MISTRESS COLLETTE SAYS...

SCHWANENDREHER!!!
I LOVE MY JOB!

I recently had a once in a lifetime experience. I got to direct a Schwanendreher. A schwanendreher is a roast, but it is not a pig roast or anything like that. A schwanendreher is the roasting of a human being. The name of the fetish comes from the Mid-German. Schwan is swan, en dreher is and turner. Notice that the fetish of roasting a person on a spit is named for the roaster, not the roastee! Now I know why.

Saturday morning, Sept. 15, was rainy. Not a very promising start, especially considering that we needed a large bed of coals for the roast, which was scheduled to start at one. The plan had been based on the first time a schwanendreher was done at Esemar, eight years ago, long before I got to this remarkable place. Master R had said; “Start the fire at nine and have lots of coals by noon.” He explained that we had to use coals so that we would not have leaping flames under the spit. This meant building a separate fire. So there we were, out in the rain, at nine in the morning, starting a fire to roast a human being. Good morning La Domaine.

By noon, the rain was almost gone, little more than the occasional chilling sprinkle, the coals were established, (oak and ash), and the slave had arrived. The slave was a fit fifty-two year old Caucasian male who had been fantasizing about this experience his entire post-pubescent life. We had first heard from him just one week after we did the first schwanendreher, as the word began to trickle out. Every year or two, he would call and say he was still interested and that someday, he would do this. It took him eight years to set a date, for reasons personal and financial. Then, in the first week of this September he called, and asked if he could be roasted that very weekend! Master R told him he would have to wait (damn, we do love to tease) as it would take some time to get the spit back into shape, replace the belts that hold the meat, grease up the jacks, all that good stuff. I made him wait one extra week. That also allowed us time to find twenty people who wanted to be a part of this; our roastee wanted an audience!

Promptly at noon, the slave arrived. I met him at the door and immediately gave him an appropriate slavename for the day: slave meatball. Then, with Domina Five, who is one of our Mistresses,, and one of our slaves, I took meatball down to the medical room in our dungeon and proceeded to shave his entire body. Wouldn’t want the smell of burning hair, now would we? Once he was smooth, it was time to tenderize the meatball. Palms and paddles ladies!

Now that’s a warm up!!! Then, finally, his time had come. We led him blindfolded to the backyard, helped him up onto the spit, and strapped him in. The gathered few grew very quiet, with the extreme sexual anticipation of the unknown filling the moment. What would this be like? Only three people there had ever seen this done before. The other invited guests and family now stood breathless.

We were about to raise and lower the meat’s body temperature from 98.6 to 103-104 degrees, three times in the course of three hours. There was even a meat thermometer that I had stuck in the center of his buttplug so we could check as we raised and lowered his temperature. Raise and lower; that was one of the safety factors built into the spit. We have two jacks, one at each end, so that we could lift our meat when he got to hot. We also had an asbestos sheet ready to drop over the entire bed of coals, in case of any emergency.

Now was the time to bring the heat. Who should carry the first bucket of coals? Among the guests, we had three psychology Doctoral candidates from a major university. I elected to give one of these extremely curious, power-filled, and stunningly beautiful, young women the first bucket. She looked shocked. Could she actually do this? Suddenly, a very strange reality was confronting her with a huge choice. She made the right decision. I gave one of her friends the next bucket. Then Master Gary and Master R started carrying the coals, and quickly meatball was strapped above a very hot bed.

He moaned something to the effect of “ohmygodthisisactuallyhappening.” Then he suddenly touched on panic, and punctuated the quiet with “This is hot!”

meatball was now a human roast. Good thing we had the skills, the technology and… the baste!

Olive oil, crushed banana, maple syrup, salt, pepper, and chardonnay; applied with a huge brush just as his body began to heat up. Sticky and at the same time cooling. Masters and Mistresses and slaves were taking turns turning the spit. There is a huge wheel at one end and four spokes at the other. The spit, as heavy as it is, turns easily, sometimes with a metallic sound, sometimes almost with stealth. The belts allow the meat to be in any position, face up, face down or sideways. Meatball began to turn pink on his back. Poor slavey almost complained, but before he did, II began to rotate the spit. What power! I immediately felt a deep arousal in my most primitive sexual drives. Now meatball was face down, blindfolded, over the coals.

Master R basted his back, I did his legs, and I began to poke his thighs with a fork. Meatball began to surrender to his “ordeal.” I decided to add to it, and telling him it was so the fat could drip out as he cooked, I needled his nipples, thighs and ball sack. I knew the needles would carry my heat, the heat of Mistress Collette, inside him.

For three hours, we raised and lowered the slave and his body temperature. We brought coals and all took turns on both ends of the spit. We fed meatball lots of water; dehydration was our most serous concern. Some of the Mistresses all contributed and we began to share our Goddess fluids with him. Finally, at meatball’s desperate pleading, I removed his blindfold, so he could watch the slaves and Masters and Mistresses turn him, so he could hang face down and stare into the coals that were taking him into his severest desires. meatball gradually became a nice even pink; back, neck, thighs, legs, sexy parts, all of the above, and he was all above the coals, so he was all pink. The baste, early on, began to give off a heavenly aroma. That wafted on the breeze all the way up to the front of the house.

If one did not know what we were up to, walking by our house, the thought would have been; PORK!!! Fortunately, no one came walking down our driveway asking for a taste.

Those three hours went by at a remarkable pace. We all felt the primitivistic sexuality of ancient ritual emerge. It was transfixing. In a strange way, it was enlightening. The atmosphere was almost humorous, yet there was an edge that we all felt, as if we had all been here before, as if this was connecting with some sort of genetic survival code we all shared.

We never even got to the wine we had set aside for the afternoon. (Do you serve white or red with…) After three hours, meatball had a sexy and delirious and very far away look in his eyes. He was cooked. Master R placed the asbestos sheet over the coals, and we very carefully took meatball off the spit. I sat him in a chair and quickly wrapped him in blankets. The first slave La Domaine had cooked, years ago, got decidedly shocky when removed from the spit. meatball sat quietly, with one of the most satisfied smiles I have ever seen on a person’s face. I was in a state of great arousal, very wet, very swollen, in many ways very satisfied, and yet still filled with anticipation.

After about ten minutes, meatball was back in this world, ready to communicate. His thanks were profound. A life-long fantasy had been fulfilled. That is what I do here at La Domaine Esemar. I love days like this one. The remarkable event had also deeply moved and excited all in attendance. The newcomers where all amazed by the scope, insights and power of the event. The three present at the first schwanendreher remarked on how completely entrancing and totally different this second roast had been. We were all literally savoring a fine roast. Everyone was in sexual agreement when I said; “Let’s do this again soon.”

That night, we had a Couples Party. I cannot tell you what happened there, but as I just mentioned, I was filled with anticipation. Unfortunately, meatball was unable to join us, although I think he was, as they say, cooked, and probably too cooked to party. No meatball was a great disappointment, so, of course, I made other great things happen. So did Master R, and Domina Five, and Mistress Edge, and Contessa Alura and Master Gary and Megadeath - our Mistress in Training -, and …well…to know more, you will have to come and visit some time.

Care to join me for a cook-out? I want to try this new baste...



Contact us at: TheInformalChateau@LaDomaineEsemar.com