There were three things that made Matthew a very successful rent boy. The first was his cute, boyish good looks, with clear blue eyes, kissable lips and short blond mohican; the second thing was his firm, muscular body - the curves and bulges of which he showed off to best advantage with skintight, ripped PVC jeans (which he wore with no underwear), DMs, tight white teeshirt, leather jacket and studded belt; and the third was the fact that every movement, every expression - even the way he just stood - simply oozed sex. He was a natural.
Even though he'd been hustling for some time now, he never tired, as he leant back against the railings, of watching passing guys - and women - glance at him, then do a double-take, and slowly scan their eyes down his tight body, undressing him in their minds. It was not unheard-of for people to walk into lampposts while their attention was on him.
He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for a cigarette, but his fingers made contact instead with the wad of notes which he'd earned already today. He pulled them halfway out and looked at them, smiling, before returning them to his pocket and taking out the pack of cigarettes. He lit up, and breathed out the smoke contentedly. Life was good.
Matthew jumped as he turned towards the voice by his shoulder - he hadn't seen the man approaching. "Oh hi. Didn't see you."
The man was dressed in very heavy black leathers with a backpack, and wore a black crash helmet through which only his grey eyes were visible. Matthew got the feeling that the man was not young.
"Depends what you wanna do, mate." Whatever he wanted to do, thought Matthew, the price was going to be high.
"I want to tie you up, tease your cock, and make you cum. Nothing else."
"O-kay," said the punk slowly. It would certainly be would be easy money.
"Do you have facilities for bondage?" Asked the biker.
"Oh yeah. No problem."
"So how much?"
Matthew thought for a moment, then decided the figure would still be high. Easy as the money might be, there was nothing in the least bit sexy about this bloke. Even in his leathers - which were unusually thick, and looked more like industrial gear of some kind - he exuded an air of unattractiveness. Normally that wouldn't make any difference - business was business - but Matthew had made a fair amount already today and he really couldn't be bothered with this one. If he hung on for another punter he might get somebody more interestging.
"Can I see your face?"
"A hundred quid."
"One hundred pounds?"
The boy smiled, and the effect was quite devastating. "Yep."
"Ok. Fine. Let's go."
Matthew blinked - he hadn't expected his price to be met. "Let me see your money."
The man extracted a wad of notes even fatter than his own, peeled off a hundred in twenties, showed them to Matthew, then replaced them in his pocket.
"Ok then. Got a spare helmet?"
* * *
Matthew hadn't been on a bike for a long time, and he enjoyed the ride back to his flat. He showed the guy into the living room and asked him if he'd like a cup of tea.
"No thanks, I'd like to make a start."
The punk led the way into the bedroom. It was small, but well-equipped for bondage: dominating the room was a double bed with restraint points at each corner, and assorted toys were lined up neatly on shelves. "How do you want me?"
"Spreadeagled to the bed, lying on your back, but with your knees bent, please."
Matthew sorted through the gear until he found a long, thick leather strap with rings every few inches. He put this around the bed about two-thirds of the way down, buckling it tight underneath the frame. Then he picked up his special wrist cuffs. Matthew was almost always top, but he used these special cuffs on the very rare occasions when he allowed someone to restrain him in his own flat. Although they looked kosher, they had clips which he could undo himself if necessary, to get out of them. The last thing he wanted was to be tied up helpless while a punter raided his flat and nicked his belongings. He buckled the cuffs around his wrists, then put ankle cuffs on over his boots, and lay down on the bed.
"I'm George, by the way," said the biker. Matthew nodded, "Matthew."
"Hello Matthew." George clipped the boy's wrist cuffs to the restraint points at the top corners of the bed, and then, positioning the boy's booted feet on the ringed strap, fastened the ankle cuffs to it, about three feet apart. "Do you have a blindfold?"
"Yep - over there on the shelf." He nodded towards it. Matthew didn't get tied up very often - in fact it had been a long time since he had done so - and he had forgotten how good it felt to be restrained.
The biker found the leather blindfold and slipped it over the boy's head, then opened his backpack and took out two heavy-duty wrist cuffs of his own. He had one buckled around Matthew's left wrist below the cuff that was already there, and locked to the restraint point before he knew what was going on. Wildly, the boy tried to undo the other one, but the biker was too fast for him, and had the second one in place before the punk could release himself. "I don't think we need these on now," said George, unfastening Matthew's own pair of cuffs and putting them back on the shelf.
Matthew was helpless. There was no way he could get out of these restraints, and he cursed for allowing himself to get into this position. Unable to see, he listened and heard the man taking off his crash helmet. 'Bet he's an ugly fucker,' he thought to himself. The man could do anything to him now: hurt him, maim him, even kill him - not to mention nicking his gear - and there was fuck all he could do about it. He began to sweat.
"Don't worry," said George, seemingly reading his mind, "I'm not a psycho, and I'm not going to hurt you or do anything other than what I asked for. I just like to know that a boy is helpless, that's all. Let's take this off for the time being," he said, removing the punk's blindfold, "it's done its job. I have something that'll make you a bit more... vulnerable... for later on, when it's needed. For the time being I want to be able to see your face." He gazed into the boy's blue eyes and ran his fingers gently through the short blond mohican. "God, you're beautiful."
Matthew opened his eyes and a gasp escaped him as he saw the biker was now wearing a black balaclava. He could still only see those grey eyes, and he had no idea what the man looked like. The balaclava made him look like a rapist.
George knelt on the bed at Matthew's side, his heavy leather jeans creaking as he moved. Leaning forward, he carefully ran a fingertip lightly and slowly from the boy's knee to his groin. As he moved it gradually upwards, he wiggled it backwards and forwards. With nothing between the thin unlined PVC and the bare skin, the biker knew that he could feel the lightest touch. The punk giggled. "That tickles".
He repeated the process on the other thigh, and then - using both hands - began stroking his fingertips very lightly all over the boy's legs. He payed special attention to the backs of his calves and his knees, and concentrated particularly on this insides of his thighs. Before long Matthew started to moan softly and to move slighty on the bed as if he were stretching luxuriously, as the fingertips lightly ran over his legs. His cock was no longer completely soft, and occasionally it stiffened momentarily, pushing the stretchy PVC away from his body. This happened most often when the biker's fingers were stroking the tops of the insides of his thighs.
For ten minutes George did nothing else but glide his fingertips over the shiny black PVC, avoiding the rips in the tight jeans, very lightly stroking and caressing. He never ventured higher than where the bottoms of an imaginary pair of shorts would come to - and before long this started to become extremely frustrating to the punk, who was getting more horny by the minute, and was beginning to itch for his cock to be touched.
Matthew was able to move about quite a lot in his restraints, and he was doing so now: arching his back, opening and closing his knees, and trying to thrust his growing cock-bulge into the biker's hands. His head was lifted as much as it would go, and he was staring wildly, following the movement of the man's fingers as they glided lightly over his legs and thighs. His black leather jacket, which was still fastened, had ridden up with his movements, exposing a delicious strip of flat stomach finely sprinkled with blond hairs.
It is said that everyone has some talent - and although he had a dead-end job, was in a failed marriage and was tone-deaf, George's talent was that he knew exactly how to get boys horny. And he smiled to himself, knowing just how horny this particular boy was going to be in the next few hours. The poor lad had no idea what was in store for him. It was very unlikely that this gorgeous punk - even though he was an experienced rent boy - had been teased and tormented for a long time; he had not the slightest inkling just how horny it was possible for a boy to get at the hands of an expert, and when he was helpless to control it or to do anything about it.
The biker gazed at the lower part of the boy's crotch - when he opened his knees wide, the pvc jeans stretched into a smooth curve up the insides of his thighs and across his perineum; and when he closed them together, the stretched pvc relaxed and rode up deep into the crevices at the side of his balls, separating them from his thighs in the most wonderful way. He waited until Matthew's knees were fairly close together, and then pushed a fingertip deep into one of these creases, sliding it up and down. This brought a gasp from the punk, and his cock grew instantly to full erection. George removed his finger and continued teasing the boy as he had been doing for the last ten minutes.
A little later he repeated the move, but this time he pushed his thumb into the crease at one side and two fingers into the other side. He gripped the root of the punk's cock, deep inside his body, and massaged it slowly for a few seconds. Matthew snapped his knees tightly together - trapping the biker's arm between them - closed his eyes, and moaned. Oh God, that felt horny. George smiled, pulled his hand out and continued tickling the boy's PVC-jeaned legs.
It was one of the most beautiful sights George had ever seen - this boy was fucking gorgeous, and wearing gear intentionally chosen to make guys like George horny, and want to have sex with him. His blue eyes sparkled and George desperately wanted to kiss him. But that would come later. Oh yes. He looked at the punk restrained before him, and he couldn't remember ever having had a sexier, cuter victim helpless under his hands. He unpacked some more things from his backpack, putting them on the shelf by his side. Time to proceed...
As he had done many times before, he traced his fingertips up the inside of the punk's thigh - but this time, he didn't stop when he reached the top. Instead, his fingers continued onto the boy's balls, tickling lightly. Hardly touching, he ran them around and around the glossy PVC-covered spheres. Going deep into the crevices again, this time he tickled the sides of the balls, and when the boy's movements raised his arse off the table (these movements were progressively becoming struggles against the restraints as his need to cum increased), the biker took the opportunity to tickle the back of his balls and the crease between the cheeks of his arse as well. He wasn't actually trying to tickle the boy - at least not to make him laugh - just to make him more and more horny.
When the fingertips touched his balls for the first time, Matthew's reflex was to close his knees together tightly again - but the biker was ready for that. In his other hand he had a device which consisted of a short metal rod with a springy metal U-shaped clip at each end. The boy's thighs, just above the knee, went into each of these clips, and the rod kept his knees apart. The device could be locked on, but there was no need at the moment, because the punk's reflexive reponse to what the biker was doing to his balls - ie. to close his knees together tightly - was so strong that he couldn't open them again even if he wanted to. George tickled the boy's balls efficiently and mercilessly.
After a minute or two of this, the biker locked the knee-spreader in place. It was time to start on the punk's cock. He considered the possibilities, and finally decided on the vibrator. He would have to be very careful indeed with it - that thing had made more boys cum than he could remember, and the one thing he didn't want was for Matthew to cum. Not for a long time yet.
He plugged the device in, and switched it on. "Nothing to worry about," he said, holding it up so the punk could see it. "It's only a little vibrator". He held it against his own hand and smiled, to demonstrate its inoccuousness. Then, very slowly and carefully, he touched it to the tip of the boy's cock-head. Matthew closed his eyes tight, threw his head back, and moaned. "Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!"
George removed it.
"No! Please! Put it back!"
"Ok," smiled the biker. Again, he touched it lightly to the sensitive cock head - just for a couple of seconds. The punk moaned again in ecstasy. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck. What the hell is that thing?"
"I told you, it's just a vibrator."
"Please - please put it back and leave it there."
"Oh no." He knew that more than a few seconds' contact with Matthew's cock-head would make the boy cum. He put the vibrator down and picked up a gag. Forcing it between Matthew's teeth, he strapped it tightly around the back of his head. There was one thing which it was important Matthew be rendered incapable of saying, and it was getting close to the stage where he would be likely to say it - so the gag was necessary.
Satisfied that the boy was unable to say anything understandable, George took a small feather from the shelf by his side. The boy's jeans had rips in many places - and one large one was just underneath his balls on the left-hand side. Very carefully, he pulled the PVC above the rip away from Matthew's body. Then, with great precision, he inserted the feather through the tear and began to stroke the pointed tip lightly over his naked balls. The punk groaned, then started to giggle, then to laugh, then to struggle wildly in his attempts to get away from the unbearably horny tickling. His thigh muscles tensed as he tried to close his legs together to protect himself, but the spreader bar kept his knees apart so that he couldn't do anything to escape it - and the biker followed his movements, continuing to tickle the boy's balls sadistically. The curve of the feather enabled the tip to reach underneath and into the deepest and most sensitive recesses, driving the boy into an hysteria of lust.
For a long time, George worked with the feather through several of the rips in the boy's jeans. There was another very usefully-positioned one a little way below the punk's cock, and he moved the boy's dick down inside his jeans until the cock-head was accessible through it. The biker spent a long time teasing the head of the punk's cock through that one.
They'd been at it for a couple of hours now, and the inside of Matthew's unlined PVC jeans was swimming with precum. The biker, kneeling on the bed, could feel his own cock pushing hard against the equally slippery inside surface of his heavy black leather jeans. He loved wearing these jeans when he was working on a boy: the thick, tight leather encased his thighs with an iron grip, and as he moved, his cock rubbed across the creases which formed from time to time in the leather over his crotch. That made him horny - and being horny made him sadistic. Not in terms of inflicting pain, but of using a helpless victim's increasingly urgent need to cum, to make him suffer.
Now, it was time to move on. Thus far, the boy's cock had only been touched either through the PVC jeans, or by the soft caress of the feather through the rip. George got off the bed and stood up, his own cock sliding deliciously on the precum-lubricated leather. He unzipped the boy's jacket, then slowly unfastened his studded belt, the button of his jeans, and the zip - being careful not to catch anything. Matthew, desperate for some work on his naked cock, lifted his body off the bed as his skintight jeans were slowly peeled down to the knee-spreader. His cock sprang up vertical and waved in the air as if seeking something to rub against, and his balls settled lower between his open thighs.
The biker picked up a pair of long, thin black latex gloves and pulled them on, snapping them tight around his wrists. They were as skintight as surgical gloves, but shiny and very, very smooth. He gazed at the beautiful boy restrained, gagged and helpless on the bed. Then, handling it as if it were some priceless piece of eggshell-thin crystal glass which would break at the slightest pressure, he gently encircled the base of the punk's cock with the fingers of his left hand and pulled it downwards a little. He'd found that this usually increased the sensitivity of an already horny cock very much. The punk groaned, seemingly confirming the theory.
With infinite precision, George placed the palm of his right hand half an inch above the tip of the boy's cock-head, and closed his thumb and fingers together until the shiny rubber surface of his gloves just touched the shaft of that horny dick. He moved his hand upwards, tracing along the shaft of the cock, and then over the ridges and the head, until his fingers came together over the tip and slipped gently off the end.
Matthew made a sound halfway between a groan and a scream - his beautiful blue eyes were wide open, staring at the glossy black fingers like a deer caught in headlights. "Mmmmnnffkkk!"
The biker repeated the manoeuvre, slowly, only this time he also allowed the smooth black rubber-covered palm of his hand to touch the edge of the foreskin where it gathered around the piss-slit. An electric shock of intense pleasure jolted through the boy's nervous system and he moaned in ecstasy. His hips thrust upwards, trying to push his needy cock further and harder into the far-too-loose grip of the biker's hand - but George was having none of it. The effectiveness of this fiendish torture depended on the victim's being totally unable to control the amount of friction he got on his cock, and never getting quite enough. The biker followed the boy's movements easily with his hand, not allowing him the slightest bit of additional stimulation. When the punk began thrusting hard and fast, he simply took his hand away altogether.
Matthew moaned and graoned around the gag. Saliva was running down the side of his chin.
George released the base of the boy's cock which he'd been holding with his left hand, and - while continuing the lightly-grip-and-slide manoeuvre, began gently tickling the punk's balls, inner thighs and perineum at the same time. This meant that for most of the time his cock and balls were almost totally enclosed in the smooth, shiny black rubber, with fingertips sliding everywhere. He was going out of his mind with the need to cum. The punk began fighting against the restraints in earnest. He had never felt anything like this before in his life. He needed to cum - NOW!
George knew exactly how much the boy needed to cum, and he felt his own cock straining hard against the heavy, confining black leather of his jeans. He was not far from cumming himself - but he didn't wan't to yet, though, because the more horny he got, the more sadistically he would want to work on the helpless punk.
He picked up the small feather again. Holding the boy's cock firmly around the base once more, he stroked the soft tip over the engorged, precum-oozing cock-head, concentrating on the ridges of the head, the edges of the foreskin, and the piss-slit. Every so often, he changed from that to rubbing the tip of his thumb in small circles over the frenum - that sensitive spot just below where the ridges come together on the underside of the cock-head. He knew from experience on previous victims that that spot - more than any other - made a boy need to cum most urgently. Each time, after just a few seconds, he went back to using the feather - and each time, the punk thrust his hips and groaned in frustration. He worked on the boy like this for another fifteen minutes, by which time Matthew was beside himself with the need to cum.
George glanced at the clock. He needed a cup of tea and a cigarette. Taking some objects off the shelf, he carefully slipped a black condom-like sheath over the punk's cock. It had a lump on the end of it, with wires leading from it, which he plugged into a small battery-operated box. After setting the controls and placing the box on the floor, he smiled at the boy. "Gonna leave you for a few minutes while I have a cup of tea. Don't worry - I won't steal anything," he smiled. "This should keep you amused while I'm gone." He switched the device on, and a tiny vibrator began to buzz at the tip of the sheath. It stayed on for three seconds, switched off for ten, then repeated the cycle. As it began to vibrate, the boy arched his back and moaned loudly in ecstasy - but when it stopped, he yelled and swore in desperate frustration.
With a smile, the biker turned and left the room. Walking was difficult, and he had to adjust his cock inside his leather jeans otherwise he'd have cum before he'd got to the door. He found the kitchen and set about making tea.
When the biker returned, Matthew was moaning and writhing in his restraints on the bed. At first, it looked like the punk had cum - there was a large pool of spunk between his thighs - but it was only precum which had run down the inside of the rubber sheath. Matthew tried to say something, and George knew what it was: he wanted the man to leave the vibrator switched on so he could cum. Just then the vibrator began to buzz again and the boy's gag-muffled words deteriorated into animal grunts and whimpering.
George reached down and adjusted the controls on the box, reducing the 'on' time of the vibrating sheath to just one and a half seconds. Then he began to stroke and tease the boy's balls and inner thighs at the same time as the sheath worked on his cock.
This increased the intensity of the punk's torture to unbearable levels. He writhed and struggled on the bed while the biker's fingertips teased and tickled his balls, and the vibrator buzzed on the tip of his cock. The vibrator stopped, and Matthew shook his head from side to side in desperation. "Noooo... " He moaned.
Smiling, the biker switched off the vibrator and removed the sheath. A further stream of precum ran out of the black rubber as he carefully took it off. The punk's cock was coated in a thick film of his own lube. He looked for a moment at the beautiful, boyish face gazing imploringly up at him. "I'd love to look at your face for a long time, Matthew, but I'm afraid it's time for you to feel a lot more helpless."
He reached out and took an object from the shelf - it was a thick black leather hood with straps and buckles. The only holes in it were two small ones under the shaped nose, to allow air in. Matthew resisted, but by kneeling astride the struggling boy, George managed to force the hood over his head and to buckle all the straps tightly, making very sure it was completely light-proof. The sexy blond punk was now enclosed in a world of total darkness, with shiny, blindfolding black leather pressing tightly all over his face. Gagged, hooded and restrained, he felt more helpless and vulnerable than he had ever felt in his life.
Then, taking the insanely desperate cock in his gloved hands, George went to work on it with all of his considerable skill. He caressed it gently; stroked the shaft lightly; teased the head; palmed the tip; took the bloated cock-head into his hot mouth and sucked it and tongued the tip through the mouth-hole of the balaclava; tickled the kid's balls and inner thighs, pushed the tip of a rubber-gloved finger gently into his arsehole... George was a master at manipulating a boy's need for orgasm - he knew many ways to intensify a victim's need to cum until it became so compelling that it took over his entire consciousness and was the only thing he was capable of thinking about. And he used every one of those techniques on Matthew.
This was totally unbearable. The boy struggled, writhed, moaned and thrust his hips, pushing his cock into the biker's teasing hands in maddened, convulsive attempts to get himself brought off. Under the hood Matthew was desperately pleading and begging the biker to make him cum, but the gag reduced the words to unintelligible croaks.
It seemed to Matthew that George was paying no attention at all to any of this - he continuing to tickle and tease the boy's cock, balls and thighs infuriatingly lightly and slowly, sadistically denying him the friction he needed - but in fact George was paying very close attention to Matthew's reactions indeed. Each and every movement and sound and struggle of the kid's made George more horny, and caused his own cock to jerk and rub against the heavy black leather of his jeans. The biker was in a sadistic heaven, working on that sexy, horny rent-boy like a thing possessed, and continually trying to find ways to make the helpless punk's torture even more unbearable.
Usually, when guys played with Mathhew's cock, its sensitivity decreased, but because this guy was always so gentle - because his touch was so infuriatingly light - it was getting progressively more sensitive by the minute.
After a very long time, George decided it was time for phase three. This was going to call for expert skill, and he didn't want to blow it. He removed the spreader bar from between Matthew's knees, lubed the rubber gloves up well and then, taking the punk's cock gently in one hand, he began to wank the boy very slowly, using his thumb on the underside of his cock and his fingers on the top -the smooth, shiny black rubber sliding silkily up and down on the film of lube and precum.
Inside the leather hood, the punk was delerious. He'd had no idea that it was possible for someone to be as indescribably horny as he was at that moment; that the feelings his cock could provide could be so mind-bendingly delicious; or that needing to cum so badly and not being able to, could be at the same time such a turn-on and also such an unbearble torture. The feeling of pure helplessness was amazing; the black leather pressing over his face, blindfolding him, and his gagged inability to communicate his urgent needs were fetishes he didn't know he'd had; what the biker was doing to his cock was totally outside his previous experience, and words could not begin to describe how much all of these things together were turning him on. He moaned and struggled in his own world inside the leather hood, his entire consciousness consisting only of his cock - which needed the release of orgasm so much he would give anything to be allowed to cum.
The biker's fingers slid slowly up and down his cock, lightly stroking the sensitive ridges of the cock-head and getting Matthew closer to orgasm every moment. It was only a matter of seconds now, and he would experience the most earth-shattering ejaculation of his young life.
But then George stopped. His hand remained around the punk's cock, holding it gently, but it was now stationary. The boy screamed into the gag and the hood. He thrust his hips madly, trying to get that little bit more friction that would send him over the edge - but the biker carefully denied it to him, keeping his hand still by following the boy's movements.
When the helpless boy gave up and collapsed back onto the bed, the biker started wanking him again - just as slowly, just as lightly. He was only using one hand - when he got to know Matthew's reactions a bit better, then he'd use them both. Within seconds the sexy punk began to struggle and moan again, and the biker took him as close as he dared to cumming before stopping once again. He nodded to himself - the boy's moans seemed to be a good indication: when he felt orgasm approaching, they suddenly got much more urgent. He would use that.
Again, George waited until the boy had stopped struggling, and then re-commenced working on his cock. Slowly - up and down, up and down... the boy was yelling and screaming and swearing and threatening around the muffling gag - and the biker stopped.
After a few more times of taking him close to cumming and then stopping, George was pretty sure he had the measure of the boy's reactions. He could get him closer to the edge every time.
It was more than Matthew could take. He couldn't stand this a second longer - he HAD TO CUM!!!
George took the boy to the edge of orgasm once more, and stopped again, this time a scant second before he was able to shoot. When the punk had calmed down and stopped screaming, Matthew shook his head from side to side in desperation. "For fuck's sake I can't take this! I'm going insane. I have to cum! Now! Please, please, please - I'll do anything you want - MAKE ME FUCKING CUM! " Those were the words, but all that came out was "mmmffmggghcmmmmmmcmmmmmmggmmmfffk!"
George just smiled. He knew precisely how much the boy was suffering. The thick black leather of his jeans was molded around his cock, gripping it like a hand as he knelt over the helpless punk, driving him to greater and greater levels of sadism. He started wanking Matthew's cock again using the same technique as before, but now he also tickled the punk's balls and inner thighs with his other hand. Occasionally he slipped his fingertip gently into the boy's arsehole, just to make it worse, and to make the kid want to cum even more. It took even less time to get him to the brink of orgasm now, but the biker could recognise the signs, and could stop a hair's breadth away from the point of no return.
Again and again the biker took him to the edge, only to stop just too soon. Hooded, gagged and restrained on the bed, the boy could do nothing but struggle...
... and scream every time George stopped.
Hardly touching the soft, silky, precum-lubed skin, the shiny black rubber-gloved fingertips started their feindish torture again. George suddenly thrust his other hand between the punk's thighs from the back, the thumb and fingers deep in the crevices at the sides of his balls, where he knew it was the most difficult to resist, and began both to massage the root of the kid's cock, and to tickle his balls. Matthew slammed his knees together - but instead of protecting him, this had the unexpected effect of making everything feel even more horny as the biker's hands worked on him from both the front and the back - clamped between the tops of his thighs.
The boy could feel orgasm approaching again, slowly and inexorably, as George's hands so lightly teased, tickled, massaged and wanked. Matthew knew, though, that the bastard wouldn't let him cum. There was no way he could stand this - he would go insane - so he decided the only other option was not to let the fiend get him close any more. He arched his back, opened and closed his legs, and struggled in his restraints trying to get away from George's hands. He flung himself around as far as his restraints would allow, in his efforts to evade the relentlessly teasing fingers, and he yelled himself hoarse again. But wherever he moved the hands were there, following him, teasing, tickling, slowly wanking, getting him closer and closer to cumming. He was helpless - he could neither get away from them nor get them to make him cum. His balls tightened - he was closer than he had ever been. He held his breath... He was going to shoot!!!"
The biker didn't stop completely, but he slowed down so much that Matthew just couldn't quite make it. He was suspended on the very edge of orgasm. Time stopped. He had no idea how long the biker kept him there, but eventually the sadist's fingers froze and, infinitely slowly, the boy felt himself backing off from the point of cumming yet again. But then they started moving, and he was there again, at the edge.
Matthew was yelling and shaking his head wildly from side to side. This was the most unbearable thing yet. He gulped in great breaths of air around the gag, and the room reverberrated with his screaming.
Again George's fingers slowed for an agonising few seconds, then stopped. He repeated this four or five times - taking the kid up to the edge and then backing him off slowly - never allowing him more than a couple of heartbeats before starting again. The punk was staring wild-eyed inside the hood, now no longer even capable of yelling.
The biker's cock was so hard that it was stretching the heavy black leather jeans out into an enormous bulge between his thighs. The inner surface was thickly coated with precum and every tiny movement sent waves of ecstasy through his body as his cock-head slid against the inside of the thick leather jeans. There was one crease in the leather that was just under his cock-head and seemed intent on milking him. He needed to cum as desperately as the punk.
It was time. Reaching forward with one hand while coninuing to carress the boy's cock gently with the other, George unbuckled and removed first the hood, and then the gag.
Matthew stared imploringly up at the black balaclava-masked face. The grey eyes were shining with cruelty. As soon as the gag came out, he said the words that George had wanted to hear: "Please.... Please.... Let me cum. I'll do anything you want - but MAKE ME CUM!!!... "
Under the mask, a slow smile spread across George's face. He'd got him. He held the boy's cock gently in his rubber-gloved hand. Carefully keeping his voice neutral, he said, "you want me to make you cum?" His fingers began to slide slowly up and down the rock-hard cock again.
"Oh fuck YES!!"
George paused, considering this. "Let me make sure I understand. You want me to make you cum?"
"YES! YES! PLEASE! FOR GOD'S SAKE - MAKE ME CUM! "
The boy was on the edge of orgasm again, and George's fingers stopped moving. "You want to hire my services? You want me to wank you off?"
Matthew had been holding his breath. His words now came out in an urgent rush: "YES! YES! YES!"
"I see. Ok then, how much? Shall we say... oh, I don't know, a hundred pounds?"
The boy hesitated, almost hyperventilating now.
As a little incentive, George moved his rubber-gloved thumb gently up and down just once over the punk's engorged cock-head.
"Bastard, bastard BASTARD! Yes! for fuck's sake! A hundred pounds!!!"
"Ok, you've got yourself a deal." He leaned over the beautiful boy, and slowly lowered his head until their lips were inches apart. At the same time, he gripped the punk's cock with just a single finger and thumb and began to slide the foreskin backwards and forwards over the head as slowly as he was capable of doing. The motion was so slow that it was hardly visible. The punk stared wildly into the biker's eyes. Beneath his fingers, George could feel the kid approaching orgasm again - his cock stiffened even more and he started to moan. All the time, his blue eyes never left the biker's.
In slow-motion, the fingers slid the foreskin over the hypersensitive cock-head, bringing the punk screamingly slowly towards orgasm. The sadistic biker made the approach as prolonged as humanly possible - his fingers were now almost not moving at all.
The boy was staring - wide-eyed and unbreathing - at the biker's masked face. Then he lifted his head towards George's and their lips met, tongues intertwining in a passionate kiss through the balaclava. A second later Matthew began to cum, convulsing and shaking in his restraints as his spunk shot out of his cock. Pulse after pulse of hot punk-spunk shot upwards into the air unseen by either of them. The biker, his fingers now slipping on the spunk coating them, didn't speed up his strokes one bit, but maintained the torturously slow milking of Matthew's cock. The spunk continued to spurt -
Fifteen times it arced into the air and landed everywhere. His cock continued to jerk and throb under the biker's fingers, but now nothing more came out. But the boy was still shaking, still cumming. He kissed the biker as the man continued to dry-milk him.
At the same time, the biker was cumming in his heavy black leather jeans.
The punk collapsed back onto bed, eyes closed and breathing hard.
* * *
After cleaning himself up in the bathroom, George removed his cuffs from around Matthew's wrists and replaced them with the boy's own, sticking pieces of duct tape over the release clips. He gathered up his hood, gag, cuffs and his other 'tools', as he liked to call them, and returned them to his back pack. "You'll be able to release yourself eventually," he smiled. Then he sat on the bed and unzipped the pocket of Matthew's leather jacket. Reaching inside, he withdrew the boy's wad of notes. Carefully, and in full view of the punk, he counted out one hundred pounds, and put the rest back in the boy's jacket.
"Nice doing business with you," he said, putting the hundred pounds into his own pocket, where it joined the rest of the money he'd earned in exactly the same way today. He smiled as he left the room. He was happy in his chosen profession: getting paid like this for milking hunky, sexy rent-boys, who had no idea who he was - there was an odd kind of poetic justice about it, and it was a hell of a way to earn a living.