The Telemachus Story Archive

Diary of a Rent Boy
Part 2 - 2017
By Hooder

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Diary Of a Rent Boy - Part 2

20 th October

Christmas again. Or so you’d think – the cards and mince pies are in the bloody shops already. They try it on earlier every fucking year.

Seems to be the time of year for beginners and ‘curious’ straights too. Tony was young, about 18 or so. Never been with a rent boy before (never been with anybody , come to that), and very nervous about it all. I asked him what he wanted to do, what his deepest, darkest fantasy was. I suppose I was expecting thoughts of kidnap, being held helpless while being fucked by a gang of leatherguys or something of the sort. He went quiet for a while and, thinking he’d bottled out, I left the computer to go make a cup of tea. When I got back there was this little message: “I really want to be in the same room as a leather biker. Just 2 look at. Maybe 2 touch, maybe not. I don’t know yet. That’s all. You won’t be interested in me.”

I replied that, on the contrary, I’d be very happy to be his own private leather biker for an hour or two if he’d like that - it sounded like fun. He asked me how much it would cost him.

I leaned back in my chair and scratched my balls through my leather jeans. There was something about him that reminded me of myself when I’d been about twelve years old: I’d known even then that leather and bikers turned me on, but I hadn’t had the slightest idea what it meant, or what I could do about it. And that little message he’d sent – I could imagine him now, he was probably wanking himself silly just at the thought.

Well, it was the Christmas season, give or take a couple of months. “Ten quid,” I sent back. I’d like to point out that this is not my usual rate – I’m sexy, but I’m not cheap.

Long story short, he was due to arrive at 7pm on the following evening. I thought that seeing me with my bike might turn the boy on, so I wheeled the Hyabusa out of the garage and into the playroom (it wasn’t the first time I’d done this, though I’d got stick from Vomit, my punk friend, flatmate and occasional lay, regarding alleged tyre and oil marks across the parquet floor. I’d told her to fuck off.) I put my tightest leather bike jeans on, white socks and Fieldsheer boots, studded belt, tight white teeshirt, bike gloves and leather jacket, and had the Roof helmet with the black visor ready on the bed. I waited.

7 o’clock came and went, and again I thought he’d bottled out. But no, the doorbell rang at ten past. Turns out he’d been waiting outside trying to pluck up the courage to ring the bell. I put the lid on, closed the visor and answered the door.

Bugger me, he was gorgeous. Small lad, mop of shaggy blond hair, blue eyes, and cock-sucking lips if ever I saw any. As soon as he saw me he swallowed, and I distinctly heard him whisper “Oh fuck...”

I led him into the playroom, and sat him in the chair. I’d put most of the more worrying heavy equipment and other bits and pieces away behind the rubber curtain at the end, so the place wouldn’t look too threatening. I leaned against the Hyabusa, my thumbs hooked in the pockets of my leather jeans, fingers resting lightly on the base of my bulge.

It was like watching a stop-motion film: his cock visibly grew before my eyes until it was pushing the front of his denim jeans out into a bulge that would have poked your eye out. He suddenly became aware of this, and put his hands over his crotch to hide it. His face went as red as a beetroot.

“So,” I said, lifting the black visor of my helmet, “bikers turn you on, then?”

He nodded. I think he didn’t trust himself to speak.

I smiled. “Good. They turn me on too. Especially the leather.” I ran my hand over my jacket and slowly down the front of my jeans. “Well, I’m your leather biker right now. You can say anything to me, do anything you like to me, or tell me to do anything you want. I will do exactly what you tell me, and I won’t touch you unless you tell me to. Anything at all. Go for it.”

Now you could be forgiven for thinking that this scenario sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry – but not so. In fact it was turning me on like crazy, and nothing had even happened yet. This cute boy clearly saw me as some kind of leather god – his wettest dream personified – and his eyes were devouring me. It felt good, but more than that, I actually wanted to give this boy pleasure. I was his first-ever leather biker and, whie he knew he was under no pressure to do anything (he was free to get up and walk out whenever he wanted) he could also do whatever he liked with me. It felt indescribably horny knowing that I, and the leather gear that I’ve got such an intense fetish for myself, was turning this boy on like fuck.

We stayed like that for perhaps another five minutes, him just looking at me, and then he seemed to come to a decision. He cleared his throat, and asked me to stand away from the bike and turn round so I was facing away from him. I did as he asked, and heard him get up and come over to me.

He stood behind me for a while without moving, and then I felt a tentative touch on my leather jacket, in the middle of my back. I could feel his hand shaking through the jacket as he stroked his fingers slowly across my shoulder blades and then downwards. His other hand joined the first, and then he paused to touch my studded belt, feeling the chrome pyramids for a few seconds before continuing onwards to run his fingers down the outsides of my legs and over my bike boots.

He straightened up again, put both arms around my waist and hugged me gently. I think he was licking my leather jacket lightly. His palms ran over the front of it and his fingertips traced the shape of my belt buckle.

Then his hands were on my crash helmet. I could hear the quiet sounds of his fingers sliding over the shiny black fibreglass. The room went darker as he closed the visor, and he turned me round again to face him. For a few seconds he stared at his reflection in the dark visor, and then he knelt down in front of me.

He looked up at me from his kneeling position, one hand held in front of him to hide the fact that he was playing with his cock through his jeans. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a look of total adoration in a boy’s eyes before. It was almost as if I were made of something that would shatter if he moved too quickly or touched me too hard.

After a while his gaze fell to my crotch. It was almost exactly at his eye level, and about twelve inches away from him. I looked down at it too. The bulge was round – almost spherical – and about the size of an orange. I haven’t got the biggest cock in the world, but I’d arranged it so that it was bent down over the front of my balls to make it stick out as much as possible. When I’d gone to let Tony in it had slipped to the left-hand side, and so its outline had been clearly visible on that side. As my cock had got harder, it had tried to rise upwards and outwards, so that the result was a very impressive 3-D bulge stretching the leather out in a very satisfyingly horny way. Fom my perspective above it, the whole thing stuck out perhaps three and a half inches from my body – which, in those tight leather jeans is not half bad for me.

It appeared that it was all right for Tony as well because his eyes hadn’t left it for the last five minutes. Slowly he raised his hands and placed them flat on the outsides of my legs. With his fingers he felt along the little creases behind my knees, and then he ran his hands slowly up to my hips and down again. He did this several times on the outsides of my thighs, and then – just using his fingertips – he did the same thing up the front of them. He was careful to avoid touching my bulge, and it seemed like he was worshipping the leather and making this last as long as he could. He was concentrating hard on the point where his fingertips contacted the leather, following it closely with his eyes as it travelled up my thighs. It was clear that he was drinking in the experience, watching the way the light reflected from the moving depression his fingers were making, and feeling the smooth, dense black grain of the horsehide jeans against his skin. He looked as if he were hypnotised.

This was all very well but I was itching for him to get to my cock. With this beautiful boy stroking my leathers I’d been dripping precum for ages and I was as horny as hell. I longed for the feel of his hands on my aching cock. I smiled behind the black visor at the thought that this was a very refined form of cum-control.

Having stroked his hands up and down the front of my thighs for a while, he turned his attention to the insides. He crossed his hands, rotating them so that they were facing away from each other, and – very lightly – followed the inside seams of my jeans with his fingers: up, up, until they met under my balls. I was going cross-eyed behind the black visor, but his hands traced the seams downwards again. He repeated this process until I thought I was going to to mad. By the time he’d plucked up the courage to go further than this I was desperate to feel something – anything - on my cock.

I stood there, as horny as fuck, as he stared again at my aching dick throbbing under the leather. I honestly don’t think he had any idea of the torture he was putting me through – and I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him.

He placed his right hand flat against the inside of my thigh, right at the top, and asked me to close my thighs together tightly. This was the first time he’d spoken for ages, and I did as he requested – I closed my booted feet so that my legs were pressed tightly together. The feeling of his hand squeezed between the tops of my thighs was incedibly horny. Then with his thumb, he began to stroke my balls lightly. He went from side to side, gliding it across the smooth, shiny, stretched leather and occasionally exploring the creases in my jeans at the sides of my balls. I looked down at his crotch – he was no longer bothering to hide it – and for a moment I thought he’d cum – there was a large spreading patch around the end of his cock – but then I realised it was pre-cum. This sexy boy was as horny as I was…

Then, very slowly, he moved his head towards me, closed his eyes, and licked along the outline of my cock with the tip of his tongue. Gradually he gained confidence and his licking got faster and more general, taking in my entire bulge. Suddenly he thrust his head into my crotch and just breathed in the smell of a biker’s sexy black leather jeans.

After a while he stood up again. “Have you got a bilndfold you can put on? I don’t want you to see me for a while.”

“I’ve got one that I can put on under the helmet if you like. Don’t even need to take it off.”

“That’s perfect,” he said.

I rooted around behind the curtain and came out with something that looks like a miniature version of the visor on my helmet, but it’s completely opaque and has arms on the side, like sunglasses. I use it occasionally when I do a kidnap scene with the bike. I slid it inside my helmet and over my eyes.

I think he was inspecting it to make sure I couldn’t see anything. “Great.”

I heard him getting undressed, then he guided me to the restraint table – the only thing that had been too big to fit behind the curtain. He asked me to get onto it.

I felt the table, climbed on and lay down. Then he got on as well. He lay down on top of me. He moved his naked body and sighed in pleasure at the feel of my leathers against his bare skin. Gripping my wrists with his hands he held them down at the sides of my head, then kissed my leather jacket repeatedly, all over. He breathed in the smell of the leather as if it was the oxygen of life to him, and ran his teeth along the zips.

He let go of my hands and shuffled down until he could get to my crotch. His fingers went to work on my thighs and his mouth on my cock bulge.

I know, rent boys are supposed to have better control than most guys, but I lost it. Completely and utterly. I came in my jeans as he bit and licked and sucked the leather as my cock throbbed under it. A few seconds later he must have cum too, though I’m not quite sure how – he was suddenly breathing hard – and then he collapsed onto me.

He didn’t stay there long. As soon as he’d got his breath back he was off the table and getting dressed. I removed the blindfold and stood up. He already had his jeans on and he was pulling his teeshirt over his head. His face was red again and he was avoiding my eyes.

“That was brilliant,” I said – and I meant it.

He smiled briefly, and applied himself to putting his trainers on. He was clearly terminally embarrassed.

I walked over to him, gripped his shoulders and turned him to face me. Cupping his chin in my leather-gloved hand I lifted his head so that he had to look at me. “Tony. That was incredibly sexy. It takes a lot to make me cum unless I’m trying to – and I really wasn’t trying to then. You are a very sexy boy, and I enjoyed that more than a lot of sessions I’ve had with guys. If you ever want your own leather biker for an evening again, let me know. I’d love it.” I smiled at him, put my arms around him and gave him a hug.

He nodded, then reached into his pocket. “T-ten pounds, you said?”

I shook my head. “No charge this time.” It occurred to me that it should have been me paying him .

I sometimes wonder how I make a living.

October 31 st

Hallowe’en provided an unexpected diversion this year. As usual, I’d put my perviest black leather gear on, and had placed my scariest leather mask on the table by the front door. It was an annual amusement to open the door to small boys and scare the fuck out of them by standing there looking like some black leather demon and saying, “yesss…?” In my best Bela Lugosi voice.

I’d seen several of them off already, and then the bell rang again. I put the mask on, and opened the door. Two small boys stood there with their mouths open in shock. I didn’t even get as far as the “yessss?” - they were running down the gaden path in terror. I noticed another person beyond the gate but I didn’t get a good look at him.

An hour later the bell rang again. It was getting a bit late for kids now, I thought, but I went through the routine again anyway. But when I opened the door I was looking at a twenty-something hunk rather than a small child. He didn‘t run away - he smiled at me. “You don’t scare me,” he said. “I love the gear. Is it just for Hallowe’en, or do you put it to any other use?”

I chuckled. “You could always come in. Then you’d find out,” I said.

He did, and he did.

November 6 th

I want to die. I’m lying here in bed with the mother of a hangover and what feels like third degree burns. Vomit says that the one small burn on my left shoulder is so tiny you can hardly see it, and that, like all guys, I’m a wimp. But she would say that – it was her who put that bloody firework down at an angle. We all dived for cover but it was too late, it got me. Took us ten minutes to put the shed out and god knows where the cat is.

November 12 th

Mike was the second of the ‘beginners’. Well, he’d always been sub, but lately he’d been getting into the idea of topping, although he’d never done it before. He was seriously into edging, and he’d constructed a device which worked well on him – could he try it out on me? Sure, I said. We negotiated terms, and set up a session.

When I opened the door I found myself looking at a reasonably fit guy in full leathers, and a full-head leather mask. My cock responded instantly – I’ve always had a weakness for masked guys.

He showed me his device – it was a laptop to which were connected a small cock head vibrator, and a small box with two thin plastic arms coming out of it. There was a rubber band attached to it.

“When you’re close to cumming, the blood flow increases in your cock and it gets a little bit bigger and harder. These arms sense that and turn the vibrator off until your cock goes back to its normal thickness. Then it switches the vibrator on again. So it keeps you close to the edge of cumming. I should be able to adjust it to keep you as close to the point of orgasm as I want. Works a treat on me. I wanted to try it out on a hot boy.”

I smiled. The thing looked harmless enough. I stood between the verical wooden posts while he secured the restraints, unzipped my jeans to get everything out, and fitted his device to my cock – which was already semi-hard. He said it would take a couple of sequences to get it adjusted right.

“Have you got a hood? Works best when you can’t see.”

I nodded my head in their direction. He got one off the shelf and pulled it down over my head. Perv that I am, as soon as the black leather came down over my face my cock got completely hard in seconds.

“Right. Here we go.”

A loud hum started, and then the vibrator came to life, adding its buzzing to the sound. I thought the whole thing was unnecessarily loud, but then it wasn’t my invention. The vibrator felt wonderful – it was fixed at the base of my cock-head – and I moaned as waves of pleasure coursed through me.

Shortly I felt myself approaching orgasm – and the vibrator stopped, though the loud hum continued. I went off the boil, and the thing started up again.

It continued like this for some considerable time. I assumed Mike was watching me from the chair, and keeping an eye on the machine – I couldn’t hear anything apart from the humming and buzzing.

The device worked brilliantly. I thought to myself that I must get one of these. Over and over again it brought me close to cumming, but then stopped before I could cum. The effects of edging are cumulative, and so the vibrator was staying on for shorter and shorter times, until eventually – after what must have been an hour or so, it was working for just a couple of seconds each time before it switched off. I had been desperate to cum for ages, and wondered how much longer this was going to go on for.

Eventually – when I thought I just couldn’t take this any more and HAD to cum – the vibrator didn’t stop, and I screamed into the hood as I shot my spunk in an incredibly intense orgasm.

I felt hands removing the device. I heard him packing the thing back into his rucksack, and then the sound of ripping duct tape. He taped my left hand into a fist, and unclipped that cuff.

“Thanks,” he said – and then I heard the playroom door open and close.

It took me a while to get the tape off, then the hood, and finally to release myself from the rest of the restraints. There was no sign of him. Well, I thought, at least he’d paid me in advance.

I cleaned myself up and made some tea in the kitchen. When I went into the living room and sat down at the computer I saw a post-it note on the screen.

“This has been nicked,” it said.

I peeled it off and looked at it. Then I thought, it really could have been nicked. I didn’t know if ‘Mike’ was his real name, I hadn’t seen his face, all I had was a site profile name – which he’d undoubtedly changed my now.

I crumpled the note up, drank some tea, sat down in the armchair, and reached for the TV remote. There was another note in the centre of the TV screen. It said the same thing.

“What’s that?” Vomit was standing there with a carrier bag of shopping, and staring at the yellow note on the TV. Shit and buggery – I’d have to tell her.

“There’s another one here,” she said, pointing to my wallet on the side table. “And another.” This one was on my watch by its side.

For the next seven days I kept finding these notes all over the house – in drawers, in cupboards, on anything that was of the slightest value - there was even one on my Hyabusa motorbike in the fucking garage. And every time I found one, Vomit laid into me about being so stupid as to allow myself to be tied up and hooded by a stranger when she wasn’t in the house.

It was embarrassing. There was nothing I could say. And the worst thing was, after we realised that nothing had, in fact, been nicked, that the bitch was enjoying every fucking second of it.

December 24 th

Yay! Party tonight. Vomit’s invited her girlie friends and I’ve asked several mates to come. Much eating, and even more drinking, is planned. And Steve has promised to bring Damien! I’ve been lusting after Damien for weeks. Don’t know anything about him, but he is drop-dead gorgeous. Can’t wait to get him into the playroom. Looks like it’s going to be an interesting Christmas…

December 26 th

Fuck fuck fuck and shitting aresholes. Damien did indeed arrive. Looking amazing in the tightest leathers I’ve ever seen on anybody – and he has a body that would ooze sex in a bin liner.

Things started off well – we chatted and drank and had a bijou spliffette or two. After a couple of hours Vomit went to see the girls off – they were going on to another party somewhere else. I thought I was making good headway with Damien: he was already sitting at my booted feet playing with my bulge.

Then Vomit came back in, She’d changed into a body-hugging black leather catsuit with fuck-off boots, and was holding a whip. I saw Damien’s pupils dilate when he laid eyes on her. She glowered at him and jerked her head towards the playroom. “Now!”

Talk about shit off a shovel – I’ve never seen anybody move so fast. Damien was up and out of the room with her in seconds flat.

So I’m sitting here at the computer writing this. The rest of the guys have passed out on the floor and the settee, and apart from gentle snoring all I can hear is the sounds of Damien and that despicable woman living it up in the playroom.

And I am hatching plans for her downfall.

I hate Christmas.

January 2 nd

New Year was better. Oh yes.

With devious cunning, I got it sorted. Vomit had invited the usual suspects for the New Year’s Eve party, but a bit later on I contacted everybody except Damien and told them it was off because of a leak in the plumbing. I also asked Damien to arrive half an hour earlier than planned, when I knew that Vomit would be in her bedroom making herself look sexy for the expected crowd.

I lurked by the window and when I saw Damien arrive I opened the front door quietly and whispered that I was arranging a surprise for Vomit, so to keep very quiet and follow me into the playroom.

The ‘A’ frame makes anybody look good when they’re strapped to it – and Damien looked absolutely stunning. I smiled and put my finger to my lips conspiratorially. “Don’t make a sound. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I went back into the living room.

Vomit was just coming out of her bedroom. It has to be said that she looked amazing: high leather boots over skintight shiny black PVC jeans; no less than three studded belts; a ripped leather jacket with day-glo writing on it; piercings in her ears, lips, nose (and I knew she also had them in places you couln’t see), and bright purple hair. “Anybody here yet?”

“Come into the playroom for a minute – there’s something I want you to see.” She followed me through the door and stood open-mouthed, staring at the sight of Damien, naked, strapped to the ‘A’ frame. His pecs, six-pack and bulging thigh muscles looked beautiful. I so wanted to work on that boy.

But I didn’t waste time looking at him, I snatched the cuffs from where I’d left them by the door and grabbed Vomit’s wrists. Before she knew what was happening I’d got them locked behind her back.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Ignoring her shouts of protest I manhandled her into the cell, and locked the door. For a girl she’s pretty strong, but I’m a lot stronger. She stood there spitting fire at me.

I winked at her, and turned my attention to the hunk on the ‘A’ frame. I pulled on my leather gloves, and put my arms around the boy. I kissed him – and he returned the kiss deeply. I could feel his cock getting harder by the second. Remembering the sounds I’d heard coming from the playroom at Christmas, I guessed that young Damien was into pain, so experimentally I gripped his nipples between my fingers, squeezed, and twisted. His cock told me all I wanted to know: it grew and stiffened. He closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure. I held his balls in my hand and squeezed again, slowly. He snarled at me, and made animal sounds of a very satisfying kind. The boy liked it. He liked it a lot. Before much longer his bubble-butt – and other places - were going to be an interesting shade of red.

Vomit had stopped swearing, and appeared to be settling down to watch the show. And it was going to be a good show – I had lots of plans for Damien, and it was going to take some considerable time.

I picked up the thickest, most confining leather hood I had, unlocked the cell door and went in. I forced it over her head, and strapped it on extra tightly. A small padlock clicked into place ensured that she wouldn’t be able to get it off. I removed her wrist cuffs and got out of the cell, locking the door behind me. Vomit was tearing at the hood, desperately trying to get it off. Good luck with that, I thought.

I approached Damien, wielding a riding crop in my hand. Oh yes, it was going to be a long, complicated, and probably a very noisy session.

Vomit would hear much of it through the hood, but she was going to see none of it.

Not a fucking thing.

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