Middle Management (Patreon)

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 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’d 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 Tweener 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 Little’s 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 completely 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 maid 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 had helped take care of that.  And for whatever reason, the stars had aligned, and a switch had gotten 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 not 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 the maturity and adulthood that was supposed to come so naturally to the giants.

To see that realization and moment when they finally were realizing how badly they were screwed.  Gwenny 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 case 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 was 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 that 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 woman lying down’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 to 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 with 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,” 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’s 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 effect 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 had sent everyone home and had stayed behind to clean up.  She’d 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.  Crocodile and sharks.  Littles were their prey.  They’d run and hide, but it was always a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if’.  Samantha had gotten 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 dollies 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 had.  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 pretend 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 needed 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 were starting to form.  

“Thank you…” she whispered.

“What was that?”  It had less of the angry matronly tone, Mrs. Thompson had 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 had almost forgotten 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 customer’s 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’d 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 had 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 girl’s.

Manny got none.  Fuck Manny

(To be continued)