For one young woman, a pair of sultry gloves opens the door to a whole new world of kink.

I was late. Very late! And just like the white rabbit, I was in forward motion while checking my watch. My hair was only half brushed, my lipstick barely on. Out the door I went, with my scarf flying and jacket tails flapping. It was Monday morning in every sense of the term, and I had a ten o’clock appointment I knew I’d make by mere seconds. When I arrived at work, I realized I hadn’t even checked the appointment book to see what the vendor was selling. I am the one of the main buyers for an upscale women’s boutique. I purchase nylons, lingerie, dresses, blouses, slacks, jewelry and accessories. I love my job because I get to shop all day long. But I do try to be more put together than I was on that day.

The salesman arrived with his wares while I had my back to the counter, searching for the catalog I knew he’d sent ahead of time. I didn’t want to be completely unprepared. Then I heard my boss inhale quickly — a cross between a gasp and a sigh.

What was up with her?

I gazed over my shoulder to see a man so strikingly handsome, I felt momentarily stunned. He looked far more like a model than a salesman. I tried to play cool, and I introduced myself and walked around the counter, glad that I had put on the pencil skirt I was wearing. It was a simple cut, but the soft, cashmere cradled my every curve. I hoped he was watching me as I took him upstairs to my small office. I imagined he was, that he couldn’t take his eyes off the swish of my hips and the sway of my walk.

This was the first time he had visited our boutique. When we were in my private office, he handed me his card and I looked at it: William — “Bill,” he said — while he opened his sales case. I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He was intensely good-looking in an old-fashioned way. His dark hair was cut short, not a wave out of place. He had obviously shaved recently, and I could smell the spice of his cologne. When he looked at me, I realized that his intense eyes were a fairy-tale blue.

In order to not stare so obviously at him, I looked down into his open suitcase. His suitcase was filled with an assortment of gloves.

Aha, my brain said. He was a glove salesman! One pair caught my eye right away, even before he pulled them from the case. Unlike the others nestled nearby, these weren’t woolen or velvet or leather, even. They were latex.

I reached for the enchanting pair without uttering a single word, and Bill surprised me by saying, “I didn’t say you could touch.”

Woah. What was going on? He was trying to sell to me. How dare he talk to me like that? That tone of voice. The way he spoke, so condescendingly. I was as stunned as if he’d slapped my hand away. And yet for some inexplicable reason I found that my body responded in a surprising way. My panties were wet, and my thoughts felt like they were ricocheting off my brain. I pulled my hand back, recoiling as he sat there, watching me. My cheeks flushed, and I felt as if I couldn’t swallow right. Suddenly, I was awake. I stared at him in wonder.

“Let me show you my wares my way,” he said, and although his words were polite enough, that stern tone remained. I could have told him to leave. We didn’t need his gloves. But I didn’t want to make him leave. I wanted very much to see what he would do next.

Still, I had to regain some sense of composure. I settled back in my desk chair and regarded him carefully. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen a man this handsome in person. He spread his gloves out on my table, one after the other, but he didn’t lift the latex ones. I wanted the latex ones. I wanted to put them on and run my fingers over his body. I wanted to stroke his cock with them. I wanted to lick them.

What was happening to me? Gloves don’t usually have that sort of magic on me. Neither do sales reps, honestly. I realized with a start that he’d begun talking about the gloves. Angora. Were the pink ones angora? And the velvet ones came in paisley as well as plaid. I didn’t care. I wanted to leave with him, put the gloves on and lace my fingers with his, hurry to my apartment so we could take care of each other, latex on skin, whole worlds of fantasies coming true.

Oh, fuck. He was looking at me impatiently. Had he asked me a question? I said, “Yes,” in case he had, and his expression hardened. “You weren’t listening, Miss Martin,” he said.

“No,” I agreed hopelessly. “I wasn’t.” I’d been thinking about jerking his cock while wearing those rubbery gloves. I wondered what he would say if I confessed my x-rated vision.

He shook his head at me in total disappointment. “We probably ought to stop and take care of your attitude.”

My attitude? He wanted to talk about my attitude? What was going on? My ten o’clock Monday morning appointment was quickly turning into some sort of waking wet dream.

“What do you mean?” I managed to whisper. I was thankful my office was far away from the main floor of the store. Nobody could possibly guess what was going on up here, what he was saying to me, how he was looking at me.

“I expect a certain level of decorum when I come into a store,” he said. “I prepared myself this morning for my meeting with you. Did you prepare for your appointment with me?”

I hadn’t. Often, I did. I researched the vendors who wanted to sell to us. I looked at their offerings online or in the catalogs they mailed ahead of time. Truthfully, I hadn’t been that interested. He was selling gloves. Gloves were boring. Gloves were utilitarian. How excited could someone get about a pair of gloves? That’s what I’d thought, anyway. I was learning by the second that gloves could be very exciting indeed.

“Did you, Celine?” he asked.

The way he said my name managed to surprise me. Usually, vendors address me as Miss Martin, or occasionally Ms. Martin. I couldn’t remember the last time a new rep had called me by my first name. But I didn’t care at all. I didn’t care about anything except making him proud of me.

“No,” I admitted sheepishly. “I got overworked, and I actually forgot you were coming.”

He smiled at that, which shocked me further. “Honesty,” he said. “I’ll give you points for that.”

Points. What was he talking about? We couldn’t be on gloves anymore, could we? And why was he holding out on the latex pair? I kept sneaking looks at those beautiful gloves. They caught my eye naturally, the way their shiny surface gleamed under the lights in my office, almost as if they were wet.

“Why don’t I come back tomorrow after you’ve had time to do a little homework,” he boldly suggested.

I didn’t want him to leave. But then he said, “If you give me your address, I can come to your place tonight and help you become better prepared.”

I was writing down my address on a sticky note almost before he’d finished speaking.

“Oh, and why don’t you take these?” He handed me the stunning latex gloves. “I’ll expect you to be wearing these — and nothing else — when I arrive tonight.”

“You expect — ” I stammered.

“You heard me.”

He closed the hard black case, said good-bye, and left me in the office holding those gloves and staring after him in awe. After a moment, I stood up and closed the door. Then I sat on my small sofa, and I very slowly, very carefully, slid one of those slippery gloves onto my hand. I felt transformed immediately. The rest of my outfit was mundane: camel-colored skirt, pale yellow sweater, polka-dot scarf, Oxford pumps. But the glove — the glove was exquisite. Quickly, I slid on the second, and then I laced my fingers together and admired my hands. I’d never felt like this before. I hold many different stunning items in my line of work. Cocktail rings with deep turquoise gems. Alpaca sweaters. Pashima scarves.

This was something new.

What had he said to me in parting? To wear the gloves and nothing else. I almost stripped down in the office, but then I remembered where I was and I took the gloves off and tucked them into my purse. And then I took them right back out, pulled my panties off, and sat back down on my sofa. I started to masturbate with the gloves on, tossing my head back in the immediate pleasure that the latex on my wet skin brought me. I thrust my gloved fingers up into my pussy, squeezed my muscles against the slippery fabric, bit my bottom lip to keep from crying out. In almost no time, I had gotten myself off. I had never come at work before, never fucked around with a sales rep before. But I didn’t fight the urge. I was gone.

After climaxing, I did a few deep-breathing exercises to get myself under control, and I tried my best to act normal for the rest of the day.

That was no easy feat for me to accomplish.

I can’t say how many times I mistook a word for “glove” during the day. A customer said she wanted a scarf in “dove” gray, and I started rummaging for gloves. A coworker told me she loved my new haircut, and I looked at her in confusion, sure she’d said something about gloves. I was in a fog. All because of Bill and his latex gloves. An obsession had been born.

When I arrived home, I tried my very best to be patient. Maybe I ought to wait to undress until seven — the time he’d set. But I couldn’t. I stripped out of my clothes in a flash and then slid the gloves back on. I’d been waiting for this moment for hours. I wandered around my apartment like that, pausing in front of my mirrors to admire my reflection. The gloves were standouts, true beauties. They made my pale skin appear even paler. They matched my dark hair in color and shine. I posed. I touched myself — my hands sliding along my breasts, down my body, to my split. I —

The doorbell rang.

I hurried to answer, and then hesitated. Who did I think I was? I’d only met Bill that morning. Now, simply because he’d told me to, I was naked but for a pair of gloves. What in the world was going on with me? The bell rang again, and I moved to open the door. Who did I think I was? I thought I was the girl in the latex gloves, that’s who. And even if the old me would never have done something this unusual, the girl in the gloves most definitely would.

I opened the door for Bill, feeling so sexy in the split second that any of my neighbors could possibly spy me. Another first. Bill came in and closed the door. He took a moment to look me up and down, and then he smiled that slow spreading smile at me. I felt warm all over. I’d done what he asked. I’d made him happy.

“Tell me what you thought about when you first saw those gloves,” he said, and he was next to me, brushing my hair off my shoulders, touching me. I shivered, so exited, and I said, “I couldn’t think of anything else as soon as I saw them. All day long, I put them on and took them off, imagining — ”

“Imagining what?”

“Imagining this.”

He touched me more, bringing one hand between my thighs, as if testing to see if I was wet.

“Not this exactly,” I amended. “I imagined touching you.”

He surprised me then. He grabbed one of my hands and smelled the tips of the gloves.

“You did more than imagine,” he said, that stern cold tone in place.

I flushed and nodded. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I came as soon as you left,” I told him. “I lay back on my sofa with my panties off, and I touched myself with the gloves.”

“Whose gloves?”

“Your gloves,” I said immediately, feeling a wave of excitement wash over me.

He seemed to like that, and he let me lead him to my bedroom where he undressed. I was in awe of his lean, muscular body, and I wanted to stroke him all over, but I got the sense that moving without permission, touching without an invitation, would be frowned upon.

Bill said, “I will let you touch me with your gloves if you will let me do something to you.”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, which hung now from the back of one of my chairs. What was this? He dangled a pair of cuffs in front of me, and he said, “The gloves look lovely on you. These would, too.”

I nodded before I even knew what I was agreeing to. The thought of those cuffs on me affected me in the same way the gloves had. I wanted them, and I wanted them badly. As someone who shops for a living, I know that craving intimately. Never had I experienced this type of yearning in bed before — wanting an accessory, wanting to have one used on me.

Bill stood before me, now that we had our agreement, and he cocked his head in my direction. I came quickly to his side, and I started to slowly slide my gloved hands up his body. Touching him through the barrier of the rubber was surreal. I could feel him, without really feeling him. I loved every second. I ran my hands all over his chest and his abs. Then I went on my knees and gazed up at him, waiting for his instruction. Not only did I want to touch him, I realized, I also wanted to suck him. I opened my mouth, and I was surprised when he put his fingertips on my bottom lip before I could latch on to his cock.

“You ask,” he said, using the same tone he’d used in my office. Chilled. Unflinching.

“May I?” I was begging, I realized. I was begging to suck this man’s cock, and all because of a pair of sexy gloves.

“You’ve agreed to the cuffs,” he said. “Now I’ll make you another offer. If you want to suck my cock, you have to agree to let me spank you.”

I wanted to suck his cock. I definitely wanted to suck his cock. I also found that I wanted him to spank me. I agreed immediately, and he sat down on the edge of my bed, put me over his lap, and started to spank me. I had never been spanked before that night. I’d also never had on a pair of gloves like these. So this was definitely a night of new beginnings.

All day long, I had been thrust into a glove-induced haze. Now, everything felt clear and bright. The feel of Bill’s hand against my ass was hard and fast and woke me up from my daze. His cock was like marble beneath me, and I reminded myself that I was going to be able to suck him. That would be my reward. But Bill had a different idea. He pushed me off his lap, positioned me on the mattress next to him, and he said, “I want you to touch yourself while I spank you.”

I didn’t hesitate for even a second. I adored the way the slippery rubber felt over my swollen clit. While Bill spanked my ass with his bare hand, I rubbed my gloved fingers over my pulsing button until I was right on the cusp of a mammoth climax. My mind was going at warp speed. I imagined him spanking me with the gloves. I imagined him lubing up one gloved finger and sliding that digit into my asshole — .

“I’m going to come,” I said, hoping against hope that he would let me.

“Not yet,” he said.

I looked at him, shocked that he would tell me no. How could I control myself? How could I possibly — ?

“Wait,” he said, and he moved in front of me and let me have my first divine taste of his cock. I was ravenous, and I sucked him as I came, and kept sucking him as the orgasm washed through me. I felt as if someone had found out my secret fantasies — except these ones had been secret even from myself. I had never pictured myself like this. Sweaty, in disarray, destroyed by pleasure.

When Bill had reached his limits with my mouth, he pulled back and lifted the cuffs again. He had me lie on my back on the bed, and he put the cuffs over my gloves. I was pleased he didn’t take the gloves off first. I never wanted to take them off. Then he climbed over me, missionary style, and he let me feel the tip of his cock pressing against my pussy.

I moaned and raised my hips, begging with my body for him to enter me. He hesitated, teasing me with the tip of his cock, not thrusting in when I desperately needed him to fill me.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked me, and I saw a gleam of humor in his deep blue eyes. I understood immediately. I would have to pay.

“Yes,” I said, and my voice was shaking. “Please, Bill.”

“You’ll have to let me tie you down next time,” he said. “You’ll have to let me put a blindfold on you, and a sexy latex catsuit. You’ll have to let me use a flogger, and a butt plug and — ”

“Anything!” I cried out. “You can use anything. Just fuck me!”

He seemed to appreciate my response, because he bucked forward, and I was rewarded with the full length of his shaft inside me. I sighed with relief. He was taking me where I needed to go, giving me every inch of his cock.

“Thank you,” I whispered under my breath. Then “thank fucking God,” tossing my head back and forth as I writhed below him. He interlaced his fingers with my own, grounding me, and the feel of his hands even through the latex, touched me somehow deep inside.

I didn’t have to tell him I was coming the next time. And I didn’t ask for permission either. He said, “Do it, Celine. Come with me,” and I let myself freefall into the sweet heaven of release.

Bill came a beat later, filling me up with his essence, coming so hard the whole bed seemed to shake. He pulled out after a moment of heavy breathing, and then unfastened my cuffs and took them off. He started to pull off the latex gloves, but I moved away. I wasn’t ready to take them off. I wasn’t ready to turn back into me again.

He grinned at me, surprised by my spirited action, and then he settled back on the bed and looked at me, one eyebrow cocked, to see what I would decide to do next. I spit on my palm and began to work his cock, watching as he went from limp to erect once more. Bill seemed to like the fact that I’d taken control, even to the point where he put both of his wrists over his head and let me cuff him.

I straddled his body and rode him to the most ferocious orgasm I’d ever experienced, stroking his chest with my gloved hands while I cried out my pleasure. When I came, I pulled off and jacked him to his own finish line, using my pussy juices as sensual lubrication. Bill came all over my glove, and I licked the surface clean while he watched my every move.

After I’d unlocked him, I curled up in the bed next to him, already fantasizing about what we might do next.

We fit like peas in a pod. In fact, I have to say, we fit like a glove.