Gary lay on the bed struggling to pull on his impossibly tight jeans. Every seam was straining as he finally managed to get the zip done up. He slid off the bed, pushed his feet into his combat boots, and tied the laces. On the way to the wardrobe he glanced in the mirror, and smiled: those jeans were amazing - he was a big boy anyway, but the faded, worn denim accentuated his cock bulge to obscene proportiions. Most punters had great difficulty keeping their hands off him when he wore these jeans.
He took an old leather jacket from the wardrobe; it was the one he called his 'rocker' jacket - big chrome studs decorated the shoulders and the collar - and it fit him better than most of his newer ones. He zipped it halfway up over his well-defined chest, pulled the collar up, then fastened the studded belt around his hips.
Finished, he looked at his reflection again. Fuck, he looked horny. He gave his cock a squeeze and realized that he WAS horny - in fact, very. He loved wearing this gear; black leather and tight jeans turned him on like crazy.
Gary glanced at the clock and saw that he had ten minutes before the punter was due. This was a new one - he hadn't been before - and that always excited Gary. He loved being a 'masseur' (he preferred that term to 'rent-boy'), he'd been doing it for a couple of years now, and he always got off bigtime on using his muscular body and cute good looks to turn guys on. In fact he rarely had to work very hard - with a hunk like Gary working on them, the punters usually came much earlier than they'ld have liked. Also, it paid very well: he'd bought this apartment and everything in it from his earnings.
He picked up the notes he'd made about this guy - his name was Paul, and he said he was 26. Gary always made a point of asking exactly what a punter wanted in the way of a scene, how he'd like Gary to dress, and what his specific turn-ons were. Gary specialised in leather and bondage scenes, and what this guy Paul wanted was just about as easy as it got: he wanted to be hogtied, and slowly jacked off in his leather jeans while Gary kept telling him how helpless he was to fight against it. One interesting thing about Paul was that he was apparently going to be wearing full biker kit - including mask and helmet. He'd asked Gary if he minded that. Gary didn't mind at all. He hoped that Paul would turn out to be reasonably sexy - so many of his punters were old and flabby.
The door intercom buzzed. Gary went over to the wall and picked up the handset.
"Hi. Gary? It's Paul."
"Hi. Come on up." He buzzed the downstairs door open and replaced the receiver. He heard the front door close, and then booted footsteps coming up the stairs. Gary hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his tight jeans and waited expectantly.
The door opened and Paul stepped into the room. Oh fuck, thought Gary. Paul looked good enough to eat. He was wearing a bike jacket with scuffs in the leather where bikers usually get them; motorcycle boots; bike gloves; a studded belt low on his hips; and the tightest, body-hugging leather jeans Gary had ever seen. Paul's cock - already semi-erect - was clearly visible through the shiny black leather. On his head was a black Simpson crash helmet, and under the open visor Gary could see a pair of clear blue eyes looking at him through the black leather mask the boy wore under the helmet. "Hi!" Said Paul. "Fucking hell mate, you look hot."
Gary smiled. "You don't look so bad yourself. You ready to start?"
"Can I use your loo first? Been on the bike a long time today."
"Sure. It's through there." Gary nodded to a door at the end of the room. "I'll be in the playroom - that's through there." He pointed to the second door.
"OK. Thanks." Paul put a small bag down and stomped across the polished wood floor, the studded belt on his hips swinging sexily with every step. He disappeared into the bathroom.
Gary raised his eyebrows and smiled. It wasn't often that a punter was that sexy. He was looking forward to getting his fingers around that shiny cock bulge and making the boy cum in those skintight leather jeans. With the thought that he should be paying Paul rather than the other way around, Gary went into the playroom to get the rope ready.
The door opened and Gary glanced up at the biker as he finished placing the coils of rope on the bed. "I'll be with you in a tick."
"No hurry," replied Paul. He walked up to Gary's back, and clamped a chloroform-soaked cloth over the boy's face.
Gary inhaled sharply in surprise, turned, and tried to struggle - but Paul pushed him down onto the bed and held him there with his free hand and his body weight until the drug began to take effect.
The strength went out of Gary's muscles quickly and his head started to spin. Paul didn't have to give him enough of the drug to knock him out - the small amount the boy had inhaled before the cloth was removed was sufficient to make fighting back impossible. He tried to struggle as Paul took a wide leather belt from the bag he'd brought with him, and strapped it tightly around Gary's waist. There was a leather cuff rivetted to either side of the belt, and he buckled the boy's wrists into these tightly. Then he took another strap and fastened it around Gary's ankles, pulling them together hard. Finally, Paul took out a black leather hood and pulled it down over his captive's head. With a 'click', it closed around his neck.
That done, Paul ran out into the living room, down the stairs and opened the door. Three other leather-clad and helmeted bikers stood there waiting, and they quickly followed him back upstairs to the helpless rent-boy. Lifting him bodily, they carried him down and into the back of a waiting van, where he landed in a heap in the middle of the floor.
"Looks like we've got you, boy," whispered Paul, and then Gary felt them leave, the van swaying as they jumped out and climbed in the front. Doors slammed, and moments later the van sped off.
Gary had been unable to make any noise because of the chloroform, but now his head was clearing, although there was still a strong smell of the anaesthetic inside the hood. The hood was made of very thin leather, smooth and shiny on the inside, and loose, so that it ballooned in and out as he breathed, the sexy black leather clinging to his face each time he drew a breath. It felt as if he should be able to get it off easily - it wasn't tight - but no matter how he struggled and fought, it wouldn't budge. Gary had a lot of experience of using hoods, and he knew that they hadn't put that hood on him just to blindfold him so that he didn't know where they were taking him - it was also intended to be humilating, frustrating, and to make him horny. And it was doing all of those things very well indeed.
Lying on the floor of the van as it rocked and turned, Gary fought his restraints, but there was no way he could get free. He was helpless. He could feel the cold metal floor through the tight, thin denim of his jeans.
He stopped struggling, and began humping the bulge of his hard cock against the floor of the van. It felt delicious. He could cum like this!
He almost jumped out of his skin when hands roughly turned him over onto his back - he'd thought he was alone.
"Naughty. You're not gonna cum yet..." Said a voice. It was Paul.
"What the fuck do you want? Who are you?" His words were loud inside the leather enclosing his head.
There was no reply - but he jumped again as a fingernail scratched slowly along the shaft of his cock to the tip. Fuck, that felt horny. The finger was removed, and then began stroking and tickling his balls through the thin denim. Another hand joined the first and went to work on the back and insides of his thighs.
Although Gary was frightened, he was also in heaven; being kidnapped had always been a major fantasy of his, and here he was - kidnapped, hooded, restrained and being played with by one of the sexiest-looking bikers he'd ever seen in his life.
"Feel this..." The biker moved, and Gary felt something brush the fingers of his right hand. He moved them as much as the restraint would allow, trying to feel what it was - and his fingertips stroked over the round, smooth, shiny bulge of the biker's leather-covered cock. He remembered that bulge from earlier, in the living room - and he was actually touching it. More than anything, he wanted to make the biker cum - but the bulge was moved out of his reach. The hands, however, continued to work on Gary's balls and thighs, very lightly and very slowly.
Gary got more and more horny, but it became clear that there was no way he was going to be allowed to cum. Eventually it got too much - either he had to cum now or the teasing had to stop - he couldn't take it any more, it was so horny he was going insane. He turned to move away from the hands, but they followed him, tickling and teasing his balls - and now his arse. He moved again - and again - but each time the biker followed him, never missing a beat in the unbearable teasing. Now the boy's fingers were everywhere: stroking up and down the outsides of his thighs, over his calves, his balls, his arse, his perineum... and the more Gary tried to get away from them the more insistently they worked on him. But never once did they touch his cock - and if he got himself into a position where he could rub his cock bulge against anything at all, he was gently moved away from it, before the teasing continued.
He was going mad. He was so horny he couldn't think straight. His legs were strapped together at the ankles, but he could open his knees to move himself about in his efforts to get away from the biker's teasing hands - but whenever he parted them, fingers would go straight to the back of his balls and his perineum - and that made him need to cum more than anything else.
All through this, Paul never said another word. But many times Gary heard quiet, sadistic laughter come from the boy as, despite Gary's desperate struggling, the biker's fingers found yet another unbearably erogenous spot.
And this only turned Gary on even more. The fruitless struggling, the restraints, the hood, the inability to get away from the teasing, and the biker's hands running over his tight, thin jeans - all of these were getting him so turned on he thought he would explode.
At one point Paul had Gary's hooded head gripped between the tops of his leather-jeaned thighs to keep him still for a moment so he could work on the boy's unprotected balls more effectively - and Gary almost passed out. Not through lack of air, but with unbearable horniness: because he could feel the underside of the that unbelievable cock bulge pressing the leather of the hood over his mouth. It was almost as if he were sucking that beautiful biker off through the leather.
How long the journey, and the teasing, went on Gary had no idea - but eventually the van came to a stop and the back doors opened.
Roughly, they pulled Gary out, He was lifted and placed onto what felt like a hospital gurney. Three straps were tightened over him to hold him down, and then the trolly began to move.
"You off to the club tonight?" One of the bikers asked.
"Yeah. You?" Replied the other.
"I gotta do a shift on the line yet, but I should be there later."
"Ok. Probably see you there then." The sound of heavy bike boots on the gravel told Gary that two of the guys were leaving.
The gurney moved into a building, down corridors and around corners, every so often banging open doors. One of the wheels squeaked constantly. Gary had no idea what was going on. "Hey, you fuckers! What the fuck you doing? What is this?"
His questions were ignored, and he started to get mad. With all of his strength he struggled to escape the wrist restraints or to get the hood off, but after a few minutes' effort - which was also ignored by the guys pushing the trolley - he realized that he was not going to get out until they let him. Totally helpless and blindfolded by the leather, he could do nothing but lie there as the gurney continued to move down more corridors. Gary was fuming inside the hood. He felt humiliated, and furious - but there was absolutely nothing he could do. He also felt more horny than he had ever been in his life before. The pressure of his rock-hard cock was straining the seams of his jeans almost to bursting.
Eventually the gurney stopped, and the straps were unfastened. He started to struggle again, and was rewarded with a punch to the solar plexus. Although it wasn't very hard, the fact that he'd been unable to see it coming made it feel much worse. He gasped for air inside the leather hood.
"Now now, be a good boy," said a voice close to his left ear, "it's a bad idea to make us mad while you're in that belt" A hand gripped his balls through his jeans and began to squeeze. Gary struggled but there was no way he could get away from the painful grip. He screwed his face up. "Ok. OK!" The hand was removed.
"Mike," one of them called, "can you give us a hand?"
More bike boots approached. "This one a struggler?"
"Yeah." They lifted him off the gurney and stood him up.
Suddenly, he was led blindly forward. Every few seconds one of the bikers spun him around, while the other one groped his cock unexpectedly, before they moved on again. He lost all sense of direction.
After a while, they stopped. Roughly, hands unbuckled his wrists and removed the restraint belt. Gary waited for the hood to be removed, but it stayed on.
"Strip. When you've done that we'll come back for you. Oh - and feel free to explore." The voice chuckled. Footsteps walked away from him.
Gary's hands went straight up to the hood. First thing was to get that off so he could see. There didn't seem to be a lock, but there was some kind of complicated fastening thing at the back and he couldn't figure out how it worked. He tried for ages to work it out, pulling and pushing, twisting and pressing - but the thing wouldn't budge. There was no way he could remove the hood. "Fuck fuck FUCK!" He swore, his fingers tearing ineffectually at the blindfolding black leather.
He listened carefully, holding his breath so that he could hear better. Apart from distant noises, there was silence. He was alone. Perhaps he could get out of this place. Find a wall, follow it to the door, and retrace his steps to the lift. Could he remember the way he'd been brought on the gurney? It must be possible. With arms outstretched, he turned in the direction he thought the door was, and moved forward.
His shoulder hit some sort of pointed object. "Ahh fuck!" He rubbed the sore place but the skin didn't seem to be broken. It hurt like hell though. Carefully he felt along the object - it seemed t be some kind of metal beam that jutted out into the room. He shook his head, not knowing what it was, then walked very slowly around it. A second later he fell down a two-foot drop. "SHIT!" Again using his hands he determined that it was a rectangular hole about three feet square. There was nothing in it, and he couldn't figure out what it was for. The floor felt as if it were covered in thick rubber. Nursing a painful ankle, he climbed out and - this time staying on all fours, made his way forward.
He put his hand down, onto a series of sharp spikes. Yelling, he knelt upright- and banged the back of his hooded head on another very solid beam.
He stood again - more carefully this time - and inched forward, his arms extended and feeling all around him. All was well for a couple of feet, and then there was a click, a 'whoosh', and something hard hit him in the middle of his back. He fell forwards, tripped over a cable or rope, and landed flat on his face on the rubber-covered floor. Dazed, he sat up. This room - whatever it was - was a deathtrap.
One more try, he decided. Slowly, he moved forward. Nothing happened. Then there was another click, and he felt himself rotating. He was on some kind of turntable in the floor. It stopped, and now, he realized, he had no idea which way he was facing. He could walk straight into the pit again, or the beam, or something else even worse.
It was no good - he knew he was not going to get out of this place unless he could see. Oh fuck it. He began to undress. Standing there naked and hooded, he felt more humiliated than he'd ever felt in his life. "ALL RIGHT, YOU FUCKERS - COME AND GET ME! I'M READY!" He shouted angrily at the top of his voice.
"We know you are. We've been stood here watching you." He recognised Paul's voice, and the guy was no more than a couple of feet away from him. The bastards had been playing with him.
"Enjoy that little exploration did you? You have to learn exactly how helpless you are with that hood on. There is no way you can escape. You don't even know which direction the exit is." The voice began to change direction as the biker started to walk around. "I can move around here with no problem. I can see the door - there's a big green sign over it which says, 'EXIT'. I'm pointing to it right now. I can see the path through this obstacle course - it's marked with a bright red line on the floor. But you're going to do yourself serious injury if you try to move around in here when you can't see anything. Believe me, this room is a maze of sharp, hard things and booby traps. It was designed to make it very difficult to get out of this place if you can't see."
The biker laughed quietly. "If I took that hood off you now, you could just walk out as easy as anything; you would know what's going to happen to you. You could fight us, you could resist. But with that hood on, blindfolding you, you're helpless. Putty in our hands. And you can't get the fucker off, can you...?"
Strong arms gripped Gary's shoulders. "Right, let's get you out of here." A quiet chuckle, "and it's no good trying to remember the way..."
Paul pushed Gary in front of him, again turning the boy around with him every few seconds so that he lost his bearings. It took a good ten minutes to get to the door, and at the end Gary had absolutely no idea of the way through the maze. He kept feeling the bikers' leathers against his skin, and his rock-hard cock stabbed the air in front of him as he walked.
"What the fuck is this place? And why have you got me here?"
"It used to be a... never mind what it used to be. We've kept some of the 'security' features - like that room - although we don't really need them." He would say no more.
After a while they stopped. Hands were at the back of his hood, and with a click, the neck was loosened. Gary squinted when light flooded in as the leather hood was pulled off his head.
He stared. He was looking at the most drop-head gorgeous leatherboy he had ever seen in his entire life. It was Paul - but now without his helmet and mask. The biker had close-cropped black hair, the most kissable lips Gary had ever set eyes on, and wide, deep blue eyes - which were currently gazing at Gary. Gary wanted to rape him. Two more bikers - big guys - stood at Gary's sides.
Gary swallowed, and then froze as he saw the room they were in - and what was in it. It was vast - and at first he thought it was some kind of assembly line plant, because there was a large black rubber conveyor belt running the length of it. At the moment it was stationary. At intervals along its length sat or stood pairs of horny-looking guys - one each side of the conveyor. Some of them were big and muscular, some lithe and boyish. About half of them were dressed in leather - the rest wore shiny black rubber. All of them were masked. They seemed to be concentrating hard, and doing something very precise to whatever it was that was resting on the belt between them. As Gary watched, they stopped working, and the belt began moving, transferring its contents from one pair of guys to the next couple further along.
Then Gary saw what was on the conveyor belt: the objects of the masked guys' attentions were struggling young men. They were naked, strapped down to the conveyor with steel shackles, and every one was in a state of extreme sexual arousal.
Gary noticed that when the conveyor had moved, a new subject had appeared on the belt from another room, through a curtain of thin black rubber strips. The belt had delivered this new subject - struggling and swearing - into the hands of the first pair of masked guys.
"Ok", said Paul, "time to get you prepared."
Gary had lots of questions. "What's happening to those lads?" He indicated the helpless, struggling victims on the conveyor. "What's all this for?"
Paul smiled, considering the question. There was a long pause. Finally he said, "I'm trying to decide how much to tell you - if anything. I'll have decided by the time you've been processed. Take him away." He nodded to the two big bikers, who hooded Gary again and frogmarched him out of the room.
* * *
The rubber-lined steel bands closed with a snap around Gary's wrists, elbows, ankles, chest and stomach. He was lying on his back with his wrists to the sides of his head, and his feet supported in moveable stirrups so that his thighs were almost vertical, and his lower legs were horizontal. His knees were a couple of feet apart.
After a few seconds the belt started to move, carrying him helplessly into the main room. The cold, thin rubber strips of the curtain stroked his naked body as it passed through them, sending a horny tingle up his spine.
He emerged into the main room and came to rest between the first pair of leather-clad guys. Their long leather masks glinted evilly in the overhead lights and made them look like medieval torturers. Ignoring Gary's struggling and yelling, they placed a light pair of clamps onto his nipples. Gary closed his eyes and tried to arch his back. 'Oh yeahhhh', he breathed, as the beautiful pain coursed through his nervous system.
The other one took Gary's cock between his lubed rubber-gloved thumb and finger, holding it just below the head, and began to rub his thumb in small, gentle circles. At the same time he gripped the boy's balls and rolled them gently in his fingers. A groan of pure pleasure escaped Gary's lips, and he closed his eyes in ecstasy.
The first guy now went to work on Gary's unprotected arsehole, teasing the sensitive rim with a well-lubed, rubber-gloved finger. It slipped inside, and slowly began to funger-fuck the helpless boy. This brought renewed moaning from him - he was so horny he couldn't stand it. "Oh pleease, make me cum...." The guys payed no attention to his pleading, but continued working on him, getting him hornier and hornier.
Eventually they stopped, and the belt began to move again. It carried Gary and his precum-leaking erection through another rubber curtain - those strips of rubber felt increasingly wonderful - to the next pair of guys. These two were clearly much younger than the last pair: they were standing, and Gary could see that they were slim, with very boyish figures. They wore shiny rubber masks, and skintight black rubber codpiece jeans - which their hard cocks were stretching almost to bursting.
This pair continued the teasing, but their techniques were different from the last two. While one of them gripped Gary's desperately horny cock very lightly in a loose rubber-gloved hand and began stroking up and down the full length frustratingly slowly, the other boy started to tickle Gary. He stroked his calves; he ran his fingers over his thighs; he tickled his balls, pulling them gently but firmly away from his body so he could work on every millimeter of them, and his perineum; he teased his arsehole; he tickled his armpits, his sides, his abdomen, his knees and his feet, even getting between his toes with his wickedly talented fingertips. It wasn't the kind of tickling that made Gary want to laugh - it was the kind that made him want to cum. While those two boys worked on him, he reached a degree of horniness he wouldn't have thought possible. He was so desperate to cum that he wanted to scream.
By the time the belt began to move again, Gary was half-insane with the need to cum. But he'd only just started his journey along the conveyor. He passed through one rubber curtain after another, delivered helplessy into the hands of a succession of masked guys - each pair seemingly more sadistic and expert than the last in driving him to higher and higher levels of unendurable, mind-shattering horniness. He writhed and squirmed, fought and struggled, yelled, begged, threatened and pleaded - all no to avail whatsoever - as his balls, his nipples, his arse, his prostate, every part of his body - and, most unbearable of all, his cock - was teased, tickled and worked on by the skilful hands of those masked tormentors.
They used every masturbation technique known to man on him - they worked on his shaft and on his cockhead; they sucked it with leather-masked lips until he screamed to be allowed to cum; they slid the foreskin up and down slowly; they pulled his cock down away from his body, they forced his legs wide apart and worked on his cock and his balls with smooth, shiny, lubed rubber fingers; they closed his legs tight together and did it again; they rubbed his aching, horny cock slowly, quickly, lightly, hard... But never quite enough to let him cum.
Gary was so horny he thought he was going to go totally and absolutely insane.
Right now a rubber finger was up his arse and his prostate was being massaged by one of a pair of huge, muscular guys in body harnesses and bulging leather jeans. They both had tattoos on their massive biceps, and their cold, steel-blue eyes regarded him through the holes in their leather executioners' masks. Gary wondered if they were twins. While the one guy continued to play with his prostate and to roll Gary's nipples between his finger and thumb, the other guy was doing something with a small bottle. For the second time that day a cloth was held over Gary's nose and mouth - but this time it was poppers. He took a deep breath, and the world immediately got twice as horny. Putting the cloth down, the masked man fitted a wide cockstrap onto him, and resumed work on his aching cock. The strap made his cock strain to a new level of hardness - the feeling of his balls separated from his body was amazing - and the slippery rubber gloves sliding round and round his shaft and cockhead, along with the deep, penetrating pressure of the finger on his prostate, and the squeezing of his nipples were all together more than Gary could take. He broke.
Gary lost it completely. "Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. FOR GOD'S SAKE MAKE ME CUM!!! PLEEEEASE!!!!" He began to cry tears of frustration. Never in his life had he needed to cum as much as he did at that moment. His muscles strained as he desperately tried to get his hand to his cock to finish himself off - but the steel shackles held him down helpless as the two muscular guys continued to work on him sadistically, totally deaf to his begging, and concentrating carefully to make sure that, however close they got him, he couldn't quite cum.
After a century or two, the belt began to move again. Gary was not in a state to notice, but the rubber strips of the curtain this time were shorter, so as not to touch the bodies of the helpless subjects who passed underneath it, their nervous systems now on a hair-trigger.
The first thing that happened on the other side was that a rubber anaesthetic mask was clamped hard over his face, feeding him poppers again. He writhed under the mask as the poppers took hold of him, and he felt the stirrups holding his legs being quickly moved so that his knees were over his chest and his legs were tight together, then one of the masked guys pushed Gary's cock through between the tops of his thighs and held it there with one hand, and began sliding a single finger and thumb of the other hand round and round over his sensitive cock head. This was exactly the position and technique he used to masturbate when he was on his own (he never told anyone because for some reason he was embarrassed about it) - but it was the way that, for him, always produced the most intense orgasms of all.
His breathing quickened, his heart rate soared, and his mucles tightened to steel as his whole body prepared for orgasm - this time it was going to happen!
But the fingers were removed, leaving him a heartbeat away from the most shatteringly violent ejaculation of his life. He filled his lungs and rasied his head, about to bare his soul in an animal scream of agonised frustration - but then he saw the masked leatherguy slip the warm, rubber-lined mouth of a milking machine over his engorged cock. At the same time, the other guy removed the mask from Gary's face and quickly pulled a leather hood down over his head, tightly sealing it around his neck. It cut off his air and blindfolded him completely.
Ripples of rubber moved in waves up the length of his shaft and over his hypersensitive cockhead, sucking and jacking him off with an action so irresistable he wouldn't have been able to fight against it even if he hadn't been in the least bit horny - but in his present state it was a sledgehammer to squash a grape. He'd been chlororformed, kidnapped, teased, tickled, slowly mastrurbated, and tormented insane by horny leather- and rubber-clad guys in masks, given poppers, kept a hair's breadth away from cumming for what seemed like hours, and now he was being jacked off hard in his favourite position by an irresistable milking machine while he was strapped down, couldn't breathe, hooded with black leather, and humilatingly helpless. He came.
Oh fuck did he cum. His body jerked and shuddered in its restraints, he fought against the leather hood over his head - not to get it off, but because it felt so fucking good to do it - and his balls pumped and pumped and pumped hot thick spunk helplessly into the sucking, rippling, pulsating milking machine's insatiable and untiring orifice as it danced between the backs of his thighs, enclosing his throbbing cock like a hot, wet, rubber mouth. Gary screamed long and hard into the leather hood.
* * *
When he regained consciousness he was lying on a bed in a small room. Blearily he opened his eyes, and then he groaned - his cock and balls felt like they'd been run over by a vacuum cleaner.
"Drink this".
Gary looked up and saw Paul's smiling face. He was holding a glass of water. Gary took it in silence and drained it, then lay back again. "What the fuck was that all about?" He said slowly, closing his eyes.
Paul didn't say anything for a while, still unsure about telling Gary. He looked at the boy lying on the bed and, finally, he came to a decision. "What it's about, is p-phenyltestostrochrystinase".
"What?" Gary opened his eyes and leaned up on an elbow, still groggy from that life-draining orgasm.
Paul sat on the side of the bed, his tight leather jeans creaking as he moved. " PTS. It's a hormone. Usually, it builds up over time in your balls and prostate if you don't cum. You know that aching feeing you get with blue balls? Well that's caused by PTS building up inside you."
Gary shook his head as if to clear it. Exhausted as he was, the sight of that beautiful boy in those horny leathers sitting so near to him was still making it difficult to concentrate. "And...?"
"And, my friend, it's worth a fucking fortune."
"Who to?"
"Ever heard of 'Dermavite Silvertone'?"
Gary shook his head.
"Well if you were a woman you would have. It's a skin cream, and unlike the other crap women buy, it actually works. And it costs a fortune."
"Cos it's got this... PTS stuff in it?"
"Yep. Gets rid of wrinkles like there's no tomorrow. Like I said, normally, PTS just builds up in you until you cum - makes you want to cum, in fact. But if you get a guy and tease the fuck outta him over an hour or so, keep him close to cuming but not quite there..."
"But those guys on the conveyor can't all be into leather and rubber and hoods and whatever..."
Paul smiled. "I don't suppose they are. But being strapped down helpless and worked on by our lads seems to do the business. Leather and rubber make most boys want to cum, if they're used right."
"And you're selling this PTS stuff to Derma... whatever?"
"You better fucking believe it. Like I said, it's worth a fucking load."
Gary considered this for a moment, then sat up. "Ok. Next question - why me?"
"Rent boys are ideal. They're usually young, plenty of spunk, horny, and they're on very shaky ground with tax and the law. They're not gonna complain too much. There are so many of them we haven't got through just the ones in North London yet. Lots more to go before we have to start again."
Gary shook his head in disbelief. "Do you always tell them what's going on, like you're telling me?"
"No, in fact we never do. We get them, process them, and take them back. They never know where they've been or who we are."
"So why you telling me?"
Paul looked away. "Because I fancy you like fuck, that's why."
Gary couldn't help smiling. 'Yeah?"
"Fucking yeah." The biker slid onto the bed next to Gary, his leathers pressing against the boy's bare skin. "When I saw you I knew I was going to have to tell you." He paused, running a finger slowly around one of Gary's nipples. "I hoped you might want to join us. The pay's good."
Gary was silent for a minute, then he said: "Tell me someting. You ever been on that ride out there?"
The beginning of a tiny smile appeared at the corners of Paul's mouth. He shook his head.
Gary grabbed Paul's hand, and with a surge of renewed strength swung himself on top of the biker, pinning the leatherboy down under him. He stared into the clear blue eyes. "You kidnap me, you put me on a fucking conveyor belt, you have me driven half fucking insane by professional torturers and then you suck the spunk outta me - and then you tell me you fancy me and ask me to join you?"
Paul continued to gaze up at him, the smile still there.
God, thought Gary, you are fucking beautiful. There was a moment of silence, then he said, "yeah, I'll join you. But there's a condition."
Paul's smile gradually changed into a grin. He knew exactly what was coming...