He was currently on his way to a grubby little session with his Dominatrix, a youngish woman who went under the ominous sobriquet of Mistress Nemesis: she was tall and leggy with sweeping black hair, and at the end of their last meeting she had firmly decreed her lowly client pack an actual baby's nappy the next time he visited, even going so far as to furnish him with one - she had a stash on hand for punters of a certain persuasion - before deciding that it would be much more amusing (for her) if he were to march into a bog-standard supermarket and get some himself. Stig had instinctively protested, not quite able to fathom the intentions of this unusual request, yet his Dominatrix had persisted, glaring down at him with insatiable contempt. She was a few years older (not to mention taller) than him, and he didn't want to even think about what she'd do to him if he had the temerity to defy her, therefore he'd conceded, and earlier this afternoon had finally mustered up the courage to toddle into his local Co-op and pick up some Pampers.