Fwap, Part 1
By BOS, OwnGames@aol.com
Male and female Hollywood action stars meet in real life.


It was when -- standing there stooped over in pain -- he 
saw her nylon-covered foot slip its high heel off, snap 
up backwards so that the sole of her foot could squash 
his nose for an instant, then glide back into the shoe 
and be secured by her finger moving the strap out of the 
way, that Dex Stonecker began to realize what he was up 
against here.
 He had watched the whole thing. He felt this must be 
what it's like to see your life flash before you when 
your car is about to crash: You see everything as 
clearly as possible; yet it only takes an instant, so 
little time that you are completely helpless to do 
anything. His mind engaged all manner of thoughts in 
that undignified moment, including the amazing 
observation that that this beautiful woman was taking it 
easy on him: After all, she could have left her shoe on 
when she slapped his face with her foot.
 This was not what he expected when he accepted the 
invitation to this Hollywood party. He had expected to 
be a center of a more respectful kind of attention, 
because of his stature as the number one action star of 
the moment, his great size and his good looks. And, 
indeed, things were going along pretty much as he 
expected until a photographer brought this Shannon Stone 
woman over and asked him to pose with her for his 
magazine. Dex was willing; part of the game. 
 He was quickly trying to think of the name of one of 
her movies. They were B pics or cable things; he knew 
that much. And she played a woman who kicks ass. So it 
was natural for the photographer to want to get a 
picture of the two action stars in some sort of mock 
standoff. Dex's thought was that posing would get him 
good-guy credit. He was a so much bigger star than her 
that surely she'd be grateful, and others would be 
impressed with his magnanimity.
 His first thought was to put his great ham of a fist up 
next to her face, closed, and say, "How's this?" Then he 
thought, no, not exactly the right image, not in these 
days when people are so worried about guys who beat up 
women.
 When he heard the words, "How's this?" his first 
thought was that he had slipped up and said what he was 
thinking. But, no, it was Shannon Stone  who had spoken. 
She was now, he realized, standing there in an attacking 
pose right next to him. She had gotten into it so 
quickly that he knew it would have been nothing for her 
to have aimed a bit differently and clocked him. It was 
natural for an action actor like himself to have that 
thought.
 What was more striking about Shanon's position than the 
speed with which she had assumed it was its dramatic and 
revealing nature. The photographer had never dreamed 
he'd get a shot this good. With Shannon standing to 
Dex's right, her left foot was up in his face. Her high 
heel was no more than an inch from his chin. This 
required quiet a reach on her part, for Dex was a lot 
taller than her, maybe 6'5" to her 5'10". Her dramatic 
4" heels made up a lot of the difference, but not all.
 The angle resulted in the complete revelation of the 
actress's long left leg. She was wearing the black mesh 
hosiery that seems almost de rigeur for the Hollywood 
femme fatale dressed in a skirt that's slit up the side. 
 The angle revealed the inside of the lady's right 
thigh, at least to the gaze of Dex, at least until 
Shannon noticed where he was looking and demurely folded 
a loose piece of skirt over that part of her anatomy, 
even as she continued to hold the pose.
 Her ability to hold the pose was perhaps the most 
striking fact about this striking demonstration. She was 
cool and relaxed as the photographer fumbled into 
action, and as the rest of the party focused on this 
little scene.
 She smiled at Dex as they waited, and she playfully 
moved her elegant foot about his face. "Fwap, fwap, 
fwap." She made her own sound effects as she faked a 
slap one way, then the other, then back. Dex smiled, 
too, but uncomfortably.
 She was, after all, done moving before he was able to 
react to the fact that she had started. If she had been 
going for contact, she would have achieved it three 
times. And they both knew it.
 He told himself he had been distracted by the view.
 After some lame jokes all around and some chitchat, the 
photographer thanked them, and Shannon moved away, now 
the subject of more attention from the media 
representatives present than was Dex.
 Dex couldn't leave it alone. Before the end of the 
evening, he was standing by Shannon's side and saying, 
"You're pretty good with that leg. Maybe we should work 
together some time." Again, he thought he was being 
magnanimous, given his stature in the business."
 "Great," Shannon said, "but I like to be the baddest 
ass in the movie. I think I should save you from the bad 
guys after they've overwhelmed you, then pull you to 
safety." 
 "Hmmm," Dex said. "That wasn't exactly what I had in 
mind."
  Smiling, Shannon wrapped her arm in his and walked 
them toward the balcony overlooking the Hollywood hills. 
Just before they reached the railing, she hip-shoved him 
sideways -- not violently, but effectively -- into a 
cranny of space that was shrouded by shrubbery but was 
not far removed the party's action.
 After checking to see that they were alone, Shannon 
took the man's head in her palms and lowered his face 
toward her lips. Then, just as they were about to touch, 
she turned away and walked toward the far end of the 
little cranny and then turned to face him. 
 Leaning backwards on her elbows on the four-foot high 
cement barrier between her and the hills, she propped 
one foot flat against the barrier, so that her bare leg 
jutted out from her, her knee pointing toward the man.
 She said, "Sorry. I just can't seem to resist messing 
with you, big fella."
 He couldn't let this drop. "So that's what's happening 
here?" he said, as he walked toward her with his effort 
at a manly, entertained smile on his face. "You're 
messing with me?"
 "Yeah," she said. "But so far I'm taking it easy on 
you."
  Suddenly her left leg shot up at his face. But just as 
before, she stopped it just sort of contact. By the time 
he got his hands up, it was, again, too late --  or 
would have been if she hadn't held back.
  This time, because he was facing her, he saw not only 
the whole leg, but her lacy black underwear. She let him 
look for an instant then began to drop her leg. But as 
his guard came down, her foot went back up. "Fwap. Fwap. 
Fwap," she said again, as she faked little left jabs at 
his face. He hands came up to swipe her foot away, but 
by then it was gone, and she was leaning back on the 
barrier, smiling at him.
 "Your LOTS of fun," she said.
 Two can play this game, Dex figured. This business of 
stopping just short of contact was not exactly new to 
any martial arts actor. They did that as a matter of 
course. He leaned back and lifted his huge leg, planning 
to bring his foot toward her face. The beautiful woman 
in the off-the-shoulder dress didn't duck, though. 
Indeed, she stepped toward him, between his legs, within 
a foot or so of him. She wrapped her arm -- lightly 
sheathed in  diaphonous black -- around his raised knee 
and turned toward the concrete barrier. Her grip was 
firm, and her movement brought the off-balance man with 
her. 
 He found his other leg back up against the concrete 
barrier, and, when the woman pushed on his chest with 
her free arm, he basically sat down. When she squickly 
changed the position of her arm on his leg so that her 
elbow was on the underside of his knee, rather than in 
front of it, and she raised the leg, his back fell 
against the concrete. 
 He was prone and helpless. From there it was a simple 
matter to push him so that he would have fallen 
backwards into the air if she hadn't held him. She 
pushed him and held him. She now had his other leg, too, 
and the big man was hanging vertically, upside down, at 
her mercy, a hundred feet above anything.
 He did not cry out, because, even though his very life 
might be in need of rescue, he could not afford to be 
seen in these circumstances. He didn't exactly decide 
that he'd rather die. He decided that he trusted this 
woman not to kill him.
 She said, "You really know how to show a girl a good 
time, beefcake."
 He said, "This is dangerous." 
 "OK, beefcake, I won't make you beg," she said. "I know 
how you guys are." 
 She slowly pulled him up by backing away from the 
barrier. His head bounced against the concrete a time or 
two, and when his back was back on top of the concrete 
barrier, he turned to his side to ease his dizziness. 
With a little unwanted help from his beautiful 
companion, he rolled off the barrier onto the floor of 
the balcony. He got to all fours, but his head was still 
clearing, and he paused a moment. 
 Or half a moment, however long it was. That was when he 
saw the nyloned bottom of her otherwise naked foot 
coming toward his face.
 With her back to him, she firmly patted him on the 
nose, not once, but twice, scaring him more than hurting 
him. She then slid the foot back into her high-heeled 
shoe, bent to flick the strap at the back of her shoe so 
that it secured her ankle, then stood straight to watch 
him.
 He was watching her feet.
 So she gave him a show. She turned and slowly walked 
away from him, back into the party, wondering if his 
eyes stayed fixed on the one calf that was repeatedly 
exposed by the movement of her skirt, or whether they 
roamed up to her butt -- better than which, she knew, he 
would never see -- encased in so lovingly revealing and 
caressing a delicate fabric . 
 With her back to him, she said, "A little TOO easy."
 She turned a corner and was gone.
 He pulled himself together, worrying mainly about 
whether anybody had seen anything. He wanted to leave, 
but the only way out was through the party. He made sure 
to get his appearance of composure entirely in order 
before a sort or re-entrance.
 He saw the woman mingling and laughing casually. He 
could not confront her in public; who knew what she 
might do? 
 But he couldn't give her the satisfaction of leaving 
before her, lest she get the impression that she had 
made him uncomfortable.
 He thought it would take her forever to leave. When, 
finally, she did start to say her good-byes, she 
included him in them. She gave him a Hollywood peck on 
the cheek, whispering in his ear, with her lips 
teasingly brushing against his lobe, "We WILL do that 
film, sweetheart, and under my terms." She patted him on 
cheek and turned to say good-bye to somebody else.
 For the rest of that night, he thought about these 
events and this devastingly sexy woman. Her "fwap!" kept 
coming at him, turning his body from side to side in his 
bed. One thought he had was that maybe she was just 
trying to impress him as a way of getting a job from 
him. But what was that last dramatic line about about 
"We WILL do that film...under my terms?" What the fuck 
was THAT?
 Oh, of course, he thought: She was not only showing him 
that she do the fighting necessary for a good film; she 
was showing him that she could act. That must be it. 
What the hell else could it be?
 He found himself wondering whether she really thought 
she could beat him in a fight, and he laughed at himself 
and his own macho obsession with fighting.
 Maybe, though, she was trying to say that even if she 
couldn't beat him in a fight, it would only be because 
of size. But if that was her point, what the was that 
"We WILL..." scene about? What could she be planning?
 He decided that she had told him that she was planning 
something. He decided not to just wait, not to let her 
have the initiative. He had a message dropped off in her 
mailbox: "How about a rematch?" was all it said. He 
thought that could be interpreted as funny and charming 
and maybe even self-deprecating. He had found that being 
self-deprecating worked for him. People loved that in a 
big, intimidating guy.
 He got back -- three days later -- something in his 
mailbox. It was a videotape, with no writing on or 
accompanying it. 
 Dek racked it up immediately. He saw two guys standing 
in a large, luxury living room, with thick shag 
carpeting. One was big and enormously muscular, roughly 
like him. The other was average in height and normal in 
proportions, but also thickly athletic in build. The two 
guys wore small bikini bottoms. The smaller guy also 
wore a black leather top that only came only halfway 
down his chest, making Dek hope that this tape wasn't 
some sort of gay thing.
 The two guys milled around uncomfortably for a while, 
then turned their heads to look at new person in the 
room: a woman in a frilly pink teddy, high heels and a 
mask over her eyes.
 Some sort of S&M thing?
 She was spectacular. Dek thought she might be Shannon. 
She had her Hollywood-perfect curves and was tall. The 
hair was different somehow. With her eyes covered, he 
just couldn't tell for sure. 
 The two guys stared at her as she stood there regally 
with her hands on her hips.
 "See something you like, fellas?" she finally said. Dek 
still couldn't quite tell from her voice whether she was 
Shannon. She beckoned the men toward her with her 
fingers. They approached cautiously, one from her left 
front and one from her right front.
 She faked a move at them, and they both stopped and 
backed up a step. She laughed at them, and they came on 
fast. She threw her arms over her head and leaned 
backwards into a graceful backwards standing somersault, 
or gymnast's walkover. Her high heels flashed before the 
eyes of both men, and her flimsy negligee fell away, 
revealing damn near everything. The men both stopped in 
their tracks, their shock and disorientation showing on 
their faces.
 She laughed at them. "I'm gonna mess you up, boys," she 
said. Why did that sound like Shannon?
 She turned her backs on them, revealing that her 
negligee revealed much of her tapering back. Her ass 
cheeks poked insistently out from under her pink 
panties. Dek knew that the guys were taking all this in 
just as aggressively as he was. She did another 
backwards somersault, coming to land just in front of 
them with her back turned to them. Then she turned 
toward the smaller guy and threw her arms out in front 
of her as she was coming at him. He backed up, and 
indeed, she seemed to grab where he had been. But she 
kept going around, bent at the knees and grabbed the big 
guy's nearest leg.
 She stood up straight with the leg under her complete 
control. 
 "Gotcha," she said to the big guy. She twirled him 
around until his big body smacked into the little guy, 
who had become hemmed in by furniture. The little guy 
fell over the furniture with the big guy falling over 
him.
 The woman in the nighty stood back and laughed and 
clapped as the two men untangled themselves. They were 
embarrassed, and they were furious with her, with 
themselves and with each other.
 The big guy was the first to try to get to his feet. 
Before he could do so completely, the woman was there. 
She pushed him back over. She didn't need to use much 
force, because he did not have his balance, and because 
the little guy was right there at his feet to trip him 
up. She just had to make her force come from the right 
direction. And she did.
 Once again both men were on the floor. This time as the 
big guy got to his knees -- slightly disoriented, not 
quite knowing where the woman was -- she grabbed his 
hair and pulled forward. His face hit the rug at her 
feet. 
 She stepped on his head and got to the little guy, who 
had by now had a very large man fall on him twice and 
strike out at him in fury in an effort to get up 
instantaneously. The woman grabbed the little guy's 
bikini bottom at its top from behind and pulled toward 
herself. The clothing and the man both came toward her, 
but the man a little slower, so that for a moment the 
clothing ceased to do its job in covering him. As the 
man turned toward her to figure out where she was, so 
that he could grab her, her foot flicked out and caught 
him in the face lightly. It scared him more than it hurt 
him, and he stopped in shock. She turned and saw the big 
guy getting to his knees. She pushed hard on his side 
and, once again, he fell flat on the floor.
 He kept scampering to get back to his feet, and she 
kept scampering after him. He would get halfway up, and 
she would push. On one push, he didn't go down, more 
sideways. She came after him, still pushing. Finally he 
was up against a wall, and she was pushing him into it. 
Specifically, his left shoulder was into it, and his 
right was away from it, so that he had nothing to push 
against to get leverage.
 The woman banged his head lightly against the wall with 
one hand. With the other she mauled his butt, feeling 
him up, turning him on.
 "Oh, yeah," she said, as she leaned against him. "Very 
nice, big guy." Then, because the guy was leaning 
forward, making his stomach a tempting target for her 
knee, she brought her knee up hard. He was winded bad. 
And she closed her right fist and brought it down 
against the side of his face that was away from the 
wall. He fell to his knees. 
 She looked at him for a second and decided that she was 
willing to turn her back on him.
 The little guy had been watching in amazement. And 
lust. The woman's enticing ass became more and more 
revealed to him as she worked over the big guy.
 The woman smiled at the little guy as she adjusted her 
clothes. She flicked her left foot backwards into the 
big guy's gut -- reminding Dek of events at that party -
- and went toward the little guy fast. 
 Dek had stopped wondering whether she was Shannon. He 
found himself assuming she was.
 The little guy backed away. 
 At that point Dek started thinking about this phrase in 
his head: "little guy." Shit, he thought, the guy's as 
tall as this tall woman, if she weren't wearing high 
heels. And he's thicker. He must out weigh her by 35 
pounds. And he's a jock. 
 But he was backing away from the wonderfully alluring 
woman in the nighty.
 Then SHE used the phrase. "Come on, little guy," she 
said. "Let's get it on."
 He stopped retreating, mainly out of embarrassment. But 
he didn't come after her, either. He was tentative. She 
came after him. Indeed, she plowed into him. Nothing 
fancy. Her momentum drove him into another wall, with 
the woman coming after him. She took a step back and 
plowed into him again. Then again. The scene was now 
much like the previous scene with the big guy. The woman 
held the dazed and hurting man against the wall, while 
running her right hand all over his ass.
 "Not bad, honey buns," she said. "But not as good as 
Big Guy's. Maybe you should just sit this out. You could 
get hurt." She patted him on his ass and turned to find 
the big guy coming at her. He was not very close though, 
and she curled into a ball and somersaulted toward him. 
The big guy seemed to brace for contact, but she rolled 
past  him, but not without sweeping one of her arms out 
across the front of his ankle. She came up holding his 
leg. Again.
 Jeezus, thought Dek. She's something.
 As the man hopped to gain his balance and tried to pull 
his leg away from the silky, manicured hands of the 
sexy, disturbingly confident woman who was laughing at 
him again, she said, "Do you get the feeling that I can 
take this big, hairy gam of yours any time I want to, 
Big Guy?"
 Now she was playing with him. She slowly lifted the leg 
higher and higher, knowing that the guy was probably not 
very limber. Indeed, she quickly got to the point where 
he was dancing to relieve the pain.
 She pulled and pushed him around the room like that. 
She never let him get the leverage necessary to apply 
his great strength effectively. If he tried to pull, she 
would go with him. She kept control, as he knocked over 
lamps and bumped painfully into furniture.
 Finally she did what he had obviously been fearing: 
thrust the leg as high and hard into the air as she 
could. He came down violently, on his ass. His head 
banged not against the floor -- he had been primed to 
avoid that -- but against a wall. 
 He was right next to the little guy. 
 This time he didn't get up fast. He seemed to want to 
make sure he wasn't injured first.
 The woman didn't attack now. She turned her back on the 
two men to check out her hair, makeup and clothes in a 
mirror. She took her time, and when she turned back 
toward the men, she was still brushing her hair.
 "You guys are pathetic, you know that? Here you have 
this sexy bitch in front of you. You KNOW what you want 
to do. And you can't even come close. Even the two of 
you combined. Amazing. In fact, you know what I think? I 
think what we have here now is a little fear. Is that 
right, Little Guy? Are you afraid of me?"
 She dropped the brush on a couch and strolled slowly 
toward him. "You're just hoping I won't hurt you too 
bad, aren't you? Come on, Little Guy. You see something 
you like?" She spread her arms out, displaying her body. 
"Go for it."
 He came at her suddenly , explosively. Again, she 
didn't do anything elegant. They grappled. He wrapped 
his arms around her and tried to overwhelm her to the 
floor. She wrapped her arms around him and tried to be 
the one to come out on top. They moved around the room 
violently, the Big Guy watching. At one point, her eyes 
caught those of the Big Guy, and she smiled at him, even 
as she struggled to manipulate the Little Guy. 
 It is seemed to be a matter almost of muscle against 
muscle. Dek would have thought the guy would have an 
advantage, if only because he wasn't wearing high heels. 
But the beauty was doing fine. The look on her face 
showed that she was relishing being pitted this way 
against a macho guy, a jock, especially one with so 
little clothing. One of her hands made its way to his 
ass, and she fondled him and said, "Come on, cupcake, 
gimme a fight. I like that." She kept her hand there as 
they continued to jockey for supremacy. Finally the man 
decided that he was not going to implicitly admit that, 
while she could fondle him, he needed both hands to 
fight her. He grabbed for her butt.
 That was a mistake. The woman took advantage of his 
divided attentions and slammed him -- yet again -- into 
the wall right next to the big guy. She did this by 
suddenly wrapping both her arms around his body, locking 
her hands and pivoting a good 270 degrees -- not 
something he was expecting -- until he was stopped by 
the wall.
 The grappling around the room seemed to have tired the 
man more than the woman. This may have been because -- 
Dek thought -- she had all the while keep her knees in 
play, sometimes taking some wind out of the guy  with a 
knee to the stomach, or hurting him with a knee to the 
back of his thigh.
 The man seemed almost happy to be back on the wall. He 
had something to lean on. And he tried to take in some 
air.
 Dek was beginning to think the woman had some sort of 
thing about slamming studs into walls. Maybe, he 
thought, she's trying to show that she can do what she 
wants even if it's so repetitive that her opponents 
should know its coming. 
 Maybe she just figured that the way to win a fight was 
to hurt your opponent in ways that he had already been 
hurt, to play on his weaknesses.   One thing was clear: 
She wasn't exclusively focused on winning the fight. 
Once she had the little guy against the wall, she didn't 
go in for the kill. Instead, she seemed almost to be 
playing with him. She was peppering him with shots to 
the belly and head and kidney. She was using her knees 
more to scare him than anything else, to get him to 
cover up. And, as always, she was playing with his butt.
 "You're nothing against me, Cupcake." 
 She practically whispered this in his ear, brushing her 
lips against it. "Your just a toy for me to play with." 
 This, of course, got an extra measure of effort out of 
him. But she had him stifled. Her body weight pressed 
against his left arm, and his right arm was pressed 
between his body and the wall. And she had sapped much 
of his strength. 
 When his latest outburst of effort faded, she said, 
"And I don't think you can be counting on Beefcake for 
much help, Cupcake. I think he's afraid of me, too. He's 
already taken a pretty good pounding. And I don't think 
he's quite as dumb as he looks. He knows he's just a toy 
for me, just like you." 
 Damn, Dek thought, it's as if she's not content to be 
fighting one of them. She needs to be taking on both at 
the same time.
 Sure enough, the big guy -- who had been resting on the 
same wall as the little guy, watching dumbfounded as the 
lady in the nighty did her thing on him -- started 
moving toward her with mayhem in his eyes. But the woman 
in the nightie used her grip on the littler guy's ass to 
propel him toward the big guy. She put all her weight 
behind him, and the weight of his body and hers  pushed 
toward the big guy. She goosed the little guy, so that 
he put all his effort into forward movement. 
 The big guy leaned back against the wall, hoping the 
other guy's momentum would carry him past him. But the 
woman guided the little guy into the big one. What the 
momentum did was push the big guy into a corner. 
 Now the woman had both the men against the walls. The 
big guy was pushing against the little guy, but could 
get no leverage, partly because his own elbows kept 
hitting walls when he tried to cock his arms. Meanwhile 
the girl was peppering him with blows.
 She couldn't hit him hard while also keeping the little 
guy in place, but she could slap at his face and dig her 
knuckles into his body, and she did.
 Finally, though, with a tremendous burst of power, the 
big man pushed both the smaller bodies off him. 
 As they staggered back, the smaller man fell. The woman 
held her feet and said, "So there's still some of you 
left, huh, Beefcake. Cool!" She stepped on the rising 
littler guy, flattening him to the floor, as she walked 
toward the big guy. She suddenly grabbed for his hair 
with her right hand, and when he swiped her hand away, 
she used the force of his shove to make a complete 
circle to her right. Her arm never went down, though, 
and when she came back around, the back of her had 
slammed into his cheek. It wasn't enough to move such a 
big guy, but it shocked him, and she quickly brought her 
right shoe up into his other cheek, almost as though the 
backhand/kick thing was some sort of combination. He was 
rocked.
 The woman turned her back and walked toward the little 
guy, who now was  on his feet.
 "You're mine any time I want you," she said in turning, 
so that it was clear she meant the big guy. She matter 
of factly ducked her shoulder into the little guys gut 
and lifted him onto her shoulder too quickly for him to 
react, his thought processes being a bit dulled by the 
battering he had taken, especially when he was between 
the two other fighters. She hoisted him into an airplane 
spin position. 
 She said to the big guy, "You see that corner over 
there?" It was a few feet from where he was. "Now I'm 
going to knock you into it and pound on you." With that, 
she went into a spin with the little guy on her 
shoulders. She reached a speed that surprised both the 
men, and when she let the little guy go, he halfway flew 
into the big guy. The woman went around one more 
revolution, and then brought her body into the two men, 
and, sure enough, the big man was knocked into the 
corner, on the floor, with the other two coming after 
him. 
 Not worrying much about the dizzy little guy, the woman 
reached over him and began landing right fists to the 
face of the big guy, who was unable to get an arm out 
from under the other bodies to protect himself, and was 
having trouble moving. Again and again, her fist landed 
someplace painful on him.
 When both men were defenseless, the woman stood over 
them, her hands on her hips.
 Neither man was unconscious, but neither was getting 
up.
 She turned her back on them, walked over to a CD player 
on the other side of the room and put on some sexy 
music, and she proceeded to dance in front of the men as 
a stripper might, showing her body langorously in every 
imaginable pose, pouting, and beckoning the men hither. 
At the faster parts of the songs, she did some high 
kicks and some punches, at times make the men 
instinctively cringe away from her feet. Adding as much 
insult as possible to the injury and insult, she turned 
her ass on them, and wriggled sensuously and bent into 
vulnerable positions, not the least worry about being 
attacked from behind. The dance went for a long time, 
getting more and more heated before finally climaxing 
with the fury of a sex act.
 "Finally," the woman said, "I got me a little workout."
 She turned and blew a kiss at the camera, and curtsied, 
even as the camera continue to capture the still life 
behind her.