The Telemachus Story Archive

Part 14 - Motorcycles
By Hooder

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It is a fact that motorbikes are without doubt the sexiest machines invented by man. I've been a biker since I was 15, and I've had lots of bikes. Currently I ride a CBR600. I'm not sure if I'm a biker because I love leather so much, or if it's the other way around. I'm a qualified motorcycle instructor (although I don't do it any more - the money's crap, especially on a January morning when you're shivering your nuts off watching cold boys drive into cones). One of life's treats is being slowly wanked off in your jeans by a pillion passenger while you're riding. A motorcycle is a very well-designed piece of bondage equipment - when you're riding a bike it's difficult (and certainly inadvisable) to take your hands off the bars, your legs are kept apart by the tank, you can't kick your feet; and a pillion reaching around your body can do all sorts of things to you - and there's very little you can do to stop them. When the bike's parked on the centre stand in the garage, it becomes an excellent bondage frame with lots of anchor points for restraints - and there's something very horny about playing with a guy tied to a motorbike. Even the smell of petrol, engine oil and 'Gunk' degreasant turns me on (I know, I'm a sad puppy).

I love the whole biker image - the leather, the helmets, the boots, the bikes, and also the relative ease with which it's sometimes possible to pick up and play with even straight bikers. Over the years I’ve had lots of straight bikers - the thing is that many of them are into the gear (many are also into bondage) and they're often willing to play in ways that their girlfriends won't allow because they would consider it 'kinky'. And red traffic lights are great – there have been many times when I've pulled up alongside a biker at a stop light, made some leading comment about the way he looks, and ended up tying him down in my playroom…

I was on the way back from town - been to get my hair cut - when I passed one of the horniest-looking bikers I'd seen for a long time; he was parking his Honda Fireblade outside a house. Slowing down, I watched him as I went past. He was, for me, pure wet-dream material. His jeans were thick, scuffed, black leather; his boots had steel toecaps and loads of straps up the sides; a wide, heavily-studded belt showed below a black leather, armoured jacket which was tight around his slim waist and followed his V-shaped torso up to wide shoulders; and his helmet was a matt-black Simpson with a dark - almost black - visor. On his hands were skin-tight black leather gloves. I got an almost irresistible urge to pick him up, put him across my shoulder and carry him back to my blackroom exactly as he was. In the time between seeing him and having passed him, my cock had gone to full, rock-hard erection.

Now I have to confess that when I see a biker who is that sexy, my brain kind of shuts down and my balls take over. What I did next was, to put it mildly, inadvisable - but I was way past caring. I executed a swift U-turn, rode back to his bike, and parked behind it. By this time the biker had disappeared into the house, but I revved my engine in the hope that he would at least look out of the window. Nothing. There was no sign of him. I reached into my pocket, got the notepad I always carry, and tried to find the pen. Shit - it wasn't there. After further exploration of the capacious inside pocket of my leather jacket, my fingers found the middle bit of a biro - where the casing had gone I had no idea. With great difficulty, I wrote a note.

"Hi. Was passing on my bike and saw you parking yours. You are one of the horniest bikers I have ever seen (and I've seen a lot). I desperately want to tie you up, and play with you for a long time in that horny black leather before making you cum helplessly."

I wrote my telephone number down - then, on impulse, my address as well - signed the note, folded it up and stuck it under the clutch cable near the ignition switch where he'd be sure to see it. With a final look at the house, I rode off.

Back at home my brain connected itself again and I shook my head at the idiocy of what I'd done. Phone number, fine - but I'd given him my fucking address! I thought about going back and retrieving the note, but then the image of him came back to me, my cock jumped inside my jeans, and I decided to see what happened. In all probability he'd take one look at the note, crumple it up and throw it away. Then something else occurred to me: I'd told him I was a biker, but he didn't know I was male! Oh shit.

A couple of hours later I was making a cup of tea when the doorbell rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin. With my heart racing, and trying to keep well out of sight, I squinted through the window trying to see who it was, but the large honeysuckle plant obscured the view. The doorbell rang again. Oh well, I thought, I'd better answer the fucking thing.

I opened the door, ready to shut it again pronto if he got hostile - and found myself staring into the smiling eyes of two Jehova's Witnesses. After telling them politely that we were practising Satanists but please feel free to leave a 'Watchtower', I closed the door again. No sooner had I clicked the lock, but the telephone rang. "Hello?" I said.

"Who's that?" asked a male voice.

"Who do you want?" This was probably a double-glazing salesman.

"I want the biker who left a note on my CBR."

Oh shit. I sat down on the seat near the door - my legs were suddenly very weak. "Ah. That'd be me."

There was silence for a couple of seconds, then he said, "you serious mate? Or was that a joke?"

I took a deep breath. "Oh I am very serious."

Another pause. "I'm straight."

"That's ok - I don't mind slumming it. Anyway, I like straights - they struggle more." I couldn't believe I'd just said that.

He laughed! It was a very nice sound.

"A mistake to leave your address, mate."

"Yeah. I was thinking that."

"You alone?"


With a click, the line went dead. Oh fuck, I thought. Now what? Is that it, or is he going to come round here and beat me up?

He'd laughed, but I didn't like the way he'd said that it was a 'mistake' to leave my address. And asking me if I was alone sounded ominous.

I went back into the kitchen and picked up my tea. What to do? What to do? I could bolt the door and pretend no-one was home, but I didn't know that he was going to be aggressive - and even the remotest possibility that that horny-looking biker might be amenable to playing in any way at all was so tempting...

I carried the cup of tea out of the kitchen, but then stopped in my tracks on the way to the living room. I froze - there, through the frosted glass of the front door, was the unmistakable dark shape of the biker. But he hadn't had time to get here! And I hadn't heard his bike. Unless he'd freewheeled silently down the hill and called me on a mobile from outside the fucking house. Shit.

He knocked three times, loudly. For an instant I had no idea what to do - and then, my heart racing, I went to the door, and opened it six inches.

He was exactly as I'd seen him earlier: a wet-dream in black leather, and still with the dark visor down on the helmet. I had no idea what to expect - a leather-gloved fist straight in my face? A stream of verbal abuse? Threats? I could see his CBR now, parked behind my Kawasaki by the gate.

"Well," he said, "you gonna give me a cuppa tea then?"

Of all the possible things he could have said, that was not one I had expected. I looked stupidly at the mug in my hand, then back to his visor-covered eyes. "Yeah. Yes - come in."

I opened the door wide and watched him as he walked into the house. I must be totally mad, I thought. But fuck, he looked good enough to eat. Those leather jeans, that jacket, the belt, the boots... oh jeez he was horny. I showed him into the kitchen and put the kettle back on. While I was doing that he took his helmet off and when I turned round again I found myself looking into deep brown eyes below a mop of jet-black hair. He was fucking gorgeous!

"So, do you leave notes on bikes often?" He asked.

"No. No - I don't. I don't know what came over me. I just fancied you like fuck." My eyes swept over his unbelievably sexy leather-clad body. "Oh shit - you are amazing."

He shook his head. "I don't know how to deal with this. I've never been propositioned by another guy before. It's weird."

I smiled. "You should be flattered."

"S'pose I am mate, but..." he shook his head again, "it's strange." He frowned. "You couldn't see my face, so how did you know you... fancied me?"

I chuckled. How could I explain the animal attraction - the sheer lust - of a hunky biker in full leather? I said as much to him - that leather turned me on like fuck, that bikers did, and that he, in that gear, was as close to my ideal of sexual perfection as made no difference.

Surprisingly, he nodded. "I know what you mean about leather - it’s horny. But I'm straight, mate. That house you saw me at - that's my girlfriend's."

I handed him the tea, and leaned back against the fridge. "So why did you come to see me?"

He took a sip and smiled at me. "It didn't cross my mind that it was a bloke who'd left that note, and then when you answered the phone and said it was you... I suppose I was curious. Wanted to see what kind of..."

"... pervert?" I suggested for him.

He grinned. The effect was mesmerising on his beautiful face. "You don't look like a pervert," he said.

"Oh I am. You don't know the half of it."

Now he laughed. "Well anyway, I was curious."

"Ok," I said, "nothing wrong with that."

"Tell me...," he paused, searching for how to ask me something, "what would you want to... do to me? Fuck me?"

"Oh shit no. I'm not into that."

"But I thought that’s what qu... gays did."

"Not all of us. Never been into fucking. No - what would I want to do to you...." I gazed at him, making selections from a wonderful, horny menu of possibilities. "What I'd like to do to you right at this moment is put my arms around you, feel your leathers, run my hands over your jacket and jeans, play with your cock through those sexy fucking leather jeans, lick your boots, lick your jeans, tie you up, tease you like fuck for a long time, then either suck you off or make you cum in your jeans, boy." I was getting carried away. I knew it, but my cock was as hard as steel in my own leathers, and it was calling the shots right now.

"Oh," he said. He drank some more tea. "Would it turn you on feeling my leathers?"

I laughed - a single, explosive, you-have-no-fucking-idea sort of sound. "You have no fucking idea," I said. "It would make me very, very horny indeed."

He considered this for a moment, then put his mug of tea down on the counter top. He put his hands on his hips. "Ok," he said finally, "go for it."

I looked at him in astonishment, but only for a split second. Then I put my arms around him and ran my hands over his jacket - the back, the arms, the front... and down to those horny, cock-hardening black leather jeans. Oh shit, they felt even better than they looked. They were tight, and the leather was thick, pliable, smooth, warm, and one of the horniest things I'd ever felt in my life. My fingers traced down the outsides of his thighs, over the fronts of his knees, and back up the insides. Then I cupped his cock-bulge in one hand and squeezed gently. He didn't have a hard-on, but it felt heavenly. My other hand stroked over his tight, leather-clad, round arse. "Oh fuck," I said.

"That turning you on? " He asked.

I stepped back and pointed to my crotch. The clear outline of my fully erect cock was forcing the leather out into a bulge even a straight couldn't possibly miss.

"Shit!" He said. Then he looked me in the eyes. "You got a garage here?"

I nodded.

"Can I put my bike in it? Don't like it being out on the road."

"No problem." I led him to the door, collecting my keys on the way, and we went outside. I opened the garage door and watched as he rode the bike inside.

After switching the engine off and putting the bike onto the centre stand, he said, "close the door."

After a moment's hesitation, I did as he asked. While I was doing that he started to look around the garage. Amongst the general bric-a-brac on a table in the corner he found a bundle of large black plastic cable ties. "Get on the bike, facing backwards," he said.


"Just fucking do it."

I climbed onto the CBR and sat on the seat facing the tail. He pushed me back until I was lying on the tank, bent my elbows, and used the cable ties to secure my wrists to the handlebars, the plastic making a clicking, ratchet-sound as the straps pulled through the locking ends. Two more fastened my booted ankles to the pillion foot pegs, and I realized I was going nowhere until he released me. I began to get worried again. He seemed to have changed: he was more confident, and seemed kind of businesslike somehow. I wondered if he was going to beat me up after all.

"I tie Josie - my girlfriend – up like this sometimes. It's something I like doing." He looked me up and down. "But she's female. I don't know where to start with you." Tentatively, he squeezed the shaft of my cock through my leather jeans, and seemed surprised when it responded by jumping once under his fingers. "I've never touched another guy's cock before." He stroked his hand gently up and down my thighs. "Fuck me, those jeans are tight," he said.

"Yeah…" I said.

"The leather feels... horny." He said the word almost reluctantly, as if he didn't want to admit that he found them sexy. "Oh yeah..." He was looking intently at my crotch and thighs, stroking his fingers over the smooth surface of the shiny black leather.

"God, you're beautiful," I said.

He looked at me and blinked. "I keep forgetting you fancy me." He stepped away from me, and leaned against the wall, his weight on one foot, the other resting flat against the wall. He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans and stroked his fingers over the leather of his cock bulge. "Does this look sexy?"

My mouth was hanging open, fish-like, and the only response I was capable of making was a gurgle. I nodded deliberately, just in case he hadn't got the idea.

He closed his eyes, removed his thumbs from his pockets and began to run his hands slowly over his body; his fingers caressing the black leather of his jacket and jeans. I pulled at my restraints, wanting more than anything to jump off the bike, leap on him and fucking cock-rape the prick-teasing bastard.

I wanted to grip his cock and make that beautiful, sexy, horny leather boy cum in his fucking jeans. But the cable ties held me helpless: I couldn't move. "Oh fuck, you have no idea what you are doing to me," I whispered.

He opened his eyes and smiled. "Oh I'm beginning to," he said. Then he put his right hand on his crotch, gripped his hardening cock through the shiny leather, and started to jack himself off very slowly - while watching my face all the time. "You want me, don’t you?" He drawled. "You want to lick my leather jeans?"

Again I was incapable of coherent speech, but I managed to get out something that sounded close enough to "Oh fuck - pleeeeeease!"

"Would you like to bury your face in my leather crotch? Lick my cock through it?"

I nodded a desperate "YES!"

He pushed himself off from the wall, and stood close to me so that his - now substantially bulging - crotch was inches from my face. Using just a thumb and a finger, he squeezed the shaft of his cock, making it stand out in stunning relief under the leather. "Lick it."

I strained my head towards it but I couldn't quite fucking reach! Oh shit, this was prick-teasing of a magnitude I had never experienced before. He moved half an inch closer, and by extending my tongue so far that it hurt, the very tip just made contact with the bulging leather. It left a tiny wet spot.

"Do you think I'm good-looking?" he asked.

Again I made that single, explosive laugh. "Oh fuck, boy - you are fucking gorgeous!"

He climbed onto the bike, putting his feet on the rider's foot pegs. This meant that he was sitting on my thighs, just below my crotch. He leaned over me and put his hands on the grips, then slowly lowered himself down on top of me. The view from my position was mind-blowing. A beautiful leather biker boy on top of me, his sexy leather jacket taking up most of my field of view, with his bulging, leather-jeaned crotch inches from mine...

He lowered his upper body until his lips were a few centimetres from mine. I didn't try to kiss him, although I wanted to do that more than anything at that moment. He smiled his sexy smile, and ran his tongue over his white teeth. For a straight, he was fucking amazingly good at looking sexy. It occurred to me that he was really getting into this. I wondered what it was - the power he had over another guy? Whatever, he was clearly getting off on it bigtime.

He reached down with one hand and gripped my cock. "You want me to make you cum?"

A sort of high-pitched "har..." came from my lips, and I nodded violently.

He grinned at me, and then - never taking his eyes off mine - he began to rub my cock through my leather jeans. If he had been in the slightest doubt before that he was turning me on, that doubt vanished in the next two seconds - because I came almost as soon as his fingers started moving on my cock. I screwed up my face but managed to keep my eyes open as the shattering orgasm consumed me - I didn't want to miss looking into his brown eyes for a single moment. As my spunk pumped into my jeans under his hand I let out a roar of pure, unadulterated lust. He continued to milk me until the entire contents of my balls was coating the inside of my leather jeans and running down my thighs.

With a grin, he got off me. "Got any scissors?" He asked. The only way to remove cable ties is to cut them.

"Fuck no. Oh wait - there's some side cutters in the toolbox over there, I think."

He found them and cut through the ties.

I had expected him to want to leave then, but he came back into the house with me. "How about another tea?" he said.

I put the kettle back on, then turned to him. "Oh fuck, thank you for that. That was...” I was lost for words, “mind-blowing."

He just smiled.

"I wish there was some way I could... reciprocate," I said.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not into guys. I just liked tying you up and cock-teasing you. It feels... horny... to know that you fancy me so much... that I turn you on so much. It's a weird feeling, but it's good."

I looked into his eyes. "I can truthfully say that you are one of the most beautiful, sexy, horny, wet-dream bikers I've ever seen in my life. I haven't fancied anyone as much as I fancy you for a long, long time."

He nodded at this, accepting my words.

"Will..." I was afraid to ask him, "will I ever see you again?"

He smiled a sort of lopsided smile. "Well now I know where you live, I might pop round again when I feel like teasing the fuck outta you."

This time I smiled. "Any time. Any time at all."