Leather Head Read online

  “That blood turns me on. Red is the color of lust.”

  His tongue slips out of his zippered mouth and he laps at the blood on Ahmed’s face with his tongue. The way his tongue slides out of that zippered leathered mouth reminds Ahmed of a creature morphed from a man and a snake or lizard.

  “Mmmmmm, yeah, that tastes good,” Leather Head says as his tongue darts in and out, lapping at his blood.

  “You’re going to take it up the ass, like a good little bitch, but first, something to make it perfect.”

  His leather gloves squeeze tight around his neck, now bloody from his nose bleed. He squeezes it tighter and tighter, until Ahmed can’t breathe at all.

  “A real man doesn’t need a gun or a knife to kill his prey. He uses his bare hands. We are all animals and only the strongest survive. The weak fall by the wayside, that’s the way it’s always been. For someone weaker, like you, it’s only a matter of time. And your time is up, your time to die is now, bitch.”

  His cock thrusts back and forth between Ahmed’s legs, but never actually goes inside his butt. He chokes him as hard as he can, his huge leather hands wringing his neck.

  “Die! Do you hear me? I said die!”

  He grunts loudly as he squeezes his neck with all his might. Finally, he feels his victim’s body go limp, and with that, he starts to explode in orgasm. He quickly stands up and sprays his cum all over Ahmed’s dead body. At the end he points it toward his bloodied face. He shakes the final drops of cum from his enormous cock and looks down at him, smiling.

  “You’re my bitch now…and forever.”

  The blood mixing with semen swirls and dances, morphing into shapes like a lava lamp. Leather Head looks down and beams over what he’s created. He tilts his head to one side as he admires it. It’s beautiful.

  He stands and gazes at it for a few more moments before he pulls his cock back into his pants and zips it up. Before getting off the bed, he stomps down on Ahmed’s chest with his big boot, hard.

  ***

  Gable actually ordered a real drink earlier, vodka and cranberry juice, and gulps the rest of it down in a flourish.

  “Need a little more courage, do you?” a voice asks. It’s Shawn.

  “Oh, sorry, I zoned out, thinking about something.”

  “Yeah, and it’s about 12 inches long!” Shawn teases.

  “Oh, stop exaggerating,” Gable tells him, then pauses. “It’s only about 11!”

  They both crack up.

  “Well, just be careful. That’s all I’m saying, don’t be stupid,” Shawn warns him. “Some of these leather guys are into some pretty crazy stuff. Some of it is a little scary.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gable reassures him. “I didn’t get all decked out like this for nothing. I can talk the talk and walk the walk.”

  “Alright, Leather Gable, you go on then,” Shawn laughs. “Just don’t call me later after he ties you up and does God knows what to you. You have to be careful, especially after what’s been happening lately. You never know who that killer might be.”

  Gable glances back over toward Leather Head. The hairs on his arms stand up at the thought that he might have actually just messed around with someone who killed four guys in the last month. But he sweeps the fear away.

  “That guy’s no killer, I’m sure he’s been coming to leather bars down here for years.”

  “Maybe,” Shawn says, “but it might not hurt to check around.”

  Gable gazes over at Leather Head again. He is definitely scary in that leather hood. And you can’t identify what his face looks like if he ever did do anything, he thinks to himself. Then he stops, and laughs at himself, realizing he is getting a little carried away. Still, he thinks, maybe Shawn is right, it couldn’t hurt to ask around the bar to see if people know him. The bartenders would certainly know if he’s been coming here for a long time.

  But as he makes his way to the bar, he feels a hard slap on his butt. He turns around, and it’s him, “Leather Head”.

  Gable gulps at the sight of his big frame right in front of him. His biceps bulge and his chest glistens; it is hard to think of him as anything but one hot man. This guy is no killer, he’s hot as hell, Gable thinks to himself as he looks up into his eyes and smiles. At nearly 6’2” himself, there aren’t that many men Gable has to look up to.

  ***

  Shawn watches from across the bar, finishing off his drink and going to the bar and ordering another.

  “That guy over there, with the leather hood on, does he come here a lot?”

  “Yeah I’ve seen him here quite a bit,” the bartender tells him.

  Shawn is relieved. I guess he has nothing to worry about after all.

  “I think maybe he just moved here or something,” the bartender tells him. “I’ve just seen him here the last month or so. Pretty hot body, huh?”

  “Yeah…” Shawn responds, his mind drifting off.

  A cold chill whips through Shawn’s body. About a month? Shawn furrows his brow, his instincts are telling him this is no coincidence. He walks away from the bar realizing that’s exactly how long these murders have been going on, one each weekend for the last four weeks. This would make the fifth weekend.

  ***

  “Can I get you another drink?” Leather Head asks him.

  “No, I think I’m good,” Gable says. “I’m a lightweight, I usually don’t even have one drink.”

  “How about a little something to smoke? I have a joint of some really good stuff.”

  “Hmmm, Ok, sounds good,” Gable tells him.

  “C’mon,” Leather Head says, motioning him toward the front door.

  ***

  Shawn doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it’s kind of odd the guy has been around the exact time that the killings have been taking place. He isn’t ready to convict the guy, but thinks he should at least tell Gable. Being a little extra careful couldn’t hurt. He turns around from the bar and looks back over to where Gable and Leather Head were standing, but they’re gone. Shawn starts to get a bad feeling in his stomach.

  ***

  Gable follows him out of the bar and down to the middle of the block, and then down an alley. Gable has a strut to his walk, but a natural one. He has swagger, but it isn’t forced. About three doors down, Leather Head stops, pulls out a joint, lights it, and puts one boot up on the steps leading up to a house. Gable can’t help but notice how huge his boots are, but considering he stands about 6’5”, they’re in proportion to the rest of him. He’s one huge man.

  Leather Head tokes the joint through the zippered opening at his mouth, then passes it to Gable. Gable takes a puff and passes it back.

  “So you come to this bar a lot?” Gable asks him.

  “A few times,” he says. “I just moved here about a month ago, from New York. I like it here, it suits me.”

  His voice is so deep and masculine; a real turn on to Gable. There is nothing more disappointing than a big hunky guy with a voice like Minnie Mouse. His voice definitely fits the rest of him.

  ***

  Shawn looks around the bar, trying to find Gable, but no luck. He does run into his friend Kevin, who is talking to a big hairy guy, a “bear”, Kevin’s type. The bear, Larry, is a regular at the bar and confirms what the bartender told him, that Leather Head has only been coming around for about the last month. Shawn really starts to get a bad feeling about Gable and Leather Head. He looks around the bar again in all directions, but there’s no sight of either one of them. He bites his lower lip and wonders what he can do. He could never live with himself if something happened to Gable and he could have prevented it. He loves him like a brother.

  ***

  “So you want to come over? I live right there,” Leather Head says, pointing to the next building, a very small house; tiny even for San Francisco, probably a one bedroom. The basement windows are boarded up, giving the small house an eerie, almost abandoned look.

  “Oh, wow, really? You live so close to the bar
. That’s pretty convenient. No wonder you go to the Padlock.”

  “So..?”

  “Sure,” Gable says, “why not?”

  ***

  Shawn looks everywhere in the bar, but Gable—and Leather Head—are gone. It’s not like he totally believes Gable just left with the Folsom Street Serial Killer, but he does think it’s a possibility, and thinks he’d better pass on the info he got just in case.

  ***

  The first thing Gable notices about Leather Head’s place is the starkness, it’s impossible not to notice it. There is no art on the walls, no knickknacks or much of anything sitting around, it looks like no one lives there. There is a single black leather sofa in the living room, no coffee table or side chairs, just one metallic lamp next to it. There are hardwood floors with no throw rugs anywhere. There is a big screen TV, but nothing else. He leads Gable back to his bedroom, like an animal leading its prey into his lair, which is just as stark. There is just a bed and small nightstand next to it, all black; black sheets, pillow cases, everything. It is very dimly lit. As turned on as Gable is by this guy, he is starting to get an uneasy feeling. Something doesn’t seem right.

  ***

  Shawn calls Gable’s cell, but after a few rings, it goes to voicemail. He texts a message telling him what he’s heard about Leather Head, and tells him to call or text him back.

  ***

  Just as they sit down on the bed, Gable’s cell goes off in his jacket that he’s thrown over the bed. It rings a couple of times and goes to voicemail.

  “So what’s your name, anyway?” Gable asks him. “I’m Gable.”

  “You can call me, Sir,” Leather Head tells him.

  Ok, Gable thinks to himself, I can play along with this fantasy; in fact, it’s pretty damn hot.

  Leather Head reaches over and pushes Gable’s head down onto his crotch.

  “Get on your knees, boy.”

  Gable smiles, and does as he’s told. He kneels in front of him, looking up at his huge broad smooth chest and bulging biceps. He reaches up and rubs his massive bulge as he feels his own cock growing hard. Leather Head quickly knocks his hand away, hard.

  “I didn’t give you permission to touch that, boy.”

  Oh, ok, I get it, Gable thinks to himself, I think I get the hang of it now. This isn’t his usual scene, but Gable is pretty smart and good at thinking on his feet. He knows how to play along.

  “Sorry, Sir,” Gable apologizes.

  “That’s better,” he says.

  Leather Head pulls an ashtray out of the end table drawer and lights up what’s left of the joint. He takes a deep hit through his zippered mouth, then another, before he puts it to Gable’s lips.

  “Suck it,” Leather Head tells him.

  Gable smiles and inhales, holds it, then lets out a big cloud of smoke.

  Gable’s cell phone rings again. Leather Head suddenly grabs Gable’s jacket, walks out and tosses it into onto the living room sofa. I guess he isn’t liking the phone going off, Gable thinks to himself. But what a weird way to handle it; this guy is definitely a little strange. But hey, it isn’t like he’s marrying the guy, he doesn’t even know his name. It’s just a one night fling with a masked stranger he’s probably never going to see again. What harm can it be?

  He looks over at the nightstand and notices a pair of handcuffs next to the ashtray. He smirks, but then furrows his brow, because he isn’t really into being handcuffed. He doesn’t mind playing submissive in roleplay, but being handcuffed means a little too much loss of control for Gable. He then remembers something about the Folsom Street murders: one of the dead bodies showed signs of having been handcuffed. He glances back over at the handcuffs on the nightstand. Just then, Leather Head walks back in.

  “Back on your knees, now!” he orders, pointing to a spot in front of the bed. Leather Head stands over him, towering above him. He reaches down with his gloved hand and pushes Gable’s head down on his left boot.

  “Kiss it, slave boy.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Gable says, playing along and kissing his huge size 15 boots. This is actually pretty hot in a weird way, Gable thinks to himself, feeling his cock get stiff as he kisses the big leather stud’s boots. He’s never done this before, but it’s hot. He is definitely turned on by Leather Head’s swagger. It’s impossible to see the expression on his face with his leather hood on, but Gable imagines he has a cocky smirk on his face.

  “Yeah, you like that, don’t you, queer boy? You like worshipping at my feet, worshipping me like a god, like a good little slave boy.”

  He pulls Gable’s head back up off his boot by the chin and laughs at him, then slaps him across the face with his leathered gloved hand, hard. Gable winces. It’s a little harder than Gable expected, but in the heat of the moment he goes with it; he’s now hard and horny as hell.

  Leather Head rubs his unbelievably huge bulge in his leather pants.

  “Now, if you want this, you’re going to have to beg for it!”

  “Oh, please,” Gable begs, “please, Sir, I want to suck it so bad.”

  “Yeah, I bet you do,” he laughs, pulling down his fly and pulling out his flaccid cock, which is still bigger than most guys’ hard.

  “Ever seen one this big before?”

  “No,” Gable says. “Never.”

  “This is what a real man’s cock looks like, not a little sissy boy cock like yours. You think yours is big? What is it, seven or eight inches? That’s tiny compared to mine, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Gable agrees, nodding up at him.

  Gable is now rock hard inside his pants, he is really getting into this fantasy. Just then, he hears the faint sound of his cell phone going off again in the other room. Someone sure is trying to get ahold of him; he thinks it’s probably Shawn.

  “Let me take a piss first, I really have to go,” Gable tells him, then pauses to think about it for a second and rephrases it.

  “Permission to use the bathroom, Sir? I’ll be fast, I promise.”

  “Go ahead,” Leather Head says dismissively. “But don’t be long.”

  As Gable takes a leak, he once again hears his phone going off; he’s sure it’s Shawn. He starts to wonder why he is calling him over and over. He remembers the conversation they had in the bar right before he left with Leather Head. He was on his way to ask the bartender if he knew anything about Leather Head, but that’s when he ran into him and they went off to smoke the joint and then came here. He starts to wonder if maybe Shawn did find out something, and it wasn’t good. Maybe he should just give a listen to the messages or texts. He finishes peeing and zips up, washes his hands real quick, and then sneaks into the living room and pulls his cell phone out of his jacket. There are three texts, all from Shawn.

  Leather Head has only been around the bar for a month, murders have been last four weeks. Call me.

  Call me or text me everything is OK.

  Hey just googled the murders, the police say they know one thing, the murderer is left handed.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Leather Head barks.

  Startled, Gable drops his phone. He quickly picks it back up.

  “Sorry, Sir, I was getting so many calls, and…” he pauses, and decides to lie, “I just wanted to shut the damn thing off.”

  “Good,” Leather Head tells him, “I don’t like any distractions. So, is it off now?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  They walk back into the bedroom and Gable thinks about the texts Shawn sent. He already felt a little uneasy about this guy, and now he starts feeling a little scared. Is it really possible this guy is the killer? he wonders. No, I’m just freaking myself out, he tells himself. But one thought keeps coming back to him, follow your gut. And his gut is telling him he should just end this and get the hell out. He was so turned on just a few moments ago, but those messages from Shawn are a red flag he can’t ignore.

  One thing is for sure, his hard on is gone. He’s freaked himself out. Real or imagination gone wi
ld, he’s now feeling something he’s never felt before when hooking up with a guy: scared. Gable starts thinking about how to back out of this without it seeming too weird. He doesn’t want to piss him off, just in case…he is the killer.

  When they get back to the bedroom, Leather Head orders him back on his knees and stands over him again. He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the handcuffs. The silver color catches the light as they swing from his hand—his left hand.

  A cold chill whips through Gable’s body. He takes a deep breath. Oh my God, he’s left handed, he realizes. Gable is now even more scared. He isn’t into the handcuff thing anyway, and knows he needs to leave. He is probably just overreacting to everything, there are lots of left handed people, but he is now just too freaked out to have any fun.

  He stands up.

  “You know, I’m not really into the handcuff thing,” he tells him.

  “Back on your knees, boy, now!” He smacks him across the face with his leather gloved hand, hard.

  “Hey! That fucking hurt! I think I’m just going to go,” Gable tells him.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Leather Head growls. “Now get back on your knees before you really piss me off.”

  Gable’s mind races. Now he is beyond being a little freaked out and thinking he’s overreacting, he really thinks this guy might be the killer. What the hell is he going to do? This guy is huge. How the heck is he going to get out of this?

  “On your knees now, boy!”

  Gable’s mind flashes back to high school. His little brother Jack was a champion wrestler. He remembers him telling Gable how he could use the moves he learned in wrestling to take down a much bigger guy than himself. He remembers one particular move, he can’t remember what it is called, but he remembers it is when you are down and the other guy is standing up. He wishes he was the wrestler his brother was, but maybe, just maybe if he can remember that move he can knock Leather Head down. And then what? Even if he knocks him down, Leather Head is so much bigger than him the deck will still be stacked against him. He wracks his brain and then it comes to him. The handcuffs! If he can knock him down and get him on his stomach, maybe he can get one hand cuffed and then the other. He needs to do something to give him some kind of advantage, because he definitely needs one to get out of here.