"Bless me Father, for I have sinned."
The look on his face told me I took him by surprise. He had come back from saying hi to some friends to find me kneeling down a large, circular bed, my hands pressed together in prayer. At our local sex club on their monthly kink night, surrounded by friends, partners, and strangers in various stages of their evening, the bass of the music pulsing through the walls and the bodies of the space. And here I was, deep in prayer, on a bed made for an audience, with an eyebrow raised.
We had talked briefly about this kind of scene before, but had no plans to perform it tonight. My catholic upbringing, long since lapsed, had impacted me in ways that Father Duncan would most definitely not have approved of. It gave me a fixation on rite, on ritual, and on submitting to authority. But lately, it made me miss Confession. In the confessional, I could be honest about all of my deviant desires and wicked ways, and after a few Hail Marys and a promise to be better, I could walk out with a clean slate, light as a feather, and ready to get back to my depraved thoughts. I'm not sure that's exactly what the church had in mind, but I liked my version better. And while I'm long past my days of stepping foot in a Catholic church, I really missed that experience of confession and had talked with my partner about bringing that into our play at some point. And unbeknownst to either of us, that point was tonight.
So I knelt there, face forward, watching him out of the corner of my eye as he processed my proposal. We'd never planned this scene out specifically, but he's always been a great improviser, plus, we've been in a healthy, communicative partnership for a while now. I know him, and I trust he knows me, my wants, and my limits. I see the gears turning in his head, weighing our past conversations, our environment, our arsenal, as he formulates a plan. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and exhales slowly. He opened his eyes and shot me a wry smile that sent shivers up my spine: it's happening.
"Have you now?" he said, composed and intrigued. I closed my eyes to let his voice wash over me. "All things are forgivable through repentance, as you know." I felt him circling the bed as he spoke, surveying his domain, reading my body. I feel him sit down on the bed in front of me. "What sin is it you wish to confess?"
I open my eyes, staring straight into him, and I say with a smirk, "Lust."
He held his composure, staring me down, letting the word hang in the air. Finally, he said, "Lust comes in many forms. Lust for power, lust for wealth, lust for fame, lust for knowledge. What is your sinful lust?"
"A lust for pleasure" I said, my words making it manifest in my veins. "I yearn constantly to be touched, stroked, grabbed, held, pinned down and fucked. I fantasize about pleasuring strangers, licking and sucking every inch of them until they explode in ecstasy. I fantasize about them pleasuring me, their hands, their tongues, all of them, using every inch of me as they wish, until I'm a ball of sensations popping all over my body."
His fiery eyes betrayed his calm demeanor, I felt him getting hungry as I went on. He took a moment to steel himself, and said casually, "Thoughts are sinful, we all experience temptation at one time or another. The key is to not give into those temptations. Are you giving into those temptations?"
"I am", I said, failing to play into the shame I'm supposed to feel in this scene.
"Oh my, that is troubling," he said. He beckoned me, "please, continue, tell me of your sinful indulgences."