Your mother hoists you onto her hip and carries you down to the kitchen where a large, ominous highchair is waiting for you. She unceremoniously plops you into the sturdy piece of baby furniture and binds your mittened hands in with a thick oaken tray.
"Mom please, I'll be good-"
"I'm sure you will,baby boy," she says, unbuttoning her blouse. "I've been planning on getting my good little boy back for a long time. Which meant Mommy had time to take some special pills to make milkies for you."
"Noooo!" She shoves her nipple into you mouth and you are forced to guzzle the gross breast milk. Just when you cant tak anymore, she switches to the other nipple and soon the milk and drool are dripping down your face.
"All done!" Great you think, maybe she got this out of her system and you can get dressed, but no, its just starting.
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