Punishing the Priest

Well well well, where to start with this one…?

I made another $1k on this trip to San Francisco.  Unfortunately, it was not easy money.

I had three sessions yesterday.  The first was a Roman Catholic priest who really needs therapy, in my opinion.  He had a shitload of shame and guilt about seeing me, and it came out in various ways, starting with the simple act of showing up for his session.

(for the record, I don’t judge a priest who wants to see a sex worker, for wanting to see a sex worker.  They are adult men with natural needs that must be met.)

It shouldn’t be complicated.  I understand it’s in a congested urban area and sometimes finding parking is a challenge if you don’t want to pay big bucks for a parking garage, but come on!  My hotel was in downtown, right off the freeway, and he had my address and room number!

He was 25 minutes late, so I started to text him and email him, asking if he was okay and if he was still keeping our appointment.  Eventually, I got an email from him saying that he was downstairs and his cell phone died, and he “couldn’t remember” my room number.  He was “borrowing” someone’s smart phone.

I went down to look for him, and he wasn’t in the lobby like he claimed! Huh?

Are you full of shit, buddy? I wrote to him.

He materialized 20 minutes later with his cell phone in his hand, wanting to keep the session.  But now, I’m stressed out and rushed, because I had another session scheduled for later in the afternoon.

I kept the session, and I let him have it, once I learned he was a priest.  When he undressed, I saw he was wearing a medal of St. Anthony and also a scapular.

“Wow, haven’t seen one of those in years.  Keeping it real!  Catholic, huh?”

He blushed and looked embarrassed: “I’m actually a priest.”

“No shit? Currently? A full priest? Ordained?”


I started to grill him a little bit, to see if he was lying.  I asked him about Catholic stuff.   Many years of Catholic school gave me an adequate but completely mediocre education…but boy, did they fill my head with theology.  I know the entire mass by heart, and so, so many prayers.

The dude was legit: seminary, eight years of Latin, six years of classical Greek.

When I ascertained that he was really a priest, I landed on him like a ton of bricks.  Readers will know that I am not a fan.  The nuns don’t make me very angry, but the priests do.  All of them.  It’s nothing personal, I just think they’re awful.  The only ones I have respect for are the ones who devote their spiritual path to serving out in isolated monasteries, with only other priests around.  That’s sacrifice and dedication to God.  I can admire that.   The rest of them are in it for the power.  And we all know what they do with that power.  It’s not a secret anymore.

“You’re lucky you didn’t come to me wearing your collar, priest.  I would have made you fucking eat it.  I wonder if I should make you eat those stupid dog tags.”

I’m not going to lie: I rode that man like a donkey.  I wish I could see a video of that session, because I was in fine form.  He really brought out my sadistic side.  I was extremely cruel.  Usually when I top I’m not that mean, because it’s not my personality, but I was mean to that priest, and it was completely authentic.  I was surprised at how angry I was with him.

I made him go to the mirror and slap himself.  I made him tell me the things that he hated about himself.  He smelled bad, and I humiliated him over that, too (I was surprised—clergy members tend to be pretty fastidious, I’ve noticed.  But this one needed a shower).

“Saint Anthony, huh?”  I mocked as I beat him.  “Let’s hear some prayers, priest.  Let me hear you pray.  Pray to your patron saint for the pain to stop.  Let’s hear it.  Grovel to Saint Anthony, and let’s see if he gives you some mercy.”

I was paddling the shit out of him with my heavy wooden paddle.  I beat the hell out of him.

“You know why I hurt you so much?  It’s because I DON’T RESPECT YOU.”


“Roman Catholic, huh?  Church that likes to burn women?  Do you have a flock, priest?  Do they know that you’re a filthy degenerate?  Do you make them call you ‘Father’?”

His ass was hamburger.

“You know, there’s a long history of masochism in our holy Church.  They’d falgelate themselves walking on the road to Wittenburg. Does this pain make you feel closer to God?  Do you feel closer to God right now, you pervert?  Are you going to devote this pain to God?  Consecrate it?”

I was bullying him.  I was bullying him hard.  There were tears in his eyes.

But he still had his erection.

“I’d drown every one of you in the river if I could.  I’d do it with my own hands.  A little baptism that you wouldn’t rise out of.  Full immersion, like a protestant.  Till you were dead like an unwanted kitten in a bucket.”


“Do you see the face of God in me now, priest?  Cause I FEEL like God, when I hurt you.  Did you ever wonder why you chose to love a God who is such an awful sadist?  Do you think He loves you?  Think He loved Isaac?  God loves it when you suffer.   It makes his dick hard.  Let me hear you call on God, priest.  Let me hear you pray to God when you have a bleeding ass and a hard cock.”


“I can’t do that,” he whispered, and he was crying for real now.

No mercy.  Not for these guys.  Sorry.  No mercy in the war against priests.  These assholes with the magical powers who control access to heaven for the rest of us.  Who do they think they are?  Fuck em.  Fuck em up the ass sideways, without lube.  Protestants suck too, but at least they don’t have PRIESTS running around WITHHOLDING AND CONTROLING SALVATION from decent Christians.

Galileo, I thought, I devote this episode of clergy harassment to YOU, homeboy!

The Priest’s dick was still hard, and he didn’t safe out, so I kept going.

“Hear any confessions recently, priest?  Makes your cock hard to be privy to so much information, especially from women, amirite?  People coming to you when they’re scared and guilty, because they need absolution?  They NEED it, so they won’t go to hell?  And they all crave your approval, cause you’re the guy with the magic powers?  Mister Six-Years-of-Greek?  Let’s hear some Greek!  Get Greeky for me, baby!”


Readers, strap-on is not something I like to do in session (although, natch, I’ve done it…I’ve done it with boyfriends and it was fun, but with clients, it’s too personal), but if I had my big fake cock strapped on, I would be fucking this guy.  I’d be making him blow me.  It would be an episode of Facial Abuse.com.

He came so hard that he screamed at the end.

Then he asked to use the shower.

I did something I’ve never done before, and WOULD never do with almost any other client: I denied him.

“You come to me stinking, you can go back home filthy.  And I know you want to have a shower to wash away the pain of the guilt.  Marinate in it a while.  You ever come to me again smelling like BO and ballsack, I’ll turn you away at the door, and it doesn’t matter how good your money is.  A shower takes less than 5 minutes.”

He left, and I had to scramble to get ready for my next session, which was AWFUL.

More on that tomorrow.

P.S.  Here’s another example of his guilt coming out as hostility: he brought me a bottle of wine.

(Obvs, I could not drink the wine.  I opened it and poured us both a glass, and then didn’t drink from mine.)

“That’s nice!” you say.  OF COURSE IT IS, right….?

BUT…it was a bottle of $2-Chuck.  Two-buck-Chuck.

Now, I would never judge anyone for bringing budget wine.  Or even for drinking two-buck-Chuck!  Two-buck-Chuck can be FINE, but it’s to be drunk at home with your spaghetti after a long day.  I am not a wine snob.  You can get perfectly decent wine for everyday consumption for less than $10 at your local Trader Joe’s.

BUT…you do not GIVE a bottle of $2-chuck as a gift.  You don’t.

You can bring budget wine, less expensive than $20 or even $16 depending on where you live in the country….but if you can’t afford that much for a bottle, you SHOULDN’T BE GIFTING A BOTTLE.  This isn’t Christmas Secret Santa at the office!

I know priests don’t make a lot of money, at least at this Priest’s level.  But they do not live in poverty, and, if he wants to give wine as a gift, he can pony up enough for decent house table wine.

He bought that bottle to me as an expression of his insecurity and disrespect.  He didn’t drink any himself, but gave it to me.

13 thoughts on “Punishing the Priest”

    1. Financial services creatures, hands down. So far, though, there are not nearly as many of them in the SF market compared to NYC. I’m getting a lot more engineering and tech guys out here.

      I’ve had 4 priest clients in my career (that I know of…if they wear street clothes and don’t tell me, of course I have no idea they’re priests. 1 was a top and the rest were subs.)

    1. Yup, that’s the truth. And it wasn’t my proudest moment. It’s not my personality at all.

      But, on the other hand: the guy paid me to dominate him. And I did.

      He could have called it off at any time. We discussed this in email when he booked the session (how to safe out of a session if I go too far, or if he’s not having a fun time). I don’t do anything that isn’t consensual. And he’s an experienced player who’s seen a lot of dommes. He’s 55 years old, with a good education. He can take responsibility for himself.

  1. At least he didn’t want to do a young boy scenario. 🙁

    You’ll find out soon if there’s an old boy network of kinky priests in the community if you start getting session requests from others like him.

    1. “Session requests from others like him!” haaaahahahahahaha

      Sure, send em ALLLLLLL to me! I’ll straighten em out! Hell, I might have found my ultimate BDSM sex work niche, now that I’m not allowed to do any switching or sub sessions: Mistress Margo, Disciplinarian of Catholic Clergy! I could get really creative with it! I’ll have em all apologizing for their wrong-headed stupid ideas, like the Aristotle shit, and 2000 years of social injustice and crimes against human progress!

      I can tell you this much: Father Chuck here (so monikered for his shitty wine) is going to need to lock the door when he changes clothes for Mass for the next month, because if anyone walks in on him and sees his ass and upper back, he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.

  2. And your motto can be:

    Mistress Margo. Expiater of Catholic guilt.


    It’s got a nice intellectual lilt to it – sure to attract the well educated clientele you seek.

  3. “Men will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest.”

    (Attributed to DENIS DIDEROT)


    1. Aw, thank you! <3 I was actually scared to publish it because I know some readers will find it obscene. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

      I wonder if Father Chuck will book another session...?

  4. Wow! Just, wow! I’ve never heard of a humiliation session that touched so closely on the sub’s real life. In my own experience, Dommes were hesitant to bring anything real into the session, like humiliating me over my weight, baldness, sexual proclivities, etc. Humiliation was over some task given in session, or was more general name-calling (which could be pretty powerful ).

    Was this pre-negotiated? It sounds like playing with dynamite. How did you know that he was open to this kind of play? Mocking his faith cuts very close to the bone and could evoke some unexpected response.

    You’re right about him needing therapy.

    I feel really sorry from some priests. Being Irish Catholic, I know the drill. In large families some kid is picked at a very young age as a potential priest, and he has clergy uncles and aunts who encourage him. Then at age 14 (14!) he goes to a special high school, a pre-seminary high school, where all the students are planning to pursue seminary and ordination. From age 14 they are taught that their sexual urges are a danger, a danger to their sacred calling. It’s no wonder so many have stunted psycho-sexual development. How can a 14 year old boy make a decision to enter a process that will shape him for a life of celibacy? It’s insane.

    Your description of this scene is incredibly powerful. It was a brilliant improvisation on your part.


    1. Hi John!

      It wasn’t very pre-negotiated. He wanted corporal and he wanted to be “put in his place,” as he put it. All of the verbal humiliation came out of me. I didn’t know he was a priest until he told me. I’m not a jerk to my clients (or anyone else), but I abused this guy. Besides him being a priest, he was passive-aggressive and yanked me around. Not okay.

      Playing with dynamite…? I don’t give a damn. I hope I planted worms in his brain that will make him think the rest of his life.

      Keep in mind, he could have safed out. And he had a stiffie all the while.

      I will consider what you say about how some priests get into the vocation. I’ve never known a member of the clergy at a personal level.

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