The Tradesman

I wander into my favourite, rustic furniture shop to look at some of the beautiful mango wood tables. The pieces are gorgeous, the wood richly textured and I am drawn to the earthy hues and distinctive grain on these exquisitely crafted items. I am captivated by the smooth finish and elegant appearance of a set of bedside tables. As I stand appraising them and considering whether to buy, I feel someone behind me. The carpenter himself, dressed elegantly as always.

We have spoken before. This isn't the first time I have lingered over some of these creations. Here I am, drawn to this place again...or is it you I am drawn to seek out again? Your face is slim, eyes...focused. You're tall and I feel small as you look down at me as you speak...you explain the origin of the wood, point out a few details of originality that you are particularly happy with and then the conversation moves to other topics. You eye the triskelion pendent at my neck then fix your gaze...you are radiating masculine energy and I can feel my own heat rising.

Last time, I was in here, I noticed the beautiful bookcase at the back of the shop, with a beautifully curated selection of poetry. I reference one of the poets and our conversation meanders around our favourite poets. You walk over to take a book from a shelf and as you hand me the book, your hand lingers on mine. I am getting that deliciously familiar feeling...wanting to give myself entirely...opening...as you lean forward to comment on a particular poem your hand moves across my shoulders...I lean into you as you slide your hand around my shoulder...I relax into your touch...your hand becomes firmer and you slide your other hand to my throat...continuing to discuss the poem as you stroke my throat...my legs can barely support me...I need to sit down...I sway slightly...

I move to sit down on a nearby chair but you guide me towards a side door...you want to show me your workshop...I have no choice but to move in that direction. You stand behind me...intoxicating me with you masculine energy. Your hands settle around my throat...I lean back...enjoying the pooling heat in my sacred place. I catch my breath as I realise that your workshop contains a selection of bespoke, crafted, bdsm furniture. My eyes take in every detail...stopping on each piece...imagining the scenarios like a rollercoaster...I feel dizzy and this time, I have to sit down.

You steer me towards a wooden chair...it's high backed with ties around the arm rests...you place me gently in the chair...my mind is saying no...I don't know you. We haven't discussed limits...no safeword...not sensible...yet I am dripping wet...my body alive but my mind protesting...why am I bothering to fight it...I already know I am going to submit to everything....give myself entirely. I whisper 'no'...as you take one of my hands. 'You seem a little faint...I know what will help...' I steady my breath as I watch you go to a cabinet at the back of the room. You pour a measure of brandy into an elegant, antique glass then head back towards me...'Here'...I take the glass and sip...the liquid is fiery, smoky and rich...it soothes me immediately...

'I thought you might like to see some of my favourite pieces'...I look around, there's a St Andrew's Cross, a horse, stocks...all in that magnificent, dark, grainy wood with fixtures in wrought iron. I stand up and approach the horse, taking my hands over the smooth wood. You explain a few things about your design...your eyes on me...I move over to the St Andrew's cross...you place your hand on my hip, moving me slightly then take my right wrist. 'Shall we just try this?'...I nod, the protests in my head are growing weaker as you secure my wrist to the top. You pause...'are you ok?' you lean in and kiss me gently...tracing your fingers around my neck...you tighten your grip as your kiss deepens...I respond hungrily...you continue to kiss me as you reach for my other wrist...'Yes?' you enquire...I nod...as you secure me...you stand back...

'This is one of my best sellers' I am incapable of conversation now...so focused, am I on that delicious feeling of restraint...I know how unwise this is but in this moment, I don't care. You grip my throat and kiss me deeply, your hands moving over my body...you step back again...'so...you get the idea...I think you can see why this piece is so popular...'I nod as you start to free my wrists...part of me starts to protest...you sense my confusion and lean in to kiss me...I can feel your hardness pressing into my stomach...'all in good time little one' you whisper into my ear....