Black Leather

 

It was a dark and stormy night… Nah, I’m fuckin with ya. It was a pretty clear night, actually. A Friday night to be specific, and after a long couple of hours in my old office, I have to say, it was a fuck shit day. All in all, after doing a solid 12 hours behind my computer screen under the dim light of a flickering fluorescent bulb, I’d felt as if I had earned a drink or two. Every now and again I’d go out with a few work friends to grab a Vodka Soda or two, but ever since we’d moved office spaces across town, our watering hole was a little too far out of the way. I found myself going out alone that particular evening, when I came across the Raw Hide.

The moment I walked through the door into the bar, dimly lit with a scarlet red light, I knew that this wouldn’t be the same experience I’d been used to. The cement floors were dirty and littered with wet napkins and questionable puddles, the wallpaper was literally peeling off of the walls, the bartender was wearing only a leather vest with assless chaps… But at the end of the day, Svedka is still Svedka, and if I was lucky, he’d be heavy handed.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender spoke with a slightly slurred, but gruff timbre. I coughed out my Vodka Soda order and sat down on the barstool, pulling my phone out to hopefully avoid making eye contact with the other various patrons. Yet, past all the beasts of men clad in harnesses and netting was one single guy in the back booth. Couldn’t have been older than his mid twenties, and he sat there in the booth by himself, sipping on a Jameson on the rocks. The bartender placed my drink on the Miller Lite coaster on the bar and walked away, but my eyes did not break with the kid in the corner. That dark brunette hair, and deep abysmal eyes… Something felt different… Off… Wrong… And yet, so inviting, alluring, intriguing…

He raised a single eyebrow, and nodded toward the door. Completely lost in his gaze, I’d forgotten entirely about the drink sitting on the bar. I trotted along past booths of laughing bears and drunk twunks, until I met the mysterious man at the back door. He pushed it open, holding it with his arm. I walked outside, catching the subtle scent of aged leather, pomade, and masculine musk as I brushed past him. He followed and the door shut on it’s own. Out in the back alleyway, he leaned against the metal garage door, pulled out an American Spirits cigarette, and lit it with a mischievously intense glance. He offered me one, and not wanting to lose whatever semblance of interest he had in me, I obliged.

“What’s yer name, kid?” The man’s voice was relatively high pitched, but gruff and scratchy. I stammered, tripping not over words, but the very letters that build them. I couldn’t even give an audible response. “Heh, yer smitten. That’s what I thought.” He took a drag off of the cigarette, and smirked at me. He knew exactly the hold he hand on me, and I was powerless to prevent it; though it was not my intention nor desire to protest. “The name’s Westie, short for Weston. And his name is Nicky.” He pointed behind me at the second greaser I hadn’t even noticed had crept up behind me. I turned my head, feeling the heat of his close body looming over me.

Nicky was considerably bigger than me: height, muscles, hands, feet, chest… bulge… He stared at me with that bad boy smoulder one would expect from a rough and tumble “Rebel without a Cause.” I could smell the musk from his well worn ribbed beater shirt, and the greasy oil-stained harness boots; it was intoxicating. He gripped my chin between his thumb and finger, turning it to examine it.

“Yeah, Nicky is a picky guy. I had to bring him someone that would be a good fit for him, ya know? Though it’ll be one hell of a tight squeeze.” Westie laughed as Nicky got handsy with me. Pinching and prodding, even going so far as grope my growing bulge, not once breaking eye contact with me, nor budging from that scowlesque smoulder. His touch was rough, and not just in referencing the callouses on his meaty hands. His gropes, his pokes, everything was assertive and firm. Again, though I couldn’t protest, I didn’t want to… Everytime those rugged, jagged fingers ran across my skin, I wanted it even more. Nicky looked me over one last time, then turned to Westie with a single, apathetic nod. “Aight, boys, let’s make it happen.”

Westie flicked his lighter, and lit the cigarette that had sat between my lips unlit this entire time. I took a drag, but only got a small puff before it was pulled away by Nicky. My back now to him, I heard him inhale deeply, and a puff of smoke blew right past my head. I closed my eyes, as I felt Nicky’s breath on the back of my neck, his hands and leatherclad arms slowly wrapping themselves around my waist. His supple lips planted themselves on my lower neck, slowly and sensually kissing me. His arms raised from my waist, slowly rising to my chest, pulling into a tight hug. I felt the throbbing from his growing bulge against my behind, as he started to grind against me.

With every shallow breath, I could taste the smoky flavor of Nicky’s hot breath. I could smell the sweaty, dirty musk radiating from beneath his heavy leather jacket. I could feel his body pushing against mine… Or rather, into mine. Too caught up in the sensory overload he had given me, I didn’t see that the tip of Nicky’s firm pecs had begun to sink into my back. It was the pressure, the weirdest sensation of some gelatinous form pushing into me, through me, past my skin, my bones, my lungs and muscle. I could only moan in absolute euphoria as I felt his chest push out from beneath my skin. It was only then that I caught a glimpse of my corruption, my new physique, I glanced down to see two, meaty, thick slabs of pectorals where mine used to be. Nicky’s stained, smelly tank slithered across my torso, covering the popping abs that began to protrude from my stomach.

His entire upper body was submerged into mine, and my skin was struggling to accommodate him. I could hear the elastic stretches as his arms and hands were snaking their way from beneath my new abs up toward my shoulders. I knew where they were going and I was helpless, or rather delighted, to feel his thick biceps and manly hands slip my arms on like a pair of gloves. Our arms flexed their strong muscles beneath the worn leather sleeves of the sweaty old jacket. I could hear him laugh a little bit, and sigh in his own waves of endorphins. He put our hands onto my groin, unzipping my chinos and pulling down my boxers. His own pants followed quickly, his heavy, thick uncut snake closed in on my eager hole before plunging in. I gasped at his girth stretching me open, but after I felt his balls slap against my cheeks, the pain was gone. He just kept pushing forward until his balls were slurped into my body along with his crotch. Our hands grasped my erect cock, and I watched with bliss as his longer, thicker, bigger dick slipped into mine. It stretched malleably, as if he were thrusting into a pocket pussy, before it stretched lengthwise out and his hefty balls fell into mine, dropping substantially.

We both let out a cry of enrapturing pleasure, and he slammed his head into the back of mine. Things were blurry, as if I were experiencing a severe headrush. Dizziness, fuzziness, immense pressure, and then, clarity. Still grasping and now pumping our cock with one hand, we brought our second to our face, pulling the skin to adjust our combined visages. The skin snapped tightly against our new face, but the skin would remain elastic. His tongue thrusting into mine, we opened our mouth and took our first breath. Looking down, our legs the only unmerged part remaining.

We took off Nicky’s boots; hot, wet, heavy musk poured from the weathered opening. As his wet, socked toes began to push against the heel of the man I used to be, they slid effortlessly past the skin. Recalling that Nicky’s favorite part of the merging process was in fact the feet, we happily obliged, bringing the boot to our face and inhaling the rank, ripe funk of it’s cavernous confines. We felt the dank, sticky, yellowed socks wrap around our increasingly growing feet, his toes slipping into mine and wriggling with one last loud schlorp… We were now… me.

I blew my load, more than enough for two virile young men. There, in the dim light of the back alleyway, in a massive puddle of my hot, sticky cum I stood. Westie clapped, the wet stain of his own massive load adorning the front of his jeans. He walked towards me, and slapped my back. To him, I am and will always be Nicky. After all, as I slipped my deliciously ripe boot back onto my cum-soaked socked foot, I smiled. The police only know what Nicky ‘used’ to look like, they don’t know the NEW Nicky that you now know before you. Letting Westie sniff the other boot, one of a pair which had outlasted dozens of other Nicky’s before me, I knew that the one smell of consistency that we both enjoyed would continue on. Long after even the next… iteration of me is created and merged forward. As is the way we do things. And now that you know… Well… I’m sure you’re happy to know we’ll be heading your way soon. Very. Soon.