LADIES IN LEATHER GLOVES

Like Son, Like Father

Part One

Stacy Rodgers wasn't like the other girls on campus, and that difference was what Timothy liked about her.  So many girls, it seemed, strayed from the straight and narrow the moment they were away from home at college.  So many started wearing provocative make-up, smoking, partying and staying out all night - but not Stacy. She was wholesome and pure - just the sort of girl a parson's daughter could go for.  Sometimes Timothy wondered if part of it was due to the fact that, unlike the other girls on campus, Stacy really wasn't away from home.  Just like Timothy, Stacy attended college in her own hometown.  In fact, as next-door neighbors, Stacy and Timothy had grown up together in the small rural college town of Renfield.  Timothy was the only son of a widowed parson - the Reverend Alvin Horsewick.  A very strict aunt on Stacy's mother's side of her family raised her after her parents died in a car accident when she was only five years old.  But when Stacy was twenty-one, her Aunt Emily passed on, leaving Stacy living alone in the cobblestone house next-door to the Church rectory where Timothy and the Reverend Horsewick resided.

When Stacy and Timothy were both five years of age, they had often played together in the gardens behind the rectory.  But by the time both were in their teens, they barely spoke to each other - primarily because Timothy had grown almost painfully shy around the opposite sex.  Also Timothy felt that girls - through no fault of their own - were almost innately sinful.  He had determined that he would resist their wiles as best he could.  But, as Timothy sat behind Stacy in a graduate-level history class on a mid-October afternoon, he decided that he just had to ask if she would go to a Church dance on All Hallow Even with him.   

Sitting behind her flaxen blond ponytail, Timothy could not help but compare Stacy to some of the other girls in class.  Her blue sweater, modest plaid skirt and tennis shoes were such a contrast to what some of the other girls were wearing. After the class let out, Timothy followed Stacy across campus while trying to get up the courage to ask her to the dance.  Even though Timothy knew that Stacy was not the sort of girl who would lead him into sin, his heart pounded as his feet swished through the fallen oak leaves strewn across the emerald green lawn.  He finally got up the nerve to say something to her as they both crossed a stone footbridge that forded a creek running along the edge of the campus.   

"Hi Stacy," he called, trying not to sound too breathless.  "Stacy, I know it's been a long time since we've gotten together for anything, but I was wondering if you would care to go to the Halloween dance at Church with me.  It's going to be a great time, and it could be an opportunity for us to get reacquainted and find out what we've both been up to."   

"Hi Timmy," said Stacy, turning and smiling sweetly at him.  "Timmy, I'm sorry. I've already accepted an invitation to another party that night."  
"Oh, well - perhaps some other time, then," said Timothy.  "But I confess I wish I could be the lucky guy you'll be seeing on Halloween."  

"It's not any particular lucky guy," said Stacy.  It's just a Halloween party where guys and girls are going to get together, but I don't think anyone is going to bring a date.  It's just a get-together - that's all."  

"Well," said Timothy with his still heart pounding.  "Perhaps I could just drop in for a few minutes, then."  

"Timmy, I really don't think that would be a good idea.  The party is by invitation only.  And Timmy, I don't want to hurt you, but I'm not at all sure that I'm really the girl you think I am," said Stacy, lightly touching his arm.  "I'm very afraid that you have a very unreal, idealized image of me that just isn't true.  I really don't want to hurt you, Tim."  

Timothy mustered a broken smile and said, "Okay, perhaps some other time then."   

"Perhaps," said Stacy.  

Stacy seemed to tarry behind at the bridge as Timothy walked the rest of the way home to the rectory.  He choked back the tears that welled up in his eyes.  

  
At about 8:00 pm on Halloween, Timothy stepped outside the Church hall for a breath of fresh air.  Only a few old spinsters had come to the dance.  As Timothy paced heart-broken to the road in front of the rectory, he noticed a dark car pulling into the driveway at Stacy's house.  He saw a woman in an overcoat - it could only have been Stacy - leave the house and climb into the back of the car.  Timothy immediately decided to hop in his own car and follow.  The dark car drove on winding roads to a wooded estate on the other side of the campus.  He pulled over and watched the car go up a long drive to a house at the top of a hill.  Timothy believed that it was a sorority house, but he wasn't sure which one.  He turned and drove back to the Church hall.   

By about 10:00 pm, the Church dance was just about over.  Timothy could no longer stand it.  He knew that he just had to drive back to the sorority house and try to get admitted to that party.  He decided that, if Stacy were there, he would not act as if he had gone just to see her.  At around 10:30 pm, he pulled up the drive to the house at the top of the wooded hill and parked in front of an adjacent carriage house.  With considerable trepidation, he walked over to the front door of the main house and rang the bell.  As he stood looking into the night with his back to the entrance, he heard the door slowly open behind him.  A young woman softly said, "Hello?"  Timothy turned to face her and his heart leapt into his throat.

 
The young woman had straight black hair that fell sensuously over her left eye and down to the nape of her neck.  Her dark, olive-tan complexion suggested that she was of Mediterranean descent.  She could have been from Spain, Italy or Greece.  Her deep green eyes looked directly into Timothy's.  She was wearing a brown suede miniskirt hiked so high on her hips that Timothy saw that she was wearing no underwear.  Timothy quickly looked back up when he realized that he could actually see the pubic hair on her mound.  The girl also wore a matching brown suede jacket with nothing underneath.  As she stood leaning against the doorway jamb, the nipples of her large perky breasts jutted out of her jacket in full view.  Her legs were encased up to her knees in gleaming black leather, stiletto-heeled, laced boots. But it was what she had on her hands that Timothy found to be by far the most unexpected, disturbing and thrilling aspect of her appearance:  she was wearing skintight black leather gloves!  For some reason, those softly gleaming gloves electrified Timothy.  They suggested both sensual pleasure and sexual power.  They suggested status and privilege.  Timothy tried to remind himself that they were only coverings for her hands and nothing to get excited about.  They're no more disturbing than a pair of mittens, he told himself.  But the more he tired to convince himself of that, the more her gloves thrilled and enthralled him.  Perhaps, Timothy thought, it was because she had been indoors - so she definitely was not wearing them to keep her hands warm!  As she leaned with her right shoulder against the doorjamb and her left gloved hand on the curve of her hip, Timothy was unable to take his eyes off her right hand, which she held near her face as she smoked a cigarette.  The white paper of her cigarette contrasted starkly with the gleaming black leather tightly sheathing her fingers.  Timothy could do nothing to prevent his penis from going fully erect inside his trousers.  Years of strict upbringing in the Church proved powerless in the face of nature.  Timothy's male organ was forced to acknowledge and salute her female power, accentuated as it was by the skintight leather caressing her hands.       

"P-P-P-P-Pardon me, Miss.  Is this where the party is?" stammered Timothy with a lump in his throat.  "Is Stacy Rogers here?"  

"Stacy's here, but my name is Denise," said the beautiful girl as she reached down, clasped the knot of Timothy's tie in her leather-gloved fist and led him up the step into the house.   Inside the spacious hallway, Denise maneuvered Timothy back against the wall and caressed his face with the buttery-soft palm of her glove.  The warm scent of her perfume and leather swept over him and caressed his brain like the touch of her glove.  Timothy was almost frightened by the pounding of his own heart.    

"I'm Timothy - Timothy Horsewick," said Timothy in a breathless voice.  

"That's an intriguing last name," said Denise.  "Is that your heart I hear pounding?  Calm down, Timmy," she said, tracing a gloved fingertip along his lips.  "I'm not going to hurt you.  Or is it my glove that's making your little heart race?"  She raised the back of her hand to his lips so that he could kiss her glove.  Without even thinking about what he was doing, Timothy fervently pressed his lips to the buttery soft leather.  Denise whispered softly in his ear, "You're in luck!  I finished putting on a fresh pair just before you rang the doorbell."  She gently pressed his nostrils closed between her index and middle fingers while covering his mouth with her palm.  "Come into the living room," she breathed softly.  "You can help button them for me."  

Timothy felt his brain swirling as Denise led him down the hall and into the living room.  Again and again, he asked himself what she had meant by 'a fresh pair'.   

Embers were glowing in a hearth at the near end of the spacious, dimly lit Victorian living room.  Comfortable couches and easy chairs were everywhere.  Many of the girls and guys were sleeping either on couches or on the floor.  They all appeared to be college students in their early twenties.  The scene looked like the aftermath of an explosive orgy.  But a few of the girls in various stages of dress or undress were still awake.  Almost all of them wore some leather, including skintight gloves.  Timothy noticed with a shock that, while the obviously spent males snored away on the floor at the booted feet of the girls, several young women caressed and pleasured each other with their leather-gloved hands.  As Denise walked him over to a couch, Timothy heard several girls whisper, "Look at that.  Denise just finishes working on a fresh pair of gloves, and a fresh male shows up on the doorstep.  Talk about freakin' luck!"   

Timothy knew that, if Stacy had come here, she'd have had nothing to do with any of this.  It was a big house - a manor - and Timothy reasoned that there must be another party taking place somewhere in another part of the house.  He was torn in two directions.  He wanted desperately to spend time with the entrancing Denise, but he also knew that he absolutely did not want Stacy to catch him with her in that living room.  He had to find Stacy before she found him!  

Nevertheless, he decided to sit down with Denise for a moment on one of the couches.  An elegant girl with long, straight, sandy-blonde hair strolled over to join them. She wore a white silk blouse with black leather pants and spike-heeled boots.  Her hands were sheathed in skintight wrist-length burgundy leather gloves that sported two-inch wide cuffs of thick grey fur around the wrists.  Timothy was startled to see that one of her gloved hands held a cruel-looking black switch.  Denise introduced her to Timothy as Jennifer.  Jennifer extended a gloved hand for Timothy to shake.  There was an indefinable warmth and sincerity about her gloved handshake that thrilled Timothy to his core.  Her down-to-earth quality put him a little more at ease.  Jennifer sat down on the couch on the side of Timothy opposite Denise.   

"So, Timmy, are you just getting here? What took you so long?" asked Jennifer.  She reached behind Timothy to caress the back of his head with her leather-gloved hand. The fur cuff of her glove tickled Timothy's ear and sent thrills coursing up his spine.  Meanwhile, Denise reached down with gleaming black leather-sheathed fingers and began to unzip Timothy's trousers.  Timothy's pecker was throbbing with pleasure inside his underpants.  He knew that, unless he quickly found Stacy, he would be powerless to resist Denise and Jennifer.  He almost felt that it would rip his soul in two to leave them, but finding Stacy was the only thing that would save him from total damnation at this point.  He also knew that he had to warn Stacy about the ungodly debauchery that was taking place in this part of the house.   

"Ladies," said Timothy, "I promised to find Stacy and say 'Hi' before she leaves tonight.  I'm really sorry I have to leave for a moment, but I'll try to get back here a little later.  Do either of you know where Stacy might be?"
"I think I do," said Denise.  "Jennifer, wouldn't Stacy be over in the north wing?"  

"She might be," replied Jennifer, a little distracted.  She had reached up under Timothy's shirt and was rubbing and tickling his chest with her fur-lined glove. When Timothy finally stood up, he had an impossible time trying to re-zip his pants over his hugely swollen pecker.  Jennifer and Denise giggled while pointing kidskin-sheathed fingers at the bulge of his boner.  As mortified as Timothy should have been, he was almost too filled with anxiety to be aware of his shame.  He fumbled nervously as he tried to get the zipper up past his erection. 

  
Jennifer said, "Here, maybe this will help it go down", as she gently thwacked her switch against the bulge in Timothy's underpants.  

"Jennifer, stop it!" said Denise.  "You're only making it bigger!  My god!  That thing has gotten so huge that there's only one way we'll get it to go down now!  But first, let's go to my room, where we'll have some privacy."  
"I-I can't go anywhere until I get my pants zipped," said a befuddled Timothy.  

Denise stood up off the couch and cupped Timothy's chin in the warmth of her gloved hand.  Timothy felt the room starting to reel around him.  "Timmy," said Denise in her soft, low voice.  "Look around you, sweetie.  Everyone here is at least half undressed.  No one is going to notice a man with a boner walking down a hall and up a staircase - well, almost no one."  
"B-B-But Stacy will."

 
"No, Timmy.  Stacy is in another part of the house.  And before you go to see her, we've got to help you get Mr. Happy here back down to a manageable size.  Dear god, he's still growing!" 

  
Denise again grabbed Timothy's tie in her leather-gloved fist and led him down the hall with his pants unzipped.  Jennifer followed as they went up the spiral staircase to a landing and then up to the third story.  The clicking of the girls' boot heels on the stone and hardwood floors further stiffened Timothy's erection. At one of several mahogany doors, Denise took a skeleton key from her pocket and, holding it in her leather-sheathed hand, inserted it into the keyhole.  "This is my room," she said, pushing the door inward with her black leather-gloved fingertips.

  
Timothy followed the two gorgeous young temptresses into Denise's room. At the far wall, moonlight shining through a large bay window fell on an oriental carpet.  A fireplace with a marble mantelpiece adorned the wall to the right.  The head of a large king-sized bed with a canopy stood against the opposite wall on the left. Denise had two large dressers, a television on a stand, a desk and two comfortable-looking chairs.  In the moonlight, Timothy discerned potted plants on either side of the window and several stuffed toy animals sitting on a cedar chest.

  Denise shut the door behind them, strolled over to a nightstand by the side of the bed and turned on a tiffany lamp.  It was then that Timothy noticed a long bullwhip lying on the bed alongside a pair of long black kidskin gloves that appeared to have whitish stains on the fingers. 

 
"Looks like another pair destined for the cleaners," said Jennifer.  

"I think I might take them into the city," said Denise, going to the sink in her bathroom and returning with two glasses of water, which she set on the nightstand. "After tonight, the local cleaner in Renfield is going to be overwhelmed with soiled kidskin gloves - and I'm sure he'll have no problem guessing what all the stains are from!"  Turning to Timothy and caressing his face with her leather-gloved hands, Denise said, "Timmy, are you okay?  You look a little flushed and dizzy.  Why don't you take your clothes off and help me button my gloves?"   

"I c-can't," said Timothy.  "I c-can't get naked in front of girls."  His heart was pounding like a drum.  

"Why not?" asked Jennifer.  

"B-Because you're women.  It would be immoral," said Timothy as his pulse raced.

  
"Timmy, have you ever been in bed with a woman before?" asked Denise, peering deeply into his frightened eyes while holding his chin with her gleaming black leather-sheathed fingers.

       
"N-N-No!" said Timothy.  "I'm n-n-not m-married!"

 
"My god, he's a virgin!" said Jennifer as she took off her silk blouse and black leather pants.

  
"I kind of thought so," said Denise, as she took off her suede jacket and slipped out of her suede micro-miniskirt.  She was naked except for her boots and gloves.

   
Timothy audibly gasped when he saw that Denise's gloves went up over her elbows. Only the tiniest ripples appeared in the skintight black leather that caressed her arms almost up to her shoulders.  Jennifer also stood naked but for her boots and wrist-length fur-lined burgundy kid gloves.  Timothy felt like his cock was ready to burst.

 
"Timmy, sweetheart, we can't do anything to help your boner go down unless you get naked.  You know you can't zip your pants over that thing if you want to see Stacy! Now, I want you to take your clothes off and kneel in front of me while I sit in that chair over there," said Denise.  

"We're not going to do anything to hurt you," added Jennifer.  

Timothy took off all his clothes and left them in a pile on the carpet.  Trembling, he walked over to where Denise was sitting and knelt before her.

   
"Timmy, baby," she said in a soothing voice.  "I want you to button my gloves.  Just relax and take as much time as you need."  

Timothy knelt at Denise's booted feet.  As he stared directly between her legs at her twat, he felt dizzy with both pleasure and fear.  Denise held out her left gloved hand with her palm up.  With trembling fingers, Timothy reverently pushed each button through its hole until Denise's glove was snuggly buttoned at her wrist.

 
"Want to kiss it?" said Denise. 

  
Without verbally answering, Timothy passionately started kissing her glove. Jennifer stepped behind Timothy and caressed him under his chin with her own gloved hands as Timothy reverently kissed Denise's leathered palm and each of her leather-sheathed fingers. 

  
"I guess you have your answer, Denise," said Jennifer.

  
"Now the other glove," said Denise. 

  
As Timothy buttoned the wrist of the gleaming black leather glove sheathing Denise's right hand, Jennifer placed a gloved hand over Timothy's mouth and nose.  His throbbing pecker began to thrash about wildly.  Jennifer removed her hand to keep him from getting over-excited.    
"You seem to be quite the little glove-lover," said Denise.  "I'll bet that you used to sneak into your parent's bedroom whenever they were out for an evening and tried on your Mom's leather gloves to see what they felt like, didn't you?"

   
"N-N-No," said Timothy.  "My mother passed away when I was very young."  
"I'm sorry to hear that, Timmy," said Denise.

  
Thanks, Denise - that's all right," said Timothy.  "But I did try on a pair of long leather gloves once.  You see - my father was consoling this woman whose husband had passed away.  She always came by the rectory wearing long black leather gloves.  She would take them off and leave them in the kitchen with her fur coat while my father counseled her in the rectory office.  I just wanted to know how it felt to wear gloves like those, so I snuck into the pantry with them.  I knew that she would always be at least a half hour with my father.  Back then, my hands were small enough that I could just slip her gloves on.  They were like nothing I had ever worn before.  It was not at all like wearing mittens.  I knew that I was committing a serious sin."

 
"No - gloves are not like wearing mittens.  Major difference!  You got a boner, didn't you, Timmy?" asked Denise, with her arm resting on her leg and a gloved hand hanging down in front of Timothy's face.  "The sensation of wearing gloves gave you a boner."  

Timothy's mouth began to quiver with embarrassment.  He could hardly believe that he was confessing this furtive act from years ago to Denise and Jennifer.  He wished he had never mentioned it; but it was out, and he could think of no credible way to deny it now.

"Timmy, sweetheart, it's okay.  From what I've heard, it's probably something many little boys do - just out of curiosity," said Denise.  Putting her soft, leathered fingertips under Timothy's chin, she continued, "It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's perfectly natural and human to want to experience forbidden pleasures.  And males are so repressed in what they can and can't wear.  Sometimes I wonder how you guys can stand being so regimented!  Timmy, I don't want to embarrass you, but did you touch yourself with her gloves on?"

 
"N-N-No!  I took them off and placed them back on the kitchen table.  Then I went over to the Church to ask God to forgive what I had done." 

  
"Did that woman stop by more than once?" asked Denise.

 
"Y-Yes," said Timothy.  

"Timmy, I'll bet that you tried her gloves on more than just once.  There's something irresistible about the sensuous intimacy of soft leather caressing your hands and fingers.  You probably tried them on every time she was over.  Right?"

 
Timothy did not reply.  He just looked deeply ashamed as he finished buttoning Denise's glove.

 
Jennifer piped in, "Just about all little girls try on their Mom's gloves at one point or another - just to find out what it's like to feel grown-up and beautiful. And I know that my little brother wanted to try on some of my gloves once.  I caught him just as he was sneaking into my dresser glove drawer.  Boy, did he ever have a lot of explaining to do!  The little jerk started crying and told me that he had been walking in his sleep - even though it was two o'clock in the afternoon!" Jennifer went over and sat down on the edge of the bed.

   
Denise said, "Timmy, I want you to take Jennifer's boots off and then come back here and take mine off, too."

  
Timothy did as Denise requested and then asked why she and Jennifer were no longer going to wear boots.

  
As she caressed his face with her kid-gloved hands, Denise said, "Timmy, the three of us are going to get into bed together."

 
"N-N-No!" exclaimed Timothy.  "I c-can't!  That would be a grievous sin."

 
"Timmy," said Denise, "we're not going to make you do anything you don't want to do.  But don't you want to be able to see Stacy?"

  
Denise reached down and wrapped her leather-sheathed fingers around Timothy's erection.  She then began to slowly and gently stroke his rigid shaft with her glove.  Timothy began to cry quietly because he realized that he was utterly powerless to resist her.  He knew that he was already going to spend eternity in hell and that he was no longer worthy of Stacy.  After a few moments of choking back quiet tears, he burst into all-out sobbing.

   
"I'm sorry, Denise," sobbed Timothy.  "I'm sorry.  I know it's wrong, and yet I don't have the strength to resist.  God help me!  It just isn't fair!"

  
"No, it's not fair, but it's all right, Timmy - it's all right," whispered Denise. "Poor baby, you're so repressed!"  She stood up and, gripping his hugely swollen penis with her leather-sheathed fingers, led him by his erection over to the bed. "But it's perfectly natural to feel frightened and a little guilty the first time. That's nothing to be ashamed of.  But you're with friends, darling Timmy.  Jennifer and I will be very gentle with you."

  
Timothy felt his heart pounding as he climbed into bed next to Jennifer.  The sheets felt cold and clean.  Then Denise climbed into bed on the other side of Timothy.  He watched as Denise passed a pill and one of the glasses of water on the nightstand over to Jennifer.  For a moment, their hands were so close in front of his nose that he could smell the intoxicating scent of kidskin leather.  Then he watched Denise take a similar pill between her gloved thumb and index finger, place it on her tongue and wash it down with the other glass of water.  Denise then again reached over to the nightstand with her leather-gloved hand and turned off the tiffany lamp.  

Click here for Part Two