Amorous Goods: Right To The Edge

This story was inspired somewhat by Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale "The Red Shoes." You don't need to be familiar with that story to understand mine but if you are I'm certain you'll see the inspiration. Enjoy!

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Prologue:

A lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left the entire collection and the business built around them to the only remaining relative, a niece on a career path of her own. Vikki has taken on the task of administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However, she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. These are the stories of some of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods.

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She fell in love with them the moment she laid eyes on them.

Annabelle Smith and her boyfriend Frank had been out shopping for hours, desperately searching for the proper attire for a work dinner of his they were expected to attend that evening. Frank hadn't been with the company all that long,

but they were determined to make an impression tonight.

Unfortunately, try as they might, they continually came up empty-handed. When all the bigger name shops in town had failed them, they started checking out the smaller, less reputable ones around.

They'd almost driven by this one, and now she was thanking her lucky stars they hadn't.

Neither she nor Frank could recall seeing it before but, then again, they didn't come this way all that often anymore. They were moving up in the world, and places like this no longer seemed to fit the image they wanted people to see. Even so, a name like 'Amourous Goods' stood out, although at first glance Annabelle was almost certain it was a sex shop of some kind based on the name alone.

Yet once inside, they realized it was nothing of the sort. At least not specifically. In fact, trying to describe the kind of shop it was seemed downright impossible, given the veritable cavalcade of items out on display. Clothing, books, tools, toys and everything in between seemed to be sitting on one shelf or another. And while more than a few things certainly looked like they belonged in a sexy shop, that didn't appear to be this place's bread and butter.

The clothing Annabelle could see didn't seem to suit the occasion anymore than the things they'd seen at other stores, and she was almost ready to grab Frank and head back to the car when she spotted them. Sitting there on the end of the counter as if they'd been waiting there just for her.

A pair of vintage black elbow-length leather gloves.

They looked almost brand new, an oddity given the state of several other items littered around the store, yet the lines of age could be seen along the length of the leather. They seemed to glow underneath the overhanging lights, and for a moment Annabelle could have sworn there were diamonds or something similar embedded in them they seemed to shine so magically.

It was love at first sight.

"Oh my," she said at long last, grabbing Frank's arm and drawing his attention towards them. "Those are lovely."

Frank had to admit, they were quite exquisite, although his reasons for thinking that were slightly different than his lover's. In truth, Frank had always had a bit of a fetish for leather gloves on women, and on more than one occasion he'd tried to steer Annabelle into buying and wearing some to no avail.

The fact that she was seemingly drawn to this particular pair gave him hope, as well as a bit of an erection.

"Those aren't for sale."

They turned towards the sound of the rather brusque voice, noting a young woman standing at the other end of the counter with a heavy-looking ledger in her hand. Her gaze was focused intently on the gloves, as well as the couple eyeing them, and she made her way over to speak with them.

Annabelle was already prepared. She'd come across people like this before and had learned that sometimes you just had to offer the right price before they caved. Everything was for sale if you worked at it hard enough. "Oh I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement," she began, her eyes never leaving the gloves even as the younger woman approached her.

"I'm afraid not," the woman continued. "Those are not for sale for any price."

After everything they'd gone through today, there was no way Annabelle was not going to walk out of this shop with the only article of clothing which had interested her. Finally tearing her eyes off the gloves, she looked at the young woman and straightened up.

"If you're not planning on selling them, why have them out for display like this?"

It seemed the right question to ask, and one she intended to use to slowly break the shopkeep's resolve. She would get those gloves one way or another.

The young woman seemed to disagree, shaking her head. "They aren't out for display. I've been cleaning up the shop and placed the gloves there while I looked them up in the ledger... This shop used to belong to my aunt and I'm still trying to get a handle on what we have here."

"That's no excuse," Annabelle countered, trying her best to remain calm even though she was seething with rage inside. She didn't care about this woman's sob story, she just wanted what she wanted. "If you don't want people to buy something you should keep it out of sight."

With a sigh, the shopkeep put the ledger down on the counter. "I'm sorry, but this is my shop, and those gloves are not for sale."

Annabelle looked over at Frank pleadingly, and her boyfriend understood what needed to be done. She wanted the gloves- and he wanted her to have them as well, selfish reasons notwithstanding, which meant it would fall to him to get them for her. Without a word, he nodded to her, then turned his attention to the shopkeep.

"Well, perhaps you have something similar that is for sale?"

The young woman seemed to think it over, then flipped through the yellowing pages of the ledger. "I might have something in the back. Please excuse me..."

She headed away from the counter and through a small door, back into the depths of the shop from whence she'd first appeared. And the moment she was out of sight, Frank looked back at Annabelle and motioned for the door.

Annabelle didn't need any further prodding. She didn't want a similar pair- she wanted this one. And if the shopkeep wanted to be a bitch about it, then she'd deal with the consequences.

Grabbing the gloves, she and Frank made for the door and sped off in their car before the young woman could return.

Or so they thought.

She watched them drive off from behind the door and sighed.

The gloves were their problem now.

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A few hours later, Frank and Annabelle waltzed into their apartment with a handful of shopping bags.

They'd managed to find a few more things along the way- mostly at thrift shops but no one needed to know that little tidbit, and now they had very little time to prepare for their big night out.

Annabelle got herself ready, slipping on a sleeveless black dress she'd found at the last shop they'd gone to, followed by a pair of black stilettos, and lastly, the gloves. And the moment her hands slid inside the smooth, vintage black leather she shivered.

They felt incredible, like they had been made only for her, and once they were on, she slid her fingers along the leather and smoothed out the wrinkles until they looked perfect.

Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she had to admit, they suited her quite well. She knew Frank had a bit of a thing for gloves, but until now, she'd never quite understood the appeal. There was just something innately sensual about the cool black leather running up her arm that she had to suppress a moan at the thought of what she could do with them when they got home.

When Frank stepped into the bedroom wearing the suit he'd picked up, his jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of Annabelle gloved up at long last. He wanted to ravish her right then and there but knew they had to wait. They had a dinner to get to after all but after that?

He was finally going to live out his fantasy.

When they arrived, everyone's eyes were immediately drawn to Annabelle. Frank's co-workers were unable to look away from the woman in black who was strolling in, looking like she'd stepped out of an old-fashioned movie. Men and women stared, and Annabelle relished the attention.

Frank did as well. He loved knowing that everyone here found his girlfriend attractive, as well as the fact that while they might get to look at her, she would be going home with him when all was said and done. And so would those amazing gloves they'd stolen.

The evening passed in a blur of conversation, food and wine, as well as a fair amount of compliments paid to the both of them. Frank and Annabelle'd had every intention of making an impression on his new co-workers, and by the end of the night, they most certainly had.

They stumbled back into their apartment, drunk and more than a little horny. Frank had been staring at Annabelle's gloves the entire time, his cock straining against the dress pants of the suit, and she'd made sure to show them off to him as much as possible, the knowledge of how much he wanted them turning her on more than she expected.

Once they stepped inside, they practically sprinted into the bedroom and tore off one another's clothes.

Except for the gloves.

Annabelle laid down on the bed and beckoned Frank, her eyes focused on his hard cock. He quickly joined her, ravishing her with kisses while waiting with bated breath for her to touch him with those leather-clad hands at long last.

She kept him waiting as long as she could teasing him by running her fingers along his arms and back but keeping them far far away from his aching cock. Eventually, though, even she found she couldn't wait any longer, and she greedily reached for his hard shaft.

"Let me at that dick," she practically growled, her leather-clad fingers wrapping around it like a hungry snake.

And the moment they did, something strange happened.

Frank's already hard cock seemed to grow even harder almost instantly, to a point he'd never experienced before.

For a moment or two, he considered the possibility that this might have something to do with his finally having a leather-gloved woman touch him in such a way. That thought quickly passed, however, when the feeling in his cock grew rather uncomfortable.

Before he could say anything about it, Annabelle's gloved hands began to stroke his shaft up and down. Slowly- almost achingly slow and, even stranger, not by her choice.

Oh, she'd had every intention of teasing and toying with her boyfriend, but her hands were moving of their own accord, the leather fingers gliding along his cock slow as molasses.

Annabelle tried to force them to move faster, but her hands and arms outright refused, and to her horror, all she could do was let them move at their glacially slow pace.

"Ugh..." Frank groaned, the aching sensation in his cock growing ever more uncomfortable by the second. "Please... Please.... faster..."

Looking over at her boyfriend, Annabelle saw the pained expression on his face, yet still couldn't do a thing about it. Try as she might, her hands refused to budge, simply continuing to stroke him ever so slowly. "I'm trying, but I can't... The gloves, they won't let me."

She watched her hands stroke him over and over, never once changing their speed or temp. Annabelle's mind practically screamed at her body to listen, to stop what her arms were doing or do something other than what they seemed determined to do. But again, they refused. Refused to grant Frank any release or pleasure.

"Please, Annie... This isn't... this isn't funny."

With a groan, Frank turned to his girlfriend, and the moment their eyes met, he realized she wasn't playing around. There was fear in her eyes, and he looked down at the gloves wrapped around his cock. Watched the almost unnatural motions of hands moving of their own accord.

He didn't know what to say.

Annabelle tried to move, thinking that perhaps if she could shift her position even slightly, maybe she could undo the grip the gloves had on Frank's poor cock. But no matter which way she tried to move, her hands remained locked in position.

Frank groaned in agony, the ache never ceasing. He reached down and tried to pull the gloved hands off, yet the moment he touched the soft leather, his hands refused to budge as well. In fact, they seemed to join in the fray, helping Annabelle's gloved hands continue their impossible slow strokes.

"This... this can't be happening," he whispered, trying to pull his hands free to no avail. Annabelle wanted to agree, yet found it fairly difficult to deny what was happening to them. No matter what they tried, they couldn't seem to stop the gloves. They simply kept stroking his ever-aching erection, edging and teasing it but refusing to do anything else.

Tears began to fall from Frank's eyes, the agony of his hard and perpetually denied cock more than he could bear. Annabelle started to cry as well, wanting nothing more than to be free of this terrible mess, yet compelled to keep on stroking over and over.

Minutes passed. Then hours. The two of them unable to do anything to stop the seemingly endless dance of the stroking gloves.

Frank looked over at Annabelle, teeth gritting in absolute pain as the sensation of the leather against his cock- something he'd often dreamed of, began to chafe, and any possible pleasure he may have been able to derive from them long since vanished. Annabelle looked back at him, her shoulders aching as her limp arms continued to follow the cruel sway of her glove-covered hands. Stroking up and down Frank's shaft.

They couldn't leave the bed. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't do anything but lay there and let the gloves have their way with them.

And as far as anyone knows, they're still lying there now.

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Back at the shop, the young proprietress- Vikki, looks over the ledger her aunt had kept.

Her eyes linger on the entry about those accursed gloves, and she shakes her head thinking about the poor souls who'd ignored her and stolen them.

The kettle is about to boil, and she needs a good cup of tea before she continues going through the myriad of oddities listed inside and strewn throughout the old store.

Yet if anyone else were to spot the entry, they would understand why she tried to warn them away.

"These gloves belonged to a countess who was said to love nothing more than to tease her male suitors. One such man grew angry with her games and cursed the gloves to forever be objects of denial, for both the wearer and whichever poor soul they chose to toy with. Soon after, the lady and one of her suitors were found dead in her chambers, seemingly locked in an embrace they'd been unable to escape... Since then, they passed around from person to person, leaving a similar trail in their wake whenever someone chooses to use them in such a twisted way... I've often pondered if there was a way to undo the curse, but decided that any depraved soul who would seek to use them for such ill-fated things deserves whatever is coming for them..."

Frank and Annabelle certainly did.