Don’t Fight Your Loser-self! Just Accept Who You Are! Miss Rachel Knows What Is Best For You

@myheartinherhands

Of your three “regular” babysitters, she was undoubtedly the nicest. She at least did the least to humiliate or tease you.

One babysitter used her time with you to let out her inner Domme. She was exceedingly strict and any disobedience, even if it was a miscommunication, resulted in punishment. And she was extremely creative with punishments.

Your other babysitter loved nothing more to tease and humiliate you. Whether it was inviting her friends over to taunt the “diaper boy,” or just spending the entire night in Gryffindor-colored bra and panties, with thigh-high Gryffindor socks, making you wish you were a man, she left you would be positively aching down there with insatiable arousal.

But she was different. She wasn’t mean. She didn’t tease you. And, for some reason, you weren’t sure if that made her the worst.

If someone made an audio recording of her time with you, they would be convinced she was babysitting a toddler. It drove you crazy. It was one thing to be bossed around or teased. At least those babysitters acknowledged you were an adult, even if you were just a diaper boy.

But not her. Nothing she did, nothing she said, ever made it seem like she knew you were an adult. It was so convincing, so authentic that you honestly weren’t sure if it was an act.

She had never broken character once in the last five years. You tried everything you could think of to prove you were an adult, to force her to recognize—even for a second—that you were actually an adult.

Your attempts rolled off her like water on a duck. As far as you could tell, you were a toddler to her. She never let you out of her sight, except for your naps and sleepy time of course.

You had absolutely no dignity around her. She dressed you as she wished, checked you when she wished, and changed you when she wished. She blew raspberries on your tummy like it was completely normal.

You watched educational baby cartoons on a non-stop loop. And she always, always encouraged you to answer along and was just so proud of you for getting the right answers.

And nothing entertained her more than having you sing along with her to your “favorite” songs. You could never convince her you didn’t love singing and dancing to Baby Shark in nothing but a short T-shirt and soggy diaper.

All this because your bladder stopped working like it used to. All this because your girlfriend couldn’t handle your diapers but couldn’t break up with you.

But as you hear “The Wheels on the Bus” play for the 100th time, you know you need to start dancing…

small-dck-energy

Assertive Young Ladies #3

All I can feel is her against my cage 🥵

Have you had sex with a woman in front of a locked boy? Or made a locked girl tease a locked boy?

Who hasn’t?

But seriously…who? I want to tell them what they’re missing.

Yeah, enjoying my sexuality and the sexuality of others before the hungry eyes of locked boys is sort of a guilty pleasure hobby of mine. It might even be a calling card.

It’s one thing to lock you up and make love to your girlfriend right there in front of you. That’s always fun, especially when you start hearing her make whimpers and squeaks and moans you’ve never heard her make before.

But imagine for a moment, going downtown to a cozy little club instead. You’re dressed to the nines in that shirt that makes your eyes catch the light. Your girl is wearing the little black dress with the golden hem you bought her for your anniversary. I’m wearing that perfume that forces you to inhale whenever you catch the scent. Imagine pushing past the crowd to the bar where we leave you. You watch from across the room as I take your girlfriend by the hand out to the dance floor. You’ve never seen her laugh and smile so much in her life as we dance and joke. She spins away when the horn section flares and melts into me when the bass walks. When we finally come back to the bar, out of breath and needing refreshment, you can’t ignore how her eyes keep finding mine, how my calf tends to brush against hers, how she blushes when I put my hand on her knee. You wish she did that for you, but your cock is content where it is, locked in a cool, smooth, steel cage.

On the ride back to the hotel I sit between you. She leans her head on my shoulder and I play with her hair. I slide my hand down and make lazy circles on the smooth skin of her inner thighs with my fingertips. She coos softly and it seems like her skirt keeps moving higher and higher. My free hand rests on your thigh, high and very close to that inescapable cage. You can’t help wonder what new things I will teach her about her body when we finally arrive at our room. You cross your fingers that you will be allowed to see it all and not be gagged, blindfolded and tied to a chair in the bathroom like last time. Please, not that again.