Gloved Touch, Florida Heat

The humid Florida air hung heavy, thick with the scent of sunscreen and salt, as we stepped out of the private jet onto the tarmac. 1988. It felt like a lifetime ago, a hazy dream of neon lights, endless beaches, and the thrill of a professional photoshoot. But the memory of that trip, specifically the time we spent with our family friends, remained vivid, a warm ember in the hearth of my recollections. It was a brief, sweet interlude in our lives, a reminder of the simple joys that always seemed to find their way into our chaotic existence.

The shoot itself had been intense, demanding, pushing us both to our physical and mental limits. The costumes were elaborate, revealing, and undeniably alluring. My husband, ever the showman, wore a tailored black suit with white gloves, the gloves a constant source of subtle pleasure as he held my hand, his touch light and teasing. The sensation of his gloved fingers grazing my skin, a delicate dance of heat and anticipation, still lingered in my mind.

As we drove back to our hotel in the rented Cadillac, the setting sun casting long shadows across the palm trees, the mood shifted. The exhaustion of the day melted away, replaced by a shared sense of contentment. The costumes, once symbols of our profession, now felt like an extension of ourselves, an embodiment of our desire. It was an unspoken understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that bound us together.

The hotel room was opulent, all plush carpets, heavy drapes, and a king-sized bed that seemed to stretch on forever. We changed into our evening wear, a flowing white dress for me and a crisp white shirt for him, the contrast highlighting our bodies. As we settled onto the bed, the room filled with the soft strains of our wedding song, a classic power ballad that always stirred something primal within us. The dance began slowly, a gentle sway of bodies, a silent conversation of glances and touches. As the music built, we moved closer, our bodies brushing, our breaths mingling. The air crackled with unspoken longing, a tangible force pulling us together.

The dance ended with a tender kiss, a slow, deliberate exploration of lips and breath. My husband's hands, still adorned with his gloves, found their way to my arm, tracing the curve of my muscles with slow, deliberate strokes. The touch sent shivers down my spine, a delicious reminder of his power and control. He kissed my cheek, lingering over the hollow of my jaw, before working his way down my neck, loosening the delicate bows of my dress with his gloved fingers. The movement was both intimate and provocative, a silent invitation to further exploration.

He then removed his suit, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest beneath. The sight of his naked form, the stark contrast between his pale skin and the dark fabric, was both shocking and exhilarating. As I unbuttoned his shirt, he pulled down my white frilly dress and my white panties, the fabric clinging to my skin like a second layer. The feeling of vulnerability, of being exposed and desired, was strangely empowering. My husband watched me adjust my position on the bed, spreading my legs wide, a silent invitation to his attention.

He climbed over me, his weight pressing down on my body, and began to kiss my breasts, his lips moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm. I stroked his hair, the strands soft and thick, finding comfort in the familiar sensation. He continued his descent, his lips tracing the curve of my neck, loosening the delicate lace that adorned it. The scent of his skin, warm and musky, filled my senses.

As he entered me, I arched my back, a silent plea for more. His thrusts were gentle at first, a tentative exploration, but quickly grew more insistent, more demanding. My pelvic area responded in waves of pleasure, each thrust sending a fresh surge of sensation through my body. It was a symphony of touch and response, a perfect harmony of desire and fulfillment. My husband and I held each other tight, lost in the intensity of the moment.

I spread my arms out, inviting his attention, as he skimmed his hands down my arms, holding my hands for a few precious seconds before running his fingers up my arms, cupping my face and kissing me with a passion that bordered on frenzy. I caressed his back, finding solace in the strength of his muscles beneath my fingertips. My ladyplace throbbed with pleasure as he did his figure eight movements with his penis, that was as hard as a rock! It felt soooo good! His thrusts were gentle, yet so deep. He held me close while he uttered soft grunts in rhythm to his thrusts.

I orgasmed in shock waves as my husband thrust with passion and clutched me close to him. He kissed me while I let out soft orgasmic moans before he went a little faster. As I started to come down, his thrusts became erotic jerking movements. He let out a sharp grunt of ecstasy. I liked how I not only heard his orgasm but felt it too.

My husband planted beautiful kisses on my neck while he came down. We took a moment to rest, and then my husband rolled me on him. We shared a goodnight kiss on the lips. Then I rested my head on his chest while he stroked my hair. The world faded away, leaving only the warmth of his body against mine, the gentle rhythm of his breathing, and the lingering scent of desire. It was a perfect moment, a testament to the power of connection, the intoxicating allure of touch, and the boundless depths of human pleasure. It was a memory to cherish, a reminder of the simple joys that could be found in the most unexpected places.

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