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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 February, 2007

Delayed Gratification

Monday, February 19th, 2007

You’ll just have to keep it in your pants, my love.

Because….

The piles of snow around town are finally melting and receding.

It is time for me to make my escape. So I am on my way out the door for a bit of extended R&R which will last anywhere from 7 to 14 days depending on how things go. I’m not sure of all the details except that a day at the spa is on the agenda. I should have at least sporadic internet access and will try to touch base with all two of my readers on a somewhat regular basis.

I hope you miss me, because I will surely miss you. You’re kinda-sorta my habit, dontcha you know?

***

By the way, over the weekend I not only worked my butt off taking calls; I also totally redecorated my phonesex store front.

In keeping with my long-held personal belief that less is indeed more and speaks volumes about someone’s confidence in their own abilities (bragging is so yesterday, dontcha think?) and therefore tends to attract savvier, sophisticate-types (in this case, the “adulterate cognoscenti”), I kept it simple and sweet.

And I am just tickled pink with how it all finally turned out. Of course, with titles like Macho Sissy, Indecent Exposure and Prick Tease how could it not be simply divine?

***

While I am away and basking in the sweet glow of decadent laziness, I might try to put together a few pieces of erotica. Would you like that? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

In the meantime, if you haven’t been to Blistered Lips yet, give it a gander. While I haven’t updated or added anything new in quite a while, there is a collection of my erotica there which is free for you to read. Maybe something will catch your fancy or whet your whistle or tickle your willie-bone.

***

Need something to read while I am gone?

***

Need someone to call while I’m gone?

***

Okay folks. Lil’ Miss Angela is out the door. And you be good while I’m gone. At least make the effort.

xo, Angela

Valentine SWEETS

Wednesday, February 14th, 2007

1. A sweet example

skeleton.jpeg

2. A sweet morsel

In 1956 Sylvia Plath was studying in Europe on a Fulbright Scholarship when she went to a publication party for a literary magazine. It was there that she met the poet Ted Hughes, whose poetry she admired. When he introduced himself, Plath quoted one of his poems to him, and he guided her to a side room of the bar. She later wrote in her journal, “He kissed me bang smash on the mouth and ripped my hair band off … and my favorite silver earrings … I bit him long and hard on the cheek and when we came out of the room, blood was running down his face.” They got married four months later. (heard on NPR)

3. A sweet memory…

Good News/Bad News

4. A sweet poem

Valentine ~ John Fuller

The things about you I appreciate
May seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power
And see your eyes dilate.
I’d like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower
Or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate
Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I’d like successfully to guess your weight
And win you at a fete.
I’d like to offer you a flower.
I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I’d like all your particulars in folders
Marked Confidential).
I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
The neat arrangement of your teeth
(Half above and half beneath)
In rows.
I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk.
I like the way your elbows work,
On hinges.
I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I’d like to teach them how to count,
And certain things we might exchange,
Something familiar for something strange.
I’d like to give you just the right amount
And get some change.
I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you nod and hold a teacup.
I like your legs when you unwind them.
Even in trousers I don’t mind them.
I like each softly-moulded kneecap.
I like the little crease behind them.
I’d always know, without recap,
Where to find them.
I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
I’d like to cross two hemispheres
And have you chase me.
I’d like to smuggle you across frontiers
Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
I’d like you to embrace me.
I’d like to see you ironing your skirt
And cancelling other dates.
I’d like to button up your shirt.
I like the way your chest inflates.
I’d like to soothe you when you’re hurt
Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.
I’d like you even if you were malign
And had a yen for sudden homicide.
I’d let you put insecticide
Into my wine.
I’d even like you if you were the Bride
Of Frankenstein
Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian’s
Jekyll and Hyde.
I’d even like you as my Julian
Of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan.
How melodramatic
If you were something muttering in attics
Like Mrs. Rochester or a student of Boolean
Mathematics.
You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
I’d like to find a good excuse
To call on you and find you in.
I’d like to put my hand beneath your chin,
And see you grin.
I’d like to taste your Charlotte Russse.
I’d like to feel my lips upon your skin,
I’d like to make you reproduce.
I’d like you in my confidence.
I’d like to be your second look.
I’d like to let you try the French Defence
And mate you with my rook.
I’d like to be your preference
And hence
I’d like to be around when you unhook.
I’d like to be your only audience,
The final name in your appointment book,
your future tense.

Tag, I’m It.

Friday, February 9th, 2007

But we knew that, didn’t we?

The deal: There is this “thing” that bloggers do which I believe — don’t quote me on this — ends up propagating more traffic to our individual blogs, wherein a blogger creates what is known as an Intenet meme, AKA as a royal pain in the gluteus maximus. (read all about it).

The latest meme making the rounds: Ten Oddball Things About Me.

And I have been tagged to make this list about myself by not one, but two of my good friends (at least I think) and blogger-compatriots…

Slip of a Girl (pssst…here’s a secret I’m telling just you and only you: Slip of a Girl is about to become the first FEMALE Zen Savant) and Richard of Down on my Knees and many other cool places.

Ready? Let’s get this bit of silliness over with.

The Rules: Once you’ve been tagged you can’t be retagged, you have to write a blog with 10 random things, facts or habits about yourself. At the end, you choose 10 more people to torture (er…tag…Louise said tag) and post a note telling them they’re tagged and make them come along and read your blog.

Part 1: Ten Oddball Things About Me

  1. I wear socks, usually white, in lieu of slippers around the house. Since I work from home, this means I buy lotsa socks. (Hint: Always a good present.)
  2. I do believe I may be addicted to brushing my teeth. I just groove on the entire process and use three (sometimes four) different items when doing my super routine (which occurs simultaneously with my super bath).
  3. I sleep with my bedroom window wide open and the heat down. In the morning I close the bedroom window and turn up the heat. One of the benefits of not being married is that nobody bitches at me for this.
  4. I have at least one pair of scissors in every room of my home. The kitchen and bathrooms have more than one pair. Plus their is a pair in both my sewing basket and purse.
  5. My bath towels are white. So are the hand towels. So are the wash cloths. So are the bathroom rugs. No exceptions.
  6. When I was in third grade a teacher accused me of copying a story I’d written for an assignment. She did this in front of the entire class. I was humiliated. To this day I hate her. I fantasize about finding her and grabbing her collar and spitting in her face, then telling her: “My name is Angie and I am all grown up now. And you know what, bitch? I wrote the fucking story. I wrote it all by myself.”
  7. As dominant and twisted and kinky as I am when I do calls…I am rather shy and conservative when it comes to sex in my personal life. That is until I get to know and trust you. Then watch out.
  8. I enjoy lesbian erotica and even masturbate to it. Yet, I am not attracted to women in my every day life. Hmmm….
  9. I really don’t like porn. Which surprises a lot of people, since I deal in dirty fantasies on a daily basis. I guess that is because a lot of stuff is fun to think about and looks real pretty (can get me hot) when I imagine it, but seems pretty ugly as a reality.
  10. I am a dog person. But I have a cat. A cross-dressing cat. Maybe I’m punishing him for not being a dog?

***

Part 2: Ten More Victims

Bloggers:

Mistress Sky (‘cuz she’s cool)
Luscious Lyndee
Mistress V
Isabella Valentine
Kylie (a new friend)
Madame Dearest
Kat, the Courtesan
(cuz I miss her)
Porno Person

Resident Savants (via comment section):

Vanilla Savant
Pervert Savant

I’ve been the good girl, done the right thing, been a team player and all that jazz. I am SOOOO outta here.

Angela

Oh…and another thing? The next person who drags me into something like this? I will secretly sign you up for an Amway Distributorship. It won’t be pretty.

Let’s Get Our Spring Freak ON

Monday, February 5th, 2007

Spring is right around the corner. I swear it.

Kinda-sorta? Maybe? Could be?

I know most of you have been experiencing a rather mild winter (an AOL poll told me so) and may not be as desperate (as say me…for example) to see spring hurrying its little tulip-covered ass onto the gray and gloomy horizon. And I know for a fact that at least one of you –can you believe it, Zen readers?– is skiing even as I type this.

For others of us (say me…for example) it’s been seven rounds of snow in seven weeks with record low temps thrown in for good measure now and then. Just to keep things interesting, I guess.

As for myself: having ventured out into the big white world only sporadically and at the sweet mercy of blessed friends and discreetly reluctant relatives (Rear wheel drive convertible: Can we say TRADE IN?), I am most definitely looking forward to getting my Spring Freak On.

Bring it on, baby! Oh, baby, baby, baby! And I’m not the only one, I will have you know!

Spring Fever is sweeping the Net:

Consider Oh Luscious One who not only redecorated her usual hangout, but surprised us with a totally new crib, catering to sissies and panty-boys, The Pink Panty Cafe.

Then we have Supervert, snazzing up the veneer and window treatments over at PervScan. Seems a few of the regulars haven’t been adjusting well. Which shows just how much of an icon this official Zen Savant has become: His readers think they own him and should be in charge of his floor plans, flower arrangements and wall art.

And while we are speaking of Savants, Submissive Savant, Richard, being his always industrious and imaginative self has a new creation for this season’s runway, yet another upscale website/blogsite, FemDom Chastity. The name speaks for itself: you know if you should be getting your submissive little tush over there.

And if all of the above isn’t enough proof that spring is springing like a mofu, then just check this out, why dontcha? Pervert Q. Savant has submitted Lingerie on the Razor-Wire 4 (Keep your panties or boxers or chastity device on…I’ll be publishing it soon…and you can read the first three parts here). And that’s not all we’re hearing from Pervert Q. Seems he was so inspired by my Parochial Potpourri that he wrote the following:

Public School Girls and Catholic School Girls – A Sort of Poem

Funny thing.
When I was a Catholic boy I was afraid to even say anything
To the Catholic schoolgirls
That sat on the other side
of our divided classrooms.

I thought they all bought into the venial sins and mortal sins
That the nuns told us about.
I thought they were kind of pure,
Free from the “bad thoughts” that I harbored
About what was beneath their white blouses
And plaid skirts.

I figured they weren’t like me
– someone who didn’t have money
For summer camp,
For skating,
And who didn’t know how to dance.

Someone that didn’t know what to say to them.

The public school girls were the ones that seemed more like me
– that wore makeup,
That didn’t wear uniforms.
That smoked in the back of the city bus
That took me to a typing class at the local public high school. They were the “bad girls” the nuns warned us about.

And being Catholic, I didn’t know what to say to them either.

So bring on the sun, the meltdown, the sunglasses, the god-blessed air conditioning.

Let’s get our Spring Freak On!

xo, Angela

Catholic School Girls

Saturday, February 3rd, 2007
csgfet (2).jpg

‘Cuz we rock, don’t ya know?

A Comedian

Lisa Landry ~at her website ~on My Space.

A Poem

Vocations Club ~Paula Sergi

We met on Tuesdays after school
with Sister Mary Agnes,
the two Mary Lous, Julie, Kay and me
to learn about being nuns.
The convent sounded good;
a room of my own, a single bed,
time to think and pray, no fighting
over what we’d watch-Bonanza versus Dragnet,
or who would get the couch.
I dug those crazy nun outfits, and hated hand-me-downs
with too long sleeves and too tight waists.
I’d take the smell of polished wood and incense
over burnt grilled cheese and sour milk.
I’d have a good job, teaching kids
and all the chalk I’d want,
long, unbroken pieces that echoed off the board,
all eyes on me as I’d tap directions,
conducting my classroom all day.
People, I’d begin, today we’re talking about…
whatever I want to!
Nuns got great rosaries with fancy beads
and lots of gifts at Christmas.
And the solitude of celibacy sounded pretty good,
better than worrying about French kissing
like my sister, better than pining for men,
like mom, whose men left anyway.

A Joke

(courtesy of my sister’s Email)

A train hits a bus filled with Catholic school girls and they all perish.

They are in heaven trying to enter the pearly gates when St. Peter asks the first girl, “Tiffany, have you ever had any contact with a male organ?”

She giggles and shyly replies, “Well, I once touched the head of one with the tip of my finger.” St. Peter says, “Okay, dip the tip of your finger in the Holy Water and pass through the gate.”

St. Peter asks the next girl the same question, ” Sandra , have you ever had any contact with a male organ?” The girl is a little reluctant but replies, “Well, once I fondled and stroked one.” St. Peter says, “Okay, dip your whole hand in the Holy Water and pass through the gate.”

All of a sudden, there is a lot of commotion in the line of girls. One girl is pushing her way to the front of the line. When she reaches the front, St. Peter says, “Reva, What seems to be the rush?”

The girl replies, “If I’m going to have to gargle that Holy Water, I want to do it before Jessica sticks her ass in it.”