Femdom Blog

“Cock and Ball Torture (CBT) sessions should be a fun lighthearted two hour poke at something that sounds much more menacing that it actually is.”

There, I said it.

Would you believe that the funniest sessions I host at my condo are ones where beginners are dipping their toe bravely into CBT. Now I realize that the BDSM purists out there would either cringe or revolt at the usage of the word Funny in the same sentence as CBT but I’m not exactly your cookie cutter molded Mistress am I now?

Catering mostly to the newbie crowd pretty much ensures all my sessions come with a good amount of chuckles and laughs , and I’m fine with being known as the light hearted ‘good girl’ mistress of Bangkok. After all, I’m in this for the fun of it and there’s really nothing quite as amusing as getting a laugh out of a guy when he’s at his most possible vulnerable moment of his life.

foot worship bdsm femdom jaa4u bangkokNow I have to admit that when I started out in this business apprenticing under Jaa I was fascinated by the more torturous sessions. Every time I’d be in the taxi commuting to her condo and I’d sms her asking for details about what the session might entail : my heart would race with excitement when she’d text back that we’d be doing some really painful stuff. It almost perturbed me that while there was indeed a fair amount of pain dished out the humor being tossed about seemed way out of place to me.

For instance, and you’ll see it play out in the video package being offered, she loved to ‘snap’ in the middle of a CBT session and start hitting the guy – sometimes playfully, sometimes in a much more aggressive manner. But no matter which way she’d dole out her punishment she’d always ask the guy “how many hits was that?”

Of course in every single instance the guy would – sometimes correctly, sometimes not – come up with a guess of a number and he’d get smacked in the face.

“I didn’t ask you. I asked HIM” adverting her gaze down to the raging cock bound in rope between her legs.

Then she’d pound him again , say with a crop on the inside of his thigh a dozen times and ask again “How many?”

Eventually the guy would wise up and figure out that since cocks can’t talk the only way to properly reply was to flex the groin muscles and make it bob up and down the necessary amount of times.

When the number of whacks got dizzyingly high , like into the 40’s or higher, she’d draw a face on the guys cock head and sometimes would strap a little toy cowboy hat on top.

Fuck it was the funniest thing every time to see this cock with a face and a cowboy hat bob up and down 50 times counting the number of whacks it just got.

I said to her after one of those sessions “that’s not true CBT, you know that right?”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because people being tortured don’t laugh.” I said.

“But people who laugh always remember the session” she retorted.

 

 

Sure enough, the same people who I thought would never come back – came back again and again savoring the little bits of humor which were sprinkled throughout the session.

It was about then that I began to reevaluate what the world of bdsm could be like and just as she had done , saw tremendous value in enhancing the pleasure side of bdsm , be it from a pleasureful feel or a pleasureful burst of laughter.

I’ve sort of hung my hat (not the cowboy one) on that premise ever since, finding ways to make guys smile and laugh through all sorts of scenarios where one would think extracting a smile would be next to impossible.

What’s that way of thinking done for me?

Well for example, here I am two days back from my vacation and I’m about to do my third CBT session , that’s how popular the request has become.

However, you know the saying “the grass is always greener on the other side?”

I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be the maniacal pain loving mistress who gets off on dealing out the most vicious CBT sessions. Since a great number of my clientele are repeat visitors and they’re much in love with the light way I go about things it’s not often I get a chance to step over to the other side of the pasture and munch on some new grass.

So wouldn’t you know it, this month it looks like I have not one but two dudes who are stopping by asking for total testicular destruction.

And you’d think I’d be wringing my hands in delight just counting the days and minutes until those sessions arrive but in fact my reaction has just been “Meh.”

So many guys have called me “the cute mistress who’s just so adorable” that I guess I’ve really come to embrace that role in its entirety.

I’ll probably even replace those sessions with ones that are more in-line with who I am and what I enjoy.

Yesterday – had you seen me on the BTS you’d of known to stay well away from me with just one glance at the look on my face. I was preparing for the CBT session by doing something I had wanted to do for a long time but had never gone through the hell to set it up. “Hell” coming in the form of a very heavy 16kg Kettlebell , the one Wael uses to workout with at her condo. I had to drag that heavy motherfucker in my backpack all the way from her condo to mine.

Every BTS station is elevated and to get to the platform we’re talking about climbing over 100 steps in total if we’re measuring from the street. Doing that with 16kg’s of iron in the backpack isn’t a fun thing to do at all.

Way back when in my days of studying BDSM I came across a video from the Kink .com website of a mistress making a guy pull an anchor across a cement floor by his balls for her amusement. I loved it. Been in love with that idea ever since.

However, I’m also very well aware that asking a guy to drag a 16kg chunk of solid iron across my living room would likely separate the man’s balls from his body , bringing on a flashback from the Aliens movie where the momma Alien ripped herself from her eggs. Ya, didn’t want to be the one mopping up that kind of mess on my living room floor before watching Netflix later that evening. So …

The next best thing is always going for the “this or that” game.

In which, I give the man at the pinnacle of his most traumatic moment , an option out of his task demanded by me.

But to sell the comedic relief, the build up to the task has to be 100% believable. That’s why those Just for Laugh skits on the street work so well , the sell job is spectacular in each and every scene.

 

 

For my sell job, I had the guy take a home made racing horse’s bit in his mouth telling him it’s to muffle the screams.

I attached that first before even introducing the weight which I had hidden out of sight in the bathroom

Once he had gotten used to chewing on the wood piece tightly wedged into his mouth I did the normal preparation of tying his balls and dick up with rope.

But it was when I dragged (purposely loudly) the Kettlebell out from the bathroom and tied it to the rope stretching from the guys balls – that’s the moment I saw instant duress in the slave’s eyes.

I walked over to the far side of the sofa , the part by the window for those who’ve been to my place. Picture in your mind his location – by the guest bathroom, and you’ll get an idea how far of a distance he was being asked to drag this monstrous weight with his nut sack.

To entice him, I wore the black see through lingerie from Victoria Secret , the one that only a few of you have seen since it’s so damn revealing – and only latter stage slaves who have worked up enough karma with me get to enjoy seeing me wear it.

I sat over on the sofa after turning only the hallway light on so I was mostly in shadow – and I put my feet on the sofa which spread my legs wide open revealing my cute little pussy all doused in darkness with only a hint of light exposing her.

“Now… you’re going to show me just how much pain you’re willing to go through so that your lips can taste my pussy here” I chastised him.

Wouldn’t you know it – the guy after fiercely biting down on his wooden bit actually made an attempt to move the weight but stopped in rigid fear as his balls tugged hard enough to make the damn weight fall over on its side and for a second I was scared it might have actually cracked the floor tile.

 

 

I let him go through the different levels of problem solving his way out of this dilemma – and was especially impressed with the innovation that somehow crossing his knees over one another would lessen the pain of having his testicle skin being stretched to the limit.

But he tilted over on his first pull and crashed to my floor like a dead elephant.

“Try again” I encouraged him.

This time he just sat there on all fours unable to come up with a solution. If he was a cartoon, he’d have the “error, error” sign scrolling through his eyes. But instead he just sat there like a dog that had made a mess on a carpet.

Acting like I was pissed off to the extreme with his petrified status I went to the kitchen for the same damn knife that had sliced open my ankle earlier this year and walked toward him with it.

Again, borrowing from Jaa – who’s third ever session had a hilarious and all too terrifyingly true moment of misunderstanding come to fruition (grats if you remember that story from her blog a decade ago, don’t fret if you don’t though, there’s a chapter about it in my book)

Squatting down behind him with the knife resting against his bare ass made him try to capture a few glances behind him to see what I was up to.

No doubt the sensible part of his brain surmised that I was going to cut him loose from his ball and chain , but I love that there was this tiny part of his mind that was still holding court over whether or not I was crazy enough to castrate him right there and then.

“If I cut the rope, no pussy for you … the only thing you get to do for the rest of the session is clean my feet, deal?”

“Yes, fuck yes.” Then he laughed.

After I turned on all the lights he laughed even more admitting “I thought I was truly fucked, there was no way of dragging that thing over to you without losing my balls , but my stupid brain was telling me to try anyways.”

“And … how do you feel now?’ I asked while extending my foot towards his mouth.

“Relieved Mistress, very relieved.”

Then he commenced to give my dirty soles a proper one hour cleaning , and was thankful for every lick.

I’m thinking of a clever way of wrapping this recollection of yesterday’s session up for you , but let me instead just say that I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that my Inbox will be filled tomorrow with pleas to let them show me their balls can drag the weight.

Let me just say that you can try all you want, just know that if you succeed – your sole reward is to be the one to drag that monstrosity back to Wael’s condo where it belongs. XD

Oh and , enjoy the CBT collection of both me and sessions from yesteryear. Not only will you get an idea of where I got my light bdsm style from , you’ll also see the very beginning of my philosophy on how to feed poo as well!

Xx