Thursday 3 rd June . 8pm.
Des pulled to a stop at the red light beside the sexy black motorcycle. “Hi,” he said.
The biker turned his head briefly and nodded.
The fact that Des was so horny made him do it. “Nice leathers.” He ran his eyes over the shiny leather jacket, the skintight lace-up sided leather jeans, the leather gloves, and the Sidi bike boots. The street lights reflected off the biker’s dark-visored helmet, and from every curve and bulge of his tight body. This guy was straight out of his wet-dream fantasies. “Fuck, I want to lick you all over.”
The biker stared ahead for a few moments – he seemed to be considering this.
In for a penny, thought Des. “Love to get you tied up in those leathers, sexy boy.”
The lights changed to green. The biker turned his head towards Des, looked at him for a couple of seconds, then he put the machine into gear and rode forward. Des followed. His cock was hard. From behind, the biker looked delicious, the riding position of his sport bike making his shiny leather-clad arse tight and round below the studded belt.
The biker stuck to the speed limit and they rode for a mile until Des saw the guy put his indicator on and pull into the end of a factory drive. He drew up behind him. The biker sat for a moment, then switched his engine off, dropped the side stand and got off.
Des watched the leather vision approach him; the way the guy moved was amazing.
“You like guys in leather then?”
His voice was deep and sexy, thought Des. “Oh fuck yeah.”
The biker’s black visor was still down; Des thought that made him look even more horny. He noticed a tattoo on the guy’s neck – it looked like a small dragon. Hot, he thought.
“Let’s see your face then.”
Des couldn’t believe this. He unfastened his crash helmet and lifted it off, praying that the guy still would be interested when he saw him.
The biker gazed at him for a moment, then drew back his arm and smashed the boy hard in the face.
Des’ hands flew up to his broken nose and he lost his balance. In slow motion the bike fell over onto its side, taking him with it. Luckily he had the presence of mind to step off it as it went down, and so avoided its landing on his leg, but he still fell onto the tarmac with a yell.
The biker watched, motionless. Then he walked over and stood above Des, looking down at him. He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his leather jeans and ran his fingers over his bulge. “You think I’m hot? You want to tie me up? You want to have sex with me? You wanna fuck me?”
Des was in too much pain to reply.
The biker kicked him hard in the ribs. A bolt of agony shot through him.
“I am straight. I fuck women, not guys. I am not a pervert.” He punctuated each sentence with a separate kick.
Des rolled on the ground, pain coursing through his body. “I’m sorry...”
“I bet you fucking are. Fucking queers. Your kind should be burned off the face of the fucking earth.” The biker’s boot came down hard on Des’ crotch. He ground the heel in, then turned, got back onto his bike and rode off, leaving Des moaning on the road.
Saturday 26 nd June. 1:15pm.
“You wanna go on to the Hole?” Asked Gary.
Des pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. The club had been good this evening, but he was knackered and his nose was hurting tonight. He yawned. “Nah. I want my bed.”
Gary smiled. “Ok. I’m gonna pop in there for a few minutes, but I probably won’t stay long. See you soon.”
“Have a good time. Take care.” Des gave the boy a hug, then walked off.
Gary looked at his watch. He’d been picked up by a horny guy last time he’d been to the Hole, and he hoped he would again tonight. He was wearing his tightest leathers so he thought the chances were good. The Hole in the Wall was only a few streets away and he set off whistling to himself softly.
As he turned the corner he almost bumped into a guy coming the other way. He was wearing a white hoodie, blue jeans and trainers. “Oh! Sorry.”
The guy stopped and ran his eyes down Gary’s leather-clad body. “Lost your bike, mate?”
Gary smiled. “I’m not a biker.”
The guy frowned. “Why the leathers then?”
“I like leather.”
The guy thought about this for a moment, then smiled back. “Ah. You’re off to the Hole in the Wall.”
“Yep.”
“Looking to get tied up and fucked?”
Gary registered that this guy was very hunky indeed: muscular, and dead sexy. “Oh yes. You offering?”
A knee came up and hit him in the balls. As his head went down a fist smashed into his face.
“No, actually I’m not, queer boy .”
Sunday 27 th June. 12:15pm
“How are you feeling?” An expression of deep concern was on Des’ face.
Gary groaned. “Like hell.” His slurred voice came through the gap in the bandages.
Des pulled up the plastic hospital chair and sat down. “What the fuck happened?”
Gary told him.
“Did you get a good look at him? Can you describe him?”
“Oh yeah. The bugger is that the bastard was fucking gorgeous. White hoodie with the hood down, tight Levis, trainers. Dark blond hair, blue eyes. Muscles. Tattoo on his neck.”
Des blinked. “That tattoo – it wasn’t a little dragon, was it?”
Gary nodded. “Yeah, it was. It looked sexy. Why?”
Des gingerly touched his own nose; it was healing well, but still twinged. “It’s the same fucker that did me.”
He thought for a while, then his eyes narrowed.
Friday 9 th July. 7.05pm.
Jack was a short, slim and slightly camp boy with brilliant blue eyes made even more spectacular by a little expertly-applied makeup. His biker-type jacket was by Gucci and his leather designer jeans fit him like a glove. He was walking slowly down Grosvenor Street, a couple of blocks away from the Hole in the Wall club, his route having taken him by the Spartacus gymnasium. As he approached its entrance he slowed even more as a guy wearing Levis and a muscle shirt came out of the door, carrying a sports bag. Now that is a hunk, he thought. He crossed the street to the other side, speeding up slightly, for safety.
The guy crossed the street too. “Well now, what have we got here then?”
Jack looked worried. “Hi.” He didn’t stop walking.
The guy stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “A little leather boy. Those jeans are very tight. Why are those jeans so tight?”
Jack didn’t know what to say. He mumbled something unintelligible.
“So that guys can see the shape of your cock under that leather?”
Jack’s face was going red.
The guy moved closer until his face was just inches away from the boy. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” He stared into Jack’s eyes. “You’ve got fucking makeup on, you fucking queer,” he snarled. “Like to get fucked and sucked. You probably like to get tied up and pissed on and suck cock and have your tits pulled and a fist rammed up your arse. Is that right?”
Jack was trembling and his eyes were closed. “Please...”
“Please? Is the little boy begging? Is the -”
He didn’t get any further, as the hood that had been dropped over his head from behind suddenly cut him off. He grunted in surprise, and as his hands went up, strong arms grabbed them from both sides and forced them behind his back. A strap went around his ankles, pulling them tight together, and he was bodily lifted.
The hood was just a loose bag, but an experienced hand clamped over his face, holding the very thin leather tight over his nose and mouth. It cut off his air completely. “If you like breathing, don’t struggle,” said a calm voice.
He struggled like fuck – until he realised that the only way he was going to get any air again was if he stopped.
“That’s better.” The pressure over his face lessened when his struggling decreased, but the hand stayed there. He gulped in lungfuls of air as he was carried by an unknown number of guys.
The arms dumped him onto a metal floor, a door slid closed, and seconds later the van moved off. In the back he was being held down, the hand still hovering over his hooded mouth in case he decided to start fighting again.
“Good choice of hood,” said Gary.
“Well I thought that one would do the job – quick to get on and very effective. It is a breath-control hood after all.” Bas grinned.
He, Gary, Jack and Des stood looking at the guy tied spread-eagled between the posts in the playroom. Naked now, his body could be appreciated for what it was: gym-worked and beautiful. A barbed-wire tattoo circled each biceps, and a lion’s face decorated his six-pack. The upper half of the little dragon tattoo was hidden under the loose hood. His balls hung below a sizeable cock that was completely soft, the head pointed at the rubber-covered floor.
Des approached him. “So, what’s your name, straight boy?”
The hooded head lifted defiantly. “Fuck off.”
Des smiled. He took the left nipple between a finger and thumb, squeezed, and twisted slowly. “What is your name?”
A groan of pain came from under the hood. “Get your fucking fag hands off me.”
Des squeezed harder, digging his fingernails in, and twisted more.
“Fuck!”
“What is your name?” His other hand went to the right nipple.
Another groan – this time clearly from between clenched teeth – issued from the guy. He struggled and fought to get the fingers off, but the restraints held him helpless.
Des pinched and twisted harder. “Answer any time you like.”
The guy stood it for another ten seconds, then threw back his head with a yelp. “Anthony!”
Des released the nipples. “Good. You see how easy it is?” He took a pair of clamps from the shelf and clipped them onto the guy’s tits. “These won’t hurt too much.” The metal clamps hung down, resting on the skin below each nipple, the red nubs squeezed between their jaws. There was a sharp intake of breath from Anthony as each went on.
Des gestured to the others and they all pulled on dark-visored crash helmets. Then he removed the guy’s hood.
Anthony blinked in the light and looked at them through screwed-up eyes. Fuck, thought Des, he really is a hunk. This was the first time he’d seen the guy’s face, and he was fucking gorgeous.
Gary stepped forward. “Now then, straight boy, we are what you seem to hate most of all: we’re gay, we love leather, and we love having pervy sex with other guys. But you, Anthony, are something even worse. You are a homophobic cunt and we are going to teach you a lesson you will not forget in a hurry. Tolerance is something that you will learn, my friend. And it will be a painful lesson.” He looked around the playroom. “You see all this gear in here? It’s usually used for fun. For tying guys up, for doing things to their bodies that might, to cunts like you, seem perverted. But it hurts nobody, and we do it because we like it. We get off on it. But this gear can be used for other things too. As you will shortly find out.”
Jack’s helmet was too big for him – it was one Bas had given him to wear. “Can we hood him again? This helmet’s heavy and I can’t see very well. And it’s messing up my hair.”
“Of course we can,” said Bas. He ran his fingers along the long line of hoods that were hanging from hooks on the wall. “I think,” he stopped at a heavy leather one with many straps and took it down, “this one.”
Anthony swore, struggled, fought, spat, and tried to bite them, but between them Bas and Des got the hood over his head. Once it was on they took their time tightening the straps one after another. With each one the smooth, shiny black leather pressed increasingly tightly over his face. He could see nothing, and he felt infuriatingly vulnerable. He could breathe, but the sound of the air rushing in and out reminded him constantly how powerless he was. He fumed. Once it was on, the lads took their dark-visored helmets off again.
“Now.” To Anthony, Gary’s voice was slightly muffled by the hood. “I think it would be good to introduce you to the different equipment in this room, piece by piece.”
Anthony pulled again at the restraints but he could feel that they were more than strong enough to hold him; he knew that even with his gym-worked muscles he wasn’t going anywhere. He was conscious of his nipples in the clamps, that they were going numb. That was Ok - at least they weren’t hurting as much. He could hear the perverts walking around him. He waited, wondering what the fuck they were doing.
He didn’t have to wait for very long. Suddenly he yelled as something hard smacked him on the arse. Shit, that hurt. He jerked his body forwards as far as the cuffs would allow, but the thing came again. He yelled into the hood. It sounded like wood of some kind, and each stroke left his arse on fire.
Again and again it happened, in exactly the same place each time. After five minutes he was panting and crying inside the hood. “Please...” He whimpered.
The beating stopped and he breathed in relief. That was over. Then he screamed as one more stroke hit him; and it was a lot harder than the others had been.
“That was a wooden paddle. Did you like that?” Gary’s voice was soft. “A lot of guys get off on being beaten with that. Usually not quite as hard, though...”
“Now, something different.”
Anthony cursed the hood. He needed to see what they were going to do to him. Without being able to, he was defenceless, and that made him nervous - anything could happen to him at any moment.
He felt hands on his legs. They were wrapping what felt and sounded like velcro bands around each leg. Two went on each thigh, another pair on his abs, and two on each arm. When he moved he could feel things dragging. Wires? No! The fuckers were going to electrocute him.
“This is an interesting little machine. Runs on a small battery, but it can produce intense pain – and other interesting effects.”
The muscles of his thighs contracted hard and he screamed. The scream was more in surprise than pain – it didn’t hurt too much – but it made him lose control of his legs completely. His arms suffered the same fate, and he realised that even had he not been restrained between these posts he wouldn’t have been able to move at all. He hung from the wrist cuffs, unable to control his body.
The electricity began to pulse, and that was totally different: now itdid hurt – a lot. The pulses increased in speed until they became a kind of buzzing which made his muscles tingle and throb alarmingly. His body was jerking, he was dancing between the wooden posts like a puppet, and there was fuck-all he could do to stop it. It was intensely humiliating.
After that they did his abs. It was as if he were doing continuous pull-ups at a speed he would never have been able to manage by himself. And it was agony. His body thrashed about, trying to curl up and straighten out repeatedly.
They amused themselves for a while, laughing at the effects the shocks were having on him – and that laughing was the worst thing. Eventually it stopped and hands removed the bands. “Imagine what these would feel like on your balls, and on the head of your cock. We have small ones especially for those places.”
He didn’t even want to think about that.
“They can make a boy cum very easily, too,” said Des, “and believe me, it’s intense. Now, let’s experiment with humiliation a bit more, shall we?”
What the fuck was this about, thought Anthony.
“Are you ticklish?”
The hooded head remained silent.
“Well we’ll soon find out. Did you know that there are two, very different kinds of tickling? There’s the soft, feathery kind – its scientific name is ‘knismesis’, if you’re interested...” He ran his fingertips lightly over Anthony’s firm body, getting into his exposed armpits, over his thighs, under his balls, across his stomach.
Anthony didn’t consider himself in the least bit ticklish – but he’d never been tied up helpless for it before. Now, he suddenly realised that he was. In panic he tried to jerk his arms down and then to close his legs together to protect himself, but he couldn’t. There was no way he could get away from the tickling fingertips – and it was quickly becoming unbearable. He struggled to get himself under control, and managed to reduce his convulsive jerks to twitches he was unable to stop each time the hands touched him.
“That’s the first kind.” continued Des, “Then, there is the deep, pressure kind. It’s called ‘gargalesis’...” He placed his hands on Anthony’s hips and dug his thumbs into the soft flesh just above them sharply, and hard.
Anthony screamed. This was altogether different. This was acute like the paddle on his arse had been. It wasn’t pain, but it was pure torture. He couldn’t stand it. “STOP! PLEASE! OH FUCK! PLEASE! STOP!”
Des chuckled.
Sightless, Anthony trembled as he waited for the next unseen assault on his senses, but instead of more fingers digging in to his most sensitive spots, he heard what sounded like surgical gloves being snapped on. A moment later flat, slippery hands stroked over his body. They were spreading lube over him. He jumped - it was cold. Across his pecs, all the way down his sides, over his stomach, his hips, thighs, knees. They kept on reloading with more lube until he was swimming in it.
Then the rubber-gloved hands turned into claws. They raked up and down his sides and chest, fingers slid off his bottom ribs, thumbs probed deeply into the softness just above his hip bones, they dug into his abs, his pecs, they gripped just above his knees, they slid up the insides of his thighs right to the tops, squeezing the muscles on the their way mercilessly, right into his groin, sliding over his skin on slippery lube. One of the worst was when they used his abs as a typewriter, rigid fingers jabbing quickly and hard, alternating left and right. It was so unbearable that he was hanging from his wrists, completely unable to support his weight, rotating from side to side in a futile effort to escape them.
Anthony was in extreme panic: he was screaming and gasping for air. He had never experienced anything so absolutely horrendous before. He would rather his arse was being hit with that fucking paddle than this.Anything but this. He could not stand it. The fact that he couldn’t bloody see made it worse – it made every touch unexpected and therefore impossible to avoid. He tried to beg, to plead, to grovel, to do anything to make it stop – but he was shrieking and panting so desperately trying to get air that he didn’t have enough breath to plead.
Then he almost cried with humiliation as he felt himself lose control of his bladder, the piss running down his legs. There was more laughter at this, and his face reddened under the hood, but still they carried on.
When the torture eventually stopped he collapsed in the restraints, hanging from his wrists, gasping and panting into the hood uncontrollably, the rubber floor under his feet wet with his piss.
“That’s deep tickling. Effective, isn’t it. Some of us love that, you know. Makes you feel so helpless, don’t you think?” He wiped most of the remaining lube off Anthony’s body with tissues, then stood back. “Ok, we’ll let you recover for a while. Don’t go away.” He turned to the others. “Beer?”
They nodded, and together they left the playroom.
When they returned, Anthony was standing straight again. There was no sign of lube; it had evaporated or been absorbed.
“Now, we’ve shown you what deep tickling is about. Let’s concentrate on the other kind for a while.” He took some feathers from a container on the shelf and handed two each to Gary, Jack and Bas. They surrounded the helpless biker and began to stroke their feathers as lightly as possible over his skin.
While they’d been away from him Anthony had gritted his teeth and had resolved not to give these queer fuckers any more satisfaction. They would not see him writhe, nor would the bastards hear him plead. He was straight and he would fucking take whatever they thought they could give him. They would let him go at some point, and in the coming days he would search them out one by one and castrate the cunts.
The feathers were stroking his skin. His eyes were scrunched up under the hood as he concentrated on not moving at all, and keeping absolutely quiet. The bastards would get tired soon enough.
But he seemed to be getting more and more damned ticklish. Every second that passed made the feathers harder to ignore. Each one left a tingling itching in its wake. After another two minutes it was more than he could take; one touched his armpit and his body jerked away before he could stop it. He swore at himself. Bit by bit, in spite of his best efforts, Anthony began to writhe. Even though it was more manageable than the pressure tickling had been, it was still impossible for him to keep still. The feathers got everywhere, and whenever one touched his armpits or his crotch he couldn’t stop himself from jerking away. After a while Bas suggested that he work on him alone. The others stepped back – Bas was their tickle expert. With a single feather, he started at the inside of Anthony’s elbows and very slowly worked his way across the smooth skin up towards his armpits.
Inside the leather hood the biker thought that this was even worse than when they’d all be working on him together: now he was being forced to concentrate on what that feather was doing. And it was heading towards his armpit – a place which he realised was, in his present circumstances, unbearably ticklish. He began to whimper as it got closer and closer to it, and his head began to shake. The soft point of the feather wasn’t there yet, but his mind was warning him what it would be like when it did get there – and that was as bad as the feel of the feather itself.
It made its way tortuously and slowly up his left arm. It circled slowly around the pit for a while, and then not the feather, but fingers attacked – both armpits together.
Anthony screamed. The hood had prevented him from seeing that coming, and it tickled like fuck.
The fingers stayed there for a while, then began a slow journey south. This wasn’t as bad, until they reached his crotch. Back to the feathers – two this time by the feel of it. They worked on the insides of his thighs, then they got to his balls.
This tickled insanely, but that wasn’t what Anthony was panicking about: he realised with horror that it also felt horny. Anthony had never had his balls tickled before – certainly not while he was tied up and someone was doing it to him intentionally – and he didn’t believe how horny it felt. He was conscious of the very first stirrings in his cock: and that was why he was panicking. Up to now, it had been completely soft. Having his arse beaten or being tickled was one thing, but being made to get hard by these perverted cunts was something else entirely. He could not under any circumstances let that happen.
But he realised that there was nothing he could do about it – especially when, after the feathers had continued to tease around his balls for a while, they made their way onto his cock.
This didn’t tickle as much as they had on his balls, but it felt even more damned horny. After the pain of the nipple clamps going on, the paddle on his arse, and the unbearable hard tickling, this soft, gentle teasing of his cock was delicious. He willed himself not to get harder. His head was shaking from side to side as he did everything he could to stop it from stiffening any more.
“Well lookee here – our straight boy is getting turned on.” The voice was taunting.
Anthony could not allow this to happen. Somehow, he had to stop it right now. “Look - look, guys, I’ve had enough. I’ve learned my lesson. I will never beat up qu- gay guys again. Please. Let me go.”
“Oh, we haven’t even started on you yet,” said Des. “You’re going nowhere. There’s a lot of gear in this room we haven’t used on you yet.”
Anthony hung his head. “No. Please. Enough.”
Bas handed the feathers to Des, who took over now. He ran them over and around the shaft of the already semi-erect cock. Bas had avoided touching the head, but now Des stroked the edge of one of them carefully across the glans - and the biker let out an urgent and involuntary gasp.
Des chuckled. “Have you ever heard the term ‘edging’ before?”
Anthony shook his head.
“Well you’re about to find out what it is.” He dropped one feather and with a couple of fingers and a thumb he gently gripped the shaft of Anthony’s cock. As they slid up and down it slowly, he tickled the soft pointed tip of the feather over just the head.
The cock jerked once and immediately hardened even more. Jack stepped forward, knelt down, and teased Anthony’s balls and the insides of his thighs while Des was occupied with the cock itself.
At this, Anthony began to moan. He was fully hard now and this felt like the most amazing thing ever: it was indescribably horny. His hips began to thrust; he kept stopping them, but they started again on their own.
Des and Jack kept up the frustrating but irresistible teasing.
Anthony’s head was shaking from side to side slowly. “Please. No,” he whimpered quietly. His cock felt enormous, and more sensitive than it had ever felt in his life – especially the head of it. He’d never had his cock teased like this before and it was totally irresistible. He was beginning to need to cum, and that was so fucking humiliating.
They ignored him and concentrated on what they were doing to him.
The biker managed to control himself for ten minutes before he broke. “Please. I need to cum.”
“What? You want a gay boy to wank you off?” Des asked incredulously. He removed the feather, lubed his nitrile glove and wrapped it around the full length of Anthony’s cock. He gripped it lightly, and moved it up and down just once.
Anthony was beyond shame now. “Yes. Please. Please. ”
Des’ gave the cock another long, slow stroke.
“Faster. Please. Harder and faster.”
Des stroked the cock again, every bit as slowly and lightly.
“Nooo! Please! HARD. FAST!”
Using just a single finger and thumb, Des gripped the shaft more firmly and used harder - but very tiny - strokes, just on the shaft, being very careful not to touch the head at all.
“Like that?”
“NO! Over the head as well. And faster.”
“The head as well? Oh, Ok.”
Des lightened his grip a lot, and also slowed right down, but included the head in the strokes now.
Anthony gasped in even more intense frustration. “No! Please. Grip harder. Use your whole hand! And move it faster!”
“I can’t really get at your cock properly. Wait a second.” He took a long, thin strip of leather and wrapped it around the base of Anthony’s cock and balls. Then he ran it between the testicles, separating them, and finished with a few turns around the very base of the shaft itself. He tied it off. He made sure it was tight enough, but not so tight that it would hurt. Then he resumed the slow, light teasing strokes.
The bastard had wrapped something around his cock and balls, thought Anthony. At first he had no idea why, but he soon found out: it felt like his balls were being gently held all the time, and separated somehow, everything pushed forward. And whatever the cunt did to his cock now - and the other bastard’s teasing of his balls – felt even more fucking horny. He didn’t believe it was possible.
Des re-lubed his nitrile glove and went back to the cock. This time he worked just on the head: his fingertips slid slowly and unbelievably lightly over the naked glans, teasing every part of it, including the ridges and the frenulum.
Anthony’s eyes were tightly closed under the leather hood. The only thing he was conscious of was his cock. He had never needed to cum so badly in his life. But this bastard either didn’t have the first idea about how to wank someone off, or – and he knew that this was the real reason – the fucker was doing it intentionally. “Oh fuck I need to cum.” He bit his lip; the words had come out on their own.
A chuckle. “Oh I know you do, Anthony. I know you do. I’m not going to make you cum – but I’m going to make youneed to cum a lot more than you do now.” His fingers continued to tease the cock head.
Gary leaned close to the hooded head. “You straights think that us gay boys have an obsession with our arses, don’t you. Well I think that it’s really you straights that do. How would you like it if I put a finger up yours? Or fucked you?”
Anthony’s muscles tensed. Horny as he was, if he had been free he would have beaten the fuckers to pulp just for the suggestion. But by now he was beginning to learn that expressing his thoughts might not always be the best idea. He knew that he was powerless to stop them, whatever they decided to do to him. But not his arse. Please, not his arse.
Gary took a small black rubber cock off the shelf and knelt down behind the biker. He lubed it well, separated the cheeks, and pushed it gently against Anthony’s arse hole.
The biker jumped as if a thousand volts had shot through him. “NO!” He jerked forwards away from the thing as far as his restraints would allow – not caring that this moved his cock further into Des’ hands. His body was a perfect arc now, with his hips pushed forward as far as they would go, away from whatever it was that was touching his arse hole, and his cock thrust hard into those fucking unbearably teasing fingers.
Des and Jack both took advantage of this by running their fingers lightly all over the biker’s cock and balls.
Gary pushed, and the end of the dildo disappeared inside Anthony’s tighly-clenched sphincter, the muscle closing slightly once the rubber head was inside.
The biker sucked in a sharp breath and then let out a long groan, shaking his head urgently.
The dildo worked its way slowly in until the pair of shiny rubber balls was touching his arse. Then Gary started to move it in and out, turning it slowly.
Anthony had never had even his own finger up there, let alone a dildo, and the sensation was intense. It felt a bit like he was having a shit, and his arse muscles, unaccustomed to being stretched that much, hurt a little, but those were a minor part of it: there was an overwhelming feeling of invasion , and something else for which the biker didn’t have a name. But whatever it was, he realised, it felt fucking amazing. Whether that was because of what the other bastard was doing to his cock or not, he had no idea. But it made what was being done to it a hundred times more effective - and every time the fingers on his cock made him involuntarily clench his arse muscles, it sent a shock wave through him. With a sudden start, Anthony realised that if something didn’t change very soon, he would fucking cum.
Something did change: Des took his hand off the cock and Gary stopped moving the dildo.
The moment the fingers stopped, Anthony yelled at the top of his voice,“NO! FOR FUCK’S SAKE DON’T STOP!”
Des laughed. “That’s what edging is. By all means - cum if you want to.”
Anthony thrust his cock hard and fast, trying to make contact with those fingers again, but all he did was fuck empty air. He longed to feel the hand grip his cock and just give it one firm rub. He knew he’d cum gallons. It was, at that moment, the most important thing in the world, and he needed that so fucking badly he could scream. But the fingers weren’t there.
And then they came back. They teased and tickled his cock again, and slid over the sensitive glans in the lube and precum. The dildo resumed its slow fucking.
This was too much. For the second time the biker felt himself getting ready to shoot. His muscles tensed. This time…
But everything stopped again. His cock fucked thin air.
“NO!” He screamed. “KEEP GOING YOU FUCKERS! MAKE ME FUCKING CUM!”
“Dildos are all very well,” said Gary from behind the biker, “but there’s often nothing better than a long finger...”
Anthony gasped as the rubber cock was removed from his arse, and then he felt a finger going in. Unlike the dildo, the finger was mobile. It could curve, and find the biker’s prostate. It did exactly that, and then began to massage it.
Anthony had no idea he even had a prostate. He was certainly blissfully unaware of the effect it can have on a guy. When the finger began to stroke it he arched his back and yelled. It was like nothing he’d felt before. And shit, it made his need even fucking worse.
Des resumed working on the biker’s cock head, Jack on his balls. Between them – and with the help of Gary’s finger - they got him to to edge again in seconds flat. Every time Des stopped, Jack and Gary did too, and Anthony’s wails of frustration were louder and more pitiful. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined that it was possible to need to cum so much as he did at that moment.
And Des was getting better at reading the biker: every time, he managed to get him even closer before he stopped, leaving the guy hanging in the restraints and begging for orgasm.
Des stood up and inspected Anthony’s nipples. They were nice and white under the clamps. He nodded. “I think it’s time to get those off.”
Anthony had actually forgotten the clamps were on them. His tits were kind of numb; they’d stopped hurting some time ago. Good, he thought, get those bloody things off.
Des leaned close to the hooded head. “Now, a lesson about the physiology of nipples. Those clamps aren’t especially tight, but even so, they’ve stopped the blood flow. When we take them off, the blood is going to rush back into your tits. You’ll feel it - and you’ll feel it even more if you’re not too horny at the time.”
Anthony couldn’t give a fuck about anatomy lessons at the moment. He still needed to cum, although the compulsion was receding gradually now that nobody was working on his cock.
“So we’ll help you to be not so horny.” He picked up the wooden paddle again and gave the biker a series of hard strokes on the arse. “I hope you’re leaning from all this, Anthony,” he said between the biker’s shrieks of pain. “It is not a good idea to beat people up, especially not guys who know as well as we do how boys’ bodies work.”
Anthony screamed at each blow of the wooden paddle. With each one, his cock got softer.
After five more hard thwacks, Des put it down. He took a long leather thong and threaded it through the two nipple clamps, then stood back with the ends between his fingers. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.
He paused for a moment, and then pulled both clamps off with a sudden hard yank.
Anthony’s body jerked, but nothing else happened for a second – and then a long, drawn-out wail of pain came from him. It built up and up and up until the room was reverberating with his screams.
Des moved forward and took the squashed nipples between fingers and thumbs. Grinning sadistically, he massaged them, encouraging the blood to return.
The biker looked like he was running on the spot. He was beside himself – the pain after the clamps had come off had been horrendous on its own, but the cunt’s fingers were multiplying the agony a thousandfold. He thrashed in the restraints and screamed into the leather hood.
Des kept kneading, twisting and squeezing Anthony’s tits for a few minutes, then let go and stood back. Smiling, he watched the biker writhing. “The pain will go before too long.”
“Jack,” said Des, after they’d let Anthony recover for a while, “how do you fancy a bit of edging?”
The small leather boy pouted theatrically, and grinned. “Oooh. I’m always up for some of that.”
“Let’s get him off the posts.”
They put their black-visored helmets on again, then removed the biker’s hood. It was a very different guy underneath: the cocky, arrogant violent bastard had gone, and in its place was a broken boy looking at them with pleading eyes. They released his wrist and ankle cuffs and had to support him as they made him kneel down, with his hands cuffed behind him. Any remaining hardness of his cock had gone with the pain of the nipple clamp removal, but his base level of horniness was so great from the prolonged edging and prostate massaging they’d done to him earlier that a few minutes’ work by Des got him rock-hard again. After a while it was stabbing the air in front of him and dripping precum. Gary thought he could actually see steam rising slowly from the end.
Des positioned Jack in front of the biker, then knelt down himself behind Anthony. “Now, straight boy, you’re going to suck cock. If you can keep him on the edge without letting him cum for ten minutes, I’ll think about letting you cum.”
Jack unzipped his leather jeans and got his cock out. It wasn’t very big, but it was as hard as a rock.
The pain in the biker’s nipples had lessened substantially now. He looked at the cock in front of him and screwed his face up. He shook his head slowly. “No. Please. Don’t make me suck a guy’s fucking cock.”
“Do you want to cum today?” He pressed his leather-clad body against Anthony’s naked back, reached around his waist and ran a single lubed fingertip over his cock head.
The biker’s body jerked. He hung his head. “Fuck,” he whispered.
“Well this is the only way it’s going to happen.”
“This is a new position for me,” chuckled Jack. He had always been a sub, and standing looking down at a restrained guy was not a usual occurrence for him.
“Now, you have to keep him on the very edge, but do not let him cum.”
Anthony hesitated for a while, but after another cock-head tease from Des’ fingers he raised his head, closed his eyes, opened his mouth wide and and took the boy’s cock reluctantly into it. He closed his lips tentatively around it.
“Jack, let us know when you’re very close – but just the first time. After that, no sound at all. Ok?”
The boy grinned and nodded.
Anthony’s mouth had so far been motionless around the cock, but now it began to move slowly. His head moved backwards and forwards and he was doing everything he could not to let his teeth or his tongue touch it.
Des looked at Jack and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
In response, Jack made a sour face and sighed in exaggerated boredom, inspecting his fingernails.
“Use your fucking tongue. Use your lips. Get some suction going. Work on the head. Imagine it’s your own cock. Do what would feel best if it was being done to you.”
After a few moments, Jack’s face cleared and he raised his eyebrows slightly. He smiled a little in mild surprise.
“Better. Now get the boy close. Very close.”
Anthony continued to work on the cock, and Des made sure to keep the biker close himself; it would motivate him more, he reasoned. After a couple of minutes he smiled to himself: Anthony seemed to be getting into it.
Jack had been watching the good-looking biker working on him. He frowned briefly, and his pelvis gave one involuntary thrust. “Ok. I’m close.”
“Good. Now, Anthony, stop. Release his cock. Give the boy a few seconds to back off from the edge, then start again, but much slower. More teasingly. The ten minutes starts now – and if you make him cum before the time’s up, we will not let you cum – but we’ll spend the next few hours driving you insane with the need to.”
Anthony waited, then started again, just using his tongue now. Actually, he thought, cocks don’t taste as bad as he’d imagined they would. At least this one was clean – it didn’t smell of piss or sweat at all. And there was something quite horny about getting a camp, queer fucker needing to cum but at the same time making very sure he couldn’t.
As if Des had read his mind, he said, “you know what it felt like when we made you need to cum but didn’t let you – well, do that to him. Be sadistic. Make the little gay bastard suffer.”
Jack was getting close again, and he was struggling not to make any sound or to give any other indication of the fact.
Anthony stopped again for the length of time he thought would be the most frustrating for the boy, his eyes looking up at Jack’s face, then resumed the teasing and sucking. Even without the other bastard’s finger on his cock, he realised, doing this on its own was turning him on. What the fuck was happening to him?
Jack was having to concentrate now to stop himself from thrusting his hips and fucking the biker’s mouth, and at one point he had to intertwine his fingers hard behind his head to stop his hand going to his cock to finish himself off. Being edged by a hunky, straight biker was an unusual – and horny - experience for him.
Anthony felt Jack get close once more, and stopped again. A stifled groan of frustration escaped from the boy standing above him. A very pleasant twinge of satisfaction swept through the biker.
Des kept up the teasing on Anthony’s cock head, but he found that less and less was being needed: just the occasional slow, light stroke over the shiny glans - just enough to keep him desperate enough to cum, but not close enough that he couldn’t concentrate on what he was doing to Jack’s cock. It was a fine line, but Des was expert at cock work.
Those ten minutes were a very long time for Jack.
“Time’s up. Well done.”
Jackreally wanted to cum. He wanted to wank himself off – it would only have taken a couple of strokes – but with an effort of will he forced himself not to, and very carefully he put his hard cock back into his designer leather jeans – after wiping it first.
“Ok. Let’s get him on the table.”
They strapped Anthony down securely to the padded restraint table, face up, and re-hooded him. Now that the biker couldn’t see anything again, they could take their helmets off once more. Jack breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the wall to arrange his hair in the floor-length mirror.
Gary worked on the biker’s balls, teasing them and tickling them, while Des applied himself again to the desperately horny cock. “I think it’s time to give our biker a ruined orgasm.”
‘Orgasm’ was the only word Anthony heard. He closed his eyes and groaned in pleasure as the slippery hand enclosed his cock and started to wank it again, but very, very slowly. He felt himself getting gradually closer to cumming. Very soon he was on the edge. Another stroke would make him cum.
Des kept him there on the very brink of orgasm for a moment - the biker was holding his breath and his muscles were quivering with tension – and then he very carefully he gave him that final stroke – an exquisitely gentle, light, and finely controlled one. Then he released the cock completely, and Gary removed his fingers from the balls.
As Des had intended, that last stroke had nudged Anthony just over the edge, and he started to cum. His cock began to jerk slowly. “WANK ME! FOR FUCK’S SAKE RUB IT! HARD!!” More than anything else in the world he needed something gripping and stroking his cock. Now! It HAD to happen!
But it didn’t. The boys watched as a single, very small, pearly blob of spunk oozed from the tip of the biker’s cock, and stayed there. It was the only one, though the cock was jerking and being thrust backwards and forwards madly as the biker fought to get friction on it.
“NOOOOOO! For God’s sake wank me! PLEASE! I’ll do ANYTHING!”
Anthony had never experienced a ruined orgasm before. It felt like the cunts had made him miss the most wonderful thing in the universe. He swore and cursed at them as the aborted orgasm passed agonisingly slowly. It felt like a door to paradise had closed gently in his face a split second before he could get through it. Now, again, it was out of reach. He wailed miserably into the leather hood.
They knew very well that he was still terminally horny, so they allowed him a few moments to calm down, and then they did it again.
Two more ruined orgasms later Anthony would have been on his knees if he hadn’t been strapped to the table. The inside of the hood was wet with his sweat and with tears of absolute frustration.
“The thing about gays who are into stuff like S&M,” said Des conversationally, still gently holding the cock, ”is that, unlike most others, we make the effort to really understand how boys work. And unlike straights, we’re not distracted by women’s bits – they work completely differently anyway – and so we concentrate on guys. We get to know exactly how to cause a guy the most pleasure. Or the most pain. Or the most frustration.”
Anthony was only capable of grunting. He thought things couldn’t get any worse than this.
In that he was quite wrong.
Des looked at the others. “Right. Let’s turn him over.”
The restraint table Anthony was on had been designed for edging, and they got the biker strapped face down with his cock and balls pushed through the hole in its centre. His hooded head lay sideways on the PVC covering, and he groaned in pain as the pressure against his abused nipples made them hurt badly again for a while. An extra-wide strap was buckled very tightly across his hips to hold them immobile and to prevent thrusting. The biker realised that this position, with his cock and balls sticking down through the hole in the table, was an intensely horny one. If anybody were to touch them he knew it would feel incredible.
“Ok,” said Des, “I think it’s time to fuck our straight boy.”
Of all the things that disgusted straights most of all, the one that usually stood head and shoulders above the rest, was being fucked up the arse by another guy. Anthony had, so far, suffered pain from the wooden paddle and the nipple clamps, but he had also experienced unbelievably intense – if frustrating – pleasure from the edging. He’d even got into sucking that boy’s cock, and had discovered the erotic sadism of intentionally making somebody need to cum but not letting him. He’d suffered the indescribable frustration of ruined orgasms, and he’d survived the dildo up his arse - but being fucked by a real cock was something else entirely. It was the thing he most despised homosexuals for; it was the thing he made frequent gay jokes about; and it was also the thing he feared most of all because it threatened his masculinity, his straight-ness, more than anything else. The moment he heard Des’ words, every muscle in his body tensed. “No. NO! NO! ”
The boys smiled at each other.
“Please. Not that. I’m straight. Please don’t f-” he couldn’t even bring himself to say it. “Please. I’ll do anything else you ask. But don’t do that. Please.”
“Well, by all means try to stop us,” he smiled. “Each of us is going to fuck you. All four of us, one after the other. And we’re all gonna shoot our spunk up your arse.”
Anthony was writhing on the table. He pulled frantically at the restraints but they held him fast.
“We’ll make it easy for you. Smallest cock first, biggest last.”
The biker was still struggling to get free, and they thought they could hear him sobbing desperately inside the leather hood.
Des whispered into Jack’s ear. “Gently.”
Jack nodded. It was a long time since he’d fucked anybody but he was actually looking forward to cumming inside this straight biker. He unzipped his leather jeans, lubed his cock, and climbed on top of Anthony. Very carefully he positioned himself, and then pushed in slowly.
The biker took a deep breath. Under the hood his face was scrunched up. He had expected a lot of pain – but there wasn’t too much. Like the dildo had earlier, it felt a bit like he was having a shit, but different somehow. For a moment he tried to imagine it was a girl fucking him, but then realised that was ridiculous.
Jack sighed in pleasure as his cock went in up to the balls. The biker was tight. He began to fuck him slowly.
Partly because of the edging Anthony had been forced to do on him earlier, Jack didn’t last very long. When he came he groaned in pleasure as his spunk shot into Anthony. He gave a final little thrust, then collapsed, panting for a moment, before pulling out and climbing off.
Anthony closed his eyes under the hood. He’d been fucked by a guy. Nothing would ever be the same for him again.
But it wasn’t over. “Excellent.” Des raised his eyebrows to Gary, and the boy mounted the table.
Gary’s cock was substantially longer than Jack’s, and wider too, and these facts did not go unnoticed by the biker. He yelled as the boy slid into him. This hurt. It was stretching him a lot more. He gritted his teeth as the guy fucked him – he wasn’t being as gentle as the last one. While it was happening, Anthony’s mind was whirling. He was being fucked. By a guy. And he couldn’t do a bloody thing about it. He was strapped down. A leather hood was pressing tight around his head. He felt helpless rage.
With a grunt and a strong thrust, Gary came.
For the second time the biker felt the spunk pumping into him. He gave a long sob. He felt broken.
Next up was Bas. Bas was a big lad, but although his cock was only about the same length as Gary’s, it had a lot more girth, and was considerably more bumpy. He’d been looking forward to punishing this homophobic biker probably more than the others had. He pulled his jeans down to his ankles, and without even spitting on his cock, rammed it home with a grunt of satisfaction.
Anthony let out a yell of pain as the cock thrust into him. The guy on top of him was clearly not intending to be gentle. The cock pistoned into him mercilessly, making the biker squirm.
“Aaargh! God! Oh fuck. Shit. No...” Anthony’s eyes were screwed up and he was panting. This was excruciating.
Bas knew exactly how to use his cock. He could make a fucking extremely pleasurable, or he could make it painful. He was making it painful. Again and again he rammed himself in up to the balls, and gave a powerful extra thrust before pulling out right to the tip and doing it again. He constantly changed the angle of entry, scraping the walls of the biker’s rectum sadistically.
Anthony was wailing non-stop, and praying that the guy would cum, so that it would end.
Unfortunately for the biker, however, Bas was good at controlling himself. He fucked Anthony mercilessly for ten full minutes. At last, he gave three huge thrusts, shouting through gritted teeth: BASTARD. FUCKING. HOMOPHOBE. Then, with a yell of victory, he emptied his load into the writhing straight boy beneath him.
Des had been slowly squeezing his cock through his leather jeans while he’d been watching the others. After Bas had climbed off, he let Anthony recover for a minute before getting on himself. He got his cock and balls out through the fly of his jeans, but left them fastened up. After lubing himself well, he beckoned Gary over. “Get underneath and edge him with a feather,” he whispered.
Gary lay down under the table and looked at the semi-soft cock above him. He took a feather and began to stroke it lightly over the shiny glans. Immediately it jerked, and began to get harder.
Supporting his weight on an elbow, Des carefully entered the biker. His cock was the largest of them all, but where Bas’ was bumpy and knobbly, his was smooth and silky. He pushed in until two-thirds of it was inside, then began to fuck him slowly and sensuously. His legs were touching Anthony’s all the way down, and he knew the biker could feel his boots, and his leather jeans against his skin and on his arse. He had also zipped his leather jacket up so that the guy would be able to feel it sliding over his back.
Anthony had been expecting even more pain – the bastard had said that the last one would be the biggest cock – but his face cleared in surprise: this wasn’t hurting much at all. In fact, he realised when he allowed himself to analyse things, it felt good. The feather working on him under the table was helping, of course, but this guy was not trying to make the fucking painful. Quite the opposite, in fact: it was obvious that he was trying to make it as good as he could. And something else: he was conscious of the boy’s leathers touching his body and legs – and it felt dead horny. It had been cool at first but it had warmed up now, and he could also feel the buckles and zips on the jacket, the jeans and the boots. Suddenly the facts that he was strapped down helpless, hooded, being edged by one guy and being fucked by another guy in leather became not something to be despised, but something very hot indeed. He realised with a guilty start that he was fucking loving it.
When the previous guy had been fucking him, he’d wanted it to end as soon as possible – but with this one he found himself wanting it to go on for a long time. And he was actually looking forward to feeling the guy’s spunk gushing into him. He squeezed his arse muscles around the cock, wanting to milk it, wanting to give the boy more pleasure himself. His writhing on the table had become squirms of enjoyment.
Anthony needed to cum very badly. So did Des. He lowered his head, breathed on the back of Anthony’s neck gently, brushed it with his lips, licked it - and then he came. With a final thrust followed by small movements and a moan of satisfaction he shot his load into the helpless straight biker.
Anthony responded with a long, quiet groan of pleasure himself as he felt the cock pulsing inside him and the spunk shooting out into him. It would probably have made him cum himself if the bastard under the table hadn’t fucking stopped working on him just then.
“Did you enjoy that, straight boy?” Des asked as he stood, wiping his cock and zipping himself back up.
The biker couldn’t bring himself to answer.
“You see, fucking can be unpleasant, or it can be very nice indeed. But I think you’ve had enough pleasure for now. We need to get back to the punishment. Let’s turn him over again.”
Anthony was face up now, and the restraints had been re-attached. His cock was as hard as iron and pointing at the ceiling.
Des tightened the biker’s ankle cuffs even more, and clipped a chain between them so that he wouldn’t be able to move them much in either direction. Then he picked up a cane.
Anthony was again wondering what was going to happen, and cursing the fact that he couldn’t see a damn thing. When the first hard blow from the cane struck his bare soles he screamed both in shock and in pain.
Des counted to three and gave him another one.
Another scream. The hooded head was shaking from side to side. “NO!” He shrieked. “PLEASE! STOP!”
“It hurts, doesn’t it. I know. That’s why I’m doing it.” He brought his arm back and the cane swished through the air again.
“Unlike most other places, soles don’t desensitise. Did you know that? That means that the pain just gets worse and worse and worse.” He brought the cane down again. “I can keep this up for hours.”
“That’s one way to do it. Here’s another.” He brought the cane closer to the feet, and started to give them smaller, but very rapid blows.
Another wail started in the biker’s throat. This one continued, building up until it was a shriek.
“Feels like your feet are on fire, doesn’t it?” The end of the cane was a blur as it struck repeatedly, hard and fast across the sensitive soles.
Anthony was desperate. He was pulling at the cuffs and the straps, and saliva was running down his face inside the hood. “PLEASE! FOR GOD’S SAKE! STOP!!!”
Des kept it up for another minute, and then threw the cane down. “I hope you’re learning your fucking lesson, straight boy – this is hard work.”
The biker was sobbing piteously under the leather. “Please...” he whimpered, “please let me go.”
“Don’t you want to cum?”
Anthony shook his head. “No. I want to go home.”
Des thought about it. “I’d intended to introduce you to the ball-crusher. That’s a metal thing that squeezes your testicles between two metal plates. There’s a large screw with a handle on it so that the pressure can be increased very, very slowly… It’s a lot of fun to use on a helpless victim.”
It looked like Anthony was trying to curl up.
“But I won’t. I think we’ll make you cum and then call it a day.”
The leather-covered head was turning slowly from side to side. “I don’t want to cum,” he wailed quietly, “I want to go home.”
“No? Oh I think you will want to cum very badly in a few minutes.” He sat on the side of the table and lubed his nitrile gloves again, then took the limp cock in his hand.
Gary took the feather off the floor where he’d left it and went to the foot end of the table. Very lightly, he started to tickle the glowing-red soles with it.
At the first touch on his feet Anthony screamed again – they were still throbbing agonisingly from the bastinado - but then he realised that it didn’t hurt. It was the feather. And his soles felt unbelievably sensitive. Any touch harder than the soft feather would have made him faint, he knew. But this felt intensely erotic – much more than it had any right to. After a minute his cock gradually began to harden under Des’ expertly teasing fingers.
Soon, the prospect of orgasm was again becoming very appealing.
Ten minutes later it was more than appealing: it was necessary.
Des had no intention of making him cum, though; the biker was by no means horny enough. He continued to work on the cock for a while, then he leant down and took it in his mouth.
Anthony gasped. He had had his cock sucked by countless women – but this was in a different class altogether. Whether it was because the bastards had got him so horny for such a long time he didn’t know, but what he did know was that the mouth felt like fucking heaven. Whoever it was, he was using his lips, his tongue, suction, even his teeth – and he was a fucking expert.
Des worked on the cock slowly, concentrating hard. He had sucked enough cocks to know exactly what effect everything he did had on a guy, and he was making Anthony’s approach to orgasm as slow, as gradual, but as irresistible as he could.
Bit by bit, the biker got closer and closer to cumming. When he was a hair’s breadth away, Des stopped.
“No, not again...” Anthony was trembling and moaning continuously. “Let me cum… let me cum… let me cum… let me cum...”
Des took the cock back into his mouth put the end of his tongue right on the frenulum. He began to stroke it with the soft, wet tip.
Anthony stopped breathing. His body arched on the table – and Des stopped again.
The wail of desperate frustration that came from the biker this time was from his very soul. That was the closest the bastards had got him so far. It was un-fucking-bearable.
Des waited until Anthony had backed off far enough from the edge, and then very carefully coated the biker’s cock with lube. “Well, our straight biker’s been fucked, so now I think it’s time he fucked his first guy himself.”
Working quickly they released the biker’s restraints and got him off the table. While they were doing this Des had removed his boots and leather jeans. When the table was free, he sat on the bottom of it and then lay back. The others positioned Anthony standing between Des’ legs, and then Des lifted them and placed his knees over the biker’s shoulders. Bas guided Anthony’s hard cock onto Des’ arse hole.
“Fuck me,” said Des. “Fuck a queer leather boy, straight biker.”
Anthony looked down although he was still hooded and couldn’t see anything. Under any other circumstances he would have beaten the boy to fucking pulp. But at that moment he was so terminally horny that the thought of cumming inside a tight, gripping hole – any hole – was so compelling that he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. And yet there was more than that. These guys had hurt him: they’d beaten him, tortured him with tickling, caned his feet, humiliated him, and much, much more – but as they’d done all of that they had also taught him exactly how much more there was to sex, how many possibilities there were, and - he was thinking of how Des had fucked him so - lovingly - was the only way he could describe it; and how damned amazing that had been. Now that same guy was lying there, wanting him to fuck him .
All that had gone through his mind in less than a second, and he was already pushing forward into the boy’s arse. He groaned involuntarily as he felt the sphincter close around the head, and he pushed in further. In spite of his intense need, he tried to force himself to go slowly, to do it gently; he wanted to make it last for the boy. But almost straight away the feeling of Des’ arse muscles gripping him, milking his cock, was too much for him.
Within a few seconds, and with a series of progressively violent thrusts and increasingly louder yells, he started to cum. The feeling of his cock throbbing and pulsing inside Des as his spunk began to shoot out in uncontrollable bursts was the most intense pleasure he thought he would ever feel. Completely unable to stop himself, he pounded his cock deep into the boy with each stroke. His orgasm went on and on, and it was indescribably intense. As he came he thought: I am fucking a guy. But that made it no less amazing at all.
“Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!”
As the last spasms ended, Anthony’s knees gave way and the others had to support him. He was panting and sweat was running down his face under the hood.
The boys lowered him gently to the rubber-covered floor. As he lay there, eyes closed under the hood, exhausted, Des got off the table and joined the others standing over him as they unzipped their leather jeans and got their hard cocks out. They wanked themselves off over him, their spunk arcing down onto the naked biker.
They let Anthony rest for a while, then everyone but Des put their lids on again briefly while they took off his hood and let him get dressed. Des had put his gear back on, and was sitting on the edge of the table. Anthony stood in front of him.
“You Ok?” Asked Des gently.
Anthony looked at the boy. It was the first time he’d seen his face since that night he’d beaten him up on the road. He didn’t know what to say. He nodded.
Des smiled a little. “Good.” He reached out a hand and held Anthony’s biceps. “Please leave gay boys alone. You’re a very good-looking guy, and if they fancy you, take it as a compliment. Live and let live, yeah?”
Anthony nodded, gazing at the floor. “Yeah,” he said quietly. After a moment he looked at Des. “Are you that last one that fucked me?”
A corner of Des’ mouth lifted. “Yeah.”
The biker opened his mouth at say something, but then closed it again.
They used a cable tie to bind his wrists behind his back and pulled the thin hood over his head, then they took him out to the van.
Saturday 17 th July. 10:15pm
Anthony was walking back from a late session at the gym. It was a warm summer night and when he got home he intended to get his bike out and go for a late-evening spin. He’d just passed the Hole in the Wall club when he saw a guy coming towards him. The guy’s leathers were covered in studs, but they weren’t biker gear, and the bulge in his shiny, tight black jeans was unmissable.
Anthony looked at him as he came level with him, and then stopped. “Had your bike nicked?” He asked.
“Hello. Nah. I’m not a biker. I’m off to the club.”
Anthony nodded. “You into leather? You like being tied up and fucked?”
“Well,” the guy looked slightly uncomfortable. “Sometimes.” He looked at the hot guy’s muscular body with appreciation, at the sexy little dragon tattoo on his neck. A small smile appeared on his face. “Why, you offering?”
“No, I’m not,” said Anthony slowly. “I’m straight.” He drew back his arm, and stretched. Then a corner of his mouth lifted. “But have a good time, leather boy.”
The guy nodded, and smiled. “Thanks mate.”
He watched as the guy went into the club.
Perhaps he might have a look in there himself one day. He’d go down well in his bike leathers, he thought.
Anthony smiled.
One day, perhaps.