Jason brought the car to a stop alongside his Suzuki 750. He stared at the concrete wall morosely, his hands still on the steering wheel, remembering the last kiss at the airport. He was going to miss Julie in lots of ways; he’d just seen her off to Miami (lucky cow) for a two-week training course on her company’s new computer system – but most of all he was going to miss the sex. That was one of the best things about her: she liked as much sex as he did. It was always vanilla, but there was a lot of it.
He got out of the car, locked it, and gazed at his bike. Julie wasn’t keen on motorbikes, so he’d have a chance to go out on it more while she was away. Yeah, he’d explore the area; he’d been meaning to do that for a while.
He closed the garage door with the remote and looked up; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky this afternoon so he thought he might put his leathers on and go out right now.
The country roads to the north of the town were made for bikes: there were no speed cameras so he could open the Suzuki up on the long straights, get his knee down on the bends, and generally go much faster than was advisable.
The fields and hedges whizzed past, all thoughts of Julie replaced by sheer exhilaration and the vibrations of the powerful engine under him.
It was dark when he got back to civilisation, coming back into town through a part he didn’t know so well. At one point he noticed a shack off to the side of the street, with motorbikes parked outside. Curious, he slowed to a stop on the road outside it. A hand-pained sign proclaimed “Hide ‘n Steel Motorcycle Club.” Jason hadn’t known there was a biker club in the town. He pulled onto the tarmac and parked the bike.
The place looked a bit the worse for wear: the wooden stairs leading up to the old door was worn from years of boots, and the shack itself looked like something from 1980’s America. He went in. Number plates hung from the wooden beams – Jason smiled at ‘HOG 24’ – along with faded jacket patches, a pair of boots hanging from a bike chain, and other motorcycle-related bits and pieces. An old-fashioned jukebox was playing at the far end.
Tables and seating were wooden crates of assorted sizes, and guys sat with bottles of beer. He was aware of heads turning to look at him as he removed his helmet and walked, a little self-consciously, up to the bar.
It seemed that beer was the only thing on offer, and a tattooed barman in a leather cut-off smiled and put an opened bottle down even before Jason had said anything.
“Thanks.” He handed the guy a five-pound note.
“Welcome. First time here?”
“Yeah. Didn’t know there was a biker club in town.” Jason pocketed his change.
“Been here twenty years.”
Jason raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yep. What bike you on?”
“Suzi GSX-R750.”
The barman grinned. “Crotch-rocket boy. Nice. We’ve got a fair number of them, but most are Hog riders. But it don’t matter if you ride iron or plastic, the guys here are friendly.”
Jason smiled his thanks, and took his beer to an empty table.
He looked around. Most of the guys were obviously Harley types – beer bellies, Levis, scruffy leather jackets – but there were a few ‘plastic’ riders (he hadn’t heard that ‘iron / plastic’ thing before; the ‘iron’ must mean Harleys, and he guessed that the ‘plastic’ referred to bikes like his, with fairings). These boys were slimmer, in leather jackets and leather jeans that were shinier and tighter, like his own.
A full bottle of beer plonked down on the table in front of him, followed by a second one opposite, as a large guy sat down. “Hi mate. New here, yeah? Thought I’d say hello. Aaron’s the name.”
“Oh, hi. Thanks for the beer. I’m Jason.”
Aaron wore a dark blue bandana round his head like cap; a ripped denim cut-off showed muscular, tattooed arms; and over his Levis were leather chaps. “My pleasure. Always good to see a new face. So, what bike you riding and where you from?”
Jason told him. It was the start of a conversation that lasted most of the night. A few minutes in they were joined by another guy, then a third, and soon crates were being dragged to the table as more guys came over and introductions were made. The talk was about bikes, the best roads for riding; about near-accidents; about trips to other biker clubs in distant parts of the country; about beer. By this time the table was full of empty bottles. “Fuck, that stuff’s strong,” Jason laughed at one point. He was feeling a bit tipsy.
“So, you got a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” Someone asked.
Jason told them about Julie. Beautiful girl, amazing sex. That he’d just seen her off to Miami for a couple of weeks. “Gonna missa. Gonna miss the sex,” he laughed. He realised he was beginning to slur his words. But fuck it, he didn’t care - the very air smelled of leather.
More beer arrived.
Much later, a voice shouted from the bar. “TIME, YOU LOT. YOU GOT NO FUCKIN’ HOMES TO GO TO?”
Shortly after that, people started to drink up and begin to leave. Jason stood, or tried to, but he wasn’t too successful.
“I don’t reckon you’re in a fit state to ride that machine, mate,” Aaron said. “Come on, let’s get you into the back room. There’s a cot there you can use until the morning.”
“But I gotta – I gotta – oh fuck, I’m gonna throw up.”
They managed to get him to the loo just in time. When he’d finished they took him through the door into the back room and laid him down on a small bed. “You stay there mate. You’ll be fine in a bit.”
Jason’s head was spinning, but emptying his stomach had improved things and he didn’t feel as bad as he should have, considering. “Ungh… Thamks…” He muttered, and closed his eyes.
He dreamed. First he was flying – it was easy to do: he just floated up off the ground, aimed himself where he wanted to go, and off he went. Next, he was on a beach somewhere hot. He was in his full bike leathers – jacket, jeans and boots – and he knew he should be sweating in the heat, but he wasn’t; he felt fine. Everyone was looking at him in his shiny black gear, and he liked that. He felt sexy. Horny. Then he dreamed of Julie. She’d got him strapped down to the bed and was running her fingers over his jeans and licking his bulging black leather crotch. He smiled in his sleep and moaned with pleasure. It didn’t seem at all unusual, even though in real life Julie found even the idea of leather and bondage distasteful.
“Huh?” Jason opened his eyes. The room light had been turned back on, and he was surrounded by five or six figures. They were all dressed in leathers, and he couldn’t see who they were because they all had bandanas, masks or crash helmets covering their faces. And he could feel hands on his thighs and crotch. “What – ?”
“Shh,” someone said. “Just lie back and enjoy it.”
“No…” He tried to sit up, but muscular arms pushed him back down onto the bed. There was the clink of metal, and he felt handcuffs go around his wrists. His arms were pulled up to the top corners of the bed and locked there. He tried to kick, but other hands held him while still more buckled something around his booted ankles and restrained them to the bottom corners. He’d tried to fight, but there were to many of them. He was spread eagled and helpless.
“I’m straight,” he protested. At least he’d sobered up somewhat.
“We know you’re straight. We like straight boys, they struggle more.”
“No. I don’t want – ”
“We know what you want. Your cock’s as hard as a fuckin rock. Your girl’s away, so we’re doing you a service. You’ll thank us later.”
There were chuckles all round.
Jason realised that he was indeed hard – his cock was a steel rod in his leather jeans. But the fingers teasing it belonged to a guy. He did not fucking want that. He pulled at the handcuffs and the leather straps around his ankles but it got him nowhere.
“This’ll help you to forget we’re guys. And it’ll help you to focus…” A leather blindfold came down over his eyes.
“No! Fuck off!” But it was already strapped in place. Suddenly he felt even more helpless, and a lot more vulnerable. “What – what are you going to do?” He whimpered.
“Nothing you won’t like. Probably.”
Jason felt fingers at his waistband. His jeans were unzipped and pulled down to his knees.
“Oh fuck yeah – commando! We got a slut here.” More laughter.
Jason wished the ground would open up and swallow him. He never wore anything under these unlined jeans because the leather felt so horny. He was regretting that now.
Fingers on his cock. Pulling it back. He gasped as a warm, wet mouth slid slowly down it all the way to his balls. Leather-gloved fingers started to tickle those balls. “Oh fu uu ck!”
Other hands opened his leather jacket wide and slid underneath his tee shirt. They came to rest on his nipples and began to tease them. After a few moments he felt the tee shirt being pulled up, and the fingers were replaced by mouths. They sucked, squeezed, and bit gently. He could feel leather jackets against his bare skin.
Jason had never had his nipples worked on before, and he was stunned at how good it felt.
More fingers were stroking his upper thighs, especially the insides of them, and he felt yet another leather-jacketed arm burrow between his arse cheeks, the hand coming to rest on his hole. No. That was most definitely out of bounds. He shook his head, yelled, and struggled to get away from it. It did no good: the hand extended a pre-lubed finger and inserted it into the outer sphincter. It didn’t push in any further, just moved around where it was.
Jason had not the slightest interest in guys sexually. But he did have an acute interest in bondage and leather. He’d occasionally thought that that had probably been the main reason he’d got a motorbike in the first place. His previous girlfriend, Moxie, had been all for it, and they’d had wild sessions before she’d met a rich banker from Fulham and had unceremoniously buggered off with him. Then he’d met Julie. Julie was gorgeous, but his single regret about her was that she thought that anything ‘kinky’, as she called it, was disgusting. He’d suggested it to her once, but she’d made it abundantly clear that it was something that would never, ever, be on the agenda. She couldn’t understand why anybody would find that sort of thing remotely sexy. She’d been so negative about it that he’d never mentioned it again.
Now here he was, strapped down, black leather all over him, with fingers and mouths teasing the fuck out of him.
The guy had been right: being blindfolded had made the fact that these were guys somehow less important, because all he could concentrate on now that he couldn’t see anything, was what was being done to him. And what was being done to him was fucking amazing. Jason was getting horny. Jason was getting very horny.
This went on for some time. Guys took turns to suck him, to work on his nipples. Some were better than others, but by now Jason was so horny that he no longer cared who was doing what. He moaned and writhed slowly under them, pleasure flooding his brain. At some point, the finger in his arse had gone deeper. He hadn’t even been aware of that, but when it had started to stroke his prostate gently, he had abruptly become very aware of it indeed.
Oh fuck, he thought, why had his girlfriends never done this to him? It was gobsmackingly horny.
By some unheard agreement they removed his restraints, stripped his boots and jeans off completely, then turned him face down and refastened the cuffs. Someone pushed his jeans on the bed under him, and folded them around so that the leather completely enclosed his achingly hard cock. Oh fuck that felt so good. Jason started to hump, but a smack on his arse stopped him. “Oh no you fuckin don’t.”
The boy was pressed into the bed as someone got on top of him. Jason had an awful realisation of what was going to happen. “No! Please! Don’t fuck me!”
There was a quiet chuckle. “Oh, you are gonna get very soundly fucked, boy. You don’t want it? Well all you gotta do is stop me.”
Jason struggled as hard as he could. He pulled at the cuffs, yelling obscenities, and tried to throw the guy off – but the weight on him, along with the restraints, made that quiet impossible.
“Now shut the hell up or we’ll fuckin gag you.”
Jason shouted even louder – until someone’s leather-gloved hand clamped tightly over his mouth, gagging him and reducing his desperate yells to muffled grunts.
He heard the guy on top of him unzip his jeans – he could feel their leather all down the insides of his naked legs – and a few moments later the unmistakable push of a very hard cock head against his arsehole.
Jason went ballistic. He yelled into the gagging hand and thrashed about on the bed under the guy, and more gloved hands had to hold him down as the cock entered him. Jason screwed up his eyes as it went in smoothly and slowly. Then it began to fuck him. Leather-gloved fingers that were not otherwise occupied were teasing and tickling any erogenous zones that were accessible.
He was being fucked by another guy. Jason was straight – joyfully, proudly straight. He had nothing against gay guys at all, but it just wasn’t him. Breasts and clit and cunt was what he was about, and he loved it. But now he was being fucked by a guy. That was going to change how he’d think about himself for the rest of his life. He started to moan in misery.
But, actually, not for long, because the realisation dawned that it felt good. Strange, definitely. But good. The fact that leather fingers were teasing him all over – his bare feet, legs, armpits, neck - at the same time, and that his cock was being pushed into the black leather jeans that were enclosing it every time the guy thrust into his arse may have had something to do with it. Possibly.
Jason was suddenly aware that he wasn’t far from cumming – and by the feel of it, neither was the guy on top of him. Being very close to orgasm is, in some ways, like consuming enough alcohol: it tells your inhibitions to fuck off. By that point, the only things that were running through Jason’s mind were: I’m strapped down helpless, I’m blindfolded and gagged, I’m being fucked and teased, and there’s leather all over me . And I am going to cum.
With a synchronicity that only usually happens in porn films, both Jason and the guy fucking him started to cum at the same time. The guy pounded Jason’s arse and the boy’s own cock slid in the tightly enveloping jeans. The leather milked his spunk out of him as irresistibly as a vacuum pump, at the same time as he felt the guy’s cock erupting inside him – right on his prostate. It was, by any standard, a good orgasm.
He collapsed onto the bed, drained and exhausted, endorphins still rushing through him. The guy pulled out and cleaned himself up. He even wiped Jason’s arse as well before he got off the bed.
The blindfold was removed, and Jason turned his head to see spunk running down leather jeans, the other guys either zipping themselves up or in the final throes of cumming themselves, their hands pumping their cocks.
His breathing was almost back to normal. He gave a single, slightly strained cough. “Well,” he managed at length, “that was something.”
The guys just stood there looking down at him.
He pulled at the wrist cuffs. “You can let me out of these – I promise not to beat you all up.”
“You should probably be a bit more careful,” laughed one of them, as they released him from the restraints. “This is a gay biker club.”
Jason nodded resignedly. “Never occurred to me. Should have known.” He got up and sat on the edge of the bed.
“That was…” He blinked and shook his head slowly. “That was different.” He looked up at them. “Now, how are you going to let me go? I haven’t seen your faces so I don’t know who you are, but I’ll see your bikes when you go. I could get the numbers. Go to the police.”
“You wanna do that?”
“Well I fucking should. ” He was silent for a moment. “But I’ve got a problem. It was amazing. Once I’d got over the fact that you’re guys. That blindfold worked well.”
“Oh, we have things that are even more effective on a boy than that, believe me.” There were quiet chuckles.
Really? Oh fuck. Jason felt his cock stirring again. “Do you?”
“Oh yeah.”
He thought about that.
“I’ve got a girlfriend who gives me a lot of sex.” He stared unseeingly for a moment. “Lots of sex. But compared to what you lot did to me, it’s as boring as fuck.” His eyes focussed again. “But I’m straight, I’m not gay.”
The guy laughed. “Well, this club also accepts straight boys who are willing to get tied up and fucked in leather. And there’s lots of us, so it’s available whenever you want.”
Jason smiled. He thought about that. Then he thought about Julie again.
Ah, fuck her. This was a damn sight more interesting.
“Where do I sign?”