Honey-Lee–the journeys of a TG Nympho
Chapter 8 - Transformations
In the days following our extraordinary adventures at the Holmstead’s, Paul and I, apparently sexually satiated for awhile, settled back into the quintessential Florida lifestyle – late, leisurely breakfasts on the lanai, afternoon cycling along beautiful trails, especially those from Port Charlotte, through Venice nearly to Sarasota, or kayaking the broad local canals, creeks and rivers.
Evenings we made love, casually in the lanai, on the pool deck, kitchen counters, living room sofas and chairs – but just as often on my smooth, wide, white king-sized bed. And every night as we went to sleep, Paul would tuck his by-then, semi-erect penis safely away for the night in my accommodating tg-pussy.
To an outsider it would have appeared an halcyon, perhaps even mundane, lifestyle, but for us and for that short period in time, it seemed to suit, to allow us to recharge, to replenish and restore our life-forces for the lubricious cyclone we were intuitively certain would soon envelop us.
To be sure, we did one night seek out a young couple advertising on a local swinger’s website. She was advertised as a “pulchritudinous love goddess”; he as “every woman’s Adonis”. Ha! She was, in fact, a chubby, out-of-shape little thing with sagging boobs and belly plucked from the isles of a Walmart somewhere. He was an awkward 29 year old with prematurely thinning black hair and blotchy, hairy hands – tho I’ll admit he did have a long, almost prehensile nose and long tongue.
Her idea of love-making was to unceremoniously strip, flop on her back, spread her chubby legs, flap her floppy boobies and giggle. His idea . . . well once he heard I’m a TG, he was all over it. “What’s it like? Is it stiff? Can it squirt? Can I suck it? How big is it? I wanna suck it.”
Well, we made the best of it and I’m sure from the way the giggles turned to squeals and then to groans, screams and every other inarticulate sound that can come out of a woman’s mouth, that our “pulchritudinous love goddess” that night at least was levitated to the heavens of some of the lesser gods. If she was walking at all when she left, she was certainly walking differently.
Once I answered some of “Adonis’” interminable questions about “it” by letting him tear down my panties, just inside our front door, I was able to educate him a little. “Yes you may suck my clit but if you cum in your pants before giving me some decent action, I’ll tear your balls off and turn you into a eunuch.” I don’t think he knew what a eunuch is, but he got the idea and let me coach him a bit. That’s when I discovered the prehensile nose with which he was able to give me a little spasm so I let him poke his average 6” cock in me and grind away for awhile, giving him a few moans for encouragement.
He seemed quite startled when I pulled his tits and slapped his ass sharply but he did redouble his efforts and manage to squirt a teaspoonful or so. From the fuss he made, I’m sure he thought he had really accomplished something so when he fell out, I slapped his ass and said “Great Job, sport! You really are an Adonis,” He beamed and we were able to usher them out the door without much ado. Mike and I looked at each other and shook our heads. I went and flushed out my pussy with my most heavy-duty pussy-wash before any mold could form.
But this Chapter is supposed to be about Transformations and transformations take time so it was a week Monday before my call display showed the Holmstead’s number again. My hand was actually shaking a bit when I picked up the phone and heard Gloria’s bubbly voice. “Oh Honey! It’s so wonderful to hear your voice and I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to call. This has been one of the most exciting projects we’ve done to date, but so terribly demanding.”
“Angela !” I exclaim. “How has she done?”
“Better than we could ever have expected. We’re delighted. She paid for two extra days and we’ve made such great use of them, you’ll hardly recognize her. That’s why I’m calling. Her final exams and graduation ceremony are tomorrow afternoon and evening and we’d all love for you and Paul to participate.”
“We wouldn’t miss it”, I say warmly. “We love you guys.”
“Why don’t you come for lunch at noon then” she says and I agree with a lilt in my voice. Gloria greets us at her door, a big wet kiss on the mouth for me, a big hug and deep kiss for Paul while Bobby welcomes me with his nose so deep in my behind that I have to extricate my skirt from my crotch.
Ahhh, Bobby. For those of you just joining this remarkable saga, Bobby is a big, white Afghan Hound especially trained by Dr. Mike (as we sometimes call him) to detect and accurately interpret human pheromones. With his long nose and naturally acute sense of smell, he can pick up, differentiate and zone in on the unique and revealing scents that human’s, among other creatures, emit naturally. Scientists believe that humans once (as other creatures do now) used the pheromones to find and attract suitable mates. The strongest emitters were usually the most virile and fertile males and females, respectively.
Bobby not only picks up the intensity of a man’s or woman’s sensuality from across a room, but easily distinguishes between one falsely acting and looking “sexy” from one who may appear proper or demure but is harboring deep sensual desires and abilities. He communicates his findings to insiders with the combined tilt of his nose and tail. Bobby has also had extensive training and experience in other specialized skills which followers of this saga have found compelling and new readers . . . well, read on and see.
We walk through the familiar living room and onto the patio. Mike greets us both with bear hugs and kisses but I hardly recognize the highly attractive woman who stands to be introduced . . . again. I’ve been told to expect Angela. I know this is Angela. But I would never in a hundred years have identified this raven-haired beauty with the hard-bitten, man-hating, bleached-blond, shop-worn hooker I had met just 10 days before.
She stands straight and tall; her raven hair, held up with hidden combs at the sides, cascades down her back past her shoulders in a shimmering wave, three strands of long, thin silver chain sparkle and spill from each ear lobe to accentuate her long smooth throat and neck. Pancake makeup long gone, a sheer foundation lotion displays almost flawless skin while scarlet lipstick and pearly teeth against the frame of raven hair impart a slightly haughty but still wanton look.
She is wearing a long black dress, v-neck displaying creamy cleavage, gathered below to accentuate those shapely D-cup boobs, and tailored perfectly to follow her slim waist and invitingly flared hips. The hem stops just high enough to disclose slim ankles and delicate feet in open sliver heels displaying toenails matching her scarlet colored lips. We stand in frozen tableau for fully a minute. I sense Paul stiff beside me like a bird-dog on point. Despite my well-known preference for the most virile of men, I feel a strong, sensual bond with her and when she extends her hand, I almost kiss it before using it to draw her closer as I kiss each cheek. “Congratulations Angela. You look stunning!”
“And now you’ve met Angela II” Mike smoothly segues back to the moment.
“I’ve heard of being “born again”, Paul congratulates “ but Angela, you’re the best argument for second birth, I’ll ever see.”
Angela flashes a blazing smile and suddenly we all seem to be seated around the table, passing platters of dainty sandwiches, crackers, cheeses, guacamole and small cupsful of a delicious slightly warm liquid Gloria says is soup though it tastes like . . . I don’t know; what would god-semen taste like? Birds twitter and call, the back yard fountain splashes, conversations bounce about and too soon the lovely luncheon is over.
Gloria is either magic or has an unseen serving maid tucked away somewhere because when Mike declares “Well it’s almost final exam time. Are you ready Angela?” Gloria is able to stand with the rest of us and eagerly walk out to the tool shed, Angela apparently even more enthusiastic than the others. I walk behind admiring the sway of her hips and her confident balance in heels over the grassy lawn.
There are a few changes in the big tool shed since the last time I was here. Of course Angela is not blindfolded this time but there are other differences, some subtle, others not so much. The over-bright O.R. lights have been raised into the rafters replaced with more gentle hidden full-spectrum fluorescents, the gynecologist table is retracted beneath the big, bed-size central platform (which is again covered with a taut, white sheet). The hidden speakers have switched from the Cuban beat to sounds reminiscent of obscure, smoky, New Orleans night spots. Finally the “f-machine” has risen up on its scissor-legs to a height of about a half meter above the platform and is parked at the foot of the platform.
Four of us arrange ourselves on folding chairs that have been placed close along one side of the platform. Bobby, his head as high as my shoulder, sits up attentively between Gloria and me, Paul on my right and Mike on Gloria’s left. Angela remains near the now closed and locked door. The lights go out. The music stops. So does my breathing.
A single spotlight somewhere above, gleams into existence. It is focused on Angela and follows her, brightening slowly as she walks toward the platform and up the several stairs. She has changed the silver heels for silver slippers and stands “center stage”, feet slightly apart, hands akimbo on her hips. When she throws her head and hair back, three more needle spotlights explode to full brilliance. And the smoky music starts again, this time with a distinct grinding beat.
Andrea stands posed for a moment and then her hips start to rotate with the beat. Her body undulates under the long snug dress and her marvelous breasts seem to be dancing at their own party. Angela’s slim, bare, white arms perform and inform the storyline. Beckoning, welcoming, soothing, stimulating, encouraging, embracing as slowly the hem of the long dress swirls and rises. First shapely calves appear, highlighted by a brightening footlight as though in response to our request. And then thighs that would make any man hard. We are treated, without pause, to her high, smooth pubic mound, flat rotating tummy and flared but smoothly rounded hips. The hem continues to rise until the fabric of the dress is bunched under her breasts. The music stops abruptly for a moment, Angela flings her arms skywards and the dress is gone, above the lights, the only sign of it’s passing being Angela’s hair cascading back down onto her now bare shoulders and breasts.
The music starts again, now with a more animal beat and Angela starts to dance again, this time twisting and turning under the lights so that, for the first time, we see the breathtaking bulge of her pussy from behind. She dances lower and lower around an imaginary center pole until at last she is dancing on hands and toe-tips, is moving and undulating like a big jungle cat in heat. Paul is adjusting his shorts in the chair beside me and I hear Gloria’s quiet voice restraining Bobby, hand curled in his smooth, long coat.
Angela’s undulating body is now far to the foot of the stage, her face turned toward us, and on her face an expression of ecstasy like I’ve seen before only on the faces of women enjoying the best slow sex of their lives. It is only when I hear a soft motor hum that I notice the ‘til now quiet machine is extending its “operational housing” onto the stage by way of a hydraulic arm.
Gloria, face still toward us, retrieves a remote control from somewhere and continues to dance on all fours backward toward the machine. Her fingers move on the remote and the dildo that emerges from the machine housing is of impressive size ‘though perhaps not the largest I’ve experienced. I note absently that Dr. Mike has made an improvement. Instead of the “lube tube” from above, two small nozzle’s in the machine housing dispense glistening lubricant on the tip and down the length of the dildo as it moves back and forth. Apparently in response to Angela’s fingers on the remote, the dildo advances full stroke onto the stage and stops whereupon she writhes herself onto it, her expression still ecstatic.
When the machine starts to move, we all spontaneously burst into applause, giving her a standing ovation for her performance. But she is far from done with her master’s “thesis” in sexology. Machine pumps its steady rhythm which Angela varies in speed and stroke, putting on a show that has every one of us panting in heat.
At last we see that she is beginning to drift into an orgasmic trance and Dr. Mike hastens to override the remote. He retracts the machine but when the big dildo pulls out of her, Angela doesn’t collapse in exhaustion as I might have; she begins again to undulate like a big cat in heat, now with her pussy directed toward us in unmistakable invitation.
In response to Mike’s nod, Paul is naked on the stage in a blur. He takes her as a big cat would take her and we can almost hear her purring. Mike is next up, kneeling before her so she can take his big cock in her mouth and I’m not a bit surprised when beautiful, bountiful, elegant Gloria stands under the stage lights, lifts her white gown over her head and straddles Angela’s back, facing her rump, tongue kissing Paul while he fondles her lovely, blue-veined, milk-filled breasts.
Only Bobbie and I remain at stage side, he I see because Gloria has slipped a collar around his neck and anchored him to a convenient ring. The performance and the current action on the stage have been enormously stimulating of course and my panties are wet, despite the panty-liner pad I had placed in them before leaving home.
I slipped off the wet panties and lengthened the big hound’s leash so he could at least lick some of my juices. On the stage, Paul was still riding Angela in his cowboy mode, his upper body motion exactly matching the way he rides a horse. I could almost see him waving his hat in one hand, but his long, deep strokes are always wonderful, perhaps a little faster as he nears completion, but never shorter, always full depth. He releases his full, rich load into her and I watch her eyes glaze as she tops another crest. He signals Mike who is standing by, nursing his cock.
Paul pulls out and Mike slides in hardly missing a beat as he fastens his mouth onto one of Gloria’s nipples, Gloria still riding, taking all her weight on her feet, of course. Mike takes it easy on Angela; after all it’s now 3:30 pm, about two hours since the needle spots flared on and started the show. But she’s still fucking like a mink, or more accurately, a cat in heat. Gloria climbs off her back and kneels in front to offer sustenance from her amazing breasts. Gratefully Angela sucks in a nipple and begins almost instantly to respond to the life-giving fluid by thrusting back at Mike who, understandably shifts into final mode. Angie lifts her head and gives me an inquiring look. I see that she’s tiring but I smile, stand and wink at her. Our little secret, letting her know I know she’s about spent and it’s all right.
I kick my shoes off and step up onto the soft stage, standing behind Mike and fingering his bung hole to let him know I’m there and hastening his climax. Cum he does, like most men, shortening his stroke and speeding his pace. His ass contracts around my fingers and I feel each pump of his balls as he injects his semen into Angela’s bruised cunt. When he pulls out I give his cock a few friendly licks and then gently push Angie forward onto her elbows as I spread her butt cheeks and begin to lap Mike and Paul’s cum from her pussy. She relaxes and lets it flow and soon there is more than I can quickly swallow but it’s good and rich as both men are non-smokers who eat healthy diets. Flavoured with Angela’s own juices, it’s a delicacy well-worth waiting for and I dine until there is no more forthcoming.
I go to Angela’s head and help her to her feet before enveloping her in a tender hug with a kiss and a taste of sweet nectar of the gods from my lips and tongue. The others gather round and, under the stage lights, we engage in a warm, loving, group hug. Such a feeling of warm closeness! How could anyone think of sex as "dirty"?
We carefully navigate the stairs off the stage and out into the blaze of late-afternoon Florida heat glancing upward to gratefully note gathering rainclouds on the horizon as Mike kills lights in the toolshed and locks the door. Gloria dons a robe and she and I gently shepherd Angela into the house and into her own private room with it’s fresh, neatly turned down sheets. All three of us naked, we bathe her in the adjoining shower gently, like caring for a child who has been ill. We feed her sips of a cool protein drink which I suspect contains more than a smidgeon of Gloria’s breast milk and finally tuck her under a light sheet, kissing her cheeks goodnight (tho it’s only early evening) and smoothing her damp hair back from her face. She drops off to sleep like a baby and we quietly tiptoe out.
We quickly don robes from the central bathroom closet and join the men sitting on the lanai enjoying the cool breeze preceding the approaching storm. Mike hands me a wine cooler and gently probes “you were uncharacteristically restrained today, Honey. Anything you want to talk about?”
“No Mike. I loved the entire performance and Angela was such an incredible trooper. But I could see she was out of reserves. She gave everything she had.”
“Yes”, Mike concurred, “I believe she has made the transition to a fully sensuous woman.” He paused. “Speaking of which, this sensuous woman hasn’t been pleasured today since I know you and Paul are routinely chaste in the mornings. Let me and Paul at least give you a full body massage since I suspect neither of us are right now up to settling you any other way.”
“But what about Gloria” I protest.
“Mike pleasured me for over two hours this morning in ways we haven’t even shared with you yet” Gloria intervenes. “And I got myself off very nicely this afternoon riding with Angela’s undulating spine in my slot.”
So I let them relieve me of my robe and lay me supine on a padded patio bench, Mike on my one side, Paul on the other. They massage my neck and shoulder muscles; they massage the taut muscles down each side of my spine, and they massage my butt cheeks before Paul slides his hand down between my legs. Looking around for some lube, he comes up empty until Gloria comes over, opens her robe and makes a generous contribution. Paul gently works it in, opening my tg-pussy to accept one and then two of his fingers. I feel myself responding and Paul accepts more of Gloria’s abundant juices to massage and open me further.
“Sweetheart” he says at length, “it just isn’t getting hard tonight”.
I turn my head and smile up at him. “Would you let Buddy fill in? He’s certainly ready.”
I turn my head the other way and see Gloria is holding Buddy back but his lolling tongue is eager and his
7.5” penis is hanging is hanging at the ready. “Mmmmm, tongue only for now” I say softly and Gloria eases off on his leash. But Buddy understands my need better than some men would and gently nuzzles my crotch until I spread my legs off the bench and slide down some. His warm, wet tongue lapping the sensitive outside folds around my pussy is like a balm, a soothing animated lotion that feels soooo good. Sometimes the tip of his tongue reaches my folded down clit, but mostly its all over my inner butt cheeks and the opening to my tg-pussy. My pussy opens and relaxes in response to the stimulus and soon that skilled tongue is questing inside.
Mike stands, and taking a teaspoonful of honey from a bowl on the table, nudges Buddy aside for a moment, deposits it in my opened pussy. Then he uses the spoon handle as a spatula to plaster the honey around the inner walls of my channel to the depth of the spoon.
When Buddy is allowed back at me, he stiffs and tastes tentatively and then continues his task with renewed vigor. He knows a reward when he tastes one! I reach a nice orgasm and then start cresting along on a series of rising and falling orgasmic events. Not spectacular. Not cataclysmic. Just warm, wonderful sensual vibrations of my inner sensual self. My friends Paul, Gloria and Mike are sitting around me on the lanai, sipping white wine coolers while the warm tropical rain falls gently on the other side of the screen, enjoying my pleasure vicariously as only good friends can and do. When Buddy finally lifts his front legs onto my back, they sense my acquiescence and do not intervene but simply share my pleasure as they watch his long cock slide into me.
Of course, Buddy is still a dog. A big, powerful dog, at nearly 80 pounds, very big for even his breed. (Mike has determined that he likely carries 1/8 Mastiff blood though it doesn’t show in his conformation.) And Buddy has only two speeds. Fast. And Furious. That jolts me from my reveries and kicks my responses into high gear. My puss goes into contractions and Buddy . . . well I stand/lay corrected: he has two speeds: Fast and Hyper-drive. They tell me later that his blood red cock was just a blur flashing in and out of me. They couldn’t have pulled him off of me had they tried. My puss goes into contraction overdrive as well and the nicely-paced crests of orgasm swell up into one blended, crashing tidal wave. I guess I screamed. (The neighbors 1000 meters away later told Mike they almost called the police.) Buddy’s load shot into me like a hot garden hose suddenly turned on full. OMG! But he jumps off, dutifully cleans up around my gaping hole before trotting off through the “dog door” to run away his excess joy and energy somewhere on “the back lot” of the property.
Gloria comes over to help me but I sit up unassisted. I feel great! Energized. Re-invigorated. “He really is amazing” I say, blotting perspiration from my body with a fluffy pool towel, “you should try him sometime”.
“Bobby’s my consolation whenever Mike deserts me for a few days” Gloria smiles, and Mike allows that he’s been seriously considering employing a broader range of Bobby’s talents, while Paul remains silent and looks seriously pensive.
We drive home listening to 50s rock on a Miami radio station, Paul bare chested and me barefoot, once again draped in a pink robe because I seem to have lost my clothing somewhere during the afternoon.
I quickly shower and douche, emerging into the bedroom to find Paul gazing outside as he stands nude in the open doorway to the pool, moonlight glowing on his skin. I pad over to him and he pulls me close, our bare skin like silk on satin.
“Baby” he says. “What did we ever do to deserve this? Somewhere in our youth or childhood, we must have done something . . . extraordinarily good.”