Journals and blogs discussion

My previous journal entry recorded the trials and tribulations of trying to set up an FLR within a rather ordinary partnership. That relationship concluded last year for reasons unrelated to this, and after finding my emotional bearings again, I found myself browsing personal websites once more. Just before New Year’s Eve arrived, an older mistress sent me a message out of the blue looking for ‘domestic servitude and more’. We swapped some notes and she proposed a three-month trial period. Chastity was non-negotiable. Even though things looked too good to be true, I drove two hours to a pub close to her house and met a lovely mature woman. She wore casual clothes, was friendly, and lacked any haughty demeanor. We chatted as much as we could given the limited privacy of the pub before heading quickly to her nearby home. I went upstairs to a spacious attic room. The longest wall displayed hundreds of whips, pizzles, antique riding crops, long tails, short tails, and various lengths in between. On the opposite side hung chains, manacles, bridal harnesses, strap-ons, ball gags, cock gags, and other harnesses whose purpose I could only speculate about. I’ve visited all the top torture museums, yet never seen so many bondage and torture tools under one roof - not to mention the slave cage, gyno chair, whipping bench, pillories, and other assorted furniture scattered around. For the first hour or so of our conversation, I stayed locked up. I admitted my love for chastity and how hard it is to self-lock (it feels impossible!). @MzLeatherClad explained that she’s a classic sadist who uses the male member primarily as an instrument of torture. I shared my intense fear of pain along with the pleasant anxiety that comes from submitting. With experience mostly in tie-and-tease and sensual domination, CBT was quite foreign for me to grasp initially. There wasn’t one tender touch or stroke. NOT EVEN ONE! Instead, I endured relentless pin-wheeling, sounding, electrocution, crushing, squashing, clamping, whipping, humbling, spanking, and piercing until my suffering cock truly howled for a gentle caress. I’ve always wondered how men remain flaccid during CBT. It’s warm in there, isn’t it? Well, I understand now. After several hours with this total sadist, my cock looked quite pitiful, trying to make a quick but futile retreat back into my belly. Throughout all of this, M didn’t bark or raise her voice, snarl, or use insults. She remained friendly, enthusiastic, firmly unyielding, and genuinely laughed when I howled in pain or shivered at new sensations. Still, I had no doubt that defying her would bring severe punishment. I spent most of the evening in that dungeon, returning two days later for New Year’s Eve to endure more forms of evil torture than I have in my entire life combined. The night ended with 20 harsh cane strokes, creating fierce welts, drops of blood, and a heat sensation still felt two days on. After our session, while I was safely locked up again, M noted the date in her small book. She mentioned she hadn’t quite mastered prostate milking yet. In a burst of bold confidence, I told her it wasn’t difficult at all and offered to show her how. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do,” she said, scribbling another date into the book. “One month from today.” I’ve been locked for four days now. Out of practice and undisciplined, my cock already whimpers softly in its small cage for release, even if only to be bullied, bruised, and forced back inside. @MzLeatherClad mentioned she enjoys hearing about my torment and would like me to keep a journal here. I’ve told her about this site and will send her the link. Who knows? I suspect we might see her around soon. Don’t say I didn’t warn you! *Edit - And now I discover she is already here! Name updated accordingly.