After the storm comes the hush, that delicious, dizzying edge where reality rushes back in, and the world is washed raw. Last week I rambled about Doms, safewords, and all the intricate knots we tie—not in rope, but in trust and anticipation. But the truth is, those knots must be untied with just as much care as we used to make them, and that’s where aftercare comes crashing in, trailing streamers of dopamine, remnants of adrenaline, and the inevitable drop. I’d be remiss not to get tangled up in this topic, because aftercare isn’t an accessory to play; it’s the thread that holds the whole chaotic, beautiful tapestry together.

Let’s not play coy: aftercare is for everyone. Doms, subs, switches, doesn’t matter what badge you’re wearing tonight. The body doesn’t care about your title; those hormones get released, those chemicals flood your system, and whatever space you were in—sub space, Dom space, Rope space, some strange liminal valley between—you’re coming back, one way or another. And coming back can be rough. Sometimes it’s like tumbling out of a dream, sometimes it’s a crash landing that leaves you gasping and shivering, no matter how euphoric you felt just moments before. The rituals of aftercare are as wildly individual as fingerprints. For me, it’s always water or electrolytes first; my body craves it, and I’ve learned the hard way what dehydration can do when you’re coming down from a high like that because I will without fail forget that I need fluids and just float. Give me a super soft, fuzzy blanket—one of those ridiculous ones that seems to trap warmth as if it were spun from clouds—and I’ll vanish into it like a cat. Physical closeness is everything for me: cuddling, gentle touches, a hand in my hair, someone’s heartbeat steady under my ear. Occasionally, a snack appears, and suddenly the world feels a little less overwhelming, my blood sugar levels smoothing out the chaos in my veins. I will never forget the day after a really hard play scene that the Domme fed me while I was snuggled in. I wanted to grab the food and give her the plate she made for herself while I sat near by however she was very firm on the “enjoy the high little one and let me care for you as I should, you did good.” She then proceeded to feed me while I was wrapped in my blanket. This was new years eve many years ago and to this day there is nothing more I enjoy after then being cared for this way though I never admit it as I prefer it to be their idea as then it actually means something. I will never forget it though and I will always keep it very special.

But I’d be lying if I said it’s always so simple. The medical side is a beast with too many heads. There’s the psychological—anxiety, flashbacks, that gnawing sense of vulnerability that can hit with the subtlety of a tidal wave, AuDHD, PTSD and more. And then there’s the physical—blood glucose dipping, bruises and soreness, the ache in muscle and mind that sometimes doesn’t show up until three days later though that is rare given I prefer harder play even edge play and can often be called a masochist. It drives me insane that I can’t always predict what kind of aftercare I’ll need, and that sometimes even the most well-intentioned plans can get derailed by a stray panic attack or the slow, creeping fog of drop. I’ve learned, sometimes the hard way, that drop is an opportunist. Sometimes it’s immediate, lurking just behind the fading rush, and sometimes it waits—hours, days, until you think you’ve escaped it, until the world feels normal again and suddenly, nothing makes sense, and the blues grip you with icy fingers. This is why it is so critical to cover what you do know you may need with this, plus have your ‘flare’ bag in your aftercare supplies. This holds the things you may need like a squishy, the glucometer, pain meds which in my case are really not needed unless I move really wrong then it just pisses my body off a bit more then most people. There is also honey sticks as it is thicker and harder to choke on so no matter what state you are in your good consuming it even with help unless your out cold but that would have never happened if you use safewords on both sides. There is also for me a hair brush as that is always soothing as hell, there are of course other things however this gives you an idea.

That’s why negotiation isn’t just about what happens during play. It has to include aftercare, every time, for everybody involved. What do you need? What do I need? What happens if anxiety rears its ugly head, or if one of us starts to spiral after the fact? I want to know, and I want you to know, because the chaos of not knowing is so much worse than the awkwardness of asking. Some people need space after, some need silence, or a dark room, or a soft voice and a cup of tea. Some want laughter, others tears, there are even some who want to be left the fuck alone for a few minutes or they want to go to their bff like I had a friend do when we were at a dungeon. She thought she didn’t need aftercare, it was more she needed a bit to gather herself and since I was there she leaned into me. With dungeons it is a different ball game as you can play with people you don’t know the best or explore new things. This was her first time at a dungeon and she just wanted to sit outside, lean into me while I had a smoke and wrapped one arm around her. I am very big on if you bring someone to a munch (gathering where the only kinky thing is the convos), dungeons, small play parties at a house, even lessons that some people will organize. If you bring someone with you, you make damn sure that you know where they are and that they are okay no matter what. Often when I have someone with me, especially another submissive I will not play that evening if it is a dungeon. House parties are different as I tend to know and trust everyone there however I keep in mind that I need to ensure they get home safe not just bug out and abandon them. There’s no right way, just the honest way, and the only thing worse than skipping aftercare is assuming you know what someone else needs.

And let’s not forget that Dom space is just as real, just as fraught with risk and reward. I’ve seen Doms come down as hard as subs—sometimes harder. The adrenaline, the focus, the intensity of control, and then the release, the exhale, the responsibility. Sometimes the aftermath hits like a truck: guilt, doubt, exhaustion. I don’t believe in leaving anyone hanging, least of all the person who held the wheel when things got wild. It’s a shared responsibility, follow-up isn’t optional, it’s essential. I’ve seen what happens when it’s neglected—relationships fracturing, trust eroding, shadows stretching long into the future.

It’s easy to romanticize the wildness—those hours when the world narrows to two (or more) bodies, when language dissolves into skin and sound, when boundaries are both tested and fiercely respected. But what lingers, what roots itself deeper than bruises or bite marks, is how we care for each other after. That’s the legacy of any scene, the quiet testament to trust: who brings you back, and how. However when I was on the wrong side of Dom drop the one and only time I didn’t do proper research which was my first year we were trying something I adored and he had never tried the scene itself went well however the next day he was so hard on himself and didn’t reach out that it turned into a hard limit because of his own self recrimination. It happens and sometimes you can’t get past that hell I have a couple of my own that are drop related that are now limits. The goal is to reduce the odds of that and to ground all those involved.

The trust doesn’t end when the scene does, you don’t just say thanks and fuck off well unless that was really well negotiated before hand. You make sure you follow up, it can be a simple text of “I got home safe and going to bed.” Or “I got home and I am feeling a bit down can we talk about.” Of course there are other kinds of messages lol but that is also part of after care, just as doing the exact same thing the next day “Hey, how are you doing today?” It is basic you would think to do this with something so powerful and yet I am actually starting to run into people who go “what is aftercare” and that my friends makes me want to hurl and become very very afraid for other submissives and Dominates.

Sometimes aftercare is a slow return, a gentle coaxing from the edge; sometimes it’s a rescue, a lifeline thrown across the void. I’ve found myself, more than once, replaying words whispered in the hush: “You’re safe. You’re here. I’ve got you.” There’s a certain alchemy in those moments—a ritual of re-grounding, of rebuilding the shape of yourself in someone else’s steady hands. It’s not always soft—sometimes it means witnessing the shakes, the tears, the laughter that bubbles up once the mask falls away. Sometimes it means letting someone see you messy and unguarded, trusting that they’ll hold the pieces until you’re ready to gather them again. Other times I am the one cuddling my Dominate to show that I still trust them, that they didn’t go to far, that I enjoyed it and it isn’t just words. This is especially key with certain kinks such as humiliation, I wont go into all the kinds of play today at least as there are many and I would have no hope of naming them all. Sometimes that cuddling is needed both sides, grounding and I enjoyed having your trust is what it says to me and for them to say I am perfectly okay with what happened, I still trust you.

And the truth is, aftercare doesn’t end when the blanket comes off or the last sip of water is gone. Sometimes it’s a message the next day, a check-in that says, “Still thinking of you, still here if you need.” It’s remembering to honor your own boundaries, too—asking for what you need, offering what you can, and forgiving yourself (and each other) if you misstep. We’re all learning, all the time—what heals, what lingers, what calls us back when the lights come up and the music fades.

Because in the end, aftercare isn’t just about patching up what’s frayed. It’s the art of weaving connection, of saying: I saw you. I see you still. And for all the storms we chase, all the edges we dance along, it’s the way we come home—together—that matters most.