Fair is Fair

Fair is Fair

Gwendolyn looked at the name Samantha had written on the coffee cup and squinted. Samantha was a Tweener and as such had terrible handwriting. “Cassandra? Venti latte for Cassandra?” No one in the shop came up to the counter. “Cassandra?”

A tiny voice called up from the floor. “Down here!”

Gwendolyn had to lean over the counter to spot the Little girl. The tiny thing stood there looking up at Gwendolyn, her face expectant and entitled; a child waiting for their cookie. Littles, they were always such precocious scamps.

The Amazon barista looked around the shop, expecting to see the Little’s Mommy or Daddy waiting patiently for their good baby girl to help and bring them their coffee. Some parents were indulgent like that. Oddly, there was no mother or father waiting on the Little. None of the store’s highchairs had been wheeled out. There wasn’t even a diaper bag hanging on a chair. All the other Littles were already in daycare by this time. Maybe her Mommy or Daddy had gone to the bathroom and left their daughter to order…?

“Wow,” Gwendolyn said, “this is sure a lot of coffee, Little lady. Think you can drink all of this?”

“A benefit of my size,” the Little girl replied, “is that I can make a single order of coffee last me all day.” Her words came out in clipped staccato notes. Little soldiers standing at attention, none of them touching each other. Gwendolyn had touched a nerve.

Typical Little.

The Little must have sensed Gwendolyn’s doubt. “It’s for me,” she said. The Little girl seemed resentful, uppity even. “It’s my coffee.”

“Of course it is.” Gwendolyn plastered on her best fake smile, normally reserved for Amazons complaining that Gwendolyn hadn’t gotten their order right. Gwendolyn wanted to pour it into smaller cups or insist that there was a limit based on size or to just give the cute Little girl a small cup of hot chocolate (she’d like it better anyways). But another opportunity was presenting itself.

Littles weren’t technically babies by the strictest definition; the one waiting impatiently for her far too big coffee might have been older than the twenty-two year old coffee-shop employee. But every Little sooner or later needed to be treated like a baby and cared for like one. This one could have been thirty, but she’d never get much past thirty months, if that.

More politically correct Amazons called it “Maturitis” or something. Really though, it’s just that they weren’t mature enough to handle being an adult. Functionally, they were all babies and toddlers that could only pretend at growing up.

Sadly, whether a matter of childish pride or lack of opportunity, some Littles still didn’t have Amazon Mommies or Daddies to adopt them and give them the care they so needed and deserved. Like pushing someone into the deep end so that they learned to swim, Gwendolyn was willing to help.

“Just a second,” Gwendolyn said. She pivoted and turned her back to the Little girl. With quick, skillful hands, she grabbed a lid with her right hand, and dropped something into the order with her left. A special something for the precious, precocious thing waiting on her. She turned around and gave the Little her coffee. “The Lid is so you don’t spill,” she explained.

Oh if looks could kill! Gwendolyn would have laughed but then her customer wouldn’t drink her coffee. Instead, Gwendolyn took her own coffee from behind the counter, also with a sippy lid, and took a sip. “See? Amazons do it, too.” Mentally, she patted herself on the back for saying “Amazon” instead of “Adult”. Her red lipstick stained the lid from repeated sips.
Cassandra (though to Gwendolyn, she looked more like a “Sandra” or a “Sandie”) sniffed, and then toddled off to a table to drink her very last big girl coffee.

Such a Little cutie! Watching Gwen sip from her own drink had sealed the deal; it was just like when an adult pretended to eat a spoonful of mashed carrots to show their baby that it was “nummy”.

Something was different about this Little, Gwendolyn thought, as she watched the girl scale her chair with practiced expertise. Maybe it was how she was dressed: Her shirt was tight enough that Gwen thought she could see a (widely unnecessary) bra underneath. The fact that she was wearing jeans was a little odd, as well.

The Little girls who lived on the very outskirts of Oakshire- the ones that hadn’t stopped pretending to be adults- tended to wear concealing dresses and long skirts. Gwendolyn always suspected it might be because they were already wearing diapers beneath; they were just still too proud to let a real grown-up help change them.

There was definitely no diaper crinkling underneath those pants, though. Not yet. But a few sips from that coffee and a couple hours time would do the trick. Unless Little baby Sandie was already at home when the laxative Gwendolyn slipped kicked in, she’d poop those pants, an Amazon would catch her, and she’d get rightfully adopted.

Happy endings for all. Greedily, she wondered if the Little girl would hang out long enough for Gwendolyn to witness the inevitable oopsie occur. Gwendolyn had never been present when one of her additives took hold, but she imagined it must be a bit like live birth. Lots of screaming and crying; some poop and pee; then the baby gets cleaned up and taken to a loving home.

“Miss Gwendolyn?”

Gwendolyn turned around. “What?” she said to the twerpy Tweener. Tweeners. They were part Amazon, but they were almost as immature as Littles.

“The orders are still coming in,” Samantha meekly pointed to the upside down cups that Gwendolyn had to fill.

Gwendolyn bit back an impulse to yell at the silly Tweener, obviously the orders were coming in, but the girl did have a point. Quickly, she began to fill orders, making specialty coffee after specialty coffee; sparing every possible glance to look back at the Little sitting near the front. Had she drunk any of it yet? Only a little would do.

But no, this “Cassandra” wasn’t even touching her coffee. Instead she kept playing with something on her finger. Was that a wedding ring? If it was, Gwendolyn surmised, she’d lost it if she kept playing with it like she was. The girl was sliding it off and on her finger, and looking awful sad about it; a deeper more horrid sadness than Gwendolyn could truthfully comprehend.

So she didn’t…

Poor Little thing was confused; playing dress up; maybe her boyfriend had broken her heart and not given her enough flowers from out of some adult’s garden. She probably just realized how hard it was to be an adult was agonizing over that fact. One tiny sip from the coffee and things would be a lot better for her.

“A little faster, please!” An older man in a power suit said. “Some of us have real jobs!” He tapped his watch to make her point.

Gwendolyn hopped to it and got lost in the moment, and attended to the momentary surge in pumpkin spice lattes. When she was finally able to breathe, she saw Samantha walking away from the Little’s table. “Hey,” Gwendolyn asked the Tweener. “What was that Little talking to you about?”
“Nothing Miss Gwendolyn,” Samantha replied. Even with her platforms on she barely came up to Gwendolyn’s breasts. “She just asked where the bathroom was…” Gwendolyn didn’t need to look in her co-worker’s eyes or listen too closely to hear the same bit of anticipation, even marked suspicion in Samanth’as voice. Even Tweeners knew the truth about Littles.

Gwendolyn looked at the clock on the wall. It hadn’t been quite an hour, but that might have been enough time for certain things to take effect, especially if the girl had a delicate constitution. She pursed her lips in order to hide the smirk as the Little girl tentatively placed a hand on her stomach. Wouldn’t be long now.

Not long at all!

Practically on cue, the girl hopped down from her seat and started dashing to the ladies’ room. Any worry that the Little might make it in time raced straight out of Gwendolyn’s mind as soon as she glimpsed the girl slap a hand between her cheeks. Poor thing was trying to physically hold it in!

Slowly, a leopard on the prowl, Gwendolyn walked to the restroom. Slowly pushing the door open and slinking in to make as little noise as possible; let the girl think she was alone and could still pretend to be an adult. Really though, it was all over but the crying.

Right next to the public changing table a vending machine had been inserted into the wall. A common enough convenience, it was good for when a Little went through too many diapers too fast for an inexperienced mother to pack; or when a Little’s potty training started to slip showing they needed to be adopted.

Near the top of the machine there were a few selections of training pants for boys and girls; for the rare Little that merited a degree of potty training. They had beloved cartoon characters on the front, easy open sides, and fade when wet designs so that the toddler/Little might have a visual cue if they were wet.

The second row contained all the diapers commonly worn by Amazon babies and “adult” Littles. No wetness indicator, because what would be the point? Littles wet their pants so often they must’ve loved it. Gwendolyn had seen enough fussy ones kicking in screaming as they were taken away to be changed, they must’ve been really upset to get taken out of their wet and messy diapers. Lots of cute decorations, though. There were enough variants in style to consider a Little’s diaper some form of aesthetic.

Near the bottom middle were bigger diapers sized for Tweeners; one never could tell if a Tweener would lean more towards their Amazon or their Little ancestry. These ones lacked the festive and babyish decorations that most Baby/Little diapers had, but they were still very childish: Solid pastel colors, mostly. One or two with some cartoon characters on the front that were aimed at older Amazon children; Ensign Luna or Arachno Man. Good for the Tweener that needed to be in diapers or had a bed wetting problem, but not purposefully humiliating to them.

At the very bottom, on a rung so old it was collecting dust were diapers sized for Amazons. No selection there. Big. Plain. White. Four tapes instead of the usual two. No frills. No Amazon that she knew of actually needed or wore diapers past (maybe) kindergarten.

Any adult Amazon immature enough to still need diapers wouldn’t need a vending machine to supply their padding for them. Too rare. Never really happened save as a prank or a punishment.

These were there for the pure purpose of being fair. If Amazons were going to say that Littles needed to be put back in diapers after they had been “potty trained”, and that Tweeners occasionally needed a sort of “adjustment”, then it was only fair to have diapers big enough to fit the REAL adults of the world on hand. And it was fair. The amount of dust on the bottom row testified that “fair” wasn’t always the same thing as “equal”.

Gwendolyn fished some loose change out of her apron and made a selection. A perfectly cute Coddles decorated with bunny rabbits with a small packet of wipes dropped down into the bin. As Gwendolyn kneeled down to retrieve the fresh diaper she listened to any of the tell tale signs about where this Little girl might be.

Rude noises or messy plops as possibly the last bit of mess miraculously made it into one of the toilets? Nope. Nothing of the sort. The panicked flushing of underwear to cover up the accident? Nothing there, either. The restroom was oddly quiet, in fact. It didn’t even sound as if one of the tanks was refilling. Crying as the Little girl finally realized what a baby she was supposed to be, giving into her deeply buried feelings against her silly Little will? No, of course not, that’d be far too easy.

She sniffed, hoping that scent might lead her to the scene of the accident. Save for the nearest trashcan, the bathroom still had a relatively clean, if not sterile aroma… The trashcan! Maybe she pooped her pants and ditched them in the trashcan!

Feeling more than a tiny bit crazy, Gwendolyn started pawing through paper towels like a racoon and a garbage buffet. For all her digging, she only found a single balled up diaper.

Oh yeah…there HAD been a woman and her Little girl in here earlier this morning. That’s why Gwendolyn had so easily remembered how fussy Littles could get when they were taken away for a change.

Why had she allowed herself to go such lengths? Simple, really. Gwendolyn needed proof! She needed proof that the Little girl had pooped her pants. You didn’t give a kid coal for Christmas if you couldn’t prove that they’d been bad, and you didn’t put a Little back in diapers if you couldn’t prove that they’d had an accident in their pants.

So what if you carefully read the kid’s letters to Santa, or gave the Little something to help her bowels along? If the kid REALLY was good (or clever), there’d be nothing to report. Conversely, if the Little REALLY was potty trained (or clever), she’d make it to the toilet on time. In that case, no harm, no foul, and the only thing wasted was time, a powerful but subtle laxative, and the cost of a Little sized diaper from a vending machine.

That was fair.

But where was the Little darling? “Helloooooo?” Gwendolyn called out. “Is anyone in here?” Slowly, she opened up the nearest stall so that it wouldn’t squeak. Nothing. Darn Littles were so small she didn’t have the luxury of just looking for dangling feet. On most normal stalls a Little girl would have to do a real balancing act (yet another reason they shouldn’t bother to try out adult underwear).

“I’m just making sure I’m alone,” Gwendolyn said, opening up the second stall. I’m something of a nervous pooper. “Sorry if that’s too much info.” Nothing more to go. One more to go!

Either she’d find the stall locked, and then just have to wait the Little out, or her quarry had forgotten to lock the stall door, and in it’s own way that proved she wasn’t big enough to go potty all by herself.

Resisting the urge to literally kick open the door, Gwendolyn restrained herself, holding her breath as she opened the final stall. Nothing. Completely empty. “Where the…?” Her question was answered only with the echoes of her own voice.
Disappointedly, she stuffed the baby diaper and the mini-packet of wipes in her apron.

“Samantha?” she asked when she got back behind the counter. “Did you see where that Little went?” She looked over to the table where the Little had been sitting. Her coffee still untouched.

The Tweener cocked an eyebrow. “Uhh…she just walked out while you were in the bathroom.” She thumbed to the shop’s entrance. “Why?”
Impossible! There’s no way that the Little could have gotten away! “I was just in there! I didn’t see.”

Her coworker looked distinctly uncomfortable, like she was on the verge of being caught in a lie. “Maybe she went into the men’s room?” Something about this news jerked Gwendolyn’s chain even worse. That Little twerp! She wasn’t supposed to go into the wrong bathroom! That wasn’t fair! That wasn’t fair, at all! “You know Littles, heh heh.”

Yes. Yes, she did know Littles. Silly baby probably went into the wrong bathroom by accident. Well darn. Oh well. She got away. Whether she made it to the toilet or not, she wouldn’t last long. That laxative was powerful; meaning the incident Gwendolyn had just missed was just round one. Someone would find the Little girl and she’d end up adopted and in a happy home, likely by the end of the day.

“She left her coffee for us to clean up.” Gwendolyn shook her head disapprovingly. “Such a Little.”

“Lots of people leave their cups,” Samantha said. Samantha fairly withered under Gwendolyn’s stare. “At least she paid…?”

“Good point,” Gwendolyn allowed. A few more patrons shuffled in for coffee, and Gwendolyn looked at the clock on the wall. Only a few more hours left till the end of her shift. Reaching under the counter, Gwendolyn took a few hearty gulps from her cup, applying a fresh coat of lipstick to the lid’s spout.


“I’ve got a Grande, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk for…Linda!” Gwendolyn called out. An Amazon woman came and took the coffee. “Triple, venti, non-fat, salted, caramel macchiato for…David!”

“That’s Daveed,” the man said, taking his order.

“Sorry,” Gwendolyn apologized. “I didn’t write the name,” she was loud enough so that Samantha could hear. More importantly, she hoped she was loud enough that Mrs. Thompson, the owner, could hear. There was a position for manager opening up, and Gwendolyn wanted it. Same hours, increased pay, only slightly more responsibilities.

“Venti iced skinny hazelnut macchiato, sugar-free syrup, extra shot, light ice, no whip!” She squinted. Samantha wasn’t even trying on this last one.
A young woman about Gwendolyn’s age came forward. “That one’s mine!” Thank goodness someone knew their order. The customer reached out for the coffee and stopped. Her nose twitched. “Do you smell that?”

The barista frowned. “Smell what?”

“Gwendolyn?” Samantha said.

The Amazon ignored her.

The customer’s nose twitch mutated into a full out “Smells like shiiii…” her eyes went wide realizing she almost cussed in front of the Tweener. “Like a Little with a messy diaper.”

“Uh…Gwendolyn?”

Absentmindedly, Gwendolyn batted her coworker away, and kept sniffing. “I don’t smell it.” She shifted her stance a bit, feeling a strange weight in the back of her underwear. “Are the coffee beans over roasting?

“MISS GWENDOLYN!!!”

Gwendolyn whirled around. “WHAT?” she screamed down at her Tweener assistant. “WHAT IS IT?!”
“You’re pooping your pants.”

Gwendolyn let out a laugh. “I’m what?”

“You’re pooping your pants,” Samantha repeated herself. “Like a baby…” Like a Little. Gasps from around the counter as Gwendolyn briefly became a dog chasing her own tail; contorting and twisting to see the dark stain on the back of her pants.

No! This just wasn’t possible! Trembling hands reached back and poked at the warm sludgy mess in the back of her panties; a mess that was still seeping through thin silk that had no absorbent backing and spilling out past leg holes with no leakguards.

Snickers and jeers from the customers wafted into the air, mingling with the stench of her own feces. “She can’t even tell,” one said. “Just like my Little sister growing up!”
Others were more disgusted. They changed their mind about ordering or even threw their cups away, afraid that they’d catch whatever Littleness that had suddenly afflicted the barista

“GWENDOLYN!” Mrs. Thompson shouted. “OFFICE! NOW!” Gwendolyn took a step forward and tensed up, locking her knees as some of her own muck started dribbling down the back of them. “What?” she scoffed. “Do you want me to carry you, now?” Shaking and shook, Gwendolyn gritted her teeth and shuffled out from behind the counter and did the Little walk of shame into her boss’s office.

Truth be told, Mrs. Thompson’s office wasn’t much of an office. It was more of an unused storage space that he’d converted into one so that he had a quiet place to order fresh ingredients and go over the accounts. No windows; just the lightbulb, door, desk with a computer on it, and a single chair. Even for an Amazon, Mrs. Thompson was big; everything about her was big. Sitting down she didn’t look much shorter than Gwendolyn. Her big flowing hair added to the effect.

Bigger frame, bigger hair, bigger breasts…

Gwendolyn wasn’t used to literally looking up to people anymore, and the fact that Mrs. Thompson was old enough to be her mother only added to the effect of feeling like a child in loaded underwear.

There was no place for Gwendolyn to sit, (Not that she would have wanted to.) The place was stuffy too, which wasn’t helping the situation with her nose. She was the last to smell her own accident, but it was sticking with her much longer.

“Explain,” her boss said after a tense moment of silence.

“I…I…” she stuttered. “I pooped my pants…?” The last part came with the inflection of a question. Gwendolyn still couldn’t believe it herself.

“Obviously,” Mrs. Thompson growled. “But why did you poop yourself?”

Gwendolyn blinked. She hadn’t had time to ask herself that. Her mind instantly flashed back to a few hours ago. That Little! “I saw a Little,” she said. “In the store today.”

“And you wanted to be a Little? Poop your pants like one?”

Gwendolyn took a hand off her backside and held it out defensively. The mess was starting cool now. Starting to settle. “No, no. This was one of those Littles that still thought she was mature, but then I thought she was pooping her pants so I followed her to the bathroom to catch her, but she gave me the slip and and…” something clicked. “She must have poisoned me! A laxative or something!”

Mrs. Thompson’s face was made of stone. “So let me get this straight,” she sighed. “You filled your pants up with poop because there’s a non-diapered Little wandering around trying to make Amazons have bathroom accidents?”

“What?” Gwendolyn laughed. “No! That’s not what I meant! I slipped something into her drink. She must have put it back in mine, or something! She poisoned me!”

Slowly, like a shadow, Mrs. Thompson rose from her desk. “You poisoned a customer?” Her voice was low and grim. She didn’t dare shout that last part out.

“NO!”

“So did you just lie to me?”

“No…I mean…yes…but…I mean…um…” If Gwendolyn’s cheeks weren’t already pink, they were certainly rosey now.

A light knock on the door. “Excuse me, Mrs. Thompson?” It was Samantha.

“SAMANTHA! GET OUT!” Gwendolyn demanded.

“You’re in no position to be making demands, Little girl,” Mrs. Thompson chided Gwendolyn.

“But I’m not-”

“If the diaper fits,” she cut Gwendolyn off. “What is it Samantha? We’re kind of busy.”

Meekly, Samantha edged in a large, plain white, Amazon sized diaper. “One of the customers went to the bathroom and bought this out of the vending machine…” Her voice was trembling. Clearly, this wasn’t her idea. Caught in a world filled with giants and dwarfs, Tweeners were resented by the latter as no better than the former, while threatened by the former lest they be treated like the latter. Samantha was just the messenger.

Silently, Mrs. Thompson strode out from behind his desk and took the adult diaper and wipes from the Tweener. “Thank you, Samantha,” she said curtly. “You did a good job. Go see to the customers.”

“Yes ma’am!” The Tweener couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Now blocking the door, Mrs. Thompson looked square at Gwendolyn “Take your pants off, dear.”

“Wha-?”

“You heard me,” she said, her voice even. “Take them off. I’m not going to have you finish your shift in messy pants.”

“I have to fini-?”

“Of course. You’re mature enough to do that, aren’t you? Or did you poop yourself on purpose to get out of work?”

“No, I-?”

“So it WAS an accident.”

“NO!” Gosh darn it! Why wasn’t he letting her get a word in edgewise? Standing there in poopy pants, she felt so helpless, so small. So Little.

“Oh yes,” the older Amazon countered, “You were poisoned by a magical Little that ran around putting special laxatives in people’s coffee. Or was it that you were trying to poison someone who was a paying customer and your prank backfired?” Gwendolyn opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. A diaper in one hand, her boss placed the other on her shoulder. “Gwen, if a Little had an accident in front of everyone, what would we do to them?” Her voice was softer; gentler; like a mother patiently explaining responsibility to a pre-schooler. It was no less intimidating.

“Put them in a…a…” she couldn’t even say it now.

“And what if Samantha made a piddle in her pants?” Gwendolyn didn’t even reply. “So when an Amazon has an accident, what should we do?”

She didn’t want to say it! She knew the answer but she didn’t want to say it. “But I’m twenty-two!” She was begging, and she knew it.

“I know plenty of others who are older and still aren’t mature enough for big girl panties.” Mrs. Thompson replied. “And it would be terribly irresponsible of me to let you walk around in dirty pants. Wouldn’t it?”

The air leaked out of Gwendolyn, along with her will to fight; at least for the time being. Her boss was right. Of course she was. Even if the barista had been poisoned, she’d just been beaten at her own game. “Fair is fair,” she mumbled. “This isn’t going to be permanent, is it?”

A shadow came across the older Amazon’s eyes. “That depends on whether you can act like an adult in a diaper instead of a whiny Little brat that got caught pretending to be more mature than she was.”

The twenty-two year old’s fear of wearing a diaper was only surpassed by the fear of wearing one forever. It had been at least two decades since she’d worn one. She’d never even been to diapered detention back in high school! She was an adult! A big girl!

Stepping back, she slipped out of her shoes and with jerky non-fluidity, pulled her pants and underwear down to the floor and stepped out of them. Her top lip curled in disgust upon seeing the massive loaf.

“Apron too,” Mrs.Thompson commanded. It wasn’t dirty, but she removed it anyways. “Bend over,” Mrs. Thompson told her. “Turn around and touch your toes.” Gwendolyn obeyed, closing her eyes. The first cold wipe that touched her might as well have been a taser, she shook so much.

The second one wasn’t as bad. Nor the third. It was something of a localized cold shower. Chilly at first, but refreshing in a strange way. If it weren’t for the fact that someone else was wiping her ass for her she might have started to enjoy it.

“Ugh,” Mrs. Thompson grunted. “What have you been eating, anyway?” Her voice was more joking than disgusted, but it caused Gwendolyn to nervously chew on her tongue all the same. “There needs to be baby powder in that machine too.” A frown pulled Gwendolyn’s lips down so that the corners felt like they had anchors hooked to them. “Whooof!”

Great. She was being humiliated and Little-fied; her superior was cracking wise. “Stand up,” she told her. Once again, the young woman obeyed, hearing the diaper crinkle behind her as her boss unfolded it. “I don’t have a spot to change you on the floor,” she explained. “So we’re going to do this standing up.”

That last part made Gwendolyn tense up. She wasn’t being changed. She was being diapered! If she was being changed that would mean she’d have worn more than one diaper over the last twenty years! Out of one diaper and into a clean one.

Even more worryingly was the lingering lack of finality in Mrs. Thompson’s tone. Se might as well have said, “I don’t have a spot to change you on the floor YET!” and “We’re going to do this standing up FOR NOW!”

The diaper was lifted up between her and fastened on while Gwendolyn stood statue still; afraid that something awful would happen if she didn’t obey. Why was she obeying, though? Couldn’t she just quit?

Quitting would mean no money, though, wouldn’t it? No money meant no rent. No rent meant moving back in with her parents. And how would THEY react to having a failure of a daughter that had to fly back into the nest. Knowing her parents, she might very well end up back in diapers, anyways. Wouldn’t it be best to just bite the bullet and get this over with?

It was a clumsy thing, having the diaper put on her. Mrs. Thompson clearly wasn’t all that practiced in this. Tired of being seen naked, she even did her part and held the front end while the older woman fiddled with the tapes. That earned her a “good girl”.

Four tapes instead of two, and they needed to be adjusted, but by the end, Gwendolyn stood there in the musty room looking very much like a Little. Naked from the waist down save for her puffy white padding, the barista let out a small helpless mewl. She even had to adjust her gait a little like a toddler that hadn’t quite figured out how to walk.

“Do you have anything else I can wear over…this?” she asked.

Her boss scoffed. “Why would I need to have a change of clothes? This isn’t a daycare, is it? No one past kindergarten worries about changes of clothes” She squinted at Gwendolyn a bit suspiciously. “You don’t have a change of clothes, do you?”

This was so unfair! One accident! One tricky Little bitch, and her entire adulthood was coming into question. She wasn’t a Little! She was an Amazon! An adult!

The older Amazon waved off Gwendolyn’s indignation and helped by slipping on her shoes for her. She gave her back the apron, too. It did little to hide the bulbous thing taped around her hips, but it did something. As long as she stood only behind the counter, only facing towards the customers, and not moving too much; she might be able to get through the rest of the day with a smidgen of dignity intact.

A smidgen of dignity, that is, until Mrs. Thompson pointed to the pile of ruined clothes off to the side. “Go throw those out.”

A new wrinkle. “Throw them out?”

“Unless you want them to stew in your car.”

“No no no…” She stuttered. “I’ll throw them out.”

Powered by adrenaline and shame, Gwendolyn became a crinkling blur. Bagging up her once pristine clothes, rushing out the side of the shop and tossing her ruined clothes in the dumpster. Tunnel vision and the pounding of her own heart blurred and muted the outside world to her. There could have been a marching band directly to the right of her, and an explosive and gorey military coup to the left, and Gwendolyn wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing she kept hearing was the plastic rustling that plagued every step.

It followed her everywhere, even to the front of the store. The moment she stepped in to the front to retake her position, everything stopped. Everything. “Here you are, ma’-,” Samantha cut herself off mid sentence handing a customer their order. She stepped off her stool, shrinking down behind the barrier.

Despite the initial revulsion of watching a grown woman shit herself, business had not slowed down much after all. Those who left had been quickly replaced by new customers. Those who had stayed weren’t unbothered as much as morbidly curious. They’d stayed around to gawk.

The sea of faces and their reactions were fairly varied: Some looked on uncomprehendingly; either because they were at just the right angle to not see the diapered Amazon for what she was or they thought it was as impossible as Gwendolyn did until five minutes prior. Others looked away; somehow embarrassed by the barista’s predicament. One kid (and it was a kid, not a Little) guffawed, thinking she was about the funniest thing he’d ever seen; never mind that the paper thin waistband poking out of his pants wasn’t from a Pull-Up.

And Gwendolyn was sure she could hear whispers of “Big Baby” and “Immature” and maybe even “Maturitis” or “Maturosis” or whatever it was that Littles had that turned them into forever children.

A tug on her elbow brought the Amazon out of her stupor. “Gwen,” Samantha hissed. She’d maneuvered her way over to her co-worker. “Say something!”

The Amazon closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Fair was fair. “I apologize, everyone.” she said, loud and clear. “I had an…an…I pooped my pants uncontrollably. It was very immature of me. I shouldn’t have done what I did. Now, for the rest of the day, I’ll be wearing this,” she lifted up the front of her apron. “for my protection as well as the furniture’s. I acted like a naughty toddler and now I’m being treated like one.” Deep down, Gwendolyn knew she wasn’t just talking about her accident either. “I’m very sorry, and will be back behind the counter to help you shortly.”

She did not receive silence to her reply, however. To her surprise, and utter horror, they applauded. All of them. Clapping and smiling. Little cheers of “good girl” and “good for you” mingled in with “hurrays” and whistles. It wasn’t rowdy, per say, but far louder and more supportive than it needed to be. It was like in the movies when someone admits that they’re an alcoholic or something.
The pats and rubs on the back she received on her way to the counter were just shy of the hugs at the end of those classic movie scenes. The pats and rubs on her backside only reinforced what she was wearing and why she was wearing it.

The quiet giggles resumed as soon as she turned to start making more fancy flavored bean water. For crying out loud! She’d just admitted to having AN accident; singular; and the diaper was the only thing in the store that might fit her. It’s not like she NEEDED it. “Please just let this day be over,” she whispered to herself. If Gwendolyn had known what would come the next day, she might not have wished that for herself.


“You wanted to see me, ma’am?” Gwendolyn asked, poking her head through the door but leaving the rest out in the doorway.

Yesterday had been humiliating, but she’d gotten through it well enough. The diaper she’d been forced into yesterday now lay crumpled up at the very bottom of her wastebasket at home (and still clean to boot). Yet she was still more than a bit shell shocked through, hence why she was creeping around like Samantha tended to do instead striding proudly and confidently around as was her tendency.

“Gwen,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Yes. come in.” She had a smile on her face. Gwendolyn immediately did not like that smile. It was the smile Mrs. Thompson wore right before she fired someone; or so it seemed.

“You wanted to see me ma’am?” Gwen repeated. It was still early. Prep time. The sun hadn’t even come up yet. The lights in the front of the store had just buzzed on. The young woman wasn’t surprised she’d been told to come in early today. She’d royally screwed up and been allowed to keep her job; some kind of extra punishment or grunt work was in order and that included lugging around heavy bags of beans and some monotonous cleaning and prep work for sure. What surprised her was what she’d been told to wear.

Mrs. Thompson saw the short denim skirt Gwen wore and her smile spread even further. “Good.” she said. “That’ll make it easier to check you, today.” CHECK?! That didn’t sound right. She followed her boss’s gesture. On the right side of the office, a worn but thick pink blanket was spread out. Near the edge was a packet of wipes, a bottle of baby powder and a clear plastic package filled with diapers too big to fit even a Tweener. “Go lie down.”

Gwen wanted to cry; scream was more like it. She did her best to keep her voice level. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I think it is,” Mrs. Thompson replied. “You failed to take responsibility for your actions and your body yesterday; just like a Little.” She walked over to the blanket and kneeled down on the floor. Her outfit was different too. Instead of the light blue pantsuit she tended to wear or the business casual blouse and khakis when she deigned to take a shift serving customers, the older woman now wore a simple, yet feminine rose colored dress. Very maternal. “So until you can prove to me that you don’t need to be treated like a Little…” she patted the blanket, and let the silence speak for itself.

If Gwendolyn had had any sense, she would have run just then. But to her own thinking, her boss did have a point. If Littles deserved to be babied because of the way they acted; then they just needed to act differently to avoid it. She could prove it. She could prove that she was an adult.

Fair is fair.

Before she stepped onto the blanket, she shimmied her panties down off her feet. So that’s why she was told to forego the usual dress code today… “That’s so helpful,” Mrs. Thompson teased. “Thank you! You’re already well on your way to proving what a mature young woman you are!”

Gwendolyn took the hint and flipped her skirt up just before she laid down. Mrs. Thompson took her time unfolding the bulky adult diaper; really wanting to get it right this time, it seemed. A little pressure on the back of her legs, and Gwen lifted them up in the air and raised her hips so that the padding could be slid under her. She was told to keep them there for a bit longer than was comfortable so that a fresh cloud of baby powder could be dusted on her bottom.

This was stupid, she thought to herself. No way was she going to need baby powder; yet alone a second diaper. She wasn’t going to be poisoned twice.

Her breath shook as the diaper was pulled up between her legs, each tape being pulled snuggly over the front of her waist. Even with four tapes, now that she was laying down it still felt different. More babyish. More Little. Like she couldn’t even be trusted to stand and do it.

The older Amazon diapered Gwen much more easily this time. Either because it was easier putting a diaper on someone when they were laying down, or perhaps Mrs. Thompson had more experience using this method.

Once it was on and secure- much more secure than it had been yesterday, come to think of it- Gwen stood up and pulled down on her skirt. Much to her dismay, the tiny piece of denim that she used to catch boys’ eyes didn’t even come close to covering the offending padding. Anyone standing behind her would be able to see what she was wearing.

“How long do I have to wear these?” she asked her boss.

“Until you prove you don’t need them anymore.” Gwen’s face now was a near perfect match for Mrs. Thompson’s dress. “Alright. Off you go. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.” Gwen scurried out of the office as fast as she could; just not fast enough to avoid the light swat on her backside, the sound of flesh on plastic making a distinctive THWAP sound.


“I’ve got a salted caramel macchiato for-” Gwen’s announcement was cut off with her own “EEK!” as she felt fresh air hitting the crack of her ass. Twirling like a twister, Gwen peered down at Samantha, grinning cheekily.

“Just checking,” Samantha said. “Making sure you didn’t have an accident…again.”

Nostrils flaring, eyes wide and unblinking, Gwen stared down at the Tweener willing her back into her submissive place. Nothing. Even as she loomed over her, the Tweener was completely unphased. It was as if all of her adulty Amazonness had been canceled out by a single not-quite undergarment.

“”I’m not going to have an accident, again,” Gwen growled. It was true. This morning Gwen had gotten rid of her secret stash of Little Laxatives, and wasn’t even drinking any coffee, just in case. The only thing she’d had was water directly from the tap.

Not that it mattered. For all her bluster, Gwen might as well have been a Great Dane and Samantha a crafty kitten. Two animals that didn’t- couldn’t- recognize their dramatic size difference. “Are you sure?” Samantha teased. “Big babies don’t know when they have accidents. That’s why they need-”

“Are you wearing a diaper?!” The customer near the front exclaimed. Gwen’s knees locked and her back straightened. Her arms.shot back in a childish attempt to pull down the hem of her skirt. It was too late, though. She’d stepped too far away from the counter; she’d bent over way too far. Everyone who cared to look (and somehow she felt that everyone WAS looking) knew what was going on downstairs. “Oh wow….”

Samantha whizzed around (a poor choice of words) Gwen and got on the step stool to look the customer in the eye. “Yup. Baby Gwen-Gwen had an accident in her big girl pants yesterday, so the owner is making her wear diapers until she can prove she’s a big girl again.” Every word from the Tweener’s lips was honeyed venom: And everything she said was exactly like what Gwen would have said had their situations been reversed. “Don’t worry, though,” Samantha added, “I make sure she washes her hands and stuff.”

There was a general nodding of agreement from the customers; even the people sitting at tables and clacking away on laptops seemed to be at least half listening and bobbing their heads.

“Seems fair.”

“Very responsible.”

“Good.”

“Reasonable.”

And so the murmurs went.
Gwen clenched her fists. “I’m going on break.”

A hand reached out and grabbed her by the wrist before Gwen had taken a full step. “Where do you think you’re going?” Samantha said with an air of authority up on her step stool.

“It’s ten o’clock,” Gwen thumbed to the digital on the wall. “I’m taking a bathroom break.”

“You don’t NEED a bathroom break,” Samantha said. “You’ve got a diaper on.”

Gwen felt her blood boil. “I am NOT going to use this diaper.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

The Tweener mimicked her. “Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am NOT!”
“ARE TOO!”

“AM NOT!”

The Tweener inhaled deeply. “MRS. THOMPSOOOOOOOON!” Gwen was an only child but if she’d ever wanted a bratty younger sister just then, Samantha would have fit the archetype perfectly just then. Now if only she fit the dress code for her behavior…

Heavy footsteps signalled Mrs. Thompson’s approach. She was all smiles, how-do-you-do’s and excuse-me’s working her away around to the counter, but as soon as she got to the girls her expression turned serious. “What’s going on here?”

“Gwenny’s trying to go to the potty!” Samantha’s choice of infantile vocabulary was nails on a chalkboard to Gwen’s ears.

It was then that Mrs. Thompson regarded Gwen and asked her the strangest question. “Why?”

“Because I have to go…?” Gwen said, feeling uncertain.

“Do you know how expensive those diapers I bought you are?” The older Amazon’s hands were on her hips now, her foot tapping impatiently. “And the tapes aren’t great for more than one use. I’d have to put another one on you as soon as you were done. Do you want me to waste money on perfectly good diapers for you? Do you?” She took a moment to address the crowd. “I’m not even taking the cost out of her paycheck.”

There was an approving “Awwww”.

Gwen’s head might have been a rotary fan turned up to eleven. “No. That’s not what I.”

“Then just go in your diaper like a good girl. Be grateful that I’m looking out for you, and use what I’ve provided.”

“Fine,” Gwen said. “I’ll hold it until lunch.”

“You most certainly will not!” Mrs. Thompson proclaimed. Without waiting she added, “If you can hold it till lunch, then that means you were just trying to get out of work.”

“But-!”

“Either that or you’re going to damage your body holding it in too long. That’s not very mature, is it?”

“Yes…I mean no…I mean-!”
“So are you trying to harm yourself or were you lying about your need to go?”

More eyes. An unsympathetic ocean. Everyone was waiting. To be mature, she had to wet herself? To prove that she was an adult she had to pee her pants in front of everyone, just like a Little? It didn’t make any sense.This logic seemed to gel perfectly with the assembled looky-lous, however.

Feeling defeated, Gwen buried her face in her hands and relaxed her bladder, a slight hissing sound filling her inner ear like when she chewed. No one else could hear it, she was sure of that. The moment she buried her face- like an embarrassed toddler-Samantha lead the shop in a chorus of cooing, “Awwwwwwwwwwww’s”.

It was such a strange sensation, wetting herself like that: It was almost the exact inverse of going on the toilet. A quiet hiss instead of a loud tinkle; the feeling of expanding warmth instead of the coolness of the seat; the added weight as her disposable panties sagged and expanded to accommodate; the lack of privacy; the fact that she was going to be carrying this around with her instead of flushing it all down a whole right away.

“Okay…I went.” Her voice came out as almost a sob.

“All done?” Mrs. Thompson asked. Peeking through her fingers, Gwen nodded. “Check her.”

Her hands still up by her face, Gwen was too slow to stop Samantha from groping her right between the legs. “She’s just a little wet,” Samantha reported. “A tiny tinkle. Could definitely hold more.”
Their boss nodded approvingly. With a single finger crooked, she beckoned Gwen to lean over the counter. “Good girl. I’ll change you at lunch,” and then walked off. Gwen felt more confused than she ever had before in her life.

The positive feedback was even more disconcerting. One by one and two by two, customers took their coffee and chose just then to compliment her, as opposed to the usual silence, grunts, and complaints.

“You’re doing a great job!” one said.

“Good girl!” said another.

“This looks very yummy!”

“Thank you very much, Gwen!” It was as if just because she was wearing kiddie underwear that everyone decided they should treat her with kid gloves, too. And what’s more, she was having trouble telling the difference between those jeering at her and those who genuinely meant their praise. Based on facial expressions, it was about 50/50.

“Your boss and manager must be so proud of you!” Another said, indicating Samantha as the ‘manager’. “You’re a very good helper and employee!” And by the very nature of her the line, she never got a chance to decline or rebuff.

Gwen just did her best to tune them out and try to fill out the orders… Sadly her best just wasn’t very good.

“But MOMEEEEEE!” A Little girl in a pink onesie whined nearing the front. “I have to go potty!” It wasn’t the same girl from yesterday, though that would have made Gwen feel so much better. “Please let me go, please please please PLEASE!”

“Now sugar,” the mother patiently replied. “That’s what your diaper is for, isn’t it?”

“But you said-!”

“This girl right here went pee-pee in her diaper, and she’s a big girl, isn’t she?”
The Little stared at Gwen, her expression a mixture of disgust and awe. “Now just go and make yourself comfortable like her…”

The Little was not convinced. “But I don’t wanna-!”

“That doesn’t sound like the mature young woman you claim to be, does it?”

“Will you change me?”

“Only if you need it.” A lightbulb seemed to pop over the mother’s eyes. “Gwen here has no problem working in her wet diaper. You should have no problem playing in one. Her Mommy will change her when she needs it, and I’ll change you when you need it.”.

Gwen couldn’t tell when the Little had wet her diaper; she only had a feeling that that was why she was now burying her face into her mommy’s shoulder. In so many other ways the mommy and daughter echoed Mrs. Thompson and she. Oh, God! Was she commiserating with a fucking Little? That didn’t make any sense!


It was another two hours of pacing, sweating and peeing before lunch rolled around. The constant pressure of newcomers coming into the shop and noticing her diaper, followed by a round of gleeful explanation from Samantha, made Gwen want to tune the world the fuck out. This made her pace more and work more. This made her thirsty, resulting in taking more and more sips of tap water; she could at least do that without any hassle or comment. But all the water she was drinking was making her have to pee more. It was a vicious cycle.

So pee Gwen did, with almost no hesitation. She’d already humiliated herself once; made a big scene out of it. It was actually easier to just squirt a little more into her padding whenever she felt the urge. She was drinking more, and peeing more, but going to the bathroom less; arguably getting more work done, and her bladder didn’t ache besides.

At noon, Samantha groped her again. “Whoah!” she half-yelled. “You really did a number on your diaper, didn’t ya?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Gwen replied through gritted teeth. Without waiting, the Tweener zipped behind her and pulled open the back of her diaper. Her panties had become almost swampy, sauna like, and the rush of air conditioning to her backside made the contrast all the more apparent. “What are you doing?” she whisper-squealed.

“Checkin’ for more boom-booms.” Samantha told her with a kind of nonchalant arrogance.

“If I pooped my pants,” Gwen did her best to whisper, “I think I’d know about it.”

“You didn’t yesterday…” That certainly shut Gwen up. In her confusion and frustration, Gwen allowed herself to be led by the hand towards the back; towards Mrs. Thompson’s office. “Pardon us,” the Tweener called out loud and clear. “Baby Gwenny needs to go get her diaper changed!”

“SAMANTHAAAAA!” Gwen wailed.

“Hmm?” Samantha feigned being unconcerned. “I just wanted to let people know where we were going so I didn’t worry them,” she said. “It’s nothing for you to be ashamed about…” Gwen heard the lie, yet she couldn’t prove it.

Gwen was left by Mrs. Thompson’s door; Samantha knocking and then fleeing like a zookeeper leaving steaks for lions. “Come in, come in,” Mrs. Thompson said. She was already positioned by the makeshift changing mat on the floor. “Don’t be shy,” she cooed. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

The sodden padding swaying between her thighs with every step. This time, she forgot to lift her skirt up, and Mrs. Thompson had to instruct her to lift her hips first. She’d been so eager, so relieved to get out of the wet diaper and into a fresh one that she’d forgotten the first step.

“My my my!” her boss said after undoing the tapes. “Looks like someone was very close to leaking! Yes she was! Yes she was!” She threw in little tickling motions towards Gwen’s belly-button, and her voice went up nearly an octave. “Let’s get my girl all fresh and clean!” She started wiping Gwen down. “Fresh fresh fresh! Clean clean clean! This is the way we wipe wipe wipe!

Gwen swallowed hard. “Um…ma’am…?”

“Yes Gwenny?”

“You’re talking to me like I’m a baby or something. Like I’m a Little. I’m not…”

“Oh, sorry dear.” Mrs. Thompson smiled. “I didn’t notice.” The real question though, was what didn’t Mrs. Thompson notice? Her talking, or that Gwen wasn’t a Little?

The rest of the diaper change, the wiping, the powdering, passed silently. The new diaper being taped on expertly with only minimal effort from the barista. Even with all of the cool, cleansing powder sliding around in her fresh diaper, Gwen couldn’t shake the feeling that spots had been missed; that she still smelled slightly of pee…like a baby.
Gwen was still made to go throw out her old diaper in the dumpster. That made her feel more Amazon; more grown-up; she supposed.


Gwen drove home exhausted that night, having been pressured into another double shift. All day long people were noticing and commenting on her padded underwear peaking out from her too short skirt. Samantha never hesitated to explain for Gwen, telling the tale with relish.

The Amazon had heard the story of her pooping herself so many times today that it almost felt like she was never potty trained. She couldn’t argue or debate without getting cut off- and all of the strangers took the non-diapered barista’s word over her own.

The entire endeavor had been emotionally, mentally and physically draining. So draining that after Mrs. Thompson changed her the second time just before closing, she neither objected, nor tore the damn thing off as soon as she got home.

She sat on her bed, running through the day over and over again. It was only the added warmth spreading out that Gwen remembered that she didn’t HAVE to wet herself at home. The diapers were supposed to be for the store, only…

“Awwwww,” a voice that was not quite memory flared in her brain “Is the widdle girl havin’ an accident in her baby panties?” No one had said anything like that to her today, but somehow there was truth to the statement. Even if no one had said that, clearly every person she’d interacted with today had thought that on some level. Even the Little riding on her Mommy’s hip saw her as having more in common with Gwen than her grown-up Mommy.

Another kind of warmth spread in Gwen’s diaper. Shit. Something was happening. She needed to get off, in the worst way. Lifting her skirt, she squeezed the front of her diaper. “Not THAT wet” a figment of Samantha declared. She could take care of that…

Briefly, only briefly, Gwen considered going to the shower to clean off her muscles ached so; the shower might as well have been a million miles away. All she really wanted to do was lie down and get off.

Laying back and closing her eyes, she grabbed her vibrator from it’s trusty drawer from her nightstand. Part of her considered untaping the diaper first, but that would just mean she’d have to clean her fingers and vibrator after all. Maybe wash her sheets.

No.

Let’s keep the sheets clean.

The gentle buzz filled her ears and mingled with her breathy moans as she worked on herself. She tried to relax and tense up in all the right places and think of cute boys from movies and T.V. and past dates that had ended particularly well.

Insead, amidst the crinkle and squishing and buzzing and moaning, she got another image.

“Looks like someone was very close to leaking! Yes she was! Yes she was!” An imaginary Mrs. Thompson cooed. This time, with her eyes closed, Mrs. Thompson looked much bigger…and Gwen felt much smaller…weaker…more helpless. This time, when the older woman threw in little tickling motions towards her belly-button, and her voice went up nearly an octave, Gwen allowed herself to giggle and squirm. “Let’s get my girl all fresh and clean!” The young woman started to grind her hips. “Fresh fresh fresh! Clean clean clean! This is the way we wipe wipe wipe!” Gwen wasn’t on the floor this time; she was much higher.

Gwen didn’t even make it through the mental diaper change before she reached her first climax….


“Gwen!” Mrs. Thompson almost shrieked the next morning. “Why are you already wet?” Whether it was disgust or delight, Gwen couldn’t tell. After the delight of last night, Gwen woke up especially disgusted with herself.

“I was just trying to be good,” Gwen lied. “You got mad at me for taking the diaper off yesterday…so I thought…” she let the fib trail off. What had actually happened was that she had collapsed under the weight of her own orgasms and fallen asleep on top of her bed.

Gwen hadn’t remembered to set her alarm. In her panic from waking up so late she’d forgotten to change back into panties for the drive over. She was still wearing the same skirt as yesterday. The diaper now sagged and squished heavily, even worse than the first one; Gwen having decided to pee on her way into work rather than hold it and have the need to wet immediately after being changed.

Mrs. Thompson tisked and shook her head, her luxurious bottle blonde hair seeming to flow like a river. “What am I going to do with you?” she wondered around. Instead of moseying over to the changing blanket, she snuck a finger under Gwen’s chin, causing her to look up. “Maybe I should leave you in that wet diaper until you leak, silly girl. Would you like that?”

“N-n-n-no?”

Gwen felt the finger withdraw as her boss’s other hand squeezed the padding oozing out from her skirt. “That would be very long, though.”

“I was trying-”

“To be a good girl, I know,” the older, more powerful woman finished the sentence. “You just didn’t think things through.”

That much was true. “No, ma’am…”

Mrs. Thompson strolled behind her desk and opened a drawer. She took out a canvas tote bag; a simple promotional item from a charity drive. “This will have to do.”

“Do, ma’am?” Gwen asked.

“Before you go home tonight,” her employer instructed, “I want you to pack this as your diaper bag. Wipes, powder, diapers, everything. Take it home with you.” She paused a moment to let it sink in. “And before you go to bed, I expect you to call me and tell me that you’ve changed yourself.”

“Call-?”

“No need to thank me. These grown-up diapers are expensive, but there’s almost no way you could go through an entire package of them in a week if you only got changed at work.” Gwenny felt the full weight of her employer’s accusing gaze. “Unless you want to spend all of tonight in a wet or dirty diaper?”

“N-n-n-no ma’am…” She had to fight the urge to hide her face in her hands again. Somehow this one woman had the effect of an entire shop staring at her.

Mrs. Thompson smiled. “Good.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Gwenny?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

The older woman had moved over to the changing blanket. “Come lay down and get changed, silly girl. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.”

“Yes, ma’am…”

There was more pep in her step on her way over to the blanket.


That night, when Gwen found herself masturbating to the idea of getting her diaper changed, she was no longer on a changing pad or table; but out on a park bench. Mommy Thompson had packed her diaper bag, and was changing her front of everyone.

And everyone watched.

And they clapped.

Some giggled.

Some cooed.

Some cheered.

Some jeered.

And only the Littles who shared her situation could appreciate it. Only they understood her excitement and plight. And even they didn’t fully get it. They were just babies in a big world. She was big, but…but…but….


It was eleven on a Thursday and Gwenny was hurting. Her stomach wanted to murder her just then Being diapered since Tuesday and not daring to use the toilet even at home for fear of upsetting her boss, Gwenny hadn’t pooped since the incident on Monday.

Her bladder, she had gained a new degree of mastery over. She was becoming increasingly comfortable with wetting her diaper; despite (or because of) the coos and teasing from customers and coworkers alike. Her ass was another matter entirely.

Gwenny was backed up. It hurt. Alot. “Heeeeere’s your order, sir.” Her face became a mask of pain. She couldn’t poop her pants on purpose. She just couldn’t. Doing so would be to willingly throw away her adultness in its entirety.

But would it really? She wasn’t allowed to take the diaper off. Wouldn’t it be MORE mature to just focus and get the pain over with? Wouldn’t it be MORE adult to recognize the limitation that had been placed on her and just make get it over with? She’d seen plenty of Littles, early in the stages of their adoption, struggle and clench and cry as they voided their bowls into their pants; completely unable to accept their new reality. That’s how one knew they were babies.

Sadly for Gwen, while such circular logic might work on her mind, her bottom wanted nothing to do with it. Her body just wouldn’t let it.

“F-f-f-f-fuck iiiiit!”

“Excuse me?” The Tweener picking up his coffee asked. Gwenny didn’t respond. Unable to fully close her eyes she squinted like a cat and started to squat. Squat. And push. Muffled farts started pouring out…

“What the fu-” The Tweener caught himself. “What the fudge is she doing?” he asked Samantha.

“Oh, Baby Gwenny? She’s pooping, I think.” Samantha waved her hand in front of her face. “Yup. She’s making boom booms…a present for her Mommy. Her Maturosis must be flaring up hard!”

Maturosis. That was the word that was being used to described baby Littles these days.

“She’s not a Little, though.” The male Tweener said.

“It happens sometimes,” Samantha said, nonchalantly. “She must have a Little somewhere in her family. It’s rare. But it happens.”

The Tweener boy seemed mystified, curious even. “No kiddin’?”

“That’s what the doctor’s note says. Don’t worry, she can still work and make coffee pretty good. She just needs me to keep her from getting too distracted.” All of this was, of course, complete and total bullshit. Gwenny had zero Littles in her family tree and there was no doctor’s note to speak of.

She didn’t contradict Samantha, however. She was too busy pushing and savoring the rush: The physical relief of pushing a load out and voiding herself, while relishing in being talked about and talked over mixed with the self loathing and shame of doing something that she knew good and well that she was too old to be doing. Too old. Too big. Too mature. Too grown-up. Too Amazon.

And yet…

Gwenny hadn’t quite reached anything too untoward when she stopped pushing and let gravity and a muscle inertial take over; but she was panting from more than just the strain and sighing from more than just the relief of finally emptying herself out. “Phew…”

“I’ll say…”

Gwenny ignored the comment’ didn’t even see which Tweener it came from. She simply turned back to her work station and started making the next order.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Samantha asked.

Gwenny shrugged. “Workin’. Why?”

Samantha took her hand. “Come on stink butt, let’s go get you changed.”

A small jolt sparked in Gwenny’s brain. “But I’m not s’posed to get changed till lunch!”

“Not when you’ve got a full load,” Samantha countered. Gwenny followed her co-worker, seemingly so much more mature and aware of the rules of diapers than she felt. “Pfft…babies…”

She was being called a baby…by someone who barely came up to her chest. She knew how she felt about that, but she didn’t know how to feel about feeling that way…
“You poopied?” Mrs. Thompson asked. She didn’t even wait for Gwenny to confirm; instead pressing her hand against the back of her diaper, feeling and mashing the mess up against the younger woman. “You certainly did. That’s a lot.”

“I haven’t pooped in a few da-” Gwenny stopped herself; shut her mouth so quickly her teeth clicked. Why would she admit that? What businesses was it of her boss’s? Then again, what business was it of her boss’s to demand a phone call when Gwenny changed herself before bed. She’d still called, though…

Mrs. Thompson guided the younger, smaller Amazon to the old pink blanket. Instead of kneeling beside it, The older Amazon sat down. Gwenny was made to lie down, too, but instead of flat, she was sat down and cradled in the older woman’s lap. She flinched as she felt even more of her mess spread and shift around. It still wasn’t as bad as Monday’s mess. This one stayed in place more and wasn’t dripping down her legs or ruining her skirt.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Mrs. Thompson said. “That was a very brave, very grown-up thing you did.” Gwen arched her brow. She was a grown-up? For pooping her pants on purpose? “Most Amazons would have held it in, struggled, hurt themselves. Maybe even try and make it to noon so they could use the potty in between changes.” She chuckled, her eyes. “I would have let you if you’d just asked. But instead you made the choice to go potty in your pants like a good girl.”

A knot formed in the back of Gwenny’s throat. Good girl? How was she supposed to know that there were workarounds to this diaper punishment thing? She’d never been diaper punished! “You didn’t tell me I could have asked to use the potty for…for…”

“You never asked.” The matter seemed closed. Mrs. Thompson got a far off look in her eyes. “I used to work in a daycare, you know? Here in town.” Gwenny didn’t know. “I left because I got tired of whining Little brats who were ungrateful for all the love being given to them. Littles don’t know how easy they have it.”

She looked down at Gwenny. Sitting in the older woman’s lap, Instinctively, Gwenny curled her spine as she was slowly rocked, bringing her at about eye level with Mrs. Thompson’s breast.

“I think.you deserve a treat.” Mrs. Thompson pulled down her top. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

Gwenny stared at the tit, engorged and dripping in milk. It wasn’t uncommon for Amazons, even ones Mrs. Thompson’s age, to take special hormone pills; but they typically only did it when they were nursing a Little…or a baby. “Will this make me more grown-up?” Gwenny asked.

“No.”

Head propelled forward, Gwenny felt no choice but to take the tit into her mouth. Five minutes of moaning, blushing, rubbing, and squirming later; she was finally changed. Her baby pants had been even fuller than when she’d started. She’d struggled at first; screamed a bit. But only at first. Only a bit…


“Baby Gwenny!” Mrs. Thompson scolded. “Already? It’s not even nine!”

Standing in a drooping, shit filled diaper, Gwenny hung her head low. “Sorrry Mo-…” she corrected herself. “Ma’am. I really had to go.”

Even with the scolding, Mrs. Thompson didn’t seem all that upset. Or surprised. “You KNOW that I would have let you use the potty during your change this morning to make boom-booms!”

Gwenny was frowning, but didn’t feel all that sad. “I know. But I couldn’t control it this time.”

“I hardly think two poopy accidents would make you lose control again, little miss.”

“The laxative,” Gwenny pleaded. “I took some more of it.”

Mrs. Thompson cocked her head to the side. “You what?”

“It’s just that I was hurting so much yesterday,” Gwenny tried to explain. “I didn’t want it to hurt that much again so I-”

“Skirt! Off! Now!” Thompson ordered.

Today’s too-short skirt, a silky, almost see-through number, was sliding off Gwenny’s hips before “Now” had been barked.

An iron grip came, not for Gwenny’s wrist, but for her earlobe “OW OW OW!” she screeched as her employer dragged her in nothing but a t-shirt and diaper by the side of her head to the front of the store.

“TELL THEM WHAT YOU DID!” Mrs. Thompson screamed. Everyone in the cafe looked up from their phones and drinks.

“i pooped my diaper…”
“Pfft,” Samantha rolled her eyes. “Everybody already knows that.”

“SAMANTHA! NOT! NOW!” The color drained away from the Tweener’s face and for the first time all week she more closely resembled her meeker, mild mannered self. “TELL THEM WHAT YOU REALLY DID!”

All eyes were back on Gwenny “i poisoned myself to make myself go poopy. on purpose.”

“WHY?! THE TRUTH! NOW!”

“because i wanted you to change me. and feed me. and cuddle me.”

“AND?”

Gwenny looked around the room. “and i wanted everyone here to knooooooow….” tears were starting to flow down the not-so-big girl’s cheeks.

“DOES THAT SOUND MATURE? DOES THAT SOUND GROWN-UP? DOES THAT SOUND AMAZONIAN?” Gwenny was silently crying. “DOES IT?”

“nooooooooooooooooo….!” her voice was just as choked and squeaky as any Little she’d seen after they’d been taken down a notch or two.

Mrs. Thompson pulled a chair out from a table and sat down. She pointed to her lap. Baby Gwenny, knowing better, sprawled herself over it instead of sitting directly on her lap.

She heard a note of glee come to the older woman’s eyes. “New special! For every dollar that people put in the tip jar, this big baby, this pitiful excuse for an adult, gets a swat right on her messy diapered behind!” Mrs. Thompson announced. “Samantha. Keep count.”

Baby Gwenny didn’t look up. She did however, here many hurried footsteps towards the tip jar. By the clinking sounds some people were even emptying their pockets.

THWACK! The sound of the swat, of hand smacking plastic and pulp and mush, broke the girl’s concentration.

Baby Gwenny flinched.

THWACK THWACK!

Baby Gwenny itched, the lump becoming more of a paste.

THWACK THWACK THWACK!

Baby Gwenny squirmed, the padding thinning from abuse and onslaught. She was starting to feel the blows.

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!

Baby Gwenny wriggled.

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
Baby Gwenny thrashed. Baby Gwenny cried.

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
Baby Gwenny screamed and grasped

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
Mrs. Thompson started talking. “YOU DESERVE THIS!”
“Yes ma’am!” Baby Gwenny couldn’t help. It didn’t help
THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
“YES WHAT?”

“YES MOMMY!”

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
“HAVE YOU BEEN YOU ACTING LIKE AN ADULT?!”

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
“NO MOMMY!”

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
“DO YOU DESERVE THIS?”
Baby Gwenny was crying and gasping for air. “YES MOMMY!”

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
“WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN ACTING LIKE?”

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
“A LITTLE!” There was a pause, just long enough for Gwenny to gulp some air.

“WRONG ANSWER! LITTLES DON’T POISON THEMSELVES! EVEN THE IMMATURE ONES!”

THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK!
“WHAT! HAVE! YOU! BEEN! ACTING! LIKE!”

“A BAAAAAAAAAAAAABY!”

THWACK!

As she orgasmed into her mushy diaper with the final swat; Baby Gwenny came face to face with an uncomfortable truth about herself. She wasn’t ready for this to end. She was loving this. She NEEDED this.

The applause from the onlookers nearly matched the number of swats Baby Gwenny had just received. Trembling, Baby Gwenny crawled off her employer’s lap, sitting on her knees.
Mrs. Thompson cleared her throat and wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. “It’s a good thing today is your last day of punishment.”

“NO!”

“What?” The older woman seemed surprised; just not that surprised. More like she hadn’t quite heard the younger Amazon correctly.

She’d have to beg for it, Baby Gwenny knew. “Please! Don’t stop it! I need this!”

“Need what?”

Still on her knees, Baby Gwenny gestured down to her disheveled, messy, diapered, sub-Amazon state. “this……” Then she added, “please…Mommy…”

Mrs. Thompson smirked and stared cooly down at the wreck that Baby Gwenny had become. “You’ll have to wear diapers full time.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“You’ll still be working here, too. You’re a baby, but you’re not a Little. You’ll still have to do chores.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“And you’ll be moving in with me.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“And no more pants or skirts. It’ll be easier to check and change you.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“And I’m taking your diapers out of your paycheck from now on.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“And when I’m not up here, it’ll be Samantha who’s in charge.”

That gave Gwendolyn pause. She looked over to a smirking, eager, and triumphant Tweener, still counting tips behind the counter. “Yes, Mommy.” Baby Gwenny said.

Mrs. Thompson stood. She opened her arms wide. “Come to Mommy…baby girl!”

“AWWWWWWWW!” For that tense moment, Baby Gwenny had forgotten people were watching her. They’d always be watching her, now. She’d never escape this. She’d never want to. That Little spiking her drink was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

And the worst.

And the best.

Fair was fair.


Samantha smiled to herself. Switching those coffee cups (and their lids) was the easiest hundred bucks and a promotion she’d ever earned. The Little who’d bribed her had had a good idea. Give that bitch Gwendolyn a taste of her own medicine.

Samantha just hadn’t expected the giant to like it.

(The End)

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