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Clark settled the leather uniform cap on his head and looked at himself in the mirror. The 8-sided cap was a leather version of the one he wore at work, and it settled snugly onto his head, pressing his gelled hair tightly against his scalp. His torso was covered with a tailored white leather shirt, complete with breast pockets, epaulettes and a name embroidered on the left chest. The black leather tie snugged it in place around his neck. His legs were in gleaming black combat trousers that clung to his muscles and showed off his thick thighs and heavy calves. His feet were in highly glossed combat boots that peeped out from under the leather trousers. Holding the trousers in place was a thick duty belt complete with baton, pepper spray and handcuffs.
Clark pulled on the final items – a pair of thin leather gloves that completed the ensemble. Three weeks ago when he had asked what kind of uniform he would be wearing, he had never imagined it would be one quite like this – an almost exact leather copy of what he wore to work. He checked the cap was properly in place and then headed back out into the studio. Waiting for him was Greg and Carl and their photographer, Michael. By now, Clark knew what was expected of him so he walked with confidence into the brightly lit area and waited for the instructions from the three men.
Feeble runt peter is found alone and almost naked in the toilet. He looks forlorn and totally pathetic next to the urinal. Vicious Master Derek appears to snarl at the sub and orders him to suck his cock. The worm does this before the psychotic Master flips him over and rams his fat cock deep into his loose rear. Pounding hard into the sub’s hole, Derek demands that the sub also lick clean the filthy urinal bowl. After throwing him onto the floor, Derek continues to fuck the sub in a variety of different positions before pulling out his dick and shooting spunk onto his ugly face.
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Colin stayed in the changing room for about forty-five more minutes before working up the nerve to leave. He regretted now that the day had been warm; his clothing consisted of baggy jeans, a T-shirt, socks, and sneakers. No matter how he arranged things, there would still be a lot of exposed rubber. Of course, his face was covered by the rubber, too, so that gave him a certain anonymity. Still, everywhere he went he would be a freak.
That realization was what finally drove him out: he was only a few blocks away from Times Square. If there was any place where a freak could blend in, it was there. Especially ten days before Halloween.
He put on everything he could and packed the few other items into the gym bag. Easing the door open, he slipped into the empty hallway and started down the stairs. Here in the early afternoon the locker areas only held a few people; rush hour was when all the commuters from New Jersey and Pennsylvania would swarm through on their way in or out of the city. Now there were only a handful: a white woman in her fifties, a dark young guy, Latino or possibly Arabic, a Wall Street wanna-be in an expensive suit, and a father with his daughter of about six. Colin emerged from the stairwell and strode through the hall with more confidence than he felt.
The six-year-old stared, of course, but that would have happened without the rubber. The rest ignored him in that practiced way New Yorkers have. He kept his own eyes forward… not that any of them could see his eyes… from their point of view his face was a blank mask.
At My Friends Feet, Ricky Larkin sees big, hairy stud Billy Santoro sleeping, and he can’t resist tying him to the bed and having his way with him. He wakes Billy up, who is completely confused about his situation. Before long he’s sucking on Ricky’s toes. Of course, that isn’t the only thing he ends up licking. Ricky’s sweaty heels are also part of the meal, and Billy laps them up happily, completely submitting to muscle bear Ricky Larkin. He really had no choice though. Where was he going to go, being tied up and all. Ricky ends up tickling the hell out of Billy too!
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