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blessed be you

Posted on in domination, erotica, fem fatale, femdom, poetry, romance

when she turns to you
her circumspect attentions
blessed be you

when she opens you up
her clever bemusement
blessed be you

blessed be you
unhinged and broke open
blessed be you
asymmetric and fervent

blessed be you
that your merits are counted
blessed be you
because your edges are rounded

when she gives to you
her urgent crooked love
blessed be you

when she drains from you
like a dark-eyed gypsy
blessed be you

blessed be you
uncreased and pressed flat
blessed be you
teetering and undone

blessed be you
wrung out and boiled down
blessed be you
buoyant and effervesced

blessed be you
sweet boy
for her blessings
these blessings that are yours to count

Cocksucker Tuesday

Posted on in Uncategorized

Just turned into that kinda day. How was I to know?

Cocksucker is such a great word, heh?

And so many boys wanna do it. They just aren’t telling the girlfriends and wives. Take it from me. Take it from any girl who takes phone sex calls: Lots of boys want to job the knob, lick the stick, eat the meat. Not to mention swallow the load.

Today was a day of many new callers.

Some of which have already been permanently blocked because I will never judge a fantasy but refuse to tolerate assholes. And unfortunately a few slipped through the cracks. It always happens and I always deal with it accordingly: Get lost. Don’t let the dial tone bite your in the ass on you way out. Goodbye.

And then there were the five (something in the water, perhaps?) wannabe cocksuckers. Yum yum yum. So nice for them to stop by. Sparkling pure new victims for me to corrupt. Delicious to talk with and oh so dirty. Dirty little cocksuckers for Mistress Angela. At least on the phone in our world of erotic mind fucks. Where they are safe to be dirty and I am the woman to make it happen.

And I so like making it happen:

  1. Dwayne thought he would like to be forced to suck one cock. I made him suck that one cock while forcing my fingers into his rump. He liked it. He liked it and was embarrassed that he liked it so much. Nonetheless, he did. He knows that I know that he did. I hope he blushes tomorrow every time he thinks about what he did with me/for me today.
  2. Stephen was one of three Stephens who called me today. “Perhaps a little bit of humiliation,” he shyly asked. I tied his weenie in a pink bow and made him show it to my girlfriends and apologize for its smallness. Then he had to suck all of their boyfriends cocks. Except Madison’s boyfriend. Samuel decided he wanted to deflower the little fruit loop and fucked him. Fucked him hard. Stephen emailed me the sweetest thank you note.
  3. Craig started out requesting a cuckolding fantasy — one of my favorites, as you should know. And he did, indeed, witness his little wifey taking her pleasure with more than a few well-hung studs. But I just couldn’t fuck the last guy. I was sore, dontcha know? So I made my little cocksucker-neonate cucky-hubby drop to his knees and suck the thick shaft I was holding in my hand while I watched up close and personal. And wouldn’t you know it? Craig got an amazing erection sucking that cock. So I made him masturbate and cum simultaneously with the guy pumping his mouth. Naughty husband! Very naughty.
  4. Simon said (well-meant pun) he wanted total enslavement. So I took him to Femtopia, an idyllic world which exists in my mind and to which I occasionally invite the very lucky. The dominant Goddess-Women there demanded that Simon and the other man-slaves perform man-sex acts for them. Simon got quite the cum bath. And was only permitted his own orgasm when drinking man-spunk from his own rectum.
  5. And beloved David. A regular caller with irregular fantasies and the heart of an Angel. And probably the only caller out of the five to have actually sucked a cock in his VERY REAL life. I treated him like a dawg and he loved every minute of it. And so did I.

Just another day at the office.

The Angela St. Lawrence Office of Smut.

Stop by any time, darling.  ;-D

R U a Little Weenie Boy?

Posted on in Uncategorized

A sub-fetish of Erotic Humiliation, Penis Humiliation is the hottest thing in Phone Sex these days.  And while some readers might think this an odd fantasy/fetish/kink, most Phone Sex Operators are quite used to it and actually have a lot of fun with it.

Think of it as a form of VERBAL BDSM.  I mean, after all, the Phone Domme can’t really use whips and chains and Ben Gay (ouch, indeed, very much).  But she can use words.  It is arguably more erotically powerful to dominate with real words — real bad, mean words — rather than “and now I am going to beat you.”  And what matters most to a man?  His dick.  It may seem a trite observation, but it is nonetheless true.

I often say that our poor men — they just can’t help it.  After all, it’s like God created them with the supreme disadvantage of having a gear shift sticking out right there, right there in front for the world to see … even with the cover of trousers!   How can the NOT think about it all the time?  And it makes them very vulnerable, doesn’t it?

So why not go for the girth?  Make every word count and hit him with those words where it hurts the most?  Only, in this case, with pain — there’s no gain.  Little Willie leaves the encounter none the worse for the wear … but none the better.  His sad puny prick is still sad and still puny.

It makes sense.  Penis size is very much on the male mind (don’t ask — he won’t admit it) at least some of the time. Hornswaggling, doolally spammers bank on it.  In my personal email recently:

  • Female Orgasms:  Bigger means Better for your Woman
  • Your tool is so small she hardly finds it in bed?
  • Penetrate Deeper
  • Enhance your masculine tool
  • Fill out your erectile tissue
  • Enlarging your male weapon means winning a competition
  • From now on you will be able to satisfy each size-queen
  • Your male power will return like a boomerang

Now, admittedly, this Mystery Meat (pun intended) was more than likely sent from the one and only internet cafe in some backward jungle — the spammer believing the hype of myriad porn sites.  But he is on to something and it must make money, because everybody finds this stuff in their in-boxes.    Even me, and I have a very feminine personal email address.  It’s the marketing method of Quantity over Quality … just like a Size Queen Fantasy!  The irony is delicious.

Besides being a subcategory of Erotic Humiliation, Small Penis Humiliation is a major theme in Cuckolding Fantasies.  Particularly when the Cuckoldress’s lovers are studly black bulls.  It’s the stark differences that give these fantasies their edge:  Black vs. White, Woman vs. Male, Wife vs. Husband, Large vs. Small.  So, even if it’s not quite your thing, perhaps you can understand that, for others, it’s sizzling hot.

Forced Bi Fantasies will often contain at least a portion of Small Penis Humiliation, with size functioning to underline one’s role in the fantasy:  large equals dominant, small equals submissive.  The feeling of tractability can be deeply enhanced when the physicality of size is used as emphasis.

So Big Cock, Small Cock, Average Cock … what’s it all about, Angela?

Well, you might recall that I actually wrote an about this in an essay, Erotic Humiliation is Not an Oxymoron, for the book, Sex Kitten Presents the BDSM Issue.  While I don’t discuss Small Penis Humiliation per se, I do talk about the “fantasy” of being verbally humiliated, taunted and abused by a beautiful and poweful FemDom.

As far as me, personally:  Is bigger better?  Do I or don’t I?  Well, you’ll just have to READ ALL ABOUT IT.

xo, Angela

Stocking Fetish

Posted on in Uncategorized

Tess, a partner-in-crime over at Sex Kitten, recently wrote a sweet little piece describing her predictable day and not-so-predictable evening while wearing the above stockings, which she purchased from Secrets in Lace. The moral of her story? Boys like girls in pretty things, namely sexy lingerie and, more specifically, sexy nylons.

I have a very clear and fond memory of the circumstances surrounding my very first pair of stockings. I’d just turned fifteen and my father had given me his credit card with permission to specifically purchase a pair of pantyhose and a few other girlie things. I didn’t want pantyhose. I wanted nylons and a garter belt. And I was bound and determined to have my way.

Never underestimate a teenage girl’s inginuity, particularly when she has her babysitting money stashed away for a rainy day…or lingerie.

When I returned from the mall, I hastily scooted past my father, who was working a crossword puzzle at the kitchen table, and up to my bedroom, before he could ask to see what was in my packages. Once I’d hidden the Victoria’s Secret swag, I returned with his credit card and a receipt which clearly listed pantyhose as one of my purchases. He was happy and I was happy.

The first time I wore those stockings was for an interview for a summer job. I’d bought a new dress and my first pair of really high heels that day at the mall, too, so I was feeling pretty grown-up when I went out the front door and hurried to the bus stop, resume in hand.

Now I’d already pretty much figured out how to get and keep a boy’s attention by then. (When you’re Catholic, such talents are part of your DNA.) In fact, I thought I was pretty good at this boy-girl thing. But until that day, I had no idea that –just by slipping into a sexy pair of nylons– I could increase my sex appeal (translation: power) ten fold.

Teenagers, grandfathers, adolescents, middle-aged men–it didn’t matter–were ogling me, opening doors, smiling, melting, practically drooling. Perhaps some heavenly alignment had brought all the stocking fetishists out to play on that particular day. Or could it be that I looked so damn hot I was actually creating them in my wake? Nah! I really think each and every man has at least a little bit of a stocking fetish. Pretty legs are…well…they’re pretty!

At one point a man stopped me. “Miss,” he said, “I hope you don’t take offense, but I just want to tell you that you have beautiful gams.” Of course, being fifteen, I’d never heard the word “gams” before. And while I might have been a vixen in training, I was (and still am) a polite young lady. So I smiled brightly and said, “Thank you very much,” and continued down the street.

Later I asked an adult and found out that gams referred to legs…a word The Chairman of the Board might have used to describe Shirley MacClaine’s lanky appendages. So my own little mini lingerie fetish was born. Because if it was good enough for Shirley and the Rat Pack, it was good enough for me.

Besides, stockings are so damn sexy, aren’t they?

xo, Angela

Phone Sex: Woulda Ya? Could Ya? Should Ya?

Posted on in Uncategorized

That’s gross.  Do you talk to a lot of perverts?

You do what?  How about a date?

Oh my God!   Does your family know what you do?

I have the perfect fantasy for you: Lactation!

Do you get a lot of fetish calls?  You know, I have this thing for feet.

More or less, these are some of the predictable reactions I get when revealing my avocation to the un-ordained. While some (including myself) might argue that phone sex has gone at least somewhat mainstream in recent years, it is still not a topic you want to be bringing up at cocktail parties. From the sincerely curious to the smugly judgmental to the stupidly horny, assumptions are going to be made. Not that I can complain too loudly.  I’ve surely been boorish, myself, a time or two (ok, maybe three or four) to make unfounded assumptions. Yet, having experienced these ignorance-based reactions first hand, I cannot help but cringe when pushed into a corner by the overly-meddlesome.

When I abandoned my dream of graduate school (just temporarily,momma, I promise) and left behind my burgeoning corporate career to do phone sex (say it isn’t so, you wretched, wanton girl), my sister, bless her beautiful heart and bourgeois tendencies, bought me a mug, which on the outside wryly asks the question, “I went to school for years to learn to do THIS?”  And, beloved sister of mine, I do cherish that mug. Notwithstanding my office supply fetish, it proudly sits–next to my Rolodex–the container-of-choice for my ink pens, letter opener, markers, nail files, orange sticks and sundry miscellanea. I cherish it because it reflects the reverent humor, easy flexibility, mutual validation, and even quirky spirituality that is so integral to whom I am and what I do both personally and professionally.

With the advent of the Internet and attendant proliferation of independent PSOs (phone sex operators), the definition of good Phone Sex has become increasingly subjective.  Simultaneously, as our world hyper-rapidly expanded, erotica and pornography flourished, and the division between fantasy and reality blurred.  Both a blessing and a curse, it can be quite exhilarating, yet, confusing and even a cause for dissent amongst its practitioners.  Some like it hot, some like it cold.  It’s that kind of thing.

(On a side note, I would think that–if nothing else–the very nature of this non-monogamous and inexhaustible Internet would be self-instructive: There REALLY is room for everybody. We have more than enough do-gooder types [You know the profile: The hypocrite who swears he is pure as the driven snow; yet, he only cums when fucking his wife by imagining her being raped by a double-shlonged reindeer.] doing their best to legislate, control, constrain, and restrict this last vestige of true freedom of expression. Just remember this: When we protect and champion each other, we protect and champion ourselves.)

Now, where were we? Oh, yes! So you’re in the mood for some wicked merrymaking.  You’ve checked out the bathroom wall at the corner gas station, and though you could swear it used to be right there above the condom dispenser, there is no graffiti, “For a good time call Cocksucker Cathy.”   With  that avenue close, you decide to take the leap and call a Phone Sex Operator!

You want Phone Sex and you want it NOW! You want it? We got it! Hot phone sex, fantasy phone sex, domination phone sex, kinky phone sex, dirty phone sex, role-play phone sex, nasty phone sex, erotic phone sex, humiliation phone sex, tease & denial phone sex.

Phone Sex! Phone Sex! Phone Sex! … and even more Phone Sex!

How do you possibly weed through it all? How do you find the perfect first connection in all of that clutter? Well, brother, quite frankly, you don’t. You just say eeny meeny miney moe and take that leap of faith. After all, brother, how hard art thou? I’m a firm believer in going by the seat of your pants (or crotch of your pants) when things just need to get done (or you need to get done).

Basically, you are entering a marketplace as a consumer.  Just like you might, time and again, visit the grocery store until you find the perfect cookie, you may have to shop for a while before you find, HER, the Phone Sex Chick that blows your mind and load like no other can.  While that can be a royal pain in the butt, I guarantee that — until you find her –you will have lots of dirty fun along the way.  It’s  sort of like dating. It will cost you the price of a few burgers and shakes, but who’s counting dollars & dimes when you’re stealing some kisses and even copping a few feels along the way?  And the pay off is that sooner or later you’re gonna get lucky!

Ho, ho, ho …  oh so fucking lucky.

Take my word on it.

xo, Angela

Your Secret is Safe With Me

Posted on in Uncategorized

From the NiteFlirt Website:

What is NiteFlirt?

NiteFlirt is the place where you can Speak to Your Desire™!

There are never any hidden fees on NiteFlirt — you only pay for what you want, when you want it! And privacy is our thing. We never reveal your personal information to anyone, not even the Flirt you are calling. Your information is safe and secure, and we bill your credit card discreetly as “NF Services.”

Can NiteFlirt employees listen to my calls?

Never! In keeping with our stringent Privacy Policy, all your calls and all your personal information are always completely private.

Will people be able to see my phone number?

Never! To begin a call, we call both parties and then connect them. Whether you’re a Flirt or a customer, the only thing anyone ever sees is your Member Name and the listings you’ve created. Your phone number is never revealed to the other party, even if they have Caller ID.

Can people search for me by using my real name or email address?

NiteFlirt does not disclose your name or your email address with your account or listings. Members are only able to search for specific individuals by running a search for their Member Name.

______________________________________________________

I personally believe NiteFlirt is the best platform for my callers to use.  I researched a long time before choosing to run my service through them.  I did it for you. Aren’t you lucky?

xo, Angela

An Apple a Day

Posted on in Phone Sex, Succubus, fantasy, supernatural

appleheartTaste it,” she tells you, “it’s sweet; you’ll like it. It’s from the orchard we walked through late last night.”

And so you take the apple from her slender fingers. You wonder at how it can be so shiny, so smooth and deeply crimson. It is the most perfect apple you’ve ever seen. You want to taste it. You want to taste its lush and sugary juices across your tongue. You want to swallow and feel the cool liquid coat your throat.

“Yes, darling, I know you want to,” she whispers at your ear, “I know you need to. You need to bite it. You’re so hungry, and I’m going to feed you. You need to sink your teeth into it. You need to puncture the peel with your teeth. You have to. You have to do it now.”

And so you do. You eagerly open your mouth and even as your teeth pierce its flesh, you smell the aroma of her cunt. She has coated the apple with her malicious juices and you are damned. She is dark, she is evil, she is the greedy, wicked, demanding Femme Phantasm haunting every Grimm’s Fairytale. She wants to possess you, debase you, drive your very soul into the dirt, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

You have to swallow her poison. Her poison that will finally conquer you, debilitate you, enslave you.

As you begin rabidly gnawing at the apple, you feel your balls — icy and hot at the same time — seize up. Your cock is PDQ hard: rock hard, petrified rock hard, boner than bone hard, steel rod hard. Your ass sphincter is rapidly opening and closing, and you can’t make it stop. She’s in control — not you. Not you, not ever again you. Never ever again.

Your orgasm rises up like a fist pummeling through your body and you are cumming, preternaturally spewing. It weeps from your eyes, gushes from your nose.  It leaks from your ass. You can smell it, your own spunk oozing from your pores, rising up in the back of your throat.

You fall to your knees and you know it is done: She has fucked you.

Tomorrow you will eat her apple. And every day after that.

Fresh Content

Posted on in CFNM, Phone Sex, erotica, fantasy, femdom, humiliation, masturbation

What matters, what I’m trying to tell you, what I’ve been trying to tell you all night, is that you’re busted.  We can’t go back now.  There is no turning back.  I liked watching you much more than I like fucking you.  Can’t you understand that?  Don’t you get it?

But I thought you liked sex with me.

I do, or I should say that I did.  It’s been changing for a while now.  What, probably for a year?  Yes, at least a year.  It hasn’t been the same and you know it.  I know that you know it.  I mean look what you’ve been doing behind my back.

I … I …

Sush!

But …

I said to shush and I mean it.  There’s no sense in being embarrassed and I really don’t have the patience for any of your silly posing.

No fucking?

No fucking.  Besides the fact that you really have never been that good at it, and besides the fact that I’ve been rather bored with your “breast-grab, spread my legs and mount me” tactics, well, like I said, I’ve rather enjoyed watching you this past month.

You’ve been watching for an entire month?  What the fuck?

Hmph.  Like you have any room to judge me!  Let’s just remember who’s been sitting on a rickety stool in the back of the basement with his pants down around his knees any chance he gets.  Lets not forget who does it in the shower, on the toilet or even off the back deck, when he thinks he can get away with it.

You saw me on the deck?  Jesus!

I sure did.  In fact, tomorrow you are going to go down below the deck and clean off that bird feeder.  Absolutely disgusting.  And if you do something like that again, I’ll make you clean it off with your tongue.  Do you hear me?

Yeah.

Don’t you dare roll your eyes.  Come here; I want to show you something.  I said come here.  Come here right now!

Jesus!  Okay, what?

See this website?

Yeah, what about it.

I built it.  Don’t look so surprised.  I’m not as technically challenged as you think.

Oh fuck!  No, no no.  What the fuck?  What are those?  Oh, honey, you didn’t.

Oh yes I did!  Once I figured out how much you were “going at it,” I started taking pictures.  So let’s see.  Each page holds twelve pictures and so far I’ve got almost six pages.

Honey, baby.  This isn’t right.  What if somebody sees them for Christ’s sake?  You’ve got to get these down.  You’ve got to take this website down.

No.  Look closely.  See how I’ve blurred your face?  Nobody’s going to recognize you.  And, take it from me, even if you’ve cheated on me with hundreds of women?  Your dick just isn’t that memorable.

You bitch!

You have no idea.  Now get your pants down and start jerking that dick of yours.  This time you’re going to do it right in front of me.  No sneaking off like a dirty pervert.  Come on, get them down.

This is crazy.  You’ve gone off the deep end.

Here, let me show you something else.  With a click … here, here and then there.  Do you see that?  That picture is NOT blurred.  And I can do that to every last one of them.  And then, my love?  I can just pop a link into an email and send it out to all your business associates, your friends, even your family.  Like you just said — I’m a bitch.  But guess what?  You’re MY bitch.   Your my masturbating bitch boy from now on.  Whenever, wherever, however –  I tell you to drop your drawers and start pumping, you will do just that.  Do you understand?  Do you get it now?

I, but …

Let’s see, where is that email address to your secretary.  Or, better yet, your sister-in-law.  There they are.  I think I’ll just send it to both of them.

No. Please.

Then get busy.  Get busy now.  That’s a good boy.  Drop them lower.  Drop them down around your knees, you dirty little masturbator.  That’s right.  Now get jerking.  Wrap your grubby paw around that thick, useless cock and start stroking.  Look.  Look how hard your prick is.  You know what you are.  Stroke it.  Stroke it and repeat after me:  I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch.  Go ahead.  Stroke it.  Say it.  Stroke it.  Say it.  Go ahead.

I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch boy.  I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch boy.  I’m a dirty, masturbating bitch boy.  I’m a –

Don’t stop.  I’m just getting the camera.  Got to have fresh content for the website, after all.

beyond that door

Posted on in BDSM, CFNM, discipline, domination, femdom, humiliation, poetry

beyond that door
you are the brick-boy
the silver-tongued hero
you’re the whole shebang, motherfucker!

the hero, the big dick, the maaaan
the big man on campus
the man in the moon
the man to see
the man with a plan

you’re the taker
you’re the shaker
you’re the breaker
you’re the goddamn
candlestick maker

beyond that door
the world is your oyster
beyond that door
your kingdom come
beyond that door
women swoon and flirt and flatter

beyond that door
you are the candy man
the master of your own domain
you kick ass and take names
you are a player, a six-pack punk
every woman knows your name

but that door is closed
closed down, boarded shut, bang-bang
no way out, no where to hide
no where to go
but down down down

you’re on this side now
my side, mendicant man
my turf, toy wonder
you’re in the bosom of the bitch

you’re on this side:
you’re overpriced
and undervalued
and nobody gives two cents
suck it up

mendicant man
you’ve cashed your frequent flyers
mediocre man
you’ve burnt your neon bridges
nowhere man
you’ve spent your sorry wad

you’ll cease that fast-talking spinnity jive
right now (nobody cares)
and shuck that grandiose i-wish-it-were-my-dick tie
(nobody cares)
and lose those boot-cut Calvin Kleins
(not impressed)

get on the floor,
the stone cold floor
on this side of the door
where you belong

In the Corner

Posted on in XXX, cuckold, discipline, erotica, fantasy, femdom, fetish, hot wife, humiliation, panties, pussy whipped

In the corner he stands.  Facing the wall, his hands to his sides.  Naked and appearing so vulnerable, so alone.  And you might, indeed, think him a lonely man.  A sad man.  Even maybe a pathetic man.  But let’s take a closer look before we go away with our own first impressions, shall we?

Look, when we try to peer into his eyes (because really, when it’s all said and done, that’s where one can quickly ascertain the truth of a person, isn’t it?), there’s something covering his face.  My, oh, my, is that what I think it is?  Yes, it is.  Panties!  Panties covering the dear boy’s face.  Now what did he do to merit that?

But, wait!  Look at how the crotch of those panties are placed strategically over his nose.   We must get in a little closer.  Let’s just cozy up next to him and see exactly what is going on here.   Goodness!  Looked at how soiled the panties are!  Even from here the scent is quite robust.  The scent of sex, I dare say.  The pungent scent of man-woman sex.  Intriguing.  Quite intriguing.

Now that we are so close, do you see what I see?  Look at that penis sticking out so straight and stiff from his groin.  Hmmm.  A rather small one, isn’t it?  Nonetheless, it’s quivering and bobbing just a bit.  Pity to the poor woman he might try to mount with that silly little thing.  How tedious and utterly boring it would be for her, don’t you think?

Do you hear that?  Coming from the wall of the corner our little mini-meat-man stands against?  It’s muffled, but still exuberant and loud.  What could it be?  Did you see that?  I do believe that puny appendage of his just twitched.  Why, he’s reacting to the moans and groan, the creak of bed springs, the slapping of flesh we are hearing from the other side of that eggshell white wall!  And look at that!  He just took a deep sniff of those panties.  Oh, he did it again.  And again.  Look at that tiny stone pencil of his actually quivering.

Wait.  Someone is saying something from behind the wall.  Let’s listen.

This is what you deserve, you sad excuse for a husband.  Do you hear me, Henry?  Are you smelling the fuck on my panties while I’m getting my next dose of real man cock?  You’re a loser, Henry.  And you’ll stand there in the corner like the sorry dick-wad you are while I fuck this stud.

Oh my!  I think we have our answers.  And, at this point, I do believe we should leave Henry to his moment of bliss.