How I Met My Shemale Pt. 04

Ever hear of the expression, 'Led around by the balls'? Well, it brings back visions of an epic fuck up. Whose fault? It hardly matters.

Joyce peeled around the corner, cast a delirious water-eyed glance at me. She drove over a curb—our suitcases jostled around like they were fucking. "What the hell just happened? How does Cheryl have a cock? She put it in you?" I gulped and nodded.

I tapped her arm, "Watch your driving. We don't want to get pulled over. Please drive properly." I was still wearing my cock trap. I remembered how minutes ago Joyce led me around Cheryl's place grasping it while gathering our things.

Cheryl— sobs coming from the bathroom echoed in my head.

Joyce jumped in her seat, "I should tell a cop what just happened. She raped you—sodomized you! It's illegal what she did!"

My blood ran cold. She would think of that. She railed on and on, spewing threats and insults. It was going to be a long night.

We were quite a sight—two bathrobe cloaked refugees tearing around in the middle of the night. Fuck, I lost Cheryl and it all happened so fast.

I spoke my mind, better late than never. "Listen! Let me talk. First of all, Cheryl is not bad. She is...was mine." A steel fist closed around my heart. It struck—my voice went all high and crazy. I ended my tirade by telling her how everything was fine until she came along. "Joyce, you fucked everything up." There, suck on that, Joyce.

"So, you were happy with your weird little fuck buddy then? You with your privates all locked up? Who does that to someone?"

I tried the silent treatment. With people like her, you'll find they have enough bullshit for two. They rarely notice.

The 'People are Strange' song came over the radio. Good one. Joyce ran out of words; I ran out of silence. "So where are we going?" I asked.

"Don't know. A motel?"

"Okay." I didn't care.

We parked at a motel, some two hundred miles away from where we started, in the wee hours of the morning. The car ran on fumes, or so said the gas gauge. 'Sometimes wrong things go right well', I thought to myself.

"I'll get the room. Follow me when I come out," said Joyce.

"Yeah, yeah." I watched her walk away; her pronounced curves, her plus sized bottom aroused me. Too bad she was crazy. I checked to see if she left me the car keys. Nope, no such luck. Here she comes; I brought our luggage inside, but not right away. Bossy bitch.

"Hey you, come in here for a sec," said Joyce. I looked around; she was in the bathroom with the water running. What now? I ventured in—there she was on the edge of the tub brushing her hair. "Time for some ground rules. First, I am the one with the cash and the plan, got it?" I nodded. "Good." I turned my back to the wall and slid down to the floor.

"Second, you'll do as you're told, right?" I nodded again. Might as well hear her out. "Okay then. Go to bed." I got to my feet, turned to go. "Wait. That stupid cage. Get over here." I did as I was told. I watched her twist a hairpin with a set of nail clippers. She picked my lock open, squinting as she did so. The clear plastic device fell to the floor, defeated. Joyce gave it a kick, sent it clattering across the tiles.

I knew I could have done the same; I knew it was a piece of plastic, but fuck it, it was how Cheryl had claimed me—it was trust through distrust.

I stood stone still, let Joyce weigh my balls in her hand like she was choosing a peach. Joyce brushed her palm over the top of my freestanding shaft, smiled while she established ownership. I turned from her as my erection responded. She pushed me away. "Now go to bed." I did. I climbed under the covers, held my cock and waited.

I was grateful she turned off the lights. I imagined it was Cheryl touching me, jacking my cock, kissing me. I imagined it was Cheryl sinking down onto me, guiding me into her body, letting me into her tight yielding orifice. I surrendered, came inside her gripping tunnel, finished with her humping and climaxing on my face.

But it wasn't Cheryl—I'd let Joyce fuck me to her heart's content. And she was all done with me.

I stared up at shadows on the ceiling. Headlights passed, panned their sickly light along the cut-rate curtain tops. I wondered if I could suicide with a razor in the bathtub. Fuck me. She woke up.

"Hey you, that was pretty good for a first timer," she said.

"What?" I said mechanically. "My first?"

"First time with you in a pussy? Don't you know your ex told me all about you?"

I blinked. It was—it was my cock's first time in a pussy. All I wanted to do was to have Cheryl try one too—she'd love it.

Joyce told me, "Well get some sleep. Big day tomorrow." She slept.

Again I was alone. When Cheryl slept beside me, I always felt there was a third someone there, something protective. It was love. I never saw it. It never slept. And I failed.

I woke up with Joyce's hot flesh molded around my form. Her body was large and voluptuous, all encompassing and possessive. Memories flooded my mind. I found comfort in soothing my eyes in her cleavage. I clung to her, inhaled her scent, rolled my face between her massive tits. I slid my shaft along her warm flesh, traced circles around her nipples with my tongue. She tasted so good. Her body surged; Dammit, she woke up.

She yawned and grabbed my cock, "Well, someone's glad to see me."

We set out, back on the road after breakfast. Along the way she told me she didn't really have the funds to keep renting rooms. I told her I didn't either. It would be okay—she had a plan. She assured me we were on our way to meet with someone. I drifted as she spoke. It was something about money held back from her divorce. Good for you Joyce. I didn't care for the details.

We reached the next city; I sat looking out the car window as she checked her emails in an Internet café. She returned. "It's all set. We have a dinner date with her at a hotel."

"What is she? A lawyer or something?" I asked.

"Oh, she's something alright," smiled Joyce. "She's something."

When we reached the hotel lobby, Joyce told me, "Let me do the talking. Follow my lead. We're going to be fine." The floor looked like a nice place to lie down—that's how I felt.

Our dinner date arrived late. We were well into our second bottle of wine by the time she showed up. She swished over, all business, head held high. "Sorry I'm late. You're Beth I take it? And who's your handsome friend?"

I shot Joyce a squint eyed look; she squeezed my knee. "Yes, I'm Beth. This is John."

We shook hands, did all the niceties civil folks do over dinner. Angela was a woman similar to Joyce—big and curvy, in her forties, maybe older. Her manners, her costume suggested money. But there was more to it. I sat and listened to them chat.

Wait. Beth? Joyce writes and is named Beth? Angela loves her stories, especially the one written just for her? What the__? Whatever. We drank, got drunk on Angela's wine.

Angela went on, "And I didn't mind paying you. Oh, that story! Well worth it." She slouched and crossed her legs, looked me up and down. "And he's up to the job, am I correct?"

"Oh yes. He's very clean and professional."

Angela blushed. "Good." She pushed a stack of bills partway to Joyce. Joyce looked around, trembled as Angela smirked and lowered the money below the table. She left it far up between Joyce's stockinged thighs.

"Jo__" Crap! "Beth. A word please?" I strode over to the washrooms. She followed.

"Don't you ruin this. It's just one night, just one fucking night. That's it. Play along," said Joyce, or Beth, or whoever. I didn't appreciate her nails digging into my wrist one bit. "Look, I write stories, okay? I wrote one for her for pay. She's paying to have it happen in real life. And it's one hell of a stack of bills. Look!" She flashed me the stack of money, all bunched up in her fist, a bouquet of lies. Oh boy.

"Okay." I stumbled out the words, "Whatever you say, Beth." She stole a quick look at our host. She whispered my instructions—my part to play. "Can you do it?" I nodded yes. We went back to the dinner table.

The hotel room was a far sight better than where we slept the night before. We sat around sipping brandy in the suite's front room. Angela stood and smoothed her dress. She moved towards the balcony door, "Care for something stronger? C'mon you guys." She lifted her hem and drew a twisted cigarette out of her stocking top. I did a double take—a real comedic one. Will wonders ever cease.

The three of us out on the deck, passing the joint around—what a trio. Rich smoke, some thick fog for the mind. The ladies huddled around me in the cool night air. Their tits felt so good pressed around my arms, so nice. "Like it?" asked Angela, waving the joint. "There's something extra in it. Especially designed for a gentleman's enhancement." She winked at me.

I didn't feel the cold at all anymore. Blood pounded in my veins, right into my privates. Joyce and Angela covered their mouths and laughed; they stepped back, peering at each other. Joyce pointed at my cock, "You mean?" They nodded and laughed and laughed. "Right on!" They tried to high five each other but missed completely.

We all ran back inside. I took my place as instructed, giddy like I was at a surprise party. "Ha! Places everyone!" I'm not sure I said that, but I may have. Joyce stepped out into the hallway; I closed the closet door and watched Angela undress through the louvers. I got naked.

A blue TV screen flicker washed through the room. Angela turned up the volume—horny 'ah's' and impassioned 'ooh's' blasted from the speakers. She stretched out on the bed and fingered her needy pussy, squeezed her lovely mature breasts together, massaged her inner thighs above her black stocking tops.

Her whole body writhed and rolled before me—me, the Peeping Tom in the closet. Her fingers jigged around her clitty, "Mmpf! Oh fuck! Ah!" She moaned with her head thrown back, unpinned hair splayed around her. She dug her stiletto heels into the covers and lifted her heavy hips, showing her full blossom of arousal. The veins stood proud on my erection.

Joyce made her entrance. "Pardon me, but__Oh my god! What are you doing!" She backed away, covering her face.

Angela screamed. She snatched at the covers, concealed her naked body. "Go away! I didn't order anything! Get out!"

Joyce stood her ground. "Maybe you didn't order anything, but I'm here to help." Angela looked on appalled, stabbed at the TV remote to squelch the volume. "Don't be ashamed. I understand completely. Let me help."

That said, she unzipped, shrugged off her dress. I watched the black silk pleats expand and contract, breathing as they negotiated their trip to the floor—flowing, clinging to the curves of Joyce's form. I swear I felt the same motion travel the length of my cock.

Angela maneuvered her hot heavy body to the corner of the bed, arched her back; the tips of her shoes played on the the carpet. "You're kind. Do stay. Let's see what you can do."

Joyce slipped her knee between Angela's parted thighs, took her face in her hands. Angela closed her legs together, humping and churning her stranger's thick curves. A shock went through me when they kissed. It was so beyond lust.

I'd watched lesbian action before but only ever in porn films—this was different. I was the third presence in the room. I looked away.

In that thoughtful moment, I took notice of how Joyce's flinches were few and far between; I couldn't remember her last one. And such confidence! No. Prowess! That's the word. Had her ex husband known that side of her? And what was I? No matter.

Porn streamed from the TV but the main event was there in flesh and blood. I dropped to my knees to watch.

Angela kissed Joyce between the legs, lingering over her glistening pink, savoring before committing fully. She straddled Joyce, licked and kissed her way up her abdomen, ass swaying whorishly, until burying her face between Joyce's incredible globes. Joyce got her in a leg clinch, ankles crossed behind the small of her back. I fondled myself, face heated, pulse racing, witnessing the act.

Angela continued her advance, her sensuous travel, until she had her breasts swinging over Joyce's swollen lips. Joyce sucked and slurped at the offerings, grappled Angela's splendid round ass cheeks, spreading them wide, kneading at their ultra-fine feminine flesh. Angela rose up, possessed and impatient. She mounted Joyce's face, squatted down on the ambitious lips and tongue of her hired lover.

She folded forward at her waist, head lolling about on her forearms; her feet touched Joyce's shoulders. Joyce lapped at Angela's clitty, holding fast to the woman's spike heels. She never lost oral contact with Angela despite the speeding intensity of her pumping haunches. I remained on my knees in the closet stroking my throbbing shaft. Joyce waved me in. My turn.

I climbed aboard the rocking mattress, adapting steps to keep balance. Heat from the horny duo flooded across me. I took hold of our client's broad hips and lowered down, just shy of sitting on Joyce's tits. Never missing a beat, Joyce tongued Angela's clit like a pro.

My turn. I fisted my organ. I eased the ready fullness of my glans into her opening. We all froze in position. The searing heat, her lubricated private entrance in heat for hard cock. It thrilled me. She lifted her backside ever so slightly, resumed mashing her clitty against Joyce's distended tongue. She turned her head, eyes wide and sex glazed. Eyes locked onto mine, she managed a quick nod, "Oh fuck yes! Fuck me!"

And fuck her I did. I had a perfect view of my sex shaft plunging into her hot clutching cunt. Her sex lips clung to my cock's veiny exterior, gliding on trails of her rich fluid. I gave her alternating periods of shallow jackhammer action followed by deep thrusts—nothing held back from the paying customer. Her thick upturned ass—so vulgar, so inviting, framed between her straining stocking tops and frilly black garter belt. Black garter straps compressed her vibrant, sexed-up curves.

My cream rising and boiling, I slammed it all the way in and performed wide arced hip rotations. I toggled my come injector around inside her, jutted my sculpted cock head onto her knobby cervix. She raised her head and rolled her shoulders. She cried out, shaking and sobbing, "Coming! So beautiful! I'm fucking coming! Fuck me! Come in me Fuck Stud!"

Joyce clutched my ass cheeks, Her hot pillowy tits crowded up between my thighs. She slid back and lifted her head. Angela's pussy rippled, shuddered around my captive rod. Her cervix slapped down, suctioned repeatedly seeking my throbbing cock head.

Startled, I gritted my teeth. My come erupted into her depths, filling her with jets of ropey white lava.

Joyce lunged up. She brought her mouth up washing over my uptight balls. Her struggle to engulf the both of them gave my final thrust exhaustive conviction.

I pulled out. A viscous torrent spilled—flowed right out of Angela's pink and into Joyce's waiting mouth. She swallowed hard. "John!" she said, "Suck me now. Show Angela how you do it."

I dismounted her chest, orally serviced her and finger fucked her to orgasm. Angela, dreamy eyed, rested her face on Joyce's soft, heaving belly; she palmed my head as I performed the deed. "Good boy. Lick that pussy." She watched the whole while.

I slept pressed between them that night—a lone wretch drained of currency.

Cheryl. Oh god, Cheryl. Help me. Forget me. I'm gone.

I woke up to find myself alone. I sat up, tried to remember where I was. Oh yes. I remembered. I heard Angela and Joyce talking in the front room.

"I'm glad things worked out to your liking," said Joyce.

"Oh, that's an understatement. I feel very 'worked out' and never better."

Joyce mumbled something in response; they laughed.

"That John of yours, so young. Are you two together?"

"Sort of. It's a strange situation. His ex is one of those girls with a cock."

"What!" I heard a spoon, or something of the sort go flying. More whispers.

"No. Oh no, never any surgery," said Joyce. "I've known her for years. You'd never guess what she had going on down there. She could have been a model."

"Hmm. Interesting." Long pause. "Do you think you could write her into a story for me? Maybe get her to join us someday?"

Joyce, that bitch.

"Yikes. I doubt it," said Joyce. "We didn't part on the best of terms."

Talk about understatements. I got out of bed as loudly as possible to stop the gossip. Angela left and closed the door to the hallway as I entered the front room.

"Hey you, sleep well?" asked Joyce.

"I guess."

Joyce leaned forward, "And?"

"And what?"

"And aren't you going to thank me?" asked Joyce. "For getting you laid? Good job by the way. And look! She gave us a tip."

I looked away from the hefty stack of bills. My stomach growled. She rushed over and hugged me; she searched my eyes. "Hungry? You sound hungry!"

Finally! A thought about someone besides herself. Fuckin' nut job. "Yes. I'd love to get the hell out of here. I'd love a McBreakfast."

She pushed me away, all incredulous. "Fuck that! We have real money here. We can have whatever you want. Mimosa, smoked salmon omelets, great stuff! Whatever you want."

"I like the coffee there..."

"You ingrate! Look around you. We can live like this."

"Yeah. So you say."

"What's with the 'Mr. Big Toe in the Sand' routine?" She plopped down on the sofa, pouted and crossed her legs. I know she flashed me some pink on purpose—I do. I said nothing, stared at my feet.

"You should be happy. We have a set of wheels, money for rent, and what's more__?"

I looked at her. "What?"

"Don't you get it? You have ME!" She crowded her biceps around her tits; they spilled up out of her bathrobe—one nipple popped out. She smiled her best fifties Hollywood smile.

"Come here. Come and kiss a real woman."

I was halfway over to her, obedient, when she said that last part. Real woman?

"Real woman?" I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Well, yes. Me. I am a real woman. Unlike Cheryl." She dragged out the word Cheryl; she parted her legs, patted her sex mound, an eyebrow raised.

"Cheryl had nothing to be ashamed of. Yes, she was different, but a good different. She was real!"

"Pfft! Real weird, that's what she was."

That's it—gloves are off. "Weird! That's how you see her! You're crazy! Cheryl would never slut out for pay! You're so into porn, it's ridiculous. You're a prostitute." She remained so damn calm.

Fuck it—I'm out of words. I booted the coffee table over. "You're the fake! No fuckin' wonder your husband left you!" She jumped back, a facial tic folded her face—grotesque, truly grotesque. I felt bad.

"John! Don't! Sit down." She rubbed the sides of her face. "He didn't leave me over porn. I had to leave him. Nothing I did was good enough. He hated me. He slammed me around and called me a fat whore. Porn came later. Meeting people for paid sex, I fell into it."

"How do you mean?"

"It started with chat rooms. I was so lonely. People loved my stories. I thought they could love me."

"Joyce. Joyce I had no idea." I sat beside her and held her, just a simple hug. She got wide eyed—something dawned on her.

"There! That's it! The hug. It's why I kept on. Some of them hugged me while they... you know... finished. The way they held me and needed me. For that second I'm the most precious thing in the world."

We sat for the longest time. "Joyce?"

"Yes?"

"What's my name?"

"Too much weed last night? Can't remember?"

I repeated, "What's my name?"

"John. You're John." She directed the second 'John' off to one side, sat there musing away.

"That's what you made up! It's all the same to you, isn't it?"

"Calm down. I think you need food. One of those kind of guys," she laughed. Still, it wasn't one of her tribal death mask grins like before. It felt better.