Latest Posts by knowmewell - Page 6
I’d like to be put into a trance by a hypnodomme who asks me if she can borrow a little bit of my mind. Of course I say yes because I want to be a helpful good boy, and she says she’ll give it straight back. Without that little bit of my mind I feel slower, thinking is a bit harder. But it’s okay because it’s just for a moment and I’m helping.
Only now the hypnodomme says what she needed to do is harder than she expected and she needs to borrow a bit more of my mind. I agree again because that’s what good boys do and I want to be a good boy. This time I don’t just feel slower, I feel stupid and exposed and it’s really very hard to think. When the hypnodomme says she needs more of my mind I just look up at her dazedly and hope she’ll understand that I need her to think for me.
She does understand. She takes more of my mind and now I’m just a vacant idiot who can’t think for himself. I just want to do as I’m told and mindlessly obey. But it’s okay because she’s just borrowing my mind for a little while. I’m helping.
And then another lady is here and the hypnodomme is telling me she needs to keep the portion of my mind that she’s borrowed for a little longer but she’ll definitely give it back. She tells me I don’t mind and so I don’t. The hypnodomme says I can stay with the other lady while my mind is being borrowed. I’ll have to be very good and do everything the other lady says, when she says, because she’s being very kind letting me stay with her for free. The hypnodomme was really pretty and had a very nice body and she was kind and calming. The other lady isn’t very nice looking at all, and she’s mean and angry. I nod and try to say I’ll obey but speaking is hard so I just nod and then I’m led away… just till I get my mind back.
Lace my dinner with sleeping tablets then molest me as I start falling asleep and can’t fight you off. Tell me I want to comply. Tell me to be a good boy for you. Tell me I won’t remember.
There’s a trend at the moment of girls posting videos of themselves walking into a room and an audio clip playing asking them “why aren’t you in uniform?” I think the audio clip is Squidward from Spongebob but I’m too old, that show passed me by. Anyway, the girl walks out of shot, usually backwards, and then returns seconds later wearing a bikini or a maid outfit or something equally revealing and provocative.
The more I see these videos the more I find myself thinking about coming home for the day to a girlfriend who initially treats me normally and like an equal before eventually taking on a more severe tone and asking me “Why are you not in uniform?” Which triggers me into subspace. I immediately get changed into a short, frilly French maid outfit and spend the evening vacantly doing whatever I’m told, my erection bobbing around ridiculously as I do so, before I’m brought out of subspace and don’t remember a thing.
“Mummy’s busy working, baby. She has to work to earn money to give you treats and toys. We can play later but for now why doesn’t mummy slip off her heels and let you under her desk. Humping mummy’s bare feet will keep you quiet for a while, won’t it? Are you going to say thank you to mummy? Good boy!”
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 like the idea of this emoji 🌀 being used to put me into sub-space. Because it’s so clearly a hypno spiral, right? Some people, somehow, do not see this. I want to see it and feel weak and pliant and desperate to be given commands to obey. I want to feel my lips wet with drool as I’m sinking to my knees and mummy’s voice whispering instructions into my ear.
Please feel free to inbox me this emoji with instructions. It’d be hot.
“It’s bath time, baby. Mummy’s going to make you all nice and clean, won’t that be nice? And do you know what else mummy’s going to clean? Your mind! Mummy is going to scrub your mind nice and clean so you stay happy and subdued as mummy’s special boy. If you’re good mummy will even help you make a sticky in the bath…”
Sometimes I write these updates out on the train to work to be published later. I always hope that a woman is going to be sat next to me, reading what’s typed out of the corner of her eye. After a few minutes she’d lean over and whisper “Don’t worry, little boy. Mummy’s found you.”
Give me a brainwashing audio to listen to and some lacey pink knickers to wear and have me kiss and worship and love your feet as you call up my crush and tell her about all my kinks.
A few days ago I talked about a fantasy I’d dreamt up about an ex-colleague I disliked (and, for the record, still do). This is a continuation of that, a scenario that I wouldn’t really be totally against getting into in real life…
N part II
I wake up naked in N’s bed. I can remember snapshots from the night before. I remember nodding along passively as N talked at me. I remember drinking a delicious drink. I remember finding myself in N’s flat and wanting, needing, to be naked and kissing her feet. I remember being overcome with the need to apologise to her again and again and again. And I remember having hot, sweaty sex. N had me take her from behind and, once she’d cum, had sat on my face to be licked clean.
I didn’t remember cumming myself. Because I hadn’t.
Now N is nestled against me, her naked body warm and her limbs entwined with mine. I realise I’m taking this all in very calmly and that what I actually want to do is scream and shake her awake and ask her what she’s done to me. I want to leave. I want to be gone. I want to escape whatever this situation is and pretend it never happened. I want out. But I don’t move. I lie still and watch N sleep peacefully.
Eventually N stirs and looks up at me, smiles lazily and gives me a good morning. I feel myself instinctively smile as she looks at me. I want to shake myself away from her but instead I lie there passively, smiling like an idiot. She tells me I look good when I smile, that it’s a nice improvement on my usual scowl, and I should do it more often. I want to tell her off for this, for telling me that I scowl when I actually don’t. I want to tell her I show my happiness as normally and naturally as anyone else. But I also love that she’s complimented me and want more. I want to meekly thank her.
Then her hand is on my erect penis and she’s giggling and telling me it needs taking care of. But no, that’s wrong. It’s not a penis. It’s a peeny. I have a little, unimpressive peeny and I’m very lucky N is touching it. I open my mouth to try and speak. I don’t know what I want to say. Do I want to demand answers? Do I want to thank her? Do I want to ask her to take care of my little erection? No sound comes out. My jaw just hangs open and I find that I’m vacantly staring into N’s eyes. She tells me I look stupid, so very very stupid. But she likes me to look stupid because that’s my true self. And she’s stroking me slowly and firmly, telling me how stupid and boring and rude I am, but that she’ll help me improve and become a better boy. I find I’m nodding along as I stare into her eyes, and then her pace quickens for just a few seconds and I’m cumming and cumming and cumming, grunting and moaning and humping her hand. I can feel my cock pulsing and jetting liquid into her hand, one of the most powerful orgasms of my life. And she’s telling me what a good boy I am and at that moment I so so so desperately want to be that good boy. I want to impress N. I want her approval and love and acceptance. In that moment gaining these things from her is the most important thing in the world to me.
N continues talking, informing and guiding my stupid, rude, inferior mind with her words. I’m rolling onto my front and propping myself onto all fours. And then she’s sitting in front of me and her hand appears below my face and I’m lapping up the salty treat she’s offering me. N is laughing and telling me I’m being so good, so very good. She asks me if it tastes nice. I can’t answer, I’m too busy licking her hand clean. But N seems to know this and tells me she knows I love the taste and I realise I do love the taste, she’s absolutely right. And I’m vaguely aware again of how much I hate her but I’m also grateful and thankful and I love her and need her to approve of me.
Then her hand is pressed to my face, smearing the sticky liquid all over my cheeks and lips and chin before drawing away and patting my head, wiping herself clean on my hair. N’s still laughing. She’s laughing at how stupid I look. She’s laughing at getting away with treating me like this, revelling in her acts of humiliation. I feel angry and weak, my cheeks burn with the impotence of embarrassment. She’s telling me I should thank her for such a delicious morning treat and my hatred for her sears again. She reaches forward and roughly grasps my jaw, raising my eyes to look into hers. I’m told to thank her. Her voice is icy, sharp, commanding.
I tell her I love her and thank her. She laughs uproariously. Then she’s laying back and guiding my face to her crotch. I immediately kiss and lick and suck, desperate to please and make her happy. Internally I’m screaming at this, desperate to walk out, close my eyes, just stop! But outwardly I’m passionate and attentive and I can hear myself making mewls of pleasure, blissful little sounds that indicate nothing but abject happiness. N is breathing heavily, gasping, and occasionally giving instructions which I cannot quite recall but that I know I followed immediately. I hear her tell me to thank her again and I do, my lips brushing against her lower ones as I do so.
This tips her over the edge. N giggles and squeals and moans in delight as she orgasms. After a few moments of leaving me to continue attending to her she lifts my head from her crotch and we each kneel on the bed looking into one another’s eyes. N tells me she’ll let me stay if I want to and I ask her very, very nicely. I’m furious at her arrogance and desperate, frantic, to get up and run, just run as fast and as far as I can away from her and whatever it is she’s done and is continuing to do to me. I open my mouth, determined to scream and swear and rant and threaten and declare that nothing could make me want to stay.
“I love you, N. Please, oh please, oh please may I stay here with you and be made into a better person? I want it. I need it! I’m sorry I was rude and arrogant and naughty. Please please please? I love you!” I hear myself say.
She giggles and tells me she’ll think about it as she takes hold of my head and pushes my face back down into her crotch.
Coerce me into a high-on-the-hips, French cut romper suit. Tell me it will make me look cute and sexy, because I want to look cute and sexy for mummy don’t I? Tell me it will make me a good boy, because I want to be a good boy for mummy don’t I? Once I’m in it strap a dummy into my mouth and some mittens onto my hands and just keep me like that for as long as possible, unbuttoning the little flap every so often to stroke me. But no cummies. Good boys don’t make messes. Good boys stay clean and nicely chaste for their mummies.
I want a cuddly, caring, controlling mummy to give me an oral fixation. Get me so deep that I’m instantly hard when you slip a finger in my mouth. Build me up to coming to you and asking, very nicely and politely, if I can please suck your strap on tonight.
“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.”
Just saw a picture of a woman in hot pants and it triggered me into ordering some French knickers for myself.
I want a quiet, bookish, demurely dressed woman to hypnotise me. Make me try to stay awake, stay alert, stay focused.
Then I wake up and I’m on my knees and the most important thing in my world is showing her feet just how much I love and respect them by covering them with gentle kisses and whispers of adoration.
Then I wake up and I’m just a stupid, horny, lust-driven idiot, humping her leg as she laughs and smiles condescendingly at me. She talks but I’m too stupid to understand speech, all I know is animalistic grunts and panting and the frustration of desperately trying to climax, but not being allowed.
Then I wake up and I’m weak and helpless, staring up into her eyes as she cradles my head in her lap. Now I realise she’s my mummy and all I want is to suckle and feel safe and be baby-talked. I know that being a good boy for mummy is the absolute most important thing in the world.
And on and on and on.
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.
I want to be kept in chastity and gaslit. Give me a release date to look forward to then when it arrives deny having told me, tell me I must have dreamt it or that I’m being naughty and making up stories. Break my mind.
I just had a moment making my hand sticky thinking about a woman I worked with years ago who I didn’t get on with.
“Mummy’s boobies just turn your mind to mush, don’t they baby? That’s okay. Mummy will think for you.”
Tell me I’m pretty as your dildo slides into my mouth and you smile indulgently down and me.
Train me. Brainwash me. Make me absolutely desperate to please you, terrified any time I think I’ve done something that will even slightly displease you.
“Time for your monthly peeny check, baby. Let’s get you measured. Okay, you’re down to two inches now, but that’s still so big and intimidating. Ladies will be scared of it. Don’t worry, mummy will help you shrink it more so it’s a size ladies will like. Okay, let’s get you on all-fours for a milking then locked back up in a smaller cage. Isn’t mummy kind to you? Don’t forget to say thank you.”
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.
Stockholm Syndrome actually sounds like it could be kind of hot.
“Grown up men like getting their dicks sucked, don’t they baby? That’s right, they do. I think there’s something really sexy about seeing a pair of lips wrapped around a cock. Why don’t you come and kneel down in front of me and put your lips around my strap-on. No? You don’t want to? Don’t you want to look sexy for mummy? Yes, of course you do! You did just say that lips wrapped around a cock are sexy so put your mouth round my strap-on to show me how sexy you can be. Good boy!”
Give me a mummy who uses leaps of twisted logic to make me agree with whatever she says.
The idea of being made to get a tramp stamp, and it being referred to as a tramp stamp, so that a mummy can make fun of me and call me a slut and tell me no woman will ever want me, is very very hot.
I wish I had a mummy who was keeping me locked up “just for the weekend.”
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.
I wish I had a mummy who was going out on a date night tonight and leaving me at home tied up and listening to brainwashing tracks so I love and respect and need her more.