31-40
Christian was strapped to the restraint table in Doug’s playroom. He looked around the room, trying to get an idea of what kind of thing he was in for this time. There were images of fast motorcycles on the wall, but one picture in particular caught his eye. It was a large photograph of a gorgeous biker in a one-piece racing leather suit. He looked good enough to eat – he was stunningly good-looking, and his bulge was eye-popping in the leather suit. Christian desperately wanted to lick him all over. The boy’s cock jerked just from looking at him.
Chris and Michael, the two senior slaves, came in. Chris was carrying a leather half-hood. Between them they got it over the boy’s head and strapped it on tightly. Basically a glorified blindfold, it covered the top half of his head but left his mouth exposed. Micheal leaned down close. “You lucky bastard. Have you seen Doug? Fucking hell, he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Biker. Likes one-piece racing suits. Enjoy.” With that, they left him alone again.
The door opened after a minute and Christian heard booted footsteps.
“If you’d do the honours, James, that’ll leave me free to do other things to the boy.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Doug had a nice voice. Soft and sexy. Christian gasped. Fuck, it was the biker in the photo! He knew it - the voice fitted him perfectly! Christian wanted to see him. He swore at the hood over his eyes.
Fingers on his cock. That would be James – he recognised the touch. It was taking less and less time now for him to get horny: it was at least 45 minutes since he’d last been worked on, and yet just that touch on his cock had got him back to the state he’d been in an hour ago. Oh fuck he needed to cum!
“Hello, boy. I hope you like bikers...”
Christian went weak at the words. He felt leather brush against the outside of his left thigh, then the table moved slightly as he felt Doug climb onto it. Very carefully the biker lay on top of him, this leather racing suit touching him all over, his bike boots against his feet, his bulging crotch pressing into his stomach. The boy’s hard, dripping cock was accessible by James if he reached between Doug’s thighs.
At James’ suggestion, Doug moved downwards so that his perineum pushed the boy’s cock back a little more.
The feel of this gorgeous biker lying on top of him, his leather crotch pushing his cock back so that it would be more susceptible to James’ fingers was mind-blowingly horny. More than anything, Christian longed to run his hands over the biker’s racing suit, hug him, and cum while he was kissing him.
Part of that wish came true the next moment – Doug kissed him, gently and slowly. Doug was wearing a leather mask so that the boy wouldn’t be able to feel his face at all. As his lips made contact with Christian’s, the boy groaned in pleasure. He returned the kiss passionately.
At the same time James was carefully and slowly working on the increasingly desperate cock. With the lightest of touches, his rubber-gloved fingers slipped over the engorged head, tracing small circles over the glistening, precum-lubed glans.
Christian yearned to see the sexy biker. He could feel the guy’s hard cock pressing into his stomach through the leather racing suit. This was as close to heaven as the boy could imagine getting. If only he could cum like this. “Oh fuck, PLEASE let me cum! FOR GOD’S SAKE LET ME CUM!!!!!”
These ten edgings were the worst yet, by far - the feel of the biker on him, kissing him, rubbing his racing suit over him, his cock between the guy’s leathered thighs; James’ expert fingers sadistically teasing the head – all of these were driving the boy mad with the need to cum. Number thirty-three very nearly caught James out: even after a good minute’s rest, Christian got to the edge that time in seconds flat. James was even more careful from then on.
Christian would have sold his soul for an orgasm at that point. Ever since this biker had climbed onto him, cumming had been the only thing he’d been capable of thinking about – but by the time they’d got to forty the boy was a total nervous wreck. He was not sure he would ever recover from this day – and he wasn’t even halfway thorough it yet.
While Christian was being prepared in the next dungeon, Master Benjamin was showing Jeff his collection of Victorian doorknobs. They were mounted in small square frames, on the wall of his living room. Jeff nodded politely as Benjamin explained where each had come from.
The door opened and Chris stuck his head in. “We’re ready, Sirs.”
“Ah. Excellent.” Benjamin topped up their glasses. “Bring your scotch with you.”
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