FELINE FEMME FATALES

Just for a moment, let’s go beyond the primary layer of the seeming femininity of our furry friend, the cat, and its alternate name, the pussy. Yes, I know it’s difficult, asking you to go beyond your hypothalamus and your fight, flight, fear, and fuck impulses. Let’s move up a bit into your more, well, socially informed areas of your dopamined mind, yes?

Dogs, as we all know, are loyal, easily trainable, and need to please.

Cats, on the other hand,  are fickle, independent, and indifferent. So the stereotyping says. Let’s draw a parallel. What are some of the more common complaints men have about women, aside from being late? Well, one is that they’re unpredictable (read fickle). Another is that, despite all the media blather about women needing to communicate, they actually don’t, at least when it comes to their relationships with the opposite sex. And, well, what’s to say about indifference, particularly when a man really, truly wants something? The surest route to rejection, whether at a pick up spot or in the marital bed, is for the man to go down the path of being very clear about his hypothalamine desires. Swish of the tail, as she meanders away.  Reject, reject...

It’s just sooooo much fun being a Woman!

Seemingly so warm and cuddly, and then suddenly indifferent. Changeable. Yes, men do like to reduce it to hormones and menstrual cycles, which would seem to leave them off the hook: she can’t help it, she’s on the rag. Did I ever tell you about the time a man actually had the gall to say that to me? What a lovely evening that became. I seduced him, bound him, blindfolded him and had him open his mouth wide. And, can you – I mean, really, can you? – just take one little guess about what I popped in, followed by tape across his mouth? LOL. Honestly, I’m a very caring and compassionate person. Truly. But his remark was just so distasteful to me, and it seemed an important part of his education to learn just how distasteful I found it by having him experience that sensation of distastefulness. And so, as I straddled his crotch, with him straining against the slightly undersized briefs I enjoyed seeing him in, and removed the blindfold – visual contact is very important during training – I explained that the word “rag” in that context is entirely inappropriate. And I calmly, as I shifted my hips just a bit, explained that one of the most important part of our relationship, of the dynamic between us, is that if either of us ever felt we truly knew the other person, and their responses to things, and could anticipate that, it would be lovely… but it would come to feel stale and boring quite quickly – that should he feel that I was entirely predictable, he would be terribly disappointed. And, again, I reminded him of how distasteful the word “rag” is and went on to explain that my being capricious really had nothing to do with hormones – I could just as easily manipulate him into the very position he was in right now when I wasn’t having my period—on his back and rather helpless, though I’d need to find something equally distasteful for him to chew on.

Which, of course, I later did, merely to prove the point. He wasn’t a fan of Chopped Liver. Never did acquire a taste for it, despite my effort. Oh, well.

The point here, my dears, is that being unpredictable is a source of strength, and power. Yes, it’s the nimbleness and quickness of the cat that makes them so elusive to dogs, with their hunting instinct. And, yes, it’s the hiss and the arched back that warn dogs off. But it’s the sudden, entirely unexpected and unpredicted swipe of the claws across the snout that reinforces it.

Which is why, dear reader, Batman – the strong, mysterious male and his transparent ego – can never quite subdue Catwoman, and her feral understanding of arousal, desire, and manipulation. Sure, he’s stronger. And, he has all those nifty man toys at his disposal. But Catwoman is a continually elusive being, beyond his control.  (Like the man’s penis.)

Surely you don’t need proof, but let’s just consider something. What’s the best way to minimize and control something? To mock it, of course. Back in the repressed ‘50s, Catwomen were often flat out goofy – ineffectual little things that flocked around each other to no effect, a source of amusement and naughtiness.
Example: some fun films of that era:

CAT WOMEN OF THE MOON

CAT GIRL the UK film

CAT PEOPLE. Actually a fun film.

Later, as taboos lifted, Julie Newmar in the ‘60s Batman television series was more than naughty – she was bloody well hot.

Michelle Pfeiffer was hardly buttoned down, though her Catwoman was the polar opposite of the passive, mousey designer she was in her mortal life.

 Ditto for Halley Berry in Catwoman, who literally had no need for Batman: she was her own woman.

And now comes Anne Hathaway in the next installment of the Batman movies. Dark glasses, inscrutable, impenetrable leather skin.

When it comes to men, let me ask you this. Who needs claws, when there are so many other weapons at our disposal?

A Slice of Life...

It depends on who you ask, really. Take Caravaggio, for instance. When he showed the Biblical scene of Judith beheading Holofernes – the Syrian general who was about to attack her town – the expression on her face is most, well, expressive. “Nasty piece of business, this,” she seems to be thinking. Furrowed brow. The firm set of her lips. Yet she’s not grabbing his hair or slicing the sword through his neck at arm’s distance, is she? No, she’s stepped up and seems to be embracing the task. Grabbing his hair and pulling him towards the breast that he so desired.  And then – speaking of nasty – there are the – oops – jutting breasts-the femme weapon of subterfuge.
And certainly don’t focus on his expression. Or his exquisitely erect nipples. Surely, Caravaggio meant no connection between power and powerlessness, between desire and death. It’s not like she talked her way into his tent because he found her so fetching.

Oops, again. Yes, that’s exactly how she – a Jewish woman from the town about to be laid to waste – gets into his tent. We won’t go into the perils of letting desire into your tent at the moment since it’s so nicely illustrated here.

Then there’s Franz Stuck.

Where Caravaggio told the story in restrained, subtle ways, not so our boy Franz. Holofernes is prone, asleep, his arms raised as if in surrender after a rather, um, depleting intimacy with our girl Judith. (Go Judith!!!). She stands above him, a rather – rather – large sword as upright as a fully-fluffed, viagraed star of the slimy silver screen. 

As she stands there, what on earth could she be thinking? Of the sweet little lambs and piglets who will be spared because of the blow she is about to deliver? Her husband? Father, sister, mother, neighbor? The righteousness of her preemptive strike?

Hardly likely, little puppy. Her head tilted slightly back, eyes narrowed to serpentine slits (there’s that darned snake again; I wonder if she belongs to Slytherin), she is most clearly enjoying this tender, quite empowering moment in which his desire has left him not just weak but unconscious (a small death in itself). There’s not a shred of anger or rage or resentment to her expression. No. It’s just a satisfied calm and sense of entitled purpose.

Or maybe she’s musing on something. What she might say to the about to be expired Holofernes. “She who thrusts last thrusts best.”

This last doesn’t require much comment.  the Act completed,   Judith’s fingers as if in a death grip on the severed head of Mr. H, her dress half open, glittered, dazzling, and so very, very clearly in an extended erotic state. The nipple now soft and at rest as if acknowledging the trance-like state of Judith.

It’s all a bit gory, isn't it. Though I must say, I do enjoy a good conquest, whether in the end he’s kept his head or not.

The Femme Fatale

Definition of FEMME FATALE

1   a seductive woman who lures men into dangerous or compromising situations

2   a woman who attracts men by an aura of charm and mystery

Origin of FEMME FATALE

French, literally, disastrous woman

First Known Use: 1912

There are some men who just cannot resist the power of Femme Fatale.  She glides, she moves, she manipulates, she seduces, and the victim (the man) for the most part is trapped by the vision she chooses him to see.

Having been beguiled and seduced, he becomes too weak to resist, with no thought of the consquences attached.

Welcome to my blog. 

Short Stories - 1 The Senator

Our femme fatale has been hired by a huge corporation.  Her mission is to lure a highly respected, straight-laced senator into such a compromising position, he will be forced into exercising his influence in getting a certain bill passed.

She has done her research, hacking into his personal laptop, obtaining his schedule of appearances.  She knows where he shops, his friends and family, and his daily routine.  All documentation gathered.  She is now in position to catch her prey.

________________________________

Time: 11.30 p.m.  Place: The Astoria Hotel, 7th floor.

Femme Fatale: Dressed in an ankle length fur coat with a shiny leather thigh high cocktail dress underneath, Large Designer sunglasses, black patent leather stiletto heels, a wide diamond choker,  black soft leather opera gloves and... a hotel room key card that just doesn't seem to be working...

Oh gosh, would you mind helping me, please.  I can't seem to make this card work.

The senator, moving towards her, on his way to his room, smiles and stops to aid the damsel in distress.  His smile seems to convey an open friendliness and at the same time a chauvinistic air.( She is blonde.)  He takes the key from her hand and slides it in the thin slit. Hearing the click, he releases the card and the turns the handle.

Oh, goodness, I feel so silly.  My only excuse is, I've had a few martinis in the bar.

The senator moves back and still smiling makes to turn away and head down the hallway.


No, please.  Wait a moment.  You are my knight! Please, let me at least give you a hug.

She moves in, the large fur collar brushes up against his lips and nose as she wraps her arms over his shoulders.  The senator, taken off guard, tries to pull back

That really is not necessary.  Please, madam, remove your..... arms..... and.....

 Her insistent hugging is having a very strange effect on the Senator and his tongue is beginning to feel numb.

Oh my, you do look a bit weak.  Gosh, I hope you aren't allergic to Mink.

The senator tries to answer but his tongue feels thick in his mouth and a numbing sensation is filling his cheeks and moving down his jaw.  He stumbles with words and movement.

Look, you must come in.  I insist.  Something is really wrong here.  Please, just lie down on the bed and just relax.  I'm sure it will pass.

The senator lays back, anxious of what is causing the acute and mysterious attack on his body.

Let me remove your jacket.  And, maybe loosen this tie, and undo these shirt buttons.  That's feels better, I'm sure. I'm really concerned.  Let me remove your shoes, socks, and... well, maybe the trousers are too tight.  I better just carry on and remove the underwear.   Feel better?   Your  body can breath now.

The senator feels a numbness in his feet and hands.  He looks up at the woman, imploring with his eyes for her to call and get help.

Relax, senator.  Yes, I know who you are, and you are going to be fine.  I've watched you, you know, on  TV.  I've always thought you hot.  Just looking at your naked body now is actually making me very hot. Let me take off this fur coat.. I think it's done it's work, anyway.

I'm going to turn on the video camera now.  You see, senator, we're going to have sex, and well... there are certain people who want to make sure you play ball with them.   I can be honest with you because the sound isn't on.  I think just the visual will be more than enough.
Now, just enjoy it.  Honestly, I want you to.  I'm going to stroke you now.  Even though your extremities are numb, your penis isn't and... we need to get that nice and hard.  Oh, look... it is getting hard!

The senator watches as her soft leather clad hand strokes the shaft.  He cannot help but respond to the sensation of  her touch, and the visual of her outfit and curves and sensuous red lips. He can't help but think under far different circumstances she would be his fantasy woman, but what the hell does she mean... play ball?  Is she an assassin?  Is this an elaborate frame?

As if reading the senator's mind, she smiles and there's a kindness in her eyes.

I promise you, this is going to be pleasurable, and all mobility will return to you, and you will walk out that door on both two legs.  You know, senator, i knew you would be a darling boy. You see,  I saw on your home computer that you like to look at domination sites.  Yes, I was thrilled... pleasantly surprised... that the straight-laced senator, who does so much in his church community, was actually hooked on porn.  And that is such a turn-on for me.  Really.  We have something in common.

The Senator's mind reels at this information, as he tries to separate the fear and anger from the stirrings of arousal her hand is inducing.  He's used to fighting and winning.  He cannot believe the absurdity of the situation.

She leans over and kisses his inner thighs, slides her tongue up over his stomach, and moves up to his nipples and gently bites.  She smiles as she moves back and lifts the hem of the black shiny cocktail dress to reveal the wide band of her black nylons and a large black shiny dildo hanging between her thighs..

It's okay, darling, I'm going to be gentle.  I promise it will make you cum really hard.  And see, you're already rock hard.   Do you know, I sometimes masturbated while watching you on TV?  Yes, really.   I fantasized about mounting you and taking your cock inside me.  Of us making love, endlessly.  Through the TV you gave me many orgasms.  I just knew... underneath that aloof conservative stance, there had to be a hot lover.  Maybe another time, when I'm not working, we can hook up and explore that.  Would you like that, darling boy? 

With her words swirling around in his head, the senator stares at the black shiny dildo strapped between her thighs.  He never imagined those images on the Internet would ever be his reality.  The senator's finding it more and more difficult  to hold on to any cohesive thought.  The feeling of arousal  overtaking anger and humiliation.  She's so beautiful, so powerful...

Now, I'll just push myself in between your legs and curl them around me. That's better.  Look into my eyes, darling boy.   There... slowly sliding in.  A little deeper now.  Just moving nice and slow, in and out.  Your cock is hard.  That's going to be your downfall, you know.  Not that you can do anything about it.  You find me just as attractive as I do you.  Pushing in... that's right, darling, I can feel you trying to lift up towards me. Responding unconditionally.   Harder now... harder... deeper...  all the way in now.  I do find you so very sexy, you know.  And, I wish, really wish, you could be making love to me, that I could enjoy your hands on me,  but this way, it's more... in-forcible, if you understand what I mean. 


Aaaaah....    Mmmmmmmmmmm........    Yes, yes.... yes....

She rolls her head back, softly moaning, as her vaginal spasms quicken to an orgasmic crescendo.  Stroking harder and faster on the shaft as if masturbating herself with it, the cock pulsates uncontrollably, helplessly, in the palm of her tightly squeezing  hand.  The senator, too weak now to fight the inevitable climax of burgeoning pleasure,  watches as his ejaculate spurts out over the black leather gloved hand...   Both now breathing in unison, as the internal ebbing rhythms still move in their bodies.

Oh, so good.  Sooooo good, darling.  You came hard, didn't you.  Me too. I know your lips are still numb, but I do so want to kiss you.  Plus... it'll look good.

After a long and gentle kiss on the senator's lips, she slides away and climbs off the bed.  She peels off the gloves, one of which is soaked with the senator's semen.  She turns off the camera; packing it away; removing the dildo, she slips it in to plastic bag, along with the gloves.  She smiles down at the senator as she smooths out the dress, and slips the fur coat over her shoulders.  Looking around the room for anything she might have left....

Senator, in about fifteen minutes from now, all feeling will be back in your extremities.  You'll be just fine. The toxin on my coat collar will leave no trace in your body, and only has a limited period of effectiveness.  I'm sorry I had to use it on you, and  I'm sorry I can't give you my number, but don't worry--I'll find you, darling.  You will receive instructions, through a third party, on a certain bill that needs to get passed.  It's been wonderful, and I've really enjoyed you, but now I really must go. 

She exits the hotel room door, and the senator waits for the return of movement, knowing... his life as he knew it, will never return.  The real absurdity, he realizes, is that he hopes she does find him.

Disclaimer:  I don't actually believe in wearing the fur of any animal.
The idea, for this story came about through a fantasy conversation with a man.  He was the senator.  I, of course, The Femme Fatale.
 
copyright Ms. Londoncalling.