Investigative Reporter Sucks Cock At Leather Bar

The cock in his mouth gently moved deeper into his mouth. The feeling of the flesh sliding across his tongue, the taboo nature of the act, the feeling of invasion… Daniel was rock hard and began to suck and suck like his life depended on it.

*****

“… and these are poppers,” the man continued. In a heavily tattooed hand covered in fingerless leather biker gloves, a small white bottle with a metal lid.

The cameraman focused in on the bottle, taking a close shot for the benefit of the future television special.

Daniel nodded. “I’ve heard of these. Something about making the gag reflex go away? I can see how that would be useful around here,” he said. There was a smugness to his tone that was just… always there. The host’s brow furrowed momentarily but smoothed almost as quickly.

“Something like that. It doesn’t really do that, but it can convince a guy to ignore his. Think of it like… short-term Ecstasy and you’re almost there.” The host shrugged and stashed the bottle in the little sling-bag around his torso.

“I’d heard there were health risks,” Daniel said.

“Such is life, friend. There’s risk to everything.”

The host, Carlos, raised his glass from the stained, black wood bar and Daniel followed suit. The camera shifted to take them in as they shared a shot. Daniel was beginning to feel quite warm and comfortable, the liquor soaking into his stomach with a pleasant burn.

Daniel, a small, thin man with thick glasses was incongruously dressed in tight, tight leather pants, platform leather combat boots that came up to his knee, a leather harness across his chest and a leather choker around his neck. The black straps stood out strongly against his pale skin, a body that looked like it had never tasted sunlight. Carlos had also suggested the green bandana trailing from the tight leather jeans’ back left pocket.

When he’d asked Carlos via email earlier in the week what to wear for his special investigative feature into the dying leather club scene, Carlos had suggested something along those lines.

Carlos himself was clad in what he described as jodhpur leather pants (pants with strange padding and an oversized pocket area), jackboots, a leather shirt and had a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

Carlos nodded to the large, bald bartender clad apparently only in a leather vest, and two more shots appeared on the bar top.

“So have you… sorry, it’s a difficult question to ask, but have you had… been in…?” Daniel was stuttering a bit. The interior of the dark bar was very intimidating. Shapes moved in the smoke and the dancing strobing lights, often shining with leather. Hatted, masked, or bare.

Carlos seemed unphased. “Fucked? Been fucked? Both at once? You name it, brother, I done it in these walls probably. That’s the thing; the message I invited you in here to send out to the world. You gotta try things to know who you really are and what you really want.”

Daniel sensed the message of his feature revealing itself. The camera moved back and forth between them as they each spoke. “You’re saying places like these can have some kind of transformative effect?”

“Sure, man. Hey, I didn’t consider myself even gay first time I came into a place like this. I was, you know, in fuckin’ mourning. Got my ass dumped by some senorita who thought she could do better elsewhere–and hey, maybe she did. Point is, I found out a bunch of things about myself that night, and so did the other guy.”

Privately revolted, but pretending outside interest, Daniel nodded. He considered his next question, but was saved from having to hurry by a large black man emerging from the smoke. The new figure, at least six foot three, bent Carlos’s ear for a few moments and spoke quietly. The two exchanged nods, then the big man moved off.

When Carlos returned his attention to Daniel, the reporter was ready. “So would you say places like these are places to rebel against what’s normal?”

Carlos’s eyes briefly narrowed at normal, but once again smoothed almost instantly. Instead, he seemed to take a moment to weigh his reply and study the camera. “Here, lemme tell you what I see when I look at the news, at social media, at all this bullshit being pushed around by politicians and talking heads and and shit. I see hordes of dudes fawning over like fifteen percent of women. I see dudes throwing money at bitches who sit behind computers and dress like hookers. I saw a report of some chick making a quarter million dollars selling bottled farts.

Then take it the other way. Bitches talking down to men. Women demanding multiple guys in a relationship. Women setting financial conditions for staying with guys. And listen even if none of this is true? It shows that what guys think they are is beginning to cost ’em. Places like my bar here? It’s not rebellion. It’s just freedom. I’m hoping someday, somehow, the message gets out that men ain’t prisoners to women like that. You can be gay here one night and go back to your normal on the walk home. No one knows. No one cares. But it opens, you know, this huge world to explore and I bet the ladies gonna seem to have, suddenly, a lot less demanding power.”

Carlos had not sounded angry. The word bitch had no specific connotation. It just seemed to be a way to refer to women, sometimes–value neutral. There was no malice.

“That…” Daniel said, a little taken aback by the message, “makes sense, actually. I’ll drink to that.”

Glasses clinked. Then hit the bar. Two more filled glasses appeared as though by magic. Daniel was beginning to feel very warm indeed! “Well,” Carlos said, and raised the new glass. Daniel, as though jerked by puppet strings, did the same. “Let’s go explore. I’m sure you’ll want some of the nitty-gritty for your feature, right?” The manager’s jovial tone made Daniel feel at home, and they drained their drinks.

Daniel had some trouble standing but made it after a while. The boots, with the added inch or two, were actually rather difficult to walk in at first. The harness and choker were strange additions. They chafed, and the choker had a strange restraining effect on his Adam’s apple, but Daniel stomped along in Carlos’s wake. The tight leather pants were actually… perfect. Never having worn anything like them before, they were the piece of clothing Daniel had been most concerned about, but if he were truthful, he barely even realized they were there. They were beyond soft and comfortable, looked great, shone dully in the lighting, and made a very satisfying creak when he moved.

He would naturally never admit that to anyone and had no intention of ever wearing anything like them again, but in this place? They were incredible.

As they slid into the smoke, Carlos gave running commentary on the goings-on. He was explaining that there was some kind of event tonight with the music and the smoke. Daniel didn’t catch it; the camera-man had sidled up to focus on Carlos, and he knew he’d watch it all over later anyway.

As he trailed Carlos and the camera-man, staring around curiously and somewhat drunkenly, a large man wound up next to him, almost as though conjured by the smoke. “How much?” the man grunted at Daniel.

“What’d you mean? How much what?”

“‘Ey! ‘Ey! He’s busy, yeah?” Carlos called back from ahead. The man looked at Daniel, all the way up and all the way down, then nodded at Carlos and vanished back into the smoke.

“What was that all about?” Daniel called up to Carlos, who waved the question off.

“Mixed signals, you know. People do get hooked up in here, right? I mean, that’s the no-holds area there and you can see…”

Carlos pointed to the other side, where a duct tape line had been placed on the floor through a large set of opened double doors. Inside, came the sound of slapping flesh and creaking leather. Daniel blinked and motioned at the doors. He and the camera-man started toward the opening but Carlos said, “Don’t step across the tape unless you really wanna play.”

Taking the words to heart, the two reporters paused and peered into the room. Black leather couches alternated with pink leather couches and chairs. A few sex swings hung from exposed rafters. On one of the pink couches, a majestic-looking older man in a leather jacket with some kind of graphic tee-shirt underneath reclined, smoking a cigar. His legs were spread, knees shoulder-width apart, what was maybe a pair of leather pants bunched around the ankles of leather combat boots.

On top of him, straddling his hips and facing away, a lithe young man was pumping himself up and down, up and down. All he was wearing was a mesh top, a thong pulled to one side, and a pair of crotch-high black leather stripper boots, the heels at least eight inches tall. On the couch next to the elderly man, a long black fur-coat type affair lay in a heap.

Taking notice of them, the elderly man gave a kingly wave and blew a smoke ring. One of his large, calloused hands came to rest on the younger man’s hip and he gave an unexpected thrust that made the younger man yelp.

“Say hi,” came a gravelly voice from behind the elderly man’s majestic silver beard.

“Hi,” panted the younger man in the thigh boots, who, job finished, immediately began to fuck himself again on what was an immense cock–at least nine inches and quite thick.

Daniel, revolted, couldn’t take his eyes away for a long minute. He was disgusted as he focused on the defined muscles of the older man’s legs, the smooth skin of his friend. The younger man’s belly piercing jingling and shining in the light and motion…

The elderly man’s occasional encouraging words. The younger man’s moans and groans.

The camera-man jostled him as he turned to follow Carlos once more and snapped Daniel out of it. They followed the manager through the club until they found their way to another set of double doors. Daniel was careful to check the floor for tape.

Carlos, explaining something Daniel couldn’t quite make out through the haze of alcohol, light, sound, and distraction, opened the doors into a small room with a simple couch against one side of the wall. On the other side of the room, another door stood, closed.

The two reporters made their way into the small room, finding it to be some kind of waiting room. Behind them, Carlos shut the door and the sound of music, the shimmer of the lights deadened instantly.

“Well, that’s the quick tour. Just the client room left.”

“Client room?”

“Yah, we call it that, sure. There’s actually a prostitution fetish that we allow in here, because personally I think it really helps some guys to know that there’s business, you know? Like it’s uncomfortable to go gay if you’re doing it for fun, but for a few bucks? Well, whole different story. Think of it as a fetish set-up. The guy’s still normal, right? He was just doing a job of work.” The manager’s tone mimicked Daniel’s from earlier in the tour. There was an almost gentle mockery around the word “normal.”

Carlos grinned, then looked Daniel up and down. “Hey, you see somethin’ you like?”

Daniel blinked. His pants were straining. No wait, that wasn’t his pants. A blush rippled across his face like a rising tide of hot water. He was harder than a rail spike, and a look down confirmed it was very clearly highlighted by the leather pants.

The camera-man was focusing on it.

“Hey, stop! What are you doing?” Daniel asked incredulously, and a bit ashamedly.

The camera-man shrugged. “You wanted a feature.”

Carlos was laughing. “Hey, it’s all good, man. That’s what this building is for. Cute cock, too. Alright, now. I figure we can try the poppers in here, where it’s nice and safe. You wanna tell people about ’em, right? I remember that being in our emails. Well, there’s no better way than to try ’em, and if anything happens, there’s a med kit through the door.”

The camera-man nodded. “We did want to try that, Dan.”

In his drunken, flustered state and remembering the email-chain with Carlos, he nodded. “Right, yeah. I gotta–yeah. Full disclosure and all that. Here, hit me.”

Carlos opened the lid of the little pill bottle and said, “Now, take a nice, sharp breath and hold it as long as you can, right? Best effect.”

Daniel did as he was instructed and held his breath as long as he could. As he did, a strange… fuzz… crept into his mind. Things… changed. Became warmer. Happier. He realized he loved everything, was a part of everything. Sensations magnified. The slide of the leather around his thighs intensified into a massage. His cock straining against the fabric felt like a hand job. The chafing of the harness and choker became erotic reminders of the value of constriction.

He fuzzily looked down at his boots. They were so sexy. The laces. The thick, flat platform. Like forbidden, taboo things to wear and that turned him on when they were on women. Now they were on him and he was just as turned on! He marveled. Carlos and the camera-man watching him were the only reasons he didn’t dig out his dick right then and there.

“Yeah, he’s in it now. Alright,” Carlos said. “They’re waiting.” And held out a hand. The camera man slapped what looked like a small stack of dollar bills into it and nodded.

“Appreciate you, Carlos. Let’s get this little bigot sorted,” his camera-man said, “and get this feature fucking done.” There was a very definite inflection on the word fucking.

“Remember. I get shared rights to the vid once you guys step in there and until you step out.”

“Relax, Carlos. I like coming here, remember? You’ll get yours.” The camera turned to point at Daniel, who was smiling vacantly and stroking his cock through the tight leather of his pants.

“Shit, what’d you give him?”

“Well, it sure wasn’t poppers. Thought you said you wanted the little bitch dosed?”

“Oh, I’m not complaining. Just worked a lot better than I thought.”

“Probably new to it. And hey, it doesn’t work that well unless you kinda want it to. When he was watchin’ Mark bang that new see-dee, I was kinda wondering if we’d even have to dose him.”

“Well, she looked super into it. Might grab her number for later.”

“Good luck. She’s deep into Mark.”

“There’s always a way. Anyway, let’s go.”

Daniel watched Carlos through a loving haze of pink fog. His skin was warm. Everything was warm. He had processed the whole conversation. Part of him felt betrayed; he wasn’t gay. He actually found the whole idea of man-on-man distasteful. He wondered about the smell, the feeling, the potential for accidents. His mind began to rail and scream and the pink fuzz began to slowly fade away…

Until Carlos opened the door, and Daniel was pulled from his feet and pushed inside. Behind him, the camera man followed. The scene that met him was… well, his mind paused, and the pink fuzz returned in the silence of shock.

Four men stood, two to either side of a wide pink leather chaise. A few chairs stood against the wall of various heights.

Each man was over six feet tall. All were wearing leather boots and pants. One of them was black, and none of them had shirts on. Tribal tattoos and piercings adorned them in various places, but what stood out the most in the pink fuzz were the four cocks gently being stroked by their own hands.

These cocks, one black and three white, stood out from shiny black leather pants, silver flies gaping. Daniel was hypnotized by the large, powerful members. The black cock was longest–must have been at least ten inches. The white cocks were thicker and ranged from seven to nine inches or so. None of these men were small, and all of them were watching Daniel walk into the room the way a hunter watches a prey animal.

As Daniel walked in, they closed on him. Warm, hard, calloused hands pushed him and twisted him into a sitting position on the chaise. It wasn’t leather after all–a deceptive-looking type of vinyl instead. The back of Daniel’s mind noted it was probably so that it didn’t stain or absorb moisture.

He looked up briefly and saw the camera focusing in on him as cock crept into his sightlines from either side. Directly in front of him, the black guy stepped up.

Daniel’s mind kicked in long enough for him to look up at the guys and say, “But I’m not gay…?”

The black man smiled. “Not yet.”

Something strange was happening in Daniel’s mind, as though the personality that he called himself was riding hands-free–bearing witness to a transformation as though it were a sacred thing.

“Ever had your dick sucked, man?” The black guy said affably and as he subtly pushed his hips out, the tip of his big black cock brushing Daniel’s lips. “You remember how good that felt? How amazing? How happy you were, and how thankful for your little lady helping you out? You can make me feel like that. Make us all feel like that.”

The pink fuzz in Daniel’s mind intensified. Oh, he did like that thought. He could be that person; could make people feel the way he had felt when he’d gotten those few blowjobs that he had ever gotten.

Almost unbelievingly, he opened his mouth wide. The black man didn’t move much. He simply stepped forward a few inches and let his black snake slide its tip into Daniel’s mouth. “Kiss it, man. Give it some tongue. Make out.” The black guy said, and Daniel thought that sounded like a great idea.

There was no flavor to the cock. It was just like sucking on a finger. Maybe a touch of salt but so what? He liked salt. That said, this finger was absolutely massive, and the… feeling of the thing was… hard to describe. He felt he should be revolted, but it was… alluring, somehow. Soft, sliding skin clothed an iron core that he just wanted to get to know better.

Now that it was in his mouth there was no point being shy, was there? He made out with the cock-head, twisting his tongue around it, sucking gently. In front of him, the black guy sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah, man. That’s it. Shit. Hey, the boys… the boys was wondering if you wanted to get a little friendlier with them hands. It’s been days for them all.”

Days? Men like these had so much sex that days seemed like a long time to go without?

Daniel found his hands being placed on hard lengths, and instinctively began to gently pump his fists. There were sighs on either side. Daniel paused as the cock in his mouth shifted, then began to gently move deeper into his mouth. The feeling of the flesh sliding across his tongue, the taboo nature of the act, the feeling of invasion… Daniel was rock hard, getting harder, and the pink fuzz was his whole mind, now. He began to suck and suck like his life depended on it.

“Hey, hey,” the black man said gently, “No teeth, bro. Just be cool. Lemme help. You suck, I’ll thrust.” Ashamed, Daniel sucked as the black man slowly and gently fucked his mouth, then began to get his tongue involved. As he worked, as his fists pumped, he began to relax and feel more comfortable.

Seeing this, the black guy said, “We’re gonna stand you up, but I want you to keep doing what you’re doing.”

Daniel felt hands dig into the vinyl seat under his leather-clad ass and slowly push him up into standing position but bent at a ninety-degree angle so he could keep sucking dick. His hands kept pumping too. A gentle pressure caused him to shuffle forward.

Behind him, the camera-man caught the shot. Daniel, bent at the waist with his legs straight, leathered ass and boots clearly presenting. The fourth man reached around Daniel’s waist, undid his pants, and slid the leather down his legs.

As the leather dropped out of sight behind the vinyl chaise, the camera shot was Daniel, bent over, unmistakably giving a blowjob and two hand jobs at once, with his bare ass presenting above a pair of slutty leather boots.

Click on a star to rate this post

Average rating 4.7 / 5. Vote count: 57

No votes so far! Be the first to rate this post.

5 thoughts on “Investigative Reporter Sucks Cock At Leather Bar

  1. rnch says:

    A most erotic, enjoyable and readable entry! My “mind’s eye” had no trouble visualizing everything that happened in this story. I was thinking about it off and on all day yesterday and last night.
    Hoping for part 2!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *