Colin is a good friend and a seriously perverted boy. I mean, anybody who goes bungee-jumping blindfolded, and likes being strapped into one of those chairs inside three concentric steel circles and spun round at high speed - again blindfolded - is in need of therapy. He's a biker, loves leather, rubber, and - most of all - bondage. His idea of a fun afternoon is to come round here, put on a skintight rubber suit, get hogtied and hooded, put into a canvas mail sack, hoisted up off the floor, spun around a bit, and left for a few hours to contemplate his navel. I decided one day that to take him for a trip into town, and a look around the second-hand market would be nice.
So I made some … adjustments to a few items of biker gear of mine. First, I fitted a leather jacket with a small padlock to prevent the zip being pulled down. Next, I altered a pair of leather jeans in the same way. Now I needed some way to secure his hands that wouldn't be especially noticeable in public: I already had a strong leather belt with welded 'D' rings at each side, so I attached a single ratchet handcuff to each of the two rings, on short chains which went through the inside of the jacket so that the cuffs were inside the pockets. I made the left-hand chain slightly longer than the right so that I’d be able to release or re-lock that hand more quickly and easily.
Taking an old but serviceable pair of short leather gloves, I superglued the sides of the fingers together.
Next, his head. We'd be going into town on my bike, so he'd be wearing a crash-helmet - I decided it would be be one with the blacked-out visor I use for kidnap scenes. But what to do when we got there? I had an idea. I took a pair of dark glasses, and smeared grease on the inside of each lens. By trial and error I got the amount right so that he'd be able to see enough to avoid walking into things, but he wouldn't be able to see any details at all. I also attached a thin but strong piece of elastic to the arms of the glasses - it would be hidden under his hair, but it would prevent his getting them off without a lot of trouble. I was pleased with my preparations so far.
On the day, I'd told Col to bring his tightest rubber suit with him. When he arrived, I inserted a butt-plug, and when he’d put the rubber suit on I sealed its short legs to his thighs carefully with duct tape. Then I locked him into the modified bike leathers, put the belt on him (but didn't cuff his hands yet as that's a bit unsafe on the bike), and fastened the helmet onto his head. I guided him onto the bike, and we set off.
I parked down the road from the market, just outside the gents toilet, and led him inside, guiding him as he couldn't see anything through the helmet's visor. Huddersfield market is very busy on a Saturday - there were people everywhere - but there was no-one in the toilet, so I could swap his helmet for the sunglasses and cuff his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket with no problem. After securing the helmets to the bike, we walked to the market.
It was a hot summer day, and after we’d walked around for a few minutes I suggested a drink might be nice, so we stopped at a pavement cafe. I released Col’s left hand and we sat down. “Ahh...” he said, feeling the butt-plug again. I had a coffee while Col drank the two large glasses of Coke I bought for him (with some difficulty as he’s right-handed. That’s why I’d made his left hand more easy to release). I asked him what he could see through the sunglasses.
"Not a lot. I can make out the table, and you're a blurry dark shape, but that's all."
Excellent, I thought.
We wandered around the market, he following me closely, and I pointed out various things of interest (knowing full well that he couldn't see them). At one point I met a friend - a lad called Sean - and introduced him to Col. We chatted for a while, Sean totally unaware that Col couldn't see him.
After the market, I suggested another drink. Col didn't particularly feel like one, but I insisted. It was when I pointed out that there were in fact two more glasses of Coke on the table, that he realized what I was up to. Col does not have a particularly strong bladder, and I knew that after four glasses he was going to need to pee. Of course I had no intention whatsoever of letting him. I watched as he finished the drinks, and then we set off again for a walk around the art gallery - there was an exhibition of Hockney photographs I wanted to see - it was only on for one weekend - and I knew he badly wanted to see them as well, as David Hockney is one of Col's favourite artists. It must have been very frustrating for the lad trying to see them through the grease-smeared glasses. He pleaded with me to take them off him - just for a minute or two, so he could see the pictures - but I just smiled sweetly and whispered, "no."
When I'd had a good look at the exhibition, having made suitable impressed noises at various times (which seriously annoyed him), I took him to the gallery cafe. By this time he was getting decidedly uncomfortable, but I made him drink another large glass (of orange juice this time – he was tired of Coke).
Back at the gents toilet (even the smell in there made him want to pee more urgently) I quickly swapped his glasses for the helmet again, unlocked his wrists, and we rode off. As it was a nice day, I thought a trip to a local beauty spot was in order.
High up on the moors, the Wychdale Force is - by local standards anyway - a large waterfall. In the spring the rockface around it is covered with Rhodedendrons, and it's very impressive. This was early August, so they were no longer in flower, but the waterfall was as magnificent as ever. Through the smeared glasses, Col couldn't really appreciate the beauty of the scene, but he could hear it very well. The rushing roar of the falling water was very loud - and had an unfortunate effect on my captive boy. He stood facing the fall - we were the only people there today - and suddenly his face screwed up. "Please - I have got to pee."
"Don't be silly," I said. I stood behind him and gently pressed his stomach.
"Aaargh! You bastard! Don't do that!"
I took my hands away, made sure there was no-one else around, and squeezed his cock through the layers of leather and rubber. It was hard. "Ok - I won't. Have a pee if you want."
His face screwed up again. "I – I can't! Undo my hands. Please?"
"Uh-huh," I said, shaking my head.
"Ok - I'll keep it in, somehow." He replied, furious.
"You do that, Col." I chuckled.
We got back on the bike again, and set of down the track. It was full of potholes, and on the way here I'd carefully avoided them all - but now I powered the bike and drove into every single one. We bounced up and down on the seat, and then I heard a wail from behind me. The potholes were working well on both his arse and his bladder. I'd ordered Col to keep his hands around my waist at all times when we were on the bike, and I felt him grip me and squeeze manically. At the same time a long, drawn-out moan came from behind me. He'd just lost control.
I continued to drive the bike over all the potholes as he pissed helplessly into the rubber suit. I hoped the seals at the bottom of the legs held, although I wasn't too worried - those leather jeans of mine had had lots of things in them before now.
By the time we got to the end of the track, he had emptied himself. "Oh shit," he said.
I pulled over and stopped at the side of the road, and turned round to him. "How's it feel?" I asked.
"Oh fuck. I'm swimming back here."
"Yeah? Better get off and walk around a bit then."
"NO!!"
"I insist," I smiled.
I helped him off the bike and we walked along the lay-by. He was walking very oddly.
"Oh shit, this feels incredibly strange. It's like there's a couple of gallons of water down there - and it's going cold!"
"Hehe. Ok - let's get back home."
We rode back to my house, and went up into the blackroom. I tied him to the posts, took his leather jeans down, and wanked him off through the bulging, sloshing thin rubber. He had an intense orgasm, and only after that did I unlock the rest of his gear and allow him to go and shower.
It can be fun to spend a pleasant summer afternoon around here.
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