“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”
Ever wondered about self-flagellation practices amongst brethren and those who might enjoy it?
Warning: this story explores an overlap between religion and BDSM some might find disturbing. If this is triggering to you, please move on to stories with more palatable flavours.
Never did I struggle so much to say these words … and yet, the thought of what I was about to say filled me with a giddiness at the same time.
I tugged on my robe, barely listening to my brother’s response, as I tried to steady my breathing. “Well, I … father, our self-flagellation practices …”
“Go on …”
“I’m starting to enjoy them. I even look forward to it.” I bite my lip. “Yesterday, I almost ran to my cell.” I clutch my hands together, to stop them from wandering, even though I know my brother can’t see me.
“Ah.” There is a change in his voice. “What is it that you enjoy about it?”
I swallow hard. “The pain morphs into a heady rush. And … I …”
“Did you ejaculate?”
I gasp.
“Answer me, so I can help you.”
“I’m sorry … I did.”
