On The Other Side of the Fence

In my sub days I had often wondered what it would be like to be on the other side of the fence during a CBT session. Now I was finding out.

I have been on the receiving end on more than one occasion so knew exactly what was going through the head of my sub who was strapped helplessly to the cross as I slapped on the surgical gloves and laid out the pegs in a neat row on the table. What was going on was what I wanted to be going on, apprehension, anticipation, the fear of the unknown. Above all the fear, for good BDSM play is as much about what you might do as about what you actually do do.  Mindfuckery is at the heart and for the domme a key element in the pleasure she has from the scene. But I was nervous too. This was a new departure for me in my still young domming career.  But I didn’t let my sub see that. Be in control, be composed, be dommely in every word, every movement. Do nothing to break the spell.

I took his cock in my hand, stroked it, felt arousal pulse through it before pulling back the foreskin and flicking hard at the end. He winced and breathed in sharply. I moved my face in close to his and laughed.   Then I got to work with the pegs, a colourful arrangement around the tip, along the shaft, on the scrotum and a few in his bushy wiry pubic hair for additional suffering.

I applied the penis gag and ordered him to suck. I stood back, amused at his predicament, and admired my work. It was artistic what I had done, a Mohican of pegs along the top of his cock, blue pegs dangling like cows’ udders from the bottom, red pegs as sentinels around the tip from which precome was starting to dribble. I flicked hard again and his erection began to subside as he whimpered through the gag. I stood back to admire my handiwork again. A pathetic inadequate cock had been turned into a bold strutting peacock, a creature of savage beauty exacting its due toll of pain.

I left him in that state for several minutes and, to mess with his head a little more, took out my canes, stroked them lovingly, smelt the heady aroma of my cruel rubber flogger, ran the lovely tails through my fingers. A taste of delights to come. I walked up to him to tweak a nipple, whisper in his ear.

When the moment came, the knocking off of the pegs with the cane was pure sadistic delight. I laughed again, removed the gag and could feel the rush of relief going thorough him, and gratitude to the domme who had inflicted this pain and yet shown him mercy. I almost felt that he would do anything for me. He had offered me his manhood to play with. He was mine.

I think that CBT can be one of the most beautiful of all BDSM activities, and not just physically. It symbolism is profound. It is the taking of the organ that is a locus of power and pleasure, often both together,  a tool of the subjugation of women, and remodelling it as the locus of humiliation, of pain and of subjugation to woman. No man who has offered his cock to a dominant woman to be cruelly used for her amusement c an ever be the same again, For it is not just that he gives her, it is his soul.