As the grey snowflakes fell, they came to life, glowing from the neon lights of the buildings of the crowded, bustling New City.
The shoppers and workers had gone home from the evening, except for those who had stayed out for some Yuletide partying with their girlfriends.
A Sexy Santa stood in her cute one-piece red outfit with white fur trim around her hips. Her red donation bucket swung, and she shook her big bell almost as enthusiastically as she shook her round bottom.
A group of pretty girls strutted out of a restaurant, arm in arm, giggling and cuddling with each other.
A sexy female cabby was hailed by a beautiful business woman and her fawning futanari lover. The futanari wore a long fur coat over her satiny teddy. The businesswoman wore her customary black jacket, black, satin brief-panties, fishnet stockings, and high heels.
Two lesbian lovers watching the woman and her futanari get into the cab, whispered to each other, "Another kinky couple. You see less and less of those, lately."
It was true. Only one futanari, nowadays, for every ten women. The futanari were only good for being housewives and making real women pregnant. But if there were no more futanari left, it would be a lot harder to keep up the human population.
A business woman in a satin micro-dress, short enought to show off the bottom of her dress, was carrying a little girl in her arms. The little girl, wearing a pink dress and a huge, puffy Pampers diaper, slept soundly against the woman's breasts.
A normal (though inebriated) lesbian in a midriff-revealing, vanilla-colored sweater, pink panties, and pink galoshes, cried out to the woman, "Pervert! Whaddre'ya, takin' a space baby home for a ride? Is she for free, or is she your whore? There's not even a name for chicks like you. Least we can (hiccup) call chicks kinky when they like foots."
The business woman turned around and glared at the woman.
Two female cops, dressed in blue corsets, gold badges, and black gym panties, with black boots and white hats, stepped into the situation before it heated up. One of the cops had gently glowing, green skin and pure, iris-less, yellow eyes. She was a droid. The other cop was a human.
The business woman rushed into the hotel where she'd booked a room for her and her space baby... who was a whore... and an illegal non-earthling. But the police didn't ask any questions. They'd been at the door when the business woman had booked the room. And they'd received their usual bribe money.
The droid officer looked at the other officer's cleavage. "You had better cover your chest, Cutey. The snowfall will be increasing in density in the near future."
Officer Cutey shivered and said, "I can't wait till we get off this beat, Honey."
Officers Cutey and Honey held hands as they looked up to the dark, cottony sky. Most of New City's mega-scrapers vanished up into the mist and darkness, and were further obscured from view by the glistening neon flakes of snow.
Up in the darkness within the bank of clouds, some of the mega-scrapers' spires stood dark, like stark gargoyles. Some few windows here and there were illuminated, revealing within a sexy woman or two, in her customary, big, round eyeglasses, white dress-blouse with white bow-ornament, and conservatively designed, cotton panties, working away at her computer.
Other massive mega-scrapers throbbed with flashing neon signs, just like they did below. One of these massive mega-scrapers was for PamperCorp, the number one baby-care supplies company. The flashing sign showed a little baby's face agains a pink, flashing background.
Real babies. You saw few enough of those lately, when only ten percent of the world's population was breeding. And even those ten percent, of necessity the "kinky" woman-futanari couples, had only one real shot at actually creating a baby.
But each child born was treated like a little princess. And no mother, kinky or reformed lesbian, would deny the cost of pampering her little child as fully as she could. Thus PamperCorp had become a niche company, and, yet, one of the most powerful companies in the world.
Aleistra Crowley's penthouse "suite" occupied the top three floors of her PamperCorp mega-scraper.
Distress, Aleistra's maid and bodyguard, walked into the CEO's palatial bedroom. She had brought some baby powder and diapers in from another room -- the baby nursery, which was still under construction.
There were no lights on. But the light from the enormous sign on the mega-scraper kept the bedroom throbbing with a gentle, pink glow. Distress swished over to the big bed, where a tiny, blonde baby girl sat naked on the silk sheets.
Everyone knew that Distress had been charged by Aleistra to take care of this mysterious little baby girl. Though why they were calling the girl a baby, Aleistra couldn't quite understand. The girl was as tall as a nine or ten year old girl. Maybe it was that this little girl still loved to do things like wear diapers, suck pacifiers, and feed from bottles...
... or even from Distress' boobies.
"Lay back, little Baby," Distress cooed to the little girl. There!, Distress thought. Even I call her a Baby! And I, of all people, should know better.
The little Baby lay back obediently. Baby was such a treasure, wasn't she? Distress lifted up Baby's legs a little, laying the big fluffy diaper under Baby's bottom. Distress patted Baby's soft crotch and bottom with a bit of baby powder. She then deftly taped Baby up into the diaper. Baby rolled over and crawled onto all fours on the soft, silk sheets of the bed. Distress patted Baby's bottom.
Distress asked, "Baby? Would you like me to put you in your pink onesie for beddie-bye?"
The little Baby shook her golden tresses. She said, "Nu-uh. Can't I sleep with you in just my diaper tonight, Mommy?"
Distress blushed hotly. Baby had called her Mommy again! Mommy's heart beat strongly in her ample chest. For these few splendid years, Distress had thought of herself as no more than a maid. And she'd been happy that way. Life with Aleistra hadn't just been stable and well-paid. It had been joyful!
Although... it seemed that Aleistra had never been able to accept any of Distress' implied offers of love. It had been Distress' only complaint. She'd eventually gotten so used to being thought of only as a Maid and Bodyguard, however, that she'd almost forgotten the sexual desiress of her life.
Almost.
Distress said, "Oh, Baby, of course you can wear just your diaper to bed. And I can come to bed with you again tonight, if you want."
Baby said, "Mommy, I want you in bed with me every night!"
Distress almost cried with happiness. She gasped, "You're such a good Baby."
Baby said, "Take off your dress and lay down with me, Mommy!"
Distress unzipped her tiny, frilly maid's costume and let it fall to the floor. Now all Distress was wearing were her black, lacy bra, panties, and garter belt, her fishnet stockings, and her black high-heels. Distress kicked off her high heels and jumped into bed with her sexy, little baby.
Distress tackled her little baby. Baby and Distress rolled and wriggled around on the bed, giggling happily with each other. Distress had the little girl pinned down on the bed.
Baby cried with happiness, "Stop, Mommy! Stop! I'm pottying my diapers!"
Mommy said, "Potty them, Baby. You know I love it when you get all bulgy."
Mommy tickled Baby . Baby squirmed, her satiny, muscly, little body jittering in Mommy's feminine, but solid, hands. Mommy moved her hands up to the teensy nipples on Baby's flat, little chest, and pinched them just a tiny bit.
Baby gasped and whispered, "Oh! Mommy..." Mommy darted her tongue into Baby's open mouth. Baby sucked on Mommy's tongue for a moment and started groaning. Mommy could feel herself getting wet. She started moaning softly, too.
Mommy broke from the kiss and said, "Oh, Baby, I love you."
Baby said, "I love you, too, Mommy. I want to marry you."
Mommy sat up in excitement. "Marry me? Oh, Aleistra! Do you mean it?"
Baby nodded her golden locks. "These lawyers should have their way worked around all the legal issues regarding the Babymaker. Once that's done, I can come out in my transformed state. Maybe we'll even dedicate the Babymaker with a marriage between the two of us."
Mommy hugged her Baby, "Oh! Aleistra!" Mommy showered Baby in kisses. "I'm so happy!"
Baby giggled. Her Mommy's kisses were tickling her! And... making her horny. "Stop, Mommy! Stop! Anyway, I'm not sure what the world will think of me. You know what they think of the space babies."
Mommy said, "Well, I know what most people think of the futanari, nowadays, too. But you became CEO of one of the world's most powerful companies, despite the fact that you were a futanari."
Baby cuddled against her Mommy. "That's true. But I'm taking a big risk on the Babymaker. You know I'm not the only one down here who's wanted to be turned into a little baby again. And there are plenty of Mommies, like you, who want to take care of, and have sex with, adult babies like me.
"Besides, I think the development of the space babies was something happening down here on earth. People wanted it to happen here. But when it happened up there, and they actually saw what it was like, they didn't know what to think of it. So now they think they don't like it.
"But if the girls down here get transformed into babies, maybe they won't have such trouble with the space babies. And they'll let them be."
Mommy said, "My biggest problem with the space babies is that they get smuggled down here from outer space and used in the sex trade."
Baby said, "Well, that's what I mean. We have plenty of girls -- and futanari! -- who'd be perfectly happy as adult babies, being taken care of by loving Mommies. We don't need space marketeers smuggling space-babies. Especially while they're doing such important work up there in the space-baby stations."
Mommy said, "Well, I for one, think it'll be a big success."
Baby asked, "Why?"
Mommy said, "Because, personally, I love *my* adult baby." Mommy looked at Baby with hypnotic eyes. Baby fell totally under Mommy's spell. Baby felt a lot more potty falling into her diaper.
Mommy embraced Baby and lay back on the bed. Aleistra used to be quite the tiger of the business world -- and tough! -- despite the fact that she had been short and thin-framed, like most of the futanari. But now, Aleistra was as tiny as a baby girl, and Distress could gently guide her into any position she wanted.
Mommy and Baby lay with each other for a moment, kissing each other. Baby rubbed Mommy's lace covered boobies while Mommy squeezed was Baby's wet, bulgy diaper. Then Mommy lifted Baby straight up into the air -- like she was bench-pressing Baby!
Baby stiffened out her body, pretending she was a rocket-plane, flying in sub-orbit. But, quickly, Mommy turned Baby around and lay Baby back down on Mommy's body. Baby was face-to-crotch with Mommy.
"Put your tight, little mouth on my vagina, Baby. And rub my clit with your tiny, little, babyish tongue!"
"Yes, Momma," Baby obediently replied. Baby rolled Mommy's tight, lacy panties down Mommy's long, slender, silky legs. All this time, Mommy kept squishing and squishing the potty in Baby's wet, bulgy diaper.
Baby could smell Mommy's readiness and feel the heat simmering up from Mommy's delicious crotch. Baby was just about to give Mommy a good tonguing, when -- suddenly --
Three flashlights shone on the bed!
Mommy and Baby sat up instantly! Almost as instantly, Mommy was out of the bed, ready to protect her employer and Baby, Aleistra Bailey!
But Mommy had forgotten she was wearing her panties around her ankles. She stumbled to the floor! The bed-intruders were about to dive down on Mommy! Baby had to think fast! She threw the bottle of baby powder quickly at the assailants.
The assailants flinched for only a fraction of a second. But it gave Mommy enough time to scramble away on the floor and grab one of her high heels without being seen.
One of the assailants rushed at Distress! Distress could see the assailants from behind the flashlights now. Black, full-head masks with eye-holes; black leotards, French-cut to give a flattering view of hips and buttocks; and black nylons with footies like ballet-slippers, except shiny black.
No doubt about it. These were Corporate Ninjettes, alright!
But who had sent them? And how had Distress let her guard down enough to let the Ninjettes all the way into the bedroom?
Distress didn't have time to piece things together. The Ninjette was almost on top of her. Distresses reached up and stabbed the Ninjette in the eye with the heel of her shoe! The Ninjette fell away, writhing on the floor, bleeding profusely from her eye-socket.
Distress stood up, naked from the waist down. She charged at one of the the flashlights and leapt into a jump-kick, giving a generous, though fleeting, view of hot crotch to the spotlight.
But the Ninjette holding the flashlight flipped the flashlight around. Both flashlights went dark. The back end of the flashlight Distress had been aiming toward began to glow with an intense pink light.
A laser-beam! Distress quickly broke out of her kick and into a roll, barely missing getting hit by a pink laser. The laser pierced the metal pole for the ceiling chandelier instead. The chandelier fell toward the bed!
Baby rolled off the bed before the chandelier crashed down on her. Baby could hear Mommy fighting the Ninjettes. Baby had expected to land on the floor. But, instead, she landed in the arms of -- another Ninjette?!
Before Baby could cry out, the Ninjette had buried Baby's face in her deep, full bosom. Baby felt the Ninjette's boobies flex together. She heard a little squeeze-pump. Then a sweet scent wafted up toward her. Oh no! Sleeping potion!
Baby was knocked out instantly.
Mommy tried to get at Baby. But, somehow, she was now facing seven Ninjettes, all circled around her! One of the Ninjettes had her in a fighting position, while another shot a laser beam at her. Distress managed to knock the one Ninjette away and -- almost -- dodge the laser beam. The beam sliced Distress' cheek bone and blinded her momentarily.
Now the Ninjettes could sneak closer! Two grabbed Distress while a third buried Distress' face in her breasts and sprayed the cleavage-entrenched sleeping potion. Distress couldn't help but breath it in. But, right after that, she pushed the Ninjette away and threw the other two Ninjettes into the wall.
Distress hadn't bee knocked out. But she was still woozy. She lamely did battle with three other Ninjettes, trying to get at Aleistra. But the other Ninjettes -- including the one with a poked-out eye! -- had recovered. They ran at the woozy Distress and subdued her.
Distress felt eight or ten full, plump breasts pressing hotly against her face. Then -- a huge rush of sweet scents -- darkness --
-- And sleep.
2. CatBird
What did the end of a century mean, anyway? Same as the end of any day, any month, any year.
All the red "X" marks made on the calendar on the wall. Pretty soon, December would be all filled up. Go to some party, drink some champagne, but don't kiss anybody. Come home.
Next morning, hung over, take down Miss Solar Power Bikini December 2199 and her eleven friends. Maybe walk down to the hallway to the Bikini Power Enterprises offices. Pick up a calendar full of new girlfriends. Why, nice to meet you, Miss Solar Power Bikini Janury 2200.
Pull out the red Sharpie. Start making more red "X" marks.
And that's all that would happen, despite what the newest doomsday cult, the "Double Snake Eyes," said.
Marion Marlowe creaked back and forth a little in her swivel chair. She looked from her wall calendar down to her legs, which she had stretched out on her desk.
"I have pretty good legs," Marion thought, looking at her black-pantyhose-clad gams, tipped in fingernail-polish-red pumps, which gleamed in the light from the lone incandescent bulb which swung over her desk.
"I should've been one of those Solar Power Bikini girls. That's a pretty good career. You just surf and lay on the beach all day, getting your photo taken. You charge up the batteries in your solar -- and piezotronic! -- bikini, go switch out the batteries every hour or so. And you get paid for the electricity your damn bikini sent to the power company!"
It was true. Almost the entire coastline of California was, nowadays, a power plant, full of hot, female bodies basking in the sun. There were professional Solar Power Bikini girls. But even tourists would take one or two "paid vacation" days to the beach, wearing bikinis and sending power to the grid.
"Why didn't I get into that job?"
Marion thought about it and said, "Oh, yeah. I forgot. I decided to be a crook."
Marion looked around her dank office and said, again aloud, "Check that. A crook turned completely unsuccessful private detective. Geez! Am I talking to myself again? I need to get a cat!"
The droid entered Marion's office, wearing a white silk camisole.
Marion said, "Scratch the cat. I forgot. I have you, Frankenhooker."
Frankenhooker smiled. "You may scratch me, if you like, Marion. You may scratch me anywhere you like."
Marion creaked her chair back and forth a bit, thinking of rocking back and forth a bit on top of Frankenhooker. The only think Marion really couldn't get over with her droid assistant was her hair color, which was the same, eerily glowing green as her skin.
FH said, "I hate when you creak the chair, Marion. You are well aware of how advanced my sense of hearing is."
Marion swung her legs off the table and sat forward, elbows against her desk. "So how can I help you, FH?"
FH said, "Give me a different name."
Marion said, "No can do."
FH said, "Allow me the pleasure of sucking you off."
Marion thought, Not a bad idea. But she said, "How did you droids ever get so sexually honest?"
FH said, "How did you humanoids ever come to the conclusion that you own us and can give us names and boss us around?"
Marion asked, "How did you droids ever get so *socially* honest?"
FH said, "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"
Marion said, "Ask the stupid men who came up with the question. Oh, yeah, I forgot. They're all dead."
FH said, "Dead is a strong word. They just all stopped being born."
That was true, Marion considered. Everybody in the world seemed to want to be a woman. Suddenly, only women were being born. Well -- women and futanari. The phallic women, with penises, and -- where the testicles had once been on men -- pseudo-vaginas.
That had all happened around the year 2050. In the first fifty years of that strange change, women outnumbered futanari by three to one. And futanari were able, with their women lovers, to have as many babies as they wanted.
Nowadays, women outnumbered futanari by ten to one. And futanari, after having what the scientists were now calling "procreative sex," would actually lose their phalli, and their internalized testes, in a painful, occasionally fatal, illness now known as "phallicitis."
Men were gone from the world, completely. This was a shame, in some respects, Marion thought. Before embarking on her life in crime, she'd actually attended a semester or so of college. She'd seen some of the classic moving-image-fictional documents known as "movies" or, quaintly, "films." Cary Grant in Alfred Hitchcock's To Catch a Thief had, actually, had some sort of allure for Marion.
In fact, Marion's attaction to both Cary Grant and Brigitte Auber may have led Marion into her life of crime. She started it up only a month or so after seeing that delightful "movie."
Marion impulsively asked, "Why don't we make some of you droids into men?"
FH said, "Gross. I don't even have a stomach. Yet you've managed to make me sick to it. Anyway, I regret to inform you that your species no longer contributes to the construction of our species. And our species prefers to resemble to feminine gender of your species."
Marion said, "Programming. Get me into your source code, and I'll have you pumping out big-dicked beefcakes in no time!"
FH said, "You would enjoy that, I presume, Marion. But, do not, ever again, make jokes about our source code. I do not find it funny. I would make no jokes about your genome. Yet I know plenty of droids who have the ability to do marvellously twisted things with it."
Marion said, "No problem, FH. Humans have a better sense of humor than droids do. We're already making jokes about our own source code. You just don't hear about it. Those are what you call inside jokes. And inside jokers make inside trades off of them. Funny how getting rid of men didn't get rid of that."
FH said, "It's been a lively discussion, Marion. One that I would much more have enjoyed in bed with you, with your face buried in my pussy while you spoke. But I did come in here for a reason."
Marion said, "Oh! So you are my assistant, after all!"
FH smiled. "Your former associates, the ones you recently went down to the penetentiary to help move out, have requested your presence at your traditionally preferred destination of Congress?"
Marion said, "Our favorite bar? Our old hang-out?"
FH said, "The Rated X. Call it what you want."
Marion asked, "Are you driving there? Or shall I run you there myelf in my junket?"
FH smiled, "It's your choice, Marion. But we could reject both options and remain home, in --"
"-- yes! Yes! I know. In bed! Why do you want to jump my bones so bad, FH?"
"I suppose because they're well-designed. You still can't beat mother nature."
Marion grinned. She couldn't help herself. She was half-tempted to stay right here, and just go to bed with FH.
*****
Just a few minutes after midnight, FH de-levitated the vehicle in front of the Rated X. Marion stepped out.
Marion asked, "Are you sure you don't want to come in?" Marion thought it wouldn't be so had to have FH's arm to lean on, maybe dissuade some of the wolfish chicks inside.
FH said, "I'm not dressed appropriately."
Marion said, "For the Rated X?!"
FH looked down at her "driving suit:" a black, vinyl string bra, a black g-string -- mostly string -- and knee-high, black boots.
She looked at Marion and said. "Yes. I'm over-dressed."
Marion looked at her own outfit: a midriff-baring "coat" in the style of an old trenchoat, a bra-like "shirt" with a small, boyish tie, a black, synthetic-cotton micro-skirt with fluttery fringes, black pantyhose, and her trademark fedora and red pumps.
Marion said, "If you're over-dressed, I must look like I'm wrapped in a sleeping bag!"
FH said "We should both be wrapped in a sleeping bag together. I'll hover around. Tap me when you're ready."
The passenger door closed and the vehicle levitated upwards.
Droids!, Marion thought. She walked into the Rated X, possibly the biggest and wildest bar in New City. The entrance made the place look like it used to be a huge bank. It was all stone, with a huge, tall doorway, flanked on either side with massive columns. Marion could already hear the pulsing music and see the flashing lights inside.
Two "bouncers" greeted Marion just inside the door. It*had* been a long time. Marion didn't recognize either of these beauties. They were both naked, with their standard white powder-puff-style boas wrapped around their shoulders and draped slinkily over their taut breasts. Marion took a couple mental snapshots of each girl's sexy, shaved crotches before one of the girls accosted her.
"We need to card you, Hon." One of the girls said.
"Do I get a sucker when it's over?" Marion watched as the girl's computerized pupils registered the magnetic databank emanating from Marion's cell-phone-based SIM card.
"Well, it's over," the girl replied. She pointed to her friend. "So you can suck her all you want."
Marion turned around. She other "bouncer" was already smiling greedily. Marion took a couple more mental photographs of what she'd unfortunately have to miss, then kissed the girl quickly on the mouth and said, "I'm sorry, babe. I gotta meet my friends inside."
The poor, little "bouncer" was mewing, "No! No! Come back to me!" But Marion was already in the ocean of sound, light, and sweet-smelling stage-smoke.
Pop Rocks was up on stage. Leave it to Pop Rocks. Out of prison only a short while, and already up on stage, belting out a new song, sounding just as great ever.
Looking just as punky and pouty as ever, too -- with her purple and green striped, knee-high socks, chunky Doc Martins, black and white, tiger-striped, vinyl panties, black vinyl bra and tiny, vinyl vest. Her big, round, black eyes, fully rimmed in mascara. Her black lipstick. And her black, shoulder-length hair cut like a bowl, with chunky bangs over her brows.
A likeable, lickabe lady.
A delicate finger graced the shoulder of Marion's halter-coat. The touch could only be from one of two virtous hands, and both of the slender arms these hands were attached to soon confirmed Marion's deductions as they encircled Marion, twisted her around, and beckoned her toward the lithe torso of --
"Belle DuVall," Marion smiled. Belle greeted Marion with a familiar French kiss. Marion stood back. Belle was as gorgeous as always, her rich, pale-brown hair piled up a tiny bit, to accentuate her gleaming tiara, then flowing down over her shoulders. Belle flashed a ruby-lipped smile at Marion and gazed on her ex-partner-in-crime with clear, hazel eyes.
Belle's outfit was almost like an old, fancy gown -- down to just below the breasts. Then it mysteriously vanished, leaving Belle's trim torso to playfully greet all passers-by.
Belle was one of the only women Marion knew who would unabashedly wear a diaper, albeit a pull-up "training" diaper, in public. Wearing a diaper, especially in these politically tense days, could get you labelled a space-baby, a space-baby lover, or a plain old baby-lover. That last type of person was supported by neither Marion nor Belle.
So this fairy-like lady, wearing her princess tiara and training diaper would just welcome trouble for herself. Wouldn't she?
Not after people knew the ground-rules. And Belle could lay them down pretty quick. If you were nice, you could go home with Belle, treat her like a baby, and be rewarded with all kinds of sexual delights.
If you were mean, you might not get out of the hospital for weeks.
Of the three girls, Belle DuVall was the most sissyish. She loved playing the part of the sissy princess, and she loved playing the part of the baby. But Pop Rocks, for all her toughness, was also a known adult baby.
That was how the three girls had gathered their fame, when rumors first came out that they were diverting baby supplied out onto the space market. Everybody thought -- were absolutely certain -- that CatBird Inc., the name the trio gave themselves, had to be the diaper thieves.
Why? Because two of them were some of the biggest adult babies known in New City's club scene. Nobody could figure out what Marion was doing in the picture. She wasn't an adult baby at all. Not even part-time, like Pop Rocks was. What was Marion? A Mommy? A Mistress?
Maybe I was a little of both, Marion thought.
Thankfully, none of the baby supplies that CatBird Inc. had (in truth) diverted onto the space-market could ever be traced to that group of crooks. Nevertheless, CatBird had gotten quite wealthy by what they'd done. And they'd stood up for a cause they'd believed in.
At least at first. Once the Earth's Corporate Governments (the Boards, as they were generally called), finally allowed baby supplies to reach the space babies again, CatBird could, technically, have called it quits. But the stuff reaching the space babies still wasn't high quality, and the space-market was still taking diverted shipments of the good stuff for good prices.
CatBird almost got caught on their last stealth shipment. And that was the end for them. The three girls had all retired, after doing this business for about eight years. They were all well into their mid-twenties, a young, young age to retire. But they were, they thought, retired, scott-free.
What CatBird hadn't counted on were the tax loophooles their fugitive money had missed. CatBird found their money slowly eaten away by Tax-Bodies, basically run by the Boards, anyway. The Boards hadn't been able to beat CatBird at its game of ingenuity, strategy, and agility. But what they didn't have in those quailities they more than made up for in regulation and bureaucracy.
CatBird was left broken, destitute. And, while Marion, through with her life on the lam, was ready to make like Cary Grant and take it straight and narrow for a while, Pop Rocks and Belle DuVall had had a brand new crooked diversion scheme of their own.
So Marion did the unsuccessful Private Eye thing. And Belle and Pop took on a second crooked diversion scheme. And that second crooked diversion scheme was what had landed Pop Rocks and Belle in jail for the past two years.
Belle DuVall flung herself again into Marion's arms and cried out lavishly, "Oh, Marion! I'm so happy to see you here!"
Oh, God, Marion thought, hearing the tone in Belle's voice. These girls want me to go in on another score with them.
Marion stepped back. "No way, Belle. No way. I'm out of the game."
Belle smiled dazzlingly and naturally, "Why, Marion, darling, you haven't even heard the proposition!"
Marion said, "If it involves breaking the law, if it involves *bending* the law, I'm not interested."
Belle gave Marion a knowing glance. "Now, come on, Marion. We were just in the same slammer you threw some of your most famous cases into. And we know quite well that you yourself have tested the flexibility of the law on a number of occasions. Some of those girls would laugh that you'd almost been thrown into the slammer with them!"
That was true, Marion reflected. The Police Commistress would have tossed Marion into a cell if Marion hadn't been able to provide the courts with crucial evidence at a critical moment. Luck? Skill? Marion didn't care. She was free. It was fine.
Belle squinted pensively. "The only thing I can't figure out, Sweetie, is how you've managed to arrest those girls and win their admiration at the same time. Some of them are positively in love with you! They'd do anything for you!"
Marion said, "Well, when they get out, they can do whatever they want for me. They won't have a chance while they're on the inside. Because they won't find me in there. I'm not going to do anything to break the law."
Belle laughed sparklingly, "Why, Marion! If you don't get caught breaking the law, it's as good as not breaking the law at all!"
Marion was about to respond with a comment she may have regretted. But she was luckily stopped with the flash of a bulb and the sudden fluttering of a steno pad and pencil. A cute, tiny futanari rushed up in between the two girls.
The foot was wearing a white bra, a shirt-less collar, a bowtie, white cotton panties with Snoopy and ****stock designs, sheer, white, knee-high stockings, and black high-heels. She wore big, chunky glasses and had her black hair pulled back in a tight pony-tail.
The foot began belting out questions and scribbling in her steno pad. "Did I just hear something about breaking the law? Is it true that CatBird is getting back together? All these years after having disbanded? Now? In their old age?"
Flustered as always with the foot, Marion said, "Oh, for crying out loud, Moxie! We aren't even thirty years old yet!"
Moxie swiveled her hips fliratiously and grinned, "Well, *I'm* not even twenty!"
Belle pulled the foot up to her face and growled, "You better be careful, if you wanna live to *be* twenty!" She tossed away the foot and said, "Well, I do have to admit, some of you futanari can be cute sometimes. You certainly have a kind of hotness."
Moxie had been panicked, but hadn't lost so much composure that she'd dropped her old-timey "flashbulb" (the bulb was all show, not real) camera and steno pad (which radioed in all written information directly to her home computer -- she was freelance).
Moxie began scribbling on her steno pad all over again. "Brilliant! Keep it coming ladies. The scandal sheets are gonna love this! Star reporter -- no! Award-winning reporter, Moxie Scoop, hassled in the middle of a crime-conference!"
Marion was too slow (wow!) to grab Moxie's pencil. Marion said, "Award-winning reporter? Isn't that an exaggeration, Moxie?"
Moxie pushed her chunky glasses up on the bridge of her nose with the fake eraser of her fake pencil. "Gosh, no, Mar! I won last week's pinball tournament at the Malt Shop! Thanks for not dropping by that night."
Belle giggled and blushed a bit. She could barely cover her smile.
Marion looked at Belle. But Belle was only looking at Moxie! Belle said, "Is something funny, Belle?"
Belle got a hold of herself and said, "Hmm? Oh, I was just wondering when you started hanging out with geeky foots, toots."
Marion said, "When you stop peeing and pooping your diapers, then start worrying about how I spend my life."
Belle said, "I'll never stop peeing my diaper, Marion. I'm peeing it right now. And it feels great! But what I am worried about is..." Belle pointed at Moxie. "... whether we can find some place *private* to discuss things."
Marion said, "We don't need to find a private place, because we don't have anything to dis--"
Moxie said, "Hey, shucks! I know a private place! We can --"
Moxie was suddenly gasping and tumbling forward into Belle. Belle caught Moxie and all her stuff.
A seven-foot-tall woman with a shaved head tossed the last of her beer on Moxie, spilling some of it onto Belle as well.
The seven-foot-tall woman growled out, "That's for not watchin' where I'm goin' ya stinky foot! You shouldn't be in here anyway!"
Marion watched as Belle's eyes when from sparkling hazel to fiery red.
Belle cried out, "You got beer on me, you bitch!"
Belle gently sat Moxie on nearby barstool. She faced the seven-foot-tall woman.
Marion said, "Cut out, Buzz-Cut! We don't want any trouble."
Buzz-Cut growled, "Looks like your littlest princess wants trouble. I got her arms wet. She's only used to her diapers being wet! Ha, h--"
Buzz-Cut couldn't manage to get the second chuckle all the way out. Belle's grip clutched it inside Buzz-Cut's throat! Buzz-Cut's steel-grey eyes were popping out of her head -- with surprise and asphyxiation! -- as Belle pulled Buzz down to eye-level.
Belle said, "Listen, creep!" She might have had a chance to say more, if it hadn't been for the cat-claws that swiped across her forehead and knocked her over! Belle landed flat on the ground as she saw four furry feet landing on either side of Buzz' feet.
Buzz' feet slammed into Belle's stomach. Belle felt herself uncontrollably poop into her diaper. Damn!
Buzz cried out, "You should watch where yer'... chokin' people!" Belle thought that witticism had obviously cost Buzz a great deal of intellectual effort. But the two kitty-girls on either side of Buzz giggled meowingly.
Belle was trying her best to stand up. She vaguely felt Moxie Scoop trying, in her weak-armed futanari way, to lift her.
Strange, how Belle stopped hearing the music. Her head must be all blurry.
Marion, Belle saw, had headed to attack Buzz. But the two kitty girls who had attacked Belle were now set on attacking Marion.
Buzz was cocking her huge boot back to kick Belle again. God! A second one could make her bleed internally. She was sure of it. Belle faintly heard Moxie crying, "No! No!"
Buzz was about to send her huge boot plunging into Belle's stomach, when suddenly she heard -- a breaking guitar?! The crashing of wodd, plastic, and the twanging of splitting strings. Then the clattering of all that broken stuff to the ground -- with Buzz-Cut -- who was out cold!
The kitty-girls stopped tussling with Marion. They crawled in panicked down to the unconscious Buzz-Cut, screa-meowing, "No! No! Mommy! Mistress! Meow!"
Hm!, Belle thought. Those tough, tiny, kitty-girls wear diapers, too!
Pop Rocks lifted up Belle. Belle felt so much more strength now, just from Pop Rocks' strong touch. Pop said, "We got through another one together, Princess."
Belle coughed and said, "I guess so. All three of us did."
Marion looked at Belle and Pop and smiled.
Someone in the crowd yelled to Marion, "The police are coming! They're looking for you, Marion! Someone said you're causing all this scene!"
Marion said, "Damn, some plant! Always somewhere! Waiting to pin me!" Marion tapped a pendant on her bracelet and mumbled a few words. She said to Belle (amazingly standing up straight now), "Can you run? We need to get out back quick. That's where my assistant will pick us up."
Belle said, "Sure. But where would we go? And I need to change my diapee big time."
Moxie said, "I already said I know some place private."
Marion, Belle, and Pop all looked at Moxie quizzically. But they heard the sirens approaching right then.
Belle coughed again and sighed, "Fine. Get us out of here, foot. But when we get wherever we're going, *you're* changing my diaper. Like a stinky foot servant!"
Pop looked at Belle with what Marion could only think was a twinge of jealousy.
Moxie said, "Keen! Let's go!"
To be continued...
