Chasing Me Chasing You

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

Why I do this…

She rolled away from him and instantly tears started rolling down her face. One by one they silently puddled at the corners over eyes, finally spilling down in their sudden, silent release.
No one had really adequately explained the flood of emotions she would feel, none of the books could quite explain it, and the imagery ignored it all together. Nothing could have prepared her for what she was feeling, waves of angst emanating from her heart, mixing with the burn on her skin, her mind screaming in protest.
She hadn’t really agreed to this, had she? She couldn’t really want THIS.
The palm of his hand stung more than he had anticipated and the silence hanging in the air was thick and deafening. Based on everything he had seen, and the things he had imagined, this was not how it was supposed to be. He had dreamed of something sexier: a punishment delivered by an obedient and graceful, “thank you, Sir.” But all there was between them was muddled air.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now, he fumbled for strength, for words, for some way to reach her and reclaim the chemistry that had existed beforehand, but he couldn’t. Ten minutes ago things were beautiful, sexy. Now there nothing but pain and silence, and the unmistakable odor of anger, and hurt – an unspoken but unambiguous certainty.
Her mind, body, and soul ached, needing something – needing release. Instead of screaming, she cried. One by one her tears fell, a slow, steady saline deluge, their wetness spreading as they were absorbed by the pillowcase. She fancied herself strong and proud but here she was, broken. She felt like a child, and it made her unbearably angry. The humiliation of being spanked like a petulant child, and lectured, it was all too much. This is not what she had signed up for.
He had been so upset when she had smarted off to him, and she certainly had earned her punishment. But he felt like he had handled it correctly. The rules had been laid out in advance, she knew the consequences of her actions. They had talked about it afterwards, discussed what was going to happen… He had followed all the best advice and yet here they were, all at once inches apart, and miles away, the distance between them daunting, the ability to bridge it, wanting.
He swallowed hard, the fear of her reaction forefront in his mind, but still he leaned over and draped his arm around her, and then, gently but firmly and all at once, pulled their bodies together. The distance covered, their naked bodies pressed securely to one another, he leaned in and kissed her head, her hair tickling his nose. Pausing there for a moment he smelled the citrus of her scent, inhaling gently, and allowing her scent to consume him. With no discernible reaction, he braved forward, gently kissing her neck and shoulders. He wasn’t trying to fuck her, he just needed her to know that despite the firmness of his hand, she was loved. Deeply, truly, passionately, and completely loved. He loved her as much and any man could ever love a woman. The tears that had been puddling in her eyes became a river, and she sobbed a painful relent.
His hand had startled her at first, she didn’t know if she was expecting it or not. She didn’t know what to expect. Emotionally she was already wrecked beyond repair, and so when his fingers gripped her waist and pulled her close she didn’t know how to react. Quietly and defiantly, she accepted it. But there was something unmistakably soothing about his skin, and his strong hand that felt comforting, and when his lips found her hair she finally fell apart, the cracks in her ethos giving way all at once to a torrent of feeling, and as his lips found her neck, she cratered. She loved this man, and for him she would indeed give everything. She’d suffer her humiliations, and she’d strive with things impossible to be everything she could – for him. With her hands she grasped his and held him firmly, nuzzling her body closer to his warm, strong chest. She hated him for the way he had made her feel, yes. But she loved him for it too, oh god did she love it. She needed it.
They lay there together for a quiet eternity, tears, and a warm, loving embrace between them. Love for them was not always gentle, and it wasn’t going to be easy, but it would be fierce, and passionate. And given the choice between normality and this, neither would choose anything less.
This was reblogged from here. One of my many favorite tumbler accounts. It was just too pretty not to share.

One Response to “Why I do this…”


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