Why “Vile” Breast Training instead of just letting a slave suck my nipples? It just wouldn’t be me if I didn’t look at every fetish with an upside-down, completely different point of view, would it? My warning as always, remains the same: vanilla slaves who want easy, fun, “Mommy makes me feel good” experiences should leave now.
If my slave actually loves or easily enjoys the fetish he craves, I am failing you as your Mistress. You’re not learning anything, you are simply being self-indulgent and I won’t stand for that, never have. This is my philosophy, always has been. a I do not deviate. Follow my path and it leads to an existential femdom experience unlike anything else … but that path is brutally hard because I demand everything of you – and then some.
Still here? Good. Then let me show you how I actually handle adult baby breast worship.
Call it what you will, “Adult Baby (AB) fetish”, AB fetish or “paraphilic infantilism” – I just call these kinds of slaves my adult babies. And I love them. They’re adorable. But they are self-serving and that must be an un-learned trait. I’ve found that grown men who want to be fully dressed and treated like babies — frilly onesies, diapers, pacifier, crib or playpen, all want to play the part for one particular reason only and this is especially so if the Mistress has nicely curved natural breasts. They simply want to be coddled, have me put my nipple in their mouth and be pacified by me stroking their cock and telling them how good they’ve been. Ya, about that – fuck off.
I get it. No really, I do. You’ve been to countless other vanilla Mistresses who are more than happy to plop their nipple out of their bra and let you suck on it. So, you’ve been conditioned. You must unlearn what you have learned – if you are to be my slave … an “un-vanilla” trained slave.
I think that lazy, weak, nipple-plopping approach most Mistresses use is pathetic. Frankly speaking, if I may.
Men are biologically wired from the moment they leave the womb to crave sucking on breasts. It is pure, instinctive, animal pleasure – the same wired-in reward system that makes a baby calm and a grown man instantly hard. When another Mistress just opens her bra and lets you latch on like a greedy little piglet, she isn’t dominating you. She’s rewarding you. She’s letting you love the very fetish you claim to surrender to. And the second you love it, I have already failed as your Mistress. That is not how I operate. That is how I have always operated.
My rule is carved in stone: every single act – even the so-called nurturing, pampering, “Mommy” moments – must teach endurance, humiliation, and complete psychological ownership. If it feels good too easily, it is useless to me. (and useless to you as well for that matter) If it doesn’t break something inside you, it doesn’t belong in my session.
So here is exactly how I do it – the only way adult baby breast worship is ever allowed in my world.
Every hour, on the dot, on the day of a session, I sit down and squeeze and pump my breasts into a little shot glass until it is completely full. On a good day, I’ll fill two of them! Because I am not pregnant and not lactating, there is zero sweet lactose in this fluid. What comes out is not real breast milk at all actually. It is thick, cloudy, yellowish-white ductal sludge – a disgusting mix of stagnant secretions, dead epithelial cells sloughed off the inside of my milk ducts, plasma, electrolytes, proteins and fatty acids that have been sitting there for weeks. It tastes like absolute fucking hell – and that’s the point. It’s natural Syrup of Ipecac – nearly guaranteed to make you vomit all over yourself.
Bitter as bile, sour as spoiled vinegar, salty like licking a rusty battery, and with that sharp metallic tang of old coins and blood. It coats your tongue like slimy mucus and burns all the way down your throat like poison. Most grown men retch from the very first drop … in my experience, I’d say a good 90% of slaves dry heave when they taste it. Especially if I’ve left it out on the counter all day before the evening session. But that is exactly why I use it. When the session starts, my adult baby is already fully regressed and dressed: frilly pastel onesie snapped tight over a thick, crinkly diaper, pacifier clipped to his chest, lying helpless in the crib or baby playpen like the pathetic little infant he begged to become.
I sit on the edge of the hand-made crib I built myself, pull out one heavy breast (usually my right one), and order him to latch on like the greedy baby he is. For the next full fifteen minutes he must suck non-stop while I slowly, mercilessly drip that vile “Mommy’s milk” straight onto my nipple with an eye-dropper. One drop… two drops… three… never stopping, never giving him a clean suck. He has to keep his lips sealed tight around my nipple and swallow every single drop. No pulling away. No spitting. No vomiting allowed. I watch his eyes go wide in the first thirty seconds. His throat starts convulsing. His whole baby dressed body trembles as the revolting taste floods his mouth and he fights the gag reflex with everything he has. Tears pour down his flushed cheeks. His stomach heaves. I have actually seen the moment the bile rises in his throat, and he has to choke it back down because he knows what happens if he fails. The smell alone – sour, rancid, sickening – makes most of them panic. And still the drops keep coming. Constant. Relentless. Say about fifteen full minutes or so of pure, liquid humiliation. This is not pampering.
This is correction. The ‘unlearning’ part of your time with me. However, though I was an awful math student, I do understand the concept of ying and yang, of balance, of reward vs punishment.
To that end, here is how the math works in my world – and lucky for you I stopped learning math at grade 8 so this will be super easy for you to grasp! Yup, this is the part that separates the real slaves from the babies who just want a fun afternoon.
If (big IF) you manage to survive the full fifteen minutes without a single wince, without making one single noise of disgust, and without a single disgusted look on your pathetic baby face, then and only then do you earn exactly five minutes of clean sucking on my other nipple. No drops. No sludge. Just my bare nipple and your desperate mouth for five full minutes. But every single time you wince, every little whimper or groan you make, and every disgusted expression that crosses your face costs you one full minute off that reward time. One wince equals minus one minute. One gag equals minus one minute. One look of horror equals minus one minute. If your final score goes into negative territory, those negative minutes do not disappear. They turn into immediate punishment. You will go straight over my knee for a brutal bare hand spanking delivered as fast and as hard as I possibly can. I do not hold back one single bit. Pretty much every single slave who’s wanted to be my baby … ends up with a bright red ass and zero reward time … exactly how it should be.
Of course there is more to the story. I have not yet spoken of the two things that can make the punishment portion of the session rather excruciating. I think before you even think of booking me – you should know what those two things are. That’s not advice, that’s a fact. If you think I’m like every other Mistress in the world – wrong tree.
The full uncensored tale, complete with videos, photos, and every raw detail of how these afternoons truly unfold, waits for you on my Patreon and Fanvue below. It is there if you wish to step deeper into my world. If not, hey, vanilla is a flavor that can be enjoyed, I guess. But every time I go to Baskin-Robbins (well for me its Swensen’s, but I read you guys frequ7ent 31 wonderful flavors of BR right?) I see people asking for the double scoop of rum-raison. Only the boring sorts ask for just plain vanilla. In the end every fetish is merely a battlefield I choose to fight upon. I do not soothe the craving that lives inside you. I starve it, poison it, and watch it die screaming so that what remains is no longer a man who wants, but a slave who understands that true surrender is born only in the moment pleasure itself becomes the enemy. This is the upside-down path I have always walked. Follow it and you will never again be the same. Refuse it and you will remain exactly what you were before you found me. The choice, as always, is yours.
But know this: the darkness I offer does not forgive weakness, and it never, ever forgets.
Mistress Wael