After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index

 

AN HOMAGE TO VINCENT VEGA

 

SCENE 5:

 

VICKIE'S MAGIC WAND

 

It took Ian less than twelve hours to begin the slow but seemingly inevitable descent to his second spanking.  The first had ended long after midnight, and when it was over Rita and Vickie had gently eased him to the floor.  It wasn't clear whether he had fallen into a deep sleep or passed out drunk, but once Marge had overcome the challenge of getting him into a fresh diaper and baby pants, Rita slid a pillow under his head, and Vickie fetched a blanket to cover him.  Ian slept for hours, Sarah sat watching over him until she finally nodded off, and the others scattered to find places to catch what little rest they could.  Ian and Sarah both came slowly awake when Reiko put the coffee on in the kitchen.  It was finally Vickie's turn to change his diaper, which was as heavily soiled as it was soaking wet.  Shortly thereafter, everyone began to say their goodbyes and head for home.

 

It was mid-afternoon on a cold but clear Sunday when Ian and Sarah took their leave-- the Sunday before Thanksgiving.  By the time they reached Ian's apartment, Sarah was so angry that she rushed to the phone, called Rita, and asked her to summon the Circle to meet on Tuesday evening.  Ian had just earned his second spanking, she said, and she added that she wanted Vickie to deliver it.  It was clear to Rita and Sarah-- indeed, to all of them-- that Vickie wanted to spank Ian very, very badly.  Vickie had never made any secret of the fact that spanking her lovers gave her a sexual high with which no run of the mill orgasm could compete.  Giving it no thought whatsoever, Sarah had decided to make Vickie's wish come true.

 

Sarah would be leaving for home on Wednesday morning, the six hour drive to Houghton in the summertime stretching out to an eight hour slog over the treacherous roads of early winter in the Upper Midwest.  Outsiders thought that the locals were joking when they complained that God annually punished them for the heathen sins of their Viking ancestors by dumping the worst storm of the season on Thanksgiving morning.

 

The locals weren't joking.

 

If the drive north on Wednesday was problematic, the drive south on Sunday looked to be anything but.  To judge from the weather forecast, Sarah concluded, it would probably take her eleven long hours to get home.

 

And she wanted company … Ian's company.  It was time for Ian to meet her mom.

 

The only problem was that Ian disagreed.  He had classes to teach, and he couldn't cancel them.  He had been invited to a Thanksgiving dinner party by the wife of his department chair.  He had already accepted, and couldn't back out.  Blah, blah this and blah, blah that.

 

Sarah wasn't having it, and Ian exclaimed that she was being unreasonable.  Commitments were commitments.

 

Sarah reminded him of their agreement, pointed out that all of his students would be grateful if canceled classes permitted them to head for home before the Holiday.  As for the dinner party, she told him in no uncertain terms that his days of partying without her were over.

 

And it went downhill from there.

 

When Vickie got the phone call from Rita, she was jubilant.  In the wee small hours of Sunday morning, she had drawn the winning straw, in the form of Ian's messy diaper.  She had taken her damn, sweet time cleaning, oiling and powdering his bottom.  She had caressed it, tracing slow circles over his awesome butt cheeks, so small yet so firm.  She had brought the blood to the surface, a foreshadow of what she would do when she actually spanked him.  She had wrapped a baby wipe around her finger and inserted it deep into his anus, searching for the prostate, finding it.  Then, throwing caution to the winds, she had used two fingers to gift him with a prostate massage that gifted her in return with a low moan that seemed to stretch for hours.  To hell with Rita's instructions, she shrugged as she turned him over, the movement well practiced over years of preparing patients for the enemas that they would receive in their beds.  She ran her fingernails up and down the inside of his left thigh, repeatedly raking the barely hidden nerve that drove men wild.  Ian was staring at her but not really seeing her, succumbing to the temptress, wanting everything that she was offering.  He came fully erect, a six inch long tree trunk that Vickie circled with thumb and index finger, urging him along, his low moans becoming more and more insistent.  She wanted to give him a ruined orgasm, but bit down hard and backed off, not knowing whether he was a screamer.  After all, it wouldn't do to have Sarah barge in and have poor little Ian witness the cat fight of all cat fights …

 

And now the stupid cow insisted that, in two days' time, Vickie put Ian over her lap and spank him to within an inch of his life!

 

Vickie put down the phone, rushed into the bedroom, and yanked the drawer open.  Frantically, she unfastened her pants, somehow got them down around her ankles.  She couldn't wait.  Blindly reaching into the drawer, she pulled out the first wand that she touched, flicked it on, and rammed it home.  The orgasm was so intense that her legs turned to butter.  Gripping the wand with one hand and the edge of the dresser with the other, she slowly sank to the floor.  Tuesday evening couldn't come fast enough.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Sarah had left, her parting comment a warning that he needed to be in the lobby at 6:15, or she would leave without him.  Ian had mutely watched her go, dreading the emptiness of an apartment that had never really felt like home until Sarah had stumbled into his life.  He felt drained, physically and emotionally.  He was hungry, but wasn't up to the task of fixing a proper meal.  He settled for a peanut butter sandwich, washed it down with a beer, and checked his diaper.  A change was in order, but he shrugged it off.  Still wearing the onesie that was his only proper clothing on the ride home, he fell into bed, and then into a deep sleep.

 

Sarah was also exhausted, and so she sat quietly on her sofa, frequently glancing up, increasingly worried that she could not hear Ian moving around above her.  She wanted to go to him, but her anger was real, and it strengthened her resolve.  Eight years earlier, she had failed her patients, and in the process failed herself.  She had run away, only to come full circle, falling in love with a man haunted by the same memories that had scared her off back … it seemed a lifetime ago.  But Sarah was done running; this was her war, and she was going to win it.  She demanded obedience and she demanded loyalty, in return for which she offered otherwise unconditional love.  She was absolutely certain that it was this combination, and only this combination, that could win Ian's trust, without which it would never be possible to break down the wall that separated them.  She had told Ian the truth: he and he alone could vanquish the demons that he had brought home from Asia, but she would be there to get him through it, and in the aftermath they would build a new life together.

 

.  .  .  .

 

It was early Monday morning, dawn in the far north still more than an hour away, when Ian got into the car.  He didn't know what to say … more than that, he didn't know if there was anything to say.

 

“How's your diaper,” Sarah suddenly blurted out, filling the silence as the defroster continued slowly to melt the ice on her windshield.

 

“Sagging,” Ian admitted, his voice little more than a whisper.  “I missed you,” he added, “last night … this morning … and I'm so sorry that I made you angry.  I love you so much, and I just can't seem to get anything right.”

 

“So, is this apology your roundabout way of saying that you've changed your mind about spending Thanksgiving with my family?”

Ian sadly shook his head.  “No, Sarah, it isn't.  Oh, I see what you mean about the party, so I'll think of some excuse to beg off on Thursday, and from here on out you'll have the first and the final world on our social life.  But I'm not going to cancel my classes.  Even if the students all fail to show, I'll still be there.”

 

“So, what, then?  Are you going to spend the whole weekend alone in your apartment?  Just sit around for four days, drowning your sorrows in beer?  God, give me strength!”

 

Sarah slammed the steering wheel, her anger giving way to frustration.  “I won't have it,” she yelled, turning to confront him.  “You don't make good decisions, you … you … you can't … you couldn't pin your diaper on right to save your soul!  I WON'T HAVE IT, AND DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!”

 

“Sarah, I ...”

 

“NO!  YOU SHUT UP, AND YOU LISTEN TO ME!”  Sarah took a deep breath, fighting to regain some semblance of calm. “All right … all right … I won't drag you up to Houghton with me against your will, but you are damn well going to get your butt spanked tomorrow night, and then you are going to bed.  I'll arrange it with Rita, and you will go to the hospital with her Thursday morning, Friday morning, Saturday, Sunday … she's in charge of the whole seventh floor, and she has to work straight through the weekend.  She has involuntary committal hearings next week, the paper work is overwhelming, and she has to get all of her ducks in a row.  So, you are going to be a good, little boy, and do whatever she requires of you.  You will thank whatever nurse draws the short straw and gets stuck changing your diapers for her consideration, and if she decides to put you down for a nap in one of the pediatric cribs, you will yawn and tell her it's a great idea because you're so tired.  Are you hearing me?”

 

“Yes ...”

 

Sarah cut him off.  “And there will be no beer this weekend … no alcohol of any kind.  I am not going to share my bed with a drunk!”

 

“But we haven't ...”

 

“No, we haven't-- because every time I change your diaper, your dick just lays there.  Can you even get it up, Ian?  Is it the booze talking, or are you just an impotent twelve month old baby incapable of doing anything that requires more than your fingers and tongue?  Because if that's the case, when you are not nursing on my tits you are going to be spending a lot more time on your knees licking my cunt, and in whatever time is left you'll be crawling around on the floor in your widdle diapee and baby pants.  If you want to be a baby, rest assured that I am ready, willing and able to accommodate you.  Don't think that I'm kidding because, as you are going to discover, everything I need to return you to infancy, and keep you there forever, is behind locked doors on the seventh floor!”

 

SCENE 6:

 

ANIMAL HOUSE

 

In the immortal words of Yogi Berra, Ian mused, it's deja vu all over again.  But at least I'm not dealing with asswipes like Marmalard and Neidermeyer.  Now, Babs and Mandy are a different story …

 

Turning his head to the left, Ian spotted Candy sitting on one of the couches.  She was delicately exploring her upper lip with the tip of her tongue, all the while staring at him, never blinking.

 

Is Candy Mandy?  Gotta be … Jee-zus, they are both so unbelievably hot!  And where's Babs … er … Becky?

 

Ian craned his neck, but he couldn't spot her.  Animal House had become his new favorite film, in no small part because the asswipes all got theirs in the end, and the screw-ups scored all the hot chicks.  The Nam had been full of the Douglas Neidermeyers of this world, and so many of them had been fragged by their own troops that the life expectancy of a second looey fresh off the United charter at Tan Son Nhat had been precisely sixteen days.

 

Sixteen days!  So, yeah, it's like I'm pledging a fuckin' sorority or something, and the ritual spanking lies dead ahead.  What's the name of this outfit?  Oh, yeah … The Circle.  Oh...kay … fine … whatever … so long as it's not the friggin' Delta Tau Chi.  I wonder how much they paid Kevin Bacon for the privilege of lighting up his ass?

 

 It was the same chair, sitting in the same spot in the middle of Rita's living room.  The same crowd was in attendance.  Only this time Ian was straddling Vicki's lap, and Sarah was just one more face in the circle of Harpies, two of whom were plainly relishing his forthcoming humiliation.

 

And yet it was all subtly different.  For one thing, Ian wasn't drunk, and he didn't like the way in which Vickie had pinned his right arm and trapped his legs between her well proportioned thighs.  His shoulder was on fire, and he knew that it would only get worse if he tried to move. 

 

Vickie clearly knew what she was doing.

 

Sarah had been all business, and his inaugural spanking had hurt like hell, but he had sensed throughout that there was no anger in her, and the conviction that she would cause him great pain but never endanger him had been overwhelming.  Sarah was no sadist.

 

He wasn't so sure about Vickie.

 

For one thing, she was taking her time, caressing his cheeks and thighs, one languid, sensual stroke after another, the only interruption the occasional passage of her well manicured fingernails over his exposed thighs.  Every cell in his body was on fire, Little Ian Junior was badly misbehaving, and all Ian wanted to do was get up, throw Vickie to the floor, tear her clothes off, stick it to her, and pound her and pound her and pound her …

 

SMACK!

 

Ian howled, more in surprise than in pain.

 

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

 

The pain was incandescent, four blows delivered to the exact same spot on his right cheek, three of them rapid fire.  He would never have believed that a lousy spanking could hurt this bad.

 

Vickie ran her fingernails lightly up and down his left thigh, up and down …

 

SMACK!

 

More fingernails, more soft caresses …

 

SMACK!  SMACK!  The top of his thigh …

 

SMACK!  SMACK!  The middle …

 

Then, without warning …

 

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

 

The blows rained down on his right cheek, so close, so close to where Vicki had started.

 

Ian screamed.  He screamed so loud that he was sure some neighbor would call the police.  But Donna Sumner was drowning him out, the disco beat a perverse counterpoint to his own cries.

 

Vickie really did know what she was doing.

 

SMACK!  SMACK!  Vickie was tracing lazy circles across his left cheek, which had finally attracted her attention.

 

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

 

Rising and falling … rising and falling … Vickie wasn't holding back … Vickie was raining fire down upon Ian's ass and thighs, lighting them up, crimson everywhere, a few spots already turning a bit purple.

 

Without warning, she stopped.  For long moments, the only sound in the room was Ian's whimpering.

 

A shadow crossed Ian's line of vision, what little he could see, his head dangling almost uselessly, his tongue lolling. Someone grabbed his hair, and jerked his head up.

 

Through his tears, Ian found himself staring up into Sarah's eyes.

 

There was no pity there … none at all.  Suddenly, he was very, very frightened.

 

.  .  .  .

 

Time stopped, or so it seemed.  No one spoke.  No one coughed.  No one moved.  The ritual had reached its first intermission.

 

“Twenty-five spanks, Ian; that's all it took.  Twenty-five spanks, and you are bawling like a baby.  But that's okay, because you have been acting like a baby from the very beginning.  And I warned you that this is what it would be like if you mouthed off, disobeyed, broke your promise to me.  Now, have you had enough, or do you want more?  You are coming to Houghton with me tomorrow; there will be no discussion about this.  The only thing in question is how many times Vickie has to spank you before you give in.  Say yes, and it's over.  Say no, and you will receive another twenty-five … the price of defiance.  We can do this all night, Ian, and we will.  I promise you … we will.”

 

“But yesterday … yesterday, you said that I could stay with Rita ...”

 

“I've changed my mind, Ian-- a mother's prerogative.”  She dropped his head, and looked hard at Vickie.  “Let's resume.”

 

Vickie had been absently tracing circles on Ian's now fiery red ass.  Her hand paused …

 

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  Left … SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  Right …

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  She peppered Ian's thighs, then began the cycle anew.  Counting to twenty-four, Vickie paused, aimed, a determined look on her face …

 

SMACK!

 

Ian was whimpering … he had run out of tears.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“You want me to treat you like a baby, Ian; you were very clear about that.”  Sarah was squatting in front of him, her hand cupping his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes.  “You wanted to be helpless.  Well, how does it feel, having your wish come true?  How does it feel, knowing now that your mommy is very, very strict, and won't put up with your nonsense?  This is your future, Ian … look into my eyes, and tell me that this is what you want-- a mommy who will discipline you every, single time that you step out of line.  Happy, now?”

 

“I don't ...” 

 

“Oh, so you don't want to be a baby, now?  Is that what you're trying to say?  You've changed your mind?  You want to be my lover, now … my husband?  Come home from work to find supper waiting on the table … grab a beer … make love to me with the booze on your breath?  Sing Auld Lang Syne every New Year's eve?”

 

“Just look at you,” she sneered; “what a pathetic excuse for a man.  And where did you really get shot?  Come on, Ian, tell us, because we all want to know, you being such a great, big war hero and all.  How many purple hearts did they pin on your chest, how many?”

 

“Four,” he whispered, his voice swimming up from the depths of his pain.  “Four.”

 

Sarah looked sharply at Rita, both of them instantly understanding that they had finally achieved a breakthrough.  Sarah bit down hard on her emotions, willed herself not to give up ground so painfully won.

 

“Oh, really?  And just where,” she snapped, “are you keeping your little trophies, if they actually exist?”

 

“... office,” he sighed, trying to draw breath into heaving lungs; “in my … desk … drawer ...”

 

“Let's go home, Ian.  We have a long drive ahead of us, and I'll need to pack a bag for you.”  Sarah stood up, hands on hips, looking down on him-- a goddess commanding the heights of Olympus.

 

“No.”  It was all that he managed to say, but even in a whisper, one couldn't miss the conviction in his voice.

 

Oh, shit, Rita thought.  She was staring at Vickie, who in turn was staring at Sarah with one of those looks that said who the hell are you, anyway?

 

Ian convulsed, and Vickie instantly relaxed her grip.  She could feel the sobs wracking his body.  But she was staring at Sarah, suddenly realizing that neither of them had derived any pleasure from this spanking at all.  But Sarah had used her, turned her into a cheap prop on a movie set of her own design.  Vickie wasn't feeling it, and now she knew why.  Gently, she eased Ian off her lap.

 

“I'm done here.”  It was all she could manage to say. She slowly stood up, her eyes now riveted on the broken but somehow unyielding man curled up at her feet-- a completely naked man whose pain stemmed from a source hidden deep in his past, pain that he had been fleeing for years, taking refuge, like thousands of other veterans, in the bottle.  She was fine with catharsis, but the way Rita and Sarah were going about it sickened her to her very core.  Looking down, watching him curl up into a fetal ball, it dawned on Victoria Robinson that Ian Grady mattered a very great deal to her.

 

She just didn't know why.

 

Pausing only to gather her things, Vickie went down the stairs to put on her boots, open the door, and step silently out into the Arctic night.

 

SCENE 7:

 

OVER, UNDER, SIDEWAYS, DOWN

 

See the stars come falling down from the sky

Gently passing, they kiss your tears when you cry

See the wind come softly blow your hair from your face

See the rain hide away in disgrace ...

 

Is there such a thing as a mitigated disaster?

 

Still I'm sad

 

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

 

How I'm sad

How I'm sad

Oh, how I'm sad

 

It was going untouched.

 

She swiveled her chair and stared out the window, barely registering the miserably gray sky that enshrouded the city.

 

The sky matched her mood.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

.  .  .  .

 

“I'm Done Here.”

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

 

And Sarah had missed it. 

 

“Who wants to take her place?”  Sarah had spat the question at Vicki's retreating back, her voice hard and cold.

 

If Vicki had turned around, they would have torn each other apart.  But I'll give Vic credit … she never even broke stride …

 

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

 

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

 

And Reiko had never looked at her.  Not once.  Instead she had glared up at Rita.      

 

“Giri,” she had spat out; “if you do not know the meaning, you should look it up.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

.  .  .  .

 

Shapes of things before my eyes

Just teach me to despise

Will time make men more wise

 

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

 

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

 

Frustrated, Rita angrily slammed her fist into the book.

 

Come tomorrow, will I be older?

Come tomorrow, may be a soldier

Come tomorrow, may I be bolder than today?

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

.  .  .  .

 

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

 

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

 

For your love

For your love

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

For your love

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

 

Best to placate her, Rita decided.

 

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

 

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

 

“She loves him.”

 

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

 

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

 

Now it was Vickie's turn to laugh, the tension in the room dramatically easing.

 

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

 

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

 

“You could have fooled me,” Vickie interjected.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Sarah would never agree to any of this.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

for what I have in mind, he needs to be foot loose and fancy free.”

 

“What DO you have in mind?”

 

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

 

Rita leaned back in her chair, mulling it over.

 

“It's worth a try.  By the way, what was his rank?”

 

Vickie laughed, a huge grin on her face.  It was so hard to think of little baby Ian this way.

 

“He was a Major … but no one's exactly sure in what army!”

 

“How the hell did you ...”

 

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

 

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

 

Sick at heart and lonely

Deep in dark despair

Thinking one thought only

Where is she, tell me where

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

 

And if she says to you

She don't love me

Just give her my message

Tell her of my plea 

 

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

 

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

 

And I know

Well, if she had me back again

Well, I would never make her sad

I've gotta heart full of soul

 

She got up and turned to leave.

 

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

 

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

 

Over under sideways down

Hey

Backwards forward square and round

 

“Twice?”

 

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

 

“I understand.  I'll find an excuse.”

 

Vickie about faced, to offer Rita a mock salute.

 

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

 

SCENE 8:

 

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

 

“How are you feeling, soldier?”

 

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

 

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

 

Then he kissed her full on the lips before leaning back to study her reaction.

 

And what he saw was utter and absolute confusion.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

Ian's only response was a low purring sound.

 

SMACK!

 

“Hey, ow, that hurt,” he yelled.

 

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

 

“But I didn't stick my tongue ...”

 

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

 

“Huh?”

 

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

 

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

 

Vickie increased her pace.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Ian moaned again, and Vickie instantly withdrew her fingers.

 

“What,” he pleaded.

 

“That sounded like 'stop' to me.” 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“That's a good baby,” Vickie cooed, when she watched Ian visibly seal his lips.  She rapidly finished dressing him, and stood aside to let him hastily toss blue books and red pins into his briefcase.  She gave his much beleaguered rear end a couple of encouraging pats, but she had a firm grip on his wrist as they walked out the door.

 

Vickie stole a glance at the clock opposite the elevator.  Ian's seduction had taken all of eighteen minutes.  She had needed one of them to stick his ramrod stiff cock where it belonged.

 

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

 

.  .  .  .

 

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

 

“Not really,” Vickie murmured.  “There's, like, three thousand TV's in this facility, and in the public areas they're on twenty-four hours a day.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Then going the next four days without it shouldn't be a problem, should it?”  Vickie patted him on the knee, and stood up.  “Come on, baby, let's go see auntie Rita.”

 

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

 

.  .  .  .

 

Rita glanced up from behind the mountain of paper that had been steadily growing on her desk throughout the day.  She smiled broadly when she saw who had just walked in her door.

 

“Good afternoon, Ian, how's your butt doing?  Still on fire?”

 

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

 

She did what????

 

Rita loved Bob Seger.  Either Ian was being too clever by half or …

 

Rita looked at Vickie, who was standing in the doorway, blocking his escape.  She looked like the cat that had just swallowed the canary.

 

Oh, shit …

 

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

 

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

 

What the hell's a farang?

 

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

 

Gee, thanks, Vickie swore under her breath.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Hey, how do you know my rank?”

 

Ian heard Vickie laughing maliciously behind him.

 

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

 

Oh, shit, Ian groaned.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Do we have enough chairs?”  Feathers were streaming out of Vickie's mouth.

 

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

 

After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index