The last time I posted a journal here, it was to document the ups and downs of attempting to establish an FLR in a fairly vanilla relationship. For unrelated reasons, that relationship ended last year and after some time finding my emotional feet, I ended up once again scouring personal sites. A few day before new year's eve, I received an unsolicited message from an older mistress, seeking 'domestic servitude and more'. We exchanged a few messages and she suggested a three month trial. Chastity would be non-negotiable. Despite the feeling that things seemed to good to be true, I made the two-hour drive to a pub near her home and was eventually greeted by a beautiful older woman. She was dressed casually, was friendly and without any stern airs or graces. We talked as much as possible within the pub's limited privacy before quickly making our way out to her nearby home. I'm led upstairs to a large attic room. On the longest wall hangs hundreds of whips, pizzles, antique riding crops, long tails, short tails and somewhere-in-between-tails. On the opposite wall hangs lengths of chain, manacles, bridal harnesses, strap-ons, ball gags, cock gags and harnesses whose intended use I can only guess. I've been to all the good torture museums, but I've never seen so many instruments of bondage and torture under one roof - and that's before I even mention the slave cage, gyno chair, whipping bench, pillories and other assorted furniture about the place. I remained locked for the first hour or so, while we talk. I confess my love of chastity and how difficult it is to self-lock (impossible!). @MzLeatherClad - tells me she's an old school sadist, whose only use for the male member is as a medium of torture. I reveal my deep fear of pain and the sweet angst that comes from submitting. As someone whose experience is mainly with tie and tease and sensual domination, CBT is a strange thing indeed to try and wrap my head around. Not once a tender touch or stroke. NOT. ONCE! Instead I'm unrelentingly pin-wheeled, sounded, electrocuted, crushed, squashed, clamped, whipped, humbled, spanked and pierced until my sad cock positively howls for a sweet touch. I've often wondered how guys manage to stay flaccid during CBT. I mean, it's hot, right? Well, now I know. After a few hours at the hands of this utter sadist my cock cuts a pathetic sight indeed, attempting a hasty and futile retreat back into my abdomen. Throughout all of this, M does not bark or raise her voice, or snarl or resort to the calling of names. She is friendly, excitable, implacably firm and truly laughs when I howl in pain or shiver from some newly discovered sensation. Nevertheless, I'm in no doubt that to cross her would be to be punished severely. I spend the best part of the evening in that dungeon, returning the day after next to spend New Year's Eve once again being put through my paces and submitting to more forms of evil torture than I have previously in a lifetime. The night culminates in 20 brutal strokes of the cane, raising fierce welts, beads of blood and a heat I still feel these two days later. After our session, with me locked safely back up, M writes down the date in her little book. She tells me she's never quite got the hang of prostate milking. In a moment of mad bravado I tell her how easy it is, that I'll show her how. "Then, that's what we'll do," she says, scribbling another date in the book. "One month from today." I've been locked four days now. I'm out of practice, undisciplined, my cock already cries softly in its little cage for release, even if only to be bullied, bruised and stuffed back in. @MzLeatherClad says she likes to hear about my torment and would like me to keep a journal. I've told her about this site and will send her this link. So who knows. I suspect we may see her here soon. Don't say I didn't warn you! *Edit - And now i find she's already here! Name changed accordingly.