Granny Minnie
My Tweets
My Bio:
My name is Minnie and I am here for all of you children who like women who have some life experience. I like grown-up babies, from a cruel aunt or grandmother to the charming old lady next door who is called to help clean the house. I can play any role. The possibilities for what we can do together are endless. Have you ever dreamed of your mother-in-law coming to your house and being dissatisfied with your recent behavior? Forcing him to change diapers as punishment? Teach your wife that corner time is the best way to deal with a wayward husband? Because it is one of my favorites, to be honest, I think I should visit my son-in-law soon... I can't wait to talk to everyone!
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Hubby Discipline
Granny Role-play
Punishment
Rocking & Lullaby
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Diaper Emergency call 
1 (888) 430-2010
1 (888) 430-2010October 30, 2009
Its the night before candy day when all the diapered little ones can’t sleep because they know its so close to Halloween when they can be someone they usually can’t be in the usual day to day life but your all excited because you get to dress up and have fun in those cute costumes and go door to door for that candy everyone enjoys giving out to you but you like saying treat or trick i can just hear you in that sweet voice of yours say please and thank you so have a wonderful time my sweet diapered ones. So my darlings becareful and watch out for those cars as you cross the streets because as we know they don’t look out for you now do they so hold tightly to mommy’s hand so you can get back home safely. Minnie
October 26, 2009
A be”witch”ing poem for the sake of the Halloween spirit. In a city, on the border Of Greenwich Harbor and Bly, Maine Lies a scene, dubbed out of order The people don’t like to explain For when nightfall finds its calling And the ground is damp with dew A strange, mist-like fog starts falling Believed from the witches brew. When the haze drifts on the hillside The scent of sulfur fills the air Streaking ‘cross the ebbing high tide Till the fog is everywhere Then the night becomes quite stoic ‘Neath the bright yellow facade And the townsfolk, not heroic Find their shelter e’er abroad. Thus, the city is a ghost town Every night when dusk appears But, alas, there’s milling around In spite of the chills and fears It is true, the rumored report Of the fog-like mist and smell For within a vacant resort Is the place where witches dwell. While the walls are swayed by motion And the roof is half intact The witches join to boil a potion Made of decades old extract To erase one’s recollections Of the town that they once knew Once they taste the rich confections That are in the witches’ brew. Minnie