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IAN AND VICKIE JOIN FORCES WITH A HARD BOILED PRIVATE EYE TO FOIL A GANG OF DESPERATE DIAPER THIEVES! SPATS BELMONDO Holidays are bad for business, and Thanksgiving and Christmas are the worst of them all. Especially here in the Twin Cities. It's not enough that the serial adulterers who are the mainstay of our business, cursed with the occasional twinge of conscience, opt to stay home with their families over the holidays. No, at this time of the year we also have to contend with blizzards and snowdrifts, which really ruin a wayward doctor's day, not to mention his nights. I ask you … how is the jerk supposed to interview the cream of the latest nursing school crop at a sleazy airport hotel down on the 494 Strip if the road's impassable? And even if by some miracle the highway department deigns to roll with the plows, where's he supposed to park? Leave the Volvo on a city street during a snow emergency, and you get towed. Put the BMW in the motel parking lot, and there's a fighting chance it'll still be there when the snow starts to melt sometime in March, or maybe April. Minnesota winters are not exactly predictable. No, there's no doubt about it: holidays are bad for business. Year after year, Twinkletoes and her trusty Olympus 35mm camera with its handy dandy collection of lenses and filters go their separate ways in mid-November, not to be reunited again until New Year's Eve, when things will finally start to get back to normal around here. Come early January, aggrieved wives will be storming through the door, eager to get the goods on their wayward spouses en route to a big payday in divorce court. Our paydays are somewhat more modest. Twinkletoes will cost you seventy five bucks an hour, plus expenses. Pat and I charge three hundred an hour, and we bill in six minute increments. Get the picture? Anyway, on the plus side the two of us have six weeks a year to catch up on our reading. Pat favors Playboy and Hustler. My taste runs to crossword puzzles. Anybody know a five letter Zulu word for an eland? Oh, and as for Julia? What can I say? The week before Thanksgiving is when she renews her acquaintance with the kitchen. It's an annual tradition. For six weeks, she cooks up a storm, and we all loosen our belts another notch (it's the Minnesota way). In any event, Twinkletoes is married to this really nice guy, so we'll overlook the fact that Herb Canon is a cop with more than twenty years on the force. Alas, it's impossible to overlook their winsome daughter, Priscilla. Pris is also a cop, of the campus variety, and she packs a mean right. A guy in a bar up nordeast recently called her Prissy, and she laid him out with one punch. No one paid much attention, this being a cop bar and all, and to his credit the guy got up, rubbed his jaw, apologized, and then offered to buy her a drink. She accepted graciously, and all was forgiven. He was lucky that Pris didn't break a cue stick over his skull. So here we were, Thanksgiving looming on the horizon, and nary a client in sight. Still, there were pluses, and the three of us did have reasons to be thankful. For one thing, we didn't have to worry about paying the rent because we owned the building. Our office was on the top floor-- all right, already … a second floor walk-up-- and there was a very good delicatessen down below. We shared Two with a guy selling insurance, and he had a dry cleaner's underfoot. We all did well because we were directly across the street from one of the largest hospitals in the state. Desperate nurses made periodic forays to the deli, the weekly pastrami on rye an antidote to what passed for food in the hospital cafeteria. The dry cleaners specialized in blood, vomit and assorted gore. The insurance guy did a booming business writing policies for the boats tied up along the St. Croix, including the houseboats that a small troop of physicians used for extracurricular activities all year round. And of course the soon to be ex-wives, most of them nurses past and present, were the mainstay of our own thriving concern. Julia got the goods with her trusty Olympus, and we nailed the cheaters to the proverbial courthouse wall. Over the years, from Stillwater to Prescott, many a houseboat title had changed hands thanks to our diligent efforts. In our experience, long suffering wives definitely had a thing for houseboats. To make a long story short, we were just marking time when the door opened and the Incredible Hulk filled our line of sight. It took the Hulk a few moments to figure out that he needed to do the sideways shuffle, or remain forever condemned to stand in the hallway. The sharpest stick in the bunch the Hulk definitely was not, and his jacket was at least two sizes too small. Still, the cannon that he was packing in a shoulder holster looked like a good fit for his hulk like hands. The second guy through the door was a celebrity, although not one whom we had had the honor of representing in court. In fairness, though, Spats Belmondo tended to favor extralegal solutions for his more pressing problems. You could buy a lot of lead for three hundred bucks an hour. “You want I should frisk them, Boss? Maybe look for a wire?” “Fuhgeddaboudit, Walley; deese guys ain't wearing no wires … not in their own office. Besides, dey didn't know we was comin'.” “Right on both counts, Spats … right on both counts. But what gives with the muscle?” I was nodding at the Hulk; a third fellow was now standing just inside the door. Short and wiry, wearing a fedora with the brow too low, he was sporting a mustache that looked like an oil slick. The black shirt and white tie were straight out of Hollywood. The guy couldn't pull off Bogart, but maybe he was going for Alan Ladd. “I mean, seriously. You've got a walleye on the payroll? Since when did the gorillas get shoved to the curb?” “Ha, ha; very funny, shamus. I like your sense of humor.” Spats settled into a chair on the opposite side of the desk and crossed his right leg. He studied the shine on his shoe, pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, and flicked an imaginary piece of dust aside. “Julia's the shamus, Spats; I'm a mouthpiece, and my esteemed associate here is a legal eagle.” Pat had set the latest issue of Hustler aside, reluctantly joining the conversation. “It speaks,” Spats laughed. “For a moment dere, I thought yous was a potted plant!” The two bodyguards laughed politely. “Twinkletoes I get,” Spats continued, “but what's with Aardvark and Platypus? Those your real names?” “Andrew Jones and Pat Smith at your service,” I said. “Aardvark puts us first in the phone book, and I have absolutely no idea how Platypus came about. Pat, you remember?” “I was drunk at the time. I don't remember a damned thing.” “Smith and Jones? Jeez … yous was right to scratch 'em off the list. Smith and Wesson? Yeah, now that I could see.” The Hulk and his oily friend once again laughed politely. “To business,” Spats announced as he slapped his hands firmly on my desk. “I wanna hire da Twinkie to help me out with a lidda problem.” “Seventy-five dollars an hour, plus expenses, with a retainer of five hundred samolies, payable in advance and in cash.” I was not big on beating around the bush. Spats snapped his fingers, and the oil can stepped forward. He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket, and handed it to the mobster. Spats casually threw it on the desk. “Dere's a G in dere; if the Twinkster needs more, have her call this number ...” Spats slid a business card across the desk. “Lullaby Adult Diaper Service?” I stared at him blankly. “One of my more profitable enterprises,” Spats smirked. “We supply all dah nursing homes in the Cities, and we even got regular joes as customers. Why, we even got us a university guy, a regular war hero who got shot to pieces over there.” Spats nodded vaguely in the general direction of the Pacific coast. “Makes us look real classy.” “You mean Viet Nam?” “Yeah … maybe … hell, I don't know. We're fightin' so many wars in so many places … who can keep track?” “You have a point. And with whom at your diaper service are we supposed to speak?” “My niece, Harriet. Nicolo's little girl, only she's all grown up now. She fronts dah whole operation, and she runs a real tight ship.” “Ah,” I said, the truth dawning as I looked more closely at the card. “Miss Harriet Belmondo.” Fingering the card, I leaned forward, just a fellow conspirator trying to get an update. “So, what's the play, Spats? How can we help?” “Somebody's stealing my diapers,” Spats growled. . . . . “No, Ian, really … there's no need to apologize. Many of our individual customers suspend service for a week or two, especially during the holidays. If you're going out of town for a family gathering, you can't very well carry a diaper pail on the plane with you.” Sitting at an adjoining desk, Francine Sullivan could hear the young professor's voice through the phone, but she could not make out what he was saying. Still, it was easy enough to fill in the blanks. “No, no, there's no inconvenience. Your service is on Wednesday; giving us notice two days in advance is more than enough time. Can you call Monday next to confirm resumption of service?" More mumbling on the line. “That's a good idea. Give me a number next Monday, and I'll adjust your order. No sense in paying for three dozen if you will only need two. How's your car doing? Still down for the count?” Mumble, mumble. “It must be so hard for you, this being your first winter. And I got used to you driving out here on Wednesday afternoons to process your order in person. Do you realize that you are the only customer I've ever met? Everybody else is just a name, address and telephone number in the files.” Mumble. “No! I appreciate how embarrassing it was for you to leave two bags of dirty diapers sitting in the hallway all day long when you left for work, where your neighbors couldn't help but see them. And then there's our brightly colored delivery truck pulling into the parking lot of an adults only complex. None of this could have been easy for you, so I was happy to help.” Ian started to mumble yet again, but Harriet cut him off. “No, Ian, it's never been an inconvenience, and please, stop apologizing for the day you came in just as we were closing. It's not every day that a guy apologizes for something so trivial by taking a hungry gal out to dinner! And my offer still stands. I can drive down on Wednesday nights after you get home from work, and do the pick up and drop off in person. I would be barely going out of my way, so it would really be no trouble at all. So, will you at least think about it?” One last mumble. “You will? That's great! Enjoy Thanksgiving!” Harriet hung up the phone with a long sigh. “Not going out of your way?' Francine had a very knowing grin. “Harry, you live on Lake Minnetonka, and he's down in Bloomington, which, the last time I looked, is half way to Iowa! The two of you are barely in the same time zone!” “I know, I know, but what can I say? He told my uncle that the tagliatelle was to die for, and the gnocchi the best he's ever eaten. He praised the wine list, raved about the Valpolicella … and he did all this in Italian so polished that my uncle mistook him for an aristocrat from Milan or the lake district. He even tore up the bill-- and Rudy never comps anybody for anything! It was the best date I've ever had!” “Someone's got a crush … nah de nah de nah nah,” Francine teased. “But he's not Italian, he's not Catholic, and he not only wears diapers and pees in them … he poops in them! Sorry, Harry, but this guy is definitely a no-no. Your uncle would have a fit if he found out about your date, and you can count your lucky stars that Rudy chose to keep his lip zipped.” “I know, Francie; I know. But a girl's entitled to the odd fantasy, isn't she? And you don't know what it's like! Every, single Sunday after Mass, Ariana rubs it in … 'you're twenty-six and still no husband? My Francesca is your age, and she's expecting her third bambino any day now'. I am so sick of it!” “Shitty diapers,” Francine countered. She knew that Harriet needed to get out more, but being a Belmondo was a social curse as well as a financial blessing. No one wanted to date a notorious gangster's favorite niece-- at least, no one respectable. “True, and believe me … I've peeked into his dirty diapers. Yuk!!! But you forgot something. Ian's a professore! Uncle Vinnie would kill to have a professor in the family!” . . . . “I can't believe how easy it is to rip these people off,” Cindy crowed. “I mean … seriously? The driver drops off bags of clean diapers at the front door, picks up the used and walks off. He doesn't even bother to ring the bell. Who are these morons, anyway?” “The gift that keeps on giving,” Melanie laughed. “Just think. A week's worth of adult diapers for one of their customers is enough to keep one of our pigeons in diapers for a week as well, and the baby diapers make wonderful stuffers! The photographs should be enough to keep them in line, but if need be, we can always up the ante by threatening to send them to class with a dozen baby diapers stuffed inside their already bulging pants!” “And I can't wait to track them down in the laundromat,” she added as she checked the mirror, making sure that one of their sisters in a trailing car would be stopping to execute the snatch and grab. “I'll be there offering to help them fold their nice, clean diapees! God, how I love humiliating these jerks!” “A pigeon here and a pigeon there,” Cindy hummed, “means easy A's in physics, chemistry, astronomy, calculus … am I leaving anything out?” “Why stop there? Beg, borrow and steal the diapers … invest a little of our own cash in lovely, pink baby pants … seduce the brainiac with a blow job, promise him real sex if he just indulges a teensy, weensy innocent little fantasy, click, click-- don't worry, dear, the photos are just to remember you by-- and then blackmail the twerp for four years to do all of our coursework! Our house ends up with the highest GPA on sorority row, and we get to spend four homework free years partying like there's no tomorrow. The frat boys will love us, especially if we get our pigeons to do their homework as well.” “And our misbegotten parents will be so thrilled when we all graduate Phi Beta Kappa!” “The ultimate bang for their tuition bucks,” Melanie concluded, watching the diaper delivery truck round the corner and ease to a stop at the next house on its route. . . . . “Give me the skinny, Spats. We looking at a B&E at the laundry? Or did somebody hijack one of your delivery trucks?” “Nah, nuttin like dat. It looks like somebody's tailing the driver. He makes the pick up an drop, an takes off. Before yous can say 'Frank sent me', somebody runs up and puts the snatch on my diapers. I want da Twinkster to find the guilty party, and den get back to me.” “No police involvement?” Spats gave me a sour look. It was eloquence itself. “Dey even ripped off Fredo's load. Can yous believe it? My brudder … my poor brudder … some asswipe stole his diapers right offa da front porch!” “How's Freddy doing these days? Getting any better?” “Nah. Dey held his head under water too long.” “Toothpick Charlie,” Pat suddenly exclaimed. “That's who he reminds me of,” he went on, nodding at the walking oil slick. “Toothpick Charlie!” “Yeah,” I said, snapping my fingers, “the resemblance is astonishing! And you, Spats; did anyone ever tell you that you look just like George Raft?” “Who?” “Spats Colombo … you know … the Windy City hood that got bumped off by Little Bonaparte down in Florida at the annual Friends of Italian Opera convention.” “I don't know nuttin bout dat. And da convention was in Vegas, not Florida. We ain't been to Florida since the Commies took Havana. Dat bearded guy ain't no friend of Italian opera.” “So, when did Fredo lose his diapees, anyway?” Spats turned to look over his shoulder. “Last Monday.” Toothpick Charlie's voice was as lugubrious as his mustache. “There has to be a gang of diaper thieves out there, because they followed the driver from stop to stop, and stole everything that wasn't nailed down.” “Dis here's Pauly, my Consigliere. He keeps an eye on things for me.” “Any chance that a rival gang is trying to muscle in on your territory, maybe another diaper service?” “Geesh! Come on guys, act yours age. If we was dealin' with a competitor, I wouldn't need da Twinkster, now would I? Geesh!” “Point well taken, Spats … point well taken.” “Wally rode shotgun on Tuesday and Wednesday.” The oil slick nodded at his companion the Hulk. Now that Spats had taken off his muzzle, Charlie seemed determined to talk us to death. “We knocked on doors, and if somebody answered, we delivered the diapers and best wishes for the holidays. But every drop where there was nobody home? On both days, they all went missing. The hit to our inventory, both baby and adult, has been significant. If we don't get our diapers back, service will be interrupted, and we'll lose customers. Can't have that, gentlemen; the diaper business is very profitable.” “What about the university guy? Was he condemned to spend Thanksgiving peeing in his pants?” “Nah. He called Harriet on Monday. He was goin' outta town or somethin', so he got no service. Unless somebody broke into his pad, his stash is safe.” “Good to know. Well, here's what we're going to do. I'll phone Julia and get her ass in gear. She'll start tomorrow. What time's your first truck roll?” “Eight sharp.” The Toothpick was obviously in command of the details. “Okay. Best guess is that she'll want to tail your driver, and see if she can spot somebody else clinging to his fender. However, at some point she'll want to drop by the shop and have a chat with Harriet. You know the drill, Spats … always look for an unhappy employee, or one down on his luck. Nine times out of ten, these capers turn out to be inside jobs.” “Good thinkin', Aardvark. I'll get Harriet on the blower, and let her know what's up. She's a good kid, and she's takin' this personally. She wants her diapers back, period, end of story.” Spats climbed to his feet, tipped his fedora, and strolled out of the room with the same casual grace that he had displayed entering it. His spats were spotless. . . . . So there we were, Pat and I, alone once more, but with an envelope stuffed with hundred dollar bills sitting quietly atop my desk. I looked over at Pat, wondering if he was also thinking that having Spats Belmondo for a client was about the stupidest thing we had ever done. Pat shrugged, picked up his copy of Hustler, and resumed reading, or looking at photos of naked ladies, whatever it was that Pat actually did when he opened the covers of one of his dirty magazines. I didn't really want to know, and so far had managed to refrain from finding out. Instead, I picked up the phone and dialed the Canon residence. It was time to let Twinkletoes know that we had a client who was rich and appreciative of her expertise. It remained to be seen whether she would be less than enthusiastic about solving the case of the missing diapers on behalf of the shadiest mobster in the Twin Cities. . . . . “We need more diapers,” Cindy summed up. “We simply do not have the resources with which to blackmail the braniacs who can make all of our academic problems go away, for the simple reason that the list of our academic shortcomings is inexhaustible. If we don't want to lose our charter, we need more diapers.” Cindy was addressing the sorority's brain trust. Trailing the diaper service truck for the first three days of Thanksgiving week had netted them a huge pile of baby diapers, but precious few of the adult variety. In fact, they only had enough to entrap three pigeons, which would nicely cover physics, chemistry and calculus, but the rest of the curriculum was a gigantic black hole eager to swallow the sorority whole. “We could all spend more time hitting the books,” Joyce suggested helpfully. “You know … reduce our exposure.” “Oh, please,” Melanie snorted. Joyce was only in the house because she was a legacy, and she was only on the Council because her older sister had been on the Council. In Melanie's opinion, Joyce Wiggins was proof positive that something had gone terribly wrong with the whole fraternity system. “Does anybody else have any bright ideas?” Cindy shared Melanie's opinion of both the fraternity system in general and Joyce Wiggins in particular. “I have a suggestion,” Tippi started to say. “Who the fuck let that cat in here,” Janis screamed. “Everybody in the house knows that I'm allergic to cat hair. And who the fuck would name a cat 'Blofeld' in the first place? That's just plain sick!” “As I was saying.” Tippi tried again. “Blofeld is an oriental shorthair, and they don't shed,” Melanie sniffed. “So, calm down, already.” “And what's with you and psychopaths, anyway? I mean, really … you boo Batman, and cheer for the Joker. You don't get Smart, but you write fan letters to Siegfried. And you name your fucking cat after the creepiest guy ever to crawl across the silver screen. And who put you in charge of this meeting, anyway?" “Actually, Cindy's in charge.” “Would anyone like to hear my idea,” Tippi asked yet again. A tall, slender, hauntingly beautiful nineteen year old blonde from New Ulm, Tippi rarely spoke up. In fact, she worked hard to stay out of the limelight. Tippi's parents had not done their daughter any favors when they named her for New Ulm's most famous export. From elementary school to university, every boy who crossed her path had asked her the same, dreary question. “Tippi has the floor,” Cindy proclaimed, pounding the table with her gavel in a bold attempt to restore order. “Laying low today was a good idea because we have to assume that whoever owns the diaper service will now have someone shadowing his delivery truck. For the same reason, we should back off tomorrow as well. Rather than trailing the truck, we should send a team to hang out at three different addresses on his route-- addresses widely spaced. If we spot one car at all three locations, we'll know what's what. Then, we get back to work on Wednesday, but we only target one drop … the large, adults only apartment complex down in Bloomington that he hit late in the afternoon two weeks ago. There'll be at least a week's worth of used diapers waiting outside somebody's door, which I am going to steal before the driver gets there. We'll stuff some dirty, old rags into the bag so that it looks and feels the same, and once he's gone, I'll also grab the clean diapers. We get two weeks worth of adult diapers in one go, and give these creeps the middle finger in the process. Then we give our pigeons enough diapers for three or four days, forcing them to visit the laundromat twice a week … for double the humiliation. We'll end up with maybe nine guys doing our coursework, and the Great Diaper Heist of 1979 will be just another unsolved crime.” “Any other ideas,” Cindy asked as she scanned the room. “No? Then we'll vote on Tippi's proposal in accordance with house rules. All in favor so signify by touching the tip of your nose with your right hand; all opposed so signify by grabbing your left ear lobe with your left hand.” Cindy once again scanned the room. “The ayes have it, and the vote is unanimous. Tippi and I will take care of business tomorrow, and on Wednesday. The rest of you get to work drawing up a target list. Finals are just a couple of weeks away, and some of us have term papers. We need to trap our pigeons this weekend, and have them in diapers by Monday next at the latest!”

I just wanted to post this in the critique section, as a way to let people know that I will make my first attempt at writing a story very shortly. The posting below has been cross posted in brian's place form as well as in the critique section. The post below basically speaks for itself, And that is basically what I want to do, is to write a story that is a fantasy of mine that will allow me to be the character that it is being done to or looked after. My first premise would be that there would be several of mine that I have met here, and that they would be a part of the story. I'm not sure how many ladies I would want in the story, but the idea here is that I wanna try to put some of them together, as a part of what I consider to be my fantasy. the post below should be able to tell anyone who is interested what my intentions are, because basically I do not want to violate daily diapers rules or policies with my first story, since breaking rules would be dealt with harshly and immediately. I think the premise is sound, I just want to make sure that people know of my intention, and hopefully writing the story will be fun for me to do. Question: how in the world do you center text in the text box? I'm not sure if I should be using something like FASS post editor to post. I did not see the centering or the right or left align controls in the editor box above So I'm asking that question @Elfy or @DailyDi, have I been missing something Or is it hiding? Comments on the idea are welcome here! I have also cross posted as I said to my private Forum, where are my members of that form can read it as well, but wanted to post it out here so people know of my intention, hopefully you guys will enjoy the story as well as I do writing it. ~Brian~ Good afternoon all! I know that I have stated that I want to write a story that I've been thing about for a long time. to that end, very shortly I shall begin the process of writing that story. the story will be about I dream I've had about an encounter with ladies, where I as the main character end up getting shown what full relaxation means. being stressful in life, there's a lot of things that can bother you when things when things don't go exactly the way you think they should, or when things happen that are out of your control. The story will be that type of a story: Everyone knows me as me as an individual that is a hard worker conscientious always willing to go the extra mile, And sometimes what I do is I overdo it, and I don't take the time to be able to relax to the fullest extent possible, and sometimes what I have to do is I have to take steps to make sure that happens. This story will be around that philosophy. a hard working man that needs a vacation or a hard working man that deserves a well azerd vacation, and ends up getting the Opportunity to not only meet a nice girl, but to end up being invited to her house for a nice dinner and a together. little do I know however, how important this encounter will be. All through my working life I have worked so hard sometimes that I forget that you need to be able to take stock and calm down and just take a look at the world around you and be able to smell the roses. me being a hard worker the premise will be will be that I finally take the time to talk to one of my good friends, who basically offers me the chance of a lifetime to be able to relax and be able to have the time the time to enjoy someone's company and be waited on hand and foot, because they think that would be helpful, and it's also something that they said that they would like to do. When they're finished, I don't have anything to worry about, but little do I know how important this encounter will be in making my dream my dream come true. As I said, this story will be coming shortly. I will also try to make other stories that are similar in in scope to the one that I plan on writing now. each time I write a story, I will post it here first, and then when I believe that it is OK, I will post it out on the completed stories page, unless of course there are more parts to the story, and that will depend on how daily diapers user base and my friends respond to my writing ability. i've always wanted to be in a position where a dream comes true because of an opportunity that comes along once in a lifetime, and this type of a story is the type of story where the characters in the story have a genuine interest in my well being and being able to see that I am a sweet guy, and they want me to be able to not worry about anything. When they're finished, this will be a part of that particular storyline, because the idea here is hardworking men deserve the best, And these ladies want to give it to me. It is my hope that people will think that the story is cool, and that it is some that people will enjoy reading., This will be the first story that I've ever written online So I ask you're indulgence because I'm not sure exactly how this will work, but I have a good feeling about this, and I'll make sure that the people who are part of the story are mentioned appropriately, however I'm not sure how many characters will be a part of the story and that's part of the Logistics. hope fully those who are interested in my idea will read the story and find it interesting and informative, as well as something that will allow to express dreams that I have been having that make me feel good inside. it's always good to have good friends, and good thoughts, in this world is 1 hell of a mess, so it's always good to have some place that is a fall back position. A story like this would be that situation because I would really like to have something like what happens in my story actually happened to me in real life but we all know that real life dictates different things, and most and most of the stories you write are based on fantasy, And I guess this fantasy will be something that I would love to have happened. If the story goes well, you will probably see me do another story, but I will have to figure out how far to go with each one. hopefully I get plenty of feedback so I know exactly what's going on, but I'll let you know when that happens. Brian

This is a story I posted not too long ago on the abdlstoryforum website, but I've decided to post it here while I lay down my roots and prepare a new story for the contest. I hope you all enjoy it and I can get some fresh eyes on it, it may not be perfect but I like it as an introduction to my writing style. I''ll be honest, I'm not trying to write A Tale of Two Cities here, just something a bit sexy some people can have some fun with. Any feedback you can give me would be appreciated, as well as any follows or... likes? If that is a thing here. Maybe it can at least get a few folks off. Anyway, please enjoy Kendra Takes Ethan by Eternal Futility Fiction. Kendra Takes Ethan The boredom was the worst part. There were no clocks or windows in the room where Ethan was kept, and the lights were always set at the same soft glow, making it impossible to estimate how much time had passed. He knew his captor always left him alone for several hours straight five days in a row, and from this he surmised that she must have a full time job. The idea of her going out, living a normal life, while he lay waiting in a thick, crinkling disposable diaper filled him with an impotent rage, which he had no way to release. For the first few weeks, whenever Ethan was left alone, he had pulled and struggled against his restraints, desperate to be free. He was young and strong, but that was not enough to stretch or break the thick leather strap across his chest. He was also denied the use of his hands, as they’d been locked securely into safety mittens since his first day of captivity, only ever taken off for his captor to trim his fingernails. The mittens themselves were clipped under another strap which held his hips in place, preventing him from moving his arms in the slightest. A final strap linked to a pair of padded ankle cuffs, which stopped him from rolling over or changing position. Even if by some miracle he managed to escape from these expertly applied restraints, he would have to find a way out of his “crib”, as his captor called it. Ethan considered it more of a cage, as he’d never seen a crib with a locking top, nor one built from such sturdy, hardened oak. Inevitably, his struggles would end with him sobbing quietly, wallowing in the helplessness and humiliation of his new life. He wanted to curl up, or at least hug himself across the chest, anything to offer himself a bit of comfort, but he was denied even this. The restraints were perfectly designed to keep him in the exact position his captor wanted, and no matter how hard he tried, he knew that she would return to find her new pet just as she left him. The only comfort he found would be bittersweet, as it came from his captor, the one who had confined him to this harrowing life of submission and monotony. Her cooing, doting and gentle caresses stirred up painfully conflicting feelings in the young man’s mind. She was the only other person he had seen in weeks, and he found himself craving her attention and accepting her pitying comments, as they were his only respite from his suffering and loneliness. But he also knew that she was the designer of this seemingly endless torture, and that accepting her reassurance was only playing into her hands, and that he was behaving exactly as she wanted him to. Such was her level of control. She wanted him to wear a diaper, and despite his struggles and protests, here he was in a diaper. She wanted him to remain in place in his crib while she was away, and he had no way to rebel against this decision. She wanted to perform his grooming herself, so of course, whenever his teeth needed brushing, face or body needed shaving, or he needed to be bathed, his hands would be kept well out of the way while she tended to him. And tend to him she did, ever so gently. Almost insultingly so, as if he were as fragile and valuable as a Ming vase. Perhaps he should be grateful for this, as he would have no means to defend himself if her desires were more sadistic or tortuous. In all his time here, she had never struck him, nor hurt him in anyway. She hadn’t even had to raise her voice. As she had complete control of every moment of his life, and was the only source he had for sustenance, simply withholding “privileges” was an effective enough method of control. A skipped meal or extra time sitting in a diaper in need of changing ensured enthusiastic compliance without the need for harsher methods. But the tenderness of her care was a double edged sword, igniting the flames of indignation and resentment that often washed over him in truly humiliating moments. “I am a grown man!” his mind would scream internally, as she gently ran her soft fingers over the baby powder covering his penis and testicles. The knowledge that he could take care of himself, but was trapped in a position where that was impossible was maddening. It was like he had driven into one of life’s dead ends, and he had no way to back out. Ethan writhed pointlessly in his restraints once more, and thought back bitterly to how this state of affairs came to be. If only he had gotten into that taxi! If only he had listened to his mind, rather than his cock! If only he had put up more resistance while he still had a chance… * * * “I’m telling you, if you play like you did today for the rest of the season, we might make it to the finals! Hell, we might even make it to Nationals!” Ethan grinned and looked over at his drunken teammate. Peter was much shorter than the rest of the players on the rugby team, but he was undeniably burly and stout, and had a contagious enthusiasm that Ethan respected. And Peter’s declaration wasn’t far from the truth. As head prop, Ethan used his considerable strength and endurance to gain the advantage in nearly every scrum. After a game like that, and after polishing off one too many celebratory beers at the college pub, Ethan was feeling on top of the world. He sat comfortably in the booth surrounded by his jubilant teammates, and ran his fingers through his close cropped brown hair. He had a habit of doing so often in social situations, as it gave him an opportunity to show off his biceps. He felt his musculature was his best asset when interacting with strangers. Although a well sculpted man, he tended to have anxiety in public places, especially around women. But all that anxiety disappeared when he was on the rugby field. “One game at a time, boys. The seasons only just begun,” Ethan replied. Peter waved a dismissive hand at Ethan’s modest response and shouted for the waitress to bring the team a tray of shooters. “Be pessimistic if you like, my friend. But tonight we’re celebrating. You should do the same. No practice in the morning, and there’s plenty of girls in here who saw the game today. I for one, don’t intend to leave this pub by myself.” And with that, Peter downed his shooter, and promptly walked away to strike up a conversation with two girls huddled close together at the bar. Ethan was jealous of Peter’s confidence when dealing with women. Although he was attractive and athletic himself, he always seemed to get tongue-tied and make a fool of himself when he tried to flirt. But perhaps tonight would be different. Peter was right, many of the women in the pub had likely seen him excel on the field today, and perhaps he could parlay that into a one-night-stand. Downing his own shooter, Ethan hesitated, then grabbed a second one, which one of his teammates had declined. A few drinks should help serve as social lubrication, he reasoned. The rest of the night was a bit of a blur, with lots of laughing with his teammates, plenty of libations, and several drunken conversations with the women attending the pub, some more successful than others. He felt confident talking with Alice, a blonde nursing major wearing a short summer dress, but she left quite early, rebuffing his clumsy offer to walk her home. Later he met Kendra, a tall, dark beauty who seemed a few years older, dressed in what Ethan recognized as expensive clothing. She sipped slowly at her drink, and listened to Ethan’s attempts to boast about his athletic prowess on the field today. She was quite tall for a woman, only a few inches shy of Ethan’s six foot frame, and her tasteful but flirty outfit showed off her curves marvellously. When her dark eyes locked with his, even in his drunken state, he felt his heart flutter. “That’s adorable sweetie,” she said, a sly smile playing across her face. From that response, Ethan realized he had little chance of seducing Kendra, so he awkwardly dismissed himself, and wished her a good night. His teammates gradually started leaving the pub as the night wore on, some with a partner for the night, some without, as Ethan continued drinking and trying his luck with more girls. However, he had passed the tipping point between the drinks giving him confidence, and his drunkenness impeding his judgement. The next hour or so was blurry in his mind, until a woman splashing her drink in his face brought him back to reality. He wasn’t even sure what he had said to offend her, but when he saw the bouncer approaching, he decided it was time to cut his losses and leave. He half-stumbled out of the pub into the street, sat down on the curb, and used his smartphone to summon a taxi. Too exhausted to even be frustrated by his failure, or embarrassed by his actions at the end of the night, he leaned his head on one hand and dozed, waiting for the cab to show up. He was awoken suddenly, by a gentle voice very close to him. “Honey, do you have a way to get home?” Startled, and blinking in confusion, Ethan looked up to see Kendra kneeling down close to him. He struggled to respond. “Yehh… I’ve got cab. A cab coming.” His head was spinning, and he just wanted to wait for his cab in peace, but Kendra stayed kneeling close to him, close enough that he could smell the soft perfume she was wearing. “Sweetie, why don’t you let me give you a lift? Hmm? You could save a little money, and we could… talk a bit” Kendra said with her same sly smile, and began gently rubbing Ethan’s back. At the contact, Ethan immediately began to get aroused. Right on cue, his taxi pulled up and screeched to a halt. The driver rolled down the window. “You Ethan?” the cab-driver called out impatiently. A long, fateful moment passed before Ethan made the worst mistake of his life. “No.” * * * As Kendra drove her luxurious SUV through the silent streets, she kept talking and flirting with the boy in an effort to keep him awake. She wondered how aware the boy was that she hadn’t asked where he lived, perhaps he thought she was taking him back to her place for a night of casual sex. She smirked at the thought. Although the boy was good looking, she was certainly not attracted to him in a carnal manner. He was too sweet, too innocent too… cute, in the way a puppy or small child might be. She had something else in mind for him. His replies to her attempts at conversation were becoming shorter, more slurred as she got closer to her neighborhood. This would not do, she needed him alert enough to walk into her house without a fuss, and without anyone seeing. Upon stopping at a red light, she rested her right hand on the boy’s inner thigh and leaned in close to him. “Poor baby, you seem all tuckered out. Are you too sleepy to play? I have so many fun things planned for you, it would be a shame if you missed out.” The boy shifted in his seat excitedly, and Kendra felt his member stiffen through his jeans, and gently brushed against it as she pulled her hand away. It was amazing how much more alert he became from such a minor action. Men were such simple creatures. “It’ll take more than a few drinks to keep me from a beauty like you Kendra… I’m going to give you a real night to remember,” Ethan said, a little more steadily than before. Kendra smiled. Ethan didn’t know how right he was. * * * As the SUV arrived at Kendra’s impressive home, Ethan looked up in wonderment. The whole property was surrounded by an immense, neatly tended hedge, and the long driveway was blocked off by a high, black gate. The house itself was massive, and had the look of one of the old Victorian estates common in the area, but much more modernized. “Quite a place you got here…” Ethan mumbled, as they pulled into the driveway and the electronic gate closed behind them. “Yes it is sweetie… Yes it is. Now come on, let’s get you inside,” responded Kendra, still wearing that sly smile. Ethan managed to stumble up to the entrance of the mansion, and Kendra unlocked the door, let herself and the boy in, and then shut it behind them. As he heard the door lock, some small part of his mind began to feel uneasy. But his excitement about his impending night of pleasure with Kendra stifled any fears, and when she took his hand and started leading him upstairs, he meekly followed. Once inside Kendra’s lavishly decorated bedroom, Ethan placed his hand on Kendra’s waist and tried to lean in for a kiss, only to be rebuffed, with Kendra reaching out and gently stroking his cheek. “Naughty boy… You need to slow down. Let’s get you undressed first.” Ethan smiled and blushed at Kendra’s kinky statement. He had never been one for freaky sex, much more preferring vanilla encounters, with him in control of the situation. But he was no prude, and if this is what turned Kendra on, he was happy to oblige. As Ethan reached down to pull his shirt off, Kendra grasped each of his hands gently, and stared into his eyes. He couldn’t help but melt under her gaze, something about her dark eyes were so persuasive, so… powerful. “Baby, let me take care of that for you.” And with that, Kendra began slowly and gently undressing Ethan, until he stood only in his boxer-briefs, his intense arousal made obvious by his member straining against the fabric. “Ohhh, looks like my boy is VERY excited… I know just how to take care of that.” She gently slid down his underwear, exposing his impressive cock. Kendra was somewhat surprised, given his meek, almost childlike personality, she expected something smaller. Having kneeled down to remove his last shred of clothes, Kendra looked up at Ethan, her face inches away from his cock, making him shudder in anticipation. “My, my… What a big boy you are. But are you a good boy?” Ethan was surprised by the question. Was this some kind of kinky roleplay? He was a bit too drunk and exhausted to keep up, but he found himself nodding, his arousal making him feel very suggestible. “You are? Well that’s good sweetie! Very good. Because good boys follow instructions. Can you follow my instructions like a good boy?” As drunk as he was, Ethan once again felt uneasiness creep into his mind. It seemed Kendra was much kinkier than he was, but even so, he felt himself nodding his head, desperate for the gorgeous woman before him to relieve his aching cock. “You will? What a very good boy! I’ll keep it very simple for you, baby, since I know you’re not at you best. I want you to lie down on your back on the middle of the bed, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Ethan was all too eager to oblige, scurrying over to her king-sized bed and positioning himself in the middle, his cock pointing up in the air like a desperate flag pole. Even with Kendra’s peculiar kinky games, at least it seemed he was finally going to get the release he so craved. As Kendra climbed onto the bed after him, his suspicion seemed to be confirmed. She got on her hands and knees over his prone body, still fully clothed, lining up her eyes with his. His cock strained to towards her, but she kept herself just out of reach. As she stared deeply into his eyes, Ethan sensed affection, warmth and… pity? Before he could process that, he felt her grasp his hands, and slowly and gently raise them up above his head. He heard a small click, and then another, and felt something tighten around each of his wrists. With annoyance, Ethan realized he had been handcuffed to the bed. “All right Kendra, that’s enough. I’m into you and everything... but all this kinky shit is a bit much for me.” “Shhhh…” whispered Kendra, putting her finger to Ethan’s lips. “I know it’s scary, sweetie. But remember, you promised to be a good boy.” Ethan had had enough, aching cock or not. “Forget this. Un-cuff me right now, I’m calling a cab and getting the hell out of here.” Kendra looked genuinely saddened by Ethan’s words. “Poor boy… You don’t understand.” She turned and slipped off of the bed, opening the drawer of her bedside table. “I understand fine! And if you don’t un-cuff me right now, I’ll- Mmmph!” Kendra quickly and expertly applied the ball-gag to the restrained boy. It would be necessary for a while, until he adjusted to his new circumstances. She moved to the foot of the bed, leaned her hands on the mattress, and stared up past the boy’s still straining cock, straight into his terrified eyes. “No baby, you DON’T understand. I saw you marching around the pub tonight, thinking that just because you played some silly game well today that you were entitled to sex. But I looked closely at you, and I saw something. Something important. Trying to get girls to sleep with you didn’t come naturally. It was a learned behaviour, one you were quite poor at, by the way. I think you were just following the lead of your peers, trying to impress them. I think deep down, you’re just an innocent little boy, who doesn’t have the capacity to judge right or wrong. Someone who needs the right decisions made for them. Isn’t that right?” Ethan grunted into the ball gag in response, and struggled against the handcuffs. “Shhhh, baby. It’s all right. You don’t need to be worried, or afraid, or angry. You don’t need to be anything anymore, other than a good boy.” Ethan was truly terrified now, the adrenaline pumping through his system cutting through any drunkenness. He watched as Kendra walked across the room and picked up a small bag full of items that he couldn’t quite make out. “You’re going to be a good boy from now on, baby. My good boy. The good boy you were always meant to be,” Kendra said softly, as if breaking difficult news to a small child. As she spoke, she pulled an item out of the bag which caused Ethan to enter a renewed fit of thrashing and grunting. She set the disposable diaper down on the foot of the bed, and took a moment to relish in the sight of the terrified, helpless boy panicking in front of her. And Kendra let him panic for a while. She was in no rush. She had all the time in the world. Stay tuned for Chapter 2, as poor Ethan endures the first few days of his new life!