Leather has always been one of my greatest perversions: the blacker, tighter, and shiner the better. Leather jeans ('pants' to you Americans) are, without doubt, one of my all-time biggest sex-objects - it's impossible to express in words how intensely they turn me on. I've frequently walked into things while watching a passing biker, and gone miles out of my way following them on my CBR 600 just to get a look at their leather-clad thighs. The tighter and more bulging a guy's leather jeans are, the more my standards go out of the window (I'd cruise Quasimodo if his leathers were pervy enough...)
* * *
I'd made special preparations for Derek. He'd told me that the single thing he was into more than anything else was leather. He wasn't particularly interested in bondage, or any of my other main turn-ons - just leather - and the more the better. So I'd raided my wardrobe and brought all my leather gear - every bit - up to the spare bedroom.
When he arrived, he was dressed in a tee shirt and jeans, and the first thing I got him to do was strip completely, in the playroom. As always, I was in my full biker kit, and I slowly pulled on a pair of thin, tight, black leather gloves. I stroked my gloved hands gently all over his naked body for a while, then put my arms around him and pulled him to me tightly, so he could feel my jacket and jeans against his skin. He ran his hands over me and I could feel his hard cock pressing against my crotch. He was licking the collar of my jacket and getting very turned on.
We played with each other like that for quite a while, and often his hand would go to his cock and he'd start wanking himself - but each time I'd move it away to stop him. After a bit I took him next door to the bedroom. His eyes lit up when he saw the bed - it was totally covered by a pile of leather jeans, jackets, shorts, salopettes, shirts, hoods - you name it, it was there - and on a chair by the side of the bed there was even more leather gear.
I pushed him onto the bed. He landed face up in the centre of the pile of gear, and I started to wrap it around him. Before long he was completely enclosed in black leather - there were jeans around his legs and arms; jackets over his chest and stomach; hoods wrapped around his bare feet; shorts between his thighs and covering his cock and balls; and another pair of jeans tightly enclosing his head. I piled more gear from the chair on top of him until he disappeared completely under the pile of black leather. He was writhing inside the gear, groaning with pleasure, opening and closing his legs, curling up and straightening out again, feeling the sexy black leather all over his body. Whenever I saw a square inch of naked skin I moved the gear around until he was completely covered again. After a while, I pushed my hand into the heaving pile, felt around until I found his cock, and then - the shiny leather shorts still enclosing it - I very slowly stroked it until he came. I didn’t take long...
* * *
Years ago, when I was living in Birmingham, I used to enjoy riding my bike around the city streets very late at night. I wasn't really cruising - I used to write computer programs into the small hours, and if I got stuck on something, I found that going out for a spin on the bike often enabled me to think about the problem while I was riding, and get it sorted out. Being an incurable fetishist I wore bike boots, black leather jeans and a heavy metal belt nearly all the time anyway (I still do) - so all I had to do was grab my helmet and jacket and I was in full kit.
One autumn night around midnight I was working on a difficult bit of assembler code and getting nowhere, so I jumped on the bike and rode into town. As usual there wasn't much traffic about and so when a bike pulled up alongside me at some red traffic lights I was a bit startled - I'd been lost in my thoughts. When I looked at the rider I almost had an orgasm. He was a wet dream of a leatherboy - leather gloves, studded jacket, and fuck-off bike boots over some of the tightest, shiniest, horniest leather jeans I'd ever seen in my life. This was a boy I couldn't pass up on, although as far as I knew he was straight, and not in the least bit interested. I smiled what I hoped was my sexiest grin and said the first thing that came into my mind. It wasn't the best chat-up line in the world. "Fucking shit mate, you look good enough to eat in those leathers!"
He didn't reply - but slowly opened the dark visor of his helmet - and I stared open-mouthed. He was wearing a black leather mask under the lid. At that very moment the lights changed and he roared off down the road. I slammed the bike into first and set off in hot pursuit. His bike was much faster than mine, and he could have left me in a cloud of dust - but I noticed that he kept a steady hundred yards or so in front of me. I got caught by some more lights that he'd got through and sat there fuming because I thought I'd lost him - but when I rounded the next corner there he was in the distance. He'd slowed down for me.
We drove around for ages going nowhere and then, abruptly, I came upon him stopped by the side of the road. I pulled up alongside him and he said: "What d'you want to do about it then?"
I couldn't think of anything to say, so again I replied with the first thing that came to mind. "I want to lick every square inch of your leathers - very very slowly." (I must point out that this was in the days when I was bottom...)
Instead of replying, he took off again, and I followed at high speed. We were bombing down the Coventry Road, and then he turned down a small straight road and accelerated away. I thought he'd been playing me along and that now, having got tired of the game, he'd left me. But as I came towards the end of the street I saw his bike parked at the side of the road. He was nowhere to be seen. I pulled up, switched the ignition off, and looked around. The front door of the nearest house was standing slightly open. My heart rate soared as I got off the bike and slowly walked up the short path to the open door. I pushed it gently and said: "Hello?" There was no reply. I closed it behind me. Off to the left was a sitting room - the lights were off and there was no-one in there - and in front of me was a staircase. Breathing hard, I slowly began to climb it.
When I got to the top all the room doors were closed except one, which was standing ajar, with a reddish-yellow light coming from behind it. I headed carefully for it, knocked on the door and, when there was no reply, pushed it open and went in.
The biker was standing in the middle of the room, just as I'd seen him on the bike - he still had his helmet on. As I entered, he slowly unfastened the lid and lifted it off his head. The leather mask covered his entire head, with holes only for the eyes, nose and mouth. Without taking his eyes off me, he threw the helmet onto the bed at the side of the room, parted his legs, and put his hands together on the tops of his head. Not a word had been spoken, but I knew an invitation when I saw one.
My own helmet joined his on the bed, and I knelt down in front of him. For a while I just looked at him - he was a stunningly sexy boy: slim, with muscular thighs, and his leather jacket emphasised his slight V-shape wonderfully. But it was his leather jeans, and the gentle, round bulge at his crotch that my eyes were riveted to.
After a few moments, I lowered my head to his boots, and began to lick them. They were Gaernes - black leather with six side straps, chrome buckles and steel toecaps. I licked every square millimetre of the leather, chrome and steel - first his left one, and then his right. Then, instead of going on to his leather-clad legs, I stood up and began to lick his jacket. I started with the back, sucking each individual strand of the leather fringe into my mouth, running my tongue over his shoulders, into his armpits, along his sleeves (I gently took each arm, one at a time, from his head and held it so that I could get to the leather there). I licked up his sides, around to the front, over his chest, along the heavy chrome zip, and finally right around the chrome-studded belt - including the insides of the belt loops).
When I stood back to look at him again I noticed that the bulge in his jeans was now no longer as gentle and round - in fact it was considerably more pronounced and defined. His jeans were smooth-grained horse hide - intensely black and recently polished to a brilliant shine - and the boy-warm leather moulded itself to the contours of his body as if it had been poured on from a bottle. The two lights in the room - one red, the other yellow - created coloured reflections in a line across the upper edge of his semi-erect cock, which was lying horizontally across his left thigh; and the round bulge of his balls lying further down the same thigh was highlighted on the right and faded into deep blackness towards the inside seam of his jeans. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to lick those bulges - to feel the leather under my tongue, knowing that this sexy leatherboy's cock and balls was mere millimetres away beneath those horny black leather jeans.
I looked at his legs. The leather over his thighs and calves was stretched tight by the muscles underneath, but around his knees lots of small creases ran around the sides to the back. I was going to get into every one of those. Then I noticed that the stitching of the inside and outside seams of his jeans was white. I'd never seen that before, and it looked very horny. It was as if he'd specified white stitching to make guys look at his legs and want to touch them....
I got back to the matter in hand and, beginning at the back, just above his boots, I very slowly licked the leather upwards towards his arse. His bum was like a shiny black apple - round and firm, tightly encased by the leather, and with that white stitching disappearing down between his cheeks to the blackness between his legs. There were two zip pockets at the back - both neatly closed - and I ran my tongue around the fasteners, and pushed it between the two smooth, doubled leather lips to get to the ribbed metal of the zip beneath.
The smooth leather over his arse was warm and yielding, and I spent a long time working my way downwards first over one cheek and then the other. I pushed my tongue as far as it would go between the tops of his thighs to lick the back of his perineum - but he didn't open his legs to let me any further in.
Having done the back, I settled in for the main course - the fronts and insides of his leather-jeaned legs and, ultimately, the bulges over his cock and balls. Again, I started at the bottom, just above his boots. By this time my tongue must have been black - but I didn't care. Very slowly, savouring every second, I licked my way up his left calf, over the smooth front of his knee, and into each of those little creases at the sides - then went back to do the other leg. This time, however, I didn't stop when I reached his knee, but continued, getting slower and even more meticulous in my licking - up the front and inside of his right thigh. By the time I got to the top my own cock was threatening to burst the seams of my jeans and I was so horny I could have screamed - but I finished that thigh, licking under his zipped-up leather jacket as far as I could.
I'd been looking at - and concentrating on - just the part of him that I was licking at the time, and I hadn't seen the whole thing for a while; so before I started on his left thigh I knelt back and looked. I'd intended to start with his masked face and slowly scan down his figure to his boots - but his crotch caught my attention and held it like an iron vice: his cock was now fully hard - and the bulge was unbelievable. It stretched along the front of his thigh to within an inch of the outside seam of his jeans - and was stretching the tight black leather out so much that I almost lost it right there and then, and buried my face in it. However, I managed to control myself enough to look up into his face - even though the leather mask hid his features I could tell that he was smiling at me - before I bent forward and applied my tongue to the one part of him that I hadn't yet licked.
Intentionally torturing myself, I worked my way up his thigh painfully slowly - licking, caressing and worshipping the leather of that hunky, sexy biker - feeling the white-stitched inside seam and the smooth, muscle-stretched horse hide under my tongue. Up, up - until I was there at his balls. I licked under the bulge first, trying to get to his perineum which I hadn't been able to reach from the back. He opened his legs much wider for me and, turning around so I was facing the same way as he was, I bent my head back and nuzzled into the warm, black space between the tops of his legs, licking the insides of his thighs and the seam which ran from between his arse cheeks and connected with the bottom of the zip fly. I spent a long time there, and I almost came several times as my entire face was covered by his tight-jeaned thighs and I breathed in the sexy leatherboy smells. I was in paradise.
Eventually I came out, turned around again and reverently touched the tip of my tongue to the bulge of his balls. The biker closed his legs together - which made the bulge stand out even more prominently. I licked all around it, tickling and teasing his balls with my tongue and lips, at the same time running my fingers gently up and down his legs. Finally I came to the major prize - his cock.
It lay there, mouth-wateringly inviting. Parting my lips, I placed them around it so that the horizontal bulge was between them. Then with my tongue, I began to lick it. I began at the base and slid my mouth slowly along the length of it - licking, biting gently with my teeth, and caressing it with my lips. When I got to the cock head, I stayed there for a while, teasing it lovingly. I put my right hand flat between the tops of his thighs (I had to force it in there gently as his legs were pressed together tightly). The leather enclosing my hand felt so horny as he squeezed it tightly between his thighs. With the fingers of my other hand I began to tickle and tease his balls. Before I knew what was happening I was cumming. With rhythmic jerks of my cock, my spunk shot out into my jeans as I worshipped that sexy biker boy's leather. I didn't stop though - I continued to work on him. Moments later, with a quiet groan, he rocked on his feet and bent his knees slightly, and gently cradled my head in his leather-gloved hands as he succumbed to my teasing, tickling, rubbing, sliding, mouth and fingers. He thrust his hips, and the front of his tight leather jeans filled with hot, sticky spunk. Even through the thickness of the leather, I could feel it jetting out of the end of his cock. I continued milking him through the leather until he was empty.
After a while, I got up without a word, looked at him for a moment, and retrieved my helmet from the bed. Before I left, I kissed him gently on the shoulder of his leather jacket, and whispered, 'Thanks.'
I almost dropped my drink when I saw him. He was leaning against the back wall, and although the lighting in the club was dim, I could see very clearly: he was wearing a complete German SS uniform, in shiny black leather. German leather jacket, tight leather breeches with a white stripe down the outside of the legs, skintight black leather gloves, and jack boots. I had never seen an SS uniform before (apart from in pictures), let alone a leather one. God, he looked horny.
Now I know there are a lot of politics associated with things like the SS, or skinheads – but I have no truck at all with the politics - with nazis, or faschists or any of the other political extremists - taken purely as a fetish object, I reckon a leather SS uniform is horny. Very, very horny.
Anyway, there he was, laughing and smiling with another guy by the back wall. His friend was also in leather, but not SS uniform. This one had an ankle-length black leather coat on, which hung open, revealing underneath remarkable leather jeans - it was as if the legs were a couple of feet too long for him, and had been pulled up: they were tucked inside combat boots at the bottom, and formed loose, deep folds and creases up his calves, over his knees, and up his thighs. It wasn't a question of the jeans' being too big - they fitted him perfectly at the waist - it was just the legs that were very, very loose. I'd never see jeans like this before. The effect was so incredibly pervy it made me feel weak at the knees.
I felt very frustrated - I wanted to play with either of these guys - but it looked like they were together, and my experience had been that couples weren't often available. But, casting caution to the winds, I approached them.
I decided to address the one in the SS uniform, as he looked more obviously a top than the other one. I stood facing him and, with my eyes respectfully lowered, waited patiently for a break in their conversation.
"Hello," said SS, "what have we got here?" He had rich voice, and he actually had a slight German accent.
"A biker, by the look of it," replied his friend. "I think he likes you, Karl." Both of them appeared to be German.
They both ran their eyes down my body. "Hmm. Nice leathers, and you fill them well. What's your name, boy?"
I told them.
"I'm Karl, and this in Gunter. Why have you come to us?"
"Because your gear turns me on like crazy, Sir," I replied. "Leather is just about my biggest turn-on".
"Yeah? Kneel down. I think perhaps you should have a better look?"
I did as he requested. He put his hand on my hair and held my head just inches from his black leather crotch. I wanted to reach out with my tongue and lick the bulging leather; to bury my face in it and feel the sexy black smoothness of those pervy leather breeches, but he held me inches away.
To Gunter, he said something in German. Gunter chuckled, and said, "Jah". They were discussing me and I didn't understand a word. I even found that horny. Then Karl turned to me again. "What is it that you like doing?"
I explained to them that the look, feel and smell of leather turned me on most of all; but that I was also into bondage; being controlled; tickling; breath control; cum-control. Apologetically I told them that I wasn't into pain of any kind, nor fucking. I expected them to lose interest when they heard this, but they talked to each other in German again for a while, and then Karl pulled me to my feet. He looked into my eyes. "Well," he smiled, "I usually enjoy hurting boys..."
My face fell.
"... but," he continued, his smile broader now, "for you I think we make an exception."
* * *
Their house was fantastic: detached, set in its own grounds, and their 'playroom' (a very large space in the cellar) looked like a medieval dungeon - there were even suits of armour standing around. It was like being in a castle - and it must have cost a fortune. Large pieces of heavy bondage equipment stood around looking very sinister.
Karl took me into the centre of the room, told me to strip, and then made me kneel down again. He stood in front of me, and with Gunter behind me, they squeezed me between their leather-clad bodies. Gunter pulled his leather coat around me - I was completely enveloped in black leather. I ran my hands over their legs - the contrast between the folds of Gunter's loose jeans and Karl's skintight leather breeches was amazing. I slid my fingers up the outside of Karl's thighs, gripping the two floppy pieces at the sides of his breeches, and using them to pull his bulging crotch into my face. The thick, smooth leather felt wonderful under my lips. Lower down his legs, the jackboots were polished to a mirror shine, the hard, stiff leather unbelievably horny against my bare thighs. Against my ear I could feel Gunter's bulging crotch, bursting with hard, horny cock - and I reached behind me and pulled his creased, loose leather-jeaned legs closer so I could feel them all the way down my back. That was an extraordinarily pervy moment, being pressed tightly between two leatherguys in such horny gear. And the smell of leather in the enclosed space created by Gunter's coat, was overwhelming.
After a while they lifted me bodily and dropped me onto a full-sized rack. Working together they quickly fitted thick leather cuffs to my wrists and ankles, and began slowly to turn the wheel, stretching me. Happily they stopped before I started to scream, when I was pleasantly - and helplessly - taut. I couldn't move a muscle.
Karl sat on the edge of the rack, put his tight leather-gloved hand over my mouth and pulled my head round so that I was looking directly at him. He smiled cruelly - then, still looking at me - he barked something in German to Gunter. Gunter replied, and brought him a riding crop.
I opened my eyes wide - I'd told them I wasn't into pain! But I needn't have worried: Karl just tapped it on my thighs and cock, saying things all the time in German, and then brought it down hard on his own leather-covered thigh. He chuckled when I jumped in fright. It was amazingly horny to see him there in full black leather SS uniform, his blue eyes sparkling under his peaked cap, speaking German at me and playing with the crop in his hand. My cock was rigid. It was strange – although pain turns me off totally, the thought that he could make me scream if he chose to, was unbelievably horny.
He and Gunter discussed something briefly, and then Karl spoke to me in heavily-accented English. "So, my little prisoner," he said slowly, "Gunter will ... ah … entertain you for a while." He stood up, and Gunter climbed onto the rack, kneeling with his thighs astride my head. He reached down with a hand behind my head, and pulled. My face was pressed hard into his crotch, his stiff cock pressing against my forehead, and my nose and mouth lost in the folds and creases of his perineum. He closed his thighs tightly, clamping my head immovably between them, and the soft, flexible leather moulded itself around my face, cutting off my air totally. I heaved and struggled, trying to breathe in, but the leather sealed around my mouth and nose perfectly. I couldn't breathe.
After a few moments I started to panic, and he allowed me to get a breath or two - and then pulled my head back up to his crotch again. I was being suffocated with loose, black leather jeans - and it was wonderful. He never left it for too long, always allowing me to get some air just when I thought I couldn't take another second.
They played with me for a long time on the rack - using their leather to turn me on. They lay on top of me, made me lick their jeans and breeches, feel their hard cocks under the shiny black hides; they wanked me slowly with their leather-gloved hands; they stood out of reach and played with each other slowly and sensuously, allowing me to watch but not touch; they clamped their gloved hands over my eyes and mouth; they wrapped another pair of black leather breeches around my head and kissed me through the leather; they did all kinds of things to get me horny and make me need to cum. By the time they finished I was desperate.
Then they released me from the rack and played cat-and-mouse with me. I was unrestrained, but there were two of them. They would plan their tactics in German so I couldn't understand, and one - usually Gunter - would grab me, getting me in a head-lock or forcing my arms behind my back, holding me helpless while Karl gripped my balls or stroked my cock until I was close to cumming. But, with a sadistic smile, he always stopped just too soon. Then they would let me go, only to jump me again after a few seconds.
Finally they got me on the floor, handcuffed and with my legs strapped together, stood over me in their horny leathers, and put a booted foot each on my neck, and balls. Then, together they got their cocks out and wanked themselves off over me. Their spunk coated my chest, stomach and thighs.
When they'd recovered, they released my hands and unstrapped my feet, and suddenly dived on me, getting me between them again. Holding my head, Gunter forced me to lick Karl's leather breeches while Karl wanked me off hard and fast. I didn't have time to fight, and almost instantly I shot explosively and convulsively all over their leathers. We rolled around for a while - me sliding against their sweat- and spunk- lubricated leathers.
They held the door open for me, and Gunther smiled. “Nächstes Mal werden wir dir große Schmerzen bereiten”. They both laughed.
I’ve since looked that up and, horny as they were, I’m not going back...
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