shanghaidomme
Member
The first time I saw him, I knew. There was something in his eyes—a longing, a quiet ache buried beneath years of strength and independence. A Swedish silver fox, poised and mature, yet inside, a little soul yearning for the warmth he had never truly known.
It wasn't long before he told me about his misesrable childhood—the cold discipline, the absence of affection, the way he had learned to suppress his need for love. My heart clenched at his words. No one had held him, no one had whispered soft reassurances when he needed them most.
But I would.
I pulled him close, wrapping him in my arms, feeling the way his body softened against mine. His silver strands brushed my cheek as I kissed his forehead, then his flushed cheeks. “You're safe now, sweetheart,” I murmured. “Mommy's here.”
His breathing hitched, and I felt his fingers curl around my sleeve, hesitant but desperate. I cradled him, rocking gently, my hands smoothing over his back, over the fabric of his soft onesie.
“There’s no rush, baby,” I cooed, tracing soothing circles on his skin. “You don't have to be strong for Mommy. You just have to be my good little one.”
His lips trembled, and then, with a shuddering sigh, he let go. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and I kissed it away, holding him closer as he melted into my embrace.
I would be the warmth he never had. The love he always needed.
Because every little one deserves a Mommy to make them feel whole.
And he was mine.
beijing-dominatrix.blogspot.com
It wasn't long before he told me about his misesrable childhood—the cold discipline, the absence of affection, the way he had learned to suppress his need for love. My heart clenched at his words. No one had held him, no one had whispered soft reassurances when he needed them most.
But I would.
I pulled him close, wrapping him in my arms, feeling the way his body softened against mine. His silver strands brushed my cheek as I kissed his forehead, then his flushed cheeks. “You're safe now, sweetheart,” I murmured. “Mommy's here.”
His breathing hitched, and I felt his fingers curl around my sleeve, hesitant but desperate. I cradled him, rocking gently, my hands smoothing over his back, over the fabric of his soft onesie.
“There’s no rush, baby,” I cooed, tracing soothing circles on his skin. “You don't have to be strong for Mommy. You just have to be my good little one.”
His lips trembled, and then, with a shuddering sigh, he let go. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and I kissed it away, holding him closer as he melted into my embrace.
I would be the warmth he never had. The love he always needed.
Because every little one deserves a Mommy to make them feel whole.
And he was mine.
beijing-dominatrix.blogspot.com