Leather Goods

Greg Dixxon’s got Tryp Bates between his knees, boots gleaming under the shop lights. A harness crosses his chest and every movement sends leather creaking. The barber’s dick, thick and heavy, drags across Greg’s forearm while he works the clippers. Greg notices. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches the bulge graze skin. Then he jerks his chin toward the floor. Tryp drops fast, tongue out, licking black leather until it shines. Greg unzips, slaps his cock across Tryp’s cheek, and feeds it in. No warm-up, just a steady push to the back of the throat. Spit runs down Tryp’s chin while Greg holds him there. When he pulls free the barber is gasping, eyes watering. Greg spins him around, yanks the jeans to his knees, and lines up. One thrust buries the whole length. Tryp groans, bracing against the chair. Greg sets a hard rhythm, hips slapping, the harness creaking louder than the moans. Every stroke punches deeper. When Greg’s balls tighten he stays buried, flooding Tryp’s hole in hot, thick pulses. They stay locked like that until the last throb fades, sweat and leather thick in the air.