Smackdown

By Lisabet Sarai

She stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up. With a sigh, she made up her mind, stomped up the stairs and stood at his door. Opening her purse, she took it out and held it in her hand. She hammered on the door with her fist. "Henry! Open up! It's me."

“Go away! Leave me alone!”

The desperation in his voice triggered some sympathy, despite her determination to be stern. “We've got to talk. You can't go on like this. The wedding's next month.”

“Call off the wedding then. I don't give a damn.” Someone who knew Henry less well might have thought he sounded like a petulant child, but Sheila caught the undercurrent of pain in his testy reply.

She filled her lungs with air, then released it slowly. Unclasping her fingers, she stared at the shred of red silk nestled in her palm. She'd found it in his briefcase, while she'd been searching for his address book to verify one of the invitations. It wasn't the first time she'd discovered a woman's lingerie among his belongings.

“Henry – darling – you promised... Last time you told me you'd get help...”

“'Help?' What if I don't want to be 'helped'?”

“Don't you want me? Love me?” His selfishness reignited her anger. “Damn it, Henry! Is your – compulsion – more important than our relationship? You told me you'd put your old ways behind you. That with me by your side, you could resist the temptation to stray.”

“I was wrong. I'll never change. I know that now.” He choked up and once again, compassion melted her. Aside from this one weakness, he was a good man – caring, honest, and strong - a skilled and considerate lover - serious about things that were important, but with an unerring instinct for making her laugh. He'd make a good husband. She knew he wanted to be faithful to the vow he'd made. He just needed her support.

“Look – let me in. Please. It's silly for us to be arguing through the door like this.” She made her voice gentle, non-threatening, as though she were coaxing a feral animal to come closer. “I won't hurt you. I'm not mad anymore. Open the door, baby.”

“Don't 'baby' me, Sheila. I know you. As soon as you're inside, you'll start laying into me – verbally if not physically.”

“I won't.” She swallowed her frustration. “I love you, Henry. You know that. Please don't shut me out.”

Henry didn't answer, but she heard his footsteps approaching the door. She stuffed the evidence of his guilt back into her bag.

The door swung open. She stepped inside, noting that he'd shut the blinds against the afternoon glare. Patchouli hung heavy in the air., presumably emitted by the candles burning on his bureau and night-table.

“Thank you, darling - “ she began. The sight presented by her fiancé rendered her speechless – a state completely unfamiliar to her.

Henry towered over her, defiant, with his hands on his hips – hips that were wrapped in purple satin tap pants. His matching padded brassiere was trimmed with white lace. Taupe silk stockings encased his legs, held in place by elasticized bands that encircled his muscular thighs. His size nine feet were crammed into shiny black pumps with three inch heels. Rhinestone drops dangled from his earlobes. A matching choker sparkled below his Adam's apple.

He hadn't shaved. The earrings made a glittering contrast with his five o'clock shadow. The dark hair growing between his pecs poked out from the cleavage created by the bra. He'd smeared violet shadow onto his eyelids and painted his lips flaming red. She sniffed, catching a whiff of male sweat mingled with his cheap perfume.

“Oh – oh my God...!” Sheila had known about Henry's obsession for more than a year. He'd confessed the day after he'd proposed. But she'd never seen him - dressed up.

“So what do you think, Sheila?” His deliberate scorn wounded her. He twirled on his heels, surprisingly stable and graceful. “Aren't I just lovely?”

She couldn't answer. She could only stare in fascinated horror at the man she'd agreed to marry.

Disgusting. Bizarre. Abnormal. Perverse. The words ran through her mind, but she couldn't articulate them. And she couldn't look away.

He grabbed her hand and led her toward the bed. She slumped down, her legs finally giving way. Henry continued his camp promenade in front of her. He cupped his false breasts, then smoothed his hands down his torso to his hips in a slow, lascivious parody of a woman showing off her curves. “Well?”

“I – I ...”

“This is me, baby. This is who I really am. Take a good long look.” He brushed his palm over his purple-covered crotch. His cock jumped and swelled in response to his touch. Sheila's eyes were glued to the growing bulk that distended the feminine garment. Henry stroked himself through the satin, obviously enjoying the way the fabric slithered back and forth over the skin underneath. “You still want me, Sheila? Still love me?”

Twisted. Filthy. Obscene. Disturbed. But hot, oh yes - very hot. Sheila realized her nipples were hard and her own panties damp. “Henry...” she croaked, ashamed of her own reactions. He took a step in her direction. She leaned away from him, not wanting her scent to betray her. “You're not gay, are you?”

“Of course not, woman.” He seemed to gain confidence as she lost hers. “If I were gay, would I be doing this?” He reached down and pulled her to her feet, then grasped the collar of Sheila's blouse and tore it open. Buttons clattered in the corners. “Or this?” His mouth fastened on her nipple, sucking hard through her bra.

“Oh...” When he bit down on the swollen nub, fire raced through her. His lipstick left scarlet streaks on the sensible white cotton. “Oh, Henry...!”

He bore her down backwards onto the bed, ripped open the fly of her jeans and dragged them down over her hips. Then he plunged his fingers into her wetness. “I'm not gay, baby. I'm just a bit twisted.” He moved his hand inside her as if to illustrate the concept. “And you know what? I”m tired of apologizing. Either take me as I am, or cut me loose.”

She gazed up at him, kneeling between her spread thighs. His stocking seams marched down the back of his powerful calves. The front of his panties turned a darker shade purple as pre-cum soaked through the fine material. He rubbed his cock with one hand while massaging her clit with the other. Her pelvis jerked uncontrollably. He knew exactly what she liked.

When she was sure she couldn't endure any more, Henry stretched out on top of her. His padded breasts mashed against hers. His satin-clad erection prodded her bare belly, then slipped lower to nestle between her sticky thighs. “What do you say?” he breathed in her ear. “Do you want more, baby?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please...”

His earring swung against her cheek. His perfume made her dizzy. He ground his cock into her cleft while clamping down on her earlobe. When she gasped at the pain, he drove his tongue inside her mouth. He nibbled at the corner, smearing her cheeks with greasy red lipstick, before sealing her lips with his own.

Henry had always been considerate, in control of his lusts, thinking first of her pleasure. She'd never known him to be so forceful – almost brutal. And she loved it. She couldn't pretend she didn't.

He teased her until she tottered on the edge of coming, then snatched her back before starting again. When he finally relented, stripping her jeans off one leg, forcing her thighs to her shoulders, and ramming his cock into her depths, she screamed at the sensations that tore through her. It didn't matter that his prick poked out from satin and lace ladies' panties, or that the purple cones of his brassiere bounced as he fucked her.

He was all man. Her man. And it looked like being married to him might turn out better than she'd ever imagined.