A Trip to Leatherland by Etienne – Page 3

Casey visits the midway where a game of Punching Bag turns into some deep fisting.

A Trip to Leatherland - Page 3
by Etienne
Series: A Trip to Leatherland
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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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1 Comment

  1. 31118azti - October 10, 2019, 10:11 am

    Always great artwork…thanks.

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