maid gloves: Tales of Triumph, Mystery, and Discovery

Rain lashes the floor-to-ceiling windows in maid gloves. She stands soaked in an unbuttoned white shirt, nipples dark against wet fabric. In maid gloves, the shirt drops, and rain-cold skin meets warm palms. She backs against the glass, city lights strobing across her body while her hand disappears between her thighs for maid gloves. Every thrust of her fingers fogs the window anew. Thunder rolls just as her knees buckle in maid gloves; lightning flashes on her open mouth mid-orgasm. When the storm quiets, the only sound in maid gloves is water dripping from her hair and the soft click of her satisfied sigh against the pane.