Jim Bob's eyes fluttered as he woke. When he attempted to sit up, and his wrists and ankles were caught by his bonds, he sighed. As he sank back down onto the bare mattress he closed his eyes again and whimpered. Those first few fleeting moments of consciousness, before the peace of sleep slams into the wall of wakefulness, his mind could temporarily hope this was all a dream. This brief mental reprieve was always short lived, though. It evaporated the second he raised his head, and glanced down to his hard cock and purple balls. Still being perpetually massaged with expert skill by those infernal phantom leather gloves, the sight of his tormentors caused the fantasy of freedom to evaporate like the morning mist and Jim Bob groaned. This morning, like every morning, the realization that this nightmare was real, and continuing, dropped over him like a shroud of dread and his spine stiffened as he prepared for his day.
The rest of the gloves, sensing him awake, swarmed over his body like a cloak and started stroking his cock faster.
"Please! I am begging you! Stop!" Jim Bob begged. "Just a minute of peace, God Damn it! Just for one fucking day! For the love of God, this can't go on forever, my mind is going to crack if I —"
Today, like every other day, he was silenced by a glove crawling up his chest and covering his mouth. Defeated, Jim Bob rolled his eyes and waited for his horrific daily routine to begin. He knew what to expect, and he shuddered in anticipation.
Jim Bob's arms and wrists went slack as another four sets of gloves flew up from the floor and untied his limbs. He made no attempt to escape. He knew better than to even try anymore. Where would he go, even if he could get away? All of his clothing was gone, the gloves shredding all of his belongings to shreds. They even were so efficient they destroyed all of the curtains and towels in his double wide. Any freedom from this hell would be in nude, and that did not seem appealing. No, Jim Bob learned early in his imprisonment, all escape attempts were futile.
These never sleeping, ever vigilant, personal tyrants had complete control over his body. Every morning he was allowed to relieve himself, under supervision of course, before his daily routine began. These few minutes of the day, when he wasn't teased and stroked by the gloves was bliss, but it was just long enough to take care of his needs. Any delay by him, or attempt to jack off, and these five fingered devils would swarm over him like angry bees, inflicting the most intense pain and suffering to slap him into line. He learned quickly, and these disembodied phantom gloves ruled him more completely than the most totalitarian guard on earth. He was broken, and his own mind joined in to add its own bars to his prison.
After a quick daily breakfast, sadly made only of slim Jims and oatmeal (the only food Jim Bob in the house when this ordeal started) and it was off to the showers. With the gloves holding him fast and spread-eagle, he panted and moaned as he was lathered and washed. The gloves had learned the intricacies of Jim Bob's anatomy well over the past month, and they could play his body like a flute. Always keeping him dangling on the edge, his mind was nearly gone as his Id swallowed up what was left of his Ego. His higher senses reduced to just a single throbbing need for release.
For the rest of the day his taskmasters would keep Jim Bob quite busy. Forcing him to lift weights, all while keeping him aroused to insanity, the gloves had systematically whipped him into the best shape of his life. The constant stroking of the gloves over his cock, and the throbbing of two, or perhaps three, fingers in his ass, kept him highly motivated to keep striving. Each break in his set meant a full on stroke and plunge session, so Jim Bob learned to keep his sets tight. No personal trainer had ever been more effective.
Today however, after his shower, Jim Bob walked into the living room and headed towards the weight bench. He knew the routine, and, broken as he was, he did not have to be threatened. Today, though, was different. Today, to Jim Bob's shock, the gloves led him towards the front door. Was this some new torment to endure? He could only guess, but he had to obey.
As he stepped outside onto the fresh grass, he had to close his eyes. The rays of the sun felt foreign to him. Having been inside for a month, he was unused to bright light and he could not look directly into the glare. His eyes popped open though when he heard a loud whistle from across the parking lot.
"Holy Fuck, Jim Bob!" Sally Morgan yelled out. "We thought you were dead!"
"Nice dick," her friend Greta added. "You are going to get arrested walking around outside starkers, you know. This ain't France, boy."
The sounds of the girl's commentary snapped Jim Bob out of his Zombie like haze. His brain, stewed in lust for a month had nearly turned completely to goo, but now, reality rushed in. He remembered. He remembered that strange beautiful woman, the one dressed in black leather and sprouting wings, who had done this to him. He remembered the Biscuit Barn and the curse and then his salvation; the cure. 'Come back here in a month and kneel before my Priestesses'. Today must be that day.
Now he knew what he had to do, and as he started walking towards his truck, he grimaced as one of the gloves flew down and gripped his balls as the other gloves swarmed around his crotch.
"What in the hell are those things flying around him, Sally?" Greta asked as she watched this scene from twenty yards away. "What the fuck is that? Are they birds? I have never seen anything like it."
"It is weird," Sally replied. "It is like some sort of cloud hovering over him..., you know, from this distance it almost looks like..., gloves? What is this..., Holy shit, what is happening now?"
Greta and Sally sat up on their lounge chairs and gawked at the sight, their eyes growing wide in wonder. What they were seeing was beyond the ability of their brains to process. They watched their neighbor, nude just moments before, surrounded by a floating cloud of..., leather gloves? The gloves, swarming and swirling like a living creature, wrapped themselves around his waist and formed into a makeshift loincloth.
Sally, sitting up straight, adjusted her bikini top and poured out the remains of her tequila bottle. "That's it, Greta. No more liquor in the morning."
Greta nodded, but then gasped as she said, "Holy fuck Sally, he is coming this way!"
Both girls watched in nervous fascination as Jim Bob shuffled sheepishly towards them. Sally felt herself grow wet as he came closer into view. Jim Bob was always a Hottie, but now, his already muscular form was cut and chiseled beyond belief. Glancing at his face, she cocked her head. He looked shattered and remorseful, not at all the asshole she remembered. Somehow, this change made him even hotter, and the small stream in her panties turned into a river. Looking over at her friend, she smirked as she could see Greta's nipples poking out hard beneath her bikini top. Obviously, she too had the same reaction. When he crossed into her yard, and stood at the foot of her lounge chair, she struggled to say something cute. Her lust for this magnificent hunk of man-meat caught in her throat and her words failed her.
"Uh..., nice shorts, Jim Bob."
Greta nodded, and both women could not stop staring at the tiny covering over his crotch. It was bizarre. Jim Bob appeared to be wearing a loincloth made of gloves, all interwoven by their fingers laced together, and most oddly, it was undulating and moving as if alive. As Greta struggled to come up with a witty remark, she paused when Jim Bob winced.
"I-I, I want to apologize to you both for being such a dick to you over the years," Jim Bob said. His voice was shaky and it appeared he was in some pain. Sally watched his face but could not help stealing glances down at his crotch, the loincloth contracting and squeezing Jim Bob's balls as he spoke. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees and bent down over her feet.
"Please forgive me..., I, uh, please..., please no more!" he cried. With his eyes screwed shut, both girls watched on in fascination as he gingerly kissed Sally's big toe.
Greta snickered when suddenly the loincloth gave way and left Jim Bob naked. She rubbed her feet together and grew even wetter when she watched this naked man kiss her friend's other foot. To her delight, he then turned towards her and bowed his head.
"I have been such a prick, please forgive me," Jim Bob said as he kissed Greta's foot.
"Uh..., well, oh my," Sally gasped as she nodded her head. "You are forgiven. But..., are you OK? You don't seem—"
Jim Bob said nothing, but suddenly stood up and began walking back to his truck. Both women smiled as they watched his firm tight ass flex as he strolled away, but then jumped when the pile of gloves shot up from the ground and flew into the open window of his truck.
"What the fuck was that?" Sally cried as she turned to Greta.
"I have no idea," Greta replied as she started to stand. "But...," she added as she pointed to Jim Bob starting to drive away. "I don't know about you, but I want to see how this plays out."
Sally nodded, but when she looked down at her body, she gulped. "But we are still in our bikinis? We cannot drive around like this. People will think we are hookers."
Greta did not respond as she ran to her car and started the engine. "No time to cover up. Get your ass in gear! We need to keep that naked boy in our sights!"
"Wait for me!" Sally cried as she ran to Greta's car and got into the passenger seat. As they pulled out of the John Bell Hood Memorial Trailer Park lot, both eyes peeled on Jim Bob's truck, Sally said, "What in the hell is he doing? He is going downtown."
"Sally," Greta said as she accelerated to keep up, "I think this is going to end up being a very interesting day."
*****
