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