How to describe the sensation of electrostimulation? It’s like a hot tattoo needle pummelling your skin. It’s like a highly concentrated, strobing sunburn. It’s like the snap of a razor-sharp, sun-heated whip.
It’s like trust, like vulnerability, like catharsis. It’s like letting your partner usurp your will. It’s like floating in a subspacey haze, vaguely wondering from afar how long this has been going on and how long it will go on. It’s like that.
But let me back up. First we need to talk about the Neon Wand.
The sweethearts at SheVibe were kind enough to send me a KinkLab Neon Wand electrosex kit after I wrote, in January, about wanting to try E-stim. I opened the box reverently when it arrived, and carefully turned over each piece in my hands: the rubber-handled base unit, the four sturdy-feeling glass attachments, the AC cable, and the little booklet of instructions. The toy looked like something from a science lab, and though it stirred my recurrent medical-play fantasies immediately, it took me weeks to work up the courage to actually try it.
When I did finally affix one of the Wand’s attachments to its base and plug it in, I went easy on myself. I barely turned the dial up, and held the glass close to my inner forearm to test the sensation. Jagged red light shot out the tip and seemed to singe my skin, though it left no marks. The pain, mild enough to barely register, was nonetheless unlike anything I’d ever felt before – except the hot sharpness of a tattoo needle.
I’m glad I tried the Neon Wand on my own first, to get a sense for it, but it became clear that wouldn’t be enough for me. Like most types of kinky pain, I like electrostim best when exploring it with a partner. Alone, I just won’t press myself to the painful edges a dominant will. And – vitally – it’s difficult, if not impossible, for me to access subspace without someone there to push me into it.
Subspace, if you’re unaware, is the psychological state often cited by submissives, bottoms, and masochists as a key motivating factor in their pursual of these activities. Athletes chase a “runner’s high,” artists flourish “in the zone,” and submissives hunger for subspace. There’s some evidence that all these states are psychologically and physiologically similar – along with topspace, trance, and “flow.” For me, subspace is euphoric, like being pleasantly high; mind-emptying, like a hypnotic daze; disinhibiting, like a midnight wine buzz. In the right context and with the right type of dom, subspace can feel to me like the safest place in the world – because I have no decisions to make and nothing really to fear, knowing my partner will take care of everything.
The first time I used my Neon Wand with a partner, I think we expected a high-energy power-play scene, but what actually emerged was a slow, blissful exploration of subspace. My boyfriend cuffed me to my bed using my Sportsheets restraints, so I couldn’t move; all I could do was watch him. And watch, I did, as he first read the Neon Wand’s instructions and then began setting it up. This entire process took probably five minutes, but the wait felt interminable, because I wanted this cute and conscientious nerd to start zapping me already.
But first, he tested it on himself. I watched him hold the glass-tipped Wand to his arm, pausing in between each contact to adjust the dial on the bottom. I would highly recommend the top in an electrosex scene test their toy on themselves like this, especially if either partner is inexperienced with E-stim; you need to know what you are doling out in order to do so safely. And the person you’ll be zapping will also benefit from watching you do this, as I did that day. Trusting a top – knowing that they understand what they are doing, the intensity of it, the gravity of it – is a crucial component of the recipe for subspace.
Once my boyfriend knew his way around the Neon Wand, he began using it on me. He grazed it across my arms, my thighs, my belly. He touched upon known erogenous zones of mine: my nipples, my upper trapezius, my heart tattoo. He kept the intensity level low enough, at first, that I barely flinched. And then he began to increase it, muttering all the while his usual monologue of “You like that, babygirl? You want more? Can you take a little more for me? I need you to take a little more for me, baby…”
