Babypants

Thank you! AARDVARK is meant to be funny in a kind of Rowan & Martin Laugh-In kind of way. Pompous ass wipes like the Dean made me desperate to find an excuse not to attend department meetings!

Thanks for the comment. I wish more people would take the time, because it's interacting with readers that makes the writing experience on this site so enjoyable. Tippi's role in this saga is going to get larger as we move along, with a serious (and hopefully unanticipated) twist in scene 9 of AARDVARK.

JUST THE FACTS, MA'AM When Vickie used her key to enter Sarah's apartment, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. She knew that it would be more than an hour before Sarah got home, but it was possible that Ian and Priscilla would be waiting for her. It all depended on how the hunt for the diaper thieves was going. The apartment was empty. Deciding that she was hungry as well as thirsty, Vickie began rummaging through Sarah's refrigerator, but she found nothing to her liking. The apartment felt as empty as it looked, the only sign of life the chair ominously sitting in the center of the living room. It didn't take a great deal of imagination to realize that this was where Sarah would be administering a spanking, a paddling, or a caning to correct her bad behavior, as well as Ian's. Shrugging her shoulders, Vickie decided to venture upstairs to Ian's apartment. She knew where Sarah kept the spare key, and she knew that his frig and pantry would be a lot more promising. Since they would be packing everything up on Friday, there would be no harm done no matter what she chose to eat and drink. Ian's frig was a treasure chest filled with mysterious delights. She was familiar with prosciutto, and had had her share of Genoa salami, but the man had a love affair with stuffed olives and peppers that clearly did not start in Minnesota. Not for the first time, she wondered where a guy whose car was buried under a snowbank even found this stuff. And what's this? Vickie took the lid off a container with something called Tzatziki, and sniffed the creamy white contents. She had no idea what it was, but it smelled good, so she was willing to give it a try. Made in Greece. Figures … Prowling around in a cupboard, she found a flatbread that looked like it would go well with the gunk. Pita. Isn't that Lebanese, or something? Diving into the refrigerator a second time, she came away with a nicely chilled bottle of rose. Val Verde Winery … Del Rio, Texas. Huh? Who knew they made wine in Texas? Looking around, she spotted a bottle of deep, dark red wine from Jordan squirreled up against the frig, with a lovely set of Waterford wine glasses keeping it company. She grabbed two, thinking to try both wines after she camped out on the living room floor. Fine food and drink, so long as you don't mind roughing it … Vickie had no way to know that Ian had cultivated the habit of eating and drinking well in the jungles of southeast Asia. Guy's been everywhere … Getting down on the floor, leaning back against the couch, Vickie grabbed the phone and called Sarah. . . . . Sarah reached over to turn off the pump, and disconnected the lead from her left breast. She had given it fifteen minutes per teat, just as the lady running the infants and maternity wear shop at the mall had instructed. And there was no getting around the fact that having a machine slurping away at your boobs felt downright weird. She wondered how a woman was ever expected to feel comfortable with so ridiculous a contraption. Probably invented by a man … Sarah answered the phone on the first ring, her sensuous breasts not yet returned to the prison of her functional but plain bra. She made a mental note to add maternity bras to the trio's next shopping trip. Sitting at her desk on the third floor of a busy urban hospital … nude from the waist up … She felt ridiculous. “Hello.” “Mommy, it's me. I'm at Ian's. There's no one here, and no one downstairs. I'm guessing that the diaper thieves showed up, and that he's chasing them down. Has he called?” “No, baby girl, not yet. How's your diapee holding up? Are you wet, poopy, or both?” “I'm a little wet, Mommy, but okay for now. Will you be home soon?” “As soon as Heidi comes in, I'll be coming straight home. You have been a very naughty girl, and you deserve a paddling. If I find you sitting quietly on my living room floor, like a good baby, you will receive ten swats. If you are anywhere else … twenty. Do you understand me, baby girl?” “Yeth, Mommy, I unnerstan. I be good, Mommy, really! Pwese don't paddle me hard!” Sarah hung up. Training Vickie was going to be an incredible challenge, and she was eagerly looking forward to it. . . . . Am I overdoing it, Vickie wondered. Nah … Sarah is really lapping this mommy shit up! Choices … choices … Vickie reached for the bottle of rose. It would go nicely with her Mediterranean hors d'oeuvres; the Jordanian red, she reflected, was best saved for later: a makeshift anesthetic was preferable to no anesthetic at all. Besides, she was extremely fond of a well turned out, rich red wine. . . . . All in all, Ian reflected, it had gone quite smoothly. When it turned out that they were the first to arrive at the sorority house, on the spur of the moment he had asked Priscilla to drop him off in front. He proposed to stand in the driveway while she parked, lights off, on a nearby side street that offered a clear view of the property. When Tippi and her friend showed up and their brake lights came on, that would be her cue to charge in with siren blaring and lights flashing. The skeptical look on Priscilla's face told Ian that she didn't think much of his plan, but rather than argue with him, she settled for sensibly suggesting that he find a patch of light on the driveway and stand in it. He was wearing dark clothing, she pointed out, and might not be spotted before he was run over. The resulting paperwork would be a nightmare. Ian had grinned, and stolen a quick kiss. Whatever else they were, Priscilla Canon and Ian Grady were, as they say south of the border, simpatico. Narrowly avoiding a brush with the bumper of Cindy Carlson's car, Ian played the innocent bystander while Priscilla, supported by two other officers, carried out the arrests under the watchful eye of campus police chief Walt Mischof. Julia's loudly beeping transmitter made it clear to all that the stolen diapers were in the trunk of Cindy's car-- and made it patently clear to Tippi Bjornsen that the jig was well and truly up. Both girls confessed, and much to the delight of a steadily growing crowd of frat boys from the surrounding houses, were cuffed and hauled off to spend the night in a cold and drafty cell. Arraignment, and a pleading before a municipal judge, would come in the morning. Unless Ian could shut it all down first. At the house mother's urging, the Chief set up a temporary command post in her office. From there, with Bernice Miller's approval, he ordered his officers to fan out and thoroughly search the public areas for the stolen diapers. These were quickly located in a corner of the basement, most of them still in their unopened Lullaby Diaper Service bags. Once they were photographed, the substantial hoard of baby and adult diapers were hauled into the dining room, where in due course the sorority would be assembled to confront the stolen fruits of their collective labor. From Ian's point of view, it was fortunate that a time consuming search for accessories to the crime next got under way. The otherwise bored cadre of campus cops (it was a Wednesday night, after all) were tasked to interview each and every one of the sorority house's fifty odd residents, not all of whom happened to be home at the moment. For example, Janis Marsden showed up when the proceedings were barely under way, praying that her heavily diapered state would go unnoticed. In fact, on a night when the campus cops were breaking up a gang of diaper thieves who had been terrorizing the city (tune in to your local news at ten, brought to you by WPPP's very own Lyle Gunderson and Amy Kinkaid), it was Janis' sheer bad luck that a young woman waddling like an overgrown toddler was going to be noticed by everybody. Cracking under the pressure of a roomful of unforgiving stares, Janis had broken down and confessed. Having been placed under arrest for her daring theft of hospital diapers, she was currently being detained in her room. No one had got around to removing her diaper and baby pants, but it had to be done: the hardened criminals with whom Janis would soon be sharing a cell could use such deadly weapons to unleash a murderous rampage. After due consideration, Chief Mischof opted to delegate the task to Officer Canon on the reasonable assumption that she was the only female officer present with a track record of changing wet and possibly poopy adult diapers. This left Bernice, the Chief, Ian and Julia sitting around a coffee table in Bernice's office. For Ian and Julia, the moment was awkward in the extreme. Ian had made love to Julia's daughter mere hours earlier, and hoped to make love to her again before the night was out. What was one supposed to say to the Mom at moments like this? For her part, Julia had absolutely no idea what to say to an undercover government agent whom she suspected was banging her daughter. Wisely, they decided to ignore one another. I'd like to take Priscilla home, but that might be a tad awkward, given that she lives with her parents … I wonder if he speaks Farsi … shipping him off to Iran would at least buy us some breathing space ... I most definitely do not want to take her to one of those seedy motels up the street. Probably half the girls in these houses lost their virginity in those dumps. Wonder if they give a discount to sorority girls scalping members of the faculty … There's got to be something we can arrest him for … is it against the law to change his diapers in a public setting? Oh, damn it, wait … my daughter is the one changing him! “Sorry about all this, Bernice,” Chief Mischof said sympathetically. “If the Dean catches it on the news at ten, your visit to his office tomorrow is going to be pretty awkward. Hope you don't lose your charter.” Bernice shook her head in despair. “I don't understand any of this,” she lamented; “stealing diapers … what is the matter with these girls? I swear, Walt, I've been doing this for twenty-five years, and this is the worst it's ever been. Half these girls shouldn't even be here; they're wasting their time, and their parents money. And speaking of diapers ...” Bernice shifted in her chair. “Professor, are you all right? I mean … do you need your diaper changed?” She didn't know the source of Ian's incontinence, but the bulge in his pants made it clear what he was wearing in the way of underwear. “I'm fine for the moment, but thank you for asking.” Ian decided to seize the moment. “Chief, what comes next? Priscilla … er … Officer Canon tells me that a fine, a hundred hours of community service, and a term of probation are par for the course in matters like this.” “She's right, Professor. The DA will shake his head, ask me why I can't keep the lid on over here, and give them the proverbial slap on the wrist. Gareth has political ambitions, and sending a bunch of sorority girls to the workhouse isn't going to win him any votes in the suburbs.” “Makes sense, but in this case it won't work. The injured party is Spats Belmondo, and he will see a light sentence as a calculated insult to his dignity. If he lets this slide, he'll lose face with his crew, and with the other capi. So, he won't let it slide.” “Professor Grady is right, Chief; when Spats hired me, he made it clear that he wanted to handle this matter without police interference. These girls are in real danger.” “And yet you took the case.” The Chief was frowning. “Why did you do that?” “Professor Grady and I are on the same page here. If Spats had found these girls on his own, he would have fed them into a wood chipper, feet first. We collaborated to bring the police in, which buys us some time. Now, it's up to the DA to come up with a punishment that Spats will be prepared to live with.” “Precisely,” Ian agreed. “Get the DA on the phone, and tell him to haul his ass over here. I'll tell him how we're going to play this.” “How about telling me first.” “Sure. The whole sorority is going to volunteer to work as candy stripers at the hospital, and to keep at it until they graduate. The fine is going to be stiff enough to cause some real pain, and Spats is going to be generously compensated for his time and trouble. But the icing on the cake? Since Zeta Alpha Pi has a hard on for diapers, they can spend the rest of their time here wearing them, and using them. And Lullaby Diaper Service will be supplying them, which guarantees Spats a tidy little profit going forward. He's a businessman, and as such won't be inclined to murder his own customers.” “Interesting. I'll make the call. Not sure the DA will bite, but I'll give it a try.” “Let me deal with him. I can be very persuasive.” Oh, this ought to be good, Julia thought. “Drop my name into the conversation, and suggest that he call your counterpart downtown. What do you think, Julia? Will that do the trick?” “Professor Grady has friends in very high places,” she admitted in the most neutral tone of voice she could muster. “Very high.” “Once he's here?” Ian had a huge grin on his face. “I'll make him an offer that he can't refuse!” . . . . Pulling into her garage, Rita was on a mission. The first order of business was the four remaining breast pumps. One would stay in the trunk to go to the office, and a second would end up in her bedroom. The most fitting home for the remaining two, she decided, was the empty closet in the third bedroom that they were converting into a nursery for Ian and Vickie. She liked the idea of hooking Vickie up when she was lounging in her crib, but when it came to finding a way for their baby girl to pump at work, she was completely stumped. With luck, Sarah would have the answer. Dragging the boxes into the foyer one by one, Rita hung up her coat and kicked off her shoes. She visited her bedroom first, saving the nursery for last. But when she opened its door, she nodded in satisfaction. It was a tight fit, but with the two cribs set back to back in the center of the room, there was just enough space for the changing table on one wall, and the dresser and chest of drawers on the other. It seemed symbolically fitting, almost a sacred ritual given the solemnity of the moment, that Vickie's two breast pumps ended up on the closet floor. Returning to the kitchen, Rita opened her liquor cabinet, choosing to mark the occasion with a glass of Courvoisier, the expensive cognac being her most cherished indulgence. Then she strolled into the living room, studying her walls and thinking about Ian's art work, the boldness of its colors. He must like Vermeer … Looking around her living room, Rita sadly shook her head. The empty walls, the usual furnishings laid out in the usual way-- it was all so dull. As dull as my whole life. Ian? The guy's been everywhere. And me? One trip out of the country, the old 'If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium' tour … nine countries in eighteen days, and I didn't even have an affair with the tour guide. But I did fall in love with Vermeer … there's that. “The Alvar is going directly over the couch,” she said out loud. “All that red ...” She took a sip of her drink. “But on his income, how could he possibly have afforded a Chagall?” She thought that it would look nice in her bedroom. “We definitely are going to need a bigger house! A much bigger nursery … hell, with four of us and the babies … we're going to need bigger everything!” Rita had started to peruse the real estate listings, concentrating on her dream home-- an honest to goodness mansion on the shores of Lake Minnetonka. With their four combined incomes, the only limit to what they could afford was her imagination. . . . . When Sarah finally made it home, she was disappointed to discover that Ian was still not there, but relieved to find Vickie sitting in the middle of the living room floor. She was going to try out her new paddle on Vickie's shapely ass, but with a diaper rash in play, she was afraid that the threatened twenty swats would be way over the top. Ten swats would do nicely. And seeing that Vickie had already stripped down to her blouse and diaper cover, and was sitting with arms outstretched waiting for a hug, she decided to go a bit easier on her rear end than originally planned. “Did you miss your mommy, baby girl,” Sarah cooed. “Mama,” Vickie answered; “binkie, Mama … binkie!” She was pouting like an adorable little toddler. Vickie had spent several minutes in Ian's bathroom, comparing pouts and frowns in front of the mirror. She concluded that pouting, which she had long practiced to good effect with her various boyfriends and one night stands, was her best choice. “Ah, you're so cute,” Sarah oohed and awed as she reached into her pocket; “yes you are, yes you are! Open wide, baby girl … here comes your binkie!” Vickie happily accepted the pacifier, and began enthusiatically sucking … Coat this thing with crème de menthe, and it wouldn't be bad at all. Definitely beats chewing on a pencil … Sarah left the room just long enough to fetch her breast pump, and with it the cane and paddle. Vickie's eyes went wide when she eyeballed Sarah attacking one of the throw cushions on her couch with the cane. “It feels like all it takes is a flick of the wrist,” she muttered, but loud enough for Vickie to hear. SWISH … CRACK!! SWISH … CRACK!! Sitting down in the chair that she had used to punish Ian the night before, she centered the cushion on her lap, raised her new paddle on high, and repeatedly brought it down on the cushion with a resounding … THWACK … THWACK … THWACK … Satisfied with her choice, Sarah stared hard at Vickie, and stabbed her thigh with her middle finger. Vickie obediently crawled over and, using Sarah's legs for support, climbed to her feet. Sarah first unfastened and removed the baby girl's blouse. Taking the key from her pocket, she then reached out to unlock her diaper cover, which she slid down to her ankles. Vickie's pink baby pants came next, and finally her heavy diaper, which was only slightly damp and unfortunately poop free. The laxatives in your breast milk will make you go potty in your diapee, baby girl … hmm … should I add a diuretic as well? Unbidden, Vickie eased herself over Sarah's lap, her legs helplessly pinned by the heavy canvas shackling her ankles. Sarah grasped her baby girl's right hand, and pinned it to the base of her spine, then wrapped her legs tight around Vickie's calves. With her bottom protruding and her body expertly immobilized, Vickie was finally ready for her paddling. Rubbing lazy circles around Vickie's cheeks and lightly slapping her thighs, Sarah took her time with the preliminaries. When she was finally ready, she raised the paddle on high, and brought it down, but not with full force. Thwack … Thwack … Each butt cheek received a measured blow, and then Sarah began Vickie's punishment in earnest. THWACK!! THWACK!! THWACK!! THWACK!! Vickie moaned, then screamed into her pacifier, her body contorting with the pain. Sarah had not spared the skin already red with diaper rash, which was now an ugly, livid crimson shade. Four more strokes, delivered more gently, finished the first part of Vickie's punishment. Now, it was time for her upper thighs to feel the weight of Sarah's palm. Nor did she hold back, one heavy blow after another raining down upon the exposed flesh. Only when she was finished did Sarah release Vickie's imprisoned right arm, so that the wailing toddler could slide off her lap and onto the carpet. Vickie was on the threshold of a massive orgasm, her entire body seemingly on fire. Struggling to her knees, she turned wide eyed to face Sarah, sucking mindlessly on her pacifier, desperate for relief. “Mommy,” she whispered, “make me come … please make me come. Your fingers … anything … make me come!!” Sarah looked down at her baby girl in disbelief, then leaned over to run her fingers between her thighs. Sure enough. She was wet, and when Sarah grazed her clit, Vickie moaned like a wounded animal, a sound born at once of anguish and pleasure. “Please,” she whispered again. “Baby girl,” she said sternly, “I want you to roll over on your back and stretch out. Do it now!” When Vickie obeyed, Sarah grabbed the thick hospital diaper, which she knew could not be defeated by the baby's questing fingers, and slid it under her tortured bottom. Bringing it up between Vickie's legs, she efficiently pinned it back in place before pulling up her baby pants and diaper cover. Vickie offered no resistance, but her body shuddered when she heard the lock click home. In the silence of Sarah's living room, it sounded like a thunderclap. “There,” Sarah said in a soothing voice. “Now, I want you to crawl over to the corner, get up on your knees, and press your nose against the wall. Naughty babies need time outs as well as spankings. Stay there, and don't move while I prepare your ba bas.” Sarah retreated to the bathroom, and found her water pills. Two of these, in bottles already laced with fast acting laxatives, would guarantee Vickie a very wet and very messy night. But Sarah would not be changing her in the morning. She was going to send her naughty little girl straight to Rita's office, and let her do the honors. . . . . When the District Attorney walked through the door with his bodyguard, it was safe to say that Gareth Q. Ballstrom was not a happy camper. He had managed to avoid the local news crews on the way in, but he did not fancy his chances on the way out. He knew a FUBAR when he saw one, and with the next election less than a year away, bad publicity he did not need. The bottom line was that he needed something good to feed the press when he walked out the door. It was hard for Ian to keep a straight face. He put the DA in his late thirties, with a lanky frame and chiseled jaw straight out of central casting. A three hundred dollar haircut, and enough hair gel to keep things under control in a class five hurricane, would go hand and glove with the practiced insincerity of the professional politician's smile. Ignoring the others, the DA marched up to where Ian was sitting. Ian did not bother to get up. “You must be Grady,” he barked. “The Chief tells me that I need to listen to what you have to say. I'm listening.” “Take a seat.” Ian was smiling graciously as he pointed at the lone empty chair in the room. “Chief Mischof will bring you up to speed, then we'll figure out what to do next.” The Chief neatly summarized the crime, the arrests to date, and the recovery of the stolen articles in a public area of the house that they had permission to search. The evidence would be admissible in court, and they had post-Miranda confessions from two of the girls that would also hold up. His officers were currently interviewing everyone else in the house, and in due course would haul them into the dining room for a heart to heart talk about their immediate futures. His immediate objectives were to get permission to search all their rooms, and to gauge who else had been actively engaged in the planning and execution of this conspiracy. “Now let me get this straight,” Ballstrom snorted when the Chief finished his report. “You dragged me over here in the middle of the night because a bunch of sorority girls have been running around town stealing diapers off of people's front porches? What am I supposed to do? Go before the judge in the morning, and urge him to lock up these hard cases and throw away the key? Puh … lese!” “Spats Belmondo.” Julia spoke up for the first time. And I'm ...” “I know who you are, Missus Canon. Your firm handled my sister's divorce two years ago. She was pleased with the results. What's Belmondo got to do with this?” “He owns Lullaby Diaper Service, which is the injured party here. Spats hired me to find the thieves, and then report back to him so that he could handle the matter privately. I'll leave that part of it to your imagination … you know what Spats is like. Anyway, the Professor and I hatched a plan to have the police make the pinch, and it worked. Now, the trick is to find a punishment that will make both Spats and the judge happy. Ian has the solution; your job will be getting the judge to go along. Professor?” Ian took over, but when he got to the part where the girls would be wearing diapers for the rest of their university days, the DA climbed angrily to his feet. “Are you nuts, Grady? How the hell do you expect me to sell this nonsense to the unlucky bastard who draws this case in the morning?” “Well, you could bring a wood chipper into the courtroom and show him exactly how it works,” Ian scoffed. “But it would be easier simply to ask the judge to endorse a plea agreement that the girls will be affirming before they go to bed tonight. The four of us will sell them on the idea, and you sell the judge. Then you can campaign on a law and order platform, get reelected, and we all live happily ever after. Oh, and my friends back East will remember you kindly, if and when you choose to run for higher office.” The DA grinned wolfishly, pleased that the professor had got to the point without too much beating around the bush. “Professor, you've got a deal. The fine and community service is easy, but you have to sell these girls on the diapers or I won't bring it up. If they agree to it, the judge will as well. He's also up for election in the fall.” The two men shook hands, and Ballstrom left to grab some free publicity from the local news hounds. Ian fully expected him to tap into his well honed sense of righteous indignation, and preach the need to bring a little law and order to the notorious denizens of Fraternity Row. . . . . “So, what's going to happen to me?” Janis Marsden was sitting cross-legged on her bed, head bowed, utterly disconsolate. But she was no longer wearing the hospital diaper and vinyl pants; these had been set aside with the diapers in her backpack. “Well,” Priscilla began, “you were apprehended in the possession of stolen property. So, at some point you will be taken downtown and processed. You'll spend the night in a cell, and in the morning you'll be taken before a judge. If you plead not guilty, the prosecuting attorney will request that you make bail, which means that your parents will have to come to terms with a bail bondsman. If you plead guilty and agree to whatever punishment the DA's office seeks, you'll probably avoid a return trip to jail.” “It was all so stupid,” Janis sniffled. She was wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “Janis,” Priscilla cautioned, “although I've read you your rights, I want to remind you that anything you say to me can be admitted into evidence if I'm called to testify. Remember, you don't have to say a word to me, or to anyone else. Just because Cindy and Tippi have already confessed doesn't mean that you have to as well.” “But I want to because … because it was all so stupid … the usual crap that goes on up and down the Row all year long.” “And yet it was very well organized,” Priscilla countered, hinting at the argument the Assistant District Attorney would surely make before the judge. “Methodically researching the diaper service van's stops beforehand … using at least two cars to orchestrate the theft across a series of outings … playing Fox and Hounds with a highly experienced private detective, and getting the best of her.” Priscilla shook her head sorrowfully. “This was a conspiracy, Janis, and you were a participant. Even if you weren't physically stealing the diapers, you were an accessory both before and after the fact. And we haven't even got to the hospital yet … the betrayal of trust. Did you ever stop and think about how disappointed everyone would be with you if you got caught?” “Tippi … Cindy … Melanie … they said that it was just a few lousy diapers, and that if I got caught, I should just say that it was a sorority stunt. They all thought that they'd probably help me carry the diapers out to my car!” “Well, they were wrong, and here we are. So, get a grip on yourself. We're going downstairs to hear what Chief Mischof has to say.” Priscilla made a mental note to track down Melanie. She appeared to be another one of the ringleaders. . . . . “We have fifty two girls in residence,” Bernice summarized. She was looking down at the print out of the roster in her lap. “We had forty seven at dinner, so making allowance for Cindy, Tippi and Janis, nearly a full house. Only two are still out and about.” “Probably scalp hunting,” she muttered under her breath. “And you're sure of the breakdown?” The Chief had asked her to run down the list, and tag the names of those most likely to be involved in the planning and execution of the heist. “Supremely so,” she replied, her eyes flashing. “Walt, in my job you take the measure of your charges, try to figure out which ones are okay and which ones are trouble. Right now, this house is top heavy with Legacies, and they're all sitting on the Council. Cindy is currently the chair, Tippi a mover and shaker, and Janis a go along to get along type. I'm sorry that she's caught up in this. Her mother did not want her to join ZAP, and went along with it only when Janis agreed to do volunteer work at the hospital. Marilyn is going to be furious.” “And you're sure about this Melanie Wilson,” the Chief pressed. “One of Cindy's ladies in waiting? Yes, I'm sure.” “Janis' mother is Marilyn Marsden? Recruitment Services International?” Ian had not been paying much attention to the back and forth between Bernice and the Chief, but his head had snapped up at the mention of Marilyn's name. He vaguely recalled that Janis' name had come up in a passing exchange between Priscilla and Marilyn earlier in the afternoon in his office, but once again his attention had been elsewhere. Between the afterglow of making love to Priscilla, and the upcoming calls with Donnie and Irina, his attention had most definitely been elsewhere. “Yes,” Bernice agreed. “Do you know her?” “She's my agent,” he admitted with an embarrassed grin. “A nice lady … and she's gonna be pissed, if you'll pardon my French.” "It's quite all right, Professor.” Bernice quite liked Ian's down to earth demeanor. “We speak it a lot around here!” “So, you've gone and hired an agent?” Walt was relieved to hear it. “Guess this means that you won't be needing Officer Canon to chaperon you around campus anymore.” Ian stole a sideways glance at Julia. Rapidly running the pros and cons of the opening the Chief had just given him through his mind, he opted to tiptoe through the tulips. “Sorry, Chief, but I'm stealing her from you, at least for a while. I put the arm on a guy at Langley who owes me a favor or two, and Pris is now Quantico bound-- the embassy security training program. Don't know if she'll want to stay with your department when she returns, but the prospect of a substantial raise might influence her decision.” “Well, I'll be damned.” Walt was shaking his head, trying to process what he had just heard. “Quantico, eh? That's quite a feather in her cap. I'll see what I can do.” “Thanks … and sorry, Julia. She's planning to tell you and your husband tonight or tomorrow morning, depending upon when we all get out of here. Please don't spoil the surprise.” “I'll try not to.” Julia nodded her head, thinking it over. She'll be over a thousand miles away, and right now? Maybe that's not such a bad idea. “Here's what I want to do,” the Chief announced. "We'll bring the girls down to the dining room in fours, starting with the ones on Bernice's list that seem least likely to be involved. We'll seat them at the back, and watch their facial reactions when we bring the most likely suspects in. That'll tell us a lot.” The Chief stood up, and headed out the door, leaving the others to follow. But Ian lagged behind. Catching Bernice's eye, he mimicked making a phone call. “Go ahead,” she whispered as she turned to follow Julia to the dining room. . . . . “Getting a lot of calls from this area code, but I don't recognize the number. That you, Street?” “In the flesh. Sorry to disturb you at home.” In reality, Donnie Freeman was saying that he was free to talk, and Ian that he was not under duress. Years earlier, they had devised a series of casual phrases that they could use over the phone, each one of them containing a code word. “Got an interesting one for you. Vincent Belmondo, otherwise known as Spats Belmondo. A local Mafia capo. I'm looking for petals and thorns, not later than tomorrow morning.” “Not a problem. Do we have any interest?” “It's possible we owe the guy a favor. Do you remember Antonio?” “Ah, yes! I thought the name sounded familiar. A distant relative, perhaps?” “Hard to say. Vinnie's niece speaks Italian straight out of the streets of Naples, but Antonio sounded Catania born and bred. But a lot of those families headed north before they came here.” “Interesting. And I've got one for you. From the looks of it, your fiancee is following in her mother's footsteps.” “How so?” “She went shopping earlier today … used a credit card in a sex shop in the northern suburbs. Think she's into edible underwear?” “Donnie, FYI? She wears granny panties. I'm hoping that Vickie will rub off on her, so this might be a good omen.” “The Director's offer still stands: honeymoon for you and your various loves in the Greek isles, all expenses paid. But he wants a blow by blow description of your sex life in return … a morale boost, so to speak, for a joint that's down in the dumps these days.” “Too bad that I don't know any good restaurants in Teheran, but I don't. Sorry.” “Wouldn't dream of asking you for a recommendation, Street. It's not in the cards. Get back to you in the morning. Ciao.” “Ciao,” Ian replied, hanging up the phone with a heavy sigh.

BOOK 'EM, DANNO “Seems a bit late in the year for the sororities to be running pigs up the flagpole,” Ian observed. “Too close to finals.” “It is out of character,” Priscilla agreed. They were in her squad car, making the short drive across the river to Fraternity Row. “But what's really odd is that Zeta Pi Alpha, or ZAP as it is known to all and sundry, doesn't have a reputation for partying hard. Academically, it's a bottom feeder, but I've never been summoned to deal with anything more serious than a drunk and disorderly. It just doesn't make any sense.” “And then there's Spats Belmondo ...” “Yeah,” Priscilla nodded. “Then there's Spats. When it comes to theft, especially theft this well organized and hurtful, the Chief won't look the other way, but the usual slap on the wrist won't be enough. If these girls aren't punished to his satisfaction, Spats will find a way to even the score.” “La vendetta è un piatto che va servito freddo,” Ian shrugged. “Revenge is a dish best served cold. Spats won't be in a hurry, not with his honor at stake, and he could strike from a direction no one expects.” “That the way Chief Mischof will see it.” “What's the usual drill in a case like this?” “The DA doesn't like to waste his time, so normally we offer them a plea deal. A hundred hours of community service, a fine, and two or three years of probation. In return, the record is expunged.” “Sensible, but in this case, not enough to feed the bulldog. I'd start by placing them under arrest, cuffing them, and tossing them in the slammer for the night. Schedule an arraignment in the morning, with an eye to forcing them to lawyer up if they don't fully cooperate. Any criminal attorney will run the bill up into the thousands … and while we're talking hard ball, be sure and ask for a stiff bond. Go for something high enough that the parents will have to put up collateral to get them out. Make it hurt.” “You think that will be enough to satisfy Spats?” “No, but it will get his attention. Leave the rest to me.” “WHAT?” Priscilla was so shocked that she almost slammed on the brakes. “No way, Ian … NO WAY. You are not going to … what's that cute phrase that you secret agents use … 'terminate with extreme prejudice'? You are not going to 'whack' Spats Belmondo, to use the term that he would choose. And while we're at it, I want you to promise me that you will stop running around the globe killing people!” “Honey, don't overreact!” Ian patted Priscilla lightly on the arm. “Honestly, it's been years since I last killed anyone … years!” But only for lack of targets … if I ever find out who killed my wife, I am going to paint the streets red with their blood … “Let's start with the community service,” he continued. “Hospitals all need candy stripers, and Tippi and her friends will have dishpan hands after they've cleaned and polished a few thousand bedpans. And the girls are all going to become customers of the diaper service, 24/7, for the balance of their time in school. That way, Spats gets to humiliate them, and turn a profit at the same time. And while we're at it, maybe my favorite hospital will give us a group discount if we offer to buy locking diaper covers for the whole crew. That should be an easy sell after I persuade Spats to donate generously to some hospital endowment fund or other.” “And all you have to do to make this happen is what? Snap your fingers? Make a few phone calls?” Priscilla honestly couldn't tell whether Ian was pulling her leg or being serious. Pretty much. The real challenge is figuring out how to change all those dirty diapers. Who's going to do the honors? The logistics are daunting.” “And this conversation is beyond bizarre! Ian, I can just hear my parents now: 'Pris, why couldn't you fall in love with somebody normal? You know, a polite ax-murderer, or a charming serial killer? Why did it have to be Secret Agent Man'?” “Officer Canon, are we truly in love?” “We are,” Priscilla said firmly. “Well, just to keep this in perspective, you're the third woman with whom I've fallen in love over the past week, and the fourth this month. It's a bad habit, I know, but what's a guy to do?” “Don't you worry about it, Dear.” Now it was Priscilla's turn to pat Ian gently on the arm. “I'm going to call a meeting. Between the four of us, somebody's bound to come up with a sure fire way to make you keep it in your pants!” . . . . CH.....E.....EP … CH.....E.....EP … Now that she had an address and the thrill of the hunt was gone, Julia felt curiously deflated. The diaper heist was just another stupid sorority prank, although there was a sadistic edge to it that left a bad taste in her mouth. Nearing downtown, she reached out to switch the nerve wracking tracking device off, but then she pulled her hand back. Perversely, she decided to leave it alone until she pulled up behind Bjornsen at the sorority house. What she really wanted to do was nail the little bitch to a chair, and let her listen to the maddening, metallic chirping for the next twenty four hours straight. Maybe longer … Then wrap her in tin foil, and drop her on Spats Belmondo's front porch. No charge for the service, Spats. Consider this a freebie … What really sucked was that she would not even have the pleasure of arresting the little psychopath. Instead, she would just have to stand there, thinking very dark thoughts, while her daughter read Bjornsen and her lunatic friends their Miranda rights. Julia well understood her husband's longing for the good, old days when a cop could use his nightstick to persuade a miscreant to confess his sins. What Bjornsen really needed to see the error of her ways was for someone to shove a nightstick up her ass and pound it home with a sledgehammer. Julia was eager to volunteer. Winding through downtown, the traffic now much heavier, Julia switched lanes to catch up with her quarry. At the Mississippi, she pulled in directly behind the girls, knowing that she would be invisible in the darkness that had descended over the city during the chase. When they exited and made the turn for Fraternity Row, she was content to follow at a sedate pace. Her daughter would be lurking somewhere in the neighborhood, ready to pounce once the thieves returned home. My daughter and God only knows how many other cops of the campus variety. This will probably end up being a real frolic. And what do I say to Grady, besides 'thank you for your help'? What a mess! . . . . “Home, sweet home,” Tippi sighed. “Be it ever so humble,” Cindy laughed as she turned into the driveway. With winter parking restrictions in effect on city streets, finding a slot in the limited space at the back of the sorority house was always a challenge. “WHAT THE FUCK,” she screeched as she hit the brakes so hard that only her seatbelt spared her a close encounter of the first kind with the steering wheel. There was a man standing in the middle of the driveway, with his back turned to them. He appeared to be admiring the old mansion's ornate, early twentieth century architecture. “HEY,” Cindy screamed; “what the hell ...” Ian turned around with an amiable grin on his face. He strolled casually over to Cindy's side of the car, signaling for her to roll down the window. “Professor Grady?” Tippi's eyes had swollen to roughly the size of dinner plates. “Good evening, Miss Bjornsen.” Ian's tone was as amiable as his grin. “Glad to see you made it home in one piece. Would you care to introduce me to your friend?” “Cindy … I'm … uh … Cindy Carlson.” Cindy was stuttering badly. “Nice to meet you, Cindy … and thank you for not running me down. You've got good reflexes.” “What … what are you doing here?” Cindy was still badly shaken. “Ah, reinforcements have arrived.” Ignoring the question, Ian was looking down the street. Right on cue, Priscilla was arriving with siren howling and lights flashing. She pulled into the driveway, effectively preventing Cindy from trying to escape in a moment of panic. Priscilla climbed out of her squad car, and in the distance she could hear other blue and whites fast approaching. Chief Mischof had been true to his word. Fighting hard to keep from doubling over with laughter, Priscilla somehow managed to put on her game face as she approached Cindy's side of the car. Nudging Ian to step aside, she looked down into the vehicle. “Are either of you armed,” she asked in her best cop voice. “Wh … at,” Cindy squeaked. “Of … of course not!” “Is there a weapon in the vehicle?” “No,” Tippi hissed; “we're clean.” Priscilla and Ian exchanged brief looks. Both of them were thinking the same thing: this was not the first time that Tippi Bjornsen had been confronted by a cop. “Officer, what is this about?” Judging Cindy to be useless, Tippi had opted to take over their side of the conversation. Ian noted that Julia had pulled up to the curb, and even from a distance he could hear the receiver merrily chirping away. He laughed as he slowly turned around. Several girls had come out of the house, and were now watching the proceedings from the veranda. Heads were peeking out the front door of the properties on both sides, and curiosity seekers were venturing out at a number of houses across the street. Two more squad cars arrived, their lights and sirens adding to the chaos unfolding in the driveway of the Zeta Alpha Pi sorority house. Ian wondered how long it would take for the vans to arrive from the local TV station newsrooms, and whether they would show up before or after Suzie Marshall decided to put in an appearance. “We have a report that this vehicle is being used to transport stolen property,” Priscilla grimly announced. When her fellow officers were in place, she ordered Cindy to exit the vehicle first, and then Tippi. “Stolen property? That's absurd,” Tippi protested. “What is this? Some kind of elaborate joke?” Finally recognizing Priscilla, and seeing Ian hovering in the background, Tippi was adding it all together-- and coming up with the wrong answer. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP Device in hand, Julia had walked up to the trunk of Cindy's car. The receiver was going crazy, sounding for all the world like a panicked hatchling trying to find its way back into the nest. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP “Don't think so,” Ian said as he reached down to flick a small switch and silence the transmission. “This receiver is slaved to a miniature homing device sewn into one of the diapers that you liberated from my doorstep, Miss Bjornsen. With your help, they appear to have found a home in the trunk of Miss Carlson's vehicle.” “Tippi, is what this young man's saying true,” a middle aged woman angrily asked. She had come storming out of the house, and Ian presumed that she was the house mother. ''Did you steal his diapers?” Her high-pitched, incredulous voice easily carried to the surrounding houses. “I'd like to hear the answer to that question as well.” Chief Walter Mischof had now arrived on scene, his squad car artfully parked to block an entire lane. If nothing else, the ensuing traffic jam would insure the prompt arrival of local news crews. He reckoned that at least one of the networks would lead off at ten with so bizarre a story. If Dean Turgeson was watching the right channel, he would probably choke on his nightcap. “The jig's up, Cindy.” With no way out, Tippi calculated that a show of contrition would minimize the consequences. “You're right, Missus Miller; we stole Professor Grady's diapers. It was just a prank … a stupid, sorority prank.” “PROFESSOR GRADY? YOU STOLE DIAPERS FROM A MEMBER OF THE FACULTY?” The sorority mom was so angry that Ian swore he could see steam escaping through her hair. “CINDY CARLSON, YOU OPEN THE TRUNK OF THAT CAR RIGHT NOW!” “Yes, Ma'am.” Cindy hastened to obey. Everyone gathered around, but when the lid went up, everyone also stepped back. “My God,” Chief Mischof yelped, “I remember that smell, but I don't remember it being this bad! Professor, what have you been eating?” Priscilla burst out laughing, and for his own part Ian was sorely tempted to tell the Chief the truth. However, prudence being the better part of valor, he decided to take refuge in a bad burrito. “TIPPI BJORNSEN,” Missus Miller roared, “YOU WILL TAKE THESE DIAPERS DOWN TO THE BASEMENT. YOU WILL RINSE THE POOP OFF, AND THEN YOU WILL WASH THEM, DRY THEM, FOLD THEM NEATLY, AND RETURN THEM TO THE PROFESSOR WITH YOUR MOST SINCERE APOLOGY! DO YOU HEAR ME?” Priscilla leaned in to whisper in Ian's ear. “Hell hath no fury like a sorority house mom inconvenienced by one of her charges. Bernice is going to have an ugly meeting with Dean Turgeson in the morning, and if the chapter loses its certificate, she'll be out of a job.” “Wait one,” Ian called out. “Chief Mischof, you should know that this is not an isolated incident. These girls have been systematically stealing diapers from customers of Lullaby Diaper Service for several days now. I suspect that others in this house are also involved. I hope that Missus Miller will allow you to search the premises and recover the stolen property without a warrant, but for my own part I'm going to file a criminal complaint, and I should expect the owner of the diaper service to do so as well. He has suffered significant financial loss, and emotionally his employees have been put through the wringer. It would not surprise me if a civil suit follows in due course. So, we should ask Missus Canon here whether washing these dirty diapers would be tampering with evidence, and make it inadmissible in court. Julia is the Twinkletoes of Aardvark, Platypus, and Twinkletoes: Attorneys at Law.” Ian sidled up to Julia, and eased the receiver out of her hand. The last thing that he wanted was for the little gizmo to be taken into evidence by the police. “Professor Grady is correct, Chief. To be admissible in court, the evidence must be in the same condition in which it was received into evidence.” “You want me to store these shitty diapers in our evidence locker?” Walt Mischof could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You want an Assistant DA to haul them into court, and wave them under a judge's nose?” “Sorry,” Julia shrugged. “The rules of evidence ...” “Yeah, yeah, I know the rules of evidence. Geez ...” “Book 'em, Danno,” one of the frat boys yelled out from the sidewalk, where a sizable crowd had quickly gathered to entertain themselves at the sorority's expense. The cry was taken up and instantly turned into a chant … BOOK 'EM, DANNO! BOOK 'EM, DANNO! Slipping the receiver into his pocket, Ian inadvertently activated it … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP BOOK 'EM, DANNO! CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP It was at about this moment that the first on site reporter arrived at the scene with his faithful cameraman. With traffic now at a standstill, the enterprising driver had made use of the sidewalk, bouncing off it to bring his vehicle to a halt directly behind Julia's rusted out beater. Walt Mischof smiled benevolently. Finally! He finally had a chance to stick it to Fraternity Row! And he was going to stick it good!. . . . . “And now, for the lighter side of the news. Earlier this evening, there was quite a fracas over on Fraternity Row, and our own Emmett Bailey was there to report on the chaos. What's happening, Emmett?” “Lyle, earlier this evening campus police descended upon Fraternity Row, and specifically upon one of the sorority houses, Zeta Alpha Pi. It's being alleged that an organized gang of diaper thieves has been terrorizing the city, and that the police caught two of the thieves red-handed. We spoke with Chief Walter Mischof of the campus police, who showed us the evidence taken from the trunk of a car belonging to one of the sorority members. We were looking at two bags of adult diapers delivered weekly to a member of the faculty, a highly decorated veteran rendered incontinent when he was severely wounded on his last battlefield. We did not, however, get too close, because one bag was, how shall I put it? More than a little ripe. We spoke with the Chief about where this bizarre case goes from here." “Emmett, what can I tell you? With the cooperation of the property manager, who is known informally as the house mom, we were able to examine all of the public areas in the residence, as well as the rooms occupied by the more than fifty students, all of whom agreed to a search rather than forcing us to get a warrant. In total, we recovered over a thousand diapers stolen off the porches of customers of Lullaby Diaper Service. We have taken two of the ringleaders into custody; they have been charged, and will be arraigned in municipal court in the morning. At present, we are interviewing each sorority member individually, with a focus on discovering just how widespread this conspiracy really is, and whether there is more to it than just the usual nonsense that we have to deal with up and down this block, term after term, year after year.” “Emmett, a quick check revealed that Lullaby Diaper Service is owned by Vincent Belmondo, more commonly known as Spats Belmondo. We sent a second crew to interview Mister Belmondo at his residential estate on Lake Minnetonka, but when our own Lisa Jenkins asked him how a man of his colorful reputation could be running a diaper service, he told her in rather colorful terms to go jump in the lake. When Lisa pointed out that the lake is frozen at this time of the year, he waved her off with an obscene gesture known far and wide as 'the bird'.” “Lyle, we'll be following up on this story in the morning, but it has already taken one more strange twist. In a separate but related incident, still another member of the sorority who works as a candy striper at the local hospital was caught trying to smuggle a half dozen of the hospital's own adult diapers into her room. What makes the story odd is that she was wearing one of the diapers, complete with a pair of vinyl pants-- what we parents all commonly refer to as 'baby pants'. The young lady in question will also be spending the night in the municipal lockup, but alas, without her diaper, since jailhouse rules do not allow prisoners to have potential weapons such as diaper pins in their cells. Live, on scene, this is Emmett Bailey reporting for Channel 36, WPPP News!” . . . . “My name's Ruby; what are you in for?” “Theft,” Tippi tersely replied. Along with Cindy Carlson and Janis Marsden, Tippi was in a large cell in the basement of the central police station-- a cell nicknamed “the Tank” by the regulars. Ruby was one of them. “What did ya do … jack a car?” “Diapers,” Cindy moaned, still wiping tears out of her eyes. She had never been arrested before, and she was terrified. “Diapers? That's low girl, really low. Stealing a baby's diapers? The judge ain't gonna like that! Girl, the judge … he gonna throw the book at your white ass!” “What about you,” Tippi asked. Anything to change the subject. “Solicitation,” Ruby grinned. “In my line of work, it's an occupational hazard.” “And what is it you do,” Janis asked. Like Cindy, she was terrified, but it was the five hard cases with whom they were sharing the cell that scared her. She didn't want to become somebody's bitch. She just wanted to go home, and hide away from the world. Ruby did a double take, wondering whether she was being disrespected, or whether this chick really didn't know the score. Ruby didn't take kindly to being disrespected. “I'm a whore, Darling. Can't you tell? I do dress the part. Oh yes, I do!” “I've got an outfit just like yours,” Janis confessed. “I wear it to Disco clubs. I really dig Donna Summer.” “I like the Bee Gees myself,” Ruby laughed. “That one boy, the one with the high pitched voice? He'd look really good wearing my threads.” “So, what happens in the morning?” Tippi wanted to bring the conversation back to the fact that they were in jail, and screw Donna Summer and the Bee Gees both. “Oh, they gonna put us on the chain, and march us into the courtroom upstairs,” Ruby replied. “Then, one by one, we go before the judge. Some low life from the DA's office will read out the charge, and you'll be asked to plead guilty or not. Either way, the judge will set bail, and then you come back here until someone posts a bond to get you out. Hope you all got rich parents, cause the DA, he gonna throw a whole, heapin' bunch of charges at you, earn you some serious jail time. But don't worry; a good lawyer, he get you off easy this being your first offense and all. A few months in the workhouse … that would be my guess, this being your first offense and all. Mind you, though, good lawyers don't come cheap. Someone gonna need a new mortgage to pay for your lawyer's next holiday in Hawaii!” Ruby laughed, a high pitched cackle. Janis wanted to curl up into a ball and die. Her mom would probably help her on her way. Cindy wanted to go home, only she wouldn't have one after her parents disowned her. Tippi wanted to kill somebody … anybody would do. . . . . Comfortably ensconced in his favorite lounger, his feet resting on the ottoman, Dean Willard Turgeson turned on the TV to catch the ten o'clock news. The overblown mayhem that the local stations paraded as the outrage du jour held no interest for him, and he had never been a sports fan. No, he would endure the mindless tripe that Lyle Gunderson pitched as news only to get to the weather report. An ardent supporter of all causes environmental, Professor Turgeson prided himself on riding his bicycle to and from the office in good weather and bad, all four seasons of the year. Still, he had no desire to joust with the overpaid louts who drove the city snow plows. Hard experience had taught him this lesson well. “Good evening. This is Lyle Gunderson …” “And I'm Amy Kinkaid ...” “And this is WPPP News at Ten!!!” “Amy, leading the news tonight, the latest report from Teheran, and more bad news on the inflation front.” Sipping his hot cocoa, Willard endured the mindless drivel that passed for national news. “And now, for the lighter side of the news. Earlier this evening, there was quite a fracas over on Fraternity Row, and our own Emmett Bailey was there to report on the chaos. What's happening, Emmett?” “Lyle, earlier this evening campus police descended upon Fraternity Row, and specifically upon one of the sorority houses, Zeta Alpha Pi. It's being alleged that an organized gang of diaper thieves has been terrorizing the city, and that the police caught two of the thieves red-handed. We spoke with Chief Walter Mischof of the campus police ...” Willard's cup shattered as it dropped to the floor, hot cocoa rapidly cooling as it ran all over the highly polished faux stone flooring in his den. . . . . Standing in front of the mammoth fireplace, back turned to the flames, elegantly dressed in an imported silk smoking jacket, a Cohiba Behike smuggled out of Cuba in his right hand and a Lalique snifter of aged Sambuca in his left, Spats Belmondo was staring fixedly, almost maniacally, at the giant TV screen mounted on the wall of his study. “Emmett, a quick check revealed that Lullaby Diaper Service is owned by Vincent Belmondo, more commonly known as Spats Belmondo. We sent a second crew to interview Mister Belmondo at his residential estate on Lake Minnetonka, but when our own Lisa Jenkins asked him how a man of his colorful reputation could be running a diaper service, he told her in rather colorful terms to go jump in the lake. When Lisa pointed out that the lake is frozen at this time of the year, he waved her off with an obscene gesture known far and wide as 'the bird'.” “You bitches are dead,” he screamed; “dead, dead, dead!!!” Taking a puff on his expensive but contraband cigar, his face turning red with rage, Spats whirled around and threw his snifter into the fireplace, the fragile crystal shattering as the flames hungrily consumed the liqueur. “What part of 'no police involvement' did dese fuckin' morons miss? Do I have ta spell it out with crayons? Huh? Huh?” Spats turned, and stared fixedly at an aging but expensively framed photograph on his antique walnut desk. It was a family treasure, a photograph of his father Tommaso taken with the revered Al Capone, about a year after the dust up in that North Clark Street garage. “Wat d'ya think, Al? Huh? Should I pay dese fuckin' morons another visit come da morning? Yeah … I think so … yeah. Me and da boys, we gonna have a chat with Aardvark, Platypus, and da Twinkie. A nice, little chat. But first, da first tings. Think I'll go down to da courthouse in da morning, check out da broads for myself. Yeh, Al, dat's right … da first tings first.”

At the end of scene 3, there was a very good discussion of what should happen to Tippi after her presumed arrest. Some of the ideas kicked around there will be pivotal in scene 9.

A welcome update. Glad to see someone actively resist forced breast feeding; it's a welcome departure from the same old, same old. Well done.

Sarah's parents had a D/s relationship, and Sarah is very much her mother's daughter, but without her experience and hard earned wisdom. Sofia made every important decision for her family, but that doesn't mean that she was going to forbid hubby to go fishing. Did she start out with so pragmatic a view of the relationship, or did she start out as badly as Sarah and get better at it over time? Sarah's inflexibility (no, you can't go fishing!) is simply not practical, and Ian's acts of rebellion are all consciously designed to drive that point home. He's content to have Sarah make all of the big decisions, and he'll eat whatever she puts on the table at breakfast and dinner, but he will see to lunch himself, thank you very much. Have you noticed that Priscilla is also dominant? She is wife and mother, but wouldn't dream of telling Ian that he can't have a pastrami sandwich. And when Thursday morning turns into Thursday night, they are going to go out and get drunk together-- at her insistence! How ironic that Priscilla could be Sarah's role model, but only if she doesn't see Priscilla as a threat. Perhaps Sofia will figure it out, and steer her daughter into a safe harbor. Or perhaps not. Time will tell.

I would be very cautious here. What might be acceptable in San Francisco could get you beaten to death in over 98% of the counties in this country.

TO CATCH A DIAPER THIEF (OR, AS THE LATE PAUL HARVEY WOULD SAY, "THE REST OF THE STORY" “What d'ya think, Tip?” Cindy had turned off the main road onto the residential street, which was lined with single family residences on their right, and a run of four multi-story apartment buildings on their left. There were still more apartments and detached garages inside the sprawling complex, everything centered on a large clubhouse with adjoining pool and tennis courts. The clubhouse, they knew from reading the listing in the Yellow Pages, even featured an indoor racket ball court. “This close to the airport? Looks like a stew zoo to me.” “I meant the street. There's not a single car parked on this entire block.” Cindy was driving slowly, looking up the driveways leading into the parking lots behind the buildings. If they spotted the beater that they had dubbed “the cannon mobile,” it was mission aborted. “Pull into the next driveway, and let me out. I'll walk back, like I'm coming from the clubhouse or something. I'll scout out the premises, locate the diapers, and see if there's anybody hanging around. At this hour of the day, everyone should be at work, so if I run into anyone, we are outta here. I want you to turn around at the end of the block and park, but leave the engine running. It'll look like you're waiting for someone. When you see me come out, pull up. If the coast is clear, we'll make the switch.” “Sounds like a plan. Let's do it!” . . . . Julia hated stakeouts, especially in the wintertime. You froze your butt off, and you emptied an entire thermos of black coffee trying to stay warm and keep awake. Then your bladder started to make its presence felt, reminding you that it was time to make a toilet run. The longer you ignored it, the more you squirmed, and unlike the guys, a lady couldn't exactly stand up in the middle of a high school parking lot and take a leak. Julia was miserable. Maybe, she thought, I'm getting too old for this. Maybe I should be wearing a diaper and a nice, cozy pair of baby pants like the professor. Then I could just piss myself and be done with it. Or maybe I need to take up a new line of work … Julia hated stakeouts. . . . . Tippi walked up the sidewalk with her head down and her gloved hands deep inside the pockets of her heavy winter coat. A stylish woolen cap made her even more anonymous; to anyone watching, she would appear to be a resident returning to her apartment from the rental office or clubhouse. Once inside the four story building, she discovered that there was no elevator waiting to send her aloft. Grimacing, she began to trudge up the stairs, her plan being to start on the top floor and work her way down. Her mood brightened when she exited the stairwell on the second floor. At the end of the corridor, she could see the bag of used diapers propped against an apartment door. Strolling casually, she went to the end of the corridor and peered down to the ground floor. She could see the small lobby and the door leading out to the parking lot. The lobby was empty, so she retreated and picked up the bag, trying to gauge its weight. Tippi nodded to herself and smiled. The bag of old rags that were sitting in the trunk of Cindy's car was identical to the bag outside the door, and about the same weight. Making the switch would be easier than she thought. She proceeded down the stairs and opened the door just enough to peek outside. Tippi was looking not only for the old beater that had stalked them yesterday, but for anything that seemed out of place. Seeing nothing suspicious in the lot, she trudged down the corridor and left the building. Less than five minutes later, she was back up on the second floor, scoring what she guessed would be some two to three dozen very, very smelly adult diapers. Whoever lived in that apartment, she surmised, was paying rent for a toilet that wasn't being used. Tossing the soiled diapers into the trunk, Tippi climbed into the passenger seat and turned the heater on full blast. It was a miserable day, but the first part of the Great Diaper Heist of 1979 had gone off without a hitch. Now, it was just a matter of waiting for Lullaby's truck to show up. They would find an empty slot in the parking lot of the adjoining building, and settle in to await its arrival. With the radio on and thermoses of hot chocolate and coffee to keep them warm, it was time to kick back and relax. . . . . Wheeling her cart through the vast warehouse, Janis Marsden was in awe. It was one thing to realize that the hospital was running like a finely tuned watch, and another to pull back the curtain and actually look behind the scenes. Trolling the aisles, gawking at bins filled with everything from q-tips to bed frames, she now understood why candy stripers never returned empty handed when their supervisors sent them to collect supplies from a storeroom. From the basement to the top floor, the complex operation to which she devoted six hours of her life a week was a well oiled machine. At lunch in the cafeteria, she had initially refused to go along with Tippi's plan to locate the source of Professor Grady's diapers, and casually help herself to a handful or two. Janis liked her job, and was seriously considering becoming a business major so that she could get a foot in the door of hospital administration. She didn't want to risk being excommunicated before she even got started, but as Tippi pointed out, sororities were notorious for their rituals, and if caught she could always excuse her behavior as just another initiation treasure hunt. No big deal. In retrospect, Janis was glad that she had finally caved to Tippi's pleas. Her supervisor had been only to happy to send her to the basement, shopping list in hand, so that the young candy striper could learn at first hand how the hospital really ran. One of the items on her shopping list? Adult diapers. Armed with a detailed floor plan furnished by a friendly young man at the check-in counter, she had had no trouble finding the mother lode. The bin was huge, the diapers neatly folded and stacked by unseen hands, just sitting there waiting for her to wander by. Row after row of adult diapers called out to her, each stack at least a few dozen high. She was staring at hundreds of the enormously thick diapers that Tippi had described … hundreds of them! Janis Marsden was in diaper heaven. She took what she needed to fill the order, then helped herself to an additional dozen. Her plan was to stash them in her locker, and at the end of her shift make two trips out to her car. Her backpack was large enough to hold two, and she would wear a third under her dress. Four trips at the end of two successive shifts would see her prizes safely back to the house. Before she returned to the ward with a cart piled high with fresh linens, Janis ventured off to raid one more bin-- the one containing the vinyl pants that patients in some wards wore over their diapers. She stuffed several of the transparent baby pants into the pockets of her pinafore, taking care to get a variety of sizes. Curious by nature, Janis decided to wear one of the baby pants over her diaper when she headed out to the car for the second time. The thick cloth made it impossible for her to walk normally, her stride now reduced to a toddler like waddle. Would anybody notice? Back at the house, when she took off her coat, would anyone comment on the bulge in her pants? A shiver ran down Janis's spine when she climbed into the car and started the engine. She gave it a minute to warm up, and used the time to wiggle around in the seat, trying to get the diaper to hug her body more comfortably. The child of hard working, conservative parents, Janis was quiet and obedient by nature. She had never done anything this daring in her whole life, and she was enjoying every moment of her criminal escapade. . . . . And more or less right on time,” Cindy crowed as she sat up straight in her seat, “here comes de truck, here comes de truck!” The two girls watched the Lullaby delivery van pull into the parking lot, and come to a stop opposite the entrance. The driver got out, and walked around to open the sliding door on the right side of the vehicle; a few moments later, he disappeared into the building with a lone bag bulging with nice, clean adult diapers. “Now's the moment of truth,” Tippi muttered more or less to herself; “will he spot the switch, or not?” She calculated that it should take him not more than ninety seconds to return to the van. Silently, she began to count backwards. She had just counted down to twenty when the door opened and the driver reemerged-- carrying the stash of oily rags that the girls had loaded into one of the identical bags that they had stolen on Monday morning. Tippi had added a few tokens harvested from Blofeld's litter box to give the rags a more authentic odor. “Looks like we passed the smell test,” Cindy laughed. The driver had tossed his noxious cargo into the back of the truck before driving off, exiting the lot onto the same side street that they were using for their heist. “Now we wait,” Tippi announced, crossing her arms to emphasize the point. “We'll give the old lady and her beater ten minutes to make an appearance. If she doesn't show, we'll make our move … same as before.” “Works for me,” Cindy agreed. “If Janis comes through with some of those super thick diapers that your professor wears, come the morning we'll be ready for business!” “I want to lay my hands on one of those locking diaper covers the prof wears,” Tippi replied. “Maybe Janis can track some down tomorrow. Imagine … keeping a guy in diapers 24/7, taking away his toilet privileges, giving him no choice but to pee and poop himself because his diapers are locked inside a pair of escape proof pants. You'd have a slave to do your bidding for as long as you wanted!” . . . . CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … At first, Julia was fascinated by the tracking device, and the precision with which one could follow its movement. When it was three miles away, it was barely audible, a single ... CH............................E..................................EP... hard to pick up over the sound of passing cars. As the diaper delivery van drew closer, however, the signal became stronger and more focused, and when it turned into the parking lot immediately across the road, it sounded much like the sirens that delivered a continuous blast all over the Twin Cities at one in the afternoon on the first Wednesday of the month. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … Even the short distance that the driver had to traverse as he carried the bundle of fresh diapers from the truck to the building's second floor was enough to alter the signal … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … And so it went, second by second, minute by minute, the mindless noise assaulting her brain, over and over and over again. No end to it. Julia dug into the glove box, desperate to find aspirin … a forgotten flask … anything to ward off the assault. She found nothing. Julia hated stakeouts. . . . . “Time's up,” Tippi declared; “fire her up.” Cindy obligingly turned over the ignition, and backed up, and drove slowly up the road. She exited the lot onto the side street the same way that she had entered, and drove slowly up the road. As soon as she parked alongside the building, Tippi was out the door, dashing off to collect the prized diapers from their second floor perch. She was back in less than five minutes. With the diapers safely hidden away in the trunk, Cindy turned onto the main thoroughfare and headed north towards the interstate-- towards the interstate, and home. The Great Diaper Heist of 1979, brilliantly planned and masterfully executed, was drawing to a close. . . . . CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CHE …. EEP, CHE …. EEP, CHE … EEP … CHE …. EEP, CHE …. EEP, CHE … EEP … Julia didn't realize that she had been nodding off until the signal pattern changed. They've taken the bait! Startled into full wakefulness, she mentally reviewed what the professor had taught her about his little toy. A shorter, stronger return meant that the target was approaching. A longer, weaker return meant that it was moving away. The signal was definitely fading! Can't be south or east … the beep would have become stronger, not weaker, as the diapers went past me … Julia pulled out of the parking lot, and headed north on the broad boulevard toward the beltway, some three miles distant. There was another interstate less than a mile to her west, but she had decided to ignore it. The two highways crossed at one of the busiest interchanges in the state, so the odds were overwhelming that thieves bound for Minneapolis to the north or one of the wealthy suburbs to the west would take one route or the other. If she could catch up with them before they reached the interchange … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … Closer! Triumphantly pounding the steering wheel with her fist, and gambling that she could speed in the light, late afternoon traffic without risk of being pulled over, Julia worked to close the distance between herself and a group of vehicles a couple of hundred yards ahead. Catching the few traffic lights on the green helped, and when she finally eased to a stop, it was to make the left turn onto the ramp that would drop her down to join the rush hour traffic heading west on the beltway. There were three cars ahead of her … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … It's one of these three vehicles … the thieves are in one of these three vehicles!!! . . . . “So, who gets stuck washing the dirty diapers that are stinking up my trunk?” Sitting at the light, Cindy was wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I'll do the honors,” Tippi shrugged. She sniffed her hands, and then suddenly thrust them under Cindy's nose. “Oh, yuck,” Cindy screeched; “you smell like a diaper pail! What'd you do, open the bag and rummage around in there just for the thrill of it?” “Light's green,” Tippi answered nonchalantly. “I don't mind changing a dirty diaper; I just don't want to wear one!” Traffic on the beltway was moving, but slowly. “Shitty traffic,” Cindy complained. “It'll thin out once we get on the interstate … should be clear sailing all the way back to the house.” “Are you really going to wash these shitty diapers yourself?” “Sure. I did a lot of diaper duty when I was younger. But you know who's diapers I really want to change? The professor's. The guy's hot, and so, so submissive. I'd give anything to be his girlfriend!” Tippi held her fingers up to her nose, and inhaled deeply. “I'd keep him locked up just the way he is now, but every time I changed him? I'd tease him … keep him guessing whether this would be the day he got lucky … make him beg for it. Like I said earlier, don't think about the poop and the smell, Cindy; think about the payoff! Think about having a guy's cock under lock and key … think about the power that comes with owning his cock! Imagine him on his knees in front of you, begging for the privilege of pleasuring you, all in the hope that in a moment of weakness you'll unlock him and let him cum! You'd be a goddess!” “Geez, Tip … you are one seriously screwed up little girl! But I love it! Why stop at scalping the profs? If we lock their dicks up, none of the other houses will be able to use them to rack up points!” Making the turn to head north toward the city, Cindy smiled broadly. Tip was right: the traffic had thinned dramatically. Smooth sailing, she thought; smooth sailing all the way home! . . . . Julia was impatiently drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change, when her car phone rang. She groped for the handset, her eyes never looking away from the signal. “Hey, Mom! Just calling to see how the stakeout is coming. You staying awake?” Julia ruefully shook her head. Car phones were convenient, but why did someone always have to call when she was in the middle of a pursuit? Couldn't they at least wait until she was entertaining her husband in the back seat at a drive-in? Technology will be the death of us all ... “Northbound on Nicollet, approaching the interstate,” she said in her most businesslike voice. “They took the bait, Pris; I'm fourth car in line at a red light, and the tracking device is in one of the three cars ahead of me. Have a listen.” Eyes still glued to the red light, wondering if the damned thing was ever going to change, Julia waved the handset at the receiver. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “Julia, you're too close! Way too close! Back off a quarter of a mile before they spot you in their mirrors!” Julia was so surprised that she almost dropped the phone. “Ian? What are you ...?” A thousand thoughts cascaded through Julia's brain, and none of them were happy thoughts. Where the hell are you, and what the hell are the two of you up to? I swear to God, if you are playing Happy Couple with my daughter … Still staring at the red light while simultaneously strangling the telephone, Julia somehow managed to get her emotions reasonably under control. “Never mind ... It's a left turn, and I'll lose them on the interstate if I miss the light!” There was a hint of panic in her voice, and she prayed that Pris and Ian would attribute it to her fear of missing the lousy red light. And to make matters worse, she really, really did need to pee. Does anybody in one of those car chase scenes ever need a toilet break? How the hell did Steve McQueen manage to stay dry bouncing around San Francisco that way? Oh, hell, he was probably wearing a diaper … “No, you won't. If they're heading for the junction and you take the wrong highway, the signal will change dramatically. Remember, with both vehicles on the move, it is far more sensitive than it was with you stationary in that parking lot.” And just where did you field test this doohickey? Behind the Iron Curtain? “But the rate of separation … I'll lose the signal in a matter of seconds ...” Priscilla … baby … what have you got yourself into? “Doesn't matter. Reverse course at the first off ramp, and give it the gas. You'll reacquire it when you close in. Worst comes to worst, you set up a search pattern using city streets. Trust me about this, Julia … it's not my first rodeo.” Oh, trust me, that's obvious! Now, where, oh where, did that 'aw shucks' shtick of yours get to? Riddle me that, Batman! “Hold on! Light's changed … got to go!!” Julia dropped the phone, willing the light to stay green as the vehicles ahead of her inched their way through the slush to start down the westbound ramp. As it turned out, hers was the last car to make the turn, and she got a good look at the drivers in the three vehicles ahead of her. You have got to be kidding me ... Holding onto the steering wheel with one hand, her foot dancing back and forth between the accelerator and brake pedals, trying to keep her eyes on the road … Julia felt around for the phone. “Pris … Honey, are you still there?” “Still here, Mom. Just giving my Secret Agent Man a hug and a kiss for a job well done.” “Young lady, I will talk with you about Professor Grady later!” Lord, give me strength! Would someone care to explain how, in a span of less than seventy two hours, my hitherto calm, sensible daughter has gone and fallen madly in love with a crippled vet who's spent years wandering the world doing God only knows what for his country ... “Right now, I need you to call your father. It's unbelievable. I ran into two girls yesterday when traipsing around town in the wake of the Lullaby van. Well, guess what! They're driving a different car, but it's them! They're the diaper thieves! Call Dad, and tell him that I need a local address for the girl he ran through the DMV yesterday-- Tippi Anne Bjornsen of New Ulm!” And what do they call your boyfriend at headquarters … Double Oh Diaper Man, Licensed to Kill? Who should I call first … Rod Serling, or Mike Wallace? CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “No need to bother Dad.” CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … Julia knew that her daughter was laughing her head off, and she could have sworn that she could hear Ian doing a play by play in the background. “Ian … um … Professor Grady … is pretty sure that he knows the young lady in question. She's a student, Mom-- and a sorority girl! So, congratulations! You've cracked the case, and now you get to inform Spats Belmondo that he's the victim of a typical sorority stunt pulled off by a bunch of enterprising juvenile delinquents!” Oh, lucky me … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “Julia, head for sorority row; we'll meet you there.” Well, at least he hasn't forgotten how to issue orders. Nice to meet you, Major … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “Pris can read them their rights, maybe place them under arrest. I'm thinking that a night in the slammer would probably do this crew some good!” “Book 'em, Danno!” It was a great line, but unfortunately Ian had already hung up the phone. Julia increasingly had to concentrate on her driving. Heading north on the interstate, there was now only one car separating her from the target vehicle. If it changed lanes, she would be fully visible, and the Bjornsen girl would no doubt recognize her beater if she bothered to look in the mirror. Julia slowed down, willing another car to slide in front of her. CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … When the phone rang again, it was with a sense of genuine resignation that Julia picked up. She had a pretty good idea who was calling, and what she was going to say. “Mom, I just got off the phone with Chief Mischof. I've got an address for you. Ready?” “Fire away.” Priscilla did so, and promised to meet her there, but she went on casually to add that first she had to take Ian upstairs and change his diaper, which was certainly wet and possibly poopy. Remembering her conversation in Rita's office just a few hours earlier, Julia was sorely tempted to ask her daughter if she would need a few extra minutes to feed him his ba bas as well, but she decided that this was a conversation best not conducted while driving fifty five miles an hour on the interstate. But it is a conversation we are going to have, daughter of mine; oh yes, we are! “Aargh,” Julia screamed as she repeatedly pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Is she kinky? Is she kinky, and we simply missed it? CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … And where is this relationship headed? CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … Where...? CH.....E.....EP ...

Ian needs some tunes, and he's a Southern California street racer-- Hawthorne Blvd. and the Pacific Coast Hwy. in South Bay, Van Nuys Blvd. out in the Valley, and occasionally, Sunset Blvd. from West Hollywood to the beach. Beachboys? Jan & Dean? Her mother will just buy her a bigger shovel.

Welcome on board. Over the years, there have been quite a few Minnesotans past and present hanging out here, but as someone who comes at this from the incontinent rather than the ABDL side, I'm simply not sure whether there is an active ABDL community here or not. People bring a wide array of interests to this site, so please wander around, and dive into whatever catches your interest.

And happily, there is a famous one in this country. Let me encourage you to do a deep dive into its program by enrolling! https://usnannyinstitute.com/

Good catch!

Since both nanny and baby are young and given to raging hormones, the senior staff must have its hands full trying to distinguish between real love and raw passion. To judge from the action to date, it looks like the nannies give Edna and Rose as many if not more headaches than the inmates. They must hate losing a nanny for the wrong reason.

Stockholm Syndrome must be a recurrent problem here, especially with inmates from broken homes or homes with parents who kept their emotional distance. Hopefully, Edna and Rose have a deprogramming exercise that they can put into play; otherwise, stalking would be the least of a nannie's worries.

CHEEP ... CHEEP ... CHEEP ... CHEEP “Ah, 24 Hours from Tulsa, a true classic from the country and western graveyard known as the nineteen sixties! Welcome back to KSAD, everyone! The final resting place of deceased disc jockeys who've followed the one way road all the way to International Falls, Minnesota! And Stephen King's dead on … we do have a hell of a band here, and five hundred kilowatts of bone crunching power crushing the airwaves from Murmansk to Tierra del Fuego! Jaynie, we got any advertisers in Tierra del Fuego?” “Not that I know of, James.” “Remind me to tell station management to get us some advertisers in Tierra del Fuego!” “Made a note of it, James.” “Thank you, lovely Jaynie. Now what's it like outside as we approach the end of the hour and the end of our shift here at AM 540, the veritable bottom of the dial, where you can check out but never leave?” “It's currently thirty seven below zero out there, James, with a wind chill taking it down to seventy two below.” “A perfect night for ice fishing! Gonna go catch me some walleye! Park the old pick up out on the lake, leave the radio on, blasting out KSAD all the way to Mars! We get any fan mail this week from purple Martian centipedes?” “Seven letters so far, all with postage due.” “No matter. I'll tell management to take it out of your paycheck! This is James Dean signing off with a trio of requests from Sarah down in the Twin Cities, who appears to have a serious boyfriend problem. We got Hank Williams, Senior's Your Cheatin' Heart, Linda Ronstadt's When Will I Be Loved … but first … here's Dolly Parton, and Jolene.” Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene I'm begging of you please don't take my man Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene Please don't take him just because you can … . . . . “You scared the shit out of me,” Ian said affectionately. “Literally!” “Literally?” Priscilla gently tapped the seat of his pants, but there was no way to feel the mess through his thick diaper and canvas cover. Nor could she detect the telltale odor of a dirty diaper, for which she was thankful. “And your diaper bag's in the car,” she observed. “I guess we should hoof it.” “Or we could head upstairs and see if Sarah's back from her shopping trip, maybe take a peek at the latest instruments of torture that she's lined up for me.” “Not sure that's a good idea. After all, we didn't fool Marilyn Marsden, and the damsel who keeps you in perpetual distress may have an equally keen eye. She scares me, and I'm a tough, hard nosed police officer who doesn't scare easily. For the time being, I think we ought to keep our distance.” “Your wish is my command ...” “I like that,” Priscilla giggled. “I like that a lot!” “Oh, dear,” Ian sighed dramatically. “I do have a thing for bossy women, don't I? You're the fourth one I've fallen for this month.” “Just a baby who's crying out for his mommy, but a very naughty baby. Vickie and I indulge you far too much, and Sarah doesn't indulge you enough. How are we ever to find the middle ground … let you be a little naughty, but not too much?” “Maybe I should fly off to Athens and leave the four of you to sort out my fate.” “Oh no you don't!” Priscilla waved a lone finger in Ian's face as a warning, not realizing that the gesture was exactly what an exasperated mother would do with a small child. “I like Irina, but I'm not about to run the risk that you'll fall for her as well. Nope, no way. I take my bodyguard duties very seriously, so if you're going to Athens, then I'm going to Athens. And if the two of us are going to Athens, what are the odds that Sarah's going to Athens? And if Sarah's going to Athens, what are the odds that Rita and Vickie are going to Athens? So, the only thing left to decide is when the five of us are going to Athens.” Priscilla's tone made it clear that the matter was no longer under discussion. “Right now,” Ian groaned, “you're going to change my diaper. So, tell me, Officer Canon: where are we going?” “Across the street. We have a very nice restroom on the second floor. So come, your diaper changing station awaits!” . . . . Rita headed straight home, arriving a few minutes before the work crew that would set up Vickie's crib in the makeshift nursery. It took additional minutes to dismantle Ian's crib and move it from the alcove. Following Sarah's lead, Rita had the two cribs placed side by side in the center of the room, leaving space for the changing table in one corner, and for Vickie's dresser and chest of drawers to be housed along the opposite wall. The nursery would be cramped but fully functional, with multiple diaper pails guaranteeing that in a very short space of time the chamber would smell like a true nursery. Poop, pee, and baby powder! Rita couldn't wait to get her babies home. . . . . As soon as Vickie walked in the door, she tossed her coat on the floor, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the bedroom. Leaving her clothing scattered across the bed, she moved on to the bathroom. She promptly unlocked and discarded the diaper cover, with her pink baby pants and heavy diaper quickly following, the latter finding a temporary home in the trash can alongside the toilet. Returning to the bedroom completely nude, she collected her wand, and once settled comfortably in a sea of plush pillows atop the comforter, closed her eyes and began to massage her breasts. They were sensitive, but she knew that they would become far more so once she began using the breast pump on a regular basis. In her imagination, her breasts were larger now, the nipples more pronounced, everything incredibly sensitive. She could feel the milk leaking out, could feel Ian eagerly pouncing, lapping it up, then settling in her arms, latching on, feeding on her teats. Pinching and playing with now hardened nipples, eyes tightly shut, Vickie could feel molten lava erupting from her breasts and flowing in a smooth stream to her vagina. She used her fingers, imagining that it was Ian's tongue working its magic, licking and nibbling on the inside of her thighs, bringing her to full arousal before even venturing to explore her nub, even before invading her. Vickie's breath shortened, giving way to soft moans as she used her fingers on all of her most sensitive spots, the ones that she would train Ian to give his full, devoted attention. Finally reaching for the wand, she activated it at the lowest setting, and began running it back and forth across the secret places that Ian in time would know so well. She came, but she was hungry for more. Imagining Ian beneath her, riding him, enslaving him with her taut muscles while his knowing hands wandered all over her body. She changed the setting, and almost instantly climaxed again, her moans giving way to a muted but insistent scream. Finally exhausted, Vickie set the wand aside, and decided to luxuriate in a nice, warm bubble bath. But first she would visit the kitchen and mix a Cuba Libre, the rum and coke drowning the ice cubes. She didn't have a lime, but when it came to alcohol, in truth Vickie wasn't very picky. Returning to the bathroom, she put the radio on low, soft rock playing in the background as she settled into the tub for a nice, long soak, occasionally interrupted with a sip of her drink. This was how Rita found her, Vickie being sensible enough to have given her best friend a spare key long, long ago. . . . . You've come to tell me something you say I ought to know Sarah's tears gradually slowed to a trickle, and then ceased altogether. That he don't love me anymore and I'll have to let him go The heaving sobs that had left her gasping for air faded away. She did not need to look in a mirror to know that she was a mess, but fumbling in her purse for her makeup mirror, she checked the damage anyway. You say you're gonna take him, oh, but I don't think you can A wry smile creased her lips. Bloodshot eyes … makeup smudged and streaked … I look just like Vickie did when we walked out of Rita's office this morning. Time to get a grip, girl! But the real damage was emotional, and it was massive. She had been so casually betrayed, and the pain that Ian's betrayal had triggered was bad … unimaginably so. 'Cause you ain't woman enough to take my man But the pain had merged with anger. She had trusted Ian, and her trust had been misplaced. She had trusted Amy, and raised no objection when she handed Ian off to the policewoman. Her trust had been displaced. She had trusted others, and that had been her mistake. She was angry with them, but she was no less angry with herself. Her mother had warned her to keep Ian under her firm control, urged her to deploy the ultimate weapon of complete orgasm denial. She had ignored the warning, ignored her mother's advice, and now she was paying the price. The chastity cage nestled inside her purse was a practical solution, but she had not sensed the need for urgency. She had taken her damned, sweet time ... And now she was paying the price. The bottom line? What was she going to do next? No mysteries here, she mused. Without trust, it always comes down to the same two choices. Do you dump the bastard, or do you try to find some way to salvage the relationship? Sarah impatiently drummed her fingers on the desk top while idly staring at the box containing the breast pump. In the back of her mind, she already knew what choice she would make. The breast pump, and all that it symbolized, had left her with but the one option. Time to stop feeling sorry for yourself, girl. Now, get to work, and clean up this mess … starting with your face! Diving back into her purse, Sarah pulled out her lipstick and cosmetics, and set about repairing the damage. When she was finished, she opened the door, then returned to her desk. There were always reports to process, and the pile stacked in front of her would serve to hide her away from the world. Women like you they're a dime a dozen, you can buy 'em anywhere She opened the patient file on top of the stack, and used it to make herself look busy. But she was deep in thought, her mind running over the weapons at her disposal, and the tactics that would best serve her purpose. For you to get to him I'd have to move over And I'm gonna stand right here Looking down, Sarah belatedly realized that she had been doodling on a scratchpad. The same two words, over and over again. Trust Guilt Ian had demonstrated that he could not be trusted, but he was clearly capable of feeling guilt. His entire treatment plan pivoted around the presumption that he was hiding from something that had gone badly wrong in Viet Nam, something that he had brought back to the States, something which had haunted him ever since. Guilt was something that she could manipulate, something that could give her the upper hand in a contest of wills. But how to make use of it? Gradually, a plan formed in Sarah's mind. She would tell him what she had witnessed, and ask him point blank if he had made love to Priscilla. Whatever his answer, truth or lie, instead of blowing up and verbally abusing him, she would be understanding, forgiving, even magnanimous. Falling in love with so many women so quickly, she would stress, was a classic symptom of what was known as Borderline Personality Disorder. He couldn't help himself, hence could not be held responsible for his actions, although they were terribly hurtful. Still, they needed to come to terms with the fact that she could not personally care for him twenty-four hours a day, but would always have to rely on others to assist. Since she had been ceded the responsibility for managing their household, and his glaring lack of self-control threatened to make the already delicate matter of balancing their sexual lives infinitely more difficult, it was time for him to wear a chastity device for which she alone would have the key-- a device that was comfortable and unobtrusive, but guaranteed to spare the three of them the humiliation of further indiscretions on his part. She would stress that this was not intended as a punishment, and that it would in any event be impossible for her to deny him sex, since Rita and Vickie would never agree to it. She would hold one trump card in reserve. If Priscilla turned out to be more than a passing fancy, she was prepared to welcome her into the household so long as she accepted the same terms that she had worked out with Rita and Vickie. This amounted to demanding that Priscilla acknowledge Sarah as head of household, and agree to follow her diktats. It'll be over my dead body, so get out while you can Satisfied that this plan would give her a chance to redeem Ian and put their household on a firmer foundation, Sarah left her office for her daily hands-on assessment of the ward. If she was a little rushed, it was only because she wanted to buy a few extra minutes for her first outing with the breast pump. 'Cause you ain't woman enough to take my man . . . . Julia hated stakeouts. Especially in the winter time. You could stay anonymous by freezing your ass off, or you could paint a big bullseye on your vehicle by keeping the engine running, the exhaust fumes telling everybody for miles around that there was a doofus sitting in a parked car with the heater going full blast. To make matters worse, students had been pulling out of the parking lot in a steady stream every since she arrived. She had already fired up the engine four times to move into the steadily diminishing cover. Making the best of the situation, she kept reminding herself that each time she moved, she was able to run the heater full bore for a few precious minutes. Julia hated stakeouts. Ian's apartment building featured a large parking lot-- large enough to have two separate entrances, like the building itself. Julia was parked across the street to the east, which gave her a clear view of the south entrance. She was acutely aware, however, that there were northern entrances to both the lot and the building, and she could not monitor either of them from her vantage point in the high school parking lot. So, there was a fifty-fifty chance that she was watching the wrong approach. If Ian's high-tech gadgetry turned out to be a bust, she could easily end up with egg all over her puss, and a very unhappy client clamoring for answers. No one wanted to make Spats Belmondo unhappy. That was the problem with having gangsters for clients. “Sorry”didn't feed that particular bulldog. Julia's spirits picked up when the gaudy Lullaby Diaper Service truck lumbered into view. She turned on the monitor for the tracking device, and breathed a deep sigh of relief when it began contentedly to go CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP. She was even more delighted to discover that she was so close to the target that she could actually hear the signal change direction, the CHEEP giving way to a more muted CH..E..EP as the driver carried Ian's fresh load of diapers up to the second floor. A couple of minutes later, he reemerged with a bag of dirty diapers, which he heaved into the rear of the truck. Firing up the engine, he pulled out of the lot, turned right onto the side street to the north, then right again to pass her as he drove off in the direction of the Minnesota River. Just another routine delivery. Sitting in her car, Julia listened to the monitor. The monotonous, endlessly repetitive CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP threatening her sanity. She desperately wanted someone … anyone … to abscond with Ian's diapers, and put her out of her misery. . . . . “Well, this is a first.” Lying on the floor, Ian was slowly shaking his head in disbelief. Priscilla paused in the middle of changing his poopy diaper, tilting her head slightly as she looked down at her charge. “Having my butt wiped by a beautiful young woman in a public restroom above a delicatessen just down the hall from a lawyer's office.” He was proud of the fact that he was learning how to interpret Priscilla's facial expressions so quickly. The depth of his feelings for his bodyguard cum nanny had taken him completely by surprise. “We've got time for a quickie,” she grinned impishly. “No.” Ian reached up to caress her cheek, but he was shaking his head emphatically. “Pris, I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but I do know this: quickies are not in our future. I want to make love to you … I'm seeing Kerr and Lancaster in the surf in From Here to Eternity.” “Hmm. If we catch up with Irina in Athens, how about somewhere in the Greek isles? I could be Aphrodite rising from the sea.” “She was nude, you know? No bathing suit.” “I can do that, although we might scandalize the rest of your harem … well, not Vickie.” “True,” Ian laughed; “not Vickie.” “I think of her as my sister, you know? My slightly older sister.” “That's good. I've been trying to figure out a way to make this work, and like with you trying to explain our relationship to your parents, I've been drawing blanks. Pris, what the hell are we going to do? Hell, for that matter, what the hell is wrong with you? My life is such a mess, you should get away from me; run as fast and as far away as you can get!” “Nope, sorry, isn't going to happen. No getting around the fact that you're stuck with me.” “I can't figure it out ...” “You don't have to,” she interrupted. “Ian, in the very near future I am going to have a pretty awkward conversation with my parents. I've spent much of the day trying to sort out how to explain what's happened to them, and it's not easy. Quantico will help, and in time Mom will get it … how I've fallen for this man who brings out the animal in me, but at the same time is tapping into my need to nurture and protect. But Dad's gonna be a hard sell; maternal, he most definitely is not.” “Not into changing diapers, I take it?” “Nope … strictly women's work.” “Definitely not a closet feminist!” “Nope. How about you? Have you signed on for the revolution?” “Charter member. Or at least Princess Poopy Pants is.” “Oh, yes … the little girl that's keeping her head down somewhere inside your subconscious. One of these days, I'd like to meet her!” “Take it up with your big sister. Vickie's planted something like a hypnotic command inside my head to shove me aside and let the Princess take over. Would you like to have a play date with the widdle baby girl?” Ian batted his eyelids mischievously. “I'm looking forward to babysitting her. Right this moment, though, I'm going to finish diapering you, then it's time to check in with Mom and see how the stakeout is going.” . . . . CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CHE …. EEP, CHE …. EEP, CHE … EEP … CHE …. EEP, CHE …. EEP, CHE … EEP … Julia was half asleep, all but hypnotized by the calming repetition of the signal emanating from the tracking device, but she came fully awake when the pattern suddenly changed. CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … They've taken the bait! Julia was exultant, but bit down hard on her lip to get herself under control. Professor Grady had taught her how to read the signal. If you're stationary and the signal changes, it means that the target is in motion. If the beep shortens, it's getting closer … if it becomes more drawn out, it's moving away from you. Your receiver will hold onto the signal across a range of three miles, but don't panic if you lose it. Extend your search pattern, and it will reacquire the signal when you are once again less than three miles away … Julia fired up the engine and pulled out of the lot, debating whether to go right or left, north or south … Can't be south or east … the beep would have become stronger, not weaker, as the diapers went past me … Julia turned right, and headed north toward the beltway, beyond which lay Richfield and, ultimately, Minneapolis. If the signal continued to weaken, she would turn west, into the wealthy suburbs that graced the southwestern corner of the Twin Cities. It had to be one or the other. CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … Closer! Julia triumphantly pounded the steering wheel with her fist. The broad boulevard was passing through a residential district with large homes set back on big lots, so there was little traffic. There were no stop signs, and the lights were spaced every six to eight blocks. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … I'm right on top of it! Grady, you son of a bitch! I owe you big time, my daughter thinks you walk on water, and the Department wants me to investigate your ass. What the hell! CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … Julia was sitting at a red light, three cars in the lane ahead of her. It's one of these three vehicles … the thieves are in one of these three vehicles!!! . . . . “Uh, Pris … um … should we really just waltz into their office like this? I mean, you're acting like you own the place!” After finishing Ian's diaper change and helping him to redress, Priscilla had led him back downstairs to the delicatessen. Casually waving to the guys behind the counter, she had opened the door without knocking, and ushered him inside. “Not to worry. Mom does own the building … well, technically, only a third of it, but that's enough to buy me a few privileges around here. Like using the telephone when I don't want my uncles upstairs to know what's going on. Where I draw the line is changing your dirty diapers in somebody else's office. That would be gross.” “Glad to hear it, especially since we didn't bother to lock the door.” Priscilla favored Ian with her most sultry smile while dialing her mother's car phone. Julia picked up on the first ring. . . . . “Hey, Mom! Just calling to see how the stakeout is coming. You staying awake?” Priscilla knew how much her mother hated stakeouts. “Northbound on Nicollet, approaching the interstate. They took the bait, Pris; I'm fourth car in line at a red light, and the tracking device is in one of the three cars ahead of me. Have a listen.” Julia held the phone up to the receiver. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “Julia, you're too close! Way too close!” Ian had snatched the phone out of Priscilla's hand, and he was shouting to make himself heard over the racket in Julia's car. “Back off a quarter of a mile before they spot you in their mirrors!” “Ian? What are you ...? Never mind ... It's a left turn, and I'll lose them on the interstate if I miss the light!” “No, you won't. If they're heading for the junction and you take the wrong highway, the signal will change dramatically. Remember, with both vehicles on the move, it is far more sensitive than it was with you stationary in that parking lot.” “But the rate of separation … I'll lose the signal in a matter of seconds ...” “Doesn't matter. Reverse course at the first off ramp, and give it the gas. You'll reacquire it when you close in. Worst comes to worst, you set up a search pattern using city streets. Trust me about this, Julia … it's not my first rodeo.” “Hold on! Light's changed … got to go!!” Julia dropped the phone, and held her breath as the vehicles ahead of her crawled slowly through the slush and started down the on ramp. Hers was the last car to make the turn, and she got a good look at the three vehicles ahead of her. Her mouth fell open in astonishment. Driving with one hand and keeping her eyes on the road, Julia felt around for the phone … “Pris … Honey, are you still there?” “Still here, Mom. Just giving my Secret Agent Man a hug and a kiss for a job well done.” “Young lady, I will talk with you about Professor Grady later. Right now, I need you to call your father. It's unbelievable. I ran into two girls yesterday when traipsing around town in the wake of the Lullaby van. Well, guess what! They're driving a different car, but it's them! They're the diaper thieves! Call Dad, and tell him that I need a local address for the girl he ran through the DMV yesterday-- Tippi Anne Bjornsen of New Ulm!” “No need to bother Dad.” Priscilla was laughing so hard that she could barely get the words out. Listening in on the call, Ian was madly whispering into her ear, reminding her that he had entertained a Tippi Bjornsen during his office hour yesterday afternoon. It had to be the same person! “Ian … um … Professor Grady … is pretty sure that he knows the young lady in question. She's a student, Mom-- and a sorority girl! So, congratulations! You've cracked the case, and now you get to inform Spats Belmondo that he's the victim of a typical sorority stunt pulled off by a bunch of enterprising juvenile delinquents!” “Julia, head for sorority row,” Ian advised; “we'll meet you there. Pris can read them their rights, maybe place them under arrest. I'm thinking that a night in the slammer would probably do this crew some good!” As soon as Julia hung up, Priscilla dialed her own headquarters. Her boss was still in his office, and Priscilla quickly brought him up to date on the latest bit of craziness occurring on the Row. When he finally finished laughing, the Chief looked up Tippi Anne Bjornsen, and quickly ascertained that she was a member in good standing of Zeta Alpha Pi, perhaps the most academically challenged of all the houses. For his part, he promised to await her call, then descend with enough squad cars, lights flashing and sirens blaring, to make the late night local news. He would personally be dumping the whole mess on the Dean's desk come the morning. Still battling to keep a reasonably straight face, Priscilla called her mom and gave her the address for a sorority that she had officially visited on more than one occasion. They would meet her there, but first things first: she had to go back upstairs and change her embarrassed professor's wet and dirty diaper one more time. Julia gripped the steering wheel hard. Sitting in Rita's office only hours earlier, Sarah had told her in no uncertain terms that her daughter was not only changing Ian's diapers but also bottle feeding him … treating him like a baby. And now Priscilla had just admitted in passing that she was changing his diaper-- said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Was she kinky? Were there signs that she and Herb had missed? And where is this relationship headed? Where...? Driving north on the interstate, approaching downtown, Julia resolved to have a very serious conversation with her daughter, the sole subject of said conversation being one Professor Ian Grady. CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … Screaming, pounding the steering wheel in frustration, Julia paid no attention to the car in the lane to her left. But the driver was definitely paying attention to her, and Herb Kinnison did exactly what any sensible driver would do when finding himself going fifty-five miles an hour next to a rust bucket driven by a middle aged woman clearly in the throes of a nervous breakdown. He floored it.

Sarah will still be tuned in at the start of the next scene, so we shall find out in due course! Thanks for playing.

Quickie Country & Western quiz: Down in the dumps, Sarah called the request line at KSAD, the 500 megawatt blowtorch in International Falls, MN. Which of the following do you think the Dee Jay led off with in response? A. Jolene (Dolly Parton) B. When Will I Be Loved (Linda Ronstadt) C. You're No Good (Linda Ronstadt) D. Your Cheatin' Heart (Hank Williams, Sr.)

We were drinking Patron Silver, which is a very smooth tequila. We are traditionalists: do the shot, lick salt off your wrist (we opt for Himalayan sea salt), then hammer the taste buds with a slice of lime. These were on the house at our favorite Mexican restaurant, a family owned affair that we patronize three or four times a month. Yep, a great episode. And never shall fish stain the Bundy grill! Let's see if she still inspires sympathy in the next scene.

Sorry about the vague wording. I meant to thank Mike for setting up the site in such a way as to promote interaction between author and reader. This was something my wife and I picked up in Tokyo at a sex shop in Akihabara in the summer of 1975. I haven't kept up with chastity devices in recent years, but this one was pretty simple. We may find out how well, or poorly, it works at the Saturday night meeting of the Circle. We also picked up another toy in Akihabara that, by an amazing coincidence, Rita was able to purchase while Sarah was changing Vickie's diaper in the storeroom. This one is a lot of fun, and will have the ladies clamoring for a go on Saturday night.

Today, I'm celebrating my 78th birthday. and I'd like to think my wife and I did it in style: two jumbo margaritas, countless tequila shots, and a bottle of champagne to finish off a fine dinner and obscenely decadent birthday cake. It's hard to believe that I cashed my first pay check from a publishing house all the way back in 1972, yet somehow still possess the energy to turn out 48 scenes in a story here that has now surpassed the 200,000 word mark (and the end is not yet in sight). I wanted to take this opportunity to express my thanks to the individuals who have taken the time here not only to read Homage but also to comment. One of the odd things about publishing in the real world is that you get to know your critics, but rarely interact with your fans. Not so on this site. Thanks, Mike.

Well, you still can't compete with Al Bundy when he got on the phone to order a part for the Dodge ("Proud to Be Your Bud" is one of my favorite episodes of my favorite TV series of all time)!

24 HOURS FROM TULSA Oh, I was only twenty four hours from Tulsa Ah, only one day away from your arms I hate to do this to you but I love somebody new, what can I do? Gene Pitney (1963), Dusty Springfield (1964) . . . . Ian leaned back, closed his eyes, and allowed his taste buds to take control of his senses. A pastrami sandwich with all the trimmings was a treat at the best of times, but coming on top of a steady diet of breast milk, it was nirvana. “Real food,” he sighed contentedly, “real food!” When he opened his eyes, he saw that Priscilla was staring at him strangely. “What?” “The look on your face. Ian, your resilience ...” Priscilla shook her head, trying to come to terms with it. “A half hour ago, you were in so much pain that I was fighting to hold back the tears, and there were a couple of times when it took everything I had not to throw up in your trash can. And now?” She continued to shake her head. “Now, here we are, eating a late lunch in my favorite deli, acting as if nothing terrible had ever happened to either one of us. I'm sitting here trying to process the strangest day in my whole life, and I'm not having much luck.” After changing Ian's diaper, she had led him out to her cruiser and driven directly to the deli, parking in the slot reserved for her mother at the rear of the building. Sitting at the small table, sandwiches, chips and beverages spread out in front of them, the only thing that seemed out of place was Priscilla's uniform. In every other respect, they appeared to be a young couple who had taken advantage of a late winter afternoon lull to duck in out of the cold and enjoy each other's company. “I'm afraid it's about to get stranger still,” Ian grimaced. He took a sip of his coffee, and was surprised to see that his hand wasn't shaking. “How so?” Priscilla leaned across the table, drawing closer to him. The intimacy of the gesture warmed her. Ian's smile, she now realized, had always been tinged with sorrow, with regret, the sometimes visible face of a broken heart. She longed to take him in her arms, to hold him close, and somehow to make all the pain go away. “I made love to you without thinking about the consequences. And they're real. Seriously, Priscilla, what I laid out for you wasn't theoretical; it's going to happen.” “No regrets, Ian … for either of us. One of the things I'm trying to process is my feelings for you. I'm nor ashamed of them, and I'm not going to apologize-- to Sarah, or anyone else.” “Good, because I don't want you to. And if anyone asks you straight out, just say da.” Priscilla's laugh was heartfelt. “I'm glad you feel that way because I don't think either one of us could deny it with a straight face!” “My thoughts exactly,” Ian grinned. “So, here's what I'm thinking.” He leaned forward, further closing the distance between them. “The security team will be organized into outer and inner perimeters, and when there are women and small children involved, the standard procedure is to have an all-female team on the inside, led by someone local with police experience. I'm pretty sure that Donnie would agree to make you the principal agent, but it would mean living on site … after completing the standard training course at Quantico, with a bit of supplemental training tossed in to fit the specific situation. The basic course is thirty-three days, and the supplemental would probably occur on site. Think you can live without me for a month?” “How on site is on site?” The twinkle in Priscilla's eyes told Ian that she was already sold, if only for the fringe benefits. “In the bedroom next to the target, which initially will be Sarah. By the way, I expect to be comfortably situated in one of the cribs that I occupied in the psych ward. The odds are good that a bedroom will be converted into a nursery, with me the sole occupant. Could get lonely in there.” The twinkle in Ian's eyes told Priscilla that Ian was not about to end their relationship. “And would this nursery of yours have a changing table, where I could look after you properly?” The twinkle in Priscilla's eyes had turned positively devilish. “Count on it … and perhaps one of those miniature refrigerators to house my ba bas.” His cock was straining to get hard inside its diapered prison. “Well, free room and board … and a course at Quantico would look awfully good on my resume ...” “But can I survive without you for a whole month? You've already made it clear that nobody else on the force would be willing to change my shitty diaper.” Ian was rather glad that the deli was all but deserted this late in the afternoon. “Suzie Marshall might be willing ...” “Can't see Sarah giving her the key. Besides, she probably isn't pistol trained. City girls just don't know their guns.” “Well, I could ask Mom; she doesn't have much to do in December, knows a good pistol when she sees one, and has definitely changed the odd diaper.” “Might make your dad jealous ...” Ian snapped his fingers. “How about one of those cute coeds camping out at the office? Maybe for extra credit.” “Hmm … nope … too late in the term. Sorry.” “Know any nannies packing heat?” “Not really … wait … Harriet's a possibility. She definitely wants to get in your pants, and her uncle is a notorious gangster. She may know what to do with a loaded gun.” “In my current state, make it a double action.” “Cocked and loaded, are you? Ready to fire?” “Not sure about the pin … might need some tender, loving care.” Just needs a little oil … a bit of pampering.” “Pampering is always good ...” Priscilla reached out to clasp the back of Ian's neck, and pulled him forward. “Such a baby,” she murmured, as she kissed him full on the lips, holding him tightly in her grasp. “But don't worry. A month at Quantico will go by fast, and then Mommy will always be here to change your shitty diaper. Da?” “Da.” . . . . “One more stop and we can call it a day,” Sarah announced. She turned around in her seat, and double checked to make sure that Vickie's seat belt was properly fastened. “Where to?” Rita was making her way slowly down the aisle. The accident rate in snow bound mall parking lots was staggering. “Mom says that we need to visit a shop in the northern suburbs. They apparently have a nice array of spanking implements that will encourage our babies to be more obedient.” “Works for me,” Rita shrugged as she glanced in the rear view mirror to see how Vickie was reacting. She wasn't particularly surprised to see that their colleague was staring aimlessly out the window, and paying no attention whatsoever to the frank discussion of corporal punishment underway in the front seat. When it came to paddling the rear end, Rita suspected that there was precious little to be left to Vickie's imagination. “Did you think that she was a bit too cruel,” Rita continued. “Who?” Sarah wasn't sure who they were talking about. “The lady running the store. It's one thing to leave that boy in the storeroom in a diaper and baby pants, sucking on a pacifier, while she rang up our purchase. But taking his trousers with her, and calling his mother to come pick him up? I don't know about that.” “Well, if the mother sent him to the store in the first place, obviously there's no harm done. But if he lied about that … if he's acting out some kind of baby fetish behind her back, it's better for her to find out now rather than later. Rita, you of all people know that reality rarely measures up to fantasy, especially adolescent fantasy. If she indulges him … starts sending him to school in diapers and treating him like a baby at home, he might decide that his fantasy isn't all that he thought it would be, and he'll move on. But if this is what he really wants, either she takes her new baby home and helps him come to terms with his infantile desires, or they end up in counseling. Either way, Tommy comes out ahead.” “I suppose so,” Rita reluctantly conceded, “but I hope that his diaper holds up. When his mother walks through the door, that poor kid is going to pee up a storm!” “They'll probably have to pry his pacifier loose with a crowbar,” Sarah laughed. “And I can't wait to slip Ian's pacifier into his mouth when we get home. It will get a real workout when I'm spanking his baby butt! How about you, baby girl?” Sarah twisted around in her seat, and licked her lips as she thought about what she had in store for Vickie. “You're so naughty that I'm not even going to bother spanking you. Nope. I'm going straight to the paddle, or perhaps I'll graduate to the cane that I'm going to buy at our next stop. Mom says that it might be the only thing that will get your attention. We'll see, baby girl; we'll see. But don't worry! You'll have your binkie to calm your tears!” . . . . Priscilla peeked at her watch, then stood up. “Be right back,” she said; “I'm going to call Mom, and see how things are going on her end.” Waving at the guys behind the counter, Priscilla opened a door marked MANAGER, and disappeared inside, leaving Ian to salivate over the next bite of his pastrami sandwich. While he ate, he was also thinking about his next talk with Donnie Freeman. Ian well understood that it was not in the Agency's best interest to find his daughter, for the simple reason that he would cease working for Langley the moment Linh arrived on his doorstep. When he had refused the latest Polish mission, he had in effect cast a formal vote of no confidence in a community that he had distrusted since adolescence. He was pinning his hopes on the Russians, but he wasn't quite ready to write the DC crowd off completely. Rita, Vickie and Sarah gave him three cards to play in this convoluted game, and Priscilla's admission that they were lovers had just added a fourth. As long as the Agency could keep control, Donnie would have been perfectly happy to learn that he was sleeping with every woman who crossed his path. Sex was merely a means, children the end. Ian concluded that pitching Priscilla to the Agency would be like tossing bloody meat into shark infested waters. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. . . . . “Fantasy Island?” Rita did a double take as she pulled into the lot. It was obviously a shop selling “marital aids,” but with a hardware store on one side and an Asian supermarket on the other, it looked distinctly out of place. “Yep. Mom says that this is the place to shop in the Twin Cities when you're looking for adult toys. Baby girl, have you been here?” Sarah would have bet a healthy sum that Vickie had an account here. After all, her wands had to come from someplace, and if her mom was right, this was the most likely source. “Uh huh,” Vickie muttered. She left it at that. “Well,” Sarah smiled brightly, “let's get you unbuckled, and then you and Auntie Rita can come inside with me, and we'll see what they have to offer!” Vickie waited for Sarah to unfasten her seat belt, and then slid out of the car. She needed a diaper change, and she knew that the shop had a restroom, but she was hoping to avoid the humiliation of being changed in public. She fervently hoped that she wasn't leaking. Vickie's heart sank the moment they walked through the door. She had done business with the young lady behind the counter on more than one occasion. “Victoria! It's good to see you again! And you've brought friends. Welcome!” “Hi, Jessica. Uh, these are two of my friends from work, Sarah and Rita.” Vickie nodded to left and right. “Sarah's in the market for an upscale paddle and a cane. Last time I checked, you had a really good selection.” “Right this way,” Jessica beamed. “Tell me how much you want it to hurt, and I guarantee you that we've got what you need. On a scale of one to ten, think two for an over the knee spanking, four for a ping pong paddle, five for a paddle with holes, and eight for a birch cane.” “Well,” Sarah laughed, “neither spankings nor paddling seems to have got my boyfriend's attention, so I want to move up. I'll need both the paddle with holes, and a cane.” “Good choices! I'd also like to sell you a whip, which comes in at ten, and I'll toss in a mannequin free of charge. If you haven't used a whip before, you really want to practice before turning it loose on your boyfriend. Whips and chains are not for amateurs, but once you master the whip, it will always be your first choice. Does he need a chastity cage?” “Do you sell them?” Sarah was getting really excited. “We have everything from cheap stuff that's good only for a bit of role playing to state of the art, stainless steel devices that can't be defeated, and with locks that can't be picked. Absolute control is guaranteed, or your money back!” “Fantastic! Show me … show me … show me! The best that you've got!” Jessica opened a case near the cash register, and brought out a life size replica of the male genitalia, and a small but brightly colored cardboard box. Opening it, she placed a ring and sheath on the counter, with a key that was already attached to an odd shaped lock. Reaching back into the case, she hauled out a small plastic piece whose purpose was anything but obvious. “Here's how it works,” she explained. “You squeeze the guy's balls inside the ring, and ratchet it closed, just like a handcuff. You want it tight, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation. Then, you slide his penis into this sheath; the best way to go about it is to tie a piece of string behind the head with a slip knot, and ease it into place. Next, slide this plastic cover into place on top of the penis; it will prevent pull out, which is the only thing that can defeat the device. Line up these two holes and these two pins like so, insert the lock, which is housed inside the ring, turn the key, and pull it out. That's all there is to it. Just ice his penis down first; the maximum length the cage will take is one inch. Oh, and for permanent chastity, just fill the lock with solder. Give him a choice between permanent chastity and a whipping, and I guarantee that he will beg you for the whip.” “Wonderful! I mean, really … wow! Thank you so much for your help; you've really got everything that I need. Now, could you do me a favor? My baby girl probably needs her diaper changed. If I get her diaper bag out of the car, do you have someplace I can change her?” Jessica looked around, not catching on to what Sarah was talking about. Then she stole a glance at Vickie's bottom, and broke out into a big smile. “Oh, yes, Sarah, changing your baby's dirty diaper won't be a problem. You can use the storeroom; there's a work bench in there that will nicely serve as a changing table. By the way, I'm Jessica!” “It's nice to meet you, Jessica … and again, thank you for all your help. Dealing with two naughty babies is really stressing me out, but with your help I'll finally have a fighting chance of bring them to heel.” “It's my pleasure, and if you ever need a babysitter, just give me a call.” Jessica handed Sarah a card with both her home and work telephone numbers. "And if you ever want to have a weekend free, I'd love to look after both of them. This one is such a cutie!” Jessica reached out to tickle Vickie's cheek. Sarah reached into her bag, brought out Vickie's pacifier, and slipped it into her mouth. “Baby girl just loves her binkie,” Sarah declared; “she finds it very soothing.” “Why don't you take her to the storeroom and get her undressed,” Rita suggested. “I'll fetch her diaper bag, and join you in a minute.” “Good idea,” Sarah crowed. “Come on, baby girl, let's go change your diapee!” . . . . When Priscilla returned to the table, she beat Ian to the punch. “Mom's sitting in the school parking lot across the street from your building. She's got a clear view of the entrance to your lot, but she says that the snow is piled so high on one old beater with California plates that she can't see all the way to the end of it. Somebody needs to get out there and clean that rust bucket off!” “I'll mention it to the owner the next time I run into him,” Ian said in his best deadpan voice. “If his girlfriend is the outdoors type, maybe he can con her into doing it for him.” “Might take a bribe.” “Rumor has it that the guy's just a big baby. He might get by with nursing on Mommy's titties.” “Be a step up from the bottles of breast milk that are his daily lot. I know for a fact that he's a tit man.” “The real question is whether he can keep his end up.” “You would have to ask his girlfriend about that.” “The last time I saw her, she had this big shit-eating grin on her face. If I had to guess, I'd say that the guy's got the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.” “I want to make love to you ...” “We could go to your apartment … no … wait … bad idea. Mom's got your place under surveillance. Really bad idea.” “Yeah.” Ian let out a deep, regretful sigh, and slipped out of Priscilla's grasp. “We should be prepared to back her play. You're a cop, and I'm a secret agent who needs to get his toy back. Who else is in on this gig?” “My boss, Chief Mischof … and he's big on dramatic entrances. Trust me … he'll show up with lights flashing, siren blaring … it's quite a show.” . . . . “Rita, I have to get back to work; remember, through Tuesday next, I'm covering the first half of Heidi's shift.” Sarah was thinking about the tasks ahead. “So, on Friday, the two of you will have to deal with Ian's apartment without me. Can you manage?” “We'll manage.” In her usual thorough way, Rita had already gathered enough boxes to pack up Ian's kitchen, bathroom and closets. She would find out on Thursday whether he had the original boxes for his stereo and TV, or needed replacements. Amos would load whatever she and Vickie left behind Friday night on his truck late Saturday morning, and dump it in her garage to be sorted out later. She would deal with Ian's artwork, far the most valuable of his few possessions, personally. “And will you help, baby girl, or are you just going to get in the way?” “We'll get it done,” Vickie shrugged. “Providing that disaster doesn't strike on Saturday night, are we still planning to tackle my apartment on Sunday?” “Absolutely.” Sarah couldn't wait to see the look on Vickie's face when she discovered that her bed was gone, and realized that she would be sleeping in one of their hospital cribs forevermore. She planned to put the cribs back to back, so that Vickie and Ian could touch and even kiss, but nothing more. With his cock safely locked inside the chastity device, her baby husband would experience a level of frustration that she would alleviate only in exchange for his obedience. She was going to enforce the D/s contract that he had signed-- enforce every word of it. “Jessica's offer reminds me that we do have to think about babysitters for our little ones,” Sarah noted. She was talking to Rita, and making a point of ignoring Vickie completely. “After all, they'll be times when we want to do grown-up things by ourselves. Do you think that Jessica would make a good babysitter?” “It depends on her schedule, but if she's free when we need her, I would certainly try her out. I've been worrying about babysitters because I would expect Ian to try and charm them right out of their panties. Once we have him locked in that chastity cage, a lot of my worries are going to disappear.” “So, you agree with my plan to keep him under lock and key?” “Absolutely. If we're going to have babies, I don't want him touching himself, and I certainly don't want him having sex with other women. We're going to keep him very busy, so he will need to conserve his energy to satisfy us.” “Ian is still my patient,” Vickie growled from the back seat, “and I fully intend to complete his treatment successfully. Both of you have a role to play here, or have you forgotten?” “Not at all,” Rita smoothly countered. “Manny and I will get together sometime on Friday and set dates for the 'diaper your favorite nurse' auction. If the sessions take hold, all three of us will be able to summon Princess Poopy Pants at will. Working together, Vic, the three of us should be able to trigger a breakthrough with less risk than if you try it alone. Once he's stable, we can keep the Princess in reserve to help him through future crises.” “At least once I'd like to repress the Major and allow the Princess to enjoy life for a while,” Sarah added. “Who knows? We might discover that we like the Princess better, and want to spend more time with her!” . . . . “Let's sneak across the road,” Ian suggested. “There's a bank of pay phones off the hospital's main lobby. I'll ring Donnie, and if you want, you can track Amos down in the ER and confirm that everything's ready for tomorrow night.” “Sounds like a plan; let's do it.” What Priscilla really wanted to do was find a vacant hospital room. Making love with Ian had left her horny as hell. Rip his clothes off, ditch the canvas chastity belt, pray that his diaper was poop free, and then make mad, passionate love to the first man to excite her since her brief but torrid affair with her eleventh grade biology teacher. Not for the first time, Priscilla asked herself what the hell was wrong with Sarah. She had somehow latched on to a great guy, and yet she treated him like crap. Did she think that he could be taken for granted because of his diapers? Given that she was sharing him with two of her friends, that seemed unlikely in the extreme. Whatever her motive, Suzie Marshall wanted Ian badly, and Vickie wasn't having it. Their rivalry was common knowledge. Ian had had a brief fling with his department secretary, and neither of them was treating it like some deep, dark secret. The lady running his diaper service was clearly in the market for a husband, and just as clearly believed that Ian would fit the bill quite nicely. Ian was wounded in body and spirit, but he was gentle and loving-- a combination so potent that it amounted to an aphrodisiac. And Sarah hadn't simply spanked him … she had paddled him! What the hell is wrong with this woman? In the lobby, Priscilla assured Ian that she could find the ER without difficulty-- in fact, it had been only two weeks since her last visit, when she and another officer had transported a professor who had collapsed in his office from a kidney stone attack. Amos welcomed her with open arms, and assured her that he had already cached the supplies that they would need for the upcoming drinking contest. He was raring to go, and no, he would not agree to man up and wear a diaper. He wanted to give the other team a fighting chance, or at least the illusion of one. Male pride, Priscilla sighed, stubborn male pride. Still shaking her head, she headed back to the lobby. . . . . “I recognize the area code, but not the number. That you, Street?” “In the flesh, Donnie. Calling from a pay phone in the hospital where Sarah works. Everybody having fun back there?” “At your expense, you mean? Sure. Setting aside the worrisome fact that one of our most senior agents can pick up the phone and call Irina Orlov whenever he feels like it, your love life is the talk of the building. If you're taking pills, the Director wants the prescription. Seriously, Street. Four women? Where do you find the time, never mind the energy?” “No pills, Donnie. Sorry, but it's simply a matter of self-discipline.” “Yeah, right. Cook up something a bit more convincing, and the Director will cover the cost of your honeymoon out of petty cash. By all means, take all four of the lovely ladies with you to Athens, have a heart to heart with Irina, and then move on to that quaint little hotel you told me about on Santorini. Get Irina to give us a bit of raw meat, and it's a legit expense. Gotta keep the bean counters happy, know what I mean?” “Helps to have something to offer in trade.” “How about we loosen the travel restriction for their embassy personnel a bit? Say another fifty miles?” “I'll make the offer, but it would be nice to have some leeway. Say … oh … a hundred?” “We can live with that, but we'd have to have something meaningful in return. And I'm not talking about bathtub vodka.” “About Priscilla … Julia's daughter ...” “Listening.” “Not to get too far ahead of the curve, but we may need a security officer in house. She's the logical choice, and she's receptive to the idea of visiting Quantico.” “Sweet. You sure you can survive without your nanny for a month, plus?” “Not really. She treats me like royalty. Diaper changes are a real treat.” “It's hard to tell on the recording, Street. How did she handle the truth?” “A couple of bad moments, but she hung in there. She gives me hope.” “You got a plan for the encore?” “Saturday night. Priscilla is urging me to do a bit of editing, but otherwise to give the same account.” “Ian, they have to know. There's no getting around this … they have to know.” “Yeah. And one of these days, I need to apologize to Emily.” Ian was badly startled when he felt an arm drape across his shoulders. Mushy poop was exploding into his diaper as he looked to his right. Seeing Priscilla, he grinned with relief, and turned to kiss her lightly on the lips. Priscilla's arm dropped, to wrap around his waist. It felt so good simply to hold him tight. “Got to go,” Ian said as his attention shifted back to the telephone. “I'll call you at home on Sunday, and share the highlights.” . . . . “Am I the only one who thinks that Sarah could use some professional help?” From the back seat, Vickie was watching her colleague exit the parking garage, holding the box containing one of the breast pumps to her chest. “I mean, really, what's she going to say when someone yells out 'hey Sarah, need help? What's in the box'?” “Considering that we're all going to add a full cup size to our bras,” Rita replied defensively, “there's not a lot to be gained by keeping this a secret.” “So, you want us to follow her over hill and dale, all the way to the seventh floor? I can see it now … 'yeah, folks, that's right. We don't have babies. We're not pregnant. But gee, we thought it would be so much fun to breast feed the boy friend that we're all sharing, so the three of us are going into the milk production business'. Think that might get our Director's attention?” “You have a point. Maybe we should come back around … say … 2 AM?” “And in the meantime, have you noticed that I'm sharing the backseat with a friggin' mannequin? A MANNEQUIN? That crazy bitch wants to lock our boyfriend in a chastity cage, keep the key, and graduate from spankings and paddling to caning and … ta da … a whip. Rita, this is nuts! Please … pretty please … tell me that you are not good with this!!!” “Of course not! For God's sake, Vic, calm down! Do I have to remind you that yesterday Sarah had all the keys to your diaper cover, and today I've got one in my purse? Here!” Rita reached into her bag, grabbed the key, and handed it over. “I'll get your diaper bag out of the trunk. Go home. Take a shower. Have something to drink. I'll give you sixty to ninety minutes, then I'll drop by to lock you in a fresh diaper and send you on your way. You are going to Sarah's tonight, right?” “Right. The game plan seems to call for spankings all around, and I've already got a diaper rash. My usual kinky fun this ain't gonna be.” “Not much I can do about the rash. My advice is to keep going with your bratty toddler routine. Sarah seems to be lapping it up, and you've got me convinced that this is the real you!” “Well, of course it's the real me! I am a brat, and I need my mommy. What I don't need is a sadistic bitch ruining my life, or Ian's. This D/s crap has to be shelved until after we've managed his breakthrough. Until then, it's counterproductive.” “I wholeheartedly agree!” “Then prove it.” “How?” “Tomorrow night. Amos and Ian want to tie one on, and Priscilla has set up a drinking contest with a bunch of cops in a bar up northeast. It's pretty much drink until you pass out, and whoever pisses his or her pants first has to buy the next round. The four of us are challenging the best the cops can put up, and Priscilla is going to wear a diaper to give us the edge. But my diaper will be soaked before we begin … unless you come along and change me just before we get started.” “Are you suicidal? Sarah will skin both of you alive!” “Rita, I think Ian is having second thoughts about his relationship with Sarah … serious second thoughts. He's signed on to become her baby husband, not an abused slave. She's changing the rules after the game's begun, and he's not having it. Look, I want the man, not the baby; you can have the baby all to yourself. Push comes to shove, we don't need Sarah. Between the two of us, we can see to all of Ian's needs. So, are you in or out?” “In,” Rita sadly admitted. “But you have to buy me some time to try and sort this out. I'll stop by the bar and change your diaper, but then I'm going to lock you up for the duration. Take your punishment, even if it's extreme. If Sarah does overreact, I can use that to play the honest broker. I don't want to lose a friend, but she's letting her fantasies run wild, and it has to stop. If she doesn't come to her senses and Ian asks for our help, I'll do what I think is in his best interest.” . . . . Sarah was crossing the lobby, heading for the corridor and the elevator that would whisk her up to the third floor. She was planning to activate the breast pump, and make sure that the mechanical beast actually worked. A twenty minute break, which she would take in another hour or so, would give her a chance to try it out. Glancing to her right, she saw a man talking on one of the bank of public telephones beyond the receptionist's desk. Her pace slowed as she looked him over. He was facing away from her, but she would have sworn that it was Ian, although she couldn't imagine what would have brought him to the hospital. Moments later, a young policewoman came into view, her face lighting up with a smile as she drew near the pay phone. Priscilla, Sarah said to herself, remembering yesterday's events. Her name is Priscilla. She watched as Priscilla's arm reached out to grasp the man's shoulders. The man turned, his face startled at first but then settling into a welcoming smile. He kissed her lightly on the lips. It was Ian. Priscilla's arm dropped, to wrap around Ian's waist. Possession. Sarah's world collapsed around her. Blindly, fighting to hold back the tears, the breast pump mocking her every step, she stumbled on across the lobby and down the corridor to await the elevator. Mercifully, it was otherwise empty as she made the brief journey to the third floor, and took refuge behind the closed door of her office. Turning on the radio, which was always tuned to her favorite country and western station, Sarah collapsed into her chair. The breast pump now forgotten, she crossed her arms and lowered her head to the desk. Quietly, she began to sob. Perversely, almost as if a demon was taunting her, a tune began to play softly in the background, a song about love lost, sudden and unexpected … The jukebox started to play And night time turned into day As we were dancing, closely, All of a sudden I lost control as I held her charms And I caressed her, kissed her, Told her I'd die before I would let her out of my arms Oh, I was only twenty four hours from Tulsa ... Soon, Sarah's tears began to flow.

How about a compromise. In the Diaper Dimension or the universe of Amazons, instead of breast milk, is it too much to ask for a story in which the blonds are pumping out champagne, the phony blonds beer, the brunettes Scotch, and the redheads Irish whiskey?

I remember that smell. It permeated my wife's clothes, and she called it her revenge for the urine/poopy smell that seemed forever trapped in my skin. The danger with breast milk is that the lactose content is fully 20% higher than cow's milk, so some people who can tolerate the latter cannot process the former. I'm lactose intolerant, but different levels hit me in different ways. Cow's milk and ice cream trigger projectile vomiting, but breast milk runs right through me in the form of the runny poop that I've condemned Ian to experience. Here the danger is dehydration. I used to tolerate yogurt, but now it doubles me over with severe abdominal pain. Happily, I love feta, so cheese is not a problem. Here's an interesting little tidbit. I have slept with many Asian women over the decades, and have been told more than once that all western men exude a body odor that is heavy on dairy. They do not find it pleasant.