That night, as Bob brushed his teeth in the powder room of his hotel suite, he felt a gnawing ache in his groin from unrelieved sexual tension. He could hardly glance at his own image in the mirror over the sink. The memory of his embarrassment, degradation and humiliation was too fresh. The twin senses of pleasure and pain were battling each other and somehow deriving strength from each other in the depth of his soul. The pain of humiliation was Bob's, alone. But the thrill of pleasure was borrowed from Kathy. Hers was the pleasure of wearing sensuous leather, of controlling and subjugating him with a mere gesture of her glove. Which again led to his pain and the thrill of pleasure borrowed from her.

Later as Bob, trying to forget his mortification, buried himself in his pillow, a dream came to his bedside. The dream had the likeness of Kathy. As Bob gazed on this dream-lady, he became aware that his stature was diminished. He seemed no more than three inches tall. Kathy's likeness loomed enormous in the warmth of the night. She was naked except for her long black kidskin gloves. She lifted Bobby's naked, trembling body out of his bed, holding him gently between her leather-sheathed thumb and index finger.

"Do you want to experience the inside of a woman's glove, Bobby?" the dream asked.

She took the tiny Bobby and inserted him, feet first, into the tiny wrist opening at the bottom of the palm of her glove. Only Bobby's head stuck out, as though he were trapped under the leather cover of a bed with Kathy's warm palm as the mattress. His head swirled and he moaned with pleasure to feel the warm intimacy of the unspeakably velvety-soft interior of her leather glove. Bobby glanced down at the expanse of the softly-gleaming black leather palm to where the beautiful glove sheathed and caressed each of Kathy's fingers in the intimate embrace of soft, warm leather. The aroma of kidskin filled Bobby's head.

With Bobby's head still sticking out of her glove, Kathy placed her other gloved hand over her palm, so that Bobby's head was cradled between her middle and index fingers. She then slowly slid her hand forward so that her fingers slid up over her wrist until Bobby's chin was lodged snugly in the gloved crotch between Kathy's leather-clad fingers. She continued her motion, sliding the little man's naked, vulnerable body out of her glove. She held him up, squeezing his head in the soft vise of her leather-clad fingers until his head was ready to crack like an egg shell. His helpless little body thrashed about wildly against the palm of her glove.

"So you see, Bobby," the dream said, "my gloves can bring you infinite pleasure and pain. And there will be times when you cannot tell one from the other. For you, they will become one and the same."

Bob awoke with a start to the sound of rapping on his hotel room door.