AndTheChips

Ryan can be for anyone! I love a good gender neutral name! Cara is just Cara because it was in my brain already. Ryan is just Ryan for the same reason 😂 they are who they are. It’s like naming stuffies, sometimes you just look at the em and they have a name in your head and then you can’t change it. She will be fleshed out more later. Right now she’s just a peripheral character. As for dad, I don’t think he’s been treating her like a child for some time but they have talked prior to the trip and she doesn’t seem to be thriving with the free reign she has had. Mom’s “talk” with her this morning was not off the cuff, but planned and discussed together as a parenting team. And as a team they know they’re going to need to do a bit more hands-on parenting with their oldest. I think when you behave childishly you evoke that reaction from people. The “sleepyhead” comment is more just to show that there is genuine love there.

Part 5 That nail? It came in the form of a simple sentence meant to reassure her of her mother’s preparedness. “If you have an accident all you have to do is let me know and we can get you all changed”, Patrice said, patting her bag. Wait, Cara thought. D-did did she not know then? A wave of relief washed over her followed almost immediately by an equally intense wave of utter mortification. “Wait, MOM! What do you mean!? What’s in your bag?!” Cara asked. “Sweetie, it’s not a big deal. I just grabbed a couple of extra pull-ups in case you need a change. Plus some baby wipes for cleaning you up. I’d much rather that you tell me when you have an accident so I can give them to you than that you sit in your own pee pee and get a diaper rash”. Pee pee? Change? DIAPER RASH?! Cara’s brain nearly collapsed in on itself as her face blazed and her mouth started of its own accord with a whining, “MOOOOOOOM! No! This is too far! Put them back! Put them back now! I’m not a little kid and I don’t need more pul-more of… them!” A quick smack to her butt was all it took to pull Cara up short, releasing her third surprised spurt of pee into the pull-ups and ironically proving how much she truly did need those backups. It hadn’t hurt too much, mostly because the pullup and shorts were protecting her sore behind. What it had done was shock her out of her whining and remind her of what was at stake if she continued with that course of behavior. Damn, was her mom onto something?! Was this… effective? Maybe if Cara had a bit more of that guidance she wouldn’t have failed her two community college courses from last semester, she thought . She hadn’t mentioned that to her parents, of course. Only taking the two classes and working a few hours a week doing basically nothing at the office, it would be hard to break it to them that she hadn’t applied herself at all. But that was a conversation she would definitely not be bringing up until this ridiculous power trip of her mom’s was over. Sure it was their money, but hey, they’re the ones who said she had to go to school or get a job! She would have been happy to just hang out. Cara was so lost in thought that she didn’t even think to protest as her mother again began leading her by the hand to the car, even going so far as to buckle the stunned girl’s seatbelt for her. It was only when her sister chuckled next to her that she snapped out of it and sent a scathing look that way. “-know we were aiming for 9, but we had some… things to handle. Sorry, hon”, came the end of Cara’s mom’s sentiment. “So you had trouble getting her into the pull-ups?”, her dad asked in slightly hushed tones, though not quiet enough that Cara, and surely Ryan could hear it a few feet behind. It wasn’t an especially large car. “We’ll talk more when we get there, but trouble is an understatement. I did what we talked about and we are going to be keeping her on a short leash this weekend”, Patrice said back, not quite as hushed. Cara blushed deeper and just looked out the window at the passing trees as they made their way towards the highway. Normally she would bark back at them for talking about her like she wasn’t even there, but the slight soreness in her butt was enough to make her bite her tongue. “Ah, so that’s why she’s having trouble sitting still”, her dad whispered, to Cara’s absolute horror. And she realized, with even more embarrassment, that he was right. She had been having trouble getting comfortable and part of that was the sore butt. Some of it was also the fact that she hadn’t had a chance to pee since waking up. She had been on the way to the bathroom when her mom had stopped her and after everything she hadn’t gotten a chance. The most embarrassing reason for her wiggling, though it was a close call, was the slight squishiness she could feel now cool beneath her, reminding her that she had indeed used the padding. Although it hadn’t been much, she was convinced she could smell the slight ammonia scent and she couldn’t escape the idea that her mom was right and she was going to get a rash. No chance in hell was she going to be telling her mom that she needed another pull-up. Maybe she could ditch this one in the rest area when they inevitably stopped. Showing up commando would be significantly better than in a pull-up, even if it were completely dry. Despite the rough start, she was eventually able to tune out her parents’ conversation in the front and settle into a comfortable enough position to doze off. She had had a long morning after all. Waking up, head pressed against the window, drool sticking her hair to her face, Cara felt disoriented. Wiping her face and blinking, she looked around and remembered where she was… and all that had transpired this morning. The first reminder was the slight soreness still in her rear, and the strange sensation of the slightly damp pull-up. “Morning, sleepyhead”, came the jovial voice of her dad, smiling at her in the rear view mirror. Cara was too preoccupied to smile back, she was too preoccupied to even blush. All she could think about was how much she had to pee. Her bladder was aching for release and she knew that she would need a bathroom sooner rather than later. Glancing at the clock, she realized she had slept through over half the trip. Good, this would be a totally reasonable time to ask for a bathroom break, she thought. “Hey dad?”, Cara asked, “can we stop at the next rest area?”. A look was exchanged in the front seat between her parents. Beside her, Ryan was mercifully dozing. Cara, meanwhile, was squeezing her thighs together and bouncing a leg. “Honey, do you have to go really badly or can you hold it a bit longer? We were kind of hoping to make it without stopping. If we do that we might just catch the family at the house. We only have an hour and a bit to go…”, was her mom’s response. Ugh, stupid big family and their equally Amazonian bladders! Cara knew which answer they were hoping for, but there was no chance she was going to make it that long. She was starting to worry that she wouldn’t even make it to the next rest area! “It’s an emergency!”, Cara said, now pressing a hand to her crotch to physically hold her urine inside of her. She didn’t have the bandwidth to even worry about how childish she must look and sound. She couldn’t even find the focus to blush, she was instead clenching her teeth and trying to prevent a disaster. Sighing, her dad answered this time in a calm yet disappointed voice. “Okay sweetie, we will stop at the next rest area”. Cara felt badly but she was so grateful to hear that. Every second ticked by like an hour and every bump caused her to press her fingers more deeply into the padding beneath her. Cara didn’t want to be seen as a little kid who couldn’t hold it, but… she couldn’t hold it. “Dad, I can’t hold it! Is the rest stop coming up soon?”, she asked in a panic. “Oh, honey this is what we were talking about this morning”, came her mom’s response. “This is why we wanted you to wear your pull-ups. Try to hold on and if you have an accident before we get there you can just let me know and we can get you cleaned up and changed into a fresh pullup”. Cara felt a small spurt of pee sneak out past her digging fingers even as she whined back, “mooooooooom! Stop talking about them! They’re not mine and I don’t need them and I’m not gonna use them and I don’t need a change and stop talking about it!!!!!”. The volume and force with which she expressed this only served to wake Ryan and open the conversation to one more. Ugh, stupid mom!, Cara thought, even as she could feel another spurt of pee sneaking past her defenses. The agonizing wait for the rest area felt like the longest of Cara’s life, though it was only about twelve minutes according to the passive aggressive digital numbers set into the dash, switching as slowly as possible. Clearly there was something wrong with the clock. When they finally pulled off the main highway and into the service area, Cara nearly cried with relief. She only needed to hold on til she was inside and she would be able to not only relieve this pain but even ditch the stupid garment altogether.

I don’t think so, though it’s a natural stopping point for a hiatus! Other stories are coming more easily right now, but I have plans to revisit this to see Ivy’s next steps. After all, she has a new job to do!

Anime and video games are totally fine for adults! I like play dough and dolls and cartoons and coloring!

It is blindingly obvious that this poor girl can’t handle dairy. Obviously the diary is going to reflect that. Whether that impacts the rule about 7 sun stickers or not, I guess is yet to see. Meanwhile, a few hours in and that’s either a rainy sticker on the daytime or nighttime part, depending on which you’d call it. You could argue she was awake and therefore day or it was “during a nap” and therefore night. Poor bug. My guess is she just stops bothering with the potty today since she’s convinced she already lost the day and doesn’t want to deal with sitting on the potty with a paci and a baby book. If so, even if she would have gotten a pass on the dairy impact she will dig her own grave. Like with the waterpark poop. Mom can probably let her know when she comes to drop off extra diapers since potty training is likely gonna be done till after the trip… 😬

I’m so sorry you had to deal with that! It is never right for a parent to hit a child. I want to make clear that Cara has agreed to this in a way and is an adult. Her agreement: She doesn’t want to deal with missing out on the trip, let alone having a plan for adulting (she also completely knows based on who her parents are that if she were to seriously say, “I’ll work on getting out of the house, it’ll take me a few months to save up”, or even, “I’ll work on taking on more responsibility”, her mom would happily give her extra shifts at her office and help her figure things out. Cara intrinsically knows they wouldn’t just throw her out. But she’s not that mature. She doesn’t want to miss the trip. She doesn’t WANT more shifts or a different job or any job. She doesn’t WANT to save up or take on more responsibility or adult. And the difference between her and us is that she thinks it’s fine to avoid that and also be a selfish lazy brat to her parents). She doesn’t WANT to do anything. She WANTS to be a child. And yet she thinks she can also be the boss. She needs to figure out how to show some more respect at the least and be reasonable and listen to her parents. For her, a quick hand-spanking is more of a psychological reminder and break from her thought/action pattern rather than just a punishment. I guess I just don’t understand the whole defiant, bratty, difficult thing. I just… did what was expected of me as long as it made sense (and lots of dumb crap made sense in that my job/grade/social standing/etc. was contingent on me playing by dumb rules sometimes). But like… if my parents asked me to do or not do something, I would listen. Even when I did less safe things, I considered the risks and costs of doing them. I mean, I was a teenager and pretended to be one place but snuck in my boyfriend’s window, or drank or smoked weed but a) I made sure to be safe and had multiple trustworthy people who knew where I was at all times, including who I was supposed to be with and my parents had numbers for my friends and b) I used protection and birth control, c) my friends and I monitored how much we drank and always hydrated, moved breakables and stayed in and together, and if I had been caught I would have owned that it was wrong and on me. And the kicker is that if I had a convo with my parents they honestly probably would have let me stay over my boyfriend’s sans sneaking past his parents) or drink with my friends within reason. Because I was a good kid who made good choices and listened to reason. So I got a longer leash because it was safe to do so. I have zero sympathy for Cara. She’s entitled and lazy and rude and doesn’t deserve a long leash. She’s not even ready for a leash, she needs to be held. It’s not that hard to just… listen to reason! You had an accident, let’s be safe. im writing the parents as though they’re more like mine, super reasonable and unconditionally loving. Assume that at any time if Cara is getting a consequence it is because they have tried all reason and nothing has worked thus far and they honestly believe that this will help her. And it will.

Part 4: Rubbing her stinging butt through her shorts and the dumb pullup, Cara winced at the soft crinkle. Not wanting to disobey her mom, Cara wasn’t planning to stop on the way down to the car, but when she saw her reflection in the full-length mirror at the top of the stairs, she stopped dead in her tracks. The first thing she noticed was her tear-streaked face and red eyes. She was usually the kind of girl who spent lots of time on her makeup, not to make it look gaudy, but to enhance her lacking visible maturity. The mascara and eyeliner running down her cheeks and her red-rimmed eyes, paired with what she saw below was not doing her any favors in that arena. Her mom had made no effort to hide the pull-up and the outfit Cara was wearing was not up to the task at all. The tank left about an inch and a half of trim abdomen showing above her skimpy shorts… or at least that’s what usually happened. Right now, the waistband of her pullup was filling the gap, ruffled plastic designed to feel and look like fabric… it wasn’t fooling the mirror. And the slight bulge beneath seemed so obvious to Cara as well. Glancing quickly behind her, she could hear the toilet flushing from her mom’s room and the water running. She knew she didn’t have time to deal with everything, but she could at least handle something. There was no way she was going out to her sister and father looking like this. So quickly slipping back down the hall and into the bathroom there, Cara grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water before attacking her face with it. Setting her backpack down on the closed toilet, she rummaged inside finding her makeup bag. Thankfully she had put most of her important stuff where she could get to it quickly instead of stowing it in the trunk with the rest of their stuff. Because she was a grownup! Sure, her dad had asked that they keep stuff inside the car to a minimum, and he was always so ridiculous about planning where every last thing would fit, but she couldn’t share a suitcase with her little sister and not be expected to bring a bag of her own! Her parents could figure out how to fit it in. They always did, after all. It served them right for being so annoying. Finding her makeup remover, she quickly set to work undoing the damage the span-the uh conversation… with her mom had done. Had… had that really happened?! Cara pouted a little as she removed the last of the eye makeup and moved on to where her lipstick had been decimated. She knew she wouldn’t have time to redo everything but maybe she could quickly do a bit of foundation and coverup to take away a bit of the youthful freckle-look, the ruddy pinkness her crying and everything else had caused before she faced the car of family. She could always redo the rest of her makeup in the car and- The rest of that thought was cut off when her mom’s voice boomed from behind her, shouting, “Cara?! Where are you?! We’re waiting!”. Not wanting a repeat “conversation”, Cara knew she was out of time. Thankfully she had closed the door to the bathroom behind her. She could pee and wash her hands and just play it off and deal with looking like a scolded kid in front of her family until she got the makeup going. Less thankfully, she had failed to lock the door. Cara realized that mistake with a very mature “eeep” and a spurt of pee into the pull-up that she was momentarily grateful to be wearing, as the door swung open and her mom entered. Her bag clattered to the ground, makeup bag tumbling loose inside. And yet Cara made no move to grab it. Somehow the spanking from earlier had seemed to give her mom’s demeanor a bit more authority. At least that’s what it seemed like to Cara. “Cara, what are you doing? We’re going to be so late and it isn’t fair to your dad”, Patrice scolded, frown deepening as she saw Cara standing there seemingly wasting time. “N-nothing! I-I was just… uh… just going to the bathroom”, she ad-libbed, rushing to tuck the pull-up’s waistband into her shorts and blushing as she realized that it been true in a way. It was only a small wet spot, but somehow her stupid pull-up, which she had been adamant she wouldn’t need, had been the only thing between her and needing new panties. “Well it looks like your hands are all clean, did you really need to get the whole towel wet though?”, her mom asked, moving to hang the facecloth Cara had washed her face with. “Okay, well let’s get a move on then, it’s past time to be in the car”, Patrice said, taking Cara’s hand and pulling her from the room. In the doorway, Cara pulled up short, dragging her feet and saying, “wait!” She needed to pee still, and ideally change into a dry pull-up. Or maybe she could even sneak some panties on, she thought, realizing she didn’t know where the grey pair she had been wearing had ended up. “Cara, come on, we need to go. This is getting ridiculous”, came her mom’s scolding tone. There was a sense of finality and a hint of demand in it. Cara had better figure out a really good reason for wasting more time if she wanted time to pee and change. “Ummm…I… I n-need…”, Cara started, but trailed off as her mom shook her head and started pulling her again through the bathroom door. They were already in the hallway before Cara dragged her feet again, pulling the pair of women up short. “M-mom! Wait!” Cara squeaked. She still didn’t know what to say, so she just went with the truth. Or a partial truth. She wasn’t going to admit she was planning on changing out of a slightly damp pullup. But if all of this was about her accident last year and making sure this wasn’t like last year, then surely her mom wouldn’t deny her a final trip to the bathroom. “I-I just n-need umm I mean I just wanna go to the… the bathroom again real quick. To be safe”, Cara stumbled over her own words. Her mom’s look of frustration turned to one of loving pity. She stopped trying to pull them forward and put her hands on Cara’s shoulders, bending down to look her in the face. “Baby, but you just went potty”, she started, and Cara nearly collapsed. H-how could she know that!? The revelation that her mom was aware of her slight accident was enough to produce another quick spurt into her pull-up before she regained conscious control of any of the muscles in her body. But Patrice wasn’t finished. “I’m so sorry if I made you stressed about it, I didn’t do this to make you so worried about having an accident again, it’s the opposite”. She patted Cara’s padded behind and the small girl jumped a bit. Could she feel the accident like that?! “I know it’s hard for you to hold in your pee pee sometimes, and that’s okay. That’s why your pull-ups are there though, so it doesn’t lead to a whole scene and a big mess like last year”, Patrice said kindly. The whole thing couldn’t have been worse, from the sincere words to the tone, to the final nail in Cara’s maturity coffin that came next.

Part 3: Patting Cara gently on her bare bottom, her mom said, “then let’s finish your spanking and get you dressed. I said we would only be a few minutes and your father really wants to catch the family before they head to town”. Wait…f-finish?! She must have misheard. Nope. That hope was dashed in the first bare-bottomed *thwack* The unwarranted assault that followed on her unprotected bottom was really entirely uncalled for if you asked Cara, which her mom did not do again. She literally said, “I’m not going to ask again, so if you decide you’re not okay with the way things are going you’re going to need to make that very clear. And that means telling me you’re going to be making some very big changes”. Not ready for those changes, Cara just lay over her mom’s lap and waited. It appeared that Cara was not, in fact, too old to be spanked. Nor too old to cry or too old to be layed down on her parents’ bed and to have her legs threaded through a pull-up before it was slid over her sore bottom. She also, it appeared, was not too old to be cuddled on her mother’s lap and rocked until her tears slowed down to hiccups. “Now Cara, I didn’t want to have to do that, I love you so much sweetie, and it’s all okay now, you’re my good girl and mommy is here”, Patrice soothed her crying daughter. If only it had stopped there. “But there need to be some changes in your attitude and behavior”, the larger woman went on. “I think we both can see that letting you pretend that you’re an independent adult while indulging your childish attitude and unhealthy behaviors is not working for you. So we are going to be doing this every time you throw a tantrum like that from now on. You can listen and do what you need to do when we tell you, or Dad or I can give you a little attitude adjustment and then we can try again”, she said in a loving tone that still somehow carried finality. Wait, what?! She meant she would seriously spank her like that again?! Was she crazy?! “M-mom”, Cara sniffled, still breathing in that stuttering post-sob way that made her feel even more like a toddler, “y-you don’t mean you’re gonna sp-gonna do that again!?”, she squeaked in surprise. Surely her mom was just trying to drill her point home, whatever point it was…? She was wearing the stupid pull-up. This whole thing was about the pullup! It was done! There wasn’t anything more to spank her over! “Yes Cara, if you need it I will spank you again. Or put you in timeout or whatever I think will help you most. I love you too much to let you keep behaving like a spoiled brat. I should have done this a long time ago, I see that now”, she said, lifting Cara by the armpits so she was standing, in just her blue tank top and purple floral pull-up, then lifting her chin so the smaller girl was looking up into her face. “I know you know this wasn’t simply about the pull-up. It’s about so much more than that. Of course you wouldn’t have a sore bum under the pullup if you had just listened to Mommy in the first place though…” Mae raised a brow at the girl, trying to drill home a concept that was completely lost on Cara. Well, there would be time to get through to her. “All you need to do to keep out of trouble is to listen and make good choices, sweetie”, she said, smiling and then kissing her daughter on the forehead before hooking one finger on the underwear, now pooled at Cara’s ankles and saying, “step”. Cara complied without conscious thought. She just knew that her pride and her butt couldn’t handle much more and wanted to leave all this behind. She could listen! If only that was enough to convince her mom she was overreacting, that she was taking things way too far. “Now, please put your shorts on and get in the car. We’ve left your dad and Ryan waiting long enough.” And as Cara scampered towards the door, glad to be leaving, Patrice glanced down at the small dark patch on the light grey fabric of her daughter’s underwear and sighed. After tossing the garment into the hamper and using the bathroom herself, she stopped to pull a few more rectangles loose from the soft plastic packet on the counter. They joined the single waiting pull-up in her purse that had been set aside already for the car ride home. Better to be safe than sorry, she thought.

Nothing Cara will be happy about. If Cara sat up and said, “wow, you’re right, I have been immature and unreasonable and see the error of my ways. I can’t believe you dealt with my ridiculous attitude this long”, there would be no need for anything else from mom. I mean there would also be no story though, so thank goodness she isn’t that mature...

Eh, she is pretty immature honestly. Maybe she does need a little attitude adjustment. Nothing is her fault, everyone else is being unreasonable when they don’t accommodate her or ask anything of her, and she doesn’t do much of anything for herself or others. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the girl, but she really might be a case where a little re-raising is necessary.

Part 2: Sighing resignedly, Patrice reached out for the waistband of Cara’s small denim shorts and tugged her closer. Stumbling at the unexpected pull, Cara let out a whining, yet surely dignified, “Moooooom!”, as she batted at her mother’s hands as they worked at the button of her shorts. “Cara, stop it”, came her mother’s firm command as she easily pushed her daughter’s hands away and undid the button then the zipper. “You’re acting like a toddler. I gave you the choice to put your pull-up on like a big girl and you decided to have a bit of a tantrum instead. Now I’m doing it for you”. With that she yanked the shorts down, leaving Cara blushing in her pale grey bikini briefs, denim pooled around her ankles. Remembering the small spurt of urine at her sister’s surprise entrance, Cara tensed. Still reeling at the undignified turn of events, she twisted sideways out of her mom’s reaching hands. “Mom! I’m not wearing it!”, she shouted, privacy forgotten as she bent to retrieve her fallen garment. And that was when her mother had had enough. She knew this, not simply because she said at that moment, in a firm tone, “that’s it, young lady, I’ve had enough”, but because of what she did next. One second Cara was bending over to reach for her shorts and the next she was falling face-first towards the ground. Her body was caught by the firm cushion of her mother’s lap as the larger woman’s hands pulled her onto it. “M-mom!”, Cara screeched, kicking her feet and trying to right herself, but finding nothing but air around her. Damned tall family. She was just turning her head to yell “mom, what the f*ck!?”-which was a reasonable response to being manhandled in the middle of a perfectly respectable and mature conversation- when her mother’s hand came down on her butt. Hard. Stunned, Cara let out a squeal of protest, flailing about only to feel a second spank landing on her rear, then a third as her mother lectured over her, “Cara, you are getting this spanking because your behavior is unacceptable”. On the word unacceptable, Patrice landed a spank for each syllable, earning Cara five more hard and embarsssing swats, three on one cheek, and two on the other. Cara let out a small squeek on the last and hardest spank, but it was honestly more embarsssing than painful. I mean, it’s not like the founding fathers had to deal with this crap when they asserted their independence from the king! Sure, there was the whole Revolutionary War, but at least that had dignity! This was surely outside of bounds of reasonable warfare. Not even letting her up, Patrice spoke then, in a softer tone, yet still carrying the unearned authority of someone with a hand still resting ominously on a warm butt. “Now, if I let you up are you going to put your pull-up on like a big girl?”, she asked. And surely she had to be joking. Cara hadn’t gone through all of this just to end up in those f*cking baby pants. Lest anyone think her above speaking out for what’s just, even before thinking things through, Cara, draped and twisting to see her jailor’s face, rolled her eyes before saying, “you’ve got to be joking! I’m not wearing those f*cking baby pan-ow!” She hadn’t meant to say that last sound, but before she had finished her righteous sentiment, her mom’s hand had raised and landed again. No regard for mature discussion! This was ridiculous! “Mom, I’m too old for a spanking! Stop it!” And her mom must have seen reason at last, because she did stop. Only the hand that had been berrating Cara’s butt was now working her underwear down, down, down towards her thighs, despite Cara’s flailing attempts to be unhanded. As she sighed, Patrice said, “you are certainly not too old for a spanking if you are behaving like this, young lady. I wouldn’t be doing my job as your mother letting you carry on with your cussing and stomping tantrum about something as reasonable as wearing protection”. Cara could feel the underwear stop at her knees as her mother continued talking, slower now, like she wanted every word to be understood. “Now”, her mom went on, “since I can’t trust you to tell me when you’re ready to get dressed, I’m going to spank your bottom until I think you’re ready and do it myself. That is unless you’re SUCH a grownup that you want me to stop acting as your mom?” With that, she raised a brow, and even from her slumped position, Cara knew she meant business. “And think carefully, Cara”, her mom went on, “because you don’t get to shout and pout about being a grownup and being in charge when you’re living under our roof and completely incapable of supporting yourself, or even making safe and healthy choices”. Did… did her mom mean she had to choose between a spanking and a pull-up or… what? Moving out?! That’s what it sounded like. I mean the threat of not going on the trip would be bad enough, but it sounded like her mom was really taking things to a new level. This was so unfair! Her mom knew that Cara only made minimum wage… she worked at her mom’s dental office for goodness sake! And she often didn’t even work more than the hours her mom could force her into. She took a few courses at the local community college, but usually only giving enough effort to keep her parents off her back. She only really kept the job or school because her mom made her and anyway, she needed money to have some semblance of a life. You know, like partying, shopping, all kinds of stuff. IPlus she could convince her parents to let her use the extra car when she went into the office or to classes. Sure, she would often be later that way than when she was dropped off by her dad or sister, but was it her fault that was the only time she got to use the car to go see people?! Her parents really were unreasonable. “Well Cara?”, her mom interrupted her thoughts. Wait, she really was asking. Like… asking permission? Asking Cara permission…T-to spank her? If she weren’t in the middle of… being spanked, Cara might have gloated a bit at the clear admission of her own adulthood that her mom’s question raised. She never asked her when she was a kid for permission to put her in timeout or push her bedtime up. This was surely making her point for her! But her mom was genuinely looking for an answer it seemed, and it felt like pointing that out wasn’t going to be the best course of action for Cara just then. See! She really could make mature decisions, there really was no need for this whole show of force. She bet her mom would realize how ridiculous she had been this whole time after hearing Cara’s demure, “y-you’re still my mom”. Expecting applause for her unprecedented show of maturity, or at the very least an apology for being so unreasonably treated, Cara smirked as her mom said, “good girl”. She knew she had given the right answer and she wondered if maybe she might get some kind of reward. Cara was not, however, ready for what her mom had in mind.

For you? I’ll do it tonight!

Good catch!!! I thought I changed it. She just got more and more immature as I wrote her so I made her younger. Must have missed that. 21. Doesn’t much matter

Part 1: “Mooooom, no! You’re being unreasonable!”, Cara practically growled at her mother, clenching her fists and stomping her foot to keep from shouting. If she did that then her younger sister would hear and the nosy brat would probably come to see what was happening. No, this was a matter better handled quietly. Unfortunately, their mother Patrice didn’t seem as bothered about her own volume. Speaking in a firm tone and not trying to whisper herself, she repeated, “Cara, remember last year? Do you want to have that happen again?” Of course Cara didn’t want that. Her blush betrayed the lingering humiliation from that summer day when her bladder had failed her on the long drive to her Uncle Luke’s lake house. “Th-that won’t happen this time though!”, Cara whined. How could her mom honestly think that was going to happen again?! That things would be like last year? It was a fluke! A nightmare scenario of too much juice and too long between rest stops. She had always had a small bladder, much like the rest of her, while her family was the opposite. Both her mom and dad were over 6 feet tall, and her cousins and siblings were all in that same league aside from the few youngest of the kids. Cara was used to being asked if she had been adopted, or treated as much younger than her sister. Her dad said she took after his great grandmother Daisy, who had been a mere 5-feet-tall, but that didn’t make her feel any less like the family baby when she needed step stools and help to reach things. And at a mere four-foot-eleven, Cara would sell her soul to be Daisy. At the reunion last year, not only had she arrived smelling faintly of pee, despite the water bottle shower she had taken, but also in a pair of pajama bottoms-they had been the first thing her mom had grabbed out of her suitcase when they had stopped at a rest area. When the family had insisted on heading out for dinner straight away, saying that she looked fine, that lots of kids wore pajamas out these days, Cara had felt like a toddler ready for bed, surrounded by her amazon-like family all dressed in mature daytime clothes. She had even spotted a family with two little girls dressed nearly identical to her, her simple pink top unfortunately blending seamlessly with her pink polka-dotted bottoms. “No, it won’t, because you’re going to be wearing protection just in case. It’s not a big deal honey. Now, do you need the potty before we go?”, her mom asked, not even blinking at the ridiculousness of the situation or the wording of her own question. “No”, Cara seethed, “I won’t. And I don’t need you to remind me to use the pot-the bathroom-like some little kid. I’m twenty-one years old, damnit!” Sure, she could stand to pee, she could almost always count on her bladder to have something in it, but this was NOT the time for concessions. She didn’t want her mom to think that she was helping Cara somehow, by reminding her to try when she might not otherwise have thought of it herself. She was twenty-one-years-old, damnit! She could assert her maturity first, then sneak into the bathroom on the guise of having “forgotten” something. Her mom didn’t need this victory. Cara scowled up at her mom to underline her immovability on the subject. A small part of her brain wanted to “hmph” right then and there, but she was a grownup, so she settled on setting her hands on her hips and planting her feet more firmly instead. And if it came off as another foot stomp? Well it would be a rightfully earned and very mature foot stomp at that! Patrice sighed, looking at her watch and betraying more than a hint of frustration. The argument had been going on for the last twenty minutes, after all, and the family had been aiming to be on the road half an hour ago. Okay, so maybe Cara had been the reason for the initial delay as well, but it wasn’t her fault that her parents insisted that she share a suitcase with her bratty little sister, Ryan. How was she supposed to be ready on time when Ryan kept moving things around on her?! And why should she bother folding things when Ryan was just going to complain about it and do it over for her anyway? She should honestly thank Cara for saving her a step. “Cara, this isn’t up for discussion. I thought you would be mature about this, but I’m not spending hundreds of dollars getting the car cleaned this year. You’re wearing the pull-ups if I have to put them on you myself. It’s that or you can stay home and I’ll call Mrs. Peters to come babysit”. Patrice underlined her threat by crossing her arms over her ample chest, flower-adorned pull-up still clutched in one of her fists. Damn, she was good. Cara froze in place. It had to be a bluff, right? Her mom wasn’t really going to put her in pull-ups for one accident. Well, Goodnites really, but same thing. And calling her old babysitter in on her? Did Mrs. Peters even still babysit? And there was no way she was missing this vacation. No way. B-but still! Okay so maybe the bill for the car cleaners had been a little higher than anticipated, and sure, it had been a huge inconvenience, making them hours late for what had turned out to be a surprise party for her dad, but pull-ups?! She had to call. No way was her mom going to go the nuclear route. She’d have to just deal with the fact that she wasn’t the boss of Cara anymore. That Cara was an adult, fully capable of not only keeping her pants dry, but calling her mother’s bluffs and making her own choices as well. “Mom, there’s no way in hell I’m wearing those. I’m an adult. You can’t make me”, Cara said, mustering as much finality as she could and crossing her own arms over her much smaller chest. “So you want me to call Mrs. Peters?”, Patrice shot back, holding her pose. Damn, she should play poker! “Mom, I’m not missing the trip. And I’m not wearing pull-th-those. And you’re not really in charge of me anymore”, Cara continued, fighting righteously for her inalienable adult right to make her own damned choices when it came to underwear and babysitters. “I’m an adult. S-so you can do what you want to do but you’re not going to get me to wear those”, Cara finished, dropping an imaginary mic in her own mind. Maybe this was honestly a good thing, this absurd and embarsssing showdown. She was chartering a new course in their mother-daughter relationship, asserting herself as an equal rather than some little kid. Surely her mom would respect her for this, maybe even thank her one day. The sound of someone clearing their throat ended the face-off and made Cara jump, feeling the tiniest spurt of urine escape into her panties. Shit. She had always had a nervous bladder and now she really needed to be sure her mom didn’t see her underwear or she would never let her go without protection for the drive. Glaring at the floor, Cara blushed as Ryan’s voice continued from the doorway; “sorry mom, Cara, I didn’t mean to… to interrupt, but dad is getting pretty antsy. He says if we don’t leave soon we are gonna have to meet them in town”. Stupid Ryan. Always playing the good sister, volunteering at the church daycare, getting awards at school, keeping her side of the room clean, being ready on time, passing messages for their parents. Meanwhile, it was all her fault that Cara had dribbled a bit into her underpants. So rude. Ryan, unlike Cara, actually looked like their parents too, her sleek blonde hair, curves and height serving as a taunting juxtaposition to Cara’s frizzy red bob and short, straight figure. Her mom’s voice broke Cara out of her simmering jealousy, dismissing Ryan as she tucked a strand of her own sleek blonde hair behind an ear. “Thank you honey, tell your father that we’ll be down in five minutes”, she said, then moved to sit on the edge of her bed next to where Cara stood. Cara was just looking up at the doorway to be sure Ryan was gone when her mother spoke in a clipped tone from the bed, “so what is it going to be, Cara? We need to get on the road”. What’s it going to be? Cara didn’t even fully understand the question. Clearly they had landed on “no way in hell” was Cara wearing the pullup. She was an adult for Christ’s sake. Had her whole speech about mom not being the boss of her anymore not just happened? Hadn’t the trumpeters been trumpeting and the drummers laying down a patriotic beat as she spoke on high about the new constitution she was pioneering here? She crossed her arms again and looked at her mother, who, sitting now as she was, was still significantly above Cara’s own sight line. That may have undermined Cara’s position. What happened next was worse though.

Part 7: Time seemed to stop. Or was it reality? Ivy didn’t know, only shame and shock filled her brain and body. It was a teeth clenching, gutteral wail coming from nearby that seemed to snap Ivy back into her body. Not that she particularly wanted to be in her own body right now, but having a complete break right then and there wasn’t advisable. There could still be a way out. She was a smart girl-no, woman! When Ivy took her next breath, ragged and heaving, she realized two things. First, that she had been holding her breath before that, and second, that her face was wet. “Shhhh shhhhh it’s okay, baby, it’s okay”, Karen shushed soothingly from above. Her Little must be waking up, Ivy realized, reaching up with her mittened hands to figure out why her face felt wet. Was it raining? The slight peek of sky she could see beyond the smiling cloud decals looked just as sunny as when she had boarded. Just as she was noting this she felt something part her lips before she fully saw a female Amazon’s hand pulling away, patting her head before fully retreating. Ivy’s tongue probed at the thing now invading her lips, grateful that the previously-mewling little above had been pacified for the time being, at least enough so that she could think. Could figure out that-*suck*- that it was a soft, silicone nipple… a pacifier, now sitting between her lips. Her mittened hands pawed at the shield but again were distracted by the dampness nearby, wiping instead at her sore eyes as *suck*. The pacifier bobbed between her lips as her mouth subconsciously suckled at it, some ancient lizard brain inside of her being soothed by the gentle action. A quiet chuckle overhead reminded her that she wasn’t alone. And though she knew the woman was likely still focused on her own fussy Little, Ivy quickly fought the urge to spit the pacifier out. It would be so much worse if Karen thought she needed it inflated… if Ivy could just convince her that she- *suck* -that she liked the thing *suck* maybe that would mean she could keep some control over it. *suck* Over this… this *suck* this thing. This-*suck*-damnit, why was this so soothing?! “There now honey, that’s much better, isn’t it?”, Karen asked, probably mooning over her own bab-Little, Ivy knew. Ivy actually smiled to herself slightly at the irony. If Karen knew that she was similarly calming down from her own near-meltdown, from such a mortifying accident… well, thank goodness Karen was too distracted by the other Little’s feelings to notice. Ivy sent up a silent thank you to the quieted Little that she wouldn’t turn to see. It would be too much to see her there, to see her potentially wearing those matching mittens Karen had mentioned, perhaps her own pacifier perched between suckling lips. Well, Ivy thought, still sucking on the teat in her mouth, now more rhythmically, this one was technically the other Little’s as well. Not that Ivy could see the woman taking it back. I mean not that Ivy needed it or anything though… maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have one of her own… I mean, you know… j-just for camouflage. But still, to see herself reflected there would be too much. Too real. Her body still felt disconnected from her brain as it was. Even after the wetting had stopped and her breathing evened out, the shock was still coursing through her, jelly replacing her bones and a cool sensation settling near her core. Well, at least it was distracting her slightly from the warmth in her pullup, she decided, too afraid to shift in the bit of space she now had, free from the restraints. She didn’t need any reminders that the garment below was saturated in her own urine. But… the cool sensation was odd. Now that she was feeling more aware of herself, it was taking her a second to figure out just what that feeling was. It was on her thighs mostly. Maybe it was because the buckle was undone? She didn’t want to look. Then she would be forced to see the soggy pull-up that felt like it had swelled to five times its’ size. She still didn’t know what to do, how to avoid being captured and “adopted” at this point. Beyond that, how was she going to get her mittens off before getting to work? She could remove the sodden pullup no problem, though the accidents and everything about this bus ride had unsettled her to the extreme. What would happen if she had another accident and didn’t have a pull-up to protect her? “Why didn’t I bring a spare pull-up”, Ivy thought to herself, then immediately blushed at the thought. She didn’t need a spare. This wasn’t going to happen again. She could just take this one off in a bathroom somewhere and go commando. Maybe there would be a coffee shop near the building. She could try to blend in with the busy morning amazons and sneak her way in to change. Then… she still had no way to get the mittens off, but she’d have to figure it out. When the bus lurched to a standstill at the next stop, a large hand held Ivy firmly against the seat, just as secure as the harness seatbelt had been moments before. She sucked harder on the pacifier as the woman lifted her from the seat and settled her-not on the floor of the bus, but rather on her own hip. “Ut ou oin?! I ca wat!” she blurted out, frowning, too slow to realize the issue. Karen pulled the pacifier from her mouth with a subtle pop and a line of saliva stretching out from the bulb and landing on Ivy’s chin. Ivy blushed, wiping at the drool with her pink mittens before starting again, “u-umm… I-I don’t need h-help anymore, th-thank you. I can walk now”. As she spoke, she looked across the mountainous breasts of the Amazon and noticed that there was no second head there, no little settled on the other hip. Ivy frowned and looked down a bit before noticing the baby sling and feeling a bit of queasiness. The little inside was dozing peacefully, indeed wearing matching pink mittens and sucking on a pacifier. B-but hadn’t she just been crying a few minutes ago? Hadn’t her momm-the Amazon- Ivy caught herself even in her own thoughts-been soothing her just now? Her eyes didn’t betray any redness or tears, and she smiled a little in her deep slumber as Karen’s voice broke through Ivy’s haze. “Oh honey, I know you want to be a big girl and do it all on your own, but sometimes we all need a little help, right?”, Karen said. The words were both kind and fair and didn’t even seek to make Ivy feel like more of a baby. What was happening? “Now”, the larger woman continued, suddenly popping the pacifier back into Ivy’s mouth, Ivy not even noticing how readily she opened for it, how quickly she took to suckling at the bulb again as the woman spoke, somehow soothing the anxiety that had been building in her gut since the accident. “I can take this exit and then walk a few blocks to my own office, it’s no problem. We don’t want just anyone to scoop up such a little sweetie like you before you get to your mommy”. Karen suddenly frowned and shifted Ivy a little away from her, smiling a second later with a rueful chuckle. “Uh oh, it looks like somebody sprung a leak!”, she said, indicating the small dark patch on her blue collared blouse. Ivy looked down at the spot,then followed the woman’s gaze to her own pants and the much larger half-moon patches blooming from each side of her sodden pullup. She had… leaked?! Ivy started to whimper, afraid of the woman’s reaction, already feeling the phantom sting of Karen’s hand falling on her bottom for this inconvenience. She sucked at the pacifier and didn’t even bother to try to pull it out as she tried to apologize, quickly working herself into a panic that made the little next to her in the sling shift in her sleep. “I-i’n showwy! I-I I-in’ meam ooo!” She tried, only for the woman to settle her right back against her shirt, this time near her shoulder, shooshing and patting her soggy bottom, seemingly completely unconcerned about the grown woman’s urine seeping into her shirt further. “Shhhh, shhhhhh, it’s okay baby, I know, I know you didn’t mean to!”, she said, rubbing little circles on Ivy’s back. And it felt better, Ivy admitted. It felt nice to have this comfort that she refused to indulge in, never wanting to seem immature, shrugging off hugs from friends and relatives and shifting to shake their hands instead. Ivy found herself leaning her cheek into the woman’s warm shoulder, found her mittened hands reaching up to rest on her swollen breasts, and slowly found herself calming as she was rocked and patted, rubbed and shooshed. Ivy sucked at the pacifier and let the woman comfort her, and even as she could feel that they were moving, she simply closed her eyes and turned her face so that it was hidden in the soft yet stiff fabric of Karen’s shoulder. A gruff voice spoke from nearby then, “oh, I was just coming to get her out of the car seat, but it looks like she got a lift”. The driver. Part of her brain bucked against the calm that was settling over her, saying that she should feel embarrassed to be seen like this. That she could have avoided everything with Karen if she had just waited for the driver. Of course they wouldn’t just leave her there, he had asked for her destination after all! But the exhausted and overwhelmed part of her brain-and that part was much larger by now-admitted that this was far less horrible than she had envisioned, that some of it was kind of… nice. She didn’t have to stress about the next step because Karen would handle it. She didn’t have to struggle to get down from the car seat, didn’t have to figure out how to deboard the bus without falling onto the pavement. Didn’t have to change herself, Karen would take care of that too… after all, Ivy was too little to handle it all on her own.

Part 7: “Shhhhh shhhh, it’s okay sweetie, it’s okay”, Karen repeated, as though Ivy’s legitimate existential nightmare could be soothed with shushing. “I’m gonna help you out, but your mommy works on Waverley”, the Amazon said slowly as though this explained things clearly, as though Ivy was the crazy one for not knowing that a sadistic kidnapper wasn’t going to sadistically kidnap her. “The next stop is Avolino, honey. Remember? One, two then your stop”, Karen said, raising one, then two fingers. Ivy ground her jaw. She stared sulkily at the simple buckle preventing her from escaping this wretched contraption. The bus stopped, feet shuffled, voices ebbed and flowed. The Little sleeping nearby grunted in her sleep then the sounds of her suckling returned. The doors shut with a ‘pfffffft’ and an unpleasant odor wafted towards Ivy. Suddenly Karen was sniffing loudly before saying, “uh oh… I know what that means…did somebody make their mommy a present?” Ivy stared straight ahead, blushing as she considered how close she actually was to the grown woman who had likely just sh*t herself. It was a mix of revulsion and pity that kept her steadfastly staring away from the bundled Little in the woman’s arms, even as the Amazon seemed to be shifting her closer towards Ivy as she cooed, “does somebody have a poopy booty? Hmm?”. Jaw clenched, leaning as far towards the bus window as the straps would allow, Ivy could do little more than stare up at the sliver of sky that was her only view from this wretched contraption. At least it’s turning out to be a sunny day, Ivy thought grimly, just as the woman fully invaded her space in the attempt to check her Little’s diaper. Was she purposely trying to rub her fellow Little’s shame in Ivy’s face?! “Eep!” Ivy squealed in surprise as the woman’s face was suddenly level with her own. Karen ignored the mittened hands that quickly reached to shield Ivy’s face, but the long, exaggerated sniff that she heard wasn’t aimed at her face. “Hmm, you’re clean too? Must just be toots”, the woman mused, clearly not expecting an answer from the furiously blushing girl. Which was perhaps the only blessing, seeing as how Ivy had suddenly lost the connection between her brain and mouth. She didn’t think she could have formed words if she tried. Rising back to a standing position, the woman’s fingers deftly probed her crotch for a moment before Ivy could feel a deeper pressure on her bladder. It felt like she might burst, and Ivy feared that she couldn’t hold on, that this Amazon was doing this on purpose just to be cruel, but a second later she could hear a click and felt a sudden release of that same pressure. The seatbelt. Somehow the release of pressure was worse than the pressure itself though. Ivy’s bladder seemed to give in just as the seatbelt did, and she felt a deluge of hot urine flow into her pull-up. It seemed to come out faster than she could think to clench her muscles, simply pushing her mittened hands to the expanding garment in an absurd and pointless attempt to stem the flow. But as Karen moved on to undo the clip on Ivy’s chest, she chuckled knowingly. “Oh sweetie, it’s okay. Your mommy won’t be mad, I’m sure she knows it’s too long a ride to expect you to keep your uppies dry”.

Part 6: “Wait! I don’t need theeeeese!”, Ivy squeaked, pouting even more at how much like a whiny little girl she sounded. “I-I need my hands!!!”, she said, this time pleadingly, tears welling up to betray her further. Ivy couldn’t help it though, not when showing up in these would mean losing the job and almost certainly being adopted. She’d be a walking target without even the use of her fingers to help her! This could be even worse than a Pacifier “Shhhh don’t worry sweetie!”, the woman said, actually chuckling slightly at Ivy’s desperation, her panic as she looked at her mittened hands in front of her. “I didn’t take your hands, sweetie, I promise, they’re right here under your pretty mitties! Those will help you stop biting on your fingers, but your hands are right there still”. As she said this, she gently squeezed Ivy’s left mittened hand as if to demonstrate that it still existed. Ivy could feel the squeeze through the padded mit, but didn’t even know how to respond to this woman. She couldn’t say no to her, she would surely double down if Ivy did that, especially based on her response from before. Ivy would have to walk a fine line. She could pretend she was grateful, she decided quickly. Reverse psychology and sweet innocence. Maybe even say her mommy had some for her at her stop. “B-but they’re your… pretty mittens… I-i don’t want to take them from your-“ Ivy stopped short. She didn’t know what to call the grown woman in a diaper. She couldn’t let this Amazon think she wasn’t adopted after all or to doubt her mommy’s parenting style too much more than she already did, but she couldn’t make herself say daughter or baby or little girl either. One call to LPS because this woman thought Ivy’s mommy too lenient or even neglectful would spell the end for her. “-from you. I can’t take them from you, they’re so nice”. She settled on vagueness. Looking sweetly up at the woman she tried to look as innocent as possible. “Thank you so much for letting me use them! But I wouldn’t want to take them and then leave-leave… you without” she said. The woman beamed down on her and patted her head. “Oh what a little sweetie you are!”, she said. “Such nice manners”, she nodded approvingly. “But DeeDee has plenty of pretty mitties, don’t you Dee? Oh did somebody fall asleep? That’s okay babygirl”, the woman said quietly down at the blonde head Ivy could just make out, gently swaying. “Well she has plenty, especially pink ones. Those actually came in a set! So you two can be twins. So don’t worry at all, honey you can keep these!” She said, thinking this would be welcome news, a sort of treat for the smaller woman. Ivy frowned and pulled a bit against the restraints. “I- I don’t…”, “b-but” she started and stopped. She settled into the seat resignedly. She could figure out how to get out of them after she got off the bus, she thought, knowing that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with ‘Karen’ on the topic. In her mind she’d done Ivy a huge favor and even given her a treat. She’d made her bed, made it sound like she liked the mittens, would even want them if not for the inconvenience on Karen, and now she had to lie in it. “O-oh. Th-thank you”, she muttered through a gritted jaw. “Um c-can you please help me undo this seatbelt?”, she asked sweetly, trying to hide her disappointment. “Hmm? Oh… nope” Karen asked, looking away then back towards Ivy. Nope? Had she not heard properly? What did she mean ‘nope’?! Kicking at the seat in front of her, Ivy fought her restraints, whining, “wait, b-but you… y-you saaaaaaid!”. “Shhhhh shhhh, it’s okay sweetie, it’s okay, no need for a tantrum” Karen said. And the chill that ran down Ivy’s spine didn’t match the taller woman’s smiling face or her sweet tone. Sorry guys, I have this one written but I had a bunch of stuff going on that made posting tough. Shouldn’t be such a big wait next update.

Oh man, you are an EXCELLENT writer. Legitimately. This story is so good and you actually use so many great plot tools and great transitions it got me back to writing and out of a block PLUS it just feels legitimately good to read your work so I even got back into reading general novels! Sooooo you’re kind of a big deal to me at least 🤣 one of my top writers!!! Don’t get hung up on age, that’s for a reader to work through. Anyone here knows that it is just a plot tool and that we are basically imagining ourselves as the role of the “child” in question and not condoning any parenting methods or imaging this happening to a real child but ourselves as adult-children looking back- in a fantasy world🤣. Confusing but safe! You are a genuinely good writer and your story is great! 👍🏼 👍🏼👍🏼 thank you so so much for writing it, it genuinely made my day to see this was here!

Part 5: Thankfully, the Amazon seemed to consider Ivy too immature to be worth much more of a lecture… or a more hands-on method. Or to know better on her own. “But it’s not your fault, honey, I’m sure any Little would be fussy in a soggy pull-up, worried about finding a potty or leaking. That’s much too much for someone as little as you to worry about!”, she said, looking around her. “Is your mommy or daddy here or are you going to meet them?”, she asked, realizing that the Little wasn’t being held or flanked by Amazons. Perhaps the pull-up and the image of her in this infantile seat had saved her from jumping to the idea that Ivy was a free little, still independent and neither with nor going towards a parent. “I-I’m… I’m going to my mommy’s job!” Ivy blurted out, quickly deciding that was the best lie. She didn’t see any way of convincing this woman that she was an adult, that Littles were anything more than children at best and infants more likely. “B-but I can’t get out! This is my stop!”, she said, a bit more quickly now that she had the woman’s attention, could perhaps convince her to help Ivy escape this seat and this bus and her terrifying presence all in one go. The woman seemed to believe Ivy’s lie about meeting her mommy, and quickly looked up at the indescipherable screen above her head with an arched eyebrow. “Does your mommy work on Dorsey Avenue, honey?”, she asked now, turning towards the bus doors before looking at Ivy, concerned. Dorsey? Was it possible that she had been so distracted that she had been that far off in her count? Or had they made extra stops? Maybe she had counted a traffic light or two? She hadn’t accounted for not being able to see anything in this dumb seat. She realized suddenly that had she been able to make it off here, she would never have made it to work in time. Feeling simultaneous senses of relief and worry, confusion and a bit of disbelief, she mumbled back, “ummmm n-no. Waverly” “What street was that sweetie?”, the woman asked, looking patiently down at Ivy, who realized after a second of confusion why the clarification was needed. Her panic had driven her middle finger back towards her gnawing teeth and she hadn’t even realized that she was still biting at the skin near the cuticle, even as she spoke. Blushing, Ivy pulled her finger away from her mouth and tried to wipe the remaining saliva away discreetly on her pants. “Wa-averly”, she said, gaining confidence as the name came out. Perhaps things would be okay. This woman could stop the bus for her, could help her out of her seat when they got to the right stop. As much as it pained her for the woman she had decided to call ‘Karen’ in her mind, to believe she was just another dependent little, she knew it was the least of all potential issues. That Karen thought she was cared for by a “real” grownup Amazon mommy whom she was going to meet, that she considered her already claimed… that could be the best protection for Ivy. Pride be damned. “Okay little one, I’ll help you out when we get to that stop, okay? There’s two more streets before that one. Can you count to two?”, she asked, leaning slightly out of Ivy’s range of sight as she quietly bounced and shushed the little in her arms who had suddenly started squirming. She could have just said three. Maybe she honestly didn’t think Ivy could count to three? Oh god, she really must think Littles were just babies. Ivy was still sulking about this slight when the woman looked back towards her with a baby wipe in hand. “Now let’s get these yucky fingies aaaaaaall clean”, she said, enveloping Ivy’s fingers with the soft and damp cloth that smelled of baby powder. “No more fingers in our mouth, okay, honey”, she admonished gently as she worked, pausing and then stopping at Ivy’s small wince as the wipe ran over an especially tender spot. Looking more closely at Ivy’s raw cuticles and the skin all around them, Karen frowned as though hurt herself as she said, “oh no sweetie, you have some owie boo boos on your fingers already from sucking on them. Did your mommy pack your paci?” The woman asked, looking judgingly at the purse Ivy carried, then fishing for something in her own diaper bag. Dread filling her heart at the idea of being given a pacifier only to have it inflated in her mouth, sandwiching her tongue to the bottom of her mouth, effectively leaving her mute and trapped that way until an Amazon chose to release the guard, Ivy found herself even more panicked, breath quickening as she tried to talk herself out of the inevitable. She had no idea what to do. No idea how to get herself out of this. “I-I don’t- WAIT!” Ivy said, eyes squinting shut and hands covering her own mouth for protection as the woman’s hands came back into view, something colorful and small held there as it neared Ivy’s face then- “Aaaaaand there we go, all better!”, Karen said, smoothing a bandaid over the worst of Ivy’s cuts, the one near the tip of her middle finger. Ivy let out a sigh of relief at this development and her eyes focused in on the bandaid as the woman continued, “see sweetie, bandaids aren’t scary right? You did such a good job, baby”. And as Ivy took in the cheery rainbow bandage, trying to identify the characters smiling back at her, the woman reached out again and slid something soft and pink over the bandaid before Ivy could protest… over Ivy’s whole hand, then the same with the other, her quick move to evade and to remove the mitten not even registering as the woman finished her task even while holding her own little to her side.

🤣oh man, this is so true though. New story, “For The Good of the Many”. A politician, hoping for reelection, proposes a new campaign idea to appease voters who think her stance too biased against Littles. The top-secret project, only discussed with her top advisors and inner circle, would seek to identify one high-profile Amazon to receive full-baby treatment in a humiliatingly public way to ensure the party would be seen as equal-opportunity in their treatment of certain behaviors, regardless of size. Of course, according to her, since Amazons are inherently more mature, this individual would need to not only meet certain criteria, but may need to be… helped along in their “behaviors”. I wouldn’t want to be the one. It’s all for the good of the many though, of course. 😉

Part 4: “Well what’s all this ruckus about, cutie pie?”, the woman asked in a syrupy tone usually reserved for small adorable animals or very young children. Neither of which described Ivy, but she knew it was for her benefit as a Little. Ivy hesitated. This was the exact type of woman she had learned to avoid. There were no safe interactions with Amazons such as these. The fact of her having already kidnapped another smaller adult to turn into a baby didn’t automatically protect Ivy. There were plenty of Amazons who “adopted” two or more Littles, especially in the more affluent cities like this. This corner of Amazonia, ever behind in matters of Littles Rights unless they were stripped down to little more than pandering and further oppression, had failed to enact limits on “Little Adoptions” per Amazonian household. Other cities had limits in place, though whether for the sake of the Littles or due to a shortage of adoptable Littles, who could say for sure. Either way, there were no limits here. This woman could be out with the sole intent of looking for a sibling for her “daughter” today for all Ivy knew. By the end of the day she could find herself on the woman’s right hip in a matching tutu and bow to the drooling adult she knew was mere feet away from her, barely out of sight. The woman tilted her head at Ivy’s hesitation, then smiled knowingly, like she had just figured out something oh-so-simple that she should have known from the get. Her face disappeared from view, but a second later reappeared, now from beside Ivy. Cold sweat broke out over Ivy’s body at the threat of this huge woman looming over her fully restrained form. “Are you fussy because you’re soggy, sweetie?”, she asked in a gentle voice, but didn’t wait for Ivy’s stuttering gibberish to fully form before reaching her hand forward and groping the Little’s crotch, or more specifically the pull-up there. “Oh dear, did your mommy really let you wear an uppie, honey? You’re not too soggy, but what a silly idea”, she said, tutting quietly. “She’s going to have to take off your pretty shoes and your pants for every change today”, she mused aloud as Ivy’s brain faltered along with her heart. “So much work just so you can play dressup as a big girl”, she said, booping Ivy’s nose playfully. “Someone must be a bit of a Princess, huh?” The smile seemed sweet and playful, but the words were weapons. Ivy didn’t know how to parry. “U-ummm I don’t… I’m not… I don’t have… Ivy tried and failed to respond coherently before finally taking a deep steadying breath and getting out, “I-I just need the driver!”, deciding to sidestep the woman’s comments entirely. The woman, sensing her urgency, played along with raised eyebrows, a heightened pitch to her condescending tone. “Oh no, honey do you need the potty?” She asked, looking around her. Ivy’s furious blush about how this wasn’t far off did not help sway the woman away from her line of thinking. “Well that just goes to show you how much better it is to just let your mommy put you in your diapers instead of these ridiculous trainers”, she frowned. “Is she here? It’s okay if you make tinkles in your uppies, honey, but we can’t bother the nice driver just because you want to play pretend at being potty trained. There are lots of grownups who need to get to their jobs and we can’t just-“ she pushed right on and only stopped when Ivy kicked out at the seat again, shrieking a bit as she felt the bus pulling up to the next stop. Potentially her stop. “NOooo!” That simple word was surely the worst that Ivy could have chosen, and she knew that before it had fully left her lips in a sense of panic and frustration, feeling everything slip away. Every Little, free or adopted had learned from a young age to avoid that very word. At least when dealing with Amazons. As a kid, Ivy had gotten in more trouble at school for saying “no” than for reading the word that Johnny Mathis had claimed he couldn’t sound out when he wanted to trick the girl into trouble. And that one had been a “naughty” word. The Amazon woman’s frown deepened and she looked somehow both taken aback and like she had expected something like this all along. Her response, while not a surprise, was chilling. Worse than a string of Johnny approved expletives could have spurred. “Little girl”, she said, leaning closer and speaking quietly but no less firmly, her tone still honeyed. If anything it was more menacing now. “We do not yell at grownups and we do not say, “no” to mommy”. Ivy gulped as she could have sworn a tiny spurt of urine joined the wet patch of her padding.

Hmmm 🤔 could be… could be… Oh no, that would be highly inappropriate to do to an actual adult. If an adult has an issue they handle it or someone helps them handle it with as much dignity as possible. If a bab-I mean Little- has an issue, it just serves to show that pretending they are adults is unhealthy. There is no such thing as diaper discipline in this DD universe because it isn’t discipline to put a little back in diapers, it’s just logical. Any abdl Amazons here are probably skulking around Amazon Reddit being like, “am I the only one?”. Y’know, like us.

Chapter 3: Still pouting over the childish stamp, Ivy pondered how to best get into the ridiculous contraption above. She knew that she would need help for this part, that even if she could somehow manage to get up into the seat on her own, that she wouldn’t be able to maneuver the “Little Safe” buckles by herself. Time for another round of “who is least likely to torture or kidnap me”, Ivy thought glumly, wondering if this job was really worth it if it was going to put her at this much risk. But Ivy was saved from the task of finding help when she suddenly felt a lurching sensation in her stomach and saw the world around her drop quickly. It took her half a second to realize that she was being lifted under the armpits and set into the car seat and another half second to ascertain that it was the gruff driver, having moved to stand behind her while she was lost in thought. In that span of a second, the absolute terror that had gripped her, the worst case fears that had somehow simultaneously been confirmed sapped the will to fight from her body and left her limp and lightheaded, limbs feeling like jelly as the man’s large fingers buckled her in tightly without a word. Worse still, was the slight spurt of urine that had escaped in that moment of pure panic. She had stemmed the flow as soon as she felt it, but the damage had been done, that tiny spot feeling like a confirmation of everything the amazons thought of her. At least she had the pull-up on, she thought glumly. It took a few stops for Ivy’s heart to calm and for the feeling to come back to her extremities, and in that time she began to notice more about her surroundings. She was buckled into her seat by a five point harness, she noticed, feeling the tight straps against her crotch and blushing at the small squishy spot she hoped was smaller than it felt. It had been rapidly absorbed by the thirsty padding and Ivy wondered if she would notice it at all had she not felt it happening. That thought alone led to another round of blushing and squirming. Freezing in place, Ivy was met with a darker shame as she realized that it honestly didn’t feel so bad… actually felt good rubbing against her, pressed tight to her body by the seatbelt. Averting her eyes from her own subtly bulging crotch, Ivy looked beyond her shameful car seat. Facing backwards and angled as it was, Ivy wasn’t left with much to see. There was the dark fabric of her seat back, or rather the back of the seat on which her own infantile seat was affixed, the roof of the bus made up of shiny chrome and a digital display flashing a sequence of incomprehensible numbers and letters. She had somehow managed to squeak out a meek “w-waverly” when the driver had asked for her stop, but she had no idea how she was to know if it was near with her view and movement obscured so completely. She couldn’t see beyond the sides of the squishy seat, and the slice of sky she could make out beyond cutesy cloud shaped shades suction cupped to her window was no indication of where she was beyond an occasional flash of tree or building. Of course Ivy had prepared for this bus trip, had scoured the bus maps and tried to make sense of the strange Amazonian shorthand codes that somehow signified various coordinates and stops. Though the latter had proven frustratingly impossible, Ivy had managed to count the stops, memorizing them with a mnemonic: All Littles Deserve A Sense Of Security Despite Amazons’ Perverted Wishes. It was a fitting way to recall the names of her boarding street-Archer and the nine others; Langley, Diedre, Auckley, Sullivan, Othello, Silva, Dorsey, Avolino, and Pennington, before her own stop, Waverly place. The only problem was that her brief terror and full body reboot had taken her mind off that task and left her now wondering whether they were currently on stop three, Auckley Avenue, or stop four, Sullivan St. Gnawing at a bit of skin on the tip of her finger she remembered the city planning having been explained to her by a teacher once, some ornate plan that utilized triangles and some kind of complicated grid patterning overlay that was supposed to be the most modern and efficient city design of its kind. Her Amazonian classmates had seemed to understand this quickly enough that the few students seeming lost, mostly Littles and a few in-betweeners, hadn’t been enough to warrant the teacher going over the concept another time. Now, smoothly rolling along, the doors opening and closing at each stop, Ivy felt a different sense of panic closing in as she tried to decipher the confusing gibberish sliding by on the digital screen along the edge of the ceiling. It might as well have been another language, she thought, letting out a frustrated grumble behind her pointer finger, which she realized she had moved onto assaulting with her teeth. Pulling the digit from her mouth and wiping it on her pants, she felt a new wave of dissapointment in herself. She had the terrible habit of wolf-biting as it was called, and no amount of conditioning or terrible tasting sprays had broken her of it, try as she might. She had been far too wary of the hypnosis her doctor, an inbetweener, had recommended, so she still sported the often bleeding and raw cuticles and even fingertips that proved her a failure at breaking the habit to all around. Sometimes she would bandage her worst picked-over and nibbled fingertips in bandaids as a deterrent, but this often led to more questions from strangers than the tiny injuries that burned her fingers-yet were not too noticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking closely. The stops were getting closer together now, and more people were getting on at each one. Not that Ivy could see anyone. But the sound of footsteps, conversations, curt greetings and movement were enough to tell her that the bus was filling up a bit. It seemed like they had made it into the city proper now, and Ivy strained against her restraints, trying to spot any sign as to which stop they might be at. It was either Avolino or Pennington street they were on by now, which left a huge weight in her stomach. If it was Avolino then the next stop would be Pennington… then her stop. But if it was already Pennington like she thought it could be… then the next stop was her’s. If she got off too soon or too late she would risk being late for work as well as putting herself out on one of the busier Amazon frequented streets alone in a slightly damp pull-up, late for work. Prime pickings for eager adoptive parents as the amazons would call them, or sadistic kidnappers as Ivy saw them. Losing this job would also mean potentially losing her apartment, losing her whole life of independence one way or another. As she spiraled through the rabbit hole of worst case scenarios, Ivy heard the doors pressing closed and felt the bus begin to move again. Figuring that it would feel better to get off one stop too soon rather than one too late, Ivy quickly decided that she would take the next stop, whether that turned out to be Waverly or the too early Pennington. The slight relief of having made a decision at all was quickly bulldozed by the realization that Ivy had no way of signaling a stop or getting out of the restraints on her own. There was no obvious button or pull cord or light she could flip to signal to the driver, she realized. Last time she had ridden the bus, Al had simply signaled her stop for her. Why hadn’t she thought to look this up? Why hadn’t she paid better attention that night to how he had done it. Now, as much as she hated to admit it, she felt small and alone, and isolated in the plush seat. Finding herself gnawing on a rough patch of skin at the side of her middle finger, Ivy quickly pulled her hand back and towards the buckle at her crotch. Her hands worked at the button and pulled at the straps as she frantically tried to free herself from their confines. They were too tight to slide her shoulders free, too firmly clipped into the buckle, which showed no hint of movement no matter how hard Ivy pressed. And that feeling of being trapped, the pressure on her lower abdomen… it wasn’t helping to distract her bladder from the fact that it wasn’t empty. She wasn’t desperate, but that spurt from earlier seemed to have teased her bladder, making it yearn for full release sooner than it might otherwise. Panting now from the exertion of her pathetic escape attempt, Ivy tried to calm herself while also working up the nerve to do the unthinkable. “U-um…E-excuse m-me?” She squeaked, knowing it wasn’t nearly loud enough for the driver to hear. Even with the quiet technology of the city busses, there would still be the chatter of other passengers and the distance between them to contend with. “E-excuse me?” She tried again, louder this time. Nothing. “S-sir?” She tried, louder still. “Driver, Sir?” “Excuse me!” Still nothing Kicking her feet at the base of the seat behind her and groaning slightly, she was starting to feel desperate so she yelled this time, “DRIVERRR!” Someone nearby stopped talking and a second passed before an Amazon woman’s face, flanked by shoulder-length blonde locks came into view over Ivy’s seat. The woman’s slight frown ticked upwards as her eyes fell on Ivy, and Ivy could see the edge of a pink bow and a head of blonde curls moving near the woman’s left shoulder. Crap. Not her. Not really a full section but I’m sick and struggling with pacing so that’s what ya get 🤣

Chapter 2: Taking the bus wasn’t something new to Ivy, being that Littles in this part of the world weren’t allowed the privilege of driving, but she did try to limit this to only when absolutely necessary. Sighing, she reminded herself silently that this was absolutely necessary. Her new job was across the city, much too far for Ivy to walk, and the cost of a ride share would eat into her earnings more than she could afford. It wasn’t the cost of the buses that bothered Ivy-no, they were free for all littles and even in-betweeners under 5’5. She was reminded of this by the bright pink bus pass she held in her left hand, already pulled free of her wallet. Always on the defensive, Ivy knew to avoid being seen struggling to free it, thought too immature to be prepared, and snatched up by some impatient Amazon waiting to board behind her. No, Ivy instead held the bright card tightly like a kindergartener worried about going to the right room, too nervous to put down their room assignment. She couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting nervously to it, seeing the bold and colorful lettering at the top proudly declaring her a “Little Rider” complete with what looked like crayon drawings of a bus and a city street along with fluffy clouds and a smiling sun. Nor was the problem the buses themselves, being immaculately kept and serviced using the finest of Amazonian clean technologies. No, Ivy thought sullenly, walking to the bus stop just around the corner from her front door, it was the not-so-little matter of finding an “appropriate” seat for a Little such as herself. See, Ivy’s definition differed greatly from the amazons who made the busses and set the legislation regarding transportation safety guidelines. With the ever-changing laws one thing remained constant, the agreement that Little’s needed special accomodations in public settings. Now one could hear that and think, “well? Of course they do, they’re significantly smaller. By size alone they must need stools or extra time to get places, modified seating, and other adjustments. There’s nothing wrong with giving people the tools they need to make the city accessible to them”. Accomodations, after all, aren’t bad in and of themselves. Certainly Ivy enjoyed the stools and handles and the half steps or ramps that some public buildings included for ease of use by littles. The easy-open doors, and lowered sensors on automatic entryways in certain places meant she could walk into a store without waiting for an Amazon to come by and help. The lowered elevator panels or even simply included pointers (meant to increase a Little’s reach for those panels), in some progressive buildings were a godsend for any Little. No, it wasn’t that all accomodations were bad, but rather that so many laws were passed by poor actors under the guise of accommodations for Little safety. Surely a Little should not be left to stand on a city bus when they could be jostled or trampled by the much taller riders, right? Everyone was in agreement about that, even Ivy. But when the many laws for Little Safety in Transportation passed unanimously, hidden, and not-so-hidden in the layers were the many injustices she would soon face twice every weekday, all under the guise of keeping her safe. She hung back from the crowd of early morning commuters, the only Little there. Well, the only free little. There were several Amazons and two in-betweeners, but no one close to Ivy’s size, save for a small grown woman dressed in a pink tutu and matching onesie. She was sucking contentedly on a similarly pink pacifier while an Amazon absentmindedly patted her diapered behind and rocked her side to side without breaking her conversation with an Amazon man sitting under the sleek metal roof of the bus stop shelter. Standing just beyond the edge of the structure, Ivy grimaced up at the diapered Little. At least she would be spared the indignity of being held by a stranger like she was on her last bus trip, she thought, since she was the only little here who would need one of the Little seats. Shivering slightly, Ivy recalled that night this past September when she had been forced to take a city bus home from a concert with her college friends. She had boarded and seen the only Little-safe seats all occupied. She had been forced to walk down the aisle to choose someone to ask if she could sit on their lap. It wasn’t that she wanted to do that, but it was the only other way a Little was allowed to ride. Even if there had been an empty Amazon seat, she wouldn’t be allowed to sit in it unless held in the arms of an Amazon. Not because of size, though thats how they justified it, but because without the “appropriately” fitted Little seat, she wouldn’t be trusted without the grip of a mature adult to be sure she was safe for the duration of her ride. Shivering slightly, she recalled that night… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “For the safety of Littles, please be advised that in accordance with statute 42b all Littles must be safely secured in either a Little Rider Safety Seat or held securely by an Amazon rider” staring up at this sign above the driver’s head, Ivy didn’t feel safe. Quite the opposite, she thought, as she nervously made her way deeper into the bus. She felt stunned by the bright lights that bounced off the windows with their almost black night scenes obscured beyond. Ivy could see the white of her tshirt reflected in the windows, her pale, nervous face searching for a seat, or rather a lap. She knew that she would need to find her voice to ask someone, but it felt like such a make-or-break decision. Ask the wrong person and she’d find herself diapered and sucking on a pacifier… or worse, before the ride was through. Or she could get one who wouldn’t bat an eye at pulling her pants and panties off and spanking her over their lap, for the simple fact of her wearing them, or being up so late, or any number of things they could arbitrarily decide were worth punishing right then and there, lest her short Little attention span might allow her to forget the reason for the “lesson”. Biting on her bottom lip unconsciously as the image of her over each lap, bottom red and tears streaming from her face popped into her mind, she glanced around, while trying not to make eye contact with any of the Amazons around her. “Why didn’t I just take Claire up on her offer to crash there like the rest of them did!?”, she thought over and over. She had reasoned that a bus ride home would be the same risk that night or the next day, but now that she was here, forced into such a dangerous proposition, she wished for the comfort of Claire’s threadbare couch and their friend Lara’s cold feet resting against her as they shared the sleep spot. Someone behind her coughed impatiently, and she was snapped out of her thoughts, quickly swiveling her head. She immediately ruled out a bunch of older women, reasoning that a woman would be less likely to put her back down after the ride ended. The group of teenaged Amazons in the back? They might not want to adopt her, but the thought of having to shuffle up to them, asking to be held in their lap… these actual children?! It made all of her blood rush to her cheeks just considering the indignity. And just because they might not adopt her didn’t mean they couldn’t torment her… she shivered at the thought and quickly kept moving. So not the women, or the teenagers, she thought, trying to maintain her composure while the bus attendant behind her stayed right on her heel, ready to scoop her up and make the decision for her at any moment. Okay so she had to ask a man, she thought, swiveling her head back and forth as she quickly scanned the scene before and around her. Not the guy with the two young Amazon children, she knew. Nothing could be more dangerous to a Little than Amazon children. Not the older man who looked a bit too closely at her butt with a hint of disapproval visible behind his brown mustache. Only after the bus attendant told her to ‘hurry up before he chose for her’, did she find the courage to address a man reading the newspaper, at least a decade or two older than her, by squeaking out a quiet, “umm e-excuse me, Sir?”, then louder when he didn’t pause in his reading, “s-sir? Excuse me?”. The man did look this time, folding closed the paper and bending down to look at Ivy. Unfortunately so too did a number of women and even teenaged girls, though their hungry or disapproving faces were far more sinister than the chocolate-skinned man in front of her. “Yes, sweetheart?” He asked, smiling, surprised, down at her. “What can I do for you darlin?” The last word was spoken with a silly lilt and a tip of his hat. He winked at her and his smile reached his eyes. He seemed like the safest option. “U-um, w-well all the… the seats seem to be taken, d-do you think it might… ummm might be okay if I-maybe- uh if I maybe- umm shared with you?” She’d barely gotten the last few words out, when the man had reached down and lifted her into the air, plopping her right onto his knee, hands clasped around her midsection. “For a pretty little thing like you, how could I say no? The name’s Al”. While she didn’t love the unceremonious way he had manhandled her, or the way he seemed to instinctively bounce her on his lap, Al wasn’t the worst she could have found. She introduced herself and they fell into a few natural questions and small talk as the lights dimmed and the buss doors closed beyond. She did get nervous when he commented on her lack of padding, surprised. “Well, as long as we don’t have any oopsie daisies on Mr. Al I guess it’s not a big problem. I do think your mommy should have packed you a diaper if you were going to be coming home so late though”. “I guess we will just have to make sure you stay awake”, he grinned down at her, turning the gentle bounce into a dramatic game of horsey riding, including silly voices and the theatrical narration of things as though she were a jockey at the racetrack. “Aaaaand she’s rounding the first bend, little Ivy is in the lead!” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ No, Ivy didn’t want to relive that particular trauma, thank you very much. Just as she thought this, a gigantic, sleek bus labeled 247 glided towards them, stopping with a small “sttttt” and the sound of air releasing. The doors slid open smoothly and most of the amazons waiting at the stop stood to board. Ivy shuffled quickly behind a sandy haired man not much older than her with a black backpack. She didn’t want to get too close or gain the attention of any of these amazons, but she also didn’t want to run the risk of being too far back, having the bus leave without her. She stayed close behind the man, following the firm black crease of his trousers. She willed herself not to look backwards, to see which Amazon had followed behind, though a muffled crinkle and rhythmic patting sound had her nervously guessing. “Just walk straight ahead”, she thought, “she’s got a little already”. But as she got to the front of the queue, pink pass still clutched tightly in her hand, purse slung across her body, she recognized her first hurdle. She had been on one of the more modern buses last time around, one with Little friendly steps that came down to the ground. They wanted free Littles to ride the buses, she figured, since it was probably good for the Amazons to entice more potential “babies” into the city proper. Lure them in, then kidnap them. This bus, however, wasn’t equipped with such steps. The mountain in front of Ivy seemed to tower above her as the man easily stepped up and into the bus. Ivy couldn’t afford to pause. To seem uncertain would be viewed as an admission that she needed help. And needing help as a Little was akin to admitting that she wasn’t competent to complete the simplest of tasks on her own, down to managing her own bodily functions. So she sort of leapt towards the first step, clearing the gap between the curb and the bus, but still having to use her forearms to pull herself up one knee, then the other, almost crawling her way to the top. There, she tried to catch her breath while the driver looked over her childish ticket and handed it back. He produced a small pink stamp that he hadn’t used on the sandy haired man, and pushed it onto the back of Ivy’s hand, still clutching the bus pass. Mumbling a quick ‘thank you’, Ivy hurried forward towards one of the empty Little Seats at the front of the bus. Looking up at one of them, the bright pink, purple, and yellow fabrics with cartoonish prints clashed impressively with the more muted navy and grey of the rest of the bus seats. The smiling hippo and frolicking giraffe made her blush, thinking of the similar motif on the pull-up she wore. Moving to tuck her ticket away in her bag, Ivy noticed the pink teddy bear stamped on the back of her left hand and quietly sulked. They couldn’t let Littles have any modicum of maturity, could they?

In a desperate attempt to keep her apartment Ivy West takes a job at a company run by Amazons and focused on producing products “for the care and keeping of the precious Littles in our lives”. Dr. Wubbles wouldn’t be her first choice for employment, but a Little’s gotta do what a Little’s gotta do. It’ll be fine. Probably. Maybe. Well it’ll be something. Set in an unnamed region of the Diaper Dimension, I’ve tried to remain true to the established “lore” while also creating a fun read. Chapter 1: Ivy knew she should probably feel more wary about working for a Big company like Dr. Wubbles, that she should keep looking for a safer job opportunity, but times were tough, especially for a Free Little. She was really struggling to make rent and getting kicked out of her current apartment… she couldn’t even imagine that possibility. Not only would there likely be Bigs waiting outside to claim her, seemingly drawn to the scene of a Little being evicted as though they could smell the desperation, but she’d have nowhere left to go even if she could avoid their clutches. There were always the Little Shelters, but most of those were simply adoption agencies in disguise, and even the few legitimate ones couldn’t offer safe passage in or out of their walls. Owning property as a Free Little in this region was still illegal, even as other areas were at least opening conversations about it, and the number of buildings willing to rent to Free Littles was dwindling. The few Bigs willing to see Littles as anything more than children, too immature to live alone, still had to consider the lower gross income for Littles and lack of employment opportunities for them in general. Then there were the modifications necessary to make a building little-accessible, which could become extremely costly. There were permits that could be difficult to obtain, constantly changing laws meant to “protect” Littles that made the requirements for Little housing nearly impossible to meet, and the potential ire of neighbors and local law enforcement still to consider. For the select few landlords who pushed through all of those deterrents there was always the biggest risk. The risk that their tenants would fail to pay for the simple reason that they had been kidnapped. Or “adopted” as the Bigs liked to call it. So the dwindling number in her bank account and the prospect of eviction had Ivy willing to take a bit more risk in her job hunting than she might otherwise. Hence applying for this job as soon as her neighbor Jen, an in-betweener, had mentioned the opening on the factory floor at her site. Anything would be better than being evicted, Ivy thought. She didn’t even ask why there was suddenly an opening in a department willing to hire Littles. That Jen hadn’t volunteered this information could be because she thought Ivy knew or at least suspected and was still desperate enough to take the risk, or it could be some innocuous reason. Maybe they were just expanding and needed more hands, even, or perhaps especially Little ones. With little choice Ivy chose to believe in the latter option. Dressed for her first day in simple khaki pants and a white collared shirt, Ivy was about to walk out the front door when she paused. She had gone back and forth about this since getting the email confirming her position, hell, even since she had first sent out her application. The package was hidden under a loose floorboard in the dining room, but it was as if Ivy could see the bright pink plastic from where she stood just beyond the front door. Mocking her. She never wore pull-ups at home, never when with her friends or even at night or on long car trips. To concede that she had a small bladder… it could be disastrous. All it would take is an Amazon noticing the slight bulge under her pants, the faint crinkle… Her freedom could be gone just like that without even an accident to blame. All it would take is one Amazon deciding that she needed thicker protection if she was worried about having an accident and she was a goner without even earning it. Even so, Ivy hadn’t pushed them away when her friend Patrice brought them over for her. Part of her worried about starting a new job, one where she wasn’t sure she could have access to a Little-accessible toilet at regular intervals… if at all. If she couldn’t hold it… wouldn’t it be better to have something there for just in case the unspeakable happened? Or more likely if she was desperate enough to use them willingly, she shuddered at the thought. But the idea that she would at least have the chance of hiding it should things come down to that option… it left her striding quickly across the room, dropping her keys onto one of the mismatched dining chairs before bending down towards that loose board. It was the mature thing to do, she thought, frowning down at the soft plastic as she pushed her fingers into it, tearing along the perforation. That thought soured with irony when Ivy frowned down at the tightly packed bundles, wiggling one loose. When she had freed one of the offending objects she pushed the open bag back into the hole in the floor and had it covered again in an instant. Maybe if she could do this quickly she could pretend it wasn’t happening. That might have been true if she hadn’t looked at the soft white object now waiting in her hands. The pull-up was thicker than she had expected, and the outside was some kind of synthetic fabric made to trick little kids, or more likely Littles, into believing they were real underwear. The picture on the front was even worse, baby giraffes and lions and pandas all dressed up in costumes. Just like how the amazons probably saw working Littles, Ivy frowned. Shaking the garment open experimentally, Ivy cringed harder at the loud crinkling emitting from that “fabric-like” exterior. Checking the clock she jumped, realizing that it was now or never. Being late to her first day? That could be enough to earn a Little a one way trip to the daycare instead of their assigned position. With that sobering thought in mind Ivy stepped on the back of her right shoe, freeing her foot, then did the same with the left. She had her pants and panties off in one fluid motion; there were no buckles or zippers. It was a precaution she knew was smart and yet she still resented it. Having anything more in the way of reaching a bathroom… it was risky on a good day, but at work where there would be plenty of amazons around waiting for any excuse for her to turn her into their baby… better not to risk any extra hurdles. The feeling of the pull-up easing up her thighs and settling around her waist was foreign but not altogether terrible. There was certainly more padding there than Ivy was used to, even though she was had worn pads in her underwear before. The sides were made of some kind of stretchy… fake fabric? It was soft and pale purple and thin enough there to fit under her pants subtly. That was about the only good thing about it. The line running down each side was enough of a reminder that these were not expected to stay dry by the amazons who made them. Easy-tear sides, she realized with a blush. They were made to be torn open if-or rather when in many cases- the little was wet or messy and needed a change. And if the Amazon did it by tearing the sides… that likely meant that they weren’t bothering with taking off the Little’s shoes or pants for a new pull-up, but rather laying them down for a different kind of insult to be placed beneath them, the puffy front pulled up to their belly button before the Little-Proof tapes were stuck ‘scritch scriiiiiitch’, all while the faint scent of baby powder surrounded them in their newfound prison- With a shiver and a jump Ivy snapped herself out of that terrifying train of thought. That wasn’t what was going to happen to her, she knew. She was only wearing these ridiculous things as an insurance policy. Not that she didn’t trust herself, but rather that she didn’t trust the Amazons or the situation she was walking into. With one last uncertain and sorrowful glance at her discarded underwear on the floor Ivy bent to set them on the chair before pulling her pants back on and then her shoes. Every movement felt like a reminder of what she had on beneath and to her ears the crinkling was so deafening that she nearly took them off right then and there. And she might just have done that if not for the chime of her phone telling her that it was past time to be out the door. So with a nervous swallow Ivy strode out the front door and locked it, tucking the keys into her pocket before setting out for her first day at her new job.