I came across Colin in the second-hand market. He was leaning against one of the stalls, staring in the general direction of Tescos. He was gorgeous. I wanted more than anything to take him home with me and dress him from head to toe in black leather.
After a short negotiation, I did exactly that.
He was stunningly good-looking, and he had a beautiful body. I found some of my bike leathers that fit him and soon he was in full kit boots, jeans, jacket, crash helmet and gloves. He looked amazingly sexy, which was something of an accomplishment given that he was made out of white fibreglass.
I’ve never had a particularly thing for mannequins but this one was different somehow: he had character, and I knew he’d look brilliant in leather. I was right: he wore black leather like he’d been born in it. The jeans fit him perfectly tight and clinging - and his bulge, though not bad already, looked obscenely horny with the addition of a rolled-up pair of socks. I’ve always been a sucker for big bulges.
Initially, I’d thought that ‘Colin’ had just been the first name that had come to my mind, but as time went on I realised that somehow that simply was his name. It couldn’t have been anything else.
For the first week his home was the front room, standing at the end of the settee and startling visitors, but then I decided that my bedroom would be a better place for him, so I carried him upstairs and stood him by the wardrobe. At night, in the dark, I could look across the room and see this sexy leather boy standing there. I confess that on more than one occasion I was tempted to place him in the bed at the side of me so that I could rub my naked body against him. But then I realised that - even for me - that was a bit perverted.
Last night I went to bed as usual, did a bit of the daily crossword and then smiled at Colin, said goodnight to him, put the light out and settled down to sleep. I very rarely remember my dreams, but on this occasion I seemed to wake up around three in the morning I remember distinctly the red projection clock figures on the ceiling: 3:05am. I was aware of a weight to my right, and there was a leather-jacketed arm across my thigh, the gauntleted hand enclosing my cock. I couldn’t move. The hand began to stroke me slowly and I was rock hard in his leather grip. The figure moved closer against me until I could feel shiny black leather all down my body. He was lying almost on top of me now, the hard crash helmet nuzzling at the side of my head, the studs of the leather jacket pressing into my chest, his leather jeans along my leg, the heavy boots over my feet and that sexy bulge pushed hard against my thigh.
I came. It was one of the best orgasms I’d ever had pure, horny black leather.
The next thing I was aware of was the morning sunlight in the bedroom and the tea maker gurgling. I sat up, and looked at Colin. He was exactly where he’d been when I’d gone to bed. Of course it had been a dream. A very, very sexy dream.
It wasn’t until about half an hour ago, when I was making the bed, that I noticed the drying spunk on his right leather gauntlet.
It may be that I’ve started sleepwalking. But if that’s not the case, then there are going to be some very interesting nights ahead...