Chasing Me Chasing You

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

Parenting Fail

So I’m technically middle aged now. *Shudder* My youngest cousin is six years younger that me, so I haven’t had to look for children’s toys for a long time. And then I had to do a silly thing like have kids. Now we are up to our ears in bright colored plastic and demands for items that make my ears bleed.

But somehow, as a child, I seemed to miss all the suggestive pieces and parts of toys. Maybe it’s just been since I found my kinky side, but so many things seem to have a multi-use option that I never saw before.

I get rid of the packaging on my kids toys, because my toddler would attempt to eat them if I don’t. So I couldn’t get any pictures of the hilarious statements on some of them. But I did find some great pieces from Ellen that show how questionable some toys can be.

I am pretty sure my cousin had that Tarzan. And I think maybe I did get the joke, even though I was only 12 at the time. Maybe I am not as innocent as I consider myself.

And I think I would love to give several people one of those batman squirt guns. I think my conservative family Christmas would never be the same. Probably because I wouldn’t be invited anymore.
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I had every intention of writing about condoms for Wicked Wednesday this week. I was going to tell you all about how I didn’t like them. I thought they felt weird and I was so happy when we didn’t have to use them anymore. I was going to write about how we used them in BDSM for anal for awhile and on our toys to make them last longer. But honestly, it hurt too much. Can you believe that? Writing about fucking condoms hurt. What is wrong with me?

Am I that weak? That lost? I can post pictures of my pussy all over the internet, but writing about a form of birth control turns me to goo. Obviously I am not as far along in getting over our loss of D/s as I thought. And I’m clinging to it with everything that I have. Today the husband and I went out for breakfast. He was talking about problems at the office and his stress level. I wanted to help him feel better about himself, so my instinctual solution was to suggest a type of power exchange relationship where he would report to me. I would be his Dom, so to speak. I know, I know. I’m grasping at straws. But it made sense in my head. I’m organized. I can organize his work life. It was something we considered doing once he starts his business. Most people call them secretaries.

I’m just tired. Tired to pretending that everything is ok. Tired of always being horny and yet still feeling guilty every time I even consider masturbating. Every time I orgasm I still feel this twinge because I didn’t get permission to do so. I mean, I gave myself permission, but that’s not good enough. I don’t want to see how hurt I am. He feels bad enough. But I am struggling to move forward as fast as is necessary. The contractors still need decisions about cabinet stain, the boys still need haircuts. The rest of the world doesn’t give a fuck if I’m not at the top of my game. It just expects me to pull up my big girl panties and suck it up.

And with that in mind: Condoms are a great for a birth control that will also help to prevent the spread of STDs. However, if you are with a monogamist partner and you have other birth control options and are STD free, then not having to use them is great.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Searching for XXX

I didn’t really watch a lot of porn until I after I got married, and never on my own. The husband and I watched it together occasionally early on in our relationship. We started with pretty vanilla stuff, I think he was trying to ease me in. But then we amassed a collection of all types. I don’t mind admitting that a lot of all girl stuff is probably my favorite. We used to watch it more, especially after we started BDSM activities, but porn is hard with kids. For whatever reason it’s not as hot with a myriad of Mickey Mouse and Octonaut toys all around you. And all the moaning and dirty talk isn’t really something that you want the kids walking in on. It’s hard enough trying to keep myself quiet during sex, much less when three other girls are moaning along with me.

A good evening of porn is usually filled with moans, grunts, and several laughs. On our honeymoon we rented this amazing piece of cinema. I wish I could remember the title, but it was Indiana Jones XXX or something. The main character was a woman and she fucks her way through an anthropological dig. It was amazing. The were whips and cargo pants and everything. There were a few others as well, but that one still makes me smile eight years later.

And it is this memory that has inspired my upcoming rant. Mainly, where has all the hotel porn gone? We have stayed in several hotels over the past few years for work and vacation. The kids haven’t been with us, staying with grandparents. We have always appreciated this opportunity when our first child was little as they meant a good nights’ sleep and some amazing sex. We would do a nice dinner and then head back to the room early for an evening of porn and sex. Even if we passed out by midnight (remember…parents) we would get through at least two movies and two or three rounds ourselves.

So when I started this work from home position with bi-monthly trips to the corporate office we were excited. I tried to schedule my meetings on Fridays and he would come with me. We would both work during the day, hopefully I could get a tattoo appointment with my guru and then we would have the evening together. It was a pretty nice set up considering how few date nights we were usually able to arrange. But here’s the thing, in the last year we have probably done four or five of these trips together. We have stayed at different hotels around the city, due to price and availability. And not a single one has had pay-per-view porn. I mean, really?

Do they just assume that they will use their free (and usually slow as fuck) internet to look up porn ourselves? Was their cut not big enough? Are they trying to maintain some idea that their establishment is too good for people to masturbate on their sheets?

I understand that there is a wealth of amateur porn out there. And we actually subscribe to an internet site for most of our porn. But when we have a fun night together at a hotel is fun to put on something new (and usually hilarious) porn re-imagining of Twilight or some such thing and laugh as we exchange oral and eat leftovers in bed.

I mean what does it really hurt to have a selection of adult entertainment for the discerning customer who stays at their hotel? Have that many people complained? Were they just getting too many complaints about it being too accessible to kids or something? I feel like a password or some parental responsibility would be a much better option than getting rid of Cream my Pie 6 from my viewing pleasure. By now we have come to accept this new reality, but the first few nights it really ruined the evening. We would get excited for an evening of Gang Bangs XIII and sleeping in. So both of us would have to work to bounce back from our lack of Sorority Girls All Anal and making the best of our hotel evening.

It just seems odd to me that hotel chains would become more conservative in this way. Next thing you know you won’t be able to sleep in the same room without a marriage license. Rather than taking an accepting position of peoples’ lifestyles and sexual freedoms they are tell all off us to just fuck off. Or doing their best to encourage us to fuck at home.

Well guess what various hotels who refuse to let me laugh and enjoy a quality porn video with whomever I choose in your establishment, I hear your position. And I guess I will enjoy my porn and repeated fucking in my own home in the future.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Old House/New Start

This will be the year we move into our house. Not a rental, certainly not our parents’ homes. A place that is ours. We wanted a project, not a turn key home. And we found one.

This is the current state of our kitchen and first floor bathroom:




We finished demo over the weekend. It greatly reduced the cost if we did it ourselves, and we were more than happy to raise a hammer to destruction. There are a lot of pictures of my mother and I gleefully swinging hammers, but you can only see so many of them before you start thinking we’re psychopaths.

But this is our shell. I meet with the contractors today to finalize a start date for them. It will be a few months of work, but a brand new bathroom and kitchen will be worth it. Because this will be our home.

See others’ new starts for the year at this week’s Wicked Wednesday.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Happy Slave Place


Happy places can be mental. A head space that one can call upon when needed to get them through a stressful or emotional situation. Usually coffee helps me through these. But for me, my true happy place is where I can just relax. Not have to worry about screaming children or mounting bills. Where I can think about nothing at all if I want to. This is a physical space for me rather than a mood or idea. Doing a relaxing activity can help; I enjoy sewing or reading. But these really only help for a short period. And Sir was becoming frustrated with my poor mood every day when he got home. He had enough stress with work and needed me to be a my best. So we both knew that I needed to try and find whatever it was that provided that place of calm and rejuvenation.

DSCN1546Over the last few years that place has been harder and harder to find. Everyone always wants something and I’ve run out of hiding places. Sir’s wants and needs are important to me, but those are a joy to give. Sir wants me to have a quiet place where he knows that I will rest. I can’t be my best slave when I am at my worst. So he decided that I needed a place where I could get into the right head space. He decided that sleeping next to him every night wasn’t good for me.

DSCN1547I’ve been sleeping on the floor on and off for the last four months now. And I can honestly say it has been some of the best sleep I’ve ever had. I am still right next to Sir; he can reach me if he needs anything. I always ask him if he requires anything before I fall asleep. But after he gives me leave to go to sleep I rarely lay awake for more than a few minutes.

It’s just a happy spot. I can stretch out. I don’t have to worry about stealing the blanket. I can lay on my soft pallet and see Sir’s collection of belts. It’s a very calming. For me it’s a representation of how much Sir cares about me. And how that manifests itself in different ways. DSCN1551Even a year ago, if you had told me that Sir loves me enough to order me to sleep on the floor I would have called you a fool (probably several expletives thrown in there too).
But it is a constant surprise to me how well he knows exactly what I need. Even when I don’t. I would never have thought that sleeping on the floor would put me in a happy place head space, but it does. Give me a book and a cup of coffee and I could spend my life there. Occasionally brought up on the bed for a suck and a fuck and back to my happy place I would go.


Click below to read about others’ happy places for this week’s Wicked Wednesday.
Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Barking Children

This week’s Wicked Wednesday topic is revisiting an old blog post. So I went about as old as I could. I found a post back in 2010 called Bad Neighbors. This was when I was blogging about Sir and my’s journey to become parents, long before we found kink and BDSM. But I was writing about my concerns in balancing two dogs with a job and housework. What a difference five years makes.

But this writing is coming back around to me as we are buying our first home. The idea that we would be seen as bad neighbors scares me. We are hoping this will be our forever home. If we make a poor impression to the neighborhood, how do we come back from that? Right now we have one dog, but Sir and I have already talked about getting a puppy. Between a new puppy and the two boys, we could be the terror of the cul-de-sac if we’re not careful. And we want to make friends. We have little kids, so as much as it would great to have a complete circle of kink friends and other parents, it may not happen. We don’t live in a big city. The BDSM community exists, but it’s not large enough to meet all of our needs socially (that’s ok). So having neighbors with children that like us and will keep an eye on our house when we are on vacation would be nice. We want to get involved in our community (BDSM and local), and having a dog that barks all the time may hinder that. Though our current dog is actually pretty mellow, it’s the boys that will ruin us.

I do love how worried I was about becoming a mom. Worried that the balance wouldn’t work. Not sure I’ve figured it out yet, if I’m honest. Two kids, a part-time job, the house; I’m certainly struggling. Getting everything done is usually based on how much coffee I can mainline in the morning. But Sir’s happy with what I can accomplish, so I’m okay with it. And the kids are healthy (the baby is actually in the 90th percentile in every category) and happy. They have tantrums like every other kid, but they aren’t maiming small animals or breaking into the liquor cabinet just yet, so I’m not really worried.

And our current neighbors don’t hate us, so I guess it’s a win. I mow the lawn so it doesn’t look awful and the dog doesn’t terrorize everyone who walks by (just those who come onto the porch). Though the standards might not be as high as they will be in our new neighborhood. The house on our left has been empty and for sale since we moved in last year and our other neighbors are hoarders. But they are hoarders who like us, so….win.

See other bloggers visits to their pasts for this weeks Wicked Wednesday.

Wicked Wednesday

Dreaming of Dominance

If you had a choice, what you would dream about tonight?

I would dream about my perfect dominant. His confidence as he ordered my meal at dinner and asked about my day. His smile as we left the restaurant with his hand resting in the small of my back. Enjoying the missing strap from my thong, just as he had ordered. That tingly feeling as we ride the elevator up to our hotel room. Our eyes lock as the doors close and I see his fingers twitch. He was itching to touch me, just as I want to jump on him. Of course, he expected me to always be ladylike, so dry humping his leg would not be advised.

He is firm as he leads me to our door. The door barely closes before I am removing my dress and bra. He wants to help so he can touch my skin, but finds watching even more erotic. My thigh-highs and heels will keep me warm as the wine from dinner has my body at a nice warm glow. I watch in turn, practically drooling, as he removes his tie and lays it across the chair. I kneel in position next to the bed, waiting for instructions. Happy to just watch him walk across the room. His movements are purposeful and strong. Just looking at him makes me feel safe. Not to mention extremely turned on.

He moves me about the room over the next few hours. From the chair, to the bed, to the shower and back again. An endless orchestra of moans and cries brought on by his masterful hands.  He wakes me after a quick nap with a hard  fucking and little bits along my neck. I worship his cock and kiss his feet as he helps me fell sexier than I ever thought I could. The calm as ropes tighten and tears fall take me to a place I can only be with him. His smile as I eagerly crawl across the room toward him remind me that I could not do this with anyone else. Because my perfect dominant inspires all my submission.

*        *         *

And I would smile as I woke up on the floor next to his bed in the morning. Like I do every morning.

Wicked Wednesday


I am broken.

A bird with a song unspoken.

I reach out, happy to be owned.

The support I receive keeps my depression postponed.

But how long can I continue to lean on you?

Even though I try and appreciate all you do.

How can slave demand so much?

Requiring your time; using you as a crutch.

I wish I could see what you see in me.

So that I can be what you need me to be.

My mood keeps winning and brining me down.

An endless fight, with a constant frown.

I want to be stronger, a better reflection of you.

All I feel is weak, there is nothing I can do.

My bones feel soft and brittle, they break with every step.

You hold me together, even as I wept.

I hold onto my collar and muster a smile.

When inside I feel like a smoldering pile.

I have so much to offer, so much to give.

But there are not chances in every life we live.

Regardless, I need to be stronger and better for you.

But inside I am broken, hopeless, and lost too.


Wicked Wednesday

The Conversation

Sir: I saw you were flirty on Twitter today. Were you touching yourself all morning?

Me: Yes, Sir. I was thinking of you. Is that ok?

Sir: Sure, keep it up. I’ll have you licking pussy and sucking more dicks than you can handle soon. Tied to a chair, watching me fuck a woman senseless.

Me: Yes, Sir.

Sir: That was a lackluster response.

Me: Sorry.

Sir: I thought you were looking forward to adding another person to our play.

Me: Yeah, I am excited about playing with a woman someday. I’m just worried about how it will affect me and our relationship. Do you think you could watch me have sex with another man?

Sir: Watch you suck another man’s cock because I told you to. Beat you for encouragement. I think I would enjoy it. Maybe we could start with a fucking machine to ease us both into it.

Me: I’m not sure that would be easing for me, but ok. I think I would enjoy the activity while it was happening, obviously. I am more worried about after. Feeling unfaithful, or getting to a point where you wanted another sub/slave full time. Feeling like I’m not enough for you. My insecurities just go a little crazy.

Sir: Another slave living with us? Could be nice for childcare. She wouldn’t have to sleep with us every night.

Me: I don’t know if I could do that. Share my home and my family with another person like that.

Sir: Would it be better if she lived somewhere else?

Me: No, maybe even worse, now that I think about it. Then you spend more time out of the house. God that makes me sounds really selfish. I’m just not sure I’m ready to share you. Is that ok? That I’m not ready to go out every weekend and play with other people or couples just yet?

Sir: Of course it is.

Me: But what if I’m never ready to add a third? You really want a pain toy. What happens on that day when you bring a new slave to the dungeon?

Sir: We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we. Maybe you’ll grow to the idea.

Me: Yes, Sir.


Wicked Wednesday

The Look in Her Eyes

I towered over her. She sat on the white tile floor, I stood on the ledge that kept the water in the shower. I forced her keep her bra on. That bra that was not part of her uniform. It would wash.
My piss danced across her chest, her face, and into her open mouth. She had been instructed to watch my cock as I pissed on her.
She tried. She really tried.
I could tell it was too much for her when I was only half-way through my bladder. I decided to keep going – no point in showing mercy when you’re trying to train someone to be a piss drinker.
My stream continued to falter slightly as my arousal made me hard and made it difficult to aim. Eventually, I finished. She didn’t move. Her eyes struggled to follow my cock as she breathed a sigh of relief. I love it when she thinks we are finished.
I knelt before her, and looked into her eyes. They shone with unrealized tears. She wouldn’t look at me. Couldn’t.
There was still piss in her mouth.
“Look at me.”
She didn’t try.
“LOOK AT ME!” I shouted.
She did. The struggle to stay calm made her shoulders shake. She was close to breaking, but I had to keep pushing. I had to know.
“Close your mouth. Don’t swallow until I tell you to.”
Trembling, she inched her jaw closed, but never made it. At the last crucial second she coughed and spat piss back at me. It splattered across my white dress shirt and the floor of the shower. She immediately started sobbing, wordlessly.
I stood up, took off my shirt, balled it into one hand, and knelt back down.
“You couldn’t do it?” It wasn’t a question.
She shook her head. Her sobbing slowed and her body trembled, waiting for the strike that would come. She tried to keep looking at me, but her fear kept putting her eyes to the floor.
And the strike did come. Hard. She spit piss onto her master’s shirt. Intentional or not, that sort of thing is deserving of stern punishment.
But it would come later.
I grabbed her chin and slowly tilted her head up, her eyes to meet my own. I took my crumpled shirt and wiped the tears and piss and sweat from her face. Gently, because that is what she needed in that moment. I took off the offending bra and threw it and my shirt in a crumpled ball on the floor. She would get it later. And hand wash it too.
Her eyes changed, softened, relaxed. No longer the deer in the headlights, she was now a docile and domesticated thing, her normal self.
I pulled her forward, onto my shoulder, and petted her head, told her that I was proud of the effort, that I would punish the infraction soon, and that we were done with piss training for the night. She said nothing and I said nothing more.

Wicked Wednesday