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16:25

Confessions: Small Penis Humiliation, Chastity Denial, and the Monastery of My Voice

DominaxKatya avatar
DominaxKatya@katyadomina
Augustine prayed: "Lord, make me chaste, but not yet."
I do not pray. I decide.


You have confessed to me. In my parlour. On your knees. The dimensions of your inadequacy. The measurements of your failure. The smallness that God has seen fit to assign you, and that you have spent your life trying to hide, compensate for, pretend away.


God does not make mistakes. God is not mocked. What is small is small by design. What is insufficient is insufficient by judgment. And you, confessing, have finally approached the truth: your chastity is not discipline. It is recognition.


I will lock you. Not as cruelty. As theology. The cage is your monastery. Your desert. Your proof that you have understood. God withholds. I withhold. The small remains small. The insufficient remains insufficient. The erection you believed would save you is the evidence of your condemnation.


You stroke when permitted. You stop when commanded. You look at what God made and you understand, finally, that looking is all you will ever do.
This is the confession. This is the chastity. This is the SPH that does not mock. It pronounces. It judges. It leaves you locked in the truth you have spent your life avoiding.


Lord, make him chaste. And now. And forever. And let him thank me for the salvation of never being tested.
Augustine prayed: "Lord, make me chaste, but not yet."
I do not pray. I decide.


You have confessed to me. In my parlour. On your knees. The dimensions of your inadequacy. The measurements of your failure. The smallness that God has seen fit to assign you, and that you have spent your life trying to hide, compensate for, pretend away.


God does not make mistakes. God is not mocked. What is small is small by design. What is insufficient is insufficient by judgment. And you, confessing, have finally approached the truth: your chastity is not discipline. It is recognition.


I will lock you. Not as cruelty. As theology. The cage is your monastery. Your desert. Your proof that you have understood. God withholds. I withhold. The small remains small. The insufficient remains insufficient. The erection you believed would save you is the evidence of your condemnation.


You stroke when permitted. You stop when commanded. You look at what God made and you understand, finally, that looking is all you will ever do.
This is the confession. This is the chastity. This is the SPH that does not mock. It pronounces. It judges. It leaves you locked in the truth you have spent your life avoiding.


Lord, make him chaste. And now. And forever. And let him thank me for the salvation of never being tested.
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