I left the dungeon and walked south on 6th Avenue, feeling alive and powerful. Was this top space, the elusive top space? The muscles in my arm recollected the motion of swinging the strap.
I heard her gasps and tiny sobs (recognizing sounds that had at times come from my own mouth). I watched her struggle to keep her body still, to accept. I also felt her vulnerability and her need. I felt honored that she trusted me.
“Good girl,” I said, and meant it. I touched her neck briefly. She was not looking for sensual — definitely not sexual — play, and I meant my touch to be soothing, affectionate, affirming, in between the harshness of what I was doing to her.
Her bottom gradually turned pink, then a little darker. Eventually she bore the wide rectangular red swatches left by my strap, and the mottled patches of discoloration where the paddle and hair brush had struck. She was submissive, although “submission” in the popular way it it understood in our culture was not what she wanted. She was not looking to crawl or kneel, to obey orders, to be forced to do sexual things. She needed a good thrashing, that’s all, and that’s what she got.
Afterward, I gave her a hug and asked her about the intensity of the scene. I like to hear feedback; if I’ve misread a bottom’s verbal and physical signals, I feel bad.
She said it was just right: Intense, like she was looking for, not over-the-top brutal.
So I left feeling good. I stopped for coffee a few blocks away, deciding to take a restroom break while I was there. A man held the door for me (as they should) and as I walked out of the coffee shop I noticed him watching me. I was dressed like anyone else on the street — jeans and a button-down shirt, not “sexy” per se. But he was watching me and it felt good.
In the last block before the subway, a young man fell into step next to me and began talking to me. It was a running monologue about the loneliness of the big city, and how everyone seemed to be cooler than him. I thought he was a little off but I acknowledged him and let him ramble on until I reached the subway steps. I had not wanted a “real” conversation with a stranger, but again I felt a little pleased by the attention, and the notion that I was “cool.” Was I emitting some kind of aura? In any event, I was in a good head space and I ran with it for the rest of the evening.