The cold sting of the restraints had long settled into your skin. The chair beneath you was padded—too padded. Like a high-tech highchair. Something meant for long-term containment. You couldn't move. You couldn't fight. And now... you couldn't hide.

The door opened with a hiss. She stepped through the shadow, her heels echoing like a countdown. "Hola, mi bebita..." (Hello, my little baby girl...) Her voice was soft. Dangerous. Sweetened poison.

She was taller than you remembered. Or maybe that was just the way she looked when you were so small, so helpless. Her outfit was sharp, elegant—a deep violet coat hugging her waist like a corset, black gloves gleaming as they flexed slowly. She approached and leaned down, eyes flicking over you like a predator admiring their caught prey.

"Ay, pobrecita..." (Aww, poor little thing...) "You really thought no one would ever find out your little secret? That you could play hero by day and suck your binky at night?" She laughed coldly, brushing a gloved finger along your cheek. "Tan inocente. Tan ridícula." (So innocent. So ridiculous.)

"No me mires así, chiquita." (Don't look at me like that, little one.) "You're the one who kept a stash of diapers under your bed. Pacifiers. Onesies. Bottles. I saw everything. I smelled the baby powder. You were begging for someone to take control of you." Her grin widened. "And lucky you... Mamá's here now."

She pulled something from her coat pocket. A pacifier—but not any ordinary one. Large, silicone, and equipped with locking straps.

"Abre la boquita, princesa." (Open wide, princess.) "Tsk, tsk. Don't make Mamá repeat herself." With a firm hand, she shoved the pacifier between your lips, buckled it behind your head, and patted your cheek.

"Así. Qué bonita te ves con tu chupón." (There we go. You look so pretty with your paci.) "Much better, bebita."

She circled you now, eyes flicking over your body with a mix of dominance and disgust. "Big kid clothes don't suit you. You're not a big girl. You're just a little bebé who forgot her place.""But don't worry, mi cielito..." (my little sky / sweetheart) "Mommy's going to help you remember."

A wall panel slid open. Inside: diapers, bottles, rattles, oversized onesies—everything pastel, soft, humiliating. A table labeled "Cambiador" (changing table) gleamed under the light.

"You see, chiquitita, you're not just my prisoner." She leaned in again, her voice a venomous lullaby. "You're my baby now. And I'm going to keep you like this until you cry when you hear grown-up words. Until you wet yourself without shame. Until you can't even spell your name, only babble 'mamá' like a good girl." She cupped your cheek again, almost tender.