Imagine school girls back in the 90s. No, not like that, pervert. Imagine girls in classrooms. The ones who daydreamed. The ones who couldn’t sit still. The ones who “would be a pleasure in class if she quit talking all the time.” The ones who had brilliant ideas all the time but had trouble executing them.

These girls didn’t get their ADHD diagnoses in time because their brothers and male cousins did. Now, these same girls are now millennial women who may finally be properly medicated…and may have found a fun ways to light up their dopamine-seeking brain along the way.

At 42, my ADHD brain loves novelty above all else. The uncertainty of pain infliction from my husband-turned-dominant scratches the itch in my brain like nothing else. When we play, my brain gets to be quiet. Bodily, what does he want to focus on? My tits? My pussy? My ass? My face? How will he do it? I know he prefers the simplicity of his hands. He loves the skin-on-skin rub of my soft neck or fleshy breasts under his calloused hands. But me? I’d almost always prefer an implement. His leather belt fucking melts me every. single.time because he can use it so many ways. Where is he bringing me? Back to the bedroom where we can easily access our toys and restraints? In the living room where he can push me against a large window? In the shower? Maybe the water sports (soft limit for me) gets broached tonight?

The pain itself lights me up. The pure adrenaline of being abused slows my brain. I’m no longer seeking experiences. Every experience I could want is right here, wrapped up in his cock, my wet pussy, and the way he twists my nipples until I cry.