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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 the 'male submission' Category

How to Milk His Prostate

Friday, August 12th, 2016

One Kick-Ass Queen

Friday, July 29th, 2016

Elizabeth 1

femdom queen

Elizabeth and Her Men

Elizabeth was the first (and indeed last) single woman ever to sit on the throne of England and her arrival sparked a sexual revolution in the way that the court of England was run.

For the first time in English history a monarch had to rule by the power of personal charisma alone. Elizabeth was not a King by right of battle like her grandfather Henry VII, nor was she the chosen leader of a powerful faction. She inherited by default, and she had to keep her position by power of personality alone.

But this was almost impossible for a woman. All of the previous courtly rituals and circles of power and influence had depended on a male King with male favourites, who formed the intimate circle around him as courtiers and councilors, pimps, boozing companions and sometimes lovers. With a female monarch on the throne none of these roles could work. The councillors could not be her dining companions, her bedfellows, her jousting partners, her gambling friends, her buddies for a night on the town. Everything had to be different. It would still be a man’s world; but it would be headed by a woman.

To make this work Elizabeth would have to dominate the finest men of England. She did this in two ways: firstly, she kept tight control of her council and recruited only the most skilled men to be her advisors. She might have playmates, but the serious business of ruling was done by the serious men. Sir William Cecil she made her secretary of State and later years would see her add the brains and skills of his son Robert, the Bacon brothers, Sir Francis Walsingham, and many others.

But for her personal court she chose for looks and glamour, not for wisdom, and so gathered around her a court of men who were a by-word for sex appeal and indiscretion. Women companions she kept to the absolute minimum.

Elizabeth demanded a bachelor court. She was violently jealous and angry if any of her ladies had an affair with one of Elizabeth’s handsome young courtiers. Sir Walter Raleigh’s wife was banished from court for marrying him, Sir Robert Dudley’s first wife never came to court at all, and his second was married in secret and then all-but banned from her husband’s company as Elizabeth kept the man she loved above all other away from his home.

Elizabeth Vernon had to spend a week in prison for marrying without the Queen’s permission and the Queen physically attacked Mary Shelton and broke her finger when she discovered the girl was secretly married. In a court of hundreds of men, Elizabeth employed only thirty ladies in waiting who were required to wear black or white so that she would glow in contrast.

Elizabeth was not in love with the many men that she kept on their toes, circling around the star that she claimed to be. It was a combination of political skill, patronage, the tradition of courtly love, repressed sexuality and the towering vanity that was typical of the Tudors.

The so-called Virgin Queen would always have been a hyper-active flirt. Deprived of a mother’s care in babyhood, denied by her father, and emotionally neglected, Elizabeth grew up to be a woman who could never get enough attention. She earned the admiration of her court by her political skill, her brilliant mind, and her beauty. But when these faded she still insisted on being treated as the radiant scholar who first came to the throne.

Her court was feverishly flirtatious partly because that was how Elizabeth kept everyone interested in the court circle, and because she herself was feverishly energetic. Only those who could keep up with the pace were welcome at court.

She was ruling at a time when the tradition of falling in love with the monarch was still alive. Even if she had not delighted in the tradition of courtly love, the court would still have kept the pantomime of worship, as did every court in Europe. It was a sort of star-struck celebrity worship that had become a tradition. Elizabeth made it central to the reputation of her court, incorporating the rituals of courtly love into public pageants and masques and using it to enhance her own status as a half-holy being.

In her first years on the throne she was nearly overthrown by conspirators who were appalled at the risk of her marrying her lover Robert Dudley. After that narrow escape I think she never took a lover again, contenting herself with the passionate declarations of handsome young men, rich gifts from them (she was tremendously acquisitive) and a culture which rose to great heights of literacy and art in praise of her beauty. Her vanity and her powerfully repressed desire combined to create a hot-house of attention for her.

But Elizabeth was also an astute political ruler. She knew that she had to find some way of keeping the adventurous and daring young men of England interested in her reign and attached to her court. By creating a merry-go-round of favouritism and pique, in which one man’s wealth and opportunities would rise and another man’s fall according to how well they had charmed the Queen, she kept them continually striving for her attention.

Instead of creating great houses in the country and setting up power bases away from the court (as the French did) or becoming involved in foreign adventures, Elizabeth kept them tied to herself and dancing attendance at court. The great Elizabethan houses that they built were constructed to please the Queen, to house her on her annual tours of the country. Staggeringly expensive, Elizabeth’s demands for entertainment and hospitality took her hosts to the brink of bankruptcy and maintained their dependence on her as the only source of power and wealth.

Competition among her favourites was fierce. But because Elizabeth dealt with them as individual lovers, favouring and spurning them according to her declared whim (and to hidden political necessity) they could not safely ally with each other: they were always rivals. With exquisite female guile Elizabeth divided and ruled them while appearing to be nothing more than a weathercock to the changeable weather of her emotions. Clearly, they could not trust her, or rely on her favour; and they certainly could not trust each other. By appearing to be at the mercy of her emotions Elizabeth actually kept her courtiers divided and competing with each other, all at the mercy of her political plans.

Only a few men ever managed to breach this clever mixture of vanity and realpolitik. The first man to be linked with her was Lord Thomas Seymour, the husband of her stepmother who had been Henry’s last Queen: Katherine Parr. Seymour romped with the young Princess under the nose of his wife, perhaps he even sexually abused her. When he was accused of plotting for the throne she denied having an affair with him; but he gave her a liking for the rest of her life for dark-haired dangerous rogues.

Robert Dudley, her childhood sweetheart and perhaps her lover, turned her head so powerfully with his passion and his good looks, that she put her throne and herself in jeopardy for him, in the first years of her reign. Only when it became apparent even to a young woman passionately in love, that the affair would cause a rebellion, did she step back, and it was then that she swore she would marry no-one.

Of course, no-one believed her. Nobody thought that a woman had the courage, ability or mental toughness to rule a Kingdom all on her own, everyone was certain that Elizabeth – whatever her declarations to the contrary – would marry, when the right offer was made. But who would make the offer which would tempt a woman who needed support but would not sacrifice her independence, a woman who wanted to be loved as a woman but must be acknowledged as a Queen?

An English millionaire spent his fortune entertaining her, Erik of Sweden came with his badge of a heart stabbed with a diamond arrow, Philip of Spain her brother in law, the Hapsburg Archduke Charles, a claimant to the throne of Scotland, the child-King Charles IX of France, and the Duke of Anjou were all proposed and seriously considered as husbands.

All the while the young continued to dance attendance on her: Robert Dudley, Thomas Heneage, the Earl of Ormonde, Christopher Hatton, John Harrington, and Walter Raleigh, were all hard-working admirers who serviced Elizabeth’s need for male attention. Her last great love was the stepson of her first. Robert Devereux was introduced to court by Robert Dudley and proved to be the Queen’s most ill-judged flirt, leading a rebellion against her and ending his life on the executioner’s block. He was, perhaps, the only young man whose ambition she failed to convert to serve her own glory.

All the rest she managed to dominate. Indeed, any handsome man who could scrounge up a wardrobe sufficiently elegant to be admitted to court might catch her eye, and be on the way to a profitable place at court. The spin of admiration which surrounded her inspired artists, musicians, poets and dramatists: Edmund Spenser, Ben Johnson and William Shakespeare wrote to extol the beauty and charm of their patron the Queen.

What Elizabeth thought of this life that she had created for herself we can only guess from the record of her life. Clearly she had tremendous physical energy for dancing, hunting, walking and amusements. No doubt she also required also a continual buzz of sexual propositions. After all, she was the daughter of one of the most alluring women in English history – Anne Boleyn who managed by carefully judged sex appeal to keep the most powerful man in England jumping like a cat on a hot tin roof for six long years.

Equally, Elizabeth’s father was a man given to passionate first impressions and rapid desires. Elizabeth was a born flirt, she ran a flirtatious court because she enjoyed the chase. But there is no doubt that she used her allure and the cult of her charm as a method to rule. Since she could not be a King she had to find a way to make her rule as powerful and as potentially tyrannical as her father’s.

By employing young men in a state of feverish uncertainty she gained their energy without risking their power competing with her own. By taking them as putative lovers she broke any alliances they might have made, and by making the professional relationship of courtiers and monarch so passionately personal she kept them in a state of permanent insecurity in which every day they had to be on their very best behaviour. It was a triumph of her management skills that one woman, with little structural power, could dominate hundreds of men by sheer force of will.

Would it work for a modern woman? Perhaps, if modern men could be induced to flutter around a flame; but sadly for all those modern Virgin Queens out there: sexual harassment in the work place is mostly illegal, appointments on the basis of whim is regarded as unfair, and the private gifting of public funds is now considered to be corrupt. Elizabeth made flirtation a matter of public policy because she had to find a way to be a dominant woman in what had been a purely man’s world. Unlike her, no modern woman will ever face such intractable obstacles to progress, nor such susceptibility to her sex appeal.

(source: http://www.philippagregory.com/news/news/50)

why you need Her

Thursday, June 16th, 2016

goddess poetry






by John Austin

her gaze is so constant,
our every move
with such affection,
a ceaseless vigil
without condition
or agenda,
unrelenting in her

There is endless room in
the heart of this lover,
infinite space for whatever
foolishness we may
toss her way.

But she is also
crafty, this one-
a thieft who will steal away
everything we ever cherished,
all our beliefs,
all our ideas,
all our philosophies,
until nothing is left
but her shimmering
this simple love
for what is.


This poem was sent to me and I cannot seem to track down the poet. I think the poem speaks to what happens to a man when a woman truly mesmerizes and enchants him: he is transformed, cleansed, reborn. I’m not sure this is what the Mr. Austin was trying to say, but such is the nature of art, that whatever the artist’s intent, we experience it through our own prism.

And yes, “thieft” is a word. Who knew?

xo, Angela


Fantasy vs. Reality

Friday, June 10th, 2016

Burn Fetish Story

Thursday, November 8th, 2007

The Intern

The knock interrupted Angela’s reading, and she looked up from the file folder. Jeannie stood in the doorway.  I’ve put him in number two.  Amanda is making the final preparations.

Angela rolled her eyes.  “Amanda–again?”

Jeannie laughed.  Give her some time, Ms. St. Lawrence. It takes some time.”

“It didn’t take you much time, Jeannie,” Angela smiled, “and knock off that Ms. St. Lawrence crap.”

“Yes ma’am,”  Jeannie teased.

Angela closed the file and moved it to the corner of her desk.  “But you’re good at whatever you do,  Jeannie.  It didn’t take you any time to become the best AA in this building either. But I miss you in the chamber.”

“Thank you, Angie,” Jeannie smiled, accepting the compliment. Her promotion to Angela’s administrative assistant had brought more money, but it was also a job that she enjoyed very much.  Now she assisted with the details of so many different aspects of the correction and punishment of so many prisoners, and it was something she felt she had a great aptitude for.

“Amanda’s just a kid. She has potential. And she wants this job.”

“What she wants is inconsequential, Jeannie,” Angela scowled.  “Tell her to be ready for me in ten minutes.”

Jeannie closed the door and crossed the hallway to her office. One thing that was for sure–what mattered in this department was what Angela St. Lawrence wanted. That’s what made her so good at her job. Something the unfortunate gentleman she had just escorted to holding cell two was about to find out.

She picked up the phone and dialed Amanda’s extension.


Ten minutes. A good thing she had noticed that a new prisoner had arrived, and had already stoked the fires. Now all she needed to do was get the prisoner in place.

Amanda walked to the forge that was built into the chamber’s far wall. A brick shelf extended from this wall at a height of about 36 inches.  The center of the shelf formed a basin, in which a mound of coals glowed brightly. She had added a fresh layer of charcoal, and had pumped the bellows of the forge until these new coals were now almost a homogeneous scarlet with the rest.

There were three small tools that Ms. St. Lawrence seemed to favor, so she made sure that these were embedded in the coals. Next, she turned to inspect the brazier. The forge was at the foot of the large wooden table that occupied the center of the room. Instead of a perfect rectangle, a large V notch had been cut out of one end. This was the end where prisoners’ legs were spread, allowing the Facilitator easy access to the genitalia.

Just to the right of the head of the table was a large brazier. To this, Amanda had added several pieces of split-oak firewood. Removing a poker from the flames, she pushed at these burning pieces, breaking them up and forcing them deeper into the existing embers. The poker was then jammed back into the fire, next to other handles of other tools, the business ends buried deep in their fiery container.

“She has to be happy with that,” Amanda thought, watching the newly stirred embers flame. This was only the third time that Amanda had assisted Ms. St. Lawrence. The last two times hadn’t gone well. In fact–the first time–Ms. St. Lawrence had sent her out of the chamber.


She had been through one year of Pyro-Correctional vocational study at the community college; and now almost six months of internship here, but this was the next level, and she was perhaps not as prepared as she could have been for what happened in these particular chambers.

But she knew that she could adjust, she could learn. She wanted to, so much. There was something that she could not really describe that had always appealed to her about working here.  And she had been an A student in her classroom training.

In the first three months of her internship she had been assigned to the Misdemeanor department, observing and assisting with light to moderate tortures. The last two months had been spent in Interrogations, but prisoners’ rights limited the seriousness of the torture that could be administered. Supposedly. She learned that there were ways around this. In institutions like this there always were. But in many of those cases she was asked to leave the room or sent on some trumped-up errand, while the interrogators did their work behind closed doors.

Now she was in the Corrections department, where there was no reason for secrecy. These prisoners had been duly tried, found guilty, and sentenced. This was where those sentences were carried out. And the Facilitators–women like Ms. St. Lawrence–carried them out in ways to which Amanda had never been exposed.

The first time she assisted, the time that Ms. St. Lawrence dismissed her, involved a prisoner that had been convicted of attempted rape. Ms. St. Lawrence had explained to her that according to the transcript, the rape had not been successful, but that men disposed to this behavior were likely to attempt it again. It could not be tolerated. She had asked Amanda to go to the forge and pump the bellows to make sure that the implement she intended for the prisoner was heated intensely.

So Amanda did as she was told, even though she could not see anything but the coals themselves, and pumped as she watched Ms. St. Lawrence pull the prisoner’s pants down to his ankle shackles. She smiled as he explained his innocence.  “I know, you’re all innocent,” Ms. St. Lawrence had answered, sounding sympathetic.  She’d then turned and opened a drawer in a small cabinet, and removed a ball gag.  “But I certainly don’t need to hear about it, now do I?”  After gagging the prisoner, Ms. St. Lawrence stood between his legs, and began to massage his penis.

Amanda was not surprised. She knew that an erection was usually a prerequisite to torture. “You like young women,” Ms. St. Lawrence said rhetorically, since he could not respond. “So I’m sure you’ll like Amanda.”

“Why don’t you play with his cock?” Ms. St. Lawrence had a calm determination in her voice, as she motioned for Amanda to join her at the table. “I understand that the young lady you accosted was just about Amanda’s age? The prisoner shook his head violently in protest as Amanda approached.  “So enjoy!”

Ms. St. Lawrence had moved out of the way, and Amanda, knowing from her training exactly what to do, began to caress his penis.

Raised a good Catholic, Amanda, now 19, had managed to remain a virgin. But she was an expert in hand jobs and blow jobs. In high school and college she had actually intimidated a few boyfriends, because she had so aggressively made them orgasm. It was like their cocks — and their semen– were hers to control. And when they came, it wasn’t them giving it; Amanda was taking it.

So manipulating him, like so many others, was easy. And Ms. St. Lawrence actually seemed to be impressed as Amanda quickly made him rock hard. By this time, Ms. St. Lawrence had moved to the forge and had begun stroking the handle of the bellows.

“Dicks get men into a lot of trouble, just like you’re in right now,” Ms. St. Lawrence explained, oblivious to his protest and panic. “Look at you. Wanting to stick that thing where it doesn’t belong.”

“Even though you were sentenced once before for trying to do the same thing to another woman,” Ms. St. Lawrence said as she picked up a pair of tongs and started to dig into the blazing coals, “you just haven’t learned.”

She found what she had been searching for in the coals and removed a gleaming red cylinder, clenched between the tongs.

“If you want to put that thing into some place it doesn’t belong, Mr. Man,” she smiled, “why don’t we put it in here?”

That was when Amanda made her mistake. “Oh my GOD!” She almost thought it had come from someone else. But she had said it. She stopped stroking his cock. She was mesmerized by the red-hot iron sleeve that Ms. St. Lawrence brought towards towards the cock in her hands. “Oh, Jesus.” Had that come from her again?

“If this is too much for you Amanda you can leave now,” Ms. St. Lawrence said, matter-of-factly. The glowing cylinder of iron was just above his erect penis. Amanda could feel his pulse in his cock, hear the protests despite the gag, actually smell the heat of the burning iron. She didn’t know if she was excited, or nauseated, or both.

“Leave the room, Amanda. I don’t think you are ready for this,” Ms. St. Lawrence commanded, “leave now!”

Amanda let go of his cock, and walked towards the door. Embarrassed and humiliated, she didn’t look back. She desperately want to stay for what would be next. Ms. St. Lawrence had made that perfectly clear. But she knew better than to ask. Instead, she went straight to the closest ladies room, locked the stall, and masturbated.


This time, Amanda knew she’d get it right. This time, maybe Ms. St. Lawrence would be so impressed with her professional execution of her duties that she would even allow her be the one to put the offender’s penis in that burning hot cylinder. Just as she heard the click click click of Ms. St. Lawrence’s heels coming down the hall, she felt a gush of wetness between her legs.

It was going to be tricky. But she just knew she could do it. She had to, because someday she was determined to be a Facilitator, just like Ms. St. Lawrence. They had all the fun.





**** NOTE: This story (STARRING ME!) was written for me (0nly for me, he said.) by a client. Having your penis burned is a rare fetish, so I though you might like a voyeur’s peek. Of course, the client shall remain anonymous.