The Woman in Gloves

I was at the end of the pew, on the aisle -- the assigned spot for my role as family photographer. I was on the groom's side of the church, my Nikon hanging from my neck. I caught it out of the corner of my eye. A spider. A damn big spider. Tarantula-sized creeping along the top of the pew opposite mine. Just what this wedding needs, someone to see this big ol' arachnid and to scream. I can see it now, a panic, a run for the doors, a stampede as the guests at my nephew's wedding run out of the church. I would have smiled if it weren't for my own phobia of the critters.

I turned my head for a better look and a pleasant surprise. What were the "legs" of the spider turned out to be the black-gloved fingers of a woman at the wedding. Long gloves ran up the length of her arm up just past her elbow. I think they're called opera gloves. Don't know if I've seen a woman wear gloves like this in person, but I was looking now, mesmerized. She wore a tennis bracelet of diamonds around one wrist over the glove. It may very well have been costume jewelry. I didn't care, I was taken in. The gloves were more than just a novelty. I found them to be very erotic. I found myself staring at this woman as the bridesmaids began their march down the aisle. I snapped a few photos without thought. My focus was on the woman with the gloves.

It was an evening wedding and most of the guests, particularly the women, were dressed to the nines. Capes, sweaters and jackets camouflaged the ladies' bare shoulders, low cut backs and plunging necklines in deference to the decorum of the religious service. I knew well that the goodies would be revealed at the reception.

She was maybe in her early to mid-thirties with dark hair that barely came to her shoulders. She was wearing a classic little black dress, perhaps a bit on the short side. The high hem of the dress revealed her shapely legs that covered in sheer black stockings. She wore relatively high heels, an ankle bracelet and my long lingering stares. She was with another woman, no male escort in sight. My lucky day, except my wife was with me. Technically, it was her nephew that was getting married. My lust for the woman in the gloves was restricted to my imagination and to the growing warmth under my silk boxers.

It was the fastest wedding I'd been to, or so it seemed. I barely remembered to take a few other photographs. While most participants had their cameras aimed at the couple on the altar, the lens of my SLR often swung to my immediate left. As the new bride and groom came down the aisle to smiles, waves and applause, I wondered if my nephew was still a virgin. I couldn't decide. Finally, the guests filed out of the church and prepared for rice throwing. I lost sight of my quarry, the woman in gloves, in the rush of people.

It was a thirty minute drive to the country club reception. We found the seating chart and our table was populated with other members of my wife's family. I was sipping on a 7 and 7. The tip to the bartender ensured that the octane of my drink was in the ninties. I was feeling warm from the alcohol and the temperature increased when I caught site of the woman in gloves. She sat about three tables over from us. I had a nice view and a safe distance to continue my lechery and leering.

Dinner and toasts came and went. The DJ cranked up the music and dancing began. The capes and wraps were long gone as were a lot of inhibitions. My brothers-in-law and I sipped our drinks and smiled as we admired the booty that was being shook (or is that shaked?) on the dance floor. I was looking to see if the woman in gloves was out strutting her stuff. I was surprised to turn and see her sitting with a couple of old married farts. I could not imagine why some guy hadn't asked her to dance. Could it be that the woman who dressed like a temptress was a shy wallflower? I wondered what passions were smoldering inside her.

I went and bummed a cigarette from one of my brothers-in-law. Drinking gave me a craving for nicotine. I walked out of the reception into the Indian summer night, lit my Marlboro and exhaled a stream of smoke up in the general direction of the Big Dipper. I just enjoyed the evening, my buzz and the music from the DJ.

"Pardon me, do you have a match?" I turned to answer the female voice and faced the woman in gloves. "Um, ah, yeah" was my not so cool, not so debonair response. I recovered with the gallant gesture of lighting the match for her and offering a light. Her cigarette was cradled in the crotch of two of her gloved fingers. Her other hand held mine, guiding the flame to the end of her cigarette. The gloved hand felt soft and velvety. Brushed cotton perhaps? A draw, an exhale and a "thank you" came from her lipstick red lips. I almost burned myself as I became distracted and held the match too long.

"Nice touch," I said.

"What?"

"The gloves. A very nice touch."

She looked down. Her blushing cheeks were visible in the lamplight. "Thanks", she said with embarrassment. "I was about to take them off. I seemed to get a lot of catty looks from the other women. I was becoming self-conscious."

"No, don't. They're a classic. And they're very sexy," I added.

She smiled. "I'm glad you think so. They make me feel sexy. I needed that tonight."

"Oh?"

"Every woman needs that. And my husband decided at the last minute not to come tonight. I was a bit bummed. I was looking forward to having a good time."

"What's stopping you?"

"You have a point there," and she glanced down. Wait a minute I thought...was she referring to my logic or to my growing hard-on?

My smile did not camouflage the blush tinting my cheeks. Though I am not unnerved by much, a direct and sexually charged comment from a woman still catches me off guard from time to time.

"You're blushing!", she said in a teasing voice, deepening the hue on my cheeks. "I think its cute" and her point was emphasized with a smile and the touch of a soft gloved hand on my face. Her hand was warm in the cool fall evening. I caught her wrist in my own hand and held her touch against my skin. I kept it there for a moment, then let her hand slip away.

"Who is your date tonight?", I asked.

"My husband -- the date that stood me up. And yours?"

"My wife. And she's inside with most of my in-laws."

A sigh came from her lips. "Then I guess I shouldn't expect to find you on my dance card?"

"Not necessarily. Come with me."

Taking final drags on our cigarettes, we exhaled into the night. I took her by the hand and led her back in to the country club. The warm inside air cloaked our chilled bodies and we heard the strains of Ella Fitzgerald singing "Embraceable You".

In the lobby of the country club, I turned right down a corridor away from the reception and then another left into a small dining room. Oak paneling, overstuffed leather chairs and plush carpeting marked this room as the "Men's Grill". Once a bastion of male chauvinism, ladies still avoided this more masculine environment.

Standing in the shadows I turned and faced her.

"Now can I have this dance?", I asked.

"Certainly."

I opened my arms and she leaned into me. My right arm went around her waist and my left arm went out to the side. She put her right gloved hand into mine and her other was placed on my shoulder. She tilted her head up to meet my gaze. The desire in my eyes was reflected in her own. I drew her tighter against me and she melded her body against mine. I felt her thigh rub against my cock and balls.

The Gershwin song came through faintly as we slow danced. Her firm thigh rubbed me to a fuller and harder erection. She smiled knowingly, taking delight in my obvious physical reaction. My own hand left her waist and caressed her ass. She put her head down on my shoulder and began to purr as I began rubbing each cheek. The rubbing turned into a massage with both hands pressing on her rounded mounds of flesh.

Our dancing became gyrations, grinding and soon dry humping. The harder I pressed her into me, the more she writhed against my own body. Our mouths met and we devoured one another. Our tongues danced together, playfully fencing and parrying as we probed and tasted. I felt her tongue in my mouth, flicking and grazing against my teeth.

My hands gathered up the fabic of her dress. The rising hemline soon exposed more of her skin and my fingers felt the coolness of her ass. My mouth broke away for a moment.

"No panties?", I smiled.

"Nuh-uh", she murmured.

"How convenient."

My massaging fingers warmed her skin. They spread her cheeks and now and again they would burrow into the cleft between her cheeks. She was growing hotter to my touch. She would alternately press her groin forward against mine and then backward, seeking my probing fingers. My fingers soon touched her depths. She moaned into my mouth. My right hand moved from her ass, over her thigh and burrowed in between our bodies. I felt the light down over her pubic mound and the massage continued. She threw her head back and gulped air as a finger slid between her lips. She leaned back slightly against a table, her arms propping her up.

With spread legs, my fingers had easy access to her sex. Her labia were engorged and blushed. My fingers were coated in her juices as they thrust in and out. I pressed against her inner walls, massaging her from within. She writhed on my hand and her breathing grew more rapid and shallow as the orgasm welled up within her. My free hand slid over her breast and she gasped again as the palm of my hand felt the hardened nipple tenting under the fabric of the dress.

She reached up and slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders. I pulled the neckline down and exposed her skin to the dim light. The dark pink tips of her erect nipples became an easy target for my pinching fingers. My lips soon followed suit. I sucked her nipple into my mouth as my fingers continued to massage her cunt. My nibbling on her tit mimicked the play of my fingertip on her clit.

Pressing harder and sucking harder...my goal was to make her cum and make her cum hard. I felt her body grow stiff and it shuddered as the first wave hit. I eased up slightly, but oh so briefly, and another firm touch made her shiver once again. I felt her soft gloves on either side of my face and she moved my face to hers. I could feel the heat and damp of her skin radiate against mine as she kissed me long and hard.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure", I replied.

"Mmmm, we'll see.

She stood up, kissed me again, then I felt her tongue make a trail from my lips to my earlobe. The tip of her tongue flicked in and out of ear and her hand slid over my crotch where she massaged my aching erection.

She slithered down my body like a snake down a tree. I felt her breasts caress me over my chest, stomach and groin. As she got down on her knees she was at eyelevel with my arousal. She exhaled with an open mouth and I felt her warm wet breath through the fabric of my pants.

She slowly undid my belt buckle, pants and fly. Too slowly. At each step she'd look up at me and smile. The anticipation alone was almost enough to make me explode. She pulled my pants down then she nuzzled against the front of my black silk boxers. I felt her fingers under the elastic waistband and soon the light cloth was pulled down as well.

My now exposed cock was full and erect. I felt a velvet glove slide over the shaft. She pulled it down to her mouth and I felt the warmth of her tongue on the swollen head. She licked the head and around the rim as the gloved hand began stroking softly, jerking me into her mouth.

It looked like the black spider from the church had landed on my penis. It began squeezing me harder, pulling me between her lips and deep into her mouth. The spider moved away to caress my balls as her head bobbed up and down along my enflamed sex. My hands reached down and my fingers raked her hair and scalp. My fists tightened. I was holding her head and I began to fuck her mouth. She looked up at me as my cock pistoned in and out between her lips.

The muscles in my ass clenched and my balls tightened as I neared my climax. I breathed slowly and deeply to regain some semblance of control. "Fuck it", I said to myself and I relaxed my grip on her hair. I gave in and she took control of me and my cock. She kept just the head in her mouth as she stroked the shaft in her gloved hand. The first surge of cum began but she cut if off as her thumb and forefinger tightened at the base of my raging hard cock. Like a cockring, her tight grip kept me hard and my cum at bay. Again her head began to slide back and forth and the manhood played hide and go seek in the warmth of her velvety mouth.

The semen and tension was building up again. She let go and my orgasm soon followed. She milked my cock with her hand as she hungrily ate my seed. Her appetite could not be quenched. Sucking the last of my cum did not satisfy her thirst and she sucked harder, as if trying to suck my balls through the shaft.

Slowly she let my distended cock slide out from between her lips. Her flicking tongue gathered any of the last remaining juices and the remnants of my soul. I was drained in every sense of the word.

I helped her to her feet. She gave me a kiss. I tasted my salt on her lips and tongue. I lifted the straps of her dress back onto her shoulders. As I gathered up my boxers and pants, she combed her hair with her fingers and gave her head a toss.

I took her hand. "Thank you for the dance", I said. She smiled and the room seemed brighter. "Oh, thank you", she said. "It was a wonderful dance. I wish we could have another". The voice of the DJ began to sober us up from our stupor.

"We better go", I said, "reality is calling." I felt her glove on my cheek as kissed me softly. Soon she turned to go. She walked down the corridor in the direction of the ladies's room. I had to freshen up as well. But first I needed a cigarette and I walked out once more into the cool fall air.