Hello?

It took you five rings to answer the telephone. Is that acceptable?

No, Mistress. I was getting the mail and forgot to take the extension phone with me. I’m sorry.

I am very busy running a real estate office here, Thomas. I don’t have time for your fuck-ups. Two Rings! The rules are clear.

Yes, Mistress.

Have you had your piss popsicle?

Yes, Mistress. Exactly at Noon, just like you said. Thank you.

And did you wear your pink sissy bloomers to the mail box?

Yes, Mistress. I think the paperboy saw me. It was very embarrassing.

And the ironing? Have you finished it yet?

I have two more of your blouses to do and that will be it, Mistress.

So the iron is still plugged in, correct?

Oh, Mistress, please, no.

Get the iron, Thomas. Now.

Yes, Mistress.

Are you ready, Thomas?

Yes, Mistress.

Pull your right testicle out of the right leg of your sissy bloomers.

Ohhhh…

Right now. Do it.

Yes, Mistress.

Now place the bottom of the iron on that testicle, Thomas. Hold it there while I count to three. Don’t dare take it off. And don’t you dare scream.

Yes, Mistress.

One. Two. Three. Are you crying, Thomas?

Yes, Mistress.

Good. Do you think you will answer the phone within two rings the next time I call?

Yes, Mistress. I have learned my lesson. You were right to punish me. I was very stupid and I am so sorry.

Go finish the ironing. And prepare dinner for two this evening. I will be bringing home a guest.

Yes, Mistress.

Ok, I will see you later then.

Mistress?

Yes, what is it?

I love you.

***Edit: Yes, I did write this. Originally for Blistered Lips, which you would find here if you are so inclined.

“Why?” I was asked by a certain someone who will remain nameless, but not linkless. Mostly because I love the art of fantasy in all it’s sickeningly sweet & perverse guises. And the scene in the story just wouldn’t happen at my place, ‘cuz I don’t even own an iron, nor would I ever cause such damage to any human being. But I do occasionally find it fun to think about. And, yes, I am the same girl who also wrote this. I can’t figure me out, but I’m sure having fun.

If

-Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!

(Dearest Miss V: Because you are a magnificent spirit, a generous friend, a beauteous force, my treasured partner in crime and a beloved mentor to many. ~Angela)

..and a bit of poetry.

So I’m was checking out Sex Kitten, cuz something interesting is always going on there; take for instance, Whores & Horror: The Show, where Louise, Gracie, SlipofaGirl, Lyndee (she didn’t quite show up, but so what) and me are just stirring, licking and tickling up all kinds of naughtiness.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

Tess wrote a most astounding piece regarding women and body image which spoke to my heart, saying among other things:

Being 118 pounds may impress the Neanderthals in the clubs, but if it makes me fall down dead on the tennis court because my body has started to consume my heart muscle for nutrients or something, well uh, I think I couldn’t care less what impresses the rednecks.

Upon which I pondered:

Boy, what society/men/ourselves/media has done to women and body image. Sad…sad, indeed.

Then JerseyJake responded from his most magnicent and sensitive man-heart, saying among other things:

The thing I still love most about women is the magnificent variety. I’ve loved all kinds, all races at one time or – built thin, full-figured, athletic, dancers and even 1 little person. Each woman was beautiful and yes, sexy in my eyes. What made them desirable wasn’t their physique, but the way they carry themselves, their self-confidence…

And then he taught us. Goodness, how he taught us–with a poem by Gwendolyn Brooks (The first African American to win a Pulitzer Prize for poetry):

Look! I am beautiful, beautiful with
My wing that is wounded
My eye that is bonded
Or my ear not funded
Or my walk all a-wobble
I am enough to be beautiful.

You are
beautiful too.

(Read the commentary in its entirety here.)

Poolside

by Jeremy Edwards

The hotel’s elegant indoor pool area–deserted at this hour–was the perfect venue for the tryst we both craved. As we enjoyed the cool jazz that wafted in, we kissed, fondled, and undressed at leisure.

The last garment had hit the tiles. Gabrielle’s nipples and my penis were at maximum tension, and her pussy kissed my fingers with sweet juice. I began to lead her to a lounge chair, so that we could properly mingle.

“I have to pee first,” she said. I prepared to bide my time, thinking she would throw something on, excuse herself, and find a restroom. But she had other ideas. She glanced quickly around the pool lounge and spotted a file of fluffy towels. She grabbed a medium-size towel and, standing gloriously naked before me, she shoved it, still folded, into her crotch, where she held it tight with one hand and both thighs.

As I watched in amazement and delight, she kept her outer muscles tight and relaxed her inner ones. Within moments, she was pumping a powerful river of pee into the towel, humping it rhythmically all the while. Though she pissed a long time–an expression of sexual bliss creeping onto her face as she did so–the towel absorbed most of her flood. Only a few small, titillating trickles headed down her pulsating legs or dripped languidly to the floor beneath her damp, hot pussy.

Short and sweet and deliciously naughty. Dontcha think? You might recall that Jerotic visited Zen Fetish once before and I told you more about him the very next day. I mean, after all, inquiring minds wanted to know.

Something else about Jerotic? He’s a very sweet guy. I count him as a friend. And I count myself very lucky.

What’s a mind like Jerotic’s up to on a daily basis? Find out here. Tell him Angela sent you. He might just offer you some milk and cookies. Watch out for the lemonade, though.

i will come for you
and we will go
away
those left behind
will talk about us
our callous hearts
our selfish desire

fugitives, we will fuck
our way free of them
while fucking them over
fucking convention
fucking expectation
fucking our hearts out

like they knew we would
like the said we would

fucking will be
our new religion
your cock will be my communion
my cunt will be your baptism

and we will be happy

like they knew we wouldn’t
like they said we wouldn’t

(Just a little poem I wrote.)

xo, Angela