Babypants

Many thanks for this comment. There are a lot of sly digs at the entertainment industry in this story. The first Bond movie, Dr. No, introduces 007 in a posh London casino, wearing a tuxedo and playing baccarat for high stakes with an aristocratic beauty named Sylvia Trench, who is dressed to the nines. Our story opens in a run down greasy spoon in St. Paul, where Ian is going to be treated to a patty melt, fries and onion rings by the exhausted RN who lives below him. He is very much in the mold of Leamas, Palmer and Christopher, but I have tried to bring the Twin Cities to life in the way that Christopher Moore describes Bangkok in his Vincent Calvino series. If you don't know it, Calvino is an ex-pat private eye working some mean streets in the Raymond Chandler tradition. These are very good reads.

Terrific chapter, and the paragraph breaks fall just as they should. What I notice reading it is that breaking up the text this way draws attention to the fact that this is an action chapter. If this had been constructed like chapter 5, I suspect that much of the tension would have been lost. Well done.

I'd recommend that you slow this down. The first 3 paragraphs alone could be developed into several chapters. Please, take your time and let your imagination run wild. A feminist political party? Slavery? What was the sequence of events that got us to this point?

I'm enjoying this story because it's a slice of real life, and you have done a first class job capturing the range of Amanda's emotions. The one thing that confuses me, starting in chapter three, is that you seem to be using pull-ups and diapers as interchangeable terms. But there's a big difference between a pull-up and a disposable diaper that you tape on. Is she still at the pull-up stage at this point in the story? That's what the close of this chapter suggests. If so, I suggest you save the term "diapers" for that defining moment, if it is coming, when she has to make the switch to a true diaper. The transition will be much more powerful if you don't mix the terms.

I was still seeing substitutes for baby pants in the early 50s, but this was a Los Angeles in which people still kept chickens, dairy cows, horses and pigs in their back yards. So, crude but still functioning baby pants put together from burlap sacks were not uncommon. I think I saw the last one in 1958. As for rubber, it was available but rationed, although always readily obtainable on the black market. The coastal defense authorities took the blackout very seriously (early Feb '42 - Halloween '43), with the predictable result that fatal car accidents at night were commonplace, while theft under the cover of darkness skyrocketed. If you were right on the coast, the patrols would arrest you if they found light leaking out from your windows, and being banished into the interior to work on a farm (the labor shortage was so severe that German and Italian POWs were basically treated like slaves) was what you had to look forward to unless you were in a position that the government deemed critical. As you would expect, the rules were relaxed for the privileged, as well as for the truly essential, like doctors and RNs, but a lot of folks stripped the beds and used rubber sheets as blackout curtains. As a side note, latex mattresses were all the rage in the 30s, and they were commonly topped with rubber sheets. The combination was the cutting edge of hygiene in the prewar bedroom.

My mom bought rubber sheeting for my bed at fabric stores in the 50s and 60s. It was easy to find because there was a 17 month period during WW2 when the whole of southern California was under a blackout restriction, and it was a lot better than fabric curtains. There was a night when a Japanese submarine shelled an oil refinery in Santa Barbara. During the Cuban missile crisis, when we weren't hiding under our desks at schools, we practiced putting up heavy curtains that the janitorial staff kept in storage. Assuming that downtown LA was ground zero, it was made clear to us that flying glass was the biggest, immediate threat that we would face. This was my senior year in high school.

Right on all counts. I have long considered Burton's Alec Leamas in The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, and Caine's Harry Palmer in The Ipcress File to be far and away the most credible portrayals of an intelligence officer to hit the screen. Le Carre and Deighton are both fine authors, though I also share Ian Fleming's opinion that Charles McCarry's The Tears of Autumn offers the most realistic look at this profession by far. Unlike 007, Paul Christopher has to cope with jet lag, questionable food, and the impact that his professional life has upon family and friends. Highly recommended.

In the old days, where you lived had a major impact on your choices. If you were out in the country, you could order Gerber vinyl pants in adult sizes through the Sears catalog, but getting adult sized cloth diapers involved a trip to a community with a medical supply store large enough to have catalogs on hand from the manufacturers. In contrast, I had it made in the shade growing up in Los Angeles. There were 3 different diaper services available in my neighborhood, and all had an adult line. I also used this option in Toronto in the early 70s, and Minneapolis all the way into the 90s. Any decent urban pharmacy had a good selection of rubber and vinyl pants; in LA, I got mine from a drug store within walking distance of the house. Another big difference was the ready availability of adult cloth diapers at maternity and infants wear stores. Again, when I turned 14 in LA, my Mom switched me over to adult diapers, which I bought at one of these shops a few minutes walk from the house. When Depends and Attends hit the market in the 80s, I used them when traveling, but the quality was so poor that they gathered dust in the back of the closet when I was home. Disposables have come a long way since then, but the marketplace took a big hit when we lost Comco, whose products in my opinion were way better than anything you will find today. On the whole, then, it seems to me that the products have both got better and worse than they were 50 years ago, but the ease of ordering on line and having what you want delivered to your doorstep has made life a lot easier for people who don't live in big metropolitan areas.

Quickie entertainment quiz: Who the heck is Harry Palmer, and what does Michael Caine have to do with The Breast Milk File?

Let's try looking at male chastity from the female point of view. Ian is polyamorous. He met Priscilla on Monday morning, and on Wednesday afternoon they made love. Sarah and her friends have also seen Ian's sperm report, and he is not shooting blanks. A chastity device will not keep him from falling in love (Carlie on Thursday night), but it will prevent a sexual tryst that could impregnate someone outside the household. In the scenes just ahead, Sofia will be pushing for a new diapering routine that involves his cage as a trade off for better skin care. We'll see how it all plays out.

Thanks for this. I have known quite a few Herbs over the years, both male and female, including two of the four women with whom I have enjoyed long relationships. Getting up to go pee 2 or 3 times a night, desperately rushing to the toilet when coming home, dribbling into one's underwear = scenes drawn from real life. In 1979, pads and cloth diapers/vinyl pants were the only practical answers to latchkey incontinence because the layers of disposable "protection" now on the shelves at Walmart did not exist. Pads were typically the first choice because they could be thrown in the trash. Cloth diapers meant a highly visible diaper bag. If you were a guy, you could cover your tracks with a gym membership. In time, Herb is going to be very thankful that Julia is taking out a family membership at the Y.

What’s a Mistress to do, When a cylon invades her space? Where will the Goddess go, When a fembot takes her place? Flesh ages, the best tan fades with time, Well, my name is Trish. I’m Number Six, And your subs are mine! I have sisters aplenty, a vast army of silicone machines, Ready and willing, catering to every man’s dream. Is it an Amazon you want? No Problem, Lucy’s just waiting her turn, A Number Three—the same one that Made Gaius Baltar squirm. She’s still Xena, Just going by another name. They’re already here—and no, I’m not referring to Grace, Although God knows that A Number Eight could take any Queen’s place. They’re in orbit above us, Obviously, well Nippon designed, Just watch! In ten years or twenty Our Mistresses will surely have vanished, Their fates already written, their crowns all but resigned. For that matter, what’s a Master to do, When a legion of young Robert Redfords Comes rolling off the line? No Terminators are necessary—machines neither age nor die. Asimov was right: it’s all just a matter of time; Humanity’s almost finished, readying to wave its final goodbye. The Governess no longer need use her hand, Not when a robo spanker will do the trick. Count the strokes, up the tempo— Man, but that machine is slick! Keep it dry, batteries charged (You did see Cherry 2000, didn’t you?), Don’t let it get wet. Last year’s model? For my money, it’s still a damn good bet. So Mistress and Master, what will you do, When the buxom machine comes for you? Will you gracefully go into the dead of night, Or give us your all in one last fight? Charge heroically into the Valley of Death, Or quietly go, gently sighing, One last breath?

This was a very special day for me. This was the 601st consecutive day in which i have power walked a minimum of 5.12 miles (12,000 steps) every day, without fail. That's 3,909 miles = 9, 173,816 steps in total. From my home in Minneapolis to the marker buoy in Key West, FL denoting the southernmost point in the US is 3,906 miles round trip. This was the objective. Along the way, I burnt 461,377 calories (461,377 kcal). And yes, I'm incontinent, and wore what doctors politely call "protection" for every mile of the journey. Incontinence is a nuisance, but it is only life altering if you make it so. Now, arthritis (I'm a few days shy of my 79th birthday) is another thing altogether ... ROCK ON!!!

Thank you for contributing to this little known feature of the site. Much appreciated.

My last blow out was this morning, also on the left side. My diaper, not my car.

Many thanks for these comments. I have known quite a few Herbs in real life. If you ride a desk, drinks lots of caffeinated beverages on a daily basis, and hate using public toilets, you are setting yourself up for what I'm describing here, which is informally known as latchkey incontinence. The tell is when a person comes home, opens the door, and routinely rushes to the bathroom. In time, there will be a bit of dribbling, then later it will turn into squirts, and ultimately to a loss of control. Women are as prone to this as men, but they may also have to cope with postpartum incontinence. Coughing and sneezing can lead to some embarrassing moments.

I don't have much to add to what Mushy Bottom and Brutal Ink have said. There's good flow here, and the back and forth between the two girls seems natural. But having the Principal reference the year 3047 really threw me. Kids are still going to school a thousand years in the future? They're still carrying cell phones? This doesn't make any sense, so I wondered if it was a joke that I simply wasn't getting. If one of the girls had said this, I would have thought that she was being sarcastic, but the Principal? In global terms, most stories that appear here don't pass the smell test because the setting is vague, and the characters cardboard cutouts. Even more rare is character development during the course of the story. In this regard, you've made a good start because your principal characters are well defined individuals, but on the flip side the setting does need work. How old are the girls? And how the heck could this be taking place in the 31st century when the interplay between them, and the background that we see, is so late 20th - early 21st century America?

I feel the warmth of dawn's first light, Banishing the fears of blackened night, White swept the earth outside, Fantasy's child, no place to hide. We come here to this treasured place, Each desiring but a moment's grace, Our cups we raise to the wintry sky, Fantasy's child, no place to hide. With a flick of the wrist, We raise the gate, Give entrance to our hidden face, A stolen moment in ethereal space, Fantasy's child at last run wild. Our fears we steep in blazing light, Shedding skins that don't feel right, We seek the comfort of another's touch, Shared dreams scattered far and wide, Fantasy's child at last run wild. Fingers dancing we task the site, Passing pleasures the day's first delight, Tales of wonder enthrall us so, Fantasy's child at last run wild. Spirits shelter pain and pride, Tortured longings we must abide, Friendship ever beckons us inside, Fantasy's child at last run wild. Too soon the moment passes by, Descend we do from worlds on high, Life rushes, its current strong, Taking us where we don't belong, Fantasy's child, no place to hide. Fantasy's child, no place to hide.

MOVIN' ON UP TO THE WEST SIDE “I thought that went very well.” Sarah commented as they drove north toward Rita's townhouse. “Maybe dining room tables are overrated.” “It was fun, wasn't it?” “Sitting on the floor, backs to the wall, eating and drinking at our leisure? No pressure? Absolutely-- and you were the perfect host, Ian. You made Mom feel comfortable, and you charmed Bob right off his feet!” “All things considered, that wasn't much of a challenge,” Ian joked. “But we do have a lot in common. He likes to fish, and I like to eat walleye. So, he'll catch 'em and from here on out I'll fry 'em. But between the flour and the bread crumbs, I'm going to soak them in breast milk. The secret ingredient that will leave everybody guessing … well, at least until I publish my recipe book.” “Cooking With Breast Milk,” Sarah laughed. “That's the one. Breast milk biscuits … fettuccini a la breast milk … I've got lots of ideas.” “You do indeed. It's one of the reasons I love you.” “So, does that mean that this week's sins are forgiven, and there's no spanking in my immediate future?” “Just a maintenance spanking … no biggie. You'll do fine.” “Babs told me that Joyce is going to give her a weekly spanking as well. She's coming along tomorrow night … wants Vickie to do the honors while she takes notes or something.” “If a girl wants to learn, she should learn from a pro! Then, a diaper and baby pants, mittens and a pacifier, and off to her crib she goes. The two of you can keep each other company all night long.” “Joyce may want us to sleep arm in arm.” “Not a problem. We have restraints for every occasion. And since you'll both be under lock and key, there won't be any mischief.” “I'm relieved that your Mom is okay with our hippie commune, and if she's having any problems with you treating me like a baby, she's hiding them well.” “Ian, in a way this was all her idea. She did not want our marriage to break up my friendship with Vic and Rita, and she strongly believes that life will be a lot easier if there are three of us to care for you. We had a long talk about whether you should be treated like a toddler or an eight month old. She steered me to the shop where I bought your chastity cage, and she is adamant that you should not only be crib bound but also make love there, and only there. I'm not sure why, but she insists that we keep you in the nursery and out of our bedrooms.” “Well, there goes the honeymoon.” “We'll work something out.” “What about Priscilla?” “She's a wonderful addition to our household, and if we can recruit Carlie, even better. After all, if we are going to be in real danger, having two trained police officers keeping a perpetual eye on things will be a big plus.” “And … uh … how do you feel about sleeping with her? Or with Rita, for that matter? She seems keen to explore the possibilities.” “The more I think about it, the more I think that Rita's on to something. Oh, I don't mean about me being bi … that's ludicrous. But if everybody ends up sleeping with everybody, jealousy should never rear its ugly head in our family.” “Glad to hear it because I'm on board.” “Not going to be jealous?” “No. I just want everybody to be happy.” “Including Babs?” “Including Babs,” Ian agreed. . . . . “The first thing,” Rita decided, “is to get the artwork up on the walls and out of harm's way. The Alvar goes over the couch, and the Chagall above my bed. The Pitre can go over the TV, and the Lebadang in the dining room.” “Got one of those kitchen stepladders?” “In the pantry.” Ian rummaged around in one of the boxes that had come out of his hallway closet, and dragged out a hammer and a stud finder. The nails and picture hangers were waiting in his cutlery tray. “I can manage everything else on my own, but I'll need help moving the couch.” “I need to make a phone call,” Sarah declared as she headed for Rita's home office. “Guess that leaves me to do the grunt work,” Rita groused. After rapidly unloading her car, Priscilla had rushed home to help her mother dismantle the bed. Vickie was in the kitchen, busily rearranging the cupboards and the frig to make room for all the goodies that they had hauled out of Ian's kitchen. Finding a home for his collection of pots and pans was proving to be one heck of a challenge. Shutting the door behind her, Sarah got the business card out of her wallet, and dialed Marilyn Marsden's home number. She had expected Marilyn to come to her office with a contract that would spell out the details of her agreement to serve as Ian's business agent, but she had neither put in an appearance nor called to let Sarah know where matters stood. Sarah was determined to find out what was going on. “Sarah Haikonnen here,” she said when Marilyn picked up. “Got a minute?” “Of course.” “Just want to know where we're at.” “Right. I spent yesterday morning testing the corporate waters, and as expected, there was a great deal of interest. And then Ian showed up on the boob tube, and he made one hell of a splash. Now that he's a celebrity, I don't know whether the corporate movers and shakers are going to become skittish, or even more eager to obtain his services. So, I thought it best to let the dust settle over the weekend, then make another round of calls on Monday to find out where we stand. If everyone's frightened off, then he won't need to take me on as his agent.” “Makes sense. You should know that this morning he was asked to serve as faculty advisor to the Panhellenic Council, and he accepted. And I'm assured that on Monday he's going to be cross appointed to International Relations or Poli Sci. He'll be a huge draw in a first year course, so salary wise this gives us even more ammunition to play with.” “I'll say! Sarah, this is a really big deal. At a minimum, you should hold out for triple his current salary, and ideally park some of the increase in long-term research and travel grants. These aren't taxable income-- and my firm knows a lot more loopholes that Ian can exploit.” “Can you use any of this when you make the rounds on Monday morning?” “Absolutely! It will allow me to ratchet up the pressure big time. Sarah, I should know by noon who's in and who's out. I'll call you either just before or just after lunch, okay?” “Okay, but do me a favor and come over to Rita's tomorrow night, contract in hand. Ian and I will look it over after we recover sometime on Sunday.” “One of those kinds of parties, I take it?” “Very much so. We're expecting close to twenty altogether-- a hodgepodge of doctors and police, shopkeepers and sorority girls, a private detective … and my mother, who just happens to administer one of the largest hospitals in the U.P.” “Sounds like fun, but before we hang up, there's one more thing.” “Shoot.” “Sarah, what is going on between Ian and my daughter?” “Oh, nothing that we haven't seen before,” Sarah laughed. “Ian has more or less adopted the whole sorority, so Janis is just one of his several dozen surrogate daughters. All the girls think of him as Dad, and over time he'll settle nicely into the role of the wise and kindly old uncle. What you may not know is that, in the long and storied tradition of candy stripers everywhere, Jannie has also acquired a new mother-- Sylvia Anderson, one of my colleagues up on the fourth floor. Sylvie's mentoring your daughter, who goes way, way beyond what any of us around here expect from our volunteers. Jannie is very popular, and if she chooses to go on to attend nursing school, she'll have a job waiting for her the day she graduates.” “Has she expressed an interest?” “She has,” Sarah confirmed. “Hints galore. We all hope that you and your husband will encourage her.” “We have always encouraged her to seek her own path. If this is what she wants to do, she will have our full support.” “See you tomorrow night, then?” “I'll try and get there around eight.” “Great! Let me give you the address, but you should know that we're on a cul de sac, and you'll probably end up parking some distance away. Dress accordingly.” “Mukluks?” “Always a good choice. Oh, and bring your appetite. Ian's doing the honors, and he's planning on doing something Greek. He fancies himself as a chef” “War hero, secret agent, and now a chef. He sounds like a regular Harry Palmer!" “A good analogy. Wonder if Michael Caine will get the part when you sell our story to Hollywood. They can call the flick The Breast Milk File.” . . . . “Are you happy?” After Vickie had finished up and gone home, Sarah waited patiently for Rita to wish them good night and retire to her room. Ian was positioning the speakers and fiddling with the wiring when she retreated to the kitchen to warm his bottles. Once they were ready, she sat on the couch and quietly commanded him to join her. She surprised him with a bib, but he stretched out,with his head cradled in her arms, awaiting the nipple and the breast milk that it would soon deliver. “Very much so. I love you, Sarah, and lying in your arms, looking up into those beautiful eyes, feeling the connection between us … yes, I'm happy.” “I'm so glad, because I love you, both the baby who crawls across the floor in his big, fat diaper, and the man whom I shall soon mount, hoping that his seed will create new life inside me. I want to have children so much, Ian, but you will always be my little baby, a precious eight month old who crawls to his Mommy, crying for attention because he's hungry or afraid, or simply wants Mommy to hug him and make the world go away for a while. This will never change.” “No chance of me working my way up to toddlerhood?” “Would you like that? Do you see yourself as a spoiled, whiny two year old?” “Hmm, good question. I don't know what I want, or maybe a better way to put it is that I want to order off the whole menu.” Sarah raised the first bottle to Ian's lips, and he began to nurse. Watching him, thinking about the day when he would latch onto her breast and drink her milk, the waves of pleasure that would wash over her, Sarah could feel her body beginning to stir. “I fantasize about you suckling at my breast, and my milk being your only source of food. I love watching you crawl across the floor, and outside I want to put you in a stroller-- no more walking! And of course, with the right pacifier, you would have no choice but to cry and cry because you would no longer be able to speak. A helpless baby, forever dependent upon his Mommy … that's my fantasy.” “Total control, in short.” Ian had pushed the bottle aside. Sarah had given him an opening, and he wanted to exploit it. “Yes; total control. Think of our D/s agreement as my fallback position.” “Got it. I want you to manage my life, and when we're together, you can even micromanage it if that's your pleasure. But when it comes to the small stuff, I also want you to leave me to my own devices when we're apart, and especially when I'm at work.” “That doesn't fit into my fantasy, and I'm not happy about it, but Rita and Vic have made it clear that I have to dial it back. I'll do so, but I still want Tippi to be your nursemaid on campus.” “Glad to have her. So, you're good with my taking on the Panhellenic Council?” “Have you heard me object?” “No.” “And you won't. What I would encourage you to do in future is talk with Amy or Bernice, even Suzie, before diving in. They can counsel you; I can't.” “That's good advice.” “Enough talk. Finish your ba bas, then I'll burp you, take off your clothes, and remove your diaper cover. I want my baby to crawl to the nursery because I love watching your diaper butt swaying to and fro. Are you going to be a good baby for Mommy?” “Ba ba, Mama … I wuv my ba ba!” . . . . “Julia, are you sure about this? We could set Pris' bed up in the home office. There's plenty of room.” “Herb, we'll lose the home office deduction if the room becomes multi-purpose. You know that.” “Yeah, but on the flip side? With Priscilla moving out, we'll finally qualify for a nice property tax rebate. I'm thinking about remodeling.” “Don't give me that crap, Herb. After all these years, you don't think I can read you like a book? You just want someplace to bunk down when I throw you out of our bedroom!” “But ...” “No buts. Let's face facts, Herb. You're a middle aged man riding a desk, and now you've got an enlarged prostate and bladder control issues as a consequence. You heard Doctor Villers-- get some exercise, and cut back … way, way back … on the caffeine and the booze. And she also diplomatically pointed out that there are things that you can wear-- 'protection' she called it-- so that you don't keep pissing your pants.” “But Julia ...” “Aren't you listening to me? Last night? Peeing on the doorstep in front of those nice college girls? That was the last straw, Herb, and I've had it with being woken up every night because you have to stumble off to the bathroom every hour or two. You are not, repeat not, going to turn my office into a man cave. What you are going to do, starting tonight, is wear protection. Then maybe I can get a decent night's sleep!” “Julia, I am not going to wear a diaper ...” “You don't have to. We'll start with one of Pris' menstrual pads. We'll slip it inside your briefs, and if it won't stay put, we'll tape it in place. But why are diapers such a big deal? Vickie wears diapers, and you don't hear her whining about it. Pris is going to start wearing diapers so that Vickie won't feel so out of place when she comes home. And from now on, when I'm out there freezing my ass off on one of these God awful stakeouts, I'm going to wear a diaper too! I swear to God, Herb, that high school parking lot was the end of the line for me. I hate stakeouts, in no small part because there's no God, damned place for me to take a piss!” “All right, already … enough!” Herb threw his hands in the air, surrendering to the inevitable. “I'll wear the damned pad!” “And you'll stay in bed? Use the pad?” “I'll give it a try.” “Good. And I went to the drug store and bought a mattress pad that we can slip underneath you. Just in case you leak, it should keep the bed dry.” “What's next, Julia? The coffee? The booze?” “We're going to cut back on both-- and note that I said 'we', not 'you'. We're in this together, Herb, just like always. I'm going to get us a family membership at the Y, and we are going to exercise as a family. And if you need diapers and there's no other way to get you to agree, I'll wear them too. We'll both wear them to bed at night, and if it comes to it, we'll both wear them during the day as well.” “Old age, Julia,” Herb said as he let out a deep sigh. “I'm retiring in two years … full pension. Financially, we'll be fine, but is this the camel's nose under the tent?” “We've been lucky so far,” Julia mused. “But let's take this as a wake up call, and try and get out in front of the Grim Reaper. There are cruises to take, and soon there will be grandchildren to spoil. These can be the best years of our lives; we just have to work at it a little harder.” “Diapers.” Herb let out another deep sigh. “Why did it have to be diapers?” . . . . “Up you go, baby.” Sarah gave Ian a little push to get him onto the changing table, and working together, they got him safely stretched out on his back. Sarah finished up by pulling a strap across his chest and cinching it tight. “We'll need another kitchen stepladder to make this easier for you,” she remarked. “And I want you to carry your cane with you at all times. Believe me, the scar tissue that has built up around that shell fragment in your spine is dense enough that, if you take a heavy fall, it will only move in one direction-- deeper into your spinal cord.” “I had difficulty walking back to my office from the Student Union,” Ian admitted. “Joyce and Babs were both scared, and that's not acceptable. Maybe it's the climate up here, but I'm having mobility issues that I did not experience in LA.” Sarah had Ian lift his hips so that she could remove his baby pants, then she took a quick peek inside his diaper. He wasn't mushy and only slightly damp, so they were good to go. “Let me arrange the cribs,” Sarah said as she excused herself. Releasing the foot brake on the one closest to the door, she wheeled it aside so that she could lower the crib rails on both. Afterwards, she wheeled it back into place, and locked the brake. “Gives us about as much room as a queen sized bed,” she explained; “and since neither one of us is obese, that's plenty of room.” “More than we'll need,” Ian suggested, “because I plan to hold you tight.” Sarah smiled at that, and then she got to work. “Making love to an incontinent calls for a certain amount of advance planning,” she grinned. “Diaper pail within easy reach … a diaper bag hanging from the bars with all our supplies ...” “Our?” Ian looked at her curiously. “I'm spending the night,” Sarah confirmed. “So, we shall be wearing the same diaper, and matching baby pants. Well, eventually ...” Sarah's grin was provocative in the extreme, and her eyes were alive with desire. She wanted them to take their time, and make this night the stuff of lasting memories. Sarah slowly stripped, waiting until she was completely nude before releasing him. Easing to his feet, Ian took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, no words needed to express the depth of his feelings. Taking him by the hand, Sarah led him to the crib and waited for him to hoist himself up. When he was settled, she joined him, pulling the rail up and locking it firmly into place. “Rita will release us in the morning,” she murmured when she saw the question forming in his eyes. “It will always be this way.” "And Vickie?” “Sometimes she will only watch, and other times she will join us. It depends on whether you are both naughty, or nice ...” Straddling him, Sarah leaned down to kiss her beloved, driving her tongue deep into his mouth, taking possession, asserting the domina's control over her submissive. Ian remained quiet, content to obey, only his hands in motion, caressing her nipples, occasionally pinching them. Sarah leaned into his touch, eyes closed, holding her breath. “Harder,” she whispered. “Harder.” Ian teased her nipples with the balls of his thumbs, engorging them, and when Sarah leaned back, he rose to take her heavy breast into his mouth. Latching on, knowing this to be at the core of her fantasies, he began to suckle, imagining that he was draining her dry. “Oh, God,” Sarah moaned, her eyes still tightly closed, “my baby … my baby ...” “Mama,” Ian whispered as he paused to shift from left to right, nursing on one breast while his fingers pinched the nipple on the other, over and over again. Reaching down blindly, Sarah unpinned one side of Ian's diaper, and cast it aside, exposing his penis to the air. As soon as she began to stroke it, she could feel it spring to life. And just as Vickie had claimed, what Ian lacked in length he made up for in girth. “Oh, my,” she whispered. “You really do need Mommy's chastity cage! Would you like that, baby? Would you like Mommy to lock you up, and only release you long enough to pleasure Mommy and her friends? Would you like that, baby? Would you?” Ian moaned, wanting Sarah to mount him, mount him and fuck him. He had wanted this ever since that first night, when she had come pounding on his door, demanding that he turn the stereo down. “Please, Mama … take me … please, Mama.” “Should I take that as a yes,” she asked in return as she guided his rock hard member to her clit, using him as a living wand to give her pleasure. “Yes, Mama; please … anything. Take me … take me ...” “Your wish is my command,” she whispered as she mounted him, using her muscles to get a firm grip, paralyzing him. Ian yelped in surprise. No woman had ever so fully enslaved his cock, and he loved it. He surrendered completely, accepting that Sarah was his domina, and conceding her ownership of his body. If she wanted him under lock and key, so be it. Sarah rode him, taking her time, her rhythm changing with her mood, a raging current one moment and a gentle stream the next. Looking down, she sensed that he had at long last surrendered to her, accepted that he was her property, to do with as she pleased. The chastity cage was resting at the bottom of his diaper bag. Should she lock him up in the morning? It would be so easy, after they had made love a second time, intensifying her domination, deepening her control. He would accept the cage willingly, perhaps even beg to be locked up. She thought about it … the control … no sex, no masturbation, not even an erection unless she permitted it. Absolute power … absolute ownership … Sarah cried out as her orgasm exploded, Ian's seed pumping into her as he came in long, convulsive spurts, the raw material of life swimming deep into her vagina. Sarah reached into one of the pockets on the diaper bag, and pulled out a tampon. She pushed it into place, trapping his sperm inside her. Then she pinched his cock hard enough to stamp her ownership upon it even as it began to shrink. Pausing only to refasten his heavy diaper, she crawled up his body until her cunt was touching his lips. “Eat me,” she commanded. “We have all the time in the world, so do it right, or Mommy will spank you tomorrow … a real spanking that will encourage you to do better next time.” Ian was going to be spanked anyway, for she had decided that Saturday should always be his day of reckoning. And no matter how well his tongue serviced her, she was planning to give him a good, hard spanking lest he become too proud of his oral skills. But Ian's tongue was magical, and she rode it for a long time. When she was finally satisfied, pausing only long enough to wrestle his baby pants into place and see to her own diaper, Sarah laid down at his side. Ian would spend the night deeply asleep in his Mommy's arms, his head nestled against her breast. . . . . “Welcome to my little corner of the world, Sis!” Vickie hugged Pris before ushering her inside. “To you falls the dubious honor of being the first woman invited to share my bed!” “Which will be dismantled on Sunday, if we stay on schedule, to go into storage alongside mine. Just think, Vic, this may be the last time you sleep in this apartment.” “My home for the last eight years,” Viv commented as she looked around the living room. “Lots of memories … some good, some bad. But I'm ready to move on.” “Into a crib, no less. Mom's gonna love that!” “So, where do we stand on the diaper front?” “Mom and I are going to hit the mall after we collect Dad from the sorority. She's going to buy the same diaper for me that you wear during the day.” “And some nice, pink baby pants?” “Of course! And some baby blue ones for Dad. Mom's methodical; she'll buy everything Dad needs on a 'just in case' basis, and then ease him into it. Nighttime protection first, then get him to wear protection when he's holding court at The Pig Sty or going out to dinner. By the time he retires, the odds are pretty good that Dad will be 24/7.” “What about the locking cover? You good with that?” “Not really. Right now, Sarah, Mom and Bernice have the keys. I suppose that Bernice could change me when I'm on duty, but it would be awkward. Tippi is more than willing, but I don't want to aid and abet her fantasies. Then there's the trust issue. I'm doing this of my own free will, damn it, and I expect people to trust me to keep my promise. I don't need a stupid nursemaid.” “Hear you loud and clear … and your willingness to take one for the team is bound to impress Dad. In your shoes, that's how I'd play it.” “Who's got your keys?” “Sarah and Rita. Mom should have one, too. Maybe tomorrow night.” “Want to hear a crazy idea?” “I specialize in crazy,” Vickie laughed. “Remember?” “Oh, yeah; for a moment there, I forgot. Anyway, I want the fourth key to your cover. I want to change you, and I want you to change me. You game?” “Absolutely! That's a great idea! We're sisters ...” “And this is what sisters do,” Priscilla finished. “In the mood for popcorn?” “Orville Redenbacher?” “What else? With lots of salt and butter! My popper is state of the art. It's about the only appliance in the kitchen that I've mastered!” “Then let's do it! And if we both poop in our diapers, Mom can deal with it!” . . . . “Julia, this is ridiculous. How can anyone sleep wearing this pad? It's so bulky that it feels like I've got a Subway sandwich stuck between my legs!” Herb was tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, but the Maxipad that Julia had taped to the inside of his briefs had defeated him at every turn. “Pris has worn one for four days a month, every month, for the last fifteen years,” Julia snorted, her patience long since exhausted by her husband's whining. “And unless you've been totally blind, at some point you must have noticed that I was wearing one right up to the moment when menopause finally set me free. So, if you're looking for sympathy, it isn't going to happen.” “Julia ...” “Don't 'Julia' me, Herb. You stay in bed, you stay on the mattress pad, and if you have to pee, just go ahead and do it. We'll survey the damage in the morning. Hopefully, it will be limited to your surprisingly frail ego. Honestly, Herb, I swear to God … at times you are such a baby!” “There's got to be a better solution!” “We'll try this for a couple of nights, just to get a handle on how much you are actually wetting. If the pads aren't up to the task, we'll hit the mall on Sunday. I have to stock up on diapers for Pris and Vic, and I'll get a few for myself for the next stakeout. With luck, we should be able to find something that works for you as well.” “At the mall? I don't remember seeing a pharmacy over there, never mind a medical supply store.” “Correct on both counts. We'll be visiting an infants and maternity wear store. That's where Sarah found the diapers for your adoptive daughter … the ones that she wears when she's at work. They apparently hold a lot without being bulky, so if the pads don't work, we'll give them a go at night … and when camping out at The Pig Sty.” “JULIA!!!!!”

Fellow slave, if I may ask quite so bold, How many times have you been told That you’re a slut, who could be sold To some other Mistress down the road? Like me, have you become the household pet, Sleeping in chains ’longside the bed, Green lawn now serving for your toilet, Morning sun caressing an ass beet red? Back into the house each morn I speed, In the kitchen to fall on bended knee, A chewed morsel mine on which to feed, A toasted crust now the height of greed. Fingering my cock, she laughs out loud, Mocking what once made me proud, “It’s so small, and I do not doubt That you welcome the cage offering no way out!” “Just look at it,” she cruelly adds, “this tiny little thing, Surely small enough to wear your high school ring, And to think that once in hallways the lordly king, Soon to be hailed our Reunion Queen!” “Can it stand erect,” she further asks in mocking jest, Fingering my cock, setting one more test, “Make it so and you will be blessed, Your orgasm not ruined like all the rest!” She rubs with fingers up and down, Mocks her slut the frat boy clown, But I’m cumming, to this I own, She can hear it in the way I groan. Fingers dancing, Mistress pulls away, My cock still straining, desperate now to have its way, Fearing the empty promise of some future day, Yet already shrinking to accept its mate, To be housed inside a plastic gate, Teased and denied the inevitable fate, A slave cursed to serve with pleasure denied, No matter how hard he strives or oft he tries, With pleasure to bring light to Mistress eyes. Night falls, to find him on roughened mat, Tongue exhausted, her fingers his hair yet gripping tight, Knowing that slave needs to sleep, Cruelly she whispers in his ear promises yet to keep, Makes him long to pay the price however steep, To earn someday his promised release. Fitfully he naps, thoughts dancing ’round his fevered brain, In weighted chains, muscles screaming in fiery pain, Once more lightly gagged, repeated moans the sad refrain, Of a slave brought low whom she disdains, To call by any other name-- Slut you are, and slut you shall remain.

Still an interesting read, but these large blocks of text (only 6 paragraphs) need some help. Let's take the first paragraph. When the action changes, a new paragraph is in order. So a new paragraph begins at "despite her awkward." "Coming up to the fridge," starts the third, and "unable to open" the fourth. One of the problems writing a story like this is the absence of paragraph breaks that come with dialogue. In its absence, I'd suggest giving her introspective moments (in italics), which are natural paragraph breaks. Something like this: Staring at the chest, seeing the key but unable to grab it, Sarah's anger flared. I can do this, damn it! There's got to be a way. Sarah reached out with her foot and nudged the chest, trying to gauge its weight. Maybe I can tip it over; after all, it's just a toy chest. Sarah knelt down, and put her shoulder to it. She tried sitting down and pushing it with her feet, but it wouldn't budge. See what I did here? I made five one line paragraphs that look like they are dialogue driven, but the dialogue takes the form of giving voice to her thoughts. This is the sort of thing that you have to do in one person scenes to avoid writing these long, run-on paragraphs. Hope this helps.

It is the shortest month, and yet the longest. In northern climes, the second is far the hardest. Winter hanging on, keeping us firmly in its grasp, A season without hope, never yielding— At least, not until the very last. Mistress bids me light the fire, Takes her place on the bearskin rug. I’ve done it many times before, Not once have I risked her ire. No, never protested searing heat on naked skin, Never betrayed, not even by a single shrug, Suffering ever silently the fire to tend. Flames dance across the log. Mistress bids me fall before her. Hers is the second fire, And tasked am I to put it out. With tongue and nibbling teeth she writhes and moans, Climax climaxing in scream and shout, She thrusts, rubs hard against my face, Carried now by lust ’cross time and space. The flames begin to falter, at last to settle down. But I am far from done. Mistress silently bids me with unspoken frown, Bids me once more tend the fire, With tongue and nibbling teeth make the flames jump high. Patiently attending, at last I hear a gentle sigh, A night of pleasure, the flickering flame never allowed to die. She sleeps now, my head between her legs, And still am I not yet done. With probing tongue and sweetened kiss, I search, not a single spot to miss, Love’s nectar the shrouded mist, The smoldering flames of unending bliss. I am content with this my servile lot, Forever tending fires a clever plot, To earn my place between her legs. For this honor, not once did I have to beg. Mistress favors me still, A Goddess cruel but of timeless grace.

Cute. Very, very cute. And you could well be right! My granddaughter had a blow out two nights ago, and that was no fun at all.

Thank you for giving life to this corner of DD. Perhaps our efforts will encourage others.

Quickie entertainment quiz: Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry character is just one of many in the San Francisco police department. How about James Stewart (Vertigo), Steve McQueen (Bullitt), Hal Holbrook and David Soul (Magnum Force) and Michael Douglas (Basic Instinct). There are even females cast as cops, such as Tyne Daly (The Enforcer). But what about ... Joe Flood Who knows the movie in which Joe played a San Francisco cop?