By slavebladeboi
“C’mon, strip!”
“Aw, not again, Doug.”
“Yeah. You know the plan. I make them, you try them.”
My partner for the last three years was Doug. He was an ‘artist in metal,’ at least that’s what his internet site says. In fact he makes the most amazing and clever metal bondage items to order or off the shelf that anyone can imagine. As his partner, I get to try them out to see if there are any rough edges or something that looks good on paper is simply an arse to get on or into.
“OK, but I was in the middle of your new ad for the site.”
“That’s fine, you’ll get plenty of time before Monday.”
My day job in IT brought in the regular money, while his skill brought in shed loads at times and nothing for the rest of the year.
“C’mon, strip here and get over into the workshop. You’ll be amazed.”
I usually was, it’s true. I heard him welding, sawing and hammering for the past few days, sometimes until midnight or more. Whatever was there now must be a real work of art.
