Chapter 1

Rebecca — Unhappy Awakenings

I was laying in a hospital room, partly sedated and partly sick when I finally came to grips that I had made a terrible mistake. The police had brought me to the hospital, where a nurse had taken swabs of my face and vagina and examined me thoroughly. I remember her saying that by some miracle my hymen was actually intact, but that there were definitely signs that I had been involved in sexual activities earlier. I did not know where the Fosters were at that moment, but somehow I knew I would be facing them again someday.

My name is Rebecca O'Neill. Well, that is the name I have used since I was one, and after my mother left my stepfather when I was seven, he adopted me. I was happy because his son was already my idol. In school when all my friends would complain about their brothers, I always kept quiet. Early on they laughed at me when I told them that my brother was the best, and I found that none wanted to believe me when I talked about him.

I never asked why he was so nice to me though. He was endlessly patient and caring, helping me cope with having no mother, and his, now our, often absent father. He helped me with homework, encouraged me in sports and dancing, and took care of me despite only being a few years older himself.

By the time I was eleven and my friends started to talk about boys, I noticed that none of the kids in my class seemed to impress me. However, my brother's absentminded smiles and hugs never failed to reduce me to jelly. I worried about this until the Leclercs moved in next door and I started spending time with Monique.

Monique is a surprisingly mature girl. Some might call her wise beyond her years, but to me, she has become my best friend and confidant. It was her suggestion that we purchase and start wearing two-piece swimsuits by the pool. It was also her maturity and patience that convinced her mother to allow us to have a sleepover at my home during a week my father was away on business, although Monique was very surprised when I insisted that my brother Jason cook for everyone.

I think that it was the cooking that night which cemented our friendship.

Monique was stunned by the quality of the food my brother produced and equally stunned when she found out that I usually liked to help around the kitchen. She soon was a regular participant in helping; especially as neighbors took to asking Jason to cook for barbeques and parties.

With Monique as my best friend, the last three years have seemed to fly by. Jason continued to watch over me, and did everything from offer good advice, to sitting patiently and editing English papers I wrote for class. Despite all the time pressures of high school and his many activities, he always had time for me, and I appreciated that.

Sadly, December of his senior year, the Fosters moved into the neighborhood. I know most people would say that a married couple with two children under the age of seven should not be a problem, but now that I am lying in this hospital bed, I question everything I knew about them.

George always claimed to be a highly paid acquisition and procurement specialist.

Obtaining the rare and valuable for the elite was his self-professed motto. Tamara stayed at home mostly, but both George and Tamara seemed to need to go out several times a week, and both Monique and I were asked to baby-sit on a regular basis.

The first few times were mundane. The Fosters children, six-year-old Bethany, and three year old Wendy, were sweet, quiet girls who never caused a problem. Sitting for them usually involved spending an hour or two studying while they played a quiet game or watched TV, and then assisting them in their evening baths and brushing of teeth before bed. They would be in bed by nine, and the Fosters usually arrived home before ten to pay and send me home.

It was in January when for the first time Tamara spent some time talking to me after paying. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now that I reflect on the talk she expertly directed the conversation to boys and boyfriends. I never admitted who, but she did get me to blushingly admit that there was a boy I was crazy about.

Throughout January, Tamara would stick around and chat with me before and after I baby-sat for the Fosters. She loved to gossip about men and ways to interest them.

When I blushingly admitted that the one bikini I owned was closer to a tankini, she laughed and told me that while a bikini was nice, the goal was to use lingerie to get a man going. "Get yourself some hot panties and a short skirt, and when you stumble at just the right moment, he'll be interested," she told me with a laugh. I ended up blushing all the way home, but George and Tamara seemed so into each other that I had to wonder if she was telling the truth.

As I continued baby-sitting into February and March, Tamara started showing up to the door while she was still preparing to leave. I would arrive and she would come to the door wearing some lacy creation that clearly was not intended for public viewing.

She seemed to enjoy my reactions to the outfits, and over time the outfits seemed to contain less and less material.

I should have realized what was going on, but Tamara never made an openly sexual move, so I dropped my guard. In April, they changed gears a bit and while Tamara continued to meet me at the door wearing nearly nothing, George would now and then sit with me and discuss relationships. At first, it seemed just as casual as Tamara's talks from a few months before, however, in the last week of April he dropped an offer to help me catch the guy I wanted and I accepted without asking what he meant.

It turned out that on that particular night, Tamara had taken the children to her sister's earlier in the day, which should have been a huge warning to me, as George quickly made it clear that his help would include teaching me about sex and dressing like Tamara.

I want to cry when I think about all I did during May. I never allowed George to touch my pussy, but every night I baby-sat for the Fosters, I would give him at least two blowjobs, and allow Tamara to lick me to orgasm. The funny part was he insisted that I keep repeating, "Rebecca loves her master. Rebecca obeys her master. Rebecca will do anything for her master." I was expected to say that anytime I did not have his cock in my mouth, and as you can imagine I soon found myself thinking it even while not baby- sitting.