Thursday, February 7, 2013

The Artisan Returns

Wow, things were steamy last week. Are you anxious to find out who this artisan is?  I'm getting anxious .  Well sit back with your champagne and chocolates and lets find out.

The Artisan Returns
Ben Hannigan

Again, you were at home: ill, bleary-eyed, coughing, and feeling like death.  Your body dripping with sweat, dizzy spells and long, harsh ,wracking coughs shaking you to your very core. Curled up on the sofa, remote within your reach, drinks next to you, your lover had carried you into the living room so you could get the phone, read and do some work. Three days in and you were going out of your mind.

You knew you were due the next delivery but as aroused as they made you, you were, at this point too ill to care. The last delivery still a delicious memory that haunted your dreams and kept you warm on the days that your partner did the night on-call shift. You laid in that double bed alone, the silk sheets cold and rather than the reassuring thump thump of your partner's heart beat and his low rumbling purr of a snore, there was silence. Eleven thirty five in the morning and you were bored. The repeating daytime televison, the groups of people having screaming arguments about who shagged who, who puked in whose shoes and which of the fat ones had sucked the most family cock grating on you. Trisha, Kyle, Springer: all shows showing the worst the world had to offer.

Then, there was the sound of the buzzer.  You sigh, pushing the duvet off your body, feeling the cold air rushing across your bare thighs before you hear the familiar sound of a key slid into the lock, you relax and sit. A woman comes in. You recognise her, but in your medicated state, drowsy and tired you don’t get the name out before she reaches you. Her mouth on yours; hot, wet ,kissing you deeply. Her tongue silky, soft, and pulsing as she explores you. She lifts you into her arms; she’s toned, strong, and able to carry you up the stairs. You don’t know where you are being taken but you know that protesting will stop the hot searing kisses.

The bathroom: you're set down, the tiles cold on your bare feet.  She's treating you like a child, but yet not, as her kisses are not the type a parent gives. The shower heating up, the noise like heavy rain against a window pane as you are nudged into lifting your arms.  Stripping you, it is soft and gentle like a mother to her child but again, the frank appreciation of your form isn’t. The way that tongue for a split second swirls over your nipple, her breath hot, sending shivers down your spine. You wriggling as she suckles, the movement releasing your pajama bottoms. You realise now from the kiss that she is the visitor from before which means you know who the artisan is but you don’t want to cry out the name, don’t want to ruin the game.

Shes slowly sliding your panties down your legs now, you’re suddenly embarrassed your legs aren’t shaved, your thatch certainly isn’t either. Hell you didn’t shower this morning, too ill to stand. Her tongue nevertheless trailing down into your box, that warm breath tracing a line from nipple to nipple, to belly button, to slit, 'till finally, with an air of inevitable sensual teasing, she arrives at your clit, engulfing you, consuming you, completely sucking you in between those impossibly ruby lips. You feel yourself being used as a lollipop, being devoured and melting like that ice lolly as she consumes you. Each swirling motion sending shudders down your spine as she reaches your centre.

Suddenly, rather than wool and heavy cotton rubbing against your bare skin, you feel the rough teasing scratch of lace. Looking down she has slipped off the uniform shirt; the nurse's uniform the ruse used to borrow the key from security to enter the flat. The bottom half too had changed. Rather than the feel of her capris, a semi soft polyester that carried only the slightest hint they were ensconcing the warm flesh of her legs, you felt the heat radiating from her skin, your cold skin almost draining her, leeching the heat from her. She moves, pressing closer as she licks back up, the tongue rough but not scratching. It’s a really hot really damp caress sliding up your bottom. You’re seeing stars as she hits your rosebud. Moving up your back with nibbles and nips across your sides and anywhere else she chooses to bite she ends up at your throat. Sucking hard, fast, rough, marking you, she feels like a nightshade, draining you with this warming orgasmic pleasure erupting from the artery she is suckling. You can feel the velvet of her underwear, the warmth of her skin, her nipples, feather light brushing your back as she moves.

She is still feeding, still sucking, though hasn’t drawn blood as she moves, spinning around you, the soft velvet grinding against your wet centre, her nipples on yours. Both hard like nibs of frozen chocolate, solid but with a creamy feel. The velvet slowly dragging down your legs as you remain tangled, the stinging pressure of her hand fisted in your hair and her finger on your nipples as your cunts meet. The wetness spreading as you feel the contrast between her aching hot body and the icy coolness of the tiled wall on your bottom.

You’re moved again into the shower, pinned against a new set of tiles as she revives her assault; the tiles behind your back warm from the shower and slick with the condensation. You aren’t sticking to them this time. Her feel changes too. Rather than the soft  feel of her skin almost sticking with the sweat its now simply gliding over your body as she touches you. The soap in her hands being worked into a lather on your body; her hands covered with this sweet scented foam which is being worked into every crevice of your body. As you look down your body is disappearing behind a layer of this white honey scented lather; her hands caressing your breasts and stroking, pulling massaging as she covers your body, her mouth still sucking at your throat. Your front done she works the soap suds into your slit grinding, rubbing, fast and hard, she pulls you into her arms your slick body slides over hers as she washes your back; massaging, teasing, not hard but not so soft you miss each movement. Going lower, her hands grip your ass and rub the soap into you. She runs her finger up and down your crease pressing deeply rubbing at your rosebud. The fingers slick with the soap slide in your body not resisting. As you feel her touch all you can here are your own howling moans, its like your detached from the experience as two fingers attack your arse as she works her other hands fingers into your wet slit.

As you fall limp against the wall breathing heavily she moves the shower head, the pounding pressure of this jet of water on your nipples driving you to whimpering for more, for anything. She obliges stretching your cheeks exposing your wet eager rosebud to this pounding water. It sending shivers through your skin, the hot blasting jet moving to your wet cunny and pounding you The pressure on your clit is so intense you're screaming, begging for more, more kisses, more touches, more everything. 

As she begins to card your hair you relax into her in the post orgasm bliss, just focusing on those hands running through your hair and smiling.

You are led out of the shower and wrapped into her embrace your tingling clean bodies touching before she towels you down. The towel is definitely not yours, the soft Egyptian cotton wrapping you in warmth, it's hot, been on the rack and she’s is taunting you with it, teasing you, the towel stimulating you again, the delicious contrast between her rough twists of your nipples and the soft warmth of the cotton that she is gripping through. Working you faster, rougher, harder as you moan into her mouth. You're dried, spoiled and pampered collapsing into her arms and then pulled down to the sofa again stopping only to grab a hairbrush and clean pjs.

Melting as she brushes your hair, you’re purring. she’s brushing you, drying the hair that reaching down just touching the top of your bottom. She's done with the brush now and she places it somewhere secure within reach. As she is carding the comb through your hair you feel the brush slipping into your wet cunny. Gasping moaning into her embrace as she combs your hair. The feel of the brush she is masturbating you with taking you back to your teenage years. Those nights laid on that single bed looking up to the ceiling to the posters of rock bands, into those staring eyes as you brought yourself to climax with that brush. This time though it isn’t harsh, isn’t frenzied, it is gentle, slow, she’s spinning and rolling the brush and holding you close, your content yet primed to explode, your toes curled in the duvet as you again begin to scream. You want to scream the name you know but you mustn’t spoil the game. The comb finished with and forgotten her hand grips, tweaking your clit gently as she brings you to that precipice that you have visited so many times today. The toy is removed and you hear a voice whisper “Come for me, Now.”

With how primed you are, with where you are, you can't do anything. But as you explode all you can focus on is that tongue snaking across your ear, your moaning, shaking, screaming as pulse after pulse wracks your body with spasms. Finally succumbing to exhaustion you pass out in her arms with her caresses comforting you. When you wake you are dressed and curled into her. You try to ask why but your voice doesn’t work. Laughing, she replies to these unasked questions.

“I am the artisan yes, I have been organising this for the man we both love, arranging this, I found you the company, the company is what I do, I organise gifts, parties, deliveries, however this one, this project had a much more personal touch, I have fallen for you as much as I have him, you know that. I want you and him and I decided impulsively to fly to see him and you as the crescendo to this evening. The outfit I have a match to it, after you give him the chocolate, the wine, the meal and show him the outfit that is gonna be hidden under your fur coat, you will lead him to the bedroom where he will find me bound to the bed by ribbons, his final present the two of us to unwrap.”

You blush and giggle kissing the lover you know so well; have made come and been given orgasms by but have never until these past few days touched or even seen. She flew to you for this game, she’s staring at you hoping you don’t hate her and you nod blushing. You find yourself speaking, voice sore from screaming, “He doesn’t get back from work till the fourteenth, he won't know what hit him. Till then, my own artisan.” You kiss her hard, fast, rough, tugging at her bottom lip with your lips a wicked shiver through your body as you hear and feel her desire. “It’s the ninth today and I am off work sick so you have me all to yourself till then.” Sliding your hand onto her mound she mimics you, losing yourselves in each other, in skin on skin, in pure naked desire, lust and love. Making up for lost time, not virgins to each other. Oh no, you know each other well from your time online, but this is more intense, more vivid, like the jump from black and white to pure glorious IMAX in one fell swoop.

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