"Sandburg! What is this?"
Jim unearths a carefully rolled bundle of black leather, secured with a bowed piece of twine. Blair fails to answer, and Jim looks up in time to catch his lover blushing.
"Oh, this is going to be good," Jim notes under his breath, utterly charmed despite his curiosity. Pulling the bow apart, he loosens the twine and unrolls the leather, eyes widening when he finds a pair of chaps cradling a black leather jockstrap that seems entirely too small to contain Blair's... assets.
The motorcycle leggings are studded silver at the stress points, with heavy zippers along the outsides. Unexpectedly soft and pliable, the leather still holds a number of detectable but incongruous scents; sweat, oil, tobacco smoke, beer, and Blair's sweat, an aroma with which Jim is intimately familiar.
"Blair? Where did you wear these?"
"Uh, Jim, look-"
"Tell me, please?"
Blair sighs, and Jim hides a grin at the sound of that exasperated surrender.
"I used to dance in them, okay?"
"You mean, like exotic dancing?" Jim says uncertainly, and Blair scrubs one hand over his head, still blushing.
"Yeah, Jim. Exotic dancing. Like the Chippendales. It was a long time ago."
Jim blinks, his mouth going dry at the mental image of Blair, onstage in a smoky nightclub, dressed in nothing more than the leather he held in his hands, hips grinding away to the sound of a heavy bass beat...
"Fuck," he whispers as his cock twitches and fills.
Blair looks at him sharply then begins to smile.
"Ah, a kink methinks. How about I demonstrate?"
"Fuck yeah," Jim says happily, knowing he'd been right.
It was definitely going to be good.
Send feedback to Polly
Go back to Home Page