I Want A Mummy Who’ll Get Me Drooling And Staring At Her Boobies, My Hungry Little Mouth Open And Ready

‘Baby, I can see you’re still worried about all this so let me explain again. Of course I don’t mind, that’s what mummies are for. And I know you find thinking around me so hard.

So, I know a man sucking a cock would usually be thought of as “gay.” I know you know there’s nothing wrong with being gay, shush now. Mummy knows. Mummy knows you identify as a straight boy. And mummy knows that you’re worried sucking a cock interferes with that.

But sweetie… it’s MUMMY’S cock. There can’t be anything gay about having sex with a mummy, can there? You see? And even if there was, you love mummy so much that it just wouldn’t matter, isn’t that right? Of course it is! Now why don’t you kneel down and show me what an obedient, well-behaved, mummy-loving cocksucker you can be?’

“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 eat out of mummy’s hand like I’m her little puppy dog. She could tousle my hair and call me a good boy. Maybe she could lower her hand as I meekly go to take another mouthful, to the point where I’m practically eating off the floor. And then mummy could gently remind me that I’d be eating off the floor if not for her great kindness, making me love her even more.

It’s my birthday next Friday and the present I want most is for my boss to ban me from masturbating for this coming week and then grant permission on the evening of my birthday, texting or voicenoting me to say what a good boy I’ve been for keeping all my naughty compulsions under control for her.

I want to be held close to a mummydom, arms and legs bound. I look up into her eyes with love and lust, desperate to please and obey. She looks down at me with passive disinterest. I start to speak, maybe to ask for some form of sexual relief, but mummy doesn’t want to hear it so she pushes a large dummy into my mouth, gives me a cold smile and pulls a blanket over my head. I cuddle into her and fall asleep in the dark, thankful for how sexually frustrated mummy keeps me.

Just saw a picture of a woman in hot pants and it triggered me into ordering some French knickers for myself.

I want to beg my boss to make me obsessed with her feet, desperate to be a slave to them, worshipping them. Maybe I could be told to look at pictures of her feet, delicately posed and so pretty with nail polish, every night and make sure not to touch myself. That would be respectful behaviour and give her lovely feet the attention and respect they deserve.

Yesterday on the way home an Indian woman got onto the train in tiny, tight white hot pants. She had beautiful brown skin and wonderfully thick thighs. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over at her every few seconds. I think I just wanted to be caught and confronted and embarrassed. I was so desperate to kneel down in front of her and worship.

“I know you’re trying baby. That’s what makes it so sad. You try your hardest and you still fail. Time to stop trying now. Time to switch off and be mummy’s naughty fucktoy.”

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.