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  Leather Head

  Matt Converse

  Published by Encompass Ink

  This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Leather Head

  Copyright © 2017 by Matt Converse

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are

  either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Artist: Rue Volley

  Edited by: Elizabeth A. Lance

  EAL Editing Services

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by

  any means without written permission of the author.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my little brother Jack. Even though this book isn’t exactly his style, I dedicate it to him because we always loved horror. And a special dedication to John Myers, whose generosity has helped me achieve success as an author.

  Leather Head

  Gable pulls his leather jockstrap up over his black leather motorcycle boots and takes a hit of weed at the same time. Who says potheads are lazy? He’s multitasking. His leather harness is already on, as is his collar. He looks at himself in the mirror and smirks. He isn’t into the leather scene, S&M or any of that, but he knows how to dress for a party in the city.

  It’s Folsom Street Fair day in San Francisco, a celebration of the gay S&M and leather community. This year’s fair has a dark shadow over it, but the optimists insist it shouldn’t let it ruin their fair. If they all stay home, then the killer has won. Four gruesome murders in four weeks in the Folsom area of the city, all gay men, all into the leather scene, have everyone looking twice at the guys clad in leather. And the killer definitely has a type. Gable is that type: tall, dark…and hung.

  Gable puts on his shades and checks himself in the mirror. His cell rings. It’s his friend Shawn.

  “Honeyhowareyou?” He says it so fast it always sounds like one word.

  “I’m fabulous, dressed and ready to go,” Gable tells him.

  “So am I. I’m wearing my leather vest and cap. Did you at least get a leather wrist band or something?” Shawn asks him, knowing Gable doesn’t own a stitch of leather.

  Gable grins, still checking himself in the mirror. “Or something,” he tells him with a laugh.

  “Oh no…you didn’t, did you?”

  “You’ll see,” Gable teases, smirking at the sight of himself in the mirror. He looks pretty hot, but there’s also a part of him that thinks he looks ridiculous, simply because this isn’t who he really is. He’s definitely in on the joke. But for someone who loves Halloween, this isn’t so different, and it’s giving him a rush of adrenalin he can’t deny.

  “You’d better be careful or you’re going to end up chained to a bed or something. Just be careful what you’re advertising for.”

  To be honest, he did think some of the guys in the leather scene were a little scary. But Gable wasn’t one to let a little fear interfere with his fun.

  “I can handle these guys,” Gable tells him. “They’re just guys who wear leather. It’s a costume, and isn’t everything we wear a costume? They’re not so different.”

  “That’s deep,” Shawn deadpans. “Well, they might be a little kinkier than you are, that’s what I’m saying. If you’re all decked out in leather, they’ll think that’s what you’re into.”

  “Like I said, I can handle these guys,” Gable assures him.

  “Ok, just remember the difference is, on Halloween people know it’s a costume, these guys are going to think you’re really into it. Just keep that in mind, especially considering there’s some psycho out there killing people.”

  “I don’t even plan on going home with anyone, I’m just going out and having some fun.”

  “Uh-huh. So, the Padlock, at four o’clock or so?”

  “Yeah, see you then,” Gable responds. “I can’t wait. It should be fun.”

  “Yeah, it should be. See you later.”

  Just like on Halloween, Gable can’t stop looking at himself in the mirror. It isn’t that he’s conceited, it’s just that playing dress up is so much fun.

  ***

  He pulls the leather hood over his head and fastens it in the back. He pulls on his studded leather gloves. He is ready to go on the prowl again. He’s hungry for more. He knows tonight will be special. There are boys in from all over the world this weekend. He can hardly wait. The anticipation of the kill is almost more exciting than the kill itself. He paces in his apartment like a caged panther waiting to be let out. The difference is, he has the key.

  Four weeks earlier…

  He is built better than anyone at the bar, and loves to show it off with no shirt on. His biceps and chest bulge and glisten in the dark bar. JJ notices him right away. But despite being such a show off, the guy is mysterious. He’s wearing a studded leather hood over his head, with holes for his eyes, mouth, and nose. It’s scary, but the rest of him is sexy. The mix of sex and danger is intoxicating to JJ, so he decides to go after him. As he catches the steely gaze of the big stud it burns a hole right through him, like a laser. Suddenly he wonders if he is on the hunt or being hunted. Either way, JJ figures it will be a good time, so he flashes him a smile. The hunk nods his leathered head. The chitchat between them is very brief and to the point. A few minutes later, he is at the leather hooded guy’s apartment, conveniently located a block and a half away. They exchange no words and waste no time when they get there.

  As JJ goes down on him, he still doesn’t know his name or what his face looks like, but he knows to call him Sir. He got that message loud and clear in the few words they exchanged at the bar. He looks up at the masked stranger as he gobbles him up, admiring his muscles and body, but wonders what his face looks like under that leather hood. He must be really hot to match the rest of him, JJ imagines. The mystery of it just adds to the appeal, and his imagination paints a very hot picture in his mind. It isn’t exactly anonymous sex, but it’s pretty damn close.

  “Get those pants off. In fact, get all the way naked,” he orders him.

  JJ obliges.

  “Now turn around, but stay on your knees, boy,” he orders him.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He feels a leather glove grip him around the neck and at the same time a leather gloved hand slaps his ass, hard. Then, an even harder slap, stinging his butt cheek and turning it red.

  “You like that?” he asks him.

  “Yes, Sir,” JJ tells him. “I like it a lot.”

  With that he gets another hard slap against his other butt cheek. Then he feels one of the leather fingers go up his ass.

  “I bet you like that too, don’t you, queer boy?”

  “Yeah, I do. Thank you, Sir.”

  “You’re my bitch now, and don’t you forget it. You’ll do what I say when I say.”

  “Sir, yes, Sir.”

  The leather grip around his neck grows tighter. And then tighter. It is almost too tight. Just the way JJ likes it. He likes guys who will push it to the edge. He likes his sex rough and just on the verge of dangerous. He wiggles his butt and moans in anticipation as the grip grows even tighter around his neck.

  “Are you my bitch?”

  He can barely speak because the grip around his throat is so tight, but he manages to squeak out “Yes, Sir.”
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  The glove squeezes his neck tighter, and then even tighter. Now it’s too tight; he can’t breathe. The first moment of it excites him, but then he realizes the guy isn’t letting up and probably doesn’t realize he can’t breathe. He tries to yell, but as he does the stranger’s other hand comes up and grips around his neck too, strangling him.

  “You’re getting exactly what you asked for,” the leather hooded stranger tells him. “I’m not going to stop until you take your last breath, I’m going to give you exactly what you deserve.”

  At first, JJ thinks he is still role playing, but as the guy squeezes his neck even tighter and then lets out a deep, wicked laugh, he realizes this guy isn’t just playing. He stands up and tries to break free. He grabs at the grip around his neck with both hands, trying to pull them off, but the guy is too strong. He feels panic at not being able to breathe, and the reality of what is happening hits him. This guy is trying to kill me, he realizes. He jerks and kicks and flails, but isn’t strong enough to break his grip. He starts to feel dizzy and light headed.

  He knees him in the groin, but the big beast just laughs.

  “Thanks, I love that,” he tells him. “Do it harder, punk.”

  JJ flails his arms and legs, desperately trying to break his grip, but he can’t. He still can’t breathe and starts to panic. He tries to gasp for air, but the grip is too tight around his neck. His face is hot and flushed. He feels dizzier and dizzier. The leather hooded monster just laughs.

  As he begins to pass out, JJ feels a hard penis against his butt cheeks. The stranger’s leather gloves squeeze his neck in a death grip, squeezing the life out of him.

  “You die now, my little bitch,” the deep voice says from beneath the leather hood. “You do as I say when I say. Die now, bitch—die!”

  He squeezes his neck with all his might and clamps it tight until JJ’s body starts to go limp. The stranger moans, feeling the limpness of JJ’s body, and ejaculates all over his ass. JJ doesn’t move, he has taken his last breath, he’s dead.

  “You’re marked as mine now, bitch,” the deep voice murmurs, “forever.”

  He releases his grip from around JJ’s neck and slaps him on the ass, hard. He looks down at his dead body and laughs with satisfaction.

  ***

  A cab finally shows up and Gable is on his way to the Folsom Street Fair. He gets there very late and misses most of it, but it’s all about the after parties anyway. After the cab drops him off, he cruises around, checking out the guys and their get ups. Masters leading their subs around like dogs on a chain, naked guys, half-naked leather guys, full gear leather masters and slaves, and pretenders who put on a leather item or two. Gable knows he looks like the real deal, even if he isn’t. He’s getting a lot of looks in his get up and he’s definitely getting a kick out of it. It is very similar to the feeling he gets dressing up for Halloween. It’s fun—and exhilarating.

  “Oh my God, look at you,” he hears a voice say to him.

  It’s his friend Jeff, in leather chaps and no shirt.

  “Wow, you look great, Gable, but I thought you weren’t into leather,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

  “When in Rome,” Gable laughs.

  “I guess so. Well done, I have to say,” he says looking him up and down. “Very well done. If I didn’t know better…”

  “But ya, do, Blanche, ya do!” Gable mocks. They both crack up laughing.

  “Hey, let’s get high,” Jeff suggests, pulling a joint out of his cigarette pack. Jeff is a little guy height wise, about 5’ 8”, but he has a big presence, a hot body and a ton of swagger. Still, Gable isn’t attracted to him in a sexual way because they are buds, not to mention the fact that Jeff is married. But Gable has always liked his style.

  “Let’s walk down a few blocks, away from the crowd; some of these police officers are real, you know.”

  Gable smiles. They walk down to an alley and sit on the steps of a house. Jeff lights up the joint, takes a hit, and passes it to Gable.

  “So, where are you headed?”

  “I’m going to the Padlock to meet Shawn,” Gable tells him.

  “Oh cool, yeah that’s a pretty happening place. I might show up there later myself.”

  They pass the joint back and forth, taking a couple of hits each before Jeff puts it out and drops the roach in his cigarette pack.

  “I save them and roll them up when I run out.”

  “Thanks for the hits,” Gable tells him, “that’s pretty good stuff. I guess I’m going to head over to the Padlock now. So maybe I’ll see you there later.”

  “Yeah, cool, see ya,” Jeff tells him, lighting up a cigarette. He takes one puff, then puts it out. “I’m trying to quit.”

  Gable walks the four blocks over to the Padlock, and it’s packed, which is no surprise given it’s a leather bar during the Folsom Street Fair.

  Gable isn’t much of a drinker except for some Champagne on New Year’s Eve or a special occasion, or maybe a glass of red wine at dinner, so he just gets a bottled water at the bar. He’s feeling pretty good off that joint anyway.

  He looks around the bar, and it’s quite a scene. Leather daddies, boys, masters and slaves everywhere, from nearly naked to full leather gear. The music’s thudding beat and the darkness of the bar add to the mood. Gable can’t help but bop to the music a bit, it’s so infectious. He wonders if Shawn is there yet, and glances around at the crowd. He gets quite a few glances back. He smirks to no one in particular, just at the thought that he passes as a leather guy. I pulled it off, he thinks to himself.

  As he stares across the bar, he notices a guy standing against the wall who is hard not to notice. He is built like a brickhouse, tall and muscled. He has on tight leather pants and almost knee-high leather boots, with no shirt; his smooth, huge chest and biceps bulge. But what is really getting Gable’s attention is the leather hood over his head. There are holes for his eyes, and small ones for his nostrils, and then a zipper, which is open, for his mouth. It has metal studs all over it. It’s bizarre. The rest of him is hot, but that hood is creepy looking; it’s flat out scary. Gable cringes as he stares at his hooded face. As he looks closer, the leather headed stranger turns his head in his direction. He can see his eyes through the leather hood zeroing in on him, like lasers. A cold shiver goes through Gable’s body. His stare is sexy, but also downright bone chilling. The way the guy turned and looked right at him was spooky, like he knew who was looking at him before he turned. Gable’s used to being cruised, but this stare is both seductive and unsettling at the same time. The leather hood is definitely creepy looking, but his body is so damn hot. Talk about mixed feelings. He thinks back to Shawn telling him to be careful about what he’d be attracting decked out all in leather. Gable smiles in the stranger’s direction, but it’s a studied smile, not quite the natural smile he usually puts out; it’s a cautious smile. Gable isn’t sure about this guy. One of his heads is saying yes, the other is saying no.

  The leather headed stranger brings his left hand up to his chin, clad in a black leather glove. He rubs his chin, and stares at Gable, as if sizing him up. For some reason, it makes Gable feel more like a piece of meat than it usually does. Maybe it’s all the leather and that scary leather hood, but he’s feeling like an animal in the jungle being stared down by a big panther. The mixture of that hot body and the dangerous vibe from that hood is something Gable hasn’t really felt before when cruising a guy. He isn’t quite sure what to make of it, but he can’t deny the excitement he’s feeling. He also can’t deny the guy is a little freaky.

  Gable sips on his water and thinks to himself that although this guy’s body is smoking hot, the leather hood is just too spooky for him. He wonders what the hood is about, just what is this guy into that requires wearing that hood? Is it just the fantasy of being somewhat anonymous? Gable never was a fan of the dark sections of sex clubs because he likes knowing exactly what someone looks like. He is definitely a lights on during sex kind of guy. He looks ar
ound the rest of the bar, but he’s still thinking about the guy with the leather hood and killer body.

  Three weeks earlier…

  Tomás is tall and lanky, with blue eyes, black hair, and legs that go on for days. He has a smile that’s friendly and at the same time says I can be a little bit nasty, but in a fun way. Leather Head sets his laser-like eyes on him, zooming in on his prey like a cat in the night. Tomás tries to throw swagger back at him with a wink, but Leather Head just smiles knowingly. A gazelle is no match for a panther.

  Leather Head waves him over to follow him out of the bar. It’s an arrogant gesture, but goes with the whole look and actually turns Tomás on even more. It is almost dismissive in a way, like Ok, I know you want me so come on over here. Tomás obeys. Silently, he follows him for a block and a half, then follows him right into his house. No words are exchanged. Tomás is surprised when the leather hooded stud drops down on his knees; he seemed like a total top up until that point. Tomás normally wouldn’t complain, but the one thing he’s worried about is that zippered mouth on the leather hood. Every guy at one point has experienced the pain of your junk caught in a zipper. (Ouch!) But he also figures a guy like this has done this a few times; he knows what he’s doing. He is right about that, more than he knows. He knows exactly what he is doing, like a spider spinning his web.

  He hardly has his cock in his mouth before he feels and hears the zipper zip tight around his cock, and he jerks in pain. Tomás doesn’t mind some smacks on his ass, but this isn’t the kind of pain he was looking for. Since they hadn’t done any talking on the way home from the bar, they didn’t have a “safe” word.

  “Owww! Holy shit! That hella hurts, pull it back!”