Ugh, boys are so simple aren't they? Take my Liam, for example. When I first met him, he was this classic, confident frat guy - all broad shoulders and easy smiles, captain of the lacrosse team, surrounded by his idiot, grunting friends. So… male. It was cute, I guess. A good starting point. But I don’t want a partner, I want a devotee. I want a puppy.
The fun started subtly. I’d just sigh and pout a little when he mentioned going out with the boys. “But I’ll miss you,” I’d whisper, tracing the line of his jaw with my finger. “It’s just so much cozier when we’re together, just us.” The first few times, he’d still go. But the guilt trips - they’re a work of art. I started crying once, just a single, perfect tear rolling down my cheek. He cancelled his plans that night to cuddle and watch *The Bachelor* with me. That was the first crack.
His friends were the next hurdle. They were a bad influence, always trying to drag him back to his old, boring life. I started making little comments. “God, Mike is so loud. And he never looks me in the eye, it’s creepy.” Or, “Does Jason have to wear that disgusting football jersey every single day? It smells like stale beer and desperation.” I’d “accidentally” forget to invite him to things where they’d be, and plan our dates for the exact same time as their poker nights. Slowly, their texts stopped. Their calls went to voicemail. Out of sight, out of mind. Soon, it was just my friends, my life, my rules.
The real transformation began in the bathroom. One evening, I came home with two sheet masks. “Surprise!” I chirped, holding them up. He looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Your skin is so rough from all that… boy stuff.” He reluctantly agreed, and soon, our Friday nights weren’t for beer pong; they were for matching avocado face masks, painting each other’s nails - I started him on a clear gloss, then a soft, shy pink - and deep-diving into the drama of my favourite reality TV shows. He learned the difference between a contour and a highlighter. He knew which Real Housewife was having the worst season. He was becoming… pliable.
The best part was watching his internal monologue crumble. I’d see it in his eyes sometimes, that flicker of the old Liam. The guy who used to throw a ball around and talk about stats. He’d open his mouth to protest something - maybe the sparkly tiara I made him wear for my birthday - and then he’d look at me, at my tight body in my little pink dress, and the thought would just… die. He’d swallow it down, along with his pride, and put on the damn tiara. Mmmh, it was delicious. The corruption of his masculinity was the ultimate aphrodisiac.
He became the perfect simp. My bags were always carried. My coffee was always ready. He’d spend hours shopping with me, holding my purses and giving his opinion on which heels made my ass look best. He was completely, utterly devoted. He met my every need.
Well. Almost every need.
Because in sanding down all those rough, masculine edges, I’d sanded away something else entirely. His fire. In the bedroom, he went from a confident, dominant lover to… a whimpering mess. He’d ask if he was hurting me. He’d want to cuddle and talk about his feelings afterwards. It was pathetic. I’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, my body aching for a good, hard, nasty fuck, and he’d be telling me how much he cherished our emotional connection. Ugh.
So, I started looking elsewhere. It was easy. The frat house was full of boys who were the polar opposite of my sweet, feminised puppy. Rough, stupid, and only good for one thing. I’d tell Liam I was having a “girls' night,” and he’d just smile and tell me to have fun, probably while painting his toenails.
He knows, of course. He has to. I’ll come home smelling of another man’s cologne, my hair a mess, my panties missing. He just kisses my cheek and asks if I had a good time. He never asks questions. He doesn’t dare. He’s my little simp, my princess’s pet. And he’ll always be there, ready to rub my feet and tell me how beautiful I am while I’m thinking about the next real man I’m going to fuck. And that’s just how I like it.
Nice
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