Readers should know by now that I have a column at Sex Kitten. A great gang of girls are the center of attention over there, with the occasional male showing up for support and/or commentary and/or their own articles.

Although I’ll never measure up to Dorothy Parker or break bread with the likes of Alice Walker, I do like to write and Gracie is either kind enough or crazy enough–probably a little of both–to let do my thing, with very little intervention on her part…thank goodness. Structure, for me is a motherfucker, I don’t even usually make appointments for my nails or hair. I just drop in and expect them to work their magic. My saving grace, the reason they put up with my silliness, is my charming personality. And it might have something to do with the fact that I am an above average tipper. Just maybe.

Anyway, I wrote this piece, “When the Muse Wants to Fuck,” which had been very well received over at the Cat House. And I thought that was the end of it. But Kitten belongs to this blog club or something–I’ve never quite figured out how it works–called Sugasm. Seems that every week voters pick the best blog entries of the week. And my Muse piece was in the top three of issue 98! WOW! I wonder if I’ll get a cash prize. Or maybe a tiara and new car? Just kidding.

Actually, I’m stoked and I hope you take time to read it. It is one of my own personal favorites.

***

He’s baaaack! Pervert Savant, bless his pea-pickin’ heart, just sent me Chapter IV of Lingerie on the Razorwire, and it is unbelievably funny and downright brilliant. Why this guy isn’t writing for a living is beyond me. I also talked with PS today and he was his jolly and articulate self. I could listen to him for hours. He says he’ll be back soon. He is still having PC issues, but expects to have them corrected in the near future. He actually typed this chapter on his office PC. He charges by the hour. Wonder who he billed for that? Anyway, I’ll be publishing it in the next few days, so stay tuned.

***

A few questions (click the linkage if your answer is YES).

1. Do you absolutely fucking adore a woman who digs lingerie?
2. Does it take a smart woman to be a truly good Dominatrix?
3. Is cuckolding catching on as an acceptable kink?
4. Can good guys ever really finish first?
5. Did you know Shakespeare is still alive and slinging porn?
6. Can the human spirit thrive in prison?
7. Is it possible to be a good boy and one kinky motherfucker?
8. Does a girl who can talk sports turn you on?

***

Also, I am going to be featuring another story by Porno Person soon. He writes the dirtiest erotica, while I tend to save most of seriously nasty stuff for the kink-O-phone. So I like to put some of his beautifully filthy and seriously kinky fantasies here once in a while. It’s good to give this blog a good shaking up now and again. Dontcha think?

***

And to answer a question I get all the time: Yes, I know I link to people who don’t link to me. I don’t link for popularity or creating a “Google” presence; the linkage you find to the right of this blog is hand-picked by me for my readers. It is to benefit them, not me. People find me easily enough without me sacrificing my personal and professional integrity. So why screw with a good thing? Huh?

Okay, baby…I am history.

Until the next time.

xo, Angela

Happy Birthday, PervScan ~ May, 2007

And a trillion more. Or at least two or three. Maybe ten or twenty.
Butter Fingers
Ceiling “Fan”
Did (pussy) you catch (cock) all of that?
Extraterrestrial Sex Fetish
Fucking mannequins are such cock-teasing sluts!
Green Acres is the place to be…
He’s not just another pretty face, either!
I tried not to laugh, beloved Deviant Savant.
Just like Grandma used to make.
Kink is in the eye of the beholder.
Little Shop of Horrors
Mother knows best.
Necrophilia Variations
Oops! It was an honest mistake.
Penis Envy…serious penis envy
Queerly not so queer, maybe? (great piece)
Really cheap sex.
Sole-ful Fetish Boy
Tastes just like chicken.
Urine-Nation
Vanguard Aesthetics – Novel Pathologies
What would Jesus do?
XXX domains (very insightful)
You (she) can take it with you (her).
Zoftig Fetish

That is if I am the one doing the slapping.

And if it is part of a BDSM/Humiliation fantasy/role-play/scene.

Like I say about a lot of things, Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.

You can bet that smacking a whimpering sub, particularly in public, will set the tone immediately and there will be absolutely no argument as to who is boss. And I like being the boss.

And I happen to love humiliation play. Don’t look so shocked. I hate when you do that. Yes, I am smart and sweet and cute and all those nicety-nice adjectives you like to string before your elevated thoughts of me. But, as I once noted, Erotic Humiliation is Not an Oxymoron. (Tell me where you heard that before and get either a 1/2 price call or a free book by a friend of ours.)

What got me thinking about this today was reading our celebrated and esteemed Submissive Savant’s blog entry, Face Slapping as Erotic Play, which was actually an expansion upon an earlier entry, Face Slapping. Seems the original piece was still garnering questions and comments and Richard deemed it less messy to just begin the discussion anew.

Which goes to show that…contrary to what many a wanna-be princess promotes (disrespect and/or disregard for a slave’s intellect and humanity is plantation behavior, not Goddess behavior), being brilliant and being submissive are not mutually exclusive and is why Richard is the official Submissive Savant of Zen Fetish. Just ask Alexandra: Smart submissives make the most reverent and obedient pets. And as Richard notes, “a person can enjoy being humiliated in erotic play space without that bleeding over into the rest of his life.”

Which goes to show that…face slapping as a form of Dom/sub play is more popular than one might first assume.

Which goes to show that…I am neither predictable nor run-of-the-mill and never will be. So quit trying to figure me out. If family & friends, a therapist and more than a few ex-boyfriends cannot manage the task, why should you be so lucky?

Anyway, back to the face slapping.

Yvonne had stopped by and was wondering why a man would enjoy being slapped, which is a perfectly understandable inquiry, dontcha think? Didn’t you have a similar question? Richard, being a submissive man of exquisite desires, responded that, “Surprise: there’s huge psychological impact when you don’t expect it. That fits in ideally with punishment. At times I like being found at fault and chastised.”

I would just add that from a (phone fantasy) Mistress perspective, the psychological impact is, indeed, a thing of beauty. Both Top and Bottom, Mistress and Slave, Dominant and Submissive should be having a heck of a lot of fun when participating in Erotic Face Slapping. Otherwise, somebody has got something terribly wrong.

For me, the experience is on the verge of being intoxicating. And I don’t say that lightly. There is an imagined suspension of safety, of boundaries desecrated that makes it absolutely transcending. I would think a good Domina –phone or real time– would feed off of her slave’s reaction to her slap, upping the ante for both of them.

What do you think? Mistress Sky? HDB? Lyndee? David C.? Mr. Allen? PQS? Mr. Smith? Richard? Mistress V? Puzzler? Is anybody home?

And if you want to read All You Wanted to Know About Erotic Face Slapping but Were Afraid to Ask Richard and Entourage, be sure to follow the above linkage. It is, after all, where the BDSM cognoscenti are apt to be found on any given day.

xo, Angela

Finally: The long awaited quasi-conclusion to this most quirky and entertaining read penned by our own cherished and beloved Pervert Q. Savant. Why quasi? Because you don’t know P. Q. like I do and I kinda-sorta like Cherie and the gang. Don’t you?

by Pervert Savant

Read Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2

The Gut-Wrenching Story of a Naive Pre-Operative Transsexual Enmeshed in a Fetid Web of Corruption and Intrigue while Performing Humanitarian Services within the Sordid Confines of the Texas Penal System!

CHAPTER III: Stress-Reduction in the Warden’s Office

Prison Nurse Cherie D’Amour had just finished putting a second coat of “Love That Red” on her exceedingly long fingernails when she got word that Warden W. Lester McCobb wanted to see her. Her nails were at a critical stage and the thought of having to visit with The Warden at that juncture did not sound particularly inviting. Cherie knew, however, that important people often had to be humored.

She carefully reinserted the brush-end of the applier back into its bottle of lacquer and meticulously tightened the lid. She then splayed her fingers in front of her lips (which were tastefully lined and painted in the same ruby tint as her nails) and softly blew on them to hurry along the drying process. A summons from The Warden was an important thing, Cherie knew. But so was a proper finish on her nails.

Cherie had found the call from the Warden to be inconvenient for other reasons. She had only managed to read 8 of the “14 Secrets to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed” – the feature article of her current copy of Cosmopolitan. “Secret #8 – Cover Yourself with Hershey’s Syrup and Be Chocaholics Together!” – sounded intriguing to Cherie.

“I wonder if they have any of that Hershey’s syrup in the dining hall?” she chuckled. “I’ll have to ask Cookie the next time I see him.”

Cherie really wanted to finish the article. She was looking forward to learning what the remaining secrets were.

Her further researches were abruptly aborted, however, when she heard the prison intercom system crackle again:

“Nurse D’Amour, please report to Warden McCobb’s office immediately…Nurse D’Amour, to the Warden’s office!”

“Oh drat!” complained Cherie. “What’s The Warden in such a damned hurry for?”

Cherie blew on the ends of her fingers again despairingly, closed her open Cosmo with her elbows, and then maneuvered it to a point on the edge of her table that allowed her to grasp it without smearing her polish. She gingerly picked the magazine up without allowing her nails to touch its glossy cover and then tucked it under her armpit.

“I guess I should be thankful that The Warden waited until AFTER I waxed my bikini line, “ Cherie sniffed petulantly. “Men have no idea what we women have to go through to stay attractive. No, we just have to always be at their beck and call whenever they want us And we better look damn nice while we’re doin’ it, too.”

Remembering not to touch anything with her still-wet fingers, Cherie swiveled out of her chair and began a long saunter to the Warden’s office. When she finally reached the entryway to his office, The Warden’s secretary, Tansy Delgado, a middle-aged Hispanic woman, motioned her to come in.

“The Warden he ben wanteeng to see you all morneeng,” said Tansy. “But don’ go heen chust yet. He haf an eemportant phone call now and he tell me he coodna be deestoorbud.”

Cherie nodded understandingly at Tansy and took a seat on a poorly upholstered vinyl sofa located immediately adjacent to The Warden’s door. Cherie demurely crossed her legs at the knee and carefully reopened her Cosmo to “Secret #9: Paint a Cheerful ‘Happy Face’ on the Head of His Manhood!”

“Hmmm, I’ve never thought of doing that one, Cherie giggled. How naughty!”

“I theek heets hokay you go een now, honey,” interrupted Tansy. “The Warden’s phone a-light eet ees off. Eet looks like hee’s alla feeneesh weeth hees call.”

Cherie smiled politely to Miss Delgado, gave her a breathy “Thank yew!” and sashayed to the door that was the entrance to The Warden’s sanctum. Still unsure about the state of her polish, Cherie turned the knob extra-carefully and eased the door open.

Upon entering, the Warden, for some reason, was nowhere in sight — leaving Cherie momentarily confused.

“Warden? Warden? Are you in here?”

McCobb’s head then giraffed upwards from behind his desk.

“Godammit! Why didn’t Tansy tell me you were coming in? Just a goddamned minute!”

McCobb’s head abruptly disappeared behind his desk again. The disappearance was immediately followed by the sound of loose change tinkling and keys jangling together in pockets. There was also some muffled grunting.

Cherie, puzzled, moved to the chair in front of McCobb’s desk, smoothed her skirt, and sat down. A dog-eared copy of “Penthouse” lay open on top of McCobb’s desk. The page that was open displayed an advertisement for “Hot Barely Legal Cheerleader Phone Sex.” Cherie noted that the ad in view had been neatly circled with what appeared to be a neon-orange Magic-Marker.

Cherie had no time to read any more of the ad before McCobb’s corpulent body popped up again from behind his desk. The full view he now offered was that of the usual Warden W. Lester McCobb, except that — as Cherie immediately noted — the fly of his pants was disturbingly agape. The opening underneath his paunchy midsection was all the more noticeable due to a swatch of shiny fabric that was poking though the gap. The fabric displayed, Cherie astutely noted, was in McCobb’s favorite color – “Fire-Engine Red.”

McCobb quickly picked up the open Penthouse, swept it perfunctorily into the top drawer of his desk, and then eased his plump buttocks back into his chair. He then adjusted his glasses and fixed his gaze on Cherie’s crossed legs, which faced him from another chair immediately opposite his desk.

The sight of Cherie’s legs seemed to have a calming effect on McCobb, as his earlier disturbed outrage turned swiftly apologetic.

“I’m real sorry, sugar. I didn’t mean to sound so nasty a minute ago. It’s just that the personnel situation around here sometimes gets me a little riled. I’ve told Tansy a million times to buzz me before she sends in a visitor. Damned Latinos. They never listen to nobody!”

“Oh, that’s all right, Warden. I knew yew weren’t mad at little ole me,” Cherie cooed. “Yew just have lotsa important responsibilities and all. I understand.”

“Yer darn right I do, sweet cheeks,” McCobb nodded, pleased that Cherie recognized his importance at the institution. “Not just anybody can run a prison, y’know. It takes trainin’ and brainpower. This is one high-stress profession.”

“I’m sure it is, honey. Yew don’t have to tell me. But if you’re feelin’ all stressed-out, why, yew should just come on down to the dispensary and let me give yew another one of my soothin’ massages. Didn’t my last one relax yew?”

“It did indeed, dew drop. An’ I might just take yew up on that offer real soon,” McCobb grinned, his tobacco-stained smile revealing his sincere pleasure at the prospect.

“Yes, a massage sounds real good,” McCobb chortled. “But we got some bidness to attend to right tcheer before we can get inta relievin’ my stress. Biff said yew had to patch up Alejandro Acevedo last night.”

Cherie eyed her nails warily, wondering if, by now, their deep red lacquer had at long last hardened.

“Yes sir, I did. Biff brought him down to the infirmary after he got into it with his little brother. I swear, Warden, those Mexican boys in Block Seven are a rambunctious group. You might wanta have a word with ‘em. I really don’t think they’re on the right track for full rehabilitation.”

Cherie tentatively tested her left thumbnail with the tip of her right index finger. She was pleased to see that it had completely dried.

“Well, maybe I will do just that, cupcake. But right now I’ve got a little problem with Austin about that knifin’. See, that wuz the fourth one this month. I gotta send the Superintendent another one of them goddam reports and I think when he hears about it this time they’ll be sending an inspector down pronto to poke around.. Hell, I don’t need that. I mean, WE don’t need that. After all, we’re all family here at this prison, ain’t we sweetheart?” McCobb mewled.

“Well, of course we are, Warden. Why, everyone loves yew here. No one would want yew to get into trouble with all those ole State inspectors. Where do they get off inspectin’ you, anyway? I get so tired of ’em. They’re always pokin’ their big ole noses into things that don’t concern them one bit,” Cherie concurred, still eyeing her nails but trying to sound sympathetic.

“But Warden, what can we do? Right now Alejandro has a big ole hole in his belly. An’ if those State people come down and take a peek, why they’d have to be kinda dumb not to notice it. And besides, every time they come down here they always wanta see Doc Lumley’s reports and all my nursin’ records. I mean, when they read those they’re gonna know about Alejandro. I mean, They just will.”

Her moment of polite commiseration over, Cherie turned her full focus to her other nails, noting with satisfaction, after checking them, that they were dry too.

“Well, I hear what you’re sayin’ sugar-drop,” McCobb wheedled. But maybe if you and the Doc’s reports kinda downplayed what happened to Alejandro last night — well, maybe those Austin fellers wouldn’t haveta come all the way out here. Y’know what I mean? Maybe those reports could just say Alejandro had some kinda accident. Like maybe he slipped and fell on a crucifix while he was prayin’ in the chapel or something.”

At the mention of a crucifix, McCobb displayed his yellowed teeth — which lit up his pinkish face like a burst of fading sunshine. A crucifix was the only object remotely resembling anything pointed in the prison that wasn’t technically off-limits to the convicts. McCobb was pleased that he had thought of it.

“So couldn’t ya jus’ help me out on this here one lil’ ole problem? Jus’ this one time, honey?” McCobb inveigled. “Like I said, we’re all good friends here, ain’t we?”

Cherie sighed. “Well, I dunno, Warden. I mean this isn’t the first time I’ve helped yew out cuz we wuz such good friends. Remember? There was that other time when Biff hit that one con with her nightstick cuz he wasn’t movin’ fast enough for her? She busted his head open like it wuz a Halloween punkin, an he’s never been the same. Yew know that fella still thinks he’s the Virgin of Guadalupe. That time, yew had me say he slipped on his soap in the shower. I didn’t think that was right sayin’ that, but I did it for yew cuz we wuz friends and cuz yew asked.”

“Aw, yeah honey. I member that. That was real nice of ya. An’ I appreciated it. An I still appreciate it. But I jus’ need yew to do me this one other lil ole favor too. It’s jus’ a teensy ole thing to do, an’ it’ll keep those Austin boys away. Besides, don’t I always do nice things for yew?”

A flash of inspiration crossed The Warden’s sallow face and he began rooting again in the area behind his desk.

“Hey, cutie-pie, that reminds me, McCobb wheedled. I got a little somethin’ for ya. A little somethin’ from my trip to Waco. I almost forgot. Look, here it is, right tchyeer.”

McCobb emerged from behind his desk with a large package prominently swathed in Victoria’s Secret gift-wrapping.

“Awww, yew remembered, Warden. Ain’t yew the sweet one!” Cherie gurgled.

“I couldn’t get watcha wanted in that lilac color though, sugar. ‘Fire-Engine Red’ was the only one they had it in, “ McCobb lied.

“Oh …well…shoot…I guess Fire-Engine Red’ll jus’ hafta do then.” Cherie sniffed, mildly disappointed.

“I knew yew’d be a friend ta me on this, sugar, “ McCobb smarmed. “Now, yew jus’ take yore little present an’ leave that ole nursin’ report about Alejandro all to me. When it’s all typed up and pretty like, I’ll jus’ have Tansy let yew know, and yew can come on in and sign it. I’ll also have a word with Doc Lumley about his report too.”

Cherie smiled her nicest smile at the Warden, picked up her package, and started to leave.

“Wait, there’s one more thing I have for ya, sweetness,” said McCobb, rising from his chair and accompanying Cherie to the door. Lowering his voice conspiratorily, he whispered:

“I’ll maybe be down for that massage a bit later this afternoon.”

“Okey-dokey, Warden,” Cherie whispered back. “An’ I’ll have everything ready. I’ll even have Cookie warm up the Mazola Oil — jus’ the way you like.”

“Yew jus’ do that, blossom,” grinned McCobb. “An’ mebbe yew could wear that little thingie I bought ya too!”

Then, to Cherie’s surprise, The Warden reached out, grabbed her left nipple with two of his stubby fingers, and gave it an affectionate parting twist.

Yesterday for me was what one might call “brittle.” Blame it on the weather (more snow…believe it or not), the temperature (one degree Fahrenheit…I kid you not) and a bit of a spat with a friend (which we will not discuss). My intent was to work up a storm, whispering filthy, dirty things into the ears of good boys trying desperately to be bad. To do it over and over and over again.

Alas, my self-indulgent mood-spasm got in the way and I did no such thing. Instead –which isn’t such a bad thing for me and my “bigger life picture”– I attended to a lot of fringe personal and fringe professional stuff that had been floating around, yet weighting me down.

A few items of good news, so let me catch you up, okay?

First: SuperVert, who is an official Zen Savant (Deviant Savant) and very good friend, did a New Year’s eve blog entry for the loners out there (of which I was one) and mentioned the gauntlet I threw down during the holidays. Did you know that I am the first and only “official” Phone Sex Operator his site PervScan has ever had? Do you know how special that makes me feel? How grateful? How lucky? How blessed? Because Mr. Vert is simply divine in every way, dontcha know?

Then: Coming soon to an Amazon.com near you: A poem (I Love You With All of my Hard-On), a short story (Mary’s Queer) and two of my essays (Do I Need a New Job or What? and Please Pass the Egg Nog: Pornography or Porn-not-graphy?) are going to be featured in a new Sex Kitten book, to be published this spring, Riding the Knot in Our Collective Shorts: A collection of rants and erotica. So a lady can get pissed and then have masturbatory make-up sex. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it? I can’t wait to read it myself!

And: Thanks to a loyal reader/caller who kindly pointed me in the proper direction, else I might have missed this one. The edgy, progressive and hip sex-zine, Fleshbot actually blogged my blog in one of their ultra-cool Sex Blog Roundups! This particular Roundup, subtitled Pornified Edition (proving I am not the only one to make up words to fit my mood, need, or intent), was courtesy of Chelsea Girl who happens to be a mighty fine writer with a blog of her own, pretty dumb things. I’ve added her to my links under Hot Blogs, because she is a phenomenal writer. She dresses it down as every day prose, but don’t let her fool you…her words are pure poetry. Check her out, because there just might be a test. And with that test there just might be a surprise.

So there you have it: While a bit of personal and professional detritus has been taken care of and life is a bit lighter now, I’m still basically snowed in. Since it’s cold enough to freeze your coochie off, I’m burning logs in my fireplace. Deviant Savant is wonderful as always. I’m about to be published in a real book for a second time. And I’ve been officially “pornified” by FleshBot.

One more thing: I found the coolest Erica Jong quote which I’ve added to Zen Wisdom…

xo, Angela