Craftsmanship

(with thanks to Michael for the help with editing)

I met him at a local craft fair. He is a glass blower, and his work is stunningly beautiful. His 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 have stood 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 and 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 someday 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 was what I told him. I was being more honest to myself, though. I found this guy attractive and a visceral hunger began to gnaw at me. 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, maybe a half-mile down a single lane dirt road that made me concerned about the suspension on my little Miata. Anyway, I made there it okay, 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, I wore 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 an 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 they were 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 even more blatantly erotic, and I could see why he might not choose to show them 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 also 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 molten 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 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 my resistance away (actually, I was totally receptive to his advances). Sunlight 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 my 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 doorsill. 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 else 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 fingers, 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 at the fullness of my cunt, I also noticed how wonderfully slippery and silky his cock felt inside me, and even more, at 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. 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 growing lust that had been kindled by this glass spike and the virile man who wielded it. My lustand that sound communicated to Malcolm that I understood and accepted his gift.

He slowly withdrew the glass dildo, and then slipped 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 warm 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 an 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. 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 aggressive. 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 his hard little nipples tightly, 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 over the edge. 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 bulging veins. I could smell the intermingled liquids of his salty precum and my spicy cunt juices. His pubic hair was plastered to his groin with our slimy secretions. His hips were twitching with his 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 envelop the purple head of Malcolm's cock. Only then did I remove one hand from the plump shaft of his cock and start to 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!