Confessions. Oh yes I’m a product of a Catholic upbringing. There is something about confessions that if done properly can be quite erotic. Typically these started with me and my pet making out. Typical building desire stuff, rough kisses, roaming hands casually exploring whatever they chose, hair being pulled, clothes discarded. My pet ends naked on my lap with me fully clothed. At this point the blindfold goes on. She’s naked, blinded, told to keep her limbs in specific positions effectively binding her as well. I run my nose along her neck, breathing her in, tasting her scent. Completely exposed, naked on my clothed lap. Hands gentle now, petting, stroking. Voice affirming, soothing her, letting her know that even though exposed I want to coax her feeling from her. And then I ask, “Do you have anything to confess?” Sometimes she spills it all out in one rush to get things off her chest. Other times there’s a whole dance required, nurturing her bad feelings out, accepting them, absolving her of them. I listen to everything, even the things that sting. She can’t see me, she has no idea if I wince, flash anger, or just accept and mull on each of her admissions. When I feel that she’s cleared her soul I tell her to lie across my lap. Hands running over beautiful thighs, intoxicating ass. Pure submission. And then the hand comes down. Open handed cracks that fill the room. Her sharp cries. The hurt feelings, misdirected emotions, pent up troubles all melted away in a red hot heat. When needed her hands are pinned behind her in one fist. Communication becomes just barked orders, demands to spread, move, poise as the flesh brought stings travel across bare flesh. Intermixed with gentle touches, soothing strokes. Lasting only so long as needed to clear her soul. And perhaps leave a sweltering heat to remind her of her position.