Chasing Me Chasing You

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

Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of Human Domination

Hello everyone. I am Saer Woland, Rye’s dominant and owner.* I am part of that power which forever wills evil and forever works good. It is a pleasure to meet you.

When Rye asked me to do a guest post I was excited by the idea but befuddled as to a topic. Should I try to clarify things she has said about me in the past? Give my history as it pertains to BDSM? Discuss the nature of violence and power?

Seriously, I plotted out posts on all three of those topics…

In the end, I decided that it was important for me to weigh in on the question of labels, why we use them, and what they are good for.

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Before we begin, however, I just want to make a note about who I am and the title I have chosen for this post. I am, first and foremost, a fundamental nihilist. I do not accept that anything – anywhere – has inherent meaning. Words, actions, objects…these are just fluctuations in the fabric of our universe. It is my opinion that, by recognizing our emotional, instinctual, and learned responses to different stimuli, we disempower those responses and allow ourselves the opportunity to decide how we will feel about different things. For me, this is freeing. I do not feel compelled to have the response to something that I am “supposed” to. I can feel what I want. Honestly, it’s essential to enjoying BDSM in my opinion.

 

Now, one of the potential issues with this is the recognition of the fact that words can have different meanings to different people. Remember that words are just symbols, made of up smaller symbols. If I write “Bed,” you will think of a place where one sleeps, but you will not think of my bed, and you will not think of the innumerable emotions and ideas which my brain attaches to my bed. You WILL think of things that I cannot imagine and which I have no way of understanding, let alone attaching to the thing which I am referencing when I write the word “bed.” This idea – that words cannot communicate meaning – was called différence (“dee – FAY – raance”; not pronounced like “difference”) by Jacques Derrida in a paper called “Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences” in 1966 and forms the basis for many different schools of literary interpretation to this day. If you’re really into safe and sane self-harm, you can read the full essay HERE.

 

[tl;dr] Nothing means anything which means anything could mean something, but you can’t know what it means to someone else because it’s impossible for them to tell you because communication is restricted to symbols that are imperfect representations of unfathomably complicated ideas.

 

If you don’t understand, you’ve proven my point.

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A couple of days ago, Rye posted something on the nature of being a “true submissive” as defined in a book on female domination of willing men. In the book, the author describes a method of domination that will allow for the quality of a woman’s life to be substantially improved by the maintenance of a male submissive. The intent of that writing is to provide for a methodology by which a woman can measure the value of a D/s relationship in terms of what she is getting out of the exchange, rather than what the couple is experiencing together. In other words, a “true” submissive is one who foregoes any of their own satisfaction in order to provide maximum benefit to their master.

 

When Rye first read this, she was astounded by the idea. I know because she told me. She had gotten into BDSM after heavily reading texts that reinforced the idea that it is the submissive who has all of the power by setting the limits for the relationship and opening themselves to a dominant to use as desired. This new idea was unsettling for her, but also compelling for reasons that I will address below.

 

To me, I see these two schools of thought this way: In the former example (which I will call “deferential submission”), the dominant can be either active or passive and there is no substantial difference for the sub. The job is always the same, regardless of whether the dominant wants to play or wants to ignore: just make life easier. In the later example (which I will call “playground submission”**), the submissive sets boundaries and opens themselves up, and if the dominant is not fundamentally active, then those boundaries are hard to keep open. The submissive opens themself to certain activities, leaving others “out of bounds.” If a dominant does not come in and actively fill that space, it is very hard to keep the walls where they are. They constrict or falter or collapse in altogether. I have heard this called “submitting into a vacuum.”

 

Before we get any further, I just want to say that it is my opinion that these are both extremes and that most people do – and probably should – fall somewhere in between. Not living on the edge makes it more fun when you get to visit.

 

I think the difference between deferential submissives and playground submissives is not in what makes them happy, but in their motivation. A truly deferential submissive wants to experience a kind of living non-existence. I have read (almost-certainly fictional) accounts of a woman who lives in a cage in a windowless room that she does not leave. She has no hair, not even on her head. She is not allowed to talk. She spends all of her time in heavy chastity bondage. She is given “loaf” to eat and her intestines are cleaned out with a colonic every evening. She pees with a catheter three times a day at regular intervals. She is only ever fucked in the ass and then is required to clean her master with her mouth. The dominant in these recollections is present enough to shave her head and put a hose in her ass, but otherwise ignores her and does not talk to her. Obviously this was not written by the person experiencing this (when would they write?!?) but I do believe it was written by someone who was excited by the idea of experiencing that type of thing.

 

By comparison, a playground submissive wants to experience the things that she is giving up power over. If a submissive says that rope bondage is okay but chain bondage is out of bounds, you can bet that the submissive is really telling you that they want to be tied up with rope. If they don’t get to experience that, what are they getting? It’s a let-down.

 

What you have to understand about me is that I consider myself an “active dominant,” but I am not being very active right now. I am working the hardest job I have ever had and I have two screaming children shattering my brain with wails and demands. Rye knows this, and I know that she does not hold it against me. Lately I’ve just been spread a bit too thin all around and have not been able to give enough to anyone. Including her.

 

So, when Rye read about deferential submission for the first time, I believe she interpreted it this way: “If your dominant is passive, this is how you are supposed to behave to make them happy.” She knew I wasn’t happy, knew that she wasn’t getting what she wanted, and thought that the only way to make me happy was to give up everything she wanted, give up on being a playground submissive, and go full deferential.

 

When she presented the idea to me as “I just want to make your life easier and nothing else,” I’ll admit I thought, “FUCK YEAH!!” without really taking a minute to question the motivation behind her statement. Because of that, I allowed her continue with the idea far longer than I should have.

 

But we kept talking. I told her about my troubles. She told me about her unmet desires. We both said “that sucks,” and we agreed to keep going.

 

We are not going to move toward either fringe. We are just going to do what works for us. As soon as we figure out what that is.

 

Right now is a pretty good time in our lives, all things considered, but there is not a lot of time for the things that are desirable. Instead, we focus on what is important. We are planting the field of our lives, tending to that which is tender to ensure that it grows up healthy. In time – in our own time – we will reap what we have sown.

 

And when we lay the table for our harvest feast, it will be glorious.

I’m going to have the sirloin and sloppy blowjob.

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*Pronounced “Sáir βɑ́lənd” or “S-air VWooland” See this link if you don’t understand how to say “V” and “W” at the same time.

** I don’t mean to make it sound childish, I just really couldn’t think of a better word. Live with it.

The Morning Switch

Mornings with two young children is unlike any experience I had growing up or in college. I consider myself a morning person. Since a very young age I have consistently woken up before my alarm, no struggle to hop in the shower and be on my way. I’m a coffee fanatic, but honestly, that isn’t really to wake me up, it’s more for flavor and focus. But even with the promise of coffee I stagger out of bed in the morning these days. I shuffle around to get the kids and Sir ready and out the door when it finally becomes quiet and I can turn my brain on without fear.

Sir is another animal all together. He’s never really been into mornings anyway. In college he used to shove a towel under his door so his room would be completely dark and he could sleep later without the hall noise waking him. Definitely a coffee required to function type person.

So I have noticed a reality forming. Between 6:15am (when his alarm first sounds) and 7:20ish (when he and boys generally walk out the door) we switch roles. I am the task master. If I’m not awake when his alarm goes off (rare), I will get up, get dressed and start motivating the kids. The baby is generally up around 6, so usually we are both up and dressed before the alarm. I have a feeling Baby 2.0 takes after me in the morning person camp and the three year-old falls in line with Sir. He will cover his head with the blanket when I turn on the light and pretend to be asleep until the baby attacks him or there is a promise of food. Can’t wait until that one is a teenager.

Sir will hit snooze at least once, more if I let him. But I try to get the three year-old in and out of the bathroom before I bug him too much. However, if he’s not out of bed by the time the kids and I are ready to head downstairs my inner-Domme will kick into gear. It’s my standard MomDomme response. The same attitude I take when the kids and I are out. The same instinctual reaction that kicks in when someone gets hurt or something breaks. Clear the area, clean up the mess. Not that Sir is a mess or an emergency situation, just the side of me that I tap into to get through the first hour of the morning.

It’s always respectful, but it’s my job to make sure he’s out the door on time, so occasionally forceful becomes necessary. If I get the coffee going, let the dog out to pee and get the kids settled with breakfast and cartoons before I hear the shower turn on he is in real trouble. When I say ‘real trouble’, I mean it’s sub for go check on him to make sure he’s ok and remind him that he needs to get going. When he comes down for breakfast I will ask him what he would like me to pack for his lunch. Gently pushing him along as he gets his shoes on.

The kids get their shoes on and the baby gets strapped into his bucket seat. I double check that Sir has everything he needs and help him haul everyone out to the car. Once the kids are loaded, he gives me a kiss and tells me to be a good girl. I say of course and I love you too. Then I wander back into the house to eat my own breakfast and pour myself a cup of life nectar (sorry, I mean coffee). Then I sit down at my computer to spend time blogging and start work.

I’m not sure when the switch shift happens. Probably when he tells me to be a ‘good girl’. My domme’s job is done until the next morning when necessity calls.

Trophy Wife

Tonight Sir and I have to go to a work dinner. No one else from his firm is going, so we will be alone in this party of old hats. But, it’s a night out. There is a cocktail hour before dinner and hopefully some dessert. I don’t have to cook or clean up after; I’m certainly not going to complain.

But I do need to dress up. Luckily, I haven’t lost too much weight yet and all my dressy clothes still fit. It’s a pretty fancy event, but I’m hoping I can avoid panty hose. Is that too informal? In any case, the afternoon will be trying to decide what to wear.

My parents are coming to watch the kids and my mother has a good idea for this sort of thing, so I’ll bounce some options off of her. Sir will evaluate when he gets home, but there won’t be a lot of time to spend. So if I can narrow it down to two or three choices it will really save time. Come to think of it, I only have four nice dresses, so it won’t take too long.

After I get the kids we will do our weekly run to the grocery. Then I have to try and get my afternoon chores done, my workout in, and once my parents get here I can get a shower and get ready to go. I haven’t had to get dressed up like this for a while. When Sir and I get a chance to go out we don’t waste time getting pretty. So I really don’t know how long it take to actually do my hair, make-up and get all those undergarments on. I should probably give myself a lot of time. I am hoping to get some plug hours in by wearing it out tonight. Hopefully Sir won’t want to ‘decorate’ me in any other way. The glass plug will be distracting enough as I laugh at bad jokes and make small talk.

And I may have to pull out the ‘hold me in’ underwear for the evening (don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean when I say that).

Lazy Slut

I’m sorry for being a lazy slut. This weekend at my parents has turned me into a bum. I took work (real work, sorry, I don’t get paid to write for you, as much as I’d love to), which I didn’t hardly touch. Yesterday I missed my step goal by nearly two thousand steps. I could blame being sick, but I still need to workout. As my twitter photos showed, I mostly sat on my ass in front of the grill.

I did wear my plug for almost ten hours though. Only another twenty to do in the next nine days to meet Sir’s fifty hour goal. That should be fun.

But I find myself getting so comfortable at my parent’s house. My mother and I start talking loudly at each other (for years Sir thought we were screaming at one another). We just get into animated conversations. I sit on their couch and let my dad run around with the kids and enjoy his grandpa time. I just get so spoiled there. Sir even let me sleep in the bed with him. I think he was just worried about how he would explain me on the floor to my mother.

We are home now, and I am sure to be back on the floor tonight. Petted and covered up on his side of the bed. Truthfully, I sleep better on the floor. Maybe I just always had a fear of falling off the bed or something. Or more likely I just have more room as Sir is a big guy and takes up most of our queen as it is.

So, I need to get my butt up and going. Hope everyone has a good week ahead. Maybe I can get some good photos and some writing time. Either way, I can be a comfy lazy slut no longer.

Growth

Last night I was talking to Sir about being in a good mood. I told him that I like it better when he is a good mood when we go to bed. I meant that in order to get the boy to bed smoothly and to play, it’s just easier when he’s in a good mood. I wasn’t trying to be cryptic. However, in the past, I haven’t been clear.

He read it that I wanted to talk to him about something serious. Not sure why he pulled that from what I said, but he did. He thought I wanted him in a good mood so that I could give bad news or something.

This used to be a big trigger for him. He would ask me what it’s about. Peppering me with questions until I broke down and told him. Even if I wasn’t ready or had thought through everything I wanted to say. This would lead to confrontation and one or both of us saying something that we didn’t mean. I would be frustrated by being pushed and he would always feel like I was holding back. Like I was keeping what was really bothering me from him.

When we got into bed he seemed very relaxed. I asked if he was ok.

He said that when we used to have the ‘threat’ (his word, not mine) of a serious conversation he would get really stressed. But tonight, he felt good. Like he trusted me more (again, his phrase). He wasn’t worried about what I might say (when he thought we were ‘talking’) or what I was keeping from him. He knows that if I need to talk, I will, and I will be honest about whatever it is. There is no longer concerns about what I am keeping from him. This dynamic has given him the confidence in me and us.

I think it’s the calmest he has ever been. Calmer that post-orgasm. He came to bed happy, just like I wanted, and he went to sleep happy, just like he expects.

 

 

Sicko

Sir: I’m frustrated and upset. It’s like it’s your way or the highway this morning.

I practically bit my tongue off trying to keep from saying something to get into more trouble. There were so many snappy things running through my head.

Now you know how I feel everyday.

Guess you are taking the highway, Sir.

I’m just imitating you.

Luckily I kept all those thoughts in my head. After Sir left for work and I got a chance to sit and think about what he said. The rude responses were replaced by shame at my behavior.

When I don’t feel well I struggle. Before BDSM I always took on everything. And now that I am a slave that has almost gotten worse. So when I don’t feel well and I can’t give 100% it drives me crazy. He tries to help and cut me some slack. I hate that. I hate that I can’t be on top of my game. It makes me feel like a bad slave and I hate being sick even more.

I have an issue with doctors. It’s a weird anxiety that I have. But when Sir tells me to make a doctor’s appointment I always push back. And he has been really good about giving me some leeway when it comes to medical decisions. But he made a good point this morning.

Sir: Right now you are so sick you can’t service my cock with your mouth, and we both agree that’s not okay… I expect that, one way or another, you will be back in service “shortly,” well or not.

I never thought about how when I am sick I cannot service him in the ways that he wants. So when I refuse to take steps that he feels are necessary it’s keeping him from receiving the service he requires. I have never felt so selfish. I didn’t realize that me pushing my freedom when it came to my health had such a negative effect on him. And if it continues to hinder him then I won’t get to have that freedom anymore.

So I will take my medicine and put on a sweater and probably call the doctor when they open this morning. Because I need to feel better to be the slave that he needs. That and as much as I don’t like doctors, Sir’s wrath is way worse.

Bad Day

Just a bad day generally. Sir didn’t sleep last night, the toddler has been having a rough few days, and I am feeling ignored. All three boys are fighting this cough/head cold thing. It’s just been a weird week as a whole.

I feel terrible putting that all on him. His stress makes him retreat and then I get lonely. I should be able to stand firm and handle his bad days with grace. If I was stronger, maybe that would help him get through those days faster. But just try to push through with sex. As long as he uses me sexually, I know that he is ok and I am still doing a good job. But when he pulls away from me there too, I get really lost.

While he was reading the boys a story last night I shaved. And I mean, I used a mirror, a brand new blade, pulled myself open shaved. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so smooth. It did make me want to get waxed though, as I want to be that smooth all the time. But I wanted to be perfect for him. So when he came to bed, played his game, and then went to sleep, I was crushed. It’s odd to me to how much his touch or lack thereof affects me. And part of me hates that. I need to be stronger.

But for today I am just grumpy. Personal growth will have to wait on my second cup of coffee. There are too many things on the list for reflection right now. Maybe on the drive to my parents this weekend I can turn up the radio and sing it out. We’ll see how many songs I get through before the toddler yells at me to turn it off.

Suits Me

I have a conflicted relationship with suits. I love them. They are sexy and powerful and I love the way Sir looks when wears them. Most couple’s walk-in closet is full of women’s clothes and shoes. I think I have three dresses in ours. The rest is full of Sir’s suits and dress clothes. I wash his dress shirts once a week. He even lets me wash my bras with them (it’s odd that I get a warm fuzzy from that).

He looks so confident in a suit. I mean, he can command a room with a beer t-shirt and plaid shorts on. But it’s like he stands even taller in his three-piece. He buttons that jacket and I just want to drop to my knees. I will always crawl for him, but it is a lot easier when I can look at suit pants and dress shoes. He doesn’t take on a different personality, per se, but he does have an air about him. His dominant side is even easier to see. I usually don’t joke with him when he is in a suit. That doesn’t mean I don’t drool when I see one hanging on the door though.

However, a suit can usually only mean one thing. It means that Sir has court. He always looks professional and smart for work, but the full suit is for court dates and important meetings. He’s earning a living for our family and I will always appreciate that. But suit days are stressful for him. The suit brings with it a lot of weight. A lot of responsibility for his clients and his reputation. As much as I want him to do well, I don’t like the idea of all that pressure. But that’s his job.

Because the suit means court, it also usually means a long day. He is rarely home for dinner on suit days, and we rarely ever play. He comes home, has a drink, and usually crashes. I don’t judge him for that, I’m sure I would do the same.

So I never know how I will respond when I see a suit sitting out for the next day. I want to jump and smile and kneel. I want to crawl toward him in his suit and deliver his whiskey. I want to unbutton those pants and service him as he relaxes after a long day. In a way, his suits give me confidence too. The suit represents his work for our family, and I want to show him my appreciation of that work.

Maybe I need to buy him a Dom suit. A suit that he doesn’t wear to court. One that is just for me and our time together. It’s selfish, and it would be expensive, but it would also be really hot. And I wouldn’t have to worry if it got a bit dirty. Though I would clean it as soon as I could; so he could wear it again as soon as possible.

Kink of the Week

Disappointment

Rye: I am sorry Sir.

Sir: Disappointment is not anger, Rye, remember that.

Rye: I know Sir. I would rather you were angry.

Sir gave me several orgasms last night. His attentiveness was beyond generous. I was begging to cum, begging to be fucked, begging to be his fuck puppet. And he did. Pulling on my collar, holding me down, I was riding a serious high. So, when he picked up speed and came himself, I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t realize how close I was, and I got taken away with his orgasm. And I came.

Without permission.

And he knew. He knew right away.

“You came.”

Whatever orgasmic glow I had shriveled up in an instant.

“We will deal with it tomorrow. For tonight, you can just hold me.”

See, Dom’s can be sensitive. It was so nice. I know he did it for me as much as for him. It was hot and muggy and he still let me hold him and have that few minutes of aftercare that I really needed.

But I still didn’t sleep. Even after the conversation where he told me he wasn’t angry. But I’m not that kind of sub. Having him disappointed in me is the worst feeling in the world. I want to be punished. I want to be forgiven. Laying in bed last night I just wanted it to be over. I think waiting for punishment is the hard thing. I would be fine if he was angry and yelling and pissed off. But that look of disappointment is crushing.

Hope to keep busy today and try not to think about it. I mean, it will be all I think about, but I still need to get things done. The last thing I want is to disappoint him more.

I am….

So I may have started out our date on the wrong foot. We were early for the movie, so Sir took me to Michael’s to look for some scrapbook paper for the books I am making for the boys. We were wondering around the store and he stopped to look at a display for moon sand. If you haven’t seen this stuff, it’s like playdoh, but lighter and it crumbles like sand. It’s definitely an odd texture. But he touched it and then told me to as well. So I did. But I didn’t realize that there was a lot of glitter in it that subsequently stuck to my hand. And, being the anti-glitter fanatic that I am, I immediately tried to rub the glitter off my fingers. Unfortunately, the first thing my fingers found was Sir’s shirt. I looked up as soon as I realized what I had done, but his eyes were already popping out of his head. I think if he could have, I would have gotten my punishment immediately. Instead he told me I would receive twenty swats, but he wasn’t going to let it ruin the evening. Stupid glitter.

We went to go see Avengers: Age of Ultron. We are both pretty dorky when it comes to the Marvel universe, so it was nice to get to see it in the theatre. We both enjoyed it, but I think the first Avenger’s movie was better. A lot of talented actors though. Hey, it was two and a half hours where I got to sit and relax, get felt up, and not have a kid screaming at me. I’ll take it.

Dinner was really nice too. Just the chance to talk. Regular talks about how we are doing and constructive criticism for both of us has been a huge help. And I think that has helped his self-confidence to take me where he wants and my self-confidence to let him. We have been more honest and up-front about our needs during the last ten months of this process than the previous six years of our marriage and two years of dating. Our drive back we just sat in this quiet connection.

We got the kids to bed and chatted for bit with my mother-in-law. Then Sir told me to go to our room, strip, and get into present position on his side of the bed. I think I skipped down the hall. He walked in and got ready for bed. I think he played on his IPad for a minute or so, he likes to make me wait. I could smell how turned on I was; I know he could too. He went and got his belt and put it around my neck. Then he took me for ‘a walk’. I don’t know how some of those women crawl and look sexy and graceful. I’m sure I looked like a clunky farm animal trying to keep up.

He took me to the bed and told me to get into position for my punishment. I had really hoped he had forgotten about the glitter, but no. He was generous with the twenty smacks, it could have been a lot more. However, he chose to put them all in the same spot and by number seven I was squirming. My left ass cheek was warmer than my right for the rest of the night. But when he was fucking me, I’m not really sure I cared. Besides, I had other things to keep my busy.

I know some Dom’s like to sing, or talk, or even whistle during sex. Sir isn’t much of a talker. Though when he gets close to coming he growls and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Anyway, Sir likes me to talk during sex. It’s usually something specific. A mantra, or a phrase he wants me to complete. Last night’s was “I am”. I had to list all the pet names that Sir calls me. As many as I could think of.

I am Rye. I am cunt. I am fuckpuppet. I am fuckmeat. I am slut. I am hole. I am a thing for you to put your dick into. I am a mouth, a pussy, an asshole for Sir.

Then I had to repeat it. Also, to keep my brain from getting to relaxed, I had to ‘be nice’ and alternately, ‘be mean’ to my nipples at his command. The sensory overload was torture and bliss. It’s amazing to me how those two things go hand and hand.

It was an amazing night. The communication is having a direct effect on both of us and it’s great.

Now I need to go unload the groceries since Sir was nice enough to go to the store and let me stay here and write.