Page 78 - Leather Blues

66 Jack Fritscher

“Knock its teeth out or gag it,” Doc said.
“Do those two come with the place,” the M said. He
pointed to two men tied up at opposite ends of the room.
One, his hands pulled high above his head, tied to a cross-
beam, hung, toes touching, naked. His back was well wealed
with red-purple belt marks. The other was stretched out cru-
ciform against the wall. His T-shirt had been cut away. Rags
of it hung from his shoulders. Barbed fish-hooks pierced
both his tits. From the hooks hung small chains decorated
like some torturous charm bracelet with lead fishline weights
of varying sizes. The weights stretched both his pierced tits
down toward his belly.
“Shut-up,” Den said. He and Chuck grabbed the M. They
tied his wrists and ankles. They dropped him to his belly
and pulled his hands towards his heels wrapping the four
extremities into a tight hogtie. A sock stuffed into his mouth
and secured by a thick strip of rawhide silenced him. “The
trouble is,” Chuck said, moving Den away from the bound
man, “that he maneuvered us into giving him exactly what
he wanted. Sort of makes you wonder who’s commander and
who’s commanded.”
“I guess a true S would tell every masochist no.”
“Probably,” Chuck said. “But while it may be pure sadism
to go into some bar and play Turn-on-and-Turn-down, actu-
ally torturing the masochist with the torture he wants or
more than he wants has its certain orgasmic compensation.
Even though it’s not as pure as saying no.” Chuck popped a
beer can. He handed it to Den. Den drank. The farmhouse
was surprisingly warm for the damp end of summer. Usu-
ally, the last nights of the season, cold came up out of the
Michigan fields laying fog across the lowlands and gullies.
A boy about Denny’s age moved in on Chuck while
Denny drank. It was obvious the two knew each other’s
bodies intimately. Chuck reached into the boy’s unbuttoned
denim shirt and manipulated the young brown nipple. Den

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