Chasing Me Chasing You

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

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

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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.

When What You Wish For Is Amazing

The other night I was tweeting about craving cock. As I have started to get nervous/excited about my sex vacation in a few weeks I have started some serious fantasies. The threesome experience I will be having (hopefully) will be with a married couple, but my fantasies as of late have been largely centered around two men. Sir and the gentleman I will be visiting could be an amazing night of fun. Often, when he and I flirt, we talk about spit roasts and how much I love the idea of being used by two guys at once.

So the other night I was thinking about it and getting all gooey. A few people appreciated my desires and even Sir was thinking fondly on my idea for an evening with friend(s). I had had my Njoy in earlier in the day and that always makes me super horny for the next twelve hours or so. Sir even helped me put it in, which is always leaves me a gooey puddle. By the time we went to bed I was a wet mess.

Sir ordered me to strip and get between his legs. Cock worship started with rubbing my breasts across his cock and balls. Obviously I don’t have the experience myself, but apparently my piercings feel pretty amazing on his shaft. He was breathing heavy after only a few minutes. But, always in command, the orders continued.

“Keep your ass in the air. So that you are ready when he arrives to fuck you. You better be wet for him. You will, right? Because you’re a good girl.”

“Yes, Sir.”

For a split second I honestly thought that someone else might be joining us. I was so excited that I started wiggling my ass from side to side as I began taking him deep.

“You’re dripping for him, aren’t you slut? Get your hand back there. Show him your pussy. Show him how wet you are thinking about him fucking you while you suck on me.”

I was more than happy to oblige. I really was dripping. And my eagerness with my fingers were matched by my tongue. The phantom threesome was working for both of us. With both us teetering on the edge Sir had me stop. He turned me around and slammed into me.

“Suck on your fingers. Taste how went you were thinking of him. Fill your mouth while I fuck you.”

He pounded into me while I sucked the salty brine from my fingers. Neither of us lasted very long, but it was so amazing we didn’t care. Cleaning up we both curled into our post sex positions and relaxed with our post-orgasm glow.

I was just so shocked how well that little bit of role play worked for both of us. A simple fantasy exchange and he really ran with it. Control and the mere idea that someone may join us was a great night for both of us. Sometimes all the kinky pieces fit together and it just works.

Absence makes

Absence makes you way behind on your school work, or miss an important meeting, or makes you forget your co-worker’s name. Absence, in my experience, does not make the heart grow fonder. My years in a long-distance relationship were not fond; with the only good memories being when we did sort out a quick visit. I tend to feel unwanted and unloved without a physical presence. So maybe my reaction to ‘absence’ isn’t the same as most. But I have found that this type of reaction is the same for all aspects of a relationship for me, especially sex.

My sex drive over the last few years has skyrocketed. Partially because of children, partially because I’ve finally gotten my medication sorted out, but mostly because of BDSM and finding my submissive sexuality. Hearing ‘Sir’ on TV gets me completely gooey, even if it’s just the news or some cooking show (okay, full disclosure, I watch cooking shows for fun). And constantly having this sexual charge hasn’t really been a problem. I like being able to be turned on by almost anything; and Sir likes that he can use me at his whim without needing to warm me up or use lube (because sometimes my purse isn’t big enough to always have it on hand). I’ve even gotten used to being horny in front of my parents, it’s not pleasant, but I’m not bothered by it anymore. In fact, I am more bothered when I’m not horny.

Which is now creating a new problem. Sir is struggling. It’s not his fault. There has been one stress after another. In fact, as I type this a man is in our living room cutting a whole in our ceiling because the master shower has leaked and destroyed the subfloor. It’s always something. And his job isn’t exactly a walk in the park. The first thing to go when he gets stressed is his sex drive. He is tired when he gets home, the idea of a scene or even vanilla sex seems like too much work. A good cuddle is nice, but it isn’t the same. And it is hard to ask for orgasms or attention as I know he has other things on his mind. So we just go to sleep.

So the absence of one leads to another. Because we aren’t having much sex or control of any kind I find my sex drive cooling. I’ve gotten comfortable being horny all the time, and how that it is fading I am unsure what to do. Part of me wants that 24-hour desire back, and part of me feels better being closer to his drive level. If he is going to want sex less, then maybe I should too. If I was horny less, then he wouldn’t feel pressured to always preform. And I do need to accept the reality that control isn’t a priority for him right now. I’m just worried that absence will just lead to more absence. If I stop enjoying being horny and frustrated all the time, will I just stop being horny? Will it just become commonplace like it was before my sex drive spiked? I don’t want to lose this new sexual me, but I also don’t enjoy being depressed because I’m so sexually frustrated. If control and dominance is not going to be part of my everyday life, then how do I balance that? The absence of control and how to keep going is my new task. Like finding a way to catch up on all that missed work or remembering that coworker’s name as soon as they walk away.

Moving Day

It’s Moving Day!

Our last night in this house and I even got a pair of intense gooey orgasms. It was nice. I slept like a baby.

Now I’m surrounded by boxes and I need to pack up this computer before our help gets here and we go get the truck. Fingers crossed we don’t have any injuries (last move we had an ACL tear, don’t ask) and everything makes it to the house in one piece. And this should be our last move in a very long time. Like, I’m planning to die in this house long.

Sleeping in clothes

Rye asleep in her camisole.

I was so tired. There is something about being tired that makes a duvet even more comfortable. And Sir’s arm wrapping around my waist helped me sink into the bed even more. He was understanding that I was tired from all our painting and house work; our scene wasn’t too long and he didn’t come. I felt bad about it, but he didn’t seem to mind.

I rolled over and he grabbed his phone. Sometimes he likes to jerk off while looking at Tumblr. Some of the pictures are beautifully sexy, but much more ‘hardcore’ than we currently do. I could feel him stroking himself as the bed moved slightly. I actually found it calming. When he does masturbate and I am home he will usually come in my mouth, so I feel a bit better at not servicing him more fully. So I curled into my pillow and waited for him to order my mouth into action.

His pace quickened and slowed. He is much better at edging himself and I am when I masturbate. I was a bad sub for a moment and hoped he would hurry up; I didn’t want to fall asleep and have to be awoken to catch his come. He rolled over to me and rubbed my back. I am still not used to sleeping in a camisole, but it’s worth it not to catch my piercings on something or have them get infected. I started to roll over as I took his caresses to mean that he was ready for me.

“Stay where you are.”

I started to ask why, but thought better of it. Maybe he wasn’t as close as I had hoped, or maybe he didn’t want to use my mouth tonight. That seemed unlikely, but I stayed on my side. He continued to rub my back and slipped his hand under my camisole. As comfortable as I already was, this relaxed me even more. His own pace quickened and I again considered rolling over, but his hand kept me in place, continuing to massage my lower back.

All at once his hand moved up my back and his cock brushed my skin. Warm cum shot onto my back as he held the camisole away from skin. It tickled as the hot liquid reached up to my shoulder blade. When he finished, he lay there for a moment with a gratified sigh. I started to turn over, but was stopped as he pulled his hand down along with my camisole. He rubbed my back to press the shirt into the liquid, now cooling quickly, and sticking to my skin. The feeling went from sexy to icky in an instant.

“Goodnight, Cunt.” He said will his sadistic grin as he rolled over and went to sleep.

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The Plan

We aren’t in all the snow. It’s windy, but that’s about it. We actually aren’t supposed to see a flake all weekend. But you wouldn’t know that by our snowed-in plan. We are hitting up the grocery this morning for a few junk food staples and then we are hunkering down for the next few days. Watching the NFC and AFC championships and staying warm. It’s the perfect weekend as far as I’m concerned.

Don’t get me wrong, there is still laundry to do. The kids will need to be fed and all that. We are even going to attempt to start packing some boxes and sorting through the attic. So we will certainly earn our junk food and football after all of that.

I would love to say that part of the plan is sex. It is and it isn’t. We want to find time to connect. A good quickie here, maybe a more involved chance there. Trying to limit my expectations. My arm is still healing, so it can be distracting when it’s bumped or pulled during an intimate moment.

After my all orgasm day on Wednesday we both have been tired. And I am continuing to find how my body reacts to orgasm withdrawal. So far my research has not been that positive. I just really takes a dive with the oxytocin drop.

Research continues.

Cock

I’ve been really good lately. And trust me, that is saying a lot, because it has been hella hard. Horny and frustrated does not equate to being a lovely, supportive wife and mother. But I came home from my business and tattoo appointment (more on that later) in a really good mood, so we ran with it.

Crawling into bed last night he started stroking my leg. He soon was stroking lots of other things and I was dripping and moaning. Then he shocked me.

“I just want to be a cock. Use me, abuse me. I don’t care.”

It only took me a moment to get over the surprise of what he said. And, being the slut that I am, I didn’t waste any time climbing on top of my new cock present. There is just something about straddling him and having a good hard orgasm. After nearly a week it was beautiful thing. It is those types of orgasms that make it hard for me to masturbate as I know I can’t replicate it on my own (I will, however, be trying later today).

As much as I was taken aback by the ‘I just want to be a cock’ line, I was equally excited when he decided that he wanted to come too. After some fun teasing he fucked my face. You wouldn’t think that someone holding onto your head as they ram their dick into your mouth would be relaxing, but it was delightful. And even better, he sighed. Sighed in the best, most relaxed way you can imagine. He sank into the bed as I covered him up and turned out the light. So many of his comments over the past week were about how constantly feeling the pressure of being my Dom made sex more stressful than enjoyable. Obviously I never wanted that, but I understand that it was inevitable if he wasn’t comfortable in what he was doing. So reminding him how relaxing sex can be has been a goal.

I treat my cock right. And I hope he gives me the opportunity to continue to do so.

Best Laid Plans

Well, good news and bad news I’m afraid. Though I don’t know which is which to be honest.

First, I’m an emotional bitch. Twenty-four hours without an orgasm and I was testy and tired. It was hard. And it would have been so easy. After my workout I walked back into our room, all naked and warm. It would have been easy. The Doxy was right there in the drawer, a myriad of dildos right next to it. There was pull, trust me. I like to think that I was somehow strong by resisting the urge, but I just felt lousy. Stupid oxytocin withdrawal.

But, then the husband came home. He had had a stressful, but good day. And after the kids went to bed he wanted to play. What was I supposed to say? Of course. Of course is the answer, always.

So I got a spanking and some lovely sex. I tried guys, believe me. I really wanted it to be all about him. I thought if I could focus on him that he might want more. Wow, that sounds really selfish. I love how me trying to be good just turns into selfish. See….bitch.

But, for all my attempts, it wasn’t to be. I guess I should be more upset, but I got to come, so not really feeling too bad about it. I was standing strong (and by standing I mean on my knees getting fucked from behind) for awhile, but then he started to do this hip thing. My resolve lasted about thirty seconds and we both had explosive orgasms.

So, today I am starting over. This weekend we are staying at his mom’s house, so we’ll have to be good. The Doxy will stay at home. So I’m sure I will hit more than 30-hours this time. Hopefully I can keep it together. By the time we get home on Sunday I may be a mass of stress. And maybe he will get ‘inspired’ again and reset my clock. At this point caffeine seems to be my replacement drug of choice for the withdrawal. Mochas are the same as orgasms, right?