Packing 1

As Sandra, Louisa, Jane, and I descended on the annual Tri-Towns Nord Ball I proudly considered how my friends and I looked the part of every other lady in the room in our heels and haute couture dresses, even though we all had cocks strapped to our bodies.

Sandra was a size queen, as much in the cock she wore—an 8-and-half-inch black model—as those she sought to fuck. Although large dildos and yes, even taller men, were proportionate to her five-foot-nine voluptuousness, she usually came away disappointed; really, how many men were walking around sporting cocks that big (even tall guys) or would agree to having one that size plow their ass? Ever since I met her, Jane had been working through the on again/off again consistent drama with a rather pretty Filipino guy named Carl (who I had heard sported a penis Sandra would have just loved) but was presently ‘off’ with him again; like me, she opted for a solid 6-inch flesh-colored cock she was more fond of getting up nice and close with instead of using as a battering ram. Louisa changed the size of the dick she strapped on as fit her mood; I hadn’t had time to check or ask what she had on for this night. 

Despite our varied cock sizes (and colors), the girls and I did share a goal: which one of us would peg a man first.

As the last one to join this merry little band of friends, and having only moved into our St. Louis burb six months before I met them, I demurred best I could even with my usual brash and bawdy nature (and regarding both sexes as potential fuck buds and dates). After first meeting Louisa and Jane, the pair quickly introduced me to Sandra; she actually bore the upper-crust credentials to sneak us into this particular party. I came to like all the girls better the more I got to know them, tickled with each lady’s specific joie de vivre. Then one blustery October afternoon three months ago, as I helped Jane decide between one of two dresses she was considering for a wedding she was attending with Carl that weekend (I work for an online dress manufacturer and am regarded, good or bad, as the fashion expert) she ‘happened’ to pluck her strap-on, with a six-inch skinny dildo dangling from it, out of her top dresser drawer. In no time, she explained the game she, Jane, and Sandra engaged in when they went out on their ‘packing,’ nights.

To say I was intrigued would be an understatement. 

Ironic, interesting, or weird (maybe all three?) as the only bisexual lady of our group, I had never actually gone in for fucking a lover’s ass or pussy. And ironic, interesting, or weird (maybe all three?) as the dominant in every single one of my hook-ups, be it with man or woman, one would have thought I would have pegged a time or two. But the women I had been with, mostly bi also, had agreed with me that had we a desire for a cock filling us, we could all too easily find a real one. And frankly, I was too busy all but consuming the younger girls I usually dated, ravenously eating their pussies, suckling their tits, to ever care much for fucking them with a fake dick (and none had never asked for me to do so). For the men I had been with, my dominance usually manifested itself in me getting-off teasing them for hours as they begged to come or taking one of the pussy willow branches I kept in a large vase at my front door, and if a man was amiable (and had the ass for it) letting loose a few ardent swipes to get him yelping…and usually, hard as rock. I certainly knew about dildo play, had heard the word ‘pegging,’ plenty and had probably seen a Clips4Sale movie a time or two where some woman took her female lover or even a guy in this manner.

But strapping-on and fucking somebody this way was just never much on my mind.

Not until Jane wagged her cock in my face that afternoon, and told me how she and the girls stepped out maybe once every month or so to play their game, and ply willing men.

They didn’t always all score, and in fact, there had been many nights none of them did (or the guy they revealed their cock to later on opted for something more ‘traditional’). But there had been three instances Jane told me about—parties like the one we were presently at—where lots of people were gathered for a specific reason, where all three girls had taken home or had been taken home by some guy, each having revealed what they were wearing under their dresses, and all three managing to peg the man in question. At these moments they’d announce from a scout’s honor calculation who had done what first, each lady always aware of a clock in the room or, at the very least, keeping their cell phone close enough to be able to check the time when they had plowed up, in and true.

What I found more amazing than the fact that my friends had managed these concerted concerts of pegging (and really, the ‘winner’ only received the honor of bragging rights for the night) was that so many heterosexual or at least men who claimed they were hetero, had allowed, some even all but begging for, an ass-fucking. If what the girls told me about St. Louis’ male population was true, I wondered really how much of my usual dominant stance I’d even have to manage anymore. 

Were the men living around me already pretty much destined to be sub?