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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 - 2
by Joanne Rabbit (jaonnerabbit@yahoo.co.uk)
***
In part two, Joanne's boyfriend's boss takes advantage
of her again. (MF, exh, oral, reluc)
***
PART 2
I heard no more from Mr. McKenzie and life carried on as
normal. Slowly the memory of the evening faded until I
could almost pretend that I had imagined the whole
business and David certainly seemed to have noticed
nothing amiss.
He would still come home in the evenings after work and
chatter on about his day and what Mr. McKenzie had done
or said; I just hummed and hahed and tried to move the
conversation on to something that didn't make me feel
quite so uncomfortable.
It was about 6 months later that, for some entirely
innocent reason, David asked me to pick him up from work
one evening. I didn't think much of it and drove in to
the small engineering works at around 5.30 on a
Thursday. I parked outside the office and decided to
wait in the car for David to come out, not really
wanting to risk bumping in to Mr. McKenzie.
I texted him to let him know that I had arrived but got
no reply. After waiting 10 minutes, with still no word
from David I rang - but his phone went straight to
voicemail. There was nothing else for it. I would have
to go in.
I got out of the car and walked up the iron stairs and
in the front door of the industrial unit. Tracey, the
firm's receptionist was at the desk and seemed to be
just getting ready to leave. I said hello and she told
me to go through to the lobby where there was a waiting
area and she would page David. I walked through,
slightly hesitantly, but there was no-one there.
I breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to the long
glass window overlooking the factory floor. It was
quiet, with most of the staff already knocked off and
just a couple of men in overalls wandering about. At the
far end I could see David and a couple of work
colleagues looking at a piece of machinery and talking
animatedly. I smiled, enjoying seeing him in his
element.
The front door banged open behind me and I heard Mr.
McKenzie's loud, confident voice. "Hi Tracey, off you
go, it's late" he said as he strode into the office.
"G'night Mr. McKenzie, I'm just off now," she replied
and then called up to me, "Have a good evening, Joanne."
I cursed inwardly, knowing that he would have picked up
on my presence. "Night, Tracey, you too," I called and
then quickly returned to looking out over the factory
floor, hoping that somehow, he would be too busy, or
would not have listened.
I sensed his approach rather than heard it. I could feel
his presence getting stronger as he came nearer and then
I could smell him. Tobacco and a slightly sour yet
masculine odour. I felt his hand on the small of my back
before he said anything. I was wearing a demure, dark
blue jersey dress. The material was thin and I could
feel not just the pressure of his hand but also the
warmth. "Hello Joanne," he said. "come to pick up young
David?"
"Yes, that's right," I replied. "We're going out to the
pictures tonight."
"He won't be long, he's just finishing off down there,"
he answered. He stood slightly behind me and to my
right, his right hand still resting on the small of my
back. I didn't want to look at him - still hadn't seen
him - couldn't bring myself to look him in the face. I
could feel the colour rushing up my neck and face as I
blushed.
I don't know. Maybe it was my fault. Perhaps I should
have moved. Perhaps he read my failure to remove his
hand as acquiescence. But I don't think so. I think he
knew that I would do nothing and he enjoyed feeling my
helplessness. I think it aroused him.
What I do know was that his hand slid down over the
curve of my bum, not pausing to grope or squeeze, and
then further down the length of my left thigh before
dipping under the hem of my dress, just above my knees
and rising, equally smoothly, up the inside of my leg
until it cupped my bum, outside my knickers. It squeezed
then; squeezed and ferreted briefly before he stretched
his big hand wide and grasped both sides of the back of
my knickers and pulled them together, effectively
turning them into a thong.
He pulled the backup tight so that the front pressed
firmly on my vulva and the gathered material was snuggly
nestled between the cheeks of my bottom. His other hand
grasped each cheek in turn, kneading and separating. I
said nothing, did nothing, appalled by his actions but
even more upset by my own lack of reaction.
He stepped up close behind me and pushed his groin into
my rear; I could feel his hardness rutting between my
cheeks. His left hand pushed at my back, forcing me to
bend forwards and his right hand snaked round my body
and cupped my right breast, squeezing the nipple,
rolling it between his finger and thumb, pulling it away
from my body, stretching my boob. and then his left hand
was at my face, stroking my cheek and his fingers
searched for my mouth, forcing my lips apart and
pressing in, exploring my tongue, the inside of my
cheeks, my teeth.
I looked out over the factory floor, watched my
boyfriend below, working chatting, laughing with his
colleagues, while his boss used me and I did nothing to
stop him.
His hands were at my shoulders, pressing me down to my
knees, turning me to face him. His zip was already down
and he reached his hand inside his trousers and, not
without some effort, twisted his cock out of his pants
and through his fly. I remembered it so well. Big, hard
with a soft smooth skin which moved freely up and down.
A foreskin which rolled up to cover his glans and then
back to expose the angry looking head, red, wet, slimy
and hot... so hot.
He rubbed it over my face, pressing the round head into
my eyes, leaving a trail of slipperiness over my eyelids
and then he wiped it slowly, deliberately over my lips,
wet, slippery, obscene. And then he pushed, pushed at my
lips. I tried to resist him but I wasn't fooling him and
I wasn't fooling me. One hand held the back of my head
and the other targeted his cock and he just pushed, firm
and relentless until I yielded and he sank into my
mouth. He was uncomfortably large, testing my ability to
take him.
He held my head, one hand on each side of my face. I
could smell the tobacco on his fingers and the sweat
from his groin. He thrust long and slow, filling me, my
jaw aching already. At the bottom of each slide his cock
head bumped into the back of my mouth, the entrance to
my throat, stopping me breathing. When he withdrew I
struggled for breath, panting hard.
My eyes were watering, God knows what was happening to
my mascara. He pushed deeper, I gagged, streams of mucus
emerging from my depths, coating his cock and dripping
out of my mouth. I remember thinking that I mustn't let
it get on my dress and leaning forward so that the drool
fell to the floor, missing my heaving chest.
Maybe he mistook my leaning forward for eagerness on my
part. But on his next inward slide he reached the
obstruction at the back of my mouth and, rather than
pulling back, he waited a second and then, one hand on
the base of his cock, he rolled it around, moving the
head in small circles as if looking for something. And
then he found it. A small area of vulnerability, a
slight depression, a patch of yielding gullet.
He lifted the head to get a better, more direct angle
and then pushed. I gagged and my throat opened,
protesting as he sank in deeper. A couple of inches slid
past my stretched lips as my eyes bugged out and my
stomach heaved, uselessly.
He pulled back, not far but enough. I gasped wildly and
then he was back, his hand cradling the back of my head,
my nose buried in the open fly of his trousers, the zip
scratching my lip.
He established a rhythm; not for long but enough to have
me in oxygen debt and then he pulled out, turned me
round to face the window and the factory floor again and
pulled up my dress over my bum. He drew my knickers down
as I stood bent over, trying hard to catch my breath, my
eyes running so that I couldn't see. His foot kicked my
feet apart and then he was in me. I was sooooo wet he
slid in with no resistance at all.
"Cunt!" he said as he thrust. "Say hello to David, he's
waving at you."
I tried to smile and not move as he pummelled into me,
so that David wouldn't see the tell-tale swaying as he
looked up. Mr. McKenzie ground into me as he came, his
head close to mine looking over my shoulder at my
boyfriend below. I could feel his dick twitching as it
shot its thick load into my dripping pussy.
He pulled out and his semen started to ooze out of me.
He bent and pulled my knickers up tight before putting
his slimy cock away and then pulling my dress down over
my bum. I was still gasping with tears running down my
face. "Ah, David," he said, turning to greet my
boyfriend as he bounded up the stairs, a happy smile on
his face. "Joanne just had something go down the wrong
way - could you get her a drink of water?"
"Sure. Are you ok sweetie?" he asked, turning away and
heading for the kitchenette.
"Clean yourself up, girl," whispered Mr. McKenzie,
handing me a big, dirty handkerchief to wipe my face
with.
An hour later, I was sitting in the cinema next to
David, holding his hand as we watched Keira Knightley
cavorting on screen. My pussy bubbled and burped as
rivulets of liquefying cum oozed out to pool in my
knickers. I could feel my labia sliding against each
other whenever I moved. I could smell the thick cloying
odour of semen and didn't understand how David hadn't
noticed.
I was worried about how I would get home without him
seeing what must be a huge wet patch on the back of my
dress. He put his hand on my knee and leaned over to
kiss my cheek. "Can't wait to get you home," he
whispered.
To be continued?
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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