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The Artisan Visits
by
Ben Hannigan
Instead of the package that usually awaits you, there was a simple letter. The contents were an order phrased as a request. It held a time and a place to wait, so that how and why you found yourself at eight PM sat in the leather chair you love so much, curled up. Not in anything sexy, but in your favourite pyjama bottoms and your lover’s hoody. You spend the time racking your brains trying to work out if at any point during your conversations with the artisan you had told them you were ill.
Never the less they knew, hence you were told to curl up in the chair you loved so much; the chair that your partner would curl up in and read to you with you in their lap. Waiting comfortably, not really knowing what you were waiting for and feeling slightly foolish when staring down at the socks your dad had bought you for Christmas. The ones with the eyes and nose of a fox on them, that allowed you to “nom” your partner’s feet when you laid in bed.
Over time you felt the combination of the doctor ordered medication and the hot toddy your lover ordered mingling and making you drowsy, comfortable, and safe, you drift off. When you wake, you wake in the chair, waking only slightly to the feeling of your feet being massaged. Your eyes closed, you snuggle back and enjoy the dream. Warm hands on your feet rubbing gently, and warm moisturising oil rubbed into your pale skin. Then, this masseuse begins to kiss and suck each toe gently before running their teeth across each heel. The shivers and spasms across each leg as they do, that driving you wild and all you can focus on in your bleary state are the drips of wetness running down your thighs and the hot wetness of their mouth.
You feel yourself lifted to the couch, a duvet over you and your lover’s hand masturbating you by rubbing you through the cotton. You’re pushing up into their hand, not knowing who they are and whether or not this is a dream. Their mouth on your neck, feather light kisses across you as you shake and gasp. Their hand moving under the hoody, your nipples caressed as you are moved so you are on top of your dream lover, you head resting on their boobs and feeling the bulge in their silk bottoms. Confused you run your hand over the bulge, its cold, not flesh, but a toy of sorts.
The mouth now on your earlobe, tongue flicking as you shake and gasp, pleading for their touch yet all they do is rest the heel of their palm on your slit over the cotton bottoms. Finally, you get frustrated and your bottoms come off. Still, all it is the rubbing rotation of the heel of the palm, you’re mewling, begging for more. Finally they oblige, fingers diving into you, plunging in deep, aggressive, rough, hard. They hold you close against their breasts. You in just a hoody, nursing against their nipple as you feel yourself pounded roughly, aggressively touched, your having your hair stroked with the other hand. You feel their bra come off and the nipple you were teasing through unconscious movement is now bare and guided into your mouth.
The fingers faster and faster, teasing your clit, twisting your clit as you scream. Their fingers playing you like a piano, knowing each key to hit, each sensitive area to touch, where to tap, where to twist and where to stroke gently. Laying there, you're orgasming fast, hard, intense as they hold you close. They drive you further and further the contrast between the hand that’s ravishing you and the gentle caress of the other driving you wild. You hear a small gasp as your sucking continues and are shocked yourself by the release of milk that flows over your lips and into your mouth.
Blissfully, greedily, you suck, feeding from them as they drive you through orgasm after orgasm. The body betraying you by your intense arousal at being treated like a child. Nursing from this dream lover, you are attempting to drain each breast, feeling her moaning, her rough and eager arousal at your actions and she yanks off her knickers. Forcing your legs to spread as she pushes the strap on into you. She needs this as much as you do now. This isn’t just her pleasuring you, this is rea,l hot desire whimpering with need. As you feed she’s fucking you; hot, fast, rough and you both come together in a crescendo of moans, gasps, and swearing in multiple languages.
You focused on their heartbeat and their warmth. The gentle kisses placed on your throat, their heartbeat and breathing lulling you to sleep, your eyelids heavy, you feel so warm, so comfortable that you just drift off. Happily allowing sleep to overtake you. Hours later you wake, still curled up under the duvet, but alone now, relaxed and comfortable. The only proof that it wasn’t a dream is resting by your head, a pair of silky knickers and matching bra in a size that isn’t yours. You pull the panties down off the arm of the sofa and a note falls down into your lap.
“Your visit today was about caring, nurturing, and relaxing you. This is all part of the service of the artisan. Each client is selected and chosen carefully. Everything we offer is done with love. There is a meal in the oven waiting for you my darling client, the hot water bottle is under your back. I hope I left you comfortable and happy. As much as this service is about spoiling someone else and allowing you to really spoil your lover, we at Artisan feel that the only way for you to spoil someone else and give them the passion they desire, is to have felt it yourself. This is why we send samples in the way we do, involving you in each aspect of the event you have designed with us. But more than that, this is why we pamper you.
Love
The Artisan”
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