Mrs Jizm Ch. 02

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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 ataşehir escort 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 kadıköy escort bayan 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. escort maltepe “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.

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