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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 'PSOetry' Category

WMD (Yours)

Sunday, January 31st, 2010

Pink High Heel Shoes

by Dónall Dempsey

I remember drinking
pink champagne

from your pink
high heel shoes

I remember making love
with you wearing only your pink
high heel shoes

I remember
how your pink high heel shoes

became candleholders
ashtrays
(where you stashed your hash)

deadly weapons
in a row

& you ask me
do I remember

your pink high heel shoes?

Do I?
I do!

________________________________

You bet he remembers.  And remembers.  And remembers.

I find this poem uber sexy, since I have a thing for high heels and happen to own a few pairs of pink high heels.  If you don’t get it, just think about it. 

Think about lying dark in a cool room. Naked, your hands to your side …. your eyes closed as you’re Mistress/lover has instructed.  Hearing the door open, the click, click, click of her heels on the hardwood floor.  I think you can take it from there. 

And if you can’t? You need to call me ASAP! *wink*

Mr. Donall can be found here and keeps a blog here.  Listen to and watch a Poetry Reading here.

Thanks to PQS for sending this uber sexy poem my way … he does indeed know what I like.

xo, Angela

 

More Dirty Latin Poetry

Monday, December 21st, 2009

Catullus: Carmen 16

Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,
Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,
qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,
quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.
Nam castum esse decet pium poetam
ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est;
qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,
si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici,
et quod pruriat incitare possunt,
non dico pueris, sed his pilosis
qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.
Vos, quod milia multa basiorum
legistis, male me marem putatis?
Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.

Which one scholar translates thusly:

I’ll fuck you up the ass, and you can blow me,
you cocksucker Aurelius and you faggot Furius,
for suggesting that my little verses
are effeminate and not pure enough.
A good poet should be virtuous,
but his verses don’t need to be.
Who cares if verses that have spice and wit
are soft and not very pure?
They can also get you going.
I’m not talking to boys here, but to two hairy men
who can’t even move their creaky old loins.
Are you two putting me down
just because you’ve read about my thousands of kisses?
Fuck you both. You can blow me.

___________________________________________________________

Tis the season and all that jazz.  What could be more festive than some lyrical obscenity from a Roman poet?  After all …  those ancient Romans knew how to throw a party, didn’t they? Think Crucifixion.  Need I say more?

Details & linkage at my previous post: Dirty Latin Poetry

I can write a fairly dirty (and downright hot and sexy) poem myself.  Have you read cunt is your drug?

xo, Angela

ps. Did you notice my snowflakes? Pretty nice, huh?

Dirty Latin Poetry

Sunday, December 6th, 2009

Catullus 58

Caeli, Lesbia nostra, Lesbia illa
illa Lesbia, quam Catullus unam
plus quam se atque suos amauit omnes,
nunc in quadriuiis et angiportis
glubit magnanimi Remi nepotes.

Translation 1:

Caelius, our Lesbia, that Lesbia
that Lesbia, whom Catullus loved
more than himself and all his own,
now at the crossroads and in the alleys
is jacking-off the decendants of brave Remus

Translation 2:

Caelius, my Lesbia, that Lesbia.
That Lesbia, who Catullus loved alone more,
than himself and all of his own,
now on streetcorners and alleyways
she milks the cocks of the goodhearted scum of Rome.

Translation 3:

My Claudia, that Claudia, that same Claudia
whom I love more than myself
or anything I have — I have
met her in corners
and plazas, sucking off
those sweet sons of Rome.

Adaptation, 2009:

Johnny! It’s our Lesbia, the Lesbia,
That Lesbia, herself, the girl Stanley loved,
More than self and all he calls his own,
Now at the Great Hall, Chicago, Union Station,
Up and down the polished marble floors,
In high-heeled, black boots,
Corn, she husks corn,
For any of them, Lincoln’s favored sons!

Explanation:

Catullus’ affair with Clodia (whom he refers to as "Lesbia" in all his poems) ended when she began to cheat on him with a friend of his named Marcus Caelius Rufus. Clodia was, in the words of Cicero, a shameless whore, and it seems like Catullus wrote this for revenge and to tell Caelius and the rest of Rome how easy she was.

Catullus uses the term "the decendents of brave Remus" to refer to Clodia’s patrons. The great men of Rome are usually called the sons of Romulus, Remus’ stronger and smarter brother. To compare these men to Remus is to imply what losers they are. (via (Everything 2)

About Clodia (Lesbia):

Clodia was married to Quintus Caecilius Metellus Celer, her first cousin. The marriage was not a happy one. Clodia engaged in several affairs with married men and slaves, becoming at the same time a notorious gambler and drinker. Arguments with Metellus Celer were constant, often in public situations. When Metellus Celer died in strange circumstances in 59 BC, Clodia was suspected of poisoning her husband.

As a widow, Clodia became known as a merry one, taking several lovers, including possibly the poet Catullus (see below). Clodia maintained several other lovers, including Marcus Caelius Rufus, Catullus’ friend. This particular affair would cause an immense scandal. After the relationship with Caelius was over in 56 BC, Clodia publicly accused him of attempted poisoning. The accusation led to a murder charge and trial. Caelius’ defence lawyer was Cicero, who took a harsh approach against her, recorded in his speech Pro Caelio. Cicero had a personal interest in the case, as her brother Publius Clodius was Cicero’s most bitter political enemy.

Among other things, Clodia was accused of being a seducer and a drunkard in Rome and in Baiae. Cicero insinuated that he "would [attack Caelius’ accusers] still more vigorously, if I had not a quarrel with that woman’s [Clodia’s] husband – brother, I meant to say; I am always making this mistake. At present I will proceed with moderation… for I have never thought it my duty to engage in quarrels with any woman, especially with one whom all men have always considered everybody’s friend rather than any one’s enemy."[1] He declared her a disgrace to her family and nicknamed Clodia the Medea of the Palatine. (Cicero’s marriage to Terentia suffered from Terentia’s persistent suspicions that Cicero was conducting an illicit affair with Clodia.)

After the trial of Caelius, in which Caelius was found not guilty, little or possibly nothing is heard of Clodia, and the date of her death is unknown. There is some difficulty in identifying Roman women due to the lack of female personal names. Either this Clodia or a sister was still alive in 44 BC. (via Wikipedia)

History

The enmity of Publius Clodius Pulcher for Cicero stemmed from an incident that had occurred almost twenty years before, in 62 BC, when Clodius, who was enamored of Caesar’s wife, Pompeia, had disguised himself as a woman in an attempt to see her at Caesar’s residence, where the mysteries of Bona Dea were being celebrated.

He was discovered there and a scandal ensued. As pontifex maximus, Caesar divorce Pompeia, who had to be above even the suspicion of adultery. Clodius was charged with sacrilege but insisted that he was not in Rome at the time, an alibi that Cicero contradicted when he testified that he, himself, had spoken with the intruder that day. Intriguingly, it was thought that the testimony had been at the insistence of Terentia, Cicero’s wife, to allay her suspicious that Clodius’ sister Clodia wanted to marry her husband (Plutarch, Life of Cicero, XXVIII-XXIX; also Life of Caesar, IX-X).

As to the beautiful Clodia, she was supposed to have slept with her own brother, poisoned her husband and was a lover, as well, of Catullus, who famously wrote of her as the "Lesbia" of his poems. Replaced in her affections by Marcus Caelius Rufus, the scorned lover lashed out in a poem to him. (READ MORE)

Wikipedia on Catullus: CLICK HERE

***Adaptation 2009 by Stanley Pacion at his BLOG, where you can watch a video of his reading.

________________________________________

So, apparently, even way, way  back in BC (for Chrizt’s Sake) Latin men could be as ridiculous and petty as men can be today.  Particularly when an uber bitch, Femdom Fatale like Clodia/Lesbia pussy-whipped them into shape, destroyed their manhood and used them up.  I like her a lot.

What Catullus didn’t get is that while Claudia might have been jerking off guys in the back alleys of Rome, it went more or less like this …

FemDom Handjob

Podophilia in Blank Verse

Sunday, November 29th, 2009

FOOT FETISH FRANK

by Cynthia French

At first it was fabulous
dating Frank, the foot fetish guy
He asked me one night,
can I massage your feet?

And I let him. Ooohing and Aahing
to the sensation of skin against skin
in between my toes, sending sensations
reverberating through my body.
It was almost better than sex
Almost.

Before our next date, I painted
my toenails purple
His face lit up in smiles gazing at my feet
he came out of the closet
"I love feet," Frank said
and I didn’t care.
At least I had found a man that was honest.

So I kept my toenails long and polished
black his favorite color
and he kept rubbing my tired feet
and watching them
and kissing them
and sucking on my toes
strange, I know…but damn it felt good

Then it got worse
or weird
or something.

Frank, the foot fetish guy started showing me
pictures of feet he’d found on the web
excited to learn about a foot fetish web ring
photos of celebrity feet
Mira Sorvino, Gena Davis, Uma Thurman
all their feet for all to see.

He started reading me stories
sexual scenarios of feet fetish frenzies
sent Frank into sexual overdrive
let’s try this and this and this he’d exclaim.
Frank started buying me shoes accentuating toe cleavage.

Then came the socks
All sorts of socks
toe socks, mitten socks
argyle animal print
socks by Miller
sheer socks
stockings (he insisted on watching me put on my stockings)
slippers too, furry ones, open toed
strappy sandals
high heels
ankle bracelets
toe rings
temporary tattoos.

Then it happened.

After I fell and slid across the marble floor of the apartment building lobby wearing my newest 4 inch spiked red heels, spraining my wrist and flashing the doorman, I knew I was in trouble.
He’d pulled me into his foot fetish fantasy world and I couldn’t see a way out.

Even the food in my cupboards had changed.
Whipped cream, chocolate syrup, creamy peanut butter
all things that tantalized his taste buds
as he sucked my toes.

My credit card bill showed
charges of a foot fetish shopping spree
Bath and Body lotions and scrubs
Eucalyptus foot cream
massage books
silk nylons
files and buffers
polish of all colors.
My credit cards maxed,
my wrist wrapped and throbbing
Blushed red from embarrassment
Frank down on his knees in front of me
lifting his pant leg
revealing a sock with a tiny pocket
from which he pulls a ring
and as he say the words, I cry out NO!
I can’t live a lie any longer I’m afraid
Frank. I said
Feet stink.
_________________________________________

I couldn’t find a lot on Ms. French, but did locate this homepage, where there is a sampling of her work.  Hopefully, we’ll be hearing more from her soon.  I’m inspired.  Haven’t written a naughty poem in a while.  It’s about time, so watch out.

Balloon Fetish Poem

Tuesday, November 10th, 2009

How to Make Love to a Balloon.

by Claudia Carlson

Let it rise to the ceiling
Tie it down with a velvet ribbon
Let your own breath fill its single lung
Rub talcum powder into its unfilled flanks
Fill it with water and roll it across a waterbed
Draw nose mouth ears and eyes on it in lipstick
Suckle its nipple with the thin milk of your spit
Rub taut belly against your slip until you cling
Take its inflating tongue into your mouth
Try to sing with it riding your tongue
Read it poetry by e e cummings
Introduce it to helium
Call it a secret name
Inflate its ego
Let it go
O
O
o
o

_________________

Well.  Not really a "fetish" poem per se.  It’s more of a lyrical seduction.  If someone would attend me with such concentrated ardor I might like being a balloon.  Maybe someday when I grow up I’ll be able to write as beautifully as Ms. Carlson.  She has a fascinating blog, Elephant House, where she reveals she is working on a novel.  Which — once it’s published — I will quickly put on my Book Wish List and one of my fine gentleman readers will buy for me.  Right, HDB?

Special thanks to Pervert Savant for tucking this extra-special poem into my email box.  It made my day.

xo, Angela