Mistress Collette's Lair

   Champagne, Kilts, and Queenly Appraise

                                            -Ra's Elf the Younger


Seer/Domme admitted me and immediately placed the sole garment I was to wear in my slightly shaking hands. Her eyes measured me with cool appraise, a subtle sharpening to Her features that touched me deeply.  She was both full-bodied and purposeful in Her presence, and I took care not to allow my own eyes to wander carelessly down over Her abundant and latticed-in-leather splendors.  I was filled with feelings that were not unlike fear, but fear was not what I was feeling.  Something momentous was about to occur, which is how it always is with Her ... I was trembling,  as ever, with what could only be called ecstatic anticipatory humility.

She led me to my fate as the humbly serving male underling to Her all-encompassing Manifest Goddess Destiny. It was this way each and every day with Her – -  each and every day a miracle of Her own cunning and generous devising.

That Seer/Domme would elicit grunts and groans from me was to be expected.  I knew She would take me unmercifully, that She would not only usurp my male pride, but that She would command my every physical limit, keeping my limbs and flesh in a state of constantly increasing stress. It was only later that I learned it was not the merely grunts and groans She relished – - mostly, She was more delighted by my male moaning, an oral accompaniment which She never tired of causing ...

She approved of my manly muscularity, and She required I be bare-chested at all times.  And, to complement the upper body display, She had also acquired for me the aforementioned sole garment of my apparel – - a Scottish kilt!  The shapely strength in my calves and thighs was something She constantly enjoyed seeing, and so the revealing manliness of the kilt gave Her pleasure.  Not at all unexpectantly, She also immensely approved of how vulnerable and accessible I always was beneath it ...

The kilt was hemmed so that it rode high, up close to my lower buttocks, which were revealed whenever I bent forward. Seer/Domme had utmost affection for my hindquarters, and She felt that to keep them so readily
at hand and visible was just exactly what Her lustful preoccupations needed.  I could feel Her eyes upon me when I busied myself about Her home, bending and reaching, my back toward Her gaze.   Truth to tell, I loved showing myself to Her that way, and my skin would tingle as I moved under Her ever-watchful awareness.

Additionally, the tailoring was such that the hemline rode even higher in front, exposing my bare and naked genitals, which, since I was forbidden to wear underbriefs, were always uncovered.  Seer/Domme said She liked to be able to ascertain at a glance my states of arousal, or lack thereof.  The male organ was a shape-shifting antenna that gave away all of a male’s secrets, She maintained, and I could not see any fault in that logic. My dangling maleness was Hers to monitor as She wished, gladly and at length throughout our times together.


And if, for instance, I were flaccid and tucked, timidly nestled up against my own lower abdomen, She thought that cute, a sign that my mind needed to be needled and shaped subtly by Her more silken demands.  It was at times like these that She would slip smoothly into one of Her endless role-playing scenarios, inviting my participation.  I could become the Plumber on his knees beneath Her grumpy sink, or I’d be the handy guy high upon on the stepladder adjusting Her blinds, or even a Visiting Minister, come to sing Her praises, straight out of the Book of Solomon.  I might end up for Her as a dutiful census taker, there to count Her innumerable fetishes!  We would improvise dialogues throughout the slow and parient afternoon, and find ourselves in the most ingenious of predicaments.  More often than not, these inventions would end up with Seer/Domme having to take matters forcefully into Her own eminently capable hands, in the form of a spanking ... rare was the long afternoon that didn’t end up with some form of spanking!   It was a painful delight greatly to be wished for, so that when dusk befell the town, my own inflamed and blushing cheeks would supply the hour’s visual echo that made Her smile.

But if She beheld my cock in a state of semi-tumescence, She frequently took that as a sign I was being lubricious but lazy in my thinking, a sign that maybe it was high time to bring matters to a head, so to speak.   It would be as if She suspected I was harboring lubricious mental devilments from which She was absent, and nothing I could do could possibly dissuade Her from seeking retribution.  These were the times She would bind me, spread eagled to the bedposts.  Whether I was face-up or face-down, Her pleasure was guaranteed.  Whether She chose milking or face sitting or tightly tethered nipple and cock torture, my devotion was fixed and constant and without relief. Times like this with Her could go on for hours.  She would insinuate Her intent into every nook and cranny of my lowly  consciousness, having me weeping from combined gratitude, distress, and the willingness never again to leave Her image out of my fantasies, even for an instant.

Should I be in a state of outstretched, full-blown erection, however, She would laugh at me and demand I assume the position on all fours – - when She espied such a full-blown salute, I could expect the full range of Her stressful maneuverings, to include, typically, floggings and strap-on invasions, often administered simultaneously.  She would reduce me to hissing breathlessness in a matter of moments.  I would break into copious sweating as She then settled in with a strong and repetitious rhythm, both across my back and deeply up into my proferred bowels, which would soon enough cause my moaning.  Seer/Domme was proud of Her own stamina and could keep me breathlessly moaning for long periods of time this way.  And  when She finally grew weary, Her own sweaty limbs ready for less rigorous  expression, I could expect to be taken to Her tub for a spate of burstful champagne dousing – - oh to quaff at Her spring, to ingest Her deeply personal hot reigning elixirs!  And that to be followed by a long, hot, very soapy shared shower, after which She would decide whether or not to allow my aching privates release ... or whether or not to require even further divinely compliant attention.  Not at all infrequently, She’d chose the latter. Orgasm denial was another of Her deliciously applied specialties.

Thus it was that I was usually very deliberate in taking care to control the erect display of my male member, for although I adored Her every ingenious use and usurpation, the extraordinary testicular build-up could get extremely discomforting. At such times, Her vigor could be so taxing I would have to beg Her for more tender mercies, tho’ my begging was not as pleasing to Her as my moaning.  But then, She typically used my begging as the segue into allowing me to pleasure Her most intimate moist regions with my lips and tongue ... such actually was what we both most cherished after all, the exquisite intimacy of it and how it could make the perfect end to a very long scene.

I would willingly remain with my lips and tongue deftly and longingly pressed with active abandon into Her warm  enveloping sweetness through repeated orgasmic throes on Her part.  Only with the most exhausted exhilaration would I again don the kilt at last, and go about preparing our evening meal. A happy man indeed, my own sweetmeats finally nestled once more up against my lower belly, tho’ still and evermore ever so sightly and accessible to my magnificent Seer/Domme’s queenly appraise.