hypnoticbreastmilk:

“Mother Knows Best”

After yet another failed marriage, I knew I had to step in and help. The women he chose always left, telling me tales of how arrogant, chauvinistic, and self-centered my son was. He was always looking for someone younger, never paying attention to the woman he married. And, when it came to sex, his needs trumped any of hers. Much as I don’t want to hear about how my son makes love to women… I couldn’t help but be mortified when I was told he rarely made an attempt to make women feel special. He didn’t like foreplay or going down on a woman, and had probably never brought anyone to orgasm other than himself. I knew I had to “start him over” and, while extreme, felt it was for the best.

One night, after dinner, I made us some Irish Coffees and we retired to the living room. They were special coffees… I pumped breast milk earlier that day and used it as a base for the drink. I got a perverted pleasure watching him drink my milk… the same milk he drank 29 years ago when he was just an infant. If my milk did back then what it could do now, he would be a different person… which is what I intend the end result to be.

I could see the milk taking hold of him. He slurred his words, constantly changed subjects, shook his head like he was dizzy, and had a sleepy, glazed-over look in his eye. I could also see he was trying very hard not to look at my breasts as we talked about his latest pending divorce. Once he agreed to let me help him 100% with his future decisions in life, I put the next stage of my plan into action.

Brazenly, I unbuttoned my floral blouse and showed my own son by breasts. I wasn’t wearing a bra. My pussy got wet as I saw my son’s eyes get as wide as saucers; his mouth hanging open in shock. I got up from my seat and straddled him, pushing my left breast into his mouth.

“Drink, my son…. don’t argue, or try to rationalize any of this. Suckle my milk as I take care of you.”

It only took a few seconds, before I moaned as I felt his lips close around my mature nipple as he began trying to suck the milk from my breast.

“Good boy…. just drink… let Mummy’s milk help you… let it take over… don’t fight it… don’t panic or worry… you have nothing to worry about… let it erase all those bad choices you’ve made… gone… memories gone… making room for a better life… let it reprogram you… you feel sleepy…. suckle and slumber….” I whispered as he drank.

Within an hour we were both in his new bedroom… or should I say… nursery. Sitting on his changing blanket, my son wore a diaper and was suckling as I caressed his cock. My research telling me that a male is much more likely to accept age regression if he is aroused while it is happening. I will admit, the thought of bringing him to orgasm did cross my mind… it had been years since the last time cum coated my hands. But I refrained… keeping him aroused as he drank his poor decisions away.

“How old are you, my little one?”

He dropped my breast from his mouth. “Fourteen, Mummy.”

I smiled…. “Keep drinking, my son. Mummy needs to start you over….”

Ten minutes later…

“How old are you, my little one?”

This time he didn’t stop drinking. He simply held up his hand and clumsily showed me all five of his fingers, like he was counting each one to be sure. “Good… a little more…. keep drinking…. fill your tummy with my milk…. let it erase and take you back a little bit more, okay?” He nodded.

Ten minutes later…

“How old are you, my little one?”

This time, only three digits raised.

“Very good, my little one. Three years old. Now, listen carefully. It’s bedtime now for you… you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow as we begin teaching you how to be a good little boy…  okay?”

He looked puzzled. “I am a good boy, aren’t I, Mummy?”

“Somewhat… but you’re going to be perfect. Treating girls like they are goddesses and putting their needs above your own every time.”

I saw him reach for his cock and slapped his hand away.

“Bad boy!” I said to him, raising my voice.

“But Mummy… it feels tingly down there.”

I looked and saw his erection poking out from under his diaper… again resisting the urge to provide him relief… and satisfy my own depraved fantasies.

“Good little boys stay like that until their Mistress tells them otherwise. You want to be a good little boy, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“That’s…. Mistress. Say it again.”

He looked puzzled but shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, Mistress.”

As I helped him into his cot, he was surprised again when I cuffed his hands above his head. I let my breast hang down over his mouth as I did that, and didn’t mind him taking an extra few suckles.

“This is for your own good, little one. So you don’t become a bad boy in the night and play with yourself. You don’t want a spanking, do you?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Good answer. Mistress has no problem taking the belt to your bottom. And I will make you cry if you ever try and touch your peepee without my permission.”

I could see tears well up in his eyes. That poor boy… mindless… brainwashed… but it was necessary so I could guide him back through his life, making better choices… and of course learning how to properly respect, worship, and pleasure women. I would see to that personally… I shuddered just thinking about it.

“Maybe on your next birthday, I can make you feel good down there, my little one.”

“But Mistress, my birthday was..” he was trying hard to think…  “last week….”

“I know, my little one. I know…”

I walked away, turned off the light and closed the door to his nursery before he could respond. It would be a challenging next few weeks. Reprogramming him to be the perfect, submissive, husband would be a chore… but it would be worth it… and very… satisfying for me in the end.

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RAW Paste Data forced regression and humiliation

hypnoticbreastmilk:

“Mother Knows Best”

After yet another failed marriage, I knew I had to step in and help. The women he chose always left, telling me tales of how arrogant, chauvinistic, and self-centered my son was. He was always looking for someone younger, never paying attention to the woman he married. And, when it came to sex, his needs trumped any of hers. Much as I don’t want to hear about how my son makes love to women… I couldn’t help but be mortified when I was told he rarely made an attempt to make women feel special. He didn’t like foreplay or going down on a woman, and had probably never brought anyone to orgasm other than himself. I knew I had to “start him over” and, while extreme, felt it was for the best.

One night, after dinner, I made us some Irish Coffees and we retired to the living room. They were special coffees… I pumped breast milk earlier that day and used it as a base for the drink. I got a perverted pleasure watching him drink my milk… the same milk he drank 29 years ago when he was just an infant. If my milk did back then what it could do now, he would be a different person… which is what I intend the end result to be.

I could see the milk taking hold of him. He slurred his words, constantly changed subjects, shook his head like he was dizzy, and had a sleepy, glazed-over look in his eye. I could also see he was trying very hard not to look at my breasts as we talked about his latest pending divorce. Once he agreed to let me help him 100% with his future decisions in life, I put the next stage of my plan into action.

Brazenly, I unbuttoned my floral blouse and showed my own son by breasts. I wasn’t wearing a bra. My pussy got wet as I saw my son’s eyes get as wide as saucers; his mouth hanging open in shock. I got up from my seat and straddled him, pushing my left breast into his mouth.

“Drink, my son…. don’t argue, or try to rationalize any of this. Suckle my milk as I take care of you.”

It only took a few seconds, before I moaned as I felt his lips close around my mature nipple as he began trying to suck the milk from my breast.

“Good boy…. just drink… let Mummy’s milk help you… let it take over… don’t fight it… don’t panic or worry… you have nothing to worry about… let it erase all those bad choices you’ve made… gone… memories gone… making room for a better life… let it reprogram you… you feel sleepy…. suckle and slumber….” I whispered as he drank.

Within an hour we were both in his new bedroom… or should I say… nursery. Sitting on his changing blanket, my son wore a diaper and was suckling as I caressed his cock. My research telling me that a male is much more likely to accept age regression if he is aroused while it is happening. I will admit, the thought of bringing him to orgasm did cross my mind… it had been years since the last time cum coated my hands. But I refrained… keeping him aroused as he drank his poor decisions away.

“How old are you, my little one?”

He dropped my breast from his mouth. “Fourteen, Mummy.”

I smiled…. “Keep drinking, my son. Mummy needs to start you over….”

Ten minutes later…

“How old are you, my little one?”

This time he didn’t stop drinking. He simply held up his hand and clumsily showed me all five of his fingers, like he was counting each one to be sure. “Good… a little more…. keep drinking…. fill your tummy with my milk…. let it erase and take you back a little bit more, okay?” He nodded.

Ten minutes later…

“How old are you, my little one?”

This time, only three digits raised.

“Very good, my little one. Three years old. Now, listen carefully. It’s bedtime now for you… you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow as we begin teaching you how to be a good little boy…  okay?”

He looked puzzled. “I am a good boy, aren’t I, Mummy?”

“Somewhat… but you’re going to be perfect. Treating girls like they are goddesses and putting their needs above your own every time.”

I saw him reach for his cock and slapped his hand away.

“Bad boy!” I said to him, raising my voice.

“But Mummy… it feels tingly down there.”

I looked and saw his erection poking out from under his diaper… again resisting the urge to provide him relief… and satisfy my own depraved fantasies.

“Good little boys stay like that until their Mistress tells them otherwise. You want to be a good little boy, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“That’s…. Mistress. Say it again.”

He looked puzzled but shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, Mistress.”

As I helped him into his cot, he was surprised again when I cuffed his hands above his head. I let my breast hang down over his mouth as I did that, and didn’t mind him taking an extra few suckles.

“This is for your own good, little one. So you don’t become a bad boy in the night and play with yourself. You don’t want a spanking, do you?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Good answer. Mistress has no problem taking the belt to your bottom. And I will make you cry if you ever try and touch your peepee without my permission.”

I could see tears well up in his eyes. That poor boy… mindless… brainwashed… but it was necessary so I could guide him back through his life, making better choices… and of course learning how to properly respect, worship, and pleasure women. I would see to that personally… I shuddered just thinking about it.

“Maybe on your next birthday, I can make you feel good down there, my little one.”

“But Mistress, my birthday was..” he was trying hard to think…  “last week….”

“I know, my little one. I know…”

I walked away, turned off the light and closed the door to his nursery before he could respond. It would be a challenging next few weeks. Reprogramming him to be the perfect, submissive, husband would be a chore… but it would be worth it… and very… satisfying for me in the end.

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