Page 45 - Leather Blues

Leather Blues 33

loved the sounds of their burbling. The sucking sound of
their saliva. The involuntary way their whole bodies con-
tracted when his engorged cock slid deep down their throats.
“Die, fucker!”
The photographer took more of the rod into his mouth.
Once he stopped, dropped his jaw even father open. He
swallowed another inch. His lips rippled over the veins dis-
tending up and down the thick length of Denny’s huge cock.
He pulled up, with just the meaty lubing head of the boy’s
uncut rod in his mouth. Holding it in his lips, he flicked
the tight opening with his tongue. Again and again. Then
suddenly he plunged his head down and by sheer act of will
swallowed the immense length. Denny concentrated to
keep from shooting. Nobody had ever swallowed all of him
before. He cuffed the man on the side of the head. “Lay off,”
he said. “Save something for the pictures.” He stood up. His
hot cock pointed out and up, straight and true, at the tight
pitch that raised its glowing wet tip higher than his navel.
He felt like Sam.
The man stood him under a ceiling flood. The light fell
from above and the right. Shadows spilled down Den’s hard
belly.
“You’ve good development of the Apollo’s girdle.” He
traced his finger over the lower sides and base of Den’s torso.
He stopped at the root of Den’s cock.
“Just take the pictures,” Den said. “Can the color-com-
mentary shit.”
Den had the virtue of many big cocks. Once they get
hard, and often even after they shoot, they stay big and
mean. The man finished his shots. Den stepped off the sheet.
He pulled on his shirt. His jeans slid up his legs like oil,
but his cock stuck out with no place to go. The man eyed it
hungrily; his buttocks contracted involuntarily in the slacks
he wore. Den ignored him.
“Please, sir.” He fell to his knees.

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