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From: suenh@kear.tdsnet.com (SueNH)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Sue's 14th: Craftsmanship (mf)
Date: Thu, 03 Oct 1996 12:30:05 -0400
Organization: TDS Telecom - Madison, WI
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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
suenh@kear.tdsnet.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 Òsensuous.Ó 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 mindÕs 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 6Õ4Ó or more. But he wasnÕt 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 Òkeep the fires burningÓ 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 wasnÕt 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 MalcolmÕs 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 IÕd 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 MalcolmÕs 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 Òhand-made!Ó

But he didnÕt 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 wasnÕt until his cock was
fully embedded into my tautly stretched vagina that I realized that it
wasnÕt 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 MalcolmÕs 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 wasnÕt 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 hadnÕt been coy with me, so I determined to be just as abrupt. So I
started riding MalcolmÕs 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 MalcolmÕs 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 didnÕt 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 MalcolmÕs 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 wasnÕt until two days latter that I finally left MalcolmÕs place. I
carried with me my glass phallus, my gift for my friendsÕ wedding, and the
intention to return soon to learn more from this true craftsman!