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.