I'm bothered by past regrets. Troubled enough to take action, not in some priest's confessional but with panties lowered and bottom raised. When his spanking of me is done I reply, "I don't feel clean," as I part reddened cheeks wide, "I have deep-seated memories of being bad! You'll have to punish me much more than that..." My pass makes this skilled backfield player go deep. "This will make it better," he says as he presses his point home. And he's correct. It will make me better; not cured, not whole, just better, a momentary fix. I choose to live in the moment, savor the now, as he pleasure/punishes me, as he purifies me, a cleansing of the dirtiest kind.
(I want to credit the artist's work above, it is Celestial Cherub by Becsantus.)