It matters to me that I do my job well; it really does.  But despite the FemDom glam and glitz, I’m really just a mortal girl and certainly don’t get it right every single time. 

But nobody — absolutely no fuckin’ body — can deny the fact that I put 110% into each and every call.   Once  I pick up that phone, the rest of the world ceases to exist, and there is just you and me and mischief extraordinaire.  

It’s nice to know my callers appreciate that about me.  I never ask for reviews, but a lot of you go above and beyond to make sure I know how you feel, leaving generous 5 star commentary that causes me to grin from ear to ear.  I sometimes forget to thank you. (Ya know … in the heat of the moment and all.  *wink*)  But I want you to know that I do read them and do appreciate your words.

So … let’s see what you had to say.  Shall we?

*****  I am the deviant devotee of the diva of debauchery. Angela gives the expression glad-handing a very fine new meaning and I am, her humble and most appreciative servant. Thank you   my gem of infinite facets; you are divine.

*****  My God! She has fileted my gray matter, flambe’d my libido, sauteed my psyche. I am medium and she is rare. The sensitive, graceful sadism she practices is unique and addictive and like a naked General MacArthur, I joyfully exclaim "I shall return!?" 

*****  Sexy, intelligent, charming, articulate, controlling and wonderful. Time just melted away with Miss Angela. I can barely wait for our next encounter. 

*****  Magnificent as always; give her the seed and she will make it blossom with insight. Magic voice and wit. Best call ever!

*****  Mistress Angela will open your eyes; what she does to the rest of you is too delicious to describe. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.  

*****  Ms. St. Lawrence, as always, you deliver the perfect mix of sexiness, intelligence and raw in-your-face perversion. I’ll always come back for more, because there’s absolutely nobody who does it better or badder.

*****  4 out of 5 hypno-verts recommend Angela St Lawrence over other brands of tele-Domme-ination. United States Dominatrix Association (USDA)-approved, 100% pure erotic juice concentrate, no bullshit added, hand-holding or other ego-preservatives added. The Ultimate "Stroke of Good Fuck." Zero carbs, all protein, (your own). "A-wunnerful, a-wunnerful."

*****  The only problem is saying goodbye.

*****  Nowadays, a brain is generally a rare find. A bright one is basically a miracle. And that’s what Angela is, a miracle that is a real treat for both your sexuality and your intelligence. Be very good to yourself: read what she writes, and talk to her! Personally, I plan to do that often enough.

*****  Angela is mighty wonderful – took my fantasy and ran with it and made it perfect. Very enjoyable! Thank you Angela. 

*****  Honest, intelligent discourse, Earnest in Her passion for Her craft…Thank You, Shall phone again..Merci… 

*****  Back to basics: a woman who listens first, has a free, uncensored imagination, the warm voice of your best lover, and the ability to spin the wildest erotic stories. I’d be in love if I weren’t so busy being satisfied. Thanks, Angela, for yet another perfect call.  

*****  My #1 and only.

*****  An international trip made reaching Angela a bit more complicated than usual – but once I heard her voice, I knew I was home. Even from half way around the world, she can make my heart stop. An intercontinental treasure.

*****  Intuitive and completely in charge of the tale she weaves… satisfying and addictive…. very impressed! 

***** Not just the very, VERY best on NiteFlirt. Angela St Lawrence is the very best ANYWHERE. You can find cheaper by the dozen, you can find more expensive "Flirts" by the score. But until you call Angela you’ll ALWAYS be wanting just a little bit MORE! 

You guys rock!  Thanks from the bottom of my heart.

xo, Angela

*wink*

A very special thanks to the generous and beautiful  Ms. Bowers of Strapped in Silk (whom more than a few of my callers would absolutely adore).

How about some limericks (in lieu of green beer) to celebrate the day.  Tom Allen of The Edge of Vanilla asks:  Breathes there a man (or woman) with soul so dead that they can’t appreciate a good limerick?  So here are a few created by the very man himself, starring some people you just might know (though he’s never written one about me —  can ya believe it?):

A brash dominatrix named Jones
Would reduce all her boyfriends to moans
By her erotical knowledge
(not acquired in college)
Of painful erogenous zones.

***

A new dominatrix named Kate
Was breaking a new subby-mate;
When she asked how he fared
he said he was scared,
But her caning technique was first-rate.

***

Gillette, a hard-working hooker
Was such an enchanting good looker,
There were fights ‘mongst the fuzz
Over whose turn it was
To pinch her, and frisk her, and book her.

Now Mr. Allen is rather self-deprecating when it comes to his talent.  But I think those are pretty damn good.  I surely can’t even begin to write limericks.  Although, in my defense, I will say that the writing of limericks is pretty much a man’s game, at least most of the time.  You can read more of Tom’s kinky lil’ compositions by clicking here.

But wait!  Once upon a time in Kitten Land, I actually did have a few limericks written just for me:

Here is a limerick written
By a reader who finds himself smitten
By Angela’s prose
And the passion she shows
In the things that she writes for sex-kitten.

In person, her talk must be racy.
Her underwear, no doubt, is lacy.
But sexier still
Are the words from her quill,
 Which she publishes now, thanks to Gracie.

Some people like leather, I’ve heard.
By some, domination’s preferred.
But for me, more exciting
Is Angela’s writing:
The brain tease, the mind fuck, the word!

***

A cyber pussy so many adore
Created a site with class galore
By enlisting the greatest minds of Eros
She challenged these sensual heroes
with inkfilled sabers to extoll
and with cerebral words cajole
A readership of sextelligentsia

***

There once was the EclecticPearl…..
whose ways made his mind just swirl….

She’d whisper such smut,
t’would twitch mind and butt….

soon making his toes slowly curl!!!

Okay, so maybe my guys kinda-sorta broke the rules a little bit, but they showed up in fine spirit and with much gusto did the job.  Isn’t that just about as Irish as you can get?

Top of the Even’n to ya!

xo, Angela

….you might as well drop your panties and spread your legs. Because, sooner or later, he is going to have his way with you

Last night, after a busy day of “much ado about nothing,” I was wired-tired. You’ve been there, right? Feeling all day like your left foot was nailed to the floor as your right one kept running you around in endless circles? Yeah, one of those days. So I was really ready to call it quits. Fresh from a hot bath I was looking forward to calling it a night and had been about the business of doing just that when my muse showed up.

"Not tonight, dear," I told him. "I have a headache."

But he was having none of it. Hopping up onto my shoulder, he pulled out his teeny-tiny muse-monkey and began spanking it. Not this time, I thought to myself, determined to ignore his lewd, rhythmic keystrokes—right there, beside my ear.

"You know you want it, Angela," he whispered.

“No. No I don’t, Muse. Please go away.”

I looked longingly at the just-poured glass of merlot sitting on the kitchen counter top only a few steps away. I imagined the beautifully-bound anniversary edition of To Kill a Mockingbird awaiting me just down the hall—perched atop the pillows I’d just fluffed. I thought of the bedside lamp, its amber nimbus waiting to surround me in the sweetest of solitudes as I sank into my pillow to sip my wine and read a page or two of Harper Lee’s masterpiece before drifting off to higher ground.

“Go to your keyboard, Angela.”

Muse’s voice had taken on that sexy growl, the seductive tenor that always makes my little slut-digits quiver. I whimpered. He chuckled—that familiar sleazy snarl of a chuckle. Oh, how I hate you, you insatiable bastard. As if he could read my thoughts, Muse grunted, spit a gob of ink on his little quill and stroked faster. We both watched the jetty fluid oozing from between his pumping fingers, smearing across his knuckles.

I was getting hot—hot to trot right over to my keyboard and writhe, I mean write. The raunchy little raconteur inside me began to tremble. I wanted Muse’s hot jizz to conjugate and punctuate and catenate me. And his grizzled sneer told me Muse knew it.

“Nouns, adverbs, adjectives.”

“Muse, please stop. You know that sentence is incomplete.”

“Then fix it, Angela. You know you can’t resist.” His breath, smelling of parchment and indigo, blew across my fevered face. “Get your panties off and get your horny fingers over to that fucking computer and diddle with that fragment.”

“But…”

“I know, baby. I’ll make it good. Remember the old days? When we did it on everything? Index cards, notebooks, legal pads, steno pads and even napkins. Remember how you liked being bent over that Underwood you found at the yard sale?”

“Okay, Muse. Damn it, you’re right. Do me. Bend me like a bitch over that keyboard and make me your whore. Shove that fragment in front of my face and have your way with me. Use me like the pencil-pushing slut (virgule) strumpet (virgule) tramp (virgule) harlot that I am.”

“I knew you’d give it up,” Muse sniggered as he positioned me in front of the computer. “Now, you filthy little ink-slinging Pandora, listen to this.”

Hunched over the keyboard I opened wide as he started pumping it into me: “Participles, linking verbs, superlative adjectives… You want more?”

“Give it to me, Muse. Give it to me fast and hard and dirty.”

“Grammar, punctuation, conjunctions, interjections, gerunds…”

“Oh, yes! That’s it. Do me. Pound it in to me.”

“Factitive verbs, predicate nominatives, indefinite pronouns, past participles, appositive phrases …”

Muse had me where he wanted me. He knew the dirty truth about the both of us: That I am his whore and he is my whoremonger. It’s been that way since I first picked up a pen. And so I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. Until his profane solicitations became the rhythmic movement of my sticky little fingers across the keyboard and once again, as he always does, the Muse had his way with me.

***

I wrote this piece for my semi-regular column at Sex Kitten.  As I noted a while back, it stirred up some positive attention, which made this little FemDom PhoneSex Wanna Be Writer Girl mighty happy.  But I suspect some of you have had neither the opportunity nor inclination to track it down.   Personally, it’s a fav of mine and so I thought I’d put it out there today for you stragglers.  Not to mention if frees up the time I would have spent writing a blog entry today for somewhat nastier pursuits.

I hope you like it. 

xo, Angela