Chasing Me Chasing You

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

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.

Come up for air

I wish that title was in reference to sex, but alas…no.

Work stress has had Sir in knots lately. We had planned this year pretty carefully to try and spread out the madness a bit. But last week, on Sir’s birthday no less, his boss dropped a bomb that threw everything out of sync. It just couldn’t come at a worse time. So much so that we were considering starting Sir’s firm a few months early. But of course, that leads to insurance issues. Yesterday was a good turning point. He and his boss hashed out everything and he’s decided to stay. It was a big relief considering we just moved and have a lot to settle before we deal with insurance and new business expenses.

All of this has had a devastating effect on our sex life. Saturday evening, our first night in the new house, we had fun sex. Lots of lovely pounding and spanking helped us both sleep. But since then I have been cursing his boss and trying not to scream at the kids. I don’t blame him, I really don’t. I can’t imagine weighing all this in my head the last few days. I completely understand the lack of horny as he figured out what to do. And even now that things have been sorted, getting a dominant head space may not come all that easy.

So now we are moving on to just focusing on moving. Well, moving in. I found my coffee cup and the doxy; so all the important things are unpacked 🙂

With all the important items found we can try to get back to sexy this weekend. At least we don’t have anywhere to go. Just boxes to unpack. Which suits me just fine.

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings

Just Ask Me Already!

Sir and I met in college. I don’t want to say that I trapped him, I didn’t. But I will say that I knew early on that I wanted to share my life with him. College dating is different that regular adult dating. We saw each other every day, not a date once or twice a week. So, the fact that we were talking about a shared future together after about four weeks makes a bit more sense. I think I had him talking marriage seriously in less than two months. It helps that the sex was amazing.

So, I guess it wasn’t terribly romantic, but we decided to get engaged. We had a custom ring made and it wasn’t a surprise to me at all. In fact, we planned a trip. I was doing research for a senior project and actually got some funding to travel to Scotland to visit the National Archives in Edinburgh. So with my ticket and hotel room sorted, all we had to cover was his plane ticket. Everyone in both our families knew we were going to come back engaged, but I was still super excited.

The flight over was long, we landed in Edinburgh in the morning and luckily the hotel allowed for early check in. We curled up for a quick nap and started a week of vacation fucking. I think I had been naked for at least two hours before I started getting antsy. When was he going to ask me? Where was the ring? Did he have something fancy planned.

But here’s the thing, and don’t take this the wrong way: Sir is not a planner. I mean, he’s a planner in his job and now in his dominant head space. But that was not college Sir. College Sir was definitely more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of guy. So while I wondered if he had planned a big gesture, I knew in reality he probably hadn’t thought about it all. And that was okay, I’m not really all about surprises (I still struggle with detours during scenes). But we just aren’t grand gesture people. It’s the little things that work for us.

Little or big, I just wanted him to ask me so I wouldn’t get impatient and moody. I was going to be spending the next several days in a reading room in the archives while he walked the city. If I was going to focus on research I was really going to need the jitters out of the way.

So, while most couples have these elaborate stories of their engagement, many today being posted on YouTube, ours was anything but. I was naked, he was naked, we both had amazing ‘just fucked’ hair. It was perfect. Like I said, we love simple. And pretty much every memory where I am naked is a good one.

Rye and Sir on the day they were engaged.

See how everyone else is answering questions this week for Wicked Wednesday.

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings


Have you ever had that friend/significant other/family member that you want to help but can’t? Not fix. At least, I’ve never tried to fix them. And I don’t mean help them like loan them money or bake them a cake. I mean watching them tear themselves up inside and being helpless to stop it. It’s something that I’ve experienced twice so far in my life and it’s something I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It’s like watching someone suffer with a physical disease. It doesn’t kill them, but it does eat away at everything that makes them vibrant and unique.

First case study was my college roommate. I loved her. And not in a ‘she’s a great friend’ kind of way. I mean, I really loved her. I am sure you remember, faithful reader, but I grew up in a very conservative farming community. As much as my parents were quite liberal, I’m not sure I actually met a lesbian until I got to college (there was one openly gay man at my high school). My roommate told me she was bisexual our first semester, though she never made a move on me. But that’s not what made me fall in love with her. It was her spark. She was so vibrant. I wasn’t necessarily sexually attracted to her, though I may have considered it had we pursued a relationship. She made me happy to be me because she accepted me as me.

And when she was that vibrant, sarcastic ball of energy it was wonderful. We were close and we did everything together.  I even think we had an attached at the hip nickname at one point. Again, when she was up that was great. But when she would hit a rough patch, it was one terrible ride. She would lay in bed for days. I would bring her food to try and make her eat. I would try and bribe her with pie from the local Amish bakery just to get to shower. Helpless doesn’t even being to describe watching someone do that to themselves. Our senior year she finally decided to get help, but by then I had been too sucked in. I hated her for what she did to herself; for what she put me through. I hated that I just couldn’t make the depression go away. I mean I had depression too, but my dips and lulls were nothing compared to hers; I didn’t understand that. I just couldn’t take the suffering and self-loathing. Watching her destroy herself. I haven’t spoken to her in almost two years, ever since we moved. I told her that I loved her a few years ago and she just looked at me. Blankly, with nothing to say. All those moments when I felt helpless in college to make her better were destroyed in the look on her face that said she didn’t care. The last time I saw her she had had a mental breakdown at work because she forgot her meds and spent the day curled up in Sir and my bed until her husband (a real douchebag by the way) came to get her on his way home. She didn’t even say thank you.

With this extreme study as a groundwork, you would think I could handle anything. Sir’s depression is different. But it manifests itself as guilt and shame mixed with anxiety and fear. He always feels like he’s not good enough for me, or his job, or the kids. He never feels worthy. There is never kink on his bad days, he feels worthless, not dominant. And that has made me bitter. Yesterday he came home sullen and upset and I immediately got frustrated. And I hate that. Rather than be supportive and feel helpless I’m short-tempered and snippy. I hate that just want him to get over it sometimes. That I want him to believe when I say that he’s enough for me. That the kids and I couldn’t ask for more from anyone. He just sighs, says thanks, and mopes in front of a video game for a few hours. Most of the time he comes to bed late, grumbles when the alarm goes off in the morning, and is generally back to his old self by breakfast. Staying that way until he dips again.

I hate watching him beat himself up. He’s supposed to do that to me, right? The pain on his face lets me know I could never be a sadist. I stare horrified at his inner turmoil, not turned on by it. And what I hate more is how poorly I respond. I just want him to get better. I hate that I can’t be strong enough for him when he needs me to. That just because ‘buck up and deal’ was a constant part of my childhood means that I struggle with compassion for others when they need support. And that I’m worried that my college roommate sapped the empathy I generally produce. I obviously don’t judge those with mental illness. I have my own demons and we all struggle from time to time. I just hate watching those I care about hurt themselves, even if they don’t leave visible scars.

Brownies and fried chicken usually work for my mood slumps. Too bad others’ spirits cannot be lifted so easily.

This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt was Zombies. And I guess I am starting to feel like one. Fighting in a battle against an enemy I can’t win. I can’t even see. And watching it eat away at someone I care about. The worst part is I almost hate them for not fighting harder. And I hate myself for thinking it should be that easy.

See who actually followed directions and wrote on the prompt of possibly sexy zombies on this week’s Wicked Wednesday.

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings

Something old, Something new

No wedding bells, just a strange evening with more than one twist.

Sir and I played yesterday via video and text chat while he was at work. It was a lot of fun, but I was craving more by the time he got home. I had gotten permission to have a few drinks, but after one I was already jittery. I climbed into bed with a mixture of exhaustion and excitement. After all our flirting and pinching throughout the evening we were both on edge.

Something Old

When we were in college we fucked like bunnies. During the day when we weren’t in class we were always all over each other. We would climb into bed and look at each other hungrily. And then we would talk. And talk. And talk. Those naked philosophy conversations were some of the happiest times of my life. We would talk for hours while we cuddled. These deep conversations about random topics. Then we would look at the clock and three hours would have gone by and we would go to sleep without sex. Or we would have sex despite the hour and be zombies the next day. Good times.

So last night was an interesting replay of this. We started talking about a girl I knew from high school and her putting her recent relationship issues all over Facebook. We talked about empathy and victims. At one point we had long discussion of a mock trial of some random guy who was given a LSD-laced cigarette and then raped a girl. Is it really his fault? Should that be a mitigating factor in his guilt and/or sentencing? It was great. The conversation was a great representation of how much we enjoy each other and push each other in our thinking.

And after a deep philosophical conversation we were still up for sex, so win/win.

Something New

Sir has this game that he loves to play. He lets me have a doxy ride while he plays with my nipples. I’ve never really thought my orgasm face was that wonderful, but he likes it. So last night he changes the game. I’m allowed to come, I don’t have to beg or even get permission. But I also cannot move the doxy after I come. I have to beg to turn it off. Sounds easy, right? Just have wave after wave of orgasms until I pass out. There is only one problem, my clit gets super sensitive after a doxy orgasm. Everything tenses up and my nerves get pokey rather than the good tingly that allows for multiple orgasms.

However, this time something completely different happened. My pussy got ticklish. Like, super ticklish. I could not stop laughing. I must have looked like a complete stoner. I have eleven boy cousins and I trained my body not to be ticklish because they were merciless when I was young. Obviously, they weren’t tickling my clit, but I still had not experienced anything like that since I was maybe ten. It overwhelmed me instantly.

I was holding the doxy with one hand and my stomach with the other as it was starting to cramp. I was laughing so hard I was crying. I kept trying to beg for Sir to let me turn the doxy off, but I couldn’t get more than one syllable out at a time. Finally, with tears running down my face, I was able to get out, “Please let me turn the doxy off Sir.” With a big sadistic grin on his face he let me stop. My stomach was cramping so bad. And I was still laughing.

Sir claims that laughing is something that some masochists do to help trick their brain into dealing with the pain a different way. I think he just wants me to admit that I am a masochist. Never, I say.

Doxy massager in box.

March Q&A Madness

It’s that time again. The month of March is blogger world’s time of questions and answers. Nothing is off the table. I have very few secrets myself, though I keep others well. If you really want to hear my son’s birth stories or how I organize my work piles I will share it. Ask at your own risk for sheer boredom or ick-factor.

Questions for Sir will be put to him, but his answers may depend on his workload this month. I know he still struggles with getting back into D/s and coming back to the blog to post or answer questions, but I also know he wants to. After our ‘break’ over the holidays he stepped back from here. Possibly feeling judged or just not wanting to read how I was feeling during that dark time. I know it was just as hard for him to watch me go throw that, so I guess I understand that he wouldn’t want to read about it. So I guess that’s just a word of warning about asking him about that ‘break’ period. I’m not sure we even have all the answers to those questions yet.

I will start off the month with a question for myself and any other bloggers taking part who happen to read this post. Please feel free to answer below or post to your own blog. Can’t wait to see what we learn about ourselves and each other this month.

What is one positive thing that you have given to the world?

I love dogs. And I love to provide care and a good home to rescue dogs. My one positive thing was our dog, Toby. He was an adorable puppy (see below if you don’t believe me). And for his entire life he was happy and healthy. As tragically as his life ended (he was hit by a car), I try to remember the happiness that he had with us. He prepared me to be a good mom and he showed me how wonderful rescue dogs can be. Now I can’t imagine having any other type of pet. And I will be forever grateful to him for that. I miss him everyday.

Toby as a puppy sitting on Sir's lap.
Toby on Sir’s lap in 2009.

Ok, now that I’ve gotten all teary-eyed…

Can’t wait to answer your, hopefully happier, questions and read other bloggers answers throughout the month.

The Beard Problem

Sir sporting a goatee at our wedding.
Sir at our Wedding in 2008.

I’ve always been a big fan of facial hair. I love how soft it is, and I guess it just looks really manly to me. I’m not into the full mountain man look, but a trim beard is hot. I think it makes men look dignified and in many cases, older. Sir has always had one in one form or another. The goatee was popular for a few years (see above), but the full beard has been around since we moved back to Ohio. There was a short period where he had to shave it off for work. And honestly, he looks a little odd with out it (he agrees with me, so I won’t get into trouble). Maybe it just makes his baby face stand out.

Sir with his full beard and all black.
Sir’s more contemporary look with a full beard.

What does get me into trouble is where oral sex and his beard meet. He’s all about kissing. He really likes to make out; full tongues and everything. Which normally, I’m ok with. Ok, a hell of a lot more than ok with. But after he gives me oral his beard is gross. I wish there was a better way to say it. But it’s usually dripping with a mixture of saliva and me juices. And I know they are both fluids that I enjoy, but when they are cold and dripping from his face they loose their sexiness. Sir gets so angry. He really loves giving me oral and having so much control over my orgasms, but having to stop and wipe off his beard before continuing our play drives him up the wall.

It’s something I really need to work on. He’s respectful of it as sort of a soft limit right now, but I know that won’t last long. I’m slowly getting used my own taste, so he’ll soon stop caring if it bothers me. If it’s his beard and getting used to cold lady juices or no beard and dry faced make-outs, I’m going with the beard.


Necessary Appointments

Rye laying on the floor next to Sir's bed.
Wish I could spend the day in my happy place.

Today should be fun. I am leaving when the husband and kids leave to have an initial appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. This appointment is to check out the torn ligaments and pain in my foot. Hopefully that will be an easy fix. Because then I have to make another appointment to talk about the cysts on my wrists.

I hit thirty and fell apart. Well, I guess the foot was messed up from dance and I just never got it fixed. Stress and the varying changes in our life have just brought these pains to the breaking point. I found out about the cysts over a year ago, but the doctor told me I wouldn’t be able to lift anything for a few days. At that point I was at home all day with two kids, the youngest being 4 months old. I just couldn’t deal with it and not be able to pick him up. Now that he can walk and we are through the holidays I can finally get put back together.

So I’m running around. Hopefully whatever x-rays the doctor wants won’t take my whole morning. Then the weekly grocery run and the 4 year-old has a dentist appointment this afternoon. Unlike the doctor, which he hates, he is beyond excited about having his teeth cleaned. He was crushed when he came home from daycare today instead of heading to the dentist. This is the same kid who doesn’t like chocolate. I can’t explain him. But we’ll get some one on one time together. Maybe he’ll help me do the grocery run.

Even with errands and appointments I should be home in time to get dinner going before Sir gets home. He wasn’t feeling well last night, so he climbed into bed when we lay the 18mo down. I am hoping the extra few hours of sleep will help today. I really don’t want him to get sick. I mean, I am looking forward to a weekend of pampering him, but not with him suck in bed for the wrong reasons.


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.


So change is good. But when Sir said that we had to dial everything back I freaked. Yesterday was really hard. I thought my collar was coming off and I was losing everything kinky in my life. I was scared. It was a long day.

Last night we had a good talk. And sex. It’s been a long time since sex. But I was worried I wasn’t going to be able to relax. But it was hot. I missed having that connection with him. However, I wasn’t prepared for what it would mean.

I had my first orgasm without permission in two years. I cried. It was horrible. I haven’t felt that worthless and alone in a long time. I was shaking and I couldn’t stop crying. I think I scared the crap out of Sir.

But we’re better. I don’t know what to call him still. And it’s weird not to ask for drinks or to buy things. Hopefully we’ll keep growing with things though. My collar is still on, so that’s something.

I just want to get over this fear that I’m going to lose everything. BDSM has given me so much. It’s not the answer for everything, but it does make me feel good about myself in a way that I haven’t felt before. And I love sharing it with him. I’m just scared of losing all that and losing him. Losing us.