Bermondsey Bliss
"Leather worker Adaeze crafts luxury goods at her Bermondsey studio. When fashion editor Marcus commissions a custom piece, she shows him her most personal work involves different kinds of handling."
Marcus needed the perfect gift—a custom leather portfolio for his magazine's anniversary. Industry whispers led him to Adaeze's railway arch studio in Bermondsey.
What he found exceeded expectations.
Her workshop smelled of leather and linseed oil, filled with bags and belts and bespoke pieces. But Adaeze herself was the masterwork—Nigerian curves in a leather apron, strong hands that worked material like magic, and eyes that assessed him like he was a hide to be evaluated.
"Fashion editor, hmm? You'll want something special."
"I want the best."
"Then sit. Watch. Learn what 'best' means."
He watched her work for hours—cutting, stitching, finishing. Her thick body moved with artisan grace, muscles visible in her forearms, concentration beautiful on her face.
"You're staring," she said without looking up.
"You're remarkable."
"I know." Now she looked. "Stay for the finishing. It happens late, when the leather is settled. When I'm settled."
"Settled how?"
Her smile was leather-soft. "Stay and find out."
At midnight, the studio transformed—low lights, warm air, a sense of privacy. Adaeze had changed into a silk robe that showed her thick curves beneath.
"The best finishing requires feel." She took his hands. "Calloused from writing. Good. Hands that work."
"What are we finishing?"
"Something new." She pressed his hands to her waist. "A collaboration."
She stripped him slowly, evaluating each revealed part like quality material. Her approval was clear in her eyes.
"Good grain. Strong structure." Her hands traced his muscles. "This, I can work with."
She removed her own robe, revealing a body that was art itself—thick and powerful, dark skin like burnished leather, curves that begged for skilled handling.
"Now handle me. Like something precious."
He worshipped her on her workbench, surrounded by tools and leather and the smell of creation. Her thick thighs wrapped around him as he entered her.
"Yes... good... like that..."
They moved together, creating something neither could make alone. She came with a sound like satisfaction, like work well done.
"More. I want the whole piece."
She bent over her cutting table, offering her full backside.
"Finish me properly. Like I finish everything. With attention."
He did, and the sounds they made filled the workshop—moans, gasps, the rhythm of bodies joining. She came twice more before pulling his release from him.
Later, wrapped in soft leather samples, she showed him the finished portfolio—perfect, beautiful, worth every hour.
"And this?" He gestured at them, tangled.
"This is an ongoing commission." She kissed him slowly. "Some work takes time. Patience. Return visits."
"How many returns?"
"As many as it takes to get it perfect."
His Bermondsey bliss was the finest craftsmanship he'd ever experienced. And Marcus was ready to be worked on again and again.