If you are a Domme unsure if you are still experiencing Top Drop (or Domme Drop): Close your eyes and imagine the following scene. (Please stop at any point if you feel the need, for your own mental health, but answer the following bolded question.)
———
SLAM; your shoulder connects with the outside of the bedroom door, and the connection fails right where you directed, and you barge in. The door swings and clamors back slightly off the wall, your head is covered in an opaque mask, you unhesitatingly charge forward toward the bed.
Your partner (who was previously fully informed and consented to your previously-agreed-upon actions, and also, notably, actively, continuously consents via not using a known safe word), in response to your actions:
Simply SCREAMS at the top of their lungs, with the most terrified & panicked expression you’ve ever seen them make melt across their face, all while every last movement of their body language signals their instinctive recoil in blood-curdling terror.
———
QUESTION: How does this make you feel?
———
Option A: I either wanted to stop reading, or I was lightly scared, or more worried of their mental state. I want to comfort, help, and calm. I not only want to guarantee safety, but also confirm that they know this is just play, and not real. I’d probably remove my mask to remind them of this, and sit down and reassure, or maybe back away so they don’t feel claustrophobic. I would not likely want to continue, at least not immediately. (I might also check the door is okay!)
Option B: I feel my blood fucking BOIL. I not only want to make them afraid again (or maybe even perpetuate how long they can’t help but show that beautiful, terrified expression), but also have that emotion seep so deep into their mental state that they (1) fall frictionlessly into subspace and (2) even question if they are actually scared in reality or not. I want them to simmer in that previously-agreed-upon limit-play that makes their finger twitch deliciously over the “Safe Word Out” button. I want to stoke the fire in my chest, and I consensually will take every last thing I want from them to do so.
———
If you said Option A:
You are still experiencing Top Drop. You are the one in dire need of reassurance and comfort, and likely NOT your partner. Do not attempt to continue seeking any kind of hard D/s roleplay, as doing so would still be dangerous to your own mental health. Seek aftercare, or rest if you have already had that secured. Meditate or seek any safe counseling for the knowledge that what you discussed and consented to previously was all a fully-consensual, FICTIONAL event that hurt no-one in real life. Do this BEFORE continuing to a New consensual fictional event (or trying to re-start the current one.) Repeat Scream Test Thought Experiment only after a minimum of 24 HOURS for your own mental safety.
If you said Option B:
Continue with your plans. You are likely not experiencing Top Drop.
Last night my Domme had Domme-drop. I had never experienced this before so I had no idea how I would handle it, but I am quite happy today after helping her.
It began when she put me to bed, so it was already past the bedtime she had set for me. I knew she needed me and did not go straight to bed, instead I asked if she was okay and asked what I could do to help. She told me she was not okay, so instead, I was permitted to stay up and I whispered reassurances to her. I am very thankful to be hers and consider myself very fortunate that she is my Domme.
I woke up in a fairly good mood just knowing I was useful in this way for her. She messaged me this morning to let me know she woke up feeling refreshed and is in a much better mood. It feels so very good to know I could help her. Just receiving these messages both make me want to be at her feet and holding her.
Those prompts are so good. How about "Can I kiss you?" for the maul/satine third of Mobitine?
Oh hello, prompt that I haven’t touched in nearly a year. With COD finished I finally have time to come back to Mobitine goodness.
@the-son-of-dathomir @smarsupial @panthermouth @kinky-space-nerd I know all you dorks want this sweet, sweet Mobitine content. I missed my spiky kinky babies.
Domme drop goodness inside- discussions of kink stuff, but nothing on the metaphorical screen.
-
Maul sat the glass of water down next to the dingy couch in the quiet room, folding himself gracefully to the floor. He would be at Satine’s feet, if she didn’t have them tucked up beneath her.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked, his voice steady.
Mired in her own misery, Satine eyed him. He was calm in the way that meant he was not calm at all, holding himself tightly against his own fear. Her brave boy.
“You may not.” She tried to sound stern, but the hint of a sob in her voice didn’t help. It kept flashing in front of her vision, the bright red of Obi-Wan’s skin, the breakage, the blood- “Is he...” She let it hang, not sure she could keep her voice together.
“I took care of him.” Maul blinked at her, slow and reassuring. “Beckah is looking after him, he has a mug of behot tea, but he worries for you.”
“It’s not me he should worry about.” She muttered. “I- I could have-” Stuttering, she swallowed, trying to keep her lower lip from trembling. She wasn’t a girl anymore, and could not afford hysterics in public.
“You did not.”
“But I could have.” Countering, she unfolded herself a bit to shake her finger at him- and then pulled her hand back, clenching her fist tight enough that her nails dug into her skin. That anger. That was how she’d done this. The anger that made its home under her skin and in her belly, that made her lose control.
“And yet.” Maul said, still too calm. He reached a hand out, catching her fist, and his claws- carefully capped- nestled underneath her fingertips to unfurl her open hand.
Leaning forward, she let him. There were still black marks on her palm from the cane, the damn cane that she hadn’t checked properly, that she could have seriously hurt Obi-Wan with. Maul’s fingertips traced over the marks lightly, rubbing them clean. His golden eyes lowered, he rubbed patterns into the heel of her hand, the base of her thumb.
Her first thought was to stay upright, to pull away. To make herself an island. Allowing Maul to have her hand felt like a violation, like he was putting himself in danger just touching her. Like she was poison.
She breathed. Tried to remember times when Maul and Obi-Wan flinched away, not because they were afraid of her, but because they were afraid of being shown care, of being vulnerable. How deeply she’d known that the true solution was always to lean in closer.
Summoning what felt like all of her courage, she adjusted her posture and curled up on her side, draping her arm out to reach Maul, letting him have her hand. Satine did not often feel like a bomb waiting to go off, but here she was. Only a matter of time away from hurting the men she loved.
“We-” Maul started, his voice less steady. He cleared his throat, the wobble of emotion still there. “You must know that- we want this. This is what we want, what we need, from you. If you did not want to hurt us, then- our wanting you to hurt us would feel selfish. We would feel guilty for what we need, if you did not wish for it as well.”
“I still- I still feel dangerous.” Satine admitted, her voice small. “I still feel like I’m nothing but a soldier, inflicting harm for no reason but nebulous honor that means nothing to any but my own ego.”
Bringing his other hand up, Maul folded her thin palm between his own calloused hands, and nestled his cheek against them.
“I feel like a monster.” She had to whisper it, the fear too close to her heart. “I want things- too much. Sometimes so much that I feel I may burst with it.”
“Yes.” Was all Maul said, and she was grateful for his brievity, so much so that tears welled up in her eyes.
The benefits of having Force-sensitive lovers was that they knew what she was thinking- and adored her, regardless.
He started and stopped a few times in his quest for his next sentence, but Satine didn’t mind waiting. She evened her breathing, and waited for Maul to find words that he hadn’t been raised with.
“This.” He settled on his beginning, and took a hand away from holding hers, to touch the golden chain around his neck. His collar, a necklace that he wore every day, even to sleep. “I- It is so much to me. Physical possessions ought to have no meaning.”
“Yet they do.” Satine murmured. Her boys both knew her stance on the no-possessions doctrines of their respective Orders, had heard her shouting about it many times.
“But- I-” He drew her hand up to his mouth, resting her fingers against his lips. His breath was warm on her cold skin. “The only thing that means more, is my lightsaber. Which is my- my whole self, my own soul.”
Satine sniffled. She remembered picking out the necklace herself, selecting the design, the clasp. The way the thick herringbone design flowed like water. She’d expected that it would be like Obi-Wan’s leather collar- something for play, something for fun. To put on when she took him to bed and showed him how much she wanted him.
Instead, he wore it every day. Slept with a hand around it, curled like a question mark, his thumb rubbing it smooth when he showed nerves. And it meant- almost as much as his weapon. Tears fell from her eyes, but she didn’t notice.
“Because it is you.” Maul continued, his voice shaky and small. “It is- love, and possession, and care. And, yes, pain. Which I need. And you provide.”
A whimpering sound tore its way out of Satine’s throat as she clutched his hand tighter. “Oh, cyar’ika.”
“Monstrous as you may feel.” Maul said with an air of finality, his voice giving out lighter and lighter. “When- You-” His hand starting to tremble, he took a deep breath and stilled it, his eyes closing. “I feel safe.” He said in a near whisper.
Starting to cry in earnest, Satine pulled herself shakily off the couch and rushed forward, crashing close to Maul until he opened his arms and pulled her close, pulled her up as he stood. Luckily his legs were strong, because hers were not, threatening to give out on her. Her wet face dropped down against his shoulder.
“Others need the aftercare room.” He said softly, stroking her back. “We might do this at home.”
“We might do.” She said, wetly. “Where’s Obi?”
“Behind the bar. Safe. With Beckah.” Maul rested his lips against her cheek. “I’ll signal a cab on our way out. And when we get home, he and I can wash your hair and- care for you.”
Nodding into his shoulder, Satine laughed through her tears. She felt ridiculous, but knew there was nothing for it. With some of the miserable thoughts brushed away, she had the clarity to realize how much of this was simple brain chemistry, a drop after an intense scene. “I should see to Obi.”
“He is taken care of. I bandaged him, reassured him. He will need physical contact, but- we are both aware of the procedure at this point.” Maul’s arms tightened around her. “You are not to over-exert yourself tonight.”
She poked him, gently, in the bicep. “Who’s giving the orders around here, anyways?”
“The one who has had no mental breakdowns tonight.” Maul answered, his voice dry. She barked a laugh, and drew back.
His gaze was soft, his lips pursed as though he were about to worry at them with his teeth. Once again, he blinked at her, slow and deliberate. She blinked in return.
“May I...” He started. His gaze flickered to her lips, his expression longing. She didn’t know how she’d ever seen his markings as concealing; his face read to her so easily now, his feelings mapped out in vivid red-and-black.
Leaning in, she kissed him. She was covered in tears and her nose was running, and Maul smelled of sweat and blood, but it was good. It was safe, and home.
