Leather shop

by BRK   

After an increasingly blurry night in Amsterdam Caleb finds himself perusing the wares of a cute little side street leather shop where he catches the eye of the shopkeeper with a knack for finding his customers exactly what they need.

Caleb stood on the sidewalk of the city center side street, staring passively at the windows of a cozy-looking leatherwear shop directly opposite. Rain was pattering softly down around him, adding a soundtrack and making the illuminated signage in the window glow and blur in interesting ways.

He was having a little trouble piecing together how he’d gotten here, but that was okay. He wasn’t worried. It wasn’t that he couldn’t remember, it was just that his brain was kind of disjointed and floaty. Linear thought processes seemed so unnecessary. Counterintuitive, even.

His chocolate henley was wet and cold and clinging to his shoulders, he realized. The rain. The shop looked nice and welcoming. It occupied the ground floor of an old apartment building in a quaint neighborhood of mixed residential and retail. No big blaring storefronts with lots of white lighting, just old-fashioned nooks with narrow windows and entrances tucked a few feet into the building. Inside the store seemed warm and dry. A hunky mannequin stood stolidly in the window, well-muscled with a featureless face and a hip flip to his plastic-molded hair that Caleb thought was kind of funny. He could never get his hair like that, but then tall, lean thirtyish gingers who’d sold their souls to the gods of tech commerce weren’t allowed to have stylish hair. Even when he was party-boy flit his hair had been defiantly blah, and nowadays it had developed a truculent flatness it couldn’t be coaxed from under any circumstances.

The mannequin was holding his attention. Manny. Manny the mannequin. More than just a pretty no-face. He was kitted out in leather pants that looked comfortable for once instead of being vacuum-sealed, and a simple harness over the shoulders that fastened across the chest. Neat.

Caleb smiled secretly to himself. Manny probably knew how to do a proper blowjob. Maybe they sold guys like him in there. Almost forgetting to check the street for traffic, he dashed across the street and opened the big, heavy door, instantly feeling swallowed up by the warm, incense-scented air as he entered the shop, a bell tinkling overhead as the door sealed off the wet night behind him.

No one pounced on him right away, which was nice. He found himself staring intently at a display of studded vests. Maybe he had been for a while. How had he gotten here?

He was supposed to be in… Prague? No, he had been in Prague. The conference. Ugh, that was awful. Four days of rude, aggressive, self-obsessed blowhards. He huffed. Blowhards. That guy that tried to blow him two nights back in his hotel room needed to be busted back to remedial fellatio class. He was never taking a pretty-boy colleague back to his room again, no matter how Chalamet he looked. That was worse than the Powerpoints. Two hundred people watching badly projected, underlit slides in an overheated banquet room was still better than a sloppy suck job with no suck.

Someone left the shop, the little bells signaling their invisible departure somewhere beyond the thongs. Caleb guessed he was alone in the leather shop, probably. It felt nice. He squinted at the vests, still trying to retrace his steps. He’d been flying home, finally, but his plane was delayed and he’d missed the connecting flight in Amsterdam by a good half an hour. Fuckers. There was a desk agent telling him something, but his smeary recollection of her was sort of stuck on really straight her yellow-blonde hair was and how big her eyelashes were. Like Janice the Muppet.

“I’m so sorry, sir, there are no available flights until the morning, sir, we’ll happily put you up in town, sir,” Janice said. In his head she had actually become the Muppet, which was funny, though it was trippy at the time, he thought. Or would have been, if it had happened.

A little hotel room in a little hotel, squeezed between bigger buildings. Pleasant, modern, narrow, too small and euro-sterile to sulk in. He went out to see the city. Then it had… started raining? And he dove into a very friendly coffeeshop to get out of the rain, and, whoa, they had cannabis! Very nice cannabis.

Caleb giggled. That was why he was fucked. He grinned to himself, eyes drawn to the street outside. The rain was picking up again. It had been good in the coffeeshop with the rain outside and the cannabis and the fun people inside. Cozy. He should see if he could find it again.

He made a move toward the door, ready to begin his hunt, but someone appeared in front of him.

“Hello, stranger,” the man said, his voice low and enticingly rough, with a faint accent Caleb couldn’t quite place. “Welcome to my little shop.”

Caleb was touched by the words, as though the man were pleased to have him, personally, here. “Thank you!” he said honestly. He realized he was looking down at the man’s chest and raised his eyes to meet the other man’s. Caleb was plenty tall, but the handsome, olive-skinned proprietor was tall, too, maybe a bit more than Caleb.

The man definitely looked like he belonged here. He had a stout, hairy body, not fat but not ripped, either, with a dark stubble beard and black, shaved hair. The latter was thick above as on his jaw and chin from what Caleb could see, despite looking a bit older than Caleb. Was he forty? Forty-five? Hard to tell. Definitely mature, in a good way. Unlike Caleb, who still saw the hapless twink he’d once been in the mirror sometimes, the shopkeep’s demeanor was so solid and so right the impression he gave was that he had always been exactly like this—exactly this.

His attire was simple. He had leather chaps on over thin blue jeans, dyed dark blue for a change, and the requisite boots below, ut he was otherwise ungeared beyond a leather cuff around his wrist. His top was a simple black tee shirt advertising the store. The dark brown eyes were mischievous, but kind, and Caleb felt an instant connection. He liked guys who seemed like they might be up to something, especially if the odds of finding out what were slim to none.

“I’m Caleb,” he volunteered impulsively, as though the hairy hunk of manhood before him was meeting him as a person and not as a potential customer.

“Danny,” the proprietor said amiably. “Shopkeep, master leather artisan, and weaver of destinies.”

He winked, and Caleb laughed. “Sounds promising,” he said.

Danny eyed him shrewdly. “See anything you like?” he asked. “Maybe you’d be interested in my special collection on the lower level.”

“Sure.”

Time seemed to grow patchy after that, the way the pot had been shifting his memories around before. Caleb was downstairs without really remembering how they’d gotten there. Had there been stairs? A lift? Stairs, he was pretty sure. “Shall we start with some of these? It’s the defining element for a lot of guys,” Danny was saying, holding up a simple black harness like the one on the mannequin in the window.

“Manny!” Caleb said. Then he said to Danny, “Yes, please.” His henley was gone, he realized—had he taken it off? He remembered taking it off, but not when. He didn’t need it. The shirt had been wet anyway, and it was warm and cozy in the high-ceilinged, brick-lined basement level of the shop.

He tried on the harness Danny handed him. It made him feel good, almost like his body was adjusting to it. It was as though he and the harness were meant to complement each other. That was a good rule. Danny had the right idea with his leatherwork.

He looked in the mirror. He felt mighty, somehow, but he put the feeling down to the cannabis. That, and the subtly buffer, tacitly wide-shouldered version of himself the mirror was showing him. That coffeehouse sure had some excellent stuff. “This one’s cool,” he said. He looked at Danny, hoping the leather man agreed. Maybe the pot had purified and simplified his emotions, but Danny thinking he looked good was what seemed important now.

“Good,” Danny said, eyeing him indulgently. A quirk of his lips seemed to hint that he knew exactly what Caleb was thinking—but then, the way he felt, it was probably all over his face. “But let’s not decide just yet. There are lots of options to explore.”

After that he tried on more harnesses. He remembered it like a montage, all of it exciting and not quite real. The cannabis was doing weird things to his brain, he told himself. All of the harnesses were different in some significant way that actually seemed to affect how he felt when he put them on. He went with it. It was ride, and you went where the ride took you.

The effects varied from harness to harness. One of them, the kind with rings and buckles instead of clasps, made him feel rangy and tall, taller than Danny even. Which was silly. He laughed down at the bearded man. “Hey! No bald spot!” he thought, or maybe he said it aloud. Danny chuckled. Another, this one in red leather, made him feel like he’d gotten an even bigger muscle swell than the first one. So much bigger, complete with a chest he could see past and bowling ball shoulders that he was sure wouldn’t fit through the shop door. Another made him feel rubbery, which was super weird. He undulated his arm, watching it snake up and down in a sine wave like bones were a matter of choice, not biology and physics. He stared, gaping at how high he was—that had to be the only explanation. He blushed a little, too, at the all things he was suddenly picturing himself doing to Danny as an elastic and bendable version of himself.

The truth was he was starting to get seriously turned on by the strange, blurred-together changes. Maybe that was corrupting his “ride,” but the upshot was that the changes started to seem weirder and more sexual the further they went.

Without remembering taking off the stretchy-making harness Danny was already handing him the next one. This one had an extra set of armholes, and when he put it on he actually felt like he had two pairs of long, lanky arms, one above the other, and two close-set sets of firm pecs and strong shoulders. He looked at his hands, all four of them, then up at Danny. “Whoa,” he said, huffing a laugh. “What I couldn’t do with these!” Danny’s eyes were definitely appreciative and a little possessive, which had Caleb flooding with pleasure at his approval. He didn’t blame Danny for liking the idea. He could give the big guy lots of pleasure with four hands, he thought, barely noticing how big his apparently super-responsible cock was swelling in his still-damp jeans.

“It must be the weed,” he muttered, awed and so aroused he was afraid an orgasm this powerful might be too much. “This can’t be real…”

The next one had rings again, but smaller and set lower, positioned over the nipples—almost as though his nips were meant to go through the rings. It was a wild thought, making him fully hard even before he put it on, and when his nips did indeed push through the rings he stared down at them in wonder.

Instantly he was riding the ragged edge of climax. It wasn’t just that his nips were huge—easily thumb-sized, maybe bigger. It was that they looked like thumb-sized (or bigger) versions of the very hard cock currently demanding release (from imprisonment, and the other kind). He could feel his nip-cocks straining, too, pulling at hard, swollen pecs much thicker and rounder than Caleb remembered them being.

Without touching them he knew his cock-nips were insanely sensitive. Just the brush of air was turning them on. Like his massive dick below, flexing relentlessly against his favorite soft black leather pants, his nip-erections ached for the touch of mouth or tongue. Fuck, just the thought of it made him want to explode, three times over.

He looked over at Danny, feeling a rush of excitement and a pleasant warming of hope for his approval at the sight of him. He thought he could have been here, in this store, for as long as he could remember. Everything was so simple. Danny would take care of him.

Danny nodded. “I think I know what you need,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah?” What did he need? He was eager to find out.

Danny turned, and Calen saw there was a small workbench behind him. Taking a few pieces from various complete or partly complete harnesses, he used hands and tools—and words? he muttered as he worked, and the syllables seemed excitingly charged somehow in the close underground space—to construct a final harness, which he presented to Caleb. “For me?” he asked. Which was dumb, because they had all been for him, but this one—it was just for him.

He put it on, instantly feeling strong, big, stocky-muscled, insatiable—the ultimate Caleb. He looked in the mirror, rolling his shoulders. He was still him, still ginger, still tall and—no, not lean. Why had he been thinking lean? He’d been reshaped. Redefined, in every way. To be Caleb, now, was to be a broad, hairy, leather-clad musclebear ready for a circuit party.

Taking in his final form, complete with a collar and a septum piercing (“When did that get there? Have I always had that?”)—he was slightly confused, but only for a moment. His nips tingled—they still nip-sized, more or less, but they as sensitive and pleasure-giving as a cock. His tongue felt the same way, wanton and desperate. And his cock—fuck, his cock! The stubby pipelike bulge in the leather pants, barely contained by a stretchy, musty jockstrap, was so sexy he was almost afraid to see it freed and thick and ready to blow.

The confusion faded, swamped by exhilaration and anticipation. He loved what he saw. Fuck, he was absolutely the horniest he’d ever been just from seeing his true self.

He looked to Danny for guidance, instantly filling his new jockstrap with cum upon hearing words of approval: “There’s my good boy!”

In that instant, whatever life of his life that had existed was gone from his mind forever. He knew who he was. He lived upstairs, of course. He worked in the store and tagged around Danny as his assistant and lover.

Danny admired his new work of art with a proud smile. “Come on, boy,” he said. “Let’s close up the shop so I can go show you off.”

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