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Angela St. Lawrence is the reigning queen of high-end, long distance training and Femme Domme phone sex, providing esoteric depravity for the aficionado, specializing in Erotic Fetish, Female Domination, Cock Control, Kinky Taboo and Sensual Debauchery. To make an appointment or speak with Ms. St. Lawrence  ...

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Archive for the 'Erotic Humiliation' Category

limp prick

Friday, December 11th, 2015

limpy

“The ultimate sexist put-down: the prick which lies down on the job. The ultimate weapon in the war between the sexes: the limp prick. The banner of the enemy’s encampment: the prick at half-mast. The symbol of the apocalypse: the atomic warhead prick which self-destructs. That was the basic inequity which could never be righted: not that the male had a wonderful added attraction called a penis, but that the female had a wonderful all-weather cunt. Neither storm nor sleet nor dark of night could faze it. It was always there, always ready. Quite terrifying, when you think about it. No wonder men hated women. No wonder they invented the myth of female inadequacy.”

Erica Jong
Fear of Flying

Do as you’re told, aberrant Romeo

Sunday, August 9th, 2015

In some respects I suspect you’ve got a respectable side.
When pushed and pulled and pressured, you seldom run and hide,
But it’s for someone else’s benefit, not for what you wanna do
Until I realize that you’ve realized I’m gonna say these words to you.

Yeah, you don’t know what love is,
You do as you’re told.
Just as a child of ten might act,
But you’re far too old.
You’re not hopeless, or helpless,
And I hate to sound cold,
But you don’t know what love is,
You just do as you’re told.

I can see your man can’t help but win any problems that may arise,
But in his mind, there can be no sin if you never criticize.
You just keep on, repeating all those empty “I love you”s.
Until you see you deserve better, I’m gonna lay right into you.

Yeah, you don’t know what love is,
You just do as you’re told.
Just as a child of ten might act,
But you’re far too old.
You’re not hopeless, or helpless,
And I hate to sound cold,
But you don’t know what love is,
No you don’t know what love is,
No you don’t know what love is,
You just do as you’re told.
Yeah, do as you’re told
Yeah.

————————————————————————

Special thanks to Mr. S. who sent this to me. (After all, Mr. S., it is *our* story, isn’t it?)

The Cage

Thursday, July 24th, 2014

So Scunt ( AKA Debased Scunt, AKA Gentleman Slut) whom I kinda-sorta own, but not so much, since he’s quite the slut and pretty much any old Mistress will do when he’s itchy for some good old-fashioned persecution and mayhem, recently moved to a new place.

Recently single, Scunt found his version of the perfect bachelor pad:  close to work, lots of amenities, uber modern, a skylight. I’m certain he was thinking he could play on the vanilla side of life for a change, wowing the pretty girls with his slick new pad.

Nope.  Not a chance. Because a week after moving in, management installed storage bins in the basement.

And that changed everything.

Because those storage bins look — at least from Scunt’s perspective — very much like The Cage in which he longs to be held captive.

He begins obsessing, sending me multiple emails about The Cage, describing his twisted, craven fantasies. Oh he is in big-time heat.  The storage bins are taunting him, calling him. He walks past them every day; thoughts of the torture, the agony, the isolation, the craven abuse and neglect he would suffer if he were captured and held in the The Cage.

Then I open an email from Scunt with one sentence:

I decided to imagine that you had ordered me to get the hell over myself and into the cage where I belong.

And an attachment …

caged slave

 

Be still my ‘lil Femme Domme heart!

That Scunt simply could no longer resist the belligerent mocking of the dastardly Storage Bins just about knocked me into Domme Space.   So with Scunt’s permission and a little bit of creative editing to keep him safe, here you have it: the reality of what Scunt is and what Scunt will always be.

So, mon sale petit cochon dégénéré, it seems the fancy place with the pretty windows and hardwood floors isn’t going to change a thing.  After all is said and done, you just can’t run from The Cage.  You can’t deny your pusillanimous heart’s traitorous desires.

Bachelorhood for you does NOT come with redemption.  You can move to heaven’s highest cloud and salvation will still elude you.

You are not The Continental.  The shampanya will not be flowing.  The party is over.

So get on your knees, kiss my ass, and crawl back into The Cage.

xo, Angela

Fuck Bucks from my Cuck-Sucker

Monday, June 16th, 2014

golden cuckold

I call you on NiteFlirt and you immediately say, “I was expecting your call, Gary.  I see you tributed me 25 dollars this morning. I am assuming you lost the bet. You broke down, cut the lock off, and fucked the wife last night, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I was so horny,” I reply.

“You know what that means, Gary. Don’t you?” .

“Yes, Ma’am.  I hand over ownership of my wife’s pussy to you.”

“Not so fast,” you say and I immediately notice that your voice is firm.  It is not the bouncy, free conversation we have had in the past.

“I told you before how this was going to happen.  Get down on your knees.  Right now.  On you knees.  We have business to attend to.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Try Again.”

“Yes, Ms. Angela?”

“That’s better.  Now I want to hear you say it; repeat after me:  Dear Ms. Angela, I freely hand over ownership of my wife’s pussy to you.”

“Dear Ms. Angela, I freely hand over ownership of my wife’s pussy to you.”

“Don’t you fucking mumble like a little wimp.  Am I supposed to turn up the volume on this phone just to hear your whimpering? Now say it again. Say it like you mean it.”

“Dear Ms. Angela, I freely hand over ownership of my wife’s pussy to you.”

*Bang*

*Bang*

*Bang*

It takes me a moment to realize you are pounding your phone on your desk.  “Again, louder.  Scream it, you Little-Dick Cuck.  I want your goddam neighbors to hear it.”  And so I do what I am commanded to do.

“DEAR MS. ANGELA, I FREELY HAND OVER OWNERSHIP OF MY WIFE’S PUSSY TO YOU.”

“Mmmm.  Music to my ears.  Of course, technically-speaking, you can’t hand over ownership. You don’t own your wife’s pussy.  She does. But what you did just do was hand over YOUR CLAIM to it.  From now on I own it as far as you are concerned.  That is MY pussy!  Do you have a calendar there?”

“Yes, Ms Angela.”

“Great, Circle today’s date.  That is to remind you today was the day you lost any claim on your wife’s pussy and gave it to me.”

“Yes, Ms. Angela.,”

“You know, Gary, usually the Cuckold  hands over their claim on their wife’s pussy to the wife’s new lover.  You just handed it to a NiteFlirt FemDomme.”  I hear you laughing and I close my eyes, hanging my head in shame.

“Write this down, Cuck-Sucker.  ‘Today I handed any claim of my wife’s pussy to Ms. Angela.  From now on, I can not fuck my wife without Ms Angela’s permission.  Miss Angela owns my wife’s pussy.’  Got it?”

“Yes, Ms. Angela.”

“That is the feedback you will leave me today.  You are going to tell the whole world, or at least everyone that reads my feedback, what you just did today.  Everyone will be laughing at you, Gary, my little Cuck-Sucker. Can’t even fuck his own wife without my permission.  Who owns that pussy?”

“Ms. Angela owns my wife’s pussy,” I reply.

You laugh hysterically and go on, “Now, because I am a benevolent owner of your wife’s pussy, during the next 30 days I will allow you to fuck MY pussy once. You will pay me 25 dollars — 25 Fuck Bucks — for the privilege of fucking your own wife.  It is the going rate for the typical street whore?  You will pay the price of a street whore and turn your loving wife into my prostitute for the evening.  Now tell me again, who owns that pussy?”

Ms. Angela owns my wife’s pussy,” I answer robustly, because this time I know better.

“That’s right, Cuck-Sucker.  I own it.  You even brush up against it, you hug her and absentmindedly rub her pussy — I mean, MY pussy — it will cost you 5 bucks.  No touching MY pussy without paying me.  You are not even allowed to look at it.  If you even catch a glimpse of that wifey snatch by accident?  That’s 5 dollars.  No peeking at MY pussy, Gary.  That’s right, 5 Fuck Bucks for even a teeny-weeny peek. Now again, who owns that pussy?”

“Ms Angela owns my wife’s pussy,” I answer, again robustly.

“Now I would certainly never deny a woman sex if she wants it.  After all, I own that pussy now and I want it to be a happy pussy.   So if your wife wants sex — not you, but her, because I don’t  care what you want — you will give it to her.  Of course you will.  But guess what, Cuck-Sucker?  It will cost you 50 dollars–that’s  50 Fuck Bucks for me.  And you WILL NOT deny your wife just because you want to save a few bucks.  Do you understand? You will fuck her, but you will pay me 50 bucks.

And, of course, you will also lick it clean.   Because, Gary, you never — never, ever, ever — leave MY pussy messy.  Are we on the same page? Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yes, Ms. Angela.”

“Now if you get horny and want to fuck MY pussy a second time this the month — or any other month, for that matter — you are perfectly free to do that.  Pretty nice of me, eh?  But there’s a catch, Gary.  Do you want to know what that catch is?  Do you?

“Yes, Ms. Angela.”

“Well,  ‘lil Cuck-Sucker the catch is that it will cost you $100.  Yep! $100 Fuck Bucks.  And why do you think that is? Come on, you’re smart enough.  You should be figuring it out by now. Tell me. Come on.”

“Ms. Angela owns my wife’s pussy.”

“Mmm.  Music to my ears.  Now don’t get too worried, Gary.  If I am ever getting strapped for cash, I might run a sale. You know … a blue light special.  For example, a 12 hour special something like:  I am selling your wife’s pussy for $59.95. Come and get it.”  You break out laughing.

“I might run special sales throughout the month.  Then again, there will be days when I absolutely, I forbid you to fuck MY pussy. Why? Just because I fucking can. That’s why. Now sing to me, Gary, sing to me my favorite song.”

“Ms Angela owns my wife’s pussy,” I iterate, feeling less and less like the man my wife believes me to be, and more and more like your besmirched little choir boy.  I’m even still on my knees, as you’d ordered me at the beginning of this call.

“Maybe I’ll even run little mini-specials now and again.  Maybe 10 strokes for 20 bucks.  Now, you have to admit that’s pretty damn generous of me. You would be allowed to slide your little dick in and out 10 times.  That is all. You cum within 10 strokes, you win.  You don’t cum, too bad and you pull out.  10 strokes is all you paid me for, 10 strokes is all you get.

But here’s the fun part.  If it just feels so damn good that you want to keep it in for 11 or 12 strokes and let that little guy squirt?  Cum in MY pussy?  Well then, you just did your second fucking for the month, didn’t you?  And you know what that means, don’t you?  More Fuck Bucks for me.  $100 more Fuck Bucks to be exact.

Devious of me, but so delicious, don’t you think?”

I start to answer you with your assigned mantra, because I know who is in charge here.  I know I’m whipped.  But as soon as “yes” is out of my mouth you tell me to shut up.  You continue talking.  I can hear the eagerness, the glee in your voice.

“Oh yeah, I expect to make a quite a few extra bucks selling that wifey pussy back to you.  She’ll be a great little money maker for me. Keep an eye out for my email specials.  I’ll send them every so often.

“Now are you locked up, Cuck-Sucker? Hmmm?

‘No, Ms Angela,” I answer.

“Lock that fucking little dick up.  For Chrizts sake, I have a pussy to protect now.  I don’t want your little dick running free anywhere near MY pussy.  Basically, Gary, you don’t get to fuck anymore, unless you’re paying me for the privilege. gary without me. Send me proof that your little dick is locked up.

Now one more time, who owns that pussy?”

“Ms Angela owns my wife’s pussy.”

You laugh,  or perhaps it’s a snicker.

“And don’t you ever forget it.”

*click*

….

You are gone. I get up from my knees and go to my computer.  I watch my fingers shake as I type.

Today I handed any claim of my wife’s pussy to Ms Angela.  From now on, I cannot fuck my wife without Ms Angela’s permission.  Miss Angela now owns my wife’s pussy.

I hit the enter button.

——————————————-

This was a true collaboration between me and a special caller.  He wrote it up with his horny little fingers,  and I shined it up a bit.  We hope you like it.

——————————————-

Photo Credit:  The Lingham Phallic Penis Amulet for Money & Love which is found here.  Who’s going to buy me one?  ‘Cuz isn’t it the cutest thing ever?

xo, Angela

Phone Domme will Ease that Stress

Saturday, March 22nd, 2014

keep-calm-and-call-miss-angela