So Richard, cherished Savant and venerated Web-Chronicler of all things submissive, shared with me a few days back that he has occasionally dabbled in the fine art of writing fantasy. He says it’s not erotica (“This isn’t erotica. I wrote it many years ago to give dominant women that I met online a picture of my perception of Femdom relationships.”), but….

I say it is. What do you guys think?

My First Mistress – Part 1

When I came to her house I was a little surprised by the size. She lived alone but it was large enough for a largish family. Big yard too. Otherwise it was a plain suburban west Durham house.

When I got to the door I tightened my stomach muscles trying to tame the partying butterflies that had moved in there. As instructed I knocked three times. About half a minute later the door opened. For a split second I thought I’d faint.

She was wearing sunglasses. I couldn’t see her eyes and my feelings of intimidation took another jump. Not wanting to look like a gawking fool (probably already too late) I started to introduce yourself.

“I -.”

“I know who you are.” She sounded impatient but out of habit than actually annoyed. “Don’t speak, just nod. You saw my car as you came in.” It was under a carport. I nodded. “Go wash it. If you aren’t going to do a good job you might as well leave now. When you’re done come back and knock at the door.” She shut the door.

She’d told me I’d have to pass a few tests. I’d been expecting something more exciting. It was probably proof of my desperate need that without hesitating I went over to the car.

There was a hose, clothes car wash and wax. I don’t own a car so I was a little lost at first. But my father used to make me wash his car when I was a teen. I hated doing that with a passion. I could almost believe that, Joan – that was her name, had read my memories when she picked this chore.

I scrubbed the car twice, including the hubcaps and tag areas. It was hot and it was tiring. But waxing was even worse. I was so afraid it wouldn’t look right I kept buffing and buffing until my arms ached. Finally it was as good as I could do and I hoped good enough.

Back at the door I waited a couple of minutes until she answered my knock. She wasn’t wearing the shades so I could see her very intelligent intense looking dark eyes. She had a few worry lines etched into her forehead but they only added to her look of smart competence. She was tall probably about five inches less than my 6’3″. She was skinny, almost boney but I don’t know that her body could’ve matter I was so sucked in by her eyes.

But she was only there for a moment. “Come back tomorrow at the same time.” The door shut.

I felt like I should be disappointed but I wasn’t. But I sure hoped tomorrows test would be less strenuous.

***

Stay tuned for Part II.

xo, Angela

Pervert Savant sends the following email.

Subject: Pulp Fiction for the Jaded

Dearest Angela:

I’ve been thinking.

My contribution to “Pulp Porn” would be an elaboration on a new idea that has been percolating in my fevered brain. “Phone Sex Pimp Daddy” — a bare-knuckled tell-all expose about a middle-aged white office worker who, one day, decides to become a PPP (“Phone Sex Pimp).

Follow him as he gathers his stable of phone sex whores — preying on innocent intellectual women, corrupting them, buying their bifocals, encouraging them to read books, forcing them to speak in grammatical sentences and then, when they have nothing left, requiring them to slave away at phone banks in dingy offices, dingier apartments, and still dingier trailer parks, plying their trade until they’re used up and hoarse — enslaved and willing to give all their hard earned profits to their pimp, (a man who is known on the avenue as “NiteFlirt”).

He’s their “Phone Sex Daddy!” You can do the screenplay. I’d want a percentage of the take from the movie, of course.

Sincerely,

Pervert Q. Savant

What do you think? Should I go for it? Write that screenplay and share the wealth with this rascal of a guy? I think he has the talent. Certainly the gumption. Or maybe I should write the book and the screenplay. Reap the bounty myself?

Or maybe I’ll just ignore this silliness and buy a membership to Tit-Elation.

Which reminds me: One of my stories, Tying up Amy was featured via Tit-Elation at Samarel Erotic Art.

And for those who emailed and/or commented on yesterday’s entry, I am fine. I really am. Just rolling with the punches. Thanks so much.

xo, Angela

As I’ve said –ad nauseum, perhaps?– I am a serious fan of SuperVert of PervScan.com and Perscan.tv. And we haven’t visited for a while, have we?

So why don’t we take a stroll. For your reading pleasure:

• Breaking, Entering, and Wanking
• Strip Tease Funerals (and why not?)
• Ancient Chinese Secret
• Breakfast of Champions
• Cyber Slave Driver
• Best. Phone. Sex. Ever. (hmph!)
• Prostitutes Rated Online
• Hemingway’s Son – Or Daughter?
• Ass Obsessed
• Flashing the Amish (praise the lord)
• Baby Man

And you just have to check out SuperVert’s mailbag. He does, indeed, get letters.

Truth is stranger than fiction, don’t ya know? Just ask SuperVert. He knows.
xo, Angela

‘Cuz it sure isn’t me.

I think this has to do with the Case of the Missing Maid.  At least that’s all I can put my finger on.

In case you hadn’t heard, I’ve been in the process of hiring a maid for quite a while now; literally, months.  Well I finally did it.  I came down off of my picky-prickly high horse and finally picked someone.  The deed was done and we were ready to go!

She requested particular cleaning products.  I made a special trek to the store to purchase every item on her list.  Was even paying her more than she’d asked for (I just thought she was under-valuing herself. Guess it’s the FemDom in me.)  She tells me she wants to start at 7:00am.  Not in my game plan.  But, hey, nobody (just you hush yo’ mouth, hdb) ever said I was inflexible.

That was yesterday. The day of the lovely surprise snowstorm.

So I found myself glad to be up so early.  Up in the still-black morning to see our first snowfall clinging to recently glabrous trees: hopeful harbinger of a glorious winter of white vistas observed and made pristine through the glass of the French doors off my living area as I sat – wool sockies and hot chocolate – snug and safe in front of my blazing fireplace.

But the bitch didn’t show up.

Because the morning was so fine, so perfect…I could have forgiven her this. The weather was bad, also unexpected, which could have shaken her up.  And I tend to be the forgiving type.  So when she did call, long after the scheduled time to offer up just such excuses, I did forgive her.  And we rescheduled for today.

Today, 7:00am, telephone rings: “Hello, Angela. This is Maria. I’m on my way.”

Guess what?  She didn’t show up again.  And the snow melted.

So while I mope and crank and feel sorry for myself, lets see who is feeling sexy:

• Looks like Michelle is all dressed up and feeling pretty scrumptious.
• Richard is humming along to the Nutcracker Suite.
• Mistress Edenn is ready to make you “blush and squirm as I probe for all your secret vulnerabilities and make you confess your most embarrassing fantasies.”
• Looking for some girl on girl action?
• Maybe a bit of maternal direction is what you need?
• Barely legal nymphos are always fun. Go ahead. Don’t be shy.
• And Sabrina is always smolderingly hot.
• Not to mention the ever-enticing and intriguing Kat.

So there you go. There’s a lot of sexy people out there. Including myself. Just not tonight.

Sexy?  Yes?

Thanks to Mr. C for sending me a link to photographer Brian Rawson’s website, where I found the above (click on the images to blow your mind).

Only 26 years old, Brian is already kicking ass and taking names, fast becoming the fair-haired boy to both art and smut aficionados. Of course, the latter prefer the term “erotica” to “smut,” and we shall leave them to that eternal debate.

In the meantime, I am quite sure Brian has things of much more import with which to occupy himself–mainly, the business of becoming famous. I think I just might hit him up for an interview in the future. That is if he can even find time. Keep your fingers crossed.

Ten or twenty minutes prancing around his website, and you will begin to garner just what all the hoopla is about: Major talent, unique vision and obvious wonderment in the world and women around him (When asked about his influences he mentions his models and his dog.) have combined in a very big way in a very short time.

And people are talking. Not only has Brian and his work been featured at Fleshbot, but his photographs have also appeared in the New York Post and Bon Appétit.

And guess what else. You can own your very own Brian Rawson work for a very reasonable price.

How cool is that?