A Trip to Leatherland

Ever since Leatherland first opened I had been meaning to check it out. The place sounded just a little too good to be true, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it could possibly live up to its reputation. So I was a bit apprehensive when my buddy, Satch, and I finally decided to pay a visit to the notorious theme park.

My dick began to stiffen in anticipation and push against the buttons of my Levi’s. Satch grinned at me, his teeth flashing against the swarthiness of his skin. He rubbed a large hand over the bulge that was ballooning between his legs.

As we approached the gates, I heard masculine laughter and whoops of delight mingling with the sounds of slaps and whacks and moist slurpings. The down-and-dirty music being piped through the sound system did not entirely drown out the muffled cries and yelps coming from inside Leatherland’s walls.

“Hey Casey,” he said, “sounds like a real party goin’ on in there.”

I pulled the beak of my cycle cap down lower over my eyes and returned the grin. “Well, what the fuck’re we waitin’ for man?” I said. “Let’s get ourselves a piece of the action.”

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After paying our admission fees, we entered the park grounds and followed signs directing us to a large locker room. It seems customers were given the option of stripping down, the better to enjoy the many attractions of Leatherland. As one of the attendants explained, “That way you’ve always got your pecker out and ready and you won’t have to bother with constantly unbuttoning and buttoning and unbuttoning you pants.” I knew right then and there that I was gonna like this place a whole lot.

The attendant who told us this stuck around and watched while Satch and I peeled down. Can’t say I blame the guy, ‘cause if I do say so myself, both Satch and I are choice lookin’ dudes. I’m 6’2 of solid, all-American muscle, cleft-chinned, blue-eyed and sportin’ one of those rich California tans that perfectly sets off my wheat-blond hair. Satch is a powerfully built black stud with a dick the size of Colorado and balls that just won’t quit. The two of us together make one helluva potent picture.

 

 

The attendant was eyeing us real appreciative like. That always turns me on, having a hunky dude droolin’ over my bod. My semi hard cock dropped the ‘semi’ and reared outwards and upward from my flat, rigid belly, a thick, heavily-veined column of rigid, throbbing man meat capped by a juicy, plum sized, dripping head. Staring hard at the guy, I arched my hips forward suggestively and spread my thighs, bending slightly at the knees. I took my cap off and hung it on the end of my pecker whiled I peeled off my t-shirt slowly and sensuously like some goddam stripper. The attendant licked his lips; he obviously was enjoying the show.

Meanwhile, Satch, seeing the direction the game was taking, entered into the spirit of the thing. Dropping his leather pants, he turned around and leaned forward to display his big, chunky, chocolate colored buns for the attendant’s inspection.

One thing naturally led to another, and before long the three of us were getting better acquainted, fondling and caressing and stroking each other’s private parts, and probing clutching assholes with eager exploring fingers.

Reluctantly, the attendant disengaged himself from the 3-way tangle. “Better save some of that for the ‘rides’ in the park,” he said.

“Hey, there’s enough to spread around,” Satch protested.

“See how you feel after you’ve sampled Leatherland,” the attendant insisted. “If you’re still interested, I get off at 4:30.”

With that he left the locker room, and Satch and I finished undressing. We stored most of our stuff in the free lockers, but we kept our caps and boots, Leather on top, leather on the bottom, and nothing but naked skin in between! Our cocks were still swollen and erect as we walked out of the changing rooms to get our first taste of Leatherland.

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Immediately upon exiting the locker room, we found ourselves in Leather Lane, USA, a several-block long area dominated by a cobble-stone street that was lined with amazingly accurate reconstructions of the legendary bars and bath houses from leather’s Golden Age. The sidewalk bordering the street was packed with hot looking men, most of them naked except for boots and cycle caps and an occasional jacket or leather vest. The crowd was in a party mood and everyone of the bars and bath houses was packed and rocking.

Satch and I were debating which establishment to try first, when my attention was caught by an incredible sight. Coming down the street was a surry-like carriage in which sat a rugged, booted muscle-man. The carriage was being pulled by a nude blond guy of about twenty, the harness attached to his cock and balls! A cruel looking bit was in his mouth, the reins firmly gripped in the meaty fist of the leatherjacketed muscle-man seated in the wagon.

Checking the official park guidebook I read that the carriage ride down Leather Lane, USA was one of the park’s most popular rides. I could see why! My already rigid dork got even harder the thought of using some hunky jock as a ‘horse’.

Satch, meanwhile, had been getting a heavy cruise from a lusty number standing in the doorway of ‘Man’s Country’, so he decided to forego the carriage ride in order to follow his trick into the bath house replica. He called back over his shoulder that he would meet me later. Knowing Satch, I knew that it would be MUCH later, and that I was on my own for awhile.

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Using the handy map I’d picked up at the park entrance, I made my way to the Carriage Ride House, where I was instructed to select my ‘pony’ from a huddled group of trim young dudes, all bareassed naked except for numbered armbands and heavy duty cockrings by which each was tethered with a short length of rawhide to metal rings bolted into the platform floor. The tautly stretched rawhide straps tugged at their plump young genitals, pulling the cocks downward, effectively preventing the ‘ponies’ from moving around too much.

A sweet-faced surfer type, with number 6 on his armband, caught my eye and as I looked him over, he thrust his pelvis forward to give me a better look at his thick jockmeat.

I learned later that the park’s “animals” got paid a small percentage every time they were selected for use, so naturally there was a bit of friendly competition among them whenever a customer would come in to make a selection. Some of these guys were working their way through college this way; others were young servicemen for the Naval or Marine bases just down the coast, making an extra buck or two to spend on their girlfriends before they had to return to barracks.

I reached out and hefted the surfer’s family jewels in the palm of my hand. They were ripe and weighted down with the juices of his delicious young manhood, and they smelled faintly of sweat and sex.

“My name is Jason,” he smiled, “and I can give you a real good ride.”

I knew from the way he said it that he wasn’t referring to the carriage ride.

“You sound pretty anxious. Am I all that irresistible?” I grinned jokingly.

“Sure,” he shrugged in a bored manner, “you’re a goodlookin’ dude, man. But I’d hustle you even if you looked like Godzilla; I’m tryin’ to promote me enough bread to buy a new surfboard.”

The smile froze on my face and I felt my eyes narrow into a hard look. This kid had the manners and tact of a jackass! He needed to be taught a lesson. Godzilla indeed!

I informed the corral-master of my selection, number six, and he unfastened the blond surfer from the floor ring and led him by the cock rope over to the stand of carriages where the kid was quickly harnessed to one of the gleaming rigs. The corral-master gave the harness one or two painful tugs to make sure it was securely fastened to the juicy tawny genitals. Then he strapped the bit into the kid’s mouth and handed me the reins.

“Here you go, sir,” the corral-master said, “all rigged and ready for your enjoyment. Would you like him ‘ponytailed’ before you take him out for a spin?”

I didn’t know what he meant, but from the evil grin on his face when he said it, and from Jason’s sudden expression of fright, I figured it was something I’d enjoy, so I said, “Oh, definitely.”

Jason sucked in his breath sharply and bit his lower lip as the corral-master opened a small chest and brought out a ‘tail’ or horsehair attached to a thick stubby dildo. He smeared the dildo with grease and unceremoniously rammed it all the way up Jason’s pink, surfer asshole, so that only the horsehair tail hung perkily from between the golden-fuzzed, compact butt cheeks.

The kid bucked and reared when the hail handle was shoved up his sweet little chute, and I had to give the reins a couple of hard jerks to get him back under control.

“Whoa… whoa…steady boy… .” I said, as though talking to a skittish colt.

I guess I rode the kid kinda hard, deliberately running him over the rougher cobblestones, reining him in forcefully. I was determined to teach him a lesson for the ‘Godzilla’ remark, and when the ride finally came to an end, I knew I had succeeded. This pony was broken in, and would give no more sass!

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From Leather Lane, U.S.A., it was only a short walk to the midway where a dazzling variety of kinky games and attractions had been set up. The booths were manned by virile and muscular barkers who were easily identifiable by their distinctive uniforms. These uniforms consisted of nothing more than a pair of highly polished boots, an abbreviated tank-top with the park’s logo on it, and a simple leather wristband. Between mid-torso and calves, these brawny park employees were buck naked, asses, cocks and balls fully exposed and flappin’ in the breeze.

On the fairgrounds, everywhere you looked, as far as the eye could see, surged a wall-to-wall expanse of hot male flesh, most of it in various stages of erection. I was like a kid in a candy store, and I didn’t know what to sample next.

I finally settled on the Punching Bag. Presiding over this game was a dark-haired dude with flashing gypsy eyes and an impish smile. It featured a trimly-muscled guy, trussed up in a veritable macrame of ropes and knots, hanging from an overhead crossbeam.

As with all of the rides and games, a prominently displayed sign offered personal data concerning the booth’s performers. I skimmed over the information and learned that the trussed-up fellow’s name was Barry and that he was a ranch hand from Montana, trying to earn enough money to get back home. Like everyone connected with Leatherland, Barry was over 18 years of age.

Barry’s knees were kept spread apart by means of a metal bar. A rope was wound around his crossed ankles and attached to a ring in the floor. This served to keep his body from swinging too freely, but still allowed some movement. A miniature noose fixed to the tip of his shapely penis held it up and out of the way, allowing easy access to his hairy nuts.

The smiling barker held out a pair of boxing gloves, offering Barry’s body to the passing crowds. The gloves were over-padded, so no real harm could come to the dangling human punching bag.

I paid my fifty cents and put on the gloves.

I landed a few good punches, but soon tired of the sport. The barker noticed my flagging enthusiasm and suggested, with a wink, that I might prefer to try some punchin’ from the INSIDE!

“Good idea,” I agreed, removing the cumbersome boxing gloves.

I stepped behind Barry, helpless in his ropes and after dipping my hand into a freshly opened little tub of grease, began to slip three of my lubricated fingers into his tight quim  While I snaked these thick digits up the ranch hand’s clutching rectum, I noticed from the corner of my eye that the barker was discarding the used tub of grease and was getting out a fresh individual container for the next customer.

When the guy’s ass had sucked in all three fingers, I added a fourth and then insinuated the thumb as well. Then, with a little pushing and a lot of patience, I got the entire hand inside the slick tunnel.

Barry was kicking and squirming and wriggling, crying out in gulping, hoarse yelps. The elastic circle of his asslips squeezed my wrist so tightly I thought it would cut off the circulation in my hand!

A lot of spectators had gathered around us, shouting encouragements and cheering me on. What the hell, I thought, may as well give them something to REALLY applaud. 

“Okay, Barryboy, “ I said, “let’s see how much that rump of yours can handle.”

A murmur of approval came from my audience as my forearm began its long, slow slide up into the cornfed butt. Inch after inch of muscled arm disappeared into the stretched asshole. I was treated to a round of hearty applause when I finally got all the way in to the elbow.

 Barry didn’t hear it though; the kid had passed out.

Having opened him up with my fist and forearm, it would have been a waste not to have made use of Barry’s stretched and gaping asshole. Standing behind him, I grasped him by the thighs and lifted his hips until he was hanging horizontally. Then I placed the tip of my rubber-sheathed dick against the unresisting pucker of his greased cornhole. I slip into him like a hot knife into butter. I was glad to see he had regained consciousness, It would have been a pity for him to have missed the action; I’m a pretty terrific fucker, if I do say so myself.

He moaned softly as my pistoning rod made mincemeat out of his asshole, pile-driving into his squishy insides with joist, buttery slurps.

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At a dollar a throw, the Stik-A-Trik booth was one of the most expensive attractions on the midway, but it was a challenge that I , as a sporting man, couldn’t resist. The ‘targets’ were a pair of well matched studs whose names, according to the information posted, were Chet and Wayne.

Wayne, the brown-haired one, was manacled spread-eagled facing the wall. He had a bulls-eye target painted on his muscular buttocks. A dart from a previous customer was still embedded in his right buttcheek.

His companion, Chet, was tied upside down to a giant pendulum, swung back and forth by the husky barker who was challenging passersby to test their skills with the moving target.  A design similar to the one painted on Wayne’s rump had been artistically drawn on Chet’s groin area, placed so that the small, circular bull’s-eye center was right on the fellow’s cocktip.

The list of prizes that could be won included blowjobs, tonguebaths, buttfucks and so on. Confidently I paid my money and gathered up a handful of darts.

The barker was understandably impressed when he totaled my score, for I had racked up five for five, including three hits on the moving target which entitled me to extra bonus points.

“Wow, guy,” he whistled after adding the figures, “you just busted the record.”

“Luck,” I said modestly. “So, what’s the prize?”

“Thrower’s choice,” he said, reading off a chart on his clipboard. “That means anything you want. They’re all yours for half an hour.”

He unshackled Chet and Wayne, and handed them over to me. “You can use the space behind the booth,” he told me.

As I led my two ‘prizes’ around the back, the barker busied himself tying two fresh human targets into place for the next customer. You really had to admire the efficiency of the place.

“What’s your pleasure, Sir?” Chet asked.

I considered a moment; then, pointing at Wayne, I grabbed the base of my rampant joystick and wagged it at him.

“You,” I barked, “take care of this for me. I want the knob polished and polished good.” 

As he bent down and placed his lips around my peckertip, I instructed his buddy to start work on shining my boots with his tongue. Soon the two of ‘em were lappin’ and lickin’ away, happy as a coupl’a pigs!

After boots and cock had been spit-shined to a high gloss, I decided it was time to give the young studs a treat. Sorta like a ‘reward’ for doin’ such a good job in the polishin’ department. I still had about fifteen minutes left, so I figured that’d be time enough to throw a quick fuck into ‘em. What the hell, they’d earned it.

Rather than just select one of them to receive my throbbing dork, I came up with a plan to allow both of them the honor of getting plowed with my huge boner. I made Wayne assume a doggie position on all fours, then had his buddy climb atop him, positioning himself so that his ass was directly over Wayne’s. This placed both sweet ’n tender assholes real close together, one right about the other. The two firm, pale butts with the bright red targets painted on ‘em were like homing beacons to my randy pecker.

“Okay, guys” I said planting my cock on one of the targets, “Get ready for fifteen minutes of pure heaven!” 

I jammed by hips forward, sinking my shaft into the delicious butt and commenced a savage fuck, withdrawing my cock all the way and plunging it back in to the hilt with each stroke. After a few such thrusts, I changed targets, giving the other ass a few strokes; then back to the first one again. I continued this way, alternating between the two delectable sets of buns until the barker came back to let me know my time was up.

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All that strenuous activity had worked up an appetite. Luckily the next stretch of midway offered a bunch of food vendors. I picked up a hot dog and a code, and continued checking out the area.

A few yards away from the hotdog stand I saw a small booth advertising “HOT NUTS”. These were not, however, the kind of nuts one might have expected.

Directly under the sign, a goodlooking blond guy was tied, legs spread, over a kind of cooking pit. His balls were imprisoned in a set of chains that held them directly over a pile of twigs which the barker was about to ignite with a match.

“How about it, mister,” the barker said to me as he applied the lit match to the kindling. “Wanna try some fresh roasted nuts?”

I paid my quarter, and while I waited for the guy’s balls to cook I read the data sheet posted in the front of the booth. His name was Mike and he was a marine on leave from the base. Selling his nuts was his way to augment his meager military salary in order to help support his young wife back home.

The marine was starting to squirm in his bonds as his testicles heated up. Previous fires had scorched away all the hair from the succulent pair of egg-sized orbs, and now the hairless skin of the ball sac was beginning to turn pink and glowing from the heat. The nuts were just about ready; nice and hot.

“AfffhhhHHHH!” the marine screamed finally, “That’s enough, for Chrissake… they’re done, they’re done. Get me outta here, that’s enough… ”

“How do you want ‘em, mister?” the barker asked me, ignoring Mike’s howls. “Well done? Medium? Rare?”

The marine was really yowling now, tugging at his chains as if he’d rip his nuts right off. The testicles were wriggling like live things inside the sac, trying to escape the searing heat. I took pity on the poor jughead.

“Medium rare will be fine,” I laughed, “just so long as they’re good and hot.”

The sobbing marine was untied and laid out on the ‘dining table’ for me. He was on his back, and I lifted his muscular legs up and arched him over backward, so that his knees came to rest on either side of his head. Grasping his gyrene cock like a handle, I proceeded to lick and slurp at his sizzling nuts, savoring the rich flavor of his barbecued balls. Wisps of head rose from the heated gonads, and they smelled a little like roast beef.

Noticing that, in this position, the marine’s cock was directly over his face, I remembered something I had read in a Jeff Kincaid porno story, and decided to give it a try. I figured it might take Mike’s mind off his roasted balls.

Still chewing on his eggs, I reached out with my free hand and pried his jaws open. Then I pushed his legs back a little further so that the mushroom tip of his marine cock was shoved into his mouth. He squawked in protest and tired to move his head away, but I held him firm one hand about his dork, the other on his jaw. When he realized he had no choice, he settled down and began to suck his own fuck pole. “That’s better,” I thought to myself as I gnawed on his steaming balls.

“I hate to eat alone.”

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Once I finished eating I felt I ought to try some more exercise, so I headed over to the bowling lanes. At the far end of each lane a naked stud was staked out, seated with his legs open wide, lewdly offering his crotch in place of the usual ten-pins. The ground was soft sand, and designed to slow down and absorb the force of the ten pound bowling balls and to prevent any real damage to the target crotches. But you could still get enough speed on a throw to cause some yelps and curses from a well placed strike.

There were a few lanes not in use and I selected one that offered an athletic, shaggy-haired blond. His data card told me his name was Ken and he was a star of the local college’s swim team. That figured. His cleanly muscled, sleek body was just perfect for Speedos.

Unfortunately for Ken, I turned out to be as good at bowling as I had been at dart-throwing. I scored an impressive number of direct hits that must’ve felt like I was mashing his jock balls into a jellied pulp! The butch athlete may have started the day as a baritone but for the next few days he was gonna be talkin’ soprano.

As the winner of the bowling tournament, I was awarded a tiny trophy and my choice of ‘pin-boys’ to play with, I chose Ken, of course; the blond aqua-jock was a Grade-A piece of studmeat and I was looking forward to putting him through a few post-graduate paces.

I was supplied with a selection of ass-toys to use on Ken, miniature bowling balls strung on lengths of cord. On some of the strings, the balls were of graduated circumferences, ranging from the size of a cherry tomato up through baseball-sized spheres; other featured balls studded with tiny rubber spikes. Still others were hollows and filled in alternating sequence with boiling hot and icy cold water.

Resignedly, Ken lay on his back and lifted his legs in the air, bringing his knees down onto his chest, presenting his fine athlete’s asshole to me like a gift-wrapped birthday present. Between his knees, his movie star handsome face reflected trepidation at the ordeal that lay ahead.

“Please, Sir,” he whimpered, “don’t hurt me too much. Please… ”

“Shhhh,” I said reassuringly, “relax. I’m gonna make you feel read good. I know just where your joyspot is, buddy. In a few minutes you’re gonna wonder how you ever lived this long without a string of balls stuffed up your bunghole, bangin’ against your fuckin prostate.”

He groaned, clearly not convinced.

“And when I yank’em out in one quick jerk you’re gonna feel like your guys’re comin’ out with ‘em, but I promise you, it’ll send you to the moon.”

His groan escalated into a wail as I began to stuff the string of hard balls up into his hot swimmer’s ass. The last sphere kept popping back out amid his hopeless pleadings. “Please sir, no more, I can’t take any more, I’m too full.” I wedged that last ball back in, he screamed, “No, no-o-o!”

I wanted him to know what ass-packin’ was all about, so I grabbed his ass cheeks and began to work them until his cries and beggings nearly yielded tears. “What’s the matter fucker, you don’t want ‘em?”

“No, please no, take them out, please, oh plee-aa-sss-eee-eee-e.”

I couldn’t wait to yank’em out but I wanted to prolong his plight. His eyes searched mine of leniency but I glared at him with blazing savagery and rebuffed him with- “Your ass looks like a Bekins van, boy, guess it’s ‘bout time to unload.”

Without warning I yanked the first one out, then two more, his yelps multiplied—then another… his body shuddered. Then I heard that sound from deep within him that told me he was about to explode. I gave one quick jerk to free one more… then in one all-out motion pulled the rest from his overstretched, pouting hole. He screamed long and loud and erupted in a battery of high flying jets of ecstasies, never-ending, still forthcoming. His ass constricted with each bursting spasm until he had flooded everything and everyone around him before sinking into bliss.

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By now it was almost closing time for the park. I met up with Satch, who was wearing a shit-eating grin that split his face from ear to ear. Apparently he had been having as great a time as I; we would have lots to tell each other on the way home.

We decided to try one last ride before leaving. Seeing how it would be the final one of the day, we both wanted it to be something special. When we came to a large building with a flashing sign reading ‘IT’S A BIG, BIG WORLD… SUPER-SIZED COCKS FROM THE FOUR CORNERS OF THE EARTH’ we knew this was the one!Inside, the exhibits displayed enormously endowed men in settings appropriate to the geographic area from which they came. These were not wax models, but real living, breathing hunks; the biggest, thickest, most mouth-watering meat from places like Texas, California, Hawaii, Australia… it was overwhelming. 

As our little boat glided through the exhibits, my dick couldn’t help but get erect from all the visual stimulation, and with a touch of vanity I realized that my kink-sized juicer was every bit as spectacular as the ones on display around us. The massively hung guys on exhibit began to notice it also.

“Hey, look at the schwantz on that guy!”

“He belongs up here with us!”

“That fucker must be fourteen inches at least!”

The sight of my giant hard-on seemed to get the super-cocked studs on display excited. Since it was closing time and ours was the last group going through, the sexual supermen got down from their pedestals and invited us to join them for a big-dick party. Who could say no to an invitation like that? We clammered out of the boat and in no time a free-for-all orgy was in progress. 

Some time during the frenzied activity I lost sight of Satch, but I could hear whim whooping it up, slurping and sucking just around the corner. As for me, I was in hog heaven, buried under a dozen or so unbelievable huge dicks, each one erect, drooling and demanding attention.

A pair of hands pinched and twisted by tits, and my ear was being nibbled and tongued wetly. Someone’s hot moist mouth engulfed my Trojan-sheathed prick. A gigantic black pecker, similarly encased in a transparent skin of thing rubber, was shoved into my mouth. Someone was laping at my churning nuts. I reached out and grabbed a huge, tumescent penis, so thick around that my fingers couldn’t encompass even half of its awesome circumference. Cum began to squirt and spurt, assholes were mercilessly reamed with inhumanly large tools, grunts and cries and the sounds of rutting filled the air.

It was a perfect way to end my visit to Leatherland!