The Telemachus Story Archive

Essays
Part 6 - Beginners
By Hooder
Email: hooder@ntlworld.com

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Beginners

One of the things I particularly enjoy doing is realizing a guy's fantasy for him. Whether his fantasy involves nothing more than sitting and looking at a horny leather-clad biker, or an intense interrogation session with me trying to extract information, and which involves the use of torture - or any other kind of fantasy - I can be whatever a boy wants me to be. He doesn't know me, and doesn't even know what I look like. There are no 'strings' attached to a session, and no pressure on his part to 'perform'.

Simon had never been with a biker before...

* * *

Simon sat in the black-and-chrome chair in the corner of the playroom, and I was standing six feet away from him, my thumbs hooked into the heavy studded belt which hugged my tightest black leather jeans. The fingers of my right hand were gently stroking the shiny leather over the round bulge sticking out at my crotch. I watched him through the slits of the black leather mask I always wore so that a boy couldn't identify me - and he in turn looked back, his eyes travelling occasionally up and down my body, taking in my bike boots, jeans, leather jacket and the black crash helmet I was wearing over the mask. But his eyes kept coming back to the bulge I was playing with teasingly. Neither of us had spoken very much - or moved - since he'd come into the playroom ten minutes ago. And that was perfectly fine with me.

He sat with his hands in his lap, in a self-conscious but failing effort to conceal the hard-on that was stretching the front of his faded denim jeans - jeans that were very tight, and under which I knew he was wearing nothing at all. I knew this because I'd specifically asked him to wear them like that (tight jeans with nothing between the sexy faded denim and a horny cock underneath turn me on like crazy).

We'd been emailing for a few weeks - he'd seen my website and he'd found lots of the ideas very horny. The only problem was that he was totally inexperienced at this sort of thing, and had so far only ever done vanilla. Although he got off on the ideas a lot, he was also terrified. After many emails and a lot of prodding, I eventually got him to describe his deepest, darkest fantasy. With much apology and self-consciousness, he eventually told me that for ages he'd looked at bikers in their sexy leathers, and got a hard-on fantasising about them. His deepest, darkest fantasy was this: to be alone in the same room with a biker; to be able just to look at him, or perhaps touch him, feel his leathers, put him in any position he wanted - or to do none of these things if he didn't want to. That was it.

Now you could be forgiven for thinking that this scenario sounds about as exciting as watching paint dry - but not so. In fact this was one of the horniest sessions I've ever had with anyone, and yet very little happened.

As I stood there in front of him, my cock was rock-hard inside my jeans. Why? Because it was very obvious from every bit of his body-language: from the expression on his face, from the look in his eyes, from the way he kept licking his lips (and the erection in his jeans) that what he was looking at was his personal idea of a wet dream come to life. He had his very own, first-ever leather-clad biker - and, while he knew he was under no pressure whatsoever to do anything (he was free to get up and walk out whenever he wanted) he could also do whatever he liked with me. I found it indescribably horny: knowing that I - in the leather gear for which I have such an intense fetish myself - was turning this boy on like hell.

We stayed like that for perhaps another five minutes or so, and then he seemed to come to a decision. He asked me to turn around so I was facing away from him - which I did - and then I heard him get up and come over to me. He stood behind me for a while without moving, and then I felt a tentative touch on my leather jacket, in the middle of my back. I could feel his hand shaking through the jacket as he stroked his fingers slowly across my shoulder blades and then downwards. His other hand joined in then and he paused to touch my studded belt, feeling the chrome pyramids for a few seconds before continuing onwards to run his fingers slowly down the outsides of my legs and over my bike boots.

He straightened up again, put both arms around my waist and hugged me gently for a moment, running his palms over the front of my leather jacket and tracing the shape of my belt buckle with his fingertips. Then his hands were on my crash helmet, and I could hear the quiet sounds of his fingers sliding over the shiny black fibreglass. The room went darker as he closed the black visor, and then he turned me around again to face him. For a few seconds he stared into his reflection in the smoked visor, and then he knelt down in front of me.

He looked up at me from his kneeling position, one hand held in front of him to shield the fact that with the other he was playing with his cock through his jeans. I don't think I have ever seen such a look of adoration in anyone's eyes before. It was almost as if I were made of something that would shatter if he moved too quickly or touched me in the wrong place.

After a while his eyes fell to my crotch. It was almost exactly at his eye level, and about twelve inches away from him. I looked down at it too. The bulge was round - almost spherical - and about the size of an orange. My cock is average-sized, but I'd arranged it so that it was bent down over the front of my balls to make it stick out as much as possible. When I'd gone down to let Simon in, it had slipped slightly to the left, and so now the outline of my cock was clearly visible on that side. As my erection had stiffened, it had tried to rise upwards and outwards, so that the net result was a wonderful 3-D bulge stretching the leather and reflecting the light in a very horny way. From my perspective above it, the whole thing stuck out perhaps three inches from my body - which, in those tight leather jeans, is a very nice bulge.

It appeared that it was all right for Simon as well. Slowly he raised his hands and placed them flat on the outsides of my legs, just above the knees. With his thumbs he felt along all the little creases there, and then he ran his hands slowly up to my hips and down again. He did this several times on the outsides of my legs, and then - using just his fingertips - he did the same up the fronts of my thighs. He was careful to avoid touching my bulge, and it seemed as if he was really worshipping the leather, and making this last as long as he could. He was concentrating hard on the point where his fingers contacted the leather, following it closely with his eyes as it travelled slowly up my thighs. It was clear that he was drinking in the experience, watching the way the light reflected from the moving depression his fingers were making, and feeling the smooth, dense black grain of the leather against his skin. He looked as if he were hypnotised.

By now I was itching for him to get to my cock. was as horny as hell and I longed for the feel of his hands on my aching cock. I smiled behind the black visor at the thought that this was a very refined form of cum-control.

Having stroked his hands up and down the fronts of my legs a few times, he turned his attention to the insides. He crossed his hands so that their backs faced each other and, very lightly, followed the inside seams of my leather jeans with his fingers: up, up, up until they met under my balls. I was going cross-eyed with lust behind the black visor, but his hands traced the seams downwards again - only to repeat the process many times more. By the time he'd plucked up courage to go further than this, I was desperate to feel something - ANYTHING - on my cock.

I stood there, as horny as fuck, as he stared again at my aching dick throbbing under the leather. I honestly don't think he had any idea of the torture he was putting me through - and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him.

He placed his right hand flat against the inside of my right thigh, right at the top, and asked me to close my legs tightly together. This was the first time he'd spoken for ages, and I did as he requested. The feeling of his hand squeezed between the tops of my thighs was incredibly horny. Then, with his thumb he began to stroke my balls gently. He went from side to side - gliding it across the shiny, stretched leather and occasionally exploring the creases in my jeans at the sides of my balls. I looked down at his own crotch and for a moment I thought he'd cum - there was a large, spreading patch around the end of his cock - but then I realized it was pre-cum. This boy was as horny as I was.

Then, very very slowly, he moved his head towards me, closed his eyes and licked along the outline of my cock with the tip of his tongue. Gradually he gained confidence and his licking got faster and more general, taking in my entire bulge. Suddenly he thrust his head into my crotch and just breathed in the smell of a biker's sexy black leather jeans.

After a while he stood up again, looked at me for a moment, and asked me if I had a blindfold. I got one off the shelves and handed it to him.

Gently he lifted off my crash helmet, put it down, and then slipped the blindfold over my eyes. I hadn't expected this, and I couldn't see anything, but then I heard the sounds of him getting undressed. He guided me to the padded examination table and made me lie down on it, face up. A few seconds later I felt him climb onto the table with me, and heard him sigh with pleasure as he slowly lowered himself down on top of me, and my leathers made contact with his bare skin along the full length of his body. He reached down and put his cock between my thighs, then pushed my legs together again with his hands. I thought maybe he would cum like that, but he only stayed in that position for a few moments, then he was off the table again and guiding me off it and onto the floor.

"Do you have any ropes?" He asked.

I told him where to find them, and he set about hog-tying me on the floor. He was a bit over-enthusiastic with the tightness of the knots, and they probably wouldn't have won any boy-scout awards for security, but soon he had me tied up so I wasn't going anywhere for a while.

Knowing that I was now helpless and couldn't be any kind of threat to him seemed to make him more confident. Either that or the thought of having a real live biker blindfolded, tied up and defenceless was a big turn-on to him - because when his hands touched me again they were much more assured. His fingers ran over my entire body, feeling the leather, exploring, kneading, pressing.

During the following half-hour or so he kept me blindfolded but put me into several different positions - lying down, standing up, kneeling - and in every one he pressed his naked body against me, or caressed and felt my leathers with his hands, face and mouth.

Finally he got dressed again, put the blindfold back in his pocket, thanked me, and left. Neither of us had cum (although I was intending to the second he’d gone...) - and that was it. It had still been a very horny session indeed.

I didn't hear from him for a week or two, and then he sent me an email saying that the session had blown his mind, and could he come back again? Perhaps I would tie him up for a while?

That was quite a while ago. He came round several more times, and was just beginning to get into some fun things - but then he got moved to Switzerland with his job so I didn't see him again.

A completely different type of 'beginner' is the straight boy. I don't know why it should be, but I seem to get quite a few of these. Often they have a girlfriend, but the girl won't do 'kinky' things, or sometimes it's just the thought of being tied up by a complete stranger, without the 'strings' of relationship problems being involved. Whatever the reason, I don't care. I absolutely love playing with straight boys. There is something intensely sexy about turning a boy who isn't usually interested in other guys on, and getting him horny - especially when he's strapped down helpless and hooded. I love the challenge of trying to make the orgasms he has with me the most intense he's ever had with anyone. (I'll be truthful and tell you - although I suppose it's not something that's very PC - that I often fantasise myself, when I'm doing this with a straight boy, that he's homophobic, that I've abducted him, and that I'm getting him horny and making him cum very much against his will. If he gets it into his head to struggle and fight while I'm playing with him, it’s even better).

Mike was straight (wouldn't you know it), never been tied up before, never had any experience of leather - in fact never even been with another guy before - ever. We emailed for a long time: he'd get enthusiastic about meeting, and then he'd lose his bottle. I didn't push it, not wanting to press him into anything he wasn't sure about, but eventually we agreed to meet. When I opened the door, his face was a picture: he stared bug-eyed at me in my full biker leathers and leather mask.

We sat in the living room for a while, and he looked at the photos on the walls. We were sitting on the futon, side by side, and after a bit he asked me if my jeans were leather or PVC. I told him, leather.

'Can I feel them?' he asked, very tentatively.

'Of course you can', I smiled, and lay back, my booted feet apart.

"They're very tight," he said. He placed his hand lightly on my knee, moved his fingers over the smooth black leather for a moment, then took his hand away.

We chatted for a bit about gear, bikes, and the price of fish, and then I stood up, facing him. "Kneel down for a moment," I said gently. When he was kneeling, I cradled his head in my hands and slowly pushed it so that his lips were brushing my thigh. "Smell the leather. Lick it if you want to."

He encircled my legs with his arms, and nuzzled my leather jeans. Then he let go. "I feel strange," he said, looking around as if he was expecting someone else to come in at any moment.

"Ok, let's go upstairs and I'll show you the playroom. We don't have to do anything - let's just go have a look."

I led him upstairs, and opened the door. I suppose I've become accustomed to it - it's just a fun room to me - but Mike had never seen anything like it before. He stood there, mouth agape, staring at the equipment, the restraints hanging on the walls, the chains hanging from the ceiling, the cage, the black rubber floor... it must have seemed like some kind of medieval torture chamber to him.

"Wow," he said.

I took him on a guided tour, showing him the cell; the floor-to-ceiling wooden posts and explaining how a boy could be spread-eagled there to the pairs of restraint points on them; I showed him each hood, blindfold, gag; I pointed to the ceiling chains, explaining how the sling, or the mummification board, or the suspension harness could be hung from them... I showed him everything - and he was amazed.

He was also turned on: he was wearing loose tracksuit bottoms, and you could have hung a crash helmet on the rock-hard cock that was pushing them out at his crotch. This boy was not wearing underpants. I positioned him between the posts, took the leather cuffs, and began to strap one onto his wrist. What happened next was totally unexpected.

He stopped me from fastening it, gently took it out of my hand, and started to put it onto my wrist! After he'd got them both on, he found the ankle pair and secured them around my boots. Then he clicked them into the steel clips at the restraint points - and I was his prisoner, spread-eagled between the posts.

He spent the next few minutes walking around me and just looking at me - and then he put a blindfold over my masked eyes, and I heard him stripping off. A few moments later I felt his warm body against me, and he hugged me, pressing himself against my leathers in as many places as possible. He nuzzled my neck and ran his hands over my leather mask. In doing so, he dislodged the blindfold - and I found myself staring into his face: his eyes were closed and he was smiling happily. His cock was pressing into my crotch. By moving my body I managed to guide it between the tops of my thighs, and I could just close them together far enough to squeeze it. I'd expected him to start fucking my jeans, but he opened his eyes, saw me looking at him, and blushed. He pulled his cock out, and the blindfold was replaced immediately.

I was as horny as fuck - he was a cute lad, and very sexy. I felt his hand on my cock, squeezing and rubbing it through my jeans, and I knew that if he didn't stop very soon, I would cum. I told him this, but he laughed quietly and continued. I felt myself approaching the point of no return, and struggled to get his hand off me - I didn't want to cum yet - but he wouldn't let me get away. His hand followed my movements, and the rubbing got harder and faster. "NO!" I shouted - but I couldn't stop him. With a yell I came in my jeans, while his hand continued to wank me off until I pleaded for him to stop.

Breathing heavily, and my crotch swimming with spunk inside my jeans, I heard him getting dressed again. He pulled the blindfold off and he was grinning at me as he released the clips holding my wrists and ankles. "You little bastard!" I laughed. "I wasn't expecting that."

His cock was just as hard as it had been before, so I was sure he hadn't cum yet. I was going to see to it that he did. On the pretext of showing him a different hood - a khaki army one - I dropped it over his head, then grabbed his arms and got him handcuffed. Now that he was hooded and cuffed, I took my time and got him tied to the examination table. He was lying face up, his hard cock pushing his loose trackie bottoms up into an enormous pyramid between his thighs. "Right you little bastard, it's payback time." Against his struggling, I pulled the tracksuit bottoms down just far enough so that his cock sprang out into the open air, and I tucked the elasticated waistband under his balls, both to keep it there and to push them out into a more vulnerable position.

He was intensely embarrassed that I could see his cock - he'd said that he didn't want sex (but then he'd forfeited that right when he'd made me cum...) Sitting astride his legs, my leather jeans pressing against the outside of his thighs, I lightly gripped the engorged shaft in my leather-gloved hand, and began slowly wanking him. He struggled and squirmed - both in pleasure and embarrassment - but I was going to make this little bastard cum. Transferring my grip to his cock-head, I slowly slid my leather-gloved fingertips over the sensitive head, and with my other hand I enclosed his balls, tickling them lightly.

His eyes were riveted to me - travelling up and down my leather-clad body and masked face, as I got him closer and closer to cumming. When I thought he was pretty close to the edge, I stopped. This brought renewed struggling and moaning, and he thrust his hips, trying to drive his desperate cock into my gloved hand. I allowed it to slip lightly and uselessly through my fingers, teasing him, knowing how urgently he needed to cum.

I did that three of four times - getting him close and them stopping - then I leaned forward onto him, supporting myself on my elbow at the side of his head, so my masked face was inches from his eyes and my leather jacket was pressing against his chest, reached back, and found his cock again with my hand. Again I gripped the sensitive head and rubbed my fingers up and down over it. "You didn’t want any kind of sex, but I'm gonna make you cum, boy," I whispered to him, "and there is fuck all you can do about it." I squeezed a little harder, increased the speed of my movements, and stared into his eyes as they opened wide and - with a yell - he came. I could feel the hot spunk jetting out of his cock onto my hand and my jeans, making the black leather warm and slippery, and I continued to work on his cock until I'd milked him dry.

He lay there exhausted, his face as red as beetroot.

He's been back three times since then - and he's getting very good at tying me up...

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