Inch by Inch

by Maid2serveher

 

Okay, I know what you’re thinking: Why am I whining?

Haven’t I yearned to be a baby girl, to be dressed in plastic panties and frilly things, and forced to serve the every whim of a lovely mistress? Haven’t I always dreamed of being bound, gagged, and humiliated by this goddess, to be her living toy and plaything?

Well, here I am in New Orleans. My dream has come true. I have become Frilly Lillie, a fulltime, big-time, big baby girl.

It’s almost perfect.

As usual, I’m speechless -- gagged as I type – with my chains jingling as the words flow. I can feel my stiffness growing in my pink plastic panties. I feel the butt plug inside me. In the full-length mirror to my left, I can see my short, sheer, pink plastic dress, with matching bonnet and booties. I can see three bags of my pasty, drug-sweetened gruel hanging on high wall hooks behind me. I can see the chains the shackle me to my chair.

So maybe I’m just a crybaby.

After all, I’ve dreamed of surrendering all control and responsibility to a cruel, impossible-to-please temptress, and my mistress is indeed as mean and cruel as they come. I worship her and live only to obey her.

So why do I whine?

Because I find myself slipping further and further into a sub-human state of submission. Day by day, inch by inch, I beg for more. It seems I have no shame.

When my mistress parades my babified and bound self in front of her girlfriends and forces me to perform like a trained animal, I love it.

She’ll knot me up into the most contrived positions and spank me and probe me and prod me and – worst of all – ignore me for hours, and my response will be "More, please!".

If she dresses me up for one of my punishment parades around the streets of our French Quarter home, I’m embarrassed and debased, but I’m like a puppet on a string: I’ll hang around for more.

I crave this cruelty.

I can’t help but feel a rush. Last night, all night, I was shackled facedown to a punishment stool in our dungeon, squirming in my mitten-bound hands and booties-bound feet as I sucked away at the mushy meal being force-fed through the cavity in the center of a clear penis gag. My belly gurgled and my butt rumbled and my stiffy raged and I cried as I stared in the mirror at the humiliated lump I had become.

Thank you, mistress, for one of the most memorable nights of my life!

The more I think about the permanence of my predicament, the stiffer I get. Right now my "Itty Bitty," as my mistress calls my fleshy stick, is trapped ever so tightly inside a three-inch long plastic sheath in the front of my plastic panties. It has no place to grow. I squirm with delight.

I wish I could play with myself. I wish I could come. But I have become too much of a wimp. Too much of a worm. I cannot constantly disobey my mistress or she will dress me down in horribly wonderful new ways.

It’s all too wicked.

I must be good. I must resist the temptation to taunt her. Even though my mistress is nowhere near, there are monitors and video recorders everywhere. Last time I slumped while typing, I was fitted with a posture bar and collar, and had nipple clamps with tiny chains attached to my wrist. Every letter I typed brought a little tug with it. But if I didn't type 30 new words a minute, a vibrating butt plug began to whirr.

My mistress loves to see me suffer.

It pleases her.

But I whine to you, dear reader, because my worst fear has come true.

It pleases me, too.

I yearn for punishment

But I know I can’t get TOO obvious, or I’ll incur the worst punishment: I’ll be ignored. I’ll be bound and locked in my playpen-cage and ignored.

So I have to pretend to be good. It’s (sigh!) part of our game.

So I suck on my gag and behave.

I stare at myself in the mirror and feel the warm sensation of my straining Itty Bitty.

There’s no doubt my mistress loves me.

No doubt. She wouldn’t do this to me if she didn’t love me.

I worship her.

It has been this way for months now; it will be this way forever.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Maid2serveher. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.