Mommies little princess
Posted: Thu Jun 19, 2025 6:00 pm
Mommy’s stiletto tapped the marble floor of the solarium, her reflection sharp in the gilded mirrors. Julian fidgeted in his chair, the pink taffeta of his dress rustling with the small movements he made like crushed rose petals. A dollop of vanilla custard trembled on his silver spoon as it was brought closer to his lips slowly. “Open wide, princess,” Mommy cooed, her free hand toying with the pretty pink lace choker around his throat. The spoon hovered, dripping small pieced of custard onto his bib embroidered with ‘Daddy’s Little Cupcake’. Julian’s lips parted, too slow. Custard smeared his chin, cold and cloying.
“M-messy again,” he stammered, voice pitched high from months of vocal training tapes and practiced lines. Mommy tsked, dabbing his face with a monogrammed handkerchief. “Such a clumsy girl. Good thing we’re visiting the tailors today.” Her thumb hooked the collar of his dress, revealing the satin training bra beneath. “Mustn’t let them see your… improvements.”
it was time for the Afternoon Measurements, the tailor’s tape cinched Julian’s waist as Madame Renée circled him, clucking her tongue. “Hips still too narrow,” the old woman muttered, jotting notes. “We’ll pad the petticoats.” Mommy sipped Earl Grey from a bone china cup. “Add the schoolgirl uniform. With matching bloomers.” Julian’s breath hitched. The changing screen toppled, exposing him to the shop’s patrons, an elderly couple clutching hatboxes, their stares crawling over his bare shaven legs. “A-accident!” Julian squeaked, crossing his arms over his chest where his silky bra covered.
Mommy rose, heels cracking like gunshots. “Accidents require consequences.” She produced a pacifier, its rhinestone-studded shield flashing. “Suck. Now.” The couple fled as Julian’s whimpers muffled around silicone. Twilight Lessons came that night, dimmed lighting glinted off the mahogany spanking bench. Julian knelt, wrists bound in pearl cuffs, his new plaid skirt hiked to reveal ruffled panties and reddened cheeks. “Recite your affirmations,” Mommy demanded, tracing a riding crop along his spine.
“I-I’m a good girl,” Julian quavered, watching her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
“Louder.”
“I’m a good girl!”
The crop whistled down on bare skin with a thwack! Julian yelped, the sting blooming across his rear. “Better.” Mommy knelt, her Prada skirt pooling around her. “But let’s check your other progress.” Her manicured fingers slipped beneath his panties, nails scraping tender flesh. Julian jerked against the restraints as she tutted. “Tsk. Dry as Sahara. Shall we invite the gardeners in? Let them motivate you?”
“N-no! Please, I’ll—” The doorbell chimed.
in the Garden when midnight shown, Moonlight dappled the topiary dragons as Mommy’s drinking club gathered, champagne flutes in hand. Julian stood center-stage on the fountain’s edge, his sheer nightgown clinging to the silhouette of frilly training bra and chastity belt.
“Our finale,” Mommy announced, unclipping a leash from his pearl collar. “Show them your curtsy.” julian bent, knees trembling, the nightgown gaping to expose the heart-shaped lock between his thighs. Polite applause rippled. Mrs. Whitaker’s opera glasses gleamed. “Now the song.” His falsetto wavered through “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, tears streaking his cheeks as the women murmured:
“—could’ve sworn he was a nephew—”
“—that Adam’s apple though, tragic—”
Mommy silenced them with a raised hand. “Encore!” She snapped her fingers. A golden high chair, adult-sized, its tray engraved with ‘Mommy’s Porcelain Doll’ was moved to the forefront of the group “Assume position.” The women leaned forward, phones raised, as Julian climbed into the chair. Mommy strapped him in, then produced a bottle of rosé. “Open.”
The nipple-teat pressed against his lips. Julian suckled obediently, wine dripping down his chin, legs splayed to showcase the chastity lock’s glowing pink LED display, a real-time twitter poll tallying votes: ‘Should Princess Get Her Bottle?’ 87% Yes. Mommy smiled, stroking his hair as flashbulbs popped. “Such a good girl.”
“M-messy again,” he stammered, voice pitched high from months of vocal training tapes and practiced lines. Mommy tsked, dabbing his face with a monogrammed handkerchief. “Such a clumsy girl. Good thing we’re visiting the tailors today.” Her thumb hooked the collar of his dress, revealing the satin training bra beneath. “Mustn’t let them see your… improvements.”
it was time for the Afternoon Measurements, the tailor’s tape cinched Julian’s waist as Madame Renée circled him, clucking her tongue. “Hips still too narrow,” the old woman muttered, jotting notes. “We’ll pad the petticoats.” Mommy sipped Earl Grey from a bone china cup. “Add the schoolgirl uniform. With matching bloomers.” Julian’s breath hitched. The changing screen toppled, exposing him to the shop’s patrons, an elderly couple clutching hatboxes, their stares crawling over his bare shaven legs. “A-accident!” Julian squeaked, crossing his arms over his chest where his silky bra covered.
Mommy rose, heels cracking like gunshots. “Accidents require consequences.” She produced a pacifier, its rhinestone-studded shield flashing. “Suck. Now.” The couple fled as Julian’s whimpers muffled around silicone. Twilight Lessons came that night, dimmed lighting glinted off the mahogany spanking bench. Julian knelt, wrists bound in pearl cuffs, his new plaid skirt hiked to reveal ruffled panties and reddened cheeks. “Recite your affirmations,” Mommy demanded, tracing a riding crop along his spine.
“I-I’m a good girl,” Julian quavered, watching her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.
“Louder.”
“I’m a good girl!”
The crop whistled down on bare skin with a thwack! Julian yelped, the sting blooming across his rear. “Better.” Mommy knelt, her Prada skirt pooling around her. “But let’s check your other progress.” Her manicured fingers slipped beneath his panties, nails scraping tender flesh. Julian jerked against the restraints as she tutted. “Tsk. Dry as Sahara. Shall we invite the gardeners in? Let them motivate you?”
“N-no! Please, I’ll—” The doorbell chimed.
in the Garden when midnight shown, Moonlight dappled the topiary dragons as Mommy’s drinking club gathered, champagne flutes in hand. Julian stood center-stage on the fountain’s edge, his sheer nightgown clinging to the silhouette of frilly training bra and chastity belt.
“Our finale,” Mommy announced, unclipping a leash from his pearl collar. “Show them your curtsy.” julian bent, knees trembling, the nightgown gaping to expose the heart-shaped lock between his thighs. Polite applause rippled. Mrs. Whitaker’s opera glasses gleamed. “Now the song.” His falsetto wavered through “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, tears streaking his cheeks as the women murmured:
“—could’ve sworn he was a nephew—”
“—that Adam’s apple though, tragic—”
Mommy silenced them with a raised hand. “Encore!” She snapped her fingers. A golden high chair, adult-sized, its tray engraved with ‘Mommy’s Porcelain Doll’ was moved to the forefront of the group “Assume position.” The women leaned forward, phones raised, as Julian climbed into the chair. Mommy strapped him in, then produced a bottle of rosé. “Open.”
The nipple-teat pressed against his lips. Julian suckled obediently, wine dripping down his chin, legs splayed to showcase the chastity lock’s glowing pink LED display, a real-time twitter poll tallying votes: ‘Should Princess Get Her Bottle?’ 87% Yes. Mommy smiled, stroking his hair as flashbulbs popped. “Such a good girl.”