The biker #4 - the playroom



The hood is tight over my face..


It was a long ride - much further than the first one; to where I don't know - my captor had taken all the back country lanes, and I'd seen few road signs.

It had started to rain too - the wet had soaked through my denim jeans and the constant wind had chilled me to the point where I was pushing myself against his leathered back just for warmth. But finally, we reached our destination - a small cottage set in a wooded hollow; As the bike turned into the drive I caught sight of a few outhouses before we roared into a small garage attached to the house. I didn't see any neighbouring houses - this was a lonely, isolated place...

Now I'm standing in the corner of a small kitchen. I try to make myself small, to stop the trembling of my body - from cold and excitement and fear - whilst this man who has Mastered me, kidnaped me moves around - throwing his bike keys into a pot near the door, checking his messages, ignoring me completely.

Finally he stops, leans back against the table and looks at me, arms crossed over his jacketed chest. The wet leather squeaks and stretches across his biceps - I'd not noticed how big he was until now.

  "Guess we'd better get you out of those wet things, eh Boy? Don't want my fun spoiled by hypothermia!" He smiles a little, then he moves over, reaches down and grabs my belt: "this way, boy.."

He pulls me after him, one hand wrapped around my belt. I follow obediently as he leads me upstairs, down a dark landing. We stop in front of a locked door. He reaches into his jacket pocket again, pulls out a single key on an old leather fob. There's a click as it turns in the lock, then the door swings open onto a darkened room. The wild smell of leather, poppers and sex hits me like a physical force. My cock responds with an equally strong kick...

He pushes me into the centre of the room, then leans against the door, shutting it with his shoulder. Slowly he leans over and relocks the door, pocketing the key with a quite smile.

  "OK boy - strip those wet things off and prepare yourself for a proper inspection"

Slowly I do as I'm ordered. I want to try and make it erotic for him - to strip as slowly as I can; but my fingers are cold and numb, and I'm aware I'm dripping onto his floor... with a shock I realise it's coated in a thick industrial rubber-paint. It's obvious this guy takes precautions...

I also try not to allow myself to look at the rest of the room - such curiosity is not becoming in a Slave. But I can't help but notice a few things: a sling hanging from ceiling hooks in one corner - a small table and a stool placed nearby; what appears to be a standing stocks in another corner - close by it a metal grid screwed to the wall and covered with butcher's hook: from each hangs a different toy - I spot nipple clamps, parachutes, dildos, but plugs, gas masks... In another corner I notice there's a small tiled and open shower cubicle - a pile of tubing lies nearby. Behind me appears to be one whole mirrored wall - until I realise it's actually one huge wardrobe...

..Finally I peal the last damp piece of clothing off me. I fold it and place it with the pile of all my other clothes at my feet; then I straighten up - hands behind me, shoulders back, head up, but eyes still respectfully fixed on a point 2 inches from his boots. Through the whole process he's stood against the door, arms crossed, still in his full leathers. He looks at me for a few minutes, then slowly unfolds himself, strolls over - this man is in complete control of himself, totally at ease: I feel the longing to be like him as a physical pain...


His on my naked body...


He runs a gloved hand over my naked body - checks my shoulders, back, arse, legs: I feel like a piece of livestock being checked over at market. His hands are strong and firm as they grasp me, check muscle tone, probe into my mouth again... occasionally he gives me an order - "Raise your arms", "turn you head" - but not once does he look at my face, or make any other comment... Finally he gets to my crotch - the cold and wet have left me a little less impressive than I feel comfortable with; but he inspects my cock, my balls exactly the same way as every other inch of my body. As his gloved hands pull, probe and push my balls, my cock begins to respond - but I try to not move a muscle.

He's now standing behind me - I feel him move closer, feel the brush of his wet leathers against my naked flesh; although I don't move, I can feel his breath against the back of my neck...

  "OK, boy - not bad; but lets see if we can't make it a little prettier..."

He moves away from me, towards the mirrored wall - I hear it slide back, the chink of metal and the creak of leather...

  "I think these will do... arms out to the sides!"

I do as I'm told; his hands move over me again - buckling the straps around me; for a moment I wince as he pulls my balls through the attached cock-ring... two more bands around both wrists and ankles, and the harness is on.

He turns me around, and I see myself reflected - my body is contained in a web of thick leather straps and chrome buckles; a heavy ring of metal wraps itself around my cock and balls, itself attached to the rest of the harness and pulled tight so they are pulled forward and out... He stands behind me, admiring his handy work: a dark shadow of black leather and shaded eyes. For a moment I catch his gaze in the reflection: I let the hunger in my eyes tell him how much I need this.

He moves closer again - his hands explore my strapped in body once more - trace the lines of the leather belts as they criss-cross my chest, shoulders, arse... where my naked flesh still shows I can feel the closeness of his body, the brush of his leathered thighs... as he reaches round me with both arms I am enfolded in him; I lean back into him, press myself into his body, relax my body into his in total submission. For a moment, he holds me tight - I feel a kind of security I've never known - then his hands move to my tits, my cock - slowly rub, pinch, twist... gently at first, softly rubbing his leathered palm over each, glazing my cock head with it's own precum... but slowly he increases the pressure, begins to pinch each tit between his fingers, to surround my balls in one tightening fist... as he raises the pressure, so the pain begins to increase - slowly, gradually, unrelentingly he begins to hurt me, to push me...

And with each twist, each grind - each new level of pain - I feel myself helplessly falling further under his command... I want to say "Stop!", but I know I can't - as he pulls my balls harder, twists them in their sack the pain becomes like a sickness in my stomach - I feel the sweat beginning to break out across my back, in the mirror I can see my face and chest begin to flush. I pant with the pain, moan a little, grunt... I see him smile in response, but he doesn't stop... His other hand is wrapped around my chest, holding me back against him, holding me secure - whilst the gloved hand plays with my aching tit - still swollen from the work he had given them with his boots when I sprawled in the road before him.

Finally , when I think I can't take any more, he stops the torture he's giving to my balls. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small strap - then reaches down and wraps it around my aching, hanging balls; snapping into place with a fastening on the harness:

  "Just to make sure they stay loose..". He smiles again as I wince a little under the tight restriction and the pull of the strap.


He fastens his mouth around mine...


With a push he turns me around; another hand reaches around me, grabs both wrists in their leather cuffs, pulls them behind me - I feel the snap of a padlock. One arm around me pulls me close in to him, hard against his crotch; the other comes up to my face, grabs under my chin and pulls me to him - for a moment I stare back at my own reflection in his glasses, then he pulls me closer and fastens his mouth around mine. I feel his tongue as an intrusion in my mouth -it pushes and probes, his mouth hot, wet and hard against mine; his moustache rubbing against my own. I moan and open my mouth wider - inviting him in...

For a moment one hand releases me, pulls off his mirrored shades - I get a glimpse of brown eyes, then both hands wrap around me again, hold me still, pull me against him harder. He opens his mouth wider, covers mine with his - for a moment I resist him: I can't breathe!, then I feel his hot breath inside my mouth. I try to calm myself, to synchronise my breathing with his - breathing in as he breathes out, breathing in as he breathes out, breathing in as he breathes out... Slowly I feel myself slipping into the rhythm, feel myself riding the tide of his breath; I can feel myself getting light headed - I realise I need more air - but he - my Master - is my only source! I begin to try to suck harder, feel myself begin to cling to him. In response he holds me tighter, fastens his mouth tighter over mine... hard brown eyes stare into mine, bore into me - as the air is sucked from me, I feel myself slipping further under the control of that glare... breathing in as he breathes out, breathing in as he breathes out - whilst those hard eyes take command of me, and I cling to him like a dying man... we stand like that for what seems hours as my self control fades - dissolved in the ache at my balls and tit and this mans breath...

With one final hard kiss, he releases me.

  "On your knees, boy!"

I sink down to the rubber-coated floor, my head reeling from lack of oxygen - but my cock is hard and rigid: my body can't deny how it responds to this man, to the treatment he gives it.

He moves closer again; I catch the smell of rubber and talc...

  "Push your head back boy.."

I feel the cold tightness of the hood as he pulls it over my head; it's a struggle - for a moment I can't breath again as the rubber squeaks past my face - I feel his hands pulling the rubber down, adjusting it; with a snap the hood fits into place around my head. The rubber presses against my face - then incredibly it gets tighter as I feel the zipper being pulled down the back - I can feel it press further into me - feel the slick tightness of the rubber as it pushes into my skin - almost becoming a part of me... Then I feel the press of the breathing tube against my lips and open my mouth to it's chemical invasion - the gag tastes of rubber as I explore its swollen shape filling my mouth, the air tastes too as it whistles down the attached tube...

The rubber muffles the sounds my Master makes as he buckles the collar tight around my neck; I'm sealed into this dark, damp world, senses restricted, muffled. As my breathing settles I slip further down, further in - let the latex take me...

I feel his mouth close to my rubber-coated ear:

  "Now that's how I like my Boys: hooded, harnessed and obedient - serve me well and please me and maybe you'll get a whole suit..." 

Between my legs, my harnessed tortured cock kicks with it's own reply...



Or back to Part 1



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