probably eight years ago when I owned my own business. He was a customer of mine, and we hit it off as friends,” Mack explained. She admired the grace he and his horse had together. A symbiotic relationship that appeared to be completely fluid and fulfilling for both man and horse. And he looked damn hot in the saddle with a cowboy hat pulled low over his brow, his trademark red bandana peeking out from underneath.
Jerking in the saddle, she fought to remember what their conversation had been about as her hormones dominated her thought process again. What was it about this man that sent her hurdling off the cliff of reason just being close?
“You had a business?” The subtle way he dropped the fact into conversation but didn’t elaborate wasn’t lost on her, but she wanted to know more about his life pre-cowboy days. “What kind of business?”
They’d reached the edge of an oval shaped pond surrounded on three sides by trees. A fire pit and a dock dominated one end of the pool, and she could imagine many a campfire late into the night with the smell of wood-smoke and burnt marshmallows heavy on the air. Mack stopped his horse and faced her, meeting her eyes before he answered her question.
“At one time in my life I was a Master leather artisan. I ran my own company, Saddle-Up Leather. I created all kinds of things out of leather. Saddles, bags, belts…even floggers and harnesses for BDSM players.” He sounded both proud and wistful about his past, “I was making money hand over fist for years, but as good as I was with leather, I was equally bad with business. I chose the wrong employees, the money was mismanaged, bills weren’t paid on time. It was a disaster of monumental proportions and the business collapsed underneath me.”
“You loved it though.” It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t expect an answer. She could see on his face and in his eyes how much he missed working his craft. “Would you show me some of your work sometime?”
His face split into a wide grin, “Sure. Look down. You’re sitting on one of my saddles.”
She felt her mouth drop open, and she heard her gasp of surprise, but she didn’t remember sliding out of the saddle and dropping to the ground to inspect it closer. Her fingers traced the deep grooves in the supple leather, and she wondered out loud how many hours something like that would take.
“An intricate one like this can take up to forty man hours. A simpler design I can have done in thirty. It just depends. Saddles are where I got my start. My father enjoyed creating them, and taught me everything he knew when he realized I had a knack for it.”
Meeting his eyes after he climbed off his own mount, she smiled up at him, “You do amazing work on saddles, Mr. Thompson, but I must admit to being curious about the other items you listed. How does one go about making harnesses and floggers?”
“Hmm, well for that kind of explanation I would really need to give you a demonstration, and it’s not going to happen today. Just suffice it to say I’ve learned what sells the best over the years by testing them in my hand and even on my own body.” His nonchalant way of stating his experience left her open mouthed again.
“You let someone flog you?” she asked. “But I thought you were into BDSM because you liked to flog women?”
Her question seemed to stop him in his tracks as he worked his brain to come up with a suitable response. His jaw tightened and relaxed more than once and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “BDSM isn’t just about men hitting women. It’s never about abuse if it’s practiced correctly. I’m not much for inflicting pain, but it turns me on a lot to have control over another person’s pleasure. I’m Dominant ninety percent of the time, but I’ve also walked on the other side of the line. I’m what they call a Switch. I can switch back and forth between Dominating and submitting and still find my pleasure, but I lean
Jerking in the saddle, she fought to remember what their conversation had been about as her hormones dominated her thought process again. What was it about this man that sent her hurdling off the cliff of reason just being close?
“You had a business?” The subtle way he dropped the fact into conversation but didn’t elaborate wasn’t lost on her, but she wanted to know more about his life pre-cowboy days. “What kind of business?”
They’d reached the edge of an oval shaped pond surrounded on three sides by trees. A fire pit and a dock dominated one end of the pool, and she could imagine many a campfire late into the night with the smell of wood-smoke and burnt marshmallows heavy on the air. Mack stopped his horse and faced her, meeting her eyes before he answered her question.
“At one time in my life I was a Master leather artisan. I ran my own company, Saddle-Up Leather. I created all kinds of things out of leather. Saddles, bags, belts…even floggers and harnesses for BDSM players.” He sounded both proud and wistful about his past, “I was making money hand over fist for years, but as good as I was with leather, I was equally bad with business. I chose the wrong employees, the money was mismanaged, bills weren’t paid on time. It was a disaster of monumental proportions and the business collapsed underneath me.”
“You loved it though.” It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t expect an answer. She could see on his face and in his eyes how much he missed working his craft. “Would you show me some of your work sometime?”
His face split into a wide grin, “Sure. Look down. You’re sitting on one of my saddles.”
She felt her mouth drop open, and she heard her gasp of surprise, but she didn’t remember sliding out of the saddle and dropping to the ground to inspect it closer. Her fingers traced the deep grooves in the supple leather, and she wondered out loud how many hours something like that would take.
“An intricate one like this can take up to forty man hours. A simpler design I can have done in thirty. It just depends. Saddles are where I got my start. My father enjoyed creating them, and taught me everything he knew when he realized I had a knack for it.”
Meeting his eyes after he climbed off his own mount, she smiled up at him, “You do amazing work on saddles, Mr. Thompson, but I must admit to being curious about the other items you listed. How does one go about making harnesses and floggers?”
“Hmm, well for that kind of explanation I would really need to give you a demonstration, and it’s not going to happen today. Just suffice it to say I’ve learned what sells the best over the years by testing them in my hand and even on my own body.” His nonchalant way of stating his experience left her open mouthed again.
“You let someone flog you?” she asked. “But I thought you were into BDSM because you liked to flog women?”
Her question seemed to stop him in his tracks as he worked his brain to come up with a suitable response. His jaw tightened and relaxed more than once and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “BDSM isn’t just about men hitting women. It’s never about abuse if it’s practiced correctly. I’m not much for inflicting pain, but it turns me on a lot to have control over another person’s pleasure. I’m Dominant ninety percent of the time, but I’ve also walked on the other side of the line. I’m what they call a Switch. I can switch back and forth between Dominating and submitting and still find my pleasure, but I lean
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