Middle Management

Chapter 1
Whole Story

Chapter Description: Whole Story

Samantha hated being a Tweener sometimes.  Tweeners: Caught between two worlds.  To the Amazons, people like Samantha were children; not quite babies like Littles, but not true adults, either. More like Elementary or Middle Schoolers at best.  Trustworthy, but not dependable, and certainly not too big to be cut down to size and put back in diapers.  (Though as far as the crazy giants were concerned, anybody could be put back in diapers).

To the Littles, the Tweeners were either allies of convenience or stooges to the giants. Sometimes allies. Sometimes adversaries.  Never really friends; not in a way that mattered. 
Yeah, there was that shared bond of being terrified of the giant people, and there were no only children or atheists in foxholes.  But if push came to shove, an Amazon would much prefer to baby a Little than to settle for a Tweener.

Samantha would know.  She had a few Little friends growing up in her neighborhood.  When one of them got snatched up by a random Amazon, due to a failed pantie check,  Samantha had been given a choice: Reach into the giant woman’s diaper bag like a good and responsible girl or get put back in diapers herself.  After all, only babies tried to help other babies be naughty and wear big girl panties.

Her Little friends had stopped talking to her after that. Screw them. They’d have done the same thing.  Tweeners and Littles couldn’t really protect each other from the Amazons and the Amazons would never accept a Tweener as a “true adult” or whatever rationale they used to justify their behaviors. 

Too much Little in them to be respected by Amazons and too much Amazon in them to be loved by Littles.  That’s what the rationale was anyway.  Tweeners: The Third People. Born out of when Littles and Amazons bred with each other.

Samantha didn’t completely buy that line, either.  She’d never seen a pairing of Amazon and Little where the Little wasn’t cast as a baby.  Her own parents and grandparents were Tweeners and all the Tweeners she knew had Tweener parents.

She was aware of a few rich and famous pairings between an Amazon and a Tweener, but as far as she could tell, the status of the child was largely determined by the mother; either a tall-ish Tweener that was a head or two taller than their mother, or a short Amazon who was a head or two shorter.

Little and Tweeners pairings were even rarer and Samantha had heard of it only in theory.  The entire Littles community did its level best to isolate itself socially. An understandable reflex when it seemed that eight out of ten interactions with the taller folk resulted in firing from one’s job and permanent enrollment at a daycare somewhere.

A Little and an Amazon though?  In love?  Boinking?: The physical mechanics of sex, pregnancy, and birth were both hilarious and horrifying.  Samantha couldn’t picture that ending well.  Pain and possibly death for the woman if Little, and just complete and utter lack of satisfaction if an Amazon with a much smaller lover.

But that’s where Tweeners originated from.  So said the Amazons, and the Amazons made the rules, including history. And according to the rules, the best and only way to survive as a Tweener was to throw the attention on someone else.  Be the world’s middle child.  Better to make the short ones envious and be overlooked by the big ones.

Speaking of “big ones”...

“Oh, I think you’re so much better like this, don’t you?”

Two Amazons: Both in their forties at least were in the Ladies’ Restroom.  The one currently speaking was in a gray pantsuit, her hair the kind of blonde that only came out of a bottle, and her graying eyebrows all but testified to it. 

Samantha had a decent eye for detail, and rarely forgot an Amazon’s face; mostly as a survival technique.  This particular woman had never been in the shop before, Samantha was certain, but there was something familiar about her nonetheless...a family resemblance of sorts.

The second woman, Samantha definitely remembered seeing.  Only last time she was the one in the business suit.  Now? Not so much.  Nothing about her current state of dress could be considered business,or a suit.

The light pink shirt looked like something that would be sold at a Mega-Mart; something that would be a casual sleep shirt or part of a lazy weekend wardrobe when you didn’t care what you looked like...the kind that people wore to places like Mega-Mart. 

Even with the Carpet Mice picture on the front, it wasn’t anything that might be considered scandalous for an Amazon to wear.  It was  something an Amazon Mom (or more likely Mommy) might wear when playing with their kids.  The cartoon about adopted Littles and their bratty Tweener friend had been around long enough to be retro-chic and nostalgi

However when taken in context with the rest of her outfit, that big baggy t-shirt was hands down the most grown-up thing the other Amazon was wearing.  The white bonnet looked like something out of a costume shop, or maybe a period piece about Easter in the Old West.  The pink tights being yanked down to her ankles might have come from a ballet shop.  The matching plastic pants that followed were largely unnecessary save to add bulk and a bit of extra infantile aesthetic to the very soaked and very messy adult diaper that was just now showing itself.

Amazons had yet to invent a pacifier that could effectively gag one of their own, but this one was doing its job well enough.  The woman on the changing table looked like she was sucking on the dummy just to prevent herself from screaming; preserving her dignity and cementing her image as a giant toddler.

The usual crowd of gawkers were already gathering in to watch the latest show.  Ever since the owner, Mrs. Thompson, had taken a new managerial style, more and more locals were turning on each other.  Were untaken Littles that scarce or were Amazons just that crazy?  Maybe the big ones getting laid out on the changing table made the ones still standing feel superior or justified in how they treated the little ones?  Both? Neither?  It didn’t matter as long as Samantha wasn’t the one crinkling.

Regardless of the reason, every time an Amazon was laid down, the looky loos would want to peek inside and casually have a look. 

Go figure.

Four out of five times, the Amazon getting changed was Gwenny, Mrs. Thompson’s toy and pet project.  Gwenny used to be Samantha’s bossy co-worker and a nightmare to deal with, (like most Amazons).   Samantha helped take care of that.  And for whatever reason, the stars aligned, and a switch flipped in either Gwenny’s and/or Mrs. Thompson’s brain.

Gwenny was proof that Amazons were really no better than Littles...just not in a way that kept a single Little out of a crib.

Lately though, more and more were following Mrs. Thompson’s lead.  An office park was sending interns over for a more than healthy dose of public shaming and humiliation; a way to turn the pressure up and remind them that even they weren’t as grown-up as the people signing their paychecks.  The lady who was about to get changed now didn’t look like a stereotypical intern, however.

“Yes,” the more powerful, more adult woman cooed down.  “I definitely think you look much better like this, Baby Tricia.”  She lifted the other woman’s legs and gave her messy bottom a pat.  “Muuuuuch better.” 

‘Baby Tricia’  (though she was probably Patty or Patricia before now) just moaned pathetically and sucked on her pacifier, trying not to cry. Oooooh.  Samantha knew that face.  Last time, this woman had been changing diapers instead of wearing them.  Oh, how the tables had turned.

Samantha weaved in and out of the Amazon bodies, making sure to quietly say “Excuse me” just in case.  The customers were too busy sipping on their lattes and/or watching the free show to take much notice of her.  Sometimes it was good to be a Tweener.

The woman in control ripped all four tapes off the diaper.  “Poor Baby Tricia,” she taunted, “thought you could shape company policy, and you did.  But you forgot something: Adults ask for permission.  Children ask for forgiveness.” 

The babied woman lifted her legs so that her tormentor could wipe her bottom with baby wipes.  “Yush Ma’am,” she mumbled around the pacifier.
The Tweener had wormed her way to the front and walked into the bathroom.  The words she was hearing sent a jolt straight to the pleasure centers of her brain. Littles in this situation were either completely overwhelmed, brain dead, or just plain dead inside.  All Littles know the day they went to daycare might come. If they hadn’t been mentally broken, this was just what would be another day to them; no different than the children they were forced to pretend to be. 

Not interesting in the least.

Samantha couldn’t bear to look at the odd Tweener that found themselves on a changing table. Just another failure.  Someone who’d failed at the balancing act between Little and Amazon and tilted towards Little.  A real Don’t Let This Happen To You.

But Amazons?  Ooooh, that was something special.  To see the humiliation in their eyes.  The realization that they were no better than any of the smaller folk.  The cognitive dissonance and embarrassment when they’d been told that they’d objectively failed at the maturity and adulthood that was supposed to come so naturally to the giants.

To see that realization and moment when they finally realized how badly they were screwed.  Samantha just HAD to see that.  Every time.  A rare few, like Gwenny, found that they liked failing.  To them, an Amazon’s absurdly high expectations were just.a matter of projection; a literal case of treating others like they wanted to be treated.  Those rare few tended to be better people once their needs were met.

Gwenny was infinitely more pleasant to have around the shop than ‘Gwendolyn’ had ever been.

Most were just humiliated that they’d fallen so far and found themselves stuck in their own personal horror story.  Samantha liked that, too.  Oh how awful it was for them!  At the very least, when (not if) they earned their big girl panties back, they’d be less brazen bullies.  That bit of humility force fed to them was damn near intoxicating.

And then there were the rare few...but more on that later…

“You also forgot to do your research,” the woman doing the diapering mocked.  “Like who’s daughter it was that you dragged down here.”

Oh that!  THAT!  That’s where she knew this poor crazy bitch from.  The lady on the changing table had brought over an intern to do the ol’ song and dance.  There was even mention that this ritual might turn into a matter of disciplinary policy in the office across the way.  Poor not-so-Little girl had been brought in and given nearly the full treatment. Becky, her name was. 

If the contours of the older woman’s face were any indicator, Baby Tricia had pissed off Rebeccah’s flesh and blood mother, and Mother Dearest must have outranked her to boot.  Now the forty-something Amazon was getting a big heaping helping of her own medicine.

Oh how the mighty had fallen!  Samantha was almost drooling.  She had to do something! She had to!  She couldn’t resist.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.” Samantha said, her voice amplified by the near empty bathroom.  She stood up, back straight and head up with her arms folded behind her back.  Perfectly at ease.  Perfectly mature.  “Can I offer some assistance?”

The Amazon in charge looked at her own eye level first, then plummeted down to Samantha’s mid section, before adjusting to her eye level.  A scowl turned to a smile turned to a quizzical look.  That’s how it usually went with Amazons and Tweeners.  “I’m quite capable of doing this myself, thank you young lady.”  There was the slightest edge of ‘go away’ hinted at in there.

Samantha should have gone away and scurried off.  She had other matters to attend to, being manager and all.  And yet…  “Oh, I have no doubt about that, Ma’am.  I just noticed the baby’s diaper and-”

“Oh yes,” the woman interrupted. “Baby Tricia is such a stinky bum! Yes she is! Yes she is!”  She leaned over and pinched the woman’s nose.  “That’s why we came here.  This is the only place that has a changing table that’ll fit her and I wouldn’t think of changing her on the dirty ol’ office floor!”   The prone woman’s whole body started to turn pink.  “But if we need to, I have no problem buying her a special changing mat!” 

Samantha caught a flare of surprise and panic in the babied woman’s eyes.  Potty probation hadn’t been assured, yet.  “Absolutely,” Samantha agreed.  “I just noticed that the baby’s diaper seems a little...adult…?”

The woman balled up the dirty diaper and tossed it in the trash.  She rolled her eyes, good naturedly.  “That’s because Tricia is a VERY big baby, and baby diapers don’t come in her size.”

The Tweener looked down at the ground. “Not necessarily…”

“What...?”

Samantha bit her lip.  “I might be able to get a diaper or two that would look positively adorable on her.” She was already starting to feel all tingly.  “That way she could show off her diaper and no one would be confused about what she was.  No need for tights and plastic pants.” Then she tacked on. “If you wanted of course.”

A bemused smirk on the towering giant’s face.  “And what would this cost me?”

Nothing.  Samantha wanted to say nothing.  She’d do this kind of thing for free.  But it wasn’t her diapers she was offering.  “Three dollars..” she said.  “A diaper, I mean.”

The matron stroked her chin in thought.  The punished middle manager shook her head ever so slightly, begging for mercy.  The one in charge must have seen it.

“Deal.”  She reached into her purse and took out a ten.  “Get me three and I’ll pay you once I’m done putting one on her.”

“MmmmNo!” The cry rang out so that everyone could hear.  Samantha had to bite down on her tongue to force herself not to shudder.  It wasn’t a shudder of revulsion, either...

“Hush, Tricia,” the woman replied.  She started stripping the tights and plastic pants off the woman.  “If you’re as big as you think you are, you’ll only need to wear one of them.  Just no more accidents the rest of the day and you can use the big girl potty at work.”

Samantha rushed out of the bathroom, the gears in her head being propelled with sparks of delight.  “ Excuse me, pardon me, pardon me.  Customer service.”  She took a breath and looked at some of her Amazon co-workers.  “Veronica, don’t forget to restock.  Manny, I think you missed a spot on the floor.”   

In one breath she was scraping and bowing towards the customers who assumed she must not be in charge.  In the next she was giving orders to co-workers to prevent them from gawking (or noticing what she was up to).  All the while she was planning three steps ahead just so that she could indulge in a bit of scheming.

Such was life. As a Tweener anyhow.

“Gwenny,” Samantha said as she pulled aside the lowest ranking member of the staff.  Gwenny technically didn’t get paid anymore. Gwenny wasn’t technically a grown-up anymore.  An adult, yes.  But the giant poofy diaper that was not at all covered up by her custom toddler dress and pastel socks that went, broadcast who she really was on the inside.

Gwenny was the first.  The first time that Samantha got to experience victory and control...even by proxy.  Gwenny was proof that Amazons practiced what they preached; and that they weren’t nearly as high and mighty as they thought.

“Yes, Samantha?”  Gwenny asked.  “Did I spill a drink again?”  Her hand ran down her backside and between her legs briefly.  “Or did I leak?  Oh gosh, I’m sorry!”  Gwenny also hadn’t used a toilet in a long time.  She was almost incontinent these days.  “Can you check me?”

Under normal circumstances, Samantha would have taken the opportunity.  She loved making the giant baby squirm and blush with the slightest pat to her bottom (and a very loud exclamation about the status of her diaper).  Under normal circumstances, she didn’t have a bigger payoff waiting in the bathroom next to an impatient matriarch type.   “You’re fine, Gwenny.  Go get your diaper bag.”

“But you said…?”

“They’re not for you.” Samantha corrected.

“But they’re too big for y..ow!” 

Samantha had to pinch Gwenny to quiet her down.  Damn, she wished she was just a smidge taller.  “A lady is changing her baby in the bathroom,” Gwenny said.  Then she sprinkled a little white lie.  “But she’s a new Mommy and the vending machine is broken.”

“Oooooh!” Gwenny said. “That makes sense.”  It did, didn’t it?  “Okay.  I’ll be a good helper!”  Gwenny waddled over behind the counter and got out her diaper bag..  Mrs. Thompson did all of the changing where the overlarge baby was concerned, but Gwenny still kept her diaper bag behind the counters where the rest of the ladies kept their purses and such. 

Gwenny said it was because she liked pretending to be big while she was helping.  Samantha suspected it was the owner reminding the rest of the staff that a similar fate might await them if they ever fell too far down the ladder.

There were worse things than being fired…

“Here you go, boss!” Gwenny said, picking up a folded diaper out of her bag and waving it around for all to see.  Samantha walked up and took the diaper.  “Two more, please,” she said.  “For just in case.”

“But…”

Samantha rolled her eyes.  “I’ll pay you ten whole dollars. You can buy yourself a dessert”  Fuck it.  This wasn’t about the money, anyways.  Two more diapers found themselves stacked in Samantha’s arms.  Kids. No matter how big or old, they were always bribable.

“This better be worth it,” the head Amazon said.  “I’m sure Tricia’s getting...oh!”  She took the diapers from Samantha and examined them with the same intensity as an archeologist pouring over a mysterious artifact from the fabled lost city of Atlanta.

Gwenny wasn’t just an Amazon on punishment.  Mrs. Thompson had gone all out.  Instead of an obvious medical diaper, something that might be used for the infirm but otherwise grown-up, Gwenny wore special all white padding.  It was almost exactly like what babies and Littles wore.  The stickers that Gwenny added on in her free time for decorations more than made up the difference.

‘Tricia’s’ boss/Mommy let out an audible gasp.  “This!  This! Oh yes!”  She wasted no time in unfolding and fluffing the top diaper

“Do you approve, Ma’am?”  Samantha really needn’t have asked.  She could tell.  Samantha approved too.  The look of humiliation and realization dawning on the other woman’s face.  Realizing that she’d have to wear something that babyish.  Without tights.  Without any sort of covering or obfuscation. She’d just have to tug and tug and tug on the t-shirt, even though it wouldn’t come down nearly far enough.  And she’d be constantly thinking about it with every bit of movement, hyper aware that at any moment someone could just come up and check her.  She probably avoided that little indignity because of the multiple layers.

Not anymore.  Not as the new diaper was slid underneath her and she was powdered and oiled back up. 

Samantha wasn’t wearing a diaper, and she didn’t have to pee, but she was definitely feeling wet.

Far too soon, Tricia was all taped up and back on her feet.  Samantha wished she could have taken just a little bit longer. 

“Oh this is much better,” the head woman said.  “My compliments to the Manager.”

“Thank you very much.”  Samantha replied.  “I am the manager.” She pointed to the pin that the other woman clearly hadn’t bothered to read.

“Oh that’s wonderful.  Say thank you, Tricia.”

“Fankyoo,” the humiliated giant blushed and mumbled past her pacifier.

Oh how to make this moment last?  Another bit of inspiration. “Would you like to give your baby a fresh bottle of milk?” Samantha asked.  “Complimentary?  As a treat?”

The woman finished packing Tricia’s two remaining diapers away into her bag.  “That sounds lovely.”  She fished out a baby bottle that had only been filled with water.  Clearly this punishment was straight amateur hour over at the office. 

Samantha took the bottle.  “Wonderful!  I’ll meet you and Baby Tricia,” just saying the name out loud gave the Tweener the best kind of chills. 

Another round “Excuse me’s” and a quick hassling of her fellows to do routine maintenance while filling out orders for the post lunch rush later, Samantha was behind the counter again.  She dumped out the baby bottle and gave it a quick wipe with a clean towel. She reached into the tiny fridge and grabbed the milk.

When the bottle was halfway full, Samantha’s eyes settled onto Gwenny’s special syrup...another infamous concoction...a little something something that did more than turn the milk chocolatey.

A brief scene played back in Samantha’s eyes.

“Why not chocolate milk?”  Patricia/Baby Tricia had asked Mrs. Thompson when she’d been the one diapering instead of diapered.
 
“Do you plan to keep...Rebeccah in diapers forever and make her your baby Becky?” Mrs. Thompson has asked.

“That remains to be seen for the moment.”

“Then whether or not she gets chocolate milk remains to be seen as well.”

Then the promise that Patricia would get out of diapers as long as she didn’t have any more accidents…

“Here’s your baby’s milk!” Samantha chirped.  “I even made it chocolate for her!”

“Oh chocolate! Babies loooove chocolate! Don’t they?”

‘Baby Tricia’, knew exactly what was in that bottle.  “Please…” she whimpered. The pacifier fell directly out of her mouth.  “Not that.  Not the chocolate milk.” 

Oh how the tables had turned!  It was delicious.  Sweeter than chocolate!

“That’s not very nice,” her supervisor said. 

Tears started rolling down Baby Tricia’s face as the nipple was placed between her lips and she began to obediently suckle.  Maybe the relatively low dosage wouldn’t affect her compared to a Little.

Maybe…

Gwenny crinkled past Samantha and grabbed the next few drinks, reading out names and then toddling out the tables, squeaking and squealing when she was given a pat on the butt and a “good baby”.

Then again...

If this woman was as ‘nice’ as Mrs. Thompson was, maybe Baby Tricia would get a new job passing out mail or whatever someone with the body of a forty something and the authority of a two year old might be allowed to do.

Samantha was handed a twenty.  “For the diapers and a tip for going the extra mile.”  She gave a winning smile and burned the image of the crying baby woman in her mind.

With the pairs leaving, and the practical baby blood frenzy dying down with the rest of the customers, Samantha opened the cash register, broke the twenty, and gave Gwenny half.  Fair was fair. 

She turned her half of the tip into ones and slunk off yet again to the ladies’ room. “I’m going on break,” she said to no one in particular.  “Won’t be long.” 

Using the wooden triangle wedge, Samantha blocked the door from opening and checked all the stalls.  She’d need privacy for this.

First she put the money in the diapered vending machine and pressed the buttons at the top, for the Amazon/Adult diapers.  Three of them.  She’d decided to replace the ones she’d sold from Gwenny.  Just in case Mrs. Thompson checked and realized the bag wasn’t as full as it should be.  Chances are she wouldn’t notice, or care.

She’d get the diapers later.  Next, she unplugged the machine.  It was “Out of Order”, officially.  That was her backup excuse.  Obviously that naughy baby Tricia had managed to unplug it to try and escape getting changed.  That was Samantha’s alibi.

Alibis could wait...

It was a bit of a jump to get on the changing table, but nothing Samantha couldn’t handle.  She felt the warmth of Baby Tricia still on the mat.  Could still smell the traces of baby powder and oil that hadn’t quite made it into the diaper…

This.  This is where Amazon pride came to die.  This is where they were crushed and made to feel as small and helpless and embarrassed as the rest of the world.  Samantha laid back and snuck her hand down the front of her pants.

This wouldn’t take long.  Not with the memory so fresh in her head.  Samantha almost wished she had a pacifier.  It might be nice to have something to moan into while she masturbated.  Instead, she exercised a modicum (but just am modicum) of self-control as she softly climbed into orgasm.

Total elapsed time? Three minutes.  Maybe four.  Five by the time she washed her hands and snuck the plain medical diapers in with Gwenny’s remaining Amazon Baby ones.

Such was life for a Tweener.

Life was good. For her anyways.

**********************************************************************************************
Just after closing time that night.

Samantha sent everyone home and stayed behind to clean up.  She just finished mopping the bathrooms.

“You wanted to see me, Ma’am?” Samantha asked before she was all the way in Mrs. Thompson’s office.  It was a strategy of sorts.  Sooner asked. Sooner out.  Seem both on the ball and appropriately nervous and subservient.  Even with all of the progress she’d made over the last half a year, Samantha was still properly terrified of the shop’s owner.

Amazons were predators.  Crocodiles and sharks.  Littles were their prey.  They’d run and hide, but it was always a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if’.  Samantha got as far as she had by being one of those tiny animals that formed a symbiotic relationship.  The birds and fish that cleaned the bigger meaner animal’s teeth.  The food chain’s middle management position.

“Samantha,” Mrs. Thompson said without looking up.  “Come in.”

Samantha’s legs trembled.  This time it was because of dread.  She went in anyways.

A sideways glance towards Gwenny off in the corner.  She was playing with some dolls on a heavy blanket with plastic tea-cups.  A chalkboard was propped up on the wall.  It was just big enough to write the word ‘coffea’ on it.  Which Gwenny did.  Used her non-dominant hand, from the absolute atrocious handwriting.

The big baby worked in a coffee shop for no pay, being constantly talked down to...and pretended to do the same thing while her Mommy finished working with the books.  Gwenny either had no imagination or the absolute best imagination.

Gwenny was a reminder that predators would kill and eat other predators.  They’d also snap up the little birds and fish that cleaned their teeth if they were hungry enough or if the poor animals weren’t fast enough to avoid the jaws of death.

Samantha’s sideways glance lingered, perhaps a moment too long. Gwenny’s diaper was flashing each and every way as she crawled around and bent and stood filling imaginary tea cups full with imaginary ‘coffea’.  It looked clean enough, but it had the same colored stripe and ugly font that was common with adult diapers.

Uh oh.

The Tweener took a seat on the chair across from the owner’s desk.  “Yes, Mrs. Thompson?”

“What happened to Gwenny’s diapers?”  Mrs. Thompson did not look up.

Already?  It hadn’t even been a full day.  She’d been careful to replace them and put them near the back of the bag.  Had Gwenny needed changing that badly?

Samantha took a deep breath.  No time to play dumb. That wasn’t the play here.

“A customer n-n-needed one from the vending machine,” Samantha choked out. “And the vending machine was out of order.”

Mrs. Thompson put down her pen, but still didn’t look directly at Samantha.  She was an ambush predator lying in wait.  “Go on.”

“And they were in the middle of a change and so…”

“So you decided to help an inferior Mommy who didn’t have the appropriate supplies for her child?”

That was a question more loaded than the back of Gwenny’s pants just before lunch break. Most people would freeze here.  Samantha wasn’t most people.  “Only in the same way that I help an inferior forager who doesn’t have the appropriate supplies for their own coffee…?”  She let the final inflection of a question creep in, just so that her retort wouldn’t be mistaken for defiance. 

“So you sold the diapers?”  Mrs. Thompson looked up for the first time.  “You didn’t just give them away?”

“No ma’am.  It was umm... transactional…?”

“That’s right, Mommy.” Gwenny called over from her fake tea party.  “I got ten whole dollars!”

Samantha wanted to vomit.  Instead she powered through.  “And I made sure to replace them.”

“Replace them, how?”  Mrs. Thompsons said.  Slowly, deliberately, she stood up.  “I thought the vending machine in the restroom was broken?”

“I fixed it…”

Like a snake coiling around a juicy mouse, Mrs. Thompson circled around her desk.  Like a mouse transfixed by the cobra, Samantha sat, frozen.  “Fixed it and then unplugged it again?  I found it unplugged.  Funny, because if it was unplugged or broken as you said, you couldn’t have replaced Gwenny’s diapers.”

Shit! She knew!  Inside her own head Samantha screamed at herself.  Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!  Of course she knew!  She should have either replaced OR unplugged the machine!  Not both! 

She could have blamed incompetence on the customer and say that she didn’t know how to use the vending machine properly, and so Samantha expedited things along.  Or she could have not replaced the diapers and pretended she didn’t know that the damn thing was unplugged.  She would have gotten flack for it, probably a not-quite empty threat, but such an oversight could be overlooked.  She was a Tweener.  She had a bit of Little in here.  These things could happen.

 It was almost like...almost like...

“Really,” Mrs. Thompson said, “it’s almost like you wanted to get caught…”  Giant hands began to reach down for the Tweener.

“Men’s room.”  The whisper came out of Samantha so fast and so quiet that Samantha barely heard it herself..  “I got those out of the machine in the men’s room.  After the customer left.  When there was no one else there.”

They stopped.  “Beg pardon?”

The lie came so naturally to Samantha.  “Replacement diapers.  Men’s room.  I paid Gwenny for her diapers.  Gave some to the customer, and then replaced them with some from the men’s room machine when no one was in there.”  It was amazing what a natural shot of adrenaline could do for the brain.  “I didn’t think to see if the ladies’ room was plugged in.  I didn’t want to question the customer!”

The men’s room saw just about as much foot traffic as the ladies’ room, but not nearly as much as the new changing traffic.  Daddies would bring in their Little boys and Little girls, sure enough, but the vending machine was about as unused as ever. 

Diaper vendors weren’t supposed to see as much use in general.  Most parents had a fully stocked bag, with the machine in case of unexpected blowouts and such.  But with the uptick Amazon on Amazon punishment, most weren’t prepping far enough ahead to have a fully stocked bag. 

And for whatever reason, the ones doing the diapering were disproportionately women.  The men’s changing vendor could be full to bursting or derelict.  Samantha was gambling that not even Mrs. Thompson knew.

“Clever girl.” Mrs. Thompson said.  “Almost too clever.” 

She shouldn’t have, she knew, but the Tweener felt herself relax a tiny bit.  In a weird way she took the remark as a compliment.  “Thank you.”

“Are they your diapers?” 

Samantha jolted. “What?”

“Are they your diapers?” the owner repeated. “To give away? To sell? To trade?  Did you pay for them?  Were they gifted to you?”

More fear. More panic.  “Gwenny said it’d be-!”

“They’re not Gwenny’s to give away! She’s a BABY!”  Samantha could feel the intense heat radiating off the older Amazon.  “She has no say about her diapers.  They are hers only in that she wears them, just like you’re a manager only in that I pay you to be!  I pay for them! I say how they are to be used and who they are to be used by.  Is that clear?!”

Samantha’s reply came out as a most pitiful squeak. “Yes Ma’am.  Sorry Ma’am.”  

“Good.  Now get up and bend over.”

The everything rushed away from Samantha’s face.  Color. Blood. Heat. Everything.  “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you bratty little girl.” Mrs. Thompson said.  “Stand up and bend over across the chair, or you're fired.”  She might as well have been stating the law of gravity, her voice was so definite.

“But...but!”

“You stole from me. I can forgive it because of the good intentions and the lack of evidence to the contrary...” she paused. “But you still deserve a lesson.”

Samantha wanted to swallow her own tongue.  This is how it started.  This is how it always seemed to start.  That or just being snatched up.  “But-”

“Your choice.  Admit you made a mistake and bend over, or admit you’re lying to me and be fired.”

“I’m not a…” Alarm bells!  Don’t say the B-word around the Amazons.  “I’m an adult!”

“That’s why you’re getting a choice.” Mrs. Thompson said, her hands on her hips.  “Would you like to lose that choice and go over my knee?”

She should quit.  Samantha knew she should quit.  She should just politely say that she was keeping what small morsel of dignity she had left, walked out, cried into her computer at home and started job hunting tomorrow.  She’d already hung up her apron for the night.

It would be easy enough to find a new job.  Amazons liked having a Tweener or two around to boss around. 

To boss around.

She’d be starting back from the bottom.  And there were very few jobs around here that let a Tweener advance.  None of her friends her size had a management position.  And rent was coming due.  The uptick in pay she’d received had only resulted in an uptick in spending habits.

She had nothing saved yet.

Samantha needed this job.

The young woman steeled herself.  She turned around. Closed her eyes, and bent over the chair, gripping onto the far legs to brace herself.

“Pants and underwear down.”

Samantha’s eyes shot wide and she suppressed a question or an exclamation.  If she spoke up it’d just escalate.  Best to just take the licks and pretend this had never happened tomorrow.  Mrs. Thompson probably had a paddle somewhere around here, just waiting to be swung.

She did as she was told. And looked back down.  This was better than most Littles got, she told herself.  This would hurt (and it was going to hurt), but at least she could brace herself and stare at a wall.  Littles had to look their tormentor’s in the eye when they were being violated.  Better bent over than on her back.

Fire!  A thousand massive flames enveloped her backside.  This hurt!  More than she could have prepared for!  It did more than sting!  The blow rocketed all the way through her spine!

Again!  More pain! Torture!  The kind that could drive someone insensate!  Ritualistic pain! Exquisite pain.  When an animal bit you it was to kill or else get away.  This pain served no such purpose.  Pain for the sake of pain! 

A third blow! And a fourth in rapid succession!

Still, Samantha did not scream.  She did not cry.  The breath was all but knocked out of her from the first blow and she had to inhale in gasping little bursts through her nose.  She was too afraid to open her mouth. 

Don’t cry.  Don’t be bawl.  Don’t wail.  Don’t be like the Littles and the disgraced Amazons who ended up on the changing table.

Finally, on the fifth blow, Samantha let out a noise.  It was entirely involuntary.  Less a scream and more of a grunt; her body’s automatic response of needing to exhale rapidly but lacking the capacity to get it all out through her nose, her vocal chords rattled instead.  Her mouth stayed closed.  It was more a hum of pain than a cry.  But it was seemingly enough.

“You’re done.”

Samantha stood up.  Her head was spinning, her brain buzzing.  To counter the pain, her body was releasing adrenaline and endorphins (were those even separate things…? She couldn’t think clearly).  Her whole body shook even as the tenderness of bruises was starting to form. 

“Thank you…” she whispered.

“What was that?”  It had less of the angry matronly tone Mrs. Thompson adopted, and more of a slightly bewildered tone.

“Nothing…”

The giant’s hand maneuvered underneath Samanth’s chin and made her look up. “No.  What did you say?”

“I said...thank you.”

“For what?”  Mrs. Thompson seemed confused.

Samantha wasn’t entirely sure what to say either.  “For letting me keep my job.”

Mrs. Thompson blinked.  A tinge of disappointment in her face. “You’re welcome.”  The way her upper lip curled up a bit made Samantha think she didn’t quite mean it.

Remembering herself, Samantha hunched over and started to pull her pants back up.  Two giant fingers hooked themselves in the waistline, halting her.  “Hold on.” Mrs. Thompson said. “What’s this?”

“What’s wha-?”  Samantha stopped and looked down between her legs.  A spot.  The tiniest bit of discoloration on her otherwise pristine underwear. A bit of off blue, in a field  all but absorbed and evaporated by the cotton.  Something even she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t already known what to look for.

“Did someone have an...accident?”  Amazons must have blacklight vision!  The owner’s face twisted into an almost euphoric yet sinister grin.  A junkie was getting her fix.  The cat just realized that the bird cage was open.

The Tweener fell all over herself, tumbling to the floor and yanking her underwear back over her, clutching it like a life raft.  “Mrs. Thompson!” She squeaked. “It’s not what you think!  I didn’t pee myself!  I...I…”

“Oh I know what you did to yourself, young lady.  The real question is ‘when’?  Did you spend all day in dirty panties?  A bit of big girl fun before bed and you couldn’t even be bothered to change when you got up?”

“No!”

“So you did this while at work?  Very naughty!”  She reached down, her hands aiming for Samantha’s pants.  “I know just what to do with naughty girls.” 

“Oooooooooo!”  Now Gwenny was adding in her two cents.

NO! NO! Not like this!  “Mrs. Thompson!” Samantha begged.  “Please!  Mercy!”

The hands froze.  Something else clicked in the big woman’s face.  She stopped.  She stood up straight, her back stiff and her eyes only half open.  “Mercy?” she said.  “Mercy?” 

Samantha shifted her hips and shimmied her pants back up herself.  Not standing. Not daring to look away.  “Yes, please!”

A smirk.  “Very well.  You may go.  We’ll discuss this in the morning.”  A pause.  “If you decide to show up...in clean panties.”

The Tweener woman had nothing else she could say.  She couldn’t even manage a ‘Yes, Ma’am’ or a ‘Thank you’.  Or a scream or a panicked shudder.  She just ran out of the office, out the door, and to her car, praying that Mrs. Thompson or her baby weren’t on her heels.

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

“You wanted to see me, Mrs. Thompson?”  Samantha did not look at her employer’s face. She just stared at her sneakers, every muscle in her body tensed and ready to flee. 

She shouldn’t even be here.  In a just world, she’d have quit.  In a just world, she’d have been fired. Fuck that.  In a just world, she wouldn’t have the legitimate fear of being spanked and then babied by her employer. 

The world wasn’t just.

“I have a gift for you.” Mrs. Thompson said.  She held out the package expectantly until Samantha looked up and took it.  “You’re welcome.”

Samantha stared at the package:  “Bloomerz” Samantha read the package aloud. “For Tweeners and Amazons potty training late.  Now, with fade when wet designs and easy open sides.”   She gulped. “Diapers?”  It was very difficult to tell the difference between Littles, Tweeners, and Amazons without a decent sense of scale.  That definitely wasn’t a child model on the front, grinning in her pink shirt and matching padding.

“Disposable training pants,” Mrs. Thompson corrected. “The kind that you can pull up and on all by yourself.” She rotated the package and pointed to a diagram on the back. “With a clothlike cover and decorations, just like big kid underwear.  Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Um…” Samantha knew she had to couch her response very carefully.  “I appreciate the thought.  Thank you.”  She took a half step back.  “I should start prepping…”

“Put them on.”  It was not a request.

“Excuse me?” Samantha had heard the command.  Her brain just didn’t dare process it.

No wiggle room was being given.  “You can put them on like a big girl,”  the owner repeated.  “Or I can put you in something else.”  Samantha felt her jaw go slack.  “I’ll not have my manager walking around in dirty panties for hours at a time.” Her glare intensified.  “Or doing naughty things in public.”

The Tweener’s face sank.  She shouldn’t have come in today.  She might be able to run out now if she bolted and didn’t slow down.  Did she lock her car or leave it open?  She wouldn’t be able to outrun an Amazon if she had to waste those precious few seconds unlocking her car.

“You still are my store manager, aren’t you?  Still my big girl?” Something about that phrasing did something to Samantha.  She was being condescended to and given a compliment at the same time; as much as an Amazon tended to compliment one such as her.  “Do you need my help?”

“Can I do it in private?” Samantha asked.

“How would I know you did it then?  That I can trust you?” 

The (for now it seemed) Manager gulped.  “I meant, can I do it without Gwenny here?”  Gwenny looked up from her dolls, still sucking on a pacifier to keep her quiet.

“You don’t have anything Gwenny hasn’t already seen.”

Samantha shuddered.  To have been spanked in front of the woman she’d surpassed, that had arguably been the worst part.  “Am I still being punished?” she asked. 

“No,” Mrs. Thompson lied. “These are just to help you.  Remind you.  Just because you’re not being punished doesn’t mean you’ve earned trust.”

Samantha looked back towards Gwenny.  “Then I’d like some privacy, please.” She said.  “No babies.”  Her throat was forming a lump, and she couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or anger.  “I understand modesty.”

Gwenny’s face collapsed around her dummy.  Perhaps the girl had a smidgen of pride left in her, despite the number of times she’d been changed in public.  The expression doubled over when Mrs. Thompson said.  “Gwenny, go set up your serving station.”

“But Mommy-!” Gwenny whined.

“No buts,” her Mommy interrupted. “Or are you also a bad girl that gets naughty seeing her friends get embarrassed?” 

Scarlet rose to Samantha’s cheeks.  Mrs. Thompson had guessed certain motivations.  Was she that easy to read?  Or was her boss guessing her motivations so easily because she had them herself.  It would explain a lot.

With the quietest huff, Gwenny crinkled out of the office, mumbling pseudo-obscenities around her pacifier.

“There,” Mrs. Thompson ripped open the package of pull-ups.  “No more stalling.  Gwenny should only be left alone for so long.  Get to it, missy.”

It was like being at the doctor’s office.  Or the hospital.  It was just changing into a hospital gown, metaphorically speaking.  Just kick off her shoes, drop her pants and underwear, and slip on the new garment.

It was a bit like a maxi pad, this new Pull-Up.  A bit thicker, but not too terribly much.  Certainly not as bad as a diaper.  She went to get her pants, but Mrs. Thompson reached out and snatched them.  Oh no...please no!  “But-!”

“You’ll get to wear them.”  Mrs. Thompson said.  “I just want your attention first.”  Samantha froze.  “You’re a big girl, but you’re going to be wearing these just in case…”  The Amazon didn’t specify ‘just in case what’.  “And because you’ve been naughty in my store, you’re going to need permission to go to the potty.”

Images of her co-workers -mostly Amazons and a handful of Tweeners- the people she was supposed to be giving order to holding the permission over her,  “Permission from whom?”  Gwenny wouldn’t think to.  A few of the others might just tell her to hold it for spite. Then she’d end up peeing herself, then she’d end up just like Gwenny.

Just.  Like. Gwenny.

“Mine, of course.”  The owner said. “And I’ll be watching you.  Making sure you don’t have any accidents.”

Samantha grit her teeth.  “And what if I have an...accident?”  Better to ask now.  Amazons had a habit of making up the rules as they went along, but they tended to stick to rules that they’d already made up.  Best to know the rules now.

“That depends.” Mrs. Thompson said.  “Are you a big girl, or a baby?”  Samantha didn’t answer.  She didn’t like that ‘adult’ wasn’t a given option.  “If you’re a big girl you’ll come tell me right away.  Accidents can be forgiven.  But if you try and hide it from me, I’m going to assume you’re either too immature to be a big girl, or that you generally don’t know what’s going on inside your pants.  In which case…”  She let the threat just hang there, before handing Samantha her pants back.  She kept the panties, though.

“Yes, Ma’am…”  The Tweener didn’t even ask who would be monitoring.  Back when she had been Gwendolyn, Gwenny had had a keen eye for detail, and would watch the Littles she casually poisoned like a hawk.  Even in her reduced status, Gwenny still had that skill set.  Most of the mush still ended up in her diaper instead of her brain.

Samantha pulled her pants back over the training panties.  It wasn’t too bad.  There was a bit of a lump around her groin where none had existed, but it was the kind of thing that someone only noticed if they were looking for it.  It’d be doubly hard to notice as long as she kept her shirt untucked and her apron on.  

Super easy.

“Oh, and one more thing.”  Mrs. Thompson said.  “I’m going to expand your responsibilities.”

Uh oh.  “Yes?”

“As manager, it’s going to be your specific job to help any and all of our clients with changing their little ones.  Make sure they’ve got the appropriate supplies.  Offer to hold or hand things to them.  Change them yourself if they ask you to.  You’ll be an attendant of sorts.”

Samantha’s jaw had yet to unclench.  “And if they ask me to leave?”

“Then leave, of course.  But if they don’t, you make sure you’re there.  Watch them. Make sure everything is cleaned up properly in the aftermath, and ready for the next one.  That kind of thing.”

Images of Baby Tricia and Baby Becky and Baby Gwenny. “And the babies that are bigger than me?”  The idea still excited her, and that terrified the Tweener.

“Especially the babies that are bigger than you.”

This was going to be a loooooong shift.

**************************************************************************************************
It wasn’t quite two and a half hours in when the first hammer dropped.

“Okay, Manny,” Samantha said.  “You take orders, and I’ll make them  Gwenny, keep passing them out.”  There was a bit of a lull, and most of the customers were now idly sitting, sipping their coffee. 

Manny was coated in a light drizzle of his sweat from the heat of the machines and the pace he’d been forced to work.  Morning rush was always a bitch.  It was necessary for him to man the crafting and brewing station, while Samantha did the relatively easy job of taking and ringing up orders.

Samantha was no Little, but she still needed a footstool to reach the highest shelves and ingredients.  Manny was the wiser choice for the rush.  A place scaled to Amazon (pretty much every place) worked best with Amazons running it.  That and Samantha really was better working the register. 

Mrs. Thompson had run the numbers a while ago and found that Amazons tended to buy the more expensive stuff when Samantha was manning the register and taking orders.  The Tweener was the master of the upsell.  The big people tended to take her recommendations as a kind of challenge.

Of course they’d get the next size up for only fifty cents, instead.  They could afford that much. They could drink that much.  Obviously, they’d get a pastry for two dollars extra.  Did she, a not-quite-adult think they were too poor or too fat to merit a croissant or blueberry muffin? 

(Never did Samantha ever suggest that, but Amazons could be oddly insecure around the smaller folk.  Big World Problems.)

Now that the rush was well and over, Samantha could afford to dawdle a bit and take her turn.  Give Manny a break. She traded places with him, and the slight rustling of the pull-up sounded like a dentists’ drill in her brain.  The rush had been busy enough that Samantha almost forgot this morning...almost.

Just as they were switching and Manny was wiping his brow, Mrs. Thompson came out of her office and to the counter.  “Okay, Samantha.  It’s time.”

So much for the blessing of forgetfulness. “Time?”

“Time to go potty, dear. It’s been almost three hours, and I didn’t make you go first thing this morning.” 

Samantha felt Manny’s eyes.  The customers’ too. “But. I don’t have to go!” 

This was partially true.  Samantha’s bladder definitely had something in it, but it was far from bursting.  Like hunger, answering nature’s call was something that came in degrees that varied based on space and other distracting stimuli.  The constant taking of orders, making change, and swiping credit cards had easily distracted her from the need to urinate along with the thoughts of what she might be forced to urinate into.  Much in the same way that someone could eat, the Tweener could pee. But she was nowhere near starving or bursting.

Mrs. Thompson walked behind the counter and took Samantha by the wrist. “Just try for me, big girl.”  With her other hand she undid the young lady’s apron.

That got a muffled, grunting laugh from Manny.  The kind of snorting laughter that sounded a bit like radio static. “Heh.”

“Something funny, Manny?”

Manny’s eyes widened.  “No, Mrs. Thompson.”

“Good.  Handle the counter.”  Mrs. Thompson didn’t look back on her way to the bathroom.  “Time for your potty break.”

Samantha did.  Manny was looking at her.  So were the customers.  Heads were cocked.  Eyes were squinted.  A few were nodding in tacit approval.

It was mostly in her head, she was sure, but for some reason the relatively discreet pull-up felt a lot more like a puffy, bulky, bulging diaper, one that made her pants seem that much smaller by comparison.  It was in her head.

But they knew.

They knew…

Mrs. Thompson opened the bathroom door.  Samantha held her breath and only released it when the old wooden wedge didn’t prop the door open.  The nearest stall was already open. Samantha waddled...no...walked...just walked into it. 

She’d only just turned around when the Amazon hooked her fingers into the sides of her pants.  In one fluid motion, both her pants and her not-quite underwear were down to her ankles.  Samantha inhaled for a gasp, and by time she’d exhaled, she was lifted and sat down on the toilet.  She had no trouble sitting herself on the toilet, but the act surprised her, bringing back long forgotten memories from when she was two or three. 

Her real mother had been bigger (relatively speaking), but there was something...just something about being backed and seated onto a toilet as if one didn’t know what to do.  The last time this happened, the receptacle hadn’t been connected to plumbing.

The owner of the shop didn’t move.  She didn’t close the door to the stall, and stood there.   Watching.  “Go on.”  she said, sweetly.  “I’m here.  Go potty.  You’re safe.  Go potty.”

Samantha looked down at her lap.  No choice.  Not really.  She had to see this hell through.  The changing table wasn’t so far away that she couldn’t end up there.  The Tweener inhaled, and relaxed her bladder.  The tinkling sound as liquid hit liquid was so common as to be white noise in the soundtrack of Samantha’s life.  The audience member turned it into a cacophony.

“Good girl!”  Mrs. Thompson praised.  She leaned down and inspected the pull-up  “And you’ve still got your flowers! So big!”

Ah.  That’s why they were called Bloomerz.  Besides being a reference to underwear, the designs were flowery.  Blooming.  That and Amazons tended to consider women such as herself “late bloomers” at best. 

Not babies though.

“Do you need help wiping?”

“No.”  Samantha took that as permission to clean herself up. 

Mrs. Thompson still watched her.  Watched her like a hawk eyeing a field mouse.  “There’s such a thing as wiping too much, you know.”

Samantha flushed and then pulled her pants up. When the sound of rushing water subsided,  the sounds of tapes being ripped off of plastic backing took its place.  Someone was being changed!

FUCK!

When her pants were finally buttoned back up, Mrs. Thompson finally made way for her.  On her best behavior, Samantha was clever enough to walk straight to the sinks. The owner loomed over her and leaned forward.  Strong hands grabbed her by the wrists and guided her fingers into soaping up, rubbing and rinsing. “Just in case.”

Out of the corner of her eye, another Amazon.  “Yes,” the Mommy cooed to the Little boy.  The sky blue onesie was already unbuttoned, his diaper open, and his ankles crossed up over his head.  “See that?  She’s a big girl.  She’s used the potty!  She’s a big girl.  Unlike you Mr. Poopy Pants!”   The Little boy giggled and sucked his thumb.

Oh thank goodness, it was just a Little.

Samantha half pivoted to leave, but caught the expectant gaze of Mrs. Thompson in the reflection.  Oh yeah.  She was a monitor and attendant now.  She leaned into her pivot until she was heading over.  Two wrongs might.

“Excuse me, Miss,” Samantha said in her best talking-to-a-customer voice.  “I see you’re changing your baby.  Is there any way I can help?  Wipes? Powder? Oil? Cream?  Perhaps you’d like a fresh diaper from the vending machine?”

“I’ve got things well covered here, young...”  She turned just enough to recognize the employee uniform.  “Can I talk to your manager, please?”

The shadow of her employer fell over her.  “Samantha is the manager. I’m the owner, however.”

“Oh!” The new Amazon gushed. “I’m sorry.  I thought you were her Mommy.”  No reply came to that.  “Just give me a second finishing up this little guy.”  She finished diapering the poor Little man and put him on her hip. 

“How can I help?” Mrs. Thompson asked.  Her hands were on Samantha’s shoulder.

“I just wanted to compliment you on how good your um...Manager was doing.  The offer for help was unneeded. And she’s being such a good example.  Such a big girl!  Going potty and everything!”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Thompson said.  “We try.”

Samantha thought quickly.  “Could I interest you in a complimentary bottle fill up for your Little one, ma’am?”  Anything to get her out of the bathroom. 

“Yes, that would be very nice.” The woman replied.  Samantha caught her mouthing the words “So big” to her employer.

Ears burning hot, Samantha scurried out of the bathroom and to the dining area.  All the way to the counter, customers looked at her.  They smiled at her.  The smiles were condescending and infantilizing.  Just like.  “Good job,” some of them whispered.  “Big girl.”

She’d been beneath their notice moments ago.  Now she was a ‘big girl’.

“What are you looking at?” She asked, looking at Manny.

Manny smirked.  “I don’t know.  Why don’t you tell me.”

“Just...get back to work!”  She snapped.  She bent over to get something from the fridge and tugged her shirt down, just in case.

“Manny, go clean the toilets in the men’s room.”  Manny kept smirking.  But as Samantha kept glaring...he stopped. 

He didn’t say ‘Yes, Ma’am’.  But he went and scrubbed the toilets. 

Despite needing the prerequisite permissions Samantha never got the chance to ask.  She had three more ‘just in case’ potty breaks that day. Each with head pats, smiles, and ‘good girls’.

Manny got none.  Fuck Manny


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

Samantha shuffled around in Mrs. Thompson’s office.  Her legs were cold.  She wasn’t fool enough to come back to work the next day without one of those ridiculous pull-ups on.  But the only thing that sufficiently covered up the extra padding were shorts.  It wasn’t even a physical cold as a psychological one; it was like how her legs always felt a little cooler right after she shaved them.  It bothered her because she was used to having everything below her elbows covered up at work. 

The shorts were a deliberate choice on her part.   Her pants fit well enough, but there was always that feeling that if someone stared close enough, they’d know the truth about her underwear.

The regulars in the coffee shop knew the truth, anyway.  This locale had become home of a sisterhood of sharks just waiting for the waters to be chummed.  In a small way, she supposed she should be grateful to her employer for taking her in and out of the bathroom .  A Tweener in training pants was very likely to get written off and diapered.  The shop’s apex predator kept the others to the periphery.

At least they hadn’t gone about trying to pat her bottom like they did Gwenny’s.

“I want to show you something.” Mrs. Thompson began.  Samantha made no reply.  Other than to walk away, she had no choice other than to go along with this.  On the leftmost wall from the entrance, far away from where Gwenny played on her blanket in the corner, a bit of posterboard had been gridded, labeled, and placed at Samantha’s eye level.

The left column was simple enough, the  days of the week.  The rest was just empty grid spaces.  All except for the title.  “Samantha’s Potty-Chart”. 

“What’s this for?” Samantha asked.  Darn it all.  Never ask an Amazon a question that you didn’t want to know the answer to.

“I thought ‘potty chart’ was kinder than ‘punishment chart’.”  Mrs. Thompson said matter of factly.  “Every time you use the potty like a big girl, you’ll get a sticker.  If you have an accident, you’ll get a different kind of sticker.  When this chart is all full up, we’ll look at it together and have a discussion about where to go from there.”

There was the barest hint of relief in Samantha’s brain because of that phrasing. Had the older woman said ‘When this is filled up, you’ll be all-done potty training,’ it might have set Samantha more on guard.  Words like ‘all done’ didn’t always mean progression where Amazons were concerned.

On the floor was a small book of stickers.  The Amazon knelt down, and peeled a few off. “Let’s see,” she said.  “Yesterday, you went to the potty four times at work with no accidents.”  She put four smiley faces on the chart.  “Did you have any accidents at home?”

“N…!” Samantha stopped herself from blurting out.  That would only make her feel more guilty. “No.” She said in a more subdued tone of voice. Then added, “Ma’am” for good measure.

“How many times did you go potty at home?”

Fuck!  Samantha hadn’t counted.  Why would she have?  After she’d gotten home she tossed the damn pull-up into the garbage, and stayed in her clothes just long enough for the pizza to arrive.  Then she poured herself some wine and masturbated out of stress and boredom.

She didn’t go looking on her computer, fearing it would be traced.  Someone looking for diapered Amazons might get listed somewhere.  Either as a pervert or a seditionist. Besides, no amount of acting could replace the crushed look of desperation in an Amazon’s eyes as they were forced to suck on a bottle.  She’d literally beat off to the thought of Amazonian tears.

“I believe you.  We’ll just give you an extra one.” The Amazon put the sticker on. “No accidents at night? You didn’t wet the bed?”  Samantha remained mute and shook her head. She did not get another smiley face for the reply. “Are those the same pull-ups you wore yesterday?” 

“No, Ma’am.”   She’d been forced to take the remaining pack of Bloomerz home with her.  It had stayed at the foot of her bed with a towel tossed over it until this morning.

Without asking, Mrs. Thompsons pulled down Samantha’s baggy pants, and her eyeballs stared directly between the Tweener’s legs. “Hmm…” she mused.  “Daffodils instead of Roses.  Okay.  That is a different pair than yesterday  But how do I know this is only the second you’ve worn?  No naughty accidents at home?”  The mention of the word ‘naughty’ made Samantha blush.

The answer raced out of Samantha.  “You could count the number of pull-ups left in the pack,” she suggested.  Damn it!  Why was she helping?  By all laws and common sense, her boss’s dominion over her ended when she stepped out of the shop and went back home.  If this was a penalty for the other day, that was fine, but the punishment stopped when she was off the clock.

Didn’t it?

The Amazon reached into the brown paper bag Samantha had hidden the pull-ups in and counted them.  “Very good!  But how do I know you didn’t wet your bed?” She leaned in a little closer.  “Or do something naughty?”

“Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha raised her hand as if she were in class and the giant woman wasn’t already looking her in the eye.  Whatever.  It distracted her from the fact that her shorts were still around her ankles. “I thought this was because of something I did to your property, or in your store?  Not because I was having trouble making it to the potty.”

The owner stood up to her full height and frowned down at the Tweener.  “You’re right,” she said.  There was an unspoken ‘unfortunately’ Samantha felt.  “My apologies, Samantha.”

Samantha didn’t ask if she could pull up her own shorts, but she did anyway.  Still, she didn’t feel safe enough.  “If there’s nothing else…”

“Oh,” Mrs. Thompson said.  “There is, though.”

She looked down at Samantha and her entire demeanor changed.  “You’re going to need to be on your A-Game today.” she said.  “I shipped out a load of coupons around the city.  We should be seeing returns soon.”

The Tweener stood a little straighter and put her hands behind her back.  “I understand.  Get them in with a deal, and then keep them with the product.”

“Exactly.”  The smile was anything but condescending.  “I’m going to check and change Gwenny before we get out there.”

“Mommy-!”

Mrs. Thompson ignored her baby girl.  “Then we’ll join you up front at the counter.  You’ll take orders and upsell to try and make up the difference from the coupons.  I’ll work the station with Veronica, and Gwenny can help bring people their orders.  We’re going to need all hands on deck today.”

Samantha nodded.  All business.  Finally.  “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll get right on it.”  The Manager turned around to leave.

“Oh, and Samantha?”

The Tweener froze.  “Yes?”

Mrs. Thompson dug into Gwenny’s ginormous diaper bag  “You’re not going to have time for a water break today.  I”d suggest you drink up…”  

The sippy cup was purple with a lime green lid on it.  Mrs. Thompson sloshed it around to show how full it was.

And Samantha knew from experience that Gwenny only drank from bottles.

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

Dying!  Samantha was dying on the inside.  Four hours into the shift, and she hadn’t gotten a break.  Not a quiet break.  Not a coffee break.  And certainly not a bathroom break.  Her everything ached.  It felt as if acid was consuming her from the inside?

The customers kept coming in, and not in the usual slow trickle...trickle...why trickle?  Instead they were flooding the store.  FLOODING…?!  Another poor choice of inner monologue! 

“Would you like to make your espresso a double?”  Such pain.  Just keep smiling.

“How many pumps of spicy chocolate mocha would you like?” Grin through the pain.

Her throat was dry from talking so much.  But Samantha dared not even a sip of water.  She had too much to drink as it was.  Something was in that sippy cup besides grape juice!  It was the only explanation as to why it felt like her bladder was either half its size or double its capacity.

No breaks though.  Never a lull. “Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha had asked sometime between hour two and three,  “May-I?”

Mrs. Thompson didn’t even let her finish.  “Sorry dear. No time for potty breaks.  The rush hasn’t died down.  You’ll have to hold it like a big girl.” Samantha bristled at the words ‘dear’ and ‘big girl’.  Meanwhile, Gwenny’s diaper was drooping from everything she was putting in it.  It was almost as swollen as Samantha’s bladder, but the girl showed no signs of physical discomfort.

All of the patrons gave her headpats and cheek pinches, causing her to blush, but not much else.

Presently, Samantha wondered if she might be able to sneak away and use the ladies room using her ‘other’ managerial duties that had been foisted on her.  Follow some Mommy or Daddy into the bathroom.  Quickly sneak into the toilet, then help whatever insane Amazon had a poor unfortunate on the changing table.  There was even a precedent considering yesterday.

She might even be bold enough to ask Mrs. Thompson outright, in a ‘as long as I’m there’ way.  So it wouldn’t be sneaking around or breaking the rules.  Shifting from one sneakered foot to the other on her footstool, Samantha was caring less and less about whether or not the big woman watched her pee.  She just didn’t want to pee herself.

No one was changing any diapers, however. Not a single person had a baby, Little or otherwise, in tow.  And the place was crowded.  If any of the usual public shamers wanted to show up, they’d have to elbow through the ocean of java junkies.

There was a very good reason for this.  The coupon.  After she’d tucked the first two dozen in the register, Samantha took a second to read it:

“Adult Swim. Present this coupon and have no children, adopted or otherwise, with you to receive fifty percent off your order.  Leave the kids at home and just enjoy!”

Leave the kids at home…

That’s why there was only one person wearing a diaper; two if you counted pull-ups…

That meant that when..if Samantha had an accident, all eyes would be on her.

“No…” Gwenny whimpered and frowned.  She stopped right after handing someone their iced coffee and planted her feet.  Her hands went down to her stomach.  “Uh oh.” 

“Uh oh’s right,” one of the customers said.  “I know that look.”  A chorus of nods and knowing laughter rippled its way from table to table.

Gwenny’s breathing picked up and her hands knotted into fists.  She’d gotten used to wetting herself like a dumb baby well enough.  But pooping...

“It’s okay, baby,” Another said. “Make your poopies, then you can get my coffee.”

Gwenny obeyed. From the looks of it, her body wasn’t giving her much of a choice.  Maybe her Mommy had given her a bit of special syrup again; not enough to catch her by surprise, just enough to make it inevitable.

“But...I…” and it was too late.  The mess started coming out of her and all she could do was suck her thumb and squat as the crowd looked on while her pants filled up.

Samantha’s mouth hung open.  If her tongue wasn’t as dry as it was, she might drool.  Gwenny, a once proud and powerful young Amazon, dressed up like a baby and forced to pee and poop herself while everyone looked on and teased her.

The deliciousness of the situation almost made Samantha forget about her own aching bladder.

Almost…

Almost was too much…

A sharp but silent gasp came out of Samantha’s mouth as the first splash of wetness filled her disposable panties.  So shocked was the Tweener that she let the stream continue for a solid two seconds afterwards.  Panickedly, she gripped the edge of the counter, and dug her teeth into her tongue to suppress the screaming sob threatening to well up inside her.

What to do?  What would she do?  There was no way she was getting out of this.  No damn way.  Not when Mrs. Thompson had inspected her pull-ups this morning.  Not when she’d counted them.  Not when she’d gone so far as to inspect the decoration on the fade when wet design.

Even now, the training pants were drooping a bit from the weight.  They didn’t swell and bulge like a diaper, but they sure sagged away from her.  She hadn’t emptied nearly all of her bladder, but the pull-up wasn’t designed to hold as much as a regular diaper in her size.  Briefly, less than the span of a full thought, Samantha entertained the fantasy of escaping.  Of somehow slipping out, finding a corner store that sold Bloomerz in her size, buying a pack with tip money and then changing into an identical pair that she hadn’t soiled.

Roses?  No, daisies!  What flowers had she just watered away?

Running away wouldn’t do her any good either.  She’d wet herself.  She was a lone antelope on the savannah surrounded by hungry lions.  Even if she quit right now, the Amazons would just pounce on her and adopt her; call her immature or babyish.  Then she’d wish she’d stayed in the training pants.  It’d be a tight squeeze into the nearest playpen...but she’d fit.  Just because she could climb up and down off the changing table by herself didn’t mean she was too big for it in their eyes.

Keeping quiet and waiting wouldn’t help her either.  Big girls didn’t just squish around in wet panties and not tell anyone.  It wouldn’t take long for Mrs. Thompson to justify putting her in something thicker.  Something that even baggy shorts wouldn’t conceal.  There was no way out of diapers.

Except…

“Mrs. Thompson,” Samantha heard herself squeak.  “WIll you please take me to the restroom?”

“I already told you, big girl,” Mrs. Thompson said.  “We’re too busy.  Veronica, hand me-”

“I PEED!” 

The words squealed out of Samantha.  The whole room froze.  All eyes were off Gwenny.  Now they were all focused squarely on her.  No escape.  Just charge right through.

The Amazon Owner came right up to her.  She grabbed Samantha’s wrist and guided her off the stool.  “Do you mean to tell me you went pee-pee in your panties?  That you had an accident?”

Exhale. Deep Breath.  Exhale again.  “Yes, Ma’am.”

Samantha was sure she was going to have to repeat it.  Louder for those in the back.  Make a real spectacle of herself for the enjoyment of the big folks.  Talk about what a little baby she was that couldn't even hold her bladder after a spiked drink and four hours without a bathroom break.

That’s not what happened.  With one hand still holding Samantha by the wrist, Mrs. Thompson bent over behind the counter and dug into her diaper bag.  Samantha had to resist the urge to scream or run away, not that either would do.  She cut herself short, when Mrs. Thompson stood back up with both one of Gwenny’s diapers and a fresh pull-up.  “Gwenny!” she called.  “Time for a diaper change, baby girl!”

“Yes Mommy.” The relief was palpable in Gwenny’s voice.  She did a little dip and curtsied.  Then she fell in behind her Mommy and Samantha who were already en route to the bathroom.

“We’ll be back in a moment everyone,” Mrs. Thompson told the waiting audience.  “Just have to take care of a bit of family business.  To punctuate her point, she closed the ladies’ room door and wedged it shut. 

Just the three of them.  No peeking.  Samantha felt herself lifted by the armpits and dangle carried over to the nearest toilet stall.  Down came her pants around her ankles.  Mrs. Thompson didn’t even wait for them to hit the floor before she started opening the sides. Too much like the sounds of  tapes being ripped off a diaper. 

Samantha found herself seated on the toilet  “Okay, Samantha.  If you have any more in you, go ahead and get it out.”

“Mommeeee,” Gwenny whined. “Can you change me now?”

“You can wait, Gwenny.” her Mommy spoke behind her.  “You’re a baby.  Babies can wait to get changed.”  She looked down at Samantha.  “Big girls go potty.” 

That settled the matter.  The tinkling as Samantha emptied the rest of her bladder was louder than the last time.  Possibly because there was still so much.  Possibly because she felt like she was trying to get it out faster.  Was it even possible to push with bladder muscles?  Samantha didn’t know.

“All done?” 

Samantha looked down at her lap.  “Yes, Ma’am…”

“Try to go poopy, since you’re sitting there,” her boss said.  “Just try. For me.”  It was sweet.  Like a parent trying to coax good habits out of a toddler.  Then, “You might not get another chance…”

Eyes slammed shut, Samantha grunted and groaned, and attempted to shut the world out.  No one was watching.  No one was here; certainly not a woman old enough to be her mother talking to her like she was some kind of-

She was rewarded with the sound of a second splash and the feeling of a slightly less empty gut.  The Tweener sighed as a single bead of sweat dripped down her forehead.

“I knew you could do it.  Such a big girl!”

To show what a ‘big girl’ she was, Samantha was allowed to flush the toilet herself and then bent over as her front and bottom was wiped for her.  At least it wasn’t as messy as if she’d shat herself.  At least she didn’t have to look Mrs. Thompson in the eye.  “Thank you…” she mumbled when the last wipe.

“Left shoe,” the older woman’s voice called back. 

“Huh?”

“Take off your left shoe.”

Samantha did.  “Now step out of those shorts, but only with your left foot.  Her shorts remained in a puddle, but only encircled her right ankle.  She felt lopsided standing with only one shoe. 

Mrs. Thompson popped open the Bloomerz, so close to actual underwear, but so very far away.  “Step in.  Left foot first, please.”

Again, the Tweener obeyed, taken out of her element.  The first foot and sock when through.  The leg cuffs stretched more than enough to let her sneakered right foot in.  The shorts were just a floppy ring around her ankle, easy enough to get through.  Then it was just a matter of pulling the training pants up around her hips and putting her left leg back into the shorts.

Other than her shoe, no other article of clothing completely left her body.  She might as well have had snaps along the inseam.

“And that, my dear Manager, is how you change a pull-up.”  The older woman patted Samantha on the shoulder and then walked away.  “Wash your hands.  Gwenny, get on the changing table.”

Samantha went and quickly washed her hands, actually relishing the small bit of independence given to her in the simple act.  She only forgot herself when she started to walk towards the restroom door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Samantha pivoted.  “Oh,” she said. Her so called changing station duties.  “I’m sorry.  How can I help with your baby?”  A small, more pleasant tingle returned.  She shouldn’t have called Gwenny a baby.  After her humiliation, it felt good to talk down about someone else, even if it was just Gwenny.

“Yes,” Mrs. Thompson said.  She stepped aside and set a stepping stool down next to the table.  “I want you to change Gwenny.”

Gwenny sat up.  “MOMMY! YOU CAN’T!”  There was a grimace in her face from sitting up in her own mess.  “SHE’S NOT AN AMA-...! SHE’S NOT A GROWN-UP!”

“She’s more grown-up than you.”  Gwenny opened her mouth to complain, but a look from her Mommy made her lay back down.  She crossed one arm over her chest and popped the opposite thumb in her mouth.

Samantha was almost as gobsmacked as Gwenny.  “You want me? To…?” She stuttered.  “But you never…”  About half a dozen dirty thoughts jumbled together with six more terribly dark and paranoid thoughts.  This was a trap.  This was a treat.  This was a test.  But for who?

“Go on, Samantha.” Mrs. Thompson coaxed.  “Change the baby.”

The little security camera in Samantha’s mind switched on.  Her legs felt numb.  Her face felt hot.  A moth to a flame. A bug to a flytrap.  She couldn’t resist.  She dare not.

“Okay Gwenny,” she heard her cooing.  “Let’s get you cleaned up.”  She tore the tapes off one at a time.  It sounded better to her ear than when she heard someone else doing it; perhaps because when someone else did it there was always the lingering thought that it might be her with her back down and legs up.  “I’m not as strong as your Mommy, so I’m going to need you to help me.  Can you be a good girl and help me?”

Gwenny’s eyes shimmered a bit.  She must have been fighting her pride.  Samantha was fighting something else.

She undid the tapes on the Amazons diaper, pulling it back.  “I’m going to wipe you down with these baby wipes.  They’re gonna be cold, but they’ll get you niiiice and clean.”  Samantha licked her lips.  “Good baby.  Now lift your legs for me so I can clean off the mess.”  The Tweener was breathing through her mouth, and it had nothing to do with the stench coming from Gwenny’s backside.

“Good baby.  Now just hold it. I’m working as fast as I can.  That’s good.  Maybe you’ll get a treat for being such a good girl.”  Samantha would never admit it, but she’d practiced this kind script just last night.  It was the kind of thing she’d whispered to herself just before orgasm, and it was having similar effects right now.

There was no bathroom anymore.  The periphery outside of this scene ceased to exist.  Mrs. Thompson was only in the back of the Tweener’s mind.  “I’m gonna ball it up.  Up with your hips. Oops! Missed a spot.  Got it.  Good baby.”  Despite not having a drink in a few hours, Samantha’s mouth was getting moist.  Despite having just gone to the bathroom, her pull-ups were getting more than a bit wet.

Just not from her bladder.

“Okay,” Samantha continued to narrate just as much for herself as for Gwenny.  “Up one more time.  Good girl.  Nice new diaper.  Oh, this has unicorns on it!  So pretty.  DId you decorate it yourself or did your Mommy help?”  Even the Amazon baby was starting to blush in a way.  “Such a clever girl!”

Moist

Gwenny was starting to giggle, despite herself.  She cooed and gurgled around her thumb, starting to accept the experience as Samantha had.  Something about that drove the Tweener crazy.  She’d have to go back to work, but she’d remember every moment of this for later tonight.

“You don’t have a rash, and your skin isn’t too dry.  So I just dust on some baby powder so you smell just as pretty as you look.  Baby likes her powder, doesn’t she?  I bet she does! Yes she does!  Okay okay! Stop squirming.”

Soaking

She drew the diaper up between her sort of co-worker’s legs.  “Let’s count the tapes.  One...two...three...four!  All done!”  She gave each tape one last push.  It didn’t make the tapes stick any better, but it reminded both of them what Gwenny was wearing.

So hot!  Her training pants were now a swamp.

“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Thompson burst back from the periphery.  In reality she’d been watching the whole time.  Like a mother hawk.  It only just now registered to the Manager.  “Gwenny, you can hop off.”

Crinkling and waddling, Gwenny did.  “Yesh, Mommy.”  Her thumb was still in her mouth.

“Back to work,” she told Gwenny. “ I’m sure even without us, Veronica has been doing her best.  Go hand out orders.”

The big baby took her thumb out of her mouth and wiped it on her dress.  “Yes, Mommy.”  The diaper change all but forgotten, Gwenny skipped out of the bathroom.

It must be nice sometimes, Samantha thought, to have that little pride and to so easily forget such things.  Meanwhile, she wasn’t crinkling as much.  Something had activated just a tiny bit of the absorbent core and pulp.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder.  Samantha looked up.

“You did a very big thing back there,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Good girl.”

The Tweener blushed.  “Just doing my job.  You asked me to change her.”

“Not that,” her boss corrected her.  “Admitting when you had an accident as soon as it happened.  A less mature young lady might try to hide it or run away.  You were a very big girl just then.”

Samantha only blushed, and continued to do so for the next hours as random patrons told her more or less the same thing.

The sticker on her potty chart wasn’t a frowny face indicating the accident…but a star.

***********************************************************************
A week later, Samantha stood in Mrs. Thompson’s office, pretending to examine the potty chart.  She already knew what was on it.  She had a greater sense of object permanence and memory than a child. 

It wasn’t pride that she felt, but rather relief.  The nightmare was almost over.  A full week and the chart had almost told its story: Mostly smiley faces.  Samantha had gotten quite good at peeing in front of someone else.  A few stars where she had an ‘accident’.

Samantha was really starting to get a good read on Mrs. Thompson.  No more sippy cups filled with goodness-knows-what to send her bladder to bursting.  If Samantha allowed herself to pee a bit into the padded underwear every other day, that’d be enough to slake Mrs. Thompson’s hunger for humiliation.  It was enough to give the appearance of potty training...but not potty trained.

Also, and likely not-coincidentally.  Every time Samantha had had an accident, she’d been allowed to change Gwenny. Clearly, her boss was trying to condition her.  Obviously, knowing that, should render the temptation ineffective, but that’s the thing about addiction: Every alcoholic knows deep down that they shouldn’t take that drink.  But being an alcoholic means they do...

“Would you like to have that discussion now, or after work?” Mrs. Thompson asked.

Samantha was snapped out of her reverie.  “Now would be fine,” Samantha said.  She really wanted out of these stupid things. Then she remembered herself.  “If you have the time, that is.”

“We have some time.  I asked Manny to come in early.” 

Samantha’s expression soured.  Was Manny trying to undermine her?  He’d been a cheeky bastard all week.  Was he setting himself up to take Samantha’s place.  Or was she just being paranoid?  “Okay,” she swallowed.  “Let’s talk.”

“How do you feel about this past week?”  Mrs. Thompson asked.

“Pretty good,” Samantha answered.

“So you think it was a good thing that you got put back in pull-ups?”

Trap!  “I think a form of recompense for my past behavior was just.”

“And what about your potty training?  This chart has an awful lot of stars...for a grown-up.”

Trap!  For Amazons, one accident was too many.  It’s why Samantha had allowed herself a few more.  In for a penny, in for a pound.  The fact that she’d never had an accident prior wasn’t a good defense.  Plenty of Littles never had an accident before they were put back in diapers and whatever flimsy logic the giants could grab onto was used to keep them in them. 

There weren’t many ways to get out of this regardless. 

She made a show of holding her chin. Deep in thought when she’d somewhat rehearsed this already.  “I think it’s a matter of pens and pencils.”

A curious expression flashed across the giant’s brow.  “Pens and pencils?”

“People tend to make more mistakes with pencils than with pens.  Knowing they have the erasers makes them more careless.  Knowing there’s that safety net makes them sloppy and imprecise.”

“And you’re saying you’ll be more careful when you get your big girl panties back at work?”

“Yes.  Provided that I only drink food and water from home.”  Accusing the boss of poisoning her...a bold move.  She couched it with.  “Since I’ve proven that I can monitor and identify my own needs and hold myself accountable.  I wouldn’t want to waste your resources.”

Mrs. Thompson bit her lip.  A tell perhaps, that her next line of loaded questions had been shot down.  “How would you say being back in training pants has helped you?”

Truth? It hadn’t.  Lie? “A greater sense of...scale.”

“How so?”

“A greater sense of what is being babyish and what is not.  Babies can’t control themselves.  That’s why they wear what they do.  It’s not their job.  Pull-ups are...more an opportunity for a second chance.”

“Do you think you deserve a second chance?”

Time to roll the dice. “I do.”

Mrs. Thompson stared at the chart on the wall.  Then back down to Samantha.  Back and forth her eyes went, like she was watching a tennis match that only she could see.  Where would the ball land?  “I happen to agree.”

Samantha almost squeaked with joy, but contained herself.  “Thank you.” 

“No more pull-ups, big girl.  You get another chance.”  She extended out her hand.  Samantha took it. “I’d like to celebrate and congratulate you, too.”

Samantha let go of the handshake. “Oh there’s no need to-”

Mrs. Thompson didn’t let go.  “Oh, but I insist.  Come and have dinner with us tonight.  My house.  I’ll even let you take half a day off.”

The last day working in pull-ups felt longer than the first.
****************************************************************************************************

Samantha hiccuped, actually hiccupped, as she finished her cup.  It wasn’t from a fancy wine glass like the one Mrs. Thompson was sipping from, but it wasn’t a sippy cup or a baby bottle either.  Gwenny had to content herself with sparkling grape juice from her ba-ba.

The dinner was oven roasted chicken coated with panko bread crumbs and dipped in ranch, with and steamed vegetables.  Considering the portions, Samantha didn’t mind that her bird had already been cut up for her.  Just meant more time eating and less time cutting.  Gwenny had to settle for dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.  Mrs. Thompson took time between bites to spoon feed the young woman in her highchair.

To be accurate, it wasn’t exactly a highchair Gwenny was seated in.  Samantha’s feet dangled more than Gwenny’s, but the diapered Amazon’s chair had a tray and buckles that locked her in place.  Definitely a custom job.  Meanwhile, Samantha ate in a normal chair, not even needing a booster seat to see over the table. 

Between the two of them, Gwenny might have been larger, but Samantha was decidedly bigger.

“Thank you very much for the..” she paused and hiccuped again.  “meal, Mrs. Thompson.”  She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin.  “My apologies.”   Samantha was feeling it.  Amazon wine was strong!  She wasn’t slurring her words, but her face felt sort of numb and she had to speak very deliberately and slowly so as not to.

“Perfectly fine, dear.  Can’t be helped.” She took a bite of her own chicken and then skewered a piece of broccoli to put it in Gwenny’s mouth.  The grown woman was keeping pace with Samantha, but she was much bigger than her.  The wine wasn’t affecting her.  “However, I’ve been thinking…”

The last bite of ranch chicken went down hard.  “Yes?”

“I could use some help around the house.  Gwenny is a joy, but she can be..be..”

Gwenny beamed. “I’m a handful!”

“Yes dear, now finish your broccoli.”  Mrs. Thompson looked across the table, expectantly.

Samantha wondered where this was going.  “I know,” she said.  “Sometimes at work, she’ll be yapping and yapping to the customers, and will miss drink orders, and it takes me or Manny or Veronica - usually me - to get her back on track.”  Wow, this wine had really loosened her tongue.  “Not her fault though, she is just a baby after all.” 

She delighted in Gwenny’s eyes darting around.  That would never get old.  Not until Gwenny grew up...and knowing Amazon Mommies, that probably wasn’t going to happen.

Mrs. Thompson took a swig of wine.  “Exactly.  Can’t be helped.  It’s not her fault she’s so Little on the inside.”  She reached out and gave the girl a cheek pinch.  Samantha took her hands out of her lap and rested them on the table to avoid temptation.  Those hands had gotten her into pull-ups…

“Babies,” Samantha grinned.  “What are you gonna do?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”  Mrs. Thompson said.  “So initially I was thinking about adopting a little sister for Gwenny.  Someone her own maturity to play with and get some of that energy out.” 

Samantha clenched her cheeks a bit, adrenaline fighting with alcohol to maintain sobriety.  She wasn’t talking about adopting Samantha, was she?  The girl was just tipsy enough to find it hard to differentiate between little and Little (it was all a matter of context more than pronunciation, honestly).  Quietly, Samantha’s hand drifted over to the fork; not clutching it, but readying to stab a certain giant in the thigh if she needed to.

“But then I realized that would only create more work for me.  And most people with Gwenny’s maturity are Littles.  Daycare? No thank you!  And two babies is just too much for me.  Then I thought about hiring a babysitter, but good help is so hard to find.  And not everyone is as good with Gwenny.  I can’t trust everyone.  I need someone who is big and mature, but capable of of...”

“Communicating with her on her level in a way she understands?”

Mrs. Thompson was a lightbulb.  “Exactly!”

Gwenny spit out a bite of broccoli.  “MOMMY!”

“Gwenny, hush.”

From top to bottom, the Tweener tingled.  Was this going where she thought it was going?”  She imagined herself, bossing around her former tormentor.  Infantilizing her.  Talking down to her. 

Changing her.

Bottle feeding her.

Tucking her into bed.

In a word: ‘babying’ her.

“Gwenny likes to be naughty at home, and I admit I indulge her from time to time.”

Gwenny whimpered as her dirty laundry was aired at the dinner table.  The two adults ignored her.  “I can see that.  I don’t know what goes through her baby brain, but I can tell she has alllll kinds of naughty thoughts.”

“Speaking from your own personal experience?”  That shut Samantha down.  But then she was lifted up/ “In a way I feel like it may have been a kind of fate, this past week.  You’ve proven yourself trustworthy, and you’ve always been a good manager.”  For once Samantha wanted to blush from something besides horniness or embarrassment. “You can also follow a schedule.  You can communicate your needs. Much more mature than a baby.  Very big.”  Samantha practically felt like she was swooning. “And since you’ve had a few accidents yourself this week, I think that gives you a special kind of empathy that many grown-ups lack.”

The fork was out of Samantha’s grip.  She didn’t want it anymore.  In her mind’s eye she just kept imagining a thousand fun and terrible ways to babysit the giant toddler.  Oh this would be so sweet!  “I’ll do it!”  Her acceptance was punctuated by one last hiccup.  It did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm.  “I’ll do it! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”

Speaking of things dampening…

The Amazon (the grown-up one) clapped her hands together and stood up. “Wonderful!”

“Mommy!” Gwenny squealed!  “NO!” I don’t want this!”

Samantha stood up, too.  “It doesn’t matter what babies want.  Your Mommy is right. You do need supervision!”  Maybe it was the wine talking…

Or not.

“Wonderful!” Mrs. Thompson said.  “Why don’t we start playing right now!”

Alcohol was winning out over adrenaline.  “Sure thing, Mrs. Thompson.”

Her boss unbuckled Gwenny from the seat and let her out.  Gwenny whined some more but got a swat on her padded behind for her stubbornness. She jumped a bit, but probably not because she felt any real pain.  Her butt practically had a pillow on it.

Gwenny’s Mommy looked at the Tweener.  “No need to call me that anymore, dear.”

“Oh...okay...M-M-M-” She stuttered.  “Marion.”  Saying her boss’s first name just sounded wrong.

The woman’s lip twisted...not quite a sneer.  “We’ll work on it, sweetie.”

The big baby and the Tweener were escorted to another room.  A guest room, Samantha would have guessed.  Or at least she would have guessed if she hadn’t seen it with herself.  A giant crib.  Piles and piles of stuffies. A changing table. A rocking chair.  Bins of toys.  If not for the sheer scale of the room, Samantha would have guessed that it was a nursery for a Little. 

A breathy “Wow…” came out of Samantha.  The exact measure.of her immaturity laid out to strange eyes, Gwenny just plopped down in a pile of stuffies and tried to bury herself.  Cute.  Playing peekaboo.

“You like?”  Mrs. Thompson said.

This would be the perfect place to ‘play’ with Gwenny.  “You really go all out, don’t you?”

The older Amazon smiled, clearly proud.  “Nothing but the best for my children.”

Samantha blinked.  “Wha-?”

“Samantha.  You be good for Gwenny.  Mommy’s going to do a little shopping while you two play.”  And before Samantha could say anything more, the door was closed.  A slight clicking noise told Samantha what she needed to know.

“Gwenny?” she asked.  “Why did your Mommy just lock the door?”

The big baby just buried her head in her stuffies.  “Iff noff fair!” She mumbled. “Noff fair affal!”  She couldn’t have any idea how ridiculous she looked wit her padded rump in the air.

The Tweener went over.  “What’s going on?! Gwenny? Gwenny?” No response.  The Tweener did her best to put some bass in her voice.  “Gwendolyn!” That did it. Though still on her knees, Gwenny snapped to attention.  “What’s going on?” Samantha demanded.”

“You just got Adopted.” Gwenny moaned. “She’s been talking about it all afternoon.”

Heart. Chest. Explode.  “What?!” Samantha yelled.  “But I’m not a baby!”

“No,” Gwenny sulked.  “You’re a big girl.  And you’ve got the potty chart to prove it.” She pointed to the wall farthest from the door.  “See?”

The owner had moved it. But it was the exact same chart. “Samantha’s Potty Chart.” 

“That’s probably where your toddler bed will go,” Gwenny huffed.

Samantha felt dizzy with panic.  “But? But? I…” She breathed in. This wasn’t happening!  She was out of diapers! “I was supposed to be your babysitter!  I’m in charge!”

“You are in charge,” Gwenny huffed.  “Of me. Mommy told me that big sisters look after the babies and the babies hafta do what they say.  It’s no fair.  I don’t wanna big sister! I got adopted first! I should be the big sister!”

Samantha’s ears were ringing like a hand grenade had just gone off nearby.  She was an adult! A grown-up.  Not to Amazons though.  Not lately. She was just a ‘big girl.’

“Now I gotta share my room…”  Gwenny was absolutely oblivious to Samantha’s pain and discomfort.  Speaking of which, it wasn’t completely emotional.  That wine was going right through her and the seal was about to break.  “Gotta share my closet too,” she muttered.  “She got you more of those dumb pull-ups and a potty and everything. I don’t get a potty.  At least I don’t gotta share my changing table with you.”  A beat. “Unless you have a poopy accident.”

The Tweener’s hands shot down to her privates.  On one level this was so hot!  On another level, she really had to go and was prisoner of a crazy giant!  And when horny and scared butted heads, scared tended to win.

There was no point in talking to Gwenny.  No point at all. She might as well be talking to a Little: Gwenny was either legitimately regressed or just so selfishly locked in her own predicament that she had zero empathy for Samantha. 

She was drunk!  She was caught. And she had to pee! 

She did her best to remedy the first situation.  Running into the walk-in closet, Gwenny found the potty chair and pulled her pants down.  Samantha closed her eyes, sat down and let go. After a week of having to sit on a toilet and pee and poop in front of an actual Adult, doing it in a closet while Gwenny moped ten feet away.  It was a tad small, being designed for an Amazon toddler, but Samantha could fit.

The stream came out fast.  No more reassuring tinkling sounds, though.  Not until the potty chair had filled up enough…

Gross!

“Uh oh! Looks like somebody found their first present!” Samantha opened her eyes.  Mrs. Thompson hadn’t been gone long.  “Surpriiiiise!”

“Mrs. Thompson!” Samantha started to say “There’s been a mistake!”

Samantha’s pants were off her ankles in one fell swoop along with her panties.  “I’ll say.  For starters, I think someone needs their trainers on, don’t you?”

“No, that’s not what I-” But Samantha’s pleas went on unheard.  A fresh pair were threaded onto her legs in a second.  She looked just like a potty training toddler sitting on the potty...and she had the chart to match!

“It’s just in case, dear.  I know you’re a big girl...most of the time.”

“But I-!” A finger went to her lips.  At least it wasn’t a pacifier. 

“I know, I know,” Mrs. Thompson said.  “You feel tricked.  But you don’t have to be. Stay here. With me.  With Gwenny.”

“But...but…”

“But what?” the giant woman asked.  “But you want to be a grown-up?  How has that worked out? Struggling to survive.  No authority. No privilege.  Not Little enough to be fawned over and not Grown-Up enough to be given anything of lasting value.”

“I...I…”  Pull-ups around her ankles and her own urine sloshing beneath her, Samantha was losing this fight.  She wasn’t even embarrassed about being in this position anymore. That’s how quickly she’d been desensitized to it.

“You’re tired.  And you’ve had a taste.”  She leaned over, seductively.  “I know how you think, big girl.  I know those naughty thoughts haven’t gone away.  You’ve lost more fade when wet decorations, but nothing to do with you going pee-pee.”

Samantha shuddered at being called out so brazenly.

“But if you’re my daughter...my big girl...well...big girls shouldn’t get naughty in their panties.  Ruins the material.  But if your pull-ups are gonna be tossed anyways.  What’s the harm?” 

Samantha could feel her heartbeat in her ears.

“What’s the harm of going potty...and then changing your baby sister...then coming back to Mommy’s office and finding a nice quiet spot to get those thoughts all out.”

“Would I…” Samantha asked, her voice a whisper.  “Would I still get to be Manager?”

“Better,” the giant woman hissed. “You’d be my big girl.  Big enough to take care of yourself juuuust a little bit.  Big enough to tell me when Veronica and Manny and any of the other employees are slacking off.”

“Would I…” the Tweener gulped.  “Would I have to wear a...a diaper?”

The older woman thought for a second.  “Maybe at night, after I tuck you in.  That potty was supposed to be for my office, and I don’t want you getting up in the middle of the night.  But that’s it.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky swear.”  Then her tone deepened. “I just printed out the forms.  All I have to do is fill out a few more bits.  But, when I’m done.  Or,” she said.  “You could get up. You could pull your trainers up and flee the house.  Get in your car and drive away, keep what little dignity you have left, and start looking for a new job.  Gain everything by admitting who you are, or keep your pride and lose everything else.” 

When she put it like that...

And so Samantha said the one option that made sense. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

Samantha sighed. Why fight it?  “Yes, Mommy.”

(The End)
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