Rita's Department Store Adventure

My friend, Alec Leamus, finding himself unable to carry on with his fine 
story, "Rita's Department Store Adventure," sent me a partial draft of 
Part 4.  He asked me if I would finish the story for him, which I have 
been honored to do.  In the process, and for various reasons, I edited 
the entire story, including the three parts previously posted on several 
sites.  The last half of Part 4 and the whole of Part 5, of course, are 
entirely my own.  

(The original version of Parts 1-3 may also be found on several sites, 
including the Yahoo groups Strip-Searched, ArrogantWomenEmbarrassed, and 
dr_psychos_academy.) 

I have long been convinced that Alec was writing a classic of the genre, 
and it's a pity he couldn't finish it himself.  But, even though I might 
not have the same flair for it, I can hope that I have not done it an 
injustice. 



                RITA'S DEPARTMENT STORE ADVENTURE

                           (Revised) 
 
                               by 

                   Alec Leamus and C. Lakewood



Part 1

It was 8:50 on a Friday evening, and Rita Donovan was furious.  She had 
stepped out of the changing room for only a moment, and now her purse was 
gone.  Half-zipped into a black evening dress, she stormed out of the 
changing room and up to the counter, where she collared the young 
salesgirl. 

"Someone just stole my purse out of the changing room!  I demand to speak 
to the manager!"
 
Rita continued with her tirade, insisting that she had just stepped out
for a moment to see if there might be a smaller size, and, when she 
returned, her purse was gone.  All her money, credit cards, and ID, as 
well as her cell phone and keys -- gone! 

"Someone could be breaking into my house right now!" Rita screamed.
Several other women turned to stare at the spectacle, then slowly 
returned their clothing choices to the nearest rack and moved away from 
the tension-filled area.
 
It was almost closing time, and Stephanie Collins had already had a 
stressful week and so was in no mood to deal with the screaming 
irritation that faced her.  Now age twenty, Stephanie had been working 
at Nelson's for almost three years and had handled more than her share 
of upset customers.  But enough was enough. 

After a full minute of abuse, Stephanie spoke.  "Ma'am, please calm down.
You're upsetting our other customers.  I'm sure no one is breaking into
your house.  How long ago did it happen?" 

"What difference does that make?  Just call your manager!" Rita fumed. 

Rita was twenty-four and used to dealing with staff and tradesmen.  She
had led what most would describe as a privileged life.  Dealing with a 
common department store clerk was almost beneath her. 

"I already called security.  My manager is gone for the day," Stephanie 
quietly answered, well aware that her calm manner would only further 
infuriate Rita.
 
"You ignorant bitch!" Rita spewed.  "I make more money in a week than you 
do in a month.  I don't know why they hire such incompetent little fools 
like you.  All you have to do is ring up sales, re-hang some clothes, and 
help the customers.  But you're too busy gossiping with your friends and 
just goofing off to notice a thief sneak into a changing room right by 
your register and steal my purse."  Rita was shouting now. 

Stephanie drew a long, deep breath, trying to regain her composure before 
trusting herself to speak.

"Ma'am, I am sorry, but I can direct you to the security office, and you 
can fill out the proper forms there.  And, if you like, you can leave a 
message for my manager about my lack of service."  Stephanie smiled.
 
"Right!"  Rita stormed back into the changing room.  Moments later, 
there was a short scream from inside.  "You! Miss! Whoever!  Come back 
here...now!" Rita shouted.

Stephanie removed her register keys and reluctantly walked back into the 
dressing room area.  Outside dressing room, three Rita stood with her 
arms folded.  "Now my clothes are gone, too," she stated flatly.
 
"Oh, just now?  But there's no one here.  The store is practically empty,
and the mall is about to close.  Who could've taken them?"  Stephanie was
genuinely perplexed.
 
"I don't know, but I don't have anything to wear now," Rita said. 

"Ma'am, the store is closing.  I have to lock up my register and do my 
reports.  Did you buy anything that you could wear?" Stephanie asked. 

"NO.  And if I had, I am sure that would have been stolen too.  I guess
I'll just have to wear this home and bring it back later." 

"Uh, ma'am, that's an eight hundred dollar Donna Karan.  I just can't let
you walk out with that," Stephanie hesitantly replied. 

"Well, go find me something else then; this is your fault," Rita spat. 

"But ma'am, we have a very strict policy about that.  Look there, at that 
sign: "This store is not responsible for the loss of unattended personal 
items," Stephanie quoted. 

Rita glared at her.
 
"However, I might be able to find something in our lost and found.  It 
won't be a Donna Karan, but it will...."  Stephanie's voice was 
controlled, with some difficulty.
 
"Fine.  So do it.  My god, you're lame," Rita said.
 
Stephanie stood silently for a moment. 

"There's just one thing.  I have to go upstairs to get to lost and found,
but I have to lock everything up before I do."

"So what?" Rita said mockingly. 

Stephanie spoke slowly, "Because we carry such high profile designer 
names, they just made it a new policy that we have to lock all of our 
racks.  So I have to secure everything before I leave, or I could get 
fired." 

"What are you trying to say?" 

"I have to have that dress," Stephanie said quietly. 

"What?  Maybe you're not listening.  All my clothes are gone." 

"I know, and I'm sorry, but it will just be for a moment while I go 
upstairs.  There's no one here.  It's past nine.  They have already  
locked the front doors.  And I'll be right back." 

"Fine," Rita huffed, as she began to slip out of the black evening 
dress.  She cursed herself for not wearing panties (wanting to avoid the 
dreaded VPL).  Then she remembered that she had taken off her bra to try 
on this stupid damn dress.

"You don't have anything tucked under the counter?" Rita asked, suddenly 
polite.  "Anything?" 

"No, I'm sorry.  We're very neat here."  Stephanie suppressed a smile, 
knowing full well there probably was something pushed into the back of a 
drawer.  Moreover, Stephanie noticed that without her clothes, Rita was 
not as imposing as she had first appeared.  Naked, Rita's breasts seemed 
even smaller -- a 32B, perhaps -- while Stephanie was a 36C.  She glanced 
down at her own breasts as if for confirmation.

"What are you doing?  Do you mind?" Rita asked, as she slipped the dress 
down past her hips.  "Would a little privacy be too much to ask?"
 
"Ma'am, I have to...."  But Rita cut her off again. 
 
"Whatever....  Please don't quote me any more policies, thank you....  
Here!"  Rita roughly tossed the dress in Stephanie's direction. 

"I need the shoes, too."  Rita, though seething with indignation, saw no 
alternative and grudgingly complied.  Stephanie stepped closer.  
Previously, the two had been able to stand almost eye to eye.  However, 
now barefoot, Rita found herself staring up at Stephanie's chin.  
Stephanie smiled quietly as she realized that, at five foot six and in 
low heels, she now towered over Rita. 

Rita, standing in front of Stephanie completely nude, was beginning to 
feel a little strange.  Naked and all alone in a big department store, 
relying on a younger woman to help dress her, Rita was suddenly overcome 
with memories of childhood shopping trips with her mother.  These trips 
were often humiliating, since Rita was allowed no privacy and was often 
paraded around wearing only panties during frequent and lengthy quests 
to find just the right dress.

"We have to step out of here," Stephanie announced. 

"What?  Why can't I wait in here?" 

"I have to lock it up.  Policy." 

As they stepped back out into the store, Stephanie turned and locked the 
dressing room's main door. 

"This just gets better and better," said Rita, with a sneer. 

Stephanie suddenly wheeled around and stared down her nose at Rita. 

"Look, I have had just about enough of you.  Here I am helping you and 
trying my hardest to keep my temper -- and all you can do is gripe and 
moan.  I'm sorry that you were careless and didn't keep an eye on your 
belongings, but that is not my fault.  So keep your snide comments to 
yourself and wait right here quietly until I get back."  Stephanie 
was livid. 

Rita, stunned by this sudden outburst, merely nodded.  The words "wait 
right here quietly" struck several memory chords in Rita, leaving her 
speechless. 

Stephanie turned and walked away briskly.  She laughingly called over 
her shoulder, "I can see now why you were looking for a smaller size."

Rita had always been comfortable with her shape and size, but to be 
completely nude in an unfamiliar setting and then scolded like a child 
made her feel small.  Rita turned and looked in the mirror.  She was 
small on top, but she had always worn the right clothes to improve her 
figure.  Her eyes wandered farther down her slim frame to her 
clean-shaven pubic area.  She always kept herself shaved, which, she 
now realized, not only enhanced her nudity but also made her appear 
even more childlike. 

Rita quickly dismissed these thoughts as she gazed at her reflected face.
Her makeup was always impeccable and definitely womanly.  As she peered 
more closely, however, she saw that she had smeared her eyeliner.  A 
dark brown smudge marked her cheek.  She imagined it must have happened 
when she took off the damn dress.  

Realizing that the spiteful store clerk would take her sweet time in 
returning, she glanced around the now dimly lit store.  Security had 
already closed everything down, and some areas of the huge department
store were positively dark.  Peering around through the clothes racks, 
Rita spied a cosmetics counter and moved over to the display samples.  
Finding a cleanser and cotton balls, she decided to begin with a clean 
slate.
 
"I'll be damned if I'm going to wait quietly for that little bitch.  I 
can do what I want.  Hell, I'm the customer!" she muttered. 

Unfortunately there was no mirror handy, and the only passably good 
substitute she could find in the gloom was the slightly reflective glass 
countertop.  She commandeered a makeup stool and dragged it over to the 
counter.  Kneeling atop the stool, she leaned over the counter and 
squinted at her dim reflection -- but then her hair fell down around her 
face.  Frustrated, she straightened up and peevishly pushed her hair out 
of the way.  Again she leaned over, only to have her hair fall right back 
again.  With a sigh, she climbed off the stool and glanced around the 
counter.  On the far end were some hair clips, barrettes.  She had not 
worn those things since she was about ten years old.  She smiled as she 
chose a pair of pink-and-white clips off the rack.  She quickly clipped 
them into her hair on either side of her face and went back to work.  
After she had removed all of her makeup, she used several bottles of the 
sample cleansers.  She knew these were probably expensive, but didn't 
care.  After cleansing, she searched for a toner, but found none. 

Then, tucked behind some perfumes, she found a small orange bottle that 
obviously contained toner.  She liberally applied the liquid and then 
wiped it off.  When she peered into the countertop again, she noticed 
small markings on her face, mainly across her cheeks and nose. 

"Shit!" she said out loud.  "They look like freckles!" 

She scrambled down off the stool and snatched up the orange bottle.  
Unable to read the small print in the low light, she could only guess 
that she had inadvertently used a bronzer instead of a toner. 
Unfortunately for Rita, certain bronzers did not react well with her 
lighter skin tone. 

She was just beginning to wonder how she was going to repair this 
blunder, when her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a flashlight 
beam and a deep voice. 

"Put your hands where I can see them," the voice commanded. 

"I'm just waiting for a salesgirl to...."  Rita's voice trailed off as 
she remembered her nudity and tried to move behind a nearby rack of 
sweaters.

"Just stay where you are.  We've been looking for you. And don't you run,
either.  I'm in no mood to chase you." 

"Look, I think you're mistaking me...." 

"Put your hands back where I can see them...over your head.  Now 
interlock your fingers....  That's right.  Put them on your head and 
stand still," the voice commanded.  "If you move, you'll get maced."

Shaken and scared, Rita obeyed orders, and the tall figure of a security 
guard emerged from the shadows.  As he approached, he began to chuckle, 
though his flashlight beam didn't waver.  He pulled out his two-way radio. 

"Yeah, Hal?  I found her.  She was in cosmetics.  Don't know what she was
up to, but you were right -- she's sure as naked as a jaybird.  Beats me 
how you spotted it on the monitor in this light." 

"The trained eye, my boy.  Remember, I've got satellite at home and a 
bunch of X-rated channels; I get in a lot of practice.  So okay, Joe, 
secure the area and bring her back to the office.  I'll make some calls. 
Hey, and check Door 7 on your way back," Hal said.

"Ten-four, over and out."  Joe signed off. 

Throughout this exchange Rita stood completely still, grateful for the 
dim lighting.  However, her surprise was now giving way to anger, and, 
as Joe pocketed his radio, she began to vent. 

"You're a security guard!  You're in so much trouble.  You have no idea 
who you're dealing with!  I hope you have saved up some money, goon, 
because you are going to be unemployed for a long time!  I'm a customer 
here, and you have...."

POP! 

Rita's speech was suddenly interrupted by a sharp slap on her naked 
rump, causing her to unlock her fingers and rub her butt cheek. 

"Shut up," he said.  "You're trespassing."  He chuckled again.  "And
you're naked in a store that's been closed for almost twenty minutes.  I 
don't want to hear any threats from you.  And d'you know what?  If you 
ARE somebody important, I'm sure your country club set would truly love 
to hear about this incident."  He stopped and smiled.
 
"Now, are you going to give me any more trouble?  Do I have to cuff you, 
too?" Joe asked.  "Right.  Suppose you begin by telling me just what 
you're doing in here...and in that condition." 

Rita, still a bit stunned from the little slap, huffed and quickly 
explained, grateful that Joe kept his flashlight trained on her face.

After listening patiently to her tale, Joe grasped her upper arm roughly 
and began dragging her out of the cosmetics department. 

"Where are we going?" Rita exclaimed.  "Let go of me!" 

"Listen, missy, that was a great story, and you can tell everybody all 
about it, later.  Come on."  Joe took her more firmly by the arm. 

"'Missy'?  Who are you calling 'missy'?  I'm twenty-four." Rita shouted. 

Joe stopped, although he did not let go of his grip.  He moved his 
flashlight beam, very slowly, from the floor up over Rita's body to her 
face. 

"Yeah, in eight to ten years...maybe," he said dryly.

                    *********************************                

Meanwhile, upstairs, Stephanie smiled broadly as she found the exact 
outfit for her nude customer.  Right on top, it must have been turned 
in just before the store closed....  

It was a Harrington School uniform, complete with ID. 

                    *********************************                

Rita's embarrassment increased as the giant guard resumed dragging her 
out of the sales area, up a series of stairs, and into a brightly lit 
corridor that she presumed led to the security office.  At least in the 
darkness she was not as exposed; however, here in the light, she felt on 
display.  Once or twice, as they turned corner after corner, she caught 
the security guard glancing at her bottom.  When they passed a row of 
reflective windows, Rita glimpsed herself in full view beside the guard.  
She seemed tiny next to him.  And, as she was -- naked, without makeup, 
her hair pulled back in barrettes -- she did look rather like a little 
girl, at least in passing.  She couldn't shake that image from her mind, 
and all sorts of terrible scenarios began to play out inside her head of 
what he might do to her when they reached the office.  Her breathing got 
heavier, and she began to sweat, despite the air conditioning.  In the 
meantime, his stride being longer than hers, every so often he would 
yank her arm and scold her for dawdling -- just as if she were a child.

So she was grateful when they reached the office and the guard roughly 
manhandled her into a chair and tossed her a green and orange striped 
cotton towel.
 
"Here!  Quit whining and don't move from that chair if you know what's 
good for you," Joe said, as he disappeared into the back office.

As Rita's bottom hit the cold chair, she let out a little yelp.  She 
strained to hear what was being said in the next room and struggled with 
the towel.  She had immediately passed judgment on it as being a 
"ghastly" color combination.  More to the point, however, was that it 
was fairly skimpy and did not cover much, even on her.  Regardless of 
how she draped it about her, its bottom edge came no more than an inch 
or two below her navel.  Her crotch and bottom being completely exposed, 
she decided to obey orders and remain seated.

Eventually, Joe emerged from the back office with another security guard,
an equally large, rather older man.  She assumed this was "Hal."
 
"So what were you up to down there?" Hal asked.
 
Rita began again, complaining bitterly about her stolen clothes -- and 
about Stephanie, the treacherous store clerk who never returned.  

Hal and Joe smiled.  "Look, girlie, we already called your school," Hal 
said. 

                    *********************************                   

Part 2

Hal crossed in front of Rita and sat behind the grubby metal desk that 
was the primary piece of furniture in this dismal room.

"My school?"  Rita trembled slightly.  Her bare butt cheeks felt stuck to 
the molded plastic chair in which Joe had planted her.   

She mentally paged through her contacts.  Her parents were in Italy with 
her family's attorney.  Her few friends would want to help (at first), 
but would eventually close their social circle to her.  She knew she was 
alone.  Bluster having failed, she decided to rely on reason and 
diplomacy.  She edged calmly forward, as her bare bottom peeled away 
from the plastic chair.

"Look!  My name is Rita Donovan.  I am not in school.  I am twenty-four
years old, and I live in Long View.  Your man, rent-a-cop, security 
guard, whatever, has made a huge mistake.  I am not accustomed to being 
handled in such a...."

Her voice rose as her frustration swelled.  She began to reiterate her 
entire story, but Hal smiled thinly and slowly raised his hand, palm out.
He had been in charge of security at Nelson's for almost six years.  He 
knew the dance.  Rita's fresh face, small body, and smooth privates did 
little to counter his earlier impressions.  Without acknowledging Rita's
comments, he opened the folder on his desk and began a methodical series 
of routine questions.  He paused only twice to sip his lukewarm coffee, 
and, after several minutes, Rita realized that he had stopped taking 
notes.  She stopped talking.

"So, one more time. What's your real name?"  Hal leaned forward.

Joe grinned and clomped into the back office.  He returned with a big,
black, twin-lens camera.

"Okay....  Picture time," Joe sang as he loomed over Rita and snapped a 
photo.

"Stop it!" Rita cried out, rubbing her eyes and tugging at the hem of 
the towel and cringing beneath Joe's shadow.  The implicit menace 
instantly transported her back to a distant, long-ago playground, years 
of confidence melting away.  Joe snorted comically at the sight of her 
childish protest.  He set the big camera down on the desk in front of 
Hal and left the office.

"Relax.  He was focused on your face.  It's standard.  It's for the 
insurance."  Hal ceremoniously tossed his pen onto the newly created 
file and leaned back.

"Look miss, we're not stupid.  We keep a close eye on the floor when you 
kids are around here.  We saw four of you come in together just before 
7:00.  And guess what?  We spotted only three leaving.  Then, 'bout an 
hour ago, we got a call from Harrington's.  So imagine our shock and 
surprise when we see you poking around down there."  His tone was 
dripping with sarcasm.  He gestured toward the several security monitors 
(now dark) banked against the far wall.

Rita's stomach tightened.  They had been watching her.  They had seen her
moving around naked at the makeup counter.  She unconsciously tugged 
again at the hem of the towel.  Then, as the ramifications of the words 
"school" and "you kids" tumbled through her mind, she shifted back in her
seat.  Hal smiled at her smooth bare legs.  Slowly an idea began to take 
shape, and Rita seductively smiled back.  It was the sort of smile that 
got men into trouble.  She then carefully straightened her back and 
repositioned her legs.  Hal casually shaded his eyes and swiveled his 
chair away about 90 degrees.  He desperately attempted to dispel the 
image of the freckled teen vamping before him.

The room remained silent for a several moments.

                    *********************************                 

Stephanie failed to repress a small giggle as she imagined the irate 
woman dressed in the childish uniform.  She had packed the entire uniform 
into a discarded blue zippered bag and started down the passageway, back 
toward her deserving prey.  She checked her lapel watch: 9:34.  The bitch 
had had some time now to cool her heels and reflect on her manners.  As 
she clicked down the empty hallway, Stephanie assumed a more commanding 
demeanor.  She fully anticipated a conflict.  And it was a battle she 
would inevitably win.  She smiled again.  Preoccupied with her fantasy, 
she turned a corner and walked directly into Joe's chest.  

                    *********************************                 

"So, what was it?  A bet...a game?"  Hal spoke innocently, turning back
to face her.  "Never mind.  I really just wanna know where your clothes 
are."

"Here they are," Joe announced from the office doorway, presenting a 
blue zippered bag.

"Oh, thank God!  Finally!"  Rita was jubilant.

"Here!"  Joe dropped the bag into Rita's lap, and he pointed to the back 
office.  "Get dressed."

"Thank you," Rita snapped.  "And I want your names and a copy of that
report when I return."  She carefully stood and tugged at the back of 
the towel.  Cautiously, she shuffled into the back office.  At the sight 
of her bare cheeks peeking out from under the towel, Joe smiled.

"How did you find them so quickly?" Hal asked in low voice.

Joe cocked his head and thumbed toward the hallway.  "I ran into Steph.
She was bringing the clothes....  And Door 7's okay."

Hal nodded and stepped into the hall to greet Stephanie.

"You know who she is?" Hal inquired in a low whisper.

"Just one of those girls who come in here all the time.  They're always 
causing trouble.  She practically lost it with me downstairs," Stephanie 
lied smoothly.

She was pleased with her good fortune.  The nude woman had been further 
humiliated by being dragged off to security.  Normally Stephanie would 
have clocked out by this time, but the prospect of seeing Rita dressed 
in the uniform was just too compelling.

Hal grimaced and shrugged his shoulders.  "Better stay out here, then.
We don't want to set her off again."

"Sure," Stephanie answered, hiding her disappointment.

Suddenly a loud, exasperated wail came from the back office.

"Ooohhh!  These are not my clothes!  I'm not wearing this!" Rita
announced.

Hal appeared in the doorway to the back office as Rita stood there,
self-consciously clutching the loaner towel to her nude form.     

"Then go around like that -- doesn't bother me," Hal said flatly.

"This is a school uniform.  I'm not dressing in this.  I keep telling 
you people I am not a student!  I was downstairs.  I went out of the 
changing rooms...." Rita's voice trailed off as Hal slowly approached 
and stood over her.  Next to his hulking form, she felt very small 
indeed.  He paused, then spoke in a very controlled manner.

"This is all you've got.  So, unless you want to be hauled off by the 
police in your birthday suit, I suggest you comply."  

"What?  Does this turn you on?  Having me play dress up?  I'm sure my 
attorney would love...."  Rita was immediately cut off as Hal grabbed 
her left arm and spun her around, revealing her tiny, pale bottom.  His 
meaty right hand landed two well-placed swats on each cheek in quick 
succession.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

"Put it on!" 

Infuriated, Hal released her and stepped away.  Rita sniffled.  Slowly 
she lowered the towel, trembling as more of her pale skin was exposed 
to the chill office air.  She reached back and rubbed both bottom cheeks 
reflexively.  She stood there, naked and friendless, and pondered the 
situation.

("Any clothes are better than nothing at all.  When I'm dressed, they'll 
deal with me more seriously," she thought.)

She stepped into the plain white cotton panties and pulled them up, over 
her hips.  They were not as snug as she had hoped and drooped a little.  
And -- omigod! -- the crotch was damp!  Eeuwww!  She shuddered and forced
herself to think of other things....

The white knee socks were too long, for example.  She frowned.  Digging 
into the blue bag, she found a soft bra that contained no underwire or 
padding.  In fact, it more closely resembled a sports bra or even a...a 
training bra.  Unlike her usual bras, which enhanced her figure, this 
one relied strictly on the shape of the girl.  On a well-endowed woman 
it would not have mattered, but on Rita it flattened her small breasts.

Adjusting the garment, she turned and drew in a deep breath.  She stared 
at her reflection in a metal storage cabinet.  The image was distorted, 
but she did have time to study it, unlike before, in Joe's grip.  She 
stood motionless and appalled, in her stocking feet, mouth agape.  Her 
small, pale frame and flat chest -- especially in combination with the 
freckles, the urchin hairdo, and all -- did give her the appearance of a 
skinny twelve year old.  Shaken, she continued dressing.

She slipped on the white, short-sleeved blouse with its ridiculous Peter 
Pan style collar.  Desperately, she searched through the bag, but found 
only the blue plaid "jumper" -- basically a short, pleated skirt with a 
high waist and two broad straps, one over each shoulder.  Though it 
seemed to have been worn by a taller girl, it was scandalously short, 
even on Rita.  

Attached to the blouse's collar was a secretary's tie.  It was a small, 
flat ribbon of fabric that matched the jumper.  Unfortunately, it was 
sewn into the blouse's collar, so Rita was forced to button it in the 
center.  She bent down and pushed her feet into the two black shoes
provided.  They were flat-heeled and decidedly childish in appearance.  
They were also a little loose, but each did have a strap and brass 
buckle that she tightened as much as she could.  

She hesitated before turning again to the metal cabinet.  Its distorted 
reflection mocked her, and she slipped back in time.  Hours earlier, all 
style and arrogance, she had strutted into Nelson's, dressed in her crisp 
business attire.  Now her nylons had been replaced with cheap white knee 
socks, her tailored silk suit had become a polyester school uniform, and 
even her impeccably styled hair was tangled and childishly adorned with 
barrettes.  Rita shivered at the transformation.

"All done?" Hal interrupted.  "Hurry up.  They'll be here soon to take
you back."

"Back?" Rita asked.  "Back to what?"

"Your school.  Where did you think you were going?  We're not going to
file charges.  You're underage, and it's really not worth our efforts.
Besides, I know what kind of school Harrington's is."  Hal's voice was 
casual, but carried an undertone of amusement.

Rita felt the panic rising.  Her mind flashed over the evening's sequence 
of events.  She had behaved like nothing more than a defiant child, and 
now she was dressed the part.  She realized that, without her ID or 
purse or cell phone, she was stuck as a schoolgirl.

Purse...keys...car....  Car!

"My car is downstairs!" she said excitedly.  "It has all my information, 
registration, whatever....  I can prove what I'm saying."

She studied Hal's dubious expression, then she went on, trying hard to 
stay calm and rational.

"Now, I want you men to think about this really carefully.  If I am who 
I say I am, and it does turn out that I actually am twenty-four year old 
Rita Donovan...."

Hal considered the possibility...and realized the obvious repercussions 
of such a blunder.

"Joe, go check it out," he ordered.  And Joe started for the door.

"It's a silver BMW -- parked close to the entrance," Rita shouted after 
Joe, who rolled his eyes and kept going.

"You better not be lying, 'cause if you are, I'm gonna punish you 
myself," Hal snapped.

Tingles moved across Rita's panty-clad bottom.  She swallowed as she 
realized he could quite easily make good on his threat.  She tried to 
get rid of the mental image of her schoolgirl form flung across Hal's 
expansive lap as she kicked and squealed.

Would he?  Would he pull down her panties and expose her bare white butt 
while Joe watched?  Would Joe see her privates as she kicked?  If Joe 
returned, unable to find any evidence of her adult status, would Hal 
really do it?  Would he really spank her?  Rita felt her heart pounding. 
Her cotton panties were becoming even damper.

If Joe found nothing, there would be no reprieve until her situation 
was resolved.  Obviously the school would be aware that she was not a 
student, but meanwhile her treatment would be unbearable.

The minutes ticked by slowly...until a loud buzzer broke the tension.  
Hal went to his desk and pressed the intercom button.  Nervous, Rita 
followed.

"Yes?" Hal asked.

"Hello, I'm here from Harrington School," a woman's voice crackled 
through the speaker.

"Wait there.  I'll be right down."  Hal swung around and roughly grabbed 
Rita's upper arm.

"Please don't spank me again!" Rita cried out, instinctively covering 
her backside with her free hand.

She struggled, but Hal had little difficulty in dragging her past the 
back office and up to a door with a reinforced glass window.  He deftly 
unlocked the door, opened it, guided her inside a couple of feet, 
released her, backed out, and shut the door.  Confused, Rita stared at 
him through the glass.  There was no knob on the inside of the door.  Her 
mind was spinning, and she felt her adulthood slip away.

Exiting the office, Hal passed by Stephanie, standing just outside.  He 
paused, momentarily.  

"Keep an eye on her.  She can't get out of there, but watch her anyway.
The keys are on the desk."  

He grunted, shook his head, and hurried on down the hallway.  

Stephanie had purposely and patiently waited outside the office door.  
Now that Joe and Hal had both departed on separate errands, she knew her 
moment had come.  It was 9:49.  It took a good fifteen minutes to get 
from this office to the rear security door and probably a bit more than 
that to escort a guest from there back to here.  She also knew that Joe 
tended to straggle and often took longer on his rounds than necessary.  
Originally she had intended only to humiliate that woman.  She had 
planned to force her to dress in the uniform, and then perhaps tease her 
and send her on her way.  But this was so much better....

Stephanie stepped inside the security office and shut the door.  She 
paused for a moment, then cautiously approached the reinforced window 
into the holding room.  She peeped through it, and what it revealed was 
sweet indeed.  

Oblivious, Rita was standing in the middle of the tiny and otherwise 
empty holding room.  She was no longer the image of a sophisticated 
businesswoman.  Now she was the very model of a fresh-faced schoolgirl.  
She even appeared smaller and younger than Stephanie had remembered.  
When Stephanie noticed the freckles dotted across Rita's nose and cheeks, 
she laughed out loud.  Though muffled somewhat by the intervening door, 
it instantly drew Rita's wide-eyed attention.

"You!  You did this.  You know these aren't my clothes.  You gave them
these clothes!  They think I'm some...escaped reform school crazy girl. 
You have to tell them the truth!"  Rita was, by turns, accusatory and 
pleading.  Stephanie smirked.

"The truth?  But you make such a cute little girl."  Stephanie grinned 
and folded her arms.

"I am not a little girl!  Why won't anyone believe me?  I am not a 
little girl!" Rita screamed as she stamped her foot repeatedly.  Finally 
becoming aware of the implications of her outburst, she stopped and 
stood trembling.  A small tear formed and rolled down her right cheek.

"Well, you're certainly acting like one," Stephanie cooed.  "Aww, are
you crying?"

Rita pressed against the window, and Stephanie instinctively stepped 
back.  Rita's eyes caressed Stephanie's outfit.  She gazed especially 
longingly at the high heels and nylons.  

She calmly tried a new tactic.

"Look, you have to let me out of here.  I-I have to go to the bathroom. 
I do.  I really do.  Please?"

Rita pulled down at the hem of the jumper and pressed her thighs 
together, twisting her feet inward.  The illusion of the contrite 
schoolgirl made Stephanie laugh again.  She knew she was being conned.

"Why should I?  You were really rude to me earlier, and now you are
getting a little back.  I think it's perfect!"  Stephanie was blissfully 
snide.

"You don't understand.  They really think I'm some schoolgirl runaway.  
They're coming to get me right now and take me away.  And please, I do 
have to p-pee -- at least let me out to go do that.  I'm sorry I was 
rude earlier.  I'll do anything you ask.  But please, you have to help 
me!"  Rita was really blubbering now.

Stephanie contemplated the situation.  She knew the game was ending.  
Reluctantly, she held up the key.  

"I'm just letting you out to go to the bathroom.  We'll straighten the 
rest out when Hal gets back."

"Thank you.  Finally, thank you."  Rita sounded sincerely grateful.

Stephanie opened the holding room door, and, in a flash, Rita shoved her 
into the doorjamb and scrambled past, heading toward the office door. 
With sweaty palms, she twisted furiously at the doorknob, but it didn't 
budge.

In Rita's mind, one twist of the main office door and she would be 
practically restored to her adulthood.  Downstairs contained an entire 
department store of salvation.

"Nooo," Rita cried; the sound of jangling keys caused her to pivot round.

"Locked?"  Stephanie stood grinning.  "I thought you might try that.  I'm 
not going to get fired over a little girl like you."

"Stop calling me that and open this damn door!"  

Rita swung a slap at Stephanie, but the latter was prepared.  She deftly 
wrenched Rita's arm into a hammerlock.  Noticing the nearby plastic 
chair, and feeling she was going to need a bit more freedom of movement, 
she had no trouble in shrugging off her jacket and draping it over the 
back of the chair.  She sat down and heaved Rita across her lap, never 
minding that, in the process, her own skirt rode up above her stocking 
tops.  Rita continued her verbal assaults even as she felt her pleated 
skirt pulled all the way up to her waist.  She writhed across Stephanie's 
nylon-encased thighs until the first swat landed on her panties.  The 
sound of the slap was suitably impressive in that relatively confined 
space.

"Owww!" Rita screamed.  "Stop.  What the hell are you doing, you bitch?  
Lemme go!"

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

"I'm gonna sue you!  Just wait till...."  

Whack!

"You're going to do what, little girl?"  

Whack! Whack! Whack! Stephanie continued the lesson.

"I'm not a...." 

Whack! 

"Ooow! Not a little girl!" 

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Stephanie mocked. 

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Lemme up, godammit!" 

"Tsk, tsk.  Such language.  I think these need to come down."  Stephanie 
effortlessly whisked down Rita's panties.  The cool air caressed her 
heated, bare bottom.

"Noooo.  Please don't!"  She attempted to cover her bottom with her free 
hand.

Stephanie observed the slight outline of a large hand print.  "Oooh, such 
a pink butt.  Looks like somebody's been naughty.  Have you been 
naughty?"

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Have you?" Stephanie demanded. 

Whack! Whack!

"Yes," Rita answered meekly.

Whack! Whack!

"Yes, what?" Stephanie prodded.

"Yes, I've been naughty," Rita choked out. 

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

"What are you?" Stephanie barked.

"What?"  Rita was nonplussed.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"What are you?" Stephanie pushed. 

Whack! Whack!

"I'm...I'm a naughty little girl!" Rita sobbed.  The remnants of her 
adult mind faded.  Dressed as a schoolgirl and draped over the lap of a 
younger woman, she was being soundly spanked.  She was no longer the 
haughty heiress, teasing men in nightclubs.  She was a bare-bottomed 
little girl being punished.  Images from her past collided in her mind. 

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Stephanie was ecstatic.  Rita had ceased being just a single snotty 
customer and become the surrogate for every arrogant and obnoxious and 
self-absorbed narcissist she had encountered in almost three years at 
Nelson's.

Rita kicked her legs and cried aloud, "Stop it!  It hurts!  Hurts bad!  
Please let me up!  Wait, wait, please!  Oh, just let me up...please!  
I'll be good, I promise!"

She struggled in vain against Stephanie's powerful hold.  She began to 
panic.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

Suddenly Rita squeezed her legs together tightly.  Stephanie stopped 
in mid-swat.  She felt a growing warmth spread across her lap.  
Dramatically, she threw Rita off.  Rita grimaced and pressed her upper 
thighs together, while a small stream of urine trickled down her legs 
and soaked her panties.  She stood motionless, holding her skirt up, 
and quietly sobbing.

Stephanie's lips curled in suppressing a laugh.

"My, my....  And I thought you were a big girl." 

The smell began to permeate the stale office air.  Stephanie looked down 
at her wet lap and blouse.

"Dammit!  Come on, let's get cleaned up.  Step out of those wet panties."

Rita complied.

Stephanie gathered up a handful of paper towels from Hal's desk.  In one 
quick motion, she wiped up the small pool of pee, along with the 
abandoned panties, and deposited the whole mess in the wastebasket.  
After unlocking the office door and returning the keys to the desk, she 
wrapped her hand around Rita's wrist and led her out into the hallway.  
Rita followed numbly.  Childhood memories of her mother and "talks" in 
the bathroom swam through her already flooded psyche.

After a short walk, they entered the women employees' locker room.  
Stephanie parked Rita on a low stool next to the washbasins and tossed 
her a warm, wet face cloth.

She commanded, "Clean yourself up!"

Stephanie studied her own clothing in the mirror.  There was a large, 
distinctive circular stain encompassing her midsection.

Indignant, but thankful that both skirt and blouse were washable, she 
stripped them off and placed them in a sink full of soapy water.  She 
looked down again and groaned.  Everything south of her bra was soaked.  

So the lingerie went into a second sink.  

There was a shower there, but Stephanie wanted to stay out where she 
could keep an eye on Rita.  So, at a third sink, she proceeded to wash 
her face (what little makeup she usually wore was pretty much gone now, 
anyway), and then her midriff, crotch, and thighs.  Afterward, nude from 
the waist down, she searched the locker room, scavenged a towel, and 
fashioned herself a skirt.  She deliberately put an extra wiggle in her 
movements to remind Rita of the differences in their respective bodies.  
It worked.  Rita's eyes followed her like a cobra watches a mongoose.
 
Stephanie turned and placed her hands on her hips.  A wicked smile 
played about her lips as she stared at Rita. 

Rita lowered her eyes and shuddered.

The mongoose always wins.

                    *********************************

Part 3

Meanwhile, outside, Joe lit a cigarette and leaned against his usual 
spot on the textured wall.  He often used this time to reflect on his 
decision to leave the army.  "What if...."  At length, a slight breeze 
sent a few leaves scuttling across the deserted parking lot, bringing 
him back to reality.  He was relieved: there was no silver BMW parked 
near the entrance or anywhere else.  And yet....  He French-inhaled the 
last of the cigarette and dropped the butt, grinding it into the asphalt.  
Clenching his fists and stretching his big arms straight out, he twisted 
his body from side to side, then tilted his head back, and groaned.  

Slowly, he relaxed.  He'd been an M.P. -- not a "real" cop, maybe, but 
close enough to have a little voice in his gut that whispered warnings 
to him when things weren't quite what they seemed.  And right now, his 
gut was screaming at him.  Abruptly, he turned and went back through the 
outer door and double-timed for the nearby automated surveillance room.

                    *********************************              

Rita, mortified, continued to study the tiled floor.  Involuntarily, her 
buttocks occasionally twitched.  She was grateful that her skirt and 
shoes were dry, but annoyed at her socks, which felt damp.  The cool, 
white, almost sterile environment here made her feel particularly 
unclean.  Above all, though, she was glad to be out of those ghastly 
panties, wet with who-knows-what.  Even so, her mind was still a-whirl.

Although Stephanie maintained her cool veneer, inwardly she knew she had 
acted impulsively.  She knew her only real protection was that there were 
no witnesses.  She could deny everything.  She also knew that Rita would 
not be quick to acknowledge her infantile regression.  Responsibly, her 
next action should be to deposit Rita back into the holding room right 
away, before Hal or Joe returned.  However, she knew a unique opportunity 
had been given her.

Stephanie rewound the last few minutes in her mind and pondered them.  
As a women's wear salesclerk in an up-scale department store, she had 
been expected to subordinate herself to even the most casual whims of her 
customers.  But spanking Rita had changed that.  It had been a catalyst, 
focusing all her repressed aggression.  She was giddy with her new-found, 
intoxicating, addictive power.  And she yearned for one more turn of the 
screw, though she was still sober enough to realize that her next move 
would be a gamble.  She turned to the mirror and positioned herself so 
that she could watch Rita watching her.  She removed the tortoise shell 
clip and allowed her hair to fall about her shoulders.

"You really shouldn't be too mad.  I mean, it's easy to see why they 
thought you were a schoolgirl."

Rita's cowed expression encouraged Stephanie to continue her taunts.  
Adjusting her bra, she tugged at the white fabric and slipped her right 
hand inside the cup.  Her hand was still warm from slapping Rita's 
bottom, and her breast absorbed some of that.  It was delicious.

She sighed and then continued.

"I mean, you're so small and pale.  And, let's be honest, your figure is 
not...well, you're not very curvy." 

Rita accepted the taunt passively, and Stephanie was further encouraged.  
She turned away from the mirror and stood over her.  Rita slowly lifted 
her eyes from the floor.  Barefoot and half-naked, Stephanie was still 
intimidating.  Her adult figure mocked Rita's immature appearance.  Rita 
unconsciously crossed her feet.

"Oh, you've ruined your socks.  You should have spoken up.  Let's take
care of that."  Stephanie's tone was distinctly motherly.

She wrapped her hand around Rita's wrist and pulled her from the stool.
  
The humiliation of her spanking and the shame of her accident still 
lingering, Rita obediently followed, unresisting.  She hoped that, if 
she cooperated, things would get straightened out sooner rather than 
later and she could begin putting this whole incident behind her.  She 
longed to end the charade and, shuffling down the hall, she let her mind 
drift forward.
  
She imagined herself soaking in her whirlpool tub, candlelight glinting 
off the marble walls of her bathroom.  Lovingly the bubbles would tingle 
across her bare body and dissipate the evening's events in a fragrant 
mist.  She would guide her Egyptian cotton towel softly over the smooth, 
clean plains and inviting valleys of her body.  Perhaps she would pause 
for a moment to pleasure herself.  Next, she would meticulously apply her 
makeup and arrange her hair in a sophisticated style.  Then she would 
grandly fling open the double doors of her closet and gaze upon her 
extensive wardrobe. Decisively, she would chose the most elegant and 
expensive ensemble available....

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted as she was pushed through a 
doorway and into a small, shadowy, light blue room that was illuminated 
by a single bright desk lamp.

"Sit down," Stephanie said with emphasis.  "Not there.  There!"  She 
pointed to a padded table.

Rita backed to the table and placed her hands behind her on the table's 
surface.  In her weakened state, she struggled to conquer the waist-high 
exam table.  Smiling indulgently, Stephanie took hold of Rita's hips and 
lifted her the additional four inches onto the salmon-colored pad.  Rita 
instinctively recoiled in fear, but relaxed as Stephanie shifted her 
attention toward the bank of low cabinets.  Being boosted onto the table 
and left sitting there, high off the floor, combined with the buttery 
sensation on her bare, heated bottom made Rita feel childish.  Idly, she 
pushed down the front of her skirt.  She began to swing her legs, but 
stopped and mentally rebuked herself for regressing so effortlessly.  

For several minutes, Stephanie bustled through the various cabinets 
beneath the narrow counter.  She emerged, finally, with a small bundle
wrapped in a towel.

"Take off your shoes and socks," she said.

Rita bent her right leg up and onto the table.  As she unbuckled her 
shoe, she noticed Stephanie was grinning.

"My, my, that looks like a pretty close shave down there.  Real smooth."  
Stephanie's tone was mocking.  "How old are you...really?"
 
Rita ignored her, turning slightly and tugging at the hem of her jumper.  
She pulled off her second shoe and placed it neatly beside the other one.  
Methodically, she stripped off her damp knee socks.

Stephanie, refusing to touch the wet garments, and held out a plastic 
wastebasket.  She then produced a small can of powder and rubbed some of 
it onto Rita's calves, caressing them in the process.  This 
uncharacteristic tenderness and the sweet, familiar smell of the powder 
caused Rita to slip into a sensual fog.

"Why don't you lie back, so I can get this better?  You don't want to 
smell bad." 

Rita nodded.  She lay back into the soft cushion and wondered fleetingly 
about Stephanie's orientation.  To her clouded mind, it almost seemed as 
though Stephanie was apologizing, and....  Rita closed her eyes.

Stephanie continued to massage Rita's lower legs.  Twice her hand strayed 
above the knee, causing Rita to breathe in sharply.

Rita suddenly snapped out of her dream as she felt her legs thrust into 
the air.  In one quick motion, Stephanie had locked her left arm under 
Rita's knees and forced her legs upward.  Rita's pleated skirt fell back 
to her waist.  She was completely exposed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rita shouted.

"Did you think I was a lesbian?" Stephanie laughed. 

"Let me go!  Please put my legs down." 

"Not before we're done.  We don't want you to get a rash.  Oh, gee, 
you're so smooth...baby smooth."  Stephanie punctuated her last remark 
with an over-generous amount of powder.  It cascaded down over Rita's 
upturned, wriggling bottom.  Stephanie wrapped her arm completely around 
Rita's kicking legs.

"Quit it!" Rita cried.  Stephanie dropped the can of powder and slapped 
Rita's small behind, sending a white cloud airborne.

SWAT! SWAT!

"Haven't we been down this road already?  Be still or I'll use a 
hairbrush on your ass!" Stephanie barked.

The pain of Stephanie's hand had previously brought her to tears, so 
Rita shuddered at the thought of a hairbrush repeatedly assaulting her 
bare butt.  She stopped moving, hoping that would satisfy her tormentor.  
Stephanie applied additional pressure to the backs of Rita's knees, 
lifting her bottom higher into the air and away from the padded table.  
Rita heard the crinkle of plastic and felt something soft against the 
small of her back.  Her legs were allowed to fall back onto the table.  
Then, presto! and her smooth crotch was encased in fabric and plastic.  
She lifted her head awkwardly and stared at the disposable diaper.

"There, that's much better," Stephanie said sweetly.

Hesitantly, Rita reached down and touched the diaper.  

"Why...why did you do that?" she choked out.

"Well, when I first met you, you seemed so grown up, but I think you were 
just pretending.  And, of course, we don't want any more accidents like 
before."  Stephanie spoke casually.

Rita sat up on the table.  "But I don't need a diaper," she sniffled.

"Oh, really?"  Stephanie gestured to her bra and towel ensemble.

"That was just an accident.  I'm not wearing this."  

Rita started to peel back the adhesive tab, but her hand was twisted
painfully away.  For a second, she locked eyes with Stephanie, but then 
she lowered her head.  She feared another confrontation.  Stephanie 
relaxed her grip slightly and eased Rita off the table.  When her bare 
feet met the cold vinyl floor, Rita gasped, and her toes curled.  She 
shifted her gaze upward again, cautiously, to discover that Stephanie's 
cleavage was now at eye level.

"Can we...can we just go back?" Rita stammered.  A single tear rolled
down her left cheek.  "I want to go home."

Stephanie beamed.  This was the moment she had worked toward.  She had 
realized a fantasy.  She had taken an uptight, snotty woman and reduced 
her to a whimpering, diapered child.  Stephanie was beside herself with 
glee.  Demanding customers and inconsiderate colleagues would now be on 
notice.  She embraced this moment of triumph and wished it could last and 
last.  She knew, however, that Joe or Hal would soon return.  Anxious now 
to clothe herself, Stephanie tossed a worn, flimsy pair of frilly ankle 
socks at Rita.  She waited, impatient now, while Rita put on socks and 
shoes.  Then she began herding the defeated woman back the way they had 
come.

The hallway was silent except for the rustle of Rita's diaper, an 
unmistakable sound.  As they started out toward the security office, 
utter humiliation welled up and washed over Rita, and she began to cry.

                    *********************************             

Down in the surveillance room, Joe replaced the parking lot security tape 
with a fresh one.  He quickly labeled the old one and pushed it into the 
machine they used for viewing.  He rewound until he saw it: a silver BMW 
parked at the entrance.  He fast-forwarded the tape and watched a young 
woman in a smart business suit climb into the car and speed away.  (The 
time was recorded as 8:59.)  Moving back and forth through the moment, 
he studied the scene, practically pixel by pixel, attempting to extract 
anything definite regarding her identity.  Unfortunately the camera 
failed to show her face very clearly. Then he began rewinding the tape 
and checking the scene every time the counter clicked off fifteen minutes 
or so.  Again and again, he was greeted by the still image of the parked 
BMW.  At last, however, he reached a point where that parking spot showed
up empty.  It was simple then to find the the exact moment of arrival.  
Fascinated (and somewhat apprehensive), he watched Rita step out of the 
silver BMW.  (According to the tape, that was at 6:46.)  He played it 
over and over, utilizing the equipment's limited enhancement features to 
sharpen the image of Rita's face.  He shifted back and forth between the 
first scene and the last.  Upon such close examination, he began to see 
slight but definite differences between the two women.  He inexorably 
concluded that Rita had entered the store, but someone else, dressed in 
her clothes, had exited and driven off in her car.  

Joe, in a sweat, reached for his radio.  

                    *********************************                

Hal disengaged the alarm bar of the metal security door and pushed it 
open.  He was greeted by two large figures -- a man and a woman.

"Sorry about this, thanks for coming.  I'm Hal Hefner, head of security 
here." 

"Thank you.  I am Ms. Murgess, and this is Stan."  She gestured backwards 
while she stepping through the door and into the hallway.  "Lead the way. 
It was reported that the young hoyden was nude, so we came prepared.  
Stan has a complete Harrington uniform in his bag...'small size' as we 
were told.  Stan will follow us at a suitable distance, unless he is 
needed.  Now, it is getting late."  

Hal allowed the heavy door to slam shut.  He inserted his key into the 
bar and waited for the audible beep that indicated that the door was set. 
He smiled at Ms. Murgess and then set off down the long hallway.

                    ********************************* 

Part 4

Ms. Murgess was a generously proportioned woman, and, as they walked, 
Hal wondered about her ethnic origins.  Her face was striking, with 
strong, angular features.  She was almost as tall as him and had a lush 
body type often typical of Greeks and Italians.  Her blue pinstripe suit 
was conservative, even a bit dowdy, though it could do little to hide her 
bounty.  Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun.  Her makeup was 
minimal.  All of this seemed an attempt to disguise just how physically 
attractive she was.  And she was, indeed, attractive -- if you liked the 
type.  To Hal, a fan of old movies, she resembled a middle-aged 
combination of Sophia Loren and Ruth Roman.  (He had long thought of 
himself as looking very much like Charles McGraw -- and Joe, of course, 
was the spitting image of a young Claude Akins.  But who was Stephanie? 
Gail Russell in her prime, maybe, or Jenny Agutter, or a bit of both....) 
Idly, he wondered if, under her starchy exterior, Ms. Murgess might 
really be something in bed.  In any case, he was in no hurry, so he set 
a leisurely pace.... 

"I really must apologize for this inconvenience," Ms. Murgess began. 
Her speech was polished and somewhat pedantic, which gave her an air of 
authority -- and of condescension.  "Most of our girls at Harrington are 
troubled, but they are not essentially bad.  I have only recently taken 
this position, however, so my familiarity with the girls and their 
behavior is strictly academic.  I have perused most of their files, but 
not all.  I have been...." 

A static-laced, intermittent gabbling tone interrupted her as Joe's 
transmission tried (and failed) to penetrate the cement block walls.  It 
was quite unintelligible, even after Hal made several adjustments, vainly 
attempting to clear the channel.  Frustrated, he finally decided he would 
deal with Joe later and again led the way down the hall, followed closely 
by Ms. Murgess (who had resumed droning on), and finally by her bearer, 
silent Stan (Ted de Corsia, Hal decided).  

                    *********************************              

Dressed in only a bra and towel, Stephanie was beginning to feel the 
chill from the vinyl floor.  She adjusted her makeshift skirt for the 
third time and glanced over at Rita's bowed head.  Rita wiped her eyes 
again and sniffed.  Stephanie smiled.  She had truly enjoyed her triumph, 
and was luxuriating in the after-glow.  For Rita, of course, it had been 
beyond humiliation, and she had gone numb.  However, as they neared the 
security office, her tears began to subside.  In the past, she often 
found extraordinary clarity after the catharsis of a "good cry."  And her 
mind, which had earlier slowly regressed into a childish condition, was 
now rapidly progessing, returning to its normal adult patterns and 
rhythms.  The recurring crackle-crinkle of her adult diaper echoed down 
the long hall, keeping the beat for their journey.  Stephanie's bare feet 
slapping the floor provided counterpoint.  Rita focused a tiny portion of 
her brain on maintaining this cadence and, with the rest, silently began 
to review the situation...and to plot her counterattack.   
 
As they turned into the empty security office, Stephanie exhaled 
gratefully.  She had prepared a completely plausible explanation based 
on Rita's accident that would have accounted for her present attire and
their brief absence.  She barely paused at Hal's desk before again 
snatching up the keys.  Rita had stopped just inside the office, the 
chair of her recent indignity mere inches away.  She avoided looking at 
it, though, and let her eyes wander across the floor.  And her gaze 
locked onto something small and innocuous under the chair -- something 
that caused her eyes to glitter and her mind to churn.  Her Plan came 
together just as the sound of jangling keys in the background recalled 
her to the here and now. 

Stephanie casually beckoned to Rita, and they went on back to the holding 
room.  She unlocked the heavy door and held it open with her right hand. 
Fearfully, Rita stepped back.  Stephanie's left hand abruptly grabbed 
Rita's wrist and pulled her toward the opening.  Rita resisted...for a 
moment.  Then, swiftly, her free left hand shot out and yanked the towel 
from Stephanie's waist and tossed it into the holding room.  The crisp 
air tickled Stephanie's nude lower body, and she instinctively dove for 
the garment.  She cringed as the click of the door's lock sounded 
ominously loud in the small room.  Stephanie spun, only to see a blurred 
image of Rita's head disappear from the window.  

Rita had no immediate thought of escape, for she was obsessed with her 
newly-formed Vengeance Plan.  Unable to stand up to Stephanie physically, 
she now had a more subtle scheme in mind, one that she hoped would truly 
humiliate the young salesgirl, in retribution for the ghastly ordeal she 
had put Rita through.  She ripped off and threw away the detestable 
diaper, listened a moment for footsteps, and then leapt at the card under 
the chair.  It was a Harrington School photo ID -- for somebody named 
"Heather Hammond" (whoever she might be) -- that had obviously fallen 
from a pocket of the jumper during that beastly spanking.  Intuitively, 
she dived into the pockets of Stephanie's jacket, which was still draped 
over the back of the chair.  A moment later, she emerged triumphant with 
Stephanie's store ID clutched in her hand.  

She smiled at her luck that both IDs were cheap.  The photos, cards, and 
plastic envelopes were not fused together, but only pseudo-laminated, 
just the overlapping plastic edges were actually heat-sealed.  Cake.  
In high school, not that many years ago, Rita had learned to operate a 
laminator and then developed a thriving business faking IDs.  

The so-called laminating machine was in plain sight, and Rita switched it 
on.  With scissors from Hal's desk, she carefully cut open the plastic 
casing of each ID, so that the cards within could be removed.  The 
photos, held onto the cards just by static cling, popped right off with 
little urging.  She carefully trimmed Stephanie's picture to match the 
size of the other photo.  (She was pleased to see that the backdrops 
matched well enough -- and that the photographer's flat lighting had been 
harsh enough to fade Stephanie's makeup to a suitable degree.)  The rest 
of the materials she needed, she found in a drawer near the machine.   

She skilfully assembled the school card, Stephanie's photo, a new plastic 
envelope, and a stiff paper wrapper to hold everything packaged together 
properly.  ("Like riding a bicycle...or fucking," she thought.)  She 
fidgeted briefly, until the red light on the machine went out, indicating 
it was warmed up and ready to go.  She inserted the package, waited a 
moment, retrieved it, and removed the wrapper.   
  
Satisfied with the seal, she fanned the card in the air and examined her 
handiwork.  Perfect.  Her grin was positively evil. 

Meanwhile, Stephanie resigned herself to the fact that unfortunately she
was trapped until Hal returned.  So she wrapped the towel around her 
waist and, for the fifth time, cursed loudly.  She pushed her toweled 
bottom back against the wall and slid down to the floor, resting her arms 
on her knees.  The empty holding room offered no comforts.  Then, all at 
once, Rita came back into view and stuck the bogus ID into the crevice of 
the window frame. 

"Who's the schoolgirl now?"  The reinforced glass window did little to 
muffle the venom in her voice.  She did not stay for an answer, but 
immediately disappeared again.  In passing, she glanced at the wall 
clock: 10:20.  She knew she had no time to indulge herself in the luxury 
of gloating.  As she hurried from the office, she tossed the keys onto 
the desk.  She turned left, simply wanting to get well away from that 
damned changing room.  

                    *********************************                 

Joe had tried Hal again, but was answered only with static.  Soon he 
would have to go find him.  There had been a huge error, and a barrage 
of lawsuits was almost inevitable -- with him and Hal bound to be 
collateral damage.  His gut shut up.  

Up to this point, he had been completely preoccupied with trying to 
discover the identity of the girl in the BMW.  But, as he stood there, 
his eyes flickered over the other monitors, which he had been ignoring. 
His attention was abruptly rivetted by number 6.  The security holding 
room was empty!  And number 5 showed the security office itself was 
deserted, too.  More trouble.  

He repeated the procedure for viewing ongoing surveillance and switched 
the video tapes so that no recording time or footage would be lost.  
Scanning backward through the tape, he nearly fell out of his chair.  He 
jogged it back repeatedly and watched it again and again and again.  With 
each showing, he felt his erection get even bigger.  There was Stephanie, 
beautifully dressed in her crisp business skirt and blouse, and there 
was Rita, an adult woman dressed as a schoolgirl, and Stephanie was 
spanking her!  Vigorously!  Bare bottom!
  
(Captivated by the scene on the tape, he failed to noticed what was being 
played out live on the monitors behind him -- the return to the office, 
Rita's coup, and the beginning of her craft project.)  
  
Joe resisted his first impulse; beating off could wait.  Taking a deep 
breath, he ejected the tape and tucked it away beside the console.  He 
would get it later.

He wondered desperately where those two were now.  And what the hell had 
gotten into Steph?  He knew she was a good and loyal employee, but this 
was a clear violation of policy, and Joe's sense of duty bound him to 
report it.  He was sweating and conflicted.  Last year, they had dated a 
few times, but she had broken it off, citing the store policy against 
office romances.  In actual fact, she had felt that a boyfriend in 
security might be misconstrued and could even be considered suspicious.  
He, on the other hand, had assumed it was mainly their differences in 
age and education.  But he was, after all, a part-time student at the 
community college.  And Steph seemed more mature than girls her own age 
and was rather aloof with them, in fact, not mingling much at all with 
her co-workers.  True, she could be extremely stubborn (borderline 
obsessive, really) about adherence to policy and protocol.  And, in the 
end, she did seem to want what almost every woman basically wants: 
everything her own way.  But...she was still so damned attractive....  
He wiped his hand across his face.  

Meanwhile, behind his back, monitors 5 and 6 were now showing, 
respectively, Rita just finishing up her project and Stephanie moping, 
half-naked, locked in the holding room.  Still oblivious, though, Joe 
stepped out into the hallway and tried Hal again.  This time he got 
through. 

"We've got a HUGE problem.  You better come down to surveillance now!"  

"Ten-four," Hal replied.  He turned apologetically to Ms. Murgess.  
"I'm sorry to have to leave you, but she's just a few minutes down that 
hallway, door on your left marked "Security."  I'll be there to help you 
just as soon as I can."

Ms. Murgess frowned.  "Your help is really quite unnecessary.  I am very 
experienced in handling hooligans such as Miss Hammond.  And I do not 
wish to be here all night."

"Uh, okay."  Hal decided that, along with Sophia and Ruth, there was more 
than a little Margaret Dumont in Ms. Murgess.  "The keys are on my desk. 
And there's also a release form for you to sign.  I will try to be right 
back, though, I promise."  He gave her a wan smile and lumbered off to 
answer Joe's urgent call. 

Three minutes later, Ms. Murgess reflexively checked her watch when she 
entered the security office.  It was 10:22:13.  (She'd missed Rita by 
two minutes.)  

She took a moment to orient herself, but was certainly not one to 
lollygag.  Striding to the desk, she paused only long enough to read and 
sign the release form and to pick up Hal's keys.  She proceeded directly 
to the holding room, where she plucked the Harrington ID from the door,
smiled enigmatically, and entered.

"Heather Hammond?"  It was a rhetorical question, but it drew an 
unexpected response.

"No...Stephanie Collins," Stephanie said.  "Who are you?"

"Ms. Murgess -- here to take you back to Harrington.  And I warn you, I 
will not tolerate any trouble from you, whatsoever." 

"Back to...to Harrington?  But I'm not a Harrington girl -- I'm twenty 
years old; I have an...a degree; I'm an employee of this store.  Where 
are the security guards?  They'll vouch for me."

"They are off who-knows-where doing who-knows-what.  It is late, Heather, 
so let us have no more nonsense...."

Stephanie lost it.  She squinted, red in the face, at Ms. Murgess.

"Listen here, you moronic blob, I'm no juvenile delinquent!  Do I LOOK 
like a juvenile?  Does THIS look like it?"  She gestured to her body with 
both hands, then tore off her bra and flung it to the floor.  "Do THESE?" 

"I have all the proof I need.  What I do NOT have is the time or the 
inclination to bandy words with a vulgar little tramp...."

Stephanie lunged at her -- and missed.     
 
Ms. Murgess, by virtue of her profession, was not inexperienced in the 
art of rough-and-tumble, and she side-stepped gracefully.  She could, in 
fact, have subdued Stephanie almost as easily as Stephanie had handled 
Rita.  But, in this case, she didn't have to.  "Stan!" she called.

All at once, Stephanie found herself in the firm grip of a big guy, 
jowly and Italianate-looking, with plastered-back hair and a broken 
nose.  Irrationally, she wriggled some, but then the fight went out of 
her, and she just hung there, limp. 
      
When they emerged again into the front office, Ms. Murgess consulted one 
of the large floor diagrams posted on the wall.  

"There appears to be a women's locker room nearby," she said.  "We turn 
right from here and go back the way we came a short distance."  She 
cocked an eyebrow at Stephanie.  "I am not going to march you into my 
school in your present state -- grubby and half-na...and naked...."  She 
noted that the knot in the towel, never very secure, had just given up, 
leaving the make-shift skirt on the office floor and Stephanie completely 
nude.

She gathered up the carry-all that Stan had been lugging and led her 
party off to find the means to get the so-called "Heather Hammond" 
cleaned up and as presentable as possible.  

                    *********************************          

Joe, meanwhle, had debated with himself whether he had time enough to go 
out for a much-needed cigarette, had reluctantly decided against it, and 
had gone back into the surveillance room, cursing the anti-smoking 
crackpots (not for the first time).  There, he was astonished to glance 
at monitor 6 and find that the holding room was now holding...Stephanie! 
He sat, ogling her, fascinated, while Ms. Murgess duly arrived on-camera. 
He watched the pantomime, saw Steph's bra hit the floor and, eventually, 
over on monitor 5, saw the towel do likewise.  Then, just as things were 
starting to get really good, the threesome went off-camera!

Joe always prided himself on his self-control, but he spent the next few 
minutes wallowing in frustration as he tried -- and failed -- to find 
them again.  None of the monitors showed a trace of them....

Then Hal arrived.

Joe explained the situation as briefly as he could.  Hal was stunned for 
a moment, and then a sly look crept across his face.  

"I've taught you a lot, Joe, but not everything."  He reached behind the 
blank monitor 13 and flipped a swich.  The "broken" monitor flickered to 
life, revealing the missing three, with crystal clarity.  (Where Rita 
was, however, was anybody's guess, though nobody seemed to be thinking 
of her, at that moment.) 

"Women's locker room...secret camera, motion-activated," Hal said, in 
reply to Joe's unspoken question.  "Great picture, huh?  And we got 
sound, too."  He plugged a set of earphones into an unseen jack beneath 
the monitor and offered Joe one of the earpieces.  

They were just in time to hear Ms. Murgess say, "I am not a novice at 
this, Heather.  I have considerable experience -- which I have learned 
from.  For one thing, I always come prepared, as you will see.  For 
another, I have found that it is best to establish the proper 
relationship from the very outset....  Proceed, Stan."  

Stan, still expressionless, sat down, hauled Stephanie across his ample 
lap, and began spanking her naked butt, methodically and remorselessly.  

Ms. Murgess continued.  "The Harrington get-their-attention spanking 
usually lasts a brisk three minutes, but, since you claim to be so 
unusually mature -- you do have an unusually mature bottom, at any rate 
-- we'll just make it a brisk SIX minutes.  And no need to worry about 
Stan; he's more than equal to the task."

The next six minutes were punctuated only by the sound of Stan's hand 
falling with metronomic precision...and by Stephanie's threats, protests,
pleas, and, finally, inarticulate blubbering.

When it was over, Ms. Murgess leaned down close to Stephanie's bleary, 
tear-stained face.  "Now, do we understand each other, Heather?" 

"Y-yes, ma'am," Stephanie sobbed.  

"Fine.  Now it is time you washed up.  I cannot guarantee your godliness, 
but I can certainly enforce cleanliness.  Now get into the shower."  She 
handed Stephanie a cake of yellow soap and a large, rough sponge.  "And 
do not dawdle."

She limped obediently into the shower, and Ms. Murgess turned on the 
water.  Stephanie shrieked and leaped aside (at least, as far as the 
cramped cubicle would allow).  

"It's freezing!" she howled.

"Nonsense.  You have clearly been too pampered during your time as a 
prefect.  But that is over.  You might just as well get used to being a 
sub-minimus, because that is what you will be for a very long time.  In 
any case, however, you WILL shower, here and now, in cold water...or you 
can get back over Stan's lap and THEN shower, in cold water, after 
another six minutes...or nine...or....  So, what is it to be?"

"I'll shower now, ma'am."     
     
Ms. Murgess smiled a self-satisfied smile.

("I don't deserve this, do I?" Stephanie thought.  "Maybe a little bit, 
for what I did to that Rita, but this is way too much.  NO!  I don't 
deserve this crap.  It's all that Rita's fault.  She'll pay.  These two 
goons'll pay, too.  They're so big and strong, though.  I guess I'll 
just have to knuckle under till I can prove my identity....  And then 
their goddam asses are mine...all their asses!")   

So, she dutifully scrubbed herself down while the other two looked on 
(actually, "the other four," counting Hal and Joe).

Finally, "Very well, Heather, you are clean enough -- except between your 
legs.  Give your crotch an extra-good wash, now, for I am sure that it is 
the filthiest thing about you, except for your mouth....  No, scrub it 
more vigorously." 

"B-but ma'am...this soap...it makes my...me itch a-and b-burn...."

"Never mind.  Just do as you are told."

Stephanie obeyed, though she continued to whine.

"Please, ma'am....  Oh god, oh god....  Please...."

Her breathing became ragged, her gaze vacant, her whimpered words 
gibberish, and her movements increasingly erratic.  Her body began to 
sag.  Her entire consciousness seemed to be focussed on her crotch...and 
what she was doing to it...when Ms. Murgess turned off the water and 
dragged her from the shower stall.  It was just not quite enough, and 
Stephanie almost collapsed from sheer frustration.

"Now," Ms. Murgess proclaimed, flourishing a razor and a can of shaving 
cream, "it is time to rid you of that nasty thicket between your legs.  
It is both unsanitary and inappropriate."

"Oh god, I jus' wanna cum....  Please lemme cum...."

"Oh, it will be some time before you earn the privilege of an orgasm, 
Heather -- quite some time.  Meanwhile, you need a shave.  Stan will hold 
you down, but you will still be capable of some small movements.  I do 
advise you, however, not to move...not even to twitch...."

She did the job quickly and efficiently -- shaving not only Stephanie's 
crotch, fore and aft, but also giving a once-over-lightly to her 
arm-pits and legs.  Everywhere she had shaved, she applied a thick green 
goo and let it sit for a while.  Throughout, Stephanie was quiet.  Either 
she had managed to retain some of her wits -- or she was just too 
frazzled to resist any more.

Eventually, she was thrust back into the shower, and the green goo was 
rinsed off.  She emerged, wet and shiny...and very tender-looking.  
After toweling her dry, they began dressing her in the Harrington school 
uniform they had brought with them.  

The problem was that everything was size "small" (just right for Rita), 
and Stephanie, while no amazon, was certainly not a "small."  The 
knee-socks almost fit, but they were the only things that did.

The plain bra was so tight that it compressed her breasts and restricted 
her breathing.  It did allow her, however, to button up the short-sleeved 
blouse, though the buttons strained to escape the buttonholes.  The Peter 
Pan collar and attached tie gripped her neck like a noose.   
 
After a great deal of effort, they managed to squeeze her feet into the 
school shoes, producing effects that would have interested the Spanish 
Inquisition.

The blue plaid jumper was supposed to be a fairly loose fit, so there was 
enough leeway to accommodate her torso (barely) -- but the pleated skirt 
part, which would have been very short on Rita, was at least four inches 
shorter on Stephanie.  In fact, the hem ended well above her now hairless 
crotch.

Gradually, though, in a series of compromises between the uniform and 
her body (the former stretching and the latter compressing), the outfit 
became more-or-less wearable -- all except the tiny cotton panties that 
simply could not be made to encompass Stephanie's "unusually mature 
bottom."  And she could hardly be expected to parade around in public 
with her naked crotch on display.  But there was one solution: a 
disposable diaper (of which Ms. Murgess always carried a supply, in 
assorted sizes).     

After arranging Stephanie's hair in pigtails, Ms. Murgess stepped back 
and considered the overall effect.  She sighed.  "Well, it will just 
have to do until we get you back to Harrington."  

Thereupon, they left -- Stan and Ms. Murgess walking briskly, with a bit 
of a swagger, and Stephanie plodding, with a definite waddle.  

After half a minute, the motion-activated camera shut off, and the 
monitor screen went black.

Hal and Joe sat for some time, each immersed in his own thoughts.  At 
last Hal stirred and glanced at the clock.  It was 11:08.  "I 'spect 
we'd best go round up ever'body and sort this mess out...."

Joe stood up, awkwardly.  "I gotta have a copy of that tape, Hal." 
                             
                    *********************************               

Part 5

Joe and Hal, having checked all the monitors and found nobody, left the 
precious tapes securely locked in the surveillance room and proceeded to 
conduct a rather haphazard sweep of the cavernous store.  They had no 
luck at all, until, precisely at 11:26, a door alarm went off like hell's 
bells.

"Sounds like Door 4," Hal yelled over the tumult.  "Must be that damn 
Rita what's-her-name."

"Donovan," Joe shouted back.

"Whatever.  You go after her.  I got to get to a phone and call off the 
cops with some bull shit story."  

In point of fact, it wasn't Rita; Ms. Murgess was the one who set off the 
alarm.  She had been in the middle of delivering an "improving lecture," 
and, lost in her monologue, she pushed against the crush bar of Door 4 
without thinking.  In the ensuing pandemonium, she hesitated for only 
half a heart-beat, then carried on through the doorway and, still 
talking, bore off in what she imagined was the general direction of 
where they'd parked the school van.  Stan, nobody's fool, kept his mouth 
shut.

Joe hurried over to Door 4 as fast as possible for a three-legged man, 
but he was much too late to catch the guilty party.  

                    *********************************                    

So where was Rita?  For over an hour, she had had been creeping about 
the vast and dimly lit store in search of something to wear in place of 
that insufferable uniform.  She'd gotten all turned around in housewares 
(it was like a maze), been distracted by a fine display of Waterford 
crystal, and become thoroughly confused (but quite impressed in spite of 
herself) in the oriental rug department.  When she reached cosmetics, 
she knew she was close, and celebrated by sampling the Chanel No.5.  But 
then she took a wrong turn and wound up in leather goods.

She was passing through the "Little Miss" department, with a sneer on 
her lips, when the alarm went off.  Startled into a tizzy, she grabbed 
a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that looked like they might fit and 
headed for an exit that wasn't going bananas at the moment.

Joe had just heaved a sigh of relief after re-setting the alarm on Door 
4, when the after-hours silence was again shattered.  This time it was 
Door 7.

Rita had left the building.

                    *********************************

Eventually, Hal and Joe straggled back to the security office, baffled.  
Except for them, the store was clearly deserted.

"God knows where that Rita-damn-Donovan is now," Hal said, wearily.  
"But those Harrington people must have taken Stephanie away with them, 
back to the school -- though God knows why.  Since I'm senior, I'd 
better stay here and try to deal with any inquiries.  You get out to 
Harrington and retrieve Steph....  She'll prob'ly be really, really 
appreciative, 'nudge-nudge, wink-wink.'  Right?"

"I'd be happy to, but you know it's well after midnight now...."

"No sweat.  Since there's a runaway, there'll be somebody in Admin all 
night, and they won't want this thing to get any more out of hand than 
we do....  So get goin', and I'll make sure to have your copies of the 
tapes ready by the time you get back."

Joe managed a rueful grin and a mock salute on his way out the door.

                    *********************************

After barrelling out Door 7, Rita had nipped around the side of the 
store and hidden behind some dumpsters, where she changed clothes and 
threw jumper, blouse, and so-called bra into the rubbish.  ("And good 
riddance!")  The t-shirt was a little tight and the shorts very loose, 
but tolerable.  

She hurried across the almost vacant parking lot, which held only four 
vehicles -- three in a cluster nearby: a dumpy Ford Tempo, a rusty Scout 
(is there any other kind?), and a grey pickup with the vanity plate 
"HEF," as well as, a distance away, a black van with some gold lettering 
and a crest on the side.

She headed straight for the garishly lit convenience store that she 
spotted about a block away.  Regardless of what sort of twerp was behind 
the counter, Rita was sure she could vamp him into calling her a cab, 
and, after that, she'd soon be free of this dreadful affair.

But the instant she walked into the store, the Middle Eastern clerk began 
gibbering excitedly and shooing her away.  She was both frightened and 
flabbergasted until, turning to go, she glimpsed her reflection in the 
big glass front door.  She was still wearing anklets and mary janes -- 
and those damn barrettes -- as well as pink short-shorts (riding very 
low and threatening to slip past her narrow hips at any moment) and a 
mustard yellow t-shirt with purple lettering that read "Lil' Princess."  
One part of her brain suddenly understood why she was being treated as a 
pre-teen out after curfew and loitering around a place with a liquor 
license in jeopardy.  The rest of her brain, however, was mulling over 
"Lil'" and wondering why they'd put the apostrophe THERE.  "Must have 
been made by cheap foreign labor," she decided, as she swept from the 
store.  "So typical: tasteless AND ungrammatical!"

She hesitated in front of the convenience store, unsure what to do next, 
but aware that the greasy clerk was continuing to stare at her.  Then, 
suddenly, she found herself "caught in the headlights," literally, of a 
black van that seemed vaguely familiar.  She couldn't go forward, and, 
when she heard the clerk lock the door behind her, she knew there was 
no retreat, either.

"Busted...again," she murmured, recognizing the van.

A woman, superficially attractive, but fundamentally bovine, descended 
from the van and approached Rita, whose mind had just gone into 
overdrive.

"It is way after curfew, little girl.  Are you lost?" Ms. Murgess asked.

Wiping her nose on the back of her hand and raising her voice an octave 
or so above normal, Rita replied, "My mom's real sick, an' I was gonna 
get her a present...an' I took the bus all the way to that big store 
down there -- Nelson's -- but it was closed...an' some big, mean girls 
stole all my money I'd saved up...an' now I can't even get back home...."

"Oh, you poor, sweet little thing.  You just come along with me.  I am a 
school teacher, and I will help you."

("Idiots," Rita thought.  "I'm surrounded by idiots.  Tell 'em the 
absolute truth, and they refuse to believe any of it.  Tell outrageous 
lies, and they lap up every word.  And my rotten so-called 'friends' -- 
petty, shallow, back-stabbing bitches and bastards -- they're really no 
better, just different.  I could have gotten out of this mess hours ago, 
if I'd had one friend I could trust.  God!  If I could ever find one 
person I could bond with...speak to truly, without saying a word....")

"I am afraid you will have to ride in the back of the van, dear.  We 
already have another girl back there, but you must not be afraid.  Stan, 
would you put Heather in restraints?"

("Heather?" Rita wondered to herself.  "The notorious Heather Hammond?  
The real one or...?")

When, at last, she scrambled into the back of the Black Mariah, the 
question was answered.

"You treacherous little bitch," Stephanie spat, venomously.    

Stephanie kept her voice down, so as not to antagonize Ms. Murgess any 
further.  But she spent the entire 30-minute trip holding forth on what 
a loathesome worm Rita was, and explaining, in crude and graphic detail, 
exactly how Rita was going be revenged upon the instant Stephanie was 
free.

Rita, deciding to take what she imagined was the "high road," made only 
two remarks.  Initially, she observed, "Nice uniform...but didn't they 
have any 'plus-sizes'?"  And later, after Stephanie's almost unbroken 
tirade had begun winding down, she sniffed, "People who live in glass 
houses, Heather...." 

                    *********************************                    

From the back of the closed van, Rita could see nothing of the school, 
and almost nothing while being hustled from the van and through what 
turned out to be the back door of the Administration building.  There 
might have been something to see between that point and Ms. Murgess's 
office, near the front of the building, but Rita found it much more 
amusing to watch Stephanie waddle along, in diaper and tight shoes, with 
her hands cuffed behind her.  At the same time, Rita's shorts seemed to 
be getting even looser, and she had to hitch them up every few steps.    

The office was about what Rita had expected: two walls covered with fake 
wood paneling and the other two painted institutional green; grey metal 
horizontal file; scrupulously neat grey metal desk; golf trophy; PC with 
stuffed Garfield perched on top; framed diploma of some sort, but no 
paintings, no prints, not even any photos.

After shackling Stephanie to one of the grey metal side chairs, Stan 
actually spoke (his voice gravely, perhaps from lack of use), 
"Inspection in half an hour?"

"Yes.  You go ahead; I will be along presently," Ms. Murgess answered.  
"I just want to type up a report and punishment order on our ungrateful, 
runaway, former-prefect/present-and-future- sub-minimus, Heather 
Hammond."

"Now, wait just a minute...." Stephanie began, but the woman cut her off 
with a gesture.  She rose from her desk and, from a white enameled wall 
cabinet, she produced some sort of heavy wire device.  "It is called a 
'dental gag'; it is AMA approved."  It had movable jaws that were opened 
and closed by means of a handle on the side.  
  
"Open wide," she said to "Heather."  But when the latter clamped her 
lips together and shook her head defiantly, she simply had her nostrils 
pinched shut until she had to open her mouth to breathe.  The gag was 
then slipped into place between her upper and lower teeth, the handle 
squeezed, and her mouth forced wide open -- and held that way.

"Safe and rather effective.  You can still breathe and make some noise 
(though articulate speech is, of course, impossible), but you should 
find it somewhat humbling...and it makes you drool.  But, I warn you, 
you had better not dare slobber on my nice carpet, girl, or you will get 
'extras' later."

She turned to Rita, and her expression softened.  "You had better phone 
your father now, dear, and let him know where you are.  He will probably 
be worried sick."

Rita dialled her home phone and, knowing that her machine didn't pick up 
until after the sixth ring, hung up after five and a half.  She shook her 
head and looked about to cry.

"Never mind, sweetheart," Ms. Murgess said.  "He is surely out looking 
for you.  Wait a few minutes and try again." 
     
She booted up the PC and began typing briskly.  From time to time, she 
would pause, and look at Stephanie, and smile a secret smile.  When she'd 
finished and printed out the result (5 pages!), she tucked the print-out 
into a manila folder, dropped it onto the middle of her otherwise sterile 
desk, and pressed a button on the intercom.  "Judy, please come in here 
for a moment."

Almost immediately, there was a tapping on the door, which opened to 
admit a sallow, slightly adenoidal young woman with a squint.

"Ah, Judy, I am afraid you will have to work tonight until I finish 
Inspection.  When the two new matrons check in, have them 'see to' our 
young Miss Hammond; her papers are in this folder.  Remind them that we 
are not indulgent here.  And this is Rita...Donovan.  Her father may be 
coming by for her.  See that there's no problem."

"Yes'm," Judy said, and Rita could have sworn she practically curtseyed. 

Ms. Murgess sighed and stretched.  She extracted a clipboard from her 
desk and got to her feet.

Rita looked terrifed.  "P-please don't leave me alone with HER.  She's 
older'n me, an' bigger an' stronger, an' she was talkin' real mean to 
me before...." 

"Fear not, child," Ms. Murgess said.  "I have to leave you both here for 
a while, but she will be in restraints.  And, as for the 'mean talking,' 
the gag will take care of that." 

                    *********************************                     

Rita just had to get away and knew she'd have to make her escape attempt 
soon, before The Murgess returned.  It wasn't that she feared legal 
ramifications.  The department store wouldn't press a couple of trivial 
misdemeanors very hard when she could nail them to the wall for more 
than one felony.  And she could get these Harrington idiots off her back 
simply by proving her identity.  Stephanie might cause some trouble, but 
couldn't do much without admitting her own guilt.  But all the above 
would mean publicity...publicity of the most humiliating sort.  People 
would be LAUGHING at her!  And nobody laughs at Rita Donovan...haven't 
for a long time, at least...not since school....

Then she noticed Stephanie squirming in her chair.  Of course, the diaper 
was hot and itchy, but....  "Ah, does baby wanna go potty?"  She grinned. 
"Let me see if baby's had an accident...."

Much to Stephanie's dismay, Rita stuck her hand down the front of the 
diaper.

"No, not wet yet...but soon, I think....  And, what's this?  Did babykins 
lose all her pubic hair?  Did The Murgess do that to you?  How exquisite! 
That must have been quite a sight.  But that's neither here nor there.  
You're going to wet your diaper soon, and I can't help that.  And I can't 
change you, even if I had a spare diaper handy, 'cause SHE might not 
approve...."

Rita looked around, hitched up her shorts, and crossed over to the 
medicine cabinet.  "But...yes!  Some ointment will maybe help ward off 
diaper rash, don't you think?"  She chose a tube and squeezed out a 
large blob of goo.  She thrust her hand down the front of Stephanie's 
diaper again and wiggled it around.  "Ben-Gay," she said.  After pulling 
her hand out, she wiped her fingers on a tissue, to remove the slight 
traces of burning ointment that remained.  

Stephanie sat as if paralyzed, her eyes big and her breathing labored.  
Instead of shrieks, all she could utter were tiny, strangled squeaks.  
Having no other recourse, she tried to put out the fire in her crotch by 
pissing herself.  It did seem to help some, but not nearly enough.

Rita, meanwhile, was reading with great interest the "Punishment Order" 
(form A101) that Ms. Murgess had typed up for "Heather Hammond."

"Wow-ow!" she said.  She reassembled the file, then shook her head and 
grimaced.  "You ain't seen nothin' yet...."

Rita felt exhilarated.

Since Stephanie was beginning to find her shrieking voice, Rita waited 
until she had paused to catch her breath, then blew her a kiss and darted 
out of the office.  She listened for a moment outside and was pleased to 
find that they apparently were using the original heavy oak Edwardian 
door.  Hardly a sound penetrated it, and nothing could be heard five 
feet away.  

Satisfied, Rita hitched up her shorts and began making her stealthy way 
toward the lighted area that was just ahead.

                    *********************************                

Rita was biding her time, lurking in the shadows of the lobby until she 
might have a chance to get past Judy, guarding the desk and front door.  
She knew she'd have to wait until someone was buzzed in who was 
preoccupied, lead-footed, or just stupid -- and she figured her odds 
around here were pretty good.

Then a beefy figure in an all-too-familiar uniform appeared at the door.  
Joe flashed his badge, and was admitted.

"Bummer," Rita muttered to herself.  Yet....  Rita had discovered a bold, 
adventuresome streak in her personality that she enjoyed immensely.  She 
stepped out of the shadows, so that Joe could now see her -- but Judy 
still could not -- and dramatically flung her arms wide, desperately 
hoping he'd be shrewd enough to read her body language.  

Joe immediately got a blank look on his face, and Rita could almost see 
the wheels going around inside his head.  She concentrated, trying to 
will them to spin in the right direction.  Her mental reflexes may have 
been quicker than his, but he was no blockhead.  He blinked and put on 
an apologetic half-smile.  "My name's Donovan," he said to Judy.  "And 
I've come for my little girl."  

Rita beamed.  Finally, here was someone who wasn't an idiot.

"Daddy!" she cried.  Heedless of her shorts, she ran to him and hugged 
him tight.  She whispered, "Get me out of here right now, big boy, and 
I promise I won't sue your ass." 

Joe bent down to her.  "Deal.  But where's Steph?" he murmured.

"She'll keep; my offer won't, Daddy." 

                    ********************************* 
              
Moments later, they were outside and down the steps, trying to walk 
casually toward the green-and-rust Scout parked nearby.  Judy was 
standing in the doorway behind them, smiling proudly.

"To tell you the truth, copper, your Stephanie IS inside there.  They 
think she's the infamous "Heather Hammond" -- who, I've decided, must be 
the criminal fiend who started this whole thing by stealing my stuff to 
begin with.  But, since your Stephanie was such a bitch, I'll make it 
worth your while to wait twenty-four hours before informing them of their 
mistake."

Joe frowned.  "Well, in the first place, she's not MY Stephanie...not 
any more.  And, in the second place, I wouldn't do that for money."

"I wasn't offering...money," Rita purred and gripped his hand more 
tightly.  

Joe considered, but not long.  "You tired?"

"Not in the slightest.  What do you have in mind?"

"Probably a lot like what you have in mind.  But I want to make a stop 
along the way to pick up a tape.  I think you'll like it."

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