Chasing Me Chasing You

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

Got Consent?

T-shirt that reads, "Got Conset?"

T-shirt back with a definition of consent.

Believe it or not, this t-shirt was a gift from my mother-in-law. It was a campaign that her local women’s shelter started. She volunteers there and when I saw her wearing the shirt I laughed so hard I cried. So when she came to see us the next time she had one just for me. She and I had a lot of conversations regarding consent after we both read 50 Shades and her work with battered women gave her a unique perspective.

Even if it only becomes my work out shirt, it is certainly my new favorite.

See how everyone is enjoying their Sinful Sunday.


Stockpiled Cravings

So yesterday I found myself doing something I haven’t done in a long time (well, since last week). I felt it growing all afternoon and it ruined my entire day: I started building expectations.

I having been working since we picked up D/s again to reign in my expectations. I need to give him the space to handle all of his workload and everything at home. But this weekend the boys are going to grandma’s. Right now the plan is for her to come and get the kids Friday afternoon and we’ll figure out how we are getting them back sometime on Sunday. That’s two nights. Two whole nights of sleep and opportunities to play. And I do. I really really want to play. Not just fuck. That’s nice, and I certainly won’t complain if/when that happens. But a chance for some rough play sounds so good. Almost necessary. Some lovely marks for a Sinful Sunday photo would go amiss either.

We haven’t played with any sort of bondage or role-play in a long time. Control has been pretty limited, due to time and his comfort level, and I want to be respectful of that. We rushed into things last time and even if it took a few years, he burnt out. We need to take it slow so that that doesn’t happen again.

But expectations are tricky. They are a mixture of our fantasies and the brightest possible reality we can imagine. We can try and suppress them, or alter them to prepare us for what is more likely to happen. In my experience that rarely works. Once the expectation has been created, I fail miserably at changing it. It makes no difference how much I may want to.

It’s not like I want to be disappointed. I don’t knowingly do this to torture myself. And I hate the idea of making him feel guilty for not meeting my fantasy for a particular evening or scene. If it was something I could turn off I would.

I guess I should try and take it as a positive. I mean, I crave him. I crave the submission he has the power to demand and pull from me. And I love all the of the deliciously filthy fantasies that my mind creates for our time together. I guess at least that means I haven’t given up. I haven’t gotten to the point where I just assume that our nights together will be joyless. That’s something, right? Given the option, I would rather have an unfulfilled expectation of being bound up in rope and beaten to a lovely red than just giving up and going to bed. The bad mood that comes from that unfulfilled fantasy doesn’t last too long. And it’s not like we couldn’t get the chance to fulfill it some other time.

So I have high hopes for this weekend. Two nights without kids will hopefully also mean at least one night of fun (maybe one night of sleep). The expectations will likely continue for the foreseeable future while we work to find a new balance with D/s in our lives. The unfulfilled fantasies will be replaced by those that are fulfilled. And fulfilled for the right reasons rather than just my selfish cravings.

But it’s always good to have a few fantasies stockpiled away for just right moment.
Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Elust #79

Elust 79 header

Photo courtesy of Marie Opens Up

Welcome to Elust #79

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #80? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Joy of Sucking Cock

Making Porn

My Valentine

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The One

Midweek Fantasizing – The Portrait

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A kiss is just a kiss
Turning Corners
Another Day, Another Planned Parenthood Visit
My first vanilla date
Want, Need the Power of your Masculinity!
I don’t know how to date.

Erotic Fiction

Soft Lips
The Introduction
Erotic Fiction: “Words”
Darkness and the Rose
The Session That Went Wrong
Be Careful What You Wish For
The Tube

Erotic Non-Fiction

For You, It’s Always Yes
Gawan: Intro to Flogging
The Talker: An Introduction
My wildest fantasy: Ship slut
Time for something quick…
Spread Legs and Open Mouth
My Girl in Havana
Let’s Watch some Porn

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

An Artist’s Story: Tails and Portholes
Sleeping With Our Future President
To Dude Who Was Offended By Lack of Escort
Try Love, Not Anger
Risky Sex
Why Cosmo is the worst (again!)

Writing about Writing

Condoms: fictional contraceptive of choice
Writing Fat Characters In Erotica

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Masochistic Mastermind
Take me to where I need to be.


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Two sides to every story

Every story of a fight that is. Each person has their version of events; their own hurts and grievances. There is probably a justified wrong party, at least at the beginning. But eventually, after enough yelling and mudslinging, everyone is at fault. It’s just a mess of confusion and just about everything you say is misinterpreted.

That is not to say that fights don’t sometimes lead to positive results. Sometimes yelling your feelings out is the best way to clarify them. And all the misunderstandings usually come out as each person tries to make their case.

I’ve found this to be difficult as a sub/slave. Sir and I have arguments about non-kinky things like the kids or housing decisions. So I have to find a way to stay respectful, but still fight for what I want regarding those topics. He respects that, slave or not, I still have to live in whatever house he chooses and right now I spend more time with the kids. There are still several aspects of our lives that (at least for now) I need a say in. But that doesn’t mean that I can yell or be bratty. Not something that I have perfected yet.

I also have to keep Sir’s whims in mind. If we get into a heated debate about something, he can quickly decide that a comment or gesture is taken too far. And backtracking, even if I stand by my opinion, is always recommended. It’s a hard line to follow. I’m sure, over time, we’ll find a better way to deal with these situations. Of course, I guess he could just tell me what we are going to do and not give me any sort of say. With the kids so young though, I don’t know that he wants all that on his shoulders just yet.

Besides, I think part of him still likes it when we argue for awhile. There is no cure for sexual tension quite like make up sex.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

My Secret Magic Lover

I was a really excited about the prompt this week. I am all about magic. As much as I am still fighting it, I was raised a Disney girl. Realism sucks. Realism is when you roll over on the wet spot after sex. Magic is waking up on beautifully clean satin sheets. Realism is the nightly fight to get the kids to bed. Magic is when they are both passed out by 8pm without loosing an eardrum (it has happened once).

So I was overwhelmed with fantasy aspects of sex and kink that I couldn’t narrow it down to one clear thought. And then @sexblogofsorts asked an interesting question on twitter. She was, I believe, looking toward her own post and was talking about love and the places that connect with it. I think she was considering specifically a love of a person. I read peoples’ responses to her about romanic stories of wide open spaces and lovers’ trysts. And out of the blue some synapses in my brain fired and it hit me. Where I go for wide open spaces and my secret tryst.

And that, dear reader, is Scotland and the magical and beautiful bacon bap.* There is something so decadent about a sandwich that is just meat (sometimes with butter, sometimes with HP sauce). It is something that, as gluttonous as the United States is, we just haven’t figured out yet. And, as much as I enjoy a crispy piece of bacon, the way it is made in the U.S., rasher bacon is really something special. This sandwich is exactly what I need, any time of the day. First thing in the morning it will give me energy for the day. It’s a wonderful afternoon snack with some tea or coffee to warm up after a walk around any one of the beautiful small Scottish towns. In fact, I’m not sure I would appreciate it here in my house in the states as much as I do there (realism vs. magic again).

Every trip to Scotland that I take doesn’t really start until I have sat down with a cup of coffee and several slices of pork inside a crusty roll. Flights across the Atlantic usually land in the U.K. relatively early in the morning, so this warm hug of a sandwich is the perfect welcome (I’ve even had good ones in airports). I looked through my photos to find it (no luck), but my my mother takes pictures of me eating my first sandwich when we get there as she thinks my faces are hilarious. I am scared to tell her that they are my mini-orgasm faces. Maybe it’s better that I couldn’t find the photo after all (I probably deleted it on purpose so I did not embarrass myself in this moment).

It’s about that sensual memory. Like something that makes you think of your first kiss, or your first love. Scotland was my first real adventure. Something that my mother and I shared and it holds a lot of loving memories for me. My time shared with my mom, my study abroad semester, Sir proposed to me Scotland. And every bite of that magical sandwich brings all those memories out at once. Maybe it’s good that I didn’t fulfill my dream of moving there; I would weight three hundred pounds (21.5 stone).

To see other, more kinky magic this week, click the icon to read other Wicked Wednesday offerings.

Wicked Wednesday
*No discredit to England as they also have this magical treat and I have had some amazing ones throughout England and Wales. I think I just have a connection with the sandwich in Scotland because that is where I first had it and it always reminds me of my time there.


I heard the leash snap onto my collar over all the music in the entryway as we entered the party. I stared at the new physical connection between Master and I. It was so comforting in the crowded space to know that he wanted to keep me close. It was easy to follow him through the dancing and playing groups with my eyes down. He stopped a few times to say hi to friends. A few subs squeezed my hand to say hello. I recognized them and squeezed back. Hopefully Master will let me catch up with them later this evening. But if he wants me close all night I will happily stare at my leash.

Master stopped and gave a slight tug. I dropped to the floor. I felt him sit on the ottoman behind me and strike up a conversation with a Domme that had just moved to our area. He ran his hands through my hair as he talked to her about good butchers and playgrounds where we like to take the kids. His fingers and voice were so calming that I felt myself relax into the floor; another few minutes and I would fall asleep. He leaned down and bit my shoulder. He always knows.

He stood as the Domme sent her sub to fetch another drink. I waited for the instructional tug to tell me to stand up, but it never came. So when he started back toward another Dom calling his name, I crawled as fast as I could to keep up. The leash pulled as I slowed to avoid legs and bodies in front of me, but Master didn’t change pace or course. I was so focused on keeping up with him I almost ran into his legs when he did eventually stop. My cues are all physical, so I was trying not to listen to his conversation with a Dom whose voice I didn’t recognize. He was asking Master questions about training. He wanted Master to watch him and his sub and give critique. I was soon crawling frantically again as they walked through the party to a back room. When we stopped he bent down in front of me.

“I am going into this room. You will wait out here until I return. I am going to attach your leash to the door and you are not to move. You will not speak to anyone. If you have a medical emergency you may knock on the door for assistance. Do you understand pet?”

“Yes Master”

“Good girl.” He handed me a bottle of water and stood up. I felt a pat on my head and watched as he attached the leash to the door knob. As he disappeared into the room I settled back on my heels to find a comfortable position. Not knowing how long I would be there, I wanted to make sure my legs didn’t tighten up so I could crawl or walk at a moments notice. But I wanted to use this quiet time that Master had given me to remember his ownership.

I chose to watch the leash swing from my neck to the door. Tied to him always, even when he’s not there. Ready and waiting for his eventual return.

Kink of the Week



I’m not saying this to make Sir feel bad, but I don’t think he ever bought me pretty underwear before D/s. I have a large selection to wearable, white, hold everything in bras. Like a mom, I guess.

Welcome to color and push-up.

Trying to be humble, but I don’t think they have ever looked better. I certainly have never felt sexier. For him.

Sinful Sunday

My Clark Kent

I’m kind of an exhibitionist. I’m fine to post pictures of me completely naked, or tell really embarrassing and sordid stories about myself. Everyone has bits of themselves that they aren’t comfortable with and stories where they don’t come out looking great. I guess I just find that people commiserate with my body image issues and I can help push past them by posting pictures I actually like.

But that is me. CollaredMom is an adjective, not an identity. Being submissive is who I am, and I’m pretty open about it. My persona online is a protection for my family and our life.

Sir has been very supportive of my blog. He enjoys reading my interpretation of our scenes and personal issues that I am dealing with. It’s been a great way for us to communicate and address issues that arise between us. But there are limits in how much he is exposed.

He is an attorney. I’m not really sure what else I need to say.

He has been very cautious about how his professional and personal life meet. And while he supports my comfort and willingness to tell you every facet of our lives, he has to play his hand a little closer to his chest. He isn’t ashamed, but he has to consider his clients and his reputation.

So I can’t use names (obviously). My twitter feed has to be limited on information and I can’t post pictures of our faces. I’m not sure I have even posted a picture of Sir at all. I can be general, but I have to be careful. A few times I have had to go back and edit posts per his order to remove information he found too specific.

I understand his point. I get that while I am fine for people to know who I am and I am not worried about judgement or comment, he cannot be so flippant with his lifestyle choices. He isn’t ashamed of me or our relationship, that’s all that matters to me. And I will follow his rules however he likes.

With that in mind, if you happen to know me, or something in my post (or photos) leads you to ‘discover’ our secret identities, please keep it to yourself. I appreciate you respecting my Sir’s wishes to remain anonymous in his public life.

Some secret identities need to be kept secret.


Wicked Wednesday