It starts with a tone of voice; the shift of perspective so clear that I might as well be Alice, suddenly looking at the underside of the table, wondering how I got so small. That tone pierces through all the barriers I’ve put up and what’s revealed is the soft murmur of a brain that’s starting to slow down. The silence is yet to come, but the constant whirring has a catch – a pause – to it now, something that has interrupted the usual cycle.
The blindfold erases my sight, but I’d already stopped seeing what was around me the minute I was ordered through the door. I focus to hear the slightest noise and tingle in anticipation while waiting to feel the pressure on skin that will give me my next direction. We call it play but it’s anything but – it’s communication on an entirely different level. It’s telling each other things we can’t or shouldn’t say out loud; it’s an exercise in trust that amazes me every time.
The soft slither of the rope takes me even further. I’m turning inwards, calming myself, breath evening out and body relaxing. I go deeper and deeper, looking around in amazement at the previously hidden parts of my world. Gone is the constant hum of the never ending thoughts, criticisms, fears. What’s left behind is the stillness that welcomes me and waits for what is to come – relinquishing control. This is my meditation.
I keep control by giving over control. The paradox doesn’t escape my notice, but the trust has long been established and the mantra in my brain becomes, “That’s my good girl…That’s my princess.” His voice. That tone. I don’t have to think about listening because it’s a part of me now and the response is automatic. There’s no reason to do anything but just react. This is a dance I don’t lead, and even though the steps may seem new or out of order, I follow as though I’ve been practicing my whole life. He won’t let me stumble.
The physical discomfort is distanced; it reminds me of the last mile of a race when there’s no room to focus on the pain. I challenge myself to both experience it fully and push through for more. The smack lands on me: I breathe through it. The slap across the face unexpectedly: I breathe through it. My hair is suddenly pulled back and a hand grips my neck: breathe. Experience. Feel. Ask for more. Relish the impact that leaves a perfect imprint of his hand.
The next paradox: receiving by giving. Giving over my body for him to take, to use, for pleasure, for release. Receiving the care and love and trust pouring out of his hands into me. I’ve stilled my mind to take it and when I’m not busy thinking about all of my mundane worries and am truly present it’s mindfulness like none other. What’s it like in his mind? Does he feel the stillness and peace that comes with knowing I’m perfectly obedient to his wishes?
Perfect obedience – and even imperfect obedience – is rewarded. Just as the dive into my mind has shown me new things, the physical pleasures are the constant surprises of a body that had long been relegated to practicality. He says I’m beautiful; I listen. I revel in what I’m capable of and push every limit again as I stretch and enjoy and simply feel every sensation that washes over me. The full body flush and dizzy spin, being completely filled and taken, every touch that leaves me aching and begging for more. When have I ever been so completely at ease?
And in the end, soft touches all over that bring me out from the hypnosis. Arms holding me tightly against his warm body while I try to reconcile the parts of me that cannot possibly understand. A new tone, one of trust and understanding, that makes it possible to do it all over again.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/d17dov/the_subspace_ds_mfpic