Gloves Off Novels & Stories

I almost felt human. After putting my soiled towel in the hamper, I sprayed down the equipment with the disinfectant that was on the back table. Then I headed back upstairs to the ground floor. I pulled a hoodie over my tank top before finding my mom and the professor in the kitchen, sipping coffee and eating bowls of oatmeal. "Good morning, sweetheart," my mother smiled at me. She was dressed for work in one of her proper secretary pantsuits, her hair styled neatly. She looked so happy that I thought maybe it was worth enduring all this awkward discomfort.

That was when my heart shattered. Now he still didn't get it. The gloves didn't matter. I shook him off and rubbed my sore wrist. "I'm doing great now. Mind your own business." He eyed me suspiciously, and I sighed, "Plus, I'm married. If my husband saw you grabbing me like this, he'd flip." Alex stepped back. Shock was written all over his face. "You got married behind my back?"

Alejandro looks around. “There’s more?” “Oh, much more.” Karen hands Alejandro a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves. “Here.” He stares at them. “What are these?” She blinks. “Gloves.” “I know they’re gloves.” “You’ll need them.” He slowly lifts one. “They’re yellow.” Karen folds her arms. “They’re protective.” “They’re ugly.” Brian snorts. “Pretty sure bacteria don’t care about fashion.” Karen nods. “They absolutely don’t.” Alejandro sighs dramatically before putting them on.

"Chelsea already feels bad about taking your marriage registration spot. She even bought you a gift to apologize, and yet you're still making a fuss over it. Honestly, the one who acts like a child is you." I looked over, and it was a half-eaten souffle. I said coldly, "I'm allergic to eggs. I can't eat that. And I'm not a trash bin who takes leftovers." Tears brimmed in Chelsea's eyes. "Benny, I know Giselle thinks my gift is cheap, but… this is already the best I can afford. If she doesn't like it, she can just say so. Why does she have to be all sarcastic?"

I’d as good as written my name on the walls in my own blood. I forced my lungs to slow down. Focus. First rule: don’t think about the body. Not yet. Think about the room. Think about what they’ll see when they get here. I pulled a pair of thin leather gloves from my pocket, ones I’d kept in case the night turned dirty, and slipped them on. I crouched beside Silas. The smell of him was different now, sweat, gunpowder, that copper tang of blood creeping out from the side of his head. My stomach tightened.

"Be careful. You're so big." "You asked for this, Giselle," I muttered, opening my drawer and pulling out some baby oil and a pair of gloves. "Now you’re going to see exactly what you been begging for." I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of baby oil and a pair of latex gloves. I didn't say a word as I snapped the gloves onto my hands, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Giselle watched me with wide, nervous eyes, her small chest heaving.

I waved my hand slowly, thoroughly deflecting them and they were sent crashing haphazardly across the place and everything returned to the normal pace,. I fell onto my knees instantly, my eyes brimming with tears and heart weeping with joy at my success. Holden knelt too, and with a tear of joy trickling down his cheek, he patted me on my head. “You are almost ready, dear child,” he exclaimed, as we got onto our feet. “Tomorrow’s going to be your final session. I can't express how proud I am as a teacher,” he grabbed his bag from the table and removed a plastic cover containing a black suit. “It’s made of spandex, which is shockproof and extremely light,” he added, digging his bag again and

He rolls his stool closer. His fingers are still inside me – two gloved fingers in my pussy, his other hand on my abdomen. He withdraws them slowly. Looks at the latex – glistening, coated in my arousal, strings of wetness connecting his fingers as he spreads them. "You're extremely responsive," he says. His voice has dropped. The clinical warmth is still there but underneath it is something raw. "I should examine that more carefully." He peels off one glove. Then the other. His bare hands – warm, dry, long-fingered – rest on my inner thighs. Skin on skin. The shock of it – after twenty minutes of latex – makes me gasp.

That’s when I realise the video looks old, unless they were simply using an outdated camera perhaps. He’s breathing harder, as if struggling to do so before he stops. The footage is difficult to see with the dense fog. He shouts something again before he raises his gloved hand and slowly puts it through the fog. Suddenly he pulls it back, cursing as the camera almost falls. The once-perfect leather glove is gone and his hand is bloody. There are odd slashes through it and he lets out a groan as he staggers back. Behind his hand a dark red glow-like force field seems to appear, a vibration emitting through it as it rumbles, and the camera backs up.