Hump Day Kick Start – Workbench Edition

Song of the day: Rolling in the Deep by Otherwise

Hump Day Kick Start – for your muse, a writing picture prompt, or just a visual treat.

work bench

 

Wood, fur, nylon. What else does he feel?

Tell me about today’s prompt. Who are they? A blind sculpture and his generous subject? A scientist checking out his latest prototype? The contractor remodeling the schoolmaster’s classroom? Is she enticing him to build something? Maybe something to hide a valuable, stolen item? Is he victim to her seductions? Or vise versa? Perhaps he is a master woodworker about to give his new, wealthy employer a lesson in bits, chisels,and screwdrivers.

Love to hear your take!

10 Responses to Hump Day Kick Start – Workbench Edition

  1. Sarah Andre says:

    Oooooooooooooo yeaaaaaaaaaaahhhh.

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  2. jbrayweber says:

    I take it you like, Sarah?

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  3. So much texture, so much feeling. Hmmmmmm………

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  4. jbrayweber says:

    They could over-blow the senses.

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  5. jeff7salter says:

    Now you’re talking.
    Okay, here’s the story of Regina & Herb:
    Lovely Regina was looking for chair that didn’t hurt her keester. She’d tried all the usual places but found none to her satisfaction. A friend recommended the talented craftsman Herb, who made all his wood furnishings by hand.
    So, making an appointment, Regina appeared at Herb’s isolated workshop, where the rich smells of fine wood permeated the air.
    Herb asked her to describe what she wanted in a chair.
    When she explained that none she had tried seemed to fit her keester, Herb requested a close examination of that portion of her anatomy.
    “There’s no obvious flaw in the contours of your derriere,” said Herb, after an exquisitely careful inspection. “In fact, I could say — if you don’t mind — that your butt is pretty much flawless.”
    She didn’t mind. “So what do you think is the problem?” she asked.
    “Well, instead of asking your bottom to conform to the chair, we could conform the chair to your bottom,” offered Herb.
    “Not sure how that would work, but I’m certainly willing to try,” she replied.
    “I’m game,” added Herb.
    So he lifted her to the bench and positioned her in numerous ways, each time taking great care to feel and stroke both the wood and her bottom. He certainly wanted the result to be perfect!
    At the moment this photo was taken, Herb had just read her a few verses of his favorite book of love poems, and then turned his attention to the legs of the chair.
    “We want the legs to be a proper match for what we’ve done to your bottom,” he explained. “So I’ll need a very precise assessment of the, um, grain and texture… in addition to the curves and contours.”
    Rather out of breath, all Regina could reply was, “ohhh-kaaay.”

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  6. jbrayweber says:

    HAHA! Sounds just sneaky enough to work, Jeff. Love it!

    Like

  7. Sarah Andre says:

    “Almost finished, Mrs. Maxwell.”
    Tony picked up the torque wrench, checking her out peripherally once again. He could barely get past how the lace in her stockings hugged her upper thighs. But that suede coat with the split fur trim? The shiny black stilettos? The expensive perfume wafting all the way over here from where she sat like royalty on his work board? Even the Wayfarers she’d set down next to her an hour ago. Wealthy, wedded and wicked hot. She was so far out of his league on so many levels it actually pained him.

    “Tony, I’ve asked you a hundred times to call me Cherise.” Her voice fit her. Sultry. Smokey. Promising spectacular sex. He nodded but didn’t correct himself. For some reason all afternoon she’d wanted to lower herself to his blue-collar level and be chummy friends. It made him so uncomfortable that he’d barely spoken or looked up. But how he ached to touch her. Just once. Maybe taste her too. Press his lips to that swanlike neck. He tightened the lug nut and reached over for the second one.

    Cherise. He visualized saying her name as he slipped into her, hearing her breathy moan as she opened herself wider on instinct. Not here in his garage. She had too much class in her blueblood ancestry to rock-and-roll among the dust and grease of his auto repair shop.

    She shouldn’t have stayed here all afternoon in this cold garage. He’d offered many times to drive her back to her mansion in Cambridge. Yeah. Now THERE he could fantasize licking every gorgeous, fresh-smelling inch of her. In her big king bed, in her huge master bedroom.
    Bet her sheets were satin. And red. Like her Ferrari here.

    “Sorry it’s taken so long.” He glanced out the garage door he’d closed against the chill an hour ago. Across the Charles River twilight loomed and Boston lights twinkled. “If you wouldn’t let me take you home I could have driven you to that fashion show.” He almost added ‘ma’am’, but stopped himself. She probably wouldn’t think ma’am was a chummy word. He reached for the third lug nut mentally shaking his head.

    She looked up from her book with a slight smile. “I much prefer your company, Tony.”
    See? That’s how different her class was. Any woman from his side of the River would have said “let’s hang.”
    ‘Prefer your company?’
    And over a hoity-toity fashion show at the Ritz-Carlton?
    He cranked the last lug nut and dropped the torque wrench with a clatter.

    “All done,” he said, hoping regret didn’t fill his voice. He should be relieved. Just her sitting here reading, hour after hour while he fixed the wreck that had been towed to his door made him edgy. He’d need a lot of beers to unwind from this sexual frustration.

    He stood and wiped his hands on a rag, walking to where she sat. “You must be almost through that book by now,” he said. She hesitated and then put the opened book down. He frowned. How could she still be a few pages in?

    “I’ve been distracted,” she purred, as if reading his thoughts.
    He had absolutely no response because all the blood rushed from his head. Him, speechless…the guy with the witty comebacks for all the women in his neighborhood.

    “I…uh…hammered out the dents,” he stuttered, sure he’d misunderstood. “Then reapplied paint, buffed it and fixed the two tires.”

    “Send my husband the bill,” she said, with a slight wave of her hand. And he needed to hear that.
    Husband.
    A bill so large that Mr. Maxwell’s check would pay to heat his apartment all winter.
    And how she’d said it. All haughty-like. The girls he dated knew he was the alpha. She may’ve just admitted to checking him out all afternoon but this woman was a queen among women. He was like the guy tending the horses in the queen’s stable.
    His fantasies fizzled and his shoulders slumped.

    “Let me go wash my hands and I’ll help you off that thing.” He nodded to his work board. Her ass probably fell asleep hours ago.

    As he turned she caught his sleeve. “No. There’s no need to clean up.” She ran her palm slowly up his forearm and stroked his bicep. Skin on skin. “I like you just like this, Tony.”

    His Adam’s Apple felt two sizes too big for his throat. “Mrs. Maxw–”

    Her throaty laugh stopped him. “I’m not leaving until you call me Charise.”
    He took a deep breath. “Charise.”
    She dropped her hand from his arm and leaned back on it. “And I’m not leaving here until you touch me.”

    Despite the chill, a trickle of sweat rolled down his spine. He let his eyes roam slowly over her beautiful body, then reached out and fondled the fur coattail covering her thigh. So soft.

    “That’s my coat. That’s not me.”
    He looked deep into her green eyes and all he saw was naked desire. Reaching down he slid a hand along the silk stocking of her leg. Even softer.

    She shook her head. “That’s not me either.” She raised the leg he was holding off the work board and he gazed in wonder at where the lace ended and her creamy thigh began.
    “Touch me up here.”

    So he did. And the throaty sigh he’d fantasized about hour after hour escaped her lips. “More, Tony,” she whispered, watching him. “Much more.”

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  8. jbrayweber says:

    Wow. You’re like a romance writer, or something. This is spectacular, Sarah. Truly!

    Like

  9. Will Graham says:

    Ummmmmmm….. please excuse me for not contributing. I feel the sudden need for an ice-cold shower……

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  10. jbrayweber says:

    It’s understandable, Will. 😉

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