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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.
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?” bahis firmaları 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 kaçak iddaa 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.”
“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. kaçak bahis 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.
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