The Telemachus Story Archive

Replacement Therapy
By Hooder

Replacement Therapy

Annabelle was, without doubt, the most obnoxious girl I’d ever had the misfortune to meet. I could not understand what Sid, my friend’s son, saw in her; she moaned and whined constantly. Nothing was ever right, nothing was good enough, she was always texting and chewing gum – even at dinner or when you were talking to her - and she had a constant sneer on her face. Her favourite word was ‘whatever’. Sid was not even eighteen until next week and already she’d got him under her green-nail-polished thumb. It infuriated me. Sid is a lovely boy, and he deserved a damn sight better than her, I thought.

Sid’s family and I had got together one evening to discuss his eighteenth birthday. The boy was seriously into motorbikes. He’d had a little one for a while and had passed his test on it. His mum and dad had bought him a proper bike (it was hidden in my garage at the moment), but they’d been worried about his safety on it, so the plan was that his sister would give him a good crash helmet, his two brothers a leather jacket and some proper bike boots, and I volunteered to provide some leather jeans. I’m a leather worker, so I could easily alter a pair I already had in the shop, to fit him.

Annabelle was sat on the settee, staring at her phone, her thumbs working.

“What are you getting him?” I asked.

She didn’t look up. “Dunno,” she mumbled around her gum.

“You’d better get organised – his birthday’s next week.”

Her upper lip curled. “Whatever.”

I could cheerfully have gone over and strangled the bitch.


In my shop, I turned the unaltered jeans over in my hands, and looked around at the shelves. A slow smile appeared on my face as I noticed some very thin, very shiny black leather at the bottom of a stack of hides. I couldn’t remember why I’d originally got it, but it had been there for ages. His mum had given me the boy’s measurements, so I took the leather and, using some guesswork I suspected would be close enough, I set to work with the sewing machine.


“Oh wow!” Sid stared at his new bike with wide eyes. It was a 500cc Honda – by no means new, but in excellent condition. He sat on it, his face beaming with happiness. His sister Francis presented him with the helmet, his brothers the jacket and boots, and I handed him a parcel with the leather jeans in it. He ripped all of his presents open, his eyes getting even wider with each one. “Thank you all! This is ace!”

I took Sid to one side and had a quiet word with him in private. “Those jeans are for protection, Sid, if you have an accident. Now I want you to listen carefully. It’s a bit embarrassing, but it’s important. Don’t wear anything at all under them. There’s a good reason for this: underpants don’t let things slide against the leather, and if you come off, the friction could well give you some very nasty burns indeed. Believe me, you do not want that. I’ve known a couple of guys who ended up in hospital ‘cos of that. If you look you’ll see there’s shiny leather on the inside over all the vulnerable bits, so they’re wipe-clean. Ok?”

“Oh right! Ok! No problem. Thanks!” Sid grinned.

He disappeared back into the house and ran upstairs to put all of his new gear on. A few minutes later he was back. I sighed with lust – the boy looked wonderful in it, especially as I knew that that there was nothing between the shiny black leather and his cock.

Now I had paid a very great deal of attention to the crotch of those jeans. I’d changed the shape a little, put a seam here, a tuck there, and had been extremely careful when I’d been adding the thin, shiny leather on the inside. I’d used every bit of my skill and experience in leather work on them, and also my intimate knowledge about how boys’ bodies operate. When he appeared again he wasn’t running, he was walking – and there was a delighted, and surprised, look on his face. I smiled to myself; I knew that my guesses had been close: with every movement he made, those jeans were rubbing him in exactly the right places. By the time he’d got back there was a distinct bulge at his crotch. He set off for a ride on his new bike, and I went back into the house, knowing how it would feel for him with the vibrations of the engine working on him as well.

From that day, Annabelle became even more annoying than ever; she was always frowning now, she was short-tempered with everybody – especially Sid – and there was a permanent pout on her face. I even walked in on a full, ornament-throwing argument at one point. Sid had taken to wearing his bike gear just about all the time – his mother complained about his boots on the carpet, and he was never out of the leather jeans. And he had a perpetual smile on his face.

Sid dumped Annabelle the following week. It seemed that the bike – and his new leather jeans – were giving him a lot more pleasure than she was. He went out on the bike a lot, and when he wasn’t doing that he spent much of his time in his bedroom. On several occasions, as I passed his door on the way to the loo, I heard the unmistakable creaking of leather coming from inside his room.

That was a year ago. The other day we were out for a spin on our bikes together; we’d pulled into a service area for a coffee and he leaned towards me over the wooden picnic table. “I’m going to be nineteen next week. There’s something I wanted to ask you. I’ve grown a bit and those jeans you gave me are getting a bit small. How much would it cost for you to make me another pair?”

“You like them then?”

“Oh fuck yes. You have no idea. They are amazing.”

“I thought you might. Well, as luck would have it, I’ve got a pair in the shop that would be perfect – with a little adjustment. I’d like to do them for your birthday present again.”

His face lit up. “Oh! Really? Wow! Thank you!” A slightly embarrassed look appeared on his face. “Would they… would they feel the same as these?”

“If you let me take some very careful measurements – intimate ones, if you know what I mean – they’ll feel even better. I had to guess last time.”

He smiled. “So you did make them like that on purpose then.”

I smiled and nodded.

“I’d wondered about that. And the thing about underpants and friction burns?”

“Pure bullshit.”

He laughed. “Ok! Tonight for the measurements?”

“No problem.”

They say that fetishes are implanted before you’re five years old, but I can tell you that they can also be acquired much, much later. Sid is nineteen, and he can’t get enough of black leather. The new jeans, apparently, work even better on him than the first ones did (the addition of a small but solid, rounded leather bump on the inside, positioned to press gently right on the centre of his arsehole, no doubt helps). He walks around with a permanent erection (but he doesn’t walk far, otherwise they make him cum). He has no time for girls any more – he likes to hang out with bikers now.

So, the dreadful Annabelle is gone, and I’ve successfully got the boy into leather.

Now I’m wondering exactly how I’m going to get him into being tied up.