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Mrs Jizm Ch. 01

By: geronimo_appleby



here's one i put together one weekend. i have more ideas for Mrs Jizm - it depends on if youz like her and want more. GA - Gatwick Airport - Nov 2011

THE WOMAN PEERED at me over the top of her glasses. The spectacles and frown were a surprise; I didn't expect a glamour model, albeit a lady in her early forties, to look like a schoolteacher. That was the first impression. It was to prove an inaccurate assumption. Surprised by her severe expression, stepping backwards, I almost fell off the raised doorstep. To my relief she laughed, which softened the fierce look she'd worn when the door had first opened at my knock.

"Simon?" she asked in an indeterminate Home Counties accent. "You're Simon -- right?"

Nodding, I recovered my composure, shifted the camera bag on my shoulder and confirmed my name. The woman grinned at me and the door opened wider. Now that I could see her properly I revised my earlier estimation. I could tell she was an intelligent lady as her green eyes regarded me from behind the lenses of her glasses. Her pretty face, with only faint brush strokes of time at the corners of the eyes and edges of her mouth, was high-cheekboned, subtly made-up and framed by straight, honey-blonde hair. A flower-patterned summer dress hemmed just above the knees couldn't quite hide the rich, voluptuous figure. She was exactly to my taste. My cock thickened with anticipation. Even though the woman standing in the front door of her home appeared the epitome of middle-class respectability, I knew what she did to earn extra cash.

"Mrs ... Erm ... I mean ..." I bumbled, blushing despite being senior in years.

The woman laughed again. "Chisholm," she enlightened me. "But there's no need to be so formal. You can't call me Mrs Chisholm when I'm getting my clothes off for you. Call me Robyn."

She stepped back and gestured for me to enter. Moving into the modest, semi-detached house I blinked at her forthright manner as, with an inward grimace of chagrin, I gave silent thanks that I hadn't blurted out what I'd thought her name was. Over the phone, making the booking, I thought she'd said Jizm, that her name was Mrs Jizm. As a modelling nom de guerre it was a weird one, but as the weeks and months that followed passed, it was an appellation that Robyn Chisholm would adopt -- and it would be very appropriate.

With me being so obviously nervous Robyn suggested a drink and a chat. We stood in the kitchen while waiting for the kettle to boil.

"What kind of photos do you want?" she asked. "I'm OK to do glamour," she added when I failed to answer, "but I don't do porn." I assured her that basic glamour would be fine. We sipped our coffee on opposite sides of the kitchen. Again surprising me with her candour Robyn explained what she was about. "I've been modelling semi-professional for years," she said. "My family know about it, my mum and dad, and some of my friends, which is why I don't do hard core."

She told me about her workaday life, enlightening me about two kids a cat and a divorce. The details of the divorce didn't come out, I wasn't sure if he'd left or been chucked out, and I wasn't really concerned, my main objective was to get her out of her clothes; I wanted to see her big tits. Her being over forty wasn't an issue. She was delectable; well-stacked and attractive; the kind of woman I'd follow down a few supermarket aisles ... If I had a propensity towards weird, stalker behaviour that is.

Pushing chauvinistic and carnal fantasies about Robyn out of my head I sipped coffee and tried to concentrate, to behave in a calm and professional manner. Robyn was a model and I was the photographer. We had a business arrangement. 

"Don't worry," Robyn soothed, noticing my continued agitation. "Think of it us as two friends together. The only thing is I'm getting my kit off. In fact," she added, smiling, "you can look at it as doing me a favour. I could do with some more recent pictures. If you don't mind ... If I could have a copy of them ...?"

I wasn't going to refuse Robyn anything. "Sure," I agreed breezily, feigning nonchalance. "No problem." Then, blushing again and with shaking hands I handed over Robyn's fee.

She casually put the money down on the kitchen work top. "So, how do you want me?" I saw her grin at my nervousness. "It's OK, remember, we're just two friends. Come on," she then ordered brightly, taking control. "Come upstairs and we can choose an outfit together." I followed her swaying backside to her bedroom. Robyn pointed to a mirror-fronted built-in wardrobe. "There's all kinds of stuff in there. Sexy secretary, dirty schoolgirl, corsets, stockings, leather," she listed, "all the old favourites."

"I ... I'm really not sure, Robyn. Sorry"

Mrs Chisholm looked at me. "Where's the camera," she asked.

"On the kitchen side," I replied, feeling foolish.

She sighed. Looking at me with a mock sternness, she said, "Go and get it.

Chastened I hurried downstairs. I was tempted to grab the camera and leave. Just get into the car and drive off the innocuous home-counties housing estate, leaving Mrs Chisholm and her big tits at home.

Looking back, I'm so pleased I decided to stay.

Returning to the bedroom I found Robyn reclining on the quilt. "Come on," she instructed, "start taking some photos. I'll do the posing." She grinned at me, lying on her side fully clothed, elbow against the bed with her cheek resting on her clenched fist and one knee raised.

After fiddling with the camera and eyeing the expanse of thigh Robyn's position revealed, I took a shot. She moved the moment the flash fired. This time, sitting upright, arms stretched behind her with her hands supporting her weight, Robyn thrust her chest forward. Gulping at the sight of her bosom straining against the flimsy cotton dress I took another picture while she smiled professionally.

Robyn moved again, rolling onto her knees and ruching the dress up over her hips. She pushed her backside towards my lens after settling her hands on top of the bed.

I stared for a few moments before muttering, "Fucking hell ..."

"Just take the picture," Robyn smirked. "You can drool and wank later."

About that she was right. That's exactly what I planned to do; it was why I was there; my plan involved taking photographs of this sexy, voluptuous woman and then, in the privacy of my flat, masturbating over the images. Steadying my hand, trying not to blur the photo with my trembling, I pressed the button. The camera's innards whirred and instantly Robyn was rolling into the next position.

She lay on her side, with the dress bunched around her waist and her thighs wide apart. The thong she wore bit into the cleft of her vulva. "Tell me," she asked quietly. "Do you like that? How do you feel looking at me while I show you everything?"

"It's ... I ... Uh ... I like it," I finished eventually.

"I like posing for amateurs," Robyn confided, still with her legs wide. "Professionals are too cold and clinical. They're more concerned with the light and the background and the look; they're not bothered about the model. Amateurs are more ... personal."

I took the picture and swallowed nervously. Almost before the flash had dimmed she'd hooked her underwear to one side. Her exposed sex held me hypnotised for a long moment. Robyn's slit was crowned by a tiny triangle of fluff; the labia, oddly compelling in their contradictory ugliness hung loose, pouting thick-lipped and drooping and drawing my gaze.

I could swear I saw a glistening of arousal.

"Shit," I muttered, unaware that I'd spoken until Robyn responded.

"Yes, you do like it. Me too, it's more personal, I love it when a man shows a bit of feeling, I love to see the way a man looks at me when I'm doing this -- all hungry and ... desperate."

Desperate was the word. That's how I felt exactly. A leaden desire settled in my stomach; I wanted to take out my cock, which was thick and hard by now, and just tug at it and stare at Robyn's body. What would it feel like to delve into that juicy-looking cunt?

"Oh fuck, Robyn. I ... Can I ... I mean ... Would you let me ...?"

"No, no, no," Robyn wagged a finger at me, "none of that. You take the pictures. That's all."

Fighting down the compulsion to launch myself at the woman -- I didn't fancy being hauled off by the police -- I lifted the camera to my eye, steadied myself as best as I could, and recorded the image of Robyn and her ungainly labia for posterity.

A couple more photos and then Robyn knelt upright. She lifted the dress over her head and posed in her underwear and shoes.

"Come on," she instructed. "Downstairs. On the settee, take some of me lounging on the sofa."

"Anything, Robyn," I babbled.

She laughed as she stepped carefully down the stairs in her heels. "I like you," she grinned over her shoulder. "You're welcome to come back and take some more pictures any time. Sometimes I get a tog that I refuse to see again, but I like you. You can come back."

That was good news. I wondered at 'tog', and then realised she meant photographer. Pleased at being a 'tog' I readied the camera while Robyn placed a small bag she'd brought with her next to a leather arm-chair.

Curiosity at the contents of the bag was short-lived as Robyn immediately posed. The camera whirred constantly as image after image went onto the memory card. Robyn smiled and chatted as she moved into well-rehearsed positions. And then, finally, she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra.

"Oh shit, oh fuck ... Robyn ... Wow ..."

"Good aren't they. I had them done, cost me five grand, but ..." She shrugged and hefted her breasts in her palms, jiggling them enticingly. "Feel them," she invited.

"Really? Can I?" I sounded like a grateful kid. "Superb," I muttered truthfully. "They feel so natural ... And even their shape ... Looking at them ... They don't come across as being false."

"You get what you pay for," Robyn said, giving me a commercial lesson in the cosmetic surgery game. "Now take some pictures."

Resisting the urge to suck the long, thick teats in their saucer-sized areolae, I took a few pictures. Robyn presented her tits in a number of poses which had my cock leaking pre-cum into my underwear.

In one smooth movement the woman hooked the waistband of her thong with her thumbs and then slid the garment down her legs. Naked now, save for the heels and spectacles, she lay on the sofa and splayed her labia wide with her fingertips.

Gazing at her body, the skin slightly darkened with a residual summer tan, fainter flesh showing where her bikini had covered, I muttered, "I ... I can't take this, Robyn ..."

"Come on," she smirked. "Get some of me like this."

I groaned but lifted the camera to my eye while she slid a finger across her clitoris. "You don't know what this is like," I complained. "I'm so worked up ..."

"Take the picture." Robyn moaned and arched her back while she fingered her sex. Somehow I managed to get a few shots. Robyn's opening glistened with juice. The thing gaped at me in obscene invitation. I wanted to taste it, to push my tongue into the bubbling centre and lick it.

"That's unfair," I protested. "You shouldn't wind me up like this ..."

She merely laughed and told me to pass her the bag. "A few more pictures," she pouted. The dildo she pulled out of the bag shocked me. "Come on, Simon," Mrs Chisholm purred. "Take some of me fucking myself with my favourite pink vibe."

Her groan when she split her labia with the rubber cock snapped my resolve. "Only if I can wank," I gasped. "I have to—"

"—about time," Robyn sighed as the first few inches of plastic slid into her body. "I wondered how long you'd last." She pulled the thing out and held it upright. I could see it shining with her lust. "Want to taste it?" she asked. "As a reward for being such a good boy you can taste my pussy on it. I've been wicked teasing you like this. I know it's bad of me, but I couldn't help it. You looked so nervous; I couldn't help myself. Here," Robyn proffered the rubber cock. "Lick my goo off it."

With burning cheeks and my cock jutting from my zip I licked Mrs Chisholm off the dildo.

"Can I ... Can I wank?" I asked.

"Of course you can," Robyn demurred seductively. She took the faux penis from me and added," But do take some pictures as a souvenir." Picking the camera up off the carpet I managed a few photos of the woman as she fingered her clitoris and fucked the dildo in and out of her opening. Robyn's sex squelched and juice dribbled from her while she thrust that thing in and out in and out ..."Yes," she hissed. "I'm going to come." She stared at me, her face contorted in a rictus of agonised delight while her index finger rubbed over her clitoris and she jammed the dildo into her body. The lenses of her glasses glinted. "Come here and let me watch you pull your cock," she snarled. 

Shifting to a kneeling position next the Mrs Chisholm on the sofa, camera forgotten now, I gazed at her wobbling breasts and began to pull at my cock. "Fuck ... Robyn," I grunted. "This is so ... I didn't expect—"

The woman's frantic cry interrupted me. "I'm coming!" she squealed. "Oh fuck ... I'm doing it. Thank you. Thank you for watching me. I ..." Her words faded to a long, low moan. With one hand frantically tugging at my erection I snuck the other forward to touch Mrs Chisholm's breast. Her eyes, having been tightly clenched shut as she climaxed, flew open. "Squeeze my tits," she grunted. "Go on, feel my tits. You like them, don't you? My big ... fucking ... tits."

She shuddered again, her thighs clamping tight over her wrists, trapping her hands against her heaving body with the dildo crammed into her sex.

"Robyn ..." I warned.

"Are you going to do it?" the woman asked, panting.

"Soon," I grunted and, with self-control shot to pieces, I leaned forward to suck at those long nipples.

"No," Mrs Chisholm squawked. "You can't do—" I cut off her objection by kissing her.

At first she resisted, turning her head to break contact but, to my later relief, relented and opened her mouth for my tongue.

"You're so sexy," I said, gasping into the woman's mouth. "I can't help it. You turned me on so much ..."

"It's OK," Robyn panted. "Just this once though, next time, no touching."

I kissed her again. "You do it," I growled when the kiss broke. "You wank me off ... And I'm doing it on your tits."

Blinking behind her lenses at my sudden boldness Robyn complied. She took a grip on my shaft and began to tug.

"Just this once," she insisted while staring into the leaking eye of my cock. "Do it on my tits, that's fine, do it on my tits ..."

She cried out in surprise as the first gush splashed across her skin. Pearlescent goo clung to the taut, round flesh of Robyn's breasts as more stuff squirted from my cock. The second spurt, then a third spattered in a heavy rain over her body. I smeared the stuff into her skin even as more semen jetted from my cock. I groaned and grunted with the ecstasy of that release. "Fuck ... Oh fuck," I moaned and then looked down to where the final dribbles of my ejaculate slid from me.

I reached for the camera and took several final images of the first session with Robyn. In those pictures she smiled into the lens, her spectacles smeared with my spunk, and with a thick rope of the stuff garlanding her hair.

Still suffused with desire and lust I leaned to lick a dollop of my outpouring from where it hung, thick and wobbling, from the curve of her breast.

We kissed as I put the camera down.

"I've never known a man who'd taste his own semen," Robyn said. "Maybe that isn't the only time I'll let you do that to me." She eyed me expectantly. "You do want to see me again, yes?"

"I do, Mrs Jizm," I grinned, explaining why I'd called her by that nickname while she absent-mindedly massaged the spunk into her skin.

Laughing, still naked, and with the come plastered to her body, Robyn walked out of the room. "Coffee?" she shouted as I watched her buttocks jiggle to the sway of her hips.

Desire for Robyn's round buttocks flared inside me.

There would be more.

Mrs Jizm Ch. 02



The second part of the Mrs Jizm tale. It ends midway through a sex scene so I hope people are not put off by that. That's the hook to get you to read Ch. 3 *wink*.

If people like it, and send me feedback, I'll keep on going with this.

GA - With a bottle of Hobgoblin ale - At home - Nov 11.

Mrs Jizm

Two: A date.

IT WASN'T OBSESSION, not yet, but my second visit to Robyn came only two days after the first. At that stage of our relationship, the relationship that would grow and evolve between us, I was more fixated on the glamour model than obsessed – The obsession would follow. The first visit had only given me a taste of Robyn Chisholm, whetted my appetite, and I was hungry for more. Robyn's maturity, her voluptuous body, her intelligence and casual exhibitionism stirred a primal urge deep inside me. I wanted to see her again, was drawn to her. During the first session with her, in her home of all places, Robyn had teased me with her sexuality, slowly and deliberately stripping before my camera lens until lust and desire boiled within me. Eventually she relented, relaxed her rule of no physical contact and offered her breasts to my touch. That was it though, that was as far as she'd let me go. Until things got so heated that I wanked in front of her while she masturbated with her pink vibrator.

Robyn had come, the dildo crammed into her sex, thighs clamped tight over her wrists, which in turn trapped her hands against her heaving body.

"Robyn ..." I'd warned.

"Are you going to do it?" she'd asked, panting.

"Soon," I'd grunted and, with self-control gone, leaned forward to suck at her long nipples.

"No," Mrs Chisholm had squawked. "You can't do—" But I'd cut off her objection by kissing her.

At first she'd resisted, turning her head to break contact but had then relented and opened her mouth for my tongue.

"You're so sexy," I'd said, gasping into the woman's mouth. "I can't help it. You turned me on so much ..."

"It's OK," Robyn then replied, panting. "Just this once though, next time, no touching."

I'd kissed her again. "You do it," I growled when the kiss broke. "You wank me off ... And I'm doing it on your tits."

And I had indeed come on her breasts, spattered the big round tits with my outpouring.

Afterwards, at home in my flat, I'd stared at the images of Robyn in her various stages of undress. I'd stared hardest and longest at the pictures of Mrs Jizm's face and tits smeared with my goo.

What kept coming to mind was her tentative suggestion that I could do it to her again, that I alone, out of all the photographers who visited her, could touch her, kiss her, taste her ...

And I wanted, so desperately wanted, to fuck her.

"Back again," Robyn grinned as she allowed me across her threshold.

Somewhat abashed, I offered my own self-conscious smirk. "Couldn't stay away," I quipped as I held up an envelope. "The pictures," I explained, "on a CD. You said you wanted copies."

Robyn took the envelope. "Thanks," she said. "Coffee?" We walked into the kitchen. Robyn put the envelope down and filled the jug with water. While she went about this simple domestic chore I wondered at her odd state of dress. A dressing gown and slippers but with what appeared to be tights or stockings under the robe. "I've got some lingerie on under here," Robyn enlightened me, answering my unspoken question. "Thought it best to be prepared ..." She grinned mischievously, eyes sparkling with devilment, adding: "After last time." Blushing at the reminder of our last meeting I was grateful for the distraction of the electric jug clicking off. Robyn poured the boiling water into the mugs and added a splash of milk to each before handing me one. "You're not married then?" she asked in her direct way.

As we sipped coffee I told Robyn my story. Married, divorced, but a stroke of opportune luck had given me financial security when, a week after the divorce, I pulled up five numbers in the lottery.

"It wasn't millions," I informed Robyn. "But it meant I could buy a new flat in a decent area outright. I'll have to go back to work sometime too, but for now I'm just drifting along."

"I work part-time," Robyn told me as we continued to exchange histories. "The modelling gives me a bit of breathing space, brings in a few quid." She sipped at her coffee. "And I own the house too. So we're both doing OK." I nodded agreement and slurped at the coffee. Robyn pointed towards the living room. "You go in there. I'll be a few minutes applying the finishing touches."

I noticed details that I'd missed in the excitement of my first visit. The pictures of family were a bit off-putting, having Mrs Chisholm's children smiling out of their portraits at me was a touch disconcerting; I did think about turning their visages to the wall but the flushing of the downstairs toilet reminded me that Robyn would be ready soon. I still had to set up the camera.

She walked in with the look, confidence, and style of a bordello whore. There was nothing sophisticated about the costume, a corset, red, naturally, black stockings attached by suspenders, and black shoes that shone like mirrors. The red, dangerous looking heels spiked into the carpet as Robyn moved slowly towards me. She stopped and struck a pose, hands on hips, head tilted enquiringly to one side.

The effect, in her unremarkable suburban living room, was jaw-dropping.

"Superb," I managed to croak.

"Take some pictures," Robyn said.

So I did.

As on the previous occasion, Robyn positioned herself with no instruction from me. My task was simple, just aim the camera and keep pressing the button to capture image after image. I groaned aloud when her underwear hissed against the stockings. Pausing with the camera held in both hands, I stared at the wisp of fluff at the junction of Robyn's thighs. The groan burst from me again when the woman hefted her breasts out of the corset cups.

"Can I touch them again?" I asked in an awed whisper.

"No, not this time, just take the pictures." Robyn then squeezed those heavy globes, tweaking the nipples so the pink nubs thickened and grew.

"Oh, shit, Robyn," I moaned as her areolae crinkled and puckered. "Please. Just let me suck your tits."

"No, she barked. "Just take the fucking photos." She settled her buttocks on the sofa, reclined and lifted her shoes from the carpet. "Get some shots of this," she added, splaying her labia with her fingers. "You can look at the pictures later and wank. You can look at them and wonder how I taste. You'd like to taste me, wouldn't you?" I nodded. "I taste lovely," Robyn murmured after sliding a finger between the heavy lips of her sex and sucking on the tip.

"I want to do that," I moaned. "I want to touch my cock while I watch you finger yourself."

Robyn laughed and offered her breasts to my lens. "In a minute. You can do that in a minute. Just keep taking the photos." After the lewd display she rolled onto her knees. The spiked heels threatened to impale me if I moved too close when Robyn knelt. She thrust her buttocks in my direction and wriggled her hips in a provocative gesture that caused my desire to flare. Robyn pulled at the flesh of her arse cheeks so her glistening sex pouted and the stain of her anus winked. "Look at you," she said, grinning over one shoulder, regarding me as I gaped at her body, "excited and desperate, just like last time."

"I can't help it, Robyn," I breathed. "You're so fucking sexy. I just want to ... I ..."

"Show me how excited you are," Robyn ordered. "Go on, wank it for me."

"I want to touch you," I said in a wheedling tone. "Just your tits. Please, let me touch them ..."

"No," Robyn persisted. "But you can taste my cunt off my fingers. That's all."

Lust burned white hot at the obscenity. "But you said when I was here last that it wouldn't be the only time ..."

"I said maybe I'd let you do it again. That means maybe I won't. You caught me in a sexy mood the other day. I'm in complete control today, Simon." She stood and walked slowly towards me. I gulped at the hypnotic sight of Robyn's swaying hips and jiggling breasts. Stopping only inches from me, I could reach and touch her skin she was so close, Robyn paused and then slid the finger between her labia again. "Taste my cunt, Simon," she whispered, pushing her finger to my lips. "Then show me how sexy I make you feel. Pull your cock and show me. But this time there'll be no mixing business and pleasure."

After unbuckling my belt, undoing the button and unzipping my flies, Robyn turned and took the same slow, provocative, hip-swinging walk back to the sofa. With my cock in hand, camera forgotten, I waddled closer to Robyn. My jeans threatened to fall around my ankles as I shuffled closer like a penguin.

Robyn teased me, tortured me by exhibiting her body shamelessly. As I stared at her and masturbated she calmly spread her greasy labia and used two stiff fingers against her opening. She writhed and groaned, finger-fucking the scarlet and bubbling core of her sex while I stood there, fist pumping, my teeth grinding with frustration. I wanted to stab my cock into her body. How would that feel? What would the molten heat of her clenching around my girth feel like as I fucked into her and mauled her big breasts and sucked those long teats, just jabbing into her, a relentless pile- driver of desire?

"Please, Robyn," I whined.

"I said no. Just do it. Wank and show me how much I turn you on. But don't touch me. If you touch me, I won't see you again. No more pictures."

I could have whimpered with frustration. The sight of Mrs Jizm, reclining, with her body spilling over the corset bra cups, her legs in those stockings, wearing those evil heels, made me almost crazy with lust and longing. She looked up at me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes and smiled. Her tongue, pink and glistening beckoned me. Thinking that Robyn meant for me to lean and kiss her, I bent towards the woman sprawled on the sofa. She slid the finger between my lips again.

The scent of Robyn's sex on her fingers sent a surge through me. I blurted an urgent: "I'm going to come."

"On my breasts," Robyn urged, pushing at my shoulder and squirming upright. "Let me do it." She grabbed for my cock.

The grunt burst from my chest as the spray of semen spurted from me. Robyn's fist moved along the shaft as she aimed the eye toward the quivering plateau of her breasts. One hand pumped the spunk out of me while she lifted her tits up with a forearm. I could only groan and try to stay standing as the hot stuff rained down onto Robyn's skin.

Spunk glistened on her skin, sliding viscously down the curve of her breasts to hang in thick strings dripping onto her corset and stockings. Robyn laughed delightedly at the mess.

"Robyn," I groaned, pushing my fingers through my hair.

"Not on the carpet," Robyn chuckled. "You can make a filthy mess on me and my clothes, you can even spunk in my hair, but don't stain the carpet." In a repeat of our previous meeting, Robyn smeared my goo into her skin. "Mrs Jizm likes to see the jizm spitting out of your cock," she purred. Robyn scooped an index finger under a strand of the stuff that was just about to slide from her breast. "Here," she said, offering the finger to me. "Kiss me," I heard her say after I'd sucked my come from Robyn's extended digit. "Fuck, but that turns me on when you do that," she sighed. The woman stared at me for a few disconcerting moments. The intensity of that looked worried me. "Give me a few minutes," Robyn said. "I'll get changed and we can go for lunch. Is that OK?"

Confused by this sudden and unexpected twist, I dumbly nodded. Robyn stood and, leaving me with my drooping cock still oozing goo, left the room. Using tissue from the downstairs toilet I wiped the end of my cock dry, surprised to find Robyn waiting for me after I'd flushed the paper away and walked back to the living room. Dressed in the same summer frock as on my first visit Robyn grinned at me. I'd expected her to shower but it appeared that she'd simply stripped out of the lingerie, pulled on the dress, teased her hair a little and applied a smear of fresh lipstick.

"Oh ..." I blurted.

"Let's go," Robyn instructed. "We can go to my local. It isn't far and it's a nice day. We can walk."

Robyn appeared to be well-known in the pub. The barman, a dour-faced, sharp-nosed man sporting a flat cap, white shirt and a leather waistcoat, brightened visibly at our entrance. "Usual, Robyn?" he asked, turning to the optics.

I paid for the drinks, a vodka and coke for her and a pint for myself. Mrs Chisholm led me to an alcove at the far end of the long bar. After squeezing into the tiny space, our glasses on the scarred table top and with our thighs touching, Robyn looked at me sidelong.

"What do you think of me?" she asked. Robyn picked up the glass, sipped and placed it back down on the table. "I mean," she continued, "do you think I'm a bitch for teasing you? Or that I'm a slut for letting you come on my tits?"

I glanced around nervously. Robyn wasn't exactly speaking in a low voice. Lifting my drink I took a deep draught. "I think you're great," I babbled, "just great. You frustrate the hell out of me, teasing me like you do ... But when you ..." I glanced around the pub. The place was filling up but there was nobody close to overhear. "When you ... you know ..." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Wank me off. Onto your ..."

"Tits?" Robyn suggested. She turned in the seat and leaned towards me. The dress gaped and gave me a view of Robyn's deep and tantalising cleavage. "When I wank all of your spunk onto my big tits?" She grinned when I swallowed half the pint. "I've still got your spunk on my breasts, Simon," Robyn murmured as she squeezed up closer to me. "I can smell it now. I feel so ..." She squirmed on the plastic cover of the bench seat under her buttocks. "It makes me feel so sluttish. Don't you think that's wicked of me, Simon?"

Nodding, I managed to croak a yes. "But it's a good thing, Robyn," I added hastily. "I mean, I suppose, being sluttish can be fun. For you. A thrill ..."

"Do you know why I suggested we come to the pub?"

Robyn's eyes watched my face, expectant of a reaction.

"Uh ..." I managed.

Her eyes glinted and she smirked. "I was thinking—," she began.

"'Ello, Robyn," a voice interrupted. I looked up, startled at the intrusion. There was something on the woman's mind but now there was this lugubrious man standing next to the table regarding Mrs Chisholm with his bloodhound eyes. "Just off outside for a smoke," he continued as his bloodshot gaze swivelled to me momentarily before returning to the woman. "Wondered if you've got a minute for a word?"

Robyn looked at me. "I won't be long," she said, draining her glass. "Just a bit of business. Would you get me another drink?"

With no further explanation she slid out of the alcove and followed the man to the front door of the pub. An unreasonable souring of jealousy curdled in my guts even as I complied with Robyn's wish. As I paid for the second round I supressed the emotion – what right did I have to be jealous of anyone associated with Mrs Chisholm? I barely knew her. The man was obviously a friend or an associate of some kind. She'd mentioned business ... I wondered if it was the same kind of business I'd enjoyed with her. – Did Mrs Jizm let him come on her tits too?

"Thanks," Robyn said as she slid along the seat to re-join me at the table. "Sorry about that. It was just Peter – a bit of business. All done." I sipped at my pint. "Now," she began, turning towards me and treating me to the cleavage again. "I was thinking ..." She grinned at me. "Do you know, under this dress, I'm naked?" Her eyes shone brighter with this revelation. "I'm all bare under it. My boobs are smeared with your spunk. What do you think of that?"

"I ... Oh God, Robyn. Why? Why are you doing this?"

The woman laughed. "Tell you what, we'll finish these drinks and then you walk me home. When we get back to my place I'll tell you. Until then," she sipped at the vodka. "Just think of me under this dress." Concentration was difficult as the minutes dragged slowly by. Robyn moved the conversation away from her lack of underwear – I say conversation, it was fairly one-sided as Mrs Chisholm told me a few more details of her life, her part-time job as a legal secretary, about how she'd had no real boyfriend for eighteen months and how she achieved sexual gratification by watching men masturbate. "But you," she added as a heavy despondency weighted the pit of my stomach. She'd watched other men wank too. I wasn't the only one ... jealousy tasted like bile in my throat. "But you, well, there's something different." Then, without expanding any further, leaving me dangling on a hook of expectation, she drained her glass, slammed it onto the table, and said, "Come on. Walk me home."

Assuming it was time for me to leave I halted at the front door to the house. "If you could pass me my camera ..."

Robyn turned to look at me, one hand sliding the key into the mortise. "Come in and get it," she responded. "Three hours 'til the kids get in from school," she said.

"What?"

Robyn grinned at me. "I was going to say, in the pub, before Peter came over and dragged me away, well ..." She paused. "Come into the living room and sit down. I complied, sitting on the leather arm chair while Robyn chose the settee. "What I was going to say," she began, shifting her position so the dress rode up her thighs. "Was that so far it's been business between us." I stared in slack-jawed amazement while Robyn eased the hem higher. "But, now we've been for a drink. A date almost ..." She lifted the dress up high enough to reveal her sex and slid her body along the seat until her buttocks overhung the edge. "Well, now, after a date ... I thought that perhaps ... Just maybe ..." Her fingers spread her labia. "We could enjoy some pleasure. After all, we've had the business part, and you've been so good at holding back ... How about you come here and lick me? Then, after you've made me come, you can fuck me."

I took it all in at a glance. Robyn's face, twisted with lust as she stared at me and slowly slid a finger across the bubbling scarlet of her sex; the big breasts, unfettered beneath the dress; her thighs, spread wide in a lewd invitation ...

Mrs Jizm laughed in delight when, after a momentary pause, I launched myself at her. All reticence evaporated and I growled my desire when I knelt before the altar of Robyn's vulva. "You bitch," I muttered, "you cock-teasing bitch. I'm going to lick you into a coma. You put me through agony. Telling me not to do it, going on about mixing business and pleasure ... I've been desperate to fuck you ..."

"I know," she sighed. "And I'm sorry. "The other day you were just another tog. Then, when you came back today ... and I saw how much you wanted me ... and you came so much, both times – you could drown me with all that spunk! Well, I just decided ... I thought the drink would be a line under the business ... I haven't been fucked for over a year ..."

"But you've watched other blokes wank," I challenged her. "You told me in the pub. You watch men wank, just like you did with me."

"All true," Robyn nodded from her awkward position scrunched up on the sofa. "But you're the only one I'd let fuck me. And you haven't fucked me yet. Do you want to, Simon?" Robyn challenged. "Are you going to fuck me or have I made a mistake?"

My reply was to push her thighs wider apart and to take a long, lascivious lick through her greasy labia. Robyn's body jerked and she groaned when my tongue slid through the folds of her piss-flaps. Her sighs of pleasure were my barometer. I licked her sex, experimenting with different pressures upon different parts of her while my cock stiffened and leaked its anticipatory pre-cum. Robyn writhed and groaned and muttered obscene compliments and guidance.




Mrs Jizm Ch. 02



My response was to lap at her opening, suck against her clitoris and, after probing inside her body with a finger, to roll her over onto her stomach and spread her buttocks. A low moan slid from the woman when, with her body angled awkwardly half-on, half-off the sofa, I took a tentative dab at her sphincter with my tongue. The moan tapered to a bubbling sigh.

"You like that, Robyn?" I asked. Lust displaced my previous restraint. Desire and longing, a desperate, visceral urge to physically dominate my tormentor clenched in some indeterminate place in my guts. Overcome to the point of insanity, driven by a primeval instinct, I pushed my face into the crevice and, while one hand scrabbled in urgent desperation at my belt, wriggled my tongue as deep as I could manage into the taboo stain of her anus.

"Oh yes!" she cried. "I love it. You're so filthy. My arse, licking my arse ..."

With a growl of frustration, abandoning my fruitless efforts to get out of my clothes, frantic to be at Robyn's body, I grabbed her hips and hauled her down onto the carpet beside me. "Kneel," I grunted, "kneel and get down low on your elbows. Push your hips up." Snarling at Robyn's slowness to respond I manhandled her into the position I craved. Finally satisfied I paused to savour the image. Mrs Chisholm's labia hung loose and her opening bubbled, a thick-lipped pout of invitation while I spread her buttocks with my fingertips. Following a squeak of embarrassment from Robyn, I licked her from clitoris to her dirty-hole.

"You can see all of me," she said with her cheek pressed to the carpet. "You dirty fucker. All of me, you can see all of me," she repeated. Robyn groaned again. "But don't stop doing that. Keep on doing that."

To increase the intensity of my sustained assault I pushed two fingers inside Robyn's sodden sex. While I tongued at her sphincter my thumb slid relentlessly around her clitoris and my fingers curled inside her body. My efforts were rewarded with a long, low moan from Robyn.

"I'm going to do it," she muttered, collapsing onto her front. "Oh my God I'm going to come." Unable to reach Robyn's anus easily with my tongue I shifted position and, kneeling to one side, slid my thumb into the tight ring of her sphincter. My busy fingers squirmed and turned ceaselessly inside her cunt while my thumb plugged her. Robyn thrashed and writhed as I took a handful of blonde hair and yanked the woman's head around to face me. Her expression registered the sharp pain at my cruel grip but the onset of her climax caused Robyn to close her eyes and gasp, "Fuck yes. Here it comes ..." she sighed.

We kissed while Robyn climaxed. It was more a case of me jamming my tongue into her mouth as I lay clumsily alongside her and she sucked at my tongue, licking frantically at me while mewling and gasping in the throes of her delighted orgasm.

I released Mrs Chisholm's hair and pulled my hand from her body. Standing, I surveyed the carnage. Robyn lay in an inelegant sprawl of limbs and dishevelled hair. Her body heaved as she panted. Great sobs burst from her chest as she fought for air. 

My belt finally came loose under my scrabbling fingers. Robyn smirked up at me after rolling onto her side and crooking an elbow against the floor. With her chin resting on the cup of one palm, Mrs Jizm slid a languid finger between the oily folds of her vulva.

"I'm going to stick this into you," I rumbled, pointing the tumescent stalk of my erection towards Robyn.

"Yes please," she replied, eyes glittering. "Stab my cunt with that lovely cock."

I grinned as I advanced, bayonet thrust forward.

Robyn opened her legs in lewd invitation. We kissed again as her arms encircled me ...



Mrs Jizm Ch. 03



The third Mrs Jizm scene. I'd appreciate some feedback, either in Public Comments or email; the feedback makes it all worth the effort.

If you haven't read the previous chapters I hope you'll take the time to look them up and, as per my usual request, send feedback!

GA - Peterborough - Sunday night - Dec 12, 2011.

Mrs Jizm

Three: Fan Club


HER BODY ENVELOPED me in a squelching embrace and I groaned at the clench of her around my shaft. In the early moments of that first time I grimaced and fought against the surge of my orgasm. The danger was that I would fill Mrs Jizm with jizm, I wanted the occasion to be memorable, to be able to reminisce.

"Shit, Robyn," I grunted through clenched teeth. "Don't move. Stop moving. Don't do a thing. I'm so close to exploding ..."

"OK," she replied, lying still. "Why don't we take a moment? We could go upstairs?"

Carefully, in case the sensation caused an eruption, I eased my cock out of Robyn. "Good idea," I agreed.

The woman picked up her shoes and pointed at my shirt lying across the arm of the sofa. "Take that upstairs too," she suggested. "Don't leave anything down here in case you forget it and then my kids find it." She checked the clock on the wall. "We've got oodles of time though. Come on."

Robyn Chisholm, or as I'd nicknamed her, Mrs Jizm, held the rumpled dress close to her body as she led me from the living room. Our photo session had led to a drink in the pub, which then became the precursor to our first joining in penetrative sex. I'd lusted after the mature glamour model since I'd met her only a few days earlier. Our previous encounter, while exciting, had left me unsatisfied and desperate for more. Now it seemed that my wish was about to be fulfilled. I followed Robyn up the stairs, eyeing her swaying backside and the Egyptian symbol tattooed atop the cleft of her buttocks as she climbed in front of me, desperate to be at her again.

In her bedroom, wasting no time, Robyn slid the dress over her hips and stepped out of it. She smirked when I scrambled out of my own clothes.

"My but you're keen," she grinned from the bed while I struggled with my jeans. "Come on," she purred, reclining and spreading her legs. "Climb on here and put it back in. I'm a little worked up myself." Her honey-blonde hair fanned across the pillow, and I paused to savour the sight of Robyn's fading tan contrasting against the pristine sheet. Her arousal was obvious, the loose-lipped vulva pouted and glistened while the usually saucer-sized areolae surrounding her nipples puckered and shrank. A sudden urge to suck at Robyn's thick teats overwhelmed me and I growled a warning as I leapt onto the bed.

As before, the tidal surge of lust swept my more usual timidity aside. The memory of Robyn's breasts smeared and dripping with my spunk earlier in the day returned with a cock-stiffening intensity when I smelled the musky scent clinging to her skin. After the earlier encounter Robyn had simply wiped the stuff off her tits with a towel before slipping the summer frock over her head. The jizm had dried on her body as we'd flirted in the pub. Now my cock pulsed with desire as I slurped and slobbered at Mrs Jizm's tits. "Look at you," I snarled, gripping my cock in my fist. "You're so gorgeous and delicious and so fuckable." I knelt between her thighs and leaned over Robyn's body, supporting my weight on a single outstretched arm. She gasped when the dome of my erection butted at her sex. "You teased me and teased me and now I'm going to finally stick it into you."

"Do it," Robyn urged, wriggling against the bed, trying to edge my erection into her body. "Come on," she grunted. "Put it in. Fuck me. Come on ..." Her eyes flashed fire as her hands gripped my hips.

With a sigh I lowered myself on top of Robyn's comfortable body. My cock slid into her and I watched her face. She returned my gaze with an intense stare of her own.

We kissed as our bodies began a slow dance of desire. I had a desperate need to be inside this woman. My tongue invaded her mouth, my cock plunged into her sex and my fingers reached under her gently rolling body to find the tight ring of her anus.

"You filthy fucker," she gasped when my digit probed at her sphincter. "Oh fuck!" she yelped when it slid beyond the resistance of that muscled hoop. My remaining fingers dug into Robyn's flesh while I fingered her dirty hole and increased the tempo of my fucking. Again I pushed my tongue between Robyn's lips to kiss her. Her eager sucking at my tongue and her squeals of delight told me all I needed to know.

For a few minutes there were no words spoken. The only sounds were our grunts and moans of pleasure and the obscene, wet sounds of our coupling. Eventually, after stabbing and grinding into Robyn's sex I hauled myself upright and gasped. 

My body hung suspended above Mrs Chisholm's while she moaned and sighed. Her eyes opened and she stared at me again. "Do you want to come?" she asked.

I nodded and grimaced. "I don't think I can do this for long, Robyn. Yes, but I don't want to leave you high and dry."

"Oh, darling," Robyn sighed, relaxing beneath me. "I came on your fingers when you licked my arse before; the fucking is just prolonging my pleasure. I don't mind at all if you want to come now. To be honest," Robyn admitted, "I love to watch you wank, seeing your face as you do it ... Knowing that it's me that excites you, that looking at my body turns you on ..." Robyn squeezed her breasts together. "Looking at my tits gets you all hot and bothered. I love the power I have; it's a thrill that men want me so desperately. So," she continued as she flicked the engorged teats with her forefingers, "if you want to come now, wank on my tits or whatever, just do it. Show me how much spunk you have."

Robyn rolled away when my cock slid from her. She knelt on the bed and gestured for me to kneel as well. "Feel my tits," she urged and offered the things to me, hefting them in her palms. "Your cock's covered in my juice," she added in an animated gasp, thrilled at the mess. "Go on, squeeze my boobs ... Then I'll lick that stuff off your cock."

"Robyn," I managed to moan when, after a few seconds of me squeezing those magnificent orbs, the woman sprawled in front of me and licked the shaft of my cock from balls to tip.

"Just a few seconds more," she urged. "Not yet. Don't come yet. Just let me suck the end—"

Leaning on an elbow, Robyn, in a somewhat fastidious gesture, held the root of my cock between a forefinger and thumb and slurped the gloop from the underside of the shaft before popping the plum-sized dome into her mouth. Her cheeks collapsed into a concavity of sucking and her tongue tickled my frenulum. 

As Robyn's lips pursed in a kiss at the eye of my penis the first spurt gushed out of me. The spray ricocheted against that moue, blowing back against the woman's fingers as they remained in place holding my cock aloft. Another burst caught Robyn across the cheek, laying there thick and glistening in a lewd string of gloop that dribbled in a slow, viscous slide towards her jawline. A third and final jet arced between our bodies as Robyn instinctively recoiled from my spitting penis, splatting heavily upon the woman's throat.

"Jesus, Robyn," I sighed, collapsing to the bed while my cock oozed residual gloop. "I always come on your face. Or on your tits ..."

A delighted laugh tinkled from Robyn's throat. "I don't mind. In fact I love it. I adore watching it come out. Feeling it against my skin ... It makes me feel ... so ... so ... dirty." Her face twisted into a sly sneer. "I'm just a dirty little girl," she said, pouting in precocious mimicry. "I love smearing it into my skin. And the smell of it ... It reminds me of how wicked I've been." She looked at me with that crooked expression and corrected herself. "How wicked we've been."

A shaft of sunlight fell across Robyn's torso through a gap in the gaily-striped curtains. She reclined on the bed, stretching like a feline, and I leaned across to kiss her mouth. One hand gently massaged a spongy breast as Robyn returned the gentle kiss. When the kiss broke after a few moments, Robyn eased off the bed and examined herself in the mirror-front of the wardrobe. She lifted her arms above her head, an action that caused my flagging cock to twitch. Despite having ejaculated twice that day, the most recent mere seconds before, the shape of Robyn's tits re-awakened my ardour. The outline of her; the fecund ripeness of her voluptuous body; the curve of her spine and shape of her buttocks; her heavy, swaying breasts reflected in the glass, all of her, the individual parts and the sum total of Robyn's physical allure ... I groaned with renewed wanting.

Children's voices in the world outside the window reminded me that Robyn's kids would be home from school shortly.

"Dammit," I muttered.

Robyn turned to face me. The profile of her body sent a surge of lust through me again. "What?" she asked.

"I'll have to go soon, won't I? Your kids ..."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Can I ...? I mean, will you ...? That is, can we ...?"

"I think so," Robyn replied, understanding my meaning. "You want to do it again, yes?" I nodded. She shrugged. "Sure, why not. It'd be great. I mean ... You come so much ... Twice today and the second time was still a flood."

"I want you again ... Now." Robyn smirked while I stroked my thickening cock.

"Not now," she scolded, smiling to show she wasn't seriously angry. "We won't have time." She laughed at my crestfallen expression. "Soon though," she assured me.

"Tomorrow?" I couldn't keep the desperation from warbling. "I mean, if you're not busy."

"Tomorrow," Mrs Chisholm promised. She walked slowly towards me. I stared at her as she moved hypnotically closer. Reaching for her body as my fist quickened along my thickening erection I stroked Robyn's smooth skin. "One more time," she whispered, suddenly urgent. "Quickly, wank for me one more time. Show me more of that hot stuff if you've got it in you." Robyn leaned over me. Those long, thick teats hung over my face. She sniggered as I suckled at each of her nipples in turn. My hand moved in a blur. I groaned and sobbed as the pleasure heightened. Mrs Jizm lowered her mouth over mine and we shared a long, tongue sliding kiss while my palm rasped over the skin of Robyn's hips and thighs, onwards to the cleft of her sex. She felt slick and hot under my probing fingers, and she gasped when I rubbed at the nub of her clitoris.

"Get on," I pleaded, my teeth grinding with my desire for Robyn. I was desperate for her to climb aboard my erection and fuck. "Come on. Get on it. Fuck me." I wanted to come, frantic for release, but my body rebelled, refusing to allow me that sublime pleasure. "I can't come," I complained. It won't come out. Please ..."

The woman climbed onto the bed. She placed her feet adjacent to my thighs and, balancing precariously, squatted until her sex pouted. With Robyn's thighs parallel to the bed, I held my erection upright and pointed the end of the thing towards Robyn's thick, hanging labia. She sank down onto it. Her cunt, hot and soaking, slid along the shaft in a velvet embrace.

I groaned and arched my back to thrust deep into Robyn's body.

I came and, even as the pleasure curled my toes, I rolled Robyn over onto her back towards the centre of the now devastated bed. I ground my pubic bone against the woman's mons as the last feeble, dying squirt splashed from me. I'd hooked Robyn's knees behind my arms, angling her sex upward to meet my short, stabbing thrusts as I fucked through my orgasm.

Robyn looked at me with eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure and said, "I felt you do it. I felt you splashing inside me. Your spunk is inside me." Then, in a voice treacly with sin, she announced," Get off me. I want to watch it ooze out."

Mrs Jizm shuffled along to the end of the bed, spread her thighs, splayed her labia with her fingers and then watched her reflection as my deposit dribbled from the inflamed slit of her sex.

And so it went on. In the fortnight that followed Robyn and I met often. She'd pose for me while I took photographs and then we'd fuck. It would to be the photos I took and the spectre of Peter, the catalyst in the creation of the true Mrs Jizm, which would lead to the fan club.

It began with the website.

He approached her in the pub, much the same as the first time I'd seen him. I looked up from ogling Robyn in a tight-fitting sweater, one that moulded to her chest – it was odd, I'd seen Robyn nude, in lingerie, even dressed as the stereotypical slutty secretary and wanton schoolgirl, but in clothes, normal everyday street-wear, with the hint of the delights that lay under the clothing, she was eye-catchingly desirable. I looked up to see Peter's long, mournful face regarding Robyn. He stood there, wrists like knots in a length of rope while his hands hung below the frayed cuffs of his tatty corduroy jacket. He held an unlit cigarette in his yellow-stained fingers and swivelled those rheumy eyes at me. As before, the first time I'd seen him, his gaze slid away.

"Just off out for a fag, Robyn. You got time for a word?"

And away she went. "Won't be long," Robyn informed me as she slid off the seat. I watched her go as the jealousy bubbled in my guts.

"The pictures," Robyn babbled, clearly excited when she returned a few minutes later. "Peter's seen the photos we took. He likes them. Wants to start a website."

"What?" I asked.

"Peter," Robyn said, speaking slowly as though I were an idiot. "He wants to start a website using my pictures. Reckons it could be a nice little earner."

I'd thought they were my pictures. I'd taken them after all. What was this about them being her pictures?

With copyright and intellectual property issues notwithstanding, Robyn's website was launched. It took a few months but, eventually, a fan base developed, emails came in, there were tweets, messages were posted in response to a blog. Most of it was effusive praise, explicit comments about exactly what perverted acts the admirers would prefer to perform upon Robyn's body. In the midst of this synthetic attention through the ether, at some indistinct point, Mrs Chisholm had a slight change of outlook. The revelation, the first hint, came to me when Robyn suggested a photo shoot that involved 'fans'.

"You want me to take pictures of you with who?" I asked, shocked.

"Pete thought a competition on the website would be a good idea. Offer a prize of a photo shoot with me to two of the fans."

"Fans?"

"Yes, fans. I've got a few blokes out there who pay money to access the site. They send messages, post comments, that kind of stuff. Pete reckons that it'd be a good commercial thing to promote interest. Give them the chance of meeting me in person. Maybe take a few pictures. Nothing too weird," she added upon seeing my appalled expression, "just a couple of saddos taking pictures and getting their rocks off."

Reluctantly, I agreed.

We met in the bar of a modern, utilitarian hotel in London's Docklands. Upstairs, in the room, a standard setting of double bed, fixed counter with electric kettle, television and phone, the equipment was already set up. The camera waited, perched on its tripod while Robyn sipped at a vodka and lemonade and flirted with the two prize winners in the bar downstairs. They weren't what I'd expected. Instead of two paunchy, middle-aged and, hopefully, balding men, the two smirking fools almost falling into Robyn's cleavage were mid-twenties and disturbingly good-looking. I began to suspect that these chaps weren't so much the winners of a website competition, more likely they'd been chosen by Robyn herself.

Innuendo and double entendre charged the air around the group until I feared they would all spontaneously combust. Peter stood there grinning, which is quite a disturbing sight in a rabid bloodhound kind of way. Mark, the fair-haired one, slim and wiry with a loud, over-confident cockney manner, kept touching Robyn's arm whenever he made a joke – which was often. To my teeth-gnashing chagrin Robyn didn't seem to mind. Alan, tall, dark-haired and dark-skinned in a Mediterranean way, wore a well-filled tee-shirt, tight around the bicep and moulded to his taut torso. He appeared less forward than Mark, but I noticed that Robyn's appreciative eyes kept moving to his body.

To say I was jealous ...

"Simon's got the camera set up." Peter grinned and showed two uneven rows of nicotine-stained teeth. I think I preferred him morose. "He'll take pictures of you two taking pictures of Robyn." He leered towards our muse. "You, my dear, you just pose and let the boys do their thing."

Robyn chuckled, eyed Alan's muscular, tattoo-sleeved arms again, and said, "I'd love to see the boys doing their thing."

My fists clenched at my sides.

"Shall we?" Peter gestured towards the door. "I think it's time to give the winners their prize."

"I'm all for that!" Mark exclaimed eagerly before draining his glass.

I followed the group reluctantly.

Robyn posed completely dressed at first; her signature sets typically featured her stripping. She began in the usual way, posing and smiling, hands on hips, head cocked to one side as though questioning whoever looked at the pictures. Then she lifted the hem of the skirt to show the tops of her black stockings.

The model had dressed to impress by choosing the black shoes with red spiked heels that I'd seen on my second, eventful visit. Sheer, delicate black stockings encased her legs, held in place by an impressive suspender belt with no less than six straps, three to a stocking. Over the top of this complex ensemble, Robyn wore a gossamer thin scrap of black cotton that posed as underwear, an arrangement I thought would be uncomfortable for her. Wouldn't the knickers be more suitable worn under the suspender straps? Robyn's motivation would become apparent soon enough. A tight skirt, black of course, fell to a modest and aesthetically pleasing point at mid-thigh, whereas on top was the piece-de-resistance – a torso hugging red lycra affair which fastened in a dog collar arrangement around her neck. An oval-shaped gap below the collar stud presented her décolletage in an eye-popping expanse of bare skin, with two vertical hemispheres of cleavage flesh clearly visible. This outfit was given a hint of decorum by a smart black blazer, which lent a modicum of sartorial decency to the arrangement by almost covering the crescents of the woman's boobs. As close to indecent as Robyn's choice of dress was, her maturity and confidence meant she could carry the thing off without appearing like a hooker trawling hotel bars for punters.

"Fucking hell," I heard Mark mutter as he knelt to take several close-up shots of Robyn's suspender-framed gusset. "Just look at how plump her cunt looks inside them knickers, Al."

"Beautiful," Alan concurred. His camera buzzed.

Robyn lifted the skirt higher and laid the blazer over the back of the wooden-backed chair in the corner. She squeezed her breasts with her biceps, deepening the magnificent chasm already presented. The boys took their pictures, moving around the model like hyenas, circling but never getting too close. I looked at Peter who surveyed the scene with slack-jawed concentration as he perched on the edge of the bed. I noticed his eyes were glazed with lust for Robyn. A flash of empathy registered within me as I recognised how the man must feel; I felt the same frisson of desire. The old man absently reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He put one between his lips and then realised that smoking was forbidden in the hotel. I rolled my eyes when he looked towards me. Peter grinned and shrugged before he returned the packet to a pocket.




Mrs Jizm Ch. 03



"You getting this, Simon?" he asked.

Nodding I turned back to the scene in front of me. By now Robyn's top was unbuttoned. The collar flapped loose and her breasts threatened to pop out as she moved between poses. The two men continued to click away, their cameras tireless. At each pop of a flash Robyn would take that as her cue to change position until, eventually, she climbed onto the bed still wearing her heels. 

The tension cranked up and the room felt suddenly warm, overheated by testosterone, desire, and the high-wattage bulbs in the lights I'd set up as part of the camera kit. I heard both Alan and Mark gasp, an unconscious reflex at the promise of further revelations of Robyn's flesh.

She didn't disappoint.

Robyn reclined on the bed and, with her head against the pillows she locked her eyes on a perspiring Alan. I recognised the sly grin on her face, I knew she was enjoying this moment, would be getting a buzz out of how the men wanted her. Both men gasped, photos forgotten, when Robyn revealed her tits. She smirked knowingly from the bed and, with her jugs cantilevered over the loop of lycra, lifted her buttocks off the bed and hooked her thumbs under the elastic of her underwear.  With legs together, feet raised and her knees bent, Robyn slid the scrap of cotton over her stockings.

"Take the pictures," Robyn reminded the men, grinning at their sudden immobility and staring faces. With a hoop of her underwear caught against the heel of one raised shoe, Robyn let her thighs carelessly fall open. "Come on lads, don't gawp, take the photos," she urged as her vulva pouted and her knickers dangled provocatively.

"Bloody hell," Mark muttered.

Indeed, I thought, remembering my first session with Mrs Chisholm. In her house, upstairs in her bedroom where she'd posed on the bed and exposed the heavy-lipped gape of her sex to me. I'd been mesmerised for a time at the sight of those meaty flaps and insignificant fluff of coiffed pubic bush. I knew exactly what these men were feeling.

Their cameras whirred while Robyn held the pose, underwear still hanging from the wicked heel. "Could you get outta the way, mate," Mark barked at Peter who sat, mouth gaping, on the edge of the bed.

Peter looked across to the impatient man. "Uh ... Yeah ... Sorry," he muttered. Distracted by Robyn's lewd display Peter almost tripped over the bag of clothes the woman had left lying on the floor.

With Peter out of the way the boys settled and took their pictures. As they concentrated their lenses on the model, I took photos of the wider scene. I captured Alan's expression when Robyn slid a finger between the folds of her sex.

"Oh dear fucking ..." he muttered when Robyn sat upright, her breasts swaying.

"Do you like me, boys?" Robyn pouted, squeezing her tits together with her palms. Her red-tipped fingers slid over her nipples. Lust surged through me. I wanted to go to the woman and suck at those teats. I imagined kissing her as I stabbed into her cunt with my erection. Robyn loved to kiss, adored the physical contact of our tongues as we fucked together. I'd be happy to do it in front of the other three men, to label Robyn as mine, to show them that I was the one who was privileged to be her lover.

"No funny business," Robyn had instructed in the bar when the men had first arrived. "Take the photos, but don't get the idea that you're going to fuck me." She gave a brief resume of her reasons – her kids, her mother and father, the friends that knew of the glamour stuff. "I don't want to upset anyone by having hard-core stuff on the internet," she added.

I'd always been of the opinion that what Robyn did show on the internet was strong enough, but I suppose that since access to the site was by subscription with only a few tame images as teasers to tempt in the punters, there was no real risk that anyone Robyn knew would see too much.

Both men had nodded at the conditions laid down, but I'd noted their disappointment.

The model reached for her knickers and, after unhooking the garment, flicked it across the room towards Peter.

"Do you like me? Robyn repeated, rolling onto her front and levering herself onto her knees. She presented her rear to the photographers who, after a farcical collision in their haste, moved to capture the images of Robyn's proffered derriere.

"I like you," Mark growled. "I like you a lot. I want to put this camera down and just ..."

Robyn laughed; a chuckle of amusement I knew came in response to Mark's desperate tone of voice. "Do I turn you on, baby?" Robyn purred as her fingers spread her labia. "I'm sorry, I'm such an exhibitionist. I love showing my body off. I know it gets the boys all ... worked up, but I love the attention."

"I'd give you attention," Mark replied. "As much fuckin' attention as you could handle."

"Oh, I'm sure," Robyn teased. "I've no doubt you'd just love to pay me some deep attention." She moved onto her back and then flung her legs over the side of the bed. Standing, posing with her hands on her hips, Robyn offered a challenge. Her words dropped a stone of despair to the pit of my stomach. "If you've got a condom with you ... Well," she shrugged, "you can fuck me. You can both fuck me. But you need to be dressed up to do it."

The two men looked at each other. Mark shrugged his shoulders. "I'm fucked," he said. "What about you, Al – got any johnnies?"

For a heart-stopping moment the man paused. I was sure the next words out of his mouth would be the words I didn't want to hear.

"Not me, mate," he said.

Robyn made a moue of disappointment. If her challenge had been a bluff, and I hoped it had been, then she was a great actress. "Oh ... Oh well, what a shame. Never mind." She turned to me, the headlamps of her breasts shining full beam. "I suppose that you'll have to give me the benefit of your hard-on later, Simon." Robyn grinned at me and winked. "But," she continued, "since the boys are so ... worked up, well, I suppose I'd better offer them a happy ending." Robyn placed her fists on her hips. "A few more pictures, lads," she said. "Then, if you like, you can sort yourselves out. I'll pose for you, give you a lap-dance and all that, and you can ... well, you know ..."

"Downstairs," Mark blurted. "In the hotel toilet, in the bar, there'll be a vending machine. We could get some johnnies outta that. Give you a real happy ending ..." He stared at Robyn, eyes pleading like a hungry Labrador.

"That would break the mood," the model replied. My heart sang. I still didn't know if Robyn had been serious about letting the two men fuck her, I hoped she hadn't. If it was a game, then it was a dangerous game. "I'm in the mood to play with myself and watch a man masturbate." Robyn grinned again. "Or two men if they've a mind to."

It was Mark who unzipped first. "I just gotta spunk, Robyn," he moaned. "If I can't fuck ya ... this is the next best."

The jealousy curdled inside me when Robyn walked across to Mark, took his semi-hard penis in her hand and, as she stroked him to a full-blooded erection, kissed his mouth.

"Show me," she murmured. "Wank your cock. Show me how much I turn you on." The scene and the words she used were reminiscent of when we'd first met. I hated the intimacy in that kiss. I think if she'd knelt and sucked his cock I would have been less bothered. Her lips close to Mark's, their tongues flicking tip to tip, was more upsetting than if she'd offered her cunt and he'd slid inside. 

And then Alan joined in.

"Ah shit," I muttered.

Mrs Chisholm, with her big tits hanging and swaying, with her arse all bare, kissed both men, one after the other. Then she moved back to the bed. "Wank for me, boys," she encouraged. "Come on my tits. Make a mess. Don't be shy." Both of them bundled towards Robyn as she sat on the edge of the bed, spread her legs and began to rub herself. "Pictures, Simon," she ordered curtly. "Take the photos." She looked up to where the men were just beginning to coax huge erections to life. "These pics won't be on the website. They're for personal use only." Robyn grinned evilly. "Now use me personally."

All I could do was watch and take pictures. I could see what Robyn meant now, when she spoke of the power. She controlled what went on. The men, although they appeared to use the woman for their own gratification, were really being manipulated by Robyn. They knew they couldn't fuck her, that penetrative sex wasn't allowed, and because Robyn had laid the rules they were unsure if they were permitted to even touch her. Instead, all they did was masturbate while Robyn wound them up. She moaned and sighed, squeezed her tits and fingered herself, all for her own benefit. I knew that she loved to flaunt herself that way, to exhibit herself in the most shocking and sordid fashion.

A few months in the future things would change, Mrs Jizm would evolve. The catalyst for that change would be Peter. The cause was what happened in that hotel room on that warm September afternoon.

Mark and Alan, with their jeans pushed down around their thighs, stood at the bedside and tugged at their erections. Robyn continued to finger her slit and maul her breasts as she watched the boys. Profanities spewed from her mouth as she kept up an obscene litany, describing what they could have done to her if only they had some protection.

"You could've fucked me, lads. Not just wanked but stuck your cocks into me and really given it to me. I've never done two men at once before. Maybe I'll have to set another competition up on the website, only next time I'll make sure I bring some condoms ... lots of condoms. I'd like one in my cunt and one in my mouth ... and," she added with a snicker, "maybe even one in my arse."

Alan swore in frustration. "Please, Robyn," he pleaded. "Can't I just go downstairs and buy some. I'll be as quick as I can. Please, I'm begging you." He shuffled closer to Robyn, his shins bumping against the bed frame.

I knew how that felt, the urgency, the desire to plug my cock into Robyn's body. Desperation swept through me also, but at least I had the gratification of knowing that, eventually, I would be allowed to do so; I would be fucking Mrs Jizm in that hotel room before too much longer.

As it went, things didn't quite turn out that way.

Robyn rolled onto her side facing the two men at the bedside. She swung her legs off the bed placing Alan between her knees. Next she pushed Alan's hand from his dick and replaced it with her fist.

"Sorry, gorgeous," she said, her voice breaking with what I could only assume was her own flaring desire. "I can't take the chance. You're probably a nice, clean lad, but ..." Alan groaned, tilting his head back to moan at the ceiling, "... you're probably very fertile. I bet a big, strong man like you has plenty of seed in his big balls. You wouldn't want to give me a baby would you?" I gave silent thanks to my ex-wife and her insistence on me having a vasectomy. "If your lovely cock was wearing a little raincoat, that's all, just a little rubber suit ... Well, then you could've stuffed my cunt full of meat ..." She reached for Mark's erection with her free hand. "And I could've sucked Mark's cock at the same time." Robyn stroked both men for a few moments before releasing their spring-loaded dicks. "Two men at the same time," she purred as she reclined on the bed again. "Next time, maybe?"

"Ah ... fuck," Mark grunted, a fist quick against his shaft. "I'm gunna ... Shit ..." His face contorted, he grunted again. As he bent at the waist as though he'd been gut-stabbed, Robyn, realising Mark's predicament, hastily moved closer to him.

She barked an abrupt order. "Do it," Robyn insisted, offering her breasts as the target. "Right here. Spunk on my tits. I love to feel all that stuff ... Oh!"

The jet splashed across Robyn's skin, laying a thick strand of goo across her chest and staining the lycra top. A second spurt hung suspended in her blonde hair while a third and fourth arced in a high parabola and rained down onto her tits.

Then, before Mrs Jizm could react, Alan moaned a warning. His grunt was too late. Sperm flew thick and heavy from the eye of his cock, catching Robyn's face as she turned towards the sound of his voice. The woman exclaimed, either from annoyance at the sullying of her make-up or with lascivious approval when a second dollop spat across her forehead. Alan's penis then dribbled a few dying droplets across the tops of Mrs Jizm's breasts, which left a momentary hiatus while the trio fought for breath and regained some composure.

Robyn, from the carnage of tangled bed sheets and the ruin of her make-up, smirked and scooped a dollop of spunk with her forefinger. "Wow," she murmured. "You made a real mess there, lads. I love it. Did you enjoy coming over me?" She licked the gloop from the digit.

A voice suddenly spoke from the corner. Peter, sitting on the chair said, "That's it fellahs. That's your lot. Zip up, don't forget your cameras, make sure you check the blog to find the pics that Simon took." Robyn began to move from the bed. "Stay there," Peter growled at her, turning his long face towards the devastated bed. "Don't move, Robyn, we ain't finished with you yet."

Surprised by the curtailment of their enjoyment, Mark and Alan, after quickly gathering their cameras, left the room, blinking at their host's sudden insistence that they depart.

"That was bit rude, Peter—" Robyn began, her face and chest smeared and glistening with shining residue.

Ignoring Robyn's protest, Peter cut her off by ordering, "Fuck her, Simon." It was my turn to blink in surprise. "On her hands and knees, from behind, fuck her doggy-style."

"Uh ... I dunno, Pete ..." I began.

"Go on," he insisted. "I just wanna watch. Seeing those two do that to her ..." His lugubrious visage swivelled to Robyn. "You really like it, dontcha? Turning 'em on. Showing 'em your tits and getting 'em all hot and bothered. Gives you a thrill, eh?"

"You know it does, Peter," Robyn smirked. "We've talked of it often enough."

"So you gunna get on your hands and knees and let me watch him fuck you?"

"For you, anything," the woman purred, winking theatrically. She looked at me then. "Come on, Simon. Don't just stand there with your mouth hanging open. Do as the man wants." She paused, staring at me intently before issuing the challenge. "Unless you're too shy to do it in front of him. Is that a problem, Simon?" She massaged her tits, rolling the heavy dough-balls daubed with spunk in her palms. The sight of her breasts always turned me on, never failed to get my cock thick and hard. "Those boys didn't have any compunction about performing for an audience. They would've both fucked me in front of you."

That was the goad, the trigger. The thought of those two fucking Robyn flared the jealousy deep in my guts. I fixed my eyes on the bedraggled, stained woman on the bed and unbuckled my belt. "Get on your knees," I growled.

A few moments later, divested of clothing, I knelt behind Robyn, held my erection in one fist and aimed it at her pouting cunt.

Her groan of pleasure as I slid balls deep was sweet to my ears.

Her suspender straps went tight across my knuckles when I slid my hands beneath them to grab Robyn's hips. Pulling the woman's buttocks against my belly I rammed into her as though to teach her a stern lesson. The result was a long, low drawn-out groan and a muttered obscenity from her. With Robyn facing the foot of the bed, her head towards Peter, I could see the man staring at us from his seated position.

He showed me his long, yellow incisors in what I assumed was a smile. "Give it to her," he hissed. Then to my eye-bulging astonishment he stood and unzipped his trousers. Peter advanced the few steps to the bed. "Look at this," he ordered Robyn, holding what looked a length of fire hose in his hand.

"Oh!" Robyn cried when she saw Peter's member. "That's fucking enormous," she added, turning to look back at me as I paused mid-stroke. "Look at the size of his cock ..." Robyn reached an arm towards me, grasping for my hip. Her nails scraped the skin as she urged me to fuck her. "Do it," she moaned. Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Really, really ... Really fucking hard." The woman pushed herself up on straight arms, palms down against the bed, and thrust her buttocks back against me. Her skin slapped against mine in a metronomic thwacks. I could feel Robyn's sex leaking her desire.

Growling, I hunched low over her back, reaching under her body for her tits. Catching hold of the swinging orbs I cupped their heavy weight in my hands. The nipples were hard pebbles against my palms as I jabbed my cock into her body in short, hard stabs. I could feel the sticky residue of semen drying against Robyn's skin.

After riding the woman hard in this position for half a minute I released her breasts and knelt upright. This time I took hold of the suspender belt. Grabbing the lacy elastic I yanked on it like reins on a horse, slapping Robyn's jiggling, rolling buttocks with a flat hand as I continued ramming her with my cock.

"You like it rough?" I asked, slapping her flesh again.

Her eyes flashed venom at me when she turned to face me, craning her neck and twisting her body to do so.

"That isn't rough. That's nowhere near rough. Come on." She provoked me with a sneer of derision. "Really give it to me. See if you can bring me off." Then came the goad again: "Those two boys would've made me come. Especially Alan ... I really wanted to sit on his fat cock ... I bet ..." Robyn broke off her tirade to lower her face to the bed and groan. She twisted her torso to look at me again. "That's better, much better. Come on ... Harder ..."

Peter stood at the foot of the bed, coaxing his cock into a weighty-looking erection. "I can't take it anymore," he grunted. "Sorry, Robyn, but ..."

The woman gave a cry of pain when Peter grabbed a handful of straggling hair and pulled her face round to him. "Suck it," he ordered.

Robyn paused, just for a moment, a mere flicker in time.

 Distracted from the sensations in my cock caused by Robyn's clenching insides, I thought she would refuse but, to my surprise, she opened her mouth instead.

Peter's head lolled backwards as Robyn forced as much of him into her mouth as she could manage. Then he pushed even more of that terrible length into her face. I heard the woman gag, retching and spitting when finally Peter relented and pulled his cock out of her gullet.

"More," she croaked. Both of you. More ..."

Strings of drool hung from her chin as Robyn grabbed Peter's dick eagerly.

And so this was Robyn's first experience of two men. She took to it very well, like a seasoned professional, a true porn star. With my inherent jealousy supressed, such was the lure and distraction of Robyn's sex, I fucked into her while Peter's girth stretched her lips and the length nudged her tonsils. Eventually it all became too much and, with a strangled, garbled warning, I squirted my seed into Robyn's body.

The woman's muffled grunts came from around her mouthful of cock. "He's filling me with it," Robyn eventually gasped when she managed to dislodge Peter from her throat. "Oh yes! He's coming inside me, filling me with the hot stuff."

Finally, spent, and with my cock dribbling gloop, I pushed Robyn's buttocks away from me and collapsed on the bed.

Peter grinned evilly. "My turn now," he said, stroking his length slowly with his fist. "Get on it," he instructed Robyn after he sat on the chair. "Stir that porridge with my big spoon."

That Robyn would even contemplate fucking that man, after the fuss she'd made over condoms earlier, never mind him being a disgusting specimen, came as a shock. To see her clambering eagerly onto his lap, her legs either side of his skinny, pale shanks was overwhelming.




Mrs Jizm Ch. 03



Her long groan of pleasure when she sank down onto the monolith was testimony to what was happening in front of my eyes. I sat on the bed, mouth hanging open, as I watched Mrs Jizm squirm on Peter's cock. At least she was facing away from him. If she'd kissed him ...

As it was I could see her skin stretched tight around the thick shaft. Her clitoris shone, greasy and swollen with arousal while obscene farts and squelches erupted from their coupling. A thick, opaque dribble of my semen squirted around Peter's shaft when Robyn rose to the domed tip, the viscous trickle skidding over his balls and along the cleft of his arse to stain the chair fabric. Robyn's cunt farted as she sank down onto that column again.

"Oh God," Robyn babbled. "I'm sorry, Simon," she groaned, staring into my eyes. "I can't help it. It's just so ... Fuck ... It's just so ..."

Her head lolled and Peter's nicotine stained fingers appeared as he mauled her breasts and rolled the long nipples between forefinger and thumb.

Then, with one arm encircling Robyn's waist to hold her against him, Peter stood, hefting the woman to the bed, where he then began to fuck her very hard.

Robyn's nails clawed at the bedcovers. She groaned and wailed and exhorted the old man to do anything he wanted to her. All I could do was watch, moribund and mortified, as Robyn climaxed exuberantly.

"I'm going to do it too," Peter groaned while Robyn writhed and convulsed.

He held Robyn tight against his body, her buttocks squashed against his flabby stomach, as he pumped what was probably a gallon of goo into her.

Twisting and still groaning, Robyn fell face down onto the bed while Peter, his cock hanging there all shiny and sticky with bodily fluids – mine, his and Robyn's – staggered to the chair.

"You fucking bastard," Robyn spat venomously at the wheezing old man. "You pig. How could you ...?"

"You fucking loved it," Peter interjected. "Don't come it with me. You loved doing it. Look at you now, lying there with all that spunk dribbling outta your cunt ..." He poked a grizzled chin at Robyn. "Four blokes' jizm you took today ... And it ain't even two o'clock yet. Yeah, you loved it, Robyn." He sparked up an illegal cigarette.

The train journey out of London back to Bedfordshire was a little awkward at first. At least Peter wasn't with us on the return.

"A little business in Kent," he informed me after he'd showered and dressed. "Could be good for all of us," he added with a conspiratorial wink.

When the train pulled out of Stevenage Robyn and I were alone in the carriage. I regarded her across the three feet between us.

"That wasn't what I expected," I began.

Robyn giggled, a nervous explosion of pent up agitation. "He's right, you know."

"Who? Peter?"

"Yes."

"About ...?"

"I loved it. I couldn't help myself. When he slapped that horse's cock in front of my face ... I mean ... Fuck ..."

The angry jealousy twisted a blade in my gonads. "He's an old man, Robyn. He's a disgusting old perv ..."

"That made it better," Robyn replied, squirming against the tatty fabric of the bench seat. "Somehow, and don't ask me to rationalise it because I couldn't, I didn't see him, all I saw was this cock, it didn't matter to me at the time who was attached to it." She gave me that sly look. "And," her voice fell to a treacly murmur. I struggled to hear her over the rattle of the train.

"What?" I asked.

"I said, and I didn't shower afterwards. I've still got your spunk oozing out of me. My knickers are soaked. I can smell the dried jizm on my tits too. All I did was run a comb through my hair. It was a bugger getting the comb through where Mark had come, it dried all stiff ..." Robyn looked out of the window. Countryside blurred past. 

"What about all that guff about condoms? With Mark and Alan? Why didn't you fuck them?"

"Oh, I wanted to," Robyn confessed. "I was tempted, but it was still more of a power thing at that time. And besides, I wasn't so worked up. When they came on me ... Wow, well, that was it. After that ... If Mark had pressed it, and I think he was more inclined to be dominant than Alan ... Yes," she nodded, "I reckon I would've let them.

"What about Peter? I mean he came inside you. What about pregnancy?"

"I'm not stupid, I use contraception. You're vasectomy isn't really an issue." I digested all this and watched the single passenger get on the train at Arlesey.

"The kids are at their dad's," she said. "Would you ... I mean ... Will you stay over tonight? I'm feeling so sexy right now." She wriggled again.

I couldn't refuse.

"Thank you for being there today," she murmured when, in her house, showered and fragrant now, she offered her mouth for my kiss.

That was the precursor event. In the days to come Peter would influence Robyn even more. The nickname of Mrs Jizm became even more apt. Of course, as I slid my leaking cock between Robyn's oiled breasts later that evening, I had little idea of what was to come.



Mrs Jizm Ch. 04



The fourth installment of Mrs Jizm. I think there will be just one more chapter after this one.

I deliberated about which category to submit this piece too - it could, perhaps, have found a home in Fetish. There's a latex outfit in it (Mrs Jizm's naturally), and a lot of references to semen ... come ... jizm ...

As before, I hope the reader enjoys it. If you have comments, constructive criticisms or any feedback, please use Public Comments here, email, or drop me a PM. I'm not 'fishing for compliments', I'm genuinely interested in how this is received.

As usual, forgive any errors; i quite often balls it up!

GA - in me kitchen in Peterborough, UK. 12 Jan 2012.

THE SENSE OF FOREBODING settled in my stomach like a brick dropped into a puddle of mud when Peter arrived. I knew that this wasn't going to be something I liked. The sense of something unanticipated coming at me flared when Peter turned his bloodhound face towards me and grinned. There was definitely something off here, something I sensed but couldn't quite grasp. He'd obviously been invited, but why?

Robyn's expression, which I caught from the corner of my eye, was odd as well.

The jealousy, hot, molten and corrosive boiled inside me when I recalled the time, a few months earlier, when Peter had surprised us with his horse's cock. After a photo session in a London hotel, which had led beyond anticipated boundaries, Peter had fucked Robyn Chisholm, apparently unconcerned that he was pushing my spunk around inside her. In fact, I think that Peter enjoyed the kinkiness of it.

"My turn now," he'd said, stroking his length slowly with his fist. "Get on it," he'd then instructed Robyn after sitting on a chair. "Stir that porridge with my big spoon."

And she had. Robyn had clambered onto Peter's cock with indecent haste, with eagerness that I found astounding. Then I'd watched as Robyn lived up to my nickname for her - Mrs Jizm. 

I could see her skin stretched tight around the thick shaft. Her clitoris shone, greasy and swollen with arousal while obscene farts and squelches erupted from their coupling. A thick, opaque dribble of my semen squirted around Peter's shaft when Robyn rose to the domed tip, the viscous trickle skidded over his balls and along the cleft of his arse to stain the chair fabric. Robyn's cunt farted as she sank down onto that column again.

"Oh God," Robyn babbled. "I'm sorry, Simon," she groaned, knowing how I felt, but staring into my eyes while she fucked peter all the same. "I can't help it. It's just so ... Fuck ... It's just so ..."

Her head lolled as Peter's nicotine stained fingers appeared and he mauled her breasts, rolling Robyn's long nipples between his forefinger and thumb.

Then, with one arm encircling Robyn's waist to hold tight her against him, Peter stood, hefting the woman to the bed where he then began to fuck her very hard.

Robyn's nails clawed at the bedcovers. She groaned and wailed and exhorted the old man to do anything he wanted to her. All I could do was watch, moribund and mortified, as Robyn climaxed exuberantly.

"I'm going to do it too," Peter groaned while Robyn writhed and convulsed.

He hugged Robyn tight against his body, her buttocks squashed against his flabby stomach, and he pumped what was probably a gallon of goo into her.

Robyn had been filled to overflowing with semen that afternoon; both Peter and I had come inside her. There had been two other men there earlier as well, two men who had won the prize of a photo-shoot with their favourite model. Those two men, Mark and Alan hadn't been allowed to fuck Robyn, although that was a close-run thing; instead she'd merely posed for them, teased them too, before taking their combined loads on her breasts.

Mrs Jizm's penchant for semen had been born that day.

Now something strange was afoot in Robyn's living room. Her strange look and Peter's presence just about confirmed it. I sensed conspiracy. A thought occurred to me, an image that curdled my guts - Had they been fucking behind my back? Had Peter, with his nicotine fingers and teeth the colour of pound coins been stuffing Robyn with his unfeasibly large penis?

Granted, Robyn and I weren't lovers in the true sense of the word, our relationship had never been anything formal, more like the Americans would term friends with benefits or fuck-buddies, but all the same ... Peter?

"Another beer?" Robyn asked, eyeing the bottle I'd already drained.

I had a hunch I might need it. "Yes," I replied curtly.

Robyn looked askance at my abrupt tone but said nothing, just nodded and turned her attention to the old man, who'd settled in a leather arm-chair opposite me. "What about you, Pete? Drink?"

"A beer'll be great, ta, Robyn," Peter said. I noticed his eyes swivelling along the contours of Robyn's body. Supressing the urge to break something, most likely being Peter's legs, I dug my fingertips into the soft arm of the seat and gritted my teeth. Peter's rheumy-eyed gaze turned towards me when Robyn left with his coat under her arm. "What's up, Simon?" he asked, curling his lip in what passed for a smile. "Not happy to see me?" He forwards conspiratorially in the chair. "I might have some good news for you," he winked.

"Here we go, gents," Robyn trilled brightly as she walked back into the room, a beer in each hand. "How are we getting on?"

I noticed the strange look cloud her face again as she looked at Peter. Robyn seemed nervous, edgy.

Conspiracy?

"Are you gonna tell him, or shall I?" Peter said as he accepted the proffered bottle.

Mrs Jizm showed me instead.

Animosity hung between us like a fart in Robyn's absence. I could feel the tension building in the room, tangible enough to almost taste it; I imagined it to have the flavour of sour milk. Floorboards creaked overhead as Robyn moved around her bedroom on her mysterious errand. 

"Give me ten minutes," she'd said after exchanging yet another uneasy glance with Peter.

And here we were, each sitting with a beer in hand while the television flickered with the sound turned down. 

"Not happy to see me?" Peter repeated. He shrugged and, without waiting for a reply, as though it were a rhetorical question he'd asked, carried on. "I get ya," he said. "I get it, that you're all caught up wiv Robyn." His face twisted into a leer and he winked at me again, as though we were mates. "She's a good-lookin' bint ... for her age. Great tits even if they are manufactured. Not that it's obvious," he added hurriedly, shaking his head and pursing his lips. "Best pair of knockers on any of the wimmin I'm managing ..." Peter tapped his nose with a forefinger and winked yet again. "And I've got a few girls on me books now, Simon, me-old-china," he said, slipping into his rhyming slang. "I'm lookin' after a good few models wiv their websites an' blogs an' all that malarkey ..." He paused and regarded me through those baleful eyes of his for a long moment. "Which is where I might be able to—"

Robyn's entrance, if that's how her strutting arrogance could be described, cut Peter off mid-sentence.

Thoughts of what he had been about to offer left my head as well.

The incongruity of what I saw amid the vanilla suburban surroundings unhinged my jaw.

She strode into the room on heels like ice-picks. It took several beats of my accelerating heart for my brain to register what my eyes saw. Even then I didn't believe it.

The uppers of those boots reached to the tops of her thighs, held in place by some kind of reinforced ring like an unrolled condom. They shone like dark pools. A corset, rubber or latex, black, like the boots, cinched Robyn's waist and emphasised the size of her breasts, which hung like a comber wave over the cups in the garment.. But what really caught me by surprise, what held the breath in my throat was the mask, a black, close-fitting facsimile of a skier's balaclava.

Robyn posed for a few seconds, a palm on one cocked hip, eyes boring into mine as she stared at me through the twin holes in the mask. The boots squeaked and her breasts, always those tits, swayed as she walked towards me.

Now it all made sense, or most of it anyway; the gym membership, the new tattoo. It had all been in preparation for this.

But what, exactly, was this?

"What do you think, Simon?" Robyn asked. I recognised the lust in her voice, treacly and thick. She ran her hands over her exposed breasts, pausing to tweak the nipples. Releasing her tits Robyn's palms smoothed their way down over the corset before resting on her hips. "The anonymity behind this mask," Robyn continued huskily, "makes me so horny. My pussy is so wet ..." Her eyes stared at me through the holes in the mask. "Do you like it, Simon?" she asked. "Do you think it's sexy?"

I couldn't reply. Robyn's outfit had me speechless.

"I think it looks fuckin' great," Peter said. I looked across at him. His eyes bulged out their orbits, his lips wet with spittle, and he pawed at the front of his trousers in a way that would have concerned me -- If I'd been in a fit state to notice. "Tell 'im," Peter mumbled after licking his lips. "Tell 'im wot you wanna do. Go on, Robyn," he urged.

"Mrs Jizm," the woman snarled in response. "Don't call me by that name when I'm dressed like this; this is Mrs Jizm's costume ..."

The woman moved closer to me. Her boots swished together at her thighs as she walked. While I sat in the chair, immobile, just staring up at her from the depths of the chair, Robyn ... Mrs Jizm ... lifted a booted leg over my own outstretched thighs. She settled into my lap, facing me, her hands moving to my cheeks. I felt her breasts against my chest as Mrs Jizm leaned over me. Her face came towards mine; I saw her mouth open ...

We kissed. I opened my mouth and let Mrs Jizm's tongue slide over mine. Of course, despite my brain's sluggish reaction, my cock stiffened. As Mrs Jizm writhed in my lap and we shared that kiss, my hands, almost of their own accord, ran from the warm flesh of the woman's hips and up against the slippery coolness of the corset she wore.

Mrs Jizm broke the kiss, her face moved close to my shoulder. "Feel my tits," she murmured. "Squeeze my breasts." Her mouth was now close to my ear; I could hear her breathing close by and felt the waft of it against my cheek. "Do you want to fuck?" she asked. "In front of him," she added. "I want to. I want to fuck in front of Peter."

Mrs Jizm leaned backwards from me, arching her back and thrusting those big jugs almost into my face. As instructed I reached up and massaged the pliant flesh in my hands. I could feel the tight points of Mrs Jizm's nipples on my palms. The woman squealed and then laughed after I dug my fingers into her tit flesh. Growling, I sucked at her teats, licking the areolae until they glistened with my saliva.

"Bloody hell," I heard Peter mutter.

Mrs Jizm rested a hand against my shoulder and pushed herself away from me. She laughed again when I made a grab for her.

"Eager," she said. "I like that. Are you eager for me, Simon? Does this latex stuff make you sexy?" A filthy chuckle rumbled from her throat. "It turns me on," she admitted. Her eyes moved from me to Peter and then back to me. "Both of you," Mrs Jizm barked the order, "both of you, clothes off." She pointed to the old man. "You stroke your cock. Don't come! Just stroke it." She turned her attention to me. "You're going to fuck me ... after I've sucked your cock. You're going to fuck me and dump a load of spunk inside me."

I heard Peter mutter again. "You filthy cow," he mumbled.

My clothes lay in a pile next to the chair I was sat in, the beer, half-drunk and forgotten sat next to the heap. Peter was hurriedly undressing as Mrs Jizm, her boots creaking as she knelt, reached for my cock. Her lips parted inside that hole in the mask. I groaned when the warm, wet cavern of her mouth closed around my erection. Mrs Jizm only sucked me for a few seconds. Her fist massaged the root of my cock as I stared at the incongruous sight of my erection sliding into the mouth-hole of her mask.

"Come here, Simon," Mrs Jizm said after letting my penis spring from her lips. She paused as she walked away, beckoning me to follow her to the sofa. I watched her backside sway with that oh-so-feminine swing of the hips as she moved away from me in those boots. Her buttocks jiggled in invitation. "Come on, Simon," she urged, settling back against the cushions and raising her legs. She wriggled her rump to a more comfortable position and opened her legs wide, hooking her hands behind her knees. Her cunt gaped, scarlet, hot-looking, almost bubbling ... "Now!" Mrs Jizm cried in frustration. "Come here and lick me. Stick your cock inside me. Fuck me with it. Fuck me 'til I split ... Fuck me and fill me with spunk ..."

"For fuck's sake, Simon," Peter croaked. "Just do it. This is killing me ... Look at her ... Jesus, what a sight, what a fucking picture ..."

I looked at the old man, and immediately wished I hadn't. He was sitting in his chair, naked, skinny shanks, thighs like strings, round belly like he'd swallowed a beach-ball ... all of it on display like a cadaver on a mortician's slab.

But with that enormous cock in his fist. Damn that thing was huge.

Any cooling of my ardour rapidly re-ignited when I looked back towards Mrs Jizm, latex-clad and splay-legged on the settee. I moved quickly to her, stroking my cock as I went. When I knelt in front of her, her feet hung suspended, level with my ears. The woman moaned in anticipation when I forced her thighs wider with my hands, her meaty labia trembling slightly as her body split wider.

"Oh fuck," Mrs Jizm sighed when my mouth touched her sex. "Oh fuck, oh fuck ... oh ... fuck," she swore as my tongue squirmed into her opening. My hands slid over the smooth texture of Mrs Jizm's boots when I forced her thighs even further back. With my fingers digging into the pliant neoprene, and while Mrs Jizm squirmed against my oral onslaught, I manipulated the bitch into a lewd yoga position. The woman's backside hung over the precipice of the sofa seat; her cunt, tender and molten, sluiced and gaped, clamouring for cock. "Lick my clit, finger me, stick your cock inside ..." Mrs Jizm babbled, delirious with lust.

With my own desire burning, white hot and overwhelming, I lifted my mouth from Mrs Jizm's sex and, despite her vocal objection, manoeuvred her into a supine position on the sofa. Again I forced her legs wide, with her knees pushed back towards her ears, and I clambered onto the cushions to lean over Mrs Jizm's body. Holding my erection steady with one hand, while the other held the woman's left leg in position, I aimed the dome of my cock-head at her opening ...

... and slid in, with a long, slick glide.

There was absolutely no finesse to what followed. For me the imperative was to teach Mrs Jizm a lesson. I wanted to use my cock to pound at her delicate insides. My sole intent was to drill into her cunt, to use her and damage her -- to fuck her 'til she split, as she'd said herself. Of course the reality was that Mrs Jizm's body was capable of absorbing any punishment I could dish out with my penis. Even Peter with his fire hose of a cock wouldn't be able to quell the flames that raged inside this woman's sex once those fires were stoked.

But I tried. I banged into her, mauled and tore at her breasts until the skin glowed pink -- she showed me the bruises the next day. I verbally abused her, called her every filthy, obscene insult I could call to mind; pushed her legs back until I was sure they couldn't take any further contortionist flexing ... and then pushed some more. My body hammered relentlessly against Mrs Jizm's pubic bone, the slap-slap reverberating in her suburban living room.

And all the while Mrs Jizm exhorted me to greater exertion. To go deeper, to fuck harder, faster ... more ...

The semen pumped from me as I groaned and jerked and pushed my spitting cock as deep into Mrs Jizm's body as I could manage. "Take it," I snarled as the woman's eyes stared up at me from inside the mask. "You want Jizm, Mrs Jizm?" I added through gritted teeth. "Here, take ... my ... load ..."

Mrs Jizm's mouth, a cerise aperture in contrast to the black mask she wore, opened wide. She offered me her tongue. "Kiss me," she wailed. "Kiss me while I ... Oh fuck ... Kiss me while I come." I felt a jab against my penis. Looking down between our bodies I saw Mrs Jizm's fingers busy against her clitoris. "I'm going to do it," she moaned. "Push your cock in deep, squash that spunk into me ... Kiss me ... Kiss me ... I'm—"

The apocalyptic climax ripped through the woman. She writhed and spat and scratched at me; her fingernails rent my skin, and I was forced to push away from the twitching, groaning thing on the sofa, or risk being slashed by those sweeping talons.

Panting, breathless, but wild-eyed and searching, Mrs Jizm saw Peter, with his cock in his fist and a slack-jawed stare stapled to his face.

"Bloody hell ..." Peter murmured.

"You!" Mrs Jizm screeched, her finger pointing at Peter. "You fuck me now. Stab me with that thing. From behind ..."

I wondered if, in spite of the delirium brought on by desire, Mrs Jizm had retained a modicum of taste and only wanted Peter to fuck her where she didn't have to see his morbid countenance. 

Peter looked quickly across to me -- perhaps he imagined I'd object? Seeing no indication that I'd become violent -- who was I to refuse Mrs Jizm? I had no formal claim to monogamy with her alter-ego, Robyn, even less so with this latex clad wildcat, and so Peter hurried, with an expression of delight on his face, to kneel behind Mrs Jizm and her proffered derriere.

The latex boots rubbed and squeaked when Mrs Jizm positioned herself on the settee. Her rump swayed from side to side with all the seductive allure of a snake charmer's lute. Peter's long face lengthened further, his jowls drooping as his mouth hung open and he stared, enraptured, at the sight before him.

In spite of my latent jealousy I could only watch in morbid fascination as, after he'd lifted the weight of his length in his fist, Peter aimed his cock-head at Mrs Jizm's oozing sex. The woman gasped and looked over her shoulder when, from behind, the mushroom head of Peter's rubbery erection split the crinkly piss-flaps and nudged against her opening. Mrs Jizm gasped again, wincing and then sighing as peter's cock met an ever-so-slight resistance, before he finally slid half of his considerable length inside.

"Fuck," Peter grunted, his hands clamped tight against Mrs Jizm's hip bones.

"Indeed," Mrs Jizm purred. "Fuck me. Go on, Peter, push Simon's spunk around inside me." The woman turned her fevered gaze to me. "Kiss me," she whined. "While he stirs your porridge ... Kiss me."

The obscenity of Mrs Jizm's suggestion turned me on like nothing I could remember. The power of that remark, the suggested intimacy -- Yes, Peter was fucking her but he wasn't kissing her. She would never kiss him. 

And so, while Mrs Jizm's cunt squelched and farted around Peter's girth, and while he groaned and spluttered a lewd description of how it felt to have her body clenching around him, I kissed the woman. Her tongue danced with mine as she held my face in her hands and panted into my mouth. I pulled away from her and stared into her eyes.

"Who are you?" I asked; a rhetorical question delivered more to me then to her. I was questioning whether or not I truly knew Robyn, searching for how she'd changed so dramatically. I recalled our first meeting, the reticence she'd shown, her objection when I'd launched myself at her, unable to hold back, desperate to suck her nipples. She'd protested that she didn't offer that kind of service, claimed that she was a model; no sexual contact. Where had that woman gone? Who was this here now? Wasn't this still Robyn, albeit dressed in a black latex corset, boots and mask? Who was this slut who'd fucked two men, one after the other, and who wanted, no, who craved, their spunk?




Mrs Jizm Ch. 04



"Mrs Jizm," the woman groaned, the cannonball of her head in that black mask lolling forward as her arms collapsed. "I'm Mrs Jizm and I'm going to come ..." she sighed.

When Mrs Jizm's climax tapered and cooled, I watched, with green-eyed envy, as Peter slowly eased the glistening length of his cock from Mrs Jizm's body. The thing was smeared with opaque goo, whether my spunk, Mrs Jizm's lust, or a combination of both, I had no idea. I heard a sucking slide as the woman's body reluctantly relinquished its grip on Peter's girth.

"What am I meant to do," Peter complained. "You can't have finished yet. You can't leave me high and dry like this."

"Come inside me," Mrs Jizm replied. Reaching back she pushed Peter's chest. "Sit down," she commanded. "I'm going to ride you and suck Simon's cock." Peter rolled away and sat on the furthest cushion from where Mrs Jizm knelt. The woman stood, tottering on those precarious heels. Reacting quickly I caught Mrs Jizm by grabbing her corseted waist. My hands slid along her torso until her breasts, heavy silicone tits, rested over my thumbs. "Kiss me again," Mrs Jizm whispered to me. "Squeeze my tits and kiss me." As we kissed I cast a look out of the corner of my eye at Peter. He was sitting there, staring at us, his mournful undertaker's face slack with envy while he stroked the unfeasible length of his cock. He smiled an ivory-toothed grin when Mrs Jizm broke away from me. "God that thing fills me," Mrs Jizm sighed as, after straddling Peter's thighs, facing away from him again I noticed, she held his cock upright and lowered herself onto it. Mrs Jizm leaned back, arms outstretched, palms down against the back of the sofa, supporting herself with Peter's hands clamped firmly around her waist.

I watched them fuck; saw the slippery ease with which Mrs Jizm took that girth and length into her body. A creamy residue slid from her, coating Peter's gristle with a translucent, viscous gloop. The buttery goo clung tenaciously to the hanging curtains of Mrs Jizm's labia until she reached down to finger her sex. The stuff glistened against the couple's conjoined genitalia, while more of the stuff -- my semen too -- squelched and dribbled between them in rasping farts.

Mrs Jizm didn't suck my cock as she'd intended, and I was too preoccupied by the awful scene in front of me to notice. Mrs Jizm, eyes closed, mouth an O, with her head lolling drunkenly, her fingers mushing at her vulva as she strove for her clitoral climax, moaned and groaned and sighed. Peter was making his presence known as well, loudly proclaiming Mrs Jizm's sexual virtues as his hands alternated between holding the woman upright on his cock, mauling her wildly swinging tits and massaging the taut globes of her buttocks.

"Fuck, Robyn ..." Peter grunted, forgetting she was no longer known by that moniker; not in the guise as Mrs Jizm. "I fink I'm gunna ..."

"Do it," Mrs Jizm snarled. "Squirt the hot stuff. Mix it in with Simon's spunk. Fill me with it, Peter. Go on, make that big cock spit."

The sight of the woman's cunt stretched purple around Peter's girth, the obscene wet sounds of their fucking and Mrs Jizm's lewd, depraved exhortations had my still dripping cock lifting in interest again. No matter what my personal feelings were, the jealousies and anxieties about Robyn and our (non)-relationship, I was most definitely aroused by what was going on in that room.

Loud, meaty thwacks signalled the crescendo of this particular event. Mrs Jizm rose to the tip of Peter's cock, paused for a long moment, and then sank back down onto it, her flesh slapping against Peter's body. She repeated this process three times, punctuating each smack of their skin with filthy instructions to the man beneath her.

Finally, she fell back, slumped across Peter's torso, his cock still buried inside her. I heard Peter give a grunt and then, as he held Mrs Jizm in a tight embrace, one arm around her waist while his free hand squeezed the woman's tits, he bit her shoulder and let himself come.

I watched as, with a quarter of his length inside Mrs Jizm, Peter's cock pulsed, a physical thickening of the thing right down at its root. The convulsion in that living cylinder of meat, veins and gristle was accompanied by a rough shout of delight from the man. I realised then that what I'd seen was some internal muscle forcing Peter's semen through a tiny wormhole, and where the stuff would then spurt from him to flood the woman's insides.

Peter's grunt and Mrs Jizm's cry of: "I can feel it! Oh fuck ... I can feel the hot stuff ..." confirmed the theory.

Then his cock pulsed again. Peter's body shuddered, his head jerked on his pencil neck, and his dick slid into Mrs Jizm's body two or three inches before pulling back out.

The thing pulsed a third time. And then a fourth ...

The grunting and swearing and panting seemed endless to me. Would they ever stop? Eventually, of course, their ardour cooled. Both had climaxed, and if Mrs Jizm were to be believed, she'd come from both her fingers on her clitoris and the sensations of Peter's throbbing penis spitting its load into her.

Mrs Jizm, her eyes shining with excitement, lifted herself from Peter's pole-axed form. As she did so, a great glob of mixed fluids dripped out of her. The gloop landed on Peter's thighs and clung there, shining and glistening.

"More," the woman said. Her hand moved between her legs. I saw her thighs shining with the stuff that leaked out of her. "I want to fuck again. I need to fuck ... I need more spunk ..." Her voice, desperate and high pitched, cracked with her need.

I looked at Peter, still sprawled on the sofa. "Not yet, m'lady," he said and held up his flagging length. Even flaccid the thing was as thick as a baby's arm.

"Please, Simon," the woman whined. "Fuck me ... If you can come again ... This time ... do it in my mouth ... Please."

I walked towards where she lay slumped on her back, thighs wide and cunt agape on the sofa.

"Mrs Jizm," I whispered as I pushed my erection into that mess. We kissed and I began to move inside her, thoughts of Peter's spunk in there were forced from my mind as I fell into the warm embrace of that slut.

What happened next, the plan that Robyn and Peter had cooked up between them, well, that was when Mrs Jizm became complete. What she did in the back room of that pub, with whom she did it ... and how many of them were there?

It was quite a plan they'd cooked up between them. The meal would have a bitter taste for me, that dish they served up; but of course I was still obsessed by Robyn Chisholm, and morbidly fascinated by Mrs Jizm.

It wasn't all bad news for me; I did enjoy some perks.

And I met Katarina as well.