6 comments/ 59171 views/ 6 favorites The Silk Glove Hand Job By: unculbact Whatever Tailleur touches immediately springs to life. Even her own body. *********************************************** I always address her by her last name, Tailleur. I think it's pretty. And, sitting on the sofa in our hotel room, I saw just how pretty she was standing in front of me in that impossibly cute black cocktail dress she'd worn that night to the opera. Tailleur is only five feet four inches tall, but the expensive black heels she was wearing made her look taller. Black stockings on her gorgeous legs, black gloves past her elbows, black jet earrings, black pearl necklace. With her fair skin, blue eyes and long blond hair, black is a color that works very well on Tailleur. I knew she thought so too, which is why I had made sure there was a mirror behind me. That way, she could see what I was seeing as she brushed her hair back and began undoing the straps that held her dress up. *********************************************** I met her when I had helped out with some skits and improv routines at a benefit show for the Heart Association. The director of a local hospital came back to thank me, with Tailleur as part of his small entourage. When I saw her, I had thought she was a model or actress present as part of the benefit, and my first thought was, "She's hot!" So I was mildly surprised when he introduced her as one of the local board members of the Heart Association. I appraised her startlingly good looks and sharp clothes, and asked how she balanced that out while working in show business. She giggled. "I'm a nurse!" she said. Stupidly, it blurted out of me before I could stop it. "You don't look like a nurse." She smiled and asked, "What's a nurse supposed to look like?" And touched my shoulder. A wave of...something...seemed to go right through me. The colors around me were suddenly brighter, the voices more musical, and my sinuses, plugged up from the backstage dust, were suddenly clear. My first experience with Tailleur's touch. *********************************************** Her full lips glistened in the mood lighting. Tailleur undid the straps around her neck, and let her dress fall off and puddle around her ankles. I had only known her a month, but it hit me that forty-one years of life and three children had done everything to make her as beautiful as she was now; it was the difference between being a girl and being a woman. Garters that framed the tight black panties she wore held up the stockings on her long, perfect legs. Her belly was flat, her muscles well defined. Tailleur may look like a model, but she was no stick. As she had told me, nursing is an athletic profession; it takes no small amount of effort to manipulate a helpless patient. That was clear in the flexing of the strong muscles on her arms as she pulled off her long black gloves. Her eyes watched carefully for my reaction as she unbuckled her black bra and let it dangle in her right hand, while her left preened her thick hair so I could get a good look at her breasts, which like everything about her had an odd perfection to them. I noticed her pink nipples were already erect. Her little strip show was turning her on, and the excitement was contagious. *********************************************** When I asked to meet her at the hippie-dippie coffee shop to discuss future Heart Association events, my motives were not pure, but still I thought it was going to be nothing but business. I was eleven years older than Tailleur, and assumed that she was either married; or spending whatever free time she had burying the men who killed themselves in duels over her. But it had turned out to be all personal. It's impossible to talk to Tailleur for five minutes without both liking her and trusting her. In fact, even before our coffee arrived, I felt a deep need to trust her with every last secret I had, including the ones I swore I'd take to the grave. I found out she was not only a nurse, but actually a very accomplished nurse who had risen beyond her profession to work in the marketing and business end of medicine. Divorced, serving on the boards of several charities and foundations, and still found time to practice her profession in various capacities. Quite a difference from the woman I usually met. Intrigued, I decided to pursue her. This turned out to be easy. She didn't try to run away. I soon realized that Tailleur was one of those women who are nurses not from ambition, but from instinct. After I got to know her, I couldn't imagine her being anything else; the minute she saw anything ill she would immediately try to heal it. Visiting a nursing home with her, I watched as she touched the shoulders of a lady celebrating her one-hundredth birthday, and the lady beamed and found the energy to blow out all one hundred candles in one breath. The thirteen year old mongoloid boy she hugged at the Special Olympics won the 100-yard dash. She spent five minutes fussing over the sorry old plants in my window box, and the next day they bloomed. She took the leftover vegetables in the back of my fridge and turned them into an astonishing ratatouille. She took me to the high school football game her oldest son was playing in, and I'd swear in court it was her cheering that got him to break four tackles to return a punt for a touchdown. And she deliberately sought out the company of the young couple whose four year old boy was dying in the hospital, and sought them out again after he had died. I have no medical talent; I can't explain exactly what she did. But when she was done, it was better. They found the strength to carry on. Tailleur had given it to them. Following her around as she exercised what was not her profession, but the healing task she was born to do, I was awestruck. As I mentioned, when I first met, her I had thought she was hot. Now, she was my hero. *********************************************** Seeing Tailleur standing in front of me wearing nothing but her black panties, garter, stockings and shoes, you'd think that my heart would be pounding and steam whistling out of my ears. It wasn't like that. Tailleur has a way of bringing out new feelings in me, things I never suspected I had in me, and making me unafraid of expressing them. Watching her undress in front of me was like drinking a fine antique wine, aged for years by masters of their craft into a rare and unique vintage. Instead of a raging animal lust, I felt a warm mellowness, and a tingling in the tips of my fingers and my toes. Every muscle in my body, including the perpetually tense ones in the back of my neck, began to relax. I had just started to ponder the wonder of this when Tailleur revealed one of her other secrets, an awesome female power I never expected existed. Her eyes sparkling with mischief, she brushed her nipples with her hands. Already stiff, they turned a darker pink and got even harder. Underneath my sweater, mine did too. She pinched her nipples, and I felt mine tingle. Her smile changed slightly; she knew exactly what she was doing to me. Slowly turning around, she hooked her thumbs in her panties and bent over as she took them off. I could feel the delight she felt as she showed off her fantastic ass. I'd met girls with exhibitionist impulses before, but what Tailleur was doing was something different, something beyond exhibitionism. For most girls, exhibiting themselves is a form of narcissism, a way of getting attention to make up for insecurities, or a power trip they feel when they get a reaction out of a man. Tailleur was doing nothing of the sort. She knew that men really do have secondary sex organs in their eyes, and made the most of it. She turned to give me a good view, and the stockings and shoes seemed to make her even more gloriously naked. It hit me that she wasn't using her nudity to suck me in, but to establish a bond, like a fiber-optic cable, if that can be clear. When she was sure that the connection was firmly made between her body and my eyes, she began to stroke the back of her neck; then moved her hands down to her breasts and gave them a good squeeze. She stroked her belly, and her flanks, and under her own touch, her magic touch, there was the faint shudder of muscles relaxing and the pink flush of capillaries opening, and her body seemed to glow with its own light. She moaned for the first time, just a little squeak, and at the same time I did too, and as she touched herself, as she stroked herself, as she pinched herself - I FELT IT TOO! So she didn't actually have to touch me to work her special form of magic. Whatever it was she felt, I felt. Empathetic sex. Who ever would have expected that such a thing existed? God, she was one hell of a woman! Tailleur walked to the other side of the room, picked up an armchair, and placed it right in front of me. She sat down in it, lifted her legs and draped them over the arms of the chair. Her right hand gently stroked her right nipple and she lightly bit down on the index finger of her left hand as she watched me take in her womanly glory, exposed for my consideration. I noticed the sparkling dewdrops mixed in with the silky fur covering her sex, betraying her excitement. My mouth was dry, and I trembled with the anticipation of what I would feel when she began her slow, knowing manipulation of her pretty pink pussy. *********************************************** After the whirlwind weeks following her in her world, I had the opportunity to show her mine. Producing plays is hard work, with long days, longer nights, and long-suffering patience. The big reward comes opening night, and I was peacock proud to have Tailleur on my arm at the opening of the new opera I'd produced with my partners, as well as at the formal cast party afterwards. I've already described the exquisite black dress she'd bought for the occasion, and the way her charm and liveliness brightened up the party would make for another story. But this story is about the hotel room I had rented a few blocks away in hope of luring Tailleur to it. It turned out it didn't take much "luring"; she later told me she wondered what was taking me so long to make a move on her. We had snuggled for a bit on the sofa. It wasn't the first time I'd kissed her, but it was the first time we had extensively made out, and it was heaven. Just as I was about to let my hands do a little wandering, she pulled back, gave me a peck on my lips, and looked deep into my eyes. "What are your desires?" she asked. The question came as a surprise, and threw me off. "Um...I dunno. Desires?" "Surely there are some desires you'd like to share?" I paused for a second, trying to parse that out. Then realized it was an invitation. She was inviting me to tell her what I desired to do. With her. Or to her. Not in the future, but right now. Sometimes I'm dense. And deadly slow. But I felt I'd got it right. "Well, yes, there are desires, how could there not be? Tailleur, your feminine charms would turn a gay guy straight". "Such flattery, but this is about you." She kissed me again, and this time demanded, emphasizing each word. "Kenny? What. Are. Your. Desires?" Literally hit me with the old brick over the head. And I did have a desire. Call it my personal kink. The idea of indulging in it with Tailleur, gorgeous, sexy Tailleur, was tremendously exciting, but I was shy about telling her. "I'm worried it might embarrass you". She stroked my arm, reassured me. "That's all right". "Just so we're clear, when you say you want to hear my desires, you want to hear my desires with you, right"? She stroked my arm again. "Mmm-hmmm". I took the plunge. Kissed her cheek, leaned over, and whispered it in her ear. I heard the tiniest little gasp, and her eyes glazed over for just a moment in mild surprise. She looked at me, and I couldn't fathom the expression on her face at first. Then she smiled, kissed me back on my cheek, and without a word, stood up, sashayed to a spot in front of me, and did a model's runway turn to face me. *********************************************** And now she was in the chair just an arm's length away from me, her blue eyes dark and smoky as her hands stroked the inside of her thighs. A deep warmth filled me from the core of my body, spreading out to my extremities. Otherwise I was paralyzed, unable to do anything but watch her masturbate. Which is the desire I had asked her to fulfill. Her eyes were half closed, peeking at me through her long lashes, as she continued to stroke the inside of her thighs, now raking them with her fingernails instead of the palms of her hands. I saw my face reflected in her polished black shoes; my eyes were as wide as saucers. Her empathetic talent just kept getting stronger, and I noticed how my thighs now both tickled and felt good. She then brought both hands up to her breasts, and began stroking her nipples with her knuckles. Waves of arousal went through me, and I could feel her clit swelling, and the achy feeling in her hole as her vagina expanded. Like all nurses, Tailleur has strong hands, and I felt the thrill of pain as she pinched and pulled hard on her nipples. Both of us were gasping by now, and her hands left her breasts and slid down her belly, tickling her pelvic bones before coming down to her genitals. Her left hand spread her pussy lips, and her right hand pressed down hard on her clitoris just before she sank a finger deep into her hole, and we moaned. Her finger worked deep inside her vagina while she stroked her clitoris with her thumb, which felt to us as hard as a small pebble. Her hips began to move, and I felt her thighs begin to tremble as she rubbed harder, and it felt so good, so good, and I felt the storm building up deep inside us, ready to explode. And then she stopped, and withdrew her finger, and leaned over and moved her head from side to side so that her long hair brushed over her genitals. I groaned with frustration. We had been so close! The feeling of her hair brushing over her clit and pussy was maddening, and I desperately wanted to beg her to bring her hand back down and finish, to please, please let us cum, but I couldn't do or say anything, and she continued to tease us with her hair, the exquisite torture driving us to the brink of madness. Then, finally!, she leaned back, and spread her pussy lips again, and took hold of her clit with her thumb and forefinger and began jacking it exactly like a tiny penis. She pulled, and stroked, and tweaked, and it finally came to us. Her hips thrust up, her juices sparkling in her gorgeous sex while she pulled hard on her clitoris with her right hand, bringing her left one up to her mouth where she bit hard on the index finger in a futile attempt to temper the overwhelming sensations we felt. I could hardly hear her high-pitched groan over my louder, deeper one, for her climax completely consumed me, wave after wave of feeling and emotion roaring through us as I experienced an orgasm as a woman feels it, not localized in the genitals but a whole body experience that escapes my every attempt to describe it. Every part of my body exploded in pleasure, from my toes to my eyelids. Every cell suddenly seemed to become an erogenous zone, and I writhed in my seat in harmony with Tailleur as the room seemed to darken a little and ringing music filled my ears. In a truly altered state of consciousness, I watched as Tailleur's head fell back, her shining blond hair falling over her shoulders and partially covering her breasts. A purr of satisfaction came out of her, followed by a giggle, and she again bit on her index finger as a last, delayed spasm passed through us. She then curled her left hand into a fist and rested her head on it, lightly petting her silky pubic hair while watching me, my breath coming in great gasping gulps, try to recover from the earthquake of emotion I had just experienced. And as if from a distance, I noticed that my penis was rock hard, and I hadn't ejaculated. Whatever had just happened?! *********************************************** She had had the orgasm, and I was the one who was drained? I sat there in the sofa, bringing my breath under control. Stars still danced in front of my eyes, the colors of the fixtures around me seemed to have a life of their own and induced emotions I couldn't put a name too. In the center of the vision was Tailleur, her legs still draped over the arms of the chair, her eyes closed, her arms high above her head and her gorgeous breasts flattening as she as she languidly stretched, a groan coming from behind the satisfied smile on her face. She relaxed, again brushed her hair back with her hands, and opened her eyes, which danced and sparkled as they checked me out from head to foot. If I were able to do a painting - Tailleur Post-Orgasmic In Her Chair - I would have to draw it with a halo surrounding her, for that is what I saw. "Having a good time?" she purred. I licked my lips, and my voice was weak when I finally found it. "Oh God, yes!" She giggled - a little girl's giggle, it sounded wonderful - and stood up. Stretched again, her arms over her head, pulling on every muscle of her mature, indescribably female body. Took a step forward, and then knelt between my legs, sitting back on her heels like a geisha girl. Her golden hair shone in the lamplight as she stroked the inside of my thigh with her right hand, and moved it up until it reached the hard bulge in my slacks, which she ran her fingernails over. That got another shudder out of me. "See what you did?" I said. She looked up at me with her cat eyes, then down, watching as her fingers tickled the bulge. "I can fix that, you know". I had already demanded too much. "You don't have to..." Her body suddenly tensed. "But I want to!" She blurted that out with an urgency I hadn't expected. She looked up at me, and I noted an uncertainty in her eyes and posture, which I had never seen before. Her left hand was now at her throat, her arm covering her breasts, the first time I'd ever seen any insecurity in her. Puzzled, I tried to interpret the look on her face...almost as if she were pleading with me...and then I remembered something she had told me the very first time we went out. "A lot of nurses I know have this need to be needed." She had been talking about herself. And the worst, the meanest thing I could possibly do right now would be to reject that need. I realized I had frightened her. I smiled, stroked her hair with my right hand. "I'm glad", I said. "I really need you to help me with this. It's so hard it hurts, and I could never take care of it myself". She beamed, the light coming back to her, surrounding her. She tickled the bulge in my pants some more, and the groan and wiggle that induced was completely involuntary. Anticipating the fun to come, I got curious. "What is the proper treatment for vascular swelling?" She smiled, still looking at and tickling the bulge in my pants, and in her voice, I heard her joy that I had accepted her offer to please me. "I'll show you". I had watched Tailleur's body bloom with life under her touch. I got to watch as the same thing happened to mine. *********************************************** The weakness that had kept me passive during her masturbation show left as she took my hands, and we both stood up. She retrieved her gloves, something I took little note of at the time, smiled and pointed with her eyes to follow. Walking behind, I took in her lovely rear, framed by the garters and swaying hypnotically as she walked in her black heels, her long hair brushing over the top of it. We passed a full-length mirror on our way to the bedroom, and in the reflection she noticed me staring at her ass. The Silk Glove Hand Job I could hear the grin in her voice as she advised me not to walk into the wall. *********************************************** It was my turn to undress in front of her. I'd never done a strip show for a girl before, and felt shy. I stood where she had asked, at the foot of the bed, and began taking off my shoes and socks. Under the soft lighting of two lamps, Tailleur knelt on the bed in her geisha pose, her hands between her legs, gently stroking her sex as I removed my tie and shirt. She never took her eyes off me, and the expression on her face was something I couldn't fathom, which made me nervous. I unbuckled my pants, and stood in front of her in my boxers. White, with red valentines on them. That got the shadow of a smile out of her, but otherwise, her gaze was as cryptic as the Sphinx. I stood for a second, expecting some comment, but when nothing came I bent over, took my briefs off, and threw them on the pile. I stood there, watching her watching me, realizing that my fifty-one year old body was not what it had been back in my days as an athlete. My muscle tone was still excellent, but my spare tire, so characteristic of men in my family, announced itself with a little help from gravity. Her eyes moved here and there as she took me in. Then, swinging her slender legs out from under her, she stood up and walked over to me. "Kenny can you put your hands on top of your head for me?" I did, and she walked behind me. She put both of her hands on my shoulders, then ran them down my back until she cupped my buttocks, and the strange power she had in her hands asserted itself again, bringing a brief tremble. Tailleur is after all, a nurse, and I was puzzled by her behavior. She must have long ago seen every body type in the world She walked around in front of me, her right hand laying an appraising finger on her cheek. With her left, she put her index finger softly on my throat and ran it down my chest to my belly, her eyes following it with that inscrutable look on her face. *********************************************** Naked, I lay down on the bed as she requested, while she walked around and lit various candles around the room. She turned the lamps down, and the candles (a dozen of them) provided most of the golden light, scenting the air with some exotic incense I couldn't identify. The hotel room had dark wood furnishings and fixtures, and her shadow danced on them as she loaded a disc into the stereo system. An organ and choir began. A hymn? I produce musicals, and am familiar with musical literature, but I didn't recognize it. She retrieved something from her purse, and stood directly at the foot of the bed, gazing at my body under the candlelight. She began pouring what I realized was baby powder into her hands, and rubbed them together, making sure her palms were well covered. She was making quite a ritual out of this. I knew looked like an offering on an altar. It struck me that when she had looked over my body, she had not been admiring me, or judging me. She had been examining me. Sizing me up for whatever it was she had planned. *********************************************** Lying on my back, she asked me to spread my legs. I did; she got up on the bed with me and knelt down between them. Her hands were together, rubbing in more of the baby powder. I would have sworn she was praying over me. Beginning at my chest, her warm palms began rubbing baby powder on me. Her hands moved in slow circles, and it felt good. She talked to me, her voice soft, musical, telling me to relax, that she would take care of me, and that soon everything would be much, much better. But was hard for me. I work in a profession where any sign of weakness attracts the sharks, and I had been alone, living alone, working alone for a very, very long time. A part of me powerfully resisted the idea of dropping every last defense I had, even for Tailleur. Being naked, passive and flat on my back, unable to react to any sudden threat was a difficult place to be. I was afraid of losing control. But nurses are clever. When dealing with their charges, they are master manipulators. One way or another, by hook or by crook, with creativity or brute force of will, they will get the patient to do what they want them to do. If they have to yell, they'll yell. If they have to wrestle, they'll wrestle. If they have to pout, sob or tickle, they'll do it. Tailleur sensed my resistance, and immediately went to work. Her hands moved down to my belly, where they felt even better. Leaning over, she kissed my right nipple, sucked on it, and with such little force that it would not have broken a soap bubble, gently bit it. Her powdered hands still moved in circles over my belly and flanks as she kissed her way over to my left nipple and did the same. She kissed my neck, my ears, my eyes, my forehead, stroked the back of my neck with her strong fingers, ran her hands through my hair and massaged my scalp. Her soft hair brushed me whenever she leaned over to kiss, and she stroked the insides of my arms. She took my fingers in her hands and worked and squeezed them, and wherever she kissed, wherever she touched, muscles relaxed, and I could feel the warmth as my skin flushed. She cooed, and sang in short little tones, and sung my name too, which had an incredible effect. And something not completely unfamiliar to me began to happen. I had first noted it in my acting classes, a long time ago. Emotional memories get locked up in muscle tension, especially in the muscles high in our backs. As these relax, sometimes for the first time in decades, the emotional memory comes flooding back, sometimes with great force. Not the literal memory of whatever event caused the tension; just the emotional memory, the feeling that it caused. Some good, like the way I had tensed up just before sacking a quarterback in high school football. But most of them bad, which is how they got locked up in my muscles in the first place. As Tailleur's touch opened me up, old angers rose up inside me - and were immediately whisked away. Hurts and traumas, pain and losses of long-forgotten origin were made known again, but for the last time. For Tailleur kissed them away like a boo-boo (that thought actually crossed my mind, and got a giggle, which Tailleur noted with a particularly encouraging coo and kiss). As the scars of thirty-four years of battles and struggles were revealed, Tailleur took away their power to hurt, and the wariness and defensiveness that had always been my biggest barrier in relationships began to dissolve. The meanness that I often felt also came up, and I felt guilt and remorse, for a lot of it was genuinely uncalled for. She kissed and stroked that away too. Literally took the sword from my heart. Tailleur's touch was emotionally healing me. With excellent timing, the music on the stereo took a dramatic turn, and deep down inside of me, something finally relaxed it's grip and let go. *********************************************** Through my lashes, I watched Tailleur's face. Her mouth was slightly open, dewy-lipped; her eyes wide and seeing, but slightly glazed over. She was concentrating on her job, but was also clearly in a state of mild rapture. In front of her, I was more naked than I had ever allowed myself to be, but I was no longer afraid. Sensing that, Tailleur sat back again on her heels, ran her hands down the inside of my hips, and began contemplating my genitals. She stroked the inside of my thighs, then the tops, then around and inside my hips again. With a mother earth smile, she leaned over and swung her dangling breasts so that her nipples began brushing over my penis, my testicles. Yeah that felt good, and it must have felt good to her too, for her nipples glowed a bright pink as she let out a squeak of pleasure. She kept that up for awhile, then sat back on her heels again, and caught my eye as she picked up her gloves. The elbow-length gloves that she worn to the opera and which, unknown to me, she had kept next to her. She began putting them on. *********************************************** The mischief in her smile and the sparkle in her eyes told me she had something delightfully wicked planned, and for my benefit she made a show out of it, pulling the gloves up to her elbows with panache and precision. Then she cracked her knuckles like a piano player warming up, put her palms up and wiggled her fingers, and began stroking my belly with her silk clad hands. Ooooooooooooh.... She ran them down the inside of my hips, and again stroked the inside of my thighs. Uuuuuh.... And then began lightly stroking my cock and balls. Ummmm.... She fluffed and brushed the underside of my balls with the fingers of her left hand. Tickled and stroked the underside of my penis with the right. Pressed her fingers into the sides of my scrotum, gently rolled first one testicle, then the other between her fingers. Whisked her silk-clad hands with whisper-soft brushes up and down the sides. Then, with my penis as hard as carbide and beginning to turn purple with need, she fondled my testicles with her left hand, two fingers pressing under the scrotum to massage my prostate through the perineum. Her right hand firmly held my penis at the base, gave it a good squeeze, and with her strong arms tirelessly pumping, she began jacking me off, her silk-surfaced hand stroking up and down my thick shaft. *********************************************** A silk-glove hand job. Clever, clever Tailleur. Sitting back on her heels, her face glowing with calmness and serenity, Tailleur stroked my penis with the professionalism that came with her intimate knowledge of the human body. Up to the top, down to the base, neither too fast nor too slow, her left hand gently massaging my testicles and prostate. The pleasure was phenomenal. I knew I wouldn't last long. But just as I felt the orgasm welling up inside me, Tailleur squeezed the bottom of my penis, stopping me just short. As I began to whimper, she repeated what I now realized was one of her favorite tricks, letting her long blond hair drape over my genitals, and then slowly brushing it back and forth. Thanks to her warm-up, my cock and balls were more sensitive than they had been in decades. It was the most delicious tease-torture, and I squirmed and squeaked. My need rose to monumental levels, my testicles ached terribly, but just as it became unbearable Tailleur released her grip and began vigorously jacking my shaft, and I could hear the hiss of the silk on my prick as she finished me off, her right thumb pressing into my penis as she stroked, her left fingers tapping on my testicles to encourage them to release their load. Tailleur timed it perfectly. Just as the hymn on the stereo reached its climax, I reached mine. It was like the sun exploded. I could hear some of the crystal fixtures around us vibrating in sympathy with the low cry I gave out, and I felt my penis pump, and pump and pump, and hot liquid fell on my belly, and I knew it was my semen, which Tailleur simply let fly into the air. Her strong, clever hands milked me like a farmer working a cow's teat, massaging and kneading my genitals to draw out my orgasm as long as possible and make sure she got every drop of man-juice out of me. Deep inside, I a felt a great release, a heavy load carried for too long finally being lifted away. And from the bottom of my soul came a cry of relief, a loud long groan that now vibrated the springs in the bed. But not so loud and long that I couldn't hear Tailleur's delighted, excited purring as she closely watched my penis erupt under her expert care. I'm not sure how long I lay there. Far from being exhausted, I felt more energy and life than I had in years, but I lay very still, getting acquainted with the new world I was in. For Tailleur had taken me through a portal to a whole new existence, of life and light and sensuality, and I could hardly remember the man I had been only half an hour ago. For the rest of my life, this would be one of the great "before" and "after" moments, a true epiphany that changed everything forever. While I bathed in the warm afterglow, Tailleur rolled her gloves off of her arms. Tossing them aside, she stroked my penis, then leaned over and began licking it clean, taking the head in her mouth to clean my shaft with one bob of her head. She licked around my thighs, and belly, and testicles, and when every drop of semen was licked up, she placed her face closely up to my genitals, and combed my pubic hair with her fingers, and cooed and talked and sang to my penis as she petted it, and arranged it, and watched it shrink to rose-petal softness. And with a loving smile on her face, she brought her cheek over to the side of my genitals and gave them a hug. Then she put some more baby powder in her hands, and patted and rubbed the powder on my penis, through my pubic hair, and underneath and around my testicles. When my genitals were all dry and pink and happy and put to bed, she petted them one more time, then leaned over and kissed them good night. Shaking her blonde mane back, she slid herself forward and lay down on top of me, and brought her nose up to mine and rubbed it with an Eskimo kiss. "You were right", I whispered. "I did need your help". She gently bit the tip of my nose, and giggled. On her face was the same look of gratitude that I'm sure was on mine. She wrapped her arms around my neck; I wrapped my arms around her waist. And we kissed. We kissed a kiss of pure osmosis, our beings pouring into each other and finding their equilibrium. She pulled my head into hers, and I tasted from her fountain and became drunk on her, and I squeezed her small, perfect body, and she became drunk on me, and we kissed and drowned in each other. And joy, the real thing, glowed between us and around us. I reveled in the new world of joy and delight, in my love for my incredible Tailleur. I haven't a clue how long we kissed. Afterward, she laid her head on my chest for a super-snuggle. I stroked her hair, murmured her name. And thought about how the whole evening so far had been about her pleasuring me. It had been a surprise, a wonderful surprise, and I was thrilled and grateful. But I'm also not one to be passive. My male being is geared towards taking action, and I dearly wanted to assert my own sexual powers. As I rested and recovered my strength, the electric warmth of the beautiful woman in my arms stirred my animal lust, and rising within me came a primitive urge, a powerful need to pleasure my glorious Tailleur, to drive her body to ecstasy, to the limits of it's endurance. And if possible, beyond. Tailleur's touch was magic on her body, and on mine. I felt new powers in me, and I wanted to see what my touch could do to her. *********************************************** We snuggled for half an hour when I told her I was ready for more. "Really?" she murmured. "Oh yes." I said, kissing her ear. "I thought maybe I'd wore you out." "You've only just got me going." "Horny boy! Now what are your desires?" I kissed her ear again. "You've been doing all the work. It's my turn." "I liked doing all the work. I like to please." I kissed her throat, her eyes, her forehead. "I have a need to give too." My left hand reached between her legs, the pad of my middle finger stroking her clitoris, then moving down to separate her pussy lips. Moistness betrayed her. "So wet?" Her eyes closed, and she bit her lip, mildly embarrassed. "I can fix that, you know". "You don't have to." With a giggle of my own, I whispered in her ear: "But I want to!" Tailleur lifted up her head, rested it on her left fist and looked at me with her Sphinx smile. "You want to?" She leaned over, kissed my forehead. "You've got to catch me first." And she suddenly sprang out of bed. *********************************************** She got to her feet, but no farther. I had been a wrestler in college, my reflexes were quick, and she was still wearing her VERY expensive black heels, which made for a poor landing platform. As she wobbled on them, I wrapped my arms around her belly from behind and pulled her back on top of me. She kicked, laughed and struggled. We got tangled in the covers and it got confusing, but then I rolled us over, my weight pushing her down. She made the mistake of trying to pull my hands from around her belly, and I got hold of her wrists and pulled her arms behind her back. A little more struggling and I had her where I could sit up and assess the situation. Her legs were pinned under mine, my penis rubbing delightfully in her ass crack. Thinking fast, and with one hand holding both of her wrists, I took one of her gloves, still lying at the foot of the bed. Her head came back as I began tying her wrists together, and I heard her giggle as she began struggling harder. It was a game, and if played right, we could both win. I had been a Boy Scout once, and the trick of wrapping the glove figure-eight fashion around her wrists and tying it tight came back quickly. I finished, and she pulled at the bindings. Silk is actually tough stuff, pound for pound stronger than steel, but the glove had enough give and stretch to allow her plenty of wiggle room. Reaching my right arm under her belly, I took hold of her left elbow, then grabbed her other elbow with my left arm And with a move that was deft and not at all gentle, picked her up and flipped her over. With a gasp, she landed on her back with enough force to make the bed bounce. Straddling her, my arms pinning her shoulders, I feasted my eyes on the bounty before me. Her long blonde hair fanned over the pillow. Her red lips were parted in surprise at how forceful I'd been. Her perfect breasts quivered in the candlelight. I admired her cute belly, soft white skin, the golden tuft between her legs framed by the garters that held up her black stockings. She stared at me; her startled blue eyes wide open. Then they narrowed, and in a low voice she threw down the challenge. "Well, big boy, you've got me all tied up and helpless. What next?" *********************************************** I wanted her. Oh good Lord, how I wanted her. Something inside me seemed to shrink and go away. Civilization began to seem very distant. The image of my Slovak ancestors, barbaric, taking what they wanted, came to mind. From her shoulders, my big hands began stroking down the sides of her neck, down her belly, her flanks, the front of her thighs and back up the insides. She groaned. Lightly brushing her pubic hair, then back up the inside of her hips, over her belly and flanks again, then up to her breasts. My palms pressed down, mashing her breasts, and she groaned again. I began kneading her breasts. Rubbing the nipples with the palms of my hands, then squeezing them, and not gently. Tailleur moaned louder, and began to squirm. I raked my fingernails over her nipples, and she bit her lip while groaning. I pinched her nipples between my fingers, and her eyes closed, her head rolled, and the moans came even louder. I pulled up on her nipples, first hard, then harder and she cried out. But not to stop. I did not know if it was the same thing, but my under my touch wonderful things were happening. And I suspected the magic wasn't just in my hands. *********************************************** I scooted forward, and rested my penis on one of her nipples. Taking the shaft in my hand and squatting up, my penis dangled on her breast, and I began working the soft, silky tip in little circles over her nipple. She whimpered, and little furrows appeared on her forehead. The Silk Glove Hand Job I shifted over to the other nipple, and began doing the same. The muscles around her jaw tensed. I worked my penis down, tracing it over her sensitive belly, and one of her legs kicked out. She moaned, and squeaked; opened her eyes and lifted her head to watch as I traced my name on her belly with the tip of my penis. She sighed and tossed, and I scooted back, tracing my penis over her hips. She brought her knees up and opened her legs, her pretty pink pussy slick and glistening in the candlelight. *********************************************** I had an inspiration. With my penis only inches from her pussy, I locked my legs around hers to keep them open. With my right hand, I retrieved the other glove. The black, elbow length silk glove Tailleur had given that magnificent hand job with. I let the glove dangle in my hand to its full length. Tailleur's knees were up and well separated. I shifted my legs so that her ankles were now locked between my calves and thighs, my full weight pinning them as I sat up between her legs. And I began brushing the glove over her pussy. Her eyes popped open, her head shot up. "What are you doing?!" I chuckled as I brushed the fingers of the dangling silk glove up and down her pussy lips. "Holy Mary, Mother of...!" she cried, and then her head fell back, and she moaned at her lowest pitch yet. I kept that up, teasing her pussy with the silk, and her hips began to move, up and down, trying to grasp the sensations that were infuriatingly just out of her reach. Her arms pulled on the bindings, but I'd done a good job, and she couldn't get loose. She squirmed, and moaned, her breathing becoming deeper, faster. "That feels...that feels..." I took the glove in both hands, stretched the silk taut, pressed it down and began rubbing it. Rubbing it hard. Up and down her clitoris, as if I were waxing it. Tailleur sucked air in, and again her head shot up, her eyes and mouth wide open as she tried to endure the excruciation of it all. Her hips began to move faster, undulating up and down as she tried to say something, but the words got lost in her grunts. *********************************************** The cords in her neck were tense, her eyes closed, her grunts and breathing coming faster as her orgasm approached. "Not so fast," I thought. I took the glove away, and she moaned in frustration. I took in her pussy, the lips red and puffy, the sparkling drops of dew in her pubic hair, her tormented clit stiff, pink and vulnerable. I pulled the glove through one hand to give it good momentum, and it whistled through the air. It gave a good smack as it hit her pussy, and a few drops of her juice splashed onto my face. "KENNY!" she screamed. I spanked her pussy with the glove again. "KENNY! OH MY GOD!" And again. And again. Making sure the silk spanked her clit too. Tailleur thrashed, and screamed, and moaned. Her legs tried to kick free of my wrestler's hold, her arms pulled frantically at their bonds, she wiggled like a snake, and her head pounded up and down into the pillow. To no avail. Under the sting of the silk, her clit stood up proudly at the top of her slit, her juices ran freely, and between the engorged lips of her pussy her tiny hole opened and invited me in. *********************************************** Throwing the glove over one shoulder, I released her ankles from my leg lock, and moved my legs in between hers. I grabbed her ankles, and wrapped her legs around my waist. Scooting forward, I began brushing the head of my penis against her pussy lips. She jerked as I made contact. Spread her legs a little wider, and tensed herself in anticipation of my entry. I rubbed my penis up and down her pussy lips until I found her hole. I began thrusting into her slowly. VERY slowly. Tailleur lifted her hips up, moving them from side to side, savoring the moment when she'd feel me ram it home. But it didn't happen. Once I had the tip in, I stopped. Just stopped, and moved it around in little circles, teasing her vagina. Tailleur's hips whipped from side to side, and she vainly tried to push herself down onto my hard prick, just inches from filling her up. Her moans got deeper as her frustration mounted, and she pulled on her bonds, and grunted and writhed and bounced, but soon realized nothing worked. Lost in the exquisite torture, she began begging me. "Kenny! Oh, for God's sake, please stick it in me! Please, don't tease me like this! Oh, it's too much, please, please, I can't take it!" And I did. *********************************************** I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her up. Her head lolled over my left shoulder as, squatting on my knees, I simultaneously lowered her onto my prick and thrust up into her. Her tightness wrapped around my thickness. "Yes," she hissed in my ear. "Oooh, you are a BIG boy! Yes, fill me up. Stick it in me, take me, fuck me!" The head of my penis bumped up against her cervix, and she wrapped her legs tighter around me, squeezing me, her silk stockings hissing against my skin, her expensive heels digging into my buttocks like spurs. My arms wrapped around her back, squeezing her tight. And with an animal grunt on each thrust, I began pounding her. With what capacity for language I had left, I heard Tailleur breathlessly whispering in my ear, encouraging me, baiting me, goading me. "Yes. Yes! Pound it into me! You want to, don't you? Go ahead Kenny, you've wanted this for a long time! Now's the time to do it, just do it, just take it! Come'on big boy, pound your big prick into me! It feels good, doesn't it? My hot cunt wrapped around your thick dick, that feels real good, doesn't it? Yes, yes, you wanted to fuck me since the minute you saw me, I could tell, now's your chance, take what you've wanted for so long, just take it, fuck me, fuck me like an animal! Don't let anything stop you now, pound it Kenny, pound it home, there's a good boy. I'm here for you to use, do what you do best, fuck me hard, fuck me deep, fuck me Kenny, big strong boy, fuck me till I scream!" Her words inflamed my senses, and it's hard to remember what happened next. I thrust in and out, faster and faster, and it was just so good, too good, and I felt it coming as Taylor did too, and as I got closer she bit my earlobe and her legs wrapped even tighter, giving her the leverage to thrust back. Again she whispered, her voice low and savage. "I want to feel you shoot in me. I NEED to feel you shoot in me. Sexy, sexy man, let it come. Let it come Kenny, don't hold back, I'm here, just do it, just fuck me, shoot in me, come on big boy, pound it home, pound it home, pound it HOME!" And I came. My head thrown back, my teeth bared, I thrust into her one more time and froze as my prick began pulsing, and I began shooting my load deep, deep into Tailleur's magnificent cunt. Her vagina clamped down on my penis and her hips circled, massaging my thick prick to milk every last drop out of me, and her whispers continued: "I can feel it. Oh, Kenny I can feel it, feels so good. Pump it into me...fill me up...cum Kenny, cum, there's a good boy, use me, pump it into me, that's what I'm here for. I can feel it, so hot...so...oooh....Ooooh...." My semen spilled out of her vagina, slippery between us, and Tailleur ground her clit against my pubic bone, her hips moving in circles, faster and faster until; "AHHHHHHHHH!" I could hear the glassware on the dresser humming from her screams. As she came, her shrieks grew louder, her body trembled, and her vagina furiously sucked on my penis as her uterus contracted. Her legs squeezed the breath out of me as her head fell back, her hair flying as she screamed, screamed and moaned and cried, and then she bit deep into my shoulder as one last powerful spasm passed through her, and a deep satisfied grunt came out of me as I dumped the last of my load into her. And we were done. *********************************************** Our sweat mingled, as did our respective juices. Tailleur was limp in my arms. I collected myself enough to untie her hands, and lowered her onto the bed. Her eyes were closed, her face flushed, her body glowing with a thin sheen of perspiration. Her breathing came in great heaving gasps, and tears were on her cheeks. I sat there, my softening penis still in her warm, wet vagina. I stretched out my legs, and leaned forward, supporting myself on my arms over her, trying to catch my own breath. After a while, she was able to open her eyes, and a little after that, they focused on mine. "That was...that was...." I lay down on top of her. Her arms came around my neck. I began kissing away the tears on her cheeks. She smiled, and giggled in her girlish way. "Big boy...." she purred, pulling my face into her neck. "Hot mama!" I purred back, gently biting her neck. "I'm exhausted!" she whispered. I couldn't resist. "That's not possible!" I said, rubbing my nose against hers. "Why not?" she said. "You're a nurse. Remember your pharmacology." Her face grew puzzled as I paused for the punch line. "You've just had a 20 cc injection of Vitamin Ken!" I grinned stupidly. She grinned back. Then shot her head forward, and bit me on the nose. Hard. "Ow!" "You deserved it." "I suppose I did." And we kissed again. Kissed the sort of kiss that makes time stop. As we kissed, my penis fell out of her and gently kissed her softening clit. *********************************************** Lying on our sides, we admired each other in the candlelight. "A man could fall in love with you". "A woman could fall in lust with you!" "A fair exchange." We scooted towards each other to snuggle. (Squissssssssssssh) Wet. Cold. Not comfortable. We moved to one side of the bed, adjusted our legs, and embraced again. "You're my hero." I murmured. "Sexy mannnnn..." she purred. (Squissssssssssssh) I looked at her. She looked at me. She turned on the bedside light. We sat up, pulled down the covers, and assessed the situation. In the eighties, there had been a joke. The new, modern, assertive woman would demand that her male partner be the one to sleep on the wet spot. We had made wet spot enough for two. There were spare linens in the closet. I got them while Tailleur blew out the candles and took off her shoes and her now ruined stockings. Ten minutes of bed making, with her showing me how to make hospital corners. High and dry, we were able to fall asleep in each other's arms. She snored. I snored louder.