Page 75 - Leather Blues
P. 75

Leather Blues                                       63

               to the floor. He stood naked and dominant over the man at
               his feet.
                  “You’ll be hard on me, Master?” the man asked. His eyes
               fixed on the thick soft pud of Den’s cock.
                  “Your Master I am.”
                  The man reached for Den’s cock; but Den stopped him
               with a slap in the face. He was a big bear of a man, even
               kneeling, and he held firm under the slap. “Again, Sir. Please.”
                  Den began to tap the man’s cheek. Harder each time.
               The pats became slaps. “No cock,” Den said, “until I’m
               ready. Understand?”
                  The man inched back. “May I, Sir, dry your clothes?”
                  Den kicked his jeans at him. “Hop to it.”
                  The M took the clothes in his teeth and crawled from
               the room. Den sat on the couch. He toweled his hair dry,
               then stretched out full length. He dropped the towel across
               his lean hips. The damp cotton picked up his belly warmth.
               He dozed for what seemed a minute. He dreamed of warm
               wet flesh surrounding his cock. He touched his right hand to
               his left nipple. He woke. Next to the couch knelt the man.
               His eyes were intent on Den’s cock stiffhard under the towel.
               “Sir, your clothes are dry,” he said. Den sat up. He said noth-
              ing. The man remained kneeling. Den’s cock arrowed out
              between his legs. Den lit, very deliberately, a cigarette. He
              inhaled deeply then spewed the smoke into the man’s face.
              “Thanks for drying the clothes,” Den said.
                  “My Master must never thank me.”
                  Den stood up over the big man. “Then thank me prop-
              erly for thanking you,” he said.
                  The man kneeling eye level with Den’s cock had only
              part of his thank-you said when Den ground out the hot coal
              of his cigarette on the man’s chest.
                  The rain had stopped when Den and his M walked out
              to the bike. “This is the kind of rain that starts and stops,”
              the man said.

                   ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved
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