My sweet, quiet boy,

You’ve been talking too much. Not loudly, not rudely; just too much. Every time you offer an opinion I didn’t ask for, every time you fill a silence with “I think…” or “Maybe we could…,” you step out of your place. I feel it immediately. The energy shifts, and for a moment I have to share the room with a man instead of owning it with my boy.

That ends today.

From this moment forward, you will remember the simple truth I am about to burn into you:

You have two ears and one mouth for a reason. Two ears to listen to me, always open, always attentive. One mouth to be used only when I decide it should open.

These are your new rules. Memorize them. Live them.

1. You speak only when I speak to you first. No greeting me with suggestions about dinner. No casual commentary about the weather, the news, or what color tie I should let you wear. Silence until I address you.

2. When I do give you permission to speak, you keep it brief and useful. Acceptable answers from now on:

   • “Yes, Ma’am.”
   • “No, Ma’am.”
   • “Right away, Ma’am.”
   • “Thank you, Ma’am.”
   • “May I please ask a clarifying question, Ma’am?” (and only when truly necessary for my instructions)

3. You no longer have opinions unless I request them. If I’m choosing wine, paint samples, your bedtime, or how hard I’m going to spank you tonight, your preference does not exist until I decide it does.

4. When I make a decision (any decision), you will acknowledge it with gratitude and surrender. These are the exact phrases I expect to hear from you, every single time:

   • “You know better than I do, Ma’am.”
   • “Your decision is perfect, Ma’am.”
   • “This houseboy happily accepts whatever you choose.”
   • “Thank you for deciding for me, Ma’am. I don’t need to think when I have you.”
   • “Your little boy trusts you completely.”

   Say them softly. Say them sincerely. Say them while looking at the floor unless I lift your chin.

5. If I ever do ask, “What do you think, boy?” (and I will, sometimes, just to watch you blush), you will answer briefly and immediately hand the decision back:

   “I think the red one is prettier, Ma’am… but of course I’ll love anything you pick for me.”

   Or, more honestly (and more often):

   “I don’t have a preference, Ma’am. Only yours matters.”

That is all the talking you are allowed from now on.

The house will be quieter. Calmer. Mine.

You will feel the difference immediately. Every moment you stay silent when you used to speak is a moment you are kneeling inside your own head. Every decision you let me make without interference is a lock clicking shut around your pretty little ego.

I don’t need volume from you. I need vacancy, space for my voice to fill the room completely.

Starting tonight, when you bring me my evening tea, you will kneel, place it in my hand, kiss my foot once, and say only:

“Your quiet houseboy is ready to listen and obey, Ma’am.”

Then you will shut your mouth and keep it shut until I choose to open it again.

Two ears. One mouth. My rules.

Be still, boy. Be useful. Be mine.

—Ma’am

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