Special

Note: This is a sequel to “Fair is Fair”

Marion Thompson didn’t believe in Maturosis. She didn’t think that Littles had some rare genetic defect that made it so that one day out of the blue they started acting like babies. That was just some fad pseudoscience meant to dress up a fact of life. Littles NEEDED to be diapered and disciplined and treated like the babies they were both for their own good and for the good of society as a whole.

No one questioned why it was best to keep cats indoors with a litter box: If you didn’t they’d end up shitting everywhere, having kittens with no regard for the ecosystem, and murdering birds. It’s just what cats did. The same was true for Littles…except for maybe the bird murder part.

The point is, it’s just what was done and needed to be done to keep everyone coexisting happily and healthily. If a cat resisted it’s treatment and cried and begged to be treated like something it wasn’t, vets didn’t invent a new term and talk about how their “Caturosis” hadn’t kicked in yet.

Granted, it was more complex where Littles were concerned. There were enough genetic similarities between Amazons and them that they could breed with each other; a thoroughly disturbing idea but Tweeners had to originate from somewhere.

The point being, Marion knew, was that some people just needed to be treated as their True Age instead of their Chronological Age and those people were overwhelmingly Littles.

Marion had gotten her start in a daycare for Littles when she’d been a teenager. There she’d earned a living changing the diapers of and bottle feeding people who were a quarter her size and twice her age. The new ones were always so rebellious; so fussy; but that only proved that they needed to be treated like toddlers or less.

Eventually, usually within a month or two of enrollment, she’d break them into happy Little babies, calling her Mrs. Thompson or Nanny. The right kind of rewards. The right kind of punishments. A few special cartoons just in case, and they’d be good Little boys and girls, babbling, filling their pants and generally being cute. But they never thanked her; usually because most of their True Ages were pre-talking.

Mrs. Thompson wasn’t one to cosset, but there was still a decided emotional drain that came with having to deal with the same squalling brats who were completely ungrateful for the gifts they were being given. Even if you were good at taming feral cats, you could only get scratched by them so many times before you started resenting it; even if scratching and hissing is just what feral cats did. It’s why after decades of working in Little care, she’d left New Beginnings and moved out of Oakshire to start her own business.

Setting up and running her own small business wasn’t that different than running a daycare. Like a daycare, so much of the hard work was in preparation, maintenance, and maintaining essential supplies. A few years ago, she’d been the heir apparent in terms of chain of command, and had taken all of those skills with her.

What was better about running a coffeehouse is that she had the ability to kick troublesome customers out on their ass at the first sign of trouble. Not that she’d had many of those in the last few years.

Coffee was just as commonplace as daycares, if not more so, and as long as it was a pleasant and positive experience for her customers and her prices reasonable, they kept coming back: Every morning before work, ordering minor bakery items through their lunch break or working on their never-to-be-published novels, and getting that last caffeine rush to go before an all nighter study session.

If anything, her experience at managing tots that would never grow up helped her keep her employees in line: No shiftless layabouts playing on their phones every spare second. No old failures just waiting out the clock until retirement. The people who worked for her cared about their jobs and took pride in it.

Motivating employees was just as easy as the tools she used to manage her former charges. Carrots, sticks, vague promises that needn’t come to fruition, rewards and competition; all the same stuff in principle. It was just a matter of making unpleasant employees work unpleasant hours until they straightened up and dangling minor raises and promotions instead of leaving them in messy diapers or promising addictive sweets. Different actions, same principle, identical effects.

No. Marion Thompson didn’t cosset. She didn’t miss working in the daycare industry either. Her own small business was enough.

And then Gwenny had pooped herself…

The Amazon girl laid half in Marion’s lap on the floor, sucking on Marion’s tits. Marion felt the milk coming out of her and into the girl’s mouth. The pills she’d taken had done their job, and Gwenny was such an enthusiastic feeder, that Marion’s breasts produced more than enough milk to keep up with the demand. She probably didn’t need to take them anymore. Probably.
Gwenny squirmed in quiet agony. She was completely naked save for the sopping wet diaper she’d worn since last night, and her hair was a brown and tangled bedhead mess. Mrs. Thompson had been completely clothed and her blonde hair perfectly coiffed before she’d entered Gwenny’s room.

She looked around the makeshift nursery approvingly, as she unclasped the other cup of her nursing bra and switched Gwenny over to her other breast. Gwenny continued to moan, her hands itching at playing with herself. She’d needed welted knuckles and duct taped oven mitts to finally break the habit. No cumming with Mommy’s permission.

It wasn’t quite a proper nursery, Marion knew. The crib was a modified hospital cot for the infirm and senile. The changing table was a second hand massage table. The diapers were FAR too big for a baby, and not nearly cute enough.

But the bunny themed wall border was appropriate. The toy box and its contents were real. The air smelled wonderfully of baby powder with just a hint of ammonia and the sheets on the crib and changing table were tastefully pink. A couple packs of stickers from the dollar store would do the job of decorating her diapers, besides. Come to think of it, there might be some cute stencils that with a fabric marker might “Little up” the sheets.

Gwenny would do it all of course. One of her chores. “For Mommy.” The poor, wonderful girl would do anything “for Mommy”. She’d debase herself. Humiliate herself. Be teased relentlessly by people who should be her immature inferiors. All Littles were babies. But not all babies were Littles. What was Gwenny? Gwenny was special.

Speaking of special; time for Gwenny’s special treat. Leaning back a bit, Mrs. Thompson reached under Gwenny’s crib. “Does baby girl want her zoom zoom?” She dangled the massage wand over her charge’s head. Another carrot.

Gwenny’s eyes leered up from her Mommy’s breasts, hungry for release. “Mmmhmm!” She knew better than to take the tit out of her mouth. Good girl. Very good girl.

She adjusted Gwenny so the girl was more on her back. More comfortable. Gwenny deserved a little bit of comfort from this. But not too comfortable. “If you’re all done drinking milk before you finish,” Marion said. “I’m taking it away and you’ll have to wait till we get back home to try again.”

The younger Amazon took the wand, switched it on and started grinding against the buzzing stick with all her might through the soggy padding. She didn’t close her eyes. She looked up lovingly, at her Mommy. Her Mommy looked back with equal adoration. Thirty seconds later, Gwenny stopped moaning and was gasping for breath, panting in ecstasy. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, Mommy. Thank you so much…”

That. That made this all the more special. Regular babies Gwenny’s age could do everything she’d just done. But they’d never thank her.

Marion gave her girl a soft smile and guided her up into a sitting position. She patted her back just long enough to get a single burp out of her and then looked at the hoot owl clock on the nursery wall. Time to get moving.

“Up we go, little girl.” She guided Gwenny to her feet. The diaper, now worn for about ten hours, wet, and mashed all to heck, hung from the Amazon girl’s hips like a garbage back. She led her over to the repurposed massage table. “Time to get you changed.”

Gwenny boosted herself onto the padded mat and held her breath, waiting for the inevitable relief. Marion obliged her and quickly undid all four tapes. She’d have preferred to take her time, but they were in danger of being late. She’d have to start earlier tomorrow.

Marion didn’t have a bathtub in her home, and she valued her own privacy from time to time, so she let the girl bathe herself, provided she submitted for inspection immediately after toweling off. The only time Gwenny wasn’t wearing a diaper was between changes and while bathing (as it should be).

“Someone’s a very wet girl,” she cooed down at Gwenny. “Such a soggy bottom! But Mommy will take care of that.” Gwenny blushed, her light and likely embarrassed giggles muted slightly by her thumb.

“Up we go,” she said. This was a game as well as a command. Her big baby obeyed and lifted her legs and hips. “Hmmm…no poopies,” Mrs. Thompson said, giving the girl’s backside a wipe. A second pass, and then the old diaper was balled up and gone; tossed into the lidded trash can beside the changing table. The new diaper quickly followed, and Gwenny tried to put her legs down. “Ah-ah-ah!”

“Phorry Mommy,” Gwenny said.

“That’s okay, baby,” her Mommy replied. She grabbed the tub of rash cream next to the stack of diapers and started spreading it thick and quick on Gwenny’s cheeks. Better a lot of cream than even a little rash. Some extra baby powder masked the scent well enough. “Okay, baby.” Gwenny lowered her hips and sighed as Marion She’d give Gwenny some of her own “special syrup” for lunch if she hadn’t gone number two by then. The liquid training chocolate, even in small doses, could potentially cause bowel incontinence in Littles. She’d used it plenty of time to trick stubborn Littles into liking their diapers and gave them the stuff even after their paper mache adulthood crumbled off their faces.

It could very well have the same long term effects on Gwenny too, but the big baby girl probably wasn’t potty trained anymore anyways. A constipated baby was a fussy baby. Couldn’t have that.

Like she’d been trained, Gwenny sat up after the diaper change and gave her Mommy a hug. “Thank you, Mommy.”

“You’re welcome, Gwenny.” She gave her girl a kiss on the forehead.

“Can I dress myself for wor…I mean chores?”

Marion looked at the clock. Despite the intimacy, it’d be for the best in terms of efficiency. “You may, dear.” Gwenny waddled off to her closet and began dressing herself for the day.

It was a shame, Marion mused, that they didn’t make true baby clothes in Amazon sizes. Gwenny’s padded tush would look absolutely gorgeous. So far she’d made do with tiny t-shirts and frilly nighties at home. Marion was still in the process of finding a tailor to hem some Lolita style dresses she’d found that covered too much of the diaper. Gwenny’s diaper was never completely uncovered, even at work.

Gwenny came back out wearing a bra and t-shirt, and a denim skirt that made it so that the younger Amazon would have to be very careful about bending over…or not. “Is this okay, Mommy?”

“That will do,” Marion replied. She quickly grabbed a thick brush and dragged it across Gwenny’s head. “Let me help with your hair.” Just like her mother had taught her, Marion quickly and efficiently got the tangles out in rapid and small strokes, patch by patch. “Get some diapers for your bag.”

“Already packed my diaper bag, Mommy.” Gwenny was beaming. “Did it before you tucked me into my crib.

A bit of genuine pride filled Mrs. Thompson’s breast. “Such a good girl. Now let’s hurry. We can’t keep Samantha waiting.”

“Yes, Mommy.”


The lights to the shop were already on when Marion unlocked the door and stepped inside. Samantha’s head just barely cleared the countertop, but she waved nonetheless. “Good morning, Mrs. Thompson!” then she added slyly, “Hiii Gwenny.”

“Good morning, Samantha.” Mrs. Thompsons replied, warmly enough. She shot a look at Gwenny.

“Monin’ Samantha…” Gwenny blushed and looked away from the Tweener. A few months ago, Gwenny would have been attempting to intimidate her co-worker, combined with veiled threats of diapering or tiny jabs at how immature Samantha was.

The changing tables had turned, however. “How are you, baby Gwenny?” Samantha asked. “Ready to work today?”

“Mmhmmm…” Gwenny mumbled, still not quite used to taking orders from the shorter woman.

“Speak up,” Gwenny said. “You know our customers don’t like it when you mumble. Use your words.” Approvingly, Mrs. Thompson watched a bit of extra blush creeped into Gwenny’s cheeks.

“Yes, Samantha.”

If it weren’t for her height, the girl might’ve made a spectacular Amazon. She was a far better adult than Gwenny, anyways. It stood to reason, though. If ALL Littles were babies and MOST Amazons were adults, then at least SOME Tweeners should have the maturity to make it in the world without a bigger wiser person needing to hold their hand every step of the way. In that regard Samantha was sort of special, too, Marion supposed.

“Oh, Gwenny,” Samantha gushed. “You sure do look pretty today, young lady.”

“Thank y-”

Gwenny was interrupted with an audible sniff? “But are you soggy, already? Poopy?” The big baby started to pale, in part because she might not have completely known.

The faintest hint of a smile, just the barest hint of a threat came across the owner’s countenance. “Why do you ask, Samantha? Would you like to check?”

Samantha didn’t miss a beat. “Only if you’d like me to, ma’am.” It came so quickly, so automatically. Good. Certain boundaries still had to be respected. Gwenny was a big baby, but she was Mrs. Marion Thompson’s baby. Samantha was clever, especially for a Tweener, but she wasn’t just a Tweener.

“I’ll think she’ll hold up till her lunch break,” Marion said. She looked to Gwenny. “What do you think, Gwenny?” Fun fact, not really a question.

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Good girl.” Marion started walking back to the little room that served as her office. “Ready your station, sweetie. Samantha?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“With me, please.” The Tweener fell quickly into line behind her. “I’ve been going over the books.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“We’ve had a steady growth in business the last few months.” This was fact.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Even after all the extra highchairs we ordered.“ Another fact. The uptick in their business, not coincidentally she knew, came primarily from parents of Littles, though there was another new form of clientele as well. The parents needed more seats to place permanently padded bottoms. Assuming the shop’s recent momentum stayed constant, the new furniture would be a worthwhile investment.

“Correct.” Hmmm…not a ‘Yes, ma’am’. Interesting. Marion walked into the little room that served as her office and took a seat behind her desk. Smartly, Samantha stayed standing with her hands clasped behind her back, waiting to be invited to sit. Marion wasn’t going to invite her to sit; not out of discourtesy but the practical fact that this meeting wasn’t going to be taking long.

She opened her ledger where she had left it the night before and looked at her notes. “I see you’ve put in more requests for cream and milk.” It wasn’t a question. “We’re running through a lot more than we used to.”

Marion gave her subordinate a look that made it clear that more than ‘Yes, ma’am’ would be required this time.

“We’ve been selling milk and cream.” Samantha swallowed, clearly choosing her words carefully. “So that the Littles have something to drink too. In their bottles. Makes their Mommy’s and Daddy’s more comfortable sitting and sipping with them.”

Marion kept her face straight. “And Gwenny’s special ingredient? The chocolate training syrup?”

She could have sworn she saw the slightest flinch in the Tweener’s mask. Samantha regained her composure so quickly that Marion doubted herself. “I never charge extra for it. And only give it to good Little boys and girls who are behaving.”

Ah. So that’s what that mother had meant the other day thanking her in passing for the ‘Special Treat’.

“Does the rest of the staff know about this?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Even on your days off?”

“It helps our tips.” Not what Marion had asked, but good to know. An answer without an affirmative.

Marion closed her ledger and stared down the Tweener still standing across from her. “Whose idea was it?”

The first real pause. Then Samantha finally said. “Mine.”

Accountability. Good. She might learn from this yet. “Put it on the menu.”

“Ma’am?”
“Put the milk for Littles on the menu. Complimentary still, but let our customers know about it.” She took a moment to let her employee take a relieved breath. “Keep the special add-in strictly under the table.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Samantha nodded. She seemed intrigued by the idea, as if she hadn’t thought of the benefits of good advertising before.

“You can have Gwenny put it up on the board high where she can reach.” A slight grin pulled at the right corner of her mouth. She pictured Gwenny having to get on a stool to put it on the menu board above the barista counter. No way to hide what she was wearing like that.

The same thought must have crossed Samantha’s mind. Why else would she be grinning? “Yes, Ma’am.” She waited until Marion waved her off and then turned around to leave.

“Oh, and Samantha?” The Tweener froze. “Make sure that any and all of the syrup we give away goes into Little tummies, and Little tummies only. Is that understood?”

A single bead of sweat. “Yes Ma’am.” And with that she was gone up front.

Samantha had likely been hoping that her boss didn’t suspect her. There was no suspect. Security cameras had confirmed enough. Gwenny had tried to outwit a Little that was going through an adult phase, and the Little and Samantha had turned the tables on her.

Marion didn’t have a problem with this. Served Gwenny right, back then. Try and argue or match wits with a child and it shows how childish you really are when they beat you. It just wouldn’t do for Samantha, any of her employees, to get too ambitious.


“Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha’s voice rang in. She sounded slightly rushed and not in the usual way. “We kind of need you out here.”

Marion looked up from her desk. It was unusual for anyone to barge in without knocking. She looked at her desk and thought she had her explanation. They were in the middle of the lunch rush. Yuppy interns and twenty somethings were streaming in to get their caffeine rush and some pre-packaged croissants since they were too overworked, time crunched, and cash strapped to get anything more filling.

Marion got up and took her own personal apron off a coat rack by the door. “Did Ramon not come in on time? Is Marissa trying to take another break?”

“It’s not that,” Samantha shook her head. “It’s Gwenny. She needs you. Badly. Leak. Blow out.”

Marion inhaled but didn’t let herself seem bothered, even as every instinct in her told her to rush out. Though often in haste, she must never seem hurried. She finished tying the apron- she’d need it anyways- and grabbed Gwenny’s diaper bag from off the adjoining hook. “Get a mop.”

“Marissa is already on it,” Samantha reported. “ Ramon’s holding Gwenny’s hand to stop her from fussing too much.” Then she added. “I came to get you because I had the easiest time maneuvering through the crowd.”

So there was a crowd. No matter. Better than no matter; good even. While changing a diaper was never pleasant- an adult sized one that had been ruined beyond capacity acting as a multiplier on said unpleasantness-.the crowd would bring with it certain benefits.

Combined with a certain feeling- maybe it was practicality; maybe it was the last vestiges of a proper maternal instinct - and Marion genuinely wanted to change Gwenny. She would have preferred to wait till after the lunch rush to do it, but if such accidents could be predicted, diapers would be largely unnecessary.

The crowd hushed as Marion’s heels clicked on the hard floor, signalling her approach. Only the whimpering of one or two fussy Littles not in daycare registered when she came into sight. The dining room was packed. Not quite standing room only, but no one was sitting down. Everyone wanted a view of what was about to happen.

Like courtiers in the presence of a queen, they parted for her. By everything holy she loved this part. If she had known that “adopting” a young Amazon woman would get her this level of satisfaction, she’d have done it much sooner.

Ramon, who was either a very tall Tweener or an Amazon that could do with a few inches stood holding Gwenny’s hand, patting the back of it in an act of condescending comfort. Marissa was busy behind the counter scrubbing Gwenny’s “spill”. It very likely wasn’t THAT bad, but the optics of seeing someone scrubbing the site were just as important as the actual cleaning itself.

People wanted to see certain things; to know that proper action was being taken for them. People wanted justice. And Marion wasn’t just thinking about cleaning up messes.

The smell of Gwenny’s backside hit Marions nose over the coffee beans just as she stepped into the girl’s bubble. Marion didn’t flinch. She’d smelled worse. As a responsible adult, she’d started heavily regulating her girl’s diet to lessen constipation as well as odor. Besides, she was used to it.

“Gwenny?” The Amazon girl didn’t look up. “Gwenny did you have an accident?”
Gwenny nodded, sullenly, but didn’t say anything. “Gwenny I need an answer.”

“Yes, Mommy.” The girl’s voice sounded choked, her throat tight.

Marion tilted her chin up with her forefinger. “Do big girls have accidents in their panties?”

She saw Gwenny blanch and drew a slight thrill from the fact that she could still make the girl wince after all this time. “No, Mommy.”

“But you’re not wearing panties, are you?”

Gwenny knew how the script went from here. “No, Mommy.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t be trusted.”

“To…?”

“Because I can’t be trusted to wear big girl panties…”

“Because…?”

A pause. “Because I’m just a big baby.” There was no applause this time, but she knew the audience behind her were almost universally nodding in agreement with her. She heard a few Mommy’s whispering to their Littles how Gwenny was just like them.

“Do you want me to change your diaper?”

“No.” A gasp from the crowd. Marion felt a brief jolt but contained her temper. There was no hint of defiance from Gwenny. Neither her tone, nor posture indicated rebellion. No glint of insincerity either; as so many Littles failed to conceal after they learned that direct defiance got them a spanking.

“I don’t WANT you to change my diaper, Mommy. I just wanna keep working and making coffee. But I NEED you to change my diaper. And as a baby, I NEED you to take care of me, because I don’t know how to take care of myself. So if you say I need a diaper change, then I need a diaper change.”

A chorus of “Awwww” punctuated Gwenny’s statement. The assembled crowd. Were she not the pillar of strength that she was, Marion might have melted right then and there. In her own, bizarre way, Gwenny was showing a kind of maturity that she’d lacked in a previous life. If only Littles were capable of this kind of introspection.
She gently took the young woman’s hand from Ramon and started leading her towards the ladies’ room.

“Here let me help you, Mrs. Thompson,” a customer said, holding the door open for them.

“Thank you.” Marion said. She pointed to a wooden wedge right by the inside door. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” The pine triangle was jammed underneath the door, letting everyone who wanted a peek inside simply need to crane their neck.

Certain edicts from the Health Department discouraged if not outright prevented Marion from laying Gwenny down and changing her diaper right then and there in front of everyone, but that was okay. She didn’t want anyone thinking it was okay to change their babies on her nice clean floor or her otherwise pristine tables, either. Lead by example, and all that.

But she didn’t want to change Gwenny in private always, either. Babies had no right to modesty. More importantly, Amazons being permanently diapered was a rare enough occurrence that the business woman in Marion worried that Gwenny might be seen as an actor. Actors slipped fake things into prop diapers and then and “got changed” in private dressing rooms. The local food service industry was cutthroat enough that competitors might say or do anything to discredit each other.

What she could do, however, was set up other adult sized changing table in the bathrooms in clear view of the doorway, and leave the door open so that if anyone happened to glance in, they’d see the act of maternal care easily. None of the stalls or safeguards ensuring adult privacy had been compromised, and no one objected otherwise, so there was nothing any government official had to say on the matter.

Gwenny walked into the restroom as she had close to a hundred times by now, and hopped up on the makeshift changing table. This one was a particularly strong and sturdy table, padded with multiple repurposed nap mats; the kind marketed for Kindergarteners and Littles trustworthy enough to not need cribs at daycare. The poor thing’s eye twitched a bit as she felt her own mess squish out beneath her.

A few of the onlookers pressed certain societal advantages. “Oh, somebody else needs a change,” one of the Mommies said to their Little. “Might as well get in line.” Clever. Anyone else wanting to use the restroom would be expected to find a stall and excuse themselves.

A few did, anyways. During one of Gwenny’s changes last week, a woman decided to “go potty” right then and constantly be talking about how great it felt to be an adult. A bit tacky, if you asked Marion, but it wasn’t hurting anyone, least of all Gwenny.

The men folk were just out of luck.

“Let’s get those shoes off.” Marion instructed. She slipped the sneakers off easily and then honed in on Gwenny’s skirt. She quickly yanked it down off of Gwenny’s legs and inspected it. “Awww, poor baby,” she said. “You leaked on your skirt.” The skirt’s edges were darkened with wet patches and brown stain near the hem. Such stains might have been caused by her laying down on the changing table just now. “We might have to invest in some plastic panties for you.” Hmmm…thinking of the plastic pants, if she could find some adult sized that were colored, she might not need stickers to decorate her baby’s diapers. The main reason diapers had cartoons on them is because adults had to look at them too.

Marion gingerly folded up the skirt and shoved it into a large ziplock bag she kept in a spare compartment for just such emergencies. ‘Unfortunately’ for Gwenny, she hadn’t thought to pack her diaper bag with any extra skirts.

In the meantime, Gwenny soothed herself by sucking on her thumb. Were there even pacifiers big enough for an Amazon? Marion supposed that the silencing soothers- the kind with the inflatable bulbs so Littles couldn’t spit them out - could work. Would a pacifier clip be too gauche? Something to consider for later.

The diaper change went very much like any other. “Someone’s tummy finally caught up to her.” Marion teased. “It’s a good thing Mommy put that cream on your bum-bum this morning or you might have a rash.” Gwenny just sucked her thumb and averted her eyes.

“She’s all done growing up too,” the Mommy behind Marion said. “But she still needs her Mommy to take care of her.” There are no whispers in a room tiled with linoleum.

Marion paid it no mind, instead focusing on every nook and cranny of Gwenny’s lower body to wipe down and sanitize. This really was quite a load and she didn’t want to risk infection. “You made Mommy a big present, didn’t you baby?”

This was true in more than just the obvious. Gwenny had put the coffee shop on the map. With the invention of Maturosis, fewer and fewer people without Little DNA in their blood were being thought to be immature despite all other conflicting data.

Tweeners were getting off lighter. Amazons were bulletproof not because they deserved it but because people were starting to think it impossible that their behavior might warrant the proper treatment. It was a slippery slope from there.

Babies like Gwenny were proof and a reminder: Proof that Amazon society cared and corrected for individuals in need of care and correction, regardless of size. That Amazons weren’t the crazy tyrants hidden in shades of pleasant pastel that Littles and their allies painted them to be. Gwenny and her societal demotion, besides being the best thing for her, was a reminder to society that Amazons as a whole were nothing if not equal opportunity. Amazon love was tough, but fair.

That reminder had been the catalyst for increasing business and profit margins. The store had been doing more and more business as word had spread around the neighborhood and throughout the city that there was a diapered Amazon who worked full time at a coffee shop. A diapered Amazon that was cooed at and teased by a Tweener with near impunity. An Amazon who sucked her thumb and was changed in near-public by her employer/Mommy, and whose face lit up when random strangers thanked her for their coffee by calling her a good girl and leaving notes about it in the tip jar.

Mommies with rambunctious Littles would come to prove a point to themselves and their forever children about the world and their own actions. Others came to remind themselves that some people still practiced what they preached. Some people? Some people might have just liked watching. If they gave her money, she didn’t care what their motivations were.

“Much more cream this time,” Marion said after she’d wiped away the mess. She said it loud enough that those in the back would be able to hear. “Just in case.” Slightly overstimulated, Gwenny hid her face behind her hands, as Marion caked on the next layer of rash cream. There wasn’t enough powder in a bottle to completely cover up the smell this time. Out of courtesy, she still gave Gwenny a thorough dusting before wiping her hands and taping on the fresh nappy.

The diaper went on and like a good girl, Gwenny reached up so that Marion could pull her up to a sitting position. The sneakers went back on. “Ready to go back to work?

Gwenny looked down at her diaper and gave it a poke. It was only now just occurring to her that no replacement bottom would be coming “Can I still have an apron on?”

“Of course you can.” It wouldn’t stop anyone from seeing the truth when she turned around. At all.

“I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, baby girl.” The two hugged and Gwenny started waddling to the bathroom entrance.

Marion didn’t move. “Samantha!”

The Tweener’s frame was in the doorway before her name had finished echoing. She already had a full Amazon apron folded like a towel in her hands. Dang, that girl was good. Definitely management material. “Yes, Mrs. Thompson?”

“Give Gwenny some chocolate milk for being so good during her diaper change.” The fact that the milk would more than ensure the next change needn’t be spoken.

Samantha frowned. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I thought…”

Marion beat her subordinate to the punch. “Gwenny’s special, Samantha. It’s okay.” It didn’t matter if exposure to the stuff risked incontinence. Gwenny wasn’t ever going to need those big girl panties again; not if Marion had a say in it.

“Yes, ma’am.” Samantha said. Then she smartly added. “Better safe than sorry is all.”

“Of course.”

Marion saw Samantha hand the apron to Gwenny. Gwenny draped it over her shoulders, and Samantha busied herself tying it in the back for her. “Gwenny, aren’t you gonna thank your Mommy for the yummy milk she said you could have?”

Gwenny went stiff in the legs. “Yes. I’m sorry.” She turned and looked back to Marion. “Thank you Mommy. For the…treat.” More awwws from the lookie-loos. That. That was when Samantha earned the managerial position. The Tweener had a killer instinct about her.

Her worker bees left the restroom and continued to ring up orders. Marion stayed. She pivoted toward the mother and her Little. A blonde bald boy in shortalls that bulged from the inside from all the swelling in his diaper. “Would you like me to change him?”

“Oh…um…well sure, if you don’t mind.” The mother replied. The Little looked to his mother as if he’d been betrayed, but didn’t say anything. The soother between his lips prevented him from doing so.

“It’s okay,” Marion said. “I used to help manage a daycare. I know how to help babies of all sizes.” The words ‘all sizes’ echoed to emphasize her point. The kid was soaked, but not leaking. Marion was fast and professional, not nearly as sensual or slow as she was with Gwenny. Though she did constantly reinforce what a cute baby he was and how he was nowhere near potty training and how much he needed his Mommy based on the state of his diaper.

Just like Gwenny, the Little hid his face behind his hands. So cute, no matter the size. Due to speed and scale, the change was much faster paced, but Marion knew her job wasn’t done yet. While she buttoned snaps on the shortalls up over the fresh Wuvs, Marion’s ears picked up the sounds of quarters rattling down a vending machine coin slot.

Another customer.

“Here you go. Good as new.” She handed the Little back to his mother. “If you think he’s earned it, make sure to ask my Tweener employee for a milk. On the house. You can make it chocolate if he needs a special treat.” Marion didn’t need to emphasize anything or nudge or wink.
“Thank you,” the woman said. “Come on Philly, let’s go get some chocky milk.” The Little gurgled with happiness behind the pacifier. At least it sounded like happiness to Marion.

“Excuse me.” A new voice said. Marion turned and looked down but didn’t have to look far. The sound was coming from another Amazon, an inch or so taller than Gwenny by Marion’s estimation.

She was dressed very professionally, with wire rim glasses and her hair back in a bun. She looked very smart in her blazer and knee length skirt. All the same, she was still young, twenty-one at most. An intern. A woman-child dressed to look older, more grown-up than she really was on the inside.

“What can I do for you, sweetie?”

Through her glasses, Marion made out red, cried out eyes and fresh humiliation. Her lips were dry. The mary jane shoes and frilly socks were another hint at what might be going on. The difference between pantyhose that a professional woman might wear and a little girl in tights were subtle, but obvious to anyone who knew to look.

The young lady shifted subtly from one foot to another, and clutched an adult diaper in her hands. The protective undergarment in her grasp wasn’t the source of the crinkle everytime she nervously swayed her hips. Even used to it and almost smellblind to the scent of old ammonia, methane and baby powder, Marion guessed that the faint odor she was breathing in wasn’t coming from the lidded garbage can.

“My name is Rebeccah, and I was very bad at my work.” She admitted. “I took longer breaks than were mandated by company policy, and blamed it on being in the bathroom.” This had a rote quality to it. A naughty child reciting their lessons. “My supervisor is correcting this problem and has brought me here on my lunch break.” She held out the diaper like it was a shield, or perhaps a steak for a hungry lion. “Would you please change me?”

This was the other reason business had ticked up. When young Amazons stepped out of line, her shop was becoming a proper place to give them a much needed dose of humility. Marion looked past the girl and saw a woman about her age standing back with her arms crossed; the corporate mother hen making sure her bratty child did right by her punishment and responsibilities. The two older women locked eyes and nodded.

“And why do you need changing?”
The intern sniffed and gulped, her eyes begging for not having to be said out loud… If she was looking for Mercy, Mrs. Thompson was not the person to ask for it. “I…I…I pooped myself.”

“YOU WENT POOPIE IN YOUR DIAPER!” Just in case anyone in the back missed it.

The young Amazon bowed her head and whispered. “Yes ma’am…” That was enough. Better to bend than snap them immediately.

“Of course, sweetie,” Marion beamed. Hop on up, and I’ll be happy to get you all nice and clean, just like Gwenny.” The shudder from the younger lady was subtle, but she might as well have been openly weeping for Marion.

She helped the newcomer lift her skirt and shimmy down her tights. “Oh these white tights are so cute on your legs. I bet you wish you could wear something just as adorable every day.”

“No, ma’am.” She hopped up, cringing as the mess in her pants squished against her. This clearly wasn’t something she was used to.

Marion untapped the diaper. “Oh wow, you really do need a change. You must’ve really needed to go potty.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She quickly wiped the twenty-something down. “Good thing you were wearing a diaper. I bet you could be so much more efficient at your job without those icky potty breaks.”

The girl didn’t blink, but her cheeks turned a peculiar shade of crimson. “I think I could manage my time just as effectively, ma’am.” She hastily included. “After I’ve earned it, I mean.”

Marion decided not to include powder or cream for this one and just slid the new diaper from the vending machine under the girl once she lifted her hips. “That’s very mature.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rebecca held up her skirt, properly chastised. “Will you please help me get my tights up.”

“Of course, dear.” She shimmied it up the young lady’s hips, and considered checking ballet websites to find tights for Gwenny. Other baby girls got to take ballet in their cute tights and tutus. Why not hers?

“Thank you, ma’am.” The intern hastened out of the bathroom.

While the girl did her level best to disappear into the cafe’s assembled crowd, her supervisor met Marion halfway out. “Thank you very much,” the Amazon closer to Marion’s age said. “You have no idea how effective this is.”

Marion searched her memory and thought of a handful of other Amazons she’d changed in the last few weeks. She thought she’d seen the supervisor before, too. “I think I might have an idea.”

“If this continues on, it might become company policy.” The other woman winked at her. “Sending them here, I mean.”

That made Marion smile. Good. More business. No complaints. “I’m very happy to help guide today’s youth.” She looked out the bathroom. “Of all ages and sizes.” Youth was subjective after all.

“May she have some milk?” The woman asked politely.

“If you think she’s earned it.”

“I think she’s earned two whole bottles of chocolate milk.”

“I said milk. Not chocolate milk.”

The other woman cocked an eyebrow. “Why not chocolate milk?”

Marion pointed out into the crowd to the still blushing woman. “Do you plan to keep…Rebeccah in diapers forever and make her your baby Becky?”

The supervisor opened her mouth to scoff and then stopped. Her face took on a less smug and more contemplative look. “That remains to be seen for the moment.”

“Then whether or not she gets chocolate milk remains to be seen as well.”

“Ah.”

The point had been made and taken.


A day or two later…

“Mommy?”

It was getting late. Closing time. The shop was closed and all the java junkies were being quietly persuaded to leave and go out to the places that they would be from. They didn’t have to go home, but they couldn’t stay here, and that was good enough for Marion.

Marion was just finishing up the day’s accounting. “I’ll change you in a second, dear.” She didn’t look up, more than capable of multitasking.

“No, it’s not that, I-?”

“You don’t need changing?”

“No, I mean I do, but I-”

This time she looked up, feeling the slightest tinge of exasperation. “Are you leaking again?” If so she’d get changed, but then Marion would have to seriously reevaluate what kind of diapers she was using.

“No, Mommy. But-”

Marion waved her in. “Come in sweetie. Come sit in Mommy’s lap.” Being a full grown Amazon woman, it might become uncomfortable for Gwenny to be on her lap for more than a few minutes, but such bonding was important.

Obediently, Gwenny did. Marion only needed to shift her leg and bob the girl a bit to feel just how thoroughly she’d used the diaper. She did need a change. She’d wait, though. “Mommy, I need ta tell you something.”

One arm wrapped to steady her, Marion gave a quick kiss to her baby and looked down at her ledger. If only there was a way to further monetize these public changes. Sell tickets? Seek an official contract from the office building that was sending it’s slackers to her for public shaming? Nah. Too risky. “Yes, Gwenny, what is it now?”

“Someone just came in, saying they wanted to talk to you.”

“Mmmhmmm…” Marion replied. “Why didn’t Samantha come and get me? She’s the manager.”

“The lady said it would be best if I did, an’ you say ‘the customer is always right’.” Gwenny lowered her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “That and I think she scares Samantha.”

That was something. Samantha didn’t scare easily. She might be short but she easily had more Amazon in her than Little. “Oh really?” Marion remarked. Gwenny might be stretching the truth, however. “And did you ask for this person’s name?”

Gwenny seemed uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with what was going on in her pants. “She told me that I should call her…Gramma.”

The cafe’s owner looked up from her work in disbelief. “Gramma?”

“Hello, Marion.” The form that filled the door was Marion’s equal in size and shape. Both had the same broad shoulders, wide hips, and buxom breasts. Her full head of hair billowing past her shoulders had lost most of its color, but a few rogue strands still had that golden sheen. Strands of treasure in a blanket of snow. If there was a mirror that showed what Marion would look like in twenty-five years, it might show her.

“Mother…” Marion did her best to hide her shock, and her distaste. Her mother had been another reason why she’d gotten out of the Daycare business. It was very difficult to be your own person, even in your mid forties, when you were forever ‘Miriam Thompson’s daughter’. “Please, come in.” Her inflection had none of the geniality that her words did. She shifted Gwenny off her lap and gave her a little pat on the butt, a kind of silent code for ‘go play.”

Gwenny made herself quiet in the corner of the office. A pink picnic blanket and some tinker toys were left there for when she got bored or would otherwise be in the way. Now was an excellent example of why such an investment was necessary.

Mother walked in and sat down in the chair across from Marion’s desk without being invited. The power move did not go unnoticed.

Still…family was family. “What can I do for you?” Marion asked.

“I just heard some rumors,” Mother said casually. “And I wanted to see if they were true.”

“What kind of rumors?” Oh to ask a question, even when one knew what the answer would be. Such was life.

“That your coffee shop was booming, and that some of the more traditional family values were being promoted here.” She stole a glance behind her towards Gwenny. “Congratulations. I’m proud of you.”

That caught Marion off guard. If she’d gotten more of that, she might still be working in daycare. “Thank you, Mother.”

“Does your employee need changing?” Mother asked. “I can smell her from here. Go ahead. I don’t mind waiting.”

The owner felt her jaw click into place. There it was. The same passive aggressive bullshit. “Her diaper will hold up just fine until we’re done. Gwenny is happy playing.” If she did change Gwenny in front of her mother, Marion could expect pointers or how she missed a spot or used too much cream or not enough powder, or perhaps the tapes weren’t going on at a correct angle. It was always something with Mother.

“Or she could go change herself,” Mother pressed. “There aren’t any customers, so there’d be nothing stopping her from finding an empty stall and seeing to her own needs.”

Mother couldn’t see it, but Gwenny’s head popped up as if it had been just suggested that she be abducted and probed by aliens.

“That’s not likely,” Marion said. “Gwenny’s not mature enough to change her own diapers. She’s just a baby, after all.”

“Aha!” A finger leveld itself at Marion’s face. “I knew it! You have adopted! You went and adopted without telling me!”

Behind closed lids, Marion rolled her eyes and massaged her temples. “It’s not a secret, Mother. I’m Gwenny’s Mommy and she’s realized just where she needs to belong to be happy.”

“Yes,” Mother said, “but you could have told me before you did it. We could have had a baby shower. Gotten proper furniture, clothes, the works. Thrown a party for her, for both of you.” She stopped and took another good look at Gwenny. “Granted, some items might be harder to procure than others give her size…”

“I doubt you would’ve had time to make it,” Marion said. “Doesn’t New Beginnings still keep Littles overnight? I’m surprised you found the time to trek all the way here.”

Mother started ticking items off on her fingers. “One, only the ones most in need. Two, the overnight services are completely automated, now. Three, I’m nearing retirement. Four, I’m allowed time off. You’d know all of that if you just read my emails. Now stop trying to change the subject. Why didn’t you tell me?”

For fear of losing her temper, Marion looked past her mother and to her baby girl. It let her heart soften just a bit so as not to turn this into a screaming match. “It’s not something that was planned, Mother. It’s something that just…happened…and became its whole thing. It was just the stars aligning and I…I…did what came most naturally.”

Mother leaned back in her chair. “That is love, isn’t it?” She had seemed to relax. “What so few Amazons understand is you don’t find the right baby by going out and looking to adopt one, it’s that the right one finds you and then you give them all your love through adoption.

“You taught me well.” Marion didn’t exactly mean it, but figured the compliment couldn’t hurt.

“That I did,” Mother agreed. “And you’ve been an exceptional student.” Damn, Marion wished such talk didn’t feel good. Whether it was Little, Tweener, or even the might Amazon, everyone had Mommy issues. “So…” Mother asked after her praise had sunk in. “When are you enrolling her?”

“Enrolling her?”

“At New Beginnings.”

Gwenny’s head snapped up so quickly she might have cracked her neck. “WHAT?!”

Neither woman reacted. “To finish up her education,” Mother said. “Teach her how to be a proper baby. Get her a few playmates, too, closer to her own maturity. I think it’d do everyone a world of good. No more having to bring her here to do busy work… There’s a waiting list, but I could get her past the admissions department. We’re family, after all. “

“But I like-”

Mother pressed on. “And it’d do the other babies there a world of good too. So many insist that the only reason they’re enrolled is because of their size and not their immaturity.” She laughed lightly to herself. “At first anyways. Then all the talkies go bye-bye. Having your Gwenny as a role model might smooth out the process.”

“But…”

“That’s very nice of you to suggest, Mother.” Marion said. “But Gwenny is already serving that function, and not just for your troupe of troubled toddlers all the way in Oakshire.”

“But I…”

“If it’s the drive you’re worried about,” Mother interrupted, “I’d be happy to help you, Marion. I don’t mind making the drive. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for my granddaughter.”

“Mommy…”

“That’s not the point,” Marion growled. “And you know it.”

“Then what is the point, darling?”

“BUT I LIKE WORKING HERE!” Gwenny exploded.

“Not now, sweetie. Grown-ups are talking.” Both women said the phrase in unison. It came as automatically as a slight kick when one’s knee was hammered in the right place.

That didn’t stop Marion from taking exception. “Excuse me,” she said after their voices had rang out in unison. “That’s my baby you’re talking to, Mother.”

A sneaky smirk. “And you’re mine, Mary-wary.”

Fire ignited behind Marion’s eyes. “That’s not my name, Leery-Miri.” Childish pet names and watercooler snickers came flooding back into both women’s brains.

“You’ll always be MY baby girl.”

Back in the corner, Gwenny started to whimper, not quite knowing what was going on, but not liking it one bit.

The scene was interrupted by the timeline arrival of a certain Tweener Manager. “Um…Mrs. Thompson?”

“Yes, Samantha?”

“Everything is put away and clean and stocked for tomorrow? See you in the morning?”

“Good night, Samantha. Get some rest.” Samantha didn’t need another hint to leave as fast as her legs would carry her. Her retreat was swift and completely silent save for the slight jingling of the door opening and closing.

“Mrs.Thompson?” Mother said, darkly. “Since when were you Mrs. Thompson? Did I miss a wedding, too?”

“A necessary affectation.” Marion sat up straighter, her spine stiffening. Married, even widowed, women got more respect, or so the reasoning went.

“Have you been fibbing?” Mother challenged. “Does Mommy need to teach her little girl a lesson? Do you need to go over my knee?”

“You can certainly try, Mirriam.”

She didn’t. She got up, turned around, and walked away without looking back.

“Mommy?” Gwenny asked after Mother hand showed herself out. “Is that really my Gramma?”

“Unfortunately, yes dear.”

“Am I going to have to go to daycare? With the Little babies?”

“No, baby girl. I prefer that you stay with me.”

“Can you change me, now?”

“Mommy’s a little flustered right now, Gwenny.” Marion admitted. “We’ll get you sorted out when we get home.” Gwenny grimaced. “Right after we play with your buzz-buzz wand.” she promised. That seemed to make Gwenny perk up.


Almost a week had passed since the most unpleasant meeting between Marion and her mother. That night had been restless. The next day tense, and if Marion Thompson were a more introspective and emotionally honest sort, she’d admit that she’d been more than a little harsh on her employees that particular day.

But the day after that was better. And the following one was fine. And now that tense and ridiculous “conversation” was little more than an annoying anecdote filed away in the back of Marion’s mind.

When Hurricane Mirriam came blowing in, the only thing to do was to buckle down and ride it out until she blew herself out. She’d run out of strength, and then go back to tormenting people who were smaller and weaker willed than her, until usually around the same time the next year. Sometimes she’d skip a year between landfalls. That’s how Hurricane season worked sometimes.

Hurricane season. That was a funny idea. Marion felt particularly clever at having thought it and laughed a bit to herself on the drive home. So proud of her own cleverness was she, that that she didn’t see evidence that the storm had gone back into the ocean and built up strength until it was too late.

“Mommy?” Gwenny said from the back seat. “Whose car is that?”

Marion cursed under her breath. The navy blue car in her driveway signaled Mother’s approach. “That’s your Gramma’s car,” she said. “We have unexpected company.” She parked the car.

“Does that mean I can’t get out of my work clothes yet?” Gwenny asked.

Mrs. Thompson thought about that for a second. It’d be quite the flex to make Mother wait while she got her baby girl into my comfortable clothes. Yes. Let’s do that. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, honey.”

Her heart started to pick up a tick when she got out of the car and realized that Mother wasn’t in hers. “Come on, Gwenny. Chop chop. Mommy needs to go inside. Now.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Mother was sitting on the couch, sipping a glass of red from out of Marion’s wine cabinet. “Hello, dear,” she said. “Surprised to see me?”

“Just a second, Mother.” Marion said, barely looking. “I’ve got to get Gwenny sorted out.” She wasn’t going to ask how her mother got in. Never ask questions you didn’t want answers to. She just knew that a call to a locksmith was in her near future.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Mother asked, her voice dryer than the wine in her hand. Marion did not, in fact, want to know. “I brought presents.”

Presents. Gifts. Reinforcers. Mirriam’s back up ammo when scorn and passive aggressive praise failed to land. The sugar that tricked you into swallowing her bitter pills.

Marion bit her tongue to stop from growling and gave Gwenny a pat on the bum. “Go pick out something to wear. Mommy will dress you up in just a second.”

“Or Gramma!” Mother called out as the big baby toddled off to her room. Gwenny did not look back. Good girl. She knew who was in charge.

They both waited until the crinkling had faded to the background. “What do you want, Mother?”

Mother put the wine glass down on the coffee table. She was decent enough to use a coaster. “Can’t a grandmother spoil her new baby granddaughter? Buy her a few presents?”

Marion thought about her own childhood. “I very much doubt you have anything she could want.”

The squeal that rang out from Gwenny’s nursery put lie to that. Marion went running. What now?

When she got to Gwenny’s room, Marion wanted to scream, too. She wanted to open her mouth and howl so that the whole neighborhood could hear her. The worst part was it was exactly in the same spirit as Gwenny’s shriek. No ironic juxtaposition at all.

A new coat of pink paint had been put on the walls and the carpet freshly cleaned. The makeshift crib and changing tables had been removed, in their place were scaled up and intricately crafted variations of the real deal. Wooden drop rails encased Nora the Discoverer bedsheets and a pile of stuffed animals.

Where the massage table had been, was now a real sized multi shelved changing table; exactly like the kinds in New Beginnings but scaled up to fit an Amazon. The retractable safety railing and safety strap were largely unnecessary given Gwenny’s behavior but a nice touch to the aesthetic.

The toy box that had been in the corner of the room had been added to with so many infantile trinkets that they spilled out of the open lid. Chances were slim-to-none that the lid could even be closed.

A playmat had been laid down with alphabet letters and corresponding animals in the middle of the floor. There no rocking chair, and if there had been one it still wouldn’t seat two grown Amazons comfortably. Yet Marion couldn’t help but notice a rather large pillow that had the shape of a chair back. It’d be very easy for her to prop herself up on the floor with that during Gwenny’s morning and nightly breastfeedings. Very comfortable. Very intimate.

Damn it. This was…this was perfect. Her mother had just given her baby girl a true-to-life baby’s room despite her adult size. And Marion hated her for it.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Gwenny squealed, grabbing a diaper from beneath the changing table. “Look at my diapers!” No medical wetness indicator or ugly medical name brand anywhere on the diaper.

“It took some searching online, but I finally found a supplier of…Amazon sized incontinence products.” Mother said proudly. No cartoons on them, but I think a plain white diaper can be very cute and babyish too. They’re like bigger versions of what you wore.” There was a pause. “Before you grew up.”

“I love them!” Gwenny said, because of course she did.

“If she really wants them to look cute,” Mother added “we can put stickers on them one afternoon. A few packs from a dollar store will go a long way.”

“Uh-huh!” Gwenny nodded excitedly. She was practically bouncing. Marion just silently fumed at how perfect this all was. “Mommy, can you change me into one of these? Pleeeease.”

“Go pick out your outfit, first,” Mother said, pointing to the closet. “No sense in getting changed if you’re staying in that silly looking big girl costume you’re wearing.”

It’s exactly the sort of thing Marion would have said in Mother’s place. Damn her. A second squeal punctated the air from inside Gwenny’s closet. What now?

“Mommy! Look! Look! Loooooook!” Gwenny came running out with two plain T-shirts.

It took a solid two seconds before Marion connected the dots and noticed the snaps at the bottom. Those weren’t T-shirts. “Onesies?” Marion wondered. “In Gwenny’s size?”

“I had to pull a few strings with some tailor friends of mine,” Mother bragged. “Same with a carpenter or three. But I felt that my granddaughter deserved something more…appropriate to wear. No more big girl costumes for you!”

Gwenny charged and gave Miriam a ball fisted hug. “Thank you Gammy! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Gammy?” Mother remarked. “I think I like that.” She gave Marion a wink. Marion had the sudden urge to turn her mother into a cyclops. “Come on. Hop up on the changing table and Gammy will help you try on some of your new outfits.”

Marion just stood there, slowly shaking her head at her mother’s gall while her baby cooed and squealed while she was being changed. “Oh my, my Gwenny is so wet! I think she let out a little more pee-pee when she saw her brand new clothes. Now she’s gonna look so much prettier! So many nice new diapers, and onesies, and pretty dresses and tights!” Mother tickled Gwenny, and a spurt of urine actually leaked out onto the fresh diaper. “Woopsie! Baby Gwenny definitely isn’t ready for big girl clothes, si she? Let’s try again!”

Her mother had a lot of stones, that was for sure. Marion excused herself and walked out. She needed more than a glass of wine, and felt the need to check the rest of the house. There was the very distinct possibility that Mother might have tried to convert one of the other rooms. She might be trying to move in….or take over and make Gwenny and Marion ‘sisters’. That wasn’t likely, but Marion wouldn’t have put it past the older woman.

The good news was that the coast was clear. Gwenny’s room had been the only thing that had been changed. The bad news was that Mother was in full on smoke when she and Gwenny came back out to the living room. “So, what do you think?” Mother asked. Gwenny crawled, actually crawled behind her.

“It’s very nice, Mother.” Marion quipped. “A babyshower that only had one uninvited guest.”

Mother was unphased. “And now she’ll fit in with the other kids.”

“Not this, again.” This time Marion didn’t bother to close her eyes before rolling them.
“Is Gwenny a big girl or a baby?” Mother pressed. “You don’t want her getting confused working in that coffee shop, do you?”

“That coffee shop is where I found Gwenny, Mother.”

“Even more the reason to take her out of the environment. You HAVE to remove them from as much of their old adult life as possible. If not they might get it into their heads that they’re just a grown-up in diapers instead of the baby they’re supposed to be.”

“I’m well aware of the New Beginnings creed,” Marion spat. “I added a few things to it, if you’ll recall.”

“But there’s so much more, these days” Mother added. “We’ve got some very special cartoons that will completely get rid of that naughty sex drive.”

Gwenny blushed. “Naughty…?”

“Yes dear,” Mother patted the girl condescendingly on the head. “Gammy found your grown up buzz-buzz toy. Real babies don’t need that kind of thing, do they? No they don’t. No they don’t.” It was stupid, but Marion saw her baby girl’s face droop and felt sorry for her.

“It’s just a masturbation toy, Mother.”

“An ADULT toy. She’s not an adult is she? Or maybe it really is an act…”

Marion refused to rise to the bait. “It’s a form of stimulus and positive reinforcement, mother. No different than dangling plastic keys. Or should I take her to the dentist and have all her teeth removed too since they’re not her ‘baby teeth’?”

Gwenny gasped. clapped her hand over her mouth.

“I’m just saying, what’s the point?”

“What’s the harm?”

“She could get confused.”

“She won’t get confused.” Time to throw down the gauntlet. “I’m her Mommy, and I know what’s best for her.”

“Then why won’t you do what’s best for your daughter and enroll her?”

“What’s best is that she comes and works with me!” Marion didn’t even realize she was standing until a few seconds up on her feet.

“Mommy…”

Mother crossed her arms. “You just want it both ways. A baby you don’t ACTUALLY have to take care of. One that can see to herself and start being an adult the moment doing so becomes inconvenient.”

“Gammy…”

No point in refuting it. It wasn’t true. “You just can’t accept that you and your views are outdated, and that not everything can fit neatly into your Little mold. You don’t know the difference between a baby and a coma patient! It’s all the same to you as long as they’re quiet and mess themselves in their sleep!”

“Mommy?! Gammy?!”

Mother was rolling up her sleeves. “You watch your tone, ‘Mrs.’ Thompson! You’re daughter isn’t too big for diapers, and neither is mine!” Actually rolling up her sleeves.

Marion curled up her fists. “In My house? At My age?” she scoffed. “No. Fuck that. At YOUR age? You really think you can try that bullshit on me at YOUR age?”

“WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE IN FRONT OF THE BA-!”

“GUYS!” All three Amazons- two grown-women and a grown-baby were on their feet. “STOP!”

“SWEETIE NOW NOT NOW! GROWN-UPS ARE TAL-”

“THEN AAAAAAAAACT LIIIIIIIIKE IIIIIIIIT!” Gwenny stomped her feet and slapped her thighs, her anger threatening to balloon into a full blown tantrum. Tears started flowing down her cheeks, and both ‘Gammy’ and ‘Mommy’ sympathetically clutched at their chests.

There was a silence that followed. It didn’t last a minute, but it was uncomfortable for all of them. What to do? Continue the tantrum? Punish the brat for interrupting? Or console the baby because the grown-ups were fighting in front of her. It was Gwenny of all people who acted first.

“Mommy,” she said. “Gammy got me some really pretty clothes, and I love them. They make me feel…right. They make me look on the outside like I feel on the inside. And I wanna wear them all the time. No more big girl clothes.”

Mother shot the nastiest look at Marion. “Thank you, dear.”

“Gammy, I don’t wanna go to any daycare. I don’t like Li….other kids very much.”

“That’s nice dear but you’ll make lots of new fri-”

“Mommy was nice enough to let me finish,” Gwenny interrupted. “Why can’t you?”

Mother looked positively gobsmacked. Marion felt absolute pride in that moment. This. This is why you didn’t try to match wits with children. You deserved what you got when you lost.

“I’m a baby,” Gwenny continued. “I was a baby before Mommy found me. I was a baby before I pooped my big girl panties. Working for Mommy just helped me learn it. And I like working for her. But if I’m a baby, then that means anything I do is gonna be babyish. Doing chores for Mommy isn’t gonna or…” she paused and bit her lip. “Playing with a grown-up toy when Mommy gives me permission isn’t gonna make me any more grown-up than I already am.” She stopped and then looked down at the floor before finishing. “I’m really sorry that I yelled.”

“Damn it.” Mother hissed. “You’re right.”

“Language, Gammy” Marion prodded. “Not in front of the baby. Or do you need to go back in diapers and be given a bar of mouth soap?”

“How dare-”

“Mommy? Gammy?”

Both women froze. “We’re sorry, Gwenny.”

“Wisdom from the mouth of babes, eh?” Mother conceded. “She has a point.”

“As long as we’re both happy,” Marion said. “It doesn’t matter how I raise her.”

“And as long it’s obvious to all that she’s a baby,” Mother added. “But yes. You’re right. Age and size doesn’t matter as much as your love and her needs.”

Inspiration and a smile came to Marion simultaneously. “And I think I know how to do that.”


“Here’s your coffee, Gammy…I mean, ma’am.” The Amazon girl gave her customer her order.

“Thank you, baby girl,” Mrs. Thompson the elder replied, taking a sip of the coffee with satisfaction.

Of course Gwenny was called a ‘baby girl’, there was no mistaking her for anything else. The yellow dress she was wearing puffed up at the sleeves and flared out at the waist, and even though there was more than enough padding in the chest for decency’s sake, Gwenny wasn’t wearing a bra, either. Without even a glance, anyone could tell she was wearing a puffy white diaper beneath the crisp white tights. Clicking away in black mary janes, she looked like a giant Little. The pig-tails helped, too.

Gwenny no longer wore big girl clothes. She never would again. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t help out around her Mommy’s shop. Good thing, too Customers were now coming in at all times of day to have a cup of coffee carefully delivered by the tiny shops one and only ‘waitress’.

Everyone wanted to tease and pat and the fallen Amazon on the behind; to gush over her and tell her what a baby she was. She was lower on the social scale than even the punished secretaries and interns that were ushered in, forced to wear medical diapers beneath baggy pants and skirts, blushing and hemming and hawing at having to be changed by Mrs. Thompson.

For some Gwenny was a warning to others. That Amazon maternalism could strike and demote anyone who got in their way.

For others she was a symbol of fairness. It really was a matter of who you were on the inside that mattered, and if you were a baby that meant you deserved to be treated as one in front of anyone and everyone; whether you liked it or not, (though if you were honest with yourself, you’d like it).

For her, her Mommy, and her Gammy who occasionally visited? The nametag that she wore said it all: “Special Helper.”

Gwenny liked it. She didn’t have to think so much about her old life before Mommy, and she could leave the tag. In Mommy’s office before they went home and put it on just before work. More time to play with Mommy. Prettier clothes from Gammy to wear, too.

(The End).

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No replies to this or Fair is Fair, which is a shame. The first was a good short story, lots of menace, a predictable turnaround handled well and a nice twist.

The sequel is also well written but is also very sweet. So cute :slight_smile:

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