Chapter 6

"Yeah? You like me all hot and sweaty?" Shelly asked, stretching her naked body across the sofa. "Lick me, baby. Show me how much you love me."

"Yeah," I breathed, doing precisely that as I dragged my tongue from the swell of her left breast into the musky pit of her underarm.

After exercising at the gym all morning, she hadn't even bothered to change her clothes before coming home. Shelly knew how much I loved her body, especially when she was pumped from working out. Her normally tanned complexion had grown darker, the muscles in her legs and arms, her back, shoulders, and stomach, were taut with energy, but hardly grotesque. She wasn't a body builder or anything, but more like an aerobics instructor, and she looked incredibly sexy to me.

She even tasted beautiful as I lapped at her sweaty skin, tasting her sweet and faintly salty. The scent of her recent exertions filled my nose and that wasn't unpleasant either. If anything, the odor made me even more desperate to worship my fiancé's feminine body. I'd been waiting for her, naked and impatient, trying to resist the urge to masturbate in Shelly's absence. After living together for nearly three months, this fantasy brought to life had become our Saturday morning routine.

"Mmmm ... Eat my ass, baby," she moaned, rolling onto her tummy with her thighs wide-spread. "I love your tongue."

"I love you," I replied, kneading the pert globes of her butt with both hands. I found Shelly's asshole soft and pink, her wrinkled sphincter clean but for the lingering perspiration that I washed away.

She reached behind her, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling my face deeper. I buried myself in her delectable derriere, kissing and licking her asshole with my chin teasing her balls. There was no part of Shelly I didn't love, nothing I wouldn't do for her. She'd proven as good as her word, playing the devoted housewife throughout our engagement, and I wanted to do my part as her devoted and loving husband. Giving her a serious rimjob was good practice, I thought.

When she grew bored with my tongue fucking her ass, Shelly turned over again, feeding me her balls while I stroked her beautiful cock with both hands. I pulled her scrotum between my lips and her sack felt soft as satin, smooth and ripe with the scent of her arousal rising from her pores. I nursed on her balls one at a time, rolling each sperm-filled orb with my tongue, suckling gently for several minutes before going back for the other one.

I made love to her with my mouth and hands, with my entire body as I pressed my chest against her breasts. Our hearts beat together with Shelly's hard, pointed nipples burning into my flesh. I felt them as points of fire, much like the incredible warmth of her erection stabbing into my balls while we made out. I'd spent nearly an hour worshipping the beautiful transsexual and we were too excited for much more of that.

Shelly's cock found my asshole easily as she lay beneath me, holding my hips and pulling me down. She impaled me completely and I gasped into her mouth, shivering as I began riding her like a cowgirl. That's what she liked to call me when I was on top, her sexy cowgirl, and my pussy suckled her swollen prick eagerly. I loved the way she fucked me and when I remembered the first time we'd made love, when Shelly had basically raped me, I almost laughed at the idea.

I'd become a serious slut for her shemale cock in the bedroom. Or in the living room, as the case may be. Sometimes in the kitchen. Well, we liked to fuck in the shower as well, but who doesn't? Actually, the only place we hadn't done it was in the hallway closet, I think. Only because it wasn't really big enough for both of us though, otherwise ... You get the idea. For the last three months we'd been fucking like rabbits!

"Ride it, cowgirl!" Shelly teased me. "Work that pussy on my cock, baby. Fuck me like you love me."

"More than anything," I groaned, breathing through her damp golden hair. I clung to her like a little girl, rocking my hips and rolling my ass, grinding my horny boy cunt around her straining cock.

I needed her cum inside me. It wasn't merely wanting, not anymore. The desire I felt was much more intense than that. I had to have Shelly's semen, as much as I could get, as often as I could get it. Nothing else mattered, at least not while we were having sex. Once I started sucking or fucking her cock, I refused to stop until I'd received my creamy reward. The idea that I'd somehow become addicted to her, emotionally if not physically, seems a little absurd, even to me. What else could explain it though?

The sensation of Shelly's cum spreading through my quivering rectum made my heart flutter and toes curl. I'd been sitting up at the end, astride her hips and arching my back as her throbbing cock kissed the very bottom of my hole. My own penis had spilled a large puddle of milky semen on her stomach, right on her belly button, oddly enough. I felt light as a feather, content and sated with an intoxicating rush of pleasure. The best feeling in the world, I thought, working the tender muscles between my thighs to draw as much juice from Shelly's balls as I could find.

"Let me get on top this time," she suggested a moment later, and I soon had my legs over her shoulders. Helpless and happy to take a real fuck now that our foreplay had ended.

How the girl could stay hard like that, I had no idea, but I wasn't complaining!

"Man, I still think you should let me throw you a bachelor party," Kevin said, being my best man and all. I suppose it was kind of his job.

"No." I shook my head, checking myself out in the mirror. "I just want to get married."

"Yeah, but ... Strippers!" He grinned at me as the tailor adjusted his trousers. "You like 'em, right?"

"Sir?" The tailor, an old Chinese guy, looked confused.

"Never mind." Kevin dismissed his gaze with a wave of his hand.

"Shelly would kill me if I had a party with strippers," I said. "Does this look okay?"

"You look like a pussy whipped geek," he replied. "Shelly ain't gonna care. She'll probably want to be there, you know?"

"Shhh..." I frowned. Kevin knew my fiancé was a shemale and he'd even had sex with her, but only for money and a long time before she'd met me. Still, it did make things sort of awkward.

"Shush what?" He laughed. "This guy doesn't even speak English! Fuck! I can't believe you're gonna marry her. She's got a cock bigger than mine!"

"Shut-up!" I made a face as the Chinese guy smiled at me. "She doesn't have a cock," I told him. "It's a joke."

"I bet you're not laughing when she porks you with that thing!" Kevin said, and I really hated that guy sometimes. But that's the problem with not having a best friend, I had to make do with what was available.

I glanced at my watch and started taking my tuxedo off. It fit me perfectly. Our wedding was less than a week away, on the following Saturday, in fact, at some weird non-denominational chapel Shelly had found. Technically, we couldn't get married because she had a penis, which made absolutely no sense to me. Luckily, this minister specialized in marrying gay couples, not legally, but by all accounts he put on a pretty good show. We'd have everything any other couple would have, except the actual New York Marriage License. Instead, Shelly and I had written our own marriage contract and that made it at least as binding and much more special.

"You're going to pick up the rings, right?"

"No problem," Kevin agreed. "I got you covered, Bobby."

"Robert," I corrected him, since the only one who ever called me Bobby was Shelly. I kind of liked that a lot, you know?

I had to run down to SoHo to meet her for lunch. A working lunch with the people handling the wedding and reception. I'd never realized it, but there was a whole industry devoted to stuff like weddings and we'd hired someone to do nothing but take care of the details. Catering, flowers, transportation, waiters, bartenders, flower girls, and God only knew what else. Considering how few people I really knew in the city, our wedding had turned into something large ... and expensive!

"Uhhh..." I looked over the bill, itemized, of course, and only an estimate. The final figures wouldn't be delivered until after we were married.

"How much is it?" Shelly wondered, looking over my shoulder as Pauline, our wedding planner, ate her salad. I was paying for that too.

"American Express?" I asked, mostly because that's what I'd put the deposit on.

"Oh!" Shelly giggled. "Is that dollars?"

"Platinum?" Pauline smiled at me. "Absolutely."

"We're not coming back from the honeymoon," I whispered, filling my senses with Shelly's sublime beauty. I swear, she seemed to look better and better everyday, and she'd been pretty hot right from the start.

"We're not?" she whispered back.

"Nope," I kissed her lightly on the lips. "We're gonna skip town before they cancel my credit cards."

"Stop it!" Shelly laughed, slapping my shoulder. "I'm worth it, right?"

"Oh yeah," I agreed, deciding I needed to give her a real kiss just so everyone in that restaurant would know how much I loved her.

I wanted to give her the fairy tale wedding every girl dreams of and if it meant cashing in a couple accounts, well ... That's what the money was there for. My broker would wonder if I knew something he didn't, but only because nobody dumps a couple hundred shares of CitiBank without a life or death reason. That's what Shelly had become, my reason for living, and I couldn't wait to see her standing beside me in a wedding dress.

"Do you have to go back to work?" Shelly asked on our way out the door.

"Sorta," I replied. "How about you?"

"I have a final fitting at two o'clock," she said, turning her head to the left with a sly smile. "There's a hotel across the street."

"You want to get a room at the Marriott?" I grinned at her.

"Just for a couple hours," she sighed. "Please? All this talk about the wedding makes me kind of horny."

Fifteen minutes later Shelly had me on my hands and knees, sucking her cock in room 2313, our lucky number. I'd given the bellboy twenty bucks just for opening the door and before it had closed behind us I'd taken Shelly into my arms. Being madly in love with someone is a good thing, believe me.

"Throat me, baby," she whispered. "Take all of it this time."

"Mmmph!" I swallowed around her and Shelly did the rest, pulling me to her crotch and stretching my lips tight around the base of her cock.

When she pulled back a few seconds later, a flood of spit and precum spilled out of my mouth and down my chin. My lovely fiancé wanted a nasty, sloppy mouth fuck before trying on her wedding dress and I wasn't going to refuse her. I took a drink of fresh air and went down on her again, feeling her balls slapping my chin and her thick penis lodged deep in my throat.

"Yeah, Bobby," she cooed. "That's the way I like it. Let me fuck your face now."

Shelly turned my mouth into a cunt for her personal pleasure. All I had to do was kneel still as a statue and keep my throat open as she'd thrust forward with her hips. I made sure my eyes were open too, looking up at her so she could see my devotion. She loved fucking my face almost as much as fucking my ass and it never took her very long to get off the first time.

"Uh-huh!" Shelly gasped, holding my face tightly against her flushed skin as her cock spasmed eagerly. I couldn't taste her orgasm, but I could feel her semen sliding down my throat and into my stomach.

Only at the very end, while I panted for air and lapped at her cum covered cockhead, did I get to savor the delicious taste of fresh shemale cum.

"Let's get on the bed," she suggested. "I want to fuck your pussy so badly."

Getting Shelly off the second time always took a little more work, which is probably why she wanted me to blow her first. This was the main event and I'd long since grown used to the strange sensation of seeing a sexy woman above me, smelling her female scent and tasting her on the air, hearing her girlish gasps and groans, and yet feeling my asshole getting hammered by a large, rock-hard, shemale penis. I kind of wished we'd gotten a room with mirrors on the ceiling.

I was just about to mention that to Shelly when her phone rang, which seemed so completely odd that we both froze. I mean, her phone never rang. Not once that I could recall. I'd asked her about it, like what her phone plan was, since I had a pretty good one and there wasn't any sense in paying for two. She'd just shrugged and that had been the end of it. I'd never even seen her use it to call someone else, now that I thought about it. Shelly would call my mom all the time, mostly about the wedding, and she always used mine, never hers. But now it was ringing somewhere deep inside that suitcase she called a purse. Well, it wasn't that big, I suppose. What is it with New Yorkers and huge handbags though?