Copyright © 2014 Corey Harper
Her voice on the phone sounded flat to him, like the joy she usually felt towards him had been surgically removed.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, taking an inward breath she could not hear, as his chest went cold. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Talk to me, baby girl,” he said.
“I’m waiting,” he said. He heard a murmur. “What was that?”
“I said, I have to go,” she said.
“Stop,” he said.
“You need to talk to me. Something is very wrong. I can feel you detaching from me.” He heard a small huff. Then:
“You’re sixty miles away at your house, and I’m here in my apartment,” she said, her voice getting smaller with each word. “Nothing you can do anyway.” Another nearly inaudible breath. “You have that meeting tomorrow.”
“Don’t be so sure I can do nothing,” he said, his voice lowering to a growl. “Explain.”
“I…” She paused. “I don’t know.”
He felt the thread of her slipping away from him. Their bond was usually monumental, unshakeable. Each knew what the other was thinking, almost every moment. She usually spoke it first, because her brain worked faster than his. But they were always in sync, about everything.
“I really have to go,” she said, and before he could reply, she was gone.
He stared at the phone screen, her avatar—the cute little girl sticking out her tongue at him—not making him chuckle like it usually did. It felt like the real little girl, sixty-three miles away in her small apartment, was fading beyond his reach.
She had never refused to tell him her feelings before when he had asked, and when she knew them. Certainly, she was a private person, and in the five weeks and six days they had been seeing each other, and playing with each other, getting her to open up about her core self had been challenging at times. But when she did speak, she was honest, and loving, and always considerate of his emotions.
And until this moment, she had never flatly refused to explore with him what she was feeling.
Usually she welcomed his probing, because he had opened within her a part of herself she had not known existed. A part that, they had both discovered, was who she truly was. She had layered so much atop it that it had taken him awhile to pry all the shielding loose, but from the first day they had met, he knew it was there. And, after awhile, so did she.
But this. This was new.
Two seconds after she hung up on him, she turned her phone off and put it in the drawer of the pink enameled nightstand he had bought her over their weekend together. Rolling onto her side, she clutched to her tummy the stuffed white bunny with the funny pink nose he had gotten her the weekend before.
She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She felt horrid, like having the flu and her kitty cat had died, all at the same time. Even putting on her favorite pink jammies with the frolicking bunnies on them hadn’t helped.
She reached out next to her on the bed and ran her fingers through the fur of her calico cat, Patchy. The resulting purr reassured her that her kitty was well, and her negative thoughts hadn’t hurt her baby.
Shifting, she brought her hands up to her face. The rope marks around her wrists were red, textured, and very pretty. When he had taken her to the dungeon club, he had warned her she would see things, intense things, and that she was to tell him if it got to be too much for her.
She remembered feeling, at that time, that he was crazy. Too much? What she saw when they had arrived felt to her like all the Christmases she had ever had as a child, rolled into one. If anything, it wasn’t enough!
Now, she felt… shattered. Sapped. And the way it felt, she was sure she would always feel like this. It was permanent. Never going away. Sucked.
The way she had felt last night at the dungeon… She could barely describe it then, much less now.
He had done things to her in the weeks before, wonderfully terrible things, and she always felt that euphoria with him. He had told her about private dungeon clubs, which she had never been to. He always made her feel so much younger and more inexperienced than he, even though they were the same age—their birthdays were only a month apart. But he was never anything less than patient and understanding with her naiveté.
At last she had felt ready to go with him to the club. It was a private dungeon, and apparently for exclusive clientele. She was so glad he had gotten her an outfit to wear—if the leather leash and collar, and matching bustier, could be called an outfit. The bustier had garters for which he had gotten her black stockings. And black heels so high she had to hang onto him the entire time she was standing. But no panties. She had felt so naughty walking from the car to the club entrance, nothing over her near-nakedness but an overcoat he’d wrapped around her.
In the two weeks leading up to their excursion, he had told her more and more about what she would see. And she had gotten more and more excited and aroused as the date drew near.
She’d asked him repeatedly what it felt like to be in the ropes, suspended. The numerous times he’d tied her, she had felt a calm flow over her she never knew could exist. For those moments—she never knew how long it was—in the ropes, she began to feel emerge that part of her she’d hidden for so long. That small part.
That little part.
He’d shown her pictures and videos of girls hanging upside down in the ropes. He’d taken her to talk to other female submissives about it. And she never failed to notice the huge, content smiles that came over their faces as they remembered—smiles almost as big as the ones on the faces of the subs in the pictures and the videos.
“Rope drunk”, he called it.
She wanted to be rope drunk. She wanted even higher sensations of that elusive calm to wash over her. It was very hard for her to admit—to him, to herself—but she wanted her little to come out.
That’s what he called it: her little. As in, little girl, baby girl. Sometimes he just called her “bg”, which made her giggle and sigh, all at the same time. After spending most of her life with that ever so tender part of herself closed up, she was finally letting it out with him, every little part of her.
Usually that bad joke they’d come up with—every little part of her—made her giggle as well, but this late Sunday night it just made her sad.
The bunny wasn’t enough, so she rolled over and pulled Patchy to her chest. The cat squirmed for a moment, but settled and started purring again. It wasn’t the first time she’d relied on her kitty for comfort, but in the past it had always been before she’d found her Dom. Now, it was…
She didn’t want to see him, didn’t even want to talk to him. It felt like it was over, like he’d set sail and was far out to sea, so far she couldn’t see him or touch him or call him.
He was just gone from her.
At the moment, she wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing. The very thought of him touching her—or even talking to her—made her want to run and curl into a ball in a deep cold hole. Kind of how it felt now—a deep, cold hole. Like some little trapped animal waiting for the hunter to come and collect her. She felt this relentless pressure from him… What’s going on. Talk to me. Tell me what you are feeling. Blah blah blah.
That just made her never want to tell him anything, ever.
And since this was obviously permanent, this shitty crappy horrible feeling, she knew she never would have to tell him anything ever again anyway.
But that small part of her—that little part of her—way deep inside, was crying. Naked, cold, arms wrapped around herself. Crying her little heart out.
She just didn’t get it. The dungeon had been the most amazing time, even more amazing than she could have imagined. Because he had surprised her after they got to the demo room, when he handed her leash to the rope Dom with the beard stubble and the smirk who was going to do the suspension demonstration.
“Surprise,” he had told her. “Happy six week anniversary.”
She had stared at him agog, and then the impact of what he had done warmed over her like a spring day.
For the next two hours, she had been under the care of the rope Dom—who told her his name was DarkHorse—and he had gently but deftly gotten the ropes around her in what he said would be a “single Futo”. She had no idea what that was, but the moment she was upside down, it no longer mattered.
She could feel her neck veins pulsing against her leather collar, which suddenly felt much snugger. Blood filled her head, throbbing. But none of that mattered; she began to float away.
No, not float. Breathe.
Freedom. For those minutes she was upside down, hanging suspended, she was free. That little part of her came out to play, splashing in the sparkly puddles and catching lazy butterflies. No cares, no worries. No shields. And both Darkhorse and her own Dom told her afterwards that she’d had the most beatific, pure smile on her lips the entire time.
It was the most euphoric she had ever felt.
And the icing on that kinky cake had been when DarkHorse released her from the ropes and returned her to her Dom, who had immediately taken her to one of the private rooms and had his way with her till three in the morning. His very wicked, rough way with her. She still had marks all over her body, which she loved. Those marks reminded her…
He’d told her he was “reclaiming” her. And she’d had absolutely no problem with that. Matter of fact, the instant she’d seen that dark possessive look come into his eyes after he took her back from DarkHorse, she’d shivered and felt her naked pussy flood. He both frightened and exhilarated her.
That was then. This was very sucky now.
And she was done. Done with him. Done with all of it. Sucky suck go to fuck, Mister Dom and your dungeon.
She wasn’t sure how long she laid there like that, her brain flatlined to her feelings. Patchy purred against her chest, and the sound soothed her a little, but the itchy hurty crappy feeling would not let her go.
Hands touched her. His hands.
She started, her eyes flying open and her heart pounding. “What the fuck!” she shrieked. For a moment, she flailed at him, freaked out by his sudden appearance.
“Hush,” he said, wrapping a big fuzzy warm cozy blanket around her. He lifted her up and got himself onto the bed under her, before pulling her into his lap. He settled her against him, drawing her resistant head closer to his chest. She smelled his primal man smell, heard his steady heartbeat thumping.
She heard cellophane crackling, then his voice rumbling through his sternum into her ear as he said, “Open.”
He was trying to push something into her mouth. Her nostrils twitched, she getting pissed he was poking at her, but she opened her mouth for him to put the hard candy inside. Umm. Butterscotch. Her favorite. She started sucking in it.
The remote for the DVR was in his hand, and he aimed it at the flatscreen across the room, pushed the button. The opening scenes of her favorite movie, “Crazy, Stupid, Love.” began playing.
She looked up at him, wonder in her eyes. “What are you doing?”
He kissed her forehead, then her lips, his touch so tender she sighed and melted against him. She still felt shitty, but now a warm little seed was starting to grow in her chest.
“It’s called ‘aftercare’,” he told her. “And it is something I should have anticipated after what we did last night.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You dropped,” he said. “Sub drop, it’s called. I didn’t realize it would be so bad for you, because up till now you’ve sailed through each scene we’ve done together without any problems.” He kissed her again, even more softly this time. “This is my fault, that you are like this. It happens, and it sucks, and I should have been here.”
“You couldn’t know.” She reached a hand from under the cozy fuzzy blanket and touched his cheek, feeling the rough stubble under her fingertips. The moment his pokey whiskers scratched her soft skin, tears flooded her eyes and coursed rivulets down her flushed cheeks. The warm seed in her chest warred with the pain she saw in his eyes as she reconnected with him.
“Yes, I should have known,” he said, pulling her even closer and wiping a tender fingertip across her soaking cheeks. “And I will never leave you again in this state.”
Her bottom lip quivered as her tears renewed their onslaught of her makeup. “I feel like I’m broken. I’m so fucking weak and needy,” she said, the last word a wail as her resolve broke.
He put his index finger under her chin and tilted her face up to look into his. She saw nothing but love and understanding there. For her.
“Never think that. You are not ever weak,” he told her, his words leaving no iota of room for debate. “You are not ever needy. Repeat that.”
She gazed at him a moment to see if he was really serious. He most definitely was; those slate blue eyes drilled into hers as she felt his will overpowering hers.
Her mouth opened, and words came out. “I am not ever weak. I am not ever needy.” Saying the words he’d told her to say made her both feel a little like giggling, and most definitely sighing.
He kissed her, his lips lingering moments longer than she thought they would. “You are a little girl. A little girl needs her Daddy in her heart and head, as he needs her. All the time. I should not have left you before I was certain you were all right. You dropped, that’s it. It’s not weak, and it is not needy. What you feel is very normal. It is a reaction of your body, your mind, your emotions, to what we did.”
He nodded. “You are by far the strongest, most beautiful, incredibly amazing girl I have ever known. You accomplish more in a morning that most people do in a week. Your strength and caring make me a better man.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head, his breath hot in her hair. “Now let’s watch your movie, and afterwards I’ll give you a nice warm bath and wash your beautiful hair.”
“A bath? I like—”
“Lavender-lemon bath salts,” he finished for her. “With bubbles. I know. I brought some. I brought everything you need.” He hugged her tighter, and she felt his strength surrounding her. As she relaxed, she felt a big breath leave his large body, and his muscles relinquish their tenseness. She sucked harder on the candy, feeling that seed of warmth inside her grow and open into a big, beautiful flower.
She was home. In his arms, she was home. Every little part of her.
“Sub drop” is a very real syndrome that can occur after a BDSM scene involving, well, BDSM things. No playbook exists to let you know ahead of time; it’s something you learn by doing.
For Doms, when playing with a new submissive for whom you will be caring after the scene, it’s a good idea to prepare ahead of time, just in case. In our vignette above, the items the Dom brought with him—the blanket, candy, bubble bath salts, her favorite movie—are just a few of the things he can use to ease her through the drop and bring her comfort. There are other items that can help as well: favorite music, stuffed animals, maybe crayons and a coloring book for our little in the vignette. Whatever it takes. Comfort comfort comfort.
So what the fuck is sub drop, anyway?
The play scene builds a girl up to the extremes of euphoria—she’s got endorphins and hormones pumping through her like they are shooting from a fire hose. The more intense the scene feels to her—without going too far past her edges—the more likely she will be to drop from that “high”.
It’s kind of like a withdrawal. A successful scene will engage a girl’s brain, body, emotions, and spirit. The more fully the scene whacks on all those aspects of her, the more likely it will be that she will have a drop.
And it gets trickier: drop can begin within hours after the scene, or can take twenty-four hours or longer to hit.
It can feel like anything from mild soreness and achiness, to full-on depression. Usually it hits a spot in between, where sadness and fatigue and “Get the fuck away from me!” are the result. Depending on the nature of the sub, she may get cranky, or she may withdraw completely as did our girl in the short story above.
Even though it feels like it is permanent at the time—and I mean, it really does feel to her like it is everlasting and she will always feel like disconnected crap on toast—it will pass. To help it pass more quickly, use the aftercare suggestions I made above.
I also have an experimental approach—I’ll call it my “hair of the dog” technique—which I have not fully tested. So use at your own risk, and don’t get pissed at me if it goes off the rails and she stabs you in your eyes: a mild scene. Nothing extreme, but the idea here is toease her down, like tapering off painkillers. Basically, it’s the difference between going cold-turkey, and reducing the dosage a little at a time to minimize the discomfort.
But good luck getting her cooperation after the drop is well underway. For our babygirl in the story, she was most likely too far into it to agree to any more physical activity, but you never know. That’s where the Dom’s skill, confidence, and above all, his intuition about his sub come into play. He should never force her to do something she clearly would not be open to, but if he can gently coax her, pausing each step of the way to assess, he may have some success.
What sort of thing am I talking about? Those who know me know I love anal play, and require the same of any partner I might have (fortunately for me, most subs adore it). If she loves it as much as I do, then that becomes a simple and effective way in, without taxing her system further.
So I might start with lots of caresses to her body, very gently especially if she feels achy and sore. But warm blankets and a warm mouth can go a long way towards getting her to arousal. Maybe a warm bath beforehand to relax her willfulness. I’d take the progression very slowly and carefully to heighten her probably reluctant response, but if it is successful, I would next try some attention to her pussy with my tongue.
And if I manage to get past that watershed, I would use an Njoy anal plug to take her higher. I like the Njoy because of its special shape, its smoothness, and its weight. It’s a perverted work of art. Even though it is stainless steel—and for gawd’s sake warm it first; this is not the time to test her edges—it feels more organic than other materials. The weight itself registers in her consciousness in a very different way from other plugs. And the Njoy is far smoother than the other types, other than a glass plug, which has a different feel altogether.
If I get her to this point, the amount of time I would leave the Njoy in kind of depends on what my gut is telling me she needs. Five minutes? All night? Somewhere in between? I’ll watch her, and decide.
This is just one method that occurred to me, and I’m sure there are others I’ll come up with over time. This one has the advantage of low body impact (again, assuming she lovesanal), but high return on the arousal and positive emotions that would result. So I’d achieve that “taper” effect I was going for, without pushing her limits any further.
The timing would be critical: too soon, and she’ll still be on the “high” from the scene and your efforts will be ineffective. But wait too long, and she may sic the dogs on you if you try to touch her. Again: rely on Domly skill, confidence, and intuition. Know your girl.
Living through a drop sucks for both of you. Doms can drop as well. It’s worse for the female sub, though, in my opinion, so her care comes first. However, as she improves, so will he; a D/s dynamic is nothing if not symbiotic. Maintaining that emotional connection iscritical in this circumstance; if she pulls away, and he lets her, she may suffer for days before coming through it. That isn’t fair to her; she’s the Dom’s full responsibility. And it will happen again the next time, and the next, potentially damaging their relationship. So it is best for the Dom to learn her landscape well, and anticipate what might happen. This takes experience, and trial and error. Find what works for you, and tweak it as you go. Sub drop isn’t the end of the world. It just feels like it, and it will pass.
I swear on my Njoy.
I am posting this with permission from Mr. C. Harper make sure to check out his blog and enjoy !