The soft fabric of the crib was a deceptive comfort, the padded walls a cage that stifled my every instinct to fight. The leather of the restraints felt cold, a harsh reminder of my complete powerlessness. Then came the weight between my legs, a soft, soggy mass that grew as my own body worked against me. All of it, a perfect storm designed to break me down to my most basic form. A thing that had no control.
The stillness, the utter silence, was always my enemy. It allowed my thoughts to play. To run wild. Then, the voice cut through the darkness. My tormentor. My keeper.
"Thinking about sticking you in a straitjacket and pulling the middle strap so tight it pins your diaper against your princess parts" Her words were clear, sharp and concise. I flinched as I thought of what she meant, the pain was nothing compared to the psychological torment. "Watching gleefully as you grunt and your cheeks burn, the strap forcing you to push harder and your mess to spread everywhere.” And the next part. That would be it. My doom. "Nap time, baby.” She finished, in a tone that was filled with a perverse form of motherly affection. And I was to be the puppet. As I always have been. As I will always be.
I knew what she wanted. To see me fail. To see me pushed to my breaking point. It was that final promise, that gentle taunt, the confirmation of my loss, of my new life, that hit me harder than any chain or strap ever could, my mind, forever trapped with all that she had made me become. And in that moment, all I could do, was listen to the voice, as it was her, and she had total control of the world.
