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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Then Hal arrived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's freezing!" she howled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stephanie obeyed, though she continued to whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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