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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 'fetish' Category

Every Fetish Has Its Freak

Tuesday, February 25th, 2014

The Phone Sex Ignore Line

What’s it all about? Why do men pay by the minute — often at inflated rates — to listen to women going about the business of their daily lives?

Don’t dismiss this ?!FETISH!? out of turn.  While I admit it seems kinda-sorta weird (even to me, but you didn’t hear me say that), I also know that in the world of Erotic Phone, anything and everything is hot to someone, somewhere …  or soon will be hot, when some guy thinks it up.  And boy do youz guyz think it up.  Sometimes even a girl will have a Fetish … like the young lady who begged the boys to shove crayons — lots and lots of crayons — into her pussy (don’t ask).

But you and I both know that Female Fetishes are the exception rather than the rule.  And I certainly do not know of a woman IN THE ENTIRE WORLD who would pay $1.69 or $5.99 or $9.99 or even $39.99 just to listen in whilst someone um …

… let’s see:

  • makes a cheeseburger run
  • washes a load of clothes
  • zones out with Angry Birds
  • brushes their teeth
  • reads a book
  • talks to someone else on the other line
  • reads email to the dulcet tunes of Kid Rock
  • takes a shower
  • takes a walk
  • takes a nap
  • takes a load off, Annie
  • takes a poop? *eww*

Sounds exciting, huh?  Okay, maybe not so much.  But to each his own, so remember, boys and girls, to Raise Your Glass!

Who are we to judge?  If you’re tempted to roll your eyes or snicker, just remember beloved Kinkster… I’ve got your number.  Er, I mean you’ve got my number. Which means I know your Fetish, you Kinky ‘Lil Bugger.  In fact, in many cases I’ve introduced you to your Fetish (and you’ve been happier for it).  And if you came to me with Fetish already in Hand (and your dick in the other), I most certainly and gleefully welcomed you and your Fetish (and your dick).  So let us carry on with the matter of these Phone Fetish Ignore Lines.  Shall we?

First of all, let us get our heads around the mindset:  Female is Goddess.  Female is beautiful. Female is mysterious.

You start with this premise and you see that all of womanhood is enigmatic to the male of our species.

Some men are so frightened of the Feminine Prowess that they could never admit this, even to their secret selves.   Usually these types are blowhards, braggarts and bullies.  They dismiss women as second class citizens, hang out at titty bars, and play a lot of macho sports.  When they call Phone Sex Operators it’s to brag about how big their penises are, but we know better.  Secretly they sniff panties, but hate themselves for it.

Others are just walking through life according to a set of rules (the dreaded Living In A Box Syndrome) which keep their lives mundane and regulated.  These types usually roll atop the significant Female in their lives every other Saturday night and it’s over within all of three minutes. They rarely masturbate, because they just don’t have the imagination for it.  They rarely call Phone Sex Lines, because they wouldn’t know a hot fantasy if it hit them in the balls.  If these dudes found a pair of panties under their pillow they’d jump right out of bed to put them where they belong — the hamper — because that’s the rules!

But then there’s the group we’re specifically talking about; those who are in awe of all that is feminine.  They are mesmerized by the muliebrous Je ne sais quoi, and obsess with every little detail of who and what she is. To listen in to her going about her day, talking to her friends, getting a pedicure, shopping for heels … is heaven.  To imagine the tilt of her head as she puts on make-up, or the scent of her just-shampooed hair,  or hear the click of her heels and wonder what kind of stockings she is wearing is Heaven, is Nirvana, is Transcendental, is Supernatural.

These guys are probably a little bit addicted to the ache and obsession of not having, not knowing, not understanding, not touching.  But wanting, wanting, wanting.  Craving, craving, craving.  Adoring from a distance.  They understand their “non”-place in the woman’s life and even embrace it. This is their lot, their fate, their destiny.  They will not only worship from afar, they will pay to do it.  Because She is the Goddess.  They are grateful that She lets them at least listen, as they have no right to interfere in or interrupt the ongoing Sacrament of Her Daily Life.

And Goddess forbid that they would insult her with their basest-of-base need for sexual release, like the Man-Animals (manimals?) that they are.  If they masturbate (and many do), they do so quietly and unobtrusively, or even wait until after the call has ended.

A secondary group of these guys crave Erotic Humiliation.  These men are the type who would prefer to be called worms, scum, loser, etc. and get off on the fact that not only is this woman they are listening to ignoring them, but that she finds them repugnant and perverted.  They LIKE that she charges them.  Sometimes they even want her to raise her rates, to use and abuse their wallets with no concern for them whatsoever.  They are disgusted with their disgusting selves and feed off of her disgust with them.  The higher the rate, the colder her dismissal … the harder their dicks get.  I’m not sure when this group blows their load, but I’m certain it’s an insouciant, phlegm-y mess.  And I hope it’s on their face.

Personally, I don’t have a specific Ignore Line.  And while I do take the occasional Ignore Call, I’m very picky about who I ignore.  Sometimes this group — particularly the secondary one — are short on manners, which drives me FUCKING BONKERS.

But you already knew that, didn’t you?

xo, Angela

Poem for the Foot Fetishist

Monday, February 4th, 2013

Your Feet

Pablo Neruda

When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

This happens every single day …

Monday, November 19th, 2012

… at my house.

The Tray Holder

November 2012

by Slave N for Miss Angela

 

When the doorbell rang I waited for a signal from Mistress Angela. She slowly finished polishing her last two toenails in fiery burgundy, closed the fingernail polish bottle carefully, and folded her iPad shut putting it on the coffee table in front of her. She leaned back on the cream colored sofa pillows and pulled on the long leather strap that was tied to the collar around my neck. I looked at her dutifully and waited. She tousled her hair, looked at her toenails, and waved in the direction of the door.

I walked to the door making sure I was following Mistress Angela’s training. I was not allowed to wobble on my five inch heels (ten lashes if I did), my seamed stockings had to be perfectly straight (ten lashes for each unruly seam) and I had to make very crisp sounds on the wooden floor as I walked around (twenty lashes if my steps were not clearly audible).

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Ken and Javier.” answered two voices.

I paused for two beats and then opened the door.

“Mistress Angela has been expecting you, please come in.” I said opening the door wider and standing aside.

Two tall men entered. Both were about six feet, in excellent physical shape. The man with the copper skin was clearly Javier. Jet black hair, green eyes and a square jaw, clearly Mistress Angela’s type. Ken, with a hint of Japanese or Korean features and sporting tortoise shell eyeglasses was more of a hippie type, with his brown hair in a ponytail.

“May I take your jackets, gentlemen?” I asked.

They looked at each other, then at Mistress Angela and then burst laughing.

“Angela, c’mon! How do you have the heart to do this?”

Mistress Angela pulled on the long leather strap enough to get it waving, enough to get my attention. I turned to her. She leaned her petite face pensively on her hand.

“Well, this is Nicolette. She used to be Nick once. He was always attracted to strong women. When we met, he gradually realized that deep down he had always craved for a mistress, and that I was who he wanted to serve. Now he wants nothing other than to be my slave.”

Mistress Angela fanned the folds of her flowery dress slowly, deliberately feigning a casual girlishness. The two men looked at her like hungry wolves. I could see their cocks bulging in their tight pants. These fools were oblivious of what they were in for and how demanding my mistress could be.

“Turn around Nicolette,” Mistress Angela commanded, “slowly so that they can appreciate your dedication.”

I carefully made sure that my ponytail buttplug was firmly in place and then I slowly turned around.

“Every day Nicolette wears a wig that I choose for her. I do her makeup myself. She loves extra-long eyelashes and very dramatic lip gloss because she is an utter and complete slut. Then she gets into her French maid corset. She is not allowed to wear a bottom, because at all times, all times, I want to see her horsehair ponytail waving around and I want her cute butt-cheeks to be exposed to my wrath. Besides, I want to enjoy the sight of her cock in the male chastity cage I bought for her. She must wear seamed silk stockings and five inch heels at all times. And she knows the price of unruly seams.”

Mistress Angela paused.

“Isn’t that right, Nicolette?”

“Yes Mistress,” I answered.

“Why is his cock so purple?” asked Javier.

“Because my dear boy, Nicolette knows what is about to transpire here, and she is getting aroused, and that is causing her cock to strain against the chastity cage. In fact Nicolette has not been allowed to pleasure herself for the last five weeks, so pretty much anything will arouse her by now.”

“So this dude is not allowed to jerk off?”

“Of course not, Ken, you silly goose. And by the way, Nicolette is not a ‘dude’ she is a pussy and cock-craving sissy slut. Now, Nicolette has learned the hard way that she can orgasm only when I let her. If she comes without my permission, it’s thirty five lashes.”

“What’s the worst this poor sissy ever got?”

“Ah,” Mistress Angela smiled, slowly taking off her light lavender shirt as she spoke, and letting her perfect breasts come out in their perky fullness, “Nicolette made the mistake of stealing the key to her chastity device and jerk off while I was masturbating in my bed. I caught her peeking through my door, and fifty lashes it was right there and then. She could not sit down for two weeks.”

Mistress Angela cupped her breasts in her hands.

“So do you boys insist on talking about my sissy slave, or are you going to complement me on the bronze glitter I painted my nipples with?”

The two men were waiting for this ever since they had come in. They turned away from me and started crossing the living room to where my mistress was seated, when she stopped them cold.

“Wait!” she said to both, raising a perfectly manicured finger in warning. Both men froze, confused.

“Nicolette!” and she clapped her hands.

“Yes Mistress?”

“Please start the fireplace, and bring us some wine.”

I walked to the fireplace and started it with a flick of a switch.

“Nicolette?”

“Yes Mistress?”

“Are you checking the cocks of my two men?”

“No Mistress… Yes Mistress.”

“Do you like cock Nicolette?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“I see you have learned the value of telling the truth. I like big cocks too. Nothing wrong with that. As long as you remember that these two cocks and all cocks in this house belong to me. Now, fetch us our wine.”

My mistress kept her bottles of wine in a controlled temperature cabinet in the kitchen. I took several bottles of red wine out, put them carefully on an oblong silver tray, added three goblets and several carefully folded napkins to the tray and walked back to the living room making sure that my back was straight and my heels clicked. By now both men had stripped naked. It was amazing how quickly men disrobed for my mistress.

What was even more impressive was the cocks of these two men. Mistress Angela was known for her appetite for well-endowed men, and these two were no exception. Javier’s cock was the color of butter pecan and thick and about nine to ten inches long, but it was Ken who was sporting a massive cock, a creamy bruiser easily eleven inches or longer with a cock-head the size of a peach.

“Wine, gentlemen?” asked Mistress Angela playfully.

As I carefully poured the wine in the elegant goblets Mistress Angela took off her skirt in one smooth motion, revealing her carefully trimmed bush.

“Drink your wine, boys,” she said playfully, “as I prepare myself for you.” And with that she slid one long finger into the folds of her sweetness, gently rubbing herself for all to see.

With her eyes closed Mistress Angela kept masturbating until she started moaning softly. The two men looked at her petite body with its exquisitely feminine lines, her perfect breasts softly shaking as she pushed her fingers deeper and deeper. How could they hold back at the sight of such perfection? Mistress Angela’s alabaster skin reflected the warm flames of the fireplace, her smooth legs and toned arms teasing and inviting, her black hair shimmering in glory. I almost felt bad for these two men, for having to wait this long. But I knew the drill, it was my mistress who was in charge.

“Nicolette!”

“Yes Mistress?”

“The candle tray!”

“Yes Mistress.”

I walked to Mistress Angela’s bedroom, noticing with immense pride that Javier was sneaking quick looks at my ponytail buttplug. I felt my heart rush, and my cock ache even stronger as it tried to struggle against the fiberglass restraints. Here was Javier with his immense meat, looking at my butt. He was finding me desirable. In a flash I imagined holding all that meat in my hand, stuffing it in my mouth, getting it wet and inserting it into my arsehole. And then the sharp pain of my cock straining against its cage brought me back to reality. It was time for the candle tray.

Mistress Angela’s bedroom, more beautiful and sumptuous than a Sultan’s quarters was where the ceremonial tray sat, the tray I had grown to both love and hate. It was a round copper tray, about forty inches in diameter, which I cleaned and polished every day. On this tray, every day without fail, I placed Mistress Angela’s favorite candles.

My mistress loved her candles, while masturbating, while taking a bath, while reading and while having sex. Mistress Angela believed that the mystical light of fifty or so different candles bathed everything in an erotic chiaroscuro that allowed her deepest desires to float upward and out, and helped her reach sexual peaks known to few women on earth.

I was allowed to carry this tray in one way and one way only: I had to put my arms under it and carry it everywhere like a precious and delicate baby. And so I did. By the time I had entered the living room I could see that Mistress Angela’s thighs were shimmering with her sacred vaginal juices.

“Nicolette!”

“Yes Mistress?”

“Light the candles!”

“Yes Mistress.”

To light the candles I had to use a long box of matches that was by the fireplace. Walking there and back I could be sure beyond doubt that Javier was looking at me.

My back was to the room while lighting to candles when I heard my mistress speak in a bemused tone.

“Javier”

“Yes Angela?”

“Are you checking out my slave? I did not know you liked sissies.”

“Well, er-, you know,” he stuttered.

“Please spit it out Javier! You know I have no time or patience for people who cannot articulate their sexual desires!”

“Well, he, she, whatever, is so hell-bent on looking like a woman that he is far more attractively and sexually dressed than most women. And the way he carries himself, walking like a woman and all, and that nice ass!”

“Yeah,” Ken joined, “I mean a hole is a hole. How about we spit roast her Javier? You fuck her mouth and I fuck her ass? Did you notice how expertly she is making that ponytail wave around suggestively? She is really pissing me off. We need to fuck this sissy dry, to teach this fuckhole a lesson, sashaying those hips around like a dirty slut. If she wants to be a slut then we need to treat her like one.”

“Boys, boys! Enough! You are so horny you are being dumb enough to think that I will let you have my sissy! He is mine! He belongs to me!”

She paused. I knew what was coming now.

“However, you are going to really enjoy what comes next.”

Mistress went quiet and both men, I could tell, tensed with anticipation.

“Nicolette!”

“Yes Mistress?”

“First, turn the lights off. Then, make sure these gentlemen are hard enough for me. But remember that if you get greedy and make either of them come, you will get one hundred lashes.”

“Yes Mistress.”

I used the remote to turn off the lights. The room was immediately bathed in the light of the candles and the flickering of the fireplace. Mistress Angela could not look any more divine or inviting even if she wanted to.

This was my moment, always, and I relished it. It was up to me, the sissy slut, to start the festivities. I took a few seconds to compose myself. Then I walked towards Javier slowly and deliberately, looking at his eyes. Javier was my first choice because my mouth would not contain Ken without stretching it first. Maintaining eye contact with him at all times I carefully got down on my knees in front of him.

“May I service you Sir?”

“Yeah bitch!” yelled Javier as he grabbed my hair.

“Javier!” yelled Mistress Angela.

“Yeah?” he answered sheepishly.

“If you touch my sissy again, you will never get to taste or fuck my mouth or my pussy or my ass ever!”

“OK. OK. Sorry.”

“Now my sissy is going to ask your permission to serve you, and you are going to say, ‘Yes, you may service me sissy!'”.

“OK. OK.”

“Nicolette!”

“Yes Mistress?”

“Start again!”

I waited two beats as I was trained to do.

“May I service you Sir?”

“Yes, you may service me, sissy!”

“Mistress Angela, may I service this man?”

My mistress paused as Javier’s heavy cock was pointing straight at my face. Oh how devious she is, and how well she knows my heart!

“I did not hear you Nicolette.”

“Mistress Angela, may I service this man?”

“Do you promise to do a good job, but not for long enough to make him come?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Hands behind your back.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“You have my permission to service Javier’s cock.”

I clasped my hands behind my back and brought my head under Javier’s cock, using my face like a tray, to rest the full length of his cock on my mouth, nose and eyes. His testicles smelled of sandalwood, a delightful smell. I opened my mouth wide to accommodate both testicles and suck on them. His balls were taught and well trimmed, a joy to lick. But I had to control myself, otherwise Javier would come and woe unto me if that happened.

So I let go of his balls but not before giving them a few girly kisses. It was time for more. I started exploring his cock slowly with my lips and tongue, making sure I was maintaining eye contact with him throughout the ritual. Keeping my eyes fixed on his I took his cock-head in my mouth, gave it one or two quick sucks, and let it fall out. His cock was divinely heavy, a piece of meat that spoke of substance and strength. My life, I thought is so good, and with that I stuck my tongue in between Javier’s cock lips, digging it in as deep as possible, making wet sucking sounds.

“Oh oh!” he moaned and when he started thrusting his pelvis forward I immediately stopped. I have serviced enough cocks for Mistress Angela to recognize the signs of a man getting ready to lose himself in an orgasm.

“Nicolette!”

“Yes Mistress?”

“You little cock-sucking bitch! I think you are enjoying this too much. Meanwhile I’m waiting here for my two cocks.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Now take care of the horse-cock over there, before he spooges all over himself.”

“Yes Mistress.”

I turned around, still on my knees, and before I could slide over Ken came over to me. Oh Ken, you beautiful divine Ken. His cock was like a small baby’s arm, cream-colored and fleshy. He too was circumcised, something I preferred for reasons of cleanliness. And clearly he did not share a shower with Javier because his cock smelled of aloe and lime. I locked my eyes into his and waited.

“Nicolette!”

“Yes Mistress?”

“What are you waiting for?”

“For your permission Mistress Angela.”

“How smart you have become! I see those welts on your butt are adding IQ points to your brain.”

She paused and I waited.

“Nicolette, you have my permission.”

I waited a single beat, but not a second more.

“May I service you Sir?”

“Yes, you may service me sissy!” said Ken looking at me, his eyes flooding with desire, despite himself.

“Mistress Angela, may I service this man?”

“Well yeah, you silly sissy! Just suck him off a bit, so that I can get these two cocks in me already!”

“Yes Mistress.”

I looked at Ken and then at his almost purple cock-head. He already had drops of precum dripping from his cock. If I would touch his cock-head he would burst and then I would be punished dearly. So, as much as I wanted Ken in my mouth, as much as I wanted to stretch my mouth wide enough to contain him, to prove to myself that I was a good sissy, an excellent sissy in fact, one that could handle any size of cock in his mouth, I opted for licking the top of part of his shaft.

“Oh yes,” he groaned as I licked all along his shaft, trying not to get cross-eyed while looking at it. No one likes a cross-eyed sissy.

“Suck me sissy bitch!” Ken yelled, “Open your fucking mouth and suck me! Now!”

I gave his cock-head a quick kiss and immediately pulled back.

“Good timing Nicolette!”

“Yes Mistress.”

“And now Nicolette, you will assume your position as the tray holder.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“You may stand up and assume your true duty.”

“Yes Mistress.”

I stood up, straightened my seams, and walked over to the coffee table where the copper tray with the lit candles was resting. I lifted it carefully and then holding my palms up I slid both my arms under it. Then I assumed my position by the right hand of the sofa, my back straight and my legs tightly together.

“Behold boys,” said Mistress Angela, “the tray holder. She will light the room for us while we enjoy ourselves. A true sissy slave, obedient and selfless.”

Mistress Angela paused, then she let out a warm, throaty giggle.

“Boys, it is time for you to fuck me.”

The two men, grunting like animals, leaped on the naked body of my beautiful mistress, my mistress whom I desire more than anything, and mercilessly plunged their huge cocks into her pussy and mouth. It was beyond doubt that these two men would invade every available orifice in Mistress Angela’s body multiple times before the night would be over.

Young men in their mid-twenties are capable of summoning erections as if by magic. The night went on and on and my mistress demanded to be fucked in every opening. I stood straight the whole night, never being allowed to rest, holding the tray of candles as my mistress surrendered herself to a Bacchanal of pleasure.

It was painful and exhilarating to watch Mistress Angela’s petite body handle so much sex, with both giant cocks stretching her pussy and arsehole as far as they would go. I watched her get penetrated deeply and with force in ways that only such magnificently large cocks could. My mistress was tireless, sucking one cock while jerking off another, taking one cock in her arsehole while another pounded her pussy.

At one point Javier was holding her upside down and eating her pussy while she was servicing Ken’s enormous cock. Bathed in the light of the fireplace and the sensuous flickering of the candles, the three beautiful bodies writhed with passion as they sweated, they came and came again and even peed on each other as they let nothing hold them back. And I the tray holder watched them as they freed themselves of all inhibitions and madly celebrated all their desires.

The long night eventually came to a close after both men plundered Mistress Angela’s pussy at the same time and then stretching her anus beyond credulity they shoved both their huge cocks in her tiny arsehole. That was when my mistress surrendered herself completely and her passionate grunts turned into savage growls and screams of passion. Insatiable as she was, her two lovers were equally resilient and kept thrusting their cocks into her like crazed jackhammers.

I had stood fast throughout the night, but the site of two cocks going in and out of my mistress’ arsehole proved to be too much for me and my poor caged cock just erupted, shooting out thick rivulets of five weeks worth of semen. I was lucky that my mistress was surrounded by a sea of animalistic grunts, and busy with these two very fit men who now were slapping her face with their giant cocks. She never heard my quiet whimpering of intense pleasure and relief as my lower body twitched with twisted passion and desire and emptied itself thoroughly and blissfully.

It was almost dawn when the strains on the agility and prowess of both men took its toll and they fell back on the living room carpet, exhausted and covered in sweat, no longer able to sustain their erections any further. In moments they were asleep. My mistress, looking at her two exhausted lovers with part bemusement and part contempt, tried to reach her goblet of wine, but the goblet fell, and all she could do was fall back on the sofa and laugh. Her face, mouth, breasts, stomach and hands and her two warm holes were dripping with semen.

“Nicolette!” she commanded in a hoarse voice, drunk with many bottles of wine and magnificent, exhausting sex.

“Yes Mistress?”

“Go get a sponge and a towel for me.”

“Yes Mistress.”

I dutifully brought what my mistress had asked for, and a small wash basin with warm water mixed with peppermint Castile soap. From what I have heard this is a favorite of mistresses around the world.

“Nicolette!”

“Yes Mistress?”

“Here is your prize for not screwing up during tonight – you may lick all the semen that these two virile men left all over my body. And then you may wash me gently.”

“Thank you Mistress, you are kind beyond words.”

“Is that all?”

“I will relish every drop of semen as if it is the tastiest chocolate syrup ever created.”

“Is that all?”

“You deserved every inch of cock these two men provided and every drop of semen they shot. No other woman could ever be worthy of such large, hard and magnificent cocks. I could never please you in this way, and I’m honored to have been in their presence while they pleasured you in such an extreme, beautiful and moving way.”

“Ah, a slutty slave who craves cock but knows her place. Very good. I have trained you well. You know what? You can suck their cocks clean too.”

And with that magnificent permission coming out of her trembling swollen lips, she fell into an exhausted sleep. I gathered the exhausted body of my beloved mistress in my arms, cradling her head and lifting her up carefully, and I laid her on the sofa in a more comfortable position.

This was my moment, my hour, my turn to serve the beautiful body of my precious and powerful mistress. I licked every drop of semen off her body, her pussy and her arsehole and then patted her gently with the wet sponge, making sure not to awaken her in the process.

A mistress awakened against her wishes will be invariably angry and recant the generous offerings she has made before falling asleep. I did not want my mistress to change her mind about the grandest and surprisingly benevolent permission she had given me in weeks, so I worked as if walking on eggshells. When my mistress was clean and semen free I covered her with a large soft white towel and left her to sleep on the couch.

As dawn’s very first rays of gray light peeked through the drapes, I was touched by the exhaustion of those who slept. Aware of the quiet room and the softness of early morning I felt a wave of tranquil contentment flow through me, bathing me clean down to my core. My caged cock spent and my soul at ease I relaxed and let go. I took my heels off, got on my knees and feasted on the giant cocks of Javier and Ken. They were hard no more, but they were covered in an intoxicating combination of the sweat and semen of both men and my mistress’ delicious juices.

First I rubbed their cocks all over my face, relishing their weight and strength, smelling their smells and enjoying the very texture and sweet detail of each cock. Then swallowing hard I took turns to deep throat both men. Javier, now soft, was relatively easier to gobble, but Ken was a tough sell despite the flaccid state of his enormous cock. He proved to be a challenge but ultimately not an insurmountable one.

There is no greater sense of achievement and no sweeter taste than feeling the tip of a big cock at the back of your throat early in the morning. It was while swallowing Ken’s soft monster and stroking Javier’s limp yet heavy cock, that I came again in big, thick, creamy spurts. Even though my mistress was asleep I scooped up my own semen and swallowed it greedily as she had trained me to do. If you are a good sissy, and you serve your mistress, you will have good nights such as these I thought to myself, better and more passionate nights than what most men can ever experience.

I got up, went to my bathroom, brushed my teeth, reapplied my lipstick, and straightened my seamed stockings. Then I pulled my ponytail buttplug out, cleaned it carefully, covered it with a fresh coating of Vaseline and reinserted it firmly into my snug hole.

Like any good sissy slave, once you get used to it you don’t want to let go of that bugger. Not to mention that it always reminds me to stand up straight and swing my hips like a woman, and that’s how I walked back into the living room. There, exhausted and as satisfied as I was allowed to be, I went to sleep at the safest, warmest place in the world, on the small Karastan carpet by the sofa, at Mistress Angela’s feet.

——————-

✤✤✤✤✤

11/21/12 Breaking News:  Slave N makes the paper!

Read about it in The Sissy News.

✤✤✤✤✤

——————-

What a Coincidence

Saturday, September 1st, 2012

What did the cuckoldress …

… say to the farmer?

(And just quite possibly gave him a boner.)

A chicken farmer goes to a local bar,  sits down next to a woman and orders a glass of champagne.

The woman perks up and says, “How about that? I just ordered a glass of champagne too!”

The farmer smiles and says, “Really? What a coincidence! This is a very special day for me, so I’m celebrating.  What about you?”

“This is a special day for me too.  So I’m also celebrating,” says the woman.

“What a coincidence,” says the farmer, “here we are, both drinking champagne, both at the same bar, both celebrating. This calls for a toast.”

As they clinked glasses the man asks, “What are you celebrating?”

“My husband and I have been trying for years to have a child and today my gynecologist told me that I am pregnant!”

“What a coincidence,” says the man. “I’m a chicken farmer and for years all of my hens were infertile, but today they are all laying fertilized eggs.”

“Well jolly good for you,” says the woman. “How did your chickens become fertile?”

“I used a different cock,” the farmer replies.

The woman smiles and says, “What a coincidence.”

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Of course, you can always call me, here.
Regardless who you call, I’m sure you’ll get a boner … just like the farmer. ;-p
xo, Angela

SUBJECT LINE: Wow!

Thursday, June 14th, 2012

Angela:

I don’t think you know that you just spun a masterpiece.  You did.  I’ve enjoyed enough of your works to know.

Love, Sandra

This particular brief but sincere email came from one of the most manly men I know.  I’m particularly fond of Mr. M, because he’s the epitome of what I would call the perfect client.  He’s outrageously charming, he’s brilliant as all get-out, he’s cute as a button and he trusts me to take his fantasies and run with them.

And we run with them we do.  It is always awesome and always my pleasure.

But, as you surely see, Mr. M. signed this email with “Sandra.”  Hmmm.  What could that mean?

It means, just for once, Mr. M. wondered what it  would be like to be giver of the blowjob rather than the receiver.  In other words, the female.  How would she feel?  What would her internal dialogue be?  Would it get her hot?  Would she crave his load? Would she get wet, herself?

And, ohboyohboyohboy, did “Sandra” find out.

xo, Angela