The Telemachus Story Archive

The Gift That Keeps On Giving
By Hooder

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

I was fucking annoyed. Marky had spent all evening purposely teasing the hell out of me.

Marky is the younger brother of an old mate of mine, Don. I’ve known Don for ages – he’s a biker like me, and we’ve been going for bike rides together for years. I’d seen the kid around their house but we’d never interacted very much. Well, we hadn’t until the boy found out that I was gay. I suppose Don had told him - he’s known for ever. From that moment on Marky was suddenly fascinated, in the same way you might be fascinated with a alien from the planet Zog. He took every opportunity to appear when I was at their place, but he’d run off, wide eyed, to hide for a few minutes or, if he had to stay in the room he’d cross his hands over his crotch and giggle. Don would just shake his head and smile apologetically at me, in a sort of long-suffering way. Things went on like that for ages, but as the years passed the kid eventually grew out of the giggling and the hiding, although he continued to be fascinated with me.

Back in January, for his birthday, his parents had given him a small motorbike, and Don had given him a leather jacket and bike boots. His already skinny jeans got tighter, and he went everywhere on his bike. Whenever Don came round for coffee, more often than not Marky would be with him, on his own little bike.

Now everybody I know is aware of the fact that (a) I’m gay, and (b) that I’m seriously into leather – the tighter the better. Teenagers don’t particularly turn me on; I like big boys (very big boys) – and Marky was small and boyish for his age, but for some reason he’d got it into his head that I would fancy him like fuck. I didn’t. He was Ok-looking, I suppose, but he was nothing special. I thought that Don was a lot better-looking and a damn sight sexier than he’d ever be.

It was obvious that he knew about my thing for leather, because I always wore it – whether I was using the bike or not – but Marky must have thought that my fetish extended to denim as well because he always wore the very tightest jeans he had when he and Don visited me. And he took to prick-teasing me with them.

The first time he came to mine without Don was to tell me that he’d passed his bike test and was going to get a big bike. It was an evening when my friend Jonathon was already here.

Now Jonathon is a lovely guy, but he knows fuck-all about life really. He’s a computer programmer and borderline autistic, I think – anyway he doesn’t interact with people very well. Not a lot of eye contact, for a start. But we’ve known each other for a very long time and he comes round regularly to talk about programming with me – it was Jon who set up my first computer and taught me some programming and it’s been a hobby of mine since then. He’d been a bit uncomfortable at first when a visitor had arrived, and I hadn’t been expecting the boy either. When Marky had seen Jonathon sitting in the lounge, though, he apparently decided it would be safe and a perfect opportunity to spend the evening prick-teasing me just for the hell of it, knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it because Jonathon was there.

Oh, he’d been very careful – he hadn’t done anything obvious, just opened and closed his legs invitingly now and then, or stretched, or pushed his crotch out for a moment, or used one fingertip to play idly and innocently with the seam on the inside of his thigh – and all the while he had this devilish little smile on his face. It was also blindingly obvious that the boy wasn’t wearing anything under those jeans, because the shape of his cock was very clear indeed, and the little bastard was hard.

I have to say that in spite of the fact that I didn’t fancy the lad, and that I’m nothing like as into denim as I’m into leather, I am very into tight gear – and whathe was doing with those skintight jeans of his was having an effect on me. It might only have been the fact that I knew he was intentionally prick-teasing me, but whatever the reason was, I was getting a hard-on. Marky had put his bike keys and his helmet on the little table by the door when he’d come in, and when I got up to go to the loo (and to adjust my own cock) I dropped the keys into my pocket on the way past.

I got back and sat down again, and the boy resumed his teasing. He was still hard and he made certain that I knew it. Whenever he was very sure that Jonathon wasn’t looking in his direction he’d run a fingertip teasingly up the length of it and make it jerk under the tight faded denim. He even giggled once before he could stop himself. Bloody teenagers.

I’d had enough of this. It was getting late anyway and so I stood up, and walked them to the door. Jonathon left straight away, but – guess what – Marky couldn’t find his keys.

I helped him to look for them for about ten seconds, then got the boy in an arm lock and marched him upstairs.

First thing I did was hood him – something which he’d never had done to him before, I shouldn’t think. Apart from the fact that he wouldn’t be able to see, it would also muffle any sounds he made. Then I cuffed his hands behind his back. He panicked a bit at first until he found out that he could still breath with no problem, then he calmed down. In any case, the hood made him quieter and a lot easier to deal with.

I closed the small padlock on its neck and stood there looking down at him. An idea had occurred to me. He was seventeen - well past the age where fetishes are planted, but I wondered if it would be possible to give him sufficient pleasure to generate for him an association of black leather with intense orgasms. I had no idea whether he was straight or gay – or even if he knew what he was himself yet – but either way, if it worked it would give him a lot of fun for a long time. And it would be a nice belated birthday present.

I was already wearing some tight lace-up leather jeans and bike boots, but I put on a leather jacket as well and also my leather mask, then I left him there lying on the floor trying to get the hood off while I popped into the bedroom next door and brought a huge armful of leather jeans and jackets into the playroom.

I’m a strong guy, and for his age Marky’s only small, but now he couldn’t see to fight it was even easier for me to get him stripped. It wasn’t easy to get his jeans off – they were so tight, and the little bugger was struggling – but eventually he was down to his tee shirt. I tied his feet together to stop him kicking and unfastened his wrist cuffs so that I could get that off too.

I considered hog-tying him, but then I thought it might be a lot more effective if he could try to struggle as much as he wanted, so I untied his feet. Now he was naked and completely unrestrained, the leather hood over his head the only thing that was standing between him and getting out of there – and that was locked on. He was feeling around it, pulling and twisting the padlock, trying to undo the strap. I smiled: bigger and stronger boys than he had tried unsuccessfully to get that hood off.

I picked up some of the leather gear I’d brought in and spread them over the large floor pad, then I dragged him onto them. The jackets and jeans were still cold from the bedroom. He felt around, running his fingers over the leather, until I dropped another couple of pairs of jeans on top of him, and knelt down at his side. He started to struggle again but it was easy to hold him down. I gently pushed a pair of the jeans between his thighs, and moved them around, letting the cool, shiny leather stroke over the bare skin of his legs. I teased them over his inner thighs, then his balls as well. He was still struggling, but as I approached his cock with them he began to moan, and his struggles became less convincing. Although his cock had gone soft earlier, it was getting hard again quickly.

I was stroking the leather over his whole body now, carefully avoiding his cock most of the time – I didn’t want him to cum just yet – and I carried on doing that for a while. Then I gripped his cock through the jeans and, making sure the leather was touching him over his thighs and balls, I very carefully, and very slowly, milked him.

His body tensed, he gasped under the hood, and his cock jerked in my fingers as he shot a good load of spunk into the leather. When he’d finished, I collected it and smeared it into the crotch of his own denim jeans lying on the chair. It began to soak in straight away.

After allowing him to recover a bit, I bent his legs so that his knees were tight to his chest, reached between his thighs and pulled his tackle through to the back. His cock was still quite hard but it would be even harder again before long. While I held them there firmly, the fingers of my left hand encircling his balls and the root of his cock, I poured lube straight from the bottle onto everything.

After I’d put the lube down, I picked up another pair of leather jeans and, while I teased just the shaft of his cock gently, I took one of the legs and slid it up the inside of his thigh slowly. Then the other leg on the other thigh. I stroked the ends over his perineum and his arse hole (which brought more appreciative moans from him), and then pushed them right up into the crevices at the sides of his balls. Everything now except his cock was enclosed in black leather. I slid my hand inside one of the legs, carefully gripped just his cock-head through it, and milked him very, very slowly. When I knew he was close, I stopped, waited for thirty seconds, and then resumed.

It’s almost certain that the boy had never even heard of edging before. He thought he was going to cum again. As always happens when a guy gets close, his mind and body prepare for it – so when the milking stops, just too soon, it leaves him on a precipice with not a thing to hold onto. Marky had never experienced that before in his life – when he wanted to cum, he came, and that was that; it had never occurred to him that it might be intentionally withheld. Now he found out that, oh yes, it certainly could be. When the leather and my fingers were suddenly no longer touching his cock, he yelled into the hood.

Mmmmffff…. Mm phmmmph. MMFF PHMMM!!!” That, I was fairly sure, translated as “No! Don’t stop!! Don’t STOP!”

I ignored him, moved the jeans over my hand so that there was a fresh, cool surface, took his cock-head between my fingers again and repeated the exercise, making sure that the leather jeans were stroking over his balls and inner thighs as well. I edged him like this four more times before I finally let him cum. By then he was way past desperate, and his whole body shook as he shot his spunk into black leather for the second time. Again I collected it and poured it onto his denim jeans.

No doubt he’d thought that would be it – that I’d release him, pat him on his round little butt and let him go. Not so.

I got up and let him have a rest. He looked good lying there, his smooth skin contrasting nicely with the shiny black gear he was lying on.

I not only wanted him to experience the feel of leather in a sexual context, but also the smell of it, the sound of it, and the look of it. So when I thought he was ready I knelt astride his hips and removed his hood so that he could see.

He stared at my leather mask - it was the first time he’d seen it. It can be a bit intimidating as the eye holes are shaped into a sadistic leer, and the holes themselves are covered with a fine metal mesh so you can’t even see my eyes through them, but he was so horny that it didn’t scare him at all. He seemed to be fascinated by this black leather fiend looking down at him.

I took a pair of jeans and held them between my hands. Then, very slowly, I leaned forward and lowered them onto his head. I stroked them all over his face for a while, then clamped the leather down tightly over his mouth and eyes with my hands. He was making noises but my gagging hand muffled them completely. I made sure he could breathe, but I kept my hands there.

After a bit I took my right hand off his mouth, still leaving my left where it was, reached behind me and found his cock. I enclosed it with more leather and wanked him off again – but this time even more slowly. As he got closer he started to move and struggle under me. I kept him near to the edge for a while and then made him cum again.

I gathered his spunk, and it joined the growing puddle on his denim jeans.

I’d expected the boy to remove the jeans over his face when I got up, but he didn’t. He ran his hands over them instead. I smiled.

There are steel eyelets screwed into the floor at the side of the pad, so I buckled the leather cuffs around his wrists and clipped them to the eyelets so that he couldn’t move his arms. I laid a studded leather jacket carefully over his naked body, pushing the ends of the arms up into his armpits. A pair of leather jeans went over his lower body, the legs wrapped around his bare thighs either side of his cock (which was hard again – good grief, teenage boys are amazing, I thought), leaving it sticking up almost vertically.

I took yet another pair of leather jeans, and used the very end of one leg to stroke over his cock-head and the end of the other leg to tease his balls. Very soon he tried to pump his hips, but my weight was holding his feet down and preventing that to a large extent. He’d moved the leather over his face to one side and he was staring in fascination at the end of the jeans leg that was stroking over the end of his cock.

I knew he was close again, but I didn’t change anything: I continued simply teasing his balls and stroking his cock-head slowly with the leather. And he came again – just from that. A bit of spunk landed on the gear covering him. I scooped it up and added it to the pool on his denim jeans.

Four orgasms in less than half an hour. I shook my head in admiration.

I debated whether to call it a night at that, but I thought he might still have some cum left in him, so I lay on top of him. I reached down, found his cock and placed it between the tops of my legs.

There is usually a bottle of poppers in my pocket, and indeed there was one in this jacket, along with a couple of paper tissues. He watched me as I soaked a tissue, then I squeezed my thighs together hard around his cock. Taking some of my weight on my elbows so as not to crush him, I held the poppers-soaked tissue over his nose and mouth and began to milk him slowly with my leather-jeaned thighs. His wide eyes were staring into mine through my black mask, although I knew he couldn’t see them.

The boy had clearly never come across poppers before. He panicked a bit for a few moments, but then the fumes got to him and he began to moan quietly and move his hips like a slut. I took the tissue away and gagged him again with my gloved hand.

It took a while this time, but finally – and in a haze of poppers – his eyes widened even more and he came for the fifth time. There was practically no spunk now.

All this had made me as horny as fuck, so while he was recovering – and watching me - I unzipped my leathers, got my cock out and carefully shot my load onto the crotch of his tight denim jeans where they were lying on the chair. It joined the lake that was already there.

I released Marky’s wrists and stood looking down at him. “So, Marky boy, perhaps that will teach you a lesson,” I said as I zipped myself up and then released his wrists. He sat up slowly. “You go about teasing the fuck out of leather guys with your tight jeans and you pay the price. Now get dressed and go home.” I threw him his bike keys.

He screwed up his face as he put his jeans on and the acres of cold, sticky spunk slid over his skin. I bet he doesn’t give those to his mother to wash, I thought.

I chucked him out. He got onto his bike and then, before riding off down the road, the little fucker smiled and gave me a wave.

I assumed that that would be it, and that I wouldn’t see him again. And for a while, I didn’t. But then one night at around eleven o’clock the doorbell rang. It was him. It had only been a few weeks since I’d last seen him, but he’d changed quite a bit. His hair was now shorter, and spiky; he had studs on his leather jacket; and he was wearing the tightest pair of leather jeans I’d ever seen.

He stood there, not knowing what to say. I invited him in, realising I’d been wrong, and that he was quickly turning into a very good-looking – and a very sexy – boy indeed.

We sat in the lounge and he didn’t say much to start with. I think he was embarrassed. But then he seemed to gain a bit of confidence. “You know last time I was here… what you did to me...?”

I nodded slowly.

“Well.. I’m not sure I liked it.”

His knees were wide apart and he was running his finger teasingly over the leather of his jeans.

“Would you do it to me again, please, so I can check?”

I looked at him for a moment, sighed, then stood up. “Come on then,” I said, and led him up to the playroom.

He passed me on the stairs and got there before I did.