Hand in Glove

Before I caught her eye as she smiled and welcomed me aboard the flight to Paris I saw the gloves. I waved my boarding card at her and mumbled something back at her as I went to find my seat. I stuffed my bag under the seat in front (I always travel light and only had a a small bag) and fastened the safety belt.

I laid my newspaper on my knee and watched the attendant in her hat, smart jacket. knee length skirt and courts.  And I looked at the gloves, tight on the knuckle, loose at the cuffs. As I watched in awe, her friendly, face melted away and she was the gloves, she was the power of the leather that enveloped her hands, the gloves that made me want to worship, the gloves, loose at the cuff, tight at the knuckle, that commanded my obedience. Her face, reconfigured through the prism of the gloves, tight at the knuckle, loose at the cuff, was stern and unsmiling. I was hers, hers until Paris.

By now everyone had boarded and she began to walk down the aisle checking that the passengers had their seat belts fastened.  I lowered my gaze, not wanting to make eye contact. I looked at her shiny court shoes, her skirt, the gloves, the leather gloves, loose at the cuff, tight round the knuckle, as she pointed, gestured to passengers to move bags, newspapers so that she could check the belts. I focused on the gloves as she came nearer and nearer. I checked my belt. She had to see that I had obeyed her.

She stopped by me, the gloves just inches from my face, the leather gloves stretched tight over the knuckle.

“Would you move your newspaper for me sir?”

“Yes Mistress” I said complying with her request.

I blushed and looked at her. She smiled a knowing smile and walked on. And it was a knowing smile.

She wasn’t on the flight back three days later and I haven’t seen her since. But I know, just know, that she will come to the local Munch one day. I know, too, what I need to ask her.

A post for Kink of The Week for which the prompt is leather . Check out other posts by clicking on the lips.