The workshop smells of leather and old wood. Cluttered benches, tools everywhere. Heart pounding already. Punishment from Jul burns in my veins. No panties under this flimsy gray dress. Nipples strain against cotton. I sit on the thick bench, legs dangling. Titouan, the apprentice, barely twenty, shy eyes darting. He hangs my red vest. Breton thanks slip out. ‘Mersi dit.’ He smiles, fetches tools.
Sweat beads on my skin. Crowd outside buzzes, but here, alone. I kick off red Spartiate sandals. Feet exposed, toes painted pale orange. He kneels, face at my knees. Measures start. Leg stretches out. His fingers on my calf. Warm. Firm. Pulse races. Thighs part slightly. Dress rides up. Heat floods my core. Wetness gathers. Can’t stain this dress. Not crossing town like that.
The Fever
Cheeks burn crimson. Nipples throb, huge and hard. His gaze flicks up. Sees the peek. Blushes deep. I grab the prie-Dieu, foot up high. Dress hikes fully. Bare pussy exposed. Smooth from last week’s wax. Clit swelling, peeking bold. Heart hammers. ‘Don’t want to ruin my dress,’ I gasp. ‘It’s… making me wet.’ His breath hitches. Fingers tighten on my ankle. Sweat slicks his brow. Mine too. Underarms darken fabric. Pussy lips part, glistening.
‘Take it off?’ Voice husky. No waiting. Dress peels away. Naked now. Breasts heaving, nipples aching peaks. Thighs splay wide. One foot in his grip, other elevated. Pussy drips. Clit erect, thumb-sized shame turned pride. Jul’s voice echoes: obey, expose. Skin fever-hot. Breath shallow. His eyes devour. From tits to slit. Timid boy, cock probably straining under apron. Urgency claws me. Need release. Now.