Message-ID: <8102eli$9802041401@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/8102.txt>
From: suenewhamp@aol.com (SueNewHamp)
Subject: Sue's 14th: Craftsmanship (mf)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-Id: <19980204020001.VAA16021@ladder02.news.aol.com>


NOTE: This story is, of course, for adults only --  so don't read it if you
don't think you can be mature about it. Reading and writing these stories
should be acts of fantasy, and I hope that you can keep your notions of real
and fantasy life separate in your mind. I know I can. If you would like to let
me know what you think, or if you have a follow-up fantasy (which is something
that I REALLY like), you can reach me at SueNewHamp@aol.com ... but I can't
promise to return your emails... I do have some other things to do in my real
life!
**********************************

CRAFTSMANSHIP
     by Sue

I met him at a local craft fair. He is a glass blower, and his work is
stunningly beautiful. The designs are organic: elegant, flowing, natural shapes
that are both crisp and soft. As soon as I saw his work in his booth, the word
that came to my mind was “sensuous.” Not that any item looked like a specific
part of human anatomy. In fact, everything was abstract. But universal images
of penises and skin and breasts and thighs and backs and lips and fingers all
floated through my mind’s eye as I looked at the body of his work. 

Then I turned around and looked at him, and those same images were reinforced
in my imagination. He was a hunk. Big and strong and intense. He must stand
6’4” or more. But he wasn’t standing; he was sitting on a stool, head tipped
back, arms crossed on his huge chest, staring into space. I hesitated to break
his serenity by speaking to him, but I was genuinely interested in his work. In
fact, with a wedding coming up soon, I needed a present to give to the lucky
couple. One of these glass sculptures would be perfect to help “keep the fires
burning” in their long life together. 

So I asked the craftsman about how the pieces were made. My question sort of
startled him out of his trance, but he looked over to me and stared deeply into
my eyes in a way that seemed to penetrate my very soul. Most men will look into
my face, and then their gaze starts to travel over my body, sneaking peeks at
my hair, my breasts, my legs, ... but this guy (his name was Malcolm) kept his
eyes zeroed in on mine in a way that felt inviting and warm. Warm enough to
melt my heart, and to make my body tingle. Not incidentally, I could feel a
little gush of moisture form within my cunt.

But he certainly wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He answered my questions,
but offered no elaborations. Eventually, we both became aware that it was
frustrating for him to try to put into words what was an inexplicable creative
process, and we spoke about that for a few minutes. As a solution, he suggested
that I could come by his studio some day to watch him work. Perhaps that would
help answer my questions. He had a showroom there, too, so I could pick out
something for my wedding gift at the same time. That sounded fine, and it would
give me time to think about my purchase. At least that what I told him. To
myself, I was being more honest. I found this guy attractive. A visceral hunger
began to gnaw at me, and over the next week, I thought about Malcolm and his
beautiful craftwork frequently. On Friday, I called him and made an appointment
to visit his workshop the next day. 

It is way out in the sticks, perhaps a half-mile down a single lane dirt road
that made me concerned about the suspension on my little Miata. Anyway, I made
it OK, but my knock on the front door elicited no response. But there was an
old beat-up van in the driveway, so I walked around the house through some
absolutely stunning gardens of perennials and wildflowers. It made me feel that
I had worn just the right outfit for this setting: a lightweight cotton peasant
dress with a floral print. A scooped neckline and knee-length hemline.
Underneath, a loose-fitting golden silk chemise with a snap crotch. Nothing
else. It all seemed so free and flowing and natural, just like this afternoon
in nature with a craftsman. All was well with the world at that moment, and I
was so happy that I raised my arms into the air and kind of danced and
pirouetted around the gardens, proceeding in the general direction of the
building behind the house, which was obviously Malcolm’s studio.

I danced all the way to the doorway, discovering that it was open. Inside, I
could see Malcolm working. Undetected, I watched him for a few minutes as he
moved from a furnace over to his work area, where he spun and shaped an orange
glob of soft glass into a elongated shape. When he got up again to go back to
the furnace, he saw me at the doorway. He waved for me to come on over, which I
did. Immediately, I was struck by how warm it was inside, in contrast to the
slight chill in the air. The building housed several furnaces, all going at
once. Some held pots of molten glass of various kinds, and one was the furnace
that he used to heat and reheat the piece that he was working on at the moment.
Around the rest of the shop were shelves of items -- works in progress and
experiments of all sorts. The same sorts of sensuous, organic shapes that I had
seen in his booth at the craft fair. In fact, some of the work was more
blatantly erotic, and I could see why he might not choose to show it in a
public setting. 

Hardly ever saying a word, Malcolm allowed me to watch him complete the item he
had started before my arrival. His movements were smooth and muscular. He and
his work were so alike in that way. When he finished this item, he knocked it
off the puttee (the iron blow pipe) with a decisive rap that seemed to endanger
the result of his hard efforts...., but the glass fell safely into a tray of
sand, where it cooled off. Then he asked me if I’d like to work on one with
him. Of course, what an opportunity to learn -- and to get closer to his
magnetic physique! He gathered up a new glob of molten glass on the puttee, and
then had me sit at his bench while he and I together held and rolled the piece
across the rails on the bench. At first, I was unable to get a bubble of air
blown into the center of the glass, but he got it started, and then I was able
to open it up more. Malcolm showed me how to use the pincer things to change
the outside shape, and together we worked on the piece. He allowed me to choose
the form, but I relied mostly on him to make the thing happen. 

While we were working on it, he kneeled on the hard floor, so close that his
shoulders bumped into my arms. His hands intertwined with mine to guide and
strengthen my motions. His thin sheen of perspiration mingled with mine. I had
to spread my legs to straddle the end of the bench, and to gain leverage for
the manipulation of the glass. I could feel the warm air pressing into my skin
all over. When we got up to reheat the glass in the furnace, Malcolm stood
right behind me and reached around me on both sides to help hold the puttee in
position, and to keep it turning. The heat radiating out of the open door of
the furnace burned into my skin, and yet I could still feel the heat radiating
from his body into my back, and the light touch of the front of his jeans
grazed over my ass cheeks. The brilliant cherry color of the molten glass put a
blush on my skin. Or was it the fiery lust that was building higher and higher
as we worked? 

The glass had started as an amorphous ball, but I kept squeezing it out longer
and longer, When I blew into the puttee, the whole sausage shape got both wider
and more elongated. The surface remained somewhat ridged and bumpy, with thick
walls. Then I pinched in more a few inches behind the head of it, which caused
the end to swell out more. Perhaps he had suspected what I was up to before
that moment, but now there could be no mistaking it. He burst out with a
deep-throated laugh that was so sincere and jovial that I too joined in with my
own giggles. 

Of course, the piece was pretty much done, although Malcolm added more glass to
the base of it, making a wide flange. When we knocked it off the puttee into
the sand, we both spent a few moments staring at the transparent, shiny phallus
that I had just made. He said that he had never actually made one before, but
from what I could see of his work, I knew that everything he made came from his
erotic sensibilities. I was just not talented enough to be so indirect and
abstract.

He put the puttee down and then grasped my shoulders and turned me around, so
that I was facing out through the open doorway, looking out into the incredibly
lush gardens. His fingers traced down the outside of my arms, over my wrists,
past the end of my fingers, onto the front of my thighs, and then touched my
knees. I was quivering with anticipation as he took hold of the hem of my dress
and pulled slowly upwards. I raised my arms toward the lintel of the door, and
he pulled my dress upward and over my hands, tossing it aside. I left my arms
up, and his fingers traced back down along my arms to my neck, and forward onto
my chin. He fluttered and swirled all over my face, pulling my long blond hair
out of the way and over to one side. His hands moved down onto my throat, and
continued onto my breasts, cupping and milking them through the sheer satin. He
tweaked and massaged my nipples, which stood out like pink pencil erasers,
tenting the silk fabric. 

When I brought my own hands down so that they rested on the top of my head, it
made room for Malcolm’s face to come in and nestle alongside of mine, his
stubbly chin resting lightly on my shoulder. His hands were so strong, yet his
fingers were so gentle. Every move was smooth and controlled, just the way that
he worked on his glass. I felt like he was memorizing my curves and
concavities. Under his touch, I felt so voluptuous and pliant. He pushed my
flesh around as if it was molten glass. His hot breath acted like the invasive
fires of the furnace, melting away my resistance (actually, I was totally
receptive to his advances). Sun light poured through the doorway, fanning the
flames more. I stared in mesmerized euphoria into the tapestry of enchanting
flowers.

His hands began to slide further down the front of my chemise, lightly kneading
and probing into my skin along the way. When he got to my cunt, he wasted no
time. Immediately, he reached between my thighs and expertly unsnapped the
crotch of my chemise, and then pulled it up over my head in one quick movement,
throwing it into the pile with my dress. As the filmy material wafted to the
floor, I kicked off my sandals, and then stood absolutely naked with his coarse
textured shirt and pants pressing into my back. The fingers of both hands
zeroed in instantly onto my cunt. He pulled my lips apart and ran the length of
one finger through my soggy slit several times, letting his knuckles and rough
calluses bump over my erect clitoris in rapid succession. Talk about being
“hand-made!”

But he didn’t linger like that for long. He pulled back away from me, and I
could hear him undress behind me. When he was naked, Malcolm gripped me by the
waist and pulled me backwards, so that my feet shuffled backwards a few inches
or so. Then he gently but insistently pushed forwards on my back, right between
my shoulder blades, so that I was forced to lean forward at the waist. My only
choice was to reach out and grab onto the frame of the door on each side of the
opening. I was bent over at the waist, with my back parallel to the floor and
my swollen breasts hanging pendulously, gumdrop nipples pointing at the door
sill. My hamstrings were stretched tight. The small of my back arched downward,
which pushed my ass up high into the air. I spread my legs wide for balance,
and to open myself for whatever he had in mind. He reached in under my ass and
again plucked at my clitoris and massaged my drooping outer lips. When he
pulled his hand back a little, he let it linger in the moisture that was now
oozing from my percolating vagina. I could feel cool droplets of my juices
dripping down the feverish flesh of my inner thighs. He knew that I was open
and wet and ready.

Malcolm pulled his fingers away, and my whole ass followed his hand, unwilling
to let him escape. But immediately, his fingers were replaced by the hard heat
of his cock, slipping between my ass cheeks, insinuating itself between the
thickened flaps of my labia, and then directly into the entrance to my vagina.
The swiftness of this move caught me by surprise, as I had expected him to play
around some more. As I sucked in my breath in a long inhalation, he plunged his
cock into me in a single thrust. My vaginal canal expanded and stretched just
barely enough to accept his wide-bodied pillar of flesh. The knob on the end
was incredibly large, but once that had gone past the tight ring at the
entrance of my cunt, things became at least a little easier. Fortunately, I was
prepared by my gushing torrent of juices, which lubricated his impulsive
penetration. 

As I gasped with the fullness of my cunt, I also noticed how wonderfully
slippery and silky his cock felt inside me. And even more, the heat that
radiated from his cock. It was unbelievable how hot his cock was, not quite
scalding my inner tissues, but burning in an exquisite way. It seemed hotter
than should be possible, but it wasn’t until his cock was fully embedded into
my tautly stretched vagina that I realized that it wasn’t his cock at all. For
I should have felt his groin and his wiry pubic hair pressed into my ass
cheeks; instead, I could feel his fist as it gripped the flared end of the
glass phallus that we had created. It had cooled down just enough to be handled
and touched. And it had been thrust deep into the furnace of my body, where it
was stoking the fires of my unbridled lust. I grunted with the passion that had
been kindled by this glass spike, and that sound communicated to Malcolm that I
understood and accepted his gift.

He slowly withdrew the glass dildo, and then sipped it back into me with little
thrusts that penetrated only a couple of inches. With his other hand, he reach
around me and started rhythmically squeezing one of my breasts, holding the
entire mound of pulpy flesh in his palm. After being so totally filled, I felt
the wanton need to be filled again. But Malcolm was exploring for my G spot,
and he found it right away. The heated knob brushed across it again and again,
and in my state of extreme passion, this stimulation was enough to put me over
the top quite quickly. I shrieked my pleasure out into the garden, and flailed
my hair around my head. He again impaled the glass pole all the way into me,
stuffing my vagina. Oh, my god, what an incredible orgasm was rising within me.
I was awash in the elation of total nirvana, and my cunt tried to clamp down
onto the shiny hot cock as if to shatter the glass. My hips pistoned up and
down rapidly over the unbending implement. Displaced by the incredible
fullness, clear juices were squeezed out from my cunt and they drooled down
onto Malcolm’s hands. He took his thumb away from the flange he was holding and
let it slide across my asshole as I snapped down onto the cock. My climax
seemed to last forever, and eventually, I was too weak to remain in my
bent-over position, and I sagged to the floor, and rolled out onto the lawn
outside the door.

It took a while for me to regain my wits, but eventually, I opened my eyes and
focused on Malcolm, who was leaning against the doorframe. He had a smug, wry
look on his face, and a fat long erection in his hand. I smiled back at him and
beckoned to him wordlessly with my index finger. He placed the glass cock on
the grass, and kneeled down next to me. I got up on my haunches and pushed my
shoulders into his chest, trying to push him over. He was a solid as a oak
tree, but eventually, he allowed me to topple him. He lay flat on his back in
the green carpet of grass, and I straddled his hips, weight on my knees. Again
I impaled myself on his cock. And this time, it was the real thing. Perhaps it
wasn’t as massive or as hot as the one that had filled me moments before, but
it was deeply pleasurable for me, and judging by the expression on his face, it
was what he wanted too. He hadn’t been coy with me, so I determined to be just
as abrupt. So I started riding Malcolm’s big cock like a bucking bronco,
rapidly rising and falling, lifting my cunt up to the bloated mushroom-shaped
head, then sinking down with all my weight. I rhythmically constricted my cunt
muscles as hard as I could, milking his cock in my steamy pneumatic vessel. At
the same time, I was running my fingers through the thick black hair on his
broad chest, scratching him lightly with my fingernails. I pinched onto his
hard little nipples, which drew an appreciative snort from his throat. 

When Malcolm’s hands came up and attempted to grip my waist, I slapped them
away. Now it was my turn to be in control, and I pulled my self up so that I
was squatting now, his hands immobilized between my feet and his hips. I
increased the speed of my pistoning, bouncing my weight around. My breasts were
flopping around wildly, and I leaned forwards so that my hair whipped over his
face and neck. Of course, it didn’t take much of this animalistic rutting to
push Malcolm to his own orgasm. When I felt him tense up, and saw his face
begin to contort, I pushed myself all the way up and off of his cock, settling
instantly onto my haunches at his sides. I grabbed hold of his pulsating cock
and began to jerk up and down on the sheathing skin. I could feel the
incredible heat of the blood coursing through his veins, and I could smell the
intermingled liquids of his salty precome and my spicy cunt juices. His pubic
hair was plastered to his groin with our slimy secretions; his hips were
twitching with the impending climax. His eyes were screwed shut, and then he
drew in a deep breath that expanded his muscular chest to incredible size
(glass-blowers lungs!). 

Only then, at the moment of his orgasm, did I bring my mouth down to kiss and
then swallow the purple head of Malcolm’s cock. Only then did I remove one hand
from the plump shaft of his cock and start of juggle his heavy balls in my
fingers. And that is when he began to blast his succulent semen onto my lapping
tongue. Pumping his cock with the other hand, I synchronized my strokes to his
ejaculations. This added to the forcefulness of the blasts, and the thick globs
of cream shot deep into my throat. His magnificent cock had become a
flame-thrower, and the heat and thickness of his come reminded me of the
amorphous dollops of glass that we had shaped an hour ago. I tried to swallow
as much as I could, collecting his nectar hungrily. But there was just too
much, and it dribbled out around the edges of my pursing lips, and down through
my fingers. 

Finally, he released the tension from all of his muscles, and I released my
tight grasp on his softening cock. I lay down next to him in the grass. With
his arm around me and my head resting on his slowly heaving chest, we fell
asleep with the sun and our blazing memories keeping us warm in our naked,
blissful splendor. 

It wasn’t until two days latter that I finally left Malcolm’s place. I carried
with me my glass phallus, my gift for my friends’ wedding, and the intention to
return soon to learn more from this true craftsman!

-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/><http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>