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Home Slash Fiction Het/Gen Fiction Donatella's Head

DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.


"Oh, Margaret"



Title: Oh, Margaret
Pairing: Micky/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Author: Lena T
Summary: Micky gets more than he bargained for when he hooks up with a local house-sitter.

"You've never been pegged?" I asked. I was surprised and didn't try to hide it.

My new lover looked over at me quizzically. The afternoon light softened his still-handsome face, blurring lines and wrinkles and picking out the occasional grey hair that had escaped his colorist's attention. "Is that what they call it now?"

"Yeah, babe, it's the hot new slang all the kids are using these days." I slid back down next to him and trailed one hand down his broad back to the cleft in his ass. "You moaned like a cat in heat when I had my finger in you. I think you'd like something bigger." I could feel his cock rising against my belly.

He just smiled and said "Hmmmm," as he flipped me on my back and fucked me for the third time that day.

That's what happens when you take these house-sitting gigs in LA: you end up meeting all kinds of interesting people. I'd only been staying in this ritzy neighborhood a week when I started seeing him in the supermarket and at the overpriced coffee shop down the hill. Like everyone in this part of town, he was an ex-something – in his case, ex-TV-star, ex-sixties-teen-heartthrob. He was tall (though not as tall as I'd imagined him to be), slim (that diet he was hawking on late night TV must be working), and after all these years he still oozed a sexual vibe, an out-front sensuality that said "I'm an easy lay." He was constantly checking out women, me included, even when he was with his girlfriend, a forgettable blond woman about twenty years his junior, judging from her bright purple nail polish.

I nodded and smiled at him whenever we passed in the vegetable aisle, the way I would at any sexy older guy who stared at my tits with such open admiration. I decided that he still looked good enough to fuck, and I wondered if he needed Viagra to get it up.

One Saturday night I went down the hill to rent some porn and buy drugs; as I parked in front of the video store I saw him and his g.f. come storming out of a restaurant, obviously in the middle of WWIII. They argued for a few more minutes on the sidewalk; she jumped into a car and sped off. He stood there looking pissed , then stalked down the street and went into Godiva's, a mean little bar with good booze and sticky floors. Forget the videos; this was much more interesting.

He was sitting at the bar, staring into his drink. Nobody was paying him any attention, which must have hurt, but he wasn't letting it show.

"Quite a scene," I said, putting my money down and signaling for a drink for me and a refill for him. He looked over and smiled, half in recognition, half in embarrassment.

"Oh, you saw that, huh?" he said ruefully.

I got my vodka and downed it in one gulp. "That cunt's not worth it. You drink too much over her, you'll feel like shit in the morning, you'll still be mad, and you won't be able to get it up tonight."

I leaned back against the bar and gave him a chance to look me over. I could see dark hair curling out of the collar of his silk shirt, and smell his expensive cologne mixed with the sharp tang of his sweat. Damn, but he was a sexy old thing.

Then he grinned, and turned on the charm taps, full force.

So that was how I ended up sucking him off in the only bathroom of Godiva's, with the sound of the jukebox pounding through the wall and his fingers twisted in my hair. I was really glad I'd remembered to put down some paper towels – the bathroom floor was a hell of lot worse than in the bar.

Later, we sat at a table and he told me all about how tough it was to be him, that nobody treated him like a person, people trying to rip him off and women looking at him like he was a loaf of bread; and I thought, oh baby, you *are* a loaf of bread, straight out of the Costco bakery – thirty years of this and you still don't get it? Oh well. Then I stopped listening and thought about what it would be like to have his cock – lovely and thick and very hard – inside me.

A week later I ran into him at the 7-11. He had a carton of Marlboros and I had a bucket of soda. Hot day. We stood outside in the parking lot making small talk and I knew he didn't remember my name.

"So, thanks," he said, running a hand over his slicked-back hair, what there was of it.

"For what?" I asked. It would be fun to make him squirm.

"Well, you know, at the bar…"

"Buying you a drink?"

"Well, that, and…" he trailed off. I could see it in his eyes: he thought he had the wrong woman, or that he'd only imagined it. Then I winked, and he laughed in relief.

"Listen," he said, grabbing my arm, "I had a really good time. Can I return the favor?"

He was very close now. Nice brown eyes. Same cologne.

"Like now?" Suddenly the day ceased to be boring. I was glad I'd showered off the tanning oil before heading out. On the other hand…

"Let's go," he said, and back at his house he went down on me slowly and skillfully, sliding his fingers in my pussy and my ass, and I came like fireworks on Fourth of July, boom boom boom, and afterwards my ears were ringing.

Imagine that. A guy who’s slept with a thousand women and he's actually *learned*something.

He looked pretty good naked, almost as tan as I was (that's what house-sitting is good for, getting a tan and reading novels), nice firm ass, surprisingly strong for a guy his age. I got up on top of him and while we fucked I made him tell me the kinkiest things he ever done. He came hard and I was sure the whole valley could hear him moan.

That was how we got to talking about it, once he'd caught his breath and recovered. I'd finger-fucked him a little when we were playing around and I thought for sure he must have had a dick, or at least a dildo, up there.

"Nope, never been pegged," he said much later, lighting up a cig. It was early evening now, starting to cool off. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to have me go, so I figured I'd enjoy his hospitality as long as I could. The beer I was drinking was very expensive and very cold. "Where does that come from, anyway? I never heard it before. And I thought I'd heard *everything*."

"You know about cabin boys? Also known as 'peg boys'. They were available for the pleasure of sailors on those long nights at sea. They would sit on pegs during the day so they'd be ready for action at night. I think you can see the connection."

"Oh my god!" he laughed. I liked making him laugh. When he had settled down again I got up close to his ear.

"But would you?" I whispered.

He blew smoke over my head and we watched it drift out the French windows.

"Yeah, I think I would. With the right woman."

I knew that this was a job for the Pink Panther. Of all the toys in my magic bag, Pink was my favorite: a slim, petite dildo the color of strawberry ice cream, ridged and slightly bulbous at the business end, perfect for penetrating the virgin ass. Pink fit snugly into a black leather harness, and the base had a beautiful little tickler that sat right over my clit and made fucking oh so much fun. Yes, Pink and I would peg this guy one way or another.

About once a week he'd get it into his head that we should get together, and he'd call me and talk dirty until I agreed to grab my bag and head over to his house. In between I forgot about him and did my thing, reading, sleeping, playing cards at Godiva's; then I'd be home and the phone would ring and I'd see his number on CallerID and off we went again. Sure, he was a Hollywood has-been – but one who could bang me nine ways from Sunday.

He was really, really, really good in bed. When I got to his house he was always ready to go – he'd come to the door with a hard-on that never seemed to get tired, no matter how many times he came. And he loved to see me come;

The only thing that bugged me – OK, other things bugged me: he snored, and his jokes were terrible – was how much he talked. All the time, but especially while we were fucking – god, he just couldn't zip it! It wouldn’t have been so bad if he was talking *to* me, but most of the time I think he was talking to himself. It was like …narration. A voice-over for a cheap porn movie. Phone sex. A blow job sounded like this:

"Oh baby, it's so good when you blow me, I love it when you do that – get your lips around my cock, oh god, suck me, suck me hard, that's it – your tongue feels like velvet when you lick me like that – I can't believe how hot your mouth is when I'm in it – oh yeah, that's it – damn, woman, you are good at this – go deeper, faster – now you're sucking me so hard and your mouth is so wet and you make me come so good – oh – oh – oh – " etc., etc.

Fucking actors.

In six weeks we'd gone through all the toys in my bag - including the Mardi Gras Ring, the Shunga Chocolate Body Paint, the Star Raiser, and the Jungle Bullet – except one. Pink and I waited patiently.

The weather turned cold for a week; humid and miserable and dreary. On Tuesday night I made it to his house, where he had turned up the heat and revved up the hot tub. By early Thursday morning we'd gone through four deliveries of Thai food, two boxes of condoms, big heaping handfuls of lube, and were down to the last of his coke, which we snorted and licked off each other's bellies. And by the time I'd heard the fortieth version of "Oh baby your pussy is so wet" I knew I'd have to shut him up or strangle him with an electrical cord.

"It's time, my man," I whispered in his ear. We were back on his bed, pressed close together, watching the sky turn from black to grey.

"What? Are you leaving?" he asked, startled.

"Oh no. No, no, no – not nearly yet. Wait here," I instructed, and took off for the bathroom with the magic bag. Inside, I strapped Pink into place, admired it a little in the mirror, and blew it a kiss. Then I threw the door open and let him see what was coming. "Say hello to the Pink Panther."

"Holy shit," he muttered. His eyes got very, very big, and he backed up a little as I knelt on the bed.

"Aw, come on, we won't hurt you. Pink wants to be your friend. Here," I said, and guided his hand to the base. He touched it hesitantly, then slowly ran his fingers up to the tip.

"It feels real," he said. I moved closer, pressing Pink against his rapidly hardening cock. His was bigger, of course; I knew that would make him feel better.

"It is real. It is a real dildo and I am going to fuck you with it." I brought his hand up and helped him stroke us. "Feels good. Soft, but firm. And lots of lube. And believe me, I know how to use it." I could hear his breathing get quicker; his hand moved faster. "Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."

He laid back slowly and closed his eyes. "I can't believe this," he sighed. "Fifty-five years old and I'm about to lose my fucking virginity again."

"Close your eyes and think of England, baby," I laughed. "You're gonna love having your cherry popped."

He drew up his knees and clenched his fists. I could see the sweat on his forehead and the muscles standing out in his neck. "OK, I'm ready."

"Yeah, ready for your exam. Just relax, all right? And leave this to me."

And I gave him the nicest rim job this side of an actual gay man. He loved it – he'd always loved it, though he'd never told me so – and it relaxed him real quick. Then I started working my finger in, switching from spit to lube to get deep in there, and he moved with me. He wanted this, no doubt. I stroked his sweet spot gently, teasing, till he was moaning and jerking his hips off the bed. I slowed down. Then I stopped. Then I drew out my finger.

He was wide-eyed and shaking. "OK! All right! Go ahead and fuck me! Peg me! Just do it before I have a heart attack!"

Pink was glistening with lube and ready to go. I pushed his knees up some more and got into position and damn if Pink didn't slide into him nice and easy. He grabbed my hips and I thrust into him gently, his stiff cock pressed between us, and with every thrust he sucked his breath in sharply and then let it go with a moaning sigh – which rang some random bell in my head, until I realized that it was exactly the same moan as he'd used on the very first hit record he sang on, almost thirty years ago. The man sure knew how to use his material.

I moved a little faster, a little deeper in him, and he arched his back with pleasure. This was good, but I wanted to give it to him hard and for that he needed to be on his stomach. I sat back on my heels. "Turn over, cabin boy," I ordered. He obeyed and there he was, ex-TV-star, ex-sixties-teen-heartthrob, on his knees with his ass in the air and his sweet dusky pink asshole just waiting to be filled. Does life get any better? I climbed aboard and we were off.

For a while I just watched Pink moving in and out of him, slowly, smoothly, while under me he moaned and clutched at the pillow. It was glorious, being up there on top of that big hunk o' manliness, fucking him so true and fine that all he could do was writhe and twitch when Pink disappeared into his ass and then pulled out again, solid and shiny in the dim light. I had him pinned. He couldn't get away with Pink up his ass, not even if he wanted to, and he sure didn't want to – he twisted his hips around to get just the right angle and when we did he let out a cry that was halfway between anger and release.

The angle was right for me too and the tickler on my clit was working its magic; one lovely orgasm, like being lifted on a single powerful wave in the ocean and set down gently again, and all the while I kept up the pace with Pink until I couldn't wait anymore and I cut loose, pounding him hard while he grabbed his dick and finished the job. He came and came hard, into his hand and all over the bed; Pink pushed back against me as his muscles clenched hard, over and over, till he had no more left to shoot, and then his knees gave out and we fell in a sweaty, sticky heap on the bed.

And he hadn't said one word, not one dirty word. Minor miracle.

I got cleaned up and put Pink back in the bag, with a tender pat for a job well done. He was still laying on his stomach, eyes closed.

"Well? Did you like it?" I tried to say it jokingly, but I was sort of worried that he was having an emotional moment. You can never tell when they get all quiet on you like that.

"Hmm. Maybe too much," he said. He looked at me and smiled, and now the morning light was coming in and oh, he looked old, old and tired, and I knew he was thinking that he should have done this years ago, but at the same time that he wasn't going to get that girl-fiend of his to fuck his ass on a regular basis. Poor guy.

Right then I knew that whatever we'd had going was over, for now. I'd done the deed, and without that to look forward to, I could feel my interest fading fast. It was never as good as the first time, not after they got used to it; the thrill was in the conquest, not the use. Oh well. Pink and I had introduced another virginal ass to the wonders of penetration, and we'd have to be content with that.

The last time I saw him was in the supermarket. I was distracted, thinking about the next place I was moving to and trying to remember how much wine I'd borrowed from the current homeowner's cellar. Suddenly I was aware of him standing next to me, introducing his fiancée – fiancée! Holy god! – the same barely perceptible blond woman he'd had it out with months ago. Maybe her daddy owned a TV station or something. Oh well.

"And this," he was saying professionally, "is my…neighbor, Margaret."

"Pleased to meet you, hon," I said, glancing from her plastered-on smile to his mischievous grin. What a flake.

"Ah, well, I won't be a neighbor too much longer. I'm moving in a few days." He looked disappointed; she looked smug.

"Oh, that's too bad," she said, as nastily as she could without actually spitting nails at me.

"You've got my cell number. Call me if you need me," I said. They turned to go, and he came very close, as if he were going to hug me or something, while she tried to pull him away. This was too ridiculous. Six weeks of screwing and then he introduces me like I was the neighborhood cat lady? Fuck that.

So I groped his ass so thoroughly that not even the stockboys could miss it. "See you around, babe. And, you know, Margaret is so formal – please, call me Peg. All my friends do." That made him choke, and he tried to cover it with a laugh, which only made him choke some more. People were starting to stare. The g.f. looked like she couldn't decide whether to kill me or him. A volcanic eruption was about to happen and I didn't want to get caught in the firestorm.

I gave his ass a loud parting slap.

"Think Pink, baby," I laughed, and made a fast exit, stage left.