I Want To Feel Weak And Mindless, And Let Sexy, Pretty Ladies Decide How To Use Me To Entertain Themselves.

“But baby, if you go out with your friends who will give mummy a foot rub tonight? Exactly, no one will, and we can’t have that can we? Mummy thinks it’s best if you stay in with her. In fact maybe I should call your friends and have a talk with them about being bad influences on you. Or maybe we should just stop you having friends altogether. What do you think? Yes exactly, you think whatever mummy says. What a good boy!”

I want to hump mummy’s leg and beg to cum. Make me desperate and needy and stupid. Tell me I can cum whenever I like but a good boy wouldn’t. Then get me so excited that I can’t stop myself and I make a naughty mess on your legs. Tell me how bad I’ve been and that maybe I’ll be locked in chastity as I lick up my mess.

I’ve not mentioned it before but the whole CFNM thing is massively appealing. The man is exposed and humiliated, the situation encouraging meekness. The woman is in complete control, able to humiliate and tease with such incredible ease.

I’d really like to experience it. Be told to strip and kneel down on the floor in front of a woman who’s seated. Given some instructions for cleaning her home, maybe handed some cleaning supplies. But nothing about her tone is gloating or draws attention to the fact I’m naked. Why would she draw attention to it? It’s the most natural thing in the world for a servant to be naked, right?

Then I’d get up and clean and maybe after a while there would be a few comments designed to lightly tease, gently humiliate. Perhaps she’d take pity on me and provide me with a uniform to stop things flopping about. Of course it would be an impractical uniform, just a pair of French knickers or a short maid outfit or something. But I’d still be thankful, and I’d still want to do such a good job of cleaning so that I impress the nice lady and I get to do this again. It’s only right that I clean up, she’s so much cleverer than me and has very important, complicated work to be doing while I’m tidying.

Fantasy idea: a super religious Christian woman kidnaps me and brainwashes me into thinking she’s God’s representative on Earth, leaving me to worship, adore and obey her, completely and without question.

I don’t want to be a person. I want to be a drone. Or a baby. Or a puppy…

I want a mummy to cup my soft cock and balls in her hand and gently tell me she loves how small and unintimidating I am.

“Don’t struggle, baby. Struggling will just make mummy’s strap-on hurt you more…”

Kneel down, look at mummy’s shoes, and tell her you love her very much.

I really really really want a girlfriend to lock me up and cuck me, tease me with promises of being released that never materialise.

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.