A Vinyl-Clad Bombshell Fits Derek’s Submissive Fantasies Like A Glove

“Look at her,” the bartender whispered to me.

I turned to face the doorway, and then my heart seemed to stop before snapping back into motion. The girl was dressed in head-to-toe vinyl. Occasionally, when people say someone is dressed in head-to-toe anything, it’s an exaggeration. You can trust me; I am not exaggerating. I sat at the bar and looked her up and down. She had on thigh-high vinyl boots, a vinyl miniskirt, a vinyl vest, and her shimmering hair was wrapped in what appeared to be vinyl ribbons.

But it was those gloves — those gorgeous fucking gloves — that did me in.

They were longer than elbow-length, like opera gloves, and they were made of vinyl. As soon as I saw them, I wanted to feel those gloves tracing along my body. I wanted to lick their tips. I wanted one of those gloves wrapped around my cock while the other cupped my balls.

A few men tried to make small talk with the vixen, but she shot them down easily. She didn’t look like the type who would settle for anything less than exactly what she desired. I was surprised when she sat down on the stool next to mine, and my mind whirred as I tried to think of something to say. What do you say to a woman who isn’t simply wearing her fetish on her sleeve — she’s wearing her fetish all over her body? I took a deep breath and cleared my throat.

“When you walked in, I had this vision,” I said slowly.

She turned to face me. “You did?”

I nodded, still taking my time.

“I saw you and me at my place.”

“Your place.”

There was humor in her green eyes.

I nodded again. “I was naked, and you were touching me with those gloves. Those gorgeous fucking gloves.”

She put one of her hands on top of mine. A shiver ran through me. I was so turned on; I could hardly think straight.

“And what did you see next?” she asked. Her words were practically a purr.

“I saw you jerking me off with those gloves,” I said.

I didn’t care if anyone heard me. This woman was the only thing that mattered. Then she was standing, and I worried for a second that I’d gone too far. But she put her hand out to me, and I slid my fingers between hers. The rubbery texture was sublime. I wanted to take her to the restroom and fill my cupped hands with water. I could see myself pouring the clear liquid all over her body, watching the beads make tracks along her shiny-smooth outfit. But I didn’t. I paid for my drink, held her hand, and took her with me out into the night.

We walked to my apartment, and I learned that her name was Tara and that she was a costume designer who enjoyed working with unusual fabric. She hadn’t been into vinyl as a fetish at first. She’d simply been interested in seeing if she could tame the fabric and make it behave for her. The more she worked with the fabric, the tighter she fell under its spell.

“The material definitely behaves for you,” I said.

“Let’s see if you can,” she challenged.

There was an instant where my knees felt weak. I had to wrangle all my stamina as I led her to my bedroom and showed her my different toys. In seconds, she had me exactly the way she wanted me. Naked and ready for whatever she thought of next.

It was hard to believe this wasn’t a dream. I stood in the center of the room as this beautiful woman with the tawny hair and the bottle-green eyes stroked her hands across my chest. My wrists were cuffed behind my back. My ankles were attached to a spreader bar. I was bound for pleasure — literally and figuratively. Tara’s gloved fingers paused to pinch my nipples, and then she moved down, lower, toward my cock. I didn’t close my eyes. I didn’t look away. I stared as she began to jack my cock in her hand, the vinyl like a shiny envelope of heaven wrapped around my dick.

In my entire life, I’d never been as aroused before. I was actually a little nervous. What if I came without her permission? What if I shot my load all over her outfit? What if … and then the unspeakable happened. She touched me just right, and I climaxed in a wave.

I was wracked for a moment by the decadent pleasure that flared through my body. Then I was wrecked by the worry of what she might do. She didn’t appear fazed in the slightest. Even the way I was bound, she had me on my stomach on the bed in no time, and her gloved hand delivered a strange, erotic spanking. Strange because being punished by a vinyl-clad hand was something I never had experienced before. Erotic because I hoped the spanking would never end. She let her hand smack my left asscheek, then my right, repeatedly, until I was sure my bottom was bright red. Then she barked out one word,

“Lube.”

“On the nightstand.”

In seconds, she had me standing for her once more. Her gloved fingers were all slicked up, and she was insinuating two into my asshole. I made a strangled noise of desire, caught in a heaven and hell of embarrassment and bliss. How often had I jacked off to the thought of a smart, stern woman working my ass like this? Too often to count.

Then she did something even sexier. She lubed up her free hand and began to work my cock. So I had fingers in my backdoor and a fist around my shaft. What a lucky fucking stiff I was.

“I figured,” she said as she stroked my cock with her magic fingers, “that if I wore my costume, I would find someone who was as turned on by the material as I am.”

“You did,” I whispered.

She continued to probe my asshole and jerk on my cock until I realized I was on the brink again. She’d only spanked me the first time I climaxed without permission. What would she do if I came again?

I asked, “May I, Tara? May I . . . ?”

“No,” she said.

What was I supposed to do now? She had me teetering, and then she pushed me over. I came once more all over her, and I spied a pleased smile on her face when I had the nerve to look at her again.

“Now, you’ve gone and done it,” she said.

I hung my head.

“This is what happens to disobedient subs.”

She undid the bindings on my ankles and pushed me back over my mattress. I thought that she would spank me some more. Was I ever surprised when I felt a cock against my well-primed hole. It took me a second to realize that she was packing. If possible, I liked her even more. She started off slowly, working her toy dick into my ass at a generous, even pace. But when I moaned, she began to speed up the ride. My hands were still bound, so I couldn’t touch myself. My dick was already hard again. Luckily, my angel in vinyl took pity on me.

She resumed the handjob, timing the strokes with her fist to the strokes with her cock. When I was panting and begging for a third release, she pulled out and undid her harness. I heard the toy hit the floor, and then she was rolling a condom on my dick and squirming in front of me.

“Fuck me,” she said. “Fuck me as hard as I fucked you.”

I did as ordered, slamming against her, my wrists still bound, my ass still feeling the echo of her cock inside me. Since I’d already come twice, I made sure to let her reach her limits before I allowed myself to fill the condom. I watched her pretty eyes go slightly glassy as an orgasm flared within her. I felt her inner muscles working me tight.

I waited for her to hiss, “You can come for me, Derek,” and then I did, surprised by the willpower I’d shown.

My vixen undressed and used a washcloth to sponge off her outfit. She cleaned her gloves and left them dangling to dry from the top of my shower rod. I’d never experienced such a kinky, fetish-filled night. But with Tara, I know one thing is for sure: All I’ll ever need is her — and her pair of orgasm-inducing gloves.

— Mr. Derek M., Seattle, Washington