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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  ...


Archive for March, 2008

BDSM Transexual Bedtime Story

Monday, March 31st, 2008

Riding the Wave

by Porn Person

I don’t think that I give off a "BDSM Vibe" but apparently I do.

The real I think that I emit this peculiar wavelength comes from an incident at my first "real job" — one that wasn’t held down part time while attending classes, or where I had to wear a uniform. The company I worked for hired a new office manager, Marla Strom. She was an unimposing slip of a woman. She was likely in her fifties (but where I was in my twenties, I had yet to gauge what could be considered "middle aged"). She looked like she would have fit in best at one of my mother’s Book Club discussion.

There was little cause for me to interact with Marla. She spent most days on the phone in her office, managing supply vendors, repairmen, and who knows what else. Yet, occasionally Marla would play "Den Mother" to the pack of web developers. She’d make an appearance, going through the rank and file to socialize. I had engaged in a few pleasant conversations with Marla, nothing out of ordinary, until about two months after she’d been there when she was bemoaning how empty her social life had been since moving to our metropolitan area.

"I just don’t know where to find the kind of fun I’m used to," she said. I suggested that she take a gander at some of the free newspapers that were available at the record store (dating myself) in the neighborhood. This seemed to pique her interest. She asked if they had any "club listings" and I started to jaw on about the music establishments downtown. "No, not that kind of a club," she said. She left this door open wide, waiting for me to step into it. More than a statement, it was a question and she was awaiting my answer.

Oddly, I knew that I wasn’t reading too much into her question. Whatever wavelength I riding, I knew she was sharing the same ride. I don’t flaunt who or what I am, so the moment it took me to decide what to say next seemed to take an eternity. I felt like I was standing at a precipice.

I plunged over the side: "I think I know what kind of club you mean. There’s one downtown, The Grasshopper, at Debussy and Bartok. It’s only open Friday and Saturday night after eleven."

She nodded, knowingly. "And what night can I count on seeing you there?"

"I haven’t been in months but was thinking of going there this Friday, as a matter of fact." It wasn’t the most truthful answer. I had no prior plans of going there but now it seemed suddenly to be in my best interest.

"Great, hopefully I’ll see you there," she said, touching my arm as she walked past me on the way back to her office.

It didn’t take more than a second for a hot cold flush to come over me, one that made me question both my judgment and my sanity. I’d let the cat out of the bag about my proclivities and I got the image of Marla putting in a call to the Human Resources department in Washington to file a complaint about the pervert in her local office. My head was swimming with ill-fated scenarios but, still, in the back of my head I wondered if Marla were simply just a "freak" like me.


The rest of the week I didn’t see Marla in the office more than just catching a glimpse of her. The debate went on inside my head as to show up Friday night or not. Yet, somewhere inside, I knew that I would be doing so, no matter how many reasons I gave myself not to.

Friday found me in the smoky shadows of the Grasshopper with the thump, thump of house music matching the nervous patter in my chest. I was nursing a drink when I saw Marla across the room. She was talking to a rather striking, tall brunette. Marla was barely recognizable outside of the context of our office and in a rather revealing outfit that included a leather skirt and a blouse that revealed her brassiere from certain angles beneath translucent black material.

Before I could think to do anything, Marla noticed me and nodded. She flagged me down with a wave and I made my way through the crowd of twenty-to-sixtysomethings that comprised the Friday night crowd.

It was more than a little difficult to make conversation over the music. I caught that Marla was with her friend, Dee, and that they were glad out on a Friday night for a change. Dee wasn’t one for making much eye contact, I noticed, as I tried to listen to she and Marla. After one particularly lengthy speech, Marla leaned into my ear and asked, "You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?"

I sadly shook my head and she smiled wide. "Okay," she yelled. "Let’s get our of here." She said something to Marla who slugged down the last of her drink before adjusting her purse and nodding her ascent.

Outside in the crisp winter air Marla seemed happier than I’d ever seen her. I don’t throw this word around, but she seemed "giddy." The same couldn’t be said for Dee, who was far more reserved. After walking with the two women for a while I realized that I hadn’t a clue where we were headed. They were walking with a purpose and destination in mind and I tagged along like a puppy hoping to get a treat.

We walked for only a few blocks (though the uncertainty of the destination made it seem longer) to what looked like a warehouse. Marla produced a set of keys and unlocked the door saying, "The best thing about that club, it seems, is that it’s so close to my space."

She unlocked the door and we went inside. I still didn’t know what was in store for me, at least consciously, but I think I knew on some level that Marla’s ‘space’ was her ‘placespace’. An elevator ride later, my inkling was confirmed. Without even needing to explain, Marla and Dee ushered me into a large loft which sported a decorative theme somewhere between medieval torture chamber and college student apartment.

There was no negotiating or verbal sparring. There was no polite offer of tea, coffee, or wine. Things fell into place like a puzzle piece finding its slot.

Without ceremony, Dee began liberating herself of most of her outfit. Marla started to do the same, simply stating, "Put your clothes on the shelf by the radiator" as she did.

I had been trained well enough by the women that I had served previously to know better than to affect an attitude of shock and awe. I knew my place in this kind of situation, despite never having been in one before, and did what I was told, removing every inch of clothes and, with it, any artifice of control. Naked, I knew I was not in charge of anything any longer and belonged completely to these two ladies until told otherwise.


It was chilly in the loft at first. I wasn’t cold for very long after the blows began to fall. I was bound to the crux decussata. Marla and Dee took turns using various implements on my flesh, starting with a flogger and moving on to a riding crop, small belt, and even a wooden spoon. They started off slow but soon were determined to see how long and hard they could beat me until I begged for mercy.

Marla’s body was incredibly tight. Her gray hair was cut short in a spiky ‘do that gave her a lot of sass. Her blue eyes shone with glee as she administered blows to my ass; I could see the look reflected in the mirrored wall before me. I prayed that neither she nor Dee would blindfold me; it was wonderful seeing them strut their stuff, working up a sweat as they beat me. Occasionally Dee would opt out of the beating and stand in front of me, my eyes level with hers. She’d reach between the crux of the St. Andrew’s Cross to find my penis, half hard between being turned on and being in pain. She’d take me to full mast with her hand, staring me down while she manipulated me expertly.

"You like that, huh slut?" she hissed, her husky voice making me harder. "Did you get hard when you saw us at the club tonight? Did you think about getting down on your hands and knees right there and kissing our feet? Did you want to put your face between Marla’s asscheeks and lick her tight hole? Tell me, slut. Tell Miss Dee everything."

And, as the lash fell across my stinging, hot bottom, I confessed my sins. I admitted to how flush with excitement I was when I saw them and to the carnal sins I committed in my mind. Her skilled hands took me up the flights of stairs of my orgasm building but stopped just before I jumped off the roof. She repeated this process several times as Marla continued to redden my flesh.

The slap of the lash was replaced by an odd buzz. I looked in the mirrored wall to see Marla with a new toy — a long white-handled tool topped with a purplish globe at the end. She applied it to my backside and I wailed out of surprise and a newfound sensation of pain as electricity seemed to rip through me.

"Shhhhh," Marla chided as she put her cool hand on my warm neck. Her touch was reassuring. I realized that this was the first time she had touched me. Her hands were soft but firm. She grasped to steady me as she applied the violet wand once again to the backs of my thighs. I tried to not wail as loudly as before, pushing air through my clenched teeth as the electricity crackled over me.

She held the wand to my thighs, my low moan turned into a sharp cry and finally I begged for mercy. She continued to shock me as she decided if she would show me any or not… Finally, she stopped the current. She began unbuckling me from the cross while Dee did the same. Weakened, they lead me to a low table in the middle of the room, laying me down on the padded surface.

Dee moved my feet up so that my knees were bent and my legs were open. I stared dumbly at the ceiling until I felt something cold and hard pushing against my anus. I looked down to see Marla holding the full bag of an enema in one hand while she inserted the nozzle with the other. I felt so vulnerable and humiliated as she opened up the flow and allowed water to enter me, flooding my bowels. I was even more embarrassed when the sensation set off my cock, making it hard enough for she and Dee to comment about.

Dee lackadaisically masturbated me as I filled with fluid. I began moaning from the pleasure of Dee’s hand mixed with the pleasure / pain / discomfort of the enema. Marla squeezed the bag to flood me with the last of the liquid.

"Hold tight," she said, while slowly pulling the nozzle free. I clenched as tight as I could, trying to hold the liquid inside of myself.

After she put the equipment down, Marla moved to the head of the table. She put her hands on my cheeks, lightly caressing me as she looked down into my eyes. She could see my panic and excitement. "You’ll feel the pressure build, almost as if the water never ceased. When it gets to be too much for you to handle, you need to ask for release. When that time comes, I may or may not allow you to use the restroom by the entrance. Do you understand?"

I nodded my head as much as I could, my voice struggling to get out of my throat. She smiled and patted my cheek before walking out of my field of vision.

Despite Dee’s hand on my cock, I felt utterly isolated, staring up at the ceiling and thinking only of the rumbling in my gut. I was torn between the pleasure of manipulation and the discomfort building inside. Finally, I had to plead for release.

I was granted the privilege of using the loft’s restroom. I was mortified by the sounds that must have been coming out of that room but managed to get over it with the sheer relief of evacuating.

When I sheepishly returned, Marla had me get back on the table. This time she strapped me down; one across the chest, one at the waist, and one at the neck. My legs were free only momentarily before they were pushed back and Dee wrapped a strap around each ankle that were then put behind my thighs, effectively keeping my knees bent. She smiled at me after she did this, the first time I had seen her truly smile all evening.

Dee then removed her underwear, revealing a steadily hardening circumcised penis. She continued to smile at me and I jumped as I felt the cool wetness of lubrication being applied to my now-exposed opening by Marla’s sure hand.

Dee moved closer to me and ran her stiffening cock across my lips, pushing insistently against them until I opened my mouth and allowed her access the the warm wetness. I felt the smoothness of her hot flesh against my tongue as she grew inside of me. She took the back of my head in her hands and began pulling me, still restrained against the bonds, back and forth along her shaft as she effectively fucked my mouth.

Why this particular act of debauchery affected me so, I’m unsure. Being taken by Dee in this manner sent me reeling, especially to be used like this in front of Marla. I felt as if the rest of the night’s events could have been "laughed off" as an amusing bit of play but having my mouth violated like this took things to a different level…

Let’s not kid anyone, I loved the feel of Dee’s cock in my mouth, and hearing her breathe through her clenched teeth as I grew to suck her with as much vigor as my bonds allowed. Meanwhile, Marla teased and played with my asshole, opening it with her fingers until a signal passed between she and Dee at which time, Dee removed her cock from my mouth and made her way to the end of the table which was at the right height for her to enter my waiting rosebud.

As she pushed her cock towards my waiting hole, Marla climbed up onto the table and rested her pantied pudendum on my mouth and nose, allowing me to smell the heady aroma of her excitement. This helped ease the discomfort I felt as Dee entered my behind, her hands grabbing onto my legs and pulling me onto her. Around the sides of Marla’s thighs, I heard Dee grunt as she went deep inside of me sending a shudder of pain mixed with pleasure through my entire body. Someone, I’m not sure who, held on tight to my cock.

Marla pushed herself harder against my face until she reached a point where I knew my nose must have been against the clitoris under her panties. She pressed harder, then lighter, then harder again, fucking herself against my proboscis as her friend fucked my ass.

Dee began to get more intense, her thrusts harder and deeper, while Marla continued to bump her love button against my nose faster. The hand on my cock gripped tighter. I couldn’t take it anymore and, despite trying to ask permission against the gusset of Marla’s pants, I erupted. The hand on my cock squeezed and milked me through orgasm and soon my ears were filled with the muffle stutter cry of Marla as she reached her own climax on top of me. Dee followed suit just a second thereafter, her cock twitching and jerking inside of me.

The ladies slowly got off and out of me. I lay there, dazed, while Marla fetched a warm washcloth for me to clean up with. Play time over, she walked me downstairs and gave me directions back to my car. I was both turned around and boggled by the events of the previous two hours.


The following Monday at work, Marla didn’t say anything or act any differently towards me. We continued our pleasant working relationship from then on, but every Friday night (until the company relocated her) we would meet at Grasshopper and adjourn back to her loft for more extracurricular activity.


As you should know by now, me and Porno Person are thick as thieves.  At least on occasion and let me tell you, what an occasion it is!  I like Porno person bunches and for a lot of reasons, one of which is that he can weave a mighty dirty story, and I like that it a person.  I like it a lot.  So sue me.  (or call me)

As I’ve noted before, I’m never sure which of his stories are "fantasy" and which are the real deal, because he is a practicing and mighty real-life-kinkster.  But I’m pretty sure this one actually happened.  So to my readers and callers who can only dream?  Eat your heart out.  *wink*

xo, Angela 

Lacy Lingerie and Panties

Friday, March 28th, 2008


If the above picture doesn’t give you a lingerie fetish, nothing will.  Thanks to Mr. B. (my own little panty-fetishist) who sent this to me.  Unfortunately, he’d had it on his hard drive for a while now and cannot remember where he found it.

xo, Angela

Cross Dresser on a Leash

Tuesday, March 25th, 2008

Alex – Alexia

by Richard of DownOnMyKnees

At 5′8″ and 125 lbs. he’d never be called manly. Very very pale rather blank blue eyes and a weak chin made him look like the kind of guy who’d been picked on as a kid. Which he was. Treated nastily by his father as well.

Which is probably why he needed what I was able to give him. Anyone who meets me sees someone invincibly self-assured. I sometimes tell people that I could sell my surplus self-esteem but foreign dictators. It is a bit of a front but sometimes advertising is everything. I could also give him unconditional affection and complete fidelity. While I think of monogamy as pretty silly I’ve always been so. And I could give him the experiences you, gentle reader, will get a sample of as this narrative continues.

Alex gave me the most cursory brush against my lips and headed straight for the bathroom. Right now his mind was focused on remaking himself. Anybody who meets him can tell he’s a “nancy boy,” “jane girl,” that is, a femme gay male. What you can’t tell on sight is that he’s a transvestite. Dressing as a woman is his supreme pleasure in life. Probably more than I am, I’m not stupid enough to ask.

I grabbed a kitchen chair and parked myself outside the bathroom where I could watch. This was ‘his’ bathroom. It was my house but we did not live together. I had a second, smaller bathroom downstairs leaving this one a place he could keep a bewildering array of makeup pencils, creams, brushes and ointments.

He was nude except for hosiery and heels that he’d stepped into as soon as he could discard his office clothes. It slowed him down but he knew how much I enjoyed watching how the heels made his ass checks move while he was working on his face.

I can’t give you an intelligible description of what he did to his face. To me it just looked like he put stuff on, then wiped it off. Drew invisibly on his face with some sort of pencil. Even though his art only baffled me it was always very sexy to watch him work.

It took him about twenty minutes. When he was done his eyes had somehow become bright, beautiful and very womanly. His chin mysteriously looked much stronger. And in my mind was becoming a girl. A girl named Alexis.

Putting on a simple short black skirt and top took moments. She did struggle briefly to get his wig on. The hair wasn’t very long and was thick, black and straight. It had cost her more than I cared to think.

Finished she turned around for my approval. I always felt a glow of pride that my pretty guy was also a handsome woman. Since we were going out I could look but not touch.

Ready to leave he slung a handbag over her shoulder. Casual is very polite description of how I dress so I’m always ready. We got in her car for the very good reason that I don’t know how to drive (a long story of no interest here). I always call her my ‘chaufferette’ when we drive anywhere.

The restaurant was middling. I don’t care much about eating out. But Alexis does and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the time to make her happy. Besides we weren’t really here to eat.

After we were seated out waiter asked the inevitable would we like anything to drink.
I ordered a scotch and soda. Alexis said she wanted a glass of wine. This was my cue.
“You silly bitch, I told you that I wouldn’t allow you any alcohol. How dare you defy me.”
She crimsoned instantly. “I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry.” Turning to the waiter, “I’ll have a coke.”
“The bitch will have a diet coke.” She softly whimpered agreement.
The waiter who’d been focusing on an empty point in the middle of the air quickly withdrew.

Alexis’s expression was unreadable: maybe kind of drunken, or something animal. Doubtlessly really humiliated the humiliation satisfied a deep hunger.

In a way the meal was already over before we’d eaten anything. We agreed we couldn’t take this too far. Someone might try to rescue the ‘little lady.’

So we quickly ate a bit of the food and left. The waiter was rewarded with a very generous tip.

Still flush with excitement from scene in the restaurant the kiss she gave me before we got in the car assured me I’d have a hot and passionate slut when we got home.

[ ]

The next afternoon Alexis and I were each in our own chair reading.

Her hair was of a cut that looked good on men or women and she didn’t have a wig on. At my request she was wearing her PVC thigh boots, hot pants and a tank top. She looked like a new wave hooker on her day off. I’d asked her to dress that way. She thought I just wanted her looking slutty. That was true enough but I had a special surprise for her.

“Make me a pot of coffee, sweet one.” She readily obliged feeling that minor domestic tasks made her more feminine.
She brought a cup in and sat it down beside me.
I raised my head and gave her what I hoped was a poisonously cold look. “What the fuck is this?”
“C-coffee.” I’d caught her off guard. She couldn’t imagine anything could be wrong.
“You are such a stupid slut. I told you to bring me a coke.”
“But- “

“Are you arguing with me, bitch-boy?” Mixing gender in my insults is always a warning she understands. There’s the hidden threat that I can wipe off the make up and take off the women’s clothing. That I can force Alexis to be Alex.

“No, no, please don’t be mad.” Absolutely meek and by now realizing something was about to happen.

“Get down on your hands and knees in front of me. Now, bitch.” It had actually taken a lot of effort at first for me to call her nasty names but that only excited her alot. “And keep your mouth shut.”

“You know where your collar is, bring it over. In your mouth.”
The collar was near so that was quickly done. I put it on and locked it.
“I should never let you take this off. You need it to remind you of who and what you are. Climb over my lap.”
She did. She felt very good there. So frail, completely mine.
“I think you deserve about fifty licks for your impudence. What do you think you deserve?”
She had started to drift towards subspace. “Whatever my Master demands, Sir.”
“You said that too easily. I think you are getting to used to your spankings. Get off my lap, I have a special treat for you.”
“Crawl over and bring me your leash.”

I think she was a little worried that I was going to spank her with it. We set hand spanking as a limit. I’d sometimes threaten to use the leash as a belt. If she’d been able to think clearly she’d know that I’d never violate our contract.

“Come on, we’re going walk downstairs. You know the way, stay on your hands and knees and go ahead of me.”
Crawling down stairs looked very awkward but she made it without mishap.
“Now we’re going out the back door, stay down and crawl out.”
She looked up at me wide-eyed. Outside the house, like this, would I really make her.
“I didn’t give you permission to look at me pussy-boy. Do you want worse than you are about to get.”
Too cowed to ask or say anything she just put her head back down and crawled out the door as I held it open.

When we were out on the grass I stopped and gave her leash a gentle tug, her signal to sit up on her knees and look me in the face.

“You’ve started to forget that you are mine to do with as I want. You are my pet. To remind you I’m going to take you on a walk around the edge of the yard. We are going to walk along all four sides of the yard. If you are lucky nobody will she you. If you aren’t …” I just shrugged.

The chances were vanishingly small that either of the people living at the side or rear would come out and se anything. There were trees and bushes long two of the fences blocking off lots of view. But in the small residual chance that they might lay the thrill.

Alexis was appalled. “Please, please … ” was all she said and it was pathetic.

I was heartless. “I could just lock you up here on the back porch for the evening. You are going to do exactly what I tell you and do it now. Make me wait and I’ll make it worse.”

I pulled on the leash and she followed.
“Walk in front of me. Don’t go too fast or I’ll make you crawl this route twice.”
She went at a moderate pace and I enjoyed watching her buns move back and forth as she crawled.

It seemed to take much longer than it could’ve as we went along one fence, another, yet another and eventually were back at the back door.

I opened the door and led her inside.
I removed the leash and pulled her up. She was limp so I picked her up in my arms and carried her upstairs.

Sitting in a chair I held her in my lap. She murmured something, I hadn’t any idea what but it was probably thanks. She was still recovering from the huge mental orgasm that only a satisfied sub feels and understands.

I knew she’d be incredibly loving for the rest of the day


Our beloved Submissive Savant recently featured this story at his site, BDSM Romance, which includes a sweet graphic (Men In Lace:  TV HOSTAGE — A Crossdressing Novel for Adults Only) that you simply must go see for yourself.  (I think the price on that book is $5.95?  I imagine Richard would say, "Ah Angela, those were the days," because you certainly couldn’t buy it for that price today.)

And to newbie and well-seasoned BDSMers:  Richard is THE MAN when it comes to kink.  He’s been around the block (sometimes sans leash, sometimes not) and shares generously via a variety of FREE websites.  An incomplete list: 

So I hope you enjoyed the story.  Make sure to leave a comment and let us know.  I’m a bit sidetracked with Spring Cleaning; it’s a dirty job but …  But I am around and somewhat available for calls.  Maybe I can dress you up pretty just like Alexia and leash train you? 

xo, Angela

A Happy Kinky Easter

Sunday, March 23rd, 2008


with much affection, Angela

Life’s a Bitch

Thursday, March 20th, 2008

This little fellow is from Africa and is known as the Naked Mole-Rat.   So if you’re having a bad day and feeling sorry for yourself, remember this:  You might think you’ve got it pretty rough.   But how would you like to go through life looking like a penis with buck teeth?   

Thanks to my sister Bethany and her business associates who circulate these lovely emails, which sis is so very kind (and maybe even deliriously eager) to forward to me.


And also via email, this from a very married guy friend of mine:


Dear Tech Support,

Last year I upgraded from Boyfriend 5.0 to Husband 1.0 and noticed a distinct slow down in overall system performance, particularly in the flower and jewelry applications, which operated flawlessly under Boyfriend 5.0.

In addition, Husband 1.0 uninstalled many other valuable programs, such as Romance 9.5 and Personal Attention 6.5 and then installed undesirable programs such as NBA 5.0, NFL 3.0 and Golf Clubs 4.1.

Conversation 8.0 no longer runs, and Housecleaning 2.6 simply crashes the system. I’ve tried running Nagging 5.3 to fix these problems, but to no avail. What can I do?


Dear Desperate,

First keep in mind, Boyfriend 5.0 is an entertainment package, while Husband 1.0 is an operating system.

Please enter command: ithoughtyoulovedme.html and try to download Tears 6.2 and don’t forget to install the Guilt 3.0 update. If that application works as designed, Husband 1.0 should then automatically run the applications Jewelry 2.0 and Flowers 3.5.

But remember, overuse of the above application can cause Husband 1.0 to default to Grumpy Silence 2.5, Happy Hour 7.0 or Beer 6.1. Please note that Beer 6.1 is a very bad program that will download the Snoring Loudly Beta.

Whatever you do,*DO NOT* install Mother-In-Law 1.0 (it runs a virus in the background that will eventually seize control of all your system resources.)

Also do not attempt to reinstall Boyfriend 5.0 program. These are unsupported applications and will crash Husband 1.0.

In summary, Husband 1.0 is a great program, but it does have limited memory and cannot learn new applications quickly. You might consider buying additional software to improve memory and performance. We recommend Cooking 3.0 and Hot Lingerie 7.7.

Good Luck,
Tech Support

xo, Angela