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In the past iv kind of toyed with the idea of making a Diaper Dimension discord, but in all honesty Reddit is more my medium. If I create it I’ll edit the link into this post. Edit: I just made r/diaperdimension, which can be found at: https://www.reddit.com/r/diaperdimension/

This is a sequel to "Fair is Fair" and "Special" Samantha hated being a Tweener sometimes. Tweeners: Caught between two worlds. To the Amazons, people like Samantha were children; not quite babies like Littles, but not true adults, either. More like Elementary or Middle Schoolers at best. Trustworthy, but not dependable, and certainly not too big to be cut down to size and put back in diapers. (Though as far as the crazy giants were concerned, anybody could be put back in diapers). To the Littles, the Tweeners were either allies of convenience or stooges to the giants. Sometimes allies. Sometimes adversaries. Never really friends; not in a way that mattered. Yeah, there was that shared bond of being terrified of the giant people, and there were no only children or atheists in foxholes. But if push came to shove, an Amazon would much prefer to baby a Little than to settle for a Tweener. Samantha would know. She had a few Little friends growing up in her neighborhood. When one of them got snatched up by a random Amazon, due to a failed pantie check, Samantha had been given a choice: Reach into the giant woman’s diaper bag like a good and responsible girl or get put back in diapers herself. After all, only babies tried to help other babies be naughty and wear big girl panties. Her Little friends had stopped talking to her after that. Screw them. They’d have done the same thing. Tweeners and Littles couldn’t really protect each other from the Amazons and the Amazons would never accept a Tweener as a “true adult” or whatever rationale they used to justify their behaviors. Too much Little in them to be respected by Amazons and too much Amazon in them to be loved by Littles. That’s what the rationale was anyway. Tweeners: The Third People. Born out of when Littles and Amazons bred with each other. Samantha didn’t completely buy that line, either. She’d never seen a pairing of Amazon and Little where the Little wasn’t cast as a baby. Her own parents and grandparents were Tweeners and all the Tweeners she knew had Tweener parents. She was aware of a few rich and famous pairings between an Amazon and a Tweener, but as far as she could tell, the status of the child was largely determined by the mother; either a tall-ish Tweener that was a head or two taller than their mother, or a short Amazon who was a head or two shorter. Little and Tweeners pairings were even rarer and Samantha had heard of it only in theory. The entire Littles community did its level best to isolate itself socially. An understandable reflex when it seemed that eight out of ten interactions with the taller folk resulted in firing from one’s job and permanent enrollment at a daycare somewhere. A Little and an Amazon though? In love? Boinking?: The physical mechanics of sex, pregnancy, and birth were both hilarious and horrifying. Samantha couldn’t picture that ending well. Pain and possibly death for the woman if Little, and just complete and utter lack of satisfaction if an Amazon with a much smaller lover. But that’s where Tweeners originated from. So said the Amazons, and the Amazons made the rules, including history. And according to the rules, the best and only way to survive as a Tweener was to throw the attention on someone else. Be the world’s middle child. Better to make the short ones envious and be overlooked by the big ones. Speaking of “big ones”... “Oh, I think you’re so much better like this, don’t you?” Two Amazons: Both in their forties at least were in the Ladies’ Restroom. The one currently speaking was in a gray pantsuit, her hair the kind of blonde that only came out of a bottle, and her graying eyebrows all but testified to it. Samantha had a decent eye for detail, and rarely forgot an Amazon’s face; mostly as a survival technique. This particular woman had never been in the shop before, Samantha was certain, but there was something familiar about her nonetheless...a family resemblance of sorts. The second woman, Samantha definitely remembered seeing. Only last time she was the one in the business suit. Now? Not so much. Nothing about her current state of dress could be considered business,or a suit. The light pink shirt looked like something that would be sold at a Mega-Mart; something that would be a casual sleep shirt or part of a lazy weekend wardrobe when you didn’t care what you looked like...the kind that people wore to places like Mega-Mart. Even with the Carpet Mice picture on the front, it wasn’t anything that might be considered scandalous for an Amazon to wear. It was something an Amazon Mom (or more likely Mommy) might wear when playing with their kids. The cartoon about adopted Littles and their bratty Tweener friend had been around long enough to be retro-chic and nostalgi However when taken in context with the rest of her outfit, that big baggy t-shirt was hands down the most grown-up thing the other Amazon was wearing. The white bonnet looked like something out of a costume shop, or maybe a period piece about Easter in the Old West. The pink tights being yanked down to her ankles might have come from a ballet shop. The matching plastic pants that followed were largely unnecessary save to add bulk and a bit of extra infantile aesthetic to the very soaked and very messy adult diaper that was just now showing itself. Amazons had yet to invent a pacifier that could effectively gag one of their own, but this one was doing its job well enough. The woman on the changing table looked like she was sucking on the dummy just to prevent herself from screaming; preserving her dignity and cementing her image as a giant toddler. The usual crowd of gawkers were already gathering in to watch the latest show. Ever since the owner, Mrs. Thompson, had taken a new managerial style, more and more locals were turning on each other. Were untaken Littles that scarce or were Amazons just that crazy? Maybe the big ones getting laid out on the changing table made the ones still standing feel superior or justified in how they treated the little ones? Both? Neither? It didn’t matter as long as Samantha wasn’t the one crinkling. Regardless of the reason, every time an Amazon was laid down, the looky loos would want to peek inside and casually have a look. Go figure. Four out of five times, the Amazon getting changed was Gwenny, Mrs. Thompson’s toy and pet project. Gwenny used to be Samantha’s bossy co-worker and a nightmare to deal with, (like most Amazons). Samantha helped take care of that. And for whatever reason, the stars aligned, and a switch flipped in either Gwenny’s and/or Mrs. Thompson’s brain. Gwenny was proof that Amazons were really no better than Littles...just not in a way that kept a single Little out of a crib. Lately though, more and more were following Mrs. Thompson’s lead. An office park was sending interns over for a more than healthy dose of public shaming and humiliation; a way to turn the pressure up and remind them that even they weren’t as grown-up as the people signing their paychecks. The lady who was about to get changed now didn’t look like a stereotypical intern, however. “Yes,” the more powerful, more adult woman cooed down. “I definitely think you look much better like this, Baby Tricia.” She lifted the other woman’s legs and gave her messy bottom a pat. “Muuuuuch better.” ‘Baby Tricia’ (though she was probably Patty or Patricia before now) just moaned pathetically and sucked on her pacifier, trying not to cry. Oooooh. Samantha knew that face. Last time, this woman had been changing diapers instead of wearing them. Oh, how the tables had turned. Samantha weaved in and out of the Amazon bodies, making sure to quietly say “Excuse me” just in case. The customers were too busy sipping on their lattes and/or watching the free show to take much notice of her. Sometimes it was good to be a Tweener. The woman in control ripped all four tapes off the diaper. “Poor Baby Tricia,” she taunted, “thought you could shape company policy, and you did. But you forgot something: Adults ask for permission. Children ask for forgiveness.” The babied woman lifted her legs so that her tormentor could wipe her bottom with baby wipes. “Yush Ma’am,” she mumbled around the pacifier. The Tweener had wormed her way to the front and walked into the bathroom. The words she was hearing sent a jolt straight to the pleasure centers of her brain. Littles in this situation were either completely overwhelmed, brain dead, or just plain dead inside. All Littles know the day they went to daycare might come. If they hadn’t been mentally broken, this was just what would be another day to them; no different than the children they were forced to pretend to be. Not interesting in the least. Samantha couldn’t bear to look at the odd Tweener that found themselves on a changing table. Just another failure. Someone who’d failed at the balancing act between Little and Amazon and tilted towards Little. A real Don’t Let This Happen To You. But Amazons? Ooooh, that was something special. To see the humiliation in their eyes. The realization that they were no better than any of the smaller folk. The cognitive dissonance and embarrassment when they’d been told that they’d objectively failed at the maturity and adulthood that was supposed to come so naturally to the giants. To see that realization and moment when they finally realized how badly they were screwed. Samantha just HAD to see that. Every time. A rare few, like Gwenny, found that they liked failing. To them, an Amazon’s absurdly high expectations were just.a matter of projection; a literal case of treating others like they wanted to be treated. Those rare few tended to be better people once their needs were met. Gwenny was infinitely more pleasant to have around the shop than ‘Gwendolyn’ had ever been. Most were just humiliated that they’d fallen so far and found themselves stuck in their own personal horror story. Samantha liked that, too. Oh how awful it was for them! At the very least, when (not if) they earned their big girl panties back, they’d be less brazen bullies. That bit of humility force fed to them was damn near intoxicating. And then there were the rare few...but more on that later… “You also forgot to do your research,” the woman doing the diapering mocked. “Like who’s daughter it was that you dragged down here.” Oh that! THAT! That’s where she knew this poor crazy bitch from. The lady on the changing table had brought over an intern to do the ol’ song and dance. There was even mention that this ritual might turn into a matter of disciplinary policy in the office across the way. Poor not-so-Little girl had been brought in and given nearly the full treatment. Becky, her name was. If the contours of the older woman’s face were any indicator, Baby Tricia had pissed off Rebeccah’s flesh and blood mother, and Mother Dearest must have outranked her to boot. Now the forty-something Amazon was getting a big heaping helping of her own medicine. Oh how the mighty had fallen! Samantha was almost drooling. She had to do something! She had to! She couldn’t resist. “Excuse me, Ma’am.” Samantha said, her voice amplified by the near empty bathroom. She stood up, back straight and head up with her arms folded behind her back. Perfectly at ease. Perfectly mature. “Can I offer some assistance?” The Amazon in charge looked at her own eye level first, then plummeted down to Samantha’s mid section, before adjusting to her eye level. A scowl turned to a smile turned to a quizzical look. That’s how it usually went with Amazons and Tweeners. “I’m quite capable of doing this myself, thank you young lady.” There was the slightest edge of ‘go away’ hinted at in there. Samantha should have gone away and scurried off. She had other matters to attend to, being manager and all. And yet… “Oh, I have no doubt about that, Ma’am. I just noticed the baby’s diaper and-” “Oh yes,” the woman interrupted. “Baby Tricia is such a stinky bum! Yes she is! Yes she is!” She leaned over and pinched the woman’s nose. “That’s why we came here. This is the only place that has a changing table that’ll fit her and I wouldn’t think of changing her on the dirty ol’ office floor!” The prone woman’s whole body started to turn pink. “But if we need to, I have no problem buying her a special changing mat!” Samantha caught a flare of surprise and panic in the babied woman’s eyes. Potty probation hadn’t been assured, yet. “Absolutely,” Samantha agreed. “I just noticed that the baby’s diaper seems a little...adult…?” The woman balled up the dirty diaper and tossed it in the trash. She rolled her eyes, good naturedly. “That’s because Tricia is a VERY big baby, and baby diapers don’t come in her size.” The Tweener looked down at the ground. “Not necessarily…” “What...?” Samantha bit her lip. “I might be able to get a diaper or two that would look positively adorable on her.” She was already starting to feel all tingly. “That way she could show off her diaper and no one would be confused about what she was. No need for tights and plastic pants.” Then she tacked on. “If you wanted of course.” A bemused smirk on the towering giant’s face. “And what would this cost me?” Nothing. Samantha wanted to say nothing. She’d do this kind of thing for free. But it wasn’t her diapers she was offering. “Three dollars..” she said. “A diaper, I mean.” The matron stroked her chin in thought. The punished middle manager shook her head ever so slightly, begging for mercy. The one in charge must have seen it. “Deal.” She reached into her purse and took out a ten. “Get me three and I’ll pay you once I’m done putting one on her.” “MmmmNo!” The cry rang out so that everyone could hear. Samantha had to bite down on her tongue to force herself not to shudder. It wasn’t a shudder of revulsion, either... “Hush, Tricia,” the woman replied. She started stripping the tights and plastic pants off the woman. “If you’re as big as you think you are, you’ll only need to wear one of them. Just no more accidents the rest of the day and you can use the big girl potty at work.” Samantha rushed out of the bathroom, the gears in her head being propelled with sparks of delight. “ Excuse me, pardon me, pardon me. Customer service.” She took a breath and looked at some of her Amazon co-workers. “Veronica, don’t forget to restock. Manny, I think you missed a spot on the floor.” In one breath she was scraping and bowing towards the customers who assumed she must not be in charge. In the next she was giving orders to co-workers to prevent them from gawking (or noticing what she was up to). All the while she was planning three steps ahead just so that she could indulge in a bit of scheming. Such was life. As a Tweener anyhow. “Gwenny,” Samantha said as she pulled aside the lowest ranking member of the staff. Gwenny technically didn’t get paid anymore. Gwenny wasn’t technically a grown-up anymore. An adult, yes. But the giant poofy diaper that was not at all covered up by her custom toddler dress and pastel socks that went, broadcast who she really was on the inside. Gwenny was the first. The first time that Samantha got to experience victory and control...even by proxy. Gwenny was proof that Amazons practiced what they preached; and that they weren’t nearly as high and mighty as they thought. “Yes, Samantha?” Gwenny asked. “Did I spill a drink again?” Her hand ran down her backside and between her legs briefly. “Or did I leak? Oh gosh, I’m sorry!” Gwenny also hadn’t used a toilet in a long time. She was almost incontinent these days. “Can you check me?” Under normal circumstances, Samantha would have taken the opportunity. She loved making the giant baby squirm and blush with the slightest pat to her bottom (and a very loud exclamation about the status of her diaper). Under normal circumstances, she didn’t have a bigger payoff waiting in the bathroom next to an impatient matriarch type. “You’re fine, Gwenny. Go get your diaper bag.” “But you said…?” “They’re not for you.” Samantha corrected. “But they’re too big for y..ow!” Samantha had to pinch Gwenny to quiet her down. Damn, she wished she was just a smidge taller. “A lady is changing her baby in the bathroom,” Gwenny said. Then she sprinkled a little white lie. “But she’s a new Mommy and the vending machine is broken.” “Oooooh!” Gwenny said. “That makes sense.” It did, didn’t it? “Okay. I’ll be a good helper!” Gwenny waddled over behind the counter and got out her diaper bag.. Mrs. Thompson did all of the changing where the overlarge baby was concerned, but Gwenny still kept her diaper bag behind the counters where the rest of the ladies kept their purses and such. Gwenny said it was because she liked pretending to be big while she was helping. Samantha suspected it was the owner reminding the rest of the staff that a similar fate might await them if they ever fell too far down the ladder. There were worse things than being fired… “Here you go, boss!” Gwenny said, picking up a folded diaper out of her bag and waving it around for all to see. Samantha walked up and took the diaper. “Two more, please,” she said. “For just in case.” “But…” Samantha rolled her eyes. “I’ll pay you ten whole dollars. You can buy yourself a dessert” Fuck it. This wasn’t about the money, anyways. Two more diapers found themselves stacked in Samantha’s arms. Kids. No matter how big or old, they were always bribable. “This better be worth it,” the head Amazon said. “I’m sure Tricia’s getting...oh!” She took the diapers from Samantha and examined them with the same intensity as an archeologist pouring over a mysterious artifact from the fabled lost city of Atlanta. Gwenny wasn’t just an Amazon on punishment. Mrs. Thompson had gone all out. Instead of an obvious medical diaper, something that might be used for the infirm but otherwise grown-up, Gwenny wore special all white padding. It was almost exactly like what babies and Littles wore. The stickers that Gwenny added on in her free time for decorations more than made up the difference. ‘Tricia’s’ boss/Mommy let out an audible gasp. “This! This! Oh yes!” She wasted no time in unfolding and fluffing the top diaper “Do you approve, Ma’am?” Samantha really needn’t have asked. She could tell. Samantha approved too. The look of humiliation and realization dawning on the other woman’s face. Realizing that she’d have to wear something that babyish. Without tights. Without any sort of covering or obfuscation. She’d just have to tug and tug and tug on the t-shirt, even though it wouldn’t come down nearly far enough. And she’d be constantly thinking about it with every bit of movement, hyper aware that at any moment someone could just come up and check her. She probably avoided that little indignity because of the multiple layers. Not anymore. Not as the new diaper was slid underneath her and she was powdered and oiled back up. Samantha wasn’t wearing a diaper, and she didn’t have to pee, but she was definitely feeling wet. Far too soon, Tricia was all taped up and back on her feet. Samantha wished she could have taken just a little bit longer. “Oh this is much better,” the head woman said. “My compliments to the Manager.” “Thank you very much.” Samantha replied. “I am the manager.” She pointed to the pin that the other woman clearly hadn’t bothered to read. “Oh that’s wonderful. Say thank you, Tricia.” “Fankyoo,” the humiliated giant blushed and mumbled past her pacifier. Oh how to make this moment last? Another bit of inspiration. “Would you like to give your baby a fresh bottle of milk?” Samantha asked. “Complimentary? As a treat?” The woman finished packing Tricia’s two remaining diapers away into her bag. “That sounds lovely.” She fished out a baby bottle that had only been filled with water. Clearly this punishment was straight amateur hour over at the office. Samantha took the bottle. “Wonderful! I’ll meet you and Baby Tricia,” just saying the name out loud gave the Tweener the best kind of chills. Another round “Excuse me’s” and a quick hassling of her fellows to do routine maintenance while filling out orders for the post lunch rush later, Samantha was behind the counter again. She dumped out the baby bottle and gave it a quick wipe with a clean towel. She reached into the tiny fridge and grabbed the milk. When the bottle was halfway full, Samantha’s eyes settled onto Gwenny’s special syrup...another infamous concoction...a little something something that did more than turn the milk chocolatey. A brief scene played back in Samantha’s eyes. “Why not chocolate milk?” Patricia/Baby Tricia had asked Mrs. Thompson when she’d been the one diapering instead of diapered. “Do you plan to keep...Rebeccah in diapers forever and make her your baby Becky?” Mrs. Thompson has asked. “That remains to be seen for the moment.” “Then whether or not she gets chocolate milk remains to be seen as well.” Then the promise that Patricia would get out of diapers as long as she didn’t have any more accidents… “Here’s your baby’s milk!” Samantha chirped. “I even made it chocolate for her!” “Oh chocolate! Babies loooove chocolate! Don’t they?” ‘Baby Tricia’, knew exactly what was in that bottle. “Please…” she whimpered. The pacifier fell directly out of her mouth. “Not that. Not the chocolate milk.” Oh how the tables had turned! It was delicious. Sweeter than chocolate! “That’s not very nice,” her supervisor said. Tears started rolling down Baby Tricia’s face as the nipple was placed between her lips and she began to obediently suckle. Maybe the relatively low dosage wouldn’t affect her compared to a Little. Maybe… Gwenny crinkled past Samantha and grabbed the next few drinks, reading out names and then toddling out the tables, squeaking and squealing when she was given a pat on the butt and a “good baby”. Then again... If this woman was as ‘nice’ as Mrs. Thompson was, maybe Baby Tricia would get a new job passing out mail or whatever someone with the body of a forty something and the authority of a two year old might be allowed to do. Samantha was handed a twenty. “For the diapers and a tip for going the extra mile.” She gave a winning smile and burned the image of the crying baby woman in her mind. With the pairs leaving, and the practical baby blood frenzy dying down with the rest of the customers, Samantha opened the cash register, broke the twenty, and gave Gwenny half. Fair was fair. She turned her half of the tip into ones and slunk off yet again to the ladies’ room. “I’m going on break,” she said to no one in particular. “Won’t be long.” Using the wooden triangle wedge, Samantha blocked the door from opening and checked all the stalls. She’d need privacy for this. First she put the money in the diapered vending machine and pressed the buttons at the top, for the Amazon/Adult diapers. Three of them. She’d decided to replace the ones she’d sold from Gwenny. Just in case Mrs. Thompson checked and realized the bag wasn’t as full as it should be. Chances are she wouldn’t notice, or care. She’d get the diapers later. Next, she unplugged the machine. It was “Out of Order”, officially. That was her backup excuse. Obviously that naughy baby Tricia had managed to unplug it to try and escape getting changed. That was Samantha’s alibi. Alibis could wait... It was a bit of a jump to get on the changing table, but nothing Samantha couldn’t handle. She felt the warmth of Baby Tricia still on the mat. Could still smell the traces of baby powder and oil that hadn’t quite made it into the diaper… This. This is where Amazon pride came to die. This is where they were crushed and made to feel as small and helpless and embarrassed as the rest of the world. Samantha laid back and snuck her hand down the front of her pants. This wouldn’t take long. Not with the memory so fresh in her head. Samantha almost wished she had a pacifier. It might be nice to have something to moan into while she masturbated. Instead, she exercised a modicum (but just am modicum) of self-control as she softly climbed into orgasm. Total elapsed time? Three minutes. Maybe four. Five by the time she washed her hands and snuck the plain medical diapers in with Gwenny’s remaining Amazon Baby ones. Such was life for a Tweener. Life was good. For her anyways. ********************************************************************************************** Just after closing time that night. Samantha sent everyone home and stayed behind to clean up. She just finished mopping the bathrooms. “You wanted to see me, Ma’am?” Samantha asked before she was all the way in Mrs. Thompson’s office. It was a strategy of sorts. Sooner asked. Sooner out. Seem both on the ball and appropriately nervous and subservient. Even with all of the progress she’d made over the last half a year, Samantha was still properly terrified of the shop’s owner. Amazons were predators. Crocodiles and sharks. Littles were their prey. They’d run and hide, but it was always a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if’. Samantha got as far as she had by being one of those tiny animals that formed a symbiotic relationship. The birds and fish that cleaned the bigger meaner animal’s teeth. The food chain’s middle management position. “Samantha,” Mrs. Thompson said without looking up. “Come in.” Samantha’s legs trembled. This time it was because of dread. She went in anyways. A sideways glance towards Gwenny off in the corner. She was playing with some dolls on a heavy blanket with plastic tea-cups. A chalkboard was propped up on the wall. It was just big enough to write the word ‘coffea’ on it. Which Gwenny did. Used her non-dominant hand, from the absolute atrocious handwriting. The big baby worked in a coffee shop for no pay, being constantly talked down to...and pretended to do the same thing while her Mommy finished working with the books. Gwenny either had no imagination or the absolute best imagination. Gwenny was a reminder that predators would kill and eat other predators. They’d also snap up the little birds and fish that cleaned their teeth if they were hungry enough or if the poor animals weren’t fast enough to avoid the jaws of death. Samantha’s sideways glance lingered, perhaps a moment too long. Gwenny’s diaper was flashing each and every way as she crawled around and bent and stood filling imaginary tea cups full with imaginary ‘coffea’. It looked clean enough, but it had the same colored stripe and ugly font that was common with adult diapers. Uh oh. The Tweener took a seat on the chair across from the owner’s desk. “Yes, Mrs. Thompson?” “What happened to Gwenny’s diapers?” Mrs. Thompson did not look up. Already? It hadn’t even been a full day. She’d been careful to replace them and put them near the back of the bag. Had Gwenny needed changing that badly? Samantha took a deep breath. No time to play dumb. That wasn’t the play here. “A customer n-n-needed one from the vending machine,” Samantha choked out. “And the vending machine was out of order.” Mrs. Thompson put down her pen, but still didn’t look directly at Samantha. She was an ambush predator lying in wait. “Go on.” “And they were in the middle of a change and so…” “So you decided to help an inferior Mommy who didn’t have the appropriate supplies for her child?” That was a question more loaded than the back of Gwenny’s pants just before lunch break. Most people would freeze here. Samantha wasn’t most people. “Only in the same way that I help an inferior forager who doesn’t have the appropriate supplies for their own coffee…?” She let the final inflection of a question creep in, just so that her retort wouldn’t be mistaken for defiance. “So you sold the diapers?” Mrs. Thompson looked up for the first time. “You didn’t just give them away?” “No ma’am. It was umm... transactional…?” “That’s right, Mommy.” Gwenny called over from her fake tea party. “I got ten whole dollars!” Samantha wanted to vomit. Instead she powered through. “And I made sure to replace them.” “Replace them, how?” Mrs. Thompsons said. Slowly, deliberately, she stood up. “I thought the vending machine in the restroom was broken?” “I fixed it…” Like a snake coiling around a juicy mouse, Mrs. Thompson circled around her desk. Like a mouse transfixed by the cobra, Samantha sat, frozen. “Fixed it and then unplugged it again? I found it unplugged. Funny, because if it was unplugged or broken as you said, you couldn’t have replaced Gwenny’s diapers.” Shit! She knew! Inside her own head Samantha screamed at herself. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Of course she knew! She should have either replaced OR unplugged the machine! Not both! She could have blamed incompetence on the customer and say that she didn’t know how to use the vending machine properly, and so Samantha expedited things along. Or she could have not replaced the diapers and pretended she didn’t know that the damn thing was unplugged. She would have gotten flack for it, probably a not-quite empty threat, but such an oversight could be overlooked. She was a Tweener. She had a bit of Little in here. These things could happen. It was almost like...almost like... “Really,” Mrs. Thompson said, “it’s almost like you wanted to get caught…” Giant hands began to reach down for the Tweener. “Men’s room.” The whisper came out of Samantha so fast and so quiet that Samantha barely heard it herself.. “I got those out of the machine in the men’s room. After the customer left. When there was no one else there.” They stopped. “Beg pardon?” The lie came so naturally to Samantha. “Replacement diapers. Men’s room. I paid Gwenny for her diapers. Gave some to the customer, and then replaced them with some from the men’s room machine when no one was in there.” It was amazing what a natural shot of adrenaline could do for the brain. “I didn’t think to see if the ladies’ room was plugged in. I didn’t want to question the customer!” The men’s room saw just about as much foot traffic as the ladies’ room, but not nearly as much as the new changing traffic. Daddies would bring in their Little boys and Little girls, sure enough, but the vending machine was about as unused as ever. Diaper vendors weren’t supposed to see as much use in general. Most parents had a fully stocked bag, with the machine in case of unexpected blowouts and such. But with the uptick Amazon on Amazon punishment, most weren’t prepping far enough ahead to have a fully stocked bag. And for whatever reason, the ones doing the diapering were disproportionately women. The men’s changing vendor could be full to bursting or derelict. Samantha was gambling that not even Mrs. Thompson knew. “Clever girl.” Mrs. Thompson said. “Almost too clever.” She shouldn’t have, she knew, but the Tweener felt herself relax a tiny bit. In a weird way she took the remark as a compliment. “Thank you.” “Are they your diapers?” Samantha jolted. “What?” “Are they your diapers?” the owner repeated. “To give away? To sell? To trade? Did you pay for them? Were they gifted to you?” More fear. More panic. “Gwenny said it’d be-!” “They’re not Gwenny’s to give away! She’s a BABY!” Samantha could feel the intense heat radiating off the older Amazon. “She has no say about her diapers. They are hers only in that she wears them, just like you’re a manager only in that I pay you to be! I pay for them! I say how they are to be used and who they are to be used by. Is that clear?!” Samantha’s reply came out as a most pitiful squeak. “Yes Ma’am. Sorry Ma’am.” “Good. Now get up and bend over.” The everything rushed away from Samantha’s face. Color. Blood. Heat. Everything. “Excuse me?” “You heard me, you bratty little girl.” Mrs. Thompson said. “Stand up and bend over across the chair, or you're fired.” She might as well have been stating the law of gravity, her voice was so definite. “But...but!” “You stole from me. I can forgive it because of the good intentions and the lack of evidence to the contrary...” she paused. “But you still deserve a lesson.” Samantha wanted to swallow her own tongue. This is how it started. This is how it always seemed to start. That or just being snatched up. “But-” “Your choice. Admit you made a mistake and bend over, or admit you’re lying to me and be fired.” “I’m not a…” Alarm bells! Don’t say the B-word around the Amazons. “I’m an adult!” “That’s why you’re getting a choice.” Mrs. Thompson said, her hands on her hips. “Would you like to lose that choice and go over my knee?” She should quit. Samantha knew she should quit. She should just politely say that she was keeping what small morsel of dignity she had left, walked out, cried into her computer at home and started job hunting tomorrow. She’d already hung up her apron for the night. It would be easy enough to find a new job. Amazons liked having a Tweener or two around to boss around. To boss around. She’d be starting back from the bottom. And there were very few jobs around here that let a Tweener advance. None of her friends her size had a management position. And rent was coming due. The uptick in pay she’d received had only resulted in an uptick in spending habits. She had nothing saved yet. Samantha needed this job. The young woman steeled herself. She turned around. Closed her eyes, and bent over the chair, gripping onto the far legs to brace herself. “Pants and underwear down.” Samantha’s eyes shot wide and she suppressed a question or an exclamation. If she spoke up it’d just escalate. Best to just take the licks and pretend this had never happened tomorrow. Mrs. Thompson probably had a paddle somewhere around here, just waiting to be swung. She did as she was told. And looked back down. This was better than most Littles got, she told herself. This would hurt (and it was going to hurt), but at least she could brace herself and stare at a wall. Littles had to look their tormentor’s in the eye when they were being violated. Better bent over than on her back. Fire! A thousand massive flames enveloped her backside. This hurt! More than she could have prepared for! It did more than sting! The blow rocketed all the way through her spine! Again! More pain! Torture! The kind that could drive someone insensate! Ritualistic pain! Exquisite pain. When an animal bit you it was to kill or else get away. This pain served no such purpose. Pain for the sake of pain! A third blow! And a fourth in rapid succession! Still, Samantha did not scream. She did not cry. The breath was all but knocked out of her from the first blow and she had to inhale in gasping little bursts through her nose. She was too afraid to open her mouth. Don’t cry. Don’t be bawl. Don’t wail. Don’t be like the Littles and the disgraced Amazons who ended up on the changing table. Finally, on the fifth blow, Samantha let out a noise. It was entirely involuntary. Less a scream and more of a grunt; her body’s automatic response of needing to exhale rapidly but lacking the capacity to get it all out through her nose, her vocal chords rattled instead. Her mouth stayed closed. It was more a hum of pain than a cry. But it was seemingly enough. “You’re done.” Samantha stood up. Her head was spinning, her brain buzzing. To counter the pain, her body was releasing adrenaline and endorphins (were those even separate things…? She couldn’t think clearly). Her whole body shook even as the tenderness of bruises was starting to form. “Thank you…” she whispered. “What was that?” It had less of the angry matronly tone Mrs. Thompson adopted, and more of a slightly bewildered tone. “Nothing…” The giant’s hand maneuvered underneath Samanth’s chin and made her look up. “No. What did you say?” “I said...thank you.” “For what?” Mrs. Thompson seemed confused. Samantha wasn’t entirely sure what to say either. “For letting me keep my job.” Mrs. Thompson blinked. A tinge of disappointment in her face. “You’re welcome.” The way her upper lip curled up a bit made Samantha think she didn’t quite mean it. Remembering herself, Samantha hunched over and started to pull her pants back up. Two giant fingers hooked themselves in the waistline, halting her. “Hold on.” Mrs. Thompson said. “What’s this?” “What’s wha-?” Samantha stopped and looked down between her legs. A spot. The tiniest bit of discoloration on her otherwise pristine underwear. A bit of off blue, in a field all but absorbed and evaporated by the cotton. Something even she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t already known what to look for. “Did someone have an...accident?” Amazons must have blacklight vision! The owner’s face twisted into an almost euphoric yet sinister grin. A junkie was getting her fix. The cat just realized that the bird cage was open. The Tweener fell all over herself, tumbling to the floor and yanking her underwear back over her, clutching it like a life raft. “Mrs. Thompson!” She squeaked. “It’s not what you think! I didn’t pee myself! I...I…” “Oh I know what you did to yourself, young lady. The real question is ‘when’? Did you spend all day in dirty panties? A bit of big girl fun before bed and you couldn’t even be bothered to change when you got up?” “No!” “So you did this while at work? Very naughty!” She reached down, her hands aiming for Samantha’s pants. “I know just what to do with naughty girls.” “Oooooooooo!” Now Gwenny was adding in her two cents. NO! NO! Not like this! “Mrs. Thompson!” Samantha begged. “Please! Mercy!” The hands froze. Something else clicked in the big woman’s face. She stopped. She stood up straight, her back stiff and her eyes only half open. “Mercy?” she said. “Mercy?” Samantha shifted her hips and shimmied her pants back up herself. Not standing. Not daring to look away. “Yes, please!” A smirk. “Very well. You may go. We’ll discuss this in the morning.” A pause. “If you decide to show up...in clean panties.” The Tweener woman had nothing else she could say. She couldn’t even manage a ‘Yes, Ma’am’ or a ‘Thank you’. Or a scream or a panicked shudder. She just ran out of the office, out the door, and to her car, praying that Mrs. Thompson or her baby weren’t on her heels. ********************************************************************************** “You wanted to see me, Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha did not look at her employer’s face. She just stared at her sneakers, every muscle in her body tensed and ready to flee. She shouldn’t even be here. In a just world, she’d have quit. In a just world, she’d have been fired. Fuck that. In a just world, she wouldn’t have the legitimate fear of being spanked and then babied by her employer. The world wasn’t just. “I have a gift for you.” Mrs. Thompson said. She held out the package expectantly until Samantha looked up and took it. “You’re welcome.” Samantha stared at the package: “Bloomerz” Samantha read the package aloud. “For Tweeners and Amazons potty training late. Now, with fade when wet designs and easy open sides.” She gulped. “Diapers?” It was very difficult to tell the difference between Littles, Tweeners, and Amazons without a decent sense of scale. That definitely wasn’t a child model on the front, grinning in her pink shirt and matching padding. “Disposable training pants,” Mrs. Thompson corrected. “The kind that you can pull up and on all by yourself.” She rotated the package and pointed to a diagram on the back. “With a clothlike cover and decorations, just like big kid underwear. Isn’t that wonderful?” “Um…” Samantha knew she had to couch her response very carefully. “I appreciate the thought. Thank you.” She took a half step back. “I should start prepping…” “Put them on.” It was not a request. “Excuse me?” Samantha had heard the command. Her brain just didn’t dare process it. No wiggle room was being given. “You can put them on like a big girl,” the owner repeated. “Or I can put you in something else.” Samantha felt her jaw go slack. “I’ll not have my manager walking around in dirty panties for hours at a time.” Her glare intensified. “Or doing naughty things in public.” The Tweener’s face sank. She shouldn’t have come in today. She might be able to run out now if she bolted and didn’t slow down. Did she lock her car or leave it open? She wouldn’t be able to outrun an Amazon if she had to waste those precious few seconds unlocking her car. “You still are my store manager, aren’t you? Still my big girl?” Something about that phrasing did something to Samantha. She was being condescended to and given a compliment at the same time; as much as an Amazon tended to compliment one such as her. “Do you need my help?” “Can I do it in private?” Samantha asked. “How would I know you did it then? That I can trust you?” The (for now it seemed) Manager gulped. “I meant, can I do it without Gwenny here?” Gwenny looked up from her dolls, still sucking on a pacifier to keep her quiet. “You don’t have anything Gwenny hasn’t already seen.” Samantha shuddered. To have been spanked in front of the woman she’d surpassed, that had arguably been the worst part. “Am I still being punished?” she asked. “No,” Mrs. Thompson lied. “These are just to help you. Remind you. Just because you’re not being punished doesn’t mean you’ve earned trust.” Samantha looked back towards Gwenny. “Then I’d like some privacy, please.” She said. “No babies.” Her throat was forming a lump, and she couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or anger. “I understand modesty.” Gwenny’s face collapsed around her dummy. Perhaps the girl had a smidgen of pride left in her, despite the number of times she’d been changed in public. The expression doubled over when Mrs. Thompson said. “Gwenny, go set up your serving station.” “But Mommy-!” Gwenny whined. “No buts,” her Mommy interrupted. “Or are you also a bad girl that gets naughty seeing her friends get embarrassed?” Scarlet rose to Samantha’s cheeks. Mrs. Thompson had guessed certain motivations. Was she that easy to read? Or was her boss guessing her motivations so easily because she had them herself. It would explain a lot. With the quietest huff, Gwenny crinkled out of the office, mumbling pseudo-obscenities around her pacifier. “There,” Mrs. Thompson ripped open the package of pull-ups. “No more stalling. Gwenny should only be left alone for so long. Get to it, missy.” It was like being at the doctor’s office. Or the hospital. It was just changing into a hospital gown, metaphorically speaking. Just kick off her shoes, drop her pants and underwear, and slip on the new garment. It was a bit like a maxi pad, this new Pull-Up. A bit thicker, but not too terribly much. Certainly not as bad as a diaper. She went to get her pants, but Mrs. Thompson reached out and snatched them. Oh no...please no! “But-!” “You’ll get to wear them.” Mrs. Thompson said. “I just want your attention first.” Samantha froze. “You’re a big girl, but you’re going to be wearing these just in case…” The Amazon didn’t specify ‘just in case what’. “And because you’ve been naughty in my store, you’re going to need permission to go to the potty.” Images of her co-workers -mostly Amazons and a handful of Tweeners- the people she was supposed to be giving order to holding the permission over her, “Permission from whom?” Gwenny wouldn’t think to. A few of the others might just tell her to hold it for spite. Then she’d end up peeing herself, then she’d end up just like Gwenny. Just. Like. Gwenny. “Mine, of course.” The owner said. “And I’ll be watching you. Making sure you don’t have any accidents.” Samantha grit her teeth. “And what if I have an...accident?” Better to ask now. Amazons had a habit of making up the rules as they went along, but they tended to stick to rules that they’d already made up. Best to know the rules now. “That depends.” Mrs. Thompson said. “Are you a big girl, or a baby?” Samantha didn’t answer. She didn’t like that ‘adult’ wasn’t a given option. “If you’re a big girl you’ll come tell me right away. Accidents can be forgiven. But if you try and hide it from me, I’m going to assume you’re either too immature to be a big girl, or that you generally don’t know what’s going on inside your pants. In which case…” She let the threat just hang there, before handing Samantha her pants back. She kept the panties, though. “Yes, Ma’am…” The Tweener didn’t even ask who would be monitoring. Back when she had been Gwendolyn, Gwenny had had a keen eye for detail, and would watch the Littles she casually poisoned like a hawk. Even in her reduced status, Gwenny still had that skill set. Most of the mush still ended up in her diaper instead of her brain. Samantha pulled her pants back over the training panties. It wasn’t too bad. There was a bit of a lump around her groin where none had existed, but it was the kind of thing that someone only noticed if they were looking for it. It’d be doubly hard to notice as long as she kept her shirt untucked and her apron on. Super easy. “Oh, and one more thing.” Mrs. Thompson said. “I’m going to expand your responsibilities.” Uh oh. “Yes?” “As manager, it’s going to be your specific job to help any and all of our clients with changing their little ones. Make sure they’ve got the appropriate supplies. Offer to hold or hand things to them. Change them yourself if they ask you to. You’ll be an attendant of sorts.” Samantha’s jaw had yet to unclench. “And if they ask me to leave?” “Then leave, of course. But if they don’t, you make sure you’re there. Watch them. Make sure everything is cleaned up properly in the aftermath, and ready for the next one. That kind of thing.” Images of Baby Tricia and Baby Becky and Baby Gwenny. “And the babies that are bigger than me?” The idea still excited her, and that terrified the Tweener. “Especially the babies that are bigger than you.” This was going to be a loooooong shift. ************************************************************************************************** It wasn’t quite two and a half hours in when the first hammer dropped. “Okay, Manny,” Samantha said. “You take orders, and I’ll make them Gwenny, keep passing them out.” There was a bit of a lull, and most of the customers were now idly sitting, sipping their coffee. Manny was coated in a light drizzle of his sweat from the heat of the machines and the pace he’d been forced to work. Morning rush was always a bitch. It was necessary for him to man the crafting and brewing station, while Samantha did the relatively easy job of taking and ringing up orders. Samantha was no Little, but she still needed a footstool to reach the highest shelves and ingredients. Manny was the wiser choice for the rush. A place scaled to Amazon (pretty much every place) worked best with Amazons running it. That and Samantha really was better working the register. Mrs. Thompson had run the numbers a while ago and found that Amazons tended to buy the more expensive stuff when Samantha was manning the register and taking orders. The Tweener was the master of the upsell. The big people tended to take her recommendations as a kind of challenge. Of course they’d get the next size up for only fifty cents, instead. They could afford that much. They could drink that much. Obviously, they’d get a pastry for two dollars extra. Did she, a not-quite-adult think they were too poor or too fat to merit a croissant or blueberry muffin? (Never did Samantha ever suggest that, but Amazons could be oddly insecure around the smaller folk. Big World Problems.) Now that the rush was well and over, Samantha could afford to dawdle a bit and take her turn. Give Manny a break. She traded places with him, and the slight rustling of the pull-up sounded like a dentists’ drill in her brain. The rush had been busy enough that Samantha almost forgot this morning...almost. Just as they were switching and Manny was wiping his brow, Mrs. Thompson came out of her office and to the counter. “Okay, Samantha. It’s time.” So much for the blessing of forgetfulness. “Time?” “Time to go potty, dear. It’s been almost three hours, and I didn’t make you go first thing this morning.” Samantha felt Manny’s eyes. The customers’ too. “But. I don’t have to go!” This was partially true. Samantha’s bladder definitely had something in it, but it was far from bursting. Like hunger, answering nature’s call was something that came in degrees that varied based on space and other distracting stimuli. The constant taking of orders, making change, and swiping credit cards had easily distracted her from the need to urinate along with the thoughts of what she might be forced to urinate into. Much in the same way that someone could eat, the Tweener could pee. But she was nowhere near starving or bursting. Mrs. Thompson walked behind the counter and took Samantha by the wrist. “Just try for me, big girl.” With her other hand she undid the young lady’s apron. That got a muffled, grunting laugh from Manny. The kind of snorting laughter that sounded a bit like radio static. “Heh.” “Something funny, Manny?” Manny’s eyes widened. “No, Mrs. Thompson.” “Good. Handle the counter.” Mrs. Thompson didn’t look back on her way to the bathroom. “Time for your potty break.” Samantha did. Manny was looking at her. So were the customers. Heads were cocked. Eyes were squinted. A few were nodding in tacit approval. It was mostly in her head, she was sure, but for some reason the relatively discreet pull-up felt a lot more like a puffy, bulky, bulging diaper, one that made her pants seem that much smaller by comparison. It was in her head. But they knew. They knew… Mrs. Thompson opened the bathroom door. Samantha held her breath and only released it when the old wooden wedge didn’t prop the door open. The nearest stall was already open. Samantha waddled...no...walked...just walked into it. She’d only just turned around when the Amazon hooked her fingers into the sides of her pants. In one fluid motion, both her pants and her not-quite underwear were down to her ankles. Samantha inhaled for a gasp, and by time she’d exhaled, she was lifted and sat down on the toilet. She had no trouble sitting herself on the toilet, but the act surprised her, bringing back long forgotten memories from when she was two or three. Her real mother had been bigger (relatively speaking), but there was something...just something about being backed and seated onto a toilet as if one didn’t know what to do. The last time this happened, the receptacle hadn’t been connected to plumbing. The owner of the shop didn’t move. She didn’t close the door to the stall, and stood there. Watching. “Go on.” she said, sweetly. “I’m here. Go potty. You’re safe. Go potty.” Samantha looked down at her lap. No choice. Not really. She had to see this hell through. The changing table wasn’t so far away that she couldn’t end up there. The Tweener inhaled, and relaxed her bladder. The tinkling sound as liquid hit liquid was so common as to be white noise in the soundtrack of Samantha’s life. The audience member turned it into a cacophony. “Good girl!” Mrs. Thompson praised. She leaned down and inspected the pull-up “And you’ve still got your flowers! So big!” Ah. That’s why they were called Bloomerz. Besides being a reference to underwear, the designs were flowery. Blooming. That and Amazons tended to consider women such as herself “late bloomers” at best. Not babies though. “Do you need help wiping?” “No.” Samantha took that as permission to clean herself up. Mrs. Thompson still watched her. Watched her like a hawk eyeing a field mouse. “There’s such a thing as wiping too much, you know.” Samantha flushed and then pulled her pants up. When the sound of rushing water subsided, the sounds of tapes being ripped off of plastic backing took its place. Someone was being changed! FUCK! When her pants were finally buttoned back up, Mrs. Thompson finally made way for her. On her best behavior, Samantha was clever enough to walk straight to the sinks. The owner loomed over her and leaned forward. Strong hands grabbed her by the wrists and guided her fingers into soaping up, rubbing and rinsing. “Just in case.” Out of the corner of her eye, another Amazon. “Yes,” the Mommy cooed to the Little boy. The sky blue onesie was already unbuttoned, his diaper open, and his ankles crossed up over his head. “See that? She’s a big girl. She’s used the potty! She’s a big girl. Unlike you Mr. Poopy Pants!” The Little boy giggled and sucked his thumb. Oh thank goodness, it was just a Little. Samantha half pivoted to leave, but caught the expectant gaze of Mrs. Thompson in the reflection. Oh yeah. She was a monitor and attendant now. She leaned into her pivot until she was heading over. Two wrongs might. “Excuse me, Miss,” Samantha said in her best talking-to-a-customer voice. “I see you’re changing your baby. Is there any way I can help? Wipes? Powder? Oil? Cream? Perhaps you’d like a fresh diaper from the vending machine?” “I’ve got things well covered here, young...” She turned just enough to recognize the employee uniform. “Can I talk to your manager, please?” The shadow of her employer fell over her. “Samantha is the manager. I’m the owner, however.” “Oh!” The new Amazon gushed. “I’m sorry. I thought you were her Mommy.” No reply came to that. “Just give me a second finishing up this little guy.” She finished diapering the poor Little man and put him on her hip. “How can I help?” Mrs. Thompson asked. Her hands were on Samantha’s shoulder. “I just wanted to compliment you on how good your um...Manager was doing. The offer for help was unneeded. And she’s being such a good example. Such a big girl! Going potty and everything!” “Thank you,” Mrs. Thompson said. “We try.” Samantha thought quickly. “Could I interest you in a complimentary bottle fill up for your Little one, ma’am?” Anything to get her out of the bathroom. “Yes, that would be very nice.” The woman replied. Samantha caught her mouthing the words “So big” to her employer. Ears burning hot, Samantha scurried out of the bathroom and to the dining area. All the way to the counter, customers looked at her. They smiled at her. The smiles were condescending and infantilizing. Just like. “Good job,” some of them whispered. “Big girl.” She’d been beneath their notice moments ago. Now she was a ‘big girl’. “What are you looking at?” She asked, looking at Manny. Manny smirked. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me.” “Just...get back to work!” She snapped. She bent over to get something from the fridge and tugged her shirt down, just in case. “Manny, go clean the toilets in the men’s room.” Manny kept smirking. But as Samantha kept glaring...he stopped. He didn’t say ‘Yes, Ma’am’. But he went and scrubbed the toilets. Despite needing the prerequisite permissions Samantha never got the chance to ask. She had three more ‘just in case’ potty breaks that day. Each with head pats, smiles, and ‘good girls’. Manny got none. Fuck Manny ************************************************************* Samantha shuffled around in Mrs. Thompson’s office. Her legs were cold. She wasn’t fool enough to come back to work the next day without one of those ridiculous pull-ups on. But the only thing that sufficiently covered up the extra padding were shorts. It wasn’t even a physical cold as a psychological one; it was like how her legs always felt a little cooler right after she shaved them. It bothered her because she was used to having everything below her elbows covered up at work. The shorts were a deliberate choice on her part. Her pants fit well enough, but there was always that feeling that if someone stared close enough, they’d know the truth about her underwear. The regulars in the coffee shop knew the truth, anyway. This locale had become home of a sisterhood of sharks just waiting for the waters to be chummed. In a small way, she supposed she should be grateful to her employer for taking her in and out of the bathroom . A Tweener in training pants was very likely to get written off and diapered. The shop’s apex predator kept the others to the periphery. At least they hadn’t gone about trying to pat her bottom like they did Gwenny’s. “I want to show you something.” Mrs. Thompson began. Samantha made no reply. Other than to walk away, she had no choice other than to go along with this. On the leftmost wall from the entrance, far away from where Gwenny played on her blanket in the corner, a bit of posterboard had been gridded, labeled, and placed at Samantha’s eye level. The left column was simple enough, the days of the week. The rest was just empty grid spaces. All except for the title. “Samantha’s Potty-Chart”. “What’s this for?” Samantha asked. Darn it all. Never ask an Amazon a question that you didn’t want to know the answer to. “I thought ‘potty chart’ was kinder than ‘punishment chart’.” Mrs. Thompson said matter of factly. “Every time you use the potty like a big girl, you’ll get a sticker. If you have an accident, you’ll get a different kind of sticker. When this chart is all full up, we’ll look at it together and have a discussion about where to go from there.” There was the barest hint of relief in Samantha’s brain because of that phrasing. Had the older woman said ‘When this is filled up, you’ll be all-done potty training,’ it might have set Samantha more on guard. Words like ‘all done’ didn’t always mean progression where Amazons were concerned. On the floor was a small book of stickers. The Amazon knelt down, and peeled a few off. “Let’s see,” she said. “Yesterday, you went to the potty four times at work with no accidents.” She put four smiley faces on the chart. “Did you have any accidents at home?” “N…!” Samantha stopped herself from blurting out. That would only make her feel more guilty. “No.” She said in a more subdued tone of voice. Then added, “Ma’am” for good measure. “How many times did you go potty at home?” Fuck! Samantha hadn’t counted. Why would she have? After she’d gotten home she tossed the damn pull-up into the garbage, and stayed in her clothes just long enough for the pizza to arrive. Then she poured herself some wine and masturbated out of stress and boredom. She didn’t go looking on her computer, fearing it would be traced. Someone looking for diapered Amazons might get listed somewhere. Either as a pervert or a seditionist. Besides, no amount of acting could replace the crushed look of desperation in an Amazon’s eyes as they were forced to suck on a bottle. She’d literally beat off to the thought of Amazonian tears. “I believe you. We’ll just give you an extra one.” The Amazon put the sticker on. “No accidents at night? You didn’t wet the bed?” Samantha remained mute and shook her head. She did not get another smiley face for the reply. “Are those the same pull-ups you wore yesterday?” “No, Ma’am.” She’d been forced to take the remaining pack of Bloomerz home with her. It had stayed at the foot of her bed with a towel tossed over it until this morning. Without asking, Mrs. Thompsons pulled down Samantha’s baggy pants, and her eyeballs stared directly between the Tweener’s legs. “Hmm…” she mused. “Daffodils instead of Roses. Okay. That is a different pair than yesterday But how do I know this is only the second you’ve worn? No naughty accidents at home?” The mention of the word ‘naughty’ made Samantha blush. The answer raced out of Samantha. “You could count the number of pull-ups left in the pack,” she suggested. Damn it! Why was she helping? By all laws and common sense, her boss’s dominion over her ended when she stepped out of the shop and went back home. If this was a penalty for the other day, that was fine, but the punishment stopped when she was off the clock. Didn’t it? The Amazon reached into the brown paper bag Samantha had hidden the pull-ups in and counted them. “Very good! But how do I know you didn’t wet your bed?” She leaned in a little closer. “Or do something naughty?” “Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha raised her hand as if she were in class and the giant woman wasn’t already looking her in the eye. Whatever. It distracted her from the fact that her shorts were still around her ankles. “I thought this was because of something I did to your property, or in your store? Not because I was having trouble making it to the potty.” The owner stood up to her full height and frowned down at the Tweener. “You’re right,” she said. There was an unspoken ‘unfortunately’ Samantha felt. “My apologies, Samantha.” Samantha didn’t ask if she could pull up her own shorts, but she did anyway. Still, she didn’t feel safe enough. “If there’s nothing else…” “Oh,” Mrs. Thompson said. “There is, though.” She looked down at Samantha and her entire demeanor changed. “You’re going to need to be on your A-Game today.” she said. “I shipped out a load of coupons around the city. We should be seeing returns soon.” The Tweener stood a little straighter and put her hands behind her back. “I understand. Get them in with a deal, and then keep them with the product.” “Exactly.” The smile was anything but condescending. “I’m going to check and change Gwenny before we get out there.” “Mommy-!” Mrs. Thompson ignored her baby girl. “Then we’ll join you up front at the counter. You’ll take orders and upsell to try and make up the difference from the coupons. I’ll work the station with Veronica, and Gwenny can help bring people their orders. We’re going to need all hands on deck today.” Samantha nodded. All business. Finally. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll get right on it.” The Manager turned around to leave. “Oh, and Samantha?” The Tweener froze. “Yes?” Mrs. Thompson dug into Gwenny’s ginormous diaper bag “You’re not going to have time for a water break today. I”d suggest you drink up…” The sippy cup was purple with a lime green lid on it. Mrs. Thompson sloshed it around to show how full it was. And Samantha knew from experience that Gwenny only drank from bottles. ***************************************************************************************** Dying! Samantha was dying on the inside. Four hours into the shift, and she hadn’t gotten a break. Not a quiet break. Not a coffee break. And certainly not a bathroom break. Her everything ached. It felt as if acid was consuming her from the inside? The customers kept coming in, and not in the usual slow trickle...trickle...why trickle? Instead they were flooding the store. FLOODING…?! Another poor choice of inner monologue! “Would you like to make your espresso a double?” Such pain. Just keep smiling. “How many pumps of spicy chocolate mocha would you like?” Grin through the pain. Her throat was dry from talking so much. But Samantha dared not even a sip of water. She had too much to drink as it was. Something was in that sippy cup besides grape juice! It was the only explanation as to why it felt like her bladder was either half its size or double its capacity. No breaks though. Never a lull. “Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha had asked sometime between hour two and three, “May-I?” Mrs. Thompson didn’t even let her finish. “Sorry dear. No time for potty breaks. The rush hasn’t died down. You’ll have to hold it like a big girl.” Samantha bristled at the words ‘dear’ and ‘big girl’. Meanwhile, Gwenny’s diaper was drooping from everything she was putting in it. It was almost as swollen as Samantha’s bladder, but the girl showed no signs of physical discomfort. All of the patrons gave her headpats and cheek pinches, causing her to blush, but not much else. Presently, Samantha wondered if she might be able to sneak away and use the ladies room using her ‘other’ managerial duties that had been foisted on her. Follow some Mommy or Daddy into the bathroom. Quickly sneak into the toilet, then help whatever insane Amazon had a poor unfortunate on the changing table. There was even a precedent considering yesterday. She might even be bold enough to ask Mrs. Thompson outright, in a ‘as long as I’m there’ way. So it wouldn’t be sneaking around or breaking the rules. Shifting from one sneakered foot to the other on her footstool, Samantha was caring less and less about whether or not the big woman watched her pee. She just didn’t want to pee herself. No one was changing any diapers, however. Not a single person had a baby, Little or otherwise, in tow. And the place was crowded. If any of the usual public shamers wanted to show up, they’d have to elbow through the ocean of java junkies. There was a very good reason for this. The coupon. After she’d tucked the first two dozen in the register, Samantha took a second to read it: “Adult Swim. Present this coupon and have no children, adopted or otherwise, with you to receive fifty percent off your order. Leave the kids at home and just enjoy!” Leave the kids at home… That’s why there was only one person wearing a diaper; two if you counted pull-ups… That meant that when..if Samantha had an accident, all eyes would be on her. “No…” Gwenny whimpered and frowned. She stopped right after handing someone their iced coffee and planted her feet. Her hands went down to her stomach. “Uh oh.” “Uh oh’s right,” one of the customers said. “I know that look.” A chorus of nods and knowing laughter rippled its way from table to table. Gwenny’s breathing picked up and her hands knotted into fists. She’d gotten used to wetting herself like a dumb baby well enough. But pooping... “It’s okay, baby,” Another said. “Make your poopies, then you can get my coffee.” Gwenny obeyed. From the looks of it, her body wasn’t giving her much of a choice. Maybe her Mommy had given her a bit of special syrup again; not enough to catch her by surprise, just enough to make it inevitable. “But...I…” and it was too late. The mess started coming out of her and all she could do was suck her thumb and squat as the crowd looked on while her pants filled up. Samantha’s mouth hung open. If her tongue wasn’t as dry as it was, she might drool. Gwenny, a once proud and powerful young Amazon, dressed up like a baby and forced to pee and poop herself while everyone looked on and teased her. The deliciousness of the situation almost made Samantha forget about her own aching bladder. Almost… Almost was too much… A sharp but silent gasp came out of Samantha’s mouth as the first splash of wetness filled her disposable panties. So shocked was the Tweener that she let the stream continue for a solid two seconds afterwards. Panickedly, she gripped the edge of the counter, and dug her teeth into her tongue to suppress the screaming sob threatening to well up inside her. What to do? What would she do? There was no way she was getting out of this. No damn way. Not when Mrs. Thompson had inspected her pull-ups this morning. Not when she’d counted them. Not when she’d gone so far as to inspect the decoration on the fade when wet design. Even now, the training pants were drooping a bit from the weight. They didn’t swell and bulge like a diaper, but they sure sagged away from her. She hadn’t emptied nearly all of her bladder, but the pull-up wasn’t designed to hold as much as a regular diaper in her size. Briefly, less than the span of a full thought, Samantha entertained the fantasy of escaping. Of somehow slipping out, finding a corner store that sold Bloomerz in her size, buying a pack with tip money and then changing into an identical pair that she hadn’t soiled. Roses? No, daisies! What flowers had she just watered away? Running away wouldn’t do her any good either. She’d wet herself. She was a lone antelope on the savannah surrounded by hungry lions. Even if she quit right now, the Amazons would just pounce on her and adopt her; call her immature or babyish. Then she’d wish she’d stayed in the training pants. It’d be a tight squeeze into the nearest playpen...but she’d fit. Just because she could climb up and down off the changing table by herself didn’t mean she was too big for it in their eyes. Keeping quiet and waiting wouldn’t help her either. Big girls didn’t just squish around in wet panties and not tell anyone. It wouldn’t take long for Mrs. Thompson to justify putting her in something thicker. Something that even baggy shorts wouldn’t conceal. There was no way out of diapers. Except… “Mrs. Thompson,” Samantha heard herself squeak. “WIll you please take me to the restroom?” “I already told you, big girl,” Mrs. Thompson said. “We’re too busy. Veronica, hand me-” “I PEED!” The words squealed out of Samantha. The whole room froze. All eyes were off Gwenny. Now they were all focused squarely on her. No escape. Just charge right through. The Amazon Owner came right up to her. She grabbed Samantha’s wrist and guided her off the stool. “Do you mean to tell me you went pee-pee in your panties? That you had an accident?” Exhale. Deep Breath. Exhale again. “Yes, Ma’am.” Samantha was sure she was going to have to repeat it. Louder for those in the back. Make a real spectacle of herself for the enjoyment of the big folks. Talk about what a little baby she was that couldn't even hold her bladder after a spiked drink and four hours without a bathroom break. That’s not what happened. With one hand still holding Samantha by the wrist, Mrs. Thompson bent over behind the counter and dug into her diaper bag. Samantha had to resist the urge to scream or run away, not that either would do. She cut herself short, when Mrs. Thompson stood back up with both one of Gwenny’s diapers and a fresh pull-up. “Gwenny!” she called. “Time for a diaper change, baby girl!” “Yes Mommy.” The relief was palpable in Gwenny’s voice. She did a little dip and curtsied. Then she fell in behind her Mommy and Samantha who were already en route to the bathroom. “We’ll be back in a moment everyone,” Mrs. Thompson told the waiting audience. “Just have to take care of a bit of family business. To punctuate her point, she closed the ladies’ room door and wedged it shut. Just the three of them. No peeking. Samantha felt herself lifted by the armpits and dangle carried over to the nearest toilet stall. Down came her pants around her ankles. Mrs. Thompson didn’t even wait for them to hit the floor before she started opening the sides. Too much like the sounds of tapes being ripped off a diaper. Samantha found herself seated on the toilet “Okay, Samantha. If you have any more in you, go ahead and get it out.” “Mommeeee,” Gwenny whined. “Can you change me now?” “You can wait, Gwenny.” her Mommy spoke behind her. “You’re a baby. Babies can wait to get changed.” She looked down at Samantha. “Big girls go potty.” That settled the matter. The tinkling as Samantha emptied the rest of her bladder was louder than the last time. Possibly because there was still so much. Possibly because she felt like she was trying to get it out faster. Was it even possible to push with bladder muscles? Samantha didn’t know. “All done?” Samantha looked down at her lap. “Yes, Ma’am…” “Try to go poopy, since you’re sitting there,” her boss said. “Just try. For me.” It was sweet. Like a parent trying to coax good habits out of a toddler. Then, “You might not get another chance…” Eyes slammed shut, Samantha grunted and groaned, and attempted to shut the world out. No one was watching. No one was here; certainly not a woman old enough to be her mother talking to her like she was some kind of- She was rewarded with the sound of a second splash and the feeling of a slightly less empty gut. The Tweener sighed as a single bead of sweat dripped down her forehead. “I knew you could do it. Such a big girl!” To show what a ‘big girl’ she was, Samantha was allowed to flush the toilet herself and then bent over as her front and bottom was wiped for her. At least it wasn’t as messy as if she’d shat herself. At least she didn’t have to look Mrs. Thompson in the eye. “Thank you…” she mumbled when the last wipe. “Left shoe,” the older woman’s voice called back. “Huh?” “Take off your left shoe.” Samantha did. “Now step out of those shorts, but only with your left foot. Her shorts remained in a puddle, but only encircled her right ankle. She felt lopsided standing with only one shoe. Mrs. Thompson popped open the Bloomerz, so close to actual underwear, but so very far away. “Step in. Left foot first, please.” Again, the Tweener obeyed, taken out of her element. The first foot and sock when through. The leg cuffs stretched more than enough to let her sneakered right foot in. The shorts were just a floppy ring around her ankle, easy enough to get through. Then it was just a matter of pulling the training pants up around her hips and putting her left leg back into the shorts. Other than her shoe, no other article of clothing completely left her body. She might as well have had snaps along the inseam. “And that, my dear Manager, is how you change a pull-up.” The older woman patted Samantha on the shoulder and then walked away. “Wash your hands. Gwenny, get on the changing table.” Samantha went and quickly washed her hands, actually relishing the small bit of independence given to her in the simple act. She only forgot herself when she started to walk towards the restroom door. “Where do you think you’re going?” Samantha pivoted. “Oh,” she said. Her so called changing station duties. “I’m sorry. How can I help with your baby?” A small, more pleasant tingle returned. She shouldn’t have called Gwenny a baby. After her humiliation, it felt good to talk down about someone else, even if it was just Gwenny. “Yes,” Mrs. Thompson said. She stepped aside and set a stepping stool down next to the table. “I want you to change Gwenny.” Gwenny sat up. “MOMMY! YOU CAN’T!” There was a grimace in her face from sitting up in her own mess. “SHE’S NOT AN AMA-...! SHE’S NOT A GROWN-UP!” “She’s more grown-up than you.” Gwenny opened her mouth to complain, but a look from her Mommy made her lay back down. She crossed one arm over her chest and popped the opposite thumb in her mouth. Samantha was almost as gobsmacked as Gwenny. “You want me? To…?” She stuttered. “But you never…” About half a dozen dirty thoughts jumbled together with six more terribly dark and paranoid thoughts. This was a trap. This was a treat. This was a test. But for who? “Go on, Samantha.” Mrs. Thompson coaxed. “Change the baby.” The little security camera in Samantha’s mind switched on. Her legs felt numb. Her face felt hot. A moth to a flame. A bug to a flytrap. She couldn’t resist. She dare not. “Okay Gwenny,” she heard her cooing. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” She tore the tapes off one at a time. It sounded better to her ear than when she heard someone else doing it; perhaps because when someone else did it there was always the lingering thought that it might be her with her back down and legs up. “I’m not as strong as your Mommy, so I’m going to need you to help me. Can you be a good girl and help me?” Gwenny’s eyes shimmered a bit. She must have been fighting her pride. Samantha was fighting something else. She undid the tapes on the Amazons diaper, pulling it back. “I’m going to wipe you down with these baby wipes. They’re gonna be cold, but they’ll get you niiiice and clean.” Samantha licked her lips. “Good baby. Now lift your legs for me so I can clean off the mess.” The Tweener was breathing through her mouth, and it had nothing to do with the stench coming from Gwenny’s backside. “Good baby. Now just hold it. I’m working as fast as I can. That’s good. Maybe you’ll get a treat for being such a good girl.” Samantha would never admit it, but she’d practiced this kind script just last night. It was the kind of thing she’d whispered to herself just before orgasm, and it was having similar effects right now. There was no bathroom anymore. The periphery outside of this scene ceased to exist. Mrs. Thompson was only in the back of the Tweener’s mind. “I’m gonna ball it up. Up with your hips. Oops! Missed a spot. Got it. Good baby.” Despite not having a drink in a few hours, Samantha’s mouth was getting moist. Despite having just gone to the bathroom, her pull-ups were getting more than a bit wet. Just not from her bladder. “Okay,” Samantha continued to narrate just as much for herself as for Gwenny. “Up one more time. Good girl. Nice new diaper. Oh, this has unicorns on it! So pretty. DId you decorate it yourself or did your Mommy help?” Even the Amazon baby was starting to blush in a way. “Such a clever girl!” Moist Gwenny was starting to giggle, despite herself. She cooed and gurgled around her thumb, starting to accept the experience as Samantha had. Something about that drove the Tweener crazy. She’d have to go back to work, but she’d remember every moment of this for later tonight. “You don’t have a rash, and your skin isn’t too dry. So I just dust on some baby powder so you smell just as pretty as you look. Baby likes her powder, doesn’t she? I bet she does! Yes she does! Okay okay! Stop squirming.” Soaking She drew the diaper up between her sort of co-worker’s legs. “Let’s count the tapes. One...two...three...four! All done!” She gave each tape one last push. It didn’t make the tapes stick any better, but it reminded both of them what Gwenny was wearing. So hot! Her training pants were now a swamp. “Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Thompson burst back from the periphery. In reality she’d been watching the whole time. Like a mother hawk. It only just now registered to the Manager. “Gwenny, you can hop off.” Crinkling and waddling, Gwenny did. “Yesh, Mommy.” Her thumb was still in her mouth. “Back to work,” she told Gwenny. “ I’m sure even without us, Veronica has been doing her best. Go hand out orders.” The big baby took her thumb out of her mouth and wiped it on her dress. “Yes, Mommy.” The diaper change all but forgotten, Gwenny skipped out of the bathroom. It must be nice sometimes, Samantha thought, to have that little pride and to so easily forget such things. Meanwhile, she wasn’t crinkling as much. Something had activated just a tiny bit of the absorbent core and pulp. A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. Samantha looked up. “You did a very big thing back there,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Good girl.” The Tweener blushed. “Just doing my job. You asked me to change her.” “Not that,” her boss corrected her. “Admitting when you had an accident as soon as it happened. A less mature young lady might try to hide it or run away. You were a very big girl just then.” Samantha only blushed, and continued to do so for the next hours as random patrons told her more or less the same thing. The sticker on her potty chart wasn’t a frowny face indicating the accident…but a star. *********************************************************************** A week later, Samantha stood in Mrs. Thompson’s office, pretending to examine the potty chart. She already knew what was on it. She had a greater sense of object permanence and memory than a child. It wasn’t pride that she felt, but rather relief. The nightmare was almost over. A full week and the chart had almost told its story: Mostly smiley faces. Samantha had gotten quite good at peeing in front of someone else. A few stars where she had an ‘accident’. Samantha was really starting to get a good read on Mrs. Thompson. No more sippy cups filled with goodness-knows-what to send her bladder to bursting. If Samantha allowed herself to pee a bit into the padded underwear every other day, that’d be enough to slake Mrs. Thompson’s hunger for humiliation. It was enough to give the appearance of potty training...but not potty trained. Also, and likely not-coincidentally. Every time Samantha had had an accident, she’d been allowed to change Gwenny. Clearly, her boss was trying to condition her. Obviously, knowing that, should render the temptation ineffective, but that’s the thing about addiction: Every alcoholic knows deep down that they shouldn’t take that drink. But being an alcoholic means they do... “Would you like to have that discussion now, or after work?” Mrs. Thompson asked. Samantha was snapped out of her reverie. “Now would be fine,” Samantha said. She really wanted out of these stupid things. Then she remembered herself. “If you have the time, that is.” “We have some time. I asked Manny to come in early.” Samantha’s expression soured. Was Manny trying to undermine her? He’d been a cheeky bastard all week. Was he setting himself up to take Samantha’s place. Or was she just being paranoid? “Okay,” she swallowed. “Let’s talk.” “How do you feel about this past week?” Mrs. Thompson asked. “Pretty good,” Samantha answered. “So you think it was a good thing that you got put back in pull-ups?” Trap! “I think a form of recompense for my past behavior was just.” “And what about your potty training? This chart has an awful lot of stars...for a grown-up.” Trap! For Amazons, one accident was too many. It’s why Samantha had allowed herself a few more. In for a penny, in for a pound. The fact that she’d never had an accident prior wasn’t a good defense. Plenty of Littles never had an accident before they were put back in diapers and whatever flimsy logic the giants could grab onto was used to keep them in them. There weren’t many ways to get out of this regardless. She made a show of holding her chin. Deep in thought when she’d somewhat rehearsed this already. “I think it’s a matter of pens and pencils.” A curious expression flashed across the giant’s brow. “Pens and pencils?” “People tend to make more mistakes with pencils than with pens. Knowing they have the erasers makes them more careless. Knowing there’s that safety net makes them sloppy and imprecise.” “And you’re saying you’ll be more careful when you get your big girl panties back at work?” “Yes. Provided that I only drink food and water from home.” Accusing the boss of poisoning her...a bold move. She couched it with. “Since I’ve proven that I can monitor and identify my own needs and hold myself accountable. I wouldn’t want to waste your resources.” Mrs. Thompson bit her lip. A tell perhaps, that her next line of loaded questions had been shot down. “How would you say being back in training pants has helped you?” Truth? It hadn’t. Lie? “A greater sense of...scale.” “How so?” “A greater sense of what is being babyish and what is not. Babies can’t control themselves. That’s why they wear what they do. It’s not their job. Pull-ups are...more an opportunity for a second chance.” “Do you think you deserve a second chance?” Time to roll the dice. “I do.” Mrs. Thompson stared at the chart on the wall. Then back down to Samantha. Back and forth her eyes went, like she was watching a tennis match that only she could see. Where would the ball land? “I happen to agree.” Samantha almost squeaked with joy, but contained herself. “Thank you.” “No more pull-ups, big girl. You get another chance.” She extended out her hand. Samantha took it. “I’d like to celebrate and congratulate you, too.” Samantha let go of the handshake. “Oh there’s no need to-” Mrs. Thompson didn’t let go. “Oh, but I insist. Come and have dinner with us tonight. My house. I’ll even let you take half a day off.” The last day working in pull-ups felt longer than the first. **************************************************************************************************** Samantha hiccuped, actually hiccupped, as she finished her cup. It wasn’t from a fancy wine glass like the one Mrs. Thompson was sipping from, but it wasn’t a sippy cup or a baby bottle either. Gwenny had to content herself with sparkling grape juice from her ba-ba. The dinner was oven roasted chicken coated with panko bread crumbs and dipped in ranch, with and steamed vegetables. Considering the portions, Samantha didn’t mind that her bird had already been cut up for her. Just meant more time eating and less time cutting. Gwenny had to settle for dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. Mrs. Thompson took time between bites to spoon feed the young woman in her highchair. To be accurate, it wasn’t exactly a highchair Gwenny was seated in. Samantha’s feet dangled more than Gwenny’s, but the diapered Amazon’s chair had a tray and buckles that locked her in place. Definitely a custom job. Meanwhile, Samantha ate in a normal chair, not even needing a booster seat to see over the table. Between the two of them, Gwenny might have been larger, but Samantha was decidedly bigger. “Thank you very much for the..” she paused and hiccuped again. “meal, Mrs. Thompson.” She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. “My apologies.” Samantha was feeling it. Amazon wine was strong! She wasn’t slurring her words, but her face felt sort of numb and she had to speak very deliberately and slowly so as not to. “Perfectly fine, dear. Can’t be helped.” She took a bite of her own chicken and then skewered a piece of broccoli to put it in Gwenny’s mouth. The grown woman was keeping pace with Samantha, but she was much bigger than her. The wine wasn’t affecting her. “However, I’ve been thinking…” The last bite of ranch chicken went down hard. “Yes?” “I could use some help around the house. Gwenny is a joy, but she can be..be..” Gwenny beamed. “I’m a handful!” “Yes dear, now finish your broccoli.” Mrs. Thompson looked across the table, expectantly. Samantha wondered where this was going. “I know,” she said. “Sometimes at work, she’ll be yapping and yapping to the customers, and will miss drink orders, and it takes me or Manny or Veronica - usually me - to get her back on track.” Wow, this wine had really loosened her tongue. “Not her fault though, she is just a baby after all.” She delighted in Gwenny’s eyes darting around. That would never get old. Not until Gwenny grew up...and knowing Amazon Mommies, that probably wasn’t going to happen. Mrs. Thompson took a swig of wine. “Exactly. Can’t be helped. It’s not her fault she’s so Little on the inside.” She reached out and gave the girl a cheek pinch. Samantha took her hands out of her lap and rested them on the table to avoid temptation. Those hands had gotten her into pull-ups… “Babies,” Samantha grinned. “What are you gonna do?” “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Mrs. Thompson said. “So initially I was thinking about adopting a little sister for Gwenny. Someone her own maturity to play with and get some of that energy out.” Samantha clenched her cheeks a bit, adrenaline fighting with alcohol to maintain sobriety. She wasn’t talking about adopting Samantha, was she? The girl was just tipsy enough to find it hard to differentiate between little and Little (it was all a matter of context more than pronunciation, honestly). Quietly, Samantha’s hand drifted over to the fork; not clutching it, but readying to stab a certain giant in the thigh if she needed to. “But then I realized that would only create more work for me. And most people with Gwenny’s maturity are Littles. Daycare? No thank you! And two babies is just too much for me. Then I thought about hiring a babysitter, but good help is so hard to find. And not everyone is as good with Gwenny. I can’t trust everyone. I need someone who is big and mature, but capable of of...” “Communicating with her on her level in a way she understands?” Mrs. Thompson was a lightbulb. “Exactly!” Gwenny spit out a bite of broccoli. “MOMMY!” “Gwenny, hush.” From top to bottom, the Tweener tingled. Was this going where she thought it was going?” She imagined herself, bossing around her former tormentor. Infantilizing her. Talking down to her. Changing her. Bottle feeding her. Tucking her into bed. In a word: ‘babying’ her. “Gwenny likes to be naughty at home, and I admit I indulge her from time to time.” Gwenny whimpered as her dirty laundry was aired at the dinner table. The two adults ignored her. “I can see that. I don’t know what goes through her baby brain, but I can tell she has alllll kinds of naughty thoughts.” “Speaking from your own personal experience?” That shut Samantha down. But then she was lifted up/ “In a way I feel like it may have been a kind of fate, this past week. You’ve proven yourself trustworthy, and you’ve always been a good manager.” For once Samantha wanted to blush from something besides horniness or embarrassment. “You can also follow a schedule. You can communicate your needs. Much more mature than a baby. Very big.” Samantha practically felt like she was swooning. “And since you’ve had a few accidents yourself this week, I think that gives you a special kind of empathy that many grown-ups lack.” The fork was out of Samantha’s grip. She didn’t want it anymore. In her mind’s eye she just kept imagining a thousand fun and terrible ways to babysit the giant toddler. Oh this would be so sweet! “I’ll do it!” Her acceptance was punctuated by one last hiccup. It did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” Speaking of things dampening… The Amazon (the grown-up one) clapped her hands together and stood up. “Wonderful!” “Mommy!” Gwenny squealed! “NO!” I don’t want this!” Samantha stood up, too. “It doesn’t matter what babies want. Your Mommy is right. You do need supervision!” Maybe it was the wine talking… Or not. “Wonderful!” Mrs. Thompson said. “Why don’t we start playing right now!” Alcohol was winning out over adrenaline. “Sure thing, Mrs. Thompson.” Her boss unbuckled Gwenny from the seat and let her out. Gwenny whined some more but got a swat on her padded behind for her stubbornness. She jumped a bit, but probably not because she felt any real pain. Her butt practically had a pillow on it. Gwenny’s Mommy looked at the Tweener. “No need to call me that anymore, dear.” “Oh...okay...M-M-M-” She stuttered. “Marion.” Saying her boss’s first name just sounded wrong. The woman’s lip twisted...not quite a sneer. “We’ll work on it, sweetie.” The big baby and the Tweener were escorted to another room. A guest room, Samantha would have guessed. Or at least she would have guessed if she hadn’t seen it with herself. A giant crib. Piles and piles of stuffies. A changing table. A rocking chair. Bins of toys. If not for the sheer scale of the room, Samantha would have guessed that it was a nursery for a Little. A breathy “Wow…” came out of Samantha. The exact measure.of her immaturity laid out to strange eyes, Gwenny just plopped down in a pile of stuffies and tried to bury herself. Cute. Playing peekaboo. “You like?” Mrs. Thompson said. This would be the perfect place to ‘play’ with Gwenny. “You really go all out, don’t you?” The older Amazon smiled, clearly proud. “Nothing but the best for my children.” Samantha blinked. “Wha-?” “Samantha. You be good for Gwenny. Mommy’s going to do a little shopping while you two play.” And before Samantha could say anything more, the door was closed. A slight clicking noise told Samantha what she needed to know. “Gwenny?” she asked. “Why did your Mommy just lock the door?” The big baby just buried her head in her stuffies. “Iff noff fair!” She mumbled. “Noff fair affal!” She couldn’t have any idea how ridiculous she looked wit her padded rump in the air. The Tweener went over. “What’s going on?! Gwenny? Gwenny?” No response. The Tweener did her best to put some bass in her voice. “Gwendolyn!” That did it. Though still on her knees, Gwenny snapped to attention. “What’s going on?” Samantha demanded.” “You just got Adopted.” Gwenny moaned. “She’s been talking about it all afternoon.” Heart. Chest. Explode. “What?!” Samantha yelled. “But I’m not a baby!” “No,” Gwenny sulked. “You’re a big girl. And you’ve got the potty chart to prove it.” She pointed to the wall farthest from the door. “See?” The owner had moved it. But it was the exact same chart. “Samantha’s Potty Chart.” “That’s probably where your toddler bed will go,” Gwenny huffed. Samantha felt dizzy with panic. “But? But? I…” She breathed in. This wasn’t happening! She was out of diapers! “I was supposed to be your babysitter! I’m in charge!” “You are in charge,” Gwenny huffed. “Of me. Mommy told me that big sisters look after the babies and the babies hafta do what they say. It’s no fair. I don’t wanna big sister! I got adopted first! I should be the big sister!” Samantha’s ears were ringing like a hand grenade had just gone off nearby. She was an adult! A grown-up. Not to Amazons though. Not lately. She was just a ‘big girl.’ “Now I gotta share my room…” Gwenny was absolutely oblivious to Samantha’s pain and discomfort. Speaking of which, it wasn’t completely emotional. That wine was going right through her and the seal was about to break. “Gotta share my closet too,” she muttered. “She got you more of those dumb pull-ups and a potty and everything. I don’t get a potty. At least I don’t gotta share my changing table with you.” A beat. “Unless you have a poopy accident.” The Tweener’s hands shot down to her privates. On one level this was so hot! On another level, she really had to go and was prisoner of a crazy giant! And when horny and scared butted heads, scared tended to win. There was no point in talking to Gwenny. No point at all. She might as well be talking to a Little: Gwenny was either legitimately regressed or just so selfishly locked in her own predicament that she had zero empathy for Samantha. She was drunk! She was caught. And she had to pee! She did her best to remedy the first situation. Running into the walk-in closet, Gwenny found the potty chair and pulled her pants down. Samantha closed her eyes, sat down and let go. After a week of having to sit on a toilet and pee and poop in front of an actual Adult, doing it in a closet while Gwenny moped ten feet away. It was a tad small, being designed for an Amazon toddler, but Samantha could fit. The stream came out fast. No more reassuring tinkling sounds, though. Not until the potty chair had filled up enough… Gross! “Uh oh! Looks like somebody found their first present!” Samantha opened her eyes. Mrs. Thompson hadn’t been gone long. “Surpriiiiise!” “Mrs. Thompson!” Samantha started to say “There’s been a mistake!” Samantha’s pants were off her ankles in one fell swoop along with her panties. “I’ll say. For starters, I think someone needs their trainers on, don’t you?” “No, that’s not what I-” But Samantha’s pleas went on unheard. A fresh pair were threaded onto her legs in a second. She looked just like a potty training toddler sitting on the potty...and she had the chart to match! “It’s just in case, dear. I know you’re a big girl...most of the time.” “But I-!” A finger went to her lips. At least it wasn’t a pacifier. “I know, I know,” Mrs. Thompson said. “You feel tricked. But you don’t have to be. Stay here. With me. With Gwenny.” “But...but…” “But what?” the giant woman asked. “But you want to be a grown-up? How has that worked out? Struggling to survive. No authority. No privilege. Not Little enough to be fawned over and not Grown-Up enough to be given anything of lasting value.” “I...I…” Pull-ups around her ankles and her own urine sloshing beneath her, Samantha was losing this fight. She wasn’t even embarrassed about being in this position anymore. That’s how quickly she’d been desensitized to it. “You’re tired. And you’ve had a taste.” She leaned over, seductively. “I know how you think, big girl. I know those naughty thoughts haven’t gone away. You’ve lost more fade when wet decorations, but nothing to do with you going pee-pee.” Samantha shuddered at being called out so brazenly. “But if you’re my daughter...my big girl...well...big girls shouldn’t get naughty in their panties. Ruins the material. But if your pull-ups are gonna be tossed anyways. What’s the harm?” Samantha could feel her heartbeat in her ears. “What’s the harm of going potty...and then changing your baby sister...then coming back to Mommy’s office and finding a nice quiet spot to get those thoughts all out.” “Would I…” Samantha asked, her voice a whisper. “Would I still get to be Manager?” “Better,” the giant woman hissed. “You’d be my big girl. Big enough to take care of yourself juuuust a little bit. Big enough to tell me when Veronica and Manny and any of the other employees are slacking off.” “Would I…” the Tweener gulped. “Would I have to wear a...a diaper?” The older woman thought for a second. “Maybe at night, after I tuck you in. That potty was supposed to be for my office, and I don’t want you getting up in the middle of the night. But that’s it.” “Promise?” “Pinky swear.” Then her tone deepened. “I just printed out the forms. All I have to do is fill out a few more bits. But, when I’m done. Or,” she said. “You could get up. You could pull your trainers up and flee the house. Get in your car and drive away, keep what little dignity you have left, and start looking for a new job. Gain everything by admitting who you are, or keep your pride and lose everything else.” When she put it like that... And so Samantha said the one option that made sense. “Yes.” “Yes?” Samantha sighed. Why fight it? “Yes, Mommy.” (The End) ******************************************************************************************

This will be my first story in this setting, so bear with me. It will be much lighter in fare than most Diaper Dimension stories I've read--no humiliation, no abuse, no sexual stuff or BDSM--and is mostly going to involve fluff. I'm using the adoption form made by @Alex Bridges in this story (check it out at the end of this chapter), and I'm also taking some inspiration from @Personalias and their Diaper Dimension stories for some elements. I hope you all enjoy! -------------------- I sat in the playpen, fiddling with various baby toys and floating in and out of my headspace. I'd always felt "little", even on Earth, and always felt embarrassed by it; after all, a 30-something man who occasionally wears diapers and baby clothes for some strange emotional need to regress would definitely sound weird to most people. Now, though, I was in a world where none of that mattered anymore. I'd heard about the Amazons and their adoption centers, ferrying humans (or as they call us, "littles") to their world, but hadn't had the courage to actually go through with it until after my 35th birthday. It was a rather bland affair, and difficult to enjoy considering the difficulties of life at the time; all it ended up doing was reminding me of my own fragile mortality. I'd never been in anything resembling a romantic relationship in my life. I couldn't drive. I hadn't even lived on my own or had a stable job. My life basically stopped moving forward shortly after graduating High School, and on that birthday it struck me just how long it had been stuck. That night, after a great deal of thought, I left the house on the pretext of heading for a party, leaving a note behind... and never looking back. It was strange just how quickly the process moved; I entered the building, filled out a form, submitted it, walked through a machine that did a full-body medical scan, and then through a portal. Before I knew it, I was on the other side, and physically 8 years old (but with a lisp fitting a toddler). Not long after, I was dressed in diapers and a baby blue t-shirt and placed into a playpen filled with baby toys and other littles like me. All of us still had our adult minds; though there were definitely elements in Amazon society that would demand we be brain-blasted by a marathon session of full-strength hypnotic cartoons immediately, this adoption center was not such a place. The option to be mentally regressed was there--they even had toys that would give a non-permanent hypnotic effect for those who wanted to temporarily forget their adult cares--but no one was going to be brainwashed against their will. I was fairly happy about this; much as I liked being little and feeling like a baby, I also liked being able to have an adult mind to return to. I'd indulge in the hypnotic toys every so often; much as a single drink of alcohol won't kill you but constant guzzling of booze will give you eventual liver damage, a small dose of the infantilizing stuff wouldn't melt your brain into mush as long as you didn't overdose. The only complaint I had was the waiting. I was eager to be adopted; my birth parents were nice enough, but the idea of a new family with a completely fresh start was a big deal for me. But day after day, I saw little after little get adopted by loving new Amazon parents, while I remained behind. Finally, about a week after my arrival, some luck arrived. "So here we have our playroom; take a look around!" I looked up from what I was doing to see an employee giving a tour to an Amazon couple; I sighed as they scanned the room, looking past me at some of the other littles present. Once again, ignored... "MOM! Look at that one! He looks like me a bit!" I whipped my head toward the source of the voice to see an Amazonian boy of about 7-8 years pointing at me. The couple--his parents, obviously--turned and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Honey," the mother said, "didn't you say you wanted to stay in the car?" "I got bored! But look, that one really does look a little like me!" I considered this for a moment or two; there was some slight coincidental resemblance. Brown eyes, fair unfreckled skin, straight black hair in a center part, sharp eyebrows, big-but-not-too-big noses. If not for the size and the lack of glasses, he could have been a photograph of me from that age. At that point, the couple finally seemed to notice me. "Oh! You're right! Martha, he DOES look like Brian!" Martha followed her husband's gaze to me... and if she hadn't held it in I'm pretty sure her squee would have deafened all living things within five miles of her. "EEEEEEEEE! Oh my gods, Ethan, he's sooooo precious! He's like a mini Bri-bri!" Her glee was so much she didn't remotely register the embarrassed blush on her son's face at the nickname. "Hewwo," I lisped, crawling over to them. "I T'aweb." "Caleb here," the adoption center employee said, translating my lisp, "is one of our best-behaved littles. An absolute sweetheart. And his adoption form stated a preference for a family with a sibling, too." This sent Brian into a high level of excitement. "Really?! Mom, Dad, please! I want a baby brother!" Ethan turned to his wife. "Brian seems sold, and so am I. How about you, dear?" "Oh, he's precious for sure. But... the name Caleb isn't my favorite. How does he feel about a new name?" To be honest, I had no problem with it. But that wasn't for me to say--that was for the adults, specifically the employee. "He's indicated no preference there. Feel free." The Amazon family all turned to look me right in the eye; for a brief moment I felt intimidated by the attention... until Martha spoke. "How about Bobby?" Bobby sounded fine to me. I smiled as cutely as I could--I was eager to finally get out of this place and into my new life. Thankfully, this got the point across perfectly. "Heh, Bobby it is! Come to mommy, Bobby!" I couldn't remotely remember a time when a single sentence filled me with so much joy. No, not just the sentence, the WORD around which the sentence was constructed. "Mommy". With no regrets and no fear, I crawled towards the arms that stretched into the playpen and allowed them to pick me up, eager to start my new life.

(Monday Night) “Produced by the Yamatoa Anti-Tourism Board,” Clementine read the opening credits of the documentary and pressed pause. “Paul, this better not be some bullshit hypnosis video we’ve been sent.” She looked up at the man mountain on the couch next to her. Paul, an Amazon, leaned forward on the couch and uncovered his eyes. Unlike Clementine, Paul’s feet reached the floor when he was sitting on their couch, and he didn’t need a footstool to sit on it. Everything outside of Clementine’s room was Amazon sized. The price of having an Amazon roommate. “You’re guess is as good as mine, Clem.” He scratched his thinning head of raven hair. “I just got this in the mail. Thought you’d want to scan it with me.” The mysterious DVD HAD been addressed to Paul. If it had been addressed or referenced Clementine in any way, it would have been snapped in half and burned out of hand. Strangers didn’t send movies to Littles in good faith. “Fine, but if it’s a cartoon or I start sucking my thumb, we’re trashing it immediately.” “Same,” Paul agreed. Clementine shot him a look. “What?” Paul held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Not a joke. Amazons are just as susceptible to hypnosis as Littles. Remember that Carpet Mice episode I watched for you? ‘Little Accidents Happen’? I was a bedwetter for almost a week after that.” Clementine thought about that week. So that’s why Paul had acted so strangely. “You never told me that part.” Crimson cheeks contrasted with midnight hair. “I was embarrassed,” he admitted. “I would be too,” Clementine admitted. She looked down at her jeans. Her anti-babying belt was still locked into place. Nervously, she fiddled with the lock keeping her pants buttoned. It was small enough that a giant’s fat fingers would be unable to properly press the release button and strong enough that none of them would get a peek inside her panties without a serious fight. They could still be cut off or torn loose with enough effort, but no Amazon was going to “just check”. It’s not that Clementine didn’t trust Paul. She just hadn’t taken it off when she got home from work. She rarely did. Keeping her pants tight came just as naturally to her as wearing a bra or tying her shoes. “No,” Paul said. “You wouldn’t have been. That shit was so powerful it would have bowled you over and you would have come looking for the nearest Amazon to help.” Clementine rolled her eyes. Amazons, even the well meaning ones like Paul, were so privileged sometimes. “I thought you said you big strong Amazons were just as hypnotizable as us poor weak defenseless Littles.” “Shit,” Paul cursed under his breath. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. What I meant was that when I woke up in a wet bed, my brain was telling me that it was normal for a Little to wet the bed, and good Littles only had to find a helpful Amazon to make it all better.” “But you’re not a Li-” Clementine stopped herself. “Oooooooh. That’s how you knew your head was being screwed with.” Your average Amazon hypno-propaganda was so specific and targeted that there was room for cognitive dissonance to wriggle its way back in under the right circumstances. Clementine had dodged a similar bullet when after screening a movie that she’d had an overwhelming urge to call Paul ‘Mommy’. Yay Amazonian sexism and poorly designed subliminal content. She’d called out of work sick that day. That’s why the roommates usually watched this kind of thing in shifts. If Clementine went under, Paul could just do his level best to ignore her or treat her like the adult she was until she snapped out of it. No level of hypnosis was so strong that it stuck permanently after one dose. Hypnosis was like booze in that way: Different tolerances for different brains, but no one was going to die of alcohol poisoning after a single shot. People’s brains were more resilient than they expected. Prolonged exposure would give you liver poisoning, though, and if someone poured enough vodka down your gullet all at once and you’d be in for a hurting; brain damage if not brain death. “Do you mind if I isolate for this?” Paul asked. The movie, a documentary about the dreaded country where Littles checked in but did not check out by the looks of it, was still on pause. It hadn’t even reached the title card. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Clementine tried to joke. “Got a feeling they’re gonna turn you into a Daddy?” In theory, it wasn’t impossible for hypno-propaganda to be targeted specifically at Amazons. An Amazon could be mind fucked into thinking that Littles were babies just as easily as a Little could get their eggs scrambled into believing that they were babies themselves, but Clementine didn’t believe it was a regular thing. Why would ninety percent of Amazons feel the need to hypnotize the ten percent that disagreed with them? Paul had often debated the accuracy of those numbers, but Clementine’s point still stood: From day one, Amazons were told explicitly and implicitly that Littles were basically babies, and society had been set up for them to make that the truth. Amazons didn’t need to be hypnotized, they were already largely indoctrinated. That didn’t stop Paul from walking out of the room whenever one of those obnoxious Monkeez commercials with the Littles and babies side by side came on. If diaper commercials aired on network T.V. were supposed to hypnotize her, they were doing it wrong. The Little woman felt like slitting her wrist every time she saw someone her own age or older waddling around on screen, dressed up in a pirate hat and saggy padding as a corny voice warned about the danger of leaks on the high seas. She’d die first before letting some Mommy or Daddy take her to be their Little doll. She’d kill first. Murder whatever Amazon was fool enough to put her in a crib and lean down for a kiss. Tear out their fucking jugular with her teeth. “Fine,” Clementine said. “I’d rather watch this and have to sit on the toilet all day tomorrow than lock and barricade my door.” Whenever Paul got like this- worried that he might be compromised- it was standard procedure for Clementine to lock herself in her bedroom and be ready to bug out at the first sign that he’d want to baby her. Paul was one of the few Amazons in Clementine’s life who was worth a damn. He’d never once suggested that he baby her. Not so much as a plastic sheet or a booster seat. Still...Clementine would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved that her window was next to a fire escape.” Her roommate looked relieved. Hurt. But also relieved. “Thanks, Clem. I’ll keep an ear out and check in on you. If you don’t answer back or I hear anything, I’m coming running and pulling the plug.” “Deal.” Paul excused himself. Clementine pressed play. (Tuesday Morning) “How was it?” Paul asked at breakfast. Sitting on her stack of old phone books, Clementine stirred her instant oatmeal. “Well, it was depressing, that was for sure. Enlightening, but depressing.” “Yeah?” Paul said, spooning up his own brown and sugared mush. “Learn anything interesting?” “Only that Yamatoa as a culture is way more racist than I initially thought.” Paul nodded in that way that people did where they didn’t know what question to ask or what else to add, but they wanted to be involved in the conversation. Yamatoa was peculiar in Amazonian cultures. Various countries had different policies on what constituted a “legal” adoption, but Yamatoa was easily the most extreme. Every Little that crossed into the country’s borders had to be babied and diapered by law. Even tourists. Even Littles whose plane made an ‘unscheduled’ pit stop for ‘refueling’. Yamatoa was where the worst of Amazons went so they could kidnap and baby Littles with impunity. “Yeah?” Clementine swept her bangs away from her forehead, something she usually did when she was stressed, (which was a lot). “Did you know that the Yamatoan Emperor imposed that law as a way to, and I quote ‘keep Amazonian blood pure’. Fucker hated Tweeners and Littles so much that he wanted to control Little reproductive rights.” She took another spoonful. “Shiiiiiit.” Paul just shook his head. “I never thought of it that way. Littles who never grow up never have kids.” It was like a gentle kind of genocide. Thankfully Paul was aware enough not to voice those feelings out loud. Clementine let out a sigh. “And it’s depressing as anything. So many interviews with Littles who were just aware enough to give their side of the story. One guy was kidnapped and taken over to Yamatoa. Nobody would extradite him. When they’re done reprogramming him, his Mommy is gonna take him back and there’ll be nothing anybody can do about it because our country recognizes adoptions made in Yamatoa.” Paul frowned. “How long is that gonna be?” His roommate put her hand to her stomach. Sympathy pains perhaps. “He shit himself in the middle of the interview and kept going like he didn’t even notice. Just squatted down and messed his shorts. Then stood up and kept talking.” She blinked. “He might be back here already for all I know.” “And they put that on camera?” . “Yeah. Really depressing stuff. Kind of makes you wonder what the point of fighting it is.” Paul reached across the breakfast table and patted Clementine on the hand. “Don’t talk like that. People like us can make a difference. If that documentary showed how awful things are, then it’s up to us to make it less awful.” He drew back his hand. “At least it wasn’t a video about Maturosis.” Clementine spit out a mouthful of oatmeal back into her bowl. “Fuuuuck that.” She reached for a paper towel and wiped her mouth. Her words were harsh, but her tone was a bit jovial. “I thought there were some things we didn’t talk about in this apartment.” “Yeah,” Paul grinned. “But it snapped you out of your funk, didn’t it?” Maturosis was a craze that may have started here on the West Coast, but it had taken root and spread like wildfire back East. It was eugenics disguised as science and oppression framed as compromise. Summed up: Littles had a genetic predisposition towards acting like babies and if this predisposition expressed itself, it was every compassionate Amazon’s duty to baby them not because the Amazon wanted to or was cosseting, but because it was what the Little’s own ‘Developmental Plateau’ required. Paul, Clementine, and the rest of their friends at the Rowanton Adult Society agreed that it was the most ridiculous thing they’d ever heard. Such bullshit. The whole thing was a racket that excused bad behavior from Amazons by putting the blame on victimized Littles. What did the Little deserve to be put back in a nursery? Surely, it was their Maturosis flaring up. Meanwhile it was an incentive for every other Little to dissociate from each other, as one ‘symptom’ of Maturosis was a subconscious desire to associate with other regressed Littles. Babies wanted to play with other babies or some such. Not that Paul needed to express it to Clem. She’d been nice enough and patient enough to teach him. Now it was his job to teach others of his height. Clementine took another couple of spoonfuls of oatmeal. “Good point. At least it’s not any of that Little Voices bullshit. So fucking demeaning.” Little Voices had jumped on the bandwagon and promoted the Maturosis brand with gusto. They got to look like the good guys because they promoted more subtle forms of abuse than just plopping a Little in front of a hypno-screen or leaving them in shitty diapers or beating them till they broke. They’d received tons of Little Voices promotions over the last few months. Correction: Their wastebasket had received tons of promotions. It looked like the monster was trying to head home. “Do you mind doing the dishes for me?” Clementine hopped off her phone books and stood up on the chair. “I don’t wanna be late for work.” It was Paul’s day off of work so he didn’t mind. “Fine, but that means you’re on for after dinner.” “Deal.” Her floral print dress fluttered a bit when she hopped down to the floor. “Do you think I should watch?” “Only if you want to feel the opposite of ‘good’.” “I got nothing better to do,” Paul said. “Then give it a watch.” Clementine started to walk out of the kitchen. Paul arched an eyebrow when he saw her not make a right at her bedroom. “Uh, Clem?” She stopped. “What’s up?” “You’re not wearing any shorts under your dress, are you?” Clementine arched an eyebrow. “No. Why? Can you see anything?” He couldn’t but that wasn’t the point. “You’re not wearing any pants right now? And you’re going out? To work?” The Little looked down at herself. She lifted up the hem of her dress at the ankle. Her legs bear beneath it. “Yeah? So? I’m covered up.” The dress was indeed modest, but something didn’t sit right with Paul. “Yeah, but you can’t fit that fancy belt lock thing of yours over a dress and have it do anything. Can you. What if some Maternalist decides to...” he stopped and snapped the back of his own jeans to illustrate, “...you know?” Clementine blinked. “Oh yeah,” she said. “I guess I guess I just forgot.” She dipped into her room. Not even two minutes later she was out. “Got a pair of shorts and my belt.” She lifted up the hem of her dress to show. Paul, being a gentleman, fought the urge to look away. “Thanks for looking out.” “No prob.” That was weird, Paul thought as he cleaned up the dishes and rinsed them in the sink. Clementine was normally way more careful than that. ‘Careful’ wasn’t the word for it. ‘Paranoid’ was a more apt descriptor of her. Rowanton was super progressive as Amazon cities went, with restrictive adoption laws that made it not worth most Amazon’s time. Most Amazons who had their diapered dolls came from afar and got grandfathered in. Maybe that documentary she’d watched into the wee hours of the morning had done something to her. That was unlikely, though. There’d been none of the signs: No bed wetting or accidents, no childish lisps, or slips and calling him ‘Daddy’. No strange addictive compulsions (a common feature to ensure repeated viewing). No tics like thumb sucking. She’d made a tiny mess with the oatmeal, but she’d taken care of it immediately and it was his fault for getting her to do a spit take. More than likely she’d just been a bit depressed and sleep deprived. It happened. It was her right. So after he’d cleaned the dishes up and gotten himself a soda, Paul plopped down on the couch, turned on the old DVD player, and pressed ‘play’. (Wednesday evening) “Okay everyone,” Clementine spoke into the microphone. “Take your seats.” The Rowanton Adult Society came to order. The gathered crowd of Littles, Tweeners and yes, more than a few Amazons quieted and sat down, Amazons in the back only out of courtesy so that their shorter peers could be more easily seen and heard. The R.A.S. was the city’s largest organization against the adoption and infantilization of Littles. About once a year, someone suggested a cutesy name change, usually by adding an H-word so that the acronym would spell ‘RASH’, but it was always rejected. R.A.S. was no nonsense and without frills. Let Little Voices and their ilk use propaganda and calls to emotion. On paper, adopting anyone who wasn’t chronologically a child was wrong, and that’s all that mattered. Paul and Clementine were senior R.A.S. members, and had used their combined clout to call tonight’s meeting. “Paul and I have come across a very enlightening documentary. It shows some of the worst and most subversive practices of Little Adoption, both from a conditioning point of view and from a geopolitical and legal point of view. This is an honest and frankly uncomfortable look at Yamatoa.” There was a general murmur from the assembled crowd. Everyone knew of Yamatoa. It was only an ocean and an eleven hour flight away. Some in the crowd (the Amazons especially), likely had Yamatoan neighbors. Those neighbors more than likely had a Little kept in perpetual infancy. “I should warn everyone,” Clementine warned the audience, “that while this will be educational, there will be some disturbing content for everyone. You will see footage of captured Littles in diapers. You will hear uncomfortable historical information given by experts of all ages and sizes. You will hear suppositions by the filmmaker that accuse our own government using Yamatoa’s practices and reputation to their advantage, including as a way to suppress and discourage Little immigration and travel abroad. This is not a feel good movie by any definition.” That got an uncomfortable chuckle from some members of the audience. “If at any time you feel yourself becoming uncomfortable, feel free to excuse yourself.” A hand shot up from a Tweener. “Um...speaking of “ she said. “Are we sure it’s safe to watch?” There was no murmur, this time. All eyes and ears were on the stage. Everyone in R.A.S. knew the risk that certain types of media presented. Clementine gestured to her roommate and friend. “Both Paul and myself have already watched this once.” She made a show of turning around and bending over. No diaper bulge from inside the skinny jeans, no white plastic backing peaked out the top of her pants. “I’m not crinkling am I?” That got a good natured laugh from the group. “Paul? Did you bring a diaper bag?” Paul made a show of patting his pants pockets and looking over his shoulder, as if such a gaudy item of infantilization were something on the level of leaving his wallet in another pair of pants. That sent the taller folk howling. “I think we’re good, ma’am.” Paul said. More laughter, and the two took the slightest of bows. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way. Let’s educate ourselves.” The lights dimmed, the projector turned on, and the documentary started to play. Paul helped Clementine down stage by holding her hand, but his grasp lasted all the way until the pair had walked to the back and off to the side. Clementine had lied up there. Just a small fib, but for some reason she felt bad about it. She and Paul had watched it once, yes, but they’d watched it more than that. They’d each watched it once alone. Then they watched it again together. Then they watched it this afternoon before the meeting. It was as if they’d both wanted to commit each wrong, each atrocity to memory. This movie was the ultimate trainwreck. Clementine didn’t enjoy watching all of those Littles and hearing their stories about how they were once successful before being dragged back into the cradle of a foreign land. She just couldn’t stop watching it. Paul seemed much the same. Horrified and disgusted at what Amazons were capable of if given the permission. There in the darkness, Clementine fiddled with the lock on her anti-babying belt. Such a stupid thing; all so that a stranger had less ability to check her pants for her. Amazons didn’t have to worry about this kind of shit. She opened the lock with her touch. Then clicked it shut. Open. Then shut. Open. Then shut. Kind of pointless, really. If an Amazon really had the mind too, it wouldn’t matter. Paul, for all intents and purposes could still wrestle her down to the floor and peel her jeans off with a pair of scissors. A few of the interviewers had mentioned trying similar devices, before being taken. Now they all wore daycare uniforms and had giants coo at them and sing to them in a language they didn’t fully understand. Her belt was a wooden door when every other burglar had a battering ram. It was depressing. “I should do it,” she whispered to herself. “I should just get it over with.” She imagined herself just letting go and peeing her pants right in the middle of everyone. And then Paul or some other Amazon would scoop her up and strip her down, carry her naked to a corner store if they had to, and finally put a diaper on her. And she’d cry and bawl and scream the entire time. Right until whoever caught her put one of those inflating pacifier gags in between her lips. Even then she’d moan and mumble around the rubber bulb, all the way until her captor decided to spank her into obedience, or force her to watch enough cartoons until her brain turned to mush and seeped out into her diaper. No one got out of life alive. No Little got out of adulthood undiapered. It just didn’t happen. Clementine was coming to realize that. She didn’t want to be a baby. It was something that still gave her dread on an existential level. But this documentary was more evidence that it would happen to her eventually. Wouldn’t it be nice, in a weird way, to give up that fight and just let it happen on her own terms? She chased the thought away. It was gone, like the temptation to jump from a terminally tall building. But the thought had occurred all the same. One day, she’d jump. Just not tonight. Clementine snapped the lock on her pants closed. And watched. (A Thursday Afternoon...two weeks later.) Paul took a bite out of his sandwich. “So I was thinking,” he said. “Yeah?” Clem looked up from her phone.. “Maybe we should, I dunno,” he swallowed. “Leave the R.A.S.” She put her phone down with such force that Paul worried she might break it. “Leave the R.A.S.? Why?!” Out of habit, Paul raised his hands back up in the defensive position. “I think things are starting to go downhill there. Like, what good are we really doing Littles by watching that same movie again and again?” The documentary was met with rousing success. Standing ovation. So the powers that be decided to show it at the next meeting. And the next. And the next. “All we do lately is watch that doc. We watch it and we feel bad about ourselves, and then we clap and go home.” “You feel bad about yourself,” his Little roomie quipped. “I feel disgusted with what I’m seeing.” Paul rubbed his temples. Littles. So stubborn. So impulsive! Like children, sometimes. “Yeah,” he said with as much patience as he could muster. “But what about activism? Getting out there and changing people’s minds? We’re just turning ourselves into a big echo chamber.” This wasn’t an exaggeration. Things were getting more tense over at the R.A.S. meetings. There was never any talk of plans on how to change people's minds or get new anti-adoption legislation passed. It was all watching that movie, and Littles and Tweeners getting angry. The Amazons were getting shorter tempers too. An acquaintance of his had been kicked out because a Little had gotten mouth and slapped her, and she took the Little over her knee. She’d been expelled. He just hadn’t shown up to the next meeting. And Paul had the strangest premonition that he hadn’t quit the club, but was now in a playpen somewhere. In a way he’d reminded Paul of those guys in movies that went out and got in a shootout so they didn’t have to face the music. Suicide by cop. Or in this case it was more like Maturicide by Amazon. Clementin stood up from her phone books. “You sound like them, you know. The people who try to discredit Littles. Say we’re just a bunch of babies whining and crying about everything. Is that what you think?” “No, that’s not what I-” “Changing people’s minds. You mean changing Amazons’ minds. Or are Littles not full grown people to you anymore? Is that it? Am I just some dumb baby? Do I need a big strong grown-up Amazon to take care of me?” she spat. “I’m not saying that.” “Yes you are! You’re saying that we have to do things YOUR way! It’s always YOUR way! It’s always an Amazon’s way or no way at all! The only way that Littles get what we want is if we want what you want for us!” This was getting out of hand. Paul slammed his palms on the table and stood up. “Are you even listening to yourself? You sound like a-?” “LIKE A WHAT!” she screamed. “LIKE A BABY?! LIKE I’M THROWING A TEMPER TANTRUM!” “YES!” Paul shouted back. “YOU DO!” Something inside Clementine snapped just then. “Fine.” Clementine kicked off her shoes. “Wah! Daddy!” she mocked. “Feed me!” “Clementine,” Paul warned. “Don’t do what I think you’re about to do. She unbuckled her belt and squatted down. “Wah! Daddy! Dress me!” “Clementine. Don’t.” She closed her eyes. “Wah! Daddy!” And pushed. “Change me!” “Don-!” But it was too late. He heard the burbling sounds coming out of her backside. He saw the wet patch spread and drip down her pants as her bladder got in on the act, the puddle pooling and then dripping off the chair. His nose picked up the rest. “Wah, Daddy!” She stomped her foot in her own urine. “I’m a baby! What are you gonna do about it?!” To punctuate her point, she plopped down on the phone books that boosted her up to table level. Her lip quivered a bit and her face twisted as the mess squelched and spread around. She’d regretted that just then. She had no idea how much she’d regret that. Something inside Paul snapped just then. Fast, faster than any Little could possibly appreciate, Paul blurred across the table and snatched his roommate up. “You wanna act like a baby? You want someone to feed you and dress you and change your poopy pants? FINE!” He tuned out all her kicking and screaming and carried her to his bedroom. With one fell swoop, he cleared off his desk and pinned her to the makeshift changing table. She kicked and screamed as hard as she could. Meanwhile, he opened up the desk drawer and got out a travel pack of wipes and diapers. The Monkeez he’d bought from the gas station was a Size 8. Clementine’s size. He’d bought them and the baby supplies as a precaution. He’d wanted to offer it to her as an option the next time a hypno-toon sabotaged her bladder control. Better she have to wear a diaper for a day than all the extra laundry or damage to their couch like every other time. The wipes were for cleanliness. The travel bottle of baby powder was for her own comfort and to avoid chafing. That’s how he’d justified it. The pacifier gag he shoved in her mouth he had a harder time explaining to himself. On some level, he knew she wouldn’t like the idea of being diapered, even if it meant she was still a big girl. But she wasn’t a big girl, was she? Big girls didn’t pee and poop their pants in protest just because their best friends disagreed with them. That’s what Paul told himself as he pulled her disgusting clothes off and wiped her down. She clearly needed this. This was for her own good. He was being a good friend to her. That’s what he told himself as he powdered her bum and diapered her bottom. She screamed over the pacifier that she just couldn’t spit out, and swung at him, but her kicks and screams were nothing to him. He carried her squalling, flailing form over to the bed and swaddled her the Yamatoan way, just like the documentary had shown him time and time again. By the time he was done, his Little roomie was diapered and restrained, as helpless on the outside as she was on the inside; but she looked like an adorable newborn baby. Clementine, his darling, was moaning behind her pacifier, the reality of what she’d done to herself finally sinking in. But it was too late. The pro-Adoption Amazons in the doc had had a kind of twisted point. Littles really couldn’t be trusted to moderate themselves, to care for themselves. They really were just babies that wouldn’t grow up. And you couldn’t force them and you couldn’t let them. You could only baby them. Paul carried his Little girl out to the living room and propped her up on the couch. He flipped on the T.V. and unblocked Pennycade Jr. Good. Carpet Mice was on. The opening credits were finishing and the title card flashed. “Little Accidents Happen.” Good. A few of these, and Clementine would finally be happy instead of living in a world of perpetual outrage. She wouldn’t be an adult, but at least she’d be happy. Clementine moaned and tears started forming in her eyes. It was too late for her to blink, now. Paul went back into the kitchen and picked up Clem’s phone. She wouldn’t be needing it anymore. He’d snarled and looked down at the puddle she’d left for him. He’d always have to clean up her messes, but at least from now on they’d be encased in pulp and poof and plastic. Clementine’s moaning started to subside as the hypno-toon drew her in, (how had no one caught this yet? It must be more of that government corruption the documentary had talked about). Good baby in the making. He scrolled through her phone, looking for ways to properly adopt her, even if it meant going out of town. Hmmm… Yamatoa seemed nice this time of year. (Saturday Night. Eleven hours away. Translated from Yamatoan.) “Congratulations, Mr. Sato.” The champagne glasses clinked and the two Amazon men sipped. “Tourism and immigration is up ten percent since releasing that documentary.” “You are too kind. Mr. Ito.” The Vice-Minister of Tourism nodded to his superior. “I am honored that you have noticed.” “You aired many of our dirty secrets to the wider world and somehow made us more desirable than before.” A sly grin spread across Mr. Sato’s mug. “That is not all that I’ve aired, Minister.” “Oh?” Mr. Sato bit his tongue. There had been more in that film than just a bit of muckraking. His editors and technicians had also included subtle forms of suggestion, nearly indetectable. Something that quietly reinforced that there was no point in fighting or delaying a Little’s inevitable second childhood. Littles who watched it enough times would inevitably self-sabotage. High minded Amazons would lose their ideals, deciding it was better to join the masses instead of fighting an unwinnable good fight. And they’d all think it was their idea. Neither side would be happy with it, at least not initially. A Little would see their worst nightmares come true. An Amazon would find themselves a hypocrite. But they’d justify it to themselves, and after an inevitable vacation and adoption in lovely Yamatoa, they’d both come around to the right way of thinking. One as the child and the other as their doting parent. It was for the best. The real secret was luring them in with a bit of gossip and the bitter fruit of harsh truths. No one trusted things with news too good to be true. Everyone was willing to listen to the latest gossip and believe the worst. “I also added in a false flag, so we never have to take credit for spilling our own secrets.” Best not let his superior know the whole truth. Just in case there needed to be a sequel. Best to remain indispensable.

Hello everybody! I was itching to write a story in these days but I've experienced that, despite feeling inspired and eager to write the smutty parts, I always have a block when it comes to the actual backbone of the story, charachters and character interaction and development. I've found that's the main reason I leave my stories not completed. I always seem to struggle with the ending in particular. I was wondering if some of you was eager to share some ideas about a story, even only charachters in your mind or ideas you have thought about and don't plan to use for your own writing. I've always loved the diaper dimension setting, so if I'll write something, it'll be in that universe. Any idea is appreciated, you can send me a message in private if you like. A big Thanks in advance to whoever will participate ?

Hello! Long time lurker, first time poster! I've been a fan of the Diaper Dimension setting for a long while, but I can't say that some stories haven't stirred up a fair share of anger at the treatment the characters within the stories are often subjected to. This was a sort of passion project of mine to put those feelings to paper. I hope you guys like it! Portal Distant, quiet chirping from birds fluttering through the treetops outside pushed through the sparkling glass of the window far above my head. Thick, woolen curtains — not quite of blackout quality but extremely close to it — prevented my seeing them or, really, anything else beyond. In the mornings of yore, I would yawn and roll over, stretching my legs as I woke up. A morning staple. A repeat of a ritual I’d had since I was a kid. Even here, it was something I used to be able to take cold comfort in. I could still roll over, but the stretching… wasn’t really possible anymore. An underlying ripple echoed through my biceps and down my back while a yawn billowed through my nostrils and into my lungs. The blue blanket which was draped over my lower half the previous night at bedtime (read: sunset) remained. No sign of tossing or turning had disrupted its embrace beyond a few wrinkles at my waist. The little bees, each smiling and happy, looked up at me with encouraging faces. Almost as if to say ‘Welcome back to the waking world, Dioana!’ Fuckers. As my eyes focused and adjusted to the dim light of the room, a few things came into focus. First were the white bars at the edges of my bed as well as the stuffed animals sat on either side of me. A pig, a dog, a ferret, and a raccoon sat to the periphery. Despite my repeated yeeting of the raccoon plush over the bed’s railing, it continuously — mysteriously — found its way back by my head when I woke each morning. She knew I hated raccoons. Little fuckers with their demon thumbs and pitch-black eyes. That’d come up pretty quickly when I was dragged along to the zoo the first time. Beyond the white bars was my “room”, a nursery designed for a child somewhere between one and three years old. A gigantic, hardwood rocking chair was nestled in the corner between two pink walls adorned with butterflies and fairies. There was, of course, a white changing table speckled with the same decor sat next to it. A toy box overflowing with stuffed animals and decorated with stickers spelling my “name” out on it was nearest to the crib. Dee-Dee’s Toys. To clarify for the unsuspecting reader, this isn’t the tale of an unexpectedly intelligent, cognizant toddler. I’m twenty-six. I used to be an adult — still am, though it’s harder and harder to claim as much these days. And I’m a prisoner. Trapped in an enlarged world designed to coddle me and care for all of my basic needs while fully equipped to destroy everything that made me, me. My crime? Surely I must be atoning for something to bring about the wretched hell in which I’ve languished for so long. Well, that’s… depressingly simple. Clichéd, even. Wrong place, wrong time. You know, your average job interview where they seem all too eager to get you working as quickly as possible. Only instead of quickly finding yourself with responsibilities over your head, I found myself in a world where everything was over my head. Literally. The micro-managing nature of both environments was peculiarly similar, though. My name is — or was — Dioana Mathers. Friends called me Dio. Some still do, but only when we were sure we weren’t being listened in on. And I now live — if you can call this living — in a world populated by leviathans. Some of the other prisoners had appreciated that moniker. Apparently, Judaism didn’t exist wherever this was. Christianity might not, either; it was hard to tell since any discussion of a ‘Jesus Christ’ was viewed as “naughty language”. When I’d been brought here, there had been frost all along the tips of the grass, crunching beneath the feet of the giants inhabiting this world. It had warmed, become cold again, and seemed to be warming back up once more like an old smith’s forge. The change of seasons had been thoroughly documented with each of the recent forays outside she’d forced upon me. If logic tracked here as it had back home, it couldn’t be past seven in the morning judging by the reddish hue coating the rays of light. Time was important to keep an eye on. One of the few things that kept me aware and my mind sharp. But I couldn’t let her know I’d worked the irregular pacing of each day out. Benefits of having nothing but time, I’d been able to count seconds over the course of a month or two after they brought me here. I knew an hour had thirty-six hundred seconds to it and, by extension, a day should have eighty-six thousand, four hundred (Kudos to Mom for forcing me to enter that seventh-grade quiz bowl as a kid, by the way). But after piecing together the segments I’d counted during the very regular schedule we followed in those early days (not that now was much different), I kept coming up with well over a hundred thousand. Usually one-hundred fifteen thousand-ish. For those not in the know, this fucking purgatory had thirty-two hour-long days. Or thereabouts, anyway. Once I’d begun getting carted off to the panopticonic daycare where she had enrolled me, I confirmed as much from some of the other prisoners. It wasn’t even particularly hard to notice. The transition from regularly pulling all-nighters to feeling dead-tired at sundown was, well, jarring, to say the least. Mid-day naps had suddenly become absolutely necessary to make it into the night. What was especially weird was that the giants of this world seemed completely unaffected by the additional eight hours. So, rough estimate since there didn’t seem to be a damn calendar anywhere in this McMansion. It’d been around fourteen months since I came to this absolute fucking horror show of a world. Don’t act too impressed; I’m going off of my “birthday” celebration from a couple of months back. Only made sense whatever day she was celebrating was when I came here instead of my actual, you know, birthday. Despite my apparent gift for it, tracking time was unexpectedly difficult. I’m constantly losing hours during the day. Always after I... ugh. Come on. Just say it. It’s always after I, well… … Fuck, I can’t. Pass. We’ll come back around to that one later. But, yeah, back to the living hell. Each and every day seemed to consist of one humiliation after degradation after episode of abuse. The outfits I was involuntarily dressed in were certainly one of the worst parts. Yesterday, during a trip to the park, it’d been the shitty chromatic blue-pink unicorn bubble romper. The day previous at daycare, it’d been a dress with a white peter-pan collar, ribbons at the shoulders, and petticoats so stiff and high the snap-crotch romper clad over my groin offered only laughable concealment of what lay underneath. You’d think the diapers were the worst part. And they used to be. They really, really fucking used to be. The damn little tabs stuck to the front of the toddler-approved animal designs were nigh-impossible to unstick, sealing me into the fluffed piss trap. It might’ve been possible with tools of some sort, but my hands were a bit undersized to utilize anything in the house. By this point, much to the continued glee of my jailer, shitting my pants was just something that happened to me. Same with peeing. There was still some control, negligible as it was. But… there was this thing that you… drank… that pretty much numbed whatever inside machinery was responsible for “holding it”. God. No. Still can’t. Need more time. So, in summation, pissing and shitting myself happens and will continue to do without much input on my part beyond pleas to be changed after the fact. And that’s if I’ve noticed by the time she checks me. Let me be frank: there is nothing more humiliating than someone else being the first to notice that you “made a boom-boom” or a “present for mommy”. Speaking of… yep. At least I noticed it first today. The mobile was still spinning above; the stars, unicorns, and moons dancing in the same rhythmic movement they’d always engaged in. A whispered melody played too, though it was always the same nursery rhyme jingle. Never anything different, or unique. Fucking Christ (see?), I missed real music. Something I could close my eyes and get lost in. A world built through sound. Jen, or “Jenny” as her jailer and the daycare workers called her, would often reminisce with me while the workers tended to the others. One day, we promised ourselves, we’d go to a concert again. An honest-to-goodness concert, not one of those bullshit sing-a-long park shows that our jailers had taken us to before. Advertised as a fun parent-child bonding experience, I was positive they were nothing more than a giant pedestal on which we could view our contemporaries, all dressed more or less of the same minuscule maturity level despite the age evident on our bodies and faces. A faint rumble quaked beneath me, shaking softly through the crib’s mattress. She was up. That meant that I had — at most — about ten more seconds of privacy for the day, laughable as it was considering the baby monitor attached to the top left rail of the crib. I closed my eyes and tried to center myself. Another day of tortures would soon be over, and I could rest with the quiet chirp of the night. The white door at the far side of the nursery opened and she entered, the giant stepping her slipper-clad foot onto the plush white carpeting of the room. My eyes remained closed for the most part, save for a tiny sliver of an opening to watch her approach. I didn’t want her to know that I’d begun waking up earlier than her. I wasn’t sure, but I had a hunch the dim light of the room and my angle cloaked my eyes from the baby monitor’s camera. Hopefully, it prevented too many details from being visible. If she knew I got up earlier than her, she might decide to fix that. Her immensely curly, wavy black hair was at first visible, followed by her emerald green eyes and creamy ivory skin surrounding a superior, confident smirk. A single mole dotted the area just to the right of her top lip. Matilda was a woman who, had we met under different circumstances (and with similar heights), I might’ve made a pass at. Correction. Would’ve made a pass at. Her voice was as smooth as the slick side of velvet, and her body was clearly that of a woman in her late twenties or early thirties. A sizable chest and hips with an ass that went on for absolute days. Hard to say how old she actually was, though. She left me feeling like a twig in comparison, even before everything that had transpired since she came into my life. Or, rather, since I came into hers. It was really a shame that she was so fucking nuts. “Dee-Dee…” Her voice was whispered and quiet as she slowly crossed the room to the crib. She reached in and took one of my pajama-covered feet between her giant fingers. “C’mon, sleepy-head, the sun is out to say hello!” Moving deftly, she wiggled said fingers gently beneath my ribs on either side and began to lift me up and out past the neck-high bars of the crib. Finally, I opened my eyes with as little emotion I could manage, hiding the ever-present rage that flared at the sight of her. “There she is! My widdle sweepy-head!” Matilda pulled me into a tight embrace, pushing me into her chest and nearly knocking the wind from my lungs as she continued to baby-talk at me. “Mommy’s happy to see you! Yes, she is!” Thank god she didn’t refer to herself as “mami” or me as “mija”. Hopefully, that would keep my memories of home less tainted. I’d kept my multi-lingual talents a secret so far, deploying it only out of quiet frustration and whispered plotting with some of the others at daycare, and even then only when the workers weren’t paying attention. All of the giants were white, anyways. Doubtful any of them would think I’d said anything other than babble. For all her supposed superiority, Matilda was just as dumb as the rest of them and likely didn’t even know what Spanish was. “Oh, Matilda. Aren’t monsters supposed to crawl out from under the bed?” was what I would’ve said in reply. Instead, because of the fucking pacifier I couldn’t pry loose from my lips, all that came out were extremely muffled grunts and groans. You may be thinking ‘Dio, why don’t you just take it out? It’s only a pacifier.’ To that, I’d probably retort with some sort of clever, smarmy comeback — as long as my lips were free. The extreme oral fixation I’d developed, or as Matilda liked to call it: a case of “The Suckles”, was something that had been ingrained into me a few months into my stint in this world. It was hypnosis. And, unfortunately for me, not the fake stage bullshit you’d catch in Vegas. The people of this world had developed an honest-to-goodness method to hypnotize certain segments of their population, and the ones in charge weren’t afraid of using it. The oral fixation was probably obtained from one of the “special” cartoons she’d made such a big deal about renting for me after regular mouth soapings did nothing for the creative vulgarity I’d always had a knack for. Damn bitch even tried the locking pacifiers for a while beforehand; the inflatable ones where the bulb filled up your whole damn mouth to painful effect. After I just started screaming through them, however, she must’ve changed strategies. Of course, I didn’t have much choice but to watch considering she’d left me in the playpen to stare at it for hours. Now, humiliatingly, I was absolutely unable to spit out any pacifier placed in my mouth. Couldn’t pull them out, either. My body seemed content to just suck away on them instead. Even my thumb was finding its way between my lips more and more often. The worst part was that, on a subconscious level, having it in my mouth felt good. Relaxing. Like a drink after a long day. So, yeah. I had the Suck— an extreme oral fixation. Not the fucking Suckles. “Hi, cutie!” Matilda cooed. “I always miss you sooo much after bedtime. Maybe Mommy will move your crib into her room one of these nights. Just like a sleepover!” Doubtful. That crib was way too wide to fit whole into the hallway. She’d have to break it down and rebuild it just to get it into her room. No normal person would— No. No, what was I thinking? Matilda wasn’t normal. She was fucking nuts, and that’s totally something she’d do! I sent few prayers to the gods and goddesses I’d taken up faith in lately. Anything that could help, right? She set me down onto the pink-cushioned changing table and pulled a white strap across my upper torso. The leg straps — attached with a retractable cord on each for easy changing, lay abandoned and unused while she went to work at unbuttoning the legs of my sleeper. “Mommy and widdle Dee-Dee would get to sleep right next to each other! Wouldn’t that be fun?” “Abso-fucking-lutely. Maybe I’d get to hear you let loose some of the noxious, rancid gas from your coal-burning heart, too.” The pacifier was still pressed tightly against my lips, reducing everything to nonsense and babble. “So chatty today,” Matilda hummed as she tucked the legs of my sleeper underneath my back and so easily tore off the tabs of the diaper covering my lower half. Unfolding it, her smile grew wider as she bent down towards me. Her emerald eyes glistened as she spoke. “I’ll bet someone was excited to show Mommy the present in her diapee! Wasn’t she?” See? What’d I tell you? So, the absolute repetition of this exact moment was the second-place contender for the most hellish, most humiliating aspect of the purgatory in which I lived. This happened every. Single. Morning. Without fail. Even now crimson still found its way across my cheeks as my other set of cheeks was tended to with a startlingly cold wet wipe. The worst part was that I was positive I only woke up like this because I— Okay. Deep inhale. It’s breastmilk. Her… breastmilk. It numbs everything down there. Everything. But, simultaneously, the taste of the stuff far outweighed anything I’d ever eaten back home. The most wonderful taste; like a vanilla shake made with only top-shelf ingredients. It was sweet, and creamy, and rich and warm, and… and… now I needed it. If I didn’t get it… well, I’d only ever smoked weed. Didn’t have much weed withdrawal after coming here. But I imagined this was what addiction must have felt like. And the milk withdrawal was brutal. I haven’t been able to really tell when I was going to the bathroom for about the last year or so. Before that, my continence, or “potty-training” as Matilda referred to it, had been shaky but regulated. But these twice-a-day “feedings” apparently added up. As a result, instead of any sort of espresso, my mornings started with a fresh lump of shit in my pants. …I feel like I need to rewind a bit. This has all been sort of a lot to drop. All of this started about fifteen months ago. Back when I was legally Dioana Mathers. Not Dee-Dee Trumlack. Fuck, even her last name sounded like medicine that made you gag. Recently fired from my most recent job at a hardware store over, well, “creative differences” in the paint department, I’d been wandering around the city looking for “help wanted” signs and scanning the usual job sites for any local offerings. Most of the gigs were crap that wouldn’t pay half the rent my studio apartment demanded, but they were crap that accepted a general associate’s degree. Even still, I’d been determined to find something better. It couldn’t have been too much to ask to have enough in a months’ pay to cover rent, gas, and money for any sort of decent food. Eventually, a posting showed up in my inbox one day — the mysterious, scam-like sort that I should’ve just trashed. Seriously, it was laughably bad. But... I didn’t. My mouse hovered over the delete button for minutes as I wrestled with myself. Bills were piling up, and I was getting desperate. The job, advertised as “Early-Childhood Development Assistant'' seems so ironic now that a fresh diaper was being taped around my hips by giant hands nearly three times the size of my own. But... listen. Until that point, I’d had no idea other dimensions even existed, let alone contained freak shows like this. Worst come to worst, I figured, it’d be some sort of Persian prince scam. Not like I had much to lose, right? The rest was a blur I still have trouble making sense of. Suffice to say, all pretenses surrounding the job fell away not long into that first day. After meeting my “boss”, a blond woman named Cheryl, I took an unexpected trip through some sort of rippling, blue air that populated the space between the frame of an odd, mechanical doorway. I vaguely remember a short hallway of sorts immediately thereafter, but that more or less clouded in an indistinct fog. After a brief spell of vertigo, I glanced up from the ground to find myself surrounded by humans of absolutely enormous size. Cheryl had grown by a factor of two, and the other people with her towered similarly. I’d stumbled head-first into the gaping maws of a “ReLocation Facility”, as Jen referred to it. Yeah, I also thought that L was a mistake. Here, people from other dimensions were processed. Tagged. Tested on. Each and every one of the monsters running that hellhole would pay. If it took my dying breath, I would guarantee it. Every new method of subjugation and torture worse than the last, and not one iota of empathy or shame was visible on any of their faces. The only details I can remember of the giants muttering to each other between pain-filled sessions of torment were “Earth-94”, “stable doorway”, and “excellent candidate”. Jen had been through something similar, she’d told me, when she was brought here a few months prior. Not from the same Earth, apparently. For one, she had no idea who Freddie Mercury was, nor Madonna. Screw the infantilization, that was the real tragedy. Everything in this world was scaled up to an insane degree: houses and buildings, cars, and especially infant paraphernalia. The people themselves seemed to fall into three different height variants. Those I’d considered a normal height back home were “Littles” here, up to six-foot or so. Other people between six and nine feet were considered “in-betweeners”, or tweeners as far as slang went. A bit on the nose, but whatever. It fit. I had next to no concept of the history of this world, but I suspected tweeners might be a more recent byproduct of the other two groups having a severe bout of hate sex. Finally, making up the top of the social hierarchy, were “Amazons”, humans who towered up to an unthinkable thirteen feet. The people who brought me here were exclusively in this category. Matilda was as well, and I had found that my eye level only leveled with the middle of her thigh. In the early days, back before I’d been “introduced” to her, I’d rebelled. Fought back. Hell, I’d even done that after I met Scary-Mary. Told them where they could shove this perverted shit. That, unfortunately for my ass, was met with swift, stunning discipline. If they got you over their enormous laps — and they would — the game was up. You’d renounce whatever strategy you’d been operating by and announce, hysterically, that you’d play by their rules. That you’d be a “good girl” if only the rain of blows drawing inklings of blood across your ass would just stop for a moment. Or the forced feeding. Or leaving you to stew in your own filth. I’m not proud to say that I’d found myself in that same situation many, many times early on. Not that I’m any less bitter now. I’m just better at hiding it. “Okay, Dee-Dee,” Matilda said as she picked my otherwise naked body up from the surface of the changing table. “Let’s go get some num-nums in that tum-tums!” I used to complain about the lack of clothing afforded to me when she fed me breakfast. I mean, you try sitting in the middle of a kitchen with your tits resting just beneath a giant bib and see if your appetite stays untouched. But that exact scenario wasn’t really a problem I had anymore. It’d been recently “fixed” for me. Grudgingly, I grabbed a hold of her as she balanced me on her hip while we left the nursery. After a trip down the long, narrow hallway and through the humongous child-gate at the exit to the hall (one emblazoned with a “Little-proof” disclaimer on the side), she took a few steps down to the landing of the living room. The scattered toys in the gated playpen by the gigantic couch mocked me. All items of equally infantile amusement, each one belonged to and was played with by a singular person in the house. Alas, it wasn’t the one with thin, non-absorbent underwear. The cushion strapped around my ass provided quiet comfort (besides the incessant crinkling) on the thin padding of the highchair seat. The vehicle for all home dining experiences I’d had since Matilda “adopted” me. Not the only one, mind. The occasional restaurant would provide a high chair with a view for me to drink breastmilk or a pureed version of Matilda’s meal from. Usually the former, though. Clever word association for what was essentially legal human trafficking, by the way. Certainly explained why I hardly ever saw anyone my size not connected to a toddler leash or a baby carrier when we were out. It seemed that most Littles who’d been born here were already claimed property. The result of some sort of law or statute change, as far as an elderly Little at daycare could explain through her reduced faculties. Unfortunately for the Amazons still without a forever-child, babies didn’t exactly propagate. But that was why I was here, wasn’t it? If this Earth was out of babies, why not look somewhere else? Matilda began strapping me into the chair, the normal waist and cross straps you’d see on any sort of highchair going first. After finishing, her emerald eyes glanced across the other restraints. Wrist and bicep cuffs. Chest and neck-straps. All more than thick enough to hold me without issue. She bent over at the waist and glared at me. “Does Mommy need to use these today, Birdy?” she asked, her tone low and indicative of the loaded nature of the question. I really hated that nickname. Pacifier still in, I could do little more than shake my head. I wasn’t in the mood to fight. Tomorrow. I’d save that anger for tomorrow. The dark nature of her demeanor faded once more into a slimy smile. Great! I’m so glad to see that you’re being a good girl today, Dee-Dee.” She tapped a finger along the ankle cuffs attached to the legs of the chair. “Not that we’d need those, huh?” That was a dare, a call to action, and a threat all bundled in one. Like a cherry to a sundae, she pulled the accursed pacifier from my mouth and waited as her eyes bore into me. A predator anticipating their regularly scheduled meat. I hardly even noticed the spittle trailing from the bulb to my lips. “No, Mommy,” I replied as calmly as my body would allow. This was the daily song and dance. She’d bait me, I’d gladly take it, and then not so gladly take whatever punishment would be doled out in reply. But not today. What little dignity I had left would need to take a few on the chin for a little bit. I’d fight back tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow. A newfound light sparked into Matilda’s eyes, and she looked as though I’d legitimately caught her off-guard. “Well, then I think someone is deserving of special breakfast, huh?” Her finger booped off the tip of my nose as she stood up. “What do you think, Birdy?” Dammit. God fucking dammit. As manipulative and abusive as she was, Matilda was still an excellent cook — when she wanted to be. I didn’t want to eat mashed bananas, prunes, or oatmeal for breakfast again. It’d been four solid weeks of unsolid foods and liquids at every meal. You’ve no idea how much I needed something else to satisfy my stomach — how many inches remained between myself and insanity’s cliff. So I did exactly what she wanted me to do. “Yes please, Mommy.” I cracked a weak smile across my face, hoping to sell the gratitude. I needed this. Her hands fell to her hips. “Well, how can I say no to such perfect manners?” The breakfast she proceeded to cook up was nothing short of amazing. Homemade pancakes with blueberries and bananas in the batter, whipped cream on top. She even let me have a small bite of her breakfast sausage, something I hadn’t been given a chance to eat since before I’d arrived. Honest-to-goodness tears welled up at the corners of my eyes. I didn’t even care that she was spoon-feeding every bite into my mouth, complete with custom airplane sound effects. Almost half of the meal got onto the bib fastened over my recently-flattened chest, the text “Mommy’s little mess-maker” becoming covered with whipped cream and syrup as she purposefully missed every third or fourth spoon. I wasn’t stupid. I knew she was conditioning me. Any non-regressed idiot would be able to parse that. And I was… letting it happen. Escape was all but impossible now. I blinked quietly as she rubbed at my face and hands with a wet wipe. Unlocking the tray to the highchair, she deposited the cartoon-adorned plate featuring Tillie and Pippie beneath syrup and berries still on it as well as the plastic tray next to the sink before unbuckling me. Said cartoon, Miss Teal’s Little Helpers, was a source of propaganda I was forced to watch far too often. “Such good num-nums, huh Birdy?” She picked me up and nestled me in her arms as she grabbed the bottle of juice from breakfast and walked into the living room. “Mommy needs to do some cleaning up. Be good and play while I work, sweetie.” She lowered me into the gated, carpeted expanse full to the brim with infantile toys, stuffed animals, and dolls. My feet dangled below as I made contact with the carpet. Maybe it was some stubborn part of my mind that refused to fold and concede, or maybe it was just a refusal to accept reality. Either way, instead of lowering onto my padded behind as usual, I tried to maintain my upright stance. Utilizing every muscle I could still feel, I desperately clung to the sense of verticality I’d once taken for granted. My legs wobbled dangerously, indicating such an action wasn’t sustainable. Matilda took note of my minor act of defiance. “Oh! Dee-Dee is standing?” Her fingers slipped up beneath my armpits, dropping the bottle onto the tan carpet. “C’mon, take a few steps for Mommy!” she gleefully cheered. Though I was loathe to admit it, the stability she was providing was probably the only thing still keeping me upright. After a few humiliating steps accompanied by her cooed congratulations, she released me from her grip. Three wobbly, awkward footfalls were all I could maintain before my legs gave out, sending me collapsing onto the carpet. “Aww. Don’t worry, sweetie.” Matilda handed me the bottle of juice, the usual plapple, and rubbed at my back through my dangling raven tresses. “You’re not quite big enough for walkies, but you’ll be there soon! I’m sure of it!” But I had been. Even after coming here, I used to be able to walk, even run. That was how I’d escaped before. Six months or so back. Made it out during the night. A fellow daycare Little had told me about a group in the city who helped adopted Littles, given they could get free on their own. I couldn’t remember the damn name of the group, and nobody would repeat it to me after the incident, but I know the Little passing the information along seemed to believe in it. There was a gas station, we’d determined, one a little over a mile away from my house where one of their elk worked a night shift. If I could get there, I had a shot. Of what, I wasn’t sure. Probably not returning home, I’d been disappointed to learn. But something different than this purgatory. A well-placed stuffed animal on the other side of the crib bars softened my fall that night, and a few stacked ones had allowed me to reach the nursery door handle. The house was enormous during the day, but in the black of night, it was like a cavernous void waiting to swallow me whole. There hadn’t been a Little gate then, so traversal was easy enough as long as I was careful of the squeaky landing steps. The shoe bench by the front door gave me enough purchase to unlock the deadbolt and turn the knob. There’d been an audible creak when the door opened, though I prayed it went unheard as I dashed outside. Didn’t really have any other choice. Clad in a footed sleeper and diaper sizable enough to cause an unavoidable waddle, I hurried down the dimly lit sidewalk that was about as wide as I was tall before splitting off into a wooded embankment at the first sight of a car. It must’ve taken hours waddling as I was, and by the time I reached said gas station the sleeper was covered in muck, wet to the touch, and torn from a few of the bramble bushes I’d stumbled into. I was freezing, my shaking nearly violent and uncontrollable. But I was there. I didn’t know how they’d help me, but anything was better than life as a baby doll. Tears were rolling down my cheeks as I took my first step towards freedom. Thing is, it didn’t matter how late in the night it was. Gas stations are the nexus of night travelers, and I didn’t make it five steps into the parking lot before the headlights of a car turned on me. A “concerned bystander” quickly took me into their arms before I could flee, the police were called, and I was very suddenly in the custody of people working for something called the LPA, or Little Protection Agency. The badges of their agents had initially filled me with hope before they mentioned returning me to my “caretakers”. Apparently, I had a handy chip in my ass they’d inserted when I came over. All it took was a simple scan from some sort of device on their part, and Matilda’s name came up. Earlier, when I spoke of the technological prowess these people had, I didn’t just mean their damn doorways into other worlds. Bio-capable nanotech was also well within their reach. I’d seen its effects on other Littles in the daycare. People who lost height, mass, teeth, bone density, even motor functions overnight. And after having waited for a very, very long time in that white, sterile room inside a stupid crib clad in nothing but a pink hospital gown and diaper as the lights were dimmed and they played lullabies overhead, a man in a long, white coat entered. He seemed so nice. He was talking to me like I was a person, not an infant. For a brief, shining moment, I honestly thought he was about to realize how fucked up this entire dimension was. But then he injected something just above the base of my spine. That something resulted in the muscles in my legs rapidly turning to numb, jelly-filled sacks which I could do little more than momentarily stand on before tumbling onto the plastic-covered examination table. Despite a mostly normal appearance barring some additional chubbiness that accumulated around my knees and calves, my legs were almost completely useless. Precautionary, the doctor had said. What a funny lack of an explanation. If someone tries to escape jail in a normal world, you don’t cut their fucking legs off. I’d have been curled up in the fetal position if I could’ve managed to maneuver my legs correctly by the time Matilda arrived. Whatever they did to my calves had an odd numbing effect on my knees, too. When she saw me, there was something curious about her expression. It wasn’t joyous at having found me, her “baby” safe and sound. It wasn’t remorse at having let me endanger myself. Nor a fit of loud anger at my having escaped. Honestly, none of the expected parental reactions. Instead, the emotion she wore was that of quiet contentment. Picking my tired, crying form up, she toyed with my near-useless foot and smiled. Fucking smiled. Her raven black hair fell right across my vision as she dressed me in the outfit from her… from my diaper bag. After being forced to bid the agents who’d mutilated me farewell with an infuriating “bye, bye”, we left the hybrid LSA office-chop doc clinic. She’d later claimed they did the whole thing by the books, and that those sorts of treatments were instituted by protocol, not request. Protocol. Hah. What a fucking load of bullshit. Protocol didn’t explain the visit to the doctor’s office a week later. There, I was given a similar shot which this time resulted in MY TITS melting away, the fat transferring elsewhere in my body and lending me more of a “baby fat” ridden appearance. Protocol didn’t explain my previously brunette hair being dyed to a dark raven black after an appointment at Little’s salon, Lil’ Munchkin’s. “At least they didn’t change your skin, sweetie,” Matilda had said as I was placed into my usual car seat in the back of her SUV after the doctor’s appointment. I glanced between her ivory-colored skin and my own tawny complexion. “Mommy made sure they only fixed what needed to be fixed.” Protocol. Right. That pretend-woke fake-ass bitch. It almost would’ve been better if she was racist, too. A few hours passed as I milled about the playpen. Well, crawled. It was an effort, but the muscles in my thighs were still strong enough to keep me upright for a while, perhaps stronger than they’d ever been, honestly. I’d downed the juice early on; Matilda was very keen I not get dehydrated. Again, picking battles. I passed the time by playing out some of my deepest fantasies with the available toys. Strangely, all of them did seem to feature my having murdered Matilda in some way. Funny how that worked out. Hey, it’s not like I’m a total psycho. Some of them just prominently featured her with my fist repeatedly ramming into her face. Hardly anything “dark” or “disturbing” there. Pretend was hard at first, but given enough time and… “encouragement”, even the most stoic marine could get in touch with their imagination. Before I knew it, Matilda was back at the playpen gate dressed for the day and with shoes on. Her hair was gathered into a messy bun at the top of her head save a few dangling strands. Otherwise dressed in sensible, outside mom-wear, my stomach dropped at the thought of what it might portend. “Okay, Birdy, let’s get you all dressed.” She leaned down to scoop me up from the pen and carried me back towards the nursery. “Where are we going?” I asked, deciding that I’d earned enough goodwill to prod a bit. “A special place!” she responded, refusing me any real information. I was summarily dressed in a yellow sundress featuring an applique on the front of a bear with a purple bow beneath its ear. The prerequisite diapers were, of course, below that. Matilda took care in pulling white tights up my legs after checking the state of my diaper and proclaiming that I “wasn’t that wet”, her fingers teasing along my calves as she did. Finally, black mary-jane shoes were buckled around my feet (not that they’d be used) and my hair was done up into two braided pigtails. After packing the purple diaper bag full of extra supplies, she popped a pacifier into my mouth and exited the house with me safely cradled against her hip. “Say bye-bye, house,” she requested as we approached the car. “Sure would be a shame if you left the stove on,” I replied into the pacifier. Matilda giggled and bounced me up and down. “We’ll see it again in just a few hours, Birdy. My cute widdle suckler.” Strapped into my comfortable-yet-restrictive purple and pink car seat, Matilda pulled out onto the road in her red SUV and began towards an unknown destination. I tugged uncomfortably at the straps but didn’t struggle any further. It’d stood up to everything I’d thrown at it thus far. Nothing I could do to the damn buckle would free me. Instead, my eyes drifted towards the bottle of white, milky liquid Matilda had placed beside me in the attached cup holder. How nice of her to take my pacifier out for me. “Make sure to drink up, sweetie!” Matilda called to me, her eyes boring into mine through the rear-view mirror. “Mommy just pumped this morning.” I should be fighting. I didn’t want this. I wanted to be free, to be Dioana Mathers again. But the rage that had been present all morning began to fade from my heart somewhat as reality reasserted itself atop the vivid fantasies I chased with my toys. I’d never be her again. If not Matilda, then the other inhabitants of this world would help ensure it. I gingerly took the bottle from the holder and began to slowly nurse from the nipple on top. Another day. I’d fight another day. * * * I awoke to a groggy, blurry scene sometime later. Laying flat on my back in the trunk of the super-sized SUV, the unsurprising realization that I was in the middle of yet another diaper change dawned on me. The infantile dress was hiked up to my chest and leggings down to my ankles as Matilda stood overhead, her hands working like a seasoned pro’s as she laid a fresh diaper beneath me and rolled up the discolored, used one to my right. Behind her, I could vaguely make out the blurry shape of cars, trucks, and other vehicles. People-shapes moving to the right. Towards something. Seemed like we’d reached whatever destination she had in mind. So, another side effect of Amazon breast milk besides the immediate ejection of your bodily waste into your pants. Like chugging a pint of nyquil, the concoction conked you out almost immediately after finishing the bottle, breast, or whatever container it was in. Tracking the average amount of time I was out for was a doomed effort. Sometimes it would only be for an hour or two, sometimes six to eight. The only theory I could work out was the involvement of other variables determining the length of sleep. Matilda noticed my fluttering eyes and smiled down at me. “Birdy~! Look who’s back from from the Land of Nod. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you up for changies.” “W-where…?” I asked. My pacifier wasn’t obscuring my speech, so it was lucky I didn’t great her with the usual epithets. She finished with my change and deposited my soiled diaper into a little baggie before sliding it into a larger plastic bag attached to a holder in the back. Sort of a pseudo-diaper-genie. Across the row of parking I saw another Little in the same situation as I, though he looked to be putting up more of a fight. Screaming, hollering, the whole nine yards as a larger woman in a blue and white striped dress toiled away attempting to change him. “Not here! Not in front of these people!” his cries carried over the bright, shiny asphalt well. Judging by the infantile way he was dressed, he clearly wasn’t abducted here. Chances are his fate was already sealed, same as my own. And yet, as I watched his jailer pull the smaller man onto her lap in the way that telegraphed an imminent punishment, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Fucking amateurs. It wasn’t worth giving a shit about having your pants down in public. The Amazons expected it, and everyone else — including the tweeners — wouldn’t dare stick around to mock you less they be roped into the same situation themselves. There were more pressing things to worry about than whether people saw what was expected from us in the first place. Matilda gave the other ‘family’ only a passing glance as she finished up. “As I said earlier, we’re at a super special place!” She pulled my dress back down and placed me onto her hip while shouldering the diaper bag on her other arm. A pacifier stopped any further conversation on my part as we started making our way across a parking lot towards some large building in the distance, something that appeared squat at first glance. It was only two stories high by the standards of this world, something that struck me as odd. If everyone we were walking with were Littles, we’d all fit into the building without issue. But the only Littles I could see were being carried by hip, toddler leash, or infant carrier into the building. The vast majority of the people we were walking past were other Amazons. Curiously, a few of them had the usual Little restraining gear but no Little in sight. My head was on a swivel as I tried to discern what exactly was happening. “Someone sure is a curious lookie-Lou,” an older Amazon woman with blond hair commented as we passed her and a Little girl with similarly blond hair (dyed, you could see graying roots if you looked closely enough) in pigtails who was strapped into one of those blue baby vests that seemed to be in style lately. Her arms were contained inside of the shiny material, but her legs dangled out of the bottom openings where they bounced fruitlessly against the woman’s belt. “That she is,” Matilda’s voice crowed overhead. The Little attached to the Amazon just stared at me, her expression as blank as her eyes. Finally, after a moment shared in silence, she wiggled an arm up and out of the opening where her head was and began to wave frantically. Not for help or alarm, though. “Hi!” the Little woman shrieked at me. “My nameth Amy!” As she spoke, her lips left her teeth exposed, or lack thereof. The top front two were missing, leaving a gap in her smile that she couldn’t help but lisp through, reducing her S’s to a permanent “th”. “Whath yourth?” “D-d…” I couldn’t complete any sort of response, my brain steadfastly refusing to form any sort of answer. It’d been a while since I’d interacted with someone like her. “Dee-dee,” Matilda answered for me. “She’s got a bad case of the Suckles today, so she probably isn’t going to be much of a talker, sweetie.” “Dath okay!” the small woman giggled. If the way she bounced up and down in her carrier and smiled up at the larger woman with abject adoration clear as day in her eyes didn’t seal the deal, her thumb becoming firmly lodged between her lips certainly did. She’d gone feral. Hypnosis could bring a little to this point, the state where a Little acts and views themselves as nothing but the infant to toddler they’re forced to behave as. But hypnosis and being feral were mutually exclusive. Hypnosis of that degree was more like a lobotomy than anything. A good tell was the lack of a spark in the eyes. Right in the pupil, at the edge where the iris would normally enlarge and contract. Someone lost to the throes of deep hypnosis would always have slightly enlarged pupils that wouldn’t quite contract. Not normally, anyway. If you’d spent fourteen months in an adult daycare, you’d become pretty good at identifying it. Almost always in the people you once called your friends who now couldn’t even acknowledge your presence. Feral, on the other hand, was when the Little had long since given up the fight themselves. They’d willingly accepted the loss of their identity as they once knew, and had leaned into the new role full tilt. Often, it happened with no advance notice. Sometimes, a particularly close friend would tell you. There was never really any attempt at convincing those individuals otherwise. We all knew sooner or later what was coming. That eventuality was staring me in the face as she drooled all over her hand and chin. Matilda pulled me closer as she and the older Amazon chatted away while we entered a line outside of the building. Getting a better look at the front of the line was difficult with the blabbermouth on my right. “Whath your favorite color? Mineth yellow. Like da thun! And thunflowerth. Mommy thayth I’m her little thunflower a lot. I have a bunch of dretheth with thunflowerth on ‘em. Even a nice big hat Mommy puts on me when ith thunny out.” The longer the woman talked to me, the fiercer a teeny, tiny itch became in the back of my brain. Couldn’t for the life of me have identified it, but there was certainly a haze of static growing with each topic shift. After what felt like an eternity, we approached the front of the line. Ticket booths were set up on either side of the entrance, and the line split in two once we got close enough. Amy and her warden split from us, thankfully, as they began to talk to a person sitting in an office chair behind a thick layer of glass with a few openings at face and hand level. Amy waved back at me, a goodbye I didn’t reciprocate, instead too distracted by the cold sweat seeping into my dress and the back of my diaper while anxiety began to needle away from the tip to the base of my spine. “Hello there!” A young man sat in the chair of our booth wearing a blue polo shirt with a blue and black baseball cap on. Judging by the proportion of his head and hands, I had a feeling he was a Tweener. Identification?” “Right here,” Matilda replied. She fished her phone out of a pocket in the diaper bag and faced it towards him. I caught a glimpse at it before she turned it to face his scanner and saw what looked to be a sphere of dots moving independently of each other, mostly in a cluster but with a few dozen scattered out above the surface of the pack. The man scanned her phone with some sort of hand-held device that beeped. He looked at his screen and nodded with approval. “Alright, have fun! Make sure to keep your ticket on hand, there’ll be a giveaway for a few ticket holders at the end of the game.” “Oh, won’t that be exciting, Birdy?” Matilda carried me away from the booth and passed through what appeared to be some sort of security checkpoint. A man and woman, both Amazons, were dressed in security guard garb and were on either side of an object shaped like a beige U. Matilda handed the diaper bag over to the man as the woman kept her eyes on a screen to the left of the object. At their direction, we passed through. A curt ding populated the air as the woman nodded, allowing us to step over to the end of the table where the diaper bag was being repacked. The man handed it back to Matilda with a smile. “Beegeez! I’ve got the same brand at home for my Little boy,” he said. “They’re the best at stopping leaks, I’ve found.” Typical. Always count on “parents” to offer unsolicited feedback on their “child’s” undergarments. “Right?” Matilda replied with a knowing inflection. “I can finally stop packing more than one spare outfit for my little leaky faucet.” “Here’s hoping!” The woman chimed in. “Have a nice day, ma’am. Hopefully the little one stays this behaved the whole game.” Matilda bounced me up her hip, raising my dress and flashing my diaper as she shouldered the diaper bag. All eyes were on me as she giggled. “Oh, she will be. She’s my little princess, after all.” Even after fifteen months of this, the rush of blood to my cheeks as embarrassment seeped in was still an incredibly potent toxin to my confidence. I shifted my head into Matilda’s shoulder, the only respite from their prying eyes. All three of the Amazons shared a sort of “knowing” laugh, and the two guards ushered us through. We moved in a similar direction as a large grouping of people, most with other Littles either in strollers, on their hip as Matilda had, or restrained in some other fashion. One stroller in particular had an occupant looking around with big, wide eyes as he talked to his warden, a woman with her brown hair pulled up into a bun, not unlike Matilda’s. She simply smiled, tapped at her ear, and probably deflected whatever he was so insistent about. Every now and then a cry from a Little around the room would echo out before they were silenced with a pacifier or codeword or even an old-fashioned slap on the thighs. Further back, I watched as some of the Amazons with Little-restraining gear and equipment but sans an actual Little filed into a hallway split off from this one. They disappeared behind a turn, blocking them from further sight. Weird. And really, what was this place? Surely my change in demeanor and response to Matilda’s infantilization wasn’t going to bring about any earth-shattering status quo shifts, right? At least not so quickly. And any sort of reward she knew I’d prefer wouldn’t have so many other babied Littles also in attendance. But at the same time, we’d never been anywhere like this. The zoo a dozen or so times, sure. Hell, even an “amusement” park — though none of those venues had quite the sense of decor as this one. The building itself was immaculate and grand; the walls sporting a grandiose station-like design with tiles that reflected the warm, yellow light of several hanging chandeliers overhead. Red carpet was underfoot, giving the impression that we were in a theater of some sort. There was a short walk to another few sets of double doors, themselves nestled on the other side of a long, circular hallway that intersected with the entrance to the building. As we passed through the doorway into a huge, open auditorium, I realized that the circular hallway must have contained at least four or five other entrances similar to this one. All of them led into a space that evoked the memory of a basketball court, though styled in the shape of an ice hockey rink. An arena, basically. And it was absolutely packed. Nearly every seat in sight was filled with an Amazon or Mid. Any Littles were either out of sight or sitting on someone’s lap. The overall capacity must’ve been at least three or four thousand people. And I felt like a mouse in a mansion. Matilda walked down a set of stairs built into the ground beside row after row of red plastic seats, each containing at least one Amazon and, about a quarter of the time, a Little sporting a particularly distressed expression. Some of the people around were wearing large foam fingers, sipping from plastic cups (not the sippy kind), and one person even held a pair of pom-poms in the hands of their Little who wore a tiny cheerleading uniform. Overhead, above the court, was a scoreboard and gigantic light fixtures illuminating the humorous room. The scoreboard was playing advertisements at the moment, but the wording beneath the screen was immediately horrifying. Adoptees Remaining. My perception of reality shuddered like the snapback of a rubber band as those two words digested across my psyche. We couldn’t be. This couldn’t… and oh, so suddenly; I understood the distress of the others. We’d entered a live shooting range. Matilda looked at her phone and made a contented sound. “26A. That’s us!” She scooted past several other Amazons in the midst of conversation and lowered into one of the plastic seats. She slid the diaper bag beneath her seat while I was settled onto her lap. Her large hands nestled between my armpits and over my stomach, crinkling the waistband of my diaper. Beside myself with a flurry of nausea and anguish, I tried to wriggle free from her grasp as the projected lights overhead began to swirl in thematic, circular motions. “Dee-dee…” Matilda warned, her voice dropping into threatening waters. The grip her fingers had maintained on my stomach tightened. “Be a good girl for Mommy.” My head was on a swivel as I wide-eyed her and the arena. The floor was wooden planked from end to end in a giant ovular shape. On one end was a concrete entrance that emerged out from beneath a section of seats, a sight familiar to basketball fans. Inside, I could just make out some shadowed silhouettes moving about. There was not a similar entrance on the other side of the court. Instead, there were five glossy metal rectangles embedded into the wooden floor. A guardrail, placed just a row ahead of us, was all that separated us from the court. It stood about three or four feet tall on our side, though from the lowered perspective of the court it would have been about seven or eight feet tall. Clearly, the intent wasn’t to prevent spectators from getting in. The sinking feeling in my stomach only worsened. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!” A disembodied man’s voice called out to the auditorium through the overhead speaker system. “Welcome to Stanhatton’s beautiful Curlee Stadium!” The lights oscillated over towards an announcer’s table on the opposite side of the arena. A man was standing there in a metallic navy suit and black hair perfectly manicured to spike out at the front. He stepped out from behind the table and gestured widely out towards the audience. Sebastion Mawnee. The moment I saw him, the instant his whiny, pleading little voice thumped against my ears, any pretense of this being something other than what it so clearly was died on the spot. “It has been such a long winter, hasn’t it? I must admit, I’ve quite missed the familiarity of this wonderful arena and being in the presence of so many fellow fans!” The microphone was acting almost as a secondary prop to his own schmooze. “As you all know by now, I’m Sebastian Mawnee, your lovely announcer and master of ceremonies for today’s event.” Fuck. FUCK! I needed to get out of here, I needed— Matilda gripped me tighter. “Dee-dee. I won’t warn you again.” Sebastian’s voice cut through hers. “And I’m pleased as a peach to welcome you to the 37th annual opening Adoptathon match of the season!” Adoptathon. A uniquely Amazonian approach to gamified human trafficking. Matilda had watched some highlights on TV at home, and I’d spoken with some of my friends at the daycare about it. The concept of the “game” was that a group of Amazons would enter the arena from one end and would attempt to “adopt” a limited number of Littles from other worlds, hence the “adoptees remaining” counter. Any who did would have the adoption fees waived, and would receive some sort of prize after the fact. Said Amazons were stepping out onto the court as Sebastian called for the would-be parents to wave hello to the fans. Only portal Littles participated in this game as, insanely, the Amazons had deemed the Littles of this world to possess at least some semblance of basic human dignity. Denizens of other worlds, however, had nothing of the sort to cling to. Sebastian brought the microphone back to his lips as the courtside Amazons all readied themselves, each with their equipment readied to soon possess a Little they currently lacked. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce our participants for today’s match!” Participants. Not even contestants. There was nothing they could reasonably do to win. I turned around, trying to bury my face into Matilda. I couldn’t watch this. Why had she brought me here? I could hear machinery whirring behind my head as Matilda lifted my chin to face her. “Good little girls watch, Dio. You are good, aren’t you?” I was speechless as she physically turned me around, the material of my very likely wet diaper scrapping against her lap. Five metal devices were rising from where the rectangles were previously, each shaped like a doorway. And with a loud CRACK, as each one lit up either blue, or green, or even purple; a simple truth became apparent to even the most ignorant Little. We were about to watch a lot of people go through a lot of anguish. Sebastian took his time laying the next part of his spiel out. “We’ve got a special surprise for you folks, today. To mark the start of our thirty-seventh season, a new locale has been added to the roster amongst a few of our returning hosts. For the first time, in addition to today’s lineup of hosts consisting of Earth-72, Earth-33, Earth-19, and, of course, Earth-6; Earth-94 is joining the lineup and is OPEN for adoptions. Will you be one of the first to adopt a Little from Earth-94?” Ninety-Four? My… my world? Any liquid that hadn’t already done so thoroughly froze stiff within my veins. My world. They were taking people from my world. I… I hadn’t even considered others since I’d been taken. At least, not anyone outside of my family. Was this really the first time my world was being opened up to these fucking monsters? Matilda let out a quiet, knowing chuckle and bounced me against her lap. “Hardly.” Sebastian continued. “As a reminder for both our contestants and viewing audience, our on-hand staff, including several of our trusty Notary Publics, will provide each new parent with all the necessary paperwork once they’ve procured their precious little bundles of joy AND a thousand-dollar gift-card to purchase supplies with, courtesy of Hewland’s Widdle Hearts — the destination for all things cute and cuddly.” Colored air swirled between the metal archways lined up asymmetrically on the floor, each sized for an Amazon. Escape — real escape, had never been so close. I wasn’t sure which was my doorway, but I had about a twenty percent chance of guessing correctly, and a one-hundred percent chance of finally escaping this hell hole. But as I was dragged back against Matilda’s stomach and felt the press of her obnoxiously large breasts against the back of my head, I recognized that fantasy for what it was. Even if I could get free and somehow survive the drop onto the court without fucking up one of my useless legs or worse, my arms; I’d never be able to get to the portals in time. They were obviously controlled remotely, and they’d see me long before I could get close. The sound of a basketball buzzer rang out overhead as yellow LED-like lights lit up the scoreboard overhead. Flashes of white light began to occupy the interior of the portals as figures emerged from them. The first was a girl, somewhere in between her late teens and twenties, walking through with a purple backpack and her hair cascading loosely over the shoulders of her black denim jacket covering a sundress. Poor girl would probably come to despise purple in a few weeks. There was a piece of paper attached to her jacket, but I couldn’t make out what it was from this vantage point. As other figures began to emerge through the flashes, the girl looked at her surroundings with mounting confusion. More and more of the people entered from the portals, eventually culminating in a large grouping of relatively not-large people. The number on the scoreboard crept higher and higher as more and more people emerged from the other dimensions. All of them were similarly dressed. Not in the way of a single uniform, but that all of them were sporting loose-fitting clothing and vacation wear. Flowing dresses. Loose shorts and button-up shirts. Tiny shorts that could be removed with ease. Was that how they were able to get these people here? The promise of some kind of tropical vacation acting as both a lubricant for eager applicants as well as a guarantee that all “participants” would be wearing easily removable clothing? Two birds, one stone. As if it were any surprise to me, it still burned in my chest to no end how viciously clever these nigh-demigods could be. Curiously, no small children were visible. Apparently Matilda’s fucked-up sense of a moral code was more common than I thought. Once the counter reached fifty, the portals all shut off, but the supporting archways remained standing. Everyone gathered on the court stared at the opposing party. One with utter confusion, the other with unsatisfied hunger. Just before the formerly yellow LEDs turned green, a small, shrill voice pierced the air from some unseen spectator. “RUN!” The more audible sound of a slap, harsh skin-on-skin contact, followed. Another horn sounded, and the Amazons stormed across the court towards their not-so-unsuspecting prey. That was when the screams started. Single people. Couples. Whole families; each with backpacks and a summery choice in clothing. A few had turned to run, but with the portals off, it was too late. The first Amazons to grab at the newly-minted portal Littles nearly tackled them, each hoisting their prize high into their air and protecting them from other grabby Amazons. Exclamations followed, of course. Things like “I got one!” or “Yay! I’m a Mommy/Daddy!” or even “Aww, twins!” as one particular Amazon held what I could only surmise to be a boyfriend and girlfriend separated by their new “parent’s” chest. They ended up having to fight to keep both of the Littles in their arms and away from other Amazons without a Little to claim. “Wow!” Sebastian’s voice called out over the speakers as he pointed at the woman. “Now there’s two little cuties. Congratulations, ma’am! You’ll make an excellent mommy!” The remaining people were crying out in utter horror and terror as the giants descended, each claim which exited the court driving the number further and further down. There were a few instances where the larger littles tried to fight back, but that only invited the sort of punishment a Little could always expect. Their smaller forms were yanked over the knee of a kneeling Amazon, their shorts or dresses pulled out of the way, and their behinds hammered with dozens of painful slaps that nearly instantly reduced the adults to tears. Families tried rushing to them to help, but they were only picked over further by other opportunistic Amazons. A guy with a ginger goatee had run in our direction, only to be plucked from the ground just as he reached the barrier. The Amazon, a larger man, held the smaller man close and looked at the paper attached to his clothing. “Thomas?” the Amazon said, reading aloud. He let the paper drop as the man fruitlessly kicked against the Amazon’s chest and stomach. The Little wasted no time in trying to shout the Amazon down. “Let go of me, you fuckin’ giant! I’ll be no part of this perverted game!” The new parent only laughed in reply. “Yeah, you look like a Tommy to me. Let’s go get everything squared away, then you can go meet your other daddy!” The ginger man was smushed against the Amazon’s chest with little indication of feasible resistance as they moved towards the other side of the court. They’d only just returned to the same entrance the Amazons had used to enter the court with when a thunderous BOOM echoed across the metal beams holding the ceiling aloft. Bright yellow and orange light reflected off of the dimly lit rafters and flooring, drawing the eyes of all spectators, participants, and even cameras. A leftover puff of smoke was left drifting down towards the court. Debris fell from the ceiling onto the court below in a loud clatter of sound. Before any of us could fully comprehend what we’d just witnessed, another burst of light lit up the arena from the opposite angle, bringing another BOOM and then, even quicker than the last, another explosion from somewhere above us. The main floodlights kicked back on, as did the portals themselves. Amazon, Tweener, and Little alike (well, maybe just the first two) were already up and rushing out of our seats as a mutual understanding was reached. What few littles remained on the court didn’t need an overabundance of guile to seize the chance presented to them. Five or six bolted back towards the gates, each one successfully making it through and, more than they may ever appreciate, back to their lives. The screams which had only moments earlier come solely from the smaller of the two groups was now spread equally among people of all sizes as everyone rushed for the exits. Matilda jerked me up and against her body as she scrambled to grab at the diaper bag. Though the straps pulled taut with each yank, it remained firmly lodged beneath the seat and was unwilling to move. “C’mon, dammit!” Matilda shouted as another explosion ripped through the air overhead. White banners were dropping from the ceiling, each emblazoned simply with The Voiceless in bold, black text. Like a light switch, a long-lost name shot back to the surface of my memory. The gas station group. It was them! Sebastian was pushing people out of his way as he hurried up the stone steps on the other end of the arena. Men, women, even children (actual children) were roughly shoved to the side as he fled for his life. Coward. Anybody that trafficked human lives always was. Finally, Matilda was able to pull the bag loose and gripped it over her shoulder as we hurried up the now empty stairs towards the exit. A horrid metal creak groaned overhead. Both Matilda and I looked up to find one of the gigantic light fixtures swaying dangerously as sparks jettisoned out from its wiring near the ceiling. We might as well have been deer in the headlights as a loud SNAP filled our ears. The fixture rocketed towards us with such speed that I’d only just realized it was falling a moment before it slammed against the seats to our right. The plastic chairs folded like paper beneath the weight of the metallic light fixture. Concrete cracked and splattered out from under it, propelled towards us by the force of the impact they may as well have been little pieces of shrapnel. Sharp, stabbing pain pelted me across my chest and shoulder. Matilda’s grasp on my body loosened and released as the force of the impact sent us both flying. Whole seconds were spent in the air as my body rotated first once, then twice, until a final total of three times was reached before I collided against something hard like a partially deflated basketball. A cone of darkness sprang to life at the edge of my vision, and it was less than a second before it swallowed all that was in sight whole. * * * It could’ve only been a moment or two before consciousness wheezed back into my brain like a big dog after a long summer walk. Smoke was everywhere. Rocky debris was scattered across the floor. Everything hurt. A hazy, cursory glance at my arms revealed neither to be obviously broken or crooked. But each breath was hot. Searing. It hurt to merely exist. “Fuck…” I was slow to notice the lack of obstruction between my lips. The pacifier was gone. Running my fingers along my mouth provided absolute verification of that fact. The impact must have knocked it out of my mouth — likely along with the air from my lungs. It looked like I had landed on the court somewhere near the portals if the colored light behind the smoke was anything to go by. What I couldn’t tell was how far they were, or if I would even be able to move an inch. But as I looked to my left and right and found nobody to be running for me at that exact moment, Amy’s face resurfaced in my mind. Feral. If I didn’t at least try, how long did I have? Years? Months? …Weeks? A bruised, sore hand slapped against the wooden floor ahead of me. I pulled myself towards it, dragging myself across the ground. Then another hand, this one covered in red, did the same. And I did the same again. Over and over, through the agony and pain, I pulled myself closer and closer to those lights. This was my only chance. I had to try. I had to make it count. Another handhold to pull myself with. My shoulders were beginning to protest and groan, nearing the point of refusal of my commands. But I kept on. Something wet was registering against my abdomen, and I wasn’t sure if it was piss or the blood covering my left hand. There were distinctly person-shaped things at the periphery of my vision, each laying on the ground and none moving. I kept my eyes forward, refusing to be distracted. I couldn’t afford it. Maybe if I had working feet. I was able to break free of the smoke cloud, slowly at first, but with a few more handholds I was able to get a better view of the situation. Three of the portals were no longer emitting the colored light from before, two of which were in flames and the cause of the smoke. Circuitry hung from the arches, each sending out cascading showers of sparks onto the wood and metal below them. I was only a couple dozen feet from the green and blue doorway, both of which were situated only eight or so feet apart. Vigor and frenzy flooded from my brain into my nervous system as I picked up my pace. I was so close. Almost there. Almost home! I made it another dozen feet dragging myself along when— CRACKOOOOOM! Another explosion sounded overhead, this time different from the others in sound as well as color. A blue burst of electricity roared from the smoke cloud in large arcs of electricity that fell and faded into the air. The green portal’s colored air halted and pulled inward for an instant before bursting out towards me, coating my body with extremely hot air. My eyes immediately started to water, and the knuckles of my left hand, the one closest to the doorway, sizzled with pain. Flames licked at the sides of my body, eating away at the dress Matilda had so carefully picked out. In a moment of reprieve, I looked up. Sparks hopped along the surface of the formerly-working archway, taunting me. That left blue. The hand closest to the green portal screamed with pain on each heave I exerted towards it, up to the point that I could no longer use it to hold my weight. Reduced to only my right hand, I continued at half speed towards the blue doorway. It was my last hope. The only chance I’d ever get for the rest of my life. Blue illumination coated the floor as I approached, and there was a similar warmth in the air as I neared it. I was only a foot away when a terrifying, eldritch voice called out through the flames and smoke, through my adrenaline and panicked breath. “BIRDY!” Matilda was visible on the other side of the barrier that had once separated the court from spectator seating. Now, it was crumbled enough that any sense of separation was completely lost. She hopped over it and began to run towards me, her face a mixture of blood and panic. Desperation kicked in, and I crawled faster as my breath hitched and whined. The bum hand went back to work, pain be damned, as I pulled myself through the doorway. Every hair stood on end as I passed through the static-charged window and found myself in a blue, tunnel-like void. The same as the one I’d come here in — or one very similar. I tried to draw in a breath but found my lungs unable to do so. Wherever this was, air wasn’t. I crawled faster and faster over top of the transparent, seemingly energy-based floor as the air still in my lungs faded. There was the distinct sensation of thick, plastic-like thuds as my knees slapped down on the blue in my mad dash to escape. There couldn’t have been more than six feet between the two openings in the tunnel. One, where I’d come from, was black, orange, and a bright, distinct yellow. The other was sort of tan and gray towards the bottom. Sweat was pouring down my cheeks and over my eyes as I thrust a hand through the other opening. It rippled like the surface of water, and I felt my fingers come into contact against a cold, tile-like surface. My other hand followed, and then my head. My vision collapsed into a frenzy of stars and colorful moving dots as a blast of cold hit my face. The subsequent gasp of air, too, was chilled. The obstacles clouding my vision faded, and in short order I was able to make out three things as I pulled myself in up to my chest. First were the cinder block walls making up the room painted with that school-like coat of tanish-white and a gray, tiled floor. Second was an open doorway at the other end of the room, one that wasn’t sized for a giant. And third was the wide-eyed stare a woman with short black hair and pale skin was giving me as she sat behind a small desk to the left of the archway. And, actually, there was one other thing I noticed as I stared right back at said woman. “You’re normal-sized!” I screamed. “Oh my god!” she cried, scooting her chair back against the wall with a look of horror that was sudden, not something that had been ongoing before now. Did she not know about the explosions? The attack? I reached for the desk as I pulled myself further in. “Please, you’ve gotta—“ I’d only just latched my fingers behind the interior curve of the desk’s leg cutout when I felt something yank me backward with an incredible force. “S-shit!” I hissed. The desk scrapped across the floor and me along with it before catching against the side of the archway as the portal swallowed me first up to my flat chest, then neck, and finally head as I was plunged back into the liminal tunnel. There, pulling at one of my ankles, was Matilda. “Birdy!” she roared. “No! Let go!” Most of her was inside of the tunnel with me, though part of her left foot and her left arm up to the elbow was submerged in the rippling surface of the other window. I took in a breath of air, shocked I was able to do so when I couldn’t before. “You let go!” I cried back at her. She leaned forward, bringing her left foot wholly to rest within the tunnel. As she did, and it could have been the light playing tricks on my eyes, but she seemed to… shrink? It was almost imperceptible, but the added leverage I could feel in the hand still desperately holding onto the desk stuck on the other side told me it was nevertheless real. I pulled harder, swinging my other hand up and through the window to join the other. Matilda inched further in, but her grip remained strong. Again, I could make out a tiny tremble to her silhouette as she seemed to grow slightly smaller still. Regardless, she still possessed a huge height advantage, and my grip on the desk was weakening rapidly. “Bad girl!” she cursed at me. “I have to get you to safety, you little brat! Let go for Mommy, now!” “No!” I spat back at her. “I’m done being your fucking doll!” One last heave was all I could exert through my arms, though she didn’t budge any further inward. “Language!” It was a losing battle. Static was coursing over the top of my skin, leading to a weakening of my finger strength. I didn’t have the strength to throw her balance off any further, and she could outlast me. But that didn’t mean I had to give up. Not until the last ounce of energy my body could muster evaporated. And then, something funny finally happened. CRACKOOOOOM! Matilda looked behind her and then back at me, not understanding what was coming. But I did. I wasn’t going back home. But neither was she. And I’d never, ever be stuck in that fucking crib again. If both of us had to die to achieve that, well, that was perfectly acceptable by me. Of course, as these inner narrations go, this understanding was nearly instantaneous, as was the formation of the last words I would ever speak. I’d been saving them for a long time. “Mames mi culo mi pendejita mamita de duendes!” Matilda’s jaw dropped. “You can speak Spanish?!” The first thing to go as the electricity and heat and pressure poured through her window were our clothes, all of which disappeared in a flurry of ash and cinder. I can’t say I didn’t smile as the diaper melted away from my skin. Then, I simply bore witness as everything that composed Matilda’s body exploded outward. The raven black hair, those emerald green eyes, even the porcelain skin down to that tiny, insignificant mole. All of it disintegrated in the implosion of the window behind her. Mere dust to a strong gust of wind. Her organs followed in the transmogrification to particulate, leaving only a skeleton which stood only briefly in a long, agonized scream before it, too, blew away into the vast emptiness of nothing we found ourselves in as both windows collapsed. It’s important that I note a particularly relevant detail for the discerning viewer. For as I described Matilda’s instantaneous evaporation into nothingness, I, too, found myself similarly caught in the crosswind of a scientific backfire far beyond my scope of understanding. It was with that same smile that I faced my fate head-on even as my flesh and bone disappeared before my very eyes. * * * Light. Dark. Brilliance. Void. Clarity in the absence of void. A total obscurity of light. A persistent tug pulled at me over and over. My mind and soul ebbed and flowed in a way that was impossible to track by time. It merely felt that I was. And then wasn’t. Over and over. Ad infinitum. The stretch of a muscle was fleeting in one instance before the nothing returned. Twitch of a finger in another. On and off, off and on sensation would briefly return before fading again. This played out time and again until, finally, the tug at the core of my being became unrelenting. Brightness that didn’t fade graced me once more. I hadn’t had eyes in so long. The ability to see was a privilege I’d forgotten I’d once had. All too suddenly sight restored itself, subjecting me to the vision of space rushing forth and past. Stars blurred into lines and clouds larger than I could ever see whizzed past faster than I could comprehend. In the far distance, shapes were forming behind the stars still rushing to me. Lines. Cracks in… something. Like a self-completing puzzle, things became clearer and clearer as I was pulled closer and closer to this unknown destination. The faint sensation of air tickled lungs I didn’t know I had until— Gravity. Hard. Cold. Wet. My arms slapped against hard, jagged rock, sending water droplets back up at my face. The rest of my body pushed deep into the soil beneath, itself wet and eager to drown my limbs into the earth’s embrace. Every muscle tensed and trembled like a newly-born foal as I struggled to keep my head off the ground. Balance wasn’t possible without readjustment. An instinct screamed at me from the base of my skull, and I opened my mouth. Air. I gasped as it cascaded down my throat and into my waiting, desperate lungs. Another breath, and another after that. Had I really forgotten to breathe? But — no! Inventory first. Personal reflection second. Sight. Sight was back. Breathing was, too. I was… cold. Right. Cold. Annnd systems check. Blinking worked. Closing mouth… and opening mouth again to breathe. Didn’t forget. Just noting. Shoulders worked. Arms, hands, fingers. My spine, hips and— Oh my god. The gentle inward curve of my big toe as I flexed it in and out was indescribable. My legs… my legs worked! I could feel my legs again! I rolled over onto my back as I stretched my legs out and inward. Ankles bent in all the correct angles. All toes responsive. Knees worked as intended. And for the most important piece of functionality… I turned over again and steadied my hands and feet against the rock and soil. The barest sensation of wet was pulsing against my back in small, repeating taps. I disregarded it, instead focusing on the task at hand. Pushing up with my arms and hands, I was able to pull my legs and feet into a crouch. My foot moved inward a step until my knee bent beneath my chest. Then, lift. I was standing up. I WAS STANDING UP! My balance weary, I took a few precautionary steps, each a resounding success if the goal was simply “remain standing”. I wasn’t sure if the wet pouring down my face was the wet that had been on my back, or… tears; tears from my eyes. But the jubilation building higher and higher in my chest could hardly be contained. Speaking of, two uncovered mounds adorned my chest, a sight I hadn’t seen outside of bath-time or breakfast in a long, long time. Whatever had fixed my legs, fixed the rest of my body, too. It was a miracle. An honest-to-god miracle. But which one did I thank? Was it a mixture of them? I’d prayed to so many… would I incur some sort of holy wrath by not thanking the correct god first? The momentary reverie was short-lived as I realized what my chest being uncovered meant. I was butt-ass naked. And, as I looked at my surroundings, I picked up a few other bits of information. It was night. I was also currently located at the bottom of what appeared to be a gigantic hole, complete with small rocks all around me and wooden barricades visible up at the surface of the ground where the crater’s wall rose by the sharpest degree. It was also raining if we’re being really thorough. I let out a small mumble beneath my breath. “How the hell did I…” Such a preponderance was never completed as when brushing the dripping water from my brow, a new detail demanded my attention. The flesh of each hand had become a stark white and was radiating a faint, glowing neon blue energy. The further in you looked, the more distinct the small, webbed structures that were my veins became. And as rain splashed against my altered flesh, small little plumes of steam rose up again when the droplets evaporated on contact. ———————————————————— EDIT: Updated Amy’s dialogue to better match the S rule. It is now even harder to decipher, as intended. Thanks!

(This story is very loosely set in the Diaper Dimension. No knowledge of this setting is required for this story save to accept that there are smaller people called "Littles" and bigger ones who have all the power "Amazons") Sophie is a Little at college. Her sorority provides her some protection from a scary world and their annual vacation is coming back. The question of where they are going is still to be decided though and the Amazons will make that decision. --- This story has been available on my Patreon page for the last week and with a $5 a month pledge you can see all my updates a week before anyone else. For $10 a month you can get early access plus access to THIRTY-THREE stories that only my patrons get to see. If you are interested please consider giving my Patreon page a look https://www.patreon.com/Elfy88 --- Being Little in a Big World By Elfy “Can you hear what they’re saying?” Mary whispered urgently. The Littles were all crowded around the baby gate that separated them from the main council room. The Amazons were sitting around the voting table in deep discussion whilst the all-powerful House Mother, Carole, stood at the end directing the discussion. “Stop pushing me!” Sophie complained as she pushed against the gate to give herself some space, “And shut up, I can’t hear anything.” Sophie could feel the Littles around her crowding into her space and her bare legs kept getting hit by the legs of the others. Nearly all of the Littles around the gate were similarly undressed from the waist down, most were in training pants though there were a couple in pull-ups as well. They were all wearing similarly brightly coloured t-shirts with different badges on them. Sophie felt the embroidered butterfly over the chest of her shirt and looked sideways at one of her fellow Littles who sported a caterpillar, her pull-up was on display for everyone. “I don’t know why you’re all so excited.” A Little Sophie didn’t know said from the background, “It’s not like you can change anything now.” Sophie turned around and looked through the crowd at the Little who was sprawled out on a beanbag. The Little’s playroom was an odd mixture of a regular room and a nursery, regular couches and tables intermingled with toys and children’s activities. Sophie shook her head dismissively at the Little, she didn’t know how anyone could be so calm and casual when such a big decision was being made just the other side of the baby gate. “Ladies, it is time to tally the final votes for this year’s sorority resort destination.” Carole finally said causing all the Amazons at the table to cease their discussions. As the Amazons started writing down their votes Sophie felt a pang of anxiety that seemed to start in the depths of her tummy and spread out over the whole crowd. The whispering of the Littles died away. They all had a lot riding on the results of this vote. “What do you thinks going to happen!?” Mary whispered urgently, “Ooh, I can’t bear it!” The slips of paper were slipped down the table to the House Mother who was gathering them up in her enormous hands. She commanded a lot of respect and fear amongst both Amazons and Littles, she was known to be very fair but suffered no nonsense from anyone. “I thought they’d have brought Kelly and Clarissa back out for this.” A Little muttered somewhere from the back of the group. Sophie thought back to the incident which caused two of the more influential Littles to be removed from their midst. The fight over how the Littles should vote and the split in the group that had remained ever since was still fresh in the mind. Normally the Littles voted in a block to get the safest resort choice for them but thanks to all the ill-feeling Sophie couldn’t be sure if they hadn’t split their vote. It could be disastrous if they had. No one really knew where Kelly and Clarissa were but the rumours swirling amongst the Littles were that they had been taken to a secret nursery where they were reduced to babies. Sophie wasn’t sure she believed it but she didn’t have any alternative ideas. It seemed like an urban legend the Littles told each other with no evidence to back it up, no one ever admitted to have seen it themselves. The Littles were huddled together like a herd of grazing antelope waiting for the lions to decide their fate. It was a situation many of them were used to even if it greatly annoyed Sophie. Society was split into Amazons and Littles with the former holding all the power. It was a life of constant pressure for Littles who had to always look over their shoulders. A vast majority of Amazons saw the Littles as nothing more than trumped up babies and were just waiting for a chance to reduce them to infant status. Littles that got through the horrors of high school would find that life didn’t get any easier. They were under a constant stress knowing that whenever they were in public they were being watched by Amazons eager to see them slip up or even just be unlucky. They could be “adopted” and taken to an Amazon’s home in the blink of an eye. There were other places around the world that were much friendlier to Littles and it was the goal of most to save money and escape to them but even these societies were restrictive. Sophie had spent her entire life walking a tightrope as she tried to navigate a world that was just too big for her. Colleges often provided a small respite to these Littles. The large institutions received government funding and tax breaks for helping disadvantaged groups such as Littles. As such the colleges were keen not to allow their Little students to be forcefully adopted, they would put in rules granting Littles protections at the university. They weren’t equal by any means but even the slight relaxation allowed the Littles some safety from a world that constantly seemed out to get them. “I swear if they pick St. George’s Point I’m going to run away forever.” A Little Sophie barely knew muttered dramatically. There were three resort options for the Littles. St. George’s Point was a ski resort that was known to be incredibly harsh on Littles. They had rules that every Little was to be fully diapered at all times whilst on the grounds and anyone could start babying them whenever and wherever. Sophie could just imagine the hell they would have to endure and she wondered how many of them wouldn’t return having been adopted by the taller tourists out of the view of the other sisters. The second option was usually the one that all the Littles voted for en masse. It was a beach resort called South Bay and it took a much more relaxed attitude towards Littles. They respected Littles and their autonomy and even had areas with smaller furniture designed specifically for the Littles. Most of the Amazons usually found this option boring but there were usually enough of them that empathised with the Littles that made this the usual destination. This year a third option had been suggested by Clarissa. She found a resort on the other side of the country that claimed to not only fully respect Little rights but also lobbied for improvements in their status. This place claimed to even help Littles get out of the country to areas where they might have better treatment. At first it seemed like a dream destination but then the disagreements started. Kelly, who was in her senior year and thus very experienced, vetoed the idea of this third resort. She relayed stories of fake resorts being set up to lure Littles to them, they would lie about their rules and then when a Little arrived they would quickly be adopted or sold. She didn’t trust what she saw as a very suspect place. The Littles were split almost squarely down the middle. Half of them desperately wanted this mysterious place to be true and would risk everything to vote for it whilst the other half wanted to go to the place they knew to be mostly safe. A schism in the Little’s playroom developed and the formerly close-knit group seemed to fracture. The spark that lit the powder keg was when Kelly, annoyed at Clarissa not dropping this third option, accused Clarissa of being a plant. When Kelly had shouted it out a hush quickly fell on the rest of the room. Kelly accused Clarissa of wanting to go to this strange resort because she would somehow benefit if the Littles got adopted. She suspected Clarissa had made a deal with the Amazons where she would get to escape to a friendlier place if she sold out the other Littles. Being accused of betraying her fellow Littles caused Clarissa to react with an ager that few suspected she had within her. Soon the two students were rolling on the floor pulling at each other’s hair and scratching each other’s skin. It was only broken up when the head Amazon sorority sister picked them both up and pulled them apart. She carried them off towards the House Mother’s private room and neither had been seen since. The fight was over but the split remained. Sophie and all the other proponents of the safer and known option all tried to convince the other side that it was too risky. They seemed to be effective with some Littles but others held out on principle. The holdouts seemed to see Clarissa as a martyr and that they deserved the chance to be free and equal. Sophie believed in equality of Littles and Amazons as much as anyone but she didn’t believe this was a risk worth taking. With everyone being so secretive of votes and worries about people saying one thing and voting the other no one was really sure what the result was going to be. As Sophie was pushed against the baby gate she anxiously awaited the votes to be counted. Amongst the Amazons there were really two separate groups. Ashley was the top girl and leader, she favoured treating Littles as respectfully as possible which probably endeared her to the House Mother who also favoured Little advancement. This made her very popular amongst the Littles in the sorority. Ashley advocated for South Bay where the Littles would be as safe as they could be. Leading the argument for St. George’s Peak was Laura. Laura was a junior at the college, just like Sophie, and had joined the sorority at the same time. She held very traditional beliefs about Littles and didn’t think they should be allowed in college at all. As far as she was concerned Littles were born to be babies forever and there was no point in pretending otherwise. The fact that she was so loud and obnoxious with this opinion made her very unpopular in the play room. Prior to the voting she had been arguing passionately for the ski resort. “We’ve gone to the resort the Littles want for too many years in a row. It’s boring there!” Laura argued. She had theatrically pounded the top of the table to emphasise her point, “It’s about time we treated ourselves and went where we want to go instead.” Sophie had noticed the ripple of annoyance that passed over the Littles to that speech but no one dared speak up. Littles were always on guard and one wrong word would be enough to get themselves demoted or punished. “That’s one vote for St. George’s Peak… And another…” Carole was unfolding pieces of paper and reading them out, “One for South Bay… St. George’s Peak… Little Utopia gets one…” Little Utopia was the questionable resort on the other side of the country. The fact a vote had been cast for it caused Sophie to shiver, she prayed they hadn’t split the vote. The counting went on and Sophie was keeping a mental tally along with every other Little who gave their full attention to the proceedings in the council room. With most of the votes counted St. George’s Peak was winning and Little Utopia seemed like it might have skimmed enough votes to sway the decision. Sophie felt angry but helpless, there was nothing she could do. Carole held two slips of paper high in the air. “By my count St. George’s Peak is winning by one vote with two left to count.” Carole said. It was too much for some of the Littles to watch. Sophie saw one burst into tears at the sheer tension whilst others were covering their faces. She herself noticed that she was involuntarily trembling. It wasn’t an overstatement to say that this could decide their entire lives. “Another one for South Bay.” Carole said. “Come on, come on, come on…” Sophie muttered repeatedly as she willed the final piece of paper to be favourable. As the House Mother sipped a drink Sophie thought about the worst case scenario. She imagined St. George’s Peak, a place she had never been to but felt like she had been thanks to the formidable reputation it had. The place was designed purely for Amazons and there was nothing that would help a Little. Littles would have to try and cope with furniture that was just too big for them everywhere they went and the most egregious omission from the resort’s facilities were Little-friendly toilets or potties. Littles wouldn’t be able to use the far too large toilets and wet or messy diapers would be unavoidable. It would only take one of the Amazon sorority sisters to tell the House Mother and at best the Little would be back in diapers and at worse they would be forced to drop out. All this ignored the other dangerous factor keeping the Littles from wanting to ever set foot in the ski resort. There were practically no laws protecting Littles and they would be in constant fear of being forcibly adopted. They would be taken away and likely never see friends or family again as they were forced to live like a baby for the rest of their lives. “The last vote…” Carole’s commanding voice brought Sophie back to reality as she watched the last ballot get unfolded, “South Bay! South Bay will be the resort location for this year. Everyone pack your sunscreen!” The Littles erupted into cheers as they hugged each other and celebrated. Sophie found herself being embraced by a Little she barely knew whose exposed pull-up crinkled very quietly. The embrace was cut short, however, when the baby gate they were standing next to suddenly swung open inward as an Amazon sister opened it, Sophie and the other Little losing their balance and tumbling down together, although at least the excitable little was on bottom and her more-thickly padded butt took most of the blow. Sophie made it to her feet first afterwards, a bit embarrassed, then offered the other little her hand The excitable Little jumped and then suddenly froze. Sophie frowned for a second before she realised what was happening, looking down she saw evidence of a little spill on the ground, a wet spot that had obviously just now been wiped up.. “Oh no…” The Little gasped as she clamped her hands over her crotch. It was already too late. Sophie could already see the pull-up swelling slightly as the clean white became a little darker. Sophie felt awful for her fellow Little who was dressed in mostly the same way except that she had a pupa badge instead of a butterfly badge like Sophie. Instinctively Sophie jumped back and checked the training pants she was wearing. She knew it would only take a few drops of liquid from the pull-up to get her in trouble. Most Amazons didn’t care if a Little had truly peed themselves, any source of wetness was good enough for them. “I… I didn’t do it, it’s not…!” The Little was babbling and looking crestfallen. The Amazons were coming back through the playroom now and whilst some looked happy and were smiling down at the Littles who were scattering adorably away from their path; others were scowling having lost the vote. Laura, the Amazon with a Sparrow badge on her chest who had led the charge for St. George’s Peak, looked particularly angry and it was she who saw Sophie and the Little in the wet predicament. “What do we have here?” Laura walked over. She towered over the two Littles who automatically assumed a submissive pose with their eyes down looking like children caught being naughty. “Please, I…” The wet Little started. The Little was cut off when Laura leaned down and prodded the padding with her finger. The Little cringed as her eyes filled with tears whilst Laura smirked as if all her worst suspicions about Littles had just been proven true. “You know what this means, don’t you?” Laura taunted the Little who was starting to snivel. “P-Please…” The Little begged. “I guess you’ll have to be demoted to Caterpillar level…” Laura stood up straight and shrugged, “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.” “No!” The Little looked horrified, “I worked so hard for this!” “I don’t ca-” Laura started. “Laura… Can I have a word?” The familiar and somewhat reassuring voice of Ashley, the Head Sparrow, caused Sophie to turn around. Ashley was an Amazon but unlike Laura she had respect for the Littles in the sorority and in society in general. Sophie looked up to her greatly, she was one of the few Amazons she felt comfortable and confident talking to. “Ah, Ashley, I’ve just seen that this Pupa has wet herself.” Laura grinned widely, “So I was just about to take her for…” “I know what you were about to do.” Ashley interrupted as she walked in between the girls, “I’m saying nothing needs to be done here. A one-off accident is nothing to get in a fuss about.” “A one off accident!?” Laura looked enraged and Sophie suddenly felt a lot less safe even with Ashley standing next to her, “You’re too soft on the babies!” “They aren’t babies.” Ashley patiently corrected the other Amazon, “They are students and sorority sisters. You know Carole will agree with me so how about we drop this here and now.” Laura shook her head and muttered something indistinguishable before spinning on her heels and angrily walking away. Sophie watched as Ashley kneeled down to say some words of encouragement to the upset Little. It ended with the wet girl being sent to her room to change, she hurried away with her hands over her crotch the whole time. Sophie watched her go until her eyes ended up finding Laura in the corner harassing another Little who she judged to be dressed poorly. “Don’t worry about her.” Ashley said as she followed Sophie’s gaze, “She’s just sore that she lost.” Sophie nodded her head and then hurried back to her room before she inadvertently ended up in the middle of any more trouble.

Major thanks to PrincessPottyPants for creating this world, and to BabySofia, BbyKimmy, and LittleFallenPrincess for writing the stories that got me hooked. Here are the first two chapters. I have 6 written and envision 4 more to get the novella to completion. Little Shield and Sword A Story from the Diaper Dimension Chapter 1: The Checkpoint As much as I hate getting stuffed into car seats, I’ve decided that I’d rather be in one than crammed under a hollow back seat. I don’t know where “Mommy” and “Daddy” got this car, and I don’t know what it’s lined with, so I don’t know if it’ll get past the Antifascist Protection Barrier. But here I am, in a ridiculous white frilly nightdress like the church would make babies wear just to take off them at the first opportunity, back before the liberation. Oh yeah, and the diaper between my legs is inconvenient, too, as is the locking pacifier gag. They’d said I needed to be quiet to get over the border (shudder), and they inflated it. Quite frustrating really- trying to make any noise quickly made me retch as my soft palate was tickled by the bulb. At least I’m awake- I didn’t swallow much milk from the bottle but it was enough to put me out. Oh, and to make me wet while I was sleeping. Damn, I really am a lightweight. Probably have the least tolerance of anyone in all Berlin. Or Leipzig, where we got in the car. Come to think of it, I don’t know how long I was out. We might be close to the border, and then… West Berlin. Ok, think. Is there anything I can do? This trunk is about 6 feet wide so I fit easily- small car to be driven by an Amazon though. In a world where the average person is over 10 feet tall, I’m used to looking up at everything, including the massive cars the Amazon westerners always seem to drive. BUMP That really hurt, rather a bit. Hmmm- arms can’t reach the top of the seat-trunk, so I try to brace myself on the upholstered sides. That seems to work better the next time we hit a bump. At my level, a minor pothole feels like taking a speed bump at 60 kph. My heart quickens, reaching a painful rate. This is it. This ride will determine if I’d be kept in captivity for the rest of my life, or if I walk free. My entire future depends on the question- can I be seen? Can I be heard? Probably not; the seats seem extra thick. There isn’t anything I can do; I just have to wait and see if the plan works. And hope the blasted diaper doesn’t squish too much. I feel the car stop. I hear voices, “Passport… Vehicle… Safe Journey…” I tense, this is clearly the moment of truth and this could go very badly, very very badly, and i can’t bear the waiting. “Mommy” and “Daddy” promised that when I woke up I’d be in the “Golden West”. If this trunk wasn’t pitchblack, as dark as my curls, I could see something, even seeing outside, that would be a huge relief, right? I’d see the Amazons of the Border Troops, or at least their boots. Wouldn’t it be better to know where they were? Whether I’d see them now, or never again? I hear a creaking and the top of my trunk is thrown open, light streaming in, and I blink, blinded. The first thing I see is a round, green-brimmed hat I knew well, as a 4 meter-high amazon Grenzer leans into the car, and pointed down at me. Captain Konrad Wolff! “It seems, my western friends, that you’ve forgotten to mention your daughter. Of course you’d have her papers, wouldn’t you? Or maybe she’s got them- you know, our schools are first rate, and littles learn to be very responsible here.” “We don’t want any trouble, Captain.” I heard “Daddy” say. “We can make this go away, with some western currency, no problem at all, really she’s a very special girl and we need to get her home to her new friends.” Captain Wolff nods, grinning as he looks at me. “She’s a special girl, all right. But she’s not yours.” And he springs into the car and unlocks my pacifier gag with a practiced, fluid motion. “Alles ok, Melanie?” And he holds out his hand. I reach out my little-sized hands, taking his big, callused amazon hand in both, as he pulls me up and out of my prison. I see the “Mommy” and “Daddy” who had tried to steal me sweating. I don’t feel ridiculous anymore. “Everything’s under control and we’re all fine, Captain. Except their idea of freedom. Apparently they think freedom means the right to kidnap littles.” “THAT’S OUTRAGEOUS” my self-appointed “Mommy” shrieks. “This little has maturosis and needs to be adopted and regressed immediately! I wouldn’t expect this commie hell-hole to understand what a little really needs! She needs her mother’s milk, and to be kept out of trouble!” Wolff leans into the front seat of the car. “Things here are very different than in the west. In the west, a policeman may have taken the bribe. In America, he may even have caught the little for you. In the west you may treat littles as pets to be traded, stolen, bred and mocked. Here, on socialist soil, they are our fellow workers. Little Melanie is one of our best Unofficial Collaborators. Really, you should be more discerning. Can’t you see she’s a good Little Pioneer, and won’t be taken without a fight?” Grinning ear to ear, I speak up. “The Stasi KNEW you were the ones stealing littles. Just had to show you one you couldn’t resist so they’d catch you in the act. I hope dressing me like this was worth it, because you won’t find many outfits like this in Siberia”- I bat my eyes. “Captain, can I say it with you this time, please?” Wolff scowls at my captors and scoops me up- wow! Getting picked up by an amazon always seems to pop my ears. “Sie sind…” He begins, meaning “You are…” “VERHAFTET!- Arrested” we finish together. Wolff kisses my cheek as other grenzers swarm over the car, cuffing my kidnappers and dragging them away. He puts me down gently and we walk (or waddle in my case) towards a guard house. “‘Everything under control?’ So, you being bound, diapered, gagged and oh, also, DRUGGED inside their backseat was your idea? In that case, mazel tov!” “Ok, MOSTLY under control. We just got really unlucky with the guard in Magdeburg, he didn’t check the car. Believe me I’m going to talk to the chief about that. I was out for most of the car ride, but I definitely got bumped about a bit. Imagine if this was the west! If we had THEIR speed limits I’d probably have broken a bone in there, they’re such irresponsible drivers. But I wasn’t worried.”- I smile up at his blue eyes behind those sharp glasses, his dark hair cropped short and his improbably blond mustache, and how he pushes the brim of his hat back. If I ever wanted to be adopted by anyone, Captain Wolff would be my choice. Unfortunately, he knew this and teases me about it plenty, but this comes in handy at times. I fling myself around his tall boot, legs and arms clasped behind his leg. “I knew the border troops would search the car and save me!” Konrad shakes his head and looks down at me. “I don’t like using our littles as bait, least of all you. You just got lucky they went to a checkpoint that has one of the new gamma scanners. That trunk looks like it wouldn’t let infrared through.” I giggle and shake my head. “Wasn’t lucky. Was confident. Who wouldn’t be, with you as their friend? And we’ve done this for five years, ever since I turned 18. We know how to beat them, and we do it again and again!” “You were lucky, and this”- he points to my clothes- “should show you how close you were to going over there. Note you can’t take either that dress nor your diaper off without an Amazon. They’re getting a lot more creative, and our boys are getting sloppy.” Tugging at my dress, I find he’s right. “Oh, ja, there is that I suppose…” I yawn. “Can I get this damned thing off yet?”. Captain Wolff grins down at me. “Oh, I don’t know- I think you might need a reminder of how dangerous this line of work is for littles, besides, the capitalists do have a point: you’re super cute in that.” “Ah, well, I certainly hope you don’t agree with those kulaks over there on anything else.” I pout. “But there is a positive to this.” Wolff looks down at his leg, and at the little wrapped around it. “And that would be?” “Well, if I’m not getting to change into clothes more befitting a free socialist woman, there’s no reason I have to let go. Might just have a little nap here, all snuggled into my big strong soldier daddy. Sleep while clinging. Like sloth. Zzzzzzz.” I close my eyes. Wolff sighs, and starts limping towards the guardhouse. “Your grip is going to weaken at some point, little Melanie, and I have smugglers, saboteurs, and worse to catch.” “My grip might weaken at any moment that I hear I’m getting changed. Really it could be quite sudden.” “I’ve got a lot to do...”- he begins to shake his leg, but i clng on tightly. “Ok, how’s this? Get me some clean clothes and I’ll buy the pickles for the next three football games?” “All right, fine. I’ll help you change out of that if you bring the pickles. Then you’ll go debrief and then you will go home. Are you still coming for dinner?” I spring up and hug him around the thigh. “For Captain Wolff’s famous puffer? I’d never miss it!” “I’m Jewish, so they’re called latkes when I make them.” “Mmmmmm. I’m German, so they’re called Puffer when i eat them.” “Latkes.” “Puffer. Puffer and pickles?” I bat my eyes upward from my perch on his boot. “Weren’t you letting go of my leg as part of this deal?” Chapter 2: The Broadcast I’m glad to be out of the clothes the kidnappers had put me in, and even gladder that Konrad had had one of my Little Pioneer uniforms handy. After a cursory debrief at the Treptow office I’m able to catch the S-Bahn home while looking every inch a respectable, socialist little. Stopping at my station, I scurry off the train and head to the Konsum cooperative. I hop atop the empty cabbage crate next to the doorway, and pul the handle. I skip down, and enter Konsum. “Hallo, Melanie!” Simone, the clerk waves down at me from her 3 metre height. “Guten Tag. Any Spreewalds today?” “Spreewalds… Hmmm. I guess that depends. Will you be bringing in any pumpkin pies this week?” “Oh, yes, of course! Does six on Friday sound all right?” “I think we can arrange that. And today I think I can part with two jars of Spreewalds.” Simone has a mischievous look in her eye as she passed me the precious gherkins. “Are you sure they’re the right size for little hands, though? Wouldn’t want you to drop something so good, break the jar or worse.” “I’ll manage. I have a foolproof system for opening them.” “Is it asking Captain Wolf to open the jar for you?” “Like I said, it’s foolproof.” I pay for the pickles, bid goodbye to Simone, and walk home. I reach for the door and enter my apartment building. Thoughts of this morning’s narrow escape remind me that this sort of independent living wouldn’t be possible in the west; Here, after the war, the German workers had constructed prefabbed buildings in a variety of sizes, including some that were little size! Sure, an elevator would have been nice (I lived on the 4th floor), but there weren’t many buildings constructed with doorknobs I could reach. This was a building made by and for little workers. Why couldn’t the western amazons see that we could live just fine without them controlling us? I find myself shaking as I remembered their hands on me. I really came rather close to being taken west and turned into just another mindless little doll. I’d never have seen Konrad again, never have lived on my own again, never read Christa Wolf again… And probably never have been allowed to even use the toilet or bathe myself. All in the name of “freedom”, of course. We’ve all seen the disruptive broadcasts- they reached pretty much everywhere in the DDR except for Dresden. Western media shows all these weird movies about happy families with smiling littles getting passed around like American footballs, just lying there, drooling while the Amazons laughed at them. They’ll cut to a scene of littles, some restrained, others looking completely dazed being baptized in the Köln Dom or some other church, saying that they’d saved however many children of god that year. Then some grim narrator will drone on about how many littles were still in the DDR, unadopted, toddling about, starving, and desperate to make it to the west. I suppose they were half right- at least after seeing this nauseous shit, I usually avoid food for the rest of the day! That’s what their freedom does- freedom for who? Certainly not for me- not for Konrad either. Propaganda like that is probably meant more for our amazons than for us. Most of them don’t seem to think one way or the other on the question of whether we needed to be adopted or not. Fortunately the Party does. We’ve always been a part of it, back in the KPD days, and the Socialist Unity Party had lost no time in restoring and expanding our rights which had been curtailed by the fascist regime. Now, 37 years after liberation, East German littles are the freest in the world. I don’t know of any little who voluntarily committed Republic-flight. Amazons sometimes do- the tempting promise of 4 years’ salary paid right up front, all for a few tv appearances denouncing their former friends and neighbors has certainly lured more than a few into betraying our democracy. I’m glad to be home in any case. I shower, dry off, then head to the record player. Amiga has put out some little-sized records lately; they’re about the size of a western EP, and couldn’t fit much, but I was thrilled to finally be able to purchase (and easily handle) some Puhdys songs. Of course, the Puhdys’ pieces Amiga chose for the Little-sized album “Puhdys: Lieder für Unsere Kleinen” are mostly lullabies and children’s songs. “Children” and “Charlotte the Yodeling Cow” are just silly, and “Bouquets for all the Mommies” is almost better-suited to a western littles’ show. At least this collection has “On the Shores of the Night”- a ballad from their newest record, and like most of their best work, with lyrics by the gay poet Burkhard Lasch. “As the evening leans to silence, and the day completes itself, I set down the burdens that almost burned me out…” Goosebumps fly up my arm as Quaster’s solo begins, plinking like the last few drops of rain hitting a window as a storm passes. Great as this song is, I could probably have done without the kids’ songs on the disc. Even in the DDR, we still had a ways to go. But that isn’t the Puhdys’ fault, and I need to hear Maschine and Quaster’s voices to relax after this morning. And Klaus’ drumming. Hard to imagine that the nation’s top rock band includes a little- at least until you saw them in concert, watching Klaus thinking 5 steps ahead of everyone else so he could reach everywhere he had to, the sticks looking like fenceposts in his hands. It really is a good metaphor for what we were trying to build in the DDR. It might be awkward at times, but here, you can do anything you wanted, even if you were a little. And I’m lucky enough to live here, as one of the freest littles in the world. This morning had been close. Looking at the clock, I see I’ll be due at Konrad’s apartment soon. I put on a soft, flowy white blouse, a blue skirt, shook my curls out, and headed out. Konrad lives in the next Khrushchevka to mine; his just happens to be amazon-sized of course. I climb the stairs with some difficulty and knock on his door- it was easy to find by following the copious clouds of smoke billowing out. Frying Puffers is always a difficult process, emitting so much smoke that Konrad might as well have been burning lignite instead of cooking oil! I look up as he opens the door, and makes a great show of looking left, right, and even up before looking down, at which point I’ve already scampered between his legs. “What? How did she get there?!” he feigns astonishment as I clamber up and pry his windows open. “Nice to see you, too, Captain! I brought the pickles, as agreed! Now, could you pretty please help me open them?” Eyelashes flutter and lips hang slightly open, halfway between a smile, a pout and a kiss. “Of course. Stand aside, Little Citizen, and prepare to witness the triumph of socialist labor. ‘Left, left, keep the pace. We are Always Prepared”! Konrad began singing the Song of the People’s Police as he resolutely grasps the first jar of precious Spreewald gherkins, and unscrews the lid. I clap and bounce on the balls of my feet. “Bravo! Now let’s eat. And maybe you can tell me about the worst parts of your day, and I can give you a footrub. Gotta soften the blow. Club Dynamo hasn’t got a chance tonight. Go, Hansa!” Konrad groans, and switches on the TV. We tuck into the perfectly crisped latkes, and seldom pause except to drink. Vita cola for me, and some impounded Hofbräuhaus for him. The outcome was never in serious doubt- as much as I love my team, they’ve got nothing on Dynamo. At one of the few points where Hansa got the ball, with Hauschild passing to Jarohs, the picture fades out. I curse- this was one of the disruptive broadcasts from the west. Since the Berlin TV tower had been completed over a decade ago, our signals are usually strong enough to block them out, but not always. “Hello, future millionaires of the so-called German Democratic Republic!” a smarmy, wrinkled b-movie actor oozes. If you are tired of living under the oppressive yoke of Communism, if you want to live the good life, if you need freedom, and fresh bananas too, the time has never been better to come to the Golden West!” Lights turn on, revealing two other chairs on either side of the host- one looked to be a smooth-faced American cleric who’d been in the news a lot lately, Falstaff or something, and the other I don’t recognize. “In the west, we work side by side with the church to ensure total freedom for each person to head his own family and become wealthy. And everyone has always had a fair chance to become rich. All you need to do is come to the west, and we’ll give you one hundred thousand Deutschmarks just for telling your story! But, of course, money isn’t the most important thing, so you shouldn’t care too much that only a handful of families own most of it.” “That’s right, Dutch” intones the minister in the sort of buzzard-like drawl endemic to the American south. German subtitles flash along the bottom of the screen. As God commands the church, so does the western, free man command his family. And we know that German women are the most in need of rescue- they work outside the home, they have access to birth control, and they have a childcare system wrongly striking off their shackles of piety. We also know that the family is under constant siege in East Germany. Honecker’s regime allows perverts to walk free, and to even have mock families of their own. This is sin and whoredom! There is another way! Come to the west, and become free, pious, and rich! But the worst thing that happens behind the iron curtain is how they let their littles play at living the lives and making the decisions that should be reserved for men! The Bible tells us to obey our fathers, and every amazon is a father or mother to all the littles of the world! Today we’ve got a very exciting announcement for the downtrodden amazon men of East Germany.” “That’s right, Rev. Falstaff!” beams Dutch, as slimy as Santa Barbara beaches under capitalist oil spills. “We’re helping those brave souls who come to the land of freedom and opportunity start their very own families with the littles they deserve! Thanks to groundbreaking little development research done right there, in the Federal Republic, by the patriots at Green Valley Inc., we’ve developed foolproof ways of detecting and treating maturosis in even the most coy of littles! And we are giving an ideal little to every defector from Communism alongside 100,000 DM!” Konrad and I were speechless. Offering littles as payment? “You only need to cross the border, then you’ll get to live the good life, the American way, and the Real German way!” the three men hoist limp, docile, obviously drugged, and heavily-diapered littles onto their knees, and pinch their cheeks as amazon women dressed in dirndls come up from behind them, carrying bottles for the vacant, drooling littles. “We know the German woman doesn’t want to be a whore. Come, embrace your new life in the west!” The screen derezzes, and Konrad and I sit in silence as we caught the final few minutes of our game. Jarohs had managed to score, against all odds, but Dynamo was still holding onto a comfortable lead when the buzzer rang. Konrad gives a half-hearted cheer, and turns the tv off. I find that I’ve been sucking on the same pickle so long that it’s lost its flavor, and I gulp it down. He looks at me. “It’s… Such a disgusting thing to do, but for them to broadcast it in here, bragging about how they treat people like you… Not to mention what they’d like to do to me… Melanie, I’m sorry. What we just saw was horrific. I don’t think they’ll win many converts, not here.” I sniff, tears welling in my eyes. “P-people keep trying to get to the west, even as they see what we’re building here. How m-many more will go with a ch-chaance to own a little?” “Melanie, I promise you, I’ll stop them. We all will. No one gets to turn their backs on democracy- we’ve sacrificed too much to allow it. I and all the other Grenzers will make sure everyone, amazon and little alike, stays here, where it’s safe. Is it ok to pick you up now?” He reaches down and I nodded. He scoops me into his arms and I cling to his chest. “And you’ll help us catch them, like you always do. You’re my brave little friend, and I love you.” He hugs me, but pats me awkwardly on the back, the way men do when they don’t know what to do with their hands during a hug. “No pat. Only hold.” I murmur, and he obliges. His hands really are so comforting and strong. My hand reaches up, and I notice myself playing with his mustache. Smiling, he sits me on his lap and strokes my head. I feel sorry to disturb what was becoming a much-needed moment of healing, but I have a horrible thought I just have to ask Da… Konrad about. “Where are they getting the littles they’re giving away? Even in the west, they can’t just grab us off the streets, they have to go through their ridiculous spiel to show that we’re immature, and no little ever consents. Sure the courts are all run by the church, but it takes time. They can’t get that many. And no drug will keep a little grinning like that.” “Who knows” Konrad sighs. “Maybe Ceausescu is selling them a few thousand. I wish the Russians would crack down on him- even Romania doesn’t deserve to be ruled by a monster like that.” “Maybe,” I agree. “But then why would they have the scientists at Green Valley involved? What’s the ‘groundbreaking research’? And what do they mean “ideal” littles?” Green Valley is infamous for inventing and selling Thalidomide, and for employing former Nazis. “Why even go to them, unless you’re trying to murder someone with a sausage...” mutters Captain Wolf. “They don’t have anything to do with adoption policy. Or do they?” His eyes flash. “Melanie, tomorrow you and I are going to talk to the Colonel about this. We need to investigate this.” I see his spine stiffen in steely resolve, and realize he’s back in Grenzer mode. This, actually, is just as calming as him cuddling me, and I can’t help but smile. He really is Always Ready to defend us. “I’m glad.” I pat his thigh, and yawn. Honestly, I’m still shaken up. It is time to employ my wiles. “About time I should be getting home. But you never know, there may be a Class Enemy lurking in the shadows somewhere… Could I stay here tonight?” I flash my cutest little smile, and almost feel it. “I get you’re scared, but you really are safe here in Berlin. Also, your toothbrush is at your apartment, and you don’t have any clean clothes here.” “Nobody in the whole building has any clean clothes after you fry latkes, but I did pack a set for tomorrow. And my toothbrush.” “Fine. You can stay.” I grin at this, and felt it this time. “Are you telling me you didn’t think of this too?” I bat my eyes again. His mustache sparkles in the dim light as he picks me up. “That really was scary, huh? But you have my word as a socialist, and a German Officer that I will never let that kind of… Mutilation, happen to any of our citizens. Those Americans will have to go through me, every other Grenzer, and the entire blasted Berlin Wall before they get a single one of our citizens to do that to another.” “Just… Could you just hold me close tonight? I’m still scared.” “Always Ready, little Melanie!”

Hi, I'm new to writing and would like to improve. Please let me know any mistakes I made or if you have any suggestions. Thanks! The story contains depictions of mental illness, self harm, eating disorders, and suicide. Completely understand if you are not interested. Chapter One. “And a little’s hot chocolate too. My little sweetie loves her hot chocolate. Isn’t that right”. The woman glances down at a little too ashamed to meet her gaze. “Five thirty five ma'am.” I’ve been told numerous times I need to smile. I’ll probably need to add one to that counter after today. I don’t get why. When I’ve been shopping I don’t care if the poor soul on the other side of the counter fakes a smile or not. I would be more concerned if they smiled for real. Pressing the button for little hot chocolate, I reach to grab the already made milk shake commonly called a Frappuccino, handing it over. Scratching my thigh with my other hand. I’ll deal with it on my break. Another down, far too many to go. Seven minutes till I can take my fifteen. “Excuse me!” an amazon with angry eyes bluster at me. Rudely interrupting my day dreaming. “Yes ma'am?” From experience I can already tell this is a lost cause. A small sigh escapes me before I return eye contact. “I CLEARLY ordered a DOUBLE shot and this is a SINGLE!” Shouting less than a foot from my face. “I’m so sorry ma'am, let me make you another”. The customer never cared that the sincerity was fake. They just wanted to be right and for me to feel bad. Opening up the order history on the machine (I’m sure it has some more marketable term, but I’ve never cared to learn it). Yep. Coffee, cream, strawberry syrup, and a double shot of espresso. I change it to a triple and add the order to the queue. “That will be out shortly ma'am. I’m sorry for the mix up” This time I do smile, although more accurately it would be called baring my teeth. My name is Amy, I’m a 24 year old college drop out and currently a human punching bag. My name tag says barista and my skill set says I’ve at least mastered object permanence, but make no mistake, a punching bag is who I am. A tablet and a phone app could handle everything I do and better, but it’s not as satisfying yelling at your phone. You can’t make a tablet cry, or at least make an attempt to. As anyone who has held a similar position for more than a day is far too jaded to do something as degrading and dehumanizing as to show an emotion in front of a customer. My pet theory is someone at corporate ran the numbers and for the low low cost they call wages, it’s more profitable to staff all the stores with people who couldn’t find anything else and who are still stubbornly wanting to eat food, than just have customers order off an app and deal with the blow back and lost sales from customers being required to manage their own emotional states. Thus punching bag Amy is born. Sure there is some more PR friendly term for it, but that doesn’t change what it is. I hand Karen her coffee while avoiding eye contact. Her name probably isn’t Karen, but somethings from the little’s dimension do carry over. Don’t ask me to name the nations or major events, but the small touches stick. Mostly from the unfortunate littles who get stuck here. Out of all the slang and cultural references, Karan is by far my favorite. I’m astonished we didn’t come up with it first. Five more customers handled with little fanfare except for one screaming little and soon to be spanked bottom. Two minutes till my fifteen. I grab the counter top, bit dizzier than expected. Fuck it. “Charley, I'm taking my fifteen.” I turn and leave, not bothering to look at the indignant wastes of space lined up on the other side. What gall I must have to dare take a break when they need their fix. I carefully make my way back to the oasis known as the break room. Sure it smells a bit off, and there is some mold in that one corner, but it just adds character. The far wall has a white board covered in poorly hung health and safety notices, there is a couch that is permanently stained with something. I can never quite describe the smell right, like a pair of gym socks that have ascended to nirvana mixed with an old book that was stored in a sewage plant. The dilapidated employee cubbies that we dare never to touch to the left, and lastly the holy grail to the right. The most sacred of all spots. The door to a single occupancy bathroom stall with a mostly working latch. My heart skips a beat at the sight of it. Grabbing my bag off the floor I push the door and sit on the porcelain throne in one smooth motion. Opening up the diet app on my phone I try to convince myself that I don’t need anything till I get home. Besides I had that cookie with lunch yesterday and that put me over, I’ll just be under today by the same amount. That’s what we call logic. Thoughts of food aside, it’s time to deal with my other maladaptive coping skill. You know if they really don’t want kids to try this they should spend more time talking about how badly it itches and that bandages and ointments are expensive, and less on the dangers or pain. Kids always think they are invincible, but broke and itchy, those are things to fear. Undoing the wrap on my thigh I look at how this morning’s job is holding up. Barely a trace, just a pencil line. Damn. I don’t want to sound vain, but for how much that hurt, it could at least look a bit more intimidating and bleed for more than 5 minutes. Dismissing the need to do more, I put on more ointment and reapply the warp. Still itches. Opening a zero calorie sport drink I pop in my ear buds and spend the rest of my break fantasizing about tonight. We all have secrets we plan on taking to the grave. For some it’s the time they were unfaithful, for others it’s just how much they lost gambling, for me it’s diapers. For a society so obsessed with maturity (and weird way of showing it), wearing diapers is seen as worse than a drug habit. Drugs cost money and are for grown ups. Diapers, well they still cost money, but the thought is that someone else would be buying them, and the target demo is a bit younger than the average coke fiend. So this particular secret is kept to my fantasies and Friday nights. My roommate Alex goes out on Friday to the latest movie with her friends and stays out after. My one guaranteed time of solitude. My one time for relaxing and enjoying diapers. Well protective garments from that section of the grocery store. Getting real diapers in my size has always seemed too risky. So I’m stuck with the least diaper-like diaper that is still possibly a diaper. I’m a bit jealous of littles sometimes, although only for a bit. I hate dealing with customers during the day, the idea of going home with one of them is enough for my stomach to drop below my feet. Like all good things, my break too has come to an end. I walk back to the counter with the gait of one ascending the steps of the gallows. The rest of my shift was agony. The customers weren’t any worse than normal (That would be an accomplishment at this point), it was just the waiting that sucked. I guess it’s better to be impatient with anticipation than just inpatient. As I turn the keys in the lock I shut off all thoughts of work. For the next day and a half (fucking schedule) it’s completely up to me. As for the evening, I already have plans I’ve gone over a hundred times today in my head. I finally got a bottle. It’s too small and was made for a little, but it’s mine, and I can’t express how happy I am about it.

“I swear,” Margo looked up at her partner, “this is the last damn time that I’m doing this.” She finished pulling the purple dress over her head, yanking it as far down as she could, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. The diaper would remain in plain sight. Jacqueline smirked. “A bit young to be considering retirement, aren’t you?” “I’m twenty-five and unadopted,” Margo said. “That’s like seventy in Little years.” “Ha-ha-ha.” the Amazon said more than actually laughed. “Seriously though. I get it.” She sighed. “I’m the one making the busts, but you’re the one taking the risks.” Damn right she was. Still…. “You’re more than fair with the pay cut you give me.” Margo conceded. “It’s thanks to you that I’m gonna be able to get out of this shithole country. No offense.” “None taken.” Jacqueline shrugged. “It really is a shithole for Littles here. So many of you guys end up being diagnosed with immaturity or ‘Maturosis’ or whatever they’re calling it these days and end up in diapers, and you don’t need it at all.” Margo rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I know.” It was a behavior that she only exhibited around Amazons who were worth a damn. Jacqueline was one of those select few that had earned enough of her respect to also get her candor. “You’re Mom-splaining again, Jackie.” Jacqueline bit her lip. “Sorry. My bad. I’m trying to show that I get it.” “I know.” Margo said. This time more kindly. “And I appreciate you, I really do. I’m sorry if I get snippy at you. Just picture being told your entire life that you’re never going to be allowed to grow up. Except with Littles it’s being a reality.” This time Jacqueline pursed her lips and nodded. “Yeah. You’ve told me. It sounds really frustrating. Like being in middle school. You know deep down that you’re an adult, but good luck convincing any of the Grown-Ups that you’re anything other than a kid. It’s hard not to lash out.” “I wouldn’t know about Amazon middle schoolers’ feelings,” Margo said grimly. “It’s how I’ve been treated my whole life. Not something I’ve been allowed to transition out of, really. Middle schoolers eventually get to be highschoolers and adults. Their bodies catch up to their brains. They’re allowed to grow up.” “Shit,” Jacqueline said. “I did it again, didn’t I?” “Kind of.” It made Margo feel a little better that her fellow detective was willing to swear in front of her. “Thanks for recognizing it, though.” With deft and practiced fingers, Margo reached around the back of her dress and unsnapped her bra. It was vital to her before each case that she dress and undress herself as much as physically possible. All Littles got talked down to by the Amazons at some point or another. It’s like when the Giants looked down to make eye contact their voices instinctively went up an octave. Being forced to piss and shit themselves was the worst- and unavoidable in Margo’s line of work-but it was the thousand other little indignities that really got her down. Adopted Littles (actual adopted Littles) weren’t allowed to change themselves, or bathe or clean or dress or feed themselves. They were implicitly told that they weren’t allowed to practice even the most basic tenets of personal space and agency. There was a reason why the lingo on MistuhGwiffin.web called such unfortunates “Dolls”. Suiting up in front of Jacqueline was both a sign of trust and a kind of flex. Not that she didn’t trust Jacqueline. She wouldn’t have gotten into this business with Jacqueline if the Amazon hadn’t earned her complete trust. It’s just that like most people, her own inner thoughts and opinions felt more powerful when she had the freedom to make them not-so inner. It’s why diaries went out of style with the advent of social media. Why talk to yourself in a secret book when you can act like you’re talking to yourself on the internet where everyone could see? “Hold this please,” she handed Jacqueline the bra she’d just slipped out of. Adopted Littles rarely wore bras, and the ones who needed them full time found themselves on the receiving end of a mastectomy, poor things. Margo’s breasts were just small enough that she needn’t worry about back pain, and the dress she wore was padded enough that no one would be able to see her nipples through it. Like so many things, the bra was a matter of symbolism and principle. Speaking of things being padded enough…. “Are you sure you don’t want help with that diaper?” Jacqueline asked. “It looks a little...funny.” Margo always diapered herself before infiltration. Another little flex of her independence, even if she could never quite get the fit perfect. Her Little fingers made it impossible for her to remove the tapes once they were applied, and her pride wouldn’t accept help in adjusting them. Likewise, when she got back from scouting, she’d be wrapping a towel around her waist so that Jacqueline could remove the tapes and Margo could step out with her dignity intact. Three years of these operations and Jacqueline had never seen Margo naked. Margo intended to keep the streak alive right through the end of this partnership. Margo pulled down at the Monkeez, showing that it was in no danger of slipping off her hips if she went toddling around the office. “Fits well enough.” Margo said. “It’s not like I’m gonna make it the whole day without being changed.” Being changed by SOMEONE in these undercover operations was unavoidable. A mindfucked Little that had the sense to hold it in wasn’t really mindfucked. And if you weren’t mindfucked, not needing a diaper change was the easiest way to get mindfucked. “They’ll just think that you’re a new Mommy and that you’re still new at putting these things on me.” The costume diapers they’d first invested in, the ones that a Little COULD take off by themselves, were more expensive than the regular ones and there were Amazons who could tell the difference. Margo’s dignity had a pricetag alright, but being allowed to dress herself was a rider in her contract. It never jeopardized the mission. Margo was that damn good of a liar and actor. “You’re right,” Jacqueline said. “You ready?” “As I can be.” Margo allowed herself to be picked up and carried out of their Private Investigator’s office and into Jacqueline’s yellow car, put in an Amazon sized baby seat, and buckled into restraints that she didn’t have the strength to escape on her own. Another sign of the trust Jacqueline had earned. Jacqueline took out a matching purple headband with a cutesy bow on top. “Don’t forget Last Looks.” She smoothed back Margo’s straight dark hair- such a contrast to Jacqueline’s own bright red curls- and checked the monitor on her phone. “Okay. Last Looks is up and running.” “Last Looks” was something of a joke for the pair. There was a highly sensitive recording device inside the bow; both visual and audio. Very sensitive. Sensitive enough that it could pick up the subtle flashes and nearly undetectable undertones of hypnotic and subliminal messaging. Amazons loved stealing away Littles and reprogramming them to act like babies using hypnotic programs, usually disguised as cartoons and nursery songs. Some were subtle: Like a rendition of Rock-A-Bye Baby that if listened to every day for a month would have the victim needing crib bars to not hit the floor in their sleep. Other cartoons would have babyish cartoon characters that the viewer literally couldn’t help but relate to. Still others were animated potty training videos that loudly concluded that the viewer wasn’t ready to use the big kid potty and should just be happy wearing diapers like the good baby that they knew they were deep down. Margo had seen it all, literally. The bow had a camera in it, but the headband had an automatic shocking mechanism. Anytime the bow picked up a subliminal flash or frequency, the headband would give Margo a painful jolt of electricity. It was Margo’s own idea and Jacqueline’s masterful execution. She’d managed to avoid having her mind hijacked by latching onto one of the most basic and primal truths of psychology. The mind tended to reject that which caused the body physical pain. Margo had been shocked so many times, she’d found she’d been able to watch some hypnotic cartoons without the headband on, so long as she’d already been exposed to that particular episode of that particular program. One last job. One last “surprise inspection” of a daycare, and she’d have enough money saved up to retire and immigrate to a new land; one where Littles weren’t treated like toddlers and where Amazons were the rare tourists who were treated with all due courtesy suspicion. A land where the only Littles who wore diapers were the ones who were too young to be in even Kindergarten. Even having to become fluent in another language and all the hoops she’d had to jump through was worth the price of admission. How had Margo managed to save up so much money? Simple. Hypnosis might be a common practice amongst Amazons, but it was also outlawed. City and state governments would pay good money to people like Jacqueline and Margo to investigate daycares and prove one way or another that the caretakers were following the letter of the law. While Margo went into a daycare posing as a mindfucked Doll, Jacqueline would record everything and present the findings to whatever School Board, City Council, Mayor’s or Governor’s office that hired them. They always paid more if they found evidence of hypnosis, but the pay for a clean site was nothing to sneeze at, either. The price of any government’s clear conscience was always high. Discretion so that certain scandals could be cleaned up discreetly instead of ending up on the news was always worth more, though. Amazons being just as susceptible to hypnotism as anyone else, Jacqueline never watched anything live. The software for their Last Looks technology had the ability to pinpoint and separate the rogue hypnotic frequencies, but only after everything was recorded. A good sign that a daycare wasn’t operating above board was any facility with T.V. rooms and no place for the Amazon to sit and monitor them. Leaving “kids” to be babysat by the television was more than just bad parenting, but a telltale sign that the caretakers knew they were showing more than children’s shows. Did Margo’s job actually STOP the abuse of her people? Goodness, no! For every case of simple hypnosis that she and Jacqueline had found, Margo had found a near equal number of atrocities that were perfectly legal: Littles were still allowed to be brainwashed, gaslit, or otherwise coerced into eternal infancy in any number of ways. Depending on the state, it was perfectly legal to just spank a Little until they played along and pump them full of laxatives until they were functionally incontinent for good measure. Places claiming to specialize in “Maturosis and Developmental Plateaus” were particularly insidious in their methods, but still perfectly legal. She’d met Littles in those places who were so far gone as to think that they deserved or needed to be babied but were otherwise still completely cognizant of who and what they were. That was almost worse, in some ways, Margo thought; to be beaten that far down that you liked your slavery. Shit, some places didn’t even need to be that clever to be in line with the law. Sometimes it was just as simple as a daycare containing Littles who were hypnotized at home. So long as there was no evidence that they were distributing the hypnosis or mandating that it happen to their clientele, no laws were being broken. If nothing else, Margo had reasoned, she was at least making the monsters pay for being lazy in their brainwashing. And perhaps, she imagined, fewer Amazons would adopt if it wasn’t as quick and easy for them to get their Daddy and Mommy fix. Just because she couldn’t stop ALL evil didn’t make what she was doing any less good. “Whatcha thinking about?” Jacqueline asked. Margo closed her eyes, relaxed her bladder and wet the diaper. More believable if her first diaper check was wet. God she wouldn’t miss this part of the job. “You know. The usual.” She opened her eyes and looked at Jacqueline’s. The mirror in her backwards facing car seat casting her gaze right into the car’s rear view mirror. She was in a baby seat, couldn’t see the route they were taking, and now was in a wet diaper. If Jacqueline had wanted to, she could have taken Margo straight to any courthouse and adopt her right there. Yet another sign of their bond. That’s something she really would miss. “Are you gonna be okay?” she asked the Amazon. “After today, I mean.” For the first time today, Jacqueline’s eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. It won’t be hard to stay in business. I’ll find another brave Little girl looking to take down corruption.” She paused. “I will miss this, though...with you, I mean.” Margo felt squishy feelings that had nothing to do with the thing under her dress. “Thanks. I’ll miss you, too.” The rest of the car ride was silent. “Alright,” Jacqueline said after they’d pulled up to the daycare. “Let’s do this. Finish strong.” She grabbed the diaper bag from the front seat and got Margo into her arms a minute later. “You nervous?” Margo took a look at the sign: Smiley Time Academy (Children: Birth To Age 5. Littles.) “Not really,” Margo whispered. That was a lie, Margo was always nervous. “They mix Amazons and Littles here. They’re not likely to risk getting real children caught in the crossfire.” That also meant that there was a crop of Amazons and Tweeners who were already being taught that all Littles were babies who would never grow-up. “We’ve seen it before.” Jacqueline helpfully reminded her. “Remember the Happy Hearth? They just kept the Littles and the real babies separated after lunch and did the deed then.” Margo jostled the Last Looks headband nervously. “True. I just hope they’re not up for naptime reprogramming.” She’d already developed a light case of insomnia from getting shocked so many times in a crib or on a mat. They went to the door. “No turning back now,” Jacqueline whispered. Lightly, she gave Margo a kiss on the forehead and went in the door. That wasn’t part of the script! More annoyingly, the front door was made of glass so Margo couldn’t afford to frown or she might spoil her cover. Margo would have to have a final chat about that before she left the country. Other Littles might not be so forgiving. “Hello there!” the receptionist, an overweight middle aged woman with silver gray hair greeted them. “Are you checking your Little Girl in?” Jacqueline trotted up to the counter. “Yes, I’m Jacqueline Guston, this is my daughter, Margo. I called yesterday.” The receptionist clacked at her keyboard. “Ah yes, Miss Guston, good to see you.” She then looked at Margo. “And this must be Little Margo. Hi Margo!” Margo let out a fake giggle and buried her head in Jacqueline’s shoulder. “Hi.” Her voice came out as a muffled meep. Had to play the part. Had to look like the shy baby Little every Amazon loved to see. “She’s really excited to make some friends her own age,” Jacqueline said. Unlike the impromptu kiss, this banter WAS part of the usual script. “She looks it,” The receptionist beamed. She slid some papers across. If you could just fill these forms out. When it comes to Littles, we really like to know specifically what level of care is best for them.” Jacqueline took the clipboard in her free hand, awkwardly balancing Margo in the other. “Oh...um…” The receptionist eagerly reached out. “I’ll hold her if you like.” Margo was passed over and sitting in the Amazon’s lap in a second. Another part of the routine. To convince the Amazons she didn’t need any kind of scrutiny she had to appear blase if not comfortable with being passed around and held by complete strangers. Almost immediately, Margo felt the hem of her dress be lifted and the back of the diaper pulled back. She kept looking at Jacqueline, straight ahead. Neither did she flinch when the same hand crept around to her front and groped her. Ah yes, the ol’ Amazon-to-Little-Handshake. “Ooops! Somebody’s wet!” Jacqueline look up from the clipboard. “Oh no,” she made a show of slapping her forehead. “I swear I just changed her before we came here.” “I can guess what you’ll be checking under ‘Potty Trained’. ” the secretary quipped, even as she lightly bounced Margo on her knee. The Little lowered her chin to her chest. “Sorry, Mommy.” She blushed, not because she’d wet herself, but because she had called a woman three months younger than her ‘Mommy’. Not that the Amazons could tell. Margo always hated this part. The receptionist took the bait. “Oh don’t worry, baby,” she ruffled Margo’s hair, careful not to mess with the bow. “That’s what your diaper is for. Your Mommy isn’t mad.” “That’s right, Margo,” Jacqueline repeated. “Mommy’s not mad at all. You’re being a very good baby.” “Fank you, Mommy,” Margo mumbled. “I can get her situated,” the older woman said. “She doesn’t have to be here while you fill out all this boring paperwork.” Jaqueline looked up from the clipboard. “Oh good, she can get antsy staying still.” More bobbing on the woman’s kneel, and chuckled knowingly. “Yup. She’s a Little, alright.” She grabbed a walkie-talkie and clicked it. “Angela, can you come to the front. We’ve got a new arrival.” The walkie buzzed. “Ommaway.” An Amazon in her thirties came through a back door. After a brief introduction to Jacqueline, she looked across the desk to Margo. “Hi there. I’m Miss Angie! Nice to meet you!” Margo did her best impression of a two-year-old and waved shyly. “Hi…” She was handed off, yet again. “She’s wet.” For the second time in five minutes, Margo got the ol’ Amazon-to-Little-Handshake. “Yeah she is.” This time, Margo didn’t apologize. “Let’s go get you changed and then we’ll start playing all sorts of fun games! Won’t that be nice?” “Uh-huh.” What would really be nice, Margo thought, was getting this over with so she could get paid. “Here,” Jacqueline said. She handed the diaper bag over to the sitter. “There should be enough diapers in here to last her the day.” “Don’t worry about it too much. We’ve got plenty of spares, just in case.” “I’ll bring a whole box when I come back this afternoon.” Jacqueline would not, in fact, be bringing a new box of diapers when she came back this afternoon, but the promise of such things always gave daycare workers the false hope that they’d be getting regular business. It was the Amazon version of promising a kid a lollipop if they sat still for a haircut. bE gOoD wItH mY LiTtLe aNd i’LL lEt YoU cHaNgE hEr DiApEr MoRe! Pathetic, really. “Okie dokie,” Angela said, “Say goodbye to Mommy.” “Bye Mommy.” “Give Mommy a kiss.” Another impromptu peck on the cheek. Jacqueline was really milking this last day thing. Margo made a note to cuss her partner out when she was back in panties. Margo was carried straight back into a nursery, and the worker made a beeline to an empty changing table. The room was strangely empty, with toys strewn about and coloring sheets left on tables only half scribbled. She couldn’t be the first to arrive. Where were the other Littles? The question must have shown on Margo’s face. “You’re a little late,” the Amazon explained. “We already had our morning meeting and breakfast. After breakfast, we go on the playground. Work off some energy.” That made Margo feel a little better. If not for the timing, Margo would have been changed while not five feet away, Amazon toddlers and diapered Littles played side by side. She suppressed a shudder. Too many of these places had out in the open changing tables; like they were couches or something instead of the baby equivalent of a toilet. Even if the place didn’t have any mind altering devices, it was still gaslight-y as anything. It made it so that Littles and actual kids were desensitized to getting stripped and wiped in front of everyone. And long after those toddlers started being taken to the bathroom, and taught that big boys and girls used the potty, Littles twenty to forty years their senior would still be laying out in the open with their legs up and their bums smeared with rash cream. “First diaper change, then playtime. Understand?” Margo sucked her thumb and nodded. Had to appear babyish and demure at first. Besides, she might as well get this over with. Chances are she had at least one, maybe two more of these before she could cash out. It was just a matter of laying back and thinking of her new home. “All better.” At least this Amazon was gentle with the wipes and didn’t overdo it with the powder. Once a fresh Monkeez was taped on, Margo was carried out a back door, and lowered down to the ground. Mentally Margo was mapping the place out. A reception area up front led to a nursery in the back, which in of itself opened back into a playground. She thought she saw a kitchen area to the side of the nursery, and maybe a kind of supply closet up by reception, but otherwise the layout was pretty simple. Okay. That was good. (As good as could be expected). Hypno-cares typically had sequestered off spaces for their brainwashing to take place. A “T.V. Room” or a “Nap Room”. Stuff to separate the victims from the victimizers. This place didn’t appear to have much of that. If the diaper check was a perverse form of handshake, then the pat on her newly padded rear must have been a light fist bump. “Okay, cutie. Go play.” She patted the diaper bag. “I’m going to go hang up your bag and put your extra diapers in a cubby.” Margo did her best impression of one of the Dolls and kept up a childish but quiet enough demeanor. “Thankoo Miss Teacher Lady.” That seemed to do the trick. “Awwww! I’m Miss Angie, sweetie. You’ll learn all the Grown-Up’s names soon enough.” Condescendingly, the Amazon patted Margo on the head and went back inside. BZZZZT! Condescendingly, the [Grown-Up] patted Margo on the head and went back inside. All around, children and Littles were playing; the Littles completely oblivious to how ridiculous they looked going down slides are being pushed on swings. A few played side by side with Amazon children as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The [Grown-Ups] were fairly involved, as well. A few seemed to be leaning on the outer end of a fence, gossiping, but there was also one monitoring a jungle gym, and another spotting the monkey bars in case someone was about to fall. Counting Miss Angie when she returned, the ratio of [Grown-Ups] to children, that made five adults on the playground to approximately thirty. A one to six ratio. Not bad, if over two thirds of their charges weren’t actually babies... The Little detective toddled out into the middle of the playground. She’d never gotten to go to a prom, but Margo always felt this was what it must be like, stepping out onto the dance floor and hoping that someone would notice her. (Now if only the people noticing her didn’t crinkle with every step.) She didn’t have to wait long. A Little girl who may have been twenty to her early fifties...it was always so hard to tell when they got all Dolled up….waddled straight up to her. She wore a dress similar to Margo’s, but pink instead of the dark purple. No hair bow. Her auburn hair was lifted up into pigtails, though. “Hi! I’m Wendy!” she said. “I went potty in my big girl panties and my mommy and daddy took ‘em away! Now I go potty in my diapers! I’m a baby!” Margo didn’t hesitate. “I’m Margo! Me too!” She lifted up the front of her dress like she was showing off a prison tattoo. Showing hesitation might be taken the wrong way. She’d infiltrated more than one daycare where the captured Littles were manipulated into policing each other; especially in the “Maturosis” places. “Yay! Let’s be friends!” The brainwashed Little spread her arms wide. “Baby friends!” Margo was hugging it out, and trying to hide her revulsion at the same time. Her gears were already turning. Such a scripted greeting was evidence of brainwashing in Margo’s mind, but was it mesmerism or simply indoctrination? She’d need more evidence. Margo found her hand gripped and was led crinkling over to a row of spring ponies. “Wanna play horsey?” Wendy asked. Sitting on the outside rocking horse wouldn’t be a bad place to start. Any activity where she could scout out the terrain and people watch was a good starter. The [Grown-Ups] wouldn’t suspect a thing. Margo’s tour guide, Wendy, stopped for a second. She had a far off look in her eyes and was bending her knees a little bit. Like a car wreck, Margo got on her own pony, but couldn’t quite look away. She’d seen this before. She didn’t need to see the girl’s cheeks ballooning out to know that something beneath her dress was expanding as well. It was something Margo had seen plenty of times but still, never got used to: A grown Little shitting their pants in broad daylight. Yes, she’d just gotten changed herself, admittedly, but she’d only wet. Furthermore, she’d wet in the backseat of a car. She always found some hidden away space to relax her bladder in. She’d never done anything other than number one, though. And the idea of doing it in front of everyone absolutely repulsed her. She’d tried it once in Jacqueline’s lap when they’d been working out their infiltration routines, but her body just kept clenching up. Even undercover there were some lines her body would not let her cross. To add self-insult to self-injury, Wendy stood back up after her eyes refocused and saddled up, squishing the mess inside her diaper by sitting down in it. The rocking wouldn’t be good for it either. Margo couldn’t hold her tongue. “Um...did you go poopie?” Wendy was already rocking back and forth. She seemed slightly puzzled. “Yeah,” she said. “Why?” “Don’t you want to go get changed?” Margo offered. Maybe the woman just hadn’t thought of it. “Why?” Margo shrugged. “No reason. Just wonderin’...” No point in arguing with a Little who’d already lost all sense. Another thing Margo had learned that if she wept for the senseless, she’d be crying all day. How nice it would be in a few days when she wouldn’t have to drink from a rubber nipple, and when the only sound of a Little walking was coming from their feet hitting the ground. The detective breathed through her mouth, rocking back and forth at a steady pace, looking for signs of something, anything that she could use. But other than the things that were obviously wrong with this picture, there wasn’t anything that was legally wrong with it. She probably wasn’t going to find anything. Not out here, at least. Something went wrong soon enough. Her horse bucked her! Actually bucked her! As Margo was rocking back she felt her balance go and the horse fall out from under her as she was left looking at the clouds. Snickering filled the air, and a repugnant, snot-crusted pug nosed face loomed over her. “Ha-ha, ya dumb baby!” It was a kid. An Amazon kid. Looked to be four or five, by Margo’s estimation. The Little connected the dots. She hadn’t fallen off, she’d been yanked off, tilted off by a kid who was either either very big for his age, or very dumb for it. Instinctively, Margo wanted to lash out and break the fucker’s nose. Sadly, Margo also knew that would break her cover. Also, even an Amazon preschooler could give Margo a good fight. There were other ways to fight, given her situation. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Margo screamed. She curled up in a ball. She did her best to look small and hurt and defenseless. She cried crocodile tears through eyes slammed shut. All according to plan. New, heavier, [Grown-Up] footsteps approached. “What’s going on here?” “N-N-Nothin’” the Amazon kid said. Ooof! Rookie mistake. Wendy did the rest. “Ronny was pickin’ on Margo! Mean ol’ big kid Miss Kelly!” Two [Grown-Up] hands reached down and picked Margo up out of the dirt, brushing off her purple. Margo lowered her wails down to a light whine and a sniffling. All according to plan. She opened her eyes to watch the carnage. This was a different [Grown-Up]. Miss Kelly looked like she was barely out of highschool, younger than even Margo. Margo hoped she’d never have to get changed by Miss Kelly. Getting her butt wiped by a [Grown-Up] who was several years her junior was so humiliating! “Ronny,” Miss Kelly barked. “That’s not very nice, is it?” “SORRY!” The [Grown-Up] was having nothing of it. “Big kids don’t just walk up and start picking on babies. I’d expect that kind of behavior from a baby, but not a big kid like you!” “SORRY!” Tears, real ones maybe, were starting to form in Ronny’s eyes. “Do you need to be put back in diapers? Do YOU need to be a baby?” “NO!” How queer it was, Margo often thought. To Amazons diapers and babyhood was the ultimate punishment, yet the majority of them transparently wanted Littles to love it and experience it in perpetuity. So many mixed signals “Then what do we say?” Miss Kelly, prompted. “SORRRY!” “If I see you picking on one more baby this week, I’m putting you back in diapers myself!” That was more than enough of a threat for Ronny. The kid went running off in the opposite direction. “Are you okay, baby?” she asked Margo. Margo nodded, quietly. She was put back down on the ground. “You did the right thing, honey. Crying is what good babies do to let Grown-Ups need help.” Inwardly, the detective bristled. “Fankyooo….” she said, looking away. The teenage [Grown-Up] brushed some dirt off of Margo’s dress. “I think you’ll be okay. But if that big kid keeps being mean to you, you do exactly what you did.” She patted Margo on top of the head, and then gave her another “fist bump” to send the girl on her way. If the sensory equipment in the Last Looks bow weren’t so advanced, Margo might be worried. Margo peered over to the other side of the playground. Ronny had joined another group of Amazon preschoolers playing Duck, Duck, Goose. She’d have to avoid them if she wanted to find what she was looking for. BZZZT! Margo peered over to the other side of the playground. Ronny had joined another group of [big kids] playing Duck Duck Goose. She’d have to avoid them if she wanted to find what she was looking for. “HEY!” Wendy called. “WAAAAIT UP!” Margo stopped and allowed her living camouflage to catch up to her. Might as well. “Sorry about Ronny,” Wendy said. “Big kids can be real butts sometimes. They think they’re so much better cuz they’re bigger than us and they’re growin’ up.” They were better though. Maybe not morally or intellectually speaking, but [big kids] were literally entitled to everything Littles such as herself were not, and almost all of it was due to their size. [Big kids] were given more rights and privileges than Littles and were, legally speaking, better. Soon, Margo promised herself she’d soon be going to a place where there weren’t any [Grown-Ups] or [big kids] to worry about. “Let’s go to the slide,” Margo said. Maybe she could get a few of something. A suspicious spy antenna or something. That’s what she was looking for, right? Right. “I’ll go first!” Wendy said. Margo’s eyes widened. “Um...can I go first?” she asked. “I’m scared of heights, and I might need you to help push me down.” This was a lie, of course. It was really because Margo had no intention of climbing up the ladder behind someone wearing a poopy diaper. Wendy made an O with her mouth and clapped her hands before proclaiming. “Yay! I’ll help! I’ll help! I’m a helper!” Margo briefly wondered if that was true; “helper” had a different meaning to Littles. If Wendy had been a helper it hadn’t prevented her from getting her big girl panties taken away. Rung by rung by rung, Margo climbed to the top of the slide. It was the highest vantage point someone of her size could achieve out here. On the off chance that what she was looking for was out here, this would be the place to find it. Sitting down on the slide, she peered out. More Littles playing in the sandbox, seeming to enjoy themselves. The diapered men and women hanging upside down from the monkey bars seemed to be having a good time. But none of that was illegal; only FORCING Littles to have a good time was against the law. Otherwise, she and Jacqueline would have to settle for a more modest finder’s fee. “Down you GOOOOOO!” A hand was on Margo’s back. Before she knew what was going on, she was careening down the inclined plane at what felt like lightning speed. The playground went whizzing by as the Little woman plummeted downwards, her arms and legs shot out and grabbed onto only air. KA-THUNK Looking up at the sky for the second time in almost as many minutes, Margo drew in breath and brabbed the back of her head. This time, she opened her mouth to wail in ernest. “WAAAAA-!” “WEEEEEEEE!” The detective closed her eyes just in time. A crinkly plastic barrier, just barely holding back wet pulp and disgusting mush landed on Margo’s head. Wendy had come down the slide right after her. There was crying, and it wasn’t coming from, Margo. Between the weight of it all and the stench, Margo could only exhale and dared not inhale. What a terrible way to go! Smothered and crushed by another Little (one who badly needed a change). Acid bubbled up in her throat. Her body was threatening to choke on its own vomit. “WAAAAAA!” And Wendy wasn’t moving! She was crying and wailing, but not budging off of Margo’s head! More [Grown-Up] feet rushed to the scene, and picked Wendy up. Margo gasped for air, and added her cries to Wendy’s. She was soon off the ground too, her back being patted while she fought off tears and vomiting. How humiliating! How very un-big-girl like! They were each in the arm of two older women; both old enough to ACTUALLY be their mothers. “It’s okay,” they said. “It’s okay. You Little babies just took a tumble, is all.” “I’m sorry Miss Erica! I’m sorry Miss Joan!” Wendy bawled. Why was she crying? She wasn’t hurt! “I’m sooooo sorry!” she said to Margo. “I didn’t mean to! I just- I just-!” And then she lost all coherence, while the [Grown-Up] gently bobbed and shushed her. “Sounds like somebody’s got some big feelings, Joan,” the [Grown-Up] holding Margo said. Her face was pudgy and reddish brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. “That she does, Erica,” the one holding Wendy agreed. She peeked inside the Little’s diaper. “And needs a change.” Her blonde hair was so faded as to be nearly white. Margo didn’t even mind so much when her own, clean diaper was inspected briefly. It felt nice to be fussed over when she was in pain. And she WAS in pain. Her head was throbbing and it was harder and harder to catch her breath. “Let’s get to it, then.” Joan said. “Yup,” Replied Erica. “You change Wendy, and I’ll sit with...Margo was it?” Margo nodded, wiping her eyes. The two [Grown-Ups] Traveled with each other a ways, but then parted when it came time to going back in the building. Miss Joan with her almost-white hair carried Wendy in to change her diaper, while Miss Erica and her pudgy face plopped down on a bench next to the swings. Margo found herself lap bound for the second time that day. Man, she couldn’t wait to be free of laps. Though the “how” was still a little fuzzy to Margo. “You don’t have any bruises,” Erica told Margo. “So that’s good.” She reached into a cooler and took out a baby bottle full of juice. “Here,” she held the bottle to Margo’s lips. “Have some wa-wa from a ba-ba. It’ll make you feel better.” Reverting to her undercover persona, Margo gently sipped from the bottle while Miss Erica held it, drinking the cold ice water in tiny sips. Other Littles came and were handed their bottles, chugging them in the shade before putting them into a separate open bin, but Margo was content to sit in the shade and sip. This playground was a wash, anyway. She’d never find what Jacqueline was looking for out here. Waste of time. Might as well take it easy. “Wendy didn’t mean to hurt you,” Miss Erica said, gently. “She just has a habit of acting before she thinks. It was an accident. She’s not mean.” She patted the top of Margo’s bow. “She’s just a Little baby, like you. Not a mean bone in her body.” She might have been a Little, Margo thought. But not a Little like her. The slide had just proven that. BZZZZZT! She was a [baby], Margo thought. But not a [baby] like her. The slide had just proven that. “I think you and me should just sit here and relax a bit until it’s time to go inside.” It wasn’t a question, but Margo nodded anyway. “Good baby.” Margo spent the next twenty minutes waiting in Miss Erica’s lap, people watching. Nothing suspicious was seen, other than a daycare that had lots of [babies] in it. Too bad in this country a daycare packed with [babies] was nothing suspicious at all. Wendy came out holding Miss Joan’s hand and went waddling right by the bench, as if she’d forgotten the entire incident. (And to be fair, she probably did). Nothing to be mad about. Nothing to be. She just leaned back into Miss Erica and went pee-pee; waiting to run out the clock on this day. In time, Miss Angie, who had ushered Margo into this hellhole, called out. “Alright, kiddos! Time to go in.” Everyone on the playground grumbled. Everyone but Margo. She had no further business here. “Don’t worry, don’t worry!” Miss Angie laughed. We’ll be back in the afternoon!” This playground was definitely not what she was supposed to find. What was she supposed to find again? The motley crew of kids and [babies] shuffled back into the nursery. By the door nearest the playground, Margo noticed, were stacks of what appeared to be pieces of rug cut up into smaller squares. “Grab a spot,” Miss Erica chirped. Like clockwork, all of the charges grabbed the carpet rectangles and marked their territory, placing them in front of a big screen T.V. Clever, Margo thought. In a way, it beat chairs. Certainly took up less room. The T.V. was another problem, entirely Margo adjusted her bow. If there was going to be a time when her hair bow zapped her, it’d be now. It almost always zapped her at daycare when she was watching cartoons. There was no way that was happening, she told herself. Too many [big kids]. Her bow only zapped her when it was just her and other [babies]. Being around the [big kids] would keep her safe. She was safe. Still, she closed her eyes and prepared for the shock. Miss Joan grabbed the remote and turned on the television. “HI KIDS!” A goofy voice. “ARE YOU READY TO LEARN ABOUT BABY ANIMALS!” “YEEEEAH!” The whole room erupted. “THEN LEEEEEET’S GO!” Just like Jacqueline had taught her, Margo waited. But no shock came. She opened her eyes. It was a cartoon, alright. But it was an educational one. And like it said, it was all about animal babies. “Did you know that the Kangaroo is born suuuuuper tiny?” The cartoon told them. “But it grows much much much bigger while living inside its Mommy’s pouch!” It was all factual, as far as Margo could recall, except for the baby animals were all drawn wearing little white diapers in all of the animation; likely so that the [big kids] and [babies] could tell the difference. Speaking of diapers, Margo let out another little spurt of pee, wriggling on the carpet, as her diaper really started to squish! “Billy!” Miss Joan called. “Diaper time.” A [baby] boy in shortalls stood up and waddled over to the changing table. “Jessica! Potty time!” A [big kid] girl with pink Pull-Ups poking out of her shorts ran to the bathroom. RRRRRIIIP! KATHUNK! PFFF-PFFF! FLSSSSSH! Ah, so this is what this really was. A bathroom break. No asking. No checking. One by one, the children were called away from the T.V.. [Babies] went to the changing table. [Big kids] went to the bathroom. Everyone else watched T.V. while they waited. “Madison! Diaper time! Alex! Potty time!” The sound of ripping tapes the thud of a heavy door being closed signaled the beginning of each round. The smell of powder and the roar of a flushing toilet signaled the end. A [Grown-Up] at each area kept things moving along. RRRRIIIIP! KATHUNK! PFFF-PFFFF! FLSSSSSH! “Margo, diaper time! Ronny, potty time!” Dutifully, Margo got up and waddled through the seated tots over to the changing table. Miss Kelly was already waiting for her. That was good. Miss Kelly had been super nice to her, and was also super pretty. Margo was glad that it was Miss Kelly changing her diaper. Wow! Her diaper. Margo looked down. It was sagging like crazy! Her diaper had never gotten that wet before. But why no-? The [babie’s] thoughts were cut off as Miss Kelly boosted her up onto the changing table. “Diaper time, cutie.” Margo laid there, like a good girl and sucked her thumb as Miss Kelly changed her. It took a little bit for her to find the cubby where her Monkeez were stacked, but she found it. She wasn’t as good at it- not as ‘sperienced as Miss Angie- but it was still super nice. RRRRIIIIP! KATHUNK! PFFF-PFFFF! FLSSSSSH! The toilet flushed and Ronny practically stomped out of the bathroom. Margo was just waddling back over to her spot after being changed, and Ronny gave her the meanest look. What’d she ever do to him?! Her lip pouted out and started to tremble. Miss Joan was behind her. “Don’t worry about Ronny, baby. Just sit down so I can call someone else’s name.” Another pat on the head, and Margo sat down. “Penelope! Diaper time! Nick! Potty time!” Another [baby] got up to go to the changing table, and her [big kid] counterpart made a bee-line for the bathroom. BZZZZZT! Another [baby] got up to go to the changing table, and her [big kid] counterpart made a bee-line for the [potty]. RRRRIIIIP! KATHUNK! PFFF-PFFFF! FLSSSSSH! After a bit, [big kids] stopped being called to go to the [potty], and only the sounds of tape ripping and the crinkling of fresh diapers mixed with the fun animal facts. Margo supposed they could call more babies to the [potty] and change them in there at the same time to speed things up, but she instantly saw the downside. A cold tiled hard floor was no substitute for a nice soft changing table. Wouldn’t want the [babies] like her to get confused either. Speaking of confused, Margo still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was forgetting something. That was okay. Maybe that’d mean Jaqueline had forgotten about whatever it was too. When everyone had either been changed or gone potty, the cartoon was stopped, the lights turned on. “Okay!” Miss Angie called. “Time to go to centers!” Just like everything else so far, the more experienced children all got up and acted in near unison. They grabbed their “spots” and one by one put them back in the neat and orderly stacks in which they’d been left. Margo just followed the crowd, still fighting off the strange and lingering feeling that she was forgetting something. What was it she was supposed to do? Was she supposed to find something? Jacqueline knew. But Jacqueline wasn’t here. Her [Grown-Up] friend was busy working. That’s why Margo was here, at daycare. A shadow fell over her. Yet another [Grown-Up] was bending over her, offering their hand. “Hi!” The silver haired [Grown-Up] with locks that went down past her breasts said. “I’m Miss Jenna. You’re Margo, right?” Margo nodded, in awe of the old yet somehow more free-spirited woman. Her shirt was tie-dye! A [Grown-Up]! In tie-dye! How cool was that? “Come with me, sweetie. It’s time for art.” Overwhelmed from all the sudden changes brought about today, Margo let herself be led to a low table, covered with newspapers. Five other [babies] were already seated. They’d already been dressed in worn but clean smocks, so that their play clothes wouldn’t get too messy. Margo was the last to sit down, and the last to have what was effectively a giant bib tied around her. “For art today,” Miss Jenna said, “We’re gonna work with finger paints!” “Ooooooo!”, the other [babies] all said. They were giving each other knowing and excited nods and looks all across the table. Margo just stared down at the table, her mind on other things. What was she supposed to be finding? Was she supposed to be finding something?” “Margo?” Miss Jenna said. “Margo? Are you listening?” “Hmm?” Margo looked up. “Yeah...I mean...yes Ma’am.” That was a lie. She wasn’t listening at all. “Good.” Miss Jenna continued. “Now if you do this right, little ones, you’ll have a nice-” What was she forgetting? Had she forgotten that she’d forgotten? Maybe she was stressing out over nothing. She could just wait for the end of the day. Mind her business. Go home to Jacqueline, tell her she didn’t find anything and then…. And then… And then what? “Margo,” Miss Jenna lightly bopped Margo on the top of the head, right on her bow. “Pay attention, sweetie. Don’t you.want something to take home and show your Mommy or Daddy?” The lightbulb turned on in Margo’s brain. That was it! She didn’t have to DO something! She had to MAKE something! Margo knew what she had to do, and she’d do it for Jacqueline! BZZZZZT! Margo knew what she had to do! And she’d do it for [Mommy!] ******************************************************************************************************* Jacqueline came up to the receptionist, toting a giant sized box of Monkeez. “Hi there. Jacqueline Guston. Here to pick up my daughter. Margo?” Just saying it this time, saying it and meaning it gave the Amazon goose pimples. “We’ll bring her right out.” The receptionist said, grabbing the walkie talkie. “Margo to check out.” Jacqueline felt more nervous than she’d ever felt in her life. “How was she?” “Oh, she was fine. Good as gold. Everything went according to plan.” The older woman had a playful laugh in her tone. She clearly was very experienced in this sort of thing. That didn’t help Jacqueline’s nerves...or the niggling feeling that she had just done something very wrong. That feeling evaporated when the door opened, and out from the back came her Little Girl, cute as a button and as happy as can be. “MOMMY!” Margo sprinted for Jacqueline on Little legs. Jacqueline set down the box, and opened her arms. Margo rushed in for a hug. They’d done this bit so many times. So many times. This time, though, was real. She could feel it. “Mommy’s so happy to see you!” Jacqueline told her baby. “Did you have fun at your first real day of daycare.” Margo started nodding so hard, her headband almost came off. “Uh-huh! The other babies are really fun to play with, and the Grown-Ups are super nice! Can we come back again?” Grown-Ups. OTHER babies. It was enough to make Jacqueline. Others would say she was just cosseting, but she knew she’d made the right choice. She couldn’t bear the thought of Margo leaving her. So many Amazons might snatch her up at the airport and adopt her. And the Littles, the ones who thought they were so high and mighty in that other country; they were worse. Everyone knew that Little run countries were impoverished and crime ridden. Margo would end up living in some slum, possibly getting stabbed for food stamps or bread rations. Leaving home from everything she’d ever known just so that she could be treated more like a Grown-Up was completely reckless, when you stopped to think about it rationally. The worst thing that would happen here is she’d get adopted. It was better this way. She’d been planning this for months. It had been difficult to concoct a hypnotic program that would work on Margo and bring out her inner child (or cause her Maturosis to flare up as some called it). The Little Girl had conditioned herself into a kind of immunity. None of the mainstream hypno cartoons were going to work. Same with the silly songs. So when she’d stumbled onto this place, she’d known not to pass up the opportunity. Honestly, the method was ingenious. Subliminal messages vibrated directly into the inner ear and skull via a head apparatus. They’d even made a model that looked exactly like Margo’s favorite headband. Jacqueline had been nervous slipping it on to her Little Girl, thinking she’d somehow notice the difference in the weight or the fit. But in the end, as it should be, Margo was still just a Little Girl. The deal was simple: Free tuition for the Amazon Detective’s silence. That and something else... While the proud new mother picked up her daughter, Margo started leaning on Jacqueline and cuddling her back; giggling and burying her head in Jacqueline’s hair. Not just cuddling her, though. Margo’s bum cupped by Jaqueline’s hand as it was, she was able to feel the slight difference as her new baby raised her bum up and start tensing up, lightly grunting as her diaper began to sag and balloon back into Jacqueline’s waiting hand.. “Margo?” Jaqueline asked. “Are you pooping, honey?” “She won’t tell you,” the daycare worker said. “Babies never tell when they need to go potty. That’s why Grown-Ups have to check their diapers for them.” Margo exhaled and settled back down into Jacqueline’s hand. The Amazon got a good feel for the lumpy mush in her Littles’ diaper. Pooping right in her arms? In front of everyone? No signs of discomfort or cognitive dissonance or humiliation? Margo had never done this before. She’d been a good actor, but never this good. No one was this good. It worked. It really worked. “Someone needs a diaper change,” she cooed to Margo. “Nooo…” Margo whined quietly. “Wanna go home and play.” She didn’t want a diaper change?! The only time Margo didn’t want a diaper change is when panties were involved. “Okay,” she said. She rubbed Margo’s back. “We’ll get you changed when we get home to your new nursery. Then you can play in it for a while before dinner, tubby time, and bed.” Margo sniffed. “Okay, Mommy.” Jacqueline was on the verge of tears of happiness. The daycare worker came with the diaper bag. “Trade you a bag for a box, Miss?” Jacqueline took the bag back onto her shoulders. “Deal.” She reached into her back pocket and took out the Last Looks headband, the real one, and gave it to the worker. “As promised.” Miss Angie looked at it closely. “It’s so startling simple when you think about it. Condition yourself to resist conventional forms of conditioning.” “So easy a baby could use it,” Jacqueline joked. Everyone laughed. Even Margo. The daycare worker; Margo’s newest teacher, stuck her hand out. “Pleasure doing business with you.” “Likewise.” They shook hands. Jacqueline gave her daughter a kiss, and didn’t feel her tense up at all. It’d be an early day at the courthouse tomorrow, after which Margo would be officially her baby, and then Jacqueline could collect all the money the Little rascal had squirreled away. Then it’d be a happy life together. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Margo was literally bouncing in Jacqueline’s arms, oblivious or uncaring about the mess she’d deposited in her Monkeez. “Yes, honey?” “I made you somefin!” Jaqueline arched an eyebrow. “I put it in her bag,” Miss Angie said. Jaqueline opened up the diaper bag, more than one diaper lighter. She saw the manilla colored construction paper folded up inside right away. It wasn’t hard to unfold, even one handed. She gasped audibly when she saw the finished product. “A butterfly! It’s beautiful!” It was nothing that would go up in an art museum obviously, but the refrigerator would do nicely; especially with how a certain someone had used their tiny hands to make the wings. “I made it all by myself!” Margo proudly proclaimed. “I did it just for you, Mommy. Just like you wanted me too!” Yes. Just like she’d wanted her to. “Margo, baby.” “Yes, Mommy?” “Consider yourself officially retired.” “Okay, Mommy.”

Chapter 1: Escape Crime is a dangerous way to make a living. In most cases, the payoff isn’t worth the risk, especially when it’s a small-time gig. Rob a gas station and you’ll probably only get a stay in prison. Break into a house for a TV and you’re likely to get shot for your trouble. It took either a very desperate or very stupid person to pursue petty crime as a career. Lyn wasn’t desperate, and she certainly wasn’t stupid. Yet she was still very much a criminal. By process of elimination, that only left one option. Lyn was a career criminal, and a damn good one at that. There are two ways one can be a career criminal. The first is through legal avenues, going into stock trading or politics. The second is the illegal way, gangs and the black market. Lyn was the second kind. Specifically, smuggling. Strangely enough, the illegal route was the less risky option for her. Technically the only option. See, Lyn was a Little. In Catalon. In that country, Littles could either turn to crime or cross their fingers and hope they find a mommy who changed them more than once a day. Any Little worth their salt stayed as far away from Catalon as they could. In fact, if any Little knew that Lyn had chosen to base her operations there they would call her insane. They would say she was all but asking for an Amazon to adopt her. Lyn didn’t see it that way. Where others saw danger, she saw opportunity. The Amazons’ perception of Littles was something she could use, that she could exploit. And exploit she did. Seven times she had almost been cornered, either by the government or a rival organization. Each time, she had a specially programmed robonanny walk her out the door dressed in a thick diaper and pink onesie. She had never gotten a second glance. That was why she always set up shop near a nursery, so there was always cover for her to melt into. It had taken seventeen long years, but Lyn had become one of the most powerful crime lords in Catalon. The Vipress. In the beginning it was thrilling. Scamming the Amazons from right under their noses. Her underlings communicating in the most respectful tones possible, not knowing they were speaking to someone half their height. Having so much money that she didn’t know what to do with it all. It was like a drug. At some point over the years though, the thrill went away. She completed a job and felt nothing. She slipped away from those who would see her fail, but instead of being happy, she just felt annoyed to be dressed in a baby costume. So, Lyn embarked on the trickiest job she had ever attempted in her life of crime. Getting out of it. She had been working on a plan for months, and her efforts were almost at an end. Once more, she looked over the desk in front of her. One side had everything she needed to start her new life. A Libertalian passport and birth certificate, the deed to her new house, and the accounts for all her assets. Enough for her to live extravagantly for a dozen lifetimes. On the other side was a little gift she had prepared. Over the years, she had made connections in nearly every part of the private, public, and criminal sectors of Catalon. The things she had discovered would have kept her up at night were she a regular Little, and even she caught herself wincing at times. Some of the things they had planned for how to get more Littles––not just from other dimensions, but also free Little countries––were terrifying. Those documents would be sealed in an envelope and delivered straight to the Libertalian government. They wouldn’t be able to address everything, but it was one last way for Lyn to screw over the Amazons. And then she would be done. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Everything alright Boss?” She looked over at the man who had spoken. Clive was her muscle. Her confidant. He had been there for her since day one, and without his unwavering (and blind) loyalty she never would have gotten off the ground. When she had to go out in public, he was her Daddy, though both of them knew who wore the pants in their relationship. Figuratively, at least. “I’m fine. Been a long day. Long life, really. I’ll be glad to leave it behind. But still, there is a part of me that doesn’t know if I should.” Clive nodded as though he understood and went back to staring imposingly at the door. Lyn moved back to her paperwork, but hesitated. “Clive, what are you going to do after this?” Clive’s brow furrowed. “Whaddya’ mean Boss?” “After-” she gestured across her desk, “-all this ends. What are you going to do? You won’t be tied to crime anymore, and I’ve given you enough money so that you can do pretty much anything you want.” Clive’s face cleared up. “Oh, I’m going to adopt a Little for myself.” Lyn paused for a second, then continued with a note of warning in her voice. “Are you serious? Why?” Clive smiled, oblivious to the tension. “Well I’ve always wanted a Little one of my own, but it always seemed disrespectful to do it while I worked for you. You’re not really a Little, you’re the Boss. Even when you have to get up in your costume and look all cute, it’s still not right. If you’re leaving though, then that’s what I’m gonna do.” Clive looked over and, seeing the incredulous look on her face, quickly added, “Besides, I think I’d be a good daddy. Some Littles are happy, you know. I’d be nice to mine.” Lyn paused. It was true. Clive was far from the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was kind. It was hard to find people like that in this business. Compared to most Amazons in Catalon, he would be parent of the year. After a long time, she spoke. “I hope you find a Little who makes you happy, Clive. I hope it goes well.” Clive beamed but Lyn continued. “That said, if you put your Little through any surgeries or hypnosis…” “No no no,” Clive said. “That’s mean. I only hurt the bad guys who try to fight me. Littles can’t fight. They’re helpless. ‘Sides you of course, Boss.” Lyn shook her head, though it was mostly from bemusement. “Sometimes I don’t quite get you, Clive.” Before he could respond, a soft ding came from the doorway and both of them snapped towards it. The sound played when the entrance to this wing of the floor was opened. “We don’t have any visitors today, do we Boss?” Lyn got up from her chair. “Not planned at least. Go check it-” The door burst open and Clive moved in front of her, weapon raised. The figure raised his hands up in surrender. “It’s me, it’s me!” Lyn laid a calming hand on Clive’s side before looking up at the newcomer. “Oscar, what’s going on? Who’s at the door?” Oscar was sweating, but managed to speak. “On the camera it looks like Spalvodi’s men. At least eight. I raised the barriers, but I give you five minutes tops before they get through.” Shit! Now? She was five days away from leaving and someone was trying to take her out now? Things were supposed to be quiet. None of the gangs had made any movements for months. There was no time to think about that at the moment though. “Oscar, get those documents on my desk and burn them. I can get more. Clive, come on. I’m dropping down to the nursery below us.” She moved forward, but everyone else was still. “Clive?” He stood in place for a second, an expression of surprise on his face, before he fell backward to reveal Oscar standing with a silenced pistol in his hand. Before she could move, Oscar pointed it straight at her. “Hold it right there boss, don’t want this to accidentally go off.” Fuck, fuck, fuck! Clive was dead. She was alone and trapped. She should have seen this coming. Oscar was good at his job, but only when someone was giving him instructions every step of the way. She had thought the sizable salary she paid him would keep him in line, but apparently his ambition overrode his common sense. There was still a way out of this though, even Oscar wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually ally with Spalvodi. If it was just him, she could negotiate, find a way- The door opened. Heart sinking to her toes, she was proven wrong for the second time that day. Spalvodi was there, flanked by two men on either side. A broad grin split his face, and he puffed on a lit cigar. Cocky prick, Lyn thought. He removed the cigar from his mouth. “Vipress! Or should I say Lyn? One of your boys was kind enough to invite me over. It’s so good to see you!” Lyn’s mind raced while she tried to think of an angle, something she could use. “Spalvodi. Nice to finally meet in person. What can I do for you?” He took a long drag and blew out three smoke rings. “Well see, my new friend Oscar informed me that there was a gross lapse in management over here. As I am a charitable man, I came by to offer my services in rectifying this problem.” She couldn’t make a break for it. The door was guarded, and Oscar was still by her getaway passage under the desk. “A problem? That’s news to me.” Spalvodi walked across the room and peered at the papers on her desk. “News to me too! It came as quite the shock. Imagine, there I am sitting in my office, when I get a call. It’s one of the Vipress’ men, and oh boy. The tale he spun. First of all, he says there’s an undiapered Little in Catalon. A serious issue in its own right. But Oscar, Oscar tells me it’s worse than that. He says that very same Little is the one and only Vipress, the biggest pain in my ass for the past twelve years. Can you believe it?” “No.” He actually laughed at that. “You know, I didn’t either. Until I saw some pictures. News reels of failed gang busts by the government, and in the corner of each story is a Little girl held in the arms of a nanny bot, blending in with the crowd. And then Oscar shows me a photo of that very same Little, sitting at a desk and gloating after one of my shipments mysteriously disappears. I’m a tough man to convince, but what can I say? Oscar put in the work.” Oscar chose that moment to butt in. “You’re such an idiot, boss. Always thinking you’re better than everyone else. You’re just a Little. The closest you’ve come to actually doing something right is when you have to dress up in a diaper, and even then you mess it up by trying to pretend you’re an adult after. Well now I’ll get to be in charge, and with Spalvodi we’re going to run this organization better than you ever could.” God damn it. Oscar was the head of a small street group when Lyn found him. The only reason he had amounted to anything was because of her, and she had planned to give him enough resources to do whatever he wanted when she was gone. But no, the arrogance of Amazons had no bounds. Even after all she’d done, Oscar just saw her as someone who had cheated their way out of diapers. Spalvodi absentmindedly responded as he flipped through her files. “Yeah, we’ve got quite the reward coming for Oscar. Show ‘em.” In a single motion, one of his goons pulled out a gun and shot Oscar. Lyn watched without surprise. “I’ll give each of you $500,000 and a new job if you do the same thing to Spalvodi right now.” Three of the men just looked at her, while the fourth spat to the side. “Shut up, Little.” Well, so much for that idea. All that was left was the desk. She’d have to be quick, and she’d have to move out immediately after. Now that her secret was out, nowhere in Catalon was safe. All she needed was a clear path to the chute… As though the universe heard her prayers, Spalvodi moved to look at her bookshelf by the window. He began to talk, and Lyn slowly moved towards escape. “I must confess, it’s been a real tough decision on what I’m gonna do to you. On the one hand, it’s a risk to give you a chance to run free. Who knows if you still have other connections out there? Maybe if you had a bit of time, you’d be able to round up a crew and start again. One day you might even come back as a threat! It’d be easiest to send you the way of Clive and Oscar, a one bullet ticket straight to the next life.” She was a foot away when he stopped and turned around. Throwing caution to the wind, she leapt forward and slammed the hidden button on the side of her desk. Mechanical arms sprung from the ground, wrapping Lyn in a protective embrace. She looked up at Spalvodi’s face, hoping to catch his expression as he watched her escape to safety. To her confusion, Spalvodi wore a satisfied smirk as she met his gaze. With a sinking feeling, she noticed that the arms weren’t moving at all, and she couldn’t get free no matter how hard she struggled. One of the arms reached out and placed a pacifier in her mouth, fastening it behind her head. “And then on the other hand, I remembered what I was dealing with. A Little. Someone so helpless that they didn’t even realize when one of their most trusted lieutenants turned traitor. Someone who allowed their only form of escape to be hacked. Someone who is just. A. Fool.” With each sentence he had gotten closer and closer, and by the end he was standing right next to her. She froze in the middle of her struggle and looked up at him fearfully. He was so much bigger than her, and she had never felt more vulnerable. Unwillingly, she felt the beginning of tears prick her eyes. This was how it would end? “So, I’m not going to kill you. That’d be showing too much respect! No, I’ll send you right off to where you want to go. The nursery. Because ultimately, that’s all it takes to keep your kind in line.” He knelt down, still dwarfing her in height, and reached forward to take hold of her chin. “Honestly, you’re going to do a much better job at being a Little than you ever did playing at this crime gig. I mean look at you! Wavy red hair, freckles, baby blue eyes, and utterly pinchable cheeks. Do you have dimples? I’ll bet you do.” Lyn tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip and forced her to look at his eyes. “You’re an Amazon mommy’s wet dream. After a little bit of reprogramming, which I took care to lay out myself, you’ll be perfect.” Lyn’s blood ran cold. Regression was a Little’s worst nightmare, something that was impossible to come back from. After a long stare, he pulled his hand away. “You should really be thanking me. If word got out that the fearsome Vipress was actually a Little, your entire reputation would be ruined. I’ll at least spread the word that you went down valiantly, a fearsome opponent to the end. Of course, we’ll both know the truth.” Spalvodi stood and looked back over her desk. “Oscar was half right though. I am going to use this better than you ever could have. If you were still going to have a brain in that head of yours after tomorrow, I’d tell you to watch the news for me.” He shrugged. “But that isn’t your concern anymore. Have a nice life, Vipress. I know whoever adopts you will.” And with that, he pulled out a remote, pressed a button, and Lyn was whisked away. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Hello everyone! Figured I'd do the author's note at the end. I was browsing through some stories on this site when a question crossed my mind. What ever happened to the nice, simple stories where the main character merely exists to be put in diapers? Nowadays, it seems like authors are taking the time to actually develop their characters, giving them complex personalities and compelling relationships with others. Horrifying. Makes it dreadfully difficult to have a quick fun time before bed when I find myself actually invested in the story. I decided to be the change I want to see in the world, and created this. (Side note: This was only after I spent a few months and several dozen pages trying to write one of those high-class stories. I eventually decided it might be a bit much to start with, so I switched gears.) This is the first story I've written, and I would love to hear people's thoughts on it. I'll post the other chapters at a decent pace, and I should have the story finished sometime in August. I hope you enjoy! P.S. If someone could let me know how to update the title of a topic, I'd appreciate it.

Just before 25-year-old programmer and chess IM (International Master) Isabelle drowns, she is pulled to the Diaper Dimension by the UN's Dimensional Rescue Group. Things don't quite go her way, but she has a powerful ally... Your Move Foreword Welcome to my first story. Ever since two of my favorite authors* introduced me to the Diaper Dimension, it's become one of my favorite genres, and I thought I'd give back to the community in the form of this work. If it were not for the legends before me, this story wouldn't exist, so I'm honored to write it. Many thanks go to BabySofia, YourDiapersCute and Acer for beta-testing it. Y'all helped me improve my writing and gave me motivation to write. Finally, PrincessPottyPants must also be acknowledged for INITing the sandbox. Please be advised that this story contains ABDL content. Even if this isn't your cup of tea, there's some interesting content I have to offer (but consider yourself warned). If you like chess, advanced tech or computers, then you're in for a treat! I currently have the first of 3 parts of the story completed (you'll want to read the updated version here:) I'm posting one chapter of Part 2 (well, what I've written anyway) every Wednesday here! I hope you'll enjoy this story, and please do comment your thoughts and suggestions! ©@DiaperedPrince2021-2022, all rights reserved. Please do not repost any part of this story to any other website, platform or medium, at any time, without my express written consent. :3 *@BabySofia and @YourDiapersCute Part 1: Opening "Attackers may sometimes regret bad moves, but it is much worse to forever regret an opportunity you allowed to pass you by." — Garry Kasparov Chapter 1 — What the Hell I never expected it to be like this. Frankly, I didn’t think I was even supposed to be in Hell. Even though I wasn’t the most devout Christian, I certainly was one. So shouldn’t I have gone to Heaven? Even if I take the secular interpretation, don’t only bad guys end up here? I’m pretty sure I’d been a good girl — most of the time anyway. Of course, human nature made being perfect all the time impossible, and I’ve certainly done my share of sinning. But… but… this?? I don’t think that anything I’d ever done had made me deserve this. Did some angel mess up? Or was it a bug in some kind of software? Did angels even use software to make these decisions? Leaving aside the ‘why’, shouldn’t Hell be all hot and fiery, and shouldn’t Satan be a guy? I pinched myself just to confirm I wasn't dreaming, and looked around the dilapidated, dirty room for the third time since I'd opened my eyes a minute ago. The 20-by-30-foot space was dimly lit by a small window almost opaque from dust and stains. The looming figure of the Devil, about twice my height, was clunking away in front of a stove, puffs of smoke coming out of her mouth rhythmically as she dragged on a cigarette. I wretched again at the malodorous pile of dirty dishes, pots and pans that sat in the sink next to her, unwashed, and the overflowing trash can beside it that contained a large mound of unidentifiable ooze whose composition I could only guess at. A lonely mattress, straight from a prison cell the way it was stained, filled the opposite corner of the room. All the furnishings, intimidatingly large to me, were clearly sized for her. What was most disturbing was a pile of reeking garbage bags that filled the last corner of the room, ending just inches from the mattress, and topped with a pair of flies buzzing around angrily. My disgusting panorama was interrupted by a noxious wave of cigarette smoke reaching me, making my head spin. I choked and coughed, nauseous and unable to breath. When the air had cleared somewhat a moment later, I drew a deep breath, inhaling the putrid stench of the space once again. Though it wasn't exactly hot, the room was bordering on that, and the air was unpleasantly humid and warm. A trickle of sweat meandered down my face. Whatever I was wearing was definitely much bulkier than necessary. I looked down at the lavender footed sleeper I was dressed in, certain that it wasn't what I'd put on the morning that I died. It was frayed but soft, and the cute design adorning the front had long faded. Somehow, whoever had re-dressed me for this place knew that I liked purple. I'd actually owned a very similar outfit before I died, but mine had been less... cute? The similarity stopped there, however, as I noticed the straps that connected the butt of the sleeper, just below the end of the long zipper, to the heels of the feet. They evidently fulfilled their purpose of preventing me from getting up onto my feet. Odder yet, my undergarments felt utterly foreign to me. I was flat-chested enough that I rarely wore a bra, so it didn't surprise me that I wasn't wearing one, but the pillow hugging my loins stuck out to me just as much as it spread my thighs apart. I felt the thick padding experimentally, confirming that it was some sort of ultra-thick diaper — a word that still made me blush as it stirred memories of my bedwetting fiascos as a child. Thanks to the heat caused by the pillow of a diaper, my nether regions were even warmer than my other body parts, but this discomfort was nothing compared to the ringing alarm bells that my bladder was sending to my brain, telling me to 'get to a toilet, now!' In desperation, I cleared my dry throat and spoke for the first time since I'd died, "I eed oo you a waoom." I blushed harder as I heard my own words, blatantly incoherent, and found the gag in my mouth. How on earth did I not notice this thing? I tried pulling it out and retrying my plea, and it suddenly expanded with a loud POP! My jaw felt like it was on fire as I cried out in pain! Satan turned around and I got to see her face for the first time. Her washed-out green eyes were partially covered by strands of her matted, unkempt, dirty blonde hair. She looked like she was about fifty-five, and the wrinkles on her face scrunched up into a frown so ugly that I shuddered. "Quiet, Christa!" She scolded in a crackling voice, turning back to whatever she was brewing. Who's Christa? I scanned the room once again quickly. There was definitely no one else here. Is Christa what they call Christians here? Does it mean— My bladder once again interrupted my thoughts with its tingling, and I tried to squeeze my legs together and press a hand between them to prolong peeing myself. The thickness of the diaper rendered both efforts futile, so I frantically searched for a toilet. I could see a weathered but imposingly tall door and a curtain on the opposing wall which was just as large. The paint on the door had peeled and the curtain's designs had most likely washed out years ago. Realizing that I had no other options since I couldn't even stand up, I whimpered as the floodgates opened and I wet myself. The Devil clearly didn't notice what had transpired, but I almost broke into tears as I pawed at the warm wetness between my legs, spreading its tendrils into the thirsty padding. I hadn't felt anything like this in years, and my memories of waking up in a cold, wet diaper as a little girl came flooding back. The pain in my jaw had dulled somewhat, but it still ached, and I rubbed it, choking back tears. In an attempt to distract myself from my distressing situation, I recalled the last moments of my life... "Mom, dad, are you guys ready to go?" I called out as I set the burglar alarm and locked the front door on my phone. "Yeah hon!" My dad shouted back from the car. I jogged over to the driver's seat, climbed in, and started the car. Putting on some nice classical music, I started driving to the annual regional chess tournament, where I was hoping to secure my third GM norm, which would promote me from an International Master to a Grandmaster, a title I'd spent the better half of my life trying to secure. 'GM Isabelle Green' would look perfect on my website, I noted to myself. As I drove down the winding road hugging the mountain, I marvelled at the lake on the other side of the road. Its crystal-clear waters perfectly reflected the blue summer sky, on which a family of ducks were making a wide V-shaped wake. As I rounded a bend in the road, a large semi truck suddenly bore down on me from the opposite direction! The driver must have been either drunk or crazy, because it was driving dead-center on the two-lane road! I heard my mom shriek as I swerved quickly to the right, narrowly avoiding a deadly head-on collision. Just as I thought the incident was over, the steering wheel was wrenched from my grasp! The three of us joined into a collective scream, as the crystal-clear water loomed closer and closer. It was almost like everything was in slow motion, like I was watching an action movie. It must have been only a second or two from my driving off the edge to the impact of the water, but it felt like hours! People say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die, but my mind was totally blank as the car slid silently below the depths. The slight thud as the car hit the bottom of the lake jolted me to my senses, and I quickly looked behind me to check on my parents. They appeared to have either fainted or been knocked unconscious by the collision with the surface of the water. I undid my seatbelt, twisted around, and struggled to free them as well. Once I got their arms free from the seatbelt, I pulled out the headrest of my seat and used the pointed end to smash open my side window, knowing that the doors wouldn't open yet due to the pressure difference. However, I wasn't prepared for the ice-cold water that gushed through the window in torrents, smacking me in the face and sending me into a stupor. Surrounded by a frenzy of air bubbles, I let out a cry, muffled by the water pouring into my lungs, as I began to drown! *** "Pull her now!" Dr. Torelli yelled, determination and a hint of desperation evident in her voice. Not wasting a millisecond more, I hit F6 to run the extraction script and watched as the localized portal leveraged quantum entanglement to swap the girl with a proportionate amount of fluid in the transfer tank. The process had been perfected by the legendary Dr. Bremer's protégé, Wilhelm Münch. After undergoing field trials by private sector organizations like the Procurement Agency for Childlike Littles, it was now being used by the Dimensional Rescue Group of the United Nations' Interdimensional Commission to give people from the other dimension a life after their sudden deaths. Every second that I'd had to watch the livestream of the accident was pure torture, delivered in submillimeter-pixel holographic gory from the ceiling-mounted volumetric display projector. The feed showed the girl's vitals directly on her translucent body, which was stitched together in real-time by advanced AI. The data and imagery were being captured by nanobots in the other dimension using a mix of lidar, x-ray, and millimeter-wave imaging, since we were working underwater. Visible light at that depth would be blurry at best. We had a strict protocol to follow, so I was forced to wait until Dr. Torelli, the physician on the team, affirmed that the girl couldn't possibly survive without some sort of miracle (that we'd pull off) before executing the extraction. I breathed a sigh of relief as the tank's indicators showed that she was still alive. It was not the first time the team had done this, so as soon as the script finished and the indicator screen flashed a green 'GO', the medics breached the tank's seal and lifted the girl onto the waiting operating table with a calm and skillful preparedness. "DNA verification successful. Subject is twenty-five-year-old Isabelle Green, caucasian, height five-four, weight one-nineteen, pulse forty. Symptoms include water inhalation and cold shock." The extraction room's AI helpfully listed. I heard a hiss as one of the medics nasally delivered the nanites that would be used to clear the Little girl's lungs of fluid via an oxygen mask. Another medic quickly diapered her, not wanting a shock from the nanites to cause any more of a mess. I loaded a standard electrolysis program I had written for the nanites, wirelessly uploading it to them. "Clear! Activating!" When the holographic vitals floating above the operating table improved, everyone in the room visibly relaxed. I knew that nanites had yet again saved a life, electrolyzing the water in Isabelle's lungs into harmless oxygen and hydrogen gas. They had first formed a thin film around her alveoli, the parts of her lungs that oxygenated her blood, and then started the electrolysis process from there so that she could breathe. I shuddered as I remembered that the other dimension still stuck tubes into the lungs, often causing irreversible damage to the trachea and bronchi. A swarm of exothermic nanites spread throughout her bloodstream, warming up her body to prevent hypothermia and treat the cold shock she'd experienced from the icy lake. "Good work people! Let's send her to recovery." I congratulated the team as I let go of Isabelle's hand, which had gone from cold and clammy to a comfortable room temperature. They'd all done their jobs well, a quick glance at Isabelle's now strong and stable vitals confirmed. Inwardly, I regretted not being able to save her parents as well, but we had limited staffing, time and resources, so we couldn't save everyone. We always prioritized the young and healthy. And the girls. I shuddered at that last one. As a Canadian Dimensional Rescue Lead, I was proud of how well Littles were treated and how equal their rights were up here in Canada, at least when compared to other more bigotted countries. Little weren't granted anywhere close to equal rights in many other countries, like our southern neighbors the United States. Since the headquarters of UNIC were in the US and the majority of its directors were Acimeran, I knew just why the Little-owning Bigs down south had set those criteria in our guidelines. They were more adoptable. I looked over at Isabelle being wheeled out of the room. She was very cute. Very adoptable. "Thanks Mike, you know you're the best." Dr. Torelli patted my back. I nodded. I'd basically written the book on extractions. As one of the first DRLs, I'd helped set up the program and personally programmed a lot of the tech around me as a result. When you design the system, well, you tend to know everything inside out. "You're not so bad yourself, Doc." The rest of the team followed the medics out of the room, and I was about to go with them, but something stopped me in my tracks. I... couldn't help but feel a pang of... emotion. For Isabelle. What was it? Pity? Guilt? Love? Whatever this is, it isn't something I've felt before. I sat down at my workstation again. "Where's her destination?" I asked the room's AI on a whim. "Ollirama, Jacinto". I shuddered again. That was down in the deep south, one of the worst places that a Little could end up in. I made a note to check up on her situation in a few days, and got up to join the others in the break room. =========================================================== That's Chapter 1 folks! Hope you enjoyed reading it! Leave a like and a comment to make my day ?

Hello everyone! After some time I've decided to start posting some of my still in progress stories. Fair warning : these stories are not completed and they might never be., but I thought it would be interesting to share. I don't want to clog the group with incomplete stories (I already have two of them, sigh...), so if it's a problem for anyone just tell me and I'll take them down in a second . Enough chitchat, let's start with this one. The Treatment “You can try, baby girl, but you can’t hide from the…Tickle Monster!” Emma heard Mommy’s voice chime from above her. She tried to raise her hands to cover her naked body, but Mommy was an Amazon and her hands were too big and too strong to be kept away. She rapidly found herself laughing uncontrollably, trying to roll off the huge changing table, luckily for her the Velcro trap that Mommy had tied around her waist kept her from falling, she would have hurt herself pretty bad if it wasn’t for it. “Pwease stopp!” she pleaded, still laughing as the giant fingers poked and prodded her in every sensitive spot she had, but Mommy kept on going until she had her lying motionless on the padded surface, desperately gasping for air. Emma used her hands to clear her eyes from the tears, her body still quaked by spasms after the relentless attack. What was she thinking before Mommy started playing tickles with her? She remembered feeling strange… but… She thoughtfully put her index finger in her mouth, trying to concentrate. She was feeling…sad for something…but what? “Ohhh somebody’s still frowny even after the tickle monster! Well, let’s see…” Emma found herself giggling in anticipation. What had Mommy in store for her? “PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR” the amazon woman suddenly grabbed the little girl’s thighs, pulling her closer to her giant face, before blowing a labial fricative on her bare belly, producing another set of uncontrollable laughs from the squirming little underneath her. “Now now Emmy!” Mommy started, making a more serious face as she rapidly caught the kicking little girl’s ankles in one hand, easily lifting her lower half in the air. “Our guests are about to arrive, and we can’t have an unhappy little girl greeting them now, do we? What would your little friends think, huh?” Emma this time stuck her thumb in her mouth. Mommy was right, Mommy was always right. Littles were supposed to be happy. They were the happiest creatures in the whole world! She stayed still as Mommy slid the huge diaper beneath her. Her smile faltered briefly, her legs lightly kicked as she almost imperceptibly withdrew from Mommy’s huge frame and, for a moment, the little girl felt the incomprehensible urge to run away. Like if there was something dangerous or terrible in what was happening. Mommy’s satisfied smile never faltered as she dusted the little girl’s privates with sweet smelling baby powder before pulling the front of the diaper up and tightly secured the straps around her waist, checking with her fingers that she had made a good job sealing the diaper around her efficiently, but without making her uncomfortable. “Puffy!” Emma giggled as she felt the padding making contact with her skin. She tentatively squeezed her thighs. Mommy had chose her favourite diapers for her today. They were similar to the plain white ones, only decorated with strawberry designs all over. Emma loved those diapers, even though they made it difficult to walk right. But it was worth it, after all strawberries were her favourite fruit! “Look Mommy! Stwawbewwy!” she yelled, sinking one tiny finger in the thick padding to show her the design of a larger one that almost occupied the entire crotch area. “I know baby, a cute strawberry for a cute girl!” Mommy chimed tickling her chin “But you know you’re not allowed to touch your diapers…” she admonished. Emma lowered her head as a strong sensation of shame washed over her… Mommy was right, good babies didn’t touch their diapers, they needed a grownup to do that for them. But even worse, the sensation she was experiencing started mixing with a non-identified fit of rage. She felt that she had to be angry about something…that something was wrong… but she couldn’t manage to identify what it was … “I’m sowwy Mommy!” she managed to say, her voice already chocked by the lump in her throat. In seconds she was completely overwhelmed. She started banging her tiny fists on the changing table’s mattress, her eyes quickly filling with tears as she fought the turmoil of emotions that confused her so much. Then, she felt the warm touch of Mommy’s hands as they reached under her armpits and picked her up like she was nothing. Between her sobs and the tears that clouded her eyes, she managed to distinguish Mommy’s frame as she lifted her more until she was level with her face. “Shhh don’t cry baby. Mommy forgives you. It’s ok…” Mommy whispered, her face getting closer and closer, until Emma felt her full lips pressing on her forehead in a delicate kiss. The little girl felt Mommy’s arms closing around her, the warmth completely encircling her tiny body as the giant woman tightly embraced her. She felt herself cry a little more, barely capable of stopping the flow of the tears, and she buried her face in the ample bosom in front of her as her agitated squirming movements rapidly abated, until she laid limp in Mommy’s arms. They stayed like this for a few minutes. The warm, wet darkness of mommy’s breast helped Emma calm down, and she only re-emerged from it when her tears had dried. She slowly lifted her head, craning her neck to look up. Her eyes were puffy and she felt her face was sticky and stiff. When she slowly opened her orbs, Mommy’s smiling face greeted her. She was so beautiful, so strong… to the little girl it was as a ray of pure sunlight had hit her, and she stopped in awe before that magnificent view. For her part, Mommy smiled. It was enough to make the little girl’s heart fill with joy. Mommy wasn’t angry at her… “There’s my little girl!” she chimed, bouncing her up and down. “Now let’s dry those tears and get you all dressed up, huh?” Emma found herself laid again on the changing table, this time Mommy didn’t use the strap, but she gently held her down with one hand, as she produced the outfit that she’d be wearing that afternoon. It was a pink princess dress composed by the upper part that resembled a sleeveless t-shirt decorated with a motif of pink roses, the lower half was a light-pink semi-transparent ballerina skirt which’s hem would have barely reached the upper limit of her knees. She squealed, watching Mommy unfold it before her. But again, she felt that strange sensation of uneasiness warning her that something was wrong. The smile left her face, leaving her with a pouty perplexed expression, as she hastily put her thumb in her mouth. What was wrong with her? Mommy quickly ensconced her in the infantile dress, stopping only to admire the result of her work as she adjusted the ruffles of the skirt. “Here you go baby! You look so precious I could eat you up!” she said lifting her up and putting her in a standing position. “Ummmhh” Emma mumbled, observing the dress she found herself in, her thumb again making its way in her mouth. “Mommy…” “Yes sugar?” “Muh diapew is showing…I don’t wike it” she meekly said, pointing at her crotch. It was true, the bulky garment clearly showed it’s outline through the light fabric of the dress, and not the body, but also the ample leakguards could be seen tightly adhering to her lower thighs. The diaper was so evident that Emma could even see the blurred strawberry designs through the dress. Plus, she hadn’t noticed before that the hem of the dress had been cut shorter on the back, and strangely stiffened in a way that made it turn upwards, showing almost completely her diapered bottom to the observer. “Nonsense baby. Don’t you like your diapers?” “Uh-uh!” she nodded, she liked and needed her diapers “But… uhm…I-I don’t wike if…if…” she stammered, struggling to find the correct words to express her thoughts. What she wanted to say was that it was okay if mommy saw her diapers, she just didn’t like when others did. Why was it so difficult? Her hand travelled upwards to scratch her hair while she battled with the tangle of words and thoughts that was forming in her head. That was when she felt a strange thing near her right temple. She felt it… It was crusty and stung a little bit when she touched it. “No!” Mommy scolded swiftly slapping her hand away from it. “What did we talk about Emma? That’s your owie. You don’t touch your owie or it will never heal up.” “Uh-uh. Sowwy!” why did she have an owie? Did she bump into something and didn’t remember? She started fidgeting again, growing more and more exasperated with her thoughts, until Mommy intervened, sticking her paci in her mouth. Sucking the silicone teat immediately helped her calm down. The mess in her head disappeared, replaced only by the slow sucking sound. She didn’t even notice Mommy tying something under her head. A pink baby bonnet. “There you go.” Mommy said planting a firm kiss on her forehead, before readjusting the frilly cover on her head. “That should keep your hands away from your owie. You don’t need the mittens, do you baby?” “Nu-uhh! I good giwl!” she said through her pacifier. Mommy used the mittens when she touched something she wasn’t supposed to. She didn’t like the mittens. They were soft and pretty but she couldn’t grasp her toys when Mommy put them on her. “That we will see” she said with an amused expression. Then, a knocking sound could be heard coming from downstairs. “Oh that must be our guests!” Mommy declared with a smile on her face.

It's been a while since I've written or read anything ABDL related. Some of you, like me, feel the compulsion come in waves. One such wave struck today, and I ended up writing this as a form of therapy. Obviously I didn't fall into the Diaper Dimension, but I have a different happy ending of sorts. Still, it's a beautiful dream, and I hope you enjoy it. *** I remember the Before Time in dreams. There, I’m still a little girl’s heart in a grown man’s body, lost in too large a world, regardless of size. There, the cold is all consuming, and always finds me no matter where I hide; no matter how many blankets I use to smother my bed. At my age I should know better - be better, stronger; know by instinct how to navigate this life I was always destined for, outside the nest and out of my mother’s arms. Except that I never had a Mum, or even much of a Dad. Growing up I watched friends with whole families who could afford to take love for granted. What love I had were table scraps, but after a while you make peace with starvation. You learn to survive as best you can. Nobody wants to hear a grown man cry about a lost childhood, so I stomped it down and did the next best thing - tried to lose myself in the arms of women. I can still see her face, although it was many faces. Steph, Jenn, Lisa - different people, but similar in the loneliness I felt with them. I guess you could say I had a type. In all of them I saw the same smile; joyous laughter waning into tight, long-suffering grins, and eyes that sought out a man through his ever-present despair. How could I forget the looks on their faces when I told them the ugly truth? What was inside me, that she was still a child, and that she was lonely. Sometimes confusion, sometimes disgust, and sometimes anger in defiance of my words. Anything to avoid the fact that they didn’t love a man, but a twisted ‘thing’ in a man costume. “What do you expect me to do about it?” she/they snapped. “I’m not your mother. I’m not here to kiss your boo-boos better.” As if I ever knew what that was like. Such was life in the Before Time; a waking nightmare suffered until death. I wasn’t even awake before I started crying. The bars of my crib were a haze through the salty tears. Big feelings filled my chest, and next I knew I was wailing at the top of my lungs! The Before Times were over, but their memory still followed wherever I went. Then Mommy appeared, just like she did the first time - as an angel stealing me up for the rapture. My back and my torso slid into her hands, feeling her warmth flowing into me, already sapping the sadness. Hers was the power to reach into my chest and lift the weight that held me below the surface. “It’s alright, babygirl,” she cooed. Babygirl - not a yucky boy, but a princess who needed her Mommy; who was safe and never wanting for kindness. I loved my long, auburn locks; my pastel pink sleeper and all my pretty dresses - and the larger than life woman who adored them all; adored me! I clung to her as though my life depended on it, and with my head resting on her breast soothed to the gentle beat of her heart. And she held me back, bouncing me in her arms and stroking between my shoulders. Of course she took the time to do a sneaky diaper check - I was soaked like I was every morning, but that was a later problem. The nightmare eased its claws but still lingered. It plucked the strings of shame, echoing voices long since passed. My little hands pawed at Mommy’s nightshirt, desperate to get closer than close. A cold shiver ran over my skin as the tsunami threatened to come crashing down, pulling me to depths not even Mommy could reach. How could someone as sweet and as wonderful as her ever want someone like me? I grasped for an answer, but fell short. The trap door fell open and I fell once more into the dark. “You should’a left me,” I said. “I know dat I’m a bad girl, an’ I’m broken, an’ need to grow up, an’-” Mommy hushed me and bounced me higher to her shoulder. She cradled my head and rocked me back and forth, and never once made my panic her own. I smelled her hair and the warmth of her skin, and evaporated into a sea of love; love that I didn’t understand - and still don’t - but craved for longer than I could say. “It’s alright, little one. Mommy’s here now,” she sang. “You’re a good girl, you’re a sweet girl, and you’re a loved girl. You’re not broken; just hurt, and that’s okay. I still love you, just the way you are.” And I believed her. She loved me - me, who is a girl; not a yucky boy in an ill-fitting suit. Me, who thought that love was a beautiful lie, who wasn’t allowed to be pretty, who was taught to swallow pain no matter how great. Against everything I knew Mommy appeared, and with her voice, her touch and her caring the world became small again; soft and safe in the way a little girl needs. Some call this dimension a curse, but for me it’s the greatest miracle. It brought me to Mommy, and given the choice I’d fall into it all over again.

Chapter 1: Ricky This was it. This was the moment I anticipated for every job, the first actual contact. I could feel the heat of my breath and the thumping of my heart. Like a lovesick teenager, I could feel the butterflies in my stomach dance with an eager delight right before the crescendo. Ricky sat alone at the open restaurant. It was a “safe” place for peoples of all sizes. The muscular tattooed bouncer ensured that there would be no funny business here. His stern gaze and crossed arms gave most baby fevered Amazons a second thought before even entering the premises. As I gazed longingly at the boys dirty blond hair draped delicately across his forehead, my mind drifted in and out of its own fog. His thin uncovered arms sat neatly folded in front of him as he hunched over his drink. Everything looked normal if you focused on him and him alone, but three seats down at the bar was an adorable mid girl who I could easily envision toddling around with a dolly or playing with her little brother. Maybe I could… no. No. Focus on one task at a time. First comes little Ricky. Anyways. Getting back to the comparison, the girl was already several heads taller than little Ricky and the glass she twirled in her hand could easily have lasted the boy all night. Such a naughty thing. Ricky himself sat with a half finished glass of a much darker shade. He swirled it back and forth on occasion as if he was about to spill it. Won’t have to worry about that for long. Might as well start. I had finished my meal by this time and “decided” that it was time to head to the bar. I asked the waitress who removed my plate for an Amazon sized bar stool so that I could sit down for a drink. Carrying the new stool over to the bar I sat down next to my handsome little man with a small grunt. That had the desired effect of getting his attention. His deep green eyes shaken from their stupor as he gazed up at me wide eyed. “Oh. Hello there.” He fidgeted in his seat. His little bottom wiggled in adorable discomfort. My heart skipped a beat as his face flushed with embarrassment. He knew his nerves were on prominent display, he knew I knew that, and he knew that I knew that he was embarrassed. Oh what it would feel like to scoop him up in my arms and whisk him away right now, but that wouldn’t do. Instead I barely glanced at the adorable round cheeks and light freckles and instead kept most of my focus on the mid bartender. “Hello. Excuse me. One glass of red. Any will do.” The bartender nodded as he shuffled away. His haggard stance and broad shoulders spoke of heavy work in his early years. Even without his more advanced age he’d be far from anything I’d look for. As he returned I sipped at the cherry colored drink while keeping my eyes forward. It pained me, but disinterest was key. I needed to make sure the fishy to my right was unaware that he was the catch of the night, while also moving things along. I barely tasted the wine as I downed the entire glass before placing it down before me with a loud sigh. “Another please.” The squeaking of a mouse sounded next to me, “Wow. Er… um… that was… quick.” I turned to him with my eyebrows raised, “Oh? Yes. I guess this isn’t the kind of place for that. My apologies.” It tore at my heart, but I turned away from that perfect hairless face once again. I was halfway through my second drink when he spoke up again, “Sooooo. A rough day at work maybe?” My, my. What a gentleman. Striking up a conversation. Someone was taught good manners. “Hm?” I could feel him shift in his seat again. Clearly shaken by my lack of response, “Oh… er.... Nothing. Nevermind.” Boys. Such little scamps. I turned myself to face him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just didn’t hear you. What was that?” I was happy with the desired effect. My long legs peeking out from the short revel dress I wore, my dark brown hair pinned up in a pseudo messy bun, and my dark magenta lipstick all turned heads, including the one currently no higher than my chest. His gaze followed up from the ground, to my legs, up my dress, past my chest and then finally met my eyes where it lingered for just a moment before turning back to his own drink. “Sorry. I was just saying… asking if you had a rough day at work. That’s all. Hehe.” His nervous laugh was precious. Like a little boy trying to impress his babysitter. BABYSITTER! I mentally changed plans for the near future. This little boy was about to be calling me Miss Marlet instead of Aunty Sue real soon. It’s been a while since I pulled out my schoolgirl uniform, maybe something more relaxed this time. Shaking myself from the fantasy, I smiled down at the little romancer, “You could say that. A few hours searching through files, making sure things are perfect for my newest project. I find it always best to be over prepared, though you never know when things can be turned upside down for you.” He nodded his head vehemently, “I totally get what you’re saying. I’m Richard, by the way.” He held out his wittle hand like a tiny businessman! I took it gently and gave it a gentle shake, “Susan. Nice to meet your Richard.” I turned back to the bar, happy that friendly contact was established. The buzz inside my stomach was now like a low hum. I could feel a purr in my throat before shoving it back down. Almost. Calm it back. The best part is yet to come. The night progressed from there. We sat, we talked, we drank. He began bragging about his toys around the end of his second drink, by his fourth he was acting like he was fourteen foot tall, and after his fifth, he ordered a water. “Not going to drink with me anymore?” He flushed as he shook his head, “No I’m good for now. Like you said, better to be overly cautious.” “Over prepared.” I corrected. “Same idea.” The bartender returned with his water and noticed my empty glass, “Any more for you ma’am or will you have some water like your friend?” Time for some fun. I reached into my bag and pulled out my “phone” before flashing the holographic image of a badge at his face, “This is the Financial Review Bureau. Surrender your red wine or we will be forced to open fire.” The bartender looked at my stern face before we both burst into laughter. He wiped a tear from his eye, “I like you lass. I didn’t know the F.R.B was doing stings now. Should I be getting my revenue charts out, or will another glass get you off my back.” I smiled at the man. At least he had a sense of humor, “Bribery of a government official is a class 2 felony good sir, but I think we could classify this as a gift. No financial review necessary in that case.” “Right away.” He chuckled as he shuffled off. I let the laughter die out as I turned back to my drinking partner. The bravado from before was gone as he stared at the glass in front of him, pale as a ghost. “Richard.Richard?” I waved my hand in his face. He physically shook from his thoughts as he stared back at me with the same wide eyes as when I first joined him. “Huh?” “Nothing. You just look a little pale. Maybe you should drink some of the water you ordered.” I reached out and brought the glass to his face and turned the straw to his lips. His lips quivered as they wrapped around the straw. His eyes stared up at me as he sucked down the ice cooled water. I could see the flight or fight response in his eyes. Had he been caught? Were his business dealings being tracked by this F.R.B woman? Maybe this was just a coincidence? I need to calm down. Like a little boy caught with cookie crumbs around his mouth, Ricky tried to brush off his nerves and act normal. He released the suction around his mouth and allowed the straw to fall back into the glass, “Thanks. You’re right, I feel better.” I leaned a little close, brushing the strand of hair from my eyes, “Good. You had me worried. I was having fun and didn’t notice how much you’ve had to drink. Sorry about pressuring you.” He smiled up at her, his secret still safe, “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re having fun… Sooooo, your’re a F.R.B agent? I guess that would lead to some stress at work..” “A little. Oh. But don’t call me an agent. That makes it sound like I run covert operations and take down criminals. I’m really just a glorified accountant. I’ve always loved the way everything seems to fall into place for a normal business. It’s only when the numbers don’t line up that my job starts to get hard.” He was piecing my story together, “So then something wasn’t adding up today.” I flippantly waved my hand back and forth as I spun the story further, “Yeah. First I’m going through resource reviews and tax filings, then I notice there’s additional revenue from the tax forms that don’t match the bla, bla, bla, bla, bla.” “Does that happen often?” “All the time. Usually it’s just a filing error,” My smirk was hidden by my hand as I faced forward. The butterflies were back with a vengeance, “but this time I did some digging and I found an account in the Camonine Islands that was pushing money from offshore into an LLC.” Silence from my neighbor. I tightened my thighs as the heat between them was rising. “It then routed to the secondary account I’ve been investigating before weekly transferring to the primary.” I turned to Ricky. Little baby boy Ricky, shaking in his chair. Like a little tiny bunny staring up at the salivating wolf. Once again he knew, he knew that I knew, and he knew that I knew that he knew that he was screwed. “Tell me Ricky, did you have fun? Did you feel tough and macho acting as a middle man for all kinds of big bad men? Even came up with a comic book villains code name, Deep Dark, just to fit in with the criminals you helped.” His mouth was opening and closing but no words came out. Oh what great delight would it be to see him wet himself in fear right then and there, but that would make things harder getting past the bouncer. I turned back and finished my drink. Time for the lie, “Oh don’t be so scarred, Ricky. Miss Marlet,” I shivered at using his new name for me, “isn’t here for little old you.” A glimmer of hope flashed across his face, “You… you aren’t.” I smiled down at him, “Nooooo. No. Of course not. No one cares about a little boy playing on his computer. No I just want the big mean men you’re helping. That’s all.” His sigh of relief was shaky. Time to seal the deal before he starts thinking too much. “So you help Miss Marlet out with finding what she needs, and then I make sure the rest of the F.R.B forgets about the Deep Dark.” I couldn’t help but giggle at mentioning the goofy name once again. I could see him weighing down his options, but the choice was clear. His crimes would be mandatory etiquette school as well as permanent adoption. Maybe he thought he could trick me along the way. Get away on a speedboat to a Little’s island and never be seen again. Little did he know that as he followed me out past the bouncer that he wasn’t walking towards a F.R.B safehouse, but to a private nursery I set up in the apartment downtown. Instead of tracking down routing numbers and gathering evidence, he would be chasing the mobile above his head and gathering messies in his thick diapie for his sweet but strict babysitter. This will make my third little in Nearport. Maybe one more before I pack up and take a small vacation back home. Little Ricky is going to be such a cute little boy for his new Daddy. Maybe this will teach him to try and scam his customer base. I bet the spanking he gets when he gets to his new home after my training will redden up those buns perfectly! Maybe they will let me watch. I turned back to watch him follow. His eyes were focused and he was jogging just to keep up with my strides. His waddle was about to be precious. I imagined what would be the best first outfit to match with the cute little BlueBear diapers I had waiting for him. The sailor outfit was always a favorite, but if I was going to be Miss Marlet, home from college to watch over her neighbor’s baby boy, maybe something more playful. Either way I couldn’t wait to get home with my new toy. I only get to play with him so long. Gotta make it count!

Chapter 1 Disclaimer: this story starts pretty dark if you don't like it I suggest reading something else. Also this is sorta a sequel to my other story 'understanding' but it's not required. The connection is mostly that some characters from that story show up and I wanted to give them more character. I looked down at my phone. I'd just been sent the last text I'll ever receive. After all I wouldn't exactly be able to take my phone with me where I was going. The world had nothing left for me. I'd tried to make it work for years. All the medication and therapy did nothing to help. I knew some were willing to help me. What my co-worker had just sent was proof of that but it was of no use. Nobody really cared it was just what was expected. When I go nobody would mourn me and quite frankly the other side was better anyway. Of course there was the possibility I would just die and be stuck in nothingness but even that would be an improvement. I opened up the bottle of ethanol and chugged it down. Upon doing so I began to lose consciousness and the last thing I saw was the bright light I was expecting. POV: portal control officer at littlecare portals and adoption The room was deadly silent. We'd been watching this little on and off for a while and as predicted he was about to do something that made the noobies tear up but I had a job to do. "is the portal set up?" I asked to which the head portal technician said "yeah. Whenever you're ready we can get him over here" one of the doctors in the room said "we got the med team ready to save him when he comes through" I was relieved at that as the poor boy seemed miserable and as I expected he had opened up the bottle of ethanol he had. As he swallowed some I activated the portal. I looked over at the platform to see if he'd made it. Luckily he had and he was being taken to have the ethanol taken out of his system. After my shift was over I went to check on the littles we had saved that day. Today was one of the busiest in a while so there were quite a few. All were now sleeping peacefully in a crib waiting to be adopted. This is what made the job worth it. These littles needed love and thanks to me and my team they would have the chance to get it. Better here than in one of those countries that treat littles with abuse and pain. POV jack I woke up feeling fine for someone who just drank what was essentially poison. I looked around feeling exceptionally tired and saw I was surrounded by bars. Clearly I was in a large crib as were the others in the room. I soon felt the need to pee and fitting my infantile sleeping arrangements I had a diaper on. Some would probably try to avoid using it and ask to use the toilet but I just decided to go right then and there. Presumably someone would change it. With that out of the way I soon fell back to sleep. Soon afterwards I found myself awake again and this time it was certainly louder. Many in the cribs around me were panicking. Clearly they weren't expecting to wake up in a crib and since the light was now on I could see we were in what looked like a daycare. I had to admit it looked quite surreal. I could tell everyone here was an adult like I was or an older teenager at the very least but they were all dressed like babies. Unlike the others I decided to just stay calm. Surely they knew the situation would be explained soon enough. Almost as if hearing my thoughts a massive woman approached me "smells like someone left a present for nanny" she then carried me over to a changing table. It was definitely a surreal experience having my diaper changed as an adult but with the size difference it probably seemed normal. After that was done and I was in a fresh diaper that wasn't filled with shit and piss she said "how polite. Usually new babies are so fussy when they come here. I'm sure a nice mommy will come adopt you really soon. Now go play" she then put me down and I walked towards the large box of crayons and started to draw hoping the others would leave me alone. Unfortunately it didnt take long for those hopes to be dashed. One of the people who I assumed ended up here in a similar way to how I did said "hey you seem alright with this. Why's that? You into this shit or something?" I just continued with my terrible drawing until he walked away. Eventually others came over to draw but left me alone. I noticed they all seemed distraught. Understandable since like me they must've been teleported here maybe even after doing the same stuff I did. Luckily there was nothing in the room that could really hurt anyone so nobody tried to kill themselves to escape this infantile prison. Soon we were fed and put back into our cribs to nap. This repeated for a few days. A cycle of playing, eating, drinking and sleeping. Occasionally we'd get a new arrival and other times one of the nannies would take one or two of us out of the room presumably to be adopted . One even adopted three at once. Naturally I wasn't one of them. I wasn't shocked at that. Who in their right mind would want to adopt me. POV abby "Well here we are. Are you sure you're OK with getting a new baby brother" once again Ryan nodded and said "yes mommy. I've always wondered what having a brother is like" to which I responded "well just remember the portal littles here are hurt and need lots of love to feel better so don't get jealous. I'll love you both equally" I then heard Ryan put the pacifier in his mouth and start sucking on it while in the baby carrier. My precious baby boy was the best thing that had ever happened to me. When Ryan had asked me to adopt him while hanging out one day something just clicked. He was the most important person in the world and I would protect and love him forever. I remember being shocked when he asked me to adopt him. I was shallow and a bit of a ditz back then. However despite that I accepted. It was two months until graduation but I dropped everything to prepare my recently acquired house for looking after my soon to be baby boy. I still remember my mother's smug face when she saw that and her saying she was the same when she adopted my baby sister. All my plans were cancelled while I got the nursery set up and got all the toys and diapers he'd need. Even the rest of the cheer team knew what was up when like 2 others prior I'd cancelled all plans. I'd gone full mommy mode and I decided going with girls to get my hair and nails done or go to the bar to get laid was a waste of time and money. like many amazons I could never bear children making sex seem like a waste. I didn't completely stop caring about my appearance. I'm definitely healthy and not fat but everything is natural. Motherhood changes an amazon that's for sure. Makes us change our priorities from ourselves to our child. but I still had more love to give. Ryan was happy but I wanted to do something like my mother had and help a little who needed it. Ryan was never unhappy with his life but many are. When I talked to him about this he was supportive. Sometimes I wonder who the real baby is in this relationship as he seems more mature than me at times. He was even the one that suggested molly's company as we were friends and she'd happily get me a reservation to adopt any portal little I wanted. She'd even paid for the surgery that let me produce more milk so I could feed both. I still had to pay to replace some of my clothes as they didn't fit due to my now larger chest. Most of my casual clothes still fit though. So that's how I got here. Outside the portal little orphanage. Full of portal littles that couldn't handle life in their dimension. The thought of what they did to get sent here made me tear up. Yes plenty of dimensions had a portal where littles volunteered to come here to be cared for but this facility was for those who didn't. Those who tried to end their own lives. I internally prepared myself and walked in. When I got to the front desk I said to the receptionist "appointment for abby s stone"and she pointed me to the door on the left. As we walked down the corridor Ryan took out his pacifier and started a conversation that helped keep me calm "didn't know you had a middle name mommy. What does the s stand for?" to which I responded "Samantha" he then said in understanding "that's granny's name right?" I looked down at the adorable baby and said "that's right. You're such a clever boy" Soon after we arrived to the door that leads to the one way windows that overlooks the daycare/large nursery the littles are in. There was a fellow amazon close to my mother's age waiting for us. "nice to meet you miss. You're that friend of molly's I assume?" to which I said "yeah that's me" she smiled at that and said "alright come with me" she then opened the door and saw a few other amazons here for the same reason as me. I looked through each of the windows and while on the surface they were full of adorable littles I could see so much pain. Some looked positively miserable while others were better at hiding it and acted more like the babies they resembled but they were still clearly distraught. In the 3rd window there was one in particular that stood out and I knew he was the one I would adopt. He seemed so... Distant. He didn't even interact with any of the other littles. I wondered why but when I looked into his eyes I saw so much pain and most of all loneliness. Was he in the most pain? Did he need me the most? I didn't know. But I did know I could help him. Also while I never understood the trait until now many amazons are able to just know they love a little immediately. I used to scoff at that but now? I somehow immediately knew I loved this little. I told one of the employees my choice using the number on their shirt and we went into another room to discuss adoption. We went over the usual stuff. Background check, questions to see if I could handle two littles and my reason for adopting. Then we got to discussing that specific little. "he's certainly an oddball that one. It's only been a week and he's already accepted that he's a baby it seems." I was shocked at that. Most native littles took months or even years to realise that The decision to willingly be adopted was never taken lightly. Portal littles were notoriously unable to accept being a baby weeks or months after being adopted. I guessed my shock was visible because she then said "you think that's a shock? Here's the kicker. He has never resisted our treatment at any point. Never complained and just spends his time drawing alone." my jaw dropped at that "were littles babies in his dimension as well? I find it hard to believe that the change from adult to baby that suddenly would be easy especially considering... Well" I said not needing to finish that sentence. She knew more about the situation than I did. She sighed and said "yeah. It worries me. I know he's not happy. You don't chug down a bottle of ethanol expecting to survive but he didn't even react to still being alive. Please for his sake baby-proof the entire house" I responded by saying "don't worry. It's already impossible for a little to hurt themselves in my house beyond tripping on the carpet or something" she seemed relieved and put a piece of paper on the table and said "just sign here and an employee will bring him to you in adoption room 5" I didn't even hesitate to sign Jack POV I had lost track of time while I was in here. There were windows so I could roughly tell how many days it had been however we had to sleep 3 or 4 times a day. Days here are definitely longer than back home and trying to sleep only once a day would be impossible for me. Waking up in a diaper filled with shit and piss everytime was surprising to say the least. I guessed it was something to do with the juice they give us. Even the ones who didn't want to use their diapers due to being adults before had no choice. I didn't mind to be honest. I expected this when I woke up in nothing but a diaper and a t-shirt with a number on it. I thought it had been about a week and I once again saw one of the nannies coming in to take someone to be adopted. When I was the one picked up my shock was visible. She turned me around to face her and said "guess who's getting a new mommy? You are." she then started tickling me forcing me to laugh. I had to admit it felt good to be picked for adoption. It made me feel wanted so I continued to have small smile on my face as I was carried out. we went into a room marked 'adoption room 5' and I zoned out while the two amazons sorted out the adoption process. While they were doing that I noticed there was another little in the room strapped to a stroller. Unlike the other littles I'd seen he was content to just sit there sucking on a pacifier. I could see a bulge of a diaper underneath his blue romper so he was definitely in a similar situation to me. He briefly waved at me and I waved back just as the amazons were wrapping up. "here you go" the nanny said as she passed me to the unfamiliar amazon "hello Little guy I'm going to be your new mommy" she said to me in the type of voice every amazon seems to use to talk to people my size and that is predictably the way you'd talk to a baby. "alright little guy would you like to face me or face away?" she asked I was confused until I saw the carrier she was wearing that would put me right under her huge breasts that oddly enough didn't cause the expected reaction. Instead I could only think of them as milk dispensers as opposed to seeing them in a sexual light. 'Perhaps it's because of how I've been treated. Or has the milk they've been giving me been breast milk?' I thought to myself before saying "facing you mommy. It'll be like giving you a big hug" she awwww'd at that and obliged while I cringed at my ability to talk like a baby. She wants a baby so I knew I had to act like one to make this work or I'd end up back here waiting for someone else to adopt me. When she put me in the carrier I decided to wrap my arms as far around her as I could to hug her and she hugged me in turn. I had to admit I felt happy in that moment. Loved, protected and wanted. I could feel her moving but didn't fear falling. Somehow I knew I was safe as we went outside to her massive car. Soon I was out of the carrier and in an infants car seat next to who I guessed was my new brother who was in an identical seat. "ready to go boys?" she asked. "yes mommy" we both said and off we went to my new home. 'at least temporarily' I thought to myself sadly. ---- OK this took way longer to write than I expected. At the end of my first story I said another would come soon but finals are a bitch and I had to rewrite this because the first version was awful. Not to go into specifics but there is a reason jack is so calm about this situation and it's not meant to come off as lazy writing. It'll be revealed next chapter.

“Today we bring these vile criminals and sinners to justice. Their long reign of terror and destruction ends here." The Executioner’s words don’t particularly cut me deep. I’ve heard this countless times before. He stands before a large and angry crowd he’s whipped into a frenzy. How painfully nostalgic. I am but one of the several so-called "criminals and sinners" up on the menu today, and we’re a bit tied up at the moment. A long dark cloak hides my body and the hands cuffed behind my back. My noose is just a little tight, and my short stature is forcing me to the tips of my toes to keep from choking. Surely the work of amateurs, I’ve partaken in better executions. “Here we have Arthur, a member of the insurgency working against this Kingdom. His crimes are as follows…” ... *Thunk* Ah, they’re finally getting started. Sadly my position seems to be towards the end, leaving me a bit more time. I’m tired. So tired. Mentally, physically, spiritually. I just wish they’d hurry. “Cursed [[Witch]], there is no place in this world for you.” These are the first words I remember hearing and comprehending. It was the dawn of mankind and I was an unfortunate orphan left to the whims of an uncivilized world. To avoid the abuses of my adoptive tribe I began learning from their Shaman. I excelled; weaving and working the magic in the atmosphere was as simple as breathing. However, it brought no relief, and I was used even more as a tool by the tribe. I brought ruin to many a settlement during this time. Again, and again. The death and destruction became too much for my feeble heart to bear, thus I left. Isolation is better than being used as a weapon capable of bringing only demise and despair. Or so I thought. “Next up is Justine, a murderous wench. Her crimes are as follows…” ... *Thunk* I spent too much time in the mountains, perfecting my magic beyond the limits of humanity. Delving into long forgotten taboos. Foolishly I began tattooing my body with spells using a magical but poisonous ink. And when I ran out of room, I took to my eyelids, the inside of my mouth, and even my eyes. The pain was insufferable, but it was nothing compared to the pain of being used as a tool of destruction. The spell was more of a curse. A blasphemy against the concept of [[God]] itself. My life to this point had been one of loneliness and pain. In a moment of weakness, I had a thought. “If I could live forever… Maybe something good could happen to someone like me…”. And so, I gifted myself a never aging and never dying body. It was roughly a century later, on my 125th birthday, that I would leave the mountains. My tanned skin, brown eyes, and brown hair all dyed mostly black with my immortal curse. I had stopped growing and aging at 25 and ended at a lithe 5ft tall. Hope shined in my ruined eyes, that things could be different in this second chance at life. I was a fool. For every happy moment gifted to me by eternity, I received a thousand agonies in return. New friends and family were found, giving me momentary peace. All gone in the blink of an eye as I buried loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after loved one after lov------ “Next up is Alexander, a murdering and thieving bandit caught in the woods. His crimes are as follows…” ... *Thunk* My heart is heavy. Recalling the names and faces of those I’ve left behind is worse than a thousand executions. Tens of thousands of years have passed since my birth. Happiness still out of reach. To save those dear to me I had to intervene with the world more than I’d have liked. Involving myself in political and military matters. I became a tool once more on many occasions. And when it was convenient, or I was no longer useful, they sought to end me in fear. Cruel [[Witch]] how could you poison his majesty. Abhorrent [[Witch]] you’re the cause of the crop failures. Evil [[Witch]] it was you who tempted our knights to commit heinous war crimes. Forcefully shouldering the blame again and again, I was put to death. Over and over. After my executions I would pretend it had worked. After burial I would exit my tomb and leave for the next country. Repeating this endless loop of gain and loss. The boundless hope that once shone in my eyes was replaced with bottomless despair. This was not the happiness I had wished for… Surely this is my punishment. “Here we have the vile [[Witch]], she is a plague on our kingdom. Her crimes are as follows…” This may take a while. The crimes they’ve manufactured against me are innumerable. After all I’ve done to help, we’re back here again. I see a dear friend in the crowd, Elizabeth. Don’t look at me with those teary eyes. Our time together was painfully short, but I will carry it with me to eternity. I’ve seen your pure soul with my magically infused eyes, you have a bright and pure future unsuited to this world. I try to smile at her, but it doesn’t reach my dead eyes. How much longer must I endure this? For all my power, why can I not end this bitter cycle? I don’t care to rule over anyone. I don’t care to throw about my power. I just want to love and be loved in return. “[[Witch]], have you any last words?” I have words. The unfairness of it all. This rotten world… if I had to say anything… “This world, is truly meaningless…” ... *Thunk* The floor beneath my feet falls away. My neck snaps as I gasp for air and flail my limbs, for it is all I can do. Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts. I t. H u r t s. I scream internally, the pain consuming all reasonable thought. After putting on a short show I cast a spell to put myself into a long sleep and spare myself more pain. The next time I wake, it will be in another tomb. Just once. If you’re listening. Give me a happy ending. ~~~ Time passes as it does. I wake. My body stiff and sore from its long slumber. The sun shines brightly in my eyes. This is not a tomb, but a field. I stand to gather my bearings and view my surroundings. Gone are the humble abodes of the peasantry. Gone are the cobble streets. Gone are everything I had known to this point. Before me stands a grand city. A city of metal and glass. Chapter 1: The End _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ First time writer on the board here. I've been writing DnD campaigns and thought combining a world/character of magic with the Diaper Dimension might be interesting. Sorry if the first chapter is a little dark/sad, but I felt it would be a good introduction to the character. I wrote this on a whim for the most part haha. It was an idea buzzing in my head and I had to get at least this chapter out. If people are interested in more chapters let me know! Feedback would also be appreciated!

Hermit Crab’s Dilemma by Inku Hime This story is only Tangentially adjacent to 'Chasing Emily' Ponderously, the colossal arm swung through air above their heads, the manipulator on the end turning through a set of programmed sequences. Then, just short of the cargo containers that were the target entire assembly shuddered with a sound of metal grinding on metal. There was a ringing sound as something snapped and the arm came to a halt. Something sparked and something smoked and the arm fell. It was pulled to a stop, just above the heads of the technicians, by the safety cables. There was gasps of shock and horror was one of the cables snapped and whipped down, just missing a woman who stood on the floor, looking up at the mechanical arm. She did not start, did not even so much as twitch. After a few seconds she turned away from the assembly and looked at a particular pair of technicians. Two men who stood near the computers that controlled the arm. “Miss Carroll…” one of them said nervously. The woman held up her hand. The man closed this mouth. Everyone in the room was starting at the woman now, except for a handful of techs who were putting out the fires. The giant arm no longer seemed like the most dangerous thing in the room. Miss Carroll was the tallest person in the room, even among the giant Amazons she was large. It was not just her height, she was also, well, no one would call her fat. The proverbial steel hand in a velvet glove, where the steel was muscle and the velvet the layer of flab that rounded her limbs and gave one a false impression of softness. That impression never lasted contact with the woman. She walked towards the men, sway of round hips and bottom, her breasts barely constrained by her clothing. Miss Carroll came to stop by the men. She looked down at them. Both men were giants, each over eight feet tall, but Miss Carrol had them beat. “Move gentlemen,” she said, her voice deep and rumbly, an alto that almost dropped into a tenor. The two men moved. She leaned over the computers. The men and woman watching imagined they could hear her bra straps creak. Precise in her typing, she did not fat finger the commands and a moment later information was flashing across multiple screens. “This is interesting,” she said, taking hold of the mouse and selecting chunks of the data. “Because it looks like someone did not follow my notes but tried something else. Reduced insulation, low tensile strength materials and there are two levels of surge protection missing. The last of the fires had been put out, the hum of the generators shut down. The lab was silent but for her voice. Everyone was looking at her. Miss Carroll looked up from the controls, straightened and turned her head to look at the men. Everyone there had the sense she was an adult looking down at a pair of naughty children. The two men looked at each other, then the taller of the two shifted half a step forward. “We thought that we cold realize significant savings,” he said, the tiniest quaver in his voice. “I see,” she said. Two simple words, voice not raised, flat in fact, lacking in any emotion. The man ducked his head as if she were yelling. When he did not say anything she asked, “And how did your cost saving plan go?” As the arm hung above them, the smell of smoke and ozone still in the room, the question was obviously rhetorical. “Please keep in mind that it is my money, and if I chose to waste it on silly things like effective design and safety that is my choice, is it not?” Her voice was still flat, which made the sarcasm all that more biting. This time it was obvious she expected an answer and both men chimed, again, like naughty children, “Yes Miss Carroll.” Miss Carroll looked away from the men, towards the other techs. “Mrs Roberts, Mr Grand, congratulations, you are now in charge of this project.” The two men looked, for the tiniest fraction of a second, that they wanted to object. They did not. “How long will it take you to undue these cost cutting designs and put everything to my specs?” Mrs Roberts and Mr Grand had a quick discussion, Mr Grand holding his smart phone as they looked over the data there. In less than a minute Mrs Roberts said, “Three days Miss Carroll.” “Counting today?” Mrs Roberts looked at Mr Grand. He nodded. “Yes.” “Very well, we will try this once again four days from now.” With that said she walked towards the room’s exit, her low heeled ankle boots thumping against the floor. When she had left everyone in the room visibly relaxed. Mr Grand walked over to the two men who had up until a few minutes ago been in charge. “Sorry about this,” he said. “But she didn’t fire you.” The taller of the two, the one had had put himself forward, shook his head. “She never fucking blinks when she looks at you, have you noticed that? I never know what she is thinking.” Mrs Roberts came over, looked up at the arm and then to the men. “She’s on the spectrum, probably part of why she has her focus. She’s a genius, if she does not want to blink, that’s her business, isn’t it?” The hood of the car was open. A clicking sound came from within, not the rumble the high-school students around it expected. “It’s not going to turn over,” the young man, a sixteen year old, nearly nine feet tall, said from the driver’s seat. “It’s the alternator,” another giant said. “We pulled the alternator and rebuilt it. It works fine,” an inbetweener girl with short hair said. “Maybe we broke it when we put it back in.” “I bet it the fuel line.” “We’re not getting spark, does not matter if there is fuel or not.” They argued. “…alternator….” “…battery…” “…fuel…” “…cracked…” Their teacher, an inbetweener, leaned against his desk, watching as his auto shop students tried to get the engine working. The single little in the room had been standing on one of the work tables, using the extra height to do her best to look into the engine. She jumped down from the table and went to the tool cabinet, looking through it until she found what she was looking for. None of her fellow students were watching her, but the teacher was. She walked to the car, moving among the legs of the taller students. None of them noticed her until she climbed up on the bumper and leaned into the engine. “Are you still here diaper duty?” one of the giants asked. “Shut it Ryan,” the teacher called out. “Sir, it’s not like she can figure it out,” Ryan said. “I said shut it.” The teacher was not as tall as many of his students, but like many inbetweeners who worked among the giants he had cultivated and attitude that often meant more than height. The little used a wrench to remove the battery cables from the poles. Then, with a rasp, she cleaned out the inside the clamps before putting them back. She gave the bolts a twist, the tools almost too big for her. After tugging each cable to make sure they were tight, she called out, “Try it now.” Behind the wheel the giant rolled his eyes and turned the key. The engine turned over and rumbled to life. “Good job Alice,” the teacher said as he pushed away from his desk and walked towards the car. “Shut it down.” A turn of the key silenced the engine. “That’s if for today,” the teacher said, “get out of here, don’t be late for your next class.” “Amazed that you know something about cars other than how to sit in a car seat,” a tall inbetweener named John said to Alice. There were a few laughs. Alice said nothing, just went and grabbed her school bag. “Hold up Alice,” the teacher called. Alice paused. When all the other students were gone he said, “Good work there, you pay attention.” “Thanks,” Alice said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Just wondering, you aren’t thinking of going into this line of business, are you?” “Car repair?” “Yeah.” “No, I want to go into engineering.” “Good, that’s good. I mean, not that you wouldn’t be a great mechanic, it’s just that, well…” “My size would make it hard,” she said for him. She almost managed not to sound bitter. “Yeah, well yeah.” He nodded. “You better get going. You don’t want to be late for your next class.” Not when for a little being late resulted in immature punishments for ‘lack of maturity’. Alice left. Louise Carroll was the founder, chief researcher and CEO of Wonderland Solutions. The names were not coincidence. She clomped loudly through the hallways of the building she owned, towering over everyone. Her laser like focus made people get out of her way, as if they were not quite certain she would stop. When the boss could crush you both figuratively and literally people tended to act on the side of caution. She stopped at the elevator and pressed the call button. A short time later the doors opened. The people within looked at her and then got out. She stepped in once they had vacated it. It did not pay to be in the elevator with Miss Carroll if the overload buzzer sounded. The door closed and the elevator rose, from the basement testing labs up to the twenty-third floor. Along the way the doors opened a few times on other floors. The people waiting the elevator took one look in and did not enter. The twenty-third floor was given over the conference rooms and meeting rooms of all sizes. “Good afternoon Miss Carroll.” “Can I make a meeting to talk with you about project 2C?” “You are looking well Miss Carroll.” “How did the demonstration go?” Carroll looked at the man, who was almost as tall as her. “Disappointing,” she said, answering him where she had more or less ignored the others. “How disappointing?” “Let’s just say Frenz and Smith are lucky I only took the project away from them.” “That disappointing? Too bad.” “It should be back on track by the end of the week,” she told him. “My two o'clock here?” “Saw a bunch of uniforms with fruit salad on their shoulders go into conference room F. Benny was with them.” “That would be them. God, I hate dealing with the military.” “Do you trust anyone else to deal with them?” He winked at her. “Not in the slightest.” Something that was almost a smile appeared on her face. “Can I meet with you tomorrow? I’ll have the numbers on the Henderson job.” “Check with my secretary.” “Will do boss, talk to you later.” Louise watched as her CFO walked off. She then stomped her way to Conference room F and pushed the doors opened. Too hard as it turned out for they bounced off the stops with a soft ‘bang’ and everyone in the room looked at her. Two bird colonels, a major, and a pair of young lieutenants who looked like they did not want to be in the room. Benny was seated between the two colonels, showing them something on his tablet. He jumped up when she came in, looked around guiltily. Everyone seemed uncertain as Louise walked to the head of the table and then took a seat. The chair creaked under her weight. “I’m busy,” she said, tone flat, face expressionless. Benny sat. “Right Louise, right.” Benny was a giant, on the small side, but definitely a giant. Shortest person in the room, except for maybe one of the lieutenants. She looked at the people in the room, gaze settling on one of the Colonels. Marine, almost as tall as her, almost as broad, but he was all muscle. “Well Colonel Iro, you’ve once more come to try my patience. Let’s get it over with.” Colonel Iro smiled in a good natured fashion. “Louise, you know that one day we are going to come to an agreement.” “Doubtful,” she said in her expressionless way. “We want you to consult, not build anything, not design anything. We’ll pay you two million to put you on retainer for our project.” “This how you getting your foot in the door?” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “What is it?” “Details are confidential, until you sign an NDA,” the Major said. Louise turned her attention to him. She held his gaze until he looked away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It is a pacification system,” Colonel Iro said. “Non lethal weapons systems, capture and not kill, for troublesome populations.” “Who do you have building it?” “Can’t go into details, until we get the NDA,” Colonel Iro told her, “but I can say we got some big tech players working on this. You’ll be in select company.” She looked around the room, at all the people, her hard stare seemed to be judging them, and finding them all wanting. Louise stood. The springs in the chair relaxed with an audible creak. “Benny.” “Yes Miss Carroll?” he asked, jumping to his feet. “Look over the NDA and then send it down to legal. If I sign we’ll talk again,” she told everyone in the room, and then stomped her way out. She paused in the door, looked back at the people. She might have smiled, or it could have been a sneer. Then she left, closing the doors behind her. Benny sat down. “Well, that went better than I expected.” “I thought for a moment she was going to come across the table at me,” the Major said. “I had drill sergeants back in basic who seemed warmer than that woman,” Colonel Iro said. “Still, I felt it went well. What do you think Benny?” “As long as you don’t have anything stupid in your NDA she will probably sign it. That she’s giving you the opportunity to make your case is promising.” Colonel Iro nodded. “Like the woman said, we get our foot in the door, maybe we convince her to work with us, and you Benny, get to start bidding on military contracts.” “I do like money,” Benny said with a smile. The dorm nanny did not let Alice undress herself. She was not allowed the dubious dignity of that. The nanny took off Alice’s blazer and then skirt of the university little uniform. She then pulled Alice up across her knees. She placed her broad hand across Alice’s bottom, patting the seat of the pullup. “You know why you are being punished,” the Nanny said. “Yes ma’am,” Alice said, lying across the amazon’s knees, bottom up. On her first day at University she and the other littles matriculating had all signed a contract of academic behaviour. It covered how they would be treated, and how they might be punished. It had been degrading, but if a little wanted a higher education they often had to agree to such things. The nanny started to list off all the rules that Alice had broken. Not keeping her dorm room clean, tardy for classes, not eating all her vegetables at the cafeteria. It was that standard bullshit list of rules often tossed at littles when someone decided that it was time to punish them. Not that Alice argued. That would make things worse. She heard some laughter. The nanny had decided to mete out her punishment in the dorm’s common room. So there was an audience. Specifically a few first year engineering students who were of the opinion that Alice Rydel grades were too high. Specifically she was getting higher marks than all of them. The dorm nanny owed her employment to Alice and the other littles who were attending the University. She was not properly thankful to the littles who lived there. Grasping the waistband of Alice’s pullup, the nanny pulled the disposable from Alice’s bottom. Officially the nanny was not to give any little a bare bottom spanking. Alice could complain, but nothing would come of it. More laughter from the audience as her small bottom came on display. “Remember, this is for your own good,” the nanny said, and then brought her open hand down hard on Alice’s bum. A ‘crack’ off flesh on flesh, stinging pain as that big hand encompassed her whole bottom, Alice gasped, tears prickled her eyes. Ever since she had turned thirteen, any time she had been spanked, she had always told herself she would not cry. Every time she was proven wrong. It was not just the stinging, burning pain as her tush was spanked to a bright red. That was mostly it, of course. But it was also the feeling of helpless humiliation. Even before it really started to hurt Alice was sniffing with tears in her eyes. It was so unfair. She was not a baby. She was a big girl, no, an adult. No one else got spanked. She had not even done anything wrong. She had done things right. She had studied and learned and done well on tests. It was not fair. It was not fair. It was not fair. The laughter stung as well. She was sobbing and begging nanny to stop, saying she would be a good girl. Sobbing and tears gave her voice a particularly infantile tone and lisp. It was a feedback loop of humiliation. Nanny did not stop, just told her it was for her own good. The spanking took forever, a constant barrage of unending smacks to her ass. It probably was just two minutes, evenly spaced slaps. Nanny’s hand would also hurt a little, she was not allowed to use a paddle or other implement, thankfully. Alice would think about that later, when the sting had faded, but in the moment, it was just the never ending punishment. Finally it ended, and Nanny rubbed her hand across Alice’s bright red bottom. “Now, are you going to be a good little girl?” “Yes, yes,” Alice sobbed. “Well, let’s hope so little miss, or we’ll be back here for another bottom warming.” Nanny stood, picking up Alice as she did so, holding Alice in her arms, craddling the little against her large bosom. “Now, seeing as you have no more classes today I think a thick nighttime diaper and a nap are in order.” Alice did not want either, but she said nothing. The last thing she wanted at that moment was to make Nanny decide some more spanks were required. Behind her she heard Thomas Fairre say, “I would give that spanking an A+.” Laughter greeted his statement. Alice hated him, hated them all. Promised herself she would get back at them. Was not sure how, but she would. Maybe? Louise Carrol was a presence in Wonderland Solutions. She walked every space on every floor at least once a week. From the physical plant deep within the bowels of the thirty story structure to the roof top. Any employee, from the mailroom sorter to the CFO might find her suddenly in their workspace, watching them. The big woman could move quietly when she chose. However there was one place in the building that she did not often go. The employee daycare centre, where small children and adopted littles were cared for while there parents worked. But that she did not often go there was not the same as not at all. Some people thought it was to make her visits even more of a surprise, to keep the child care and early educator staff on their toes. And others thought she was an emotionless, cold woman who just did not like children. If you asked the children they would tell you it was the later. Perhaps lack of vocabulary might mean they would say, ‘Big, fat, scary woman’. Louise came into the brightly lit daycare, stopping in the foyer beyond the entrance doors and looked around. There were windows that looked into the various rooms in which the children (and littles) slept, played, ate and were otherwise cared for. She watched for a few minutes, somehow managing to go unnoticed. In one room a group of three and four year olds, and some littles, were taught their ABCs and numbers. In another room one and two year olds, and some littles, were playing a game that seemed to involve plushies and brightly coloured cubes. And then the children not yet a year old and some littles, were in their cribs for a naps. Things seemed to be going well enough. “Miss Carroll, what a pleasant surprise.” Louise turned. A woman had come in through the doors, pushing a baby carriage. “Kaitlyn,” Louise said levelly in way of greeting. Her deadpan expression did not reveal if she thought it was a surprise, pleasant or otherwise. “I was hoping we could meet, I would like to discuss the reconstruction project in old town.” Louise did not answer immediately. “You know my feelings on that project,” she finally said. Kaitlyn made what amounted to a throw away gesture. “I know, the bad PR angle, but I’ve been talking with Izzy up in Communications and he thinks we can spin it positively. It is mostly inbetweeners and littles living there now. It could be argued that we are doing them a favour. I was down there just a few days ago and saw how the littles especially need a guiding hand.” The baby carriage rocked slightly as its occupant moved around. Kaitlyn smiled. “Case in point. My sweet Prissy thought she was an adult who could run a bicycle repair shop. It did not take me long to show her the error of her ways.” The little in the carriage was tightly swaddled and a pacifier was held in her mouth by a strap. Her head had been shaved, only a single tuft of red hair left on her the crown of her head. It made her look very much like a newborn. “Prissy is joining all the other tiny ones today. I think she is going to be very happy there, for a very long time.” She smiled down at the once woman in the carriage. Her smile was mixed with maternal warmth, captor cruelty and hit of contempt. Tears ran from Prissy’s eyes. Louise looked on with her usual cold expressions. “Would you like to hold her?” Kaitlyn asked. “No.” “I’m surprised you don’t like children. You have such a maternal figure.” She was calling her boss fat. However Louise expression suggested she either did not understand the insult or did not care. “I like them fine, I just don’t have time.” “Well, maybe one day you will, or you will find just the right little who will melt you heart, like little Prissy did for me.” She used the handle to rock the carriage back and forth on its springs, softly bouncing he little within. The look on the little’s face and the sounds she managed to make behind her pacifier gag suggested her heart had not been melted. “Perhaps,” Louise said, diplomatically. “Talk to my secretary to arrange the meeting. We’ll talk.” With that Louise turned and walked from the daycare. Kaitlyn pushed the carriage through the foyer into the reception area. A woman came out of the nursery. “What that Miss Carroll?” she asked. “Just coming by to scare all the children with her icebox exterior,” Kaitlyn said. “Oh, Mrs Dynes, you can’t talk about her like that.” “To be honest I think I could insult her right to her face and she would not realize what happened. But I am not here to talk about our boss. I want to enrol little Prissy here into the nursery section.” The daycare worker leaned over the carriage and looked at the girl within. “Adorable. She’s to be kept with the precrawlers?” “Yes, the little dear may eventually earn a first birthday, but I do find the newborns to be charming.” “Of course,” the worker said. In the carriage the girl sobbed. “Holy shit!” Thomas Fairre said as he jumped back from the swinging manipulator arm. “Be careful please,” Alice said from where she sat at a lab bench, “still working out some of the fine control.” Alice had an armature around her right arm and hand. Movements she made with that arm the larger manipulator arm matched. “You stupid little, you could have killed me.” Alice said something softly under her breath, but then in a louder voice, “That is why I locked the lab door and put up the danger sign.” “I need the lab,” he said. “I’ve got it booked for the next six hours,” Alice told him. Thomas stared at her, eyes wide. “Well I need it.” Whining in the larger members of the population was not a favourable image on them. “Then you should have booked it.” He took a few steps towards her, “Listen you little, I won’t be…” What he would not be was not made clear for her suddenly jumped back again as the arm apparently went wildly flailing. “What the hell?” “Danger sign, the floors marked with hazard tape,” Alice said as with her left hand she typed some commands into her laptop. He looked down and took one more step back, beyond the black and yellow line of tape. “Shut this down and get out. I need to work on my senior project.” “So do I,” Alice told him, not looking away from her laptop. Thomas looked as if he was about to take a step forward, but the arm swung by and made him rethink his plan. “Get out!” he yelled. “What is all this noise?” Both Alice and Thomas looked towards the sound. One of the lab doors was opened and a giant was looking in. “Professor Jameson,” Thomas said, “I’m sorry, but this little refuses to leave the lab.” He looked between them, then asked, “Do you have the lab booked?” Thomas’ eyes narrowed, his mouth open for a moment. He said, “Well, no, but she’s a little.” Professor Jameson shifted his attention to Alice. “Did you book the lab?” “Three weeks ago.” “Well then, she has use of the lab Tom. You should have booked it.” “But she’s a little!” “Yes, I am aware. But the money she uses to pay her tuition is just as big as your money.” Thomas stared at the professor in open mouthed shock. Then with a curse he turned and left. “You should have bolted the doors from the inside,” Professor Jameson told Alice once Thomas had stormed out. “I assumed the danger sign and the locked door would have been enough.” “I’ll lock it for you.” “No, I got it,” Alice said as she entered a few more commands on the laptop. She then turned and reached out. The manipulator arm stretched out, longer than before, reaching for the door. The eight fingered hand turned the deadbolt and then set the manual bolts. “Remarkable,” the professor said as he watched the arm retract back to its earlier length. “How did you manage to make the hydraulics so small?” “I don’t use them. I use ferromagnetic semisolids.” Professor Jameson stated at her open mouthed. “Surely you’re joking.” Alice shook her head. “It’s something I’ve been working on since my first year. I’ve almost got all the kinks worked out.” “It’s unfortunate.” “Pardon?” Alice asked, frowning. “You won’t be able to go on to further your education, and really, it is not as if you’ll find work as an engineer in any sort of reputable firm.” Alice said nothing, just stared, wide eyed. “Surely you must already know this. It is not as if littles are taken seriously.” “I’ll manage, I’m sure,” Alice told him. He shook his head. “And you’ve made something of an enemy of Thomas.” “I’ll deal with him,” Alice muttered. “I’ve been dealing with him since my first year.” “You should come and live with me,” Professor Jameson said. “What?” “My wife would be delighted to have you.” “I am sure she would,” Alice said cooly. He did not seem to recognize the tone, or dismissed it. “And you would be protected from any of Thomas’ retribution.” “I’ll be fine. But thank you for your concern.” He shook his head. “You littles, you never really understand, but I won’t force you, not while you are a student.” He smiled. Alice felt a little sick to her stomach. “I look forward to seeing your senior project presentation. Good luck. Call me if you need anything.” He left her, returning to the room he had come out of. Alice turned back to her laptop, entering another set of commands. Later that evening when Alice returned to her dorm room she found her bed replaced by a locking crib. The dorm nanny was there, smiling. “Alice dear,” she said, “I’ve heard that you’ve been falling out of your bed.” Alice turned to look at her roommates, other littles. They looked guilty, and would not meet her gaze. They did not speak up for her. “We want you to be safe, so you’ll be sleeping in a crib from now on. Now, I know you littles are want to be naughty, so we’ll be locking you in, but don’t worry, nanny will put you in extra thick nighttime diapers. Isn’t that wonderful?” Alice choked out, “Thank you nanny.” Thanking the woman for what was a bedwetting sentence made her feel sick, but Alice had no choice. One day she would get back at Thomas and the others who had tried to break her. One day. Alice squeaked in surprise as the dorm nanny grabbed her up in her arms and carried her over to the room’s changing table. “Let’s get you ready for bed-bye sweety.” One day. Louise’s office suite took up a quarter of the thirtieth floor. Her assistants had their own offices, there was a private bathroom, a public office, a private office, a kitchenette, and a conference room. It was in that conference room where she held most of her personal meetings. A professor from a prestigious university had requested an opportunity to meet with her to discuss the placement of some Masters program students. He was already there, drinking coffee, when she entered. Placing the cup down her stood. “Miss Carroll, thank you for taking the time for meeting me.” “The pleasure is mine Professor Jameson,” she told him, expression flat. She shook his hand and then sat. “These are some of the students I would ask that you consider. They all are in an honours Masters degree program and would benefit from a summer internship with Wonderland Solutions.” She fanned the folders out with her big hand, looking at the names on each of the folders. “I see,” she said “Your university is known for the quality of its graduates. It is why I was willing to see you.” “Thank you, we pride ourselves on the quality of our education.” She just nodded as she opened one of the folders and glanced at he transcript within. “There was another reason I came here Miss Carroll. I had a question I wanted to ask you.” She looked up from the folders to the professor. Her expression was flat as she asked, “What?” He broke their gaze and looked away as he asked, “Did you adopt Alice Rydel?” Her expression did not shift as she asked, “Who is Alice Rydel?” Professor Jameson looked at her again, trying to hold her gaze, as if he was trying to gauge her truthfulness. Again he looked away first and said, “She was a student, her work shares similarities to your company’s designs.” “This Alice, she’s a little correct? That’s why you asked if I adopted her.” “Yes.” “So you are accusing me of stealing her work?” “No, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “If you had adopted her then her work would in a way belong to you.” Louise said nothing, just pinned him with her stare. He started to sweat and wiped his brow. “It’s just that some people are interested in her work, and she disappeared right after graduating.” “I hope they find her then.” “Yes,” he said nervously. “Well, then, thank you for your time.” “Which ones?” she asked. “Pardon?” “Which of these student would you suggest I consider?” “Well, they are all skilled and bright. If you could take all of them the university would appreciate it. I can’t really say that any are better than the others.” She swept the folders back into a single pile and picked them up as she stood. “Very well. You’ll hear back from me in a month or so.” He stood as well. “Thank you very much Miss Carroll. And if you do hear anything about Alice Rydel there would be some people who would appreciate knowing.” “How long?” “Pardon?” “You said she disappeared after graduating. How long ago was that?” “Three years. About a year before you started Wonderland Solutions. Some people think you might have been in contact with her…” “Three years is a long time. If you find her she might not even be able to count to ten anymore, let alone give you whatever you hope for.” He again could not meet her gaze. “Yes, that’s true.” “Never put your trust in littles Professor. There is no future for them.” “Yes, I’m afraid of that.” “Please excuse me,” she said, and then turned and stomped from the room, holding the folders. “You can see yourself out.” He watched her go and once she had left he said, “What a cool customer she is.” Then he gathered up his things. Louise did not pause as she walked into the office of her chief assistant. She dropped the folders on his desk. “Internship candidates. I don’t see why we cannot take them all, I’ll leave that to you.” He gathered the folders up and flipped through them. “We’ve got enough scut work to keep them busy. If they apply themselves they might actually learn something. When do you want my report Miss Carroll?” “Three weeks.” “I will get right on it,” he told her with a smile. “Good. I’ll be in my private office.” “I will make sure you are not disturbed.” “Good.” She left his office and passed through her public office, the place where she met people when the conference room would not suit. Where she worked with them on the minutiae and the mundane. Everyone knew that her private office was where she did her real work. There were whispers of lovers, or kidnapped littles kept in a hidden nursery. Because she never let anyone in the rumour mill churned along. Louise unlocked the door, entered and locked it behind her, sliding a manual bolt in place. The door was thick, the walls reinforced and soundproofed. The office had no windows. It was obvious she wanted her privacy. She took of her suit jacket, put it on a wooden hanger and then hung it on a coat rack by the door. She walked to her desk, stood in front of it and began to unbutton her blouse. After pulling the tails from her pants waistband she reached up and unclasped her front hooking bra. The garment released her pendulous breast, letting them hang free. Louise straightened, arms dropping to her sides, and she went perfectly still. A vertical seam appeared, running from the base of her neck to her navel. Two horizontal lines opened up, across her collar bones and belly, from hip to hip. The seams opened up, in a disturbing manner, her entire chest and abdomen swung open. Instead of revealing internal organs, the space within her torso was a small cockpit from which Alice Rydel stepped out. She was wearing a sweat stained t-shirt and a wet pull up. Walking to the edge of the desk she lowered herself down to the chair. Kneeling on it, she pulled out a drawer in which her laptop was kept. Reviewing notes and recording of camera feeds throughout he building she clicked her tongue with disappointment. “Unblinking, cold, getting the emotional range and expressions right is going to take forever.” She looked up at her amazon mecha suit. She had never met people in person for the first year she had been using it, always dressed her suit in long coats and hats and scarves to cover its face. Even now most people assumed Louise Carroll was autistic. Alice could accept that for the prototype, but if she was going to produce more she would have to fix it. Fortunately she was getting help. Another email had arrived, more files, improved algorithms for the mech’s facial actuators and the AI behind them. “Looks like you got the blinking error fixed, that will help Louise come across less lizard like,” Alice said as she read through the notes. She did not know who the mysterious programmer was. Probably another little as the price of her help was her own amazon mecha suit, when Alice was able to start building them. No one would notice one corpulent, autistic, genius amazon. They would notice several, so Alice was not making the tech available until she was sure she was safe. Again she looked at her suit and she smiled, thinking about some of the names on the folders that Professor Jameson and brought her. Thomas Fairre and a few others had better read their internship contracts well before the signed them. If they did not they were going to learn a valuable lesson. Well, valuable to Alice.

Games of Chance Games of Skill by Inku Hime This story is not a continuation of sequel to Chasing Emily. Consider it Chasing Emily Adjacent. Emily shows up a few times, but this is most certainly not a story about her. No changes to this story, except for adding chapter headings due to length Chapter 1 - A Lucky Little or a Little Lucky? The back room of a bar, cases of liquor and glassware stacked against the wall or upon the shelves. In the middle of the room, space had been made for a card table which sat upon the bare concrete floor. Above the table, an extra set of fluorescent lamps cast harsh white light down on the card players. Seven people, six of them firmly in the category of inbetweeners, one of them, at a sliver over five feet, a little. The little was a fine-featured woman, with long brown hair and soft golden brown skin, dressed in a flattering little-black-dress. A few other people were standing around the room, or sitting on cases of booze, watching the game, acting as runners if anything was needed, and those that called the game’s results to bookies. People would bet on anything. Three of those at the table still had cards and chips, and therefore were still playing. The little was one of them. Three watched. One time players that had gone bust but could not pull themselves from the table. One, a woman in a suit, was the dealer. The little had her two hold cards, and four face up. Two aces, a two and a five were showing. Another of the players, an older man, dark hair greying, a little doughy, leaned back in his chair, looking at the large pile of chips in front of the little. “About time you start going mad Kelly girl. Bet is to you.” Face up in front of him were two queens, a king and an eight. The little, who had been sorting her chips, looked up. “Is it? Well, I’d rather be loosing having fun than win being bored. I’ll see your two thousand and raise it four.” She pushed six piles of chips into the middle of the table. The furniture was scaled to inbetweeners, so she could sit on the chair with her bare feet on the cold concrete, but had to shift forward to the edge of her seat to slide the chips across the felt of the table’s surface. The third active player, younger, taller, more handsome than any of the men at the table, peeked at his hold cards as if perhaps they had somehow changed, then called, putting six thousand into the middle of the table. He was showing a jack, a ten, a six and a four. The dealer looked at the active players. A few people moved closer to the table. She burned the top card, putting it aside, face down, then dealt the three players their last card. Kelly got a jack. The young man scowled for a moment, gone when he was next dealt a jack himself. The older man got a second king. He smiled. “Mr Ivanhoe has the highest showing,” the dealer said. “Bet is to him.” “Eight thousand,” he said, then paused, “if we are all agreed on going over table limits?” He smiled. “Fine with me,” Kelly said, high, slightly burred voice. “Yeah, whatever,” the younger man said. Mr Ivanhoe pushed the chips forward. “Call and raise sixteen thousand,” Kelly said and moved twenty-four thousand in chips into the middle of the table. “Kelly girl is chasing rainbows,” someone said from the crowd. Someone said into a cell phone, “The little got a jack and has raised.” The pot had grown large in the earlier betting, and the chips on the table represented a small fortune. There had been eight players when the game had begun, long hours before, and the buy-in had been ten thousand. The young man, looked between the two players, his gaze passing over Kelly as if he was discounting her, then holding on Mr Ambrose for several seconds. He put his chips into the pot. “Call.” The dealer looked at Mr Ambrose. “Call.” He put the sixteen thousand into the pot. The pile of chips in front of the men were diminished. Kelly had a significant number of chips remaining. She was in for at least another round. “Your cards gentlemen and lady,” the dealer said. The young man moved quickly, turning over another jack and a ten. “Full house, jacks over tens,” the dealer announced. Ambrose, with a smile, gently turned his two cards: A six and a queen. “Full house, queens over kings,” the dealer told all those listening. The young man stared daggers at Mr Ambrose, and in the crowd who had gathered close someone said, “Lucky Robert’s got a horseshoe up his ass.” There was a soft sound of a pair of cards turning over. “Quite appropriately,” the dealer said, “a baby straight.” Everyone turned to look towards Kelly. She had turned over her hole cards, a three and a four. “You’ve been betting on a straight since the third card?” Robert asked. She smiled. Kelly stood up, looked at the scant number of chips that remained in front of the two men. “Thing about chasing rainbows is that eventually, you catch one.” She slipped her feet into the heels she had earlier kicked off. “I am going to cash out. A good evening to you all.” “Wait a second,” the tall, young man said, standing, reaching for Kelly. A big, knobby hand came down on his wrist. He looked to the hand's owner. A man, about six a half feet tall, with a misshapen nose that looked as if it had been broken so many times it no longer knew what shape it should heal into. He was broad across the shoulders, it made him look stocky. Dressed in a suit, bowler hat pulled low on a big, round head, he seemed to dominate the room. The tall man took a step back or tried to, but the grip on his wrist stopped him. “Yous got a problem?” He had a harsh voice, low, grinding. “Who are you?” the tall man asked, almost stammering. “I’m Kelly’s daddy, and I don’ts like it when some mook threatens my baby. Yous got a problem with the game?” “She won.” A few people laughed. “Someone’s gots to win, and mores gots to lose. Maybe you don’ts want to lose to my girl you ought to play in other games.” He released the man’s hand. “Let’s go Kelly girl.” “Yes Daddy,” Kelly said, all smiles as the man in the bowler hat put his hand on her shoulder, engulfing a good part of her slim back, and directed her towards the door. Outside was an empty bar, but for a man behind the car counter, counting out money. “Cashing out Mr Gordo,” Kelly said. “You banked fifteen thousand earlier, and with your winnings,” he sorted through all the money on the table, “sixty-eight thousand, four hundred and twenty-five dollars. House cut is ten percent, I’ll round up that fifty cents in your favour…” “You’re the soul of generosity.” “…which gives you Sixty-one thousand five hundred and eighty-three dollars.” He put the money in the envelope and then handed it to the man in the bowler hat. “Thanks,” he said, putting the bulging envelope into his inside, jacket pocket. It made for a significant bulge in the jacket. “Going to count it?” “I knows you don’ts wants me coming back here if I find it short.” “True.” “Comes along Kelly girl,” he said, grabbing her again, leading her from the bar. “Did I do good daddy?” she asked. He did not answer for a few seconds before saying, “You did okays Kelly girl.” Outside the bar, he led her along the dark street, under pools of lamplight, to a black sedan parked on the side of the road, with eight other cars. The man in the bowler slipped a young man a hundred. “Thanks for watching the cars.” “Thank you,” the man said, stuffing the bill into his ratty jean pockets. The man with the bowler opened the passenger door, let Kelly get in and pulled her seatbelt across her, then closed the door and circled to the driver’s side. A few seconds later the engine rumbled, and the car pulled away. Kelly sat in the back seat, kicked her heels off, glad she was large enough to not legally require a car seat. At least not while she was in a car sized for inbetweeners. There was a thump as the envelope with all the money landed on the seat beside her. “Yours winnings Miss Fortuna.” “Thank you, Ken,” she said and picked up the envelope, pulling the bills, mostly hundreds, out of it, counting. “You’s got to stops asking me if you done good. Almost started laughing.” She smiled. “Sorry, Ken.” She reached under her seat and pulled out a zippered, canvas pouch. “Stop by the bank, I want to drop most of this off in the night deposit box.” Ken made a soft grunt of affirmation. Other players left shortly after Kelly did. No one liked following Ken too closely. One of them, a nondescript man who had lost early in but had remained for the whole game, wandered farther away from the bar than the others, walking several blocks, to a better neighbourhood, and a large, well lit, gated parking lot. There were a few cars parked there overnight, one of them a giant-sized, red coupe. The man opened the passenger door, had to grab a handhold to pull himself up into the seat. “The little is the one you want,” he said to the giant who sat behind the wheel. The engine started with a purr, and the driver pulled out of the spot. The sun was still minutes away from raising as the sedan crossed the bridge, leaving the city behind for the suburbs. Kelly leaned her face against the cool window, looking out over the water. “Gots any other games coming up?” Ken asked from up front. “Nothing soon, and nothing needed, not after tonight’s win. Gordo has probably got another ten thousand buy in coming up in two months. We could fly out to Vegas in a week or two, see how I can do at the tables.” “Sounds good Miss Fortuna.” Ken asked nothing else, and Kelly closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of cool glass under her cheek. She did not open them until she felt the car slow and turn. She owned a lovely house in the suburbs, not huge, but it had a good sized yard and privacy. Most of her neighbours were giants, but they never bothered her. Not with Ken and his smashed in nose and huge hands around. When they entered the house, Kelly asked, “Going to do anything Ken?” “Just watch some TV, until I falls asleeps.” “See you later then,” she told him and started up the stairs, which were just a little too high for her. The house had been sized for taller inbetweeners or smaller giants. Kelly could move about it, but it all seemed large to her, and she had never got used to it. She took a long, hot shower in the too big glassed-in shower stall. Then, with a towel wrapped around herself, padded into her too big room where she had to use step stool to get onto her giant scaled queen sized bed. It was far too big for her, but she loved all the space. Closing her eyes, she took in some long, deep breaths. She just wanted to sleep all day. She turned over, burying her face in the big pillow. It smelled fresh. The maid had been in yesterday so it would be two days before she came back. No one would be knocking on her door, asking her if she was in. She hated being woken like that. Hugging her pillow tight to herself she laughed softly. She had made fifty-thousand dollars that night. Like Robert has said, she usually went a little mad when the pots got huge, and the games were near their endpoints. She loved betting hight, she loved bluffing. Always she made sure to get back her initial stake and about half of that on top of it. Once that was secure she just wanted to play. She had lost small fortunes, in one case a large one. She had won them as well. No matter what she always had enough to pay back her debts. Flipping over onto her back, flinging out her arms and legs she thought back to the first person who had ever set her up with a stake. “Amelia,” she whispered, a smile on her lips. “What do you need the money for Kelly,” Amelia asked. Kelly looked down at Amelia. She had to. Amelia was a little who was not quite four feet tall, with long, blonde hair, and beautiful blue eyes and a sweet voice that sounded like it should be singing the ABC song. Kelly never said it, but when she was with Amelia, she understood why some of the giants wanted to baby littles. What she did say was, “I’m joining in the poker game that Dummy Diane’s father runs out behind his warehouses.” Amelia’s eyes went comically wide. “Are you insane?” “Maybe. Probably not.” “Diane and her clique of mean girl Amazons are bad enough, but her father is a total monster.” “Come on Amelia, no more of this ‘all giants will put a little back in the nursery’ stuff. You are beginning to sound like a crazy person.” Amelia frowned. Kelly thought it looked like she was pouting and it was so darn cute. “Well,” Amelia said, “they won’t even let a little play.” “Littles have played before. You pay the stake, and they let you in.” “Did any of those littles ever win?” “Well, not sure about that.” Amelia gave her a hard state. “Hey,” Kelly put up her hands defensively. “I’m not stupid. I got this worked out. I got back up.” She used her thumb to point behind her. Across the football field, near the fence that surrounded the school ground, an inbetweener was leaning against a tree. Amelia shaded her eyes. “Is that,” she paused, “Ken Dorchess?” “That is him.” “They kicked him out of school.” Her pure voice sounded alarmed, it was, as many things about Amelia were, cute. “I heard they were going to send him to prison.” Kelly shook her head. “Schoolyard gossip. He’s a decent guy. Likes money, likes fighting, makes a great bodyguard.” “But, Mr Combine and the others, most are giants.” “Ken’s like a rattlesnake. Sure, a rattlesnake might be smaller than you, but it is all bad temper and poison. Do you really want to hit it?” Amelia shook her head. She pulled an envelope out of her pocket and held it out to Kelly. “Two thousand dollars.” Kelly took the envelope. “Thanks, Amelia.” She bent at her knees to lower herself so she could hug the other girl tightly. “And don’t worry,” she said into Amelia’s ear. “You’ll get all this back and half again.” “I don’t care about the money stupid,” Amelia told her. “I just want you back safe. I don’t want to see you end up in a nursery.” Kelly released her and took a step back. “Why Miss Black, I do think you love me.” Amelia blushed, then shook her head. “Just shut up and go.” Kelly laughed and turned, striding confidently across the empty football field, overgrown with summer grass. “Good luck Kelly!” Amelia yelled from behind her. Kelly turned and gave her a wave. Chapter 2 - Secret Agent Man A loud thumping sound woke Kelly from her half remembrances and dreams. She crawled across her bed and then stepped down onto the footstool. There was another thump. Was Ken moving furniture around or something? She grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it on, leaving her room and walking to the stairs. At the top she found herself looking down at a scene that she could not comprehend immediately. It took her a few seconds to sort it all out. Ken was down there, in a fight, with a giant, a man who was near twice his height. Ken swung one of his big, hard hands out in a wild haymaker. Kelly had seen that punch catch giants just as big, right in the gut or the groin, and drop them. However, this giant turned, just enough, and dropped his hand, knocking the punch aside as he moved behind Ken and kicked the inbetweener in the back of the knee. Ken stumbled forward a step, but his knee did not fold, Straightening he drove the back of his head hard against the man. Ken had experience fighting giants, the giant, on the other hand, seemed at somewhat of a disadvantage against his smaller opponent. Or at first, Kelly thought. It was only a few seconds later after the two had exchanged a few more attacks and counterattacks that Kelly realised two things. The giant was going out of his way not to hurt Ken too badly, and he was also doing his best to keep the noise of the fight down. As if he did not want to be disturbed. Kelly ran down the hall, to her room, found her phone among her clothing. She stared incredulously at the screen and the fact that she had no bars. Letting her phone drop into the pile of her clothes she ran across the hall, to a room that served as something of an office, and where she had a landline. On picking up the phone, she discovered there was no dial tone. Whatever was happening it was no simple home invasion. She ran back to the top of the stairs where she watched the final moments of the fight. The two were on the ground, the giant had his legs wrapped around Ken’s throat, one of Ken’s arms in a lock. Ken was struggling, hard, but every second those struggles got weaker and weaker. The giant was choking the life out of him. Then Ken went still. The large man shifted around, onto his knees, pulled something from the pocket of a ripped sports coat. He secured Ken’s hands behind his back and then looked up at where Kelly stood. “He will be okay,” the man said in a surprisingly smooth baritone. “Bruises and sprains. Please don’t try to run away.” Kelly spun in place, thinking to do just that, but then she wondered where she would go. Climbing out of the window on the second floor was just going to leave her standing on a ledge with a drop that would probably break her leg. Likely some of her nosy neighbours would call family services if they saw her climbing out a window. She turned back, saw the big man lifting Ken onto his shoulder. “I can promise you that this is not whatever you think it is. We need to talk.” He walked away, towards the living room from where she could hear the sound of the TV. Kelly nearly fell as she rushed down the stairs, towards the front door. Pulling open the door she discovered an inbetweener man there. She recognised him from the poker game. “Please, just go back into the house,” he told her. Behind her, she could hear the heavy footsteps of the giant. The inbetweener smiled at her and then pushed the door closed. Kelly turned slowly. The giant man stood at the end of the entry hall. She noticed his head was close to the ceiling. He had taken off his jacket, wore a sweater and a pair of dark jeans, a shoulder holster apparent without his jacket. “I would like to talk to you, Miss Fortuna.” Kelly found her voice. “Why?” He looked at her, frowned. Perhaps not used to explaining himself to littles. A lot of the giants were like that. “I need your skills as a gambler.” “Excuse me?” He turned and walked away, deeper into the house. Kelly followed. In the living room, Ken lay on the couch, still out, looking as comfortable as a man who was trussed up could. “I gave him something to keep him out,” the big man said as he took a seat in a chair too small for him. The windows shades were back, and the room well lit with the rising sun. Kelly got her first good look at the man. Short, dirty blonde hair, cut neat, pale blue eyes, fair skin. He had a strong, straight nose and a strong chin. It was a very handsome face. And his build, suggested strong, lean muscles, an athlete. Her cell phone had been jammed, her landline cut or interfered with, and this man was armed. What’s more was that she realised that had that man wanted to hurt Ken, or had been willing to make more noise, it would not have even been a fight. She had not known giants like that existed. It was the first time she felt at a loss, that the natural confidence that she could get through life entirely on her own terms was somehow misplaced. Maybe Amelia Black had not been so crazy, not if there were more giants like this. Kelly shook her head angrily in a silent denial. “Who are you?” “You can call me Steven, Mr Artimage where formal address is required.” Kelly took a seat, choosing one of the smaller chairs, so she did not have to climb into it. “What do you want Mr Artimage?” “As I said, I need your skills as a gambler, as those are skills I lack.” “I don’t understand.” He said nothing for a few seconds. “There is a man I need to get to. That man is a gambler. Currently, my best way to get to him in the manner I wish is to keep him from winning a high stakes poker game. I need you to play in this game, to beat him. It does not matter if you win in the end, as long as he loses.” “What game? Where?” “The ‘Cartes D'or Triomphantes’ in Monaco.” Kelly sat back in her chair. For a moment she felt as if she could not breathe. “You know of it?” Again the angry shake of her head. “Of course I know of it. The game has a twenty-million Euro buy-in.” “I’ll cover it.” “You’ll cover it? Just like that?” “Just like that.” “It’s invitation only.” “I have an invitation, it is yours.” “They don’t let littles play!” “They don’t offer littles invitations. And who would give one to them? But if you show up with an invitation and the buy-in they will let you play.” “Why me? Why are you here?” “Four years ago you played in the Cartes D'or Petites.” She nodded. “By all accounts, you should have won, but apparently you…” “Chased rainbows.” “Yes, that is how they described it. You bet high and bluffed often.” “I enjoyed it.” “I am not surprised. Littles tend to lie.” She looked up at him, wondering if he was trying to pick a fight. He looked back at her with a ‘matter of fact’ expression. When Kelly did not say anything else, he continued, “I will need you to put that aside. You won’t be playing this game for fun.” “What do I get if I win?” “I’ll pay you five million dollars.” “That’s a fraction of the pot,” she said. “It’s not your money that is providing the stake.” “And if I don’t win, but knock your boy out of the tournament? What then?” “A free round trip to Monaco and a generous per diem.” “That’s it?” “Adults don’t reward failure Miss Fortuna.” Real nice, she thought, but said, “Fine.” “You didn’t ask about the third option.” “That’s because it is not relevant.” He smiled. “Who is it you want me to beat?” “A man named Conrad Revel.” “The same Conrad Revel that won the Cartes D'or Triomphantes last year?” “The same. Does that scare you?” “Are you,” she almost said stupid but went with, “kidding? A chance to play in a tournament with someone like him? If you’re not jerking me around, I look forward to it.” “I assure you, Miss Fortuna, that I am not playing some elaborate hoax.” “Why do you want Revel to lose?” “That is need to know Miss Fortuna.” “Is this something illegal?” He smiled. “You are just playing in a poker tournament. What could be illegal in that?” “Nothing I guess.” “You have a valid passport?” She nodded. “Yes.” “Can you travel tomorrow?” “Tomorrow? But…” “Yes or no?” It was not a tone that brooked explanations of the need to cancel newspaper delivery and arrange someone to pick up the mail. “Yes,” she said and wondered if, even as the words left her mouth, she would regret it. He stood, picked up his jacket from where he hung it. From a pocket, he produced a business card and held it out to her. In her hands, it was more a playing card than the business card it looked when he held it. “My contact information. On the back is the address of an FPT site, a username and password…” he paused and looked down at her. “You understand what those are?” “Yes, I know,” she told him, tone exasperated. “Good. You can download what information I have on the confirmed players. Look at it all.” He put on the jacket. “I will be here tomorrow at 9am. Be ready to go. Pack light.” She was about to ask what ‘pack light’ meant when he pulled a knife from his pocket, flicked it open, and moved towards Ken. “Wai…” she started, thinking he was about to kill Ken, so there would be no witnesses, but instead, quickly, he cut the bonds that held him. “What?” he looked over his shoulder at her. “Nothing, I just sneezed.” He looked doubtful but said, “9am tomorrow,” as he folded the knife up and returned it to his pocket. “9am,” she repeated. “Packed light.” “Packed light,” she agreed, sighing. He left her there. Kelly looked at the card. Neat lettering, Steven Artimage, Vice President Green Imports, London England. There was a phone number, an email address and a website URL. She flipped the card over. In neat, cursive script was the FTP site address and the login credentials. She sat back in her chair, wondering what she had gotten herself into. But, to play in the Cartes D'or Triomphantes… It was worth whatever trouble she ran into. Chapter 3 - You got to Plan, even if you trust to Luck Later Ken and Kelly sat in her office, Ken close behind, looking over her shoulder. She had four monitors set up, which was a little excessive as she really had a hard time focusing on more than two at any time, but it looked neat. On one screen videos of Conrad Revel playing were being shown. On another flight booking information and another showed the odds currently being offered on the tournament. However, the screen that she and Ken were focused on was the website for Green Imports. “Looks fake,” Ken said. “Looks real, but that a man like Steven Artimage would work there, that seems fake.” “It’s what I meants.” She nodded. “And no mention of Steven Artimage anywhere else.” “Fake name.” “Maybe, or a name that people are trying to hide.” She slumped in her chair. “I suck at this kind of computer research.” She moved the betting site to the monitor in front of her. “Looks like they figure that Izzy Aster is going to go out first. That will change once they know a little has entered.” “Should I bets on you not being the first out?” “Sure, it will be some easy money. The odds will be decent enough.” “And bets on yous to wins every hands that you plays.” “Catalina is the best bookie to be working with. That lady will never believe that a little can win. You’ll clean up. She’s gonna get so pissed.” She had already worked out the amounts that Ken could bet, based on how much his working capital grew. She would never win every hand, but with the odds Ken would get she only had to win one in four to make a lot of money off this. She moved the flight booking information onto the screen. “We’ve got your ticket. Maybe you’ll even be on the same flight as me.” “Once you sends me the informations on where you are in the city I’ll be close.” “Good.” She’d feel better knowing she had Ken as backup. Finally, she put Conrad Revel in front of her, watching the man play. “Hows you gonna beat him?” Ken asked. “I have no idea.” It was close to 9am the next day when Kelly had finalised everything with Ken. “I still don’ts likes this,” he told her. “I’m still not entirely certain of it myself, but I am willing to take a chance. To play in the Cartes D'or Triomphantes, and 5 million if I win.” “It’s a lots of money.” “It is. And we can make more.” She took a deep breath. “Wish me luck Ken.” “Goods luck Miss Fortuna, but you don’ts need it.” She smiled up at him, then opened the front door, stepped out onto the porch. Ken stepped out behind her. At 9am on the dot a large, red, sporty looking coupe pulled through the gates and rolled up the driveway. It stopped in front of them, the passenger door and trunk opening. Ken had to help her into the car, but he knew to do it by offering her a hand up as opposed to picking her up. She settled into the huge seat. Ken leaned into the car. “Yous better takes of her,” he warned Steven. “You don’t need to worry,” Steven told her, then reached across the car to pull the door shut, forcing Ken to jump back or be hit by the door. “Rude much?” Kelly asked. He did not answer. She heard a soft thump that she guessed was Ken tossing her bag in the trunk and then the sound of the trunk closing. A moment later Steven was driving away, following the circle drive at the front of the house and then back towards the gates. Not that Kelly could see where they were going. “Your bodyguard is waving.” Kelly raised a hand above the window that she could not see out of and hoped Ken saw her farewell wave. She asked Steven a few questions, but he was not forthcoming with answers, so she gave up soon enough. They spent an hour driving in what Kelly thought was an uncomfortable silence, made worse by the fact being unable to see where they were going made her feel a little car sick. Eventually, they stopped, Steven parking the car in a garage that, by the sound of things, was near the airport. He opened the door but did not help her out. It was easier to get out than to get in, and she slid down to the ground, glad she had worn jeans instead of a skirt. He was waiting, holding out her small, overnight bag. It looked tiny in his hands. She took it, noting his overnight bag would have been a duffle bag were she carrying it. She should have asked for a definition of ‘pack light’ because it was possible she could have brought more stuff. He led the way, probably taking shorter steps, but she still had to jog to keep up. They did not go into the main terminal but circled around out to where the private aircraft flew in and out of. The silver, private jet that sat on the tarmac seemed huge to Kelly, as it was sized to giants. The waiting attendant, a pretty woman probably around 9 feet tall, had to help her up the boarding steps, and into the plush, leather seats. She was kind enough but spent too much time telling Kelly where the bathroom was and encouraging her to ask if she needed any help. “These are leather seats after all,” she finished off with. Steven sat and showed no interest in the attendant's conversation with Kelly. Not long after, faster than any commercial flight she had been on, they were in the air, climbing. The captain, a calm sounding woman, announced when they had reached their cruising altitude. The attendant came back, asked if they wanted anything. Steven asked for a whisky and water. “A gin and tonic,” Kelly said. The attendant looked towards Steven. “Get her whatever she wants,” he told her. “Thank you,” she said to Steven. He did not answer. A short time later the attendant came back with their drinks and a booster seat. “This will make you more comfortable,” she explained to Kelly. Kelly suspected the sunken plastic seat which would hold an accident would make the attendant feel more comfortable about the safety of the leather seats. “Is the only way I get my drink is if I sit on that?” Kelly asked. “You’re so cute,” the attendant answered. Kelly let the woman set up the booster seat. It actually was a little more comfortable and gave her a better view. Finally, she could enjoy her drink. Being on the flight to Monaco, drinking a gin and tonic, reminded her of the last time she had seen Amelia. “This is where you are going to live?” Kelly asked. “What’s wrong with it?” Amelia asked back. “Its kind of, well, old, drab, out in the middle of nowhere, there is a blacksmith on the first floor… I mean you might as well have stayed back home in butt fuck nowhere and worked fixing farmers’ computers.” Amelia shook her head. “This is much better. Great internet connection and no giants.” “Cause every giant is gonna try to grab you.” “They are.” Kelly shook her head. “Listen, why don’t you put that crazy idea aside and get a new crazy idea. You could be a cat lady. This place looks perfect for a crazy cat lady.” “You’re pretty lippy for someone coming to ask for money.” Kelly laughed and hugged Amelia. “You know I’m just bustin’ your adorable chops.” “I have chops?” Kelly smiled. “Okay, I can give you forty thousand dollars.” Kelly blinked. “I was only asking for ten, and I felt guilty about that.” Amelia shrugged her small shoulders. “I’m actually pretty well off. Had some good paying work in college. And if I give you this much you have to ask fewer people for the rest. I’ll feel better. “Cashiers check okay?” Amelia asked as she produced the slip of paper. “That’s great Amelia, I mean… I don’t know what to say.” “Just tell me you’ll be safe. I can’t believe you are still doing this gambling, and around giants.” “Don’t worry. I got Ken around, keeping any grabby people away.” “He’s still with you?” “You sound surprised.” “I thought he would be in prison by now.” “Not nice Amelia,” Kelly said, angry and showing it. Amelia took a step back. “Sorry.” “He’s a good guy. We take care of each other.” “Are you…” “What? With Ken? No. He’s not my type, and I’m not his. He still calls me Miss Fortuna most of the time.” “Well, I’m glad then.” Kelly walked to the window, looked out over the mostly squat, old buildings. “Still, you went to that fancy college. Why aren’t you working for some big company in a nice office?” “You know why.” Kelly looked back at her friend and shook her head. “Amelia, you can’t hide away. You got to spread your wings, like me.” Amelia did not answer. Kelly sighed. “Fine. Any place around here where we can get a drink? We’ll toast our reunion and my guaranteed success at the tournament.” “There is a bar close by. The bartender is a weird blind guy, but he makes a good gin and tonic. Do you really think you are going to win?” she asked as she walked to the door. “I am going to try, but the sure money is on the side bets that Ken will be making.” “Side bets?” She opened the door to the hallway. “That I win the hand. Those odds are always going to be long, so I don’t even have to win the tournament to pay back all my loans and get enough money to buy my house.” She followed Amelia out of the apartment. “You’re going to buy a house?” Amelia closed and locked her door. “Yeah, got my eye on one in a nice neighbourhood.” “I hope you get it. Oh, in case you need some computer help, my card.” Amelia produced a plain, white business card from her pants pocket. Kelly took it. “Emily Black? Why did you change your first name?” “There might be some people from college who would look for Amelia Black. No one is ever going to look for Emily Black.” Chapter 4 - An Outing With 'Daddy' Kelly was startled out of her thoughts when Steven asked, “You looked over those files from the FTP site?” Kelly took a sip of her gin and tonic. Almost as good as the ones that blind bartender close to Amelia’s place made. “I did.” “What do you think?” “I’ve seen Izzy play before. He’s not as good as he thinks he is, and he pays to play in tournaments like this so he can be around great players. He’ll be the first one out.” “That is what the bookies think.” She nodded. “Lyle Redmond is good, but not as good as he thinks he is, and I am pretty certain he is never going to consider me a threat, even if I were to win every hand. He won’t believe that I can bluff him and he’ll assume he can always bluff me. A man more dismissive of littles I don’t think I have ever seen.” “Be careful around him. Apparently, he is thinking of adding another little girl to his nursery.” “Some people want big families I guess, but I’m not worried, Daddy. You’ll be there to protect me.” “Daddy?” He sounded shocked. Kelly looked over at him. “That’s part of Ken’s job, to make a pretence of being in loco parentis.” “I’ll have someone else take care of that. While you are playing, we don’t know each other.” She was a little surprised but said, “Fine.” “Continue.” “No idea about Charles Wright, he is sort of an unknown. Even the stuff you gave me did not tell me anything.” “What does that mean?” Kelly had thought about it. “He’s either an unknown ringer or he is someone who’s been prepped for this, in hopes he will be good enough. If the former he is a threat and if the later I expect him to drop out soon.” “When will you know?” “First few hands probably.” “And Conrad?” “I don’t know if I can beat him.” “The entire purpose of you being here is to beat him.” “I know, but he’s good. I watched those videos you sent me and was never able to tell when he was bluffing. It might be better if I am in the same room as him, but I think it will come down to skill and maybe a little luck.” “I don’t like counting on luck.” “And yet you sought out me.” He frowned, then shook his head. “You’re skilled, and you are unexpected. Those will be of benefit. That is why I brought you into this.” “I plan to win,” she told him. “I’m glad otherwise I’d have to find someone else.” They talked a while longer about the four players they knew, but it was a conversation quickly exhausted. Afterwards, it was just polite, filler conversation, and little of that. Steven started flirting with the attendant, and she was quick to start flirting back. Kelly slept for a bit, in her reclined chair, and when she woke she saw Steven was gone. Soft moans from the back of the plane suggested where he and the attendant were. She squirmed for a bit, picturing what was happening. She almost got up to go and peep but decided against it. It would just arouse her all the more with no option of release. So she closed her eyes and went back to sleep. Monaco was hot and wealthy. Almost everyone in the city was a giant, the few littles that Kelly saw were being treated like babies. She had never been in such a city, the Cartes D'or Petites had been held in Montpellier farther along the coast. They passed quickly through customs and outside the small airport a giant scaled, silver sports car awaited them. There was a booster seat in the passenger seat, and Steven lifted her up and put her into it. “We’re not going to do anything that would attract attention,” he told her before she could object. Then they were driving into the city proper. It was still early morning, though late night back home, and Steven drove them right to the hotel and casino. They checked in and were shown to their suite. “Would you like a crib brought in sir?” the bellhop asked Steven. “No, that won’t be necessary.” “Very good,” he said, and then left after Steven had tipped him. “Get some rest, we’re going shopping this afternoon.” “Right,” Kelly said. She saw Steven’s room, larger, with a king-sized bed. She did not begrudge him as he was a big man. Her room in the suite was smaller, but not by much, with a twin sized giant scale bed that would be more than big enough. The lack of a step stool meant she had to use one of the chairs to get up on the bed. The mattress was amazingly comfortable. So comfortable she slid back down to the floor and slipped the sheets aside so she could get a picture of the label. She would look into buying one when she got home. A useful thing to do with all her winnings. While she was doing that she had heard a knock on the door and then the sound of Steven letting someone in. She had just finished taking the pictures when a maid came in and with an ‘excusez-moi’ stripped the bed of its sheets and then put a plastic protector on the mattress before remaking the bed. “There you go sweetheart,” she said in accented English before scooping Kelly up and putting her on the bed. “Now be careful not to fall off, or your papa will have to have a crib brought in.” She then ruffled her hand through Kelly’s hair before leaving the room. That was annoying, Kelly thought, glad that the plastic protective sheet did not rustle when she moved about. She considered for a moment removing it, just to make a point but making the large bed seemed like more of a chore than she wanted to undertake. Still on the bed she stripped down to her panties and then climbed under the sheets. She grabbed her phone and texted a message to Ken, letting him know where she was. Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep. Steven woke her around 1pm, knocking on her door. About thirty minutes later, after showering and brushing her teeth, she was ready to go in a pair of tan shorts and a green t-shirt, her hair combed back into a functional ponytail. Steven was dressed in a linen suit, clean shaven, painfully handsome. She smiled at him. He merely nodded and said, “Let’s go.” Not very talkative, she thought, but that seemed to be his way. If it was not about business, he did not engage in idle conversation. In the lobby, he checked with the concierge to see if there were any messages for him, and then to have his car brought around. The parking valet helped Kelly into the car as Steven got in, and then they were off. He pulled the car to the side of the road, just outside of the hotel. “Take this and keep it with you at all times,” he said, taking a key fob from his jacket pocket and giving it to her. “The keys to the car?” “Just to open the doors. It is not as if you could drive it.” Kelly did not know if he was being cruel or just pointing out the obvious. She nodded. “If you get in trouble, if you need help, just get in the car.” He pointed at the GPS screen set low on the dashboard. “Tap that twice, then press the red button that will appear and ask for help. Someone will be there to answer.” “A lot of support for someone who works for an import company.” He did not react to that, instead said, “Remember, I need you to blend is as much as possible. That will be hard enough for you playing in the tournament, but other than that I need to you look and behave like any other little in this city.” “I’ve seen a few littles in this city, and I don’t think much of that.” He shifted into drive and pulled away from the side of the road. “Part of the arrangement.” His tone told her that it was not open to negotiation. Again she supposed she could put up with a lot for five million dollars and the opportunity to play in the Cartes D'or Triomphantes. They drove into the city, old buildings and streets, to a stretch of shops with high fashion displayed in every window. Steven pulled the car into a small lot, then walked with Kelly back along that street to a store with windows filled with the dresses for children and littles, and in this city, Kelly thought, there was no real difference. “How can I help you?” one of the women asked Steven when they entered the shop, completely ignoring Kelly. “I need four party dresses for her. Conservative, in the latest fashions.” The woman looked down at Kelly for the first time. “Of course. What is the occasion?” “She’ll be interacting with adults in a formal event.” “Red would look nice with her skin tone and hair colour.” “I was thinking various shades of white.” “Of course.” No one was asking Kelly. Really, she wondered how those littles who chose to live as children or just were incapable of handling the adult world dealt with that sort of treatment. Well, she could put up with it for a short time. The woman helped her up onto a stand that was not quite as tall as Kelly herself, putting her at a manageable level for the giant to work with. The shop clerk brought out dresses, showing them to Steven and then holding them next to Kelly, commenting on how the colours flattered her. As they were all very childish, with empire waists and large bows in the back, Kelly would have chosen none of them, but after an hour Steven and the woman had picked out four. “I’ll need her measurements if we are to get these adjusted to her fit. And you’ll need them when?” “Tomorrow night, or the next day early.” She produced her smartphone and entered a few notes. “We can do that. It will be a little extra.” “That’s fine.” Kelly was tempted to ask if this was coming out of her five million but supposed that was the sort of question that would attract the attention Steven said he did not want. “Let me get her undressed and into a diaper so I can measure her.” “A dia…” she started to say, but she caught Steven’s hard glance, and the words were left unuttered. He asked, “Is that the current fashion?” The woman laughed good-naturedly. “Of course. No one would take a chance with such an expensive dress and a little or small child.” “As you say,” Steven told her with a smile. Kelly did not argue as the woman led her behind a folding privacy screen and then speedily and skillfully undressed her before Kelly even had time to suggest she could do it herself. Kelly tried not to act embarrassed, though she had a hard time not cross her hands over her small breasts. The woman was probably about eight feet tall, so she could not quite handle Kelly as if she were a toddler. She rolled out a changing pad and said, “Lie down honey.” Kelly did, the quilted plastic surface of the changing pad soft but a little cool. “Bottom up.” Kelly lifted her bottom so the woman could slide a diaper under her. She gently pushed Kelly down so her bottom settled into the thick padding, then spread her legs out so she could pull the diaper up around her. Kelly flushed a little at that. It was not that Kelly believed wearing a diaper made her a baby, or that she would be using one if it was put on her. As a little, diapers were sometimes demanded, and she rated them as just another impractical pair of panties, of the same kind but on the exact opposite scale as a thong. She had worn thongs before when the situation demanded, and the same with diapers. It just had been a long time one had been put on her as if she could not handle the relatively simple task herself. The woman fastened the tapes, then ran her fingers along the leg gathers, long fingernails gently grazing the skin of her thighs. “A perfect fit.” Then she pulled Kelly to her feet, patted her diapered bottom and then her head. Next came a white cotton vest that smoothed out her breasts a little, and a filly pair of bloomer diaper covers, which hid the shallow curve of her hips. So dressed she was led out from the privacy screen, with little concern that she was only in underwear (even though the underwear actually covered more of her than the shorts and t-shirt she had been wearing). No one really paid that much attention though, which she disliked more than the diaper and the bloomers. She was once more placed on the stand to be measured, and then the dresses that Steven had chosen were put on her, small chalk pencils used to mark where they needed to be taken in or let out. Steven had his phone out and took pictures of her in each dress. She suspected that she was blushing in each one. “We’ll need some casual clothing as well,” Steven said, “current styles, she can wear training pants with those.” “Are you sure?” the woman asked him. “Very.” “As you wish.” And there were more clothes brought out, though less attention was given to them than the dresses. Kelly left the shop wearing a white sailor style dress with black trim and a pair of thick cotton training panties under it. Everything else would be delivered to the hotel. “Do we really need all this?” “The tournament is broken up into two, five-hour games each day, with a four-hour break between each game,” he said. “Yes.” “Usually they end late on the second day, or the early the third day.” “Yes.” “So you’ll need at least three of the dresses, and everything else is a bit of a blind, though you’ll wear some of it before we are through here.” “I’m certainly not going to wear those twenty-five pairs of training panties she made you buy.” “One would hope.” She wondered if he doubted her. Was all it took was a little to put on a childish outfit for the giants to start questioning their ability to take care of themselves? She did not have much time to think about it for there was more shopping. Steven took her to a shoe store where he showed the clerk pictures of Kelly in the dresses and then got four pairs of shoes, all patent leather mary-janes with a small heel. The also picked up some other shoes to go with her more casual outfits, including the black leather t-strap ballet flats that she wore out of the shop; the clerk having enthused that they were the perfect thing for her sailor dress. Steven went to a shop where he picked up a tuxedo and two suits, with a lot less bother than it had taken for even one of her dresses. She wondered if male littles under care did better in the clothing situation. It was not something she had ever thought about before. In a small shop, he bought her two small handbags for her dresses and then he took her to a jewellery store where she almost forgave him. Three golden chokers and a pair of hair combs, tortoiseshell and edged in gold, were purchased for her. The chokers each had a small golden decoration on them, a heart on one, an angel on another and a star on a third. “Hold out your hand,” he said to her, kneeling down, so he was closer to her level. She held out her right hand. He captured it easily, her entire hand lost in his big one, and she felt him fasten something around her wrist. When he removed it, she saw a beautiful, gold wristwatch, the kind where you could see the movement of the action. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Just make sure you don’t take it off.” She was pretty sure he was telling her not to lose it and said, a little petulantly, “This is mine now.” He did not say anything for a moment, and then, “I think I heard that is one of the toddler rules of possession if they want it it is theirs.” Kelly blushed and found herself stammering as she said, “It’s just that…” He stood, cutting her off. “Let’s go.” She followed after him and for a moment felt as young as she was dressed. The shopping trip must have been finished for he took her out for dinner at a nice restaurant. She had to sit on a booster seat, and order from a child’s menu, which was designed not to give her any food which might make a mess. When they got back to the hotel room, he told her to go to bed. “Rest up, make sure you get over your jet lag.” “Okay.” Curious she asked. “What are you going to do?” He said nothing to her for a few seconds and then, with a smile, said, “That’s none of your concern to worry about.” Chapter 5 - In the City with Nanny Marie The next morning, as Kelly padded out of her room, wearing a t-shirt she had brought with her, rubbing at her eyes, she found Steven, well dressed, sitting out on the balcony, finishing off his coffee. “I’ve asked for a maid to serve as your companion for the duration of our stay.” Kelly climbed up into the chair opposite to him and kneeling on it, reached for the bacon and one of the croissants. “Why do I need a companion?” “To keep someone from snapping you up. As you said, in loco parentis.” Kelly chewed on the bacon and then asked. “Companion or nanny?” “There’s not a difference between them as far as a little is concerned.” “Really? You drag me all the way here and then act as if I am a mindless drooler?” He looked somewhat confused. “I’m not sure why you are upset.” “You’re not…” Well, of course, he was not sure. She sighed. “You’ve brought me here for an adult job, in so much as you are able to, would it kill you to think of me as an adult, and that maybe being told I need a nanny is a little insulting.” He stared at her as if she had done something shocking. “Mr Dorchess takes care of you.” “That’s different, he’s my bodyguard.” “And this woman will be serving a similar role.” “Ken doesn’t think he needs to change me!” Her tone got a little snappish. “And I am sure as long as you don’t wet your diapers this woman won’t think she needs to change you either.” He got up from the table. “Her name is Marie Frontè. She should be here in a few minutes,” he told Kelly as he walked to the door. “Listen to her, try not to attract too much attention.” Then he was gone. Kelly stared angrily at the door for a few seconds, then grabbed some more of the bacon and shoved it into her mouth, chewing it with gusto before stuffing the croissant in after it and reaching for the coffee decanter and cup. “Listen to her my ass,” she said through a mouth full of food. When she heard a knock at the door a few minutes and all the bacon later she got down from her chair and padded over to the door. The security lock was not latched, so she did not have to pull up a chair to unlock the door. A pretty giant stood there, with a smile on her face. “Hello Kelly,” she said in accented English. “I am Miss Frontè, and I will be your best friend while you are in Monaco. Won’t that be nice?” Kelly wondered about ‘best friend’ and almost asked her new bestie if she wanted to go and get drunk at the bar and then maybe go find a male strip club. Not that that was something Kelly did, but part of her wanted to shock the smiling Marie Frontè. However, recalling Steven’s instructions, she said, “Yes Miss Frontè.” “Good girl, now,” she entered the suite, shooing Kelly away from the door before she closed it. “Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for the day.” Kelly had been able to persuade Marie to let her shower on her own, but only if she promised not to lock the bathroom door. She would not be convinced to let Kelly chose her own outfit for the day. ‘You want to look fashionable don’t you?’ she had asked. ‘Just trust me, I am French, and therefore fashion is as natural as breathing.’ It was a stupid reason, but not one that Kelly could come up with an argument against. So she ended up in a pair of training panties, white tights, and an A-Line dress with a short skirt. The dress was pink, with a white peter pan collar and stripe that went down her front and another that crossed it just below her hips. She thought it looked like a pink version of the Swiss flag. Marie put a matching hat on her head and declared Kelly ‘comme il faut’. With the same ballet flats she had worn the day before Marie took her hand and led her from the room, promising her a day of fun and admonishing her to say something if she needed to use the potty. ‘Training pants are a big responsibility’ she told Kelly in all seriousness, in what Kelly had to admit was a cute accent. The day was spent being a tourist in Monaco, with Marie leading her from various attraction of interest, to public restroom, to attraction, to restroom, in a cycle that continued even though Kelly never used the restroom in those enforced visits and instead only when she asked to go. Asking to go was annoying. Being praised for it was even more annoying, cute French accent or no. They saw many things, beyond the inside of numerous public restrooms. There was the Oceanographic Museum, and the Opera House, and the Jardin Exotique, and the Saint Nicholas Cathedral where Marie had her place some flowers on the graves of Prince Rainier and Princess Grace. Other than minor flashes of annoyance when Marie dragged her off to a restroom, it was actually an enjoyable day. They arrived back at the room late in the afternoon to discover all the dresses had been delivered. “Excellent,” Marie said when she saw all the outfits hanging from the top bar of a luggage trolley that had been wheeled into the room. She walked over to them and looked at them in the clear, zippered, plastic bags they had been placed in. “Comment adorable.” She plucked a cream coloured dress from the rack. “We shall check these for fit, oui.” It was not a question, and Kelly had little choice as Marie escorted her into the bedroom. “We don’t need the diapers,” Kelly said as she saw Marie take one from a package that had been delivered with other things. “Don’t be silly Kelly. It is how they are worn. It is tres comme.” “But…” “Hush now,” Marie said as she tossed the diaper on the bed and then picked Kelly up and set her beside it. Kelly realised that those littles that proved themselves incapable of taking care of themselves (and she knew she was not in that camp at all) really would have little ability to resist once a giant took them under their care. She could try to fight off Marie, but she was pretty certain all she would do was annoy the tall woman. Marie looked like a slim model, but she was all dense muscle, and she easily handled Kelly as if she were a kitten. Kelly was stripped naked and left lying blushing on the bed as Marie went to hang the dress she had been wearing in the closet, checking the state of the training pants at the same time. She returned to the bed with a smile as she grabbed the diaper and shook it out, the plastic rustling and popping. Unlike the woman at the store, she did not ask Kelly to lift her bottom, but grabbed Kelly’s ankles and lifted her bottom from the bed so she could slide the diaper under her. Marie pushed her legs apart so she could draw the diaper front up between her legs to be fastened securely with tapes. A quick check to make sure the diaper was on correctly and then Marie pulled Kelly to her feet and put her on a chair. “Stand up tall, hands over your head,” she ordered as she then drew one of the vests down her body. Next with the frilly bloomers, pulled up her legs and over the diaper. Finally, the dress was put on her, the sash tied into a big bow at the back. Marie turned her then so she could look at herself in the vanity mirror. An adorable little girl stared back at her from the mirror. “I could eat you up you are so cute,” Marie said and placed a kiss on the top of her head. She then fussed with the dress a bit before declaring it a perfect fit. “Now for the next one,” she said happily as she carefully removed the first from Kelly. After the impromptu fashion show, Marie took Kelly down to the hotel’s restaurant for dinner, then back to her room where she put her to bed. “I was told you need to get some rest, so I want to promise me you’ll go to sleep,” Marie said. “I promise,” Kelly said. “Good girl,” the woman said and kissed her on the forehead. She smelled nice, Kelly thought. Then she was out of the room, turning the lights off behind her. Kelly heard her exit the room. She untaped the diaper she had been left in and tossed it into the trashcan, then found a pair of regular panties from her carry-on bag. She was going to actually sleep, it had been a busy day, and she still had a touch of jet lag, but she was not going to sleep in a diaper. Sprawling out on her bed Kelly closed her eyes and breathed slowly, in through her nose, out through her mouth, until she was asleep. Hours later a knocking on her door woke her. She sat up, fumbled for a t-shirt, and then went and opened the door. Steven stood out there. “Where have you been?” she asked. “I have some more information on the others in the tournament.” “Show me.” He set up a laptop on the coffee table, pulled a chair up close. The giant-sized table was low enough that Kelly could kneel and see the computer. Caroline Jay, tall amazon, had entered a few small tournaments, won a few, no real details on her. Otto Kruugen, short giant, almost an inbetweener, she had heard of him. Old man, had been playing for years. She watched some of the videos of him playing for nearly thirty minutes before Steven asked, “Well?” “Caroline is either some kind of ringer or out of her depth. Otto was good.” “Was?” “Old man, losing his edge. This might be his last hurrah. I couldn’t have beat him when he was in his prime, no one here could, but now… Kind of sad really.” “Don’t let sympathy interfere with the job I brought you in for.” “I won’t,” she retorted. “Otto has class, he doesn’t want sympathy. He is here for a good game. I’m going to give everyone at that table a good game.” Steven regarded her for several seconds, then nodded. “Good.” He stood. “Read over that, then go back to bed and get some more rest. Tomorrow this begins.” “I understand,” she told him with a nod. Chapter 6 - High Stakes, Low Chairs The next morning Marie took Kelly out to a beauty parlour, to get her hair done. She was worried that the beautician, who was not listening to Kelly at all, was going to cut her hair very short and put it up in little girl bunches. She had seen some other littles with the style of hair. However she got a trim instead and then her hair was worked on, layer cuts to give it volume, and curled just enough to give it bounce. And how it shone once she was done. It was, with the curls, a little juvenile, but not terribly so. She could live with it. And then she got a manicure and a pedicure, which were a pleasant way to top things off. Her nails had been filed in a round shape, with pale, pink polish put on them. That was also a little juvenile, but she thought it looked better than if they were left plain. Back at the hotel room, Marie helped her into the pale cream dress, with the flouncy skirt and the sash and bow of a cafe au lait colour. Of course, the diapers and the bloomers and the vest were the foundation of it all, but Kelly had gotten used to the idea she had to be comme il faut as Marie often said. Her new watch and a choker with the angel on it were added, for a touch of colour, but Marie would not let her wear the hair combs. A pair of black mary janes finished off the outfit, and Marie handed her the small leather clutch purse that held everything she needed. “Are you ready?” Marie asked. She sounded nervous. Kelly smiled. “I am. Let’s go.” She was not nervous, she was anxious, like it was Christmas morning and there was a tree surrounded by presents awaiting her. Marie added one more accessory to her own outfit, a fancy looking bag that for all its designer roots was obviously a diaper bag. On their way to the casino, several people gushed over the pretty little, commenting Marie on her pretty little daughter. Marie did not correct them, but a wink she gave to Kelly said she was playing. They crossed through the casino, attracting less attention because most people were focused on their games, and entered a small, side venue. A man in a black tuxedo stood guard there, as it were. “Can I help you?” he asked Marie. Marie gave Kelly and unneeded nudge forward. Kelly opened her clutch and took out the invitation and the receipt that showed a deposit of the entry stake into the casino’s account. The man looked at the invitation and receipt for a moment, then placed them on the small lectern he stood behind and reached for his phone. He spoke to someone in rapid French that Kelly could not understand. Marie leaned close and whispered into Kelly’s ear, “He is making sure the ticket was not stolen.” “I don’t think I would be brazen enough to come here with a stolen ticket,” she told Marie, though she had no idea how Steven had gotten that ticket. The man put the phone down. “Welcome to the Cartes D'or Triomphantes Miss Fortuna. This way please.” He led her and Marie pass the barrier of velvet ropes into a small room, dominated by a bar and several card tables, only one of which was being used. Three men sat around it. She recognised them all. Otto, Izzy and Charles. “Gentlemen, May I introduce you to Miss Fortuna,” he paused and added, “the little. She will be playing with you.” All three men looked surprised for a moment, but Otto and Izzy seemed to recover faster. “Miss Fortuna, your fellow players, are Izzy Aster, Charles Wright and Otto Kruugen.” “I’m pleased to meet you,” she said and found herself curtseying for lack of a better response. All three stood as the man pulled out a chair, took a booster seat from a bellhop who had appeared at his elbow, placed the booster seat on the chair and then helped Kelly up into her chair as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do as a poker tournament. Izzy and the others sat once more. “This seems a little odd,” Charles said. He had a nasal voice, wore a white tuxedo jacket like the other men, though not as well as the other two. “Well, I’m not sure of that,” Izzy said as he sat back in his chair and picked up a glass of an amber liquid from the table in front of him. “Think I’ve heard of this Miss Fortuna before and figure she’s got as much right to be here if she’s paid up.” He spoke with a drawl and punctuated his statement by drawing a finger across a thick eyebrow. “I saw you play at the Cartes D'or Petites, was it four years ago?” Otto asked. “I recall thinking that if you were a more mature player, you would have won.” “Why thank you Mr Kruugen, and I hope to perform better.” “Please, call me Otto, if I might call you Kelly.” “Thank you, Otto.” Neither of the other men asked to be on a first name basis with her, but they regarded her as if she were more than just a child. None of them, not even Otto, were taking her serious yet. An attendant approached. “Would you like something to drink Miss Fortuna?” “I would like…” “Non, non,” Marie said, stepping forward. “Nothing to drink Kelly,” she said, sounding stern and unyielding. The three men laughed, though Otto at least tried to cover it up a little. Kelly felt her face grow warm, but she took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course Miss Frontè.” Marie moved back to the bar, taking a seat on a stool where she could watch. Kelly noted, sourly, that Marie ordered a drink for herself. Do as I say, not as I do. She had hated that kind of thing when she had been a little girl. The man in the black tuxedo approached them, with him was Caroline Jay. She was dressed in a red cocktail dress, wearing stiletto heels that made her taller than her escort by a few inches. Red hair, red dress, black heels with a red sole and smoke coloured stockings. Kelly had never managed to fill out her one cocktail dresses like that and decided that she would start to hate Caroline now. The three men stood. Kelly, being a woman, was not required to, which was good as getting down from the booster seat in the dress she was in would have been almost certainly embarrassing. “Gentleman, lady, Caroline Jay. Miss Jay, Otto Kruugen, Charles Wright, Izzy Aster and Kelly Fortuna.” Caroline offered polite handshakes to all the men first, then bent slightly to offer a hand to Kelly from across the table as the man in the black tuxedo slid her chair in for her. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, a puzzled expression on her face as if she was trying to figure out a joke. “Thank you, Miss Jay,” Kelly said, a fake smile plastered on her face. Lyle Redmond was the next to enter and to be introduced. “I was planning on arriving a little later, but then I head a most peculiar story,” he said as he took his seat (no one had stood for him as he was a gentleman). “And here she is, a little, sitting here ready to play.” He smiled at her. “You know this is not a card matching game don’t you sweetie?” Okay, she hated Caroline less now. She only had so much hate inside her, and now most of it was being directed at him. “Miss Fortuna if you please, Mr Redmond,” she said, as if she were not seated on a booster seat. “And I believe that I am aware of the rules, but if I have any questions, I am glad I have an expert to ask.” Lyle actually smiled, looking a little smug as he took the compliment for himself. She looked down the table. “I am sure Otto will help me if I need it.” Lyle frowned, not appreciating the implied insult. “Oh, I am sure I won’t need to explain the rules to the young woman who plays as well as you do Kelly.” Lyle’s frowned deepened, as if he was somehow offended that she and Otto were on a first name basis. Conrad Revel was the last to come in, a few minutes before the game was to start. Short black hair, slicked back, a nose just a little too small for his face for him to be handsome. He was introduced, offered his hand to both Caroline and Kelly, though he was just as perplexed as most of them by her presence. A moment after he was seated and had been served a drink a tall, bald giant approached them. He wore black pants and a white shirt, tightly buttoned at his wrists, narrow black bands cinching his shirt sleeves in about mid-forearm. He clicked his heels sharply together and bowed. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Andre Fulover, your dealer, unless there are any concerns?” No one voiced any. He took a step forward to stand behind the chair he would be occupying. “We are playing seven card stud poker, standard rules, house limit on betting will stand, unless those players involved all ask that it be suspended. Are there any questions?” No one had any. “As we have a little at the table I must ask if she is properly attired.” He did not look at Kelly. “She is,” Marie said. “Very good, then…” “I think I would like to verify that. I could check,” Lyle said, shifting as if to get out of his seat. However Marie was there before he could even start to stand. “No need Mr Redmond.” She then picked Kelly out of the seat, turned her, so her back as to the table, and then before Kelly could even think of doing anything her skirt had been lifted, and the bloomers pulled down, likely revealing the white plastic of the disposable to everyone. “Well I am satisfied,” Lyle Redmond said. There was laughter around the table, and Kelly felt her cheeks grow how. Marie straightened her clothing out and then set Kelly back down in her booster seat. To the table and to Lyle, in particular, she said, “Please respect my professionalism in matters of child and little care.” Then with a sniff, she returned to the bar. Kelly took a few deep breaths to calm herself down and wondered if she could ask that they respect her dignity. “Well, I guess we’ve been told,” Lyle said with another laugh. The dealer nodded in thanks to Marie and then to the table said, “While in deference to littles and the length of the game a wet diaper will be ignored, this is a civilised game, and none wish to be inconvenienced by a messy accident. If that is to happen Miss Fortuna will forfeit her place in this game and her stake.” “Wait? What? What if any of the other players mess their pants?” Kelly demanded. The dealer looked shocked. “Miss Fortuna, as I said this is a civilised game, I will not hear talk like that.” Marie was once more at Kelly side. “She of course apologises, don’t you Kelly?” The last thing Kelly wanted to do is apologise, but that is what she did. “I am sorry for my language and insinuation of lack of control amongst my respected opponents.” “And I will see her properly punished later,” Marie said. “What?” Kelly asked. “Very well,” the dealer said as he pulled his chair out and took a seat. “Let’s begin.” Kelly watched at Mr Fulover dealt out the cards on the table. Meant for giants, each card was more than twice the size of her hand. She was glad they were laid out in front of her. It would prove difficult for her to hold them. Kelly took the first three hands and suspected the Ken had cleaned up as he would have started betting high on the first few hands. The first two pots had been small, her face up cards good enough the others players had folded early. The third one ended up with just her and Lyle Redmond, as she had suspected, he was disadvantaged when it was just him against her. He called what he thought was a bluff on her part and raised as high as the table limit would allow. She guessed he expected the little girl to fold when faced with his confidence. She called and raised again, suggested that perhaps they up the table limit. He refused, likely because she had suggested it. If she had just been a little patient, he might have asked for the increase in the table limits, and she could have taken him for a lot more. Three hands in and she was up two million. All the people around the table were looking at her with more respect, perhaps, but all of them, especially Lyle, looked as if they were trying to figure out how a magician had done the trick. As if my winning is an illusion, she thought angrily to herself. The game continued, she won and lost, won a little more than she had expected, but the game was far from over. Then, about two and half hours in, after they ended a hand that Otto took, the dealer said they would break for thirty minutes. Kelly stretched in her chair, thinking a break would be nice. Marie was there, helping out of the chair, and then to Kelly surprise, she was turned about, her skirt lifted, and Marie delivered five smacks to her diapered bottom. She then turned Kelly around again to face the dealer and said, “Apologise for your bad behaviour earlier.” It was more surprising and embarrassing than it was painful, but she felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. When Marie had said that she would be punished Kelly had assumed she had been joking or lying, but that spanking made it clear the maid/nanny was pretty serious about it. Kelly did as she was told. “I’m sorry.” The dealer smiled. “I appreciate your apology, I am sure we won’t have any more trouble.” Kelly could see people around them smiling, as if what had just happened was perfectly sensible. The dealer went off to wherever dealers took their breaks, and the other players drifted towards the bar. Kelly found herself being led by the hand to a nearby private washroom. “I’m sorry I had to punish you like that,” Marie said, “but you should remember to be polite and follow the rules. You do not want them dismissing you from the tournament do you?” Kelly shook her head. “No.” “Good. Now, let’s get you undressed.” “Undr…” was all she had the time to say before Marie loosened the bow at the back of the dress, raised her arms with a quick swipe, and then pulled the dress off of her. Then the bloomers and diapers went, and she was sat on a small toilet. “Alright, try to pee or poop if you can.” Kelly flushed again, this time she was sure her whole body was red. “Can you not watch me?” Marie made a clucking sound but turned away from Kelly to give her some privacy as she went to lay out a fresh diaper on the change table. Kelly managed to pee a little after a few minutes of embarrassment and Marie quickly had her in a new diaper, congratulating her on using the potty like a big girl. As she was dressed again, Kelly said, “I just won eight million euros.” “I know,” Marie said as she brushed out Kelly’s hair, making it neat once more. “But you congratulated me on using the toilet,” Kelly said, wondering if the woman might see how ridiculous it was. Marie smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re such a smart little girl, keeping dry and playing cards so well.” Apparently recognising the ridiculousness of the situation a little might find themselves in was a weak point for giants. From the diaper bag, she brought out a sippy-cup and a bottle of water. She poured about half the water into the cup and then offered it to Kelly. “Really?” Kelly asked. “I don’t want you to spill anything on your dress.” Thirsty, Kelly took the cup, though she rolled her eyes as she drank. Marie escorted her back to the table in time for the next hand. Another two and a half hours and Kelly was still eight million ahead, the last half of the game stagnating for her with her wins and losses being about even. The dealer called a four-hour break. Kelly found herself back in the hotel room, undressed and put to bed for a nap before the next round started. Kelly was beginning to think that she might have made a mistake agreeing to help Steven, if this was the way she was going to be treated. There was a knock at her door, Steven’s voice, “Are you awake.” She got up, remembered she was still in the diaper that Marie had put her to bed in. She grabbed the familiar t-shirt and pulled it on, glad it was long enough to hang down over the infantile underwear, then went to the door and opened it. “Where have you been?” Kelly asked. “That’s none of your concern,” he told her, not unkindly. “I need to know what your assessment of the other players is.” Of course, he needed her to tell him. She was the expert, and it did not matter if she was wearing a diaper, or had been spanked, she was a grown woman brought here to do a grown woman’s job. They sat at the table and Kelly gave him a quick rundown. “Charles and Caroline both come across as technically skilled, but they don’t have to feel for the game.” “What do you think that means?” “I think they both have been recently taught high-level skills by people who know what they are doing, but you can’t teach the gut level of understanding. They are not going to be able to hold on for long.” “Any idea who might have taught them?” Kelly shook her head. Steven looked a little disappointed, which bothered Kelly more than she would have thought. “What about the others?” “Izzy is no different from usual. I expect him to be out of the game tomorrow at the latest. Otto is good, but, he’s worn out.” She felt bad saying it. “I don’t think he can keep it up for more than another set or two. “As for Lyle, he’s better than I thought. He might hang on to the end. One on one I could beat him easily.” “And Revel?” “Nothing has changed in my opinion on him. He’s good. I can probably beat him.” “Anything else?” Kelly frowned. “What do you mean?” “Is there anything else you have noticed.” “Like what?” Again, a flash of disappointment. “Never mind, you’re supposed to be napping now, why don’t you go back to bed.” Just like that, he was dismissing her. “What was I supposed to notice?” He looked at her for several seconds, then shook his head. “No time to teach you. Go and get some rest. You’re here to win, getting tired or worried won’t help with that.” She wanted to argue, but he stood and walked away, leaving her sitting alone on the couch. “Damn,” she said softly, then sighed and went back to her bedroom. A short nap would do her some good. Chapter 7 - A Snake Uses Poison Four hours after the last hand of the first round had been played Kelly was seated at the table again, getting a new hand dealt out to her. She won four times in a row, small pots, but it put her up to nine million. Then Otto and And Conrad went back and forth for a few hands before Lyle Redmond took a big pot. Then Caroline won the largest pot of the night with three queens, and Kelly realised she had better not discount the other woman’s technical skills or her luck. The hands came and went, the better players moving ahead or at least staying even while the less able players had their stakes slowly bled away. The second round ended and Kelly felt exhausted. A bit of jet lag and a lot of demanding poker. She was glad to see she was not the only one looking tired. Marie took her up to her room, got her undressed and cleaned up, and then put to bed, in a pair of the training panties rather than a diaper. She was tired, and her head was full of games she had played. Things she should have done and things she should not have. Everything the others players had done, how they had looked when they did it. She fell asleep to dreams where she was playing poker, and the stakes were the players’ ages, where going bust meant returning to infancy. She woke to the sound of soft voices in the suite. One was Steven’s, the other, female, sounded familiar. There were only a few words that she could make out, but the conversation was intimate, private. She heard them go into Steven’s room. The soundproofing between the suite’s room was a little lacking, and she heard the sounds of soft feminine gasps and of the bed shifting under the weight of two. Kelly told herself just to pull the pillow over her head, but she was also encouraging herself to sneak out of the room and peak in on Steven and his partner. She wondered what Steven looked like naked. She knew he would be all hard muscle. What about skin? Did he have any scars? What would they feel like under her fingers? She imagined the two spotting her, inviting her to join them. The complexities of little/big physical relationships were smoothed over by the rules of fantasy. Her hands slid into the waistband of her thick panties, and she turned over in the bed, moving slowly, glad her slight weight did not make the mattress move too much. Face pressed into the pillow to muffle her own soft cries, bottom pushed into the air with her hands in her panties, she brought herself to orgasm twice, an unknown participant with Steven and his partner. She finally fell asleep, spent, though the sound of Steven and the woman were still in her ears. Her dreams took on a far more welcome more erotic cast. In spite of her dreams, Kelly has slept well and woke refreshed to a gentle shaking. Marie was sitting on the side of her bed, hand on her shoulder. “Bonjour,” she said with a smile. Kelly rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands and mumbled a sleepy, “Good morning.” “Time to get up,” Marie said with a laugh as she pulled back the covers and the with growing familiarity grabbed the waistband of Kelly’s panties and yanked them off. “Hey,” Kelly said, more surprised at the moment than angry. It was only as she saw Marie looking closely at the thick cotton garment that she remembered her late night, erotic activities. Of course, any giant finding a damp undergarment on a little would take an interest. “That… it’s not…” Marie looked at her and smiled. “Don’t be worried. I know some older littles get a special enjoyment out of their padding.” Kelly was about to object, but she could not bring herself to say that she had been listening to the activities in the other room and masturbating while fantasising being involved in a threesome. And she was still too sleepy to come up with a good lie. With a smile, Marie dropped the incriminating undergarment into the room’s laundry hamper and then came back to the bed, swept Kelly up off of it, swung her about and then placed her on the floor. “Come along, let’s get you cleaned up.” She hustled the naked little out of the bedroom into the suite’s main room. Kelly almost fell in the resisting, worried Steven, and even worse, his night guest, might be there, and Marie caught her up and pushed her along. The room beyond was empty, and relief made Kelly relax for a few seconds. Long enough for Marie to get her into the bathroom and on the toilet. It had been a long night, and she had to go, which earned her more praise from Marie. Marie let her shower on her own, after putting a shower cap over her head, as if she could not be trusted to remember. Well, to be fair to the giant, Kelly usually did not have professionally styled hair to care for, so she might have not worried about it. Marie had picked out an outfit, pink voluminous shorts with wide suspenders and a white blouse. They went down to the hotel restaurant where Marie ordered her a late breakfast—Kelly was disappointed she did not get any bacon, but the fruit and yoghurt were good. Then they had an appointment at the small beauty parlour in the hotel. Kelly was not in the chair long, all the beautician did there was restyle her hair, changing it slightly and making it completely neat, and her nails got a little buffing and colour touchups. Back to the room, Marie helped her get dressed, starting of course with the diaper. After she had that on her, she helped Kelly off the bed and to the floor, then gave her a gentle pat and rub on the back of her diaper before going to get the rest of the clothing ready. The dress was a warm, pale shade of yellow, and Marie put the hair combs into Kelly's hair, completing the effect the beautician had started. “Comme il faut.” Marie said with a smile as she clasped the choker with the star around Kelly’s slim neck. “Let’s go,” Marie said as she picked up the diaper bag. The second day of the tournament began without introductions. It also began with a realisation of who Steven had been with. Caroline, dressed in a smart, sophisticated pants suit, greeted the fellow players and Kelly knew she had been with Steven the night before. There was a moment of an erotic thrill as her fantasy from the night before had an identity for the giant female, but that was washed away with confusion almost immediately. (Which was fortunate because she did not need to have Marie to find her in an arousal dampened diaper) Why had Steven been with the woman? Weren’t she and Steven in this together? Was he trying to find out something about one of the other players? If so why hadn’t he told her? Was he looking for a new partner? Had she not played well enough the day before? Well, she would show him that that was a mistake. Confusion was easily forged into anger, and anger honed into razor-sharp determination. She was focused, she made no mistakes, and she played her cards and the others players as well. She would fold sooner than she needed to, or hold off, bet lower or higher. It had an effect on the others players, and they did not even recognise it, at first. Otto and then Conrad caught on after the first hour. Lyle and Izzy seemed to catch on but had not yet pinpointed what was causing the change in the game after the second hour. Kelly was not winning every hand, but she was pulling ahead of everyone else. There was a short break while a new deck was put in play. She looked at the other players, a few of them had stepped away from the table. Lyle and Caroline were speaking, Otto was talking to one of the servers and Conrad speaking to one of the spectators. Kelly looked around, returned a wave from Marie, but she did not see Steven. Was he not watching at all? Did he not see her dominate the game? Annoying. The dealer called the players back, and a new hand was dealt out. They played a few more hands, Kelly won them all, before the dealer called for a thirty-minute break. Kelly looked around, expecting that Marie would be at her side, ready to rush her off to the bathroom, as if she was only seconds from losing control. But the maid/nanny was nowhere around. She got down from her seat, stretched out a little. Playing so focused was exhausting and not much fun, but she had decided it was how she was going to play. “I am quite impressed.” She turned, looked up. Standing there was Conrad. “Thank you.” “I must apologise,” he said to her. “I was somewhat dismissive of you when I saw you would be playing.” Kelly was aware but she said, “You were polite enough not to say anything.” “Have a drink with me,” he said suddenly. “We’ll drink to each other’s skill.” “Well, maybe…” “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put you at odds with your nanny.” “She’s just a maid,” Kelly said, “and I would love to toast to your skill.” And why should she not have a drink? Lyle went to the bar, came back with two small tumblers. He presented one to her. “It’s top-shelf stuff, just enough for a taste. Neither of us wants to dull our game.” “Of course.” She took the tumbler her offered, the one with less liquor in it. That was fair, she had less body mass. Kneeling her held out his glass and said, “To skilled players who challenge us.” “To skilled players,” she replied, and they tapped their glasses together. She drank. It was like warm honey and fire. “I’ll have to get a bottle of this stuff later,” Kelly said, looking at the empty glass as if she wished there were more. “I’ll buy you one at the end of the game.” She knew she was there to make this man lose, but she did not know why, and she saw no reason not to be polite. “Thank you.” “Come for a walk with me. A little fresh air to clear our heads.” Kelly nodded and smiled. “Please.” Finally, someone treating her as a skilled player and not as if she were some sort of clever, trained animal. She grabbed the clutch she had brought with her, taking a moment to pull out her phone and check it. She set the alarm just so she would have ten minutes warning before the game was to restart. As they stepped out the glass doors, into a balcony overlooking the garden, Conrad said, “Would you like to look at the ocean? That path circles the parking lot and comes out at a lookout point.” “Thank you, that sounds nice.” They walked along the path, Conrad taking slower, smaller strides so she did not have to run. They talked about the game, or hands that had come up and other games they had played. After several minutes they came out on the high lookout point where below them stretched cliffs and parts of the city and the ocean. Kelly stepped up on a raised platform so she could lean out over the rail and into the ocean breeze. “This is beautiful,” she said. “Yes, it is. You present a very fetching picture yourself, quite adorable.” She decided to take that as a compliment and said, “Thank you, Mr Revel.” He walked up the railing, close to where she stood. “You play very well, for a little,” he told her. That she decided to not take as a compliment. “I play very well period.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I would ask that you drop out of the tournament. This is not something you should deal with.” “I am afraid I am going to have to say no.” He sighed, looked at his watch. “I was afraid of that. I did wish to spare you some embarrassment.” “I don’t think I am the one who needs to be worried about being embarrassed about losing.” He smiled and reached into his jacket, pulled out a glass vial with a light blue liquid in it. He looked at it for a second, then hurled it out into the air, over the railing. “What was that?” Kelly asked him. “A counter agent Miss Fortuna. You’ll excuse me now.” He turned and walked away, long, fast strides that set a pace that Kelly would have a hard time matching. “Counter agent for what?” she called after him. Then she felt her stomach cramp, and she almost fell to her knees from the pain of it. Her eyes widened. Had he poisoned her? Was she going to die? Her insides cramped again, and she felt a pressure growing in her bottom. Was she going to mess herself? If that happened, if she could not get cleaned up fast enough, it might get her kicked out of the tournament. She opened her clutch, she could call someone for help. Another cramp made her gasp. Could anyone get there in time? She did not have Marie’s number. She could call the hotel, see if they could put her in contact. She moaned with the pain. If any time she needed a nanny it was now dammit. There was something else in the clutch, besides the phone. A key fob. Her head snapped up. They had circled the parking lot, were close to it. There! Steven’s silver sports car. She ran towards it, breathing heavily from the pain in her stomach, one of her hands was pressed against her diapered bottom as if that might stop the hot mess that was threatening to fill her seat. Close. She pressed the key fob. There was a beep. She heard the click of the doors unlocking. “Thank god,” she gasped. As if someone had considered the very possibility she was in, the passenger door had swung itself open, a small set of stairs had unfolded from the rocker panel. That was good because she was positive if she had had to jump up to try to grab the door handle or climb up into the car she would have messed herself. Lying on the seat, buttocks clamped tight, she reached for the GPS screen, tapped it twice, and then when it lit up tapped the red button. “Help,” she begged, near tears. “What is it Miss Fortuna?” someone asked male and calm. “I drank something,” she did not feel up to explaining the complete details, “I think I am going to shit myself.” There was a hiss, and a small tray opened from the dash. “There are several white syringes, get the green tipped one.” She looked into the tray, grabbed the pen-shaped device with the green tip. “Got it,” she said as another wave of pain hit her. “Put the green tip against your thigh and press down. It will go through clothing.” She pulled her skirt back and jammed the green tip down against her bloomers. It felt like she had been stung by a bee and she let out a small yelp of pain. “Good,” the person on the other end said. “Now take the two small white pads with wires on them and put them on bare skin over your tummy. Hurry, you’re almost done.” She did what she was told, pulling her skirt up, thankful for the empire waist that easily allowed her to get it above her stomach. The pads went on the bare skin of her stomach. “Done.” “Deep breath," the voice ordered her. She took one. A strange tingly feeling spread through her stomach, and twice she felt all the muscles in her abdomen twitch hard. The feeling that was going to poop went away so suddenly she was worried she had, but patting the back of her diaper and then slipping a hand into it revealed she was clean still. “That should take care of it,” the voice told her. “My stomach still hurts,” she said, more of a whine in her tone that she would have liked. “I can’t do anything about that. It will get a little better in a few minutes and I will let Mr Artimage know what happened so he can arrange to take care of you.” “Do you have to?” she asked. A soft chuckle. “Sorry Miss Fortuna.” “And I won’t…” “You don’t have to worry about messing yourself. In fact, you will probably be badly constipated for the next week or two. Sorry.” “Better than the alternative,” Kelly said, rubbing her aching stomach. “You had better get back to you game Miss Fortuna.” “Right!” she said up, groaned, and then climbed down from the car. She watched, impressed in spite of the pain, as the small stairs retracted back into the rock panel, closing up smoothly as if they were never there, and the door closed itself. A beep and flash of lights told her the car had locked itself. She put the key fob back in her clutch and ran as fast as her pained stomach would allow back to the casino. She passed through the doors just as her phone started beeping, warning that she had ten minutes to get back. Plenty of time to spare she thought, though it had seemed much longer. Before the feeling of relief could fully settle on her, she was snatched up and hugged tightly by a scared looking Marie. Rapid fire french, sounding equally concerned and relieved as Marie petted her and stroked her, looking for any sign of injury. Finally seeming to remember that Kelly did not speak French she said, “Oh, where did you go Kelly? I was so worried about you. I was called away and then delayed and…” Then sounding cross, she said, “You should not go anywhere on your own.” She heard someone say, thought it might have been Lyle Redmond, “I’m a big fan of harnesses when I am out and about with my girls.” “I’m okay Marie. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.” She did feel bad for the woman and remembered how not that long ago she had desperately needed her. Marie took a deep breath. “Let’s get you to the bathroom, we have little time.” She put Kelly back on her feet and grabbed her hand. “Now just a moment,” Conrad said. She looked towards him, that smiling face with his pudgy nose. “While I hate to embarrass her I would ask that the state of her diaper be checked. I thought I caught a whiff of something when she came in.” “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Marie growled. “This is the break, and I am taking her to the bathroom.” “Ah, I am sorry,” the man in the black tuxedo said. “However Miss Fortuna is in the play area, and the rules, well, they are the rules.” Marie muttered something softly, angrily that Kelly was certain was French swearing. Then she spun Kelly around, knelt down and pulled up her skirts, skimmed her bloomers down around her ankles, bent her forward slightly and pulled the back of her diaper away from her. “See. Perfectly clean.” Kelly wondered if the pain in her stomach might kill her before the humiliation of the current moment did. She heard the man step closer, then felt fingers on and in her diaper. “Clean as you say,” he announced. “Of course she is, of all the… as if I would not have…” she pulled the bloomers back in place and smoothed the skirt down. “Oh, there is no time to take you to the bathroom.” “I’ll be fine,” Kelly told her. “It’s okay. I really don’t have to go.” Marie had turned her back to face her, reached up and adjusted a hair comb. “Very well, but nothing to drink.” “That’s fine, I’m not very thirsty.” Her gaze sought out Conrad’s and when she saw him, she gave him a tight smile. She was pleased to see the look of discomfort on his face. Beating him had become very important to her because the momentary discomfort he felt was nothing compared to the churning in her own guts. Chapter 8 - A Gambler's Sorrow The second part of that round of play was not as good for Kelly as the earlier one had been. The pain in her stomach made it hard to focus. She did not lose anything, but the flow of the game changed, Lyle, Otto and Conrad all moving ahead, mostly to the detriment of Izzy, Charles and Caroline. She was relieved when the round finally ended, with both Caroline and Izzy likely to be knocked out in the next round. Kelly just wanted to curl up in her bed and hope the pain in her stomach would fade. “You look a little pale,” Marie told her, brushing a bit of her hair back from her forehead. “I’m just tired,” she said, unable to explain why she felt so bad. Marie nodded. “We’ll get you to your room and you can rest up.” Holding Kelly’s hand firmly she led the smaller woman back to the room. Steven was waiting. “I’m sorry…” Marie said. Steven held a hand up to silence her. “It is not your fault Miss Frontè. In fact, we both know who is at fault here.” He stared down at Kelly. Kelly was seized by the desire to hide behind Marie. It wasn’t fair. She had been poisoned and her stomach was killing her. She did not need Steven staring at her like that. “She’s already apologised,” Marie said, coming to Kelly’s defence. “I’m sure she has. Come back in an hour please. Kelly will apologise to you again then, and you can be certain she will mean it.” “Yes sir,” Marie said. She put a comforting hand on Kelly’s shoulder and then left. Steven went and sat down in the couch. She stood where she was, certain she was not being invited to sit. “Are you stupid?” he asked her. “I’m not stupid.” “Well, you acted like it. Conrad Revel is not your friend. You don’t take anything to drink from him, you don’t go anywhere with him. That is basic!” She flinched at the volume of his voice. “I’m here to gamble,” she said, trying to sound sure. “And if you had not gotten lucky, if you had not had the support you did, that would be over. You’d have been kicked out of the tournament. That would cost me a great deal of money, but it would have likely meant that Conrad would win.” He stood up and came to stand over her. “I will not let that happen,” he told her. “I’m sorry,” she told him, eyes prickling, “my stomach hurts. I just want to get some rest.” She was whining, almost crying, but her stomach hurt and Steven was so damn intimidating. Steven shook his head, returned the couch and sat. “I don’t know how to deal with children or littles,” he told her. “I deal with problems, I am a blunt instrument. I am afraid I am out of my depth trying to sort you out.” “Then what are you going to do?” Kelly asked softly. “Wait.” “What?” “Wait,” he said again. Kelly realised it was a command. She waited, put her hands on her stomach, hoping that would ease the pain. Sometime later, just a few minutes at most, someone knocked at the door. “I don’t know how to deal with you,” he told her as he stood, “but I found someone else who is good at this sort of thing.” He opened the door. Kelly turned to see Caroline Jay come in. The two embraced for a moment, then Steven stepped aside. “She’s all yours.” “What?” Kelly asked. “Caroline is working with me now. She will help get you sorted out.” “What?” Kelly asked again. “Everything you need is in the bathroom,” Steven told her. “What is happening?” Kelly asked, then moaned softly as her stomach cramped again. “I can’t win,” Caroline said. “Steven here has told me you can.” She looked doubtful. “She was dominating that table today, up until she was poisoned. She’ll come through.” “Okay,” Caroline said to Steven. “What is she doing here?” Kelly asked Steven. “She,” Caroline said, “is here to get a naughty little sorted out. And you will refer to me as Miss Jay from now on. Now come along.” She grabbed Kelly and marched her into the bedroom. Kelly threw a desperate look Steven’s way, but just met his stony gaze and knew no help would come from there. In Kelly's bedroom, Caroline stripped her down to the diaper. She was nowhere near as gentle as Marie but was careful of the clothing, and the dress was off her and hung up in short order. Caroline holding her hand, she was pulled into the bathroom where Caroline released her hand then turned on her. “I have babysat littles and spent several summers working in an Etiquette School. I know exactly how to deal with you and were you not needed I can assure you that you Kelly Fortuna are the exact sort of little I would demote back to diapers and her ABCs.” Kelly took a step back, but snake fast, Caroline grabbed her. She pulled her off balance and then across her lap as she sat down on the room’s toilet. With a quick motion, the tapes of her diaper were undone and it fell open under her. “You do not go with strangers.” Every word was punctuated by a crack of a slap across her butt. “You do not go with strangers,” she repeated and this time it was the backs of Kelly’s thighs that felt the sting of Caroline’s hand. “You do not take food or drink from strangers.” Again, her bottom was warmed. “You do not take food or drink from strangers.” The backs of her thighs were again slapped. Caroline continued those two lessons for a time. Long enough that Kelly, whose stomach still hurt, was crying uncontrollably and babbling apologies by the time Caroline seemed to tire of teaching the lesson about strangers. “If you’re Nanny is not around, stay where the tournament organisers can see you,” Caroline told her, then spanked her five times. “I’m sorry,” Kelly sobbed, just wanting the spanking and the humiliation and the pain in her guts to end. “Use your phone to call someone if your Nanny is not around.” Another five spanks. “I will, I will, please stop.” She felt so powerless across the Amazon’s lap. “Think about that poor woman, looking for you, not knowing what happened to you.” Caroline gave her six hard swats and Kelly was bawling. Then Caroline stood and lowered the spanked and naked little to the floor, the diaper falling away. Kelly tried her best to get control of herself, but for a time all she could do was stand there and cry. Caroline left her to sob as she went about with something else. By the time Kelly had enough control of herself to pay attention to what Caroline was doing the Amazon already had an enema bag with its hose set up and hanging from the curtain rod. Kelly shook her head, sniffed, and said, “No.” Caroline looked at her, perhaps a little bit of pity in her eyes. “Do you want your tummy to stop hurting?” Kelly nodded. “Then you are going to have to have this. Now, on your hands and knees, bum up in the air.” She wanted to refuse, she really did, but her stomach hurt so much. She did as she was told. As she knelt there on the cold tiles of the bathroom, she was reminded of the night before, when in a similar posture she had masturbated to the sound of Caroline and Steven making love. It made her giggle, though any desire to find humour in the situation was gone a moment later when the enema nozzle was pushed into her bottom and the flow started. If anything it was even more painful and she found herself sobbing as Caroline simply lectured her on her bad behaviour. And when the enema was completely administered and then expelled into the toilet Caroline patted her still hurting stomach and said. “Just three more.” “Three more?” Kelly cried. “Three more. And you’ll be getting at least one a day until your bowels get themselves sorted out.” She left Kelly sitting on the toilet as she went to prepare the second enema. “What have you learned?” she asked. Kelly sniffed. “Not to go anywhere with strangers, not to take food or drink from strangers and to stay with my nanny.” “Good girl. Now get on the floor, bum in the air.” The next two enemas were just as unpleasant as the first, but the last one, with various medications added to it, finally soothed her stomach, the pain finally leaving her. She was humiliated, exhausted and naked, but at least she was no longer in pain. Caroline put her facing one of the bathroom’s corners, the discarded diaper between her feet, in case she leaked. She heard Caroline moving about, cleaning things up and then heard her leave the room. Leaning forward she put her forehead against the cool tiles of the wall. She was glad she was not one of those littles who could not handle the adult world because she knew she could not handle their world. Outside she heard a knock on the door, footsteps, the door opening. “Kelly, come here,” she heard Steven call. She looked around, wondered if it would be okay to wrap a towel around herself. Somehow she did not think so. She walked from the bathroom. Marie was there, as was Steven. Caroline was nowhere to be seen. “Do you have something to say to Miss Frontè?” Kelly sniffed, feeling tears start in her eyes as she thought about how scared poor Marie had seemed when Kelly had come back. “I’m sorry Miss Frontè,” she cried, “I’m sorry, I won’t be naughty again.” Naughty? She supposed Caroline had used that word during the spanking, and now it jumped to her lips as if the most natural thing to say. “Please take care of her Miss Frontè. She’s had an enema, so make sure to get her cleaned up and rested.” “Yes sir,” she said to Steven. He left the room. Marie came forward and enfolded to still crying Kelly in her arms. “There there, I’m not mad at you, you’re a good girl, I know it.” After Steven coldness and Caroline’s punishments, Marie warmth was irresistible to Kelly who pushed her face into the larger woman’s side and sobbed. She was aware of being bathed, patted dry, and then carried to her bedroom where she was diapered without complaint. Marie sat down in one of the chairs, held Kelly tight in her arms, and sang softly in French. Her head pillowed on the amazon’s ample chest, Kelly fell asleep. Kelly stayed close to Marie when they returned to the casino. She tried to tell herself it was nothing, but the woman’s hand holding her did make her feel better. However, when she took her seat at the table, she was all business. She could not forget what had happened earlier. While the padding of the diaper cushioned her bottom, the unpadded backs of her thighs were tender against the surface of the booster seat. She wondered if Caroline was aware of that. The smile she offered as she sat suggested she might be. However, the sting on her thighs was a minor thing, nothing compared to the pain she had earlier dealt with. When the cards were dealt the sting faded from her mind. It was a hard game, everyone at their best. Kelly, Otto, Lyle and Conrad took most of the hands, small pots, larger pots, slowly draining away the stakes of the others. The round ended with Kelly taking a big pot with a full house, kings over twos. That took Caroline out of the game. Kelly gave her a smile, feeling as if she had gotten some of her own back. “That is it for this evening,” the dealer told them. Izzy looked up from his small pile of chips. “Looks like I’ll be in for one at least more hand tomorrow.” Kelly was confident that it would be only one hand unless he were going to ante and fold, but she figured Izzy would go out fighting. Charles Wright would not last much longer either. Then it would be the four best players. A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Let’s go,” Marie said. Kelly let Marie help her from the chair and lead her by hand through the casino towards the hotel. The earlier feeling of comfort she had derived from the woman’s presence had faded a little in the heady excitement of the card game and all her winning hands. Still, she felt glad enough for the hand that held hers. Steven was not in the room when they entered. Marie undressed her, Kelly had given up the attempt to help, and then took her to the bathroom. She was put in a fresh diaper before being put into the bed, and she felt too tired to argue and did not even know if she would be awake enough to take it off once Marie left. The day had been so exhausting. Marie did not leave immediately, but sat at the bedside, holding Kelly’s hand, singing softly in French once more. Kelly slept deeply, and if Steven and Caroline made love in his room again, Kelly did not wake. Chapter 9 - Winning but Sad In the morning Marie administered another enema to Kelly. It was not pleasant, but it was better than when Caroline had done it. Marie had her lie on her side, on some towels laid out on the floor, with a robe draped over her. And she gently patted Kelly’s head and rubbed her stomach, telling her it would be okay. A bath afterwards, then dressed in a set of rompers, Marie took Kelly down for breakfast. Kelly was in a diaper, just in case there was still a little bit of enema, Marie explained. It was an annoyingly enough valid concern that Kelly did not protest. “I don’t want this,” Kelly said, looking at the meal of bland cereal and yoghurt placed in front of her. “We want to give your tummy a chance to get better,” Maire said. “You don’t want that bug you picked up coming back.” Kelly agreed silently that she certainly did not want to be poisoned again. Marie smiled and picked up the spoon. “I can feed you if you want.” Kelly took the spoon from her and ate one of the most uninteresting meals she had ever had. “It’s like eating cardboard,” she said, somewhere halfway through the meal. “You’ve eaten cardboard?” “It is like I assume eating cardboard would be like.” Marie laughed softly and gave her hair a quick pat. “I so like taking care of you.” Kelly almost said that she liked having Marie take care of her, but it would be a lie. At least she thought it would be a lie. “I enjoy the time we spend together,” Kelly replied instead. Marie smiled, and Kelly wondered what the woman had heard in that statement. They went to the hairstylists again to get Kelly’s hair put right once more. There they discovered Caroline in one of the chairs, having the finishing touches put on her hairstyle. As she was helped into the chair by Marie, the maid/nanny said, “I’m sorry you lost Miss Jay. I’m sure Kelly is sorry as well.” Did she really believe that, or was this one of those deals where she was supposed to show good manners for the sake of good manners? Kelly said, “Yes, it was too bad.” The stylist tilted Kelly’s chair back so her hair could be rinsed. “It is the nature of these things,” she heard Caroline say to Marie. “You never play a game unless you can afford to lose.” The sound of rushing water kept her from hearing anything else they said, and she had to close her eyes against the shampoo. When her chair was straightened up, Caroline was gone. A trim, a rinse, drying and curling, it did not take too long before Kelly left the beauty parlour with Marie and returned to her room to get dressed. Marie chose the pale pink dress, with the red shoes. “You will look quite fierce in red my card playing warrior,” she said, dressing Kelly for the day. She did not let Kelly face the mirror as she put the combs in her hair again, and then applied a little makeup on her face. “There we go,” she finally said, and let Kelly see. After the last few days of seeing a cute little girl in the mirror Kelly was surprised to see, well, she still looked young, what with the dress, but something closer to a beautiful, not so little girl. “I want you to look fierce today,” Marie told her as she patted the combs into place. “This is fierce?” “Of course. Girls always look fierce when they are pretty.” Kelly smiled. “And is it,” she sounded the word carefully, “comme il faut?” “For any other little in the city? Non. But for my Jean d’Arc of the poker table, it is tres comme.” Kelly smiled for a moment, then frowned. “Didn’t they burn her?” “They would not have if I had been there,” Marie stated confidently. She laughed, and it felt good to laugh. Kelly would miss Marie when she left. But that was not today. Today Marie would hold her hand when she needed it, and Kelly would play poker. Otto knocked Izzy out of the game in the first hand. Six hands later Otto took the remainder of Charle’s stake, and he was out of the game as well. They took a short break to rearrange the table for the four remaining players. Lyle Redmond suggested a drink, to celebrate the winners to that point. Even if Caroline had not spanked the lesson into her Kelly would have refused to take a drink from him or at his instigation. She was kept from having to tell Lyle Redmond to ‘piss up a rope’ by Marie who brought a bottle of champagne from behind the bar and four glasses. “A celebratory drink is a wonderful idea,” she said and opened the bottle, a towel around the neck and a slow twist to avoid popping corks. She poured Kelly’s drink first. “Just a little,” she said with a smile, then filled the glasses of the other three. “Well then,” Lyle picked up his glass. “To the best players at the table, and of course Miss Fortuna.” Lyle and Conrad drank. Neither Otto nor Kelly did. “Something wrong?” the giant asked. He looked honestly confused. Kelly was about to say something, but Otto spoke first. “You are a boor, Mr Redmond. A churlish and insolent robber baron and were I ten years younger after I beat you in this game I would take you out back and thrash you.” He knocked his glass off the table. “However I am an old man.” He sat down in his chair. “I believe you will be beaten, though not by me, and even if you do win, I will make sure every casino along the coast knows you for the boor you are.” Several people applauded the old man’s words. Kelly did as well. She was saved from having to knock her glass off the table by Maire taking it away. Lyle looked around, looked both confused and angry at the way people reacted. “You’re fortunate you are an old man,” he said as he sat. “We will have politeness at this table,” the dealer told Lyle. “What? What about what he just said to me?” The dealer shrugged his shoulders. “The truth is always polite.” Then he dealt their next hand. Kelly believed with all her heart that Otto would be remembered for playing well, for the skilful hands in which he had defeated Izzy and Charles, for his speech in defence of a fellow player. He would not be remembered for winning this tournament. Kelly herself took him from the game, playing hard to make sure that was the case. She fought for it. And as the dealer declared him out of the game he reached out and put his hand on Kelly’s. “Thank you for a challenge my dear, and for giving me a worthy opponent to lose to.” Kelly felt tears in her eyes that for the first time in days had nothing to do with being treated like a child. “You’re welcome.” He smiled, took his hand off hers, then stood and bowed to the dealer. “I thank you for your skilled work, Monsieur Fulover, it was a pleasure to have a dealer so skilled.” Andre Fulover nodded but said nothing. Kelly supposed it was to maintain a semblance of neutrality. Otto then bowed to her. “Were skill and size matched you would stand a giant Miss Fortuna. I hope you might come and see me one day if you are willing to share stories with an old man.” Stupid tears, Kelly thought, but she smiled and nodded. “It would be an honour.” He nodded politely at Conrad and ignored Lyle as he turned and left. “We shall have a thirty-minute break,” the dealer announced. Marie took Kelly to the bathroom, and Kelly was glad enough to go because she wanted a few minutes to get her head together. She could have done without being undressed and put on the toilet by her maid/nanny, but Marie gave her some actual privacy. When Kelly returned to the table, she was ready to do. The seats had been switched about. She had the dealer on her right and Lyle and Conrad across from her. She smiled as she put a large, square, ten thousand Euro chip into the pot, next to the chips that Lyle and Corand had already anted. “Something amusing Miss Fortuna?” Conrad asked her. “No more friendly targets I have to worry about.” “Pardon?” She did not expand as the dealer dealt out their first two face down cards and their first face up. Kelly looked at the Queen of Spades that landed in front of her, smiled. Conrad got a Four of Clubs and Lyle had a King of Hearts. “Mr Redmond,” the dealer said. “Twenty thousand,” he said as he put two chips. And so the next part of the game started with only three players. Kelly played as well as she ever had, better really, because she was playing smart. She discovered a new source of, well, not fun, but satisfaction. It was not crazy bets and bluffs, but being focused on beating people she did not like. Who knew improving her game required playing with odious people? She moved ahead, a little bit at a time, taking equally from both Lyle and Conrad. Those two seemed to focus on one another, as if only the two men were at the table, though they forgot Kelly at their peril, because she was always there, ready to turn over a card, with a smile, and reveal she was the winner. Still, she suspected they would play their second round of the game that day, and perhaps tomorrow as well, for while she was ahead of them both, no one was close to going bust. Then something strange happened on the last hand of that round. Kelly folded on the fourth card the dealer dealt to her, giving up the sixty thousand she had put in the pot after Lyle had raised by eighty-thousand. She expected that Lyle would fold right after Conrad called and raised, as she was sure he would. Conrad had a pair of fours showing, while Lyle just had an ace and jack of hearts. Conrad pushed his chips into the pot, then raised by one hundred and sixty-thousand. Lyle didn’t fold. Lyle called. Conrad stayed. Another two cards were dealt out. Lyle got a six of spades and Conrad got another four. Conrad opened with forty-thousand. Lyle called and raised eighty-thousand. Raised into three fours. Kelly stared at his two face down cards. Was he actually drawing for a royal flush? Even if the two hole cards were the queen, king and/or ten of hearts it was a crazy play. It was the sort of thing she might do. As a bluff, it was only good if Conrad fell for it. And he never would. Conrad checked and raised one hundred and sixty-thousand. People were gathering, watching, feeling the tension that was building between the players. Lyle checked, and the next cards were dealt. A queen of clubs to Lyle and a nine of spades to Conrad. Conrad looked over at Lyle. “Shall we increase the table limits? Starting bet a million?” Kelly was not the only one who hissed in a breath of surprise. Fold you, idiot, Kelly thought, as much as she did not like Lyle, his continuing to play was just embarrassing. She knew in her heart that Conrad had four fours, and suspected Lyle, if he was lucky, might have three jacks or three aces. “Agreed,” Lyle said. Kelly suddenly wondered, as Conrad opened with a million euros and then Lyle matched and raised to three million, if all the people she had played with had thought her that much of an idiot, when she had bluffed blind in the hopes of getting the right card. Looking at it from the outside she suddenly thought of it as childish. And with that thought came the idea that maybe she was one of those littles that was not ready to grow up. Or at least had been, she quickly assured herself. She was snapped out of her thoughts by Lyle saying, “Call, raise to 15 million.” He had gone crazy. What had Amelia said once to her, too much thin air up there? Conrad looked perhaps a little uncertain as he checked. Lyle was getting to him. Insane bets were rattling the otherwise cool man. The dealer laid out the seventh and last cards. Lyle got a queen of hearts and Conrad a six of diamonds. Kelly knew what cards she had had in her hand when she folded. It was not impossible that Lyle just had picked up that royal flush. Unlikely, improbable, but not impossible. Still, she thought, were it her, if she was in Conrad’s place, she would fold. If it was a bluff, it was masterful. Conrad took a deep breath and, still showing the high hand, Pushed forty thousand into the pot. “Suspend table limits?” Lyle asked. It took Conrad a few seconds to say, “Agreed.” Lyle nodded, looked at a pile of chips, a few million dollars, then leaned back and said, “I am all in.” Silence for several long seconds. Kelly almost told Conrad to fold. Not that he would have listened. The dealer spoke at that moment, “That will take all you have Mr Revel.” Conrad nodded. “Agreed. All in.” People were leaning in around the table as Conrad turned up his two hole cards. A four and a three; the four of a kind Kelly had been certain he had. All attention turned to Lyle. Kelly believed he would turn up junk, and then with a deprecating smile and a shrug of the shoulders, he would excuse himself. It was what Kelly had done in similar situations. Lyle’s cards went face up, smoothly, together (smoother than she could have achieved with the big cards); The king and the ten of hearts. He had been bluffing right up to the end. Right until the queen of hearts had fallen into his hand. Shocked expressions, soft applause. Kyle leaned back in his chair, smiling, accepting the congratulations as for a moment people seemed to forget the dressing down he had received from Otto. Looking pained Conrad stood. “An excellent game,” he congratulated Lyle. “You played well,” Lyle told him, magnanimous in victory. It still sounded like an insult to Kelly’s ears. Conrad nodded once at Kelly, then turned and walked away, towards the bar. “We will meet again in four hours,” the dealer said. Lyle looked surprised for a moment. He actually forgot about me, or maybe he just thought that if only ‘the little’ were left they would declare him victor by default. He looked at her and nodded. “In four hours then.” Kelly nodded as well, feeling empty. Cheated. Marie got her at that point, to take her up to her room. She looked back at the deserted table, saw Lyle taking a seat beside Conrad at the bar. Was he offering more consolations or needling the man for loosing? “What is the matter?” Marie asked a few minutes later as they rode the elevator up to the room. “Nothing is the matter,” Kelly said softly. “No fibbing Kelly.” There was a mock sternness in her tone. Kelly laughed softly as the elevator doors opened and they walked towards the room. “I was just hoping for a better game.” “Are you sad that Mr, Kruugen lost?” She stopped in front of the room door. “Yes, but that’s not it.” Marie knelt down, gently straightened the combs in her hair. “Then what is?” She sighed. “Lyle is an idiot, and he is going to be no challenge.” “Kelly, that is rude,” Marie said, though she did not sound angry. Kelly shrugged her shoulders. “I know, but it’s true. He doesn’t even remember I am in the game half the time. How can he beat me?” Marie smiled and stood. “Don’t discount luck Kelly, and play him with all the seriousness you would want him to show you. I know you can be the better person.” She opened the door. Steven was in there. “Come back in about ten minutes Miss Frontè.” “Oui,” she said, and then after giving Kelly a gentle push into the room and a pat on the head, she closed the door. “Revel is out,” Steven said. Kelly walked into the room, took a seat on the couch. “Yes. You got what you wanted.” “I still want you to win.” “I will.” “You were not sure you could beat Conrad.” “Conrad at least could conceive that a little might beat him, Lyle Redmond is incapable of thinking anything like that. He has already lost.” She said it morosely, disappointment obvious. “No one is going to remember this tournament as the one where Kelly Fortuna won against a table full of giants. All they are going to remember is that some churlish robber baron played like an idiot.” “I hope you are right.” Steven stood and left her alone in the room, going wherever he went when out. Probably to have sex with Caroline. She sat on the couch, staring at her red shoes for several minutes before she heard a knock at the door and Marie’s voice, asking to come in. Kelly got up from the couch and opened the door for the Amazon. Maira undressed her, told her she should take a nap. “Can you hold me on your lap, like yesterday?” Kelly asked her. “Of course my petit Jean d’Arc,” she said and lifted Kelly into her lap, once more singing softly. Kelly placed her head against the woman’s chest and closed her eyes. Chapter 10 - A Gambler's Glum Revenge She sat down at a table, smaller than the one they had used earlier, directly across from Lyle, the dealer between them. Five hands in and she knew it was bad as she feared. She bluffed him, and he folded. She called his bluff, and he stayed in too long. She played better than him. The hands went faster with only the two of them. An hour in it seemed as if he was beginning to realise that he was not taking her seriously enough. His playing got better. Not good enough. After about two hours he was back where he had been when he had knocked Conrad from the game. The dealer called a break at the midway point. “Come on Kelly, let’s take you to the potty,” Marie said, helping her down from the chair. She as a little embarrassed at Marie’s words, but went without a complaint. When the game started again, Lyle was once more playing poorly. Was that all it had taken, Marie treating her like a small child to make him forget? And had Marie done it on purpose? She wondered if Marie had any money on the game. Lyle tried. She gave him that. He tried to get her to agree to go over the table limit. She politely refused most of the time, and when she agreed it was only when she was certain she would win. His chips diminished. Several times she had to force herself to not try and take him out in one, grandiose play. At one point she was certain she could draw an ace five straight, and the thought that she could win on one, like she had back at the bar several days before, almost made her go wild. However, she recalled the lyrics of a song, that if you chased rainbows, you were going to get wet. And no little wanted to get wet. The dealer let the game go over the five hours at both Kelly and Lyle’s agreement. He was desperate, and she was cool. And then he was out of chips. The dealer laid out the rest of their cards. And anticlimactically Kelly won the game with three of a kind to his two pair. “You are out Mr Redmond,” the dealer said. Lyle seemed confused by the words. “She’s a little,” he said. “You are still out Mr Redmond.” He took a deep breath. “Of course. Thank you.” He stood and offered his hand to the dealer. “You did an excellent job.” He left without acknowledging Kelly. It did not win him any friends. However, Kelly had no time to think about that as she was led from the table, onto a stand that put her eye level at about eight feet. She was able to take the offered hands of the giants and inbetweeners who came to congratulate her. There were no littles there. Otto took her hand, gave it a firm shake. “A most enjoyable game to watch Miss Fortuna.” “Yes,” she said with a weak smile. “You played well and gave your opponent every chance not to be a fool. It was a true victory.” She nodded again, but she did not believe it. “Consider this Miss Fortuna. Sometimes we don’t get the opponent we deserve, but often in those cases, you are the opponent the other person deserves.” Kelly smiled, then laughed. “Thank you.” “You are most welcome.” He gave her hand one last shake before moving aside for others. It was a little intimidating, all those people, all those giants, taking her hand in theirs. But Marie stood close by, and Kelly felt secure. Caroline stepped up to her, took her hand, and said, “Wonderful performance.” She was smiling, and Kelly could not help think that it was a smile of someone who had given her a spanking. Though perhaps she was reading too much into it. Then the owner of the casino and the hotel, Jean Noble, approached, holding a golden medallion. A knot had been tied halfway along the red, silk chord so that when he put it around her neck, it hung down around her chest rather than down by her waist. “A most well-played game,” he told her, and then kissed both her cheeks. When she had a moment, she looked at the medallion. It felt heavy enough that it could contain real gold. ‘Cartes D'or Triomphantes’ had been engraved in the surface, and the year, and with small flecks of metal from being recently cut, her name, ‘Kelly Fortuna’. She ran her thumb over the name, wondering if another name had been engraved there and then smoothed out so her name could be put on it instead. But no, it felt flat around her name. They had shown enough class to not assume that Lyle was going to win. And as the well-wishers began to thin Mr Nobel said, “If you come with me Miss Fortuna, we can take care of your winnings.” “Yes, thank you,” Kelly said as he helped her down from the stand. Marie followed close behind as Jean led them to his office. He seemed somewhat confused by her presence when they reached the door, but Kelly said it would be okay if Marie entered. Marie stood near the wall, away from the desk, as Jean helped Kelly into the seat behind his desk and turned the laptop to face her. He brought up a bank’s online site. Entered a password. “Your winnings, minus the casino’s ten percent. Simply change the password to one of your own choosing.” He moved away so Marie could enter the new password in private. And it was done. “Thank you, Mr Noble,” she said as she got down from the chair. “Of course Miss Fortuna. Will we see you next year? I will ensure you are sent an invitation if you are interested.” Kelly smiled. “Who knows.” She had no idea if she could get the stake together. “Perhaps I can let you know in a few months?” “Of course.” He took a business card from his pocket. “If you need to get in touch with me.” “Thank you.” He showed Kelly and Marie from his office. “So, do you want to go back and celebrate?” Marie looked towards where the tournament had been held. “Do you think it would be rude of me if I did not?” Marie smiled. “I am sure they will forgive you.” And she took Kelly’s hand to lead her back to the room. Steven was there, waiting. “Miss Frontè, thank you for taking care of Kelly, your services will no longer be needed.” “Of course sir,” Marie said. Kelly turned her head, looking between Steven and Marie, for a moment not understanding how he could say that. Then she remembered that Maire had been doing a job, and that job was no longer required. Marie knelt down to bring her face close to Kelly’s. “I enjoyed showing you the city and helping you, and watching you play. Bonne chance Kelly.” Kelly nodded slowly. “Thank you for all your help,” she said. And with that Marie stood up and left, closing the door behind her. Kelly still couldn’t quite accept that Marie had just left. However, Steven gave her no time to think of it. “I need you to give me access to the money,” he told her. Kelly nodded. “Right,” she said, walking over to the laptop that Steven had set up. He already had the bank’s site open. She paused. “I’m going to give you all the money, as we agreed, but, can you tell me what all this was about?” Steven sat down next to her. “It’s complicated, and some of it is confidential.” “I can handle the complicated part and tell me what is not confidential.” She typed in the password, opening up the account with all the money. She moved aside, and Steven took her place, but he did touch the laptop. “Conrad is an arms dealer, of a sort.” “Of a sort? Complicated or confidential.” “Confidential. He has used the money from such tournaments in the past to support his activities.” “So he’s lost so he’ll stop.” Steven leaned forward and typed across the laptop’s keyboard, made a few mouse clicks. “No, it will only slow him down. I needed you to win so that I can use the prize money as a way to get closer to him, so I can stop him and find out who he is working with.” “Who do you work for?” “I’ve moved your five million into another account for you. Enter your own password, and it will be yours.” He stood and walked towards the door. “Is there anything else you can tell me?” Kelly asked his retreating back. “You’ve done a good thing,” he told her without looking back, then he opened the door and left the hotel room. Kelly shifted over to the laptop, looked at the account that had been set up in the same bank as the prize money had been. She would have to move it to her own bank account, but that was for later. She typed in a new password, taking control of the account. She closed the laptop and slid off the couch. In her room she undressed, fiddling with the bow, and then pulling the dress over her head. She tossed it into a messy pile on the floor and undressed down to the diaper, which she pulled off and threw into the garbage. Next, she took a long shower before returning to her room. Later, dressed in her jeans and t-shirt, she sat on her bed and called Ken. “Heys Miss Fortuna, beens waiting to hears from yous.” “Good evening Ken. It all went well?” “Yous cleaned up. Just likes yous said. No ones thoughts yous could win.” She smiled and fell back into her pillows. “Good work. Can you see about getting us a flight out of here tomorrow? Come and pick me up.” “I will do thats Miss Fortuna. And congratulation ons winnings.” “Thank you, Ken,” she told him and hung up. Dropping her phone on the bed beside her she closed her eyes. “What a game.” Chapter 11 - Getting Wet She had been asleep, dreaming of something pleasant that escaped from her as soon as she opened her eyes. Someone was knocking on the room’s door. Looking at the bedside clock, she saw she had only been about asleep for about an hour. Maybe it was Caroline looking for Steven, she thought as she slipped off the bed, or Steven had forgotten his key, or someone from the casino, up to congratulate her. She unlocked the door and pulled it open. She did not expect Conrad Revel to be standing out there. “Can I help y…” He stepped forward and hit her, knocking her back. Kelly had been somewhat rough and tumble as a kid. She had fallen from the back of a horse and had the breath knocked out of her. She had broken her arm playing touch football when she had been tackled by an over-enthusiastic inbetweener. The point was that she had been hurt before, so lying on the floor, the breath knocked out of her, was not an entirely new feeling for her. But never had a giant hit her (well, besides spankings and those never counted). What left her lying there, doing nothing, was more the surprise that a giant would hit her than the actual hit itself. He stepped in after her, kicked the door closed. He was kneeling at her side, a roll of duct tape in his hands. He put a strip over her mouth, then used more tape to secure her arms behind her back and taped her feet together. He waved something over her, something that beeped. He reached down and grabbed the gold watch around her wrist, yanked it off her, tossed it away. Conrad had brought a duffle bag with him. He put her into it. It was padded with towels to hide her shape. He zipped it closed, leaving her in darkness. She felt him lift her and the bag up, then he was moving. She was bumped around, turned about in the bag, felt him almost running downstairs, the bag with her in it slapping against his side. Then she was falling, but only for a moment as the bag landed on something hard. A soft ‘clunk’ of metal on metal. She had been put in a car’s trunk. Not long after she felt the vibration of the car starting up. Where was he taking her? What was going to happen to her? Eventually, the car stopped, and she was pulled out of the trunk, walked somewhere, and then dropped to a hard floor. Even with the padding of the towels, it hurt enough to leave her stunned. The bag was unzipped, Conrad pulled her out, held her up. “No one is around here to hear you scream, but I don’t want to hear a screaming little, so keep it down, or I’ll hurt you.” He then grabbed the tape over her mouth and yanked it off. “Understand?” “Yes,” she said, the skin around her lips stinging. He took a knife and cut the tape around her arms and legs, then dropped her into a chair too big for her. There were other men around, standing or sitting near the edge of the room. “I want the bank code for the game’s winnings.” “I don’t have it,” she told him. He backhanded her, hard enough to almost knock her off the chair. She cut the inside of her cheek on her teeth. “Don’t lie to me.” “I didn’t have the buy-in, someone else provided it. They got all the money.” He grabbed her shoulders, fingers digging painfully in. “Don’t lie to me.” “I’m not. His name was Steven Armitage, and he was in the room with me.” He seemed to think about that for a moment. Then he slapped her again. “Don’t lie to me.” Kelly shook her head. “What do you want me to tell you?” she said, not wanting to be hurt again. “Give me the password for the account!” “I don’t know it.” He kicked the chair out from under here, she hit the floor hard. “Give me the password.” “Stop that Conrad,” a familiar voice said. Kelly looked up, mouth agape as she saw Lyle Redmond enter the room. “She’s not giving me the password. She says she doesn’t know it. Says she gave it to her backer.” “Do you think that is possible?” Lyle asked as he walked into the room to stand next to Conrad and over her. She tried getting up, but Conrad pushed her back down the floor with his foot. “You think a little would give up that much money, just like that.” Lyle looked down at her. “I will admit littles can be greedy things if you let them. I have to keep a firm hand on my girls to keep them from getting spoiled.” Conrad reached down and grabbed the front of her t-shirt, pulling her up. “I’ll get her to talk.” “You are treating a little like an adult Mr Revel. That will fail.” He righted the chair and took a seat. “You don’t interrogate littles, you punish them, and they realise they are wrong.” He plucked Kelly out of Conrad’s hands and laid her on his lap. “No, no, no,” Kelly said, struggling. Not that it did not do any good. Lyle lay six, rapid hard spanks against her jean covered bottom causing Kelly to let out a howl. Who would have thought she would look back fondly on being spanked by Caroline? “Little girls should not lie,” Lyle said and slapped his hand against her bottom five more times. “Little girls should answer truthfully when asked a question.” More spanks. “Little girls should respect their betters.” More spanks. Kelly was sobbing uncontrollably. She felt him loosen her jeans and then whisk them down to her knees. A minute or two passed and Kelly stopped sobbing, stopped gasping. Her bottom hurt so much. “What is the code for the bank account?” Lyle asked her. “I don’t know.” More smacks fell across her pantie covered ass, his large hand effortlessly encompassing her whole bottom. Kelly screamed, wiggling, trying to get away, crying, ‘I don’t know, I don’t know.’ Finally, it was Conrad who said, “Maybe she really does not know.” Lyle stopped spanking her. He stood, kept hold of her, turned around and set her on the chair. Kelly sobbed as her well-spanked bottom was placed on the steel of the chair. They ignored her until she had cried herself out. She looked down at her jeans and wondered if she should pull them up. Lyle leaned in. “Kelly, I want you to tell me what the passcode is.” His tone was soft, almost kind. “You’ve been punished, and if you tell me, I will consider you a good girl. You want to be a good girl, don’t you? Good girls don’t get spanked.” Kelly did not know if she wanted to be a good girl, but she knew she did not want to be spanked. However, she also could not tell him what she did not know. Sniffing she said, “I don’t know it. Steven changed it.” “I am inclined to believe her,” Conrad said. “Perhaps, but littles lie. It is in their nature,” Lyle answered him. He walked away from her, then turned and came back. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a smartphone. He held it out towards her. “Do you know what this is Kelly?” “It’s a sm…” Her attention was captured by flashing lights. “...artphone.” Something felt strange. Some of the men were laughing. She looked down. Her panties were soaked, a puddle of urine had spread across the seat, stinging tender skin inflamed by the earlier spanking. “What?” “A simple hypnotic colour pattern. Some therapists use it to help littles take the steps back they need but cannot admit to themselves.” She stared wide-eyed. “I care little for it myself. I prefer that my girls make those decisions on their own.” He smiled at her. “It is important that littles know they are not adults.” Conrad and a few of the others laughed again. “One exposure, just an accident, but multiple exposures, the effect lasts longer,” Lyle told her. “Eventually, without intervention, it becomes permanent.” “I don’t know the code,” Kelly said once more. “You’re one of those littles, the ones who have something special about themselves that make them think they are grownups. It’s sad. You see something special, but really, it is just something making you unhappy. “I now have access, thanks to my new partner,” he looked at Conrad, “to some interesting and advanced variations on this style of program, and some experimental medicines that make the effect take hold much stronger, and faster, with greater scope.” He walked a few steps from her then turned around. “Do you think you could play cards if you could not even count to ten Kelly?” For a second she did not think she had heard right, and her mind spun about with the implication of what he said. “You couldn’t” she whispered. He could not do that. Could he do that? “I suppose you could try. Perhaps something like, I have this many,” he held up three fingers, “of this kind,” he held up five fingers. More laughter from the others. “Perhaps you would have to play barefoot to better keep track.” With a sob, Kelly said, “I’ll give you the code.” The best way to bluff someone was to give them what they wanted to believe. A laptop was brought to her. She brought up the banking website. “She’s in the right place,” Conrad said from behind her, where he looked over her shoulder. Kelly typed in the password. “There. That’s it.” “Wait, there is almost nothing there,” Conrad said. “What?” Lyle demanded. “What?” Kelly asked, sounding shocked. “That’s five million dollars,” Conrad told them. Lyle put a large hand on her head, turned her to face him. “Where is the money?” “It was there. It was all there just…” she trailed off, made her eyes go wide. “Ken!” “Ken?” “I was working with him, this was all his idea.” The two men looked away from each other, to each other, their expressions changing like she had told them the secret of life. “Of course,” Conrad said. “I suppose he was coaching you over some sort of wireless device?” Lyle asked her. That was the stupidest thing that Kelly had ever heard, but it seemed to be what he wanted to hear, so she nodded and said, “Uh huh.” “Obviously this Ken person took all the money,” Conrad told Lyle. Lyle nodded, then frowned. “Why leave anything in the account though?
 Kelly was careful not to react, but she suspected her bluff was about to be called. “Who would leave a little completely helpless?” Conrad asked Lyle. After a moment Lyle nodded. He turned back to Kelly. “Where is he?” Kelly told him the hotel she knew Ken was staying at. She did not want to give him up like that, but the cards she showed had to be good. They checked, confirmed it. Conrad sent five of the men to go and get Ken. Five did not seem bad for Ken, as long as none of those men was like Steven. Ken might even enjoy the fight. Or she might be trying to make herself feel better. Conrad sent two men outside watch while he and Lyle remained in the room. She had bought herself some time, maybe. Ken might be able to find her if he made it through those five men sent after him. And she could hope that Steven would show up. He had brought her. He should be trying to protect her. The watch he had given her, the one he had told her to not lose. Not lose was just another way of saying ‘never take it off, keep it with you’. He must have put a tracking device in it. But Conrad had torn it away. Several minutes passed as Kelly sat there, trying to figure out what who might be able to help her. “What should we do with her?” Conrad’s voice made her turn her head, realising they were talking about her and wanting to know what they were saying. “I had thought that she would make a perfect sixth for my nursery, but, she’s too tall, and not very cute.” She could not see them and relaxed enough to let the anger show on her face. More like her face would remind him he was a loser… at least at poker. “So, we’ll need to make her disappear.” “Disappear?” Lyle sounded concerned. “We could scramble her memories, dump her in some place, or leave her with someone, where they won’t ask questions.” Would they really do that? “That sounds like a good plan.” It sounded like a terrible plan to Kelly. “The problem with that is whatever we do can be undone, if one puts enough effort and money into it.” “What are you suggesting?” Lyle asked. What was he suggesting, Kelly wondered. “Mr Redmond, you care about littles, want to see them taken care of. I understand that. Sometimes though, well, a few have to be sacrificed for the rest to be taken care of.” “You can’t be suggesting?” “Why not? Big picture wise, well, does it matter?” “It matters to me. I want to see littles looked after.” “And if your desire to protect this one means many others are not protected?” Lyle made an uncertain sound. They were going to kill her. No one was going to save her. So she was going to have to save herself. Quietly, carefully she reached down and grasped the waist of her jeans, pulled them up her, dragged them through the urine on her chair. She was careful not to make a noise as she wiggled her pained bottom back and forth so she could get the jeans up around her waist. She buttoned them, then took a deep breath. Pushing herself from the chair, her feet made a scuffling sound as her shoes hit the cracked concrete. She took off at a run, towards the dark doorway in front of her, away from the men behind her. She had to run, to keep running. She hated running. Heavy footsteps behind her, she tried not to picture the longer strides of either giant bringing them closer to her. All she had to focus on was the door. On getting away. Someone grabbed her long hair, hauled back and yanked her to a painful stop. Then she was lifted by her hair, which hurt a lot and made her scream out in pain. Swung around, more screams, then thrown back into the chair, which almost went over backwards and actually went up on two legs before falling forward again. Conrad, who had grabbed her, closed, put his palm on her forehead and pushed her head back. In his other hand, he had a gun. Kelly had never seen a real gun before. It looked terrifying. If Lyle’s phone had not made her wet herself earlier, she knew the icy fear that stabbed through her would have left her in soaked pants. “What are you doing?” Lyle shouted. “We don’t need her, we can get rid of her.” “No! Not like this! Not with her seeing it.” “Sometimes we have to be cruel to be kind Mr Redmond.” “I won’t let you,” Lyle said. She thought they were going to come to blows. Conrad pushed the barrel of the gun hard against the side of her head. Everything went dark, and for a moment Kelly thought she was dead, but it was the lights that had gone off. “What the hell?” A shout. Conrad. “Marcelle, why are the lights out!” Then there was a flash of light and an echoing boom that made Kelly cry and put her hands over her ears. “No, no, no,” she sobbed. Flash, boom. The sound of people running. The chair was knocked over, and she fell to the floor, once again having the breath knocked out of her. She lay there, trying to suck in a breath of air, wondering just when she was going to die. Then the lights came on, and a vast figure appeared over her, a gun in its hand. Kelly closed her eyes tight and hoped it would not hurt. She flinched away from the hand that touched her, but there was no pain, just a gentle almost caress as the hand ran from the top of her head, down the side of her face and over her shoulder and arm. “Es-tu blessé? Parle moi? Kelly, my petit Jean d’Arc, open your eyes.” She did not believe what she was hearing, thought it some kind of trick, but she opened her eyes. Marie was kneeling at her side, one hand running over her body, checking for injuries Kelly realised. In her other hand, she held a frightful looking gun. While she was speaking to her, examining her, she was looking elsewhere, all around, as if there was still some danger. “What are you doing here?” She looked down at Kelly for a moment, smiled, then went back to scanning the area around them. “I would be a terrible nanny if I let my pretty girl out of my sight more than once. Are you okay?” Was she okay? “Nothing’s broken… probably.” “Formidable. Stand up and put your arms around my neck, keep clear of my pistol.” Kelly got up, feeling bruises, but as she had said, nothing was broken. She wrapped her arms around the big woman, careful not to hold on as tight as she wanted to lest she choke Marie. Marie straightened, her free hand slipping under Kelly’s bottom so she could hold her up, pull her close. “Wet,” Marie said, with a small click of disapproval. Kelly almost laughed. “Who else was in this room?” “Conrad and Lyle.” “Lyle Redmond?” “Yes.” “Interesting. Hold tight, I will need to move fast.” Marie ran, her long strides and heavy weight booming on the floor, then outside, thumping on the ground. Each footfall jolted Kelly in her arms, reminding the little of all the hurts she had taken. She bit down on them and made no noise, not wanting to distract Marie. Then they slowed, and she felt the Amazon shifting her about, heard the sound of a car door opening, and then she was placed, gently into the car’s bucket seat. The door closed, a few seconds later Marie opened the driver’s side door and slid in. “I hope you don’t think too badly of me for not having a child seat,” she said and started the car, shifting into reverse, hitting the gas, rapidly spinning the steering wheel about. A shift into first gear and the vehicle sped away. Kelly started laughing, which turned into sobbing and she probably cried for nearly a minute before with sniff and hiccoughs she got herself under control. “Feel better?” Marie asked. Her attention was on the road. “No,” Kelly said, then, “yes.” “I would hold you and let you have a good, proper cry, but that will have to wait.” Kelly sniffed, then said, “Ken!” “What?” “I sent them to where Ken was, I had to…” Well, she had chosen to, cause she was afraid. “Use my phone,” Marie took one hand from the wheel and removed a phone from her jacket pocket, held out to her. She dialled, got Ken. “This is Kelly Ken, you’re in trouble.” “Trouble? What troubles Miss Fortuna?” It was too hard to explain it all. “Some people tried to rough me up for the prize money. I had to point them at you. Five giants.” “Oh, is thats all. Don’ts worry. Better you sends them at me. Wants me to break them?” “No, just go somewhere else…” “Wait,” Marie said. Kelly looked at her. Not taking her eyes off the road Marie said, “If your Ken does not put himself in danger, arranging to capture these men would be of use. We could arrange for the police to help, but that may take a little time, and it might scare them off.” “Did you hear that Ken?” she asked. “I heards it.” “Do you think…” “Don’ts worry Miss Fortuna. I’ll sees if I can gets these guys for your friend.” “Don’t take any chances, Ken.” “Don’t worries Miss Fortuna.” He hung up. “He seems like a nice man,” Marie said. “I’ve always liked having him around.” “Are you…” “No,” Kelly shook her head. It was not the first time she had been asked that question. “How did you find me?” “I followed Conrad. I’m sorry I was not able to get to you sooner.” She looked at Kelly for a moment. “Your poor face.” “Is it bad?” Kelly asked, putting her hand to her face, wincing slightly as she touched the swelling around her mouth. “It will fade soon, but I take offence at someone hitting a little.” “I’m not a fan of it myself.” Marie laughed. “I was waiting for some backup, but then those five men left, and I was preparing to go in carefully, but then I heard you scream…” “Thank you.” She paused. “You’re not a real nanny are you?” “Do you have complaints about the way I took care of you?” Kelly was hard pressed to find an answer to that, but after a few seconds she said, “It was very professional.” “There you go. However, one can be a perfectly skilled nanny and be something else as well.” “What is that something else?” Marie did not answer, remaining silent so long that Kelly assumed she would not. Then she said, “Mr Artimage, and Miss Jay and perhaps Mr Wright came here with complicated plans to take away Conrad Revel’s resources and get leverage on him. However, my superiors took a much more practical approach. If Conrad Revel had won, I was to kill him.” “Kill…” “Yes. Terrible isn’t it.” Kelly nodded, and then, because Marie was still watching the road she said, “Yes.” “Sometimes my job requires me to do terrible things, and sometimes it allows me to do wonderful things, like taking care of a pretty girl who plays poker. I am something of a spy, though with a French flair.” Kelly thought about it. She looked for some way to connect a woman who had been ready to kill Conrad Revel (terrible as he was) and the woman who had held her and sung lullabies to her. “Have I shocked you?” Marie asked. “Yes,” Kelly said. “My poor petit Jean d’Arc. Littles and such violence should never mix. Mr Artimage has much to answer for in my opinion.” “You’re not…” Kelly started to ask, alarmed. Marie laughed. “I am not going to shoot him. I am just going to give him a piece of my mind for letting you be hurt.” “Good.” “Have you fallen in love with him?” Marie asked. “He’s very handsome.” “Oui.” “But I’m not in love with him. I just don’t want him to be hurt.” “Littles, so gentle.” Kelly did not think it was a criticism, though she was not sure she could take it as a compliment. “What happens now?” Kelly asked. “We stop off at a hospital where I get you looked at…” “I’m fine.” “We will not discuss this. And then we return to the hotel to sort a few things out.” “Okay.” She wondered what ‘sort a few things out’ meant but guessed she would learn soon enough. Chapter 12 - Letting Go It was still a few hours away from dawn when the four of them sat in the suite. Kelly was wrapped in a thick robe, warm and tingling from the ointments that the doctor at the emergency room had applied to all her bruises, from the ones of her face to the ones on her bottom. She had sat on the couch and listened to Marie give Steven a ‘piece of her mind’. She also included Caroline in that as, having partnered up with Steven, was equally responsible for ensuring Kelly was kept safe. “I admit,” Steven said when Marie had finished, “I made a mistake. I never thought that Conrad would waste his time on Kelly.” “Waste his time?” Kelly asked, offended. “You should both be glad that she was not seriously harmed,” Marie said, apparently ignoring Kelly’s statement. Finished with her dressing down of the other two giants she then filled them in on how she had spotted and tracked Conrad. Steven told Marie that he had left Kelly to find Conrad himself. “I assumed I would be the likely target.” “Kelly, can you tell us what happened?” Marie asked as she took a seat next to the little. Taking a deep breath, she told them the entire story, from opening the door (which had three giants all admonishing her for opening a door without seeing who was on the other side) to her rescue by Marie. When she got to the part about convincing them Ken had been in control Caroline asked Steven, “Did you teach her that? It was a good play.” Kelly, tired of the way the giants seemed to automatically stick her into a space labelled ‘child’ snapped, “I came up with that idea myself bitch.” Caroline looked shocked. Kelly felt a short, sharp pain across the crown of her head and looked up in surprise at Marie who had just smacked her on the head. It was not like it had been very hard, and cushioned by her hair had not really hurt at all. “If your poor bottom was not so bruised I would give you a swat on it right now,” Marie told her. “Just because people do not treat you the way you want is no reason to be rude to them. I believe Otto Kruugen congratulated you on remembering that fact not so long ago.” Kelly flushed and nodded and then looked over at Caroline. “I’m sorry.” “Apology acc…” “But I’m not stupid, I’m just small.” Caroline nodded. “Yes. You are not stupid.” Kelly wondered if she could bring up not being demoted back to diapers and her ABCs but decided not to push it. Finally, she finished telling them what had happened. “It was really Lyle Redmond?” Steven asked her. She nodded. “It really was.” The three giants looked to one another then back at her. “And he spoke of hypnotic devices and drugs.” “He threatened that I would not be able to count to ten, and he had that thing on his smartphone that he flashed in my eyes that made me,” she paused and swallowed, “wet my pants.” Not her favourite part of the story. “But he specifically talked about advanced and experimental applications?” Steven asked her. He seemed dismissive of the fact that an app on a smartphone could make her wet her pants. Kelly had heard there were places where a little who wet themselves was no longer considered an adult. And a smartphone app that made you wet your pants did not even engender the smallest bit of surprise from the giants. As a little Kelly had to wonder what other tricks the giants kept secret. However, she only said, “Yes, he said advanced and experimental.” The giants looked at each other. “We’ll need to find Conrad. What about Lyle?” Steven asked. “I’m afraid he had both alibi and lawyers, and the word of a little against a man like him,” she shrugged her shoulders. “I think he is already on his private jet over international waters. I am sorry Kelly.” Kelly sighed. “I’ll contact my government, see if we can work together on this,” Steven told Marie and Caroline. “What about me?” Kelly asked. The three looked at her. “What about you?” Caroline asked. Marie saved her, in a manner, from having to explain herself by saying, “There will be security watching over you, until you leave tomorrow. You already have plane tickets home, do you not?” “I do.” “Then you will leave and go home. You will be safe there,” she said with confidence. “Oh,” Kelly said. For a moment she had thought she was part of what they were doing. She had played her part after all. But that part was over. Marie stood and picked Kelly up from the couch. “We need to speak of things you cannot know of,” she told the little she held, “and you should rest up. It had been a trying ordeal.” “But…” “Hush,” Marie told her and carried her into the bedroom. She wrapped Kelly up tightly in the oversized robe, and then slid her under the covers and tucked them tight around her. “Just get some sleep Ma brave fille.” And she kissed her on the forehead and stepped away from the bed. Kelly wanted to say so much, ask so much, but it all got caught in her throat, and she was silent. On her way out Marie stopped and picked up the pale pink dress that Kelly had tossed to the floor earlier. She gave it a shake, then went and hung it up in the closet. Kelly watched as she ran her hands through the clothing hung there. She looked back at Kelly and smiled. “I will see this all gets to someone who will be comme il faut in them.” “Thank you,” Kelly said the only word that would escape the tangle in her throat. Then Marie turned off the light and left the room. When Kelly woke the next morning Marie and the others were gone, and she had not even come to say goodbye. The hotel had a doctor who worked there every other day for half a day. He gave Kelly her enema the morning she was to leave. Clinical, he gave her the privacy of a screened off bed. It did not make it any better, but it was not as humiliating as with Caroline or quietly embarrassing as with Marie. Afterwards, he wrote out some prescriptions for her and gave her the brand names of some enema bulbs she could use herself, a list of foods she should stick too for two weeks, and advised her to see her doctor if she had any stomach pains. He actually said 'achy tummy'. Then he wished her well and left her to get dressed. Her clothing from the night before had been laundered, so she was wearing the jeans and a blouse, with a ratty pair of running shoes. She knew were Marie to see her that she would pronounce Kelly anything but ‘comme il faut’. That thought made her smile as she pulled the jeans up over the training panties. Just in case there was a little enema left to expel. Those panties, the three chokers and the hair combs (along with over fifteen million dollars after all was counted) were the only things she was taking with her. Well, she supposed she should not use the word 'only' for fifteen million. As she walked from the small clinic, she wondered who Marie was going to give all the other clothing to. Perhaps Marie had a child, or a little, of her own. If so she felt bad for them, it must be hard with Marie gone all the time. Walking towards the lobby, it was impossible to not notice the men and women in black suits who trailed her. Obvious security, as promised by Marie. She collected her small overnight bag from the bell captain’s station. The man thanked her for staying with them and told her that all costs had been made complementary by the house then congratulated her on the win. Kelly smiled and thanked him and wondered if Steven had planned to stick her with the bill. She waited on the steps of the hotel for Ken. A few people came up to offer her congratulations, often saying how surprised they were that a little had managed to win. Like there was something miraculous in it. If someone asked her to touch them and cure whatever ailed them, she was going to boot them in the shins as hard as she could. Fortunately for such hypothetical shins, a taxi pulled up, and Ken got out. “Morning Miss Fortuna,” he called. She picked up her bag and walked down the too tall steps. “Good morning Ken.” He gave her a hand up into the passenger section and then circled around to get in the other side. As the taxi pulled away from the hotel, he asked. “You okay Miss Fortuna, yous gots some bruising ons your face.” “It will fade soon. What about you?” There was a strip of tape across his nose, suggesting it had been broken again, and at least five butterfly closures sealed cuts on his bruised face. His hands were bandaged. He smiled. “Me? I’m fines. Nones of those five you gaves to me were anythings special. That was real smarts of yous Miss Fortuna, sending them to me likes that. Any of thems the ones that did that?” He lifted a huge hand and pointed at her face. “No.” “Thats too bads, I liked to thinks that I got some back for you.” “You did more than enough. I am sure the information that those men provide will help someone get some back for me.” “Just have preferreds thats it was me.” Kelly smiled. “Maybe next time.” The first class tickets got them through check-in and security quickly. As Kelly was walking through the airport, she often looked over her shoulder. She delayed during check in, until the attendant insisted she get onboard or be left behind. As she stepped onto the boarding ramp, she looked over her shoulder one last time. Amelia had always told her that if a giant ever got their hands on a little that little was almost certainly caught. “You’re a crazy idiot Amelia Black,” she said softly and jogged down the ramp towards the open door with the attendant behind her, saying “Hurry, hurry.” Chapter 13 - BunBun Interlude In a bright and cheerful nursery, Emily Black lay on a play rug, a pink laptop computer with pony stickers on it in front of her. She wore a pale yellow and white striped dress with a skirt too short to hide her thick disposable diaper. She was squirming because she had to go to the bathroom, but the information on the screen was so interesting. It was the results of a new predictive algorithm she had written. Of course, she was in a diaper, so if she were going wet herself, it would be no big deal. But that was what they wanted her to think. But the information was so interesting, and surely she could hold it. She was peripherally aware of the conflict in her mind, but whenever she thought about it something else would catch her attention, all too often what she was working on. And why should it not? What she was working on was always so compelling, and surely she could hold her pee for a little while longer. Such decisions often led to a wet diaper, or worse, but at the moment such juvenile outcomes were chased from her head like she herself chased a new piece of data she had spotted. Like Alice after the Rabbit. She had just about puzzled out what she was looking at when she heard Chase call, "Emily, you have to see this." Emily looked up from her computer. Chase did not often call her Emily these days. That was something unusual, enough to tear her attention from her work and make her more aware of the building pressure in her bladder. Chase came into the nursery, a huge presence both in size and personality and in Emily's universe. The Amazon was holding a tablet, smiling brightly. It was on Emily's lips to ask for the potty when Chase scooped her up. Emily made a surprised squeak and started to wet her diaper. Only needing one arm to hold up Emily, Chase's hand cupped Emily's diapered bottom. Chase gave the diaper a gentle squeeze, making it clear to Emily that she was aware of its state. Instead of playfully teasing Emily as she often did she held up the tablet. "Look at this Emily." Emily wondered if it was some kind of trick, or perhaps a catalogue full of baby goods, but it was the webpage of some luxury hotel in Monaco. The hotel had had a recent poker tournament, the buy-in had been obscenely expensive. Emily did not understand what Chase was showing her until she saw a picture of some of the players. One of whom was Lyle Redmond. "Lyle?" "Now Emily, that is Mr Redmond to little girls." Emily ignored her and knew that saying 'mister' would make her lisp. "How did he do?" Chase actually giggled. Not the kind of laugh Emily had come to expect from her mommy. "Swipe the page," Chase told her. Emily reached out and swiped the screen to the next page. There were more pictures of the players, little bios on them. She swept twice more then suddenly stopped. "Kelly," she said, surprised, looking at the woman she had not seen in a few years. "Yes, Kelly Fortuna," Chase said. For a moment Emily thought Chase knew she and Kelly had been friends, but she said nothing else. She must have thought Emily was just reading the name out loud. "Isn't that an adorable little party dress she is wearing EmEm?" Emily knew that such a dress would be making its way into her wardrobe soon, and there would be an opportunity to wear it. She wondered how Kelly had ended up in such a situation. She was playing in the game, not some giant's little girl luck charm. It made her suspect that Kelly was in that outfit because it was required and not that she was some giant's adopted child. She swiped through some more pages, saw pictures of Kelly playing. Her old friend wore a deadpan expression in most of the pictures of her playing, all serious and focused. A few more pages and she got to the page with the results. "She won," Emily said. "Quite surprising, but look at the paragraph about the end of the game," Chase said, sounding excited. Emily did. "She played him last," she said, "and beat him." "She humiliated him," Chase crowed and spun about, bouncing Emily in her grasp. Emily grabbed tight to Chase, afraid she might fall. Chase stopped, cleared her throat. "Now, EmEm, it is not nice to take joy in other people's suffering. However, I'm sure you can forgive your mama." As it had been Chase's desire to 'one-up' Lyle that had brought them together Emily understood Chase's wish to celebrate and to include Emily in it. And Emily had to admit to not being too fond of Lyle. "Yes mama," she said. "I hope Lyle does not end up taking this out on his girls. He wouldn't of course, but maybe I will just have someone look into it." Emily did not say anything, but she did wonder who Chase knew who could find out how Lyle was treating his captive littles. "I would like to meet this Kelly Fortuna," Chase suddenly said. Emily felt her stomach flop at that pronouncement. Chase wanting to meet a little might bode ill for said little. And Emily did not want to meet Kelly. Not as Chase' baby girl. "Mama, I have to go potty," Emily said, in her sweetest tone, thinking to distract Chase from her new thoughts. Chase put the tablet down and then gave Emily's diaper a squeeze and a pat. "Silly bunny, you already have." She blushed and then said, "I have to poopy." "Just poopy in your diaper." Chase smiled and cradling Emily in one arm she tickled her tummy through the thin cloth of the dress. "It won't be the first time." Emily giggled in spite of herself, but shook her head and said, "Potty." "You're lucky mama loves you," Chase said, and then carried Emily to the nursery's attached bathroom. She took Emily out of her dress and then untapped the wet diaper. Naked, Emily was placed on rabbit shaped potty seat. Without being told Emily put her hands on the rabbits lowered ears, like she was riding it. "Now show mama what a birl girl you are," Chase told her, kneeling down. Emily blushed. As she made herself relax she asked, "Why was Lyle playing in that game?" "Mr Redmond EmEm, and he plays poker." "But never in that type of game," Emily said. "Maybe it means something." She had learned about the man when he had been trying to hire Emily Black. "If my silly bunny is not going to focus on her potty maybe I should just put her back in her diaper," Chase said. Emily did not pursue it. She did note a slightly distracted expression on Chase's face. And she hardly praised Emily at all when she had pooped in the potty. Emily supposed she had planted a seed. No doubt Chase would want to talk about it later. When she would act like it was her idea. Chapter 14 - Catching a Rainbow Kelly Fortuna started receiving invitations to play in big buy-in games, mostly in Vegas, but several also other cities as well. Her winnings from the ‘Cartes D'or Triomphantes’ allowed her to afford the buy-in, and the skills she had learned let her win. Consistently. She played smart. Still had Ken make side bets that would guarantee, even if she were to lose, she would keep her stake and make some profit on top of that. But she did not lose. She could stake herself at next years Cartes D'or Triomphantes. All she had to do was ask for an invitation. She was gaining some fame, and with that reputation came more interest from giants. However, with Ken around any giant who seemed too interested could be chased off. Though Kelly had been worried he was going to actually have to punch one Yvonne Tanson, an old Amazon who had shown no doubt she was going take Kelly away with her. She still recalled the look of affront and perhaps a little fear as Ken had told her, ‘Yous best be leaving my Kelly Girl alone, unless you wants me to knocks you down and put you overs my knee fors a spanking.’ Most giants seemed to accept that the intimidating inbetweener was her daddy, or close enough, that they stopped bothering her quite so much. She leaned back slightly on her booster seat, staring at the substantial pile of chips in front of her. She suspected she was about to win another of these tournaments. They were on a break, while the dealer prepared a new deck. Kelly looked towards her opponents, all giants, all seeming a little off put by the little in their midst. She had yet to meet anyone as bad as Lyle Redmond when it came to discounting her, but there were always ones similar. Really, she sighed, it was getting boring. “You do not look like you are having fun my petit Jean d’Arc.” Spinning in her booster seat so fast she almost fell from it Kelly turned to face Marie. The Amazon was dressed in a white, tight evening gown, with a slit up the side that allowed her to kneel. “Ma… Miss Frontè. What… Why…” “I am happy to see you too Kelly. You are looking well.” “But what happened. What about Con…” Marie put a finger to Kelly’s lips. “Hush,” she said with a smile. “Heys, whats do yous think you are doings?” Ken had stepped away from the spectator seats, ready to defend Kelly. Kelly turned towards him. “It’s okay Ken, she’s a friend. I want to see her.” Ken stopped, then nodded. “Right Kelly girl.” He went back to his seat. “Kelly girl?” Marie asked. “It’s what people called me.” “Seems a little redundant to me. What else could Kelly be but a most wonderful girl?” Kelly suspected she was grinning like an idiot and blushing at the same time. “As I said, you are looking well Kelly, though your outfit…” Kelly looked down at herself. She was wearing a Chinese style dress, red with gold trim. “Is there something wrong with it? I thought it looked nice.” “Oh, it looks wonderful. You are quite fetching in it, but it is not comme il faut.” “I didn’t think that mattered.” Marie laughed. “That is because you do not have French sensibilities on fashion, but I think that is something you can achieve, with some work.” “Oh. What…” “But to come back to my original point, why do you look like you are not having fun.” “But I am having fun.” “Really? That glum face I just saw is the face of Kelly Fortuna having fun?” Kelly did not answer. “I had heard that Kelly Fortuna was always smiling, she could lose with a laugh. That she would chase rainbows, that is the correct term, oui?” “Yes, Kelly girl who chased rainbows.” “I thought that Kelly sounded quite pretty. I, of course, understood that at the Cartes D'or Triomphantes where she was not playing for her own enjoyment that she could not treat the game as such, but afterwards, I was certain that that pretty Kelly would show up. And I finally come to see her and what do I find? This is not my Kelly I think.” Kelly frowned. “It’s just, like the song said, if you chase rainbows you’ll get wet.” “I am sure that is true, but Kelly,” she leaned in close, “if you get wet, don’t you think I will dry you?” Kelly stared wide-eyed at Marie. Marie smiled, reached out and ruffled Kelly’s hair. She stood. “Chase your rainbows Kelly. I want to see my petit Jean d’Arc smile and laugh.” Then she walked away. Kelly might have gone after her but the new deck was ready, and the other players were taking their seats. When her fourth card was dealt out to her Kelly looked at it, considered her hole cards, and saw the possibility for an ace five straight. It was there. Not certain, but maybe… She looked over her shoulder, saw Marie sitting among the spectators, watching the game, watching her. When the bet came around to her, she turned and looked at the other players and the dealer. She smiled. “Call and raise one hundred thousand.” They all seemed surprised. It made her laugh. Kelly won the game. She got lucky at the end. She was okay with that. And during the congratulations from the other players (some given with a certain amount of grudging respect) and spectators. Kelly smiled and was polite, but all the time she was looking through the crowd. And then she saw her. Standing towards the back of the group, near the exit of the room. In her white evening dress Kelly wondered how it had taken so long to spot Marie. “Please excuse me,” she said as soon as the opportunity presented itself, then she got down from the chair she had been standing on and walked towards Marie. Ken was close by, but she waved him away. She came to stand in front of Marie, looking up at the woman. Her cheeks grew warm, and she realised she was blushing, feeling shy. She stammered just a little as she asked, “Was that okay?” Marie smiled and patted her on the head. “It looked like you were having fun, I enjoyed watching it. I was worried I was going to have to tell you to stop playing if you were not going to enjoy it.” Her tone was light, teasing, and yet there was a serious nuance which suggested that Marie might very well make that demand. Part of Kelly wanted to be defiant and say something along the lines of ‘you can try’, but that part was silenced by another part that wondered if she was not really enjoying it, should she be doing it? Marie held out her hand towards Kelly. Kelly looked at that offered hand. It was not trying to grab her, had not picked her up, was only there, and she now had to decide if she was going to take it or not. It surprised her how little she hesitated, perhaps she did not hesitate at all. She just reached out and took the Amazon’s large hand. Marie turned and led her from the room. Kelly wondered if there were some surprised looks from those that watched. Or maybe no one noticed. She was having a hard time thinking about anything else other than the hand that held hers, and the indescribable feeling of security she felt. A feeling she had first felt when Marie had rescued her, and that she had been missing ever since. Missing without knowing what it was. As they walked through the huge casino, lost among the crowds and the noise and the lights Marie asked, “What would you do if I told you I would not let you play poker again?” Kelly wondered. What would she do? “I’d tell you that I enjoyed it and still wanted to play.” “You would not simply walk away?” Kelly paused. “Could I walk away? I might have to crawl.” Marie stopped. She looked down at Kelly. She laughed. “What?” “I think you would look cute, crawling, but you would be dull if all you ever did were crawl.” She started walking again. “I suppose some giants do, to a greater or lesser extent, restrict the littles in their lives.” Kelly almost asked if Marie had met Lyle Redmond (though she might have used any giant as an example). “However, a nursery in my home would not be a prison,” Marie told her. “But it would still be a nursery,” Kelly said as they came to a halt in front of the elevator doors. “Of course, as it should be,” Marie told her. Well, that was now giants were, Kelly thought. And you either had to accept that or run away. Kelly did not want to run away. “I understand,” Kelly said. Marie smiled and pressed the elevator’s call button. They rode up to the floor where Kelly had a suite, complimentary from the casino. She was not surprised that Marie had a key card and opened the door. Marie was a spy after all. Inside the suite, Marie took a seat on the couch and pulled Kelly up on to her lap. “Now little one, we need to talk a little.” “Talk?” Marie nodded. “I am still working.” “Here?” Kelly looked around. “No. But I am. Which is why I have not been able to take care of you.” “Well, I’ve been doing okay,” Kelly said. “Except you were all grumpy.” “I wasn’t grumpy.” “Grumpy,” Marie repeated. Kelly did not further argue the point. “As I said, I’ve been busy, and will still be busy, but as it happens, things are occurring in which your presence would be of great use,” Marie told her with a smile. “A card game?” Kelly asked, looking up into Marie’s face. “No.” “Then what… Wait. This is not some sort of beauty pageant thing?” “You’re very smart.” “No. Not a chance.” “Oh? Really?” Kelly nodded. She was not going to enter some sort of stupid little beauty pageant. “Well, then it will be a few months before I can see you again.” A few months? “Well…” “I suppose I’ll need to find another little to help me.” Another little? It was not that she was jealous, Kelly told herself, but how could she trust that Marie would be safe with another little? Maybe they would say something stupid that would get Marie in trouble. So she said that. “You can’t trust some other little to keep any secrets.” “I suppose that may be true. And we both know that you have a good poker face.” Kelly nodded, frowned and then said, “Fine, I’ll go with you.” “Good girl,” Marie said and patted her on the head. “But I’m not wearing any stupid baby dress or diapers!” “Of course not. The baby dresses and diapers you'll wear will be quite smart and will flatter you considerably.” Marie smiled at her. Kelly realised she was doomed to lose any sort of argument about this, so she nodded. “Fine,” she said as if that had been what she had meant all along. “Tell me that you love me,” Marie said. “I love you,” Kelly said without any real thought. Marie kissed her on the forehead and then quickly on the lips. “Good girl.”

Moving this to Completed Stories, and will not be posting the other three tangentially related stories in this thread but putting them in their own threads. No changes to this story, except I added chapter headings to make it easier for anyone taking a break while reading to come back and find where stye left off. Chasing Emily by InkuHime Chapter 1 - What Hat Hacker's Haven Emily loved her apartment. She loved the old brickwork, and the wood, polished by age, with a patina that was nearly impossible to reproduce artificially. Then there was the view, which most people would probably find nothing to praise, but Emily liked it. Old factories and squat office buildings, widely spaced, all of it built nearly a hundred years prior, and largely abandoned for the last twenty years. The way the morning and setting sun caught all the old architecture, she could stare at it for hours, or at least until the sun climbed too high or set. She liked the people or the fact that they minded their own business. And she really liked the fact that for whatever reason of reverse gentrification seemed to be at play that giants did not seem to want to live there. A few littles like her, but mostly inbetweeners, oddballs who did not quite fit into society. Artists mostly, a handful of people practising nearly forgotten trades, like the blacksmith who lived down on the first floor, or the man who made handmade paper in the factory across the street. She was a little out of place as she practised a highly technical trade. She was a programmer, a graphic designer, a bit of a hacker (that she kept extra secret), all freelance. Someone rang her doorbell. She got up from her seat, slipping down onto the floor from a chair that would have been a decent size for an inbetweener, and walked towards the door. She had a small flat screen monitor by the door displaying an image of the hallway. Standing in front of her apartment door was a young man, a tall inbetweener, a clerk at the organic market down the street. He carried two bags in his arms. Pressing the intercom button, she said, “Hey Ted, just leave them out there. I’ll get them in a couple of minutes.” “Sure thing Miss Black,” he said, then put the bags down and left. She waited until he had entered the rickety old elevator and the doors had closed before she opened her door and pulled both bags in. It was not that she thought that Ted was one of those that felt all littles needed to be taken care of, but the market he worked at was one of the few places that saw significant visitors from outside of the area. All she needed was him talking about the little who lived by herself. Say that to the right Amazon, well, the wrong one, and it was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Bad analogy she knew, as bulls were colour blind. Carefully she picked up each bag and carried each one at a time to her kitchen. The place had been scaled towards the tall inbetweener crowd, sort of a safe size as even an Amazon could live there. As a little, she made use of a lot of step stools and put most things on lower shelves. Food unpacked she went back to her desk, did a little jump to get herself back on the chair. Her feet did not reach the floor. She was on the smaller size for an adult little, only a bit over four feet tall. Apparently, she was also ‘cute as a button’, which was not a phrase she liked. Back in her chair, she looked at the progress bar on her laptop. She was running a program of her own design, one that was converting an old banking program into a new web-based one. It was a specialised area of work that took most programmers weeks to do. Her program did it in a few hours, and then she would take a few hours to look for any problems before sending it back to the client. Not that she would send it back immediately. She would wait several days. No need to let her clients know how fast she really was. They might start making unreasonable demands on her time. She lost herself for a while, looking out her window at the late afternoon scene, the low buildings stretching out in front of her, off into the distance. There was a ribbon of undeveloped land between her neighbourhood and the city proper, where skyscrapers began to thrust up into the air. Some of her clients worked in those towers, paying her ridiculous amounts of money so that she could live her private life, on her own terms. There were times she felt like a prisoner, but she was content. And she reminded herself she would feel more like a prisoner in a crib. Her computer chimed. The program finished. She went to work, losing track of time, the apartment darkening as the sun slipped below the horizon. Emily was actually surprised when she looked up and found she was sitting in a dark apartment. Yawning widely she slipped off her chair and began to turn on lights, stretching out as she did so, wincing at a few tiny pains. Maybe she could get one of those standing desks, she thought, walking into her kitchen. Busying herself with making her dinner, she made herself stop thinking about her work. Eventually, dinner was made (she grilled up a steak, gently steamed some asparagus and broccoli) and then eaten. After cleaning up, she took a bath then, dressed in a terrycloth robe (made by the seamstress who loved two floors down), took a seat out on her balcony, a cup of coffee in her hands. The neighbourhood became a little livelier at night. Two of the factories had been converted to clubs, and people who would not live there came to celebrate. In the cooling night air she watched the expensive cars come in, park, saw the people get out. A lot of giants, seven and eight-foot men and women, a few even taller, dressed for a night out, laughing as they walked beneath her, unaware of the little who looked down at them. She liked it. When Emily finished her coffee, she left the balcony, put her cup in the dishwasher and then returned to her computer. Various emails had come in since she had last looked. Most of it was deleted, a few she read. There was one from Lyle Redmond, asking if she wanted to come and work for him. He made those offers at least once a month, and as always he asked if they could meet, or at least talk on the phone. Emily, of course, did not meet her clients, and she avoided the phone as her voice was high and apparently sweet. And Lyle Redmond--CEO of one of the largest entertainment companies in the country was nearly a ten-foot tall giant who had already ‘adopted’ five little ‘girls’ like they were a fashion accessory--was not someone she wanted to meet. Nor did she want him to hear her high and ‘sweet’ voice and start getting ideas. As always it took a bit of work to craft a polite refusal. Emily had no wish to send anything that would insult Lyle, He gave her a lot of work and paid her a lot of money, and he could have negative consequences on her career if he took it into his mind to do so. That done she shut off her computer and went to her bedroom to watch TV, carefully avoiding any show with bright colours and simple but catchy music. There was not a lot one could do in the neighbourhood. The artisanal shops tended to deal in bulk orders and did not handle walk-in clients well. The clubs opened later in the evening and were full of people Emily did not want to deal with anyway. She liked to walk around the old buildings, down the wide streets, during the early morning or later day, when few people were around. There was, however, one bar, a real hole in the wall, a place called Sharky’s, with windows so dusty anyone who did not live there would not know it was open. Sharky, Emily did not think that was his real name, was an old, blind man, who carded Emily every time she came in. Why she did not know. He could not even read the card. Once that bit of ritual was over he would make her a gin and tonic, she would climb up (literally) onto the barstool, and he would go back to his newspaper. “Why…” “I like the smell of the ink,” he told her. “God, your like some kind of mind reader.” “I can just predict stupid questions,” he told her. Farther down the bar Gus laughed. She turned to him and raised her glass in a salute. He returned the gesture with his beer mug. Gus was the blacksmith who lived and worked on the first floor of her building. He was about six feet tall, and Emily would swear nearly as broad in the shoulders. He worked part-time as a bouncer, able to handle even the giants who made trouble. She supposed if he spent his day forcing steel to his will putting a drunken amazon or giant in their place would not be too hard. “Sharky, give me a beer and a whisky chaser,” Candy said as she took a seat beside Emily. Candy was a mechanic, five and a half feet tall of grease monkey and attitude, with short black hair and oil in her blood. “Hey ya Emily.” “Afternoon Candy. Calling it early?” “Parts have to come in from the coast. Until they come in the car no go.” She nodded to Sharky (not that he could see it) as he put the beer down in front of her. “Client is going to bitch about it.” “They always do,” Emily said. “Amen to that sister.” She lifted her glass. Emily lifted her glass and tapped it against Candy’s mug. A musical chime filled the bar. “Don’t chip my glasses,” Sharky told them as he put Candy’s shot down. Candy smiled at Emily then took a pull of her beer. She put her beer on the bar and reached out, gently touching Emily’ short blonde hair. “You should grow this long.” Emily made a rude noise. “Long hair takes forever to take care of.” Candy ran her hand through her short hair. “That’s waste. Oh, Linda’s got this green fabric, make a great summer dress and go perfectly with those baby blues of yours.” Emily made another rude noise. “Don’t like summer dresses?” “For me, a summer dress is a skirt hike from being a toddler’s dress.” Sharky laughed. “Fair point. Make a nice, long skirt. Wear it with a white blouse. Look better than jeans and t-shirt.” “Maybe. Sometimes it is dangerous to look too mature.” “Not this again.” Candy sighed, then took a deep drink of her beer. “I’ll admit some littles end up being treated like children, but that is only the ones who can’t really take care of themselves.” Emily was about to argue that, but instead, she took a drink of her gin and tonic. She had gone to college and had been friends with three other littles. They had worked hard, putting up with RAs who were more like nannies, night time diapers, pull-ups, an almost complete lack of privacy; all because some littles ‘needed’ that level of care. The four of them had been in the top ten percent of their graduating class; Emily herself had been at the top. And four years later the other three were, last Emily had heard, in nurseries, spending their days in wet and messy diapers. “I’ll ask Linda about the cloth, have something nice made,” she said to Candy. “Good,” Candy said, smiling. Chapter 2 - Robber Baroness's Fancy In the city proper, the ballroom of the Grand Hotel was the complete opposite of Sharky’s. On the very top of the building, with three-story windows, large chandeliers hanging down from the ceiling, the room was brightly illuminated day or night. Polished marble floors, polished wooden accessory pieces, all clean, modern lines. It spoke of money. The ballroom was full of well-dressed people, moving about in various orbits, meeting and greeting. “Miss Morgan, a pleasure to see you here.” Chase Morgan turned towards the speaker. She was a handsome redhead, with dark brown eyes, and a dancer’s build. He was an inbetweener, perhaps a few inches over six feet. He was almost three feet shorter than her. “Mr Sands,” she said, nodding to him. He smiled up at her, apparently unconcerned by the differences in their heights. “I just wanted to let you know that my board is looking forward to the collaboration between your company and ours.” “I am glad to hear that,” she told him. Mr Sands was one of those inbetweeners who had what she considered the requisite level of maturity. If he had not, she would never have negotiated with him. They spoke a little more, discussing the evening, then he excused himself, moving off towards another group of people. The evening was a charitable event and an award ceremony for philanthropic acts of the local companies. It was all self-congratulatory and provided opportunities to network. Chase looked around. Most of the attendees were seven feet or taller, a smaller percentage six feet or a little higher. The staff members were all inbetweeners, except for the bartender who must have been ten feet tall. And then there was the one little. Lyle Redmond’s ‘daughter’. Not quite five feet tall, delicate, dressed in a silly little party dress, with a skirt puffed up so much her thick diapers were easily seen. She was an adorable thing, but at ten thousand dollars a plate, bringing a little was showing off. Though, Chase thought, if she had a little like that she might want to show her off as well. As if thinking about him summoned him Lyle approached her. “Chase,” he called all smiles. “Lyle,” she replied in kind. “I wanted to let you know I thought your presentation was great. Really, I think it was only that my company has more experience that we were awarded the contract.” “Thank you, Lyle,” she said, though she was thinking, ‘shut up you sanctimonious bastard.’ Some more small talk and then Lyle excused himself. Chase’s business partner, a man her size (though as she was wearing heels, she stood taller than him), young, well dressed, walked to her side, handing her a glass of champagne. “Thank you, Richard.” “What did Mr Redmond have to say?” “He was just rubbing it into my face, the contract we lost. All very polite.” She drank her champagne. “I’d like to get one up on him.” “Probably won’t be competing in the same arena again. Useful learning experience and got us a lot of contacts, but the board didn’t like it.” Chase nodded and then laughed. “Maybe I’ll find a little more pretty than his.” Richard only smiled. Eventually, everyone took their seats, and the food was brought out. There were speeches, awards, a nervous inbetweener man, the beneficiary of the charitable funds from that evening, who stuttered through a speech about how their generosity was going to help a lot of people. Everyone clapped politely. The most entertaining part of the evening, for Chase at least, was when Lyle’s little almost knocked a glass of juice over. Three tables away Chase watched as he pulled the girl over his lap, untaped her diaper, and proceeded to spank her. It brought the proceedings to a halt for a bit, what with the sound of the spanking and the little crying, ‘please stop Daddy’. No one complained, however. It was understood that such things had to be done. Some of the smaller inbetweeners seemed nervous, Chase thought. Later, after the dinner and the speeches were over, Chase had gone into the ladies restroom to freshen her make up. There she found the little being changed by Lyle’s personal assistant. She walked over, looking down at the little, laying on the change table, her puffy skirts pushed under her as the assistant cleaned her off. Her eyes were still puffy, and Chase could see the angry red on her raised bottom. “Poor thing,” Chase said. The assistant nodded as she looked to Chase. “Well, she promised to be good if she was brought along, so she should have been more careful.” She looked back to the little. “You were naughty, weren’t you Min?” “Yes Ma’am,” Min replied in a small squeaky voice that seemed more artifice than actual, which was a pity to Chase’s mind. “Min was naughty.” “Still,” the assistant said, turning her attention back to Chase, lowering her voice, “Mr Redmond was a little upset over getting turned down by Emily Black, again.” Chase did not like employees who gossiped about their employers, but as it was Lyle, she was willing to put that aside. “May I?” she asked, looking down at Min. “Of course.” Chase took over the position at the changing table, reached into the diaper bag for a tube of cream. She squirted some of it on her hands and then began to rub it into the girl’s soft skin. Min blushed and raised her hand to her mouth and began to suck her thumb. “Min’s shy,” the assistant said in a sing-song voice. Chase laughed as she wiped her hands and then sprinkled some baby powder over the girl’s diaper area. She lifted her bottom, pulling her up by her ankles, and slipped a new diaper under her. She skillfully taped it up and then patted the front of the thick diaper. “Little Min is all dry now.” “Say thank you Min.” Min slipped her thumb from her mouth and said, blushing, “Thank you for changing me.” “You’re welcome sweetie.” Letting the assistant take over she went to the sink and washed her hands, left the bathroom before Min and her caretaker. She found Richard and suggested they should go. Later, when they were in the car, she asked him, “Have you ever heard of Emily Black?” “Emily Black?” “Apparently she turned down Lyle, put him in a snit. Was wondering if she was some starlet or model.” Richard looked thoughtful. “I think there is a freelance IT specialist by that name. I could look into it.” Chase shook her head. “Just curious.” Later when Chase had returned to her apartment, she looked out her south-facing windows. They were the best views. To the South was a line of undeveloped and protected land and beyond that an old neighbourhood, with low, charming buildings. Nothing to spoil her view. She poured herself a shot of whisky and went to her computer. She did a search for Emily Black, added a few filter words. In a few minutes, she found a simple site for Emily Black. After looking through the website for a few minutes, she changed her opinion from simple to minimalist elegant. If she could hire this woman, she could rub it in Lyle’s face. But to even discuss that she would need to initiate contact. She clicked on the contact button and wrote an email. Chapter 3 - Day in and Day out Emily woke early, went out for a quick jog along the empty streets, came back to her apartment and did some yoga. After finishing up, she showered and then had her breakfast. When she took a seat behind her computer, the area was waking up. She could hear the banging sound from Candy’s garage and knew that Gus would be working on his forge soon enough. All sounds she was used to. It was late in the morning when she read an email from Chase Morgan, asking for a check on her company’s security. She verified the email to make sure it was valid, then looked up Chase Morgan. A giant, an Amazon, but most of Emily's clientele were, and she tried to not hold it against them. She seemed a decent sort. No kids, real or otherwise. Always a good thing in her opinion. She was the CEO of a public relations/ advertising firm, one of the largest in the region. She was, Emily thought, looking at a picture, a striking woman. She looked at her calendar, decided she could fit in a basic scan later that day and sent an email to confirm the request. In the afternoon she started the work on the security audit, letting various programs she had written do the lion’s share of work. After dinner, she looked at the results, did some checking, and then put them aside to send off the next day. Chase read the report she had been sent, then cut away the preamble and the final suggestions before sending it to her IT manager. He came up to her office after lunch, holding a print out. He was about seven and a half feet tall, bit on the small side, but he was competent. “Where did you get this?” he asked her. “Any good?” He looked at the printout and then at her. “About half of it I knew about, problems we’re waiting on vendor patches for, but the other half, I missed that. No excuse.” “I’m not calling you on the carpet John, I just wanted to know what you thought. So it’s good?” “It’s excellent. Who did it?” “Emily Black. Heard of her?” “Yeah, if it is the same Emily Black. IT freelancer, near perfect.” “That sounds like her. What do you know?” “She’s been working for about three years, started small, built up a good reputation, now anyone in the know tries to hire her.” “Know anything else?” John shook his head. “I am thinking of hiring her, to do a full audit. If you are okay with that.” “That’s fine with me. But it is costly.” “How much?” “I hear she charges four thousand a day.” “That’s ridiculous.” “And yet people pay it. Apparently, she did one for Grantech two years ago. Found them over a hundred thousand in savings in the first year and plugged some holes that could have cost millions.” “I’ll have to think about it. If I go ahead with it, I will let you know.” “Thanks.” When he left Chase sat back in her chair. “Four thousand a day. Ridiculous.” Ten minutes later she was sending an email off requesting the audit. Emily went to see Linda after lunch. Linda was a seamstress who rented a large room on the second floor. She probably could have been working for any fashion house in the world, but the slim, bespectacled woman did not have the personality for such a job. She worked in the brightly lit room, surrounded by dressmaking dummies and shelves full of fabric. She made Emily a cup of tea, and they took a seat at a work table, Emily on a stool that gave her a bit of extra height, and talked about clothing. Someone knocked loudly at the door. “Just give me a minute Emily,” Linda said, getting up to go and answer the door. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Linda said, sounding a little nervous. “Weren’t you supposed to come here tomorrow?” “I know dear,” someone said, feminine, deep, a mixture that worried Emily as it usually meant a large woman. “However I had an opening in my schedule and was hoping you could measure the twins for those outfits we were talking about.” “Well, I suppose it is okay,” Linda told her guest, caving into the pressure, Emily thought, a little uncharitably as she took a drink of her tea. “Excellent.” The woman came into the room, and Emily got a good look at her. Probably eight and a half feet tall, smartly dressed, neatly bobbed blonde hair. She was holding (tightly) the hands of two girls, the ‘twins’ Emily supposed. They were probably related, but Emily did not think they were sisters, and she knew they were not actually children. The woman’s gaze fell on Emily. That look most giants had when they looked at a little, the one that was sizing them up for diapers; or at least that was what Emily thought when she was looked at like that. The woman looked to Linda who was following. “A customer?” she asked. “Just a neighbour ma’am,” Emily said politely. “Stopping off for a cup of tea.” The woman’s gaze did not waver until Linda said, “Perhaps you could get the girls’ clothing off?” The Amazon’s gaze left Emily and shifted to the littles with her. Both were dressed in identical denim rompers, white blouses, bottoms puffed out by diapers. Both were gagged by the pacifiers in their mouths. The Amazon set about stripping them down to vests and diapers. One of them looked towards Emily, her face flushing. Emily supposed she was still trying to fight against what was happening. The other one seemed unaware of Emily, or uncaring as if she had accepted her status. Emily knew that both of the ‘toddlers’ were littles, though the cotton vests and the thick diapers were doing an excellent job of hiding the subtle curves of a little. The woman, once she had each girl out of her clothing, made a big deal of checking their diapers, declaring both of them wet, and, after pulling back the diaper of the blushing one, that one of them had ‘made mommy a present’. A small part of Emily wanted to tell the woman to stop, to stand up for the littles, to tell her that they were not babies, but competent adults, or at least had been until the woman had got her paws on them. Of course, she did not. While she felt like a traitor for not doing so, she was not going to give that Amazon any reason to get angry at her. And she was careful about how much attention she paid to what was going on. If she ignored it, an Amazon might take that as shyness because maybe she had had an accident, and it was best that she check. It did not matter if you had not had an accident, and that you were not wearing diapers, giving an amazon and excuse to flip up your skirt or pull down your pants was a dangerous situation to be in. And she could not pay too much attention, in case that be taken as a desire to wear diapers also. She really wanted to leave but knew movement would attract attention. All right, perhaps she was paranoid but better safe than sorry. Linda measured the girls, putting the tape around their diapered bottoms. “They’ll always be wearing them,” the Amazon had said, “might as well include them.” Finally, Linda was done, and the Amazon was getting her charges dressed. Neither had spoken once, just sucked on their pacifiers as they had been measured. Emily could not help but shiver a little at that. “So, you’ll have the outfits ready in a week, with the extras?” Linda was looking at the paper pad she had taken notes on. She looked up and nodded. “Oh yes, not a problem. You will want the pink cotton?” “Yes, that will look nice.” The woman gave Emily one last look before Linda showed her out. Linda came back and poured Emily a fresh cup of tea. “Sorry about that.” “What did she mean by extras?” “Oh, that, well,” she paused, “she wants several outfits with straps, to restrict the movement of the arms and legs.” Emily’s eyes widened slightly. “So they will have to crawl?” “Yes,” Linda nodded. “That is why.” “That’s terrible,” Emily said before she could stop herself. “Oh Emily, don’t be silly. Sometimes it is just easier to take care of babies when they are crawling.” Emily wanted to say that they were not babies, that they were women, but as always she did not. The message would not get through. And more than once her angry statements had been described as ‘cranky’ or a ‘tantrum’ and those were words she did not want people associating with her. “Candy said you had some green fabric that would look good on me.” “Oh, I do. What are you thinking?” “A slinky, sexy pencil skirt with a tight white blouse.” “That will look wonderful on you.” She grabbed her measuring tape. “Let me get your numbers.” As she was being measured Emily thought she caught a faint diaper smell on the tape as it passed close to her face. Chase looked at the email she had received back. Damn, John had been right. Four thousand dollars a day, maximum charge of forty thousand dollars, and a flat sixteen thousand offer. Emily Black was suggesting Chase go with the daily rate, saying she could probably get it done in two days. “To hell with that,” Chase said as she replied to the email, indicating she would take the sixteen thousand deal. Two days later Chase received a full report back. She swore quietly for a good two minutes, then sent the report to John and set about writing an email. Dear Miss Black, Thank you very much for your hard and prompt work. I was hoping that we might meet, or at least talk on the phone, to discuss a possible position for you with my company. We are both women of the world so I will get right down to the facts. The fact is that I want to teach Lyle Redmond a lesson, and I can’t think of anything better than hiring you. Petty? Perhaps, but in all honesty, I can’t help but think of all the benefits my company would have were you to come and work for me. And I believe you would benefit as well. Please give my request some consideration. Thank you, She looked the email over and then sent it off. Up on her balcony, Emily watched a giant man get out of an SUV. From the rear seat, he brought out a small figure. Girl, boy, child or little, she could not tell. She guessed that he was going to Linda’s apartment. It looked like Linda was gaining some popularity for her ‘children’s’ clothing. Emily was glad for her friend, but at the same time, she would have preferred less of the larger people around. After finishing her tea Emily went back into her apartment, climbing up on her chair, taking a look at her computer. She had a new email, from Chase. She was not surprised to get a job offer, that happened fairly often. She was a little surprised as to the ultimate reason. And she was inordinately pleased to be called a woman of the world by an Amazon. That alone made her consider the offer for a moment, but she immediately discarded the thought. She was pretty confident if they were to meet Chase’s ‘woman of the world’ comment would be forgotten. She wrote her canned reply, thanking her for the offer and regretfully declining. She did add an extra line, agreeing that Lyle was quite dogged in the pursuit of what he wanted and how it made him a challenge to deal with. It was the closest she would come to criticising one client to another. She sent the email and went back to work. “Son of a bitch,” Chase said, louder than she intended when she read Emily Black’s reply. “Something up?” Richard asked from the other side of the desk. “Oh,” she said, cheeks growing a little warm. “I offered Emily Black a job, and she just shot me down. It is a little annoying.” “You trying to show up Lyle?” “Guilty as charged.” “Probably see why he was upset.” She nodded. “I suppose if I was caring for a little right now I might ending up spanking her a little harder than required.” “You ready for the meeting?” he asked. “Yeah.” She grabbed a file folder. “I need to get Lisa to print something out for me. Go ahead.” He stood up. “See you soon.” She nodded and got up from behind her desk. Lisa, her assistant, an eight-foot-tall woman, was working at her desk. “Lisa, I need a colour print out of the GBB file.” “Yes Miss Morgan,” she said with a smile, turning to her computer. “Bring it down to meeting room three when it is done.” “Yes Miss Morgan.” She turned to go, then paused and looked back at her. “Lisa, I have something I would like you to work on, as you have time.” “Yes Miss Morgan?” “Get me a list of the top ten percent of all female graduates from,” she paused, “the top fifty colleges and universities in the country.” Lisa seemed confused by the request, but she nodded. “When do you want it by?” “No rush. Just work on it as you have time.” “Understood.” Chapter 4 - Chase's Chase Over several days both Emily and Chase were busy with work, and both had put the other out of their minds. Chase was dealing with several product launches, while Emily had been hired to help finish the CGI for several scenes in a movie. It was Chase who was the first to turn her attention back to the other when Lisa sent her an email with an attached file. The email’s subject was, ‘The Information you wanted’ and the body referenced the conversation they had had several days before. She wanted to open the file immediately, but Richard was calling her. They had clients to meet. In fact, she was busy the entire day and did not get a chance to open the file at all. Finally, back at home, she printed off the document, took a seat on her balcony, a glass of wine at her side, and read through the report. She found an Elizabeth Black, honours graduate in literature. Next was an Amy Black, graduate in engineering, near the bottom of the ten percent that Chase had indicated the cutoff. Near the middle of the report, in a list of graduates from the Women’s Institute of Applied Technology, she found an Aemilia Black, honours computers. Top of her graduating class, top of the entire school, four years ago. “Bingo,” Chase said happily. Then she told herself to take it easy. She would look through the entire list, just to be sure. There was an Emmiline Black, another graduate in computer studies, but again low in the placings, and from a small school. She’d check them all, but she had a good feeling about Aemilia. Sharky’s was busy. Emily, having finished several projects, had felt like celebrating. She had put the word out and was buying drinks. Most of the residents of the apartment building were there, as well as some of the people who worked in local businesses. Gus laughed as he tossed back a mug of beer. “You are a prince among men,” he told her. “Thank you,” Emily said from her stool and then, “I think.” “What he means,” Candy said, draping an arm across her shoulders, “is that everyone loves the woman buying the booze.” Emily smiled as behind the bar Sharky filled several more mugs with various beers. “They all drink when someone else is paying.” Linda walked over a tall glass of scotch and soda in her hand. “How about I pay for the next round?” “You got the scratch?” Candy asked her. Linda blushed under Candy’s scrutiny. “I’ve got some more business lately, and tips.” Her eyes went wide. “Generous tips.” “All those giants?” Linda nodded. Emily was not happy about Linda’s new clientele, but she wanted to be happy for her friend’s success. “If you are feeling generous I’ll happily drink to your triumph.” The gathering went on well into the night, and Emily and Linda stumbled back to their building, escorted by the surprisingly sober Gus. It was a good night. Chase had ordered online copies of yearbooks and alumni listings. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she sat down and began to look through them. Elizabeth Black, a muddy haired brunette who was working on her doctorate in romantic poetry. She crossed Elizabeth off her list. Amy Black, and inbetweener working for an overseas resource development company. Another name crossed off. Aemilia Black was a little, and Chase triple checked the names and information, sure that no little could have graduated top of her class, but no, there it was. She looked at the adorable blonde, wearing her university smock and uniform (only sensible to put littles in school uniforms). She could not quite accept that Emily Black could be a little. She started to cross the name off, but her pen stopped halfway through Aemilia. She would think about that one. Emmiline Black should have been the one, she was a tall Amazon, but when Chase read the notes on alumni, she gave up on it. Amazon or not, Emmiline was not the brilliant computer specialist that Emily was. She went back to Aemilia and read up on the details about the girl. Top of her class all four years. Got a gold star each year for potty use. Gold star each year for keeping her dorm bed dry. Surprising for a little, Chase thought. Never officially spanked. Top of her class, but she had not been the class valedictorian. Well, of course, a little could never stand up in front of a graduating class and the guests to make a speech. Even assuming the shy thing did not start crying the staff would probably have to stop the speech so she could run off to potty. Chase took a look through the notes about alumni, but it was like Aemilia had dropped off the face of the earth right after she graduated. It was always possible she was in a nursery somewhere, but something about the determined gaze in her yearbook picture made Chase think just maybe that Emily and Aemilia were one in the same. As ridiculous as that notion should be. She called Lisa into her office. “Lisa, find me the name of a good private investigator would you.” “Of course Miss Morgan.” Emily found a pair of Amazons in front of her building, one of them holding a leash attached to a baby harness that a little was wearing, the other pushing with a stroller--the occupant might have been a real child, she was not sure. As soon as she saw them, she was ready to duck away, but the one with the stroller saw her and said, “You girl.” Emily knew that running would only invite chasing, and the long legs of the Amazon gave her a distinct advantage if it came down to a chase. “Yes ma’am,” she said politely. Both women regarded her, as did the little on the end of the leash. The little on the leash looked positively gleeful, and Emily was sure the leashed girl was hoping that someone else was going to join her in enforced toddlerhood. The little fink, Emily thought, though it was an uncharitable thought. “We are looking for a tailor, named Linda Corda.” “She is on the second floor of this building ma’am. Apartment 201.” “This building?” the woman holding the leash asked. It was on her tongue to reply in a snotty manner, ‘yes, this building,’ but she did not. It was not easy to answer politely, “Yes ma’am.” Sure the place looked like it was a dump, but it was structurally sound and was much nicer on the inside. Don’t judge a book by its cover you cow, she thought. They both looked away from Emily and to the building, then the one with the stroller looked back to Emily. “Do you live here?” “No ma’am. Over there,” she said, pointing at the building that Candy worked out of. She did not want them asking her to escort them in. “Well, then you better go. You should not be alone out on the street.” “Yes ma’am,” she said, noting the look of disappointment that flashed across the face of the leashed little, apparently upset that Emily was not about to join her. You really are a fink. She turned and walked quickly to the garage, opening the door and entering, letting out the breath she had been holding. That had felt close. There was a banging sound coming from within, and she followed it to Candy’s work area. She was leaning into the engine compartment of a large muscle car, an old one, pounding away on something. “What are you doing Candy?” Emily called over the noise. The banging stopped. Candy lifted herself out from under the hood, looked back at her. “Hey, Emily. Just trying to get a cylinder to move, hoping it’s not seized up.” “This is a car for a giant, right?” Candy nodded. “You’d have to be at least seven feet tall to reach the pedals and see over the steering wheel. Come and take a look at the engine, it’s huge.” Emily used a stool to climb up and look, getting some grease on her bare knees (she as wearing shorts) and hands. The engine was indeed massive. “Seems a lot more of the larger types around these days,” Emily said. “Really? I didn’t really notice.” “Well, they are mostly coming to get Linda to make them clothing.” “Yeah, I’m glad that Linda is doing well. You get her to make you something?” “Skirt and blouse.” “Wear them to Sharky’s some time so I can see.” “Will do.” And Emily passed the time with Candy until the two Amazon women left and she could get back into her building without being hassled. Emily got busy over the following week, several high paying projects were offered to her. She spent most of the week working or sleeping, and ordered a lot of takeout, having no time to cook. When she finally finished, she ended up crashing, sleeping almost fourteen hours straight. Quite possibly she would have slept even longer had not the incessant buzzing of her doorbell woken her. She rolled out of her bed, hit the floor in a tangle of blankets, which padded her fall, and reached for a fallen pillow which she pulled over her head. Still, the doorbell buzzed. Crawling from the nest of blankets she got to her feet and stumbled sleepily towards her front door. Tired as she was she almost opened it without checking the monitor, but it was an ingrained habit, and she looked down at the screen as her hand reached for the deadbolt. Her hand stopped. Standing outside of her apartment was an Amazon and not just any Amazon, but Chase Morgan. She backed away from the door, eyes locked on the monitor. How long had she been standing out there, ringing the doorbell? Why was she standing out there, ringing her doorbell? Was she there for her? Emily wondered. Impossible, she thought. Her mind bounced around, seeking a reason. She could be there for Linda. And had gotten the wrong floor. And had stood out there on the wrong floor, looking at the number, 403, ringing the doorbell and not realising she was on the wrong floor. She would have to be pretty stupid. That she was stupid seemed unlikely. She stopped ringing the doorbell. Thank god. She started knocking, pounding on the door. Oh god! It was a nightmare. That Amazon as going to break in, and she had been asleep for more than twelve hours, and she had to pee really badly. She was going to be caught by an Amazon while she was pissing herself. It could not be worse. Then her more logical mind put a cap on the panic. Chase was not going to break through that door. And she could go the washroom. So she did. When she was finished, Chase had gone. She went out on the balcony, peeking out. There was a big, black SUV out there. She snuck back in. All she had to do was wait. Eventually, she heard the car start up, peeked out to see it drive away. “I won,” she said softly. Relaxing, she showered and then had her breakfast. She was just reading her email when her doorbell rang. The bagel in her hand nearly went flying. She was back! Checking the monitor she saw that it was not Chase Morgan at her door, but Linda. She opened her door. “Hi, Linda.” “Good morning Emily. I finished your outfit.” She held out a white cardboard box tied with a blue string. On top of it where a pair of black slippers. “Great,” Emily told her, taking the parcel. “Let me try it on for you.” “Thank you,” Linda said as she closed the door behind her. Emily went to her bedroom, stripped off her shorts and top and opened the box. She took out the panties and the bra first. Leave it to Linda to leave nothing unthought of. She put them on, then the silk blouse and the sheer white stockings. Slipping into the pencil skirt she did up the fastener. Not looking into the mirror she went out, to let Linda see the effect first. “You look great,” Linda said. “Sexy.” Now Emily took the time to look at herself. She had little in the way of curves, but Linda’s tailoring made the most of what little there was, drew attention to the very slight flare of her hips, focused on her slim neck, which helped draw attention away from her almost complete lack of breasts. “This is amazing.” Linda was smiling. “You never asked for sexy before.” “I’ll be asking for it more,” Emily told her as she posed in front of the mirror. “Oh, I was asked to give you this.” Emily turned, saw Linda holding a card. She took it. The embossed card spelt out ‘Chase Morgan’ and had a telephone number. “She asked that you call her, about a job.” Emily swallowed. “Thank you,” she said. “She seems nice. I was surprised, you usually don’t have any clients come here.” Keeping calm, not wanting to try to explain things to Linda (who would not understand) she said, “Miss Morgan is a special case.” “She seems nice. I showed her the outfit I made for you. She was quite interested in it.” “That’s nice.” Chase had to know she was a little now. “She asked me to make a few child style outfits, paid in advance, asked for the best materials, just like you.” “Oh?” Emily asked. “Did she have someone with her?” “No, but she said that they were for someone your size. Maybe you can be my model for them.” “What? No.” “I’m just joking,” Linda said with a laugh. “I’ll make something that fits a general size. If required I can let them out or take them in.” “Yes, of course,” Emily said. She looked at her watch. “I have to run. You really look great in that.” “Thanks. Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow to talk about a few other outfits. If you are not too busy?” Which was Emily’s way of making sure there would not be too many giants around. “Tomorrow should be good. See you later.” Once she was gone, Emily went and locked her door. She looked at the card, then ripped it up and dropped the pieces in the garbage. “Just leave me alone,” she told the torn up paper. The next time Emily heard Chase’s name was when she was down at Gus’s office, helping him with an issue with his internet connection. “Just need to reset the modem and the router, and you should be back up,” she told him. Gus laughed. “You know me, if I can’t hit it with a hammer, it is beyond me.” Emily shook her head and then tested his connection. “You are back up.” “You are a lifesaver. I am glad we have a computer expert in the building. That reminds me.” He went into his desk drawer and pulled out a card. “I was asked to give this to you.” With a sinking feeling, she took the card. ‘Chase Morgan’ was written on it. “She asked me to give you that card if I saw you.” “Why was she here?” Emily asked, her tone a little strident, apparently surprising Gus as his eyebrows rose. “I mean,” she let her tone shift back to normal, “why did she come to talk to a blacksmith?” “She as asking about some ironworks for her office lobby,” Gus told her with a smile. “She wants something unique.” “Well, your work is great, so I’m not surprised.” His smile grew wider. “Thanks. Got to admit, thought it was weird. I’ve never seen one of your clients come here before.” “Special case,” Emily said while thinking, ‘head case’. She was not even to be left alone in Candy’s garage. The big engines had interested her, so she made time to come by and watch Candy work. Candy joked about Emily becoming her apprentice. “Get me the torque wrench will you Emily. The metric one.” Emily had been perched up on a step ladder, looking down into the engine that Candy was taking apart. She jumped down and get the wrench. Candy looked at it and nodded. “Good eye my apprentice.” Emily smiled. “So you really want to learn engines?” Emily leaned in. “I need something to fall back on in case this computer thing turns out to be a passing fad.” Candy laughed, gave the bolt she as working on a twist. “That reminds me. I was asked to give you…” “Oh no.” “What?” a surprised Candy asked. “Nothing. Just remembered something.” Candy nodded after a moment, then walked over to one of her workbenches. She came back with an oil-stained business card. Emily took it with a nod. “Thank you.” “She seemed like a nice lady. Said she might have me restore an old war motorcycle she has, one of the big Valkyries the giants rode. Can you imagine the engine that thing will have? The history.” “I can imagine it.” “Going to start having more of your clients come by.” “I don’t think so,” Emily said with a shake of her head. “Miss Morgan is special.” A few days passed with no more cards left from Chase, and Emily was considering that just maybe the Amazon had given up. Early afternoon she had put on the outfit that Linda had made for her. There was only one place she could go dressed in such a manner, so she went to Sharky’s to have a drink. It was empty, so there was no one to show off to. She perched on her customary bar stool, with her gin and tonic, and wondered if she should move. Sharky put his newspaper aside, go to his feet, and a moment later said, “Don’t see many of your type in here.” Later she figured that Sharky had heard the sound of her footsteps, but at that time it was just one more fantastic thing about the man. “I can’t imagine why.” The voice was deep, feminine and sarcastic. It cannot be, Emily thought, slowly turning her head to look behind. It was like being in a horror movie, and a small part of her was yelling at the back of her mind, ‘don’t look, it’s not real if you don’t look.’ Of course, she looked. Chase Morgan stood there, dressed in a smart suit of a green material, almost the exact same shade as Emily’s skirt. She smiled at Emily. Emily almost said, ‘Grandma, what big teeth you have,’ but she bit down on the words, and turned back to her drink, trying to pretend she had no idea who the Amazon was. She wanted to run, but the pencil skirt, while giving an illusion of length to her legs, was not meant for running. Likely she would end up face first on the dirty bar’s floor. Chase leaned up against the bar (it was not like she could sit on the stool) beside Emily and said, “I’ll take what she is having.” Sharky made another gin and tonic and put it down in front of Chase. Then he went back to his chair and picked up his newspaper. “Why…” Chase said. “I like the smell of ink,” Sharky told her. Emily could not help but giggle. Stupid, stupid, she told herself. Don’t bait the bear. Chase picked up the glass that had been put in front of her and took a drink. “Gin?” she said to Emily. Not able to ignore her Emily decided not to say, ‘you think I should be drinking milk’ but instead said, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” “Oh,” Chase took another drink. “Is that your bedtime?” It was, Emily admitted, a clever rejoinder. Instead of acknowledging that she said, “Happy hour.” “Ah, yes.” Chase drank, and Emily drank, and they did not speak again, and Emily kept hunching her shoulders up, sure something was going to happen. Chase put her empty glass down on the bar with a ‘clack’. Emily jumped a little. Chase put several bills on the bar. “I’ll pay for her drink as well,” she said. And then she left. She just left. Why had she just left? That made no sense to Emily. Maybe it was time to find out just what Chase Morgan wanted because she was acting in a way that did not make sense to Emily. Sharky gathered the money off the bar, sorted it and put it in the old cash register. “Minus my tip, if she is covering your drinks, you could drink all night.” Or maybe she would just put it off and hope Chase never came back. “Well, give me another,” Emily told Sharky. Chase got into her car. She took a deep breath. “No one should be allowed to be that adorable,” she said aloud. “And littles should not look so good dressed like that.” She admired Linda’s work, hoped that the tailor's more childish work would be equally effective. She looked out her car window, at the old bar, with the dusty windows. She wanted to go back in there, pick that little up, and take her away. No one would say anything. She could have Emily in one of the automated daycares, or send her to one of the more personal training schools by tomorrow morning. Soon she would be just another helpless little, her cute tiny tush padded out by a thick diaper. But, strangely enough, Chase did not quite feel like that was what she wanted. Of course, Emily needed to be taken care of. There was no doubt about that. And the best way to take care of a little was just to treat them like small children. That was a known fact. But she was too much a businesswoman to discount the girl’s abilities. “This is going to be tricky,” she said as she started up her car and drove away. Chapter 5 - Cornering the Little Emily had a hangover the next day. It made the morning start slow and rough. When someone pounded on her front door, it went right through her head. She looked at the monitor. Saw it was Gus. She opened the door. “What?” She did a lousy job keeping her tone civil. He was holding a letter. He reached up and removed an envelope taped to her door. “Read.” She looked at the envelope. The name in the upper right corner was ‘West Management.’ Her name was typed in the centre. She tore it open, scanned the contents. “They going to turn this place into condos,” Gus said. Emily shook her head. “They are only saying they are doing an assessment.” “Which means they are going to turn it into condos, or even just make a handful of improvements and raise the rent.” Emily could not deny the possibility. “Look, we’re getting together at Sharky’s later today, to talk this out. Can you see what you can find out about this West Management place?” Emily nodded. “I will.” “Thanks,” Gus said, then left. She closed the door and then went to get some aspirin. Emily sat in Sharky’s, listening to everyone talk. Everyone was upset. Linda, who knew she would never find another place like her apartment again, sounded near tears. Gus, who was going to have a hard time setting up a new forge, even if he could find a place where it was zoned to allow it was angry. Nestor, Grace, James, Fred and Tony, all people who lived in the building and could not afford a rent increase. Candy and others from other buildings in the area were there as well because if it happened to one building, it would happen to all of them, eventually, or so they thought. Emily had told them almost all of what she had found out about West Management. A wealth management company, handling investments for people, for various tax benefits. She had told them it was possible if West Management did an assessment of the building they might do nothing, or perhaps just sell it again. What she did not tell them was that West Management was owned by Chase Morgan and that her arranging to have the building bought was likely a ploy against Emily. She did not tell them that because it would sound crazy. Eventually, the impromptu meeting changed to people drinking to drown their sorrows. Emily, still too fresh off her morning hangover, left. When she reached her apartment, she found another envelope taped to her door. She took it down. In it was a page that read, ‘Call me.’ And there was a phone number. Only one person that it could be from. She went into her apartment, locked the door behind her, and went to make a call on the phone she hardly ever used. “Hello Emily,” Chase said as soon as she answered. “Hello Miss Morgan,” she said, defaulting to polite. “A pleasure to hear your sweet voice, my dear.” Emily took a deep breath. “You seemed determined to speak with me,” Emily said. “You upset a lot of good people, Miss Morgan.” “Perhaps if you had just answered your door or called me it would not have come to this,” Chase told her. “Had you handled this in a slightly more mature manner…” “Why did you have to bring all my friends into this?” “Because they all like you, and I assume you must like them.” Emily realised she was gritting her teeth. She relaxed her jaw and said. “Of course I like them.” “Then you would want to help them, wouldn’t you sweetie?” No other option. “Yes.” “Such a good girl.” An oh so condescending tone. “Seeing as you have not handled this in the most adult of manners, I think I will dictate the terms. Come by my office tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it.” “Come into my parlour said the spider to the fly,” Emily said before she could stop herself. Chase laughed. “I promise not to bite, though wrapping you up in silk is not an impossibility.” “I’ll be there. What time Miss Morgan?” “Ten in the morning. And Linda finished the outfits I commissioned. I would like you to bring them with you.” “I would be happy to.” It seemed a little thing. “And perhaps you might model one for me. Not that you did not look nice in that outfit you wore yesterday, but I think something a little more suited for the tone I want to set for our business. Number three would be the best choice.” “Pardon?” “You’ll understand when you pick them up. I will see you tomorrow.” Emily was careful not to sigh. “Yes, Miss Morgan.” Chase hung up. Emily carefully paced the handset in its cradle, then went into her bedroom, pulled her covers over her head and then screamed into her pillow for several minutes. Finally, she sat up, tossed the covers aside and then flopped backwards among them. “Damn you,” she said quietly. She got up from the bed and went back down to Sharky’s. Linda, usually not a big drinker, seemed happy enough to leave with Emily to get the outfits. There were five boxes, wrapped in paper, tied with strings, each numbered. Seeing the ‘3’ written on one filled in the missing the information.” “Do you really think we’ll be able to stay here?” Linda asked her. Emily looked from the boxes to Linda. She was standing near the wall of windows, looking out. She looked wistful. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I’m not sure what I will do. This much room. This much light. Near people like Nestor who handles the leatherwork.” She shook her head. Emily wanted to assure her that everything would be alright, but she could not. And she knew she would be at Chase’s office the next day. Running away was not an option. Number three was a white, empire waist dress, with short sleeves, a sailor collar and pleats in the short skirt (but not too short, thankfully). There was black and red piping around the hem of the dress and the ends of the sleeves. As was Linda’s signature, she had included a pair of shoes (red maryjanes) and a small patent leather purse. The leather was probably Nestor’s work. Tony had likely made the shoes. They were, she thought, a surprisingly self-sufficient group of people. And undergarments had not been left out. A white cotton vest, thick white cotton tights, some petticoats, and a pair of voluminous panties of thick white cotton, embroidered with little black anchors. She had held the panties out and thought they barely stepped above training panties, but she supposed that step, as minuscule as it was, was significant. Dressing in the morning, Emily quickly noticed the vest and the loose panties with tight (almost uncomfortable) waist and leg bands removed any curves. And the lines of the dress drew attention to what she did not have. As always, Linda’s work was impressive. She stood out on her sidewalk, the boxes beside her, in her red shoes, holding her little patent leather purse. She hoped none of her neighbours saw her. The cab she had called for pulled up to the curb in front of her. The driver, an inbetweener about six feet and some inches looked down at her. “Your mother around kiddo?” Emily wanted to scream. “I called you,” she said. “You?” he looked doubtful. Emily opened her purse, took out a small bundle of bills. “There is a big tip in it for you.” Money talked, she thought. He helped her put the boxes in the trunk (which is to say he took the boxes and put them in the trunk) and then took a booster seat from it, placing it in the back seat. “Wish you had said something when you called, would have preferred a car seat.” Emily did not say anything and did not argue against the booster seat (though she would have preferred to do without it). He helped her into it, not even asking her, and then put the seatbelt on her. Emily accepted it, saving her energy for fights that mattered. The driver took her across the undeveloped land and into the city. Chase Morgan’s company was large enough to have its own building near the centre of the city, a twenty-five story tower sized for giants. She looked up at the silver steel and black glass of the building as the cab driver pulled up in front of it. It looked impressive. It had been years since she had last been in a city with such buildings, and she had gotten used to the less intimidating architecture of her home. The driver helped her out of the car, and while he got the packages from the trunk, she pulled his fee and the promised, generous tip from her purse. They exchanged parcels for money, and then the cab driver drove off. Balancing the boxes, she walked towards the front doors of the Morgan Tower. She was really out of place. There was not a single other little she could see in the area, and not too many inbetweeners either. Having gone so long avoiding such situations her mind was screaming warnings, telling her to run, but she pushed back her shoulders and walked straight to the door. She supposed that Chase had done her a favour, having her dress like this. It made her look like she was being cared for. It was protective colouring, a warning to other giants to back off, ‘this little is mine, and I have the money to see her properly attired’. God, she hated giants. No one accosted her, and the doors opened automatically for her as she approached. The lobby was, in her opinion, pointlessly large, and scaled for people seven feet plus. The two women sitting at the receptionist desk had to be at least seven and a half feet each, probably closer to eight, and Emily would not have been able to see over the desktop if she stood too close. Of course, the women noticed her. The blonde on the right leaned over the desk. “Well, hello sweetheart. Are you lost?” It was, Emily thought, intimidating to be dressed as she was. Careful to keep her voice even she said, “My name is Emily Black. I am here to see Miss Chase Morgan.” “Oh sweetie, Miss Morgan is too busy to buy any cookies from you.” “Cookies?” Oh, the boxes. “I’m delivering these for her,” she said and winced at how stupid she sounded. “Now sweetie..” The other receptionist, a brunette, tapped her companion on the arm, pointed to the computer screen. “Really?” the blonde said. “It’s right here,” the brunette told her. “Sorry sweetie, I didn’t realise you had an appointment.” “Yes.” The blonde clapped her hands together. “Aren’t you just the most adorable thing.” She came around the desk. “Let me show you there.” Emily was glad her hands were full of the boxes as it avoided having to take the blonde’s hand. She was led to the elevators, and she supposed it was a good thing the blonde had come with her or she would be jumping up to try to hit the elevator buttons. “Be good sweetie,” the blonde said, pressing the button for the twenty-third floor and then stepping out. The brunette had probably called up for when the elevator doors opened Chase Morgan stood there, wearing an outfit that looked suspiciously like the one that Emily had been wearing when they had first met at Sharky’s. Of course, Chase needed no artifice to show off her curves. It was done on purpose for it made Emily feel even more childish in her sailor dress. “Here, let me take those,” she said, taking the boxes from Emily. “Just a moment and hold still. Let me look at you.” She looked Emily up and down. “Linda does wonderful work.” Emily felt her face grow warm and tried to force the feelings of embarrassment down. “Come on Emily,” Chase said, turning and walking away, expecting Emily to follow obediently along. That Emily had no choice but to follow obediently along made it so much worse. There was not, thankfully, anyone in the hallway. Emily took a quick look around, it looked like the office suites on this floor were large, which meant less staff. When they entered one of those suites Chase said, “Lisa, this is Emily Black.” “That’s Emily Black?” Lisa (who Emily guessed was a secretary) asked incredulously. Emily bit back a rude reply. “Yes,” Chase told her, tone firm. “I’m sorry,” Lisa said. Emily thought she was apologising to Chase, but she supposed that it might be possible that the apology was meant for Emily herself. Possible but not likely. “Emily, this is Lisa Smith, my personal assistant.” “Miss Smith,” Emily said, one more falling back on politeness. “Lisa, go and find a booster seat for Emily.” “Of course Miss Morgan,” Lisa said and hustled from the office. Emily felt her cheeks warming at the thought of Lisa looking for a booster seat, perhaps saying, ‘it is for a little Miss Morgan has up in her office, maybe I should bring a changing pad as well, just in case’. Why couldn’t Chase have had the stupid booster seat there to begin with? She had known Emily was coming. “This way,” Chase said, entering her office. It was large, even considering its occupant, with a big desk set near a wall of windows. She would need a booster seat to see over that. “While we are waiting,” Chase said, and took the dress boxes over to her desk, placing them down. She used what Emily hoped was a paper cutter to cut the strings and then carefully unwrapped the first box and opened it. “Look at this,” she said to Emily, lifting out and holding up a short sleeved, pink princess dress. “Very nice,” Emily said with no real enthusiasm, for she guessed were she to wear that that the skirt would not cover up whatever undergarment she might be wearing. “Yes, it is,” Chase said, and carefully put it back into the box before opening the next one. “How sweet,” Chase said for the next one, a white and blue romper. Chase made sure to draw Emily’s attention to the snaps in the crotch. The third was a set of several shorts and blouses, all of the shorts with suspender straps and snaps in the crotches as well. Chase was showing off the last, a white dress with ruffles and lace that looked like something a toddler might wear to church when Lisa returned with the booster seat. “Oh, that is just so cute,” she gushed, and then looked towards Emily, “I want to see her in it,” she said, hungrily (or at least that is not how Emily heard it). “I’m not sure this is Emily’s,” Chase said as she put the dress back in the box. “The seat.” Lisa put the booster seat on one of the chairs in front of the desk. She then, without asking, picked up Emily and put her in place. “There you go,” she said. Emily never liked being grabbed by Amazons, but she managed a weak ‘thank you’, telling herself she might have actually needed a little help. Lisa left as Chase took a seat behind her desk. “So here we are,” Chase said. “So here we are,” Emily echoed. “I appreciate you coming.” “I did not feel if I had a choice.” Chase smiled. “You always have a choice.” “You might.” Chase frowned for a moment. “I want you to work for me.” “And what would I do Miss Morgan?” “I have not decided yet. I am sure we can find a position for you.” The position that Emily thought of was back on a change table, legs raised, but she did not say that. “And if I am not interested.” Chase did not answer immediately. Eventually, she said, “While I don’t want to seem like some cheap movie villain, your neighbours might not appreciate it.” Emily wanted to swear at her but kept her temper in check. “That does not seem to leave me much choice.” “Because you are such a nice girl.” If you could read my thoughts you would not think so, she thought, but said, “You are very kind.” “So, you will come and work for me?” “How much will I be paid?” Chase frowned, and Emily wondered if she had even thought of that. “You will be fairly compensated for your skill set,” she finally said. Which, Emily thought, could easily translate into all the diaper changes she needed. “What project are you bringing me on for?” Again Chase frowned, and Emily wondered if she was pushing too far, but what else could she do? “I will have you work in various areas of the business until we have found the best fit for you, and that is all I can say.” There was a sense of finality to that, and Emily knew she should not ask any more questions. “I want to think about it.” “What is there to think about?” “The commute,” Emily said tartly, knowing it was dangerous. It was a gamble, One that apparently paid off for Chase smiled. “Very well, but make your choice fast.” Emily slipped down from the booster chair, she felt her skirt, and the petticoats catch and get pulled up behind her, for a moment leaving her with her the back of her panties uncovered. No one could see it, but she knew it and could feel the cool air of the room on the top of her bare thighs. She quickly smoothed the skirt down over her bottom. Chase came around her desk, looked down at her. “That is my dress you know.” She smiled. “Pardon?” Emily asked. “You don’t seem to have brought a change of clothing.” Emily's eyes widened. Was she about to be stripped and sent away? A naked little, around so many giants? It was like throwing blood in the water with sharks. Chase put her hand on top of Emily’s head, gently ruffled her short hair. “Tell you what, I will give it to you as a gift.” “Thank you,” Emily said, relieved, and embarrassed at how grateful she was at that moment. “Is that a way to thank someone?” She took her hand from Emily’s head. Emily looked up at her, saw a displeased look on her face. “Thank you for the beautiful dress, Miss Morgan.” “In the future, you might want to add how much you love it.” Then she walked to her office door and opened it. “Lisa.” “Yes Miss Morgan,” Lisa said. “Please see Emily down to the street, and make sure she gets into a taxi.” “Pardon?” Lisa asked, surprise in her tone. When she stepped into Emily’s view, Emily could see the surprise mirrored on her face. “See that she gets into a taxi, make sure no one bothers her,” Chase said, tone firm. “Yes, Miss Morgan.” She nodded. “Emily, please come this way.” “I hope to hear from you soon Emily,” Chase said. “Yes Miss Morgan,” Emily said, getting out of the office as quick as she could. Lisa took her down to the lobby, and out onto the street. All the time Emily was sure Lisa was wondering why Chase was sending Emily away. Emily was not entirely certain herself. A black taxi pulled up in front of the building a few seconds before they reached the sidewalk. The driver got out, a tall inbetweener man, maybe almost seven feet tall. He looked at them and said, “Got a call to pick up an Emily Black?” “This is her,” Lisa said. The driver opened the passenger compartment door. A little-sized child’s seat awaited her. I hate you, Chase, Emily thought. Lisa picked her up, plopped her into the seat. The driver, with speed that spoke of skill, had the straps around her shoulders, and one up between her legs, the nylon edge of the belt against her bare thighs. There was a click as the buckles snapped together, and he gave the straps a quick, gentle pull that had her secured. The door closed. She heard Lisa say, “Bye bye sweetie.” Emily tried to undo the straps, but the buckles were somehow locked. When the driver got in, she said, “I am going to…” “I know where you are going,” he said. There was something ominous about that. The driver started the car and drove off. The seat had blocks of padded plastic on either side of her head, and she could not see past them. The straps were too tight for her to lean forward so she might look around them, and the seat was angled so she could not really see where they were going. They could be going anywhere. Chase had called for the taxi, told it where to go, Emily thought. Would she be driven to one of those schools she had heard of? Would the driver keep driving around until she wet herself and only then pull up to their destination? After years of working to avoid just this situation, she had walked into it. She tried to talk to the driver, to at least get an idea of what was going to happen, but he told her that he had to pay attention to the road and refused to be engaged. She lost track of time, almost panicking and when the car came to a stop, she had to bite down on a scream. The driver got out of the car. A few seconds later he had opened the passenger door. Reaching in, he loosened the straps, undid the buckles and smoothly lifted her from the seat and placed her on the ground. She was outside of her apartment building. “Have a nice day miss,” the driver said, leaving her there. He did not ask to be paid. Emily had to take a few deep breaths. Her knees felt weak. As the car pulled away, she walked slowly towards the doors of the building. Chapter 6 - Fight Fire with Finance, Meet Maliciousness with Mentality Back in her apartment, changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, Emily was able to relax slightly. She was still feeling a little panicked, and she was not happy, but she could think things through. She looked at the dress she had been wearing, in a pile on the floor. For a moment she thought to throw it out. However, she suspected treating a ‘gift’ poorly might come back and bite her in the ass. Plus she couldn’t bring herself to throw away something that Linda had made. She gathered it up and hung it in the closet, tossed the rest, panties, vest and stockings into her laundry hamper, then went to her computer. Think, she told herself. How did she get out of this? The panic in the taxi had almost sent her running. She had been looking for plane tickets, but she could not leave her friends behind, to be turned out of their homes by an angry Chase. Think, she once again told herself. If Chase did not own the building, then she would have no leverage. And Chase did not really own the building. Her investment management company did. That was the weak point. So she researched it. The trick was, she realised, to make the building seem unprofitable to the managers and, more importantly, their software. And she knew the software, had helped to write it, knew how to exploit it. As long as Chase had not directly instructed her managers to hold onto the building, it was possible. And Chase did not respect her; not as much as she should. She continued her research. She checked her finances. Four weeks. Maybe a day or two less, but four weeks. If it was even possible, she could do it in four weeks. She just had to stay out of diapers for four weeks. She stayed out of them (at least needing them) for four years in college. For twelve years before that in school. Four weeks would be a cakewalk she tried to tell herself. Emily did not really believe it. Chase Morgan was tough. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and asked herself if she could live with herself if she did not even try to help her friends. “God damn you and your noble spirit, Emily,” she said and reached for her phone, dialled in Chase’s number. She answered on the third ring. “Hello Emily dear,” she said. “I’ll work for you.” Chase was silent, and Emily pictured her in her head, smiling triumphantly. “I am so happy to hear that my dear.” “When do you want me to start Miss Morgan?” “Monday. I’ll send a car to pick you up at 8:30am. I’ll see that you get home after work. That way you don’t have to worry about the commute.” “Yes, Miss Morgan.” “I am looking forward to seeing you Emily,” she said, and then hung up. Emily put her phone down. Monday. That gave her an extra fours days. “Okay Miss Morgan, you have all the advantages, and I have to hope that it makes you sloppy.” She turned back to her computer. There was a lot of work to do. The four days that Chase had given to her passed by in a blur. Emily was working on setting the events in motion that would let her buy the building, and she also had a lot of projects that she had to finish. If she had to work for Chase, then she was not going to have much time to devote to her clients. She also, not that she wanted to, had to face the possibility that she could end up not being able to work at all. Of course, she could not tell her clients that she might end up in a nursery and would have a hard time getting work done between feedings and diaper changes. She got depressed just thinking about it. So instead she told them that something personal had come up and she would have less time to work for them. It would explain why she would be turning down jobs. Doing so did not make her happy. She had spent a lot of time building up her reputation as someone people could trust to get jobs done fast. She had sacrificed any real social life for her career. Going dark like she was going to do for the next four weeks would hurt that reputation. She would have to build it up again. Assuming she was able to. The least she could do was to make sure that were no jobs left unfinished. She hardly slept more than a few hours a night. When Monday came she stood on the curb in front of her building, dark circles under her eyes, dressed in a blue skirt, white blouse and grey blazer, a messenger bag over her shoulder. A professional enough looking outfit, and one that could be mistaken for a school uniform, though of no particular school. Her version of protective colouring, giants being less likely to snap you up if they thought you were going to school somewhere. At precisely 8:30 a large, black town car pulled up in front of her. The driver was a man about nine feet tall. “Miss Black, Miss Morgan sent me.” Emily nodded. “Thank you.” He opened the passenger door, revealing a child’s seat in the back. That came as no surprise to her. He picked her up, slipping his large hand under her bottom, and then put her gently in the seat. “Let me get you buckled up,” he told her, pulling the straps around her, and between her legs. It was always the strap that went between her legs that got to her, embarrassed her the most. It pushed the material of her skirt up between her legs, often left her panties exposed. “There we go,” the driver said, clipping the belts into the central lock, and she knew it was a lock. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side, climbed in, starting up the car. The seat she was in, unlike the last one, actually let her see a little of where they were going. She watched again as they left the area of her home, passed through the undeveloped land and then into the city. This time the car did not stop in front of the building but pulled into the parking garage under it. The driver stopped the car and came around to release her from the child’s seat and help her out. He placed her on the garage floor, in front of a bank of elevators. “Miss Morgan is waiting for you.” He pressed the call button and then the button for the 23rd floor when the doors opened. “Have a good day, I will drive you home this evening.” “Thank you,” she told him as she stepped into the elevator, taking some solace in that she was supposed to go home that evening. The doors closed and the elevator rose to the 23rd floor. As before when doors opened, she found Chase waiting for her. “Emily, good morning,” she said sweetly. That was probably not how most bosses greeted their employees, she thought. “Good morning Miss Morgan.” “Come along, let’s talk in my office.” She turned and led the way, Emily following. So far it seemed very much like her first visit. She passed through the outer office where Lisa worked. Lisa was there, watching Emily as she walked past. “Good morning Miss Smith,” Emily said. Lisa nodded. “A pleasure to see you back.” They did not have to make any more conversation, for Chase went right into her office, closing the door once Emily was in. “Have a seat,” Chase said as she went to take a seat at her desk. A chair, with two small steps, had been put in the office in front of Chase’s desk. Design wise it was somewhat similar to a high chair, which Emily did not think was accidental. At least there was no food tray which could be used to lock her in, she thought, as she climbed into the seat, setting her bag in her lap. Once she and Chase were seated, Emily feeling a little ridiculous, Chase said, “I’ve given some thought to how to start you off. I am going to have you take part in an intern program we have.” Emily considered that for a moment, wondering if she had heard it right. “An intern? Seriously?” She regretted her incredulous tone as soon as it was out of her mouth. Chase did not really frown, but there was a slight downturn to her lips. “I am aware of your abilities, but have you ever worked in a company, as part of a team?” It was, Emily thought, a fair question. “In College there were team…” “Yes, I am sure there were,” Chase cut her off. “But that was school, this is real life. I will get the best idea of your ability to work for me and the best position for you by having you take part in the program.” There was a sense of finality in that statement that told Emily not to argue. “Yes, Miss Morgan.” “As it happens I had an intern start the program just last week. You will be able to work together, you can show me examples of teamwork.” “Yes, Miss Morgan.” “Well then, let’s handle the introductions before I give you the quick tour.” She stood. “You should feel grateful, seeing as the owner of the company is handling your familiarisation.” Emily, who was climbing down from her chair, looked over her shoulder and saw an expectant look on Chase’s face. She recalled what Chase had said about accepting a gift. As she reached the floor, she turned and said, “Thank you, Miss Morgan, I am very grateful for your kindness.” Chase smiled. Emily wanted to scream. Chase took her back to the elevator and then pressed the button for basement level 3. “When I introduce you to people I won’t use your last name,” Chase told her. “What? Why?” Emily did not like the idea of being denied her last name. “I don’t want it to get out Emily Black is working for me, not until I think of the best way to rub it in Lyle’s face.” Emily took some heart in that, hoping it meant that ultimately Chase wanted her in the office, not in a nursery. “This is pretty far down,” Emily said, her early hope fading a little. The doors opened on a mostly featureless, grey corridor. “Before I bought the building a security company used the basement and some of the lower floors. All very secure. I use it as temporary office space now.” “So you have to earn windows?” Chase smiled and looked down at her. “I suppose that is so.” Emily did not know what to think of that. She was not sure if it was ominous or not. “This way,” Chase said, turning right and walking down the corridor. Several doors along she stopped and opened the door. Then stood aside and indicated that Emily should enter first. Emily did, expecting something bad. What she got was a rather mundane office, lit by fluorescent lights, two desks pushed together. Behind one of the desk sat an older teenager, as she was seated Emily did not know how tall she was, but it was apparent she was an Amazon. And she was stacked. “What are you doing here?” the teen asked. Chase entered. “This is the other intern starting here today,” Chase said, stepping in behind Emily. The girl stood up. “Miss Morgan.” She was probably eight feet tall, perhaps a little taller, standing there with her enormous breasts. That is completely unfair, Emily thought. “Jessica, this is Emily. Emily, this is Jessica King.” “Hello Jessica,” Emily said. “Emily,” Jessica replied. Emily guessed she was confused. “Both of you will be working together during the duration of this program,” Chase told them. “Emily, Jessica is taking a two-month break from high school. She is a straight-A student and the president of her school’s Entrepreneur Club.” “Impressive,” Emily said. “Jessica, Emily has gotten gold stars in potty training and keeping her bed dry.” “Impressive,” Jessica said in the same tone that Emily had used. I hate them both equally, Emily thought. “Take a bit of a break Jessica. I am going to show Emily around and then bring her back here.” “Yes, Miss Morgan.” “This way Emily,” Chase said. The tour was pretty basic. Emergency exits, the cafeteria, the building’s day care centre on the first floor (a sunlit, bright space) and finally a bathroom two floors above basement level 3. “I’ve had a stool put in the cleaning closet for you, and the toilet at the last stall is sized for inbetweeners.” “Thank you,” Emily said, keeping her tone even. “And that concludes the tour. You know where my office is if you need to see me.” Emily frowned. “Don’t I need to sign some things, for payroll or something?” “Not to worry. I’ll be paying you out of my own pocket, just to keep things simple.” “That sounds like an allowance.” Chase smiled. “It does, doesn’t it.” Emily took a deep breath. “That’s fine.” “I am glad you approve.” Emily bit back a reply. “Let’s take you back to your office.” They returned the elevator and Chase explained the nature of the job. “You and Jessica have a weeks worth of work each. You’ll be analysing some collected data, seeing if you can find trends related to advertising my company has done.” The elevator door opened and Chase ushered Emily in. “You’ll be trying to find out what gets the best penetration.” “I understand,” Emily said, who thought it sounded pretty simple. “Good.” She pressed the button to take them down. In the office she found Jessica waiting, as well as a new chair behind her desk. “Here’s your username and password,” Chase said, handing Emily a folded piece of paper. “An email has been sent to you with the location of your work as well as instructions. If you have any questions just ask Jessica. This is the key to this office.” She handed over the small, brass coloured key. “I’ll be happy to help Emily,” Jessica said, her tone all treacle. “Thank you Jessica,” Chase said, and then left. Emily noticed that there was a keyhole on both sides of the door, guessed it had something to do with the security company that had once used it. She did not give it too much thought for she was alone with the teenage amazon, which was not good. Jessica reached down behind her monitor and brought forth two large cups of coffee, marked with the logo of a local chain. “I bought you a coffee since we’ll be working together.” She smiled brightly as she came around the desk. How stupid does she think I am, Emily wondered as she said, “Thank you very much.” Jessica held the cup in her left hand close towards Emily. Emily reached for the right which Jessica pulled back slightly and then almost thrust the other cup at her. Pretending not to have noticed she took the offered cup. “I didn’t know how you took it,” Jessica said, “so I brought cream and sugar. I know you littles like that. I take mine black.” Her tone took on a superior quality. “Black is fine,” Emily said as if she was trying to prove herself to the teen. Jessica smiled condescendingly. What a piece of work, Emily thought. Emily took her seat, using the built-in step, hung her bag off the back of the chair. Jessica sat beside her, their desks were close together. She put her cup on the desktop. Emily put her cup down, as close to Jessica’s as she could manage, then looked at the paper Chase had given her. Her username was ‘emily’ and the password was ‘IMBaby’. Emily sighed, then logged on and changed her password. “Jessica,” Emily said. Jessica looked over at her. “What?” “I am not sure I understand this. Can you show me?” Jessica smirked. “Of course Emily, I know this is hard for you.” “Thank you,” Emily said, colouring her tone with false relief. Jessica moved over to work on Emily’s computer, showing her where the files were and what they had to do. While she was condescending, Emily switched their coffee cups. “Thank you Jessica,” Emily said in her sweetest tones. “You’re so kind.” The smile Jessica gave her was so obvious in its contempt she might as well have called Emily ‘useless’. “You’re welcome Emily.” Emily took her seat and went to work, downloading some programs she had written a few years back to do similar jobs. She tweaked them and set them to processing the data Chase had given her. Emily pretended to drink her coffee, but really dumped it, bit by bit, into her garbage can when Jessica’s attention was focused on her work. For all she knew Jessica could have doctored both cups and trusted her greater size to protect her. When the larger woman looked over at her Emily could see her eyeing the decreasing liquid in the cup, her smile growing. Jessica was drinking the coffee that Emily had switched with her, seemingly unaware of the change. Emily hoped. After about an hour and a half of work, Emily had all the tweaks made to the program and had run the first days work through it. Now she was going to see what Jessica was trying. Emily got out of her chair, grabbed her bag, started towards the door. “Where are you going?” Jessica asked, her tone making it sound like ‘where do you think you are going’. Emily looked at her, her nervousness not entirely feigned. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she said, voice small. Jessica shook her head. “Oh Emily, you can’t just leave your work undone. As an adult, you need to have self-discipline.” “Self-discipline?” Emily asked, knowing exactly where it was going. “Exactly. As good employees we should stick with our work until it is finished. We can’t just go off to the,” she paused, “potty whenever we have a little twinge from our bladders.” I hate her, Emily thought. “You mean stay here until the work is done. No matter what?” “Exactly. In fact, I think we should lock that door and not leave unless our work is done. I can hold your key for you, if you want, just in case you think you might need a little incentive.” “So we’re locked in until the work is done?” Jessica nodded with a smile. “Exactly. That is the mature, adult thing to do.” “Oh. Well, I finished all of the work I was supposed to do today.” Jessica blinked. “What?” Emily nodded as she returned to her desk. “Look,” she said, bringing up the files. Jessica came over to look. “That’s not possible,” she said once she had seen the completed work. “It’s not?” Emily asked her. “Well, I guess it is, but, how?” “I'm good at this, I suppose. So, I can go to the bathroom.” Jessica scowled. Emily was a little worried that she might have pushed too hard. “Fine,” Jessica said. Emily nodded, picked up her bag, started towards the door. She stopped and looked back at Jessica. “Do you want me to lock you in?” “What?” Jessica asked, her tone snappish. Emily cowered, not entirely faked. “You said to lock the door and not leave until the work is done.” Jessica frowned. She reached into her pocket and took out a key. “Fine,” she growled, almost throwing the key at Emily. “Lock the door.” Emily almost dropped the key as she fumbled to catch it, using the action to hide a smile. God, Jessica was stupid. Or maybe she just had so little respect for Emily she never considered she was being played. “What’s your phone number?” Jessica asked. Emily told her, Jessica wrote it down. “I’ll call you if there is an emergency.” Emily nodded. “Well?” Jessica said, looking down her nose at her. “Don’t you have to go to the potty?” Emily nodded, scurried from the room, closed and locked the door behind her. “Dumb ass,” Emily said, heading down the corridor until she found a quiet nook she could hide out in. She sat down and took her laptop out of her bag. She joined the wireless network and continued the work. It was about thirty minutes later when her phone rang. She answered it. “Hello?” “Emily, I need you to let me out.” “Okay, I just have to tell Miss Morgan,” Emily said, trying to sound eager. “You’re talking to Miss Morgan?” There was uncertainty in Jessica’s tone. “Uh huh. I’ll just let her know…” “No, forget it.” Jessica hung up. Emily put the phone aside and went back to work. It was about twenty minutes later when it rang again. “Emily,” Jessica said as soon as Emily had answered. “I think I smell smoke. Get down here.” “I’ll pull the fire alarm and tell Miss Morgan,” she said. “What? No! I mean, I was joking. Stupid.” She hung up again. Twenty minutes later the phone rang again. Emily let it ring for a bit before picking it up. “Hello?” “You better get down here. And don’t say anything to Miss Morgan. I found something wrong with your work, so you better get it fixed right away.” “Oh no!” Emily nearly shouted. “Jessica, you are really nice. Thank you so very much.” “Yeah, yeah,” she said, trying to sound calm, but Emily could hear the desperation in her voice. “Just get down here right away.” Jessica cut the connection. Emily went back to work. Five minutes later the phone rang again. Emily answered it. “Where the hell are you stupid?” Emily had to hold the phone away from her ear as Jessica was yelling. Breathing hard she said, “Couldn’t reach,” deep breaths, “elevator buttons,” deep breath, “couldn’t ask anyone,” deep breath, “to press them.” More deep breaths. “Running down the stairs.” “You idiot. I got to… Get down here.” It almost sounded as if she had slammed her phone against something. Emily worked for another minute, then put her computer back into the bag. She returned to the office. She unlocked the door, and while expecting it, she was almost hit by the door as Jessica pushed through it in her dash towards the elevators. Hand pressed into her crotch, taking small, quick steps, Emily did not think Jessica was going to make. Following at a distance, she caught a scent of flatulence in the air. She saw Jessica standing in front of the elevators, dancing from foot to foot, looking up at the indicators. Emily did not think the elevators were close as Jessica turned, still dancing, now two hands pressed between her legs, and pushed through the door to the stairs. Emily shook her head and went back to the office. “Idiot,” she said with a smile. Chase had had issues with her interns before, but Jessica had presented her with a new one. She pushed open the door to the first aid room and walked in. Jessica was sitting on the rooms cot, a blanket pulled around her shoulders. She had managed to soil all her clothing, except for her bra. It was a little impressive. “Miss Morgan, I can explain…” Jessica began as soon as she had entered. Chase fixed her with a stare. “Explain why you were sitting in your own mess, a few steps from the bathroom, crying?” “I wasn’t crying! I was yelling. I was angry.” “You should be ashamed.” Jessica flinched. “It wasn’t my fault,” she said in a small voice. Chase reached for Jessica’s purse. Jessica looked like she was going to try to grab it, but another glare from Chase made her withdraw. In the purse, Chase found a small bottle. She held it up, shook it. She also produced a credit card receipt that indicated the bottle had been purchased from a nearby pharmacy a few hours prior. “You’re lucky,” Chase said as she looked at the bottle, reading the writing on it. “Due to your size, there is unlikely to be any long-term effects. Someone smaller might not have fared so well.” “That was the idea,” Jessica said petulantly. “I am kicking you out of the intern program,” Chase told her. “What? It was that stupid little. She poisoned my coffee and locked me in the room and…” A single step brought Chase to stand over Jessica. Her hard gaze made the teenager scrunch back against the wall, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “You will not ever say that again, to anyone,” Chase told her. “What? But she…” “Never!” Chase snapped, and Jessica whimpered. “If you bring this up before a family court I guarantee that you will be the one sent off to a reform school. Do you understand me?” There were tears in Jessica’s eyes as she squeaked, “Yes Miss Morgan.” Chase felt bad for a moment. Jessica was barely more than a child, and browbeating her like that was cruel. But she was not about to chance losing Emily. She opened the door, reached out to a shelf and grabbed a pair of pink track pants and a white t-shirt which she tossed to Jessica. “I will tell your school that you were a little too immature for this opportunity, and that is all I will tell them.” Jessica caught the clothing and began to slip on the t-shirt. “If anyone finds out what happened you're are welcome to tell them you were trying to slip something to a little but stupidly mixed it up, which is probably the truth anyway.” Having pulled on the shirt, Jessica looked at her, actually pouting. Chase shook her head. It always bothered her to meet an Amazon who was not ready to be a grown-up. Next, she tossed a tied up plastic bag at Jessica. “Your clothing. You’ll need to wash it. Or throw it out.” Jessica blushed. “Get out of my company,” Chase said in parting as she walked towards the elevators. Now it was time to deal with Emily. She was looking forward to that. She had been too lenient on the girl. By the time she was finished Jessica would not be the only one crying. Her resolve faltered slightly when she entered the office and found Emily over her keyboard, focused on her work. She coughed. Emily looked up. Chase was glad she looked a little uncertain. “I’m afraid that Jessica will not be returning.” “I hope it is nothing serious,” Emily said, face revealing nothing. “She said that you locked her in this room.” “She told me to.” “That seems highly unlikely.” “It does.” Emily brought out a smartphone. “But as it happens I have a recording.” “Of course you do,” Chase said, walking over to the desk. The phone played back a conversation between Emily and Jessica, and, as Emily said, Jessica did make the request. “You are far too clever.” “I don’t know what you mean.” Same damn dead-pan innocent look. “You’ll have to finish her work as well as your own. Perhaps I will keep you locked in here until you get it all done.” Chase leaned forward over the desk. Emily shifted back slightly, but before Chase could do anything else, she said, “It is all finished.” Chase straightened. “What?” “I finished all my work and Jessica’s work. I felt bad for her.” Chase did not contest that statement but came around the desk to look at the monitor. She took the mouse from Emily and clicked through the files. “Too damn clever by far.” She looked at Emily, caught a flash of a smile that disappeared as if it never was. Chase realised she had never seen Emily smile before. It as either the neutral expression, or one of dread, and she knew she often saw anger dancing in her eyes, but never a smile. Chase wanted to see that smile again, as often as possible. “You exhaust me Emily. Take the rest of the day off. I’ll call the car. In fact, take tomorrow and the next day off while I think of what next to do with your internship.” She pulled her phone from her jacket, paused and then said, “Without pay of course.” “Of course,” Emily agreed readily. Chase wanted to say more, but at the moment she would give the victory to Emily. She took her to the elevator and up to the garage. Chase put Emily in the car’s child seat, taking a bit of joy in making sure her skirt was pulled up, displaying her panties, just before she pulled the straps tight and locked them. She smiled at Emily’s blush. “Try to be a good girl,” she told her and patted her on the head before closing the door. “Take her home,” she told the driver. As the car drove off Emily tried to shift about so she could pull her skirt back down. She hated the idea of anyone looking down into the car and seeing her exposed like that. However, Chase had done too good a job and eventually, Emily gave up. One day was done, and two days off. That was not too bad. She was off to a good start. She did feel a little bad for what she had done to Jessica. Just a little bit. Jessica had brought on herself, but still… it had been like shooting fish in a barrel. Better her than me, Emily thought, sitting back in her chair, relaxing as much as she could. If no one asked for it back, she was going to keep Jessica’s key as a trophy. Chase sat at her desk, the work that Emily had done on her monitor. “Am I interrupting anything?” Richard asked. She looked up from her monitor, saw Richard leaning into her office. “Nothing vital, what’s up?” He came into the office, closed the door. “There are some details about the Jones deal I want to confirm, but I am curious about the incident with your intern.” “Which one?” Richard took a seat. “The real one.” Chase smiled. “Jessica was not as mature as I would have hoped.” He nodded. “I suppose that is one way to put it. Listen, I’m kind of wondering what you are doing with Emily Black.” “What I am doing?” “What do you want?” Chase sat back in her seat. “What I want is to wake up every morning, stretch, and hear Emily calling or crying in her nursery cause she needs her diaper changed.” He nodded. “Understandable, so I wonder why she isn’t in a nursery.” “I don’t have a nursery yet.” He laughed. She turned her monitor. “Take a look at this.” “What’s this?” He leaned forward. “My intern test.” He looked at the monitor. “The one that is two weeks of work that you give them a week to do?” “Yes. It is always a good way to gauge how they handle such things.” “You just like being cruel.” Chase laughed. “So what am I supposed to be looking at?” “Emily finished all her work, and Jessica’s. Four weeks of work, in less than half a day.” He looked away from the monitor and up at her. “Is it any good?” “Spot checking it, everything looks good so far.” “That is…” “Impressive?” “I was going to say creepy. Are you sure she is not a robot sent back from the future?” “I can’t discount it, but I think it unlikely.” “How?” “She probably wrote a program in the past for this type of work, then downloaded it and ran all the files through it.” “Okay, creepy but impressive.” “So, yes, I want her safely in a nursery, but I also want Emily Black doing things like this.” She waved her hand at the monitor. “You know what they say about having your cake and eating it too,” Richard said. “I prefer the Asian saying, that the person who tries to catch two rabbits will catch neither.” Richard seem to think about that. “Why?” he asked after several seconds. “Because while I can’t figure out how to have my cake and eat it too, I think if I am clever enough I can chase and catch two rabbits.” “I think you are wasting your time, but it is your time to waste. So good luck.” “Thank you.” “Now, about the Jones deal…” Chapter 7 - The Paediatric Clinic of Horrors Emily had appreciated the time off. She was not able to do anything to speed up her plan to buy the building, but she did manage to take a few small jobs as Emily Black, jobs she could quickly turn over. Both good for her bank account (which was going to suffer due to her plan) and for her reputation. She received a message from Lyle telling her he was sorry to hear that she had personal issues and offering any help he might. He even invited her to a party he was having for his ‘girls’, sure she would enjoy it, At first, she was worried he might have heard something from Chase but discounted that. He probably just thought that any Amazon would enjoy seeing littles in such a situation. Jokes on you, she had thought as she had sent off a polite message thanking him and declining his kind offer. On Thursday morning she was outside of her building so she could be picked up and taken into the city. The driver pressed the elevator buttons for her, but when the door opened she was not presented with Chase’s familiar form. No one was awaiting her. She wondered if the change in the procedure meant anything. Then she told herself that this was only her third time there, and she could not make any generalisations. Walking the hallways, she made it to Chase's office and looked in. Chase and Lisa were leaning over Lisa’s desk, talking. Chase noticed Emily first. “Come in Emily,” she said. “Yes, Miss Morgan.” “I was very impressed with your work the other day.” “Thank you.” “So impressed that I want you on my health insurance program.” “Normally you have to be working here three months before you are eligible for insurance coverage,” Lisa told her, a small sniff suggesting what she thought of Emily’s ‘jumping the cue’. “I already have health insurance,” Emily said. Chase smiled. “I want you to have insurance I know can take care of you.” Emily was about to say that she had never had a problem with coverage but realised the pointlessness of it. Chase wanted this for reasons Emily knew she was not going to care for them. “You’ll need a medical exam, Lisa has kindly offered to take you to the clinic.” Chase had put a subtle emphasis on the word ‘kindly’ so Emily thanked her. Then she asked, “Clinic?” “Just a facility that is familiar with the medical requirements of littles,” Chased told her with a smile. That Emily did not like. Perhaps it showed on her face, for she said, “It is just an exam, nothing else.” Oddly enough Emily suspected that part of that was directed at Lisa. She either had to run or see this examination through. If she was not on the 23rd floor, she might have run. “Take care of Emily,” Chase told Lisa. “Yes, Miss Morgan. Come with me Emily,” Lisa said as she picked up her purse from her desk. “Yes, Miss Smith.” “I will see you when you get back,” Chase told Emily. Lisa took her hand when they were in the elevator, holding it tightly when the doors opened on the lobby. She walked Emily across the floor towards the doors, pausing to talk to the receptionists. They were the same ones that Emily had met when she had come there the first time. “Well hello again sweetie,” the blonde said, and then asked Lisa, “Is she yours?” “No. Miss Morgan is looking out for her.” “Ohhh, I’m so jealous,” the brunette said. “Do you wish Miss Morgan was looking out for you too?” the Blonde asked her. She laughed. “Well, depending on the type of ‘looking out’,” she told her companion with a wink. Emily wondered if they thought this was going over her head. She supposed that Chase was an attractive woman. “I’ll let you two gossip, Emily has an appointment I need to get her too.” “Hope to see you soon Sweetie,” the blonde said. “Have a good day,” the brunette told her. Lisa took her out the doors, to the front of the building where a taxi was waiting for them. Of course, there was a child seat in the back seat. Lisa got her settled and strapped in and then circled around to get in the other door. She gave the driver an address, and in a few seconds they had merged with traffic and were on their way. Lisa took a tablet from her purse and started working on something. Emily did not necessarily want to talk to her, but it was a little boring to sit there in silence. About thirty minutes later, in a less urban area of the city, the cab pulled up in front of a single story building, next to a small park. When Emily was taken out of the car seat, she could see the sign in front of it. ‘Westburne Paediatric Clinic’ and just below it in slightly smaller letters, ‘Specialists in Little Medicine’. Again, Emily was seized with a desire to bolt, but Lisa had a tight hold on her hand. As she was led up the brick path to the front doors all, she could think of how embarrassing it was. Taken to a paediatrician; Chase was a jerk. There was a waiting room, about three-quarters of the chairs, occupied. There was about a half and half split between actual children (all of them giants) and littles. She felt her cheeks grow warm with a flush, for the littles were all diapered, all in embarrassingly childish and infantile clothing. With her red, knee length skirt and white blouse, she looked positively adult by comparison. “Chase Morgan made an appointment for Emily,” Lisa said to the receptionist. Emily was a little annoyed that her last name seemed to be unimportant (though Chase had already told her that she did not want ‘Black’ being used, but that was at the company) and she fanned that annoyance into anger. A carefully controlled anger, but anger nonetheless. She had no time to be embarrassed. She had to be aware, and careful. The state of the other littles should be a warning to her. The receptionist had looked up the appointment information for she said, “Yes, here it is. Please have a seat, a nurse will call for you soon.” Lisa, still holding Emily’s hand, walked to one of the chairs. She then pulled Emily up into her lap. Emily did not argue there were other chairs available, for the moment willing to put up with it. From her place on Lisa’s lap, she regarded the other patients, careful not to stare. She suspected about half of the littles there had accepted their new status, and the others, judging by the discomfort they were showing, the embarrassment, had not. Emily had done her best and was doing all she could, to not end up in that situation, but she wondered which would be better. As hard as it would be to live with the shame, at least she would be able to try to fight back (metaphorically of course) and escape that fate. But sometimes it seemed that the littles who had accepted their status were happy. Maybe some littles really did seek such a state, as the giants seemed to tell themselves. Well, not her. She noticed that Lisa had been bouncing her softly on her knee, probably for a minute or two. It was not as is she was a fussy child needing to be soothed. How very annoying. “I am ready for Emily,” a nurse said, coming out of the back. Lisa put Emily back on the ground, took her hand, and led her to the nurse. The nurse was a shade taller than Lisa, a pretty woman, probably in her late twenties, dressed in a white tunic and pants. “This is Emily,” Lisa said. The nurse bent down and gently ruffled her hair. “Hello Sweetie, I’m Nurse Brenda. Now don't you worry Emily, you have nothing to be scared of.” Her tone was patronising. Emily could have said some things, most of them bordering on rude, but she just said, “Yes Nurse Brenda.” Brenda straightened. “Bring her this way,” she said to Lisa. They passed through the door into the back of the clinic. There was a corridor that led to the left and right, and one that extended in front of them. There were lots of doors, opened and closed, and she could see children, no, littles, being led between those rooms, mostly waddling in thick diapers, wearing silly little gowns covered in cartoonish prints. She passed a few rooms, one or two open doors. She made it a point to take quick looks, to get a better idea of what the place was like. Brenda opened a door, let Lisa usher Emily in, then closed the door behind herself as she entered. It was an examination room, much like many others Emily had been in, though the low shelf by the examination table, filled with diapers, was not something she was used to. “Get her undressed please,” Brenda said to Lisa. Emily started to unbutton her own blouse, but Lisa knelt down and brushed her hands away. “We have to do what the nurse says,” she told Emily with a smile. This was another fight that Emily could not win, so she let Lisa undress her. When her skirt was slid down to puddle at her feet, Brenda said, “She’s not wearing a diaper.” Lisa nodded as she skimmed the panties down to Emily’s ankle. “She’s potty trained.” Emily felt her cheeks grow hot. Potty trained. Not, ‘doesn’t need diapers’. Wasn’t it enough that Lisa had her there naked? She knew the answer to that. “Well, we’ll have to put her in a diaper. Clinic policy.” “Of course,” Lisa said, gleefully. You bitch, Emily thought. Brenda grabbed Emily up under the arms, lifted her with dizzying speed, and without so much as a ‘by your leave’, lay Emily on her back on the padded top of the exam table. “Can I have a pink diaper?” Emily asked, giving Brenda a wide-eyed ‘puppy dog’ gaze. “Why of course sweetie. I know little girls like you like pink.” She grabbed one of the pink diapers from the shelf, shook it open with a soft rustle of plastic, and then took Emily’s ankles in her large hand and lifted her bottom off the exam table she could slide the diaper under her. “Even when you potty train them they still want their cute diapers,” Brenda said to Lisa, almost as if Emily was not there. “Yes,” Lisa said, sounding doubtful. As Brenda lowered Emily onto the diaper padding, Emily looked over at Lisa, saw her looking back with a puzzled look, as if she was trying to figure out what Emily was doing. Brenda lightly dusted her with powder, then pulled the diaper up between Emily’s legs, adjusted it a little, then tapped it tightly up. “There we go sweetie,” she said, patting the front of it. “Thank you, Nurse Brenda,” Emily said sweetly. “Oh, you are welcome sweetie. Such a polite little girl.” Brenda picked her up and put her on the floor, then got one of the gowns and had Emily raise her hands so she could slide it over her, before tying it off. While the gown had hardly covered the diapers of any of the other littles that Emily had seen, she was actually small enough so that the bottom of the gown dropped low enough to almost obscure her diaper. Almost. Lisa pulled Emily back onto her lap, bouncing her again on her knee, eliciting an almost inaudible crinkle from the diaper. Brenda picked up a tablet and began asking questions about Emily’s medical history. Lisa, of course, did not know, so Emily had to answer first, and Lisa repeated it. Brenda did not enter anything until Lisa had said it, almost as if Emily were not speaking. Of course, that was the point. The clear message was that anything she said did not matter. Emily wondered how long it would take before that sort of treatment began to make her feel as if she really had no voice. She really hated the place. Once the questions were asked, Brenda weighed her, measured her and then said that Emily’s vision would be tested next. They left the room, walking through the halls, the littles on display Emily thought, to another examination room. The ‘parents’ of the littles likely were paying extra for such treatment. Brenda left them the with the eye doctor, whose name Emily did not learn. He gave her a full eye exam, made notes, and then spoke to Lisa. “Her eyes are fine, she might need glasses in a few years, if she needs to read,” he said, the last with a soft laugh. “But as long as the letters are on play blocks she will see them fine.” He smiled down at Emily and ruffled her hair. She hated him. Next was the room for the hearing test. They paused outside of the room, while another patient finished up. In another exam room, close by, a little was sobbing softly, laying on her stomach on an exam table, and enema tube in her bottom. Emily tried not to stare, but she saw the red of the little’s bottom, suggesting a recent spanking. She shifted her gaze away, heard the nurse giving the enema saying something about crybabies needing to be punished. Another little passed, a man, probably in his mid-twenties, waddling by, his diaper crinkling loudly. He was blushing from his head to his toes. Lisa knelt down and patted Emily' padded bottom. She said softly, “This diaper is pretty thin. No waddle and hardly a crinkle.” “It’s pink,” Emily said innocently. Lisa frowned, lips pursed, then sighed and straightened. She might have said ‘too clever’, but it was too soft for Emily to hear. She had her hearing test, and then a dentist took a look at her teeth. “Remember to take good care of your teeth,” she told Emily. “Or maybe you’ll lose them.” Emily felt a little sick, wondered if some littles sitting in the very chair she was in had had their teeth taken out, for a more infantile smile for their giant ‘parents’. She hoped not. On their way to the next examination, Emily peeked into a small room that looked more like an office, saw who she assumed was a doctor talking to a man and his ‘child’. She could not take a good look, but she took in as much as she could without anyone noticing. In the next exam room, Emily had to endure a gynaecological exam, feet up in stirrups, opened diaper beneath her bottom. She might have taken pride in what was an adult exam, but it was too damn uncomfortable. Then the nurse, a big, heavy-set woman, lowered the stirrups and flipped her over on her stomach, sliding her and the diaper farther up the table, so she was still lying upon it. “We’ll take your temperature now,” she said, no-nonsense tone. Emily did not appreciate what that meant until she saw the woman take a thermometer, it’s size almost obscene, from a jar of Vaseline. She had a moment to try to relax, knowing it was going to happen even if she protested (and protesting would not stop it, likely make it worse). There was a tiny bit of comfort in that there were several other even thicker thermometers in the vaseline and Emily was getting the smallest. “Here we go,” the nurse said. She spread Emily’s buttocks and placed the end of the thermometer against her hole for several moments, long, long moments, then slid it in. Emily was not happy. The nurse took her time, gently patting her bottom, pressing the thermometer farther and farther in, almost as if she expected Emily to enjoy it. Was she supposed to enjoy it? What the hell was wrong with the woman? Did she really think that she was going to get off on being violated by a too large rectal thermometer? Later Emily would consider that some littles, with their genitalia sealed up in plastic and padding, with hands often imprisoned in mitts, might indeed find the embarrassing treatment pleasurable, having few other options. That thought would leave her depressed for hours when she had it. However, at that moment, lying on her belly, positioned on an open diaper that she had recently been wearing, a glass rod up her bottom, all she could feel was embarrassment bordering on complete humiliation. Eventually, the nurse seemed to think that the thermometer had been in her long enough, and she pulled it out, slowly. “A healthy temperature,” the nurse declared, before wiping the thermometer off with a tissue, the tissue going in the garbage the thermometer into a beaker of alcohol. “Now we just need a little blood. Let’s sit you up.” She did not give Emily a chance to sit up on her own, but lifted her, slid the diaper around, and then sat Emily atop of it. Emily was careful to keep the deadpan expression on her face, though it was hard, angry as she felt about her treatment, and about the superior smile she saw on Lisa’s face. Fortunately, the anger did not blind her to what the nurse was doing. She saw the woman look at two boxes of needles. She watched the nurse take a pair of glasses from her smock, put them on, then carefully check both boxes. Emily did not trust it. The nurse selected a needle, prepared a holder, then put a tourniquet around Emily’s arm. “Don’t worry sweetie,” she said, rubbing a spot on the inside of Emily’s arm with an alcohol swab. “It will just be a little prick.” Emily had had blood taken before, and she was not a fan of it, but she knew it would not hurt that much. But she still held herself ready, and when the needle slid in, feeling as if the nurse was trying to jam a blunt piece of metal into her arm, she did not cry out. She did not say, ‘what the hell are you doing?’ She did not treat the nurse to a blast of salty language that would put a sailor to shame. She sat there, careful not to grit her teeth against the pain, trying to look as if nothing was wrong. The nurse actually frowned. You god damned bitch, Emily thought. Still frowning, the nurse turned the needle ever so slightly — it hurt like hell — and slid the blood tube into the opposite end of the holder, drawing a vial full of blood. She put the tube aside and then pulled the needle free. Emily wanted to scream. Looking down at her arm Emily expected to see a bloody, jagged hole, but all there was was a small drop of blood on her arm, and that was quickly covered with a piece of gauze and a bandage. The nurse looked back at the boxes of needles, then at the needle itself a moment before she disposed of it in a sharps container. “Well, you were very good in not crying,” the nurse said, and then, like an actress who had flubbed her lines and was trying to get back on track, “but if you had been a crybaby, you would have been punished.” Emily recalled the little getting the enema. “Yes nurse,” she said politely. “Let’s get you back in a diaper and then you can see the doctor,” she said, reaching towards the diaper filled shelf, her hand going to another of the pink diapers. Emily had one more card to play, and she said, tone almost petulant, “I don’t want a thick diaper.” The nurse paused. “Well little missy,” her hand shifted to the side, grabbing a thick white diaper, “what you want does not matter.” She pushed Emily onto her back, lifted her by her ankles, swept the old diaper away, and proceeded to diaper Emily in the extra thick padding and loudly crinkling plastic of the new one. Emily knew it was not the same as having a pillow wrapped between her legs, but damn if it did not feel that way. The nurse lifted her off the table and placed her on the floor. Emily could see that Lisa was looking down at her, confusion on her face. She had apparently stumped Lisa again. Emily pulled futilely at the gown for a moment, but there was no way it was going to cover the diaper. “The doctor will want to speak with you,” the nurse told Lisa. “Please come with me.” Lisa took Emily’s hand, leading her after the nurse. Emily found she could not bring her thighs together and was forced to waddle. It would probably be easier to crawl, which she supposed was the idea. Lisa's hold on her hand helped her keep up, but more than once it was only that hold that kept her from falling. And Lisa knew it. The nurse showed them to a small office, and it was as Emily had supposed, the same room in which she had earlier seen the doctor talking to a man. “The doctor will be with you soon,” the nurse said, giving Lisa a smile. Then Emily and Lisa were alone. Lisa took a seat and pulled Emily up onto her lap. Emily did not appreciate it, but the clinic was a little cool, and the gown thin and Lisa was warm. Lisa began to bounce her on her knee again, but the diaper was crinkling loudly, and when she stopped Emily assumed it was because the noise was annoying her. Instead, she began to hum, gently playing with Emily’s hair. She had what Emily had dubbed ‘little fever’, and she felt bad for the next ‘unattended’ little that Lisa might meet. The doctor came in a few minutes later. She was an older woman, probably taller than Lisa, but she had a slight stoop, and it was hard to be sure. She introduced herself to Lisa as Doctor Green. “Well,” Doctor Green said, swiping her fingers across a tablet, “Emily is as healthy as a little horse.” She smiled down at Emily and reached out to gently squeeze her nose. “Just a little healthy horsie.” Emily did her best to look amused. However, it was a wasted effort, for Doctor Green had already turned her attention back to Lisa. “We should get the blood work back tomorrow. I don’t expect to see any problems, but I’ll let Miss Morgan know, one way or another.” “Thank you,” Lisa answered. “The only issue I have is with the amount of alcohol she drinks. Not that it is a lot mind you,” she said, fixing Lisa with her stare, “but as a rule, my patients don’t drink any, and I think that would be for the best.” “I’ll let Miss Morgan know,” Lisa said. Go to hell you busybody, Emily thought. The doctor folded the cover over the tablet. “That is it. You can get her dressed. I would like to see her again in six months.” She stood. “You can make an appointment now, or we can call Miss Morgan. Just let the receptionist know what you want.” Then Doctor Green was gone. Lisa slid Emily off her lap, and then reached for her clothing, which she had been carrying all along. It turned out getting Emily dressed proved a challenge to Lisa. She could not button up the lower buttons of Emily’s blouse, as the diaper was too thick, and no matter how hard she tried the skirt was a lost cause. With a sigh Lisa looked about the office, perhaps hoping to spot a thinner diaper, but as Emily had noticed earlier, the office had none. She looked Emily, frowned, and then tore the tapes open and tossed the diaper into the trash. “Get dressed,” she said, pushing Emily’s clothing at her. Emily was careful not to show any relief. It had been a risk, for it had been possible that Lisa would have just led Emily out in the too thick diaper wearing only a partially buttoned blouse. However, Emily had suspected that she would not. She was beginning to think she understood Chase’s plan. They left the clinic, Lisa telling the receptionist to call Miss Morgan when it came time for Emily’s next appointment. They waited for the taxi that Lisa called, all the while Lisa watching her with what Emily thought was a judgemental gaze. Another ride in a car seat, back to the office. Lisa paused in the lobby to talk to the receptionists. She learned the blonde was named Claire, the Brunette Kristen. They asked about Emily’s checkup when Lisa mentioned it, and Claire asked if she had gotten a needle and if she had been brave. “Yes Miss Claire,” Emily had said as she hoped one day Claire got blood taken with one of those needles. They arrived back in Chase’s office suite a little afternoon. Chase came from her office, smiled. “Someone is very healthy,” she said. “You’ll have full health coverage without a problem.” “Thank you,” Emily said. “Will it require going to that clinic?” Chase smiled. “It does specialise in little care.” Emily did not say what she thought that was worth. She also knew she would not be giving up her own health care anytime soon. “The doctor said she drinks too much.” Lisa’s tone was just as disapproving as the doctor’s had been. What a snitch, Emily thought. “Well, I am sure that Emily will think about that.” “I’ll try,” Emily said, and then to Lisa. “Thank you very much for taking me to the clinic. I know you are busy with your own work.” Lisa looked a little surprised, and Chase frowned. Emily supposed she had taken the wind from her sails, thanking Lisa before she was told to. Lisa got over her surprise and said, “You’re welcome Emily.” She looked over at Chase. She thought about Chase’s game. Chase wanted Emily Black to work for her, so she was not going to make the first move to step Emily back into a second babyhood, but if it happened…. Well, Chase would likely be happy to offer comfort and take charge. However, Chase did not seem to be really upset that Emily had returned, undiapered. She wondered if just maybe Chase had not known what kind of things happened at that clinic. “Emily, I want you to help Lisa out for the rest of the day, tomorrow as well. It will give you a good feel for the company.” “Yes Miss Morgan,” Emily said. Case sent Emily home a little early so she could talk to Lisa. “So, tell me how Emily did?” she asked, leaning on Lisa’s desk. “She got all the work done, she takes direction well, does not ask many questions, I have nothing bad to say about the job she did.” Chase thought that Lisa might not have liked admitting that. Nodding Chase said, “Yes, yes, but tell me about the clinic.” Lisa almost giggled. “She was wearing this one diaper that was so thick I thought she was going to fall over and have to crawl.” Chase realised clapping her hands together happily was not going to look so professional. She simply nodded. “She needed to wear a diaper?” “Well, didn’t need it, just a clinic rule.” “I would have liked to see that.” “Well,” Lisa said, “I did try to keep her in it… but I couldn’t get her clothes on over it, and you said not to let anything too overt happen.” “That’s fine,” Chase said, waving a hand to dismiss the concern. “She’s too clever you know.” “I suspect I know, but tell me.” Lisa explained Emily’s ‘trick’ with the diapers. Chase had to laugh. “She is smart.” “A little like that does not need to be smart when she is so cute.” Lisa was almost pouting. Chase nodded. “There is something to say about smart and cute.” Chapter 8 - Nesting Emily had not looked forward to a weekend so much since she had left high school. It was not so much that the Friday at work had been all that terrible. She had just worked with Lisa and Chase on various projects. The most challenging thing about Friday was the bathroom up on the twenty-third floor. None of the toilets had really been suitable for anyone under seven feet. Using them had required a little climbing and precarious perching with the real danger of falling, either off or in. Still, better than the alternative of asking for help. She was pretty sure that help would mean having Chase or Lisa sitting her on the toilet and remaining in the stall with her, and would eventually lead to a child’s potty. It was possible she was paranoid, but she did not think so. Plus she had also been going ‘commando’ on Friday, as it was as far from the diapers of the day before she could get. The evening after the clinic she had been bothered, no longer needing to be focused. Even a pair of panties had reminded her a little too much of a diaper. But now she had a weekend to herself. She spent the morning catching up on chores, in the past done in fits and starts over the whole week. She also had a few quick jobs and bug fixes for clients. It was early in the afternoon when she went down to Linda’s apartment (after looking about for any cars that might belong to bigs). Linda welcomed Emily in and one of the first things Emily noticed was the nine-foot-tall dress form in the corner of the room. “Some of your larger clients asking you to make clothing for them?” Emily asked. Linda put a cup of tea down in front of Emily. “Yes, not a lot yet, but enough that I needed to invest in that dress form. Actually, what I’ve started getting request for are matching outfits for the children clothing I am making.” “Matching outfits?” Emily suddenly pictured Chase wearing the sailor dress from the other day. She almost shot tea from her nostrils, which would have been unpleasant. Linda, perhaps seeing where Emily’s thoughts were going, said, “Not matching styles, but themes. Like,” and again it seemed Linda had some inkling about Emily’s thoughts, “those outfits I sent to Chase, did you see the sailor dress I made.” “I think I saw it,” Emily said into her tea to hide her blush. “Well, I might, say, make a white sundress with black anchor embroidery along the hem of the skirt. So it would be obvious the outfits went together. That reminds me, you are working for Chase now, do you think you could ask her something?” Emily had not been able to keep people from noticing that she was picked up and dropped off every day by a big, black car, so there had been no use in trying to hide she was working for Chase; though she had told her neighbours that it was possibly only temporary. “Maybe, what?” “Ask her if she would like some matching outfits for those I sent her. I think Chase is a bit of a mover and shaker. I think if she were to take an interest it would help things take off.” Emily really wanted to tell Linda that she did not think Chase would be interested, she almost lied and said Chase had bought the outfits for a friend and would not need any kind of matching outfit. She did not, mostly because she wanted Linda to do well, and partly because she figured a lie like that might come back at her. “I’ll let her know. She might be interested.” She actually probably would be, Emily could almost envision that telling smile on her face. “Thanks. You know, I was thinking about making you a sundress.” “I…” “Candy told me you don’t care for them,” Linda said, not giving Emily a chance to respond, “but I thought if I add a nice jacket to it, with a conservative cut, you could wear it to work. We are getting into the hot summer now. It will look good.” Emily thought about it, picturing it in her head. She supposed it would look nice. “Alright, I’ll give it a chance.” “Let me get my measuring tape.” Linda was smiling. Once she finished up at Linda’s Emily went out of the building, across the street, to Candy’s. She found the mechanic working on a motorcycle of giant proportions. Even though she knew who it had to belong to she asked, “Is that the…” “An old war Valkyrie, the thing has to be more than seventy years old, but all the construction is bulletproof, not literally of course. Had to be terrifying to ride on one of these when people were shooting at you.” Emily stepped up onto the stand the bike was mounted to. The seat was almost as tall as she. “How will you ride this?” Candy shook her head. “I won’t. You’d have to top seven feet, and even then your toes would be reaching. I got a friend who can ride it for me, I’ll ride along on the back when it comes time to test it out. Not the best way to do it, but I’ll be able to hear the engine and get a feel for the vibrations. Help me strip this engine down?” “Sure,” Emily said. Candy handed parts to Emily, who cleaned them and then laid them out carefully on a work table. Along the way she learned what each piece was called and what it did, as well as what it might cost to replace if it was damaged. “I can make some of the parts myself, if I have to, the original is better,” Candy told her. “Can you get originals?” Emily asked, cleaning the years of gunk from a piston ring. “If I can it won’t be cheap.” They worked for a few hours, had the engine completely stripped down and laid out on the table. “That’s a good days work,” Candy said, wiping her hands on a rag, leaving oily streaks on it. Emily nodded, looking at all the parts. “Gonna come to Sharky’s tonight?” Candy asked as she tossed the rag aside. Emily recalled the doctor from the clinic. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” “Good.” Candy smiled. “You better wash your hands, I got some soap at the sink that will cut that grease.” Emily looked down at her hands, saw how black they were. “Right. Thanks.” Not a bad day, Emily thought as she washed her hands. Chase was also busy on that weekend. She had called her realtor to talk about buying a new home. They met in Chase’s apartment, Maggie laying out various pages on the kitchen table. “So why are you looking for a new house? I thought you loved this place.” “I do, but, I think I might need a little more space.” She could not help but smile. “I think I might want a nursery.” “What?” Maggie looked up. “Are you expecting?” “No, but maybe adopting.” “Maybe?” “It’s complicated.” “Complicated? If you say so. I contacted the building’s management firm, in case you wanted to stay. You should have bought the penthouse when you had the chance, I don’t think the current owner is ever going to sell.” “I didn’t need the penthouse when I moved in. Anything else in the building?” “Not that is really much larger than what you currently have.” Chase sat back. “So I’ll have to leave.” Maggie nodded. “Anything close?” “The big red brick high-rise, about a block down from here, know it?” “I’ve seen it. Looks nice.” “It is. One of the biggest two-floor suites is open. You could put a nursery in there, small room for a nursemaid or nanny, a couple of guest rooms if you want to entertain.” “How long has it been on the market?” “About three weeks. Priced a little high, but it might sell. If the owner drops the price, it will probably be snapped up.” Chase chewed gently on her lower lip for a moment. “Can you arrange a showing?” “Not a problem.” “What else?” “Nothing in this immediate area. There are a couple of pocket mansions about a thirty-minute drive from your workplace.” She shuffled from printouts across the table. “This one is on the Two Pines golf course. Six-bed rooms, seven and a half baths, dining room, den, big deck, on about three acres of land.” Chase nodded. “Can you show me around these properties?” “Of course. Tomorrow good for you?” “Yeah.” “I’ll arrange things. Help if you can give me a time frame.” “No idea I’m afraid.” “Care to explain Chase?” Chase shook her head. “It’s both complicated and confidential, for the moment.” Maggie sighed. “Lyle is a lot easier to deal with.” “Lyle? Lyle Redmond?” She nodded. “He called me up, a few hours later we put in an offer on a mansion about two hours north of here. He wants to move his menagerie of little girls into the country, probably show off the new helicopter he bought.” Chase was careful not to frown. “Lyle and I have a different way of handling things.” “So I’ve heard. He’s having a big party there in two weeks. Afternoon for showing off his girls, evening for a regular party, housewarming kind of bash.” “Are you invited?” “Fraid not, though I’m hoping. You could probably get an invitation, or just crash.” Chase nodded after a moment. “I’ll think about it.” Monday, the second week of Emily’s ‘internship’ at Chase’s company. When she walked into the office suite, Lisa looked up from her phone, pointed at Chase’s door, mouthed, ‘go in’. Emily nodded and walked into Chase’s office. “Emily, have a seat,” Chase said, indicating the almost high chair. Emily climbed up into the seat, looked across at the sitting Chase. “Linda asked me to pass a message on,” Emily told her. “Oh?” “She wanted to know if you might want some complimenting outfits, for yourself, for those ones she made for you.” “Really? That’s kind of her. And I, of course, appreciate you telling me.” She smiled. “I suppose having something that would match well would be nice. Tell me Emily, which of those outfits do you think I should choose to have matched?” Emily swallowed, thinking about all of those outfits, and the possibility that she was going to end up in one if only to see if the clothes Linda made really was complimentary. “The sailor dress,” she said, thinking that out of all the others it was the most harmless. “I knew you liked that dress,” Chase said, teasing tone with a hint of eagerness within. Emily opened her mouth to deny it, then pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders in a noncommittal way. “Speaking of your neighbours, I think Gus told me that you’ve helped him with his network issues?” Emily wondered what Chase was getting at. “Yes.” “So you are good with networking stuff, routers and things?” “I know my way around a LAN,” Emily told her. “LAN?” “Local Area Network.” “Good. I need you to go down the to daycare and work on the network and computer issues they have been having.” Emily almost said ‘you’re sending me to daycare?’ but she knew Chase probably wanted that. “What issues?” she asked instead, trying to treat it as if it were nothing. “When I bought the building my IT people were busy getting the network for the business set up. I contracted out the work on the daycare,” she sighed, “which was a mistake. Nothing has worked right, and I think the children and teachers deserve better.” “I understand,” Emily said. “If you need any equipment talk to John, the IT manager. Tell him to bill any of it back to my department.” “Alright,” Emily said as she climbed down from the chair. She did her best not to be embarrassed, not wanting to blush. “Can I get someone to press the elevator button for me?” Chapter 9 - The Daycare Scare and the Tailor Troubles It was, Emily thought, a pleasant, bright daycare, insomuch as her (thankfully) limited experience told her. There were about five teachers, and maybe twenty children. The majority of them actual children, but Emily saw two male littles, one dressed like a toddler, another dressed as if he was only a few months old. She did not get close them, not wanting anyone to think she was interested. She also did not get too close to the actual children. For an adult little there was no worse bully than a giant child. The daycare was run by a friendly man, Emily guessed he was in his mid-thirties. He was all smiles when she came in, playing with a few of his charges. “You must be Emily,” he said, dropping down to one knee, offering his hand. “I’m Simon Pett.” That was a better greeting that she had hoped for and she took his hand, which enveloped hers, shaking it. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Pett. I understand you have some network issues.” “Do I ever,” he told her, standing. “Half the time we don’t have an internet connection, and I am pretty certain about half the computers need to be overhauled or whatever you do to them. I really appreciate the help.” “Why don’t you show me around?” Emily said, looking up at him. “This way then.” He showed her the computers, the wiring closet, which was a mess of cabling and routers, as well as a few other areas where network equipment had been set up. It was all done terribly, Emily thought. He also pointed out the playroom, the toy boxes, the bathrooms (with potty seats) and introduced her to the rest of this staff; a young man Kent, and three women, Tammy, Mary and Aby, all of them taller than seven feet. Kent almost picked her up when Simon had introduced her. “I’ll get her into some play clothes,” he had said with a smile, before Simon had intervened, saying “No, no, she’s here to fix the computer problems.” “Her?” Kent has asked, obviously disbelieving. Annoying, Emily thought. Tour and introductions out of the way Emily had gone to work. She plugged her laptop into the system and set about tracking down all the issues. It took her about an hour to find the faults, and another hour to get the IT manager to send down the replacements she needed. After that she was busy for most of the day, fixing hardware issues and running updates on all the computers, cleaning up a few viruses she found. Kent seemed to be following her, watching her, as if he thought she was about to wet her panties and start crying. At one point she was goosed by a five-year-old who was taller than she, and then the girl demanded of the nearby Mary, “Why isn’t she wearing a diaper.” Mary swooped in, quickly taking the girl’s hands. “Sorry,” she said to Emily, and then to the girl, “Becky, not all littles have to wear diapers.” With an incredulous look, Becky said, “That’s not what my mommy says.” Mary led Becky away before Emily had to hear more about what the girl’s mommy thought about littles. Emily knew she should not wish ill on children, but she often found it very hard. She went back to work. It was about an hour away from the end of the workday, and Emily had crawled into a cabinet to pull out a superfluous switch (probably put in to pad out the bill) when she felt someone slap her across her skirted bottom. Her head shot up and smacked into the shelf above her. “Son of a bitch,” she cried, for a moment she saw stars. Nearby she heard a childish voice say, “That’s a naughty word!” Emily pushed herself out of the cabinet, expecting to find one of the children. Instead, she saw Chase, kneeling down next to her. She was smiling. “Sorry,” she said, her tone making it obvious that she was not, “but your bottom, wiggling around like that, just needed to be spanked.” Nearby Simon laughed. “I know Miss Morgan. Sometimes you just can’t help yourself.” Emily looked towards her supposed ally, feeling betrayed. “Of course,” Simon continued, “you should only do it when a little is naughty. Otherwise, it is just cruel.” That was a little better, Emily thought, not much, but she was willing to forgive him. “Well then, we’ll just say it was proactive for your salty language.” Emily did not bother to argue that there would have been no salty language had Chase not struck her. “I’m almost finished here,” she said to Chase. “Excellent. How is it going, Simon.” “Wonderful. We’re finally able to stream shows for the children without them cutting out every ten minutes, and all our computers are working much better. Emily is a little miracle worker.” “You’ll need to run a bit of maintenance about once a month to keep everything working well,” Emily told him. “Well, you are welcome back anytime you want,” he said. “Do you hear that Emily? You can come to daycare any time you want,” Chase told her as if Emily had just not heard it. “Appreciated, but I’m sure I can handle most of it remotely.” “I’m sure you would enjoy visiting in person. Actually, I think you often look a little piqued in the afternoons. Wouldn’t you like to come down for an afternoon nap?” “Feel free,” Simon told her. “And don’t worry if you wet in your sleep, we can deal with that.” And just like that, he was her unknowing enemy again. Chase laughed. “Don’t worry about that. Emily got gold stars for keeping her bed dry.” “Impressive,” Simon said, and it seemed he really thought that it was. Emily nodded, did not say anything, wondered when Chase was going to stop mentioning that. Probably, she thought, when it was no longer true. Damn. “How long until you are finished up here?” Chase asked her. “Oh?” Emily said, reached up to rub the sore spot in her head. “Maybe half an hour.” “I’ll be back in about half an hour then. Keep up the good work.” “Okay… Wait? You’ll be back?” “I’ll give you a ride home tonight. I have to see Linda, so it is on my way.” “Great,” Emily, managing not to sound sarcastic. Chase winked at her and then left. Emily watched her go. She felt someone touching her head. Looking up she found Simon smiling down at her. “Just making sure you did not hurt yourself when you bumped your head. If you are feeling a little dizzy, we can lay you down.” “No, thank you, I’m fine,” Emily said as she got back down to crawl into the cabinet. Likely he would have her lying down in a crib if she took him up on his offer, though even one of the mats the children napped on would be bad enough. Strapping Emily into the child seat in the back of her SUV was an enjoyable feeling for Chase. She did not leave Emily’s panties exposed as she drew the restraint belt between her legs, as Emily had been well behaved. She did give the strap a bit of an extra pull, so the stiff material would gently rub against the girl. Chase was a firm believer in positive reinforcement. “There we go,” she said, patting the restrained Emily on the head. “Thank you, Miss Morgan,” Emily said, polite as always. Chase almost thought she meant it. She was hoping the gratitude would be genuine one day. She drove a little slower than usual, drawing it out, enjoying looking in her rear view mirror to watch Emily. Near the end of the drive, she thought that maybe Emily was a little fussy. She wondered if it was the strap, or perhaps if Emily had to go potty. For a moment she considered taking a long detour, but she decided against it. Had she not promised Linda that she would be there around 5:30 she would have made the detour, just to see what happened. Outside of the apartment building, Chase took a slightly flushed Emily out of the seat, confident that Emily had enjoyed the ride, for the strap that had been between her legs was warm with a touch of moistness. She almost lifted Emily’s skirt to get a look but chose not to. She did, however, ask, “Did you enjoy the ride in your baby seat?” “Yes Miss Morgan, thank you,” Emily said, apparently a little distracted. Chase leaned over and patted Emily on her bottom. “Run off to your apartment, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Damned if she did not actually run. Chase got a bag out of her car and then went up to see Linda. “Sorry if I’m a little late,” Chase said, ducking her head slightly as she entered Linda’s apartment. “Oh, that’s okay. I appreciate your interest.” She looked around, noting the tall dress dummy among the smaller ones. “Emily says you have an idea for making complimentary outfits.” “Yes,” Linda said, slightly nervous bob of her head. “Would you like some tea?” “Thank you, that would be wonderful.” Linda went to make the tea, and Chase took a seat, looking around. There were more outfits in progress than when she had last visited. Her gaze shifted towards Linda who was moving about her kitchen, preparing the tea. She wondered what the inbetweener might look like in some of her own outfits. Extremely fetching, Chase thought, but she shook that idea out of her head. Linda set the two cups of tea on the table and then took a seat. “What do you think you would like?” “Perhaps a skirt and blouse, a casual look you could go for a stroll in a park in.” Linda opened her notebook and began taking note. “Something lightweight, with a bit of flow. Silk would be good, but expensive.” She looked up at Chase. “Silk sounds very nice.” Linda nodded and began sketching in her book. Chase looked at what she was doing and said, “And a blazer perhaps, that I could wear for a business casual look.” Linda nodded once more. “That’s a good idea. In fact, I am making something similar for Emily.” “Oh,” Chase said with a smile, “you’re making Emily something?” “Yes.” Linda flipped back a few pages, then turned the book so Chase could see. Chase looked at it, then said, “Perhaps the skirt could be a little shorter, made of something a bit lighter, a little flappy.” “It’s meant for work,” Linda said. “But when she wears the jacket the weight of that will keep the skirt under control. When she takes off the jacket, well, then it is time to relax and have fun. And what girl does not like a playful skirt.” Linda nodded after a moment. “I suppose that is right.” She took the book back towards her and made a few notes. They returned to talking about Chase’s outfit. Once Linda had all her notes she told Chase it would take about two weeks to finish. “And if you can come in for a fitting next week that would be good.” “Do you think you could have it ready for the Friday after next? There is a party I might be going to.” “I should,” Linda said after a moment. “I’ll pay extra of course.” Linda nodded. “Thank you.” “There is one more favour I would like to ask.” “Oh?” Linda asked. Chase opened the bag she had brought. “I bought this off the rack, I think the fit is close, but I was wondering if you could make a few quick alterations. It’s for Emily.” Linda looked at what Chase had brought and then nodded. “I think I can.” Chase smiled. "And keep it a secret, I want it to be a surprise." Chapter 10 - Little on Display On Tuesday Chase informed Emily that she would be working down at the reception desk for a few days. “With Claire and Kristen?” “Yes. They are both looking forward to having you with them.” I’ll bet, Emily thought. “And,” Chase said, “I got you a uniform just like theirs.” She opened a box that looked suspiciously like something Linda might have put together. “Here we go,” she said laying out the pieces of the outfit on the couch. “The fit should be perfect.” Emily walked over and stood up on her toes to look at the clothing. At least there was no diaper. “Let’s get you dressed.” “What?” Emily asked. “Well, if you want you can go down to the change room on the first floor, though you might need a little help reaching the locker, or you could go and change in the daycare, which is closer to your size, or you can change here. The door is closed.” “I guess I will change here,” Emily said, thinking it was the best out of a bad mix, and the outfit had not come with panties or bra or vest, so at least she would not be stripping completely. Emily managed to undress quickly on her own, but the receptionist outfit had a few extra pieces, and she could not pull them on fast enough to keep Chase from helping. Dark grey, knee length skirt, with a vest and jacket of the same material. The blouse was purple, with a frilly scarf that Chase tied around her neck. The pantyhose were nude, and the shoes closed toe slippers with a low heel. As Emily set the small, pillbox hat on her head, Chase pinned a brass coloured name tag over the left breast of the jacket. The outfit was almost an exact match of the one she had seen Claire and Kristen in, which of course was the problem. Wearing an obviously adult style outfit would likely make her look like she was playing dress up, especially with bigs wearing the same thing. More than a little embarrassing. “Come along,” Chase said. Emily took a moment to fold up the clothing she had worn and put it to the side before running off to follow after Chase. They took the elevator down to the lobby, a few other people getting on as they descended. Emily got a few, “Don’t you look professional,” from the other elevator passengers and one, “A little early for Halloween isn’t it sweetie?” Chase explained to them all that Emily was working down at reception. “Most of the interns spend some time there, to learn the company.” That statement got variations of, ‘isn’t that adorable.’ Down in the lobby, she found Claire and Kristen were expecting her, though not her clothing for Kristen said, “Oh my god, she’s wearing our uniform. That’s precious.” “Ladies,” Chase said, “Emily will be working with you, I expect you to take care of her and make sure she learns the nature of your job.” She shifted her attention to Emily. “Emily, there is a lot you can learn here. Don’t waste the opportunity.” All three, Kristen, Claire and Emily answered in the affirmative. Chase nodded. “Get to work.” She smiled. “This way Emily,” Claire said, indicating the receptionist desk. A stool with steps had been placed there for her. She climbed up it, the top of the counter coming to the middle of her chest. Claire took up position on Emily’s right, Claire on her left. “It is a fairly straightforward job,” Claire began, smiling at Emily. “But don’t think that means it is easy,” Kristen warned. “We are the first face of the company. It is a lot of responsibility.” They went on to explain the scheduling software, the phone system and the various procedures. Emily expected to be bored to death, but she soon realised that there was, in fact, a lot to learn about the company at reception. She began to see who was coming to the company and who they were seeing. Most seemed pleasantly surprised to find Emily there. Only one older man who had a meeting with a manager up on the fifteenth floor seemed to take offence at Emily’s presence. “Keep littles out of the way,” he had said. Emily actually apologised to him, though inside she was seething, and she made a point to memorise his name in case there was ever a bad-turn she could do him. Her apology seemed to defuse his anger, and he left muttering something about littles needing to be in daycare. “You handled that very well,” Kristen said, her tone not too condescending, though the head pat that followed was. The first day was not so bad. She felt like she was an animal in a zoo at times, both visitors and employees seeming to want to watch her. And when she went to the washroom at her break Kristen went with her, in case she needed any help. The Amazon wondered aloud wondered if the potty chairs in the daycare might be better. The restrooms on the first floor had toilets sized for inbetweeners, so Emily suggested that it should not be a problem. “Make sure to wash your hands,” Kristen had said as if she had not been about to do so. Being told to wash her hands gave her a sense of deja-vu, but she was too busy to pursue the thought. She learned that Kirsten and Claire seemed to have worked out a rotating schedule, one of them always going with her when she left the desk. It was of course annoying. Claire was a little worse, as she wanted to help Emily as much as she could. Kristen was a little better, but she wanted to talk about Chase. The next day, a Wednesday, Chase had her again at reception. Emily had known it was coming and had worn her uniform to work to avoid having to change in Chase’s office. She found the scheduling software lacking, so she made a copy of it on her laptop and began to fix it. Something to pass the time when things were quiet. “You know,” Claire said as she took Emily’s hat off to play with her hair, “you are the best intern we’ve ever worked with.” Emily looked up from her computer. “Have you worked with many?” “All of them,” she told her. “All of Chase’s interns do at least a few days of reception.” “Even the boys,” Kristen said. “Though they don’t get to wear the uniform.” Claire put Emily’s hat back on her head. “At least one wished that he could.” Kristen smiled and winked. “I was looking forward to working with Jessica,” Claire said with a sigh. “She was stacked.” Kristen nodded. “But you’re better,” Claire told Emily and wrapped her in a quick hug, lifting her off the stool for a moment. Emily took a moment to regain her balance when she was placed back on her stool. “Have you both worked for Miss Morgan long?” “I’ve been here since Miss Morgan bought the building three years ago,” Kristen said proudly. “About six months less. I was probably Miss Morgan’s first intern.” Claire reached out and gave Emily’s jacket a gentle tug as if to straighten it. “You like working for her.” “Of course we do,” Kristen said. “Great boss. Good benefits. Good work environment.” Claire listed the reasons. She smiled at Emily. “All the cute girls we can hug. That’s a new benefit.” “Can it, we got visitors,” Kristen told them. Emily shifted the computer to the side and smiled with the other two at the group of people approaching them. The following day passed similar to the others, though Claire was getting a little more difficult to deal with. She had not yet demanded the Emily use the potty chairs at the daycare, but it was getting close. The end of the day could not come soon enough. “Want to come out for dinner with us?” Kristen asked Emily as the security guards locked the front doors. “Pardon?” Emily asked. She had been looking towards the elevators, expecting her driver. “Claire and I are going out for dinner, maybe some drinks. Want to come with us?” “The place has a child’s menu,” Claire offered as if that was a selling point. “I’d like to,” Emily said, lying, “but I don’t have anything to change into, and housework has been piling up.” “Aww,” Claire said. “Well, I know what it is like to have to deal with housework. Must be extra hard for you, being so short.” It was hard to say if Kristen was offering heartfelt empathy or just making fun of her, so Emily took it as empathy and smiled and nodded. Not long afterwards her driver showed up, and Emily was able to leave. Chase was waiting down in the parking garage. “Give Emily and me a moment,” she told the man. “Yes ma’am,” he said and went to make himself busy. “Why didn’t you go out for dinner with Kristen and Claire?” “You’re watching me?” Emily said, a little shocked. “Of course I am watching you.” Emily frowned. “Now, why didn’t you go with them?” “Housework. A lot of it.” “Well, maybe you need someone to help you with that housework. A maid,” she paused, “or a nanny.” “I don’t need a maid,” Emily said, keeping her tone even. “And the nanny?” “No. Not a nanny either.” Chase looked down at her for several seconds. Emily had no idea what she might be thinking. She wondered if today was the day that Chase snapped. “You’ll be working in my office tomorrow. Showing me what has kept your head buried in your computer these past few days. Please take Emily home now,” she called to the driver. “Yes ma’am.” Emily watched her turn back to the elevators. Today was not the day, she thought, but what about tomorrow? She would be so glad when she could leave it all. If she could leave it all. The driver got her strapped into the seat while she was thinking such things. Chase returned to her office, considering Emily. She had been watching the little, how she dealt with her coworkers and visitors. Emily was smart, a little like a wild animal, always watching, always careful. Chase how gotten a little tired just watching her. Emily had, she noticed, never drank a cup of coffee offered. Usually, she had been able to come up with an excuse not to take it, and if she had to accept it, and Chase had watched, she never drank. And there were more things like that. It made a Chase sad, to think Emily was cutting herself off from things. So she would do what she could to help. The next morning Emily spent about thirty minutes showing Chase the alterations she had made to the scheduling software and then about three hours working with Chase’s IT manager as they planned a possible roll out. She liked John. He was so into tech that he often forgot she was a little and spoke to her like any other colleague. “We’ll need to write some documentation for this,” John told her as he set up an installer. “I can do that. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.” “Better you than me. I hate that stuff.” He did not look up from the computer. “Am I interrupting something?” Both John and Emily looked to the door of John’s office. Chase stood there, smiling. “Nope. What’s up?” John asked. “Well,” she looked at her watch, “It’s lunch, and I’m taking Emily out.” “Sure. I forgot it was so late. I don’t want Emily to miss her lunch.” Often forgot, Emily thought but eventually remembered. “I was thinking of working through lunch,” Emily said. “I have a few energy bars in my bag.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” Chase’s smile never faltered. “I’d be a terrible boss if I let you just live on energy bars, and this is the end of your second week. We can talk about how well you are doing.” “Take a lunch with the boss,” John said. “I got other work to take care of. We can pick this up after the weekend.” “See Emily dear, perfectly okay to take a break.” Emily considered the options, decided other than a flat refusal she had no choice. And she was thinking a flat refusal might make Chase stop playing her game and act. “Thank you for the invitation,” Emily said to Chase. “You’re welcome. Finish up here and then meet me in the lobby.” “Yes, Miss Morgan.” Chase left, and Emily completed a few things, then saved her work. “Have a good lunch,” John told her, not looking up from her computer. “Thanks,” Emily said, trying to make her tone sound normal. Then she paused, sighed and asked, “Can you press the button for the lobby for me?” He looked up, smiled paternally, “Of course Emily.” She suspected he was going to take a little longer to forget she was a little next time they worked together. In the lobby, she found Chase in conversation with Claire and Kristen. “You’re going to lunch with Miss Morgan,” Kristen said to her. “I’m so jealous.” Her tone was meant to be light, but Emily thought there was a hint of bitterness in it. Emily hoped she had not alienated Kristen. Having an Amazon who was actively gunning for her would be difficult. “Come along Emily,” Chase told her. Not, ‘let’s go’, but ‘come along’. Chase’s big SUV was parked in front of the building. Chase put Emily in the back seat, in the child seat, though she did not pull the strap so tight up between her legs as she had the last time. As it did not take them long to reach their destination, five minutes at most, a tight strap between the legs would be less effective. Chase took her from the seat, then took her hand tightly and led her along the sidewalk lined with smaller, upscale looking buildings. “I don’t want you to get knocked over.” Emily might have discounted that, but there were a lot of bigs around, and they did not look as if they expected littles to be moving around among their legs. They entered the door of a restaurant called ‘The Modern Well’. As soon as they stepped inside Emily was presented with dark wood panelling, the smell of leather and old, sweet tobacco, soft conversation and faint smells of delicious food. A moment after they entered the host, a rail-thin man, easily ten feet tall, in a tuxedo, greeted them. Well, he greeted Chase. “Miss Morgan, a pleasure to see you.” His gaze shifted down to Emily. “You are aware we do not have highchairs?” Emily kept quiet, though there were so many things she wanted to say. “We won’t need one. Perhaps a booster seat,” Chase told him. “Of course,” he said, paused, and then, “We don’t have a child’s menu.” “I am sure Emily will be happy with that,” Chase said, tone suggested she did not want to hear what else the restaurant did not have that might dissuade anyone from bringing children or littles. “Of course,” he said, and led the way into the restaurant. There were people around, but the table and booth setup seemed to give diner’s privacy from each other. She heard them but saw few. The table they were shown to was near the back, in a quiet corner. There we four chairs, but Chase took a seat in the chair next to Emily. “It’s cosy,” she said. The table edge was at the level of Emily’s chin when she sat. The booster seat that was brought to the table about a minute later was needed. They ordered. Emily asked for the prime rib and salad, with a small glass of red wine. She noticed Chase’s ghost of a frown when Emily asked for wine, but she did not say anything. They both ate their salads, made a little small talk, discussed some of the things Emily had learned, all fairly standard. It was only when the waiter brought their entrees that Chase started playing. She took Emily’s plate from her. “Hey,” Emily said, careful not to be loud. Chase smiled, cut some of the meat, and then held it out towards her. “Open up from the steak train.” Emily frowned. “Really?” Chase, still smiling, said, “If you don’t like it we can go to one of those family restaurants. Get you some of the pureed cardboard they call children’s food.” She was good, Emily thought grudgingly. The food smelled delicious, and her stomach suddenly grumbled, loudly enough that Chase heard it. “Someone’s tummy wants some steak.” Emily opened her mouth. Chase put the steak in her mouth. Emily’s eyes widened slightly as she began to chew. It was the best prime rib she had ever eaten. It was nearly the best food she had eaten. Chase had cut another piece and held it out. “I can feed myself,” she said, more sullenly than she would have liked. “I’m worried you are not eating enough. Just want to make sure you get a good meal.” Chase’s tone and expression were innocent. Emily opened her mouth for the next amazing delicious morsel. Chase cut about five more pieces off, feeding each one to her. The sixth piece she darted to the side, leaving a smear of the au-jus on her cheek. “Someone is messy,” she said, wiping the sauce from Emily’s face before she could react. Emily blushed. Chase put the plate back in front of her. “Careful you don’t make a mess, or I’ll have to get you a bib.” As Emily took over feeding herself she wanted to be angry, but the food was so good she could not stay mad. And the wine had the double benefit of being extremely good and upsetting Chase. She felt quite full when she finished. Chase had finished her meal, a fillet of trout, and had spent some time just watching Emily eat. It was a little creepy, but Emily was not going to let it ruin her meal. “Shall we have coffees and deserts?” Chase asked her as Emily put down her cutlery. “I want to,” Emily said, “but that meal was so filling,” she said, for a second treating Chase as if she was just someone she was enjoying lunch with. “Maybe next time we’ll ask the chef for a smaller cut; we’ll tell the waiter that Emily’s eyes are bigger than her tiny tummy.” It was amazing how fast Chase could ruin the moment, Emily thought. Chase paid, and they left. The meat sat heavily in Emily’s stomach and made her feel tired for the first part of the afternoon. Once Chase asked if she wanted to go down to the daycare for a nap. She, of course, refused, politely. When the day was finally over, she was happy to go home. Two weeks down, she thought. Two weeks to go. Chapter 11 - School Daze Haze Chase was ending the day by giving Lisa various instructions on the work they needed to get done in the next week. Her assistant was more brief than usual. Chase thought she must be angry, but did not know what might have upset her. So she asked. “What’s bothering you, Lisa?” She reached for her mug of coffee. Lisa did not answer immediately. She finally said. “It’s Emily.” “What about her?” “Do you know how many of your employees would love to go to lunch with you?” Looking over the rim of her coffee cup Chase asked, “Does that include you?” “No,” Lisa said, and then, “I mean, yes, of course, but I’m not upset about that. I just find it infuriating that she shows so little gratitude to you.” “Well, I suppose Emily does not think she should be grateful, but I can’t say I entirely blame her.” “She doesn’t realise how happy she should be that you have taken an interest in her.” “Well, that’s…” Chase thought about it. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps she does not realise that she should be happy.” “You see,” Lisa said. Chase nodded. “Are you willing to stay a little late tonight?” “Of course.” “Good, because there is something I would like to look into.” After a busy weekend (Emily had worked on several jobs, as well as getting things set for the eventual purchase attempt on the building) Emily came into work on Monday morning. She spent a pleasant enough day working with John, finishing off the work they had started on the previous Friday. She only saw Chase once in the morning. The next day she and John were looking at various software, discussing how some of it might be altered. At about ten in the morning, Lisa called, asking Emily to come up to the office. John was understanding enough to press the elevator buttons without Emily having to ask. However, as he did it, his expression was once again a little paternalistic. As the car took her up to the twenty-third floor, she sighed. Even John, who was a tech nerd, more interested in processors than pacifiers, still easily saw her as a helpless dwarf. When she came into the office, Lisa was shuffling papers on her desk. “Emily, good.” She took a thick file folder off her desk, carried it over to her. “Take this down to the meeting room on the seventeenth floor.” She pressed the folder into her hands. “Why?” “Because Miss Morgan wants it,” she said, then hustled Emily out of the office towards the elevator. “I don’t have time to answer every question you take it in your head to ask.” Her tone was exasperated as if Emily had been asking dozens of questions instead of just the one. Then Emily was in the elevator, descending towards the seventeenth floor, wondering what Chase was up to this time. She did not have time to examine the contents of the folder, though it looked too thick to be the sort of paperwork that might be needed to send her off to some training centre. Emily walked through the busier halls of the seventeenth floor, darting around the legs of the bigs who were moving about, all busy with something or another. She reached the closed door to the meeting room Lisa had described. She knocked. “Come in,” she heard Chase call. She fumbled with the folder and reached up to turn the doorknob. A push of her shoulder swung the door open, and Emily stepped in. The meeting room was large, and more relaxed than a regular conference room, with leather couches and low coffee tables. It was more like a coffee shop than a corporate space. Chase was there, and she stood when Emily entered. “Emily, good, you brought the folder.” Her tone had a hint of the same kind of praise one would use on a small child. Emily nodded, but her attention was drawn to the other woman there. She was probably as tall as Chase, though it was hard to be certain as she was seated on the couch. She was smartly dressed, and her features were sharp, her light blue eyes, locked on Emily, were a little like chips of ice. She wore her light, nearly white, blonde hair long. It contrasted sharply with her black suit. Chase took the folder. “Emily, this is Miss Caroline Oliver, she is the CFO of Three T Technology.” “Pleased to meet you, Miss Oliver,” Emily said politely. She had not heard the name Three T Technology since… “And her daughter Pipa.” Emily took her gaze from Caroline, dropping them. There was a young girl by Caroline’s feet, seated on a play mat. She had missed the girl, her attention so focused on the Amazon. She started slightly, realising the child was actually a little, dressed in a pink set of rompers and a white blouse. She was diapered. Emily started again as the other little looked up from the toys she was playing with. “Catherine?” Emily said, not quite believing what she was seeing. “Aemilia?” the other little asked, a tiny lisp blurring the ‘l’. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks might have reddened slightly. “Shit,” Emily said softly. Caroline looked down at the little at her feet, and then up at Emily. “How do you know each other? How do you know Pipa’s old name.” Old name? The woman had changed Catherine’s name Emily realised. “I believe,” Chase said, “that they might have gone to school together.” “Surely not the daycare,” Caroline said. She reached down and lifted Catherine/Pipa into her hands. “I would recall her.” She was looking at Chase. “Did she attend the Etiquette school?” “I believe they met in college,” Chase said. “Oh that,” Caroline said dismissively. “What a waste of time.” She bounced Catherine/Pipa on her knee. Emily found it unbelievable that Catherine actually giggled. “My little Pipa did not need to fill her head with such nonsense.” Emily had heard of people seeing red, but she had not experienced it before. She felt so angry. Every small indignity she had even ignored, pushed down and responded to with politeness, threatened to spill out of her, choke her unless she spewed forth a stream of invective at this stupid woman in her perfect clothing. Then she felt Chase put her hand on her head. Not hard, but firm, with just enough force that it brought Emily backed to herself. “Emily, why don’t you go back to work.” Emily swallowed, looked towards Catherine/Pipa. She was smiling as Caroline continued to bounce her. She caught Emily’s gaze, offered a shy smile, a tiny lift of her shoulders, almost as if saying, ‘what can you do’. Emily turned and nearly fled the room. “What do you mean work?” Caroline asked Chase. “Emily is in my intern program.” “What? How ridiculous. If it were I….” The door closed before Emily had to listen to what Caroline would do. She did not bother try to get someone to push the elevator button for her but pushed open a door into a stairwell. She sniffed, realised there were tears in her eyes. Wiping at them Emily ran up the stairs, each one nearly too high for her. Exiting on the 23rd floor she ran to the bathroom there, knowing it would be private enough. The last stall, once the door was closed, would give her a place to think without being bothered. She climbed up on the lid of the toilet, pulled her legs up, hugged them to her slim chest. She sniffed again, lifted her arm to wipe her tears away. Why was Catherine there? Had Chase known? Of course, she had, Emily told herself. Somehow Chase had arranged for her best friend from college to be brought there that day. Why Emily had no idea. She found herself thinking back to when she had first met Catherine. The four young women were starting their first year at the Woman’s Institute of Technology. Like most every other freshman there they had attended an assembly where they had been welcomed by the dean of students. Then those four, as well as several others, had been made to attend another, smaller meeting. All the littles had been informed that the school would do everything it could to help them with any special needs they might have. They were given a long list of services the school offered, all of which sounded like things a student just starting nursery school might need, rather than a young woman starting her first year in college. They were given their uniforms, black pleated skirts, white blouses, with blue smocks, and little hats. To identify them as students, the dean of students had said, and then laughed and said, “We would not want you to be mistaken for children.” For most of the littles there, it was not much of a danger, most of them possessing an adult figure, short as they were. For Aemilia Black, it might be a credible danger, but she knew the real reason they were being made to wear uniforms, and it had nothing to do with helping them. “Hurry up girls,” she said, “get changed.” So, in full view of the dean of students and some student volunteers, the littles stripped down to their underwear and changed into the uniforms. Aemilia was not impressed, nor was she surprised. Like the rest of the student body, they were taken on a tour, but Aemilia supposed the inbetweeners and giants were not forced to hold onto a long rope as they were led about. Finally, they were taken to the dorm rooms they would be occupying for their time at college. Littles were not allowed to live off campus at the Woman’s Institute of Technology. Aemilia had wished otherwise, but she had no choice, not if she wanted to study there. There were four beds in the room, each with bed rails around it, turning them into an ersatz crib. The mattresses were high enough up that Aemilia was going to need the small ladder attached to the bed to get into it. There was also a changing table, stocked with diapers, in pride of place, where in any other dorm room a TV might be. Three other girls would be sharing the room with her. There was Catherine, a pretty young woman, tall enough and developed enough that with heels she might pass as an inbetweener. Melody and Tammy were both taller than Aemilia, both of them a little over five feet, Melody somewhat chubby and Tammy more or less average. They had introduced themselves to each other and were just beginning to share details about where they had come from, their high schools, their plans for college when the door to the room was opened, and a young woman entered. Probably eight and a half feet tall, bright ginger, curly hair, pale skin, a spray of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Aemilia thought she looked like some sort of clown from a horror movie. She almost laughed but was not ready answer the questions as to what she was laughing about. “Hello girls,” the young woman said, looking down at them. “I’m your RA, Nelly Constaine. You can call me Miss Constaine, alright girls?” They all nodded, Aemilia said, “Yes Miss Constaine.” “Very good,” she pulled a piece of paper from her jeans pockets, took a quick look at it, then said, “Aemilia. Now, girls, you can call me Miss Constaine.” “Yes Miss Constaine,” they all said together. “Good,” she said with a smile, and the looked at each of them and named them. “Now that we are all friends, I can tell you that I will be taking care of you all for this year. If you need anything, I can help you with it. Won’t that be fun?” Four girls answered, “Yes Miss Constaine.” Nelly nodded. “Good. Now, clothes off.” Even Aemilia, who was used to going along with the Amazons, expressed some concern over that statement. Nelly held up her hand, silencing them. “Now girls, I am responsible for you. And I want to make sure that none of you have any nasty rashes of perhaps a boo-boo that needs to be looked at. So clothes off.” The last was said harder, each word bitten off. The littles stripped and soon four young women stood there, naked, as Nelly gave them all a look over. She had them turn around so she could get a look at their bottoms. She finally declared them all well. “Okay, it has been a busy day for littles. I want you all in bed.” “It’s only 6:30,” Melody said. Nelly smiled. “That’s right because the big hand and the little hand are on the 6.” Aemilia did not sigh. Melody seemed to realise there was no point in arguing. Nelly nodded. “Good girls. Now, let’s get you all diapered up.” Aemilia could not help but say, “I… We don’t wet our beds.” Nelly smiled. “Well, I’m sure that is true,” her tone saying it was not, “but some littles get a little too excited about one or two dry nights, so the school thinks it is better if you are diapered. Now not to worry. If you girls stay dry for five nights, you get to graduate to bedwetting pants. And if you are dry for a whole month after that, though I know how hard that will be, you get to sleep in your pretty panties.” Aemilia suspected that Nelly thought such a thing unlikely. “Okay girls, who wants to be first to ride the diaper train?” None of the littles volunteered. Nelly frowned. “Come along girls. If one of you does not step forward, I think four naughty girls will be taking a ride on the spanking train.” All four of the littles looked at each other. Then Catherine stepped forward. “Excellent,” Nelly said, and stepped forward, picked the naked Catherine up, and laid her on the changing table. “Let’s get a little baby oil massaged into your pretty skin.” Aemilia watched as Nelly filled her cupped hand with oil and then began to work that oil into Catherine’s skin. She took much more time than Aemilia thought was necessary, her hands too long between Catherine’s legs. When Catherine let out a little moan, her face flushing. Aemilia knew that Nelly was one of those bigs, the ones who used positive reinforcement when they treated littles like babies. Catherine was diapered and lifted from the changing table, placed down on the floor. “Now get into your bed kitten.” She looked at the others. “Who is next?” Aemilia knew that there was nothing she could do to avoid it, so she stepped forward. Better to get it over with. Nelly smiled and picked her up, laid her on her back on the table, gently moved her thighs apart. Then, after filling her hand with oil began to feel her up. Aemilia could not quite believe what was happening. She knew this sort of thing happened. She had even seen a nurse in her high school do it to another little, but she had not thought it would happen to her. She turned her head aside, making sure she was not looking at anyone else, she felt her cheeks warm. Nelly’s fingers gently traced across her vagina, slick with oil, never quite penetrating, and then between her buttocks, leaving traces of the slippery oil behind. Aemilia could not help let out a small moan, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment and arousal. “There we go,” Nelly said softly, then grasped her around her ankles to lift her bottom off the changing table. A moment later Aemilia felt herself lowered down onto the padding of the diaper. The soft material compressing as her bottom came down on it, a faint rustling of the plastic backing. She closed her eyes tight, not wanting to see anything that might happen. She felt Nelly push her thighs a little farther apart, felt her run her fingers between her legs one last time before the diaper was pulled up and taped into place. “There we go,” she said as she picked Aemilia off the changing table and put her down on the floor. “Get to bed now while I get your friends all diapered up.” She patted Aemilia on the bottom, hard enough to make the diaper crinkle loudly. Aemilia started forward, paused, unfamiliar with the material between her legs. It had been in nursery school that she had last worn a diaper, and at the time she had hoped it would never happen again. She was certain that she was waddling as she walked, and she desperately wanted to tear the diaper off. She almost did, but she knew that it would only make things worse. She reached her bed and started climbing the small ladder. Being naked but for her diaper, she was certain that her bottom was on prominent display. Almost jumping into bed, Aemilia pulled the sheets over her, hiding her diapers. Though she knew they were still there. Looking up she saw Catherine looking back at her, through the bed railings. Aemilia could see that Catherine was feeling the same way as she. Catherine smiled shyly, Aemilia took it as saying, ‘we’re in this together’ and she smiled back. Nelly finished up with Melody and Tammy, getting a small moan out of each of them before diapering them and sending them to bed. Finished she walked to the door, turned off the light and opened the door. “Make sure you get to sleep girls. I’ll be listening to the baby monitor, and if I hear any shenanigans, I’ll be back here to hand out some spankings.” Then she closed the door. It was dark, but a little of the late day sunlight managed to get through the curtains, leaving everything a little grey. She could hear the sound of other students, not being sent to bed, out enjoying the first night of college. She reached down between her legs and pressed on the front of the diaper, feeling the thickness of it, the slickness of the plastic cover. It was so wrong. She should not be in a diaper. She was not going to wet it. It made her feel so infantile. She pressed a little harder, felt the material pressed up against tender flesh, still tingling from Nelly’s fingers. She sucked a tiny bit of air in. “Are you horny,” Catherine asked softly. Aemilia blushed, took her had away from the diaper. Her back was to Catherine who lay in the other bed. “We should be quiet,” Aemilia whispered. “Do you really think Nelly is listening to the monitor? She’s out having fun like we should be.” Aemilia thought about that, then turned in her bed, looking towards Catherine. “I guess that’s right,” she said, voice low. “Are you feeling it, what Nelly did? I am.” Aemilia’s cheeks were warm when she answered, “Yes.” Catherine sighed. “I’m worried, scared. Is this going to happen every night?” “It will be okay. Stay dry for a week, then a month.” “Do you really believe that?” Aemilia nodded and said, yes. “How do you know?” “They charge us more, for tuition, dorm fees, all of that. You know?” “Yes.” “And the government grants they get are higher for littles, because we have so many special needs.” A sneer had pulled back Aemilia’s lip, and it showed in her tone of voice. “So?” “Most littles who drop out do it in their last semester.” “So?” “So the school makes more money off of us. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nelly were paying extra to be our RA. They want us to stay around to make more money off of us. We’re safe, at least until our last semester.” “Are you sure?” “I am,” Aemilia said. She had given it a lot of thought before choosing to attend this college. “But what about our last semester?” “I guess,” she paused, “we look out for each other.” After a moment Catherine said, “Agreed.” She paused. “I’m still horny.” Emily sighed, pulling her knees in tighter to her chest. She and Catherine had looked out for each other over the years in college and had kept out of trouble with all the bigs. They had both graduated. And somewhere along the line, Catherine had ended up in the situation the two of them had tried to avoid. She remembered the last time they had spoken. Aemilia, who had started going by Emily, took the bedwetting chart from the wall of her dorm room, carefully folded it up, and put it into her suitcase. “Why are you keeping that?” Catherine asked. She had earlier ripped up her chart and tossed it into the garbage. “I don’t want to give them any ideas, give them an excuse to say I obviously do not care about keeping my bed dry.” “Emily, you are going completely paranoid.” Emily turned to Catherine. “We spent the last two years keeping ourselves out of the clutches of some Amazon. Look at Melody and Tammy.” “Melody and Tammy were obviously too immature. Some littles are like that. We’re not.” Catherine shook her head. “You were the top student this year Emily. Do you think any of those bigs really think you need to be back in diapers?” “Of course they do,” Emily said, her voice raising. It was not the first time she and Catherine had had this conversation over the last month. Catherine signed and tossed her head. “No one wants to put you back in diapers Emily. People want to hire you. You’re brilliant. And you want to go off and do freelance work? That’s stupid.” “It’s not stupid. It’s safe. Come with me Catherine. I got an apartment where we will be left alone, and a client list we can build on.” “Emily, I am going to be working for a big company. TTT Technology. I got a 6 figure salary, benefits, and in a year or two, I’ll probably running their IT department. I am not going to give it up. You should come with me. They’ll hire you. I know they’ll hire you.” Emily shook her head. “No. I am going to work freelance.” She saw there was no point in arguing with Catherine. Somehow Catherine had convinced herself one could prove themselves to the bigs. Emily was not going to be able to make her think otherwise. “If the shine comes off corporate life, you have my email,” Emily told her. Catherine smiled. “Tell you what, in two years when I am running the department I’ll send you some big contracts.” “Yeah, that would be nice.”
 Catherine grabbed her suitcase. “Let’s make a point of getting together. Every year, no, every six months. Maybe we’ll go to a fancy hotel or something.” “That would be nice,” Emily said, thinking she might never see Catherine again. With a wave and a laugh, Catherine left the dorm room, dragging her suitcase behind her. Emily slipped down from the toilet, wiped one last time at her eyes, and left the stall. She wondered how long it had been before Caroline Oliver, CFO of 3T, had decided the little working in the IT department needed to be taken care of? Had Caroline perhaps suggested some sort of maturity test? Or maybe there was another clinic like the Westburne Paediatric Clinic that Catherine had been sent to. Or maybe Catherine had made a mistake a work, and someone decided a spanking was in order. Whatever had happened, Catherine had ended up back in diapers, the baby daughter of some amazon with too much money. Someone who was a lot like Chase. “Oh Catherine, why didn’t you come with me?” she asked softly as she took the stairs back down to John’s office. Not that she was doing so well at the moment, but she still had a chance. Chapter 12 - Spa Date and the White Knight It was near the end of the day, she and John had gotten a lot of work done when he got a call. He picked up the receiver, listened for a moment and then handed it to her. Emily took it. “Hello?” “Emily,” Chase said, “please come up to my office.” “Yes Miss Morgan.” Chase hung up. Emily handed the phone back to John. “I’ll see you tomorrow if Miss Morgan wants me to continue working on this.” “Understood,” John said, giving her a wave. She managed to get into an elevator with a secretary. The woman seemed to guess where Emily was going and pressed the button for the 23rd floor without Emily having to ask. “Go right in,” Lisa said as soon as Emily had entered the office suite. When Emily entered Chase’s office, Chase had said, ‘close the door’. Emily was glad that nothing seemed out of place in the office. She had been worried that Catherine’s presence had been the signal of something. “Take a seat, Emily.” Emily climbed up into the high chair. Once Emily was seated Chase surprised her by saying, “I’m sorry about what Caroline said.” After a moment Emily said, “Pardon?” “Caroline should not have trivialised the time that Pipa spent in college.” “Catherine.” “It’s Pipa now, you have to respect that.” Emily did not think she did, but she kept quiet on that. “I does not matter that Pipa does not need what she learned in college, it is part of her life, what made her the person that Caroline loves, and it is where she became friends with you. Caroline should have respected that.” Emily did not know what to say. There was so much wrong in what Chase had just said. She doubted that Caroline Oliver actually loved Pi.. (don’t do that, she told her herself) Catherine. And everything Catherine had learned in college was valuable, and would still be valuable, if some Amazon had not decided she needed to be re-raised, stepped back to a baby. But that was not the way that Chase saw it. She suspected that Chase was incapable of seeing things that way. Still, she had apologised, and at least made an attempt. There was something in that. Something Emily respected, a little. “Thank you,” Emily said. She felt exhausted. “You know, Pipa was happy.” “What?” “Pipa was happy. She is well cared for, she smiled and laughed, played with her toys. She is a content little girl.” Emily almost called Chase a liar, but she modified her statement and said, “I don’t believe it. Catherine would never enjoy it.” Even as Emily said it she was thinking back to earlier that day. The small blush that might not have even been a blush, the lift of her shoulders, the giggle. There had not been a desperate cry for help in Catherine’s gaze, more a slight discomfort, as if meeting Emily again was somewhat disquieting. “Your college had quite a strict set of rules for littles, did it not?” Emily shrugged her shoulders. “Mandatory diapering for the first week, diapers during exams, which is understandable, exams are very stressful, required panty checks, set potty times… Other colleges were not so strict.” Emily had no idea what Chase was getting at. “It was one of the best institutions for what I wanted.” “So you went there in spite of those rules?” Emily nodded. “Perhaps Pipa went there because of them.” Emily opened her mouth, to deny that statement, but then she recalled Catherine volunteering to be the first diapered. She did not want to believe what Chase was suggesting. “Some littles really are not ready to grow up,” Chase told her. Emily shook her head, but it was a weaker gesture than she would have liked. Had Catherine really wanted that? “Would you like to take tomorrow off and go to a spa?” The non-sequitur took her by surprise, and it took a few seconds for those words to make sense to Emily, and even then she asked, “What?” “I usually do something with the interns, most often lunch, and usually after they have been here for a month, but we have already had lunch, and you are on somewhat of an accelerated pace. I think a day at a spa would be nice.” “This is not some sort of weird baby spa?” Emily asked before she could think better of it. Chase smiled. “No, but if you would like that I might be able to find one.” “No, a regular spa is fine,” she said quickly. “Good. It will give you the chance to relax. Now, why don’t you leave early today? Make sure you get a good night’s sleep.” “Yes Miss Morgan.” Emily would spend most of the night unable to get any rest as she wondered if her friend Catherine had really wanted to be a baby again. The next day, about thirty minutes after she arrived at work, Chase was putting her in the child seat in the back of the SUV, and they were driving to the spa. It was about an hour away, and Emily was glad to see when they arrived that it was just a spa. Chase had already booked their appointments, had told them that Emily was a little, for the locker room had a step stool, and they had given her a lower locker to put her things in. Wearing a terry cloth robe that dropped below her knees (Chase’s robe hit the tall woman about mid-thigh) they were led by a beautician to some baths full of mud. ‘Good for pulling toxins from the body.’ After the mudbath, there was a shower, a soak in hot, herbal water, a skin scrub, then a 90-minute massage that left Emily feeling boneless. “Enjoying it?” Chase asked as they sat in a steam room after the massage. “Yes, very much, thank you.” It was true enough. “Light lunch next and then waxing.” “Waxing?” Emily could not help but make a face. “Not a fan?” “No.” “Can’t say I am either.” Emily almost told Chase that in college all littles had been required to get waxed, once a month, for hygiene reasons. It was either that or permanent hair removal. She remembered that after the first session Catherine had chosen permanent removal. Had that been a sign? She was still thinking about Catherine through the lunch (a garden salad with chicken) and when they were brought into the waxing salon. A nearly eight-foot-tall woman named Avril was taking care of Emily. As she helped Emily up onto the padded table, she asked, “Would you like me to mix a few things into the wax, so the removal permanent sweetie?” “What? No.” “Are you sure, you won’t have to go through this again if we make it permanent. You don’t have a lot of body hair anyway.” Big smile, tone a little condescending. “No thank you.” “Really?” She was not looking at Emily, but at Chase. “Her choice,” Chase said as she laid down on another of the tables. Avril shook her head, confused. Emily watched her carefully to make sure she did not take the initiative and mix up the special wax after all. The waxing was unpleasant as Emily remembered, but she was not very hirsute, and it did not take long before the procedure was done. Chase, being larger, and having more body hair, was still undergoing her waxing. Avril helped her down from the table. As Emily was doing up her robe, Avril said, “Why don’t you wait in the lounge outside until she is done.” Emily nodded and left, hearing the sound of wax being pulled off. She could not help but smile. She hoped that Chase found it as uncomfortable as she did. The nearby lounge had some reclining chairs, one or two at the inbetweener size that Emily could climb onto. She leaned back, did not bother to put up the footrest, and closed her eyes. The pain from the waxing was fading to a tingle, and Emily was able to relax. Her mind went back to the question about Catherine. As the night before she was able to recall many examples that could perhaps be taken as Catherine wanting to return to being a baby. There was the time Catherine chose diapers instead of restricting her liquid intake after several other littles had wet their beds, saying she wanted to drink when she was thirsty. Emily had accepted the answer then, even thought it made some sense (though she never wore diapers if she had a choice) but now, it made her wonder. Was this how the bigs see us? Emily wondered. No matter what the action it could be seen through a lens of a little needing to, wanting to be returned to babyhood. Mind going about as it was, and more tired than she realised, Emily fell asleep. She dreamed of Catherine, playing in a nursery. Come play with me Emily, she said in the dream. We can be babies together. Emily ran in the dream, trying to get away, but every door she opened led into another nursery, where another little she knew asked her to play with them. There was Tammy and Melody from the dorm room. Several other littles she had known in college. Littles from high school. Boys and girls, all diapered, all smiling, all asking her to play with her. Emily turned away from the latest nursery, in which a boy named George, who she had had a crush on when she had been in the first year of high school, was riding on a rocking horse, asking to her play. As she turned away, she was presented with the vast, ominous figure, leaning over her. ‘Let’s get these clothes off you’ the figure boomed in a voice that shook the hall. Emily woke, uncertain. Her dream seemed to have followed her, for she felt someone opening her robe. “See, I told you she was not wearing a diaper,” a woman said. Emily blinked, pushed away at the hands on her. “Get off me you crazy bitch,” she mumbled, still lost between dream and anger over what had happened to Catherine. “Do you hear what she said?” a second woman asked. Emily, now awake, found that two bigs were standing over her. Both were dressed in the same robes she and Chase wore, making it clear they were also guests of the spa. The one that had opened up Emily’s robe was a plain looking woman, who looked to be in her early twenties. She had short brown hair and an unfortunately too small nose. Her companion, the one that had just spoken, was a little prettier than her friend, looked about the same age. She had light brown hair, short and curly. “What did you say to me little girl?” the Amazon with the too small nose asked. “I was asleep, I was dreaming,” Emily said, not at all liking the situation she was in. “That’s no excuse,” the other said. “And she hit you.” The first Amazon looked confused for a moment, then looked down at the hand that Emily had pushed away. Her eyes widened, and she smiled. “You’re right. What a naughty little thing you are. No hitting,” she said sternly. “Big girls use their words,” the second Amazon said smugly. “And they don’t have potty mouths.” “Yes, that’s true. I guess I have no choice but to give this naughty little girl a spanking.” “What?” Emily said, suddenly in a nightmare turned real, “no, you can’t.” It was not the right thing to say because Emily knew fully well that the woman could. “Can’t? Little babies don’t tell adults what they can’t do.” This was the sort of situation that Emily had always tried hard to avoid. She could be smart and clever, but once a big got an idea in their head, Emily was in no position to do anything about it. As if to prove that the first Amazon lifted her effortlessly from the chair and stripped the robe from her. Struggle as she might, Emily did not delay the action in the slightest. “Now you naughty little thing,” the woman said as she sat down, pulling Emily over her lap, “you are going to get the punishment you obviously deserve. I’m going to spank the naughty right out of you.” “No, please, don’t. I’ll be good. I didn’t mean to,” Emily begged and babbled. She was afraid of pain, but more so pain she could not control, pain administered by someone else. She was scared of all the things that could happen. She would beg and babble all she could to avoid the pain, but she knew nothing that she could say would stop this woman from administering a spanking. Emily knew she would begin to cry, would sob uncontrollably. Already she could feel tears in her eyes from the fear and approaching dread. Would she lose control of her bladder? She had heard that happened sometimes. She sniffed loudly, almost crying aloud even though not a single slap had fallen on her bottom. She felt the woman shift, pictured that considerable hand lifting into the air above her naked ass. Squeezing her eyes shut she wondered if she could be brave enough to hold out for at least a few slaps. But the hand never fell, and she heard Chase, her voice so cool it went right through Emily. “What do you think you are doing?” “Who are you?” the woman upon whose lap Emily was on asked. “I asked you what you think you are doing.” The voice made Emily shiver, and the woman could not answer. Then Emily felt herself picked up from the woman’s lap and placed on the floor. She was beside Chase. Looking up at the faces of the two woman she could see what she could only assume was fear in their eyes. She did not look up at Chase’s face, afraid of what she might see. “That little girl swore at us,” the second woman said, pointing at Emily. Emily stepped in behind Chase’s legs, hiding behind them. It was humiliating to do so, but she did not want to risk either of those women getting a hold of her again. “Emily?” Chase asked, voice softening a little, but still cold. “I was dreaming, they woke me, I was surprised.” She still hid behind Chase. “I see,” Chase said, voice even softer. The second woman, perhaps not liking the way things were going, said, “She slapped my friend.” The other one nodded. “She did. Such a little brute.” Emily cringed, sure that the spanking she had hoped to avoid was coming, and probably from Chase. Chase surprised her. “Show me the slap mark,” she demanded. The Amazon with the too small nose hid her hands behind her back, looking for a moment like a naughty child. If Emily was not so scared and frazzled, she might have enjoyed that. “It’s faded.” “Hardly,” Chase said. Her voice grew cold again. “Would you like to see what a slap mark looks like?” Both women backed up a step from Chase, and shook their heads, looking, well, Emily had to think, terrified. Chase grabbed Emily’s robe and then delivered one, sharp smack to Emily’s bottom, causing Emily to let out a surprised squeak. Chase then put the robe back on Emily and said as she tired it closed, “Emily, apologise for your rude language to these two ladies.” She put so much scorn into ‘ladies’ Emily was surprised the women didn’t protest. “I’m sorry,” Emily said softly. “Well, I guess…” the first one started. Chase cut her off. “Apologize to Emily for disturbing her sleep.” “What? That’s crazy,” the second woman said, “I won’t…” “Apologize.” That same, cold tone. Emily hoped it was never turned on her. “We’re sorry,” the first woman said. The second one took a step back. “Sorry.” “Good. We’re done.” The two women nearly fled. Chase knelt down, and for the first time Emily looked up at her face. There was no trace of anger on it, thankfully. Chase gently ran her fingers through Emily’s hair. “I think in the future in places like this you should stick close to me.” Emily nodded. Chase stood up. “Let’s go. A manicure and a pedicure will make you feel better.” Emily followed after her, and as embarrassing as it was, stuck close to her. She hated it, but at the moment Chase made her feel safe. Emily had calmed herself down by the time they left the spa. She did not stick so closely to Chase as if afraid someone was going to jump out and grab her. She hoped she did not have nightmares that night. “Other than a little hiccough I think this was an enjoyable day out,” Chase said as she pulled out her key fob and clicked the doors unlocked. “Yes,” Emily agreed. Her skin had a healthy glow, her fingernails and toenails shaped and polished. Her short blonde hair had been neatly trimmed, and she was wearing a bit of subtle makeup. She looked nice, but Chase looked absolutely beautiful. Beautiful and powerful, Emily thought. If only she could see me as an adult, I would love to work with her. Chase picked her up, put her in the child seat, strapped her in, then closed the door and went to get in the driver’s seat. As she started the car up Chase asked, “You know Lyle Redmond of course.” Emily was a little surprised, and it was a moment before she answered, “I do, but not personally.” Chase drove away from the spa. “He’s having a party this coming Saturday. Would you like to go?” “What? I… I thought you did not want him or anyone to know I was working for you.” “Well, I would not introduce you as Emily Black.” Emily frowned. She felt she owed Chase for saving her, but only to a certain point. “Who would you introduce me as?” “EmEm,” she said after a moment. “And no one will ask your last name.” Emily made a little noise of displeasure at that. “I don’t want to go.” Chase said nothing for a short time as she navigated through some traffic. “I could have let her spank you, you know.” Emily stiffened in her child seat. Chase continued. “I could have simply let her spank you until you were sobbing and inconsolable and then come and saved you.” Emily did not answer immediately as she thought about that, what it would have been like. “You could have,” Emily agreed. “Thank you for not doing that.” “And,” Chase continued, “sobbing as you were, near panic, I would have taken you to my home, just to make sure you were okay. And you would not have argued.” “That’s probably true,” Emily admitted. “And once you were in my home, still sobbing and scared, clinging to me as you would be, do you think I would ever let you go back to that apartment?” Emily sighed. “I’ll go with you.” “Oh, will you? How nice.” “No diapers,” Emily said, thought she suspected she would not have a choice in that if Chase decided otherwise. “Of course,” Chase said. “You’ll wear that sailor dress you love. And I’ll send you home before the evening celebrations. Not that I think Lyle would not have a roll in crib ready if one were needed.” “I appreciate that.” “We’ll have fun,” Chase said. Emily knew Chase was smiling. Damn. Chapter 13 - The Devil (wants me to) Wear Pampers Emily wished that the Thursday and Friday would drag by, anything to put off the stupid party. Chase, on the other hand, could hardly wait. However, Friday afternoon, a few hours before she would take Emily back to her Apartment (so she could pick up her new dress from Linda), she was presented with a somewhat annoying problem. Though she could not really call it a problem. She was seated at her desk, looking over several printouts. Someone rapped at her door, and she called, "come in." “Afternoon,” Richard said as he came in, carrying a file. “We just got confirmation from 3T. You made a good impression on their CFO it seems.” He was smiling. “We share common interests,” Chase said, with no real animation. “Something bothering you.” Chase handed him the printout. Richard looked at it for a moment, flipping through the pages. “A software vendor is offering us money?” “A lot of money.” “Why?” “John showed Emily, the customer relationship software we purchased last year.” “The software we spent a lot of money on and has never worked right?” “That’s the stuff. Emily wrote a patch and fixed it.” “Creepy,” John said, drawing out the ‘ee’ sound. Chase laughed, smiling. “A little. Anyway, John let the vendor know they could cancel the trouble tickets we had opened as the software was working.” “What did they think of that?” “Once he had shown them it was working they asked for the patches.” “And he said?” “They would have talk to me.” “And you said?” “I told them to piss up a rope.” Richard laughed. “Then they offered money. And, to forestall your question, I told them they had been maltreating us for the last year, and they were getting nothing from us.” “And now the licensing offer?” She nodded. “John suspects they have a lot of angry clients who are having the same issues as us.” Richard looked at the document again. “That is a lot of zeros.” “A lot,” she agreed. “You know, as hard as it is to say this, maybe you had better give up your idea of putting Emily in a nursery. I mean,” he gave the paper a shake, “she’s turning out to be the goose that lays the golden eggs.” “I know. And now you know what is bothering me.” “Most of the world would kill to have your problems.” Chase nodded. “What can I say. I’m a selfish woman.” “You going to Lyle’s party tomorrow?” he asked her. “I am. You?” “I got an invitation. I’m going to do some networking.” “Good.” “So are you taking Emily?” “She is my plus one.” “And you get to show her off.” Chase nodded. “I do indeed.” Saturday morning. Emily woke early. She was nervous. Felt a little ill. She wondered if she could claim the flu or something and beg off the party? No. That would not work. Chase would just have her at that stupid clinic, and that would be worse than the party. She assumed. Sitting at her kitchen table, drinking some coffee she had just made, Emily wished she could just go back to sleep. She had not gotten as much rest lately, with all her work, and she was having bad dreams since seeing Catherine and more so since the almost spanking. One more week, she thought, taking a gulp of the hot coffee. Just one more week and everything will be decided. One way or another. For a time Emily did some work, watching the clock. Chase was to arrive at 10, and Emily wanted about half an hour to get ready. At 9:30 Emily showered, afterwards dried her hair with a towel. The stylist at the spa had cut it so that, when dry, it seemed to almost float about her head, looking like a soft halo that begged to be touched. She like her old short hairstyle better, achieved using a pair of scissors and about ten minutes of her time. Next, she put on the sailor dress, which had been left untouched in her closet, except for the undergarments, which had been laundered. It was about five minutes to ten when she put on her shoes, grabbed her purse, and left her apartment, locking it behind her. Quickly down to the front of the building, just to make sure that no one saw her. She peeked out the doors, making sure the area was empty--she did not want to meet up with some random big. She had treated her neighbours at Sharky’s the night before, she assumed most of them were still asleep. Stepping out, she looked up and down the street, looking for Chase’s car. It was not the SUV that she saw a few minutes later, but a large, black limousine. It pulled up in front of the building. The large passenger door swung open, and Chase stepped out. She was wearing a sundress, with a jacket, similar in colour to the sailor dress Emily wore. Obviously Linda’s creation. “Emily dear, you look better and better each time I see you in that outfit.” “You’ve only seen me in it twice,” Emily said, a little petulantly. Chase smiled. “Well, now I want to see you in it more often.” Walked right into that one, Emily thought. The chauffeur had gotten out of the car, went to the trunk, made a big production of getting a child seat out. “Put that facing towards me, I want to talk to my little EmEm.” “Yes ma’am,” he said as he put the seat in place. Once it was in place the Chauffeur went back to the front of the car, and Chase picked Emily up, the sudden rush into the air making Emily cry out softly, and then put her into the seat. “Such a bother,” Chase said, “trying to keep your pretty outfit from getting too wrinkled.” Emily almost suggested they could eschew the child’s seat. As Chase did up the straps, she said, “Next time we’ll let you travel in your underwear and put your outfit on you when we arrive.” Emily blushed at that thought. Once Emily was strapped in Chase got in and closed the door, sitting directly across from Emily. She smiled down at her. “Off we go.” The car started forward. “Now EmEm, make sure you tell me if you need to go potty. Since you are not wearing a diaper, we don’t want you ruining your pretty dress.” Emily’s cheeks grew warm, and she said, “That won’t be a problem.” “I know,” Chase said, still smiling, “because you’ll let me know if you have to go potty.” Emily nodded. “Yes Miss Morgan.” They spoke during the drive, mostly about the business and the work that Emily was doing. It would have been a rather enjoyable drive if she had not been sitting in a child’s seat and Chase had not kept asking if she needed to use the potty every time they were about to pass a rest stop. They reached the mansion of Lyle Redmond a little after noon, the car pulling up into a line of similar vehicles. The chauffeur came out and opened the door for Chase. Chase released the straps on the child’s seat and lifted Emily out, putting her on the sidewalk leading up to the front of the enormous house. Chase reached into the car for both her and Emily’s bags. She handed Emily her bag and said to the driver, “Be back around 4 to pick Emily up.” “Yes ma’am,” the driver said. Chase took Emily’s free hand in her own and led her towards the house. They passed other people, some with children, and some with littles, all of whom were walking in the same direction. Most of the bigs and inbetweeners were dressed in business casual. The children and the littles were outfitted in variations of party clothing, play clothing, or some sort of semi-uniform looking type outfit similar to Emily’s sailor dress. Closer, Emily got a better look at the house. It was a three-story mansion, with tall columns in front of it, and many windows. The front of the house faced the south, a set of steps led up to the double doors. Close by, to the east, was a garage. To the west, farther from the house, were a few buildings; a barn and what Emily guessed was probably stables. No one, Chase and herself included, were going into the house, but circling around it, out into the back. There was a competition-sized pool, playground equipment, a sports field of some sort out back. There were also several large tents, looking to be recently set up, and through the gap of people, Emily thought she saw a small band. Chase, still holding her hand, led her towards where it seemed people were gathering. “Miss Morgan,” someone said. Chase stopped to look towards the speaker. Emily looked around Chase as well. The woman who had called her was dressed more business than casual, carrying a clipboard with her. “You’re Mr Redmond’s assistant,” Chase said. “Yes,” the woman said, looking pleased. “You helped me change Min.” “I remember,” Chase said. “How is little Min?” “Butterflies in her stomach and bees in her diaper,” the woman said with a laugh. “Nervous and spanked,” Chase said with an approving nod. It’s like she wants me to get angry at her, Emily thought. “She was acting up a little, so Mr Remond warmed her bottom a little. I’m Doris Mann by the way.” “Dorris,” Chase said, and then looked down at Emily. “This is EmEm.” Dorris looked down at her. “Oh, she’s so adorable.” Chase was smiling. “Perhaps EmEm could play with Lyle’s little girls?” Chase suggested. No way in hell, Emily thought. “Oh, I’m afraid that the girls are getting ready for… well, it is a surprise.” “And the cause of the butterflies?” Dorris nodded. “Well, perhaps another time,” Chase said. Dorris was looking Emily, and smiled and nodded, then gave herself a little shake. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot what I wanted to talk to you about. Mr Redmond was hoping you two could speak.” “I’d be happy to. Where is he?” “I’m afraid something suddenly came up. Business. He’s not going to be free until this evening. He hopes you will enjoy this afternoon and be able to speak with him later.” Chase did not answer immediately, and Emily noticed the slightly nervous look on Dorris’ face. Then Chase nodded. “That will be fine.” Dorris visibly relaxed. “Thank you.” Emily wondered why she was so nervous. Would Lyle punish her if Chase did not stay? Perhaps, even though a big, a spanking and a diaper was not out of the question? Emily could not help but giggle at the thought. The giggle made both Chase and Dorris look down at her. Dorris bent over to bring her head closer to Emily’s. “EmEm, if you want you can go and play in the playground.” She smiled. Emily looked over at the playground. She could already see the giant children were making life miserable for the littles there and was pretty sure that it would get worse. “No,” she said. Usually, a little flat out stating ‘no’ to a giant was a recipe for trouble, and Emily knew that, but she would not go into that playground willingly. Chase defused any potential problems by laughing and saying “EmEm is such a mommy’s girl. At her wits ends if I am not close. Isn’t that right EmEm?” Chase was looking down at her expectantly, and Emily knew there was only one response that would keep her out of the hell that the playground could become. “Yes Mommy,” she said softly. “Aw, so cute,” Dorris said and reached out to ruffle Emily’s hair. Straightening Dorris said, “Enjoy the party, Miss Morgan.” She left. Chase was smiling down at Emily. Emily felt her cheeks growing warm. “Sure you don’t want to go and play?” Emily shook her head and said, “Yes I’m sure.” Chase lifted an eyebrow. Emily sighed as her cheeks grew warmer, “Yes I am sure Mommy.” I really do hate her. Chase wondered if she could find a way to have Emily continue to call her mommy at work. It would be nice, but as long as Emily was an employee, it would not be professional. Which really meant she had to make Emily stop being an employee. She led Emily into one of the large tents, where tables nearly groaned under the weight of the food the caterers were lying atop them. “Would you like something to eat EmEm?” Chase asked. “No thank you, I’m not hungry,” Emily said, and then after a second added, “mommy.” Like pulling teeth with this girl Chase thought. Surely there had to be an easier way. Spankings and bottle feedings she guessed, but as enjoyable as that could be, she would wait on it. “Stay close EmEm,” Chase told her as she let go of her hand. She trusted the memory of the almost spanking at the spa would keep Emily on her figurative apron strings. Picking up a plate she moved among the tables, putting various delicacies on it, then filled a tall glass with a non-alcoholic punch. Emily was almost on her heels as Chase left the tent. She found a small table with a few chairs set around it, all currently deserted. She put the plate and glass on the table and then picked up Emily and took a seat on the chair, settling Emily firmly in her lap. Emily let out a small squeak in surprise when first picked up, and Chase asked, “Isn’t this nice EmEm?” “No,” Emily said softly. “No what?” “No, it is not nice Miss Morgan.” Chase sighed. “I really should have let that woman spank you.” Emily did not say anything. Chase reached onto the table and took a panini from the plate and tore a small piece off. “A piece for mommy,” she said, and the put it in her mouth. As she chewed and swallowed, she tore another piece off. “And one for EmEm,” she said, holding the food in front of Emily. Emily sighed and opened her mouth. Chase continued, and had gotten through about half the plate when someone said, “What an adorable little girl.” Chase looked towards the speaker, a pretty enough woman, a little chubby perhaps, a tall inbetweener or a short Amazon. She was well dressed, too formally perhaps, but Chase guessed it was an excuse to wear expensive jewellery. “Thank you,” Chase said, and then, “EmEm, what do you say?” “Thank you, ma’am.” “Oh so sweet,” the woman said, stepping closer. “Are you sharing mommy’s food?” “Yes ma’am,” Emily said. Chase could feel Emily tense slightly and knew that she was not enjoying the attention. The woman looked up at Chase. “I’ve heard it is better that they eat food meant specifically for littles. Breast milk is often said to be the best.” Chase felt Emily bristle. She answered with a smile, “I’ve heard that too. Do you have children…” she let the question trail off. “Kim, Kim Julian, and no, I don’t, but I am hoping maybe soon.” “Chase Morgan,” Chase said in introduction and kept Emily in her lap as she held out at hand. Kim took it for a quick, fingertip shake. Not a confident handshake at all, Chase thought. “Chase Morgan?” Kim asked. “Of Morgan and Stone?” Chase nodded. “Yes.” “Oh my,” she said, smiling. “My husband was just talking about you this morning.” “Your husband?” “Paul Julian, of Evertech.” Chase nodded, recognising the name. “Yes, I know of him.” “He was hoping to talk to you.” She looked about excitedly. “Could I impose on you to wait here for a moment? I’ll see if I can find him.” “Of course,” Chase said. “I will be right back,” she said with a dip of her head and then she rushed off. Chase tore a small pastry in half, ate one piece and put the other part in Emily’s open mouth. “What do you know about Evertech little EmEm?” Chase asked after she swallowed. “What would little EmEm know about a company?” Emily asked her tone a mix of innocence and bitterness. “Now EmEm, if you want to be Emily Black I’ll make a point of introducing you to Lyle as that. Let him know how you have been fooling him.” She thought she could feel Emily’s skin grow warm and in a more polite tone she said, “I‘ve done some work for them, I think they are looking to expand rapidly.” “What sort of work?” “Confidentiality agreement,” Emily told her. It was a fair answer, Chase thought. She would not want Emily doing anything illegal, anything that might result in her losing her hold on the little. “Anything else you can tell me that will not break that agreement?” Emily did not answer immediately, and Chase took a moment to pop another bit of food into the little’s mouth. “They are trying to buy resource companies, agricultural. That’s obvious if you look, nothing they told me. New pharmaceuticals if you ask me.” Chase nodded, took a drink of her punch, then held the glass to Emily’s lips so she could drink. For a moment she thought she might shift the glass, cause a spill on Emily’s white dress. She decided not to ruin a dress as lovely as the one Linda made. She had put Emily back on the ground in front of her and was wiping Emily's face with the cloth napkin (not that she needed it) when Kim returned with her husband. Chase stood to meet him. Paul had to be a foot taller than her, and she did not want to be looking up at him from a seated position. “See, I found her,” Kim said. Paul smiled at his wife. “Good girl,” he said, giving her a quick hug. Chase suddenly wondered about the tall big and his chubby inbetweener wife. Seeing them together she could suddenly see Kim in a dress, similar to Emily’s, calling her husband ‘daddy’. She had heard about relationships like that. Perhaps the reason they did not have children was that Kim was the child. Paul approached her, hand extended, and Chase put those thoughts aside. Chase took his extended hand. Confident handshake. “Miss Morgan, Paul Julian. Pleased to meet you.” “The pleasure is mine,” Chase told him. He let go of her hand, indicated the seats around the table. Chase took a seat, put Emily at her feet. Paul pulled back a chair for his wife and then took a seat as well. “We have a common problem, Miss Morgan,” he said, “and you apparently found the solution.” “Oh?” “Customer relationship program has not worked, but apparently you fixed it.” Chase smiled as she reached down and gave Emily’s head a pat. “That does seem to be the case.” “Damned impressive. We’ve been stuck with that overpriced failware for a year and a half.” He looked about and then asked, voice a little lower, “Don’t suppose you could send my people that fix?” Chase shook her head. “I’m afraid that I can’t. I am being offered a very generous fee to not do that.” Paul nodded. “Understandable. I would do the same thing in your place. Were you working with them on this fix?” “No.” “And would you be willing to state that, legally?” “I probably would.” Paul smiled and nodded. “I can probably go after them on that, complete failure to address the issues in good faith. Get some of the costs refunded.” “I wish you luck,” Chase told him. “Thank you. You know, I never really saw Morgan and Stone as a tech company. Is that changing?” Chase smiled. “Who knows?” He laughed. “Playing your cards close to your chest. I like that. I might be able to use your company, as a public relationship, advertising firm. Any tech you might bring after the fact would be a welcome bonus.” “I would certainly be willing to speak about that. Richard Stone is around here somewhere.” “Excellent. You know, you should come and visit Kim and me sometime.” His eyes shifted to Emily. “You are of course welcome to bring your little girl.” “Thank you, but EmEm can be naughty at times and does not always get to go on trips.” “Yes, I know how little girls can be naughty.” Chase noted his gaze shifted momentarily to his wife. If not for her earlier thoughts she might have missed it, but she was confident that she knew who wore the diapers in their house. Chapter 14- Ballet and Business Had Emily been a child, or even most littles, she might have been bored out of her mind. As it was, seated in Chase’s lap, listening to the business talk, was extremely interesting. She had to be careful not to show too much curiosity, or make suggestions, which she had a lot of. The two hours listening to Chase, Richard and Paul speak was great. If anyone seemed bored and fussy, it was Kim, and about half an hour into the talk Paul suggested she wander around. She left happily. Her chair as soon filled by another influential big, interested in the talk happening. Finally, Chase called the meeting to an end. “I need to take Emily to the potty,” she said, “and I think that Lyle’s entertainment will be beginning soon. I want to see it.” Thomas Aster, an owner of a computer company, a man who had joined them about an hour before, looked at his watch and said, “Have we really been talking this long?” “Good conversation makes things pass fast,” Richard said. Chase stood, placing Emily on the ground, taking her hand. “I am sure we will continue this conversation.” As they walked across the lawn, toward the house, Chased asked, “What does EmEm think?” “There is a lot of opportunity,” Emily told her. “There certainly is.” Just outside of the house a temporary but spotless and well-made set of bathrooms had been set up. Chase took her into one of the small rooms with a toilet, a duck-shaped potty chair, a change table and a sink. Chase picked her up and sat her on the change table. “What…” Emily started, feeling her heartbeat speed up with fear. Chase went to the sink, soaked some paper towels and then returned to wipe Emily’s face and hands. She stood back and looked her over, nodded, and then said, “Can you use the potty or would you like a diaper?” Emily realised that those were the only options she was being given. Suggesting that she might go into a bathroom on her own would not fly. “I’ll use the potty please.” Chase smiled and with a quick motion removed the sailor dress, leaving Emily in just her underwear. “We don’t want you getting your dress messy,” she said. She then put Emily down by the potty chair, pulled her tights and panties down, then put her on the yellow plastic chair. Standing there, looking down at her, Chase smiled and said, “Do your business for mommy.” Emily flushed, but this was not the first time she had been in such a position, and she was not going to let embarrassment let her end up in a diaper. So she did her ‘business’, but she was doing it for herself. Afterwards, Chase praised her, cleaned her and put her back in her dress. All quick and efficient giving her little time to protest or think about it. And she was glad she had no time to think about it because she did not want to, not then. Once more her hands were washed by Chase, and they left the bathrooms. Chase led her back towards the party, circling around the tents, towards the playground. There were a lot of people around, so Emily was not sure what was happening. Then Chase suddenly lifted her up into her arms, putting Emily on her hip, giving the little a much better view. There was a round stage set up off to the side of the playground, and several musicians were setting up around it. Emily supposed this was the entertainment. As she watched the musicians took their seats and began to play. The crowd grew quiet, more attention turned to the stage. Emily spotted Dorris walking towards the stage, and then the five small forms following after her. Lyle Redmond’s 5 adopted daughters, each wearing a leotard and a tutu in different shades of pink, with white tights, pulled up over thick diapers. Emily watched them, each waddling a little, as they were led up on the stage, put on display. Each of them a young woman who had been reduced to a ridiculous toddlerhood at the whim of a man who had money, power and size. Dorris stepped off the stage and the girls sorted themselves out. When the musicians changed the tune, the littles began to dance. The bigs around her seemed enchanted by the display, watching, condescending smiles and soft comments. Part of Emily wanted to look away, but part of her could not help but look on with rapt attention, It was like a disaster in that she knew she should not watch, but could not take her gaze from it. The girls, no, think of them as women, Emily told herself, danced well. Their movements spoke of a great deal of practice. The thick diapers made them a little clumsy, however, which made them seem uncertain, as if they were still not sure of their limbs, like actual toddlers. It was cruel. “They say,” Chase said into her ear, “the ballet is the best activity for littles. Do you know why?” “Because tutus and diapers are a combination bigs like?” Emily asked, tone more waspish than she had intended as her anger got the best of her. Chase did not seem upset. She smiled and said, “Very good, tutus and diapers do look very cute together.” Her tone was the same one adults used for children that had stated something so obvious that it was stupid. It made Emily feel stupid. “However,” Chase continued, “it is an excellent form of exercise, to help littles stay healthy and to keep them from getting fat. A little chubby is fine of course.” “Of course,” Emily said, tone sharp. Chase laughed. “And it is in no way competitive, and not a roughhouse activity. It is a nice, gentle pastime.” “And there is no way, no matter how good they get, they could become professional,” Emily said the last in a tired tone of voice as if she could no longer hold on to her anger. “I suppose there is that,” Chase said, but Emily knew she did not get it. Her thoughts were probably more on why a ‘properly’ cared for little would need to do anything in a professional capacity. After about a minute of watching Chase said, “You know what, I think you…” “I’m not taking ballet,” Emily said. “I think you should,” Chase said. “It will be good exercise.” “I already get enough exercise.” “Do you? Since you started working for me?” Emily opened her mouth to answer, then closed it. She really had not been exercising as much as she once had. “See. Ballet will be good for you.” “I’m not taking ballet,” Emily said again. Chase sighed. “Well then, perhaps you should go to the clinic, once a week, for vitamin shots and a full check-up.” Once more Chase was offering her two options, neither of which was particularly desirable, but one better than the other. “I’m not wearing a tutu. Track pants and a sweatshirt.” Chase frowned. “Tights, and a t-shirt.” “Leggings.” “I pick the t-shirt.” “Fine,” Emily said, knowing she would regret it but supposing she was winning as much as she could. “I’ll see if there is a studio close by, if not I’ll arrange for an instructor to come into the office.” Emily had to admit that Chase was pretty free with her money. It was almost flattering. The dance recital ended and each girl was made to bow around in a circle, flashing their diapered bottoms to everyone in the process. Emily watched, a sick feeling in her stomach as she realised she could be in a similar situation if her plan to win free of Chase did not work. Chase put her down, led Emily towards the stage where people were gathering to congratulate the girls on their performance. Chase put her in front of each of the other littles, so she could be introduced. Min, Tiffy, Kitty, Dot and Isa, were their names and she had to tell them each how pretty they had danced. Dot and Isa looked as embarrassed as Emily felt, while Min, Tiffy and Kitty seemed pleased by the praise and Min said she wanted a dress just like Emily’s. As Chase led her away, Emily wondered if Min had really meant that or if she was just a terrific actor. “They all seemed happy,” Chase said. Emily did not reply. She would be willing to argue that point for Dot and Isa (were those really their names?) but she supposed it might be true for the other three. That was not something she wanted to think on. Chase had led her into the playground and put her on one of the swings and began pushing her. Emily had always liked swings. The simple act of swinging back and forth, the small drop of her stomach at the top ends of the arc. It had been a long time since she had last swung on one. An adult inbetweener or big could swing anytime they wanted, and it was just whimsy, a little on a swing was something different. She stopped trying not to enjoy herself. Just because she liked a swing that did not make her a baby. Screaming, ‘higher, higher’ might have, so she did not. Chase seemed content to push her for a time, probably watching all the other littles and children playing. Chase eventually picked her off the swing and said, “Your ride will be here soon EmEm. Let’s get you something to eat and then we’ll take you to the potty before you leave.” “Yes mommy,” Emily said because there were people around. Chase strapped Emily into the car seat and then said to the chauffeur, “Make sure you stop at least twice so she can go potty.” “Yes ma’am.” “I don’t need potty… bathroom breaks.” Chase smiled and leaned into the car, kissed Emily on the forehead, smiled at the scowl that crossed her face. “I don’t want that dress ruined,” she told her. “If you had been willing to wear a diaper you wouldn’t need the potty stops. Now be a good girl for the driver, and I will see you Monday.” She stepped back and closed to door. “Drive carefully,” she told the chauffeur. “Yes ma’am,” he answered, and handed her a small bag he had taken from the trunk. She watched as the limousine drove off, joining a stream of other cars leaving, children and littles being sent home, a few bigs and inbetweeners departing as well. She walked back to party set up, noticed that a few tents were being taken down, a bar was being put out. Caters were setting out snacks for people, though the proper dinner was still a few hours off. She wanted to find a place where she could freshen up, and change into the clothing she had brought with her. There must be a lounge or something that was being made available. “Chase Morgan,” she heard the familiar voice of Lyle call. “Hello Lyle,” she said as she turned towards him. “Thank you for inviting me.” “You’re welcome, I like to show off after all.” Chase smiled. “Enjoy yourself so far?” “Yes.” “My assistant said you had a pretty little with you.” He looked about. “I’ve sent her home.” “Too bad,” he said with a smile. “It was getting late for her.” “I know. I’m having my girls put to bed right now. Would you like to see?” “Yes. I was quite impressed with their dancing.” “They’ve been practising.” “It shows.” He nodded and led her into the house, pointing out various rooms as they went. “I plan to entertain a lot.” “Like some kind of lord,” Chase said. He looked back at her, perhaps wondering if it was an insult. “A little, I suppose.” Chase decided she would never go for anything so grand. They reached a large nursery where Dorris Mann and two other women were getting the five little girls ready for bed. As soon as Lyle entered the girls waddled about, at least two of the giggling, to line up. All five wore footed sleepers, each a different shade of pink; their bottoms wrapped in thick diapers. One of the girls, Tiffy, stepped forward, looked up at Lyle. “Do we have to go to bed daddy?” Chase thought that, like Min, her high voice was sweet, but did not seem genuine. “Are you arguing Tiffy?” he asked. She shook her head. “No daddy, but we want to stay up for the party,” she said, nearly whining. Chase wondered if she was supposed to be winsome; if so she was failing. She thought that Emily would have done it better. “Is this true?” Lyle asked, looking towards all the girls. Chase was impressed that they did not turn over on Tiffy, though none of them said anything, just nodding. Lyle shook his head. “You had a busy day girls, and the party is for grownups. Now, do any of you think you are grownups?” Tiffy shook her head, but from the line, Dot looked defiant, well, as defiant as a little in footed sleepers could. Lyle stepped forward and scooped up Dot. “Does Dot think she is a big girl?” he asked with a laugh. The other littles relaxed slightly. Dot said, “I don’t want to go to bed so early.” Lyle popped the snaps on the crotch of her rompers and reached a hand into her diaper. “Do you think that someone who's in a wet diaper should be able to stay up as late as they want.” Dot blushed. “Well Dot?” She shook her head, and said, “No daddy.” “Good girl,” he said, and carried her over to a crib and placed her into it. “Give daddy a kiss,” he told her, leaning into the crib. She kissed his cheek. He kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep tight.” He then returned and picked up each of the littles, putting them in a crib, getting and giving a kiss. Chase thought it was sweet. When they left the nursery, the lights going dark behind them Lyle told Dorris, “Make sure Dot and Tiffy don’t get a diaper change tonight.” “Yes Mr Redmond.” He and Chase left the family wing behind, climbed the stairs to the second floor, opened the doors onto a balcony. “They are all adorable,” Chase said, because they were, but not as adorable as Emily. He nodded with a smile. “They are an important part of my life. But, let’s put that aside and talk business. I want to buy your company.” “It’s not for sale,” Chase said. “Does Richard think the same?” “I hold the majority control, but I’ll ask him. If he wants to sell, we’ll talk.” “I’ll leave you in charge if that helps.” “I’d be working for you.” “I’m a good boss.” “You would say that.” Lyle laughed. “Well, admittedly I do think highly of myself, but my employees seem happy enough.” “I’ll keep it in mind.” “You’re getting bigger, which means we might actually start competing. You’d not do well in that situation.” “Why Mr Redmond, that almost seems like a challenge.” “I suppose it does, but seriously Chase, you don’t want to swim with the big fish.” Chase nodded, but she was pretty sure she did want to swim with the big fish. She was even more certain she wanted to be the biggest fish. Lyle looked at her bag. “There is a lounge downstairs, close to where we entered. Washroom where you can change if you want.” “Thank you,” Chase said. She left him behind on the balcony, a lord looking out over his holdings. He was not taking her seriously. Chase planned to show him the error of his ways. It was getting dark when the limousine dropped her off. It had taken longer to get back as the driver had made several stops so she could ‘use the potty’. Now he escorted her up to her room, saw her safely within before leaving. Emily undressed, careful to hang the dress she hoped to never wear again up in the closet. Then, putting on a pair of ratty jeans and a t-shirt she went to work. She checked her plan first, transferred funds from her rapidly diminishing savings and then ran some transactions. Almost there, she thought. That done she turned her attention to new projects. She had spent a few hours sitting among several powerful people, all speaking about fascinating things, none of them, except maybe Chase, considering she was listening to everything that was being said. And most of them said more then they realised. Emily began to put together her notes, researched what she had, and ran some simulations. She had been working for about an hour when she sat back and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. Why was she doing this, she wondered. Then she understood. She was doing it for Chase. There were times, not often, and never lasting more than a few seconds, when the Amazon forgot Emily was a little, when Chase treated her like an equal. Emily did not kid herself that that meant anything, that that somehow made her safe, but she had to admit, now that she thought about it, that she liked it. Her mind turned back to earlier that day, when Chase had sat her on the change table. She had been scared, still felt her heart speed up a little, for she had almost been sure that she had lost, that Chase was going to put a diaper on her and make her a baby. She had not, but after the potty, when Chase had cleaned her, touched her between her legs, as innocent as it had been, Emily had felt something. She had not thought about it then. She thought about it now. “I am attracted to Chase Morgan,” she said aloud. It was ridiculous of course. Chase saw her as a someone who needed to be cared for, who could not be trusted to take care of herself. In that relationship, Emily would always be the lesser. No matter in what intimate way Chase might touch her (even if it was like her old RA Nelly who had often played what she had called ‘making cummies in your diaper’) to the Amazon it would be positive reinforcement. Something to make a little like the treatment instead of anything even close to love between equals. But for what was hopefully her last week she was going to try to cultivate those moments, when she could pretend for a few seconds that there could be something between her and Chase. There was no harm in it. It might just be a crush, it probably was. There were a lot of reasons to be attracted to Chase, but an equal number of reasons to have nothing to do with her. It was complicated. She sat back up and returned to her work. A few minutes later someone knocked on her door. She thought for a moment it was Chase, come to see why she was not in bed, but Emily dismissed that. It was, in fact, Gus, standing out in front of her apartment. She opened the door. “What’s up Gus?” “Wanna come down to Sharky’s? We’re having a bit of bash to celebrate no news is good news.” His tone was light, but she could see that he was worried. Emily looked back at her computer. The work could wait until tomorrow. “Sure.” Chapter 15 - Compelling T-Shirts On Monday morning Emily came in, ready for the last week, to stand against any attempt on Chase part to put her back in the nursery. All she needed was a little more time to let her plan come to fruition. So she immediately handed Chase the report she had written over the weekend. “What is this EmEm?” Chase asked with a smile. “Some colouring to put up on my fridge?” Emily took a deep breath. “Keep it up, and I won’t give you the electronic research that completes it.” Chase frowned and opened the report. She flipped through a few pages. “Have a seat, Miss Black, we have a great deal to work on today.” Emily smiled smugly, though was careful Chase did not see it. They spent most of the day going over the report and the research, and it would have been a pleasant enough day, but Chase, of course, had to ruin it. About an hour after lunch (they had ordered in, Chase had eaten some of Emily’s pad thai to prove it was safe) Chase said, “I’ve had Lisa look into ballet studios.” Emily bit down on her reply and instead said, “Oh?” as if it had nothing to do with her. “Unfortunately there are none close enough.” “It is an expensive neighbourhood.” Chase smiled. “However I found a teacher who is willing to come by twice a week over the lunch hour.” “How fortuitous,” Emily said, her tone skirting sarcasm. “Fortuitous?” “It means…” “I know what it means Emily,” Chase told her, tone hard enough that Emily knew she had pushed things a little too far. “I’m surprised you do.” “Really?” Emily asked, exasperated. “You’ve been reading a report that I wrote, and you don’t think I know what fortuitous means?” Chase looked down at the report, a curious look on her face. “It’s different,” she finally said. “How is it different.” “This was written by Miss Black.” “I am Miss Black.” “You are, and you aren’t.” She reached out and ruffled Emily’s hair. “Understand.” Emily wanted to say ‘I understand all you bigs are insane, and I can only assume it is due to breathing so much thin air,’ but instead, she said, “Some things are too hard for me to understand.” Which gave Chase the opening to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll help you with all the things that make you all confusey woozy.” Emily shook her head and reached for the report. “Here are the details of the latest acquisitions and the patterns we can use to predict their next move,” she said as if the previous exchange had not happened. Chase laughed and then asked, “You have your leggings ready?” Emily sighed, realising she was going to have to play Chase’s game. “Yes.” “Are they pretty pink?” “They are black,” Emily told her. “Black?” “Lots of leggings are black.” “Pink is nicer,” Chase teased. “Black is fine,” Emily said, each word pronounced sharply. “You’re not going through a goth phase are you Emily?” Chase looked up at her ceiling. “I’m not sure where I could find black diapers.” “You don’t need to find black diapers.” “That’s right,” Chase said, looking back at Emily. “Lisa told me you like pink.” Emily put her head in her hands. “Kill me.” “Explain the patterns please,” Chase said all business again. Emily took her head from her hands, nodded and reached for a page. “If you look at the graphs…” Tuesday was the day of the first ballet class. Emily brought a small gym bag with her, within leggings, a change of undergarments and a t-shirt, packed in hopes that Chase would forget their ‘agreement.’ Chase was busy, so she ended up in John’s office, discussing how to package their patch. “You’re sure they won’t be able to decompile this, get their hands on your code?” “Trust me, they are not going to be able to get into it. It’s as perfect a blackbox as I can code.” “I’ll admit that I can’t get at it, but they will likely have some hotshot coders on staff.” “If they had hotshot coders on staff I would not have had to come up with a fix for their problem.” John laughed. “Good point.” There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” John called. Lisa came into the office. “Hello John. “Hey Lisa,” he said. Both of them speaking with a familiarity that spoke of a good working relationship. “What’s up?” “Emily’s ballet lesson is going to start in about ten minutes. I need to make sure she is going to be ready.” That might be the last time John was going to be able to look at her as anything other than a brilliant little, but still a little, Emily thought. “Of course. I’ll see you after your class, Emily.” “Sure,” Emily said. She did not complain about it, hoping she might yet salvage her working relationship with him. “You could change in the change room downstairs,” Lisa said as she let Emily towards the elevators, “but I’ll take you to Miss Morgan’s office. It will be a little quicker, and she left your t-shirt for you.” In Chase’s office, she changed into her stretchy, black, nylon leggings, and the t-shirt. Pink, with white lettering on the front. ‘Keep Calm and Carry Me’. “Real nice Chase,” she said, putting on the t-shirt. “Come along,” Lisa called, “I’ll take you to the class.” Lisa looked at her when she came out of the office. “Do you want me to carry you?” she asked with a smile. “I’ll pass.” “The shirt makes a compelling argument though.” “I can take it off. I have a plain white one. Will that help?” “You are no fun,” Lisa said, turning away from her. Emily left out a small sigh of relief. That could have gone wrong in so many ways. She should know better than to bait bigs. The class was in a large meeting room, almost an auditorium, on the seventh floor. The table and chairs had been pushed back, to give the students room to move. Emily was a little surprised when she came into the room and found out she was not alone. Three young women had come for the ‘exercise’, and there were some of the kids from the daycare, including Becky. Mary was there to watch the children, as well as the little male who had been dressed like a toddler when Emily had last seen him in the daycare. All the children from the daycare were dressed nearly identically, in short-sleeved leotards and tutus, including the little. She wondered if the daycare had had the clothing on hand or if the parents had sent it. She also wondered why there were making the little dress the same as the girls. It seemed pointlessly mean to her. He was already in a diaper. Part of her wanted to get close to him, not that she could help him, just to see if he was one of those littles that had accepted their new life. She did not, however. She did not want to discover he needed help she could not give. She did not want to discover he had given up and accepted it all. She did not want anyone asking if she wanted to wear pretty clothing like that. “Mary, can you keep an eye on Emily?” Lisa asked. “Sure,” Mary said. Emily was careful not to let her emotions show, because she knew it would look like she was pouting. “Thanks,” Lisa said to Mary as she left. A moment later Chase came into the room, escorting an older woman, about half a head shorter than Chase. “Mrs Evans, these are your students,” she said. Mrs Evans, dressed in a black leotard, with tights, a long-sleeved, flannel shirt over it, looked over the students. “Thank you, Miss Morgan,” Mrs Evans said with an accent that Emily was willing to bet was fake. “Mary, if Mrs Evans needs anything, please give her a hand.” “Yes Miss Morgan.” Mary was being given a lot of extra duties, Emily thought. “I will see you later Mrs Evans,” Chase said, pausing before she left to look towards Emily. She winked and then was gone. “Get in a line students, tallest on the right smallest on the left,” Mrs Evans said. The three women laughed as they took a position on the right. Mary moved about, taking the children by their shoulders and putting them into their places. Emily was near the end of the line, between Becky and another actual child who was just a touch shorter than Emily (though Emily knew the girl would be taller soon enough, children grew fast). “Ballet is an art, and one I take seriously,” Mrs Evans said in her faux accent, walking down the line. “But it is also a fine form of exercise, and that is what I will be focusing on. Perhaps some of the younger students might one day…” She stopped in front of Emily, looking down at her. Emily looked back up at her, not liking Mrs Evans at all. “Why is she not in a diaper?” “That’s what I want to know too,” Becky said from Emily’s side. Emily enjoyed a quick fantasy of doing some ultimately harmless but somewhat painful injury to Becky. The three woman laughed among themselves, looking down the line at Emily. A few of the children laughed too. Mary stepped forward. “Ummm, Mrs Evans, Emily is not in the daycare. She’s an employee here.” “What?” Mrs Evans asked. “Who would want her to work for them?” Emily decided she would save time and start loathing Mrs Evans now. Mary seemed a little embarrassed as she said, “Miss Morgan.” Mrs Evans’ eyes widened. She then stepped away from Emily and said, “Very well. Students, make sure you have some space. We’ll do some stretching.” “Aren’t you going to put her in a diaper?” Becky demanded. “Hush Becky,” Mary said as she began to shift the children about. Emily had never thought that ballet was easy, and while she was not interested in dance, she knew the dancers worked hard. She experienced that firsthand that day. Mrs Evans was a real piece of work, finding fault in everything Emily did, expressing nothing but disappointment. She knew that the woman was picking on her. Jeremy, the male little, was clumsy and took time to catch on, but she had lots of praise for him. Emily was pleased when the class was over. Less pleased when Mary said she could shower with the other adults, or come to the daycare and get a quick bath. Emily hated showering with bigs, but she was not going down to the daycare and get bathed. The shower room was in the subbasement, actually close to the office where she had worked, for a very short time, with Jessica. Emily had to ask one of the women to help her with the shower controls. “Here you go Emily,” the woman said with a smile. “Want me to help you wash up?” She said it lightheartedly and was mostly joking. “Thank you, but I think I’ll be fine.” She gave Emily a pat on the head and went to her own shower. “I think you should be with the rest of the children,” Mrs Evans had come in as well, undressed, her thin, bony frame looming over Emily. Emily stepped into the spray of water. “Yes Mrs Evans,” she said. “I’ll speak to Miss Morgan about this,” she warned, turning to another of the shower stalls. The young woman who had helped Emily leaned over and said in a soft voice, “Don’t worry, Miss Morgan’s always gonna be on your side.” Emily nodded and wondered just what having Chase on her side meant. Later that afternoon Chase came into John’s office where Emily was working. She leaned over her and asked, “Did you enjoy your dance lesson?” Emily looked up at her. “No.” Chase smiled. “Mrs Evans says if you are properly diapered you will do better.” Chase patted her on the head. Emily thought about that. “Just how does she think that will help? If anything I think a diaper would make it harder to dance.” “It would make you cuter,” John suggested, “cuter makes you a better dancer. At least with strippers, I’ve found that true.” He looked up from his computer and smiled at Emily. Emily decided that John was more open-minded than she had hoped. Probably because he was a big computer nerd and they had that in common. A bond that knew no height. “That may be true,” Chase said, ignoring John, “but Mrs Evans believes you are spending too much time trying not to wet yourself, so a diaper would remove that worry. She said you were on the verge of wetting yourself the entire class.” “That is a lie,” Emily told her. “I agree with Emily,” John said. “Haven’t had a wet chair in here after all.” Chase looked towards John. Emily wondered if she was mad. If she was, she did not show it. “I do believe that Mrs Evans is” she paused “concerned about her students’ well being, perhaps that is colouring her observation.” Emily almost snorted but kept her peace. “Well, hopefully in the coming classes you two might come to an understanding. I am sure you’ll come to like Mrs Evans Emily. She’ll be here twice a week, so plenty of opportunity.” “Wonderful,” Emily said. One more class, only one more class, she thought. Chapter 16 - Gone (Little) Girl Wednesday passed quickly, she spent most of the day working with John. However, Thursday was the second ballet class. The t-shirt Chase had for her that day read ‘Loading Diaper… Please Wait’ with a progress bar that showed it at 75%. Everyone in the class thought it was adorable. The fussing over Emily must have made Rebecca jealous for she tripped Emily twice, and actually pushed into her a table. At that point Mary picked the child put and put her in a corner. Mrs Evans was at first on Rebecca’s side, until she noticed the displeased stares she was receiving from the adults. Emily thought it that they just did not want to get in trouble with Chase were she to be hurt, but even so, it was nice to have them side with her. Emily was never, ever going to miss those ballet classes. On Friday Chase took her out for lunch again, and again she fed Emily about half her meal before letting Emily finish the rest herself. When she left the building Friday night, she said a silent goodbye to it. If she succeeded, no, when she succeeded, Emily would miss the place a little, and the people, but she knew if she stayed much longer Chase would have her back in diapers and in a nursery. She ran up to her apartment as soon as the driver dropped her off. First, she went through her bug-out bag, made sure her passport and other things were ready, that she had forgotten nothing. Then she sat down behind her computer, turned it on and reached for her phone. “Showtime,” she said. Monday morning Chase came into the office, early as usual. She walked through the front doors, the security guard opening them for her. “Good morning Fred,” she said in greeting. “Morning Miss Morgan,” he told her. “Looks like it is going to rain.” Chase paused, looked back at the sky. “Maybe Fred.” She gave him a smile and walked to the elevators. In her office, she sat down and turned on her computer. There was a lot of work to do, nascent partnerships to hammer out, acquisitions to make, and deals to finalise. She smiled as she thought about the work she and Emily would be undertaking. She would take Emily out for lunch today, she decided. Italian. She could just picture Emily’s messy face. There might even be an opportunity to spill on her clothing which would make a bib necessary in the future. As Chase worked, she heard the sound of other people coming into the office, the soft susurration of far-off conversations. She went and got herself a cup of coffee and was just about to compose an email when her cell phone rang. She took it from her jacket pocket and checked the caller ID. It was the driver she had been sending to pick up and drop off Emily. Answering it, she said, “What is it?” “Miss Morgan, Emily was not waiting for me in front of the building this morning.” “What?” “I also went up to her apartment and knocked on the door, but there was no answer.” “Just a moment,” Chase told him, putting him on hold. She dialled Emily’s number, listened to the phone ring about twelve times before she cut the connection and returned to the driver. “You sure you knocked the right door?” “Apartment 403 Miss Morgan.” He sounded a little insulted. Chase thought about it, about what the driver could do. “Alright, come back to the office then.” “Yes, Miss Morgan.” He hung up. Chase looked at her phone for a few seconds, then put it aside and turned to her computer. Emily had shown herself unwilling to answer phone calls in the past. Chase composed an email. ‘The mature thing to do if you are going to take a day off is to let people know. You owe your driver an apology, Emily. Respond back as soon as possible before I think you are acting willfully naughty.’ She smiled as she wrote the last part and hit send. Focused on her work, she did not really pay any attention to the time until Lisa came in to put some papers on her desk. “Where’s Emily?” she asked. Chase looked up from her work, at the time, and then her email. There was no response from Emily. “She’s taking the day off,” Chase told Lisa. “What? She’s only been here a month. She can be a lazy thing, just like a little.” Chase smiled. “In all fairness, she has been working hard, and she was working the weekend before last.” Chase counted attending the party as work. Lisa seemed somewhat mollified by that. Chase watched Lisa go and then turned back to her work. It was odd that Emily had not responded. Perhaps she was sick? Chase felt a little worried but told herself to calm down. After all, Emily had likely been sick before. She had her neighbours to lend a hand if necessary. Still, this was one of the many reasons Chase thought Emily should be living with her, where Chase could make sure she was always cared for. She suddenly wondered if perhaps Emily was not taking a day off, but not coming back at all. Ridiculous she told herself. Emily was loyal to her friends. She would not leave them to chance as long as Chase owned the building. She paused in her work. Ridiculous, she told herself again, then reached for her phone and dialled the number for her financial management office. She asked to speak to the senior manager, gave her name. A few seconds later she was talking to Izzy Aston. “Miss Morgan,” Izzy said, “what can I do for you?” “I wanted to speak to you about one of my investments. A building I had you purchase about a month ago. I would like to know its status.” “The status?” “Yes. I suppose I want to know if the company still owns it.” She felt stupid saying it. It was not as if it was something that could be misplaced. It was a building. “Just a moment,” he said, sounding somewhat confused. Chase heard the sound of typing. A pause, more typing. Finally, he said, “I’m afraid it has been sold, Miss Morgan.” “What?” Chase demanded. “I am sorry. But there was nothing said about not selling it.” From his defensive tone, Chase guessed she had sounded more than a little adversarial. “Yes,” she said, keeping her voice even. “That is true.” She had never thought of it. Why would she? “But a sale like this, usually I would have been consulted.” “Yes, you should have been,” he answered, sounding a little uncertain. “Miss Morgan, can you give me about thirty minutes to look into this, so I can answer your question?” “Of course.” She wanted to demand immediate answers. “I’ll call you back in half an hour.” Chase hung up and sat back in her chair. It was impossible that Emily had managed to buy the building. Then who? Lyle. It had to be him, He had learned about Emily, had thrown a vast about of money at the management company to get them to sell him the building immediately. Now he had control over the apartment, and without it, she had no control over Emily. I should have never brought her to that party, Chase chastised herself. She wanted to get up, to go and find Emily, to save her from Lyle. Was she already in his nursery? Was he spanking that bottom that only Chase should be allowed to spank? Was he diapering her at that very moment? She found herself standing up behind her desk. Taking a deep breath, she returned to her chair. Wait, Chase told herself, wait until Izzy gets back to you. Wait until you have all the information. When her phone rang she almost knocked the handset to the floor as she grabbed for it. “Hello,” she said. “Miss Morgan, Izzy, I have the details.” Chase nodded even though he could not see her. “Tell me.” “Well, we use a piece of pattern predicting software to help manage the resources the company owns.” “Pattern predicting?” Chase asked, a sinking sensation in her stomach. “Yes, it is quite brilliant. However, it’s apparently not perfect. Over the last month, there have been several real estate purchases, made all over the country, properties similar to the one you had us buy. Each time they were sold soon after they were bought, and always at a loss.” “I see,” Chase said, beginning to understand. “Yes. The software saw those losses and predicted that there might be a future correction in similar real estate.” “Is there going to be a correction?” “No. I can understand why the software predicted it, but it was just an unlucky set of transactions, a perfect storm as you will.” “Yes, unlucky,” Chase said dully. “About a week ago the property was flagged as a possible loss, and a few days later it was flagged as something we should divest ourselves of as soon as we could.” “And then someone made an offer,” Chase said. “Yes.” “But, even if the software indicated it should be sold, shouldn’t you have checked things out before selling?” “Ah, yes,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “As it happens the employee who took the call was new. He did follow proper procedures but lacked some experience, and perhaps he was a little influenced by the commission bonus. The offer was time-sensitive, immediate sale required. The property sold for a thirty percent profit, which is not insignificant. If we could make thirty percent after a month on all our investments…” “Yes, I understand. Thank you, Mr Aston. Please review policy so we don’t end up again being misled by software, in case there is another perfect storm.” “Yes Miss Morgan.” Chase hung up the phone. “Oh Emily, you played me,” she said softly, confident that if she looked into it, she would find Emily Black had a part in the developing the software. Emily had dropped little financial bombs all over the country, their perfect placement setting ripples in motion that allowed her to influence the software and buy that building. And now Chase had no leverage against her. At least it was not Lyle. Chase leaned back in her chair. A smart little, able to go back to living her life the same way before Chase had ever found her. After a minute Chase got up from her chair, strode from her office. “I’m going out, for the rest of the morning, perhaps the whole day,” she told Lisa. “Yes Miss Morgan. Where are you going?” Chase did not answer, she nearly ran to the elevator, hit the call button hard enough that she almost cracked the plastic. Would Emily even still be there? She might have taken a plane anywhere in the world as soon as she bought the building. I might never see her again, Chase thought. Damn. Chase two rabbits and you catch none. Damn. The doors opened. She almost jumped in and nearly punched the button for the lobby. On the way down people got onto the elevator and talked to her but she hardly heard them. Someone asked her what cute shirt she would have Emily wear at the next ballet class. She turned eyes that must have been angry on the poor woman. The woman backed up, looking as she might flee. Chase mumbled an apology and nearly ran through the lobby. The drive to the undeveloped area seemed to take forever. She kept looking into the review mirror, at the back seat and the empty child seat. Was Emily getting into a cab right now? About to head to the airport? Should she call the police, report her as a runaway? But what if the police took her into custody? What if they sent her to an orphanage or a juvenile facility? Chase did not know what to do, and she hated that feeling. Fat raindrops began to fall, slowly. Chase reduced her speed and ground her teeth. After what seemed like an eternity she pulled up in front of the building. She hit her brakes hard enough to cause the tires to squeal on the wet pavement, splash water up from the road. Almost hit by that water was a big, holding a little in her arms, who gave Chase a hard look as she got out of the SUV. Chase returned it and watched the woman drop her gaze. She walked into the building, the building she had owned only the previous week. Now it was Emily’s building. Chase almost ran up the stairs, thinking she might try to kick in Emily’s door. Would someone call the police were she to do that? Making herself stand still and consider the situation Chase thought about what she could do, how she could find out if Emily were even still there, and if so was how to get her to open her door. That was when she heard the sound of iron on iron. She followed it to the back of the building, and out into Gus’ smithy. She saw the heavily muscled inbetweener working at a huge anvil, bare-chested except for a leather apron. The falling rain hissed as it hit hot metal. He stopped his work, looked at the piece he was working on, then put the thick iron bar he had been hammering into the forge. That was when he saw her. “Miss Morgan,” he said, politely. “Gus,” she answered, calmer than she felt. “I’ve almost finished your order, be about another week.” Chase nodded, then shook her head. “That’s not why I am here. Emily did not come to work today.” It sounded lame to her. Did he know what was happening? Had Emily told him? Did he know it was Chase that had threatened to raise his rent, kick him out? “Well,” he smiled, put a hand on the back of his head, looked a little embarrassed, “we did have something of a blowout last night. Emily was not drinking any heavier than she usually does so she is probably not sick, but well, try not to hold it against her. We’ve been under a bit of stress recently. I bet she just needed some time off.” “Oh?” Chase asked, trying to keep her tone neutral, but her heart was thumping, and she was shouting in her mind, ‘she was still here last night.’ “Emily did not tell you?” Chase shook her head. Gus looked back at the forge, grabbed a set of tongs and repositioned the metal, then leaned against the anvil. “About a month ago we found out someone had bought the building, was threatening to increase our rent or even kick us out to turn the place into condos.” “That would have been unfortunate.” Emily had not told them. She did not recall, however, threatening to turn the place into condos. Why had Emily not told them? Loyalty? Some sort of fondness on Emily's part? A desire to protect Chase's reputation? Gus snorted. “Tell me about it. Not a lot of places that have the space we have here. Where the hell would I find a place to set up another smithy after all?” She nodded. “So like I said, a lit bit of stress here, but late Saturday we found that the owner was not going to do anything like that. Was going offer us the opportunity set up a co-op.” “A co-op?” “We’d all have a share in the building. Not enough so that we share in the profits, but we would have a say in what happens to the building in the future. We can afford to buy into that.” “Fortunate.” “Damn right. So we’ve been celebrating pretty heavily since then.” “I’m glad you no longer have to worry,” Chase told him, feeling a twinge of a guilty conscience. “Thanks.” Chase looked about. “Are you sure that Emily is okay?” “She should be.” “I am a little worried about her. I would feel better if I knew she was okay. She is my employee after all.” Gus stood up straight, grabbed the tongs and once again shifted the metal. “I’m kind of the building super around here,” he told her, “I do have keys to all the apartments.” “Could I ask you to let me in?” She did not know if Gus would agree. She certainly could not force the inbetweener. “I guess it would be okay,” he said after a moment. Chase was careful not to smile but only nodded. “I would appreciate it.” Gus went and got a ring of keys and then took Chase up to the fourth floor. At apartment 403 he knocked on the door. “Emily, you in there?” Chase hoped he would get an answer, hoped that Emily would open the door for Gus. No answer came. Gus put the key the lock, turned it, then opened the door. Chase looked over his head into the room. It was neat and tidy, spotless. She realised it was the first time she had seen the inside of Emily’s apartment. Gus entered, calling, “Emily.” Chase followed, looking around. The apartment had been built primarily for inbetweeners. Chase could see a few step stools around, small modifications that Emily had made so she could live there comfortably. Chase’s head nearly brushed the ceiling. It seemed empty. She saw the envelope with Gus’ name on it about the same time Gus did. If it would not have been rude, and perhaps ill-advised, she might have tried to snatch it from him. As it was, she had to stand there as he opened it up and read it. A flash of concern, then a smile and a laugh. “What?” Chase asked. “She says she had to go, some kind of family issue, then she wrote that if I bothered to look at my email, I would already know it.” “Family issue?” “Doesn’t say what. Will be gone for at least two weeks. Maybe longer.” She could be anywhere, Chase thought. She should have had the clinic put a tracking chip in her, or was that only for pets? She should have not bothered with all the games and just taken Emily with her from the first. She could be safely in her nursery right now instead of god knows where doing who knew what. “Oh. there’s a message for you,” Gus told her. “What?” Her tone was a little too eager. “She said that if you were to come by that, I should tell you she left something of yours in the closet in her bedroom.” Chase looked about. Gus indicated a door. She thanked him and went and opened the door. Emily’s bedroom was amply sized, for a little. The bed looked tiny to Chase, but she supposed it would be a twin for most inbetweeners. It was low to the floor so Emily would be able to get in and out of it without dealing with a drop. Currently, it was stripped of sheets, just a bare mattress. She really should have had a rubber sheet on it, Chase thought, just in case. Opening the door to the closet Chase found it had been modified. The bar set to what was probably eye height for Emily, a few shelves above it, a small ladder attached to the wall. The closet was bare, but for the white sailor dress, hanging there, and on the shelf above it the other pieces of the outfit. A note was taped to the dress. Chase peeled it off. On it was written, ‘Thank you for letting me borrow your dress, Emily.’ “Polite as always,” Chase said softly. Taking the dress from the closet, she lifted it to her face, smelt the faint scent of Emily’s soap. Tears prickled her eyes, but she wiped them away, then grabbed the undergarments, the shoes and the purse, folding them into a bundle. “Get everything?” Gus asked as she came from the room. “Yes, thank you,” she said. He showed her from the apartment, locked the door behind them, then saw her to the building’s lobby. “Like I said, a week.” “What?” “Your order,” he explained, “it will be done in a week.” “Yes, thank you,” Chase told him, and then left. Apartment 317 was one of the smallest apartments in the building. Emily had rented it at the same time she had rented 403. At first in the hope that Catherine would come to her senses and come to work with Emily. And then she had kept it as a place to hide out, in case some big got a little too inquisitive. It was how she would have dealt with Chase if Chase had not bought the building, forcing her to deal with the monster directly instead of hiding from it. She had considered leaving for real, she had everything she needed to do so, but this was her home, and she liked living there, liked her neighbours. She saw no reason to let Chase drive her from it. That would have been at least a partial victory for Chase. She sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes of stuff (taken from 403 to make it look empty and deserted) and watched Chase leave. She was not so foolish as to stand by the window but had placed a webcam there, so she might see the comings and goings below. Emily had seen Chase come, and now was watching her go. It looked like she was carrying the dress, so she supposed Gus had let her into the apartment. She did not blame him. She was glad that no one knew that she was the person who rented 317. Most everyone probably thought it was empty, too small to be rented out. If they even thought of it at all. No one was going to bother her. She would be quiet for the next week, she had food to last that long, and make sure Chase was not coming back, believed that she was gone. When she returned to 403 her neighbours would have to be told a story to keep them from accidentally giving her away to Chase. She could say that the job did not work out, but that Chase really wanted to hire her back. That should keep them quiet about her when the Amazon was around. Assuming she ever came around again. She watched Chase leave. She thought that the Amazon looked sad standing in the rain. It made Emily feel a little guilty, but she quickly dispelled the guilt, reminding herself that Chase had threatened her friends to get Emily to work for her. The woman did not deserve her sympathy. That thought helped assuage the guilt a little. Chapter 17 - Thwarted Mommy Blues Chase took the rest of Monday off, and when she came in on Tuesday, she got little work done. She sat at her desk and wondered where Emily had gone. There were places were a little might avoid the larger people, though such places were in decline as the larger folk went where they would. When Lisa told her that Mrs Evans had come to teach the class Chase almost told Lisa to send the woman away. Without Emily what was the point? However she had promised the woman employment, and she had staff and the children from the daycare who were enjoying those classes. Chase told Lisa to deal with the woman and went back to her dark thoughts. That night she made going to Linda’s place an excuse to return to the building. Chase’s heart was not into discussing clothing, and she had left, telling the seamstress she needed some time to think. Then she had gone up to apartment 403 and listened outside the door, hoping to hear something from within. Wednesday morning Richard came into her office. “Snap out of it,” he told her, slapping his hand against her desk. “Pardon?” she asked, an edge to her voice. He did not back down. “It’s obvious to me that Emily’s bailed on you, that your chase two rabbits and catch both plan failed. Suck it up.” “Excuse me?” she demanded, suddenly angry. “I got both 3T and Evertech asking me why things have suddenly halted. You’ve got deals that need to be handled, and you have to handle them. I’m sorry Emily’s gone, but she’s gone. Stop sulking and get your ass in gear.” Chase’s anger evaporated, or more to the point she directed it at herself. She had been sulking. She had been moping around because Emily had slipped her leash. It was upsetting, but she had responsibilities, and she had been ignoring them. “You’re right,” she told Richard. “Damn straight. Now get your ass in gear before I kick it.” She smiled at him. “You’re pushing it, Richard.” He returned the smile. “A chance I am willing to take.” By the end of the day, Chase had repaired all the damage her funk had caused. Thursday she had things pushed ahead, well on track. She missed having Emily about, both Miss Black and EmEm, but she had built the company up on her own, she did not need Emily to grow it. She returned home Thursday evening, pleasantly tired. As she sat down at her kitchen table, glass of wine in her hand, she looked at some of the paperwork she had left there the previous week. She picked up the sales notice for a three-floor suite, only a few blocks away from where she currently lived. She would have put an offer on it, had Emily not left. It had a beautiful room on the second level that Chase had planned to turn into Emily’s nursery. No need to buy it now. She smiled as she recalled her plan to get Emily there. A housewarming party. Emily would have had to attend of course. And then Chase would arrange some reason for Emily to have to stay the night. She could just imagine the look on Emily’s face when Chase brought her into the nursery. She had already done some research and had found a perfect crib mattress. She imagined it would be the best night’s sleep Emily had ever had, and chase would get her to admit that. Sighing Chase shook her head. So much for that dream. “Where have you gone Emily?” she asked, but this time it was not a lament of loss, but just a simple question. She got up and walked to her windows, looked at the far-off lights of the buildings of the undeveloped area. “Where would you have gone?” She could understand why Emily had chosen to live there. The place had been built for inbetweeners, and being near the protected greenbelt made it nearly impossible to develop anything there. Likely few big people would ever go there; expect at certain times of the day to meet Linda or in the evenings to visit clubs. Set times like that would be easy for Emily to work around. Where would she find another place like that, one where she had the sort of infrastructure to continue her work? There could not be too many places like that. Perhaps that meant Emily would return. But likely Chase would never know. Chase frowned. Or perhaps it was not a question if she would return, but had she ever left? It would be daring. It would also keep Emily in a familiar place, and Chase thought most littles, deep down, wanted security. Clever. “Too clever,” Chase said with a smile. “Sometimes you can be too clever.” She got her phone, called Izzy Aston. Got an answering service. Got them to put her through to his personal line. “Miss Morgan,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “Mr Aston, do you still have copies of the financial information on that building?” He did not answer immediately and then said, “We should.” “Send everything you have to me as soon as you can.” “As soon…” “Tomorrow is fine.” She hung up. Perhaps she was kidding herself, but she had a good feeling. And it was the only possibility left that meant she could find Emily. She grabbed at it like a drowning person grabbed onto a life preserver. Busy with a deluge of work, it was not until midday that Chase was able to look over the records that Izzy had sent her. It did not take her long to find what she was looking for. Apartment 403 and 317, every month an automatic payment had come from the same bank. She could not be sure of the account, but it had to be the same. Chase would not accept that it could not be. Chase had to restrain herself from just going over and banging on the door to 317. If Emily found out Chase knew, then she would likely leave for real. Chase could not be positive Emily as in 317. Perhaps she had rented the second apartment just for storage. Or maybe it was a trap, a place Emily could watch, just to get a feeling for how much effort was being put into catching her. It seemed the kind of complicated trap Emily might set up. So she had to be sure before she tried anything. After a moment she opened her desk drawer and looked through a stack of business cards she kept. It did not take her long to find the name of the detective she had hired a month ago to look into Emily Black. She was going to have another job for him. Chapter 18 - Curiosity Caught the Little Chase returned on Saturday. Emily might have missed it but for the roar of a big engine. She checked the webcam feed and saw Chase, sitting astride her huge motorcycle, revving the engine, talking to Candy. Hard to say from a distance and with the web cam’s quality, but she thought that Chase looked happy. She had only been back once since the Monday, and now that she came again it seemed it was just for her motorcycle. Emily told herself she was not upset, even though she was, somewhat. It had been kind of flattering, in a scary way, the way Chase had spent so much time on her. And less than a week and she was already over it. Well, good for her, Emily thought. And good for me. At least she won’t be bothering me anymore. I can go back to my old apartment sooner than I planned. Below Chase put on a helmet and after a quick conversation with Candy was speeding away, out of the camera’s frame, Emily ran to the window, peering out as Chase shot away down the road. That was one heck of a fast bike, she thought, watching until Chase turned a corner. She ducked away from the window, returned to her computer, worked while waiting to see if Chase would come back. She did. She spoke to Candy, then rolled her bike back into Candy’s garage. Chase really did seem happy. Probably already found a replacement for Emily. She wondered who was getting spoon (fork) fed prime rib and getting pushed on a swing by Chase now? Then she told herself she was not jealous, not even a little. Through the webcam she watched Chase get into her SUV and drive off. It looked as if she had not even come into the building Emily thought with a frown. Some distance from the building Chase slowed down, stopped and then unlocked the doors of her SUV. A man, about six and a half feet tall, got into the passenger seat. “Well?” Chase asked. He held an SLR digital cameral with a long lens towards her, flipping the display screen up. “Watched the window you told me to, got some good pictures. She peeked out just as you were riding off.” Chase looked at the screen, at Emily. She smiled. They were good photos. There was a look of wonder in Emily’s eyes, her mouth hanging open. “I wonder if there is some kind of child safety seat you can put on a motorcycle?” “Wouldn’t know. This what you need?” “Indeed it is.” After a moment Chase asked, “I need to get into that apartment.” “Not my area, not interested.” Chase took a roll of bills from her riding jacket pocket and dropped the cash into his lap. “Maybe you know someone?” He picked up the roll, bounced it in his hand. “Sounds like you want to do something illegal, so I can’t help you. But maybe I know a few names. And maybe on the drive back I’ll write them down on a piece of paper. And maybe that paper will accidentally fall out of my pocket onto the floor.” “And perhaps I’ll never see it because I’ll send the SUV out to be detailed and cleaned afterwards.” He nodded. “Maybe this person is a shade under six feet and cute. That going to be an issue?” Chase started the car up. “Not for me.” Emily woke up Monday morning, feeling a little groggy. She yawned, shifted over in her bed, stretching a little. She looked over at the clock sitting on the bedside table. Still early. “Almost like I still think I need to go to work,” she said to herself. “I guess you enjoyed it then.” Emily turned towards the voice slowly, afraid to look as if it would make it true. Just like that time Chase had come into the bar. Chase was sitting on her bed. “This better be a dream,” she said, hoping it was. Chase looked at her for several seconds, then smiled. “The best kind of dream or a nightmare?” Emily did not answer that, instead asking, “How did you get in here?” “Who knows. Maybe you wished me here.” Emily closed her eyes and sighed. “I was worried about you,” Chase said. “You left without saying goodbye. That was rude.” She opened her eyes. “I’m fine, and I’m sorry, so can you please leave?” “It was brilliant.” “Pardon?” “Your plan, It was brilliant.” She smiled. “I could count on the fingers of one hand the people in my company who could have made that work. I never thought that you would be able to buy the building away from me.” “Thank you,” Emily said after a moment, warily. “And then staying here, right under my nose, as it were. That was just a little too clever.” Emily did not answer. Chase smiled and said, “I do have one question though.” “What is that?” “How did you get the new guy when you made your offer?” Emily could not help but smile a little. “I called five times and kept hanging up until I got him.” Chase stared at her for several seconds, then began to laugh. “So simple.” “Simple is sometimes the best.” After several seconds Chase stopped laughing. She leaned back, the bed creaking under her weight. “You won.” “Pardon?” “You win. You played by my rules, and you beat me. I don’t know about all littles, but I know that you are mature and quite capable of taking care of yourself.” “Thank you,” Emily said once more. Hearing Chase say that made her feel victorious, but, she had to admit, a little sad. Not seeing Chase again, not matching wits with her, she was going to miss that. Not very much of course, but a tiny bit. She had realised that over the past week. Chase nodded. Sat up straight. “Of course it does not matter.” “What?” Emily asked after a moment. “I’ve watched you these past weeks, and I’ve realised something.” “What?” “It must be exhausting to be you.” “Pardon?” Chase looked down at her, grabbed the covers and pulled them off. Emily made an effort to hold onto them, but Chase easily pulled them from her hands. She lay on the bottom sheet in her panties and the oversized t-shirt she slept in. She sat up against the pillows, pulling her knees up against her chest. Chase stared at her for a few seconds and then said, “You’re always ready, always watching, always considering what you say and do. How can you live like that?” Emily did not answer. “And you are going to make a mistake you can’t recover from, sooner or later Emily.” “I won’t.” “Oh Emily, at least don’t lie to yourself. Everyone makes mistakes. And because you don’t have anyone to help you your mistakes are sure to be that much dire. Can you say paying for both the apartments from the same bank was not a mistake?” Emily shook her head again, but it was a weak motion. “You are going to drink too much at that shit hole you call a bar and end up pissing yourself on the way home, and then every one of your neighbours is going to say, ‘She’s just like all the other helpless littles, and she needs to be taken care of.’” Emily shook her head again but wondered if what Chase said was true. “I suppose Linda might make a good mommy, she would certainly be able to have you help her model all those nice outfits. I see Gus as a stronger daddy though, but I shudder to think he would probably make you a wrought iron crib.” Emily thought about how recently Linda had come up with a new outfit for her, instead of discussing it, like they had before. And Candy had told her to wash her hands, not pointed out the soap and left it at that, but actually to wash her hands. Her just spending time around an Amazon like Chase had changed how they viewed her. What Chase was saying was possible. “But maybe they won’t,” Chase said, surprising Emily. “They like you. They know you. They might ignore something like that, say that drunken pissing or whatever it might be is something that could happen to anyone.” Emily nodded. “That’s right.” “Yes, that’s right, but what about all the bigs who are coming around here for Linda’s clothing. Can you keep avoiding them?” “I… maybe… yes.” “And,” Chase continued as if Emily had said nothing, “one of them is certain to ask Linda, ‘That little blonde girl, who is her mother?’” Chase spoke in a nasally, high tone that Emily thought of as suburban posh. In any other circumstance, she might have laughed. “And Linda, bless her, will tell them that you live by yourself.” Chase shook her head. Emily could not deny it could happen. “Or perhaps you’ll run into a Jessica who is not an idiot, or the next time that you are about to be spanked no one will be there to stop it. Then what?” Emily did not have an answer. Chase did. “You’ll end up in some suburban nursery, or just a small room that someone has pushed a crib into, or maybe some intercity apartment with a teenage ‘mother’ who thought she was ready for the responsibility. Or perhaps a state orphanage.” It was a dark set of possibilities that Chase described. “You might end up being an object lesson for a child. Have you ever seen that? Some little being made an object of ridicule, so some child will see that they need to master their potty training.” Emily had heard of that, though she had never seen it. Or she assumed she had never seen it. For all, she knew that was what happened to all the littles in the care of bigs she had seen around the apartment building. “And you’ll certainly not enjoy the fine things in life, sadly few littles ever do. Hand me downs that never fit quite right, low-quality diapers, baby food.” Chase smiled and gave a little shudder. “Though I suppose if you are lucky enough to be taken by one of the Amazons who come here you may still enjoy having Linda make your clothing for you… maybe.” “That won’t happen,” Emily said, but she was surprised at how uncertain her voice sounded. “Really?” Chase asked, arching an eyebrow. Emily said nothing. Chase reached out and grabbed her by the ankle, began to pull her close. Emily made a halfhearted effort to stop her, caught at the sheet below her, but Chase easily overcame the small amount of resistance. She pulled Emily up, sat her on her lap, and wrapped her arms around the small woman. Emily felt Chase place her chin atop her head for a moment. “I would spoil you rotten,” Chase said. Emily supposed she would, and as much as the thought of being spoiled appealed, she did not want it in the way Chase meant. “Your nursery would be large, and well lit, full of beautiful things, and all your clothing would be made for you. And I’d make sure you got prime rib from the Modern Well at least once a week.” “Which you’d cut up and feed me,” Emily said softly. “Of course, I want to make sure all that yummy steak gets in your tummy.” She reached down and rubbed Emily’s belly, then she grasped the bottom of the t-shirt and yanked it cleanly off, tossing it aside, leaving Emily naked but for her panties. The room was cool, but Chase once more hugged her close, and Chase was warm. “I’d want you to be happy. As happy as I could arrange. Seventy-five percent happy, maybe even eighty.” “Not a hundred percent?” Emily asked a touch of sarcasm in her tone. “Oh Emily, so few people get to be one hundred percent happy.” Emily suspected that Chase considered herself to be a person who got to be one hundred percent happy. Still, she could not deny that seventy-five percent would be pretty good. “And most importantly,” Chase continued, “and that no one else will offer, I need Emily Black to work for me, so unlike everyone else who might take care of you, I only want your diapers full of mush, not your head.” Emily stiffened in Chase’s grasp. Of course, there would be diapers. For a second there she had been thinking to be in Chase’s care might not be so bad, especially compared to the alternatives Chase had laid out. But Chase still wanted her in wet and messy diapers, ultimately no better than a baby for all the others things she had said. “I brought the little surprise you left for me back in your other apartment. How about we get you dressed up in that sailor dress and we’ll go down, and you can thank Linda for making you such a pretty outfit and tell her how much you love it.” “No,” Emily said softly. She was picturing the surprise in Linda’s eyes, but she was sure there would be a bit of pleasure there as well, seeing the dress she had made being worn so well. Linda would accept it and from that point on Emily would just be another little whose ‘mommy’ brought her to have clothing made. That would hurt. “No?” Chase said, and she kissed the top of Emily’s head. “You don’t want Linda to be successful? I was thinking of making her my personal seamstress. It would help her, and there is some protection in that, just in case one of the bigs who visits her gets some ideas in their heads about taking care of an inbetweener.” Emily suspected that Chase herself had had such thoughts, and things like that were known to happen to some inbetweeners, And Linda was dealing with an increasing number of bigs. Dammit she thought, feeling more and more boxed in. “Make sure you smile and curtsey, so Linda knows you are happy,” Chase said, hugging Emily almost painfully tight for a moment. “And then we’ll go down and see Gus, and you can thank him for always helping you.” Gus! Gus who was all muscle. Gus who worked as a bouncer in the clubs. Gus who had put plenty of bigs in their place. Gus who would make sure no big gave Linda any problems. Gus would get her clear of Chase, in a second. All she had to do was ask. Chase had screwed up, lost in her thoughts of humiliating Emily in front of all her friends. Then Emily wondered what Chase would do. She might, Emily thought, call the police. She could tell them Gus had kidnapped her little girl. Emily had been working for Chase for a month. Plenty of witnesses would speak to that. It would be no problem for Chase to say she was Emily’s guardian. And if the police believed that then Gus would end up in so much trouble. She could not do that to him. Again, she would have to behave just like Chase said, give Gus no reason to think she did not want to be in Chase’s care. She suddenly pictured a look of betrayal crossing his face, as if all the time they had known each other Emily had been tricking him. And then acceptance, of Emily as just another of those littles who could not handle the adult world. And then dismissal as she was classed within a group of people he had no time for. That was going to hurt a lot. “We’ll be back here of course,” Chase told her, “and you’ll have an opportunity to tell all your other neighbours about how happy you are. Everyone except that bartender. He is strange, and I will not take you to a bar like that.” Emily almost laughed for she may have drunk her last gin and tonic. Unless she did something. “Can you give me a little time to think about it?” she asked, keeping her voice soft, guileless. Chase had given her time before. Emily would just need a few hours to disappear, to muddy her trail. “Oh Emily,” Chase said, sounding sad, “I told you that you were bound to make a mistake that you could not recover from. Do you think, now that I have hugged you so tight that I could ever let you go? Especially since you’ve already spent so much time trying to get away from me?” Emily’s eyes widened. “That’s not fair,” she cried and was amazed at how much a little girl she sounded. Chase laughed and whisked Emily’s panties down her legs. “I know the adult world often seems that way, but it is for the best.” She carelessly tossed Emily’s panties across the room where by chance or design they found their way into a garbage pail. “Now let’s get you dressed,” Chase said as she stood. “I know you don’t have any diapers here, but maybe Linda will have a few, stashed away for a baby who might need a change. Oh, Emily, we are going to be so busy.” Emily, helpless in Chase’s arms could say nothing. The fate she had so long tried to avoid had caught up with her. And she honestly was no longer sure if that was completely a bad thing. Chapter 19 - EmEm the BunBun The hot days of summer had faded into the cold of fall. While the nights brought with them a chill that hinted at winter, the days could still be warm. It was on one of those warm, sunny days, around noon that Chase Morgan had taken a walk during lunch. She was dressed in a dark red skirt, with a cream blouse, a sweater of green tied around her neck in a jaunty manner. The modest heels of her oxfords clicked sharply on the sidewalk, and the stroller she pushed rolled along on silent wheels. People smiled at her when the passed, and Chase returned those smiles. A number of people who knew her said hello. She had just crossed the street and was beginning back towards her building when she heard someone call, “Chase!” She recognised the voice. Turned to see Lyle Redmond on the other side of the street, holding the hand of a little. Lyle looked both ways, then dashed across the street, pulling the little, Tiffy, along with him. The girl had to take three steps to every one of Lyle’s, but Chase could see that he had a tight hold on her, and was not going to let her fall. She could not fault him for how he took care of his girls. They were both dressed well, Lyle in a navy suit, Tiffy in a cute, dark brown dress. He gave Tiffy a lift as he stepped up over the curb. Her short dress skirt puffed up revealing the little’s diapers. “Chase, it’s been a while,” he told her, smiling. Chase returned his smile, looked down at Tiffy, then back at him. “I’ve been busy, you know how it is.” He nodded, still smiling. “I do indeed. You’ve made a lot of partnerships recently. I really wish you had agreed to sell.” She smiled. “Nothing wrong with a little competition.” He nodded, returned her smile. It seemed a little forced. “True enough. I’ve heard that you have hired Emily Black. Care to tell me how you managed that?” “Oh, Miss Black and I have a lot in common, a bond if you will. We’re women of the world.” From the stroller, it was possible the occupant made a rude sound, though it could have easily been a burp or a sneeze. Lyle looked towards the stroller. “Is this the little girl you brought to the party?” Chase smiled. “Yes, she is.” She smoothly spun the stroller around so the Lyle could see the occupant. “This is EmEm.” Emily was dressed in a short, pink skirt (a much lighter shade of the red that Chase wore), her thick, white disposable diaper in full view, and wore a pale green sweater. Her little black mary janes were similar in colour and material to Chase’s shoes. Chase was positive that she saw Lyle’s eyes move, his gaze darting from Emily in her stroller to Tiffy at his side. “She’s adorable,” he said. Chase smiled. She had gotten Emily’s hair long enough to do up in little girl bunches on either side of her head. She still was not sure if she wanted to grow Emily’s hair longer yet, the short styles were charming on her. Chase leaned down and pulled the pacifier from Emily’s mouth. “Say hello to Mr Redmond EmEm,” she said. “Hello Mr Redmond,” Emily said, in her pure, sweet voice, just the hint of a lisp in it. That lisp was so perfect, hard to get Emily to produce too, but worth the time. This time she was sure she saw him look from Emily to Tiffy. Chase knew that he was comparing their voices and she knew Emily would win that competition. Of course, there was no competition, and it was wrong to compare daughters because they were both lovely little girls. But Emily was the better. Lyle looked away from Emily, back to Chase as Chase put the pacifier back in Emily’s mouth. “She’s lucky to have you taking care of her.” His light tone seemed forced to Chase. “I’m lucky to have the opportunity. Little EmEm almost got lost from me.” “That would have been terrible.” He almost sounded genuine. Chase nodded. “As enjoyable as it is to speak about our little girls, there is some business I would like to ask about. I don’t suppose you could get Emily Black to find some time for some work for me, could you? I have a big project coming up, and she would be invaluable to it.” Chase smiled and shook her head. “I’m afraid that Miss Black is far too busy. I am working on making an offer for the big contract that ‘Sugar and Spice’ has got out. Lyle’s smile actually faded. “My company is making an offer on that as well.” “Is it really?” Chase asked, faking the surprise in her tone. “Well, I am sure that it will be like you said that time, that all your experience will be a major factor.” He nodded, the fake smile back. “Yes, of course. Well, competition is good.” He looked between Chase and Emily. Chase was quite pleased with the feeling of victory. She would have to come up with a special reward for Emily. “I have to run,” he told her, seeming to get over his surprise. “You should come over to the house soon, our girls can have a playdate. We can talk business.” “That sounds nice,” Chase said, enjoying that the lord of the manor was making an entreaty to her. She supposed that made her a queen. He nodded. “It was good to see you. Come along Tiffy,” he said as he led the girl away. Chase watched them go, smiled, and spun the stroller back around, pushing it again towards her building. One of the staff held the door open as Chase came in, directing the stroller into the lobby. She thanked the man and walked towards reception. Claire and Kristen no longer worked there; Chase had promoted them, feeling their experience was of better use elsewhere. Two new young women manned the desk now, a recent hire named Amanda and (somewhat to everyone’s surprise) Jessica King. Jessica had gotten in trouble with her school and was in danger of being sent back a few grades. About a month after Chase had fired her the young woman had come back and literally begged to be given another chance. “Good afternoon Miss Morgan,” Amanda said, bright and chipper. She was a proverbial ray of sunshine and could make even the dourest of visitors smile. “Did you and little EmEm have a good stroll?” she asked as she came around the desk and knelt in front of the stroller. “Yes, most pleasant,” Chase said, smiling as she recalled the look on Lyle’s face. “And little EmEm enjoyed some fresh air in her pretty new outfit.” The soft giggle from the stroller told Chase that once more the ever bright Amanda had gotten to her daughter. “Jessica, come here and take a look at little EmEm’s new outfit.” Chase had told Jessica in no uncertain terms that completing her internship would require good reports from her supervisor, Amanda, so Jessica came out from behind the reception desk. Perhaps not as quick as she might have. Chase would mention that to Amanda. The terms of her second chance were not completely obvious, but if you knew to look you could see how the diaper she wore rounded out her bottom under the skirt, and you could hear the soft plastic rustle when she moved. ‘If you pissed your pants once you might again, I can’t have that,’ Chase had told her. She really had no concerns that Jessica would have such an accident, but she thought it would make Emily more accepting of her diapers if she knew Jessica wore them as well. And while it probably did not, the fact seemed to bring a smile to Emily’s face, which alone made it well worth it. “Yes, it’s very pretty,” Jessica said as she came to stand in front of the stroller. “And look at her bright white diaper,” Amanda exclaimed. Chase suspected that Emily was probably blushing a little, she knew for a fact Jessica was. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” Chase said, pushing the stroller towards the elevators. She spoke to a few more people on her way up, smiled as people expressed delight over Emily, and on the twenty-third floor pushed the stroller into her office suite. There Kristen was waiting. Lisa had been promoted, given a position as a liaison between Chase’s company and the other companies they were entering into partnerships with. She had promoted Kristen to her executive assistant and was so far quite pleased with the young woman. “Good afternoon Miss Morgan, did you and EmEm enjoy your walk?” “Quite pleasant, thank you. Any messages?” “Nothing important, though Mr Julian of Evertech called, he wanted to move the meeting thirty minutes ahead. Your schedule was clear, so I told him that it was okay.” “That’s fine.” Kristen knelt in front of the stroller. “Want me to change EmEm?” “No,” Chase said with a smile, “she’ll be fine.” Kristen stood, looking just a little disappointed. Chase was somewhat greedy when it came to taking care of Emily. She pushed the stroller into her office, swung it around and tucked it into a corner where it was out of the way. She knelt down and released the safety straps from that held Emily safe and secure, then slid a finger into Emily’s diaper. The flush of red across Emily’s cheeks was probably not wholly due to embarrassment Chase thought, smiling, her large fingers gently caressing Emily between her legs. “Still dry,” she announced, a little disappointed, but careful not show it as she drew her fingers from the diaper. She took the pacifier from Emily’s mouth and then lifted her from the stroller, swinging her up into the air. “So high!” she said. Emily looked a little alarmed, which was one of her many adorable looks. Chase brought her lower, so they were eye to eye, then she dipped her a little and kissed her on the forehead. “What an adorable little girl I have.” A tiny smile flashed on Emily’s face for a moment. Crossing the room in a few steps, Chase bent over and put Emily in her playpen, among the expensive plush toys scattered within it. The playpen was at the side of the room, the polished oak bars fitting in well with the rest of the room’s furniture. There was a change table in Chase’s personal bathroom. She had not brought a lot of baby furniture into her office. It was still a place of business. Still holding Emily under her arms, she looked down at the little. She suspected that Emily had not fully accepted her new place in the world, which was fine with Chase. It just made it more enjoyable. “Do you know why mommy calls you EmEm?” Emily looked up at her, a guileless look of confusion on her face that made her look so innocent. After a few seconds, she said, “No Mama.” Smiling Chase leaned in and kissed her on her forehead again. “Because EmEm is my two adorable little rabbits.” She began to tickle Emily through her clothing until Emily was giggling happily (and perhaps even wetting her diapers a little, Chase could hope). She then gave Emily a gentle push and lowered her onto her thickly diapered bottom with a soft ‘thump’. “You be good, and mommy will play with you once Mr Julian leaves.” She picked up a cheap, plasticky looking pink laptop, covered in decals of a popular cartoon with ponies. She placed the laptop on Emily’s lap. “Yes Mama,” Emily said. Chase turned away from her and went to her own desk. She took a seat, then looked towards the playpen, where Emily was already bent over the laptop, looking like a little girl playing at being an adult. Of course, Chase and a few others knew that was not the case, but it did not hurt to let everyone else think that Emily was just as she appeared. Emily may not have needed to be taken care of, but Chase was of the opinion that she benefitted from it. Less time worrying about paying rent, doing chores, even keeping her pants dry, more time focused on her work. Feeling content, she turned to her own laptop. She had some notes to review before her meeting with Paul Julian. The first thing Emily did whenever logging onto a computer was to make sure that no one had put a keylogger on the computer, or was watching her with some sort of spyware. Not that it had happened, but as Chase had taught her, she could not afford to make mistakes. The second thing she did was check her accounts. Chase had not tried to take control of Emily’s property, whether as a way to show some respect or that she just had never thought about it. She also had, likely unknowingly, given Emily Black access to Morgan and Stone’s bank accounts. Accessing money from them would be illegal, but Emily was willing to consider it. She could put things in place quickly enough to arrange for her kidnapping… rescue, to arrange for her rescue whenever she wanted. Though the people performing the rescue would likely think it a kidnapping…. That Emily had not was because she knew that Chase would come looking for her, and she was pretty sure that were she to find her (and Emily was giving it about a thirty-five percent chance at the moment) that there would be punishments for running away. That meant if she were going to arrange her rescue she would have to do something about Chase. Violence had never crossed Emily’s mind, but she thought she might be able to pass some evidence of wrongdoing on to the right authorities that could get Chase in trouble. Chase’s recent and rapid growth had led her to cut a few corners, nothing serious or really illegal, but it would require being addressed in court. If Chase was busy in court than Emily could use that time to make sure Chase did not find her. But she really did not want to do that to Chase. At least not yet. Chase had been good to her word. Emily was spoiled rotten. The playpen, with its soft, fluffy silk floor, and polished oak bars, was like all the things Chase had bought for her; beautiful and well made. Her clothing was all custom made (naturally, though visits to Linda were always a little embarrassing), with none of the silly little mobility limiting tricks that some littles had to deal with. (Linda had actually turned her old apartment into a complete studio and workroom and was living in Emily’s old apartment.) And her diapers were the best. So absorbent that Emily was often not even aware when they were wet (which of course was probably the point). She had met enough other littles in similar situations to know that she was pretty lucky. She had seen them in ugly clothing, badly fitting, obviously cheap diapers. Strollers of ugly plastics and plain aluminium. Likely the baby furniture in their lives was equally shoddy. And she had seen what they ate. Having Chase feed her delicious food was infinitely preferable to the other options littles dealt with. She was likely eating better than many gourmands. Of course, the doctor at that stupid clinic was telling Chase a blander diet, more suited to a little, was what Emily should be eating. Fortunately, Chase did not take well to being told how to look after her daughter. And she did not have a toddler or infant-like mind, as happened to many littles. The Etiquette school that Chase had sent her to had made her a bed wetter, but she had left the school after four weeks still able to get to the potty… most of the time. She had been humbled at that school, learned that while she might be a genius when it came to computers and tech, she was as a slow child compared to those bigs who had mastered the art of making littles accept their status as small children. She had known what was going to happen, had been sure she could resist, passively of course, and make Chase realise that her plan was not going to work. And then after barely six days she was not able to stay dry when she was asleep, and the circular logic word traps (as she thought of them) started going around in her head. It was okay for little girls to wet their beds, and she wet her bed, so she was a little girl.... How stupid, but it had stuck in her mind, and if she thought too long about it she ended up getting distracted, usually by her work. When she had left the school, she had figured she had been at the level of a preschooler. She mostly got to the potty on time and had only had one messy accident, and that was only because another girl had been using the potty and Emily had waited a little too long to ask. She had seen other girls become nearly infants in only two weeks, so she suspected her teachers were using kid gloves, as it were, on her. Probably because Chase needed her to be Emily Black as well as EmEm. She suddenly stopped typing on her laptop. “Something wrong EmEm,” Chase asked from her desk. “Do you need the potty?” “No mama,” Emily said, “I just got why I was two rabbits.” Chase laughed. “So smart.” It was condescending, but Emily had heard far worst being directed at other littles from their mommies or daddies, so she was willing to take it as a compliment. She returned to her typing. There had been a few more messy accidents since leaving the school, and she was not making it to the potty when she had to pee as often as she had before. Chase made sure Emily enjoyed when her diapers were wet and the subsequent diaper changes. Emily was only human after all and pleasure was a strong motivator. No, she had not given up the idea she might win free of Chase but wanted to be sure when she made her attempt. Failure was not an option. And for the moment she got to live well and do what she loved. And got to be with the person she loved, who loved her back, though not in the way Emily would have preferred. She had even talked Chase out of the ballet lessons in favour of yoga (though ballet remained a threat if her work was never up to the standards Chase wanted), Chase had promised her about seventy-five percent happiness, maybe eighty. It was close to that. Emily felt a bit of pressure from her bladder, and her bottom, and thought maybe she should ask for the potty, but the work she had started was so interesting. Surely she would be fine if she waited. And she was in diapers after all. As she worked, Emily was not aware that she was smiling. It was the same smile that Chase had wanted to see more of. A similar smile was on Chase’s face at the moment as little and big worked together, equally content. Well, Chase was more content, but if you had asked she would have said that was only fair. She was bigger after all.

I woke up with a yawn looking around to still make sure I was in my bed at home and not in a crib in some amazon's nursery. Despite knowing I couldn't be adopted without "good" reason until after high school it had become instinct after a few close calls. Quiet snoring beside me interrupted my idle thoughts. Beside me was my friend with benefits Ryan. Some littles would've decided to get into a proper relationship but me and him decided not to since we both started this in the last year of high school. It wasn't uncommon for littles to break the law and lose their v-card before 18 seeing as how high school is the only time most will get the opportunity. But I chose to wait anyway since if an amazon found out we'd both be waking up in their nursery and they'll kindly make sure we can't repeat our mistake as the means of doing so will be snuggly under our oversized diapers. How kind. Many littles (especially girls since most amazons prefer a baby girl) just accepted their future of breastmilk, cribs and diapers to the point that at graduation they simply jump into the arms of the nicest amazon they know. This is especially common when targeted by a specific one like I was but I had a plan to prevent that bitch from getting her manicured hands on me despite those idiots telling me to accept it thinking she's somehow different. Idiots. All amazons are the same. I bet all those littles ended up regretting that they didn't resist. Obviously the guy next to me is also a little who I'd known for years. Getting into any kind of relationship with an amazon is asking for trouble. Even for a mid it could end badly not that it stopped some idiots from trying. I heard him yawn and asked him "So. How was it for you" to which he responded with "Pretty sure I'm the one who should be asking that question" then with half lidded eyes I said in a flirtatious tone "Maybe but it seems the whole street knows the answer to that" we both then broke out into laughter at the sheer cheese of that line. Calming down I got out of bed and said "Alright we better get up or we'll be late, wouldn't want you getting adopted a week early by some random amazon. Your girlfriend will be so upset" Ryan sighed and complained "For the last time it's not that. Abby is my sister's best friend so I'll get to see my family and she's not abusive like other amazons. Not everyone is as confident in their graduation escape plans as you are" I'd tried to convince him to try escaping many times. Explaining how amazons are all power hungry, abusive assholes but at this point I decided to stop but that didn't stop me from making jokes at his expense "Are you sure it's not because of her huge tits?" I said jokingly pushing up my own small breasts for emphasis. He caught on that I was joking and simply said "Hey if I'm gonna get adopted anyway I might as well get as much of that ambrosia as possible" referring of course to amazon breastmilk and its addictive properties and supposedly delicious taste. It was considered so good to littles that a little going up to an amazon with an... ample supply with messy pants was not uncommon. Giving up all freedom for the stuff. After that discussion we both got changed into our school uniforms and left for school. We had about an hour to get there so even with our small stature we knew we'd easily get there in time. I always left early because amazons would always try to take advantage if a little was running late. Offering to take them there in their car only to either cause them to be late on purpose or give them a spiked drink. Either way the result was the same. One adopted little shitting themselves in a crib forever. Not that it was common at this time of year. Graduation is on Friday and most are content to wait until then. When all littles in the last year of high school are fair game. Unfortunately the exception to this was the ones that desperately want a specific little to torment and torture so I still had to leave early since the bitch can't take the hint that I won't believe her lies about how she just wants to take care of me. Ryan and I parted ways at the front gate and despite still having about 15 minutes went straight to class. Not like hanging around the school grounds would do me any good. I ignored the usual baby talk and coos from every amazon woman I passed. I've had years to learn to block it out. Thankfully amazon guys seem to ignore me since they're not nearly as baby crazy as the women. I arrived at my first class (math) about 10 minutes early and get my stuff out despite this week being basically pointless since exams were last week. Naturally everyone was just talking to each other. I just decided to ignore everyone and read a book I brought with me. The teacher hadn't even bothered to show up so I doubted she'd care. I heard someone sit next to me. She's much bigger than me so I knew exactly who it was so I decided not to acknowledge her. Eventually she spoke up "look Rebecca I need to talk to you. Please" this made me pause. Molly had never used my actual name to talk to me always using a "cute" nickname and using baby talk. Now she has dropped it entirely so I sighed and decided to humour her. If the plan worked I'd never see her again after that class except maybe briefly in the graduation ceremony. I turned and said "Wouldn't you rather go talk to your friends over there" I then pointed at her friends that she usually sits with. She then said "look I know what you think of me and I get it. You're worried I'll treat you poorly but I'm genuinely worried about you" I looked at her incredulously and thought 'Oh great now she's trying to use this bullshit tactic' I then asked "Why? Worried someone else will get your doll first?" She sighed and said "No I'm worried that during graduation you'll get adopted by someone who doesn't love you and doesn't want you to be happy" I internally cringed at this cliche garbage. 'Do amazons actually believe this? That we want to be drooling, braindead babies that can't even walk?' I retorted with "Well if you're that worried just stop and I'll be happy as can be" She got up and left saying "look just think about it please. I'll be waiting for you at graduation and I promise you'll be happy and want for nothing" I then said "I'll think about it" in a noncommittal way and got back to my book. Every other class that week went without incident since nothing needed to be done and I was only there because I had to or end up adopted because "You obviously can't handle being an adult if you can't even go to school". The only other thing that happened was Ryan and I had one more.... Memorable night together since he was going to let himself be adopted and it's safe to assume he'll only be using his equipment for pissing in diapers assuming he even gets to keep it. OK so at this point I should probably explain a few things. In this world there are three types of people: littles, mids and amazons. Amazons are massive to the point where littles are about the size of their babies. This combined with the fact that many amazon women are infertile has resulted in them taking advantage of their size to kidnap littles to use as baby replacements. This has resulted in a multi-trillion dollar industry selling pacifiers, diapers, cribs, baby toys and clothes and of course surgeries to customise their baby like a goddamn doll or pet. Hell even littles themselves are for sale in some places and turning their minds into mush is standard practice Some larger amazons will even adopt smaller mids although it's much harder to do. The only protection littles have in my country is that until we get through high school we can't be adopted unless we piss or shit ourselves, break the law or break a school rule. Naturally impatient amazons over 16 (the minimum age to adopt a little) will try to cause this to happen by any means necessary or may use lies and deception to convince you to piss yourself right in front of them in the hopes they aren't as awful as the others. Molly was one of those weird ones where from the moment she was old enough to adopt until now she had tried to adopt me and only me. If I was an amazon she'd be arrested for stalking. If it weren't for the fact that I never went to parties due to my paranoia she would've succeeded since all three I have been invited to were interrupted by little protective services and every little there went up for adoption. Every time she got first pick for "helping keep littles safe from sex and booze" and she chose none of them. Some littles were bizarrely jealous of this fact. On top of naturally having the largest (and thus the most full of milk) tits in school she was rich enough to get a surgery that used nanomachines to make them even bigger and produce more. She even tried to tempt me with them since every little knows how good and addictive amazon breastmilk was. On top of this many believed her bullshit about wanting me to be happy especially since she had the wealth to give me whatever I want but c'mon. Every amazon says they want their little to be happy yet treat them worse than an animal and what idiot would believe a vain, spoilt brat would even know how take care of anyone but herself. She'd probably spend more time looking at herself in the mirror than looking after me. I never understood her obsession to be honest. I went out of my way to be as non-girly and cute as possible and wearing mostly mens clothes in an attempt to seem less appealing to baby crazy amazons but apparently that failed. As for why I'm so paranoid. Two years ago not long after my 16th birthday my parents both got adopted after their boss decided they'd look much more cute in her nursery than in an office and subsequently fired them for being immature and adopting them. Thankfully they had it set up so that I would keep the small house if they got adopted and I was just barely old enough to legally own it much to the dismay of the bitch who got my parents. Apparently she wanted to give me to her daughter as a 16th birthday present. I considered letting that happen so I could see my parents again but they screamed at me not to before they were silenced by the pacifiers shoved in their mouths. I was already decided and her obvious tactic of promising that someone too young to look after another person could do so failed. On top of what my parents told me about what they saw amazons do to littles both here and the country they used to live in made me determined to avoid being adopted at all costs. I'd considered getting adopted of course. Most littles did since it would likely happen anyway and honestly I'm one of those that find the idea appealing. No responsibility and a loving mommy to take care of all my wants and needs? Hell yeah. Unfortunately the reality was far from that and amazons are sadistic pieces of shit to littles not that most believed me. Getting back to the time at hand on the Friday of that week me and Ryan headed to graduation, made our final goodbye's and went into the gym hall for the graduation ceremony. Hopefully the plan works. End chapter 1 Been lurking here for a while and thought I'd try my hand at a diaper dimension story. Feel free to tear it apart

The Uncommon Love (A Diaper Dimension Tale) I rolled my eyes as I overheard my coworkers talk a few cubicles away. It was mostly office gossip and drama. I could care less, I was on a mission. I had higher goals in life than those peons. I typed away at my computer trying to stay focused and trying to block out the annoying voices around me. The work day was almost over, well for them it was. I wasn’t leaving till much later this evening. I was already done with today's workload, I was done with that early this morning. I was getting as much of tomorrow’s work done today that I can. I’ve been working at this company for just a few years and I am already on the top floor and was told the other day by some of my sources that I am being considered for Executive Director. Many of my colleagues think I slept my way to the top due to my good looks and the fact that I have been with the company for under 10 years. The owner and CEO of Little Technologies, the company I work for, is a Betweener. He started this company when he was fresh out of college. He is brilliant and is the first Betweener in our country’s history to become rich on his own merit. The company isn’t a big company compared to its competitors, mainly because Brad, the CEO, has gotten full of himself. He’s now spending most of his money on big vacations, drugs and alcohol. He is now running this company into the ground. I love this company, it has so much promise if he’d only get his head out of his own ass to see what he’s doing. I plan on changing that. I got up to stretch my legs. I walked to the bathroom that wasn’t that far from where my cubicle was located. After using the toilet I washed my hands. As I did I looked into the mirror, I was as stunning as always. I wasn’t tall, at least by Amazon standards, I was average. Not short, yet not tall. But I made up for it with large breasts and a big booty that every man and some women would chase after me for. I however would only string on the men if I felt like a laugh. I was definitely only after the women. But it’s been a long time since i was in a relationship. I just didn’t have the time. I had goals after all.

by LittleFallenPrincess Been a lurker here for a long time now, and after spending (many many maaaany) years reading so many amazing stories, I thought I'd give it a go myself. This is the first story I've ever posted. I'm aiming for about 60 chapters, and I'll try and post at least two chapters a week if I can. Comments are welcome, and feedback appreciated. I hope people enjoy! Chapter 1: Run, Olivia, Run! I dropped my bag as I ran for my life. Sure, it contained my life. My ID, my purse, my keys. Everything except my phone, which I had carefully stashed in my pocket. I had no choice as she gripped my bag, trying to pull me in. But I was not going to allow myself to be caught. Not today. Not ever. I know what these people do to people like me. And I was not going to allow that to happen to me. I would rather be dead. I let my bag fall from my shoulder, and I ran as hard as I could through the chilly, dimly lit night, pushing my slightly unfit 5”10 body to its limits. Turns out those limits are pretty low when you don’t exercise or eat healthily. But I pushed them regardless. Every time I felt like I was about to break apart, my body just kept going. A small part of my brain knew I was going to ache for days after this, but that part had been swallowed whole by the one simple thought running through my brain: run. They wanted me. I was the prey, they were the predator. I could hear them shouting behind me. They had the speed advantage on me, there was no way I could outrun their legs. However, I did have the element of surprise, the head start, the ability to get through small gaps, and a nice mix of adrenaline and fear. And I would take any advantage I could get. I managed to sprint down the street, jumping over boxes, avoiding a group of people who all turned their heads towards me. If I had gone near them they may have grabbed me and handed me over, it’s just that kind of world. I squeezed through some parked cars, scraping my arm against a door handle, and eyeing an opening under some wooden fences. That was my chance. I needed to make it under there, somewhere they couldn’t follow, somewhere I could slip away and hide. Looking behind me, the group I was avoiding had started making their way towards me with my pursuer not too far behind them, their eyes locked on mine. Those cold, cruel eyes. The ones you’d see on a villain in a children’s movie, she even had the crazy frizzy hair and dark clothes to match. The little voice inside me was screaming for me to run, but seeing those eyes... I froze. I was done for. My body wouldn’t obey me. I couldn’t move. No matter how much I screamed at my body in my head. Seeing those eyes and all the fears of what would happen if she caught up to me... My life was over. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, I was broken out of this trance sharply when I saw her fall to the floor after running into some other woman with red hair. I didn’t see much of what happened. I think I saw the woman drop the bag of mine that she stole while she was desperate to get her hands on me. I was taking no chances to go get it though; I knew that this was my moment to get away. So I dashed for the opening in the fence, tearing my pants down the leg as I scurried underneath it. I’d deal with my outfit and my appearance later; I needed to get to safety for now. I had gotten into someone’s garden, obviously a family due to the trampoline and toys scattered about the place. I couldn’t find an exit-- well, at least not an exit that didn’t involve going through someone’s house or the way I came which to say the least, not an ideal way to go due to the ongoing threat... Wait... Trampoline! That was it! My miracle! I could scale the enormous fence partially using that, at least to give myself a bit of distance so I could climb the rest. One problem being that the trampoline was huge, and there was no way I could move it closer to the fence, at least close enough to grab onto the top. I shook my head. Curse my imagination. That thing only works in the movies anyway. It would never work in real life. If I was to get out of this garden before I get caught for trespassing, I would need a quick... and simple... way out... a way to make... as little noise... as possible... a... oh come on. There’s a gate... An unlocked gate. A fucking unlocked stupid fucking gate. Of course I think of the trampoline first before seeing the obvious gate I could just walk out of. One of these days my imagination will be the end of me. Slipping out of the garden through the gate, I exited into an alley that was cut off from the street I was just on, so thankfully those chasing me would not be able to get to me now. But just to make sure, I’ll make get a few more streets away and wait a while for them to leave before I make my way home. So, acting like a secret agent, I crept through the next few streets, hiding behind cars, avoiding being seen by anyone, until I found an alley that looked quiet and safe. Or at least as safe as a dark creepy alley can be. Feeling a lot safer now I believed I had escaped the danger, I leant against a wall and took a sigh of relief. Breathe. I arched over, trying to catch my breath. My hands were resting on my knees and I could feel them shaking. I had just escaped a fate worse than death. I had to be more careful. If I hadn’t realised who had spilled that bottle of water on my jeans, I would’ve been kidnapped and my life would have been over. I would have been stripped, have my bare bum put straight into a nappy, and dressed in some ridiculous baby clothing. ------------------------------------------------- Now I’m sure you’ve heard a bunch of this place--this dimension. About Amazons or Bigs or whatever you want to call them. Those people who are ridiculously tall and like to treat anyone not like them as less than them. They are usually cruel sadistic monsters, but they have this weird maternal/paternal instinct that makes them look at people like me, a little, as helpless little babies who need regressing and taking care of. Yeah yeah, I know some of them are really loving to their ‘babies’, but they still kidnap them, and before anyone corrects me, yes I know not all Amazons are like that, my business partner for instance, but the majority are. Our whole society is set up to entrap littles into a life of nappies, dependency and submission. It’s a multi billion industry for turning a functioning intelligent little into a drooling baby who will never get to grow up. From products to daycares to subliminal messing designed to hypnotise littles, it takes a lot for a little to be free these days. Usually we are just kidnapped and ‘adopted’ before having our brains turned to mush and our bowel control ruined after feeding from ‘mummy’. And it’s not like we can seek legal aid for any of this, the government and law all revolve around Amazons and what they think is best for littles, which to no one’s surprise, is enforced babyhood. And sure, I know some countries are different. Some have protective laws for littles. Some are just flat out cruel and horrific. It can even differ from state to state. Some will allow a little to choose to be adopted and can never be forcefully taken, some will allow it in cases of Maturosis, and some will just let anyone take anyone and modify them how they want. My country is a bit different. Here in Tir Cawr, we don’t make headlines in the world because we don’t do anything particularly outstanding. Sure we have some little laws to protect them, but nearly anyone can adopt a little if they just say they show signs of Maturosis. We’re kind of in the middle, not too progressive but not cruel or barbaric like some of the other countries. And I know a lot of those countries have ‘diapers’ and ‘pacifiers’ and all that, whereas we have ‘nappies’ and ‘dummies’. So whilst we share a lot of language with those around the world (I swear we got all that Maturosis nonsense from the bigger countries), we have our own little quirks that make people look at our country and go “aww”. Like how an Amazon would look at a little really. We aren’t seen as a threat and everyone leaves us alone. And don’t get me started on modifications. Just thinking about them makes my skin crawl. If I ever get adopted and ‘modified’, just shoot me, please. Being a little, especially one Amazons see as ‘cute’, may lead to me being teensy bit biased about Amazons. Except for one or two bigs I trust, I actively avoid them. My parents had been adopted together when they were around 28, my current age, but managed to stick together and escape somehow. They never told me how they managed it, I think it was too traumatic for them to relive it, but this means they taught me from a very early age that Amazons just can’t be trusted. Despite being so careful for so long, I’m still very surprised I haven’t been adopted so far. Guess I should fill you in a little about me. I’m Olivia. As I said, I’m 28, slightly unfit but not overweight, long silvery-blonde hair with deep blue eyes that sparkle and a smile that could melt the hearts of even the coldest of Amazons (or so I’ve been told... By my parents... Which is embarrassing when they actually say that to people whilst you’re stood right next to them... Totally no experience of this whatsoever...). I’m a bit of an artsy nerd, binging whatever shows and movies on are, even if they aren’t designed for littles. I’m good with computers and I have a knack for designing clothing, which got me into opening a small clothes shop for littles with my friend. Which is where I was leaving tonight before everything happened. ------------------------------------------------- It was just supposed to be another average night; I wasn’t expecting all that chaos. I left work late after working on an important project all evening. I said goodnight to Malcolm, my business partner and friend, locked up my work area, put on my jacket, grabbed my bag before heading out the door and heading home. I had made it half way down the street and all was going well until an abusive ex-client had decided to get her revenge by splashing water on my jeans to make me look like I had wet myself. With an obvious sign of immaturity, she would have had every legal right to adopt me there and then. And I hate to think what she would have done to me had I not ran within a second of realising she had done that. After all the running, once I had recovered in the dark, quiet alley, I could finally start thinking about my situation and what I could do to fix it. You see the problem is, I was now further away from my apartment or anyone I know, with wet and torn jeans, no ID or money, only my phone still stuffed in my jacket pocket. I couldn’t call for a taxi or ask anyone nearby for help, they’d see my wet jeans and probably adopt me on the spot. I couldn’t walk home from here; it was way too far to go without being seen. This wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because my keys were in my bag which I couldn’t retrieve. Work! That was the closest place I could go, and then hide out there or sweet talk Malcolm into giving me a ride home, even if I had to legally use one of those infernal car seats. So I made my way back to work. I was familiar with the streets around this area, so I knew what back alleys and side streets I could take without being noticed by a big. Being meticulously careful, I managed to get back to the street where the shop was. The coast was clear. I was home free. I dashed for the front door, praying to whatever higher power that it was open and Malcolm hadn’t left yet. My prayers must have been answered, or I was just plain lucky, but the door opened as I pushed against it with my entire body, quickly closing it and hiding behind the wall beside the door. I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, happy in the thought that I was safe from any big, at least for now. That I could soon go home, snuggle up with my favourite stuffie (don’t judge me!), and relax. My legs were still shaking, my heart was racing, my nose was running, and I could feel my cold skin tingle as I struggled to catch my breath. It was then that I heard a cough. Not an ‘I’ve got a cold’ kind of cough, not an ‘I’ve got something stuck in my throat’ kind of cough, but an ‘Excuse me’ kind of cough. The kind that is meant to get your attention. The kind that makes a little stand to attention because you’re in trouble or you’re going to be. It wasn’t a very strict sounding cough, but it was definitely one that only littles would hear from a big. I opened my eyes and before me stood the most beautiful Amazon woman I had ever seen in my life. Long red hair, light green eyes, the cutest freckles, casually dressed but somehow still elegant.... I was lost in her beauty. Like I knew I was gay, but damn, even if I wasn’t a lesbian I would have found her gorgeous. I had never fallen for someone so tall; I mean she must have been like 12ft! This is when the fear crept in. Oh god. Here I was, jeans torn, looking like I had wet myself, looking like a feral little who couldn’t take care of herself, frozen still like a deer in headlights partially due to this woman’s beauty, partially due to fear of her putting a dummy in my mouth and adopting me right there and then. And then it clicked... I had seen her earlier. She’s the one who the crazy lady bumped into. Looking down slightly I saw that she had my bag. Oh god. This was the end. There’s no hope now. Nappies here I come. Goodbye toilet training. Better get used to sitting in my own shit and sucking on my toes. She bent down slightly with the cutest smile on her face... “Hi there cutie,” she said softly and sweetly, her words flowing through my head like pure bliss. “I’m Charlotte!” ========================================================== Thank you for reading, let me know what you think! I haven't decided on a schedule in which I'll post yet, but I've written about 12 chapters so far and I'll try and aim for posting at least 2 chapters a week.

Fair is Fair Gwendolyn looked at the name Samantha had written on the coffee cup and squinted. Samantha was a Tweener and as such had terrible handwriting. “Cassandra? Venti latte for Cassandra?” No one in the shop came up to the counter. “Cassandra?” A tiny voice called up from the floor. “Down here!” Gwendolyn had to lean over the counter to spot the Little girl. The tiny thing stood there looking up at Gwendolyn, her face expectant and entitled; a child waiting for their cookie. Littles, they were always such precocious scamps. The Amazon barista looked around the shop, expecting to see the Little’s Mommy or Daddy waiting patiently for their good baby girl to help and bring them their coffee. Some parents were indulgent like that. Oddly, there was no mother or father waiting on the Little. None of the store’s highchairs had been wheeled out. There wasn’t even a diaper bag hanging on a chair. All the other Littles were already in daycare by this time. Maybe her Mommy or Daddy had gone to the bathroom and left their daughter to order...? “Wow,” Gwendolyn said, “this is sure a lot of coffee, Little lady. Think you can drink all of this?” “A benefit of my size,” the Little girl replied, “is that I can make a single order of coffee last me all day.” Her words came out in clipped staccato notes. Little soldiers standing at attention, none of them touching each other. Gwendolyn had touched a nerve. Typical Little. The Little must have sensed Gwendolyn’s doubt. “It’s for me,” she said. The Little girl seemed resentful, uppity even. “It’s my coffee.” “Of course it is.” Gwendolyn plastered on her best fake smile, normally reserved for Amazons complaining that Gwendolyn hadn’t gotten their order right. Gwendolyn wanted to pour it into smaller cups or insist that there was a limit based on size or to just give the cute Little girl a small cup of hot chocolate (she’d like it better anyways). But another opportunity was presenting itself. Littles weren’t technically babies by the strictest definition; the one waiting impatiently for her far too big coffee might have been older than the twenty-two year old coffee-shop employee. But every Little sooner or later needed to be treated like a baby and cared for like one. This one could have been thirty, but she’d never get much past thirty months, if that. More politically correct Amazons called it “Maturitis” or something. Really though, it’s just that they weren’t mature enough to handle being an adult. Functionally, they were all babies and toddlers that could only pretend at growing up. Sadly, whether a matter of childish pride or lack of opportunity, some Littles still didn’t have Amazon Mommies or Daddies to adopt them and give them the care they so needed and deserved. Like pushing someone into the deep end so that they learned to swim, Gwendolyn was willing to help. “Just a second,” Gwendolyn said. She pivoted and turned her back to the Little girl. With quick, skillful hands, she grabbed a lid with her right hand, and dropped something into the order with her left. A special something for the precious, precocious thing waiting on her. She turned around and gave the Little her coffee. “The Lid is so you don’t spill,” she explained. Oh if looks could kill! Gwendolyn would have laughed but then her customer wouldn’t drink her coffee. Instead, Gwendolyn took her own coffee from behind the counter, also with a sippy lid, and took a sip. “See? Amazons do it, too.” Mentally, she patted herself on the back for saying “Amazon” instead of “Adult”. Her red lipstick stained the lid from repeated sips. Cassandra (though to Gwendolyn, she looked more like a “Sandra” or a “Sandie”) sniffed, and then toddled off to a table to drink her very last big girl coffee. Such a Little cutie! Watching Gwen sip from her own drink had sealed the deal; it was just like when an adult pretended to eat a spoonful of mashed carrots to show their baby that it was “nummy”. Something was different about this Little, Gwendolyn thought, as she watched the girl scale her chair with practiced expertise. Maybe it was how she was dressed: Her shirt was tight enough that Gwen thought she could see a (widely unnecessary) bra underneath. The fact that she was wearing jeans was a little odd, as well. The Little girls who lived on the very outskirts of Oakshire- the ones that hadn’t stopped pretending to be adults- tended to wear concealing dresses and long skirts. Gwendolyn always suspected it might be because they were already wearing diapers beneath; they were just still too proud to let a real grown-up help change them. There was definitely no diaper crinkling underneath those pants, though. Not yet. But a few sips from that coffee and a couple hours time would do the trick. Unless Little baby Sandie was already at home when the laxative Gwendolyn slipped kicked in, she’d poop those pants, an Amazon would catch her, and she’d get rightfully adopted. Happy endings for all. Greedily, she wondered if the Little girl would hang out long enough for Gwendolyn to witness the inevitable oopsie occur. Gwendolyn had never been present when one of her additives took hold, but she imagined it must be a bit like live birth. Lots of screaming and crying; some poop and pee; then the baby gets cleaned up and taken to a loving home. “Miss Gwendolyn?” Gwendolyn turned around. “What?” she said to the twerpy Tweener. Tweeners. They were part Amazon, but they were almost as immature as Littles. “The orders are still coming in,” Samantha meekly pointed to the upside down cups that Gwendolyn had to fill. Gwendolyn bit back an impulse to yell at the silly Tweener, obviously the orders were coming in, but the girl did have a point. Quickly, she began to fill orders, making specialty coffee after specialty coffee; sparing every possible glance to look back at the Little sitting near the front. Had she drunk any of it yet? Only a little would do. But no, this “Cassandra” wasn’t even touching her coffee. Instead she kept playing with something on her finger. Was that a wedding ring? If it was, Gwendolyn surmised, she’d lost it if she kept playing with it like she was. The girl was sliding it off and on her finger, and looking awful sad about it; a deeper more horrid sadness than Gwendolyn could truthfully comprehend. So she didn’t… Poor Little thing was confused; playing dress up; maybe her boyfriend had broken her heart and not given her enough flowers from out of some adult’s garden. She probably just realized how hard it was to be an adult was agonizing over that fact. One tiny sip from the coffee and things would be a lot better for her. “A little faster, please!” An older man in a power suit said. “Some of us have real jobs!” He tapped his watch to make her point. Gwendolyn hopped to it and got lost in the moment, and attended to the momentary surge in pumpkin spice lattes. When she was finally able to breathe, she saw Samantha walking away from the Little’s table. “Hey,” Gwendolyn asked the Tweener. “What was that Little talking to you about?” “Nothing Miss Gwendolyn,” Samantha replied. Even with her platforms on she barely came up to Gwendolyn’s breasts. “She just asked where the bathroom was...” Gwendolyn didn’t need to look in her co-worker’s eyes or listen too closely to hear the same bit of anticipation, even marked suspicion in Samanth’as voice. Even Tweeners knew the truth about Littles. Gwendolyn looked at the clock on the wall. It hadn’t been quite an hour, but that might have been enough time for certain things to take effect, especially if the girl had a delicate constitution. She pursed her lips in order to hide the smirk as the Little girl tentatively placed a hand on her stomach. Wouldn’t be long now. Not long at all! Practically on cue, the girl hopped down from her seat and started dashing to the ladies’ room. Any worry that the Little might make it in time raced straight out of Gwendolyn’s mind as soon as she glimpsed the girl slap a hand between her cheeks. Poor thing was trying to physically hold it in! Slowly, a leopard on the prowl, Gwendolyn walked to the restroom. Slowly pushing the door open and slinking in to make as little noise as possible; let the girl think she was alone and could still pretend to be an adult. Really though, it was all over but the crying. Right next to the public changing table a vending machine had been inserted into the wall. A common enough convenience, it was good for when a Little went through too many diapers too fast for an inexperienced mother to pack; or when a Little’s potty training started to slip showing they needed to be adopted. Near the top of the machine there were a few selections of training pants for boys and girls; for the rare Little that merited a degree of potty training. They had beloved cartoon characters on the front, easy open sides, and fade when wet designs so that the toddler/Little might have a visual cue if they were wet. The second row contained all the diapers commonly worn by Amazon babies and “adult” Littles. No wetness indicator, because what would be the point? Littles wet their pants so often they must’ve loved it. Gwendolyn had seen enough fussy ones kicking in screaming as they were taken away to be changed, they must’ve been really upset to get taken out of their wet and messy diapers. Lots of cute decorations, though. There were enough variants in style to consider a Little’s diaper some form of aesthetic. Near the bottom middle were bigger diapers sized for Tweeners; one never could tell if a Tweener would lean more towards their Amazon or their Little ancestry. These ones lacked the festive and babyish decorations that most Baby/Little diapers had, but they were still very childish: Solid pastel colors, mostly. One or two with some cartoon characters on the front that were aimed at older Amazon children; Ensign Luna or Arachno Man. Good for the Tweener that needed to be in diapers or had a bed wetting problem, but not purposefully humiliating to them. At the very bottom, on a rung so old it was collecting dust were diapers sized for Amazons. No selection there. Big. Plain. White. Four tapes instead of the usual two. No frills. No Amazon that she knew of actually needed or wore diapers past (maybe) kindergarten. Any adult Amazon immature enough to still need diapers wouldn’t need a vending machine to supply their padding for them. Too rare. Never really happened save as a prank or a punishment. These were there for the pure purpose of being fair. If Amazons were going to say that Littles needed to be put back in diapers after they had been “potty trained”, and that Tweeners occasionally needed a sort of “adjustment”, then it was only fair to have diapers big enough to fit the REAL adults of the world on hand. And it was fair. The amount of dust on the bottom row testified that “fair” wasn’t always the same thing as “equal”. Gwendolyn fished some loose change out of her apron and made a selection. A perfectly cute Coddles decorated with bunny rabbits with a small packet of wipes dropped down into the bin. As Gwendolyn kneeled down to retrieve the fresh diaper she listened to any of the tell tale signs about where this Little girl might be. Rude noises or messy plops as possibly the last bit of mess miraculously made it into one of the toilets? Nope. Nothing of the sort. The panicked flushing of underwear to cover up the accident? Nothing there, either. The restroom was oddly quiet, in fact. It didn’t even sound as if one of the tanks was refilling. Crying as the Little girl finally realized what a baby she was supposed to be, giving into her deeply buried feelings against her silly Little will? No, of course not, that’d be far too easy. She sniffed, hoping that scent might lead her to the scene of the accident. Save for the nearest trashcan, the bathroom still had a relatively clean, if not sterile aroma.. The trashcan! Maybe she pooped her pants and ditched them in the trashcan! Feeling more than a tiny bit crazy, Gwendolyn started pawing through paper towels like a racoon and a garbage buffet. For all her digging, she only found a single balled up diaper. Oh yeah...there HAD been a woman and her Little girl in here earlier this morning. That’s why Gwendolyn had so easily remembered how fussy Littles could get when they were taken away for a change. Why had she allowed herself to go such lengths? Simple, really. Gwendolyn needed proof! She needed proof that the Little girl had pooped her pants. You didn’t give a kid coal for Christmas if you couldn’t prove that they’d been bad, and you didn’t put a Little back in diapers if you couldn’t prove that they’d had an accident in their pants. So what if you carefully read the kid’s letters to Santa, or gave the Little something to help her bowels along? If the kid REALLY was good (or clever), there’d be nothing to report. Conversely, if the Little REALLY was potty trained (or clever), she’d make it to the toilet on time. In that case, no harm, no foul, and the only thing wasted was time, a powerful but subtle laxative, and the cost of a Little sized diaper from a vending machine. That was fair. But where was the Little darling? “Helloooooo?” Gwendolyn called out. “Is anyone in here?” Slowly, she opened up the nearest stall so that it wouldn’t squeak. Nothing. Darn Littles were so small she didn’t have the luxury of just looking for dangling feet. On most normal stalls a Little girl would have to do a real balancing act (yet another reason they shouldn’t bother to try out adult underwear). “I’m just making sure I’m alone,” Gwendolyn said, opening up the second stall. I’m something of a nervous pooper. “Sorry if that’s too much info.” Nothing more to go. One more to go! Either she’d find the stall locked, and then just have to wait the Little out, or her quarry had forgotten to lock the stall door, and in it’s own way that proved she wasn’t big enough to go potty all by herself. Resisting the urge to literally kick open the door, Gwendolyn restrained herself, holding her breath as she opened the final stall. Nothing. Completely empty. “Where the…?” Her question was answered only with the echoes of her own voice. Disappointedly, she stuffed the baby diaper and the mini-packet of wipes in her apron. “Samantha?” she asked when she got back behind the counter. “Did you see where that Little went?” She looked over to the table where the Little had been sitting. Her coffee still untouched. The Tweener cocked an eyebrow. “Uhh...she just walked out while you were in the bathroom.” She thumbed to the shop’s entrance. “Why?” Impossible! There’s no way that the Little could have gotten away! “I was just in there! I didn’t see.” Her coworker looked distinctly uncomfortable, like she was on the verge of being caught in a lie. “Maybe she went into the men’s room?” Something about this news jerked Gwendolyn’s chain even worse. That Little twerp! She wasn’t supposed to go into the wrong bathroom! That wasn’t fair! That wasn’t fair, at all! “You know Littles, heh heh.” Yes. Yes, she did know Littles. Silly baby probably went into the wrong bathroom by accident. Well darn. Oh well. She got away. Whether she made it to the toilet or not, she wouldn’t last long. That laxative was powerful; meaning the incident Gwendolyn had just missed was just round one. Someone would find the Little girl and she’d end up adopted and in a happy home, likely by the end of the day. “She left her coffee for us to clean up.” Gwendolyn shook her head disapprovingly. “Such a Little.” “Lots of people leave their cups,” Samantha said. Samantha fairly withered under Gwendolyn’s stare. “At least she paid..?” “Good point,” Gwendolyn allowed. A few more patrons shuffled in for coffee, and Gwendolyn looked at the clock on the wall. Only a few more hours left till the end of her shift. Reaching under the counter, Gwendolyn took a few hearty gulps from her cup, applying a fresh coat of lipstick to the lid’s spout. ************************************************************************************************ “I’ve got a Grande, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk for…Linda!” Gwendolyn called out. An Amazon woman came and took the coffee. “Triple, venti, non-fat, salted, caramel macchiato for...David!” “That’s Daveed,” the man said, taking his order. “Sorry,” Gwendolyn apologized. “I didn’t write the name,” she was loud enough so that Samantha could hear. More importantly, she hoped she was loud enough that Mrs. Thompson, the owner, could hear. There was a position for manager opening up, and Gwendolyn wanted it. Same hours, increased pay, only slightly more responsibilities. “Venti iced skinny hazelnut macchiato, sugar-free syrup, extra shot, light ice, no whip!” She squinted. Samantha wasn’t even trying on this last one. A young woman about Gwendolyn’s age came forward. “That one’s mine!” Thank goodness someone knew their order. The customer reached out for the coffee and stopped. Her nose twitched. “Do you smell that?” The barista frowned. “Smell what?” “Gwendolyn?” Samantha said. The Amazon ignored her. The customer’s nose twitch mutated into a full out “Smells like shiiii…” her eyes went wide realizing she almost cussed in front of the Tweener. “Like a Little with a messy diaper.” “Uh...Gwendolyn?” Absentmindedly, Gwendolyn batted her coworker away, and kept sniffing. “I don’t smell it.” She shifted her stance a bit, feeling a strange weight in the back of her underwear. “Are the coffee beans over roasting? “MISS GWENDOLYN!!!” Gwendolyn whirled around. “WHAT?” she screamed down at her Tweener assistant. “WHAT IS IT?!” “You’re pooping your pants.” Gwendolyn let out a laugh. “I’m what?” “You’re pooping your pants,” Samantha repeated herself. “Like a baby…” Like a Little. Gasps from around the counter as Gwendolyn briefly became a dog chasing her own tail; contorting and twisting to see the dark stain on the back of her pants. No! This just wasn’t possible! Trembling hands reached back and poked at the warm sludgy mess in the back of her panties; a mess that was still seeping through thin silk that had no absorbent backing and spilling out past leg holes with no leakguards. Snickers and jeers from the customers wafted into the air, mingling with the stench of her own feces. “She can’t even tell,” one said. “Just like my Little sister growing up!” Others were more disgusted. They changed their mind about ordering or even threw their cups away, afraid that they’d catch whatever Littleness that had suddenly afflicted the barista “GWENDOLYN!” Mrs. Thompson shouted. “OFFICE! NOW!” Gwendolyn took a step forward and tensed up, locking her knees as some of her own muck started dribbling down the back of them. “What?” she scoffed. “Do you want me to carry you, now?” Shaking and shook, Gwendolyn gritted her teeth and shuffled out from behind the counter and did the Little walk of shame into her boss’s office. Truth be told, Mrs. Thompson’s office wasn’t much of an office. It was more of an unused storage space that he’d converted into one so that he had a quiet place to order fresh ingredients and go over the accounts. No windows; just the lightbulb, door, desk with a computer on it, and a single chair. Even for an Amazon, Mrs. Thompson was big; everything about her was big. Sitting down she didn’t look much shorter than Gwendolyn. Her big flowing hair added to the effect. Bigger frame, bigger hair, bigger breasts… Gwendolyn wasn’t used to literally looking up to people anymore, and the fact that Mrs. Thompson was old enough to be her mother only added to the effect of feeling like a child in loaded underwear. There was no place for Gwendolyn to sit, (Not that she would have wanted to.) The place was stuffy too, which wasn’t helping the situation with her nose. She was the last to smell her own accident, but it was sticking with her much longer. “Explain,” her boss said after a tense moment of silence. “I...I…” she stuttered. “I pooped my pants…?” The last part came with the inflection of a question. Gwendolyn still couldn’t believe it herself. “Obviously,” Mrs. Thompson growled. “But why did you poop yourself?” Gwendolyn blinked. She hadn’t had time to ask herself that. Her mind instantly flashed back to a few hours ago. That Little! “I saw a Little,” she said. “In the store today.” “And you wanted to be a Little? Poop your pants like one?” Gwendolyn took a hand off her backside and held it out defensively. The mess was starting cool now. Starting to settle. “No, no. This was one of those Littles that still thought she was mature, but then I thought she was pooping her pants so I followed her to the bathroom to catch her, but she gave me the slip and and…” something clicked. “She must have poisoned me! A laxative or something!” Mrs. Thompson’s face was made of stone. “So let me get this straight,” she sighed. “You filled your pants up with poop because there’s a non-diapered Little wandering around trying to make Amazons have bathroom accidents?” “What?” Gwendolyn laughed. “No! That’s not what I meant! I slipped something into her drink. She must have put it back in mine, or something! She poisoned me!” Slowly, like a shadow, Mrs. Thompson rose from her desk. “You poisoned a customer?” Her voice was low and grim. She didn’t dare shout that last part out. “NO!” “So did you just lie to me?” “No...I mean...yes…but...I mean...um…” If Gwendolyn’s cheeks weren’t already pink, they were certainly rosey now. A light knock on the door. “Excuse me, Mrs. Thompson?” It was Samantha. “SAMANTHA! GET OUT!” Gwendolyn demanded. “You’re in no position to be making demands, Little girl,” Mrs. Thompson chided Gwendolyn. “But I’m not-” “If the diaper fits,” she cut Gwendolyn off. “What is it Samantha? We’re kind of busy.” Meekly, Samantha edged in a large, plain white, Amazon sized diaper. “One of the customers went to the bathroom and bought this out of the vending machine…” Her voice was trembling. Clearly, this wasn’t her idea. Caught in a world filled with giants and dwarfs, Tweeners were resented by the latter as no better than the former, while threatened by the former lest they be treated like the latter. Samantha was just the messenger. Silently, Mrs. Thompson strode out from behind his desk and took the adult diaper and wipes from the Tweener. “Thank you, Samantha,” she said curtly. “You did a good job. Go see to the customers.” “Yes ma’am!” The Tweener couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Now blocking the door, Mrs. Thompson looked square at Gwendolyn “Take your pants off, dear.” “Wha-?” “You heard me,” she said, her voice even. “Take them off. I’m not going to have you finish your shift in messy pants.” “I have to fini-?” “Of course. You’re mature enough to do that, aren’t you? Or did you poop yourself on purpose to get out of work?” “No, I-?” “So it WAS an accident.” “NO!” Gosh darn it! Why wasn’t he letting her get a word in edgewise? Standing there in poopy pants, she felt so helpless, so small. So Little. “Oh yes,” the older Amazon countered, “You were poisoned by a magical Little that ran around putting special laxatives in people’s coffee. Or was it that you were trying to poison someone who was a paying customer and your prank backfired?” Gwendolyn opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. A diaper in one hand, her boss placed the other on her shoulder. “Gwen, if a Little had an accident in front of everyone, what would we do to them?” Her voice was softer; gentler; like a mother patiently explaining responsibility to a pre-schooler. It was no less intimidating. “Put them in a...a…” she couldn’t even say it now. “And what if Samantha made a piddle in her pants?” Gwendolyn didn’t even reply. “So when an Amazon has an accident, what should we do?” She didn’t want to say it! She knew the answer but she didn’t want to say it. “But I’m twenty-two!” She was begging, and she knew it. “I know plenty of others who are older and still aren’t mature enough for big girl panties.” Mrs. Thompson replied. “And it would be terribly irresponsible of me to let you walk around in dirty pants. Wouldn’t it?” The air leaked out of Gwendolyn, along with her will to fight; at least for the time being. Her boss was right. Of course she was. Even if the barista had been poisoned, she’d just been beaten at her own game. “Fair is fair,” she mumbled. “This isn’t going to be permanent, is it?” A shadow came across the older Amazon’s eyes. “That depends on whether you can act like an adult in a diaper instead of a whiny Little brat that got caught pretending to be more mature than she was.” The twenty-two year old’s fear of wearing a diaper was only surpassed by the fear of wearing one forever. It had been at least two decades since she’d worn one. She’d never even been to diapered detention back in high school! She was an adult! A big girl! Stepping back, she slipped out of her shoes and with jerky non-fluidity, pulled her pants and underwear down to the floor and stepped out of them. Her top lip curled in disgust upon seeing the massive loaf. “Apron too,” Mrs.Thompson commanded. It wasn’t dirty, but she removed it anyways. “Bend over,” Mrs. Thompson told her. “Turn around and touch your toes.” Gwendolyn obeyed, closing her eyes. The first cold wipe that touched her might as well have been a taser, she shook so much. The second one wasn’t as bad. Nor the third. It was something of a localized cold shower. Chilly at first, but refreshing in a strange way. If it weren’t for the fact that someone else was wiping her ass for her she might have started to enjoy it. “Ugh,” Mrs. Thompson grunted. “What have you been eating, anyway?” Her voice was more joking than disgusted, but it caused Gwendolyn to nervously chew on her tongue all the same. “There needs to be baby powder in that machine too.” A frown pulled Gwendolyn’s lips down so that the corners felt like they had anchors hooked to them. “Whooof!” Great. She was being humiliated and Little-fied; her superior was cracking wise. “Stand up,” she told her. Once again, the young woman obeyed, hearing the diaper crinkle behind her as her boss unfolded it. “I don’t have a spot to change you on the floor,” she explained. “So we’re going to do this standing up.” That last part made Gwendolyn tense up. She wasn’t being changed. She was being diapered! If she was being changed that would mean she’d have worn more than one diaper over the last twenty years! Out of one diaper and into a clean one. Even more worryingly was the lingering lack of finality in Mrs. Thompson’s tone. Se might as well have said, “I don’t have a spot to change you on the floor YET!” and “We’re going to do this standing up FOR NOW!” The diaper was lifted up between her and fastened on while Gwendolyn stood statue still; afraid that something awful would happen if she didn’t obey. Why was she obeying, though? Couldn’t she just quit? Quitting would mean no money, though, wouldn’t it? No money meant no rent. No rent meant moving back in with her parents. And how would THEY react to having a failure of a daughter that had to fly back into the nest. Knowing her parents, she might very well end up back in diapers, anyways. Wouldn’t it be best to just bite the bullet and get this over with? It was a clumsy thing, having the diaper put on her. Mrs. Thompson clearly wasn’t all that practiced in this. Tired of being seen naked, she even did her part and held the front end while the older woman fiddled with the tapes. That earned her a “good girl”. Four tapes instead of two, and they needed to be adjusted, but by the end, Gwendolyn stood there in the musty room looking very much like a Little. Naked from the waist down save for her puffy white padding, the barista let out a small helpless mewl. She even had to adjust her gait a little like a toddler that hadn’t quite figured out how to walk. “Do you have anything else I can wear over...this?” she asked. Her boss scoffed. “Why would I need to have a change of clothes? This isn’t a daycare, is it? No one past kindergarten worries about changes of clothes” She squinted at Gwendolyn a bit suspiciously. “You don’t have a change of clothes, do you?” This was so unfair! One accident! One tricky Little bitch, and her entire adulthood was coming into question. She wasn’t a Little! She was an Amazon! An adult! The older Amazon waved off Gwendolyn’s indignation and helped by slipping on her shoes for her. She gave her back the apron, too. It did little to hide the bulbous thing taped around her hips, but it did something. As long as she stood only behind the counter, only facing towards the customers, and not moving too much; she might be able to get through the rest of the day with a smidgen of dignity intact. A smidgen of dignity, that is, until Mrs. Thompson pointed to the pile of ruined clothes off to the side. “Go throw those out.” A new wrinkle. “Throw them out?” “Unless you want them to stew in your car.” “No no no…” She stuttered. “I’ll throw them out.” Powered by adrenaline and shame, Gwendolyn became a crinkling blur. Bagging up her once pristine clothes, rushing out the side of the shop and tossing her ruined clothes in the dumpster. Tunnel vision and the pounding of her own heart blurred and muted the outside world to her. There could have been a marching band directly to the right of her, and an explosive and gorey military coup to the left, and Gwendolyn wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing she kept hearing was the plastic rustling that plagued every step. It followed her everywhere, even to the front of the store. The moment she stepped in to the front to retake her position, everything stopped. Everything. “Here you are, ma’-,” Samantha cut herself off mid sentence handing a customer their order. She stepped off her stool, shrinking down behind the barrier. Despite the initial revulsion of watching a grown woman shit herself, business had not slowed down much after all. Those who left had been quickly replaced by new customers. Those who had stayed weren’t unbothered as much as morbidly curious. They’d stayed around to gawk. The sea of faces and their reactions were fairly varied: Some looked on uncomprehendingly; either because they were at just the right angle to not see the diapered Amazon for what she was or they thought it was as impossible as Gwendolyn did until five minutes prior. Others looked away; somehow embarrassed by the barista’s predicament. One kid (and it was a kid, not a Little) guffawed, thinking she was about the funniest thing he’d ever seen; never mind that the paper thin waistband poking out of his pants wasn’t from a Pull-Up. And Gwendolyn was sure she could hear whispers of “Big Baby” and “Immature” and maybe even “Maturitis” or “Maturosis” or whatever it was that Littles had that turned them into forever children. A tug on her elbow brought the Amazon out of her stupor. “Gwen,” Samantha hissed. She’d maneuvered her way over to her co-worker. “Say something!” The Amazon closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Fair was fair. “I apologize, everyone.” she said, loud and clear. “I had an...an...I pooped my pants uncontrollably. It was very immature of me. I shouldn’t have done what I did. Now, for the rest of the day, I’ll be wearing this,” she lifted up the front of her apron. “for my protection as well as the furniture’s. I acted like a naughty toddler and now I’m being treated like one.” Deep down, Gwendolyn knew she wasn’t just talking about her accident either. “I’m very sorry, and will be back behind the counter to help you shortly.” She did not receive silence to her reply, however. To her surprise, and utter horror, they applauded. All of them. Clapping and smiling. Little cheers of “good girl” and “good for you” mingled in with “hurrays” and whistles. It wasn’t rowdy, per say, but far louder and more supportive than it needed to be. It was like in the movies when someone admits that they’re an alcoholic or something. The pats and rubs on the back she received on her way to the counter were just shy of the hugs at the end of those classic movie scenes. The pats and rubs on her backside only reinforced what she was wearing and why she was wearing it. The quiet giggles resumed as soon as she turned to start making more fancy flavored bean water. For crying out loud! She’d just admitted to having AN accident; singular; and the diaper was the only thing in the store that might fit her. It’s not like she NEEDED it. “Please just let this day be over,” she whispered to herself. If Gwendolyn had known what would come the next day, she might not have wished that for herself. ****************************************************************************************** “You wanted to see me, ma’am?” Gwendolyn asked, poking her head through the door but leaving the rest out in the doorway. Yesterday had been humiliating, but she’d gotten through it well enough. The diaper she’d been forced into yesterday now lay crumpled up at the very bottom of her wastebasket at home (and still clean to boot). Yet she was still more than a bit shell shocked through, hence why she was creeping around like Samantha tended to do instead striding proudly and confidently around as was her tendency. “Gwen,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Yes. come in.” She had a smile on her face. Gwendolyn immediately did not like that smile. It was the smile Mrs. Thompson wore right before she fired someone; or so it seemed. “You wanted to see me ma’am?” Gwen repeated. It was still early. Prep time. The sun hadn’t even come up yet. The lights in the front of the store had just buzzed on. The young woman wasn’t surprised she’d been told to come in early today. She’d royally screwed up and been allowed to keep her job; some kind of extra punishment or grunt work was in order and that included lugging around heavy bags of beans and some monotonous cleaning and prep work for sure. What surprised her was what she’d been told to wear. Mrs. Thompson saw the short denim skirt Gwen wore and her smile spread even further. “Good.” she said. “That’ll make it easier to check you, today.” CHECK?! That didn’t sound right. She followed her boss’s gesture. On the right side of the office, a worn but thick pink blanket was spread out. Near the edge was a packet of wipes, a bottle of baby powder and a clear plastic package filled with diapers too big to fit even a Tweener. “Go lie down.” Gwen wanted to cry; scream was more like it. She did her best to keep her voice level. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” “I think it is,” Mrs. Thompson replied. “You failed to take responsibility for your actions and your body yesterday; just like a Little.” She walked over to the blanket and kneeled down on the floor. Her outfit was different too. Instead of the light blue pantsuit she tended to wear or the business casual blouse and khakis when she deigned to take a shift serving customers, the older woman now wore a simple, yet feminine rose colored dress. Very maternal. “So until you can prove to me that you don’t need to be treated like a Little…” she patted the blanket, and let the silence speak for itself. If Gwendolyn had had any sense, she would have run just then. But to her own thinking, her boss did have a point. If Littles deserved to be babied because of the way they acted; then they just needed to act differently to avoid it. She could prove it. She could prove that she was an adult. Fair is fair. Before she stepped onto the blanket, she shimmied her panties down off her feet. So that’s why she was told to forego the usual dress code today… “That’s so helpful,” Mrs. Thompson teased. “Thank you! You’re already well on your way to proving what a mature young woman you are!” Gwendolyn took the hint and flipped her skirt up just before she laid down. Mrs. Thompson took her time unfolding the bulky adult diaper; really wanting to get it right this time, it seemed. A little pressure on the back of her legs, and Gwen lifted them up in the air and raised her hips so that the padding could be slid under her. She was told to keep them there for a bit longer than was comfortable so that a fresh cloud of baby powder could be dusted on her bottom. This was stupid, she thought to herself. No way was she going to need baby powder; yet alone a second diaper. She wasn’t going to be poisoned twice. Her breath shook as the diaper was pulled up between her legs, each tape being pulled snuggly over the front of her waist. Even with four tapes, now that she was laying down it still felt different. More babyish. More Little. Like she couldn’t even be trusted to stand and do it. The older Amazon diapered Gwen much more easily this time. Either because it was easier putting a diaper on someone when they were laying down, or perhaps Mrs. Thompson had more experience using this method. Once it was on and secure- much more secure than it had been yesterday, come to think of it- Gwen stood up and pulled down on her skirt. Much to her dismay, the tiny piece of denim that she used to catch boys’ eyes didn’t even come close to covering the offending padding. Anyone standing behind her would be able to see what she was wearing. “How long do I have to wear these?” she asked her boss. “Until you prove you don’t need them anymore.” Gwen’s face now was a near perfect match for Mrs. Thompson’s dress. “Alright. Off you go. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.” Gwen scurried out of the office as fast as she could; just not fast enough to avoid the light swat on her backside, the sound of flesh on plastic making a distinctive THWAP sound. ************************************************************************************************* “I’ve got a salted caramel macchiato for-” Gwen’s announcement was cut off with her own “EEK!” as she felt fresh air hitting the crack of her ass. Twirling like a twister, Gwen peered down at Samantha, grinning cheekily. “Just checking,” Samantha said. “Making sure you didn’t have an accident...again.” Nostrils flaring, eyes wide and unblinking, Gwen stared down at the Tweener willing her back into her submissive place. Nothing. Even as she loomed over her, the Tweener was completely unphased. It was as if all of her adulty Amazonness had been canceled out by a single not-quite undergarment. “”I’m not going to have an accident, again,” Gwen growled. It was true. This morning Gwen had gotten rid of her secret stash of Little Laxatives, and wasn’t even drinking any coffee, just in case. The only thing she’d had was water directly from the tap. Not that it mattered. For all her bluster, Gwen might as well have been a Great Dane and Samantha a crafty kitten. Two animals that didn’t- couldn’t- recognize their dramatic size difference. “Are you sure?” Samantha teased. “Big babies don’t know when they have accidents. That’s why they need-” “Are you wearing a diaper?!” The customer near the front exclaimed. Gwen’s knees locked and her back straightened. Her arms.shot back in a childish attempt to pull down the hem of her skirt. It was too late, though. She’d stepped too far away from the counter; she’d bent over way too far. Everyone who cared to look (and somehow she felt that everyone WAS looking) knew what was going on downstairs. “Oh wow….” Samantha whizzed around (a poor choice of words) Gwen and got on the step stool to look the customer in the eye. “Yup. Baby Gwen-Gwen had an accident in her big girl pants yesterday, so the owner is making her wear diapers until she can prove she’s a big girl again.” Every word from the Tweener’s lips was honeyed venom: And everything she said was exactly like what Gwen would have said had their situations been reversed. “Don’t worry, though,” Samantha added, “I make sure she washes her hands and stuff.” There was a general nodding of agreement from the customers; even the people sitting at tables and clacking away on laptops seemed to be at least half listening and bobbing their heads. “Seems fair.” “Very responsible.” “Good.” “Reasonable.” And so the murmurs went. Gwen clenched her fists. “I’m going on break.” A hand reached out and grabbed her by the wrist before Gwen had taken a full step. “Where do you think you’re going?” Samantha said with an air of authority up on her step stool. “It’s ten o’clock,” Gwen thumbed to the digital on the wall. “I’m taking a bathroom break.” “You don’t NEED a bathroom break,” Samantha said. “You’ve got a diaper on.” Gwen felt her blood boil. “I am NOT going to use this diaper.” She crossed her arms defiantly. The Tweener mimicked her. “Are too.” “Am not!” “Are too!” “Am NOT!” “ARE TOO!” “AM NOT!” The Tweener inhaled deeply. “MRS. THOMPSOOOOOOOON!” Gwen was an only child but if she’d ever wanted a bratty younger sister just then, Samantha would have fit the archetype perfectly just then. Now if only she fit the dress code for her behavior… Heavy footsteps signalled Mrs. Thompson’s approach. She was all smiles, how-do-you-do’s and excuse-me’s working her away around to the counter, but as soon as she got to the girls her expression turned serious. “What’s going on here?” “Gwenny’s trying to go to the potty!” Samantha’s choice of infantile vocabulary was nails on a chalkboard to Gwen’s ears. It was then that Mrs. Thompson regarded Gwen and asked her the strangest question. “Why?” “Because I have to go…?” Gwen said, feeling uncertain. “Do you know how expensive those diapers I bought you are?” The older Amazon’s hands were on her hips now, her foot tapping impatiently. “And the tapes aren’t great for more than one use. I’d have to put another one on you as soon as you were done. Do you want me to waste money on perfectly good diapers for you? Do you?” She took a moment to address the crowd. “I’m not even taking the cost out of her paycheck.” There was an approving “Awwww”. Gwen’s head might have been a rotary fan turned up to eleven. “No. That’s not what I.” “Then just go in your diaper like a good girl. Be grateful that I’m looking out for you, and use what I’ve provided.” “Fine,” Gwen said. “I’ll hold it until lunch.” “You most certainly will not!” Mrs. Thompson proclaimed. Without waiting she added, “If you can hold it till lunch, then that means you were just trying to get out of work.” “But-!” “Either that or you’re going to damage your body holding it in too long. That’s not very mature, is it?” “Yes...I mean no...I mean-!” “So are you trying to harm yourself or were you lying about your need to go?” More eyes. An unsympathetic ocean. Everyone was waiting. To be mature, she had to wet herself? To prove that she was an adult she had to pee her pants in front of everyone, just like a Little? It didn’t make any sense.This logic seemed to gel perfectly with the assembled looky-lous, however. Feeling defeated, Gwen buried her face in her hands and relaxed her bladder, a slight hissing sound filling her inner ear like when she chewed. No one else could hear it, she was sure of that. The moment she buried her face- like an embarrassed toddler-Samantha lead the shop in a chorus of cooing, “Awwwwwwwwwwww’s”. It was such a strange sensation, wetting herself like that: It was almost the exact inverse of going on the toilet. A quiet hiss instead of a loud tinkle; the feeling of expanding warmth instead of the coolness of the seat; the added weight as her disposable panties sagged and expanded to accommodate; the lack of privacy; the fact that she was going to be carrying this around with her instead of flushing it all down a whole right away. “Okay...I went.” Her voice came out as almost a sob. “All done?” Mrs. Thompson asked. Peeking through her fingers, Gwen nodded. “Check her.” Her hands still up by her face, Gwen was too slow to stop Samantha from groping her right between the legs. “She’s just a little wet,” Samantha reported. “A tiny tinkle. Could definitely hold more.” Their boss nodded approvingly. With a single finger crooked, she beckoned Gwen to lean over the counter. “Good girl. I’ll change you at lunch,” and then walked off. Gwen felt more confused than she ever had before in her life. The positive feedback was even more disconcerting. One by one and two by two, customers took their coffee and chose just then to compliment her, as opposed to the usual silence, grunts, and complaints. “You’re doing a great job!” one said. “Good girl!” said another. “This looks very yummy!” “Thank you very much, Gwen!” It was as if just because she was wearing kiddie underwear that everyone decided they should treat her with kid gloves, too. And what’s more, she was having trouble telling the difference between those jeering at her and those who genuinely meant their praise. Based on facial expressions, it was about 50/50. “Your boss and manager must be so proud of you!” Another said, indicating Samantha as the ‘manager’. “You’re a very good helper and employee!” And by the very nature of her the line, she never got a chance to decline or rebuff. Gwen just did her best to tune them out and try to fill out the orders... Sadly her best just wasn’t very good. “But MOMEEEEEE!” A Little girl in a pink onesie whined nearing the front. “I have to go potty!” It wasn’t the same girl from yesterday, though that would have made Gwen feel so much better. “Please let me go, please please please PLEASE!” “Now sugar,” the mother patiently replied. “That’s what your diaper is for, isn’t it?” “But you said-!” “This girl right here went pee-pee in her diaper, and she’s a big girl, isn’t she?” The Little stared at Gwen, her expression a mixture of disgust and awe. “Now just go and make yourself comfortable like her...” The Little was not convinced. “But I don’t wanna-!” “That doesn’t sound like the mature young woman you claim to be, does it?” “Will you change me?” “Only if you need it.” A lightbulb seemed to pop over the mother’s eyes. “Gwen here has no problem working in her wet diaper. You should have no problem playing in one. Her Mommy will change her when she needs it, and I’ll change you when you need it.”. Gwen couldn’t tell when the Little had wet her diaper; she only had a feeling that that was why she was now burying her face into her mommy’s shoulder. In so many other ways the mommy and daughter echoed Mrs. Thompson and she. Oh, God! Was she commiserating with a fucking Little? That didn’t make any sense! ************************************************************************************************* It was another two hours of pacing, sweating and peeing before lunch rolled around. The constant pressure of newcomers coming into the shop and noticing her diaper, followed by a round of gleeful explanation from Samantha, made Gwen want to tune the world the fuck out. This made her pace more and work more. This made her thirsty, resulting in taking more and more sips of tap water; she could at least do that without any hassle or comment. But all the water she was drinking was making her have to pee more. It was a vicious cycle. So pee Gwen did, with almost no hesitation. She’d already humiliated herself once; made a big scene out of it. It was actually easier to just squirt a little more into her padding whenever she felt the urge. She was drinking more, and peeing more, but going to the bathroom less; arguably getting more work done, and her bladder didn’t ache besides. At noon, Samantha groped her again. “Whoah!” she half-yelled. “You really did a number on your diaper, didn’t ya?” “Mmm-hmmm,” Gwen replied through gritted teeth. Without waiting, the Tweener zipped behind her and pulled open the back of her diaper. Her panties had become almost swampy, sauna like, and the rush of air conditioning to her backside made the contrast all the more apparent. “What are you doing?” she whisper-squealed. “Checkin’ for more boom-booms.” Samantha told her with a kind of nonchalant arrogance. “If I pooped my pants,” Gwen did her best to whisper, “I think I’d know about it.” “You didn’t yesterday…” That certainly shut Gwen up. In her confusion and frustration, Gwen allowed herself to be led by the hand towards the back; towards Mrs. Thompson’s office. “Pardon us,” the Tweener called out loud and clear. “Baby Gwenny needs to go get her diaper changed!” “SAMANTHAAAAA!” Gwen wailed. “Hmm?” Samantha feigned being unconcerned. “I just wanted to let people know where we were going so I didn’t worry them,” she said. “It’s nothing for you to be ashamed about…” Gwen heard the lie, yet she couldn’t prove it. Gwen was left by Mrs. Thompson’s door; Samantha knocking and then fleeing like a zookeeper leaving steaks for lions. “Come in, come in,” Mrs. Thompson said. She was already positioned by the makeshift changing mat on the floor. “Don’t be shy,” she cooed. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” The sodden padding swaying between her thighs with every step. This time, she forgot to lift her skirt up, and Mrs. Thompson had to instruct her to lift her hips first. She’d been so eager, so relieved to get out of the wet diaper and into a fresh one that she’d forgotten the first step. “My my my!” her boss said after undoing the tapes. “Looks like someone was very close to leaking! Yes she was! Yes she was!” She threw in little tickling motions towards Gwen’s belly-button, and her voice went up nearly an octave. “Let’s get my girl all fresh and clean!” She started wiping Gwen down. “Fresh fresh fresh! Clean clean clean! This is the way we wipe wipe wipe! Gwen swallowed hard. “Um...ma’am…?” “Yes Gwenny?” “You’re talking to me like I’m a baby or something. Like I’m a Little. I’m not…” “Oh, sorry dear.” Mrs. Thompson smiled. “I didn’t notice.” The real question though, was what didn’t Mrs. Thompson notice? Her talking, or that Gwen wasn’t a Little? The rest of the diaper change, the wiping, the powdering, passed silently. The new diaper being taped on expertly with only minimal effort from the barista. Even with all of the cool, cleansing powder sliding around in her fresh diaper, Gwen couldn’t shake the feeling that spots had been missed; that she still smelled slightly of pee...like a baby. Gwen was still made to go throw out her old diaper in the dumpster. That made her feel more Amazon; more grown-up; she supposed. ************************************************************************************************* Gwen drove home exhausted that night, having been pressured into another double shift. All day long people were noticing and commenting on her padded underwear peaking out from her too short skirt. Samantha never hesitated to explain for Gwen, telling the tale with relish. The Amazon had heard the story of her pooping herself so many times today that it almost felt like she was never potty trained. She couldn’t argue or debate without getting cut off- and all of the strangers took the non-diapered barista’s word over her own. The entire endeavor had been emotionally, mentally and physically draining. So draining that after Mrs. Thompson changed her the second time just before closing, she neither objected, nor tore the damn thing off as soon as she got home. She sat on her bed, running through the day over and over again. It was only the added warmth spreading out that Gwen remembered that she didn’t HAVE to wet herself at home. The diapers were supposed to be for the store, only... “Awwwww,” a voice that was not quite memory flared in her brain “Is the widdle girl havin’ an accident in her baby panties?” No one had said anything like that to her today, but somehow there was truth to the statement. Even if no one had said that, clearly every person she’d interacted with today had thought that on some level. Even the Little riding on her Mommy’s hip saw her as having more in common with Gwen than her grown-up Mommy. Another kind of warmth spread in Gwen’s diaper. Shit. Something was happening. She needed to get off, in the worst way. Lifting her skirt, she squeezed the front of her diaper. “Not THAT wet” a figment of Samantha declared. She could take care of that... Briefly, only briefly, Gwen considered going to the shower to clean off her muscles ached so; the shower might as well have been a million miles away. All she really wanted to do was lie down and get off. Laying back and closing her eyes, she grabbed her vibrator from it’s trusty drawer from her nightstand. Part of her considered untaping the diaper first, but that would just mean she’d have to clean her fingers and vibrator after all. Maybe wash her sheets. No. Let’s keep the sheets clean. The gentle buzz filled her ears and mingled with her breathy moans as she worked on herself. She tried to relax and tense up in all the right places and think of cute boys from movies and T.V. and past dates that had ended particularly well. Insead, amidst the crinkle and squishing and buzzing and moaning, she got another image. “Looks like someone was very close to leaking! Yes she was! Yes she was!” An imaginary Mrs. Thompson cooed. This time, with her eyes closed, Mrs. Thompson looked much bigger...and Gwen felt much smaller...weaker...more helpless. This time, when the older woman threw in little tickling motions towards her belly-button, and her voice went up nearly an octave, Gwen allowed herself to giggle and squirm. “Let’s get my girl all fresh and clean!” The young woman started to grind her hips. “Fresh fresh fresh! Clean clean clean! This is the way we wipe wipe wipe!” Gwen wasn’t on the floor this time; she was much higher. Gwen didn’t even make it through the mental diaper change before she reached her first climax…. ************************************************************************************************* “Gwen!” Mrs. Thompson almost shrieked the next morning. “Why are you already wet?” Whether it was disgust or delight, Gwen couldn’t tell. After the delight of last night, Gwen woke up especially disgusted with herself. “I was just trying to be good,” Gwen lied. “You got mad at me for taking the diaper off yesterday...so I thought…” she let the fib trail off. What had actually happened was that she had collapsed under the weight of her own orgasms and fallen asleep on top of her bed. Gwen hadn’t remembered to set her alarm. In her panic from waking up so late she’d forgotten to change back into panties for the drive over. She was still wearing the same skirt as yesterday. The diaper now sagged and squished heavily, even worse than the first one; Gwen having decided to pee on her way into work rather than hold it and have the need to wet immediately after being changed. Mrs. Thompson tisked and shook her head, her luxurious bottle blonde hair seeming to flow like a river. “What am I going to do with you?” she wondered around. Instead of moseying over to the changing blanket, she snuck a finger under Gwen’s chin, causing her to look up. “Maybe I should leave you in that wet diaper until you leak, silly girl. Would you like that?” “N-n-n-no?” Gwen felt the finger withdraw as her boss’s other hand squeezed the padding oozing out from her skirt. “That would be very long, though.” “I was trying-” “To be a good girl, I know,” the older, more powerful woman finished the sentence. “You just didn’t think things through.” That much was true. “No, ma’am…” Mrs. Thompson strolled behind her desk and opened a drawer. She took out a canvas tote bag; a simple promotional item from a charity drive. “This will have to do.” “Do, ma’am?” Gwen asked. “Before you go home tonight,” her employer instructed, “I want you to pack this as your diaper bag. Wipes, powder, diapers, everything. Take it home with you.” She paused a moment to let it sink in. “And before you go to bed, I expect you to call me and tell me that you’ve changed yourself.” “Call-?” “No need to thank me. These grown-up diapers are expensive, but there’s almost no way you could go through an entire package of them in a week if you only got changed at work.” Gwenny felt the full weight of her employer’s accusing gaze. “Unless you want to spend all of tonight in a wet or dirty diaper?” “N-n-n-no ma’am…” She had to fight the urge to hide her face in her hands again. Somehow this one woman had the effect of an entire shop staring at her. Mrs. Thompson smiled. “Good.” “Yes, ma’am.” “And Gwenny?” “Yes, ma’am?” The older woman had moved over to the changing blanket. “Come lay down and get changed, silly girl. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.” “Yes, ma’am…” There was more pep in her step on her way over to the blanket. *************************************************************************************************** That night, when Gwen found herself masturbating to the idea of getting her diaper changed, she was no longer on a changing pad or table; but out on a park bench. Mommy Thompson had packed her diaper bag, and was changing her front of everyone. And everyone watched. And they clapped. Some giggled. Some cooed. Some cheered. Some jeered. And only the Littles who shared her situation could appreciate it. Only they understood her excitement and plight. And even they didn’t fully get it. They were just babies in a big world. She was big, but...but...but…. **************************************************************************************************** It was eleven on a Thursday and Gwenny was hurting. Her stomach wanted to murder her just then Being diapered since Tuesday and not daring to use the toilet even at home for fear of upsetting her boss, Gwenny hadn’t pooped since the incident on Monday. Her bladder, she had gained a new degree of mastery over. She was becoming increasingly comfortable with wetting her diaper; despite (or because of) the coos and teasing from customers and coworkers alike. Her ass was another matter entirely. Gwenny was backed up. It hurt. Alot. “Heeeeere’s your order, sir.” Her face became a mask of pain. She couldn’t poop her pants on purpose. She just couldn’t. Doing so would be to willingly throw away her adultness in its entirety. But would it really? She wasn’t allowed to take the diaper off. Wouldn’t it be MORE mature to just focus and get the pain over with? Wouldn’t it be MORE adult to recognize the limitation that had been placed on her and just make get it over with? She’d seen plenty of Littles, early in the stages of their adoption, struggle and clench and cry as they voided their bowls into their pants; completely unable to accept their new reality. That’s how one knew they were babies. Sadly for Gwen, while such circular logic might work on her mind, her bottom wanted nothing to do with it. Her body just wouldn’t let it. “F-f-f-f-fuck iiiiit!” “Excuse me?” The Tweener picking up his coffee asked. Gwenny didn’t respond. Unable to fully close her eyes she squinted like a cat and started to squat. Squat. And push. Muffled farts started pouring out… “What the fu-” The Tweener caught himself. “What the fudge is she doing?” he asked Samantha. “Oh, Baby Gwenny? She’s pooping, I think.” Samantha waved her hand in front of her face. “Yup. She’s making boom booms...a present for her Mommy. Her Maturosis must be flaring up hard!” Maturosis. That was the word that was being used to described baby Littles these days. “She’s not a Little, though.” The male Tweener said. “It happens sometimes,” Samantha said, nonchalantly. “She must have a Little somewhere in her family. It’s rare. But it happens.” The Tweener boy seemed mystified, curious even. “No kiddin’?” “That’s what the doctor’s note says. Don’t worry, she can still work and make coffee pretty good. She just needs me to keep her from getting too distracted.” All of this was, of course, complete and total bullshit. Gwenny had zero Littles in her family tree and there was no doctor’s note to speak of. She didn’t contradict Samantha, however. She was too busy pushing and savoring the rush: The physical relief of pushing a load out and voiding herself, while relishing in being talked about and talked over mixed with the self loathing and shame of doing something that she knew good and well that she was too old to be doing. Too old. Too big. Too mature. Too grown-up. Too Amazon. And yet… Gwenny hadn’t quite reached anything too untoward when she stopped pushing and let gravity and a muscle inertial take over; but she was panting from more than just the strain and sighing from more than just the relief of finally emptying herself out. “Phew…” “I’ll say…” Gwenny ignored the comment’ didn’t even see which Tweener it came from. She simply turned back to her work station and started making the next order. “What do you think you’re doing?” Samantha asked. Gwenny shrugged. “Workin’. Why?” Samantha took her hand. “Come on stink butt, let’s go get you changed.” A small jolt sparked in Gwenny’s brain. “But I’m not s’posed to get changed till lunch!” “Not when you’ve got a full load,” Samantha countered. Gwenny followed her co-worker, seemingly so much more mature and aware of the rules of diapers than she felt. “Pfft...babies…” She was being called a baby...by someone who barely came up to her chest. She knew how she felt about that, but she didn’t know how to feel about feeling that way... “You poopied?” Mrs. Thompson asked. She didn’t even wait for Gwenny to confirm; instead pressing her hand against the back of her diaper, feeling and mashing the mess up against the younger woman. “You certainly did. That’s a lot.” “I haven’t pooped in a few da-” Gwenny stopped herself; shut her mouth so quickly her teeth clicked. Why would she admit that? What businesses was it of her boss’s? Then again, what business was it of her boss’s to demand a phone call when Gwenny changed herself before bed. She’d still called, though… Mrs. Thompson guided the younger, smaller Amazon to the old pink blanket. Instead of kneeling beside it, The older Amazon sat down. Gwenny was made to lie down, too, but instead of flat, she was sat down and cradled in the older woman’s lap. She flinched as she felt even more of her mess spread and shift around. It still wasn’t as bad as Monday’s mess. This one stayed in place more and wasn’t dripping down her legs or ruining her skirt. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” Mrs. Thompson said. “That was a very brave, very grown-up thing you did.” Gwen arched her brow. She was a grown-up? For pooping her pants on purpose? “Most Amazons would have held it in, struggled, hurt themselves. Maybe even try and make it to noon so they could use the potty in between changes.” She chuckled, her eyes. “I would have let you if you’d just asked. But instead you made the choice to go potty in your pants like a good girl.” A knot formed in the back of Gwenny’s throat. Good girl? How was she supposed to know that there were workarounds to this diaper punishment thing? She’d never been diaper punished! “You didn’t tell me I could have asked to use the potty for...for...” “You never asked.” The matter seemed closed. Mrs. Thompson got a far off look in her eyes. “I used to work in a daycare, you know? Here in town.” Gwenny didn’t know. “I left because I got tired of whining Little brats who were ungrateful for all the love being given to them. Littles don’t know how easy they have it.” She looked down at Gwenny. Sitting in the older woman’s lap, Instinctively, Gwenny curled her spine as she was slowly rocked, bringing her at about eye level with Mrs. Thompson’s breast. “I think.you deserve a treat.” Mrs. Thompson pulled down her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Gwenny stared at the tit, engorged and dripping in milk. It wasn’t uncommon for Amazons, even ones Mrs. Thompson’s age, to take special hormone pills; but they typically only did it when they were nursing a Little...or a baby. “Will this make me more grown-up?” Gwenny asked. “No.” Head propelled forward, Gwenny felt no choice but to take the tit into her mouth. Five minutes of moaning, blushing, rubbing, and squirming later; she was finally changed. Her baby pants had been even fuller than when she’d started. She’d struggled at first; screamed a bit. But only at first. Only a bit… ************************************************************************************************ “Baby Gwenny!” Mrs. Thompson scolded. “Already? It’s not even nine!” Standing in a drooping, shit filled diaper, Gwenny hung her head low. “Sorrry Mo-...” she corrected herself. “Ma’am. I really had to go.” Even with the scolding, Mrs. Thompson didn’t seem all that upset. Or surprised. “You KNOW that I would have let you use the potty during your change this morning to make boom-booms!” Gwenny was frowning, but didn’t feel all that sad. “I know. But I couldn’t control it this time.” “I hardly think two poopy accidents would make you lose control again, little miss.” “The laxative,” Gwenny pleaded. “I took some more of it.” Mrs. Thompson cocked her head to the side. “You what?” “It’s just that I was hurting so much yesterday,” Gwenny tried to explain. “I didn’t want it to hurt that much again so I-” “Skirt! Off! Now!” Thompson ordered. Today’s too-short skirt, a silky, almost see-through number, was sliding off Gwenny’s hips before “Now” had been barked. An iron grip came, not for Gwenny’s wrist, but for her earlobe “OW OW OW!” she screeched as her employer dragged her in nothing but a t-shirt and diaper by the side of her head to the front of the store. “TELL THEM WHAT YOU DID!” Mrs. Thompson screamed. Everyone in the cafe looked up from their phones and drinks. “i pooped my diaper…” “Pfft,” Samantha rolled her eyes. “Everybody already knows that.” “SAMANTHA! NOT! NOW!” The color drained away from the Tweener’s face and for the first time all week she more closely resembled her meeker, mild mannered self. “TELL THEM WHAT YOU REALLY DID!” All eyes were back on Gwenny “i poisoned myself to make myself go poopy. on purpose.” “WHY?! THE TRUTH! NOW!” “because i wanted you to change me. and feed me. and cuddle me.” “AND?” Gwenny looked around the room. “and i wanted everyone here to knooooooow….” tears were starting to flow down the not-so-big girl’s cheeks. “DOES THAT SOUND MATURE? DOES THAT SOUND GROWN-UP? DOES THAT SOUND AMAZONIAN?” Gwenny was silently crying. “DOES IT?” “nooooooooooooooooo….!” her voice was just as choked and squeaky as any Little she’d seen after they’d been taken down a notch or two. Mrs. Thompson pulled a chair out from a table and sat down. She pointed to her lap. Baby Gwenny, knowing better, sprawled herself over it instead of sitting directly on her lap. She heard a note of glee come to the older woman’s eyes. “New special! For every dollar that people put in the tip jar, this big baby, this pitiful excuse for an adult, gets a swat right on her messy diapered behind!” Mrs. Thompson announced. “Samantha. Keep count.” Baby Gwenny didn’t look up. She did however, here many hurried footsteps towards the tip jar. By the clinking sounds some people were even emptying their pockets. THWACK! The sound of the swat, of hand smacking plastic and pulp and mush, broke the girl’s concentration. Baby Gwenny flinched. THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny itched, the lump becoming more of a paste. THWACK THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny squirmed, the padding thinning from abuse and onslaught. She was starting to feel the blows. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny wriggled. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny thrashed. Baby Gwenny cried. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Baby Gwenny screamed and grasped THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! Mrs. Thompson started talking. “YOU DESERVE THIS!” “Yes ma’am!” Baby Gwenny couldn’t help. It didn’t help THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “YES WHAT?” “YES MOMMY!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “HAVE YOU BEEN YOU ACTING LIKE AN ADULT?!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “NO MOMMY!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “DO YOU DESERVE THIS?” Baby Gwenny was crying and gasping for air. “YES MOMMY!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN ACTING LIKE?” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “A LITTLE!” There was a pause, just long enough for Gwenny to gulp some air. “WRONG ANSWER! LITTLES DON’T POISON THEMSELVES! EVEN THE IMMATURE ONES!” THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! “WHAT! HAVE! YOU! BEEN! ACTING! LIKE!” “A BAAAAAAAAAAAAABY!” THWACK! As she orgasmed into her mushy diaper with the final swat; Baby Gwenny came face to face with an uncomfortable truth about herself. She wasn’t ready for this to end. She was loving this. She NEEDED this. The applause from the onlookers nearly matched the number of swats Baby Gwenny had just received. Trembling, Baby Gwenny crawled off her employer’s lap, sitting on her knees. Mrs. Thompson cleared her throat and wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. “It’s a good thing today is your last day of punishment.” “NO!” “What?” The older woman seemed surprised; just not that surprised. More like she hadn’t quite heard the younger Amazon correctly. She’d have to beg for it, Baby Gwenny knew. “Please! Don’t stop it! I need this!” “Need what?” Still on her knees, Baby Gwenny gestured down to her disheveled, messy, diapered, sub-Amazon state. “this…..” Then she added, “please...Mommy…” Mrs. Thompson smirked and stared cooly down at the wreck that Baby Gwenny had become. “You’ll have to wear diapers full time.” “Yes, Mommy.” “You’ll still be working here, too. You’re a baby, but you’re not a Little. You’ll still have to do chores.” “Yes, Mommy.” “And you’ll be moving in with me.” “Yes, Mommy.” “And no more pants or skirts. It’ll be easier to check and change you.” “Yes, Mommy.” “And I’m taking your diapers out of your paycheck from now on.” “Yes, Mommy.” “And when I’m not up here, it’ll be Samantha who’s in charge.” That gave Gwendolyn pause. She looked over to a smirking, eager, and triumphant Tweener, still counting tips behind the counter. “Yes, Mommy.” Baby Gwenny said. Mrs. Thompson stood. She opened her arms wide. “Come to Mommy...baby girl!” “AWWWWWWWW!” For that tense moment, Baby Gwenny had forgotten people were watching her. They’d always be watching her, now. She’d never escape this. She’d never want to. That Little spiking her drink was the best thing that had ever happened to her. And the worst. And the best. Fair was fair. ********************************************************************************************** Samantha smiled to herself. Switching those coffee cups (and their lids) was the easiest hundred bucks and a promotion she’d ever earned. The Little who’d bribed her had had a good idea. Give that bitch Gwendolyn a taste of her own medicine. Samantha just hadn’t expected the giant to like it. (The End) Special

“Who is hungry?” An Amazon Mommy said towards her adopted Littles. She had large boobs peaking out from the tight apron. “We are!” Her litter of Littles cheered running towards their Mommy. They were surprisingly compliment children all dressed in dalmatian onesies. “Now now. You’ll all have a turn” the Amazon assured as she breastfed her kids two at a time. Unfortunately, she was only able to feed half of her Littles. “Oh no! I’m out of milk.” “Waaaaaaah!” Her surprised littles cried. Suddenly the setting froze. Narrator: “Want to have a large family, but your boobs just can’t feed everyone?” An eccentric looking amazon looking similar to a mage called Silly Minx due to the rainbow colored hair and loli outfit. “Well now you can!” She holds up a pill case of the commercial’s medication. “Take MilkMaid. The hormone treatment that will reforge your body into a fountain of youth!” She zaps the Amazon mommy with her candy cane shaped staff, and the Amazon’s boobs instantly doubled in size while lactating milk. The Littles drooled and wagged their fake tails. The Littles fed until all of them were full and napping. “I still have more to give!” The Amazon Mommy said. “Now I can adopt even more kids! Thank you MilkMaid.” Narrator: “Ask your doctor before using Milkmaid, not that they’ll say no.” Wink. The TV turns off. Commercials like that were common these days. After decades of forcible altering the bodies of Littles to become more babyish, now Amazons were altering their own bodies to become stronger and more maternal. ******************************************************* Amy was finally ready. After a year of hormone therapy using MilkMaid, the Amazon felt ready to adopt her first Little. She was raised to be responsible, which is why it tormented Amy for years not being able to adopt until she was financially ready. And now that she was ready, she would make sure that whatever Little she adopted would be well fed and fat for the rest of their life. She had stalked many spots where Littles were vulnerable. Littles got adopted all the time, after all it was only natural for them to be babied. She already spent months shopping for the perfect nursery. Comparing the latest trends and gossip from her friends. Each day she placed a different diaper in her purse to be prepared. She had even breastfed one of her friend’s Littles. “My Little will want for nothing but the cutest.” Amy said in the vacant nursery squishing a five foot tall stuffed animal with her hugs. “Except for all the cute outfits I’ll dress them in. Ooooo! But which one should I pick!?!” The eyeballs of the stuffed animal were poking out. “Just the thought of caring for a little was triggering Amy and her bigger boobs. She lactated when seeing cute Littles. If she didn’t adopt one soon, she’d go insane. Today was the day she would start a family. Amy started at the park. She hid behind a tree studying her prey. Signs of Littles needing to go potty like the foolish act they were trying pretend to be grown ups. She’d stop them from using the potty, and put them in their rightful diapers on their cute tooshies. But which ones to choose? Now that it was happening, she didn’t know who to pick? Boy? Girl? Hair color? She had ideas, but Littles never tried to make themselves look the way Amazons wanted them to. And just them Amy’s heart skipped a beat as she met the ONE. She was gorgeous. The Little had blue hair tied into tiny twin tails. She wore a pink shirt that said DIAPER PRIDE on the back and HAPPINESS on the front. Her red, white, and blue skirt with blue bow on the front was more like a tutu with the cute way it did nothing to hide her diaper on the back. The plastic cover even said CHANGE ME. The Little waddled in the park with complete obliviousness with her lined hipster sunglasses and the bubble gum she blew. And for some reason she had no parent or tag meant for runaway Littles. The only thing missing from her was a pacifier. Amy knew she met her Little. She was biting her nails just seeing her little girl swing happily on the playground swing. She was a magnet for Amazon mommies. A little hyperactive, but nothing extra padding couldn’t prevent. She couldn’t let these other sluts in the park have her. The victory pose HER Little gave after jumping off the swings was explosive, that Amy began lactating. Here maternal instinct was attracted to this girl more than anything else in her entire life. She rushed towards the Little and picked her up. The Little was only 5 feet tall compared to the 13 foot tall Amazon. Amy even had a name for her new child. “You’re so cute Izzy, the way you posed for Mommy!!!” Amy said hugging her new child with all her might. “You’re going to live with me forever and ever!!” “Mommy?” Izzy said confused and looking up from Amy’s boobs. Luckily, she was still able to breath. Amy giggles and swings around. “Naughty naughty Izzy. Lucky for you I have 10 pacifiers to choose from in my purse. The teddy bear one will look perfect on you!!” Amy’s adoption of Izzy was probably a bit louder than the average Amazon, but she didn’t care. Amy was high on Izzy!! This feeling would never go away. She couldn’t even wait to go home to breastfeed Izzy. She would immediately go to the nearest bench to stamp the relationship between Amazon and Izzy, as god intended. (Funny story, there was a new religion regarding a new deity called Baby Phoenix, said to be the goddess of infantilism for Littles. But that is a story for another time). “I’m going to…” Izzy grunted as her diaper visibly expanded in the back. The Little had pooped herself from all the squeezing from the stronger Amazon. Izzy looked a little embarrassed, but more mature about it than the majority of Littles caught in an accident. Now nothing could prevent the adoption which lit stars in Amy’s eyes. Amy: “Good baby Izzy. Making boom-boom for Mommy. I have a diapee just for you right after we feed your tum-tum.” Suddenly Amy squinted with disgust. She was so close to the poopy diaper that gave off the worst odor had never smelled. Amy didn’t understand why she hated this more than anything. She had lots of experience changing the messy diapers of littles. It made her feel maternal and only strengthened her resolve to one day adopt. But Izzy’s poops just felt wrong. Like an allergic reaction bringing untold misery to Amy’s nose. Her arms shook as she started holding the dizzy Izzy farther away, but the smell wouldn’t go away. Izzy looked a bit relieved after pooping herself, but Amy felt vomit coming up. How was this possible Amy thought looking at a smiling Izzy? How was this perfect Izzy making her need to vomit? And then she dropped Izzy. Amy blacked out for a moment to the sight of her daughter Izzy crying on the ground. “Izzy I…” Amy stuttered but interrupted by vomit that she had to block. All the other Amazons could see the vomit slowly ooze out of the hand barrier. “She dropped me!!!” Izzy cried out pointing at Amy. This drew the attention of all of the Amazons, some with phones out. “How could you betray me?!” Amy thought looking at her daughter. Was she still her daughter? The smell was overcoming her maternal instincts and each second she wavered made things worse for Amy. Instinct just kicked in. Amy ran away from the situation. She didn’t even bother to pick of the purse she dropped. She just ran back to her house to empty the contents of her stomach and lay sick in the nursery she had spent months building with love. Izzy would have looked so cute in this room, but that was impossible now. “I’ll never be a mommy” Amy said crying herself to sleep. And every night for the next three months where she couldn’t even leave her house from depression. She had the boobs she wanted, but they felt useless now. Just big heavy lumps of fat with no one to relieve them. The company of MilkMaid never released any side effects to the public and 95% of reviews were positive from successful new Amazon parents. Amy was not a satisfied customer, but then she was considered an outlier. She never got a chance to adopt Izzy although the system said she was adopted shortly after. Their day at the park became a viral video on social media. Everybody say what happened and the GOOD Mommy Amazon who adopted Izzy when Amy fled. “At least she can stand a dirty diaper!!” Amy cried looking at the video in humiliation.