Hardcore Bondage In Full Latex Catsuit Charlotte Sartre

Its so cute when girls dominate boys in little ways for no reason at all

Just wave at him across the room and summon him to you

And he eagerly comes over to you expecting some attention

And then just tell him you were just making sure he would obey

So he knows that its all about your power over him

How did it come to this? How did it get this far? How did you end up in this position?

You were asking yourself those questions as she leaned over you. All you heard was, "laisse-moi vérifier ta couche bébé" and "ta couche est trempée bébé." Your one semester of French back home was wholly insufficient to understand her.

This was not how you expected your year-long study-abroad trip to Paris to go. You thought you'd spend the year chasing after beautiful French women, eating delicious food, and sipping wine at bustling cafes.

It turns out the stress of moving abroad did not mix well with your bladder. Two weeks into the program, you had already wet the bed five times and even wet your pants during your French language class.

You met with your program director to discuss the issues. They scheduled a doctor's appointment for you, ordered diapers in the meantime, and gave you your own private room.

She was the program director's assistant. To your great embarrassment, she sat through the whole meeting silently but followed you out of the office.

She asked if you were okay, concern on her face. Her English was flawless. She was so lovely, her charm disarming. You didn't even feel embarrassed she knew the situation anymore. She invited you to come out with her that night, telling you it would be good to relax and let a Parisian show you the best local spots tourists have yet to discover. You agreed.

You met her outside your dorm. She lead you out to the city. Ten minutes later, she was leading you up the stairs to her apartment. It was a nice apartment, complete with a fantastic view of the Eiffel Tower. She poured you a glass of wine.

"I'm going to take you to my favorite restaurant, the boeuf bourguignon is simply superb," she said smiling, "but before we go, I think we should take care of your, uh, little problem."

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"Well, you see, the restaurant is quite nice. I don't want you to have an accident on their furniture. So, I think it is best if you wear this," she says, showing you a thick diaper, "lay down so I can put it on."

"I really don't think that is necessary, I'll be fine," you furtively respond.

"That is not what it sounded like today," she said with an air of authority, "it sounded like you were having problems controlling yourself. Now, lay down."

You don't know why you laid down. Maybe something about the way she said it. All you knew was you meekly agreed. She unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them off. You unconsciously tried to cover yourself as she reached for your underwear. She brushed your hands away.

She expertly put you in your first diaper, complete with rash cream and baby powder. She tapped your diaper and told you to stand up. When you did, she put your jeans back on for you.

It's been two weeks since that night. Everything has changed. You've been in diapers ever since. She had full control over your diapers. Checking them, changing them. All of it.

She convinced your program director that it would be best if you moved in with her, as your continence problems had worsened, and she could help you manage them. You had no idea about this until the program director informed you that your things had been moved.

Your "room" in her house, if you could call it that, turned out to be a chic nursery. Expertly painted in a shade of baby blue that managed to look entirely babyish, yet, somehow, sophisticated. Your twin bed had rails to ensure you didn't fall out of bed. Your changing table managed to combine refined craftsmanship with its necessary function. It was exactly how you'd expect a nursey to look in a well-to-do Parisian apartment.

Your nursery was just the beginning. You were no longer allowed to do anything on your own. She walked you to and from your classes. During breaks, she checked your diapers and, if necessary, changed them.

Your friends from the program no longer invited you out to party with them. Your status as a diaper boy made it clear you couldn't go even if you wanted. When they acknowledged you, it was done with that sickening tone used for babies and puppies.

You did go out quite often, though. She was quite the socialite. If there was one thing you could say about the experience, it was that you saw Paris as if it were lived by the locals. She had beautiful, well-connected friends. Her power and privilege made abundantly clear as you toddled behind her in a soggy diaper.

But it wasn't the frequent public diaper changes, your nursery, or lack of autonomy that made you feel so infantile. No, it was that since you moved in with her, she spoke nothing but French to you.

You didn't understand anything. Things just happened. You'd hear a jumble of words and suddenly your diaper was being checked. You'd hear another jumble of words and a beautiful French girl is pinching your cheek as she laughs. On it went.

And it was this lack of understanding that made you feel so infantile. You had absolutely no idea what anyone was saying to you. You sat there in your diaper as people spoke down to you, not taking in a word of meaning.

But you did understand their tone—the tone was the same in any language. They spoke to you like a baby. Your blank expression and confused nods making you look identical to a baby.

Nor could you communicate your own needs. You knew she, at least, understood you. But she ignored you as if you were nothing more than a babbling baby. None of her friends spoke any English, so your words were as intelligible to them as if you were actually babbling. You were helpless, trapped in a world you didn't understand, unable to communicate.

As you stare up at her, you have no idea what she's saying. All you know is that your diaper is wet, and your tummy is rumbling. As you feel her check your diaper, you aimlessly wonder how much French you'll pick up in the next eleven months.

Always Make Him Eat His Cum

One great rule in a FLR is mandatory cum eating.

It's really not even meant to be an option.

There's really no excuse not to eat it. It's polite.

But there's more to it than just that. There's multiple reasons on why he should be eating his cum, without being told.

The main reason is because it helps him develop the submissive mindset beyond sexuality.

When he is always submissive, and horny, he ties submission to being horny. So naturally when he gets off, his submission will drop off and he will want a break from submission.

In a FLR there are no breaks from submission that she doesn't agree to. So it's unacceptable for him to not be in the mood to submit, just because he had a full release orgasm.

This actually makes full release orgasms something to fear, and avoid, which isn't very ideal. You don't want to be afraid of certain acts just because it might cause his submission to drop.

Instead, it's time to train him to be submissive, whether he's horny or not. Whether it's sexual or not.

The moment he cums, any ideas and appeal of eating his cum he entertained only moments before, are completely gone.

The idea of eating it now is a turn off, and maybe even gross.

This is a perfect opportunity.

It's the perfect time for him to demonstrate his submission to her, and re-enforce the submissive mindset in his non-horny mind.

It's time to make him eat his cum. Not quickly either. Slowly. Make him wait a few seconds between each lick.

If it was collected in a glass, sip it slowly, and let the taste infiltrate his entire mouth.

He doesn't get to just slurp it up and gone, that's too easy. No, he must savor it, and understand, he will be eating it from now one, every time, every last drop.

This will maintain his submissive mindset through a full release orgasm, and will train his non-horny mind that he's still owned by her. That submission to her is not optional.

It's also a sign of respect for her, to do it without being told, to demonstrate that he knows his place, and will respectfully clean up his own mess, as a sign of gratitude, so she doesn't have to do it.

It's the polite, submissive thing to do.

There are other benefits of this as well, since cum is full of vitamins and minerals, it's a complete and total waste to not eat it. It's healthy, and replenishes the nutrition lost in cumming.

It should be mandatory, and non negotiable. Every time. The bigger the load, the better.

Always make him eat it.

Create the FLR of your dreams with the Practical FLR book series!

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It helps expand my reach, and shows the world the amazing benefits of a FLR.

Thank you for reading!

“We’re having a party tonight… You can either serve us and our friends in your slutty maid outfit.

Or we can tie you up and unlock your little chastity cage and let our guests tease and torment your cock all night.”

To see all my NSFW captions and to suport the blog: AllMyLinks 🍑

Locked: 10 days

Last orgasm: 11 days

It takes me about two weeks after an orgasm to reach the zone of deep devotion to my mistress. When I get horny in the first two weeks, my mind seeks another release. After that, my longing fades and I truly focus on pleasing my mistress, which, when successful, leaves me satisfied as well as horny in pure bliss. In this state, her control over me intensifies: A nipple flashed, a toe wiggled, or her tongue flickering across her lips is enough to send me all over her until she pushes me away, glowing with pride to be the object of such pure desire. So while I didn’t complain about the weekly orgasms my mistress granted me lately, I still asked her to extend my next release.

Last night, she ordered me into bed early. We started to make out. I sucked her nipple while pinching the other. Eagerly, I planted light kisses down her body, but she pulled me up again, grabbed her cock and placed the tip against her moist pussy.

„Mistress,“ I said, „if you ask me to enter you now, I will be finished in two minutes. Please don’t embarrass me.“

She sighted and let go. I grabbed one of the benzocaine-filled condoms I kept next to the bed and put it on. Luckily for me, she now allowed me to go down on her so that the condom could work its magic while I licked my mistress to her first orgasm. After she came on my face, I kissed my way slowly up her body and entered her. Her cock was numb enough so that I could push hard and fast, letting my lust run loose. Quickly, I turned her around to fuck her doggy style, my favorite position. My mistress seriously gets off on it while I only get light pleasure out of it and thus can go on until she is fully satisfied. I took her as hard as I could, feeling an orgasm build. I realized if she ordered me to ejaculate, I would cum at her command. My mistress however was too caught up in her own lust to waste any thought on her sex-slave.

Finally, she pushed her self off her dick and collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily. I wasn’t done yet however, massaged her back until some strength returned, then entered her again with her legs up my neck. She didn’t last long, then pushed me away with her feet and crawled to her side of bed.

„But I didn’t cum yet,“ I said playfully.

„Ooh,“ she sighed. „Oh no boy, you are not coming today.“

„Please mistress,“ I begged, convinced now she would deny me.

„After that performance, you won’t cum for a long time,“ she said, her eyes already closed.

Happily, I spooned her and we fell asleep. Well, my mistress slept. I woke up several times, cock hard and pressed between our naked bodies, enjoying being back in my happy zone at the mercy of a satisfied mistress.

I want to mold and shaped you the way I feel is right through my aspect of domination😈💍❤️