Like Son, Like Father
Part Nine
The embarrassing story of Timothy's falling naked down the side of the ravine
into
the creek was nothing compared to the scandal of the parson's trial for breaking
and
entering, damaging family heirlooms and attempting to assault a young lady in
her
own home. The story as written up in the 'Gazetteer' was that the Reverend
Alvin
Horsewick apparently broke into Stacy Rodger's house to steal intimate articles
of
apparel, including long, black kidskin gloves. On the street, Timothy
heard both
women and men joking that, if you're going to get arrested for stealing women's
clothing, kidskin gloves are a hell of a lot more worthwhile than brassieres or
underpanties.
At his sentencing, Alvin Horsewick was told that it's one thing to have a fetish
for
kidskin gloves, but another thing to act on it illegally. But, in view of
the
parson's past service to the community and his very obvious injuries, the judge
sentenced him to only two months behind bars. As his sentence was being
read, Alvin
Horsewick noticed that one of the women on the jury was constantly and
fastidiously
smoothing her black leather gloves to an even snugger fit between each of her
fingers while glancing with a smirk in his direction.
After his father had served about three weeks of his jail sentence, Timothy was
having breakfast at the kitchen table in the rectory when he heard the front
doorbell ring. Wondering who might be calling so early in the morning, he
went to
front door. He fervently prayed that there would be no more bad news.
It weighed
heavily on him that, were it not for his own transgressions on All Hallow Even,
his
father would not be serving a jail term. Nor would his father have
suffered a
smashed nose, stabbed hand, broken fingers and missing teeth. But when
Timothy
opened the front door, his fears took flight in a vision of joy. There, on
the
rectory porch, stood Denise, more beautiful than ever in black leather pants, a
black leather jacket, pale blue pullover and skintight black kid leather gloves.
"Hi, Timmy!" she said. "May I come in for a moment?"
"Sure!" said Timmy. "Sure! Come in and stay awhile! It's so
good to see you
again, Denise. I can't begin to tell you about all the misery my father
has been
through because of me!"
Denise stepped into the rectory. Hugging Timothy and caressing his face in
the
warmth of her leather-gloved hands, she said, "Timmy, I have both good and bad
news
- but mostly good news. Remember when I told you that Carolyn Chadwick
serves on
the Board of Probation? Well, Carolyn went to visit your father in jail
and
explained to him that, if he wanted, he could serve the rest of his sentence
while
working in the stables at her Estate. But a condition of his probation
would be
that, while there, he would have to accept training without any question,
hesitation
or reservation. Carolyn is very understanding and committed to helping
prisoners
turn their lives around."
"That sounds great!" said Timothy. "What's the bad news?"
"The bad news," said Denise, "is that Stacy Rodgers will be one of your father's
trainers. But hold on - there is still more good news. Even though
your father is
allowed no contact with the outside world while in training, you can still go to
see
him and watch the progress he is making. You would get to watch from
behind a
one-way window that looks like a mirror on your father's side. I'll take
you if you
like."
"Sure, Denise!" said Timothy. "That sounds swell!"
Timothy scurried about the house to get his jacket, a scarf and some woolen
mittens.
"What adorable wooly mittens!" exclaimed Denise. "I had some like those
when I was
a little girl. You look cute as a little snow bunny, Timmy!" She
tickled Timothy
under his chin with her fleecy-soft kid-leathered fingers.
Timothy was not at all sure that Denise's comments were a compliment. He
followed
her out to her car. A light snow covered the ground but the sun shone
brilliantly.
With her gleaming black leather-gloved hands gripping the steering wheel, Denise
drove Timothy to Chadwick Estate. Timothy recalled the night when he first
drove up
the hill to the manor and was greeted by Denise at the front entrance.
Once inside the house, Denise led Timothy down to a spectator room that looked
out
on the game room in the north wing. She turned on a speaker that allowed
them to
hear what was taking place in the game room. Then she and Timothy sat down
on a
comfortable couch facing a large glass window. Through the one-way glass,
Timothy
saw an elegant woman with light brown hair standing before a naked, abject male
kneeling on the floor of the game room. She wore a broad-brimmed hat,
black
laced-up fashion boots with stiletto heels and shoulder-length black kidskin
gloves.
Timothy correctly guessed that the woman was Carolyn Chadwick, the wealthy
heiress
of the Estate. Then Timothy noticed that the naked male kneeling before
Ms.
Chadwick was his father! Reverend Horsewick was quite obviously in a state
of
extreme arousal. Carolyn was holding her left hand out before Reverend
Horsewick
with her gloved fingers spread apart. In her gloved right hand, she held a
vicious-looking bullwhip. She was training the Reverend to obey her hand
signals.
The under-handed waving motion of her leather-gloved hand toward herself meant
'Come
toward me.' The curling motion of her leather-sheathed index finger in her
direction meant 'Come right up to me.' But a leather-gloved palm held out
with
leather-sheathed fingers spread apart meant 'Stop!'
Timothy saw Stacy sitting on a comfortable-looking chair with only her
stiletto-heeled boots on. Then he noticed Carolyn lashing his father
repeatedly on
his back with her bullwhip. Reverend Horsewick was ambling on his knees
over to a
coffee table where a pair of softly gleaming, full-length black kidskin
mousquetaire
gloves had been laid.
Denise explained to Timothy that, using only his lips, Reverend Horsewick had to
pick the gloves up off the coffee table and, walking only on his knees, bring
them
to Stacy. As he crossed the floor on his knees, Carolyn repeatedly lashed
his rump
with cracks of her whip, but Reverend Horsewick was not permitted to cry out and
drop Stacy's gloves. With every crack of Carolyn's whip, the Reverend
shook as
though a jolt of electricity had passed though him. He finally arrived at
Stacy's
booted feet with her gloves between his lips and tears cascading down his face.
Stacy then took her gloves from the parson and began to work them on.
"Mmmmm - these gloves feel soooo good!" Stacy purred with pleasure. "Just
wearing
them makes me feel like whipping a male!"
Carolyn Chadwick said, "Of course, the Reverend knows that, whenever our gloves
are
on, he will eventually get whipped - don't you, Reverend Horsewick?"
"Y-Yes, Ms. Chadwick," bawled the parson. "B-B-But couldn't you just spank
me
instead? Dear god! I don't think I can take another whipping!"
"Of course, you can, Reverend," said Carolyn in a quiet, soothing voice.
Holding
her hand up to his lips to let him fervently kiss her glove, she said, "We can
spank
you, too." Then she spanked his boner with her gloved hand while the
parson sobbed
in agony. "But you know very well, Reverend, that you are really too old
to be
spanked. When a male reaches your age - and proportions," said Carolyn,
grasping
his enormous pecker in the palm of her glove, "he really must be whipped."
After several minutes of working the skintight kidskin leather onto and down
between
each of her fingers, Stacy held out her hands palms up so that the parson could
button each of her gloves at the wrist. Stacy then reached down and
stroked the
parson's enormous, throbbing boner. But when some of Reverend Horsewick's
pubic
hair became tangled on the buttons of Stacy's glove, he inadvertently cried out
in
pain. Tearing out several of the parson's pubic hairs, Stacy raised her
hand and
cracked him ten times across the face with the palm of her glove. That,
she said,
was for getting his pubic hair tangled on her glove.
Stacy then reached over to an end table at the side of her chair and took a
cigarette from a pack. Timothy watched as his father took a lighter off
the table
and lit Stacy's cigarette. Then Alvin Horsewick knelt at the other side of
Stacy's
chair. Every minute or so, Stacy would hold a gloved hand up in front of
the
parson's face. This was a signal that the parson was to extend his hand,
palm up,
so that Stacy could flick her ashes onto his palm. When Stacy had finished
her
cigarette, she gripped the parson's hand in her leather-sheathed hand with his
palm
up. Timothy watched as Stacy then crushed her cigarette out in the same
hand
through which she had stabbed a hatpin weeks earlier. The parson groaned
and sobbed
in anguish. Timothy could scarcely believe that he was watching his
childhood
sweetheart train his father in such a degrading manner.
"Why?" asked Timothy as he listened to the crack of the whips that Carolyn and
Stacy
wielded in their leather-gloved hands while the Reverend howled in agony.
"Why must
my father be put through such degradation?"
"Because he's a male and Stacy's a female," explained Denise. "Because she
holds a
power over him that he does not hold over her. You, yourself, Timmy
acknowledged
that power the night I opened the front door and you stood on the doorstep.
I saw
your acknowledgement when you stared at my leather-sheathed hands and drooled
with
your eyes nearly bugging out of your head. We see men acknowledge our
power day in
and day out. We see it in the helpless looks of passionate longing that
you cast
our way. We see it when you steal furtive glances at our gloved hands.
We see it
when your cocks salute us - whether you want them to or not." As Denise
reached
down and began to unzip Timothy's trousers with her gleaming leather-sheathed
fingers, she continued, "All we have to do is hold a kid-gloved hand near your
cock,
and your cock will automatically cum to our glove - without our even having to
lift
a finger."
Even as Denise was speaking, Timothy's penis was rapidly stiffening and growing
erect. It was as if his boner was reaching out for the glovely embrace of
her
softly leathered fingers. Denise wrapped her leathered fingers around
Timothy's
rigid shaft and slowly began to stroke it. Each time her gloved hand slid
up the
length of his rigid shaft so that the black leather index finger and thumb of
her
skintight glove encircled the swollen head of his penis, she would pause to
squeeze
and knead his cockhead.
"Timmy," said Denise, "I'll train you - just like Stacy is training your father.
And I'll do it because you want me to and because you can't live without it."
Denise's leather-sheathed hand was now flashing along the length of Timothy's
throbbing, sperm-loaded pecker. At the very instant that he was about to
shot his
load and drench her glove with his semen, she released his cock to leave it
thrashing wildly about, oozing long strings of cum.
"PLEASE, DENISE!" groaned Timothy. "I can't stand it! Finish me!
Jerk me off!
PLEASE!"
"No, Timmy," said Denise. "Not yet." As he remained seated on the
couch, she stood
in front of him and covered his face with her leather-gloved hands. He
inhaled
deeply the rich, musky fragrance of the skintight leather gloves intimately
sheathing her beautiful, privileged hands.
"Timmy, sweetheart," she said in a soft whisper, "Your training begins now."
Click here for Part Ten