Mommy Wanted a Girl

Disclaimer: This is a story of fantasy and is not only not intended to condone or approve of the behaviors contained herein, there is absolutely nothing about treating children as sexual objects that the author approves of, desires, or would dream of doing to an actual child. This work is written in the context of age based role play.

If you cannot understand this, have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality, or are in any way confused about what is appropriate and legal sexual expression, stop reading now.

Lastly, I am not a pedophile, don't approve of sexually assaulting children, and only use these themes in my writing because I empathize and identify with the victims of these stories; not the perpetrators. Some of us like to be embarrassed, ashamed, humiliated, spanked, and to be nervous, anxious, and afraid. Weird, right? To read more about why these stories were written, please see the "What This Blog is and is NOT -- READ THIS FIRST" post.

It wasn’t his fault that he was born a boy when mommy wanted a girl. When he was younger, she could dress him up so pretty that no one knew. Then puberty hit and it has just been an endless challenge. 

First he just outgrew all his frilly dresses, shoes, panties, stockings, everything… Then there were the muscles, the masculine features, the big hands, and, of course, his little doo-dad grew as well. It wouldn’t stay hidden and would escape his pretty little panties and poke out the front of his dress. It totally ruined the lines. And his mind wasn’t thinking about girly things but actually about girls. 

It was such a disappointment. For years–basically since he was born–she was convinced that if she just treated her son like the daughter she really wanted, he would eventually just get used to being a girl. She hoped these puberty challenges were just a minor set back but it was becoming very difficult. 

Then there was the “high tea” incident. After a difficult but productive trip to the mall (he was growing so fast, it seemed they were always visiting the mall for new clothes), they were going to celebrate at that quaint tea house that served the shortbread. Everything was fine until the birthday party showed up. Six little girls (and one exasperated mother) all dressed in their prettiest and fanciest little dresses sat right in front of them. 

They were so proud of their little outfits that they went around the circle and modeled them for the rest and for the leering boy they hadn’t really noticed. His mother noticed his intent gaze and the obviously boy shaped lump occasionally twitching under his school uniform style skirt. He squirmed a little in his seat as the girls several years younger than him twirled in their dresses revealing their little girl panties. When one of the girls bent over with her bottom on full display to the boy sitting behind her, he softly groaned as the boy shaped lump pulsed. Suddenly a look of panic crossed his face as he turned to his mother and her clearly horrified expression. 

Over the next few minutes, the lump disappeared (though a slight discoloration-like stain appeared where it had been). He solemnly sipped his tea and tried to enjoy the last shortbread as his mother fumed. 

The drive home started painfully silent. Then she started lecturing and he wished for the painful silence. This was the problem with boys and men; one thing on their minds. It is why she didn’t want a boy. Why couldn’t he control himself? And the girls were so young! Did he think that was appropriate? This perversion cannot be allowed. He must be punished for that. And he must be punished for not being able to control his little boy parts. 

He just stayed silent. The sticky fluid that had erupted from his naughty penis and collected in the sheer panties that had not only stretched to accommodate his excited erection but seemed to caress him sensually as the lewd display had played out before him now mostly contained his deposit and was holding it against his softened genitals. Some had slipped between his legs and was dripping slowly between the crack of his bottom cheeks. 

Then she said the word he suspected was coming: spanking. It had been years since he had received a spanking but the threats had been more frequent lately as she had struggled with the changes he was going through. She promised him a spanking when they got home and then “a whole lot more” if he couldn’t control himself. 

Alone in the elevator to their apartment, they rode silently until nearly to their floor when she merely said, “I want that skirt off and you are going over my knee the second we get in the door.” She fumbled with her key in the lock for a couple seconds extending his anticipation of the moment. The door closed behind them, and she just pointed at his soiled skirt. He quickly unzipped it and stepped out revealing the clear proof of his ejaculation in the tea house. 

She pulled out the footstool and upended her son over her knee and ripped his panties down. The position parted his cheeks letting cool air tickle his bottom hole. The unwelcome limp penis rested against the outside of her thigh and his testicles inside their little purse quickly drew close to his body as the temperature changed. His genitals felt almost cold as the cool air dried the slightly wet semen that coated them.

 

Though she was mad, she hadn’t spanked her son in a long time and the spanking that day wasn’t terribly severe. He wailed appropriately for a spanking but she only used her hand that time. That would change to wood objects. She would change him. He would learn. It was just a matter of time, will, and determination.