+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ BIKER MATES PART TEN THE USUAL WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS TALE. THANKS FOR THE POSITIVE RESPONSES I HAVE RECEIVED -- KEEP WOOD! CONTACT sharper@inorbit.com IF YOU LIKE. SEARCH NIFTY FOR sharper@inorbit.com TO READ OTHER TALES BY ME. REMEMBER TO DONATE TO WWW.NIFTY.ORG !! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BIKER MATES PART TEN - Tuesday evening ctd.
I flipped my soiled penis into my pants, simultaneously doing myself up and pulling down my shirt as I stood and leapt towards the CCTV screen. On it I saw there was a hunky young guy in the delivery bay, bearded, dressed in the overalls uniform of his company. His finger was on the button, impatiently pressing. He was looking around, looking at his watch, looking at the camera impatiently. As he twisted, his overalls tightened on his body, revealing its form in a dark spiral of rough material.
I recognised him.
It was Jez.
"Just stay there," I ordered Martin who lay on the acrylic carpet tiles, naked, his head propped on his hands, his legs apart, his arsehole exposed, shit-smeared and dripping with my cum. "Don't you fuckin' move."
===
I know Jez! He worked for one of our suppliers, frequently turning up at the back loading bay with a few pallets of cellophane-wrapped paper to offload.
I buzzed him in.
Jez was a swaggering, self confident guy. He had the darkest red hair, nearly the colour of dried blood, and wiry, curly but rough. His pale skin pinked up angrily around his features, his wide mouth, the eyelids round his startlingly pale blue eyes and in and around the details of his flat pink ears. He was freckled on his cheeks and more so on his forearms which he exposed defiantly most of the time.
He never much made conversation, apart from the usual banter. He never mentioned sex or men but looked as though that was all he thought about. I noticed that whenever he visited he had an obvious hardon pressing against his trousers. If you looked at it you felt his eyes burning into you daring you to kneel down and slam it into your head.
If you want a picture of Jez in your head, think of this massive Viking: Massive, hairy, dressed in furs and weaponry, charging out of a Viking longboat onto the Danish shore of North-East England. Then picture his son. That's Jez.
I'd never fucked him, but we'd cum over the same face once in the backroom at The Boat. Yeh, that's where I'd seem him in action, though I was mainly concentrating on the good-looking submissive in front of us, kneeling in a mess of cum and piss; various men had emptied their loads over him before we found ourselves jerking off against his eager face. I was too hard to pee but Jez poured a fresh steaming bladderful over his shoulders, deliberately missing his mouth which the sub held wide open, trying to catch the sparkling effluent between his lips.
Suddenly Jez had kicked the sub in the nuts with his booted foot. Jez was wearing large military boots, like everybody in the club wore. It was the uniform. Even our sub, his naked sore body sweating in the dungeon heat, wore boots.
The sub was handling his own knob, fondling his balls, stroking and fingering himself. That boot must've hurt where it scraped his knuckles and punched his scrotum. It was unexpected. The sub yelped and fell forward in agony, so that his face hit Jez's thigh; he had to scramble to remain balanced. He put his hands in the floor and curled up, kissing the floor and then Jez's boots. I mean really kissing his boots.
So next, of course, Jez kicked the sub in the face - not too hard - and the sub curled up even more. Hands to his nose. Moaning. As he did so he stuck his ass in the air, a raw-looking much used hole.
Next Jez pulled the tearful guy up by the ear, coughed and spat at him and held his head still whilst we both ejaculated onto his snivelling face.
It was fun.
I was never submissive, so we never made out, but ever since we'd chastised that lucky blighter in the darkroom I'd thought about how we'd both got off ganging up on humiliating the same loser.
Now he was here with me, and Martin.
===
He pushed in through the door with a whistle, weaving gracefully round the machinery, saw me and grinned. I greeted him from the desk where I sat by the security camera screen. I didn't get up.
"Mike my friend!" he called out across the room. "There's that two of 150grm out there for ya, Wanna check it 'fore y'sign?"
Jez walked towards me with his usual jaunty stride.
The delivery was visible in the camera. He'd shifted it off the van. I hadn't noticed him do it. Mar and I had been busy.
He continued to stride towards me.
"What's with all the bikes?"
I smiled.
"Where's that old scooter of yours?"
"Traded it in. Got a new one."
"Which one? There's two."
"The Honda... The big black one."
"No shit! That's a fucking bike."
"Sure is."
"And the other one? ..."
Then he saw Martin and came to an immediate halt.
"... Whoa'there! What's this lad?"
He stepped over to where Martin was, lying as told, naked and dirty. Jez stood towering over him.
"Mar," I said. "Up."
Martin rolled himself up off the floor.
When he was crouching I told him to hold that position, with his hands on the floor,
Jez stepped closer, his toecaps nearly treading on Martin's fingers.
After a moments survey, he let out a deep breath and said, "Nice urinal, Mike."
I nodded and smiled.
"That's Martin," I said. "Mar for short."
"Neat!" He watched Martin and Martin stared at Jez's feet, awkwardly, exposing the nape of his neck where his collar rested. The little brass lock had got twisted round. Jez touched it.
"So this is yours, and the bike is his? Pretty collar makes a slave, doesn't it?" he commented.
He stood looking at Martin for a few moments, whistling faintly..
" ... ... Now ... you see, I'd never do that," he said, eventually.
"Never do what?"
"Never let it have presents, like that stupid collar, or let it have a name," he laughed, "'cept piss, p'raps. Piss as a present, piss as a name; same difference." He laughed again.
When Jez laughed, he snorted. It was a short, derisive expression. He stared down at Martin whistling at him like he was a dog that didn't understand language, part of a syncopated calypso tune he liked.
Martin looked up at him stupidly, like he didn't understand anything that was said.
My dick felt uncomfortably messy, all curled up in my pants, and I was wondering how long it would be before I could get it out and cleaned up.
Jez sniffed again disgustedly and snapped, "Jesus Christ this place stinks o' shit. What in fucksname have I interrupted, hey?"
He continued to look at Martin, checking his details. Then he gently moved the soles under the toes of his boots onto Martin's outspread hands. He leaned forward, transferring his weight forward, and pushed his finger through Martin's collar. He yanked it forcefully up. Martins fingers were trapped under Jez's boot toes. He cried out as he gagged from the collar and his head lurched to one side.
"Don't," said Jez, staring down. He rocked forward pushing all his weight down, and then he stepped back, releasing Martin's fingertips. At the same time, he pulled Martin's head up to be level with his own. Martin struggled to his feet.
Jez smiled at Martin's discomfort. He was a meanie!
Still holding the collar, Jez faced him, looked him over, turned his head about, looked at his ears, smoothed the back of his hand down Martin's chest over his hairy stomach and into his bush. His fingers curled through Martin's froth of pubes and round his gear, pulling the lot together and cupping it all up in one cool palm in a tight testing grip.
Then, always watching his eyes for a reaction, he deliberately trod on Martin's bare toes and pressed down.
Martin flinched a little, but did not protest. His penis was rock solid in Jez's hand. His stomach and chest were heaving.
"Nice..." said Jez.
He let go of the collar and ruffled Martin's hair. Martin was mesmerised.
He grabbed Martin's chin, turning his face from side to side, looking for qualities and defects. He stuck his fingers inside Martin's mouth and felt round his gums and teeth and tongue. He pushed his fingers deep into Martin's throat. Martin's eyes crossed stupidly.
"Suck on, lad" he said, and Martin dutifully sucked on Jez's fingers as Jez slid them about, exploring and letting Martin get used to it. He pressed down harder on Martin's feet, and Martin sucked harder.
Their bodies almost touched but Jez kept Martin's head away from his so that Martin was leaning back, a bit off-balance. Jez let go of Martin's genitals. His cock sprang free, striking Jez's overalls with a slap. Now Jez slid his other hand round Martin's waist, supporting him. He planted his palm outstretched in the narrow arc of muscle at the base of Martin's back. His fingers just stroked the curved grooves at the top of Martin's beautiful naked bottom. He moved his hand gently up and down, reassuringly caressing Martin who was otherwise fixed by the weight of Jez's feet bearing down on his toes and by Jez's fingers pulling on his mouth.
They stood like that for some time: Martin in a trance state, Jez selfishly amused.
"Nice lad... Like that? Yeh. Likes it in the mouth."
Jez pulled Martin's head back and from side to side uncomfortably. Martin continued to suck obediently, leaning back, supported by Jez's hand.
"Good... That's good. Well done."
He spoke with the calm, meaningless reassurance of a dentist.
Still not looking away from Martin but inclining his head towards where I sat on the console he said, "I'm killin' for a slash, Mike. Mind if I use it?"
"No problem. Long as you don't make a mess."
"That's up to the urinal here, isn't it? I don't think it'll make a mess. Better not let any dribble on the carpet, though, hear me?"
All the time he had his fingers hooked into Martin's mouth, pulling on him like a hooked fish.
Martin shook his head, as much as he could, holding tight onto Jez's fingers with his lips.
"No, better not. Or there'll be trouble, won't there Mike?"
"Certainly will." I wasn't joking. This was a place of work; we couldn't have it soiled with an animal pool of Jez's fetid piss!
Jez stepped back and started to crouch, using his hand in Martin's mouth to force him down as well, until Martin was on his knees. Then he pulled his fingers out of Martin's mouth, giving him a little tap on the nose as he did so. Martin adjusted his position slightly, pushing his face forward. He already opened his mouth, ready. Jez stood up and opened his fly, exposed his fiery pubes, and reached inside.
"That's it. Good now," he said, looking at Martin.
In one handful, he flopped out his cock and his heavy bollocks which fell down in their large soft shaven bag. His fingers supported his fleshy hose, which was fairly soft for a change, and held it out a couple of inches from Martin's lips.
Martin leaned forward willingly, opening his mouth wider, as wide as he could.
"Get ready now. First... a little bit..."
I was watching intently.
Nothing happened.
Jez gave his knob a little tug.
Suddenly a squirt shot out and hit Martin on the nose. He moved to try to catch it. Some ran down his face and he stuck out his tongue for it. Jez stopped and stepped back laughing.
"Hey. I never told you to move. If you move, how you gonna catch it, eh, piss 'ed?"
He struck Martin forcefully on the side of the head with his right hand, massaging his foreskin with his left. Martin dipped in surprise and looked towards me, instinctively.
"Mar, you gotta drink all of it." I said. "If you don't it'll go on the floor and stain or stink the place out and there'll be hell to pay. Sorry."
"Place stinks like a bog already," laughed Jez. "Mike, get over here and hold his head; we can't have him waving it about like that, making me miss. C'mon."
I got to my feet reluctantly. Watching these two was getting me off. Jez was very easy on the eye, his red warrior manner, always ready to rape, always ready to pillage, and Martin, obviously, adorable, kneeling before the Viking magnitude, staring up at him in servile concentration. They were a biscuit tin image for a pervert who wanted to decorate the metal box he kept his biscuits in.
I sauntered over, self consciously entering this SM, er, 'tableau vivant', and stood behind Martin. I grabbed his head and pointed it towards Jez's dick, pressing my own knees against his naked shoulders and pressing down. Martin bore my weight and couldn't do anything other than let me direct his head like a piss bucket towards Jez's hose.
Jez slid his foreskin up and down a few times, exposing the collar of his mushroom head and then covering it again. He squeezed the red tip, held it close to Martin's mouth and let a tiny dribble come out. It fell onto Martin's tongue. He swallowed it easily, licked his lips and stuck his tongue out for more.
I crushed the back of Martin's head against my fly so that he could feel it filling with blood and cushioning comfortably against the arch of his skull. Jez let a little more out, an unsteady jet, and it fell straight into Martin's mouth. Martin swallowed but couldn't close his lips (you try to swallow without closing your lips). He gulped. His throat gurgled just like a real toilet.
"How's that taste? Taste good?" said Jez.
Martin couldn't answer as the stream grew. His throat closed and filled as he struggled for breath. It threatened to overwhelm him.
Jez stopped.
The typical bladder holds about half a litre. Like a typical rehydration bottle you'd buy in a nightclub (you can test this for yourself). I'd say Martin had drunk about half that. It doesn't sound like much but without breath he was gasping and choking and going bright red. He shut his mouth and swallowed several times to clear his mouth.
"That's right..." said Jez.
I've got to hand it to Jez, he had amazing control, never letting the amount of piss get too much. Never jerking the flow. He stepped back. Now it flew in an arc through about a foot of empty air before hitting Martin's tongue with a splash and disappearing into his neck. The colour was a beautiful pale gold, and the smell was delicately fresh. Martin struggled to catch and struggled to breath. I pushed his neck down so that his face was more horizontal and his mouth was directed more up, but it wasn't any use; the un-swallowed pool grew in his neck, overwhelming him, rose in his mouth and overflowed. It ran over his chin and down his front. I knew it would happen. It was inevitable. It dripped off his balls and off his buttocks onto his heels.
Jez cut his stream off with a jerk. He moved back in. With Martin swallowing again, Jez pissed on his face and laughed as it ran over the pectoral mounds of Martin's chest. Martin was soaked. He took a breath and opened his mouth for more. Jez gave his last little bit, shaking himself off on Martin's face.
"There, there now. Spilt some. You just made your master very happy," Jez grinned. His dark red lips curled, spread and opened like a sword had cut this tremendous gash across his face, dripping with saliva he let a long slow thick thread of globular bubbly spit descend with absolute and determined precision, like a crew of abseiling spacemen, into Martin's flooding mouth where it mixed with the last of the swirling piss and sat on his tongue in a silver mess.
Jez looked at me.
"Right then," he said.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
END OF PART TEN