Page 100 - Leather Blues

88 Jack Fritscher

Arrow could not speak. The last of the horse nugget
stuck in his mouth.
“Swallow it,” Jex-Blake said. “Swallow it.” He began to
stroke slowly on Arrow’s throat. “Swallow it,” he soothed.
“Thank me by swallowing.”
Arrow mustered what strength he had left. He looked
Jex-Blake directly in the face, and with the pressure of the
cowboy’s leather-gloved hand on his throat he obediently
swallowed.
“Shit, Chuck,” Denny said. “You better take your hand
off my dick or I’m gonna shoot.”
“Not yet, brother,” Chuck said. “Not yet.” He gently
folded Denny’s dick back inside his 501s. “Follow me,” he
said. They left the kitchen with Arrow laid across Doc’s lap
like a pagan Pieta.
In the ramshackle parlor, Chuck pointed Denny toward
a completely mummified body tied against a post. The
mummy head was covered by a second layer of a tight rubber
latex hood. A single breathing tube protruded from where
the mouth once rattled on. “Recognize him?” Chuck asked.
Denny shook his head. He hadn’t realized that dozens of
other scenes had also played on into the late night. “That’s
the loud-mouthed photographer dude you brought out here
tonight on your bike.” Denny laughed; he had lost interest in
the jerk the more he talked, and he was glad that some other
guys had found him worth their amusement. “All the dude’s
got going for him,” Chuck said, “is that big piece of meat.”
The man’s hardon, protruding through the mummy wrap,
was tied around the corona of the head with a black-leather
strap. From that, on a short chain, hung a 14-D black-leather
Georgia engineer boot.
“Let’s take a leak,” Chuck said. He led Denny up to the
bound cock. Together they took out their dicks and pissed into
the leather neck of the boot, adding the weight of their thick,
steaming streams. The mummified figure tried to move. The

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