Love and respect woman.

Look to her not only for comfort, but for strength and inspiration and the doubling of your intellectual and moral powers.

Blot out from your mind any idea of superiority; you have none.

Giuseppe Mazzini

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

People are often unreasonable and self-centered.
FORGIVE THEM ANYWAY.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives.
BE KIND ANYWAY.

If you are honest, people may cheat you.
BE HONEST ANYWAY.

If you find happiness, people may be jealous.
BE HAPPY ANYWAY.

The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow.
DO GOOD ANYWAY.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough.
GIVE YOUR BEST ANYWAY.

For you see, in the end, it is between you and God.
IT WAS NEVER BETWEEN YOU AND THEM ANYWAY.

-Mother Theresa-
___________________________________________

A certain one of you sent this to me ….

When I saw this the other day, I immediately thought of you and the post-coital discussion of our last assignation.    I remember thinking at the time that I was the luckiest guy in the world to have found you.  Because, Angela, you approach this “adventure of life” (your words) in a way that is beyond the measure of the average person’s ability to even grasp.

This “spiritual” you in juxtaposition to the “kinky” you (into which I’d just experienced full-frontal, balls-to-the-walls  immersion) is, simply put, mind-blowing.  I’m still feeling the aftershock of you.

After we’d hung up, I remember thinking, My God!  She’s a Mother Theresa in latex and spiked heels.

So that is why I had to send you this, and I hope you don’t deem it presumptuous, as it is only meant as a token of  appreciation.

Until we talk again, Mr. J.

So, yes, you can be one kinky bitch and still be ethical and spiritual. I do it every fucking day.  Well, mostly every fucking day.  I just think it’s a cop-out for me to blame the world on my personal behavior.  Two wrongs don’t make a right and all that jazz.

Thank you, Mr. J.  … so glad you GET IT!

xo, Angela

This just in from Jerotic:

I am amazed and ecstatic! The Pleasure Dial: An Erotocomedic Novel of Old-Time Radio has been awarded a bronze medal in the 2014 Independent Publisher Book Awards! The gold and silver for erotica went to the illustrious Alison Tyler and D. L. King–and needless to say I’m honored to be in their company.

Meanwhile, catching up, since it’s been a while… recent(ish) short-story publications include “Unsnubbed,” in Xoxo: Sweet and Sexy Romance (ed. Kristina Wright); and “Whom,” in Book Lovers: Sexy Stories from Under the Covers (ed. Shawna Kenney).

Short-story publications coming later this year include “Tickle Day,” in Hungry for More (ed. Rachel Kramer Bussel); and “The Nude, Stripped Naked,” in The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 13 (ed. Maxim Jakubowski). And a few more anthology appearances are in the pipeline for 2015.

There are also some older anthologies now being reissued with new titles and new covers. I definitely encourage you to check them out if the themes appeal to you—just make sure, before buying, that you don’t already own the original versions (unless you’re a real collector!). Lust in Latex (which includes my story “Tire Stud”) was formerly Rubber Sex; Flying High (which includes my story “Get On, Get Off”) was formerly The Mile High Club; and the forthcoming Nine-to-Five Fantasies is, I think, a reissue of Open for Business (which includes my story “One Cubicle Over,” aka “Mindy’s Pheromones”).

from socks to fedora,
Jeremy

www.jeremyedwardserotica.com

_______________________________________

You really should buy his stuff. He writes erotica very well.  I mean, it is AWARD WINNING!

Plus, he’s a genuinely sweet guy.  Which goes a long way with me.

xo, Angela

Permission Granted

by David Allen Sullivan

You do not have to choose the bruised peach
or misshapen pepper others pass over.
You don’t have to bury
your grandmother’s keys underneath
her camellia bush as the will states.

You don’t need to write a poem about
your grandfather coughing up his lung
into that plastic tube—the machine’s wheezing
almost masking the kvetching sisters
in their Brooklyn kitchen.

You can let the crows amaze your son
without your translation of their cries.
You can lie so long under this
summer shower your imprint
will be left when you rise.

You can be stupid and simple as a heifer.
Cook plum and apple turnovers in the nude.
Revel in the flight of birds without
dreaming of flight. Remember the taste of
raw dough in your mouth as you edged a pie.

Feel the skin on things vibrate. Attune
yourself. Close your eyes. Hum.
Each beat of the world’s pulse demands
only that you feel it. No thoughts.
Just the single syllable: Yes …

See the homeless woman following
the tunings of a dead composer?
She closes her eyes and sways with the subways. Follow her down,
inside, where the singing resides.
________________________________

Particularly lovely, hm?

So much so that I might tape it to my forehead. Or at least keep it in the white Dooney & Bourke (Thank you, Puzzler) that I just switched to for Spring.

Just so I might remember to say: Yes …

Mr. Sullivan’s books at Amazon.