'Twas the night before Christmas, and Santa Claus was seriously pissed off. The store had fired him without pay just because a small child had slipped off his lap in the grotto and had banged her knee on his chair.
Gareth stormed out of the shop, tearing off his red hat, his beard and his Santa jacket and throwing them into the gutter. "Fucking bastards," he muttered through clenched teeth. This had been his first job for a month, and he needed the money.
Outside, it had started to snow - huge white flakes were drifting down lazily onto the pavement and dissolving on his green mohican. "Great, that's all I need," he moaned, pulling on his own tatty leather jacket and fighting his way through the last-minute shopper-crowded streets towards the cardboard box under the viaduct, which he called home.
When he got there, the brazier down the road was alight and a motley collection of other homeless people were stood around, getting what warmth they could from the fire on that freezing Christmas Eve. As he pushed his way towards the flames the church clock struck eight. All over the country little kids would be getting ready for bed, excited and unable to sleep, wondering what wonderful presents Father Christmas would leave for them during the night. Gareth snorted - he'd be lucky if he ate anything tomorrow. At least the shop had given him his dinner for the last two days, so he wasn't quite as hungry as usual at the moment.
He sighed. He couldn't face going into the main street and begging tonight. All he wanted to do was to curl up somewhere and go to sleep. His hands and face were warm now from the brazier, and he walked despondently back to his box under the arches. He raised his eyebrows in surprise: for a change, no-one had nicked the newspapers that served as his blanket and kept some of the biting cold out. He lay down, pulled the papers over his body, and tried to get comfortable on the hard pavement. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a brass band playing carols. "Happy fucking Christmas," he whispered, as he pulled a flattened box over the papers. A few snowflakes blown under the archway settled wetly on the cardboard. It would probably be soaked by morning.
* * *
He wasn't sure what had awoken him - but he knew he hadn't been asleep very long. When he blearily opened his eyes the first thing he saw was the silhouette of a figure standing by his side, looking down at him. Instantly Gareth reached for the knife he always kept pushed into his Doc Marten boot - but then he remembered that he'd left it in the dressing room at the shop. "Fuck off," he grunted.
"Yes," said the figure, "you'll do."
Gareth sat up. "I'll do for what? Whaddya want?"
"I have a proposition to put to you."
"Yeah? I'm listening."
"How would you like to spend the rest of the night - and tomorrow night - in a soft, warm, comfortable bed; to get some presents tomorrow, and to have a proper Christmas dinner?"
"I don't think I'm gonna like the price."
"And also," the figure continued, quietly, "very possibly, to walk away with one thousand pounds."
Gareth licked his lips. "Go on," he said.
"I live in a large house, with a staff. I love playing games, but I don't have anyone to play with. This Christmas I'd like very much to play a game with you."
Gareth frowned. "What kind of game?"
The figure tilted its head. "If you come with me, the soft bed, the presents and the Christmas dinner are yours whatever." He paused. "The game I have in mind is quite simple: if you cum before we get to my house, you don't get the money. But if you DON'T cum by the time we get there - the ride will take about an hour, by the way - you get the thousand as well. I can do anything I like to you, but you will not be hurt."
Gareth shook his head as if to clear it. "Are you for real?"
"Oh yes." "Let me get this straight - you want to try to make me cum. If I haven't cum by the time we get to your house, I get the thousand, and the rest of the things I get anyway."
"That's right."
"And I won't be hurt in any way?"
"Not at all." Gareth squinted up at the figure. He couldn't see any details of the man as the streetlight was directly over the figure's right shoulder, but he didn't look fat. Although Gareth was straight, he had once, a long time ago, had sex with another man in order to eat - but one thing he couldn't bring himself to do was to go with a really fat guy. There were some strange perverts about, but cash was cash. "Let's see your money."
The figure reached into a pocket and extracted a wad of notes, which he held in front of the boy. The sight of the thousand pounds in crisp twenties almost made his eyes water. He looked up again, still hesitating.
"I understand," said the figure, "you want to see what I look like." He walked around Gareth and stood on the other side, so that the streetlight illuminated him.
Gareth gasped. The guy was a hunk. He was very good-looking, and his tight, muscular body was totally clad in shiny, studded black leather.
"I'm Michael, by the way."
Gareth knew who he was - he'd recognised the rock singer as soon as he'd seen his long blond hair and handsome, boyish face. They shook hands. Standing up, Gareth smiled widely. "I'm Gareth - and you've got yourself a deal," he said. Maybe this Christmas wasn't going to turn out too badly after all.
Michael lead the way to his vehicle, which was a black van of a similar shape to a Ford Transit, but larger. It was also brand-new, and windowless. He paused with his hand on the door-pull and turned to Gareth. "You understand the rules? And you agree to them?"
"Oh yeah, " grinned Gareth.
"Ok then. Let's go. There is a small room just inside - stop there." He opened the door and followed the boy inside.
They were in a very compact room separated from the rest of the van's interior, the only illumination provided by a single small bulb in the ceiling. Michael produced a thin leather hood. "First thing, gonna blindfold you." He pulled the leather down over the boy's head, then opened the second door which led into the main compartment and guided Gareth through, closing it behind them.
"Ok," said Michael, "Strip off please. There's a chair behind you."
Gareth felt around for the chair, sat down, and removed his DMs. He took off his jeans, and also his underpants. All he was wearing now was his leather jacket and a black teeshirt. It was very warm in the van.
"You can leave those on. Now, take these jeans and put them on."
Gareth reached out, took the jeans and ran his hands over them. They were cool, light, and smooth. He could tell they were very thin, glossy PVC. He pulled them on, and felt something odd about the ankles and the waist - they were somehow thicker than they should be. The jeans fit him comfortably: although not especially tight, they were so thin he could feel the coolness of the air through them whenever he moved, and the PVC was extremely stretchy.
"Good. Now, give me your hand." He led the boy to a table which was bolted to the floor, and positioned him on it so that he was lying face up, with his legs wide apart and resting on two raised metal bars - one under each calf just below the knee, the other under each ankle. This raised his legs, making the backs of his thighs and his arse accessible. After strapping Gareth down tightly in several places, with his arms above his head, he exhaled in satisfaction. "OK. I think we're ready to go." He picked up a microhphone and spoke into it: "Benny - we can go now." A few seconds later the van moved gently off, its engine almost inaudible in the rear compartment.
Under the leather hood Gareth had no idea what was going to happen. The only thing he was sure about what the fact that he was not, under any circumstances, going to shoot his load in the next hour. He needed that money, and he sure as hell was going to get it.
Michael attached a small hose to connections on the waistband and the ankles of Gareth's PVC jeans and switched on an air pump. Gareth felt a steadily increasing pressure on his ankles and across his hips as the inflatable cuffs expanded, sealing the waist and the bottom of the jeans legs tightly to his skin.
"What the fuck...?" It took Gareth a few moments to understand what the strange sensations were.
When the cuffs were fully inflated, Michael disconnected them from the air supply and switched the pump off. "You OK so far?" Michael asked the blindfolded boy.
"I'm OK - but what the fuck are you doing?"
Michael just chuckled. Taking the air hoses again, he switched one of them off, and connected the other two to valves on each leg of the jeans. Turning the control from 'blow' to 'suck', he started the pump again. Within seconds the boy was shrink-wrapped - the thin, stretchy PVC now clinging skin-tight to his skin, conforming to the tiniest contours. The stretchy, flexible material of the jeans was pulled into every crease of his body. Every detail was visible: the individual hairs on his legs could be seen clearly, and his cock and balls looked as if they'd been spray-painted with black gloss.
Gareth moaned in pleasure under the leather hood. He could guess what was happening, but he would never have imagined that it would feel so fucking horny. His legs were being gently squeezed by the jeans, and his cock and balls felt vulnerable and amazingly sensitive. Then he realized that he was getting hard.
Michael took a battery-operated electric toothbrush, and applied it in short bursts to the ridges under the boy's cockhead. Each contact brought a gasp from Gareth, and caused his cock to harden more and more.
"Ooooh fuck..." moaned the boy. Under the hood his eyes were closed and he was in heaven. It felt so good.
In less than a minute, Gareth's cock was fully hard, and Michael started to work on his legs. His fingertips stroked over the smooth, shiny PVC so lightly they hardly touched - carressing his calves, tickling behind his knees, teasing the outsides and the backs of his thighs, his arse, and then along the insides of his thighs, working slowly towards his perineum and his clearly-defined arsehole. His fingers traced intricate and unpredictable patterns on the skin-tight vinyl, reaching into every nook and cranny, working their way down at the sides of his balls both from the back and from the front - tickling, teasing, and getting the helpless boy more and more horny with every stroke.
When Michael began to tease Gareth's shiny black arsehole lightly with one fingertip while tickling the back of his balls with another, the boy began trying to thrust his hips up and down. The restraints, however, were positioned to prevent that. His cock was jerking under its thin film of PVC, and with each of its movements, more air was sucked from inside the jeans, causing the stretchy material to work its way further and further behind his cock, effectively separating it from his thigh.
Gareth could feel this intimately - his cock felt as if it were being held by invisible fingers, ready to be touched, rubbed, stroked - but nothing did. Michael's hands were everywhere but where he needed them most. Oh he was still one hundred percent certain he wasn't going to cum, but he just needed his cock to be played with. Just a little. He needed that very badly indeed.
Michael continued to work on his helpless, horny victim's balls, tickling and teasing them all over. He knew that not only could Gareth feel the lightest touch through the super-thin, vacuum-wrapped PVC, but that the feel of the jeans themselves, firmly gripping every square millimeter of his anatomy, was something most boys couldn't hold out against for long. They made every tiny movement, every stroke, every touch, unbelievably horny. These vacuum jeans made most boys lose control the moment he touched their straining cocks.
Which was exactly what Michael was about to do now. He checked his watch - Benny had standing instructions to switch a signal light on when they were halfway home, and that hadn't happened yet, so there was plenty of time.
Carefully, Michael gripped the boy's rock-hard cock just below the head, and pulled it back towards him. As he did so the suction in the jeans made the PVC close completely behind it. Holding it there and gripping the shaft with one hand, Michael used the first two fingers and the thumb of his other hand to enclose the head from above, and began slowly to slide the boy's foreskin up and down over the sensitive cockhead. It caused precisely the reaction he had expected.
"NO! FUCK OFF!" Gareth began to struggle in his restraints. Up to now the light teasing had been incredibly horny, but controllable. This, however, was something else. Waves of urgent, horny need suddenly began to assault him. He wanted to cum - badly - and this felt so intensely horny that he was by no means sure he could hold out against it for long however hard he tried. He struggled to get his cock away from those fingers, but he was strapped down tight, and his restraints made it quite impossible.
Thankfully, the fingers stopped, and were removed. Gareth breathed a sigh of relief. Then he felt his restraints being adjusted. Oh fuck, he thought, Michael was strapping him down even tighter. But no - the straps were being loosened! Perhaps they had arrived at Michael's house already - perhaps it was over, and he'd WON!! He felt his hands released from where they'd been secured, but they were repositioned - this time hanging at his sides.
Then the fingers were back on his cock, holding the shaft as before, and rubbing up and down over the precum-lubed head. Very quickly they got him dangerously close again, and he felt the unmistakable beginnings of the orgasm mechamism stirring deep inside him. He had to stop those fingers. Gareth began to struggle again - and he found that in their new positions, he could move his arms. He reached to grab Michael's hands, to pull them away before he lost control and came - and found that they were attached to thick elastic bungees. He could get them to within a few inches of his cock, but try as he might his muscles didn't quite have the power to take them far enough. Now that the straps were looser, he could move more, and his struggles felt as if they should be more effective - but he still couldn't get away from the guy's fingers, which continued to rub slowly up and down over his horny cockhead, getting him closer and closer... Shit - being able to struggle more in the looser restraints was so fucking frustrating - and horny.
Michael's fingers slowed down, and Gareth took the opportunity to regroup, trying to concentrate on the most un-sexy thoughts he could. He was still dangerously close to cumming, but for the moment not getting any nearer.
Gareth's cockhead felt round and warm and smooth beneath Michaels' fingers. He knew his victim was very close, and he enjoyed lulling boys into a false sense of security before he went for the kill and forced them to shoot their spunk helplessly. Michael got off on doing that a lot. He smiled as, for the hundredth time, he wondered what his female fans' reactions would be if - while they were watching him on stage, strutting, licking the microphone suggestively and thrusting his bulging leather-clad crotch at them - they found out that he loved making boys cum so much.
They must be almost home by now. Suddenly, with no warning, Michael began to massage the shaft of Gareth's cock, and speeded up his rubbing strokes with the other hand - his thumb and two fingers quickly and firmly sliding the shiny black PVC, and the foreskin beneath, over the sensitized glans of the horny, hooded, helpless boy.
"NOOOO!!! FUCK OFF YOU BASTARD!!! I WILL NOT CUM!!!" But Gareth felt himself suddenly getting a lot closer. Try as he might, he was losing control. He gritted his teeth and fought against it with every ounce of concentration. He struggled as far as his restraints would allow, desperately trying to get his cock away from those milking fingers - but they followed his movements, continuing to slide over his cock, relentlessly jacking him off. In panic, he searched for an image that would turn him off completely - and hit on the memory of his grandmother in the bath (when he'd been about five years old he'd crept into the bathroom and looked - and it was an image that had stayed with him all his life). He tried to hold that image in his mind - but the things the sexy rock singer was doing to his cock made it very difficult. He just couldn't concentrate enough. He yelled in frustration - but then he realized that he hadn't started to cum yet. It was working!
Michael smiled. The boy was resisting. Excellent. He released Gareth's cock, reached into a small refrigerator, and took out a single, thick black rubber glove, which he slid onto his left hand.
Then, when Gareth wasn't expecting it, he suddenly gripped the boy's balls with the cold glove, getting his fingers and thumb deep into the crevices at the sides, and worked fast and hard on his cock head with the other hand. His fingers were a blur, sliding up and down the shiny PVC, rubbing the foreskin over the ridges and the glans mercilessly.
The fast work on his cockhead combined with the stunning cold grip around his balls got him. Gareth screamed, and instantly began to cum. His whole body shook in the throes of a staggeringly intense orgasm. Michael's hands followed him, his fingers continuing to milk the convulsing boy until he'd pumped every last drop of spunk out helplessly into his jeans.
"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit SHIT!!!" Gareth hit his head on the table in pure fury.
Michael pulled Gareth's hood off and grinned at him. He continued to massage the boy's slowly softening cock with one hand.
"You fucking unfair bastard. You fucking knew that would get me."
Michael continued grinning at him for a few seconds, then nodded slowly and whispered, "oh yeah..."
At that moment the van came to a stop and Benny's voice over the intercom announced that they had arrived. Together, the three of them went into the huge house.
Michael was true to his word: he showed Gareth into a luxurious bedroom where, after using the en-suite bathroom, the boy crashed out in the softest and most wonderful bed he had ever slept in.
It was almost noon when Gareth awoke, to the smell of turkey roasting in the kitchen. During the night his own clothes had been laundered, and were waiting for him on the back of a chair. He had a long, hot bath, dressed, and wandered downstairs, feeling great.
"Hey, Gareth. Your timing's good - dinner's almost ready."
Gareth accepted a cold beer from the singer, and then walked slowly around the huge room, talking to Michael and looking at photographs, expensive ornaments, and framed gold discs - there was even a platinum one over the open fire. He picked out a tune with one finger on the grand piano in the corner.
Halfway through the second beer a servant came in and told Michael that dinner was ready. They went through to the dining room and Gareth stared at the table - in the centre was the biggest turkey he had ever seen in his life. There were dishes of every vegetable he could imagine, and bottles of red and white wine.
Michael grinned. "Dig in," he said.
Gareth stuffed himself until he couldn't eat another thing. They pulled crackers, put on silly hats, and read bad jokes to one another.
After dinner, back in the lounge, Michael went to the ten-foot Christmas tree in the corner. Under it was a pile of wrapped presents - and some of them had Gareth's name on them. With unbelieving, wide eyes, the boy unwrapped one after another. There was a new pair of jeans, some new DMs - all in Gareth's size, although he couldn't figure out how Michael had accomplished that - and a Swiss Army Knife. Gareth didn't know what to say; no-one had ever shown this degree of kindness to him before.
Michael was grinning as he watched the boy's expressions. "Oh yeah - almost forgot. There's this as well." He handed Gareth a rectangular, gold-wrapped package. Gareth tore the paper off - and found himself holding the thousand pounds in twenties. His mouth hanging open, he looked at the singer. "But - but I lost."
Michael waved dismissively. "Nah. You were a good sport. And for God's sake rent a room for a while with it or something. Get outta the fucking street for a bit."
"I - I don't know what to say."
"Listen, I've got a lot of money. I mean a LOT of money. Every Christmas I give a load of it to charity - I don't miss it, so what the hell. This year I thought I'd do something a bit more ... personal. Now put it away and have a beer."
They spent the rest of the day walking around the grounds, swimming in the indoor pool, and watching the wide-screen television.
Gareth asked Michael if he wanted to sleep with him that night, but the singer just smiled and shook his head. "No - I like first-time contests, that's all. But thanks anyway. Sleep well." He winked at the boy.
For the second night in a row, Gareth snuggled down in the huge bed. He was full, warm, comfortable, and he had a thousand pounds in his pocket. The money wouldn't last forever, he knew - but it was a chance for him to get out of the gutter.
As he fell asleep, he smiled - this had been the happiest Christmas of his life.