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!

Smut Saturdays #9: I Want To Make You Melt

Image is of a blade of grass in sharp focus with a single drop of clear liquid halfway down it as though it's about to fall off. The grass is bright green and the background is just a darker green blur.

Every fourth Saturday, I’ll be posting erotica I’ve written, based loosely on my own real life experiences or fantasies, for your wanking enjoyment. They’ll all be under the category ‘Smut Saturdays’ and if you’ve got any feedback or requests for smut scenarios, put ‘em in the comments or hit me up on Twitter @KinkyAutistic!


Last week, I wrote a post about bratty bottoms/subs. Then my period hit, and, as usual, so did a tonne of angsty, horny energy.

I started thinking about topping a whole lot more.

Specifically, I was thinking about topping a pliable, obedient bottom – someone like the unnamed sub from Smut Saturdays #6. My mind has been wandering during long train journeys and uni lectures alike to the image of a cute, wide-eyed and mostly unremarkable-looking guy lying on a bed, naked except for the rope or cuffs that would pin each of his limbs to a different corner of the bedframe, starfish-style. For the sake of clarity and convenience, we’ll just call him ‘A’.

I’ve been imagining myself clothed, kneeling next to the bed and skimming fingertips or fingernails up and down A.’s thigh, watching his face intently. He inhales sharply when my fingernails press hard enough to leave little raised stripes behind, but otherwise stays relaxed, his face neutral and his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. He’s excited to be here, and he’s putty underneath my scratching, pinching hands.

For a little while, I entertain myself just with his thigh, alternating between caressing, scratching and pinching, and occasionally yanking a thick, curled leg hair from its follicle (which makes him twitch and whimper, but the pain is so short-lived that he relaxes again as soon as I’ve discarded the hair and returned my hand to his leg). My attention span is woefully lacking, though, so before long I stand up and examine him. He just watches me, smiling shyly when I catch his eye. The trust that radiates from him is dizzying, and I almost feel guilty for all the things I’m about to do. But his twitching erection reminds me that there’s very little to feel guilty for, since he’s at least as enthusiastic as I am.

The bag of toys I’ve brought along for this encounter is already by my side, so I bend down (making sure that he gets a good few seconds to stare at my arse, which is probably clad in skin-tight leggings) and start rummaging. I want something thuddy and not too mean to start out with, so I pull out a mallet – the little rubber-coated kind you get for hammering tent pegs into the ground. I sit on the edge of the bed, my arse level with his waist, and hold the mallet in my right hand. (I have to bite my tongue to avoid making a joke about it being my dominant hand.) Still watching him intently for any sign of reluctance, I all but drag the mallet to the meatiest part of his quadriceps and raise it.

Then I bring it down again. Hard.

A.’s breath leaves him in a soft whimper and I pause, but he looks me directly in the eye. All his embarrassment about his nakedness and his throbbing cock seem to have evaporated, and his pupils are dilated with what I’ll later realise is lust. Our gaze meets just long enough for him to have the opportunity to safeword, and he doesn’t – so I hit him again.

And again. And again. I lose count of strikes and turn both his thighs a radiant pink. I get bored of that and choose something meaner – a knitting needle. 5mm, aluminium and stingy as they fuckin’ come, with a pointy end for poking and scratching.

“This is a lot stingier,” I warn him, and he nods, eyelids heavier now he’s in subspace, and he takes one… two… ten… twenty-something hits with the bastard thing, it and my wrist zipping faster and harder through the air. He starts off whimpering and ends up wailing, especially when I aim for the exact welt I’ve just made with the strike before.

A. whines, “Yellow,” and I put the needle down and lean forwards to kiss his forehead. There’s a thin layer of sweat there and I lick it from my lips as I sit back and consider my options.

I decide to untie him. He doesn’t seem to fidget much, and this way I can get him on all fours. The whole repositioning process takes a couple of minutes, which gives him a chance to recover slightly from the knitting needle. Then, once he’s on his hands and knees, his eyes on the pillow and his arse in the air, I give him a gentle-ish spank to reintroduce him to pain.

I won’t bore you with the half-hour or so of spanking, punching and bruise-yielding mallet wielding that follows, because it’s awfully repetitive – but I’ll mention that I often think, in great detail, about ending the scene by saying, in my best nurturing-dom(me) voice, “You took that so well and you looked so hot doing it. Would you like your ass eaten as a reward?”

And because this is my fantasy, A. always answers, “Yes, please, Sir – I’ve been thinking about your tongue for weeks.”

Bratty Bottoms and Me

Image is of two brown, horned mammals (possibly goats) butting heads, both their gazes directed at the ground. The background is just beige dirt.

I used to identify as ‘mostly dominant’.

This probably comes as a shock to anyone who has known me or known of me (in real life or online) for longer than about 20 minutes. I’m collared. I’m in a 24/7 power exchange dynamic wherein I’m the submissive one. I’m very often cruisin’ for a consensual bruisin’ and I love bottoming in humiliation scenes. Nowadays, I identify as ‘a sub-leaning switch’, but the things I actually do paint me as a sub with an occasional willingness to do some service topping.

What happened?

Well, for one, I actually tried submission. When I was insisting that I was the Dommiest Dom™, it was on a purely theoretical basis – I’d not yet done any kink except some weird (and sometimes ethically dubious) text-based roleplay. I picked out the label of ‘dominant’ when I was fifteen or sixteen, absolutely bubbling over with teenage angst alongside my fascination with kink. When I started playing in real life, I gave submission a go “for science” and fell in love with it instantly.

I didn’t lose my love of topping and domming, though. When my first serious relationship became non-monogamous I almost immediately sought out cute subby humans to flirt and sext with. When that relationship fell apart, I ended up in my first triad, dating two other switches.

It was a disaster.

The thing is, some of the play was awesome. I did more impact topping, power exchange, butt stuff topping and humiliation topping than I’d ever done before, and some of it was amazing – hot, exciting, addictive. But some of it wasn’t.

The girl from that triad I’m no longer seeing was the person I beat up more often, spat on more often and more often demanded she call me ‘Sir’ (and, on occasion, ‘Mummy’ – but that’s another post altogether). This was partly a matter of logistics; our other partner (whom I’m still dating) was living a couple hundred miles away, whereas we were often within an hour or two of one another. It was also because she initiated play a great deal more often, in person and over messages, which eventually turned into pressuring me & our girlfriend into things… which is, again, another matter altogether.

She was my first sub, though that power dynamic wasn’t 24/7. She was also the person I’d impact topped most intensely, the first person I’d topped in a CG/l scene and the first brat I’d ever tried to top. The emphasis is on “tried”, because I wasn’t very successful.

I’m a Slytherin and a Leo. I don’t know how to process being unsuccessful. It’s something I’m working on, but if I’m unsuccessful at a non-essential activity or skill (like bowling, swimming or domming), I’ll usually drop it and conserve my energy and resilience for being unsuccessful at things it is essential I master – like referencing in MHRA format or crossing roads safely. When faced with a bratty sub, who was resistant to punishments and obsessed with backchatting me, I felt unsuccessful – especially since this was my first real-life experience of power exchange and topping. So, for quite a long time, I dropped it.

The problem is not with bratty subs. I love bratty subs – I love watching them interact with their dominants in play spaces, I love their energy, I love the idea of them challenging a dominant partner and helping that dominant grow. My personal style of submission leans away from brattiness, but I wouldn’t have a problem with topping or domming a bratty sub – except in a situation where the brattiness was unexpected. The above-mentioned girl I was playing with would sometimes be impeccably obedient and eager to please, and then, with no warning or negotiation or indication of why, she’d switch to brat mode and I’d get overwhelmed. The problem was one part me (a baby dominant, insecure at the best of times and very often riddled with Top Impostor Syndrome, struggling to understand brattiness from a sub’s perspective) and three parts lack of communication. If she had conveyed to me what she liked about being bratty, that I was doing everything ‘right’ and/or that she still respected me as a top, a Dom and a partner, I would almost certainly have relished topping/domming her in Brat Mode as much as I did in Obedient Mode. As it stood, scenes would end with me confused and frustrated, unable to understand what had gone ‘wrong’ and why I couldn’t get her back into Obedient Mode, and I didn’t feel able to voice any of it. I thought I was just a bad Dom.

So now I’m a little scared of topping or domming. I still love it as an idea, but I’m worried about having that same sense that I’ve done it ‘wrong’, leaving scenes hurt and insecure instead of happy and uplifted. It sucks to feel that you’re not good enough in any context, and topping/dominance is a particularly vulnerable context to feel that in. I’m especially intimidated by the thought of topping brattier bottoms, even though I’ve seen firsthand how much fun they can be, because I’ve somehow conflated brattiness with a lack of negotiation and even a disregard for my consent – just because the first and only bratty bottom I’ve played with was being bratty without my consent (and violated my consent in plenty of other ways to boot). That’s a whole bunch of My Problem, of course, and I recognise how illogical and unfair it is that I have this unease around bratty bottoms – but I wanted to write about it, in case any other tops out there had played with bottoms who were unexpectedly bratty and/or behaved non-consensually, and who felt or feel the same way I do. It’s pretty normal to mis-attribute feelings of unease, insecurity and hurt, but I know from hanging out with them that there are plenty of bratty bottoms who are good communicators, consent-conscious and respectful.

At least, they’re respectful outside of a scene. 😉