My Mistress the Babysitter

I don’t know if you’ve ever had one of those moments where everything just sort of... tips. Like you’re standing on the edge of something and you didn’t even realise you’d walked to the edge until you’re looking down. That was me. That was me standing in my own living room at eleven-thirty on a Tuesday night, half undressed, with my daughter’s babysitter’s hand on my throat.

I should probably start earlier.

My name’s Amanda. I’m twenty-nine. I have a daughter, Beatrix, she’s four and a half and honestly the best thing I’ve ever done. Her father isn’t in the picture, which is fine, it’s actually better that way, he was a mistake I made when I was young and stupid and thought that a man who played guitar in a band that never got gigs was somehow romantic. Turns out he was just unemployed. But I got Beatrix out of it so I can’t be too mad.

I work as a regional manager for a logistics company. It sounds boring, I know, and sometimes it is, but mostly I love it. I love the spreadsheets and the meetings and the way I can walk into a room full of men in suits and they all look at me like I’m in charge, because I am. It pays well. Really well. Enough that Beatrix has her own room in a nice flat and I don’t have to check my bank account before I buy groceries.

But God, it’s a lot. All of it. Every decision, every late night, every time I have to choose between being there for bedtime or finishing a report that’ll be on the CEO’s desk by morning. I’m tired. Not just sleepy tired, but that deep bone tired that makes you want to cry in the shower.

That’s where Lucy comes in. Lucy is twenty-two, fresh out of uni, working on her portfolio or her novel or whatever creative thing she’s doing this month. She’s got brown hair that’s always a bit messy, like she forgot to brush it, and these thick glasses that make her look like a librarian from one of those films where the librarian turns out to be secretly hot. Only Lucy doesn’t know she’s secretly hot, which somehow makes it worse. Or better. I don’t know.

She came to babysit Beatrix about six months ago. Found her through a website, interviewed her at my kitchen table, watched her get down on the floor and play with Beatrix’s dinosaur toys within the first five minutes. Hired her on the spot. Best decision I ever made.

Tuesday nights are my late nights. I usually get home around eleven, sometimes later. Lucy and Beatrix have their routine, dinner and bath and bedtime, and when I get home the flat is quiet and clean and Lucy is usually on the sofa playing one of her video games on her laptop.

That Tuesday, I walked in and dropped my keys in the bowl by the door. My feet hurt. My back was killing me from hunching over a conference table for six hours. My brain felt like someone had put it in a blender.

“Rough day?” Lucy looked up from her laptop.

I made some noise that was supposed to be a word but came out as a groan. I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Wine?”

“Sure, if you’re having some.”

I poured two glasses. We sat on the sofa, her with her laptop closed now, me with my shoes kicked off and my feet tucked up under me. I don’t know why I started talking. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was just that I was so tired of keeping it all in. But I told her about the meeting, about the expansion, about how I’d had to fire this man who’d worked there for twenty years because he just couldn’t keep up anymore and he’d cried, actually cried, in my office, and I’d had to sit there and be professional while my heart was breaking for him.

“And then I come home and it’s like... the decisions don’t stop. What’s for dinner, what’s Beatrix going to wear tomorrow, is she developing okay, am I saving enough for her uni fund, did I remember to pay the water bill...” I took a long drink of wine. “I just want to not be in charge for five minutes, you know? Five minutes of someone else making the decisions.”

Lucy didn’t say anything, just watched me over the rim of her glass. Her eyes looked bigger behind her glasses. Then she said, “Your back hurts?”

I laughed. “What gave it away? The way I’ve been rolling my shoulders like I’ve got a cricket stuck in my shirt?”

She set her glass down. “I could... I mean, if you want. I took some massage courses last year. Thought about becoming a masseuse.”

“Thought about?”

She made a face, this little scrunch of her nose that was honestly adorable. “Turns out I don’t like touching fat men.”

I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my wine. It was probably the funniest thing I’d heard all day. “No, I get that. I really do.”

“And you don’t look like a fat man.” She grinned. About to say something else, but then she must have realised how it sounded, because she went a bit pink. “I mean, you look like someone who needs a massage. That’s all. If you want.”

I should’ve said no. I should’ve said thank you but I’m fine. But my back was killing me and the wine had loosened something inside me and Lucy was looking at me with those big hopeful eyes and...

“Okay,” I said. “Sure.”

She got up and moved to stand behind the sofa. I felt her hands land on my shoulders, and honestly, I nearly melted right there. They were so small, her hands, but strong, and she found the knots in my shoulders like she had a map of them. I let out this sound, this half-hearted groan, and she laughed.

“Is that a good sign?”

“God, yes,” I breathed. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

She kneaded the muscles around my neck, her thumbs pressing into the base of my skull, and I actually felt my brain slow down. Let me tell you, I didn’t realise how much tension I’d been carrying until it started to leave. I closed my eyes. The wine was warm in my belly, Lucy’s hands were on my skin, and for the first time in weeks I felt... cared for. That’s probably weird to say about a massage from your babysitter, but there it is.

I started talking again. The wine really had loosened my tongue. “I’m so tired of it. All the decisions. All the responsibility. I just want to let go. Give everything up. Especially control.”

Lucy’s hands slowed. I felt her lean a little closer.

“I don’t think I’ve ever just... let go,” I continued, my voice going soft. “I’ve always had to be the strong one. The one in charge. But right now, like this, just accepting your hands and giving myself to you without thinking... it feels so good, Lucy. You can’t imagine.”

She didn’t answer. She just moved her hands down my back, to my shoulder blades, working the muscles there. Then she said, “Bend forward.”

It was soft, her voice. Gentle. But it was a command. My body responded before my brain caught up, leaning forward so she could reach better.

“Good,” she murmured. “Now relax.”

I felt my shoulders drop. My whole body loosened. Then, “Raise your chin.”

I lifted my head. My eyes were still closed, but I could feel her there, just behind me, her breath on the back of my neck. My skin prickled.

“Good,” she said again. Her voice had changed, just a little. Not uncertain anymore. Like she’d discovered something.

Her hands moved down, tracing the line of my spine through my blouse, and I shivered. I smelled her perfume then, something cheap and a little too sweet, like vanilla and flowers from a discount shop. But on her it worked. It was getting closer, because she’d moved to get better access, and I could feel the warmth of her body behind the sofa.

I think that’s when I realised what was happening. When her hands moved down my back, so slowly, and I didn’t tell her to stop.

“Can you take your blouse off?” she asked. “So I can reach better.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. My eyes flew open. I was wearing a bra, obviously, a sensible beige one because I was at work today, but still. The thought of her seeing me like that, it made my throat tight.

“Of course,” I whispered. And then, before I could stop myself, “I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know why I apologised. It just came out. But as soon as I said it, I felt this hot flush move through me, because I liked it. Saying sorry. I didn’t understand why, but it felt good.

I started to unbutton my blouse, but before I could even reach the first button, Lucy said, “Don’t. I’ll do it.”

I froze. My hands hovered in the air, useless. I could feel her behind me, waiting. Then I lowered my hands to my lap.

“Okay,” I said, and my voice came out small.

Her fingers came around my sides, and I felt her begin to work at the top button. She was so close now I could hear her breathing, steady and slow, while mine was getting faster. Button by button, she worked her way down. When she reached the part of my blouse where it stretched across my chest, she slowed down. I watched my own chest rise and fall, rise and fall, like I’d been running, and I wondered if she could see how hard my nipples were pressing against the fabric of my bra.

She peeled the blouse off my shoulders. I shivered as the cool air hit my skin, and my arms broke out in goosebumps.

“Oh,” Lucy said, and her voice was lower than before. “You’re beautiful.”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t even look at her. I just sat there, half undressed in my own living room, feeling her eyes on my back and her hands hovering just above my skin. Then she touched me again, and it was completely different now, her skin on my skin, and I made a noise I’d never made before in my life.

“God,” I whispered. “That feels so good, Lucy. I can’t... I miss human touch. I miss being touched. I feel so safe with your hands on me.”

She didn’t reply. Her hands moved down my back, tracing patterns, working the muscles, and then they slid around my sides, her thumbs skimming the sides of my breasts. I stopped breathing. Her hands came up, over the cups of my bra, just resting there. I felt her lean forward, and then her cheek was pressed against mine.

She kissed my cheek. Just a peck, quick and soft, but it sent a shock through my whole body.

“Please,” I whispered, before I could stop myself.

“Please what?” Her voice was soft, right next to my ear.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I wanted to ask for another kiss, but the words got stuck in my throat. I felt stupid, sitting there, my blouse on the floor, my heart pounding, unable to say what I wanted.

Lucy’s hands were still on my bra. She pulled gently, just a little, not enough to move it, but enough for me to feel it. I turned my head, and she turned hers, and we were looking at each other. Her eyes behind her glasses were wide and serious, but her lips were parted, and I could see she was breathing as hard as I was.

“Say it,” she said.

I hesitated. For a second, I thought about pulling away, about laughing it off, about putting my blouse back on and pretending none of this had happened. But another part of me, a bigger part, wanted to fall into it. Into her.

“Please kiss me,” I said, and the words came out in a rush, like water from a broken dam. “Just one kiss. A tiny one. Please take control of me, take care of me, please order me, make me obey you. I need to let go, I need to submit to someone.”

There was a long silence. I could feel my face burning. I’d never said anything like that to anyone in my life, and I’d just said it to a twenty-two-year-old babysitter in my living room.

Then Lucy’s hand moved up, and her fingers curled around my throat. Not tight, not choking, just... there. A reminder. A claim.

I tilted my head back, offering my neck to her, and I saw her eyes darken. Her fingers tightened just slightly, and I felt my pulse fluttering against her palm. Then she leaned forward and kissed me.

Her lips were soft. Softer than I expected. She kissed me like she was asking a question, and I answered by leaning into it, by opening my mouth just a little. The kiss went on for a long time, longer than a first kiss should, and I felt myself sinking into it, into her, into the feeling of being held and controlled and taken care of.

And then, from down the hallway, Beatrix started to cry.

We broke apart like teenagers caught by a parent. Lucy pulled her hands away from my bra like it was burning her. I scrambled for my blouse and fumbled with the buttons, my fingers shaking so badly I couldn’t do them up properly.

“I should... I should go,” Lucy said, gathering her things in a hurry.

“Stay,” I said, but she was already heading for the door.

“I’ll text you about Thursday,” she said, and then she was gone.

I stood there in my half-buttoned blouse, my head spinning, my lips still tingling from her kiss, and I could hear Beatrix crying for me from her room. I tried to pull myself together, but my hands were still shaking, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her fingers felt on my throat. The way I’d begged her. The way she’d kissed me like she’d been waiting to do it for months.

“Coming, baby,” I called, forcing my voice steady. “Mummy’s coming.”