Secret Life of a Devout Christian Dominatrix

On Saturday night I don latex and beat men with paddles. On Sunday morning I go to Church. Are these two forms of devotion really so different?

Illustrations by K. Wroten | Story edited by Lilly Dancyger

When the worship music faded, I found myself in tears. I was certain that I didn’t belong in church. I sat in the balcony because I didn’t want to interact too much with other church members, lest they sense something was amiss. I wondered if anyone could tell from the hastiness of my dress that I’d spent the night before tying up dicks and caning men. I’d taken extra effort in changing. I so desperately wanted to avoid mixing my dominatrix clothes with my church clothes that I kept them in separate drawers. But they always seemed to tangle up. I was always at one place thinking about the other. My identity as a dominatrix was in conflict with my presence at a Sunday service. These things couldn’t stay separate in my mind.

A month before that Sunday, I had come across a matter-of-fact Craigslist ad that read “Koreatown Dungeon seeking dominatrix.” I was restless and uncomfortable in my skin, looking for something outside of mys…