He carefully placed the flower on the ground. Then he smiled.
After a while he turned and slowly walked away.
The doorbell startled Rob. He missed the shot and swore. On the screen his character fell to the ground in a red mist as a sharply-fanged monster tore him to pieces.
“Bollocks.” He pushed his chair back hard and stomped to the door.
A delivery guy stood there holding a large parcel with an electronic clipboard on the top. “Mr Robert Sands?”
“Yeah.” Rob frowned – he hadn’t been expecting any parcel.
“Sign please.”
He checked the name on the label; yep, whatever it was, it appeared to be for him. He took the stylus and scribbled a mark on the grey surface. The guy handed him the parcel, took the clipboard and turned away.
The box was heavy. Rob closed the door and walked back thoughtfully into the living room. Still frowning, he placed it on the table and ripped it open. His frown grew even deeper as he parted the cardboard flaps and saw a brand-new – and very expensive – black leather biker jacket lying there. Slowly, he lifted it out of the box and held it up. It was very heavy, very shiny, and built like a tank. The chrome press-studs and zip shone in the light. This was no fashion jacket; it was serious motorcycle gear – and it was one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen. Rob had had a small motorbike a few years ago, before he’d wrapped it around a lamp post. He hadn’t been able to afford another one since then, but he still loved bikes. He pressed the jacket to his face and breathed in the heady scent of leather that had already begun to permeate the room. “Fuck!” He said.
Carefully, he unzipped the jacket and put it on. It fitted perfectly. There was no mirror in the living room so he ran up the stairs and gazed at himself in the one on the bedroom wall. Rob had a swimmer’s build, and the jacket accentuated his shape nicely. He’d often been called ‘cute’ but he didn’t like to think of himself as cute. He’d have preferred to be seen as macho – though he knew quite well that his blue eyes, shaggy blond hair and his boyish face were never going to make him macho. He was a pretty boy and he knew he had to live with that.
He turned the collar of the jacket up and stood with his legs apart, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his saggy black jeans. He had to admit that the top half of him looked great. He smiled. The girls were going to go for him in this.
Downstairs again he found an envelope in the bottom of the box. Inside was a letter - it had been written on an old-fashioned typewriter.
“Hello (I don’t even know your name),
I hope you like the jacket. I have more for you, but I’d like to chat to you. You don’t know me, but I assure you that I only mean you well. I’d be very grateful if you would call me sometime. It would mean a great deal to me. My number is 966213.”
Rob turned the letter over in his hands. He shook his head in bewilderment: it was a local phone number. Who was this person?
He would ring the number in a while – but right now he had other things to attend to. The leather jacket had made him horny and his cock was hard. He was going to have to have a wank.
“Hello?”
“Hi. My name is Rob. You sent me a leather jacket and asked me to call you.”
There was a pause at the end of the line. “Rob...” The guy rolled the name over in his mouth, as if he were tasting it. “Rob - that’s a nice name.”
The voice was soft and kind, Rob thought.
“Yes. Hello Rob. My name is Brian. I sent you the jacket. I would like to meet you to explain what this is all about, and I have a proposition for you, if you would consider coming to see me sometime.”
Rob thought about this. A proposition? “Yeah, ok. I can do that. What kind of proposition?”
“I’d rather talk about that face to face. I don’t live in this town, but I have the use of a house not far from you. Greenfield Road. Do you know it?”
“Yes, I know where Greenfield Road is.”
“Good. Number twenty-five.”
“Oh. Right. Well, when do you want to me to come over? I can come now if you like?”
“No,” said Brian, “Not right now. Say three o’clock this afternoon?”
“Yeah, Ok. Three o’clock. I’ll see you then.”
“Thank you. Yes. Oh, and will you wear your new jacket, please?”
“No problem.”
“Excellent. And bring a bag that will hold whatever clothes you’re wearing.”
“Oh. Ok. See you at three.
25 Greenfield Road was a town house with a small but well-tended garden. There was an intercomm on the door frame. He pressed the button.
“Hello Rob. Come in. First room on the right.” The lock buzzed and Rob let himself into a short hallway. The house had a distinct un-lived-in feel about it. He knocked on the first door and opened it.
There were two armchairs, facing each other, in the centre of the room. One was empty. In the other sat a biker, complete with dark-visored crash helmet. The guy was slim.
“Come in please – put your bag on the floor and close the door. Have a seat.”
Unsure, Rob slowly did so. “Brian?”
The guy nodded. “I apologise for the theatrics, but they are one of my requirements. May I say that you look very good in that jacket. Very good indeed.”
“Thank you. And thank you for sending it.”
“It was my pleasure.” Brian sat looking at him for a while, then continued. “Now, you’re undoubtedly wondering what this is all about. I’m going to tell you. I have no idea how you’re going to react – you may be surprised, outraged, disgusted, amused… All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say until I’ve finished, with as open a mind as you can. Will you do that for me please?”
Rob nodded slowly. “I can do that.”
“Thank you. After I’ve finished, you’re free to walk out and never speak to me again if you so wish. The jacket is yours whatever. And there are some other things for you in the boxes on the floor.
Rob looked down. At the side of the chair were two more boxes. A white tee shirt lay on top of them.
“Put the tee shirt on first, if you would – and then open the first box.”
Rob stripped to the waist, put the tee shirt on, and then fastened the leather jacket back up.
He lifted the first box onto his knee and opened it. A pair of soft, shiny black leather jeans lay inside. He lifted them out. At first sight they seemed the same type of thing as the jacket, but on closer inspection he saw that they were much thinner leather, and that they were unlined. Not only were they unlined, but the inner nap surface of the leather had been treated with something that made it as black and as perfectly smooth as the outside. It felt rubbery.
“Put them on. And with nothing underneath them, please.” There was a soft chuckle. “I promise I won’t look. Let me know when you’re decent again.” The biker turned his head away as far as he could.
The jeans were gorgeous. If he wanted them he was going to have to undress and put them on now. And he wanted them. “Ok. Don’t look.”
He stood up and took his saggy jeans off, then turned around and took his underpants off too. As he pulled the jeans on he gasped as the smooth leather and the rubbery inside surface slid sensuously over his bare skin. It felt unbelievably horny. He got them about halfway up his thighs, but they didn’t want to go any further. “I think they’re too small.” There was intense disappointment in his voice.
“No, they’re not. You may have to work them up over your thighs gently, but they will go. They’re intended to be tight. But do it carefully – the leather is stretchy, but it’s very thin.”
By lying on the carpet and sliding them up his thighs bit by bit with the flats of his hands, he finally got them on. The waist was a perfect fit. Looking down at them, his thighs looked amazing. The smooth black leather clung to his legs like a second skin. There was not a single crease anywhere. The bulge of his balls and the shape of his almost fully-erect cock was clearly visible under them, held in the gentle grip of the jeans.
“Ok. I’m decent. Well, decent-ish...”
The man turned his head back to face Rob. There was a moment’s silence, and then a sigh of pleasure came from beneath the helmet.
“There are boots in the other box. Put those on as well please. I hope they’re the right size – I’m not as good at guessing foot sizes as I am at waists and thighs.”
Rob opened the second box and took out a pair of the most beautiful, heavy biker boots he’d seen. They were thick black leather, with straps and studs. The smell of the new leather was overpowering. He put them on, fastening each strap carefully. Like the rest of the gear, they fitted perfectly. When he’d finished, he desperately wanted to look at himself.
As if the man had read his mind, he said, “There is a full-length mirror behind you.
Rob stood up and went to the mirror. His jaw dropped. He looked amazing. He was going to have to save up and get himself a bike now, somehow. Fuck, he even fancied himself looking like this. He had never imagined that he could look so sexy. His bum was round, his legs and thighs looked more muscular, his natural ‘V’ shape was accentuated by the broad shoulders and narrow waist of the leather jacket… He turned the collar up again. Oh fuck yes! His cock was now rock-hard.
“That is perfect. Oh yes...” Said the man. “You look even better than I’d hoped. Thank you. Now, if you sit down again I’ll explain.”
“I have to confess that I told you a small untruth earlier. I do live in this town – in fact I live very close to you. I’ve lived here for decades. I noticed you the day you moved in across the road, a year ago. From the very first moment I saw you I knew that you were the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. I fell desperately in love with you.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I realise that you’re probably straight – and if if you’re not it’s very unlikely you’d go for someone like me.”
Brian paused.
“So. You were a very beautiful boy – but you weren’t sexy. Well, you are very sexy, but what you usually wear is not in the least bit sexy. Now, I may not be as young as you, but I am reasonably wealthy. I don’t normally have expensive tastes - I don’t spend my money on holidays, I don’t go out much these days, so I said to myself, the one thing I would enjoy more than anything – the one thing that would make me very, very happy, and the one thing I would enjoy spending some money on – would be to see you looking stunningly sexy, in gear that appeals to me more than any other. So I bought that jacket, jeans and boots for you. If this is the only time I ever see you looking like that, it will have been worth it. Believe me, Rob, today you have made an old man more happy than you can possibly imagine.”
Rob sat on the chair, his mouth open. He was indeed straight, and his first instinctive reaction had been one of disgust. The thought of another man fancying him was not something that appealed. Not only that but he’d been dressed up in gear designed to turn the guy on.
That had been his first reaction. But this man had spent hundreds of pounds on him so far – and he had mentioned some kind of proposition... Perhaps he deserved to be heard out. He stayed seated, and continued to listen.
“What are you – nineteen? Twenty?”
“I’m twenty.”
“Twenty.” He sighed wistfully. “Twenty. A beautiful age. Young, strong, horny… Years ago I used to be a biker. All my friends were bikers and we had sex with one another every night. Wild, intense sex in black leather. I was considered very good-looking in those days.” He chuckled. “For as long as I can remember I’ve had a fetish for leather. But unlike most of the other guys I knew, who wore it to look sexy, but who’d take it off when they actually got down to things, what turned me on most was the actual leather itself. The look, the smell, the sound, the feel of it – and especially the feel of a horny boy in leather.” His hand went to his crotch for a moment but Rob didn’t see him doing anything there.
“Turning horny boys on in leather - that was what turned me on. That is what still turns me on. I was never into fucking – that was something that for some reason never interested me at all. Nor many of the other things your usual ‘leather guys’ tended to do. What I liked to do was find a boy in sexy leather gear, tie him up, and give him the most powerful, the slowest, and the most intense orgasm possible. An orgasm so amazing that it would totally blow his mind. No more than that, and no less. That is all I liked – like - to do. And believe me, Rob, I am very, very good at it.”
Rob had had a lot of sex in his life: he had fucked girls, he’d had blow jobs, hand jobs, he’d gone down on pussy, you name it. But he’d never been tied up, and he’d never had sex with anyone whose main objective was to give him the best orgasm ever. He was straight – he fancied girls, not guys – but it had always been up to him to give himself the best orgasm he could by doing the things with a girl that turned him on. And it was pretty run-of-the-mill stuff, when he thought about it. The possibility of being given an orgasm like that in what sounded like a slow, controlled way, by someone who was expert at it, was… seductive. It was very seductive indeed.
“What – what would I have to do?”
The black visor of the helmet reflected the overhead lights, the face behind it completely invisible. “You would have to let me tie you up, hood you, and then lie back and enjoy it.”
“Why tie me up?”
“Because you would want to get your hands to your cock to make yourself cum. You would need to. And, if you came, that would spoil it. To get the kind of orgasm I’m talking about, you have to go through a period of frustration. Very sexy frustration – and it’s important that you have no control over that whatsoever.”
Rob thought about this. “And you said hood me? What do you mean?”
“A leather hood. It’s just a glorified blindfold. Well, no, it’s a bit more than that. It stops visual distractions and forces you to concentrate on feeling what’s being done to you. It also makes you feel helpless, vulnerable, and horny. Very horny indeed – especially if you’re into leather.”
Rob wondered if he was ‘into leather’. And then he remembered how his cock had reacted when he’d put the leather jacket on – and when he’d put these leather jeans on as well. And when he’d seen himself in the mirror. Yes Rob, he thought, you’re into leather.
“But you don’t have to decide now. Think about it for a bit.”
Rob nodded. His cock was still hard. He was going at have a monumental wank when he got home.
“Just remember: I can give you the best orgasms you have ever had in your life. Leather orgasms.”
Three days later Rob was still thinking about it. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. He’d been wearing his new gear almost non-stop and he’d been wanking twice as much as usual.
He finally broke on a Wednesday evening.
“Hello?”
“Hi. This is Rob.”
He was sure he could hear the man smiling on the end of the phone.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said. You wouldn’t try to fuck me?”
“I told you that I have no interest in that at all. Nor in pain, nor in anything else – only in giving you an exquisite orgasm.”
Rob was quiet for a moment. Then he said: “Ok. I’ll let you do it. Once.”
“Are you sure? I do not want to pressurise you into this.”
“Rob nodded. “Yes, I want to try it.”
“Ok. When did you last cum?”
“About an hour ago. These jeans make me need to.”
“Yes I know they do. Well, listen carefully. Are you wearing them now?”
“Yes.”
“Take them off and do not wear them, or the boots, or the jacket again until you set off to come to see me. And do not cum again before then. Do you agree?”
“Yes. Ok. I won’t cum before I see you. Are you free tonight?”
The man laughed. “No. Friday afternoon, three o’clock.”
“Friday? But that’s two days away!”
“Yes it is.”
“Oh fuck. All right.”
The man gave him his real address – it was only up the road from Rob’s house.
It seemed a very long time until Friday.
He hadn’t worn his leathers for two days, and just walking up the road to the man’s house in them made him horny. By the time he got to the door his cock was hard. This house was smaller than the other one and there was a doorbell. He was about to press it when he saw a small note on the door:
“Rob – the door is unlocked. Come in. Lock it behind you. Remove this note.”
The front door closed with a quiet click, and a voice called: “Come through to the back of the house.”
Rob walked through and into a room with a padded table in the middle of it. A pair of chains hung from a beam at one end.
“Let me look at you...” The man – still in his biker leathers and helmet – stood on the far side of the table. He let out a long breath. “Oh fuck, you are beautiful.” He pointed to the table. On the black padded surface was a leather hood.
“Lie down on the table, feet that end, and put the hood on. Get comfortable.”
Rob did as he was asked. The hood was fairly loose and smelled of leather. He found he could breathe with no problem, though it felt strange to have his head completely enclosed.
A few seconds later he felt cuffs or straps being fastened around his booted ankles. These were secured to the table and he found he couldn’t move his legs any more.
Some kind of cool, smooth mitts were put over his hands – they had no fingers and when a strap was tightened they pulled his hands into fists. These were secured to restraint points by his sides. Then thick straps went over his chest, and stomach. He began to have second thoughts about this whole thing; the man could be an axe murderer.
“Now don’t worry. I know it feels strange at first to be helpless, but believe me you will get to love it. I am not going to hurt you.”
The man’s words did little to relieve his worry, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.
Rob wondered what was going to happen. He’d never had any kind of sex fully clothed before. It felt strange lying there waiting to be played with sexually.
He jumped as he felt a touch on his left leg, just above the top of his boot. Fingers stroked over the top of his calf, then the knee and the lower part of his thigh. Brian’s other hand began to do the same to his right leg. It felt nice, if a bit tickly. The man’s touch was light and teasing, and Rob was startled to find how much the thin leather jeans with the rubbery inside transmitted the lightest touch to his skin. When the fingers stroked over them it felt different to how it would have done if they had been stroking his skin directly – the friction from the sideways movement of the fingers wasn’t there, and that made the sensation very unusual. He realised that it also felt incredibly sexy.
Brian was working his way up Rob’s legs very slowly, teasing the tops and the sides of his thighs. The boy was moving slightly now, responding to the horny feelings Brian was causing. A hand went between his thighs and teased his perineum. Rob’s cock jerked. The fingers moved forward and onto his balls. Rob groaned in pleasure. His cock was rock-hard under the thin leather, and it was beginning to want touching itself.
Brian’s fingertips tickled his balls and his perineum; they ran up and down his legs, teased the backs of his knees, and traced slowly all around the cock bulge, but without touching it once. The man was unhurried, and clearly had unlimited patience.
Rob did not. His cock needed to be squeezed, rubbed, milked. He was horny and he wanted to cum. Foreplay with girls tended to be short and to the point – not much more than a prelude to the main event - interesting, but to be got through so that the fucking could begin. This was something else entirely.
He moved restlessly on the padded table, occasionally pulling at the restraints with his fists. What the guy was doing to him felt wonderful, but he wanted to get on with the main course.
It was clear that Brian, however, intended nothing of the kind. His fingers continued to tease the boy’s legs, balls and perineum for some time.
Rob was getting desperate. So far his cock had not been touched even once, and the need for stimulation there was becoming urgent. Brian’s fingertips got very close – each time making Rob hold his breath – but they never touched it. The boy wished he could see, so that he’d be able to move his pelvis suddenly to bring the fingers into contact with his cock, but he couldn’t, and the bastard was being intentionally unpredictable.
The boy was unbelievably horny. His cock had been producing precum for ages and he could feel it on the rubbery surface inside the jeans. What he really, really wanted – what would make this absolutely perfect for him – would be for the guy to grip his cock and wank him off hard and fast. Right now. He needed that very much indeed.
But Brian carried on stroking his legs and teasing his balls. Rob was squirming with pleasure, but at the same time he wanted closure.
After what felt like hours, the man stopped. He pulled the boy’s hood off and looked at him. In the crash helmet’s black visor Rob could see reflected a sort of wide-angle image of himself lying on the table. He had to admit, he looked hot.
Brian raised a hand and gently stroked the side of the boy’s face. Then the fingers traced briefly over his lips. “You are so very beautiful,” the man said. Still looking directly at him, Brian resumed teasing his balls and inner thighs.
“I need you to squeeze my cock. Please. Just once.”
“Oh, I know you do.” He continued to gaze at the helpless boy while his fingers worked everywhere except on his cock. “I told you there would be frustration. But it will be worth it, you’ll see...” He picked up the hood and pulled it back down over Rob’s head.
“Lift your leg please.” Hey took one of Rob’s booted feet and raised it, then clipped the cuff to one of the overhead chains, which kept the foot suspended a couple of feet above the table. The other foot was secured in the same way.
Rob found that he could open and close his legs, but not lower them.
Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then Rob felt fingers again. They began to tease the inside of his thigh lightly and quickly through the jeans.
The unexpectedness of this made it tickle – a lot. With a gasp he reflexively closed his knees together, but the fingers were then trapped between his thighs, and there was nothing he could do to get them out. The feeling changed from ticklishness to one of being raped – and to his surprise he found that unbelievably horny. He started to struggle, because he felt that struggling would intensify the feeling – and it did. The fingers followed his movements, teasing slowly higher and higher towards his balls, and the rape feeling became overwhelming. He thrashed about in his restraints but he couldn’t get away from the fingers – which were now teasing the bottom of his balls through the thin, sensitive leather jeans - and the movement of the rubbery jeans over his cock very nearly made him cum.
But the fingers were gone. He breathed deeply into the hood and slowly relaxed. “Wow,” he said.
Soon the hands were back. Both of them this time, one gently stroking his balls, and the other – at last – touched his cock. It traced slowly up and down the outline of it. Rob gasped; this didn’t feel like being raped at all – this was simply undiluted, intense pleasure. The inside of his jeans was coated with precum, and Brian clearly guessed this, because he moved Rob’s cock from side to side. The boy could feel it sliding smoothly on the inside rubbery surface. These jeans clearly had more tricks up their sleeves than he’d realised.
Resting his elbow on the padded table between Rob’s legs, the man gently gripped the base of the boy’s balls, his finger and thumb pushing the stretchy leather deep into the crevices at the very tops of his thighs. A single fingertip began to stroke slowly up and down the shaft of his cock as far as the bottom of the glans. It felt wonderful.
Two minutes later Rob was moaning quietly - he wanted to cum.
Five minutes later he was groaning loudly – he needed desperately to cum.
Ten minutes later he was writhing and pleading. “Please! Make me fucking cum!”
For the next quarter of an hour the finger continued to stroke, no faster and no harder than it had been doing all along. Rob kicked, he swore, he begged, he tore at the wrist restraints trying to get his hand to his cock – but nothing he did made the slightest difference at all. This continued for some time.
The hood moved in and out as Rob lay on the table panting. The hands were gone and he was slowly recovering. Never before had he needed to cum so badly. His balls must be bright blue, he thought. He would never have believed it: he knew he was straight, and he knew it was another guy working on him, but it made no fucking difference! His cock had responded every bit as much as if the girl with the biggest tits in the world had been doing it to him. He’d thought that the only way he would have been able to stay hard would have been by thinking about women, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t thought about women - or about guys. He hadn’t thought about anybody; the horny feelings had been so overwhelming that he hadn’t been able to think about anything else – only the feelings themselves.
He jumped as he felt something at his neck. A strap being tightened around the bottom of the loose hood. He panicked for a moment as it became more difficult to breathe, but then he found he could still get air, though the hood clung tightly to his face every time he breathed in. It felt very different now – much more seriously confining, and a lot more leathery.
A hand between his legs. It tickled his thighs for a moment, again causing him to jerk his knees together, then it forced its way further in, onto his balls. The feeling of rape came back instantly and he began to struggle again. The hand teased his balls for a while then worked its way even further in between his tightly-clamped thighs until it was on his cock bulge. The fingers gripped the shaft tightly, holding it immobile and pulling it away from his body as far as the stretchy jeans would allow. Then, from above, the other hand joined it. Fingers and thumb began to tickle the very tip of his cock head.
The feeling of rape was more intense than it had ever been. Rob struggled and fought in the restraints, the hood billowing in and out, the leather clinging to his face with each breath. He kicked and writhed, his muscles tensing with effort - whether to get away from the invading hands, or to make them make him cum, he didn’t know, didn’t care. He struggled not because he didn’t want the hands there, but because it felt so amazingly fucking good to do it.
Although his struggles were violent, and Brian’s hands were having to move all over the place to follow him, the guy’s fingers on his cock head carefully maintained their slow, gentle tickling – just on the very tip. They didn’t grip, they didn’t rub – the tips of the fingers just teased and tickled right over the piss-slit.
When Rob wanked, he always gripped the shaft of his cock full-on and, when he was close, let the side of his thumb rub over the ridge at the base of the head. He always came like that. He’d never had the very tip of his cock-head worked on before, and if you’d asked him, he’d have said that it wouldn’t have done much for him – that he’d need friction on the base of the head. But this felt so fucking horny. It was a constant, yet always varying, gentle stimulus that he couldn’t ignore, couldn’t get away from, couldn’t make more intense - in fact couldn’t control at all. And it was getting to him big time. He could feel himself gradually approaching orgasm. Slowly, but irresistibly. As he got closer his struggles became even more violent.
Then, everything seemed to come together:
The feel of the restraints making it so difficult to resist...
The hood pressing tight across his face, its black leather making him feel so fucking helpless, so fucking controlled, so fucking vulnerable...
The rubbery leather jeans tight on his legs, on his thighs, on his balls – it was as if they were working with the guy to make him need to cum...
The feel of his bike boots kicking helplessly at the end of the chains...
The muscles of his thighs trembling with the effort of clamping them together as tightly as he possibly could around the immovable, invading wrist forced between them – he was trying so hard to squeeze it out that one knee was on top of the other...
The hand holding the shaft of his cock away from his body so that the fingers of the other hand could work on it so maddeningly slowly, so fucking lightly no matter how he fought to get away from them…
While everything else was pure violence, the touch of those fingers was feather-light on the tip of his cock, just slowly and helplessly tickling him closer and closer to cumming…
Suddenly he was aware of the beginnings of orgasm. A warmth began to spread through his whole body and it felt like it was starting to glow. He held his breath as his spunk began its unstoppable journey to his cock. With a final, almighty effort, his muscles strained as he fought to get away from the teasing fingers - but they continued their slow, methodical tickling over the very tip of his cock as if unaware that he was starting to cum.
The hood ballooned out as Rob gave vent to a deafening yell. His cock jerked and bucked in the man’s grip as his spunk erupted into the rubbery leather jeans. Normally, when Rob wanked, the moment he started to cum his hand speeded up, milking fast and hard – but these fingers didn’t change their technique one bit. All the time he was cumming, they tickled just as slowly and lightly over the piss-slit. And they made him cum for an astoundingly long time. It went on and on . Even when there was no more spunk, the feelings of orgasm continued, his hips thrusting madly, his helpless body jerking with each contraction, his leather-mitted fists wrenching at the restraints, and his leather-hooded head beating against the padded table.
Eventually it began to subside, and finally Rob’s orgasm was over. But even then the fingers didn’t stop – and although he wasn’t cumming any more, the feelings on his cock were still unbelievably wonderful. Usually his orgasms finished quite abruptly – he just let go and lay there; knowing that any further touching of his cock was not a good idea – but this time the feel of the fingers on the tip of his cock continued to be just beautifully, gorgeously, sexy. This carried on for what must have been a full minute – if not more. Rob lay there groaning softly in pure pleasure. Then the fingers were gone. He felt the neck strap being removed, and the hood pulled away from his face so that he could get air more easily. Rob lay panting and exhausted. He had never, ever had a fucking orgasm like that in his life before.
Rob became addicted. He became addicted both to leather and to the man, Brian. Each time he went up the road to number 25 the orgasm he had at Brian’s hands was better than the last. But each also was made to take longer, and to be more frustrating. It got to the point where Rob was ringing him up, begging for a session today – he was so unbearably horny. But Brian never relented – He always insisted on two days with no cumming between their sessions. Rob found it increasingly difficult to stop himself from wanking at home, and on one occasion he gave in. He had no idea how, but Brian knew. Perhaps he could tell from Rob’s responses. But however he knew, he stopped the session ten minutes in and made Rob wait two more days before he would see him again. And he said that if it occurred again it would be two weeks before another session. Rob couldn’t even bear to think about that, and didn’t do it again.
It was Rob’s tenth visit to number 25. He wondered if Brian would have him strapped to the table or hogtied on the floor this time; those two positions seemed to be favourites with him. Rob wasn’t sure which he liked best himself – he could struggle more when he was hogtied, and it felt more like being raped, with the guy bending over him and getting at his cock from all angles - and he fucking loved that; orgasms produced while he was struggling like fuck under him were gob-smackingly intense. Hogtied sessions were usually very short – he lost it quickly when being done like that. But on the table Brian could work on him much more clinically and with far greater precision. That meant very prolonged sessions of unbearable, mind-bending frustration, but it also resulted in shattering orgasms.
Brian had never asked him to do anything to him; it seemed that the man got off enough on doing things to Rob. Part of him was happy about this – he was straight after all – but another part of him wanted to see what it was like to run his fingers over the guy’s leathers, feel his hard cock under them. It seemed the guy wasn’t interested in naked cocks – either Rob’s or his own – every orgasm Rob had had had been in those leather jeans. And unless Brian wanked off when Rob was hooded, it seemed that the guy wasn’t bothered about cumming himself.
Rob let himself in and locked the door behind him. He went through to the back room. It was the table today.
Rob looked up at his reflection in the black visor as Brian began to stroke his legs. After ten minutes the fingers were on his cock and he was beginning to need to cum. Then Brian did something he’d never done before: he lifted off his crash helmet.
Rob could tell that in his day he had indeed been a very good-looking guy, even though now age lay on his face. He smiled. And Rob smiled back.
“Hello, beautiful boy,” he said.
“Hello Brian.”
It was a kind face, and there was something in the eyes that Rob found deeply moving. This man worshipped him. He just knew it. His fingers had stopped stroking and teasing, but Rob was slightly surprised to find that his cock was every bit as hard and horny as it had been before.
“Do you remember when we first met, I said I may have a proposition for you?”
Rob nodded. “Yeah.”
Brian smiled. “Well, I’m going to put it to you now. How would you like a brand-new motorbike?”
Rob’s eyes opened wide. “What? ”
“I would like to buy you a motorbike. Of your own.”
Rob couldn’t believe this. “Wow!” He held Brian’s gaze. “But what would you want from me in return?”
“A price you may not be willing to pay, I’m afraid.”
Rob waited, watching the sadness creep into the eyes above him.
“If not, no problem – you can have the bike anyway.”
“What do you want, Brian?”
The man hesitated for what seemed like a long time. “I would like to hold you, to feel you, and I would like to kiss you, beautiful boy.”
Rob’s expression didn’t change for a moment, and then he smiled slowly. “I think I would like that very much, Brian.”
Relief was visible on the man’s face. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Rob stopped him.
“And I don’t need bribing with a motorbike to do it. I want to do it anyway.”
Brian closed his eyes. A tear fell from his face and landed on Rob’s chest.
In spite of Rob’s protestations, Brian bought him the bike anyway. They went together to the shop and Rob picked one. It was a 250cc Honda – fast enough but not too big, as he hadn’t ridden a bike for a long time. They both chuckled as the shop assistant assumed that Brian was Rob’s dad.
Rob’s visits to number 25 continued for a long time. It was by far the best sex he had ever had – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted sex with a girl - and it continued to get better. Brian became Rob’s best friend, and the man worshipped the ground the boy walked on. Brian had never been as deeply in love with anyone in his long life as he was with Rob.
But one day, late in February, Rob went there and Brian wasn’t at home. His obituary appeared in the paper the following day.
Rob didn’t go out of his house for a long time. He moped around, doing nothing. His sex drive disappeared completely for months. All he could think of was Brian.
Spring turned to Summer, and then to Autumn.
The years passed.
Rob had had a good job for many of those years. He’d worked from home, on his computers, designing systems for top-end chips. But this week he retired. He had more than enough savings, a reasonable pension, and - to his immense surprise all those years ago - had been left a substantial sum from Brian, which he’d invested, as it turned out, quite wisely. He still had the little 250 Honda – nothing would induce him to part with it – but he felt he was too old to ride it now. It was safely tucked up in the garage. A final package had arrived shortly after Brian’s death; it had contained the leather hood and assorted bits of restraint equipment that the guy had used on him. He still had those too.
He looked at himself in the bedroom mirror, and he smiled sadly. He remembered when he’d been a pretty boy – a very pretty boy. Now he was pretty no longer, and his hair was almost gone. He still did Ok for sex, but because the things that really turned him on now were so specific and unusual, he rarely found any assignation satisfying.
As he looked out of the window one morning he saw a removal van outside Brian’s old house. Just seeing the house made him feel sad all over again.
It wasn’t until two weeks later that he saw any of the new occupants. And then he stood and stared. He was incapable of movement.
The son was about nineteen.
And he was the most beautiful boy he had ever seen in his life.