Sometimes, there is a momentary loss of humanity. It’s the sadistic mindset of Dommespace, and it both repels and fascinates me. I briefly become the sociopath, and the sociopath is commonly thought to be devoid of empathy. Yet it’s the empathy I get off on. In those moments when she is bent over the banister – folded in half, bound, trussed, face contorted, rump held high, relishing the cool smack of my palm across her buttocks – my humanity is lost, yet does not cease to exist. It merely travels. Consciousness turns to thick, sticky liquid, seeps out, moves. The body I inhabit becomes empty. It thrashes mindlessly, laughing, relishing her pain. And my spirit is elsewhere. For a moment, just a moment, it lives within her. I wear her skin. I see through her eyes. Her cries are mine. When the first tear is squeezed out from between her tightly-closed eyelids, I can only equate the sensation to that feeling during the crescendo of a favourite song, the tingle and rush at its familiar melody, the transcendent beauty that makes one’s knees quiver involuntarily. When I give her pain, I inhabit her entirely. I feel it all, and I love it. That, to me, is Dommespace.