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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2015. Please
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Mr. McKenzie
by Joanne Rabbit (jaonnerabbit@yahoo.co.uk)
***
A young couple host his boss for dinner. (MF, reluc)
***
I must have been 19. I still lived with my parents, but
I had a boyfriend called David, who was 24 and had his
own flat. David was a lovely boy, sweet and gentle and
he loved me to bits. We were very happy together and,
although we hadn’t said anything openly, we both
expected we would spend the rest of our lives together.
He worked in a small engineering company, McKenzies,
which his boss, Mr. McKenzie, owned.
David was a graduate and it was his first job since
leaving university; he felt quite insecure and was very
keen to impress. I hadn’t met Mr. McKenzie, but by all
accounts he was fearsome and grumpy. I had seen him; he
was tall, and was probably good looking in his youth –
but that was well behind him now. He was probably in his
mid 50s, with a bit of a paunch. But he was undoubtedly
an alpha male, confident, brash and assertive.
So it was a big surprise when David rang me one evening
to say that during the day, Mr. McKenzie had, in effect,
invited himself and his wife for dinner on Thursday
evening at David’s flat. David was in a bit of a panic,
because he could barely boil an egg.
He was delighted by the opportunity to spend time out of
work with his boss, whom he idolised, but terrified at
the prospect of failing to impress. I told him not to
worry and agreed that I would come over that evening and
cook dinner for them and act as hostess. I was thrilled
at this chance to act like a proper couple at a dinner
party.
The day came and I went over in the afternoon with some
shopping. I let myself into the flat and started
preparing the food. I had chosen a simple menu – some
pate, followed by a casserole and then a fruit salad.
That way I could do most of the preparation in advance
and not risk things going wrong at the last minute.
I got the food ready and the casserole in the oven and
then nipped into the bedroom to get changed. I had
chosen a little black dress. It was short (but not too
short), showing off my legs and had a sweetheart
neckline which showed a little cleavage, but not enough
to look trampy.
David arrived back excited and nervous, and asked
anxiously if everything was going alright. “Everything’s
fine, the food’s ready, the table’s laid. I just need
you to open some wine and get changed” I reassured him.
He gave me a quick kiss; “You’re a star,” he said as he
headed for the bedroom. I busied myself folding napkins
and then the phone rang. David picked up and had a short
conversation. He came out and said, “That was Mr.
McKenzie. He said that his wife isn’t well and can’t
come, so he’s coming on his own.”
I was secretly a little relieved. I had been a little
worried that his wife might be a bit of a harridan and
would have spent the evening passing judgement on the
flat (too small), the furniture (too shabby), the
carpets (need replacing) and, of course, the food (what
a ridiculous choice of menu).
We were both feeling a little more confident and in
control by the time the doorbell rang. Mr. McKenzie came
in, with a bunch of flowers for me and a lovely bottle
of red wine for David. We sat and he and David chatted
about work for 15 minutes and then I called them to the
table and served the food. I sat next to Mr. McKenzie
and he sat opposite David; but I might just as well not
have been there. The pair of them talked about work and
ignored me. I didn’t mind.
My mind wandered and I served the three courses one
after the other. The pudding finished, we sat back and I
made coffee. Mr. Mckenzie reached into his jacket
pocket, “you don’t mind if I smoke” he asked. Actually,
he didn’t really ask. He told us. “No, no, not at all”
blustered David. I did mind. Nobody smoked in other
people’s homes anymore; it was just soooo rude.
As it happened, It seemed that Mr. McKenzie had run out
of cigarettes and David, as eager to please as ever,
offered to go out and buy him some from the local shop.
His boss made a token attempt to refuse and asked
directions, but David insisted, saying that the shop was
a little difficult to find if you didn’t know the way
and, in a trice, he was gone.
We sat at the table, Mr. McKenzie and I, with cups of
coffee, in a slightly awkward silence. And after what
seemed like ten minutes, but was probably just two, he
pushed his chair back and stood up, still saying
nothing. He walked round behind me and I turned my head
back, thinking he wanted to go to the loo and would need
directions.
But as I leant back towards him in my chair, he bent
over me slightly from behind and his right hand slid
over my right shoulder, onto the bare skin of my upper
chest, where my collar bones and my ribs met and then,
smoothly, unhesitatingly and steadily, slipped under my
sweetheart neckline and into my bra, cupping my left
boob. His forefinger and thumb caressed my nipple,
rolling it gently between them.
My face turned back to the front and I stared straight
ahead, stunned. My mouth fell slightly open and I
said... nothing. I was paralysed. I had no idea what to
do. I was so unprepared. He had shown me no interest,
had paid me no attention. We hadn’t flirted, he hadn’t
pressed his thigh up against mine during the meal –
although he had plenty of opportunity to, if had had
wanted to.
He cupped and squeezed, rolled and pinched, squeezed and
cupped. His hands were large and warm, the skin of his
fingers had and dry, the hands of a man who was used to
doing manual work. I sat, compliant. He bent further and
I felt his breath in my ear, his bristly cheek nestling
in my hair. He whispered one word. “whore”. And then he
stood up and I felt his cock at the back of my neck, his
fist pumping gently up and down it and banging into the
back of my head, getting caught up in my hair. And then
he moved round to my right hand side, facing me.
He pulled my shoulder half round towards him and then he
pulled my dress and my bra away from my chest and leant
in, his cock was big and ugly. Uncircumcised, with big,
lumpy veins and the end wet and reeking of semen, as he
pumped the end touched my chest, leaving snail trail of
slime glistening in the candle light.
And then he came. Long, thick ropes of semen firing out
and sticking to my boob, like wax from a long burned out
candle. It was lumpy and almost yellow and it started
its journey downwards, slipping slowly down, covering my
pink nipple until you couldn’t really see it. He pulled
my bra back up and patted the cup gently into the mess
on my boob. It stuck. And then the dress was pulled into
place.
He stood straighter and slowly, deliberately, wiped the
wet end of his cock on my cheek and then grasping a lock
of my hair, wiped the end dry. As he tucked himself
away, I heard the sound of David running up the stairs
and then his keys in the lock.
For the next 10 minutes I sat next to him while he leant
back in his chair and smoked, chatting to David while
his semen drip dripped down my front under my dress. I
could feel the little rivulets running down my stomach
and hitting the waistband of my knickers and, worst of
all, I could smell him on my body. I couldn’t understand
how David didn’t notice; but he seemed oblivious. And
then Mr. McKenzie was standing up and heading for the
door, his evening over.
I didn’t stay the night. I made some excuse about having
a headache and drove home. I got undressed and headed
for the shower. But before I got in I stopped and looked
down at my body. There were flakes of dried semen on my
boob and bits of the underside were still wet, with the
sharp nip of ammonia unmistakable.
I turned, leaving the shower unused and headed for bed.
I lay back and my right hand gently massaged the
remaining seed into my boob while my left had dipped and
stroked between my legs, dipping to seek the copious
juices and rising to coat my swollen clit. I came five
times that night before I slept.
Now, 9 years later, I still remember that evening, and
it is still the most erotic experience of my life.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 82