Mr Mckenzie Ch 02

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 left, 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 back up 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, sucking in air 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.