He was about as top as it’s possible to get. He looked dead sexy in his pictures (I skipped the ones of his cock buried in someone’s bum), but his profile text was sheer arrogance. A guy, I thought, who was in urgent need of being taken down a peg if ever I’d seen one - and I was horny enough to send him a message:
Spunk Extractor: You sound like an ideal victim to be strapped down, edged, and milked helplessly... :)
Master Dave: Nice thought but it's never going to happen. U can milk me with ur mouth and throat, but only when I am in control
SE: Too humiliating to lose control, eh? Thought so :)
MD: I am always the MASTER, always the MAN in control. I always fuck, Slaves kneel and obey and beg for MASTER'S cum.
SE: I see. I can understand, then, why the humiliation of discovering that you can be made to lose control of yourself so easily, would be too great. That's why I love working on tops so much.
MD: Hey boi - u r barking up the wrong tree.I last let someone fuck me when I was still a teenager. Since then the power of MY masculinity has only grown, not diminished.
SE: W ho mentioned fucking? I don't fuck. I rape cocks. I make struggling, resisting victims cum helplessly.
MD: That's the point - I am never "helpless", I am always in control. I cum - endlessly - when it suits me. True, I sometimes kick back and let a faggot service My cock. I relax, the fag does all the work and when I'm ready to unload I force My hard cock down his throat and explode in his mouth. Want to experience that boi?
SE: Hehe - you are perfect. I could so easily make you beg for orgasm. But I can see I'm not going to get past that top's arrogance and pride without getting you strapped down, hooded and helpless. And I don't think you're ready for that yet. One day, perhaps :-)
MD: ALPHA MALES are naturally arrogant, and proudly so.I use and fuck inferior men & boys. They exist for MY pleasure to fuck and breed.
SE: That just makes you even more attractive to me, makes me want to edge you senseless, and make you lose it helplessly into my lube-slippery leather-gloved hands. Alpha males make by far the most interesting victims. Just had a thought - I might make you cum in your jeans. Oh yeah! That would be even more humiliating for a top ;)
MD: Clearly, u need to touch, lick and suck MY cock. That's fine. MY bulge attracts fags like bees to honey. I'll let u handle MY cock, and u can service it by hand or with ur mouth. I'll cum in ur mouth easily. It's ok boi. The ache to service the cock of an ALPHA is natural. Don't be afraid to admit it.
SE: B ut that would be far too easy for you to deal with, wouldn't it? No, you need to be strapped down, unable to reach your cock, unable to cum, unable to see further than the black leather hood gagging and blindfolding you, unable to stop me from making your need to cum worse and worse… That is the only way a top like you can be taught what true control really is. As you lose it and shoot your spunk humiliatingly into your Alpha Top's black leather jeans, you will understand.
MD: U r describing ur own fantasy, at the mercy of ur MASTER, the Lord MASTER DAVE. Relax and take the plunge boi. I'll fuck ur throat hard, but u will get to taste real ALPHA cum.
SE: My fantasy? No, my deepest fantasy is very, very different from that. It does not involve sucking or fucking. But my personal fantasies are another story altogether.The main interest I have in cocks - alpha or otherwise - is that through them I can control, absolutely, guys like you. The restraints - the gagging and blindfolding leather hoods, the straps and cuffs - are there simply to make it much more difficult for a top to resist. He will fight, he will struggle, he will swear - but if there is one thing I am dangerously good at, it's making a victim lose every bit of control. You would beg me to let you cum. And you would shoot helplessly into my gently milking leather-gloved hands. I don't expect you to admit that – actually, I'd be disappointed in you if you did - but it is one of the facts of life. One day, you may understand.
MD: My main interest in cock (other than My own) is to cage them and fuck the bitch trying to ejaculate.
SE: Ok. Well when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you… Until then, don’t think about being strapped down helpless. Don’t think about being forced to lose control by a ‘boi’ who knows exactly how to do it…
He didn’t reply to that.
I guessed it might take a couple of weeks. In fact it only took 6 days. I turned my computer on one evening and there was a message waiting from him.
MD: You give up easily, dont you?
SE: Given up? I’ve been expecting a message from you. It didn’t take as long as I’d thought it would.
MD: Listen boi, I am an ALPHA MASTER. I call the shots, not you.
SE: Whatever you say. :)
There was another pause – just two days this time.
MD: So what are you proposing then?
SE: Proposing? I wouldn’t dare propose anything to an Alpha Master like you...
MD: I thought you wanted to get me strapped down and milk my ALPHA cock.
SE: Are you asking me to do that?
MD: Fuck off. Admit it boi – you want to suck this cock and get fucked by it.
SE: Those two things are not high on my list of priorities.
MD: So what do you want with me?
SE: Isn’t the point more what do you want with me?
MD: You want to get me tied up and wank me off, right?
SE: Oh it’s not quite as simple as that. I will methodically strip from you every bit of control you have. I will strap you down, hood you, edge you insane, and make you cum helplessly. But only if you ask me really nicely.
MD: I do not cum for bois like you. I cum in boys mouths or up their arses when I’m fucking them with my ALPHA COCK.
SE: Oh, right. Why didn’t you say?
Pause of three days.
MD: What would you get out of this?
SE: I would get the satisfaction of hearing an arrogant Alpha Top beg this ‘boi’ to let him cum. And not just cum, but cream the leather jeans he fucks others in with such pride.
MD: You would get off on that? I would NEVER fucking beg a faggot like you to let me cum. I cum when, and if, I want to cum. There is no way you could make me cum if I chose not to.
SE: Oh yes, I would get off on that. A lot. And no way I could make you cum. Really?
MD: Fucking REALLY. Where are you?
SE: Huddersfield.
MD: Send me your address. Now.
SE: I don’t think so. I will meet you at the train station, and bring you back here on my bike. You will be wearing a blacked-out helmet so you can’t see where we’re going. You will be taken back the same way afterwards. You will not know who I am, nor where you were taken to be humiliated.
The messages stopped for another week. Finally, a one-word message:
MD: When?
SE: Wednesday, 13:00, Huddersfield train station. Be waiting in the car park to the left when you come out of the station. You have just one chance. If you’re not there, I leave after 5 minutes, and I will not contact you again or reply to messages from you. Wear your Alpha leather jeans, with NOTHING underneath.
Four days. I really wasn’t at all convinced he would turn up, but it was worth the shot.
Wednesday dawned bright and sunny for a change. I went up to the playroom and got things ready, put the heater on for an hour, and took the dogs out. By mid-day I was getting excited about this. I changed into my tightest leather bike jeans and the rest of the gear, found the blacked-out Simpson helmet (the last time I’d used that had been a couple of years ago), dusted it off and put it on to check that it still functioned Ok as a blindfold. The leather around the bottom still closed around the neck perfectly, the paint on the inside of the visor was still intact, and no light was getting in from anywhere. It felt horny. I checked the clock, got the bike out of the garage and set off into town.
He was waiting in the car park, leaning against a wall, one foot up against it behind him. Leather jacket, tight leather jeans with a beautiful bulge, tall Doc Marten boots with white laces. He was around 6ft and athletic, with a bit of stubble and short dark hair. He looked every inch the Alpha Top. I was so looking forward to bringing him down.
I pulled up next to him and, without speaking, handed him the Simpson. He took it, saw the leather strip inside, held the lid up and tried to peer through the blacked-out visor. “Is this really necessary?”
I just sat there, the bike idling, without replying. After a while he sighed, put the lid on and fastened it. The visor was up, so he could see to get on the bike. When he was in place I reached around and dropped it, clicking it closed firmly. I knew that now he couldn’t see anything. He had his arms around my waist, his hands resting on my stomach. As long as I felt them there I would know he wasn’t trying to raise the visor.
We set off. A blindfolded pillion is actually the best kind there is – passengers often try to lean into corners they can see coming up, and unless you know what you’re doing that can be a pain: it can make the bike very hard to control. But he was no problem at all. It took us about 10 minutes to get to my place. Once in the garage I closed the door, locked the bike, and guided him through the inside door and up into the house. My playroom is on the second floor, so there are lots of stairs. I walked behind him, my fingers on his hips. The leather under them felt smooth and sexy.
So far I had not spoken a word to him. Standing outside the playroom door, I picked up the leather hood I’d left lying on the bookcase. “Take off the helmet,” I said. I stood behind him, holding the hood ready, and as soon as the lid had cleared his head I dropped the leather over him and snapped the padlock shut.
“Fuck!” He grunted. I smiled, and tightened the straps on the hood, then removed my own helmet. It was good to breathe again. I opened the door and pushed him gently inside. I’d prepared the hospital gurney, and I guided him onto it. He lay there, hooded but otherwise unrestrained.
“Now, I’m going to restrain you,” I told him slowly. “These straps are so that you can’t move, can’t interfere with what I’m doing, can’t stop me, can’t control what’s happening. They’re going to make you very helpless indeed.”
He grunted again.
I set about restraining him. First the thick leather mitts, which hold the hands in unusable fists, then leather cuffs around the wrists and clipped to the restraint points on the side of the gurney. Ankle cuffs around the boots, holding his feet together, and secured to the metal eye I’d screwed into its socket halfway down the gurney, in the centre. I wanted his legs bent at the hips and the knees so that I could get at the backs of his thighs if I wanted to. It would also mean that the leather of his jeans was even tighter over his thighs – which to my mind is always a good thing – and a little looser over his crotch, which would make working on his cock so much more effective. Then strong leather straps over the shoulders, chest, stomach, and pelvis. By the time I’d finished, the only thing he could do was open and close his knees. I stood back and looked at him. It was all I could do to stop myself licking his leathers all over – he looked deliciously sexy.
“I’m here to prove a point,” he said from under the hood.
“Oh yes? And what’s that, then?”
“I’m gonna show you that no fucking faggot can control an Alpha Fucking Male. You will fail. You think I’m gonna cum – for you? ” He almost spat that last word.
I chuckled to myself. “I see...”
“Knock yourself out, BOI. And when you’ve had enough, I’m going to FUCK THE ARSE OFF YOU.”
“Uh-huh.” I waited to see if he wanted to say anything else. Apparently not. “Well, I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. I’m going to make you cum in those sexy leather jeans, mate. I’m going to make you lose it, and you are going to shoot your spunk, uncontrollably, into them. A BOI is going to make you cream your fucking jeans. Your Alpha Top-ness is very soon gonna be history.”
I ran my fingers over his thighs. The leather of his jeans was like an aphrodisiac to me – my cock started to get hard as soon as I touched the shiny black hide. I was very pleased to see that they were thin leather, not thick, protective biker gear. I smiled: that was going to make things so much easier…
My fingers stroked lightly over the leather: over his calves, around the knees, across his thighs, teasing the backs, the outsides, and then the insides, moving up to his balls. I tickled them with what I judged to be sufficient weight for him to be able just to feel them through the leather. His cock was making a curved shape further up, pointing approximately to his left hip. I stroked it lightly and teasingly, gave it short, sharp squeezes, and scratched my fingernail over the head. I felt it give a slight jerk.
For a couple of minutes I continued to work on him teasingly like that, watching his cock gradually growing under the jeans. But it refused to get completely hard. Hmmm… this called for heavier machinery.
I picked up the vibrator – it’s an old thing I got from the second-hand market decades ago – but it’s made more boys cum, screaming in ecstasy, than I’ve had hot dinners. I switched it on, and touched it lightly to Master Dave’s cock head. The fingertips of my other hand were between the tops of his thighs, stroking his balls through the soft, thin leather.
What happened then was something I really hadn’t been expecting – not at all. In fact I didn’t believe it. His body tensed, he fought the restraints, his knees slamming together, and after about ten seconds, with a deafening yell of animal fury, he came. I watched as his cock jerked rhythmically under his leather jeans, and held the vibrator there until every drop of spunk had been extracted from it.
I switched the vibrator off and put it down, wondering if he had actually cum, or if he’d been acting – though he surely couldn’t have controlled his cock like that, could he? I gripped his cock-head and gave it an experimental rub. His yell and struggling told me that yes, he had indeed cum. I removed the hood. I wanted to see his face. It was as red as a beetroot.
“Now, do you understand what control means?”
He couldn’t look me in the eyes. I could see that he was mortified.
I rubbed his cock-head again. “I asked you a question. And look at me.”
His body shuddered at my touch on his now-hypersensitive cock head, then his eyes slowly came round and he looked at my leather-masked face. He nodded. “Yes.”
“And have you anything else to say?”
He paused for a moment, then, “Sir?”
I sighed. “You still don’t get it, do you? I am not a Master.” I waited. “Do you have anything else to say?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve just taught you a very valuable lesson. Have you anything to say?”
There was silence, and I allowed it to stretch…
Finally, he swallowed. “Thank you.”
“That’s better.” I put the blacked-out helmet back onto him, released him from the restraints, and guided him back down to the bike. We rode back to the station.
He was still 6ft tall, still athletic, still with a bit of stubble and short dark hair. But something in the way he was standing now was different: the arrogance had gone – although I knew it would be back in spades as soon as he got a boi impaled on his cock. He handed the helmet back to me. I could still very easily have licked him all over; I’ve rarely seen anyone who looked so fucking sexy in leathers. He looked like he wanted to say something. I waited. His gaze was wandering over my leather-clad body.
In the end, all he said was: “I’ll message you.” He turned and walked away.
I watched him go.
A couple of weeks passed with nothing from him. Then, one evening, just this:
MD: Next Wednesday, same place, same time ?
And, a few seconds later:
MD: Please?
I laughed, then tapped out a reply.