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Lumus -> Claim, Part I (6/21/2008 2:11:09 PM)
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I received another writing request a while back from wolfandkitten. When I finally had time to go over the request, I broke the whole down into several parts. This is Part I. Feel free to offer any comments, criticisms, or the like, as usual.
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People don't get it. They think what I do with my slut is cruel, demeaning - but you see, she's my slut, and what she does is what I want because that's who she is, who I am. Maybe they'd understand better if they knew me, how I'm built. Since I'm a builder of sorts - I prefer the term creator, or artist - I'll try to explain.
Some guys in my line of work like to brag that they work with their hands. Not me; I use my hands, but everything comes from the mind. I'm a remodeler, you see. I take shapes and styles that are no longer desired and mold them into a new form, something that will take the breath away of anyone who sees it. After talking with a client, I like to find a quiet place for myself; then I relax, letting my mind wander until it seizes on a shape. Then I slowly go over the shape in my mind, chipping away at it, texturing it, giving it fuller form, until the end result is locked firmly in my brain.
My hands then do what my mind tells them to. The end product is always well-received. My best work comes from using this simple, effective technique, and it has so many other applications...
It was through my work that I met my slut. She was a client. After a few phone calls exchanged over the work she needed done, I made the long drive out to her home. She lived in a remote area; one of those larger, older Tudor homes set back on a massive, wooded acre of private property. I got lost the first time heading out there, and was cursing myself when I finally showed up several hours late, close to dusk. First impressions can be a bitch. Then again - when she opened the front doors, dressed in a frilly white blouse and a dark skirt - I nearly lost my breath. I noticed her eyes first, wide and gleaming in the fading sunlight; then like any other male on the planet, my view went downwards. My eyes paused when they hit her neck; she wore a simple black strip of leather tight around the creamy skin. That was her collar; I'll get into that later. Down, down, all around, I couldn't miss those tits - no bra, nipples pointing out - or those legs, which seemed to spill out of her skirt and travel downwards about three miles to the floor. Long toned legs are good.
She was meek at the door; immediately apologetic when she realized I'd gotten lost, saying it was her fault for not giving better directions. That worked for me, as well; no one wants to put up with a bitchy client. The job she had in mind was in the back east wing. The one wall had a weakly-set brace which, over the years, had begun to sag, taking the ceiling down with it until it slanted visibly. The structure was intact, other than the brace; all that was required was setting a temporary brace up, shifting the ceiling [the attic was above, but unaffected; Tudors have good gapping between floors, so I could cut through the attic floor and bring the ceiling up from above]. Once everything was realigned, all that was left was to replace the bracing with something more durable and permanent. The original brace was a wooden frame set as an arch; the upper part of the arch was sagging, disturbing the whole integrity of the piece. I planned to replace the whole thing. The hard part was sculpting the sides of the arch to fit the original room. She liked the naked seraphims carved into the original arch, so I'd have to keep that theme in mind when hewing the replacement. We talked price while I examined the arch closely. My mind wandered a bit; I kept catching a whiff of her perfume. All the time we were talking, that scent kept rolling over my senses. She offered me something to drink, and otherwise kept out of my way, although my eyes kept going back to roam over her. She must have noticed, but she didn't say anything. The good sluts never do. They want you to notice.
As I was heading out, she told me that she often wandered the grounds, tending to the gardens. She gave me a key to let myself in, in case she wasn't around. I headed out, that perfume still playing on my mind. All I could think to myself when I climbed back into my truck was how this cute, unassuming little number would be fun to throw down on her hardwood floors. I'd have uses for that pretty mouth, those tits...
The job itself only took three more trips - one to set the temporary brace; one to raise the ceiling; one to bring the newly-carved arch support and set it in place. The first trip was all business - she wasn't anywhere to be found, so I hauled the temporary brace off the back of the truck and let myself in. With the brace in place, a few well-aimed blows with a sledgehammer knocked out the old supporting arch. I took the pieces back with me, using them as visual templates for their replacement.
The second visit, she let me in. She kept me company while I climbed up into the attic, removed a small section of the floorboards, and set about to raising the ceiling below with a few joists. She wasn't chatty, but she asked about my work; she brought me a few beer. When the joists were in place, she inquired about the new archway. I told her I had a design in mind, and grabbed my notebook to show her a few sketches I'd made of what the final piece would look like. When she commented that the seraphims had a naughty look to them, I just grinned and told her that some angelic-looking figures are anything but. She blushed, and replied that the breasts were larger, as well. Without thinking, I grabbed one of those nice round tits of hers, which were practically spilling out of her low-cut blouse, and said that the whole point was to enjoy them for what they were. She was startled, but she waited a few seconds before pulling away. Her cheeks went crimson, and she asked me to keep my mind on the work. I heard something else under the words, though, a tone that said just the opposite. Once again, my mind laid her out on the floor, legs spread. Oh, this slut definitely wanted it...but she was expecting it just then. No. Funtime would come later.
On the last trip, a month later, I brought the newly-carved archway out in three pieces. The whole thing would be too big to move through the front door as one piece; I made the beam and pillars interlocking, so that once they were set in place, they would support the overhead weight. Once again, she was home; she watched as I locked the pieces together, then angled them up and set them into position. She didn't offer me beer this time, but she made up for it by wearing another transparent blouse and an even higher skirt. I had a few peeks up that skirt while she stood close as I assembled the arch; the sweet spot was too covered in shadow to see, but I could smell her. It was better than her perfume. She caught me looking up once, and frowned, but didn't say anything. Her scent got stronger, and I knew that slut wanted me to see more. I gave her key back when everything was in place, along with an invoice, and she paid it with cash. That wasn't much of a shock; a woman on her own in a mansion like this, set out in a remote area...she was bound to have money. That was the end of that - a simple job, me doing my usual good work, paid in full. Only I had a little extra payment in mind, and thoughts of that rolled through my head as I rode home, the copy of her house key wedged into the front pocket of my jeans, my hard-on pushing against it more than once.
* * * * *
I waited a week, working on a few other minor jobs. Midsummer is when people in my line of work get the most business, and that tides us through the winter. I'd already done twice as much work as the previous summer, and three times the money, so I was set. Still, a man's got bills to pay, so I took the odds-and-ends jobs as surplus. All the while, though, my mind kept going back to the woman in her mansion, living all alone; living away from everyone else, where no one would hear...no one would know...
When I couldn't take it any longer, I closed up my pending jobs, gathered some materials, tossed them in the back of the truck, and headed out. I left mid-afternoon, so I'd arrive at nighttime. I drove off the main dirt road and parked in a cluster of trees. Hefting a bag from the back of my truck, I moved a little closer, skirting around the front, and hunkered down behind a large boulder set in back of one of the ground gardens. The lights were on in the east wing; and the room I'd set the archway in had two small windows, the curtains tied back. Peering through the binoculars I'd brought, I could see clearly into the room. I paused to admire my work; it fit seamlessly into the existing structure. After a half hour or so, she came into view. She was wearing a flimsy, lacy thing, very transparent, like most of her blouses. I felt myself engorging and hardening as she paused at the seraphims. Her hand ran over the wood, pausing at the breasts I'd carved, her fingers curling around the curve. As I stared, she opened her blouse, her breasts spilling out. She fondled the seraphim with one hand, herself with the other; I could feel the blood between my legs thickening me almost painfully as she pressed her tits to those of the seraphim's, rubbing them, licking the seraphim's nipples, licking her own. I knew she was a slut, I could smell it, sense it; and here I was, seeing what I already knew clearly. It's amazing what people will do behind closed doors, when no one's watching, no one's judging. Eventually, her back arched, her mouth opening silently into what could only be a squeal as she shook, cumming. She leaned against the seraphim she'd molested, catching her breath, before moving to turn the lights out.
There were other lights on in the house; they went out, one by one. I moved around the grounds, following her through my binoculars; watching as she stripped entirely, casually rubbing herself as she paused in each room. It was probably ten or so when the last light went out. She'd gone to bed. I waited fifteen minutes before slinging my satchel around my shoulder and heading for the front door. The copy of the key I'd made wouldn't turn at first; I had to calm myself and give it a half dozen tries. The key finally turned, and the door swung open. I was in.
You might expect some type of alarm system in a large Tudor, but that's not often the case. When people live out in the remote areas, they don't expect much company. They don't want an alarm installed and ruining the look of the house; they don't want to pay for a service they never expect to need. I hadn't seen an alarm on any of my previous trips out, but I kept an ear open when I opened the front door. I didn't hear anything, which was a good sign; most alarms are loud and obnoxious, more to scare you off than anything else. Silent alarms - well, if you don't see them, and can't hear them, you can't do anything about those. I wasn't going to buy myself any unnecessary worry.
I sat down in the front room and waited a bit longer, letting my ears attune themselves to the normal settling sounds that any house makes. There was the occasional quiet creak; a dripping sound coming from somewhere in the west wing. If I knew the sounds I didn't have to worry about, I'd be more alert to the sounds that were a concern. Eventually, I began creeping up the curving staircase to the upper floor, where her bedroom was.
Pausing outside her bedroom door, which she left propped open, I peered in. She wasn't asleep yet. The silk sheets had been tossed back; her legs were bent up and spread outwards, one hand fingering her naked cunt while the other pinched at her nipple. She was murmuring something, I couldn't make out what; as it was, I could barely move as I watched her fingering herself, pinching and slapping at her tits, her scent becoming more pronounced in the room. Finally she let out a garbled shriek, her legs snapping open even wider as she climaxed. Her entire body relaxed, and she laid there, spent, still caught up in her orgasm. Her breathing became slowed, deeper, as she drifted off, that musky scent still permeating the air.
A few more minutes passed before I slowly inched her door open wider. A wide grin crept over my face even as I crept up to her bed. This slut wanted it; it was going to be good times...
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