Honey-Lee. Journeys of a TG Nympho

Her name is Sue-Ellen and we share an anecdote or two about double names, mine being Honey-Lee, well-respected in the south, but sometimes ridiculed in Yankee states. I offer to buy her breakfast but she gets hers "on the house". We talk about our childhoods, our early sweethearts, dreams and disappointments. We touch briefly on her dreams for the future but she shuts down on the personal stuff and we switch to the mundane but as 8 o'clock approaches, I slip her a card with my name and Punta Gorda phone number. "Sue-Ellen," I say. "If ever you think you'd like to get away for a mini-vacation for a day, a week or more, or if you just need to get away for any other reason, please call me. I owe you. I'll always have a place for you and I'd just love to know you more. I mean it." The long black limo pulls up outside and I resume my new persona, stepping outside and waiting, clearly impatient and annoyed, for the chauffer to open the door for me and assist me inside. He even forgets to collect the fare "up front" and pulls smoothly away.

I know he's watching me with the rear seat cam intended to let attendants appear to anticipate clients' every need so I, not so surreptitiously, begin to touch my hair, my breasts and my knees, occasionally running my hand up my leg from my slim ankle to the hem of my shorts and a little above. "Are you comfortable, ma'am. Is there anything you would like?"

"Is there any champagne or cold sparkling wine back here? I could certainly use a drink" I sigh. He assures me there absolutely is some good champagne in the fridge concealed behind his seat but, strangely, inept blonde that I am, I'm unable to operate the mechanism. "Perhaps you could pull into that park at the next exit and show me," I suggest. So he pulls off of I-75 at the park exit and, since it is still 'way pre-season and early morning, there is no one to wonder about the big Lincoln limo nosed in toward the beach except perhaps some young "extreme surfers" hang gliding out in the warm gulf waters. The driver came back and was able, miraculously, to open the mysterious refrigerator and extract a chilled bottle of champagne. Perhaps distracted by my exposed legs or musky scent, he forgot to mention the $100.00 price tag of the $50.00 bubbly, but he opened the bottle, poured into a stemmed glass and offered it for my inspection. I sipped deeply, then patted the seat beside me and demanded "drink with me".

"Regulations, uh . . . " he demurred.

"Get in and close the door before the bugs get in" I demanded, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. He subsided into the deeply padded leather seat beside me, refilled my glass upon request and poured a dribble for himself. Widening my big green eyes upon him, I declared "You've been such a marvelous driver up until now and I shall tell everyone to ask for you. You've been attentive to my every need." He sat erect in the seat, holding his wine glass close to his chest. I finished my own and commanded, "Drink that up like a man". He obediently complied, whereupon I took his empty glass, tossed it on the floor and tossed myself across his lap demanding "fuck me now or I'll tell everyone you forced me". A nasty stunt I know, and one I now shamefully regret and swear never to repeat. The effect on Driver was instantaneous. His brain refused to process the input. He went into rigor. His arms hovered above me lying on his lap, clearly avoiding any contact. His eyes stared straight ahead and his skin was waxen. OMG, I thought. My first opportunity to fuck a Zombie! And I took it.

I had simply intended to put him into a compromising position so I could stiff the company for what I saw as an exorbitant fare. But now I saw an opportunity for a unique sexual adventure with which to regale my friends on some future social evening. I cursed the luck that deprived me of the high-capacity video of my usual smart phone but rummaging about in the limo, discovered it was equipped with HD video recording equipment. I left it alone for the moment. It was not easy to disrobe a man in rigor but I discovered that his limbs would move slowly if sufficient pressure was applied and I arranged his naked body above my fully-clothed one, on the back seat of the limo, a terrified expression on my face and activated the video. Playing with the remote, I recorded only fragmented flashes of the chauffer plunging his clearly extended cock into my mouth and later, my butt from an angle that showed nothing of my tg variations.

As things turned out, I needn't have bothered with my staged snapshots. As Driver warmed up in the sunlit limo, his cationic state dissipated although there was no lessening of the rigid state of is cock. I switched the video to continuous and followed the flow. I lay on my back on the deeply padded leather seats, valiantly attempting to emulate a violated maiden, my shorts and panties outside of the frame, probably on the limo floor. Driver, hulking above me, alternates thrusts to my mouth and the out-of-range pussy between my legs. Finally. it seems, he chooses, and plunges a stiff uppercut into my pussy. I scream. But in following footage that would provide rich fodder for a defense attorney, I'll be seen forever, raising my spread legs and locking my ankles above his buttocks to thrust him deeper and hold him deep in my cunt.

It wasn't planned like that. My pussy was still bruised and sore from my entrepreneurial activities of the night before, I wasn't physically attracted to Driver and was certainly not physically aroused. I simply wanted to be home alone in my own bed. Yes, I admit that, when he plunged into me, I raised my legs and locked my ankles behind his butt, but that was simply an autonomic reaction. He claims he was drugged though no drugs were ever found. I certainly never use them for any purpose. The fact that the ring muscle of my cunt went into spasm behind his knob was attributed to the extreme stress I had been under. The excellent air conditioning of the limo was credited with saving our lives and when the limo company investigators found us by GPS tracking 20 hours later, a young intern trained by Dr.. Mike was able to recognize the condition and release me and Driver without permanent damage. Once released from my grip on Driver, I borrowed a phone from a paramedic to call Dr. Mike and he and Gloria swooped in with a wave of professional jargon and claims to be my personal physician to extract me from the wave of curious officialdom. Fortunately neither of the private firms handling the matter wanted official involvement so there was never a glimmer in the news services.

Mike and Gloria escorted me into my home in Punta Gorda and Gloria cared for me like a mother bear for about a week, nurturing me daily with milk from her big, perpetually full, blue-veined breasts. Dr. Mike took samples of my blood (I think he's going to bleed me dry), swabs from my mouth, pussy, ears and skin between my toes. He ordered batteries of tests and as the results poured back in, squinted over them intently. At last he declares "we've been blessed my dear; you're 100% clear, clean and healthy, despite your adventures. You have a remarkable immune system."

I called the "good 'ol boy from Sarasota." His name was Joshua and he politely agreed to use his tow truck to retrieve "Angel", my beloved Toyota, from Gainsville and bring it to his shop at Sarasota. I tell him my name is Honey-Lee give him the keyless entry code and tell him about the concealed ignition key. "I'll do my best for you Miss Honey-Lee" he promised. "Thadford tells me you're a right nice lady who had a spot of bad luck up that way."

Two weeks later he calls. "Your little van is right as rain" he advises. "Y'all done good shuttin' 'er down when y'all did. Had to hone the cylinders and replace the piston rings but she's all good now." I ride my pedal bike up there. It's about a two and a half hour ride, mostly along the beautiful, mostly shady, Heritage Trail. I arrive at Joshua's door, a little flushed perhaps, but glowing with health and energy. He looks me up and down with appreciation, opining "Thadford" didn't exaggerate one bit, that old reprobate. He takes me out back where my beloved Toyota is parked on a concrete apron between his house and a four-bay shop. It starts at a touch of the key, and even to my untrained ear, runs smoother and quieter thanever before. "Touched her up a mite" he allows.

I turn to him and impulsively throw my arms around his neck. Thanking him profusely and kissing him on the mouth. His arms go round me instinctively and I pull myself against his body and we stay like that for a minute while I feel his manhood rising against my belly. We pull apart and he say's "Whew! That's some thank-you, you've got there Miss Honey-Lee. Would you do me the honor of staying for dinner? I have some fine Texas steaks right here, just ready for the barbeque."

"You've done so much for me" I protest "I shouldn't impose more" but, brushing my protests aside, he leads me around the side of the house to a tastefully furnished lanai and deposits me into a comfortable chair while he makes things magically appear on the lanai table. I hear steaks hit a hot grill, smell sweet potatoes roasting, and watch his muscular body move purposely between grill, sideboard and table. He is indeed, "a good ol' boy" -- grey hiar and goatee - certainly pushing 60 or better, but his every movement projects strength and purpose and I feel that familiar sexual attraction to powerful men rising deep in my belly.

He hasn't asked how I like my steak prepared, but it arrives on a plate in front of me, deeply seared on the outside, medium rare on the inside, exactly to my taste. I comment on it. "Woman like you" he rumbles "sensuality like an aura around you, eats her steak rare or medium rare. You're no doubt a modern woman, but physically, you're primal."

"And I think you're a primal man" I respond.

"Yes" he responds "but after 30 years in the military and another 10 working for several government agencies, well concealed under a veneer of civilization."

We consume our meals mostly silently in companionable enjoyment and when at last we sit back and he refills my glass of excellent red wine, I ask, "And I going to be allowed to peel back that veneer of civilization?"

"You don't have to, you know" he smiles. "I intend to bill you $640.00 for parts on your Toyota. You won't owe me a thing."

"I will pay you that and the same amount for labor" I declare. "Otherwise I would feel like a whore, when you take me to your bed."

"You could never be a whore, whatever the circumstances" he states flatly. "You're too much your own, independent woman. But I shall be honored to take you to my bed."

"You know I'm a transgender woman" I query?

"You're a woman. An extraordinary woman. And one I shall cherish as a friend as long as I live," he declares as he rises from his chair and takes me by the hand. In his large, masculine bedroom, he undresses me slowly, smilingly, like a man opening a gift he knows is extravagant and sensuous. He undresses me completely and then sits on the end of his bed gazing at me as I stand naked and relaxed before him. I take his hands and lift him to his feet and slowly disrobe him as well. I lift his shirt over his head and run fingers through the grey hairs on his chest. The grey doesn't seem to denote age; it is merely a color. He folds me against him and kisses me and I exult in the feel of his bare skin against my breasts.

I push free and kneel to unbuckle his trousers and drop them in a puddle at his feet. He steps out of them. I repeat the process with his boxers and he steps out of those as well. His cock is like the rest of him. Perfectly boat-shaped, nicely defined but not over-sized knob, very thick in the center, tapered thinner closer to his body. Thick bluish veins run from just behind the knob back toward his body and his sack hangs big and full below. He is not erect, but firm. As I kneel on his bedroom floor in front of him, he rests his hand gently on my head and lets me take his manhood into my mouth and cup that huge ball sack in my hand. I twirl my tongue around his knob and feel his response, sweet pulses of pre-cum for my pleasure. He raises me to my feet and reaching between my legs anoints me with a deliciously slippery lotion. Then, hands on my waist, lifts me up and settles me down onto his cock. I lock my ankles above his buttocks and he pulls me in close against his chest and I nuzzle at his throat. His arms around my waist he walks out through his bedroom door to the outdoor pool and I marvel at his strength (I weigh 130 pounds) and he walks out into the warm Florida sunshine.

The feeling and movement of his cock deep up inside me as he walks around the pool with me impaled, yet hugging his shoulders and kissing his throat is beyond description and I begin a series of mini-orgasms, each of which he acknowledges by gently turning my face upward and kissing my closed eyelids. He walks, he paces, he pads around the entire house and pool area, cock settling ever higher up inside of me, my arms around his neck, his arms around my waist, and my body and spirit melding into his. When he at last lays me back on his firm bed, I am like plasticine in his hands and he easily pins both wrists and both ankles to the bed above my head. Those big veins in his cock I noticed earlier seem to be now filled and the piston he is sliding into me bears little similarity to the "normal" cock I had earlier sucked. But my pussy is almost endlessly accommodating and it expands to fit as Joshua leans forward and kisses my face, my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, and finally, my mouth. My loins respond appropriately, my hips begin their involuntary rotation, my hips thrust upwards to welcome his advance and the universe splits asunder to admit us to another, parallel, universe where our entwined bodies tumble within thunderclouds, are spat out upon the crests of tsunami waves, only to be sucked up again by aggressive passing tornados.

At last, the tornado deposits us back onto Joshua's bed. We lay entwined for an hour before nature compels me to the washroom. I pee, but I keep Joshua's cum held up inside. There is something mystical or celestial about this man. Perhaps I can absorb some of his essence.

He helps me load my bicycle into Angel's capacious hold. I surreptitiously leave a $1280.00 cheque on his kitchen counter. He kisses me and holds me close. I climb in the driver's seat and bid him goodbye. "Joshua, I'll see you again in Paradise, if not before" I sigh, and drive away.

Paul never knew a thing about my misadventures until he arrived home in an airport limo a month later, vastly wealthier, and happy to find me healthy, happy and horny on the lanai, sipping something cool and sweet. He may never really believe the story of what unfolded in the few hours after I dropped him off at GNV but it's good to have him home tonight as he drops off to sleep behind me, his semi-stiff cock safely parked in my pussy for overnight safe-keeping.

Chapter 12. --

To be continued.