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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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Craftsmanship
by Sue (address withheld)

***

What it's like to make love to a true craftsman, a man 
who can make a woman scream with delight. (MF)
 
***

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 reached 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 myself 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 
pre-cum 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 later 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!

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 66