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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  ...


An iPhone, an iHop and a Very Bad Boy

Saturday, May 9th, 2009

Dinner and a Show

by PornoPerson

If I had my druthers, I’d be eating somewhere other than iHop. Its vicinity to the hotel makes it the ideal place to nosh.

I wave down the waitress and get a warm up on my coffee. I’m on my third cup and have time for a fourth before I need to be getting back.

I refresh my iPhone to see what’s going on in my hotel room. The girl is still on the bed. She’s pulled her knees up towards her chin as much as she can. I can see that her breathing is labored. I sip my coffee and watch as she undergoes another orgasm, her body shuddering, her legs stretching back out, her mouth open in a soundless scream.

I silently count to ten, ticking off three lesser tremors… these aftershocks are smaller orgasms that continue to rock her. She’d been at four before as I’d finished up my meal. Once she gets down to two I’ll head back to the hotel to release her.

Forty minutes ago I left her alone in my hotel room. A half hour prior to that I was letting her in the door. During the interim I placed her collar around her neck. She stripped down and I bound her with a combination of plastic wrap and duct tape. Once secured, I introduced her to a rather nasty-looking knife. Ten inches long with a serrated blade. It looked like it could gut a bear, much less a petite twenty-seven year old brunette wrapped up like a sausage on a hotel room bed.

Behind her gag she began to plead, her eyes (not yet blindfolded) wide. I put the knife against her thigh, letting the cold steel warm against her before moving it directly between her legs. She screamed, muffled but still louder than I’d have liked.

With the flick of my wrist, the knife sliced, opening a slit in the plastic wrap just above her pussy. The cool air hit her hot skin, making her think that I had cut her. She narrowed her eyes as I brought up the blade, showing her the lack of blood.

I sheathed the blade and placed it back in my bag, coming back with a five inch long white tube. I slid this into her. It went in easily as she was already slick with excitement. Before it disappeared completely, I gave it a twist at the base, causing it to vibrate. The noise of it was soon muffled as I pushed it deep into her. Her eyes rolled to white.

With one final strip of duct tape, I sealed the vibrator inside of her, taping up the slit between her legs.

I placed a blindfold over her eyes. It had two flaps that covered her ears as well. Though not as effective as the leather hood I often used upon her, it did a terrific job of blocking out all light and sound, encasing her in a dark silence.

The first few times we played together I would stay in the room while she was like this. I’d watch her go through the flood of orgasms that wracked her little body. I had to build a level of trust with her that she wasn’t going to injure herself by accident (or on purpose) while cocooned and cumming.

Eventually, I opened and closed the hotel door. Thinking I was gone, her orgasms came harder and faster until she felt my presence in the room.

The first time I set up a webcam and watched her from the lobby of the hotel, I almost thought that she was having some kind of an attack. Her body jumped as if had undergone electroshock therapy. She was a fish on a hook.

Sitting in the lobby for an hour got to be a chore. I ventured out to this iHop only a few weeks ago and it does the job, though I wish there was a book store or coffee shop nearby.

Tonight was the first night I told her about the webcam that I had been using. I showed it to her just before I slipped the blindfold on. I wasn’t sure if this would enhance her experience or damper it. Though she’s something of an exhibitionist, the feelings she experiences while bound have been far more intense once I abandoned her.

Looking at my monitor, I was pretty sure she enjoyed putting on a show for me. The next time I would tell her that I shared the URL for the webcam with a few friends. Either I really will or I won’t, but she’ll never know just how many eyes are on her as she orgasms for an hour.

Another cup of coffee and she’s down to two petite morts. I leave the money for the check and tip, giving extra for how attentive the waitress has been. I fantasize about she would say or do if I showed her the girl on my iPhone and told her that I’m going back to room 214 at the Sheraton next door. Would she like to join me?

I push this out of my thoughts as I push open the door and begin the short walk back to the hotel.

Entering the room I catch the last few whimpers of her last orgasm. She hasn’t heard me come in but she knows I’m there.

As I get closer to her I can start to hear the faint hum of the vibrator inside her. Its pitched lower, the batteries running down. I stand and admire her; her proud breasts pressed flat like strawberry-adorned pancakes under plastic, her hair soaked with sweat, her nostrils flaring as she tries to catch her breath.

I unsnap the strap that holds the gag in her mouth. I remove it, strings of saliva trailing behind it. She takes great gulps of the cool air.

Reaching between her legs, I remove the duct tape, thankful for her bare pussy. The tape barely holds, its sticking power diminished by her wetness. I stick two fingers in her and they slide in easily. She’s sopping. She shudders when I remove the spent vibrator. Is she grateful or sad that it’s gone?

I slide her body easily to the edge of the bed, her head lies off the edge slightly. She opens wide, knowing what’s coming.

I drop my pants and use her mouth, fucking her face. She gags repeatedly and I ignore it, my fingers sunk into the plastic over her breasts for purchase as I pull her fast against me, the breath from her nose hot against my balls.  She slurps and sucks as I slam deep into her mouth.

I see her fingers spread out under the plastic wrap. She’s so constricted that she can’t even make a fist. With her blindfold still in place–tears streaming out from under it–my cock is the only outside stimulus she has. My scent fills her nostrils, my meat her mouth and mind. There is only me and nothing else for her right now. She struggles to please me.

And she does.

The first few drops of cum hit her throat and she spasms again, screaming around my cock as she orgasms without even being touched. I fill her with my spunk, shooting it into her gullet. I feel her muscles milking me of every drop.

She won’t stop sucking me until I finally slide my cock out of her mouth. Thick ropes of saliva and spunk trail from her mouth to my cock. As a final bit of humiliation, I clean my softening sex off on her hair.

She coughs and swallows hard a few time, trying to readjust herself to emptiness. After I re-dress I retrieve my knife and slide the blade along her side. Her body is so hot, encased in the plastic, the she shudders at the icy blade. I remove her blindfold to allow her to see the knife before I sink it into the space between her breasts.

The plastic tears, opening up where ever I dragged the blade. She glistens with perspiration, her flesh renewed and exposed.

I cut away her cocoon quickly. The cool air hits her and she begins to shiver. I’ve got towels at the ready to wipe her dry and wrap her in something more forgiving.

There are no words. I lie with her on the bed, giving her water to replenish her spent body to sooth her sore throat.

We’ll stay this way for a while. It may be minutes, it may be hours. It lasts until she hoarsely asks permission to get up. When she does, I’ll allow it, take off her collar and let her clean herself up. She’ll shower, dress, and say her goodbyes. And, like me, she’ll count the minutes until we see each other again.


See what happens with all this new technology?  All hell breaks loose!

Okay, you know and I know that this particular "situation" is just not my cup of tea.  But there are girls and guys (ie. Pinkie and Blackie) who would absolutely — with no reservations and a whole lot of enthusiasm — jump right into this scene if they had half a chance.  And you certainly know by now that I am a great respector and defender of all things kink.  While I might not personally get all hot and bothered over a certain bit of naughtiness, I can readily understand and appreciate why someone else does.

Besides, if all else fails, I can always reverse in my mind the genders of the protagonist and antagonist.  Mmmm … Now I’m really seeing dirty visions.  I need to buy an iPhone.  And find a hotel close to an iHop. 

Be sure to visit PornoPerson’s very hot blog, where he  — more often than not — is the submissive one in his filthily erotic and wildly imaginative fantasias.  Oh, and buy his GUARANTEED VERY DIRTY BOOK, too.  I wrote the Forward, dontcha know?

xo, Angela

Web Bitch for Mistress

Saturday, March 1st, 2008


by Porno Person

"Five minutes!" came the warning over the loudspeaker.

"Showtime," I muttered under my breath as I checked myself once more in the mirror. Decked out, head to toe, I was in a second skin of latex. It covered every inch save for my mouth, eyes, and behind. The latex gleamed in the light of the dressing room. I adjusted everything just so and looked myself in the eyes, wondering how the person who looked back at me had gotten into such a strange position.

"Places!" came the voice again. No time for introspection. Time for action. Time to be a "star."

I followed the labyrinthine hallway into today’s set. It was dressed like a prison cell. Inside just a bunk, a sink, and an incongruous padded sawhorse.

There were no lines to memorize. Hell, there wasn’t usually dialogue other than what was improvised. Without having to be told, I bent over the sawhorse, my ass in the air and my mouth held open by the O-Ring atached to the latex headpiece.

It didn’t take long before I was joined by two of my co-stars. They were well-built, their bodies gleamed having been rubbed down with oil. Their faces were covered. I always wondered if I passed any of these anonymous men by on the street, not knowing that they were the ones paid to use me on camera for Her amusement and profit.

She had conceived of this "service" a few months prior. Humiliatingly enough, I was to carry through Her plan — setting up the space, the servers, the secure site — all for her to enjoy seeing me being fucked nightly by a variety of different men while subscribers all over the globe could log on and do the same for $9.95 a month.

She would email in her requests for different scenarios / outfits. Men would apply via the website and, if they were approved and could make it to our studio, would have the pleasure of partaking in whatever fantasy She wanted fulfilled. I never met the men — they were taken care of by our production assistants. I only heard their voices, smelled their sweat, and felt their hands over me and cocks in me.

There was no foreplay, making the website one of the highest rated online. The sex acts started almost immediately.

I felt the hands of one of the men and he ran it over the latex outfit. My ears muffled the sound of his comments but whatever he said was met with agreement by the other man. My peripheral vision blocked, the appearance of one of the men directly in front of me shouldn’t have been a surprise but it still seemed to be. I gasped a bit and he seemed to take this as a compliment about the size of his engorged cock. He stroked it for me, getting it even harder and larger before sliding it into the O-Ring that kept my mouth available.

I tasted the salty sourness of his cock as it pushed across my tongue, all the way to the back of my mouth. I gagged at first and he backed off slightly. He felt my tongue caressing the underside of his cock and fell into an easy rhythm of fucking my face. Meanwhile I felt his friend push the head of his cock against my asshole. Never sure if these men would bother to use the lube provided, I had prelubed my ass with a one-time use of KY Jelly. I was glad I did.

He was rougher than the man fucking my mouth, pushing his cock deep inside, withdrawing, and plunging in again, not allowing me to adjust to his girth at all before he was plowing into me. I cried out, my scream muffled by the cock in my mouth. Tears streamed out over the latex mask and I heard one of them laugh.

Rather than slowing down, they both seemed turned on by my tears. It didn’t take long before the man in my mouth was shooting his spunk down my throat. He pulled out and gave one final squirt onto my latex-clad face. His friend finished a few moments later, pulling out and shooting his load onto my back.

I knew that this would never do. She would be disappointed at how fast these two men had orgasmed. I soon found that I had nothing to worry about as two more men soon joined the fray. They soon took the place of the men who had just finished.

And so it went. These four men were joined later by two others before they rotated and I was being fucked by the man I had sucked off while the one who had fucked me put his cock in my mouth. They all took their turns and, all the while, I knew that She was watching at home.

I wondered if she was watching it on her computer, if she had put it on her television, or if she just left me in the background. Was she watching alone or did she have people over to enjoy the show? I only hoped that there would be an email waiting for me at the end of the night with a favorable review of my performance.


I feature the work of Porno Person when I can because, well, he’s just so damned kinky and happens to be a very good writer.  His blog, Prurient Interests, is a veritable smorgasbord of sexual fetish and deviant kink.  PP happens to like me a lot, which kind of amazes me when I look at the women who turn him on (he posts lots of sexy pictures), since I am pretty much just a poor little orphan girl — very white, very middle America, very low key and subtle (except when spinning a dirty yarn.  but that doesn’t really count).

I consider myself blessed.  Thanks, PP.

xo, Angela


Erotic Smut

Sunday, December 16th, 2007

Voyeur Lilies

by The Provocateur 

If I could articulate you, if I could draw you – then I would be an artist, drawing my desire. My want. And maybe, I could even draw a picture of my need. For you.

If not you, then something close to it – like one experience. One night and one morning.

And so, picture me as the artist – trying to remember everything, absolutely everything:

The parts of you that were naked to me, I traced with my fingers. Your tattoo and its colors in the early morning light beckoned my lips. Unabashedly, I was indulgence. Unknowingly, I was obligation. Only hours old, my ache and my taste for you was already overwhelming.

When I pulled away from my kiss of your skin, the shape of my lips melted away on your warm body. With this sensation, your eyes opened. You looked at me sweetly. You looked at me as that kind of stranger that I no longer want to be, to you.


The night was wintry. I could see my breath in blossoms.

This was the first night I knew you.

We met over a table of candles – you and I and your girl friend…

And even when you were looking at me, I was looking at you. As a voyeur and a boy – assessing just how beautiful you are. And I did it all without giggling.

You pulled the breath from my chest…

Your eyes. Your lips.

My anticipation was my heart, beating. Making my hands tremble in little quivers. You did this: you turned me into anticipation and something holy erotic. Even as we were just ordering drinks. Laughing nervously. Learning about our backgrounds.

Your scent swarmed around our table and I was no longer drunk from the drinks.

In it all I wanted to tell you that I am just a boy that wants a girl. In all my glances toward you – this is all I wanted to say. This is all I wanted you to know.

Only later and I would discover that words were unnecessary.

All I needed was my eyes. My eyes would tell you enough.


When we were warm and filled with drink, you guided me to your apartment. You wanted me to photograph you and your girlfriend. Here, I was anticipation – buzzing, looking calm.

The idea of learning what was under your clothes was a sensation that is like a memory of your scent: robust and voluptuous. Bigger than me.

Once back in your apartment and you made drinks and lit candles. You made me feel welcome and then you ran the bath water. Your girlfriend and I talked as you moved about the apartment, making sure that your clothes were not falling down.

As if I couldn’t be tempted with something that was forthcoming.

As if you know all too well about temptation and anticipation.

Then you stepped into the white bathroom. You left the door open. Your pants were unzipped – your belt was flailing outward. You were adorable in your shyness and bravery.

I already had my camera out and was snapping away. I knew, even then, that I wanted to memorize every little thing about you.

You were guarding yourself with playful hands as the water flowed behind you.

You said, no – wait…

And then you revealed yourself to me.

Naked and in the bathroom light you were. And the blood coursed through me at paralyzing speed, smashing my breath. Still, I kept depressing the shutter on the camera.

Here, my want was musical – like all the curves and lines on your body. The words you spoke, I will never remember. But forevermore, I will know how overwhelming my hunger is for you.

When you stepped into the tub, you dipped your head – your breasts perfect and your body naked before me. And when you resurfaced, your mascara was smeared like a peacock’s eyelash.


I said that I wouldn’t overstep your boundaries. Probably, I was lying.

When it was still dark my chivalry said that I would not push anything. This despite the fact that I had my finger on the shutter of erotic anticipation all night long. When it was still dark, I was laying next to you and you shot your hand into mine. You squeezed it like you meant it.

And when the sun began to rise, I was naked in your bed. I was stealing quick rifles of touch from your arm. You would not let me drive home in the cold, drunk. Forevermore, I will thank you for this

As you slept, I was again the voyeur: taking small, sleepy glances at you.

And I was marveling.

But we were not alone. And this seemed to only heighten this anticipation of all my want and nearly – need. Your girlfriend was asleep next to you when we were drifting to and from our own sleep.

I asked you what your favorite flower was and you said that it was Stargazer Lilies.

I asked you if you knew what lilies meant…

I said that lilies have meaning like everything else. I said they mean, “I dare you to love me”.

Your eyes grinned at me and made me feel as though I had said it out loud, “I dare you to…

And as I fell back to sleep I gave you a big white bouquet.


Standing before you, with my camera in-hand – and you, slick with water and completely exposed to me made me feel as though I was naked too.

From where I stood I felt perfect in my safety. And I think you felt it too.

When you dried yourself off, you walked into the bedroom and bent over in front of me.

Click. Your slick ass and arched back burned into my eyes.

Your girlfriend was trying-on panties and tops, barely covering her tiny body. I snapped and shot her with my rifle eye – but always I kept one eye free and waiting on you.

You laid on the bed and lathered baby oil all over your body. I saw your hand slip down and into your panties to oil your clean-shaven cunt.

Click. Click.


You asked me in the morning, if I wanted to go out to the couch. I obliged your request and got up from your bed, naked and swollen. Throbbing.

And your eyes were on me. On my cock.

You looked up at me, sweetly.

In your sheer top you sat next to me on the couch, a blanket wrapped around your bottom half. You pawed your toes into my thigh as we sat opposing one another. The winter day outside was gray and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.

We queried one another. We talked about the past. About broken hearts and darkened heads. Intermittently we would stop with recognition in the other’s words.

I am not so different from you. And you are relatively the same as me.

You read from a book and we looked at photographs together: You came close. You put your head into my chest and leaned back. I inhaled like a pillow that was able to hold everything you had to give.


As you danced and moved in your array of outfits: panties and high-heels and see-through tops:

I did not want you. I wanted the anticipation. The uncertainty.

The tease.

I want you for later. For tomorrow’s days.

And as you moved around me in eloquent pirouettes of fiery, wet sex – I snapped away. I captured your lines and your sex. Your hands and fingers curled down and under your wetness; as the pads of your fingers played with your nipples and hooked into your mouth – over your teeth and on your tongue in the exact desperate way that I wanted to lure you in…

Click. Click.

On this night and for several seconds at a time – I was invisible and only a voyeur. I was welcomed in my perversions. And while I was fully clothed – overdressed – I was also naked. Accepted.

Your entire body flirted with me.

When I left the next morning you wrapped your arms around me exactly in the way that I wrapped mine around you. For a long second, we did not let go. And you looked me intently in the eyes and, as I rounded the corner, you said, “I want to see you again, too.”


The next day, long after I was gone, you said that, last night, I told you that I would marry you.

I’m not certain, but your words were joking. Humorous. Giggling.

I, astonished, rifled through my memory. I recalled the idea, in my head – as perfect. But I was certain, as I said: I didn’t think I said that out loud.

You laughed. Probably giggled, from across the city, in an exclamation that said you were only joking. Kidding. You weren’t serious.

I closed my eyes and remembered that I did not speak these words out loud to you. Still, you heard them.

…with my hands outstretched, a bouquet of lilies are within my reach…


Not very long ago, I was lucky enough to meet — via email and the telephone (no, he is not a phone sex client) — The Provocateur.  Apparently he'd been trying to reach me long before I discovered him.  I thank my lucky stars that he left a comment at my erotica blog, Blistered Lips.  Because then I got curious and tracked him down.

He tells me that I am talented.  I read his blog, with pieces such as the above, and I am humbled.  Every word he writes is slippery, wicked-wet perfection.  He's graciously permitted me the privilege of featuring his work here at Zen.  

I'm a very luck girl.  

xo, Angela