We’d been playing for a while that morning, indulging in the luxury of an empty house and a rare day alone together, the children at nursery and our holidays aligning. It was relatively early in our D/s, maybe a year or so in, and we both still felt the frenzy and hunger to do it all. Cuiplash had carefully planned an elaborate and full scene, and we were already an hour or so into mixed impact play. I only knew how long it had been afterwards.
I lay naked and face down on our bed, my arms stretched above my head like a diver, shielding my face as the flogger falls whipped across my upper back. Up and down the length of my body from the soles of my feet to my shoulders they landed, hypnotic in their rhythm as he threw a repeated figure of eight across my form. I can no longer remember exactly what else he had used or in what order, or at what point he stopped talking to me. But I do still remember the sound of the flogger hitting the floor, then the bedroom door opening and then closing as he walked out.
I lay still for a few seconds, assuming he’d gone to fetch something he’d forgotten, my ears straining to hear him as I expected his footfall on the carpet any moment. Nothing. I became concerned so I rose to my knees and waited. Still nothing. I was worried now so I called on him. Silence. Now, he’s not in the habit of suddenly leaving me alone during a scene having never done it before, or since, or into head fucking me this way. I called on him again, my voice betraying my rising panic.
He immediately returned and sat down next to me. “I’m sorry” was all he said. It was like a different man had walked back into the room. He appeared to have the weight of the world on his shoulders when not less than an hour previously he’d been entirely in charge. He looked broken, sad and lost. I remember my mind, still somewhat compromised from the intensity of our play, increasingly whirring with confusion and concern. I didn’t understand what had happened and I remember wanting to cry.
He’d dropped. Hard. Unexpectedly and right in the middle of whipping me. He felt devastated he’d left me, disappointed in himself for being overcome with doubt over what he had spent the best part of an hour doing to hurt my body. His wife, his lover, his best friend and the mother of his children. He explained he’d suddenly felt so overwhelmed he had to leave the room to try and get a breath, and he felt so sorry for letting me down because he’d needed to do that. He could barely get his words out.
Selfishly, I’m ashamed to admit, my immediate gut instinct was that it had been my fault, that I had caused him to drop by doing something wrong. Or not doing something I should’ve done. Placing expectations on him, expecting something unrealistic, wanting this too much? Guilt over being the potential cause of his distress flooded my consciousness and I was aware of balancing on the edge of a massive emotional trigger event when he pulled me back. He took my face in his hands, demanded I look at him and spelled out that I was not to blame. He did not let go until I accepted that.
We curled up together in silence, then began to talk it out. He’d been tired and was not feeling entirely well, he’d placed too much weight on remembering his overly complex plan. He’d focused intensely and physically exerted himself for too long and had experienced a sudden overwhelming cognitive dissonance over what he was doing. He’d felt an emotional and physical overload and had tried to do the ‘good’ thing, the ‘strong’ thing to push past it. And he’d simply crashed.
He badly needed aftercare and I wrapped myself around him, and massaged and stroked and kissed and snuggled him. I got him a drink and a biscuit and kept him cosy. I told him I’d enjoyed what he’d done greatly, that it was what I’d needed and wanted and I held him so tightly. Together we replaced doubt with belief, concern with assurance, insecurity with confidence. I soothed and calmed and surrounded him with my love. We laughed and it helped to lighten the load. We cared for each other that afternoon. Under the covers we slowed everything down, we just talked and touched. Gently, our needs were met by just looking after each other. And that is what is most important under all the kinky fuckery, what enables the kinky fuckery to happen in the first place. He knew he was still my Dom, and I his sub and it was all ok, despite how devastating it had felt to both of us at the time.
He’s never dropped to that extent again since, although has absolutely experienced many instances of post play drop, as have I. We put a number of things in place to prevent something similar happening to him again. Time and experience has since helped us both too in terms of confidence, understanding and having realistic expectations of ourselves and each other. We no longer feel we need to rush and do it all, all at once, that our basic day to day love and care is often more than enough.
Dom/top drop is just as physically and emotionally exhausting as sub/bottom drop, and it is really important to know about this and recognise it for what it is when it happens. Drop doesn’t just happen when there’s a problem either, we’ve both experienced it after our most exhilarating and fulfilling scenes. It’s easy to suddenly view the Dom as some strong infallible being that is in perfect control of themselves and everything else around them, as that conveniently feeds the fantasy, but at the end of the day they are just your partner, your husband, and your best friend and holding them to some standard you can’t even meet yourself is unfair at best and damaging at worst. It is not weak to experience a perfectly natural and understandable physical and emotional reaction to play.
What will affect and work best for each person will be very individual of course. It’s easy to feel like it’s the end of the world at the time, easily giving rise to major setbacks in your dynamic, but as with all of it, communication and a lot of caring goes a long way. Some people make good use of a drop kit, and include things like a soft blanket, sweet snacks and music. Sometimes you both just need to be patient and kind to each other and yourselves and wait it out. We now know what it feels like, how to recognise it and how important it is to alert each other, in doing so we’ve learned what works best for ourselves and each other when and if drop strikes.
What was an ‘abrupt end’ to a kinky play session became the beginning of a deeper understanding and appreciation, strengthening our D/s foundation in the process.
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