By the time I’d finished my first beer I’d known it was going to be a hopeless night in the Fallen Angel. Even though it’s the only kinky club in town it varies a lot. Weekends are usually OK, but on a Wednesday night there’s about as much chance of seeing anybody interesting as there is of England winning the World Cup. I sighed and zipped my leather jacket up; not a lot of point in hanging around – I’d go home and have a complicated wank. Nodding goodnight to Kev behind the bar, I left the place.
On my way across the car park I saw a glint of leather in the shadows by the bins. Such is my obsession with leather that my feet had already started me heading in that direction before my brain had really caught up.
Standing against the wall, almost hiding behind one of the bins as if trying to fade into the brickwork, was a boy. I guessed he was too young to get into the club, and he reminded me of myself years ago, the first time I’d hung around outside a leather bar – nervous, unsure, desperately not wanting to be seen, but also desperately wanting to explore things.
He was actually in full black leather, although it looked like it belonged to someone else – someone who was quite a bit bigger that he was. You could have fitted two of him inside that jacket; folds and creases in his leather jeans completely hid the shape of his legs, and even his bike boots looked too big for him. His dark hair was all over the place, and although he was mostly in shadow, he didn’t look particularly good-looking.
But, having said all that, fuck, he was hot - to me, at least. Standing there in all that leather, he was pure, unadulterated fetish.
“Hello there,” I said.
He looked nervously at the ground. I’m not sure, but think he mumbled something monosyllabic back.
I leant on a bin, and looked away, down the car park; I thought it might take some pressure off him. I had the feeling that this was a boy who had – or was developing – a serious fetish. After a while I glanced back at him. “So you’re into leather?” I asked.
He didn’t say anything, but a few seconds later he nodded, reluctantly.
“Do you like these leather jeans?” I turned towards him and ran a hand slowly over my tight, shiny, crotch.
His head didn’t move, but his eyes did. They stared at my bulge as my fingers stroked it teasingly.
“Would you like to come back to my place and get to know them a bit better?”
He quickly looked back at the concrete. Didn’t reply, didn’t nod or shake his head.
“I’ve got lots of leather at home. Jeans, jackets, shorts, hoods. Restraints to get a boy helpless. I could tie you up and play with you. Make you cum. Lots of black leather.”
Again, he didn’t reply, but I could see him breathing faster.
“Would you like that?”
Eventually he gave a single, tiny nod.
“Come on then. I’ve got a motorbike. Ever been on one?”
He nodded again. “My brother’s. Once.”
He hesitated for a while, but then he appeared to come to a decision, and stepped nervously out from behind the bins. I led him to my bike, unlocked the helmets and handed him the spare.
I rode slowly back to my house; he was hanging on for dear life, with his arms around me. I’d expected him to feel my leathers, but he kept his hands still.
I took him straight into the playroom. He stared in wide-eyed silence at the restraint table, at the leathers on their hangers, at the restraints on the shelves.
“You don’t say much, do you?” I chuckled. “What’s your name?”
“Percy.”
Percy? “Ok, Percy. I’m Matt. I’m guessing this is your first time. Have you ever been with anybody before?”
After an embarrassed pause, he shook his head.
I smiled. “Ok. That’s fine. Why don’t you lie down on that table. I’ll tie you up. If I do anything you don’t want, you’ve only got to say, and I’ll stop. I have no interest in doing anything that hurts you. It’s all about pleasure and fun. Ok?”
He nodded and stared at the wooden table. Then, as if forcing himself, he got onto it.
I looked at this boy in his ill-fitting gear, and my cock was as hard as steel in my jeans. I knew exactly what I most wanted to do.
He let me put cuffs on his wrists and ankles, and secure them to the restraint points at the corners of the table. I went to the shelves.
“I guess you’ve never been hooded before?”
He stared at the thing in my hand, swallowed, and shook his head.
“You’ll love it.” I showed him the inside. “Shiny black leather pressing all over your face. It feels horny.”
As I pulled it over his head and fastened the straps, I told him not to worry – that he’d be able to breath fine, although he might not think so at first.
It was on. I heard his breath whistling softly through the holes under the nose.
Knowing that he couldn’t see a thing, I quietly stripped off completely. More than anything, I was longing to feel this boy and his leathers against my bare skin. I climbed onto the table by his side and pressed my naked body against him. Slowly at first, I ran my hands over his jacket, over his too-big jeans, over his boots. Oh fuck, that felt so unbelievably sexy. Then my hands and my mouth were all over him. The leather jeans were far too loose to show any kind of bulge, but I found his cock through them and licked it, teased it. It wasn’t very big, but it was rock-hard.
In less than thirty seconds I was shooting my load over his thigh, my cock rubbing against the black leather. Fuck, that was one of the best orgasms I’d had for a long time.
When I’d recovered I got off the table, cleaned up the spunk, and looked at him. I wondered: what would he really like? My guess was that seeing and feeling my leathers would be high on the list.
I put my gear back on, and removed his hood. “Did you like this?” I asked, dangling it from my finger.
He nodded. “Oh fuck. Yes. Makes you feel helpless.”
“Yeah, it does. Well, it can go back on soon enough. Right now I want you to see me. See my leathers. Feel them against your bare skin. Explore them.” I released him from the table. “Strip off completely.”
His eyes barely left me as he took everything off. Eventually he stood there naked, his face red with embarrassment, his hands hiding his hard cock. His body was very boyish, with muscles that had yet to develop fully. He was slim, and hairless.
I stood close to him and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Do anything you want to me. Feel my leathers. Touch me anywhere, lick anything you want. Do absolutely anything you like.”
At first his hands moved very tentatively: they stroked down my sleeves, inwards onto my chest. He paused, then he put his arms around me and hugged me to him. I felt his hips thrust twice, and he gave a strangled moan as he came, his cock rubbing against my leather jeans.
I embraced the boy tightly, looking down at the top of his head, feeling him pushing against me in my arms.
When his orgasm had finished I held him close and nuzzled his hair. “Was that good?” I asked quietly.
He groaned again. “Oh fuck,” he whispered.
I smiled; that had probably been one of his best orgasms, too.
I led him into the living room; he was still naked but I noticed that he seemed a bit less self-conscious than earlier. I’d expected him to lose interest after that orgasm – that he’d be terminally embarrassed, and would want to be taken back – but not at all. It was as if it had released something: he became more talkative, for a start.
When I brought coffees back from the kitchen he was sitting in one of the chairs, and not even trying to hide his cock now. I put the mugs on the coffee table and sat down opposite him, tilting my head towards the playroom. “Are those leathers in there your brother’s?”
He nodded, then a small smile appeared. “Yeah. He’s bigger than me.”
I chuckled. “Mmm, I’d guessed that. So how long have you liked leather?”
“He’s a biker, and his mates come round a lot. They all wear leather jeans and leather jackets and boots.” He looked down, embarrassed again. “When I wank I think about them.”
“Ok. Nice. In your mind, when you’re wanking, thinking about them, what are you doing to them – or what are they doing to you?” I thought that if he answered this, it might tell me more about what turned this boy on, what he really wanted.
He considered for a while. “I dunno, really. I just think about their gear. And how much bigger than me they are.”
I just smiled encouragingly, nodded, and waited.
“Sometimes…” He paused. “Sometimes I imagine two of them holding me down while another one does press-ups on top of me and rubs his leather jeans over my cock.”
“Mmm. Oh yeah. I can relate to that. And when they’re doing this to you, are they friendly, or what?”
“Sort of. The ones holding me down are laughing at me ‘cos they’ve got me helpless, and I can’t stop them, and the one on top of me’s got this evil look on his face, like he knows that what he’s doing is turning me on, even though I’m struggling to stop him doing it. That’s perverted, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. Not at all. There are lots of guys who would pay money to have that done to them.” I laughed. “Me, for a start.”
He looked at me unbelievingly. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. There’s all sorts of things there: humiliation, restraint, leather, being overpowered… I reckon they all turn you on. And there is fuck-all wrong with that. You’d be amazed – people are into all kinds of things. Your turn-ons are pretty tame, Percy, believe me.”
He thought about that. “Did you enjoy what we did in that room?”
I chuckled. “I shot my load in about thirty seconds on that table.”
“You did?” His eyes were wide.
“I did. I was naked. Feeling a sexy boy in all that black leather made me fucking shoot. I couldn’t stop myself.”
That was something he clearly had difficulty believing. “I’m not sexy. I look crap.”
“Those leathers of yours don’t fit you, but it made no difference. In fact there’s something about your gear being too big that’s worryingly pervy. I love it. And you are sexy – dead sexy. You look so, I dunno, vulnerable. You make me want to do things to you and watch you struggling to stop me.”
“Do I?”
“Oh fuck yeah.”
“What things?”
I tried for an evil grin. “If I told you that, you’d know. And I don’t want you to know.”
He made a noise like a little kid who’s been promised a treat and then had it taken away. “That’s not fair,” he pouted.
“I know it’s not. It’s not intended to be.” I raised my eyebrows. “But if you want to find out what one of them is, we could go back into the playroom…”
His eyes lit up. “Oh yeah!”
“Ok. But first I want you to show me how you wank yourself off.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Show me how you hold your cock and exactly what you do to it when you’re wanking.”
He hesitated for a moment, and I saw that he was blushing. He looked down in embarrassment and shook his head.
But I can be gently insistent when I want to be, and eventually he shyly took his cock in his hand – it was still as hard as a rock. I watched as he used just his thumb and fingers on the head. “Like that.”
“Like that all the time?”
It was like the words were having to be forced out of him. “When I’m gonna cum I do it faster,” he whispered. His fingers speeded up, but remained on the head.
“Ok. That’s excellent. Come on then.” I led him back into the playroom.
“Put all your gear back on.”
When he was ready I got him onto the rubber floor, and lay beside him on his right. Pushing my arm under his back, I gripped his left forearm, holding it down. By lying on the arm that was nearest to me and locking his ankles between my own booted legs, I’d got him – he couldn’t move – but my right arm was still free. I positioned his cock under a loose fold in the smooth leather, and pulled it up, away from him, so that I had full access most of the way around it, the single thickness of leather there offering the least protection possible.
The acres of loose leather felt wonderful as I ran my hands leisurely over and between his legs. Then I started to work on his cock, very slowly and gently, concentrating on just the shaft, and stopping before I reached the head – but only now and again – the rest of the time my hands stroked over his arms, his chest and his thighs.
Every time I touched his cock he moaned, and moved about on the floor.
“I’m a biker,” I said. “I’ve got tight, sexy black leather jeans on. I’m holding you down, and I’m gonna make you cum.”
“Oh fuck. Mmm yeah.” He was moving against me, so he could really feel that he was bring restrained. Then he looked at me. “But not inside these jeans – my brother’ll fucking kill me.”
I tickled the shaft of his cock through the leather. “Ok. Right. Well, all you have to do is stop me then.” I chuckled evilly – and I wasn’t acting.
He shook his head “Nnn-nnn. Don’t,” his voice was urgent. “Please. Not in his jeans.”
“Like I said: all you have to do is stop me. But you might find that difficult.” I laughed at him – at his helplessness, at his complete inability to get his cock away from me, and because I knew that all of this was turning him on like fuck.
He tried to roll over onto his side, facing away from me, but I was older, bigger and considerably stronger than he was, and my weight on his right arm easily prevented that.
“Nope,” I said.
Then he tried to the left – but I was holding his other arm down tight to the floor.
“It’s no good, you can’t get away.” I said, and laughed at him again.
I continued teasing the shaft very gently for a while, then I slid my fingers slowly up onto the head. His moans abruptly became more urgent. I was hardly applying any pressure at all – just stroking the surface of the smooth leather over his cock head – but I knew that he was beginning to get close. “Do you like that? A big, strong, biker holding you down and teasing your cock through your leather jeans…?”
He closed his eyes for a moment and groaned.
“Well, if you can’t stop me , stop yourself . Control yourself. Don’t let yourself cum.”
For a couple of minutes I did no more than that: just gently feather-teasing the head of his cock. Even though I was hardly touching it, I could see that it was getting to him, and he was desperately trying not to get to the point of cumming. He kept struggling to get away from my fingers, but there was nothing he could do.
Then, without any warning at all, I gripped his cock head firmly through the leather, and worked on it faster – in exactly the way he’d shown me in the living room. The way I’d positioned it in his jeans – sticking out into one of the loose folds - let me get at it perfectly, and I could feel the ridge and the head sliding between my fingers with every stroke.
For a few moments I had to hold him down hard as he struggled violently under me, desperately trying to get my hand off his cock as he felt himself getting closer, but there was fuck-all he could do to get away from me, or to stop what I was doing to him. His legs were kicking between my boots, and he was staring at my leather crotch with wide-open eyes.
Then he convulsed. “NOOOO!” His whole body shook as he began to squirt his spunk helplessly into his brother’s leather jeans. I laughed at his total failure to control himself as he kept on cumming under my mercilessly milking fingers. I was raping that leatherboy’s cock.
His orgasm went on for a lot longer than his earlier one had done, and it looked and sounded like it was even more intense.
When it was over I felt him slowly relax. I pulled my hand out from under him – though it felt as if he didn’t want it to go – and I gently massaged his cock, which was now swimming in boy-spunk that was rapidly soaking into the inside of the leather jeans.
He was panting. “My brother is going to fucking crucify me.”
All that was a long time ago. The Fallen Angel is still open, and I still go there fairly regularly, but these days with my slave Brad.
I’m lying back in the reclining chair and luxuriating in the feel of Brad’s warm, wet lips slowly sucking me off. I gaze down at him kneeling between my knees with his wrists cuffed behind his back, at his well-developed muscles flexing with every movement. A pair of heavy tit-clips hangs from his nipples and there is a substantial butt-plug in his arse. His hair is a black frizz, and he’s stunningly good-looking; I get envious stares every time I take him to the Angel. His eyes are closed at the moment as he concentrates on giving me pleasure, but I know that I only have to snap my fingers or say his name to get his undivided attention.
Brad has been my slave for four years now. He often looks into my eyes, tells me that he loves me, and that I’m everything he’s ever wanted. I hope that continues to be the case, because I love him, too, and I’d be bereft without him.
A thought occurs to me and a smile appears at the corner of my mouth. I can’t stop myself from chuckling.
His eyes open in concern, and he says, around my cock, “what’s funny, Sir?”
“I was just thinking about Percy. Remember? That kid I told you about? The one I met in the car park years ago?” I nod, giving Brad silent permission to stop working on my cock.
He chuckles too. “Yeah, Sir, you told me about him. Little rat of a kid in his big brother’s leathers. Any idea what happened to him?”
I shake my head. “Dunno. Probably still lurking in car parks looking for a suitable top – though I’d be surprised if anybody’d be interested in him.”
“Hmm. Maybe. Or he could have found his perfect Master. And if I’d been him I’d have worked out in the gym – and changed my name from that fucking awful ‘Percy’.”
I laugh. I look at my beautiful slave, then I lean forward and kiss him. “Yeah, Brad, I’m really glad you did.”