Chasing Me Chasing You

An uncollared submissive struggling through depression, motherhood, and the constant craving of her next orgasm.

This is Different, He’s a Man

I consider myself I shy person. I know, that hardly seems possible as I, not ten minutes ago, tweeted a picture of my breasts. Seriously though, I don’t like social situations and would always rather curl up on the couch with a cup of coffee and book than go out. I haven’t been in a club in a decade with no pull to return. However, in complete opposition to that standard nature, I did something that I haven’t done in over ten years. I asked a boy to go out with me.

Not really, of course. I’m in my thirties, relationships with ‘boys’ at this point would be illegal. But that is how my brain and heart see it. And, hopefully, it goes better than any other time I’ve done it. This is not the first time I’ve done this, but I have never been successful. I told a boy (I was 14, so it was okay) that I liked him in high school. He said that he wasn’t interested and he avoided me for the rest of year. I talked to a friend in college about the possibility of a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement. He decided to start sleeping with my roommate instead. That one ended up working out for the best though as my husband and I got together soon after and that guy ended up in our wedding.

This is a bit different, however. This is a man. A very nice man. And I have asked him to be my dominant. My husband and I have talked a lot about it and have decided that me trying a D/s relationship with someone else is a good idea. Our relationship is strong, but it will always be vanilla. But there is a lot that I still feel I need to explore as a submissive. With his support I’ve decided to ask a dear friend that I have found a good connection with.

I’m not sure what will happen. He has a sub. And I don’t want to encroach on that. Honestly, if he says ‘thanks, but no thanks’ I would not begrudge him. It would hurt, but I’m a big pill to swallow. I can completely understand not wanting to take me on, especially with a family and other responsibilities already weighing on you. In all the previous time I’ve done this, it’s been with boys. Boys who had no responsibilities, who just follow their dicks toward or away from me. This is a man. He understands what I’m asking and I respect him for taking it seriously enough to think about it. As much as I am afraid of the answer, I respect it.

So today will be a lot of trying to keep busy. Fear and excitement will keep me going for awhile. And, since I slept so poorly last night hopefully it will wear off before bed tonight. I think I will go for a run tonight, just in case.

I am so nervous.

Define Your Kink: Day 4

#4 –  Do you switch into a dominant role at any time?

As a woman, I often feel like I have to be dominant in my vanilla life a lot. I have to be knowledgeable, outgoing, and confident; three things I rarely actually am. As a wife and mother I find myself taking on a dominant role  at home. Being the task master when it comes to chores, hygiene (boys are gross), and our schedule.

When it comes to sex I am rarely, if ever, dominant. I think I tried to bed, way back when, but that could have just been frustration at my partner. My husband and I played around with being switches when we were first trying to spice things up. I even have a strap-on. It was all in-the-bedroom play. I didn’t really get much out of it, but it wasn’t about me. I would usually get some sort of sexual release later on in the evening. But, it was difficult for me to connect with him when I was trying to be a top.

In essence, I rarely feel comfortable being a dominant. I’m looking forward to the possibility of a promotion later this year that would put me in a supervisory position. Nothing else about the position scares me, but having to discipline a subordinate will be a new experience. Obviously not planning to use a flogger, but even just words will be a difficulty.

Arousing Control

I threw my neck out on Tuesday. Driving home from work was horrific. By the time I got myself and the kids in the door I could barely walk. Sir walked in the house, took one look at me, and immediately ordered me to drop the boy’s lunch boxes. After a brief description of my pain I was given marching orders.

I had to immediately go upstairs, lay out on the floor, and stay there. I couldn’t take my phone. He called me down for dinner awhile later and that was it. Pain meds and a heat pack were my only companions.

I know that sounds like it should be relaxing. Sir took care of dinner and the kids. Without my phone I couldn’t be bothered by anyone or concerned about work. However, it sort of had the opposite affect. I had nothing to do but fret. Worrying about the fact that I wouldn’t be able to do up a post for the blog. Knowing that laundry is piling up. Finally, I had to pull out the Doxy for its official purpose and try to force my shoulder muscles to relax. It did help.

Eventually I was able to pop my neck and I think get it back in place. Sir gave me some more pain meds to help me sleep. Since I was feeling a bit better he even let me sleep in bed. I had to sleep on my back though. A good night’s sleep did help, but I am still quite sore today.

Sir was in his element though. He came up early on to lay out the rules. After he gave me all my restrictions he admitted to a massive boner. I think he enjoys control more than he lets on. As much as he enjoys it when I cook and give him a break from the kids, I think he likes taking charge. Maybe I just need to be ‘weaker’ so he can swoop in more often. When I think that my mother’s voice starting screaming in my head. There has to be a way to balance it though.

At least, there has to be a way that he can feel comfortable being in control that doesn’t involve me having throbbing back pain.

Boundin’ Rebound

I am currently in the middle of a low dip. I’m almost out of it, but not fast enough, obviously. Great things seem like flukes and bad things feel like the routine.

I am trying to slow down. Work is going well. My co-workers are nice (most of them) and appreciative of my work. My boss is already talking about promotion and ways she can bring me on to various special projects. It feels good. And I need to focus on that good stuff more.

I just get bogged down too easily. Getting frustrated that I am not losing weight fast enough. Getting confused with what our D/s is or isn’t (as the case may be).

I think I just keep trying to define myself as a submissive first. My collar is the first thing I reach for whenever anyone asks about me. Subconsciously it is the first place my mind goes. Even in vanilla discussions I play with it as I answer questions to feel comforted by it’s weight around my neck. But maybe that’s not a great plan. Maybe the weight of it is holding me in place. Maybe I need to be other things first. And perhaps Sir just needs to be my husband for awhile. The labels seem to be creating more stress than pleasure lately. And I’m not even sure I know what they mean.

I consider myself a submissive because I enjoy being dominated. Not just in bed, but in my life. It makes me feel cherished and loved. I always feel like I have to be in control and on top of everything, having someone else take that on sounds so freeing. The idea of being someone’s spoiled pet is a dream. But it also seems highly unrealistic with the requirements of a job and family. The real world isn’t full of billionaires who want to give us an Audi and track our every move.

So this fantasy world I’ve created in my head is doing more harm than good trying to achieve it. I keep digging my own hole with crazy expectations. Rather, I could just accept that being submissive is part of my identity and let it go at that. Don’t force it into something. Just let that be it for awhile. Enjoy the lovely kinky sex when it happens and not freak out when it doesn’t. Maybe that would give Sir the chance to see what his sadism and dominance means to him. When he doesn’t have to fit into my checklist and he can create his own. What type of sadist would be then?

I know a lot of this is easier said than done. The horny will continue to remain. But control outside the bedroom hasn’t been a part of our relationship for a while, so it’s not like I’m losing anything I had.

*One billion bonus points if you get the title reference. You don’t have to admit it if you won’t want to announce your goober status. Just know that I love you for it*

Dom Block

Rye in a kneel position.

When we first got into BDSM, neither one of us knew what we were doing. We bounced around back and forth, trying to find what we liked and what we didn’t. It was how we had to find our way forward. But, now something has come up which requires going back to the beginning and I don’t really know how to do it.


But I can no longer avoid the truth. I must train Rye.


That’s not a slight against her; it’s not really for her benefit that she needs to be trained; it is for myself. When I first had the idea to write this post, I wanted to discuss the things that were holding me back from being more dominant. It did not take much soul-searching to realize that one of my biggest stumbling blocks comes from the beating I give myself whenever I feel like I have “failed.” The reasons for this failure aren’t important – any excuse, really.

Usually, my “failures” follow a common pattern: 1. I tell her to do something; 2. She earnestly tries to do the thing which she thinks I have instructed her to do, but gets it wrong; 3. I see that she has failed, but I recognize that the reason for the failure is that I did not properly communicate my desires. I perceive this as my failure to communicate my expectations, which makes me upset. Rye can tell I am upset, but believes I am upset with her. She may get defensive or disappointed if she is waiting for approval. I am unsure how to communicate my frustration, how to communicate that a mistake was made and that I am waging internal warfare with myself trying to figure out who to blame. All she knows is that I am being silent with an upset look on my face.

Which brings me back to training. I know I have written in the past about my views on communication and language, so I will just summarize. Because language is an artificial construct created by humans to facilitate the transmission of data, languages are naturally vague and impersonal, and every linguistic communication experiences some data loss. The best way to insulate against this data loss is to arrive at an agreed-upon series of signals to represent agreed-upon data. For the majority of our lives, “natural” language serves this purpose just fine, but it is not inherently appropriate for all circumstances.


Well, Feet together or apart? Knees together or apart? If apart, by how much? Hands in front or back? Elbows straight? Butt touching feet? Thighs perpendicular to the floor? Thighs not perpendicular to floor, but butt not touching feet? Feet extended straight back? Feet bent so only toes touching floor? Head up? Head down? Where to look? Etc.

When I say Kneel, I know what I want to see, but Rye has no clue. So, through training, we will arrive at some common definitions. We have to arrive at an agreed-upon word, which means, “position your body such that your knees and toes are the only things touching the floor, your heels are touching one-another but your knees are about 18 inches apart, your thighs are perpendicular to the floor, your back is straight, your hands are behind your back, with the back of your hands pressed into the small of your back and your fingers woven together, tits out, head up and eyes straight ahead.”

Maybe, “Kneel up.”

The Wrong Kind of Right

Sir’s surgery went well.  He seemed to be feeling okay when we got home. I talked with him during dinner about sleeping downstairs on the couch so he could stretch out on the bed, but he assured me that he was fine. After dinner he went upstairs to rest and my mother-in-law and I wrangled children until bedtime. This included a rather pathetic (and I’m sure humorous) attempt at the two of us playing a Wii game with my 4 year-old laughing at our repeated failures. The things we do for our children.

During a spirited game of Trouble a while later I received a text message:

You will sleep on the floor of my bedroom, after performing for me.

I responded with a ‘More than happy to Sir,’ and tried to remain calm as I lost miserably to that same 4 year-old. To say I was excited would be an understatement. After my post on missing the floor and some of the control aspects that came with it, I have continued to reflect on my goals for our continued D/s. This step was huge for him and I was positively gleeful.

As I closed up the downstairs for the night I grabbed an extra comforter for padding, checked all the doors were locked, and headed upstairs. The kids had gone to bed without much fuss. Having Grandma here to help makes a big difference. The dog had already claimed her space near Sir’s closet. She watched me lay out the comforter on the floor on Sir’s side of the bed, then curled up on her own blanket, and was snoring before I turned out the light.

Sir was already in bed, but put his computer away and took his pain meds to help him sleep. He walked around to where I was kneeling on my pallet. Grabbing my hair he thanked me for being such a help today. He appreciated my care and dealing with kids. Releasing me, he told me to lay down. The side light was turned off and he was snoring in almost no time.

I’ll admit I was a little disappointed not to have been able to ‘perform’ in whatever capacity he had intended. But, considering his day, I knew he must have been exhausted. I couldn’t blame him. I lay down on the blanket and tried to sleep.

And tried…and tried…and failed.

First, and probably foremost, the floor was exceedingly uncomfortable. I know you’re thinking, ‘Duh Rye, what did you expect?’. But I was honestly surprised. Our other home had incredibly comfortable floors. And I can’t believe that it was made all that different simply by the carpet pad and carpet. The other possibility is that the comforter I chose for padding was bad. Previously, I think I had used one of our thicker duvets, which probably would have provided more of a barrier between me and the hardwood.

No matter which way I turned I couldn’t get comfortable. My hips hurt when I lay on my side. My back ached when I tried to lay on my back. I tried to think of it as hurting for him, but that didn’t seem to make any difference.

Then, of course, there was everything going on in my head. Everything that needs to get done today and how crazy our schedule it. I am taking one child to school this morning. The toddler has a doctor appointment, so I will come back and get him for that. Then he will get dropped off at school and I will go to work. Then Grandma is picking them up from school and taking them to her house for the weekend. When I get off work I am coming home to check on Sir and then driving to my parents house for one night, maybe two, to help them move. And my over-active worry brain wanted to have every second of that mess planned out before it let me sleep.

Finally, I realized that while I could hardly hush my brain, I could attempt to make myself more comfortable. It would just require me to do something I really didn’t want to do. I had to wake up Sir. It took me probably whispering his name five or ten times before I raised my voice enough to rouse him. I asked if I could please crawl into his bed with him. He shifted over and I climbed up. Curling his arm around my stomach he pulled me into him and began snoring again. I was glad I hadn’t woken him for too long.

So, now comfortable, I focused on trying to quiet my maniacal brain. However, now I had something else to chew on. After writing and talking about wanting more control and how much I had missed sleeping on the floor for him, I couldn’t even make it through one night. Laying awake for five hours on the floor didn’t count. All I have talked about with him in regards to our D/s was how much more control I craved. More restriction, more oversight. And the first time he offers me a carrot I spit it back out at him.

I am just bummed that it didn’t go better. If could’ve slept and showed him how much I appreciated his gesture maybe it could become a more regular occurrence. And I don’t think that this necessarily negates that option, but I know he will think hard before doing it again. The idea of me not sleeping, even in my happy place, isn’t pleasant for him. In order to keep his house moving and everyone happy, I need sleep. He knows this. Hopefully next time I will remember to try another mat and hopefully that will change the comfort level enough to fall asleep. Not having such a crazy day before and further hectic day ahead may make a difference as well. Though my brain is not one for being predictable; even for me.

I laid in his bed for another half hour or so before just getting up. I’m currently writing this from the couch downstairs. I may try to get some more sleep down here, but most likely will try and clean the kitchen or something else productive. When life gives you lemons and all that.

Brownie Points

Rye had a bit of a rough morning. I had given her a straight-forward task to perform while I was in the shower. Stand on tip-toe while holding my towel at arms’ length, raising it slightly higher toward the ceiling every time she lost her balance. She was doing well, with her arms almost reaching the ceiling as I finished in the shower. As I was finishing myself up – and honestly taking my time – she safe-worded out of the exercise; I later learned that her ankle was giving out and she was at risk of falling over. I climbed out of the shower and asked if the task was more painful than it seemed at first. My question was met with a wall of defenses; redirection, incredulity, anger, and more besides. I was taken off guard and it took me a moment to gather myself.

A lot went through my head at that moment. We switched places and she climbed into the shower while I started to dry off. She was holding herself in her arms and sobbing huge, silent tears into the corner of the shower, busily tearing herself to ribbons for what she thought was a failure. I climbed back into the shower, held her, and explained a few things. I explained that the purpose of the assignment was in the doing it at all and in the not giving up until health and well-being became an issue. I soothed her out of her head and back into the moment, where I was proud that she had engaged in so superfluous and unproductive a task at all. She consented to stop beating herself up for the moment.

So, I went upstairs and laid out her clothes, from the inside out, so to speak. Starting with the Njoy Pure plug, a tube of lube, and the Doxy, and then onto a shirt and skirt, I prepared her appearance for the day. I don’t normally do this because I don’t normally get to do this, but it felt important in that moment that she feel an extra layer of my influence and approval.

I left her to get dressed while I did some cleaning down stairs – until I heard the telltale buzz of the Doxy. I went up; she was beautiful. I tugged on and assaulted her nipples while she came. I forced her throat down around my cock while she came. I beat her ass with a belt while she came. All separate and massive orgasms, by the way.

And then I offered her some Brownie Points.  “Do you want some brownie points today?”

“Yes please,” she chirped, enthusiastically. 

I pulled her short leash out of the playbox. If I am remembering correctly, this came from one of Rye’s old clutch purses. I attached the tether to the Njoy’s handle, and instructed her to leave the lead for the day. 

Rye with her plug and her leash on.

She did. The whole time we were out at a fancy restaurant to celebrate her birthday. It led to an interesting and hilariously compromising situation, but I’ll leave Rye to share it, as she knows more of the details, and it would be a story whose heart is more in the truth than the embellishment.

Unfortunately, however, she did not get to spend the day in the skirt I had picked out, but that’s mostly because I insisted on cumming on her face before lunch and the skirt got gobbed on. “If it was only one spot, I’d probably leave it, but this is a bit obvious.”

You could fairly ask what the point of any of this is. In all honestly, I’m not sure myself – real life often defies logical presentation. If it were fiction, I would suggest that the story of the plug come before the story of the tears, so that the energy for the former could feed the emotion of the later. I would give the whole thing a small bundle of possible interpretations, all somehow distinct and connected at the same time. I would give it an optimistic but ambiguous conclusion.

Life defies narrative direction, but soars in the telling.

A close up of Rye's ass with her plug and her leash.


Control Queen

Sometimes I think I crave control so someone else will be responsible for punishing me. I beat myself up. A lot, according to Sir. So the idea that that would be someone else’s job sounds appealing.

The fantasy versus reality of that is what is difficult. Because I hold myself to such a high standard I am often hard on myself. Guilt and self-depreciation are common when I make a mistake. Sir blames my mother for this. I struggle with that as I am almost thirty-one and should have gotten over it by now. I can hardly blame her for everything forever.

However, because I am usually hard on myself, I expect Sir to be also. And those expectations cause problems. When he ‘let’s me off the hook’, or doesn’t come down on me for a mistake I get confused. My head gets mixed signals saying that he doesn’t care enough to punish me or I somehow got away with something I shouldn’t have. Then guilt starts that I shouldn’t question his decisions. I start to wonder if he really wants this responsibility. Am I asking too much? Does asking at all make me less submissive in some way?

The more I reflect on control in general I find myself getting confused. On the one hand, I think I need a very firm hand. Someone to hold me to a high standard and punish/correct the smallest mistake. On the other hand, I always try my best. So a harsh dynamic may just beat me down. Basically taking my self-deprecation and handing it to someone else. Which probably isn’t healthy and definitely would not be fun.

Maybe I need to consider becoming more specific with my desires. In general and with Sir. Maybe Sir and I could work on more strict control during scenes? Harsher punishments and more difficult tasks to complete. Then, in our vanilla lives, less control as part of the dynamic. At least for now. Sir doesn’t know if 24/7 is ever going to be back on the table anyway. So focusing on control in that sense is just a recipe for disaster.

I think I’ve just been so focused on everything else lately that control and my many desires around it have been put on hold. It’s always the first thing to go as stuff often just needs to get done. Pulling up my vanilla big-girl panties and sorting it out just happens. And then Sir being upset at the aftermath of beating myself up usually can’t be helped. Then I just feel worse. Spiraling into a bad mood that I’ve put myself in.

Maybe I just want someone else to blame.

#subfail #justanotherthursday

Hide and Go Seek

Hide and go seek is not a game that Sir likes to play. About the only thing worse is tickling him. But sometimes I get the playful urge to run and hide before I consider the consequences of my actions. It’s when I’m hiding and I hear his footsteps coming across the room that I remember the predicament that I’ve just placed myself. And then all I can do is wait for him to find me.

Because even if he hates the game, he still always wins.

Sirs feet and legs walking by with a crop as we play hide and go seek.


Don’t forget to see who else is (mis)behaving in this week’s Sinful Sunday.

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Kneeling: Why This Dom Loves It

The Three Golden Rules of Kneeling:

  1. It should be uncomfortable, but not so painful that it cannot be sustained over a long period of time (outside of “special” situations, that is).
  2. A submissive should not wait to kneel only when told to do so. It is a great attention-getter and should be used as such to encourage play.
  3. Kneeling means patience, so don’t get down on your knees unless you are ready to stay there until told to do something else.

Kneeling is the only unambiguously submissive act. It might not strike you as important that any action is “unambiguously submissive.” It doesn’t matter for anyone who self-identifies as a “real dom” or a “true dom.” No, these superior beings are perfect examples of “alpha” thinking and they never question themselves. For the rest of us, trying to make it as dominant lovers in a complex world within which we often do not have as much control as we would like, ambiguity is a daily reality.

My partner is an entire human person, with moods and emotions and desires and opinions. Whenever I approach her, I am approaching a different person. The same is true when she approaches me. The same is true when I approach anyone(!). I do not assume that anyone I know is “the same” person they were the last time I spoke with them. Anyway, you get the idea – people change day to day. It’s their right in response to a constantly changing universe.

So, when I consider play with my partner, my thoughts go round in circles. Does she want, at this moment, for me to close her computer and drag her by her hair into the laundry room to get hammered in the cunt with clothespins on her nipples? I know that sometimes she wants this, and she says she always wants it, but I can also see that she is frustrated with something or other. Is she really going to enjoy being manhandled at this moment? Or am I going to be guilty of bad timing? The truth of the matter is that I don’t know how to be supportive by way of being dominant – it just isn’t in my DNA. “Being supportive means being uplifting,” my brain shouts. I am actively trying to reprogram my mind and my emotions, but it’s an ongoing process. The majority of that process is fighting against the perception of ambiguity – and deciding whether or not I care (regardless of whether I’m supposed to care).

As hard as it is for me to exert control, it is just as hard – if not harder – for rye to ask for control or dominance from me. Part of this is our history, and the fact that I have, on more than one occasion, had serious problems with control. Part of it is the fact that she is the kind of person who would rather catch fire than ask for something they want (Germans…).

So, you can imagine how much it means to me to find rye kneeling. “I need you to take over,” she says in no words. It’s easy for her to say because she doesn’t have to say anything. It’s easy for me to understand because I don’t have to understand anything. She kneels, I control, she obeys.

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