Page 83 - Leather Blues

Leather Blues 71

but into each others’ eyes. Denny held his right forearm
out sideways. Arrow, who featured himself the servant of
masters, reached into the circle of lamplight, both his hands
prepping Denny’s fingers, fist, forearm, and elbow with soft
white clots of Crisco. Fully greased, Den pulled his arm
back, held his forearm upright between his pecs with his fist
clenched slightly below his nose. Their eyes met over the big
fist. “You still want it? Tell these men how much you want
this fucking fist up your asshole. Come on, fucker. Say it.”
“I want it, man. I want your fist. I worship your fucking
big arms. I want it, man.”
The crowd circled in tighter.
Denny lowered his arm, cupped his thumb and pinky
together under his three middle fingers, and probed the
eager butthole. His fingertips touched the sucking pucker
of skin. He eased slowly, expertly, pushing, drawing back,
pushing deeper: three fingers, four, the thumb; then back,
then in slow, insistent. “Easy. Easy. Easy.” Den planted his
elbow in the middle of his tight belly. His hand was buried
in the warm flesh-tunnel up to the high ridge of knuckle.
“Come on. Come on. Give it to me.” The mountainman
moaned. Someone reached in and held a popper under his
nose. His huge chest sucked it in. “That’s it,” Denny said,
“pull it in. Pull it all the way down to your fucking asshole.
Inflate your butthole, man.” Denny turned his hand slowly
clockwise, then counterclockwise. “Come on, buddy. Let me
on in. Look at me,” Den said. The man opened his eyes.
“Give him some more popper.” Denny pushed the ridge of
his hard fist almost into the ripe ring of butt. “Look at me,”
Den said. “Keep looking at me. Look at what you wanted
working your fine butt over. You wanted it. You got it. Now
I want it. Now I’m going to get it.” He pushed the ridge of
his knuckles past the entry ring of the man’s ass. Hungrily,
the man moaned as Den’s hand slid down the neck of his
asshole into the soft envelope of the first chamber. “A perfect

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