CBT? ZOMGZ WTF?

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So, the other evening I was watching TV with Pan and I started hitting his balls with the remote control…

Now here’s a funny thing. CBT, right, is fucking huge. If you look at what pros talk about on their wacky prodominatrixin’ is, like, so the best fun eva! I get paid to make bitch-face blogs – they seem to do a lot of CBT. There they go with weights and parachutes and clamps and tiny little whips for cocks and ball presses and all sorts of specialised clap-trap.

Oh yeah, and sounds. The most confusingly named item in the whole of femdom.

Then, if you look at femdom porn – I’ve been looking at lot of porn lately, which I swear is for research for a big porn investigation post (My eyes! They burn!) – they do a lot of CBT. (Again with the tintsy whips and crushers and extra spiky boots for the k-nicking in the k-nackers.)

If you read stuff written by shabby-equipment-poor-amateurdoms, you’ll see a lot less CBT chat. (There are only 4 blogs written by amdoms on tintrawebz so that research doesn’t take long.) And I have never seen a dominant women talk about CBT when she talks about what she really burns and aches to do to a guy in fantasy.

Oh, on the dungeon walls flickering candles highlight the blood and in the darkest corner all you can hear are his moans...as I kick him in the nuts!

It’s not a big trope in dominant female fantasy (shy little gazelle that that is). Why is this?

And more the point – the point being about me – why am I not hot about CBT?

I mean, Bitchy Jones, why are you not the world’s biggest fan of CBT? You never shut up about cock. You have all those t shirts. You are some kind of cock worshipping femdom anomaly. Get with it. You love cock. You love manpain. Surely, surely, you want to bring your two biggest passions together?

Ah, but…. But, but, but, but…. All my pain fantasies were forged in the white-heat of prepubescence. Where this stuff uncoils for all of us. And what the fuck did I know about cocks and balls then? I didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on with me (not like now, then) – I didn’t even get this connected to that weird intangible thing called sex until years later.

Oh, I but I knew about whipping and torture and medieval devices and imprisonment and oubliettes and hanging and thirst and muscle and fighting and men sweating and screaming and bleeding and hurting. All that was available to fantasy-forging me. All that I could imagine. And did.

CBT? Not so much.

Young submissive guys on the other hand – well, I can see how their ideas might form there. That makes sense. Or even for gay dominant guys. But I just don’t think women have a proper idea of cocks and balls at the moment in time when there sexualities are being molded and the stuff they come over and back to is settling in the fuckypervy parts of their brains.

And that’s not the only problem. The first is that it isn’t beating in my heart. the second is that there is no connect.

Once I said that I thought sadism was masochism turned onto another person. I still think that is true. If you’re doing the kind of emotionally engaged d/s-y smackaround I like to do – it all comes back to you. Everything I deny him is denied to me. Sometimes I can’t bring myself to do the humiliating thing I want to do to him because I am too mortified by what I want to see.It’s complicated and it’s messy but in one way it’s simple. It’s all about me.

Hurting him his all about my empathy. Testicles, that little slot in the end of his cock – it gets hard to imagine how that goes on inside of him. There’s no equivalent to hitting yourself with the strap and getting a quick idea of – at the very least – the *nature* of the pain.

And that not knowing takes the edge off.

All is not lost. I do think a women can be talked into CBT by the right man. It’s tricky, ’cause you do have to do it all on reactions. But when a guy (or even a website) says, here’s a fucking easy way to get that look on my face you adore so much, a little experimentation, a little surfing on his moans and breathing hitches. Kind of nice.

A few nights ago I was squeezing Jack’s balls and we actually had a moment based around me saying, ‘You know I really do have *no* *idea* how much that is hurting you.’

But there’s no deep, deep fire that that’s damping. Straps and canes and cages and thirst and piss and rape and metal bondage and duct tape and evil queens and warrior princes and sacrifice and dragons and facial bruising have been there forever. Those things made me. Will always, *always* spin me harder.

And without the empathy, CBT always makes me feel a bit like a paid-for, approaching it with a pasted smile that says oh look he squeaked when I did that and a view that this is kind of *interesting*.

And we all know that immeasurable pleasure never bolts out of a gate marked ‘interesting’.

So CBT’s a guy thing. And you probably all think you know where I’m going next, don’t you? Ragement. You’ve read these posts before. I set it all up then I knock it all down with incoherent swearing.

I start saying, ZOMGZ you fucking asshats, women don’t want this. Stop clogging up my culture with lies about women wanting this stuff. Stop misrepresenting me! Stop disenfranchising me you evils!

But, weirdly, this raging doesn’t happen when I think about CBT. I think because it doesn’t really seep into the mainstream. It’s not there with the rubber dolls and the ladies’ maids and phallic bullwhips and the even-more-phallic silicon cocks of femdom as-it-is-seen-to-be by real people.

Which makes me think, huh, I guess that even if submissive men and their molls control everything *inside* femdom, what gets out is clearly more defined by tropes of mainstream sexy. That the woman looks good and although she is strong her power is comes from two female-undermining tropes of physical beauty and masculinisation (lack of emotion, cock-cock-cockiness).

While it’s inside the femdom-dome it’s all about what will get male subs’ cocks hard. They’re paying, after all. Once we get outside, it’s more about a teasing idea of sexy-exotica that all men will buy into.

And for some reason, they don’t want to face the harsh reality of being repeatedly smacked it the balls with the remote control.

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