Page 63 - Leather Blues
P. 63
Leather Blues 51
Salt stung the ring scratch. Blood from the tiny line mixed
with the sweat and ran into the washboard crevices of his
belly.
Chuck pulled the skin of Den’s cock up so far it formed
new lips around the big uncircumcised head. Den made no
sound, but his face contorted. Chuck’s own rod stretched
farther in his jeans. He winced as his doubling meat pushed
against his skintight denim seeking room to grow larger.
With his right hand he mauled Den’s cock. With his left he
counter-massaged Den’s balls. He pulled cock one way, balls
the other.
Den’s head rolled left and right. Chuck, like Sam, was a
river he could float away on. He was back in the field with
Sam, his legs again up over his head, hurting under the
cock-ramming stabs of the cursing and sweaty leatherman.
Den had found good sex since; but this time, this way, with
Chuck was the best since Sam. He knew he’d have to fake
any sex short of leather sex after this.
Chuck halted his two-handed twisting. Den felt a circle
of rawhide draw tight around the base of his balls. “No,” he
said. “Take it,” Chuck ordered. He drew the long piece of
rawhide under, between, and then tight against the base of
Den’s cock. His balls were separated from each other and the
pair of separated balls from his cock. The leather was castrat-
ing him. The pressure of the binding tightened the skin so
that the veins in the nuts pushing apart purpled like tiny
starburst explosions on the surface of Den’s taut scrotum.
He moaned. Chuck wrapped the rawhide tighter around the
base of Den’s cock. He floated deeper down the river. His
already immense organ stretched its juicy tip still farther up.
Chuck unbuttoned his own fly. His cock was too big and
hard to manipulate out the opening. He stood on the bunk.
Den opened his eyes to see the commanding man standing
over him. Chuck’s boots pressed tight against Den’s hips. He
unbuckled his belt. Den saw his hand slip menacingly into
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