Dani and the Christmas Dildo

He smiled as he came in. "It's just Jake, Marie."

"Oh, bullshit," I chuckled. "I've known a few Jakes, and all of them used to be Jacobs."

He shrugged. "Well, what can I say?" He looked sideways at me as he laid his camera stuff back down on the loveseat. This time, he'd brought a tripod. "Some of us just don't like our names. Daniella."

"Touche," I grinned, gathering my hair back. "Gee. How hard was it to find that out? Were hard-hitting teams of journalists combing the birth records at Adams Memorial Hospital?"

"No. It was in the press kit Brad put out for the gallery exhibition."

"Yeah, that was my other guess." I finished with my hair and readjusted my headrag. "So, yeah, I've got a pour coming up as soon as I get everything heated up. No sparks, but things will be shiny. Um, the editors said they want more pics? Was there not enough copy or something? Kevin not doing me justice?" I passed it off as a joke, but I was probing. I hoped it wasn't too obvious. Jake looked at me without emotion.

"I wouldn't know. He does his thing, I do mine." He was unpacking, doing it with efficiency and competence, like I did with my sex toys when I did a call-out. "He never took you out, did he?" The question was casual, friendly.

I glanced at him as I adjusted a gas line. "Honey, I don't kiss and tell."

He shrugged and gave a mocking half-smile. "I'm not surprised he didn't."

I let him see me wink. "I'll just say this: I gave him a great night, but left him wanting more." I congratulated myself. "That's what a woman does, who's been raised properly." I patted at my suit, and rusty dust flew up in a cloud. "I'll just go check on my stuff."

"Knock yourself out." He'd brought a laptop today, which he hooked up to some sort of expensive-looking box of shit, with wires all over it. "I'll be ready in a sec."

I was slightly apprehensive, I'll admit. The pour would go fine, a stupid statue of a dog I'd set up as an experiment to figure out a better way to do my sprues; all technical stuff. The dog would just be the means to the end, a little throwaway that, if Brad had his way, would get sold on the Internet for four figures or something. Whatever; the bronze would shimmer as it went into the mold, which would make Jake's editors happy. No sparks, though.

What worried me was the other thing I was going to do. See, Steffi wanted a custom dildo, and I'd promised to make her one. The design process had been a slog, but I'd cast it last week complete with wiring channels in case she wanted to add a motor later, and today I'd been planning to patinate it. That would involve flame and shiny things, which was great, except that the main shiny thing would be a big, stylized penis.

Probably, Jake couldn't use those pics. I supposed I could patinate the dog instead, but I'd have a bunch more steps to go through first, and I wasn't sure he wanted to wait around. But the dildo was what I had ready to go, so if he wanted shiny fire, that was what he'd get. "Something to drink, Jakey?" I called. "It's going to be hot in here while I'm working."

"Uh, no. I brought a water bottle." He was all set up. He straightened up, brushing at his jeans, and rolled his sleeves. "Do I need, like, a hard hat or something?"

I winked. "Just don't go swimming in the molten bronze, and you should be fine. Okay. If you need any shots of me clean, better take them now. Remember how dirty I got last time, with the knives?" I grinned. "This may be worse."

"I'm sure you'll look great," he shrugged. Ooh. A compliment, maybe. "Just do what you do, Marie. I'll try to stay out of your way." And he did, too; if anything, he was a little too cautious. I'd thought I'd be thrown off having a photographer all up in my shit while I was doing my thing, but to be honest I never really noticed him; I was too busy trying to figure out whether the new sprue setup was going to work. I did glance over to him once, briefly, to make sure he was out of the way when I used the overhead hoist to get the bronze out of the furnace, but in general things went well enough.

After that, for an hour or so, he was sucking thoughtfully on his water while I hammered and chiseled and filed and did all the rest, trying to put off my inevitable phallic work, but ultimately I sighed, lifted my goggles onto my forehead, and unzipped my nomex to splash my face and neck from a bucket. "Shit, it's hot!" I huffed. "One more thing to do: it's called patination. It involves blowtorches." His eye lit up, and I cringed inside. "Might not be the thing you'd want to photograph, but I'll let you decide."

"Sounds intriguing." He watched as I bent spluttering over my bucket, scraping vigorously at my grimy face with cheap paper towels. "Can I get you some soap or something?"

"Nah, this is just to cool off." When I turned, he was understandably looking inside my unzipped suit; I wasn't sure why his eyes widened so rapidly until I looked down. The water had splattered onto the tanktop, and alas! a nipple had made its appearance, all gauzy behind the clingy white cotton. Damn. Hadn't planned on that. I mean, I'm obviously not opposed to guys seeing my nipples, but I do like to know it's coming. "Oh. Sorry."

"I'm not," he said immediately, and then he blushed endearingly as he turned away. "Sorry; that was unprofessional."

Aww! Cute. I pondered for a moment, wondering whether there was any point to flirting with this cat, and then decided Marie wouldn't think about it that much. "You should just take a picture," I grinned, the old line tripping neatly off my tongue. "It'll last longer."

"Huh." He glanced back, meeting my eyes this time. "I mean, I do have all the right equipment here..."

I began to breathe more comfortably. This, I could do. "True. Do you do nudes, or anything like that?"

He shrugged, fiddling with his software. "I have, in college. They'd bring in models for, like, artistic classes, life drawing, stuff like that." He looked back up at me. "That's the beauty of art school. All the naked women you're actually supposed to look at."

"But now?" I pressed. I took my time zipping up. "No opportunities anymore?"

He shrugged. "For some reason, there's just not a huge number of women out there clamoring for me to photograph them without their clothes on." He made one of those comical "go figure" expressions, and I giggled. "It's not a huge part of the industry. I haven't really gotten into the modeling side of things."

"I see." I chewed on my lip, wondering how artfully I could segue this conversation into a discussion of metal dildoes. "Well, so, ever take pics of nude men? Like, in college?"

"You'd also be surprised at the low number of men eager to take off all their clothes and be photographed."

"I'm not so sure," I muttered; I'd met several, although photographed wasn't quite the right word. More like videotaped. "So, here's the thing sweetie, and I'm just going to come right out and say it. The other sculpture I'm doing, the one I'm patinating, is a big ol' penis."

He blinked, but to his great credit he didn't seem too phased. "A big ol' penis?"

"Yeah. You know, like a dick."

"I know what a penis is, Marie."

Not like I do. I had to physically bite my tongue to avoid the obvious reply. Instead, I just winked. "Don't we all, honey. Don't we all." I turned, then, and marched on over to where Steffi's toy waited, already sandblasted and ready to get worked on. "This might scandalize you in more ways than one," I observed thoughtfully. "Shall I tell you what I have to do to this big ol' penis? I'm making it for a friend."

"Please." We arrived at the little bath I had it sitting in, degreasing.

"I've been pickling it since this morning. I'll clean off the pickle, then I'll smear on some ammonium sulfide, then I'll keep doing that while I take a blowtorch to it. Finally, I'll wax it all up."

"Hmm." He seemed to be out of things to say for a moment, but then that's probably typical for a man staring at a massive bronze penis in a vinegar solution. "Sounds like a normal night with my ex-girlfriend."

I grinned, a warm and genuine one, a Dani grin. "So, you'll have no problems with seeing me run a flamethrower over a dick?"

He shrugged. "Somehow, I think I'll manage to overcome the trauma." He frowned. "It's pretty lifelike."

I arched an eyebrow. "I'm a very good sculptor."

He smiled slowly. "Like, really lifelike."

"Well, I'm really a very good sculptor." I frowned. "I hope it doesn't look familiar," I went on, gnawing on my lip. "This thing is nearly a foot long." I glanced down at the front of his pants, making it obvious and trying to keep it light. "I don't know you very well, Jake, but I can't imagine... well, let's just say that if you're packing something like this, I'm not sure I'd blame your ex-girlfriend for taking a blowtorch to you."

He laughed cynically. "Women always say size doesn't matter, though." He seemed to be enjoying this.

"Sometimes," I shrugged, still grinning. "But a penis like this? It would hurt after awhile," I pointed out. I felt myself flush. "I would imagine." I took a breath, things moving unexpectedly now. "I can't really say that from personal experience, frankly," I lied, "but there's only so much room in there."

"Fair enough." He lifted a camera. "I'm ready when you are, Marie." I shook my head, like a dog backing out of a toilet.

"Sure. This'll smell, though," I warned, pulling down a couple of respirators. I tossed him one. "Put this on. You'll look great." They were the industrial kind, with the expensive removeable filters. I'd done my research.

And so it went, the implausibly long bronze penis screwed into a chunk of wood and clamped tight. I forgot Jake was there after awhile, obsessing over getting an even blue-black finish, taking my usual pride in my work; it's funny, but whenever I'm doing things other than sculpting or fucking, I often don't care if it's done well. Those two? Forget it. It needs to be perfect, or it isn't worth doing.

So I was surprised at how late it was when I finished, the penis beautiful and lustrous, every ridge and vein clear and sharp. "I want a dildo I can display in my living room," Steffi had insisted, and I was pretty satisfied at the end of it. Jake, I noticed, hadn't taken too many pictures at the end. I headed over to where he sat, messing around with some editing software on his laptop, and I flung my goggles and mask theatrically onto a table as I plunked down next to him.

"Well," I announced, "that's a day's work all done. I'd show you how to wax the dick, but I want to let it cool overnight." I didn't even think about it as I ripped my zipper down nearly all the way and leaned way back, showing more of my belly than was probably appropriate, stinking like chemicals and metal filings and abrasive medium, reaching way up to release my nasty hair. "Hope you got some decent stuff," I sighed, closing my eyes.

"I think I'm good, thanks." I felt him looking at me. "You're filthy," he observed. "I wouldn't have thought sculpting was so dirty."

"If you stick around, you can take a picture of my bathwater after I'm through," I mused. "It would make a great closing shot."

He hesitated. "It's not really a family magazine, per se," he said quietly, "but I'll be pushing it with shots of a big dick sculpture. I think they'd probably freak out if I submitted shots of you in the tub."

"Not of me in the tub," I needled. "Just the water." Sculpting always made me horny, in an exhilarated and carefree way, and I was looking forward to some alone time with a dildo of my own. I slitted my eyes, looking sidelong at him, wondering whether I really wanted to flirt some more. "Although, if you really wanted some of those kinds of shots, you know, for personal use, I don't suppose I'd mind."

He laughed uneasily, not sure whether I was joking. Which was fine, since I wasn't sure either. He was still looking at my skin, at my boyshorts' elastic waistband just barely visible where the zipper had settled, at my sweaty tanktop, and doing a good job of concealing it. Not good enough for me, of course, but it's the thought that counts. He paused. "Those kinds of shots would definitely help build my portfolio, though," he observed quietly, and now I was interested. I let my eyes open the rest of the way, looking over at him, my smile warm and happy and, above all, unoffended.

"Well, shit, anything I can do to help you out..." Fuck, I was going to lean right over and kiss him. I could tell he wanted me to, wanted it badly, and I was amazed that I was that certain. I'd never been so certain about that kind of thing in a man who wasn't paying. He was grinning, a foolish and batty grin, his laptop forgotten on his lap and with a weird look in his eye, made up of eagerness and apprehension and awe.

For a moment I had a strange sense of familiarity: this was, after all, just a man, and I'd handled scores of those, even hundreds, handled them with ease and confidence and assertiveness: I was never so decisive as when I was fucking. I knew I could devour him, casually, and leave him panting on this loveseat with his cum in my snatch and Ellie the Vixen's contact information in his phone.

Yup. I sure could. But then I heard Tori's voice screeching at my, shrewish and tinny in my brain: DO NOT whore out. Keep your cool and just let it happen. So, taking a deep breath, I looked at him, just looked at him, and waited a couple inches from his mouth, and for a few seconds we just breathed; I caught his breath and some of the ammonium sulfide on my nomex and my own stink wafting up from a day at the forge, and then he smiled shyly and his hand found my leg, lightly, and that was enough permission. Still grinning, I leaned forward.

He was not the world's best kisser; far from it, actually, but it was definitely a real kiss, full of hope and excitement and anticipation: he had a warm, wet mouth and a little puggish nose that was easy to avoid as I moved mine past, starting with a light touch of my lips to his, and then letting myself flow into his face. I closed my eyes, which I never did, and I think I even heard myself squeak a tad; these are not natural actions for me, and I wondered why I was doing them. I couldn't feel his fingers on my leg through the thick suit, and I wanted to, so I encouraged him by the simple expedient of moving my own fingers onto his thigh, high up, and squeezing.

His dick was right next to my thumb, firming up already.

Bitch, I railed at myself, this is Chance #2. Don't fuck this up. I had a lot of baggage, I knew, and most of it was sex-related. I had to try to forget I was a whore. You aren't Ellie the Tatted Vixen, I reminded myself desperately, hoping my body would respond to my brain. You're just some budding sculptor and part-time tattoo artist named Marie. Settle down. I felt my heart beat faster, my pussy juice up, and I began to hope, wildly, that it was all working.

Instinctively, I backed off, doing it with a gentle little pulse of my lips calculated to leave him wanting more; you can take the girl out of the brothel, it seems, but I only knew one way to kiss. Seductively. He was staring at me. I felt like words were called for, and I started to think of a few.

And then, wonder of wonders, he beat me to the punch. "Bathtub shots, you said?"

Goddamn him; I'd been about to unveil a winner, too, an encore of my dick-waxing comment. Shit. But just as quickly I relaxed; this wasn't a competition. "Well, I did say I'd help you out. But I'd need to run the bath, get in, soap up, marinate for half an hour, and then call you in for the pictures; I'm not sure I want to wait that long." I licked my smiling lips. "If I'm being honest."

He was pressing his hand harder on my suit; he'd moved closer to me at some point, our hips touching. "Wait that long for what?"

"Oh, you know." I wasn't being coy, not intentionally; I was just being careful not to freak him out. This article was a big deal; I didn't need to alienate both the writer and the photog. "A little of this, a little of that."

He leaned forward again for another quick, darting kiss, and now I could smell my own pussy. The nomex fire suit would never recover from this, surely. "Like, what? Dinner, some TV, a quiet evening by the fire? The forge, I mean?"

"Well," I went on carefully, watching for a reaction and deciding that I'd be safe to whore out just a little, "actually, I was thinking we could find another way to get warm? A slightly more naked way?" Holy fuck. I was turning statements into questions. What, was I Kevin all of a sudden?

His eyes narrowed and he relaxed. He knew where he stood now. I understood with a chill down my spine that he'd just figured out he was going to get his cock inside me. It was fun to watch him come to that realization, the light in his eyes, the greedy smirk that suddenly spread beneath his nose; his hand on my leg tightened possessively. "Oh, that reminds me." His voice had gone quiet. "Do you have a place I can charge my laptop?"

Shit, scores of places. I'd counted when I had the place inspected, before I bought it: the main floor had twenty outlets. What was he getting at? I must have glanced sideways at all the machinery I had out there, the circuit breakers and power strips and the electrical main, because he rolled his eyes and made it easy for me. "Maybe in your room or something?"

Ah. He didn't want to get it on on a loveseat. Smart man.

I wondered whether I should just go ahead and sit on his lap; ah, but if we were going upstairs, it seemed like a waste of effort. His dick was still lumping his jeans right beside my thumb, though I pretended not to notice. "What? Did you want to get some shots of the artiste in her home environment?"

He shrugged and smiled. That smile was rapidly growing on me. "I mean, if that's what I need to say to get into your room, then sure. I'll take all the pictures you want." His face got closer; he wanted to kiss again, so we did. I wanted him to put his hand inside my fire suit; I was already smoldering in there, which was ironic. An idle thought. I wondered whether it was normal for your mind to wander like this when you were making out. I usually spent times like this gauging, judging, figuring out what the next move was... doing my job.

"I don't know..." I wheedled. "I'm not sure how professional it would be for me to invite you into my bedroom," and all the while I was mainly thinking about what a sty it was up there. I am tidy where I work, but not where I live.

"Terribly unprofessional," he agreed. Shit, but he wanted me. "But I really, really need to charge my laptop, so..."

"Well then." I unwound my arm from where it had, at some point, gone around his neck. I wondered when that had happened. I gave his thigh a squeeze as I got my hand off him. "Just give me a minute to get up there. I have to make sure all my vibrators are put away."

He took that as a joke. "Don't make me wait," he warned, dark eyes on fire behind his glasses. "The battery's low."

"So demanding!" I scoffed as I got to my feet. He was looking at me with those eyes, and I was so fucking hot, and so I just went ahead and shrugged the heavy nomex suit off my shoulders, the slack zipper allowing its weight to drag it all the way to the floor. I saw him inhale, quickly, like he'd just won the lottery, as well he should: I was there in my damp, tight shorts and tanktop, and nothing else but my tats as I stepped out of the built-in boots. "I'll just be a sec," I smiled, sure I'd done the right thing and proud of his reaction. I could feel his eyes on my ass as I spun and walked toward the metal stairs, and why the fuck wouldn't they be?