Clay For The Potter - Sex Stories

Clay For The Potter

... potter’s hands, not only to feel seen but meticulously reshaped and formed into something exquisite beyond the boring gray triteness of the life she’d led this far.

Her tapping on the glass had briefly irritated him, interrupting his sharp focus, but as soon as he saw the lovely woman at his window, he flashed her a smile that instantly warmed her chilly insides. She accepted his invitation to come inside and let him introduce her to his creations. His dark brown eyes had never left her green ones as he spoke of his passion.

Curious, she had asked, “Do you see what the clay will become before your hands even touch it, or do you decide as you go along, feeling it take shape within your fingers?”

“There’s always a communion between myself and the clay,” he replied while manipulating the substance. “Sometimes, a lighter touch is needed. Sometimes more pressure… here…” he said as the muscles in his forearms grew taut and the pottery changed shape, submitting to his touch.

She admired his unusual combination of manliness and grace and soon longed — then begged — to be the object of his attention. He saw her for what she was — a woman needing to feel connected tosomething and be seen and heard in her new world. Moreover, like the clay within his hands, he saw her potential.

He invited her to come back the next night, and instead of the black suit she’d worn to work, which hid her shape and personality, he asked her to wear something that made her feel ...

... beautiful.

Now, she lies within his powerful grasp, preparing to be molded into something new and perhaps unexpected.

“You’re inspiring me.” He traces the swell of her breast, kneading its fleshy fullness, adding, “The shape of you steals my breath.”

The potter caresses her neck and dips his fingers underneath the silky plunging neckline. Her chest reddens. Nipples, unusually large, change and threaten to poke through the thin fabric. He gently toys with her pronounced pebbles, gauging her reactions. It isn’t until he roughly twists one that Esmeralda’s back arches, and mouth flies open.

He smiles. “It seems you’re not as delicate as you first appeared,” he sharply pinches her other nipple, “and enjoy some roughness.”

Still writhing from the newly experienced sensations, she simply nods in silent agreement.

“Don’t hold your tongue, Esme. Express what you’re feeling. You’re in a safe place.”

He continues stirring her nipples, and she begins loudly moaning and begging for more. Then, she surprises him by lowering her straps, unveiling her magnificent breasts to more thrilling touches by his skilled hands. He kneads her delicate flesh, paler than the rest of her, and delights as her breasts blush within his hands.

She sees movement out of the corner of her eye, which causes her to turn her head to the window. Her hands spring to cover her naked breasts upon seeing a dark silhouette in the window holding an umbrella. She worries about how much he can see in their ...