LADIES IN LEATHER GLOVES

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Like Son, Like Father

 

Part Thirteen

Timothy had wanted to ask Wilbur Longwood many questions.  But Tim's struggle to stay awake was futile.  The vicious whipping he had taken at the gloved hands of Jennifer and the two other girls was by far the most horrendous ordeal of his life. Until he had finished fucking Jennifer, he hadn't realized just how totally drained and debilitated that whipping had left him.  The pain was both physical and spiritual.  Tears gushed from between Timothy's shut eyelids as he fell asleep thinking about how the girls had laughed at him as he kicked and screamed and writhed in pain.  His throat was still so sore from screaming that he could barely swallow.  But sleep came almost instantly like a balm to sooth his brutalized body and psyche.

In the darkness of his cage, a dream came to Timothy.  In his sleep, Timothy mumbled to himself, "I'm a human being."  

In a woman's voice, his dream replied, "Maybe.  But, if so, you're an awfully homely little human."   

'Little' was the operative word.  Suddenly, Timothy's dream materialized before him.  He dreamt that he was still in a cage but no longer in the dungeon at Chadwick Manor.  He was lying completely naked on wood shavings in what appeared to be a rodent cage on a pet store shelf.  Slowly he became aware of males in other cages. Somehow Timothy knew that the male in an adjacent cage was Wilbur Longwood.  Wilbur appeared nearly out of his head with fear.   

Timothy asked, "Wilbur, where are we?"  

"D-D-D-Don't you know?" stammered Wilbur incredulously.  "We're on sale!  We're on sale at Pets 'n' Playthings!  W-W-We've got to escape, Tim!  We've got to escape before we're sold!"  

As Timothy glanced around, he realized that Pets 'n' Playthings was both a pet store and a tack shop.  Along a shelf behind one counter, Timothy saw a display of bridles and saddles.  Various switches, riding crops and bullwhips were displayed behind glass under the counter.  Everything in the store seemed to be on a gigantic scale. Timothy noticed a ruler lying on the countertop in front of his cage.  Each inch on the ruler looked just under a foot long.  Timothy realized that, according to that measuring stick, he was only six or seven inches tall!  

Suddenly the front door of the shop opened to the sound of chimes.  Timothy saw Wilbur scurry to the back of his cage where he tried to bury himself in wood shavings.  Timothy's instincts told him that he should do the same, but he was too captivated by what was unfolding to follow Wilbur's example.  

A platinum blonde woman in her early forties entered the store.  The magnificent woman looked much the way that Timothy had visualized the woman that Wilbur had told him was seated across from him on the metro.  She wore a silver white fur over a short black leather dress with a V-neckline that plunged to her waist.  The neckline revealed the breathtaking cleavage between her breasts, which seemed almost ready to burst from the leather confining them.  But unlike the actual woman on the train, the woman of Timothy's dream wore black knee-high fashion boots with stiletto heels instead of high-heeled pumps.  

Two young ladies accompanied the woman.  One of them was apparently her daughter, and the other seemed to be her daughter's friend.  The one young lady wore chocolate-brown leather pants, boots, and a brown leather jacket with matching short capeskin gloves while her friend wore jeans, a pale blue pullover, mid-arm length black kidskin gloves and gleaming black fashion boots.  The three females seemed to be on a shopping spree.  

A frail-looking old man appeared behind the counter and asked if he could help them.  

"Good morning, Mr. Fuddlewuss," said the platinum blonde.  "We were on our way to Heatherby's to purchase a gown for Linda's graduation ball when I realized as we were passing that I needed a new whip to use on my husband.  You've never met my daughter, have you?"  

"No, I've not yet had that pleasure, Mrs. Grayson," said old Fuddlewuss.  

Linda presented her leather-gloved hand for Fuddlewuss to kiss.  Noticeably nervous and flustered, Fuddlewuss raised her hand in its skintight brown glove.  Just as his trembling lips were about to brush the softly gleaming leather with a kiss, Linda withdrew her gloved hand.  She and her friend giggled girlishly.   

Fuddlewuss accompanied Mrs. Grayson over to the counter where the whips were displayed.  Suddenly, a woman young enough to be Fuddlewuss's granddaughter strolled out of a back stockroom onto the sales floor.  Her hair was pulled loosely back in a ponytail.  She wore a white blouse, black leather pants and spike-heeled boots.  In her right hand, she held a nasty-looking bullwhip.  

"Fuddlewuss," she said in an exasperated tone, "what are you doing out here?  You're supposed to be processing that newly arrived order of riding boots!  Or do you expect me to do your work for you?"  

"N-N-No, Ms. Tydings," stammered old Fuddlewuss.  "I j-just heard customers and thought I could be of assistance."  

Suddenly Fuddlewuss stopped speaking.  He noticed that the young Ms. Tydings had pulled a pair of short black leather gloves from the back pocket of her pants and was starting to work them onto her hands and fingers.  Fuddlewuss's lips began to quiver.  With her softly gleaming gloves smoothed on to her satisfaction, Ms. Tydings strolled slowly and seductively over to old Fuddlewuss who had dropped to his knees.  He looked up at Ms. Tydings imploringly.  Ms. Tydings placed her gloved hand under old Fuddlewuss's chin and tilted his head back.  Like a tent pole, an erection rapidly began to push out the front of Fuddlewuss's wool trousers.  

"You're not supposed to do what you think, Fuddlewuss.  You're supposed to do what I want.  You understand, don't you?" asked Ms. Tydings in a gentle, compassionate tone.  "You know I don't want to whip you, but now I have to."

  Ms. Tydings cracked her leather-gloved palm against Fuddlewuss's cheek.  Then she slapped his other cheek with her other gloved hand.  The old man's glasses flew across the room and shattered against a display case.  Ms. Tydings then stepped back and uncoiled her whip.  To limber her arm, she cracked her whip twice on the floor at Fuddlewuss's knees.  The old man winced and blubbered something about being sorry.  His erection continued to lift the front of his baggy trousers, which became tautly stretched at the crotch.  Mrs. Grayson then walked over to Ms. Tydings and whispered something in her ear.  

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Grayson," replied Ms. Tydings.  "Be our guest.  Customers are always free to sample and try out merchandise before a purchase."  

Mrs. Grayson took off her silver white fur and hung it on a corner coat rack. Timothy gasped.  Up to this point, Mrs. Grayson had kept her hands buried in the deep pockets of her fur.  But now Timothy and Wilbur saw that those hands were gloved in luxurious black kidskin opera gloves that caressed her arms to a point midway between her elbows and shoulders.  Mrs. Grayson unbuttoned the wrist of the glove sheathing her whip hand.  Her gloves fit very snuggly, and Timothy correctly surmised that she wanted a little more freedom of motion to flick her wrist.   From the whips on display, she selected a gleaming black bullwhip with a scarlet red handle.  Timothy's eyes were glued to the view as Mrs. Grayson wrapped her gloved fingers in their gleaming sheaths of black kid around the handle of the whip.  The softly gleaming black leather sheathing her hand contrasted beautifully with Mrs. Grayson's alabaster skin where her glove was open at the wrist.  Three black pearl buttons dangled like tiny pendants along the wrist opening.  Wilbur and many of the other caged men were busy stroking themselves.  

With a circular wrist motion, Mrs. Grayson indicated that she wanted old Fuddlewuss on his hands and knees with his ass toward her.  Fuddlewuss's gray wool business trousers covered his scrawny butt like loose drapery.  To muffle old Fuddlewuss's screams and keep him from moving about, Ms. Tydings leaned down and placed one gloved hand over his mouth while her other gloved hand held the back of his head. Fuddlewuss appeared to be in a state of total panic.  

Mrs. Grayson swung the whip in a circle overhead several times before actually lashing out.  She relished how the whistle of a bullwhip slicing the air produced terror in males.  She also relished how her glove softly caressed her hand down between each of her fingers as she gripped the whip.  The blissfully snug sensation of unspeakably soft kidskin between her fingers gave her an indescribable feeling of power.  

As Mrs. Grayson lashed his ass with the whip, old Fuddlewuss's muffled moans sounded like those of a wounded cow.  At one point, Fuddlewuss bucked so much that Ms. Tydings had to punch him in the face and slap him several times to quiet him down. In Mrs. Grayson's expert gloved hand, the bullwhip sliced through old Fuddlewuss's wool trousers like a razor blade through butter.  The lashing of her whip left Fuddlewuss's cotton briefs hanging in tatters.  Before long, the elderly gentleman's raw, bleeding ass was completely exposed.  

"Oh, fuck-a-duck!" said Ms. Tydings to Fuddlewuss.  "Can't you be still for even a moment?  Such a baby!  You'd think we were killing you or something!"  

Tears cascaded down Fuddlewuss's cheeks like water over Niagara Falls.  With Ms. Tydings leather-gloved hand over his mouth, he could barely breath.  Suddenly Fuddlewuss went totally limp and rolled belly-up.  

"What happened?" asked Mrs. Grayson.  

"He's fine," said Ms. Tydings.  "He just passed out."  

Linda jumped up and down, clapping her gloved hands.  "Look!" she said, pointing a gloved finger at Fuddlewuss's boner.  "One part of him hasn't passed out!"  

"Linda!" said Mrs. Grayson.  "That isn't polite!  I'm shocked at you, young lady! Please excuse my daughter, Ms. Tydings."  

"Oh, that's perfectly okay," said Ms. Tydings with an understanding smile.  "You know, when I was their age, I was into wearing gloves just to make boys feel small and worthless and into smoking and a whole bunch of other stuff."  

Mrs. Grayson couldn't help but think that Ms. Tydings couldn't have been her daughter's age more than a year or two ago at most.  Looking at Linda, Mrs. Grayson realized that her daughter was now a young woman.  Linda could not be shielded from the ways of the world much longer.

Nevertheless Mrs. Grayson said, "Linda, don't let me catch you teasing young men or smoking!"  

Smoothing her gloves down between her fingers, Linda replied, "Oh, Mother.  I promise you won't!  I mean I promise I won't!  I mean I don't!  I don't do those things!"  

Before Mrs. Grayson could respond, she heard Linda's friend, Marcy, call out from the other side of the store, "EEP!  What are these things?"   

Marcy had opened one of the cages, reached in and pulled out Wilbur Longwood, whom she held squirming in her black leather-gloved hand.  With their heels clicking, the other ladies strolled over.  

"Those are the little teensy-tykes," said Ms. Tydings.  "Every month, we receive a shipment of about a hundred new teensy-tykes.  They're a good draw.  Even selling them for as little as $19.99 apiece, we still turn a nice profit on them."  

"Where do they come from?" asked Marcy as she tickled Wilbur with a leather-gloved fingertip.  

"They're cloned with cells from ordinary males," said Ms. Tydings.  "But their DNA is spliced with segments of mouse DNA to make and keep them so tiny.  Perhaps that's why they also tend to be a little high-strung."  

Timothy saw Linda walking toward him.  She flipped open the door at the top of his cage, reached in and pulled him out.  Wrapped around his naked little body, Linda's leather-sheathed fingers felt buttery-soft and blissfully warm.  The scent of her glove, laced with perfume, was intoxicating.  Timothy also thought that he detected a faint odour of tobacco from the index and middle fingers of Linda's glove.

Linda held Timothy up to her face.  "Don't be frightened, little man," she said. "I'm not going to hurt you."  Then to her mother she said, "Oh, Mom!  Can Marcy and I get these two?  They're adorable!"  

Brushing her gloved fingertip against the tip of Timothy's penis, Linda tickled him into a fully erect state.  

Mrs. Grayson said, "I don't know, girls.  Those little things can be so messy.  But I suppose it's okay if you agree to take care of them."  

They don't require much upkeep," said Ms. Tydings.  "And they're pretty tough except for one thing.  You can't whip them without seriously injuring them; they're just too tiny for that."  

"Well," said Mrs. Grayson.  "I think we're all set.  We'll take the two teensy-tykes along with the bullwhip."  

"You'll love using that new whip," said Ms. Tydings.  "At $499.95, it's our most expensive whip, but it's worth every penny."  

"It's my husband's money, anyway," said Mrs. Grayson.  "What's he going to spend it on?  And besides, I'm worth it!"  

Linda said, "Ms. Tydings, you run a lovely business here.  I really admire the way you manage the store."  

For a moment, Ms. Tydings appeared puzzled.  Then she said, "Oh, no, no, my dear. You're mistaken.  Mr. Fuddlewuss owns the business.  I'm a part-time sales assistant."  

 

Click here for Part Fourteen