The bench

I put the chisels in the rack before I let either of them touch me. Ray locked the shop door. Abel washed his hands at the utility sink until the water ran clear. We had agreed on Sunday, in ordinary clothes, that if the drawer job shipped we would stay late. The job had shipped. I said I still wanted it. Ray said he did. Abel said he did, and he said my name while he said it.

My buzz cut was full of dust. Ray brushed it with his palm, slow, and told me the dovetails on the drawer were the best I had cut all year. That is the praise that undoes me, the kind that proves he was looking at the work and not only at the idea of a woman in flannel. Abel stood at my other side and asked if he could put his hands under the shirt. I said yes. His palms were warm and a little damp from the wash, broad across my ribs. Ray kissed my neck and said I looked strong and wanted at the same time, and he said it like a fact he was proud of.

We threw a clean pad on the floor away from the bench. I pulled Abel's cock out and learned the weight of him with my hand, slow strokes, watching his stomach jump. Ray's fingers, callused and careful, slid into my trousers and over my clit, then lower, asking with a pause before he pressed into my cunt. I nodded. Two fingers, then, curved, fucking me, his other hand spread on my belly. I came once like that, standing, Abel's cock thick in my fist, Ray telling me yes, just like that, good, look at your cunt take it. After, I got on the pad. Ray fucked my cunt while I took Abel's cock in my mouth, shallow, my hand doing half the work. They praised my hands. They praised the way I asked for a slower fuck by tapping Ray's thigh. He slowed. Abel warned me and I pulled off, and he spilled his cum on my chest while Ray stayed deep in my cunt and asked, and I said cum in my cunt, we had already decided, and he did.

We sat on the floor after, passing a bottle of water. I felt seen in the specific way I had wanted: the woman who uses the tools, wanted by both, on purpose.