Like Son, Like Father
Part Four
There Stacy was - like he had never seen her before - wearing hot pink
lipstick and
aqua-blue eye shadow. She also wore riding boots, black leather pants and
skintight
shoulder-length black kidskin gloves. Her flaxen blonde tresses fell
sensuously
over her bare shoulders and bare breasts with their jutting pink nipples.
A blue
and rust-colored silk scarf was tied loosely around her neck. A whip
draped over
her belt was hanging in loose coils against her hip. Timothy could
scarcely believe
it, but Stacy was holding a lit cigarette between the gleaming black
leather-sheathed fingers of her gloved right hand. With his cock
completely erect
inside his pants, Timothy braced himself against a wall to keep from dropping to
the
floor in a faint. His eyes were locked on Stacy's hands in a stare of
total
astonishment.
"What's wrong, Timmy?" she asked. "Oh, I see what it is. You never
expected to see
the innocent little playmate of your grammar school days wearing black leather
gloves, did you? Surprise, little Timmy! I've grown up! Yes, I
wear gloves, and
you'll just have to deal with that - whether you like it or not."
"B-But y-you've always been good and God-fearing, Stacy - right from the time we
were both little kids!" blubbered Timothy in a conflicting state of physical
pleasure and spiritual anguish.
"For a long time, I was as repressed as you and your father, if that's what you
mean," said Stacy. "I was terrified of living life. But, after Aunt
Emily went to
her grave without ever really having experienced any of what life has to offer,
I
asked myself if I also wanted to leave this world someday without ever knowing
what
life is all about."
"Life isn't about being sinful and evil," said Timothy. "When your aunt
went to her
grave, she received her heavenly reward."
"Tell me about it, little Mr. Innocent," said Stacy, flicking the ash from the
cigarette she held between her gloved fingers. "I don't want a grave as my
heavenly
reward. And I can see that you've already had a nice worldly reward of
your own,
tonight. And I'll bet you didn't get it at that Church dance! Just
out of
curiosity, with whom have you been enjoying some forbidden fruit?"
"St-St-Stacy, I was only looking for you!" exclaimed Timothy.
"Of course, you were, Timmy. You're such a good little angel. That's
why you have
lipstick all over your face." Gripping Timothy's chin with her leathered
thumb and
fingers, Stacy turned his head from side to side. She tossed her cigarette
to the
flagstone floor and crushed it out beneath her boot heel. Then Stacy
wrapped
Timothy's necktie around her fisted gloved hand and, with her other gloved hand,
whacked his face with such force that the crack of her black leather glove on
his
cheek echoed down the hall.
"BAUGH-HOO!" bawled Timothy, sputtering and choking on his own tears.
"Now you have some nice red welts from the fingers of my glove to go with her
lipstick!" said Stacy. "Of course, I'm sure that she was a perfect,
blameless angel
for kissing you all over while I'm wicked and evil because I wear gloves!"
Without thinking about what he was saying, Timothy blurted out in tears, "She
wears
black leather gloves, too! But hers are loving and kind. Yours are
mean and
cruel!"
"You stupid little nothing!" said Stacy. "Just listen to you - you sound
like a
two-year-old! Do you really want to know how mean and cruel my gloves are?
Do you
know where I got these? After Aunt Emily died, I decided to go through all
my
parents' belongings. I found these gloves locked away in a chest that
belonged to
my Mom. They were hers! There was a note to Mom from my father.
In it, Dad told
Mom how much he enjoyed their second date and wanted to see her again. The
note
referred to some very intimate things that Mom did to him with her gloves on
that
date. When I realized how Mom enthralled Dad with her beautiful gloves, it
occurred
to me that, if it weren't for these gloves, I might not even be here today!
I tried
them on. It took about fifteen minutes to work them up my arms and button
them at
the wrists. I can't describe how fabulous it made me feel to wear them!
The
sensation of leather on my fingers made me realize that I'm a grown woman.
I can't
go on being a little girl all my life - the way you and Reverend Horsewick would
like me to! The Stacy Rodgers that you knew no longer exists. In a
sense, she
never really did! That little girl was always only what Aunt Emily and
your father
wanted her to be. You're seeing me now as I really am. Stop drooling
and deal with
it, Horsewick."
Again, Stacy cracked her gloved hand against Timothy's face. Smarting both
from
Stacy's words and from the sting of her glove, Timothy dropped to his knees with
tears streaming down his reddened face.
"St-Stacy, please! I know you're not really like this! P-Please!
Remember all the
times we played in the garden behind the rectory!" sobbed Timothy.
"Are those the kinds of games you want to play tonight, Timmy?" laughed Stacy.
"Do
you want to pretend again that we're a married couple having tea and scones in
the
rectory garden? Well, if you want to pretend we're married, maybe we'll do
that.
But first, you have to prove to me that you're a man, Horsewick. And I
doubt that
you can stop snivelling long enough to do that!"
Timothy got off his knees and said, "I don't have to prove anything to you!
I have
a friend here who already knows the kind of man I am! I'll play your
stupid
children's games and win! Then I'll take the prize to her!"
"The prize is an evening's pass to Club G L. But you won't take it to your
girlfriend even if we win - because the prize is awarded to a female player, not
to
a male contestant. The winner picks a male and they get to go to G L along
with
Carolyn Chadwick, herself. If we win, I might decide to take you.
But, on the
other hand," said Stacy, smoothing her left glove to an even snugger fit between
her
fingers, "I might decide to take a real man, instead. But, right now, the
question
is academic, little Timmy, because first we have to win, and I don't think you
have
what it takes! I think you'll crap out before we're even finished playing
'Musical
Whips'."
"I won't crap out - I promise you that!" said Timothy. "If we lose, it'll
be
because you didn't try hard enough, not because of me!"
Stacy placed a gloved fingertip on Timothy's lips. With a suppressed
smile, she whispered, "I'll remember you said that, Timmy."
Click here for Part Five