Leather Skin Takes Me in the Sling All Night

The rest-stop sat a half mile off the interstate, a cracked oval of asphalt ringed by scrub and one sodium lamp that painted everything long and orange. Lionel had driven there after his shift with the windows down and his pulse already high. He was twenty-eight, an office worker who spent his weeks behind a desk, and tonight the hunger had gotten too loud to ignore in his apartment. He wanted anonymous cock. He wanted a mouthful and then a fuck, no small talk if he could help it, just a stranger willing to use him.

He parked at the far edge, killed the engine, and waited. A pickup idled two rows over and left. A sedan circled once and didn’t stop. Lionel stayed in the driver’s seat with his hand on his thigh, slacks already tight, watching the darker pockets between the light poles. His mouth was dry. His ass clenched every time headlights swept the lot and died.

A black van rolled in slow, tires crunching gravel, and stopped under the lamp. The driver’s door opened. The man who stepped out was tall enough that Lionel had to tip his chin just to take him in. Muscular through the shoulders and chest, thirty-five, shaved head gleaming. Full leather: jacket unzipped over a bare chest, tight leather pants, heavy boots. A leather-skin, the kind Lionel had only ever gotten off thinking about. The man looked straight at him. No glance away. One big hand dropped to the front of those pants and openly adjusted a thick bulge, thumb dragging the length so Lionel could see exactly what was being offered.

Lionel’s cock jumped. He got out before he could talk himself down. Cool air hit his neck. They stood with the lamp between them, and the look that passed was pure want. The stranger didn’t smile. He held Lionel’s eyes and gave that bulge another slow, deliberate squeeze, leather creaking under his grip.

Lionel knew what he looked like in wrinkled office clothes, starving and obvious, and he didn’t care. The leather-skin’s gaze traveled down his body and back up, assessing, approving. Lionel licked his lips and stepped into the orange light, letting the hard line in his own pants show. Somewhere a truck horn faded on the highway. The shaved head caught the light when the man tilted it, reading Lionel’s face, and whatever he found there made his mouth curl. He started walking. Lionel met him halfway, already tasting salt and leather in his imagination. He had come for a cock to suck and a fuck, and the man coming toward him looked like he had both to spare.

The stranger closed the last of the distance and didn’t ask permission for the first touch, because Lionel was already leaning in for it. A big hand clamped the back of his neck, fingers digging in, rough and sure. Lionel went with it, mouth open, and got yanked into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and heat. No sweetness. Leather and skin and the low sound the man made when Lionel grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and kissed back just as hard. He walked Lionel backward until shoulders hit the side of the car.

“Name’s Sergio,” he said against Lionel’s mouth. “You out here hunting cock?”

“Yes.” Lionel’s voice came out wrecked already. “I want to suck. I want to get fucked. I came for that.”

“On your knees, then.”

Lionel dropped. Asphalt bit through his slacks. Under the streetlight, with the highway a dull roar beyond the trees, he worked the leather pants open with shaking hands. The cock that swung free was thick, heavy, already hard, the head slick and dark. He didn’t tease. He opened his mouth and took it, greedy, pushing down until his lips met the base and his throat fought and then gave. Sergio’s hand stayed on the back of his neck, holding him there while Lionel deep-throated him, eyes watering, spit running down his chin and onto the leather. He pulled off to breathe, strings of spit shining, then sank again, faster, sucking like the whole week had been leading to this one cock.

Sergio’s hips rolled. A growl built in his chest. “Good little office mouth. Take it deeper.”

Lionel did. He relaxed his jaw, let Sergio fuck his throat in short strokes, and moaned around the thickness until his own cock was leaking in his slacks. When Sergio eased him back, Lionel stayed on his knees and looked up, lips swollen, waiting for whatever came next.

“I’ve got a sling in the van,” Sergio said, fingers tight in his hair. “And a skinhead buddy waiting. Thirty-two, mean, hung, and bored out of his skull. He wants a hole as bad as I do. You coming with me, or was the blowjob all you had in you?”

Lionel didn’t hesitate. “I’m coming. Both of you. I want it. Use me.”

Sergio hauled him up by the neck and kissed him again, tasting himself, filthy and pleased. Then he turned Lionel toward the black van and walked him across the lot, one hand still possessive on his nape, the other adjusting that heavy cock back into leather just enough to cross the asphalt. The side door slid open on a dim dome light and the smell of leather, lube, and warm skin.

The second man was braced inside, boots on the floor, shaved head, leather vest open over a hard stomach and a trail of hair that disappeared into unbuttoned pants. Thirty-two, broad, watching Lionel like a meal that had just been delivered. His name was Grant. He thumbed Lionel’s wet lower lip and smiled, slow and hungry.

“This him?”

“This is him,” Sergio said. “Sucks like he means it. Says he wants both of us. All night, if we want.”

Grant’s eyes flicked to Lionel. “That true? You gonna let two leather skins lock you in a sling and fuck you stupid, or you gonna get shy once the door shuts?”

“I won’t get shy.” Lionel’s voice shook with want, not fear. “I want the sling. I want both of you. Don’t stop just because I get loud.”

“Loud is the point,” Grant said, and caught his wrist. “Get in.”

Lionel climbed in. The door slid shut. The lot, the lamp, the highway—all of it dropped away. Inside, a steel frame was bolted to the van’s ribs, chains hanging, a leather sling already suspended and waiting, stirrups dangling. Sergio stripped Lionel’s shirt over his head while Grant worked his belt, and Lionel helped, kicking his shoes off, shoving his slacks and underwear down, cock springing free, flushed and wet at the tip. They didn’t rush the looking. Sergio palmed his ass, spread him, spat once and rubbed it over his hole with two thick fingers until Lionel pushed back and swore.

“Lube,” Sergio said.

Grant tossed a bottle. Sergio coated his fingers and worked Lionel open right there on the van floor, two fingers, then three, slow enough to feel every clench and then harder when Lionel begged for it. “More. I’m ready. Put me in it.”

They lifted him. The sling took his weight, leather cradling his back and ass, chains chiming as they locked the wrist cuffs he’d nodded at and set his ankles in the stirrups, spread wide, hole on display under the dome light. Lionel tested the hold, found he could still tap out with a word, and didn’t. He was exactly where he’d wanted to be since the bulge first shifted under that lamp.

“Green?” Sergio asked, cock out again, shining.

“Green. Fuck me.”

Sergio stepped between his thighs and pushed in. Thick. Relentless. Lionel’s mouth fell open on a broken sound as that cock sank to the base, stretching him open around heat and leather-creak and the grip on his hips. Sergio didn’t give him a gentle minute. He pulled back and slammed in, again, again, the sling swinging, chains singing, Lionel’s cock slapping his own stomach. Grant moved to his head, fed him that second cock—longer, a little curved—and Lionel opened for it, throat working while Sergio pounded his ass in a brutal rhythm that matched the wet sounds of his mouth.

They swapped without asking twice, only a look and Lionel’s hoarse “yes, switch, don’t stop.” Grant took the sling’s center, spat on Lionel’s hole, and drove in deep enough to punch the air out of him. Sergio filled his mouth, fucking his throat in short, filthy strokes, one hand on his throat so he could feel himself there. They traded again. And again. Throat, ass, throat, ass, the van rocking on its shocks, sweat slicking Lionel’s chest, spit on his chin, lube shining down his crack onto the leather.

“Look at this office boy,” Sergio growled, buried to the hilt, grinding. “Came cruising for one cock and ended up a sling toy. You love it.”

“I love it,” Lionel got out when his mouth was free, voice raw. “Harder. Talk to me. Use me.”

Grant laughed, mean and warm, and slapped his ass once, open-palmed, the sting blooming. “Listen to him beg. Hole’s greedy. Think he can take both?”

“Ask him.”

Grant leaned over, cock still pumping slow and deep. “You want us both in this ass? Two cocks, one hole, all night. Say it.”

“Yes.” Lionel’s eyes were wet, his cock dripping onto his stomach. “Both. I want you to double-fuck me. I can take it. I want your loads. Breed me. Don’t pull out.”

They slicked themselves again, generous, and worked him open wider with fingers first until he was loose and shaking and still pushing down for more. Sergio stayed in. Grant pressed the head of his cock alongside, slow, patient in the way that still burned, and Lionel bore down and breathed and took it. The stretch was enormous. He cried out, not a no, a wrecked yes, and both men groaned when the second cock sank in beside the first. Full. Split. Owned. They held still just long enough for him to nod, frantic, and then they moved.

Alternating thrusts at first, one pulling while the other pushed, then together, both cocks dragging his rim wide, the sling swinging hard enough that the chains rattled against the van wall. Dirty talk poured over him, degrading and hot and exactly what he’d asked for.

“Fucking cumdump,” Sergio snarled, hips snapping. “Pretty little mouth, wrecked hole. We’re gonna fill you until it runs down the leather.”

“Keep it,” Grant said, fucking in deep. “Clamp down. Milk us. That’s what you’re for tonight.”

Lionel couldn’t form sentences anymore. He nodded, moaned, reached for whatever skin he could touch, and took it. They swapped who was on top and who was underneath, who held his throat and who held his hips, never leaving him empty for more than a breath. The first orgasm hit Sergio with a rough shout. He buried himself and came, thick pulses Lionel could feel even with Grant still moving beside him, heat flooding his ass. Grant followed a minute later, grinding in, adding his load, the mess immediate and obscene, leaking around both cocks when they shifted.

They didn’t stop. They stayed hard enough, or got hard again with their hands and Lionel’s mouth, and kept going. Hours blurred into sweat and leather and the slap of hips. Sergio fucked his throat while Grant pumped the combined load deeper, then they double-penetrated him again, slower, nastier, talking him through it.

“Second round,” Grant muttered. “Take it. Good boy. Office slut in a sling, dripping, and still hungry.”

“More,” Lionel rasped whenever they checked, and they gave it. Another load from Sergio, shot across his tongue and then pushed back in with a kiss so he could taste it before Sergio slid back into his ass and came again, deeper. Grant painted his chest once, rubbed it in, then mounted the sling and fucked the mess into him until he came too, cursing, holding Lionel’s thighs wide. They rotated. They spat on his hole between rounds and worked it in with their cocks. They called him a hole, a toy, a breeding sleeve, and he answered every name with a tighter clench and a broken please.

By the time the dome light looked sickly against the first gray at the van’s small window, Lionel had lost count of the loads. His throat was sore. His ass was open, flushed, endlessly wet. Cum streaked his stomach, his chin, the sling under him. Sweat cooled on his ribs. He hung limp in the leather, ankles still in the stirrups, wrists loose in the cuffs he could have slipped if he’d wanted to leave. He didn’t want to leave. Sergio and Grant were still there, still hard enough to keep going, still between his legs and at his mouth, fucking him slow now, deep, unhurried, the way men fuck when they know the night isn’t over just because the sky is changing.

Sergio sank into his ass in a long, grinding stroke and stayed there, thumb rubbing the stretched rim around his cock. Grant fed Lionel the head of his own cock, lazy, letting him suck without choking him, one hand petting his sweaty hair.

“Sun’s coming up,” Sergio said, voice rough with use. “We’re not done. We’re gonna keep pumping this hole until it’s all the way light out there. You hear me? Load after load. You stay in the sling and take it.”

Lionel swallowed around Grant and nodded, eyes half-shut, body wrecked and willing. Grant pulled free just enough to speak, cock shining against Lionel’s lips.

“You still want it?” Grant asked. “Say it so we know.”

“I want it,” Lionel whispered. “Keep breeding me. Don’t stop.”

Sergio fucked in again, slow and thick, cum squelching, and smiled down at the mess they’d made of him. Outside, the lot was going from black to gray. Inside, the chains creaked, and neither man pulled out.

Grant stroked Lionel’s cheek with a leather-gloved thumb and leaned close, voice low and certain. “You gonna let us empty what’s left into you before that sun clears the trees, or do you need us to make you beg for every last drop?”