The leather clowns were late. Usually they showed up the last full week of April, but here it was May and no sign of them. I worried. We all did. I asked Hobo Joe, him being the oldest of us, if they’d ever been late like this before. Once. When he was young, before any of us, he told me. Why? I wondered and he just shrugged. Never asked, never said. Only time it ever happened.So we sat around and worried, night after night. Far as any of us knew, the leather clowns had been coming forever. Never talked much. Hell, we didn’t even know their names or where they came from. Just accepted it, you know, and gave them our own names. Like Red, because he isvecbahis dressed all in red leather. Black dressed in black. White in white. Mustache had a mustache and Daddy? Well, he just looked like a daddy with his short-cropped grey hair and his hairy chest. Tattoo was inked from top to bottom and Scar looked like he’d been in a knife fight long ago.Thing is, we all looked forward to their coming. It was better than Christmas. And they’d always come. Until now. And so we waited and while we waited, we talked and told stories. Stories about our favorite memories of the Leather Clowns.Smiley told us of the time Red took him out to the woods. isveçbahis giriş He’d looked so handsome, he said. Red leather pants, red leather vest, red leather boots, and a red leather duster. No shirt. Red never wore a shirt. He smelled of leather and sweat Smiley told us. He pushed me up a tree and pulled my overalls down around my ankles. His cock was wrapped in metal-studded leather too and when he took me in the ass it hurt so sweet.Smiley got a faraway look in his eyes. Hell, we all did. We knew that pain. Red had taken each and every one of us once and it always hurt that sweet. Afterwards, though, that was what we really clung isveçbahis yeni giriş to. Afterwards he’d hold us, his cock still in our asses, cum deep inside our bowels. Hold us and whisper things in our ear. He’d tell us how beautiful we were and we’d believe him and hold onto the feeling for as long as we could, feeling beautiful and loved.That’s why we worried. It wasn’t all about the sex. It was that feeling. Of being beautiful. Of being loved.Blanket told us about the last time Daddy had taken him. It had out behind the tents. Daddy had him down on his knees, sucking his cock. His pubes had smelled like diesel. He’d held him down with one hand, simply using his mouth while he called him dick sucking sissy and nancy-boy and cock whore. When he’d come, it seemed never-ending, like he’d pumped a gallon of jizz down his throat before slapping his still hard cock against Blanket’s face.