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Babypants
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ANNOUNCEMENT: a fourteenth tranche, scene 42 opening season 2, is now up and running on the STORIES page of the site. Once again, comments have been removed to enable readers to enjoy the story without interruption. The balance of season 2 will follow.
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Have worn cloth diapers and vinyl pants for decades. As Little Sherri observes, their strength is in their wicking ability, but their weakness is that a torrent will pass right through and puddle in your pants. And the wicking can work against you if you are a side sleeper, so having a protective pad underneath you at night is necessary to protect the bedding.. In my experience, the diapers are fine, but the vinyl pants are the weak link. The leg gathers in particular no longer seem to be well designed. Anyone here who used Comco's pants will know exactly what I mean. IMO Comco was the last reliable pant that we had in the marketplace.
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Glad to see that you have decided to keep going. We need more stories about loving couples, and you have given us a first-class one here. The characters are well defined, the dialogue well crafted, and the mommy-baby dynamic is nicely set out as a way to strengthen an otherwise sexually dysfunctional relationship. Hopefully, your efforts will inspire others to move away from the same old, same old and venture onto fresh ground.
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Quickie entertainment quiz:
Ernie K-Doe's Mother-in-l=Law was 1961's monster hit, reaching #1 in the US on both Billboard's Hot 100 and R&B charts. But how did it fare in the UK? How many weeks was it on the charts, and how high did it climb?
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Have you ever seen the Shimmy? It was the dance craze of the 1920s, and dancing it in public was made a crime in New York, Philadelphia and other cities. It was extremely provocative, and a breakout moment for the feminist revolution that started early in the 20th century, but then exploded onto the scene in the 20s. Take a look, by way of youtube:
1920 Shimmy | I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate | Madeleine Peyroux
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1 hour ago, spark said:
I don't recall seeing what sentence he served.
He served 5 years (released 2014). You can read the Court's opinion in full: State of Utah v. Barton Jason Bagnes, 2014 UT 4 (UT Sup Ct., 2-14-2014). Much turned on the failure of the statute to define lewdness (13), which led the court to work out a definition to its own satisfaction, which it then used as a basis for overturning the conviction (24). I would also encourage readers of the opinion to compare (4-5) at the outset with (44) at the end.
It should be noted that the defendant had been convicted 10 years earlier under this same statute-- the only one of 14 previous police reports filed against him to be pursued at law. He underwent psychiatric examination prior to trial in 2009, and the findings from that evaluation factored heavily into his sentencing. It appears, in short, that the presiding District Court judge was determined to get a dangerous individual off the streets.
In sum, as someone who engaged the law in both the classroom and the courtroom, I agree that the statute is poorly worded, while I would describe the Court's reasoning as "creative." Unfortunately, the one invites the other, and the whole is commonplace.
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The article does a good job of laying out the Court's thinking-- and this was a unanimous verdict. He was convicted for a second degree felony, and sentenced to a max of 15 years. He was also convicted of 2 counts for a third degree felony, with time to be served concurrently. Note that. as the article makes clear, displaying his diaper was the third degree felony; it was walking up to two girls and handing them a flyer showing children in diapers that was the more serious charge.
What the article does not point out is that the events in question occurred after the kidnapping of Elizabeth Smart in SLC. That case was in the public eye for years, and it definitely influenced the legal environment in Utah.
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Enjoyed reading this, though keeping in mind how it concludes, I probably would have added a bit of a teaser here. Something like the following:
Sarah got there first, but sure enough, she waited for me to grab a chocolate doughnut. The icing was thick and gooey, and just like always, half of it ended up on my fingers. I took my time licking them clean, savoring the flavor, making the moment last.
"Such a busy tongue," she commented with a devilish glint in her eyes. "Oh, how babies love to explore the world around them with their fingers and their tongues."
Sarah ran her finger across the top of a second doughnut, and then her hand slowly drifted down between her legs. "Is my baby still hungry," she asked invitingly.
The end? Or maybe a new beginning?
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On 1/14/2025 at 9:33 PM, Dee Cee said:
But still I just bitched , and complained , but after just about 4 months , I just found that , hey , this wearing and using diapers thing isn’t the end of the world , and I can do just about everything , I did before , all I had to do was just get into the right mind set
Over the last couple of decades, I have lent encouragement to quite a few men and women who have gradually become incontinent in middle and old age. As someone who has been incontinent since birth, in the beginning I point out that this is not a disability unless you choose to let it take over your life. To the contrary, it is basically a "clean up in aisle 5" kind of experience. It takes time for the initial sense of embarrassment to fade away, but as incontinent individuals become more confident that they can manage this problem without too much upset to their daily routine, and they realize that no one who crosses their paths is paying any attention, it does go away. I have yet to counsel anyone who needed more than seven months to have their self-confidence fully restored.
One thing I would suggest to you is that you give some thought to your diet, and especially your fiber intake. What you eat determines the firmness of your stool, as well as its odor. Activated charcoal will neutralize the odor, but the right diet should take care of the problem naturally.
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To eavesdrop on the rest of the byplay between Amy and Emmett, go to Aardvark scene 19!
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BACK TO THE FUTURE
“Amy, I did manage to sneak in a question as to what Andrew Carlson, Spats Belmondo, attorney Goldstein and Chief Mischof were hashing out while down below the security guards were separating the combatants and restoring order. I expected them to fob me off with something about it being cold outside, but to my surprise they were quite forthcoming. Mister Goldstein indicated that his client had reached a stage in his life where he wanted to give back to the community that had afforded him so many opportunities to prosper ...”
“And he said this with a straight face?”
“Yes, he did. And to his credit, Chief Mischof did find a way subtly to remind me that we were attending a hockey game inside a state of the art facility donated by Isadore Blumenthal.”
“Point well taken, Emmett. What did the Chief say?”
“He asked me if I was planning on flying down to Miami in the near future to interview the Kid … give him a chance to tell his side of the story.”
“And your response was?”
“It's a great idea, and I'll have our producer run with it!”
“Works for me. Now, what about Mister Belmondo's … er … bodyguards, Wallace Finklestein and Clarence 'Cowbell' Mitchum? They sent a couple of the Icebreakers to the Emergency Room.”
“Both were released on their own recognizance, pending further investigation. The cameras captured all the action, Amy. How could they not when everyone in the building was zooming in on Cindy Carlson doing the Cindy Shuffle?”
“I'm told that our sister station in Toledo, WPEZ, has been doing replay after replay of the Cindy Shuffle during their morning news broadcasts. Their switchboard is drowning in requests for more info … young men and women alike want to know more about her diaper, though obviously not for the same reasons!”
“When the security guards got everything under control, I had a chance to speak briefly with Miss Carlson. Among other interesting tidbits, she indicated that the girls have nicknamed their new underwear 'the Godzilla diaper'. Cindy, and several of the others, love what they're wearing … something about increasing their sex appeal.”
“I can understand that, Emmett. It's not every day that a young woman has hockey players climbing the glass to introduce themselves up close and personal!”
“Amy, do you think the house of ZAP has given birth to a new national craze, the Cindy Shuffle? And will diapers now become the 'in thing' out on the dance floor?”
“Wait one, Emmett; I've just been handed this note. Wait one ...”
“You'll have a chance to find out tonight, Emmett. You're going to be broadcasting live from Moby's!”
Bernice reached out and angrily turned off the radio. She had summoned everyone in the house to the dining room, and she had made it clear that anyone who failed to appear would be well advised to start packing her bags. She had a full house.
“I hope that you all think this is hilarious,” she growled, “because your parents certainly don't. The phone has been ringing off the hook! Why, you ask? Well, it seems that your parents don't approve of their daughters doing a strip tease in a crowded sports arena, never mind brawling with several members of the visiting hockey team, four of whom ended up in the hospital. Jackknife? Slasher? In fairness, I should add that your brothers called, and asked me to congratulate you on a job well done. Consider yourselves congratulated.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Stephanie brightly replied. “But we didn't want anybody to get hurt; it was all just good, clean fun.”
“I'm sure,” Bernice snapped. “And Cindy? Somebody called from that TV show ... American Bandstand. They want to book you to fly back to Philadelphia and do the Cindy Shuffle on the air as part of something called Disco Nights Live.”
“I'm ready,” Cindy shrieked as she jumped to her feet and began to jiggle her ass. “Gonna make me a star!”
“Might be difficult, given that your Mom called to let me know that they have ordered one of those cribs that aunt Rita uses in the secure wing of the Psych ward. It will be waiting for you when you get home. Sounds like you could be crib bound for a long time … forever, if your younger sister has anything to say about it.”
“Andy's such a headcase,” Cindy groaned.
“You'll have a chance to tell Emily your side of the story later this morning. Your Dad's paying overtime to have some of his employees drive all of you to the Galleria in some of those big vans that the rental car companies use out at the airport. There will be at least one parent traveling with each van to keep you from making fools of yourselves at the mall. If any of you are hoping to get a reprieve so that you can attend the Delta kegger tonight, I would encourage you to be all sweetness and light.”
“What about our diapers,” Tippi wanted to know. “Who's going to change our diapers?”
“No one,” Bernice shrugged. “You will all be wearing Godzilla diapers, which will take everything you can throw at them until you get back to the house.”
A chorus of groans erupted all around the room. When it came to the hospital diapers, Cindy, Tip and Kimberly were very much in the minority.
“We're going to need more of these monsters,” Wendy pointed out.
“Why?” Bernice was genuinely curious.
“Marilyn Matsumora … one of my friends in the Alpha house? She wants to wear a diaper to the kegger, in solidarity with Jannie and me.”
“You?” Bernice shook her head, still not getting it. “You don't have to wear a diaper, Wendy; why are you doing this?”
“It's like I just said … in solidarity with Jannie. This is The Diaper House, and in public we have to stick up for one another!”
“Have you heard anything about our sweatshirts?” Melanie reckoned that they would guarantee her and Cindy quick admission to Moby's. Skipping the line at the hottest disco in the Cities would drive the girls in the other houses crazy, especially if they were standing in said line and freezing their butts off.
“No, Dear, I haven't. I should have an answer by the time you get back from the mall, but I strongly encourage you to concentrate on looking for outfits that will give your diapers a little breathing room. Trust me … you are going to need them.”
“Not to worry, Mom; blue scrubs are in! Tonight, Doctor Carlson is gonna be making a house call!”
Cindy was once again on her feet, but this time she was having a go at the shimmy shake. She didn't want her beautifully sculpted ass to have all the fun, and it was long past time to dust off the belly dancing lessons that she had taken in her sophomore year. Cindy had played the lead in the Theater Arts production of Scheherazade, and had long insisted that the play sold out night after night only because her harem costume and dance routine left little to the masculine imagination. Triggering a riot at the Delta kegger was her idea of a good time.
Bernice could only shake her head in wonder. Cindy Carlson was a force of nature, and it had been that way for three long years. And now she was a Senior …
“Officer Patterson, it's a stroke of good fortune that you were able to take today off.”
Bernice was still coming to terms with the fact that they now had a policewoman on the premises who welcomed not only diapers but a return to infancy. Therapy, she kept reminding herself. Carlie says that Babs needs what Joyce is dishing out, and Geri is keen to have the big baby nursing on her oversized boobs …
“Joyce knows the Galleria well, so she will take you by the hand and make sure that you come home with outfits appropriate to both of the diapers that you shall be wearing. On duty, this means one of the thin Lullaby diapers, so let's zero in on casual wear that doesn't draw attention to the slight bulge the fabric will cause. As long as you don't start waddling around like a toddler taking her first steps, you'll do fine.”
Babs nodded, but kept her head down. Carlie had taken her home late on Friday afternoon, and had watched silently while Babs packed her suitcases. Her panties had gone into the trash, which drove home the point that she was going to be in diapers for the foreseeable future. Carlie had also demanded the keys to her apartment, effectively locking Babs out of her own home. She was now committed to living in the Diaper House under the watchful eyes of her new Mommy and her aunt Geri. She had forfeited her toilet privileges, and Carlie had made it clear that she would have to clean up her act if she hoped to get them back.
With the whole of the sorority off to a hockey game, Babs had been left alone-- left to lie in the darkness and ponder what had become of her life. There wasn't much, she conceded, to celebrate. A career that gave her little satisfaction, and a string of failed relationships, that was the sum and substance of her twenty-eight years on planet Earth.
“And here I am,” she called out to the ceiling, “returned to diapers, punished with corner time … and you know what? I deserve it … I deserve it.”
The girls had returned from the arena, their voices ringing up and down the corridor, the excitement of exuberant youth run wild. Joyce had changed her diaper, and Geri had nursed her before finally slipping a bottle of breast milk into her mouth. To Babs' surprise, it had tasted good, and latching onto Geri's yawning tit had calmed her in a way that she could not compare with anything in the store of her memories.
And Geri nursed me again this morning, and Mommy checked my diaper but refused to change me because I have yet to poop … And all the girls laughed at me when Mommy fed me my breakfast, but it's okay. I'm just a baby who needs Mommy and my aunties to keep me safe …
“Fun's over, ladies; it's time to get serious.” Bernice scanned the room, wanting everyone to get the message. “It's the end of the month, and I've been doing the books. I'll keep this short and sweet: financially, we are in trouble. If we are going to survive, we need the new blood that Suzie Marshall has recruited. Well, guess what. That little stunt you pulled last night? What are the odds that the parents of these young ladies will react the same way your parents did? Do you seriously think that they are going to pony up cash to move their daughters into a house that can't seem to stay out of trouble? What are the odds?”
Bernice stared out at her four dozen charges, and was secretly delighted to see that not one head was raised, no one prepared to look her in the eye.
“We can't afford another misstep,” she went on, “so behave yourselves at the mall. And tonight? We all know how parties at the Delta house tend to go, so if it looks like things are getting out of hand, would you puh … lese have the good sense to bail before the cops arrive? Puh … lese!”
“I'm sorry, Mom.” Cindy was genuinely contrite. “We were just having fun, and we were trying to make the Icebreakers feel welcome. But you're right … we should have kept our clothes on. Sorry.”
“And tonight, Cindy? Will you keep your clothes on tonight, or are you going to spark another riot? And what about when you toddle off to Moby's? At the best of times, that place is a disaster waiting to happen, and trouble seems to follow you everywhere!”
“Mom, if I'm going to star on Bandstand,” Cindy protested, “then I need to work on my moves. The kegger is a good place to try out what I have in mind before hitting Moby's… see how it plays to a live audience. I don't need to strip, but the costume I'm going to be wearing doesn't leave much to the imagination. It's expensive-- a one of a kind item that I've been eyeing at a costume dress shop in the mall.”
“Go on,” Bernice sighed. She had a pretty good idea where this was going.
“It's a silver flapper dress with long sleeved blush gloves ...”
“Gilda Gray?”
“Uh huh … Caberet.”
“The lost film … only the posters surviving ...”
“Mom, I've idolized her ever since I was a little girl. I know how to shimmy, and I'm good at it, but I've never had a modern dance to go with it. Well, now I do … the Cindy Shuffle. Call it fate … call it whatever you will … I need to do this.”
“Okay … all right … I'll meet you halfway. If your mother approves, then it's okay by me. But I want her to drop the receipt in my hot little hand!”
“Thanks, Mom; you're a Dear!”
“I want something hot … in black,” Geri yelped. If she was going to seduce Mikey, then she damned well wanted to dress the part.
“Me too,” Kimberly called out. “But I want one of those long cigarette holders that were so stylish in the twenties.”
“But you don't smoke,” Melanie objected.
“So? I can still look the part, can't I? And unlike you midgets, I've got the height to carry this off!”
“Boo, hiss,” Joyce pounced. “You're no Audrey Hepburn ...”
“Damn straight … I've got boobs.”
“Is this an average day in the house,” Babs wondered out loud. “I mean, I'm wearing a diaper, but it feels like I'm back in high school.”
“Not to worry, baby.” Joyce soothingly patted Babs' arm before Linda slipped an oversized pacifier into her mouth. “Mommy will protect you from the big, bad girls; oh, yes she will!”
“Tip, I want you to ride with Cindy and her Mom,” Bernice decided. “Start thinking about an end of term reception … something that puts the parents of the girls we're recruiting at ease.”
“Not another Cotillion,” Jackknife pleaded. “I don't like dresses, and I look terrible in white.”
“Then plan on eloping,” Bernice snapped.
“Guys don't like me,” Jackie whined. “I have too many rough edges.”
“So, we'll set you up with a wimp you can boss around,” Melanie suggested …
“Or we'll polish you up a bit,” Janis offered. “Like Wendy said, in this house we all look out for one another. You find the guy you want, and we'll help you get him.”
“Janis?” Bernice barely recognized the shy girl who had suddenly burst out of her shell.
“Hi, Mom. Yeah, it's me. Decking that so-called reporter has unleashed a monster!”
“Uh, Mom?” Abigail had raised her hand, and was waving it tentatively in the air. “I, uh … could I have my diaper changed before we head to the mall? I'm soaked!”
. . . .
Emily walked around, closely examining her daughter's diapered derriere from all angles. “Alan Parsons was right,” she nodded. “It looks like you're wearing a stuffed pillow, but I have to admit that it looks good on you. Front and back, you look sexy as Hell.”
“Thanks, Mom. It's weird, but I love the way I look, and I like the way the diaper feels. When I'm sitting down? It really does feel like I'm sitting on a plush pillow. And my body feels more balanced … like I'm not top heavy anymore.”
“Well, your posture is better, I'll give you that. But your behavior is another matter altogether. Cindy, your father and I have talked it over, and we have decided that, since you act like a baby, that is how you are going to be treated over the winter break. You will be returning to infancy, which means no walking or talking, baby bottles, and baby food. Toddlerhood will be within reach, but only if you are well behaved. Since Andy is going to be looking after you much of the time, that's going to be a real challenge.”
“Spankings?”
“She has our permission to spank you. She's looking forward to it.”
“And Missus Miller said that you bought a crib for me? One of those fancy cribs that aunt Rita uses in the Psych ward?”
“Correct. You will be spending most of your time there. You will be going beddie bye at seven o'clock.”
“Seven! Mom!!!”
“You're right, Dear. I'll put you down at six thirty. Babies like you need lots of sleep. Any more complaints?”
“Uh, no … but Mom, what about Tip? Things are going pretty bad for her at home.”
“She can stay with us, but it's my understanding that she is going to become your new Dad's caregiver. I don't think you'll be seeing much of her.”
“That's okay. I just want to make sure that she's all right. I worry about her.”
“I know, Dear; we all do.” Emily reached out to grasp her first born by the shoulders. “Never forget,” she said reassuringly, “that everyone at ZAP is a part of this family … everyone.”
“Now,” she continued, “about this end of term reception that Bernice mentioned ...”
“Way ahead of you, Mom. How about a theme party?”
“Hmm. What do you have in mind?”
“A Back to the Twenties night straight out of The Great Gatsby. Flapper dresses for the young ladies and tuxedos for their dates, with evening gowns and dark suits or tuxes for the parents. We turn the dining room into a ballroom, and hire a band like the one in Some Like It Hot. There's a costume shop at the mall that has everything we need, including some outfits that Kim and I and a few of the others want to wear to the party at the Delta house tonight. Hope you brought your checkbook!”
“Never leave home without it,” Emily laughed; “especially for weekend excursions to the Galleria. Shopping is in our blood!”
“Thanks, Mom! You're the best!”
“The Roaring Twenties,” Emily mused; “your grandmother, God rest her soul, has a great deal to answer for.”
“I miss Gran,” Cindy quietly remarked, a faraway look in her eyes. “All her wonderful stories ...”
“It's funny, but I think I miss her less because she lives on in you. Working the chorus line in the Ziegfeld Follies, Gilda Gray's understudy at twenty-four ...”
“Getting an entire paragraph to herself in The Great Gatsby ...”
“One Saint Paul native casting a spotlight on another, both of them living the high life on Broadway ...”
“And then the Depression and, suddenly penniless, Gran came home to settle down, get married, and start a family … and here we are!”
“And here we are,” Emily agreed. “She would be so proud of you, living life to the full the same way she did ...”
“Driving the getaway car,” Cindy laughed; “starting a riot at a hockey game ...”
“And you look so much like her. In fact, if you did up your hair in a finger wave ...”
“Mom, you're a genius!! Let's do it!”
“You think?”
“I think! And you know what else I think? Come the Spring, Theater Arts should stage Caberet!”
“Hmm. Now I wonder who Professor Osgood would cast in the part of Gilda Gray? Anyone we know?”
Cindy started giggling helplessly. Some things were just so obvious.
“So, do we have a deal, then? You turn your acting skills loose on playing the baby over the holidays-- an occasionally naughty baby who needs a good spanking to keep her sister happy?”
“Will do, Mom; I'll put on a real show!”
“Then, daughter of mine, let's get to the mall and start spending my money.”
. . . .
“Well, I do declare! It's the driver of the getaway car, and her gang of desperadoes. I've been waiting for you to show up, Cindy Carlson … you and Melanie and Kimberly … all three of you. And yes, not to worry; I have threads that will make even your diapered asses look stylish. Now, who's this stringbean with you?”
“Hi, Rosie!” Cindy Carlson embraced the owner of Dream Weaver, and gave her a warm hug. “We all knew that we could count on you! And this is Tippi; she's the youngest member of the outlaw set, but she's also the brains of the outfit.”
“Tippi? What kind of name is that?”
Rosie Grier (no relation to either Pam or Roosevelt) surveyed Tip with a professional eye. Tall and outrageously thin, it was going to be a challenge to make her heavily diapered rear end sexually appealing.
“She's from New Ulm, Rosie.” Emily remarked. “Need I say more?”
“I intuit your meaning, Missus C. And I'll do my best; you have my word on it.”
“The Deltas are putting on a kegger tonight, Rosie, and the girls are ready to rock and roll. But come Monday morning, I want them to be wearing something more stylish than blue scrubs.”
“Got more coming?”
“The whole sorority … just not all at once.”
“I appreciate that, Missus C. But what's with the hair? Ain't seen nothing like it since that movie with Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe. You know the one.”
“I do indeed. Tonight, some of the girls are dressing up as flappers, straight out of the Roaring Twenties. Mom taught Cindy how to shimmy and do the Charleston, and now she's come up with a new move of her own-- the Cindy Shuffle.”
“I've got some ideas that I want to try out … you know … tying them together? And we just found these fantastic costumes at Yesterday's News!” Cindy held up the garment bag that she had draped over her arm. “But we all need something to wear to class on Monday morning-- something that will make guys fall to their knees and beg for mercy!”
“So, you're looking for something tight fitting? Something that will tell the world you like your butt, so piss off?”
“That's it,” Cindy clapped. “We're gonna make diapers the 'in' thing! Wanna be cool, you ladies of the eighties? Well, pad up!”
“So, ho-hum bell bottoms are out, and the butt scrunch is in,” Rosie declared. “Girl, it be a good thing that you don't need to use no bathroom, 'cause I'm gonna paint you into a pair of high waisted jeans! Only question be whether you be needing a body suit … can't have no blouse shoved in there making wrinkles and spoiling the look.”
“Crop tops,” Kimberly declared as inspiration hit. “Cut 'em high for parties and the dance floor, but lower for the classroom ...”
“Let the belly button peek out,” Cindy screamed. “Maybe put a stud in it ...”
“Something with a mirrored finish that captures and reflects the light in any room we enter!” Kimberly was on a roll. “The guys will go crazy! Thug won't want to let me out of his sight!”
“And we'll give scalp hunting a whole new look,” Melanie crowed. “Let the big baby suck on mommy's tits in the hope that she'll get so turned on that he'll earn a nice reward!”
“Uh, Missus C.? You all right with this?” While Cindy and her friends were plotting to turn the fashion world upside down, Rosie never lost sight of the fact that it was Emily Carlson's checkbook that would have to freight the bill.
“Oh, we're just getting started. What do you think, Rosie? Would high waisted bell bottoms cause a scene at Moby's?”
“Cause a scene,” Rosie snorted. “Hell, Missus C., if I was you, I'd call the management and warn them to go and hire themselves some extra bouncers. Cindy doing the shimmy is gonna stir things up for sure.”
“Music to my daughter's ears, Rosie. Bernice Miller, our house mom, got a call this morning from someone at American Bandstand. They apparently want Cindy to parade her wares on national TV. So, she needs to dress the part, and perfect her act. Tonight's kegger is a good place to start, but the dance floor at Moby's is the real test. Stiff competition there.”
“Don't I know it, Missus C., don't I know it! But the Bandstand … all those Philly kids … girl, who you gonna partner with? I mean, you got the ass, and I'm gonna turn it into a national landmark, but who you gonna partner with?”
“First things first,” Cindy declared. She had given this a lot of thought. “Tonight, at the kegger, I'm going to evaluate the talent, see if there's a frat boy who can keep up with me. I don't want to be saddled with a loser when I take Moby's by storm!”
. . . .
Alexander Nilsson flopped into the chair, and looked around. The food court at the Galleria was way out of the league of a kid born in the shadows of a sawmill in International Falls. Pro hockey was his ticket to the promised land, but he had to get there first.
“So, what did you find out?”
Stan Carmichael slid a cappuccino across the table. To all appearances, he and Alex were just a couple of frat boys camping out in the food court, inspecting the talent moving in and out of the stores all around them.
“First stop was Yesterday's News … the vintage clothing boutique. They were all trying on those fancy flapper dresses. Looks like Missus Carlson wrote a big check to pay for everything.”
“Makes sense,” Stan grinned. “The twenties have been all the rage since I was in high school. Flapper girls started the feminist revolution. The sixties chicks were late to the party.”
“They've all done something weird to their hair. Looks like they're getting ready for a fancy dress ball or something.”
“Interesting.” Stan tapped his fingers on the tabletop, thinking about it. “Nothing on the horizon except the kegger; you think Cindy might be trying to go last night one better?”
“All I know is that I lost a goal when the Icebreakers forfeited,” Alex grumbled, “and now the whole weekend's been wiped out. Two games flushed down the toilet.”
“Look on the bright side, my young friend. Now, you can party the night away, get falling down drunk. But you know what?”
“What?” Alex was thinking about all the scoring opportunities that had gone up in smoke.
“Something I remember from The Great Gatsby. Fancy flapper dresses for the ladies, and tuxedos for the gentlemen. And white tuxedos screamed wealth and power. So, let's go rent us some white tuxedos and put on a show of our own tonight!”
“Do I have to,” Alex whined.
“Do you want to impress the Hanson twins?”
“I'm desperate, Stan; I mean, seriously … I don't know what to do.”
“Well, let's start by dazzling them with bullshit. Tell 'em how much you'd like to be boarded and tripped. Should do the trick. By the way, where is clan Carlson now?”
“Dream Weaver. Probably looking for something that will hide their diapers ...”
“Not Cindy's style,” Stan judged. “She's a goddess, who rules the earth. Odds are she's looking for threads that will let her skip the line at Moby's. The dance floor is her natural domain.”
Stan stood up, and looked around. There were sorority girls everywhere, the girls all in the market for something daring to wear at the end of term parties. But none of them could compare with Cindy, none of them interested him. Stan Carmichael was well and truly smitten.
. . . .
“What's the matter, baby, you look preoccupied. Your diaper checks have gone smoothly, and the lady in the maternity shop was really nice about helping me change you in the storeroom. And these new, more lightweight diapers should be much more comfortable while still getting the job done.”
Sofia tapped one of the large shopping bags beneath the table with her foot. On his breast milk diet, she calculated that day in and day out Ian would go through roughly a dozen diapers during his waking hours. Of course he would still need the bulky hospital diapers when banished to his crib at night, but only at night.
Ah, but it will be a lot easier for him to masturbate in the thinner material! Happily, Sarah has already locked the answer to that particular problem around his cock and balls … just need to persuade her to keep him permanently caged. There's really no need for him to be unlocked unless his services are in demand ...
“And having you and Vickie wearing the same diapers,” she continued, "will make all that laundry go more smoothly. So, tell Mommy what's wrong. Is it the cage? Does it pinch?”
“I'm sorry, Mommy; you've been very considerate. And no; so far, it's been surprisingly comfortable.”
Sofia had casually checked Ian's diaper in a deserted aisle near the rear of the two grocery stores they had visited before driving to the mall. In the maternity and infant's wear shop, he had stood by quietly while his future mother-in-law and the shopkeeper carried on a detailed conversation about his needs. The lady remembered Sarah, and had assured him that the diapers that Vickie was now wearing would suit him equally well. She had been especially pleased to see that the outline of his cage was not visible beneath his new underwear.
“But pink baby pants, for both of us. Really?”
“Yes, baby, because what you are wearing now looks so institutional. These are really adorable, and I especially like the dressy pairs with the ruffles. Remember, just like I told the lady in the maternity shop, these are really for Anna, just like the baby dresses that Vickie bought you last week. It's all about suppressing the male libido … about giving Carlie a better chance to communicate with her.”
Thinking it through, Ian nodded in agreement. “You're right, of course; it's just that I feel so silly. Pink baby pants.”
“The feeling will pass,” Sofia curtly remarked. “Are you hungry? Do you want to have another bottle now rather than waiting until we get back to the car?”
Sofia had given Ian a bottle out in the parking lot, and again while he was lying on the changing table in the maternity shop. It was clear that, while choosing her moments carefully, she really was intent upon humiliating him. He didn't doubt for a second that she would nurse him here in the food court, in full view of the dozens of shoppers at the other tables. As it was, he wondered how many people were eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Do you want your binky, baby? It always calms you when you get upset.”
“I know one of those guys.” Ian gestured in the direction of a couple of young men walking into one of the corridors leading away from the food court. “Stan something or other … a fraternity guy. Lamda house?” He needed a distraction to move the conversation onto safer terrain, and weak as it was, this was better than nothing.
“Probably shopping for a new outfit to wear to the party. Girls aren't the only ones determined to be trendy.”
“Yeah, I laid out a fortune the last time I strolled Carnaby Street,” Ian deadpanned. He had two racks of Italian silk neckties, one wide and one narrow. Wide was the current fashion, but it was only a matter of time before narrow was back in vogue. When it happened, all he had to do was dig around in the back of the closet, and he was good to go.
“But you'll be pleased to learn that I passed on the tie dye shirts and the kipper ties,” he went on, still deadpan. “I wouldn't want anything to clash with my pink baby pants.”
Sofia burst out laughing, turning heads even several tables away. “Ian, I swear to God, if Sarah was my younger sister rather than my daughter, I would be plotting to steal you away from her. You cook, you have a wonderful sense of humor, and I'm told that you are great in bed. What more could any woman possibly want?”
More heads turned. The Galleria was an upscale, trend setting mall, and the bored wives of workaholic husbands busily climbing the corporate ladder were out in force late on this Saturday morning. They were all shopping, but some were less interested in designer shoes and handbags than others.
Ian winked at a buxom blonde seated two tables away. She looked to be about his own age, and had the Faye Dunaway look down pat, up to and including a very stylish beret.
“Do you think she'd like to check my diaper?” Ian knew that Sofia was paying serious attention to their surroundings, and he was willing to bet that buxom blondes on the prowl for fresh meat ranked high on her personal threat meter.
Ian decided to have a little fun at Sophia's expense. Staring hard at the mysterious yet beautiful blonde, he raised his eyebrows, then treated her to an enigmatic smile. Would she take the bait?
Shaking her head at the absurdity of it all, the buxom blonde climbed gracefully to her feet, and casually strolled to their table. She spared Sofia only a passing glance.
“Good morning, Professor Grady. It's an honor to meet you. My name is Jennifer Pauley. May I join you?”
To Be Continued
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4
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Very nice twist on an otherwise familiar story line. Well done.
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1
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MOTHER-IN-LAW
John Lessing casually looked around the room, once again impressed with his team's clinically precise weekly updates on the various patients in their charge. But there was one patient whom they had conspicuously passed over-- no surprise there since Rita always saved the best for last.
“Right,” he said as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop; “I suppose it's time to address the two thousand pound gorilla in the china shop, but first I'd like to ask why Sarah Haikonnen is sitting out in the foyer with Officer Voight. Is our esteemed colleague under arrest for something?”
“Hardly,” Rita scoffed. “And why am I not surprised that you and Carlie are already acquainted?”
“Oh, our paths have occasionally crossed in the courtroom, and I'm happy to say that we were always on the same side. She's a fine officer, and her demeanor on the witness stand is first rate. Now, am I to presume that Carlie and Sarah have been patiently waiting to join us at the appropriate moment, and that said moment is now at hand?”
“Way to go, Boss,” Vickie laughed. “Still … if you are in the mood to place a bet … say, a hundred? I'll give you ten to one odds and a hundred guesses, everyone of which will sail wide of the mark. What Carlie has to say is going to blow you away!”
“Hmm.” John resumed his drumming on the tabletop, thinking it through. “What do you say, Marge; would I be wasting my money on a sucker bet?”
“Definitely, Professor. But if you're in the mood, I'd recommend downing a stiff drink or two before we start. It might help.”
“Hard liquor inside the Psych ward? Perish the thought!” John's smile made it clear that he was playing to the camera that was recording the proceedings.
“Rita, if you will do the honors, let's get this show on the road. To judge from the missives that our illustrious Dean and President issued yesterday morning, Secret Agent Man, as he is now affectionately known to one and all, has their public support-- and more importantly, as the newly minted faculty advisor to the Panhellenic Council, he enjoys the support of Fraternity Row. The houses are a force to be reckoned with.”
“Considering that fully three-quarters of the school's most generous donors lived in one of the houses for three or four years? Duh!!” Vickie couldn't stop giggling. “And you should know that the hive has a new queen, and her name is Suzie Marshall!”
“Suzie? John rocked back in his chair, almost too stunned for words. Everyone on the faculty knew The Harlot Queen, if only by reputation. He reckoned that five or six members of his own department actually knew her far better than that.
“It turns out that Ian's best friend is a Deputy Director at Langley, and Suzie decided to give him a call.” Rita still hadn't quite come to grips with the casual way in which Suzie had taken the bull by the horns. “Next thing you know, she's chatting with said Director's wife, who is a Princeton grad and a Kappa, serving on both the local and national boards. A few more phone calls on Thursday night, and your Dean and President both came to the conclusion that it was time to muzzle the anti-war crowd.”
“Come late Monday afternoon,” Sarah smugly added as she and Carlie entered the room, “there will be an announcement that Ian has been jointly appointed to either Poli Sci or International Relations. Marilyn Marsden and I are still working out the details, which include a substantial raise and a number of other perks. But she also tells me that there is keen interest in the private sector, and we anticipate receiving a number of attractive offers. So this is turning into a classic retention case; suffice it to say that my fiance's days of working for peanuts are coming to an end.”
“Bravo,” John clapped, delighted at the turn of events. “And it's good to see you again, Officer Voight. Welcome to this week's edition of Lessing's Folly, as our brainstorming sessions are informally called.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Carlie smiled. “But just for the record, you should know that I am now a private patient of Rita's. She is helping me to process what I have been experiencing since Thursday night, so you are entitled to treat what I am going to tell you as the ravings of a deranged mind.”
“Oh, please, Carlie! We aren't going to let you off the hook quite that easily. And rest assured that anything you say in this room is privileged. All of us take patient confidentiality very, very seriously.”
“Thank you, John. I've asked Rita to set the stage because a lot has happened since your last session.”
“Pursuant to your conversation with Chief Mischof,” Rita began, “Ian was assigned a police escort around campus, in the person of one Officer Priscilla Canon ...”
. . . .
Ian rolled over in his crib when he heard the door to his nursery open. With a pacifier strapped in his mouth and his hands encased in heavy locking mittens, he was helpless and he knew it, but he did not want his future mother-in-law to find him on his back. If he had been able to stand up, he would have done so.
Standing just outside the crib bars, looking down at her future son-in-law, an enigmatic smile creased Sofia Haikonnen's lips. Sarah had followed her advice to the letter, and as a result her new household was shaping up nicely. Sharing her baby husband with her two best friends was a small price to pay to preserve their friendship, and having at least one and possibly two well trained policewomen securing the premises was an added bonus. Sofia also had no illusions about how much work would be involved in Ian's long-term care. There were thousands of messy diapers in his future, and once Sarah's fantasies yielded to the harsh reality of being a caregiver, having five pairs of hands to change him might well prove the difference between an enduring marriage and one ending in divorce. Ian was in so many respects a prize catch, and Sofia wanted this relationship to last.
“Hold still,” she commanded as she lowered the bars and reached behind his neck to unfasten the strap that held his pacifier in place. She eased it out of his mouth, and waited patiently as he exercised his aching jaws.
“Thanks … uh … what am I supposed to call you?”
“Good question,” Sofia replied as she freed his hands. “What do you call my daughter?”
“When we're alone? Mommy.”
“And now you have a real mommy in Bernice ...”
“And four aunties. Then there's Julia … Priscilla's mom.”
“Don't be surprised if she becomes your mommy as well. She's old enough to qualify, and in my experience a diaper dependent male brings out the maternal in older women who have never had sons of their own.”
“So, does that mean that you think of me as a baby? Do you want me to address you as Mommy, at least when we're alone?”
“Thank you, Ian; and yes, I'd like that very much. But to avoid confusion, when we're not alone, I would really like you to call me Mom. Think you can do that?”
“Yeth, Mommy.” Ian grinned as he began to play with his pacifier.
“Good baby,” Sofia rejoined. “Sarah and I have debated whether to treat you as a toddler, or as an infant. Her work load will be lighter if you can talk a bit and manage on your own two feet, but the control that she would have over you if you were unable to speak or walk would be exhilarating. Personally, I see you as an adorable but precocious eight month old-- a naughty little baby who needs a good spanking to remind him that Mommy's rules are Mommy's rules. On that note, I have already spanked one baby this morning, and before we leave, you are going over my lap as well. You need to understand that I am very strict, and will not tolerate backtalk or disobedience. This will be an exploratory spanking … think of it as my hand becoming acquainted with your rear end. It will be probably be the first of many that I will be giving you … and yes, Sarah has walked me through how to do this safely. Are we on the same page here?”
“Yeth, Mommy.” Ian gulped. Sarah had warned him, but he had somehow got off on the wrong foot with her mother, and now he would pay the price.
“Good baby. Now, let's get you up on the changing table, and clean that messy, little bottom of yours. Mommy has a nice surprise for her little baby!”
Ian slipped down from his crib, and eased himself up onto the table. He laid down, and waited silently while Sofia cinched the strap that pinned him to the padded surface. It was surprisingly comfortable, and despite the spanking now hanging over his head, he found it easy to place himself in her experienced hands. Sofia reminded him of some of the RN's who had ministered to him in Japan and Hawaii, hard nosed professionals who had pushed him hard when he occasionally slacked off during the long months of rehab.
Raising his hips made it easy for her to remove his vinyl pants, and then she deftly unpinned his diaper and surveyed the damage. “Very good,” she concluded. “The breast milk has made your poop as runny as a newborn's, which will make it a lot easier to change you. But you will need some nutritional supplements, so we'll add them to our shopping list.”
“We'll leave the baby pants off for now,” she said as she spread a new diaper underneath his bottom. She generously sprinkled his groin with baby powder, and then slowly rubbed it in. “Big babies often respond to my touch, which I'm told is incredibly sensual, but sadly … well, for you, at least … your little pee pee is all locked up and not going anywhere. I wonder how it will respond if I stroke you a bit here and use my nails on you a bit there, hmm.”
Sofia ran her fingernails back and forth on the inside of his thighs, knowing that he was especially sensitive in this region.
Ian moaned, and his hips soon began to grind, trying to match her rhythm.
“Ah, it looks like my baby boy likes his Mommy's touch,” Sofia teased as she continued to stroke him. "Does it feel good?”
“Yeth, Mommy!”
Ian could feel his cock struggling to escape the cage, but it wasn't going anywhere. One part of his mind wanted the torment to stop, but another part wanted it to go on forever. He was trapped, needing to come, but unable.
“Mommy could milk you … give you a prostate massage? Have you ever had one?”
“In the hospital, Mommy.”
“Did you come?”
“I guess so, but it was different … more like dribbling or leaking. The nurses wanted to keep my prostate healthy, not give me an orgasm. One of them described the procedure as similar to a ruined orgasm.”
“And have you had the pleasure?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Oh, you'd know,” Sofia laughed. “I have been known to use the technique to collect a sperm sample. It empties a man, but leaves him frustrated. I will be sure to give Sarah a hands-on demonstration before Bob and I fly home. It is a very effective form of punishment, especially in tandem with your nice, little chastity cage. No more coming in your diapers … too bad, so sad.”
Sofia pulled the diaper up, but only used two pins to secure it. It would be coming off when Ian was over her knee.
“Now, for your surprise,” she grinned. “In my hospital's secure ward, we find that these cute, little booties are a godsend when dealing with violent patients. If you were in our facility? With your war record, you would be wearing them for a long, long time.”
Sofia easily slid the booties onto Ian's feet, then cinched and locked them. Acting on impulse, she decided to put his hands back in the mittens as well. All that remained was to unfasten the strap.
Ian carefully rolled into a sitting position, and dropped to the floor.
“Hey, ow,” he yelped. It felt like he had just stepped onto a bed of hot coals.
“The spikes aren't very long, and they're not really sharp,” Sofia mused, “but patients find them sufficiently painful that they decide of their own accord to get down on their hands and knees and crawl. I'll leave how you are going to get out to the living room strictly up to you.”
Sofia walked out of the nursery, and sat down in the chair that Sarah had moved into position earlier. It was intended for the policewoman whom Vickie would be spanking at some point in the evening, but there was no reason why it couldn't do double duty.
In due course, Ian came crawling out of the nursery. She thought that he looked absolutely adorable. Still, she tapped her thigh, making it clear to him that this was his next stop.
Grimacing, Ian awkwardly climbed to his feet and, with Sofia's help, managed to collapse into her lap. He was relieved to see that she had a bath towel in place to protect her clothing; peeing on his future mother-in-law didn't seem like the best way to assert his manhood.
Sofia unpinned Ian's diaper, but left it in place. Humming to herself, she began drawing lazy circles on his buttocks, just trying to measure their firmness. Sarah had described Ian's ass as small and firm-- firm enough, she had warned, to hurt. She recommended attacking him with a paddle, but Sofia scoffed at the idea of using a wooden instrument to inflict punishment. There was something so intimate about a spanking delivered by warm flesh, a loving hand correcting bad behavior, not an instrument of torture deployed for one's sole pleasure.
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
The worst person I know
Ian couldn't get the lyric out of his head. The damned song had topped the charts when he was in the tenth grade, an awkward teenager just trying to get through a sock hop without embarrassing himself ...
Sent from down below
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
Satan should be her name
Sofia brought her palm down firmly on Ian's right buttock-- once, twice, thrice in rapid succession. The muscle was as taut as Sarah had described it, but Sofia had been telling the truth. This was not a punishment spanking-- far from it. Those would come later; right now, she was simply gathering information. Learning his strong points and his weak would arm her for the spankings that would condition him to absolute obedience.
Her hand drifted to the left, only suddenly to revisit his right cheek. Another half dozen spanks, crisply delivered, were bringing a rosy glow to the surface.
Sofia smiled. She had only spanked him a dozen times, just love taps really, and Ian was already squirming. She wondered how far she would have to go to make him cry out. She kept at it, peppering his buttocks and his thighs, purposefully reminding him that nerve endings sensitive enough to be aroused could experience pain as well as pleasure.
When her hand delivered a carefully measured smack for the ninetieth time, she suddenly decided to make the last ten blows memorable. After all, she did not want him to get the wrong impression …
SMACK!!
SMACK!!
SMACK!!
Ian groaned, obviously biting his tongue to keep from crying out, but he was trying to buck off her lap, and Sofia wasn't having it. She had a firm grip on his right wrist, and she pushed it up into the small of his back, causing him to cry out in pain.
SMACK!!!
SMACK!!!
SMACK!!!
SMACK!!!
“Such a baby,” she murmured, wanting to humiliate him far more than she wanted to hurt him. “Honestly, Ian, my eleven year old nephew puts up less of a fuss than you do.”
SMACK!!!
SMACK!!!
Ian was whimpering … steadily whimpering.
Sofia once more began to rub lazy circles on his crimson cheeks. She was searching for the softest, fleshiest spot … found it. She raised her arm on high, taking careful aim …
SMACK!!!!!
Letting go of his wrist, Sofia repinned Ian's diaper before carefully easing him off her lap, then sank to the floor to cradle him in her arms. He was still whimpering as she gently patted his back.
“Just a helpless little baby who needs his mommies to shower him with their love,” she whispered into his ear. “But you must obey your mommies … no questions, no talking back. When you are naughty, you will be spanked-- and next time, I will speak you for real.”
Sofia pushed the pacifier back into Ian's mouth, and buckled it firmly in place. She would leave him on the floor for a few minutes, unable to walk, unable to speak, his hands rendered useless. She was giving him a preview of what his life would be like if admitted to the secure ward in her hospital. He would not be the first intelligence officer placed in her care, far from it. She had a lucrative contract with one of the most secretive outfits on the Potomac, and not one of the agents delivered into her hands had ever betrayed one of his secrets.
Towering over him, looking down at the whimpering baby who would soon be her son-in-law, Sofia Haikonnen idly wondered whether Mister Black had a file on him somewhere in his office.
. . . .
Leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his neck, John stared up at the ceiling, trying to organize his thoughts. It wasn't easy.
“At first blush,” he finally observed, “I'd say that Ian's had the most exciting week since Bonnie met Clyde. Falling in love with five women in less than a month is pushing the envelope even for a polyamorous personality, but two women in two days? This is well and truly off the charts. And need I add that having all five of you cohabiting with him under the same roof is the stuff of which best sellers are made? The only question is whether someone here is going to top the New York Times fiction or non-fiction list.”
“It's enough to make a person believe in miracles.” Reiko loved teasing Marge, whose perspective on human behavior struck her as charmingly out of date.
“Reiko, you did a great job laying out the case for scrapping the textbooks, and Marge, you did equally well defending them. I know it's not easy being the only Freudian in the room, but we serve our patients best by considering multiple points of view before committing to a treatment plan. Now, before we get to Ian, let's think about what Carlie has hypothesized, namely that she also has MPD, with Anna being her doppelganger. Suggestions?”
“Unlikely,” Reiko instantly replied. “She sensed Anna inside Ian's body, not her own, and what she senses is a little girl, not a mature woman.”
“Possible,” Marge countered. “One thing we all agree on is that Vickie needs to summon Anna, only give the process more time to pin down her approximate age. The older she is, the more seriously MPD has to be taken into consideration. But the bottom line is this: even if she's a little girl, Occam's Razor dictates that she is a figment of Carlie's imagination, not Ian's alter ego. It is simply not possible for Carlie to have sensed a suppressed personality in another body.”
“Because Freud didn't discuss it in a case study?” Candy snorted in disbelief. “How could he? Freud was a cokehead who dabbled in binge drinking and regarded lesbianism as a form of hysteria that, left untreated, would lead straight to mental illness. He would have taken what Carlie has told us as the ravings of a hysterical woman on the edge of madness, and set about trying to cure her. Face facts, Marge: looking for a relevant case study is a dead end because homosexuality is our profession's blind spot.”
“Here's what we propose, John.” Sarah wanted to move things along. “First, we have Vickie connect with Anna, and then pass her on to Carlie. We do this here in the ward, and see what we get. If the answer is nowhere, then we repeat the experiment, only this time with roughly forty shots of tequila in play. What you have to decide is whether we pay for the booze out of department funds and jettison hospital policy so that we can gather here, or we do this in the nursery that we've set up in one of Rita's spare bedrooms. Ian wants to do this, and Carlie … you still willing?”
Carlie nodded in agreement. She still had reservations, but for the moment decided not to share them.
“Let's go with the consensus,” John decided, “but in its original form. We have Manny Cepeda go ahead with the diaper your favorite nurse auction, and let Rita and Sarah have a go at Anna. We ask her straight out if she wants Carlie to take over, and we go with whatever she says. We focus on getting her to talk, give her time to mature, and see where we get. Rita, talk to Manny, and get us a couple of hard dates, the sooner the better.”
“And revising the Department's mission? Helping vets, starting with the ones right here in the hospital?” Marge was champing at the bit.
“I'll talk to Glenn and see if we can piggyback on a VA program. But let's wait and see what Vic's attorney friend has to say about copyrighting Ian's tape. Before I make the rounds hat in hand, I would like to show the foundations that we have a tool that will hit the ball out of the park. This is going to come down to money, and one hootin', heck of a lot of it.”
. . . .
Sofia sat down on the couch, steaming cup of coffee in hand, and studied the overgrown but still helpless baby sitting on the living room floor. As she had expected, Ian had complied with her every demand. In the early innings of their relationship, he was still trying to win her over by giving in to her whims, however outrageous. It was the obvious tactic for a would-be son-in-law to adopt, but what he had clearly missed is that two could play this particular game.
“You look absolutely adorable,” she smiled, “and I could just gobble you up. You have no idea how badly I would like to take you home and make you my baby forever and ever!”
Sent from down below
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
With a pacifier jammed into his mouth, Ian didn't have to worry about losing his temper and telling his future mother-in-law exactly what he thought of her fantasies. What she had clearly missed is that two could play this particular game. Once her patience was at an end, they could get on with their day.
“But we have a busy day ahead of us. Lie down, and I'll check your diaper. I don't want you to be a stinky butt when we go shopping!”
Ian stretched out on his back, acutely aware of how ridiculous he must look in Sofia's eyes. Without his vinyl pants and canvas diaper cover, there was nothing to compress the bulky hospital diaper, making it impossible for him to close his thighs. For the first time, he realized just how much he depended on the cover to keep his diaper from sagging, and how much he relied upon it to avoid waddling like a young toddler. He loved the diaper because it had put an end to his fear of leaking, and he couldn't have cared less about the chastity cage since the diaper had effectively discouraged his attempts to masturbate. He wanted the cover back; the tiny click that the lock made as it slid home would henceforth be music to his ears.
Sofia knelt beside him and ran her hand over Ian's groin. On the outside at least, his diaper was dry, but it was so thick that she knew she would have to unpin it and check the inside as well. Hovering over him, her heavy breasts swaying as she worked, Sofia felt around.
“Just a little damp,” she declared, “and not a bit of poop anywhere. So, this diaper is good to go, but I think that we'll settle for two pins instead of four. That way, when we're shopping, I can slip my hand inside to gauge whether you are wet enough to warrant a change. So, baby pants next, and then we'll get you dressed.”
Happily raising his hips so that Sofia could slide the vinyl pants into place, Ian was not in the least surprised when she pushed his legs up, forcing him to bend his knees. If she was intent upon humiliating him, it was going to take a lot more than running her fingers around the edge of the thigh bands to make sure that none of his diaper was peeking out.
“Wait here, baby, while Mommy finds you something nice to wear.”
Sofia reentered the nursery, humming to herself as she pretended to examine Ian's wardrobe. Sarah had actually picked out what she wanted him to wear to the stores-- tight fitting slacks that would make his bulging diaper obvious, and a baby pink dress shirt that was bound to draw attention, especially at the mall. Ian didn't know it yet, but there was a visit to a maternity shop in his immediate future, and when he walked out he would be wearing the pink baby pants that Sarah and Tippi had decided to make a permanent part of his layette. The translucent pants that he was currently sporting, they all agreed, were simply boring.
And of course with such tight fitting trousers, I won't be able to check his diaper unless I loosen the belt and pull them down enough to inspect the premises, in the process exposing his cute little pink diaper panties to the world. And passers-by are bound to stop and stare when I sit on a bench and bend over to check for a poopy bottom in the time honored way …
And my big baby will blush so becomingly …
And at some point he will say or do something that warrants a punishment spanking, and I will teach him a lesson that he will not soon forget …
“We have got to do something about your pacifier,” Sofia decreed when she returned to the living room. “In our secure ward, we have one with a hole that permits us to attach a feeding tube. That way, we can furnish fluids and nutrients … medicine … without having to subject ourselves to verbal abuse. It would be ideal for someone on a breast milk diet.”
Satan should be her name
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
To me they're 'bout the same
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
Taking her time, Sofia removed the booties and stood back while Ian awkwardly climbed to his feet. The mittens and pacifier went next, and she waited patiently as he visibly struggled to pull the slacks up over his diaper. It was definitely going to be obvious to anyone who cared to look.
“We can get most of what we need at any grocery store,” Ian noted as he finished dressing. “But we'll have to visit a couple of specialty shops to find what goes into making spanokopita and baklava. They're in different parts of the cities, so this will take a while.”
He kept his voice low-keyed. If Sofia was expecting him to lose his cool over the way she was behaving, she was going to be disappointed.
“Wine?”
“One of the shops will have Kourtaki and ouzo. Ever had retsina?”
Sofia shook her head. There were no Greek restaurants in the Upper Peninsula, and the closest she had ever come to the country was a movie theater playing Never on Sunday.
“Don't worry. Sofia, you and I are going to put forth a feast fit for a king. But to do it in style, we'll need to buy a bunch of cheap glasses. It's time that somebody christened Rita's fireplace!”
Sofia shook her head. She had been neatly outmaneuvered, and she knew it. “Ian, I am going to spank you, and I am going to spank you hard. Why? Because I'm your Mommy, and I am damned well not going to let you forget it. But I am willing to bet that, no matter how hard I try, I am never going to succeed in humiliating you. Still, I'm going to have fun trying! You are a worthy adversary, and I welcome you into the family.”
“Thank you, Sofia.” Ian held out his arms to embrace her, and Sofia accepted the hug. In return, she kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“We're going to have fun,” she judged. “I'll experiment on you to learn what will work on Bob. Okay?”
“I'm fine with that.”
“You sure? You don't want to warn him off?”
“Are you kidding? Sofia, you are going to give him the ride of his life! If I was twenty years older, I would be on my knees begging to become your baby!”
“Be my daughter's baby, Ian, and I shall be happy. She needs this, and for sure Rita needs it as well. You are the answer to a lot of prayers. But take care not to be too good a baby … being naughty is what will get you spanked, and you need this. It's catharsis-- a cleansing of all the guilt that you haul around in your soul. Every time that I spank you, and I expect it to happen a lot, I will keep reminding myself not to let up because it is for your own good.”
Ian was dumbstruck. He sensed that Sofia was sincere, but he still could not figure out whether or not he had been neatly outmaneuvered.
. . . .
“We now return live to the Isadore Blumenfeld arena, where our own Emmett Bailey is standing by. Emmett, what's the latest?”
“Amy, the news is breaking fast and furious. Charles Blackfoot, the Commissioner of the Northern Athletic Conference, has just announced that the entire crew working last night's game between the Sandusky State Icebreakers and our own Loonies has been suspended without pay pending further investigation of their behavior on the ice last night. Commissioner Blackfoot made it clear in his remarks that the referee and linesmen are expected to break up fights, not aid and abet them. When last seen, the unhappy trio were out on I-94, trying to thumb a ride in the general direction of Wisconsin.”
“And what's the latest regarding our colleague Alan Parsons? Has he been taken off the air?”
“Amy, I'm delighted to say that Alan has lived to fight another day! The FCC has fined Alan fifty thousand dollars for his admittedly salty language during the broadcast, but on the flip side I'm hearing that ticket sales for both the men's and women's hockey games are the hottest tickets in town. It's true that the Icebreakers have forfeited the Sunday afternoon rematch, which is understandable given the fact that four of their players ended up in the emergency room, but the women's team takes the ice against Cumberland State on Tuesday night, and it looks like fans will be hanging from the rafters. After the Hanson sisters, Jackknife and Slasher, sent two of the Icebreakers to the hospital in the ruckus that broke out in the stands, fans can't wait to see what they can do on the ice!”
“Understandable, Emmett … wholly understandable. Now, are the police still pressing charges against Derek 'Thug' Naughton for aggravated assault, and against Cindy Carlson for inciting a riot?”
“No, Amy, definitely not! Minutes ago, I spoke with campus police chief Walt Mischof. I asked him straight out about both Thug and Cindy, and here's what he had to say:
“No, Emmett, there are no charges pending against the Thug. What happens on the ice, as the saying goes, stays on the ice. It's unfortunate that young Mister Friedman will be eating through a straw for the rest of the season, but as Alan Parsons famously said on the air last night, 'THIS IS HOCKEY'! As far as the police are concerned, the matter is closed.”
“And Cindy Carlson, and the rest of the infamous Zeta Alpha Pi sorority girls? Last night, Emmett, they looked to be headed back to jail, but fans observed Chief Mischof in furious consultation with the unlikely trio of Andrew Carlson, Spats Belmondo and Jerome Goldstein, one of the senior members of the Minnesota bar. Did Mister Goldstein live up to his reputation and get the girls off on a technicality?”
“Good questions, Amy, good questions all. Here's what the Chief had to say:
“No, we never gave any thought to arresting Cindy Carlson or any of her sorority sisters. They were filling in for the Sandusky State boosters, whose bus apparently skidded off the road between Eau Claire and Menominee. They were there to cheer for the visitors, courtesy of Coach Reggie Dunlop of the women's team, who provided the tickets. There is nothing illegal about stripping down to a bikini top and a well appointed diaper, and there's certainly nothing illegal about doing the Cindy Shuffle. Watch for it on the dance floor at Moby's tonight, whence it may well go nationwide.”
. . . .
Ian switched off the radio, and looked blindly out the window. They were driving to a hole in the wall grocery store in South Saint Paul that churned out Greek, Turkish and Lebanese delicacies for a select clientele.
“What am I going to do with these girls,” he asked rhetorically. “I swear, every time I leave them to their own devices, they find a new and still more outrageous way to get into trouble! Honestly, what am I going to do?”
Sofia laughed so hard that she almost lost control of the car. “Spoken like a true parent,” she crowed, patting him on the thigh. “Spoken like a true parent!”
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Take a look at the Bristol Stool Chart, and grade your feces. A score of 3 is what I aim for, and that means a high fiber diet. Bran cereal, granny smith apples, green grapes, celery, broccoli, Brussels sprouts are mainstays. I stay away from foods that are slow to digest, such as steaks, because they yield hard, compacted stool. Lots of luck.
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On 3/4/2025 at 2:05 PM, littlebopeeper said:
Bob Dylan
Got it in one! Thanks for playing.
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48 minutes ago, Olympiczero said:
I then thought to myself 'whew, that was close. I almost said 'mommy' in front of Julia. I'm going to have to watch that.'
Don't want to do this because you have 'mommy' inside of a larger text also in single quotation marks. I use italics because it stands out from the rest of the text = readers can't miss what you're doing.
1 hour ago, widdlemikey said:“Of course, mo… *gulp* Sarah, glad to help,” I replied. Then thinking to myself, “whew, that was close. I almost said ‘mommy’ in front of Julia. I’m going to have to watch that.”
"Of course, Mo ..."
"Uh, glad to help Sarah," I gulped in reply.
Whew, that was close, I thought to myself. I almost said 'Mommy" in front of Julia. I'm going to have to watch that.
Note that Mommy is capitalized. Small case when the reference is generic, but capitalized when you are referencing a specific person.
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Well done. You found a way to move the story along without telling us what's going on, so the tension remains at a very high level. This guarantees that your readers will be coming back for more. I'll be interested to see how you finesse the reveal.
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A refreshing change from all the stories that instantly use getting caught as a doorway to humiliating the guy. One thing I hope you'll give us in the next chapter is their age, although it's obvious that they are not barely out of their teens. And on Friday neither of them had a job to go to. This gives them lots of time to play, but how are they paying the bills? Slipping in a few details like this along the way creates a setting that allows readers to get a better sense of who the characters are, and what possibilities might lie ahead.
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Quickie entertainment quiz:
Rita has put a baby monitor in the nursery in the form of a teddy bear named Dylan. Is there a Minnesota celebrity named Dylan whom she might admire?
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23 minutes ago, ValentinesStuff said:
Obviously Spark isn't being paid by the word.
Amen! Over 50 years ago, the Canadian government was paying me 6 cents a word to translate Japanese government studies for one department or another. You better believe I abused a, an, the, that, and everything else I could throw into a sentence. One traffic study was so wordy that I got a new car out of the deal!
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A howling wind screams from the far northwest,
Tortured souls set to yet another test.
The dying light of an afternoon sun,
Morning's hopes and dreams all left undone.
Snowflakes flutter in the dawn,
Gathering strength as the hours march on.
Trudge we do 'cross fields of snow,
Faces hidden, gaze ever fixed far down below.
A welcoming light shines just ahead,
Behind the door to which we're led,
Dinner awaits, and then our bed.
Arms to hold us, make us whole,
Honeyed kisses promising release down below.
Hope renewed, our spirits fly,
Fantasies charging 'cross the sky.
To worlds unconquered we set forth,
From this place, this frozen north.
Boldly going, we lift the gate,
The dancing sun defines our fate.
But stolen moments won't be missed,
Her waiting arms, one lingering kiss.
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On 2/26/2025 at 5:43 PM, CDfm said:
I did get to thinking about how Sarah wants Ian on nothing but breastmilk. A newborn baby will drink 4 to 6 ounces of milk every two hours and for a grown man to be kept on nothing but breastmilk I would think he would be needing way more than the 16 to 24 ounces he is getting at each feeding. He would probably need to be drinking almost constantly to keep him fed
Ian first learned about Sarah's plan to have him drink 36 bottles of breast milk daily in scene 22 (Lessing's Folly. Her plan was also referenced in scenes 25 (Playing the Field) and 32 (Scalp Hunting). She is making good progress: at home, Ian only gets breast milk for breakfast. Still, there is currently a compromise in place-- she controls what he eats when they are together, but not when he is off on his own. It remains to be seen, therefore, whether her fantasy will ever become reality. Much will depend on how strict Tippi turns out to be when she becomes Ian's caregiver.
With the right supplements, breast milk is nutritious for adults. I know of one product (Soylent) that stands in for solid foods both for cancer patients and people who are trying not to gain weight. However, as Ian is discovering, breast milk (and Soylent) will give you the runny poop of an infant.
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On 2/26/2025 at 10:23 AM, littlebopeeper said:
Herb is starting to come to grips with his bladder problems.
Thanks for commenting. Herb's reaction to urge incontinence is going to be explored in detail over the next several scenes. I know several people who have gone through this, both men and women, and I have tried to make the range of emotions that it evokes as real as possible.
On 2/26/2025 at 10:23 AM, littlebopeeper said:Sofia is what I expected, but now Ian is going to have a father-in-law with his own plane. Lots of possibilities here, especially if it turns out that Bob has a fishing cabin in the remote north woods with a wood chipper out back (hint, hint).
Stay tuned. By story's end, it is certainly possible that small planes, remote cabins and wood chippers will come into play. Not promising, but it is certainly possible.
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I write offline in Open Office, then convert to a PDF file before sending it over here via ctrl-c and ctrl-v. The transition wipes out all the italics, bolds, and paragraph breaks. Not a problem, since parsing the download amounts to a last chance to proofread. It's amazing how many missing quotation marks I've had to fill in on this last run through. Rather than pdf, you can also try rich text format.
You should always have a peripheral plugged in to which you can send a copy of your work when you're done writing for the day. I use two, one for the chapter while it is in progress, and a second for the finished product that is going over to the site.
A good habit to get into is not posting a chapter until you have the next 4 to 6 finished. A lot of stories have died around here over the years because people wrote themselves into a corner and couldn't find a way out. Margaret Mitchell famously wrote the last chapter of Gone with the Wind first, and the first chapter last. I sent the last chapter of my Homage to Vincent Vega to the peripheral almost two years ago. It's nice to have a destination firmly fixed; it really helps to keep the story on track.
AI written subsection?
in Critiques and Writer's Discussion
Posted
At a minimum, we should have a requirement that AI stories must be tagged, although this does not answer the question of who should be credited with authorship. Personally, I agree with Pizer's suggestion that these works be separated out and housed in a silo of their own, if not banned altogether.