The biker #3 - worship

He fastens his mouth around mine...

My head is swimming and my body aches, but I push myself into this mans leathered leg - try to lick his gloved fingers. My breath pants out of me - I feel my body twitch and moan for him.

  "OK, boy, time to see just how good that mouth is... you still high?"

I try to nod my head a little and moan around his fingers.


He pulls his hand from my mouth and steps back. For a moment it's like having the support taken away. I sink back on my heels and try not to raise my eyes above his boots. But I'm longing to see as his hand goes to the buckle at his waist, pulls at the buttons on his jeans.

  "OK: up, boy..."

He holds himself hard in his hand. He's big, long, uncut; I watch greedily as he slowly strokes the foreskin over the swelling head. A single bead of pre-cum sits at the tip. As I'm watching him, I know he's watching me. If my hands weren't cuffed I know I would be rubbing myself.

  "Go for it, boy!"

I'm still cuffed, so I can't go on all fours, but I lean as far forward as I can, head down, subservient, and shuffle across on my knees. I get to his boot and stop. His hand strokes his meat inches from my bowed head. My mouth is dry with the poppers; I want to wet it on his cock.

  "Look up, boy."

I raise my head to find my goal twitching in front of my nose. The bead of cum glistens; I wait for him to give me the order.

  "Lick it..."

At last I learn forward, I get a breath of the sweat musk of him. I open my mouth and touch the tip of my tongue to his head; it twitches at my touch. It tastes bitter: he must have been in his leathers for days. My cock twitches in my own jeans at the taste.

Slowly I draw my tongue over the smooth skin, following the edge of the glans; I know he likes it: the bead of cum gets bigger, begins to drip. I can't let it waste. Quickly I catch it with my tongue; I'm teased by it's sweet saltiness, it's thickness. I go back to licking, slowly, round and round, covering every inch of his head. His hand rests at the base of his cock, holding it out to my face. He pushes the skin forward, covering the now wet head with his foreskin:

  "Suck it for me, boy"

I pull him into my mouth, push myself down. I slip my tongue inside the foreskin, lick around the inside, between it and the glans, whilst the rest of the head is held in my mouth. As I suck greedily, I taste another drop of pre-cum as it seeps out of him. It tastes amazing. I suck and lick harder.

I feel him reach up with this free hand; more poppers are fed me. The higher I get, the more I push myself onto his meat, the more I want him to fill my mouth, fuck my face... I feel his hand come back down, it brushes the side of my face then I feel him cupping the back of my head. He gently, firmly pushes me down harder, pushes himself further in:

  "Yeah, boy. Take it all for your Master, boy."

I know he's also taken a shot of the poppers: my mouth must feel hot and warm around his meat. He begins to move his hips slightly, rocking himself, sliding in and out of my mouth. I lick and suck him as he moves, bob my head in time to his pushing hand and rocking hips, trying to catch the edge of his head as it slides past my tongue. The leather of his jeans rubs the side of my chest and squeaks against the bike's saddle. The stones on the ground press into my knees, and the cuffs rub my wrists. But I don't care: all I can think of is his cock pushing itself further into my mouth.

He pushes harder, deeper, faster. His cock is pushing against the back of my throat. I swallow hard, try not to gag, work the muscles of my throat along its length. My nose is pushed against his belly, buried deep in his leather jeans. The bike oil, sweat and cum make him smell of hot musk, better even than the poppers: I'm almost high on him alone.

I try not to gag...

Slowly he pulls back, slips himself out of my mouth, pulls himself up to reveal his balls:

  "Give them a good working over, boy. Work them hard"

I move back as ordered; lick them, pull them each into my mouth and suck them, first individually, then I suck them both into my mouth. I pull back a little with my head, pulling the skin taught; he grunts a little: he likes it. I begin to work harder: pulling, licking, even chewing a little. His cock pulses and twitches above me. I risk glancing up at him and see he's pulled his jacket open - his one hand pulling at a ring in his nipple. My own cock twitches harder, and I shuffle my crotch closer to his boot.

  "OK, that's enough; now you're going to clean Papa's other hole..."

I know that can only mean one thing: He moves away a little from the bike and turns his back to me; then he leans forward across the saddle:

  "Get your tongue in there!"

I move closer again, push my face into the leather seat of his jeans, push between his spread cheeks; breathe in the leather. his hand comes round and pushes my face harder against his arse, rubbing me against the leather;

  "Worship it, boy"

I work his jeans the same I worked his boots: licking, sucking, rubbing with my tongue. I worship every inch, rub my face into the leather until it's wet. he pushes himself harder back into my face, pushing his arse into me.

Another shot of poppers, then his hand reaches back, pulls the jeans down:

  "Yeah - give it a good licking, boy.."

I don't wait to be told again: I push my tongue hard against him; lick and suck. I feel the ring of muscle give way a little; I push my tongue harder, try and twist it as I push. I lick, push and suck; bite a little, push with my tongue, munch and suck his arse like a starving man. The poppers fill my head with hot blood, I can barely breathe, but I eat arse and I love it.

Finally, he's happy. He pulls himself up, turns around. With one hand He tucks himself back into his jeans. There's a mean look in his face as he looks down at me, half sprawled in the dirt at his feet. He lunges down, grabs my throat in a gloved fist; for a minute I panic. He pulls me up onto my knees, holds me there for a moment, then there's that small smile again:

  "OK boy... I think you've proved you just might be worth some more training. I think it's time for another short ride."

He reaches down and unclips one of the handcuffs:

  "Dress yourself, then get back on the bike, boy"

He swings his leg back over the bike. I do as I'm told. I'm shaking a little: what's going on, he's not going to just take us back is he?

I finish buttoning my shirt, stand up and approach the bike, swing a leg over. As I do He grabs my wrist; stares into my face:

  "We're going back to my place: I've some extra stuff there I think you're going to enjoy. Prove you can take it and do as your told, and maybe you'll get to stay."

My heart races, I hold his look for a moment, then nod and drop my gaze to his boots.

  "Now give me your other hand. I'm going to cuff you tight: don't want my new prize falling off now, do we?"

I'm cuffed tight around him, gripping his waist. He kicks away the bike stand and twists the throttle. The engine purrs between my legs. Then we're back on the road, speeding out into the countryside, heading for I don't know where. But I don't care: I'm owned, possessed: a slave to this man who has mastered me. I smile behind the visor: at last...!

to be continued?

or back to Part 1

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