This was the very workbench, or rather, fuckbench, that we had found at a previous estate sale. It had been built by a WW II veteran who had some intense ideas about sex, and expressed them with an all wooden contraption that had adjustable seats, handles, overhead handles and adjustable steps near the bottom that turned what seemed like a Ward Cleaver tool encrusted workbench, into a Larry Flint Fucking BDSM Platform. The Vet's journal had been hidden in a nearby pile of papers, which had told us how to operate the secret levers and handles. We used it, had the best sex of our lives, and then walked away. I had kept the journal, but we had to pass on the 1,500 dollar bench.
And we had regretted it every damn day since.
It was stained with a deep cherry finish, and looked like an average overbuilt wooden tool bench, with extra thick legs and table top, and a shelving section facing out. On first inspection, you would call it clumsy and graceless, although a fine example of 1950's Americana crafts. It was just scarred and worn enough to actually look better, and it's dulled edges only spoke of a thing well used, and never abused. Not in a million years had I ever expected to find it again. And here it was. And, miracle of miracles, Maddie had just cashed her biggest art paycheck ever and we had been wondering what to do with it. My hands caressed the smooth, softly grained wood of the...no, our fuck bench.
Maddie came back in five minutes with the news the bench was only 875, down from 1500. But it had to be gone by the end of the day. We called all of our theater friends until we we found one who would help us haul the big ass thing.. Theater people always have a truck or know of a truck they can borrow. In three hours, we had managed to squeeze the huge clunky thing into Maddie's studio. We had to move a few things out, but we got it done. We got the guys who helped us pizza and beer, and we sent them on their way. Because the entire time, we were just thinking about one thing.
The Bench.
As soon as she closed the door behind the last one to leave, she locked the door and turned towards me. We hadn't spoken a single word about the bench the entire time we were moving it. We didn't dare. A single word would have released a flood of feelings, of passion, of lust. And those would have to wait, until now. Maddie undid her dress and let it fall to the floor as she walked toward me and the Bench I took off my shirt and pants as she squirmed out of her panties and bra, and I watched her wide hips and 36D tits the entire time.
I reached over and pressed what looked like a knot hole, and the center seat slid open, carved in wood and shaped perfectly for an ass to sit in. The soft slither of the wood opening was like a starter's pistol. We lunged for each other. My hands swarmed over her curvy tits and ass. Our mouths smashed together heedlessly as her hands stroked my cock, which was already fully erect.
Finally I picked her up and put her on the seat facing me. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and I knew mine were as well.
"I can't fucking believe it's ours." Maddie said in a whisper.
An evil smile crept upon my lips. "I've been reading Mr. Fletcher's notebook, you know." And without looking for it, staring deep into her brown eyes, I reached for the hidden lever that would....
Two wooden steps flipped out from the table's legs near my feet. My eyes were still locked onto hers.
Another press, and the stirrups popped up from the sides, and I placed Maddie's sweet little feet into them, my eyes still gazing into hers.
Two clicks, and her seat lowered one inch, and then another. My eyes never left Maddies' warm brown orbs. Then I slid my cock, which was at the perfect height, straight into her pussy, slowly, oh so slowly. A soft, long sigh escaped Maddie's lips as I filled her to the ultimate depth. My hands caressed the softly polished and glowing wood of the Bench and then moved straight to Maddie's soft supple skin. Her hands were also sliding along the wood of the bench, luxuriating in it's deep cherry tones and organic texture. Tracing her fingers along the grain, she made it to my waist, and simply continued along the curves of my pelvis and ass, as if my body were just like the grain of the wood. I kept my cock deep in her, barely moving, and I leaned in close to kiss her on the neck and shoulders, to feel as much of her as I could, to breathe her scent into me. I couldn't touch her enough.