Fortuitous

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A tale of BDSM Inventiveness and luck
8.3k words
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STR8Male
STR8Male
19 Followers

This is a work of fiction and does not represent any person, living or dead. This work is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author.

Life had soured, but my innate attitude remained positive. That's hard to do after your parents have died. First Dad's heart gave out, after months of futile stents and a quadruple bypass. I always thought the stress of his illness triggered Mom's cancer. She started feeling tired and went to the doctor, learning that she had an inoperable brain tumor. She refused treatment. I think she just wanted to move onward to be with Dad.

Though they had both been successful, and had a rather impressive nest egg for their golden years, the medical expenses whittled that down to just a fraction of the original total. I was left with nothing more than a small cottage on a small mountain lake and Dad's shop full of rather high quality wood and metal working tools. Growing up, Dad loved to spend time in his well equipped shop and teach me the arcane arts of metal and wood craftsmanship. Of course back then he had a two thousand square foot shop built at the rear of their rather impressive estate. I couldn't part with the tools and machinery. It represented the best years of my life with Dad. So I moved it all to the double car garage Dad had built next to the old lake cottage. Doing so revealed to me that he had probably planned on this years ago. The wiring and plumbing was perfect for setting it up as a shop.

At just twenty-two, I found myself a year short of a degree in history, a small cottage with a fantastic view, and barely enough money for a year of necessities. There wasn't enough money to return to school. So I just sat around for a month considering what my options were. During that time, I was surfing the internet and happened onto a bondage furniture website.

Compared to the furniture Dad and I used to build, this stuff was incredibly crude! Spanking benches, crudely bolted together, from framing lumber were selling for five hundred dollars in some cases! I wondered if anyone would want such an item that had been designed and crafted like a really fine piece of antique furniture. With nothing else to do, I found myself sorting through all the wood Dad had stocked over the decades, then drawing up a plan.

That first one took me a week to construct, but it was a beautiful piece of furniture. Every joint was so finely joined that it was almost impossible to detect. The walnut wood grain flowed smoothly throughout the short bench. There wasn't one bolt, nail or screw used anywhere in the piece. I was not only proud of my craftsmanship, but of some innovations I had incorporated.

To the unknowing eye, it looked like a simple hassock, but pushing on one edge allowed a horizontal member to move left, then another to the right, opening the interior of the simple cube of wood. This exposed other sliding components operated from the interior. One could then fold out a kneeling pad and rotate stout internal members outward. These members had large diameter holes bored in them, each lined with a metal collar that would protect the wood from the chains that these bondage people used.

The surface of the bench was covered with thick medical grade elasometric padding, similar to what was used in hospitals to keep patients from developing bedsores. I had learned about it when Dad was bedridden the last few months of his life. Atop the padding, I covered the surface with very high quality split leather I had found at a local saddle maker.

I took half a dozen pictures of the bench, both open and closed, then posted an ad on a free site. On impulse, I put a price of two thousand five hundred dollars on it, plus shipping. At that point, I had another idea that would improve upon the stocks I had seen on several websites. But before I had even finished drawing up the plan, I was getting email responses. Most were just negative comments on the expense, but a handful seemed to be serious inquiries. One, in particular, asked if I could ship immediately and asked how I wished to receive payment. I emailed 'Dresden' back and outlined an electronic funds transfer to my online account and asked for a shipping address.

Before I could turn away from the computer, I received a response from Dresden. Apparently it was MS. Dresden, and she lived in a city just seventy-five miles distant. So I emailed her back and told her I could personally deliver the bench the next day, if she wanted to pay cash. I figured that was the end of that. But, again, I received a reply within a few moments. She indicated that she would have cash in hand and gave me the delivery address.

I spent an hour informing the serious sounding inquiries that I could custom build them a bench, for the same price, and deliverable within thirty days. Having worked out the production challenges with the first, I calculated that I could build one every two days. Thirty days gave me a good cushion. I asked each for a fifty percent deposit.

The next morning the day began gloomy and cold, though I was cheered to find four customer orders, along with their electronic payments forwarded to my account. After sending each a confirmation, and detailing shipping, I wrapped my first bench in bubble wrap that I had left over from my move to the cottage and loaded it into my Ford van.

Though the lady's address was in the city, she actually lived well outside the busy center of the city. The neighborhood was one of those gated communities, with each house sitting on rather heavily wooded estates of several acres. The guard at the gate made a phone call then handed me a single page map with her home marked on it. After the wrought iron gate swung open, I wended my way through a confusing maze of streets until I arrived at the cul-de-sac that had yet another gate at the entry.

I pressed the button at the gate and had a quick answer from a man. When I identified myself, he told me to pull up to the side entrance to the home. The gate swung upon and I followed the drive through several hundred yards of thick woodland. The house was huge, definitely falling into the mansion class. As I pulled up to the side entrance, a man and woman appeared.

The man looked quite ordinary, but the woman he followed out of the side entry was something else entirely. I guessed she was thirty-something, but with the petite, compact, body of someone that spent hours in the gym. She was dressed in black. A black silk blouse, with full length arms, did little to hide quite large breasts, and I was immediately aware that she was not wearing a brassiere beneath it. Her thick nipples were quite protuberant! She wore a tight matching black silk skirt, though it wasn't nearly as sheer as her blouse. If she wore panties, I couldn't see a hint of a panty line.

My eyes glanced downward as they approached, noting that her legs were encased in black silk stockings. But her height was raised by nearly six inches by rather stoutly heeled high heels with straps that crisscrossed her lower legs up to just beneath her knees.

She walked up to me, her long, flowing, raven black hair shifting in the light breeze, "Mr. Combs? I am Ms. Dresden. Thank you for being on time." She didn't introduce the man, nor did he say a word.

I shook hands with her, feeling a grip more like that of an athlete than a dainty woman. My eyes kept returning to those stout, clearly displayed, nipples and I found myself blushing and dropping my eyes as I fumbled with the key to the back door of the van.

Pulling the bench, still in its bulky, protective wrapping from the van, she instructed the man to take it from me. I responded, "No, that's ok. I've got it. Where do you want it?"

Without a word, she turned and headed back into the side entry. The man quickly outpaced her, beating her to the door and holding open for her, and then me. He then dashed past us again to open the next door. At the end of a long hallway, he opened a door that revealed a staircase leading downward. After making a turn on a landing, I nearly stumbled. The room below resembled the home dungeons I had seen on many of the websites I had visited during my research.

These folks weren't amateurs, but people dedicated to this lifestyle. I proceeded down the rest of the stairs and set the bench down on a low platform as Ms. Dresden directed. As I started to unwrap it, she stood very near. Once it was fully exposed and the bubble wrap piled to one side, she said, "Oh, my! It is much more magnificent than your pictures detailed, Mr. Combs! It is, without a doubt, a masterpiece of art as well as a most unique piece of furniture." I think I blushed again.

Not knowing how to respond beyond a simple, "Thanks", I proceeded to show her how it functioned. I hadn't stated so in my advertisement, so it had one more function she was unaware of. After opening it, I reached inside and rotated a single lever, and the bench rose up on heavy casters, allowing it to be rolled around.

She actually clapped her hands in delight, "That's marvelous, Mr. Combs! That will be quite useful." Snapping her fingers, I looked up and saw the man place a thick sheaf of cash in her outstretched hands. After thumbing through it, she handed it to me.

"There is your purchase price, Mr. Combs, along with a small bonus for your prompt delivery."

As I was counting the money, I found that she had tipped me two hundred dollars. Making that much money so easily sort of flustered me, so when she spoke I missed what she said and looked up questioningly.

"I asked if you would like a cold beer after your labors, Mr. Combs."

Shrugging my shoulders, I told her that sounded good. The man strode away quite rapidly and returned with an ice cold bottle of imported beer. She invited me to sit down on a nearby black leather couch and started asking questions.

In a few minutes, her direct questions had outlined my short personal history, including the loss of my parents. Then she asked me something that shocked me, "How would you like to be the first to try out your creation, Mr. Combs?"

Somewhat shocked, I stuttered in reply, "Uh...uh...Ma'am, I'm not into that kind of stuff. I just noticed that no one was making really quality furniture for folks that...uh...well, like to use it."

She laughed, "Quite strange, Mr. Combs. You are a straight arrow, then? No perversions at all?"

Now I was blushing outright. "No, Ma'am."

"Well, then perhaps you would benefit from a demonstration. Let me show you how I will be using that bench." Again, she snapped her fingers and before I could respond, the man was toeing off his shoes, and then stripping out of his clothing. If it was possible, my blush deepened into a darker shade of red when I noticed that his penis and testicles were bound up in some complicated arrangement that appeared to be made of stainless steel. He promptly knelt over the stool.

As I sat there in shock, Ms. Dresden walked a few feet away and retrieved a stainless steel cart. She handed the man a confusing array of chains and leather. In a moment he had shackled his wrists and ankles in thick leather cuffs, then ran attached short chains back through the attachment beams on the stool. Each was padlocked securely, though she had to padlock the last one for him.

Sitting there in stunned silence, I used the beer to distract me, taking a long pull from it as she picked up a black leather quirt from the cart. Stepping up behind, and just to the rear of the bound man, she began swinging it full force into his buttocks. After about forty full force swings, his a network of purpling welts crisscrossed his buttocks, and she stopped.

I thought the demonstration was over, but instead she said, "I don't want to sweat all over this Italian silk." And with that she unbuttoned her blouse and slid it off, revealing her magnificent breasts to my eyes. I took another long pull of the beer as she resumed her fervid abuse of his butt.

By the time she paused a second time, the man was whimpering and tears were dripping from his cheeks. She glanced over at me, her own face and breasts flushed with either excitement or exertion. "My, my, Mr. Combs, it appears that this does excite you."

I wasn't sure what she meant, until her eyes lowered to stare at my crotch. Sure enough, I had a king size boner on display through my sweat pants. "Uh, it isn't what you're doing to him, Ma'am. It's, well, it's you being uh...topless."

She walked over to the couch, and to my shock reached out and grasped my boner. I just sat there as she said, "This has excited me. May I?"

Before I could answer, she knelt and pulled my sweatpants down, freeing my thick eight inches of meat to her view. And before I could protest, she dived down on it and swallowed it halfway to the root! I gasped. It had been nearly a year since I'd had sex. The stuff going on with my parents had left me no time, nor the inclination, to date. My girlfriend of some months had left me because I just couldn't give her enough time.

Ms. Dresden sure knew how to suck a cock. She would suck at the glans, almost as if she were trying to pull it off, then dive down deep and wriggle her tongue along the underside on the way down, then do the same on the way up. I don't think I lasted more than two or three minutes before I felt my balls tightening upwards. I tried to warn her, but her response was to redouble her efforts. I soon found myself grunting and thrusting upwards, ejaculating a huge load into her throat. She met each spurt with a powerful suck. I'd never, ever had a blow job that intense.

But Ms. Dresden wasn't finished, and though her vacuuming suction was reduced, she continued, if anything gulping my somewhat slackened penis right down her throat. I found my erection returning full force in just a few minutes. As soon as I was back up to full size, she stopped and stood up. Dropping her skirt, I found I had been correct. There were no panties. Her cunt was as bald and smooth as a baby's butt, without a hint of stubble. She didn't hesitate, but straddled my crotch as she knelt on the couch, one knee on each side of my hips.

With a hiss, she settled down until my swollen glans nudged her very slick, very hot, labia apart. Driving downwards, she moaned as my prick sluiced halfway into her hot cunt. We were soon bouncing in tempo; she driving downwards as I lunged upwards. As I became more excited, I sat back upright and lurched to my feet, holding her in place. I turned, and leaned forward onto the couch, putting her in my former position. I then began hammering into her cunt full depth, and with full force, causing her to have an orgasm so powerful that she began to raked my back with her long nails. I guess, one way or another, she would leave her mark on every man that came under her spell.

By the time I came, she was almost exhausted, barely moving, just shuddering from one orgasm to the other. When she felt me coming, it ramped her upwards again. After I filled her little cunt with my semen, I was getting cramped, so I withdrew and stood between her splayed thighs. To my amazement, her hooded eyes focused upon my slick prick. Sitting upright, she leaned forward and began licking me clean, now and then sucking at my glans to draw forth the last remnants of my latest ejaculation. I knew that if she kept that up, I'd get hard again. But I needed to urinate, and pulled away, "Where's the restroom, Ms. Dresden?" She waved at the far wall, where there was a doorway.

Pulling up my sweatpants, I staggered off to the bathroom, which was a whole new experience. I didn't recognize half the stuff in that huge bathroom, so after I finished draining the lizard, I whipped out my cell phone and took half a dozen photographs. Curiosity was part of my motivation, but I also thought that I needed to learn a lot more if I was going to cater to people engaging in this strange sexual behavior.

When I returned, Ms. Dresden was gone. The man was now free once again and fully dressed, thank goodness. He said, "Ms. Dresden has retired. She instructed me to give you this and tell you to be alert for her email."

Without another word, I was led back to the side entry. Minutes later, I was headed home. During the drive, I thought about the experience, and prayed that Ms. Dresden needed more perverted furniture. I had never had such a powerfully satisfying sexual experience in my entire life.

As I navigated towards home, I had several ideas. First, if my efforts continued to prove as productive, then I was going to need some help. My first thought turned to old Abe, a not too distant neighbor, who I had hired to help me move and set up all the equipment in the garage. Abe was sixty-something, and it became apparent to me that he was familiar with most of the woodworking equipment and tools. During our talks while hauling everything in my van and the trailer I rented, I discovered that he had worked in a cabinet shop for decades. I made a mental note to approach Abe with a lucrative employment offer.

*********************

A month ago, when I arrived back home, I found two emails from Ms. Dresden. In the first she thanked me for being a capable 'lover', and informed me that sometimes women like her needed men that could meet her on an equal footing, rather than being submissive to her, yet without being driven to dominate her. I marked that down as something important to me in the future, especially if I had to contend with her, or her kind, in the future.

Her second email asked me to make her ten such benches as 'party favors' for a party she was throwing for women with her same inclinations. I felt sorry for the men attending that party as I read through her email. At the same time, I was impressed that she would give away twenty-five thousand dollars in party favors. I wasn't jealous of her wealth, but I was sure going to try to tap into it as much as I could!

After seeing that stainless steel device that neutralized her male companion's genitals, I did a little research. It was definitely some sort of locking chastity device, which also placed a substantial weight upon his testicles. I remembered them dangling far below his penis. And, the more I read about these dominant females, the more I understood about how they controlled men, both mentally and physically.

I bought some computer software that would allow me to draw up plans to within one ten thousandth of an inch. And considering the recent influx of orders from my online ads and Ms. Dresden, I dipped into my new cash capital and my meager bank account to purchase a computer aided milling system that could also be integrated into a couple of pieces of existing equipment.

Things just seemed to click into place almost faster than I could react. Thankfully old Abe was eager to go to work, but for just four days a week. He wanted a new, more comfortable, and safer, fishing boat. He did have a nephew that was unemployed, and looking for a full time job, so I hired Ken as Abe's assistant, and when Abe was off, to just mill components for later assembly under Abe's more skilled direction. The kid, just eighteen, would only have to feed raw stock into the computer guided milling equipment when Abe was off fishing.

After a week of getting the new equipment set up, and Abe's production schedule sorted out, I began work on my ideas about a much improved set of bondage stocks. I had this vision of the basics of the stocks being made of exotic woods. But instead of a simple scissoring to trap the submissive, I wanted the system to be much more adjustable than the more expensive versions.

For instance, the best stocks anchored the submissive with their hands and neck trapped between a pair of scissoring planks with cutouts for the wrists and neck. A few offered a similar arrangement for the ankles. But once in place, a position change required a dominant to unfasten bolts (usually using thumbscrews on carriage bolts) and relocating them to a new height. I envisioned having threaded rods hidden within the mechanism that could guide both the ankle stocks and the neck/wrist stocks up and down at the push of a button on a remote control panel. The angle of both the upper and lower stocks could be changed with the same remote.

STR8Male
STR8Male
19 Followers