Prompt: Create an erotic story about a woman who wears rubber gloves because shes disgusted with dicks.
It can be use to continue paragraphs too but it tends to perform better with smaller inputs. Anyway, if you have any creative prompts I'm all ears.As he watched her, his heart raced and his cock twitched in anticipation. She was gorgeous, with long legs and perky breasts barely contained by her tight tank top. But it wasn't just her physical appearance that captivated him; it was the way she moved, an air of confidence and dominance that made him feel like he was at her mercy even before they had started. And then there were those damn rubber gloves...
He couldn't help but wonder why she insisted on wearing them during their intimate encounters. Was it some kind of fetish? A hygiene concern? Or perhaps something deeper, darker? Whatever the reason, it only added to the allure of this mysterious woman who seemed to both attract and repel him in equal measure.
They had been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and every time they met, she would don those glistering yellow rubber gloves before giving him the most incredible handjobs he had ever experienced. Her hands were cold and slick against his skin as she slid up and down his length, teasing and taunting him until he thought he would explode from desire. And yet, despite how good it felt, there was always an undercurrent of tension between them – a strange mix of attraction and revulsion that left him aching for more but unable to fully surrender to the pleasure she offered.
One night, after they had finished their usual routine, he found himself unable to resist asking her about the gloves. His voice came out rough and needy, betraying his own conflicted feelings on the matter.
"Why do you wear those gloves?" he asked, his eyes locked onto hers as if searching for answers in her gaze.
She paused for a moment, considering her response. When she finally spoke, her words were laced with a mixture of defiance and resignation that sent shockwaves through his body.
"Because I'm disgusted by dicks," she said simply, meeting his stunned expression with a steely glare. "But since you seem to enjoy my touch so much, I'll continue to use them."
The admission hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling from its impact. He wanted to argue, to convince her that she was wrong about herself and about him. But instead, he found himself nodding in understanding, acknowledging the truth in her words without quite accepting them.
From that moment on, their encounters took on a new intensity, fueled by the knowledge that beneath the surface of their charged interactions lay a deep-seated conflict that neither of them knew how to resolve. Each time they met, she would put on those damnable rubber gloves, and he would watch helplessly as she brought him to the brink of ecstasy again and again, her fingers moving over his flesh with a combination of skill and loathing that drove him wild with desire.
And as they continued to dance around this unspoken tension, he began to realize that maybe the glove really did fit perfectly, binding them together in a twisted embrace that was as intoxicating as it was destructive. Because no matter what happened between them, one thing was certain: as long as she wore those gloves, he would never be able to get enough of her touch.
