AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA, SEASON TWO SCENE 54 (IN LOCO PARENTIS)

[Guilend]

I'm definitely enjoying it

[Babypants]

Quickie anatomical quiz:

Ian's second spanking was painful in the extreme because Vickie really does know what she is doing.  Correctly pair the items in the following two columns, and you will know both what Vickie was doing-- and what she was not doing.

A.  Piriformis muscle                                               1.  Associated with erotic spanking

B.  Pudendal Nerve                                                2.  Associated with punishment spanking

C.  Sciatic nerve                                                     3.  Dangerous

[Babypants]

OVER, UNDER, SIDEWAYS, DOWN

           See the stars come falling down from the sky

          Gently passing, they kiss your tears when you cry

          See the wind come softly blow your hair from your face

          See the rain hide away in disgrace ...

Is there such a thing as a mitigated disaster?

          Still I'm sad

Rita was sitting at her desk, the radio playing softly in the background, a mug of hot, steaming coffee in front of her.

          How I'm sad

          How I'm sad

          Oh, how I'm sad

It was going untouched. She swiveled her chair and stared out the window, barely registering the miserably gray sky that enshrouded the city. The sky matched her mood.

Rita was a high flier, a thirty-four year old with credentials and degrees that had brought her to a corner office in a high-powered urban hospital. She had got here through hard work, and by making sound decisions in a therapeutic environment that was rich with failure and its consequences.

And last night I really fucked up …what a mess.

Rita leaned back and closed her eyes, mentally rerunning the bare seconds that separated Sarah's moment of triumph … the breakthrough that they had been working so hard to achieve … from the flaming wreckage of The Circle …

. . . .

“I'm Done Here.”

And Vickie had walked out the door, the anger roiling off of her in waves.

And Sarah had missed it.

“Who wants to take her place?” Sarah had spat the question at Vicki's retreating back, her voice hard and cold. If Vicki had turned around, they would have torn each other apart. But I'll give Vic credit … she never even broke stride …

Instead, Reiko had knelt beside Ian, curled so tightly into a fetal ball. She had reached across his naked body, picked up the diaper that had fallen off Vickie's lap, and spread it out on the floor beside him. She had leaned down to whisper something in his ear … something in Japanese, and Ian had followed her lead. Still whimpering, eyes shut, he had rolled over, permitting Reiko to pin his now damp diaper firmly back in place. Again following her instructions, he had raised his hips to permit her to seat his baby pants where they belonged.

And Sarah had said nothing. She had simply stood there, hands on hips, all business, still not comprehending the scale of her defeat.

And Reiko had never looked at her. Not once. Instead she had glared up at Rita. “Giri,” she had spat out; “if you do not know the meaning, you should look it up.”

Reiko was staring Rita down, but her hand was gently massaging the long, ugly scar that decorated Ian's left thigh. The round had torn through the flesh, but somehow had missed the artery. Rita had quietly studied the wound when changing Ian's diaper, and it had struck her then, and still struck her, that he was lucky to be alive.

But there was purpose in the graceful way in which Reiko was kneading the wound, a message being sent.

And now I know what it's all about … my first “oh, shit” moment of the day …

Still kneeling, Reiko had bent low to kiss Ian on the cheek, the barest touch, and then she had stood up and walked away, never looking back, out into the night.

One by one, the others had silently followed, Marge giving her “the Marge look,” until it was just Rita, Sarah, and Ian. And Rita had banished Sarah, her excuse the long drive that awaited her friend in the morning. When they were finally alone, Rita had half dragged and half carried Ian to her bedroom. It had been a struggle to get him into bed, but somehow she had managed. He had ended up on his left side, still fetal, and she had spooned him, her arms wrapped around, holding him tight, using her body heat to warm him. And so they had slept for hours, neither shifting position, although in her sleep Rita's hand occasionally patted the child's rear-- the age old maternal gesture that reminded Ian that his mommy was still there, and that she would keep him safe. It was the shrill sound of the alarm clock that finally wakened them.

. . . .

          Shapes of things before my eyes 

          Just teach me to despise 

          Will time make men more wise

And now Vickie's demanding a meeting, ten o'clock sharp, and she wants it entered on the appointments calendar. Marge is still giving me “the Marge look” … Reiko's acting like I have cooties … well, at least Becky and Candy have the day off, although we are now terribly short staffed.

Rita sighed, and turned back to her desk. Varley's Japanese Culture was still laying there, a volume that had sat untouched in her office library since the day she bought it. She fingered the open page, the bland academic prose sitting right there in front of her, the age old conflict between giri and ninjo. Rita dreaded her next conversation with Sarah. They had unwittingly wandered into a hurricane, and it mattered little that the storm was only raging inside Ian's head. Frustrated, Rita angrily slammed her fist into the book.

          Come tomorrow, will I be older?

          Come tomorrow, may be a soldier

          Come tomorrow, may I be bolder than today?

Why can't life be as uncomplicated as it was this morning? Ian was wet, and he soiled himself during the night. So, a few wet wipes to make sure he didn't leave a trail of poop across the carpet, then off to the shower with him. A fresh diaper, lots of powder … he's such a good baby … and, God, it's so hard to think of him in any other terms when he's lying there, looking at me the way happy babies always look at their mommies. Get him dressed … coffee and cereal for two … drop him at his office, get to mine with ten minutes to spare. But Sarah says he has a limp dick, so there's that …

God, girl, get a grip! What is it about this guy? Sarah wants to marry him. Reiko is well and truly smitten. Vickie want to fuck him when she's not spanking him … and I … I want to be his mommy, but with a few most unmommylike benefits! What a mess!

Rita dropped her head into the book, and blindly began pounding her desk with both fists.

. . . .

“Was I late to the party, Rita, or did you send out a memo that somehow never made it to my desk?”

Vickie had marched into her office, and had sat without waiting for the invitation. It was transparently obvious that she was well and truly pissed.

          For your love

          For your love

          I'll give you everything and more, and that's for sure

          For your love

          I'll bring you diamond rings and things right to your door

Best to placate her, Rita decided.

“Vickie, I'm sorry. And I mean it. Sarah and I set it up on our own. Ian's deeply intuitive, and he reads people really well. We were afraid that if we staged another planned performance, he would see through it and all the work that we've done to gain his trust would be for naught. So, we decided to leave the rest of you out of the loop so that your reactions would be genuine, and now it's blown up in our faces. I'm really worried about Reiko ...”

“You should be! Haven't you been paying attention? If Ian asked Reiko to invade Hell and pull the Devil off his throne, she'd go! God!”

“She loves him.”

“Loves him? Are you kidding me? Rita, this isn't about love … SHE ADMIRES HIM! I don't understand the half of it, but this morning … this morning she told me that he's not gaijin but samurai … some kind of medieval warrior who would rather die than break a promise. She wants to drag me to a film festival to see Kurosawa's Seven Samurai, absent which we'll have to make do with Yul Brynner. Do you remember The Magnificent Seven?

“One of the all-time great make-out movies,” Rita laughed. “All those guns popping off really turned my boyfriend on. I took care of the rest … of course, being a good girl, I made him settle for a hand job.”

Now it was Vickie's turn to laugh, the tension in the room dramatically easing. “We have got to warn Sarah to back off. Last night can never happen again … and I'm not talking about the spanking. As long as we're just role playing, or helping Sarah reinforce her authority, I'll happily hand spank Ian every day and twice on Sunday. As you saw last night, even topping off at six on the Arkham Scale, I can make it really hurt because his piriformis muscle is so vulnerable. But what came over the two of you? Have you both taken complete leave of your senses? No one mixes regression therapy with catharsis, never mind the fact that Ian's a borderline alcoholic.”

“And we both know that regression is a dead end, but it doesn't matter because that's not what Sarah is doing ...”

“You could have fooled me,” Vickie interjected.

“Uh, uh … sorry, but uh, uh. Ian's an incontinent adult who also has a deep-seated need to be treated like a baby. Maybe it's because he's in diapers 24/7 or maybe not, but that's an issue for another day. And Sarah wants to be his wife and his mommy, more or less simultaneously. So, to hell with what the rest of the world thinks … they are the perfect couple in so many ways, not the least of them being that he is totally incontinent and she's only too happy to change his wet and messy diapers. Talk about taking a liability and turning it into an asset!”

“Hmm … so what you're saying is that catharsis, which has produced really good results, is okay because Ian's not being regressed. Sarah's what? Creating a space in which Ian can unleash his already fully formed inner child, complete with raspberry tickles and carefully administered over the knee spankings when he's naughty? And meanwhile, I'm stuck with spanking him for real so that the two of you can chip away at his defenses? But how was he to know what was going on in your heads last night? The rest of us didn't have a clue!”

Vickie leaned forward. “Rita, this is really dangerous, and we both know it. Sarah cannot play both roles; the risk to Ian is too great. I do not want her in the room when we're in therapeutic mode. And while we're at it, do I have to remind you that Ian is not our patient, and that we shouldn't be treating him without his permission? That's why I'm really here. I want Ian to become a patient in this ward, and I want him to go through the usual paperwork, and for you to get his signature in all the right boxes.”

“Sarah would never agree to any of this.”

“We aren't going to ask her. She's going to find out after the fact, because Ian is going to be sitting in this chair filling out the necessary paperwork not later than four o'clock this afternoon. And no, we are most definitely not going to blindside him. This has to be informed consent, so you are going to explain to him the implications of having this on his record.”

“He'll run away, Vic.” Rita was shaking her head, and shaking it with real conviction. “We'll lose him.”

“No, we won't. I have spoken to his department secretary. His last class finishes at two, and then he has office hours until three. I will go over, change his diaper, and then bring him back to the waiting room. I'll make sure that he brings something to read with him, and it shouldn't take more than a few minutes to convince him to come inside. You know what the waiting room's like. So, I'll bring him here, you'll offer him a quiet place to work, but also explain that we have to go through the regular voluntary admission process.”

Rita was still shaking her head, utterly certain that Ian would never consent to this once he knew that it would go on his permanent record.

“I know what you're thinking, Rita, and you're wrong. By six o'clock, Ian will be all the way inside, in dress indistinguishable from the patients. It helps that he's already in diapers; in fact, I don't think this would work if he wasn't. I'm not sure that he would submit to restraints, though I do intend to show him around and check his responses, but for what I have in mind, he needs to be foot loose and fancy free.”

“What DO you have in mind?”

“I want him to sit down with Don and Phil, and you damn well know that I'm not talking about the Everly Brothers. We're getting nowhere trying to break down their walls, but maybe … just maybe … there's still enough soldier inside both of them that one or both will respond to a fairly senior officer. And that's the hook. Right now, this giri thing … this samurai mindset … is working against us. So, we are going to flip the script and get it to work for us by appealing directly to Ian's sense of duty. In the process, we may get closer to finding out what happened out there that sent him over the edge.”

Rita leaned back in her chair, mulling it over. “It's worth a try. By the way, what was his rank?”

Vickie laughed, a huge grin on her face. It was so hard to think of little baby Ian this way. “He was a Major … but no one's exactly sure in what army!”

“How the hell did you ...”

“The department secretary. It's amazing what you can learn if you just talk to the right person.”

Rita nodded, thinking it over, thinking about the baby that was so close to the surface in Ian's personality.

          Sick at heart and lonely

          Deep in dark despair

          Thinking one thought only

          Where is she, tell me where

Vic's right and she's wrong, and both at the same time. With our help, Sarah creates a safe place to which Ian can retreat when he brings the wall down. And it's my job to bring him to the point where he stops running away before the alcohol destroys him. And, yeah, Sarah shouldn't be chasing his demons … but he won't talk to anyone but Sarah … the exact same problem that we have with Kettering and Phillips. That's why we're taking chances … we've come to a dead end.

          And if she says to you

         She don't love me

         Just give her my message

         Tell her of my plea

“Room 11, Vic; if you can, get him settled into room 11. Tell him that I'm drowning in work … running late … anything. It's the closest thing to a nursery we've got, and the crib has full restraints. The whole Segufix protocol. I'll leave the details to your imagination.”

Vickie nodded; it was going to be a big day, with almost limitless possibilities.

          And I know

          Well, if she had me back again

         Well, I would never make her sad

          I've gotta heart full of soul

She got up and turned to leave.

“And one more thing. Marge has given me 'the Marge look' … twice.”

Vickie paled, the blood draining out of her face. She felt faint.

          Over under sideways down

          Hey

         Backwards forward square and round

“Twice?”

“Twice. And we're short-staffed today, so Marge will be on the floor. If this all goes sideways ...”

“I understand. I'll find an excuse.”

Vickie about faced, to offer Rita a mock salute.

“Over, under, sideways, down, Ma'am. By your leave.”

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz:

Throughout this chapter, Rita is listening to a collection of hits by the Yardbirds, a very popular British band in the mid-1960's.  Which one of the following is not represented here:

A.  For Your Love

B.  Heart Full of Soul

C. Lost Woman

D. Over Under Sideways Down

E.  Shapes of Things

 

[littlebopeeper]

On 5/2/2023 at 4:44 PM, Babypants said:

Quickie Historical Quiz:

Vickie's magic wand was originally marketed as a general body massager, but it was adapted for other uses during the course of the feminist revolution.  Which Japanese manufacturer brought this handy-dandy tool to the marketplace:

A.  Hitachi

B.  Mitsubishi

C.  Sony

D.  Toshiba

Too easy.  A

[littlebopeeper]

And the plot thickens!  A brilliantly written chapter.  Having a radio playing in the background from start to finish, with the lyrics matching Rita's thoughts is something I don't recall ever seeing before.  Did you invent this?

 

 

 

[Babypants]

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

“How are you feeling, soldier?”

Ian looked up from the paper he was grading to see Vickie standing in the doorway. She was still dressed in her nurse's uniform, and he thought that she looked utterly and absolutely stunning. If she had been at Yokosuka or Tripler during the long months of his convalescence and rehabilitation, the age old romance between wounded warrior and compassionate nurse would have inevitably blossomed.

Ian's face lit up in a genuinely warm smile, and he walked around his desk to embrace her. On impulse, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Then he kissed her full on the lips before leaning back to study her reaction.

And what he saw was utter and absolute confusion.

“Ian, I'm so, so sorry about last night. I wasn't sure whether I should come here or not; I thought that you would hate me after what I did to you.”

“Why would I hate you,” he said, gently shaking his head to reinforce the obvious. “You were just doing Sarah's bidding …”

“... and besides,” he laughed, “you're a really good spanker … the best. Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

“Now you're just trying to make me feel good,” she chided, “and no, I felt terrible. And now I feel so cheated! I was looking forward to this great, big, wonderful orgasm with you squirming in my lap and bawling like a little baby. And what did I end up with? A great, big, wonderful nothing! You owe me, soldier, and one of these days I am going to collect!”

“Well, not today,” he laughed, running his hand over his still aching butt. “It looks like I'm going to be eating Thanksgiving dinner standing up.”

“Hmm … maybe I can help things along.” Vickie smiled and held up a large shopping bag, shaking it seductively in his face. “Behold, I come bearing gifts-- a nice, dry diaper, a fresh pair of baby pants, powder, and baby oil.” One by one, she removed her treasures from the bag while blindly reaching back with her foot to kick the door closed.

“Take your clothes off, lay down on your changing pad, and aunt Vickie will rub this nice, warm oil all over your butt. It will make you feel soooo good.” She looked around for Ian's diaper bag, spotted it atop a filing cabinet, and dropped it onto the floor. She was already kneeling next to the pad when Ian finished undressing and eased down alongside her. All he had on was a very wet diaper and vinyl pant, which Vickie efficiently removed before bidding him to lay on his tummy.

When he was ready, she poured the oil into her palm, and began slowly kneading it into his cheeks and thighs.

“You are a miracle worker,” Ian sighed. And he meant every word of it.

“Soooo, you like having aunt Vickie change your widdle diapee, do you … hmm?”

Ian's only response was a low purring sound.

SMACK!

“Hey, ow, that hurt,” he yelled.

“That's what you get for being naughty, teasing me with that French kiss ...”

“But I didn't stick my tongue ...”

“No, you didn't, and that's why I spanked you.”

“Huh?”

“Such a little baby … so confused ...” Vickie resumed her massage, pouring oil onto his cheeks, and slowly working it down into the crack. Suddenly, she jammed two fingers deep inside, located the prostate, and began to stroke it.

“Do you like it when auntie Vickie sticks her fingers in your little baby bottom,” she purred. “Your ass is so firm … so very spankable. And it's so, so small, like a little baby girl's behind. Is that why you love it when I do this, hmm?”

Vickie increased her pace.

“Is it little baby Ian that I'm fucking, or is it little baby Janie? Are you my widdle princess Janie? Are you?”

Ian moaned and unconsciously lifted his rear, offering it to her in total surrender.

“And how about this,” she added, her fingers continuing to work their magic. “If you want me to stop, Princess, all you have to do is say the word. Do you want me to stop?”

Ian moaned again, and Vickie instantly withdrew her fingers.

“What,” he pleaded.

“That sounded like 'stop' to me.”

Wow! It looks like my hunch was correct, and my shopping extravaganza is going to pay off big time. I wonder how Sarah will react when she finds out that little baby Ian seems to have a twin sister … if there even is a little baby Ian … Just how many personalities are in play here?

She slapped his butt a second time, but far more gently.

“Now, roll over onto your widdle diapee, and auntie Vickie will make you all nice and clean, and pin your lovely, thick diaper on you ever so snug. Auntie Vickie wants you to be dry when we go to the hospital. Auntie Rita can't wait to see you!”

Ian carefully rolled over, and ended up well positioned on his fresh diaper. “But I don't want ...”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Vickie warned, shaking her finger in front of his eyes. “No 'buts', soldier, or this diaper will come off and I'll give you a real spanking. Do you think your cute little ass is up for it? My cunt certainly is ...”

“That's a good baby,” Vickie cooed, when she watched Ian visibly seal his lips. She rapidly finished dressing him, and stood aside to let him hastily toss blue books and red pins into his briefcase. She gave his much beleaguered rear end a couple of encouraging pats, but she had a firm grip on his wrist as they walked out the door. Vickie stole a glance at the clock opposite the elevator. Ian's seduction had taken all of eighteen minutes. She had needed one of them to stick his ramrod stiff cock where it belonged.

So easy, she concluded as the elevator doors slid open. So, so easy.

. . . .

“This place is a zoo,” Ian complained; “I'll never get any work done here. Isn't there a quieter waiting room somewhere in this monstrosity?”

“Not really,” Vickie murmured. “There's, like, three thousand TV's in this facility, and in the public areas they're on twenty-four hours a day.” “Part of the problem here,” she added, “is that our voluntary admits can come and go as they please, and that side of the facility is just beyond the door. See the camera to the left of it? Almost everybody here is a patient being visited by family and friends. When they're ready to reenter, they'll wave at the camera, and someone will come and let them in. Same thing when they want out. It's a six digit code, and we don't let any of the patients have it.”

“Who the hell would volunteer to be in a madhouse? That's sick.”

“It's mostly people who have come to grips with the fact that they have a sickness that is ruining their lives, and they need help to overcome it. Depression and alcohol are the top two. If nothing else, Ian, we can buy them time by drying them out-- the same way that Rita is going to dry you out this weekend. For the foreseeable future, baby, you are going to get by on apple juice!”

“I hate apple juice, and damn it, I do not have a problem with alcohol!”

“Then going the next four days without it shouldn't be a problem, should it?”

Vickie patted him on the knee, and stood up. “Come on, baby, let's go see auntie Rita.”

Vickie entered the code, and walked Ian into the psychiatric wing. Once he was through the door, she closed it firmly behind him.

. . . .

Rita glanced up from behind the mountain of paper that had been steadily growing on her desk throughout the day. She smiled broadly when she saw who had just walked in her door. “Good afternoon, Ian, how's your butt doing? Still on fire?”

“Nah … Vix and her magic fingers put out the fire down below. She could have made a fortune on Phetchaburi Road!”

She did what????

Rita loved Bob Seger. Either Ian was being too clever by half or … Rita looked at Vickie, who was standing in the doorway, blocking his escape. She looked like the cat that had just swallowed the canary.

Oh, shit …

“I don't follow, Major; what's a Phetchaburi Road?”

“Oh, it's one of the biggest streets in Krung Thep … the place you farang call Bangkok ...”

What the hell's a farang ?

“In the mid to late sixties, most of the grunts took their R&R over there, and the ever enterprising Thais pitched makeshift tents up and down Phetchaburi to double as massage parlors and brothels … one stop shopping, your might say, a mile and a half up and down one of the busiest boulevards in the city, and on both sides no less. Think of it as STD central; roughly three out of every four GI's came back from their leaves with an unwanted souvenir. But I swear, as good as Thai girls are with their fingers, Vix would have outclassed them all!”

Gee, thanks, Vickie swore under her breath.

Vix again. Rita favored her colleague with one of those patented stares that screamed, in every culture on planet Earth, what the hell have the two of you been doing, and do I even want to know?

Ian couldn't see it, but behind him Vix was languidly moving a hand back and forth in an obscene gesture that also transcended every cultural and language barrier on the planet.

Rita swore that she could see canary feathers peeking out from between Vickie's lips.

“Hey, how do you know my rank?”

Ian heard Vickie laughing maliciously behind him. “I bribed your secretary, baby. I told her that if she divulged all, we would invite her to our next Saturday night frolic. Amy can't wait to start changing your diapees, so starting Monday morning, you will be reporting to her for your mid-morning change!”

Oh, shit, Ian swore under his breath.

A truly devilish look swept over Vickie's face. “Just think, Rita, Sarah is going to be sooo happy when she finds out what I've done. That's the last slot filled. Now, our little baby here will never again have to change his own diaper! Never again!”

Vickie pretended to pout. “Of course, our baby here now has so many aunties to ooh and ah over his cute little butt that we'll need to start a sign-up sheet to manage his care...”

“Oh, and I almost forgot,” she added with mock innocence. “Amy says that it won't be any problem at all to recruit a cute little coed in each of his classes to keep an eye on him and warn him when he's leaking. Of course, they will want to come along on Saturday nights, too, so I'm thinking we're going to need a lot more chardonnay. I'll take it up with Marge.  Do we have enough chairs?”

Feathers were streaming out of Vickie's mouth.

Oh, shit, Rita groaned, I'm going to need a bigger house.

[littlebopeeper]

This chapter is hilarious.  And I love, love, love Vickie.  What I wouldn't give to be her patient! 

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz:

Little did Vickie and Rita know that the baby food industry would soon be rocked by a scandal centered on phony apple juice!  The culprit was:

A.  Beech-Nut

B.  Gerber

C.  Mott's

D.  Nestle

E.  Tree Top

[littlebopeeper]

2 hours ago, Babypants said:

Quickie historical quiz:

Little did Vickie and Rita know that the baby food industry would soon be rocked by a scandal centered on phony apple juice!  The culprit was:

A.  Beech-Nut

B.  Gerber

C.  Mott's

D.  Nestle

E.  Tree Top

I had to look this one up.  A

[Babypants]

On 5/14/2023 at 9:17 PM, littlebopeeper said:

And the plot thickens!  A brilliantly written chapter.  Having a radio playing in the background from start to finish, with the lyrics matching Rita's thoughts is something I don't recall ever seeing before.  Did you invent this?

 

 

 

Thank you for the compliment.  This particular rhetorical trick comes from Aristotle's Poetics.  In Ion and the Republic, Plato separated diegesis (narrator speaks in own voice) from mimesis (narrator speaks through characters).  Aristotle took this farther by allowing the narrator to speak through choral dance and music (flute and lyre), and this is where the way I used the radio in this chapter originates.

I am also notorious for writing sentences without verbs.  I learned this from Tacitus' Annales, which in Latin is a rhetorical masterpiece.  So, as I always tell writers up and coming, you demonstrate your mastery of correct grammar and syntax so that no one will criticize you when you chuck the rules overboard.  If you don't abandon them, your text will always seems stiff.  

[007specialk]

Great Chapter loved the twist!

[Babypants]

9 hours ago, 007specialk said:

Great Chapter loved the twist!

Glad that you are enjoying the story-- and thanks for taking the time to comment.  There's a lot more to come.  

[Babypants]

AGAINST THE WIND

“Let me guess,” Rita said, nodding in the direction of Ian's briefcase. “You need a quiet place to work.”

Ian nodded in return. “Blue books, blue books, and more blue books. I see blue books in my sleep. But Vix says that, short of becoming a patient and getting a room of my own, the chances are slim to none. Apparently, however, you have a solution for my little problem.”

“Possibly. This ward is physically divided into two wings, one for voluntary admissions and one for involuntary. The latter in turn consists of two distinct groups-- the first being those who are referred here for observation, typically by the police but also by staff in other hospital departments. We can't hold these individuals for more than seventy-two hours without notifying the Court, after which they must either be released or we have to petition the Court for a six month committal, which is indefinitely renewable in six month increments. And that's the second group.”

Rita gestured at the various mounds of paper scattered across her desk. “On Tuesday next, I'll be in court all day, testifying at five different hearings-- two to get a court order for people that we want to keep beyond the seventy-two hour mark, and three to have the clock reset for a fresh six months. Indications are that two of these cases are going to be litigated, which means additional hearings and a lot more paperwork. Frankly, this job sucks.”

“You have my sympathy,” Ian offered, thinking of his own stack of blue books. Tuesday was his deadline as well.

“As you've seen, security in the voluntary wing is close to non-existent, but security in the committals wing is the tightest we can make it. I can give you work space in either, although normally I would not even consider the secure wing because there are no toilets there; everyone is in diapers 24/7. But of course in your case this is not an issue. Still, there is one slight problem, and I can't make it go away. Since you are not staff, you can only be here as a patient. So, I've filled out a voluntary admissions form in your name.” “As you can see,” she continued, turning the paper so that he could examine it, “I've filled in REASON TO ADMIT with something so commonplace that it won't raise any eyebrows with your insurance provider. See?”

Rita pointed at the relevant box. EVALUATE SYMPTOMATIC DEPRESSION, ALCOHOL DEPENDENCY.

“As it happens, Ian,” she added very, very quietly, “in my professional judgment, neither would be far off the mark.”

“You think that I'm depressed … AN ALCOHOLIC?” The disbelief in his voice was palpable.

“It's a preliminary finding, but yes, all indications are that you are suffering from chronic depression, and using alcohol to excess to masque the symptoms.”

“Ian, listen to me. I'll say it again. If you are here on a voluntary basis, you can reach out for help, or push it away. It's your choice. No one is going to treat you against your will. So, if you want, you sign the paper, and I'll take you to a work space where you can get to it. Later, you can decide whether you want to stay here overnight, or come home with me. Either way, there is no alcohol waiting for you … not until Sarah gets back, and maybe never. Did you know,” she laughed, “that by state law there is no alcohol for sale within five hundred yards of this hospital? So, if you want to stay here overnight and still have a drink, you've got quite a hike ahead of you … both ways!”

“I don't believe this, Rita, I just don't.” Ian couldn't stop shaking his head, couldn't stop wondering if this was all just a bad dream. “We've known each other for what … for sure, less than a week. And you've already psychoanalyzed me, concluded that I'm a drunk and off my rocker? Give me a fuckin' break; I thought that we were friends.”

“We are, and that's why we are having this conversation. Think, Ian, think! I'm sorry, but if I've seen enough to draw preliminary conclusions in four days, what do you think other people are seeing? Sarah? Vickie? Amy? Your colleagues? Your friends?”

“Jesus!” Ian covered his eyes and began rubbing his temple with both hands. “I just don't believe this,” he repeated.

“The one thing we have going for us is time. Frankly, Ian, your problems are so manageable that any competent psychiatrist should be able to treat you with a high probability of success. For us, you would be a low priority admission because you are a fully functional, gainfully employed adult. Let me give you a concrete example. Your diaper service … they pick up and drop off on Wednesday, right?”

“In the afternoon, yeah, usually around three to four.”

“Have you canceled this week's delivery?”

“Yes, I called them on Monday, first thing.”

“Did Sarah instruct you to do this, or did you do it on your own initiative?”

“Rita, what are you on about? It was on my 'to do' list, so I damn well picked up the phone and did it.” Ian was getting more and more exasperated by the second, and he wasn't in the mood to hide it.

“Just bear with me, okay? Now, on Monday afternoon, you will be going home with Sarah. What are you going to do about the diaper service?”

Ian ran the figures through his head.

Let's see. I used, what? Six of their diapers on Thursday and Friday, but the rest of the time I've been in these heavy duty hospital diapers … which reminds me that I need to go buy some new dress pants, jeans, the lot, to handle the added bulk … some of the students are giving me really funny looks … and I'll use another half a dozen on Tuesday and Wednesday, so I can get by with …

“I'll call them Monday to resume service, but short the order by an even dozen.”

Will Sarah take me shopping, help me choose stuff that's reasonably fashionable? I hate shopping …

“And there you have it,” Rita concluded as she drummed her fingernails on the desk. “Ian, I have an entire ward filled with patients who can't do what you just did; they can't function, can't look after themselves. Some of them can't even feed themselves.”

“So the point of this sermon is … what? My stubborn pride?”

“Well, it is certainly blinding you to the fact that I'm trying to do you a favor... two favors, really. You can work here without interference, and you now know that you have issues that you need to address. More to the point, if you sign this paper, you and I can start addressing them together.”

Hesitating, but only for a moment, Rita laid a pen on top of the form.

“You want to become my shrink,” the light finally dawning in Ian's mind. “But wouldn't that be a bit unethical, considering that we slept in the same bed last night?”

Rita sighed, not at all sure whether she should tell Ian the truth. But he was right, and that left her very little choice. “Everything that happened last night was planned … the spanking … my comforting you. However informally, it was your first treatment.”

Stunned, Ian rocked back in his chair, raising his arms to ward off an attack from some unseen enemy. “The spanking was THERAPY?” He could barely find his voice.

“Yes, but only Sarah and I knew. The others … we kept them out of the loop, which turned out to be a big mistake. Vickie was the first to figure it out, and she was understandably furious. She dressed me down this morning, Ian, right in this office, and she didn't pull any punches. She was really pissed. But once she calmed down, she signed onto the program, although she wants Sarah left on the sidelines. But I don't know where that leaves us because so far Sarah is the only person you'll confide in, when you choose to open up at all.”

Rita again leaned forward, deliberately closing the distance between them. She looked him straight in the eyes, silently willing him not to look away. “Is there any chance, after all that's happened, that you'll work with me … or maybe Vickie? It has to be someone you know well enough to harbor at least some degree of trust, otherwise all the intervention in the world will get you nowhere. Frankly,Vickie would be the best choice because your spankings are going to continue, Ian, and she's an expert at this particular therapy. She will get results, and put a permanent end to your penchant for self-flagellation. Vickie has no use for drunks, and even less tolerance for self-pity. Think of her as a Marine Corps drill instructor who never bothered to enlist because she thinks the Corps is too soft.”

“Unfuckin' believable,” Ian said with a long sigh. “What does Sarah say about all this?”

“She doesn't know … I haven't talked with her since last night. It's really Vickie who's taking the lead here. Ian, Vickie is really hung up on you. She's our resident queen of the one night stands, but not with you. She wants you for the long haul, and she's willing to invest the time it takes to mold you to her satisfaction because she's hoping that Sarah will come to her senses and throw you overboard. If that happens, believe me, Vickie will scoop you up so fast that you will never know what hit you! And do I need to add that I'm good with this because Vic is trained for this work and Sarah isn't?”

“I need to talk with Sarah … I need to know that she's okay, damn it!”

Oh, Ian, it's easy to see why Sarah loves you. She dropped a boulder on your head last night, and your reaction is to ask whether she's okay …

“You will. She's decent, Ian, decent and thoughtful; when she can manage it, she will call just to let us know that she's got home safely. Anyway,” she finished, “you need to make a decision. You tell me to fuck off, and you get up and walk out of here, or … you sign a piece of paper that I shall somehow misplace, but it will end up in your permanent record with your insurance carrier, who will also lose track of it unless you do something in future that draws it to their attention. End of story, except for one other thing. I need your help, and I need it rather badly.”

Now what. That was Ian's immediate reaction. What the fuck else is she going to lay on me?

He spread his arms, surrendering to the insanity of the moment. “I'm listening.”

“Phil Kettering and Don Philips … two of your own, Ian, two young men about your age, who came home fighting the same ghosts you are. The police found them … well, you know the story. It's pretty much the same one every time, just minor variations. Homeless, drifting, living out of shelters when there's space, problems with alcohol … we don't take drug addicts, we don't have the expertise and we don't have the resources ...”

Rita swiveled in her chair, and turned blind eyes to the glittering facade of the downtown Minneapolis skyline.

“They're not violent, and if you want to know how messed up this world really is, just consider that this works against them. If they were violent, we could keep them here, or in another institution, for a long, long time. But they're not, and we're going to lose them because we don't have the resources. They're going back out into the streets, and they'll die out there … two veterans cast adrift by a nation that's moved on, wants to pretend that they don't exist, indifferent and uncaring.”

Rita stared at the gleaming glass towers, mirrored beauty in the shadows of which there was so much ugliness, so much avoidable tragedy.

“But we care, Ian; in this ward we care a very great deal. We have to try, and we have no cards left to play. None, except you. I'm hoping that because the three of you live in constant fear of something that's destroying you from within … that maybe, just maybe … they'll talk to you when they won't talk to us. But you can't do this without signing that paper, and going in there as one of them. You can't be an outsider. So I'm asking you … begging you, really … if you can't face your own fears, will you at least help them to face theirs?”

“This is why our Saturday nights,” she whispered, “therapy for the therapists. They help us stay sane.”

Ian closed his eyes and shivered with cold in an office that was uncomfortably warm. He didn't know how many times he had watched Willie Ross die, arms outstretched, reaching for the screaming baby that had been left staring up into the pitiless tropical sun, abandoned on a levee overlooking a rice paddy in a village nine thousand miles from home. In slow motion, replaying it over and over again in his mind, he could hear himself screaming at Willie that there was a trip wire, but Willie hadn't heard, and a good hearted nineteen year old kid from Mobile, Alabama had been ripped to shreds in the explosion, Willie and the baby both shredded so completely that they had gone home together, in the same body bag.

And then Captain Ian Grady had written still another letter, to tell grieving parents that their son had died nobly, fighting to bring freedom to a land in which the very concept had no meaning.

Ian sat there in Rita's office, eyes closed, his wet but not yet uncomfortable diaper all but ignored, leaking silent tears. There wasn't enough booze in the universe to dull the memories that played inside his head on endless loops, and he was so very, very tired. Perversely to paraphrase the lyric, he was no longer young and strong, no longer capable of runnin' against the wind. He just wanted to go home.

But home, it now came to him, wasn't a place but a person, and with each passing minute Sarah was getting farther and farther away. All he could do was pray for her safe return, for the moment when she would cradle him in her arms and, for a time, make all the pain go away.

Duty, that most demanding of all mistresses, had long ago consigned Ian Grady to his fate. Reaching out, the Major slid the paper a bit closer, studied it for a moment, then picked up the pen and signed where Rita had indicated.

[littlebopeeper]

Another great chapter, with lots of answers but also lots of twists.  I especially like the twist that you have given to spanking, which I don't recall ever seeing before.  And now, Ian has opened Pandora's Box.  Can't wait to learn what lies beyond the locked door!

[Babypants]

Quickie current affairs quiz:

As of March, 2023, Vietnam vets made up what percentage of the total homeless veteran population in America?

A.  17%

B.  27%

C.  37%

D.  47%

E.  57%

[littlebopeeper]

I had to look the answer up, and given that Vietnam vets must all be in their late 60's or older, it was shocking.  I was also surprised to learn that veterans make up more than 10% of the homeless.

[Babypants]

THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA

“I feel silly.”

Ian was standing in the middle of a nondescript locker room beyond which, through the most highly secure door in the entire hospital, lay the quarters housing the involuntarily committed.

“And you look it,” Marge sheepishly agreed. Studying him from head to toe, she nodded approvingly. Ian was still clothed in his usual hospital diaper and vinyl pants, but in addition he was now sporting a thick canvas diaper cover-- and it was locked. Marge ran her fingers around the waist and thigh openings, trying to force her way in so that she could yank them off. But the pants weren't going anywhere until she unlocked them. Everything the purchasing department was ordering from West Germany was turning out to be state of the art.

Marge gave his top a final check. Ian was wearing the usual hospital gown, but it was short enough that his diapers were fully exposed, and instead of being open in the back, it was zipped up to his neck, where a snap lock secured it in place.

“Every patient in this ward is dressed in exactly the same way,” she added with a trace of impatience. “Do keep in mind that the business end of a diaper pin is three inches long. If a patient were to get his hands on one and straighten it out, he would have a six inch long weapon with a workable handle. You can do a lot of damage with a diaper pin, Ian; believe me, we've tested them.”

“It's the shoes, Marge! For God's sake, why am I wearing bright red boat shoes?” These were also locked in place, and once again Marge had the key.

“Patients sometimes rage out of control, and attack staff or other patients for no apparent reason. No one wearing these shoes is going to do much damage with their feet.”

“And the restraints?” Ian's hands were both encased in heavy canvas mittens, identical to the ones that Sarah made him wear at home. He was so used to them that they didn't disturb him in the slightest. But there were steel O rings securely embedded in the lining of his diaper cover, and short leather straps tethered his hands to the rings. Since these were also locked, Ian's hands were effectively chained to his side. He had tried to locate his penis through the multiple layers of clothing that kept it out of sight, but the straps didn't give him enough play.

Which means that I can't touch myself while I'm wearing this outfit. Wonder if that's by design …

“Required.” Marge's impatience was becoming more apparent. “Committals don't simply waltz in here, Ian. They are always heavily restrained. Now, are you ready for the muzzle?” Marge was holding it in her hands.

“Just get on with it.”

“All right. But remember, if this interferes with your breathing, nod your head vigorously and I'll remove it. Ready?”

Ian opened wide, and Marge inserted a thick bulb deep into his mouth. A stiff plastic face plate that lay snug against his lips kept it in place, while heavy straps that Marge efficiently fastened behind his head made sure that he couldn't spit it out. He already knew that a feeding tube could be run through the face plate into the center of the bulb, and that he could be given fluids and food though the holes that dotted its surface-- if you wanted to call the mush that came out of the bag left hanging on an IV pole food. Vickie had delighted in showing him the tools of her trade, teasing him that only good boys got out of the restraints that he would be wearing when he made his debut performance.

And she made it abundantly clear that she was hoping I'd turn out to be a very, very bad boy … Ian was seriously beginning to wonder whether Vickie was the Devil incarnate.

“Oh … kay,” Marge said as she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “Just the leg restraints, and we'll be good to go.” She knelt before Ian, and quickly secured his ankles in thick leather cuffs; the lead was so short that he would have to shuffle rather than take normal steps.

“What do you think, Victoria? Have I missed anything?”

“Looks good to me,” Vickie laughed. She found Ian's obvious discomfort highly amusing.

No need for him to know that I don't think all this melodrama is necessary. Keep it light, which will make it clear to him that it's Miss By the Book here who's insisting that we follow the admissions protocol to the letter. By all means, let her play the bad cop to her heart's content; then ... if this experiment blows up in our face ... the ball will land in her court, and that will get Rita off the hook. Little Miss By the Book won't be running to the Director's office with the latest lurid tale of psych ward misbehavior if I've got my fist well and truly shoved up her cunt ...

“Though I do have to say that our baby would look really, really cute in a Scold's Bridle. Did you see that episode of The Avengers...”

“The one with Mrs. Peel in the chastity belt,” Marge interjected. “I never missed an episode, but that one was my favorite.”

“Mine, too,” Vickie said as she got up and walked over to give Ian the once over. She ran her hand slowly over his crotch and then took her time carefully checking his muzzle. “But I do wish that he had more stubble on his cheeks.” Vickie lightly patted first one and then the other. “Should we rub him down with some garbage to make good the difference? He just doesn't smell like someone recently picked up out of the gutter.”

Oh, Ian … if you only knew what's in store for you when I get you inside room eleven …

Ian could hardly miss the mischievous twinkle in Vickie's eyes.

Are you having fun, Vix?  You wouldn't believe the things that I want to do to you ... or maybe you would ...

“A good point,” Marge conceded as she in turn ran her fingers over Ian's cheeks. “It is too bad that he shaved this morning; we definitely could do with a bit scruffier appearance.”

“Well,” Vickie suggested, “we could leave him like this for a day or two … give him time to get a little ripe. It would definitely give him greater credibility.”

Trussed up and gagged, Ian could only roll his eyes. Vickie was having way too much fun at his expense.

“Hmmmmmm.” Marge dragged it out to let Ian know that she was seriously considering Vickie's suggestion. “But no,” she sighed; “Rita's made it clear that there's a clock running, and that time is not on our side. So for now, we'll just have to postpone our fun.”

Miss By the Book turned back to Ian. “Now remember, when Don and Phil see you come into the play room, to them you will look just like any other new arrival. We'll remove the muzzle first, then your restraints. Next comes the usual song and dance about not acting out or the restraints go right back on. Vickie will do the honors while I stand back and watch. Don't move to the bench until Vickie instructs you to do so. Phil Kettering is the one with light brown to blonde hair. If at all possible, keep him between you and Phillips. Don has shut down completely, which worries us because it's often the prelude to a violent psychotic episode. If your presence sets him off, we don't want you in the line of fire. There will be two male orderlies out of your line of sight; trust them to handle the situation. Do not, under any circumstances, intervene. Nod if you got all that.”

Ian nodded.

“Good,” Marge concluded. “Don't worry about your diaper. In fact, it would be a real plus if you could soil yourself in Kettering's presence because it will add to your authenticity. But if it happens, just sit there and pretend that you don't know where the smell is coming from. Now, let's get this show on the road!”

“I'll do the honors!” Vickie punched in the door code, and stood aside to let Ian shuffle forward. “Welcome to the Hotel California,” she laughed.

Ian could only look at her quizzically.

“You'll see, Princess, you'll see.”

. . . .

Ian plopped on the bench, and looked around. There wasn't much going on. A couple of guys sitting on the padded floor, one of them making the occasional grunting noise … another guy standing in front of the heavily screened window, just standing there, staring into space … and, of course, to his left, Don and Phil.

The Everly Brothers, he decided. Wonder if they can sing Bye Bye Love.

The moldy oldie was the first 45 that Ian had ever bought, all the way back in '57.

A lot of water under that particular bridge, he shrugged, watching Marge out of the corner of his eye. In turn, Marge was watching him out of the corner of her eye while pretending to do her job.

Whatever that is ...

Vickie had already departed the scene, having given Ian chapter and verse. He had pretended dutifully to listen, and he had followed her instructions to the letter. He had seen the disappointment in her eyes.

She really, really wants me to be a naughty boy.

Ian was methodically probing his diaper cover, trying to figure out if he could generate enough friction to wank off. He figured that he owed Marge a cheap thrill, and it seemed like the sort of thing that a hard core, down on his luck boozer would do in a joint like this anyway. His reward was another stream of piss, for which his diaper seemed appropriately grateful.

If diapers could talk, I wonder what they'd have to say ...and why the hell is Vickie still here? She was already off shift when she picked me up …

Ian's fingers continued their exploratory probe over the hills and dales of his diaper cover …

Well guess what, Vickie, I wrote the book on bad assery. Three tours in southwest Pacific … well, should I count the last one? I mean, it was really pretty badly interrupted. Anyway, I didn't pick up Khmer and Lao sitting on my ass in Nha Trang. Hell, I spent so little time on the beach that I couldn't even get a half-assed tan.

Great beach, though. I'd like to go back someday … hey, Marge, do I have to send up smoke signals or something? Are you enjoying the show?

“Do we get chow in this place,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes still staring fixedly at an imaginary dot on the opposite wall. He wanted Kettering to make the first move.

He sensed Phil turn his head a millimeter or two to begin the six million year old process of deciding whether he was friend or foe. It took a lot of effort to defeat the hard wiring in human DNA, and Phil Kettering clearly wasn't up to the task.

“It's coming.”

“Hope it's better than the shit they serve up over at the shelter. That stuff's gross.”

With Rita's help, Ian had done his homework. It hadn't taken long. There wasn't much in the file-- a police report detailing a transient's passage through shelters around the downtown core, but nothing from the VA. It was pretty clear that neither Don nor Phil had made use of their benefits.

“Better some days, worse others.”

Phil had gone back to staring into empty space, but at least he was talking.

Staring at nothing's gotta be an art form around here … do they get gold stars if they can look at nothing without blinking for half an hour? And fuck you, Rita! I wouldn't be here if you hadn't hung your ass out to dry! Giving me their files to read … the worst violation of patient confidentiality I've ever seen. If this got out, they'd fire you on the spot … Jee-zus!

“My last decent meal was at the officer's mess in Quang Tri, and that was God only knows how many years ago. Say, do you happen to know what the fuck year this is? I've lost track.”

“Don't know, don't care. Don did his tour in Quang Tri. Were you 9th Infantry?”

Ian shook his head. “Special Forces, 5th Airborne. Out of Nha Trang. Didn't spend much time there, though. We resupplied out of places like Quang Tri all the time … just five klicks to the west, and you were over the line.”

“Laos.”

“Yeah … Laos. Fuck, I need to jerk off so bad!” Ian was still playing with his diaper cover, which he now reckoned had been invented by somebody in the Spanish Inquisition.

“Won't happen,” Phil whispered, “and if the Wicked Witch sees you trying, it's straight back into the mittens. And if you get too far out of line, they put you down for the night in full restraints. I need to get out of here ...”

Phil nodded in Marge's direction; the Wicked Witch currently had the guy staring out the window dead in her sights.

She's overdoing it, Ian thought. Damn it, Marge, surveille the damn room! Don't make it so bloody obvious that you're play acting!

“What about you,” Ian queried.

“3rd Battalion, 60th Infantry … outside My Tho.”

“The Delta.” Ian spat it out. “Word is that it got really hairy down there.”

“Yeah. I went in with the lead elements in May of '67. Ten months in a fuckin' swamp. Skirmishes by day and sappers by night. It never ended. We fed Saigon the bullshit kill numbers that they wanted, but we never made a dent. It was all bullshit and it was all hairy. A lot of guys didn't make it home … wish I'd been one of them.”

Ian nodded. After Hue, he had made the same wish on more than one occasion.

“Donnie's lost it,” Kettering whispered. “A whole tour at Quang Tri, repairing stuff in the motor pool by day and walking perimeter by night. Sappers in his soup. When he went short time, he wigged out. Came home in a strait jacket, got thirteened, dumped in the streets. Pissing … pooping in his pants? None of it reaches him anymore.”

Ian leaned forward so that he could get a better look at Don Phillips. His first thought was LSD, the whole Haight-Ashbury to Woodstock scene, but Rita had been adamant that the druggies were screened out, never made it into the program.

Poor guy.

“Rank?”

“Corporal … just like me. How about you?”

“Major … three tours … all the low lights.”

“Fuckin' A! Should I salute?”

“Not hardly. The army and I didn't exactly part ways on the best of terms.”

“Fuckin' A.”

“I wanted to go back,” Ian elaborated as he reached down to rub the ugly scar on his left leg. “But the Pentagon said no, so I resigned my commission, told them to go fuck themselves, and I went back on my own. I had debts to pay … still do.”

Out of the blue, he suddenly started laughing. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find adult diapers in Saigon?”

“You need them?” Phil was looking at Ian's thigh, trying to figure out the caliber that had blown through it.

It's hard to believe this guy can stand upright …

“Yeah.” Ian reached around to tap the small of his back. He reckoned that it was just below the top of his diapers. “The round must have been tumbling at extreme range … can't be any other explanation for why I'm still alive. Shattered on impact. Didn't put me in a wheelchair, just diapers. No control at all … zip, zero and nada. By the way, I'm sorry if I stink up the place. There's no warning … I just … I just go.”

“Hey, don't worry about it, man. When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

This is unbelievable, Marge fumed. For fifteen weeks, all we get out of Phil Kettering is the thousand yard stare, and then Grady comes along and gets his whole life story in less than fifteen minutes! Is it the uniform? Then what the Hell, let's hire Hot Lips Houlihan and be done with it!

Marge hadn't caught every word, but she'd caught more than enough. And she could get the rest later because every square inch of the ward was wired for both sound and video. Still seething, she couldn't help but wonder whether Rita and Vickie were enjoying the show, and what Sarah would make of it when she listened to the tape.

Dinner was being served.

. . . .

After dinner, it became readily apparent to Ian that there were far more patients in the ward than he had realized. He had followed Phil to an adjoining room, where they had sat at a long trestle table to eat conventional hospital food with plastic utensils. In contrast, a nurse had had to help Don to his feet, and then guide him farther down the corridor. They had disappeared into a room to the left, not to be seen again until after dinner, when they returned to the main hall. The nurse steered him back to his perch before leading still another patient into an adjoining chamber. Nurses and orderlies were escorting patients in and out in a steady stream before leading them back down the corridor to their individual rooms.

Must be diaper changing time, with beddie bye just over the horizon. And it looks like Marge is in charge of the whole shebang.

Marge was standing more or less in the center of the chamber, with a clipboard in hand. As each nurse or orderly came out with a freshly diapered patient in tow, Marge made a note on her form, and patient and attendant promptly set sail back down the corridor. Gradually, the main hall began to empty.

Wonder who goes where, and why …

“To restrain or not to restrain, that is the question!” Vickie was giggling in his ear.

Badly startled, Ian jumped to his feet, pee gushing into his diaper, his thoughts perversely turning once again to Pete and Toby, the python and the elephant, forever bound together by the torrent of pee that his drunken python would unleash on a hapless world.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

Ian wanted to shout the question out at the top of his lungs, but Marge was glaring, and something in the way she was looking at them took the air out of his sails.

“Where,” he whispered again.

“Oh, I've been around,” she giggled “no, seriously, I just went down to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat. Rita's still hard at it, so she's asked me to stay on and keep you company. I think the word 'babysit' came up at some point. Would widdle baby Ian like his aunt Vickie to babysit him for a while? Hmm?”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Ian whirled around, having completely forgotten that Phil was sitting just a few feet away.

Fuck …

“I like her … I like her a lot.”

Then, inspiration struck.

“What about you, Phil. Is there a nurse on the staff that you really, really like?”

“I like Becky.” A wistful smile creased Phil Kettering's features. “I like her a lot.”

Ian looked at Vickie, and Vickie looked at Ian, big smiles on both their faces. And they both turned to look at Marge, who hadn't missed a thing. She made a note on her clipboard.

Vickie walked over, and bent over the clipboard. “I'll take care of Ian personally,” she whispered. “Rita wants him in room eleven.”

“WHAT!” Marge took a deep breath, struggling to lower her voice. “He doesn't belong in eleven … that's maximum security!”

“Oh, come on. Aren't you a tad curious to see how little baby Ian is going to react when he sees a crib large enough to hold him, and all of those Segufix restraints? He didn't put up a fight when we prepped him, so Rita and I are really curious to see where this might lead. Aren't you?”

“Yes, but ...”

“No buts. Ian has gone the extra mile for Rita, and he deserves a reward. I'm going to see that he gets it, but first I need to find out what will give him the hard-on to end all hard-ons!”

“And Sarah?”

“She's not here. I am.”

Marge shrugged, and made another entry on her clipboard. Wordlessly, she handed Vickie the key to Ian's diaper cover. “Take your time. I'll see to it that surveillance is turned off.”

“Already done,” Vickie noted, before retreating to Ian's side.

[littlebopeeper]

This reads like Monty Python meeting up with One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  Hilarious.  And "if diapers could talk, I wonder what they'd have to say?"  That's classic.  You should post it as a separate thread.

[Guilend]

One of them women should spend time in diapers after a well spanked bottom to see how it feels lol great story

[Babypants]

On 5/29/2023 at 10:30 AM, littlebopeeper said:

This reads like Monty Python meeting up with One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  Hilarious.  And "if diapers could talk, I wonder what they'd have to say?"  That's classic.  You should post it as a separate thread

There's definitely some John Cleese in here, although I think more of certain episodes of Fawlty Towers than Monty Python.  And thank you for the suggestion.  As you know, I ran with it, and it has generated some rather clever replies.

6 hours ago, Guilend said:

One of them women should spend time in diapers after a well spanked bottom to see how it feels lol great story

Glad you are enjoying the story, and thanks for taking the time to comment.  Our circle of nurses did spank one another early on, and it's safe to say that at least one of them will have a rendezvous with diapers before story's end.  This was a good guess on your part.

[Guilend]

17 minutes ago, Babypants said:

Glad you are enjoying the story, and thanks for taking the time to comment.  Our circle of nurses did spank one another early on, and it's safe to say that at least one of them will have a rendezvous with diapers before story's end.  This was a good guess on your part.

While I do love watching a little get to be little, I enjoy watching a big get demoted probably even more lol. I'm betting at least one of them enjoyed getting spanked lol. I can't wait to see what happens next and can't wait to see which one of the nurses wears diapers by the end. 

[CCApril]

Great job! I really like where this is going. These nurses are hardcore and really good at manipulating Ian. Voluntarily committing yourself is huge! That takes a level of trust that few relationships can manage after such a short period of time.  I wonder how Sarah is going to take it when she gets back? You are touching some deep issues with this story. Thank you for the hot nurses. I like you dedication to the time period.

April

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz: 

Which of the following groups had the best selling rock album worldwide in 1979:

A.  AC/DC

B.  Bee Gees

C.  Eagles

D.  Led Zeppelin

E.  Pink Floyd

[littlebopeeper]

On 5/30/2023 at 8:44 PM, CCApril said:

Great job! I really like where this is going. These nurses are hardcore and really good at manipulating Ian. Voluntarily committing yourself is huge! That takes a level of trust that few relationships can manage after such a short period of time.  I wonder how Sarah is going to take it when she gets back? You are touching some deep issues with this story. Thank you for the hot nurses. I like you dedication to the time period.

April

This story looks like it is taking place around 1980, and I've been asking myself how much closer to the present it could be pushed without major revisions.  There are no male nurses in the story.  When did guys enter this profession in numbers?  When did men become a regular part of airline cabin crews?  The Dean Martin - Burt Lancaster movie Airport would need a major rewrite to make it contemporary, even if Van Heflin could somehow find a way to get his bomb on board.  And when did disposables drive cloth diapers out of hospitals, nursing homes and so on?