Chasing Me Chasing You

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

The Weight of Hurt

“You didn’t want to get your clit pierced? Why did you put it on your 101 Things list?”

“Because you said you were going to order me to get it done.”

“Well, I guess you’re off the hook then.”


It’s conversations like this that crush me. What am I supposed to say to that? I wanted to be on the hook. That was the whole fucking point. I agreed to let him do what he wanted with my body; piercings were part of that.

This is why I think I need to take my collar off. I feel like I need to regain and recenter myself a bit. He knows how much I want to submit to him and I think that’s the problem. Like I need to make him earn my submission again, if he even wants it.

That’s the rub. He wants me to be happy, but he admits he cannot meet that need. And if everything else in our relationship were solid then I think I may be able to back away from my need to submit. But with everything else weighing me down, I need this type of release. I just don’t see how to make that work.

Where does that leave my submission in the possibly indefinite interim? I certainly wouldn’t be collared mom anymore (though it’s not like I’m really going to change the page or my twitter name). He’s not comfortable with me finding a local dom. He doesn’t want me to invested in a distance or online dominant either.

I may be ‘off the hook’, but still very much in the tank.


Twelve are all the things racing in my mind right now. Each fighting their to the forefront of my thoughts. Their jostling making it impossible to reach a conclusion or solution. The one night of orgasms (two!) I’ve had in the last two weeks didn’t even help me sleep. Having a grandmother who was addicted to pain medications and sleeping pills has made me very wary of taking anything for those ailments. But that hasn’t even stopped me this week as I need all the help I can get.

Twelve are the number of times I keep running our budget around in my head. Forgetting the electric payment one time and my student loan payment the next. Each time trying to make the numbers add up to something we can actually achieve. Each time coming up short. It’s a stress whirlpool that keeps sucking me in. Whenever I think I’ve cracked it I remember some bill and my depression spikes all over again.

Twelve is the number of times in the last hour I have changed my mind about asking my husband to remove my collar. Every time I think it would help me to get past the failure of our D/s relationship I touch it and can’t imagine it being gone. My two year-old grabs it when I pick him up. It’s been on my neck since before he was born. Not wearing it would feel like I am giving up on my submission. But while I am submissive I am not currently a submissive. Each time I think I have reached a clear opinion about it my heart pulls me the other way.

I’ve been thinking of twelve different sexual activities that I’ve been craving lately. Masturbation isn’t really hitting the spot lately. The time difference with Jack has been catching me up and we haven’t had a mutual session in awhile. And honestly, sex with myself while he’s 1,500 miles away is not one of my twelve cravings.

Twelve is the number of things that I need to be doing that I just can’t get the motivation for. I need to update my business website. I need to get our 2016 taxes around. Each time I sit down to do any of them I find a distraction, either purposefully or accidentally. Even things that should be fun or positive are avoided. Hell, I’ve started having anxiety attacks at the grocery store.

I’ve never felt more disparate than I have felt lately. I would say I feel like I’m split into twelve different pieces to stick with the theme, but it’s probably more than that. And I’m sure they will start fitting back together soon. Somehow.

In any case I’m trying not to make any big decisions right now. The collar is still on. Though I’m really not sure it’s his or my best interest to leave it that way. I can still be kinky and submissive without it. And it represents a relationship, a contract, that we don’t have anymore. Each time I reach for it and want to feel like a good girl it hurts more than reassures. And trust me, I have shed more than twelve tears for that.

Wicked Wednesday for post Stockpiled Cravings


The timber slats of the sun lounge were pushing into me, not uncomfortably, but enough to provide me with some distraction. Which for this challenge is welcome. I’m not sure I’m going to last fifteen minutes without coming. Stephen seems very intent on winning this challenge, set by Sir as a punishment for being caught during the hunt and to provide Stephen with his shot at redemption for our scene several months ago…

When we returned from the hunt Sir motioned me over to him. Giving Michael a quick peck on the cheek, I let go of his arm and approached Sir. As I approached he bade me to kneel at his feet. Once in position he proceeded to talk to me about my experience of the hunt. It was also when he told me about my punishment for being found twice. Nothing is ever simple when Sir is in this frame of mind. One that I love seeing, my uber Dom, even if he’s a little scary.

He tends to get like this when we are around other Doms. Especially if he has allowed them to play with me. I know he would have been happier if I had come back from the hunt without being found. Then no other Dom would have been able to touch me without his direct control.

But it wouldn’t be a challenge would it, without some consequence for failing? And Sir didn’t disappoint. It turns out that Josh had met Stephen a few months ago and they’d got to talking about the plans for this weekend. Stephen is a well known exponent of the whip and it turns out he has agreed to a demonstration tonight ahead of the planned bonfire.

Obviously to put on a demonstration he needs a subject.

When Sir mentioned it, initially I thought that this could be a win-win. A hard drawn out orgasm, followed by a whipping. Mmmm, I might have got a little moist at the thought. But then reality was re-established. As the orgasm challenge was being set up by Sir, Stephen went and retrieved his instrument of choice that he was going to demonstrate tonight.

Fuck me if he didn’t pull out of his bag of tricks a full on bullwhip. Something I’d only seen previously in a video from My initial enthusiasm disappeared very quickly. So, I’m thinking that the next fifteen minutes are going to be less than satisfying. No orgasm saves me from the whipping. Sometimes it sucks being a slave.

I’m bought back to the present as I feel the rope on my wrists being tightened securing my arms behind me and underneath the sun lounge. The position I’m in isn’t all that uncomfortable but I am feeling very exposed. Who else would have thought of using the lounge like this but a pair of sadistic doms?

So here I am lying on the lounge, the back rest in an elevated position putting me into a half reclining position. Each leg is bent with my feet secured at the side of the lounge. Another rope is looped around each thigh and has been pulled back taught and secured against the arm rest splaying my hips and fully exposing my now moistening pussy. I can even smell my burgeoning arousal and I’m sure that the gathering of men can too. Seems everyone has found a reason to be present in the shaded yard to watch my next ordeal.

I’ve also got a rope around my chest, just under my boobs securing me firmly to the lounge. And of course my arms are tied behind my back which pushes my boobs out invitingly. The only concession to any comfort is my head is resting on the padded rest. I’m a bit surprised that Stephen hasn’t added a blind fold to heighten the sensations but I suppose an audience of virile and appreciative spectators serves the same purpose.

It looks like Stephen is about to start the timer and try and extract an orgasm from me sometime in the next fifteen minutes. Thankfully Sir didn’t want this to be too easy and he has banned the use of any electrical or vibrating devices. I may have let out an audible ‘whew’ when he put that restriction in place. Stephen was going to have to work for it and damn if I wasn’t going to fight to avoid that bullwhip.

Hmmm, that’s a bit odd. Stephan has started to bring me to orgasm by a very slow and deliberate stroking of my inner thighs and across my vulva. I was anticipating an all out assault on my clit. If he keeps this up he might just get me to orgasm. It’s been such a long time since someone has been this gentle. It might just be enough to get inside my head. It’s like he’s making slow sweet love to me. I can feel myself getting wetter and a small moan escapes my lips, giving him some encouragement.

Just as I’m relaxing into the wonderful sensations building throughout my body, I remember to keep my focus from getting too excited. Next I feel Stephen leaning into me. I then hear him whispering that I needn’t worry about getting too settled. He lets out a bit of a sinister laugh and mentions that he just taking his time. He intends to use all of his fifteen minutes to tease me before he confidently predicts that he will force me to orgasm. I don’t say anything, but I do think ‘give it your best shot’ and ‘bring it on’. I look over at Sir so he can see the steel determination on my face. Our eyes connect and his lip curls into an inaudible, ‘good girl’.

Next I feel Stephen’s fingers starting to rub between my labia, gently opening me up to his gaze. Then he slowly inserts first one finger, and then a second into my vagina. I’m so turned on I’m leaking quite heavily. My breathing is becoming labored and I can feel my whole body begin to flush. A little layer of sweat is forming on my brow. He continues using his fingers to open me up further. He maintains his maddeningly slow pace. I’m starting to get frustrated at this very slow and methodical pace. Bastard! I say to myself.

Stephen’s slow fingering continues, my arousal builds and I’m so wet now I suspect that he has three or more fingers working up inside of me but I can’t be sure. Even closing my eyes and focusing on my breathing doesn’t bring me back down.

I catch some movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head and see both Julie and Bianca coming down to join the men watching the challenge. I’m glad I’m putting on such a good show for the assembled masses.

Oh silly me, of course they’re not here to observe as I watch them kneel in front of their respective masters and promptly open their trousers and fish out their hardening cocks. I now feel like I’m the porno playing in the background as they set about worshiping some cock. My momentary embarrassment turns to interest as I watch the women at their task.

My attention is quickly bought back to Stephen as he starts to move his hand a bit more urgently and forcefully. Very soon it feels as if he’s trying to fist me. So far I’ve been able to keep my focus. Sure I’m aroused as hell, but I’m a long way from an explosive orgasm. I do feel that this is going to take all of my concentration not to cum. As he continues to try and fit his whole hand inside of me, his other hand comes into action as he rubs his thumb slowly on my erect clit. Next he squeezes it between his thumb and forefinger. The extra sensation causes a deep moan to escape my lips.

‘Enjoying yourself”, he quips. This new approach continues for a short while. I hear Sir’s voice next announcing the ten minute mark. As if this was some prearranged signal I feel a decided change in Stephen’s approach. He starts being more urgent, thrusting his hand ever deeper into my moist core. I feel his other hand leave my now sensitive and abused clit and movie up my stomach.

I next experience a sharp pain in my left nipple as he squeezes and twists it. Oh my, that’s so hot. It almost brings me undone but I steady my thoughts once again. Next I feel him attacking my right nipple. As much as his attempts feel amazing, I know he’s now racing the clock. And the brat in me really wants him to lose. To earn Sir’s approval again.

Stephen continues to alternate between my nipples. Increasing the pressure each time he changes. Audible gasps are now occurring regularly and I can feel my orgasm building, how long to go. I might still make it to the fifteen minute mark. As if Sir could read my thoughts I hear him say that there’s two minutes left.

Deciding that he hasn’t tortured my nipples enough he moves up the lounge and latches onto my right nipple with his teeth. His hand has now resumed the focus on my clit, rubbing it incessantly. Oh god, I don’t think I’m going to last. I call on all my mental strength, trying to do as much arithmetic as I can think of. Focusing on scone recipes and quotes from my favorite movie take all my strength.

Realizing that time is running out, I sense that Stephen has one more trick up his sleeve. Looking directly into my eyes I feel his hand slowly move from my tits up towards my throat. God no, I won’t be able to resist this. As expected I feel his hand slowly tighten around my throat. Looking directly into my eyes with an intensity that would be scary in another setting. He then says out loud so everyone can hear, ‘well Rye, it’s time you gave up that orgasm. I’m now going to pull it out of you, one breath at a time.

His hand grips a little tighter, my breathing becoming even more labored, my clit is on fire as he continues to rub it between his thumb and forefinger. Pinching my clit, looking intensely into my eyes with a burning desire, and slowly choking me.

My body separates from my mind and I no longer have control of it. Stephen has literally taken over my entire being. Starting in my toes I can feel my impending orgasm, it builds as it moves up my legs, and down from my throat. My nipples sting from the earlier attention and my cunt just flushes with wetness. Stephen can see that he has won. To make a point of it he starts a slow count down from ten. As each number is said out aloud I can feel my resolve slip away and my impending explosion get one step closer. I don’t want him to win, but he’s taken that last bit of control from me; and that’s exactly what I needed.

As he gets to one he closes his hand further around my throat temporarily cutting off my air supply. My body convulses, well as much as it’s able to in its restrained state. The last thing I hear is ‘cum for me Rye’. And I do. A huge gushing squirting orgasm soaking myself and the lounge in my cum. I also try and scream my lungs out but with no air nothing comes out. Removing his hand from my throat I take big gulping breathes that serve to prolong the orgasm. Draining the last of my energy from me.

I then collapse, fully spent. Just before I drift off I feel my bonds being removed, my aftercare blanket being tucked in around me, and the faint but welcome sound of Sir’s voice ‘good girl, you did well. Rest up, you are going to need your strength later tonight.’


This is a follow-up to the collaborative post from last week called Prey On Me. The twitter boyfriend and I have already started on part three 🙂

Define Your Kink: Day 2

#2 – Describe who you might submit to and how.
Are you exclusively submissive in marriage or just in the bedroom?

Even right now, I’ll admit, the idea of submitting to anyone other than my husband is still hard to imagine. When we started trying our various BDSM dynamics we started right in with a 24/7 M/s set-up. Looking back starting out so hard and fast wasn’t a great plan, but we were both so excited by this whole new world that we got a little (a lot!) ahead of ourselves.

I think we were so taken by the idea of what we could add to our relationship that we didn’t test things before just adding more and more. The entire system breakdown was inevitable. Going in full-throttle was a mistake that we are still paying for, sadly. And I’m not sure we will recover fully, though I am hopeful. I would love to get back to something in and outside the bedroom. I enjoyed our daily rituals and the chore expectations we established early on. With time and work we could get back to that.

With my husband or another Sir, there are several ways I would like to show much submission. Being a fuckpuppet is certainly at the top of the list. But being a service sub and a little are also avenues to serve that I would like to explore. I’ve started to realize, given the right support, that I really enjoy being a little. The idea of being tucked in and cared for is a real turn on. I’m not sure I’m one for baby talk or frilly pink dresses, but I a lot of other little aspects are very intriguing.

We shall see how the next few months come along. I am hoping that my husband will be interested in trying some BDSM things again. Obviously, we would go more slowly. Maybe trying a strictly bedroom scene or two rather than a full-time dynamic again. Kink is something that I have realized I need in my life, so I’m willing to be patient. A little is better than nothing at all.


This is part of my Define Your Kink questions. Check out my page for my answers so far and other bloggers taking part.

Bruise Confusion

A bruise on Rye's arm.

When you get turned on looking at a bruise that you think was from a love bite the night before…

Until you realize that the bruise is actually from then you accidentally pinched your arm in one of the file cabinets at the office the day before.

Sometimes being a masochist is rough.

Boundin’ Rebound

I am currently in the middle of a low dip. I’m almost out of it, but not fast enough, obviously. Great things seem like flukes and bad things feel like the routine.

I am trying to slow down. Work is going well. My co-workers are nice (most of them) and appreciative of my work. My boss is already talking about promotion and ways she can bring me on to various special projects. It feels good. And I need to focus on that good stuff more.

I just get bogged down too easily. Getting frustrated that I am not losing weight fast enough. Getting confused with what our D/s is or isn’t (as the case may be).

I think I just keep trying to define myself as a submissive first. My collar is the first thing I reach for whenever anyone asks about me. Subconsciously it is the first place my mind goes. Even in vanilla discussions I play with it as I answer questions to feel comforted by it’s weight around my neck. But maybe that’s not a great plan. Maybe the weight of it is holding me in place. Maybe I need to be other things first. And perhaps Sir just needs to be my husband for awhile. The labels seem to be creating more stress than pleasure lately. And I’m not even sure I know what they mean.

I consider myself a submissive because I enjoy being dominated. Not just in bed, but in my life. It makes me feel cherished and loved. I always feel like I have to be in control and on top of everything, having someone else take that on sounds so freeing. The idea of being someone’s spoiled pet is a dream. But it also seems highly unrealistic with the requirements of a job and family. The real world isn’t full of billionaires who want to give us an Audi and track our every move.

So this fantasy world I’ve created in my head is doing more harm than good trying to achieve it. I keep digging my own hole with crazy expectations. Rather, I could just accept that being submissive is part of my identity and let it go at that. Don’t force it into something. Just let that be it for awhile. Enjoy the lovely kinky sex when it happens and not freak out when it doesn’t. Maybe that would give Sir the chance to see what his sadism and dominance means to him. When he doesn’t have to fit into my checklist and he can create his own. What type of sadist would be then?

I know a lot of this is easier said than done. The horny will continue to remain. But control outside the bedroom hasn’t been a part of our relationship for a while, so it’s not like I’m losing anything I had.

*One billion bonus points if you get the title reference. You don’t have to admit it if you won’t want to announce your goober status. Just know that I love you for it*

The Wrong Kind of Right

Sir’s surgery went well.  He seemed to be feeling okay when we got home. I talked with him during dinner about sleeping downstairs on the couch so he could stretch out on the bed, but he assured me that he was fine. After dinner he went upstairs to rest and my mother-in-law and I wrangled children until bedtime. This included a rather pathetic (and I’m sure humorous) attempt at the two of us playing a Wii game with my 4 year-old laughing at our repeated failures. The things we do for our children.

During a spirited game of Trouble a while later I received a text message:

You will sleep on the floor of my bedroom, after performing for me.

I responded with a ‘More than happy to Sir,’ and tried to remain calm as I lost miserably to that same 4 year-old. To say I was excited would be an understatement. After my post on missing the floor and some of the control aspects that came with it, I have continued to reflect on my goals for our continued D/s. This step was huge for him and I was positively gleeful.

As I closed up the downstairs for the night I grabbed an extra comforter for padding, checked all the doors were locked, and headed upstairs. The kids had gone to bed without much fuss. Having Grandma here to help makes a big difference. The dog had already claimed her space near Sir’s closet. She watched me lay out the comforter on the floor on Sir’s side of the bed, then curled up on her own blanket, and was snoring before I turned out the light.

Sir was already in bed, but put his computer away and took his pain meds to help him sleep. He walked around to where I was kneeling on my pallet. Grabbing my hair he thanked me for being such a help today. He appreciated my care and dealing with kids. Releasing me, he told me to lay down. The side light was turned off and he was snoring in almost no time.

I’ll admit I was a little disappointed not to have been able to ‘perform’ in whatever capacity he had intended. But, considering his day, I knew he must have been exhausted. I couldn’t blame him. I lay down on the blanket and tried to sleep.

And tried…and tried…and failed.

First, and probably foremost, the floor was exceedingly uncomfortable. I know you’re thinking, ‘Duh Rye, what did you expect?’. But I was honestly surprised. Our other home had incredibly comfortable floors. And I can’t believe that it was made all that different simply by the carpet pad and carpet. The other possibility is that the comforter I chose for padding was bad. Previously, I think I had used one of our thicker duvets, which probably would have provided more of a barrier between me and the hardwood.

No matter which way I turned I couldn’t get comfortable. My hips hurt when I lay on my side. My back ached when I tried to lay on my back. I tried to think of it as hurting for him, but that didn’t seem to make any difference.

Then, of course, there was everything going on in my head. Everything that needs to get done today and how crazy our schedule it. I am taking one child to school this morning. The toddler has a doctor appointment, so I will come back and get him for that. Then he will get dropped off at school and I will go to work. Then Grandma is picking them up from school and taking them to her house for the weekend. When I get off work I am coming home to check on Sir and then driving to my parents house for one night, maybe two, to help them move. And my over-active worry brain wanted to have every second of that mess planned out before it let me sleep.

Finally, I realized that while I could hardly hush my brain, I could attempt to make myself more comfortable. It would just require me to do something I really didn’t want to do. I had to wake up Sir. It took me probably whispering his name five or ten times before I raised my voice enough to rouse him. I asked if I could please crawl into his bed with him. He shifted over and I climbed up. Curling his arm around my stomach he pulled me into him and began snoring again. I was glad I hadn’t woken him for too long.

So, now comfortable, I focused on trying to quiet my maniacal brain. However, now I had something else to chew on. After writing and talking about wanting more control and how much I had missed sleeping on the floor for him, I couldn’t even make it through one night. Laying awake for five hours on the floor didn’t count. All I have talked about with him in regards to our D/s was how much more control I craved. More restriction, more oversight. And the first time he offers me a carrot I spit it back out at him.

I am just bummed that it didn’t go better. If could’ve slept and showed him how much I appreciated his gesture maybe it could become a more regular occurrence. And I don’t think that this necessarily negates that option, but I know he will think hard before doing it again. The idea of me not sleeping, even in my happy place, isn’t pleasant for him. In order to keep his house moving and everyone happy, I need sleep. He knows this. Hopefully next time I will remember to try another mat and hopefully that will change the comfort level enough to fall asleep. Not having such a crazy day before and further hectic day ahead may make a difference as well. Though my brain is not one for being predictable; even for me.

I laid in his bed for another half hour or so before just getting up. I’m currently writing this from the couch downstairs. I may try to get some more sleep down here, but most likely will try and clean the kitchen or something else productive. When life gives you lemons and all that.

Sex Drive

Through this process of finding BDSM and discovering my submissive sexuality I have worked to let go of my issues with masturbation. I’m still not comfortable taking care of my own horniness as often as I could, but it’s a process. However, as I take steps to get more comfortable with pleasuring my own body, I am having more issues with Sir taking care of himself.

Molly wrote a great piece for This D/s Life about how being used is a large part of her submission. I found myself nodding along as I read. I understand that being his used slut is part of what really turns me on. Being pulled upstairs in the middle of the afternoon to have my skirt thrown up so he can have a quick fuck before the kids yell for more juice. It may not be everyone’s fantasy, but honestly, I usually masturbate to something similar (sometimes the kitchen counters, sometimes the laundry room). With our often hectic lifestyle, those little trysts are a joy. And just the idea of him going upstairs on his own for a wank without me hurts.

I know that sometimes he just wants to take care of himself, he likes that sensation occasionally. But as a needy slut, it’s hard for me to accept that he doesn’t want to use one of my holes. Part of it is that his sex drive isn’t the same as mine. I’m not saying that to be mean, it’s just a reality. A few years ago (before we had kids) it was swapped. He couldn’t get enough and I just wanted to sleep. My sexual awakening over the last few years has changed that. But even if he says he’s fantasizing about me, I feel jealous. Not being able to take part in some way makes me feel like less of a sub. Honestly, even being forced to kneel at his feet and watch would make me feel purposeful (and it would be crazy hot).

It’s just been an odd process as I work on my sex drive and sexual ticks to find things that bother me. I used to be so sexually repressed, that I often see myself as open to anything. And I am by comparison. But the strangest things trip me up along this journey and I guess this is one of them. With that said, I’m sure I will get past it and move on to some other hang up. Maybe then it will be the type of porn he looks at, or some issue with my own masturbation. Maybe one day I’ll even aspire to be issue free. But then the world would explode, so we’ll keep our goals realistic instead.

Hate the Quiet

I used to love quiet. I could sit with a cup of coffee or tea and read a book in my dorm room for hours. Just enjoying wherever the story took me and relaxing in peacefulness of it all. For some reason lately I have noticed that that has changed. I can still sit and read for awhile, but I need background noise. Some silly show on Netflix or the kids playing in the other room. Complete silence downright scares me.

It makes me feel lonely. I was such an independent child and teen. Being on my own was never an issue. But since becoming a mother and possibly also a submissive I find myself being bothered by a silent house. I would love to blame my kids. There is something to be said for silence usually being a bad thing where my children are concerned. At least when they are screaming at each other I know they are both breathing.

What I am really afraid of is that this is somehow connected to my submission. Am I lost and uncomfortable without an order? Is being alone and allowed to sit in the quiet making me feel too guilty to enjoy it? Am I becoming weaker? For that matter, does not feeling entirely comfortable on my own make me weak?

Am I the only sub that has gone through this odd existential crisis? Okay, who am I kidding, how many moms have ever really complained about quiet? There is obviously something very wrong with me.