The Craftsman

The Craftsman.

 

She’s the reason I’m running such a successful business.

Eight years ago, I packed up a fairly lucrative City job, having developed a complete lack of interest in the work and having got sick of the travelling, the long hours and the stress. The decision to leave was a long time coming but when I took it I made sure I’d saved enough from my bonuses to ensure I had something put by for lean times. I knew what I wanted to do. As a kid, I often stayed on my uncle and aunt’s farm. They had no kids of their own and spoilt me rotten. My uncle loved horses and because of the accessories that go with riding, he developed an interest in leatherwork. I often sat with him in his workshop, watching and helping. His enthusiasm was infectious and leatherwork became a serious hobby.

So, I took the bull by the horns, followed my heart and opened up a leather craft shop in the middle of a small Kent town. Business wasn’t bad but it wasn’t particularly good either. Saturdays provided the bulk of the business, the weekdays were particularly slow, especially in the winter. However, I was happy, it was what I wanted to do.

It was a Tuesday, on a late February morning, when she came into the shop, the first customer I’d had all day. But what a customer. She was smartly dressed in a business suit. She was quite tall, about 5’8” and had dark, brown hair which reached just past her shoulders. It had a slight wave in it. Her eyes were framed by beautifully shaped eyebrows which gave her a cat like appearance, fiercely intelligent.

She picked up a few items, examined them, then put them down. I pretended not to pay any attention, I hate customers feeling pressured, a lot of potential ones just walk out. She wandered over to me with a small purse she’d picked up. I smiled, told her the price and she handed me a £20 note. As I was getting her change she said:

‘Do you just sell goods, only I’m looking for someone I can commission to help me with some leather designs?’

‘I’ve got a workshop out in the back,’ I said, ‘I’ve been working with leather for years. If I can help I certainly will.’

She took a piece of paper from her bag. On it was a design for some opera gloves.

‘Could you make these?’

‘I could do but wouldn’t it be easier to buy some off the internet?’

‘I’ve looked, the only decent gloves I can find are made of satin. The quality of the leather ones is poor and they don’t fit properly. The fit and quality is essential.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but I’ll need to know what size you are.’

‘Yes, of course you will.’

From her handbag she pulled out a pair of leather gloves.

‘Same as these only longer and softer. They need to come up to here,’ she said, indicating a mid point on her upper arm.

I told her to leave the gloves with me, with a telephone number, and I’d get back to her.

‘They may be expensive.’

She smiled. ‘Money’s not an issue.’

God knows why I’d said yes, I’d never made gloves before, but I didn’t want to lose the custom, or rather, I didn’t want to lose her custom. I spent God knows how many hours researching glove making techniques and made several versions that weren’t good enough. I could have kicked myself for not taking more measurements, I hadn’t taken any of her arm. Eventually, I produced a pair of gloves I was satisfied with, I just hoped they fitted.

When she came to pick them up I spent the morning in a state of skittish anticipation. I showed her through to the back room where I’d laid out the gloves, rather dramatically, on a piece of red, velvet cloth.

‘Oh, they’re beautiful,’ she said, her face lighting up.

‘Do you want to try them on?’

She smiled, never said anything but unselfconsciously unbuttoned and removed her shirt, which I took from her whilst trying to maintain an air of professional detachment. As she picked up the gloves and examined them, I had the opportunity to focus, discreetly, on her breasts which were held in place by a very fine, red, lacy bra. Through the lace I could see that her nipples had been pierced by two silver rings.

She pulled on the gloves.

‘My God, they’re absolutely perfect,’ she exclaimed.

I was delighted. She clapped her hands together then ran them over her bare shoulders and belly.

‘They’re such good quality, beautifully soft.’ She reached out.

‘Here, feel them.’

I took hold of her hand. She curled her fingers around my forefinger and slowly rubbed her thumb over the tip.

‘How does that feel?’ she said.

‘Wonderful, so sensual.’ Again, I tried to sound professional, worldly wise, but I had stammered slightly and felt myself reddening. I’m sure she noticed. I could have cursed at the provincial reaction to her nonchalant intimacy. She let go of my hand.

‘I can’t wait to try these out properly.’

I wondered what she meant. She began to take off the gloves.

‘To be honest, I didn’t know whether you’d come up to scratch. You’ve done a wonderful job, they’re perfect.’

‘Do you mind if I ask, are they for a particular occasion?’

‘No,’ she said, quite candidly, ‘I just love leather, I love the feel of it, it enhances the quality of life.’

I nodded in agreement

‘I’ve got some other designs at home, if I bring them in could you look them over, see if you could work on them?’

‘Of course,’ I said, trying to hide the excitement in my voice. I wrapped the gloves and she left.

She came in the following week and produced papers with designs for various pieces of clothing. An interesting brassiere, a studded choker, wristbands, studded garters and several thongs and panties. We sat studying the designs over coffee. Occasionally, she would stand up and I would measure her and point out the way certain pieces should sit or hang. Whilst doing this I was able to make physical contact with her. For me, it was heady stuff.

‘It’ll take some time to complete these,’ I said

‘That’s alright, there’s no hurry.’

I spent all my spare time working on her designs, thoroughly enjoying myself. I’d bought a mannequin to hang them on and sadly, I’ll admit, I began to talk to it as I dressed and undressed it, pretending I was clothing her pert bottom and full breasts.

She examined my work, expressing delight. She paid me and then put the clothing in her bag. I felt a little disappointed. Had I really thought that, like the gloves, she was going to try them on for me? Unexpectedly, she produced another piece of paper.

‘This is my next design,’ she said, spreading the paper in front of me.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a namba.’

‘A what?’

‘A namba. It’s a South Pacific word. Some of the natives wear them, it means a cock sheath.’

I must have looked surprised as she burst out laughing.

‘I’m sorry, I thought that you’d guessed I had a sexual predilection for leather as well as a fashionable interest.’

I felt a little foolish, a little unworldly wise.

‘No, No, that’s fine,’ I said, ‘it just took me back a little as all your other designs were for a woman.’

She laughed again.

‘Well, I’ll certainly be making use of it.’

God she was beautiful.

‘Here,’ she said, ‘I’ve made your job easier.’

She went back into her handbag and pulled out a piece of cloth. ‘I’ve measured it for you.’

She went to great lengths to describe her design, stressing that, like the gloves, it must be of the finest leather ‘and, like the gloves, it must fit like a glove.’ She had a good sense of humour.

I got straight to work on the sheath, the task filled my head with erotic images. I imagined myself clothed in the finished article, presenting myself to her, filling her, pleasing her. It was the most rewarding job I’d ever undertaken. Whilst making the sheath I tried it on. It was a little loose and a little long. I felt a little inadequate and it occurred to me that I’d felt this way during each of our encounters. She just seemed beyond my reach. I felt a petulant stab of envy towards the man who would enjoy my work. When I’d finished I rang her.

‘I can’t wait,’ she said, ‘we’ll be in on Monday.’

I wondered who ‘we’ would include.

When the Monday arrived I had butterflies in my stomach. This woman was having an extraordinary effect on me. At about 2.30pm, when I’d just about given up hope, she came into the shop followed by a gentleman friend. She was wearing a long, beige raincoat and he wore an expensive overcoat. He was tall, moved athletically and looked very, very masculine. I wouldn’t have expected a woman with her refined tastes to have selected anything other than a thoroughbred.

‘This is Andrew,’ she said, introducing me. She never mentioned her friend’s name. ‘I can’t tell you how excited I am Andrew, can I see it?’

I went into the workshop and returned, holding the sheath. She took it from me and examined it. She turned to the man and held it up to him.

‘Look darling, my birthday present. Isn’t it wonderful? You’ve excelled yourself again Andrew.’ She paused, studying me, then said mischievously, ‘we’ll need to try it on before we leave, make sure it’s perfect.’

I felt a sort of giddy excitement come over me but tried to sound professional.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said, ‘that would be super.’

‘I think you deserve it,’ she said, her catlike face smiling, wickedly.

She went over to the door, locked it, put up the closed sign, took her partner by the hand and led him through to my workshop. I followed. She stopped by my workbench and began to undress him. There was a candid indifference to my presence which, strangely, put me at ease, although my heart was thumping away and I could feel myself hardening. Her partner was smiling as she began to undo his shirt buttons.

‘Andrew, come and help us fit this on, we’ll need your expertise.’

I went over to her and she handed me the black sheath. They finished removing his clothing and she took hold of his semi erect cock.

‘I’m so excited,’ she said, ‘come on, let’s put it on.’

She lifted his cock and I fitted the sheath over it.

Casting modesty aside, I’d say I’d produced a work of art. The sheath left the glans uncovered, so that it could perform unencumbered, but covered the shaft of the penis and the scrotum with an amazingly fine, soft and supple leather. Three, fine thongs extended from the sheath. One from the scrotum pouch, which ran beneath the perineum and up between the cheeks of the bottom, towards the waist. This had a metal ring attached at the end. The other two thongs extended from the neck of the penis, fitted around the waist and were fed through the metal loop at the lower back, where they were tightened and knotted. This ensured that the cock was supported, raised and would stand extra proud. I had visualised semen dribbling down the black sheath and over the scrotum pouch, its whiteness highlighted against the black leather.

I finished tying the leather thongs at the rear of the man’s back. The sheath, however, remained a little loose as his cock had not reached a fully erect state, despite his partner’s ministrations and sensuous caresses. The lady stood back to admire the armoured weapon.

‘You look wonderful darling, but I’d like to see its full magnificence, I think your cock needs a little more encouragement.’

Then she did something that’s stayed with me and will do forever. She undid her raincoat and let it slip to the floor. There she stood, clothed in leather finery. The hard, leather half cups of the bra I’d designed supported and raised her breasts that now stood out proud. Silver rings dangled from her nipples. A small triangle of leather covered her pussy and was secured by thongs that dangled loosely and provocatively over her bottom. Her arms were dressed elegantly in the black, leather opera gloves and two, fine, studded, leather garters adorned her thighs. Her posture was enhanced by a pair of ankle strapped stilettos. She looked fabulous, I wanted to drop to the floor and worship her. She strutted around the floor several times, turning, bending, posing. Then she approached her man and began to caress his chest and squeeze his nipples. She moved her thigh, slowly, up and down his leg, the studded garter leaving a trail of thin, red lines. His black, sheathed cock now stood proud and appeared to be straining against the thongs which kept it lashed in place; a restrained, hungry beast. She stood back and studied her partner’s cock.

‘Oh Andrew, it’s magnificent.’

She took hold of it, then dropped to her knees and held it against her cheek.

‘It’s so smooth and powerful. Come and feel it.’

I walked over and she took my hand and placed it on her friend’s cock. It was beautifully smooth and the girth had been considerably thickened by the leather coating. I gripped it and began to caress it while she gently licked it’s head. Her partner stood and moaned. I watched, fascinated, as her greedy mouth left the purple head glistening with saliva. She then removed my hand and began to take his cock in her mouth moving slowly, back and forth along its length. She broke away.

‘Oh Andrew, the taste, the feel of it, the scent of the leather, it’s beautiful.’

She stood up, lay on top of my workbench and spread her legs. I watched, almost trembling with excitement as her partner pushed aside the thin leather panties and entered her. His thick, black cock squeezed into her, her pussy gratefully stretching to accommodate this welcome intruder. She began to moan and shudder almost immediately. He moved slowly at first and then more quickly as the shaft became lubricated with her juices. He, too, was letting out groans of pleasure as he thrust backwards and forwards. She was now taking the full length of him and the leather had taken on a glistening sheen. Her pierced breasts jiggled provocatively in unison with her partner’s thrusts. Holding her ankles, he pushed her legs wide apart, then repeatedly withdrew, leaving the tip of his penis nuzzling against her lips before plunging back inside her. She took him fully and bucked to meet him as his thrusts became more frantic. I had actually begun to salivate with lust as I watched them fucking. In an attempt to feed more cock into her, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and as she did so her studded garters dug into his hips and buttocks, triggering his orgasm. He shuddered, gasping and groaning whilst she cried out.

Sated, he pulled away from her. They looked at each other like two, satisfied cats. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. She came over to me and put her arms around my neck.

‘I hope you enjoyed the show, it was by way of a thank you.’

She kissed me full on the mouth.

‘You are truly a craftsman.’

She must have known how much I adored her. They got dressed.

‘No need to wrap it, he’ll wear it out,’ she laughed and they left.

They’d forgotten to pay. I didn’t care.

A few days later I received a large cheque in the post with a lovely letter. I never saw her again.

I steered my business in a new direction, producing a variety of leather goods for the enhancement of life’s greatest pleasure. I receive orders from all over the world and have a variety of business associates who work for me; milliners, glove makers, cobblers, dressmakers and tailors. Quality and sophistication underpin every design. One of my best selling designs is the ‘Black Mamba Namba’. I live in hope that, one day, I’ll meet that stunning woman again. She’s responsible for my success. She remains my ultimate sexual fantasy. She was my muse.