Monday, September 26, 2011

Guest post 17 Nikki McKenzie

Many, many moons ago when Horrorwritingdaddy was just a wee fledging author (30 fucking books ago! Hell yeah!) I took me a writing class to learn the ins and outs of becoming a published author. Long before I said “Fuck this shit, I is gonna do it on my owns” I found myself driving three hours into the wilds of Pennsyltucky, where world famous Author and world class guy (and friend) Brian Keene was conducting a class. From 8pm till 10pm I sat there, raptly taking notes and asking questions. It was a good sized class, but I can honestly say that I became friends with every single person there. Some of these people I kept in touch with better than others, but one friend I walked away with will be a friend for life. Nikki McKenzie is not just a great friend but one hell of an author, and she is one of the people you want to get to know. Her imagery is fantastic, her ideas are second to No One, and she crafts one hell of a story.
She is a published author, with a big contest win coming out soon. She is set to be published alongside the very man who taught our class all those many years ago. There is no doubt that her success will leave me in the shadows where I shall gladly sit, enjoying her success as only a true friend can do.
So please, take the time to read and enjoy her first attempt at erotica. Leave her comments and share your thoughts. Enjoy.

Caught Us in the Kitchen
By Nikki McKenzie

“He wanted a bottle of my pussy juice…I suppose he came to collect.”
His breath hitched at the mention of her juice, coated as he now was in it. Said fluids slid down his cock and over her creamy thighs as he slipped in and out of her, a nectar far sweeter than any spring flower could hope to create. “Is that what he said?”
She moaned--in affirmation and absolute bliss, the refrigerator purring almost as loud as she. “He said he would’ve asked in the sixth grade if he thought I could produce.”
He chuckled into her ear and the pulsation made her insane. The heat of his breath on her neck radiated into her sex and because he missed nothing, because he was so in control of both of their bodies, he sensed it at once and thrust accordingly. A perfect pain invaded her core, broke through into that that deep, quiet place where she would always and only keep him. A sensation for which she would never find an equal, a man she could never explain--and wouldn’t dare to try. He was real. He was hers. The rest of it was background noise.
He drove in again, her heels sliding down his back, perspiration streaming down his spine. They were soaked…both of them…everywhere…each finding it almost impossible to get a grip on the other. Her hands were clasped at the back of his neck, her lips against his forehead. The excitement--and not the stifling heat--made him slick and she loved the way his hair, fine and smooth, stuck to his face. She delighted in its feel against her skin.
It was a long way from the body-heated counter top to the cold, linoleum floor and had he been anyone else, she may have given her safety a second thought. Her ass slid over the ledge as he brought her over him, their sodden spaces coming together, sloshing with each stroke. Precarious. Alas, he held her tight, gripping her tiny hips with hands that would hurt if he adored her any less. Tomorrow there would be marks, but tonight there would be magic.
Assuming they could get the tiresome rabbit in the corner to disappear.
The girl sighed, using her feet to force her fondest further inside, drawing a sharp intake of breath before allowing her aggravation to show. “How the fuck did you get here, anyway?”
She was speaking to Franky, of course--the bane of her existence, the dark cloud that had trailed her since adolescence, since Mr. Branch stuck him next to her in sixth grade in the hopes she could somehow straighten him out. For a creature sailing through life in a near vegetative state, Franky was relentless in his pursuit of her. She couldn’t count how many times she’d entered a store only to be notified by staff a few moments later that someone had followed her in, couldn’t fathom how many times she’d seen Franky in his awkward, gangly gait scuttle out from between some magazine racks or produce stands and scurry out the nearest exit.
She’d asked him again, knowing full well he wouldn’t answer--his mouth was taped shut. All he could do now was sit on his knobby knees and struggle against his bonds.
It was between her softened locks that she’d first spotted Franky, certain he couldn’t see her seeing him, and her first inclination was to let him watch. They’d already been rutting on the counter who knew how long before she’d spotted him, so it seemed pointless to stop. Her keyed up cries muffled beneath the waves of dark hair that swallowed half her face as she nipped at the skin of his throat, more waves of satisfaction surging in the chasm between her legs.
She whimpered in exultation, not at her stalker’s voyeuristic intentions but at her current state of grace. Her lover was so far in that she was certain something inside--like her sanity--had snapped. He used her pelvis to push down as he brought his body up, his groin grinding against her clit, as slick and as heated as his tongue would have been. She whispered.
He gasped but said nothing, did exactly what he knew she wanted. He gripped her hips harder, carving crescent-shaped grooves into her backside as he put less distance between them, applying even more pressure to her already inflamed sex. “Don’t…” she whimpered.
He growled--literally growled--into her hair. His knees hammered the lower cupboards as hard as he hammered her. “I won’t…”
Had she been thinking clearly, she would have understood. He thought she meant don’t stop. She didn’t correct him. All she could think of now was the mounting ecstasy. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, her virtual silence maddening for him. It meant she was close. Any moment now she would hitch and an intense, throaty cry would escape her lips and plunge him into lunacy…
And he would fuck her like she paid for it--make sure she got her money’s worth.
He removed a hand from her hip and slid it up her back, calculating, anticipating the coming attraction--the one she couldn’t ignore if she tried. He seized a fistful of hair at the base of her skull and let the scene play out. Her every muscle tightened--especially the ones around his shaft, granting him the short but sweet illusion of being the one and only man to ever occupy that territory--as she took in a great and gracious gasp of air. He pulled harder, went deeper, until she couldn’t keep the cries, or herself, from coming.
She sighed and cried and whimpered as she climaxed on the counter. He moaned and begged and prayed, her name his incantation, his essence the least of the gifts he could bestow upon this goddess. And as his being burst out into her, a swell so great that it filled her up and forced itself back out, he sank his teeth into her throat. He could never bring himself to draw blood but make no mistake--he would stay until he could feel her pulse seethe beneath her skin, until her pussy couldn’t possibly pull any tighter around his member, until she couldn’t take anymore.
And when it was all over, when the animal fervor subsided and more rational faculties returned, when their bodies stopped shaking and their worlds stopped quaking and the room regained its upright orientation, the dizzying traces of Wonderland as he sent her head first into the rabbit-hole fading…only then did she remember their guest.
“What I meant,” she said as he slipped out of her with an equally accomplished and humbled chuckle, “was don’t look now, but we have company.”
His dark brows furrowed before she mouthed the words the window.
“Anyone we know?”
Amazing. He wasn’t angry or even irked at the thought. He was just…amazing.
She looked into his green eyes with envy--she would covet them as long as she could breathe. She would long to know what they knew of him before he came to her, crave the lifetime they would spend with him if her time on earth was cut short. But most of all, she yearned to know what it was they saw in her. But she digressed…
“Yes, actually, we do.”
“You’re kidding?”
He searched the counter space around them. “Does he know you know he’s there?”
“I don’t think so. I assume he would have bolted, otherwise.”
“Good point. Little rat.” He leaned forward and placed both hands on the surface to her sides and sighed. “I’m going to have to fuck his day up.”
He laughed, kissed her with the warmth of a thousand fires, and she melted--the proof was pooling under her cunt. “Wait.” Kiss. “For.” Kiss. “Me?” Kiss.
Beaming, she said, “For.” Kiss. “Ev.” Kiss. “Er.”
And she remained on the counter until he returned with their captive now hogtied in the corner, hopefully enjoying this his last show. Jerking her thumb in Franky’s direction, she wondered aloud, “What do we do about that?” She then cupped his perfectly chiseled jaw in her hands, her tongue lapping up over his throat. His body trembled, and she praised every god who would hear.
We,” he stammered, “don’t do anything. You sit there and be beautiful.”
She went after him again, tried to nip at him, but he dodged and went for a side drawer. Oh, how he loved to torment her…and how she loved to let him.
“Hey wait!” she cried out. “I just…I think you should know something.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s sort of sick.”
“Sicker than fucking while one of your grade-school chums is shackled to a shelf a few feet away?”
“Yeah.” She never hesitated. “Yeah, I think so. I think it’s important you know what you do to me.”
“Go on.”
“I have to tell you…” Her toes curled anxiously. “If you were to pull a loaded Glock out of that drawer right now and say to me, ‘I feel compelled to fuck you with this,’ I’d feel compelled to let you.”
The playful shame in his eyes and the lopsided grin said, Now that you bring it up… But his words were, “I wouldn’t use a Glock…unless it was a ten-millimeter.”
And then he pulled a piece out of the drawer.
The response from both she and their detainee was immediate and identical--to eye the weapon and stop breathing. She didn’t know anything about the pistol, whether it was a Glock or not, she just knew she loved seeing it in his hand. He didn’t need it to have that air of authority but goddamn did he look delicious. I never understood the draw with the whole ‘bad-boy’ fascination but I sure as sweet fuck get it now.
And again, because he caught every catch in her breath, every shudder in her stance, he swept the piece along her inner thigh, from her knee all the way up to…
She still hadn’t moved by the time he slipped the barrel inside her. She fought the urge to close her legs, the ice-cold muzzle a shock to her already delicate system. Ravaging her the way he had left her raw, vulnerable, hyper-sensitive to his slightest stimulation…whether with the tip of his finger or the tip of his firearm. Didn’t matter in the slightest.
Their faces pressed against one another, he practically sobbed into her ear. His effect on her, the whimpers, the way her lower lip quivered…it was all he could do not to shoot his load all over his kitchen cabinets. He only stopped pushing the pistol inside when he felt resistance on the trigger guard--and the dampness on his cheek.
He withdrew the weapon, trying not to relish in the way her spine straightened at the pullback, something she did instinctively when stirred. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
She closed her eyes, a tear falling from the corner, black mascara bleeding. “No.”
“Well…did I scare you?”
She chuckled. “No.” Then she opened her bright eyes and looked down at herself, his own eyes following close behind.
Drenched, everything, from her labia down to the linoleum, her essence dripping out and down over the countertop. The amber light of the track above them bordered her like a halo, her liquid aura glistening, some divine spillover. He said the first thing that came to him. “Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell…here.”
She said nothing. She didn’t have to. Sometimes silence said more.
He took one last look at the sacred space between her open legs and gestured toward it, gun still in hand. “Well Franky…we may be able to get you that bottle of pussy juice after all.”
Then, click.
It’s all fun and games until the safety’s turned off.

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