Terry was loving the city. It was a big change from Brimbleby, the sleepy little village he’d left a short time ago, but he was having no problem at all adapting.
Thinking about his life in rural Lincolnshire always made him smile; especially little Ben. He’d liked him. The kid had had no real friends, and Terry had tried to be one for him. He’d known early on that the boy had fancied him like fuck, and he remembered the two of them lying at the edge of the wheat field in the late sunshine, him pretending to be dozing, and Ben cumming in his jeans – looking at him with those big, puppy-dog eyes, and producing spunk for the very first time. He’d seen it all through almost-closed eyelids, and the look on the kid’s face had been priceless. He hadn’t mentioned it, partly because he wasn’t remotely into young kids, and partly because Ben would have been so embarrassed that he’d never have shown his face again. Even so, Terry had got a kick out of lying there in his bike leathers, looking sexy for the boy. At least he’d been glad that all the work he’d put into polishing his leather jeans hadn’t been for nothing.
So far the only actual sex Terry had had with anyone had been a furtive blowjob in a (thankfully unoccupied) cowshed last year from a woman who’d been visiting his parents, and although that had been fun he hadn’t fancied her at all, and he still had no idea if he was straight or gay. He thought about his wanking fantasies: they included both women and guys – though he realised that recently leather boys had begun to figure in them more often.
The boys in the city, though, must be more plentiful, and considerably more sexy than the ones available in Brimbleby. He’d begun visiting the city bars in search of bikers. He didn’t quite know yet what he wanted to do with them, apart from lick their leathers, but he had no doubt that ideas would make themselves known when he found one. For as long as he could remember leather had always been seductively attractive to him, and lately that seemed to be becoming something of a full-on fetish; he found himself thinking about it more and more these days.
So far the business of moving into their new home had been occupying the family, and he hadn’t had a chance to visit many of the bars yet. He didn’t know it at the time, but this night he’d get to see quite a few.
It started in the Anchor, in Black Mill Street. He was nursing a can of Coke, looking at the customers – the only leather in the place was what he was wearing himself – when the biker walked in. Boots, tight black leather one-piece bike suit, silver crash helmet. Terry almost dropped his Coke. Fuck, he thought, he’s sexy. The biker took a quick look around, then he went out again.
Terry ditched the can and made his way to the door. The guy was getting onto a big black Suzuki parked next to Terry’s smaller bike. The Suzuki roared off, and Terry followed. By the time he’d turned his Kawasaki round and got onto the road the biker was disappearing into the distance, but bit by bit he closed the gap. The guy pulled up in front of another pub, the Duke of Cottingley, and Terry followed him into the bar. He watched the biker look around, make a call on his mobile, and then go out again. Had he seen Terry there? No idea.
The same thing happened at two more pubs – first the Reluctant Ferret, and then the Frog and Nightgown (who the hell thought up these names? He wondered) – by which time they were in a part of the city Terry didn’t know at all. After the Frog, though, the guy drove more slowly, and Terry wondered if he’d finally realised that he was being followed. They left the city centre and the streets became more residential. The biker eventually stopped at what the boy assumed was his house, and wheeled the Suzuki into the garage. Terry had pulled up a bit short of the drive, on the opposite side of the road, his engine still running. From there he watched him close the garage, unlock the front door and go inside. He left the door open.
Terry waited. Perhaps he was going to come out again, but after five minutes it appeared not. He switched the engine off and walked over. The front door was half-open. Was this an invitation? What the fuck should he do? The house was in darkness, and he glanced upwards. For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of a face looking out of a bedroom window, but had he? It was gone now.
Oh fuck it, he’d come this far. Slowly he raised his visor and stepped inside. “Hello?”
There was only silence. It wasn’t breaking and entering – the door had already been open – and he tried to think of an excuse. “Hello?” He called. “You left your front door open. Thought I’d let you know.” He pushed the door closed behind him. “Anyone there?” He called again.
The only illumination was coming through the windows from a streetlight outside as Terry made his way tentatively down the hall and looked into the living room. This was exciting – he was conscious of his hardening cock pressing against the inside of his leather jeans, and the creaking of his bike boots as he went further in.
There didn’t appear to be anyone on the ground floor, and he hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, looking up. “Hello? Anybody there? You left your door open.” There was no reply. Slowly, he ascended the stairs one by one.
The biker was standing in the middle of the first bedroom, still in his crash helmet, his gloved hands on his hips. He looked incredibly sexy to the boy. Terry smiled. “Hi. You left your front door open. I thought I’d let you know in case someone came in.”
The biker didn’t reply. Terry frowned, and moved into the room. “Hello? You Ok?”
There was a sudden sound from behind him and arms grabbed him. The biker immediately moved towards him. It was a moment before Terry started to struggle – he’d thought the biker was coming to rescue him from whoever was behind him – but when he grabbed Terry as well, the boy knew that was not the case. So struggle he did. A little gentle one-on-one time with the interesting biker was what he’d been expecting, but he was not about to let two complete strangers get the better of him. If they subdued him, they could do anything to him. He fought and kicked like fuck, and they ended up on the floor.
The second guy was big and muscular, and also in bike leathers. He was currently using his weight and the power of those muscles to hold the boy down.
The biker quickly grabbed a heavy leather straitjacket off the bed. It was clear that these two had done this sort of thing before: working together they got his arms into the sleeves, then they crossed them in front of him and rolled him over. They tried to buckle the strap behind him to join the ends of the mitted leather hands, but the boy was struggling too much.
The biker quickly knelt down and clamped his leather-gloved hand over Terry’s nose and mouth, sealing it tight. After a few moments he was concentrating on fighting for air more than on preventing the buckle from being fastened. The leather tongue went in, and the steel prong finally slipped into the hole. “ Yes!” There was victory in the big guy’s voice. He pulled the strap as tight as possible. It was, so far, the only buckle on the jacket that had been fastened, but it was the most important one – Terry was now quite helpless, at least as long as they were holding onto him. After that, with the bigger guy pinning the still-struggling boy down, the biker could take his time and fasten the other four straps at the back tightly.
They lifted him bodily and dumped him on the bed. The biker leaned forward and began to run his hands over Terry’s leather jeans. “Oh, this is a cute one.”
Terry was afraid. More than that, he also felt humiliated and fucking angry; it had been Ok while he’d been following the biker - he’d been in control of things then – but this was very different. He hadn’t expected two of them.
They stood looking down at him. The biker unfastened his silver crash helmet and pulled it off, revealing short dark hair and stubble, and brown eyes. The smile on his face was predatory, but sexy. The one-piece fitted him perfectly, the leather accentuating the curves of his body.
Terry had never had a straitjacket on before. It was heavy, and he could feel the smooth leather on the inside tight against his naked skin. It creaked as he struggled. It felt like there should be some way he could get the thing off. He pulled and strained against the straps, tried to get his arms out, tried to move it somehow into a position where he’d be able to pull it off, but whatever he did, it didn’t shift an inch. Terry was livid that two strangers had got him helpless so easily while he’d been able to do nothing to stop them; but at the same time being so completely restrained by shiny black leather and not being able to get free felt more fucking horny than he would have thought possible.
They unfastened his jeans and bike boots, and after some effort (during which the biker got a kick in the ribs), they managed to pull them off. Then, while the big guy held his flailing legs, the biker strapped them together tightly. Breathing sighs of relief, they dropped the legs back onto the bed and stood back to admire their work.
“Ok. I reckon we’ve got him,” said the big guy. “I’ll leave you to it. Have fun.”
“Cheers, Gaz. Thanks for your help.”
Gaz grinned and left, closing the door behind him.
“So, just you and me now. Fuck me, you’re a fighter. But you really are cute.” He ran his fingers through Terry’s curly blond hair, gazed into the boy’s blue eyes, then leaned down and forced their lips together, kissing him hard. Terry could feel the guy’s tongue exploring his mouth. He yelled and swore around the kiss.
Leaning over the bed, the biker took Terry’s hard cock in his hand. “Seems you’re enjoying this,” he chuckled. Then he enveloped it in his warm mouth and began to suck the boy off.
It didn’t go on for long enough, though, and the mouth was removed before Terry could cum. He felt gloved fingers exploring between the cheeks of his arse. They found his hole and tickled around it.
The biker looked into his eyes. “Leather turns you on?”
Terry wasn’t going to, but then he reluctantly nodded his head.
“And being helpless?”
This time he didn’t reply.
The biker laughed. “Oh I think it does.” He climbed onto the bed, on top of him. Terry gasped as the bike suit made contact with his bare legs and the boots touched his feet. The brown eyes came closer, and then, slowly and sexily, the biker was licking Terry’s lips. Much more gently than before, he kissed him – and this time Terry found himself returning the kiss. His hard cock was sticking up between the biker’s thighs, and occasionally the leather-clad legs touched it. Every time that happened it sent shockwaves of pleasure through him, and reminded him that he badly needed to cum.
The biker put one hand over the boy’s mouth, gagging him. When he felt a tongue start to lick the palm, he smiled and put his other hand over Terry’s eyes as well, pressing the leather gloves tight against his face.
A groan of lust came from under the gagging hand.
The biker jumped off the bed, picked up something from a shelf and came back holding a leather hood with no eye holes. “You can see far too much. And you’re making too much noise. This’ll fix both of those.” He turned it around in his hand; the thick black leather was shiny from use – on the inside as well – and there were many straps hanging down from it.
Terry had never been hooded before, but he guessed that if the guy got that onto him, things would be a lot more difficult – the only defence he’d got at the moment was that he could see what the biker was going to do to him. He urgently needed to know what was going on, and if that were denied him, he’d be totally vulnerable. And so he fought against it, shaking his head violently to try to stop it from happening – but the biker rolled him over on the bed, pinning him down with his weight, and, despite his struggling, wrestled the hood down inch by inch over his head. He’d already got the boy’s mouth open and forced the leather inside before Terry realised that there was also a built-in gag. Terry fumed as, one by one, each of the many straps was pulled tight and fastened, causing the hood to press increasingly tightly over his face.
Now all he could see was blackness, and all he could feel was smooth, shiny leather – even between his teeth. At least he was relieved to find that he could breathe with no problem, even though it made him very conscious of each inhalation. The black leather covered his face completely and his world closed in on him.
“Can’t see, can ya? Don’t know what’s gonna happen – or when,” the biker gloated. Then he chuckled. “And try to shout for help now…”
Suddenly a leather-gloved hand slapped the boy hard on his bare arse, making Terry jump and yell in panic. The hood reduced the yell to a very quiet squeak. Fingers squeezed his balls. Another yell. Fingernails raked over his bare soles and, as it had done the yells, the hood silenced his panicked screams of ticklishness. Then more spanks on his arse – and those hurt. It wasn’t fair: not being able to see what was coming made everything unimaginably more intense.
He felt himself being rolled back halfway, onto his side, then the mattress moved as the biker lay down behind him. Hands pressed the blindfolding, gagging leather even more tightly over his eyes and mouth. Again, Terry struggled – but something had changed: now it was more because being hooded and straitjacketed seemed to demand struggling. And he was gobsmacked at how fucking horny it felt to fight the restraints. He could feel the biker’s leathers and boots against his legs as he moved, too. A hand sealed the nose holes in the hood and cut off his air for a few seconds – not enough to make the boy panic, but enough to make him feel even more controlled and helpless.
A moment later a gloved hand was around his cock – just sliding lightly up and down the shaft and around the head. Oh shit, he needed to cum so badly.
A whisper in his ear: “You’re gonna get fucked , you cute little blond, blue-eyed bastard.”
Terry had realised some time ago that this was a possibility, but he’d banished it from his mind. Now it came back, hard. He shook his head and fought with everything he had, but it got him nowhere. “NO! DON’T! PLEASE! ” The words were muffled into almost-silent gibberish by the gagging hood.
Something cold on his arse hole. Lube. No. No. No! He didn’t even know if he was gay or straight, and he was going to get raped! He mustn’t let this happen. He fought and struggled.
The sound of a long zip being slowly undone, then the biker’s hands were gripping him hard, stopping him from moving, and he felt the cock head touch his sphincter. The biker held Terry’s hips as he pushed it in slowly. “I’m guessing you’ve never been fucked before.”
The boy was too terrified to reply. The biker carefully pushed his cock all the way in.
Terry had expected it to hurt, but it didn’t – at all. He’d started to struggle again when he’d first felt the biker’s cock, but as its hardness moved slowly into him inch by inch, he realised that it felt good. In fact it felt more than good: it felt like something he’d needed all his life and hadn’t known. His struggles to get away from it lost some of their urgency.
When it was fully in, the biker paused for a while to let the boy get used to the feeling. He reached forward with his right hand and took Terry’s cock in a gentle leather grip, and just held it.
After perhaps ten seconds Terry began to hump a little, tentatively, moving his hips forward and back. This caused the biker’s cock to move inside him, and at the same time, his own cock to fuck the leather hand slowly. The fingers felt slippery – had the biker put lube on there as well? Oh fuck. That felt so good. His thrusting increased in power.
The biker began to fuck the boy in time with his movements, but made sure that he wasn’t applying anything like enough friction to his cock to let him cum yet.
Terry was whimpering inside the hood. He was so fucking close, but he couldn’t cum – those teasing fingers were barely touching his cock, yet with every thrust of his hips the sexy, slippery black leather slid over it, promising the most exquisite orgasm he’d ever known. And the feel of that hard biker cock going in and out of his arse was making it worse. He moaned in horny frustration.
It went on for a while, and that frustration grew by the second.
The biker knew exactly what he was doing to the boy. Also, fucking this cute, helpless leatherboy and making him need to cum so badly was getting him close to the edge himself. He rolled over on the bed, taking the boy with him, keeping his cock in place and his hand enclosing Terry’s. On top of him now, he could fuck him harder – and he did. He was so close to cumming himself that he no longer cared about being gentle. He fucked the boy hard, the bedroom lights reflecting on his shiny leather arse as it thrust up and down. Under the straitjacketed body, his leather-gloved hand was motionless, still only gripping Terry’s cock very lightly, but the boy was fucking it with wild abandon, desperately trying to make himself cum.
This was all new and unbelievably intense for Terry, but it was the horniest thing he’d ever experienced: he already had a rapidly-developing fetish for black leather anyway, and here he was, enclosed and gripped by it – it was all over him, and with a leather-gloved hand teasing his cock. He was helpless in a leather straitjacket he couldn’t get out of; he was blindfolded and gagged by the leather hood that was pressing tight over his face, making him even more defenceless and vulnerable; he could feel the biker’s leathers on his legs, and he knew how completely powerless he was to stop the guy from doing anything he wanted to him. Quite abruptly, he realised that it was his biggest wank fantasy come true – but one he’d never even imagined before. And at that moment, more than anything, he needed to feel that leather, that helplessness – so he fought against the restraints with everything he’d got.
With a grunt, the biker began to cum. The boy was struggling and fighting under him because it felt so good to do that. Being restrained like this felt fucking amazing. He fought to get away, to get the hood off, to get the straitjacket off – but his hands were useless, enclosed in thick leather so that he couldn’t reach either the straps or the hood. The restraints were working together to hold him totally helpless and vulnerable so that he could be raped. And so that there was fuck-all he could do to stop it. The biker tightened his grip on the boy’s steel-hard cock – he could feel it forcing its way between his fingers now with every thrust – and a couple of seconds later Terry’s spunk was shooting into his lube-slippery leather-gloved hand.
For the biker it was an intensely satisfying orgasm – but for Terry it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He continued to struggle and fight against the hood and the straitjacket as the biker fucked him and the leather hand milked him. Oh shit! This was fucking amazing . His spunk pumped out of his cock as he came and came…
They both collapsed at the same time – Terry panting hard inside the hood and moaning oh fuck with each breath, the biker groaning in pleasure as the rush died away. They lay there not moving for a while, then the biker pulled out. He removed his gloves, wiped the boy’s spunk off, then cleaned his cock and zipped back up.
Terry’s curly blond hair was matted when the hood came off. The biker rolled the boy face-up and grinned down at him. Terry’s face was a picture. He leaned forward and kissed him again, gently.
“Well, you’ve just been fucked, cute boy.” He got off the bed. “I’m gonna have a beer and a chat to Gaz. Join us downstairs for a beer when you’ve recovered.” He chuckled and left the room. Terry heard his booted feet on the stairs.
Join them downstairs? Bastard. There was no fucking way he could get out of this gear. But he tried. For the next half-hour the bedroom was filled with the sound of creaking, straining leather as he tried. And he shot his load again while he was struggling impotently to get free.
The biker returned some time later, released him, and took him down to the living room, naked. For some reason Terry felt self-conscious, although he knew that both guys had already seen his cock. He sat on the settee and sipped beer from a can.
Terry guessed that Gaz owned a Harley – he was bald, bearded and tattooed, and he was huge, with muscles bulging his biker leathers out all over the place. He saw Terry looking at him and chuckled. “Don’t get ideas. I’m straight. I don’t do guys.” He saw Terry’s frown. “I was just helping him to get ya helpless.” He smiled lopsidedly. “I like to do that now and then.” He emptied his can of beer. “Right. You’d better fuck off. Work in the morning – time us two got to bed.” He shook his head at Terry’s raised eyebrows. “No, Just housemates. Separate rooms.”
With his own gear back on and clutching his crash helmet, Terry stood on the doorstep. “I don’t even know your name.”
A corner of the biker’s mouth lifted. “I know you don’t.”
“Can I see you again?”
“Nah, probably not. I like fresh meat.” He looked the boy up and down, “though you are fucking cute. Who knows. Maybe. Now off you go. And try not to break into any more bikers’ houses.”
Terry was going to say that the door had been open, but he didn’t.
His arse felt strange as he got onto the bike and fired it up. With a last look at the now-closed front door, he pulled his visor down and wondered where the hell he was. Which way was home? He did a U-turn in the road and set off hopefully.
Tonight had given him a lot to think about. He’d been comprehensively restrained in leather by two guys, and then raped by a good-looking biker. He’d also learnt that he fucking loved struggling against restraints. A wide grin appeared under the helmet – as a start on the road to sexual adventures, it could have been worse. A lot worse.
He intended to experiment further; there must be many more bikers in this city who would like to play with a cute, curly-haired blond leatherboy. Funny, he’d never thought of himself as cute. But apparently he was. Ok, well that was something he would certainly make use of in the nights to come.
But the first thing he was going to do was start saving up for a black leather straitjacket. Oh fuck yes.