• Well, I finally got around to moving my Savant Collection to a bigger and better curio cabinet (AKA their very own page here at Zen Fetish).
• When visiting, please do not pick up, handle or fondle the Savants. Remember: You break it, you buy it.
• As you browse this small (but most exclusive) collection, you might also notice that there are more Savants awaiting their debut: Vanilla Savant (there’s one in every crowd, don’t ya know?), Closeted Savant (he has secrets), Lady of the Lace Savant (the first female savant — yowza!), Horn Dawg Savant (this one is lotsa fun — just you wait) and Pussy-Whipped Savant (which really always is the case anyway — he just is a bit more aware of it).
• God Bless Luscious Lyndee: She’s now the proud owner of two Brian Rawson photographs.
• I’ve been getting a lot of poetry sent my way these days for some reason and I do thank the senders very much. One (a Shakespearian Sonnet) is below. And thanks to you-know-who.
• Oh, and did you see the response to A O Hell posted by a certain Savant who is pretty darn creative and down right hillarious? That, too, is below.
• Now that everything is tied up into a neat little bow, let me say goodbye for tonight. Kink-O-Phone is now officially off of the hook.

***

Sonnet 57 ~William Shakespeare

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

***

System/Prakrit Kamasutramurtri Says:

October 20th, 2006 at 8:50 pm

Dear Pearl:

Namaste!

It gladdens my heart, here in Mumbai, to learn that your AOL Email system has at last returned to its normal state of happy repair.

In your posting to ZenFetish, however, I sense smally that there remains of bitterness and dissatisfaction with AOL and with my own most sincere efforts to assist you with your unfortunate problem. Know well, that at all times, I strenuously expended myself to my utmost to relieve you of your most perplexing difficulty.

Sadly, Brahma was not amenable to the resolution of your misfortune on this occasion. Such is karma. I wished you to be cognizant that I am now burning incense and have offered sweets and flowers at the Temple of Kali in hopes of atonement.

Please take a moment to give me a good report when further communicating with my superiors.

Sincerely

Prakrit Kamasutramutri (”Jerry”)
Your AOL-Customer Service Representative in Mumbai

Sexy?  Yes?

Thanks to Mr. C for sending me a link to photographer Brian Rawson’s website, where I found the above (click on the images to blow your mind).

Only 26 years old, Brian is already kicking ass and taking names, fast becoming the fair-haired boy to both art and smut aficionados. Of course, the latter prefer the term “erotica” to “smut,” and we shall leave them to that eternal debate.

In the meantime, I am quite sure Brian has things of much more import with which to occupy himself–mainly, the business of becoming famous. I think I just might hit him up for an interview in the future. That is if he can even find time. Keep your fingers crossed.

Ten or twenty minutes prancing around his website, and you will begin to garner just what all the hoopla is about: Major talent, unique vision and obvious wonderment in the world and women around him (When asked about his influences he mentions his models and his dog.) have combined in a very big way in a very short time.

And people are talking. Not only has Brian and his work been featured at Fleshbot, but his photographs have also appeared in the New York Post and Bon Appétit.

And guess what else. You can own your very own Brian Rawson work for a very reasonable price.

How cool is that?

Happy Friday the Thirteenth.

1. Financial Goddess worth giving it up for: Exclusively Devon
2. Scarlett Teese: That would be Johansson and Dita Von (yum yum).
3. My newest pairs of heels: Are these sexy or what? and Would you kneel?
4. Laura Baumach: Sensually Wicked Man Love
5. Phone Sex with Miss Swan (very funny)
6. Maria’s online diary: Cuckolding Martin (very hot, sexy, explicit)
7. Cross-Dressing: From the inside out (honestly thoughtful)
8. Barely Legal PhoneSex Sweetheart (prepare to be amazed)
9. So you want to write erotica? (excellent resource, frequently updated)
10. Dominatrix, Heineken style. Actually, pretty much on the money.
11. A Woman of Conviction. Someone to admire, champion and support.
12. A most interesting artist who’s recently caught my attention.
13. OMG! Look what Mistress Sky’s been up to. I adore this woman!

More fun with the Friday the Thirteenth:

• WiKipeDia says
• Test Your Friday the 13th IQ
• Friday the 13th Strip Tease
• Jason Vorhees Redux

And one more thing:

First 5 callers: 1.13 per minute. Oops! Sale all gone. Sorry. (Thanks, guys!)

Angela 

While you can click on any picture to see it in all of its full-blown glory, proceed with caution:

Notwithstanding my absolute adoration of fem-boys and all of their fabulously-fab fem-kink-iness, what you will see, ladies and gents, is just not so pretty. I’d love to ask the photographers about the circumstances behind this particular photo shoot. Maybe I will hunt them down and request an interview.

And thanks to Gracie for pointing the way. I really don’t know how she finds this stuff. Something to do with Idle Hands? Or an extremely high Perv Quotient? Perhaps she is some abberant, twisted Savant in desperate need of kinship with others of her kind and I should add her to my Savant Collection? But, at least for now, she seems to be happy, so we’ll just leave her to the mayhem of her mischief.

Angela

“From now on,” she is saying, “you will wear panties.  No arguing.  No protesting.   I’ve disposed of your boxers; every last pair. Come, Andy, let me show you.”

She’s always called you Anderson before. Your given name. The one you prefer.

But this is the beginning you’ve known was coming for a while now. Since the night she came home and caught you.

She’d been so quiet and demure when you’d married. When you look back, you think those qualities were what drew you to her. That somewhere deep inside you knew; that you knew even then that your fetishes and desires needed some kind of cap. That her softness, her goodness would keep you safe from your own demons.

But she’d caught you. One of those rare occasions you’d indulged your desires. Alone, your beloved out for the night. That’s what she’d told you. No reason to expect her until late. And you couldn’t resist. Found the pink lace thong you’d bought her for Valentine’s Day, slipped it up over your thighs, your stiff prick.

You were so devastated when she’d walked in finding you masturbating into the crotch of those panties, a pair of her soiled ones across your face. Now she knew. Knew your naughty, dirty secret. But the shock, the revulsion was quickly replaced with a smile. She giggled; told you how ridiculous you looked. And there was a look in her eye that you didn’t understand. Though, now you do.

Because she took over from that point on. Making you wear panties sometimes when you fucked her. Then making you lick her cunt while wearing panties and humping the mattress. Sometimes right before you were going out with the guys she would insist you wear panties. She even bought you a few pair of your own, very feminine, satin and lace. You were at her mercy because the panties felt so good and dirty at the same time.

And you couldn’t say no. There was a power exchange the night she caught you. You realize it now. And, as you follow her to the bedroom, you realize that things are never going to be the same, never go back to the way they were. Maybe you like this. Maybe you’re glad to finally be the panty slut you’ve always secretly wanted to be.

The top dresser drawer is open. You see satin, nylon, ribbons, bows. It’s not a man’s drawer anymore. You look at her.

“What about when I go to the gym?”

She ignores your question, reaching for a pair of the panties–white with little pink and yellow hearts. She holds them up in front of you.

“Put these on, Panty Andy. Be the little Panty Slut you know you want to be for me.”

She’s never called you anything like that before. You blush. But you also feel your prick responding to the calm authority of her words, the intuitive power in her demeanor. You slowly begin removing your jeans. Her words have hypnotized you. You only need to do what your Goddess Wife says. That is all that matters.

When the jeans are lying next to you on the floor, she hands you the panties, then reaches for a tube of lipstick. “What’s that for, honey,” you say as you pull the panties up over your pelvis, feeling the rush of pleasure as your prick drags along the soft fabric.

She looks at the panty tent your erection has caused and snickers. Again, she ignores your question. “Here, stand in front of the mirror.” You move to her side as she takes the lid off of the lipstick tube. “Close your eyes, Panty Slut.” Because it is all you can do, you close your eyes. You feel the lipstick, guided by her firm hand, moving across your torso. All the while she is laughing. You get the weird sensation that you are hearing her in stereo, but chalk it up to the surreal-ness of what is happening.

Finally: “Okay, open your eyes.”

You slowly open your eyes to see your chest, your ribs, your belly smeared with pink lipstick, spelling out the truth. Even backwards you can read it, because you’ve always known it. And you see Jessica standing at the bedroom door. Jessica, your wife’s best friend. Jessica’s lips are twisted into a lewd grin. She is shaking her head, like she is disgusted with you, perhaps even finds you pitiful. She mouths the words, “You are so fucked.”

“Read it out loud for me and Jessica.”

And you do.

“I am Andy Panties. I am a panty slut. I am not a real man. I am panty slut Andy.”

As humiliating, as embarrassing as your dilemma is, you are more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. Your prick is leaking into the panties, a gray bloom spreading across and down the front of them.

“Now, Andy Panties, show Jessica how hot you are. Rub the front of those wet panties. Yes, you’ve leaked all over them, haven’t you? Now rub them and read your little mantra again and again until you cum in those panties in front of us.”

You know you should stop this. But you can’t, because you want this, you need this. And so you begin rubbing.

“I am Andy Panties. I am a….”

But it’s too late. Because you are coming so hard that your knees are buckling, your asshole and balls are twitching.

“I told you that would happen,”  Jessica tells your wife.

“Now you’ve got him by the balls.   Forever.”