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AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

MOVIN' ON UP TO THE WEST SIDE

 

“I thought that went very well.” Sarah commented as they drove north toward Rita's townhouse.  “Maybe dining room tables are overrated.”

 

“It was fun, wasn't it?”

 

“Sitting on the floor, backs to the wall, eating and drinking at our leisure?  No pressure?  Absolutely-- and you were the perfect host, Ian.  You made Mom feel comfortable, and you charmed Bob right off his feet!”

 

“All things considered, that wasn't much of a challenge,” Ian joked.  “But we do have a lot in common.  He likes to fish, and I like to eat walleye.  So, he'll catch 'em and from here on out I'll fry 'em.  But between the flour and the bread crumbs, I'm going to soak them in breast milk.  The secret ingredient that will leave everybody guessing … well, at least until I publish my recipe book.”

 

“Cooking With Breast Milk,” Sarah laughed.

 

“That's the one.  Breast milk biscuits … fettuccini a la breast milk … I've got lots of ideas.”

 

“You do indeed.  It's one of the reasons I love you.”

 

“So, does that mean that this week's sins are forgiven, and there's no spanking in my immediate future?”

 

“Just a maintenance spanking … no biggie.  You'll do fine.”

 

“Babs told me that Joyce is going to give her a weekly spanking as well.  She's coming along tomorrow night … wants Vickie to do the honors while she takes notes or something.”

 

“If a girl wants to learn, she should learn from a pro!  Then, a diaper and baby pants, mittens and a pacifier, and off to her crib she goes.  The two of you can keep each other company all night long.”

 

“Joyce may want us to sleep arm in arm.”

 

“Not a problem.  We have restraints for every occasion.  And since you'll both be under lock and key, there won't be any mischief.”

 

“I'm relieved that your Mom is okay with our hippie commune, and if she's having any problems with you treating me like a baby, she's hiding them well.”

 

“Ian, in a way this was all her idea.  She did not want our marriage to break up my friendship with Vic and Rita, and she strongly believes that life will be a lot easier if there are three of us to care for you.  We had a long talk about whether you should be treated like a toddler or an eight month old.  She steered me to the shop where I bought your chastity cage, and she is adamant that you should not only be crib bound but also make love there, and only there.  I'm not sure why, but she insists that we keep you in the nursery and out of our bedrooms.”

 

“Well, there goes the honeymoon.”

 

“We'll work something out.”

 

“What about Priscilla?”

 

“She's a wonderful addition to our household, and if we can recruit Carlie, even better.  After all, if we are going to be in real danger, having two trained police officers keeping a perpetual eye on things will be a big plus.”

 

“And … uh … how do you feel about sleeping with her?  Or with Rita, for that matter?  She seems keen to explore the possibilities.”

 

“The more I think about it, the more I think that Rita's on to something.  Oh, I don't mean about me being bi … that's ludicrous.  But if everybody ends up sleeping with everybody, jealousy should never rear its ugly head in our family.”

 

“Glad to hear it because I'm on board.”

 

“Not going to be jealous?”

 

“No.  I just want everybody to be happy.”

 

“Including Babs?”

 

“Including Babs,” Ian agreed.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“The first thing,” Rita decided, “is to get the artwork up on the walls and out of harm's way.  The Alvar goes over the couch, and the Chagall above my bed.  The Pitre can go over the TV, and the Lebadang in the dining room.”

 

“Got one of those kitchen stepladders?”

 

“In the pantry.”

 

Ian rummaged around in one of the boxes that had come out of his hallway closet, and dragged out a hammer and a stud finder.  The nails and picture hangers were waiting in his cutlery tray. 

 

“I can manage everything else on my own, but I'll need help moving the couch.” 

 

“I need to make a phone call,” Sarah declared as she headed for Rita's home office.

 

“Guess that leaves me to do the grunt work,” Rita groused.  After rapidly unloading her car, Priscilla had rushed home to help her mother dismantle the bed.  Vickie was in the kitchen, busily rearranging the cupboards and the frig to make room for all the goodies that they had hauled out of Ian's kitchen.  Finding a home for his collection of pots and pans was proving to be one heck of a challenge.

 

Shutting the door behind her, Sarah got the business card out of her wallet, and dialed Marilyn Marsden's home number.  She had expected Marilyn to come to her office with a contract that would spell out the details of her agreement to serve as Ian's business agent, but she had neither put in an appearance nor called to let Sarah know where matters stood.  Sarah was determined to find out what was going on.

 

“Sarah Haikonnen here,” she said when Marilyn picked up.  “Got a minute?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Just want to know where we're at.”

 

“Right.  I spent yesterday morning testing the corporate waters, and as expected, there was a great deal of interest.  And then Ian showed up on the boob tube, and he made one hell of a splash.  Now that he's a celebrity, I don't know whether the corporate movers and shakers are going to become skittish, or even more eager to obtain his services.  So, I thought it best to let the dust settle over the weekend, then make another round of calls on Monday to find out where we stand.  If everyone's frightened off, then he won't need to take me on as his agent.”

 

“Makes sense.  You should know that this morning he was asked to serve as faculty advisor to the Panhellenic Council, and he accepted.  And I'm assured that on Monday he's going to be cross appointed to International Relations or Poli Sci.  He'll be a huge draw in a first year course, so salary wise this gives us even more ammunition to play with.”

 

“I'll say!  Sarah, this is a really big deal.  At a minimum, you should hold out for triple his current salary, and ideally park some of the increase in long-term research and travel grants.  These aren't taxable income-- and my firm knows a lot more loopholes that Ian can exploit.”

 

“Can you use any of this when you make the rounds on Monday morning?”

 

“Absolutely!  It will allow me to ratchet up the pressure big time.  Sarah, I should know by noon who's in and who's out.  I'll call you either just before or just after lunch, okay?”

 

“Okay, but do me a favor and come over to Rita's tomorrow night, contract in hand.  Ian and I will look it over after we recover sometime on Sunday.”

 

“One of those kinds of parties, I take it?”

 

“Very much so.  We're expecting close to twenty altogether-- a hodgepodge of doctors and police, shopkeepers and sorority girls, a private detective … and my mother, who just happens to administer one of the largest hospitals in the U.P.”

 

“Sounds like fun, but before we hang up, there's one more thing.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Sarah, what is going on between Ian and my daughter?”

 

“Oh, nothing that we haven't seen before,” Sarah laughed.  “Ian has more or less adopted the whole sorority, so Janis is just one of his several dozen surrogate daughters.  All the girls think of him as Dad, and over time he'll settle nicely into the role of the wise and kindly old uncle.  What you may not know is that, in the long and storied tradition of candy stripers everywhere, Jannie has also acquired a new mother-- Sylvia Anderson, one of my colleagues up on the fourth floor.  Sylvie's mentoring your daughter, who goes way, way beyond what any of us around here expect from our volunteers.  Jannie is very popular, and if she chooses to go on to attend nursing school, she'll have a job waiting for her the day she graduates.”

 

“Has she expressed an interest?”

 

“She has,” Sarah confirmed.  “Hints galore.  We all hope that you and your husband will encourage her.”

 

“We have always encouraged her to seek her own path.  If this is what she wants to do, she will have our full support.”

 

“See you tomorrow night, then?”

 

“I'll try and get there around eight.”

 

“Great!  Let me give you the address, but you should know that we're on a cul de sac, and you'll probably end up parking some distance away.  Dress accordingly.”

 

“Mukluks?”

 

“Always a good choice.  Oh, and bring your appetite.  Ian's doing the honors, and he's planning on doing something Greek.  He fancies himself as a chef”

 

“War hero, secret agent, and now a chef.  He sounds like a regular Harry Palmer!”

 

“A good analogy.  Wonder if Michael Caine will get the part when you sell our story to Hollywood.  They can call the flick The Breast Milk File.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Are you happy?” 

 

After Vickie had finished up and gone home, Sarah waited patiently for Rita to wish them good night and retire to her room.  Ian was positioning the speakers and fiddling with the wiring when she retreated to the kitchen to warm his bottles.  Once they were ready, she sat on the couch and quietly commanded him to join her.  She surprised him with a bib, but he stretched out,with his head cradled in her arms, awaiting the nipple and the breast milk that it would soon deliver.

 

“Very much so.  I love you, Sarah, and lying in your arms, looking up into those beautiful eyes, feeling the connection between us … yes, I'm happy.”

 

“I'm so glad, because I love you, both the baby who crawls across the floor in his big, fat diaper, and the man whom I shall soon mount, hoping that his seed will create new life inside me.  I want to have children so much, Ian, but you will always be my little baby, a precious eight month old who crawls to his Mommy, crying for attention because he's hungry or afraid, or simply wants Mommy to hug him and make the world go away for a while.  This will never change.”

 

“No chance of me working my way up to toddlerhood?”

 

“Would you like that?  Do you see yourself as a spoiled, whiny two year old?”

 

“Hmm, good question.  I don't know what I want, or maybe a better way to put it is that I want to order off the whole menu.”

 

Sarah raised the first bottle to Ian's lips, and he began to nurse.  Watching him, thinking about the day when he would latch onto her breast and drink her milk, the waves of pleasure that would wash over her, Sarah could feel her body beginning to stir.

 

“I fantasize about you suckling at my breast, and my milk being your only source of food.  I love watching you crawl across the floor, and outside I want to put you in a stroller-- no more walking!  And of course, with the right pacifier, you would have no choice but to cry and cry because you would no longer be able to speak.  A helpless baby, forever dependent upon his Mommy … that's my fantasy.”

 

“Total control, in short.”  Ian had pushed the bottle aside.  Sarah had given him an opening, and he wanted to exploit it.

 

“Yes; total control.  Think of our D/s agreement as my fallback position.”

 

“Got it.  I want you to manage my life, and when we're together, you can even micromanage it if that's your pleasure.  But when it comes to the small stuff, I also want you to leave me to my own devices when we're apart, and especially when I'm at work.”

 

“That doesn't fit into my fantasy, and I'm not happy about it, but Rita and Vic have made it clear that I have to dial it back.  I'll do so, but I still want Tippi to be your nursemaid on campus.”

 

“Glad to have her.  So, you're good with my taking on the Panhellenic Council?”

 

“Have you heard me object?”

 

“No.”

 

“And you won't.  What I would encourage you to do in future is talk with Amy or Bernice, even Suzie, before diving in.  They can counsel you; I can't.”

 

“That's good advice.”

 

“Enough talk.  Finish your ba bas, then I'll burp you, take off your clothes, and remove your diaper cover.  I want my baby to crawl to the nursery because I love watching your diaper butt swaying to and fro.  Are you going to be a good baby for Mommy?”

 

“Ba ba, Mama … I wuv my ba ba!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Julia, are you sure about this?  We could set Pris' bed up in the home office.  There's plenty of room.” 

 

“Herb, we'll lose the home office deduction if the room becomes multi-purpose.  You know that.”

 

“Yeah, but on the flip side?  With Priscilla moving out, we'll finally qualify for a nice property tax rebate.  I'm thinking about remodeling.”

 

“Don't give me that crap, Herb.  After all these years, you don't think I can read you like a book?  You just want someplace to bunk down when I throw you out of our bedroom!”

 

“But ...”

 

“No buts.  Let's face facts, Herb.  You're a middle aged man riding a desk, and now you've got an enlarged prostate and bladder control issues as a consequence.  You heard Doctor Villers-- get some exercise, and cut back … way, way back … on the caffeine and the booze.  And she also diplomatically pointed out that there are things that you can wear-- 'protection' she called it-- so that you don't keep pissing your pants.”

 

“But Julia ...”

 

“Aren't you listening to me?  Last night?  Peeing on the doorstep in front of those nice college girls?  That was the last straw, Herb, and I've had it with being woken up every night because you have to stumble off to the bathroom every hour or two.  You are not, repeat not, going to turn my office into a man cave.  What you are going to do, starting tonight, is wear protection.  Then maybe I can get a decent night's sleep!”

 

“Julia, I am not going to wear a diaper ...”

 

“You don't have to.  We'll start with one of Pris' menstrual pads.  We'll slip it inside your briefs, and if it won't stay put, we'll tape it in place.  But why are diapers such a big deal?  Vickie wears diapers, and you don't hear her whining about it.  Pris is going to start wearing diapers so that Vickie won't feel so out of place when she comes home.  And from now on, when I'm out there freezing my ass off on one of these God awful stakeouts, I'm going to wear a diaper too!  I swear to God, Herb, that high school parking lot was the end of the line for me.  I hate stakeouts, in no small part because there's no God, damned place for me to take a piss!”

 

“All right, already … enough!”  Herb threw his hands in the air, surrendering to the inevitable.  “I'll wear the damned pad!”

 

“And you'll stay in bed?  Use the pad?”

 

“I'll give it a try.”

 

“Good.  And I went to the drug store and bought a mattress pad that we can slip underneath you.  Just in case you leak, it should keep the bed dry.”

 

“What's next, Julia?  The coffee?  The booze?”

 

“We're going to cut back on both-- and note that I said 'we', not 'you'.  We're in this together, Herb, just like always.  I'm going to get us a family membership at the Y, and we are going to exercise as a family.  And if you need diapers and there's no other way to get you to agree, I'll wear them too.  We'll both wear them to bed at night, and if it comes to it, we'll both wear them during the day as well.”

 

“Old age, Julia,” Herb said as he let out a deep sigh.  “I'm retiring in two years … full pension.  Financially, we'll be fine, but is this the camel's nose under the tent?”

 

“We've been lucky so far,” Julia mused.  “But let's take this as a wake up call, and try and get out in front of the Grim Reaper.  There are cruises to take, and soon there will be grandchildren to spoil.  These can be the best years of our lives; we just have to work at it a little harder.”

 

“Diapers.”  Herb let out another deep sigh.  “Why did it have to be diapers?”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Up you go, baby.”  Sarah gave Ian a little push to get him onto the changing table, and working together, they got him safely stretched out on his back.  Sarah finished up by pulling a strap across his chest and cinching it tight.

 

“We'll need another kitchen stepladder to make this easier for you,” she remarked.  “And I want you to carry your cane with you at all times.  Believe me, the scar tissue that has built up around that shell fragment in your spine is dense enough that, if you take a heavy fall, it will only move in one direction-- deeper into your spinal cord.”

 

“I had difficulty walking back to my office from the Student Union,” Ian admitted.  “Joyce and Babs were both scared, and that's not acceptable.  Maybe it's the climate up here, but I'm having mobility issues that I did not experience in LA.”

 

Sarah had Ian lift his hips so that she could remove his baby pants, then she took a quick peek inside his diaper.  He wasn't mushy and only slightly damp, so they were good to go.

 

“Let me arrange the cribs,” Sarah said as she excused herself.  Releasing the foot brake on the one closest to the door, she wheeled it aside so that she could lower the crib rails on both.  Afterwards, she wheeled it back into place, and locked the brake.

 

“Gives us about as much room as a queen sized bed,” she explained; “and since neither one of us is obese, that's plenty of room.”

 

“More than we'll need,” Ian suggested, “because I plan to hold you tight.”

 

Sarah smiled at that, and then she got to work.  “Making love to an incontinent calls for a certain amount of advance planning,” she grinned.  “Diaper pail within easy reach … a diaper bag hanging from the bars with all our supplies ...”

 

“Our?”  Ian looked at her curiously.

 

“I'm spending the night,” Sarah confirmed.  “So, we shall be wearing the same diaper, and matching baby pants.  Well, eventually ...”

 

Sarah's grin was provocative in the extreme, and her eyes were alive with desire.  She wanted them to take their time, and make this night the stuff of lasting memories.

 

Sarah slowly stripped, waiting until she was completely nude before releasing him.  Easing to his feet, Ian took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, no words needed to express the depth of his feelings.

 

Taking him by the hand, Sarah led him to the crib and waited for him to hoist himself up.  When he was settled, she joined him, pulling the rail up and locking it firmly into place.

 

“Rita will release us in the morning,” she murmured when she saw the question forming in his eyes.  “It will always be this way.”

 

“And Vickie?”

 

“Sometimes she will only watch, and other times she will join us.  It depends on whether you are both naughty, or nice ...”

 

Straddling him, Sarah leaned down to kiss her beloved, driving her tongue deep into his mouth, taking possession, asserting the domina's control over her submissive.

 

Ian remained quiet, content to obey, only his hands in motion, caressing her nipples, occasionally pinching them.

 

Sarah leaned into his touch, eyes closed, holding her breath.

 

“Harder,” she whispered.  “Harder.”

 

Ian teased her nipples with the balls of his thumbs, engorging them, and when Sarah leaned back, he rose to take her heavy breast into his mouth.  Latching on, knowing this to be at the core of her fantasies, he began to suckle, imagining that he was draining her dry.

 

“Oh, God,” Sarah moaned, her eyes still tightly closed, “my baby … my baby ...”

 

“Mama,” Ian whispered as he paused to shift from left to right, nursing on one breast while his fingers pinched the nipple on the other, over and over again.

 

Reaching down blindly, Sarah unpinned one side of Ian's diaper, and cast it aside, exposing his penis to the air.  As soon as she began to stroke it, she could feel it spring to life.  And just as Vickie had claimed, what Ian lacked in length he made up for in girth.

 

“Oh, my,” she whispered.  “You really do need Mommy's chastity cage!  Would you like that, baby?  Would you like Mommy to lock you up, and only release you long enough to pleasure Mommy and her friends?  Would you like that, baby?  Would you?”

 

Ian moaned, wanting Sarah to mount him, mount him and fuck him.  He had wanted this ever since that first night, when she had come pounding on his door, demanding that he turn the stereo down.

 

“Please, Mama … take me … please, Mama.”

 

“Should I take that as a yes,” she asked in return as she guided his rock hard member to her clit, using him as a living wand to give her pleasure.

 

“Yes, Mama; please … anything.  Take me … take me ...”

 

“Your wish is my command,” she whispered as she mounted him, using her muscles to get a firm grip, paralyzing him.

 

Ian yelped in surprise.  No woman had ever so fully enslaved his cock, and he loved it.  He surrendered completely, accepting that Sarah was his domina, and conceding her ownership of his body.  If she wanted him under lock and key, so be it.

 

Sarah rode him, taking her time, her rhythm changing with her mood, a raging current one moment and a gentle stream the next.  Looking down, she sensed that he had at long last surrendered to her, accepted that he was her property, to do with as she pleased.  The chastity cage was resting at the bottom of his diaper bag.  Should she lock him up in the morning?  It would be so easy, after they had made love a second time, intensifying her domination, deepening her control.  He would accept the cage willingly, perhaps even beg to be locked up.

 

She thought about it … the control … no sex, no masturbation, not even an erection unless she permitted it.  Absolute power … absolute ownership …

 

Sarah cried out as her orgasm exploded, Ian's seed pumping into her as he came in long, convulsive spurts, the raw material of life swimming deep into her vagina.

 

Sarah reached into one of the pockets on the diaper bag, and pulled out a tampon.  She pushed it into place, trapping his sperm inside her.  Then she pinched his cock hard enough to stamp her ownership upon it even as it began to shrink.  Pausing only to refasten his heavy diaper, she crawled up his body until her cunt was touching his lips.

 

“Eat me,” she commanded.  “We have all the time in the world, so do it right, or Mommy will spank you tomorrow … a real spanking that will encourage you to do better next time.”

 

Ian was going to be spanked anyway, for she had decided that Saturday should always be his day of reckoning.  And no matter how well his tongue serviced her, she was planning to give him a good, hard spanking lest he become too proud of his oral skills.

 

But Ian's tongue was magical, and she rode it for a long time.  When she was finally satisfied, pausing only long enough to wrestle his baby pants into place and see to her own diaper, Sarah laid down at his side.  Ian would spend the night deeply asleep in his Mommy's arms, his head nestled against her breast.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Welcome to my little corner of the world, Sis!”  Vickie hugged Pris before ushering her inside.  “To you falls the dubious honor of being the first woman invited to share my bed!”

 

“Which will be dismantled on Sunday, if we stay on schedule, to go into storage alongside mine.  Just think, Vic, this may be the last time you sleep in this apartment.”

 

“My home for the last eight years,” Vic commented as she looked around the living room.  “Lots of memories … some good, some bad.  But I'm ready to move on.”

 

“Into a crib, no less.  Mom's gonna love that!”

 

“So, where do we stand on the diaper front?”

 

“Mom and I are going to hit the mall after we collect Dad from the sorority.  She's going to buy the same diaper for me that you wear during the day.”

 

“And some nice, pink baby pants?”

 

“Of course!  And some baby blue ones for Dad.  Mom's methodical; she'll buy everything Dad needs on a 'just in case' basis, and then ease him into it.  Nighttime protection first, then get him to wear protection when he's holding court at The Pig Sty or going out to dinner.  By the time he retires, the odds are pretty good that Dad will be 24/7.”

 

“What about the locking cover?  You good with that?”

 

“Not really.  Right now, Sarah, Mom and Bernice have the keys.  I suppose that Bernice could change me when I'm on duty, but it would be awkward.  Tippi is more than willing, but I don't want to aid and abet her fantasies.  Then there's the trust issue.  I'm doing this of my own free will, damn it, and I expect people to trust me to keep my promise.  I don't need a stupid nursemaid.”

 

“Hear you loud and clear … and your willingness to take one for the team is bound to impress Dad.  In your shoes, that's how I'd play it.”

 

“Who's got your keys?”

 

“Sarah and Rita.  Mom should have one, too.  Maybe tomorrow night.”

 

“Want to hear a crazy idea?”

 

“I specialize in crazy,” Vickie laughed.  “Remember?”

 

“Oh, yeah; for a moment there, I forgot.  Anyway, I want the fourth key to your cover.  I want to change you, and I want you to change me.  You game?”

 

“Absolutely!  That's a great idea!  We're sisters ...”

 

“And this is what sisters do,” Priscilla finished.

 

“In the mood for popcorn?”

 

“Orville Redenbacher?”

 

“What else?  With lots of salt and butter!  My popper is state of the art.  It's about the only appliance in the kitchen that I've mastered!”

 

“Then let's do it!  And if we both poop in our diapers, Mom can deal with it!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Julia, this is ridiculous.  How can anyone sleep wearing this pad?  It's so bulky that it  feels like I've got a Subway sandwich stuck between my legs!”

 

Herb was tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, but the Maxipad that Julia had taped to the inside of his briefs had defeated him at every turn.

 

“Pris has worn one for four days a month, every month, for the last fifteen years,” Julia snorted, her patience long since exhausted by her husband's whining.  “And unless you've been totally blind, at some point you must have noticed that I was wearing one right up to the moment when menopause finally set me free.  So, if you're looking for sympathy, it isn't going to happen.”

 

“Julia ...”

 

“Don't 'Julia' me, Herb.  You stay in bed, you stay on the mattress pad, and if you have to pee, just go ahead and do it.  We'll survey the damage in the morning.  Hopefully, it will be limited to your surprisingly frail ego.  Honestly, Herb, I swear to God … at times you are such a baby!”

 

“There's got to be a better solution!”

 

“We'll try this for a couple of nights, just to get a handle on how much you are actually wetting.  If the pads aren't up to the task, we'll hit the mall on Sunday.  I have to stock up on diapers for Pris and Vic, and I'll get a few for myself for the next stakeout.  With luck, we should be able to find something that works for you as well.”

 

“At the mall?  I don't remember seeing a pharmacy over there, never mind a medical supply store.”

 

“Correct on both counts.  We'll be visiting an infants and maternity wear store.  That's where Sarah found the diapers for your adoptive daughter … the ones that she wears when she's at work.  They apparently hold a lot without being bulky, so if the pads don't work, we'll give them a go at night … and when camping out at The Pig Sty.”

 

“JULIA!!!!!”

 

WAKEY WAKEY

 

“Wakey wakey, baby; Mommy has a nice, warm ba ba waiting just for you!”

 

Ian groaned, not sure whether he was waking up or dreaming about waking up.  He was warm and comfortable, and definitely not ready to rise and shine.  But there was something rubbing against his lips, something rubbery, and he vaguely remembered that it tasted good.  His lips parted, and he latched onto the nipple, instinct taking over.  As he began to nurse, the warm breast milk caressed his tongue, and as he began to swallow  it warmed his tummy as well.

 

Lying on her side, Sarah was cradling Ian's head with one arm while guiding the nipple to his mouth with the other.  She was, she realized, as happy as she had ever been in her life.  The man she loved had finally surrendered to her during the night, finally accepted that he was her baby, now and forever more.  They had christened his crib, his sperm still deep inside her.  Would one of them, she wondered, make it all the way home?

 

Gently, Sarah guided her baby's hands to the bottle, wanting him to take hold so that her own fingers would be free to explore.

 

“Mama,” he somehow managed to whisper as his grip firmed, his suckling now as  rhythmic as a newborn's.

 

“Such a good baby,” Sarah smiled, “and Mommy loves you so, so much.”  She stroked his heavily diapered penis, knowing that he could not truly feel her touch, but knowing as well that he would on some level be aware, and on some level accept that she was once again asserting her ownership of his body.

 

As Ian nursed, Sarah's thoughts drifted to the chastity cage that still lay at the bottom of his diaper bag.  A part of her badly wanted to lock him up, wanted him to experience the full meaning of being her baby slave every waking second of every day.  But to her surprise, Sarah was also discovering that she wanted his cock to be available, and not just for her but for everyone else in the household as well.  She wanted him to be crib bound, ever waiting, ever desiring to make love to the women who dominated him … the women who owned him.  He was there to pleasure them, and in the fullness of time to sire life within their wombs.

 

Is this why Mom insists that we visit Ian in his crib but never take him to our beds … never even permit him to enter our bedrooms?  This is where my baby husband belongs … the crib is where he should nurse and sleep … nurse and sleep and make love …

 

Sarah's free hand drifted lower, her fingernails stroking the inside of his thighs.  Finally, she probed inside his baby pants, trying to measure the wetness.

 

Sarah smiled a second time.  Her baby was soaking wet, as he no doubt would be every morning for the rest of his life.  And she would be there to change him, her hands warming the wet wipes that would clean him as her fingers swept back and forth, an eternal assertion of her power, her control, and her love.

 

Pressing, Sarah's fingers found their way inside Ian's diaper, testing to learn whether her baby was as poopy as he was wet.

 

Extracting her fingers, holding them up to her nose-- it was as she expected.  A light brown slurry coated her fingertips, Ian's poop having already acquired the character of the breast fed newborn.  He would nurse and he would poop, and from what she had witnessed at the bar the night before, he would soon be completely unaware that his bowels were opening and filling his diaper.  He would need to be changed at least six times a day, and hopefully more.  Each diaper change, as he lay there helplessly looking up at Mommy or one of her friends, would reinforce his  sense of complete dependence on the women who loved him.  He was, after all, just a baby … just a widdle baby.

 

Sarah's breath had quickened, and she could feel her pulse beginning to race.  She would, she decided, use the wet wipes to clean his penis and balls, but she would leave the poopy diaper where it lay.  She would take him, as she had taken him the night before, but letting him know this time that a poopy diaper would not discourage her.

 

Laying Ian's head on the crib mattress, Sarah slowly removed her own diaper and baby pants.  She was still dry and, for the time being at least, intended to remain that way.  Remembering how readily Ian had downed an entire glass of urine at The Pig Sty, she was planning to piss into his diaper before pinning it back on for her mother to change when she arrived, but that was merely a symbolic gesture.  She was looking forward to straddling his mouth, and bidding him drink her pee before once again using his magical tongue to wipe her clean.  She wanted him to understand that the whole of his body was her plaything, and not just his cock.

 

Gripping his baby pants with both hands, Sarah began pulling the vinyl down, gambling that he would raise his hips to assist without being ordered to do so.

 

Ian lifted up even as he continued to nurse, his subconscious aware that cooperating would allow Mommy to take better care of him.  He could feel the wetness, and it was icky.

 

“Good baby,” Sarah intoned; “such a good baby.”  She was knowingly conditioning him,  rewarding his cooperation with her praise.  He was far too heavy for her to lift, but if she could condition his response, cooperation would not undermine the infantile state of mind that she wanted to lock in place.

 

Sarah slid his baby pants down his legs, and cast them aside.  Before reaching for the wet wipes, she prized the nearly empty baby bottle out of Ian's mouth, but she quickly replaced it with a second bottle.  She wanted Ian to start his day with sixteen ounces, and if he was still hungry, she would cheerfully offer him a third bottle.  She was absolutely determined to wean him off solid food, and to have their breasts become his sole source of nutrition.  It would take time, but she was certain that she could overwhelm his resistance, and banish greasy cheeseburgers and deep fried onion rings from his diet once and for all.

 

Briskly rubbing the wipes between her palms, Sarah attacked Ian's penis and testicles, but she saved the inside of his thighs for special treatment.  The wipes would deal with the mushy poop, but her fingernails raked the sensitive nerve endings that guaranteed his arousal.

 

Ian arched his back, his body aching for Sarah's touch.

 

Sarah's fingers were relentless, but she quickened the pace, raking the inside of his thighs one moment, and stroking his rock hard cock the next.

 

Ian's suckling became more frenzied as he tried to keep pace.

 

When he moaned, Sarah slid on top of him.  Casting the tampon aside, she mounted him as she had the night before, using her muscles to imprison his cock, setting the pace to her own satisfaction.  Then she paused, and reached out to stop him from casting the bottle aside.   Firmly gripping his hand, she guided the nipple back into his mouth, making it clear that she wanted his suckling to continue even as she rode him.

 

Ian was delirious, the warm breast milk competing with the throbbing in his dick.

 

But Sarah refused to let him come.  When she sensed that he was near, she repeatedly backed off, her muscles relaxing to give him the sensation of being on the threshold of a ruined orgasm.  It was only when Ian was on the verge of tears, the nipple still seated in his mouth, that she relented, upping the pace while still keeping control, driving him to a climax that mirrored her own.

 

Another tampon snapped into place before Sarah slid up his body.  Brutally yanking the bottle from his mouth, she heard him gasp, and that was the moment she had been waiting for.

 

“Open wide, baby; Mommy has a new use for your mouth.”

 

Without hesitation, Ian did as he was commanded.  Sarah closed her eyes and arched her back, then let her muscles go slack.  Slowly at first, and then in a steady stream, her urine began to flow, Ian working hard to gulp down the warm piss before he choked on it.

 

“Now use your tongue, baby,” Sarah commanded when her flow gradually trickled to a halt.  “And be thorough, or Mommy will spank you … spank you hard.”

 

Ian rushed to obey, his tongue dashing in and out of Sarah's vagina, staking his claim on her clitoris.  Her breathing quickened and, incredibly, his penis came back to life.

 

Sarah screamed as she took hold of his ears and guided his tongue hither and yon.  Her orgasms came in rapid succession, Ian's tongue darting wherever Sarah directed it, trying his best to lap up her juices.  He loved what he was doing … wanted to lap up every drop of whatever Sarah was squirting.

 

Backing off, Sarah picked up the bottle, put it back in Ian's hands, and guided it back into his mouth.

 

“Drink, baby, every drop.”

 

Wide-eyed, confused but happy, Ian did as he was told.  Abruptly, Sarah pivoted so that her ass was in his face, blinding him.  She leaned over to take his cock in her mouth, and began to wash it with her tongue.  Then she swallowed him, working up and down his shaft, Ian pulling harder and harder on the nipple of his baby bottle, no longer even tasting the warm milk.

 

Knowing that his view was blocked, Sarah reached into the diaper bag and pulled out the chastity cage.  At the sex shop, Jessica had assured her that a cuff small enough for the delicate Japanese female wrist would lock securely but safely around Ian's testicles.  It was time to find out.

 

Opening the cuff, she lifted the ball sac so that she could encircle it.  Jessica had emphasized the importance of lining up the cuff so that it ratcheted shut beneath the sac and remained hidden from sight.  Sarah followed her instructions to the letter, taking great care before she inserted the key and set the lock to insure that the cuff would remain securely in place yet not interrupt the blood flow to Ian's testicles.

 

“I could use a couple of ice cubes,” she said out loud, knowing that Rita was quietly eavesdropping on the baby monitor.  “But first ...”

 

Sarah took a piece of string and tied it in a slip knot at the base of Ian's glans.  She had tied a lot of knots in her day, but this one was special.

 

Moments later, Rita opened the door and walked into the nursery.  She had a fresh bottle of breast milk for Ian in one hand, and a thin jewelry bag filled with ice cubes in the other.

 

“Good morning, baby,” she said cheerfully, addressing Ian while handing the ice cubes to Sarah.  “You're so hungry this morning that I thought you would enjoy another nice, warm bottle.”

 

Rita gently removed the now empty bottle from Ian's hands before guiding the fresh bottle into his mouth.  Her job was to distract Ian while Sarah applied the ice cubes to his shaft.

 

Ian tensed when Sarah went to work, but Rita kept his ba ba firmly in place while entertaining him with meaningless baby talk.  As his cock shrank, Sarah tightened the knot, her objective being to get him down to roughly half an inch in length.  Having seen Ian when he was flaccid, Sarah was confident that the tiniest sheath Jessica had to offer would in fact get the job done.  Ian was definitely a grower, not a shower.

 

Nodding in satisfaction, Sarah passed the cord through the sheath, and then gently pulled Ian's now flaccid dick into the cage.  She guided a small piece that Jessica had promised her would prevent pull out into a pair of tiny slots in the sheath before marrying the sheath to the cuff.  When she inserted the key and turned it, all that remained was to loosen the knot and remove the string.

 

“There,” Sarah said when her task was complete.  “Welcome to the world of Japanese high tech.  This will keep you out of mischief, baby.  No more sex, no more masturbation, not even an erection unless I unlock you.  Most importantly, you will not embarrass my mother, who will be looking after you while Rita and I are attending Lessing's Folly.  She will drive you wherever you need to go for shopping, and change you when your diaper begs for mercy.  The cage will come off tonight before our guests arrive, so think of this as a trial run.”

 

“Good morning, Mommy; good morning, auntie Rita.”  Now fully alert, Ian decided that it was time for him to join the conversation, but Sarah's mixed signals still confused him.  Was he supposed to behave like an adult, or slip deeper into baby mode?  For the time being, straddling the line seemed like the best option.

 

“Were you listening to us, auntie Rita?”  The answer was obvious, but if his nursery was bugged, Ian wanted to know about it.

 

“A baby monitor,” Rita laughed.  She pointed at a plump teddy bear sitting on a shelf overlooking the dresser.  “Dylan knows all.”

 

“It's all right, baby,” Sarah soothed.  “This is a commune, and the fewer secrets the better.  And yes, we're all taking notes on your likes and dislikes ...”

 

“And on our own,” Rita gleefully interrupted.  “I want to know what turns Sarah on before I start sleeping with her!”

 

Rita reached down and fondled Ian's cage.  She had never seen one before, and she was curious.  She tried to slide his penis back and forth, but was surprised to discover that the cage refused to move.  She looked at Sarah questionably.

 

“It's rigid,” Sarah offered.  “It's a nice feature, although redundant inside a diaper.  Our baby's little pee-pee isn't going anywhere.”

 

“Oh, I like it,” Rita exclaimed.  “I like it a lot!  And Ian, you may be wearing this for quite some time.  It all depends on how this morning's session goes.  I have no idea how John is going to react to Carlie's revelations.”

 

Ian simply shook his head.  He couldn't see where Rita was going with this.

 

“Remember me mentioning last night that I called an emergency staff meeting in the morning that both Carlie and Sarah attended?   I wasn't kidding, Ian; the sole topic up for discussion was Princess Poopy Pants-- or Anna, as we are now calling her.  Ian, there is nothing in the textbooks that even remotely hints at what seems to be happening here.  Carlie not only senses Anna but claims to be in communication with her while she is in a dormant state and physically distant from the host body.  Marge and Reiko did a great job of batting this around, and as a group we are going to recommend to John that we suppress your personality, and give Anna control of your body.  We suspect that, given sufficient time, she will turn out to be much older than we have allowed ourselves to believe.  If she's an adult, then this become a case of Dissociative Identity Disorder with a very odd feature.  But if she's a little girl … say, nine or ten years of age?  Ian, we have to explore the possibility that Anna is your daughter.  So, what we propose is to have Vickie summon the Princess, then pass her off to Carlie.  I want Carlie to question her … where is she?  Is she alone?  Who are the people who call her Anna?  Do you understand what I'm saying?”

 

“Sure, and I'm on board with the program.  I want my daughter back, and I will go to very great lengths to get there.  But what does wearing a chastity cage have to do with the price of tea in China?”

 

“Carlie only responds to Anna, and your male libido is not just a psychological hurdle that has to be cleared, it's a physical one.  We need to suppress it, and the cage will help.”

 

“As will vast quantities of tequila,” Sarah grinned.  “You and Carlie were both swimming in the stuff when she latched onto Anna, and alcohol in the form of dozens of shots of tequila will definitely put the brakes on your sex drive.”

 

“What John is going to hear in a few hours time,” Rita continued, “is a proposal to conduct this experiment inside the secure ward, where at department expense  we shall pour so much tequila into the two of you that Carlie will reestablish her connection with Anna, and somehow remain lucid enough to conduct a Q and A.  Of course, we'll all be watching from the control room, and recording the whole exercise for further analysis.”

 

“This in a hospital that doesn't want alcohol on the premises or even in the immediate neighborhood?”  Ian snorted, making no effort to hide how absurd all of this sounded to him.

 

“That's the beauty of it,” Rita gloated.  “At least half the doctors wandering the halls think that we're a bunch of lunatics who've somehow hijacked the asylum ...”

 

“Jerks,” Sarah sneered; “jerks one and all.”

 

“We love rubbing their noses in it, and we never pass on an opportunity to add a new page to our already outrageous reputation.  This would be one for the history books.”

 

“Reminds me of the idiots that I had to deal with in Saigon,” Ian laughed.  “You can tell John that I'm good with this crazy scheme of yours, and will happily play along.  But where does this leave our desire to have children?  Every month that goes by makes that hill a steeper climb, and it could take months for my libido to sink below the horizon.”

 

Sarah and Rita exchanged looks, each of them thinking the same thing.   

 

“That's the rub,” Sarah reluctantly conceded.  “There are drugs that we could use to reduce your libido hard and fast, but it would amount to chemical castration and I'm not going there.”

 

“Arousal and sexual performance return to normal once the patient is taken off the drugs,” Rita reminded her.

 

“Isn't going to happen,” Sarah snapped.  “Whether John approves or not, we're going ahead as planned.  Here or at the hospital … either way first we'll have Vickie bring Anna on line and hand her off to Carlie.  Let's see how far we get without alcohol.  If we strike out, then we repeat Thursday night's performance at The Pig Sty.  That's my last word on the subject.”

 

Sarah bent over, and began refastening Ian's dirty diaper. 

 

“What the … you're not changing me?”  Ian looked at her in open disbelief.

 

“Nope.”  Sarah lovingly patted Ian's cage.  “Mom will be here shortly, baby, and she hasn't had a chance to change anyone's diaper since Dad died.  She wants to take charge of you, and we are going to let her.  Don't mouth off because she has my permission to spank you.  Believe me, Ian, when it comes to spankings, Mom makes Vickie look like an amateur.  Now, lift your butt so that I can get your cute little baby pants where they belong.”

 

“What about his cover?”  Rita had spotted the discard on the couch when she was headed for the kitchen.

 

“Hmm … let's leave it for Mom to decide.  She's familiar with the garment, but doesn't favor it because it interferes with diaper checks.  And Mom is looking forward to checking your diaper, Ian, so it will probably be hands-on in every store you visit!”

 

“Rita, I need coffee.  Can you finish up?  Our baby needs his mittens, and his pacifier.  I've told Mom all about his disgusting habit of biting his fingernails, and she agrees that this is the most humane way to attack the problem.”

 

“Works for me,” Rita laughed.  “It will be interesting to see whether Sophia makes the baby suck on his pacifier in the car!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Wakey wakey, Sergeant Droopy Drawers!  Time to rise and shine!”

 

Julia thought about throwing the curtains open for dramatic effect, but since it was still pitch black dark outside, she reckoned that the gesture would be wasted on a husband who, at the moment, was barely conscious.

 

“Go away,” Herb groaned as he pulled the bedspread over his head.

 

“No can do, Poopy Pants … not if you want to make roll call!”

 

“I need sleep,” Herb complained.  “I was up all night!  How the hell did you ever sleep with this thing between your legs?”

 

“You get used to it,” Julia cheerfully replied as she got a firm grip on the bedspread, blanket and sheet, and yanked them all off in one fell swoop.  “And you slept like a baby!  At three AM you were snoring so loudly you could have waked the dead!  Honestly, Herb, once we get your bladder issues under control, we're going to work on your mouth breathing.  If it takes a pacifier to get past this, I will get you one!”

 

Herb groaned still more loudly.  He just wanted to go back to sleep.

 

Julia surveyed the damage, and grinned triumphantly.  Herb's pajama bottoms were soaked, and the pee had crept up to dampen several inches of his top.  For all his protests, Julia knew that Herb had stayed in bed, had fallen asleep, and had wet himself at least once and, she thought, in all likelihood more than once.

 

Seeing that the pad underneath her husband was also heavily stained, Julia's grin grew even broader.  Her plan to get him into diapers and baby pants was progressing nicely.  The next step was to persuade him to wear diapers when he spent the night at the sorority.  He would not, she planned to argue, want to humiliate himself a second time in front of all those lovely girls, each and every one of whom would be wearing a diaper to bed this very night.

 

“Herb, you did well.  Granted, the sanitary pad couldn't hold it all, but the mattress pad did its job.  You're wet, but the bed's dry, and your snoring aside, I finally got a decent night's sleep.  Thank you.”

 

Giving up the fight, Herb struggled to sit up, and as he did so his hands reached out frantically to explore his crotch.  When he realized that he had wet himself like a baby, his cheeks turned crimson.  It was one thing to piss on the porch when he was drunk … this was something else.

 

“Julia, I … I ...”  Herb was so deeply ashamed that he was at a loss for words.

 

“It's all right, Herb.”  Julia reached out to take his hands in hers, and gently pat them.  “I really appreciate that you care enough about me to do this.  And trust me: we will get this under control.  I don't think the pad will work … your really do need diapers … but we'll take as much time as you need to become comfortable with this.”

 

“I feel like such a loser,” Herb confessed as he hung his head in shame.

 

“You are most definitely not a loser,” Julia countered.  “A loser would run away … make excuses … even deny he has a problem.  You haven't done any of these things.  You went to see Doctor Villers, and you've taken her advice to start wearing protection.  From now on, all four of us are going to wear diapers on an as needs basis, and we are going to start exercising as a family, and cut back on the caffeine and alcohol as a family.  We are doing this together, Herb … doing this as a family.  When our granddaughters walk down the aisle, we are going to be sitting in the front row with the rest of our admittedly odd family.”

 

“Coffee,” Herb asked as he finally found the courage to lift his head and look into Julia's eyes.

 

“Pot's brewing,” she acknowledged.  “Now, get your butt into the shower.  Put the pad in the little bag that I've left on the counter, then toss it into the trash.  Leave your PJ's on the floor, and I'll deal with them later.  You can still make roll call if you get a move on!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Wakey wakey, Robert; it's time to start the day.”

 

Bob groaned, rolled over, and put a pillow on top of his head.  “I like this bed,” he muttered; “can we keep it?”

 

“Nope.  Get your butt out of bed.  That's an order!”

 

“It's too early,” he whined.  “I want to sleep in ...”

 

“Enough!”  Sofia ripped the pillow off his head, grabbed her boyfriend's ear lobe, and twisted it hard.

 

“Hey, ouch,” he yelled, coming instantly awake.

 

Sofia stepped back, arms folded, and glared down at him.  She reckoned that the moment was at hand.

 

“Robert, let's get something straight.  You have two choices here.  One.  You can get dressed, drive back to the airport, fly home, and dive back into the dating pool.  Two.  You commit to this relationship, which means accepting that I run our household, and you do what I tell you to do, no questions asked.  Robert, you should think about your choices carefully, because if you submit to me, going forward it means that you will be going over my knee every time that you're naughty or disobedient-- and I spank hard.  I spanked my first husband when he defied me, and you had damned well better believe that I'm going to spank my second!”

 

“Soph?  Did I hear you right?  If I asked … if I asked, would you marry me?”

 

“Are you asking?”  Sophia was still glaring down at her lover, who in her judgment was shaping up nicely.  He was deeply submissive, but had yet to catch on to the obvious implications.

 

“Yes!  Soph, will you marry me?”

 

“If I say yes, will you submit to me?  Will you acknowledge, right here and now, that I'm the grown up in this relationship, and you the perpetual little boy who needs to follow Mommy's lead?”

 

“Yes, Soph!  Please! Please say that you'll marry me!  I love you!”

 

“Do you?  Let's see.  Wait here.”

 

Sophia walked out to the dining room, grabbed a chair, and carried it into the living room.  She did not know that it was the same chair that Sarah had used when spanking Ian, but she would have appreciated the coincidence.

 

Returning to the bedroom, she ordered Bob to his feet, took him firmly by the wrist, and dragged him into the living room.  She sat down on the chair, snapped her fingers and pointed at her lap.  Bob slept nude, so he could not stall.  The moment of truth was at hand.  He had to make his choice.

 

The outcome was never in doubt, and they both knew it.  Shuffling forward, Bob looked into Sophia's eyes, and saw his future-- the future that he craved.

 

He had not done this since he was a small child, but somehow Bob Pinkett managed to ease down onto Sophia's lap.  She reached out to grab his right arm, which she painfully twisted into the small of his back.  When she wrapped her legs around his, Bob was pinned helplessly, unable to move.

 

“One hundred spanks,” Sophia decreed.  “When we're finished, if you still want to marry me, just ask and I'll say yes.  But I'll say it again.  You will always be Mommy's little boy, and you will go over my knee every time you disobey me.  Disobey me too often, and we'll graduate from spanking the mischievous little boy to diapering a whiny little toddler, complete with oh, so pink baby pants!”

 

And in the fullness of time your cock will be locked away in a chastity cage, and then we shall begin your training.  It's your tongue that I want, not your pathetic little dick ... 

 

SMACK!!

 

MOTHER-IN-LAW

 

John Lessing casually looked around the room, once again impressed with his team's clinically precise weekly updates on the various patients in their charge.  But there was one patient whom they had conspicuously passed over-- no surprise there since Rita always saved the best for last.

 

“Right,” he said as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop; “I suppose it's time to address the two thousand pound gorilla in the china shop, but first I'd like to ask why Sarah Haikonnen is sitting out in the foyer with Officer Voight.  Is our esteemed colleague under arrest for something?”

 

“Hardly,” Rita scoffed.  “And why am I not surprised that you and Carlie are already acquainted?”

 

“Oh, our paths have occasionally crossed in the courtroom, and I'm happy to say that we were always on the same side.  She's a fine officer, and her demeanor on the witness stand is first rate.  Now, am I to presume that Carlie and Sarah have been patiently waiting to join us at the appropriate moment, and that said moment is now at hand?”

 

“Way to go, Boss,” Vickie laughed.  “Still … if you are in the mood to place a bet … say, a hundred?  I'll give you ten to one odds and a hundred guesses, everyone of which will sail wide of the mark.  What Carlie has to say is going to blow you away!”

 

“Hmm.”  John resumed his drumming on the tabletop, thinking it through.  “What do you say, Marge; would I be wasting my money on a sucker bet?”

 

“Definitely, Professor.  But if you're in the mood, I'd recommend downing a stiff drink or two before we start.  It might help.”

 

“Hard liquor inside the Psych ward?  Perish the thought!” 

 

John's smile made it clear that he was playing to the camera that was recording the proceedings.

 

“Rita, if you will do the honors, let's get this show on the road.  To judge from the missives that our illustrious Dean and President issued yesterday morning, Secret Agent Man, as he is now affectionately known to one and all, has their public support-- and more importantly, as the newly minted faculty advisor to the Panhellenic Council, he enjoys the support of Fraternity Row.  The houses are a force to be reckoned with.”

 

“Considering that fully three-quarters of the school's most generous donors lived in one of the houses for three or four years?  Duh!!”  Vickie couldn't stop giggling.  “And you should know that the hive has a new queen, and her name is Suzie Marshall!”

 

“Suzie?  John rocked back in his chair, almost too stunned for words.  Everyone on the faculty knew The Harlot Queen, if only by reputation.  He reckoned that five or six members of his own department actually knew her far better than that.

 

“It turns out that Ian's best friend is a Deputy Director at Langley, and Suzie decided to give him a call.”  Rita still hadn't quite come to grips with the casual way in which Suzie had taken the bull by the horns.  “Next thing you know, she's chatting with said Director's wife, who is a Princeton grad and a Kappa, serving on both the local and national boards.  A few more phone calls on Thursday night, and your Dean and President both came to the conclusion that it was time to muzzle the anti-war crowd.”

 

“Come late Monday afternoon,” Sarah smugly added as she and Carlie entered the room, “there will be an announcement that Ian has been jointly appointed to either Poli Sci or International Relations.  Marilyn Marsden and I are still working out the details, which include a substantial raise and a number of other perks.  But she also tells me that there is keen interest in the private sector, and we anticipate receiving a number of attractive offers.  So this is turning into a classic retention case; suffice it to say that my fiance's days of working for peanuts are coming to an end.”

 

“Bravo,” John clapped, delighted at the turn of events.  “And it's good to see you again, Officer Voight.  Welcome to this week's edition of Lessing's Folly, as our brainstorming sessions are informally called.”

 

“Thank you, Professor,” Carlie smiled.  “But just for the record, you should know that I am now a private patient of Rita's.  She is helping me to process what I have been experiencing since Thursday night, so you are entitled to treat what I am going to tell you as the ravings of a deranged mind.”

 

“Oh, please, Carlie!  We aren't going to let you off the hook quite that easily.  And rest assured that anything you say in this room is privileged.  All of us take patient confidentiality very, very seriously.”

 

“Thank you, John.  I've asked Rita to set the stage because a lot has happened since your last session.”

 

“Pursuant to your conversation with Chief Mischof,” Rita began, “Ian was assigned a police escort around campus, in the person of one Officer Priscilla Canon ...”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Ian rolled over in his crib when he heard the door to his nursery open.  With a pacifier strapped in his mouth and his hands encased in heavy locking mittens, he was helpless and he knew it, but he did not want his future mother-in-law to find him on his back.  If he had been able to stand up, he would have done so.

 

Standing just outside the crib bars, looking down at her future son-in-law, an enigmatic smile creased Sofia Haikonnen's lips. Sarah had followed her advice to the letter, and as a result her new household was shaping up nicely.  Sharing her baby husband with her two best friends was a small price to pay to preserve their friendship, and having at least one and possibly two well trained policewomen securing the premises was an added bonus.  Sofia also had no illusions about how much work would be involved in Ian's long-term care.  There were thousands of messy diapers in his future, and once Sarah's fantasies yielded to the harsh reality of being a caregiver, having five pairs of hands to change him might well prove the difference between an enduring marriage and one ending in divorce.  Ian was in so many respects a prize catch, and Sofia wanted this relationship to last.

 

“Hold still,” she commanded as she lowered the bars and reached behind his neck to unfasten the strap that held his pacifier in place.  She eased it out of his mouth, and waited patiently as he exercised his aching jaws.

 

“Thanks … uh … what am I supposed to call you?”

 

“Good question,” Sofia replied as she freed his hands.  “What do you call my daughter?”

 

“When we're alone?  Mommy.”

 

“And now you have a real mommy in Bernice ...”

 

“And four aunties.  Then there's Julia … Priscilla's mom.”

 

“Don't be surprised if she becomes your mommy as well.  She's old enough to qualify, and in my experience a diaper dependent male brings out the maternal in older women who have never had sons of their own.”

 

“So, does that mean that you think of me as a baby?  Do you want me to address you as Mommy, at least when we're alone?”

 

“Thank you, Ian; and yes, I'd like that very much.  But to avoid confusion, when we're not alone, I would really like you to call me Mom.  Think you can do that?”

 

“Yeth, Mommy.”  Ian grinned as he began to play with his pacifier.

 

“Good baby,” Sofia rejoined.  “Sarah and I have debated whether to treat you as a toddler, or as an infant.  Her work load will be lighter if you can talk a bit and manage on your own two feet, but the control that she would have over you if you were unable to speak or walk would be exhilarating.  Personally, I see you as an adorable but precocious eight month old-- a naughty little baby who needs a good spanking to remind him that Mommy's rules are Mommy's rules.  On that note, I have already spanked one baby this morning, and before we leave, you are going over my lap as well.  You need to understand that I am very strict, and will not tolerate backtalk or disobedience.  This will be an exploratory spanking … think of it as my hand becoming acquainted with your rear end.  It will be probably be the first of many that I will be giving you … and yes, Sarah has walked me through how to do this safely.  Are we on the same page here?”

 

“Yeth, Mommy.”  Ian gulped.  Sarah had warned him, but he had somehow got off on the wrong foot with her mother, and now he would pay the price.

 

“Good baby.  Now, let's get you up on the changing table, and clean that messy, little bottom of yours.  Mommy has a nice surprise for her little baby!”

 

Ian slipped down from his crib, and eased himself up onto the table.  He laid down, and waited silently while Sofia cinched the strap that pinned him to the padded surface.  It was surprisingly comfortable, and despite the spanking now hanging over his head, he found it easy to place himself in her experienced hands.  Sofia reminded him of some of the RN's who had ministered to him in Japan and Hawaii, hard nosed professionals who had pushed him hard when he occasionally slacked off during the long months of rehab.

 

Raising his hips made it easy for her to remove his vinyl pants, and then she deftly unpinned his diaper and surveyed the damage.

 

“Very good,” she concluded.  “The breast milk has made your poop as runny as a newborn's, which will make it a lot easier to change you.  But you will need some nutritional supplements, so we'll add them to our shopping list.”

 

“We'll leave the baby pants off for now,” she said as she spread a new diaper underneath his bottom.  She generously sprinkled his groin with baby powder, and then slowly rubbed it in. 

 

“Big babies often respond to my touch, which I'm told is incredibly sensual, but sadly … well, for you, at least … your little pee pee is all locked up and not going anywhere.  I wonder how it will respond if I stroke you a bit here and use my nails on you a bit there, hmm.”

 

Sofia ran her fingernails back and forth on the inside of his thighs, knowing that he was especially sensitive in this region.  Ian moaned, and his hips soon began to grind, trying to match her rhythm.

 

“Ah, it looks like my baby boy likes his Mommy's touch,” Sofia teased as she continued to stroke him.  “Does it feel good?”

 

“Yeth, Mommy!”  Ian could feel his cock struggling to escape the cage, but it wasn't going anywhere.  One part of his mind wanted the torment to stop, but another part wanted it to go on forever.  He was trapped, needing to come, but unable.

 

“Mommy could milk you … give you a prostate massage?  Have you ever had one?”

 

“In the hospital, Mommy.”

 

“Did you come?”

 

“I guess so, but it was different … more like dribbling or leaking.  The nurses wanted to keep my prostate healthy, not give me an orgasm.  One of them described the procedure as similar to a ruined orgasm.”

 

“And have you had the pleasure?”

 

“Not that I know of.”

 

“Oh, you'd know,” Sofia laughed.  “I have been known to use the technique to collect a sperm sample.  It empties a man, but leaves him frustrated.  I will be sure to give Sarah a hands-on demonstration before Bob and I fly home.  It is a very effective form of punishment, especially in tandem with your nice, little chastity cage.  No more coming in your diapers … too bad, so sad.”

 

Sofia pulled the diaper up, but only used two pins to secure it.  It would be coming off when Ian was over her knee.

 

“Now, for your surprise,” she grinned.  “In my hospital's secure ward, we find that these cute, little booties are a godsend when dealing with violent patients.  If you were in our facility?  With your war record, you would be wearing them for a long, long time.”

 

Sofia easily slid the booties onto Ian's feet, then cinched and locked them.  Acting on impulse, she decided to put his hands back in the mittens as well.  All that remained was to unfasten the strap.

 

Ian carefully rolled into a sitting position, and dropped to the floor.

 

“Hey, ow,” he yelped.  It felt like he had just stepped onto a bed of hot coals.

 

“The spikes aren't very long, and they're not really sharp,” Sofia mused, “but patients find them sufficiently painful that they decide of their own accord to get down on their hands and knees and crawl.  I'll leave how you are going to get out to the living room strictly up to you.”

 

Sofia walked out of the nursery, and sat down in the chair that Sarah had moved into position earlier.  It was intended for the policewoman whom Vickie would be spanking at some point in the evening, but there was no reason why it couldn't do double duty.

 

In due course, Ian came crawling out of the nursery.  She thought that he looked absolutely adorable.  Still, she tapped her thigh, making it clear to him that this was his next stop.

 

Grimacing, Ian awkwardly climbed to his feet and, with Sofia's help, managed to collapse into her lap.  He was relieved to see that she had a bath towel in place to protect her clothing; peeing on his future mother-in-law didn't seem like the best way to assert his manhood.

 

Sofia unpinned Ian's diaper, but left it in place.  Humming to herself, she began drawing lazy circles on his buttocks, just trying to measure their firmness.  Sarah had described Ian's ass as small and firm-- firm enough, she had warned, to hurt.  She recommended attacking him with a paddle, but Sofia scoffed at the idea of using a wooden instrument to inflict punishment.  There was something so intimate about a spanking delivered by warm flesh, a loving hand correcting bad behavior, not an instrument of torture deployed for one's sole pleasure.

 

Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
The worst person I know

 

Ian couldn't get the lyric out of his head.  The damned song had topped the charts when he was in the tenth grade, an awkward teenager just trying to get through a sock hop without embarrassing himself ...

Sent from down below
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law

Satan should be her name

 

Sofia brought her palm down firmly on Ian's right buttock-- once, twice, thrice in rapid succession.  The muscle was as taut as Sarah had described it, but Sofia had been telling the truth.  This was not a punishment spanking-- far from it.  Those would come later; right now, she was simply gathering information.  Learning his strong points and his weak would arm her for the spankings that would condition him to absolute obedience.

 

Her hand drifted to the left, only suddenly to revisit his right cheek.  Another half dozen spanks, crisply delivered, were bringing a rosy glow to the surface.

 

Sofia smiled.  She had only spanked him a dozen times, just love taps really, and Ian was already squirming.  She wondered how far she would have to go to make him cry out.

 

She kept at it, peppering his buttocks and his thighs, purposefully reminding him that nerve endings sensitive enough to be aroused could experience pain as well as pleasure.

 

When her hand delivered a carefully measured smack for the ninetieth time, she suddenly decided to make the last ten blows memorable.  After all, she did not want him to get the wrong impression …

 

SMACK!!

 

SMACK!!

 

SMACK!!

 

Ian groaned, obviously biting his tongue to keep from crying out, but he was trying to buck off her lap, and Sofia wasn't having it.  She had a firm grip on his right wrist, and she pushed it up into the small of his back, causing him to cry out in pain.

 

SMACK!!!

 

SMACK!!!

 

SMACK!!!

 

SMACK!!!

 

“Such a baby,” she murmured, wanting to humiliate him far more than she wanted to hurt him.  “Honestly, Ian, my eleven year old nephew puts up less of a fuss than you do.”

 

SMACK!!!

 

SMACK!!!

 

Ian was whimpering … steadily whimpering.

 

Sofia once more began to rub lazy circles on his crimson cheeks.  She was searching for the softest, fleshiest spot … found it.

 

She raised her arm on high, taking careful aim …

 

SMACK!!!!!

 

Letting go of his wrist, Sofia repinned Ian's diaper before carefully easing him off her lap, then sank to the floor to cradle him in her arms.  He was still whimpering as she gently patted his back.

 

“Just a helpless little baby who needs his mommies to shower him with their love,” she whispered into his ear.  “But you must obey your mommies … no questions, no talking back.  When you are naughty, you will be spanked-- and next time, I will speak you for real.”

 

Sofia pushed the pacifier back into Ian's mouth, and buckled it firmly in place.  She would leave him on the floor for a few minutes, unable to walk, unable to speak, his hands rendered useless.  She was giving him a preview of what his life would be like if admitted to the secure ward in her hospital.  He would not be the first intelligence officer placed in her care, far from it.  She had a lucrative contract with one of the most secretive outfits on the Potomac, and not one of the agents delivered into her hands had ever betrayed one of his secrets.

 

Towering over him, looking down at the whimpering baby who would soon be her son-in-law, Sofia Haikonnen idly wondered whether Mister Black had a file on him somewhere in his office.     

 

. . . .

 

Leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his neck, John stared up at the ceiling, trying to organize his thoughts.  It wasn't easy.

 

“At first blush,” he finally observed, “I'd say that Ian's had the most exciting week since Bonnie met Clyde.  Falling in love with five women in less than a month is pushing the envelope even for a polyamorous personality, but two women in two days?  This is well and truly off the charts.  And need I add that  having all five of you cohabiting with him under the same roof is the stuff of which best sellers are made?  The only question is whether someone here is going to top the New York Times fiction or non-fiction list.”

 

“It's enough to make a person believe in miracles.” Reiko loved teasing Marge, whose perspective on human behavior struck her as charmingly out of date.

 

“Reiko, you did a great job laying out the case for scrapping the textbooks, and Marge, you did equally well defending them.  I know it's not easy being the only Freudian in the room, but we serve our patients best by considering multiple points of view before committing to a treatment plan.  Now, before we get to Ian, let's think about what Carlie has hypothesized, namely that she also has MPD, with Anna being her doppelganger.  Suggestions?”

 

“Unlikely,” Reiko instantly replied.  “She sensed Anna inside Ian's body, not her own, and what she senses is a little girl, not a mature woman.”

 

“Possible,” Marge countered.  “One thing we all agree on is that Vickie needs to summon Anna, only give the process more time to pin down her approximate age.  The older she is, the more seriously MPD has to be taken into consideration.  But the bottom line is this: even if she's a little girl, Occam's Razor dictates that she is a figment of Carlie's imagination, not Ian's alter ego.  It is simply not possible for Carlie to have sensed a suppressed personality in another body.”

 

“Because Freud didn't discuss it in a case study?”  Candy snorted in disbelief.  “How could he?  Freud was a cokehead who dabbled in binge drinking and regarded lesbianism as a form of hysteria that, left untreated, would lead straight to mental illness.  He would have taken what Carlie has told us as the ravings of a hysterical woman on the edge of madness, and set about trying to cure her.  Face facts, Marge: looking for a relevant case study is a dead end because homosexuality is our profession's blind spot.”

 

“Here's what we propose, John.”  Sarah wanted to move things along.  “First, we have Vickie connect with Anna, and then pass her on to Carlie.  We do this here in the ward, and see what we get.  If the answer is nowhere, then we repeat the experiment, only this time with roughly forty shots of tequila in play.  What you have to decide is whether we pay for the booze out of department funds and jettison hospital policy so that we can gather here, or we do this in the nursery that we've set up in one of Rita's spare bedrooms.  Ian wants to do this, and Carlie … you still willing?”

 

Carlie nodded in agreement.  She still had reservations, but for the moment decided not to share them.

 

“Let's go with the consensus,” John decided, “but in its original form.  We have Manny Cepeda go ahead with the diaper your favorite nurse auction, and let Rita and Sarah have a go at Anna.  We ask her straight out if she wants Carlie to take over, and we go with whatever she says.  We focus on getting her to talk, give her time to mature, and see where we get.  Rita, talk to Manny, and get us a couple of hard dates, the sooner the better.”

 

“And revising the Department's mission?  Helping vets, starting with the ones right here in the hospital?”  Marge was champing at the bit.

 

“I'll talk to Glenn and see if we can piggyback on a VA program.  But let's wait and see what Vic's attorney friend has to say about copyrighting Ian's tape.  Before I make the rounds hat in hand, I would like to show the foundations that we have a tool that will hit the ball out of the park.  This is going to come down to money, and one hootin', heck of a lot of it.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sofia sat down on the couch, steaming cup of coffee in hand, and studied the overgrown but still helpless baby sitting on the living room floor.  As she had expected, Ian had complied with her every demand.  In the early innings of their relationship, he was still trying to win her over by giving in to her whims, however outrageous.  It was the obvious tactic for a would-be son-in-law to adopt, but what he had clearly missed is that two could play this particular game.

 

“You look absolutely adorable,” she smiled, “and I could just gobble you up.  You have no idea how badly I would like to take you home and make you my baby forever and ever!”

 

Sent from down below
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law

 

With a pacifier jammed into his mouth, Ian didn't have to worry about losing his temper and telling his future mother-in-law exactly what he thought of her fantasies.  What she had clearly missed is that two could play this particular game.  Once her patience was at an end, they could get on with their day.

 

“But we have a busy day ahead of us.  Lie down, and I'll check your diaper.  I don't want you to be a stinky butt when we go shopping!”

 

Ian stretched out on his back, acutely aware of how ridiculous he must look in Sofia's eyes.  Without his vinyl pants and canvas diaper cover, there was nothing to compress the bulky hospital diaper, making it impossible for him to close his thighs.  For the first time, he realized just how much he depended on the cover to keep his diaper from sagging, and how much he relied upon it to avoid waddling like a young toddler.  He loved the diaper because it had put an end to his fear of leaking, and he couldn't have cared less about the chastity cage since the diaper had effectively discouraged his attempts to masturbate.  He wanted the cover back; the tiny click that the lock made as it slid home would henceforth be music to his ears.

 

Sofia knelt beside him and ran her hand over Ian's groin.  On the outside at least, his diaper was dry, but it was so thick that she knew she would have to unpin it and check the inside as well.  Hovering over him, her heavy breasts swaying as she worked, Sofia felt around.

 

“Just a little damp,” she declared, “and not a bit of poop anywhere.  So, this diaper is good to go, but I think that we'll settle for two pins instead of four.  That way, when we're shopping, I can slip my hand inside to gauge whether you are wet enough to warrant a change.  So, baby pants next, and then we'll get you dressed.”

 

Happily raising his hips so that Sofia could slide the vinyl pants into place, Ian was not in the least surprised when she pushed his legs up, forcing him to bend his knees.  If she was intent upon humiliating him, it was going to take a lot more than running her fingers around the edge of the thigh bands to make sure that none of his diaper was peeking out.

 

“Wait here, baby, while Mommy finds you something nice to wear.”

 

Sofia reentered the nursery, humming to herself as she pretended to examine Ian's wardrobe.  Sarah had actually picked out what she wanted him to wear to the stores-- tight fitting slacks that would make his bulging diaper obvious, and a baby pink dress shirt that was bound to draw attention, especially at the mall.  Ian didn't know it yet, but there was a visit to a maternity shop in his immediate future, and when he walked out he would be wearing the pink baby pants that Sarah and Tippi had decided to make a permanent part of his layette.  The translucent pants that he was currently sporting, they all agreed, were simply boring.

 

And of course with such tight fitting trousers, I won't be able to check his diaper unless I loosen the belt and pull them down enough to inspect the premises, in the process exposing his cute little pink diaper panties to the world.  And passers-by are bound to stop and stare when I sit on a bench and bend over to check for a poopy bottom in the time honored way …

 

And my big baby will blush so becomingly …

 

And at some point he will say or do something that warrants a punishment spanking, and I will teach him a lesson that he will not soon forget …

 

“We have got to do something about your pacifier,” Sofia decreed when she returned to the living room.  “In our secure ward, we have one with a hole that permits us to attach a feeding tube.  That way, we can furnish fluids and nutrients … medicine … without having to subject ourselves to verbal abuse.  It would be ideal for someone on a breast milk diet.”

 

Satan should be her name
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law
To me they're 'bout the same
Mother-in-law, mother-in-law

 

Taking her time, Sofia removed the booties and stood back while Ian awkwardly climbed to his feet.  The mittens and pacifier went next, and she waited patiently as he visibly struggled to pull the slacks up over his diaper.  It was definitely going to be obvious to anyone who cared to look.

 

“We can get most of what we need at any grocery store,” Ian noted as he finished dressing.  “But we'll have to visit a couple of specialty shops to find what goes into making spanokopita and baklava.  They're in different parts of the cities, so this will take a while.”

 

He kept his voice low-keyed.  If Sofia was expecting him to lose his cool over the way she was behaving, she was going to be disappointed.

 

“Wine?”

 

“One of the shops will have Kourtaki and ouzo.  Ever had retsina?”

 

Sofia shook her head.  There were no Greek restaurants in the Upper Peninsula, and the closest she had ever come to the country was a movie theater playing Never on Sunday.

 

“Don't worry.  Sofia, you and I are going to put forth a feast fit for a king.  But to do it in style, we'll need to buy a bunch of cheap glasses.  It's time that somebody christened Rita's fireplace!”

 

Sofia shook her head.  She had been neatly outmaneuvered, and she knew it.

 

“Ian, I am going to spank you, and I am going to spank you hard.  Why?  Because I'm your Mommy, and I am damned well not going to let you forget it.  But I am willing to bet that, no matter how hard I try, I am never going to succeed in humiliating you.  Still, I'm going to have fun trying!  You are a worthy adversary, and I welcome you into the family.”

 

“Thank you, Sofia.”  Ian held out his arms to embrace her, and Sofia accepted the hug.

In return, she kissed him lightly on the cheek.

 

“We're going to have fun,” she judged.  “I'll experiment on you to learn what will work on Bob.  Okay?”

 

“I'm fine with that.”

 

“You sure?  You don't want to warn him off?”

 

“Are you kidding?  Sofia, you are going to give him the ride of his life!  If I was twenty years older, I would be on my knees begging to become your baby!”

 

“Be my daughter's baby, Ian, and I shall be happy.  She needs this, and for sure Rita needs it as well.  You are the answer to a lot of prayers.  But take care not to be too good a baby … being naughty is what will get you spanked, and you need this.  It's catharsis-- a cleansing of all the guilt that you haul around in your soul.  Every time that I spank you, and I expect it to happen a lot, I will keep reminding myself not to let up because it is for your own good.”

 

Ian was dumbstruck.  He sensed that Sofia was sincere, but he still could not figure out whether or not he had been neatly outmaneuvered.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“We now return live to the Isadore Blumenfeld arena, where our own Emmett Bailey is standing by.  Emmett, what's the latest?”

 

“Amy, the news is breaking fast and furious.  Charles Blackfoot, the Commissioner of the Northern Athletic Conference, has just announced that the entire crew working last night's game between the Sandusky State Icebreakers and our own Loonies has been suspended without pay pending further investigation of their behavior on the ice last night.  Commissioner Blackfoot made it clear in his remarks that the referee and linesmen are expected to break up fights, not aid and abet them.  When last seen, the unhappy trio were out on I-94, trying to thumb a ride in the general direction of Wisconsin.”

 

“And what's the latest regarding our colleague Alan Parsons?  Has he been taken off the air?”

 

“Amy, I'm delighted to say that Alan has lived to fight another day!  The FCC has fined Alan fifty thousand dollars for his admittedly salty language during the broadcast, but on the flip side I'm hearing that ticket sales for both the men's and women's hockey games are the hottest tickets in town.  It's true that the Icebreakers have forfeited the Sunday afternoon rematch, which is understandable given the fact that four of their players ended up in the emergency room, but the women's team takes the ice against Cumberland State on Tuesday night, and it looks like fans will be hanging from the rafters.  After the Hanson sisters, Jackknife and Slasher, sent two of the Icebreakers to the hospital in the ruckus that broke out in the stands, fans can't wait to see what they can do on the ice!”

 

“Understandable, Emmett … wholly understandable.  “Now, are the police still pressing charges against Derek 'Thug' Naughton for aggravated assault, and against Cindy Carlson for inciting a riot?”

 

“No, Amy, definitely not!  Minutes ago, I spoke with campus police chief Walt Mischof.  I asked him straight out about both Thug and Cindy, and here's what he had to say:

 

“No, Emmett, there are no charges pending against the Thug.  What happens on the ice, as the saying goes, stays on the ice.  It's unfortunate that young Mister Friedman will be eating through a straw for the rest of the season, but as Alan Parsons famously said on the air last night, 'THIS IS HOCKEY'!  As far as the police are concerned, the matter is closed.”

 

“And Cindy Carlson, and the rest of the infamous Zeta Alpha Pi sorority girls?  Last night, Emmett, they looked to be headed back to jail, but fans observed Chief Mischof in furious consultation with the unlikely trio of Andrew Carlson, Spats Belmondo and Jerome Goldstein, one of the senior members of the Minnesota bar.  Did Mister Goldstein live up to his reputation and get the girls off on a technicality?”

 

“Good questions, Amy, good questions all.  Here's what the Chief had to say:

 

“No, we never gave any thought to arresting Cindy Carlson or any of her sorority sisters.  They were filling in for the Sandusky State boosters, whose bus apparently skidded off the road between Eau Claire and Menominee.  They were there to cheer for the visitors, courtesy of Coach Reggie Dunlop of the women's team, who provided the tickets.  There is nothing illegal about stripping down to a bikini top and a well appointed diaper, and there's certainly nothing illegal about doing the Cindy Shuffle.  Watch for it on the dance floor at Moby's tonight, whence it may well go nationwide.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Ian switched off the radio, and looked blindly out the window.  They were driving to a hole in the wall grocery store in South Saint Paul that churned out Greek, Turkish and Lebanese delicacies for a select clientele. 

 

“What am I going to do with these girls,” he asked rhetorically.  “I swear, every time I leave them to their own devices, they find a new and still more outrageous way to get into trouble!  Honestly, what am I going to do?”

 

Sofia laughed so hard that she almost lost control of the car.  “Spoken like a true parent,” she crowed, patting him on the thigh.  “Spoken like a true parent!”

    

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