Inside the booth, Leatherman waits. He is rubbing his hands over his chest, the muscles beneath this masturbatory caress hard and well-defined. The boy imagines how that chest feels, the muscles rippling beneath the taut skin, slightly wet from sweat, and crowned with coarse hair. Leatherman meets his gaze, and the boy finds supplication there, in the pools of those deep brown eyes. He finds hunger and a willingness to surrender. When the boy finally enters the close little compartment, he is all confidence and does not let something as small as even a c**k-eyed grin betray his delight at what is about to happen. He keeps his face somber, mean, almost sullen, sending out signals of dominance. He doesn’t need to ask who’s in charge here because he’s sending out his alpha role with the fierc
