Firing for Fucking Ch. 02

1,859 words 6-minute read

When I opened my pottery studio to do contract pottery firing, I had no idea of my services which of them would be in high demand. Of course, being retired, married to Karen for forty years, and celibate as a couple in her waning years of life, I appreciated the feminine form as much as any of the neediest of pussy hounds. I had not had my share of pussy I decided, so when I became a potter a few years ago, I sculpted female bodies and female body parts.

I was a natural, it seemed. I had the necessary foresight to see the sculpture in my head before I ever sat down at my bench. My wife thought I was a dirty old man but appreciated and spent the income from my sculpting.

The art of sculpting is complicated beyond the visible results, but I had a steady hand and firm ideas of what the finished sculptures should be.

When the other potter's prepared clay started to arrive for contract firing, I found that I had very little time for my creativity at the bench. The extra kiln was inadequate, so I bought two larger kilns and sold the other two smaller ones.

Arlene, the potter who bought one of the kilns, hired me to set it up at her studio. Included in the price was instruction for the first firing, the same arrangement as I had made with Arlene for her kiln.

When I knocked, Arlene greeted me with a full press body hug, a peck on the cheek, a wet kiss on the lips, and a warm, smooth, exhaled breath down my neck and on my ear. Her hands started on my shoulder blades, pulling us together, sliding up and down my T-shirt. My rigid nipples as we separated were pointed at the tip of her crop top T-shirt. Her nipples were a perfect match for mine.

"Oh, God Damn. You stole my nipples! Or maybe, I stole yours. Let's see if they are an actual match."

Their tops came off overhead for both, and when they faced each other again, Arlene said, "Oh, God Damn. You have spectacular breasts, and I remember when my tits developed. Yours are an A cup. My nipples were tiny, and my areola huge and flat against my chest. Over that summer, the areola became smaller, my nipples became this long, and my tits grew from flat to look like yours. Back then, I always wanted to suck them."



"I wish I could suck mine, too. I know Arlene, you suck mine, and I'll suck yours at the same time, let's see what causes our lustiness; after all, that is what counts."

Arlene and I made plans to meet in her studio at four in the morning to get the kiln through the first firing during the daytime so I could monitor it. That meant I had to spend the day with the kiln, checking on it periodically during the firing. I wanted to start at four A M so it would finish before the day's end.

Arlene fixed us a light breakfast while I inspected and loaded the kiln. I called her into the studio in her garage when I closed the kiln and was ready to show her how to set it for firing.

As we sat to eat breakfast, I replayed in my head that she had, when setting the kiln, been flashing me the crotch of her matching tennis skirt and panties. It seemed like an accident at first, but I realized after the third or fourth time that she was definitely flirting with me.

Sitting for breakfast, she sat to my left at the end of the glass-topped garden table. Her legs were perched so that her skirt was forced up very high in front, and her panty pulled to the side by the position of her crossed ankles on the chair. The view of her tennis panty and right side labia was wide and unobstructed.

Arlene was adept at acting coy, but when I kept boldly looking at her crotch, she began to seep between her labia. Of course, it immediately showed as a shiny spot against the tight crotch fabric. Arlene had become quite aroused when she noticed a wet spot on my shorts up by the waist opening around to my side near her.

"Is that a pistol, a gun, or an instrument of fun there?" She asked, pinching the cock pushed outward on the side.

I was struck dumb, unable to form a word.

Arlene said, "I hope it is ready to fire, as I am almost dead from lack of cock."

I could see that she had a trimmed landing strip and that her outer labia were wrapped over the panty string squeezed up between her ass cheeks.

She was happy to find out that the day would mostly involve occasionally checking on the kiln only because it was a potential fire hazard until tested.

We spent an hour or so visiting, eating, and waiting to check on the controller. I told her how to check it while sitting at the table.

When we were at a point of discussion about how long to fire the clay, the conversation turned to sex. Arlene completely understood the firing, kilns, and pottery since she had a Bachelor of Arts Degree in pottery from college. She led me on, asking, "Does it ever fire wrong?"

I replied, "Your kiln is like a teenage boy; it is either turned on or getting ready to be turned on, so not really. It shuts off too soon more often than too late."

Arlene saw a chance to redirect the conversation and replied, "Ooh, my husband might finally become interested if it is like a teenage boy, as he likes their cocks more than he likes what I have to offer."

Not missing a chance, I asked, "Are you married to a guy who likes boys? What a miscarriage of sensibilities! I, for the life of me, cannot imagine not being interested in your offerings. And, what happens wIn you get horned up?" I asked her rudely.

She smiled and said, "I find someone else to confirm that I am still desirable too, even if not to Fred."

Never afraid to offend, I asked, "Is that why your pussy is seeping in your panty now?"

"You are direct, aren't you? Do you always talk so rudely to women?"

"You and I know what you want, Arlene, and I want it, too. I believe in asking for what I want. I want to get in your bed and search as far into your pussy as possible. If that is too direct, we will still get to that, but it will simply take more of the time we have here alone to say it in a way maybe your mom, and for sure my mom, preferred to be asked to fuck our fathers to create you and me."

She was about half pissed off, but she could see my cock now as it was pressing firmly and, she imagined, urgently against the leg of my shorts. That cock was more important than her bruised feelings and sensibilities, and she said, "I suspect then that is why your cock is hard and dripping in your shorts."

"You know that we have at least two hours before we need to look at the kiln again, so why don't we do what we both know we want?"

"Follow me," Arlene replied as she stripped her T-shirt off over her head, dropping it on the floor at the table.

I reached for her, but Arlene had moved away and started toward the back of the house, reaching around her back and releasing her bra. She flung the bra at me and pushed her shorts down as she entered a doorway down a hall.

It took a minute to unlace and remove the shoes I had on, but as soon as I had them off, I stripped off my shorts, briefs, and socks, then scurried naked after her down the hall.

When I entered the bedroom, Arlene was climbing into a swing suspended from the ceiling of her walk-in closet. She said, "I am on the pill, so I want you to test its efficacy. It hasn't ever failed me, so let's connect."

Not one to need to be asked to fuck someone twice, I immediately adjusted the swing, so she was almost standing on her head as I slurped from her pussy. After two monster orgasms, she said, "If you adjust it so that my pussy is lowest in the swing, you can poke me from below and spin the swing in a circle while I am impaled on your cock. It feels marvelous to do that."

She had no more suggested it than I had the swing repositioned and had crawled under her. However, I didn't poke her. I licked and spun her on my tongue's tip and short length. I was delighted with the resulting squeals from Arlene.

Arlene asked me to rim her, and while doing that, she squirted all down my chest. I entered her and spun her. Her warmth stimulated me; consequently, her pussy was filled with me, and my come while she was spinning.

I wondered aloud what that would be like, mumbling, "I'm impressed. It looks like the pleasure is a factor of the rotation speed."

Arlene said, "Shut that mouth on some part of me, you hunk of hung cock. God, I am going to love this. Who knows, I may change my will, even. Are you as good as you look?"

I didn't answer; I kissed her mouth, fingered her pussy, and nudged my cock against her ass. She moaned, "Oh, fuck me, kind sir, you nasty, rude fucker; fuck me in the ass. Don't be gentle, be as rude as you behave. Don't disappoint me, please. I expect excellence, nastiness, rudeness, orgasms, and a thorough fucking."

Neither of them disappointed the other.

Chapter 3: A little tease:

Arlene told Kelly about me, and Kelly immediately texted me to buy the other kiln. After I agreed to accept cash, she said she wanted the same deal I gave Arlene. I didn't hesitate to ask her, "She told you, did she?"

"I saw Arlene in the grocery store minutes ago, and the smile on her face would not be suppressed. I insisted she spill. Well, I understand if the price has to go up for the deal she got, I will pay whatever you ask. Please. I need this. You'll see."

Kelly hadn't needed a kiln since she was a small producer, maybe a piece every week; she was single after seven years and had an itch that had become urgent while Arlene explained her 'kiln sitting' day with me.