“No Baby, Don’t Try And Think. You Know That Always Leads To Trouble. Let Mummy Think For You. Just

“You know you love being mummy’s hypnotised good boy. You know you can’t resist. Give in to mummy, baby. It’ll feel so good…”

My boss let me leave half an hour early today. On the way home I was fantasising about her telling me I’d be allowed to leave early in exchange for a good boy worship puddle dedicated to her when I got home, and now I kind of want to act on that…

To expand on this…

The woman in question, let’s call her N, took an immediate dislike to me when we worked together. She’d talk over me, make personal comments about me, interrupt conversations I was having. When she found out I was dating a girl N told her she should break up with me. There was even an occasion where N sent me an unprompted Facebook message that began “So something about me is, I can’t abide negative people.”

Seems pretty clear from that she saw me as negative, right? I don’t know for sure because I never confronted her about it. I’m not particularly good at that sort of thing and by the time of the message I was just trying to interact with her as little as possible. I don’t think I was (or am) negative. But I am very shy and not particularly outgoing, not getting especially chatty with people until I’ve gotten to know them. This clearly came across to N as rudeness. But I’d say interrupting conversations, loudly declaring your most recent ailment to a staff room, and making comments about people you haven’t taken the time or effort to get to know is rude behaviour. More rude than someone who just feels a bit uncomfortable talking in a crowded room to someone he doesn’t really know.

I say all this for context because N is the woman I mentioned in the reblogged post above. And I’ve been thinking about a scenario involving her since. N and I are both still working in the same industry so it’s not impossible we’d end up seeing one another through work at some point. And this is what I kind of sort of actually definitely low key want to happen if we do…

I see N is at the function soon after arriving and spend a while trying to avoid her. Eventually she comes over, smiling and hello-ing like we’re old friends instead of people who have a mutual dislike then talks at me for several minutes, offering me no way into the conversation. I stay and listen and nod along because this is a work thing and I don’t want to appear rude to anyone. Walking away isn’t an option.

After a few minutes of talking N suggests I try a drink from a nearby table. Awkwardly, I say no thanks, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. But she keeps on, maybe draws a few people nearby into proceedings until, just wanting to shut her up, I relent and take a swig. Then another. And another. Because it is actually quite good.

And at this point N casually switches course and tells me I was very rude to her when we used to work together. She reminds me I never joined in with her discussions and debates in the staff room, tells me that I should have done. I was arrogant and rude and obnoxious, N says. And I find I can’t reply. I don’t really want to either. I take another mouthful of the drink and realise she’s right. I really was very unfair to her and owe her an apology. But I don’t seem to be able to speak right now and besides, N is still talking. I shouldn’t interrupt her. That would be rude and I’ve already been too rude to her as it is.

The function spins on around us. N keeps talking and I realise I’m feeling a little dizzy. N steadies me as I lose my balance, gets me into a chair and settles down beside me. It’s lucky she was here, N says, otherwise I might have fallen and hurt myself. She tells me I owe her a thank you now, as well as an apology. I try to open my mouth to speak again but still can’t. This time I slur out something not even I can make out and realise I’m drooling. I’m drooling and N is laughing. She tells me not only am I rude but I’m boring party company too. But, she says, I was boring for her to work with so that’s not a surprise. I feel incredibly, monumentally guilty for being so appalling to N. First I was rude and boring at work, now I’m doing it years later at a party. I’m really lucky she’s still interested in talking to me. Did I think that or did she say it? One or the other. Or maybe it was both.

N tells me I look dehydrated and helps me by lifting some more of that absolutely delicious drink to my lips, wiping the drool away as she does so. I gratefully, hungrily accept the drink and hope N can see how much I appreciate her in this moment. Then I’m getting even dizzier and things go blurry and fuzzy for a while. Then I’m in the back of a cab and for a moment I panic because I don’t know how I got here and I don’t even think I can tell the driver where I need to go. But it’s okay. N is here. I don’t need to worry, she’s taking care of everything, she tells me. I feel relieved, pleased N is here to think for me.

We’re inside. But it’s unfamiliar. Not my flat. I don’t know where I am. Now I’m sitting down. Sitting down on the floor. That’s the best place for me. I can’t fall off the floor. And it feels nice to be down beneath N, looking up at her. I can make out the occasional glimpse up her dress as she moves around the room talking to me. She tells me those glimpses are probably the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen and I nod slowly but eagerly that yes, they absolutely are. Or did I just think that and nod agreement to my own thought?

Then N is right above me, looking down at me. I look up at her and feel myself smile broadly. She tells me I still owe her an apology and a thank you and I manage to slur out some sounds that might be a thank you, an apology. But N doesn’t think so, so it was probably just me being rude and making silly sounds. N reminds me that a great way to show sorrow is to kiss someone’s feet and beg for forgiveness. She suggests I try that, and that when I move on to thanking her I can add a thank you for allowing me to kiss her feet.

And then I’m doing it. I’m slurring words I can’t comprehend as I cover N’s feet with kisses and licks. I’m trying to praise and thank and love her feet, because that’s what they deserve, but I know I’m not doing them and her justice. And I’m humping as well. Humping a cushion that has appeared on the floor and it feels so nice on my dick, only N is telling me a rude, immature boy like me doesn’t have a dick. I have a peeny.

The next thing I know is N is down on her knees, telling me I should be naked. I should want to be naked when I’m before her. She’s helping take my clothes off and away. And I realise she’s right, I want to be naked and exposed and humping at N’s feet. And I am. She’s stood back up and I’m kissing her bare heels and looking up her dress at her underwear and I’m humping and humping and humping and N is talking to me with her phone to her ear, saying it worked like a charm and he’s completely her’s, and I don’t understand but that doesn’t matter because I have N to make me better and think for me…

I just had a moment making my hand sticky thinking about a woman I worked with years ago and didn’t get on with.

Give me a daily routine to complete then take away or deny access to key components of it. Leave me weeping and broken because I’m unable to complete my servitude as I know I should. Then make me so happy and thankful when you come along and fix everything so that I can serve you again.

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 want a relationship where a dominant woman cuts me off from all friends and family and gradually makes me more and more reliant on her until I’m totally broken and subservient and reliant on her.

“Don’t be silly, baby! Mummy loves your limp, flaccid little baby dick so, so much. I wouldn’t let you make your weak dribble once a week if I didn’t like it, would I? Mummy just needs a big, powerful cock in her every so often to make her feel like a woman. You make mummy feel like a woman in other ways. Ways that don’t involve that cute baby dick of yours.”

Really thinking about this a lot again today. I feel horny and subby and want to get in touch with her and apologise for being a naughty boy and ask her to forgive and punish me.

So several months ago I went on a date. She was nice and she was demanding and she had big boobs and I could tell she’d have been softly nurturing and gently demanding in a relationship. She was even a nanny!

For reasons I won’t go into she wound up making comments I felt were a little too personal for someone I’d only met once and we haven’t spoken since. There was no big argument or anything, and she actually messaged me a week or so after but I (I think maybe foolishly) ignored her.

For the last couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about her more and more and I kind of want to send her a really simpy, subby message telling her about how I want to be her good, obedient boy (she already had a sense of my nature before we even met). There’s just something so hot about the idea of apologising even though I don’t think I was in the wrong and asking her to allow me to make it up to her with chastity time and foot worship and… and just letting her run my life, basically.

Just typing this out has made me really keen to message her. If anyones wants to give me their thoughts in an inbox it would be appreciated.

This morning a woman wearing a long, flowing ankle-length white dress sat opposite me on the train. I could make out her big boobs through the dress. I couldn’t stop thinking about being put over her knee all the way to work. To the point where I thought about trying to talk to her. But I didn’t. I know my place.

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.