she returned. And then, she left.

Very strange. Tod only added to the weirdness when he pointed toward the drink Teri had left in front of her own place at the table. "She NEVER drinks wine coolers," he commented. The conversation lagged, and he eventually began lamenting the state of the greens on the country club golf course. After what I deemed a long, long time, I began counting, silently. When I got to a hundred, I resolved, I was going to leave, no matter what he said.

And just as I reached 95, a young woman was suddenly standing at the table. Tod was immediately startled out of his musings about the local links. "Dawn! What are you doing here? Are the kids okay?"

The lady looked down upon us with a great deal of interest. She didn't answer immediately, and seemed to be studying me intently. Finally, she turned to my partner and said: "The children are fine, Tod. Teri is with them." And she returned her scrutiny to me.

Under the circumstances, I didn't feel too self conscious studying her, as well. She was not a pretty girl. She was rather "big boned;" that is to say, she was tall and about thirty pounds overweight. She was obviously Asian in heritage. Her black hair hung long and limp, unkempt, down past her broad shoulders. Her eyes were wide-spaced and intelligent, and her complexion was clear; though her mouth was a little too small and her nose a little too broad to fit any definition of beauty. Her whole face was a contradiction in symmetry. Despite her size, she wore a sweatshirt that was much too large for her, and I immediately surmised that this was to hide the fact that her breasts were ... well, they were much more than generous, if you catch my meaning.

"Won't you sit down, Dawn?" I asked, trying to break the silence.

This seemed to shock her. "Um ... thank you." She pulled out the chair that Teri had left and sat, still regarding me openly.

"Do you like wine coolers?" I asked her. "We seem to have one that's going to waste."

Again, my words appeared to startle her. "Uh ... thank you. I love wine coolers." She twisted off the cap of the bottle and poured it into the glass of ice before her.

"Dawn is Teri's cousin," Tod explained to me hesitantly. "She's ... uh ... staying with us for awhile."

She waited for the effervescence to die down for a moment before pouring the remainder of the small bottle into the glass, and then she returned her attention to me. "Are you Mr. Torrance?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered, bemused by this whole scenario. "Please, call me Reggie."

"This is for you," she told me, handing me an envelope. I had no idea where it came from. She wasn't carrying a purse. I took it automatically. It wasn't sealed, and inside was a single sheet of copy paper with one inked paragraph in a woman's neat hand which had obviously been written in haste:


I believe that my cousin Dawn might be the answer to your immediate problem. She's looking for a place to stay. She's absolutely amazing with children. She's helped us out by watching Tod-Junior and Tony from time to time. You've got all that room in that big old house of yours ... and unless things have changed dramatically, you could save a bundle by having her watch Tina instead of paying for daycare."

I read it through twice while Dawn studied me intently. "Do you know what this says?" I asked her. When she gave her head a little negative shake, I handed it to her.

She glanced at it for perhaps four seconds, then she solemnly put it down on the table in front of her. "Well," she said softly, quietly, sadly.

Tod snatched it up and studied it for a long time. Despite myself, I had already done the math. Three hundred fifty bucks. Rita paid half, but with the summer coming and full-day day daycare costs facing us while I worked in my home office, my savings would still be $350!

"Dawn," Tod said seriously. "Don't let my wife pressure you into something you're not ready to do. You're family. You are welcome to stay with us for as long as you like."

"No," the woman answered without looking at him. She kept her attention on me. "I've overstayed my welcome. I should leave." She hesitated. "What do you say, Mr. Torrance? Can I offer you my services in exchange for room and board?"

She tried to keep her gaze steady and unwavering, but when I smiled at her, she blushed and looked down. "Please, call me Reggie," I repeated.

"No," she answered quietly. "I won't. I'd like to keep it formal, please. Do you mind?"

I contemplated her. "Have I offended you somehow?"

That made her look up into my eyes. "No!" She hesitated again. "I mean ... no, you haven't! You mustn't think that! It's just that ... that ... I have a problem with authority."

I sat back, shocked. A glance in Tod's direction didn't help. His mouth was hanging open, and he was obviously stunned. "A problem with authority? That doesn't make any sense," I told her gently.

"Please," she whispered imploringly. "Don't ask me to explain; but please ... allow me to do that, at least. It's all I'll ask of you, I promise: just that one little indulgence."

"Indulgence," I muttered. She was looking down again. When she first walked up to the table, nothing seemed to be able to keep her gaze off of me. Now, she appeared completely unable to make eye contact. She was forced to look up, however, when her peripheral vision saw my outstretched hand. "It's a deal," I told her. "I'll see you tomorrow. Do you need help moving your things?"

She was looking down again as she shook my hand. "No, sir. I only have one suitcase. I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you, sir."

MAY 22nd

It was absolutely astonishing how quickly she became part of our household. That first night, while I was putting her to bed, Tina asked me imploringly if we could "keep her." They had become "bestest friends," she explained.

Having just turned four years old, my daughter was distressingly into all the things I loathed when it came to little girls. Disney princesses, mermaids, fairies, the color pink, ribbons, stuffed animals and baby dolls. Everything the Industrial Entertainment Empire told us little girls SHOULD like ... well, that's what she liked. It's not that I was having "little boy envy" or anything; it's just that I wanted to raise an individual and not just another "girly-girl."

But damn, she was cute.

Dawn, seemingly, couldn't care less what my philosophy was. If Tina wanted to play "princess dress-up," then that's what they did. And my new "babysitter" did it in such a way that my daughter was almost instantly in her thrall. Dawn never spoke down to her. With the exception of kneeling or sitting to "put them on the same level," she spoke to the little girl as an equal. She would often explain confusing words in terms that a four-year-old would instinctively understand. They would read book after book, take long walks together or sit under the tree in the back yard and just talk. By the end of the second day with us, Tina was insisting that Dawn read to her at bedtime, kiss her goodnight, tuck her in.

During Tina's "alone playtime," Dawn cleaned the house, did the dishes and laundry, and tidied up. No amount of protest on my part made her stop these little extracurricular exercises. I hadn't realized how I'd let the place go until I saw her working. After Rita moved out, I had immersed myself in my work. Funny thing about work ... the more you do, the more everyone EXPECTS you to do. I simply hadn't realized until now how much I'd neglected everything else.

During Tina's naptime and after bedtime, Dawn closed herself up in her bedroom with her laptop and cell phone. She explained to me that she worked "part time" as a "tech rep," but when I queried her about this outside work, she quickly steered the conversation in other directions, and I hadn't found out what it was. I heard her through her door, though, often speaking quite earnestly about something. Whoever she spoke to, she called "sir." These calls were always rather brief, and never lasted more than half an hour. Also, I noted, they never called her ... the calls were only placed when she had time to make them. In fact, nobody ever called her.

It was late that night, the third day that she'd been with us, that I heard a slight tapping on my bedroom door. I sleep in the nude, and I was reading an old novel, the blanket pulled up just past my waist; so I called out for her to come in. She entered, head down, as if she was afraid to look up at me, concerned that she might become embarrassed. She wore some sort of nightshirt which was much too large for her. She let go of the doorknob and stood there, her arms at her sides, one of her hands in a fist, holding something.

"Please, sir. Do you have a moment? I'd like to talk to you."

I sighed. "There's nothing I can say to you to make you stop calling me 'sir, ' is there?"

"No, sir," she whispered.

"Because you have a problem with authority," I finished.

"Yes, sir."

I regarded her curiously and let the silence stretch on awhile. When it became obvious that she would say nothing else until I spoke again, I said: "You happen to have caught me in a slightly indecent condition."

That made her look up, and she gasped loudly, blushing crimson, as if the sight of a man's bare chest was beyond the capacity of her senses.

I laughed at that. "Oh, for crying out loud, Dawn, relax. What's on your mind?"

After a long, indecisive pause, she took a step toward me, paused again momentarily, and finally walked all the way to me. Her very large, unencumbered breasts moved enticingly beneath the fabric of her shirt, and her face was constantly flushed as she made her way resolutely to the side of my bed, where she sat, her hands in her lap. Making sure I stayed covered up, I scooted over a little to make room for her.

"You don't sleep," she said softly.

I cleared my throat. "Um ... I've been struggling with insomnia for awhile now. I'm sorry; have I kept you awake?"

"What are you taking for it?" she asked, ignoring the question. I pointed absently to several prescription bottles, all with their childproof caps, sitting on my bedside table. She picked them up and glanced at them, each in turn, before setting them back down. "Pretty powerful stuff," she commented.

"They'd be better if they actually worked," I said morosely. "You're familiar with them?"

She nodded. "Three of them. I had that problem myself, not long ago." She let the comment hang for a few moments. "I found something better."

" ... Which you have in your hand," I commented.

She looked down at her closed fist, then straightened her fingers and offered the item to me in the palm of her hand. I didn't take it. It was a necklace ... a sparkling, clear gem on a thin gold chain.

"I'm not really into homeopathic medicine," I told her. "You really believe that wearing a magic necklace will help me sleep?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Hypnosis," she said simply. "I use self-hypnosis."

I tried not to show her the utter disbelief I felt about her opinion, but I must have conveyed something, because she looked suddenly startled and unhappy. I sighed. "Let me get this straight. You hold that thing up and stare at it, and it puts you to sleep?"

"No, sir. Not anymore. All I have to do now is just THINK about it, and I go out like a light." She studied my eyes, then lowered her gaze again, dejectedly. "If only you'd let me show you, sir. If only you'd try it, just once. If only..." She looked up again imploringly. "If only you'd let me help you!"

I smiled at her. "Sure, Dawn. How do you want to do this?"

She wiped a tear from her left cheek and studied me intently. "Really?"

I shrugged. "Why not? What have I got to lose?"

She leapt to her feet, glanced around quickly, and fled to the bathroom, where she turned on the light and closed the door until there was just a sliver of light streaming into the room. She hurriedly closed the bedroom door leading into the hall and snapped off the overhead light; and then finally, she clicked off the lamp at my bedside. "Lie back, sir" she ordered. "Lie down flat."

I grinned at her urgent persistence; then, careful not to let the covers creep down below my waist, I slid down and positioned myself on my back, my head on a pillow. Without a word, she held the dangling jewel above my face, and I was astounded as it shattered the white light from the bathroom into hundreds of dancing, colored fragments.

"Is that a diamond?" I asked.

"It's a crystal," she replied quietly. "Now, please, sir, no more talking. Just listen. Listen and relax for me." I nodded. "Please, sir. You must relax. Take a deep breath for me. That's it. And now, take another breath as you relax, more and more. Just look at the crystal and relax."

I mused that I probably WOULD fall asleep soon, but it had little to do with either the gem or her soothing mantra. I was very tired, having only gotten a couple hours rest the night before; and I had just resolved to turn out the light and try to sleep when she had knocked on my bedroom door. Still, if I allowed myself to drift off while she was doing this, it would probably make her feel better, believing that she had helped me.

"Relax," she whispered softly. "You should know what it feels like to fall asleep while you're watching the crystal, sir. This is what I feel like, every night when I imagine the crystal and relax. Relax. I get SO tired. So tired, just watching the crystal and relaxing. Do you feel that, sir? Feel tired while you relax?" I found myself nodding, though I hadn't meant to. "That's the way I feel," she continued. "SO tired, and SO relaxed. And now, you're probably noticing that you feel a little dizzy, watching the crystal spinning lazily. SO lazy and SO relaxed and SO tired."

I thought about explaining it to her. It was an inner ear thing, actually; watching lights spinning in a darkened room. Had something to do with fluid at rest in the Eustachian tubes while the eyes perceived motion. Hmmm. Probably too much information, I mused. I'd just enjoy the ride while the bed seemed to twist gently under me. I seemed to be floating.

I'm afraid I don't remember a whole lot for awhile after that. She kept muttering about relaxing and deep breaths and being tired and sleepy. At some point, I decided all on my own to close my eyes for awhile, but she seemed to believe that I was doing it because she suggested it. Good for her, I thought. She was trying so hard, and it would bolster her ego a little to think she was responsible for it. I decided to count, since I had nothing better to do. Each number helped me settle into the bed, to just let go for a bit and drift; and it seemed that all of my soothing thoughts and deep breaths and drifting consciousness was taking me lower, lower ... down and down into a relaxation deeper than I had ever experienced.

"You will remember," she told me. "You want to be in charge; isn't that correct? You want to be in control. If you want that, then you can remember this."

I nodded at that. Yes, I WAS in control. It was her that was calling ME sir, after all. "Yes," I said distinctly.

"Then you will remember," she told me, affirming what I already knew. "And ... you will have the power to return to this wonderful, deep, deep level of relaxation, whenever you wish. Simply lie in bed, just as you are doing now, and think of the crystal. Think of nothing else but the crystal and relax, and you can return here whenever you want. Isn't that so?"

"Yes," I answered again, knowing absolutely that it was the truth.

She paused for a long time while I floated, reveling in my control of the situation. Finally, hesitantly, she said: "Um ... sir ... you seem to be ... I mean, are you... ? Uh..." She took a long breath before she got the words out. "Are you ... aroused, sir?"

I frowned at this. I could tell that I was hard, but I hadn't realized that she had been watching me. How could she have seen me? It was very dark. Did I have my eyes closed? Was this a dream? If so, was it an erotic dream?

"I should get up and take a cold shower," I told her resolutely. "That usually helps. I'm damned sorry that you saw me like this." I reached for the covers so I could get up and take a shower, but something seemed to be holding my wrists down.

"I think that you can't get up, sir," she said to me. "You must be asleep. Count to ten for me. If you are asleep, then with each number you count, you will find that your arms are too heavy to move ... and that your body is too heavy to get up. Try that for me and see if I'm right."

I nodded and started counting. I was in charge here, no doubt. Still, I had to concede that she was right. When I finished, I couldn't move my arms, and my whole body seemed to be sunken into the mattress. "I can't get up," I told her morosely.

"Then you can't take a cold shower," she said matter-of-factly.


"Whatever will we do about it, sir?"

I sighed. "Please don't concern yourself. It happens a lot," I told her.

"What do you do about it when it happens?" she asked. "Do you ... um ... you know?"

"Take care of myself?" I frowned. That was really none of her business. And yet ... she seemed be very concerned about me. That was sweet of her. "Sometimes I do," I admitted. "It's not ... the same, though, if you know what I mean. I guess maybe I could." I tried to move my right hand to my groin, but it remained stuck at my side. I sighed. "Then again, I guess not."

"That's alright, sir. Please don't bother trying. I know that you can't move your hands or arms ... and that your body is so relaxed and sunken deep into the mattress, so that you can't move at all, can you?"


I felt the covers being moved down over my erection. I gasped. SHE gasped. "Oh, sir! Oh, gosh, sir!"

I felt myself blushing. "I'm really sorry. My blanket must have slipped," I told her pleadingly.

"That ... that's okay, s ... sir," she faltered. "Please don't worry about it. It's not your fault. There was nothing you could do about it. You can't get out of bed ... and you can't take a cold shower ... and you can't touch yourself. I'LL just touch it a little bit." I felt fingers wrap around my shaft, and I moaned. "Gosh, sir," she continued, "you're really, really hard. And you're awfully big, sir. I didn't realize..." She squeezed gently and stroked her hand downward.

"AAAhhhh!" I exclaimed, arching my back.

"Does that feel good, sir?

"Aaahh! God, yes! Oh!"

She let go, and I groaned in disappointment. Then, her fingernails began playing with the sides of my straining shaft, scraping upward, back down. I arched my back again.

"Do you want me to keep going, sir?" she asked quietly.

"I ... I want ... that is, I think that if you do ... Oh, God, Dawn!"

"You'll do what, sir? If I keep doing this, what will you do?"

"AAahh! I'll cum. I'm so sorry. It's been a really long time, you see. If you keep that up, I'm going to cum. Maybe you should stop!"

"Do you want me to stop, sir?" She cupped my balls, pulled them gently, scraped them playfully with her nails, and squeezed them again while grasping me around my cock with her other hand.

"Aaahh! No! No, please! Please don't stop!"

"If you cum, you're going to go to sleep, sir. Do you understand that? If you cum, you're going to go down and down and down into the deepest, most pleasant, restful sleep you've ever had. So deep, that you won't wake up until someone comes and tells you to wake up. You know that, don't you, sir? That is what is going to happen if you cum. And you won't be able to stop the sleep. Knowing that, do you still want me to make you cum, sir?" She began stroking me hard with one hand and kneading my testicles with the other.

"OH! YES! YES, Anything! Please!"

I erupted. Muscles clenched all along the sides of my stomach and my groin and my thighs and my cock and my balls. I have never, ever experienced such absolute, all-encompassing, blissful orgasmic release. It felt as if my cock was larger than it had ever been, and I was a little amazed that her fingers could reach around it. Just as I thought that it must certainly be over, I launched into another gasping, clutching, frantic, spouting explosion.

Dawn seemed just as amazed as I was. "OH!" she shrieked. "Oh, gosh, sir! There's so MUCH of it! Oh, my God! Here it comes again! Golly! It's getting EVERYWHERE!"

I wanted to apologize. I tried to tell her that I was sorry about the mess. I tried to tell her to please, just leave it until morning, and I'd take care of it. But suddenly, I found myself sinking, sinking ... down and down and down ... just like she'd said.

MAY 23rd

I awoke with my daughter jumping atop me, gaily shouting "Wake up, Daddy! Wake up!" It would have been a wonderful, bright, happy morning ... if it had been morning. With a sense of astonished horror, I realized that I had slept the clock around and it was now almost one in the afternoon. After banishing little Tina from the room, I leapt out of bed and pulled on some clothes. The events of the previous evening slowly came back to my increasingly restive mind, and I paused in my frenzy to minutely examine the bed. It showed absolutely no evidence of the bodily fluids I expected to find, nor were there signs of nocturnal emissions on my body. I had almost convinced myself that it was all a dream, when I suddenly remembered that the sheets on my bed were blue yesterday, and now they were green. The laundry room was on my way downstairs, and I interrupted the dryer's cycle by opening its door and peering inside. Blue sheets. So it HADN'T been a dream! Had it?

"Dawn!" I screamed, rushing into the kitchen.

She appeared immediately from the general direction of the play room. Tina was clinging to her left leg, and she'd been laughing. "Yes, sir?"

"Why did you let me sleep so long?" I shouted, gesturing frantically. "I had a conference call at 10:00!"

She looked conciliatory, but it was hard while she was attempting to free her leg from my daughter's grip. "Yes, sir. I know. It was on your calendar. I thought you needed some sleep, so I called Mrs. Confrees and told her that you were feeling bad and had to reschedule."

I stood, absolutely agog, staring at her. "You ... you called Louisa Confrees? You called my department head? How do you even KNOW that name?"

She was shushing Tina, casting doubtful, nervous looks at me. "I figured it out from your computer. I found you in the company directory and then looked up the number of your DH. We rescheduled the teleconference for this afternoon at four. Nobody seemed to mind."

"You ... My computer... ? How... ? That's impossible! My computer's secure!"

"Not very, sir," she said, looking at me the way a teacher looks at an errant schoolchild. "You left your code transponder sitting right next to it. And you should NEVER use your daughter's name as a password!"

"It's NOT her name!" I roared.

"A derivative of it, sir. Took me less than thirty seconds to figure it out."

I was REALLY about to let her have it, but my daughter began pounding on my legs with her tiny fists. "Don't yell at Dawn!" she screamed. She was crying.

Well, shit! I got down on one knee and took her in my arms, soothing her. I made a big show of calmly apologizing to Dawn. The babysitter, for her part, didn't look nearly as guilty as I thought she should have. "How do you feel, sir?" she asked, actually making eye contact.

I stood up, and for the first time since I'd sprung out of bed, I thought about that. I felt ... I felt ... GREAT! I actually felt rested and clear-headed! It had been MONTHS since I'd felt like this! I looked up at her in wonder, and she smiled brightly.

"Actually," I told her levelly, making sure my countenance was stern and condescending, "I'm hungry."

She KNEW, though. She beamed at me, and then she poured me a cup of coffee before cooking me eggs and toast.

This was to be a big day ... an important day; and I was surprised that mousy, demure Dawn didn't show significant signs of stress. She was going to meet my wife. It was the Friday before the Memorial Day weekend, and we had been notified long before that Tina's Pre-K class would be cancelled (along with the Monday holiday, of course). It was Rita's weekend, and she intended taking our daughter to Portland to be with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins for the duration. If the babysitter was nervous about meeting her for the first time, she didn't show it. By five o'clock (after my conference call), Tina's little suitcase was packed (with three changes of clothes and four stuffed animals) and waiting in the foyer.

Tina made a big show of introducing her new bestest friend to Mommy, and if I had expected fireworks, I was disappointed. I was especially flummoxed when Dawn was more than happy to "just call her Rita," but I was careful not to show it. My ex-wife asked (as I half expected) if she could give up her two days during the coming week due to business. I found myself applying more and more pressure for her to keep up her visitation schedule ... not because I felt the need for free time, but because I thought that our daughter should spend as much quality time with her mother as possible. She got a little huffy about it.

"If you don't want to, I'll hire Dawn to watch her!" Rita insisted. She pulled a hundred dollar bill out of her purse and held it out in the babysitter's direction. But to my amazement, Dawn was completely nonplused.

"No, Rita. I'm sorry. I only work for Mr ... uh ... for your husband."

My wife's mouth firmed into a straight line. Instead of commenting, she dug back in her purse and came up with another hundred. She silently held the two bills out in Dawn's direction.

Instead of becoming flustered or angry, the babysitter smiled. "I really don't need the money. Thanks, anyway." She cast a little glance in my direction.

Rita cocked her head and studied the girl. Finally, she let a grin float across her face. "Holy cow, you're in love with him! It's been ... what? Four or five days? And you're head over heels, aren't you?"

THAT had an effect. Dawn staggered back as if she'd been struck; and though she opened her mouth a couple times, she obviously didn't possess the power to form words.

Rita advance a few steps, and for a moment, I had absolutely no idea what was about to happen. But nothing did. My wife laid a gentle hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. That was totally inappropriate. The thought just surprised me, that's all." She let a moment pass. "There are no bad guys in this story, Dawn."

And, with that, she turned back toward me and continued her arguments. There had been a schedule change, and she was going to be in the northern part of the state all week, she explained (she was a pediatrician who worked for the state in Maine's four Native American tribal reservations). Her parents were busy, and they couldn't watch Tina. Neither could her sister. I finally capitulated. Rita got her way. Again. The "no bad guys" comment seemed especially ironic to me.

Then, suddenly, we were alone. Dawn was very sad as she watched the car drive off, and for a few moments, I thought she was about to cry.

"She ... she's ... beautiful," she whispered.

This caught me totally off guard. "Rita?" I thought about the statement and shrugged. "I guess." I let another few seconds tick by. "Actually, not really." My words seemingly had no affect on her. "Let's go out," I told her.

Now she glanced at me sharply. "No! I mean, no sir!" She looked down at herself for a moment, then reached up and fingered her long, scraggly hair. "YOU go, sir. I just downloaded a book I want to read."

I reached out and put my hand on her arm. Her breath caught, but she didn't pull away. "You haven't denied me any request since coming to work for me. Well ... except for the calling me 'sir' thing. Are you going to refuse me now? I want go out with you. Let's get some dinner."

She seemed suddenly panicked. "Sir, I look horrible! I don't have any nice clothes! I..."

In response, I simply opened the front door, held out my hand to her until she finally took it, and then led her outside and up the street. We went to the noisiest bar in town; not one of those near the marina, but the one up on Main Street. I found a booth in a corner that would be farthest from the music when the band began playing, as I knew would be the case on a Friday night. I bought her first one wine cooler and then another while I had martinis, then we split a bottle of Chardonnay with our meals. It was, beyond any doubt, the most pleasant evening I had spent in almost a year.

Before the alcohol began to take effect, she was constantly fidgeting, smoothing her clothes, touching her face and hair; but eventually, she got caught up in the conversation, which, by unspoken consent, never touched on recent events. I told her about growing up in Rapid City; she talked about her childhood in Thousand Oaks, near Los Angeles. She had been adopted through a church-sponsored program from an orphanage in Mongolia. She had never considered herself a real "Valley Girl," due to her appearance; not because of her heritage, but rather because she had struggled all her life with her weight (and a perceived lack of beauty) in a place where all the popular girls were gorgeous, blonde and skinny.

Despite our distance from the dance floor, when the live band struck up, it was difficult to hear; so I got up and sat beside her on one side of the table. We were constantly touching, and half way through the bottle of wine, I think we were both getting comfortable with the intimacy. I tried to think up and relate the most awkward moments of my youth just so I could hear her laugh. And yet, through the entire evening, she always called me "sir."

Halfway home, she stumbled and I caught her before she fell. I offered her my arm, and she clutched it the rest of the way, saying nothing else for the remainder of our walk. Once inside, she smiled and thanked me for a wonderful time, then fled to her room before I could comment. I poured myself a brandy and sat in the living room, thinking about her, trying to puzzle through the feelings I was having and the mystery that was my new babysitter. Maybe I shouldn't have had that brandy. It emboldened me ... imbued me with a false sense of power. She would seemingly do anything I asked her to do (except call me by my first name), and I suddenly wondered where the limits of her obedience were drawn. Resolved to find out, I got up and went to her bedroom door.

I knocked softly but didn't wait for an answer. The room I'd given her had its own attached bath, and she was just emerging from that small inner sanctum. She wore one large yellow bath towel around her body, tucked into itself just above her breasts, and another blue towel wrapped around her hair. She looked up at me, shocked. "Mr. Torrance! What ... What do you want?" She reached up with one hand and clutched the top of the towel near her ample chest and down with the other to tug at the lower part, which barely covered her crotch. She stayed frozen in that pose for several long seconds before lowering her arms slowly to her sides. Somehow, the towel remained protectively around her. I found that I was breathing hard. Was she offering herself to me? "What do you want, sir?" she whispered softly.

I felt that I was at a crossroads here, and I thought that I should fight these feelings. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. "I came to return the favor," I told her matter-of-factly.

She was truly flustered. "Favor?"

"The great night's sleep you helped me with. Where is that necklace of yours?"

Her eyes widened in shock. "M ... My necklace?"

I held out my hand toward her, palm up. "Give me your necklace, Dawn."

She blinked. She took a step in the direction of the dresser, then she gasped and clutched frantically at the top of the towel, catching it just as it slid to the level of her nipples. She looked pleadingly at me, but I'd pasted on my best poker face. My mind, however, was in utter turmoil. Her breasts were even bigger than I'd imagined.

Keeping a firm grasp on the offending towel, she took the final steps to the dresser and retrieved the crystal necklace; but just as she was in the process of handing it to me, the towel around her head unraveled. She tried to catch it with the hand that was at her chest, but that only resulted in the large yellow towel peeling back from both sides of her body. As all the movement finally settled down, the blue towel was puddled at her feet while the yellow one was pinned at the top of the center of her chest with the palm of her left hand. Her right breast was mostly covered, but her left nipple was peeking tantalizingly from the folds of moist cloth. Her sides and back were completely bare. Her right hand had never wavered. It was holding the necklace, offering it to me.

I took it. "Lie down on the bed, please. Cover up with the sheet."

Without comment, she backed up to the bed. Always keeping the towel uselessly between the core of her body and my eyes, she slowly slipped under the covers, and only then did she let the yellow towel drop to the floor. "What are you going to do to me, sir?"

"I'm going to put you to sleep," I said flippantly. "You told me that just thinking about the crystal made you sleep, didn't you?"

She gasped. "You ... you're going to ... going to hypnotize me?"

I tried to look patronizing. "You told me that it was self-hypnosis. You make yourself sleep, don't you? Just thinking about the crystal?"

Her chest was rising and falling tantalizingly. "Yes, sir. Every time. I go to sleep every time."

I shrugged. "Then you'll probably just be hypnotizing yourself. I thought I'd try to help, though. You helped me have a wonderful night's sleep last night. So ... I'll do the same for you. Wouldn't you like that?"

"I ... I ... think that ... that I'd be very ... very..." she stuttered.

"Very ... what, Dawn?"

"Very ... suggestible. I think that I'm very suggestible, sir. When I put myself to sleep at night, I try to think of things that I need to do the next day. I dream about them. And then ... they happen. I make suggestions to myself, and they just happen."

I smiled. "Well, THAT's an interesting concept."

Without giving her further chances at conversation, I held the necklace at its end and dangled the gem above her eyes, which immediately locked onto the sparkling trinket. In only a few seconds, her eyelids sagged noticeably and she jerked suddenly, as if she'd just caught herself in the beginning of a dream of falling. She took a deep, ragged breath. "Oh, golly, sir. You're going to do it. You're really going to do it."

"What do you think about that, Dawn?"

She drifted off again, and again caught herself before she could fall asleep. "I think ... I think ... that you ... could make me do things, sir. I think that you could make me do ... anything."

I said nothing, and watched her as she sagged again to the edge of sleep. This time, however, she shocked me by shaking herself and turning to stare directly at me. "Please, sir!"

"Please what, Dawn?"

"I don't want to remember!"

This really puzzled me. "What?"

"Please, sir! Don't let me remember. You can do things to me. You can make ME do things. You can make me THINK things. But please don't let me remember! You will know ... but I won't! I ... I think ... I think that would be ... wonderful! Please?"

"Watch the crystal, Dawn."

"Yes, sir." Her eyes were now riveted to the sparkling jewel. Slowly, they closed and her head sank to one side, but she struggled valiantly to bring her face back to the crystal. She didn't quite make it. With a soft moan, she just seemed to collapse into profound slumber.

I suddenly realized that I could do anything with her. Anything. I have never experienced such a feeling of raw, unbridled power.

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