Mona Pegs a Nice Guy

IN THE BEGINNING

Mona was an angry young woman. Unable to sustain a relationship due to her high-maintenance character, she settled for fucking whomever she could. At first she liked the no-strings-attached fucking, but she soon tired of the meaninglessness of it all. So she settled into a life of work and masturbation. During this time, she moved in with a gay man, from whom she could siphon some masculine energy without feeling the need for sex. Indeed, with Norm, she could hug and touch and talk, talk, talk, the very things she did not do with her previous boyfriends.

"Norm, I need to marry a gay man," she told him.

Norm, well-groomed and well-spoken, only smiled at her. "Yes, until you progress to the point where you want to bring your vagina into the picture. Therein lies the conundrum."

Mona smiled at her friend. "I so love you, Norm."

Mona was a healthy 28-year-old, of Swedish stock, with long, thick, blonde, curly hair and pouty lips; her friends called her a Scandinavian Shakira. Her hips curved gracefully as she walked and as she leaned against walls. People's eyes followed her. She loved to lounge around the apartment in nothing but a heavy sweater, allowing her thick blonde muff to air itself out and release its heavy fragrance upward to her nose. Mona would occasionally finger her pussy while drinking coffee or watching TV. Norm always knew about this, partly because she did it in his presence, and partly because he could smell it on the sofa throw. Her own pussy odor, which was always very strong, would have been her favorite drug, had she not come to love the heavy musks that emanated from men's secret, hairy places. Unfortunately for her, she denied herself the opportunity to indulge in them. Such was her neurosis.

It was Norm from whose candid tales she learned about ass-fucking. She loved the thought of being responsible for things going into and out of men's asses, especially when the men were bent over and vulnerable. To her, a man's ass wasn't just a thing of rugged beauty, with muscle, curves, and a valley of earthy hair, it was a thing to be filled up the way a pussy was filled up. It was a way to equalize the sexes. It was where a man could become a woman in some limited way.

Norm's ass was a pretty thing. Not quite manly, it was waxed to smooth perfection. At times, Mona took over these waxing duties, making his ass, his balls, his chest, his legs, and his armpits shine like a woman's. That's what Mona liked about Norm: he was a man, but he was like a woman to her. Mona had plenty of experience with being ass-fucked. It had started with fingers back in her teen years, then progressed to carrots, markers, certain kitchen utensils, and finally dildos. They grew progressively wider and stretched her furry brown pucker. Even Norm was impressed as, one night, she outdildoed him in a friendly competition. Mind you, Norm's ass was a well-traveled highway. It gobbled up its dildo like the old friend it was, but Mona had bought the two-inch-wide Deluxe Invader, and she became Norm's new hero.

"Mona?" he asked afterward.

"Yes, dear?" she said, letting her fully exercised anus calm down.

"You realize I will be borrowing that pretty soon. I will not be outdone in this department."

"Yes, Norm, I realize that. My only request is that you brag to your friends about me."

Mona frequently accompanied Norm to Club 71. The 7 was shorter than the 1, giving the impression that it was bending over for the 1. Clever, Mona thought. Just clever. While at the bar, fending off the advances of aggressive lesbians, she had the time to learn about man-on-man assfucking. It was so hot to her that she would cross her legs at the bar and squeeze her legs into orgasms right there. The hedonism at Club 71 was remarkable.

THE IDEA

What she liked best were the many bi-boys who frequented the place.

Norm had told her, "Those are the ones who like getting reamed out by both men and women."

"How do you mean?" she naively asked at first.

"They like a dick no matter who has it."

"Oooooh. I like that idea." After this night, Mona became obsessed with fucking men in their rears. At nearly every moment, she imagined herself with a male organ of her own, pushing it into some helpless man's tight behind. She would slap the tight cheeks every minute or so. Whenever she walked past the construction crew on 3rd Street (which soon became twice daily), she kept her sunglasses on and waited for the quick moment when one of them would bend over in his tight jeans, and then the fantasies began:

I walk up to him ever so swiftly, freeing my cock from my pants. He doesn't see me as he bends over to pick something up. In one fluid motion, I yank down his jeans, astounded at the beauty of his firm, hairy ass shining in the sun. I caress it appreciatively, feeling the hard, warm cheeks in my trembling hands. I run my finger in the hairy furrow that separates his cheeks. I can hear the rustling and feel the slick sweat. I reach down to his most vulnerable part and press my finger inside. It slides in easily, for he is wet and ready back here. For a moment I crouch to my knees and lap up and down his crack, paying special attention to his tight hole. He is a virgin back there. I taste his tangy, earthy, salty flavor, jamming my tongue in to prepare him for the public fucking he is about to receive.

Standing up, I press the tip of my cock to his hole. Gently but assertively, I push it inside. He moans and screams at the same time. His bare-chested co-workers watch with awe, their pants rapidly filling out in front. When I am finally inside him, I slowly fuck his vulnerable behind. The warm musk of his ass drifts upward to my nose, where I inhale it while ravaging him. I grind the dildo at different angles so it massages my clit as I do so.

We continue like this for ten minutes as his coworkers, and passersby, watch with fascination. My ultra-masculine construction worker is now my manly slave boy. Then, I feel my clit tense up, and I grind harder into his ass. When I come, I am bucking furiously, my cock assaulting every corner of his ass. After that, I stop to catch my breath. He has not come. I withdraw my dildo and stuff it back into my pants. Then I plant a kiss near his crack, pat his cheeks, and move on. He and the others turn to look at me as I walk away.

The first time she had this fantasy, her inattention caused Mona to bump into a lightpost, which caused that very construction worker to turn and laugh at her.

So Mona and Norm went shopping for her new strap-on. They went to the Lucky Lady shop, which catered to women and their naughty desires. They talked with the clerk about anuses and strap-ons, and how Mona needed a good anal dildo to use on her male friends. It excited Mona to talk this way to a complete stranger. She and Norm settled on a harness and three differently sized dildos.

Of course, they had to test them out later that night. Mona knew that Norm was not 100% gay. 92% maybe, but that was enough for her. She posed for him with her largest dildo. It was of natural color, with a harness that was also of natural color, and as she thrust her hips forward, she swooned at the sight of her cock slicing the air in two. She pranced in front of the mirror, fondling her breasts and thrusting forward. Norm watched appreciatively and giggled.

Then she jacked herself off, using her feminine movements to add a softer, gentler flair to male wanking. She loved fucking a gay man in his ass. She loved being where women were not normally allowed. She liked the feel of trespassing on male territory. She had Norm completely naked, bent over the bathroom sink as she plunged into his asshole. She actually felt the dildo pushing past his sphincter. She could smell the clean musk of his behind as she fucked him. The base of the dildo was positioned so that it rubbed her clit from various angles. She worked it to hit these angles directly, contorting her roommate's already-stretchy rectum as she did so.

Norm did not flinch once. "Why couldn't I marry a man like this?" she asked herself. "He's receptive, he's well-groomed, he loves to cook, he calls his mom once a week, he puts the toilet seat down, he loves to talk--and he loves my nastiest fantasy." After she had come twice this way, she noticed that Norm had also come. The white fluid was on the handles of the vanity doors. Knowing Norm to be disease-free, she got down on her knees and licked up his cum from the handles. That was her first taste of sperm in over three years.

Now Mona was ready to take to Club 71 and clean out every ass she could find.

FILL 'EM UP, PLEASE

There was no shortage of assholes at Club 71, so to speak. Norm had suggested she wear the strap-on under tight-fitting pants, so no one would be mistaken about her intentions. On the dance floor, Mona aggressively bumped up against any bi-boy she could find. The yearning look in her eyes was all the "I want to fuck you" message she needed. To the parking lot she went with them, to the rooftop, to the lake, to the cars, even to the manager's office one night when the manager's assistant was supervising.

Mona found it very easy to get inside any ass she wanted. She loved the boys' willingness to bend over for her, to submit for her, to be vulnerable for her, to spread their secret male places for her. She even loved the rhetoric that the more political ones used on her:

"This is what every man should have to do before he fucks a woman."

"This is how I feel equal to a woman."

"I have vagina envy!"

"Make me your ass-bitch!"

"This should be a rite of passage for all men who want to fuck women."

Mona got any bi-ass she wanted. She even got some of the gay asses. Once, relenting to pressure, she fucked one of the lesbians who were always buying her drinks. Mona appreciated the shapely behind in front of her, with its round, fleshy cheeks and its well-worn back hole, but it did not impart the male energy she so desperately wanted to ravage.

Mona fucked the same asses over and over. Soon she was meeting them in the daytime for quick bendovers. She had a black book of names, with a star system next to each. She began to demand that her men blow her cock. She demanded to see them do some man-on-man action with each other, which she found hot. She especially loved the ones who brought her flowers as a prelude to spreading for her. Mona was the king of Central City, it seemed to her.

And it was getting to her head.

"I swear," she grunted to one of them, in whose behind she was grinding her biggest strap-on, "I get one of these things and I turn into the biggest asshole. I want to stick it into everything in sight--asses, mouths, between the cheeks, in the face...."

DISILLUSIONMENT

You can imagine what happened eventually. Mona got tired of having every ass she could want. She got tired of fucking smooth-shaven holes. She got tired of smelling not musk and sweat, but fine deodorants. She tired of the ease of it all. She grew weary of this kind of equality. She may as well have been fucking women. Mona needed more. She longed for a construction worker with a rugged, muscular ass with all its hair and manliness. She wanted a challenge. She longed for the stereotypical portrait of manliness. In a sense, Mona wanted what women were told by society to want.

But still, she wanted to fuck this man in his ass to her content. Not to his content, but to hers. On her terms.

Soon, Mona began appearing at Club 71 without her cock. Her lack of cock was noticed by all. Her usual harem of bi-boys would come up to her excitedly but hear "Sorry, not tonight." They pouted. They pleaded. They ground up against her now-deflated mound on the dance floor. But she could not answer their questioning looks to their satisfaction. Some offered to grow out their ass hair just for her. But it was not the same anymore. Eventually, the line of hungry young butts trickled to a halt. Norm began to get more men than she did.

The once-vivacious Mona now sat at the bar, stirring her drink, carrying on vapid conversations, leaving early, and masturbating at home. The passion had not left her entirely. Rather, it just retreated.

This went on for quite a while.

THEN, THREE MONTHS LATER, IT HAPPENED

She saw him. HIM. Big and muscular, with what must have been the tightest, shapeliest ass she had ever seen. One that obviously received plenty of attention in the workout room. The man walked with an air of true confidence, one where egotism was an unwelcome stranger. Her gaydar told her that he was bi. For the whole night, she watched him.

He drank his drinks slowly and with feeling, not with abandon. On the dance floor, he moved with a kind of well-worked grace, gyrating with both men and women. It was hard to tell which sex he liked more.

Mona watched him for a whole week while sitting at the bar alone, playing with the straw in her drink. She was mesmerized by his looks, his presence, everything. She asked Norm to scout him out and report back with information.

A few days later, Norm gave her his assessment: "He's interested. He knows all about you. Go for it!"

The next Saturday night, Mona was packing. Excitement filled her whole body. The dancefloor was abuzz with rumors from near and far that much bending over would be done that night. But who? they speculated. Sales of Astroglide rose between 9 pm and midnight that day.

Mona had arrived at Club 71 early, wearing a skirt, and waiting. Norm was with her. "He's an electrician," Norm told her. "Name's Mike. Not in a relationship now. Big cock--I checked him out at the urinal--I'd say eight and a half inches hard. Pretty hairy ... and he goes to church every Sunday."

Mona turned to look at Norm. Her large, playful green eyes studied him. "A guy from Club 71 goes to church? Are you serious?"

Norm nodded. "Yup. Church." He winked at her.

Mona's nose wrinkled slightly. Then she shrugged. "Oh well. We all have our ... oh geeze, nevermind."

Mona imagined Mike up on a ladder doing his work. She imagined herself coming up to him and pulling down his pants as he worked and grabbing his large dick from between his well-formed cheeks, then jacking it while he tried to ignore her. She saw him putting down his wires and pliers and pushing out his ass toward her, then letting her climb up the ladder and ram her tool up his hungry hiney.

At 9:30 Mike walked in alone, executing a confident entrance that had Mona's feminine juices beginning to soak her cock. She squirmed in her seat. Her cunt ached terribly.

"Norm, I'm so damn horny," she said. Norm watched as Mona crossed her legs in that special way for a few moments, then let out a sigh. She had cum.

"There. That should do it for a while." She wiped a few beads of sweat off her brow.

They watched as Mona's heartthrob had a drink at the bar, just ten feet away, and talked with some friends. He periodically shot her a glance and smiled. Mona wondered whether he would buy her a drink, or come over to her. But he did not.

"Why won't he hit on me?" she asked Norm.

"I don't know. Maybe he wants you to hit on him."

Mona didn't like hearing that. "Oh, for Pete's sake." She remembered something that her lesbian fuck had said to her: "She who packs, pays. The fuckee makes the greater sacrifice by allowing his or her body to be penetrated, and thus is entitled to preferential treatment." She motioned the bartender over and had him send Mike another of whatever he was drinking. When Mike saw this, he looked to Mona, and she waved to him. He smiled. He did not get up and join the excited young woman.

"Mona, he's playing hard to get," Norm told her. "I know his type well."

"I'm the one who always played hard to get. What should I do?"

Norm thought for a moment. "I know. When he gets up to dance, follow him, and give his ass hell."

Mona smiled. "Yes. Yes, you're right. Norm, you know exactly what a girl wants." She giggled her blonde head off, squeezing her thighs together for another orgasm. By now her panties were so wet she couldn't stand it. She headed for the bathroom, removed them, wrapped them in paper towel, left the bathroom, and quickly gave them to Marcel, one of her earliest and most gracious fucks. Then she returned and waited.

And waited. As she kept her eyes on Mike, she became aware of her private odor wafting upward. It was heavy, like a strong spray of ocean mist slapping her in the face. It only turned her on more as she--

MOVING IN FOR THE KILL

He was getting up! Mona started. She grabbed Norm's shoulder. "This is it."

He didn't even look back to check on the smoldering, fiery crotch named Mona as he headed for the dance floor. By now it was burning up the chair she was on. As soon as his feet touched the dance floor, Mona was gone. Not even a good-bye to Norm.

She positioned herself about ten feet away from Mike as he quickly found the groove and joined it. "He's a good dancer," she thought. "Great rhythm."

She watched as he moved, smiling each time he made eye contact with her. He made no attempt to work his way over to her. "Damnit," she whispered. Not missing a beat, she sidled up to the mysterious man and moved along with him.

She immediately felt his energy, his motion, his pheromones. Up close, she swooned at the smile on his face. He reached out and caressed the sides of her arms. She did the same to him. She winked at him. He winked at her. She thrust her chest out. He didn't. She thrust her crotch out. He didn't. When he turned around for a second, she moved in for the kill.

AND THAT'S WHERE SHE LOST HIM

After her playful but aggressive grinding of the dildo into his ass, he turned and wagged his finger at her. So she did it again, this time to his front. The dance floor was crowded, but there were eyes nevertheless trained on her from all corners of the area. He laughed and wagged his finger again. So she grabbed his shoulders and rubbed her dick on his.

"Knock it off!" he told her.

"What?"

"I said, knock it off!"

"He's playing hard to get," she thought. And she deftly moved her body behind his and let him know exactly what she had in store for him.

Suddenly Mike stopped dancing. Not looking at Mona, he walked off the dance floor very quickly. He left the building. Mona followed him at top speed.

Mona was stunned. "What's--what's wrong?" she called out.

"You, that's what's wrong. Is that any way to introduce yourself?"

"Wh--, ... here at Club 71, yes!"

"Well, that's what's wrong with this place. Everyone wants it in the worst possible way! You people have no manners! If you want my ass, you have to earn it!"

Mona narrowed her Nordic eyes at him. "Sheeee-iiiiit," she drawled out. "I will never have to earn your ass! Or anybody's! My middle name is PEG for a reason! Ha!"

Then, like a bird swooping in for the kill, Mike's hand slapped her right in the face. She jumped back. "Holy fuck! What gives you the right to do that to a lady?"

"What gives a lady the right to think she talk like that to a man and still expect to get his body?"

Mona didn't know what to say. She had messed something up, that was for sure. As she looked aside, hoping that some words would jump out of the bushes at her, she didn't notice Mike walking away. When she turned back, he was climbing into his truck and leaving.

"I can't believe this," she said to the two drag queens walking past her.

DID SHE REALLY LOSE HIM?

Mona pouted for a whole week. Norm consoled her, buying her chocolates and liqueurs and giving her shoulder rubs.

"He seemed so perfect, Norm! What the hell is wrong with you men? Tell me!"

Instead of indulging her wounded feelings, Norm suggested that perhaps this was a good thing for her. Perhaps there was a larger reason for it. "You know," he said with a shrug, "maybe it's high time some class came to this town. I say, let's see what happens this weekend. You will be there, yes?"