Unfair: A Diaper Dimension Novel (Chapters 115 Uploaded!)

[Panther Cub]

Cool!! Thanks!

[Renly]

Good chapter, because of my English there are things that are complicated for me, even so I am liking it a lot, I look forward to the next one.

a tip, because you don't put the chapter number in the title to know when it is updated, if there is another way to know when you upload a new chapter, I would be interested in knowing it

Saludos desde México ?

[Personalias]

Chapter 9: Night Out

The Tweener waitress came over to our table, balancing on lifts that were practically stilts.  “Hi there, I’m Gwendolyn, and I’ll be taking care of you, tonight.”  Cassie and I shot each other looks across the hi top.  “Can I get you two anything to drink?  Coffee? Soft drinks? Milk maybe?”  Everything about her demeanor was super positive, and friendly.  Still, words like “taking care” and offering us milk got my hackles up.  At least she didn’t ask us where our Mommy or Daddy was.

We were in public.  In public, a Little’s outrage often gets labeled “tantrum”. Having a tantrum wouldn’t do.  Still, better to nip this in the bud.  I reached into my wallet,   “Just water to drink, please.”  I slapped down a twenty dollar bill.

The Tweener looked down, confused.  “Oh no, sweetie,” she said.  “You don’t have to pay till after the meal.”  The barbecue joint was busy that night, and pretty loud.  Good thing or else she might have heard how loudly my teeth were grinding behind my big, professional, super polite, and very fake smile.

“It’s gratuity, Miss,” I said.  “A tip.”

Tweener still wasn’t connecting the dots.  “Tip comes later, too, darling.”  She smiled, but I could see the condescending expression behind it.  Some Tweeners were like that.  They might have had an Amazon parent, bought into the propaganda, or just adopted Amazon attitudes as their own method of survival.  Better to be seen as a short Amazon than as a tall Little.  Bitch thought she was gonna have to explain non-fast food restaurants to a couple of poor dumb babydoll Littles. 

“I know,” I told her.  “It’s just that my wife and I are celebrating our anniversary.”
The Tweener nodded and looked to Cassie for confirmation.  Cassie just smiled and flashed me a pair of her lovey doveys.  She could be completely unreadable when she wanted to be.  

“Congratulations!” she said.  Now it was her turn for a big fake smile.

“Anyways,” I pressed, “it’s our anniversary but the portions here are SO big.” I made a show of holding out my arms as if one of us didn’t understand spoken language. “So we were planning on ordering just one single meal and splitting it between ourselves.  We figured that’d be slightly unorthodox under normal circumstances, so we decided to pass the money we were saving onto you.  As gratuity.” I paused.  “To show our gratitude.”

Like one of my students’ recognizing their own name in print, I saw the lightbulb of recognition.  Gwendolyn pocketed the money.  “Oh thank you very much, sir!  That’s very generous of both of you!”   I was sir, now, so she could be Gwendolyn and not just the Tweener waitress.  “Do you already know what you’d want or would you like a moment to decide?  I can also tell you about our specials if you want.”

I relaxed and smiled a little more genuinely this time.  “No specials,” I said.  “We were thinking about the rotisserie chicken, a half order.”  

Gwendolyn whipped out her notepad.  “One half of chicken, split two ways.”  she said.

I held up my hands for her to stop.  “Don’t worry about splitting it,” I told her.  “We don’t want anything special. No need for special treatment at all.  Okay?”

The waitress was picking up what I was laying down, now.  “Don’t worry, sir,” she said.  “Our food is good, but none of it is special.  Usually if anyone wants to eat anything special here, they’ve gotta bring it from home.”

I made a show of laughing, knowingly.  We were two old pals, we were.  Me and Cassie were practically regulars thanks to an extra twenty.  “No home cooked meals tonight,“ Cassie said.  “Just some good old fashioned barbecue.”  It was paranoid of us, admittedly, but it was a lot harder to slip fast acting laxatives or any other drugs into half a chicken and not have it be noticed.

“Yes ma’am,” the waitress said.  “Sides?”

“Double order of fries,” I said.  We’d divvy up those between us.  If I had the willpower, I’d give a good chunk of mine over to Cassie.  Still had to lose some weight.

The waitress jotted it down.  “Do you want the chicken basted in any sauce?”

“Plain’s fine,” Cassie said, thumbing over to the row of sauce bottles against the wall.  “That way when we split the half chicken ourselves, we can each get our own flavors.”

Truth be told, we’d probably both go for the sweet sauce. Real reason? Our waitress had taken the bribe and the hint.  Didn’t mean our cooks would. Finally, Amazon, Tweener, or Little:  A barbecue that didn’t have bottles of sauce at every table wasn’t worth spit it took to swallow.  

“Okay,” the waitress said.  “I’ll make sure to tell them no sauce.  I’ll be right back with your waters.”

Cassie and I just looked at each other, our chins just past the high top, until Gwendolynn came back with our waters.  We’d probably have to stand for most of this meal, balancing precariously on the leather upholstered stools all the while, but it’d be nice for neither one of us to have to cook.  “Anniversary?” Cassie said to me as soon as our waitress had left. “Really?”

I shrugged and grinned a little bit.  “What?” I said. “We are married. We’re not expecting anything free, and this,” I flashed the little gold ring on my left hand, “is the only proof we need, at best.”

Cassie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.  “Then why bring it up?”  She was humoring me.

“Because babies don’t get married,” I said.

“I think you just like lying to the talls.  Gives you a thrill.”

“No comment.”

We both laughed at that.  

The hightop where we sat had four stools gathered around it. Cassie and I hated booths.  Too easy to get pinned in, trapped.  Same reason we sat across from each other.  This was our lives.  This was normal.  Fair?  No.  But normal.  So normal we were oddly comfortable with it.

“What do you think?” I jerked my head backwards, indicating Gwendolyn.  “A or L?”  It was our private code.  As a couple.  Not Littles.  When two people have known each other for close to half their lives, shorthands and in-jokes came easily.

  A or L: A for Amazon or L for little.  If push came to shove, who would this waitress help?  Us or Them? Something Cassie and I talked about.  People watching. People judging.

 Sometimes, it came up if I ever thought an Amazon could really, truly be trusted.  “I really think Mrs. Beouf could come around to the L’s.” I might say.

“She’s a regressor, Clark.”  

“She’s helped Littles before.”

“She’s helped you, there’s a difference.”

Rarely, Cassie might use it to describe Littles she didn’t like.  “That asshole on the news is such a Helper.  Might as well just tattoo a big ol’ A on his forehead.”

Mostly, though, it was in reference to Tweeners.   Our own little biased observation of the People Caught Between Two Worlds.  In hindsight, this is one of the things I might feel the worst about, but it’s who we were.

I’m getting off track again.  Sorry.

“A or L?” I repeated.

Cassie scoffed as if I’d just asked the dumbest of questions.  “She’s for the A’s, obviously.  You heard how she was talking.  I’m surprised our waters aren’t in sippy cups.”

I agreed with Cassie, but I loved to debate with her.  “Yeah, but she changed her tone.”

“After you bribed her.”

“All tips are bribes,” I said, smugly.  “And she could have taken the money and kept talking down to us.”

Cassie huffed a bit.  Not angry, but definitely a little bitter.  “Sometimes it feels like everyone just wants us to crinkle.”

“Then isn’t it fortunate that money crinkles, too,” I said.

Gwendolyn and another Tweener came back with a couple of phone books in their arms.  “Didn’t think ya’ll would want the booster seats,” she said.  “So we brought these.”  They placed the heaping piles of paper on the stools beside us.  “It’s what we use when we’re on break.”

The stools were close enough that Cassie and I could hop from a flat stool to the phonebook boosted one. Cassie and I exchanged looks.  We moved.  Not the classiest looking thing, sitting on those phone books but the edge of the table was now comfortably below our chests.  
It was a surprisingly decent thing to do  “Thank you,” Cassie said.  She sounded genuinely surprised.

“You’re very welcome, Ma’am.” Gwendolyn said.  “Figured ya’ll would want to be able to see a little more of each other, it being your anniversary and all.”  Cassie was good at hiding her emotions, but when she let you see them, it made her all the more beautiful.  It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with her.

I couldn’t help myself.  After the two Tweeners had left.  I leaned over the table and half-whispered, “So?  Think she’s splitting the tip with the other waitress?”

Cassie’s smile lost a bit of its luster.  “Doubt it.  That was nice of her, though.”

.”Maybe she’s with the L’s after all.” I said.

Cassie twisted and took a look around. People’s ears burned when you talked about them.  “Took a twenty dollar bill to bring the niceness out,” she said.  “Maybe she’s not an A, but I don’t think she’s an L, either?”

“Then what?”

“I think she’s an M.”

I hadn’t considered there might be a third side. “Middle?” I asked, referring to the Tweeners’ less common nickname.  

Cassie grinned.  “No, dummy.  Money.”

Not quite an hour later we had torn apart our chicken, and had plenty of leftovers for the next day.  I don’t know how Amazons ever managed to breed or raise a bird that big but it’s a goddamn miracle.  Delicious.  Roasted to savory perfection, with just a dab of sweet sauce for a perfect flavor combination.  The grease from the fries really hit the spot, too.  More Yoga was definitely in my future, but that was a “tomorrow” problem.

“NO DADDY! PLEASE NO!  NOT IN PUBLIC! NOT IN PUBLIC! NOOOOOOOOOO!”

I whipped my head around.  The Amazons and not quite a dozen Tweeners eating looked up from their meals towards the entering family, and then went right about their business, tuning the pleading and screaming out.  Everyone did that, save for me and Cassie.  We kept looking...

 An Amazon family, a fussy kid hanging over the man’s shoulder, entered the restaurant.  Nothing surprising there.  This was a mostly Amazon town. The kid was not happy.  To Amazon eyes, it made sense.  Slung over her Daddy’s shoulder, anyone could see the pretty yellow dress and the soaking wet diaper poofing out from underneath it.  Her diaper almost matched the dress in color.  Poor thing was probably about to leak.

A warning pat to her wet bottom was all that was needed to get her to quiet down.  Then came the usual:  Table for three.  Yes they’d need a highchair.  And then “Where’s the men’s room?”

That set the kid off. “PLEEEEEASE!  LET MOMMY CHANGE ME AT LEAST!  GIRL’S ROOM!  GIRL’S ROOM! PLEEEEEASE!”  Her last few cries came out in a bouncing sob.  Like “PLE-E-E-E-E-E-E-EEEEASE!” and “NO-O-O-O-O-O-O-OOOOO! ”

That’s because this kid wasn’t a kid at all.  She wasn’t a baby girl, just a Little one. It was hard to tell how old she was.  She could have been anywhere between twenty and fifty for all I could tell.  It was always hard to tell.  Hair got dyed and pulled back into pigtails or cut into bowls.  Freckles and blush got added with next gen cosmetics skin dyes- tattoos softer cuddlier cousins.  Wrinkles were reduced with special creams.

Plenty of non-Littles think we age slower than the Amazons.  Our morbidity is so compressed that it’s not until the very end that we start to look “old”.  All you really needed to spot the lie was a daring eavesdrop in an Amazon beauty salon that “caters” to us, (or, y’know, just hang out with Littles that weren’t baby dolled up).   We really were just dolls to them.

Cassie and I froze in place; Cassie remembering to wipe a dab of sauce off her mouth, just in case.  It was almost nine on a school night.  We thought we had come late enough to avoid seeing this. Captured Littles have early bedtimes.

 She didn’t kick.  She didn’t struggle.  She’d been broken enough already.  But something about tonight caused her scream like a branding iron was being pressed against her thigh.  She hadn’t been “adopted” long.  Just long enough...  “THE CAR!”  She screamed as the Amazon man took the diaper bag from his wife.  “THE CAR!  CHANGE ME IN THE CAR AT LEAST!” 

 He wasn’t listening.  No one was. “PLEASE!  I’M NOT READY TO BE CHANGED IN PUBLIC! I’M NOT READY!  DON’T LET EVERYONE SEEEEEE-EEE-EEEE-EEEE!”

Tears were in her eyes when we averted ours.  “I DON’T DESERVE THIS!  I DON’T NEED THIS! I’M A REALTOR! I’M MARRIED! I’M A MOTHER! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M THIRTY-FI!”  Her pleas were cut off by the closing of the men’s room door.  

I called for the check, slapped another twenty into Gwendolyns palm and Cassie and I got out of there.  When Amazons saw diapered Littles, things tended to domino out of control.  I had to pee, but I was going to hold it all the way home.  Had to. There was a changing table in the men’s room.
 

[Renly]

Incredible chapter, I imagined the whole chapter, it even made me laugh to imagine how the bribe-advice thing they gave the waitress happened and the use of the M fascinated me.

I waited a long time for the chapter, it was a little short of what I expected, but better that to have nothing, I expect a lot the next and the next and the next...

[YourFNF]

I'm not surprised that money can be a shield in this system just like all other hierarchical ones, to extant at least, although in all but the largest quantities a temporary one. Of course once you have enough to actually be a player in the "Game" you have all the dangers that come with it....

....

I amazed anyone manages to survive. They're basically doing informal spy tradecraft just to order at restaurant.... But then again people have to across history, although this is an especially bad example. I sure as fuck couldn't pull it off.

[ABAlex]

Awesome so far!  

I like the very ending. You can really feel the panic of little waiting to be changed, and how it impacts him.

[YourFNF]

5 hours ago, ABAlex said:

Awesome so far!  

I like the very ending. You can really feel the panic of little waiting to be changed, and how it impacts him.

Yeah I could feel the fear and helplessness. Like I kind of wanted to go for a weapon was my first gut reaction. ?

[Sarah Penguin]

[littleTomás]

I love the “M” code for money, lol. Bribed into treating one equally.

[BabyJilly_S]

Enjoying the story so far, the tension is palpable

 

[ABAlex]

On 10/24/2020 at 9:16 PM, YourFNF said:

Yeah I could feel the fear and helplessness. Like I kind of wanted to go for a weapon was my first gut reaction. ?

Yes basically

[Baby 325]

Awesome bro more please

[Personalias]

Chapter 10: En Garde

The bus pulled up with a screech, and thunder threatened rain from the night air up above.  Great.  And us with no umbrellas.  Great.  Just great.  Typical.  The driver, a middle aged Amazon man with a pot belly, looked down at us.  He was scanning up and around for any Amazons; our ‘Mommies or Daddies’.  “Coming up, or do you need help?” 

“Just a moment,” Cassie said.  We climbed up onto the bus.  Not an easy feat, but one we were practiced at.  It was something we’d worked out in college. I’d cup my hands and boost Cassie up a step.  Then she’d bend over and help yank me up.  Rinse and repeat for three easy steps.  It was how we worked public transportation in Oakshire, the only difference being that Cassie had to make sure to hold onto our box of leftovers from dinner.  That was Cassie’s lunch tomorrow.

The driver looked down at us and checked our bus passes.  “Nice!” he said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Very ingenuitive.”  

“Thanks,” Cassie said and then threw me a look.  Ingenuitive.  There was a backhanded     compliment. Littles didn’t make it to our age in this part of the world without learning a few tricks to adapt.   At least he didn’t say ‘Mature’, or ‘Grown-Up’.  

The bus was relatively empty, only a few Amazons and a couple of Tweeners sitting in the middle back.  Still, Cassie and I stayed standing near the front, grabbing onto a vertical pole for balance.  Sitting Littles were sitting ducks.

I had to pee, badly, and was starting to fidget.  That’s what it was called when Amazons did it anyways.  It was the “the potty dance” when Littles were discomforted by a full bladder.  I hoped the moving and shaking of the bus over bumpy roads would obfuscate it.

We started moving. The hum of the moving vehicle was interrupted only by the occasional squealing brakes at a stoplight, or the low warning of thunder. Cassie leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek.  Nothing major.  Nervous habit.  “What do you think she did?” she asked me in a quiet voice.

“Who?” I asked.

“That lady in the restaurant,” Cassie said.  “How do you think she got taken?”

I wanted to say ‘who?’.  I wanted to play dumb.  But I knew who my wife was talking about.  It hadn’t even been ten minutes.  “She was a realtor,” I said.  “Probably got snatched showing the wrong couple a house.”

“Yeah,” Cassie whispered.  “Was probably trying to look cute or something to sell the house.  Ended up getting sold herself.”

I blanched and drew back.  Threw Cassie a look.  “Yikes!” I hissed.  “Victim blame, much?”

Cassie got this sour look on her face.  “Morally?  No.  Tactically?  Yes.”

“So you think she wore something just a little too cute and that it’s her fault that that happened to her?”  I didn’t even know why I was asking.  I kind of agreed.

My wife reached over and tugged on my goatee a bit.  “Isn’t that why you have this?” Dang it.  

“I thought it was because I looked good with it.”

“You do look good with it,” she said.  “But that’s not the only reason.”

I gave up.  “You know me too well, my love.”  We kissed each other again.  Just a little peck.  Just enough to remind ourselves (and any giants watching) that we were two Littles who were madly in love, and not constantly in danger of being ‘adopted’.

We stood in silence for another minute, vainly staring out the windows for a view, but the windows were so high and we were at a bad angle.  It was all street lights.  

KA-THUMP.

Both of us went white knuckled for a moment as the bus jumped a bit.  “Sorry folks!”  The driver called back.  Then more softly, he said to us.  “Sorry you two.”  Apparently, we weren’t grouped in with ‘folks’.  Typical.

We quieted down for a bus stop.  Just long enough so that the hum of the engine would cover up our conversation.

“She’s a wife, too.” I said, looking over to Cassie.  “What do you think happened to her husband?”

My wife kept looking straight ahead.  “If he’s smart, he’s probably taking their kids and running out of town.”  She must have seen the hurt in my eyes.  “Would you want to see me all dolled up and diapered like that?  Sucking on a paci and calling somebody ‘Daddy’?”

“I’d want to rescue you,” I said.  “Run away with you. There’d be an off chance you’d go into Beouf’s room.  I’d spring you from there and we’d fade away into the sunset.”

Cassie’s face took on a shade of condescension.  “More likely we’d end up as ‘twins’.  They’d just say we were from ‘similar backgrounds’, or something.”  Then she added, “The only time we’d see each other naked is changes or bathtime.”

“So you wouldn’t want me to try and rescue you?”  I asked.  Feeling just the slightest bit hurt.

Cassie just shook her head.  “No.  I’d want you to take our kid and run.”

“Kid?”

“She said she was a mother, remember?”

I clamped my jaw for a second.  “Yeah.  Yeah I remember.”  I paused.  “But wouldn’t you want me to rescue you even more, then?  So the kid could have a mother?”

“That lady was far too gone,” Cassie replied.  “Kid can get a new mother.”

I scoffed at that. I’d never known my Uncle Thomas, but an uncle and a parent were leagues away from each other. “She couldn’t have been that far gone,” I said.  “She was still embarrassed to get changed in a bathroom.”

“She was calling her kidnapper ‘Daddy’.”  

“I’ve seen a lot worse.”

One hand on the pole, Cassie tucked her other one and the box of leftovers into her armpit.  It was the closest she could manage to crossing her arms.  I bet you’ve seen a lot worse.  She didn’t say it outloud.  She didn’t have to.  I felt like such a tool just then.  Such a good Little Helper.  

I looked away.  We got quiet again.  Too quiet.

The humming of the bus filled in the void of our conversation.  I pretended that there was something on the floor that looked absolutely enthralling.  Eye contact was painful just then.

And so it went for two stops.

A gentle poke at my shoulder.  “Hey.” Cassie’s voice was soft and sympathetic.

I looked up.  “Hey.”

She mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

I mouthed back.  “I’m sorry, too.”

Her forehead nuzzled against mine.  I could still smell the barbecue sauce on her breath.  Felt the light glistening of sweat on her skin.  “We’re all just doing what we can to get by.”

I nodded, feeling her kind of nod with me in the same way that two gears make each other turn.  We completed each other.  “Yeah,” I agreed.  “It’s all we can do.”

“And I think you’re doing a good thing.”

“Yeah.  My students are good kids.  I hope they grow into good adults.”

“I meant with Beouf,” Cassie whispered.  “You’ve told me the stories about Littles in your time out corner.  You’re kinda like one of those counselors for people with terminal cancer.”

That left a sour taste in my mouth.  Sad part was, I know Cassie was trying to be supportive.  “I help how I can,” I whispered.    Better for a Little to keep their sense of self than to end up a mindless Doll.    

“Just keep doing what you’re doing.  If it makes you happy, and keeps us free, I support you.”

“Thanks hon.”

“Welcome.”

Each of us still holding onto the same pole, we wrapped our free arms around each other and held on tight just in time for another speed bump.  “I love you,” we both said.

A shadow fell over us.  A figure was blocking the passing street lights.  A very tall figure.  “Excuse me,” the Amazon said politely enough, “but do you happen to work at Oakshire Elementary?”  I immediately lost any remaining discomfort in my bladder.  I still had to pee like a racehorse, but adrenaline can do strange things to one’s pain tolerance.  

A full bladder was nothing compared to being in the shadow of an Amazon...especially one that thinks they know you.  

I looked up.  Cassie broke off our hug, but she slid her hand over mine and gave it a squeeze.  Riding on the giant woman’s hip, I saw a Little.   “Yes ma’am,” I said, giving my best bit of congeniality. “What can I do for you?”  The Little was probably one of Mrs. Beouf’s students, though I couldn’t place her right away.

A massive hand came down and stopped just in front of my chest.  “Helena Madra,” she said.  “Pleased to meet you, sir.”  She was offering to shake my hand.  This?  This was different…I took her hand gingerly, grasping the tips of four fingers in my palm and shook it up and down. 

“Clark Gibson,” I said.

She released her grip and stood back up.  “You probably don’t remember me, but my Amy used to go to Mrs. Beouf’s class a few years ago.”  She bounced the Little on her hip a bit more upon mentioning of the girl’s name.

I nodded and smiled.  Time to lie.  “Amy?  Amy, oh yes! Sure!”  Fun fact friends: Teachers; whether Little, Tweener, or Amazon; don’t always remember your kids years after the fact. Especially if they weren’t your kids’ teachers. Doubly so if just looking at them made them fear for their very freedom and made them feel like complete and total hypocrites.

“Mommeeee!” the Little girl squealed.  “I want down!”

The Amazon looked at her captive riding on her hip.  “You’re only going to want uppies again in a few minutes, sweet girl.”  I stole a look at Cassie.  She wasn’t making eye contact, with me or anyone.  She was eyeing the bus driver, looking for a way out, just in case.

We were on a moving bus with automatic doors.  We weren’t getting out that way.  Had to play it cool.  Had to talk our way out.  Don’t trigger the crazy.  Don’t give Helen Marda or whatever her name was a reason to think her ‘baby’ could use a ‘sibling’ or two.

Oblivious to our panic, the conversation above Cassie and my heads continued. “Mommee! Pleeeeease?!”

“I never could say no to you,” the Amazon lady said.   What a crock that was.  I’m pretty sure she had said no to a lot of things.  No toileting.  No big kid clothes. No independence.  No freedom.  Anyways, she put her Little kid/captive down, and the girl plopped down on her padded behind almost as soon as her feet touched the floor, the way that one-year olds who weren’t quite comfortable with walking sometimes did.  That tracked.

Now that the girl...lady...I really should refer to her as a lady...now that the Little lady was down near my eye level, I could get a better look at her.  Maybe get a few gears in my memory to start spinning.  I didn’t want not remembering this diapered lady to be blown out of proportion as some kind of mental defect on my part. You never know with Amazons. 

Typical.

The lady, Amy, was about my height, though was closer to Cassie’s build.  Skinny.  Maybe even petite.  Today, it seemed, she’d been forced into a lavender colored dress with a built in onesie that didn’t quite cover the leakguards of her bulky, and very likely soaked diaper.  A matching headband with a ridiculously sized bow on top kept her long brown hair out of her face. Speaking of face, her cheeks were dotted with freckles and I had no way of knowing if those came naturally or were dotted in at a Little’s Salon after she was captured.  

What had to have been done after her capture was the removal of her front teeth. It was a common enough practice to Littles who were forced to breastfeed.

Doubly typical. 

Total doll.

Still didn’t recognize her. Her ‘Mommy’ didn’t seem to notice.  “I remember when Amy first came into my life.  I was at the zoo and I rescued her from a giant ostrich-”

“It was an emu, Mommy,” Amy chirped.  “I was feedin’ it.  Rawr!” 

“Of course you were,” the giantess cooed down and patted the Little on the head. “Rawr?  Is that the sound that big birdies make?”  I felt Cassie dig her nails into my free hand.  

Amy giggled.  “Nope!  But they should!”

Emu?  Feeding?  That rang a bell!  It had been four or five years since I’d seen her, but things were coming into place.  There had been a student named Amy in Beouf’s class back then.  Only her hair had started out bright red, the kind that you only got out of a bottle.  I’d heard her story.  She’d been a veterinarian in a zoo.  She’d been crying in my time out corner and then I’d given her one of my talks, just like I’d given to Chazz a few days ago.      

“I adopted her right away, poor thing,” the Amazon continued, “but she was so unhappy about it.  Her maturosis had clearly gone into full effect, but she hadn’t reached her developmental plateau; not that I knew those terms at the time.”

I felt numb all over.  “Uh-huh.”  My skin felt dead, but my insides were boiling and burbling.   Amy was busy sucking her on her fingers, staring at her knuckles as though they contained the secrets of the universe.  My head felt like it might explode.

“The regular daycares wouldn’t take her, she was so fussy. So I had her enrolled in Mrs. Beouf’s class at Oakshire elementary.”  

“Uh-huh.”  Cassie’s nails were digging in tighter as I nodded.

“And everything started to fall into place after that.  Didn’t it, Amy?”

Amy popped her fingers out of her mouth.  “Uh-huh!”

I made a mental note then and there to never say ‘Uh-huh’ to an Amazon ever again.  I looked at Amy, looked her right in the eye, and asked in my best adult voice.  “And where do you go to school now, Amy?  New Beginnings?”

Amy shook her head and giggled.  “Nope nope nope.  I go to Daycare!”

“Which one?”

She paused.  “I dunno.”

“I’d never take my Amy to New Beginnings.”  Amy’s Mommy said.  “Not after everything I’ve learned since.  Mrs. Beouf’s class is so much better.  No hypnosis.  No drugs.  No pain punishments.  Just lots of love, therapy, and positive reinforcement.” She ticked those off on her fingers, like she was reciting a mantra.  “And that goes both ways, for Littles and their parents.  I only withdrew her because I wanted to open up a spot for some other Little baby in need.  Amy was so lucky to meet you and Mrs. Beouf.”

“I don’t work with Mrs. Beouf,”  I said.  “Not directly.  We’re just classroom neighbors.”

Amy’s Mommy nodded.  “I know,” she said.  “But I think you being there helped her adjustment.”  My throat went dry.  “Just seeing a grown-up Little, like you, helped her realize that she wasn’t one.   She told me a bit about your time outs. It was a really big help.”

I rocked back, catching myself.  It wasn’t a speed bump that made me lose my balance.  “Help?”

Pulling up on the Amazon’s leg, Amy hoisted herself to her feet. Her legs splayed out and her hands went wild for balance.  I’d seen enough diapered Littles to know that it wasn’t the bulk between her legs throwing off her balance.  Maybe it was something in her shoes.  Maybe her legs had been messed with like her teeth.  Maybe she just wasn’t used to walking by herself anymore.   “Oh!  Someone wants a hug!”

Amy grasped the Amazon’s hand for balance and toddled, literally toddled across the bus aisle to me.  She leaned into me and wrapped her arms around my chest, laying her head into my shoulder.  “Fankyoo,” she whispered to me.  Then she wobbled back and sat on the floor.

I helped?  Thankyou?  I felt wobbly.  I felt sick.  Don’t faint.  Don’t throw up.  Don’t cry.  For the love of God don’t cry.  Cassie must have seen me losing it because she spoke up for the first time.  “So, Miss Madra,” Cassie said.  “What brings you and your Little girl out this late.  My husband and I were just on a dinner date.”  

Smart, Cassie.  Smart.  Reinforcing the notion that we were adults without sounding too resentful.  Guiding the conversation away from mind-fuckery.  Thanks Cass.  I shot her a look of thanks.  Subtly she nodded.  She’d take over a bit.

Amazons don’t give us Littles enough credit for our ability at subterfuge.  They see only what they want to see.  Miss Madra took the bait.  “Oh, we were just heading home from the Little Voices meeting.  Amy doesn’t really pay attention, but she loves to play.  Some of the other parents bring their babies, but not this time, right Amy?”

“Nuh-uh.”  Amy wasn’t even looking up now.  Something else had caught her attention.

“But she was perfectly happy to just crawl around on the floor while the grown-ups talked.” 

“Little Voices,” Cassie said.  “I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with that organization.  It is an organization, correct?”

I wasn’t looking, but I heard the tone shift in Amy’s Mommy’s voice.  Cassie had just asked the street preacher to peddle their religion by the sound of it.  “Oh yes, it’s a wonderful thing! It’s an  advocacy group for-”

I tuned the Amazon out and followed the diapered Littles gaze to the floor.  There, underneath the nearest front facing seat, was a wad of pre-chewed gum.  Pink. Asymmetrical. Hard.  Bits of hair, poking up out of it.  Or maybe that was lint.  

As Cassie chatted up the Amazon, I could only stare in horror as Amy took to all fours, the hem of her onesie dress just barely skirting the floor, and crawled over to the gum.  I watched as she picked at it and peeled at the base.

Oh no.

She got it off the floor and held a huge hard chunk in between her thumb and forefinger.

Oh no no…

In it went.  Straight into the mouth.  A.B.C. gum.  And from the look on the diapered Little’s eyes, it was pure delight.  

“Um...ma’am!” I did my best to speak up without sounding panicked.  “Um...Amy has something in her mouth, I think..”

A note of panic went into the Amazon’s voice “What?!”  She bent over and picked her prisoner up.  It took less than a second for her to take the seat that the gum had been under and start probing the Little’s mouth.  “Don’t swallow.  Don’t swallow.  Oh...oh...got it!”  She took out the bit of gum.  I didn’t have the heart or the nerve to mention that it looked smaller than it had been when Amy had popped it in.

“It’s strawberry flavored!” Amy proclaimed.  I looked back at Cassie.  She looked as horrified as I felt, just then.  Her lips weren’t moving but her eyes were screaming.

Amy’s Mommy started bouncing her on her lap.  “Amy?  Again?!”

“What?!” Amy said, sounding actually indignant for the first time.  I recognized that tone of voice.  Hauntingly familiar, now.  “Somebody left it there for me to get.  I was jus’ smart enough to notice it and take!”

The Amazon let out a tired laugh.  “I’m just glad that you didn’t choke on it this time.”  THIS TIME?!  Not a doll.  No one would mind fuck program a Little to risk killing themselves. “Oh, baby girl.  What am I ever going to do with you?”

“Ice cream?”

“No ice cream.  Not tonight.”

“Cuddles?”

“Okay.  Cuddles.”  And the two leaned into each other, eyes closed.  If they had been cats, they would have been purring.

Meanwhile, Cassie and I stared at each other in disbelief.  It was like we were the only two dinosaurs that saw the falling meteor and knew what it meant…

“I’m sorry about that, ma’am,” I offered.  “I would have acted myself but it wasn’t an emergency and I didn’t want to put my hands on your baby.”  I felt nauseous just saying that.  Had to cover myself though.

Amy lifted her head off of her Mommy’s giant breast.  “I am a baby!”  This time five years ago, I could have sworn I heard that same voice scream that she wasn’t...

“Think nothing of it, sir,” the Amazon said.  “Amy does this sort of thing all the time.  Don’t you sweetie?”

The Little nodded.  “Uh-huh!  I’m mischievous!”

“Oh do you even know what that means?”

The diapered Little just grinned softly, her mouth closed, and shrugged.  “I use ta hadda a..a...hamster named Mischief.  An’ he liked to run on a tiny wheel.  He went rawr!”  She giggled at her own non-joke. This...this woman wasn’t a doll. No way was she a doll.  Eating used gum is not something that would be put into a brainwashing algorithm.  Neither would back talk or whining or wandering. And there was still that same mischievous spark behind her eyes.  The spark of someone who knew exactly what they were doing and loved doing it, even if she literally didn’t know the meaning of the word.

But that could only mean…

I didn’t want to think about what that could mean.

“This is our stop!” Helena Madra called out, pressing the signal.  The bus came to another whining, screeching halt as faulty breaks kicked in.  

This was their stop.  Ours too.  It was the stop right by our neighborhood.  This woman...these women...could very well be our neighbors.   Amy went right back on Helena’s hip and they walked to the front of the bus.  Cassie and I stayed put.  We’d wait.  We’d wait until the bus circled back, no matter how badly I needed to pee just then.  I’d hold it.

There was no way we were going to let the giant or her pet Little that had gone full native know where we lived.  “Wonderful to run into you,” she said before stepping off.  We waved.  All big fake toothy grins.

A clap of thunder and the doors slamming shut signaled their exit.  The rain started coming down in earnest a minute later just as our neighborhood disappeared. It looked like we’d have to do a mad dash home if it didn’t let up.  

One way or another, we were getting wet.

Cassie started grumbling to herself as she climbed up into one of the seats.  Might as well.  We had a long ride ahead of us.  I stayed standing to keep the pressure off my bladder.

It wasn’t fair.  But it’s how our world was.
 

[YourFNF]

2 hours ago, Personalias said:

A shadow fell over us.  A figure was blocking the passing street lights.  A very tall figure.  “Excuse me,” the Amazon said politely enough, “but do you happen to work at Oakshire Elementary?”  I immediately lost any remaining discomfort in my bladder.  I still had to pee like a racehorse, but adrenaline can do strange things to one’s pain tolerance.  

*Monkey brain gibbers at me to go for a weapon*

[Baby 325]

Awesome bro you are great

[Sarah Penguin]

Poor girl.

[littleTomás]

Very good chapter. What are the odds that our protagonist is teaching the kidnapped adults how to be Littles and like it?

[Personalias]

Chapter 11: Nightmares and Revelations

I couldn’t sleep for several nights after the “bus incident”.  I fell unconscious, I’m sure, but I never felt like I was sleeping.  I’d just lay in bed, hear Cassie quietly snoring, and be completely unable to drift off myself.

I’d close my eyes, and talk to myself, make lists and do mental prepwork for the next morning, but I never slept.  I’d never dream.  I’d roll over.  Flip the pillow.  Roll over again.  

And again.

And again.

But I wouldn’t sleep.

At one point I tried masturbating; rubbing one out to help me relax. Grabbed an old sock, snuck into the bathroom and beat off into oblivion.  All that got me was more tired and a brain thinking about sex in the middle of the night in addition to lesson plans, jouska’s with Cassie in my head, and the restless anxiety that I was guilty of some unspeakable crime.

Sleep would not come.

Guilty consciences can do that, I guess.

I just kept replaying what happened on the bus the other night.  Reliving the shock.  I can’t claim that I’d known Amy all that well, but I had known her.  She hadn’t been like that in the few times we’d interacted early on back at Oakshire Elementary.  

She’d been miserable.  She’d been despondent.  At best, I’d thought of her as resigned the last time I got a chance to talk to her one-on-one.  Inevitably, she got with the program.  All the diapered Littles did with Mrs. Beouf, eventually.  They learned to keep things to themselves and to find small ways, Little ways, at rebelling and making life work for them.  Hadn’t they?  Or did they all end up like Amy?

No hypnosis.  No drugs. No pain punishments.  And still the Little woman had seemed every bit the child.  Not a doll.  A child.  Just like Ivy.  Full Native.

Ivy, I could wrap my mind around.  As near as I could tell, Ivy was close to me and Cassie’s age, and had gotten a free ride into Beouf’s class for as long as I’d been working there.  Zoge must’ve gotten to her young.  By this point in her life Ivy had probably been in diapers longer than not, poor thing.

Amy?  Five years in captivity is long, but it’s not that long.  It’s not “full native long”.  Especially without the crazy nonsense and mental conditioning that Amazons are so fond of.  The woman that Amy used to be had had a degree in veterinary medicine for goodness sake!  On the bus she had the vocabulary of maybe a four year old, the impulse control of maybe a two year old, and insisted that all animals said “rawr!”.  The girl couldn’t walk and had no front teeth!

AND SHE WAS HAPPY ABOUT IT!

What?  The? Typical? Fuck?!

And for all I knew, she was living next door to me.  Cassie and I had run home in the rain over half an hour later when the bus looped back around, our hearts pounding and both of us more than a bit worried that some do-good giant would see two drenched Littles and decide not packing an umbrella was an adoptable offense.  It would have been nice, comforting even in a messed up way to know exactly how close a baby crazy Amazon lived to us.  (They were all baby crazy though, and that was part of the problem)

Even after pissing victory into the Amazon sized toilet in the master bathroom, even after the shared shower, even after the adrenaline fueled we-just-dodged-a-bullet-sex with my wife, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d heard; what I’d seen with my own two eyes.

Where was the line between a woman a bit older than me crying out for help as her Daddy took her to get changed and another woman a bit younger than me gleefully eating a wad of gum off a bus floor?  Had Amy’s Mommy been telling the truth?  She seemed to think she was.  In many ways, Helena Madra reminded me of Melony Beouf.  Just like Mrs. Beouf, Amy’s Mommy made an odd distinction between diapered and free Littles, talking to me and Cassie as equals even as she bounced her adopted daughter on her hip.  I should have been relieved about that.

But without protections, without titles like “teacher”, and “student” and “coworker”, I just felt naked on that bus.  The fact that Mrs. Beouf had quietly cultivated her own group of parental disciples to compliment the parents that I’d quietly converted over the years should have given me some satisfaction.

It didn’t.

At all.

I just kept thinking about that “Fankyoo,” I’d received.  Had I done that to her?  Had I accidentally doomed a fellow Little?  Was I responsible; an accomplice to a more subtle form of reconditioning, regression, and absolute mind-fuckery?  While I was slowly teaching Amazon parents and children that Littles could be every bit as “mature” and “grown-up” as they saw themselves, was I at the same time accidentally teaching less fortunate Littles that they belonged in their playpen prisons?

Was I a Little Helper? 

 More than that, there was something else that I found deeply troubling.  Were Beouf and Zoge right with all that pseudoscience bullshit about Maturosis and Developmental Plateaus?  Was there something besides Amazon crazy to what they were doing?  Even a tiny bit? Even if they’d drawn completely erroneous conclusions from the data they’d received?  Did Littles like Ivy and Amy not succumb to their treatment as much as they wanted and enjoyed it?

I couldn’t accept that. 

After Amy and her adopted mother, however, I couldn’t completely wave it away, either.

It consumed me.  Even when I wasn’t thinking about it, I was thinking about it.  

That’s why I couldn’t sleep.  Eyes would close.  Body would eventually give in and rest.  But mind would never stop.

I sat there with all of these thoughts spinning circles in my head one morning after.  I’d been so slow out the door, so sluggish in general, that I’d just finished the breakfast shake that Cassie had given me as I rode into the school parking lot.  My stomach was too full and queasy for coffee and the last thing I wanted to do was look Beouf in the eye.   

Routines and rituals don’t stop easily, no matter how I might have wished.  I was rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and staring down at the hard flat surface of my kidney table.  The stack of blank worksheets for my students to do that day was looking an awful lot like a pillow to me in the early morning hours.  

“Mr. Gibson?”  Mrs. Beouf’s shadow fell over me.  “Clark?  Everything okay?”  I looked up at her, feeling all the worse for her presence.  “Yikes!”  She hunkered down in one of my student seats and slid an Amazon sized mug of coffee, hers, towards me.  “You look like hell.  Are you okay, hon?”

Hon...she called me hon.  A pet name?  A childish nickname?  She said I looked like hell.  Adults didn’t use that kind of language in front of children, did they?  Fuck it.  I reached for the coffee with both hands and lifted it to my lips.  “Oh god!”  I nearly gagged.  “What’s in this stuff?”

“Nothing.” Beouf took her mug back and took a long, hearty gulp.  “It’s just coffee.  Black.”

“How do you drink this stuff?!”  Even as I said it, I felt the caffeine starting to kick in.  Better.  Not good.  But better.  Needed sugar. Lots.  Cream too.  Maybe caramel.  It helped, though.

Beouf offered me another sip.  “Your eyes look almost as red as Mrs. Zoge’s.”  Hearing Zoge’s name invoked woke me up more than even the caffeine.  I still wasn’t over her snaking her fingers into my waistband like I was a toddler in need of checking.

She offered me another sip of coffee and I steadfastly refused.  “What’s wrong with Zoge?”  I asked.  “She sick?  Baby keeping her up at night?“  It was shady, but the subtle dig at Ivy made me feel better.

Somewhat predictably, the joke went over my colleague’s head.  “No. Nothing like that.” She waited and stared at me expectantly. I’m not stupid.  I knew she wanted me to ask why Mrs. Zoge’s eyes were so red that they looked like an insomniac’s.  Problem was I was already in a foul mood, and Zoge’s problems were not anywhere on my list of things to care about.  “She’s been crying.”

I arched an eyebrow.  “Crying?”

“Crying because of you.”

If the straight black Amazon Prime Coffee hadn’t woken me up, that last part finished the job.  “I made Zoge cry?”  This had to be some kind of joke.  Beouf wasn’t laughing.  “How did I make Zoge cry?”

“She’s afraid of you.  You scare her.”

I scared her? I scared her?  I scared her?  Nope.  No matter how many different ways I thought of it, the idea didn’t make sense.

My incredulity must have shown plainly.  “She’s never had a Little slap her hand away and talk to her like that.”

“Good!” I said.  “She had no right to get in my space like that!”  I could feel the heat rushing to my face.  The idea that I was hurting other Littles by my very existence was draining.  The notion that even one of the giants was afraid of me?  That was damn empowering!  It made me angry remembering the other day with Chazz and Zoge.  Anger was an emotion I could get behind, just then.

Beouf held her arms out to me in a gesture of calm and peace.  “Clark,” she told me. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand that she sees me as a baby,” I practically spat the b-word out like it was a curse.  Not a curse word; a literal curse.

“You’re absolutely right.” I was ready to stand up right there and raise my fist to the ceiling.  FINALLY! An Amazon admits it!   “And she’s desperately trying not to.”

I stopped myself.  “Excuse me?”

“Zoge is Yamatoan,”  Beouf said.  “So’s Ivy.”  Yamatoan?  Why did that sound familiar? I didn’t have the words, just a vague sense of unjustified familiarity.  I just scraped my hand over my head.  Whoosh.

My mentor and colleague leaned in close and lowered her voice, like she was giving me her assistant’s deep dark secret.  “As a country, Yamatoa doesn’t believe in things like Maturosis,” she said.  “OR Adult Littles,” she added hastily.  “All Littles are babies over there. By law.”

That’s where I knew that name.  Yamatoa had popped up on MistuhGwiffin.web several times in the past.  I wanted to say that’s where that airplane had made the emergency stop the last time Cassie and I had gone conspiracy spotting.  Before now, it had been one of those words that I didn’t read as much as recognize in print.

Yamatoa.  End of the line.  One of those places where Littles got diapered and never got away.  And Zoge was from there.  “That adds up,” I said, feeling smug.

“Clark, think about it.” Mrs. Beouf placed a hand over mine.  “Mrs. Zoge grew up there.  She spent most of her life over there.  The idea that Littles are...are…” she paused.  (Please don’t say mature).  “Capable of maturity-” (Typical) “-has been a literally alien concept to her for the majority of her life.”

I said nothing, letting my silence speak for itself.

“She’s good at her job.  She’s a natural with my kids. She’s got none of the bitterness or pettiness that a lot of locals have towards Plateaued Littles.  And you know what I’m talking about there.”  I did.  Raine Forrest and Brollish came to mind.  “She treats them how they need to be treated; loves them how they are.”

Still nothing from me.  I didn’t care that Zoge was good at her job.  After the bus ride, those were points against her.

“Clark,” one of my few Amazonian friends, maybe my only one, said.  “You’ve got to believe me.  She feels awful.  She’s been beating herself up about it for days.” 

“Maybe she should…”

Beouf was getting exasperated, I could tell.  “Clark, it’s been close to ten years,” she said. “One slip up in ten years is pretty good.”

I stood up.  I walked to my door. “In my world, Mrs. Beouf.” I said, pulling on the chord and pushing out.  “I’m not allowed one slip up.  Why should she be any different?”  

That day I walked to the front office alone.
 

[Sarah Penguin]

[Moon3ye]

Now I'm confused when did Clark beat Mrs. Zoge and why? did I miss anything?
With the last sentence I have to agree with him, if an Amazon makes a mistake, he should be forgiven. If a little one makes a mistake, that's it for him.

[Personalias]

Just now, Moon3ye said:

Now I'm confused when did Clark beat Mrs. Zoge and why? did I miss anything?
With the last sentence I have to agree with him, if an Amazon makes a mistake, he should be forgiven. If a little one makes a mistake, that's it for him.

Chapter 7.  "Typical".  Tail end of the chapter.

[Personalias]

Also cheap plug/reminder.  It's up to Chapter 38 on patreon.

[little dragoniusrex]

like the story up till now but don't have patreon are you going to post more chapters here in the near futher. realy curiues where this is going.

[Personalias]

Just now, little dragoniusrex said:

like the story up till now but don't have patreon are you going to post more chapters here in the near futher. realy curiues where this is going.

I'm going to give this as detailed a response as possible in the hopes that future people will read it.  And if they don't I'll at least have something to copy and paste when this question is asked again.

Patreon is my primary source of income.  People who pay me 5 bucks a month get weekly updates on my content.  I might not update EVERY story EVERY week, but I make sure to post SOMETHING.  I also do commissions and one-shots over there, too.

As part of my way of saying thank you to the people who pay to read my content so that I can by groceries, they get things way ahead of time.   There's a reason why if you look at some of the comments here that you'll see people encouraging others to stick with it and telling them that the story is getting good.  This is a re-run for them.

I realize that not every person who reads my stuff has the money to contribute to my work.  No judgement there.  Times are tough. But I'm going to also make sure that my patreon stuff is good and read before I release it to the public.  Give my patrons their money's worth.

Everyone else is just going to have to be patient.

[little dragoniusrex]

24 minutes ago, Personalias said:

I'm going to give this as detailed a response as possible in the hopes that future people will read it.  And if they don't I'll at least have something to copy and paste when this question is asked again.

Patreon is my primary source of income.  People who pay me 5 bucks a month get weekly updates on my content.  I might not update EVERY story EVERY week, but I make sure to post SOMETHING.  I also do commissions and one-shots over there, too.

As part of my way of saying thank you to the people who pay to read my content so that I can by groceries, they get things way ahead of time.   There's a reason why if you look at some of the comments here that you'll see people encouraging others to stick with it and telling them that the story is getting good.  This is a re-run for them.

I realize that not every person who reads my stuff has the money to contribute to my work.  No judgement there.  Times are tough. But I'm going to also make sure that my patreon stuff is good and read before I release it to the public.  Give my patrons their money's worth.

Everyone else is just going to have to be patient.

thanks will check it out