Our Senior Correspondent's Investigative Report (Part I)

After a little R & R, Our Senior Correspondent Donna has produced this excellent first installment on her experience at La Domaine last week. And it's just in time, since our readers are probably tired of hearing about Molly and Mick being on what is probably sounding like an endless vacation.  Enjoy. As you will see, Donna came back with a very good story.
 

As most of you know, I spent four days last week under the tutelage of Mistress Collette and Master R at La Domaine Esemar. I do not exaggerate in saying it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. 

All, and I do mean ALL of my senses were heightened and tested and bolstered and challenged. I could go on and on about the gourmet meals, the extraordinary wines, the dinner conversations that covered topics on history, science, politics and the arts, but I know what you want, friends, you want to know about my sexual adventures. So I begin with a glimpse into the beginning of just one adventure at La Domaine.

Having had a tour through the unbelievable La Domaine Dungeon during which Mistress Collette and Mistresses in Training, Goddess Evita and Mistress Dame, all watched carefully for my reactions to every scene room, every whip, tool, cage and chain, I was instructed to remove all my clothing. While I stood naked in front of Mistress Collette, I was versed on keeping my chin up, showing that I was proud to be Mistress’ slave, my eyes downward, showing  humility and respect. My arms would be bent slightly at the elbow, hands over and open, waiting patiently, ready to receive and serve. And my legs would be apart, always open and available to Mistress in an inviting but not vulgar manner. Those words are not exact, but the spirit is correct.

As the two MITs (Mistresses in Training) stood on each side to support and help hold me up, Mistress Collette wrapped me, Shibari style, in rope. These pictures are not of me, mine aren’t back from the Dungeon yet, but these can give you a general idea, although mine were much more elaborate and absolutely beautiful!

And my breasts were bound somewhat like this picture, although my breasts are a couple of cup sizes bigger, and according to Mistress my nipples are large, lovely and luscious.

After the tying, all three women began to rub their hands over my body, around my breasts and over my nipples. Mistress Collette moved lower and ran her small, soft hands up and down my sides and between my legs while Master R rubbed the top of my ear and blew across my ear and my dampened nipples.

As I sank further and further into my submissive mindset, I was led to a sawhorse like this:

I was seated on a knee support and positioned to be leaning back against the center of the sawhorse. Each of my legs was attached to an outer leg of the sawhorse and my arms were tied behind the beam. Again, the two MITs helped me keep upright as they  also continued to nibble on my throat and ears, licking the back of my neck and sucking on my shoulders, all while stimulating and clamping down on my nipples.

I went higher and higher as Mistress Collette knelt between my legs, speaking soft encouraging words, running her hands up and down my thighs, squeezing and pinching my clit and pushing her fingers up into my wet and dripping center. Then a new texture was introduced as a flogger was slowly dragged over my body; and then flicked lightly against my skin; and then popped and snapped against my flesh.  Clothespins appeared and were attached to each nipple and one by one to my cunt, creating a circle of clothespins between my legs.  And very soon the flogger dragged, flicked and then popped and snapped over my flesh again, and over the clothespins, too. The small spot of flesh in the center of my clothespin circle seemed to provide a perfect target for Mistress Collette’s floggers and the pain and pleasure melded into bliss.

I was offered the opportunity to orgasm. Mistress told me the words to use to beg her properly, but I was floating so well and so far that I couldn’t recall the words. She eased back; she teased me; she gave me the words, again, and brought me to the edge, again.  But to no avail, I simply could not remember the words, and my own words weren’t complete, they were selfish…I wanted, rather than offered.

One of my lessons on this trip would be about the proper attitude of begging and offering, and I was not off to an auspicious start…and so there would be no coming right then. The clothespins were removed slowly, one by one, as I offered sincere thanks to Mistress Collette as each one was removed and blood rushed back in. I received words of praise from my Mistress and felt so safe, so secure and so complete.

Still floating, somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the Mistresses laugh and I was aware that someone said, “Shall we move on to the next stage?” And that’s when I knew that what I had thought to be the main course was simply the appetizer.

More to come.

Hugs,
Donna

Mistress Asks Permission

We woke here a little early Sunday morning, debating whether to load our bikes onto the car and travel north twenty miles for one of our more epic bike trails. But inertia prevailed…. We decided to keep our ride closer to home, and spend the time that would have been spent in the car on more typical Sunday morning  pursuits….

“So we can do switch day now Slave, rather than later….”

 Mistress immediately began to wonder whether her gung ho reminder of my contractual rights  was a good idea, as I reached for our little bag of tricks and pulled out the leather wrist cuffs and their tiny locks.

"Ohhh.  I guess that was stupid of me, Slave...."

Now it was a little chilly outside  here on the cusp of the mountains Sunday morning.  Our high altitude and a front from the north that cleared away the clouds probably had the temperature in the 40s when this conversation was going on, so I decided to spare Mistress an early morning bound “perp walk” out to a convenient outdoors pillar or post.

Instead, I locked her cute little red cuffs on, and tied them off to the corners of our bed, with Mistress on her stomach.

She had worn some semi-transparent undies to bed, and they looked so cute I paused to take a photo….

 I reached for  the riding crop, conveniently placed near the bed, and gave her a few light smacks over her undies before sliding them off and over her lovely feet…. Still in the black socks she had worn to bed for a little extra warmth after our night on the dance floor.

With her bottom suitably exposed, it was time to pick up the crop again. But since she’s been a very good Mistress on this trip, I laid down next to her, rather than stand at the side of the bed, sliding  one hand under her hips to fondle and delight, while the other applied the crop intermittently.  It didn’t take long before Mistress’s ass was rising and falling nicely, switching from side to side, and taking on a nice rosy glow.

Of course, the Hitachi magic wand was also at the ready, and it seemed like a good time to put it to use, switching it on and sliding it between those strong and supple thighs.

“Don’t forget to ask permission, Mistress.”

She worked herself into a lovely frenzy, humping her favorite power tool, while pulling at the ropes that restrained her arms.

:May, I Slave….”

“May you what, Mistress?”

(I can be a tease, can’t I?)

“Come, Slave…. may I please Come?”

(Love that hint of desperation in her voice.)

“Yes, Mistress…. You can come now….”

Given the green flag, she let it rip, building herself to one of those mega-cums that had he sobbing, tears welling in her eyes. 

I felt the pride of a job well done.

But of course by now, the work-a-day cock was more than anxious to joint the fun. I let Mistress recover a bit, then mounted her from behind, sliding into her moist folds gently at first, then with more gusto, until I had Mistress moaning into her pillow for another couple of orgasms.

By the time I released her wrists and turned her over she seemed to have had a full dose of switch day satisfaction, if I do say so myself.

Your Boyfriend's In Your / Our Bedroom

Molly and Mick had yet another “productive” day here in the High Desert, which is beginning to feel all the more like home. Left to our own devices, we’d move here at the drop of a hat. But there are still two lonely cats at home, and daughters to get through college, so at some point we will gas up the UCTMW mobile unit and head back to River City.

But in the meantime…. Our day began with some early morning wake up sex, then a trip to the local farmers market and grocery store to stock up on provisions for a dinner we are hosting tonight for some local friends, as well as a couple from River City driving through this neck of the woods.

After re-stocking the larder, we took our daily bike ride, in weather that is a little damper and cooler than typical this time of year. Bracing was the best way to describe it. So it made sense of us to take a warm shower afterwards. In the shower one thing led to another (actually it was the tight grip Mistress had on my cock that led us back to bed).

I worshipped her with my usual devotion, and she returned the favor by a long and frustrating tease of my cock with those well manicured fingers. Fortunately, she ultimately succumbed to my begging for permission to fuck her.

After all, she is a very kind Mistress.

After a little post-orgasmic snooze, we were back to an afternoon (and later an evening) at the final day of the Big Barn Dance.  As a nearly full moon rose over the Mountains, the  chairs were cleared off what amounted to an old high school basketball floor, laid down under a big damn tent, and the locals and visitors were all twirling and whirling on one big counter clockwise promonade to the waltzes and western swing music performed by an all-star cast of pickers, fiddlers and crooners.

It was a sight to behold. Although Molly and Mick got a little dizzy trying to keep up with the more accomplished dancers. With us on the floor it amounted to an elaborate game of bumper cars, set to a C&W soundtrack.

Which gets me back to the title of today’s “essay”. One of the artists we saw was Chick Cannon, a singer / songwriter from Nashville. He has a voice that channels Leon Russell, and a collection of clever songs that border on gospel.

One if his songs is "Boyfriend” (listen with the link). The gist is “Your boyfriend’s in your bedroom”, but, alas, the lady in question is lusting after another man, and trying to come up with a way to get the boyfriend out of her bedroom. It is a sort of  gender reversed “50 ways to leave your lover.”

The other day, Suzanne over at All Mine had a thoughtful entry on when and how jealousy raises its head in a cuckold relationship, that got an interesting variety of comments. Make sure you read it if you haven't yet had the chance. 

Suzanne, Tammy and Jay seem to keep it all together ( of course ,with some help from Suzanne’s crackerjack domineering babysitting crew), but even in their idyllic polyamorous household, one senses that Tammy can get a little twinge of jealousy on occasion. Her wife seems to monitor and respond as called for to keep him comfortable, and part of the team.

After listening to all these country songs for the last few days, one realizes how “out there” we are from "red state" America when it comes to inviting another person into our bedroom. There are songs of vengeful jealousy (Ray Wylie Cyrus’s narrator deploys a switchblade on a honky-tonk dance floor in one sad “I deserve to be in prison but don’t regret what I did to get here” ditty). And there are quite a few wallow in my misery over the girl who left me tunes (“You’ve got a Lover and It’s Not Me”, by Shake Russell comes to mind).

But I can’t recall any celebratory songs along the lines of “It Turns Me on When that Cowboy Slides His Hand Up Your Thigh On the Dance Floor, Honey”.

And yet…. Old Mick can’t deny that Mistress’s adventures over the last two years haven’t thrown some fuel on our mutual fires. It's just a kink that Nashville has somehow avoided, maybe the equivalent of the third rail for the music industry.

We discussed the subject of our dabbling in the cuckold kink a tad last night as we watched the dancers twirl, skirts flaring, and boots scuffing across the floor.

“All this other stuff just reminds me how strong our relationship is, Slave….”

I agree Mistress…. It only works when there’s a whole lot of trust and security…. And we’ve got that.”

In spades.

Is it too late to start writing and pitching songs with a cuckold twist? Maybe the Dixie Chicks could record, “He’s My Clean Up Man”,  or “Better Knock First, (Before You Come to Bed, Honey)”, or something along those lines?

Snake Farm

It turned out we made our trek to the top of New Mexico just in time on Wednesday.

Over the last two days the weather has taken an unusual twist and turn, with clouds and generous rain down here at 7000 feet, after a long summer’s draught. And when we woke on Friday morning, once the cloud cover cleared, we could see the first snow of the season up on the summit where Slave had “grazed” just 36 or so hours earlier. Not sure that Mistress’s tender tush would have felt  inclined for worship if parked in a snow bank. Or that these humble hikers would have taken on that challenge in the event of snow and ice.

“Sorry, left the pitons back in River City, Mistress”, would have been my lament.

So we woke with still sore thighs in Friday, reminding us of that long slog up and back, and making us all the more grateful for a little extra time in bed, doing what is our highest and best use, particularly for our readers here at the UCTMW media empire.

We were also glad finally to hear from our Senior Correspondent, Donna, back from her investigative reporting adventure to La Domaine. We are counting on a comprehensive accounting, Donna. And feel free to do it like Aisha, teasing it out over several episodes rather than getting to the good parts post haste. After all, we  want to get our money’s worth from all that extravagant tab you ran up on the company Amex card.

But what does this have to do with snakes, you might be asking?

Well one thing that has kept Mistress and her loyal Slave up past our normal bedtime these last two nights is the “Big Barn Dance” music fest, just down the road on the grounds of our local roadhouse. It’s an annual event that the hassle of tending to high school girls has never allowed us to attend, until this year.

Out here there is an amazingly vibrant music scene. Lots of genres. But the one that gets us going is what could be described as “Western Americana”. The Barn Dance drags folks in primarily from Texas, Colorado and New Mexico, with a few folks who hale from Nashville too, but are more rootsy C&W, not the kind you hear on the radio.

The performers are the grizzled, cranky, drink and live a little too hard  types you might recall from the movie “Crazy Heart”,  filmed in these parts, but with all the scars and festering wounds of the heart that you can’t make up in a Hollywood screen play.

The audience shares some of the same characteristics, skewing older, little glamour, lots of grit. And plenty of cowboy hats and boots.

Thursday night we saw Mentor Williams, a local, way past his prime as a performer, who is still cashing royalty checks from his big hit “Drift Away”. He did a song he wrote for Alabama called “When We Make Love”, which had the corn-pony sentimental feel of Barry White with a cowboy hat, chewing tobacco.

One artist in particular hit our fancy last night, an old Texas refugee of the New Riders of the Purple Sage, named Ray Wylie Hubbard. He made no excuses for the upbringing that produced his quirky, hard scrabble story songs.

“A few years back I figured it out. I came from what we now call a "dysfunctional family". But in those days people just said the Hubbards always were fussing and drinking a lot.”

One line from his song “Drunken Poet's Dream”, nailed someone close to home:

“I gotta' woman who’s wild as Rome. She likes being naked and gazed upon.”

“He’s got you down, Mistress.”

She did not disagree.

Then there was that Snake Farm song. About a girl he "dated" who worked on a snake farm. It turns out the folks sitting beside us knew old Wylie Ray from down in Texas. Nice folks, though by River City standards their teeth could use a little work.

“Yeah…. Pretty funny…. His wife really did work on a snake farm for a spell. Now SHE had some funny stories.”

You have to listen. “Snake Farm. Sounds kind of nasty. Snake Farm. It pretty much is.”  And it rang a peculiar note of déjà vu for me.

Now call me crazy, but I had just told Mistress about a strange dream I had the night before. All this New Mexico rain had caused the flora to go a little crazy. Vines were popping up all over that were about an inch thick and had eyes and mouths like snakes. You hacked them back, but they just kept growing back, multiplying, thicker and nastier. By the time I woke up, our house was surrounded by the damn things, and we were thinking about making a break for the car. Until we saw that these “vines” had somehow wrapped themselves around our Volvo tires.

Dang.

Now where does this stuff come from. I’m thinking Nilla' and all her stories about tentacle sex. There was one just this week.  Never been much of a turn on for me (sorry ‘Nilla), but you can’t cover everybody’s kink everyday, can you?

Maybe you can write a Snake Farm story for us?