It was the down time of the day for Bob Twilinger. He had flown in to New York the night before to firm up a business account for his firm of Smitington and Twilinger. The day had been 8 non-stop hours of hammering out details with lawyers and execs. What a tangled mess! But at last it was squared away. Still, Bob's day was not over yet.

At the prompting of a green "Walk" light, he crossed the street while drinking in the cool, crisp air of a late autumn evening. He had one more client to meet: a woman he had known in elementary school some twenty-five years ago when he had been a lad of ten and she was a little girl in the first grade. Her name was Kathy Lang - now Dr. Kathy Lang. She was a psychiatrist who had recently started a marriage counseling clinic. In the recesses of his weary mind, Bob thought of how odd it was that Kathy would want to hire an out-of-town accounting firm to handle her business. He believed that her office was somewhere in Connecticut and that she would be driving to Manhattan just to meet him that evening. They had agreed to meet in the lobby of his hotel.

The lobby was like a safe, warm haven. Bob ambled over to a large, comfortable chair, removed his overcoat, unbuttoned his grey suit coat and loosened his tie. He picked up a fishing magazine from an end table and plopped himself down in the chair with a sigh. The lobby was dimly-lit, warm and quiet. As he idly glanced through the magazine, his mind wandered back to his grammar school days with Kathy. He cringed to remember how he used to tease her, pelting her with snowballs and washing her face in the snow until she went running home in tears. He hoped that Kathy didn't bear him any grudges for his juvenile behavior. He laughed a little to think that perhaps that was the reason she decided to become a shrink. Poor, homely little girl, he thought. Sad eyes, mousey brown hair and a mouth that looked like she was always on the verge of tears. Bob welcomed the chance to apologise to her for all his nasty tricks of years ago.

At some point, Bob opened his eyes and realized that he had dozed off. Had he missed Kathy? He quickly glanced around and saw two couples making their way across the lobby with a bellhop. Then he became aware of a woman sitting in a chair directly across from him. Suddenly, Bob's pulse quickened and his eyes snapped fully open.

The woman was beautiful beyond comprehension. She had large, liquid grey-green eyes with subtle eye-shadow, deep-red lips and auburn tresses that cascaded down over her shoulders. She wore a dark fur coat that was open to reveal a deep burgundy evening gown made of rich, supple leather. The strapless gown had a slit up one side that revealed long legs clad in black laced-up knee boots with stiletto high heels. She sat with one leg crossed over the other and appeared to be reading something Bob could not see - perhaps a book resting in her lap. Then she shifted slightly in her chair. Bob's pounding heart almost leapt into his throat.

Her hands, holding a book in which she had been underlining passages, were sheathed in skin-tight black leather gloves that gleamed softly in the dim lobby lights. Bob swallowed hard as he watched the play of light on the leather caressing those beautiful hands. He noticed how her tightly-gloved hands held the slender pen and turned the book pages with elegant ease. Bob felt his throbbing cock thrashing about in his pants. He placed the fishing magazine upside-down on his lap to conceal the now-obvious throbbing bulge there.

The woman placed her book on the arm of her chair and rested a leather-gloved hand palm down on the cover. Bob noticed with accelerating pleasure how the leather that snugly sheathed each finger barely wrinkled at all with her fingers spread flat against the book. His eyes became riveted on that most mysterious and fascinating of places: the deep, seamed crevasses in the crotches between each black leather finger of her glove. Bob blushed a deep purple when he realized that she was looking at him with an amused smile! He quickly looked away; but, try as he might, he could not keep his eyes off her hands. With a faint smirk, the woman raised one hand and spread her fingers. She then smoothed down each finger of her glove to achieve an even snugger fit in the crotches between each of her fingers. Finally she gave a little tug on the leather that covered her wrist while seductively wriggling her out-stretched fingers. She was distracted from the pleasure of her chore, however, when she heard something whack against the magazine on Bob's lap.

Her last gesture had caused Bob's throbbing wing-wang to leap into full erection, bouncing the fishing magazine into the air. Smiling with asonishment, the woman said, "That must be quite a catch you've got there, little guy - it looks like there are some real live ones in that magazine!"

Bob's mortification was complete. Who does this bitch think she is? he thought. Does she think that just because she's so damnned beautiful and wears those...those leather gloves that she can humiliate me like this?

Bob stammered, "I-I m-must have fallen asleep and was dreaming. T-Tell me, you wouldn't know if a woman in her late twenties had come through the lobby looking for anyone?"

"Bobby! Bobby Twilinger! Is that you?" exclaimed the woman. She stood up and walked over on sharply-clicking steel-tipped stiletto heels. Bob struggled to stand on wobbly knees as his cock threatened to tear a hole through his trousers.

"K-Kathy! I didn't recognize you! I didn't expect..."

"Bobby! I didn't recognize you either! I guess I expected you to be taller."

Kathy clapped her hands together in a muffled leather clap, reached up and caressed Bobby's cheeks between the warm, buttery-soft palms of her gloves. Bobby reeled slightly for a moment. Pre-cum was starting to stain his trousers.

"Bobby, you really look faint - are you okay? Let's go into the bar and catch up on old times."

Kathy led Bobby to an isolated booth in the corner of a bar off the hotel restaurant. "Could you help me off with my fur?" she asked. As he slid the fur off Kathy's shoulders, Bobby audibly gasped to see that her gloves caressed her arms nearly to her shoulders in softly-gleaming black leather. As they sat down in the booth, Bobby found himself almost right up against her. The musky aroma of her perfume and leather made his head swim.

"Bobby, tell me something. I don't mean to embarrass you, but do you have a fetish for gloves or leather or something? You don't seem able to take your eyes off my hands. Poor baby, I don't want to give you a heart attack..."

That arrogant bitch! thought Bob. "N-No, Kathy," he blubbered, "I really don't even know what you're t-talking about!"

"Yes, you do Bobby. I know you know. I'm not just a psychiatrist - I'm a woman, and I can tell you that this fetish is very, very common. Many, many men are completely controlled by the extreme state of intense pleasure and arousal caused by a woman's leather gloves."

"I tell you I don't know what you're talking about!" Bob blurted out.

"Okay, okay Bobby. I'm ready to believe you. I just want you to prove to me that my gloves have no effect on you. If you can hold my hand and refrain from kissing and worshipping my glove, I'll apologise for embarrassing you and believe everything you say."

Kathy reached into her handbag and took out a pack of cigarettes. Bobby could not believe his eyes as he saw the same Kathy he used to pelt with snowballs holding a slender white cigarette between gleaming black leather-sheathed fingers.

"Bobby, light me up?" Kathy asked.

Bobby flicked a lighter that had been sitting on the table and, with trembling hands, held the flame up to the cigarette between Kathy's leather-sheathed fingers.

"Easy, Bobby. Take it easy. Relax. I know this is very trying for you, you poor suffering glove-loving baby. Now take my hand in yours. Remember I'm just a human being like you. Now prove that my gloves have no effect on you."

While Kathy took a long inhale on her cigarette, Bobby held her other hand. His will dissolved as he began to kiss and worship each leather-sheathed finger. His lips wandered up and back down the underside of Kathy's wrist where three black pearl buttons closed her glove over her wrist for an even snugger fit. He inserted his tongue into the tiny opening that remained at her wrist to reveal a tantalizing bit of "cleavage" near the buttom of her palm. Kathy pressed the soft leather palm over his mouth while squeezing his nostrils closed between her thumb and the base of her index finger. As Bobby gasped for air, the musky aroma of leather filled his head. He felt the thumb seam of her glove pressing against his lips. Each breath he tried to take only drew the leather palm of her glove against his mouth like a membrane.

Kathy took her hand away and gave his face a sharp little slap. The leather stung Bobby's cheek and brought a tear to his eye. "Snap out of it, Bobby. I think we've established your glove fetish."

"P-Please, stroke me, jerk me off! Oh, my god!" sobbed Bobby.

"No," replied Kathy, "not 'Oh, my god' but 'Oh, my goddess!' I am the ultimate source of pleasure in the universe for you, Bobby. My gloves represent the power that my sexuality has over your inner-most being. That is why you have no choice but to worship my gloves. Don't cry now, Bobby. It's going to be okay. I want you to drive with me to my clinic in Connecticut tomorrow."

"I don't think I want to be cured," said Bobby.

"You can't be cured because it's not a sickness. It's perfectly normal and very common, Bobby. It's the natural order of things. It's your place in the universe. All I can do is help you accept your place. Okay? I'll pick you up at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow. Good night and don't worry, now."