Rattled

Chapter 1

Most would say that Walter Klammer never had a ‘proper’ childhood. Littles rarely did. Tweeners and Amazons got that luxury: that innocence; that period of soft and cuddly; that ability to make mistakes and grow and learn and be just wonderfully silly and self-indulgent. When childhood is something that is natural, and normal; and outgrown as one’s interests, emotions, and capabilities expand; it is a most pleasant thing.

When childhood is something that is forced upon you, and it is perpetual, involuntary, and penalizing, innocence and childhood becomes something to be avoided. It is a ball and chain that will drag you to the bottom of the ocean unless you cut off your own foot to escape and swim up to get more of that life saving air.

Amazons, arguably, have the longest natural childhood. Childhood becomes a right when you’re on top of the world. In some ways, Walter would grimly suppose, Amazons never really had to grow up; never had to learn the hard lessons of scarcity, fear, respect, consent save for perhaps with each other. Who the heck had the gall to tell an Amazon ‘no’ when they wanted something?

Tweeners tended to keep that innocence right up until puberty. He’d had Tweener friends growing up who just ‘didn’t get it’ until middle school. When their voices started changing and Amazon peers, now significantly bigger than them, started learning to browbeat them and threaten them with spankings or forced ‘sleepovers’ where they’d have to wear ‘protection’; then they got it. Oddly enough, Walter had enjoyed middle school for that reason. His friend group nearly doubled when the Littles weren’t the only demographic sweating bullets over being strapped down to a changing table.

If only that Tweener awakening blossomed into a kind of open defiance instead of self-serving compliance, Littles and Tweeners might be better friends. Such revolutionary thoughts were better not expressed out loud with one’s actual face, however. Much safer behind a computer screen.

For Walter and so many people like him, he never had a ‘proper’ childhood. There was a point where biologically he was a child, but it wasn’t ‘childhood’ as much as it was ‘pre-adulthood’ or ‘larva stage’. In a Venn Diagram of his early years and that of other, larger folks, the overlap might be on age and the fact that in general his parents did their best to shield and lookout for him.

Here was Walter’s childhood in a nutshell: No non-educational toys or games that didn’t develop a skill of some sort. No media that didn’t directly relate to academia, safety, or education. No costumes, pretend, or non-functional clothing. Few, if any excuses for misbehavior. ‘Misbehavior’ also included anything that might jeopardize his or his parent’s adulthood.

“Don’t question us in public,” his mother would warn him. “Unless you want some Amazon thinking we’re bad parents. Then we’ll all end up back in diapers forever. Giants don’t let you grow up.”

Childhood was the threat; so Walter never felt like he had one.

One of the thirty year old Little’s earliest memories was his first day of Kindergarten.

Up until then, Wally had been allowed to keep a single rattle from infancy. It was a wrist strap rattle, light pastel blue with a tiny elephant head as the decoration. Whenever he’d shake it, a little jingling noise would tinkle out. In the quiet of an otherwise spartan room in the middle of the night, when Wally was just starting to be plagued by the thoughts of giant hands scooping him up and forcing him into a crib for eternity, ol’ Jumbo gave him the measure of comfort he’d needed for sleep.

No giant Mommy or Daddy would snatch him from his bed at night, he’d told himself. If they did, he would shake his arm as hard as he could and Jumbo’s high pitched alarm would sound, allerting Mother and Father, who would somehow protect him.

That simple tiny bit of comfort was all the childish indulgence and security that Wally had needed.

Kindergarten changed that. After over five years of use, -even if the use got limited to only inside the apartment, then only at bedtime- the security toy was more than well worn. Walter could still remember the way some of the stitching had started to come loose, or how bits of fabric were just barely flaking off of the top Jumbo’s head. The velcro was fraying and because the bauble had been designed with an actual infant Little in mind, it had been held on by a prayer at the very edge where the two sides of the soft cloth bracelet met. That last summer, Walter recalled sleeping with the rattle cupped in his palm or cradled to his chest like a stuffed animal more than strapped to his wrist. The bell inside was still loud and clear, though, and that’s what mattered.

It had mattered so much to poor young Wally that he’d snuck it into his backpack on his first day of school. That ringing jingling tingling bell had almost sealed his fate. Teacher thought that a Little Kindergartener with a babyish rattle like that wasn’t quite ready to grow up.
It hadn’t mattered that his Amazon classmates had brought in tiny teddy bears and special blankets for nap time. It didn’t matter that a Tweener girl still had a nervous thumb sucking habit. Wally had been the one put back in diapers ‘just in case’; not them.

That was the only time Walter could remember being in diapers; that traumatic first day of school. The towheaded Little in Kindergarten had been potty trained for so long that he didn’t even think of it as potty training by that point. He could never remember a time where he didn’t dress or bathe himself or brush his teeth without aid.

So the feeling of being diapered- the vulnerability as a stranger laid him down and took his pants and underwear off; the cooing reassurances; ankles being crossed and legs being lifted up over his head; the dry chill and sweet scent of baby powder; the softness of the inside of the diaper contrasting with the stiffness of the outer shell; the feeling of being dressed and having the garment take shape around him as the front was tucked in and taped down; or how the diaper crinkled and forced him to waddle when he walked -none of it was nostalgic to him. None of it was eerily familiar as much as it was completely alien and traumatic.

Wally had rattled Jumbo as much as he could, but Mother and Father couldn’t hear it from outside the school. It had taken a heroic amount of effort for young Wally to keep that diaper dry all day, (not his diaper…never his), but he’d managed to hold his burning aching bladder until after the bus had dropped him off back home.

If he hadn’t, Mother and Father told him that night, the Amazons would have taken that as evidence that he wasn’t mature enough for using the toilet and he’d be back in diapers for at least the rest of the year. And that was if he was lucky.

Mother and Father had scolded him for being careless and plopped him, diaper first, into a tub of cold water. Amazon-strength tapes were nearly impossible for Little fingers to undo, so the quickest, least dangerous way to get it off had been to oversaturate the absorbent pulp and let the damn thing slip straight off his hips.

It wasn’t until years later that Father let it slip over drinks that Wally could have likely gotten that Monkeez off himself. The diaper had been sized for Little and Tweener children, not Amazon, so five year old Wally very likely could have gotten it off himself had he thought to try.

Didn’t matter by then. The baptism of plastic, pulp, water, and a sprinkling of his own piss had transformed the child. Child Wally had gone into the freezing tub. Young Walter had come out. The diaper and Jumbo had been balled up and thrown in the garbage and all childish things had been put away in service of survival. Walter went back to school the next day in his big boy pants and his record in all things Grown-Up as well as his undies, had been spotless ever since.

That had been well over twenty years ago. Walter blinked himself awake from his dreadful daydreaming and saw his own ash blonde reflection mirrored darkly in the computer screen. It had been the sudden flickering of his monitor that had brought his brain screaming back to the present.

“Damn power surge,” he mumbled. Standing up from the cushioned seat in his apartment he punched the power button on a computer tower that came up to his belly button. “I really need to get a laptop.”

Little sized apartments were notoriously poorly rent controlled. What Little would dare call maintenance? Someone might see a leaky faucet or bad wiring as a sign of neglect on the tenant’s part, and there was only one cure-all for such ‘irresponsibility’.

It wasn’t so bad, though. Walter’s landlord couldn’t afford to see him be moved out and try to rent to another Little. Not in this economy. Safer for both to use a system of benign neglect.

He stretched his neck, touching the side of his face to each shoulder and felt the uncomfortable itchiness of his own neck stubble. “I need a shave, too,” he grunted. That was the drawback of working from home; he was in less danger and didn’t need to keep up his public appearance as much, but it also felt like he was getting rusty at such things.

Walter found it was boring work, being a ghostwriter for an advertising firm. His primary duties consisted of listening to podcasts of rich and successful Amazon dentists, accountants, lawyers and the like talk about how rich and successful they were, take detailed notes of each episode and then summarize and advertise each episode on half a dozen social media platforms all while writing in the voice and pretending to be the host. Being rich and successful wasn’t enough for these giants; they also had to pretend that they were influential media stars, and so they paid Walter’s employers to live out that particular fantasy.

Whatever. It paid Walter’s rent and grocery bill, delivery fees included. His bosses didn’t particularly know or care that he was a Little, provided that he delivered a well written and edited finished product. The job allowed him to set his own hours as long as he delivered the finished product on time; and said hours gave him the leisure of not shaving everyday, and being able to schlub around in jeans and t-shirts, sleep in, and stay up ridiculously late. These lifestyle privileges were The Dream for a lot of Littles.

It also allowed him to procrastinate and zone out after particularly boring episodes about real estate investiture until the power flickered. At least working from home also gave him the feeling of security that job termination wouldn’t immediately result in ‘adoption’

MistuhGwiffin.web was rife with tales: Spouses talking about how their significant others didn’t come home from work one day. They’d been fired and ‘maturity clauses’ in contracts had been invoked. Adult children would reminisce about how they’d come home from school and find out that one of their parents had met with a terrible ‘accident’ in their pants and didn’t make it out of work that day. Down at the bottom of the feed was mention of some poor schmuck who used to be a pre-school teacher and was now supposedly re-enrolled as a student at their own school. How fucked up was that?

Fucked up enough that it had sent Walter Klammer spiraling into his own past, back when he was still just innocent Wally.

“Come on, come on!” Walter muttered as the old desktop finally finished booting. He reopened his browser and auto-loaded everything that had been exited improperly. Again he rubbed his cheek and thought about shaving. It never helped to have facial hair around Amazons. They took it as a dare; a challenge. Going clean shaven ‘baby faced’ was ironically the only safe option for a Little like him.

Walter got back on MistuhGwiffin.web ‘one last time’ and checked his private messages. He’d gotten on ‘one last time’ approximately twenty times this morning. He’d been waiting for half a month for this one girl to message him back.

Hilda had been local. They’d connected and chatted each other up in DMs. MistuhGwiffin wasn’t supposed to be a dating site, but one found love where they could. They’d managed to go on a date and hit it off over a game of mini-golf.

She was a few inches taller than him, even taller in heels, maybe had some Tweener in her family tree, and Walter had been smitten. Her flowing auburn hair that danced down past her shoulders, her expressive and soothing voice, the curves of her face. Even the slight tummy she had. They had chemistry and it was one of those dates, those rare times when something just ‘clicked’. They hadn’t even talked about Amazons. A night not thinking about getting snatched up; that was a rare gift for any Little.

And she’d never messaged him back. Damn. He really thought they’d connected. Maybe not. Maybe Walter was one of those know-it-all jerks that only thought he was interesting and hadn’t realized it yet. The last thing he’d said to her was he promised to message her that he’d made it home safely. He had. No message had come back.

Not for two weeks. Feeling kind of creepy, Walter went to Hilda’s profile and scanned it.
No updates. Not for weeks. A terrible, all too familiar thought wormed its way into Walter’s gray matter: What if Hilda had never made it home herself?

He sent the third ‘Are you okay?’ message that week to Hilda before clicking back over to his work tab like he was supposed to. He had six hours left to make a rambling incoherent mess of a podcast starring an ER doctor sound halfway palatable beyond the guy’s friends and immediate family. He’d almost started working when he thought he saw an update on MistuhGwiffin. No such luck. Just his imagination.

“Fuck.” Walter cursed. “I need to clear my head.” He rubbed his chin. “And a shave.”

It might have been fate that brought him to that park that day so quickly after thinking about his one major brush with permanent infancy. It might have been that when faced with uncomfortable truths such as a system that is rigged against them some Littles develop self-destructive habits that put them in vulnerable situations. The one thing that didn’t bring Walter there was the bus. The quiet little park with the duck pond was just across the street from his apartment complex and the Little man had more anxiety and energy than work ethic and common sense at the moment.

To be accurate, that assessment’s not entirely fair, but neither was the world.

Walter eyeballed the playground wearily from the parking lot. Children, real ones, played tag running around the jungle gym and raced on monkey bars. Good. Their mothers and fathers would be too tired to worry about a lone Little walking the fitness trail along the periphery. A hundred feet away from the playground, a dozen ducks and the padded silhouettes of two captured Littles waddled around. Their Amazon wardens were already getting their baby fix, poor bastards, but it made Walter feel safer.

More importantly, Walter noted that there was a complete dearth of self-proclaimed Mommies and Daddies on the path he was considering. No exercise strollers or backpack style diaper bags. No Amazons going for walks at all that he could see. Good.

Still stuck mostly in his own head and the terrible fate that might have befallen yet another Little, Walter strolled along the fitness trail, his sneakers kicking up dust as he walked and talked to himself.

“She’s fine,” he said to himself. “You’re overthinking it. She’s just busy at her job. What was her job again…?” He shook his head as if that might somehow rattle the bit of information loose. “Damn,” he cursed. He really didn’t know what Hilda did for a job. “Maybe I am just a boring date.” It was a weird, perverse comfort thinking that he’d been ghosted as opposed to her being disappeared, but it helped.

As was his habit, Walter paused by what he called the ‘Rowing Exhibit’. The fitness trail had a bevy of outdoor exercise equipment along its red dirt path. They were designed for Amazon and even Tweeners to run up to, exercise, do a few reps of pull ups or leg lifts or pushups; to really feel the burn; and then to jog away down the dusty road to the next station… To a Little like Walter they weren’t much more than twisted beige and leaf green works of modern art.

Almost like he was proving a point to himself, Walter took a seat on the outdoor rower and reached up for the built- in ‘oars’. If he stretched his arms he could just barely grasp handles. The thirty year old Little wasn’t a doctor but he was positive this wasn’t sized for someone like him. No way would this thing exercise the intended muscles. Walter never questioned why there wasn’t Little specific exercise equipment available; as far as most folks were concerned, that was the playground. Most Amazons liked their ‘babies’ a bit pudgy, anyways.

Pudgy. A bit of a tummy. Like…

“Fuck.” Walter dropped his head and whispered to himself. He let the handles go and closed his eyes. “I just made myself sad.”

Something caught Walter’s eye on the very periphery of his vision. Something bright and yellow with shades of brown, but the exact hues signaled to Walter’s brain that it wasn’t something quite natural; similar to how the beige and green of the ‘Rowing Exhibit’ didn’t once ring true as something belonging in nature.

Turning his head and reaching down, the jingling wrist rattle was in Walter’s hand before he knew what he was doing. Those happy earliest memories overshadowed by the one bad one screamed back into Walter’s head. Walter’s consciousness screamed at him to drop the damn thing; encouraged his eyes to develop heat vision and burn it right then and there. His subconscious however, wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

It wasn’t a replica of his old Jumbo; not even close. Instead of a gentle blue elephant, the soft fabric and mold was presented as a light brown wristband and a bright yellow sunflower. It’s fastening device was different too. No safe and easy to remove Velcro; just several rows of snap bottoms on the left side and a single row of tops on the right to ensure a tight fit. There was a good chance, Walter assessed, that those snaps would be very difficult for a Little to undo without help. Last but not least was the size. Besides being much newer and in much better condition, this wrist rattle was also much larger. It was scaled for an Amazon baby…or a Little who had been forced into the role.

Feeling more than a hint of disgust, Walter tossed it back over his shoulder. Sadly for him, it was that toss that sealed his fate. The soft, almost plushy thing struck the ground immediately behind him and let out a piercing metallic jingling sound, quiet yet distinct enough to be heard over the chirping of birds and the light breeze wafting through the trees.

“Huh?” Walter mumbled turning around off the seat. Suddenly something felt different yet familiar to him. His eye lids felt a bit heavier, though not tired. His skin tingled ever so slightly. It was almost like when he tried his first beer; a not quite buzz as a foreign substance he’d yet to grow tolerant of coursed through his veins The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. And for some reason, Walter’s eyes zoned in on the giant rattle he’d just tossed aside.

Feeling guilty but overwhelmed by simple curiosity, Walter leaned back down and picked the Amazon sized toy up. The bell inside jingled slightly and Walter felt another rush; another sip of strange almost drunken pleasure. “What in the…?”

Was he getting buzzed? From a rattle? He gave it another shake, a good one. The bell inside the sunflower rang out and Walter’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. “HAAAAAAA!” his laughter rang out as the world spinned and he momentarily lost his footing. He shook it again, practically feeling the pleasure centers of his brain light up.

He held his breath involuntarily, letting his eyes roll back again and his tongue press up against the roof of his mouth. It was the rush of a rollercoaster and the aftershock of a really good shot of whiskey all rolled into one. All because of the high pitched ringing of a bell in a wrist rattle. “I gotta get me one of these…” he hissed to himself.

Speaking of involuntarily…

Speaking of hissing…

“Hello,” a large feminine voice brought Walter back to full consciousness. “Are you okay Little boy? Do you need help? Did you have an accident? Where’s your Mommy or Daddy, baby?”

Baby? Mommy or Daddy? Who did she think she was talking to? Even the worst of Amazons weren’t so brazen as to talk down to a Little like that out of nowhere. Not without at least a surface level reason…

Walter looked down at his pants and the spreading wet spot on the front expanding out and darkening his jeans, flowing and dripping down his inner thighs and moistening his socks.

“Oh…no…”

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Chapter 2

Walter would be lying if he ever said he’d never fantasized about attractive women seeing him naked. Puberty had been a thing and no one could control the crazy things that hormones whispered to them; only what one did with those whispers. The three hours immediately following his very public accident had destroyed and warped those boyhood fantasies beyond recognition.

Sarah, a neighbor of his, saw to that. She fit the attractive part. Her light brown hair was almost red and tied back tight with a light pink headband. The neon pink sports bra bled through the loose fitting white t-shirt he’d found her in (more like what she’d been wearing when she’d found him), so that he could unconsciously notice and admire certain attributes. She didn’t have the tummy of his last date; the only date she might have in mind for him and her hips weren’t “child bearing” like his mother had managed to boast, but flat, not quite bony chin and cheeks and how they framed those gorgeous green eyes. Shrink her down to a size where she couldn’t literally manhandle him with one arm behind her back, and she would have been hot.

He’d had no idea they’d lived in the same apartment complex. Stupidly, he thought she’d been taking him back to his place when she scooped him up and carried him across the street and into the parking lot. She’d only been one building over from him. Her apartment was bigger and much nicer; not just because of the dimensions built to accommodate her. The paint was fresher, the structure up to code. Two bedrooms, one bath (and a toilet he was positive she wouldn’t let him use).

Walter soon had no hair from the back of his neck down. She’d taken care of that before even getting on her phone. It had taken over an hour of him panting and struggling and squirming while she held him down and removed every last follicle of hair with a gadget in her bathroom. Amazon beauty products could easily be repurposed for Little babification in a pinch, it turned out.

His begging, pleading, bargaining, and cursing had fallen on deaf ears. It didn’t help his case that the hair removing wand tickled like nobody’s business. It was objectively better than the sharp burning of older methods, but still horribly unpleasant in the intentions that it signaled. Walter wasn’t helped in that his bladder hadn’t completely emptied itself in the park, either

“It’s okay, baby,” the woman said. “You can go pee pee in your pants all you need to from now on.”

“I’m. Hee-hee! NOT! Ha-haha! A BAAAAABY!”

“Says the boy I found in a puddle. Ooops! More puddle pants! Someone needs more protection than boring old big boy pants”

She’d chosen that time to take his slacks off of him. Not how he’d wanted someone to see him in his underwear. “Walter?” the giant had said, squinting at the I.D. in his wallet. “I like that name. Wally is such a cute name for a happy baby boy! And we’ll be super happy together, just you wait!”

The only time there hadn’t been a massive hand on his chest pinning him down to the bathroom floor was when she’d taken his soaking underwear off. He’d been too terrified to move with his manhood clasped between the giant’s thumb and forefinger.

“Hold. Very. Still.” The tickling sensation down there below the waist and on his balls, between his legs and with his cheeks spread had had…other effects. “Uh oh. Someone liiiiikes it.”

As opposed to the Amazon stereotype of a baby crazy giant who ‘just so happened to carry around a spare diaper just in case’, Walter had not been dragged into a giant nursery that had already been prepped for someone his size to occupy it. This stranger hadn’t woken up with the intent of snatching someone his size and mutilating their maturity. She was just a mastodon of a bull; the kind that Amazons bred and modified to sate their hunger; and his peed in pants had been a flapping red cape.

Small comfort.

The horror stories described on MistuhGwiffin.web about being dragged kicking and screaming through the baby aisle of a store in a wet set of adult clothes had blared in Walter’s brain, initially, but not they hadn’t come true. Littles across the world claimed to see it all the time: One last walk of shame with everyone in the store seeing what a Little had theoretically done to themselves right before being plunged into babyhood; the supplies for their execution being gathered right in front of them.

Sometimes, rarely, the tale would end with, “I saw her get away just before they got put in the stroller” or even “He forgot to put the strap across my chest and I peed on him before he got the diaper on me. I got away in the confusion.”

Walter was spared that trauma and that false hope in the worst possible way. Apps like “DiaperDash” and “BabHub” were things these days. Amazons were adapting. Walter never got a chance to slip away. The diapers and strollers and baby furniture all came to him. Within two hours after his accident, childproof locks had been slipped over every doorknob in the apartment, the first of many diapers had been taped on over his waist and the first of many outfits with buttons on the inseam had been snapped onto him.

Speaking of snaps.

“I know you’re scared because you thought you were a Big Boy,” she cooed at him, “and you think I’m a big scary meanie-Mommy but we’re gonna be just fine together.” She dangled the wrist rattle over him like it was a cat toy. “I saved your rattle from the dirt.”

“Miss…that’s not my ra-”

“Mommy,” Sarah Schwartz interrupted. He only knew her name because a delivery guy had had her confirm it when he was wheeling in and assembling the nursery furniture. “You can call me Mommy. Or Mama. Or Mum. Whatever you’re most comfortable with, Wally.”

Walter ignored the infantilization of his name. “Let me go. Please.”

“I can’t do that,” Sarah reached down and stroked his head. “You had an accident. Somebody’s gotta take care of you, Wally.”

“Walter. My name is Walter.”

If she heard his correction, Sarah gave no sign. “Littles love their baby toys, don’t they?” She grabbed his wrist and started to adjust the sunflower jingle toy. The slight tingling noise as she jostled it, caused Walter’s eyes to vibrate like after a nip of whiskey or a snort of cocaine.

Hangovers were still a thing, and Walter used his free arm to smack the damnable toy away and send it tumbling to the floor.

If it bothered the big lady, it didn’t show. “Awww, Wally’s fussy. It’s okay. Mommy’s not upset. Perfectly normal at your stage.”

“I’m THIRTY you nutter!”

She’d smirked, instead. “I said ‘stage’, silly. Not ‘age’.”


Three days later…

Three days of bottle feedings, forced cuddling, knee bounces, and watching idiotic cartoons teaching colors and shapes while being held in a giant’s lap. Three days of threatening and pleading and screaming and crying. Three days of being pumped so full of food that the resulting burping and nap felt both involuntary and a tad necessary.

Walter had made every escape attempt feasible in that time. Every entry and exit point had a knob covering that Little hands grasp hard enough to turn. All the electrical outlets had been plugged with covers that only an Amazon, a Tweener, or a Little rock climbing jazz pianist could pry out. All the utensils and anything sharp enough to draw blood or small enough to choke on had been moved to boxes or storage containers with similarly difficult catches. Walter was laid down in his crib at night with fresh jammies that warmed him like a blanket, so no sheets were necessary.

As dark as the thought was, Walter wasn’t prepared to end either his life or anyone else’s, but it would have been nice to know that he might have had that option.

Speaking of options, this was Walter’s one and only at this point and time: Adoption Court. It was both where his status as an adult could be officially revoked, but it was his one real chance to prove that he was being set up. In a way, his captor was suing to have his agency taken away from him, and the burden of proof that he needed a new ‘Mommy’ or ‘Daddy’ was actually on her.

His neatly pressed green romper almost matched the dark forest green blouse she’d dressed herself paired nicely with the black slacks and belt. Her hair was washed and naturally wavy, but left down so it framed her face and brought out her eyes. What a pairing they made. ‘Mommy’ and ‘baby’ matched. Funny at how they were at such cross purposes.

“Please approach with the prospective child and place them in the seat to the left of you.

His neighbor stood up in the courtroom and carried Walter on her hip. They left over half a dozen other Littles, dressed up in dapper yet babyish outfits, behind them. A few had vacant stares and toothless mouths; already worked over by the monsters before it was legal for them to do so. Most, like Walter, had the weary expressions of fear, resentment, and anger…mostly fear. They looked like inmates who were being allowed to dress up for court, even though they’d go back behind bars and into gaudy one-piece jumpsuits within the hour. A more apt metaphor might be death row prisoners quietly awaiting execution, praying for that phone call from the governor.

He didn’t stay on his captor’s hip long enough to get settled as he was slipped into a light brown wooden chair with a bucket seat, and his legs threaded in so he couldn’t escape without help or tipping the damn thing till it crashed to the floor. Upon closer inspection, tipping over wasn’t an option. It was bolted to the ground like a podium. To Walter, it looked like a modified version of the trayless highchairs used to seat babies and captive Littles in restaurants, only it was so well kept and matched the decor of the adoption courtroom that it almost looked official.

A Tweener Bailiff stood by the highchair he’d been placed in, but it was nice having that distance between himself and his prospective ‘Mommy’.

Walter’s diaper crinkled loudly beneath him while he shifted and his overly padded ass settled on the hard flat wooden surface. That he’d made it well over twelve hours without needing a change gave him a kind of comfort. He could use it as proof in his case.

The Amazon lady’s apartment was bigger than his, but the walls were still suitably thin. He’d heard his would-be ‘Mommy’ calling for adoption information and scheduling appointments. After being held prisoner for three days, he was officially being taken to Adoption Court. There, his last hopes would rise and fall on being able to ‘prove’ that he was a ‘Big Boy’.

The comfort of that far away hope was the only comfort he was feeling just then. His bladder ached and burned. When he heard that Sarah was going to be taking him to court today to officialize his kidnapping, he chose to hold his bladder as much as he could, and went so far as to sloppily drink and dribble from the bottle he’d been force fed so he wouldn’t have to swallow as much.

Walter hadn’t released his bladder since just before his final diaper change the night before. His paranoia had been justified, too. His captor had made no effort to check or change him this morning. She’d dressed him up in a green pin-stripe romper made out of the same kind of material as a good dress shirt, but made no move to check or change the Koddles he’d been taped into the night before . She’d been banking on him being wet that morning. Confirmation that Amazons were crazy, but crazy wasn’t the same thing as delusional.

While the judge shuffled papers around, Walter inhaled sharply through his nostrils. He hadn’t released his bladder in over twelve hours. He hadn’t had a bowel movement since before his capture. Walter wasn’t going to make it another day without clearing something out of his system.

“What is the child’s name?” the Judge, a bald Amazon man with a caterpillar mustache, asked. He did not seem to look at either Sarah, or Walter.

The Bailiff tapped Walter on the shoulder. “Go on, buddy. Tell the nice judge what your name is.”

Oh.

“Walter Klammer, Your Honor.” Walter said, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

The judge seemed pleased. “Your Honor?” His gaze looked at Sarah. “Good job, teaching him the proper etiquette. You’d be surprised how many Littles are fussy when they come here and don’t mind your manners.”

The woman who’d been getting her jollies by burping Walter beamed. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

Walter shot his hand up. “Your Honor, may I please be excused to use the restroom?”

“Mommy will change you after we’re done here, Wally.” She patted, the mint green diaper bag hanging from her opposite shoulder like a cowboy patted their trusty six shooter.

The judge leaned forward. “I see you’re already well prepared for the care of this child.”
“Yes, Your Honor. My house is completely baby proofed.”

Instead of shouting, Walter raised his hand quickly and waited to be called on. “Yes?” the judge asked.

“Your Honor, if it pleases the court, I need to go to the restroom. May the Bailiff please accompany me?”

“If you can hold it till the end of this hearing,” the judge said dismissively, as if placating a child. “Now what proof do you have that your child has been afflicted with Maturosis?”

Sarah seemed confused.”Maturosis?”

The judge chuckled. “What makes you think he’s a baby?”

“He’s unemployed, Your Honor. I haven’t heard a peep out of him about his job and according to neighbors he almost never leaves his apartment.”

The judge seemed to consider that. No further need for proof.

“I work out of my home, Your Honor.” Walter called out. “If my employment is in jeopardy it’s because I’ve been physically prevented from finishing my work.”

“Doing what? Accounting? Programming and Coding? Investment? Online customer service?”

Walter slunk down. “I’m…a writer…?” The muffled laughs of several giant women behind him made him feel smaller.

“Oh really?” The judge said. “So am I. But I have to pay the bills somehow.”

“If I can just show you my e-mai-”

“Bailiff,” the judge interrupted Walter. “If the child gets too fussy, please give him a pacifier.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Walter shut his mouth. The only thing that was going to convince them was the state of his pants.
“I apologize, Your Honor,” Walter’s captor said. “You know how Littles can get sometimes.”

“All too well, all too well.” He waved off the apology like it was hers to give. “Though due process must be followed and rights respected.” Walter would have laughed had he had it in him. Unfortunately, the state of his bladder made laughter the worst possible medicine he might ask for. “Do you happen to have any additional proof that the child suffers from Maturosis and needs adult care? Wet pants saved in a baggie perhaps?”

The woman frowned. “No you’re honor. I didn’t think to save them. I threw them out as soon as I brought him home.”

Aha! Walter’s hand rocketed upward again. As soon as he was called on he would insist that his diaper be checked, and offer up the information that the last time he was changed was last. Not even an Amazon could deny the proof! If he could just get called on!

“I see,” said the judge to Sarah. He sounded disappointed.

“I do have a video,” Sarah said. She dug into the diaper bag and took out her phone. “I made sure to film it when I found him regressing. He was so cute.”

“Video?!” Walter squeaked.

The bailiff leaned over and quietly hissed, “Put your thumb in your mouth or I’m going to put a pacifier in it.”

Walter obeyed.

Another bail came and took Janet’s phone. “Upload it into the monitor over there,” the old bald headed Amazon instructed.

On a screen big enough to see from even where he was sitting, Walter watched his greatest nightmare replay itself. It was at a higher angle than he remembered it, and looked worse from the outside than it felt from the inside, but it was definitely him.

He watched himself, slapping the sunflower wrist rattle, oblivious to the giant behind him filming.

The speakers sent that ringing jingling noise out into the courtroom and Walter involuntarily shuddered with dread and delight. Surprised giggles bubbled up behind him from the Littles waiting their turn at execution.

“HAAAAAAA!” the recording of himself wobbled around like he’d taken too many shots.

Walter watched the recording in horror as he watched his past self, elbows locked and arms flapping jingled the toy like a toddler who hadn’t figured out all of his fine motor skills. He didn’t remember that part.

In the present, electric shocks of secondhand pleasure jolted into Walter’s brainstem and it felt like tiny hooks were digging into his lips and pulling the corners of his mouth into a rictus grin. The smiling and laughter didn’t stop even as his bladder felt the wetness start to spread across his crotch. Like him his bladder had fought the good fight…and lost.

“I gotta get me one of these…” the video-Walter said, looking at the baby toy the way some people looked at fancy cars. The pee kept coming, splashing up against him and rushing to the center core of the Koddles.

“Hello,” the scene played out again in front of everyone. “Are you okay Little boy? Do you need help? Did you have an accident? Where’s your Mommy or Daddy, baby?”

“Oh…no…”

Caught in a time loop, the formerly adult Walter looked down at the spreading dark patch on his pants as he peed himself on camera. At the same time, the real flesh and blood walter felt the leak guards give out and the insides of his romper pathetically try and fail to wick away the forming stream of piss streaming down his legs. Over twelve hours of pee all at once was too much for a single diaper.

“That seems like evidence enough to me,” the Judge leaned back in his big fancy chair at the bench, while a chorus of Amazons ‘awwed’ at the final image of Walter pissing himself. A bailiff handed Sarah her phone back.

“Your Honor,” the bailiff spoke up. “The um…child has leaked through his diaper.”

“And there’s more proof. Adoption granted!” The judge banged the gavel.

Walter’s new Mommy rushed over and tickled his ribs. “Oh baby Wally! You did such a good job! ”

“No….!”

She scooped her hands under his armpits and lifted him out of the chair. The hard wooden seat was the only thing keeping his stool on the inside of him.

“No-no-no-no-no-no-no!” His legs weren’t even all the way out when his cheeks spread and his own feces started shooting out the back of him, forming a solid mess in his already ruined diaper ballooning out in an attempt to contain it. “Nooooooooooo……”

It was the only word he had for his situation just then.

“It’s okay, Wally. You don’t need to be a sad lad.”

Walter felt her hand underneath his bottom, pressing the mess up even more. “Oh! More than just wet! At least you’re not constipated! Mommy was getting worried.”

“No.” He cried quietly.

“I know, I know. It’s no fun being in a poopy, leaky diaper.” She jostled him. “Might have had a blowout too.” She gave him a kiss on the forehead… “Don’t you worry, Wally. Mommy will take care of it.”

She already had, but not in a way that was going to be satisfactory to anyone but her.

“No, no, no, no!” He squirmed, but not nearly enough to get away while she carried him into the ladies’ restroom.

She unbuttoned the snaps. Blurry, tear eyed tile was blocked out by a leaked-in romper being pulled over his head. “Oh, wow, Wally. You really did a number on this one!” Pushed down to the changing tray, Walter craned his neck and saw the swollen discolored mess between his thighs.

His new, now official Mommy, dug into a side pocket. “Don’t be sad, though. Look at what I’ve got!”

He’d thought she’d tossed the wrist rattle away. Instead she’d just waited for this moment to try and pin on the accursed sunflower again. The buttons snapped snug around his wrist. She maneuvered her massive elbow so as to prevent his free hand from striking out until it was properly fastened.

HIs brain danced and chemicals were released with each slight jingling of the rattle, let loose frequencies that only Little ears and Little brains could appreciate.

“There we go,” she cooed down at him, now naked save for the tinkling faux flower and an absolutely disgusting undergarment. “You’ve finally got one of these and you can play with it without having to worry about dropping it while Mommy cleans you up.”

Walter looked at the rattle newly pinned to his wrist. He looked down past his hairless chest and saw the swollen padding, felt it squishing beneath him.

Caught between screaming bloody murder and giggling like an idiot for a few minutes, Walter made the only choice that made sense in the heat of the moment.

He laid back.

He closed his eyes.

And as he heard the sounds of plastic tapes being ripped off the diaper’s landing zone and felt the front of the padding slacken and sag on top of him, Walter shook the rattle for all it was worth.

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Chapter 3:

The days and weeks that followed for Walter were less and less like a normal ebb and flow and more like a highlight reel of his worst possible fears.


Walter craned his neck as though doing so might cause his head to roll off the back of his shoulders. Grimly, he mused that he might yet be so lucky.

“Open wide for the oatmeal!” Sarah said. “Open wide for Mommy!”

The captured Little did not protest that Sarah was not his ‘Mommy’. Both because in a real and very legally binding sense she was, and also because the last time he tried to refute her, he got a mouth full of prune laced oatmeal. “Mmmm. Mmmm.”

“Someone’s a fussy baby,” she cooed at him, not the least bit deterred by his refusal. “But you’ll be a lot fussier if you can’t poop. Now open up. It’s nummy!” In a demonstration, Sarah grabbed a separate spoon and dipped it into the oatmeal. “See? Mommy likes it!” She took a spoonful and put it into her mouth. “See?” She winced. “Mommy made sure to stir in extra…extra…brown sugar. Mmmmm….so…much…sugar.”

The giants’ distaste for sweets was inversely proportional to their love for spice. That combined with his ex-neighbors flinching grimace, made Walter start to laugh. Wouldn’t it be funny, Walter thought, if macho Amazon dudebros munched on candy canes and pixie sticks the same way that some Littles did with spicy chicken nuggets? The idea of a bunch of burly giants and giantesses having to psych themselves for the culinary flex of putting a sugar cube on their tongue like it was a ghost pepper was almost as absurd as a grown man sitting in a high chair.

The laugh wasn’t very big; Walter technically didn’t even open his mouth, but he let his guard down. His jaw unclenched just enough so that Sarah could take the opening and slide the rubber tipped spoon past his lips. Much of the glob ended up smeared on his mouth and chin but enough made it inside.

“Noooooo!” He pounded on the tray. Sarah just took that as an invitation to shovel more into Walter’s mouth. Hunger beat humiliation and he swallowed the mushy stuff.

“See?” Sarah said. “It’s not so bad!” She took another spoonful of the goop, the Amazonian equivalent of cutting themselves shaving so that the baby wouldn’t be afraid of their first haircut.

Of course it wasn’t “so bad” for her. When that mush worked its way through her system, it wouldn’t end up in the back of her pants. Technically, it’d only end up in the back of Walter’s pants if he was allowed to wear pants. His Mommy hadn’t covered his diaper in even a onesie since finalizing the adoption. Presently he was in nothing but the Koddles he’d been changed into and a bib.

“I just want to go home,” Walter said as evenly as he could. He wasn’t sure if using the bib would be more or less babyish, so his mouth remained coated with soggy oats.

“You are home, baby cakes.” Sarah gave him another spoonful. What was the point? He accepted it and swallowed. “Finish your breaky. I don’t want you getting constipated.” If Amazons were as freaked out about changing diapers as Littles were about wearing them, Walter might have taken solace at the idea of dropping a load. If Amazons were as freaked out about changing diapers as Littles were about wearing them, Walter might not be stuck in this situation.

“If you’re really good for Mommy, Wally,” Sarah said. “I’ll let you play with your rattle.”

“I don’t want my rattle!” Walter almost drew blood from biting down on his tongue. “It’s not my rattle! How many times do I have to tell you that?”
.
“Awww, it’s not Wally’s rattle? He doesn’t like his widdle sunflower rattle anymore?”

“It’s. Not. Mine. I just found it.” He found it. And then she’d found him. That’s why he wanted to bite his own tongue out.

“And I suppose this isn’t your diaper.” She poked him beneath the feeding try. “Or your bib. Or your highchair. Or your oatmeal” Walter was about to try to retort…or at least spit oatmeal in Sarah’s face. “Or your footsie!” He swallowed and barely suppressed a giggle.

“Or your widdle toes!”

That tickled!

“Or your legs! Your tummy! Or your armpits!” She started tickling him, scurrying her fingers along his tender hairless flesh, causing him to wriggle and tense up, laughing despite himself. “Cootchie-cootchie-cootchie-cootchie-coo!”

Thankfully, he didn’t wet or mess just then. Doing something so disgracefully infantile when he was trying his level best to be miserable and serious would have been too much for Walter.

“But okay. No rattle for Wally.”

Good.

Great.

Awesome.

Wow.

Walter thought all of those things, but felt none of them. There was no sense of relief. Just the intense thirst and a sense of sad regret that an alcoholic feels after turning down a drink.

He should hate that stupid rattle. He did. Yet he felt that he would miss it, too.


A few nights later…

Contrary to how it looked from the outside, the Little was not trying to cause a big enough ruckus to bring down his Mommy’s wrath upon him. His nursery was close enough to her bedroom that he didn’t really need a baby monitor, after all.

Sarah, he’d learned the hard way, wasn’t above spanking, either…

Walter wasn’t trying to break anything or fracture his skull or even be a massive pain in his Mommy’s ass. None of that was on his mind… What Walter was trying to do, oddly enough, was go to sleep.

Two days prior he’d tried grey rocking- deliberately to be boring so that he could be ignored. He didn’t move and did his best to not react; staring off into the middle distance while his Mommy fawned over him and tried to entice him and coo over him. Tickle him. Tease him. Humiliate him. Break him.

It had no effect on Sarah. Her resolve was strong.

“Does Wally want his nini rattle?” She dangled it over him in his crib. Tauntingly. Temptingly.

“No!”

She gave it a little jingle.

He accidentally gave her a Little giggle.

She left.

He slept.

Yesterday, he took a more reactive approach. He didn’t watch any cartoons. When the television came on, Walter’s eyes would slam shut and his hands would clap over his ears and hum tunelessly. That hadn’t bothered his tormentor, either.
“Does Wally want his nini rattle?” Again, she dangled it like he was a kitten and the thing that had doomed him were a ball of yarn.

She taunted him.

She tempted him.

“No!”

She gave it a little jingle.

He gave her a Little giggle.

She left.

He slept.

Today, (or was it yesterday, now?) he tore out a page from a book she’d been trying to read to him; something about being a ‘brat’ or a ‘baby’. It had been more Amazon propaganda to delegitimize his mistreatment. “Brats get smacked tushies!” No, his Mommy hadn’t been quoting from the book there.

No jingle.

No giggle.

Just a sore bottom.

She left.

Silence.

And now, without the bell in that stupid sunflower, Walter was having the damndest time passing out. Passing out! It was the part of the day he looked forward to as soon as he woke up. Only in unconsciousness could he escape this pastel hell. Only in his dreams was he not being treated like a toddler.

He closed his eyes, and started counting sheep to himself. And then? Then he heard the damn jingling of the bell. It was a drop of liquor on his tongue. It was the equivalent of barely a needle’s prick or a whiff of smoke in an opium den. It was…it was…heavenly.

Walter opened his eyes, no Mommy dangling the wrist rattle over him. No jingling. Nothing. Was he imagining it? How messed up would that have been?

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Where had she hidden it? Where had it gone? He’d refused, outright refused to wear it during the day. Where was it now? He wasn’t going to shake it, but just knowing where it was, was…was…important?

Yeah. It would be good to know where it was.

An intrusive thought: Was he…was he going through withdrawal? Was that what this was like? Was he jonesing over a friggin’ rattle?

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I need sleep.” In the land of the sandman, he didn’t crinkle when he walked. But after a whole day, multiple days, of doing nothing but conserving physical energy and bottling things up to the point of exploding, Walter couldn’t make himself rest. He was fully charged.

Overloaded.

Jonesing

“I need to…” he whispered to himself. “I need to…I need to….fuck!”

He was kind of right. He needed that release of tension. That pulse pounding crescendo and that weary and tired, if relaxed, denouement…

Lying down on the mattress, Walter found out the hard (or not so hard) way that masturbation wasn’t going to work. Still not allowed blankets, Walter was more dressed in bed than he was most mornings. He could barely feel himself through the mittened pajamas and the thick, dry padding.

He rubbed harder, trying to ignore the hot sweat he was building, or the crinkling of his imprisoned posterior. Tried to forget that to an Amazon he more closely resembled a two year old than an adult. He tried to forget that it had been well over a week since anything had come out of him hadn’t been deposited directly in his pants. Tried not to think about how even if he managed to cum, that would just end up in his Koddles.

It…wasn’t…working…

He started to go harder. He planted his bootied feet and started to thrust his hips and provide himself leverage from both ends; really grind into himself.

It felt like he was humping a pillow. One that had cartoons on it.

Nope.

This wasn’t happening. How anyone could maintain any kind of arousal (pleasurable arousal) in a place like this was completely beyond Walter. Oh to dream the impossible dream.

Walter threw his head back and exhaled, pounding the mattress with his entire body.

That’s when he heard the little jingle. Ever so faint, and muffled to boot. It was a drop of blood in the ocean. Walter was a shark.

His eyes opened up. He rolled over and picked up the single pillow he was left with. His heart fluttered when he heard the muffled sound coming from it. Not under! But inside it!

He didn’t know how Mommy had managed to hide it there, or when she slipped it out before bed each night, but that’s where she’d hidden it. AND SHE’D FORGOTTEN IT!

Walter dug into the case and felt around, his hands clasping the rounded triangles that were the sunflower’s petals. His pulse quickened, and he started panting as he pulled out the dreadful thing. His very skin danced, and his feet started lightly kicking the air.

“No…” he whispered. “No. Not gonna…” Even as he said it, he started to strap the thing to his wrist.

His rattle.

Just like old times when he was safe in his crib with no Amazons coming to take him or snatch him away from his Mommy and Daddy…

Just one shake. Just one tiny shake and he’d get some of that pent up frustration, some of that anxiety, some of that existential crisis, out of his system. Then he could sleep. Then he could rest.

Then he could be a happy big boy in slumberland.

He held it in his hand. “One…” He took a deep breath. “Two…” He held it… “Three!”

And shook!

It was not one shake. It was not a small one either. When the first clinging bell came out, Walter felt his entire body spasm with joy. From his forehead, down to the balls of his feet every part of him…well…there was a reason this toy was called a rattle.

To call the high pitched burbling noises that came out of Wally’s mouth “laughter” would be the result of charity. A seizure! Wally was having a seizure…and loving it! A happy seizure! That’s what this was. A happy seizure. After so long with only a hint of happiness before bedtime he was accidentally overdosing!

Wonderful!

The wonder was cut short, not by his Mommy, or any outside interference, but by yet another shortcoming of his own body. Spasming fingers made for a loose grip. Flailing arms and legs, made for loose grips and hard pitches. There was a reason the rattle came with a wrist band.

Wally finally caught his breath when the sunflower slipped out of his grasp and sailed in between the bars, clinking and clattering to the floor. His pulse slowed with his breathing and his eyelids started to droop.

It wasn’t cumming. Not quite. But it was good enough.

Walter closed his eyes, dreamed most pleasant dreams, and woke up wet. When he came to, his Mommy was strapping the rattle back on his rest. “Good morning, my baby bed wetter!” she whispered sweetly to him. “I’m glad you got that naughtiness out of your system.”

That was weird.

How’d she know he’d wet the bed? He’d needed changing first thing in the morning before. But he’d never done it in his sleep.

“Just give it a shake,” Mommy said, moving his forearm for him. “Like this!”


Another day…

“And the piggy goes oink oink, the cow goes moo” the stupid cartoon howled. “The doggy goes bow-wow how about you? Everybody sing-a-along with Farmer Brown!”

Laying on a blanket in the middle of the living room, Walter did not open up his eyes. He certainly didn’t sing along. Every Little knew about hypnotic toons. The fact that he’d never heard of “Farmer Brown’s Barnyard Sing-A-Long” didn’t help his paranoia, either. Littles who got regressed, didn’t talk much.

Laying back and not watching was his only defense, and it was far from foolproof. Just listening to it was dangerous. It’s not like Amazons couldn’t weaponize sound. The rattle was proof of that. Walter tried to block out the songs by humming old melodies to himself…old melodies that inevitably sounded way too much like what was playing on the screen.

But Walter didn’t dare plug his ears. He kept his arms flat on the floor and moved as little as possible, afraid of what sounds might tinkle out. Even the slightest jingle from his wrist might send him into fits…the best possible fits.

NO!

STOP IT!

Thinking about the addictive torture device strapped to his arm was like a toothache before bed. He didn’t think about it until he did, and then he just couldn’t stop.

“Oh Wally,” Mommy cooed. “I’ve got a present for you.” He felt the giantess’s shadow loom over him. “Open your eyes.”

“No…thank you…” Walter remembered his manners at the last moment.

She must have realized what he was afraid of. The channel on the T.V. changed to something decidedly less animated. “You should know John, that I’m not really Marsha! I’m…her evil twin!” Cheesy organ music punctuated the sentence.

“Well I’m not really John. I’m…his evil twin!” Even more organ music.

Oddly enough, Walter was getting more tempted to use the rattle than when he was listening to Farmer Brown…

NO!

STOP!

JUST STOP!

Walter shut the temptation out of his brain by opening his eyes. Mommy…Sarah that is…still loomed over him, but she was the thing hovering closest to his face. Between him and his captor, tiny barn yard stuffies- pigs, cows, and dogs- hung just out of reach. A portable mobile. The blanket he’d been laying on had just been converted into a play mat. “Do you like it?”

No. No he did not.

“Go ahead, Wally,” She urged. “Try it!”

With one hand, the one that didn’t rattle, Wally reached up. The cow was just close enough to where he could bat at it. Tentatively, he poked at it, holding his breath.

Nothing. Nothing happened. No sound. No jingling. No mind warping ringing. Walter exhaled and smiled despite himself.

“Awww!” Mommy said to herself. “He likes it! He really likes it!” She was practically bouncing. “I knew this would fit your emerging developmental plateau! The crazy woman had mistaken his relief for pleasure. She leaned over and booped him on the nose. “Now, my baby boy can play here on the floor, and Mommy can watch her shows! It’s win-win!”

There was nothing more to be discussed, as far as she was concerned. Walter rolled his eyes and arched his back enough to watch her take a spot on the couch. Her gaze was instantly glued to the screen.

Spread out on the center of the floor as he was, there was no way Walter would be able to get away from under his Mommy’s watch. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to children’s songs so dumb that it could literally make him dumber. At least his captor wasn’t constantly hovering over him.

At least he could find another way to entertain himself. Slowly, like molasses, Walter switched hands. He put his free hand down on the floor and raised the other one down. His eyes never left the sunflower buttoned around his wrist.

This could be a fun challenge. Move slowly enough so that it didn’t ring and if it did…

NO!

He was making excuses and he knew it. He was making justifications. Lying to himself.

He wanted to fail.

He’d already failed.

In full frustration and anger at himself, Walter slammed his fist back down to the carpet. That’s all it took to send jingling up his spine. Pleasantly, he found that the mobile was wide and low enough so that he could kick at the stuffed animals as well as bat at them.

How nice! Full sensory engagement!

He reached up again and batted at a doggy, vaguely imagining that the dinging sounds coming from just beneath his palm were coming from the dog instead. “Cow goes ding ding, Piggy goes ding-a-ling. Doggy goes dingy ding, how about you?” That’s how the lyrics in Wally’s head went.

The only thing that stopped his play for the rest of that morning was his Mommy changing his diaper, which was odd, because he only vaguely remembered when he’d decided to go pee-pee.

Decided?

Had he actually decided that?

Wally…Walter was having trouble remembering if he had. The only thing he remembered was a feeling of relief that he wouldn’t have to stop playing.

“This is gonna be the last time,” Walter promised himself. “Last time.”


And another…

“So Monica said to Angela and Angela said to Nancy…” Mommy droned on.

Walter was on her hip just outside in the parking lot to their apartment complex. Some giant friend of hers that he knew nothing about had called to them-to Mommy really-and stopped to talk.

They were good enough friends, apparently, for Mommy to stop and talk for upwards of ten minutes, but not enough to invite inside the apartment. As the two Amazons gabbed to each other about friends and acquaintances and gossip, Walter did what he’d learned to do best when the big people started chatting: He rolled his eyes, sighed, and zoned out.

Furtively, he looked down at his wrist. He’d had a pretty good day so far and had only used it a couple times. Not even ten times had he used it and sent raw pleasure surging into his brain stem.

That was pretty good, right?

Right.

He’d been really good.

“Why’s he looking like that?” Mommy’s friend asked.

Mommy shifted him on her hip and slipped two fingers into his diaper. “He just peed,” Mommy said as if she were describing the weather.

“Oh,” her friend said. “Do you need to go change him?”

“No,” Mommy said. “Wally’s not potty trained at all. Sometimes I think he likes being wet more than being dry, the widdle faucet!”

Wally’s blood ran cold. He’d peed? He’d wet his diaper? Without realizing it? How had that happened? Why had that happened? When?

Wally wanted to cry; to scream; to claw his eyes out in anguish! Mommy bounced him on her hip and he heard the little tinkling sound for the trouble.

He looked down at his arm. Maybe under ten times wasn’t enough today…

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Poor Wally his fate sealed by that dam rattle so much like the security rattle of his all too short childhood, to be undone betrayed by the one thing that kept him safe secure in his bed. How convenient for Sarh to be there and able to record all the action in the park. strange to think how a rattle that was meant not to be lost by “it’s” owner to be lost in a spot in a public space.

Thanks for another great story, loved the call back to “Unfair”

Chapter 4

Wally laid in his big boy bed, clutching his special rattle to his chest. It had almost doomed him, even though for his entire life he’d been convinced that it would protect him and keep the Amazons from taking him from Mother and Father and treating him like a baby forever.

His relatively iron bladder had saved him. Being so young had probably played a role too, he’d heard his parents saying behind the closed door. Being at an age where even the Amazon kids could still have accidents or play with stuffies or nibble on their fingers had played a factor. If he’d been even a tiny bit older, -first or second grade- being caught with that rattle in his backpack might have been worse. When Amazons decided a Little was a baby, there wasn’t much more to be done about it.

“What’s so wrong with being a baby?” he whispered to himself. Diapers were yucky, sure, but the bottles didn’t look so bad; they were like the sippy cups he still used sometimes. Snuggles and hugs were nice, too, and Wally loved it when adults called him ‘cute’. People called babies cute all the time; and that was even when they’d gone pee-pee or poo-poo in their pants.

Would it really be so bad being a baby? Wally clutched his rattle to his chest. He couldn’t remember being a baby. He supposed it must be awful, that’s why people- especially Littles- stopped being babies as soon as possible. That was why being turned back into one was one of the worst things a Little could imagine.

Wally wasn’t going to turn back into a baby. The only way was forward. Always forward; never backwards; never resting.

“I’m sorry,” Wally whispered to his security object. “I’m so sorry. I can’t love you anymore. I have to be big.”


The pre-dawn light hit Wally’s eyelids, waking him. Had that been a dream or a memory? Wally suspected the former even if it felt like the latter. Memories from that far back might as well be dreams; they certainly weren’t accurate recollections of what happened.

The feelings from the dream were real, though. Feelings always were. He’d been so sure of how the world worked back then and in the course of a day he’d found out different. History was repeating itself more and more.
Just like in those good old days, he laid in his bed and raised his hand up so that he could gaze desperately at the sunflower wrist rattle. Like long ago, he felt ‘safe’ just looking at it.

Depending on one’s standards, Wally had been ‘safe’, for a month now. He was safe in that his world had become utterly routine and predictable and that all of his physical needs were met. For example, in just a few minutes, his Mommy- already up impossibly early- would come in and change his diaper, and feed him breakfast.

He needed a diaper change, too. There was no doubt about it. Not that he could feel it from the inside; the Koddles Dry-Nites he was wearing did a fantastic job of wicking away wetness and had enough room in the back to comfortably contain messes. As a diaper, it was really top notch. He’d have to reach his hand between his legs and press or squeeze his thighs together to really get a feel for it.

None of that was really necessary. Wally knew he’d gone in his sleep, the same way he’d known that he kept breathing after he closed his eyes. Wally was all but incontinent now, and much like breathing he only felt it when he made a deliberate attempt to control it. Just like the baby he was being treated like, he needed his diapers now.

Maybe the baby food Mommy fed him was being drugged to damage his bladder and bowel control. Maybe the cartoons he watched in Mommy’s lap were subtly hypnotizing him.

The rattle.

It was probably the rattle. Wally was an addict, not stupid. It obviously did so much more than just make him giggle and give him that sweet sweet rush like a beer that one never quite got a tolerance for. It was wrecking him, absolutely wrecking him. It was also the thing that made him happiest. How could he refuse himself a bit of happiness?

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered, looking at the rattle. “I really shouldn’t.” He did anyway.

The ting-a-ling sound pulled his lips back into a smile while in a fit and he spasmed happily on the mattress, infantilily kicking his legs in the air for no particular reason other than it felt good to stretch and move around in his crib.

Mommy took that as her cue to enter. “Good morning, baby Wally!” she sang out, flinging the door open.

“Morning Mommy,” Wally said with a yawn. He was already feeling that self-medicating buzz kick in. The jingly jangling sound was a balm to his brain, like a beer that he could never build up tolerance too. Calling the woman who’d kidnapped him ‘Mommy’ was but a minor concession for it.

“Did you have a good sleep?” Mommy asked him as she lifted him out of the crib and carried him over to the changing table.

“Mmm-hmm,” he lied. All of this was just part of the routine, by now.

“We’ve got a big day today.” Mommy said. Wally made sure to time his next shake of the rattle in time with the adhesive tapes being ripped off the front of his diaper. “I’m going to have to take that away.” That made Wally gasp more than the feeling of fresh air on his groin or the wet wipes that followed. He’d gotten used to those.

“Mmmmmm…!” His fists balled up and shook impotently. Mommy didn’t like it when he screamed or threw a tantrum.

“Just so I can wash it!” Mommy said. “That thing is starting to get filthy.” She didn’t even pause as she balled up the used diaper and unfolded its replacement. “Especially,” she added, “since you started crawling around.”

The rattle had done that too. Shake it a few times, and you’re liable to have an accident. Keep going and you can kiss your potty training goodbye. Go beyond that and you were reduced to a crawler.

Wally’s legs weren’t weak by Little standards but something had happened to his inner ear so that he couldn’t balance for anything. A flat plane might as well be a high wire act. The only time the flats of his feet touched the ground were if he had something to steady himself with like a piece of furniture or if Mommy put him in his walker.

Seeing his distress, she let out a good natured chuckle. “I’ll get you a couple more,” she promised. “We can rotate them out. Take turns. Maybe get you a couple that don’t look like a flower. Like an elephant, or a tiger or something. Wouldn’t that be cute?”

It would. It really would. The tiniest bit of self loathing creeped into his psyche. Oh to be the him of a month ago and have the iron will and hope from before. Oh to be an adult and to do more than just idly ponder escape or rescue.
Mommy put the new diaper on him and carried him out to his highchair. Escape to what, though? Constant worrying? Anxiety that he was going to be caught. The worry that any personal connection he might make would be snatched up and taken away forever?

The worst had already happened, hadn’t it? Everything that he’d feared had already come true. He couldn’t walk. He couldn’t keep his pants clean. All the snaps and tapes and buckle made it so he needed help getting dressed. He hadn’t bathed or fed himself in weeks.

No one in their right minds would consider him anything other than a baby.

So…why not?

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Mommy asked. She tied a bib around his neck and opened a jar of baby food.

“Nothin’,” he lied.

“Just thinking baby thoughts?” Mommy asked. She unsnapped the rattle from his wrist and put it off to the side, just out of reach. He knew it was coming. It wouldn’t do to get his favorite thing dirty. It still made him scrunch up his face like a constipated toddler.

Looking at his consternation only made the giantess giggle. Wally ate his baby food as fast as he could and chugged the bottle that followed. Doing so made sure that he’d get his beloved rattle back, the panacea to all of the pain that he’d kind of brought.

“We’ve got an exciting day,” Mommy teased. “My maternity leave is almost up and I have to go back to work. That means I’m gonna enroll you in daycare! Isn’t that fun?”

As a habit, Wally started shaking his wrist, even though the rattle hadn’t been attached. He knew this day would come. “Will I get to keep my rattle?” he asked.

“Of course,” Mommy chirped. “Why wouldn’t they let you bring in your favorite toy?”

That made him feel a tad better.


The daycare was pretty standard fare as far as Wally could be able to tell. Not that he’d been to one, before, but as far as pastel padded prisons went it was about what he’d expected.

“Here’s the changing tables,” a Tweener whose name tag read ‘Marjorie’ said.

“They’re out in the open,” Mommy noted. “Interesting.”

It was true. Four thick oaken platforms were placed end to end along the far walls. It was less private than even the changing station in a public restroom. Every kid in the wide open play floor would only have to look up from their toys or pop-up books, or silly games to see someone on their back with their diaper open and their legs up.

None of the other kids really did, though. All were too engrossed in whatever they were doing. Wally noticed a Little girl press her hand between her legs and blush while looking over her shoulder before going to joining in a pick-up game of Simon Says. Another Little boy was so engrossed in making a castle out of cardboard bricks that he didn’t notice the Amazon creeping up behind him and pulling back his diaper to look down inside. He started audibly whining while being taken over to the changing table.

“It’s a matter of efficiency, ma’am,” Marjorie said. “Let the babies play, change them when they need it, and then get them right back to playing, or transition them to lunch or naptime or what have you.”

“I want my blocks!” The Little boy screamed. “Blocks! Blocks! Blocks!”

The grown baby was loud and adamant, but his caregiver spoke softly that Wally could only hear the gentle tone, but not the specific words. She spun a mounted mobile and the boy’s screams turned into giggles and some light jingling made its way to Wally’s ears. Marjorie’s mouth twitched, nervously.

“Efficient?” Mommy asked. “Is that why I don’t see any cubbies for extra clothes or diapers?”

The Tweener nodded appreciatively. “Very perceptive ma’am,” she said, as if reading from a script. “All our kids wear Monkeez here as a matter of policy. That way we can just lay them down on any table, check the size, grab the right one, and get to work. Same with replacement clothes. We’ve got extra onesies and t-shirts for any accidents. It’s all included as part of the service.”

Right on cue, the Amazon and Little on the far changing table showed how well it worked. She didn’t even need to take her eyes off him, being able to find the correct diaper just by feeling for the right size stack.

“Monkeez,” Mommy noted. “Aren’t those the diapers that come in almost all sizes?”

Marjorie nodded. “Yes ma’am. That’s why we prefer them.”

“Don’t they have sizes small enough for…” Mommy chose her worse carefully. “Very very small and young Littles?” It wouldn’t do to call them ‘baby’ Littles, since Wally was technically a baby, too.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Tweeners too?”

Wally scanned the room. There were no babies big enough to be considered ‘Tweener’, a few bulky or brawny Littles that could have pulled it off with some elevator shoes, but that was it. The only Tweeners were the handful working there, including their tour guide.

Their tour guide noticeably stiffened. “Hypothetically, yes,” she said. “We don’t have any Tweener charges at the moment, but if we did, we’ve got a stack that would fit the adorable baby just fine.”

Wally barely registered the nervousness creeping into their guide’s tone. His attention was instead drawn to a cluster of play mats on the floor, all with the same delightful and dangling toys like he had at home. He wriggled in his Mommy’s arms, almost as if he thought he might stretch his arms fifty feet and be able to bring himself across the room. All he got for his behavior was a gentle pat on his backside and slight shushing noise.

An unexpected bonus of being treated like a baby was that empathy was not a major requirement on his part. The worst thing possible had already happened to him, so what did he care if one of the big people got uncomfortable by one of the bigger people? He had other things to worry about. It was almost like when he really was a kid. He’d come around to it in a weird way, but it was the same end result.

Meanwhile Mommy and the Marjorie had gone over the rest of the tour: A kitchen with highchairs, a television room, and so on. There was no place to sleep, instead the Littles had to clean up their toys and staff would lay out nap mats and turn out the lights. Nothing too surprising. Wally’s eyes never strayed far from the toys. It was the longest time he could remember where he wasn’t actively thinking of shaking his wrist.

“So what do you think?” The Tweener asked Mommy.

“I think this could work,” she said. “What do you think baby?”

“Um…Ah…” Wally said. Now he was being asked? Now? Other than to ask the state of his pants or maybe (maybe) the fullness of his belly, the giantess had never asked Wally anything.

“Oh he’s just shy,” Mommy said. The relief he felt was immense when she spoke for him. “I think he’ll like it. Sign us up.”

“Great! I just need to check one more thing,” Marjorie said. She reached up and over. “I need to do a quick diagnostic assessment with him. To see what kind of level he’s on.”

Reluctantly, Mommy handed him over. “Okay…be careful”

“Of course.”

Wally was taken back past the colorful and pleasant decorations into what could only be a back office. Plain white floors. Fluorescent lights. A desk with a computer. In a strange way, Wally was almost reminded of his setup back home…his real home…when he was an adult.

“Can you walk?” The Tweener asked. She turned around and locked the door.

“No,” Wally said. “I’m just a…I’m…I’m too Little…” Even admitting that felt like a struggle.

“That sucks,” Marjorie said. Waly held his breath. People didn’t talk to him like that anymore. For the first time in nearly a month, Wally was getting the feeling that he was being talked to instead of talked at. “I’m sorry she did that to you.”

He blinked in confusion. This was completely unexpected. “Wha…wha?”

“Look,” Marjorie lowered her voice. “You’re Walter right? Walter Klammer?”

Hearing his full, actual, adult name was like a bucket of ice being dumped over his head. “Yeah….”

“I can’t tell you everything right now, but I’m going to get you out of here.”

Walter felt gobsmacked. “You are?” How did she know his name? Why was she telling him this?

“I am,” she nodded. “Your file came in with registration. You haven’t been captive very long. I can tell that there’s still a chance to save you.”

Walter started tearing up. These were words he’d wanted to hear, that he’d been waiting to hear for a small eternity. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” The Tweener affirmed. “You’re going to get to grow up again.”

Wally felt his jaw clench “Grow up?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’ll take a while, and lots of work, but we’re going to undo the damage that monster did to you.”

He’d be an adult again. “Mommy?” For some reason he didn’t like hearing Mommy called a monster out loud. She really had been rather nice all things considered.

“Yeah,” Marjorie said. “We’ll start by potty training you. You might have accidents at first, but you’ll figure out how to clean up after yourself.”

Wally pictured himself wetting his pants with a dark stain spreading and then running down his legs. It’d be just like the first time…with no one to change him or coo at him or tickle him.

“We’ll get you a cane so you can balance and re-learn how to walk.”

Him with a cane would just make him look ‘old’ instead of ‘grown-up’. Honestly, it was easier to crawl. It’s not like he could reach most things, anyways.

“You’ll be able to do things like go to work, cook for yourself, go wherever you want.”

With nowhere to go and no one to look out for him. He’d just be alone and scared that another Mommy would come along and adopt him again if that was even a thing. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder? The first half was bad enough. Was using a playpen for its intended purpose really that bad in retrospect?

Marjorie reached for the rattle. “People will treat you like an adult instead of making you play with-”

“Don’t!” Wally shrieked! “No!” He clutched the sunflower to his chest like it was his own baby. “Please!”

“It’s just a rattle,” the Tweener said. “Only babies play with rattles.” Her hand loomed closer. “Here, let me help.”

“I’m a baby!” Wally yelped. “Baby needs his rattle!”

She cocked an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“I’m a baby! I don’t want to grow up!” The tears were flowing freely now. “I want my rattle!” For emphasis he shook it, and saw the Tweener wince. His giggles came out closer to hysterical sobs even as he felt the relief like morphine kicking in. He shook the rattle again and again and again.

He already couldn’t walk. Maybe if he shook it hard and long enough he’d stop being a crawler, then they wouldn’t take him. Then he’d be safe. Safe with Mommy.

The Tweener crossed her arms and smirked. “Good baby.” She patted him on the top of his head. “You passed.”

The baby stopped. “Passed?”

Marjorie bent over and picked him up. Wally noticed she had flesh colored earplugs in. “Yup. Just wanted to check and make sure you were really a baby.” Wally blushed. A fakeout. He should have known. Only a baby would have fallen for such a transparent trick, even for a second. Good thing he was a baby.

“That and…” she patted his bottom. “Nope. No lumps. A little wet, but still good. You’ll have to try the changing table tomorrow on your first day.”

Just as quick, if not quicker, the daycare worker carried Wally back out to the noisy and colorful playroom. Mommy waited, looking apprehensive. “So…?”

“He’s fine,” the Tweener said. “He said he wanted to be a baby and stay with his Mommy.”

That wasn’t quite how it went, but close enough. Mommy looked absolutely over the moon. “I knew it!” She leaned over and hooked her baby underneath the armpits. “Give Mommy some sugar! Mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah mwwwwah!”

The battle was finally over and Wally had finally given in and lost. He closed his eyes and smiled as Mommy nuzzled him and gave him a million tiny pecks. For the first time in a long time he felt safe. No more struggle. No more fretting. No more worrying about going on dates. As for friends, he had an entire daycare full of them potentially, all guaranteed to have at least a couple things in common with him.

Mommy’s ‘mwah’ mixed with the jingling of his rattle and his giggles. He even heard Miss Marjorie giggle a little bit as she let him go and he made his way completely onto Mommy’s hip. “Awwww!” she said. “I love seeing…” she cut herself off with a gasp.

Wally looked down and had an Amazon’s-Eye-View of a dark patch spreading and dripping down the Tweener’s legs. Her smile turned into a frightened scowl. The girl reached for her ear, feeling for something that wasn’t there. Helpfully, Wally pointed the spot on the floor where her earplug had fallen out. In his joyful thrashing he must have accidentally jostled it loose or something.

“Oh no, one of the Amazons,” -one of the real adults- said. “Marjorie? Again?!”

“It-it…it was…my ear plug fell out. The new baby’s rattle…and the mobile…and just…” The soon to be ex-tour guide didn’t look all that confident in herself. There was only so much confidence one could muster with wet pants and an unpadded bottom.

So this is what it looked like from the outside.

“I hear those silly baby toys all day too, and I don’t have accidents like that. I just think someone’s Maturosis is expressing itself and they don’t want to admit it.”

“But-but-but…”

“Come on baby girl,” the Amazon said. She grabbed the Tweener by the wrist. “Let’s get you sorted out.”

Wally giggled, looking over Mommy’s shoulder. He might be laying on that changing table tomorrow, but Marjorie was getting to try it out right now. Just as advertised, the daycare workers were able to spring right into action, easily bending over to get a Tweener sized diaper on the bottom shelf while another co-worker stripped her wet clothes off of her.

She didn’t put up much of a fight. What would have been the point? They’d made up their mind for her. Maybe she’d get to have a fun toy to play with now, too.

“Probably for the best,” Mommy sighed. “With Tweener’s it’s a fifty-fifty shot at best.”

Wally agreed, not feeling the least bit guilty. He gave the rattle one more shake, giggling all the while.

1 Like

I thought for a moment that Wally might be getting a new sister as well as a daycare friend, I wonder if the play gym at home does the same thing as the mobile and rattle.
very nice story so far.
Hope you are having a good day and a better tomorrow too.