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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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Farewell to the Domme Dose…

For over two years, from November 2011 thru mid-January 2014, I wrote a weekly column for a site called Domme Dose. Although it focused primarily on the “financial domination” sub-genre of femdom, the webmaster WR let me write about whatever aspects of femdom I was interested in. I took both a personal and scholarly approach, relating my experiences with D/s, dominatrixes, and also how I found connections to femdom in pop culture.

WR had initially approached me to write for Domme Dose when he saw one of my blog posts here entitled “Teases and Temptations of the Twitterdommes.” It was fun to write what I called “Notes of a Rebel Subbie” for WR and discuss my eternally ambivalent attitude toward femdom. It was also helpful as well as fun because it gave me a chance to promote on a weekly basis my femdom ebooks.

A lively fun site.

A lively fun site.

 

Although I never met WR in person, we would correspond via email a couple of times a week, usually after I sent him my column on Monday nights. We would usually just chat about our enthusiasm for various dommes, and WR would tease me that I had so many favorites. I did like a good number of them, but I also promoted others in whom I had a more casual interest simply because I figured it would also help bring more readers and traffic to his site.

I enjoyed emailing with WR especially about the old days in Times Square, and the wild live performances they used to have in places like Show World Center.

I found WR a courteous and friendly guy, who was very accepting of his own interests in femdom. I admired that self-acceptance in WR, because I myself have always felt like a “rebel subbie,” my term for the ambivalence I’ve always had toward femdom. When it comes to my desires to submit to women even in roleplay, I’m never free of a certain self-disdain…never ceasing to chide myself that I should be “normal” and not “kinky.” (Although as I’ve gotten older–and thankfully known people like WR, and some of the dommes I’ve encountered at the Dose and on Twitter–I have become more self-accepting.)

So writing “Notes of a Rebel Subbie” helped me in a therapeutic way, too.

I also admired that WR could do his site seven days a week, handling all the pictures and copy and personalities of the various contributors. As somebody who worked for almost thirty years as an adult magazine editor, I could understand what challenges that entailed.

WR would promote me on his homepage as a “famous” writer until one dominatrix complained and questioned my actual level of fame…

I got a kick out of posing for silly selfies for the column.

I got a kick out of posing for silly selfies for the column.

 

Now, I had never asked WR to say I was famous–I don’t consider myself such–so I told him why not change “famous” writer to “acclaimed” writer. Since I’ve been nominated four times for AVN awards for my X-rated screenplays, I figured it was safe to say that at least four times in my life my work had indeed been “acclaimed.” 😉

So WR did that for awhile, until he started calling me the “distinguished” writer…and we seemed to settle on that.

The selfie usually reflected the tone of that week's column.

The selfie usually reflected the tone of that week’s column.

 

Then in mid-January, WR stopped posting on the Dose or Twitter. There was no word from him to anybody, no warning. For a guy as reliable as he was, this did not bode well to me and many others. People speculated on what could have happened, but nobody came up with an answer until a few weeks ago, when it was learned that WR had passed away the day after his postings ceased. (Although, as far as I know, details on what happened have still not emerged online. WR seems to have been a very private, discreet person in many ways.)

The Domme Dose itself came down just a couple of weeks ago, after remaining online for more than two months, reminding me of a shuttered saloon where the owners had left all the lights still on–because the Dose was like a corner bar in a way, where dommes and subs got together to discuss things at various levels of passion, reasonableness, discord, or humor.

I enjoyed reading my fellow columnists such as Moneyslave Matt and MzSydney; reading comments from gents like Frank, Hex’sFreakOnALeash, dickie virgin, Kyaa’sBard, and goodboy4kyaa; and keeping up with the thoughts and doings of so many dommes like Princess Rene, Miss Foxx, Capitalistic Blonde, Miss Annabel Grace, Goddess Jessica, Hex Kitten, Princess Karmaz, Mandy Flores, Princess Ellie Idol, Goddess Kyaa, Queen Kitty, Mistress T, Bella Daisy, Asian Goddess, Mistress Sarah Blake, Bratty Nikki, and many others.

Yes, I miss writing for and chatting on the Dose, and I miss WR’s emails and tweets. He was one of the best guys I’ve worked for. So long, amigo. R.I.P.

 

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Choose the best in femdom fiction this holiday season!

When you need to escape from reality for a little while this holiday season…check out my femdom ebooks on Kindle! Available in Amazon stores around the globe! Enter the world of my stories…with some of sexiest dommes in current erotic literature!

After almost 2 years this remains my top seller!

This sequel is one of the craziest stories of my twisted career!

BlackFridayCover-FemdomFiction

DeathlessDom3rdCover

This is one of my best stories--very kinky yet very funny.

DomTwins Cover#2

FemdomErotica-SPELL-DOMINANCE-Cover

NakedB4Her CoverFor Kindle

Femdom-Toes4SuckingCover

Click on the Amazon store in your country to immediately enjoy my stories!

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon Germany

Amazon France

Amazon Spain

Amazon Italy

Amazon Japan

Amazon Canada

Amazon Brazil

Amazon India

If you go Amazon Mexico or Amazon Australia, put my name “Irv O. Neil” into the search and then you’ll be directed to my author’s page with the listings of my ebooks.

Amazon Mexico

Amazon Australia

Amazon Netherlands

Look for new ebooks to be posted soon, not only femdom but soon some of my more mainstream erotic tales too. And please let me know how you like my stories by leaving comments either here on the blog or with short reviews on Amazon! Much appreciated, and Happy Holidays!———Irv

UPDATE 12/6/13:

As I mentioned in the last paragraph, I’m starting to now publish some of my more mainstream sex stories, and  am starting off with…

CleavageCuckieCover

It’s a saucy and titillating story about a middle-aged guy who just loves to nuzzle on his twentysomething gold-digging girlfriend’s big breasts…but is curiously reticent about putting his pecker into her pie! When an opportunity comes for him to explore his cuckold urges, he takes it…but learns there’s more to his desires than meet the eye! Although the girlfriend acts a little bossy, it’s not femdom fiction but more of a classic sex story…so I’ve dubbed it Sexy Fiction as opposed to my usual “Femdom Fiction.” Check it out on Amazon, where you’ll find it in the same places where my other books are available. Enjoy!

 
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Posted by on November 29, 2013 in Amazon.com, ebooks, Erotica, Femmes Fatale, Kindle

 

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