I Really Like Being Told How Compliant I Am. There’s Such A Big Clinical And Detached Feeling About

Really want a mummydomme to shush me over and over as she guides a strap-on into my mouth. She’d ask me if I like it and smile down at me as I nod gently.

I met Shon Faye yesterday. She was wearing a really tight pale blue dress with an incredibly high slit, lots of cleavage, and some absolutely amazing high heels that showed off her feet and their perfectly applied red nail polish.

I fell in love immediately.

Coerce me into a high-on-the-hips, French cut romper suit. Tell me it will make me look cute and sexy, because I want to look cute and sexy for mummy don’t I? Tell me it will make me a good boy, because I want to be a good boy for mummy don’t I? Once I’m in it strap a dummy into my mouth and some mittens onto my hands and just keep me like that for as long as possible, unbuttoning the little flap every so often to stroke me. But no cummies. Good boys don’t make messes. Good boys stay clean and nicely chaste for their mummies.

“Don’t be silly, baby. Mummy loves your soft little penis. It’s very cute and so useful for controlling how you think. It’s just not good for sex, that’s all. You’re still mummy’s best boy.”

Earlier today I remembered snitching on a co-worker at my first job. My boss was a woman in her late 40’s or early 50’s called Irene. She usually wore heels and red lipstick and she had big boobs. Looking back she probably contributed to a number of fantasies I have now, and I know from certain things she’d say sometimes that she could sense my submissive nature. Extra impressive as it wasn’t even something I was aware of about myself at the time.

Anyway, I remember a guy about my age telling me he was planning to call in sick on an upcoming Saturday because it was his birthday and he wanted to go out. I laughed along, probably asked him where he’d go. Then as soon as he’d gone I told Irene what he was planning. It was such a weaselly narc thing to do… but I’d absolutely do it again now. And I realise looking back it was because I was desperate for Irene’s approval and for her to tell me I’d done well.

The guy ended up working the Saturday and asked me why I’d told Irene. I completely denied it. Irene was pleased with me so that’s all that matters.

“Remember baby, little-dicked boys don’t need a brain. Let’s keep you locked up and shrinking for just one more week…”

Fantasy idea: I get brainwashed into stripping naked, getting onto all fours and mooing. A woman (the brainwasher probably) then sits on a stool next to me and takes hold of my dick, telling me it’s my udder and she’s going to milk me.

A good boy is allowed an erection. Erections make good boys happy and pliant. Be a good boy so you are allowed erections.

Fantasy idea: wearing nothing but a T-shirt that reads “I’m actually really smart.” Then being made to say those words aloud with a mouth full of mummy’s strap on.

“It’s bath time, baby. Mummy’s going to make you all nice and clean, won’t that be nice? And do you know what else mummy’s going to clean? Your mind! Mummy is going to scrub your mind nice and clean so you stay happy and subdued as mummy’s special boy. If you’re good mummy will even help you make a sticky in the bath…”