An Absinthe-Loving, Polyamorous, Kinky, Sex-Positive Couple talk about all things Sex, Kink, and LGBTQ.

My First Trip To Deep subspace

Mrs. AP was feeling particularly playful.  She was pouncing me, kissing me, tickling me, holding me, and caressing me in all the right places every chance she got.  We were smiling, we were laughing, and sometimes when we brushed against each other in just the right ways we were trembling with pleasure as well.  We’d been doing this all day, or at least all evening, and as it slowly progressed the evil, delightful, wonderful twinkle in her eye increased in brilliance.  I knew she had something in mind, but as if often the case with the mind of a sadist, I was certain I could never guess.  Goodness, was I ever right on that one.

Upon the suggestion that we should lock the door to take our playful exchanges to a more intimate level, Mrs. AP hopped up and danced over to the door, throwing the lock with a deft flick of the wrist that voiced louder than any statement just how focused her intentions were.  She turned back to me, grinning, that twinkle in her eye so bright it could drown out stars, and very deliberately sauntered back to the bed.  As a question toward her intentions formed on my tongue she grabbed my feet and pulled me to the edge of the bed; the question died on my lips as she lunged forward and merged her lips with mine, her tongue seeking entrance not only into my mouth but into the very recesses of my soul.  With no words at all, she declared me to be wholly and unequivocally hers.   The kiss broke quickly, just as firmly, and suddenly her hands were pulling my shirt up my chest and over my head.  She paused halfway, my vision full of cotton threads as her hand began tracing the contours of my chest, my side, the underside of my arms and back again, meandering with no apparent intent other than to touch me.  Fingertips faded to nails and back again, gentle to firm to nearly cutting, and my nerves responded by dancing into higher states.  My skin became an instrument, Mrs. AP the musician, and she played me until my nerves danced and spun with more fervor than any bolero could ever inspire.   My body betrayed me, breaking control, and I wiggled and writhed under her touch as the sensations reached that point where pain and pleasure began to meld.  I craved every touch while shying away, hoping the overwhelming touch would end while wishing it would be ever present.  A moan escaped my lips as my back arched, pulling away from her, and in that moment my shirt was flying across the room and she was pushing me back onto the bed, leaving my chest and stomach aflame with the lingering memories of her fingers.  I gasped for breath, reaching for something to help me ride the sensations, as she slid my pants down.

Suddenly those nails, those heavenly, wickedly, delightful nails were sliding up my legs.  I thrashed.   Despite of, or perhaps even because of, my dozen years of playing soccer (football for you non-Americans) my shins are incredibly sensitive.  Mrs. AP chuckled with delight as the lightest touch brought me to new spasms.  My breath caught in my throat as she scratched from knee to ankle and back again.  Moans fought for release as she swirled fingers and nails around my kneecaps.   Relentless and persistent, Mrs. AP never slowed, never stopped, just trailed her fiery fingertips up and down my shins, my quads, and around behind my knees and down my calves.  My mind fought for purchase, to make sense of the warring sensations of overwhelming pleasure and undeniable pain, but the miasma created by her ministrations denied me logical thought.  All that existed was the network of power/pleasure/pain moving up from my legs and capturing me.  I was bound, rendered helpless by the constant sensory explosions radiating up from my legs.

At some point every movement of her fingers became all movements.  A touch on the shin was a touch on the knee was a grip on my thigh was a caress in the cleft of my groin.  My body was everywhere and nowhere.  My mind was flying, spinning, dancing, glowing.  Muscles, nerves, veins, arteries all became secondary.  Everything was energy and movement and power/pleasure/pain.  In that moment I understood every religious epiphany, drug-induced nirvana, and lunatic fringe muttering ever proclaimed.   The universe was mine to behold, unwrap, and dissect.  I had ultimate clarity.  For that moment only though, because as soon as I had my hand around it I was gone again, tumbling into magnified pleasure hitherto unknown.

The trembling started in my arms.  Then my legs.  My eyes rolled back.  My hips rolled and bucked.  My cock was hard, or soft, or both, or neither as it was dripping, pouring, an endless flow of preparation for release.  My chest bucked, my back arched, and just like the TARDIS I was off flying through space and time again.  While orgasms washed over my body Mrs. AP continued her assault on my legs.  Somewhere I could hear her chuckling, but it was distant and encapsulated within the moans and groans and grasps emanating from my lips.  No ejaculate rose forth from my balls, no cum rocketed from my cock, but the orgasms rolled me and shook me and sent me tumbling all the same.  For seconds, hours, minutes, and no time at all I rode the climaxes and the climaxes rode me down into the deep, warm, comforting abyss.

Slowly I rose up through the dark, my mind and body reuniting, my world coalescing around me.  I was nude under the sheet, Mrs. AP equally nude and snuggled tight against me.  Her serene smile as she slept burnt itself into my mind, like the afterimage from a flash in the dark, as I drifted back down into the deep.  She’d rolled me, she’d unlocked me, and kicked me into far off places I’d never known existed and was pleased by it all.  Pleased by my reactions, pleased by her skills, pleased by me finding whole body orgasms; I didn’t know if it was one, some, or all, but she was happy and I was still floating and I knew, beyond the reach of doubt or mistrust, that nobody else could ever come close to sending me off to new horizons as she did.

Mrs. AP introduced me to deep subspace, and with nothing more than fingertips and smiles.

 

Stay SINful

Mr. AP

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18 responses

  1. Mmm . . . I’ve already had a “tingling” early morning wake-up from Hubby. And now reading this you’ve got me going again!!! I need to learn more about “subspace” . . . I think I’ve been there (LOL!!!) but can you explain more?
    With best wishes – Modesty

    August 22, 2012 at 4:05 am

    • Short summary version: subspace is that floaty, disconnected feeling that hits a submissive during a BDSM scene. In my experience, it’s very similar to a Runner’s High, wherein one senses what is happening to the body but doesn’t feel the pain or pleasure, only baseline sensation. It’s also similar to a meditative state, in that thoughts can flow through without getting stuck or bogging one down.

      Hitting subspace is most often likened to a “flying” feeling. The “coming back to earth” feeling is called subdrop, and is often accompanied by strong emotional release.

      Scot and Leigh over at The Dom Next Door describe subspace in this post as well.

      Stay SINful
      Mr. AP

      August 22, 2012 at 4:20 am

  2. I love this post. It is almost a BDSM Lite – not too “scary”, but still completely dominating. A great time!

    August 22, 2012 at 9:21 am

    • That’s one of the things I love about the relationship Mrs. AP and I have, and also about BDSM in general. If the point is to have an exchange of power, where one person submits and the other takes control, then the manner of exchange can take any form that works for the couple. Sometimes we’re rough, sometimes we’re not, but there’s never any question of who has control at the moment and it’s always awesome.

      Stay SINful
      Mr. AP

      August 26, 2012 at 12:23 am

  3. ❤ You guys

    August 22, 2012 at 11:10 am

  4. Emen

    I always thought subspace was whatever space I was taking up at the moment 🙂

    Just kidding. Mrs. AP is an artist.

    August 22, 2012 at 12:12 pm

    • She is indeed, and quite the talented one at that!

      And to think, for the longest time I just thought subspace was a long-range frequency used for messages in Star Trek! 🙂

      Stay SINful
      Mr. AP

      August 26, 2012 at 12:26 am

  5. wow once again your words come to life, you are a very skilled writer.

    Subspace is a wanderous feeling just perhaps be prepared for subdrop, i find this happens on occassion but not always.

    x

    August 22, 2012 at 6:20 pm

    • Yeah, I’ve avoided it so far (I think), but mostly be being asleep shortly after any heavy subspace trips. Convenient, that…

      Thank you for the kind words. They are always welcome and appreciated.

      Stay SINful
      Mr. AP

      August 26, 2012 at 12:29 am

  6. Sirqsmlb

    Beautifully written! Subspace has to be the most euphoric place for me to be! Thanks for sharing – go Mrs. AP- you rock!

    August 23, 2012 at 7:27 am

    • She does indeed! She’s my most euphoric place for me to be. Not a day goes by I don’t consider myself incredibly blessed. I try to get that across every time I write about her. Thank you for noticing. 😉

      Stay SINful
      Mr. AP

      August 26, 2012 at 12:31 am

  7. This is beautiful. You put the emotions and sensations so vividly and honestly. Plus, superhot.

    August 23, 2012 at 11:18 am

    • Thank you! I do my best, though admittedly some of my memory of that night is still lost in the galactic clouds. Head trip at it’s finest! 🙂

      Stay SINful
      Mr. AP

      August 26, 2012 at 12:32 am

  8. freakyv

    I had a goal of Swinger getting me off just by playing with my nipples…..it was so hot and it worked.

    August 23, 2012 at 11:18 pm

    • I’ve come close to that with Mrs. AP a few times, but only after getting her worked up and firing away in a few other ways first. If I can hit just that right point where all her hotspots will set her off I have all KINDS of fun with it. 😀

      Stay SINful
      Mr. AP

      August 26, 2012 at 12:33 am

  9. Pingback: T.M.I. Tuesday – Movember 13 « AbSINthePassion

  10. Pingback: Later That Night « AbSINthePassion

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