Chasing Me Chasing You

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

Nipple Play Returns

I messed up at work. It’s not the end of the world, but as I work in the legal field, there are a lot of negative ramifications if things are done wrong. So I had a not so pleasant email when I got into work yesterday morning. Talk about a quick way to ruin your day. Luckily, it’s fixable. I was able to sort it out before I left the office. And coming home to a cider and a plate of pork nachos can make any day seem easy.

So after I have vented about the day, and had maybe two sips of my cider Sir had an announcement. “Your putting clamps on your nipples tonight and you’re going to swing them around for my amusement”. You know, just in case there was any question about plans for the evening.

He hasn’t really pushed the nipple play too much. He bought me new rings last month, but that’s about it. We both have wanted them to heal fully before messing around clamps or weights. I was fine with his order that I was getting my nipples pierced, but my breasts are one of the few things I genuinely like about my body. I have taken every precaution to ensure that they aren’t damaged.

When I was out in California Jack ‘tested’ them a little bit. Mind you, he was very polite and asked nicely beforehand. By tested I mean that he sucked on each of my nipples until I was close to cumming just from that stimulation. It felt fantastic. But when I got home Sir realized that he could be a bit more forward with them.

The other night we played a bit of a ‘switch’ game (I’m working on telling you all about it, cause it was awesome). While he was giving me oral I let him (told him) to play with my nipples a bit. There was some pulling, some rubbing, and a lot of moaning. So now I think he’s decided that the training wheels are off. This has led me to believe that his ‘let’s switch’ idea was really just a ruse to get information out of me while making me think it was my idea. Though, at this point, I’m not sure why I should be surprised.

Clink Clink

I walked out of the bathroom after my shower. My workout was good, and I had sweat through my camisole during the run. Sir had said I looked sexy in my exercise clothes, but I fended him off long enough to get a shower. As soon as I walked through the kitchen naked, however, Sir grabbed my arm. He pulled me into the laundry room and closed the sliding door. He smashed me up against the clothes washer and ran his cock up and down. My clit to my asshole was slick in seconds. I groaned and pushed back against him.

Pulling my hips back he pushed into me slowly. I tried to grip the top of the washer for leverage, but with the lid down there was nothing to grab. I finally got my fingers to grip the edge of the lid with limited success. His pace was vigorous as our time alone was uncertain. He wasn’t going to let me cum, so rather than focus on myself, I just let him move me. Sometimes it’s nice to feel like a rag doll.

Finding a good position I arched my back to tilt my pelvis for him. By doing so my nipples shifted to a perfect position over the washer. With each thrust my nipple piercings brushed the top of the machine.

Clink! Clink!

“I love that sound.” He practically groaned it.

Knowing that he liked it made my arch my back even more.

Clink! Clink!

As he came he pressed my body into the washer and dug his fingers into my hip. I groaned at the lovely combination of feeling him cum and wanting to twist away from the pain. He pulled out, turned me to face him, and pushed on my shoulder. I knelt down. Without saying anything he pointed to the drop of cum about to fall from the tip of his cock. I quickly stuck out my tongue to catch it and cleaned him off. When I sat back on my heels he turned and left the room.

“You’re a good fuck, Rye. I’m getting in the shower.”

I stood as he left the room. Cum had dripped from my pussy onto the floor as I cleaned him off. I considered licking it up. If he was still in the room to see it, that’s what he would have me do. I should my head as a bad sub as I cleaned it up with a towel instead. But I bent over the washer one more time and smiled at being his fuck puppet.

Clink! Clink!

The Desire to Shatter for You

Rye's breasts in a navy bra.

I want you to take me. Just wreck me until I beg you to stop (safeword stop, I’m sure I will be crying ‘stop’, but that doesn’t count). The new countertops in the kitchen need to be tested and christened. I want to be pressed against each one; all in different ways.

I just want fucked so hard. For hours. Having my breasts bound up in some lovely rope. Taking pictures of my naked body laying all around the new house. Sleep is optional; I just want to make you moan, grunt, and scream my name. I want to shatter through orgasm after orgasm. I want to be spoiled with lingerie and the chance to look sexy for you. And once I get dolled up for you I want to you come at me like I am your air.  To be everything you need.

I just want to feel like I’m needed for something more than when my kids need more juice or the contractor needs more money. I want to be all that you think about for awhile. No job, no family drama, no responsibilities aside from coming as often as possible. And maybe let me come as often as well.

I just want you to fuck me until I can’t even think anymore. I want to shatter until you are done using me and then curl up and go to sleep. Sinking into the mattress with my aftercare blanket and your arm around my waist. The comfort and calm of pleasing you with everything I have. And knowing, that should the urge awake you, I am there for your use again.

A weekend without clothes or cares beyond what our bodies demand. Breaks for food or sleep are the only things to separate our flesh. The only thing to keep you from giving you everything that you desire. From the air that you need to live.

Baby Steps

Everyone has limits. But I am a firm believer that limits to be tested and pushed.

One of my limits in past has been knives and blood. I like the idea in general. Part of it is the mess, honestly. But mostly I am just scared of being hurt. Knife play sounds fun, but I’m not up for scarification. Tattoos are enough body modification for me right now.

So I had twenty minutes before I had to pick up the boy to go to the dentist. I offered Sir a blow job, which he considered. But he had a better idea. He wanted something more ‘involved’. So instead he had me take off my shirt and bra and started hitting my breasts with his belt. Soon he had me rolling around on the bed trying to get away from him. The pants came down and the belt found new flesh to redden. The thuds created a dull ache with the occasional snap of pain as the belt end would wrap around my hip. I moaned and writhed around, because we both like it when I don’t come quietly.

Then, out of nowhere I felt this scratching. Sometimes he will drag his nails (which are usually kept quite trim) across my back. But this was one sharp scratch. It hurt and it kept moving across my lower back. He kept it up on and off as he fucked me. Finally I realized it was his belt buckle. He was scraping the pin of the buckle across my skin.

After fucking me good and sore he came all over my tits. I rubbed it in a bit before I had to clean up and continue my day of errands. He took a few pictures of my ass to show me what he was able to scratch on my skin. It was a great way to introduce me to the idea of knife play. The buckle didn’t break the skin, but it’s the same scratching sensation that I imagine a knife would feel like. And it’s a great way to let Sir ease into it without worrying about hurting me. And my ass got to be sore and pretty under my clothes while I ran my errands this afternoon. Maybe we’ll file one of his old belt buckles down to a point to make the marks last a little longer next time.

Rye's lower back and ass with the words, 'slave', 'cunt', and 'slut' scratched into it.

Don’t drop the soap

That is a bold faced lie.

Drop the soap.

Drop it often.

Especially when your mother-in-law is visiting and has taken the kids downstairs so you can sleep in for once in your life. When you both decide that a shower together sounds like the perfect way to wake up.

Honestly, just throw the soap at that point (don’t hit him, he won’t like that). You won’t need the soap. Nothing cleans you off like a first thing in the morning shower fuck.

I’m practically squeaky.

Defining Sexy

Yesterday on twitter I couldn’t stop talking about how much I wanted to give Sir oral. Just horny and a bit drunk, craving sex in all it’s forms. So last night after the kids went to bed Sir allowed me to indulge in cock worship for a good twenty minutes before flipping me over and fucking me senseless.

It was a good time.

But he also took a few pictures. And you know things that feel sexy that don’t necessarily look sexy. Try making your own porn with childbirth stretch marks and spare tires and you will know what I mean. But I was deep-throating and I consider that a very sexy activity.

And I have been assured by several people that it does actually look pretty damn sexy too.


Sex on the brain

Sex, sex, sex. My brain is on sex overdrive. I wonder if this is what a teenage boy experiences. My pussy clenches every few minutes. Which has been working out well because I have to jump from thing to thing lately. So between each task I get a few seconds to think about cock.

Yesterday afternoon Sir sent me a message.

Rye, you are ordered to not let me go to sleep until you have had at least three orgasms. 

Let’s just say that that made my afternoon a little wetter and a lot longer.

So last night we had some fun piss play and I crawled to my little bed I got into position. I made sure Sir completed his task. Double penetration may be a new obsession of mine. More on that another day.

Today is our house inspection. I really like this house, so I hope it goes well. I have a list of questions from Sir and my father. Dad and I have done a lot of renovations, but if something is wrong with the foundation or structure we would have to walk away. And that would stink as my Pinterest is already going crazy with kitchen ideas and I would hate to have to start the house search from scratch again. So fingers crossed we get a good report.

Hopefully my pussy won’t clench all morning while I’m trying to listen to what the inspector is saying.

Ignorance is bliss

You know those silent tears. The ones that can just flow while you look out the window as you drive along. You almost forget they are there, until one drips off your chin and onto your shirt. That is how I rode home yesterday. Quiet reflection and tears.

Just trying to balance all the good things that came out of this weekend. I got a raise. Still only working part time, but now my pay can at least cover the boys daycare. That was always a big problem for me, so I feel a little less guilty for wanting to work now that it isn’t a net loss for Sir’s bank account. Things are also moving slowly forward on the housing front. Seeing a few more properties today, and the front runner that mom and I liked dropped their price on Friday. So if Sir likes it today we may be putting in an offer. It is moving a lot faster than I thought, but that isn’t a bad thing. There aren’t a lot of houses with the good bones that we are looking for, but the ones we do find are great.

Anyway, a lot of good. Maybe I am just overwhelmed by the speed of it all. Wow, get over yourself, Rye. I swear I whine about things when they are bad, and then again when they are good. No wonder Sir beats me. Sigh.

The real reason I was crying because Sir and I were again bringing up the conversation about playing with others. And my confusion regarding this topic continues. I know that he wants other partners. Maybe just as pain toys, maybe as sexual partners. But last night he also explained that as he is a sadist, even the act of impact play can be highly erotic, if not completely sexual.

Such a obvious statement, and yet it was as if I hadn’t really thought about it before. Of course impact play would be sexual for him. As it would be for the true masochist he was playing with. It may not be penis in vagina, no one even needs to cum, but it would be sex all the same.

I thought I had processed everything. I was fine with him playing with someone else, as long as there wasn’t any sex. At least not yet. He could go to play parties without me and find friends and other play partners. They could scene and it would all be fine. My insecurities were abated by the idea that he wouldn’t have sex with them. Like that was going to keep him from leaving me. They couldn’t have that ultimate connection, so I was safe. I am a naive idiot, I know.

So more processing I guess. I need to work on the idea that he is just going to pack up and leave me after meeting the perfect masochist that can fulfill all of his sadist desires. That is easier said than done. And if he plays with others, should I also consider it so I don’t feel resentful at his extra play. We don’t really play enough for me as it is, imagine if he started adding someone else to his calendar. Ugh.

It is too early to think this hard about this stuff. My coffee hasn’t even kicked in yet.

Dreaming of Dominance

If you had a choice, what you would dream about tonight?

I would dream about my perfect dominant. His confidence as he ordered my meal at dinner and asked about my day. His smile as we left the restaurant with his hand resting in the small of my back. Enjoying the missing strap from my thong, just as he had ordered. That tingly feeling as we ride the elevator up to our hotel room. Our eyes lock as the doors close and I see his fingers twitch. He was itching to touch me, just as I want to jump on him. Of course, he expected me to always be ladylike, so dry humping his leg would not be advised.

He is firm as he leads me to our door. The door barely closes before I am removing my dress and bra. He wants to help so he can touch my skin, but finds watching even more erotic. My thigh-highs and heels will keep me warm as the wine from dinner has my body at a nice warm glow. I watch in turn, practically drooling, as he removes his tie and lays it across the chair. I kneel in position next to the bed, waiting for instructions. Happy to just watch him walk across the room. His movements are purposeful and strong. Just looking at him makes me feel safe. Not to mention extremely turned on.

He moves me about the room over the next few hours. From the chair, to the bed, to the shower and back again. An endless orchestra of moans and cries brought on by his masterful hands.  He wakes me after a quick nap with a hard  fucking and little bits along my neck. I worship his cock and kiss his feet as he helps me fell sexier than I ever thought I could. The calm as ropes tighten and tears fall take me to a place I can only be with him. His smile as I eagerly crawl across the room toward him remind me that I could not do this with anyone else. Because my perfect dominant inspires all my submission.

*        *         *

And I would smile as I woke up on the floor next to his bed in the morning. Like I do every morning.

Wicked Wednesday

New Job Title

I mentioned yesterday that Sir asked me to come to the office. His co-workers were out, so we could be a little nosy. And, being a nice guy, he let me finish my breakfast before he shoved me under the desk.


The summer didn’t do me any good, I am still so white. If you can believe it, during the winter I get whiter. I’m practically translucent by March. As a small aside, I love how great my boobs look in this dress. My normal t-shirt and workout pants wardrobe do not do them justice. As you can see, Sir let me savor my sandwich while he leered (leered in the best possible way) at me. Then I got to work.

His desk is short. Sucking cock when your head is smashed is difficult. But we kept ourselves entertained. I couldn’t stay too long. The end of the week usually brings with it a long list of things to do. But, with the office to ourselves, we weren’t going to rush either. He so rarely gets to have his little administrative slut come for a visit.


To clarify for those who spotted it in the photo: When you go to Starbucks and they are busy, they always ask you your name to put on the cup. I never use my real name. It’s not really an anonymity thing. It’s mostly because they can never spell it, much less pronounce it correctly. So my mom and I (she also has a unique name, thanks mom) have gone back and forth with made up names. She has been WonderWoman a few times, or Batman. So yesterday I was Mary. No religious reference intended. I assure you.

Off to the farmer’s market this morning. They are calling for rain, so planning to make salsa this afternoon. Hopefully some play as well and an eventual shower. Right now coffee and porn while the kids eat dry cereal and watch Paw Patrol. Don’t judge me.