I’m exploring some concepts that I started to work through in my essay “BDSM is Not Repentance” through this experimental semi-fantasy flash erotica series. It is not intended to model realistic and healthy approaches to penance, sex work, or even BDSM, but to inspire thought about how we use BDSM and what role, if any, it can play in true repentance. For best results, read Part 1 and Part 2 first. This installment is a response to the Masturbation Monday blog meme.
He’s not sure why he’s just sitting here, and not just because the stool is too small. The Dominant has barely touched their water, opting to scribble more notes with that scarlet ink.
He’s not exactly fuming anymore, just sort of sputtering along while he waits, sometimes swirling the ice in his sweating glass. They ignore him.
He settles in for a while and then gets annoyed again, gripping the glass in cycles of calm and baffled frustration.
The ice has all but melted when they look up at last. Well? he thinks loudly at them.
“I have a few questions,” they say.
He straightens, some part of him still wanting to make a good impression. “Okay.”
If his lack of formality bothers them, they don’t let on. “Why did you contact the Agency?” they ask.
He blinks. “I want to be punished. You’re here to punish me, right?” he mutters.
The Dominant clicks their tongue, folding their papers away. The man thinks he catches a red flash of a tic-tac-toe puzzle in the corner of one page.
“I am in charge of your penance.”
“I know that,” he says, unconsciously grabbing at the loose fabric in his lap. He’s ready.
“I don’t think you’re ready to be punished.”
“What!?” he blurts. “Of course I’m ready! Have been for, well…” He refuses to look down, instead gazing past the Dominant at the old cat clock on the kitchen wall, the only relic kept from his mother’s house. Its pendulum tail swings silently.
The Dominant nods at the edge of his vision. “When you can finish that sentence, I will consider it.” Their words are grave and stern, but their face is softer than it has been all evening.
He swallows, glancing around the space and its over-large windows. Damn them.
“It doesn’t have to be today,” the Dominant says.
“Okay,” he repeats automatically.
“Let’s talk through your form answers now,” they say. And they do. In excruciating detail. As it turns out, ‘erotic humiliation’ involves more than being called a ‘worthless worm’. Well, he’s starting to get an inkling of that.
“I want to see the…implements,” he says, blushing again for some reason.
The Dominant thinks about it for a moment. Then, they nod. “Pick up the stool, take five steps back, and sit back down.”
Oh. Maybe he’s finally getting a real order. He does as he’s told, heart beating faster as the Dominant unzips their black bag. He imagines clanking chains, bright red ball gags, wooden paddles and sleek fiberglass canes.
Instead, they pull out…a spiral-bound notebook and pen. Expression neutral, they open the notebook. Empty, college ruled pages.
“What?” he says again, too confused to muster any other emotion.
The Dominant laughs. “The implements.” They look fondly down at their notebook.
The man finds himself smiling at their glee. “I thought you were gonna break out the dragon-tail,” he says.
“I didn’t bring the corporal implements today.”
“Well, will you use them on me…some time?” he asks. Strange, hopeful dread seethes in the pit of his stomach at the thought.
The Dominant leans forward, eyes still dancing with mirth. “You’ll have to earn them.”
-To be continued-