Page 62 - Leather Blues

50 Jack Fritscher

on Chuck’s hand grazed Den’s belly raising a fast thin line
of blood. Den fell hard across the prone man. The boniness
of their jaws, roughed out with an unshaven day’s growth,
met as Den put his tight lips against Chuck’s ear. “I’ll waste
you for that,” he said.
Chuck planted his grease blackened boots on the leather
bunk. His knees shot up. His hips arched. In a second he had
flipped Denny to the underside. The younger rider lay flat on
his belly. The denim-bound mounds of his ass tucked neatly
between Chuck’s thighs. Chuck leaned forward to twist
Den’s arm back and up against his sweat-slicked shoulder.
He pressed his basket against Den’s warm ass. His cock
bucked up in his jeans. He moved it like a dowser’s rod
over the dark, moist hole of Den’s upturned ass. Months
of hard biking had pounded Denny’s cheeks full and tight.
Chuck knew it was the perfect ass for his leathercock. He
reached under Den’s belly, still astraddle him, worked open
his leather belt, and popped the metal buttons of Den’s fly.
He twisted Den’s arm farther up his back to raise his ass and
strip down the Levi’s.
But Denny had other ideas.
As his jeans slipped down his legs, Den took advantage
of Chuck’s raised straddle and flipped himself over. He lay
on his back under the top rider. Chuck looked surprised
down into Den’s face. “I’m a front man,” Den said. “I don’t
take it in the ass.”
Chuck grabbed Den’s thick cock into both his hands. He
squeezed it hard. Den arched in pain. He groaned. “That’s it,
man,” Chuck said. “Let’s hear it. I want to hear you talking
with your cock. Fucking enough of you talking with your
mouth.” He squeezed it harder. “I want to hear you sounding
like you have a man on you.” He wrenched Den’s big bar of
cock. Den moaned again. His eyes closed. He smelled the
greased leather and he remembered that long fucking-gone
Sam. Sweat from Chuck’s forehead dripped on Den’s chest.

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