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Which woman is more powerful?

Which lady truly looks more beautiful, intimidating, and truly powerful? My vote goes with the late Jean Patchett, a top model of the 1950s…

Poise & wit shone through Miss Patchett's incomparable pictures.

Poise & wit shone through Miss Patchett’s incomparable pictures.

…as opposed to Gal Gadot in the first image of her upcoming Wonder Woman incarnation. Sorry, but she looks like she should be in a low-budget sword and sandal movie in that outfit.

She has a sword--she must be powerful!

She has a sword–she MUST be powerful!

 

Jean Patchett as Wonder Woman–now that’s a movie I wish they’d made back in the 50s! Fashion model by day and super-heroine whenever the need arose! And the late great George Reeves could have done a cameo and bantered with her in his signature tv role as Superman. It would have been a screwball superhero delight.

 

 
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Posted by on September 30, 2014 in Erotica

 

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Femdom pervades modern culture!

Being a writer of erotic fiction, with a specialty in femdom stories, I am very aware of femdommy currents in other avenues of media and culture. The other morning while eating my breakfast and reading the newspaper, I noticed this fashion ad in the New York Post:

Her expression shoots daggers!

Her expression shoots daggers!

I was struck by how mean the model’s expression looked as she posed in her duds. “What are these clothes supposed to be,” I thought, “an appropriate ensemble for ballbusting a rebellious male?”

Several weeks earlier, at the beginning of this summer which has passed oh-too-quickly, I encountered this pose on the cover of the New York Post’s “Hot Issue” summer special:

It's all right to look, but all I can do is ache & put more cream cheese on my bagel.

It’s all right to look, but all I can do is ache & put more cream cheese on my bagel.

 

So I guess you might say I bumped into a little “tease and denial,” a popular form of femdom roleplay, while eating my salt bagel (which I like with plenty of salt).

Yes, femdom is everywhere…even when I go outside to enjoy the sunshine, or walk around near Times Square, I see women eager and ready to rule…

This ad was all over Manhattan earlier in the summer.

This ad was all over Manhattan earlier in the summer.

 

I think it’s funny how in the above ad, the coincidental placement of the leggy model’s hand against the side panel of the bus makes it almost look as if she has a riding crop!

I guess you might say I have femdom on the brain…well, not all the time, because I also have to be concerned with such mundane stuff as making a living, learning to be a better writer (always), reading vintage paperbacks, and checking out pretty women on the street…

In any case, if you want to learn more about the femdom universe from the perspective of one veteran traveler of its trails, check out my Kindle ebooks!

After 3 years this remains my top seller!

After 3 years this remains my top seller!

Check out my U.S. Amazon page here for more info! My ebooks are also available in the U.K., Canada, Germany, France, Spain, Italy, Japan, Australia, and India. Just go to the Amazon pages in those countries and check out my current list of ten titles:

LEARNING TO BE CRUEL

LEARNING TO BE CRUEL PART 2: PUNISHMENT BY THE BOOK

SHE MADE ME A CUCKOLD ON BLACK FRIDAY

SPELL OF DOMINANCE

DOMINANT CHINESE TWINS ENSLAVE WHINY MAN

NAKED BEFORE HER

THE CUCKOLD AND THE CLEAVAGE

MOMMY’S LITTLE DUNCE

TOES ARE FOR SUCKING

…last but not least (it’s really quite wild) there’s my supernatural femdom tale:

THE DOMINATRIX WHO COULDN’T DIE!

Please let me know how you like them either with a comment here, at my Twitter account @irvoneil, or by leaving a review on Amazon.

Thanks in advance, and enjoy!

 

 

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I sure do love bad girls…on paper!

I’m a little more wary and ambivalent about bad girls in reality, though…

Anyhow, some books I’ve read recently…just thought I’d share the covers. Actually I read a modern edition of Someone Is Bleeding with a dull type-only cover, and I wish I’d read the original paperback shown below (but which I don’t have). Looking at that cover when I took a break from reading would have been fun. Fortunately, I did read all the other books in these original editions.

 

JudasKiss byJayDratler

 

TheLadyKills

 

SomeoneIsBleeding-Matheson

 

hitt-ill-call-every-monday

I guess it would be hard to miss the pattern of my fantasy life, huh? ;)

For a sample of my own “bad girl” fiction, read my earlier post “Femdom noir fiction bonus” here!

 
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Posted by on July 31, 2014 in Femmes Fatale, Pulp fiction art

 

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Farewell to a flea market…

Some of the cool items I got only recently at the Garage Flea Market on 25th Street just off Sixth Avenue in Chelsea…

A short section of this novel provided the basis for the great 1949 film noir House of Strangers.

A short section of this novel provided the basis for the great 1949 film noir House of Strangers.

 

This has a fantastic ghost story entitled The Girl in the Mirror by E.N. Sargent.

This features a fine ghost story entitled The Girl in the Mirror by E.N. Sargent.

 

I'm reading a story in this now about a burlesque dancer in outer space!

I’m reading a story in this now about a burlesque dancer in outer space!

 

But the flea market, which has been in this garage for twenty years, is now a memory. It closed last weekend on June 29, 2014. I’ve heard the building is going to be demolished to make way for something new.

GarageFleaMktSign

 

The market was on two levels of this garage.

The market was on two levels of this garage.

 

Always a fun place to browse. Some vendors will relocate to an outdoor market nearby.

Always a fun place to browse. Some vendors will relocate to an outdoor market nearby.

 

 

A 19th century painting, a modern abstract, and the garage rates during the week.

A 19th century painting, a modern abstract, and the garage rates during the week.

 

I frequently went here for the inspiration that only vintage things can bring, as well as to meet and see friends. Some of the vendors will relocate to an outdoor flea market about a half a block away on 25th Street between Sixth Avenue and Broadway.

But the Garage, even as cold as it got in winter or as hot as it got in the summer, will be sorely missed!

GarageFleaMkt-UpperLevel

 
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Posted by on June 30, 2014 in New York City, Pulp fiction art

 

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The Queen of Sheba, glorious and fiery in her chariot!

In the fun 1952 Italian spectacle The Queen of Sheba, the son of King Solomon expresses his love for Princess Balkis (soon to assume the queenship) as they ride together in her chariot (she drives). He speaks fondly of “the fire in your eyes when you give an order…”

In this series of screen caps I’ve made, here’s a bit of that fire…courtesy of the marvelous eyes of actress Leonora Ruffo:

Queen OfSheba1

 

Queen OfSheba2

 

Queen OfSheba3

 

Queen OfSheba4

 

Queen OfSheba5

 

Queen OfSheba6

 

Queen OfSheba7

 

Queen OfSheba8

 

Queen OfSheba9

 

Queen OfSheba10

 

You don’t need a recap of the dialogue from me; the scene is all in her eyes as she dreams both of love and power. Smoldering!!

And now for one more treat: you can see the queen race, on her horse, the two men who are competing for her attentions. Check out this marvelous YouTube clip from Peplum TV here. Leonora Ruffo rides like she’s a female centaur, and there is a real joy in her exultant expressions. Watch her throw a spear and an axe and shoot an arrow at various targets. Try to find the whole movie sometime, it’s very entertaining and has some incredible sets of ancient Jerusalem and Sheba, as well as a musical score by the great Nino “The Godfather” Rota. Check out this clip and get a taste of those wild and wonderful “ancient” days of the imagination!

 
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Posted by on May 30, 2014 in Erotica, Femmes Fatale

 

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Lipstick vixen near Union Square NYC…

Walking down Broadway around Union Square and near the Strand Bookstore last Saturday (it was a lovely day indeed), I was struck by the eroticism of this advertisement in the window of a salon…

Her eyes...her lips...her fingernails...total femme fatale!

Her eyes…her lips…her fingernails…total femme fatale!

 

I sure am glad I had my camera with me to grab this shot…

Nothing like a little mid-afternoon lipstick fetish tease by a vibrant vixen! Oh, I know the ad is for nail polish, but it’s those lips that really got to me…

 
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Posted by on May 5, 2014 in Femmes Fatale, New York City

 

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Femdom noir fiction bonus!

Here for your enjoyment is a brand new short story, never before published. You might describe it as “femdom noir,” as I blend a tough babe with a submissive guy and let the fireworks explode in a taut and tingling scene!

 

SLAP ME, LOVELY!

Her collection of vintage pulp art was unsettling, to say the least…

SUREFIRE Detective Oct1957

 

Femdom noir fiction

by Irv O. Neil 

She said she was an actress, and a freelance writer, and she dug the 1950s paperbacks and enjoyed dressing up like the femmes fatale on the covers. “Cool,” I said, “the books on my table should give you lots of ideas for things to wear.” She was already fixed up vintage-style in a Fifties dress, purse, and ankle strap shoes. You see people like this at the flea market sometimes, spiffy like they stepped out of a time machine.

She told me her name was Myrna. Not the name she was born with, but another vintage thing she liked to wear. I started to wish I was dressed retro too, in a double-breasted suit with a pocket square, snappy tie and fedora. I would have liked to talk to her while dressed that way. But it wasn’t practical to wear stuff like that to stand behind a table at the flea for eight hours on a Saturday.

She chose two books with real dangerous dames on the covers, holding guns on guys. Tight skirts and sweaters, deadly curves, seamed stockings, and cigarettes dangling. “Are you gonna dress up like one of these gals and back some lucky guy into a corner tonight?” I said, after she gave me the money. She didn’t haggle on the price.

She laughed. “Sure, tiger. I can put one of these outfits together easy tonight. And the guy could be you.”

“Me? Really? Why me?” First, I had quite a few years on her, and second, we didn’t know each other in the least.

“Why not you?” She smiled and fished a cigarette out of her purse, slipped it between her lips, and handed her lighter to me. I got excited at the ridiculousness of it, I mean, she could have lit her smoke herself. But I did it.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said. I shook my head, but if I’d spoken, the words might have come out in a squeak.

She looked at all the books I had, quite a few. Not the biggest name authors, but that didn’t matter. The covers on the unknown guys can be just as good, and cheaper too. “Come over to my place tonight,” she said, “and bring these books.”

“All of ‘em?”

“I think you can manage that, tiger.” And she gave me a smile that would have melted an orange, handed me her card, and walked away on those ankle-strap heels.

*  *  *  *  *

It was crazy, I didn’t know anything about her. But I told myself that the fastest way to feel old–I mean, older than I already was–would be to look a gift dame in the mouth. So I left the flea market early, went home and took a shower, and then put my small but impressively colorful stack of 1950s paperback mysteries and thrillers into a satchel. Luckily I did have a vintage suit to wear, pure 50s with lapels like George Reeves used to wear on Superman, so if she wanted to roleplay “guys and dolls” I wouldn’t look out of place. I had no idea what the night would be, except that she was going to dress like one of the cover dames and look more closely at my books. I wondered if she’d wanted to buy all of ‘em back at the flea, but didn’t have the cash in her purse. Together they were worth maybe a hundred, hundred and a half at the most. Hey, I was ready to hand ‘em over real cheap to Myrna for an interesting evening. Haven’t had many of those lately, since I lost my magazine editing job and have been scrambling for bucks doing flea markets, trying to pay rent and health insurance by selling some of the stuff I’ve collected over the years. Too little money for social life these days, if you know what I mean.

*  *  *  *  *

Myrna lived on the second floor of a walkup near Tenth Avenue on 47th Street, a building out of one of the old noir movies. I rang the bell and went up the creaky carpeted steps, and she was waiting for me in the doorway of her place, as bright and painted as one of the paperback dames. She had on a snug red skirt with a tight gray sweater that scooped almost to her cleavage. And she had a black scarf tied in a bow around her throat. She’d changed her nylons, these looked sheer black with no seams, and I could see the little crimson jewels of her toenails in the peep toes of her black pumps. Her blonde hair was fluffy around her face, and she gave me that same powerful smile again.

“Hello, tiger.”

“Actually my name is Bill.”

“Hello, Bill. I see you dressed up for me for this time.”

“I thought maybe you’d wanna go someplace retro.”

“We’ll see, tiger. Meanwhile, we have all the retro we need right here. Come on in.”

The apartment was small, and it was decorated the way I’d expected and hoped. She had early Fifties furniture and curtains, and old copies of LIFE on a coffee table. There was a vintage television and radio too. But there was also something stranger and more surprising: she had framed covers of some of the sleaziest 1950s detective fiction digests hanging on the wall right behind her sofa.

OFF BEAT Detective Jan1960

These were some of the toughest collector’s items to find, with painted covers of violent women beating guys with guns or blackjacks or knives. There would always be lots of torn clothes on both the girl doing the beating and the guy getting beaten.

“My pride and joy, that display,” she said, coming up behind me as I put my satchel of paperbacks down on the coffee table. “Who said women weren’t strong back then?”

“Deadly dolls, all right,” I said, feeling a little weird with her standing right behind me as I looked at those sadistic pictures. These were really cruel covers, and I wasn’t sure what to make of Myrna for displaying them.

“These are the books, Bill?” she said, pointing at the satchel.

“Yeah.”

“I suppose you intend to charge me an arm and leg for ‘em?”

“Well—”

“You’re gonna give ‘em to me for nothin’, see?”

“Nothin’?”

“Nothin’.” And with that she cracked me across the mouth with her beautifully manicured right hand. I fell on the couch. There was blood trickling from my lip that I wiped off with the back of my hand. Then I reached for the satchel and held it close.

“You think I invited you here so I’d get fleeced?” said Myrna. She stood in front of me with her hands on her hips, her blue eyes bright even with the lamplight behind her fluffy blonde hair. “You’re gonna give me all the books, tiger, just because I asked for ‘em.”

“Well, Myrna—”

She came close, grabbed me by the front of my shirt and my Countess Mara tie, and cracked me one across the mouth again. Tears came to my eyes and I let out an almost but not quite silent sob.

“No squawkin’, mister!” And she took the handle of the satchel right out of my fingers and hefted the haul away. She walked over to her small dining table. As she did, I watched her hips sway in the tight skirt…and I wanted her so bad I couldn’t think straight. It didn’t matter that she was maybe thirty years younger than me. I knew now we were really the same age at heart. The insane are always the same age. Maybe we had a chance together…

I heard her unzip the bag and dig into the paperbacks. “Beautiful, Bill. I want ‘em all. And now they’re mine.” She turned around and pointed a red-polished fingertip at me. “And no squawkin’!”

I felt it was my duty to stand up to her. “Hey, see here, Myrna—”

She dropped the books back into the satchel and hurried on her heels over the carpet with perfect balance, just like the gals in the old movies. In her shoes, she was as tall as I was, but she might as well have been taller, because she felt taller as she grabbed me by the shirt again and backhanded me and forehanded me, backhanded me and forehanded me, until I fell down on the sofa, in such a daze I almost could feel no pain. Almost…

“That’s better, you’ll be quiet now,” she said. She reached down to her coffee table and took a cigarette out of a tray, and picked up the lighter and handed it to me. “Obedience is a quality I respect in a man, Bill.” I lit her cigarette and she blew smoke in my face.

“Tiger, I think we might have the beginnings of something here. I’ll give you some iodine for your lip, and then we’ll go get some steaks and do a little dancing.”

I sat on the couch, and even though my lip hurt like hell, I couldn’t help but smile. As I said, I’d been ready to give her the books cheap from the git-go, just to have an interesting evening. But to be forced to give them for free and get a beating in return was much more than I’d hoped for. I gazed up at those violent old magazine covers and smiled. I liked the way she dressed, and I liked the way she decorated. It looked like Myrna was real relationship material.

the end!

 

SUREFIRE Detective Feb1958

 

If you enjoyed this short story, check out my much more sexually explicit adults-only femdom erotica Kindle ebooks, too! Click here for links to Amazon Kindle stores around the world.

I found the magazine covers which inspired this story here.

————–

“Slap Me, Lovely!” © 2014 Irv O. Neil

 

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