rude – Smut’n’Chuckle

Credenza and Girandole

The afternoon sun was warm and bright: it was a nice day to be out and about. Credenza found herself with time on her hand (she was wearing a watch) and, her business in the small high street having been concluded, she decided to explore a little. Down a side street she did not remember entering before, she found an antique shop; La Belle Epoque. The window display was just dusty enough for a proper antique shop so she pushed open the door (and was pleased to find this activated a real bell on a spring)and went in. A stooped old man in a misshapen tweed jacket of uncountable years (and the man was ancient too) smiled at her, his teeth both glinting in the shafts of sunlight which eased in through the glass.

“Hello” said Credenza, smiling brightly. “Just having a little look around”
The man smile even more broadly and inclined his head. He was inclined to do that. She noticed he was holding a figurine in his hands, a large bronze coloured woman, wearing only a few filaments of gauze and carrying a basket of fruit. She was a very shapely lady, obviously hearking from the days when popular taste was for the curvier form – rather like Credenza herself in fact.
She smiled again at him and then turned away to examine a display of china.

Suddenly she heard another voice, deeper, edgier and very masculine. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” it said. Credenza was surprised to hear such power come from such a frail body.
Then she heard the reedy reply in the form of a chuckling “Aye, that she is!”

She turned to see a young man in jeans and a checked shirt standing at the back of the shop. His arms were folded, and as the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, she was able to tell in an instant that they were the arms of a man used to physical exertion. They were the arms of a man perfectly at home with a bit of heaving and grunting, a man who would think nothing of activities which would leave a lesser man gasping (and not in a good way)
Credenza could hear herself emit a sort of little purring sound. She allowed one elegant finger to draw slowly across the shining rim of a whatnot, before fixing her gaze on the young man’s face.

“Are you the manager?” she asked. He indicated that he was. “Are you looking for something special?” he asked.
What a question! Of course she was “Do you see anything you like?” he continued
There was a throaty guffaw from the elderly gentleman behind. The young man turned to him and said firmly “Are you REALLY interested in that piece Mr Hassock? It’s just that you come in every week and handle her. Are you going to make me an offer?”
Mr Hassock emitted a grumbling noise, and after tenderly running his hands over the bronze nude a few moments longer, gently replaced it and shuffled out of the shop.

The young man approached Credenza, rubbing his hands momentarily, before catching himself at it and stopping.
“I’m Girandole” he said, offering her his hand (to shake, not in marriage)
Before the look of surprise had finished registering on her face he continued “Ambitious parents” with a smile

The handshake continued just a little bit longer than was strictly necessary, and then Credenza said “well, show me what you’ve got” and he stepped back abruptly, covered in confusion from which he took a few seconds to recover.
Girandole proceeded to take her to the various corners of the shop, pointing out their best stock. “Look at this chair!How’s that for a cabriole leg?” he exclaimed, stroking the polished wood as he spoke. Credenza nodded. Then suddenly he grabbed the chair, and lifted it, flipping it upside down in a single, sweeping move (“So that’s how he gets those muscles!” Credenza thought)
“I like to see good legs, but you know you’ve got a real peach when you check out the bottom. See that?” he pointed to the flawless workmanship on the underside of the seat. “That’s how I know she’s a cracker. First check out the legs, then flip her over and have a good look at the bottom”
Credenza agreed

Nest he called her to admire an occasional table. he drew her attention to the fine marquetry-work on the top, and the pointed out the elaborate and unusual pedestal, which divided near the top.
“See that?” he said eagerly, his eyes meeting hers as they bent over to look. “This here” – his hand stroked up to the point where the pedestal split into two – “That’s a crotch veneer. Very rare!”
“I bet!” exclaimed Credenza, with a genuine, if breathy, surprise

She continued to examine it, whilst Girandole, standing up, admired Credenza’s Baroque curves, and the operation of her drop-front when she was bent over.

She stood up slowly, and allowed her gaze to run up his body, assessing everything from the quality of his baluster up to his pediment.

Their eyes engaged in a long moment of interactive psychology, and then she broke the gaze and looked across the shop. She noticed a big oil painting on the far wall, just above the china display she had been examining earlier. It was of an almost naked woman relaxing in what looked like a Turkish bath.
Girandole followed her gaze “Tiffany’s Crysanthemum” he explained. Credenza stared at him in astonishment. “Is that REALLY what it’s called?”
He assured her it was. She shook her head in amazement. “That’s a very….errr….LIBERAL title” . He looked momentarily confused, and then burst out laughing. “I thought you were looking at the chinaware! That design is called Tiffany’s Crysanthemum!”

Credenza blushed. She didn’t do anything by half measures, and she blushed over every exposed surface of skin. This was quite a big area, due to the fact that she was wearing a V-necked top out of which her bosomage was tumbling like a cornucopia of lusciousness.
“Is that a bit of Nanking?” she asked when she had calmed down. Now it was Girandole’s turn to blush: “No!” He insisted, “I was just fidgeting”
Credenza smiled up at him (he was quite a tallboy) and her eyelashes fluttered of their own volition, doing a little fan dance of their own divising.
“I meant that piece of Chinese porcelain…” she continued innocently, pointing across at it. “On that sideboard”

Girandole relaxed a little. But only a little, as moments afterward Credenza told him she wasn’t a great enthusiast for sideboards, and preferred a Chest-On-Chest. He couldn’t argue with that, as her chest was so utterly inviting: its patina was divine. Furthermore he longed to examine her underglaze.

Credenza distracted herself momentarily with a small framed black and white photograph. Girandole gently took it from her, saying “It’s a nice little photo, but needs completely reframing. Very poorly mounted.”
She could not but agree “That’s always such a let down, isn’t it?”

Finally he had to ask her: it was important. “Do you prefer a chaise longue or an Ottoman?” They had both at La Belle Epoque.
Credenza looked from one to the other. Girandole continued “Myself, I like a chaise longue…I like a strong back”
Credenza nodded. She could see the argument for that, though being laid flat, if well-upholstered, was also appealing. Girandole, his hand cupping her extremely sexy elbow, led her across the shop to the chaise longue. “Settle yourself on that and see what you think” he said, before taking a few steps to the front door and turning the sign round to “closed”. He left the steps there for good measure.
She looked comfortable on the chaise longue, but to advance his argument , Girandole drew her attention to the unusual bell turning.
Credenza agreed that it was very unusual, and that she was anxious to see it in action.

Sure enough, Girandole was able to demonstrate the benefits of snug dovetailing, getting in up to his escutcheon. As for Credenza, she realised that sometimes the old ways can be the best, and that all this had happened without ANYONE mentioning etchings…

Dorothy gets her pipes checked

Dorothy was looking forward to having a new bathroom: the old one was tatty and there were marks on the walls and floor where pipes had leaked. The shower cubicle was rickety and wallpaper was peeling in the corners. It needed a thorough going over. Like Dorothy.

She had spent a lot of time choosing her new tiles, and the fittings.
She was now ready to get a man in.
Thus, she had been delighted when a colleague recommended Luke: “Luke the Leak” they called him. He had done hers apparently, and made such a lovely job that she was planning to get him back to give her kitchen the full works too.

Dorothy was delighted with him: he was tidy and organised, worked efficiently, and was always whistling and humming to himself. He seemed to enjoy what he did.
He had come to have a look round her fixtures and fittings, and had been impressed with his thoroughness. He had poked into all the crannies, including dusty corners which had not had any attention for a long time. Finally he said that he thought her pipes were all in a good condition but if she wanted him to rip off the old coverings and screw in some fresh new fixtures, he was more than happy to oblige.

Dorothy asked him for a quote
“To be, or not to be. That is the question” he replied, before handing her a small piece of paper on which he had jotted some estimates.

Dorothy was so impressed she wanted him to start straightaway. Luke had to disappoint her: There were a lot of other ladies lined up waiting for him, and he had to do them strictly in order so as to be fair. Dorothy was disappointed, but admired his fair-mindedness.

Eventually though, Dorothy reached the top of the list and Luke arrived to sort her out.
She welcomed him with enthusiasm. “I hear they call you Luke the Leak” she said, smiling.
He laughed “Yes they do!”
“I love leeks, actually!” she replied “Steamed. Yummy!”
There was a pause, during which Luke noticed Dorothy’s eyes. they had always been there, but suddenly he found himself gazing into them, and enjoying the moment.
“Tossed in butter. That’s the best” he said.
Dorothy let out a little gasp
“I’m sure you’re right” she whispered breathlessly

The weather was very warm and he left his overalls undone. Dorothy could tell how physical the work was from the pattern of abdominal muscles which wriggled like a sack of puppies as he carried his toolkit in.
“Heavy equipment I expect!” said Dorothy shyly as he squeezed past her in the hallway.
(She had made sure to stand there, even though it was quite narrow.)
Luke glanced down anxiously, put down the hammer drill he was holding and did up a button on his overalls. “Sorry” he said, before continuing down the hall.

“So, I’m starting with stripping all this off?” Luke waved an arm to indicate the wallpaper. Dorothy nodded. Not looking at the wallpaper at all, as a matter of fact.

Luke knelt down in the corner by the shower, examining it.
“Are you wanting me to check all your pipes, just in case?” he asked. Dorothy was wanting that.
“I’ll give all your joints a bit of a tweak, just to make sure they’re tight. Are you sticking with this shower system, you just want a new cubicle?”
“I’m not sure” she confessed. “The cubicle needs to go definitely. But I haven’t decided about the shower itself”
“Is it powerful enough for you?” asked Luke, standing up again so she could see all the muscles working inside his T-shirt.
“I can put you a pump in if you want more oomph”
“Who doesn’t?” Dorothy exclaimed.
“OK” he said “I can pump you up to about twice the pressure you are now. That’ll give you a much better soaking”

She was all for that.

“Have you chosen your tiles?” She had
“Am I doing you full height or half way?” There was only one answer to that: “Full height”
Luke rubbed his chin thoughtfully, in that way which defines a properly trained workman.
“So I’m stripping off everything, paper, old tiles, the lot?” Dorothy nodded, her mouth dry at the thought.
“Then I’m tweaking all your pipes, giving you a good pump, and then I’m putting in a new cubicle. Is that right?”
She nodded again.
“I’ll have to turn the water off to do the plumbing work. Are you Ok to have it off tomorrow morning?”

Dorothy smiled broadly.
“Why wait?” she said, adding
“It’s awfully warm, don’t you think? You must be hot in those thick overalls”
Luke turned and looked at her: she had dressed carelessly this morning – she had forgotten several buttons of her tight blouse, which was at this moment struggling to maintain order amongst the romping breastage within. Although it was so warm, there seemed to be two little spigots pushing through the fabric.
“Put down your spanner” she whispered, the words lingering on her soft fleshy pink lips, as if her lipgloss was too sticky
Luke was embarrassed. He took his hand out of the pocket of his overalls, blushing slightly.
“No” said Dorothy urgently, “that one”. She pointed at it
“That’s a wrench” said Luke… “THIS is my spanner”
He let his overalls slip down to the floor, and gathered Dorothy into his strong plumby arms.
Being an organised workman he began with stripping everything so he could see what there was to work on. He gently adjusted the bolts, went over all the pipework with extreme care, (full height of course) and gave Dorothy a powerful pump with plenty of oomph.

This kind of thorough going over had definitely been worth waiting for

Harriet gets "The Full Works"

Harriet had been given a voucher for her birthday. It was for “the full works” at the new Turkish baths which had opened nearby. Having never had a Turkish bath before, Harriet’s curiosity was definitely piqued. But she was anxious: typical worries crowded in concerning whether she was going to have to strip naked in front of staff and other bathers, exactly what would be done to her. These were titillating anxieties, but anxieties nonetheless.

Thus when she arrived at the newly refurbished baths she was delighted to be distracted from her nerves by the wonderful décor: Even in the entrance foyer she felt transported to exotic climes by the terracotta painted walls and the jewelled glass lampshades. There were beautiful rugs on the floor and faint unfamiliar music played.
Her booking was confirmed: The full works.
“What does that involve?” she asked. The receptionist explained in a bored fashion, flipping open a handy threefold leaflet to illustrate. This showed photographs of the various rooms inside, and the splendour of them made a thrill run up Harriet’s spine. there was a lot of steam, and an ample supply of shining muscleage on the part of the staff. the female recipients looks very happy, and indeed as if they had just had The Full Works. This was going to be a GOOD birthday present

She was handed a bathwrap, long and very soft with a fringe at the bottom.
“Get yourself changed into your bikini, put this on, and stash your things in a locker” said the receptionist distractedly, before sinking back into her chair and resuming nail filing duties.

Through a bead curtain she found the changing area and lockers, and changed into a bikini she had bought in anticipation of a holiday which never materialised. It had never been in the water, let alone on a sandy beach. This was its first outing.
She sat there for a few moments, being studiously ignored by the receptionist, until eventually she decided to try her luck and push through the second beaded curtain. This led her to a room which was entirely lined in marble. There were marble benches around the edge, a marble slab table in the centre, and little fountains falling into marble bowls set in the walls It was very warm and humid. After a few moments she felt her long, wavy hair sticking to her neck and she shook herself out of the wrap and sat down to wait.

A few moments later a door at the far end of the room opened. Harriet did not immediately notice over the gentle music, water and steam noises. She was looking the other way, in a sleepy haze when the man put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Oddly, she did not jump at this.
“Hello. My name is Akbatu. I am going to bathe you today”

Harriet felt her heart begin to thump. It banged so hard behind her ribcage that the little pendant which hung on the outside must surely be jumping too.
Akbatu could see her reaction: “Do not worry. I am very well trained. I bathe many women. I am a professional”
His voice was as gentle as olive oil soap, and seemed to slither all over her in much the same way.
He indicated the little silver pendant around her neck, keeping his eyeline on it, and therefore resting in her bufty cleavage. It didn’t mind that. “I’m content here. I don’t need to go to the left or right. I have reached the valley of bliss” it seemed to say
“You must remove this. It might become damaged. I can be very vigorous”
It goes without saying that Harriet agreed instantly. She put her arms up behind her head to unclip it, causing Akbatu to start back as her stupendous bosomage lifted upwards.
“Allow me” he said, his voice actually a teeny bit huskier than heretofore.
She half turned away from him and, breathing heavily, he lifted her hair out of the way and unclipped the chain. He lifted the chain upwards, but the heat and damp caused the pendant to stick to her skin…
Akbatu had NO option but to reach round and slip his fingers against her skin and delicately lift the pendant away.
Actually he had a LOT of other options; (he could have asked her to do it herself, for example) but none of them occurred to him at that moment, and had they done so he would have dismissed them out of hand. He also felt utterly obliged not to hurry the operation, so his fingers followed the advice of his eyeline, and went straight to the pillowy centre. They were against the skin between her volumpty heavers for rather longer than strictly necessary; To Harriet, it had felt like an eternity, but then she had always been keen on this kind of eternity.

Unlike the real thing, this simulacrum of eternity finally ended, with the little silver pendant being pried from her damp skin and placed on a little marble shelf beside one of the fountains.

Akbatu asked her to lie down on the big marble slab. Harriet did so, feeling rather exposed. Which is entirely appropriate as she was almost completely exposed. But the steam, warmth, and gentle music worked its magic and she closed her eyes and began to seriously relax. After a few moments she began to notice little soft noises of activity beside her. Then a sensation of extraordinary gentleness started to spread all over her belly She opened her eyes to see Akbatu standing over her, an inflated pillowcase in his hands. He was squeezing it gently, and a slow cascade of tiny bubbles was extruding from the fabric, oozing down and slithering all over her tummy.
“Olive oil bubbles” Akbatu murmured “Very soft on your skin”
They were, and he moved the pillowcase up and down over her body so that all of it was covered. It was as fine as thistledown, and as the tiny bubbles popped, Harriet experienced a tingling sensation which was, she decided, Sensational.
She opened her eyes again to see Akbatu with his back to her, a steel bowl in his hand,hurriedly sloshing water from the fountain all over himself. He turned around, his thin T-shirt soaking and stuck to the architecture of his belly. This time he had in his hand a massage cloth, a coarse-woven flannel.
“Relax” he said, leaning forward to say it quietly into her ear. “I am going to make your skin even softer”
She closed her eyes, not exactly relaxed, and felt Akbatu’s expert fingers sliding over her legs. He was strong, and she could feel his muscular fingers moulding to the shape of her limbs as they rubbed the flannel upwards from her feet and ankles. His efforts seemed to push the blood and the sensations upward, intensifying what she already felt in her torso.
Abruptly he stopped. She turned, feeling suddenly adrift. he had his back to her again and was frantically sloshing water down himself again.
Dripping wet he turned round, a slight smile playing on his face. It looked to be enjoying itself and invited twinkly eyes to join it.
He returned to massaging her legs, and as his hands reached higher Harriet found her levels of relaxation being challenged, but didn’t mind.
Akbatu seemed particularly concerned about making her inner thighs very soft: he spent a long time massaging them, before stopping again to slosh himself again with water. When he turned back he missed out the small are covered by her bikini and moved his strong, steady hands onto her abdomen. This seemed to focus all her sensations into a smaller and smaller space…but she doubted Akbatu would notice: it was a place most men could not find, even if they knew it existed.
Eventually he said “You will need to undo your strap before turning away and sloshing more cold water about. He turned round to find she had done as asked and he began to massage the skin of her chest and shoulders, his fingers deftly slipping around and close to her nicely spread mammalumpties, without actually touching. Harriet thought this the most exciting thing possible, and the friends who had clubbed together to buy her this gift “to help her relax” would have been disappointed to learn that every nerve ending was tingling. Some tingled in a quite minor fashion, on the periphery of the action – toes, knees and so on only contributing in a very small way to the overall effect. Others closer to home (so to speak) felt as though they would explode out of her skin. Which was not as much like a horror film as Harriet would have expected.

Akbatu was finding his experience in synchrony; he managed to maintain totally professional standards with his massaging whilst at the same time some of his nerve endings were becoming increasingly distracted. His regular dousing with cold water having only slightly delayed the inevitable, it was now obvious that the many women he had massaged in the past had scarcely prepared him for this. For reasons of professionalism, as well as preference, he did not wish to turn away to the water tap again. What an exquisite dilemma! As he agonised about this delicious
problem, Harriet opened her eyes to see Akbatu’s powerful torso close beside her. He was clad in a soaking T-shirt which clung to every muscle, and for a moment she simply savoured that view, before noticing how it also clung to non-muscular things as well. So she savoured that view as well.

There was a long pause, and then Akbatu leaned close to her and whispered in her ear “It is time to come through for the massage” and indicated another room.
Harriet was about to reply that she thought he was going to scrub her back with the flannel and olive oil bubbles as well, but just at that moment all the buzzing nerve endings, especially the ones within the bikini zone, were over-ruling her, and she nodded, flashing a meaningful smile at Akbatu.

The massage room was lit only by a red-shaded lantern with an extreme energy-saving bulb. It shed only the light required to locate another human being, and seemed to assume that once located, all further progress would be made using tactile systems. It worked.
Harriet laid down on the soft massage couch. She had forgotten by accident or design to reconnect her bikini top strap. This meant a small step was bypassed as Akbatu, falling back on his years of training as a masseur, plus natural instincts, was able to slide his oiled hands all over Harriet with almost no awkward pauses.
After a little while he peeled off his soaking T-shirt, and Harriet was able to confirm just HOW accurately the wet fabric had demarcated his anatomy.

She also discovered that, whether through his professional training or simple dedication, he understood exactly where her nerve endings were located. Indeed, Akbatu was a real expert. he gave Harriet The Full Works.