In stressful situations when we’re told to picture our happy place, most people picture a beach, a library, or maybe the gym. I picture myself with a throat full of cock, tears and spit running down my face, choking for air that isn’t mine to breathe.
It is less about the place- I could easily picture myself bent over a table with a belt on my ass, or tied to a bed as a wand assaults my clit. It is much more about the space it represents: subspace.
Subspace is a place of softness, vulnerability, and trust. It is a place for me to be truly seen, (be)held, and free of my usual armour. It isn’t easy to get to, but it’s very worth the trip.
The entry into subspace for me always begins with the physical. My body needs to be challenged for my mind to get a surge of the chemicals that help it to let go. I need my focus to be monopolized by sensation, my mind working to absorb the physical strain on my body and methodically fight its instincts to flee. Once my body and mind are properly occupied and overwhelmed, I am usually able to cut the threads of my mind that tether me to my armour one at a time. I cut them systematically, one at a time, as you would peel an orange. For each blow my body receives, I can filter that sensation to my brain and use the force to let go a little bit more. Soon enough, I am floating.
I think of this as surrender; a beautiful (if intricate) process of letting go- cutting one thread at a time, shedding the daily armour little by little so that I can feel lighter and more connected. Alas I cannot get there alone, but when my surrender is invited and facilitated by a Dominant partner, the neuropathways required to get there are mostly well travelled.
If you’ve read my personal stories, you likely know my process well. I feel my fight or flight response taking over, I take the steps to focus my mind on relaxing my body, and I can then surrender myself to my partner, severing one thread at a time. Thrust by thrust, blow by blow, the threads that keep my armour on can be cut away, revealing more of my softness and clearing my cluttered mind.
When I live in that subspace, I feel at peace. I am focused, but I am also free. I am taking direction, unconcerned with my usual need to perform or be palatable. The weight of expectation, perception, and judgement disappears. I have a very clear road map for the interaction- all I have to do is hold on, and it feels like I can do that forever. As my armour erodes, the slaps don’t hurt as much, the breath doesn’t feel as urgent, and the forced or denied orgasms are fairly blunted. Where I flinched, I now float, sometimes with a smirk or serene smile, until he is finished with me.
I had an interaction recently that reminded me of a different kind of subspace- one I have only visited a few times. A space not accessed through purposeful surrender, but through compelled submission.
One where I am not in control of cutting the threads. One where my armour is stripped from me, whether I am ready or not. One where even the pieces I can’t figure out how to let go of- or I don’t even know I am wrapped in- end up scattered on the floor.
This space is not accessed through domination of my body. That’s the primer, tenderizing me to make me pliable enough for the real work to begin. Physical submission comes easily to me, even when it’s really, really hard. This subspace appears at my physical limits, through the methodical erosion of my mind by someone with enough skill and insight to get under my skin- and a bond with enough trust for me not to resist (or sometimes recognize) the signs until it’s too late.
I reflected in a previous post about the tension that I find in my submission between performance and surrender- how my desire to please remains as a very strong thread throughout a scene, and is sometimes uncomfortably similar to my compulsion to perform. Even if my mind is clear and my body is floating, there is usually still an underlying shadow of sharpness.
One partner calls it the “attitude in my eyes”. It lies mostly dormant in a session, but is easily accessible, particularly if I start to feel unstable. Sometimes it manifests in a sharp look, other times a quick retort- just a little something to regain my footing as he shakes the ground. Sometimes it’s a silent awareness in my body- a reassurance that while I am floating, there are still enough threads to tether me to the ground if I need to land. It’s what holds back tears if I am not ready for them to fall, and it’s the whisper of (self)consciousness about my partner’s experience.
When I cut the threads to free my mind, I still control the degree to which my partner sees me. When he begins to cut them, I lose the last of my control.
So how does it happen?
Little by little, and then all at once. Like relaxing into a bath, and not realizing the water is boiling until you’re already cooked. The exact strategies and circumstances have been different each time, but have a few things in common.
Extreme physical overwhelm laid the foundation. Whether through impact play, face fucking, or orgasm control (usually an expertly scaffolded combination of all three), I was flooded with chemicals and drained to the point of exhaustion. Taken all the way to my limits, over and over again, remaining just shy of a safeword.
Intense dialogue played a role, though the exact flavour seems to be less relevant. Sometimes it’s gentle encouragement to take more physical stimulation, other times it’s a more unyielding challenge- both with the goal of occupying my mind just enough to keep me on the scene side of a safe word. Limits are pushed further and further to incapacitate any form of resistance. Another time it was explicit, repeated, and insistent direction (permission) given to cry, laced in a threat that the stimulation wouldn’t stop until it happened. In that particular instance the direction triggered defiance, until I ran out of it.
Something unexpected is the final (and newly realized) ingredient to my unravelling. I rely on patterns a lot in my life, and submission is no exception. One of the things I enjoy so much about BDSM is that it has a clear set of rules and expectations, and I don’t have to work as hard to anticipate or predict. They differ of course between partners and dynamics, but once the rapport is built, there are certain things that I can typically count on. I use these things as an anchor as I methodically cut the threads of armour.
For example, a partner’s tone- some are gentle, some are more formal, some are more harsh. I know based on the partner how I can expect to receive direction, and how I am expected to implement it. When the partner’s tone changes, it’s jarring- and it puts me off-balance.
When I am off balance, my partner can cut a thread.
I had a partner who was usually quite harsh- he once softened, and it took me by surprise- I softened too, and the next thing I knew I was crying. Alternatively, I had a partner with a much gentler approach treat me like an object for a session- the degrading lack of human connection from someone usually so connected absolutely crumbled me.
A recent example was a breach of the rules. I asked permission to cum. I was denied. I did what I had to do to bury the impending orgasm. I asked again, a few minutes later- and was denied. The process repeated, and repeated, and repeated. I am very good at orgasm control, and I am used to being denied by this partner. I can ride it out, because I know eventually he will say yes. When I started to doubt that fact, I switched from asking to cum to begging him to stop. When he told me he wasn’t going to stop until I came, I asked for permission- he said no. I finally realized that he was forcing me to cum without permission- to give up my pride in my skill and succumb to my limits, putting them on display for a partner that I long to impress. It broke something in me.
This kind of subspace- the kind that is imposed instead of elected- is intense. It’s scary, quiet, untethered, feral serenity. My body and mind are deliciously numb, both empty vessels free of…everything. I don’t tend to move or react much to physical stimulation, beyond just absorbing it. I tend to get quiet, lost in the vastness of an empty mind.
I don’t have an inventory of my remaining armour or threads, and am unable to prevent my partner from cutting as many as he likes. There is immense vulnerability in this space, being as bare and unguarded as I ever am, fully dependent on and beholden to another. There is also a certain relief and power in that kind of trust (on both sides), with me knowing that whatever he breaks he will put back together- and him knowing that he has earned ultimate care and control of both my body and my mind.
When I finally come back, it’s as if I have been to the moon to have my brain rinsed and wrung out while I float without gravity. It is a refreshing reset that I can’t really put into words, like an excavation of the soul.
Happy place indeed.
NB: The subsequent crash can be hard, if only because the ride was so intense. Equal and opposite, and all that- but knowing and preparing for it helps to maximize the benefits of such a trip. Let me know if you’d like to learn more about navigating the crash.
Down the Rabbit Hole 