Deep in Subspace, I Finally Find Release

"The crying comes on like an orgasm."

By Ever Westwood

Note: This piece of nonfiction depicts BDSM and rough sex. Please use your judgment reading if you find this type of content triggering.

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Illustration by Beatrice Black

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I don’t look like myself. Or at least, what is staring at me from the mirror in my bedroom seems different from any reflection I’ve seen before.

Maybe I’m more myself than ever.

Kneeling on the ground, hands behind my back, in a black, lacy bra, matching panties, and fishnets. You have a kink for fishnets, and it must have taken all your restraint not to rip them off me already. But I could tell from your sinister smile how much you’ve wanted to.

I’ve made my eyes dark with makeup. But the liner doesn’t account for the fire behind my eyes. The hunger.

My mouth is open, only a little. And my long hair is wildly tousled, swooping over one eye. I’m breathing heavily, like an animal. That’s it, I’ve just realized. That’s how my eyes look. Like they belong to something primal.

The mirror image is shocking and also fascinating. I’ve never seen myself look so much like I belonged in a dirty movie before.

You are standing behind me, I can see you in the reflection, too. Your face is pressed in my hair, whispering to me. That I’m such a good girl, that this is exactly where I’m meant to be, open and kneeling before you. That you want to tear into me.

I have been lost for a while, floating above myself, my body vibrating while I soak in your words. Until something tells me to open my eyes and look outward. Gaze into the mirror.

My reflection gasps as I make eye contact with it. I’ve never seen her look so aroused. Or so helpless. Or so fucking beautiful and free.

And now you are in front of me, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck. This is all it takes for me to melt, just your warm hand holding me down firmly. The pressure and heat make my body shiver, soften. I would do anything you command when you’re holding me like this, whatever you want, but I have never said that out loud. Maybe I don’t need to. You seem to know this anyway.

Your eyes, blue-green and wide, are exactly level with mine now, so close that they blur my vision. I can feel myself slipping into those eyes the longer I stare at them, as if they are luring me forward. Don’t worry, they say, just breathe. Just lose yourself.

Your other hand slides into my panties and begins to lightly brush my clit with your thumb. The sensation snaps me back into the moment, keeping me from fully leaving my body. There’s a hardness in your eyes. Demanding me to sit there and feel it, even as spasms shoot through me. Then you slip a finger into me and make a low, pleased growl.

“Oh, god… You’re so wet for me.”

“Wonder how that happened,” I whisper, always the little brat.

Your finger curls further into me, somehow soft and firm at the same time. You swirl it in a slow, circular motion. Coaxing my body to let go, to give even more of myself to you. Your grip on my neck tightens, forcing me to hold still and take all of it, sit with every second of this onslaught of pleasure. Waves of it pass over my body until I can barely think. There’s just your hand, and your eyes, holding me.

“Feel it and sink deeper for me,” you whisper before kissing me, plunging your tongue into my mouth.

“Yes, sir.” Yes. Anything.

“Give me your tongue,” you demand. “Now.”

My lower lip is quivering as I open my mouth more for you, and you pull my tongue between your own lips, sucking on it slowly. Another way I’m held by you. I can feel your body vibrating as you groan against me; I love your pleasure sounds.

You tear your mouth away and stare into my eyes again. There’s something different in yours now. The primal hunger is still there but is now mixing with something more tender, maybe a quiet astonishment over my submission to you. I try to take a closer look. But you slap me in the face, and I am on the floor, on my hands, gasping.

“You like it when I smack the shit out of you? Huh?”

I melt into child’s pose on the floor in front of you. My face is still tingling. You are rooting through your backpack. I can hear the movement of different textures. A slink of metal, a soft thud of leather. And then a sharp cutting slap, your hand hitting my thigh.

Fuck, please do it again.