Black Leather Kill

Note : This story is completely fictional!

The marble collonades and the grandeur of the high ceilings, with their elaborate stucco-work, belied this establishment's reputation as one of Glasgow's most popular gay clubs. This mid-week evening in November was still relatively quiet; many of the patrons were the usual gay clientele but with a substantial coterie of straights, or 'civilians' as Jason called them. 

"What are you for?", Jason asked Gary as they stood at one of the bars. "Bud', mate", replied Gary, "we may as well have a couple since Richie's late as usual". 

Jason and Gary were a couple of young hotshots with a talent for thieving; procuring goods and services demanded by that great market known as 'the street': drugs; cars; cigarettes; alcohol. They even did a bit of debt collecting if it was unlikely there would be a need for really heavy stuff. When there was a need there was always Richie. They were both of average height, slim, athletic and tanned. They were dressed practically because of what the night might have in store: fight or flight. Jason had on a white track suit, trainers, and baseball cap; whilst Gary had a pair of old jeans, sweat shirt, and ankle boots.They both stood at the bar in that conspiratorial and furtive way people do when they're saying or doing something they don't want to be seen doing or saying. 

"Do you think there'll be trouble, Jase?", asked Gary. "Probably not. Tam'll probably pay us what he owes us for the job and we'll be on our way to Richie's. Easy. And Richie's our insurance anyway", Jason replied. He went on:"Richie's bailed us out before when things have gone pair-shaped. He's a good guy to have on your side. Bit weird. But good." He continued, " He saved our skins last year when these hot guys didn't want to pay for the stuff and we'ed have been dead meat now if Richie hadn't taken them out". "Why does Richie do it?", asked Gary. "Look", replies Jason, "we pay him a small slice, he gets to fuck us, and the biggest reason of all...he enjoys violence. Have you taken a good look at his crotch before he goes into action?". "No shittin'?" says Gary, "I thought it was because he liked us", smiling wickedly at Jason and stroking his butt. "It's the holy trinity for him: money, sex, and violence", said Jason, "and keep your mind on the business tonight", he said to his business and sex partner, gently but firmly removing Gary's hand from his ass. "Why do we do it?", Gary asks. "Because", said Jason, "he's useful to us, we learn a lot from him, and we both want into his pants".

It was now 10:30pm. Their car park meeting with Tam Fagan and his boys was due for 11:00, and Jason and Gary were beginning to get nervous, not that Richie wouldn't show and they'd have to go themselves, but at the thought of meeting Tam again at all. He was a mean bastard and scared the two boys shitless. Just as they were ordering their fourth drink, enter leather boy.

Richie was 44 years old but no-one in the world knew this; he had the body of a fit 34 yearer. Richie liked working out at one of the gay gyms in the city and did a lot of weights, and it showed. He was a health food junky and his pad was an Aladdin's cave of skin care products. He was 5'7", short cropped fair hair, and smooth-faced. He had a beautifully muscled body: broad shoulders tapering into a slim waist, a tight hungry little ass that could cost you a week's sleep if you had once seen it, an obviously nicely proportioned package, athletic muscular thighs and calfs, and a great smile. The boys loved being around him.

As usual, Richie was dressed in full black leather. He wore black cowboy boots, a levi's-style short black leather jacket about pant-belt height, a neat fitting leather shirt, skin-tight black leather pants, and black wrap-round shades. He was always naked in leather except for the harness he wore for his heavy cock ring and large butt plug. The feeling of his leather shirt and unlined pants next to his skin was voluptuous. When he walked he loved the feeling of his dick rubbing up against the inside of his leather pants, keeping him in a constant state of semi-arousal. The icing on the cake would be the meeting. A frisson or danger at least and, if the deal went sour, the adrenalin-charged possibility of sudden death would send him to heaven. Richie liked fights a lot; particularly with hot guys. The hotter the better. 

"See I'm just in time", said Richie, "how are ma boys?". "Fine", they responded a little hesitantly, passing Richie a bottle of beer. Richie viewed helping the boys out now and again as extra-curricular activity. He did so because he liked them and had some fun. His own businesses operated in the twilight between criminality and legality, most of the time. Nothing too big; he didn't want the attention. But he always lived well enough.

"Are you guys OK", asked Richie. "We're a little nervous", said Gary. "Gary's a little nervous", said Jason, "I'm cool. Howya doin' yourself Rich?". "I feel awesome", he answered. "You look awesome", said Jason. Gary looked at Richie quizzically, "Doesn't anything frighten you?, like getting killed in a fight or something trivial like that". "No", Richie said, "except not getting as much pleasure from life as possible. Take the risky line of work we're in. I get a kick out of the risk. I don't think some hotshot'll blow me away one day, I know he will. But what the hell, if he gets a tenth of the pleasure out of doing me as I'd get doing him, who cares..." "But", interrupted Gary, "that's your life your talking about". "When you're dead you're dead; I see the pleasure you get in life, however you get it, as all that matters", Richie responded, "so relax. Tonight will be a scoosh anyway, and after that, back the three of us'll go to my place for tea and scrabble", he said with a lustful smile.

Richie slammed his empty beer bottle on the bar saying, "lets deal with these fuckholes", as the three men left the club and got into Jason's car. Richie got into the front seat next to Jason who was driving, Gary in the back. "Ya still cool, fuckboy?", Richie asked, not looking at Jason. "Ya", Jason said, "and you?" "Horny", Richie smiled, "I gotta get some of you tonight, or die". Jason was thinking the same about Richie. He looked down at Richie's thighs and crotch. He really desired him now. He wanted his face to be the car seat, burying it in Richie's beautiful ass which was encased in sexy, tight, black leather. No, no, he thought, business first, pleasure later.

It was a short drive to the now-deserted multi-story car park where the clandestined meeting would take place. They got out the car which Jason had carefully stopped in the shadows where no street lighting was reaching. Richie got out last. Gary and Jason noticed the sound of Richie's leathers creaking as he stepped out the car. They liked that sound. It had connotations for them of the prelude to limitless pleasure with a hot leather guy.
They entered the car park from the street and needed to get to the second floor for the meeting. They walked up a dully lit stairwell which had walls of concrete, no paint, nothing but the smell of urine and sound of tin cans being kicked. They walked onto the second floor right on 11:00pm.

In this cavernous area there were only three cars parked and one of those looked as though it had been there for weeks. It was surprisingly well-lit in the central sections but the surrounding areas were in darkness. The three walked in a line abreast into the centre of the floor once they had convinced themselves no-one else was there. Jason on the left, Gary on the right, and Richie in the middle. They stood and waited. 

After a few minutes they heard a door in the shadows open, somewhere to their front. Then footsteps. Slow footsteps. Two people. Gradually from the shadows emerged two figures. The boys now recognised them: Tam Fagan and his psycho-son Rab. Tam was just over 6 feet tall and immaculately dressed in a three-piece suit of apparent quality. Like many of his type he craved respectability but could never achieve it, for one reason: they were never respectable. Rab was dressed similarly, only didn't carry it off so well. He looked as if he'd been told to wear the suit. They stopped about 12 feet away. This was followed by silence for 30 seconds as the two sides eye-balled each other. 

"We've come for our money, Tam", said Jason with an attempt to sound relaxed and menacing. It might have been convincing to any one other than Fagan, who had mixed it with the best. Another silence as Fagan let them sweat. Finally, Fagan spoke: "I think we agreed 5 grand". Jason and Gary nodded. Tam put his hand into his inside pocket and produced 5 grands-worth of used notes and threw them at the feet of Jason. He slowly picked the bundle up. Sure enough, it was all there. "Good doing business with you, Tam. If you need anything else you know where to contact us", Jason said as he and the other two turned to leave. "Not so fast gentlemen", said Tam Fagan, "there's one other outstanding matter". The three turned round and stood to see what Fagan had in mind. Jason and Gary were terrified, Richie was intrigued.

Tam and Rab immediately pulled 9mm automatic pistols. "Get this straight", Tam started, "this is what we carry and I know you guys only carry knives. Fuck about and you all die. Jason, Gary, you stand aside and watch in silence, or fuck off, or die, I don't give a shit. I'm here for the killing of leather boy", pointing his gun at Richie. "You've been in my hair for years, fuck boy. This seemed like a good chance to end it".

"You just going to put a couple of bullets in me, Tam?" asked Richie. "Nope", replied Tam, "I'm going to give you a chance. If you make a run for it you die. If you fight and win, you live". "But Tam", said Richie with a grin on his face, "you're a big man but out of condition". "You're not fighting me ya gay prick", shot back big Tam.

More footsteps from the shadows. "Richie", said Tam, "meet my Iceman. Rab you get stuck in too, without the shooter", throwing Psycho a knife. So Richie was faced with psycho-Rab and a thing called Iceman. Iceman carried an 8" serrated knife with large barbs. Tam covered everyone with his 9mm. 

Jason and Gary surveyed the whole surreal scene. Two-to-one were the odds Richie faced, but this Iceman was a huge motherfucker, and psycho-Rab was no pushover. Iceman was 200lbs of muscle and malice, clothed in denim, at least those bits that were covered by any material; most of him was rippling muscle sticking out in various places. He had the look of a man who enjoyed killing as much as Richie.

Jason and Gary looked at Richie. He looked totally calm. A slight mocking grin played around his sensual mouth. No-one could see his eyes, shielded as they were by his seemingly pitch-black shades. The light from the car park ceiling gently reflected off his shiney erotically tight leathers giving a beautifully sensual accent to his gorgeous body contours: arms, shoulders, thighs, ass, crotch. The only give away sign of Richie's innermost thoughts was the gradually increasing bulge in the crotch of his leather pants. Was that why he was smiling? No matter how this ended they knew their friend was going to enjoy this and so were they. His leathers creaked as his muscles tensed ready for the death fight. He slowly pulled out his own weapon he always carried concealed in his short jacket: a 12" machete. For a few seconds the two sides faced eachother, motionless. 

Psycho-Rab made the first move on Richie. Edging foward on Richie's front and Iceman flanking him. Richie thought this was a much better plan than these two assholes realised. Richie had to give ground. At one point Psycho got just a little too close allowing Richie to take a severe gash out of his right arm with a swift and deft manoeuvre of his heavy machete. Psycho's reaction was predictable. He rushed uncontrollably at Richie: "You're dead, gay, fuck ass leather boy, dead meat motherfucker!!" he raged, charging at Richie, who raised his machete and brought it down with force, cutting off Psycho's left hand just above the wrist. Psycho screamed: "Fuck! Fuck! No way! Fuck!" as he feverishly tried to staunch the fountain of blood with his right hand. Iceman stopped and looked at Tam as if to ask for advice. Psycho might have been a dickhead but he was Tam's son. Tam was immovable. This hesitation gave Richie the chance he wanted. Psycho wasn't going to play any part in this fight any more but that wasn't important to Richie. As he made the first cut he felt himself get harder. He wanted more. He went for Psycho and brought his machete up and down several times hacking at him. For Richie this was as good a sex. His two greatest turn-ons were fucking and killing. The final blow was down on Psycho's head. A sickening sound like a hammer hitting a grapefruit as Richie's blade scythed into Psycho's head as far as his mouth. There was an eruption of blood: in the air, down his face and front, down his back, rivers of the life giving liquid on the floor. No-one in that car park could believe anyone had that much blood. Psycho, when the final blown came, was on his knees. He was dead before his face hit the floor. 

Now for Iceman, thought Richie. They circled each other, waiting for an opening. Richie could feel his hard dick sliding in his pants with precum after the excitment of the kill. His butt plug adding to the sensation and stimulation. He wanted to kill Iceman so much. Iceman made some probing lunges with his deadly blade which Richie parried easily with his superior agility. Round they went. Then Richie made his fatal mistake: he lost his bearings.At one moment Richie had Iceman dead in his sights staring the bastard down, then he lost his footing as he stumbled on the dead head of Psycho, who in death was more of Richie's undoing than in life. "What the fuck", gasped Richie. Iceman was slow but not that slow. He lunged at Richie with surprising speed, grabbing his knife arm and throat. He pushed Richie back with irresistible force against a cold concrete pillar, knocking the knife out of Richie's hand. Richie's reason told him that he was a dead man, but his heart didn't, at least not yet. Iceman now held Richie against the pillar by his leather shirt and jacket and pointed his blade against Richie's guts. Richie's feet were 6" off the ground. 

Tam walked slowly over to Richie. Jason and Gary were in open-mouthed amazement. They knew they were about to witness the killing of their fuck-buddy but it didn't seem real or bad, just exciting. "Your finished Richie. But looking at that boner there's a decent chance you might enjoy this as much as I will", leared Tam. "Die happy, leather boy. Wast'em!", commanded Tam to Iceman.

Iceman plunged the knife into Richie's guts up to the haft and started to twist. Richie's mouth was wide open in shock; his brain trying to grasp the enormity of what was happening to his body. Richie could feel Iceman's knife probing and cutting deep inside him as he laughed. A cough. Some blood came up. He was dying. He understood now. 

Richie's skin became very sensitive. He no longer felt Iceman's knife inside him. His brain had blocked out the horror of what was happening deep inside him. But his skin, oh, his skin. He loved leather and could feel it all over his firm naked body. His thighs, ass, nipples, even his sockless feet. He felt the delicious sensation of his plug up him and, most of all, his big hard-on and his dickhead rubbing up against his leather. He was close to coming as he began to breath faster and deeper and started to moan. Iceman relaxed his grip slightly to let Richie's feet touch the floor before he delivered the death blow; he withdrew the knife and plunged it in again upwards and twisting into Richie's chest cavity. At the same time he put his face up to Richie's. They were eyeball to eyeball now, one guy killing, the other being killed. He slammed his open hand into Richie's crotch and started to work his dick and balls through the leather. 

This was too much for Richie this time. He had known he would die violently but always wanted to die in leather. As the hand of his killer worked his crotch Richie could smell his leather, hear his leather, taste his leather, feel his leather, OH FUCK LEATHER, LEATHER, YES, YES, YES! He could feel the molten-hot eruption begin in his balls and blast its way up his fuck-stick and into his black leather pants. One shot, two shots, three shots, he felt his man paste strike the inside if his leathers. He screamed with pleasure. Four shots, five shot, six shots of bullet-straight jizz filling up his pants, seven shots and eight. Richie was stupified by the tide of pleasure. He couln't scream or speak now. He only looked at Iceman who twisted the knife once more as Richie's mouth remained open but no sound came out. His leather began to creak as his muscles relaxed. He slowly slide down the pillar, a quiet breath escaping his emptied lungs. He was dead.

Tam walked up to the lifeless body. "Fuck me", he said, "haven't seen a case of angel lust like that since the Falklands", and walked away.

His body was left there to be discovered by the police the next day. They weren't that bothered. Just another low-life punk who got on the wrong side of a gang fight.