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

[Babypants]

On 12/17/2023 at 9:21 PM, littlebopeeper said:

If Vickie and Ian get wasted on Thursday night, both will need to be punished big time.  Could this possibly be the weekend Sarah's mom comes to pay a visit?  She's a scary lady.

Thanks for the suggestion.  Sofia is definitely coming down to meet her future son-in-law, and we may be certain that she will help her daughter deal with Vickie and Ian.  But can she get away on such short notice to attend the Saturday night gathering of the Circle?  Hmm.

[Guilend]

2 hours ago, Babypants said:

But can she get away on such short notice to attend the Saturday night gathering of the Circle?

That's not a no. 😏

I wonder if she knows that Sarah has put Vickie back in diapers and her plans for Vickie? I bet Sarah's mom might even have a talk with Rita and give her a way to fit into the family dynamics. I'm sure Rita has wondered or will wonder how she'll fit in after she finds out about Vickie. 

I actually feel bad for Ian. I couldn't do full on baby. At least not unless it was some sort of punishment and it wasn't no longer then like 2 weeks, or I'd go nuts lol. I prefer more like the older toddler treatment like 5 or 6, or even teenager like 15 or 16. Well more like a 15 or 16 year old being treated like a 5 or 6 year old That's not got the hang of potty training lol.

 

[Babypants]

10 hours ago, Guilend said:

I bet Sarah's mom might even have a talk with Rita and give her a way to fit into the family dynamics. I'm sure Rita has wondered or will wonder how she'll fit in after she finds out about Vickie. 

Rest assured that Rita and Vickie are on top of this.  In time, you will be wondering whether Sarah is in control, or is being manipulated by Rita and Vickie for their own purposes.

[Guilend]

5 minutes ago, Babypants said:

Rest assured that Rita and Vickie are on top of this.  In time, you will be wondering whether Sarah is in control, or is being manipulated by Rita and Vickie for their own purposes.

Are you saying Vickie actually has a diaper fetish and has manipulated Sarah into forcing her to wear diapers? Interesting idea lol

[Babypants]

On 10/30/2023 at 2:45 PM, Babypants said:

“So, you're the baby, I'm the out of control sorority girl, and Rita is like my older and somewhat more mature yet increasingly bewildered sister.

In scene 34 (Chastity and Chinese food), Vickie explained to Ian her plan to position Rita as a counterpoise to Sarah.  She is afraid that, by letting her power go to her head and using it unwisely, Sarah will ruin everything.  Ah, but neither Rita, Vickie nor Ian have given any thought to what might happen when Sofia shows up.  

[Guilend]

2 hours ago, Babypants said:

In scene 34 (Chastity and Chinese food), Vickie explained to Ian her plan to position Rita as a counterpoise to Sarah.  She is afraid that, by letting her power go to her head and using it unwisely, Sarah will ruin everything.  Ah, but neither Rita, Vickie nor Ian have given any thought to what might happen when Sofia shows up.  

Mmmmm, I actually forgot about that conversation. Also what you said might have um, took my brain someplace it shouldn't be while at work lol. I can see Sarah getting into an argument with her mother and saying something disrespectful in the heat of the moment and Sofia giving Sarah a good bare bottom spanking.  (Though in my mind Sarah has an orgasm during the humiliating spanking and spends time as mommy's Little girl as a punishment for getting Sofia's lap wet lol)

[Babypants]

Quickie kink quiz:

The paddle hasn't intimidated Ian, so what is Sarah to do?  Ask her mother for advice!   Mom recommends an even more painful instrument, but not the most severe.  Will Sarah use:

A.  A cane

B.  A paddle with holes

C.  A whip

[Guilend]

A. A cane. Obviously *I roll my eyes*

[Babypants]

21 hours ago, Guilend said:

A. A cane. Obviously *I roll my eyes*

We'll see what Sofia has to say at the very end of scene 43!

[Babypants]

THE FALL AND RISE OF VICTORIA ROBINSON

Author's note: the title is an admiring tip of the cap to the late Leonard Rossiter, an extremely talented British comic actor whose Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin is one of the great comic TV shows of all time-- and a vicious critique of the soulless corporate universe that Dolly Parton was tearing apart in the same time frame with 9 to 5. Just as there is a lot of John Cleese's Basil Fawlty in Ian, so there is a lot of Rossiter's Reggie Perrin in Vickie.

Sarah awakened before dawn, and quietly slipped out of bed. She had slept well, and she felt not only relaxed but reinvigorated. When Ian had signed the D/s contract the night before, emotionally it felt as if she had crossed the Rubicon. He belonged to her now body and soul, a helpless baby who would never again be charged with making an important decision. Even many of the minor ones had already been stripped away-- deciding what to eat and drink and where to sleep foremost among them. She would soon begin choosing his clothing, even what he wore from one day to the next. She would limit his access to radio and television, take away the daily newspaper, and close his bank accounts. His paycheck would be deposited into her account, and she would give him a weekly allowance … a very small allowance. There would be no spur of the moment trips to one of the fast food joints surrounding the campus in his future. In time, she would take direct control of even the smallest details in his day to day existence.

After showering and dressing, Sarah retired to the kitchen to make coffee, her thoughts ranging beyond Ian to her plans for Vickie. She posed an infinitely greater challenge because, where Ian wanted to submit, Vickie was naturally rebellious. She would have to be broken, but with her pride left sufficiently intact to perform her job to the high standard that John Lessing set for everyone in his department. They could not do without Vickie's income, so an agenda of rewards and punishments looked to be the best option. Sarah was relying on Vickie to violate their agreement, which would instantly condemn her to diapers 24/7. She would lose her toilet privileges, and become wholly dependent upon her mommy to keep her clean, dry, and rash free. If she was a good baby, Ian would be allowed to service her with his tongue-- and if they were both good babies, she would permit them to make love. She intended to set this bar very, very high-- an obtainable goal, yet one that seemed forever just out of reach. The greater their frustration, the more desperate their need, the more intense her control over both of their lives would become.

Ian was still sleeping soundly when Sarah returned to the bedroom and gently jostled him. When he started to stir, she breathed into his ear and then wished him a hushed good morning. Kissing him full on the lips, she drove her tongue deep into his mouth when he began to respond.

Coming awake, Ian kissed her deeply in return, gazing up into her eyes. It was good to love, and to be loved.

“Time to rise and shine,” she cooed. “Let's get you out of that nasty diaper. You brush your teeth, and shave and shower while I run upstairs to pick out clothing for you. I'll leave your dirty diapers outside the door, top off your diaper bag, and come back down. Then it's diapers first, your ba bas second, and finally getting you dressed and ready for the day. I love you, baby.”

Sarah had a warm smile as she patted him lovingly on the cheek. “Do you love your mommy?”

“I love you, Mommy,” Ian agreed. “You taste great and you're less filling!”

Sarah exploded with laughter. “Baby, you make your mommy so happy … but she is still going to spank you before bedtime tonight.” Sarah was wiggling a finger in front of his eyes. “Deciding not to cancel your diaper service was very naughty of you, and has to be punished. When you want to do something, you must come to mommy and ask her permission. Is that clear?”

Sarah deposited her baby's wet and soiled hospital diaper into a garbage bag, and then left him to begin his morning ritual. After dropping Ian at his office, she decided to stop off in the cafeteria before heading up to the third floor. An unexplained ten minute delay in freeing Vickie from her diaper bondage would nicely remind her that Sarah was the boss in their household.

. . . .

Dawn was still more than an hour away when Julia got up from the kitchen table to pour her second cup of coffee. All three of the Canons were early risers, but slow to awaken. Hot showers and even hotter coffee were a daily ritual, without which each of them would remain stuck in first gear.

“So, what's the game plan, Mom? Got it all worked out?” Priscilla was nibbling on a piece of toast while she mentally gamed out her own day. She knew that Vickie, Sarah and Rita were going shopping at the end of the hospital's first shift, which meant that Ian would remain in her care until Vickie returned. She was toying with the idea of driving them over to the hospital, and then taking Ian across the road for some real food, the pastrami on rye in the delicatessen below uncle Andrew's office being the only one in the Twin Cities that could possibly compete with Sarge's in Manhattan's Midtown South. Everything on its menu was cheaper than the legendary Katz's, and the owner was a retired cop, so a pilgrimage to Sarge's was obligatory whenever a member of the Canon clan ventured off to the Big Apple.

“They've seen my fastball,” Julia mused, “so it's time to go with a change up. I'll trail the delivery truck for a few stops, then head to the office … make them think that I've given up. I'll hit the deli for lunch, then maybe wander across the road and track down this Doctor Stevenson of yours … get her take on what's going on inside the heads of people who would steal diapers off of people's front porches. Then, in due course I'll head down to Ian's apartment, find a place to camp out, and wait for the next act of this bizarre play to run its course.”

“There's a high school parking lot directly across the street from the apartment complex,” Herb observed. His head was buried in the sports pages; with the Vikings going down in flames, he had shifted his attention to the North Stars. “It will start emptying out before three, so you should be able to find a good spot, and your beater will blend right in.”

“I'll look it over. And do me a favor, will you, Herb? When you get to your desk, put Professor Grady on the wire, and let me know what you get back.”

“Mom?”

“Something doesn't add up here, Dear. That miniaturized homing device of his? That he just happens to have sitting in a desk drawer in his office? Pris, I'm pretty sure that it's military grade, and I flat out guarantee you that he didn't buy it off the shelf anywhere in this or any other country. My instincts tell me that this guy is not what he appears to be. So, let's poke a stick in the beehive, and see what comes out.”

“Mom, come on, this is ridiculous. Ian wears diapers, and he pees and poops his way through about a dozen of them a day. Don't make him out to be more than he is just because he has a fancy electronic gizmo that you don't recognize.”

“Herb?” Julia ignored her daughter.

“I'll run it up the flagpole and see who salutes,” Herb answered. “Can't do any harm, and you've aroused my curiosity.”

. . . .

All right, ladies,” Suzie barked, “settle down and stop grumbling! Yes, I know it's early. Yes, I know that it's still pitch black dark outside. And yes, I know that not one of you has an eight o'clock class.”

Suzie surveyed the dining room, which doubled as the sorority's assembly hall; she was heartened to see that all but two of her layabouts had actually taken the call for an emergency meeting seriously.

“We must strike while the iron is hot, because if we don't, the Alphas most assuredly will!”

A collective groan swept through her unhappy charges. No one wanted to come in second to the Alpha skanks.

“This week, I have been sitting in on Professor Grady's afternoon class in Japanese. I expected to be bored out of my gourd, but to my surprise he makes it interesting. And yes, I know that not a one of you gives a hoot … but consider this. There were, count 'em, precisely two female students in the classroom, which was overflowing with guys in their early to mid twenties wearing dark suits and the obligatory white shirt and conservative tie. They all look like refugees from the office towers downtown, which means that they're as smart as they are well groomed … ambitious to climb the fabled corporate ladder… and yet they all look starved for female companionship.”

Suzie noted with satisfaction that most of her audience was now paying attention. Young men with promising careers and money in their pockets were targets of opportunity for the apex predators lying in wait up and down sorority row.

“The Alphas probably think that they've hit the jackpot, but we're going to beat them to the punch. Diaper Butt has an eight o'clock class teaching Korean, and I expect that it's drawing the same mix of students. The Alphas may or may not show up at so ungodly an hour, but this sorority is going to be there in force, and likewise for his twelve thirty Japanese class. This is too good an opportunity to let slip by.”

“However.” Suzie paused dramatically, her eyes sweeping the room. “However, this does not mean that we are putting scalp hunting on hold. Far from it. You must double and then redouble your efforts to seduce male faculty campus wide! The honor of the house is at stake here, but more importantly, you are honing the skills today that you will need successfully to compete with younger women when you are my age. Seduction is an art form, and the more you master it, the more men you will have worshiping you in the years to come.”

“I scalped Professor Bergstrom in his office last night,” Tiffany smirked. “And he was really nice about it-- posed for the photographs, and even asked me to run a set of duplicates for him. Profs teaching night classes are easy pickings!”

“The Romance Languages Department is for beginners,” Maxine scoffed. She wasn't at all impressed. “Let me know when you get one of those Math guys to come down to earth.”

“She's right, Tiff … and History's no better.” Carla was a Senior, and had worked her way through more than half a dozen departments. “Hell, seven of those guys married girls who scalped them, and the divorce settlements set four of our not so innocent sisters up with a tidy little monthly alimony payment! It's nice to know that you've got the beauty parlor covered for the month when the check shows up in the mail.”

“Hell hath no fury like a scalp hunter who finds her husband cheating with an even younger scalp hunter,” Maxine laughed, heads all around the room nodding in approval. “And it's just a matter of time before the other three clowns end up in divorce court as well!”

Some of the History faculty, although only in their forties, were already working on their third marriages. Their financial incentive to publish rather than perish was high, which was one of the reasons the university was among the nation's premier research oriented institutions. Very few people outside the walls of the university community knew how neatly marital infidelity among the faculty correlated with huge external research grants.

“Speaking of targets of opportunity,” Suzie smoothly cut in, “how many of you have had a one on one with Diaper Butt?”

The bounty that PISS had put on Ian's head had instantly catapulted him to the top of the scalp hunting leader board. Four hands shot up around the room.

“Anyone making any progress,” she asked.

The silence was deafening.

“Babs and I compared notes after our visits,” Roberta finally volunteered. “We both started out introducing ourselves, and he thanked each of us for giving up our time to help ward off the poachers. When we asked him about his diapers, he just kind of shrugged like it was no big deal. So, I went for the kill, and told him straight out that I really wanted to scalp him, diapers or no diapers. He gave me a copy of his resume, said that it sounded like fun, but that I needed to clear it with his fiancee. He even gave me her number! I did call, hoping that she wanted to do a threesome … I need the practice … but she blew me off. So, no joy in Mudville.”

“I tried playing the caregiver,” Barbara said, “the idea being that taking it slow might get the job done. I told him that I had worked in the nurse's office during my senior year in high school, and had participated in insulin injections, diaper changes … everything that you would expect to encounter in the way of chronic health problems. I offered to come by and change his diapers whenever he needed help, but he just smiled and said that his girlfriend had taken the matter completely out of his hands. In the end, he asked me if I would be interested in volunteering as a candy striper at the hospital. He even said that he would be delighted to take me over and introduce me to his lady love. Apparently she works in the post surgical ward, and they're always short staffed. It sounds like candy stripers get a lot of hands on experience in her department.”

“Volunteer work always looks good on your resume,” Suzie advised, “and candy stripers get to meet a lot of eligible young doctors. Babs, you should consider taking Diaper Butt up on his offer.”

“And get stuck washing out all those bed pans? No thanks!” Barbara found the very idea of working in a hospital repulsive in the extreme. Indeed, the idea of doing any work at all turned her stomach. She had come to university to collect a bachelor, and it wasn't a piece of paper handed out by some flunkie at a graduation ceremony that she had in mind.

“So the question remains,” Suzie said as she brought the discussion back to ground zero, “how do we get inside Diaper Butt's defenses, especially since he's locked into what amounts to a chastity belt, and the only key on this campus is currently in the hot, little hands of the Batgirl. Any ideas? Anyone?”

“Do we have anything on her … you know, blackmail?”

Suzie couldn't pinpoint the speaker, who was somewhere in the back of the room.

“I wish,” she snorted; “how I wish! Alas, she seems to be more pure than the driven snow … not a single scalp to her credit. But we're both going to a meet and greet on Saturday night at the home of one of Diaper Butt's girlfriends. I'll try and pump her for information, but I'm not optimistic. She smells like a virgin to me.”

“Oh, yuck,” someone blurted out as noses got upturned from one side of the room to the other.

“Are there any other keys,” Roberta wanted to know.

“Three more, all present and accounted for over at the hospital. His fiancee has two, and the girlfriend hosting the orgy on Saturday night looks to have the third. I've seen the Batgirl's key in action; trust me, we aren't going to be able to duplicate it.”

“How about stealing one? Are you going to try and sneak off with one at the orgy?”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” Suzie confessed with a sly grin.

“And then what?” Wendy Stafford spoke up for the first time. “Why does everyone assume that Professor Grady is eager to have sex with a complete stranger … a student, no less? Missus Marshall, when we went to see him, he was polite and considerate to both of us, but that was it. He didn't come on to either of us!”

“That's true,” Suzie admitted.

“Attentive, polite, but definitely not interested,” Barbara agreed.

“What about you, Bobby? He gave you his girlfriend's number; what was that all about?” Maxine had yet to meet Ian, but he definitely didn't sound like one of the pushovers in Romance Languages.

“Looking back on it, I think that he was using me to get a rise out of his girlfriend. So, I'll also go with polite but not interested.”

“So, what am I hearing here,” Suzie mocked. “Is there one person here up to the challenge … just one … or are you all going to settle for scalping easy targets?”

“I want to come with you on Saturday night,” Wendy suddenly blurted out.

“Why, Wendy? What do you have in mind?” Wendy Stafford was the last person that Suzie Marshall expected to enter the lists.

“His diaper is a lot thicker than mine. So, I'm going to wear mine on Saturday night, and ask his girlfriend to change me when I'm wet … change me into one of his. If we become friends, maybe she'll trust me to change his diapers once Officer Canon goes away. It's the only way I can think of for anyone to get the key, which would give me more than three years to win him over. That's the challenge … not just having sex but winning him over.”

. . . .

Vickie's level of frustration had risen to the point where she was about ready to climb the walls. Driving into the parking ramp, she had been relieved to see Sarah's car parked in its accustomed spot. Vickie's diaper was soaked, she was worried about leaking, and to top it all off, her bum was itching. Here she was, thirty three years old, and trying to cope with a diaper rash.

Deliberately slowing her steps so as not to draw attention, Vickie made her way from the ramp along the hospital corridors to the elevator that would take her up to Sarah's office. En route, she had to pause more than once to exchange greetings with long time friends and acquaintances-- a morning ritual that was deeply embedded in the fabric of her life.

Unfortunately, on this Wednesday morning the ritual was taking its toll on Doctor Victoria Robinson. The bottles of breast milk that Mommy had all but poured down her throat the night before were having the same effect on her bowels that they had on Ian's. She was barely holding on, fighting to keep her anal sphincter tightly shut, knowing that relaxing for even a second would invite disaster in the form of the same mustard yellow, runny poop that Ian was helplessly releasing into his own diaper a dozen times a day.

Vickie was terrified. If she lost control of her bowels, Mommy would insist that she wear diapers 24/7 because she self-evidently needed them. She was confident that she could still do her job while wearing a wet diaper, but she didn't think it would be possible if she had to run to Sarah's office for a poopy diaper change every ninety minutes or so.

Vickie was barely hanging on when she entered Sarah's office, only to discover that her Mommy wasn't there. Where could she be? Scanning the third floor corridor from the doorway, Vickie couldn't see her anywhere.

And then she sneezed.

Mushy poop exploded out of her loosened bowels. It kept coming and coming, spreading outwards to saturate her diaper, reaching and lapping at her vaginal opening. And she was helpless to stop it, an unwilling spectator at her own humiliation.

Sarah walked into her office to find Vickie leaning her head against the wall, quietly cursing. Sniffing the air, she knew instantly what her baby girl had done, which was exactly what her mommy wanted her to do.

“Aw, did my sweet baby girl make a dirty in her widdle diapee,” she maliciously cooed, wanting Vickie's humiliation to be complete. “Did you?”

“Yes, Mommy, I went poo poos in my diaper,” Vickie confessed. “Please change me.” She hated playing this silly game, but realized that it was the best way to get Sarah to move things along.

“Into another diaper?” Sarah was quick to take advantage of the opening Vickie had just given her.

“No, Mommy, please! I want my panties. This was just an accident, and it won't happen again.”

“I don't think this was an accident, baby girl, no … no, not at all.” Sarah feigned sadness, knowing that Vickie would realize a poopy diaper delighted her Mommy. “I know how much you love your ba bas, and how much you are looking forward to me feeding you at lunchtime. Unfortunately, breast milk and poopy diapers go hand in hand. So, from now on, it would be best if you wore diapers all the time. But don't worry, Mommy will always be here to change you. Mommy wants her little baby girl to be clean and dry as much as possible.”

“I don't want to drink breast milk … once to satisfy my curiosity was enough … and this diaper is so thick that there's no way I can hide it!” Vickie was becoming visibly impatient. “Look, I need to get to work and I haven't violated our agreement, so please unlock me. I'll clean up in our staff bathroom, and toss this diaper in with the ones from our patients. We change them day in and day out at the start of our shift.”

“And I'm already running late,” she added as she glanced at the clock behind Sarah's desk.

“We'll deal with your ba bas at lunchtime, but don't worry about your diaper being too thick. It won't be because we are not canceling Ian's diaper service; his diapers are much thinner, and won't be at all visible under your uniform. So, from now on, given your obvious loss of control both day and night, I do think that it would be best for you to wear diapers 24/7 … and look! I thought that you might make a dirty, so I brought a few of them in with me just in case.”

Sarah gently turned Vickie around, and pointed at the diaper bag sitting on her desk. Vickie's diaper bag.

“I will have a diaper pail brought in for you, and a changing pad. Whenever you need to be changed, just come by, and I'll take care of you right here on the floor. No one need be any the wiser; this will just be our little secret. Well, of course auntie Rita will have to know, since the three of us are going to be living with her, but you can trust her to keep your secret as well. You'll see, baby girl: everything is going to work out just fine!”

“Sarah, enough of this.” Vickie had finally reached her breaking point. “Unlock this diaper cover now!”

“Are you sure? Don't you want to wait until you get the lab results … find out whether you can have a baby?”

“Go on.” Vickie's eyes had narrowed. She was pretty sure that Sarah was threatening her, but she wanted to hear it out loud.

Sarah reached into her purse, and pulled out a white envelope. Opening it, she pulled out the D/s contract that Ian had signed the night before, and waved it in Vickie's face.

“This is an agreement that Ian signed last night before we went to bed, where he gave me a long and exquisitely satisfying bath with his tongue. It's the best I've every had, Vic, and I sincerely hope that you will enjoy the feel of his tongue on your clit and inside your cunt as much as I do. But whether or not you will ever have the chance is strictly up to you. Want to take a guess what this agreement is about?”

“The D/s contract that you mentioned yesterday morning?”

“Got it in one … the very contract that you said you couldn't wait to read. Remember? I brought it in to make copies, including one for you. Need I explain that Ian has now formally surrendered control of his body to me? I paddled him last night. I'm spanking him tonight, and paddling him again tomorrow night. He will receive a maintenance spanking every week, and he will only have sex with you or Rita or anyone else when I permit it. I am going to draw up a contract for you to sign as well, and that's the moment when we'll hash out how three women can live under the same roof with one man and not end up at each other's throats. In the best of all possible worlds, I want each of us to have a baby, and for Ian to be the father. But there can be only one head of this crazy household of ours, and I'm it. So, you will do this my way, which means that you walk out the door of this office wearing another diaper, or not at all. Am I getting through to you?”

Vickie nodded silently. She was getting Sarah's message, getting it loud and clear. A part of her even agreed with Sarah's reasoning. For three friends to share one man without a clear understanding of the boundaries that would define their relationships invited disaster. Someone had to take charge, make the rules and enforce them-- and Vickie wasn't about to kid herself that she was up for the job.

“I'll wear the damned diaper,' she conceded.

“24/7?”

Vickie nodded. “24/7,” she agreed.

“Then undress, and I'll wipe your bottom, see to your rash, and send you on your way-- in a fresh diaper, baby pants, and with your diaper cover still locked firmly in place.”

“Is that really necessary,” Vickie sighed.

“Yes. As you put it so elegantly on Monday night, you are giving me total control of your body until you're pregnant. We'll discuss changing our arrangement if and when that happens.”

. . . .

When he reached his desk at police headquarters, paper cup of black coffee in hand, Herb Canon sat down and thought about how to gather information quickly on Ian Grady. He couldn't access the professor's military records, and given the fact that he had moved to Minnesota less than four months earlier, local resources like the DMV were unlikely to turn up anything that his wife and daughter didn't already know. California was the logical place to start looking; Grady had been there long enough to generate files in all sorts of places. In the end, Herb decided to run the professor through the National Crime Information Center. The fully computerized NCIC data base was massive, and getting more so with each passing year. If there was a blemish in the professor's armor, the computer would find it.

. . . .

Vickie stumbled into Rita's office, ready to apologize for being almost twenty minutes late for the start of her shift. She had detoured to the locker room just long enough to hang up her heavy winter coat, which left her nerves on edge. Walking through the ward, she was acutely aware of her diaper, and feared that everyone who glanced her way would be able to tell what she was wearing. To make matters worse, Sarah had heavily powdered her in order to mask the poop smell that clung to her skin. What her co-workers didn't see they would assuredly smell.

“You look tired,” Rita commented as Vickie sat down. “Long night?”

“More like an eventful morning … and I was about to say the same thing. Sorry, but you look like something the cat dragged in. Rough day in the halls of justice?”

“Not really. In fact, for once everything went as smooth as silk. The judge remanded everyone we want to remain in treatment, and agreed with my recommendation to discharge Phil Kettering.”

“That is going to make Becky very happy. Phil has now been officially released from his diaper bondage.”

“Unless Becky chooses otherwise,” Rita smiled.

“Speaking of diapers,” Vickie said as she stood up and turned around. She wanted Rita to get a birds-eye view of her padded posterior. “Does mine show?”

“Not really.” Rita's eyebrows shot up when Vickie again sat down. “Would you care to explain?”

“Sure. Sarah and I have agreed that the only way to keep me on the straight and narrow is to keep me under lock and key, just like Ian. I'm supposed to have my underwear back when I'm on shift, but I've soaked my diaper two nights in a row, and this morning I pooped myself big time. Sarah cleaned me up in her office, and she now insists that I wear diapers 24/7 for my own protection … at least until I'm pregnant.”

“So, you've decided to have a baby.”

“We both have. Rita, I'm actually good with this, especially if it doesn't interfere with my job. One of us has to take charge of our household and manage it from one day to the next, or the whole thing is going to blow up in our faces. I can't do it, and I don't want you to do it because you already have far too much on your plate. Sarah's willing, and she's able. I say let her run with it.”

“I'm good with that, although I'll put up a hell of a fight if she tries to put me in diapers!”

“Shouldn't happen. Ian and I will be her babies, so your best play is to be the much older sister whom Mommy can trust to act responsibly. I'm looking forward to calling you Auntie Rita,” Vickie laughed.

“Gee, thanks.” Rita sat up straight, and tapped her fingernails on her desk blotter, knowing what was in the envelope still lying beneath it. “Have you … uh … been to see Linda yet?”

Vickie nodded. “We sneaked into the lab yesterday at lunchtime. She'll call you to let you know that they're ready, then Candy can go and pick them up. Sarah and I are on tenterhooks.”

“Mine was waiting for me when I got back from the courthouse.” Rita lifted the blotter, and eased the envelope out from underneath. “Everything's good, but Linda says that I need to get a move on. A year from now ...”

“And you're going to? I mean … you want to start a family?”

Again, Rita nodded. “Yes … and I knew it the moment Candy summarized Ian's sperm report. I want to have a baby with Ian, which means that our talk tomorrow afternoon is not going to be one of those terribly awkward moments when somebody has to own up to their feelings first. Does he want to be a father? That's the first question. And if the answer is 'yes', is he comfortable with having children with all three of us?”

“You're asking him to make a decision,” Vickie warned, “a big one.”

“Not really.” Rita had already given this a lot of thought. “This is about instinct. He either wants to be a father, or he doesn't. Whatever his feelings on the subject, the three of us have to respect them. If he says 'no', we have to agree or walk away. We are the ones who might have to make a big decision.”

Vickie agreed completely. “I'll collect Ian tomorrow at three, and I suggest that the four of us sit down and talk this out as a … well, as a family, because that's what we're becoming. Now, are we still on to go shopping for breast pumps this afternoon?”

“We are.”

“Then I'll ask Priscilla … Officer Canon … to babysit him until we get back. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fully charged wand in my locker, and I propose to adjourn to the staff bathroom and see if I can get any action through this diaper of mine … one of the ones, be it noted, from Ian's diaper service. I slept in his arms Monday night, but with both of us under lock and key, all I could do was dream about making love. Last night I tried my wand on the hospital diaper that I was wearing when I left his place, and I got nowhere. Our diapers and diaper covers really are effective chastity belts, so I'm horny as hell, and I need to do something about it before I have a nervous breakdown of my own! What I'm wearing is a lot thinner, so at least there's hope!”

“When you're done,” Rita giggled, “file a written report … a detailed report of your actions and the results. That way, if your orgasm is loud enough to be heard by the entire department, we can chalk it up to a scientific experiment!”

. . . .

Ian was sitting at his desk, busily prepping an upcoming lecture on nervous ticks, superstition, and negotiating in the Korean boardroom when a small light embedded in his telephone began blinking. Pausing only long enough to grab his sport coat and cane, he took the elevator down to the basement level, debating which of the three public phones at his disposal would offer the most privacy at this early hour of the morning. Since the research library was still closed, he opted to use the phone located midway along the subterranean corridor that connected its basement entrance to his building.

The corridor was still deserted when Ian dialed a number that he had memorized eight years earlier. He knew the man who would answer quite well: they had fought side by side in the grim and bloody defense of Hue. Then, for two months they had shared a hospital room in the Philippines, recovering from the surgeries that had patched up their wounds. They had even received their Purple Hearts on the same day.

Ian also knew that every word of their conversation would be recorded, and that some of the men who had access to the tape were not to be counted as allies, never mind friends. There was always a price to be paid when you ended up on the losing side of a Potomac power struggle.

It was an hour later in the eastern time zone, the business day already well under way in northern Virginia. Sitting at his own desk, awaiting the call, Donnie Freeman picked up on the first ring.

[CDfm]

Well the arrangement continues to grow and get more interesting all the time.  I can imagine how frustrated Vickie has to be learning that she will be diapered 24/7.  She must really want Ian to agree to all of Sarah’s conditions like that. I  have a feeling their conversation with everyone present is going to be interesting. 
As always I am looking forward to seeing more. 

[Guilend]

I can't believe Vickie is still honey after pooping her diaper lol. The only way I can think that would be possible is if she actually enjoyed it. I bet Aunty Rita will be calling mommy to tell her what Vickie is about to try and do. I know Rita said Sarah better not try to put her in a diaper, but she's still has to wear one when it's her turn with Ian for that overnight thing and I imagine if she messes up bad enough once they're living together the much older sister might be subjected to diaper punishment. 

Also I think that student that wants to go to the thing at Rita's has different motives. I wouldn't even be surprised that she actually doesn't wet the bed and has been faking it because she has a diaper fetish. 

[Babypants]

Just wanted to wish everyone who has stopped by to read this story a Merry Christmas. and to thank you for your support.  It's been fun to write, and I hope that readers have enjoyed its twists and turns.  In a few minutes, I'll be leaving to attend one of our family gatherings, and I sincerely hope that everyone here is enjoying the day with family and friends.

Best wishes to you all.

[Babypants]

On 12/23/2023 at 9:29 PM, CDfm said:

I  have a feeling their conversation with everyone present is going to be interesting. 

In the story, it is now very early on Wednesday morning.  A lot is going to happen before Rita and Ian sit down on Thursday afternoon, and still more before the Circle meets on Saturday night.  

[littlebopeeper]

Wow.  Sarah is turning out to be a control freak with some seriously kinky fantasies, and she has a mother who is spurring her on to bring her fantasies to life.  I wonder if Ian would still marry her if he knew what was going on in her head.  But will he marry her?  The last scene in this chapter makes me wonder who Ian really works for.

Another great chapter.  Will you give us the next one that ends the season as a New Year's Eve present?  And when does season two start?  

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz:

Miller Lite's "tastes great, less filling" slogan is one of the most iconic in the history of TV advertising.  One of the retired New York Yankees to appear in several of these commercials once ends the ad with the line "I still don't know why they asked me to do this commercial."  This was:

A.  Yogi Berra

B.  Don Larsen

C.  Billy Martin

D.  Harry "Suitcase" Simpson

E.  Marv Throneberry

[Guilend]

I think it's B. My second guess is A. I honestly don't remember and I'm not a sports fan, like I don't watch sports at all lol.

[Babypants]

1 hour ago, Guilend said:

I think it's B. My second guess is A. I honestly don't remember and I'm not a sports fan, like I don't watch sports at all lol.

Thanks for playing, my friend.  Alas, it's neither A nor B.  

[littlebopeeper]

On 12/24/2023 at 12:16 AM, Guilend said:

Also I think that student that wants to go to the thing at Rita's has different motives. I wouldn't even be surprised that she actually doesn't wet the bed and has been faking it because she has a diaper fetish.

Hadn't thought of this, but it kind of makes sense because she is now openly talking about her diapers.  I want to know more about scalp hunting.  Because there's a bounty now on Ian's scalp, I'm assuming that this is a points system, not just who can bag the most professors.

On 12/28/2023 at 9:02 PM, Babypants said:

E.  Marv Throneberry

I loved these commercials, especially the one with Rodney Dangerfield chairing the meeting where they all get together to vote on who's the most popular.

[Babypants]

22 hours ago, littlebopeeper said:

I want to know more about scalp hunting.  Because there's a bounty now on Ian's scalp, I'm assuming that this is a points system, not just who can bag the most professors.

Correct.  I modeled this on the scoring for Formula One.

[Babypants]

THE SEARCHERS

Sergeant Herb Canon stared at his inbox, and wearily rubbed his eyes. His shift had started less than half an hour earlier, and yet he would have sworn that the mountain of official forms in the metal tray had somehow miraculously doubled in size in the few seconds that his eyes had been shut. Herb hated desk work. He remembered the good old days with fondness, the days when a typewriter had been an alien object, mocking him as he hunted and pecked his way across the keyboard. Now, he could type seventy words a minute. Herb longed to return to the field, siren blaring, dodging the infamous Lake Street potholes as he raced to the next scene of the crime.

Writing tickets, chasing bad guys … damn it, police work used to be fun!

His phone rang.

“Sergeant Canon,” he answered mechanically.

“Chief wants to see you.” Loretta Carlson, the Chief's long-time personal secretary, was the department's bureaucratic mistress, the gatekeeper to the hallowed halls. Her laconic tone of voice had taken years to perfect. “Would ten minutes ago work for you,” she added with just a hint of sarcasm.

Roughly translated, what Loretta was saying was …

Get your butt up here now!!!

“On my way,” Herb responded. He straightened his tie, double checked the polish on his shoes, and headed for the elevator that would whisk him to the top floor, where the brass presided over the city's sprawling, snow covered streets. Once, the view from the top floor had been majestic; now, in a downtown increasingly dominated by soaring glass towers … not so much.

“He's waiting,” Loretta offered as Herb entered the sanctum sanctorum. She did not look up from her typewriter, which was an ominous sign in and of itself.

Crossing the antechamber, Herb knocked on the heavy, ornate door, and entered on command. The Chief was smoking his favorite pipe.

“Park it,” he ordered.

Herb retreated to the nearest chair and took a seat.

“Eight minutes ago,” the Chief began without preamble, “I received a call from Fart, Barf and Itch … and I'm not talking about the local crowd. This call came from the seventh floor back in DC, specifically from the Deputy Director for Counterintelligence. I have been politely asked to inquire about your interest in one Doctor Ian Grady, and then to instruct you to cease and desist from whatever the hell you're up to. As of this moment, you may consider yourself so instructed.”

The Chief leaned back in his plush chair, and studied the Sergeant. The two men had known one another for a long time. “What's going on, Herb,” he asked in a relaxed tone.

Herb shook his head, trying to sort out where to begin. “I haven't met Grady, who's a first year professor in a university language department, but Julia has, and your campus counterpart has assigned my daughter to be, for all intents and purposes, his bodyguard. Julia says that there's something off about him, so she asked me to check him out. He hasn't been here long enough to get on anyone's radar screen, so I thought the best way to handle it was to use the NCIC. He was a graduate student in southern California; he must have been there long enough to show up in more than one file.”

“Go on,” the Chief encouraged.

“Priscilla told us a little about him. The guy's a decorated veteran with a gift for languages who was badly wounded on his last tour. He's incontinent, wears diapers 24/7, but he also seems to have psychological problems. He's being treated by one of Rita Stevenson's colleagues, and get this … after his impending marriage, Grady, his wife, and his therapist are all moving in with Stevenson!”

“Huh?” The Chief sat up. “That doesn't make any sense. I've known Rita for quite a few years, and she's as down to earth as they come. You sure about this?”

“Positive. And as we speak, Grady is helping Julia on a case. Yesterday, he loaned her a piece of surveillance equipment that he apparently keeps in a desk drawer at his office. Julia insists that it's state of the art, and probably military grade. Where did it come from? And Pris says that he's poorly paid, yet travels all over the world. Who's buying the tickets and paying for the hotels? Julia's right … things just don't add up … and now the Deputy Director of the FBI in charge of counterintelligence calls you within minutes of my launching an NCIC query? You know what I think?”

“That your wife and daughter have ended up in bed, so to speak, with a spook?”

“If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck,” Herb shrugged.

“So, where exactly does Priscilla fit in?”

“This is where our old pal John Lessing enters the tale.”

“Oh, shit!” The Chief sat up even straighter. “Please tell me that you did not launch an NCIC query on Lessing!”

“Are you kidding? I'm way too close to retirement to poke that particular bear!”

Both men knew that Lessing's uncanny ability to profile serial killers made him an invaluable resource for the law enforcement community in general and the FBI in particular. Lessing kept a low profile, and Fart, Barf and Itch wanted to keep it that way.

“Grady's been volunteering at the hospital, helping Stevenson treat vets with mental health issues. In the process, his ability to speak languages by the score has brought him to the surface, and recruiters are coming out of the woodwork to try and peel him away from the university. But Grady had some kind of seizure in Stevenson's office Friday morning, bad enough to scare everybody shitless. John's the head of the department, and he's put a blanket over Grady. He phoned your counterpart over the weekend, and now Priscilla is running interference. She's a buffer that's been put in place to protect him against someone triggering another seizure.”

The Chief let out a deep, troubled sigh. “To sum up,” he said, “we're dealing with a troubled war hero with exceptional language skills, who's smart enough to earn a doctorate. He should be a high flier at Harvard or Princeton, but instead he's making a pittance at a university out here in flyover country. He has access to high end tech, and he travels all over the world on somebody else's dime. Shit!!!”

“Walt, could Lessing be his controller?”

The Chief shook his head, uncertain how to answer. “It would probably depend on whether he has a history of these seizures. They're hiding him in plain sight, Herb; that's for sure. They may have put him here because they can trust Lessing to be discreet. What I can't figure out is how they could be using him overseas. A guy who wears diapers? Pees and poops himself? Everything you've told me screams covert asset, but in what capacity? What could a guy with his disability possibly do for them in the field?”

“There's one more piece to the puzzle,” Herb confessed.

“Oh, goodie,” the Chief shot back. “All right, let's hear it.”

“Grady's teaching two language classes, and Priscilla says that both classes are overflowing with guys in their mid-twenties who show up wearing dark suits, white shirts, and dark ties. They troop out after class and apparently head downtown. She's assuming that they're young corporate climbers coming over from the banks and multinationals, but I'm not so sure.”

“Stepford husbands?”

“It sure sounds like they fit the profile,” Herb acknowledged.

“Right, here's what we're going to do.” The Chief stood up and walked around his desk, signaling Herb that the meeting was about to end with his marching orders. “I want you to get into your civvies and get over to one of this guy's classes. Take a good, hard look at the students, and then report back to me … in person. Nothing in writing, capiche?”

Herb nodded, and took his leave. He and the Chief were on the same page. If Langley was running a covert training program under their very noses, they needed to get a handle on the potential downside. University campuses had unusually high population densities, and this one was crawling with foreign students who had received minimal vetting. If someone screwed the pooch, the body count would make the front page of every newspaper on the planet.

. . . .

“Street, you've been compromised.” Donnie got right to it. “Twenty minutes ago, a cop punched you into the NCIC … a Minneapolis cop named Herbert Canon. Ring any bells?”

“His wife Julia is an attorney and licensed private detective. I'm helping her solve a theft at the diaper service I use. Their daughter Priscilla is a campus cop currently assigned to be my bodyguard.”

“What the hell are you doing with a bodyguard? For God's sake, you're supposed to be off the grid, not making the national news!”

“Aren't we being a little dramatic?” Ian had little patience for the Potomac two step.

“Street, that query triggered a Valhalla alert-- the first one in three years! Ellison snuffed it, then made the call. The odds are that as we speak Sergeant Canon is having a heart to heart with his chief.”

“Come on, Donnie, there's no real damage done. I'm helping a team of psychiatrists at a local hospital working with troubled vets … putting my command of Vietnamese to good use for a change. We've made some progress, and the word got out to Patient Relations administrators all over the Twin Cities. Now, I'm up to my elbows in corporate headhunters looking for an easy score. Priscilla is maintaining order, buying me the time I need to put the genie back in the bottle. So, first thing: run a Marilyn Marsden of Recruitment Services International through the matrix, will you? She's got a game plan that should get the job done, with a big increase in my paycheck for a bonus.”

“Marsden …,” Donnie muttered. “Got it. What do you want to do about the Sergeant?”

“I'll handle that on this end. Priscilla and I are challenging a precinct to a drinking contest tomorrow night … Hong Kong Rules. I'll try and drag Priscilla's dad into it, become his drinking buddy. Then he won't be a problem. Oh, and while we're at it, run an orderly at the hospital, a former sergeant named Amos Waring. R&R in Hong Kong, visits to the stockade … the usual mix. Let me know if there's anything more colorful.”

“Hong Kong Rules,” Donnie laughed. “Street, you still holding your own?”

“You have no idea. Next. You free on the weekend of the twenty-second?”

“Wait one while I check.” Freeman turned the pages in his desk calendar. “Yep, free as a bird. What's up?”

“I'm getting married on Sunday the twenty-third. I'd like you to be my Best Man … actually meet the people you're going to be running through the system.”

“Will do, and congratulations. Bride's name?”

“Sarah Haikonnen. Finnish, usual spelling. Mother's name is Sofia, with an f. U.P. family, probably Hancock or Houghton. Sarah's a nurse where I volunteer, and has an apartment immediately below mine. It sounds like her mother manages a hospital up there.”

“Both easy to run,” Donnie noted. “I should be able to get back to you during your office hours.”

“Two more. Sarah and I are moving in with Doctor Rita Stevenson, who is John Lessing's second in command at the hospital. You probably have a file on her already, and likewise on Doctor Victoria Robinson, same department, who is also moving in with us. Vickie's my therapist, but also my lover. My relationship with Stevenson is still in flux, but there are hopeful signs. The four of us are going to honeymoon together … probably the Caribbean.”

“Street, you never cease to amaze me.” In his office, Donnie was shaking his head in wonder. “But do me a favor will you? Keep away from Jamaica and Trinidad. Maynard would have kittens if you showed up in either one.”

“Way ahead of you. I'm steering them in the direction of Puerto Rico, Barbados, or Aruba.”

“All good choices. After the job you did in Balikpapan, the Dutch would treat you like royalty.”

“That's what I'm afraid of. Damn it, I love these women, and I don't want to lie to them, but day by day things are getting more awkward. My passport is arousing a certain amount of curiosity; for example, Vickie wants to know what the hell I was doing in Timbuktu. My cover was never meant to stand up to close scrutiny, Donnie, you know that. I'm guessing that it's Julia who made me, and I've only met her once. And while we're on the subject, having your trainees show up for class every day wearing tailored suits from a certain shop on L Street isn't helping. Would it be too much to ask that they at least dress like students? I'm amazed that no one on this end has figured out what we're doing.”

“You getting ready to retire on me, Street?” Donnie knew that there was a clock ticking, and he dreaded Ian's answer.

“Is that a roundabout way of asking why I have a therapist?”

“Not really, but while we're on the subject: why do you have a therapist?”

“I'm having increasing difficulty making major decisions. When pushed, I have flashbacks vivid enough, and bad enough, to put me on the floor. Vickie's going on the theory that I need to get a handle on my guilt. Kick it in the ass and the problem goes away.”

“Ian, if you need help, this needs to be done in-house; you know the drill.”

“Lessing is backstopping Vickie. That's as in-house as we're going to get.”

“Fair enough. And you haven't answered the question: are you getting ready to call it quits? I'm asking because I need you in Poland soonest. We've tasked Henri to fly up from Marseilles to check out a shipyard in Gdansk, but he'd just be running cover for you. There's an activist trying to piece together a labor union in the yard, and he's making the party apparatchiks nervous. I need you to take a look, and pass judgment.”

“And what am I supposed to do with the half dozen SB clowns who'll be tagging along? Come on, Donnie, my usefulness behind the Iron Curtain is down to zero. Hell, in Budapest they planted a bug in my borscht!”

“True, but in fairness, you did embarrass the security team shadowing you hither and yon when you sent a bottle of wine to their table. And it's not like you weren't already driving them nuts with all the bubblegum you were planting on park benches.”

“Well, it does keep them busy, and the last time I checked, that was the point.” Ian had spent nine hours hobbling around Budapest more or less at random, his pockets filled with Bazooka. He had left souvenir after souvenir on the bottom of park benches, knowing that Hungary's version of Boris and Natasha would have to scrape it all off in their endless search for the microdots that he never in fact carried.

“And I'll bet they just love pawing through the dirty diapers that you're abandoning in public toilets everywhere you go,” Freeman laughed.

“Gotta change somewhere,” Ian breezily remarked. “And you left out the wipes. They don't get flushed, so the boys have to empty out every trashcan I visit and haul the contents back to HQ for analysis. My diaper bag is probably the single most feared item in all of eastern Europe!”

“Isn't paranoia wonderful? At bottom, you're just a tourist, but when you show up the local Gestapo is convinced that you're some kind of James Bond dropping in to overthrow their government over a long weekend. We know for a fact that Irina has tried to set them straight, and you'd think that a Lieutenant-General in the GRU would have some pull, but these bozos just keep doing the same old, same old. You collect fleas and ticks everywhere you go, and in the process you're making her life miserable!”

“Not by design,” Ian protested. He was acutely aware of the tape recorder operating somewhere in the background. He did not want his words to be twisted into a weapon that could be used to hurt others.

“The foot drop episodes are getting worse, Donnie; it really is time for me to retire. And don't snow me, okay? There's always a plan B; no one's indispensable.”

“Of course there's a plan B,” Freeman scoffed; “and a plan C and so forth. Hell, we've got a plan to repel an intergalactic invasion! It's what we do. So, yeah, I can send someone else to Gdansk … but what I can't do is plug someone else into the back channels that you've opened, however inadvertently, into Soviet intelligence.”

“Russian intelligence,” Ian automatically corrected. In Saigon he had crossed paths with a French planter whose family had been defending their plantation against communist insurgents for generations. Henri Duplessis had taught him to use language to reach beyond politics to culture, and in return Ian had introduced Henri to an Agency contact. Transplanted to Marseilles in the closing months of the war, Henri's shipyard was one of Langley's most critical assets in the western Mediterranean.

Ian had been urged more than once to try and persuade Irina to defect, but he had simply shaken his head in disbelief. Irina Orlov was a senior officer in a politically and economically bankrupt state that in his estimation was on its last legs, but in her breast beat a Russian heart. In the aftermath, she would be there to pick up the pieces and help forge a new nation.

“Are you going to tell her,” Freeman asked.

“That I'm retiring?”

“No … that you're getting married … again.”

“Donnie, how many times do I have to say it? There has never been anything personal between us.”

“Then why did she warn you not to marry Emily? She told you to your face that you weren't ready … hadn't moved on. But you didn't listen, and look at the result. Well, what makes you so sure that you're ready now … that you won't drag this Sarah of yours into a similar train wreck?

“A lot older and at least a little wiser.”

“Bullshit! Ian, okay … look … I'm taking off my Deputy Director's hat. Right now, I'm talking to you as a friend … the guy that a sniper had zeroed in, that you came out to drag to safety, eating a bullet in the process. The Agency got diddly squat out of your officers and noncoms after you brought down the Hind, so we're left with bare facts. First, you called in the recovery team, and the fuselage was in such good shape that it took less than two years to reverse engineer Mikhail Mali's latest toy. Congratulations on a job well done. Second, you captured the pilots unharmed, one Captain Sergei Federov and one Colonel Irina Olav. Third, you refused to hand them over to your Montagnard friends to be sliced, diced and fed to their pigs. Fourth, you refused to process them for interrogation. And fifth, in the last, grand romantic gesture of modern warfare, you and Irina mounted Toby and rode off into the jungle, where you bid adieu to Sergei and Irina on the outskirts of a village controlled by the Pathet Lao. Have I left anything out?”

“Hand over to be questioned by whom, Donnie? You seem to forget that I wasn't in Saigon's chain of command. Studies and Observation Group personnel reported directly to the Special Assistant for Counterinsurgency and Special Activities at the Pentagon, and he reported directly to the President. Should I have clapped a pair of Russian officers in irons and shipped them off to Washington? Don't think so. Instead, I questioned them myself, and quickly came to the conclusion that I was wasting my time. Then what? I couldn't shoot them and I wasn't running a hotel, so I sent them packing and then got the hell out of Dodge! End of Story.”

“Not quite,” Freeman countered. “Three months later, you were in a hospital bed in Japan fighting for your life, and after nine months of surgeries and rehab, cane in hand you left Hawaii under your own power. To do what? Your next stop was the Pentagon, and a meeting that went so bad that you resigned your commission on the spot. Then off to Viet Nam you went, a civilian entering a war zone from which we were actively withdrawing! You made the rounds, triggering alarm bells everywhere you went. Some of our colleagues thought that you had lost it, Ian, and the dust storm only settled because you finally decided to come clean and tell someone who could help-- to wit, me-- what the hell was going on. You and I cut a deal on the spot, the Director gave it his blessing, and we've been at it ever since. You carry the ball for us worldwide, but when you go behind the Iron Curtain, how often does Irina show up to hold your hand on a stroll through the streets of Prague? Share a quiet meal with you in a quaint corner of Krakow? It's obvious that she put you on a watch list the moment she returned to Moscow, and now she heads the GRU Directorate responsible for counterintelligence activities in the European theater. She's your guardian angel, Ian, and if there's one person you need to talk with before you dive off the marital cliff, it's Irina. If you're still not ready, she'll tell you straight to your face. If you won't do it for yourself, at least do it for your bride to be.”

Leaning his forehead against the wall, Ian sighed deeply, not at all sure how to respond. There was nothing casual about his meetings with Irina Orlov, nor his less frequent encounters with Sergei Federov. On the surface, Timbuktu had been just another favor for the Agency, which had no one with Ian's security clearance capable of speaking any of the Songhai dialects. In reality, however, Ian had accepted the assignment in order to speak directly with Sergei, who at the time had been completing an arms deal in neighboring Upper Volta. A prominent figure in the shadowy universe of international arms trading, Sergei had access to sources of information beyond the reach of Donnie and Irina-- and beyond the reach of Irina's father.

As far as Irina had risen, her father had risen farther. Dmitri Orlov was now the Chairman of the First Chief Directorate of the KGB, the spymaster in charge of Soviet intelligence operations worldwide.

And the three Russians all owed Street Racer dolg chesti… a debt of honor.

. . . .

As soon as Vickie dashed out the door, Rita picked up the phone and dialed Manny Cepeda's direct line. Manny had long been in the habit of starting his workday with a leisurely cup of coffee before he ventured out for a hands on inspection of the hospital's current construction and repair projects. Relaxing in his plush swivel chair, that first cup of joe always seemed to leave Manny in a good mood.

“Cepeda,” he mumbled.

“Manny, it's Rita. “Got time to host a 'diaper your favorite nurse' auction between now and Christmas … all proceeds going to buy presents for the neighborhood children?”

“Sounds like fun. How many nurses are volunteering?”

“Just two … Sarah and myself. Bidding to be restricted to female members of the staff, and there are conditions.”

Manny laughed gleefully. “There will be plenty of interest! Where are you thinking of holding the auction?”

“How about with each of us climbing up on a table in the center of the cafeteria?”

“Pancho Villa, hold my phone calls! Kid, you've got spunk,” Manny hooted.

“Here's the fine print. The diapering is to take place between ten and eleven on nights of our choice, in room eleven of the psych ward. The winner will have to come back in the morning, probably at seven, to release us from our cribs, clean us up, and put us in nice, clean diapers. There is patient involvement, and I have yet to raise the matter with Major Grady. I thought I'd run it by you before pitching it to him.”

“Think Street Racer will be okay with it?”

“Positive. He has a weakness for good causes.”

“Dates?”

“Flexible, but not later than the nineteenth and twentieth. It has to be before the wedding, and we don't want to compete with the usual run of Christmas parties.”

“I can make it work … no problem. Get the Major to sign on the dotted line, and we'll sort out the details afterwards. Any chance that Vickie would like to join the fun?”

“Manny, it wouldn't surprise me if she joined the bidding! Right now, Sarah and Vickie are hammering out the details of our living arrangements, and I choose the term 'hammering' advisedly.”

“Makes sense,” Manny nodded. “It probably wouldn't be a good idea for the three of you to sit back and take things as they come. After all, somebody's got to wash the dishes!”

“Hearing you loud and clear,” Rita laughed in turn.

“You doing okay?” They both knew that Manny was referring to Rita's visit to the lab late on Monday afternoon.

“I'm fine, Manny; in fact I'm more than fine, and thank you for asking. Ian and I are going to sit down on Thursday for a heart to heart conversation. I'm debating how to broach the obvious question.”

“Wish I could help you there, but alas, if there's a magic bullet, no one's ever found it. Best I can offer is for you to be honest about your own feelings. I can't see him lying to you if you're open and up front about it; what guys resent is a nasty surprise.”

“I'll get back to you on Friday. Bye Manny; have a good one.”

Rita hung up, still not at all sure how to bare her soul without leaving Ian feeling trapped inside the raging storm of her own needs and desires.

. . . .

Still trying not to draw attention to herself, Vickie crossed the foyer and headed directly to the staff locker room. Pausing only to grab the bag on the top shelf of her locker, she continued on to the restroom. To her infinite relief, it was vacant. Since the toilet was in an enclosed stall and other staff might have need of the sink, she reluctantly decided to leave the door unlocked. Removing her blouse and bra, Vickie lowered her pants around her ankles, and sat down on the toilet seat.

Unzipping the bag and leaving it at her feet, she leaned back against the cold toilet tank, closed her eyes, and began to massage her nipples. Thinking about Ian … fantasizing about the two of them finally freed from their diaper bondage …

His mouth sucking on her breasts … his tongue working its magic on her clit ...

Vickie moaned softly as her nipples hardened.

Mounting him and taking them both to a furious climax …

God!! Reaching into the bag, Vickie pulled out a set of nipple clamps and attached them, her movements smooth and sure, born of long practice. She moaned again, more loudly, the fiery pain exquisite in its promise of the pleasure to come.

Eyes still closed, her hand slid inside the bag to grab the wand, which she activated even as she climbed to her feet. She used it first on her breasts, then on the inside of her thighs. Thinking of Sarah forcing her over her knee, spanking her hard … Ian beneath her simultaneously sucking on her rock hard nipples while Sarah's hand rose and fell … Vickie turned the wand on full, and attacked her thick diaper cover, praying that the thin diaper she was wearing underneath would not absorb the vibration.

It didn't.

It began as a gentle tickling, but the sensation soon began to build, the blood engorging her clit. Her breathing became more shallow and more and more rapid, the effort to keep her eyes tightly shut more and more demanding, but she would allow nothing to interfere with the waves of pleasure that were flowing through her body, building to a thunderous crescendo.

Turning blindly to lean against the wall, her hand frantically pressing the wand hard into her diaper, her mouth gaping open in the struggle to breathe, Vickie climaxed. And she moaned. Loudly. Had anyone heard? Truth be told, she didn't care.

Vickie released her bladder, and let pee stream into the thirsty material locked around her waist. That's what it was there for, she reasoned, and besides, it would be fun to stroll into Sarah's office and demand a diaper change. Would she be able to smell the juices that had flowed out of her vagina, or would the heavy urine smell mask the telltale odor of a woman in heat?

Only one way to find out, and my first session is still twenty minutes away ...

Later, looking back on the experience clinically, she would grade the orgasm one of the most intense that she had ever experienced. Her one regret was that it had taken her so long to discover just how much pleasure a girl could get from wearing a diaper that she couldn't remove.

. . . .

“I'll talk to her, Donnie, but I can't exactly call the switchboard at GRU headquarters, and calling her at home is out of the question.”

“You have her home telephone number,” Donnie gulped. The Deputy Director was stunned. There were only four men in the whole government who could break the seals on a 34 Alpha file, which is where the reports of Ian's activities, both military and civilian, were buried. Granted, he hadn't actually just said that he had her number, but it was hard to miss the implication. The idea that Street Racer could simply pick up the phone and casually call one of the highest authorities in Soviet intelligence was scary as hell.

“It would be best if she called my office at three on the dot,” Ian replied, carefully sidestepping the question that he knew Freeman desperately wanted him to answer. He was equally careful not to suggest what he already knew-- that the Deputy Director could contact anyone in the highest reaches of the Soviet intelligence services at will.

“I'll see what I can arrange, but it would be better if you talked with her face to face.”

Glancing at his watch, Ian winced. Damage control would have to start with Priscilla, and the precious minutes that he needed to figure out what he could and could not tell her were slipping away. He needed to put an end to this conversation.

“Donnie, I'm running out of time here.”

“You're preaching to the choir, Street. Every time we turn over a rock, we look underneath, but it's like trying to find two grains of sand on a beach a mile long and a half mile wide. Worse yet, the tide ebbs and flows, constantly rearranging the landscape. We don't have a lot to work with.”

The Deputy Director had completely misunderstood Ian's frame of reference-- or had he? Their relationship was complicated, and Ian well understood that Donnie was more than capable of sending him a message inside a message.

“She'll be ten on her next birthday, which is fast approaching,” he commented in response. “And my goddaughter will be …”

Ian bit down hard on the rage boiling up inside him. He was fifteen and just starting his junior year in high school when he could no longer ignore the obvious. Miss Khasigian had been there in the tenth grade to tutor him in Russian, and the next year she was gone. Miss Anagnos had taught him modern Greek and French in the ninth grade, then disappeared. In the eighth grade it had been Miss Manice who artfully passed him her personal copies of Homer and Virgil, then stayed on after school to coach him in classical Greek and Latin once he showed an interest in reading them in the original. She was not there when he moved on to the ninth grade-- the first of the ghosts that were now passing through a child's life with disturbing regularity.

Ian reckoned that it had started innocently enough, when he was eleven. It was the summer vacation that separated sixth from seventh grade, and he had been prowling the stacks of the vast downtown library when he stumbled upon the thin volume of poetry. Opening it and beginning to read at random, he quickly realized that he understood the words but not their meaning. Then, looking more closely, he discovered that he was reading a translation of Japanese haiku. Perhaps, he reasoned, the poetry would make more sense if he read it in Japanese. And so he had made the fateful decision to ask the reference librarian to help him learn the language. Since he could already converse in Spanish and German, learning still another tongue didn't strike him as much of a challenge.

It wasn't.

Mrs. Randolph had humored him, loading him up with books and records, showing him where the Japanese newspapers flown in daily from Tokyo were housed. Then she had left him to it, presuming that he would quickly lose interest and move on to something more fitting for a child.

It took him five weeks.

As it turned out, the public library did not have a copy of the Japanese original, but the chairman of the Asian Languages department at the nearby university did. Ian's mom took a day off from work to drive her son to campus, where the three of them shared lunch in the faculty club. Afterwards, the chairman sat there in utter shock as he listened to the little boy read the poetry out loud, his accent not only flawless but also polished, his delivery confident.

Ian began to spend more and more time at the university. He learned that Korea had its own version of the Alamo, and so the following summer he mastered its language in order to read the Samguk Yusa. The epic tale of the siege of Buy-eo and the tragedy of the falling flowers enthralled him, and he vowed one day to stand upon the cliffs from which the maidens had flung themselves onto the rocks below.

He had gone five years earlier, stealing time from yet another Agency assignment.

At age fifteen, he was completely fluent in ten languages. He had skipped the fourth grade, and only his mother's stubborn opposition had kept him from skipping the seventh as well. She was worried that he would become a social outcast if his classmates were all two years older in high school. The school authorities had relented, but only in the face of her threat to resort to home schooling.

The eleventh and twelfth grades were his years of alienation. The subjects in which he excelled came easily, but he had no interest in math and science, and his grades were average at best. Surfing and street racing were his twin passions; girls, at least the ones in his classes, were a year older and out of reach. When a guidance counselor asked him at the start of his senior year about his career options, his first choice was to become a mechanic.

Cursed with a singular lack of self awareness, he had no sense of the extraordinary gift that had been bestowed upon him, but others noted how easily he picked up Italian as a Senior, and they were stunned when he went home one Friday afternoon not knowing a word of Romanian, and came back to school on Monday morning speaking it like a native. At age seventeen, he was completely fluent in twelve languages.

Although his grades did not warrant admission, the university doors were flung wide open, and scholarships for which he was encouraged to apply made him both financially comfortable and independent. Required courses were waived, his time now devoted exclusively to language, history, and international relations.

Graduating a semester early and near the top of his class, with five more languages under his belt, Ian was barely twenty-one years of age when he sought out an army recruiter with an eye to putting his mastery of Vietnamese to good use. It was payback for ten long years of dancing like a marionette, his strings being pulled by an unseen agent hiding behind the curtain. And he strongly suspected that this same agent had murdered his parents, leaving him alone and vulnerable at age nineteen, a continent away from his extended family. They had died, he was told, in a head on collision with a drunk driver. But someone had forgot to forge an obituary notice to support the news headlines. He had checked.

And Donald James Freeman, the Deputy Director in charge of covert operations worldwide, was now the voice of the Agency, the voice whispering into his ear.

“My niece,” he corrected, just turned eleven. The closer they get to puberty ...”

“On it, Street; in fact, we're all over it. And I'm going to be brutally honest with you. Sentimentality has nothing to do with it. We have to know whether your daughter has inherited your gift. If she has, we are prepared to take extreme measures to prevent her falling into the wrong hands.”

“Then I do need to speak with Irina. Dolg chesti.”

“Yeah,” Freeman agreed, “a debt of honor. You not only saved Irina's life, you shielded her from the worst form of degradation that a woman can suffer. Ian, the only way that Dmitri can balance the scales is to find Linh and bring her home … Linh and Thu both. And so we search. Admittedly for different reasons, but I promise you this: the file won't close until the day you are holding them in your arms.”

Hanging up the phone, Ian pushed a tiny button on the side of his watch. With its fancy digital interface and crimson numerals, the Pulsar was well beyond the reach of his pocketbook, but it was just one of the many toys with which the Agency had equipped him.

07:37

It was Wednesday, the twenty-eighth of November, in the year nineteen hundred and seventy nine. In less than a month, Ian was supposed to wed, but walking back to his office, the pain in his right hip beginning to flare, he was consumed with doubt. Would he lose Sarah when she found out what a mess he had made of his life, and how much baggage he would be bringing to their marriage?

Would he end up losing all three of the women he loved?

. . . .

This concludes season one of An Homage to Vincent Vega

[Bluebird67]

13 hours ago, Babypants said:

I’m asking because I need you in Poland soonest. We've tasked Henri to fly up from Marseilles to check out a shipyard in Gdansk, but he'd just be running cover for you. There's an activist trying to piece together a labor union in the yard, and he's making the party apparatchiks nervous.

Ooh! Ooh! I know this one! I remember the banners. I also remember the optimism about how Russia would turn out after the fall of communism. But your Dimitri Orlov would have seen the start of the career of a certain В Путин.

[Babypants]

1 hour ago, Bluebird67 said:

Ooh! Ooh! I know this one! I remember the banners. I also remember the optimism about how Russia would turn out after the fall of communism. But your Dimitri Orlov would have seen the start of the career of a certain В Путин.

Thanks for not dropping the name.  Been planning to use it as the historical quiz for this scene.  And you are right-- Vladimir is one of Dmitri's proteges.

[Guilend]

I'll be honest, most of the stuff with Ian was a bit much to me, I never liked history, I skimmed most of that and skipped the rest, but I did enjoy Vickies part. I don't know if Sarah would change her so soon lol. But I still think Auntie Rita called and told Sarah about what Vickie did or had said what she was planning. So I think Sarah will be waiting for her when she gets there. From how Vickie thought about being locked in a diaper as she was peeing in it, I wonder if she's referring to her time with Ian the first time she was in diapers, because I think she was locked in them then to, so it makes me think that she's worn diapers for sexual reasons before now, from how she worded it.

[kerry]

This is certainly one of the most complex stories on here. I've said before that I enjoy the concept of a diaper story set in the late 70s. Until now, though, I did not realize how much I did not know about Ian. I'm certainly interested to learn more in "Season Two."