Penance, Part 6

Catch up on the entire series here. I’m exploring some concepts that I started to work through in my essay “BDSM is Not Repentance” using 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. This short installment is a response to the Masturbation Monday blog meme.

Note: this section contains some despairing thoughts and self-deprecation. 

“Try again.” They said it and left with such startling coolness that he’s forgotten to be angry. He slumps in his chair, shell-shocked. Is this it? Of all the possible punishments he’s dreamed up, he never thought of this one. He so craved the biting heat of corporal punishment that he burned through the Dominant’s patience.

There’s no way for him to contact them directly, he realizes, even as explanations for his behavior begin to rise, some bullshit about serving and ignorance. They don’t matter. All correspondence goes through the Agency office. The Dominant can ignore him for as long as they want, even blacklist him. He can’t make them come back. And, he realizes, he wouldn’t. 

His thoughts race as he sits there longer. Is the Dominant gone for good? Their shoulders were set as they walked out. He groans into his hands. Why did he have to push like that? Why couldn’t he just ‘chill,’ as his nieces say, and let the Dominant lead? The blue notebook lies on the coffee table. His own words taunt him, repeated back in that musical voice. He did write the same thing over and over, feeling so clever, so sure about ‘moving forward’. Maybe he can’t move forward at all. Maybe the Dominant knows it, and that’s why they’ve left him alone. He can’t even move from the chair. They might as well have chained him there, he thinks as his eyes rove the cavernous space, seeing nothing. 

Then, he spots a flash of red and black. The Dominant’s handkerchief, folded with care–left on purpose? He looks up. The Monstera plant, watered. The notebook, within reach. Try again, they said. The man swallows. He reaches for the notebook, turns to a fresh page, and begins to write. 

-To be continued- 

Masturbation Monday

Penance, Part 3

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-

Masturbation Monday

Penance, Part 1

[Image description: Photo is of a pair of lace-up black leather boots.]

Hello, Readers! I’ve decided to explore some of the ideas I discussed in my recent essay “BDSM is Not Repentance” through fiction. This is the first part of an experimental semi-fantasy flash erotica series. It is not intended to model realistic or 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. This first installment is part of the Masturbation Monday blog meme sponsored by Kayla Lords. 

He runs his hand through salt-and-pepper hair, drums fingers on his desk to drown out the feeble patter of rain. He grimaces at the cleaning he’s done. She might not show, he thinks. If this day turns out to be a waste of his time and money, he’s leaving a one-star Yelp review and jerking off to Brazzers. 

He was very clear in his inquiry letter to the Agency: he wants to suffer for his actions. He filled out their required spreadsheet of soft and hard limits in a bluster of clacking keys; yes to humiliation, yes to cock-and-ball torture, no to tickling, yes to single-tail, etc. 

He selected a generous three-day time window, signed off with his electronic signature, and procured his background check. Now, it’s just a question of when; it has to be some time today. He waits for her, whomever she is, to waltz into his spartan condo, order him to his knees and slap him around, make him feel powerless. That’s fine. More than fine. 

He chose the “mystery” option to let the Agency assign someone to him, but he’s poked around enough online to have a pretty good idea what she’ll be like: a goddess in stilettos, dark, streamlined slickness over icy pale skin. She’ll beat the devil right out of him…if she shows up. The thought shoots straight down to his cock, and he just catches his hand straying down his khakis. He groans, irritation rising in tandem with arousal.

Just as he’s about to unplug the air freshener and heat up the leftover buffalo wings, someone knocks at the door. He freezes. Somehow, his legs carry him over. He peers through the peep hole at a short, slight woman with asymmetrical hair and a rainbow umbrella. She must be lost, he thinks, wondering whether she’ll go away if he ignores her. But he opens the door. She smiles at him. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. Staticy heat skitters through him, the sensation of thawing after a trudge through the snow, as he realizes that this person isn’t lost at all. “Hello,” she says. “My pronouns are they/them/theirs, and I’m in charge of your penance today.” 

-To be continued-

*Yes, he accidentally misgenders them.

Masturbation Monday

Masturbation Monday – On Chronic Pain and Periods

[Image description: Photo is of a colorful silicone dilator set from Pure Romance arranged on top of its packaging box.]

I’ve decided to participate in the Masturbation Monday weekly blogging meme run by prolific sex blogger and freelance writer Kayla Lords! Please note, gentle readers, that while this post is not an erotica, it is sexually explicit and contains details about my own sex life, including masturbation, periods, and chronic pain. You can opt out of explicit posts by selecting “Non-Explicit Epistles” under Categories. 🙂 

So. My period started this morning. Huzzah! (Not really. I felt like my uterus was about to fall out.) Fortunately, I didn’t have to go anywhere. I had a silly thought while microwaving a heat pack: “I should’ve gotten off last night while I had the chance.” And then I realized “I still can.” 

Period masturbation takes a little extra work; I’ve turned it into a ritual. I started with a period-focused yoga practice to soothe my cramps and help me settle into my body. After spreading a towel out on my bed, turning on some ambient music, and assembling the implements (a handy little bullet vibe, an aloe-based lube, toilet paper, and a colorful silicone dilator set), I was ready to practice vaginal penetration. 

I have a chronic pelvic pain condition called vulvodynia that makes vaginal penetration difficult-to-impossible, so I don’t receive penetration with partners at this time (except for one time when I was riding my sub’s face; his tongue slipped right in without incident and felt good). Dilation is one way to retrain tight pelvic floor muscles to unclench, and it’s easiest for me when I’m relaxed and *drumroll* on my period. So I lay back, lubed the second-smallest dilator, and teased myself with it before starting to ease it in (technically, you can just lube, insert, and leave it be, but dilators work best for me when I treat them like sex toys). 

I didn’t get very far at first; I could tell that my left-side pelvic muscles were especially tense today. Rather than push harder, I turned on my vibrator and let it pulse lightly against the dilator. I let myself fantasize about being fingered by a mysterious dominant lady (I’m a switch). I don’t like getting fingered at this point in life, but I hope that I will someday. I love the idea of being physically open to a partner in that way. 

As my orgasm began to build, the dilator gradually slid further in. It’s always interesting to me, how the dilator reminds me that my orgasm is an internal and external process. When I finally came, I felt myself spasm around it, not in a painful, clenching way, but a wet, luxurious, full-bodied way.

After I built back up and came again, I turned off the vibe and rested for a moment. I removed the dilator very slowly–it had gone in about halfway. Then, I stretched like a cat, rose, cleaned up, and went downstairs for a bowl of macaroni-and-cheese. Not so bad for a period day. 

End-note: If you have pelvic pain (a very common and, sadly, under-treated issue), I highly recommend that you look into getting treatment with a pelvic pain specialist. You shouldn’t have to just live with it. Your pain matters. 

For anyone curious about vaginal dilation in consultation with a specialist, here’s a link to the dilator set I use. I used the red one this time (oddly enough, it has been easier to use than the smaller yellow one. I think my vulva likes its shape better). 

Masturbation Monday