Middle Management (Part 2) (Patreon)

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, anyways.  This locale had become home of a brotherhood 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’d 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’d had too much to drink as it was.  Something had been 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 words ‘dear’ and ‘big girl’.  Meanwhile, Gwenny’s diaper was drooping from everything she was putting in it.  It was almost as swollen like 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 dugh er 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 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.
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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 dipped in ranch and coated with panko bread crumbs 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 with 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 boost 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.  If the wine wasn’t affecting.  “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 Vernoica- 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 Gwenny a little sister.  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 too 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 run 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