Tony usually liked coming home for Christmas, but this one was boring boring boring . Aunt Agatha had moved in and showed no signs of leaving - ever - and the prospect of sitting downstairs with his parents and her had driven him up to his bedroom in a desperate effort to escape. He only lived in the next town, but rarely came back here except for Christmas.
'His' bedroom (they still called it that even though Tony hadn't lived at home for several years now) hadn't changed much at all: even the tomato ketchup stain on the wall behind the bed (from a brilliant food-fight when he'd been twelve) was still there - it had resisted all of his mother's attempts to remove it. He'd grinned when he'd pulled the bed out to look for it, and memories had come flooding back.
But now Tony was bored. He'd listened to all of the minidiscs he'd brought with him, and he needed something to do. With a sigh he pulled the headphones off and stood up. A walk, perhaps. Being as quiet as possible, he tiptoed downstairs and grabbed his jacket off the peg. His hand was on the doorknob when Agatha's voice trumpeted from the front room. "Anthony? Come and give your auntie a kiss."
Oh fuck. Within seconds he was jogging away down the path, pulling his jacket on as he went.
Where to go? Abruptly, he stopped dead in his tracks. He knew exactly where he would go: somewhere he hadn't been for... it must be the best part of five or six years. The den was a secret place he'd only ever told his closest schoolfriends about, and they used to play there most days. Smiling now, he set off towards the wood.
Back then, when he'd been fourteen or so, he'd had no idea what the place was, but he knew that it had been exciting and special. Now, though, he knew that it was an underground bunker which had been used as part of the early-warning system for possible nuclear strikes during the cold war. That had been before his time, but nevertheless the place had provided limitless possibilities for a teenager's imagination. it would be nice to see the old den again - if it was still there.
Indeed it was. Located at the edge of a small wood, the raised, turf-covered mound came into view between the trees as he neared it. It was exactly as he remembered it - although possibly it looked a bit smaller - it was as if no-one had been near it since he'd last played in it. The paint-flaked and rusting metal hatch creaked and groaned as he swung it open on its counterweight to reveal the metal ladder descending into darkness. He knew that if he left the door open there would be enough light to see by - just. Next time he came he'd bring a torch.
Tony climbed down the ladder into the room at the bottom. It was about twelve feet by five, and about seven feet high. The walls and ceiling were all concrete - and covered in graffiti. Apparently the bunker had in fact had other visitors since he was here last. He smiled: perhaps it was some other young lad's secret den now. There was a tatty old mattress on the floor in one corner, and torn pages from girlie mags scattered about here and there. A good place to wank indeed.
Tony sat down on the mattress and cast his mind back to the days he'd played here. This bunker had been at various times a submarine, a spaceship, a castle dungeon (oh how he'd enjoyed 'torturing' his friend Mark by tickling his feet) and too many other things to count. Happy days. He lay back on the mattress and closed his eyes, re-living those lost days of his earlier youth.
He awoke with a start, listening intently. He hadn't meant to doze off - must have been all the lumps in that dreadful gravy Agatha had insisted she make for dinner. There was absolute silence, but some sound had awoken him. It was darker outside now, but the hatch was still open up above, the dying winter daylight filtering down weakly.
Tony was stiff when he stood up. Looking around the bunker again he decided to bring some porn and come here again tomorrow, with a torch. He closed the hatch behind him and walked back to the house, wondering how he could evade the moist red lips of his aunt.
The bunker proved to be an ideal place to escape from Agatha and his parents, and over the next few days Tony spent a lot of time in it, reading, listening to music, sleeping, and occasionally wanking.
It was Saturday afternoon and Tony had been amazed to find a copy of a gay mag in the local stationer's - an unlikely occurence in so parochial a town. He was looking forward to a good, slow wank down in the bunker, and to reading the classified ads. He climbed down the ladder into the room and switched on the torch. The beam swept across the graffiti-covered wall and onto the mattress. It was already occupied.
"Fuck!" Tony jumped as if an electric charge had shot through him. Lying on the mattress was a skinhead in faded jeans, Doc Martens boots, and an MA1 jacket. He was hogtied, gagged and securely blindfolded with several layers of black duct tape. Tony stood there motionless, staring at the guy. His chest was moving up and down as he breathed, so at least he was still alive. On the floor at the side of the mattress was an open bag, and Tony could see rope inside it.
"Are you ok?" He asked.
The skinhead didn't respond. Then Tony noticed that the boy was earplugged as well. The lad had no idea that he wasn't alone any longer.
Tony thought about this. Should he release him? That would probably be the proper thing to do. Quietly, he walked closer, keeping the beam of the torch pointed away. He realized that he was rubbing his cock through his own jeans - and that it was as hard as a rock. Horny thoughts ran through his head: he could do anything he liked to the skinhead - the boy was blindfolded, and wouldn't know who had played with him... He came to a decision: he'd have a quick play with the skinhead and then get out of there. A bit later he'd come back, 'discover' him, and release him. Yeah.
He propped the torch up against the wall so that the beam reflected from the light concrete and gave a general illumination, then he knelt down by the side of the boy, who was lying on his back with his knees apart. Tony had never touched another guy sexually in his life, although he spent a remarkable amount of time fantasizing about it. He realised that he had absolutely no idea what to do. Experimentally, he ran his fingertip lightly up the inside of the lad's thigh.
Both boys screamed at once: the skinhead at the totally unexpected touch, and Tony at the skinhead's sudden reaction to it: the blindfolded boy yelled as if he'd been branded, and snapped his knees together tightly, imprisoning Tony's hand between his thighs. Tony left it there for a moment, then tried to pull it out - but the boy rolled onto his side away from Tony, taking his hand with him. As Tony tried to wriggle his hand free, the skinhead began to struggle - and also to giggle uncontrollably.
Tony smiled wickedly and, instead of pulling his hand out, pushed it slowly upwards towards the boy's balls, wiggling his fingers even more.
The helpless skinhead was hysterical. He was shaking his head violently, moaning into the duct tape and struggling like mad to get away from the tickling hand.
Tony moved closer, and continued pushing. He made contact with the bottom of the boy's balls and cupped them in his fingers, tickling them through the thin, faded denim of the skinhead's tight jeans. At this, the boy's moaning became even louder and his struggles more violent. A dark patch of precum began to spread from the tip of his hard cock.
Memories of tickling Mark all those years ago came back to Tony, and he brought his other hand up, probing deeply just below the lad's bottom rib, at his side.
The skinhead screamed into the gag. He closed his arms to his sides as tightly as he could to protect his ticklish sides, but the hogtie made it not quite possible.
Tony withdrew his hand from between the boy's thighs, opened the lad's MA1 jacket to make him more accessible, and set about tickling him properly. Being blindfolded, he was helplessly vulnerable: there was no way he could see where Tony's hands were going next, and so he didn't know how or where to move to protect himself. And when the fingers made contact, it was devastating. Tony's hands were all over the boy - tickling deep into his armpits; digging into his ribs; squeezing just above the knee, or the back of his thighs; tickling his balls through his jeans; teasing his cock. The skinhead yelled, bucked and writhed on the mattress at every touch, his knees opening and closing spasmodically, unable to get away, or to stop the unbearable tickling.
Tony's body stiffened, and with a guttural moan he came. As his body shook and his spunk pumped out into his jeans, he tickle-tortured the helpless boy sadistically. The lad would have bruises on his sides later.
Tony sat back on his haunches, tilted his head back as far as it would go, and exhaled a long and satisfied breath. After a few moments he looked down again at the skinhead. The boy still hadn't cum. He'd see to that now. Reaching forward, he gripped the zipper of the boy's jeans and pulled it carefully down. He gently extracted the hard cock and began to wank him off slowly. If anything, this brought more violent protests from the skinhead than anything previously, and he fought like crazy to get away from Tony's hand, yelling into the gagging duct tape. But he couldn't get away, and very soon the gentle but relentless milking - made even more irresistable by Tony's other hand tickling the boy's balls - overcame all his efforts to stop himself from cumming, and his spunk shot out helplessly into Tony's slowly-moving fingers in huge sticky gobs.
Once the skinhead's orgasm was over, and the exhausted boy was laying there panting, Tony carefully replaced the lad's cock inside his jeans and zipped them up again. Time to go. He stood up - and froze. He'd heard something...
It was the sound of footsteps coming down the ladder.
Tony jumped up and looked around frantically. There was only the one exit, and in the single bare room there was absolutely nowhere to hide. He snatched up the magazine he'd brought with him and looked up in terror as a pair of black leather-booted feet appeared on the ladder through the hole in the ceiling.
Above the boots were black leather jeans; above them a studded belt; then a heavily-studded leather bike jacket, leather-gloved hands, and a dark-visored, crash-helmeted head. The biker stopped, stared, and then said "What the fuck...?"
A second voice from above asked "what's up, Steve?" and the guy with the studded jacket had to step smartly out of the way as another helmeted biker appeared above him. This one's leathers were plain black.
They were standing between Tony and the ladder - there was no escape. "Who are you? What're you doing down here?"
In a faltering voice, Tony explained that he was home for Christmas, that he used to play here when he was at school and that he'd wanted to visit the old place again.
"Is that a fact?" Studs looked at his mate. "Who knows you're here?"
"Nobody," replied Tony. Instantly after he'd said it, he realised that that probably hadn't been the most sensible reply in the world.
"Really...?" Tony didn't like the intonation in the biker's voice. Dangerous.
Studs pulled the magazine out of Tony's hand. "And what's this?"
"Er.. I found it down here."
"No you didn't." The biker flipped through the pages and then looked up. "And what've you been doing to our boy there, eh?"
Tony took a deep breath. It was fairly obvious that these bikers were gay, and that they'd brought the skinhead down here for some kind of SM scene. He'd heard about this sort of thing. He'd got nothing to worry about. "Oh y'know, I've played with him a bit. Nothing heavy."
"What do you mean, 'played' with him?"
"Oh, just," Tony cleared his throat - this was embarrassing. "Just, y'know - tickled him a bit, teased his cock through his jeans, that sort of thing." He looked down at his boots, his face the colour of beetroot. "And made him cum."
He hadn't realised he'd said anything funny, but the two bikers cracked up. "Oh that's brilliant!"
"What do you mean?" Asked Tony. "You brought him down here to play with him, didn't you?"
"Not exactly." The biker was not laughing any more. "We are straight, mate. Sunny Jim there," he pointed to the skinhead, "is getting married tomorrow. This is what you might call a stag night joke. Tie him up for a few hours and then take him to the pub to get pissed before the big day tomorrow."
Tony's face fell. Oh shit. What had he done?
"It's a fucking good thing he can't identify you - he'd smash your face in."
Time to go. Again. "Right, Well look - I'm sorry. I didn't know. I thought - I mean - it looked like - " he ran out of steam. "I'll just go. Ok?" He made to move towards the ladder, but Studs didn't move: he stayed blocking the way.
"Oh I don't know... I think you should pay for what you've done. He nodded sideways to the skinhead, "let him get his own back a bit..."
Having recently cum, Tony felt anything but horny right now. He tried to smile. "Oh he wouldn't want to do that. I didn't do anything..."
Studs' voice was harder now. "Dave, block the ladder." The other biker moved to stand at the ladder's base. Studs went over to the skinhead and released him. Even though the light of the torch was low, he blinked when the tape was removed from his eyes, and rubbed his wrists. He was a very goodlooking lad, Tony noticed.
"Who the fuck did that?" He asked, looking from Dave to Studs and then to Tony. "And who the fuck is this?"
"This is the guy who played with you. Get up, and help us to string him up."
The skinhead bounded to his feet and between them the two bikers and he got Tony stripped naked. Studs rummaged around in the bag on the floor and came up with a length of rope. They manouevered Tony to the centre of the room, bound his wrists together, and then secured them to a metal fixture with holes in, in the middle of the ceiling - some kind of fitting for a light, probably, Tony thought irrelevantly as they tied him in place.
"Look, fellas, you don't want to do this. I - " A leather-gloved hand clamped over his mouth from behind, reducing his argument to a series of 'mffgghkk'-like noises.
Next they taped his ankles together, and Dave took something else from the bag. He held it up in front of Tony. It was a heavy black leather hood. Studs took his hand from over Tony's mouth and held him still while Dave forced the hood over his head. As the laces were pulled tight, two things happened: Tony's yells of protest faded into muffled, unintelligible moans; and his cock - which had been completely soft - stiffened to full erection.
"Right, I think we can take these off now," said Dave, removing his crash helmet. Studs did likewise. "If we keep our voices low he won't be able to hear us inside that I shouldn't think. It's very thick leather."
"Where the hell did you get this stuff?" Asked the skinhead, not lowering his voice. "Didn't know you were into this kind of kink."
Dave chuckled. "I'm not. But I know a man who is. Borrowed it from him."
"What the hell were you planning to do to me?"
"Nothing. I just asked him for some restraint gear and he lent me the whole bag. I'd got no idea what was in it."
Studs came round to the front. "So what are we going to do to him?" He whispered.
"What did he do to you?" Asked Dave.
"The bastard tickled me. Fucking hard."
"Played with my fucking cock through my jeans."
"And...?" Dave was trying to keep a straight face - the skinhead was starting to blush.
"And he fucking wanked me off if you must know. I'll fucking kill him."
Dave chortled. "Ok. Well, as you're the injured party here, go at him. But don't kill him, eh?"
The skinhead smiled, then jabbed his fingers hard into Tony's sides. Tony screamed and thrashed about, but the boy followed his movements, tickling the shit out of him fast and furiously. Tony's cock got harder still. "This bastard's enjoying it!" He said disbelievingly.
With a theatrical sigh of resignation, Dave squatted down in front of Tony and began to work on the muscles just above the boy's knees. There being no room at the front any more, Studs went back behind their captive, knelt on the floor and forced his leather-jacketed arm between Tony's thighs until he could tickle the boy's balls.
Under the leather hood Tony was beside himself. He couldn't stand having his sides tickled, and there was someone working on his knees as well! Then there was cold leather forcing its way between his thighs and onto his balls - and before he knew what was happening he was cumming again...
Spunk shot out of Tony's cock and landed directly between Dave's eyes. "Shit!" He said, wiping madly at the goo running down his nose. Studs looked around Tony's twitching body and collapsed in laughter on the floor. The skinhead noticed what had happened, and he too started laughing. The sight of Dave - his face covered in spunk and frantically smearing it around in his effort to get it off was hysterical.
Tony could hear the muffled sounds of laughter through the leather hood, but he had no idea what was going on. He hung from his wrists in post-orgasm exhaustion. Thank God they weren't tickling him now, he thought.
"This guy is seriously into bondage and leather," said Studs when he'd pulled himself together. "Let's milk the bastard dry."
The skin's head jerked up at the idea. "Fuck yeah! Teach the fucker a lesson!"
Dave thought about it. "He obviously fancies you, Jimbo, and leather turns him on... get him down."
They released Tony's hands and feet, and manhandled him onto the mattress, laying him face-up. "Ok, let's put our lids back on so he can't identify us, then take his hood off so he can get off on Jimbo," said Studs.
"Hang on - we won't be able to see a thing with the black visors down," said Dave. "Let's have a look in here..." He rummaged in the bag again and took out a black ski-mask. A further forage inside produced a leather mask with eyeholes. He threw the leather mask to Studs and put the ski-mask on himself. "Excellent. Ok - Jimbo, do press-ups on top of him for while."
The skinhead positioned himself over Tony - his booted feet between the boy's but his shoulders at arm's length above him - and waited while Dave removed Tony's leather hood.
"Oh fuck." Tony found himself staring up into the beautiful, sexily-smiling face of the skinhead boy. Very slowly Jimbo lowered himself until their lips were inches apart. "Gonna make you cum again, boy," he whispered.
In spite of the fact that Tony had had two orgasms in the last half hour, his cock started to stiffen again. He had never had sex with another guy before - and here he was looking into the face of one of the most horny skinheads he'd ever seen in his life.
Jimbo did slow push-ups on top of the naked boy, lowering himself each time until his bulging denim-covered cock was pressing hard against Tony's, and their faces were inches apart. The feel of the skinhead's jeans against Tony's bare legs, the cold, smooth MA1 touching his chest, and the sight of the boy smiling down at him were the stuff of his fantasies, and his cock was hard again already.
A leather-gloved hand covered Tony's eyes. He shook his head to remove it - he desperately wanted to keep looking at that gorgeous skinhead - but it stayed there. He felt movement above him, and when the hand was removed, it was the studded-leather biker on top of him. The guy lowered himself until his leather jacket and jeans were touching him all over, the sharp steel studs pressing into his bare flesh. Tony moaned in ecstasy. He saw the skinhead boy go and kneel between Studs' feet, pushing them - and Tony's - apart, and then he felt the lad's hand enclose his cock. The hand started to wank him slowly, his thumb sliding over the head of his cock with each stroke.
Then Dave's leather-gloved hands were back over his face - this time blindfolding him and gagging him. Tony was lost in a world of leather beyond his wildest fantasies... and he felt himself getting ready to cum for the third time.
"Aaaarrrggghh!!!" Tony's body convulsed and he came. Great spasms racked his body as Studs held him down with his body weight and Jimbo milked his cock.
They gave him ten minutes to recover, while Dave and Jimbo smoked cigarettes, before they started on him again.
This time it was Dave who made him cum. Working on the idea that the feel of leather turned Tony on a lot, he got Tony in a 69 position, the boy's head buried in his leather-jeaned crotch, his thighs holding him tightly in place while Dave worked on his cock and balls leisurely with his leather-gloved hands. It took longer than before, but eventually Tony yelled, his cock jerked and a little thin spunk dribbled out.
"One more time?" Asked Jimbo a few minutes later.
"I don't think you'll be able to make him cum again," said Dave, shaking his head. "He's done."
"Watch and learn..." The skinhead asked for Tony to be tied to the ceiling fitting again. When that was done the boy stood in front of him and played with his own cock through his tight faded jeans. It got hard again instantly, and he moved it to the most prominent position possible. He moved nearer, and whispered into Tony's ear. "You're helpless, boy. We've got you. I'm going to make you cum again. I know you don't want to, but there's fuck all you can do about it."
He searched in the bag and handed something to Studs. They whispered for a while - Studs didn't seem to keen on whatever it was Jimbo was suggesting, but eventually agreed. He too began to play with his cock through his leather jeans.
Jimbo returned to Tony. "Ever been fucked by a biker?"
Tony was too terrified to reply. He shook his head, his mouth agape. No! He'd never been fucked in his life. This was rape! He found his voice. "NO! Please! NO!"
'You have two choices," whispered the skinhead, "either we can gag you, or you can keep quiet and kiss me." He brushed his lips against Tony's.
Studs unzipped his jeans and got his cock and balls out. He rolled the condom on, and squirted lube onto it. As gently as he could, he began to push himself into Tony.
Tony had always thought that being fucked for the first time would be incredibly painful - but it wasn't. In fact it felt good. In fact...
Studs was smiling - this boy was tight! Although he'd intended to be very gentle, he found himself thrusting into Tony hard. The boy rocked in his restraints, sandwiched between Studs behind him and Jimbo in front. Studs reached around Tony's body, squeezing and rolling the lad's nipples between his leather-gloved fingers as he fucked him.
Jimbo grabbed Tony's hair at the back of his head and forced his mouth onto his, kissing the boy savagely. At the same time he took Tony's cock and rubbed it against his own, bulging inside his tight jeans.
On impulse, he reached up and untied Tony's hands. Immediately the boy embraced him, pulling him tighter towards him and kissing him wetly all over his beautiful face.
Studs continued pounding , and was getting close to cumming.
Tony reached down between himself and Jimbo and gripped the skinhead's cock in his fingers. He started to toss the boy off in his jeans.
Jimbo found himself thrusting his pelvis in response to Tony's hand, and began to milk Tony again.
For a while there were only grunting, moaning noises in the bunker, and then the air was rent with animal yells as - first the skinhead, then Studs, then Tony, and then Dave, who had been wanking himself as he watched - came. Spunk ran down Jimbo's thighs inside his jeans, spunk squirted into the condom inside Tony, spunk pumped into Dave's wanking hand, but only a single drop of clear liquid came from Tony's cock. He was dry. His orgasm was both painful and exquisite. With a scream, he passed out.
It was dark when he came to. Very dark. Too dark. He tried to sit up - and found that he was hogtied, gagged and blindfolded. The bastards! They'd left him the same way he'd found Jimbo! How the hell was he going to get out of this? He moved around a bit and his fingers found a knot. He smiled. They'd tied him up with rope, not tape, and they'd intended him to get out. In a few minutes he was free. When he pulled the tape from over his eyes, he was alone. His cock ached like hell, but he smiled again.
Oh fuck, he needed to see these guys again - especially the skinhead - but there was no note, no message anywhere. He even shook the magazine to see if there was anything inside it. Nothing. With a sigh, he got dressed and, with a final fond look around the room, climbed the ladder.
"Darling! Where have you been? Come here and give your auntie a big, big kiss, you naughty boy! It's Christmas Eve!"
"Be down in a minute..." Tony took the stairs three at a time and locked the bedroom door behind him. He collapsed on the bed and breathed deeply. He couldn't stop thinking about the bikers and the skinhead. Shit - why did he have to meet a gorgeous boy like Jimbo on the eve of his fucking wedding?" He lay staring at the ceiling for a while - and then he blinked. It was Christmas Eve today. That meant - but nobody gets maried on Christmas Day... He stared, open-mouthed, at the rose-coloured ceiling paper, then he jumped up and grabbed the torch. He ran back to the bunker and searched every square inch of the room - but there was no telephone number, no message. Zilch.
Back in his room he leafed glumly through the magazine. It was on the inside of the last page: written in biro, were the words 'Page 23, third from the top.'
Tony frowned, then turned to page 23 and read the third classified ad aloud:
Two Tops: Steve (biker) and Jim (skinhead), looking for permanent slave / victim. Leather, bondage, kidnap, POW games, mind games. We own our own bunker. 01724 - 311918"
He dropped the magazine onto the bed, closed his eyes and laughed. The bastards. 'Into mind games' indeed. All that talk about being straight and getting married had been to unnerve him. But if they were both top, why had Jim been tied up? Probably just some Christmas fun. Anyway, there was one way to find out. He picked up the telephone and dialled the number.
This Christmas was turning out to be one of the better ones after all.