web hit counter

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  ...


Angelaphabet 0.12

Saturday, January 23rd, 2010

Angelaphabet 0.12:  All Things Sissy

A Kinky Love Story
Blurring the Gender Line
Cross-Dressing Cat Blog
Delish Lingerie Dish
Ebony Hot Dam Sexy
Freedom to Be You (Amazon Book)
Grammar Lessons: Dress for Teacher (video)
Hot Date? (video)
llicit & Copious Transgender Fiction
Join the Men Wearing Panties Club
Kinky? Only the first time
Lola by The Kinks
Maid to Order
Nuanced & Spectacular Ms. Bowers
Oh my! Lady-Boys
Porn Stars
Quintessential House of Sissy
Read A Sexy CD Story or Two or Three (Amazon book)
Shop to your Girly Heart’s Content
Tia on Twitter
Uber Sweet Sissy Hubby
Vintage Cross-Dressing Pictures
Wicked Story (by me): Panties for Anderson
X-tra Sexy Men in Panties Pics
You stole their panties???
Zen-fabulous Dela TS

Trannysaurus Heterodoxy

Friday, June 26th, 2009

Trannysaurus Heterodoxy:  Crossdressing Humor

Okay, it’s no secret I kinda-sorta like my sissy boys bunches and bunches.  As I’ve said before, don’t knock it if you haven’t seen a hard dick behind a pair of cute panties.  This time I’ll add:  Don’t be so quick to judge if you haven’t gotten to know the heart that beats behinds that bullet bra.  I have.  And guess what?  It beats just like yours or mine … maybe even perhaps a tad more passionately and honestly. 

I stand by a man’s right to play at being a girly-boy now and again, when it’s suits his/her fantasy or maybe just when the moon is pink and full.  When it comes to KINK it would behoove us to remember: 

Everybody’s kinky, everybody’s fine.  Your kink is funny.  And so is mine.

Two guys are changing in the locker room at the gym, and one of them notices that the other one is wearing a bra and panties.

"Hey, Joe, how long have you been wearing women’s underwear?"

"Ever since my wife found them in the glove compartment."

A straight man, a trans-sexual, and a crossdresser were drinking coffee together in a trendy cafe and watching the passing crowd. A very busty, well-dressed, and attractive woman walked into view. "Look at those tits," exclaimed the straight man getting up from his seat for a better view. "Doesn’t she move beautifully", sighed the trans-sexual enviously. The crossdresser drank some coffee and observed, "Her lipstick is all wrong for that dress."

Transvestite:  A guy who likes to eat, drink and be Mary.

Bigfoot is really a solitary transvestite wondering the Pacifice Northwest in a vain search for heels that fit.

A boy goes up to his father. "Daddy, what’s a transvestite?"

"Go ask your mom," he replies. "HE should be able to explain it better."

A nun gets into a cab and the cab driver won`t stop staring at her.  She asks him why is he staring, and he replies, "I have a question to ask you, but I don`t want to offend you."
She answers, "My dear son, you cannot offend me. When you`re as old as I am and have been a nun as long as I have, you get a chance to see and hear just about everything.  I`m sure that there`s nothing you could say or ask that I would find offensive."

"Well, I`ve always had a fantasy to have a nun perform oral sex on me."

The nun responds, "Well, but you have to be single, and you must be Catholic."

The cab driver is very excited and says, "Yes, I am single, and I`m Catholic too!"

The nun says, "Okay then, pull into the next alley." He does, and the nun fulfills his fantasy. But when they get back on the road, the cab driver starts crying his eyes out.

"My dear child, why are you crying?"

"Forgive me sister, but I have sinned. I lied, I must confess I`m married and I`m Jewish."

The nun says, "That`s OK, my name is Kevin, and I`m on my way to a Halloween Party."

Q.  What’s the difference between a transvestite sailor and Monica Lewinsky’s wardrobe?

A.   When you have a transvestite sailor, you have a dress on a seaman.



Find Your Inner Panty-Boy  with these Phone Sex Super Stars

DIANA will Boost your Femininity with a Phone Sex Workout — CLICK HERE

Be a man by day and Super Sissy by night with MEGAN — CLICK HERE

COUNTESS LEAH will teach you to take it like a woman — CLICK HERE

Experienced DOMINA VERONICA  answers your gender questions — CLICK HERE

And don’t forget to visit MISS LYNDEE at the Pink Panty Cafe — CLICK HERE

Biff’s Back!

Thursday, January 24th, 2008

The Warden has left Biff in charge and she’s ready to make some changes.  Will West Texas Correctional Institute ever be the same? 

Previously:  Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Lingerie on the Razor-Wire – 6

By Pervert Q. Savant 

An Innocent Transsexual’s Quest for Meaning, Commitment, and Gender-Dysphoric Redemption amid the Wormy Venality and Squamous Debauchery of the Worst Hell-Hole in Texas!!  

Chapter VI:  Enlightened Penology Comes to West Texas Correctional.

In a pensive mood, Senior Prison Guard, Mary “Biff” McGurk, swirled her steaming mug of morning coffee with her pudgy right thumb – a mannerism that she had picked up after watching a documentary on the lives of lumberjacks in the Pacific Northwest. Starting every morning with a cup of java and two or three unfiltered Camels in the prison cafeteria was a long-standing ritual for Biff. It gave the burly lesbian a chance to relax, meditate upon her schedule, and organize her thoughts prior to another day devoted to disciplining cons. For Biff, this particular day promised more responsibilities than usual. Among other things, it was the last day before The Warden’s anticipated return to the prison. Biff wanted everything to be just right on his arrival. 

The Warden had been gone from the prison for two weeks, attending an annual educational seminar in Galveston. As Senior Guard at West Texas Correctional (and the only WTC employee possessed of an Associates Degree in “Modern Criminology”), The Warden had left Biff in charge of the institution during his absence. 

The importance of her selection was not lost on Biff.  She saw it for what it really was — a test. 

The last time Biff had been left in charge, there had been an unfortunate inmate knifing.  Worse, the institution’s fabled basketball team had abused its gym privileges and effectuated a daring mass escape.  The Warden had been displeased with these occurrences and Biff, wrongly blamed, had been in his doghouse for a long time afterwards. 

Given a second crack at responsibility, Biff wanted to be “pro-active.” She was determined to use the two weeks to institute several reforms in the prison’s operations.  Upon his return, The Warden would find that not only had nothing untoward occurred at WTC, but that Biff’s changes had improved the operation of the place!   

Biff’s first innovation involved a much-needed security upgrade. Now, instead of nightsticks, each of WTC’s 57 prison guards carried spanking-new “X-27 Musculo-Electrical Debilitators” in their holsters.  

Biff had become aware of the X-27 Musculo-Electrical Debilitator from a promotional video she had cannily retrieved from The Warden’s office wastebasket – where, for some reason, it had apparently been discarded without first even having been viewed. According to the video, the X-27 had the advantage of allowing its users to zap miscreants “musculo-electrically” and “non-lethally.”  This had immediate appeal to Biff, who always viewed innovations in police technology with the same sort of respect that a Catholic schoolchild normally reserves for the Pope.  

“Damn!  That sucker’s just like one of those phasers that Captain Kirk and Spock used to use on Klingons and Romulans!” Biff enthused, raptly watching the X-27’s promo. “It’s like what happens when ya put a phaser in the ‘stun’ position. Ya don’t kill the aliens. They just wish they was dead!”  The thought of transferring this new Star Wars-technology to West Texas Correctional, and using it on aliens of the Hispanic variety, immediately occurred to Biff. 

There were added selling points. The X-27 came with lots of nifty gadgetry. There was a laser-guided sighting element and an optional mini-video camera that could be rapidly turned on or off with a quick finger flip so as to avoid, if necessary, unpleasant Rodney King-like situations where videotaping would be inappropriate. There was a “Sim Suit” – which looked like something Neil Armstrong wore during his famous moonwalk. The wearer could then be targeted “to allow for safe live-training simulations” and “scenario firing at a ranging dynamic target.”  The Taser even came with a fashionable and professional-looking leatherette holster “ideal for rapid extraction by trained law enforcement officials.”  

“People like us prison guards, they mean,” Biff translated, nodding her head in emphatic approval. 

The Musculo-Electrical Debilitator had the additional advantage of being manufactured by child laborers in grimy sweat shops on the Asian rim, enabling it to retail for 49% less than its closest competitor — the American-made Z-78 “Police-Buddy.” This cost differential was not lost on the always-pragmatic Biff. 

But what really “closed the deal” for Biff was the video’s depiction of actual “field use” of the Taser.  Here, campus police were shown using the X-27 to administer multiple “musculo-electronic bursts” to the body of a student radical that had been hell-bent on disrupting an otherwise peaceful university lecture.  

“Probly a fuckin’ Commie!” Biff noted immediately upon viewing the radical.  Biff knew a Red when she saw one.  

At any rate, after repeated beatings from their wooden truncheons had failed to totally silence the stubborn radical, two of the alert campus police shown in the video began blasting away at him with their X-27s.  The effect was immediate and telling.  Upon “musculo-electrical” impact, their target was left twitching violently on the floor of the university lecture hall, completely immobilized and at last susceptible to expert handcuffing by the alert campus deputies. Viewing all this left Biff entranced.  

“They shoulda just zapped him right away and not bothered with their nightsticks!” Biff exclaimed, grinning happily as she watched the electrified pinko flop about like a spastic chicken.  “We gotta get those things issued to every guard in this place. Mark my words, that baby’s gonna revolutionize prison discipline!” 

Aside from its obvious utility in dispatching students, Biff’s agile mind readily conjured up other potentially useful prison applications for the X-27. Biff envisioned herself using judicious bursts of the X-27’s high-amperage firepower on inmates handcuffed to chairs, thereby ferreting out secret escape plans, clandestine marijuana rings; and cleverly hidden pornography stashes. 

“Hell, I bet some of the bozos here that are always trying to kill themselves would think twice about it if I zapped ‘em a few times!” Biff mused.  The potential “non-lethal” uses of the X-27 at West Texas Correctional did, indeed, seem endless. Therefore, using her authority as “Temporary Warden,” Biff wasted no time in placing the necessary order and insisting on expedited delivery of the fantastic new weapon. 

To help pay the $30,723.00 cost of arming each of the prison’s guards with the X-27, Biff implemented another long-needed change at West Texas Correctional — the installation of a souvenir stand bearing the wholesome name of “Ye Olde Prison Gift Shoppe.” 

The thought of establishing a gift shop at WTC had been percolating in murky areas of Biff’s cerebrum for a long time. It strongly appealed to her mercantile instincts. Relatives and loved ones usually arrived at West Texas Correctional on their visiting days empty -handed.  Most had learned from prior visits that all gifts or packages intended for cons were seized and subjected to thorough searches by WTC’s ever-vigilant coterie of guards.  Furthermore, following such searches, no visitor was ever permitted to give anything directly to a WTC inmate. Instead all deliveries were made by WTC’s turnkeys. 

“Leave it with me, Ma’am.  I’ll see that he gets it!” was a public pronouncement solemnly made by solicitous guards to every tender-hearted donor bringing a package from home intended for a con.   “Leave it with me, Ma’am, I’ll see that he gets it!” was also a statement certain to generate peals of private laughter among WTC’s bevy of jovial and fun-loving guards, who after mouthing it, invariably confiscated anything of any potential worth or value. Biff had personally obtained a dandy set of Ray-Bans, as well as a regular supply of homemade cookies and several appealing nude photos of prisoners’ wives through her participation in WTC’s inspection and delivery process. 

Thus, to Biff’s way of thinking, “Ye Olde Prison Gift Shoppe” made a lot of sense.  For one thing, it was a lucrative way of profiteering on visitors’ well-intentioned impulses to give incarcerated loved ones pre-approved tokens of their affection. For another, the same visitors could buy a little souvenir of their own – like a key chain or an ashtray – that would suitably memorialize their own happy visit to the penitentiary.  

“Hell, this way we’ll get ‘em coming and goin’!” Biff grinned, as she shared her “Gift Shoppe idea" idea with Tansy Delgado, The Warden’s Tex-Mex secretary. 

Tansy did not share Biff’s enthusiasm.  “I dunno, Beef,” Tansy responded.  “I yam steel kinda wooried bout alla thoze Tazeer theengs you buy.  Now yoo wanna do thees.  Maybe yoo be better wait an’ ask The Warden wen he come back foorst. The State maybe haf a law or sometheeng ginst all thees.” 

“Don’t you worry about the State, Tansy.  I already checked the regs,” Biff responded.  "There ain’t nothin’ about no gift shops in any o’ them books one way or t’other. I’m a-doin’ it!  I gotta pay fer them Tasers some kinda way and this here’s a sure-as-shit money-maker! Get me the phone number fer Hallmark Cards!” 

Biff’s resultant brainchild — “Ye Olde Prison Gift Shoppe” — was strategically placed next to the Visitor’s Entrance to the prison – just past the institution’s row of metal detectors.  On opening, the emporium featured a display area containing a festive assortment of trinkets, high calorie comestibles, and items of cheap clothing. Cards, coffee mugs, candy-bars, ashtrays and T-shirts were all on prominent display.  

Biff was particularly proud of the gift cards and T-shirts. 

The cards were specially ordered by Biff to be “Prison-Specific.”  The delivered product featured poignant thoughts like: “To My Darling Husband in Prison”; “My Heart’s There With You in Jail, Honey”; and “I’m Still Waiting For You Here Beside the Old Oak Tree“(opening up to an arboreal feast of gnarly trees festooned with yellow ribbons).  

The Gift Shoppe’s specially designed souvenir T-shirts were in red and blue. The fronts of each depicted, in white, the silhouette of the prison’s guard towers as seen from a distance in the moonlight. Their reverses offered several lettered options:  “I’m the Proud Parent of a WTC Inmate”; “My Husband’s a Model Prisoner at West Texas Correctional”; or “My Loved One’s Getting His Mind Right at WTC.”  

Biff provided a cash register for the Shoppe and installed a Trustee to oversee its activities.  A large sign behind the counter read: “GIVE THE PRISONER YOU LOVE A THOUGHTFUL GIFT! – WE ACCEPT ALL MAJOR CREDIT CARDS! SE HABLA ESPAÑOL!” 

Uncertain whether “Ye Olde Prison Gift Shoppe” alone would generate sufficient revenues to pay for her much-needed X-27s, Biff had presciently hedged her Gift Shoppe bet by administering another imaginative tweak to the prison’s commercial affairs. 

The Warden’s long-standing policy at WTC had been to charge $6.50 per minute for all collect outside telephone calls placed by inmates to their loved ones and attorneys. Trading on her own recent small business experience as a phone sex operator, Biff saw no reason why The Warden had chosen to be so conservative. Using a calculator, Biff quickly determined that at $13.00 per minute, 42 inmate telephone minutes alone would nearly cover the cost of one of her new “Musculo-Electrical Debilitators.”    

“Hell, The Warden thinks small. I think big!” Biff chortled. “I’m doubling the per-minute price!” 

Still contemplating her many reforms, Biff swallowed the last of her coffee. A glance at the clock on the wall near the exit indicated that it was nearly time for her to go on duty. There was still some unfinished work that needed to be done before The Warden returned. For one thing, Biff had to put the finishing touches on a lecture she was preparing.” 

The “Biff McGurk Prison Lecture Series” was the last reform that Biff had implemented. The “Lecture Series” was a concept that owed its origins to the extensive training in criminology that Biff had received at Amarillo State Junior College. That training had taught Biff that prison life could sometimes be stultifying and boring for the cons. Keeping prisoners’ minds active and focused on mentally enriching and educational endeavors served to advance the criminal justice system’s avowed rehabilitative goals. Hence, the “Biff McGurk Prison Lecture Series.”    

As implemented, Biff’s “Lecture Series” was to be a weekly affair with attendance made mandatory for all of WTC’s inmates. Biff delivered each address personally. She would come up with an appropriate topic – always something stimulating and educational — and then be responsible for the content. It was a lot extra work for Biff, but she figured it was worth it. It would certainly impress The Warden and it would also help the cons to reassimilate into polite society.    

Biff’s first lecture was a controversial ethnographic jeremiad entitled “The Latino Threat to American Culture.” It featured 90 minutes of Biff’s own insightful commentary supplemented by selected excerpts Biff had videotaped from episodes of CNN’s “Lou Dobbs Tonight” show.”  

Sadly, her lecture had not been very well received. The prison’s Hispanic element was particularly disapproving – hissing and booing whenever Biff darkened the auditorium’s lights to run the taped excerpts from Lou Dobbs. Despite this inauspicious opening, the Lecture did have some positive aspects.  For one thing, it gave Biff the opportunity to satisfactorily test the efficacy of her new X-27 on one particularly vocal Mexican prisoner. 

Biff had higher hopes for her second offering — a slide show with commentary that she had elected to call “The Many Benefits of Travel.” Although still in outline form, Biff had decided to build her second lecture around photographs she had taken during her recent visit to Amarillo’s famous “Outhouse Museum” (an edifice chronicling Texas defecation architecture from its early adobe days during the time of the Spanish Conquistadors on down through to the present). Biff’s mother, who was the Museum’s curator, had supplied Biff with plenty of color brochures providing in depth descriptions of some of the more fascinating exhibits. Biff hoped to distribute these to the cons as supplements to her lecture. She wanted to have her finished presentation available and ready for airing upon The Warden’s return. 

“Yes, it sure has been a busy two weeks, “ Biff thought to herself as she pushed her paunch away from her table in the cafeteria. “But I guess it’s time I get my ass to work!” 

The first item of the day on Biff’s agenda was a short visit to the prison’s infirmary. 

“I better check the status of that goddamned Mexican I zapped at the Lecture,” Biff muttered, with evident irritation. “How the hell was I supposed to know the asshole was on a Pacemaker?”

FemDom Intervention

Friday, December 14th, 2007

Are you in the need for some FemDom Intervention?  I think it's a pretty safe bet that a hearty portion of my readers are thinking, you bet my sweet ass I am.  The rest of you are thinking, well, it sounds kind of hard core.  But it is tantalizing.  I just don't want to have to call you mistress or goddess.  I don't want you to make fun of my penis, or call me names like dickwad or fucktard or loser.  And please don't hurt me or castrate me or pee on me.

To the tantalized but nervous:  Come on in, the water is fine.  And I do mean good old plain H2O.  FemDom phone sex is not always about pain or humiliation or degradation (although these are certainly facets which turn on a certain cherished and kinky cartel of mine).  FemDom phone sex can actually be, in the hands of a creative and intuitive woman, your every dream of uninhibited sexual interaction realized in spades.  And this is especially true for the meek or mild-mannered shy types.  

How can I say this and what do I mean, exactly?  After all, I do advertise the FemDom angle as  one of my specialties.  And there are obviously as many definitions for as there seekers and providers.  I guess all I can really tell you is what I do from my end of the playing field.

First and foremost, the underlying methodology to all that I do via the kink-O-phone is that we begin in the realm of fantasy.  Think of it as a "suspension of disbelief" for the period of the call.  I am quite frank about the fact that I am not walking around in leather everyday.  Nor am I consistently dressing up boys in pink panties, attaching weights to balls, castrating the inadequate, manipulating the weak-willed, forcing straight men to go queer, giving fem-dom hand-jobs to the lonely-hearted, strap-on training casual dates, or anything else a wicked little libido can conjure.

When I am on the phone, it is not about me and my everyday life.  It is not about you and your everyday life.  It is playtime, baby:  a salacious vacation or corrupt interruption or lascivious intermission.  After which, once your kink-bone has been twittered, you can get back to the business of living your hopefully happy and functional life.

I kinda-sorta ride the fence with this "woman in control" stuff.  Since we're in fantasy land, how much do I tell a caller about me?  Where do I draw the line? 

Because I do rather like being being behind the wheel in boy-girl games in my real life.  It's just in real life the game is one of sublime subtlety rather than the grab-you-by-the-balls immediacy so necessary to fantasy phone.  Talk is cheap and it seems to me that a true Goddess wouldn't need to brag about her prowess; she already knows it and smart men (the only men worth seducing) will know it too.  Which means that I don't advertise my life, I advertise my talents.  TWO ENTIRELY DIFFERENT THINGS.  But, if you get to know me well enough, you just might get to hear some inside dope.   

The other thing is that I happen to be quite good at fantasy.  I LIKE intricate role plays in which I am given a free hand so that I can work my magic, developing a story line around a caller's particular kink.  For example, I am very good at creating shemale fantasies.  (I could actually create an entirely new persona as a TS, so that I would more frequently get those types of calls.  And, honestly, I've thought about it–although I haven't done so yet.)

I also love age-play fantasies:  Either an older woman teaching a teenager to do foul, filthy acts for my enjoyment or a young fem fatal causing an older man to cross boundaries he should not cross.

Objectification fantasies are very difficult for most women (at least that is what I hear from my callers), and I happen to excel at them. Both mentally and creatively, they stimulate me.  In fact, this coming year I will be launching a new website, Household Utensils, which will cater to this fetish.  Hope to see you there.  *wink*

The point being made here is that I don't want to be boxed into one specific category.  I do things my way, not according to a silly virtual rule book, which some callers and PSOs seem to think is gospel.  Regardless of a caller's fantasy, I am running the show.  In some ways, I am the show.  While I won't hesitate to belittle and torture you, if that is where you want to go, I certainly don't approach every call from that standpoint.  

I "intervene" in such a way that I learn what is needed, and then take it from there.  I lead you along your own personal path of sexual nirvana.  Which, by the way, usually involves taking you just a smidgen beyond where you thought you might want to go.  To put it another way, as we are talking I am mapping out your buttons, finding every last one.  Then I tickle and caress those buttons, seducing you to shrug off that suit jacket, loosen that tie, unbutton that shirt.

Before you know it, you find yourself naked and vulnerable.  But also safe.  And that is when the real intervention begins.  Because once I have your buttons under my control, I have you under my control.   Which means you are screwed.  But in a very good way.

Third person stories and fantasies are a wonderful way to take control in a very quiet way.  I'm just the storyteller, after all.  It's not me, but the women in my stories, who cause you to do things that will later make you blush to think of them.  Welcome to Never Never Land.  You didn't think you could or should.  But I always knew different.  I knew that you could and should.  .

And in Never Never Land, with this FemDom Goddess, you did. 

xo, Angela

toys for tots