There was a great deal of the elf about Oliver: jet-black hair in a thick fringe over blue eyes; ears that, from certain angles, looked slightly pointed; a small, slim body; and a cute, boyish face that smiled a lot. Traditionally, however, elves were less well-known for wearing ripped leather jackets, skintight PVC jeans with studs and chains, and New Rock boots.
Oliver was smiling now, as he looked away from the huge biker who had been ogling him all evening. It had been obvious since he’d come in that the biker wanted him very badly. The biker in question was Hank. He was a stereotypical Harley rider: bald; domed head; bushy eyebrows; thick beard; leather sleeveless vest showing off tattooed, granite-hard pecs and biceps; well-packed, thick horse hide leather jeans with lace-up sides; and oily, scuffed bike boots. But unlike the stereotype, there was little fat on him; his stomach was largely muscle.
Hank couldn’t take his eyes off the boy – and this was odd, he realised: the lad was almost the complete opposite of what he usually went for – but there was something strangely compelling about him. The way he moved, his firm, slim body, his hair, and the impishness that exuded from him, had got his cock hard the moment he’d set eyes on him. An elf in shiny black gear with studs and chains. He wanted to fuck the boy senseless.
At the bar, a different guy - this one in denim – was approaching Oliver. “You free?”
The boy looked him over, then smiled and gently shook his head. “’Fraid not, but thanks.” He must have said that to various men at least six or seven times that evening already. When he glanced back into the room the biker was still looking at him. Oliver had a very specific sexual agenda, and it occurred to him that this big biker might possibly fulfil it – the guy was enormous and muscular, and looked like he was into an eye-watering range of kinks. He probably fucked like a train too. The possibilities were interesting.
Hank seemed to come to a decision. He drained the last of his beer and put the bottle down on the jukebox, took a breath, and walked slowly towards the boy. Oliver saw him coming, and by the time Hank arrived, he had turned partly away. Hank was not very good at social stuff, and, taking the boy’s action as a complete lack of interest in him, he almost turned around and went back. But just then Oliver looked straight at him and smiled.
Hank felt a shock of lust go through him at that smile. “Hello,” he said.
The smile on the boy’s face stayed there, and the black eyebrows flicked upwards. “Hi biker.” His voice was soft.
Hank’s brain had ground to a complete standstill – those blue eyes were lethal weapons. He opened his mouth to say something more but nothing came out. He’d exhausted his chat-up lines.
The boy seemed to understand exactly what was happening. “You want to fuck me.”
All Hank could manage was a jerky nod.
Oliver turned around and leaned back with his elbows on the bar. Hank’s eyes traveled slowly down past the boy’s slim waist, and came to rest on skintight, shiny black thighs. The bulge under the studded leather belt was unmissable, and Hank very much wanted to feel it against his lips. He wanted to lick it, bite it, and suck it – before he ripped those jeans off him. More than anything else, the boy looked so deliciously vulnerable – Hank would have been able to hold him down with one hand without breaking a sweat – and for some reason this was turning him on like crazy.
“How badly do you want me?”
Hank raised his eyes to the boy’s cute face again, desperately searching for words that would convey his need. “Like fuck,” was all he could come up with.
Oliver nodded slowly once. “You reckon you could hold me down? Helpless?”
Hank chuckled. “Oh I think so.”
You like to fist?”
“Oh yeah.”
“And sucking? And kissing? And having your tits chewed on? And beating my round arse? Pissing on me?”
Hank was having difficulty breathing. He managed to nod.
“And keeping your gear on. Fucking me in your spunky leather biker jeans.”
“Shit. Yeah. Oh fuck yeeaahh.”
The boy looked at him. “My name’s Oliver,” he said. “And what I don’t need is fucking by a guy who cums as soon as he gets in. Most do. So I want to find out if a guy can control himself.” He stared into the biker’s eyes. “I’d tie you down first, play with you for a while, get you horny, make sure you can last…”
Hank blinked. He thought about this. If there was any tying up to be done, it was always he that did it. But then he realised that he was in with a chance after all – and he would agree to just about anything to go with this boy. “No problem,” he said. Yeah. You can do that.” And as for controlling himself, he chuckled quietly to himself: it took him fucking ages to cum.
“You sure?”
Hank nodded, smiling knowingly. “Oh yeah.”
“Ok then. Come on.”
The guy was so enormous that Oliver had to pull the thick leather cuffs hard to get them to close around the big wrists and booted ankles, but by the time he’d got them on, and the straps over the biker’s body, holding him down to the restraint table, Hank couldn’t move. Oliver stood back and gazed at him. The leather vest had opened more and showed solid muscles under a mat of dark hair. Powerful as the biker was, Oliver knew that the cuffs and the straps were a lot stronger than he was. He was going nowhere.
The boy stood closer and looked down. “What’s your name, biker?”
“Hank.”
“Hello Hank.” Without saying anything else he slowly pushed his hand into the front left pocket of the biker’s leather jeans and felt around until he found the guy’s cock. The material of the pocket was thin cotton, and he worked his first finger under the head of the cock until it came to rest on the frenulum. He began to stroke it slowly, the tension of the leather keeping it pressed against his fingertip.
Hank closed his eyes and moaned.
Oliver felt the cock hardening – now it was pressing up against his jeans - and he slowed the movement of his finger even more. He ran his free hand slowly over his leather jacket, over the studded belt down to his skintight shiny black thighs, and then onto his bulging cock. He teased it lightly, which made it jerk visibly. All the while his finger continued to stroke the big guy’s frenulum through the thin lining of the pocket. “I want you to peel these jeans off me and fuck me, biker,” he said slowly. “I wanna feel your cock in me, and then your fist. I want your warm piss on me. Make me drink it. Torture my fucking tits… you can do anything you want to me. The more fucking perverted the better...” He leaned down until his lips were inches from Hank’s and ran the tip of his tongue slowly over them. “I’m sure you have lots of ideas.”
Hank was beside himself with the need to get his hands on Oliver. His cock was already hard – the boy had an amazing technique with a finger, and Hank badly needed to crush his mouth against this slim boy, rip those sexy fucking jeans off him and rape the fucker.
After a while Oliver took his hand out, and pulled the zip of the guy’s thick leather jeans down as far as it would go. Hank wasn’t wearing anything under them. Reaching in, he carefully pulled out the man’s cock. It was already more than halfway hard, and it was in proportion to the rest of his body: huge. The purple head glistened and the meaty shaft was thick. He pushed the cock upwards and pulled the balls out. They were big, round and hairy bull balls. He cupped them in one hand and took the cock gently in the other.
His blue eyes gazed into Hank’s. And he whispered, “you want me?” He made a loop with his fingers and began sliding them slowly up and down over the ridge of the head.
“Oh yeah.” Fuck, this boy was something else - it had been a long time since anyone had turned Hank on as much as this.
“That’s good, cos I like being screwed by guys who are as horny as fuck.” He teased his fingertips over the shiny glans, which was already oozing precum. “But they gotta be able to make it last.” He smiled. “Can you make it last, biker?”
Hank was almost incapable of speech, but he nodded. “Oh yeah,” he growled, I can make it last. You have no fucking idea.”
“Good.” Oliver let go of the cock and reached to the side table. His hand came back holding a strange device. It looked home-made, and complicated. Basically a cylinder in a frame with straps on it, it had thin electric wires leading from it to a control box. Hank recognised the part that was facing towards him as the end of a Fleshlite. He had one himself and used it when there were no arses available - but through the transparent silicone he could see all sorts of mechanical bits that looked like they could move in various ways. The inside was most definitely not a Fleshlite.
Oliver positioned it, and inserted Hank’s cock into it very slowly. As the head went past the lips on the end, the biker gave an involuntary gasp of pleasure. After that there was little to feel until it was all the way in, when various small parts came to rest on the head of his cock. The boy fastened the straps around Hank’s leather-jeaned thighs to keep the device in position, and also connected the back of it to a locking point in the table. He picked up the control box, looked at the biker, and pressed a button.
Hank gasped again – the inside of the cylinder shrank and vacuum-wrapped his cock, gripping it like a hungry mouth. Nothing else happened.
“You want to lick me all over,” Oliver whispered quietly. “You want to feel my leather jacket and lick these tight, bulging jeans. You want to feel my horny cock bulge, squeeze it, suck it. You wanna strip me, hold me down, kiss my body all over. You wanna turn me over, ram that huge cock into my arse and fuck me until you shoot your spunk up me. You want to piss on me and force me to suck your cock and chew my tits and fist me and slap me around and make me your fucking slut .”
Hank was going cross-eyed. Although the device wasn’t moving, the feel of it just sitting there gripping his cock was so fucking horny. And looking at this gorgeous boy, hearing him saying those things... “Oh fuck yes,” he groaned. Yeeaah.”
“That’s what I need, biker. I wanna gag on your fucking cock. I want to feel it pumping into me. Fucking me insane. Until you can’t stop yourself any more and you ram that cock in up to the balls and fucking rape my arse.” The smile was back. “Oh fuck, I need that. But you gotta do it for fucking ages. Being screwed makes me cum – but it takes a while. Most guys lose it too soon. I want you to fuck me for hours before you cum in me. So I gotta make sure you can control yourself. You understand that?”
Hank nodded. “Control myself. Oh yeah. I can do that.” He knew from long experience that he could do that. On the occasions that he let someone wank or suck him off, guys gave up long before he was ready to shoot.
“Can you? If you cum in this silly little toy, you won’t get to do any of that. None of that at all. You won’t get to feel my leathers, lick me all over, or fuck me.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you think I’m hot?”
“Oh fuck yeah.”
“Well if you cum in this thing, it won’t be as good as fucking a boy like me, will it?” Oliver pressed a second button on the control box. “So don’t cum now.”
There were whirring noises. Hank threw back his head and yelled. “Oh fuuuck…!” It was as if the inside of the device had come alive, and lots of little things were moving over his cock. Oliver was watching him very closely, and as he adjusted the controls in his hand, the things seemed to be seeking out the most sensitive, the most responsive, spots to work on. Bit by bit, many of them migrated to the ridge of his cock, and some more were teasing the head, and the frenulum. Several were stroking the shaft independently and there was one working directly on the piss slit.
The sensations changed as the boy tried different combinations, adjusting things a little at a time. At one point the biker howled with pure animal lust – right then it seemed that his cock was being worked on in exactly the perfect way. It was as if some devils with supernatural knowledge about his cock were working on it together - in precisely the way that would make him cum. It felt fucking unbelievable.
Oliver stopped the device completely. He’d found it. He made a note on a pad that was lying on the table.
“Now, I’m going to turn the machine on again. Don’t cum. Oh fuck, please don’t fucking cum. I want to struggle under you while you twist my tits and fuck my tight boy-arse, biker. I want you to do the most perverted leather pig things to me. But I have to do this to you to be sure.”
He pressed the button and the machine came to life again – but much more gently – and this time concentrating mostly on the shaft of the biker’s cock.
Hank knew that working just on the shaft stood no chance of making him cum – but he also realised that doing that was like pumping up one of those things you set dynamite off with: it was increasing the pressure. And seeing that gorgeous boy standing over him, those blue eyes staring into his – was making him more horny than he’d been for a very long time. He lay there, his eyes traveling slowly up and down the elvish boy – the New Rock boots, those prick-teasing, bulging, shiny black PVC fucking jeans, the studs and chains, the ripped leather jacket and that cute, fuckable face… With sudden horror he felt the first suggestion that his body might possibly be considering orgasm. No way! He wrenched his eyes away from Oliver, closed them tightly and concentrated. Shit, he must not let this fucking machine make him cum! As long as he didn’t look at the boy he could keep it under control, no problem. He growled in relief as he felt the danger of orgasm recede. But if the damn thing ever started working on him like it had done before...
“Just one more minute. That’s all. Then I’ll know you can control yourself, and you can fuck my lights out.” The machine continued to tease the shaft of the huge cock again for a few seconds, and then Oliver pressed the control box.
Suddenly, the device resumed working on the biker full-on – cockhead as well - in that perfect way that it had done before.
Hank let out a sharp, urgent yell of panic. He screwed his eyes closed, and his head began to shake violently from side to side in desperation as he felt the little things moving irresistibly over the shaft, the frenulum, the ridge and the glans of his cock – teasing, rubbing, stroking, sucking, sliding... He fought against it as that damned machine worked on him, trying to make him lose control, trying to make him cum.
But the devils that had hold of his cock seemed to know every way to get him – and there was fuck-all he could do about it. No! Fuck NO! With an ear-shattering yell, he knew he was about to lose it.
Oliver licked his lips as he saw the biker succumb.
Even though his orgasm had already started, Hank’s muscles tensed, making the leather restraints creak under the pressure as he fought to hold it back, to stop himself from cumming, but it was too late and he was helpless to do anything about it.
Oliver’s elfish blue eyes were open wide as he stared at the biker, watching the guy fighting the straps and battling with his own body, trying desperately to control himself. And the moment he was certain that the biker couldn’t do anything to stop himself from cumming, his own cock suddenly stiffened in his jeans.
With a yell of fury and frustration, Hank felt his cock erupt. Each individual jet of spunk forcing its way past the little nub rubbing his sensitive piss-slit was both excruciatingly wonderful, and also a furiously humiliating failure as it pumped manically and uncontrollably out of his cock and into that damned device...
...and as the first gob of biker spunk burst out into the machine, Oliver’s hand went to his crotch. He grabbed his cock and began to wank it hard as he started to cum in his jeans. With his eyes locked on the biker, the device whirring as it sucked, rubbed, teased, tickled, stroked, and milked the huge cock irresistibly, the boy was gasping, fighting to control the convulsions of his own orgasm. This was what he lived for. The more his restrained victim fought against the machine, the more he struggled and swore, the more it turned Oliver on. And that moment when the biker realised that – despite everything he could fucking do – he was losing control and was about to cum, that was absolute heaven for Oliver. The boy’s eyes were wide; his hips were thrusting, driving his obscenely bulging cock to fuck his hand as it milked it fast through the shiny black PVC jeans. The sight of the big, powerful biker’s muscular body jerking on the table as he shot his load helplessly into the machine made Oliver’s orgasm one of the best he’d had for a very long time.
He allowed the machine to continue until it had extracted every drop. Their orgasms faded and died simultaneously.
When he’d got his breath back Oliver turned the machine off. “Aw,” he said, “you let yourself cum. Now you don’t get to fuck me.” His mouth turned down at the corners.
“You bastard,” Hank whispered, barely able to breathe.
“You knew the rules, Hank. All you had to do was not cum.”
“You bastard .”
The boy smiled. He started to take the machine off Hank. “Well, next time perhaps.”
Oliver stood at the bar. There was a guy over there who looked like he might be fun, and he was smiling. Not as muscular as that biker Hank last week, but still very hot. Hmm.
After every session, Oliver made adjustments to the design of the machine’s inside mechanisms. After he’d used it on a guy and had seen the effects it had, he adjusted it, refined it, sometimes moving or adding something, or taking something out of it before trying it on the next one. He was striving for perfection: a device that no guy could even begin to resist. He’d been working on it for years, and the machine was getting better every time. Oliver wondered how long this guy would be able to hold out against the latest version.
He could feel his cock beginning to harden in his PVCs as the man walked over to him. This was always good – Oliver knew he was cute, he knew he was hot, and when he got hard in these jeans it made people want him even more.
He looked at the guy’s bulge. His cock was clearly-defined under his tight Levis and was already beginning to stiffen as he looked at the boy, imagining what he was going to do to him. Oliver was imagining something different, though: slowly pushing that cock into the mouth of the machine, and the look on the guy’s face when he found the perfect setting.
But most of all, he was thinking of the thing he loved best in all the world: cumming in his tight, sexy PVC jeans as he watched a restrained guy struggling in the restraints and fighting to control himself while the machine worked on his desperately hard, horny cock – and seeing him lose the fight and cum helplessly. They always did.
Oliver had had a lot of guys, and by now he was very good at guessing the things that would turn each one on most of all; the things he knew that guy would most want to do to a boy like him. And he always offered exactly those things. But even now, occasionally, he could be surprised.
The guy hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his Levis. He was staring hard into the blue eyes. “You ticklish…?” He asked.
Ticklish? That was a new one, Oliver thought. He was not in the least bit ticklish - but instantly his eyes opened wide in panic; he squeezed his knees together hard and pressed his arms tight against his sides as if even the thought of being tickled made him need to curl up into a ball. “Oh fuck. You have no idea,” he whispered shakily.
He saw the guy’s cock jerk in his jeans. He was hooked. A cute, sexy, elfin boy who was clearly terrified of being tickled but who was obviously getting hard thinking about it. Absolutely perfect. The guy smiled; this one was coming home with him.
For a moment Oliver let himself imagine being tickled, or fucked, or fisted, or pissed on, or having a huge cock rammed down his throat, or having his nipples tortured, or sliding in mud, or being spanked.
And he wondered idly what any of them actually felt like.