Fetish Fiction

The Lady in Red Gloves

A fetish can change a man’s life…

Bill spotted the red gloves and shook with excitement. His shudder was followed by an unmistakable sensation in his pants — an involuntary erection. With a friendly smile, the wearer of the red gloves walked briskly away from him. He rose to his feet and followed her along the long corridor.

Bill had a fetish. Not a lifelong, inherent, fetish, but a learned fetish. Despite his difficulty learning new things, it had taken just a short period of conditioning and behaviour reinforcement. His fetish owned him, or more specifically any woman who understood his fetish could possess him, control him, use him, and exhaust him at will. “Women who understood” included the entire staff of the nursing home where he lived.

He was 35, tall, strong, handsome, a builder by profession. His life had tragically changed two years previously when he fell from a scaffolding, hitting the ground head first. His only injury was a fractured skull, with associated brain damage. He had spent weeks unconscious in intensive care, months in rehab, and as his condition eventually stabilised, was moved to long term accommodation in a nursing home that specialised in caring for people with brain injuries.

Having narrowly escaped death, his recovery was in many ways remarkable. His confident and charismatic persona, and his wicked sense of humour, were intact. His engaging smile was the same as always. The brain injury had taken away his ability to feel anger, malice, or vindictiveness. Sadly it had also taken away his ability to form new memories, his ability to learn new things, and had left him with no awareness of danger, and no inhibitions. His amazing recovery was not complete. He needed full time care.

Kathryn Nicholson, known to all as Sister Nic, was a senior nurse with a special interest in neuroscience. She took a pride in understanding the needs of the residents in her care, and ensuring her staff helped the residents to a life lived as normally and happily as possible.

Bill had been a conundrum. On arrival at the home, his constant smile, and his delight at living life in the present tense, had made him popular with staff and fellow residents alike. His inability to learn new things, and his disinhibited behaviour, were causing problems. His tendency to sit up all night watching the same TV show he had seen repeated a hundred times, then sleep when he felt like it by day, and to eat his dinner when he was hungry, which never coincided with when it was served, were inconvenient but manageable traits. His inability to find his way from the lounge to his nearby bedroom was downright amusing. His tendency, on seeing an attractive woman, to unzip his trousers, show her his monster penis, and ask if he could have sex with her, was much harder to manage.

Sister Nic sat in her office and wondered what to do with a man who had no memory. Any discussion that his behaviour was not appropriate would be understood, agreed, and forgotten ten seconds later. Trials of medication had made him even more disinhibited or made him sleep all day. Attempts to keep him in his room on Sunday afternoon when all the other residents had families visiting simply agitated him. She wondered, sadly, if Bill was a resident who couldn’t be managed in her home. She shuddered at the thought of requesting his transfer to a unit where locked doors, heavy sedation and forced restraint were the order of the day, but her conundrum was, how to teach a man who couldn’t learn things.

She reread his medical assessment, and noticed that just one thing wasn’t quite right. A week earlier, she had seen him accidentally walk in to a chair, bashing his shin hard leaving it bruised and painful. Since then, he had been afraid of that chair, eyeing it with horror and keeping his distance when walking past it. When asked, he confirmed he was afraid of the chair, but had no idea why. She wondered whether emotional experiences took a different route round his brain to the learning areas, or whether the intensity of the experience was sufficient to break through the damaged parts of his brain. Either way, the report’s confident declaration that he couldn’t learn things was not quite right.

Her eyes fell on a box on her desk. The home used huge numbers of disposable gloves for everything from complex nursing procedures to cleaning the bathrooms. The supplier of gloves had sent a free sample with their latest order- a box of extra strong, long arm cuffed, neoprene disposables in a new colour- bright red. An idea started to form in her mind. She explained her thoughts to the team, and selected the five colleagues who didn’t laugh hysterically to help her.

The next morning, Bill walked the corridors, heading away from the dining room which was where he actually wanted to be. He spotted Julie, a young cleaner pushing her trolley towards him. His notion of hunger slipped in to the dark abyss of the past tense. Julie thought her usual “Oh No! Not again!” as she saw his bulge and tell tale movement of hands towards zip. She quickly triple pushed a call button, and then as arranged walked a couple of circuits of the home’s corridors, with Bill following, giving Sister Nic time to gather her colleagues and their special equipment.

“OK, Bill, it’s your lucky day”, said Julie as Bill followed her in to the treatment room, erect penis protruding comically through his open zip, “you have not one woman, but six”.

Bill looked around in surprise, five gorgeous women wearing red gloves, and Julie who was just putting a pair on. He would normally have relished the thought of six women, but something about their unusual attire and the way they were all walking confidently towards him made him anxious.

“It’s OK Bill”, said Sister Nic. “Time for your red gloves treat”.

Red gloved fingers unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it from his shoulders, then propelled him towards the examination couch. Unsure of what was happening, he panicked and struggled. His strength was a match for six of them, but not for the tricks and techniques of Sister Nic and her colleagues. Grippy red hands grabbed his hair and pulled his head towards the examination couch pillow. Pairs of red hands held each of his thumbs and little fingers, giving them the leverage to move his arms at will. Red fingers fluttered across his eyes, forcing him to close them. Taking full advantage of his inability to see, more red hands positioned his wrists at the sides of the examination couch, encircling them with leather restraint cuffs. Sister Nic heaved a sigh of relief. Having done the difficult bit, his trousers were off in no time and ankles cuffed close to his wrists; knees bent and ankles splayed, he was vulnerable.

Nic had briefed her team well. No need to talk as he wouldn’t remember any words, the entire experience was to be a red glove one. The gloves that had overpowered him turned deliciously tactile. The ones fondling his eyelids moved away but stayed in his field of vision, rubbing themselves sensuously. The hair pull turned in to a head massage, paying special attention to the sensitive spots behind his ears. A honey covered glove gave his mouth a red glove kiss (he loved honey). Gloves with lubricating massage oil caressed his nipples, backs of his knees, soles of his feet, between his toes.

“So”, said Sister Nic, “you wanted to fuck one of my staff?”

Bill nodded unashamedly.

“Red gloves are better. See what you think”.

Total sensory overload, but no contact other than red gloves, was the essence of Nic’s briefing to her team. They didn’t disappoint, continuing their ministrations on several bits of his body at once. Nic watched him carefully, writhing and moaning in ecstasy, then chose her moment. With a squirt of extra lubricant on her gloves, she popped her right index finger in to his anus, found his prostate, and started massaging. Her left hand grasped his huge penis, not fully encircling it, but holding enough to firmly squeeze his tip and the end third of its length. He bellowed noisily with the intense agony and ecstasy. After a minute, Nic relaxed her grip, and pumped him vigorously, continuing the prostate massage with her other hand. Within two seconds he was ejaculating noisily, several ejaculations with huge floods covering his tummy.

“Hey, we haven’t finished”, she admonished the staff as they eased their hand movements. “Keep Going”.

“Post orgasm torture” barely described Bill’s sensations. Twelve red gloves continued their vigorous action. Nic slid her left middle finger alongside her index finger in his now relaxed anus. The prostate massage and penis tip stimulus continued. Bill’s ejaculatory muscles pumped a couple more squirts, then a few more drops, and then several agonising dry ejaculations; he was empty. His eyes closed. He moaned.

A nod from Nic, and the team stopped. They removed their gloves and left the room, except for Julie who stayed to help Nic clean him up. They dressed him, popped him in a wheelchair and took him back to his room for a much needed snooze.

For the next two days Bill was a model of good behaviour; he had indeed been emptied completely. On the third day, he made one of his charmingly inappropriate approaches to a lady who was visiting the home. He was coaxed in to the treatment room for a repeat of the red glove treatment. On seeing the six pairs of gloves, his eyes widened, he sweated and shook, ripped his own clothes off, and laid on the couch offering his wrists and ankles to the waiting restraints. Sister Nic smiled a huge triumphant smile. She was so proud of Bill. He had just confirmed her hunch that there were still ways in to his brain; he could learn things. His red glove session was gentler, purposeful, exquisite.

Over the coming weeks, Nic established a routine. Red gloves for Bill every second day. His total infatuation with the gloves allowed her to reduce the number of helpers from six, to four, then two, and finally one.

The staff soon learned to use his new infatuation…

“The lady in red gloves says it’s time for lunch,”

or

“The lady in red gloves says it’s time to switch the TV off and go to bed,”

both worked a treat. More importantly,

“The lady in red gloves wants you to save your penis, just for her,”

was the key to Bill being able to stay in the home rather than face a transfer to a secure unit.

This successful variant of the “Simon says” game allowed Nic to reduce the sessions to once every three, then four days. Nic did many of his sessions herself but since his infatuation was entirely with the red gloves she was able to delegate to other members of her team, all older, senior staff who could understand the principle that the only contact allowed was with the red gloves. The focus of his fetish must be total.

Julie would regularly watch him follow one of her senior colleagues in to the treatment room, the mere sight of a red glove’s fingertips hanging from a uniform pocket a complete man magnet. She would think wistfully of that first day and realised she missed the smiling, charming hunk whose damaged intellect had reduced the dating process to such a minimalist transaction: Here’s my amazing penis. Please may I put it in you? Then his crestfallen but unfailingly polite acceptance when refused.

It was a quiet, rainy evening. Julie was working a late shift. Sister Nic was in her office doing paperwork. Most of the residents were in the lounge, and the staff were quietly occupied with their duties. Julie had finished cleaning and her shift was about to end. It was Bill’s day three; his emptying was due tomorrow morning. For Julie it was now or never. She looked at Bill through the partly open door of the TV room, pulled on a pair of red gloves, and stepped in. Without a word she switched off the TV, made sure he had seen the gloves, and walked away.

She needn’t have checked, but the sound of footsteps confirmed he was following her. The steps paused as they passed the treatment room door, and then ran to catch up with her as she continued to walk the long corridor to Bill’s room. He followed her in, and she turned to face him. He was sweating, excited, and just a little anxious.

“It’s OK Bill, change of venue. The lady in red gloves says take your clothes off and lie on the bed”. She slipped off her uniform, revealing her bra, knickers, suspender belt, and stockings, all in the precise shade of red to match her gloves. She sat next to him on the bed and grabbed his nipples between red fingers and thumbs.

“So, Bill, the lady in red gloves wants you to fuck her”.

She was surprised at the thoroughness of his conditioning. At first he only wanted her red gloves. He held her wrists and guided her hands to where he wanted them. It took some trial and error, but she maintained the glove stimulus while introducing him to the sensations of red bra on face, red stockings on his thighs, red suspender belt held in his clasped hands, red knickers (damp) dragging up and down his penis.

His rock hard, dribbling hugeness confirmed that the transference of his red fetish was working. She pulled the crotch of her carefully chosen red knickers to one side, and, stretching herself to the max, enveloped him. She saw a look of panic on his face, quickly resolved with a red hand stroking his face, and a reassuring “It’s OK Bill, the lady in red gloves wants this”.

The sound of a loudly orgasming Julie didn’t go unnoticed. Her post-orgasmic bliss, snuggled up to her new lover, red glove still absent-mindedly fondling his now soft, slippery penis, was interrupted by a knock and Sister Nic’s head appearing round the door, a kind but concerned smile on her face.

“I’d like to see you in my office, tomorrow morning. We have to discuss what we’re going to do with you both”

Forty years later, an elderly man walked in to his GP’s consulting room for his check up. His female accomplice was wearing bright, scarlet red gloves.

“I like your gloves”, said the doctor.

In response she received a shy smile and a hesitant explanation: “He was agitated this morning. He couldn’t remember why he had to come to the doctor’s, and he didn’t want to leave the house. I wore the red gloves because he always does what I say when I wear them”.

The lady held the man’s hand as the doctor completed her examination and then watched as the lady helped the man on with his clothes, took his arm, and prompted him to say thank you and goodbye.

“Julie, I have to say, Bill is incredibly lucky to have you as his wife, you and your red gloves”.

Julie giggled. “Thanks, Doctor. I’ll tell you all about the red gloves when you have a spare half hour. You can write it in to one of your stories”.

Another from Alex Irvine