The Telemachus Story Archive

By Hooder

I hadn’t intended to write a sequel to “Holiday Plans”, but I received a few emails from guys threatening violence to my person unless I did. So I thought I’d better .

- Hooder.


My finger was an inch from the bell-push when the door opened. Hettie stood there looking startled, and Craig was coming to an abrupt stop behind her. I guessed that he’d just run down the stairs.

“Hi Hettie. You off?”

“Oh!” Her look of surprise turned into a smile. “Hello Dean. Haven’t seen you for a long time. Yep, finished for the day. Boyfriend’s taking me to the cinema tonight – some dreadful horror film, I think.” She rolled her eyes. “Daniel and Claire are away – there’s only Craig here.”

“That’s fine – I came to see him. Well, have a good time.”

“Thanks, but probably not. Nice to see you again.” She smiled again and trotted off.

I shifted my attention to Craig, who looked like he’d just run a marathon. He’d been standing there staring at me wide-eyed. “Well, are you going to invite me in or what?”

“Oh sorry! Yes – come in.” He paused. “I heard you arrive on the bike. I thought we might be going over to your place.”

I laughed. “Oh you did, did you? I think a cold drink right now.”

The heatwave was showing no sign of going away and the air was hot. The living room was probably the coolest place in the house so we went in there. Craig disappeared into the kitchen and I took my leather jacket off and hung it over the back of the settee as I sat down, stretching my legs out and crossing them at the ankles. Craig returned with the drinks and sat down in the chair opposite. I watched his eyes – they started at my bike boots, traveled slowly up my lace-up sided leather jeans, paused at my crotch, then continued up over the studded belt, my black tee shirt, and came to my face.

“Are you going to sit there holding those glasses all day or are you going to give me one?”

He came out of his fantasies with a snap. “Sorry! Sorry. Here.”

I took a glass and raised it. “Cheers,” I said.

He clinked his glass against mine.

It was home-made, and ice-cold. I sighed in pleasure. “ Oh, that’s perfect. Claire makes good lemonade.” I smiled at him. “So, how are the studies going?”

I knew that school work was undoubtedly the very last thing he wanted to talk to me about, but I intended to make the little bugger wait. He’d very probably not been able to think about anything else after I’d told him about the ‘special stuff’ in my house after the bike ride the other day, and I wanted to tease him a bit.

“Oh fine, thanks. It’s physics, and I love it. I reckon I should do well in the exams.” He looked down at his glass for a moment. “Though it hasn’t exactly been easy to concentrate these last few days.”

“No? Why’s that?” I asked.

He thought quickly. “The heat.”

“Ah.” I smiled and nodded very slowly. We both knew the real reason why he hadn’t been able to concentrate.

I uncrossed my ankles, parted my knees slightly and rested my free hand on my thigh at the side of my crotch. My fingers began to stroke the leather idly, close to my bulge. Although he probably knew that I was doing it on purpose, the boy still couldn’t take his eyes off them.

I emptied my glass and put it down on the coffee table. “That was nice. Thank you.”

It was almost as if I could read his mind: he couldn’t wait any longer. This could go on all fucking evening. I gotta ask him . “So what’s this ‘stuff’ you’ve got at your house that you mentioned?”

“Stuff?” I asked innocently. “What stuff?”

He was frowning and grinning at the same time. “Stop it! Tell me!”

I allowed a silence to lengthen, then I said, “well, it’s stuff that big boys play with. I’m not sure you’re old enough for that sort of thing…”

The look on his face was priceless. “Deean !”

I threw back my head and laughed.


“It’s not the kind of thing your parents would approve of.”

“Good! Tell me about it!”

“No, I’m not going to tell you anything about it.”

He frowned in desperation and opened his mouth to say something, but I continued before he could. “I’m going to show you.”

“Yes!” His face cleared instantly and he grinned.

I sat there for a while, making no move to get up.

“When?” He was almost panting.

I sighed in resignation. “Oh all right. I suppose we could go and have a look.” I stood up and put my bike jacket back on. “Come on then.”

He was not a good pillion passenger - it took a bit of concentration to compensate for his occasional erratic leaning - but then this was only the second time he’d ever been on a bike. The fact that his hands were exploring my body as we rode down the country lanes didn’t help his balance much either. This boy certainly had a thing for leather, I thought. Even bits like my zips, and the buckles at the tops of my boots were subjected to stroking – and he seemed to be especially fascinated by the individual studs on my belt and my jacket - but most of the time his hands were on my thighs, feeling the leather. He still didn’t have the nerve to touch my bulge though.

My house is a lot smaller than the rambling pile of his family home, but it’s still a very nice place. I rode the bike into the garage and put it on the centre stand. The cooling fan started up and the engine was ticking from the heat. He followed me through the front door of the house and up the stairs to the main bedroom. After a few moments for him to look around, I pointed to a second door. “The things you’re interested in are all in there. It’s a… special… room. But right now, I want you to strip off. Completely.”

I don’t think he’d expected this. He’d probably never been naked in the presence of anyone else before, apart from in the showers at school, and that was a very different thing. I watched as he nervously took his trainers off, then his tee shirt, and his jeans. He hesitated, then pulled off his underpants. I saw his face going red as his semi-erect cock waved in the air. He didn’t know where to put his hands.

I purposely hadn’t done anything to make it easier for him – I’d just stood there watching him, with a smile on my lips, and allowing him time to feel terminally embarrassed. “Let me look at you for a while.” I leaned back against the wall with one booted foot flat against it, one hand behind me and the thumb of the other hooked into my studded belt, the fingers resting on the side of my bulge, stroking the black leather idly. It was a position that had served me well in the leather clubs, and it seemed to be having an effect on Craig: his cock rose visibly to full erection and his eyes were dilated. He was almost salivating. I didn’t know whether it was just my gear that was turning the boy on, or whether he fancied me as well.

“You like leather, then?”

He sort of groaned, and nodded his head. “Oh yeah...”

I ran my fingers very slowly over my jacket and then down to my jeans. I wanted to get this boy as horny as fuck. With a single fingertip I stroked along the shape of my rock-hard cock.

“Can you imagine what it would feel like if you were pressed up against me, naked like that?” I asked him very quietly. “Your cock rubbing against these tight black leather jeans…?

His mouth was open, his eyes were wide. Then his face screwed up, he swallowed, his legs trembled, and his right hand shot to his cock. He began to wank it fast.

I pushed myself off the wall. “Don’t you fucking dare ...”

Too late. He’d hardly touched it when, with a groan and a shudder, he came. I had to duck as spunk flew out and landed on the carpet.

I watched until he’d finished cumming.

“Oh God! Dean, I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m so sorry -”

“You little bugger!” I hadn’t wanted him to cum for a long time yet. Shit. I sighed. Ok. Right. I can deal with this, I thought. “Clean it up.” I barked. I threw him a box of tissues. While he was on his hands and knees mopping up the spunk I went to a drawer and took out a blindfold and a pair of handcuffs. “Stand up. Put your hands behind your back.”

He did as I ordered, his face red. Being careful not to let my leathers touch his bare skin – not yet – I stood behind him, cuffed his wrists, then pulled the blindfold over his eyes.

I grabbed his shoulders and marched him into the playroom.

It was marginally cooler in here. Leaving him standing at the side of the restraint table, I got the leather mitts and cuffs from the shelves. After removing his handcuffs I pulled the mitts over his hands – they’re fingerless, stiff leather with very shiny leather on the inside. They make it quite impossible to undo restraints, and they feel dead horny. Cuffs went around those, and two more on his ankles.

I pushed him backwards until he could feel the table behind him. “Lie down, face up.”

He climbed onto it. I clipped all four cuffs to the restraint points with his feet apart and his mitted hands at the sides of his head, then fastened two wide leather straps tightly overhis body– one over his chest and the second over his hips. Now he could move very little indeed.

I stood back and looked at him, pulling on a pair of skintight black leather cop gloves. He had a beautiful boyish body: smooth and slim, but with muscles that were already developing nicely and would continue to do so if he didn’t let himself go. His cock was already almost fully hard again (God, I’d forgotten how quickly teenage boys recover after they’ve cum), and he seemed to be enjoying being blindfolded: the little bastard was moving his face underneath it, trying to see round the edges. And he was testing the restraints too.

A thought occurred to me. I unclipped his right hand, lowered it to his side, removed the mitt and re-buckled the leather cuff around his bare wrist. Then I fastened it with a rope to the rail that ran along the sides of the table. “Touch your cock,” I ordered. His hand moved towards it, and when it got to within an inch of it I checked the rope and tied it off. “Try again – as hard as you can.” The rope tensed and the strap over his hips creaked as he strained to reach his cock, but however hard he tried he couldn’t quite get to it. Excellent. I put another knot in it just to make sure. “Ok, relax.”

After gathering some items and putting them on the side table, I pulled over a chair, then leaned over him and removed his blindfold. He was grinning.

“You can wipe that smile off your face,” I said as sternly as I could, but I couldn’t stop the corner of my mouth from lifting at the sight of this cute boy looking up at me with so much excitement and pure lust in his eyes. Being very careful not to touch his cock with any part of my body I climbed on top of him in a straight-armed push-up position. I looked down into his blue eyes. “Now listen to me carefully. The first unbreakable rule when you’re with me is that you DO. NOT. MAKE. YOURSELF. CUM. The only times you cum are when I make you cum. Do you understand that?”

Craig nodded. “Yes. I understand. I’m so sorry I came, Dean. I just couldn’t stop myself. You’re fucking hot. And you look amazing in that gear. You’re a wet dream.”

I hadn’t expected that, but it was even more than I’d been hoping for. This was excellent. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at him. “Good. Well, if you find me so hot, then what I’m going to do to you shortly should be even more effective. But right now…” I bent my arms and lowered myself onto him. I’d positioned myself well up so that nothing would touch his cock, but he could still feel my leather jeans on the outsides of his legs, my boots against his feet, my studded belt digging into him, and my leather jacket on his chest. He closed his eyes and groaned in pure pleasure as, for the first time in his life, a leather-clad biker made contact with his bare skin.

His eyes opened again, and he looked at me. He started to raise his head, trying to kiss me – but I clamped a gloved hand over his mouth, pushing him back down to the padded surface of the table. Above my shiny black hand his eyes stared at me longingly, and I could feel his tongue licking my glove. His right hand, which was not mitted, was stroking the outside of my thigh through my leather jeans.

“The first thing I’m going to do to you is work on that inability of yours to stop yourself from cumming. Tell me, how often do you wank?” I removed my gloved hand to let him reply.

He hesitated – I imagine that talking about things like this was not something he found easy. “Three times a day,” he muttered. “Maybe four. Usually. Sometimes a bit more.”

I chuckled. Teenagers. Oh yes, he was perfect. “Ok. Now, something boys don’t ever think about: what would happen if you really really needed to cum, but couldn’t?”

He frowned. “What d’you mean?” Then he shrugged. “I cum if I really need to. It just happens.”

“Yes I know it just happens – usually. But if you’re tied up, and some evil bastard teases your cock, gets you right to the edge – and then stops, just before you can cum… And you can’t reach your cock to finish yourself off…”

I felt his right hand move, testing the rope again. He suddenly realised what it was for, and what I was going to do to him.

“I don’t know,” he said uncertainly.

“Well you’re about to find out.” I climbed off the table carefully, stood at the side where he could see all of me. “Do you fancy me, Craig?”

He ran his eyes up and down me and groaned. “Oh fuck yes.”

“Good.” I sat down in the chair and lubed my thin leather gloves. Then I encircled the very base of his cock with a finger and thumb, pushed it down, and squeezed gently.

This was the first time his cock had been touched by me,and I guessed the first time it had ever been touched by leather. He arched his back and let out a long moan. I realised I was going to have to be very careful indeed – this boy was already close to orgasm again and I’d hardly touched him. I had to remember that he was a permanently horny teenage boy who wanked himself off more times in a day than I had cups of tea, and that he had never been tied up or edged before. In addition to that,he fancied me like crazy, apparently had a huge fetish for leather, and seemed to be getting off big time on bondage. All of that would mean that he would cum at the drop of a hat. I did not want him to cum again for a long time, but I intended to make him need to very, very much indeed.

I stroked my fingers gently up and down his cock, taking them off frequently. Each time I did this he moaned and moved on the table, his eyes fixed on me. I knew that the little I’d done to him so far had already got him very close, and that there wasn’t a great deal I could do with my hand that would not make him cum, so I picked up a couple of feathers. It’s usually quite difficult to make someone cum with just a feather; the victim has to be exceptionally close to cumming already, or perhaps have a fetish for feathers - if such a thing exists – and so I thought it was the safest bet at the moment. I held his cock pointing down towards me as I stroked the soft tip up his shaft and onto the head. I tickled the glans, around the ridge, and teased the frenulum. Since I’d started doing that his breathing had got faster, and his hips had begun to try to thrust against the strap holding them down to the table. After a few minutes of this I let go of his cock, allowing it return to its natural position, and applied the second feather to his balls, teasing it all around them. The moment this one touched them he convulsed with high-pitched screams of ticklishness, but before very long the horny feelings took over – although there was still the odd ticklish gasp whenever I moved to a new spot. I started to work on his cock head with the other feather at the same time.

“I need to cum. Please make me cum,” he whispered, trying desperately to fuck the feather.

“Nah, you don’t need to cum yet. But believe me, you’ll soon find out what it feels like to really need to cum.” I set about exploring the head of his cock in more detail. It seemed that the closer I got to the very tip of the head the more effect it had on him. I poked the end of the feather gently into the piss slit and tickled it.

This made him squirm with need. “Please! Not there! Oh shit that makes me want to cum! I gotta cum!” His voice was urgent. “I need to cum. I need to cum!”

“Not there, eh?” I chuckled evilly. “Feel free to cum any time you like.” Edging a boy effectively requires a great deal of careful exploration, as different victims have their main sweet spots in different places. With most it’s the frenulum, but on some it’s the top of the shaft, or the ridge, or other spots. I experimented on every inch of his cock, but it seemed that right on the very tip of the head was by far this boy’s biggest weakness. Excellent. I applied myself to working just on, in, and around the piss slit with the soft point of the feather. I’m pretty sure that I could have made him cum like that – and it would probably have been a very intense orgasm for him – but I stopped every time I thought he was getting too close.

After a while I put the feathers down and picked up a pair of horse hide jeans from the side table, holding them up so he could see them for a moment. I lay them over his bare thighs – he inhaled sharply at the touch of the cool, smooth leather - then I pulled them between his legs and up, getting the ends of the jeans legs deep into the crevices at the sides of his balls so that they were completely enclosed by leather. He threw his head back at this and gave vent to a long, drawn-out groan of lust. I stood up, unfastened my studded belt and pulled it out of the loops. I held the end over his cock.

He was staring at the belt like a rabbit caught in headlights, and he was holding his breath.

Then I lowered it and stroked the pointed end slowly up the shaft of his cock and over the head.

I thought he was going to cum. His body tensed, he gave a sharp little guttural gasp, and then he froze. He stayed like that for a moment, then his right hand shot towards his cock, but was stopped just short by the rope. “I GOTTA CUM! FOR FUCK’S SAKE MAKE ME CUM!”

I smiled. “But you can’t cum. You’re strapped down so that you can’t reach your cock. And I can keep doing this to you for a very long time.”

I slowly dragged the point of the belt over his cock again, and again, with very similar results. I remembered how interested he’d been in the studs on my jacket when we’d been on the bike so I pulled the belt over his cock, letting the lines of metal studs stroke over it slowly.

Oh God! Pleease! Dean! Let me cuuuum!” His voice was breaking.

“I am never going to let you cum. I may make you cum, but never let you.” I think the finer points of that sentence were probably lost on him, but at least he was very aware that he was being controlled.

“Tell you what, let’s make it a bit more of a challenge for you, shall we?” I went to the shelf of hoods and selected one that I knew was really evil. Unlike many of my others, it wasn’t a particularly thick hood, but it was a very special one. Beneath the outer, medium-weight hide there was a separate layer of very shiny, very smooth – and very thin - black leather. Like the outer layer, this inner hood a nose shape in it, but it was slightly stretchy because it was so thin. It was made a little smaller than the outer shell, so that it molded itself to your face, and the flexibility of the hood caused it, when it was tightened, to press even more closely over every inch of your skin. There was only one strap, at the mouth, and it actually went in between your teeth, and pulled the inner leather tighter yet. It felt intensely confining, and very controlling. And if you had even the slightest weakness for leather, you were doomed: it worked directly on your fetish. It was fairly claustrophobic, and it was impossible to forget for even a moment that you were gagged and blindfolded with tight black leather. More than any other of my hoods, this one made you feel incredibly helpless and dependent on the Top – and, if you were even slightly into leather, very, very horny indeed.

I got it on him, aligned the breathing holes under his nose, and did up the lacing behind his head. I told him to open his mouth, got the leather of the hood in between his teeth with the strap over it, and buckled it very tightly. I could tell he was beginning to panic that he couldn’t get air. “Just breathe normally, through your nose – you’ll be fine.” The hood not only blindfolded him completely, it also gagged the boy very effectively indeed, and I knew that not being able to communicate would make him feel even more helpless.

I also knew from experience that that particular hood is an intense one, and it’s not one I would normally use on an inexperienced boy; but I reckoned that he was well capable of dealing with it, and that he would love it. This seemed to be the case: he’d relaxed a little now he found he could in fact breathe, and his cock seemed to have hardened even more: it was stabbing the air, trying to find something to touch it. He was gently biting the leather between his teeth, and - something I found very interesting: he was pawing at it with his mitted hand and seemed to be trying to get the hood off, and the fact that he couldn’t get it off seemed to be turning him on even more. I could see his fingers working impotently inside the stiff mitts.

I went back to his cock, and picked up a feather again. The leather jeans were still between his thighs and around his balls, but I turned them around and put them back so that fresh, cool leather was touching him. He gasped inside the hood when I did that. He gasped again when the feather made contact with his cock. I sat down and for the next half hour I stroked it over the shaft and the head, concentrating often on that biggest weakness of his, the opening of the urethra,and used my other hand to tease his balls gently through the leather. This got him to the point of cumming every few seconds, and I had to keep stopping - but every time, after giving him a moment to back off, I resumed working on him. He was ridiculously easy to read: the closer he got, the more shallow and fast his breathing became - and whenever he actually got to the point where he was about to cum, his body froze and he held his breath. All I had to do was keep an ear on his breathing to know how close he was at any moment. I wished all edging victims were as easy as he was.

His moans were urgent and constant now, and I knew that if the hood had not been gagging him he would have been pleading, begging, threatening, promising me anything if I’d only let him cum. As it was, there were only unintelligible noises – desperate noises. Every time he was on the edge his right hand would jerk towards his cock and he would strain to move his hips to get it within reach, but the restraints were doing their job and however hard he struggled he couldn’t quite reach it. My own cock jerked at the thought of how frustrating that must be for the boy: desperate to cum, but no way to – however badly he tried- until I decided to make him cum.

I stood up, took my biker jacket off and lay it over his bare chest, teasing the ends of the leather arms up into his armpits – even when they’re not being used to tickle a boy, armpits are often very erogenous, and leather feels good there – as it also does on the soles of the feet. As I’d expected, his moans got even more desperate when I did this and he pulled his elbows down to his sides as far as the restraints would let him, trapping the cool leather there so that he could really feel it.

I looked around the playroom and found a second pair of jeans over the back of a chair. I took them and stroked the legs over his bare soles. This brought more groaning from him, and he tried to grab it with his toes. This boy was insatiable for leather, I thought. I wrapped the jeans around his feet, then went back to working on his cock with the feather.

I imagined how it must feel for a terminally horny teenage boy with a major fetish for leather, having it – for the first time ever – all over his body and on all his erogenous zones; strapped down; gagged and blindfolded by a hood that pressed more shiny black leather tight all over your face; and having a biker you fancied like fuck – and whom you knew was wearing wet-dream gear- intentionally making you need to cum, while at the same time very carefully ensuring that you couldn’t. I hoped it was getting Craig as fucking horny as it was getting me.

I had a great deal of fun working on him like this for a long time.

Eventually I thought that I’d better make the boy cum. I wanted his first leather orgasm to be very intense for him, so I removed my hands, waited until he’d cooled down a bit, took a leg of the jeans from between his thighs and kept it ready in one hand. Then I held his cock gently in my other one and stroked my thumb as slowly and as lightly as I possibly could just across the piss slit; it slid smoothly through the film of precum. He moaned, his breathing got faster, and after no more than a couple of slow strokes his body tensed and he suddenly held his breath. He was there. I carefully let go of him, enjoying his desperate wail of frustration.

I waited for a good ten seconds, then I quickly wrapped the leg of the jeans around his entire cock and over the end, and began to wank just the head through them - firmly but very slowly - one finger holding the black leather against the piss slit as I slid it over the shiny glans. The action of my hand made the rest of the jeans move slightly between his thighs and over his balls. Instantly he arched his back and yelled into the hood, and his body stiffened, the muscles vibrating. I was only moving the jeans very slowly over the head, intending it to take a while for them to get him to the point of no return - but as soon as I started, he began to cum. As I slowly worked on his most sensitive spot with his biggest fetish - leather – his body convulsed, his hips pounded madly on the table with his thrusts, he tried to suck the hood even tighter across his face, and he tore at the restraints. Huge gobs of spunk shot frantically into the leather jeans as they continued to milk him helplessly.

When, finally, his orgasm was completely over I took his hooded head and cradled it against my chest until his breathing gradually slowed. I unfastened the hood and gently pulled it off. His hair was matted and his face was covered with sweat. But he was grinning. He closed his eyes. “Oh fuck,” he whispered. “Thank you. Oh fuck that was… that was awesome.”

I usually hate that word – everybody uses it all the time and it’s been completely devalued – but I knew that when he said it then, he actually meant it.

“Oh fuck, I’ve never cum like that before. And I never realised how… how fucking horny it was possible to be.”

I chuckled. “I know you didn’t. But you do now.” All the time I’d been working on him I’d badly needed to cum myself, but for a long time I’d made this boy endure the torture of needing orgasm but not being able to get it, so the least I could do was to deal with it myself. I released him from the table and stood him up. “Wipe yourself - and those jeans – down; I’ll be back in a tick.” I pointed to the box of tissues and went back into the bedroom.

From the wardrobe I selected one of my one-piece bike suits. Although this one was old, and no good at all for protection on the bike because it had worn so thin, I loved it for that very reason - because it was so thin. The black leather was flexible, and very shiny with all the use it had had over the years. And the leather felt dead horny, both from the inside and the outside; the inner surface had worn almost as shiny as the outside, and it seemed to have the ability to mould itself to you. Craig and I were about the same size - though I was little more muscular - so I thought it would be a reasonably good fit. I took it, and a pair of black SIDI bike boots with steel plates at the front, back into the playroom and handed him the suit. “Put this on.”

He turned it over in his hands, feeling and smelling the well-oiled leather. “Oh, wow!” He said. He pushed his feet down into the legs and I helped him to pull the suit up and to get his arms in. He fastened the long zip, and I closed the shorter ones at the ends of the legs. He rotated his shoulders to settle it into place. It was a perfect fit – tight on the arms and thighs, but with just enough room at the crotch to allow for interesting developments, should they occur. And then I noticed that interesting developments were already occurring: his cock was semi-hard again. I didn’t fucking believe it – the boy had cum twice already, the last one only minutes ago - but it was tenting the front out like nobody’s business. He moved to push it to one side but I stopped him; I really liked the way it looked like that.

He moved his arms and shoulders again. “It feels very strange. Confining, in a good way, but it’s comfortable. And the leather smells wonderful. God it feels horny.”

I smiled. “You need some boots with that.” I handed him the SIDIs. He sat on the chair to pull them on and I showed him how to close the quick-release fasteners. The boots fitted him as perfectly as the suit did.

A chrome bullet belt hanging on the wall caught my eye. I fastened it low around his hips. It looked sexy resting just above his bulge.

“You look like a biker now.” I pointed to the wall mirror.

He stood up and looked at his reflection - and I had to stop myself from laughing out loud as his mouth opened and he grinned. “God, I look hot!”

“You do.” Craig is a very good-looking boy anyway, but in leather he looked even better than I’d hoped: he was sex on fucking legs. He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the clubs – he’d have been mobbed. “Right. Let’s go and have a cup of tea,” I said. His booted feet clomped down the stairs after me.

Tea in hand, I sat down in the chair opposite and looked at him. I was six years older than Craig, and I’d seen him now and again on the rare occasions I’d had reason to visit his house, but our paths had never crossed properly until now, and I hadn’t seen him for a long time. I hadn’t realised what a sexy boy he’d grown into. He looked deliciously lickable sitting there in that shiny black bike suit and boots, and I intended to lick every inch of him before too long. He couldn’t stop stroking the leather over his thighs, feeling it.

I asked him when was the first time he’d realised he was into leather(at Daniel’s birthday party when he’d met me in the garden maze); what he fantasised about (it was all so new to him he hadn’t had much time to fantasise about anything, but since that bike ride he’d been fantasising about me ); what he’d liked best about the things I’d done to him in the playroom (all of it). That didn’t give me much to work with, I realised, but that was Ok. So, the thing was, what did I want to do to him? Several options came to mind immediately – I was into quite a range of playroom activities - but most of them were possibly a bit advanced for a teenager like him. I couldn’t get over how good he looked in that leather suit, and he seemed to love the feel of it, so I decided that I’d use it to turn him on.

We finished our tea and I glanced at the clock. There was time for another session. I got up. “Come on then.”

I stood looking around the playroom, considered the options. The ‘A’ frame? The spread eagle posts? Mummification board? I was as horny as fuck, and I still hadn’t forgiven him for cumming in the bedroom earlier - and this boy was bringing out the sadist in me; I decided that this time I wanted to see him struggling .

While I was standing there deciding, Craig was also looking around the room. It was the first time he’d really had the opportunity to take it in. “Wow,” he said, his mouth open. “This is some place.” His eyes stopped at the dentist chair and the thick black leather straps hanging from it. “That looks scary. What do you do to somebody on that?”

I chuckled. “All sorts of things. If you’re a good boy I may even show you one day.”

I put the leather mitts over his hands, and cuffed them to the hoist above his head. It was low enough at the moment that his boots were firmly on the floor, his elbows were bent and he wasn’t stretched at all, so he could move around a lot. He was looking at his reflection in the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. “I love this belt,” he said. I was just about to go get that hood again – it had been very effective on him - when a small voice asked me, “can I have that hood on again please?” I chuckled; I realised that I was going to have to work hard to keep ahead of this lad. I got the hood on him and saw his cock grow as I watched. It pushed the leather out at his crotch more and more until it had to slide sideways. The head was clearly visible under the thin black hide and I had to stop myself from kneeling down and sucking that bulge there and then. This boy certainly did like being tied up – and he really liked that hood.

I stood behind him and spoke close to his ear. “Now listen, Craig: I don’t want you to cum in that suit. Understand? That’s one of my favourite bike suits and I’m doing you a favour letting you wear it. I do not want it full of your spunk. Ok?”

Incapable of speech in the gagging hood, he nodded.

“Good. If you do cum in it I’ll make you fucking lick your spunk out of it with your tongue. And when you’ve done that I’ll take you home and that will be the end of everything. Finish. Understand?”

He nodded again, this time with determination.

On a whim, I picked up the white crash helmet I kept in the playroom and put it over his hooded head. Why not? He really did look like a slim, sexy, leather-clad biker boy now.

I stroked my hands over his sides. The leather felt warm and soft beneath my fingers. Up across his stomach and chest, over his armpits and shoulders, up and down his arms. I pressed myself to him so that he could feel my studded belt and hear my leathers creaking, feel my boots against his. My fingers traveled down his body again, avoiding his bulging crotch, and across the tight leather over his thighs. I teased them over the fronts, the sides, the backs; over his arse, then from the tops of his boots slowly up the insides of his legs. Doing that to this boy was giving me a raging erection in my leather jeans and I pushed it against his arse so he could feel it. He was moaning and moving, and when he felt my bulge against him he pushed himself back against me even harder. I could feel the bullet belt pressing against me.

My fingers inched slowly towards his crotch. Standing behind him I could see the front of him in the full-length mirror on the far wall, so I could aim accurately, and I ran a single fingertip along the length of his cock. He threw back his head and moaned into the hood, and jerked hard to the side to get my finger off him. I pushed my other hand up inside his helmet and clamped it over his mouth, forcing his head back hard against my shoulder. I stroked his bulge again through the leather. As I did that, he suddenly twisted in my grip - more strongly this time - and away from my hand. I found his cock again and continued to trace up and down the length of it. He began to struggle violently, shaking his head urgently. He realised he wasn’t far from orgasm, and he knew that he mustn’t cum.

I was very aware that the feel of the leather suit - and what I was doing to him through it - was making him need to cum, but I also knew that the boy needed to keep my hand off that bit of him that could so easily make him lose control. Although he was close, he was still far enough away from the edge for his brain to be capable of directing his movements, so he struggled to get away. His feet lifted off the ground and he hung from his wrists, his legs kicking and his body twisting in an effort to get my hand off his dangerously horny cock.

I allowed him to do that for a moment, then let go, waited, found his bulge again and gave it a quick squeeze. I reminded him that if he came in that suit, there would be consequences: that would be the end – no more - and I would not be pleased. He moaned again. His feet were on the floor now and he thrashed about to get away from me, jerking away from my hand. His struggling even turned him right round at one point, but I pushed him back.

I crouched down behind him, his round, tight, black and shiny arse inches from my face, and rested a hand flat on the inside of his thigh. I tickled with my fingers, and the end of my jacket arm creaked against the leather bike suit as I slid my hand slowly upwards. When it arrived at his perineum, I turned it ninety degrees and used my fingers to tickle his balls through the thin, soft leather. With my other hand I reached around and teased his cock head very lightly with a fingertip at the same time.

He snapped his legs together, trapping my hand, and tried to twist around violently, making a series of gasping noises into the hood – but my hand between his legs stopped him from rotating. After just long enough to let him realise that he couldn’t in fact get away from me when my hand was between his thighs like that, I released his cock and pulled my hand out.

I stood back and looked at him. The degree to which this boy was struggling made me realise that he was really getting off on it – and I mean big-time. He was doing everything he could to keep my fingers off his cock – but he was fighting me much more than was really necessary. It was blindingly obvious to me that struggling to get away was a big turn-on for him. The thought of causing this little bratto feel himself losing control, and then making him shoot his load helplessly, against his will, suddenly made my cock a lot harder in my leather jeans. It was not something I’d ever thought about before, but I realised that it was turning me on like fuck.

This position was Ok, but ideally, for what I intended to do to him,I wanted a better, more clearly-defined bulge to work on. One I could control more precisely. The downside of this standing position, for me, was that it was flattening it to some extent. I wanted it more three-dimensional; a bulge that could be teased, tickled, gripped, grabbed, played with, edged, milked. I wanted him to feel that his bulge was much more vulnerable .

I took him down from the hoist and put him onto the restraint table again, but this time I bent his legs and fastened his booted feet flat, two-thirds of the way down the table surface with his knees sticking up in the air. That was much better: because his hips were bent, the tight leather suit was a little looser at the crotch now, and his cock was taking immediate advantage of the extra room to stick out away from his body, forcing the thin leather into a sexy, shiny triangular bulge, at the apex of which was his nemesis: the deliciously sensitive tip of his cock head.

A selection of different vibrators was lying in a box on the floor. I took a small, precise one and stood at the side of him. I switched the vibrator on, and touched the business end very lightly to the clearly-defined head of his cock for a moment, right on the piss-slit.

He yelled into the hood – probably more in surprise than anything – but when I did it a second time the yell turned into a loud, urgent moan of lust and need. He pushed his hips forward hard against the device for a moment, before he realised what he was doing and twisted away – but he’d met empty air anyway: I’d lifted it off; it was no longer there. I doubted that the boy had ever experienced a vibrator before, and certainly not while his cock was covered in sexy black leather. I waited for a while, then did it again.

He must have realised that the thing was very dangerous indeed - much too irresistible for him to fight against -and so every time I touched it to his cock he didn’t wait – he immediately twisted away from it, knowing that it would quickly make him lose his increasingly fragile control and shoot his load helplessly. I followed his movements, repeatedly touching it to the leather bulge. Every time I did it, he yelled and struggled to get away from it. The leather hood tight over his eyes was preventing him from seeing when it was going to touch him next, making it impossible for him to avoid it, so all he could do was make random movements, which – because I was able to see - I could easily follow, touching the vibrator to the exact tip of his cock head every time.

Noises which, I guessed were‘oh fuck oh fuck I need to cum’, or ‘get off my cock you fucking bastard’ or something similar, were coming from him in a constant stream now. As I continued to use the vibrator on him, his struggling got more and more violent. To make things worse for him I put my free arm between his legs and tickled his balls and inner thighs at the same time. The position I’d got him in on the table meant that he could move a lot, and he was making the most of it.

I was getting off more on playing with this boy’s ability to stop himself from cumming than I would have believed possible. The sight of him lying there tied up and hooded in that suit and the bike boots - with his hard, horny cock pushing the shiny, thin black leather out into an obscene bulge between his thighs that was just begging to be teased and milked - was making me need to cum very badly indeed myself. I reached down and took the shape of his cock gently between my fingers. “Remember – do not cum, or that will be the end of everything.” I said. I scratched a single fingernail lightly and slowly over the shiny leather beneath which was the tip of his desperately horny cock head.

His moaning quickly became louder and more urgent. His only restraints were his mitted hands level with his head, and the cuffs holding his booted feet in place on the table, so he was able to twist and raise himself off the surface, open and close his knees, and generally do quite a lot to get away from my hand.

When my fingers began to stroke his cock head he did all of those things – and the sight made my own cock jerk in my jeans. He was very close, and basically helpless – I could have made him cum with a couple of strokes any time I liked – but he was struggling and fighting like fuck to stop me making him actually lose it. He knew that if he did cum that would be the end of everything – and he did not want that, so he was really trying to resist. This was turning me on like crazy.

I repeatedly let him get away from me, waited for a few seconds, then touched the vibrator to his cock again. The struggling had resumed in spades. I liked this a lot, so I continued to do it for a long time, changing from my fingers to the vibrator on his cock head unpredictably, squeezing the base or the shaft, moving it teasingly inside the leather, getting at it from different directions and angles depending on where he moved.

When his struggling raised him off the table I stroked the backs of his thighs and ran my fingertips over his shiny arse. Once, I suddenly jabbed my fingers into his sides, tickling him mercilessly through the soft leather. He shrieked like a thing insane and convulsed on the table into a new position, which allowed me easier access to his cock again. That was interesting, I thought: this boy is excruciatingly ticklish. I filed that away for future use.

He was close. Very close. “Do not cum in my suit.” I gripped his cock fully, my fingers gathering the soft, flexible leather around it. I pressed my thumb down lightly, directly on the piss slit and kept my hand still. His struggling went off the scale: he opened and closed his knees and threw himself around in his restraints, doing everything he possibly could to get his cock out of my hand, but this time I followed him and kept it in place wherever he moved. The leather cuffs holding him to the table creaked as he pulled and strained at them and he was rubbing his head hard against the padded surface, desperately trying to get the hood off so that he could see to defend himself and to fight.

Then, suddenly, and with a scream of what sounded like fury, he lost control and started to fuck my hand hard, his pelvis moving like a piston. I kept perfectly still, allowing his desperate thrusts to slide his cock inside the leather. Each frantic movement pushed his urethra tight against my thumb and made it rub across it. I simply allowed the bike suit to milk the boy helplessly as he fucked it, while I teased his balls with my other hand. He was tearing at the restraints and moving his head about – and I was pretty sure that this was to intensify the effects of the hood on him.

I could feel his cock jerking madly as he came in my gripping fingers, and the heat of his spunk as it pumped out of him into the leather. He continued to struggle violently until the very end of his orgasm, and only when the last spasms were over did he collapse back onto the table. He was panting into the hood, his body still twitching now and again.

When he’d relaxed I released him and removed the hood. He was still breathing heavily, his face was drenched with sweat and he couldn’t meet my gaze; instead he was looking down at his booted feet. And to my surprise his face was bright red. He looked terminally embarrassed. “Oh fuck,” he said quietly. He swallowed. “That – that was -” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Jesus, that was fucking amazing. That was un-fucking-believable.” Then, after a moment, he seemed to realise suddenly what he’d done – and if anything his face got even redder. His eyes flew open, but he was still looking down. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Look at me.” I lifted his chin in my gloved hand and stared into his eyes. “What did I tell you? I told you that if you came in that suit of mine that would be the end of it. And it is. No more. Finished. I didn’t make you cum – my hand wasn’t moving - you did.”

He looked as if he was about to cry. “Oh God, oh God, I feel so… Please, Dean, give me another chance. I’m sorry. Everything you do to me just makes me need to cum. I can’t control it.” He sniffed, then whispered, “I think I love you.”

I let go of him and released him from the table. My voice was firm. “Take everything off, wipe your spunk off the inside of my suit and see me downstairs. I’ll take you home.”

I think he probably thought I’d forgotten that I’d threatened to make him lick the spunk off. I hadn’t, but I didn’t think he was quite ready for that just yet.

I put my bike jacket back on and waited for him in the living room. When he came in he was dressed in his jeans and tee shirt again. He looked like he’d lost fifty pounds and found a penny. And his face was still bright red; he couldn’t meet my gaze.

“Sit down.”

He hesitated.


He sat, staring morosely at the carpet. “That wasn’t fair,” he muttered. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. You made sure that I couldn’t.”

“Look at me,” I said sharply. I waited until he raised his head. “I told you, very clearly, not to cum in that bike suit. Do you know why I told you that?”

He sniffed, then swallowed. “Because that suit’s important to you?”

My voice softened a bit. “Well it is, it’s one of my favourite ones. But that’s not the reason. The reason I told you not to cum in it was because I wanted you to struggle . I wanted you to fight against cumming. Believe it or not, that session taught me something about myself that I hadn’t known before: seeing a boy struggling and making him lose it when he’s fighting like fuck to stop me, turns me on like crazy.”

I watched him trying to process that.

“I also told you that if you did cum, that would be the end of it. And it is.” I glanced at the clock. “It’s half past ten and there isn’t time for another session today. But –” I smiled at him at last, “there are other days. Lots of other days. Like tomorrow, for instance.”

I got the impression that he’d only heard the first bit of that – the bit about it being the end.

My voice was soft now. “I have lots of turn-ons, Craig, and I see different guys from time to time who are into them. But you’ve made me realise that I fancy having a young, cute victim. You seem to fancy me so much that I’ve only got to look at you to make you shoot your spunk. That’s perfect. But the thing is, I want a boy who is fucking determined that he’s not going to let me make him cum. A boy who does every fucking thing he possibly can – everything he can – to stop me from making him cum – and from what I’ve seen so far, you like doing that a lot.” My smile broadened. “The fact that you can’t fucking control yourself, makes it even better.”

He certainly heard the last bit of that – and he bristled. “I can fucking control myself!”

“No you can’t.”

He ignored that, seemingly preoccupied with something that he wanted to say, something he was finding very difficult indeed. After a long silence, he seemed to come to a decision. “I tried not to cum,” he said. “I tried not to let you make me cum. But I could feel myself getting closer in spite of everything I did. The leather, that hood, what you were doing to me – every one of those things made me need to cum. Made me need to cum more and more.”

I almost told him that that was exactly why I’d done them, but I didn’t say anything. I knew there was more, so I waited.

He took a deep breath. “It was fine when I put the suit on and when you tied me up, and even when you said not to cum in it. But then you hooded me with that fucking leather tight over my face ‘cos you fucking knew it would make me need to cum, and after that, everything you did was as if you were doing it on purpose to make it harder and harder for me to control myself. You fucking intended me to lose it. When I realised that , something happened inside me. I thought, fuck that for a game of soldiers, the bastard is not going to fucking win. I’ll show the cunt . And you know something? From that point on everything became ten times more damn horny. Every little thing you did, I thought, he’s doing that so that I won’t be able to stop myself from cumming. And every little thing you did made it worse, made me need to cum more. I knew exactly what you were doing. I was fucking livid under that hood, Dean. I was swearing at you and trying to spit. I wanted to get free from the restraints, I wanted that fucking hood off me so that I could see. I wanted that horny leather inside it to stop turning me on. But I couldn’t get free and I couldn’t get the fucking thing off whatever I did– and believe me I tried. It felt like the restraints and the hood were alive and were on your side – holding me down, making me helpless, working together with you to get me. You could see – I couldn’t. You could move – I couldn’t. I knew what you were doing but I was fucking helpless to do anything about it. It was all so fucking, fucking, unfair . Then, when it got to the point where I couldn’t stop myself, and I started fucking your hand, and came, at the moment I started to cum I could have cheerfully killed you I was so frustrated and furious ‘cos you’d intentionally made it impossible for me to stop myself - and immediately after I’d cum I felt this intense humiliation that you’d been able to fucking control me so easily like that. I felt like a fucking puppet and you’d been pulling my strings. I have never felt so humiliated and so embarrassed in my life. It had been building up since the moment I’d realised I wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it – and it got worse and worse - but when I lost it, it was devastating. I never knew I could feel like that. There I was thrashing about on that table, exhausting myself trying to get your fucking hand off my cock and trying to get free and trying to get that fucking hood off and all you were doing was just gently holding my cock through that leather. That’s all. I was going ballistic on the table and you weren’t even breaking a sweat. You weren’t even fucking moving at all, you fucking bastard, you weren’t moving your hand at all, but you fucking knew you didn’t need to - that I’d have no choice – I’d have to make myself cum. That’s why you did it. Your finger was even pressing right on the fucking tip, ‘cos you knew that would make me lose control. That was so fucking unfair - and that’s what totally blew my mind. The unfairness . It was the single most horny thing ever. In the history of the fucking world. Ever. And because of that, that orgasm I had was off the fucking scale. How the fuck can unfairness and humiliation be horny? Trying to get away from your hands, fighting not to let you make me cum, to show you that you do not fucking control me– oh shit, I wanna cum now just thinking about it.” His voice was unsteady, “Oh fuuuck .”

I swallowed. “Really?” It was a gobsmacked whisper.

He looked at me. It was as if he’d had to force himself to admit all of that. “The one thing I want to do most of all in the world is struggle to stop you from making me cum. That makes me a very weird person doesn’t it? Bet you’ve never come across that fetish before.”

My mouth had been hanging open in surprise during that speech. I had not expected that at all. Not at all. “No, Craig, it doesn’t. It makes you perfect.”

He frowned. “Perfect?” Just then, there was a silence and I could see him playing back what I’d said earlier. For the first time it actually registered with him. “You said you told me not to cum in that suit because you wanted to see me struggling to stop myself?”

I nodded slowly.

He was frowning. “So – you like to see me fighting against it?”

I nodded again.

“Fuck.” He thought about it some more. “So – so does that mean that it’s not all over? You want me to come back? That I can see you again?” A glimmer of hope was, at last, appearing on his cute face.

“It means exactly that.”

“And it turns you on making it difficult for me?”

“Oh fuck yes. You have no fucking idea, Craig. Your parents are away for six weeks. You have to study in the daytime, but in the evenings I’ll bring you here. And after they come back you can still come here. And believe me, boy, I intend to find things that are more and more difficult for you to resist. I intend to find a lot of devious and unfair ways to separate you from your spunk – ways that are very, very slow, so you have lots of time to fight it. So you have lots of time to feel yourself losing it and know that you can’t do a bloody thing about it.”

I could feel my cock getting hard again. “I’ll tie you up so you have to struggle to get away from my hands. I’ll hood you so that you can’t see where I am or what I’m doing,- oh, I’ve got some leather hoods that will make things very difficult for you, believe me,” I chuckled knowingly. “I’ll use devices and equipment in that room to get you fucking helpless to stop yourself from cumming. You fancy the arse off me, so I’ll use that, and my tight leathers, to get you horny and make you want to cum. I’ll use black leather on you cos I know it makes you need to cum and you can’t do anything about it. And you’ll fucking try to fight against it. You’ll fight against me, against yourself – against your own need to cum. You’ll get out of the restraints if you can. Get away from me. You’ll probably try not to let me even get you tied up in the first place. And the reason you’ll try to fight against it all is because you know it’s a fucking battle. A battle of wills. You against me, boy. Or rather you against me and that room full of gear designed to get victims helpless, get them horny, and make them lose control. I will win, boy, make no mistake about that.”

“Like fuck you will.”

His cock was as hard as a rock again.

“You up for that?”

“Oh fuck. Oh fuuck yes.” He looked like it was suddenly and unexpectedly Christmas – like everything he’d ever wanted was suddenly his. He was grinning.

I sat back. “Good. That’s sorted then. Now, I’ve been working on you for hours, you’ve cum three times, and I haven’t cum at all. And you’ve got me so horny that I need to, believe me. Get on your knees over here, boy, and make this biker cum.” I parted my legs.

Craig covered the distance between us in a microsecond. He licked and stroked my thighs and bulge for a while, then he unzipped my jeans, took my cock between his fingers and, while I pulled him to me and kissed the boy hard, he gave me a surprisingly good hand-job. For a beginner.

I was already thinking of ways to make the many, many orgasms he was going to have in my playroom as fucking impossible for him to fight, and as humiliating as humanly possible. And I’m good at that sort of thing. I wondered if it would be an idea to collect his spunk each time and keep it in a bottle in the playroom fridge. Show him it every time, getting fuller and fuller… I smiled at the thought.

And if his fetish for being forced to lose control and cum ever lessened, I knew something else about him – a weakness that would make him fight like fuck to avoid, and one that would never decrease. Ever.

My cute leather boy was terminally ticklish...