On Top of the World: How Does Topspace Feel For Me?

Greyscale photo of Morgan, a white nonbinary human with piercings, holding a mini flogger and smirking at the camera to suggest they're in topspace

I’ve written before about all the difficulties I have with topping. It’s a headspace I find deeply nerve-wracking, which is part of why I don’t play with it all that often. But I do play with it – something keeps drawing me back towards topspace, despite my fear of it.

The thing is, I do have a sadistic streak. I love the faces that hot people make when they’re in pain. I love the way that bruises look on skin. I love the warm glow of pride at knowing that I did that, especially when a bottom is as pleased as I am with the results. More than that, though, I love the fact that someone likes me enough and trusts me enough to ask me to beat the shit out of them. The thing that really turns me on about sadism isn’t so much the amount of pain I inflict – it’s being permitted to inflict that pain in the first place. There’s something so beautiful about a bottom looking up at Topspace Morgan with wide, grateful, endorphin-flooded eyes, and it makes me giddy.

The same is true when it comes to other types of topping, including tying people up and bossing them around. I feel the same awe and childlike glee at my own power – physical or psychological – when I’m topping as one might feel when they’re in charge of the breaktime snacks in Year 6. And, just like with breaktime snacks, I also feel the full gravity of my responsibility to the bottom with whom I’m interacting – but that’s no bad thing. It adds to the sense of importance and effectiveness I feel, and makes the successful execution of whatever I’m doing even more satisfying. Plus, being in a position of responsibility automatically activates some primal, protective part of me, turning me into a nurturing (if slightly evil) top who only wants the very best for their bottom. When “the very best for [my] bottom” translates to “hitting them harder and spitting in their mouth”, it feels like the whole cosmos has aligned in my favour, because I can display my affection towards my partner by doing things that are going to get me soaking wet, whilst rendering them the same lust-drunk mess they turn me into just by whimpering and squirming.

Topspace is a much more coherent, “adult” headspace for me than any of the others I’ve included in this miniseries. I have to stay alert to every aspect of a scene – is my partner comfortable? Are their hands turning purple in their handcuffs? When did they last have a drink of water? How close are they to their limits? – which means that I can’t just let my brain melt into warm goo when I’m topping. Again, though, that has its advantages: namely, the vigilance that topspace forces me to maintain means that I enjoy every minute detail of a scene, rather than letting it all melt together from under a blindfold or through the blur of choking-induced oxygen deprivation. It makes me feel like a conductor, observing and managing every part of a gorgeous (and filthy) symphony. In topspace, when my anxiety lets me enjoy it, I feel so damn capable.

There’s also a hedonistic, super-indulgent element of topspace for me. There’s a human I fancy directly in front of me, and they want me to use them however I see fit. It’s like having an entire Terry’s chocolate orange to yourself, except sexier, slightly more challenging to navigate, and way less monotonous and sickening than eating an entire chocolate orange in one sitting would be. I feel a little bit like my arousal and satisfaction are the most important things in the world, or at least that they come in at a close second behind my partner’s enjoyment (and safety!). Topspace is a lot like some of my other headspaces in that regard, but the whole thing is flipped so that I’m in charge of whether and when I get fucked (or eaten out, or massaged…). It’s like the hedonism of pupspace put through a kaleidoscope, transformed and glittering and nearly unrecognisable, but still from a similar source, sharing a lot of the same colours and blurred shapes. (I recognise that this is extremely abstract, but it’s so hard to put words to these hugely emotional experiences!)

I love topspace in part because of how much it differs from other headspaces that I access more often. I also love it simply because it feels delicious, and I can wield it to make bottoms feel delicious, too. Writing this post has made me remember exactly how delightful topspace can be, and I’m glad I’ve put words to it, because these words will serve as encouragement next time I (or you, maybe!) really want to consensually beat someone up but feel frightened or inadequate or any-other-thing.


This post is the final-for-now installment in my Headspaces Miniseries! If you loved it, you could support me on Patreon, or follow me on Twitter to hear more of my thoughts about kink and sex and more!

Paws for Thought: How Does Pupspace Feel For Me?

A selfie of me, Morgan, a white nonbinary human with facial piercings, with a filter over it which gives me a little black nose, whiskers and glasses, to emulate puppy play and also as an excuse to make you look at my face.

I used to be sort of intimidated by the notion of puppy play. Like many people, when I first encountered it, I saw images of people in leather hoods, with their hands bound up in mitts to imitate paws, and I felt disconnected from the notion of being a pup. It didn’t help that so much of the imagery I saw only featured cis gay men, either – it seemed, from the outside, more like a leather community subsection than a kink in its own right.

Unbeknownst to me, though, I’d already been doing bits of puppy play in my everyday life. My friends loved to fuss my head and ask, “Who’s a good Morgan?” to witness my excited response, wherein I would flap my autistic little hands and proclaim, “I am! I’m a good Morgan!” I responded to my dominant partner at the time whistling to get my attention. I loved to follow orders (naturally) and to chew on things. I already was a pup – I just didn’t know it yet.

Being a puppy, for me, is akin to being in littlespace in that it’s very sensory-seeking and it feels very self-indulgent, but it’s a touch more primal. Little-Morgan will follow instructions because they want to be good, and because they don’t really have a reason not to, whereas Puppy-Morgan will follow instructions as a result of some instinctive drive to submit (and to obtain head pets). Little-Morgan will engage with sex stuff because a grown-up told them to and they’re an anxious-preoccupied people-pleaser, whereas Puppy-Morgan has the sex drive of, you know, an animal. (Incidentally, humping a wand vibrator is the number one way that I get myself off, and there is something deeply animalistic about humping things.) When I’m in pupspace, there is no logic or self-doubt or apprehension between myself and what I want. Pupspace is an unapologetically horny, impulsive, rowdy headspace for me.

With that said, though, it’s a bit trickier for me to access pupspace. That might be because it’s a little further removed from my ordinary headspace, or it might be as a result of some internalised shame – both because petplay is regarded as weird in a way that Daddy kinks, at the very least, are not, and because of the aforementioned disconnect I feel from other puppy players. I have no interest in dropping large sums of money on hoods and mitts (partly because they look like sensory hell for me) and I don’t feel connected to the cis gay male community, since I’m not cis, not male, and only “gay” in the nebulous, queer sense of the word. I still have a degree of Impostor Syndrome around my experiences of puppy play and pupspace, which is part of why I’m writing this – to reassure other puppy players that their way of engaging in puppy play “counts”, even if it doesn’t look like what other pups are doing.

There are a lot of ways I can pull myself into pupspace, especially with external help. I often have to ask permission to get onto the furniture, and having that permission denied and being forced to sit at my Daddy’s feet makes me feel very much like a pet, rather than a person. Head pets are always a good bet, too, but tummy rubs (on days that my eating disorder isn’t acting up too much) feel more pup-like to me and therefore more pupspace-inducing. Another great way to access and indulge in pupspace is through “training” – there are particular commands that Puppy-Morgan is learning, like “sit” and “paw”, and carrying those out successfully often earns me a puppy treat (note: in my case, these are usually things like Maltesers. Do not eat actual pet food, because it is bad for human tummies. Cadbury’s do some excellent, very dog-biscuit-esque treats called Joy Fills if you’re absolutely desperate for realism whilst you’re playing as a pup). I sometimes worry that maybe my need to induce pupspace, rather than falling into it naturally as I do with other headspaces, is a sign that I’m not really a pup, but logically, I think it’s obvious from my protective, playful nature and the joy that I access through pupspace that I was destined for puppy play. Plus, kinks don’t come with entry requirements! You don’t need gear to be a pup and you don’t need to play or feel any particular way. There are as many types of puppy players out there as there are actual breeds of dog, and you can play however you like as long as it’s consensual, risk-aware and fun.

(And, if you were wondering, I’m a miniature American Shepherd, and a damn cute one at that.)


This post is part of an ongoing project called the Headspace Miniseries, where I explore the different subtypes of subspace I experience. If you like this, share it around, look at my Patreon, and check out the other posts in the series – you know the drill!

A Little Bit Naughty: How Does Littlespace Feel for Me?

Morgan, i.e. me, a white person with big hazel eyes, in littlespace with an adult pacifier in their mouth.

It’s here: the return of my headspaces miniseries. This time, we’re gonna explore littlespace, the headspace accessed by consenting adult kinksters who are into ageplay – playing at regressing to a much younger age. Personally, I don’t have a clear idea of what my “little age” actually is. I think it fluctuates between three or four (speaking in full sentences but can’t be left unsupervised) to about eleven (occasionally stroppy, but excitable, witty and precocious). Some people have a clearer idea, and some don’t – but, regardless of the age I regress to, how does it feel?

Well, you know how some friend groups have a designated “mom friend”, who always has painkillers and snacks and who looks after the rest of you? I’ve always been the “baby friend”. I cry easily and often; I need reminding to eat, wear a jumper in winter, and refill my meds; I hoard sparkly, fluffy and chewy objects (which makes me a very easy person to buy gifts for). I never mean to be an absolute mess, but my friends all seem to know that I am one, and they’ve all taken me under their collective wing. I think that’s an oddity for ageplayers. I think, a lot of the time, people who are little in scenes are very big the rest of the time, and littlespace comes as a welcome break from being sensible and responsible and rational. And I am big, when I absolutely have to be – but I struggle with it, and I spend a lot of my time on the periphery of littlespace.

I discussed littlespace with a therapist once. She was one who’d already reacted positively to mentions of BDSM and polyamory, but I was still nervous to bring up the fact that I sometimes pretend to be a small child. I had already disclosed that I grew up with some, um, less-than-ideal father figures around, and you can pretty much tell just by meeting me that I have an anxious-preoccupied attachment style that is almost certainly a result of my turbulent childhood. My therapist was, thankfully, very understanding of the role of littlespace in my life as a means to relax into myself and experience the joyful, carefree childhood I’d missed out on when I was actually a child. She told me that it was only a problem if I felt it was a problem, and that it sounded like a comfort and a useful tool for me. Viewing littlespace as a tool for healing, rather than as a simple indulgence or, worse, an unhealthy coping mechanism, reflects more closely my perspective on other aspects of BDSM: that it’s both a valid, healthy pastime and a way for me to connect with my body and my self.

Littlespace feels, for me, like being myself, but magnified. I let myself lean into my sensory-seeking behaviours. I get incredibly excited over little (ha) things, like purchasing sweets or a new stuffed toy. I’m always letting adult things fall out of my mind as a side effect of the autism, but when I’m little, I all but shove them out. It’s a happy, peaceful headspace for me. The paraphernalia associated with littlespace is a dream come true, too – I own half a dozen pacifiers and so many stuffed toys, which are perfect from an autistic sensory-seeking standpoint. I also love colouring, as so many littles do, and having something repetitive and creative to focus on can quiet the loud voices of anxiety and depression in my brain. Being little is like being in a warm bath: I’m comfortable, at home in myself, and under no pressure from the outside world beyond having to brush my teeth and be in bed on time.

And, on the topic of being in bed: some people don’t mix littlespace and sexy stuff. The taboo surrounding children engaging in sex acts is, for some people, too strong, and that’s understandable – but it’s the taboo that can make ageplay scenes so appealing for so many people. I like pretending not to understand what’s happening during a littlespacey fuck, letting my adult-brained partner do all the hard stuff like removing my clothes and figuring out what position we’ll take. I relish the idea that I’m so irresistible that my Daddy cannot keep his hands off me, no matter how little and wide-eyed and innocent I am. It’s not as straightforward as some consensual non-consent scenes are, though: most of the time, Little Morgan really wants to do the sex stuff. They like how it feels, and they love pleasing their Daddy. But it remains a CNC scene nonetheless, because I’m feigning an innocence that prevents me from giving informed consent. Even at my oldest, when I’m in littlespace, I’m too “young” to meaningfully consent, which is what makes it so deliciously taboo. And it is delicious – so delicious that I revisit the same corruption of innocence storylines in roleplay with my Daddy over and over again, asking, “Why’s that hard?” and “What are you gonna do?” until, fuckdrunk, I abandon all pretence and beg him not to stop whatever he’s doing, even if I’m too little to ask for permission to cum.


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