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

[Personalias]

1 minute ago, Bonsai said:

The beauty of all totalitarian systems is that they cause victims to feel guilty: mainly for not doing enough to help their peers & for just accepting unfairness.

Many Holocaust survivors reported that sort of feeling.

And Unfair is set within a Dystopia.  Even if it's a Dystopia that many people feel they'd enjoy because it incorporates their kink so fully and openly.  It's a Dystopia.

[Cute_Kitten]

I've probably said this before, but it's worth saying again: I do love how well you weave the foreshadowing into the story, clues that are only seen in hindsight. I think I've said this on discord and if I did I'll just repeat myself- this is one of your finest stories. Your other works are all great and enjoyable reads, of course, but you've really dug deep into the characters and added a lot of meat and depth to this one. It really shows how you've grown since writing Dante's Infanzia (which is already a great story, one of the ABDL classic must reads). 

[Personalias]

8 hours ago, Cute_Kitten said:

I've probably said this before, but it's worth saying again: I do love how well you weave the foreshadowing into the story, clues that are only seen in hindsight. I think I've said this on discord and if I did I'll just repeat myself- this is one of your finest stories. Your other works are all great and enjoyable reads, of course, but you've really dug deep into the characters and added a lot of meat and depth to this one. It really shows how you've grown since writing Dante's Infanzia (which is already a great story, one of the ABDL classic must reads). 

Thank you.  I'm super proud of this.  It's also my longest story to date and it's not stopping anytime soon. 

[BobbyDrago]

This is some game of thrones stuff, well Mr George R. R. Martin who will you start with when you break out the shiny axe.

[Personalias]

33 minutes ago, BobbyDrago said:

This is some game of thrones stuff, well Mr George R. R. Martin who will you start with when you break out the shiny axe.

I very much appreciate the compliment.  Though I'm working on my production output (with respect to Mr. George R.R. Martin)

 

[Cute_Kitten]

14 hours ago, Personalias said:

I very much appreciate the compliment.  Though I'm working on my production output (with respect to Mr. George R.R. Martin)

 

If you ever write non-abdl stories, you've got the chops to blow up as big as Stephen King, George Martin, etc so when you're on the New York Times Best Seller List and sleeping on giant piles of fuck-you money you can pull a GRRM and take 20+ years to write a new book. ? I keed, I keed. ?

[BobbyDrago]

10 hours ago, Cute_Kitten said:

If you ever write non-abdl stories, you've got the chops to blow up as big as Stephen King, George Martin, etc so when you're on the New York Times Best Seller List and sleeping on giant piles of fuck-you money you can pull a GRRM and take 20+ years to write a new book. ? I keed, I keed. ?

If you do wind up doing what miss @cute_kitten suggests please remember all the little people down here one day.

[Personalias]

Chapter 23: Trouble in Paradise

The fight had all been forgiven by the next morning.  It’s how me and Cassie’s fights usually went.  I’d hit the snooze button just the once, gone to the bathroom, shaved, and gotten dressed.  Cassie had gotten herself up in the meantime and handed me one of my breakfast shakes.  I never called those things ‘breakfast of champions’ because I never felt like much of a champion when drinking one.

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “About last night.”

I tore the plastic seal off, unscrewed the lid and tossed the junk back.  “Me too.”  I agreed.  “I got angry and defensive and said stuff that I didn’t mean because my feelings were hurt and I wanted to hurt you back.”

Cassie asked me for a hug, and I gave her a quick one, before going off to work.  “We’ll get through this,” I promised.  “We’ll survive this new round of assholes like every other round.”

“Yeah,” Cassie whispered.  “I know…”

That day at work went about as I’d expected.  Taught lessons, chatted with Tracy, dealt with a bunch of toddlers that were bigger than me.  Dodged and avoided Amazons that had the mental and emotional stability of a toddler. 

Yada yada yada.

I can’t even remember if that day was the one where I discovered that Raine Forrest had a certain crinkle whenever she walked- apparently she’d given far too many false flags for Mrs. Brollish’s patience and was being punished-  or whether that happened a day or two before.  What I do remember was that I HAD to gossip to someone about it, and Beouf and Zoge seemed like poor choices.
Tracy and I had a good laugh about it, but when you’ve got really good gossip, it’s just begging to be spread amongst as many friends as possible.

“Janet!” I said walking into her room that afternoon. “Janet you gotta hear this!”  “I’m almost a hundred percent sure that Raine is wea-?”  I stopped.  Janet was at her desk, face buried in her hands. The pile of crumpled tissues showed that she’d been crying.

Immediately, I wanted to run.  I was used to seeing people cry.  I’m a bit of a crier myself (as I’m sure you’ve deduced).  So are most of my Little friends.  And of course, I’d lost count of how many captured Littles I’d seen bawling.   When the world is against you every day, sometimes crying is the only thing you feel like you can do.  When you’re imprisoned and you’ve had your autonomy stripped away for what will likely be the rest of your life, crying is the only freedom left to you.

But until that moment, watching Janet try to get her body under control even as it was wracked by sobs; I’d never seen an Amazon cry.  Amazon crying was strictly hypothetical, even when I’d heard about Zoge breaking into tears it had been largely a thought experiment.  I couldn’t even picture it.

Here was an Amazon, a friend no less, that was visibly crying at her desk. “Janet?” I asked.  “What’s wrong.”  Sometimes Littles are too curious, too empathetic, for our own good.  Before she even picked her head up to look at me, I was grabbing a student chair and pushing it towards her desk.

Janet looked up and sniffled.  “Oh.  Hey, Clark.”  Her mascara was running.  Her cheeks were red.  Her eyes were puffy.  This was no case of Spring allergies.  Even as I pushed, I felt a certain sense of dread.  I considered Janet a friend, but she was also an Amazon.  All Amazons are crazy.  What if her particular crazy meant adopting a Little to make herself feel better.  I’ve heard weirder excuses.

I pushed the chair up next to her and climbed in.  “What’s wrong?”

She was wiping her nose with one hand and dabbing at her eyes with the other.  “I’ve just had a shit day.”

I looked up at her.  “Kids sucked?”

Janet looked away.  Something told me that I shouldn’t have said ‘Kids’.  Students? Sure.  Kids? No.

“They were fine,” she said.  “I wish they were still here.”  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.  Yellow Alert.  “It could keep me from thinking about life right now.”  A perfectly reasonable response…

Deep breath.

“What’s going on?” I asked.  “Why does today suck?”

Janet turned her head towards me.  “I just finalized my divorce.”  Her tone was that of the numb widow grieving at a funeral.  She’d just reached the point where her mind had turned off her emotions and gone as clinical as it could in order to keep functioning.

“I’m so sorry!”  I wasn’t.  Not really.  I’d never even met Mr. Grange.  Didn’t know his first name.  Didn’t even get to hear that knee slapper Janet had told Tracy months ago.  I didn’t know the jagoff.  All I knew is that my friend was hurting and when someone is hurting the best knee jerk reaction is to say that you’re sorry.

“Don’t be,” Janet said.  “It was my idea.”

“Oh,” is all I said.

“I wanted kids,” Janet looked away.  “Turns out he didn’t.  He had a vasectomy he didn’t tell me about.”  An Amazon bemoaning children she wasn’t going to have.  That should have raised my threat level to code red.  It didn’t.  “He also had chlamydia…”

“Fuck…!”  My fists clenched.  There was nothing I could do about it, even if I wanted to, but I felt my biceps tense up just imagining punching a sonofabitch in the nose.

Janet started smoothing out her hair.  There were only a few strands out of place, this was more nervous reaction than any need for grooming.  “For months he was convincing me that I wasn’t fertile.  Let me go to specialists and get all these needless tests that were finding nothing...except chlamydia...”

My heart was aching for the woman.  “Sounds like you dodged a bullet.”

Another sniffle accompanied a shallow nodding of her head.  “Damn right I did.  I’m keeping the house.  He’s going to be reimbursing me for those tests and doctor’s visits.  But it still hurts.  Y’know?”

“Yeah,” I said.  “Yeah. I get it.”  Briefly, I thought about Cassie, and our fights.  We were never going to divorce.  We loved each other too much and needed each other besides.  But if it were to happen, we’d both be bawling in private.  You don’t spend so many years with a person and have it not hurt when they’re out of your life.  Even when they hurt you.  Even when they deserved to be cut out.  I shivered at the thought of losing her.

“That’s not all,” Janet said, reaching into her desk.  She opened the drawer and handed me a piece of paper.  “This is my yearly teacher evaluation.  Just got it today...”

Normally I’d say that I took a long look at the paper, but that’d be a lie.  It didn’t take me that long to react.  “Oh, that’s bullshit!” I said.  “Needs improvement?!  That’s a ton of hot garbage!  No way do you need improvement!”

“Tell that to Brollish…”

I stood up in my chair so I was close to eye level with the sitting giant.  “Go to Beouf! Go to Union!  Appeal this shit!”

Janet slumped down in her seat and dropped her chin.  “Already have.  Nothing Union can do for me.  I can appeal and ask to be observed and evaluated again, but that doesn’t mean she has to change anything.”

Fuck. 

 She was right.  Here’s the part where I COULD tell you exactly how teacher evaluations in Oakshire (and likely the rest of the country) work. 

Here’s the part where I could get into the intricacies of rubrics, categories of teaching and their weight and importance, but I’d probably just end up going into so much professional jargon that I’d lose you or bore you to tears with the minutiae.

In short, it goes like this:  Imagine you’re driving down the road and a few times a year a police officer pulls you over and decides how good of a driver you are based on their gut.  It doesn’t really matter if you were going the speed limit or using your turn signals or whether you were buckled in.  You don’t even necessarily have to be breaking any laws, but the cop can still decide that you weren’t driving well enough. 

This police officer has no recording equipment other than a notepad of what they say they’re seeing and what they say they’re not seeing, and legally doesn’t need one.  This police officer doesn’t always have to tell you that they’re watching you drive, and even if they do they don’t have to spend the full amount of time observing how good you are on the road that the law says they must to determine your eligibility.  

You can appeal their rating of you, but it’s your word against theirs, and unless you’re on alert 24/7 every time you’re on the road obsessively monitoring and recording how you’ve met.  Also, they’re the judge, too.  

Damn.  

Come to think of it, maybe I was going gray early because of this stuff.  

If it had been almost any other Amazon, I would have been okay with a negative review.  When I heard coworkers gabbing near the front sign-in or in the mail room about evaluation stress, I’d just quietly roll my eyes.  “Yes, please tell me how horrible it is to have your fate arbitrarily decided based on a single incident and whether or not the person in power likes you enough….” I imagined myself saying.  

But this was Janet.  Crazy as they were, good Amazons like Beouf and Janet didn’t deserve this kind of horseshit. 

“Needs improvement,” I said.  “What does that even mean?  Can you be fired?”

The ends of Janet’s lips were still sinking to the floor.  “No.  Not unless I get it several years in a row.  And I’d still have to go to trainings and remedial teaching courses and tank those too.”

I nodded sympathetically.  Explains why I’d never gotten a needs improvement.  Even if my paranoid ass didn’t dot every ‘i’ and cross every ‘t’, it’d take too long to fire me that way.  It literally would have been easier to just plant a diaper in my desk and say it was mine. 

This?  This was a warning to Janet.  A clapback for her taking anything beyond a twistedly maternal interest in me.  Beouf didn’t talk to me about stuff like professional reviews, but I’d be willing to bet she’d taken a hit, too.  

“Still hurts, I bet,” I said.  What can I say, commiseration was the only comfort I could offer.

“It means I won’t be eligible for a raise,” Janet said.  “That hurts too.”

“Divorce is that expensive?”

“Not really.  Doesn’t mean I want to live on alimony the rest of my life.”

I shrugged, softly.  “Fair enough.”  I gathered up enough courage to address what might’ve been the elephant in the room.  “It’s because of me, isn’t it?  You stuck your neck out for me and…”

“Oh Clark, honey, no.” she said.  “This has nothing to do with you.  Or if it does, it’s because Brollish is an idiot who wants to see a mature Little punished for daring to stand out.”

It was almost like Cassie was there in my head with me: ‘Mature Little’.  Red flag!  Red flag!  

“You’ve been doing the right thing, buddy.  Don’t worry about that.”

Overly familiar and kiddish nicknames!  RED FLAG!  It was Cassie’s words, but I heard them in my own voice.  We might have made up, but our argument wasn’t over...

“So please, don’t be upset.  Don’t blame yourself.”

I slid down and hopped off the too big chair and back onto the floor.  “Okay.  I just wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings.  You’ve done a lot for me.”

FUCK!  BAD CHOICE OF WORDS!  Change the subject...change the subject.  Redirect the crazy…Play it cool, Clark.  Play it cool.

“So did you hear about Forrest?”

Janet tilted her head to the side.  “Hear what?”  At least she wasn’t frowning now.

Just in case, I started casually walking back to the entrance.  I was leaning on the door, all cool and cocky like.  “Notice how she’s not wearing pants lately?  And how her skirts are very...roomy...very flowing...”

Still at her desk, Janet scraped away the last of her eye makeup.  She twisted her lips a bit in thought.  “Yeah. I guess.  Why?”

“Next time you’re around her, listen closely when she moves.  You might hear a tiiiiiny crinkle.”  I grinned mischievously.

My friend made an “O” with her mouth.  “Seriously?!”

“Pretty sure!”  My smile was all teeth now.  Janet was muffling her laughter with both hands. “Pretty sure the Silly Sock Day thing was the last straw and she’s being given a lesson in humility.  Tracy says the Tweeners and the other office staff are all talking about it, too!”

Janet was bouncing in her seat.  “Ohmygod! Ohmygod!  Ohmygod! I can’t believe that happened!”  She snatched up her purse and keys and stood up.  “We should do something!  We should do something!”

All that was left of the sobbing woman was a few traces of poorly erased mascara.  “We should celebrate!  We should plan another!  If we can pull one more before the end of the year,  Brollish might make her leave the skirt off! She might have to wear them in the Fall!”

My Amazon friend looked almost manic.  She’d gone from sobbing over divorce and a bad review to a little kid winning a prize at a carnival game, all because she’d played a part in getting a coworker diapered. 

 Typical.  

Crimson Flag.  

“Okay…” I said, feeling weary  “What were you thinking?”  

“I don’t know,” she said.  “It was your idea, last time.  Maybe we can think of something. And if not, we can at least celebrate!  Let me buy you a drink.”

The color was draining from my face.  “Um...I shouldn’t.  I don’t drink out.  I just have my scooter.”

Janet waved it off.  She was closing the distance between us.  “Don’t worry about it.  One drink won’t hurt me.  That tiny thing you ride into work will fit in my hatchback.  I’ll be the D.D.” 

My throat was suddenly dry.  I jumped up and grabbed the handle, opening the door and nudging my foot out.  “Amazon seatbelts don’t fit so good on me…”

“No biggie,” Janet said.  “I’ve got a car seat.”

ABORT! ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!

I ran away in a blind panic.  Objectively, I was in more danger just then of getting picked up and carted off than I’d been five seconds prior.  I ran through grass, all but screaming as I cut through campus back to my own room.  I was the very stereotypical picture of the scared and lost Little who needed an Amazon adult.

Locking my door behind me, I didn’t even check to see if I was being followed.  I rolled my scooter out of the closet, strapped my helmet on, and snuck out through Beouf’s door without so much as a word to anyone.

I didn’t tell Cassie what had happened that afternoon…

There would have been a fight.  I would have lost my temper. I would have hurt her.  She would have told me to quit my job, again.  I was scared I might have had to agree with her.  Things were weighing down on me.

I didn’t sleep well that night.  I couldn’t rest easy, knowing I’d broken my promise.

The next morning, just as my morning breakfast shake was settling in my stomach, I came and found a letter slid under my door.

It read:

“Dear Clark,

When you left my room so abruptly, I thought something was very wrong.  I won’t put what I thought in writing, because I’d never want to cause you harm or undue stress.  We’ve both been through enough of that, but I noticed you were acting strangely.

At first I was both hurt and concerned.  Upon reflection, however, and reviewing the words I said, I understand why you reacted the way you did.

I am so sorry, Clark.  I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable or threatened, but I can understand that that’s how my words may have been interpreted by you.  I should have been more careful and chosen my words more wisely. 

With all the things going on in my life, I forgot to take into account what you must face on a daily basis.  You are a mature, eloquent, sophisticated, and insightful Little and do not deserve any of the threats and mockeries dangling over your head on a regular basis. I honestly don’t know how you manage to do it, and I respect you so much for it.

Please accept this apology and call me after school when you’re ready to talk about it.

Your friend (if you’ll still have me),
Janet”

I did not call Janet that afternoon.  Or the next.  Or the next.  I tore the letter into dozens of tiny pieces and flushed them all down my classroom’s toilet.

 

[Panther Cub]

Uh-oh...

[Sarah Penguin]

[Moon3ye]

Oh that was stupid. He should have called. That would have been an adult and mature behavior. 
So he seems like an immature child who is too stubborn to make peace. 
And then to make fun of another colleague. Oh, Clark, that's stupid.
I see him in diapers soon.
Hopefully then at least with a nice mom

[Personalias]

5 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

Oh that was stupid. He should have called. That would have been an adult and mature behavior. 
So he seems like an immature child who is too stubborn to make peace. 
And then to make fun of another colleague. Oh, Clark, that's stupid.
I see him in diapers soon.
Hopefully then at least with a nice mom

"That would have been an adult and mature behavior."

If you're talking "game theory", yes.  But morally, when is it on the person who is oppressed to please their oppressors?

[Moon3ye]

29 minutes ago, Personalias said:

"That would have been an adult and mature behavior."

If you're talking "game theory", yes.  But morally, when is it on the person who is oppressed to please their oppressors?

I try to see this from the point of view of DD.

In our real world, his behavior would be absolutely understandable and logical. She has given hints and shown behavior that has frightened him, so he may also avoid contact for a while.

BUT in the DD is at the end always the Little that should act "adult". So one could say about him: 
A colleague was not well and when she was looking for comfort and someone to talk to, he showed a very immature behavior and when the corresponding colleague wanted a discussion, he did not do so. Which adult would behave in such a way that pays tribute to his immaturity and then still about another colleague blaspheme perhaps Mr. Gibbsen is not so adult and mature as he always pretends and his wife accordingly also not. Since one should take care of it.  

I always assume with the Amazons in DD that they want to do everything to prove that Littles are immature.

@BabySofia had a very good example in her current novel In-Beetwen. When Cameron had his court case about his maturity, it was said that he seemed to need the care of an Amazon because he would accept it so readily. Cameron said that if he had fought tooth and nail against it, he would have been presented with this very resistance as proof of his immaturity.

[Personalias]

1 minute ago, Moon3ye said:

I try to see this from the point of view of DD.

Like I said, from a "Game Theory" standpoint, Clark made a bad call.  He let his guard down and allowed emotions of fear and trauma get the better of him.

But the DD is a dystopia.  It's well...read the title.

"When Cameron had his court case about his maturity, it was said that he seemed to need the care of an Amazon because he would accept it so readily. Cameron said that if he had fought tooth and nail against it, he would have been presented with this very resistance as proof of his immaturity."

So Cameron needs the care of an Amazon because he accepted it, but if he had fought against it he would have been "immature" and needed the care of an Amazon.

Seems like there was no winning there either. 

Very, well...you know.

[BabySofia]

1 hour ago, Personalias said:

Very, well...you know.

Typical Amazons! 

@Moon3ye I don't think there was any influence from this part, but I do have to acknowledge that as I was writing this I have been reading ahead on this on Personalias' Patreon. I haven't been commenting on DD so much as I have on his posts over there. He's on Chapter 50 there, so it's a lot further along than this. We've had a couple of conversations that helped me out with some ideas too. 

[Guilend]

Lol I literally follow him on Patreon just for this story. His other stories are just a bonus ? I love this story. 

[Personalias]

20 minutes ago, BabySofia said:

Typical Amazons! 

@Moon3ye I don't think there was any influence from this part, but I do have to acknowledge that as I was writing this I have been reading ahead on this on Personalias' Patreon. I haven't been commenting on DD so much as I have on his posts over there. He's on Chapter 50 there, so it's a lot further along than this. We've had a couple of conversations that helped me out with some ideas too. 

Hahahaha!  I didn't mean to imply that anyone was copying anything off of me.

9 minutes ago, Guilend said:

Lol I literally follow him on Patreon just for this story. His other stories are just a bonus ? I love this story. 

I mean...in your case I'd think there are other particular stories that you're enjoying as well.

[Guilend]

4 minutes ago, Personalias said:

mean...in your case I'd think there are other particular stories that you're enjoying as well.

True lol even though I paid for them I still consider them a bonus next to unfair. So far unfair has been completely unpredictable and I love it. I’m so used to seeing where something is going, but I can’t even fathom where unfair is going. Before I can even come up with a full idea you’ve already taken a left turn and I have to start over with the guessing game ?

[BabySofia]

8 minutes ago, Personalias said:

I mean...in your case I'd think there are other particular stories that you're enjoying as well.

I was more worried that Moon3ye might think the other way! ? 

[Moon3ye]

19 minutes ago, BabySofia said:

I was more worried that Moon3ye might think the other way! ? 

I never assumed that anyone was copying from anywhere. The example from your book served for me absolutely only as an example of how broken the DD is

[BabySofia]

4 minutes ago, Moon3ye said:

I never assumed that anyone was copying from anywhere. The example from your book served for me absolutely only as an example of how broken the DD is

?

[Sarah Penguin]

Hmmm someone should get an amazonian state to test nukes in some southern island chain and create Diaper Dimension Godzilla. Who will bring ruin and unstoppable retribution upon the amazonian states as they try to destroy their own Nemesis because you know will try to go to war with nature because these are egotistical and proud people.Do the normal human folk really dese4rve Godzilla bringing ruin to all they know. but at least the chaos would give time to resist against the Amazons.

[Personalias]

Chapter 24:  Graduation

“What’s going on between you and Grange?”  Tracy asked me as we helped our students try on their makeshift graduation robes and hats.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Who?” 

My assistant gave me a half-dirty look.  “Ms. Grange?  Amazon? Dark hair?  Third grade?”

“Oh, Janet…” I said. “I think Mickey's hat needs another staple.”  

Tracy rolled her eyes and scoffed while stapling the four year old Amazon’s graduation cap so it was a little smaller.  The robes were cleaned hand-me-down smocks from the art room.  The graduation caps were made from stiff squares of cardboard, packing tape, staples, and yarn for the cute little tassel.  Half of my class was graduating (read: aging up) into Kindergarten, and we were at the last week of school.  

It was only a Monday, but the school had scheduled our graduation ceremony for the beginning of the week, so that the later grades could have their awards mid-week, capping things off with fifth grade graduation Thursday night and room parties and goodbyes Friday.

That’s a weird thing about Elementary school:  In Pre-K or Kindergarten, faux graduation was all the rage.  Babies of the family had gotten through a whole year of academia and their parents were celebrating by dressing up young children in mock outfits of adults ready to go onto higher education or enter the workforce.  

They were so eager for their children to grow up, they created a miniature version of the transition into full blown adulthood and responsibility; thus creating an adorable if objectively bizarre parody of the actual thing.  If you’ve been reading all this way, you might expect me to say “Typical”, but in all fairness, Little and Tweener parents are just as guilty of this.

I suppose that in normal parents, the desire to see your children grow up is a natural impulse, and at ages four and five, that big one-eight, just seems so far away.  Cutesy faux graduation ceremonies like mine were a kind of social methadone to ease off both the anxiety and to celebrate that yes, their sons and daughters were in fact growing up.

But the rush wears off as the kids get objectively more mature.  Hence why everything from First to Fourth grade simply becomes ‘Award Ceremonies’, and the kids at Fifth Grade Graduation forego mock graduation robes in favor of sensible dress clothes.  They were growing up and going into Middle School but they weren’t THAT grown-up yet.

The only exception to this pattern was Mrs. Beouf’s class.  No award ceremonies for them.  And why would they?  They weren’t being allowed to grow up or accomplish anything other than sucking their thumb and shitting their pants.  Most of them wouldn’t even be leaving unless their so-called Mommies and Daddies were moving or they were being transferred to a private daycare since they’d been sufficiently brainwashed.

I liked Beouf, I really did.  But weeks like this were times when the contrasts in our positions became so apparent as to be abhorrent to me.  We didn’t typically talk much during those last weeks.  It was under the pretense that we were both so busy packing up and getting ready to close up shop for the summer, but it’s also because I was afraid I’d be unable to hold my tongue.  Who cared which of her charges were coming back or not?  It wasn’t because they were growing up.  It wasn’t because they were going on to bigger and better things or had accomplished something.

In my tiny world of actual tiny children, however, it was all-but a toddler pageant.  Chubby fingers and arms were being guided through smock-robes.  Cardboard caps were being placed and sometimes bobby pinned on.  We’d been practicing cute little diddies about letters and numbers off and on for weeks to put on a show. My three year olds who weren’t graduating were being given rolled up paper megaphones so that they could cheer on their older classmates, and Tracy and I were racing against the clock so that everything was ready to go.  

“What’s going on with you two?” Tracy asked.  “You’ve been avoiding her.”

I scoffed.  “How do you know that?” I turned to one of the four year olds.  “Hold still Mickey.  Your cap is coming loose.”

“You’ve been having me answer the phone and been busy for two weeks.” Tracy said over the toddlers.  “Ugh, Natasha go potty, quick.”

“I’ve been busy for two weeks.”

“You love answering the phone.”  Damnit.  She knew my habits.

“I’ve had work to do.”

“Especially when Grange has called.”

“Good job Jayden,” I said to a student proudly holding macaroni art.  I looked to my assistant.  “That’s besides the point.”

“What’d she do?” Tracy asked.  Damn.  You don’t realize how well people know you until they call you out.  My assistant took two fingers and made a kind of hooking motion, almost like she was pulling back the waistband of a pair of invisible pants.  “Did she...um...pull a Zoge?”

I exhaled. “Not exactly…”

“What’d she do?”

“Line up guys!” I told my class. I motioned and Tracy leaned over for me to whisper in her ear.  “She invited me out for a drink…” I said.  “With a carseat.”

“So?”

“So?!” I hissed.  “Why would an Amazon have a carseat?”

Tracy pantomimed putting her finger to her chin in thought. “Um...because she had a Little friend?  Kind of like how I have a Little friend?  Oh look! It’s the same one!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  Tracy was supposed to have my back on this sort of thing.  And she was being playful about it, but.  “Honestly, Boss, I love ya, but I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill on this one.”  Damnit.  My Tweener friend might’ve had a point.  

“Let’s just get through this, first,” I said.  “Then you can guilt trip me about how mean I’m being to the poor, poor Amazons.”

Tracy walked over to the front door where our students had all dutifully lined up (just as Natasha was coming out of the bathroom). She opened it and my class dutifully marched to the cafeteria where parents were already waiting for our big show.

I’ve said it before, but I hated the cafeteria.  Too loud.  Too noisy.  Too crowded.  Packed to the gills during mealtimes and scarily quiet at most other instances.  I wasn’t close enough friends with anyone to warrant spending my precious twenty-five minutes with the other teachers in the connected lounge.  Better to swing through the lunch line as fast as possible with my students, help myself to the salad bar, pretend to not see the Littles propped up in their highchairs for all the actual kids to see, and spend a good twenty minutes watching UsBox videos on my computer back in my room.  Less noise.  Less risk of embarrassing myself.  Less opportunity to be cornered.

But like most school cafeterias, Oakshire Elementary’s eatery also doubled as an auditorium. It had been prepared for us, with custodial staff hurriedly re-arranging chairs and cleaning up breakfast spills so that parents could pretend they were watching something special beyond a practiced spiel in a mess hall.  Thankfully, the school was crowded enough and on a tight enough schedule that the first wave of lunches started as early as 10:45.  Our ceremony would have to be blessedly short so as not to disrupt the rest of campus.

The tenth time I’d done this song and dance was very much like the first time.  Kids sang their cute songs, and did their cute dances while parents clapped and took pictures, all the while gushing about how grown-up their darlings looked.  Then I announced and gave out ‘official’ graduation certificates to all of my exiting students (even though their matriculation to Kindergarten had been guaranteed and their placement meetings settled weeks prior).  

I made sure to say something positive and specific about each of the pint-sized academians.  Not that they cared, but it was nice for their parents to hear how their kids had learned to count to 100 or could now perfectly write their first and last name.  Some things really were for the parents.

And after the ceremony was done, we took a few precious minutes to take pictures and selfies, and for me to soak in that sweet sweet praise before returning to class with the children whose parents didn’t take them out for Big Kid Meals from MacArthur’s to celebrate.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Gibson.” Natasha’s mother gushed to me as the assembled parents were just starting to clear out.  “You’ve done wonders these last two years.”
“Thank you Mrs. Evaneska,” I said.  “But it was Natasha who did all the hard work.  I just provided the platform and reinforcement.”

The Amazon woman nodded.  “Yes, yes.  Of course!  But I’m still so appreciative of all that you’ve done.”  She bit her lip.  “Do you mind me asking why you didn’t list potty training as one of her accomplishments?”

I could practically feel the sweat beads starting to form.  “Because all of my graduating students are potty trained.”  I told her.  “And I wanted to highlight what made Natasha really stand out as special.” (That and Natasha was reeeeeally just under the wire for making the cutoff in that department).  The kid still beamed at my compliment.

Natasha’s mother smiled good naturedly.  “Oh, that makes sense,” she said.  “Still, her father and I had our worries about that.”  

I smiled blankly and nodded. “It just takes time and patience,” I said. “Same as anybody else.”  She might’ve been trained sooner if Mr. and Mrs. Evaneska had been better about following through at home instead of diapering her up at home ‘just in case’ and all but refusing to take her out of Pull-Ups.  The Evaneska’s were very much the two steps forward one step back types.

“I’m a big girl, now!”  Natasha declared.  It was only her mother’s hand that stopped her from lifting her dress high enough to show off her big girl panties.  Girl was really under the wire; enough so that it hadn’t fully sunk in that showing off one’s underwear in public was frowned upon.  I’d made sure to land her with a very patient Kindergarten teacher next year, just in case.

 “We’ve got a bit of Tweener in our family tree,” her mother said as if that actually explained something and wasn’t completely and utterly sizeist.  “We were worried for a while that some of it might have manifested; like a recessive gene.” 

I bit my tongue, literally, to stop myself from losing my temper.  Play it cool. All of my students' parents eventually saw the light on them having a Little teacher, but the mythical city of Roam hadn’t been built in a day.  “Mmmhmm…” I said noncommittally.  “Well, Natasha is a bright girl Mrs. Evaneska.  I think she’s gonna be just fine regardless.”

“That means so much comi-”

“MOMMY!” Natasha squealed. “POTTY!”  The toddler’s hands clamped down on her crotch and she got the most panicked look.  Internally I was screaming.  Didn’t she just go not half an hour before?  Kids!

I thought about where we were.  When a kid like Natasha had to go, she had to GO!  She might not make the trip back to our classrooms.  The toilets in the cafeteria might be a bit big from someone of her size, but a balancing act was better than the alternative, and her mom could help keep her from falling in.   Grabbing Natasha’s hand I started leading her towards the restrooms.  “This way.”  I called back to my assistant.  “Tracy! Take the others back to the classroom.”

“Already on it, Boss!”  It was true. She was.  Our remaining kiddos were already lining up by the nearest exit.

I led my Amazon student into the unisex ‘family’ bathroom, with her mother following close behind.  “Okay, Natasha,” I said. My voice echoing off the bathroom walls. “What do you do first?”  I pointed to the nearest stall as a not so subtle hint.

Natasha looked past me and up to her mother. “Did I do good, Mommy?”

I wanted to slap my forehead.  Classic school mishap: You practice something with a child day in and day out, and they get so excited that their parent is present that all that practice goes out the window.  At least any puddles she made would be easier to clean up and I could run back to my room to get a spare pair of undies and a plastic bag.  At least my student could have her dignity.

“You did very good, honey.”  Her mother praised her.  “Just like we practiced.”  I didn’t even get to turn around before I was snatched up with one arm and another one jammed a pacifier in my mouth.  I tried to spit it out, but the same hand twisted a knob and the rubber teat inflated so that I was gagged.  

“MMMMMMMPH!”  My screams were little more than mumbles, even with all the linoleum turning the bathroom into an echo chamber.  My screaming was cut off as the wind was knocked out of me.  I was all but slammed down onto the fold out changing table, my eyes tearing up from the pain, as a strap was being pulled over my chest.   I couldn’t even gasp for breath because of the pacifier clogging my airway.  

“I’m gonna get to be a BIG sister!”  Natasha clapped her hands.  

The Amazon looked back over her shoulder.  “That’s right, big girl!  Now that Mr...um...Clark, is all done teaching you, we’re going to give him a good home with us!  No more having to pretend that he’s a grown-up!”  She missed a beat trying to pull down my pants.  “Oh, what Little wears a belt?!”

I kicked and moaned through my bonds, but all that did was get my loafers off of me faster.  Bending my knees and planting the flats of my feet on the table didn’t make it all that much harder for the Amazon to muscle off my pants for me.

“Won’t be needing THESE anymore!”  The sound of my boxers being torn off as easily as a pair of disposable training pants made my heart leap back in my throat.  “We’ll have to get THIS taken care of later.” She gestured to my crotch.  I couldn’t tell if she meant just my pubic hair or my penis.  I prayed I wouldn’t have to find out.  “First thing’s first though.”

All of my objectively pathetic efforts doubled when she reached into her purse and took out the diaper.  This wasn’t happening!  This COULDN’T be happening!  “MMMMMMMPH!”

All my struggling did was get my legs lifted to the ceiling and my bare ass spanked. Every Little thinks they’ll be brave and tough when an Amazon spanks them.  They won’t cry.  They won’t scream.  They won’t even flinch beyond maybe a bit at the sting.  None of us will give the giants that satisfaction.

As of this writing, if you’re a Little reading this and you are telling yourself this, let me assure you:  You’re lying.  I don’t know if it’s psychological or physiological, but being spanked by that crazy bitch was the second most painful experience of my life.  

Maybe it was because I knew that the spanking was the precursor to a fate worse than death; something that I’d tried to avoid for thirty-two years.  Perhaps Little’s brains release a disproportionate amount of chemicals when swatted on the ass.  

More than likely, as much as it helps their fantasy, maybe Amazons are MORE than proportionately stronger and durable than Littles; so what would be a slap to an Amazon toddler’s butt is a beating to a full grown Little.  Maybe the bastards just don’t hold back as much because they know they won’t be punished if they break us.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I felt those spanks rocket through my spinal cord.  My skin heated up instantly into a full body blush as my heart pounded out of my chest.  And the only conscious thoughts in my brain were “Please make it stop!  It hurts so much!  I’ll do anything! ANYTHING! PLEASE JUST MAKE IT STOP!”  It could have been a hundred swats. It could have been ten.  I’d literally lost the ability to count them by swat number 3.

I lay there whimpering and still when she’d finished, traumatized into a state of shock.  If I was whimpering, it was only because it felt like it made exhaling easier.  The diaper she unfolded and slipped under me was bright pink.  It might’ve been one of Natasha’s from earlier this year. A spare.  It probably wasn’t.

“There,” the crazy bitch cooed at me.  “Isn’t that much better when we accept what’s best for us?”  She pulled the diaper up between my legs.  One tape after the other, she sealed me into my crinkling prison.

    This was it.  All of that planning.  All of that looking over my shoulder and choosing my words so extra carefully.  All of that maneuvering.  All of that careful cultivating of relationships. All of my plans.  All of that being my best possible self to serve as an example.   All of it.  Wasted and worthless so that some not-quite random stranger could snatch me up right where I worked.

It wasn’t fair.  More than that, it was so completely and totally unfair.

Typical.
  
“If you behave and don’t make a fuss on the way out,” Mrs. Evaneska said hoisting me onto her hip, “Mommy and Big Sister will get you some ice cream!”  What was the point?  I was beat.  No amount of protestation.  It was her word against mine as to whether I needed diapers, and her word weighed hundreds of pounds more.  At least I could get ice cream.  If I was lucky it wouldn’t even be the kind that made you wet your pants that I’d read about.

“YAY! Ice cream!”

“Excuse me,” a new voice echoed through the bathroom.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I beg your pardon?” my captor asked.

Dark hair, a long flowing skirt, and a teacher stare that could intimidate the misbehaving ticks off a dog entered the bathroom.  “I said, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Watch your language!” Natasha’s mom shouted.  “My daughter is here.  This is a school!”

“And that’s my coworker on your hip,” Janet pointed at me.  “And your daughter just watched you kidnap her fully functioning Little teacher.  I think she can handle me expressing the extent of my outrage.”  Her stance was wide.  I knew right then that I wasn’t leaving on this particular giant’s hip.

“This Little,” the Amazon parent said, “just had an accident.”

“How convenient,” Janet retorted, “that you just happened to have a single diaper in your purse.”  Her words were dripping with sarcasm.

“My daughter is still potty training.”

“MOMMY!” Natasha wailed.  “You said I was a big girl!”

Janet turned her attention to my student.  “You are, honey.  And that’s why your Mommy is being so mean to Mr. Gibson. She wasn’t ready for her baby to grow up, so she decided to kidnap your teacher, even though he’s an incredibly mature Little.” She looked Mrs. Evaneska right in the eye.  “Isn’t that right?”

Mrs. Evaneska wasn’t giving up the lie.  “He pooped his pants right here.”

A dark eyebrow arched in accusal. “Really?  You expect me to believe that?  I can see his pants and boxers on the floor right over there.  They’re clean.”  Thank everything I wore my tan slacks and white boxers.

“He has no bladder control,” my would-be kidnapper countered.  “This diaper would be wet within thirty seconds if I started tickling him.”

“Anybody will pee their pants if you force them to.”

“I...I...I…” my kidnapper stopped.  “You’re just jealous that I got him first! Is that it?”

“Leave,” Janet said. “Take your daughter home.  Take the rest of the school year off.”  Her face became a lioness’s snarl.  “And pray that I’ve forgotten about this by the time your daughter hits third grade.”

All the fight went out of Natasha’s mother. I could literally feel it. She sat me back on the changing table, took her daughter by the hand and walked out of my life.  My coworker, my friend, walked up to me and twisted the pacifier knob.  

I spit it out the second my jaw could work. “Thanks.”  Two hands on the edge, I slid off the table, dangling for a moment before I let go and my feet touched the ground.

“No problem,” she said.  “Tracy called my room and told me to check up on you.”

I picked my pants off the floor and started pulling them up.  “I’m glad she did.”

“Me too,” Janet agreed.  “I’d hate to lo…” She stopped herself.  I held my breath, still feeling incredibly vulnerable.  “I’m glad I caught you...I’m glad I stopped her in time.  A regular Raine Forrest that one is.”

“We need to talk.” I said.

“I agree.”

“After school.”

“Sure.”  She turned around to go.

“Janet!” I called out.  “Wait!”  She turned back around.  “I can’t undo the tapes.”  I looked down at the pink plastic monstrosity wrapped around me.  There was no way I was wearing a diaper the rest of the day.  “Little hands can’t really handle Amazonian level adhesive.”

I pulled my pants the rest of the way up but left them unbuttoned.  Gingerly, Janet knelt down and undid the tapes while I stood there.  Once it was loose, I gave her a nod and she gave me my privacy so I could finish taking the thing off and button up my pants and refasten my belt.

I didn’t cry but I was pretty useless the rest of the day.  I was just stuck in my own head, playing and replaying my almost adoption/abduction and trying to figure out what I could have done differently or what I did to deserve it.  Fortunately, it being the last week of school, even I could get away with popping in an old DVD and introducing my class to the joys of the Muffets.

Tracy volunteered to take our kids out to the buses by herself.  I gave her the biggest hug I could muster and thanked her.  I wasn’t specific, but I’m pretty sure she knew I wasn’t JUST thanking her for giving me a break with bus duty.

Janet wasn’t in her room immediately after school, but she’d forgotten to lock her door.  Not wanting to wait in the heat, I decided to let myself in.  Looking back on it, I wish I hadn’t.

I took a student chair and pushed it over to her desk.  This was how we were positioned before I’d almost ruined our friendship; so this is how it should be now that I was taking steps to fix it.  I climbed into the chair and waited.  I’d be sitting there waiting for her when she came back, ready to apologize and hash things out.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Then my eyes started to wander.  Nervously, I started to play with drawers.  They were empty, mostly, of course.  Teachers spend the last week filing things away and boxing and binning stuff.  I didn’t expect to find anything other than some spare pencils and paper clips.  My fiddling was less spying, and more fidgeting in the silence of the empty classroom.  Where was she anyway?

The last drawer I opened had something in it.  A pamphlet, colored light blue and pink, the logo on the front being a woman and her child holding hands in silhouette.  Except the body proportions made the smaller one look less like a child, and more like a Little.  It was a Little Voices logo.

I read the title: “Adopting a Little - What to Expect The First Year.”

I didn’t bother opening it, instead flipping to the back and skimming over a vast list of online resources.  Subjects like “Symptoms of Maturosis”, “Finding the Developmental Plateau,”  “De-escalating Tantrums”, and “Potty Anxiety” were all listed along with websites to visit for greater detail.  This was a mini-manual on how to capture and mind fuck Littles.  And it was in Janet’s desk.

“Clark?”  Janet said as she entered her room.  “Sorry about that. I thought I was supposed to meet you in your room.  If Tracy hadn’t caught me and told me where you were, I would’ve…” she looked at me.  I was so mad I was practically frothing.  “Where did you get that?”

“We need to talk.”

“Did you rip it in half?”

I looked down at the torn pamphlet halves in each of my hands.  I didn’t even remember doing that.  “We need to talk.”

I couldn’t tell if she was sad or angry.  Maybe both.   “Yeah. I guess you’re right...”
 

[Moon3ye]

What an incredible chapter.

I still have tension in my whole body.

Almost kidnapped, beaten diapered it was all there.

Rescued by the person you expected it from, and yes I expected it to come.

And then this ending... unbelievable. 

[TerranV]

Whoa!

Well at least he goes free for now.