Chasing Me Chasing You

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

Mother’s Day

Want to wish all the moms out there a wonderful day. Even those in UK who celebrated Mothering Sunday in March.

Sir took me out for a date night last night, the first we have had in awhile. And my mother-in-law and I had a waffle breakfast this morning.

I may even get a chance to write up a post about last night later today. Or I could read my book. Or take a nap. Or curl up with the kids and watch cartoons.

Maybe I will write up our date tomorrow.

Honesty is hard

One of the biggest changes that I have seen in the last year as we have started this D/s transition is honesty from myself. In the past, I have stayed quiet. When I wanted something, need something, felt hurt or ignored, I was quiet. I guess I expected him to read my mind. And when he didn’t, I would sulk. I would punish him because I didn’t feel comfortable talking to him. A train wreck in slow motion, to be sure.

But I am getting better though. Case in point was last night. I have been stewing in my fears that mother’s day was going to be completely glossed over. Mother’s day was pretty big in my house growing up. We always saw one of the grandmothers and did a brunch. My father and brother and I gave my mom a gift and card. Dad would take us shopping or help us come up with ideas of things she would like and then buy it for us while we were at school. My mom had time to relax. I thought, rather ignorantly, that that was just what every family did. So the last few years, since my first son was born and I became a mom myself, I thought that Sir just didn’t care. We would see my mom or his mother, they would give me a card, but that was it. I still came home to a pile of dishes and laundry. Relaxation was never something that I had. This time last year, we had just found out we were moving and the weekend was spent packing with my parents. Being five months pregnant didn’t help either.

But now I have a rule. I am not allowed to know anything that Sir doesn’t know. So stewing isn’t really acceptable anymore. And last night my fears just came out and I had to talk to him. I wanted to talk to him. And I told him I was worried about being disappointed on Sunday, which ran the risk of being bitter on Monday. Something else that was no longer acceptable.

I understand that within this dynamic, I don’t have a right to demand to feel special. I take what Sir gives me and I am happy about it. But as a mom, I want to feel appreciated for the things that I do. I think that this year it hits me a little harder. We are done having children, which is fine. But my babies will never be babies again, and having a day each year, to remember what I, as a mom, am willing to give everything for is beautiful.

I just want a day when I am not a slave first.

It was hard to say. I was crying because I felt so guilty asking for it from him. And he listened. He explained that Mother’s day wasn’t a big thing in his childhood. He didn’t understand that he had been lacking. Because, of course, I had never told him. But he heard me out. He said he would try.  He will do his best to make me feel special. He wants me to feel special more than just one day a year. I felt horrible. I was making him feel bad for not making me feel special. What kind of a slave does that make me?

I know he cares. He loves me very much and he appreciates my work as a mother, slave and partner. And by being upfront with him about my expectations and needs, he has a much better chance to show that in a way that I will understand. Because he does want me to be happy, and I need to make sure that I let him.

New Job Title

Remember the tea tray I posted a week or so ago? Well Sir decided that as much as he liked it, he would like something, ‘more artistic’.
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It appears that I have a new job title. Obviously, I didn’t spill any. It’s his good whiskey, if any had hit the floor, my ass would have been a completely different color.


Sir took several pictures while pulling on the nipple clamps (sorry you cannot see them) and laughing. I cropped most of them down. But I decided to leave this one to show real life. I certainly wouldn’t want you to think we have some dungeon set-up of leather and satin. This is our real life. Playing in the living room, with our son’s playpen in one corner with our toddlers Octonaut toys and blocks on the floor. But he still thinks I am sexy and worthy of being his drink holder, even when he has to move a stuffed animal to sit down on the couch and enjoy it.


I love this pose. I love the way I look for him. I love how much of my back is left to tattoo. I love how my hair looks, how even though my hips are wide, they look proportional in this shot. I don’t feel fat. I am just his.


This weekend was about being an adult. We went out to dinner on Friday with some friends from college. Sir is really in his element around people. He has a big personality and it is a treat to watch him engage is a social setting. You should see him work a room at parties. It’s not like I am a hermit, but these last few months I have been interacting mostly with the kids. Just getting to talk about something other than poop and Cheerios is a thrill for me. So dinner and drinks was a good time. I even got pretty tipsy.

It was also the first time we have been out together since really embarking on this as a 24/7 relationship. I received permission for two drinks before we left the house. And Sir gave me a few options to choose from off the menu for dinner. It was just a really relaxing evening of conversation and good food. The master/slave elements didn’t take over our good time, but, at least for me, they really added to the comfort and enjoyment of the evening. And, as parents of young children, we slept amazingly without being awoken once. A good night sleep is underrated, one we indulged in, with pleasure.

Saturday involved a lot of adult responsibility stuff. Dealing with meetings and other appointments without the kids makes a huge difference. We didn’t want it to take up too much of our alone time, but somethings just need to get done. Some obligations just don’t care about how much we want to fuck. But we finished that up in the early afternoon with one statement.


In less than five minutes we had left the stress of the day. I had my hair in pigtails, the ball gag in, and I was folding laundry. Very carefully, of course, so as not to drool on Sir’s clean clothes. He really likes the drool. I think most of his enjoyment is how humiliating it is for me to drool on myself. But, who am I to question? And I think he was a bit surprised at how much the pigtails turned him on. He’s not really into age play, and I think he always associated the two. But having two handles may have converted him.

So after laundry and dishes he was pretty hard at the state of me. After being decorated with the nipple vices and the leash, he led me around the downstairs for awhile. He claimed it was to inspect my cleaning duties, but I am pretty sure it was to watch the leash pull on my nipples and my ass wiggle. Which worked, in my opinion, because I was soon ‘head down, ass up’ and being fucked in the living room. The crop made an appearance to make my ass even more appealing for his cock (his dick apparently doesn’t think that pale is the new deep red).

Keeping my head down, however, proved a little more perilous than I realized. My forcing my head into the carpet, as he got closer and closer to orgasm, his thrusts forced my head against the floor. Bouncing and rubbing the carpet started to make me quite dizzy. The ramming didn’t hurt, but when he rolled me over all the blood rushed out of my head. Several slaps and moans later I was curled up with a blanket and Sir cuddling me. Then he pushed my forehead and I was waiting for, “are you in there McFly?”. I was worried I did something wrong until he started laughing. The rubbing and smacking into the floor had left a large rug burn spot in the center of my forehead.

Luckily, my ‘unicorn horn’ as he lovingly called it (he said it was lovingly, I think he was just trying not to laugh whenever he looked at my face) didn’t stay too red and is mostly gone this morning. Right now it looks like I put a small blot of blush on my forehead and didn’t even it out. But, hey, the things we do for love and kinky sex.

Honestly, the only bummer is that this silly spot is the only mark that survived the weekend. I guess I will have to beg him for more. Which, now that I think about it, may have been his plan. He’s sneaky like that.


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Unicorn Horn

Me: Oh shit! How am I supposed to explain this enormous red spot on my forehead. There aren’t many reasons you would get rug burn in the center of your face.

Sir: Tell them you walked into a door.

Me: That just sounds like you beat me.

Sir: But I did, so it’s funny.


Ok, I need to brag for just a moment. After the last few weeks of stress and emotion, I am taking the opportunity to be gleeful today.

Sir passed the bar…again. Now he can practice law in two states. We are hoping to live along the state line, so this opens up another market when he starts his practice next year. It’s just a huge weight off of his shoulders. Having to study and take the test while also managing cases and clients has been really rough for him. I’m just so proud of him and glad that we can put this layer of stress behind us.

And, my mother-in-law is taking the kids this weekend. It will be the first time, I think since Baby 2.0 was born, that we will have two nights to ourselves. Two nights…in a row. And, we have a double date. I can’t even scream loud enough at this machine to tell you how excited I am. Social interaction with other adults. Usually, for me, that’s talking to the person at the checkout counter at the grocery store. I’m practically giddy.

Breathe, breathe…

I am trying to limit my expectations of any kink though. We have been really stressed these last few months and this opportunity to unwind, just together, is more than I could have asked for right now. We both joked that tonight is just about getting a full night’s sleep and we can play tomorrow. Especially as Baby 2.0 was up a lot last night as he is teething. But I think that the rejuvenation of passing the bar and a good sleep will help us have energy for a fun, kinky evening. He has mentioned me naked and crawling all afternoon on Saturday. And, while I’m wet just thinking about it, I’m trying not to get too excited. But a full day and night of playtime could be an interesting experiment on my body. Normally marks don’t last more than an hour or so after a scene, but we have never had the time or privacy for such an extended play session. But, see, I’m already getting overly excited.

I hope everyone has equally fun plans for the weekend. Right now I need to go get all my weekly tasks done so I don’t have to worry them the next two days. And I have to pack up the boys’ things for when Grandma arrives to get them.

Sorry for bragging, but I figured after listening to me whine the last few weeks you could put up with the good news.

A New Day

“You really thought I was going to take your collar? You doubted me.” It wasn’t a question, but I felt compelled to respond.

“Yes, Sir.” I couldn’t lie, but it was still hard. Looking back I was ashamed of my behavior, but in that moment of panic I was just trying to be honest. I should have taken a step back, stopped and thought about what I knew about him. He would never walk away from me, he would never ask for my collar back. But the panic. That fear of having to continue day to day without D/s was shocking. I was halted by how afraid I was of losing the opportunity to submit. Of how much I didn’t want to return to a 50/50 relationship with him. As much as I struggle at times with endless housework, I still crave the grounding it provides.

“I believe that you need to be punished for your error, more than the regret I can see on your face. But this will be the end of this. You are not going to perseverate on this or any other past infraction. The slate will be wiped clean. Tomorrow you will begin self-reporting to me as part of your ‘you cannot know anything I don’t know’ rule. Do you understand?”

I nodded. A sense of calm came over me as I resigned myself to the pain and following forgiveness. After placing me over the spanking bench, he started to run a strap under me. While trying to figure out what he was doing to make this punishment worse, the vice clamps were put on my nipples and a string run between them. My wrists were locked and my knees strapped together. I try not to analyze too much when he is setting up, but after the emotional roller coaster of the last few days, I couldn’t help it. All the sudden I felt the vices start to pull. If I struggled, it just pulled more.

When I finally found a position where I wasn’t pulling on the nipple removal contraption, the Angry Red Bastard (ARB) made it’s appearance. The ARB was Sir’s kinky Christmas gift this year. It’s a crop with a whip tassel at the end that stings like you wouldn’t believe. He started with just the whip tip and every time I would jump in response, the nipple pulls would bring me back down. Let’s just say it was a very effective punishment. After several swings, he decided to try a few with the full force of the crop. The ‘bonus’, if you can call it that, is that the crop hit my ass and a second later the tassel came around and sliced into the side of my hip.

But, I did it. It was painful, it was supposed to be, but it’s over. And that clean slate feels amazing.


I’m not sure I like that Sir is so creative with these vice clamps. My purple nipples agree with me.


Trying to show the hip lines. As a point of pride, those are the marks that are still there this morning. I think this is the first time that I have marks that have lasted the night. A point of pride for me.



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Gratuitous ass shot. I’m proud of my marks. I know they don’t compare to many of those who post after-scene pictures, but they are a big step for me. I am sure that these will not be the worst or the last marks that Sir will give me. Because, well….Sadist. But as part of a new beginning I am happy to get them.


Sir: There is no need to be insecure….you have a lifetime of being made a sexualized piece of meat to look forward to.

Promises, promises. It’s is terrible to me that I can’t just take this at face value. I want to. I really really want to. I’m just trying to keep my expectations in check. But as I started to perseverate on this statement, I realized that his promises are achievable.

It’s keeping everything on his terms. And that’s what I have realized is a big problem in our communication. Because we do. We talk all the time about our vanilla and D/s relationship. But our paths are crossing rather than walking together. We use the same words, but they mean different things to us. Submission, Domination, even in how we define what consists as a ‘scene’. We need to come together and iron out these basics, and that will help the rest of this come together.

Nothing would make me happier than to be a sexualized piece of meat. His piece of meat. But it is hard to be sexualized without sex. Florida Dom posted a piece earlier this week looking at how important is it to have sex regularly (every day in fact). And I agree with Ancilla_ksst‘s comment that sexual contact is important. It’s an issue that I want to iron out, but it’s obvious that this has to be on the back burner for now. I think I keep trying to push it to the forefront and it’s causing more problems. Until I can get passed this issue, I cannot hope to focus on the larger workings of submitting completely to him.

I need to take the positive and let that run through everything. He wants me. That’s always been a big insecurity for me. For various reasons I have always had concerns about his attraction to me.

This weekend we are hoping to sit down. That’s it, with all the running, being sick, and the kids, we rarely get to sit down together. There is always more to sort out than we have time for. But bit by bit we will reach a consensus on our definitions and future path. I’m not sure everything will be ‘fixed’ by one conversation, but the momentum is paramount. And we’ll keep plowing through this to find a path that suits us.

My Clark Kent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some secret identities need to be kept secret.


Wicked Wednesday