Satan's Den
Angelo di Zolfofuoco was more than satisfied. Both of his businesses—the Satan's Den Bar and the Satan's Den Leathers—were doing well. Hell, it was safe to say that they were prospering. They had succeeded beyond his expectations. The bar was packed every night, and the shop barely kept up with the demand for its products. Although he wasn't in it for the money, both businesses were raking in the dough. Who knew temptation could be so profitable?
Tonight he would take the next step, one that would make him even more successful. All the elements were in place. He just had to give them a nudge.
Last Place Leather
"Sorry, Archie." The owner of the Satan's Den Bar slid a bottle of beer across the bar. "On the house. I apologize for the fuck-up. The judges aren't supposed to announce who came in last, just the winner and the first runner-up. I've told them they owe you an apology."
Archie Lee shrugged. "Thanks, Angelo, but it's okay. I didn't expect to win. I'm not Vince or even Jake." Archie jerked his head in the direction of the new Mr. Southbeach Leather, Vince Packard, and the first runner-up, Jake Armstrong. Their fans were busy taking selfies with the winners. Still, it hurt to be publicly proclaimed the worst contestant in the contest. Some of the guys in the audience had been nice enough to boo in protest when his name was announced, but that didn't make up for the smirks and the knowing looks and the muffled laughs. Most of the crowd obviously thought he belonged in last place.
Archie tried to pretend he didn't care about coming in seventeenth out of the seventeen contestants in the contest. He had a good body—some guys said a great body—but at five feet two, he was the shortest person in the bar, let alone the contest. He was also trim where the other contestants were huge; he had great definition and zero body fat, but he looked like a kid next to the other guys. His narrow waist didn't matter when his thighs were smaller than Vince's and Jake's wrists.
Plus it was all too clear that he was "height and weight proportionate" in the cock department. Vince's junk stretched his jockstrap out so far that his cock and balls were visible from the sides. Vince didn't have to say, "I can't find a pouch large enough to contain this monster." The evidence on that point was clear and uncontestable.
"Yeah, well, big is popular. Guys think it means more than it does." Angelo leaned his forearms on the bar and lowered his head until his eyes were level with Archie's. "People can be idiots. Just remember that. You're better than the two of those assholes put together."
Angelo's eyes flashed. For a fraction of a second, Archie felt as if a spotlight had pierced his mind. Angelo leaned closer, ignoring Archie's yelp of surprise. His face filled Archie's vision, and his eyes bored into Archie's skull. "Listen, Archie, I got something else I want to discuss with you. You know I also own the Satan's Den Leathers."
Archie nodded. He suddenly seemed alone in the bar with Angelo. The noise of the rowdy crowd was still there, but it had retreated into the distance. A faint whiff of something—like someone had just struck a match—invaded his nostrils. He shook his head to clear it. "Sure, I've bought stuff there. It's a great place." The smell was stronger now.
"Yeah, well, I try. But I'm always looking for ways to improve the store. One of the guys told me that you make your own leather gear."
"Most of it, yeah. I have trouble finding stuff in my size—clothes, I mean. So I took a couple of courses on leatherworking and bootmaking and started making my own stuff. I made everything I'm wearing tonight." Archie thought his hand-made leather muir-style cap, chest harness, chaps, jockstrap, and boots compared favorably to the leathers the other contestants wore. Everybody told him they did, but maybe they were just being polite. Maybe he was just kidding himself. His outfit certainly hadn't won him any points tonight. He had to face the fact that all the hours he put into making what he was wearing might have been a waste of time. Archie heaved a deep sigh.
"Archie, I gotta tell you—you look great."
"Yeah, well," Archie shrugged the compliment off. "It's kind of you to say so, Angelo."
"No, no, I mean it," Angelo insisted. "I'm impressed, Archie. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I've been thinking about adding a line of custom leather goods to the store, and I need a designer and tailor. Let me give you my card. Call me some time and we can discuss this. I'll pay well—we can set up some sort of commission deal in addition to a salary—and I'll throw in whatever benefits you want."
"How about getting Vince to suck my dick?"
Angelo laughed. "Your wish is my command." Angelo glanced in Vince's direction. Once again, Archie caught a flash of light. "Listen, Archie, give me a call tomorrow. The phone number's on the card. I gotta get back to work, but remember what I said. Don't let what happened tonight get to you. You're way better than Vince."
As Angelo turned away, Archie became aware of his surroundings again. The noise of the bar flooded back in, as if someone had turned the volume up. The smell lingered, however. It was strange. Maybe someone near him was a smoker, and his clothes were impregnated with the smell. Given the clientele of the Satan's Den, there were probably half-a-dozen cigar fetishists at the bar. Archie glanced at the business card Angelo had thrust into his hand. Unlike most cards, it was red with black embossed printing. "Angelo di Zolfofuoco. Satan's Den. The Last Place You'll Ever Shop for Leather. 555-6969." Zolfofuoco—he hadn't known Angelo's last name until then. He wondered if it meant anything.
When Archie finished his beer, he nodded to Angelo and waved the business card in his direction. "I'll give you a call tomorrow," he shouted. He didn't know if Angelo could hear him over the noise in the bar, but the bartender gave him the thumb's up sign.
The bar had set aside a small room in the back as a dressing room for the contestants in the Mr. Southbeach Leather contest. Archie had stowed his jacket and the bag with his street clothes there in a plastic storage bin the bar had provided before the contest. To get to the room, he had to make his way down a long hallway lined with cases of beer. As he walked toward the room, he could hear that someone was already there.
"Whew, what a madhouse!" Vince looked around as Archie walked into the room. The contest winner was carefully rolling up the wide leather sash with "Mr. Southbeach Leather 2016" written on it in silver studs. "I came in here to catch my breath."
"Yeah." Archie didn't point out that the bar was more of a madhouse for some than for others. Best to be a gracious loser. "Congratulations, by the way. Well deserved." He opened the storage bin and retrieved his coat and bag.
"Thanks, Archie. That means a lot coming from you. I thought for sure you'd be the winner."
Archie gave a snort. "Like that was ever going to happen."
Vince shot him a surprised look. "But you're such a fucking stud, Archie."
It was Archie's turn to be surprised. Before he could respond, Vince said, "Hey, why don't we go back to my place? Have a beer. Unwind a bit. I'm too psyched up to sleep and I'm tired of being pawed. We can go out the back door. No one will notice we're leaving. Come on, Archie, say yes. I've always wanted to talk with you, but you've always got a ton of guys around you, and I didn't want to intrude."
Archie couldn't recall any occasion on which he had been surrounded by so many men that Vince would feel shy about approaching him. And "shy" was what Vince seemed at the moment. He was biting his lip and looking uncertain, as if he was afraid that Archie would turn him down. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. A bashful Vince—that was a new one.
"Sure, Vince. But I can't stay long. Busy day tomorrow." Archie tried to sound bored and bighearted, like he was doing Vince a favor.
The look Vince gave him was pure gratitude. "Awesome. Oh, that's fabulous, Archie. Thank you so much. This means tho much to me."
Archie couldn't believe his eyes and ears. Vince was gushing like a schoolgirl with a crush on the star quarterback, who had just smiled in her direction. He was practically simpering. What was going on? Vince had described himself as a total top while introducing himself to the audience a few hours earlier and now he was acting like some limp-wristed twink who had just won the "Queen of Southbeach" contest. And was he starting to lisp?
"Please, Archie, please. Can I just have a look? I promise to behave."
The naked man on all fours bore little resemblance to the Vince who had been strutting around Satan's Den earlier. As soon as they had entered Vince's apartment, Mr. Southbeach Leather had torn off his clothes and got down on his knees before Archie. "Please, Archie. Please show me your cock. I've heard it's beautiful. I promise not to touch, just look. Please. Please. Please."
This has to be a joke, thought Archie. As soon as he undid his jockstrap, a dozen guys would jump out and yell "Surprise!" and then start laughing. And, yet, was Vince such a good actor that he could fake that look of lust? The big man looked like he would burst into tears if Archie refused his request.
Archie peered into the corners of the room looking for hidden cameras. He didn't know what was going on, but he wasn't going to fall into Vince's trap, whatever it was. "I thought you were a top."
"I just say that. It's not true. It's just that other guys look at me and they expect me to be a top. But I'm really a total bottom. I love to suck cock and get fucked by real men like you."
"But I've heard guys talking about serving you."
"Yeah, well, sometimes, I play at being the top. But not tonight, Archie. Please, can I see your cock? I'll give you the Mr. Southbeach Leather sash if you'll let me see it."
Vince didn't wait for Archie to reply. Still on all fours, he wheeled about, exposing his asshole to Archie's view as he crawled over to where he had dropped his bag, pulled out the sash, and held it up. "It's yours. You don't even have to show me your cock. It's yours no matter what you do. You deserve it. I don't. You're the real Mr. Southbeach Leather."
A few hours earlier Archie had hoped to be the person who won that title. Now, Vince was offering the winner's sash to him. The trophy was his for the taking. He was tempted—just to hold it. Maybe put it on. He'd give it back to Vince. It wasn't really his. He couldn't keep it. But maybe just pretend for a moment. He reached out a hand and touched the sash. It felt warm, almost hot. The leather was so smooth beneath his fingertips. So . . . so sexy to touch. So sensuous. He didn't consciously decide to slip it on. It just flowed over his left shoulder and diagonally across his back and chest.
"Oh, that's awethome," cried Vince. "You look great. Let me get a picture." Vince grabbed his phone and snapped a shot of Archie. "I'm sending this to everyone." Vince's fingers danced over the keyboard. He spelled out "The Real Mr. Southbeach Leather 2016" as he tapped away. "There. I sent it to everybody on my contact list."
"Everybody?"
Vince looked dumbfounded. "Fuck yeah. Why not? Half of them are probably already jerking off to that picture." He looked up at Archie hopefully.
"You still want to see my cock?"
"Please, Archie." Vince nodded enthusiastically. "Please."
"Okay. But just one look."
The big man grinned and licked his lips. He eyes focused adoringly on Archie's crotch. Archie eyed Vince speculatively. What the hell was going on? Vince was acting like a dog who's just heard the magic word "walkies." If he had a tail, he would be wagging it back and forth so fast that he'd give his ass whiplash. And Vince seemed to be sincere. He wasn't joking. Well, it couldn't do any harm to show the slut his cock. Might as well give the puppy a bone. Or a boner. Archie chuckled at the thought.
He undid the clasp over his right hip and lifted the jock away from his body, letting his cock swing free.
Vince moaned. An animal moan of pure lust. His cock grew to mammoth proportions, and he grabbed it in both hands and began jerking off.
The moan did it. It flooded Archie's body with pure testosterone. Instant raging hormones feeding a blaze of lust. Archie's cock sprang up at the sight of the behemoth kneeling before him, his eyes glued on Archie's groin and his tongue thrust wet and gleaming out of his yearning mouth. Even from a foot away, Archie felt the blasts of Vince's hot breath on his skin. He thrust his cock toward Vince and ordered, "Suck it."
Vince needed no encouragement. He surged forward, mouth gaping open, and swallowed Archie's cock. He pressed his face tightly against Archie's groin and rocked back and forth as Archie fucked his face. With each thrust of Archie's cock into his throat, Vince grew more and more aroused. His mewls of pleasure got louder and louder. Somehow the big man grabbed his phone again and began snapping pictures of his mouth buried in Archie's groin.
Archie looked down on the bodybuilder's shaved head as it snapped back each time he rammed his cock in. Vince was so excited about being fucked that he didn't allow Archie to pull his cock out. Each time Archie tried to rock backwards so that his cock slid over Vince's tongue, Vince would press his head forward. He wrapped his lips around the base of Archie's cock, keeping the entire length inside his mouth, and sucked his cheeks in until they surrounded Archie's cock with hot smooth wet flesh.
Archie didn't have to clasp his hands behind Vince's head to keep it locked to his groin, but he did it anyway. He liked the look of Vince held fast between his hands. The sight of Vince's mammoth shoulders and V-shaped back tapering to the hard mounds of the glutes, the thick thighs, and the bulging arms quivering with lust as he rammed his cock further down Vince's throat excited him all the more. The animal grunts coming from Vince's throat were payback for all the nasty remarks directed at him over the years about his height and "twink" body. The insults weren't Vince's fault, but Vince was his reward for years of suffering at the hands of people like him.
With the bit of his brain that hadn't surrendered completely to sex, Archie noted that Vince was no amateur at cocksucking. His tongue vigorously massaged the underside of Archie's cock, and the muscles of his throat were busy vacuuming each drop of pre-cum off the head as it oozed out.
The first time Archie came within ten minutes. He tried to restrain himself and hold back, but the pneumatic action of Vince's mouth literally sucked the cum out of him. Archie screamed with pleasure as he shot jet after jet of cum into Vince. As his thrusts subsided, the big man moaned and licked Archie's cock clean, looking up into Archie's eyes with gratitude.
Vince paused long enough to send the pictures out and moved in for the next round. Their initial lust had been overpowering and primal. The second round was more sedate. Vince worshipped the entire length of Archie's cock, savoring each bit hungrily. Archie let Vince do what Vince did best. He fell backward into a chair, spread his legs, and let Vince worship. This time he held out for half an hour as Vince tirelessly devoted his considerable talents to sucking Archie's cock. When he came, he pulled his cock out of Vince's mouth and shot his cum over Vince's face.
There was so much cum. He should have been almost empty from the first orgasm, but Vince's face was covered with it. His eye sockets were glued shut and he had a mustache and goatee of cum. Vince held up his phone and snapped several shots of his face as his tongue stretched out of his mouth and lapped at the cum.
Angelo di Zolfofuoco looked at the pictures Vince had sent. His plan was working. A little humiliation to stoke Archie's well-honed sense of inferiority, a little sympathy, a few compliments, a joking offer to grant him whatever he wished for. Well, Archie got what he had wished for. His revenge for years of bullying and teasing dripped from Mr. Southbeach Leather's eyebrows and cascaded down his face. The photo showing the tip of Vince's tongue slurping the bead of cum at the end of his nose was already going viral on Tumblr and other photo-sharing sites.
It took so little. Humans were so easy to tempt.
And in return Archie would help him tempt others. His offer of a job designing leatherwear would prove irresistible to the little bantam rooster. With a little help from his new boss, Archie was about to become a star in the leather world.
Jockstrap
The leather jockstrap floated in the center of the display case. Chase Ballman couldn't figure out how it was supported. The case set atop a pedestal, and the jockstrap was at eye-height. It revolved slowly, apparently unattached. There had to be wires or rods, but whatever was holding it up was invisible. Even stranger was that the strap looked as if it were molded around a body. The thin leather waistband flowed over the invisible wearer's hips and across his buttocks. The leg straps described invisible thighs. And the pouch—the pouch curved over and around a generous endowment. Another strap, little more than a wisp of almost colorless wire, led from the bottom center of the pouch between the buttocks and attached to the waistband at the center of the back.
"This is our best-selling strap."
Chase jumped back, startled. The man had approached him so silently that Chase was unaware of his presence until he spoke. In fact, Chase wasn't sure that the man had spoken. It was almost as if the voice had come from inside his mind.
The man circled around Chase until he stood on the other side of the display case. Chase caught an odd whiff of something—he tried to place a name to the smell. It was as if a match had just been scraped over the strip of sandpaper—whatever that chemical was. "It's a bit expensive, but we custom-fit each strap. It's the invention of our head designer, Archie Lee. The back wire is his innovation. It's hidden between the buttocks, so the whole thing looks like a regular jockstrap, but the wire keeps the leather taut and shaped to the wearer's body. Archie calls it the reset wire.' It stretches and contracts as you move, but it keeps the pouch and the leg straps and waist band molded to your body. It's like it constantly renews the jock and resets it to like-new' condition. Most customers are so satisfied with the strap that they come back after buying their first one and buy several more. They say that once you put it on, you don't want to take it off."
Chase's attention was riveted on the strap. Some trick of lighting made it gleam. He couldn't take his eyes off it as it revolved. He was half-conscious of the clerk's eyes on the other side of the case. They framed the strap and seemed to bore into his mind, holding Chase's gaze on the strap. The clerk continued talking, but Chase just tuned him out. He could feel the strap on his body, the soft, smooth leather shaping itself around his body, caressing it, stroking it.
Later he couldn't recall how he ended up in the fitting room. He was standing on a platform that raised him a couple of feet off the floor, and Archie Lee was measuring him. In response to murmurs from Archie, he held his arms away from his body so that Archie could measure his waist, his upper thighs, his cock and balls while soft, his cock and balls hard, and his cock erect. A corner of his mind marveled at his lack of modesty, and his ability to control his cock. He didn't even protest when Archie told him to bend forward and pull his ass cheeks apart so that Archie could measure the distance between the top of his ass crack and the inside base of his ball sack.
"You can get dressed now. Your strap will be ready on Saturday morning. Come back then and pick it up." Archie disappeared behind a black curtain.
"And how would you like to pay for the strap, Mr. Ballman?" The clerk held Chase's tightie-whities so that Chase could step into them. It didn't seem at all strange to Chase that the clerk was helping him dress—or that he knew his name.
Chase was the first customer through the door on Saturday when Satan's Den Leathers opened. He had dreamt of the new jockstrap the night before. He couldn't remember many details of the dream, but it had been erotic.
"Ah, Mr. Ballman, good to see you again. Archie has your order ready. If you'll go into the fitting room and get undressed, he'll be right with you."
The strap was a marvel. It fit like a second skin. The mirrors in the fitting room reflected Chase's body from every angle. He had to admit that he looked terrific. All those hours at the gym were really paying off. And the strap enhanced every line and curve of his body, displaying it to perfection. He was a very happy customer when he left the store, carrying his new jockstrap in one of the stylish bags of the Satan's Den.
It wasn't until he got home and opened the bag that he discovered that it contained the underpants he had put on that morning. Without realizing it, he had left the jockstrap on. It felt so comfortable that he wasn't even aware that he had been wearing it. He pulled off his clothes and posed before the mirror, twisting his body about. The `reset wire' was amazing. No matter how he moved, the pouch clung to his cock and balls. Plus it felt so comfortable. You hardly realized that you were wearing anything.
God, he was so handsome. Chase preened before the mirror. He would absolutely fuck himself if he could. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and imagined what it would feel like to be rimmed—
Chase gasped in surprise. He'd never had that happen before. He was thinking about being rimmed, and suddenly a hot, wet tongue had licked his asshole. He had always wished for the ability to imagine himself having sex and actually feel it, but he had never been able to conjure up more than a few faint whisper of someone else touching him. He cautiously opened his mind to the sensation.
The tongue slowly glided over his taint and across his hole. Without realizing what he was doing, Chase bent forward, thrusting his ass out and spreading his cheeks. The tip of the tongue teased its way up and down his anus. Chase began to vibrate with the pleasure of it. He had never had such a good—no, correction—he had never had such a great rim job. The tip pushed between the lips of his anus and slowly entered him. Chase sank to his hands and knees and lifted his ass. The tongue continued its relentless pleasuring of him, overwhelming his mind and driving all thought out of him. He gave himself over to the sensations running throughout his body.
Chase lost track of time. He was drawn back to consciousness by someone pounding on the door and calling his name.
"Mr. Ballman, it's Ernie. Are you all right? Your neighbor downstairs heard moaning and thought maybe you're sick and need help."
The rapping at the door continued. Chase staggered to his feet. He felt so weak that he had to grab at the wall to keep from falling over. It had been a mistake to stand up. He got back on all fours and crawled to the front door of his apartment. "I'm okay, Ernie." He reached up and snapped open the lock and pulled the door open.
Ernie, the building super, stood there, with a worried look on his face. "You don't sound okay."
Chase's eyes as he knelt were even with Ernie's crotch. The tongue had felt so good in his ass, but a cock would feel even better. Ernie was no prize, but he had a cock, and Chase needed a cock up his ass—right now. He turned around and raised his ass. "Fuck me," he moaned. "Please fuck me."
Some of Chase's urgent need must have communicated itself to Ernie, because the burly janitor tore open the buttons of his overalls and pulled out his cock. It was already huge with arousal. Ernie rammed it in and began pounding Chase's ass.
"God . . . you're . . . so . . . tight," he said between thrusts. "If I knew gay sex was this good, I would never have bothered with women. I'm never going to fuck another woman, just men from now on."
Chase wasn't thinking about converting a straight man and introducing him to the joys of gay sex. All he wanted was a cock up his ass. He would never had guessed that Ernie was so big. The janitor's cock had to be a foot long. And thick. He was amazed he could take it without screaming. Maybe he was screaming. Didn't matter. Nothing mattered except . . . except whatever it was that was happening to him.
Half an hour later, Ernie shot a load of cum into Chase. He rolled off Chase and then collapsed against the wall. Chase was exhausted too. He briefly passed out.
The jockstrap resettled itself on Chase's body. The reset wire pulled it the pouch taut, and the waist and leg straps molded themselves around Chase's hips and buttocks. Deep in his mind, Chase felt the jockstrap wrap itself around his cock and balls and begin stimulating them. The reset wire vibrated, sent waves of hunger throughout Chase's body. He wanted, he needed more sex. He needed fresh men. Ernie was too exhausted to be of service. Chase scrambled on all fours over to the table where he had left his phone. He activated Grindr.
Chase got fucked ten more times that night before he collapsed. Each cock felt larger than the one before. Each guy exclaimed over the tightness of his ass. One even asked, "Are you a virgin? Your ass is like new."
Angelo di Zolfofuoco stepped over Ernie's outstretched legs and surveyed the carnage of spent bodies in Chase's apartment. Chase's partners were slumped over the furniture or curled up on the floor, all of them exhausted from their frenzied assaults on Chase's ass. His apartment was littered with the snoring bodies of satiated men. Chase himself was sprawled across the living room floor. He lay on his stomach, his ass still raised, asking to be fucked. He still wore the jockstrap. Between his buttocks, the reset wire repaired the damage. Chase's swollen and distended anus reset to its virginal state.
Zolfofuoco totaled the night's takings. Chase, Ernie, and the ten men from Grindr. That made an even dozen. And it was only the first night. Chase had several years' activity ahead of him. The young man could easily tempt thousands of men. Plus, he was sure to buy more of Archie's special jockstrap. And as a satisfied customer, he would recommend it to others. Archie was going to be very busy keeping up with the demand.
Satan's Den: Hot Pants
"I always have a problem finding pants that fit." Ryan O'Grady smiled indulgently at his naked image in the fitting room mirror. He had peeled off the sweatpants as soon as the owner of Satan's Den Leathers asked him to undress. He liked showing off his legs and butt. The thousands of hours he had spent building his body had given him thighs and calves so muscular and huge that stretch sweatpants were the only clothes that could encompass their girth. They also showed off his bubble butt to perfection. But he looked even better without them.
The problem was that he liked to wear leather, but none of the leather pants or shorts available in stores fit him. They were all made for much smaller men. Shortly before he had been browsing the racks at Satan's Den, hoping to find something he could wear. Usually he had to content himself with a new cap or a leather armband—some of the larger sizes worked as wristbands for him. He had grabbed a bunch of caps and was headed for the mirrors when a pair of customers in the next aisle caught his eye.
One of them was holding a pair of leather shorts against his body and saying, "How would I look in these?"
Ryan didn't hear the other man's answer. He was mesmerized by the shorts. They wouldn't fit him—they were far too small across the ass, and his thighs would split the seams of the legholes. But they were so sexy looking. He would look so hot in those.
"You would look so hot in those."
Ryan looked up startled. Angelo di Zolfofuoco smiled at him. There was something about the man that unsettled Ryan. It was almost as if the owner of the Satan's Den store could read his mind. Plus the guy had to be a smoker. Every time he got near you, you got a whiff of smoke.
"They wouldn't fit me."
"No, those wouldn't. But we've added a new service. We've hired Archie Lee to design and make clothes for us. Those are one of his designs." Zolfofuoco pointed at the shorts the other customer was holding. "Archie could make a pair just for you. The man's a genius when it comes to custom-fitting clothes."
It didn't take Zolfofuoco long to convince Ryan to let Archie measure him for a pair of shorts. "If you don't like them, you don't have to buy them. But I'm willing to bet that you'll be as delighted with them as all our customers are with Archie's work. You'll feel so good wearing them, you won't want to take them off."
Archie Lee was over a foot shorter than Ryan. He had Ryan step up onto a small platform in the fitting room so that Ryan's midsection was at a convenient height for him. The little tailor circled Ryan's hips and buttocks several times as he made a surprising number of measurements. He measured Ryan standing up straight, bending over, twisting from side to side. He even measured Ryan's cock and balls, in both relaxed and engorged states. "We want to make sure the shorts fit at all times," explained Zolfofuoco. Ryan nodded. It made sense. Tight pants would feel great on his cock and balls, but not if they twisted his cock into a pretzel.
"Come back Saturday morning," Lee said when he finished. Ryan realized with surprise that it was the first time Lee had spoken. Zolfofuoco had done all the talking.
Ryan popped into Satan's Den after his Saturday morning workout. Zolfofuoco ushered him into the fitting room and waited while Ryan undressed. "You might as well take off your shirt as well," he said. "That way you'll be able to judge the full effect of the shorts."
Lee emerged from a back room. He knelt at Ryan's feet and held the shorts up so that Ryan could step into them. Lee and Zolfofuoco together pulled the shorts up Ryan's legs and around his hips. They fit perfectly. They clung everywhere, yet they felt so comfortable. There was no chafing, no tugging. The leather was so soft.
Ryan had Zolfofuoco put the clothes he had worn to the store in a bag. He didn't want to take the shorts off. He drove home as quickly as he could and rushed to his bedroom. He preened before the full-length mirrors that surrounded his bed. He looked so sexy in the shorts. They were like a second skin. They moved with him, never wrinkling or bunching up or puckering. They revealed everything yet hid it at the same time. They invited you to use your imagination to picture what lay beneath them, but they gave enough hints about how magnificent the bare flesh was to make it impossible to look away.
He puckered his lips at his images in the mirrors. He was so sexy. He would do himself in a minute. With these shorts he could have anyone he wanted. Everyone who saw him would want him, and he could choose the best. Not that anyone could measure up to him—he was a god. Yeah, he was the only one worthy of himself. He was the best.
Ryan felt his cock stir. God, he was so sexy, so perfect, so beautiful. The more he looked at himself, the hornier he became. It was a good thing that Zolfofuoco had had that tailor measure his cock when it was fully erect. Zolfofuoco hadn't been bragging when he said that the shorts would fit at all times. Ryan could see the outlines of his erect cock under the leather, but the shorts still fit perfectly. There was no pressure—well, no uncomfortable pressure. It was like the leather was caressing his cock and balls—and his taint and ass. The more excited he grew, the better the shorts felt.
He looked so hot. Hell, he was so hot. He'd never looked better. He'd never felt better. His sex was on fire. He laced his fingers behind his neck and gyrated his hips. It felt like he was being edged, held just at the brink of orgasm. No, it didn't just feel that way. He was being edged. The shorts were edging him, the shorts were jerking him off, the shorts were sucking him off, the shorts were rimming him, the shorts were fucking him. The fucking shorts were fucking him. It was great. His mind glazed over as he surrendered to the shorts.
Zolfofuoco knew Ryan would return on Monday. The young bodybuilder would want to order more of Archie's designs. Of course, he wouldn't be able to afford everything that he wanted to buy. Archie's special orders didn't come cheap. But Ryan would be so addicted by that point that he would leap at Zolfofuoco's offer of a job as a way to earn more clothes. The bar needed another dancer. With that body, Ryan would fill everyone who saw him dancing in those shorts with lust. And lust was good for business. Lust was very good for his real business.
Satan's Den: The Full Archie
Larry Miller stopped before the display window. The floor, walls, and ceiling of the display area were covered with sheets of black leather. A single mannequin stood in the middle of the area, its hands poised on its hips. It was dressed in a black leather catsuit from head to foot. Larry had to squint hard to distinguish the mannequin from the background. It was almost as if it were growing out of the leather sheets surrounding it.
The suit appeared to be constructed out of one piece of leather. There were no visible seams. Maybe they were in the back. The only breaks in the surface were a cluster of small holes over the eyes.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? We call it the `Full Archie.'"
Larry jumped. The voice seemed to come from inside his head. Reflected in the glass of the window was the silhouette of a man standing off to one side. The eyes of the image in the glass flashed golden. For a few seconds Larry was confused. He didn't know if the man was standing behind him or inside the window. Then the man moved to stand beside him. Larry felt even smaller than usual. The man towered over him, and it was clear that he was a bodybuilder.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. I'm Angelo di Zolfofuoco. I own this place."
Larry pulled his eyes away from the display window and looked up at the man. Behind him, over the door of the shop, was a sign reading "Satan's Den" in large type and underneath, in smaller type, "Your Last Stop for Leather Goods." Larry shook the hand the man was offering him. "Larry, Larry Miller," he said automatically. "What did you call it?" He gestured toward the window display.
"The Full Archie. Our head designer is named Archie Lee. This is one of his creations. He selects premium hides from young bullocks and supervises their tanning. He custom-fits each suit so that it's like a second skin. But perhaps you're not interested in leather."
Larry turned back toward the display. "It is beautiful," he whispered. "But I could never wear something like that. I'm not the type."
"If it feels good on you, then you're the type to wear it."
Zolfofuoco had the most pleasant voice. It glided into your ears, Larry decided, the way that good scotch glided down your throat. Not that he knew much about good scotch—it wasn't something he could afford often on his salary.
"Well, I don't really have the guts to wear something like that. I'm not `cool.' And besides, I wouldn't have any place to wear it." Larry didn't know why he was telling the man these things about himself. Usually he hid such admissions even from himself. But there was something about Zolfofuoco that invited confidences.
"Don't sell yourself short, Larry. Sometimes clothes do make the man. And I think you'll find that once you're wearing this, you'll discover places to wear it."
Larry feasted on the image in the window. For a few seconds, he allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like to be inside that suit. He would look "cool" in it. It would hide all his imperfections. No one would know what the person under that sexy black leather skin really looked like. All anyone would see was this awesome creature, the type of person with the balls to wear a suit like that.
"Tell you what, Larry, I'll make you a deal. We'll measure you for a suit and make it up. If you don't like it, you don't have to buy it."
Larry took another look at the suit. Custom-made things like this couldn't be cheap. "I couldn't afford it."
"You'll find it surprisingly cheap. I'll sell it to you at the cost of the leather that goes into it. I won't even charge you for Archie's labor. In exchange, all you have to do tell people where you bought it. Let's say $200. It's a steal at that price."
Larry looked at Zolfofuoco in surprise. Again there was that odd golden gleam from his eyes. It was like there were flames in his eyes. "What's the catch?"
"No catch, Larry. Simply good business. I know you'll look great wearing this. It'll be great advertising for me. I can guarantee that people are going to ask where they can get a suit like it. You don't have to mention our arrangement. You just tell them the truth—you bought it at Satan's Den. Let's just say I'm investing in you, Larry. You can't lose."
Larry surprised even himself. When Zolfofuoco led him to the fitting room and told him to get undressed, he did so without hesitation. Usually he was shy about exposing his body to others, but it just seemed right around Zolfofuoco. The suit required a lot of measurements. The designer—the man Zolfofuoco had called Archie—spent almost an hour measuring the various parts of his body. He measured Larry standing up and sitting down. He even measured Larry's cock in both a limp and an aroused state. Even then Larry didn't object. It just seemed the right thing to do.
"Come back on Saturday morning. The suit will be ready then."
The suit did fit like a second skin. He had looked so sexy in the mirrors in the fitting room at Satan's Den. He wished he had a full-length mirror in his apartment. There wasn't enough room in the bathroom for him to stand far enough back to see all of himself in the mirror over the bathroom sink, and he had to content himself with partial views through the small perforations over his eyes. Still, he could tell that he looked spectacular. But it was more than just looking spectacular. He felt spectacular. For the first time in his life, he felt that he had escaped the hand that fate and genetics had dealt him. He had spent his life feeling ordinary, drab, unnoticed. But now, he was beautiful. He was like a piece of the night. He could be anybody underneath that suit. He could be what he always dreamt of being.
And the smell was overwhelming. It was much more than the smell of leather. It was the smell of power, the power to transform himself into whatever he wanted to be. The suit was magical—that was the only word for it. The suit was drenched in magic. For the first time in his life, he felt really sexy, so sexy that he could have whatever he wanted, just like in all the ads. One of those sexy guys who radiated power—that's what the suit made him.
Zolfofuoco had told him he owned a bar—also called Satan's Den. That would be the perfect play to inaugurate the suit.
The throng parted for him as he made his way to the bar and then crowded into the gap to get a better look at him. Gasps and whispers followed him.
"What is that?"
"Who is it?"
"It's beautiful."
"God, that is the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
The bar was besieged by men trying to attract a bartender's attention and get a drink. Larry picked out two small men, both shorter than himself he noted, and pushed his way between them. Zolfofuoco was standing on the other side of the bar. "Larry, what'll you have?" he asked with a wink.
"Scotch, neat. With a water back."
A hand stroked his back. "It's so smooth. It feels like real skin. What is it?"
Larry turned to face the man on his left. "It does feel like skin, doesn't it?" The guy was so small but perfect. Larry sensed the power he had over the guy; he could make this guy do anything.
"It looks so great on your body. It's the perfect way to display it," the man gushed. He stroked Larry's twenty-two-inch arms and traced the veins that corded its surface.
The man's mouth was even with Larry's nipple. If he told the man to suck his nipple, would he do it? The man was gazing at it so hungrily. "Go ahead," said Larry.
The man moaned with longing. He tentatively touched the tip of the nipple with the tip of his tongue. Larry hooked his arm around the man's head and pulled him in, flattening the man's mouth against his mammoth pec. "That's it, lick it, babe. Make Daddy feel good."
A hand stroked his back. "It's so smooth. It feels like real skin. What is it?"
Larry turned to face the man on his right. "It does feel like skin, doesn't it?" The guy towered over Larry. He had to be at least fifteen inches taller. He was clearly a bodybuilder. The tight string T he wore stretched itself across his yard-wide shoulders and cupped his huge pecs. The guy's arms were enormous. Larry didn't know much about bodybuilding, but even he knew that arms that size and that corded with veins resulted from thousands of hours of dedicated lifting.
He felt so small next to the man. The small guy he had pushed aside to get the bar must have left. He would have noticed this behemoth. You couldn't miss the man. This man had so much power. He would do everything this guy told him to. "You have a great body," he gushed. "May I?" He held a hand over the man's bicep.
The man nodded. Larry shyly touched the man's bicep and squeezed it. It was iron-hard. Beneath his fingertips he felt the blood coursing through the man's veins. He stared at the man's nipples. They puckered the fabric of the T-shirt. The man pulled the T away from his pec, exposing the nipple. It protruded a half-inch from the surrounding flesh. The areole was dark, almost black. It gleamed in the dim light of the bar.
"Go ahead," said the man.
Larry moaned with longing. He leaned forward and touched the tip of his tongue to the tip of the nipple. Electricity surged through his body. The man wrapped his arm around Larry's head, wedging it between his bicep and the forearm. He pulled Larry in, flattening his head against the pec. Larry opened his mouth.
"That's it, boy. Suck on it. Make Daddy feel good, real good."
Larry didn't remember inviting the two men from the bar back to his apartment, but he must have because they were there. What was odd that neither of them seemed to be aware that the other was there.
"Oh, fuck me. Harder. Ram it in." The smaller man pushed his ass into Larry's groin. Larry's cock was held securely deep within the man's taut butt. It was like the man's ass was sucking Larry's cock. It felt so good to thrust his cock deep into the man. From the look on the man's face, he was in paradise.
Larry pushed his ass into the larger man's groin, impaling himself on the man's huge cock. Each thrust drove the cock deep into his own body, sending wave after wave of pleasure spreading throughout him. He couldn't stop shouting, "Fuck me. Harder. Ram it in." The man obliged. Each thrust was deeper and harder and stronger than the one before it. Larry was in paradise.
Both of Larry's partners came into the Satan's Den shop the next day to order their own Full Archie. Zolfofuoco was expecting them. He knew as soon as he saw Larry in the bar that he would have two new customers the next day. The suit had that effect on people. As soon as a man touched it, he had to have one. And each suit allowed the wearer to infect two men at once—a top and a bottom. Each person saw a different man wearing the suit, and each became the person he had always wanted to be. The suit allowed everyone who came into contact with it to fulfill his fantasies.