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You were lying freshly-cleaned and indignant. “Oh my gosh!” the Amazon’s excited squeal filled the locker room. She plucked a new diaper from your supplies, gushing over its cuteness. “This must be one of the new prints! I had no idea these were out already! Oooh! You’re gonna look so cute!” This Amazon was your Trainer; not potty trainer, Personal Trainer. She was beaming, fluffing open the diaper above where you lay blushing on the changing pad. ”I mean, you Little players are like celebrities with all these sponsorships. And look...” her hand rested inside, rubbing enticing circles into the cushion, “...it’s so soft and thick for our wittle’s wet bum-bum, hm?” she teased. You refused to watch and crossed your arms. “Aw, you’re just cranky ‘cause you were in that soggy diaper for so long. Don’t worry!” she scooped up your waiting ankles and slid the diaper under you like it was the most natural thing to happen to you in the world. ”This will make you feel all better,” she cooed. She kept your legs in her free hand; soon a soft smell filled the room she was starting to powder you. “This will keep you all dry~. She giggled, “At least, for a little while.” Her fingertips reached down, gliding over your baby smooth skin; not a single hair remained down there per the League’s strict diapering of Littles regulations. “Hmm...” Your Trainer’s hand rubbed around your lotioned thighs as she mused aloud. “Maybe a booster...” “I-I am potty traine—er... training.” You’d piped up, but from your current position, dusted with baby powder atop a changed diaper, it may have come across as more of a childish whine than you intended. “If you woulda let me go to the potty and hadn’t made me drink so much...” “Nonsense,” your Trainer cut in, adding the booster regardless. “I gave you exactly the number of bottles a Little needs to stay sufficiently hydrated. It’s not my fault you can’t make it to the potty in time.” “But I was—m!” “Nuh huh,” she waggled her finger. “None of that. Suck your paci until I’m done changing you.” Something that looked exactly like a pacifier was now moving in your mouth. You felt the diaper go taut then Your Trainer busied herself wrapping the crinkly sides snug enough to prevent your proclivity for leaks. “Besides,” she continued securing the plastic tabs, “I think your last diaper would argue against you being even close to potty training. Didn’t I change someone’s poopy diaper not too long ago too, hmm? Honestly, if you keep blaming your problems on others sweetie it just goes to show you’re still not mature enough to handle being out of diapers. Isn’t that what this little game is all about? Only the driest can be Captain, you know.” Unable to complain thus furiously heated while she taped you up, she finally helped you sit up. “D’aw! You look adorable and they do fit you perfectly! You keep suckling that binky, honey, I can tell it’s helping. Now Let your Trainer take care of the rest of your padding,” she winked, delighted by her own play on words. You knew the thing in your mouth looked like a pacifier but you seethed at her not even bothering to call it a mouthguard. You suckled, maybe a little too hard as a few babyish mouthing noises slipped out by accident, but it was more to keep you from saying the many things you wanted to say, but knowing the consequences could get...messy. “Oh ho. I can tell someone feels a whole lot better in a clean diaper.” Her finger swiped up along the blue strip that stretched the front. “Now there’s no way to hide if you’ve wet your diaper or not. You know that’s a penalty if you don’t tell the ref right away if you’ve used your diaper, remember sweetie? You know your team can’t afford you to be a little stinker, right?” You flushed. She always knew how to push your buttons along with the ones she was currently snapping up your crotch. It hadn’t been an accident! You had known as soon as she had fed you that bottle after a ‘tantrum’ you’d had with her that the timer had been set. It had been a valiant effort during the game, as your desperation grew, but it all came rushing out when you had been checked into the glass by that Mid. Your diaper sagged in the seat then alarming warmth filled the rest with your complete loss. The player needn’t have given you the most cursory of checks before she gleefully declared you were wearing a poopy diaper to the referee. Didn’t matter it was medically induced. Your transgression had cost the team a 15 minute penalty and the whole televised game. Now the coach had you restricted to the most babyish diapers, checks, and changing regimen. You hated to admit it, but after so many ‘accidents’ you were starting to look forward to changes. I mean a fresh diaper, still firm and soft, was loads better in comparison to a full one, but that just made sense...right? Hands grasped under your arms and your Trainer helped you off the changing mat. You teetered on your skates she had just laced back up on your feet and she held your hand to steady you like an unbalanced toddler. Hockey. Yes, hockey. You played hockey. Why Amazons couldn’t trust Littles to make it to the bathroom or drink out of a cup but let you skate around with dangerous things was just another reflection of Amazon logic when it came to Littles, i.e. none. She bent down brushing off some stray powder that had leaked out of your pants before straightening up again with an accomplished huff. “Ok, honey. Changing time’s over. Let’s get you back to practice.” ***