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 first 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.  

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 and Completed) 
 
                               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 ordering staff and tradesmen 
about.  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 put 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 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 
lower 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 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 was now 
headed 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...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, 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 years old and my name IS 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 damn 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 took hold of 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 seemed almost as though Stephanie were 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 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.  

In a sweat, he 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 was 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 had 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 progressing, 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.  She spun around, 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 that bitch had put her through.  She ripped 
off and threw away the detestable diaper, listened a moment for 
footsteps, and then pounced on the item 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.)  She found the rest 
of the materials she needed 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 she was 
trapped, unfortunately, 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 riveted by number 6.  
The security holding room was empty!  And number 5 showed that 
the security office itself was deserted, too.  More trouble.  

He repeated the procedure for viewing on-going 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 notice what was 
being played out live on the monitors behind him -- the return of 
the two women 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.  "Well, 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 focused 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 loathsome 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 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 terrified.  "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 and cleared his throat.  "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."
   
   
 