My partner and I have been toying with some “mild” BDSM in our sex life, including bondage, dominance and submission. I put “mild” in quotation marks because what’s mild really depends on the eye of the beholder. I’m sure many of our friends may consider it much more than mild, whereas those who are more in the BDSM community may consider it quite tame. Sometimes I top, sometimes my partner does. Sometimes I’m the bottom, and sometimes he is.

This next point may seem like TMI, but it’s important to the story. I’m a squirter. This has been a fairly recent development. The first couple decades of being a sexually active woman were fairly “dry” in comparison to the last few years. Now I ejaculate every time I have an orgasm. Yes. Every time. And it’s not a little bit. It’s usually quite a lot, so there’s preparation that needs to take place. Puppy pads have become our go-to accessory. Not very sexy, but they do the job. If I want a warm, dry place to sleep (and protect our mattress!) and there isn’t a puppy pad or other such protection, I need to hold back from having an orgasm.

Armed with that bit of exposition, we can move into the story.

On this particular evening, I was feeling quite submissive and my partner was feeling quite dominant. Sometimes it’s the opposite, but not this night. I had heard of “subspace” before, but hadn’t really experienced it.

Here is a description from ChicoMUNCH:

Within the context of BDSM, “subspace” is a an altered psychological state that is often entered into by the person bottoming in a scene. It is not easy to characterize, because each person’s reactions to BDSM play can be quite different — and even a single person’s reactions to play can vary from scene to scene.
Subspace, in one sense, is much like an hypnotic trance. A trance is any period of narrowly-focused attention. If you’ve been “sucked into” a book or movie, such that the world disappeared for a time, you’ve been in a trance. During a BDSM scene, as you progressively focus more and more on the physical sensations of play, the entire world may disappear, leaving only you, the Top, and whatever is being done to you.
When a submissive is in subspace, they usually don’t want to come down from it, since it is a feeling of bliss that they don’t want to lose. However, all play must end, and what goes up, must eventually come down. It is very important to understand that learning to fly involves learning to land in a graceful way, which preserves the flying experience — because the alternative to a graceful landing is sometimes rather like a mental airplane crash.


That day we messaged each other, as we quite often do, toying with each other a bit. Call it foreplay, if you will. By the time we were alone at bedtime we were both primed. He locked the door. I put on the stockings and garter belt, as he’d requested of me, along with the sexy underwear and bra I was already wearing. I put on some heels to finish off the look. We hadn’t really discussed that this was going to be a D/s kind of night, but we both knew by the energy between us, that’s where it was going.

“Bend over the bed,” he said. I complied. My torso was on the bed, arms above my head, feet on the floor, and ass in the air.

I heard him remove the handcuffs from their box (the kind you actually need a key for, not the ones you can get out of on your own). “Mmmmm,” I said as my lips curled into even more of a smile, audibly expressing my consent. He slid next to me, his body against mine, and lovingly cuffed my wrists, the left, then the right. Cold metal against warm skin. “Mmmmm,” came from me again. He trailed his hand along my arm, my side, my hip, as he stood again. I knew I would do whatever he asked of me.

He removed his shirt, standing there driving me crazy with how sexy he looked in just his jeans. He rubbed my ass, gave me a spank, and rubbed again. Then he went to the closet and got the soft flogger. He ran it up my thigh, between my legs, across my ass. It left my body then came back with more force. This flogger doesn’t cause pain, but makes nice *thwack*. He undid my garter belt from my thigh-high stockings and removed my underwear, then continued to use the flogger and his hands on my bare ass for a few minutes. Then he went back into the closet and emerged with the cane.

I was getting more flushed and warm with each passing moment.

He ran the cane along the line where my thighs meet my ass. As I breathed out, a little moan escaped from deep within me. He hit me with the cane and asked where that swat was in the scale. It was about a four, so he knew he had quite a bit of room to play with. “Lift your ass up.” I obeyed. “Further.” And I did. My ass was as high as I could hold it, my arms still above my head, handcuffed, the side of my face against the soft sheets on our mattress.

He skillfully caned me, reading how I was receiving the impacts. He hit me a few more times. “Seven,” I said.

He opened the drawer on my bedside table, pulled out a puppy pad, and laid it on the bed beside me.

“Roll onto your back,” he demanded. I eagerly submitted, feeling so safe with him. My body and mind in such an erotic state, every touch was electric. Every command, every time he touched me, teased me, every one brought me deeper into this subspace I’d only ever heard of. It was a new experience, this energy. It was euphoric.

He bent down, put his hands on my thighs, and spread me open. I put my high-heeled, stocking-covered legs over his shoulders and onto his back, inviting him to feast on me.

He brought me to the brink and stopped. He smiled a devious smile, his eyes twinkling, fully aware of what he was doing to me. Teasing. In control.

He knew I was under his control. Submitting.

We had played around with floggers, crops, canes, and bondage many times before, but this was energetically deeper down the rabbit hole than either of us had ever ventured before.

He physically moved me so I was back where I’d started. Ass in the air. The puppy pad, my reassurance that it was ok to come, was left beside us. I was aware it wasn’t under me anymore, but it was only a fleeting thought. “He’ll take care of me.” And I was comforted.

He caned me some more, starting around a seven where he’d left off. *thwack* “Oooooo, that was a nine,” I said as the sting stayed with me. He mirrored that swing on my other cheek, then told me to put my knees on the bed. He set the cane down beside us and unzipped his jeans – oh my god, that sound – and removed them. It was obvious he was enjoying this as much as I was.

He rubbed his hands along my body, my sides, my back, shoulders, arms. He reached under and found my breasts as his mouth tasted my back, kissing, biting. Turning us both on more and more, ramping the energy up even higher.

Then he moved his hands back to my ass, and entered me. Wet. Waiting. Wanting.

I was still aware the puppy pad wasn’t under me.

He thrust into me, moaning, our energy in complete sync. Building, expanding together. Climbing at the same pace.

Oh god. The mat.

I was still sure he was going to move it under me. After all, he was taking care of me. Completely. I was sure of this.

We continued to build, pressure mounting.

My mind teetering between security and pure pleasure; and the mat – the mat that still wasn’t under me.

We were flying along the same track together. Closer and closer to an incredible climax. Anticipating the amazing explosion we were about to experience together. At the same time. We were completely in sync. And I was still sure he was going to grab the mat and slide it under me, slide it into the space between my legs.

Then, as we were both about to come, I had to stop. I had to stop as he kept on the trajectory we had both been on only a second before. He came hard. Completely. And I had to stop. I had to stop because he didn’t think of me in that moment.

I broke down. I collapsed on the bed and I started to cry. “He was supposed to take care of me.” Those words kept going through my head. “He was supposed to care of me. And he didn’t.”

And he knew it.

He knew in the moment he was climaxing that he’d fucked up. He’d felt my energy drop like a stone. I was his submissive and, as my top, my Dom, my partner, he’d fucked up. There was really nothing he could do to make it all better. I had felt one hundred percent safe and secure in his care. I was SURE he’d look after my needs.

And he didn’t. I was devastated. I was broken. I crashed right out of that amazing subspace when he let go, severed our joined energy, and went on to reach the summit without me.

He held me. Let me my cry. Comforted me. Apologized. Owned it. He knew he’d fucked up and he did exactly what he should have in that moment and owned his fuck up.

He cared for me as I crashed – a crash he knew he’d caused.

I’m still safe. I’m still loved. And I’m still feel secure knowing he won’t fuck up like that again. (Maybe in another way, but not like that again.)

It’s a journey we’re on together. Side by side. Hand in hand. I’m looking forward to playing in this space again.

We fuck up. We learn. We move on. We do better.

About Anon

Anon could be anyone. The guy sitting across from you at the coffee shop. The mom in the schoolyard. Your neighbour. Your friend. Anyone. Anon could be you.