Gloves and latex dresses

It's story time again! This time it's just a silly erotic story, but one that I had a lot of fun writing. And as I always say, I hope you enjoy the read as much as I enjoyed the writing.

Before we begin, this story takes place in Italy, so here's a short glossary of Italian words, just in case:

Signore: Mr/Sir Signora: Mrs/Madam Signorina: Miss palazzo: a palace or mansion Ticino: a region of Switzerland where Italian is spoken Lugano: main city in Ticino grotto: a traditional pub in Ticino, usually in quiet rural locations pietra dura: a decorative technique where hard stones like marble are carved and the carvings are fitted with coloured stones or gems. Famously found in India's Taj Mahal, but actually invented in Italy. lido: a public outdoor swimming pool or a lakeside beach with swimming-pool-like facilities

Edoardo Porcaroli was a wealthy industrialist well known in all of Italy. He lived on a small private island located at the centre of one of the big lakes in northern Italy. The whole island was occupied by a magnificent 17th-Century palazzo and by luscious gardens famous for their exotic flowers, and for an army of giant blue peacocks that roamed around freely.

He was a regular customer of the small Milano-based travel agency where I used to work when I was twenty-five years old. In a time in which most people could plan and book their holidays themselves over the internet, our agency’s unique selling point was that we only served wealthy customers who wanted to get access to exclusive offers that were not available anywhere else.

Edoardo was very good-looking and I didn’t regard him as old despite him being forty. He dressed with impeccable Mediterranean elegance and had a dazzling smile that made heads turn everywhere he went.

Another reason why he drew so much attention when he entered a room was Benedetta Ciampi, his personal assistant. This thirty-year-old woman was the epitome of Italian female beauty and sophistication. She was always dressed in business-formal attire and leather opera gloves that hugged her hands like a second skin. She usually wore her hair in a tight bun, which she probably did to appear professional, but which I also think gave her a certain air of sexy librarian.

Benedetta followed Edoardo like a ghost. In fact, there was not a single photo of Edoardo (who was often in newspapers and tabloids) where Benedetta wasn’t close by. She usually stood to his right, exactly half a step behind him, which made it clear that he was the boss. However, her demeanour was in no way demure or timid. To me she looked like a dominant woman who held a lot of power in her gloved hands.

One day, Edoardo came to the agency without his assistant, and that day he specifically asked to be seen by me. My boss happily led him to my desk and offered him a cup of coffee, and I asked him what kind of destination he had in mind. He smiled brightly and said:

“Where do YOU want to go?”

I was not at all prepared to get that answer. It was no secret that Edoardo liked to surround himself with beautiful and famous women, and that the frequent travels he booked with us had the purpose of offering his dates unique experiences. With those words he was asking me on a date.

“I don’t quite understand, Signore,” I replied cautiously at first. But then, the words just burst out of my mouth: “Why me? I’m not rich or famous. And I am totally uninteresting!”

“True, you’re not famous. But you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and that makes you interesting to me,” he said. “Besides, what better way to learn what makes you interesting, Signorina Ferrari, than taking you out? May I call you Giulia?”

I went on a date with him that very evening, and I even agreed to change into a red gown that was waiting for me in his helicopter.

After a half-hour helicopter tour above Milano, he took me to one of those clubs with tuxedoed bouncers that normal people only can walk by without ever knowing what goes on inside. It was a bit like having a date with James Bond. We entered the club and they greeted him like he owned the place; then they led us to a private room with exquisite furniture and artwork, soft lighting and a subtle perfume that lingered in the air.

To top the unexpected, we were served by two topless waitresses with white cotton gloves and Venetian masks. I asked him why he thought that that was an appropriate place to have a first date with a respectable woman, to which he replied with a smug smile on his lips:

“Do female breasts offend you? Why on Earth? You have a magnificent pair yourself!”

The sheer shamelessness with which he said that made me laugh, and I realised that the presence of those sculptural women was no reason for me to be uncomfortable. After that I fully enjoyed my evening with Edoardo.

I probably never got to love Edoardo the way he wanted me to, but the truth is that it was very hard to resist his charm, and thus I accepted every date he proposed, and before long we took a trip organised by my own travel agency.

We spent a week at the private palace of a former Maharajah family in Rajasthan — a jewel of Mughal architecture with pietra dura ornaments and marble lattices that rivalled the Taj Mahal. Our room was at the top of a tower, and it had its own lotus-shaped pool with musk-infused water. From up there we had a magnificent view of the jungle and the intensely red sky at sunset. It was during one of those magical sunsets that we made love for the first time and I felt that I would say yes if he asked me to marry him.

Long story short, I did marry Edoardo, but not quite the conventional way, with months-long planning and invitations and a hen party with my friends. Edoardo and I were on one of our “regular” dates in Ticino. We had had lunch in a lovely little grotto and were strolling along Lugano’s lake promenade when he suddenly grabbed my hand and dragged me across the street and into a small church. He hugged the priest, who turned out to be a friend of his, and whispered something in his ear. The priest then left and Edoardo knelt down and asked me to marry him there and then. However, instead of a giving me a ring, he slid his hand into the right pocket of his jacket and took out a pair of white leather opera gloves similar to the ones that his assistant Benedetta used to wear, and who, by the way, I hadn’t seen again since I had started dating Edoardo.

The priest returned wearing his ceremonial clothes, and while he prepared the chalice and other ceremonial paraphernalia, Edoardo helped me put the gloves on, and just a few minutes later I became his wife.

Perhaps it’s symbolic of the kind of relationship I had with Edoardo, but I didn’t even question why he had those gloves in his pocket in the first place. I simply put them on and married him without a second thought, and when we left the church and returned to the lake promenade like nothing had happened, I felt like I had to ask him for permission to take my gloves off.

“Those gloves are yours now, Giulia, and you can do with them whatever you want. You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to, but I will cherish every occasion you do wear them, for they are a symbol of our union.”

I couldn’t take my gloves off after hearing those words, so I kept them on for the rest of the day. In fact, I still had them on when we had sex as a married couple that night. His penis was harder than it had ever been before and his lust was insatiable, and that’s how I understood that he had a glove fetish. And although him having a fetish didn’t bother me, it bothered me that Benedetta was always gloved because I took that as a sign that she wanted my husband to like her.

Once married to Edoardo, I gave up my job at the agency and became the lady of the island palazzo. He had a dozen house servants, all female, all young and beautiful, and all dressed in pastel-coloured Roman-style togas and satin opera gloves.

The most beautiful of them was a twenty-year-old redhead with the body of a classical marble statue and velvety white skin. Her name was Sofia Bianchi. While other servants were assigned specific fixed duties like working in the kitchen or the laundry room, Sofia’s assignment was to follow Edo everywhere and to make him happy. She served us dinner and stood by while we ate, ready to help whenever needed. For dessert, she fed him grapes by hand, and after that she sat on the floor and massaged Edo’s feet while he was reading the newspaper. Later she tended to his bed and even helped him wash himself. And she did all of that with her opera gloves on, and if it was an activity that could soil her gloves, she pulled a pair of disposable latex gloves over her regular ones.

I would have resented Sofia for all the things she did for Edo if it wasn’t because I often saw her snog one of the gardeners, and because Edo didn’t pay any real attention to her. She seemed to be just a service provider to him.

The person I resented was Benedetta, the leather-gloved “librarian” who had not actually left Edo’s life. In fact, she lived with us in the palazzo. She went with him wherever he went, in particular when he left home for work-related activities. And when they returned home, they spent hours working together in the palazzo’s library. The only one of Edo’s activities which wasn’t part of Benedetta’s job description were his romantic dates, which is the only reason why I hadn’t seen Benedetta in the months in which Edo and I were dating.

Although I was not unhappy, I often felt lonely. I had a boat at my disposal so I could leave the island if Edo was gone, but the boat could take me only to the lake shore, and from there it still was an awfully long way to Milano, where all my friends worked and lived. And thus, I spent many hours every day with nobody but Sofia, while Edo and Benedetta were gone working. Sofia kept me company. We used to talk or to watch the telly together, and sometimes we played chess or card games. Once, I observed with surprise how expertly Sofia handled the playing cards with her eternally gloved hands, and I pitied her for being a slave of Edo’s fetish. I told her that she was allowed to take her gloves off, given that Edo was not at home.

She shook her head and said:

“Don’t worry about that, Signora Giulia. I’ve been wearing gloves for so many years that I feel incomplete without them. I even sleep in gloves.”

Some months later, Benedetta started staying at home while Edo went out to work, first just sporadically for a day or two every week, but eventually Edo started going on “work-related trips” that lasted several days. One day he said he was going away for two weeks, but he didn’t tell me any details about where he was going, nor did he explain to me why Benedetta was not going with him.

On the first three of those fourteen days, dinner was the only time of the day at which I saw Benedetta. Edo always used to sit at the top of the long dinner table, Benedetta to Edo’s right, and I to Edo’s left, directly facing Benedetta, and yet separated from her by an invisible wall. When Edo was gone, Benedetta and I still sat at our usual spots, facing each other but not really sharing the meal with each other. She was distanced and cold, and she continued to wear her business suits and leather opera gloves.

“Why are you like that, Benedetta?” I asked with anger.

She laid down her fork and looked me in the eyes.

“Like what, Giulia?”

I didn’t expect Benedetta to call me “Signora”, like Sofia and the other servants did, but the way she said my name felt like an insult.

“Why do you have to be such a bitch?”

“I am not,” she said, and she went on eating, apparently untouched by my words.

“Have you had sex with Edoardo?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“More than once?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love him?”

“No.”

She answered clearly and without a flinch. That made me rabid.

“Have you slept with each other after I married him?” I asked with my voice close to breaking.

And then something unexpected happened: Benedetta lowered her gaze and fidgeted nervously with her fork.

“It didn’t mean anything,” she said. “I was bored in that hotel room, and... It was just for fun.”

Tears of rage washed down my face. I stood up and tried to slap her, but she caught my hand and held it firmly.

“Don’t do that, Giulia. I’m not your enemy. Don’t you see that it’s not me who is hurting you?”

“Who then?” I sobbed.

Benedetta grabbed a serviette and cleaned the tears off my cheeks. “You know the answer yourself, Giulia. You know I always accompany Edoardo anywhere he goes. Except when he has romantic meetings.”

The next morning, I called the travel agency and asked whether Edoardo had recently booked any trips.

“Yes, he wanted to do that Rajasthan trip again. He said it had been so romantic!” replied one of my former co-workers enthusiastically. And then she stopped and her voice changed instantly. “Wait! You’re not with him in Rajasthan right now? Why?”

Because he was on a date with someone else.

I fetched the white leather gloves Edoardo had given me for our wedding, cut them in pieces with a pair of gardening scissors, and told one of the gardeners to bury the pieces.

“What are you doing?”

I turned around and saw Benedetta in the eyes. The way she asked that question didn’t sound judgemental, so I answered.

“Those are the gloves I wore on our wedding night. And every time we had sex since then. I don’t want to see them ever again.”

Benedetta hugged me strongly and I cried in her gloved arms, and I’m not sure she did, but I think she kissed the top of my head while she was hugging me.

“Giulia, cry if you think that helps, but in the end, the only thing that will really help you is discovering that you can be happy without him. If you want, I can help you with that. This evening, at dinner.”

I nodded in agreement and she tightened her hug, which lasted perhaps one more minute, but which to me felt like an eternity. And much too short at the same time.

I didn’t know what Benedetta had in mind, but that evening I put on my best gown and went to the dining room, mostly feeling curious about the emotions I had felt when Benedetta hugged me.

I had no love or respect for Edoardo any more, and so I symbolically took a seat on his chair at the top of the table. Sofia, who was looking beautiful in a peach-coloured toga and white opera gloves, smiled and diligently moved the cutlery she had laid out for me to the spot I chose.

A minute later, Benedetta entered the dining room. For the first time ever, she was wearing her sumptuous wavy hair down. It framed her gorgeous face beautifully. And she had exchanged her business suit for a long-sleeved silk robe. However, she was still wearing her black gloves, though they were looking a lot shinier than usual.

She sat down at the other end of the long dining table. Strangely though, albeit the physical distance between us being much larger than usual, I felt closer to her. The wall that used to divide us was gone.

Sofia served us dinner and stood close by while Benedetta and I ate and talked with each other. As usual, Benedetta’s answers were short and assertive, but that evening her eyes sparkled.

“Is it true?” I asked. “What you said earlier?”

“What exactly?”

“Will you show me how to be happy without him?”

“I want to.”

“I want to hurt him,” I said.

“Understandable.”

“But if you help me do that, you would be betraying him.”

“Edoardo doesn’t deserve my loyalty. He’s betrayed me many times.”

“You said you didn’t love him,” I argued. “How can he have betrayed you?”

Benedetta sighed. For the first time ever, she was out of words.

“Let’s just say...” she said, “He likes to think that some of my best ideas are actually his ideas. But let’s quit the idle talk, shall we?”

And with that, Benedetta gave Sofia a sign, upon which Sofia helped Benedetta out of her robe. And then Benedetta climbed onto the dining table.

She walked down the length of the dining table, like a fashion model on a catwalk, while Sofia barely had time to push the empty dishes out of Benedetta’s way. Benedetta did it deliberately to exhibit her power, and I think she intentionally scratched the expensive rosewood table with her high heels.

And, of course, she also did it to exhibit the exaggerated beauty of her naked body. She was wearing nothing except for her gloves, and when the robe came off, it turned out that those were not her usual leather gloves. The gloves she was wearing that evening went all the way up to Benedetta’s shoulders, and they were made of an insanely shiny material that seemed like glued to her skin. Those gloves were made of latex, but they looked like a high-fashion product!

Benedetta stopped when she arrived at my spot, and I stood up and directly faced her marvel of a bush. I had never had anything with a woman before, but all of a sudden I wanted to bury my face between her legs.

“You want to seduce me?” I asked.

“If you want to.”

“Do you love me?”

“No. But I have desired you since the first time I saw you.”

She knelt down and gifted me her brightest smile. I smiled back and she held my face in her gloved hands and gave me a long and tender kiss. It was the most wonderful mix of sensations — the sweet taste of the fruit she had just eaten, combined with the intoxicating rubber aroma that her gloves emanated.

“Would you wear gloves for me, please, Giulia?”

“No,” I said. “This night is about us. Why should we do something that Edoardo imposes on us?”

“Don’t be silly!” said Benedetta with a giggle. “I’ve had a glove fetish since the day I was born. And all the women in this house wear gloves because I want them to. Ask Sofia if you want.”

I looked at Sofia, who was standing just a foot away, staring at us with wide eyes and a lustful smile, and she simply nodded her head.

“But Edoardo?”

“Edoardo thinks he likes gloves because I do. That’s what I told you. He likes to steal my ideas.”

“Well, then,” I said. “I’ll wear gloves for you tonight, but I want to wear your gloves, the ones you’re wearing now.”

“Absolutely not!” She laughed out loud and kissed the tip of my nose. “But you can have a pair exactly like this.”

And then she looked at Sofia and pointed at the door with a slight head movement. Sofia nodded and immediately ran off to fetch me a pair of latex gloves.

While Sofia was away, Benedetta undressed me and made me lie on the dining table.

“I knew that you liked gloves,” she said. “You may think I haven’t noticed, but you always stare at my gloved hands.”

And then she delicately traced the curvature of my breasts with her latex-covered finger. She barely touched my skin, but my brain was flooded with overwhelming input nonetheless. The result: goosebumps on my back, the heat of sexual desire inside my body, the need to kiss Benedetta’s fleshy lips!

When Sofia returned, she was wearing a pair of shoulder-length latex gloves herself. They were the perfect shade of pink to match her toga, while the gloves that she had chosen for me were red. However, I was disappointed that they were not shiny at all. But after she had helped me put them on, she poured a viscous liquid into Benedetta’s gloved hands, who then rubbed my hands and arms with that liquid and made my red gloves shine like the sun. It was like she was photoshopping reality for my enjoyment.

Paradoxically, having those gloves on didn’t affect my tactile sense. In fact, I became more aware of the texture of all the things I was touching, and just the act of exploring Benedetta’s body was enough to bring me to the brink of orgasm. Feeling her skin through the latex that coated my fingers sent bolts of immense pleasure through my whole nervous system. Besides, our shiny latex gloves were infinitely more beautiful to look at than our bare hands. I’m not saying that I have a glove fetish. Benedetta’s sculptural naked body would have turned me on without gloves as well, but I can’t deny that long latex gloves make sex better.

After a while of exploration we ended up sixty-nining on the dining table. It was my first time eating pussy, and I loved it! Her delicate, pink labia were a work of art, beautiful to look at, and why not, even delicious to taste and smell!

It may be due to the newness of it all, but I was the first one to orgasm, and that orgasm was the most intense of my life up to that day. I remember being happy that I had short nails because otherwise, the intensity with which my body’s core was contracting would have made me puncture my gloves as I sunk my fingers into Benedetta’s flesh. I grabbed her buttocks with my hands, and buried my nose between her legs and screamed into her vulva. And then, all of my muscles suddenly relaxed and caused an explosive release of sexual tension that I will never forget.

After that I was drained, but I kept licking Benedetta’s clit and fucking her vagina with my latex fingers as well as I could. Soon after, she came, too, and then we made out passionately and licked our vaginas’ juices off each other’s gloves.

We stopped after a while because we heard a faint moaning close by.

It was Sofia. She had not left the room while Benedetta and I were satisfying each other. On the contrary, she had been watching us all the time, and at some point she had taken off her toga and had started to rub her clit and her breasts with her latex-gloved hands.

She immediately hid her hands behind her back when she realised that we were watching her, and her freckled cheeks turned nearly as red as her hair.

Benedetta laughed out loud and jumped off the table.

“What are you hiding, Sofia? You think we are dumb?” she asked, taking Sofia’s hand. And then she looked at me and asked: “Do you mind, Giulia?”

“Not at all!”

So Benedetta took my hand as well and lead Sofia and me to the swimming pool in the basement. On our way there we walked past some of the house servants, who averted their gaze politely, and I briefly wondered what they thought at the sight of three naked women with shoulder-length latex gloves. However, neither Benedetta nor Sofia seemed to care, so why was I supposed to care! It was my house, after all.

We stepped into the Jacuzzi and the pool boy turned on the bubbles and left hastily. Benedetta and I made Sofia sit in the middle, and we started off fondling her breasts with our latex-covered hands, and kissing her neck and her earlobes, and Sofia giggled like a teenager. I also fellated Sofia’s latex-covered fingers, which initially felt like a silly idea out of a cheap porn film, but which turned out to be highly enjoyable. I simply loved to feel the smooth latex in my mouth, and the intimacy of the act turned me on like crazy.

Then Benedetta and I took turns going underwater and licking Sofia’s vulva while the other one of us remained above water and kissed Sofia’s sweet young mouth, and we didn’t need much effort to make Sofia reach a cosmic orgasm that made the otherwise gentle girl scream like she was giving birth.

When Sofia’s spasms ebbed, she smiled and cried at the same time.

“Thank you, Signora Giulia, thank you, Beni!”

“No need to thank us,” said Benedetta.

“It was our pleasure,” I said.

Sofia gave each one of us a final kiss and stepped out of the water.

“Can I do anything for you?”

“Yes, bring us champagne,” said Benedetta.

“And have a glass yourself,” I said.

While Sofia was gone, Benedetta and I played in the water. Being in a pool wearing gloves was a new experience to me, one that I thoroughly relished. When you’re underwater, you are usually not aware of the increased pressure that the water exercises. But when you’re wearing tight latex gloves that cover your whole arm, you can feel how strongly the water encloses you. As I said before, being gloved increased my tactile sensitivity instead of reducing it, and being aware of that paradox alone was enough to turn me on.

After drinking the champagne that Sofia brought us, Benedetta and I had a shower together, with our gloves still on, obviously.

But Benedetta went away soon because she wanted to change into fresh gloves and she insisted that I do not see her bare hands. Sofia stayed with me and helped me out of my gloves, and I massaged my arms under the warm rain of the shower.

The tight latex had left red marks all over my skin, especially on the inner side of my elbows, but I felt that those were marks of love. The sweet pain of being gloved!

Sofia, who was still naked except for her gloves, dried me with a fluffy towel and accompanied me to my bedroom, where she had already prepared something for me. A rainbow of shoulder-length latex gloves was displayed on my bed.

“Which colour do you want to wear, Signora?”

“You want me to sleep in latex gloves?” I asked, massaging the achy spots on my arms.

“Don’t do it for me, Signora Giulia! But Beni is waiting for you in her bedroom. I don’t think she’s done with you yet.”

I donned a pair of electric blue gloves and went to Benedetta’s room. She welcomed me with a long and passionate kiss and then led me to her bed where we made out while we caressed each other with our latex-gloved hands. It was a wild night. I had at least six more orgasms, drank a full bottle of champagne and ended up wearing those blue latex gloves for fourteen hours straight.

After that night, Benedetta and I had sex every day until Edoardo’s return ten days later. We did it in every room of the palazzo, and even outside in the gardens, with total disregard for who was watching. And every single time we had shoulder-length latex gloves on. In fact, the last five days I donned my sex gloves early in the morning and didn’t remove them for the rest of the day because it was easier that way.

We also talked a lot and got to know each other. I didn’t fall in love with her right away, but I soon learnt that Benedetta was a highly intelligent and interesting woman with whom the long hours of the day became short and enjoyable.

During those days also my relationship with Sofia changed. Sometimes I caught her giving me longing looks while she wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue. And rather than finding it inappropriate, I was flattered that the gorgeous redhead was turned on by my mere presence. So I would kiss her briefly like when you casually pet a child or a pet when you walk past them. Sometimes I stopped and inserted my gloved hand under her toga and fondled her breasts or her pubic area for a moment, and that made her purr like a kitten.

However, all this overly sexual behaviour ended when Edoardo returned home from his long trip. Benedetta and I went back to treating each other with the cold distance we used to cultivate before Edoardo’s betrayal. And Sofia lent all her attention to Edoardo, giving Benedetta and me not even a side glance.

Hence, Edoardo didn’t suspect that something had changed while he was gone, except for the obvious fact that now I wore opera gloves at all times — the finest unlined leather gloves during the day, and comfortable satin gloves for sleeping. Which made my conceited husband very happy because he undeniably thought that I did it for him.

As for my relationship with Edoardo, he definitely was betraying me, but I didn’t care. In fact, I didn’t even feel any jealousy or anger any more. But I soon started to find my life awfully boring, and I increasingly regarded Edoardo as an obstacle to my happiness.

I was starting to fall in love with Benedetta, and the occasional dates we had when Edoardo went out were not enough to satisfy my appetite for Benedetta. I longed to be with her all the time, and I wanted to sleep in her bed every night, and I wanted to feed her fruit with my gloved hands, and I wanted to make love to her in the open, and I wanted to go on trips with her and to introduce her to my friends.

And thus, one night, when Edoardo returned home from one of his dates, I made a huge fuss about nothing and even mentioned the possibility of a divorce.

“And then what?” he challenged me. “Will you go back to the travel agency and be the nobody you used to be before you married me?”

He slammed the door when he left the room, and a few minutes later I heard the engine of his boat fade away in the distance.

He didn’t come back that night. Nor the next day, nor the day after.

On the third day I called the police, and they found Edoardo’s boat stranded on a small island on the Swiss side of the lake, but there was no trace of Edoardo. They looked for him all over the shore of the lake and even had their elite divers look for him underwater, but they didn’t find him.

They were about to give up the search when a body washed up on the lido of one of the lake villages. It was blue and bloated with water, and since it was summer, it was decomposing rapidly. But the forensic specialists determined with certainty that it was Edoardo. Since they also determined that drowning had been the sole cause of dead, and since they had found open bottles of wine and vodka in the boat’s cabin, they concluded that he must have been drunk and fallen overboard. Thus his death was deemed a self-inflicted accident, and Edoardo Porcaroli became nothing more than the victim’s name in a closed case.

-----------------------------------------------

It’s been nearly two years since Edoardo died.

Upon his death, I became the sole owner of his estate and fortune, as well as the administrator of all his businesses. It was not easy at the beginning because I didn’t have an identity of my own. I was just “Porcaroli’s girl”, a young woman from a common family with no history or achievements of her own. More than one of Edoardo’s former business associates tried to trick me into signing up for disadvantageous deals, and even into selling them some of Edoardo’s enterprises under value.

But I had Benedetta. It turns out that she had been the big brain behind Edoardo’s business success all along, and she was by my side. She taught me all there is to know about business and about the art of negotiation. At the beginning, they derisively referred to us as us Porcaroli’s Widows. Later, when they realised that they couldn’t trick us so easily, they started calling us the Gloved Bitches. And now that the Porcaroli business empire is eating them all up, Benedetta and I are on the covers of business magazines.

Funnily though, in those magazines, every single interview starts either pointing out that we are “not just smart, but also beautiful”, or asking why it is that we both wear opera gloves 24/7. There is not a single photo of us without our opera gloves, neither interview photos, nor “private” photos in our Instagram accounts, nor paparazzi pics.

Unlike Edoardo, who didn’t recognise Benedetta’s worth, I value her, and I love her. She’s not my personal assistant, but my business partner, and she owns half of everything I own. By the way, we renamed the Porcaroli empire Corporazione Ferrari-Ciampi.

Benedetta is also my wife now.

We married last year, on the first anniversary of Edoardo’s demise. It was a beautiful ceremony in the gardens of our island palazzo, and we both wore quite plain white gowns, but combined with the most magnificent shoulder-length leather gloves. I went with white, which I think is the obvious choice for a bride, but Benedetta only ever wears black gloves. The media discussed for weeks which one of us had looked more striking: me in my white gloves, or Benedetta in her black gloves. I say she did, she says I did, and Sofia refuses to break the tie.

After we married, we bought a large flat in a beautiful historic house in Milano’s centre and established it as our permanent residence. We will always keep the island palazzo, but we both love city life and are much happier living in Milano.

Sofia lives with us, too, but she’s not our servant any more. We have a cleaning maid and a cook (who are allowed to dress however they want), and Sofia is... I don’t know what word to use so this doesn’t sound controversial. She’s not our slave — she’s free to leave us and live her own life if she wants to.

But as long as she’s with us, we own her. Her main purpose in life is to make Benedetta and me happy — to comfort us when we’re sad, to keep us company when we’re lonely, to satisfy us when we desire her.

But as I said before, Sofia is not our slave. In fact, she’s a student at Milano University, she has many friends of her own, and she can go anywhere she wants without our permission. Still, Sofia belongs to us, so there is one rule that she must absolutely abide by: she must come home and sleep under our roof every day.

There is a second condition, though it is not much of an imposition because she loves it: Sofia must wear shoulder-length gloves at all times. If we ever catch her or get wind that she has been seen anywhere in the city without her gloves, we will ban her from our lives for ever, and that includes the island. (Which would break her heart because she was born on the island and her grandmother still lives there.) But I’m sure that that will never happen because Sofia loves us, and we love her. We three are very happy, and I hope that this happiness will last for ever.

Though sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and shivering. Like right now. I feel my heart thumping loudly in my chest, and I cry thinking that we could lose it all.

Benedetta wakes up and turns on the light on her bedside table. “What’s wrong, Baby?” she asks. “The same nightmare again?”

“Yes,” I sob. “It is —”

“You don’t need to worry, my love. Because all the people in the world who know the truth about Edoardo’s death are in this room. And neither of us is ever going to tell anyone —”

“Because we’re all happier without him,” asserts Sofia, who, by the way, sleeps in our bed every night. She caresses my head with her gloved hands and kisses me all over.

I kiss my two women, their sweet lips and their gloved hands, and I thank them for being mine. And we all go back to sleep, knowing that our wonderful life can only get better every day.

Thank you, Edoardo! Rot in Hell!

-----------------------------------------------

Previous                 Index

———————————————–

I will never forget the first time I donned a pair of unlined leather gloves.  They were snug and ridiculously long, and I needed a lot of patience to slide them up my arms, carefully pulling here and there until my fingers fell into place.  As Alessandra had predicted, they didn’t feel good on my hands from the get go, but when the gloves finally bonded with my hands, the feeling was glorious!  The gloves stuck to my skin tightly, but they didn’t constrain me in any way.  The leather covering my hands felt like a part of myself.  For the first time in my life, I was complete.

I restarted the engine and resumed the pursuit.  I had stopped the car to don Willa’s leather gloves and had allowed Mhairi and Willa to walk out of my sight.  I needed to catch up with them, or I would lose them again.  I sped down Barton Lane, and at the end of the road I turned right onto Barton Road.  I arrived there in time to see the girls’ upper bodies disappear into the ground.

There was an underground pedestrian passage that crossed the motorway!  I suddenly understood why they had chosen that path.  The passage was an excellent shortcut, and now they were a lot closer to the Wallaces’ house.  But it was imperative that I intercepted them before they got there. If they arrived before me, they would have the chance to change their clothes and I wouldn’t be able to catch them in flagrante.

After a few miles of reckless driving, I stopped in front of the Wallaces’ house and waited in the car for the girls to arrive.  Only one minute later, they appeared at the far end of the road.  But they didn’t recognise me until they were about fifty yards away.  Mhairi stopped and tugged at Willa’s arm, pointing at me with her other hand.  Willa stopped, too; her head swayed forward.  She slowly shook her head, to which Mhairi nodded, and they advanced ten yards, very slowly.  They seemed to think that I was not going to see them just because they were tiptoeing.  Mhairi even put her finger to her lips and shushed Willa, to which I couldn’t but break out in laughter.

I waited until they were only ten yards away.  Then, I grabbed the riding crop and opened the car door.  The girls screamed before I stepped out.  They ran in circles around each other like cartoon mice do when they see the cat.

“Freeze, Willa Holloway!  Don’t try to escape,” I shouted as I stepped out of the car.

Willa stopped dead in her tracks.  Mhairi looked around, pacing nervously around Willa.  She couldn’t decide whether to stay with Willa or to run to the house.  Willa just stood there, with a blank stare in her eyes.  She slowly slid her hands into her jacket pockets, but it was too late.  I had already seen what I was not supposed to see.

I walked slowly towards the frozen girls, looking Willa directly in the eyes, and swinging the riding crop in my leather-covered hand.

“Wow, those gloves are awesome, Mrs. Holloway!” exclaimed Mhairi.  She actually meant it.  She took my hand and examined my glove.  The awe was written in her eyes.

“Thank you, Mhairi,” I said, patting her on the shoulder.  "Now go home.  This is between Willa and me.“

She didn’t go home, but she stepped back.  She stood behind Willa, waiting for what was about to happen.  She didn’t want to miss the show.

"Are those my gloves, Mother?” barked Willa.

“You never even tried them on.  They are mine now,” I said.

“You have no right!” she complained.

“Shut up!” I screamed, hitting the hood of the car with the riding crop as a warning.  That made them startle.

“Did you see yourself in a mirror, Mother?  You look ridiculous wearing long gloves.”

“And what’s with the riding crop?” asked Mhairi.

“Oh, that?” I tilted my head to look at Mhairi and smiled theatrically.  "Courtesy of the horse farm in Elsfield.  That’s where your mother thought you were today.“

Mhairi blushed and looked down.

"Are you wearing latex, Willa?” I asked, swinging the riding crop in front of her face.

“What’s it to you?” she screamed.

Willa and I started a prey-and-predator dance.  She turned around and around while I circled her like a lion, an arm length away from her at all times.  Whenever she tried to leave the circle, I blocked her way with the riding crop, if necessary hitting her with it on a thigh or an elbow.  I never hit hard enough to actually hurt her, but the cracking sound sent a clear message each time.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“At the bar, having ice cream,” mumbled Willa.

“What was that?  Speak up!”

“Having ice cream,” she squeaked. “I’m allowed to, ain’t I?

"You are, but not wearing latex.  What have I told you about wearing latex?”

“Not to wear it –”

“You’re mumbling again,” I yelled, hitting her elbow with the whip.

“Not to wear it in public,” she said, overenunciating.

“And what are you wearing, Willa?”

“Jeans, oi!” She rolled her eyes and raised her foot for me to see her jeans.

“And that?” I poked her in the stomach with the tip of the riding crop.

“A jacket.  It’s cold!” she grumbled.

“Underneath Willa,” I said, poking with the whip repeatedly. “Let me see your hands.  Don’t hide them.”

“But I’m cold,” she moaned.

“Show me your hands!”

She made a very sorry face and pulled her latex-covered hands slowly out of her pockets.

“What’s that, Willa?”

“Just gloves,” she said.  Her eyes filled up with tears.

“Those are not just gloves, Willa.  Those are latex gloves.”

“Just gloves,” she repeated, barely audibly.

“Take them off.”

“At home.”

“Now!” I commanded and hit her hand with the riding crop.

She howled with pain.  "I can’t,“ she said, rubbing the spot where the whip hat hit her hand.

"Listen, Willa: right now I’m thinking about throwing away your whole glove collection and seeing to it that you don’t get to see, much less wear, a glove until you turn eighteen, which is one-and-a-half years from now.  I swear I will make you clean the toilet without gloves!  But if you take your gloves off now, I could reduce your punishment to just one day.”

“I can’t,” she said again.

“Come here,” I said.

She stepped forward and I slowly pulled down the zipper of her jacket.  With a sigh, she took her jacket off, thus revealing what I already suspected: her gloves were shoulder-length.

“So this is why you couldn’t take your gloves off without removing your jacket,” I said.  I slid my finger between the cuff of her glove and her skin, then pulled the tight latex and let it snap back.  She jerked her arm away.  "And this is why you didn’t want to take the jacket off,“ I said, pointing at the latex that was stretched across her flat stomach.  "You were not supposed to wear this latex catsuit in public.  Am I right?”

“It was under the jacket,” she said.

“All the time?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Mhairi, did Willa keep the jacket on all the time?”

“Yes, Mrs. Holloway,” said Mhairi in a choked voice.  But she was obviously lying.

“Go home, Mhairi,” I said.  "And you…“ I pointed at Willa with the riding crop. "Get in the car.  And abandon all hope.  You are going to Hell for this!”

———————————————–

I arrived home late the night I came back from London, laden with two hundred pounds worth of gloves and a mystery gift.  Deep in my heart, I sensed that the contents of the cube-shaped box were going to change my life, but I had no idea how.

The house was dark and silent.  I went directly upstairs and stopped by Willa’s bedroom.  I put my ear to her door and heard classical music playing at a very low volume, but nothing else.  She was sound asleep.

I tiptoed quietly to my own bedroom and locked my door. My stomach was full of jittery feelings that I hadn’t experimented since I was a teenager myself.  I put my shopping bags on my bed and donned the satin gloves that I had got for myself.

I was bewildered by the sensations that went through my body.  I had put those gloves on at the shop, but wearing them in the intimacy of my locked bedroom felt different – alluring, sinful.  It was like having a tiny demon version of myself sitting on my shoulder and telling me to do naughty things just for the fun of doing them in gloves.  I was tempted for a second, but I decided to ignore the little shoulder devil for the time being.  There was something I had been dying to do, and I couldn’t wait any longer.  It was time to finally unwrap Alessandra’s mysterious gift.

I was flabbergasted when I saw the contents of the package.  It was an utterly unexpected item, and except for the fact that it was made of high-quality leather (The scent was overwhelming.), there was no obvious reason why a seller of luxury gloves would give it to me.

It was a neck corset (Although I didn’t know back then that that was the correct term for it.) – a very tall and stiff collar, formed such that whoever wore it wouldn’t be able to move their head in any direction.  It had three individual leather straps at the back for fastening, and a large metal ring at the front.  The metal buckles had luggage padlock eyelets.  It was not necessary to use padlocks to fasten the collar, but the fact that it was possible sent a shiver down my spine.

However, the collar was beautiful despite its threatening nature.  The inside was lined with a soft cotton fabric, and the outside was made of shiny, smooth leather with a decorative stitching.  It was probably expensive, and that added to my bewilderment.  What the hell had driven Alessandra to give me such a present?

I didn’t want to wear the collar, and I didn’t even try it on, but it was too beautiful a leather piece to throw it away, so I just hid it in my closet, and I forgot about it until more than a month later when I was at the Buchans’ horse farm.  As soon as I saw the reins hanging from the wall of their improvised shop, I pictured myself attaching them to the collar’s front ring.

I bought the reins, not knowing what I even wanted them for, but just an hour later, when I found out that my daughter was wearing latex in public, my little shoulder devil suggested to use the collar and the reins to punish Willa.  And I loved the idea!

When we got home, I opened the front door and Willa walked into the house.  She started going upstairs.

“Stop right there!” I commanded.  "Wait here,“ I said, pointing at the living room with the riding crop.  "And take those rubber boots off.  The jeans and jacket, too.  I want you in catsuit and gloves.  Nothing else.”

She nodded and carried herself to the living room while I went to her bedroom to retrieve the high-heel boots she had bought together with the latex catsuit she was wearing.  I went back down and threw the boots at her feet.

“Put those on,” I said.  "I will be back in a minute.“

"Why?  What are you planning?” she asked.  "I would rather have a shower.“

"Willa, you do know that I’m going to punish you for wearing latex in public, don’t you?  For the rest of the day, you belong to me.  And I suggest you do exactly what I instruct you to do, or you will regret it.  Now put those boots on.”

I went up to my bedroom, where I saw myself in long leather gloves for the first time.  I immediately fell in love with the image in the mirror.  Then I donned a pair of cowboy boots and an elegant white blouse with short sleeves.  It was not a riding attire, but I thought that it was close enough.  I remembered how powerful the woman at the horse farm had looked in her riding attire, and that’s exactly the image I wanted to channel when I showed Willa that I was in charge.  I felt powerful, too, thanks to my long leather gloves.

Finally, I retrieved Alessandra’s collar from its hiding place and attached the reins I had bought to the collar’s front ring.  Holding the collar in my left hand, and the riding crop in my right hand, I went back to the living room, where Willa was waiting.

Her spontaneous reaction was hearty laughter.

“So you fancy yourself what?  Where did you get those?” she asked, pointing at the collar and reins.  "You’re kinky, Mother!  Did Dad and you use those to –“

"Shut up!” I slapped her across the face, and the defiance she had shown before turned into an expression of controlled hatred.  She clenched her latex-gloved hands into shaking fists and stared at me feverishly.

Despite the muffled sound of that gloved slap, it had clearly hurt her, and for some reason, I enjoyed it more than I should have.  The leather gloves I was wearing were turning me into a different person.

“I learnt today that you and Mhairi love horses,” I said, pacing around Willa.  She snorted and I laughed.  "So you will be my pony today.  Let’s start with the tail,“ I said, giving her a hair tie.

She gathered her hair in her left hand and raised it with a twisting motion, then secured the tail with the hair tie.  Once more, I was witness to the astonishing dexterity of her latex-gloved hands.

I positioned myself behind Willa and put the collar around her neck.

"What are you doing?” she asked, shaking her head.

“Lift your chin,” I ordered and lashed her bottom with the riding crop.

She lifted her chin and her ponytail, and I proceeded to fasten the collar.  As expected, she wasn’t able to move her head in any direction.

“What the fuck, Mother?  My neck is too short for this.  Do you want to detach my head?  I can’t breathe,” she complained.

“Die, then.  I will cry at you funeral,” I said as I went to the kitchen to get a roll of duct tape.

I returned to the living room and found her crying silently.  Her latex-gloved arms hung limp at her sides.  I took her hands and used the duct tape to tie them together behind her back.  She didn’t resist in any way.

“Don’t you think you’ve taken the joke far enough?” she asked.  "I get the message.  You are the boss.  Now let’s end this, please.“

"No, Missy.  This is just the beginning,” I said.  I took the reins in my leather-gloved hand and pulled.  "Now move.  I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon training my little latex pony.“

There was not enough space in the living room for what I had in mind, so I made her follow me to the back garden.  Luckily, it was surrounded by a tall brick wall, so the neighbours wouldn’t be able to see the bizarre image – Willa wearing a latex catsuit, shoulder-length latex gloves, high-heeled thigh boots and a corset collar, and me in long leather gloves, pulling her by the collar like a pet.

I stopped at the centre of the lawn.  I hadn’t had the grass cut in a while and that made it especially hard for Willa to walk on her thin, extra high heels.  "Careful! Don’t fall down,” I threatened her.  "If you do, I won’t help you up.“

"But it’s hard,” she complained.  "These heels are –“

"I don’t care!” I yelled.  "Why didn’t you think about that before you wasted two hundred pounds on those whore boots?“

"We already discussed that, Mother.  Don’t start again,” moaned Willa.  "Really, it’s difficult enough to walk in these heels on solid ground.  But here –“

"That’s why we need to train, my little pony,” I said with fake laughter.  And without further explanation, I gripped the reins firmly in my leather-gloved hand, extended my arm, and pulled while I turned on the spot.

Willa made a circle around me, taking short, wobbly steps.

“Bravo! My little pony is not so stupid after all,” I said.

“And now what?” she asked.

“You march ahead,” I instructed.  "And make wider circles.  I don’t want to get dizzy.“

She did as I said and I let her march in circles for about twenty minutes.  Whenever my arm got tired from holding the reins, I gave a good pull on the reins to make Willa change direction.  Then, I took the reins in my other hand, and she continued to trot around.

Every now and then I shouted random instructions like "Don’t drag your hooves!  Get your knees up!  Higher!  Higher!”; or “Move faster!  Look lively!”; or “Come on, neigh for Mum, little pony!”.  And I emphasised each command with soft pulls on the reins.  And if she didn’t comply promptly, I lashed her with the riding crop.

After a while I grew weary of holding the reins.  My shoulders were starting to hurt, and it was boring to just have Willa walk in circles.

“Whoa there, my little pony!” I said, pulling the reins to make her stop.  She slowed down but didn’t stop.  "Whoa means stop!“ I yelled and pulled on the reins so hard that Willa stumbled onto her knees.  "Stand up!”

Willa tried to stand up, but with her hands tied behind her back, it was very hard for her to find balance, and the exaggerated height of her heels didn’t make it easier.

“I can’t,” she sighed.  She looked at me, her eyes filled with fiery rage.  Her chin trembled.

“That’s the main problem with children,” I said, pacing back and forth.  "You kids get yourselves in trouble, and we parents have to bail you out.“  I extended my leather-gloved hand in a gesture of fake solidarity. "Grab my hand.  I’ll help you up.”

“How, Mother?  How the fuck am I supposed to take your hand?” yelled Willa.  Behind her back, she fought wildly to free her hands, but several loops of duct tape held them firmly together.

I stepped forward and pushed her backwards with my knee, just lightly, but she fell flat on her back.  For a split second, Willa’s face bore the expression of horror of someone who is about to fall off a building.  With her tied hands, her stiff neck and her ridiculously tall heels, she was absolutely helpless, like a turtle lying on its back.

Willa finally lost it.  "Fuck off, Mother!“  she yelled.  Streams of tears and snot flowed down her face.  "Fuck off and leave me here to die,” she said between sobs.  "You’d do me a favour.  Your constant nagging has made my life a living hell anyway.  Or you know what?  I have a better idea…“  She made a short pause to regain her breath.  And then she screamed at the top of her lungs: "Help!  Somebody help me!  Call the police!  I’m being tortured!”

A cold shiver ran down my spine.  What if someone did call the police?  What would I say?  That I was a desperate mother who just didn’t know how to educate her rebellious daughter?

“Shut up! Shut up!” I commanded.

I got down on one knee, grabbed the reins close to Willa’s collar ring, looped the leather around my gloved hand and, fuelled by anger, pulled with such an amazing force that I got Willa back on her knees.  Then, I helped her stand up and pulled her by the reins back into the house.  She continued calling for help all the time.

“Will you finally shut up!” I yelled.  I led her to the living room, pushed her against the wall under the stairs, climbed onto a chair and knotted the reins to the highest newel post of the handrail.

“Bravo!  Now you’re chaining your daughter to the wall,” said Willa.  "What’s next?  Why not burn me with a branding iron?  Or lash my back until I bleed to death?  After all, you don’t have limits any more.  Even war prisoners are protected from unusually cruel punishment.“

"Shut the fuck up!” I screamed, and I spanked her with the riding crop several times.  "I’m just spanking my badly-behaved daughter.  Had I done more of this when you were little, you wouldn’t be the horrible teenager you are now!“

"Other teenagers smoke, take drugs, do shoplifting,” said Willa.  "And I?  I’m just a straight-A student who helps you with household chores.  But yes, you’re right.  I’m a criminal because I wear latex!“

"Precisely!  Don’t you understand that you look like a fucking whore when you’re in latex?  I just want to prevent you from going out looking like a porn starlet,” I said, and with each word I hit one of her buttocks with the riding crop.

The hiss of the leather cutting through the air, followed by the cracking sound it made when it hit Willa’s latex-covered bottom, was deafening.  Hiss!  Crack!  Hiss!  Crack!  Hiss!  Crack!  I must have hit her at least twenty times.

“Porn starlet, really?  Then go see yourself in the mirror,” she managed to say between screams of pain.  "You look like a cheap dominatrix.“

That word hit me like a slap in the face.  My leather gloves made me feel powerful.  They were supposed to make me an amazon on horseback, or a lion tamer, or whatever, but definitely not a cheap dominatrix.

I stood like petrified, trying to process what I had just heard.  I let the riding crop fall to the floor and slowly trudged up the stairs.

"Hey!  Are you going to leave me hanging?” protested Willa.

“You’re not hanging,” I shouted back. “You’re standing.”

“I’m fucking tied to the wall!” screamed Willa.  "And the leash is too short to sit down.  My feet are hurting like hell in these boots.“

I ignored her and went to my bedroom to see myself in the mirror.  Yep, a cheap dominatrix.  That’s what I had become.  And all because of a pair of bloody gloves that had taken control over me!  They had turned me into a beast that had abused her daughter.

The leather had become my second skin, and it was nearly impossible to slip my hands out of those diabolical gloves, but I had to take them off.  When my hands were finally free, I stared at the gloves with disdain.  I threw them into a corner of my closet and slammed the closet door shut.  I hated those gloves!

———————————————–

I paced around my bedroom like crazy.  How had I been able to hurt my daughter so badly?  Those gloves had made me feel like in a dream.  They had made it all seem like mere role play, but the pain and humiliation Willa had felt were real.

After going crazy for a few minutes, I called my mother to ask for her advice.  I told her that I had massively overdone it with Willa’s punishment, but she merely told me to calm down.

"But I spanked her, Mum!  I’ve never done that before.”

“That’s not too bad,” said my mother on the other side of the line.  "Children need to be punished once in a while.  I spanked you more than once.“

"I know.  And I hated you for that, more than once,” I said.  "That’s why I’m calling you.  How did you cope with the guilt?  Or did you not care?  Because I’m going crazy with guilt, Mum.  I hurt her really badly.“

My mother remained silent for a second.  I imagined her smiling condescendingly.  "Listen, Dear.  I overdid it, too, a couple of times.  And I regretted it afterwards as well,” she said. “I used to go to your bedroom and hug you and kiss you.  I sat on your bed and caressed your little head until you fell asleep. Sometimes I even cried because I felt I had been too hard on you.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” I said.

“That’s sad,” she said, and her voice sounded resentful.  "Anyway, I have only one piece of advice for you.  Do everything you can to show Willa that you love her.  Apologise for having overdone it, and be kind to her.  At her age, Willa already feels like a grown-up, but she still needs parental love.  If you’re lucky, Willa will not forget your gestures of love.  Unlike my ungrateful daughter who says has forgotten mine.“

"Let’s discuss that another time, Mum.  I have to take care of Willa now.  Thank you for your advice.”

I hung up and returned to the living room to end Willa’s torture.

“I’m so sorry, Willa, my dear!” I called as I ran down the stairs.

I looked at her and my eyes filled up with tears.  She looked like a martyr on an old painting, with her long body twisted in pain and her hands bound together.

“Please, forgive me, Love,” I said.  "I’m so very sorry!“

I detached the reins from the collar’s front ring and put my hands around Willa’s waist.

"Come with me, Love.  Let’s sit on the sofa,” I said, but Willa let herself fall to the floor on purpose.  Her limp body collapsed like a marionette with severed strings.  The noise of her hitting the floor was sickening.

“Willa!  You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“No, Mother.  You hurt me.  Now leave.  I want to die in peace.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Willa!  You’re not going to die.”

First, I used a knife to cut open the duct tape that held Willa’s hands together.  Then, I took her collar off, and she slowly moved her head up and down with loud sighs of relief.  Finally, I proceeded to remove her boots and noticed that one of her high heels was broken.  My vision became blurry with tears as I realised that she had struggled to free herself while I was gone.

“Let me help you up, Love.” I put my arm around her torso and took her hand.  She allowed me to help her, but she made herself heavy on purpose.

“I need a warm bath,” she mumbled.

“Of course, Darling.  Let me help you.”

I went with her to the bathroom, and she sat down on the border of the bad and hunched her back.

“Will you help me out of these clothes?” she asked.

I turned the faucet on so the bath would fill while I helped Willa out of her gloves and catsuit.  First, I took her gloves off, pulling them by the cuffs.  When her sweaty hands were finally naked, I was shocked to see the red pressure marks the duct tape had left around her wrists.  I took her right hand and examined the wrist.  Tiny droplets of dried blood stuck to it.  "I’m so sorry,“ I said, and kissed her wrist.

"It’s too late for that,” said Willa, pulling her hand away.

Then I helped her out of her catsuit and hated myself when I saw the flaring red skin on her buttocks.  There was no blood, but her bottom looked really sore.  I touched her inflamed skin lightly, and she sprang up with pain.

“It’s hot,” I said.

“Quelle surprise!” she sneered.  "You lashed my arse with a horse whip, Mother.  Of course it’s hot!“ she yelled.  "Please leave me alone,” she said as she climbed into the bath.  "Aah!“

I left her alone and closed the door behind me.  Then I marched back to the living room and removed all evidence of what had happened.  The collar landed in the same corner of my closet as my leather gloves, and I damned the hour I had stepped into Alessandra’s shop.

I returned to the bathroom and put my ear to the door, hoping to hear what was going on inside.  No sounds.  Had she fallen asleep?  And then I heard tiny water splashes and pained groaning.  Good, at least she was alive and moving.

I wanted to go in and tell her how sorry I was, but she had explicitly sent me out, so I went back to the living room and turned the TV on, more out of habit than because I wanted to watch anything.  I turned the volume down and listened intently to what Willa was doing.  She was in the bathroom for an awfully long time, but she eventually opened the bathroom door and went to her bedroom, then back and forth several times, and I didn’t know when was the right moment to go and talk to her.  And thus, I eventually fell asleep on the sofa.

I don’t know how much time I slept, but I eventually opened my eyes and saw Willa’s silhouette against the blueish glow of the TV screen.

"Did you turn the lights off?” I asked.  I propped myself up and stretched my back.

“Yes, Mother.  Go to bed.  It’s midnight.”

I turned on the reading lamp next to me and groped for the TV remote.

“How are you feeling, Sweetheart?” I asked as I turned the TV off.

I gazed at Willa.  She was wearing Snoopy-themed terry pyjamas, and white satin gloves that disappeared under the long sleeves of her shirt.

“Please, sit down, Love,” I proposed, patting on the sofa cushion next to me.  "We need to talk.“

Much to my surprise, she accepted my invitation.  In fact, she laid down on the sofa and rested her head on my legs.  I put my hand on her leg and caressed her.

She warned me: ”Don’t touch my bum.  It’s very sore.“

"I know,” I said, “and I’m sorry for that.  Do you forgive me?” I kissed her on the forehead and continued to caress her leg, and then I slowly moved my hand up to her bottom.  It was still very warm.  She whimpered for a second, but she allowed me to caress her behind.  I touched it very softly and massaged it with slow circular movements.  With my other hand, I went through her long, silky hair and stroked her head.  My little girl!

“Where are your leather gloves?” she asked suddenly.

“I’m sorry for stealing them,” I said.  "Do you want them back?“

"No,” she said, shaking her head.  "I’m not really into leather.“

I took her satin-gloved hand and kissed it.  It felt strange to press my lips on satin instead of skin, but she seemed to like it.  She purred like a satisfied cat.

"Put them on,” she said.

“What?”

“Put your gloves on,” she said.  "You abused me with them on.  Now comfort me with them on.“

"No, Darling.  I’m the mother and you’re the daughter.  You can’t just order me to don gloves and –”

“All right,” she said, sitting up.  "Have a good night, then.“

"No. Don’t go.”

“Put your gloves on, then,” she said.  "Please.“

"But we’re sitting so comfortably!” I complained.  However, I stood up.  "This is a one-time-only thing.  Don’t think you can just order me around.“

"And bring a blanket,” she said.

I went to my bedroom to get my gloves, but instead of the leather ones I chose my satin gloves.  I put them on and returned to the living room, grabbing a fluffy blanket as I went past the linen closet in the corridor.  Willa had turned the TV on.  She was watching some stand-up comedy.  I covered her with the blanket and sat down.

“What gloves are those?” she put her head on my legs and took my hand.  She caressed my hand, and I nearly screamed with delight.  No sensation I had ever felt came close to wearing satin gloves and being caressed by someone who was also in satin gloves.

“I got these for myself when I bought your Christmas gloves,” I said.

“I love the colour!” she said.  "I want a pair, too.“

"These are mine,” I said, pulling my hand away, and she laughed.  She hadn’t laughed in my presence for weeks.

I continued to stroke her hair with my satin-gloved hand while we watched the comedy show.

“Why did you do it?” she asked after a while.  "I know I disobeyed you, but did you have to humiliate me?  You treated me like an animal.“

"I’m sorry, Baby.  But it’s so hard to educate you sometimes!”

“That’s not true, Mother.  I don’t smoke, I don’t take drugs, I’m a good student.  I don’t know what you expect from me, but I can’t be an exact copy of yourself.  I have the right to like other things, and if you don’t accept that –”

“Please forgive me,” I said.

“No.  I want you to live with the guilt.  And the day you die, you will remember that you lashed your daughter like a horse.”

I cried silently and wiped my tears with the back of my satin-gloved hand.

“You’re just saying those things to hurt me back, aren’t you?” I said.  "I’m sorry that I exaggerated today, but can’t we go back to when you didn’t hate me?“

"Relax, Mother.  I don’t hate you.  Let’s pretend we’re the Gilmore Girls if you want.  But I swear, if you do something like that again, I will kill myself.  But not like on a pathetic TV drama.  I will not take a bath and cut my veins in the wrong direction to give you time to save me.  I will make it look like I was murdered and I will frame you for it.  And after you carry me to the grave, you will spend the rest of your life in prison.  And then you will be finally right about me being horrible.”

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