The Gloves That Stayed
She keeps her black leather gloves on, and a familiar kitchen becomes the setting for a private ritual.
The gloves were soft black leather, the kind that creased at the knuckles and stayed warm once they were on. She had worn them out of the house earlier, driving, and had not taken them off when she came home. He noticed before she spoke.
“Leave them,” he said.
She flexed her fingers once. The leather pulled across the back of her hand. “All right.”
They stood in the kitchen. She stepped in until her gloved palms rested on his chest. The leather was cooler than skin and smoother. She slid one hand down, over his stomach, and stopped at the waistband of his jeans. He exhaled. She undid the button with her other hand, the leather catching lightly on the metal. When she pushed the jeans and underwear down he was already hard. She wrapped the gloved hand around him and stroked once, slow, from base to tip. The leather dragged. He made a low sound and set his hands on the counter behind him.
“Again,” he said.
She did. The glove was snug enough that she could feel the shape of him through it. She used the other gloved hand to cup his balls, rolling them gently while she stroked. He watched the black leather move on his cock. When she tightened her grip he tipped his head back. She stopped.
“Not yet.”
She went to her knees on the tile. The leather stayed on. She licked the head of his cock, then took him into her mouth while both gloved hands stayed on his thighs. He threaded his fingers into her hair but did not push. She sucked him until her jaw ached, then pulled off and stroked him again with the glove, wet now from her mouth. The leather shone. He swore under his breath.
She stood, turned, and bent over the counter. The gloves stayed. She reached back and guided him in. The stretch was immediate. He held her hips and fucked her with long, even strokes. She braced on her forearms, the gloves flat on the stone. Every time he bottomed out she felt the leather under her palms. He reached around and rubbed her clit with his bare fingers while she kept the gloves on the counter. She came with her forehead against her wrist, the leather warm against her skin.
He pulled out before he finished. She turned, still gloved, and stroked him with both hands until he came across the black leather and her stomach. She looked down at the mess on the gloves and smiled.
“These will need cleaning,” she said.
“Wear them again tomorrow,” he answered. “We’ll decide then.”
She flexed her fingers. The leather was already cooling. She left the gloves on until they reached the bedroom.