The Wood Worker

By: N.D. Johnson

man holding wooden stick while drilling hole
Photo by Thijs van der Weide on Pexels.com

What can I say? Monsieur La Croix was a man of many talents. There was never a problem he couldn’t solve or a person he couldn’t charm. That’s why I was so glad when he accepted me as his apprentice in the wood shop. I know most young men my age are only interested in becoming a noble in the king’s court but there was something about woodworking that drew me in. I might even say it enticed me.
It was the summer after my father had passed when I saw Monsieur La Croix in the pavilion of the town market next to the merchant selling sheep hide. He was an older gentleman, not dramatically, but older nonetheless. He actually carried around with him a walking cane made of Willow Oak- a rare wood that’s only found six towns over. Some of the locals say he was hurt in an accident a few years back when some oars fell on his leg. It didn’t seem to be stopping his work though. I was working in my family’s tent whacking rodents with the feather duster when he approached. They were pretty big for rats.
He walked right up and said “I didn’t know you could use a feather duster like that”, and let out a chuckle.
His eyes had a glint in them. Something that I would come to know as a telling sign of affection. His laugh was also infectious. All I could reply with was a smile. He tossed me a coin and grabbed a loaf of bread from my stand, then disappeared into the crowd.
It wasn’t until the eve before Christmas that I’d seen him again. It was almost as if he locked himself away in his shop for the winter. Because he and my father were old mates, before he passed, my mother insisted that I go over to check on him. I was reluctant at first but her scowl had magic powers. So I bundled up as best as I could and trekked on over to his shop. The candle was lit in the window so I knew he had to be home.
Upon approaching the door, I didn’t even get a chance to knock. He swung it open and to my surprise, he was unrobed. I shut eyes immediately, squeezing them tightly like someone had blinded me. Then I realized… the only reason I shut them so tight was to conceal the image in my mind for later use. He yelled my name causing me to snap out of my trance. I hesitated to reopen my eyes but I’m glad I did. Even for an older gentleman, his body was impeccable, almost as if it was crafted by the best woodworkers that’d ever lived.
He ushered me in and I explained my purpose for visiting. I’d brought with me two loaves from the tent, in case he was hungry. He wasn’t. Monsieur la Croix stood across from me, in the buff, sanding down a gondola. I’d never seen more powerful arms. The way he pushed the block back and forth shaving off layer after layer of pine was stirring something on the inside of me.
The candle in the window flickered causing the light to bounce off his round buttocks. I could see the beads of salt water rolling down his back as he continued to thrust toward the boat. He looked like he could use a wipe down so I grabbed a rag that was lying nearby and slowly approached his frame. And before I knew it, my hand was rubbing the rag across his back clearing the sweat.
He stopped. I stopped. Monsieur la Croix turned around swiftly. I was sure my cheek would feel the wrath of his hand for being such an imbecile. Instead, he caressed my cheek with the fore of his thumb, running his dusty fingers across my lips. As he leaned in closer, our faces mere inches from one another, I pulled back, but the palm of his hand clasped tightly around my neck as he pulled me in and locked my lips to his.
I flew. Before I knew it, Monsieur La Croix had put me inside the gondola with the sawdust still covering the floor and bent me forward onto my hands and knees. I felt his hammer grow until it was hard as steel as he pressed himself against me. I tried to look back a few times but he’d just push my head forward toward the floor. Then I heard a rip! The draft from under the door tickled me but the warmth of his mouth soon took over.
I’d only been in this position once before, with my father, before he passed. And in a strange way, it was almost therapeutic. Suddenly, I felt the pain of a hard thrust into me as I let out a muffled scream. It was orgasmic and like never before. I came instantly. Monsieur La Croix had a way of thrusting his manhood into me so that with each thrust I’d be sent higher into the clouds.
The globs of my cum mixed with the sawdust as it slowly trickled toward my face. I could hear his moans bellowing from deep under his chest. He fell onto my back as he released and breathed heavy in my ear. I lay there, with him topping me both tired and wired. I was too enthralled to sleep but too tired to stay awake. So I just rested with his body acting like a roaring fire… heating mine.
That’s when I knew becoming a woodworker would be the best decision I’d ever make.

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