Madison’s World Redux: Season Two: Episode Forty Eight

Cindy found herself in her own living room for the first time that day, though it hardly felt like her home anymore. The once-cozy space now seemed oversized, suffocatingly vast. The remnants of Madison’s teenage life sprawled across the coffee table—crumpled snack wrappers, half-empty soda cans, and discarded bags of chips. It was a scene of careless abandon, the kind of mess she would have scolded Madison for not so long ago. But now? Cindy bit her tongue, the reprimand dying in her throat. Commenting wasn’t wise. Madison hadn’t even planned to bring her downstairs today if it hadn’t been for McKenzie’s intervention.

Cindy sighed, sinking into the couch. The cushions felt too big, too soft, swallowing her in their embrace. Everything about this room now seemed too large, too far away from the life she once commanded. Madison moved toward the TV with a smug confidence, pulling up the Generify account on the screen. As Cindy glanced at it, her stomach dropped. Her account, and Greg’s, were gone. In their place, McKenzie’s name held the primary position, with Madison listed as an adult account. All the restrictions they had once put in place were wiped clean.

Madison, sensing her mother’s realization, grinned wickedly, her voice taking on a sweet, sing-song tone. “Oh, I went ahead and transferred you and Dad’s accounts to Little accounts,” she said, leaning in closer. The candy sweet smile on her face widened. “So, when you log in to your Little Generify accounts, you’ll still have all your history and stuff. Buuut, if something you were watching isn’t Little-approved anymore… yeah, you won’t be able to see it.”

Cindy’s heart sank further, her mouth opening slightly in shock as Madison flipped her hair back with a smug expression, clearly relishing the moment. “I added a few restrictions, too,” she continued, her voice casual, almost mocking. “The account doesn’t work after 9 p.m., since, you know, that’s your bedtime now. And it stays inactive until 7 a.m. on weekdays. On weekends? You’re locked out until 10 a.m.”

Madison’s tone was so light, so unconcerned, but the weight of her words was crushing. The final blow came with a mocking lilt, as she added, “But don’t worry, you can still watch any Little content that’s rated PG or below!”

“PG?” Cindy’s protest came out louder than she intended, the indignation slipping through her careful restraint.

Madison rolled her eyes in an exaggerated motion, her voice dripping with confidence, as if this was all so obvious. “Uh, yeah, I literally just held you to the same standards you held me to forever—so, like, don’t even,” she said with a flip of her hair, her smirk deepening. Her eyes locked onto Cindy’s, cold and unyielding. “And let’s be real here—as my Little, you better remember your place.”

The words hit Cindy like a slap, and she sat there frozen, struggling to process the shift in their relationship. “I mean, do I really need to explain my decisions to you? My Little? Yeah, I don’t think so.” Madison’s voice was casual, as if this was just another chore she was handling, but the power dynamic was unmistakable.

The final, cutting words slid from Madison’s lips with a chilling finality. “I’m in charge now. Get used to it.”

Cindy’s heart pounded in her chest. The humiliating realization of what she had once taught Madison sank in deeper than ever. This was her doing, her rules. She had instilled this confidence, this entitlement, in her daughter. And now, Madison was wielding it against her.

“Yes, Ms. Wessen. Of course. I apologize for speaking out of place,” Cindy replied, her voice trembling with the effort to remain composed. She knew the game. She had taught Madison well, and now she was living the consequences of her own lessons.

Madison’s smirk softened into something resembling satisfaction as she stared down at her mother. The power exchange was complete, and they both knew it.

“See how much better things work when you just listen mom.” Madison giving her mother several affectionate pets of encouragement to continue her good behavior. “I don’t ask for much. I figure you could use a little break before you start practicing on my nails. I need you to just start working on endurance and strength. We need neat lines, even, not drips and dribble everywhere. I have a smaller little brushset that Brooklyn gave me. She said she remembered how much you use to love art and painting but you mentioned never having the time. Well now as a little she was saying you would have plenty. Wasn’t that nice of her?” Madison said

“Yes…”Cindy said searching for the words to use. “I am appreciative that Ms. Reynolds thought of me.”

“Make sure you thank her next time you see her.” Madison said like a parent reminding a young child.

“Yes of course” Cindy said hating being directed by her daughter like this.

“I know this is awkward for you mom. So like if you want to watch something thats little approved that’s rated above PG any of us Me, Krysi, Evan or Brooklyn can approve it for you on Generify. You should have to click on that greyed out icon and then it sends a request to all of us.”

CIndy wanted to scream. It was bad enough that she had to listen to Madison. But now Krysi, Evan and Brooklyn were also her superiors. Above her in this hierarchy of hell. Where her and Greg were at the very bottom. Supposed to be grateful just for being here cindy thought as she watched Madison reach towards the coffee table. She recognized the burger that Madison grabbed. It was one from the convenience store. McKenzie must have brought it home for Madison. Cindy loved the way they tasted but she never allowed herself to eat them. All the calories went to her waist. Now though, she no longer cared. It smelled heavenly.

“You already ate, Mom” Madison said lovingly as she unwrapped the burger and took a bite. Some shredded lettuce fell out of the burger as Madison ate onto the couch. Cindy watched the food fall the entire way to where it rested. She didn’t dare move towards it. She watched Madison look down at the lettuce and sweep it onto the floor before stretching her feet out onto the Sofa.

Madison raised an eyebrow, noticing the tight expression on her mother’s face. “What?” she asked, her tone sharp with impatience, as if she couldn’t be bothered to deal with whatever was brewing behind her mother’s restrained look.

“Nothing Ms. Wessen, Thank you for allowing me time outside of the habitat.” Cindy said forcing the words out her mouth a sweet thankful voice. Knowing what Madison wanted here. She wasn’t ready to fully rollover and accept this life. But it’s like her and Greg talked about. They needed to endure. They needed to survive this initial adjustment phase and hopefully things would be better.

Madison smirked, clearly pleased with herself as she looked down at her mother. “Good. I’m glad you’re learning, Mom,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “Didn’t think you’d be turning the corner towards being a proper Little so quickly.” With a casual flick of her wrist, she reached toward her mother, patting her on the head and scratching behind her ears like she was some kind of pet. Despite the awkward size difference, Madison managed the gesture effortlessly, almost as if she was showing off her natural superiority.

“It’s going to be me and you for a long time, you know,” she continued, her tone softer but still smug. “You’re my Little now.” The satisfaction in her voice was unmistakable.

“Yes Ms. Wessen,” Cindy said through gritted teeth but smiled up at her daughter who seemed none the wiser. As she watched her show.

Madison folded her arms, her gaze drifting down to her Little-sized mother, her usual confidence replaced with a hint of reservation. “So, Mom, what have you been told about the community?” she asked, her voice careful, almost testing the waters. “I know you talked with Evan for a bit, and Trina ran through things with you.” She shifted slightly, the weight of the secret she’d kept before the infection lingering in the air, making her momentarily more guarded than usual.

“Umm, that it’s ran by you, Krysi, Brooklyn and Evan.” Cindy said painfully. Hating how her daughters’ friends stood above her in every way. “All of you are guardians of all the littles of the community.” CIndy said trying to hide her disgust for the whole idea of this. “Greg and I will be needed to assist you all splitting between your events.”

Madison smirked; her voice filled with certainty. “Oh, you will be,” she said knowingly. “Especially as service Littles. Brooklyn and I will need help making sure our outfits are spotless, hair done perfectly, jewelry sparkling. Between sets, we might want massages to loosen up, stuff you can handle as Littles. These will be your new jobs.” She flicked her gaze down, fully enjoying the shift in power.

“You might also be asked to go with Krysi for her softball games or Evan for her track meets. And just because you’re not with me all the time doesn’t mean you get a pass. You better respect them like they’re your guardians.” Madison’s tone sharpened, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “I better not hear about you acting like anything less than the model Little you always expected others to be. The only difference now is, it’s you who has to meet your own standards.”

“Ms. Wessen,” CIndy said almost slipping up and saying Madison. She needed to maintain her composure and not let her anger seep out. She may be stuck as little but this is utterly ridiculous. She didn’t sign up to be outsourced to Madison’s friends. “Does Mistress Wessen know about this? I can’t imagine her being okay with us being loaned out like this.” Cindy asked as hoping to point out that it may not be wise. That perhaps they shouldnt be part of this community.

Madison looked down at her mother, her voice sweet and familiar, echoing the tone of her younger self. “Mom, you don’t need to worry about McKenzie,” she began softly, though her words carried a weight beneath their sugary tone. “I love you, but you need to start practicing what you always preached. You’re a Little now. Things like that aren’t your concern anymore. It’s beyond you, beyond your control. You have to focus on what’s within your control as a Little, what you’re told. That’s what matters now.”

She smiled sweetly, but the power dynamic was crystal clear. “You need to worry about learning the skills we teach you, or what Trina teaches you. That’s your place now. Remember how you always said it’s important to stay in your lane? Well, you have such an advantage because you created your lane. Your lane is to serve. And right now, your job is to work for the betterment of your guardians, and most importantly, me.”

Madison’s voice grew a touch sharper, though the sweetness remained. “You don’t need to even think about what McKenzie knows or doesn’t know. Unless she speaks to you directly or asks for you, she’s on another level compared to you. If you have a problem, your first step is to talk to Trina. If she’s not around and it’s urgent, then you come to me, or one of the other girls. But otherwise? You wait, like the good Little I know you can be.”

She crouched slightly, maintaining that soft, patronizing smile. “I know it’s hard, and you have all these emotions right now, but you can’t let them get you out of your lane. You need to stick with what you know is right, what you preached for years. No one likes a hypocrite, Mom, especially a Little hypocrite. And I know you know what’s right. It’s time you start applying it.”

Her tone lightened as she shifted topics, her eyes sparkling with a kind of smug encouragement. “Tonight, you get to start learning how to paint my nails. I know it’s going to be tough for you, maybe frustrating sometimes, but I believe you can do it. You know why? Because you’re my mom. You taught me that a Little can be trained and groomed to learn these essential skills to help them thrive in their new life.”

Madison stood up straighter, looking down at her mother with a confident smirk. “This is a fundamental skill for someone like you. Busy people like me, McKenzie, Brooklyn, Evan, and Krysi? We don’t have time to remove nail polish, paint our nails, or deal with designs. We don’t have time to get rid of lint on our clothes or clean our phone screens and earbuds. But you? You can thrive in those areas.”

She gave a little nod, as if affirming her own words. “And today is the first step. You’re going to learn how to properly paint my nails, remove the polish, make sure the lines are straight, the paint is even, and it dries perfectly. I’ll be here every step of the way, making sure you get it right.”

“No, I mean there must be a mistake. Please, honey, please. You know me. You know what is right. I-” Cindy said pleading with her daughter.

Madison’s voice softened as she looked down at her mother, the usual arrogance melting away, replaced with a false veneer of sympathy. “Mom, it’s okay,” she said gently, her tone dripping with exaggerated reassurance. Her smile was sweet, but Cindy could feel the underlying condescension. “I know it’s scary, having to learn all these new skills, the fear of starting over from scratch. And dealing with so many guardians? Yeah, that’s a lot. That’s why we’re taking it slow with you, respecting your wishes, like not having Mrs. Archer teach you.”

Madison paused, as if considering her next words carefully, her eyes flicking back to Cindy’s face, watching for a reaction. “I know it must feel overwhelming, facing so much all at once,” she continued, her voice now adopting a soothing tone that felt almost patronizing. “But remember, a Little isn’t made overnight. It takes months, even years. No one expects you to be Trina, a fully trained Little. We get that it’s probably too much for you right now.”

The softness in her voice might have seemed kind, but Cindy could sense the subtle current of authority threading through it. Madison wasn’t comforting her; she was instructing her. “So, all you have to do, for now, is focus on one thing, being my Little. That’s your only job right now.”

The words hit Cindy like a punch in the gut. Her job? Was this how Madison truly saw her now, as a project to be trained, a Little to be molded and shaped into the perfect version of what she had once advocated? Cindy’s hands clenched in her lap as she fought the rising tide of frustration, of disbelief. How had things come to this?

Cindy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her youngest daughter, barely more than a child herself, was standing over her, giving her a pep talk about being a Little, about being her Little. Cindy, an adult, a grown woman who had raised Madison, who had run this household, who had built a career and a life. She had raised a family, guided her children into adulthood, and now, here she was, being spoken to like a newborn puppy learning its place for the first time. The absurdity of it was suffocating. She wanted to scream, to shout that this wasn’t who she was.

Her thoughts raced, her pulse quickening as she replayed Madison’s words in her mind. I don’t want to be a Little. I’m not supposed to be here. The very idea of it gnawed at her insides. Yes, she knew the techniques Madison was using, she had written the papers, advocated for the methods, taught them to countless guardians. This was the system she had helped build. But it wasn’t supposed to be for her. It was supposed to be for Littles, for those who needed the structure. Not for me. I’m still human. I still have my mind.

Her chest tightened as the weight of the situation bore down on her. Cindy wasn’t some helpless, mindless being. She wasn’t an invalid. She was a person, fully aware, fully conscious, and yet she was being reduced to this.

The sting of Madison’s words, the casual way she asserted control, left Cindy reeling. It wasn’t just the condescension, it was the realization that Madison, her own daughter, genuinely believed she needed this. That she needed to be trained, guided like a lost child. The thought was unbearable, twisting deep in her gut.

Madison’s eyes stayed on her, waiting for acknowledgment, for submission. Cindy felt the pressure of that gaze, the expectation of compliance. Her mind screamed against it, but she forced herself to nod, feeling trapped, suffocated by the very techniques she had once championed. The irony of it all was as bitter as it was humiliating.

This was what she had spent years advocating for, but she wasn’t supposed to be the Little.

Madison looked down at her mother with a soft, patronizing smile, the kind one might offer a young child or a beloved pet. “Shhh, it’s okay, Mom,” she whispered, her voice gentle, as if speaking to someone fragile. She reached out, lifting Cindy effortlessly with her thumb and forefinger. Cindy had never been grasped like this before, held between another person’s fingers, and the sensation was deeply unnerving. The world blurred as she was moved through the air. Madison was being slow and careful, but to Cindy, it felt as if she were being whisked away at lightning speed, the unfamiliarity of it leaving her breathless. When Madison finally set her down on the floor, the sensation of solid ground beneath her feet was almost a relief.

From her new vantage point, Cindy’s eyes darted toward the far end of the sofa, where her makeup bag lay open, its contents strewn across the floor. Horror filled her as she realized what had happened. The expensive products she had carefully collected over the years—hundreds of dollars’ worth of makeup, were nearly all gone, pillaged and picked through like a forgotten treasure chest.

“What… what happened to my makeup?” Cindy’s voice trembled as she fought the urge to run over to the bag and take stock of what remained.

Madison tilted her head, her expression a picture of innocence, as if she didn’t quite grasp the question. “Your makeup?” she repeated, her tone almost playful. “Mom, Littles don’t have makeup. You’ve said so yourself, the concept of makeup is beyond a Little. You always said it was as distant as the sun from the moon.” She smiled sweetly, as though she were offering praise for Cindy’s childlike understanding. “But I’m proud of you for remembering the concept. That’s a big step for a Little like you.”

Cindy’s heart sank. Madison wasn’t just dismissing her, she was erasing her identity, reducing her to a caricature of the very rules Cindy had once enforced. Her daughter’s voice remained soft, soothing, as if teaching a basic skill. “Now, see the red bottle? It’s just some cheap nail polish I found around the house. The cap’s already loosened for you, so all you have to do is lift it up. Then you take the brush, place it at the top of my nail, and pull it straight down. Nice and even.”

Madison crouched down, holding out her hand expectantly. Her eyes twinkled with the satisfaction of watching her mother, once an authority, now reduced to following such simple instructions. “Let’s just start with you lifting the cap and getting the brush ready,” she said, her tone warm, almost encouraging, as if Cindy had never heard of makeup before, as if this was all new to her.

Cindy’s throat tightened with frustration. “Ms. Wessen, please, just—” She stopped herself, the words catching in her throat. She wanted so badly to explain that this wasn’t necessary, that Madison was taking things too far. She needed her daughter to understand. This was wrong. She wasn’t some mindless Little. She still had her humanity, her memories, her knowledge. She wasn’t like the others.

But Madison cut her off with a gentle hush, her smile unwavering. “Shhh, I know you’re overwhelmed, being taught personally by me. But you are my Little, Mom,” she said, her voice soft but authoritative, as if speaking to a child who couldn’t possibly understand the complexity of the situation. “I know you’ve forgotten so much, and it must be so frustrating for you to be a Little now. You think you know so much, but you really don’t.”

The words stung, each one laced with a subtle cruelty wrapped in sweetness. Madison truly believed that Cindy, her own mother, was incapable of comprehending her place anymore. Hearing her own tutelge her own methods used on her, applied to her made Cindy embarassed and frustrated all at once. “So just lift the cap, and we’ll go from there,” Madison continued, settling back on the couch, her eyes already drifting away as if this task was too simple to even warrant her full attention.

From Cindy’s position on the floor, Madison would have to strain to hear her mother’s words without bending closer, the distance making Cindy’s voice harder to decipher. But it didn’t matter. Cindy knew what she was supposed to do. Madison had made it clear. It wasn’t Cindy’s job to speak, to explain, to resist. Her only job now was to obey.

The realization sent a wave of cold dread through her. Madison wasn’t listening, and Cindy was trapped, her voice lost in the chasm between them.

Cindy looked up at Madison, her frustration painfully evident, as if it clung to her like a heavy weight. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reach her daughter. Madison simply wouldn’t listen. Every word Cindy spoke seemed to bounce off her, disregarded as if it were the ramblings of a child. Now, standing on the floor and looking up at her towering daughter, Cindy was reminded just how small she had become. This viewpoint, the perspective of looking up at Madison, was foreign and unsettling. The once familiar living room, now cast in cool air, seemed impossibly vast. The space stretched around her, making her feel even more insignificant, as if the walls themselves were pulling away from her.

Her voice, when she spoke, was swallowed by the room’s expanse. She knew Madison could hear her only if she chose to put effort into it, but her daughter wasn’t even trying. Cindy recognized this technique, she had taught this technique. It left the Little with no option but to obey, stripping them of even the most basic sense of communication. A sharp pang of resentment shot through her, and in a flash of frustration, she stomped her foot, the sound utterly meaningless in the vastness around her. She turned toward the bottle, knowing that the only thing Madison would understand now was action, not words.

With a determined huff, Cindy reached for the nail polish bottle. The cap, though simple in design, was surprisingly heavy, dense plastic that made her small hands strain under its weight. Even with her relative size, it was difficult to hold. She couldn’t help but think of Greg, knowing he would have struggled with a task like this. It all made sense now, the design was clearly not meant for someone her size, but she had no choice but to push through. Her grip tightened as she lifted the cap, her arms trembling slightly with the effort.

Finally, she managed to get the brush in place, though several large dribbles of polish splattered messily onto Madison’s nail before Cindy could align it properly. Her heart sank as the thick red liquid smeared unevenly across the surface.

“Just fucking great,” she muttered under her breath, the frustration boiling over before she could stop herself. But before she could even process her mistake, Madison’s voice boomed down from above, filling the room like thunder.

Madison’s expression softened into a light, almost dismissive smile. Her voice, though soothing, was steeped in condescension. “That’s okay, it’s your first try,” she said, her tone patronizingly sweet, as if she were talking to a toddler struggling to color inside the lines. “Like I said, we know it’s a lot, and that’s why I made you a service Little. Just put the cap back on the bottle, and then dab that little white pad in the solution. It’s called nail polish remover, super important.”

Cindy’s stomach churned as Madison explained the task with such exaggerated patience, as though she had never seen nail polish before. “Just clean up my nail and start again. Keep practicing until you can get the brush on my nail without spilling. It’ll take time, but that’s expected.”

Madison paused, her smirk widening ever so slightly as she added, “In a year or two, you might even be able to paint my nails from the coffee table or the couch without making a mess. Imagine that! But for now, you’ll be working from the floor.” Her voice dipped softer, as if she were offering a compliment, though the sting of condescension was undeniable. “I know how hard of a worker you are, Mom. I’m sure you’ll put in the effort to get it right.”

Cindy’s throat tightened at the words. The insult was veiled in praise, but the meaning was clear, she was being trained, like a Little, with years of practice ahead of her just to achieve the simplest tasks. The very idea of it felt like a crushing weight on her chest.

Madison’s attention shifted back to her phone and the television, her voice becoming casual, almost absentminded. “I’m gonna go back to my show now, but if you need anything, just tap on my foot if I don’t notice. I’ll still be supervising though so you shouldn’t need to do much to get my attention.”

Cindy stood there, brush in hand, her mind racing with a mixture of anger, humiliation, and helplessness. She was expected to tap her daughter’s foot, tap, for attention, as if she were a pet seeking approval. It was a subtle, yet excruciating reminder of the new power dynamic between them. Her daughter, once her child, now had all the authority, and Cindy was relegated to this, trapped in a role she had once enforced on others.

Taking a deep breath, Cindy placed the brush down and reached for the nail polish remover, the weight of the task pressing down on her more heavily than the cap she’d struggled to lift.

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