From the padded cell, I can hear the hum of the party upstairs. Laughter and movement. I’m not a part of it. Not anything right now. Just another pet being pulled around and used. When you first put the leather hood on me up there, I became aware of the eyes that might be looking. It doesn’t matter who looks now.
The cuffs holding my arms are tight and comforting. My breaths are hot and deep. Each inhale pulls the hood in. I can make out pinhole shapes if I try, but I’ve closed my eyes and long given up. The vibrator attached to my cage has taken over.
The door opens, and big hands begin to grope. Hard fingers push against my plug. My nipples are pinched and stroked. You give one of your familiar uh huhs. I’m warm and eager, wishing I could pull my arms around. You’ve only been gone minutes. Mindlessly, I raise my legs in the air, and let you press.
Satisfied at the mess, you pull me to my feet, and onto a table. Legs apart. Silicone out. Metal in. You strap me down, and switch on the electro. Floating, so focused on you, listening, wanting to do good, waiting.
Going.
I let go so easily with you. Your poise. How you read my squirms. The smile I can hear as I writhe and struggle and cum. You are huge. I am tiny.
You stop humouring me to talk through the kit to another dom watching. Only then am I aware others are in the room, bar you. You talk about me like I’m not there.
The electro cranks up. The pain barely registers as the spasms roll on. I am focus, breaths, sensation. You keep me on the edge of orgasm until I stop panting and go limp.
That’s a good pet, you say, stroking my head through the hood. gooood pet. Pure elation. I cum again. Obvious words slip out. I’m cumming, Master. Thank you. Oh, you’ve cum again? aww.
You crank up the knobs. Words cease.
—
That empty-headed, highly present and off-planet mindstate. I had no resistance to it.
The community talks of a rush of endorphins by way of explanation. And the traditional elements of subspace were all there. The overstimulation. Being pushed to breaking point over a long scene. A wonderful mix of pleasure and pain. But what made it a deep subspace goes beyond that.
—
Your eyes are fully gone, baby, she says, sitting her thighs on my face. My arms are pinned. I daren’t move, anyway. The hint I might get to touch her has me stuck. She shushes every whimper, and carefully places my body back to zero if I fuss. Her voice is so gentle, and her eyes so encouraging, but that doesn’t stop the power in each graceful move, and the fear of failure if I break composure.
I can hear each movement she makes from below. The fingers sliding in. Her soft breaths. Skin on skin. Finally, agonisingly, she lifts my arm, places the fingers in my open mouth to wet them, and lets me feel her. She rocks back and forth, with a tight grip on my wrist. It takes everything not to wriggle. She rides until the arm loses feeling.
No, not quite right. she says, rolling off. I hold still. Eventually turning back, she lets me lick her sticky fingers instead, and watches me be still while she plays. My arms stay where she left them.
When she finishes, she scoops me up into her chest, and tells me I’m perfect. I sob.
—
I still blush remembering how tiny I felt beneath her, with just mental restraints.
Her approach is obedience over enforcement. That requires devotion and belief on both sides. I believe I am less than her, and my body reacts accordingly.
When I obey, everything outside becomes accessible. Everything inside becomes floaty and meaningful. She becomes god.
—
He orders for doll. the waiter looks confused. she stifles the words ‘thank you’, knowing that’s not allowed. tension is everywhere. they know W/we are doing something weird. she can’t look Him in the eye, knowing He can see her discomfort. knowing He is probably smiling. He moves a hand to her thigh, and squeezes.
her body relaxes.
doll exhales, and remembers the positioning. legs apart. mouth open. hands together. pleasing posture. piecing herself back together.
she traces a line between His shirt button and his eyes as she looks up. reaching them, she begins to dissolve. everything bar Him does.
muscles slack. no thoughts. just the soft details on His face. just the hardness in His stare. so still. so safe. so simple.
He doesn’t need words anymore. a long look and she is gone.
doll clings onto His shirt, and plays with the fabric with her thumb. all that she can manage bar looking. His eyes are on doll, proud and strong. hers flutter and water as she holds position.
He lifts a hand, slowly, deliberately and clicks His fingers. drop. she slumps into Him. drool pools on her legs. He fixes her necklace, and keeps her there until the drinks arrive.
—
The world shrinking, personhood reducing, reality bending experiences I have had with subspace can’t always be chalked up to an endorphin rush. Lying on a bondage table with an electro plug hammering my insides, maybe at a surface glance. But why can I find that feeling while giving head, or lying still, or looking into my partner’s eyes?
I’ve come to realise that surrender creates the experience. Surrender allows absolute presence and devotion, without questioning. Surrender to the experience, and you find peace. Attach that surrender to a person to worship, you find purpose.