Robin wasn’t strikingly handsome or overtly sexy, but he had a slim, toned body and there was something appealing about him: kind of boy-next-door. His dark hair was cut short, and he was cute, in his own way.
Right now, however, looks were the last thing on his mind – he was preparing for the biggest fight of his life.
As a Kyokushin Karate martial artist, he’d been training since childhood, drawn to the sport by its discipline, philosophy, and sheer, raw power. Years of hard conditioning had shaped him into a warrior, and now, with just two weeks left before the Combat Grand Prix – a prestigious full-contact tournament – he'd made it to the final. Winning would be huge: prize money, sponsorships, recognition – not just locally, but maybe even nationally. For a gay fighter to take the title? That would be something .
But there was one problem.
His Shihan – his Karate master – had laid down strict rules: no distractions, no indulgences, and most important of all, no sex . He'd been adamant about that: every ounce of energy had to be saved for the fight. And that was where things got difficult.
Like most eighteen-year old boys, Robin had a naturally high sex drive. Left to his own devices, he’d get himself off at least twice a day – more if certain, slightly pervy, thoughts crept into his head. Going cold turkey for two whole weeks? That was going to be brutal. He'd never gone anything like that long without sex of one sort or another and he didn't know if he could do it – but he was determined. He knew he’d have to stay focused, and try to keep his all-too-vivid imagination in check for the next fourteen days.
Unlike Robin, Nick was straight. He was a year older, confident, and effortlessly cool – the kind of guy who turned heads without trying. He had the solid, muscular build of someone who spent just enough time in the gym to stay sharp, but not enough to look like he cared. His jawline and piercing blue eyes gave him an air of arrogance, and he wore it well. But it was his smile, the way he moved, and his friendly, outgoing attitude (not to mention the way his jeans hugged his strong legs beneath the studded belt worn low on his hips) – all of which added up to an uncaring, happy sexuality – that made people notice him.
And Robin noticed him.
When Nick had caught the boy staring at him outside the café, he'd known immediately. He wasn’t blind – he knew the look of desire when he saw it. He was well used to girls ogling him longingly, but this was the first time he'd noticed a boy doing so. And it fascinated him.
Nick asked around about Robin, keeping it casual, never making it obvious. The first thing he found out was that the boy was a talented karate fighter, and that he had an important tournament coming up in a couple of weeks, but it didn’t take long to learn a few other interesting things, too. One of the best had come from a mate who sometimes went over to Robin’s place to play video games. With a grin, he'd told Nick that the boy's browser history was packed with bikers, tight jeans, and, most of all, leather . And apparently Robin had a worrying fixation for restraints and leather hoods. "There were fucking pages and pages of them!"
Nick had smirked to himself. Well, well. He'd deciding then and there to play a game. Not because he liked Robin – he didn't know the guy at all – not because he wanted anything from him, but because he thought he could . This might be fun - he had quite a bit of leather gear himself, and he knew where he could borrow more.
It started subtly. Nick figured out Robin’s usual spots and made sure to be there, blending into the crowd. But Robin noticed him every time. His gaze would linger, his eyes fixated on him before he caught himself and looked away, flustered, pretending he hadn’t been staring.
Or he'd be outside, leaning casually against his motorbike, usually chatting up a girl or two, looking effortlessly cool. When he saw Robin he'd stretch just enough to make his jeans – he'd resurrected an old, very faded pair that had once fit perfectly but were now a bit too small – pull tight in all the right places. And he knew the boy was watching.
He made it his business gradually to get to know Robin. First, they just smiled at each other; later Nick would be a little closer. Later still, they began to chat. Nick was careful, never pushed too hard, but when he talked to the boy he would lean in just a little too close, his voice low and smooth. When he walked past, he would brush against him just enough to make Robin flinch. To begin with Robin was tongue-tied and awkward with him, but as they got to know each other better the boy found it easier. It was as clear as daylight to Nick that the boy fancied him like fuck – and then some.
As a test, Nick decided to wear his leather bike jacket one day. Thick, black, and gleaming, with a heavy belt, it sat perfectly over his tight white t-shirt, emphasizing his broad shoulders and muscular torso. He caught the flicker in Robin’s eyes the moment he saw it: the way his pupils darkened, the way he physically had to stop himself from staring.
Nick smirked to himself but played it cool. He didn’t wear it again after that. In fact, he avoided leather altogether around Robin. For now.
The tension was building day by day.
Nick played the long game. He made sure to ‘accidentally’ brush his tight-jeaned thigh against Robin’s leg when they sat next to each other. He let Robin catch glimpses of him adjusting his belt, of the way the faded denim moulded perfectly to his body. And he never acknowledged it – never let Robin think he was doing it on purpose. That would ruin the game.
And Robin – poor, disciplined Robin – was slowly unravelling. His frustration was unbearable. He was becoming obsessed with the hunky, sexy biker. He could barely think. Training became harder, sleep restless. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Nick – smirking, knowing, and untouchable. In those tight, sexy faded jeans. And he could not stop himself wondering exactly what the boy looked like in his leather biker gear. That one time when he wore the jacket had been the only occasion he'd ever seen him in leather. He had to stop himself from fantasizing about being tied up, helpless, and staring up into Nick's blue eyes, above his muscular, leather-clad body – every time he did, his cock would get hard in seconds and he'd feel the urgent need for a wank.
He tried to avoid Nick. For two entire days went home as soon as he saw him, so as not to let the boy get close to him, talk to him. But it didn't last. It just couldn't – it was as if the biker were attracting him like a magnet, and he was powerless to resist.
With a sigh of resignation he gave that up, and resolved to try as hard as he could to use his karate techniques to keep his mind under control.
They were sat outside the cafe one afternoon, in the warm, late spring sunshine. At Nick’s suggestion, they had swapped numbers and addresses. “Drop by anytime for a beer,” he said casually. Then he paused, pretending to remember something. “Oh, wait—you’re not drinking, are you? Not while you’re training.” His smile turned sly. “And I hope you’re not doing anything else naughty …” As he spoke, he let a finger trail lazily along the top of his thigh, skimming over the tight faded denim at the side of his bulge, his touch slow and deliberate. Robin’s breath caught. Just watching that small, teasing motion nearly undid him right then and there.
Over the following days Nick found ways to make it steadily worse for him: the biker never touched him, but the way he stroked his own thigh carelessly – or lay his hand on his jeans, his fingers resting nonchalantly on his prominent denim bulge – when he knew Robin could see him do it – kept the boy's thoughts firmly on sex. And, more and more often, he brought the conversation around to motorbikes and leather. He admitted that he liked leather probably more than he should. He told Robin how he often secretly put his leather jeans between his bare thighs when he wanked, and how – just occasionally – he fantasized about getting a naked girl helpless on the bed and then very slowly lowering himself on top of her in his leather jacket, boots, and tight leather jeans.
All of this was getting to Robin bigtime. His cock was rock-hard under the table and he had to be very careful indeed not to let Nick see it. He changed the subject, talked about other things. But – and he was never quite sure how the biker did it – the conversation somehow always managed to get back to sex, bondage, and leather.
The remaining days passed, and the two boys seemed to be spending more and more time together. And then, finally, it was the day before the tournament. Robin had just got back from the gym where he'd spent the morning and the early part of the afternoon training with his Shihan. The man had told him to go home, relax and meditate for the rest of the day.
At 4 o'clock his phone beeped. Nick had sent a text: Come over. I have something special for you. You'll love it.
Robin hesitated. He knew very well that he shouldn’t go. He knew this was dangerous. But the moment he'd seen Nick's name on the text his body had ached with tension, and the need to see the biker suddenly clawed at him like a living thing. There had been several occasions this last week when he'd almost succumbed to temptation and wanked his increasingly desperate cock silly, but he was proud of the fact that each time, he'd managed to control himself.
When he arrived, Nick greeted him at the door in a plain t-shirt and jeans, acting as though nothing was unusual. "Robin! Come in," he smiled, voice as casual as ever. "Have a seat. Like some tea?"
Robin sat down. He felt intimidated, somehow, and very nervous: this was the first time he'd been alone, in private, with Nick – and he was in his flat. The gorgeous biker was stood there with his thumbs hooked in the belt of his jeans, looking good enough to eat. "Erm, no thanks." He looked around. "Nice place."
"Ta. Yeah, it's Ok."
"Why the text?" Robin asked. "Something 'special' for me?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, as if he'd just remembered why he'd asked Robin to come round. "I think you'll like it. Give me five minutes to get it ready." He disappeared into another room. Robin wondered what on earth the boy was doing. 'Something special'? What on earth could that be? His thoughts ranged over a gift of some kind – a model motorbike? A new video game? What else had they talked about… a new music track? Nah. He shook his head. He had absolutely no idea. He knew something was coming. He just didn’t know what.
The door opened, and Nick reappeared.
Robin stared for a moment, then he stood up very slowly. His stomach clenched so hard it almost hurt. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't even blink. His knees damn near buckled.
"A present for you because it's your big day tomorrow," Nick murmured, voice thick with amusement. He stood casually in the doorway, but there was nothing casual about how he looked: he was wearing full, shiny, black leather – the kind that clung to every inch of his body like a second skin. His jacket was zipped halfway, tight across his naked torso, the smooth, supple leather gleaming under the light, and the shape of his pecs was visible in the gap above the zip. The sleeves hugged his arms perfectly, emphasizing every flex of muscle as he shifted. His hands, in fingerless leather gloves, were at his waist, the thumbs hooked into his studded leather belt. There was an edge to his stance – calculated, predatory.
And then there were the jeans.
Jeans that totally destroyed Robin.
Tight. Obscenely tight.
The dense black leather stretched over Nick’s powerful legs like clingfilm, gripping every line, every curve, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. The shine caught the room light, highlighting the deep black creases at his hips, how they clung to his thighs, the bulge of a horny, hard cock clear between them. The waistband sat just low enough to be teasing; the silver buckle of the heavy studded belt glinted. And when Nick moved – just the slightest shift of weight from one foot to the other – the leather creaked: slow, deep, and irresistibly inviting.
Robin realised his mouth was hanging open. He closed it. He swallowed hard.
"You don't have to do anything, Robin. Nothing," he whispered slowly. "Just look. Just enjoy. Just imagine."
Robin’s whole body was locked up. His stomach twisted, heat crawling up his spine. He was looking at everything he'd ever fantasised about.
Nick smiled slowly. His clear blue eyes and that beautiful, sexy smile promised pleasure of a kind the boy had only imagined in his wildest dreams. He reached behind his back and slowly pulled something from where he'd tucked it under his belt. He held it up.
A black leather hood.
Robin swallowed again, hard.
Nick let it dangle from his fingers for a moment, then turned it, slowly and deliberately, letting Robin take in every inch. Smooth, supple, the inside lined, the eye area blank—a full, heavy, leather hood. Designed to take away control.
Robin couldn’t breathe.
Nick stepped forward, slowly, rolling his shoulders as the leather flexed and stretched. The deep, intoxicating sound filled the silence, wrapping around Robin like a vice. The biker ran a gloved hand down his chest, stroking it between the firm mounds of his pecs, then lower – over the jacket, across his belt, the sculpted line of his thigh, and then, slowly, along the full length of his hard cock. The leather shifted with every move, every small creak making Robin's restraint fray by the second.
His stance widened just slightly, making the stretch over his thighs even more pronounced, the leather groaning with the motion.
Robin couldn’t think. He couldn't even blink. His fingernails bit into his palms.
Nick took another step forward. Just one. It brought him close enough that now Robin could smell the heady scent of the leather.
"You’ve been such a good little boy for these last seven days," Nick said, voice low, teasing, rolling through Robin like a slow burn. He slid his fingers down his own thigh, feeling the supple leather beneath his touch, and then, slowly, he squeezed his leather bulge. He watched Robin’s reaction with deep blue, knowing eyes.
Robin’s breathing stuttered. His pulse was hammering in his veins.
Nick lifted the hood, letting it – almost – brush against Robin’s cheek. Although it hadn't actually touched him, Robin was sure he could feel it: cool black leather against his skin. His whole body shuddered.
Nick smirked. "So much control," he whispered slowly, mockingly. "You must be proud of that self-control, Robin." One side of his mouth lifted in a knowing smile. "I know you want me." His voice was quiet; no longer mocking now, it caressed the boy like invisible fingers. "You want to touch me. Lick my leathers. Feel my body. You want me to get you helpless ." He breathed the word, looking deep into Robin's eyes. Then he smiled. "I can do that."
He could do that. He would do that. Robin was staring like a rabbit caught in headlights.
His hand stroked slowly and teasingly over his jeans. "Black leather, Robin." His blue eyes moved to the hood. "And this is the first step to getting you really helpless, boy." He raised it again.
Robin was trembling. His fists clenched, his breath came in shallow gasps. A deep, burning ache spread through his core. He had fought so hard. He had lasted for thirteen days. He just had to get through what remained of this one. That's all. Was that too much to ask? Robin thought about the tournament. He thought about all the countless hours he'd put in training for it. He thought about the rewards.
And then he decided. No. He was stronger than this. He would decide what he was going to do. He would not give in to his base, animal instincts. This was exactly the sort of thing his Shihan had warned him against. The tournament was what mattered. He focused his mind, and relaxed his body, as he'd been taught. He took a slow, deep breath and called on every bit of the self-discipline that was so important to his life.
His concentration was shattered as Nick exhaled slowly, stepping back just enough to give Robin a full view of him. Then he held the hood out to the boy. "Put it on, Robin," he said quietly. "Imagine it's over your head. Imagine the leather pressing tight all over your face, blindfolding you so that you can't see a fucking thing. Strapped up and locked on so you can't get it off however much you want to. And then, boy, you will be really helpless against me." Slowly, seductively, Nick ran the tip of his tongue over his upper lip.
Robin was almost cumming in his jeans. He looked at the unbelievably sexy leather boy in front of him. He looked at the black leather hood.
It was too much. He broke.
The tension snapped, shattering into raw, overwhelming need. Every last shred of discipline, every ounce of willpower—it was gone, ripped from him in a single moment of unbearable heat. He snatched the hood from Nick's hand and pulled it hard over his head.
"Fasten the zip, boy. I'll tighten the straps later."
Robin pulled the zip down the back, feeling the black leather under his fingers and tightening over his face.
Nick dropped a small padlock into his hand and Robin immediately found the locking post behind his head and clicked it into place.
The biker breathed a quiet sigh of satisfaction. With that click, the boy had sealed his own fate - there was no way he could get it off now. The game was complete – Robin had done it all to himself. Nick could touch him now. He pulled the straps of the hood tight, then stood back and looked at the boy.
Nick grinned: he'd won.
He'd have to keep an ear to the news to see how Robin did at the tournament tomorrow – but after the three or four hours of merciless edging he was about to subject him to without allowing him to cum at all – followed by a few orgasms as shatteringly intense as he could possibly make them, he didn't think that the boy would do very well at all.
Aww, he thought, that's a shame.
He led Robin blindly through the doorway, to the bed where the leather straps waited.