Submisssion is my drug.
It can be difficult to explain to someone who isn’t submissive, and to be fair it isn’t the same thing to all of us, but it is bigger than just spanking and tears. The sexually arousing part for me is more the belonging to someone; for a little while letting him be responsible for my pain/pleasure/function.
He rips my anxieties away like errant weeds from a garden. With the sharp quick pains and constant power exchange there isn’t any empty space left for angsts to take root. The position they would normally occupy is rushing blood and whimpering, intermittent gasps for air between the biting sound of his slapping hand.
When you’re writhing and begging there isn’t time for the whirl of thought and hamster-wheel stresses I normally experience.
Often my favorite place is at his side, as his partner, but sometimes when that is happening, I remember my wet cheek against his thigh, his hand stroking my hair, the resonating exhaustion and contentment in my limbs.
Mostly I am strong, capable, but there are recurrent reassuring cycles where I only need to be his good girl and not anything else.
Have a perfect week, dearheart.