Chasing Me Chasing You

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

The Ordeal of the Nipple

Or probably more accurately titled: My ineptitude causes my own pain.

So for those not following along (no judgment, I can hardly keep this mess straight from day to day), I got my nipples pierced last year. This fall they had healed enough that I took out the barbells that were a bit too big and put in black rings. I wasn’t a huge fan of them when I bought them and they never really grew on me. While I got the piercings for my husband, I wanted them to at least look cute. And the black rings were way too drab for me. As often as I try to show off my breasts, I want them to look nice.

So as I embark on this new form of D/s with a new Sir, I wanted to try a fresh start. We aren’t at a place of collars just yet, but I really wanted his opinion on this new jewelry. During one of our conversations I sent him a few links to some designs and we both agreed that the heart keys were the cutest. My husband was on board and bought them last week. I was so excited when they arrived. I ended up getting pissy with the kids as they wouldn’t go to bed fast enough. Finally  they remained in their rooms long enough for me to call it a win; if they got up now it was their own therapy bill.

In my eagerness to get them switched I grabbed the ball on one of the rings and began to unscrew it. That was the easiest and last pain-free moment of the evening. With the ball released I attempted to pull the ring free from my nipple. It caught several times and pinched like a bitch before I got it out. I looked at my husband with the realization that this was not going to be the fun, quick process I had hoped for. It faded even more when I tried to put the new post in. I couldn’t get it to go in, not even a little bit. It was catching on something, and whatever that something was, it hurt a lot.

After struggling for a few minutes I had to stop. I was tearing up and it was getting too hard to see. My husband attempted to intervene at this point, which was sweet. It didn’t actually help and it hurt even worse, but I appreciated him rubbing my arm while he did it. After a bit more whimpering we stopped for a break.

He had a good idea to try and use lube to help, which turned out to be the answer. I got the first key in place and quickly twisted the end on. It pinched my already sore nipple, but I didn’t care. I was so worried that I wasn’t going to be able to get in place. With no where to turn at that time of night, I was worried that my piercing would close up. As panic set in and the pain of the first nipple worsened, I decided to forgo the second.

My husband brought up an ice pack for my sore nipple. He suggested I go to the tattoo parlor in town after work the next day to see if they could help me get the other post in place. And we were both concerned at the amount of pinching that the first was causing me. I was awake most of the night. The random pangs and pinches kept waking me up and keeping me from any kind of restful sleep.

Work the next day was torture. I was writing to my Sir how the pain would occasionally turn to arousal (not that that was a good thing at work), but it didn’t last long. The soreness in my right breast was intense. I was starting to worry that my ham-fisted actions the night before had left my piercing infected. I felt so stupid for buying jewelry online and worried that I had just wasted money (of our very tight budget) buying something that I couldn’t even use.

I tried not to look too defeated as I walked into the tattoo parlor after leaving the office. The woman who does their piercings there is super nice. I explained my predicament and she immediately waved me back to her station. With a simple, “We’ll get you fixed up”, she did. Apparently my bars were too short and that is what was causing the pinching. So she modified my pretty jewelry by simply switching out the bar with a longer one. Then she gave me tips on how to remove my jewelry more carefully and put it in without all the pain (lube was the key; my husband was on the right track).

It took less than ten minutes and my boobs looked amazing and the soreness was nearly gone. I wanted to give her a hug, but went for a big tip instead. Waking up this morning, after sleeping much better, the pain was completely gone.

Hopefully I will get a chance to take the Sinful Sunday photo that I want tonight and you will get to see my cuteness properly. If not, the quick shots I took for twitter will have to do for now. But as panicky and painful as the other night was, I did learn a lot.

  1. Lube is always the answer, for everything.
  2. I’ll get a million more tattoos before I get anything else pierced.
  3. Y’all are going to be seeing a lot of my boobs over the next few months, cause they look damn cute with these keys.

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

So much has changed in the last few months I felt like the blog needed a bit of a re-working. The title will stay ‘Chasing Me, Chasing You’. I still feel like that most of the time. But, the subtitle is now a bit more accurate and my Rules and Contracts pages are gone. Not sure if my posts will change much, but I am hoping to start writing more. I guess I am hoping I can try and feel more authentic when I write.

I always felt like I couldn’t express how hard this roller-coaster has been. Not sure if I was more worried about actually admitting it to myself or the fear of my husband reading it. I don’t want him to be hurt, but that doesn’t make my hurt go away. But, he admitted that he doesn’t read this anymore. It was painful to hear that, but I’ve decided to take it as a positive and use this space to write what I really feel. No more sugar coating or holding back.

So, fair warning, you may have to put up with a certain amount of whinging. I’m hoping I can also write about all the kink fantasies and poly experiences that are running around in my brain. Maybe if I can release those feelings here I can deal with my vanilla life better. And, having a place to post all the lovely photos of when Jack and I do manage to get together is always nice.

A few weeks ago I thought I was going to need to walk away from writing in general and the blog all together. I mean, the website is called ‘collared mom’. With only half of that still being true I could not bear to even think about posting anything. Not writing has hurt. And it didn’t make sense to me to add to my pain. Reading of those who attended Eroticon this year just reminded me how much I want to be part of this community. I will start saving to attend next year, as I need to do this for me.

Thank you all for your continued support and I hope those of you who keep reading aren’t disappointed.

A Crazy Week

This week has been emotionally and physically exhausting. The kids went to grandma’s house on Friday night and all Sir and I could think about was a good night’s sleep.

A dear friend found out his daughter was sexually assaulted by someone they knew.

All you can do is try and be supportive. I started to get upset with him when he indicated that she might not pursue prosecution. But, after reflecting, that really wasn’t fair of me. I have never been through such a horrific experience, and it’s not my place to judge. I just wish I could do more for their family as they struggle with this tragic event.

Took on a big grant project at work.

Much more positive than above, but still overwhelming. I am really looking forward to the challenge and showing my boss that I am the amazing person they thought I was when they hired me. And it’s a long term thing. The complete project isn’t due until January, but it will take a lot of piece meal work whenever I get a moment. Usually my desk is covered with requests and filings, so finding extra time may be tough. But the rewards could be worth it if I can get us a chunk of money next year, so fingers crossed.

2yo has decided that sleep is for the weak.

It’s been about a week and a half now. I’m not sure why, but 4:30, or 5:00 if we are lucky, has become his new morning. Which he chooses to share with Sir and I by coming into our room and poking Sir in the stomach. I don’t think it is really sustainable as we are both grumpy and he is falling asleep before lunch at school. Running around at night isn’t helping though, so more devious tactics may be required.

Sir talked to his doctor about his libido and is changing his meds.

Neither of us are getting ahead of ourselves with high expectations. We’ll see if he notices a difference in the next few weeks. I feel bad as I am afraid that he just got tired of me whinging on here. But at the same time, if it helps, I don’t think either of us will be complaining.

Had my STI screening done before I go to California next week.

Everything came back negative, but it was still a tense few days. I don’t know why, but testing like that always freaks me out. Neither Sir nor I have had an symptoms, it was just a formality really so I could take paperwork with me. The last thing I want is for my friends to feel uncomfortable. And the clinic was actually very nice. I was worried they would be judgmental as I numbered partners, but they were informative and polite.

Pinched a nerve in my neck which incapacitated me for several days.

And, the reason I haven’t written much this week is that I pinched a nerve. I wrote a bit about it on Thursday, but it continued to get worse. On Friday, while the kids were at grandma’s and we were supposed to be enjoying a sexy evening along, we ended up at Urgent Care. They prescribed some muscle relaxers and sent me home. After a good night’s sleep I felt a lot better, now it’s mostly a light soreness. But last week was a mess of unproductive evenings.

Luckily, even with everything going on, yesterday was amazing. We had some good family time and I got a lot done. Business stuff and house cleaning got caught up and Sir and I were even able to connect. Hopefully, this week before I go to California we will be able to focus on each other and really have some time together. I want to ensure that we are in a good, solid place before I leave him with the kids for a week so I can have a sexual tryst. His support and mutual excitement for me has been amazing, but connecting with him before I go and after I get back will be the real test to see if this will ever happen again.

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.

Pain in Blood

Blood ran down my leg. I could feel it as I sprinted up the stairs to our tiny bathroom. I had excused myself without raising alarm, I just hoped that no one noticed how quickly I backed out of the room.

“No, no, no!” I cried. I sat on the toilet and wept silent tears. My parents were downstairs. They couldn’t know. At least they were getting ready to leave. I put on a maxi-pad that made me feel like a toddler with a diaper. Then I went down the hall to the bedroom to take off my skirt and put on a pair of much more comfortable sweatpants. My mom would notice the change of clothes, but I was hoping she would think I was just in for the day. My father wouldn’t notice at all.

I checked the mirror for evidence of my crying. My eyes were a bit puffy, but the redness was gone. When I got back to the dining room everyone had gotten some coffee and the table had been cleared.

He saw my face and tilted his head in that adorable way he always does to ask if I was alright. He squeezed my shoulder as he walked passed. I shook my head, but put on a weak smile to let him know we would talk later.

And later took forever.

My parents wanted to chat about Thanksgiving plans and anything else I could care less about in that moment. I sipped my coffee as my stomach cramped, though I wasn’t sure it was emotional or physically caused. The pain was real enough. After an hour I was near ready to beg them to go.

I don’t know how, but I think he knew. Not just that something was wrong, but what the pain behind my fake smile meant. He cleared the coffee and began collecting coats and bags.

‘You guys have a long drive…they are calling for snow later this afternoon.’ He knew exactly what to say to get them out the door.

As soon as the car pulled out of the drive I curled into a ball on the couch and released all the pain I had been holding in for over an hour. He sat down next to me and pulled me into his lap. I wailed into his shirt. He held me and rubbed my back. When I ran out of tears he sat me up and walked out of the room. I just stared into the distance, trying to focus on anything in the living room without success.  My eyes may have been too swollen, but mostly I think I just didn’t care anymore. He returned a few moments later with a blanket. Putting his feet up on the couch he pulled me into him. I lay down against this chest as he pulled the blanket around me.

“Today will be over soon. Tomorrow will be better. And we have plenty of time to make our family.” He produced a glass of water and some pain medication for me to take. Then he tucked me up under this chin. He rubbed my back until I fell asleep against him, warm and safe.

I just had to keep telling myself, ‘It’s just blood, it’s only blood’.

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings


**I’m sorry if this was upsetting or a trigger for anyone’s bad experience. This was one of the worst days of my life. And without Sir, it would have been unbearable. Sometimes sexy is providing support and care; especially in the those moments when sex is the furthest thing from your mind.**

A Painful Realization

So Sir messaged me from work with a realization I had been chewing on for a few days.

Sir: You are not a masochist because you “like pain.” You are a masochist because you like it when I get off on your pain.

Rye: I agree. Is that bad?

Sir: Not even a little bit. It’s good!

Rye: I was planning to write about it later this week

Sir: I just was worried you might be having a minor identity crisis. 

So here it is folks, it’s finally time I admit it to myself and to you. I am a masochist. An emotional masochist for myself and a physical masochist for him. Just a pain slut all around I guess. And the trippy part is that I’m really okay with it. Actually even a bit excited. Because now that he knows it too he may be willing to play a bit harder. I think him having the realization the same time as me may help him feel less guilty about enjoying it.

I’m not sure why I fought it for so long. Afraid of what it might mean for us. Maybe I am just scared that that is what our play will become. Sir has admitted that it has become difficult for him to orgasm during sex if I’m not at least whimpering a bit. And I think I’m just worried that I’ll soon be destined for that with degradation. If he’s not calling me names or beating me I won’t be able to find release either. As a fan of the occasional afternoon Doxy ride, it would be a shame to lose that. Maybe I could record him calling me a worthless slut that I could play when I’m alone.

No matter my fears, it doesn’t change the truth. I take pain for him because he likes it. It makes him hard and it makes our rough sex rougher. I only wish my marks would stay longer for him to enjoy and me to appreciate. We are both realizing how much we like them.

So happy Friday from your friendly neighborhood masochist! Hoping to have a weekend full of fun and now gooey pain as well.

What shall we do today?

So, do you want to get your nipples pierced today?


Oh wait, we can’t. Your MRI is on Monday and you would have to take them out. No metal, remember.


It is amazing to me sometimes how quickly one’s mood can rise and fall. Honestly, I was surprised how on board I was. I was genuinely excited. Excited about the entire process. Thinking about what pretty jewelry I was going to get. How sensitive my nipples would become. Stupid MRI magnet.

I even have to take my collar off. That will feel even weirder. Maybe I’ll see if Sir will write on me with marker or something so I won’t feel so naked for the day. The MRI is of my foot and ankle, so some marker on my ass should go unnoticed.

However, today is tattoo day! If it’s not one form of body modification it’s another. All the cameo pieces of the sleeve are done, so now we are starting the lace. She’ll do the lower band today. If there’s time and my body holds up, I am also hoping to add my BDSM knod in the piece. I am getting ‘good girl’ in cursive on the underside of my arm. Probably my most overt D/s tattoo to date. I am hopeful to get time for it, but we’ll see. I won’t get back to her until early April, so I really try to take as much ink as my body will allow at each appointment. And apparently I hadn’t mentioned this addition to Sir. We talked on the way home yesterday and he was only upset that he would miss the pain that tattooing my armpit would likely cause. He’s often jealous of missing my pain faces; I don’t tell him that I tend to take that pain very well.

So, hopefully, after the MRI next week Sir will still be in the mood for my piercings. It is something we’ve discussed on and off for awhile, and each time, I get a little more interested. The healing time is a drawback, but I think it’s worth it. And the sooner I get them done, the sooner they will heal. And the sooner I can start decorating them with pretty jewelry…and the sooner Sir can start clipping things to them to turn them into horrible torture devices.

Still totally worth it.

Rye's breasts with vices on her nipples
Pretty un-pierced nipples, hopefully not for much longer.



The small things I can do

Sir had a bad day. His back is out and he can’t get to the chiropractor until tomorrow. I told him he should come home early, get his cock sucked, and then relax and try to do some work from home.

Not sure if this makes me a bad slave or a good slave, but either way, I have a feeling I will be a used slave tonight. So…win!

Finding the balm

Pain is never the problem; it’s only a symptom, your body’s indication that something is “wrong over here.” In this way, your body tells you, almost instantly, that your finger hurts and you are able to deduce that it is because you are touching something that is at such a high temperature as to present a danger to the skin and muscle cells in your finger. You feel the pain, but the pain isn’t the problem. It’s just a signal.
This is just as true for emotional pain as physical pain, but it’s harder to address because the body’s natural mechanisms for expressing emotional pain communicate much less clearly than their physical counterparts. When something bad happens, it just sort of hurts “inside”. Sometimes, as a result of lives spent following the source of pain straight to the hurt that caused it, that leads us to believe that the “problem” is also inside us.
But it might not be. More often than not, emotional pain is the result of a disembodied hurt that exists in the space between two people, or between a person and an idea, out in the semiosphere where the person extends themselves outward, looking for a connection. Humans are built around the need for connection. When we fail to connect, whether because of misunderstanding, miscommunication, or even just unfortunate timing, it hurts and we feel it “inside”. It can feel like getting slapped back, put in your place. And because there is no anthropomorphised administrator of this wrist-slap, there is no one to give you clarification or context for the rebuff, and you are left to try and decipher what happened and why and whether or not it was your fault.
The other problem with physical pain, even when you can find the right source, is that it is often the result of a hurt for which the balm is completely counter-intuitive. Afraid of spiders? Spend time with spiders. Anxiety speaking in public? Try speaking in public. Devastated by the rape you just can’t bear to think about? You should find someone to help you think – and talk – about it. Obviously this strategy doesn’t apply to all – or probably even most – hurts causing emotional pain, but I think it is often a part of the solution.
To be clear, my advice is NOT “walk it off”.
My advice is this: If you hurt on the inside, don’t forget to look outside yourself for the source of that hurt. When you find the source, don’t let yourself have any blindspots about what will make the hurt lessen.
If you find out that you hurt because of a failed connection, don’t give up on connection. Try to reconnect. If you know your hurt comes from multiple failed connections, change how you try to connect. If you can’t understand why the connection failed, talk to someone on the other side of that connection to understand, even if it’s painful to do so.
BDSM is a great way to practice emotional healing. For people who like to be humiliated and degraded sexually, that kind of play, when healthy, should start and end with communication about the players’ value as people, even if that’s not the surface-level matter of conversation. When two people talk about what is and is not a limit, the conversation is inherently based on mutual and co-extensive human validation. When the scene progresses through and someone is shouted at/pissed on/kicked into the mud/locked in the dark/made to feel alone, it is still based on this same validation. Aftercare, when done right, is a song of validation as two fulfilled (and sweaty) bodies come together to reaffirm each others’ and their own humanity. We can only play with these ideas because we are human enough and smart enough to believe two contradictory things at the same time. In that moment, we connect.
And it is the CONNECTION AS YOU EXPERIENCE IT (your half of the semiotic connection as you extend yourself outward looking for something), not the validation you hear coming from some other person, that gives you what you need to begin to heal.
You can heal yourself, but you can’t do it alone. Let your pain lead you to the hurt, even if its where you didn’t expect to find it. Examine the hurt to find a balm, even if its the opposite of what you expected. If the hurt comes from a bad connection, keep connecting. When you identify the connection you need to feel better, don’t forget that the healing you experience is the result of your actions, and it is YOUR healing. Own it. Own all of it.
– Sir.