Chasing Me Chasing You

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

Mother’s Day Oral

I got mother’s day oral last night. It sort of felt like a birthday blow job that wive’s who hate oral give their husband’s under duress. I hate to say that, but that’s really how it felt.

He used to love giving me oral. He would want to continue after all the nerves in my clit were screaming. I would roll away in a giddy puddle and he would almost look hurt that he had to stop. That is all gone.

And I hate that it bothers me. It was all I could think about and it kept me from even enjoying what was happening. It was the first time he had touched me in any sort of sexual way in weeks and all I could think about was that he was only doing it because it was Mother’s day.

My birthday is in August. Maybe I can sort my shit out by then.

Why 69 is a bad math equation for me

The idea of 69ing is hot and magical. A way to take oral sex to the next level of giving pleasure while working toward your own climax. There is almost something more intimate to me than standard intercourse. Something about having your mouth on someone’s genitals that takes things to a different level. That’s always the approach that I start with anyway.

Somehow the experience gets lost in translation for me. It always sounds hot. Naked bodies intertwined with tongues. Fluids and moans in a race for orgasmic bliss. See, doesn’t that sound amazing? It never works out this way for me though. I think that may be because it’s hard for me to focus on the multiple sensations. I am so engrossed in making my partner cum, that it’s nearly impossible for me for relax enough to orgasm myself. So I intently throw everything at getting an orgasm out of them. It’s not like I don’t enjoy myself. It certainly feels good. And it’s an activity that I rarely turn down. I mean, it lets me suck on a cock and get my clit licked, what’s wrong with that?

Maybe I just need to change my approach. Do more people use 69ing for foreplay? If an orgasm isn’t the goal then maybe the focus could be more evenly spread. I just need to back up and enjoy the experience. That could be a parent thing too. Generally we feel rushed to orgasm as quickly as possible as the knock of the door can happen at any time. Though that seems like a cop-out for a feeling I’ve had regarding this activity since college.

Perhaps more practice would offer a solution to this problem. Maybe a 696 or 969 would help me figure out the exact issue. Several rounds of experiments will need to be undertaken. Anyone interested in helping me with this math?

See how everyone else feels about the art of 69ing and meeting of the bodies and minds this week.

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings

Kink of the Week logo

Hands and Feet

I wish there was a way I could tunnel the focus on more than one thing in a photograph without it becoming a blurry mess. But, as I can’t do it (trust me, there are some hilarious edit outtakes this week), I’ll just have to trust you. Try to focus on all the hands and feet in this shot. My hand on Jill’s leg, holding her open for Jack. My foot trying to be cute and innocent, Jill’s hand playing with her breast in the reflection in the mirror. Lots of hands and feet to look at and each shares a different feeling. Normally I hate pictures that show so much of me, but I kept finding new things in this photo. Hope you do too.

Rye, Jack, and Jill with their hands and feet everywhere.


Sinful Sunday Kiss Logo

Oral Sex vs. Cock Worship

Many people see these activities as the same. Just because mouths and cocks are involved, both get lumped together. I argue that this is an untruth. The difference is the intent. The overall goal that drives your actions and decision making.

Oral Sex

Oral sex is about making him come. I go into it with a determined mindset. I am usually forceful with my actions (forceful = deliberate, not rough). I will try a variety of speeds and depths until I find the one he most enjoys. I will occasionally use my hands to massage his body, but focus on his cock with only my mouth. In other words, I don’t dally. I enjoy oral sex, I really do. There is a great challenge element to it. Trying different pressures with my lips and tongue until he moans and his breathing changes.

Cock Worship

Cock worship, by comparison, is a much more relaxing endeavor. Oral sex is relaxing for him, but I am hyper-focused to his reactions and responses to every movement. Cock worship is for experimentation and fun. My mindset is playful; often to the point of being impish. I want him to moan as much as possible. And with orgasming not an immediate goal, I am able to slow everything down. Hands are also more prevalent in cock worship. While using dirty talk or focusing my mouth on other body parts, hands stroking and massaging him can create an overwhelming effect

He encourages edging during cock worship as well. So speeds are much slower and complete stops are more frequent. Whereas during oral I will rarely pull him all the way out of my mouth, the opposite is true of cock worship. Instead, long, slow licks up and around his shaft occur. Testicle and anal play is also more frequent as speed and focus are less important. Sucking on his balls will rarely help him come, but as part of edging I’m told it feels great.


The mindset of these activities are very different. Oral sex, for me, is very submissive, and all attempts are to please him. Taking him as deep as possible as often as I can to show him how much I enjoy my service. If, for whatever reason, I cannot make him come, I usually beat myself about it.

Cock worship, in a strange way, is empowering for me. It is one of the few times I feel in control in our current dynamic and enjoy doing so. I can decide to stop or slow down. I can move from his balls to his cock, massaging his taint as I go. Without orgasm, my only criteria for success is that he enjoys himself. And seeing me greedily lick and suck his cock has worked very well so far.

Semen Fantasy

I wish I could accurately describe my relationship with semen. It’s not really a love/hate relationship. I would be completely lying if I said I loved semen.

But there is certainly a fascination for the simple fact that it’s a product my body cannot produce. And I started thinking about that more and more as I considered the connect to my new oral fascination. I can’t make semen, but I love the idea of it coming out of every orifice I have. It sounds like a fun photo essay for next year.

I know I should rave about how much I love to eat cum all the time. And, don’t get me wrong, I love giving blow jobs, but the last thirty seconds are hardly my favorite part. The swallowing or having cum shot all over my breasts is hot for him in that moment. But it is the build up and the after effect that does it for me. The slow licks up and down a cock. Sucking on the tip. Running my hands along his thighs. And then the after where I can feel the cum running down my throat. Keeping his cock in my mouth as it softens. His body completely relaxing as the orgasm flows into every muscle.

So in all of those senses I love semen. And have I mentioned multiple semen sources? I have a huge fantasy to be surrounded by men and have them cum all over me. Sticky and warm. It’s a great fantasy that has brought me to a wonderful orgasm many times. All that attention as they stroke themselves and fondle me sounds amazing. Maybe Sir would even let me play with myself while I watched. It would be probably have to be that or in some pretty heavy bondage, as I would just want to reach out and help everyone. Joining in to match my moans and see how many times I could come before they do would be quite a challenge. But being allowed to slowly suck on a cock like it is giving me sustained life sounds even better.

The semen is just the icing on the cake. Maybe that’s why they call it frosting….

I just aged myself, didn’t I?

Masturbation Monday logo


Spoiled in the Sun

“Take off your pants.”

I think I mumbled a ‘Yes, Sir’ as I fumbled with my sweatpants drawstring and crawled into bed.

“You left your underwear on.”

“Oh, sorry Sir.” My underwear came off with more of a struggle than I want to admit. My knee high socks stayed on. I flopped (yes, that is the correct verb) on the bed and sighed at the comfort of our flannel sheets. One of the things I love about winter is flannel in all it’s forms. I sighed again as he covered me up with my lovely aftercare blanket. I caressed it like the the security blanket it was. Smelling the previous night’s scene immediately made my muscles relax. Sir crawled up on the bed and began massaging my legs. After shoveling snow for an hour this morning and two hours this afternoon I was sore and exhausted. His kisses and gentle rubbing up my legs were bliss after my time out in the cold.

“I will pick up the kids. I will sort out something for dinner. I will move the laundry. If, and only if, you go to your happy place right now (I have a rough life). Close your eyes. You are laying outside in the sun. You are nice and warm on your oversize sofa with your blanket. You stretch out as the sun’s rays hit every inch of your gorgeous naked body.”

I was so busy listening to his calming mantra that I wasn’t paying attention to his movements. His tongue flicked my clit and I practically sat straight up. Quickly returning to my happy place I sank into the sheets. His rhythm was slow and steady as I stretched up into each lick. My body arched into his hands as they caressed my nipples and stroked my stomach. My first orgasm was quick, though I tried to hold off. Luckily, my orgasms were the point of the exercise, so only a small amount of begging was required.  After that first rush, I settled into his sensual pace. He found a motion and a nipple pinch pressure that I would have happily suffered for hours. The perfect mixture of torture and calm. I came several more times before he left me completely spent. I curled up as he tucked me in with the duvet. I cuddled with my security blanket like a teddy bear and faded out of consciousness.

Waking up thirty minutes later after a glorious power nap made my day. Nothing is so beautiful as waking up in the middle of the afternoon wearing nothing buy knee high socks and cuddling with the dog and your aftercare blanket. The focus of his attentions making the cold and sore of my morning labors entirely worth it.

Balance is a beautiful thing

So I dug out both cars today. I took Sir’s car to the shop to get an oil change and new air filters. Then I had to re-shovel the drive to get the light, front-wheel drive car back in. This afternoon I shoveled the front walk and the sidewalk in front of the house. My fitness tracker didn’t know what to do with all the exercise. I came in and crashed; my legs and arms are so sore.

Sir had me strip down and covered me up with my aftercare blanket. Then he ate me out to three amazing orgasms. I got to take a quick nap while he moved laundry and went to pick up the boys. He is also sorting out a simple dinner. I have pain meds in my system and my wrist brace on.

Sometimes being the submissive he wants me to be means letting him take care of me. It’s a different kind of balance than the M/s set-up we tried before. He appreciated everything I did to make getting out of the house this morning easier, and all the work I did outside this afternoon. But pushing myself until I get hurt doesn’t help him. Even if a wrist surgery is in my future, that doesn’t mean that I need to mess it up as much as possible before hand.

Though if shoveling snow for three hours gets me oral, I’m willing to take it on as my new daily exercise routine.

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.


Pussy: Live to Eat! Eat to Live!

*This Kink of the Week is guest written by Sir.*

I remember being in middle school and being completely confused by my peers’ obsession with boobs. They would sit and talk about Pamela Anderson’s tits or Cindy Crawford’s tits or Anna Nicole Smith’s tits. These tits, it was said, were the key to the beauty of a woman. The better the tits, the better the woman. And bigger always meant better.

Which, as a young man, was a truism of such staggering stupidity that for a couple of years I thought I was gay. Because Roseanne Barre had MASSIVE tits, and I didn’t find her in the least bit attractive.

I never really thought I was completely gay because there was something that I was pulled to, but never saw. That gentle slit between the legs that hid a magnificent bounty of hormonal attraction. Pussy.

When I finally got an internet connection worth using for porn, I drowned myself in downloaded pussy (after disabling the laughably poor parental controls on the computer). I was quickly pulled (as were many young men I believe) toward “lesbian” porn. Not real lesbian porn, obviously, but porn starring two women and directed by two men. I liked the scissoring and the fingering, but I was absolutely, electrically pulled towards the girls eatting pussy. The camera would pull in close (pay no heed to where that woman’s camera-side leg is – it’s gone now, that’s all that matters) and you would get the powerful combination of gentle, precise tongue strokes and loud, low moans. I knew I HAD to eat pussy!

I didn’t actually get my first chance until college. Honestly, it was Rye.

Okay, truth is I’ve only ever eaten Rye’s pussy. I’ve never been nose to groin with any other woman’s pelvis, though there were a couple of unfortunately close calls in high school involving poorly timed parental footsteps on the stairs.

I have a vivid memory of the first time I ate Rye’s pussy. I had no idea what I was doing, but a vague enough sense of where everything was. I didn’t know what to expect as I pulled myself down her torso, fingertips pressing and pulling on her stomach. Would I hate the smell like everyone said? Would I fuck it up? Who cares! Eat Pussy!

After she was done moaning and writhing on the bed (told you, too much on the clit; if I had done it right she would have been completely unable to move at all) she said, “I don’t know who taught you to do that, but I hate her.”

I had to ask for clarification, but she was jealous of whatever wonder-woman had forced me to spend so much time between their thighs to become such a master tongue master. I smiled a prideful smile there in the dark. “That’s the first pussy I’ve ever eaten,” I said. Even in the dark I could see her confused and concerned look.

I still love to eat pussy, but I don’t do it as much as I used to. Not because it’s lost its appeal, but because I want to make sure that when I do go down on her, she really appreciates it. I don’t think she ever really stopped appreciating my tongue for what it could do to her brain. Maybe I just wanted to pull in the reins to exercise control.

Dominant pussy eating is harder, but much more rewarding. I still need to be able to follow the lure of her body – read her signals, anticipate her direction – so I cannot simply do whatever I like. But I can slow… or stop… orgowaytoofast just as a way to keep her on the edge. I do that. A lot.
Don’t get me wrong: I do like a nice pair of tits (and Rye has a very nice pair) but there’s nothing as good as wet pussy on a woman willing to open her knees.