CBT (Page 35)

To be helpful, Lion ordered two boxes for the Box O’Fun. One will hold the cards to be chosen and the other will hold the dead cards. I hadn’t had time to give it much thought but I knew we needed something. Since he told me he ordered the boxes I have an idea of what I’d like and I’ll see if our visions match when the boxes get here.

Yesterday I went for a wonderful mammogram appointment. Yay. It was a follow up from an earlier mammogram. They don’t think there’s a problem but they wanted to check out an area of interest. I’m glad someone is interested in my boobs but I don’t really want to go back in six months for another mammogram and ultrasound.

Anyway, when I got back from that adventure Lion wondered if he should pick a card for the evening’s festivities. Why not? We decided he shouldn’t know what he’d picked. His first card was “Tied to the Bed” plus another selection. From that he already knew he was either being tied up in some fashion or blindfolded. His bonus selection was plastic clothes pins. I let out an evil laugh, put the tied up card back in the fun box and the clothes pins card in the dead envelope.

We went out to dinner and Lion wondered what he’d selected. He wasn’t sure if it was better to know or not know. He wondered if it was better to select far in advance or closer to the time of torture. He knew there’d be bondage of some sort involved but that second card…. It could be good. It could be bad. Was my evil laugh real or was I just starting the torture ahead of time? Damned uncertainty! I think he finally decided it was better not to know. As long as he didn’t know, Schroedinger’s cat was both alive and dead. I certainly wasn’t going to give him any hints.

We were stuffed from dinner so we lounged for a bit watching TV. No iPad. (I want credit for that.) [Lion – I’m very proud of you, sweetie!] And then I went to search for the cuffs and straps to tie Lion to the bed. I found two straps. I was about to suggest I cuff his hands to the bed and his feet together but he insisted the other straps had to be around somewhere. Translation: we have to find them. I was the only one looking. So I dove back into the avalanche of our spare bedroom and, after throwing things around a bit, found the other two straps. Then I had to crawl around to attach them to the eye bolts on the bed.

Lion made a comment that if it was upsetting me we should just forget about it. No, no. We’re doing it.

When I finally got him strapped down I pulled the baggie of tiny clothes pins out of the bag of tricks and he groaned. “You’re kidding!” His first pick had been Icy Hot. It seemed only fitting that his second pick would be the damn tiny clothes pins. But I was just torturing him a little longer while I got Mr. Weenie excited. And excited he was. After all, Lion was tied up. One of his favorite things even if there may be tiny clothes pins involved.

Finally I let Lion off the hook. No tiny clothes pins. Only big plastic clothes pins. He said they were just as bad. There were only about seven plastic clothes pins in my bag of tricks. Lion didn’t have to take as many as I might have been willing to give him but they still hurt like hell. I yanked a few off as I got him almost to the edge. Then I yanked a few more off as I got him to the edge. He grimaced each time. Poor thing.

Tonight when he chooses I don’t know if he’ll want to know what he got or not. I’m also not sure if he should choose ahead of time or not. It’s all very fluid at this point until we work it out.

Before I boarded my flight this morning, Lion and I were texting. We were talking about my goal of reeling him in if he starts to take over. He said his hairbrush isn’t really useful for punishment. I said it was a good thing I brought one. He said mine isn’t really useful either. Mine is plastic and small for traveling. No. That one isn’t useful. However, the one that lives in the paddle holder behind the bedroom door is very useful. Yes. He agrees.

I told him I need to develop “the look”. You know, the one your mother gave you that meant “stop what you’re doing this instant!” And I could also do a “wait till we get home” at a well-timed moment. That should freeze him in his tracks. Especially if there are other people around. I could even ask him if he needs a time out. Different verbiage, same meaning.

Lion knows he needs these reminders. He wants them. I’m going to try my best to do it for him. Not just on the trip. I need to continue once we get home. He warned me that he may look pissed off but that shouldn’t stop me. I may look pissed off too depending on what he’s done.

I should also say that I’ve brought a length of rope with me so I can tie his balls up while I edge him. This is supposed to be a fun trip after all. It’s not all doom and gloom and punishment. I anticipate more fun than punishment. But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t plan for the toddler in Lion to have a meltdown.

You might wonder why some women have so much fun torturing their partners. You might assume they are sadists. Well, no. I don’ think so. There is real comedy in the way we guys behave.

Our unselfish top wants to enjoy what happens when she gives her bottom what he says he wants. The twist is that she takes it far beyond his fantasy. He approaches his spanking with an erection, excited to have a dream come true. She cheerfully acknowledges that she is going to grant his wish. He gets into position and she begins.

He enjoys the spanking for a while. But it starts hurting way too much. He stops thinking about  his fantasy. He just wants her to stop. He squirms and yells. He tries begging her to stop; all to no avail. When she finally stops, his butt is burning. He is bruised and dark red. But she isn’t done. She makes him stand in a corner so she can admire her work. She is smiling broadly.

The spank-till-he-cries method maps to many male fantasies. Yet, when the paddle meets the butt, he recognizes that he doesn’t really want to go that far. This is where she has the most fun. She enjoys seeing him realize the difference between fantasy and fact. She is amused by his realization of his mistake.

A week or so later, the scene repeats. He approaches her with a gleam in his eye and an erection. He has to know that things aren’t going to end well. But yet here he is again, hard  and ready to get across her lap. Is this insanity? Has he forgotten the pain?

His top is truly amused. She knows he remembers his last visit with her paddle. He has to know how much pain he felt. But here he is again ready to jump over her lap for a repeat performance. No wonder she is quietly laughing.

The same is true with other fantasies come true. I know how frustrating it is to wear a chastity device. I am aware of how I have to sit when I pee to compensate for the bars over my penis. Yet, time and time again I remind Mrs. Lion if she forgets to lock me up.

I know how horribly it burns when when Mrs. Lion paints a “racing stripe” with liniment on my balls and perineum. But I still buy her new products that are supposed to be more painful than the ones she has. I don’t like how it feels to be pegged, but I will buy her thicker dildos I know will hurt more.

This has to be either the height of masochism or irrational behavior. I don’t like pain, so I must be irrational.

There must be more to it than believing guys are simply irrational. Maybe that’s part of it. I think in my case, while I remember how much I hate the sensations these activities give me, those memories are overcome by the sexual excitement my fantasies about these things being done to me evoke.

It explains the docile willingness to present my butt for spanking; especially punishments. I am absolutely aware that I will be feeling pain with no sexual component. Yet, meek as a lamb, I present my naked butt to Mrs. Lion. I let her strap me into our sling. I get hard as I see her prepare to paint a painful stripe on my balls. I even get hard when I see her preparing to put painful clothespins on my cock and balls.

I think all this odd behavior demonstrates the primal drive to reproduce. We are programmed to disregard pain if sex is involved. Even in the case of punishment, when there is no sex possible, my sexual fantasies drive me to submit to punishment pain.

It’s this counter-intuitive behavior that amuses many of our partners. They find it funny to see us get aroused in the face of sure pain. I suppose the irony is funny. It may be a good thing we are so amusing. It is an incentive for our partners to hurt us the way we appear to want.

I think we might have played in the sling last night if our dog hadn’t had a seizure. I had to get her cleaned up and clean the floor and then dinner was late. Life conspired against us. However, another weekend is upon us and I’m sure we’ll find time to play in the sling in the next two days.

Lion is at the last of his doctor appointments of the week. He took the last of his steroids days ago but he’s started to itch again. I think it’s time to change the bed. I’m hoping this doctor will have some idea about stopping the itching, short of getting rid of the dog. As long as Lion doesn’t need to be inside a giant plastic bubble we should be able to deal with it.

I probably have to manscape Lion. Before I do that, I want to get him with some menthol rub. He bought some really evil stuff. Silly boy. He should know I’ll use it eventually. Why keep buying meaner and meaner stuff? Perhaps I need to make a rule about buying things like that. Maybe I should make rules about buying anything related to play. I need a chance to catch up. Maybe if I use them more often he won’t be so quick to buy things. Wouldn’t it be nice to have fiery balls? *singe* Oh. Maybe not.

It’s interesting to me that he hates the things I’ve bought. Those tiny little dollhouse clothespins and Velcro are among the things he whines about when I bring them out. He’ll plead with me not to use them. But I can whomp his butt all day long. I know he hates punishment swats but maybe the dollhouse clothespins are a more effective form of punishment. He certainly won’t interrupt if he knows those little bastards will be clamped down on the head of my weenie. Perhaps it’s time to change tactics.