The Gloves of Libedine

NOTE: All sexual acts described involve characters over the age of 18.

*****

Fiona Diggs pulled open the heavy glass door of the thrift shop and stepped through, passing a couple of elderly women toting canvas bags stuffed with what looked like sewing fabric, socks and assorted books. She stood just inside the entrance, ignoring their disapproving glances, scanning the cramped interior for any sign of her quarry.

The target of her search was David, the store's newest employee, on whom Fiona had developed a major crush. In fact, over the past month her visits to the store, which she had been patronizing for several years, had increased from one or two times monthly to at least that many times a week. She had realized that morning that her infatuation was quickly adding up in terms of dollars spent and closet spaced filled and that she needed to speed things along. So far, she had barely exchanged a dozen words with the object of her affection, almost all of them rather pointless questions about merchandise or store policy and none of them successful in sparking the hoped for conversation. Instead, David tended to respond to her queries in a dull monotone that she had to strain to hear. How he had gotten a position that required any kind of customer service was beyond her.

David was a tall man who appeared to be, like Fiona, in his mid-20s. He had shoulder-length jet black hair, firm wiry muscles, a scruffy beard, several visible tattoos and a tendency to dress all in black. But his most enticing feature was his piercing grey eyes. In the right light, they flickered with flecks of almost emerald green, and when they did, the phenomenon sent warm shivers through Fiona's body, shivers that converged between her legs and set her pussy on fire. He seemed to Fiona to be the physical embodiment of the young, sexy vampires that had been so prominently featured in the books she favored as a teenager. These same vampires had also had starring roles in her teenage sexual fantasies.

Unfortunately, Fiona didn't think that David shared the same feelings for her. She didn't really blame her. While he had the whole sexy Goth vampire thing going, her style was more along the lines of nerdy stoner. She favored Stars Wars t-shirts, baggy cargo shirts and sandals and long curly blonde hair. On the plus side, she was rocking some great tits, she knew, and soft pouty lips that past boyfriends had seemed to appreciate.Still, David probably spent his free time discussing philosophy at a coffee shop or hanging out at some dimly lit night club while for her, a great Saturday night was settling down with a couple of fat joints and a Harry Potter DVD. The two styles did not seem to mix.

It didn't help that the first time she'd seen him, and likely the first time he'd seen her, he was being trained on the register. Fiona, shopping for her grandmother's birthday gift, had plopped a bright pink scarf with sequins and a cheesy romance novel down on the glass counter just as the elderly woman training him said, "Here, why don't you handle this transaction and we'll see how it goes."

It went, from the standpoint of training, as well as could be expected in that he had no difficulty ringing up her items and she had no difficulty paying for them. From the standpoint of impressing the store's hot new employee, it was, as far as Fiona was concerned, an utter disaster. David, with a barely disguised look of scorn, rang up the scarf and book, handling them like they'd been exposed to some dangerous new strain of Ebola, and gazed at Fiona with what appeared to be equal parts disdain and pity. She had not helped matters by explaining, in far too loud a voice, that they were gifts for her grandma. She could see instantly that he didn't believe her. She also figured that he now saw her as someone who cared what some complete stranger thought of her, a cardinal sin no doubt to someone as disdainful of societal norms as she assumed he was.

Despite the rough start, Fiona could not resist returning at least twice a week to the second-hand store, slowly working her way through the aisles, picking over used blouses and skirts, trying on shoes and examining a constantly changing array of knickknacks, kitchen supplies and posters. She spent a lot of time looking at the books and CDs, hoping to find something that would make her look deep and complicated, the purchase of which would give her some sort of Goth cred with David, but so far he seemed utterly unimpressed.

On these trips, Fiona had tried to fix her image problem by appearing nonchalant to the point of disdainful whenever she was around him. She also tried adding a little more edge to her sartorial choices. She ditched the baggy shorts, nerdy t-shirts and sandals, all of which she'd been wearing that first day, for outfits such as concert tees with torn black jeans (which she'd gotten at this very store two months previously), scuffed up cowboy boots paired with a slightly ragged looking simple black dress, and black leggings with an old off-the-shoulder grey sweater that showed the strap of the black lace bralette she'd worn especially for him. She was aiming to look a little more Goth without seeming like she was trying to do so. The worst thing she could do, she knew, was appear as a poser. So far, though, nothing had seemed to spark David's interest.

So today, desperation had driven her to go full-on sexy as hell Goth, or what she deemed to be so anyway, and damn the consequences. She was wearing a sleeveless, see-through black blouse and lace bra combination; a very short black miniskirt fringed with lace, and diamond-patterned black thigh high stockings. On her feet was a pair of black combat boots. She stepped through the door feeling that perhaps this would be the day the object of her desire would deign to speak with her. If this outfit didn't do it, nothing would.

She stood just inside the doorway, subtly scanning the room but not seeing him. Damn, she thought, of all the days to be gone. Now all she'd managed to accomplish with her outfit was attract a leer from an overweight middle-aged guy wearing a filthy wife beater and the disapproving looks from the two departing elderly women. Disappointed, Fiona shuffled into the shop, hoping that perhaps David was just on his break.

She wandered through the aisles, keeping a close eye out for anything that might help her sustain her new Goth look but the pickings were slim. It looked like the store had just taken in a truckload of donations from a bunch of fashion-challenged suburban soccer moms. Disgusted, Fiona wandered back to where the shoes and boots were. She tried on a pair of black stilettos, but they pinched her toes too much, and she was just about to head out when she saw a box that looked to be filled with scarves, wraps and other assorted accessories. She pulled it to her and began shuffling through the contents, not really looking for anything in particular but ever hopeful, like all steady thrift shop customers, of some unique or valuable treasure. She was about to push it back onto the shelf when a flash of crimson from deep beneath the mass of items caught her eye. She rooted around with her hand until she saw the source, a pair of fancy ladies' evening gloves. Fiona pulled them out.

They were long and slender, the kind that reached to the elbow and were worn with elegant ball gowns to posh gatherings. They were almost blood red and didn't seem to have a stain or tear on them. Fiona held them up to the light, dangling them from her fingers as she gazed up at them with fascination. They were as far from Goth as you could get, and Fiona had nothing like the kind of dress they would generally be worn with, yet there was something about them, something she couldn't put her finger on.

They were incredibly light and seemed to be made of some sort of very exquisite silk. She had never felt anything so soft and sensuous before and she stood for a minute just gently running them against the skin of her arms. She set the right one down on the shelf and attempted to push her left hand into the other.

"No, not yet," whispered a voice, soft and husky.

Fiona whirled around to see who had spoken. In doing so, she surprised the middle-aged man, who had obviously been staring at her ass. Embarrassed to be caught, he turned away so quickly that he banged into a support column and Fiona heard him cursing as he limped away. It hadn't been his voice, but there was no one else around. She quickly checked the adjacent aisles to see if someone was lurking there, but the store seemed almost empty. The only other customers in sight were a 30-something woman and a small girl perusing the toy section.

She stood still for several moments, her heart pounding, one glove still gripped in her hand. She snatched up the other and immediately headed for the register. She didn't know why really, but she definitely wanted these gloves. She tossed them on the counter and began digging in her purse for her wallet.

"There's no tag on these. Where did you find them?" This voice was soft and flat and instantly recognizable. Fiona looked up and right into David's eyes, green flecks and all. For a second, her throat tightened and she had to swallow hard before answering.

"Um, in that box back there," she said turning slightly and pointing to the far end of the store by the shoes. "The big one on the shelf."

She stared at the window behind him, cursing herself for once again making a purchase she was sure he would find uncool in the extreme. She was shocked when he said, "They're nice."

"Thanks," Fiona said. Damn it, her brain screamed, say something else, anything. But all she could think to add was "how much?"

"Oh, just two dollars," said David. Was that just a hint of disappointment in her voice, Fiona wondered?

Deciding she was still imaging things, she pulled two crumpled ones from her purse and laid them on the counter, then picked up her gloves and hurried from the store. She felt like a complete idiot and realized she had blown the one opportunity she'd had to start a conversation with the man she'd been fantasizing about for weeks. Furious with herself, she wrenched open her car door, threw the gloves onto the passenger seat and drove off, muttering self-deprecating curses throughout the short drive back to her apartment.

Once home, she downed a shot of vodka and a handful of cheese-flavored crackers to help calm her. Then she carried the gloves into her bedroom. She sat down on her bed, unlaced and removed her boots and picked up the elegant silk items.

"What a moron I am," she said out loud to herself. "I don't even know if these damn things will fit."

She grabbed them and once again moved to put them on. This time no mysterious voice called out and they slipped on so easily it was as if they had been made specifically for her. She held out her hands, admiring the long, silky crimson gloves that now reached just to the bend of her elbow. They were a perfect fit. She ran her hands up her arms and traced her fingers along her throat and the line of her chin, loving the sensation of the silky material against her skin. She stood up and without really thinking about it, unzipped and lowered her skirt, pulling down the lacy black panties she'd been wearing. She then quickly unbuttoned and removed her blouse, shed her bra and lay back down on the bed. Her hands began to roam across her body. The skin she brushed with her fingers seemed to heat up as if the gloves were leaving light burns in their wake. She traced the tips of her fingers up to her breasts, squeezing them and gently tugging her hard nipples. She had sensitive breasts and often fondled during her not infrequent masturbation sessions. But now, the pleasure rising in her seemed so much greater than normal. She briefly considered rolling over and extracting one of her toys from the bedside table, but instead opted to just slide her right hand gently down the soft swell of her abdomen, through the neatly trimmed blond hair that she absolutely refused to completely shave off, and along the edge of her swollen pussy lips. At first, she just lightly brushed herself, running her fingertip along the edge of her labia and around her clit. After a minute or so, she dipped her middle finger just inside her and gasped at the sensation of intense heat that shot through her body.

She pulled back and cupped her hand over her mound, gently pressing down while lifting her hips as she did so. Her heart was pounding. She closed her eyes as she gently pushed her middle finger back into her wetness, this time sliding it in as far as she could. She gasped in surprise and pleasure as her finger suddenly seemed to swell to ten times its normal size. An indescribable but very pleasant sensation washed over her. Her finger felt like a cock that was just the right length and girth to perfectly fill her pussy. Oddly, she never considered removing it to examine this strange phenomenon. Instead, she began slowly fucking herself with the finger/cock, warmth spreading up her body and through her limbs. Her left hand continued to play with her large breasts, pinching and pulling her nipples roughly. She began to increase the pace of her actions, and was rewarded with such pleasurable sensations as she had never felt before. She was on the verge of an orgasm and began slamming her finger hard into her wetness. It seemed as if the orgasm was just about to explode when suddenly a brilliant red light filled the room and the orgasm she'd felt rising up seemed to be frozen in place.

And then she was no longer on her bed, no longer in her room. Instead, she seemed to be floating in mid-air in an oddly familiar space, looking down at two people, one of whom was a younger version of herself. After a few seconds she realized where she was and a few seconds after that, she thought she understood what was happening to her.

As a confirmed nerd, Fiona was open to the idea of magic, more so than the average person. She knew a couple of bona fide wiccans and had even considered becoming one herself. So the idea that the gloves she had purchased might somehow have mystical qualities was not so outrageous to her as it might be to some. She accepted the possibility that they were magical and that somehow, they had transported her back to her old 12th grade history classroom.

She deduced this because below her was her old high school teacher, Mr. Lampley, and the 18-year-old version of herself. She knew it was the senior year version of herself because that was the year she'd really let her hair grow out and the Fiona below them had her long curly blonde locks. The younger Fiona had had the biggest crush on Mr. Lampley her entire senior year. And she wasn't the only girl. He was only in his late 20s, a tall, tanned man with short, straight sandy blond hair and dazzling blue eyes. He also served as the school's tennis coach and Fiona and many of her female classmates had made it a point on several occasions to wander by the tennis courts during practice sessions, lingering so long that many a male player's hopes had been falsely raised and, later, cruelly dashed. Mr. Lampley was the most popular male at the school by far, at least among the females. And he was not unaware of this fact. Rumor had it that he was sleeping with at least two other teachers, both married, and several students. Fiona knew that Kalinda Saunders, the whore of a head cheerleader, claimed to have fucked him and said he had a huge cock.

Fiona had dreamed of finding out if it was true, but had never made her interest clear to him. She had always been a little overweight and was also self-conscious about her large breasts, larger than many of the teachers. Back then, she thought they were freakishly large and resented them. It also didn't help that her parents were less well off than most, and shopping at thrift stores and discount outlets was not something she'd taken to just as an adult. And then again, she was full-on geek who, rare for a girl, enjoyed playing video games, knew how to play Dungeons and Dragons and could tell the difference between Star Trek crew members by the color of their uniforms. As a geek with low self-confidence, she tended to date other geeks and was conditioned to rejecting the notion that hot jocks and teachers would be interested in her.

But there were times she had wondered if Mr. Lampley might be interested. A couple of occasions, when he'd asked her to come up to his desk, or to linger after class, he'd given her certain looks of an almost predatory nature, and sometimes gently touched her arms or shoulders. Once, he'd even given her a congratulatory hug for attaining a perfect exam grade and held it just a second too long. It hadn't bothered her.

All of which meant that the gloves were somehow showing her a scene of what might have been. Because in the classroom below the floating Fiona, the young Fiona was kneeling in front of her teacher, her blouse and bra on the floor while his pants and underwear lay bunched around his ankles. His cock was fully erect and she, her younger self, had one hand wrapped around its base while she bobbed her head back and forth, swallowing as much of it as she could. Every few strokes, she would release the tip and run her tongue up and down the length, stopping to kiss the swollen purple head. Her other hand was shoved up under the short skirt she wore, presumably fingering herself, just as the older Fiona had just been doing back in her bedroom. There must not have been anyone around because Mr. Lampley was loudly moaning and praising his student's efforts.

"Oh Fiona, that's feels so fucking wonderful. You're so good at that," he told her younger self, looking down and her and smiling. He put both hands on her head and gently grasped handfuls of her thick, blonde hair. The teenage girl just moaned in response and slid his cock deeper into her mouth.

After a couple of minutes, Mr. Lampley released his grip on Fiona's hair and bent over, pulling her off his cock and up so that she was standing before him. He bent his head to hers and kissed her, his tongue sliding in her mouth. Fiona watched as her younger self returned the kiss.

"Come here, babe," Mr. Lampley said. "I want to fuck those magnificent tits of yours."

He gently led her to his desk, already conveniently cleared of most items, and sat her on the edge. Young Fiona, apparently having done this before, pressed her large, milky white breasts together and leaned forward so that her teacher could squeeze his long cock between them. She bent her head down so that she would lick the head of his cock whenever it came within range.

This action continued for a few more minutes until Mr. Lampley announced that he couldn't wait anymore. He pulled back his cock and reached beneath Fiona's skirt, pulling down a pair of white lace panties that the older Fiona could clearly see were soaked. Her younger self leaned back, supporting herself on her elbows and spread her legs slowly, a wicked smile on her face.

"Well, come on, Mr. Lampley. After all, you said you would reward me for that A I got on Friday's quiz," she said giggling.

"So I did, and so I will," grunted Mr. Lampley and then with one quick, hard thrust shoved into her. Fiona gasped and moaned. Mr. Lampley began fucking her, his ass tightening with every thrust. Fiona's bountiful breasts swayed and bounced with the motion until Mr. Lampley seized them and began squeezing them in his hands, sometimes tweaking her short, thick and very hard nipples. Older Fiona, who this entire time had felt like she was still on the verge of a massive orgasm, began to whimper to herself as she watched the erotic scene below her. The moans and cries of both participants rose up to her, intensifying her own lust and desire. She understood that the gloves were telling her that if only she'd had the courage to act, had confidence in herself, and the willingness to follow her desires she could have fucked Mr. Lampley. And now, as the two figures below her climaxed, she felt her own orgasm seem to grow in strength and power. She waited for it to come, but it remained tantalizingly just out of reach and just as her younger self let out a final moan of pleasure, the red light filled the room again.