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

[Babypants]

8 hours ago, kerry said:

This is certainly one of the most complex stories on here.

Thanks for the compliment (at least, I'll take it as a compliment).  Frankly, stories with a few stereotypical characters doing predictable things in a fetish setting bore me.  Human beings are complicated creatures, and in my opinion fiction that is character driven rather than plot driven is only realistic if it reflects this complexity.  At season's end, Rita is an island of calm stability in stormy seas.  Ian is a lost soul, and Sarah and Vickie are two close friends who are discovering that love means very different things to the two of them.  And in a story that is heavy with foreshadowing, what Donnie is telling Ian in this scene promises to lead us to a very dark place in season two, with our four central characters (as well as Priscilla) forced to make agonizing decisions without any real sense of the right course to follow.  In short, real life with a diapered twist.   

[Babypants]

On 1/1/2024 at 2:27 PM, kerry said:

I've said before that I enjoy the concept of a diaper story set in the late 70s.

When a story appears in serial form, with chapters appearing roughly every week, it's easy for readers to lose track of when the story is occurring.  I hope that the quizzes help to place it in the late 70s.

On 1/1/2024 at 2:27 PM, kerry said:

Until now, though, I did not realize how much I did not know about Ian

With so many characters expressing POV, I reached deep into the bag of tricks to give them back stories without a string of biographical dumps.  With Ian, I used flashbacks early on, in tandem with Bian's memories and his conversations with Phil.  Then I started sprinkling casual references to his life before and after the army, but from the beginning I planned to keep him in the shadows until this point in the story.  I am really thankful that readers bore with me, instead of demanding to know who Ian is in the early scenes.  We will learn more about him in the second season, and we have not yet delved into Rita's life.  I'm going to have fun with her. 

[Babypants]

On 1/1/2024 at 1:33 PM, Guilend said:

I did enjoy Vickies part. I don't know if Sarah would change her so soon l

Don't think of what's happening as Sarah changing Vickie.  This is a contrast between what is called Ego love, which is controlling (Sarah), and Authentic love, which is selfless (Vickie).  Vickie is knowingly and willingly paying the price that Sarah demands in order to love Ian without reservation, and to receive his love in return.  

On 12/31/2023 at 10:12 PM, Babypants said:

On 1/1/2024 at 1:33 PM, Guilend said:

so it makes me think that she's worn diapers for sexual reasons before now

 

"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."

[Guilend]

Lol yeah that part. The end where she says can't remove. She didn't end with wearing a diaper, she ended it with wearing a diaper she can't remove. While yes she could be imply the night in Ian's crib, but I don't think she could remove it then either, I'd have to go back and read it, or simply the not being able to remove was the focus of pleasure, but she could also be implying that she's done diaper play at some point in her kinky life lol.

And I totally get that theirs more, deeper stuff going on and some of it I understand, but due to my mental shortcomings, I don't see a lot of the deeper stuff. I mostly read into things in a paranoid lense which I've been working on avoiding for obvious reasons lol. So I apologize if I don't truly see or understand your story in it's fullest sense. 

[Babypants]

28 minutes ago, Guilend said:

While yes she could be imply the night in Ian's crib, but I don't think she could remove it then either, I'd have to go back and read it, or simply the not being able to remove was the focus of pleasure, but she could also be implying that she's done diaper play at some point in her kinky life lol.

Back in scene 27 (Lullabies, roughly Labor Day weekend), Vickie is indeed locked into her diaper inside Ian's crib, and she has multiple orgasms as a result of nursing him like a baby.  In that scene, she does not associate her pleasure with the diaper but with the act of nursing a baby.  Here in scene 41, she is relating to the erotic possibilities of the diaper for the first time, but the focus is upon finding a way to orgasm without direct clitoral stimulation.  In a way, what she is now discovering is how much fun chastity play can be.   

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz:

When Ian passes on the mission to Gdansk, he foregoes the opportunity to meet a person of great historical importance.  Who was the union organizer in the Gdansk shipyard?

[Bobbyca]

Thoroughly enjoying the story and all of the twists and turns

Union organizer in Gdansk; Lech Wałęsa

[Babypants]

12 hours ago, Bobbyca said:

Lech Wałęsa

Correct.  And thanks for commenting.  From a guy who bought into one of those high rise condos on Vicora Linkway in Don Mills back in the early seventies.  How i miss the restaurants in Greek Town!

[littlebopeeper]

Fantastic conclusion to the season.  I'm happy to say that I guessed right on one of the revelations, but missed completely on the other.  Can't wait for the second season to get under way.  Really want to know how far Sarah can take Vickie down to becoming a baby.

[Babypants]

21 hours ago, littlebopeeper said:

Fantastic conclusion to the season.  I'm happy to say that I guessed right on one of the revelations, but missed completely on the other.

Thank you so much for staying the course across the entire season, and for your feedback.  Without comments, it's hard for any author here to know how the story is playing out among our readers.

On 1/1/2024 at 1:33 PM, Guilend said:

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

I appreciate that you've hung in there, even though some of the content is not your cup of tea.  One of the great unknowns on this site is how far a writer can go outside the boundaries of diaper porn without losing readers.  A few of us are testing the boundaries, and I'm delighted to report that the first season of this story fared considerably better than I thought it would.

When we get to scene 47 (Children of the Heart), the closing segment is something that I wrote with you in mind.  Hope you'll like it.

[Guilend]

19 minutes ago, Babypants said:

appreciate that you've hung in there, even though some of the content is not your cup of tea.  One of the great unknowns on this site is how far a writer can go outside the boundaries of diaper porn without losing readers.  A few of us are testing the boundaries, and I'm delighted to report that the first season of this story fared considerably better than I thought it would.

It did take me a few tries before I went ahead and started reading it. I read like the first chapter, maybe not even the entire chapter and I was like, well it's about a guy that's has incontinence, which isn't my cup of tea. Then I do as I usually do, I got bored waiting on the other stories that I've been reading to update and so I noticed this one had many more chapters so I was like, it's well written if anything it'll be a decent read. Then I got suckered in by hot nurses, diapers and spankings, I'm asexual, and after the male sex, so it was bound to happen lol.

 

24 minutes ago, Babypants said:

When we get to scene 47 (Children of the Heart), the closing segment is something that I wrote with you in mind.  Hope you'll like it.

I can't wait for it.

[Babypants]

SECRET AGENT MAN

“We need to talk,” Ian said as he opened his office door and stood aside, silently bidding Priscilla to enter. His tone was brusque, the easy going manner that he always adopted with her shelved.

Entering, standing mute while he kicked the door shut with his foot, Priscilla suddenly realized that this was a man she had never met before. The Professor was gone, and the Major stood in his place. For the first time, she was face to face with the man who had commanded others, and issued orders that would send some of them to their deaths.

She shivered. It was cold in the room.

“Have you spoken with your father this morning?”

“Over breakfast,” she admitted.

“And your mother?”

“The same.”

“Did you talk about me?”

“Yes.”

Ian nodded, now sure of the path that he was following. “What was it that tipped your mother off?”

“The tracking device. Ian, she knows this stuff, and she says that it's military grade, state of the art. And you just happen to have it sitting in a desk drawer? It didn't make any sense!”

“Shit! You're right, Pris, and I apologize. This isn't on you or your parents … I was careless … just careless. It's all my fault. Shit!”

Ian slapped the desk with his open palm. It wasn't his first mistake, but if he could make his retirement stick, it just might be his last. He had been sent to this community at the back end of nowhere to blend in and disappear. And now he wanted to do just that. Falling in love had a way of altering a guy's perspective.

“Pris, I'm going to need your help to get the genie back in the bottle. A few minutes ago, your dad ran me through the NCIC, triggering an alert at the highest levels of the FBI. By now, a Deputy Director has been on the horn to his Chief, ordering him to back off, and the Chief will have passed the message to your dad. So, we can shut this down officially, but that doesn't get me off the hook with your parents. There are limits to what I can tell them, but I don't want their imaginations to run riot. This is less about me than it is the paranoia that rages up and down the banks of the Potomac. I swear that some of the fools back there would slap a top secret tag on a ham sandwich.”

“Ian, tell me the truth.” Priscilla was staring at him hard. “Are you some kind of spy? Have you been playing all of us for fools?”

“A spy?” Ian exploded with laughter, his sense of relief written all over his face. “A spy? Are you kidding me? Pris, I'm the farthest thing from! I've traveled the world for my friends at Langley, but most of it stems from the fact that I'm the only person in the country with a high security clearance who speaks a lot of pretty obscure languages well enough to get by. That trip that Vickie was wondering about … the one to Timbuktu? It's a case in point. I was sent out to do a meet and greet with a tribal chief who speaks a Songhai dialect that no one in our embassy can even touch. There was literally no one else that Washington could send.”

“That seems innocent enough … far too innocent to set off an alarm that would end up with my Dad being dressed down by the Chief. I need more, Ian, and my parents are going to want a hell of a lot more!”

“It goes back to Hue, Pris, and my inability to pass a physical after the surgery on my shoulder. I should have received a medical discharge, but the military didn't want to lose my language abilities, so they transferred me out of the chain of command into an outfit called the Studies and Observation Group. SOG tasked me with putting together a unit that ultimately housed more mercenaries than regular army. We're talking Vietnamese, Koreans, French, Aussies, Canadians as well as Americans … volunteers all.”

Ian shook his head, the details sharply etched in his memories. “We're talking about a highly experienced, elite fighting force,” he went on, “one that carried out missions that weren't always in strict conformity with American law. I worked for two men; my immediate superior was SACSA … the Special Assistant for Counterinsurgency and Special Activities.” Ian paused, knowing that he was about to cross the Rubicon. “His boss, and the only person he reported to, was the President of the United States.”

“My God!!!” Priscilla was literally slack jawed. “What you're describing sounds like a private army working directly for the President!!”

“Yeah. Can you imagine the fireworks if one of us were ever subpoenaed to testify before a congressional committee? Pris, everything I've done since Hue is heavily classified-- even the overseas jaunts that were nothing more than vacations.”

“So, Dad's poked a stick in a hornet's nest, and now they're flying around looking for someone to sting.”

“Pretty much,” Ian agreed. “But it gets worse.”

Priscilla simply stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Class starts in less than five minutes, and I need a diaper change.”

Priscilla burst out laughing. It's all so insane, she thought as she reached for Ian's diaper bag and changing mat.

By all rights, Allen Funt should be waiting outside, camera in hand … Smile! You're on Candid Camera!

. . . .

“Knock, knock.”

Sarah looked up from behind the stack of papers piled in front of her, surprised to see Vickie standing in the doorway, a sly grin on her lips and an impish twinkle in her eyes.

“Mommy, I made a tinkles in my diapee,” Vickie confessed, with just the right note of shameful regret. “Can you change me?” Vickie debated sticking her thumb in her mouth for added effect, but at the last moment decided that she might end up sucking on a pacifier instead. Sarah was not famous for her sense of humor.

“You might want to shut the door,” Sarah politely suggested.

“Oops! You're right, Mommy; we don't need an audience!” Taking Sarah's advice, Vickie then danced around the desk. She was thoroughly enjoying herself, and the game that she and Sarah were playing.

Sighing, Sarah stood up. “Arms out,” she commanded.

Vickie promptly obeyed, leaving it to her new mommy to unfasten her pants and sweep them down to her ankles. She was surprised, however, when Sarah removed the key to her diaper cover from her pocket. Vickie had expected it to be hiding in one of the desk drawers.

Sarah unlocked and loosened the cover, then lowered it to Vickie's knees. Her pink baby pants were next, but Sarah lowered the vinyl garment just enough to allow her to pat Vickie's diaper front, back, and bottom. Sarah took her time at the bottom, squeezing it roughly to get a better sense of just how wet Vickie really was. Without saying a word, Sarah pulled Vickie's baby pants back into place, then pulled up the cover, cinched it tight, and listened with satisfaction as the lock once more clicked into place. Both of her babies were naughty, and Vickie was as precocious and energetic as any toddler, but with time and training she was confident that she could bring them both under her firm control.

“Baby girl, your diaper is a bit wet, but not enough to warrant changing you. Come back after your first session is finished, and I'll check you again. I'll change you right away if you're poopy, but I want that diaper to be good and wet before I change you.”

“Thank you, Mommy.”

Vickie muscled her pants back into place, checked to make sure that the top of her diaper cover was well hidden, and left with a triumphant smile. Vickie's appetite for sex was insatiable; she needed relief at least once a day, every day-- and she knew it. Once they moved in together, however, it would be difficult if not impossible for Vickie to use her wand at home. She was certain that Sarah would put a stop to it instantly, and in any event she already knew that the heavy hospital diaper that she would probably end up wearing everywhere but at the office could not be defeated. The wand in her locker was her best option by far, but everything depended on whether Sarah would detect the pungent smell of her juices when changing her diaper. Vickie had been watching carefully, and she had seen nothing in Sarah's behavior to suggest that she was any the wiser. So far, she concluded, so good.

. . . .

After Vickie left, Sarah leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and brought her hand up to her nose. She had massaged and squeezed the crotch of Vickie's diaper with more than one purpose in mind. She was wet, but truly not wet enough to warrant a change.

Sniffing her hand, Sarah had no difficulty smelling the urine that she had touched with her fingers and palm. But there was a second, distinctive odor that brought a smile to Sarah's lips-- the distinctive smell of Vickie's arousal fluid. Sarah knew that Vickie kept a wand in her locker; she had joked about it more than once. And Sarah had an antidote stored in the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet. She would not make Vickie wear the hospital diaper during her shift, but she could reduce the number of diaper changes that she would have to perform if she packed baby diapers inside the thinner fabric supplied by Ian's diaper service. She decided to start small, with a couple of diapers folded lengthwise to make a pad four layers thick. If they didn't do the trick, she would add a third diaper and then a fourth, and all for the stated purpose of reducing the number of Vickie's trips to her office to the point where they would no longer arouse anyone's curiosity. At some point, the makeshift pad would become thick enough to prevent the wand from performing its magic.

Sarah had given a lot of thought to the demands of family … how could she not when, in a matter of hours, she and Vickie would have the results of their fertility tests in hand? It was obvious that Vickie badly wanted to have a child, and if her friend was capable of bearing children, Sarah was going to do everything in her power to make Vickie's wish come true. Playing the bad cop, she was going to force Vickie to channel all of her restless sexual energy into her relationship with Ian. Privately, Sarah thought that Vickie would make a wonderful mother, and although she could not put her finger on why, she somehow knew with absolute certainty that Ian would prove to be a loving father.

. . . .

“Dad? Dad, what are you doing here?”

Priscilla didn't know what surprised her more … seeing her dad hovering outside Ian's classroom, or dressed in civvies when he was on duty.

“Orders from on high,” Sergeant Canon admitted. He was staring hard at Ian, a well practiced confrontational look designed to intimidate. It sometimes worked on suspects and snitches.

It did not work on Ian Grady. Street Racer stood silent as a stone, waiting for Herb Canon to get on with it.

“I ran the professor here through the NCIC, triggered some kind of alert at FBI headquarters, got spanked by the Chief, and sent over here to find out what the hell is going on. First question, Professor: are you running some kind of covert training program in our backyard for one or more of the alphabet agencies?”

Ian chuckled lightly; his trips behind the Iron Curtain had always generated suspicion and hostility among the secret police, but he was beginning to think that cops in the American Midwest might not be all that different.

“Sergeant, the alert has to do with my past, not the present. I teach two language courses a day, and know little about my students except their names. Most of them look like bankers and stockbrokers … corporate types … but for all I know they could be junior G-men prepping for overseas assignments. And frankly, I don't care one way or the other. The tuition's the same either way, and I don't play favorites in the classroom. I have high expectations, and they apply equally to frat boys and Quantico's best and brightest.”

“Then I guess it would be all right with you if I sit in on this class, and look your students over for myself.”

“You're more than welcome, Sergeant; grab a seat anywhere you like. Now, if you'll excuse me ...”

Ian broke off the conversation to enter his classroom. Herb filed in to find a seat, leaving Priscilla to bring up the rear. She took her now customary spot just inside the door.

Neither Ian nor Priscilla was prepared for the mob scene that awaited them. The classroom was awash with coeds, several of whom Priscilla instantly recognized. It was obvious that PISS had turned out in force. Looking around, Priscilla gave herself an imaginary pat on the back. She would have bet a month's salary that this was some cockamamie scheme cooked up by Suzie Marshall … and there she was, sitting in the front row. Elegantly dressed, hair and makeup turned out to perfection, it was obvious that Suzie was intent upon seducing Ian-- and she was a seductress without peer. Whether this was a simple exercise in scalp hunting or a competitive urge run wild, it was obvious that Suzie wanted what Vickie Robinson currently possessed.

. . . .

Twisting and turning in front of the mirror in the staff locker room, Vickie was trying to survey her diaper zone fore and aft. Diapers bulged, and she favored skin tight pants that drew attention to her trim thighs and tight little ass. She was, therefore, expecting the worst, but to her great surprise found that on the whole she was pleased with what she saw. Cinched tight enough that she couldn't even get a finger inside the waist band, the canvas diaper cover did more than keep her chaste. The damn thing could be marketed as a girdle!

It keeps everything in its place ... in fact, if it reached up to my boobs, it could pass for one of those whalebone corsets that women wore in the nineteenth century ... thank you, Scarlett O'Hara!
 

Giving her shapely ass an admiring pat or two, Vickie retreated to the staff office and sat down in front of a typewriter. Taking Rita at her word, she proceeded to write up a report describing her “Autoerotic Experiment” (that was the title of the three page, single spaced document)-- a report that was as graphic as it was detailed. Vickie leaned heavily on the Derogatis Sexual Functioning Inventory (DSFI), although she zeroed in on two of its subsets (sexual fantasies and sexual satisfaction) to the exclusion of the rest. In her conclusion, she was happy to report that fantasizing about making love with Ian, in tandem with skillful application of her wand, had yielded a result scoring seven out of seven on the Female Orgasm Scale. In a postscript, she added that she was looking forward to repeating the experiment in order to generate additional data that would control for such variables as time of day and location of experiment.

As the nine o clock hour approached and Vickie prepared for her first group session of the day, there was a spring in her step and a broad smile on her face.

Diapers? Wet diapers? Never mind; it was all good.

. . . .

“Well,” Ian said as he surveyed the classroom, “historically my lecture on Korean dating etiquette has always been a winner, but never like this. It looks like the whole of the Pi Iota Sigma sorority has turned out this morning, with Miss Marshall here leading the parade.”

Ian nodded at Suzie, who was occupying her now customary front row perch. Once again, she was stylishly dressed, with nary a hair out of place and makeup artfully applied.

“Of course,” he continued with a knowing smile, “their spies may have informed them that my courses are attracting hard-working, well-dressed, clean cut young men sporting Italian silk ties and handcrafted penny loafers, which are all the rage in the office towers downtown-- and also in the upscale restaurants and nightclubs of Seoul and Busan, where some of you will doubtless be keen to make some female friends. But hear me well: it is not enough to stroll up and down Haeundae Beach showing off your well tanned, buffed physique. The lady may be attracted by your rippling muscles, but she will be well and truly turned off if you show her the soles of your feet! So, take care, gentlemen, when you are lying there, elbows up, admiring the attractive young women who come strolling by … bury your feet in the sand, and keep them there. To do otherwise shows a lack of respect, never mind poor manners.”

Lightly drumming his fingers on the podium, Ian was debating how best to take advantage of Suzie Marshall's gift. An innocuous question, he decided, might just open the floodgates.

“So guys, what's the worst thing you can do on a first date?”

“Ask her to go Dutch,” one of his male students tossed out …

“Showing up,” one of the coeds fired back.

The room erupted in laughter, a sense of camaraderie beginning to unite the two very different groups of students. Priscilla was willing to bet that, at lecture's end, more slips of paper bearing names and telephone numbers would be changing hands.

Careful to keep his back turned to the class, and taking his time, Ian wrote a string of characters on the board. Finally, he turned around and tapped what he had written. “It's pronounced deo-chi-pee-ee … 'Dutch pay'. Gentlemen, you need to be very careful here. When they are out in groups, Koreans expect to pay their own way. So, if you choose to be chivalrous and offer to pick up the the tab for one of the ladies, you are in effect asking her to become your girlfriend. And if she allows you to do so, she is publicly stating that she now considers you to be her boyfriend. Oops,” he laughed.

“But Professor, what if the girl takes the lead and offers to pay the guy's bill?” Wendy Stafford was fascinated by how quickly good intentions could get you into serious trouble in a strange culture.

“Miss Stafford, that's a good question,” Ian replied with a nod. “In a group setting, this could only happen between two people who have already accepted that they are girlfriend and boyfriend. One on one, however, this amounts to the girl saying that she wants him to become her boyfriend. If he is ready to make the leap, he will permit her to pay. If he's not ready, he will politely refuse.”

“So,” one of the male students wanted to know, “how can I take my secretary out for a drink after work without signaling that I want to date her, never mind get engaged?”

“Another good question,” Ian acknowledged. “Anyone got an answer?”

“Sure,” Carla responded. “It's obvious. You don't take one secretary out; you take two or more. There's safety in numbers.”

“Of course!” The male student rapped his forehead with his knuckles, admitting that he had overlooked the obvious. “Thank you, Miss.”

“My pleasure,” Carla answered. Her tone was silken.

The class proceeded smoothly. Ian brought up topics like gift giving and meeting her family, but he encouraged the students to bounce their ideas off one another, intervening only when the answers were wrong or in need of greater nuance. He paid no attention whatsoever to the veteran police officer sitting quietly and observing near the back of the room. And for her part, Priscilla marveled at Ian's ability to make learning fun, and in the process bridge the gap between two very different groups of students.

. . . .

At ten fifteen, Candy bid her battered women's group goodbye, and headed out to the foyer. As expected, Vickie was already waiting for her, camped out in her favorite overstuffed chair. Unlike abused women, the hard core alcoholics never lingered, so Vickie's morning group always ended first.

Candy took a seat beside her mentor, and looked at her inquiringly, the unspoken question hanging in the air between them.

“I just left Rita's office,” Vickie said tersely. “Linda called; both reports are ready.”

“I'll go down and collect them … drop off Sarah's at her office, then I'll come back up. Fifteen minutes tops. Vix, are you okay?”

Vickie's cheeks were bloodless, so much so that Candy would have sworn she had seen a ghost.

“I'm scared, Candy.” Vickie's halfhearted laugh was toneless. “For the first time in my life, I'm really, really scared. Love sneaked up and slapped me in the face ...”

“Think uppercut to the jaw,” Candy smiled, patting Vickie gently on the arm.

“Yeah,” Vickie conceded, “I guess so. And while I'm staggering against the ropes, it leans in and whispers in my ear-- 'and you want to have a baby'. At times, life seems like such a cruel joke. Can you honestly see me as a mother?”

“Actually, I can,” Candy confessed. “All this love was hidden away inside you, and then Ian came along and opened the door to your heart, and now it's all spilling out … making these great, big puddles. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, Vix, because you'd make a great mom.”

Standing up, Candy walked out of the ward and casually made her way to the lab. She left with two thin envelopes, the first of which she wordlessly deposited on Sarah's desk before returning to the seventh floor. Vickie hadn't moved. Indeed, she was so lost in thought that Candy chose silently to lay the envelope on the armrest before walking away.

The envelope lay there, and it was a while before Vickie could summon the courage even to touch it with her fingertips. The rest of her life depended on the clinical prose that lay inside. Whether tears of joy or tears of sorrow, Vickie knew that she was going to cry, but what she wanted was not privacy but friendship. Climbing to her feet and gripping the envelope hard, Vickie shuffled into Rita's office. She eased the door shut behind her, and settled into a waiting chair.

. . . .

It was after ten when Herb Canon finally got back to his desk. Ignoring his daughter's “I told you so” look, he had hung around after class just long enough to confirm that the sorority girls had piqued the interest of Professor Grady's fine young men. Gambling that one or more of his persons of interest were parked in the same public lot that he was using, Herb had navigated the treacherous, ice covered sidewalk back to his car at a dangerously brisk pace. Being parked in a NO PARKING ZONE at the entrance to the lot allowed him to observe approaching foot traffic, and to capture the license plates of departing vehicles. Five of Grady's students walked in and drove out, each in his own vehicle.

Five vehicles, five destinations, Herb concluded.

Each car had Minnesota plates, so if this was a Langley operation, someone somewhere was adhering to elementary tradecraft.

Herb decided to tail the last car, a nondescript late model sedan, as it wound its way through the slushy city streets, heading downtown. In his mind, the black, four door sedan screamed federal agent.

Less than ten minutes later, he was driving into a parking ramp in the heart of the business district, which was also home to city hall and the federal building. Continuing his surveillance on foot, Herb fully expected his quarry to head for the federal building, but he was both surprised and disappointed to watch him enter a gleaming, glass tower that was home to one of the largest banks in the Midwest. To all appearances, the young man was just another corporate climber in the banking industry, attending a class that would give him an advantage over the competition in far off Seoul, South Korea.

But there was another, much more ominous possibility: the guy could have been seeded into the bank to flesh out his Legend. Overseas, he would continue to draw his salary from the bank, but he would take orders from and report to a Controller at Langley.

Returning to headquarters, Herb was ushered into the Chief's office without delay. What followed, given the hard reality of budgetary constraints, was a foregone conclusion. The results of his preliminary investigation, he reported, were inconclusive. Grady's students did indeed look like Stepford husbands, but the heavily diapered professor was about as unlikely a spook as one could possibly imagine. The one student whom he had tailed had walked into an office building housing a bank with an international presence that could indeed have use of his services in South Korea. Further investigation would require manpower and logistics to track every student in the class, and that was an expense in time and money normally reserved for organized crime. Worse yet, such investigations were normally carried out by a joint task force involving one or more federal agencies-- but the FBI was one of the alphabet agencies that they might be pursuing!

Neither Herb nor the Chief had any illusions about federal law enforcement. The feds had two offices out by the airport that were in the phone book, but both men suspected that Fart, Barf and Itch was running one or more counterintelligence operations inside the rapidly growing Hmong, Vietnamese and Cambodian refugee communities in the Twin Cities. This was a turf war that they could not possibly win, and so the Chief reluctantly decided to let the matter largely drop. If Herb wanted to pursue it on his own time, he emphasized, the Department would be grateful for any information that he might choose to share, but there could be no departmental involvement.

Herb got the point, and so he returned to his office to phone Julia. In December, she had nothing but time on her hands and, if anything, her investigative experience out in the field was both broader and deeper than his own. The problem, of course, was Priscilla. His daughter had made her feelings on the subject of Professor Ian Grady crystal clear.

As he picked up the phone to make the call, Herb wondered whether either of them was even capable of breaking the one promise to Priscilla that they had made at her birth-- made, and never broken.

Could either of them outright lie to their daughter, never mind lie convincingly?

[Babypants]

Quickie historical quiz:

The premier episode of Candid Camera in October, 1960 featured one of the most celebrated skits in the entire run of this immensely popular series.  A convertible is seen going down a hill to pull up at the pump in a gas station, where the attendant soon discovers that the car has no motor!  What follows is classic Allen Funt.  The car was driven by:

A.  Dorothy Collins

B.  Connie Francis

C.  Katharine Ross

D.  Sharon Tate

[CDfm]

Failed to ensure my comment on the last chapter actually went through.  I will make sure this time.  
Ian continues to really surprise me.  At no time did I expect he was some kind of agent.  I guess after reading this latest chapter it makes more sense that several agencies were simply using his unique talents with speaking various languages. I know that someone with his abilities would be very valuable.  You could always recruit sources to provide similar services.  However,  you would always be needing to evaluate the source and information they were providing.  That can have a negative impact on time sensitive operations. Still it adds yet another interesting twist to the story. 
I will be watching for more. 

[Babypants]

19 hours ago, CDfm said:

 I guess after reading this latest chapter it makes more sense that several agencies were simply using his unique talents with speaking various languages. I know that someone with his abilities would be very valuable.

Ian's first formal date with Sarah was on 17 November, 1979.  These conversations with Donnie Freeman are occurring on the 28th.  Playing in the background?  The Iranians storming the American embassy in Teheran on November 4th.  At the time, you could count the number of people in this country who spoke Farsi without being Iranian or of immediate Iranian descent on the fingers of one hand.  Ian is fluent in Arabic, but as he likes to put it, knows Farsi well enough to "get by."  His value to the intelligence community is off the charts during this period.  It's important to keep this in mind as the story unfolds.

19 hours ago, CDfm said:

You could always recruit sources to provide similar services.  However,  you would always be needing to evaluate the source and information they were providing.  That can have a negative impact on time sensitive operations

A very good point.  Donnie assumes that in-country sources are selling their information to any and all interested parties, and never doubts for a moment that the info may be embellished, tainted, or outright fantasy.  This is why he wants Ian to go to Gdansk and personally take the measure of a potential asset in the shipyard.

[CDfm]

57 minutes ago, Babypants said:

Ian's first formal date with Sarah was on 17 November, 1979.  These conversations with Donnie Freeman are occurring on the 28th.  Playing in the background?  The Iranians storming the American embassy in Teheran on November 4th.  At the time, you could count the number of people in this country who spoke Farsi without being Iranian or of immediate Iranian descent on the fingers of one hand.  

I was in the Marine Corps at that time and worked within the G-2.  I knew several people who spoke fluent Farsi at that time.  I don’t know if you recall the botched rescue attempt or not but I was part of the deployment that was supposed to be a part of that rescue. 

[Babypants]

21 hours ago, CDfm said:

You could always recruit sources to provide similar services.  However,  you would always be needing to evaluate the source and information they were providing.

 

1 hour ago, CDfm said:

 I don’t know if you recall the botched rescue attempt or not

Remember it all too well.  Rice Bowl hinged on intelligence supplied by a foreign national employed as a cook in the embassy.  

[littlebopeeper]

On 1/10/2024 at 11:20 PM, Babypants said:

A.  Dorothy Collins

 

Wasn't sure about this one, but it was easy to look up.  Wasn't there a British version of this skit?

[littlebopeeper]

Vickie's got a great job!  Treat yourself to a nice mid-morning orgasm, write the experience up in a report, and collect your paycheck.  Ah, but Sarah's on to her.  How far down the rabbit hole will Vickie end up going?

[Babypants]

On 1/14/2024 at 7:42 PM, littlebopeeper said:

Vickie's got a great job!  Treat yourself to a nice mid-morning orgasm, write the experience up in a report, and collect your paycheck.

And the nice part of it?   Vickie can write the cost of her wand off as an employee business expense on form 2106 if she is filing a scheduled 1040. 

[Guilend]

56 minutes ago, Babypants said:

And the nice part of it?   Vickie can write the cost of her wand off as an employee business expense on form 2106 if she is filing a scheduled 1040. 

Oh yes, I'd love to see her have that conversation with the IRS. 😂

"We were going through your tax form for *dates* and we see that you put a sex toy as a business expense, is that correct?"

"Yes ma'am, it is. I was experimenting with how effect a wand is through a wet and sometimes messy, diaper as part of my job."

"So, you, um, experimented with having orgasms in dirty diapers, as part of your job, am I understanding that correctly?"

"Yes ma'am." 

😂😂😂

[Babypants]

17 hours ago, Guilend said:

Oh yes, I'd love to see her have that conversation with the IRS. 😂

"We were going through your tax form for *dates* and we see that you put a sex toy as a business expense, is that correct?"

"Yes ma'am, it is. I was experimenting with how effect a wand is through a wet and sometimes messy, diaper as part of my job."

"So, you, um, experimented with having orgasms in dirty diapers, as part of your job, am I understanding that correctly?"

"Yes ma'am." 

This is absolutely great.  With your permission, I'd like to run with this as a short story spin off from Homage.  Perhaps set years in the future, when Vickie entertains everyone at her daughter's bridal shower with stories of the crazy things that happened to her as a result of falling in love with Ian.   

[Guilend]

1 hour ago, Babypants said:

This is absolutely great.  With your permission, I'd like to run with this as a short story spin off from Homage.  Perhaps set years in the future, when Vickie entertains everyone at her daughter's bridal shower with stories of the crazy things that happened to her as a result of falling in love with Ian.   

Go for it lol.

[Babypants]

SARAH'S BABY GIRL

Ian walked around his desk and sat down. He gestured for Priscilla to take a seat as well, while glancing at his telephone. He was relieved to see that the light was not flashing. For a while at least, he would not have to deal with Donnie Freeman, although he badly wanted to talk with Irina.

“Suzie Marshall and PISS,” he said without preamble. “What was that all about?”

“Best guess?” Priscilla nodded her head, thinking about it. “Best guess is that Suzie takes your well groomed, neatly dressed young men at face value. Best guess is that she views them as financially attractive prospects, and is unleashing her girls to charm and seduce. Keep in mind, Ian, that Feminist Revolution or no Feminist Revolution, many young women still come to university in pursuit of their bachelor-- and I'm not talking about a diploma.”

“Well, I owe her big time, so I'd like to do something to help. How about asking her to host a party, and invite the male students in both of my classes to interact socially with her brood? After what I saw this morning, I'd say that some of these guys need to get out more, if only in self-defense. Take it from someone who knows South Korea well: the girls there would eat them alive.”

"Well, it all depends, doesn't it?” Priscilla was also trying to get a handle on what she had witnessed over the last hour. “You heard my Dad; he asked you straight out if you're running a covert training program for the alphabet agencies. And I listened very carefully to your answer. You didn't say 'yes', Ian, and you didn't say 'no'; rather, you danced around the subject. Your evasion was actually quite artful.”

Ian sighed, and sadly shook his head. He really, really liked Priscilla, and he needed to close the distance that was visibly opening between them.

“I told your father the truth, Priscilla: I don't know a damn thing about my students. Why would I? The intelligence community operates on a need to know basis. Everything's compartmentalized. Keeping me in the dark gives me what's known in the trade as 'plausible deniability' … and I can't share secrets that I don't possess.”

“Speculate.”

“Huh?” Ian looked at her blankly.

“Come on, Ian, just stop it! You are a highly trained, experienced intelligence officer. I'm not asking you to tell me what you know. I want to know what you suspect!” Priscilla was determined to get to the truth, and she was not in the mood to play games.

“All right.” Ian threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I'm guessing that the guys wearing tailored suits were sent here fresh out of Quantico, while the guys wearing jackets off the rack at Penney's are just what they seem-- a batch of young execs with the well compensated futures that sorority girls apparently dream about. Is that answer good enough?”

“It's a start. Now, why would you want to unleash a bunch of hard cases on these sorority girls? Yes, most of them are sexually experienced, but when it comes to the real world, they're terribly naive. Do you really want to do this to Wendy Stafford?”

“No, I suppose not,” Ian conceded, thinking about how badly his marriage to Emily had turned out. “But now you're engaging in speculation that's unwarranted, if only because you are painting with far too broad a brush. Let me give you a specific example. In due course, you are going to meet my Best Man. His name is Donnie Freeman. We fought side by side in the defense of Hue, and when Donnie was wounded, my team laid down smoke and I crawled out to drag him to safety. Donnie was already married to his college sweetheart-- he's a Princeton man-- and he had a daughter born only twelve days before he shipped out. He's still married to Elaine, and they now have three terrific children-- ah, but he's the Deputy Director in charge of our covert operations worldwide … the guy who gave me the assignments that underlie most of the stamps in my passport. Pris, I have dinner with his family every time I'm in DC; it's hard for me to see him as some kind of monster just because he works for the Agency. I simply won't go there, and I'm not about to typecast my students!”

“And what about Sarah? Sarah, and Vickie, and Rita? Are you going to go on playing Secret Agent Man after you're married? Is that fair? God, Ian, how can you be so fucking blind?” Priscilla was on her feet, venting her anger.

“Donnie wants me in Poland next week,” Ian quietly replied. “I turned him down, Pris, because you're absolutely right. I made the mistake of leading a double life once, and I won't make it again. I've handed in my retirement notice. I'm finished, though I'll go on teaching any students they send me. After all, it is my job.”

Ian stood up, and turned away to stare blindly out the window. “Officer Canon,” he asked, his back still turned to her, “do you wish to be reassigned?”

“No,” she said after giving it a moment's thought. “No … I want to stay on. I like you … I like you a lot. And besides, no one else in the Department would be willing to change your shitty diapers! So, I guess that you're stuck with me.”

“Not how I would phrase it,” Ian softly laughed, “but then I like you too. Are we still on for Thursday night?”

“I'm game, and so is Amos. It turns out that he has a few vacation days left this year, and he needs to use them or lose them. But are you sure that you know what you're doing? Sarah is going to be monumentally pissed, and she'll unleash her wrath on both you and Vickie.”

“We'll survive.” Turning around, Ian resumed his seat. “We want Sarah to manage our household, and so does Rita. Somebody has to take charge, set the rules, and enforce them evenly. And Sarah has volunteered. The thing is, she has to rule from the heights of Olympus, not the depths of Hades. A few workable rules that we all agree to are better than a lot of unworkable rules that we don't. Thursday night is about teaching Sarah the importance of letting us be ourselves. Think of it as a battle of wills.”

“Interesting. If someone starts a pool, I'm putting my money on Sarah. She strikes me as one tough cookie.”

“Speaking of wagering, will your dad show up tomorrow night?”

“He might. Do you want me to … um … ask him to come along … maybe serve as a referee?”

“Well, I'd like to get him drunk … two hail fellows well met, so to speak. But I suppose his job's tough enough without showing up with a hangover.”

“Oh, it wouldn't be the first time,” Priscilla giggled, “not by any stretch of the imagination. Dad has been known to really tie one on!”

“Well, just make sure he understands that being your father doesn't buy him special treatment. Hong Kong rules are Hong Kong rules.”

“Dad would be insulted if you cut him any slack! He insists that he's still at the peak of his game, even if he does have a bit of a prostate problem..”

“Offer him a diaper. It will save him a sizable chunk of change.”

“My dad wearing a diaper?” Priscilla frowned. “Nope, don't want to go there.”

“Speaking of diapers, we need to figure out how many we need, and how we're going to get them out of the hospital.”

“Got it covered. Amos is going to bring everything we need in his truck. We'll spread the stuff out on the bar, but there won't be any takers. These guys all believe that stakeouts have blessed them with cast iron bladders.”

“And Amos will also stick to his tighty whities,” Ian laughed, “although he should know better. How about you, Pris? Going to swallow your pride and wear a diaper?”

“Yep. I'll ask Vickie to do the honors. And leave Amos to me. Now, about the party that you would like Suzie to throw for your fine young men … I'll make a deal with you.”

“Yes?”

“I'll help you make the pitch. Guarantee, shall we say, that the campus police will be looking the other way that night. And in return ...”

“Still waiting.”

“In return, on Saturday night I want you to come clean. Tell Sarah, Vickie, Rita … no, tell everybody what you've been doing for your country all these years. Heck, I'll bring my Johnny Rivers cassette, and play Secret Agent Man in the background. And no, I don't expect you to spill classified secrets … God, forbid. The idea is to give everyone a pretty clear idea of what you're giving up to focus on building a wonderful, new life with the women you love. The more you share, the greater their sense of reassurance that the four of you can actually make this work.”

Mulling it over, Ian slowly and thoughtfully nodded his head in agreement. He had kept Emily completely in the dark about his extracurricular activities, and when she became suspicious and started to probe, he had tossed out one lie after another, inevitably to become enmeshed in the web of his own deceit. She had accused him of serial infidelity, and from her point of view his denials were just more lies to be added to the ever growing pile. He had told young Tippi Bjornsen the truth: given enough time, even the most trivial falsehoods corrode trust, and no relationship can survive its collapse. He had learned this lesson the hard way, and he did not want to repeat this particular mistake twice.

“It needs to happen, Pris; you're right about that. But I can only skate over the surface, like I did with you. The details of just about everything I've done since Hue are highly classified. Hell, I don't even want the Circle to know that SACSA reported to the President … the more people find that out, the more likely it becomes that it'll show up as a segment on Sixty Minutes. Can't have that.”

Priscilla stood up, and reached for Ian's diaper bag. She pulled out two bottles of breast milk, her touch confirming that they were still warm. “It's time for your snack, then I'll change you.” She got down on the floor, and leaned her back against one of the filing cabinets.

Ian joined her, resting his head in her arm, his feet sprawled out beneath the desk. “I've got an idea for how we can broach the subject, and make my tell-all seem more natural.”

She guided the nipple to his lips, and Ian opened his mouth to receive the teat. He began suckling without even thinking about it. Priscilla burst out laughing.

“This is so absurd,” she commented. “I mean, here we are … the Secret Agent Man and the policewoman, and what are we doing as we conspire to bare your secrets without committing high treason in the process? I'm cradling you in my arms, nursing you from a baby bottle, and getting ready to change your wet and possibly dirty diaper. I keep asking myself how I could possibly explain our actions to my parents, and I keep coming up blank.”

Ian pushed the bottle away. “You might start with the piece of metal lodged in my spinal cord, and explain how it got there. And you might point at the cane that Vickie insists I start carrying everywhere I go. It tells its own tale.”

“You're right, Ian, and I apologize. Anyway, what's your idea?”

“Give it some time to see if the subject comes up, but if it doesn't seem like it's in the cards, ask about our honeymoon plans.”

Priscilla frowned, not seeing the opening. “Go on,” she urged.

“Sarah's talking about a Caribbean honeymoon, which is fine with me, but I would banish Jamaica and Trinidad from the discussion. When asked why, I would truthfully admit that MI6 would have a fit if I showed up in either place. Then I'd explain why.”

“MI6 being the British version of the CIA?”

“Yep … and oddly enough, the Chief is a guy named Maynard Soames … 'M' for short.”

“Weirder and weirder,” Priscilla said with a smile as she corralled a stray lock and swept it off Ian's forehead. “I swear, not even Hollywood could make this shit up. Still, it should work; you could, for example, tell Vickie about Timbuktu and other exotic ports of call.”

“That's the plan.”

“I'm good with it. Now,” Priscilla said as she once again brought the baby bottle to his lips, “let's finish your ba bas and change your diaper. Your office hour is coming up fast, and Sorority Row will probably be out in force!”

. . . .

“Enter,” Rita said in response to the tentative knock on her door. She looked at Vickie, who was slouched in her chair. Both of them had a pretty good idea who was politely waiting to enter.

Like Vickie, Sarah shut the door firmly behind her. She wasn't surprised to see that her baby girl had got here first. They both needed moral support, and Rita was the anchor in this particular storm. It was only when she looked at the chair, which was normally buried under a stack of files but now sat empty, that she realized Rita had been expecting them both.

“You read your report, Stretch?” Vickie had decided that there was no point in beating around the bush.

“Not yet. You?”

“Uh, uh. I'm so freaking scared that the only thing I'd do with the letter opener is stab myself! Hats off to Rita for having the balls to do this in private.”

“Balls?” Sarah cocked an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” Vickie sniffed.

“Indeed, I do. And you're right … Rita, how on earth were you able to do this by yourself? If my report is bad news, I'm going to fall apart, and I need my friends to pick up the pieces!”

“It was late,” Rita shrugged, “and I was tired. I just wanted to get it over with, go home, and get some sleep. To be honest, I never considered what would happen if the report crushed my hopes. I still would have gone home, I suppose, but to get drunk and pass out. As it is, Linda has told me in no uncertain terms that I need to change my lifestyle-- get away from this desk, get more fresh air and exercise … and cut back on the coffee and booze. She's right.”

“What are the odds that she wrote the same thing on all three reports,” Vickie laughed.

“Once we start lactating,” Sarah warned, “the three of us are going on a caffeine free diet. And we are going to start tapering off the alcohol right now. Oh, we can still drink, but not to excess.”

“Saturday nights will never be the same,” Rita sighed.

“The Circle may expel us,” Vickie countered. “Party poopers can be a real drag.”

“Speaking of pooping,” Sarah interjected, “how's your diaper holding up?” She was staring at Vickie, but our of the corner of her eye she was studying Rita's reaction.

“You should have brought my diaper bag; I'm good right now, but however the report comes out, I'm going to start crying. Once the dam bursts, this diaper is in for a soaking.”

“My mistake,” Sarah admitted. “But don't worry about leaks; going forward, we're going to use baby diapers as stuffers. Then I won't have to change you so often, but your pants will still hide your secret.”

“Having Vickie running down to the third floor every couple of hours will draw attention,” Rita offered, “and it will disrupt her work routine. It would be better if I changed her here. I'll collect a diaper pail, a changing pad … the lot. Just supply me with some of Ian's diapers from the service, some stuffers, and I'll take it from there.”

“You're willing to change her?” Sarah was shocked.

“Yes. Sarah, Vickie and I agree that you must take charge of our household, or this will never work. You set the rules, including punishments for disobedience, and then enforce them fairly. I agree with you that our baby girl belongs in diapers full time; indeed, I'm thinking about putting her bed in storage, and converting her bedroom into a nursery. It will easily hold two cribs, so we can bed the two babies down in the same room.”

Sarah clapped her hands as a huge grin spread across her face. She was absolutely delighted with the turn of events.

“Oh, goody,” Vickie whined. “Now I have an auntie to go with my new mommy.”

“That's right, baby girl.” There was a triumphant note in Sarah's voice. “And neither your auntie nor your mommy are going to tolerate your usual antics. We shall both be spanking you, and paddling you. You will quickly learn that, in our household, zero tolerance is the rule!”

“Not fair,” Vickie whined again. She badly wanted to put her thumb in her mouth and start sucking away, but too much drama might arouse Sarah's suspicions. The whole point of this song and dance was to have Rita confirmed as “Auntie Rita,” not “baby Rita.” The household would need a second adult to check Sarah's dictatorial tendencies, which had already surfaced to an alarming degree.

“I like the idea of converting her bedroom into a nursery.” Sarah ignored Vickie's whining. “That way, we will only need the one changing table that you had delivered yesterday. And I've already started bottle feeding her with breast milk, so that changing table is going to see a lot of action!”

“You have? That's wonderful! Once again, if you want me to help out, I'd be glad to feed her. I have visions of nursing Ian and Vickie at the same time … I can't wait!”

“You have? Me, too!” Sarah was ecstatic. She knew that Vickie and Ian would be too much for her to handle alone, but with Rita at her side, Sarah was confident that her babies could finally be brought to heal. Finally, all of the pieces were starting to fall into place.

Acting on impulse, Sarah took the envelope containing her fertility report, and slit it open with a fingernail. She rapidly scanned the contents, and her face lit with joy. “The plumbing is in good working order,” she cried; “estrogen and progesterone levels are normal … and I still have over a hundred thousand eggs in storage! Linda says that I'm good to go, although ...” Sarah laughed as she tapped one finding. “Elevated cortisol … she wants me to cut out the caffeine, and get some exercise!”

“Is there anyone on the staff who could pass the hormone stress test,” Rita wondered. “You can't survive Residency without coffee … lots of coffee. And after four years, we're all addicted to the stuff.”

“Your turn, baby girl, or do you want Mommy to read your report for you?”

Sarah and Rita were looking at Vickie, both silently willing her findings to be equally positive. A negative result would be devastating, and not just for Vickie. One negative report would shatter all of their dreams.

With badly shaking fingers, Vickie offered the envelope to Rita. “Open it for me,” she begged.

Nodding, Rita took the envelope and gently broke the seal with her letter opener. But she did not remove the pages. Instead, she held out her hand. No matter the outcome, Vickie had to do this for herself.

Her fingers still shaking, Vickie opened the envelope, and somehow managed to remove the pages. As she started to read, she began to cry, the tears flowing freely. She paused a few times to wipe the tears away with the back of her hand, but she kept at it. Finally, she looked up.

“I can have a baby,” she sobbed.

“I can have a baby!!!”

. . . .

“What's happening,” Herb asked.

“I'm trailing the Lullaby truck,” Julia answered, “but there's been no action so far, even at a couple of stops the thieves have hit before. I'll peel off around eleven, head for the office, grab some lunch downstairs, and then amble over to the hospital. Maybe this Doctor Stevenson of yours will have a useful insight or two.”

“You might also ask her about her boyfriend, starting with how well she actually knows the guy.”

“What did you find out?”

“About ten minutes after I ran him through the system, the FBI's Deputy Director for Counterintelligence called the Chief, and told him in no uncertain terms to back off. Duly chastised, I hopscotched it over to campus, and got there just in time to take in his early morning class. Hon, I swear it's filled with Stepford husbands, but the one guy I tailed back downtown ended up in a glass tower home to an international bank. So, I had to tell the Chief that my preliminary was inconclusive. Since we don't have the budget or the manpower to pursue this, let alone the fact that we might be investigating a federal agency, Walt suggested that I look into it in my spare time-- which means, you, Hon. The bottom line? The Chief wants you to follow up, but off the books.”

“Shit.”

“I hear you. What the hell are we going to say to Priscilla? She thinks this guy's the gold standard. I swear to God, if he wasn't already spoken for, Grady would end up our son-in-law!”

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!!! Herb, I refuse to lie to my daughter! Do you hear me? It isn't going to happen!”

“Then, we have to do a workaround. But how?”

“No. Definitely no. On Saturday night, Priscilla is going to a party at Rita Stevenson's home, where Ian, Vickie, and his fiancee Sarah will all be in attendance. I'm going to tag along, and brace him in their presence. He might be willing to give me a song and dance, but how about the women with whom he shares his life? How many lies is he prepared to tell?”

. . . .

“Such a crybaby,” Sarah sighed.

“A regular leaky faucet,” Rita added with a grin. “Been that way as long as I've known her.”

“Guilty as charged,” Vickie conceded as she continued to wipe tears away with the back of her hand. Her makeup was a mess. “Good news … bad news … any news at all … and speaking of leaks … it feels like this diaper is soaked! Mommy, you or Auntie Rita need to change me!”

Sarah stood up, once again sighing theatrically. “Okay, baby girl, stand up and let Mommy have a look-see.” Once Vickie was on her feet, Sarah ordered her to turn around. “Nope,” she said, “no telltale leaks, so you're good for a while longer. Come back downstairs with me, and I'll change you in my office.”

“Ian and I are sitting down for a heart to heart tomorrow afternoon,” Rita cut in. She wasn't so much changing the subject as bringing it into focus. “I'm planning to sound him out about having children. There's no point in the three of us celebrating if it turns out that he doesn't want to be a father.”

“Well, we could surprise him,” Vickie laughed, though it came out as a cough. “He wouldn't be the first man to have parenthood take him by surprise!”

“Are you serious?” Sarah was looking at Vickie as if she had just sprouted a second head.

“Nope … just kidding. And my instincts tell me that he's gonna make a wonderful father!”

“Mine, too,” Rita murmured. Not for the first time, she wondered if that was why so many women found Ian so attractive. A loyal husband and loving father was a pearl of great price, but Ian's disability, his vulnerability, would be another plus in the eyes of many women. Sensible women wanted their husbands to be strong, but not too strong.

“Do I share these results with him,” Rita went on, ignoring the interruption. “Tell him what the three of us are planning?”

“He has to know.” Sarah was thinking out loud. “So, I'd say yes, but just toss it out … ask him to think about it. Maybe suggest that he share his feelings with us on Saturday night?”

“Ask a man to share his feelings! Oh, boy! Sarah, trust me on this … Ian is going to have a hard enough time talking about his feelings with Rita tomorrow afternoon. What are the odds that he will share them with the much enlarged Circle that awaits him on Saturday? Which reminds me ...”

“Yes?” Sarah didn't have the slightest idea what Vickie was about to say.

“Are we going to need more chairs?”

. . . .

Priscilla opened the door and stuck her head out into the corridor. It was once again awash with coeds, but there was nary a recruiter in sight. Whether the tribe had simply given up, or come to the realization that it really was Sarah to whom they would have to make their pitch, was anybody's guess.

“For the moment at least,” she called out over her shoulder as she opened the door wide, “we are headhunter free, but the scalp hunters are out in force. Want to get started?”

“Ready, willing, and able,” Ian laughed. “In fact, I could get addicted to this. Until now, I never realized how lonely I was during office hours-- sitting here all alone, frantically pounding away on one of tomorrow's lectures … the inevitable fate, by the way, of all first year professors. But now? Now, I open the door, and there's a charming young seductress waiting to try and claim my scalp. Life is good!”

“Enjoy it while you can. Once the word gets out that you have signed on the dotted line with Marilyn Marsden, all of this will come to an end. And no doubt, I might add, to Sarah's delight.”

Ian grimaced. His butt was bruised and sore, and if Sarah was true to her word, he would be receiving a spanking tonight, with another paddling planned for Thursday night. Only Ian wouldn't be there. Of course, as a consequence all hell was going to erupt on Friday morning, and there was a good chance he would still be doing damage control on Saturday night. No matter. It was obvious that his stubborn refusal to go home with her for the holidays had taught her nothing, so the lesson would have to be repeated. She could take control of their social life, but not of his friendships.

As he welcomed the first of the coeds into his office and took his seat behind the desk, Ian wondered just how well Herb Canon could hold his liquor.

. . . .

“All right, baby girl, let's go downstairs and change your widdle diapee.” Sarah was laying it on really thick.

“Um … I'd suggest that you start with a visit to the ladies room,” Rita interjected. “Her makeup's in ruins, and she'll need to change her blouse.”

There were dark smudges on Vickie's cheeks and blouse where her mascara had run, and her eyes were bloodshot. Normally immaculate, Vickie looked like she had just crawled out of a really bad car wreck.

Sarah nodded in agreement, and led the way. As they crossed the foyer, the few nurses who were taking advantage of their coffee breaks to write up morning reports looked up, did a double take, and then openly stared. And Vickie was oblivious to all. In the locker room, she retrieved her purse and a fresh blouse, and then followed Sarah into the restroom. Her motions were mechanical as she cleaned her face and refreshed her makeup, her mind a million miles away.

Taking the elevator down to three and walking to Sarah's office to get her diaper changed, Vickie was so happy that she positively glowed. More demure by nature, Sarah nevertheless couldn't stop grinning, and whenever she and Vickie looked at one another, they both burst out laughing. They shared an incredible secret which, for the moment, they were unwilling to share, but it was obvious to everyone they passed in the hallway that something wonderful had happened to them both. Within minutes, the rumor mill was churning hospital wide.

“Marilyn!!” It took effort, but Vickie somehow found her voice.

The rep from Recruitment Services International was sitting quietly in a chair outside Sarah's office, briefcase at her feet. She looked up, and her mouth fell open. Sarah and Vickie were jubilant; had they just won the lottery?

“It's good to see you again,” Sarah said, still grinning from ear to ear. “Have you worked up an agreement for Ian to sign?”

“Yes.” Marilyn tapped the top of her briefcase. “But I thought that you would want to read it first. Professor Grady has made it quite clear that this is your decision to make, not his.”

“True … all, too true.”

“You have your fiance well trained. I had to wait until after the wedding to school mine.”

“Ian has an aversion to making decisions. Ask him if he wants cream or sugar in his coffee, and he breaks out in a sweat! One of the things that makes him so lovable is that he owns up to his flaws, and our relationship works in no small part because he trusts my judgment.”

Marilyn followed Sarah and Vickie into the office, where she extracted a thin file from her briefcase. She laid it on the desk, and picking it up, Sarah was surprised to see that there was only one sheet of paper inside. It was simply titled Memorandum of Understanding. Rapidly reading the simple paragraphs, Sarah looked at Marilyn, her question obvious.

“Once Professor Grady signs the memorandum,” Marilyn explained, “it will shield him against further solicitation. To use an analogy from professional sports, I become his agent, so he can simply redirect anyone approaching him to reach out to me. We'll also give a copy of the memorandum to his department chair, whence it will make its way up to the Dean's office, and ultimately to the President's. I'll have a more detailed contract drawn up and delivered to you on Friday afternoon. You can take the weekend to look it over, but at its heart what the contract will be authorizing us to do is market Professor Grady to interested parties. I can guarantee you that, within a week, he will have offers from three to seven different firms, each of which will be courting him with a substantial increase in pay. If they wish to retain the Professor's services, it will be up to the Dean and the President to pony up the money for a significant raise. These are intelligent individuals, Sarah, and in my experience, when pressed in this manner they can become remarkably creative.”

“We play the game the same way inside these walls,” Sarah observed, “but what I don't see is how you profit from this scheme.”

“If Professor Grady should accept one of the outside offers, the company in question will pay me a sum equivalent to thirty percent of his first year salary for my services. If he stays put ...” Marilyn smiled knowingly. “If he stays put, the President's office will task us to locate suitable candidates for a number of administrative jobs, and when the university hires our candidates, we'll collect our customary thirty percent.”

“One hand washes the other.” Vickie clapped her hands with delight. “I like your style.”

“Thank you, Doctor Robinson … and if you ever want to change jobs, I would really enjoy representing you. I like the cut of your cloth as well.”

“Speaking of cloth.” Sarah looked knowingly at Vickie before reaching for a sheet of letterhead. She needed only seconds to scribble a brief note for Ian, which she handed to Marilyn. The recruiter laughed out loud when she read what Sarah had written:

Ian

Sign this.

Sarah

“I'll catch him during his afternoon office hours. Do you want me to bother him with the outside offers, or bring them straight to you?”

“To me.” There was no hesitancy in Sarah's voice at all.

. . . .

After Marilyn left, it was time for Sarah to deal with Vickie's diaper change. Dropping a changing pad on the floor, Sarah ordered Vickie to kick off her shoes, and then clasp her hands behind her neck. When Vickie complied, Sarah unbuckled Vickie's pants and slid them down her legs. Unlocking the canvas diaper cover, she lowered this and Vickie's baby pants as well. Sarah reached out to run her hand over Vickie's diaper. It was well and truly soaked, but when she peeked inside the rear, Sarah was mildly disappointed to discover that Vickie wasn't poopy.

The odd laxative in her breast milk will help things along, Sarah mused.

Sarah ordered Vickie to get down on the changing pad-- no easy task with her ankles trapped by her clothing, but using the desk for support, Vickie managed. Sarah swiftly unpinned her sodden diaper, then got to work with wet wipes. She was happy to see that Vickie's diaper rash was developing nicely; it would make the spanking that she would soon receive sting a great deal more. Sarah already had Vickie's next diaper ready, but she grinned maliciously as she held it up to Vickie's face.

“The way you're wetting, baby girl, I thought it best to pin some baby diapers inside your adult diaper. This way, you won't have to run down here every hour or so for another change. Rita's right; the more often you come here, the more questions the staff is going to ask.”

Sarah had taken two baby diapers, folded them lengthwise to yield a panel four layers thick, and pinned it to the rear of the adult diaper. She had done the same thing in the front, and since the two sets of diapers overlapped, there was now a panel eight layers thick in Vickie's crotch.

Efficiently applying baby powder and tightly pinning the diapers in place, Sarah slid the baby pants and diaper cover over Vickie's hips, then listened contentedly as the lock slid home. Vickie quickly redressed, and Sarah banished her back to the seventh floor.

If she manages to cum through a pad four layers thick, then the pad will increase to six and, if necessary, to eight. No more cummies for you, baby girl, unless you have my permission!

Glancing at the clock, and remembering the time zone difference, Sarah decided that it would be a good time to try and reach her mother. She dialed the number that bypassed the switchboard, and was relieved to hear Sofia's voice on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Mom … no, everything's good, although I could use your help. Any chance you can come down this weekend?”

Sarah waited patiently, knowing that her mom would have to check both her work and personal calendars. A hospital administrator's life was a busy one.

“You can? That's great … and Saturday night would be fantastic … you can join the Circle!”

“No, Mom,” Sarah laughed, “you don't have to bring enough Pasties to feed us all!” Sarah would have bet a month's salary that her mother would make the offer.

“Mom, I've now got two babies on my hands, and I can barely manage. Ian is shaping up nicely. He signed the D/s contract, and last night I paddled him really hard, then made him eat me out. It was mind blowing! But he's still rebellious, so I need to know what to use that's safe but even more severe than the paddle. And as for Vickie … I've got her in diapers 24/7, and within a day or two should have them doubling as a chastity belt, but she's much harder to control because she's not submissive at all, and she's probably used every toy in the marketplace. What should I do?”

Sarah listened patiently, as her mother reeled off a series of suggestions. She began frantically taking notes on a scratchpad.

“A paddle with holes? Got it. And a cane. But you don't want me to use a whip because it's harder to control and can do a lot of damage to the kidneys. Makes sense. The three of us are going shopping for breast pumps this afternoon; do you think that shop out in the suburbs that you were telling me about sells the paddle you're describing?”

“It does? And for sure they sell canes? Outstanding!”

“Thanks, Mom,” Sarah concluded. “It's time for me to take the gloves off!”

[littlebopeeper]

Great twist.  Is Vickie gonna "retire" once Ian starts making the big bucks?