Jillian's Island



If you ever watched NFL football on Fox a few years ago, or ever lived in the LA basin and watched a certain local station's weather babe, you know Jillian Barbarie. Thinking back to the 1950's and 1960's: In those days of yore, women would fight like demons to keep their 'good name', to insist that they were really 'good girls' in spite of hearsay to the contrary (or, say, video tapes.)

Now comes Jillian Barberie. Sexy Jillian. As I watched her on the local weather cast, the station made no bones about the fact that she was totally unqualified to do the weather, or even to do the news anchor (just kidding). She typically would wear a tight fitting wrap around blouse with push-up bra, a bare midriff with her darling little navel showing (remember, this is the weather, during family news hour), a skirt so tight that she could only move with difficulty, the best legs on local TV, and shoes so vampy that strippers would be embarrassed to wear them on the job. It didn't help (which is to say, it DID help) that her body was marked with sexy tattoos in discrete places. It made more than a few viewers wonder where some of the OTHER tattoos might be...Hmmm

As I said, for years women fought for their reputations. Well, this station wanted viewers, so Jillian would wiggle, jiggle, jump, and do two more things that made me watch. First, she held the digital screen pointer, but in a certain way. Oddly enough, by sheer chance, she held it at her exact center below her flat tummy, the pointer, and her second finger, pointing at her sacred place. I don't mean once, or twice, or for a few seconds, but for virtually the whole weathercast, men had to watch her point to her 'personal area'. It was absolutely maddening. I pity the man whose business (outdoor café? farmer?) really relied on the weather; he'd tune in and get caught up in those bouncing boobs, her long legs, her trim tattooed ankles, and her perfect feet in those sexy shoes. Mama mia!

I was going to one of the myriad University of California branch campuses in the LA area. I worked on the student newspaper, and the editor (male of course) thought it would be great for circulation if someone could interview a local on-air personality as colorful as, say, Jillian Barberie. I closed my eyes, hoping, and couldn't believe it when he pegged yours truly to do the story! He said, with tongue planted in cheek, that he wanted me to "really nail the story".

I said,"I really intend to!"

With a call from our office to her public relations hack, a meeting was set up for us at her home. When I got there, I was immediately impressed by the sprawling home in a tony neighborhood of suburban LA. After I rang the bell, all you could hear was dogs barking. She opened the door and gave me her famous vampy smile. It communicated so much, like: 'If you're man enough, try and fuck me; you just might get lucky...punk.'

I shook her hand as she held one dog and the leash of another. She asked me if I minded dogs or cats, because she had eleven (mostly adopted strays). I said no, I loved dogs in my youth and had two cats of my own.

We went to her Italian leather couch (smart, leather doesn't hold pet hair) and sat down. I told myself over and over, "do not stare, do not stare, treat her respectfully like a nun." After I sat, she sat down, right next to me. She was wearing a terry cloth robe and slippers, as if she just came from the shower.

Sure enough, she said, "you have to forgive me; I just came from the shower and I'm still sopping wet. I'm sure I'll dry out as we talk." I took my first and biggest gamble.

I said, "Well, actually, I was hoping that that would happen in reverse order!" That 'clever' remark just laid out there for seconds...no reaction.

Then, she laughed her well known laugh, grabbed me on the knee firmly, and said that we would see.

I told her what really turned on her male viewers: "besides your fantastic figure, your vampy moves, and your sheer sex appeal, you flaunt everything tawdry about you. I mean, most women trying to make it on TV as legitimate news personalities wouldn't talk about their past as strippers, but you did...God, I thought I was going to reach thru the TV to grab that rock hard butt of yours!"

She laughed riotously, saying that that was the reaction that she, and the producers(!), wanted. She looked into my eyes, said I was "sweet", and kissed me. I was stunned, looked back at her, and returned the honors with gusto. She had a sense of humor and asked if this was going to be an 'in depth' interview.

As I struggled with her robe, I said, "It will be if I have my way!" Then a surprise. As I gently, but firmly, tried to literally disrobe her, she put her hands on mine. She had been an athlete in school, as well as a skater, and she was incredibly fit. Her powerful hands gripped mine, removing them from her robe with ease. I thought I was shown up as a wimp and would be shown the door.

Jillian said I had two choices at this point. I could head for the door, with no bad feelings and regrets. OR, if I preferred, I could totally disrobe myself and let her see if I was worthy of doing an 'in depth' interview with her. I chose the latter.

Quite self consciously, I got up and stripped, something I'd never done before a critical female audience. My personal fire hydrant was shy, this morning, and her manhandling of me didn't help. Also, when Jillian looked at it and said, "isn't that cute, a third thumb and two peas. Well, it's better than Barbie's Ken doll has, but not much. You can put your clothes back on; I think you can just beat the traffic on the 405."

I was humiliated and furious. I mean, I wasn't some nerd who sat at a keyboard all day, playing some God-forsaken on-line game. Jeez, I mean I worked out, and not just anywhere. In LA, there's a workout club where only the finest babes go. I'm talking about the hardbodied babes who spent more time by the mirror than the nautilus stations. These women had what Marines called 'the 1,000 yard stare', their severe looks (at men in particular) enough to make you look away, when you really wanted to scope out their incredible bodies. So I went there, and while the hottest babes in LA would ignore me big time, I just worked my tail off. Eventually, I looked pretty hot too, even if I wasn't within light years of the super hot mamas of the club.

So, here it was, down to brass tacks. I had to make like Popeye and summon whatever manhood was left in my humbled bones. I flexed my arms, and somehow summoned twenty inches of biceps. Gillian sat up, now not quite so anxious to kick my butt to the curb. That was so re-assuring that my little guy down there decided to come out and play. With a lurch, it jerked out of his hiding hole. Then, another jump, then another, and my cock slowly rose till it snapped rigid against my washboard abs, some nine inches of California's finest.

Ms. Barberie stood up on her beautiful bare feet, her slippers cast aside, and grabbed my pride and joy. She cooed that she had felt bigger, and better, but that she just HAD to find out where I ranked. It was just the football fan in her.

I said, "Well, here's another football fan that would like to be in her."

She said, "I don't think your act is quite ready for The Tonight Show, yet, but let's have a go at it, shall we?"

She grabbed me by the cock and led me to her lavish, and I mean LAVISH, bedroom. The master bedroom was about the same size as my house in a lesser part of LA's vast suburbia. I was still in my birthday suit after the demonstration she wanted; she for her part was still in that damn terry robe, barefoot and beautiful.

She motioned for me to come to the edge of the bed in front of where she stood. I did and turned towards her. To my surprise, her hands went to either side of me and she pushed me with incredible force toward the center of her bed. I told Mr. Johnson that that was NOT humiliating; that she just was in fantastic shape and a side benefit of that was her wonderful strength. Mr. Johnson held firm, straining to reach the ten inch plateau that he always struggled to achieve, but never quite.

Jillian finally dropped that robe, and Mr. Johnson reacted like a thermonuclear device was just set off. I couldn't be sure (of course) but I could swear that I did reach that final ten inch goal; I mean you had to see it. Jillian was so fucking hot! Her breasts were full, plump, and perfect. Not gigantic, they were perfect for her size and shape. Her nipples were angry, I mean raging. My lips quivered, dying to be puckered around those things, hoping (in vain) to somehow extract warm mother's milk from those enticing thumb-sized bumps. Her stomach was rippled with hard abdominals, her abs a tribute to long workouts (no doubt.) Her private place had small tattoos everywhere. To turn on her white husband, she had put some of LA's toughest gang symbols around her sacred opening, including the black letter 'A', and some poker card symbols. Also 'BBC' which did not refer back to that broadcast company with offices on the Thames. Hot, everything about her generated reactor core heat.

With me still flat on my back, she scurried to one side, slid her smooth shapely leg across me to place her perfect foot on the other side, and was above me on all fours, looking down at her 'quarry'. She said, "Do you like it rough, punk?" in the worst impression of Clint Eastwood I had ever heard. It sounded much more like Clint Howard, the bald, short, brother of Ronnie Howard.

I gulped, looked up into those fiery eyes, and said, "I think so." For the first time in my life, I really wanted to tell a woman to be gentle. But in the history of mankind, has anyone ever gotten those words out?

Well, let me tell you, all hell broke loose at that time. She started pistoning up and down with monumental force and power. My cock struggled mightily to keep its head up proud, but her cunt was moving with such speed that I was losing any sense of her warmth and tightness. She finally took a breather, sagged, and asked did she make it clear who was in charge?

I said jokingly, "No, but maybe you can show me something." That wasn't the most brilliant thing I could say, and she used her three, four, maybe five industrial strength pussy muscles to grip, then almost crush, my Mr. Johnson. I literally had to grab her by both ears, pull her to me, and lay the biggest kiss of her life on her. That did the trick, as she loosened her cavewoman grip on me, and without my having to humiliate myself by begging her to ease up on me (the sissy?)

Now that she was back to a normal pace of up and down action, I felt I had to assert myself, so I flipped her and was on top. She was stunned and said, "I'm not sure I like this."

I said, "Too bad, bitch. You've been tossing me around like a little fucktoy; it's about time that the home team has their turn at bat. And besides...." I was shocked into total silence. There, watching us was her husband, sitting calmly on a folding chair, and four of her pets (three dogs and a Siamese cat). I said, in a whisper, "I can understand THEM watching, whether to learn mating tricks or just to be fed next. But what is HE doing there?"

Jillian said in a NON-whisper, "Oh don't worry about him; he's my loving husband. We were about equal in the bedroom until we noticed we were doing it bareback and the house was not filling up with babies. After that fateful day at the clinic, we decided to have an open marriage. Now so far, it has been mostly me that's been open, but he's not under court orders not to fool around. "

That struck me like a kick to the 'nads. That must be eating at him, seeing me drill his gorgeous wife. At this point, dear reader, you are probably expecting me to salute that nice gentleman, cough demurely, and apologize on my way out. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I literally 'soldiered on', and did it without a helmet on my soldier. As I thought back to those tattoos, I thought, "Holy Hannah, maybe those tattoos were NOT to amuse her husband...wow!" I bent down to her beautiful face, skirting it to whisper in her ear while still humping her brains out. "Jillian, about those tests and your open marriage, does that mean it's open bar on your, umm, fertile womb and all?"

She said between her deep breaths as she gave back as good as I was pounding into her, "If you're asking if you're welcome to go all the way, bareback, the answer is yes. If you're asking if this is my fertile time of month, the answer is also yes."

Lord in Heaven, I had gone from being just another pathetic slob cumming into a towel while watching Ms. Barberie to the luckiest man in LA, getting to cum deep inside her while pile driving Ms. Barberie. Plus, the added bonus of weirdness, with her wimp dicked sissy husband watching approvingly. Oh, and her pets too.

With a final withdrawal of my now (officially) ten inch cock to the outskirts of her slavering labia, then down with jack hammer force, I bottomed out in this TV goddess, making her (and her watching husband) flinch. With my eager cockhead against her vaginal back walls, the nozzle forced to the side, pointing at her uterus, the tiny slit on my cockhead swelled monstrously to the circumference of a thumb. My balls, who were saving for this day for three weeks now, started to shudder and shake, swelling and contracting like some old blacksmith's bellows. Her husband could watch in goggle eyed fascination (if he was; I didn't care at the moment). Splash after splash of my white hot love was filling Ms. Barberie's receptive, totally unprotected, and very fertile womb. As I thought about all those times she turned me on, those breasts, those legs, the sexy tattoos on her ankles, the vamping, I just grabbed a bit of her tail, held on for dear life, and kept pumping, pumping, pumping, releasing my energetic sperm into her healthy and oh so fertile body. This was absolutely primal. The fact that her husband, an inferior male to me, and her pets, representing nature and the animal drive to reproduce, were watching, turned up my manhood to a new plateau. My body must have been storing unused seed all these years in some organ that doctors don't know about. It must have because I was pumping seed into her with enormous force but also with a steady flow for minutes. After four solid minutes of coming, I fell over totally spent. She rose up and looked at the waterfall that had created a white frothy river of potent manhood that dripped its way to the edge of the bed and then over down to the carpet. She looked up, smiling and dazzled by the sheer force of our union. Huffing and puffing, she noticed that her wimp husband had actually gripped his little thingy while his physically superior alpha counterpart (me) had had the ultimate honor of breeding his supersexy wife.

He spoke for the first time, saying, "Honey, that was the hottest thing I have ever seen, and that includes the time you invited both of those, umm, rough looking, guys into our bedroom. God, you chose well. I'd be proud to squire his baby around with you, if you'd let me."

Jillian said,"Well, I'm not very proud that you were jerking off while my guest was trying his best to put his baby in me, but we'll talk about that later. Like I said that other night, as long as you keep your place and recognize the superior manhood of my guests, I will stay married to you. Since you like watching and being a voyeur so much, let me tell you. His cock hit places that even those two bangers couldn't reach. Plus, he knew his way around there, downhole, and did himself a favor in the race to procreate. If my woman's intuition is right, you're soon going to be a proud pseudo-father. God, I can't wait to give birth to HIS babies, to have my belly swell with HIS child, to breastfeed HIS baby, to have HIM come over and give some loving to his NEW mommy. Would you like that (she turned to me)? To come over in a few months, seeing sexy Jillian with a swollen belly, filled with our love child? Feeling him kick, your baby inside me? Watching secretly on the monitor (as my relative) as I gave birth. Watching your baby put into warm towels as it was handed to me, when I put it to breast. And once the nurses left, you could come in. Nobody would be there of note, only my cock-challenged wimpy husband. You could get a soft handshake from him, then turn your attention to your sexy lover and her love child. You would kiss the baby on the head and gently, lovingly, hand it to numbnuts. Then you'd take off your shirt, so I had something to play with, while you went straight to my breast, suckling the warm sweet mother's milk...kind of like the richest French vanilla melted in the summer. You'd drink your fill of first one, then the other breast. You'd then ask what you could do, and I'd have to tell you nothing, that I was a bit too ripped up to have fun that day. We'd kiss warmly, and you'd pat my tummy, vowing to place another miracle in there as soon as possible. Then I'd tell you the doctor said six weeks, so we will meet in six weeks. I'll be ready this time; New York style pizza, two two liter bottles of Coke, and the cheer team of my soft dicked hubbie and the adoring pets."

Taking up this VISION of the future from her, I imagined myself kissing her warmly. I kissed her magical tummy, and gently took the baby back, kissing him while presenting him back to Jillian. As I left, in the silence of the private hospital room, all you could hear was the beautiful sound of a newborn babe, suckling from its mother. Great, now I had to navigate five long hauls and two elevator rides with a roaring hard-on. This marked the end of the VISION as I snapped back to reality.

Sure enough, one month after our 'in depth' interview, Jillian called me, excited about the news from her ob gyn. Yes, she was pregnant, and by me she was certain. I thanked her for calling, hung up, and sprang halfway to the ceiling: YES!

In between baby-making liaisons with Jillian, I was back to being just a normal horny guy in the Valley, watching Ms. Barberie. Anyway, four months into her pregnancy, she couldn't just say that she had her husband do it. She could have said that her cuckolded husband WATCHED as some other man did it. No, that wasn't hot enough for Ms. Barberie. So, she started to tell about that night when she, the Crips AND the Bloods snuck into the abandoned Coliseum and proceeded to gang breed her. I knew it wasn't true, but damn, she told it so well that I believed it too.

I was lucky enough to see Jillian four more times, making her 'semi-hubby' a proud pseudo-dad some four more times, with a total of six (one birth was with twins). Talk about fantastic; I got to breed with the hottest babe In the LA basin and I didn't have to change a diaper or pay support. Come to think of it, there were a lot of dads like that, unfortunately. But at least I didn't have to hide out or leave town, and I got to be warmly welcomed at my new adopted home.

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