“Remember Baby, Little-dicked Boys Don’t Need A Brain. Let’s Keep You Locked Up And Shrinking For

I absolutely love the idea of being made to wear some teeny tiny little panties for a woman’s amusement. The front forming a neat little pocket for my cock to nestle in. The back a triangle of fabric stretched across my butt, doing the absolute minimum to cover my modesty. Any movement I make causing me to feel exposed and vulnerable.

“You want to be let out of chastity? But baby, what about what mummy wants? Didn’t you tell me what mummy wants is the most important thing ever to you? Yes, you did. Now what mummy wants is for you to stay in chastity and not ask about releases again. Can you do that for me? Good boy.”

Fantasy idea: a performance appraisal at work. My boss tells me she’s very pleased with my work and that I’m a valued team member and she really enjoys working with me… but she’s noticing lapses in focus due to me looking at my phone too often. She suggests keeping me in chastity and authorising and-or overseeing any releases I have for “the foreseeable future.”

Give me an ill-informed, right wing Karen-type keeping me isolated and telling me how to think. Making me pliant and thoughtless and believing everything I currently hate is actually right and proper. Poison my mind and my morals.

I want to feel weak and mindless, and let sexy, pretty ladies decide how to use me to entertain themselves.

Brainwash me into identifying as Tinkerbell from the Disney Peter Pan, complete with very short dress and inability to speak but without the sassy attitude. Make me loyal to you and compliant and desperate to serve you with magic… and maybe convince me giving blowjobs to strap-ons is “magic.”

Put me into a deep trance, dress me in a short skirt and a tight top, then take me for a walk. Sit with me on a bench and put your hand up my skirt to fondle me. Tell me what a good boy I’m being for mummy.

Put me in skimpy panties and objectify me. Tell me how much you like seeing my cheeks jiggling, like they’re going to wreck the perilously stretched fabric of my pretty panties at any moment.

I want to watch a woman apply lipgloss. Her lips get thicker and wetter and shinier the more she applies. I can’t look away. I don’t want to. The motion and the shine are so wonderfully mesmerising. Those lips are so plump that they fill up my whole mind. And I realise that she’s talking. I’m watching those perfect lips mutter instructions to me that I know I’m taking in, I just don’t need to consciously hear them right now.

And now I’m asking if I can please make squirties as I look at those lips. I’m fantasising about gliding my little peeny in between those beautiful, sumptuous, plump lips and squirting. But I’m not allowed. That’s for big boys. Little boys like me are satisfied with watching that lipgloss get applied.

“Mummy’s very busy now, baby. She’s got to call her friends and then do some work, so you have to be gagged so you’re not a distraction. You can sit quietly and paint mummys toe nails for her so she looks good at the weekend. Do a good job and maybe I’ll let you hump my feet.”