Brisemenu

Woopsie! Maybe a native english speaker could help me to correct the text? Anyway, here is the next part. This time, it's just talking between two female character cause I have to prepare the action. The cafeteria where the women had their meals looked out, through large windows, onto the boys' playground. As long as we were too far away to understand their nonsense or have our ears torn by their screams, there was nothing more relaxing than watching boys play in a place provided for this purpose, where they couldn't break anything... except maybe -watch them sleep quietly but you shouldn't ask too much. Delphine was coming out of a particularly boring class with a verbose teacher whose main skill was to spend two hours of class explaining in every possible way what would have taken five minutes in an everyday language. A parasite. It seems that she was brilliant in her youth. If it was true, it was a valuable warning about the kind of cocky, pretentious imbecile you become the day you think you've arrived. Besides, his boy was poorly brought up. Well... of course, Delphine was not a reference: she found half of the boys poorly behaved, but this one was among the worst. She was grumbling when her friend Scylla came to join her at her table. Latin with a touch of Arab blood, very tall even for a woman of her century, muscular like a panther, energetic, ambitious, enthusiastic... next to her, Delphine sometimes had the effect of already being an embittered old witch. This impression was further aggravated by the fact that Delphine's studies revolved around virtual reality, a field which would easily provide her with a stable profession but in which everything had already more or less been invented, while Scylla was studying a field of the future if there was one: humanoid robotics. She had a chance to become a pioneer in her field, to have a career full of risks, discoveries and adventures. What brought the two young women closest, in short, was their shared passion for boys. For that at least, Delphine was a young adult like any other in the middle of her “boy crazy” period. So they started by exchanging comments on trendy boy bands, the most adorable male actors, the latest collections of clothing or toys... “It's unfortunate,” Delphine remarked, “but women tend to want to buy their boys a toy not because they think he'll find it particularly amusing, but because he'll be really cute with it in hands. _Yeah, replied her friend, it’s not glorious but it’s human. I guess we can do it 50/50.” Outside the boys were laughing, jumping, climbing, running in all directions, screaming war cries and, at the slightest scratch, a supervisor rushed at them armed with bandages and disinfectants. “Next year,” Delphine continued, “one in three supervisors will be replaced by a robot nanny. The decision has been made. » Scylla frowned. “Do you really want to talk about this? If it's to make you angry again... _ No, promised I won’t get angry. I still disagree and... I admit I sometimes had somewhat strong reactions but that's okay, I digested it all. On the other hand, I would continue to campaign against the legalization of robots with a disciplinary program. » Scylla shrugged. “You know what women said fifty years ago: MY boy will not be fed or dressed by a machine. Twenty years later, MY boy will not be bathed, diapered or rocked by a machine. Ten years ago, MY boy won't be prostate milked by a machine. Each time, the apocalypse was predicted and each time, the machines proved themself worthy : four times fewer domestic accidents in homes equipped with a nanny robot. _ Body care is one thing, but here we are talking about allowing a machine to punish a human, including spanking. A machine capable of hitting a human, however lightly, sounds like the start of a disaster scenario. _ So yes… but: On the one hand, if you fear a "I robot"-like scenario, remember that our nannies are not war machines. They are just built to be able to overpower a boy and remain much weaker than an adult woman. I'm not even talking about me, but a normal woman who isn't especially sporty. Then, they control the power of their movements about one centijoule, so there is no chance of them hurting a boy by accident. Last but not least, they ignore anger, fatigue, panic and anything else that could push a woman to go too far. From a purely security point of view, it is rather spanking by a human hand that should be prohibited. _And I suppose your metal nannies can understand why a boy misbehaves? They can make the difference between a boy who seeks to test the limits as they all do on occasion, and another who is feeling very bad and does not need punishment but listening and comfort? Scylla frowned, not out of annoyance but because the flame of ambition was kindled within her. " No... not yet. But it’s a good area for improvement, I would talk to my teachers about it. » That's how Delphine contributed despite herself to the advent of the Frankenstein's creature she wanted to prevent.

Like every morning for weeks now, Loni's first action upon opening her eyes was to slip a hand into her pajama bottoms to feel her own diaper, looking for the slightest sign of heaviness. Another night without bedwetting. The fifteenth in a row! If he lasted a whole month, they would let him wear training pants even at night, something very few boys his age could boast of. Dani was wet, but that didn't stop him from stretching like nothing and yawning until his jaw almost dropped. Happy are the boys of few ambitions. As if some kind of sixth sense was setting her in motion, Delphine entered their room right at that moment to get them out of bed, checking along the way who was clean and who wasn't. A few moments later, the eight boys from the boarding school gathered in the common bathroom where eight potties awaited them, each with a first name, and a huge bathtub full of strawberry-scented foam. To be admitted to the boarding school, boys had to take a dose of odor stopper every first Monday of the month, so they could all poop at the same time in the same room without it causing the slightest problem. Once Delphine had stripped them of their diapers, they would each sit on the potty bearing their names, following a well-established routine. The supervisor observed them with pride. For most students, the idea of having to bathe eight little gremlins at the same time every morning seemed like a vision of hell. With boys of fifteen or sixteen, that was surely true. At twenty, they were much calmer and more organized, not to mention becoming candy for eyes. “Philip! We don't get rowdy in the water. Once ! Bastien, raise your arms a little higher, my kitten. Yes, it tickles, there’s nothing we can do about it. Grit your teeth, show that you are courageous. Gooood boy. Your willy now. Philip, twice! The third, you're deprived of toys before class. Loni, your turn, darling. Raise your arms!" Loni was the prettiest of the eight, but also the most complicated. Not that he does a lot of mischiefs, quite the contrary. Only, he never asked for cuddles and didn't seem to take any pleasure in being taken care of. When she washed him or diapered him, he didn't smile and his willy always remained soft. He seemed to be waiting for it to pass while thinking of something else. However, she was careful to be even more caressing with him than with the others in the hope of awakening his sensuality, but nothing worked. He probably would have cleaned himself alone if the rules allowed it. After the bath came dressing: five complete diapers, three training pants for the most advanced, and eight uniforms in total: short pants, high socks, shoes and white shirts. A little scarf would have looked nice but women had given up on it because the boys from previous years kept losing them or using them to invent dangerous games. Finally, we headed to the refectory where the educators took over while she poured herself a large cup of black coffee before starting class. Watching the little ones smear themselves with jam, she began to dream of having one of her own. One who would jump into her arms when she came home from work, who she would breastfeed once or twice a week and who she would take care of as she saw fit, without having to answer to anyone. A boy, above all, with whom she could finally take the time to do things right, without having to look at the clock thinking about the other seven. She would wrap her little darling in love every day. She would rock him to sleep every night and wake him up every morning by gently stroking his hair. Not for a moment could he forget how much he was loved. She would also be much more severe than the school rules allowed. Not for everything, of course: when you like boys, you don't make a big deal about dirty clothes or a broken trinket. On the other hand, if she caught him drinking alcohol or playing with sharp objects, he would be good for to a spanking that really looked like a spanking, not a dozen ridiculous little slaps that didn't even make the most sensitive ones cry. . Kind education had good sides, that was undeniable. That said, when a boy did something dangerous to himself, true kindness was to make sure it was the first and last time. She had not emptied her cup when her multitask informed her of a new message. Scylla, her childhood friend, “the highborn” as she sometimes called her to tease her, had just arrived on campus and invited her to join before the first class. She took one last look at the boys' table: Philippe had just spilled his still half-full bowl of chocolate milk while bickering with his neighbor. In addition to the table and the floor, he had stained two of his comrades. Of course, since he “didn’t do it on purpose,” he only got five minutes in the corner. What a great joke! And heckling at the table, hadn’t he done it on purpose? He knew that it was forbidden and why it was. If it had been up to her, Philip would have spent the next thirty minutes copying lines. Except that obviously, he would never have dared doing this if Delphine had been the supervisor. Everyone agreed that Loni was the most intelligent but Phil was the most cunning: he knew very well with whom he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it. Well... if educators with years of study in psycho-socio-pedagogical-demago-bullshit thought it was the right thing to do, they must be right. And if they were wrong, that was their problem. The boys were clean when Delphine took them to the dining hall, her responsibility ended there. Between breakfast and lessons, the boys had half an hour of free time in the toy room, although with a few restrictions: no physical games because we were just after a meal, and no video games because... because! The toys were pretty cool the first few weeks. By the middle of the school year, the boys knew them all by heart. Same for picture books. And since we couldn't play sports, many of them had fallen back on drawing, a discipline in which Loni excelled. “A boy can understand anything as long as he’s interested,” his mother always said. She was convinced that, although they had much lower levels of concentration and self-discipline than women, boys were just as intelligent. When she noticed that her son was interested in drawings, she took the time to explain to him anatomy, perspective, light... Above all, she had him draw simple geometric shapes to teach him to think in three dimensions. Building on these experiences, he returned to drawing his favorite heroes with much greater success. This seemingly innocuous experience had transformed him. Before, he was an ordinary guy who made a real effort when he hoped a woman would reward him or congratulate him, and who the rest of the time didn't take anything seriously. Faced with his first correct drawing, he understood that it was also worth working for yourself, to achieve a goal YOU had set for yourself. The teachers' compliments on his drawings were worthless: they gave them to everyone, even the worst scribblers. It didn't matter: he knew that his level was equal to that of an adult woman. Not from a professional of course, but from an adult! That was cool! An educator clapped her hands: it was time to put away the toys, pencils and everything else for class. The classroom was bright, colorful, covered with drawings reminiscent of a spelling or math rule. There were potties at the end of the class for urgent needs, but we could also ask to go to the bathroom if it wasn't too urgent. You first had to stand next to your chair and wait for an educator to check the diaper to be allowed to sit down. The ten external boys arrived one after the other and joined their classmates. There was Damian, “Damy”, the walking disaster who rushed first and thought too late, Sylvain the super handsome guy, the only one who could boast of being even cuter than Loni, and on the contrary Knut, the little terror . He was a good six feet tall, had a shoulder width wider than his peers, and an almost square jaw, all traits that gave him a lot of confidence in his fists but virtually none in his chances of finding a mommy-wife, hence his bad temper. Unfortunately, and unlike most little bullies, Knut was far from stupid. He knew very well how the ladies looked at Loni or Sylvain, and how they looked at him. He didn't care that the educators kept telling him that he too was cute in his own way. He wanted to be cute in the way that turned the heads of girls his age and that wasn't the case. He was violent with the other boys because that was the only advantage he had over them, and all the spankings in the world didn't stop him from doing it again. Damned for damned, he even took up bodybuilding. So, if a ten-year-old girl would have always mastered him without problems, he was a real colossus compared to the other boys. As he walked towards his chair, Sylvain gave him a little sneer, full of disdain, which the educators did not notice. Knut's face turned red in an instant. He grabbed Sylvain who covered his head, screaming as if he was being skinned alive, before receiving the slightest blow. A moment later, the educators were on Knut and put him in the corner with three good slaps on the buttocks, hard enough for him to feel them despite his diaper. Barely had their backs been turned when Sylvain, who was definitely recovering very quickly, sent a knowing wink to Loni, who would have been fine without it. The class always started with a reading exercise. The boys took turns reading a paragraph from their course book entitled: “Mommy will always love you. » The stories were very repetitive. Each time, a boy did something wrong. A lady who, depending on the boy's age could be his birth mother or his mother-wife, lectured him, punished him if needed, then took him in her arms and repeated that she loved him with all her heart and would always love him, and that was even why she was strict with him. Today, it was the story of a twenty-year-old boy who went to a birthday party where all the other boys were over thirty and hadn't worn diapers for a long time. After a whim, his mother-wife agreed to let him wear underwear like the grown-ups, on the condition that he was very careful. What was supposed to happen happened: the little one wet his pants in front of everyone. His mother cleaned him tenderly, put a little diaper on him and cuddled him for a very long time to console him, explaining to him that he still had plenty of time to grow. And even if he never got potty trained, of course, Mom would still love him. Well... It still wasn't the silliest story we'd read in this class. At times it was even almost moving.

The original story is in french. It's just a google translation but hope you like it. First chapter: welcome to maternarchy “What is this horror? » Loni didn't expect much, but calling his favorite image from her little secret collection a "horror" still made his heart ache. Dani was his childhood friend. Well... early childhood. Being only twenty years old, they could not yet quite claim the title of "big boys". They were both boarders at the Nadal 2 mixed university and had, of course, managed to be in the same room. There was only one large bed on which they were lying face down, eyes focused on the screen of a multitasker. They were already washed and in their pajamas, with a thick night diaper around their buttocks. Dani was a model boy: energetic, perky, a little crazy, kind to his classmates and, most of the time, docile with women. He was still a boy who didn't mind when he had the opportunity to do forbidden things without getting caught. Loni was the brain. He had just proven it again by managing to unlock the child lock on his multitask. He had promised Dani to show him images of naked women but, in exchange, he first wanted to show his other forbidden images that fascinated him, starting with an old photo from the very beginning of the digital age of a cross species between a human and a gorilla. “This, my dear and ignorant friend, is a boy of the twenty-first century, or, to put it as it was then, a MAN. _ Well, he’s super ugly. _He was six feet tall. You realize ? We can't even get to his nipples. One hundred and thirteen pounds all muscle! See all those hairs on his chin that look like a second head of hair? It was called a beard and every boy over sixteen had it. Except that many shaved it to highlight their big square jaw. They also had hair all over their bodies but again, some shaved it off to show the muscles underneath. His job was a sport that was half a ball game and half a fighting game. _A sport is not a job. _ At the time yes, when you were really good. And having a sport for a job meant you could train all day. By just training, they were at least as strong as a modern woman who doesn't workout at all. _ Yeah, really useful... that doesn't make up for being ugly enough to scare a louse. _ For you they are ugly, but at the time the ladies were crazy about them! They even sold calendars with naked photos of them. -Speaking of photos and nudes, will you show me these naked women? » Loni sighed inwardly. He had been wrong to think that his friend could understand his interest, when he wasn't even sure he understood it himself. Dani didn't care what made the ladies of the past turn their heads. He only thought about those of today. It was to please them that he still wore full diapers when the training pants would have been enough for him. To please them too, he wore colorful clothes with cute patterns, exaggerated his emotions, did stupid things on purpose, and often asked for help with things he could very well have done himself. Physically, he was average. In the high average perhaps, but it was missing two or three small details to be a real canon. First of all, he was a little too tall, measuring almost six feet. His hands and feet were a little too big. He had a little hair under his arms and around his willy, as well as a little fuzz on his cheeks that his mother still forbade him to shave. He was one of those people who didn't have to worry too much, who would inevitably find a nice mother-wife to take care of them, but who couldn't allow himself to have too many weird ideas or interests. Looking at images of naked ladies, spying on boarding school girls in the shower, having mashed potatoes fights in the canteen or playing ball in the hallway, it was forbidden but it was what was expected of a normal boy. It was even a lot less weird than never disobeying at all. This reassured the girls that we were a boy like any other who wouldn't pose any problems other than those we expected. Loni was different. He was one of the three cutest boys in the class. The girls would have been crazy about him even if he had hyper-maturity syndrome. Very early on, perhaps at twelve years old, Loni had understood that among boys, there were the very cute ones and the others. The really cute ones were the ones whose teacher or boysitters checked their diaper three or four times a day “just to be sure.” Those who were helped to wash and dress themselves even when they knew how to do it on their own and asked nothing. For the same mischief, the other boys had lines to copy or were deprived of recess. For the very cute ones, it was a little spanking. Always the little spanking and always on the bare bottom to get a good eyeful. Loni couldn't even remember the last time he was punished with anything else than a mild bare bottom spanking. “Boys, it’s bedtime! » crooned a voice behind the bedroom door. It was Delphine, a student from their year who, in the evening, watched over boys in her class, eight in all, in exchange for a free room. She knocked on the door and politely waited for permission to enter before opening it. There was no doubt that if the response had waited too long, she would have gone in anyway, suspecting that the boys were doing something forbidden. Fortunately, through practice, Loni only needed a handful of seconds to switch the screen of his machine to a completely innocent animated series. At six feet tall, Delphine had a hard time staying in a boys' room where she had to lower her head to avoid bumping into it. She was rather pretty with her slim figure, her harmonious face neither too round nor too dry, her long, well-kept black hair and her discreet smile, haughty but with a friendly touch. A smile that said: 'I'm the adult, I'm in charge and I wouldn't hesitate to put you back in your place if you make me, but I'd still prefer everything to go smoothly . » Honestly, she wasn't the worst supervisor they'd ever had. Loni even suspected her friend of having a little crush on her. “Here we go, we turn off the screens and get under the sheets. Teeth done? Are the comforters here? GOOD ! Let's see if your little behinds are still dry! » Loni grumbled under her breath: they had put them on the potty and diapered them for the night half an hour ago. How could they have gotten wet in such a short time? It was probably just an excuse to grope them again, especially him. Like every night, she pulled his pajama bottoms just a little lower and trailed her hand a little longer than necessary for a simple check. Dani, for his part, smiled with all his teeth, always happy that a girl takes care of him, especially when she was pleasant to look at. Finally, she tucked them in carefully and gave each of them a big kiss on the forehead.

Entre le petit déjeuner et les cours, les garçons avaient une demie heure de temps libre dans la salle aux jouets, avec toutefois quelques restrictions : pas de jeux physiques parce qu’on sortait de table et pas de jeux vidéos parce que… parce que ! Les jouets étaient plutôt sympas les premières semaines. Au milieu de l’année scolaire, les garçons les connaissaient tous par cœur. Pareil pour les livres d’images. Et comme on pouvait pas faire de sport, beaucoup d’entre eux s’étaient rabattus sur le dessin, discipline dans laquelle Loni excellait. « Un garçon peut tout comprendre du moment que ça l’intéresse » disait toujours sa maman. Elle était persuadée que, bien qu’ayant des capacités de concentration et d’autodiscipline très inférieures à celles des femmes, les garçons étaient tout aussi intelligents. Quand elle s’était aperçue que son fils s’intéressait aux dessins, elle avait pris le temps de lui expliquer l’anatomie, la perspective, la lumière… Elle lui avait surtout fait dessiner des formes géométriques simples pour lui apprendre à penser en trois dimensions. Fort de ces expériences, il était retourner dessiner ses héros préférés avec beaucoup plus de réussite. Cette expérience d’apparence anodine l’avait transformé. Avant, c’était un garçon ordinaire qui faisait de vrais efforts quand il espérait qu’une femme le récompenserait ou le féliciterait, et qui le reste du temps ne prenait rien au sérieux. Devant son premier dessin correct, il avait compris que cela valait aussi la peine de travailler pour soi, pour atteindre un but qu’on s’était fixé. Les compliments des éducatrices sur ses dessins ne valaient rien : elles les faisaient à tout le monde, même aux pire gribouilleurs. Peu importe : lui savait que son niveau valait celui d’une femme adulte. Pas d’une professionnelle bien sûr, mais d’une adulte ! Ça, c’était cool. Une éducatrice frappa dans ses mains : c’était l’heure de ranger les jouets, les crayons et tout le reste pour aller en classe. La salle de classe était lumineuse, colorée, couverte de dessins rappelant une règle d’orthographe ou de mathématiques. Il y avait des pots en bout de classe pour les besoins urgents, mais on pouvait aussi demander d’aller au petit coin si ça ne pressait pas trop. Il fallait d’abord rester debout à coté de sa chaise et attendre qu’une éducatrice ait tâté la couche pour avoir la permission de s’asseoir. Les dix garçons externes arrivaient les uns après les autres et rejoignaient leurs camarades. Il y avait Damien, « Daminou », la catastrophe ambulante qui fonçait d’abord et réfléchissait trop tard, Sylvain le super beau gosse, le seul qui pouvait se vanter d’être encore plus mignon que Loni, et au contraire Knut la petite terreur. Il mesurait un bon mètre soixante-cinq, avait une largeur d’épaule de plus que ses camarades et une mâchoire presque carrée, autant de traits qui lui donnait beaucoup de confiance dans ses poings mais pratiquement aucune dans ses chances de trouver une maman-épouse, d’où son sale caractère. Pour son malheur, et contrairement à la plupart des petites brutes, Knut était loin d’être bête. Il savait très bien comment les dames regardaient Loni ou Sylvain, et comment elles le regardaient lui. Peu lui importait que les éducatrices lui répètent que lui aussi était mignon à sa façon. Il aurait voulu être mignon à la façon qui faisait tourner la tête des filles de son âge et ce n’était pas le cas. Il était violent avec les autres garçons parce que c’était le seul avantage qu’il avait sur eux, et toutes les fessées du monde ne l’empêchaient pas de recommencer. Foutu pour foutu, il s’était même mis à la musculation. Si une fille de dix ans l’aurait toujours maîtrisé sans problèmes, il était un vrai colosse comparé aux autres garçons. Alors qu’il avançait vers sa chaise, Sylvain lui lança un petit ricanement narquois, plein de dédain, que les éducatrices ne remarquèrent pas. Le visage de Knut vira au rouge en un instant. Il attrapa Sylvain qui se couvrit la tête en hurlant comme si on l’écorchait, avant d’avoir reçut le moindre coup. Un instant plus tard, les éducatrices étaient sur Knut et le mettaient au coin avec trois bonnes grosses claques sur les fesses, assez fortes pour qu’il les sente bien malgré sa couche. A peine avaient-elles le dos tourné que Sylvain qui, décidément, se remettait très vite, adressait un clin d’œil complice à Loni, lequel s’en serait bien passé. La classe commençait toujours par un exercice de lecture. Chacun leurs tours, les garçons lisait un paragraphe de leur livre de cours intitulé : « maman t’aimera toujours. » Les histoires étaient très répétitives. A chaque fois, un garçon faisait une bêtise. Une dame qui, selon l’âge du garçon pouvait être sa maman de naissance ou sa maman-épouse lui faisait la leçon, le punissait si la bêtise était assez grave, puis le prenait dans ses bras et répétait qu’elle l’aimait de tout son cœur et l’aimerait toujours et que c’était même pour ça qu’elle était sévère avec lui. Aujourd’hui, c’était l’histoire d’un garçon de vingt ans qui allait à un goûter d’anniversaire où tous les autres garçons avaient trente ans passé et ne portait plus de couches depuis longtemps. Après un caprice, sa maman-épouse accepta de le laisser porter un slip comme les grands, à condition qu’il soit très prudent. Arriva ce qui devait arriver : le petit mouilla sa culotte devant tout le monde. Sa maman le nettoya tendrement, lui mit une petite couche et le câlina très longtemps pour le consoler, en lui expliquant qu’il avait encore tout le temps de grandir. Et même s’il ne devenait jamais propre, bien entendu, maman l’aimerait toujours. Bon… Ce n’était pas l’histoire la plus niaise qu’on avait lu dans cette classe. A certains moments, elle était presque émouvante. Après les lettres, les chiffres ! Enfin, l’intérêt de Lonie se réveillait.

premier chapitre, partie deux. Comme chaque matin depuis des semaines maintenant, le premier geste de Loni en ouvrant les yeux fut de glisser une main dans son bas de pyjama pour tâter sa propre couche, à la recherche du moindre signe de lourdeur. Encore une nuit sans pipi au lit. La quinzième d’affilée ! S’il tenait un mois entier, on le laisserait porter des culottes d’apprentissage même la nuit, ce dont très peu de garçons de son âge pouvait se vanter. Dani, lui, était mouillé, ce qui ne l’empêchait pas de s’étirer comme un bienheureux en baillant à s’en décrocher la mâchoire. Heureux les garçons de peu d’ambitions. Comme si une sorte de sixième sens la mettait en mouvement, Delphine entra dans leur chambre pile à ce moment pour les sortir du lit, vérifiant au passage qui était propre et qui ne l’était pas. Quelques instants plus tard, les huit garçons de l’internat se réunissaient dans la salle de bain commune où les attendaient huit pots, chacun avec un prénom, et une énorme baignoire pleine de mousse parfumée à la fraise. Pour être admis dans l’internat, les garçons devaient prendre une dose de stop-odeur tous les premiers lundis du mois. Ils pouvaient donc tous faire caca en même temps dans la même pièce sans que ça cause le moindre problème. Une fois que Delphine les avait débarrassé de leurs langes, ils allaient s’asseoir chacun sur le pot qui portaient leurs noms, suivant une routine bien établi. La surveillante les observaient avec fierté. Pour la plupart des étudiantes, l’idée de devoir tous les matins donner le bain à huit petits gremlins en même temps ressemblait à une vision de l’enfer. Avec des garçons de quinze ou seize ans, c’était sûrement vrai. A vingt, ils étaient bien plus calmes et organisés, sans compter qu’ils devenaient un régal pour les yeux. « Philou ! On ne chahute pas dans l’eau. Une fois ! Bastien, un peu plus haut les bras chaton. Oui ça chatouille, on n'y peut rien. Serre les dents, montre que tu es courageux. C’eeeeeest bien. Le zizi maintenant. Philippe, deux fois ! La troisième, c’est privé de jouets avant la classe. Loni, à ton tour trésor. Lève les bras ! Loni était le plus joli des huit, mais aussi le plus compliqué. Non qu’il fasse beaucoup de bêtises, bien au contraire. Seulement, il ne réclamait jamais de câlins et ne semblait prendre aucun plaisir à ce qu’on s’occupe de lui. Quand elle le lavait ou le langeait, il ne souriait pas et son zizi restait toujours mou. Il avait l’air d’attendre que ça passe en pensant à autre chose. Pourtant, elle faisait attention à être encore plus caressante avec lui qu’avec les autres dans l’espoir d’éveiller sa sensualité, mais rien n’y faisait. Il se serait sûrement lavé tout seul si le règlement le permettait. Après le bain venait l’habillage : cinq changes complets, trois culottes d’apprentissage pour les plus avancés, et huit uniformes en tout : culottes courtes, chaussettes hautes, souliers et maillots blancs. Un petit foulard aurait fait joli. On y avait renoncé car les garçons des années précédentes n’arrêtaient pas de les perdre ou de s’en servir pour inventer des jeux dangereux. Enfin, direction le réfectoire où les éducatrices prenaient le relais tandis qu’elle se servait une grande tasse de café bien noir avant d’attaquer les cours. En regardant les petits se barbouiller de confiture, elle se prenait à rêver d’en avoir un bien à elle. Un qui sauterait dans ses bras quand elle rentrerait du travail, qu’elle nourrirait au sein une ou deux fois par semaines et dont elle s’occuperait comme bon lui semblerait sans avoir de comptes à rendre à personne. Un garçon, surtout, avec lequel elle pourrait enfin prendre le temps de bien faire les choses, sans avoir à regarder l’horloge en pensant aux sept autres. Son petit chéri, elle l’envelopperait d’amour quotidiennement. Elle l’endormirait tous les soirs en le berçant et le réveillerait tous les matins en caressant doucement ses cheveux. Pas un seul instant il ne pourrait oublier à quel point il était aimé. Elle serait aussi beaucoup plus sévère que le règlement de l’école le lui permettait. Pas pour tout, bien sûr : quand on aime les garçons, on ne fait pas tout un drame pour des vêtements sales ou un bibelot cassé. Par contre, si elle le prenait à boire de l’alcool ou à jouer avec des objets coupants, il aurait droit à une fessée qui ressemble à une fessée, pas à une dizaine de petites tapes ridicules qui ne faisaient même pas pleurer les plus douillets. L’éducation bienveillante avait de bons cotés, c’était indéniable. Cela dit, quand un garçon faisait quelque chose de dangereux pour lui, la vraie bienveillance était de s’assurer que c’était la première et la dernière fois. Elle n’avait pas vidé sa tasse que son multitask l’informait d’un nouveau message. Scylla, son amie d’enfance, « la bourgeoise » comme elle l’appelait parfois pour la taquiner, venait d’arriver au campus et l’invitait à la rejoindre avant le premier cours. Elle jeta un dernier coup d’œil à la table des garçons : Philippe venait de renverser son bol de lait chocolaté encore à moitié plein en se chamaillant avec son voisin. En plus de la table et du parquet, il avait taché deux de ses camarades. Bien sûr, comme il n’avait « pas fait exprès », il n’écopa que de cinq minutes au coin. Quelle bonne blague ! Et chahuter à table, il ne l’avait pas fait exprès? Il savait pourtant que c’était interdit et pour quelle raison ça l’était. Si ça n’avait tenu qu’à elle, il aurait passé le prochain quart d’heure à copier des lignes. Sauf qu’évidemment, il ne se serait jamais permis de faire ça si Delphine avait été la surveillante. Tout le monde s’accordait à dire que Loni était le plus intelligent mais Philou, lui, était le plus rusé : il savait très bien avec qui il pouvait faire tout ce qu’il voulait et s’en sortir à bon compte. Enfin... si des éducatrices avec des années d’études en psycho-socio-pédago-démago machin chose pensaient que c’était la bonne chose à faire, elles devaient avoir raison. Et si elles avaient tort, c’était leur problème. Les garçons étaient propres quand Delphine les avaient emmenés au réfectoire, sa responsabilité s’arrêtait là.

You're right. I'm gonna do it first. I didn't post anything here for now butI'll let you judge of my first part. I don't like akingdom : too big, too impersonal. I prefer human sized forum like this one. Here is my first part. For now, it's more worldbuilding than actual story but it(s gonna change with the next chapter. Premier chapitre : bienvenue en maternarcat « C'est quoi cette horreur ? » Loni ne s'attendait pas à grand-chose, mais qualifier d'horreur son image favorite de sa petite collection secrète lui faisait quand même un petit pincement au cœur. Dani était son ami d'enfance. Enfin... de petite enfance. N'ayant que vingt ans, ils ne pouvaient pas encore tout à fait prétendre l'un et l'autre au titre de grands garçons. Ils étaient internes tous les deux à l'université mixte de Nadal 2 et s'étaient, bien sûr, débrouillés pour être dans la même chambre. Il n'y avait qu'un seul grand lit sur lequel ils étaient allongés à plat ventre, les yeux braqués sur l'écran d'un multitask. Ils étaient déjà lavés et en pyjama, avec une grosse couche de nuit autour des fesses. Dani était un garçon modèle : énergique, guilleret, un petit peu foufou, gentil avec ses camarades et docile avec les dames, la plupart du temps. Cela restait un garçon, qui ne se faisait pas prier quand il avait l'occasion de faire des choses interdites sans se faire pincer. Loni, c'était le cerveau. Il venait encore de le prouver en parvenant à débloquer la sécurité-enfant de son multitask. Il avait promis à Dani de lui montrer des images de dames toutes nues mais, en échange, il voulait d'abord lui faire voir d'autres images interdites qui le passionnaient, lui, à commencer par une vieille photo du tout début de l'ère numérique de ce qui ressemblait aux yeux d'un garçon contemporain à une espèce de croisement entre un humain et un gorille. « Ceci, mon cher et ignorant ami, est un garçon du vingt-et unième siècle ou, pour le dire comme à l'époque, un HOMME. _ Ben, il est super moche. _Il mesurait un mètre quatre-vingt onze. Tu te rends compte ? On lui arrive même pas aux tétons. Cent-treize kilos tout du muscle ! Tu vois tous ces poils sur le menton qui lui font comme une deuxième chevelure ? On appelait ça de la barbe et tous les garçons de plus de seize ans en avaient. Sauf que beaucoup la rasaient pour mettre en valeur leur grosse mâchoire carrée. Ils avaient aussi des poils sur tout le corps mais là aussi, y en a qui les rasaient pour montrer les muscles en dessous. » Il avait bien conscience que pour son ami, c'est lui qui était bien rasoir en ce moment. Cependant, il faisait semblant de ne pas s'en rendre compte, tout excité de pouvoir enfin parler de ce sujet à quelqu'un. « Son métier, c'était un sport moitié jeu de ballon moitié jeu de bagarre. _Un sport, c'est pas un métier. _ A l'époque si, quand t'étais vraiment bon. Et avoir un sport pour métier, ça faisait que tu pouvais t'entraîner toute la journée. A force de faire que s'entraîner, ils étaient au moins aussi balèzes qu'une dame d'aujourd'hui qui fait pas de sport. _ Mouais, vachement utile... ça compense pas d'être moche à faire peur à un pou. _ Pour toi ils sont moches, mais à l'époque les dames en étaient folles ! On vendait même des calendriers avec des photos d'eux tout nus. En parlant de photos et de tout nus, tu me les montre ces dames ? » Loni soupira intérieurement. Il avait eu tort de penser que son ami pouvait comprendre son intérêt, alors qu'il n'était même pas certain de le comprendre lui même. Dani se fichait bien de ce qui pouvait faire tourner la tête aux dames du passé. Il ne pensait qu'à celles d'aujourd'hui. C'était pour leur plaire qu'il portait encore des langes complets en journée alors que les culottes d'apprentissage lui auraient suffi. Pour leur plaire aussi, il portait des vêtements colorés avec des motifs mignons, exagérait ses émotions, faisait exprès des bêtises et demandait souvent de l'aide pour des choses qu'il aurait très bien pu faire lui-même. Physiquement, il était dans la moyenne. Dans la moyenne haute peut-être, mais il lui manquait deux ou trois petits détails pour être un vrai canon. D'abord il était un peu trop grand, mesurant presque un mètre soixante. Ses mains et ses pieds étaient un petit peu trop gros. Il avait un peu de poils sous les bras et autour du zizi, ainsi qu'un petit duvet sur les joues que sa maman lui interdisait encore de raser. Il faisait partie de ceux pour qui on n'avait pas trop à s'inquiéter, qui trouveraient forcément une gentille maman-épouse pour s'occuper d'eux, mais qui ne pouvaient pas se permettre d'avoir des idées ou des intérêts trop bizarres. Regarder des images de dames toutes nues, espionner les filles de l'internat sous la douche, faire des batailles de purée à la cantine ou jouer au ballon dans le couloir, c'était interdit mais c'était ce qu'on attendait d'un garçon normal. C'était même beaucoup moins bizarre que de ne jamais désobéir du tout. Cela rassurait les filles sur le fait qu'on était un garçon comme les autres qui ne poserait pas d'autres problèmes que ceux auxquels on s'attendait. Loni, c'était différent. Il faisait partie des trois garçons les plus mignons de la promo. Les filles auraient été folles de lui même si il avait eu un syndrome d'hypermaturité. Très tôt, à douze ans peut-être, Loni avait compris que parmis les garçons, il y avait les très mignons et les autres. Les très mignons, c'était ceux dont l'institutrice ou la monitrice contrôlait la couche trois ou quatre fois par jours « juste pour être sûre ». Ceux qu'on aidait à se laver et à s'habiller même quand ils savaient le faire tout seuls et et qu'ils ne demandait rien. Pour la même bêtise, les autres garçons avaient des lignes à copier ou étaient privés de récréation. Pour les très mignons, c'était la petite fessée. Toujours la petite fessée et toujours cul-nu pour bien se rincer l’œil. « Les garçons, c'est l'heure du dodo ! » chantonna une voix derrière la porte de la chambre. C'était Delphine, une étudiante de leur promotion qui, le soir, surveillait des garçons de sa classe, huit en tout, en échange d'une chambre gratuite. Elle frappa à la porte et attendit poliment la permission d'entrer avant de l'ouvrir. Il ne faisait aucun doute que si la réponse avait trop tardé, elle serait entrée tout de même, suspectant que les garçons étaient en train de faire quelque chose d'interdit. Heureusement, grâce à la pratique, Loni n'avait besoin que d'une poignée de secondes pour faire passer l'écran de sa machine sur une série animée tout à fait innocente. Du haut de ses deux mètres dix, Delphine tenait difficilement dans une chambre pour garçons où il lui fallait baisser la tête pour ne pas se cogner. Elle était plutôt jolie avec sa silhouette mince, son visage harmonieux ni trop rond ni trop sec, sa longue chevelure noire bien entretenue et son sourire discret, hautain mais avec une touche amicale. Un sourire qui disait : « c'est moi l'adulte, c'est moi qui commande et je n'hésiterais pas à vous remettre à votre place si vous m'y obligez, mais je préférerais quand même que tout se passe en douceur . » Honnêtement, ce n'était pas la pire surveillante qu'ils aient connu. Loni soupçonnait même son ami d'avoir un petit béguin pour elle. « Allé allé, on éteint les écrans et on se met sous les draps. Les dents, c'est fait ? Les doudous sont là ? Bien ! Faites voir si vos petits derrières sont encore au sec ! » Loni ronchonna tout bas : elles les avaient mis sur le pot et langés pour la nuit il y a une demie-heure. Comment auraient-ils pu être mouillés en si peu de temps ? Ce n'était sûrement qu'un prétexte pour les tripoter encore, surtout lui. Comme chaque nuit, elle baissa son bas de pyjama juste un peu plus bas et fit traîner sa main un peu plus longtemps que nécessaire pour un simple contrôle. Dani, lui, souriait de toutes ses dents, toujours heureux qu'une fille s'occupe de lui, surtout quand elle était agréable à regarder. Pour finir, elle les borda soigneusement et leur fit un gros bisou sur le front à chacun. Il lui restait six autres garçons à coucher.

Hello all. I plan to write a story about romance, humor and MDLB. The only issue is I'm French and I'm looking for someone to translate it in English. No need to speak french yourself : you can use google translator or an other tool to have an approximate translation and turn it in correct english. Anyone would be ok to do that?

It sound to me that Ryan is a good man who want Anna's well beaing but have no idea how to take good care of her. And living in a culture where women are not considered mature enough to know what's good or bad for them, he can't ask her.

A world of reversed kawaii culture, where girls are attracted by cute, childish boys while boys are attracted by serious, adult-looking girls. At the start, the male MC refuse to submit to this fashion he despise, although he have the perfect body type for this. But the girl he secretely love is obsessed by childlike boys in diapers. So, if he want to seduce her, he's gonna have to do an effort. In this story, instead of physical coercition, the "forced" aspect of regression is all about social pressure cause boys who wear mature clothes and have mature manners are considered weird and uninteresting. Maybe some sort of futuristic plastic surgery can help boys to have the appropriate look.

What should happen happened

I mean maybe you grew up in a family where no one cares very much about your feelings and you took habit to play the perfect little boy, focus on others and hide your true self until you forget it.

Maybe. I'm not a native english speaker but I'll do my best to be clear. First, for the toxicomanic part of masochism An alcoholic doesn't drink to get liver cancer, he drinks to relax and forget his problems. When you do something bad for yourself, you don't do it for the bad effects but for the good ones. That mean you don't regress to feel incompetent, helpless, dependant, immature etc, you regress to feel cute, loved, cherished, important for others and free to express your feelings. The more you understand what you really want, the more you can select the stories, roleplay, whatever, that give you the more satisfaction for the less negative side effects. You may be much more vulnerable than an average Joe, but keep in mind that in a certain way, reading things about coercition, humiliation, psychological violence and despair is toxic for everyone. Compensating by reading biiiig baaaad alpha male stories can help to compensate ? Second, I don't know you but for what you say, you look mainly like an overempatic person. Maybe I take my case for a generality but I suppose that as a kid, your desires, needs and feelings didn't matter for your entourage, and therefore you took the habit to play the perfect little boy, hide your true self and focus on others feelings and needs. If that's the case, the solution is to learn to give yourself importance. Sorry but it's a long way to go.

I can understand this. I'm also very sensitive to verbal suggestions.Seeing blood, even real one, is nothing for me but hearing stories of people loosing their blood make me pale and weak. I remember after reading the coimplete serie of "The new world" by E.L Haley, I was unable to have erections with a woman for some time. The good part is I'm also receptive to positive suggestions. We all have to be aware that there is a part of toxicomany in masochistic fantasies.

thanks spanky! And here a daddistic daddy of true daddysm

Thanks! For me, it's still a no style : I do what I can, waiting to have enough skills to do what I want. Hey Brian, you talked about the DD guideline : do I have to avoid frontal nudity or stuff?