1,859 words 6-minute read
When I opened my pottery studio to do contract pottery firing, I had no idea of my services which of them would be in high demand. Of course, being retired, married to Karen for forty years, and celibate as a couple in her waning years of life, I appreciated the feminine form as much as any of the neediest of pussy hounds. I had not had my share of pussy I decided, so when I became a potter a few years ago, I sculpted female bodies and female body parts.
I was a natural, it seemed. I had the necessary foresight to see the sculpture in my head before I ever sat down at my bench. My wife thought I was a dirty old man but appreciated and spent the income from my sculpting.
The art of sculpting is complicated beyond the visible results, but I had a steady hand and firm ideas of what the finished sculptures should be.
When the other potter's prepared clay started to arrive for contract firing, I found that I had very little time for my creativity at the bench. The extra kiln was inadequate, so I bought two larger kilns and sold the other two smaller ones.
Arlene, the potter who bought one of the kilns, hired me to set it up at her studio. Included in the price was instruction for the first firing, the same arrangement as I had made with Arlene for her kiln.
When I knocked, Arlene greeted me with a full press body hug, a peck on the cheek, a wet kiss on the lips, and a warm, smooth, exhaled breath down my neck and on my ear. Her hands started on my shoulder blades, pulling us together, sliding up and down my T-shirt. My rigid nipples as we separated were pointed at the tip of her crop top T-shirt. Her nipples were a perfect match for mine.
"Oh, God Damn. You stole my nipples! Or maybe, I stole yours. Let's see if they are an actual match."
Their tops came off overhead for both, and when they faced each other again, Arlene said, "Oh, God Damn. You have spectacular breasts, and I remember when my tits developed. Yours are an A cup. My nipples were tiny, and my areola huge and flat against my chest. Over that summer, the areola became smaller, my nipples became this long, and my tits grew from flat to look like yours. Back then, I always wanted to suck them."
"I wish I could suck mine, too. I know Arlene, you suck mine, and I'll suck yours at the same time, let's see what causes our lustiness; after all, that is what counts."
Arlene and I made plans to meet in her studio at four in the morning to get the kiln through the first firing during the daytime so I could monitor it. That meant I had to spend the day with the kiln, checking on it periodically during the firing. I wanted to start at four A M so it would finish before the day's end.
Arlene fixed us a light breakfast while I inspected and loaded the kiln. I called her into the studio in her garage when I closed the kiln and was ready to show her how to set it for firing.
As we sat to eat breakfast, I replayed in my head that she had, when setting the kiln, been flashing me the crotch of her matching tennis skirt and panties. It seemed like an accident at first, but I realized after the third or fourth time that she was definitely flirting with me.
Sitting for breakfast, she sat to my left at the end of the glass-topped garden table. Her legs were perched so that her skirt was forced up very high in front, and her panty pulled to the side by the position of her crossed ankles on the chair. The view of her tennis panty and right side labia was wide and unobstructed.
Arlene was adept at acting coy, but when I kept boldly looking at her crotch, she began to seep between her labia. Of course, it immediately showed as a shiny spot against the tight crotch fabric. Arlene had become quite aroused when she noticed a wet spot on my shorts up by the waist opening around to my side near her.
