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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 May, 2010

Yes, Mistress. Oh yes, Mistress

Sunday, May 30th, 2010

The Mistress Poem

Chi Chi Valenti

What is your interest in female domination?
A leather-clad goddess whom I might worship and serve, ma’am.
Full leather is available, if certain terms are understood in advance
Yes mistress
You are not permitted to touch the mistress above the knee
Yes, mistress
The bare foot may or may not be offered
Yes mistress
The mistress does not disrobe at any time in the session
Of course, mistress
The mistress will never touch you there
Of course not, mistress
A tribute must be offered from a suitable kneeling position
Yes mistress
You will surrender all individual will from the time the session begins
Oh yes mistress
You will be branded irrevocably with her will and possibly marked for life
Yes mistress
You will spend hours and weekends desparate in Jersey shopping malls, dreaming of her graceful booted foot while you try to ignore your wife’s pastel sneakers
You honor me, mistress
You will search for her in Meat Market sex clubs, taunted by her cruel sorority sisters
Yes, mistress
You will appear early for your appointment and she will make you wait in her dressing room, listening to unspeakable cries and jealous of the slave "Can he take more than I?"
Oh, thank you mistress
You will phone her for reassurance, starved for her voice and she will be colder than January on East 23rd Street
Oh, yes, mistress
You will phone her again, desparate and broken, trembling long-distance and she won’t even take your call
Oh, yes mistress
Then you’ll phone someone else, somewhere else, and even show up but you’ll leave in ten minutes after paying for the hour cause the boots weren’t right and the room wasn’t right and her junkie perfume just wasn’t in there, not that night, anyway
Oh, yes, mistress
Then back in her good graces you’ll rob your own children to take her shopping at Joseph’s and Manic Panic
Oh yes mistress
And she’ll make you buy an expensive gift for your wife, fifty dollar Chanel soaps, three of them, as you gulp imagining presenting such extravagance to the Missus
Oh thank you, mistress
Then every time you see a Chanel ad you’ll begin to tremble again, a slave’s palsy, remembering her cruel laughter and how the sissy counter clerk seemed to be laughing with her too
Oh yes, mistress
Your mind so far gone at this point that you imagine him her houseboy and wonder if she’d like you more in drag
Do you think she would, mistress?
Your mind so far gone at this point that you fantasize cutting off your dick and having lesbian sex with her
If that is her wish, mistress
Your mind so far gone at this point that you who used to vomit at two queers holding hands are now getting buggered quite regularly
Oh yes, mistress
Your mind once so sure of priorities and deep, personal politics, now scheming only for money to see her more often
Your mind that once spoke fluent French and remembered stock prices
Your mind that breathlessly pushes the eighth floor button
Your mind that once longed to free Nelson Mandella
Now running to the slave boat, as eager for the leg-irons as for the mulatto mistress who wields them
Your mind that she has exquisitely altered
Your mind a ruined city, the streets overrun with wolves and she it’s mad emperor
Your mind that’s her chattel now
Enslaved at last, enslaved at last
Thank god almighty
Enslaved at last


A bio of Ms Valenti can be found HERE.

pssst.  secret code:  2TQJQCFB6MHR

Simply Beastly

Wednesday, May 26th, 2010


Sage Advice …

Sunday, May 23rd, 2010

 Eat bacon and touch your penis!

Thanks to eloquent phone sex client and sometime life-coach, Mr. A., who says he heard this on an episode of Penn and Teller: Bullshit

xo, Angela

Integrity is Sexy

Friday, May 21st, 2010


FAN — m a l e

Tuesday, May 18th, 2010


Dearest Miss Angela:

I saw you online today in the early afternoon hours and by the time I grabbed my credit card and other necessary accoutrements, you were busy and then after an hour or some, away.

I kept checking the whole afternoon and into the later hours to no avail.  Craving a connection with you (however fleeting — I was desperate for you, beloved Mistress) I started reading your entries and stories and clicking on the links on your pages, and I ended up in  Secrets in Lace

How did I — pervert, pornography lover, pleasure addict — not know of this site?  I couldn’t help myself, and began to masturbate so furiously and insanely that I came all over my pants and onto the floor.  Even this did not sate my desire for you, but still you were not availabe.  And so I ripped off my pants.  And even being  on the wrong side of 40, I immediately started masturbating again, groaning with absolutely no control over my senses. I came again, raw and wet and sticky, panting, covered in sweat, my arm cramped, my cock shriveled up, blue and pink happy.  And the first thing I thought was: I wish I could speak with Angela; I wish I could go again.

Secrets in Lace is the most amazing site ever, and I would never have found it if not for you.  I think I’m going to buy their stuff just so that I can touch it. For a lingerie and vintage fetishist like me, this is where and when every nerve ending in my body and every sense is enveloped in a feeling of completeness, of perfection, of pure joy. All senses overwhelmed, dazzled by the shine of pantyhose, the tight and soft texture of garter belts, the sound of my fingers sliding on a camisole, the taste of a nipple getting harder and darker behind a demi-cup bra, the smell of a woman’s flower getting wetter and opening itself for me under an open-bottom girdle.  Even now, thinking about these things, I find myself once again aroused.

I am begging you to find time for me tomorrow because I do need you so very much.  The reason?  I want to take one of the fantasies you’ve been gently urging me to explore a step further.  I don’t know where it will take me, and I don’t know if I have the courage to go there.   Only with your guidance and reassurance do I dare breach that door.  Strange – every woman I’ve ever had sex with has told me at one time or another that I’m the most uninhibited guy they ever met.  Would they appreciate the irony of my needing you to force my boundaries?

I’ve often told you that even I am amazed that I’ve shared so much with you.  I’ve expressed desires and hungers with you that I’ve never shared with with any woman, be she someone I have a real-time sexual relationship with or a Phone Sex Operator/Fantasy Girl.  The truth is that any other phone-fantasy girl pales and wilts in comparison to you.  Yet I have been frozen for weeks in this place, facing the door I dare not open.

But here I am and I understand that I will have to make a major leap of faith in myself, and go forward just trusting you.  I want to open that door, and see what that room is like.  There is absolutely no one whose instincts I trust as much as I trust yours. Although my heart is palpitating with fear, I know that with both your decisive skill and superior intellect I will be in the best of hands.  And so I am reaching out to you, waiting for you to take my hand.  Waiting for you to let loose your transcendent imagination and walk me into that room.  That room that holds both my desires and fears.  Desires you’ve patiently nurtured until now they loom across my sexual psyche and can no longer be ignored. 

Desires you’ve created in a room you’ve created for this man you’ve created.  And I adore you for it.

Telling you that you are the finest and the best is just proof of the limitations of language. There aren’t words for you.  Perfect? Not enough. Deliciously and wickedly delightful?  Not even close.  A spinning Dervish of sexual imagination and willingness to explore?  Close, but still not quite there.

You are YOU.  There is no other.

Thank you, Mr. N