Anyone Reading This Want To Be The Mummy I Go To To Ask If I Can Please Have A Cummie?

Collar me, attach a leash, and slip the handle around your ankle so I have to crawl around after you and can only see your feet. Nothing more arousing for a leashed, chaste puppy slave.

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

Strip me naked, pull my head into your lap, and give me a slow, lazy handjob as you tell me what a good boy I am for you. Maybe take off your top so I can see your bra, but I don’t get to see anything more than that. Tell me that letting myself be trained and manipulated makes me so good and the longer I go between orgasms the more pleased you’ll be with me.

Seduce me into writing out a list of my kinks then use it to break me and make obsessed with you. I want to be completely besotted with a mummy mistress, always thinking about her and how I can please her.

I want to be taught to get silly and highly excited and touch myself whenever a particular woman with mummy attributes appears on TV. Someone like Liza Tarbuck or Kate Garraway or Ruth Langsford. I just love the idea of being unable to stop myself from losing control over a late middle-aged woman as a sexy mummy sits on the couch behind me laughing and gently encouraging me, deepening my fixation with the presenter.

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.

Objectify me.

“Hard cock and empty head, that’s how mummy likes her good boy.”

Really like the idea of a woman telling me that being a prejac is a pro-feminist statement. Just twisting my mind around so that I think the greatest thing in the world is getting onto my knees and orgasming in thirty seconds to show that I’m a feminist.

This morning I was looking at upskirt panties pics in bed (it was a really fun time). I’d forgotten this when I sat down on the tube to work. When I pulled out my phone and unlocked it it was still on a close up shot of a woman bending over. I’m not sure the woman next to me saw but I kind of hope she did. I spent several minutes daydreaming about her publicly shaming me for my filthy perversions.