the gloves

I don't know what it is about the fucking gloves, but they are making me crazy.

It has been over ten years since we last spoke, back then we were never lovers. In fact, if you had told me I liked him back then, hell, I would have laughed it off. But perhaps I was too young to realize. Digging into my photo collection there it is our sexual tension documented. He pulling my hair, picking on me. Me giggling, covering my chest as he attempts to grab my breasts. We were just friends. I was just one of the guys. I remember him making me absolutely nuts teasing me all the time, yet I was his shadow. We had multiple knicknames for each other usually related to his ample chest hair and my ample breasts.

Ah, the internet. Flash forward to now, the motherfucker shows up on my screen. Social networking means you'll never been completely forgotten. We exchange a few emails. He looks the same, but different. He's grown a beard and a bit more broad. Me, well, I am more of a girly girl these days and my 38 Cs are now 40Ds, but still taut enough to pull off a braless look without looking like a shot out of "National Geographic." He called me, I still didn't think anything of it. We caught up, compared notes. Apparently he has a long distance lover 10 years younger than both of us. I looked her up. Thank you internet. She's pretty, dark eyes and hair, mildly zoftig. Seems she's into the rockbilly scene, which sort of drives me nuts as all it makes me think of is "Hot Topic." Anyway, they both claim to be single.

I still didn't give it much thought, but then he posted a new picture of himself. He's wearing heavy black leather gloves. I am probably wrong, but they appear to have French cuffs--the kind of cuffs if they were on a man's shirt would need cufflinks (another total turn on for me in this day and age of permanent casual.)

The gloves.

For two weeks all I can think about are the gloves. Not his dark eyes, not his long hair that I'd love to yank on, not his beard that I'd love to soak with my juices. No, I just think of the gloves.

He comes to my door wearing his black outfit, very Ian Astbury but more on the evil side. He is wearing the gloves. I already feel my pussy puslate. It has been a long time. We were never intimate. It doesn't matter anymore. We hug one another and he pushes me back to look me over holding on to my elbows. He calls me by my nickname, "You look ravishing." I push closer to him, "thank you" and look up to him with my eyes open and smile. "Have a seat." I go get a bottle of wine and two glasses. As he pours the wine, I sit next to him curled up on my couch. We're quiet for noisy people. He hands me my glass and makes a small toast. I lick the wine off my lips and he says "Come here a little closer. I want to see you. It has been so long." I squish closer to him. It is one of those moments where it just happens. We kiss. His beard tickles me, but feels wonderful. "Ahh you are a fiesty one. You always were." I giggle and bat my eyes. Somethings are beyond my control. I turn into a flirty coquette around men. I just do. Some more making out ensues, but he never takes off his gloves. That I like.

He takes a gloved finger and runs it across my lips. I smell and taste the leather as lick it and give him my most wicked smile. "You are a bad one aren't you."
"I am"
"You like my gloves don't you? I keep seeing you looking at them."
"Um, they are nice." I start sweating.
"No, I think you think they are more than nice."
"Perhaps."
"Come here little one." He takes his gloved hand and pulls me next to him by the collar of my blouse, pulling several buttons loose. A leather finger pries its way through the fabric to lift a nipple out of my bra. "I've always loved your titties. I always wanted to touch them."
I sigh .
"You'd never let me touch them.
"You are silly"
"Ahh, I am not. I am going to touch more than your titties now little one." Gloved fingers tweak and pull my nipples in such a way that I feel it in my panties which are increasingly getting wet. I try to pull toward him so I can touch him, so I can taste him, but he holds me back.
"You are not getting any of me little one."
I pant, "but I want to..I want to taste your cum."
"Nope."
He pushes me back down on the couch and lifts my skirt above my head, holding one hand down above me, holding both my legs down and appart with the weight of his own. I only struggle because I can't take the way I feel. I just can't sit still when I am aroused.
I feel my panties being nudged south toward my feet with his free hand, the black skin slowly tickling the lenght of my leg in the process. The gloved hand makes it way back north, I feel the taut leather tracing my pussy lips. He smacks my cunt.
"You like that you filthy bitch."
"I do"
He smacks me hard again..my labia sting. I can feel his breath on my neck, and the bulge in his pants graze against me. I yearn to trace its outline, to put it in my mouth. I have no chance.
Things speed up from this point. The slapping gives way to a leathered digit in my cunt and another begloved finger on my clit. A clit that is so fucking engorged if the wind blew in the right direction I might cum right then. As it was, it was not time.
"You like my gloves in your pussy don't you?
"Yes"
"Taste your pussy on my gloves. Taste the pussy on the leather." He sticks three fingers of the gloved hand in my mouth, my juices have made the once matte glove shiny. Salt, pussy and the tang of wax envelope my tongue. Wet from all of my lips, he takes his gloved hands off my wrists. With one hand he spanks my clit again, at this point I am biting on his arm not to scream with the other he slowly puts one, then two, then three..his whole gloved hand into my cunt. It takes awhile, but since I am soaking it is easier than I would have thought. Fingers massage my gspot, my muscles contract around his wrist as he pumps his fist back and forth. I am not sure if he's fucking me with his hand, or I am fucking his hand with my pussy. I need to cum.
"You can't come."
"I need to."
"Nope, If I let you now, what will be left for next time."
He removes his now sopping wet glove from my cunt and removes his hand. He kisses me on the lips, and pushes me over enough to lay next to me on the couch. We doze off, my face draped with his black curls.
I wake up several hours later alone on my couch.
Well alone, but with a glove.