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Kink in Wood

January 19, 2009

This was not the first time I’d been in this building, with the scent of wood permeating every corner. Even the few times I’d been here when pieces were being stained or glossed, there was little chemical smell. I’d been told he worked with natural methods as much as possible, avoiding the easy ways for better quality and tones.

Two things kept me coming back: the beauty of the work, and the man. The first day I’d only come for the artistry, but as I walked through, sliding my fingers along the smooth grains, intoxicated by clean lines and sawdust, I saw him. Immediately he captured my attention, and I watched as this mountain of a man tenderly smoothed rough edges from a child’s table set. His hands looked too big to hold such delicate spindles, his tightly leashed strength almost delicate in its work.

He was always gruff when we spoke, taciturn even. I’d tried to flirt, to draw him out, discussing his work, the feelings it evoked in me. He wasn’t just building furniture here, he was birthing art that would be shared with people everywhere. Always I got a wall, with no niches or chinks to break through. That didn’t stop me from coming back for more. I’d asked around town, he was single, and had been. Some talked about how he was a hermit, and not really fit for society.

I could see that he never bothered to cut his hair, or shave. Because he towered over everyone, I could imagine that he intimidated them. Not being able to see his face beneath the fur would make it worse. I however, was obsessed. I wanted those hands on me, I wanted to touch the muscles of that hard body, feel it pressing over me. He would totally dwarf me, could easily hurt me, yet somehow I trusted him to take care of me as much as he took care of that wood. Silly fantasies I spun, but I only knew he made me ache, and made me wet.

I stepped to his latest piece, a book case of sorts, with narrow shelves. It tapered oddly, being much more narrow on the top than it was at the floor. Yet it was not plain, groves had been carved along the facing edges, and along both bottom and top edges, decorative holes had been cut. Reaching out I traced the edge of the lion’s head, mouth opened in a snarl. I was wondering who had requested such a piece, when I felt the air stir behind me. “Knew you’d like that one,” a deeply gruff voice said behind me. “You’ve been coming around, looking at me with your damn hot eyes. I decided to give you what you’ve been after.”

I was a bit shocked, and turned-on, as I felt some kind of cuffs close over my wrist, then he pulled them up and snapped the other end in the hole in the book case. I then realized it was a perfect height for me, I could grasp on to the top, but not easily. My other wrist was soon caught in the same way, then my ankles. With the width of the case between them, my legs were spread open wide, making me pull a little on the cuffs, yet it was not uncomfortable. It was obviously a heavier piece of furniture than I had imagined. Even captured as I was, I didn’t feel like it would pull over, then I noticed it wasn’t just leaning against the wall, it was mounted on it, with heavy screws.

I felt his hands on my skirt, pushing it up past my hips. He stared at me silently, then his hands quickly tore the sides of my panties, peeling them from me. I could smell hot hot I was, even over the sawdust. Big hands slid to the front, snapping off buttons as he opened my blouse, freed me from my bra. I stood there, completely exposed from the waist down, nipples hard from excitement and the cold air. He breathed in my ear as he whispered, “I’m going to close up the shop. I’ll be back for you in a while.” Then he left me there, waiting for his return.

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