Trubbycat
FWB
- Joined
- Nov 30, 2004
- Posts
- 18,364
Hi everyone,
Please find enclosed the rough draft of my new story about a man treated to a leather glove handjob at a fancy nightclub. It hasn't been edited for grammar, spelling, transitions, etc. But I think the meat of it is here. There are still a few paragraphs to go for the ending. Please let me know what you think.
Also, I'm not sure what category this should go in. Should it go under fetish for the glove/handjob aspect, or loving wives, since it is a birthday present from his better half?
Thanks again, and enjoy (I hope!)
My birthday had rolled around again, and once more I had practically forgotten all about it. Life had been a swirl or work and obligations, and the little free time I had was eaten up by the television in the living room. Nothing terrible, just a fairly common situation among forty-something suburban husbands.
Several times in recent weeks my wife Brenda had asked, directly or indirectly, what I wanted for my birthday. Half the time, I admit, I wasn't listening, and when I did I usually mumbled a half-hearted "I don't know," or "I can't think of anything." Birthdays were never a big deal for my family. My father traveled extensively, and we often celebrated on the actual day without him, or waited for a deferred party when he would return home. Brenda's family, on the other hand, were really big on birthdays and made a point to do it on the day itself, no matter what, with as many people and presents as possible.
When the day came I was busy bolting down some cereal in a vain attempt to save a few minutes on the morning rush. I'm not really a morning person, and it's usually all I can do to shower and dress myself without assistance. At this bleary point in the morning I'd already forgotten what day it was. Brenda, who of course is a morning person, fairly skipped into the kitchen and gave me a peck on the cheek. "We're all set," she said chirpily.
"Set for what?" I warily replied, expecting the standard lecture about not listening, or forgetting an agreed-upon commitment.
"For your birthday," she said. "I made the reservations last night."
"Reservations? Oh, okay. What restaurant?" There were several restaurants we wanted to try locally and quite a few in the city. Brenda was always reading restaurant reviews in the papers and online, so it could be any cuisine anywhere.
"Well, it's more of a supper club that a restaurant," she replied as she poured herself a second coffee. "I've read about it a few times and it's quite trendy and hard to get in. Fortunately there was a cancellation. It's at nine o'clock in the city so we both have time to come home and change. The kids are at my mother's tonight so we can relax and take our time."
The day went by uneventfully. I've always been cagey about personal information like birthdays at work so I wasn't bothered by "surprises" in the break room or anything like that. I did cut out a few minutes early to get a jump on the afternoon rush so I'd be home by six. I got in right on time and tossed the mail on the kitchen table, made myself a vodka martini and went upstairs. Even though I wasn't dirty I took another shower to be fresh for our dinner date. As I washed I heard Brenda come in and get changed in the bedroom. I called out a friendly hello and she returned it. We were both in a great mood.
I dressed in a charcoal turtleneck, black trousers and black leather blazer. Brenda was dolled up in her clingy black wrap dress and black knee-high boots. She had just come from the salon and her shoulder-length blonde hair looked fantastic. I looked myself over as I grabbed the keys. My thinning grey hair was neatly combed, and though I could stand to lose a few pounds I was still presentable. Brenda was still as beautiful as the day we married, a bit curvier and a few grey hairs here and there, but she still set me on fire with desire. We weren't kids anymore, but we made the attempt to still look attractive for each other. We were gently slipping into middle age and loved each other as much as when we met in our late twenties.
The drive into the city was uneventful and we parked in our favorite inexpensive parking garage. It was about fifteen blocks from the club, but it was a pleasant May evening and Brenda's heels weren't too high so we walked, taking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood.
The maitre'd, a distinguished Brit with a salt-and-pepper crewcut and crisp black tuxedo, greeted us warmly, shaking my hand firmly and kissing Brenda's hand in the manner of the old movies. He beckoned over an exquisite young black woman, tall and elegant, wearing a floor length black gown slit to the thigh. The gown was sleeveless but her arms were adorned with black leather opera-length gloves. Her skin, the color of cocoa, glowed with good health and her face was expertly made up, her relaxed hair softly flowing around her shoulders. She smiled at us, her almost-black eyes flashing, her perfectly painted red lips revealing perfect white teeth. She resembled the beautiful actress who played the District Attorney in NYPD Blue.
"This is Diane," the maitre'd said, "and she will be taking care of you." I gaped in disbelief. Diane seemed like a guest; I couldn't believe that she was an employee.
"Pleased to meet you," she said and shook both our hands. The leather of her glove was soft and smooth, finer than any I'd ever felt. The heat from her body warmed the glove nicely. The contact started a familiar stirring in my pants, but Diane disengaged her hand, picked up two menus, and led us to her table as if she owned the place.
As we settled in I looked at our surroundings. The club was quite sumptuous. All the servers were attractive women, attired in evening gowns and gloves. It was if we were at a formal event. A tall blonde strode by in a silver sequined dress cut low to show her ample cleavage and her gloves seemed to be a metallic silver or grey leather in the club's lighting. A striking Asian woman was across the room in a form fitting red silk Mandarin dress and long black groves similar to Diane's.
Directly across from us sat an elegant couple that I assumed to be in their mid-to-late fifties. He was a large man in a crisp business suit and dark red tie, his white hair short and neatly cropped. She was stunning, her still-beautiful face barely lined, expertly made up and framed by an obviously expensive chin-length razor-cut bob. We were no slobs, but this couple was the type to stop traffic. The other tables all had well-dressed couples ranging from their early thirties to their sixties. This was a swank crowd.
The meal was spectacular. My filet mignon with its red wine reduction sauce was exquisite. Brenda's lobster met with her approval. The bug was expertly yet gracefully devoured, and she refused the paper bib, no small feat when considering the messiness of lobster. I'm not much of a seafood fan, but watching her sensuously demolish the succulent white meat made me want a lobster of my own and also turned me on tremendously
Diane returned after the meal. "We will be serving dessert soon. In the meantime, would you care for an after-dinner drink?"
"I'd like to finish my wine, thanks. Brenda?"
"Just some water for me, please."
"Coming right up." Diane bustled off while the singer began her show in earnest.
Brenda scooted next to me on the booth. "So what do you think of the club?" she asked, lightly brushing my arm.
"I like it very much. I feel like a member of something very exclusive."
"I'm glad. You're so difficult to get gifts for. I thought you'd appreciate an experience rather than something I picked up at the mall."
"It certainly is an experience. The food, the cocktails-all top notch. The entertainment. And the hostesses-they're gorgeous. It's like being served by a fashion model."
"That's part of the allure of this place. When I read the review I knew I had to take you here." She leaned in close and gave me a quick kiss. For a brief moment her tongue darted into my mouth and I could taste the lobster.
Diane returned with Brenda's water and sat next to me again. As she pressed next to me I could feel the warmth of her body. I caught a waft of delicate, expensive perfume. "So, how was the meal?" she asked. She was so close I could kiss her succulent red lips. I was getting uncomfortable. This beautiful woman was behaving very flirtaciously with me whle my wife sat right next to us! Strangely, Brenda simply smiled and took another sip of her drink.
"Ummm... I'd like to see the desserts...?" I stammered.
"Our dessert list is rather limited," Diane replied. She placed her gloved palm on my cheek and softly caressed my face. I felt the smooth leather glide over my skin and inhaled its pungent, earthy aroma. The hand slid lower, gliding across my chest and pinching a nipple playfully, then down into my lap. "What the...?" I stammered. What the hell was going on here?
"This is your gift," Brenda said to me sweetly. "I'd read about this club where on top of getting some of the best food in the city you also get the happiest ending you'll ever get for the rest of your life. Enjoy, darling!" She raised her hand to me in a toast and watched me with a gleam in her eye I hadn't seen in years.
Diane snuggled in close and deftly undid my pants. My penis was fished out and in her hand so quickly I hadn't even gotten hard yet. The warmth of her hand radiated through the leather as she gripped me firmly. Leaning into me as she was I not only inhaled her perfume but could also detect, albeit faintly, the wonderful leather aroma of her gloves as well. The hand lightened its grip and began stroking up and down, the fingertips barely brushing the sensitive skin of my penis. A gloved index finger slowly swirled around the corona and head of my erection, allowing minute amounts of precum to ooze forth.
Diane leaned across me and I felt the weight of her body as she spoke to Brenda. "So, how do we usually do this?" she asked, never letting go of me.
"I usually stroke him for a good long time," Brenda answered after taking a sip. "I like to get him writhing in frustration, and then unexpectedly change things up, jerking him tightly and as hard as I can until he shoots."
"Mmmm, a delicious technique," Diane purred. "Not terribly different from my own." The stroking continued. Sometimes just the tips of her fingers would brush the skin of my cock and ever so lightly tickle the hair on my balls, sending goosebumps throughout my body. Sometimes she would grip me and stroke softly and slowly until I thought I would shoot, at which point she would stop and change techniques once more.
In my more lucid moments I looked around the room. The hostesses were all seated at their respective tables. The Asian hostess sat closely next to the elegant gray-haired woman, one gloved arm holding her tightly by the shoulders as the other reached below the table. The woman's eyes were tightly closed and her open mouth formed a small 'O' as she sat stock still, her arms hanging by her sides. It was hard to see from my vantage point but from the rythmic movements of the hostess' arm she appeared to be fingering her customer quite vigorously. The beautiful Asian leaned in and flickered her tongue into the woman's ear and she visibly stiffered, moaning as the hostess pumped harder. During all this her husband sat impassively, saying nothing as his wife was publicly masturbated. He calmly sipped his cappuccino and stared intently at the scene before him.
I was snapped back to my own situation by the renewed vigor of the gloved hand in my own lap. Diane was stroking slowly up and down in a pleasant rhythm when her hand suddenly stopped and squeezed hard. Again a teasing finger traced around the tip of the glans and electricity shot through my body. I sat gasping for air, a light sweat breaking on my brow. My wife picked up a napkin and dabbed my forehead, kissing me lightly on the cheek.
In the corner of my eye I saw Diane make a silent inquiry, as if to ask Brenda 'now?' Brenda nodded, and Diane went busily to work. I was gripped again and stroked, but now I was held more tightly than before. The sensual, gentle strokes became quicker and harder, as if Diane were trying to yank my penis off. Her strokes were expertly timed, and it was if she had become a handjob machine. My balls began to tighten and churn, and were tickled once more by feathery fingertip brushes.
Almost paralyzed by sensation, I sat stupidly, my eyes rolling back and my jaw slack. I felt Diane's thick sensuous lips grazing my neck and ear. I felt the warmth of her sweet breath and a long wet tongue suddenly struck into my ear. Brenda leaned in and grabbed my face, plunging her own tongue into my mouth, frenching me with an intensity not felt since our dating days.
Diane yanked me ferociously, her thumb cruelly rubbing the overexcited nerves of my glans at the apex of her upstokes. Her other hand tickled and fondled my bursting testicles, occasionally squeezing to the point of pain and then releasing them. Finally the moment arrived, and I felt a surge fly from my balls and up my penis with the speed of a freight train. The hand tickling my balls instantly flew up to catch as much of my load as possible as the other wanking me continued, pulling so hard my ass almost left my seat. I was milked past human endurance, and all the while Brenda held my face in her hands, kissing me passionately, her tongue seeming to reach down into my lungs.
Eventually I stopped ejaculating but my body continued convulsing for quite some time. Diane removed her hand from under the table and showed us the result of her handiwork. Her exquisite black leather glove was absolutely dripping with cum, globs falling wetly onto the tablecloth. The blackness of her palm had been replaced by the viscous white of my semen, and Diane smiled like a child presenting her parents with a hard-won school trophy. Brenda kissed me again, a light buss this time, and smiled. "Happy birthday, sweetie," she cooed.
"Thanks," I mumbled as if drunk, "to both of you."
Brenda took Diane's soaked hand and held it to her mouth, lapping my semen off the leather. Diane was a bit surprised at this and moaned at the gesture, enjoying her hand being licked clean. Brenda continued until the glove was once more black, licking between Diane's fingers ad sucking each one like a small cock. Finally she released Diane's hand and kissed me deeply, swirling the last remains of my seed into my surprised mouth. We sat kissing like teenagers while Diane cleaned my still semi-hard cock and aching balls with a hot wet towel and gently tucked me in and zipped me up.
"I hope you enjoyed your meal," Diane said as she got up to leave. "It was my pleasure to serve you tonight.
"The pleasure was all mine," I croaked.
"Thank you so much for the wonderful evening," Brenda added.
"Good night," said Diane, and she leaned in and kissed us both gently on the cheek. "I must get ready for the next seating."
Please find enclosed the rough draft of my new story about a man treated to a leather glove handjob at a fancy nightclub. It hasn't been edited for grammar, spelling, transitions, etc. But I think the meat of it is here. There are still a few paragraphs to go for the ending. Please let me know what you think.
Also, I'm not sure what category this should go in. Should it go under fetish for the glove/handjob aspect, or loving wives, since it is a birthday present from his better half?
Thanks again, and enjoy (I hope!)
My birthday had rolled around again, and once more I had practically forgotten all about it. Life had been a swirl or work and obligations, and the little free time I had was eaten up by the television in the living room. Nothing terrible, just a fairly common situation among forty-something suburban husbands.
Several times in recent weeks my wife Brenda had asked, directly or indirectly, what I wanted for my birthday. Half the time, I admit, I wasn't listening, and when I did I usually mumbled a half-hearted "I don't know," or "I can't think of anything." Birthdays were never a big deal for my family. My father traveled extensively, and we often celebrated on the actual day without him, or waited for a deferred party when he would return home. Brenda's family, on the other hand, were really big on birthdays and made a point to do it on the day itself, no matter what, with as many people and presents as possible.
When the day came I was busy bolting down some cereal in a vain attempt to save a few minutes on the morning rush. I'm not really a morning person, and it's usually all I can do to shower and dress myself without assistance. At this bleary point in the morning I'd already forgotten what day it was. Brenda, who of course is a morning person, fairly skipped into the kitchen and gave me a peck on the cheek. "We're all set," she said chirpily.
"Set for what?" I warily replied, expecting the standard lecture about not listening, or forgetting an agreed-upon commitment.
"For your birthday," she said. "I made the reservations last night."
"Reservations? Oh, okay. What restaurant?" There were several restaurants we wanted to try locally and quite a few in the city. Brenda was always reading restaurant reviews in the papers and online, so it could be any cuisine anywhere.
"Well, it's more of a supper club that a restaurant," she replied as she poured herself a second coffee. "I've read about it a few times and it's quite trendy and hard to get in. Fortunately there was a cancellation. It's at nine o'clock in the city so we both have time to come home and change. The kids are at my mother's tonight so we can relax and take our time."
The day went by uneventfully. I've always been cagey about personal information like birthdays at work so I wasn't bothered by "surprises" in the break room or anything like that. I did cut out a few minutes early to get a jump on the afternoon rush so I'd be home by six. I got in right on time and tossed the mail on the kitchen table, made myself a vodka martini and went upstairs. Even though I wasn't dirty I took another shower to be fresh for our dinner date. As I washed I heard Brenda come in and get changed in the bedroom. I called out a friendly hello and she returned it. We were both in a great mood.
I dressed in a charcoal turtleneck, black trousers and black leather blazer. Brenda was dolled up in her clingy black wrap dress and black knee-high boots. She had just come from the salon and her shoulder-length blonde hair looked fantastic. I looked myself over as I grabbed the keys. My thinning grey hair was neatly combed, and though I could stand to lose a few pounds I was still presentable. Brenda was still as beautiful as the day we married, a bit curvier and a few grey hairs here and there, but she still set me on fire with desire. We weren't kids anymore, but we made the attempt to still look attractive for each other. We were gently slipping into middle age and loved each other as much as when we met in our late twenties.
The drive into the city was uneventful and we parked in our favorite inexpensive parking garage. It was about fifteen blocks from the club, but it was a pleasant May evening and Brenda's heels weren't too high so we walked, taking in the sights and sounds of the neighborhood.
The maitre'd, a distinguished Brit with a salt-and-pepper crewcut and crisp black tuxedo, greeted us warmly, shaking my hand firmly and kissing Brenda's hand in the manner of the old movies. He beckoned over an exquisite young black woman, tall and elegant, wearing a floor length black gown slit to the thigh. The gown was sleeveless but her arms were adorned with black leather opera-length gloves. Her skin, the color of cocoa, glowed with good health and her face was expertly made up, her relaxed hair softly flowing around her shoulders. She smiled at us, her almost-black eyes flashing, her perfectly painted red lips revealing perfect white teeth. She resembled the beautiful actress who played the District Attorney in NYPD Blue.
"This is Diane," the maitre'd said, "and she will be taking care of you." I gaped in disbelief. Diane seemed like a guest; I couldn't believe that she was an employee.
"Pleased to meet you," she said and shook both our hands. The leather of her glove was soft and smooth, finer than any I'd ever felt. The heat from her body warmed the glove nicely. The contact started a familiar stirring in my pants, but Diane disengaged her hand, picked up two menus, and led us to her table as if she owned the place.
As we settled in I looked at our surroundings. The club was quite sumptuous. All the servers were attractive women, attired in evening gowns and gloves. It was if we were at a formal event. A tall blonde strode by in a silver sequined dress cut low to show her ample cleavage and her gloves seemed to be a metallic silver or grey leather in the club's lighting. A striking Asian woman was across the room in a form fitting red silk Mandarin dress and long black groves similar to Diane's.
Directly across from us sat an elegant couple that I assumed to be in their mid-to-late fifties. He was a large man in a crisp business suit and dark red tie, his white hair short and neatly cropped. She was stunning, her still-beautiful face barely lined, expertly made up and framed by an obviously expensive chin-length razor-cut bob. We were no slobs, but this couple was the type to stop traffic. The other tables all had well-dressed couples ranging from their early thirties to their sixties. This was a swank crowd.
The meal was spectacular. My filet mignon with its red wine reduction sauce was exquisite. Brenda's lobster met with her approval. The bug was expertly yet gracefully devoured, and she refused the paper bib, no small feat when considering the messiness of lobster. I'm not much of a seafood fan, but watching her sensuously demolish the succulent white meat made me want a lobster of my own and also turned me on tremendously
Diane returned after the meal. "We will be serving dessert soon. In the meantime, would you care for an after-dinner drink?"
"I'd like to finish my wine, thanks. Brenda?"
"Just some water for me, please."
"Coming right up." Diane bustled off while the singer began her show in earnest.
Brenda scooted next to me on the booth. "So what do you think of the club?" she asked, lightly brushing my arm.
"I like it very much. I feel like a member of something very exclusive."
"I'm glad. You're so difficult to get gifts for. I thought you'd appreciate an experience rather than something I picked up at the mall."
"It certainly is an experience. The food, the cocktails-all top notch. The entertainment. And the hostesses-they're gorgeous. It's like being served by a fashion model."
"That's part of the allure of this place. When I read the review I knew I had to take you here." She leaned in close and gave me a quick kiss. For a brief moment her tongue darted into my mouth and I could taste the lobster.
Diane returned with Brenda's water and sat next to me again. As she pressed next to me I could feel the warmth of her body. I caught a waft of delicate, expensive perfume. "So, how was the meal?" she asked. She was so close I could kiss her succulent red lips. I was getting uncomfortable. This beautiful woman was behaving very flirtaciously with me whle my wife sat right next to us! Strangely, Brenda simply smiled and took another sip of her drink.
"Ummm... I'd like to see the desserts...?" I stammered.
"Our dessert list is rather limited," Diane replied. She placed her gloved palm on my cheek and softly caressed my face. I felt the smooth leather glide over my skin and inhaled its pungent, earthy aroma. The hand slid lower, gliding across my chest and pinching a nipple playfully, then down into my lap. "What the...?" I stammered. What the hell was going on here?
"This is your gift," Brenda said to me sweetly. "I'd read about this club where on top of getting some of the best food in the city you also get the happiest ending you'll ever get for the rest of your life. Enjoy, darling!" She raised her hand to me in a toast and watched me with a gleam in her eye I hadn't seen in years.
Diane snuggled in close and deftly undid my pants. My penis was fished out and in her hand so quickly I hadn't even gotten hard yet. The warmth of her hand radiated through the leather as she gripped me firmly. Leaning into me as she was I not only inhaled her perfume but could also detect, albeit faintly, the wonderful leather aroma of her gloves as well. The hand lightened its grip and began stroking up and down, the fingertips barely brushing the sensitive skin of my penis. A gloved index finger slowly swirled around the corona and head of my erection, allowing minute amounts of precum to ooze forth.
Diane leaned across me and I felt the weight of her body as she spoke to Brenda. "So, how do we usually do this?" she asked, never letting go of me.
"I usually stroke him for a good long time," Brenda answered after taking a sip. "I like to get him writhing in frustration, and then unexpectedly change things up, jerking him tightly and as hard as I can until he shoots."
"Mmmm, a delicious technique," Diane purred. "Not terribly different from my own." The stroking continued. Sometimes just the tips of her fingers would brush the skin of my cock and ever so lightly tickle the hair on my balls, sending goosebumps throughout my body. Sometimes she would grip me and stroke softly and slowly until I thought I would shoot, at which point she would stop and change techniques once more.
In my more lucid moments I looked around the room. The hostesses were all seated at their respective tables. The Asian hostess sat closely next to the elegant gray-haired woman, one gloved arm holding her tightly by the shoulders as the other reached below the table. The woman's eyes were tightly closed and her open mouth formed a small 'O' as she sat stock still, her arms hanging by her sides. It was hard to see from my vantage point but from the rythmic movements of the hostess' arm she appeared to be fingering her customer quite vigorously. The beautiful Asian leaned in and flickered her tongue into the woman's ear and she visibly stiffered, moaning as the hostess pumped harder. During all this her husband sat impassively, saying nothing as his wife was publicly masturbated. He calmly sipped his cappuccino and stared intently at the scene before him.
I was snapped back to my own situation by the renewed vigor of the gloved hand in my own lap. Diane was stroking slowly up and down in a pleasant rhythm when her hand suddenly stopped and squeezed hard. Again a teasing finger traced around the tip of the glans and electricity shot through my body. I sat gasping for air, a light sweat breaking on my brow. My wife picked up a napkin and dabbed my forehead, kissing me lightly on the cheek.
In the corner of my eye I saw Diane make a silent inquiry, as if to ask Brenda 'now?' Brenda nodded, and Diane went busily to work. I was gripped again and stroked, but now I was held more tightly than before. The sensual, gentle strokes became quicker and harder, as if Diane were trying to yank my penis off. Her strokes were expertly timed, and it was if she had become a handjob machine. My balls began to tighten and churn, and were tickled once more by feathery fingertip brushes.
Almost paralyzed by sensation, I sat stupidly, my eyes rolling back and my jaw slack. I felt Diane's thick sensuous lips grazing my neck and ear. I felt the warmth of her sweet breath and a long wet tongue suddenly struck into my ear. Brenda leaned in and grabbed my face, plunging her own tongue into my mouth, frenching me with an intensity not felt since our dating days.
Diane yanked me ferociously, her thumb cruelly rubbing the overexcited nerves of my glans at the apex of her upstokes. Her other hand tickled and fondled my bursting testicles, occasionally squeezing to the point of pain and then releasing them. Finally the moment arrived, and I felt a surge fly from my balls and up my penis with the speed of a freight train. The hand tickling my balls instantly flew up to catch as much of my load as possible as the other wanking me continued, pulling so hard my ass almost left my seat. I was milked past human endurance, and all the while Brenda held my face in her hands, kissing me passionately, her tongue seeming to reach down into my lungs.
Eventually I stopped ejaculating but my body continued convulsing for quite some time. Diane removed her hand from under the table and showed us the result of her handiwork. Her exquisite black leather glove was absolutely dripping with cum, globs falling wetly onto the tablecloth. The blackness of her palm had been replaced by the viscous white of my semen, and Diane smiled like a child presenting her parents with a hard-won school trophy. Brenda kissed me again, a light buss this time, and smiled. "Happy birthday, sweetie," she cooed.
"Thanks," I mumbled as if drunk, "to both of you."
Brenda took Diane's soaked hand and held it to her mouth, lapping my semen off the leather. Diane was a bit surprised at this and moaned at the gesture, enjoying her hand being licked clean. Brenda continued until the glove was once more black, licking between Diane's fingers ad sucking each one like a small cock. Finally she released Diane's hand and kissed me deeply, swirling the last remains of my seed into my surprised mouth. We sat kissing like teenagers while Diane cleaned my still semi-hard cock and aching balls with a hot wet towel and gently tucked me in and zipped me up.
"I hope you enjoyed your meal," Diane said as she got up to leave. "It was my pleasure to serve you tonight.
"The pleasure was all mine," I croaked.
"Thank you so much for the wonderful evening," Brenda added.
"Good night," said Diane, and she leaned in and kissed us both gently on the cheek. "I must get ready for the next seating."
