 | On your knees NOW, boy!Monday, June 7th, 2010 |
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photo credit: Tales from Tanya
Archive for the 'Fun with Fetish' Category
| FAN — m a l eTuesday, May 18th, 2010 |
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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
| Exclusive Erotic QuickieSaturday, February 20th, 2010 |
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Co-Education
by Jeremy Edwards
The supplementary co-ed bathroom at the far end of Janice’s dorm floor was the next best thing to a private hotel room. Phil loved slipping in there with Janice for late-night sex in the stall nearest the door–the stall that featured a bathtub instead of a toilet. They’d yet to be disturbed here.
"Mmm, your fingers feel so good," Janice said at 1 a.m. on a Thursday night, as Phil teased the slick lips of her pussy with his warm, soapy digits.
Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open. And through the gap between the stall door’s hinges, Phil and Janice were able to see who had entered, catching a fleeting glimpse of her as she walked by: chestnut hair, a yummy midriff, and tight, round jeans.
"Oh, wow," said Phil in his lover’s ear. "It’s that hot chick from our French lit class." He and Janice had talked about her before. Janice liked hearing Phil talk about the women he found attractive.
As he spoke, they heard a stall door slam. Feet appeared in the cubicle next to them.
"Whoa–her jeans are down," Phil whispered. A moment later, as a pretty splashing noise reverberated off the tile walls, he continued: "Oh my god, she’s peeing."
"Duh, Phil," hissed Janice, her voice evidently holding back laughter.
"What did you think went on in here?"
"I know, I know . . . but, wow, without any pomp or circumstance . . ."
"You thought girls made a speech first?"
The lovely tinkling sound continued.
"It just seems too good to be true. That women come in here and they actually pull their pants down and piss, just like that. They really do it." Somehow a part of him had expected the world around him to fade to black rather than really showing him this.
"Phil, you goofball–it’s what she came in here to do."
"Oh, fuck, yeah. I know, I know," he repeated blissfully.
The peeing music finally abated, and the woman in the next stall sighed sexily. Then she giggled. "It sounds from the whispers like there are two of you in that tub," she called out. "I hope I didn’t disturb you."
"Not at all," groaned Phil, as Janice pulled firmly on his hard, hard cock.
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If you’re a regular reader, you will remember my dear writer-friend Jeremy Edwards AKA Jerotic. It’s been a while, but if you liked this charming bit of erotica … well, plug Jerotic or Jeremy Edwards into the search box and you’ll find him here and there along with THIS STORY. Because I’ve been a fan since day one … and you should be too. Sweetness and naughtingess and sexiness and kink and playfulness and seduction and — me oh my — how does somebody get it so right? Every single time?
Like any self-respecting smut-provocateur Jeremy gets around, gleefully spreading the very good news that "it’s good to be bad." I don’t have to tell you that this is a philosophy I wholeheartedly embrace, now do I? And, apparently, so do lotsa goodly and smartly erotica writers and fans, ‘cuz their all jumping for joy wherever and whenever Jerotic shows up. Just read what they have to say, why dontcha?
Best news of all? Our dear and most appreciated Jerotic has published his first erotic novel, ROCK MY SOCKS OFF. You can read more about this book and purchase it HERE. Go ahead, click that link; don’t be shy.
For up-to-the-minute news (announcements, links, & trivia re. All Things Jerotic), visit and bookmark From Socks To Fedora. And stay tuned to this blog, because I intend to sweet-talk my most-cherished Jeremy out of many more hot stories for this blog.
xo, Angela
| WMD (Yours)Sunday, January 31st, 2010 |
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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!
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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
