This is a work of fiction and does not represent any person, living or dead. This work is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author.
Life had soured, but my innate attitude remained positive. That's hard to do after your parents have died. First Dad's heart gave out, after months of futile stents and a quadruple bypass. I always thought the stress of his illness triggered Mom's cancer. She started feeling tired and went to the doctor, learning that she had an inoperable brain tumor. She refused treatment. I think she just wanted to move onward to be with Dad.
Though they had both been successful, and had a rather impressive nest egg for their golden years, the medical expenses whittled that down to just a fraction of the original total. I was left with nothing more than a small cottage on a small mountain lake and Dad's shop full of rather high quality wood and metal working tools. Growing up, Dad loved to spend time in his well equipped shop and teach me the arcane arts of metal and wood craftsmanship. Of course back then he had a two thousand square foot shop built at the rear of their rather impressive estate. I couldn't part with the tools and machinery. It represented the best years of my life with Dad. So I moved it all to the double car garage Dad had built next to the old lake cottage. Doing so revealed to me that he had probably planned on this years ago. The wiring and plumbing was perfect for setting it up as a shop.
At just twenty-two, I found myself a year short of a degree in history, a small cottage with a fantastic view, and barely enough money for a year of necessities. There wasn't enough money to return to school. So I just sat around for a month considering what my options were. During that time, I was surfing the internet and happened onto a bondage furniture website.
Compared to the furniture Dad and I used to build, this stuff was incredibly crude! Spanking benches, crudely bolted together, from framing lumber were selling for five hundred dollars in some cases! I wondered if anyone would want such an item that had been designed and crafted like a really fine piece of antique furniture. With nothing else to do, I found myself sorting through all the wood Dad had stocked over the decades, then drawing up a plan.
That first one took me a week to construct, but it was a beautiful piece of furniture. Every joint was so finely joined that it was almost impossible to detect. The walnut wood grain flowed smoothly throughout the short bench. There wasn't one bolt, nail or screw used anywhere in the piece. I was not only proud of my craftsmanship, but of some innovations I had incorporated.
To the unknowing eye, it looked like a simple hassock, but pushing on one edge allowed a horizontal member to move left, then another to the right, opening the interior of the simple cube of wood. This exposed other sliding components operated from the interior. One could then fold out a kneeling pad and rotate stout internal members outward. These members had large diameter holes bored in them, each lined with a metal collar that would protect the wood from the chains that these bondage people used.
The surface of the bench was covered with thick medical grade elasometric padding, similar to what was used in hospitals to keep patients from developing bedsores. I had learned about it when Dad was bedridden the last few months of his life. Atop the padding, I covered the surface with very high quality split leather I had found at a local saddle maker.
I took half a dozen pictures of the bench, both open and closed, then posted an ad on a free site. On impulse, I put a price of two thousand five hundred dollars on it, plus shipping. At that point, I had another idea that would improve upon the stocks I had seen on several websites. But before I had even finished drawing up the plan, I was getting email responses. Most were just negative comments on the expense, but a handful seemed to be serious inquiries. One, in particular, asked if I could ship immediately and asked how I wished to receive payment. I emailed 'Dresden' back and outlined an electronic funds transfer to my online account and asked for a shipping address.
Before I could turn away from the computer, I received a response from Dresden. Apparently it was MS. Dresden, and she lived in a city just seventy-five miles distant. So I emailed her back and told her I could personally deliver the bench the next day, if she wanted to pay cash. I figured that was the end of that. But, again, I received a reply within a few moments. She indicated that she would have cash in hand and gave me the delivery address.
I spent an hour informing the serious sounding inquiries that I could custom build them a bench, for the same price, and deliverable within thirty days. Having worked out the production challenges with the first, I calculated that I could build one every two days. Thirty days gave me a good cushion. I asked each for a fifty percent deposit.
The next morning the day began gloomy and cold, though I was cheered to find four customer orders, along with their electronic payments forwarded to my account. After sending each a confirmation, and detailing shipping, I wrapped my first bench in bubble wrap that I had left over from my move to the cottage and loaded it into my Ford van.
Though the lady's address was in the city, she actually lived well outside the busy center of the city. The neighborhood was one of those gated communities, with each house sitting on rather heavily wooded estates of several acres. The guard at the gate made a phone call then handed me a single page map with her home marked on it. After the wrought iron gate swung open, I wended my way through a confusing maze of streets until I arrived at the cul-de-sac that had yet another gate at the entry.
I pressed the button at the gate and had a quick answer from a man. When I identified myself, he told me to pull up to the side entrance to the home. The gate swung upon and I followed the drive through several hundred yards of thick woodland. The house was huge, definitely falling into the mansion class. As I pulled up to the side entrance, a man and woman appeared.
The man looked quite ordinary, but the woman he followed out of the side entry was something else entirely. I guessed she was thirty-something, but with the petite, compact, body of someone that spent hours in the gym. She was dressed in black. A black silk blouse, with full length arms, did little to hide quite large breasts, and I was immediately aware that she was not wearing a brassiere beneath it. Her thick nipples were quite protuberant! She wore a tight matching black silk skirt, though it wasn't nearly as sheer as her blouse. If she wore panties, I couldn't see a hint of a panty line.
My eyes glanced downward as they approached, noting that her legs were encased in black silk stockings. But her height was raised by nearly six inches by rather stoutly heeled high heels with straps that crisscrossed her lower legs up to just beneath her knees.
She walked up to me, her long, flowing, raven black hair shifting in the light breeze, "Mr. Combs? I am Ms. Dresden. Thank you for being on time." She didn't introduce the man, nor did he say a word.
I shook hands with her, feeling a grip more like that of an athlete than a dainty woman. My eyes kept returning to those stout, clearly displayed, nipples and I found myself blushing and dropping my eyes as I fumbled with the key to the back door of the van.
