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BIKER MATES PART NINE
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BIKER MATES PART NINE
Tuesday evening.
The delivery was at 8pm, and I heard the grumble of Martin's KLX out back at around 7.
Directly behind us there's a yard where our loading bay has access. There's plenty of room for a van. That's where I park my bike. There's a metal door I'd leave open for the delivery. Now Martin sailed his bike into that same area and parked it next to mine. They looked cute together: mine, big and new and shiny; his, soiled and beat, but trim.
He pulled off his helmet before lifting his leg round over the tail and dismounting nimbly.
I watched Martin on the security camera from the front desk. He always looked great doing his shit unselfconsciously because he didn't know he was being watched. Having jumped off the bike he immediately started adjusting his pants. Fuck, he was hard already. So was I. I gently fingered the tip of my penis through my trousers. I could have knocked one out there and then. A patch of precum moistened my fingertip where the juddering head of my thick curved prong ate into the tenting fabric. I couldn't resist letting it out and stroking it gently as I watched Martin adjusting and preening and flexing himself in the conveniently dark mirror of a piece of glass.
He opened his zip from neck to groin and thrust a hand into his crotch, pulling out a purple boner which he tried to tuck back into his waistband so that it wouldn't knot painfully under his leg and wouldn't stick out obviously against his fly. Then he pulled up the zip leaving a pretty triangle of chest hair visible beneath his neck and his dog-collar. Standing with his legs apart like a soldier, he ran his hand through his Mohican, standing it up carefully; he yawned widely, scrunching up his eyes, stretching out his jaw, then pouting his lips into a rosebud kiss. He felt round his buttocks checking the tight shiny leather pulled up into his arse crack and lay evenly across his fuckingly beautiful buns.
I was touching myself gently, hardly able to resist wanking off.
Finally, with one last grip on his packet, Martin was finished sorting himself out and started looking for the door to the shop. I pressed the intercom switch.
"Mar, the door's on your left. It's open."
I pressed the release switch just as Martin was looking up in surprise and, spotting one of the cameras, he smiled broadly his thick tasty teeth. He waved and pushed open the door. Moments later his face appeared round the door to the shop. He saw me, looked at me, looked relieved, looked relaxed, and grinned.
"Man, there you are!" he said.
"Here I am. You're late. What took you? You said six. You're taking the piss."
"Traffic... Sorry ... "
My hand was still on my cock.
He walked towards me, saw my hand and stopped.
He laughed.
"Why don't you get over here," I ordered. "Get your kit off, faggot."
He smiled. He put his helmet down and pulled his leathers off his shoulders and they fell off his sides. He was pushing them down his waist and letting his cock spring free. That was far enough. I stopped him. I couldn't wait. I scooped my sweaty cum filled bollocks out of my pants.
"Kneel down and worship my nuts, cunt."
Martin fell to his knees and threw his face into my groin, slobbering over me, licking, sucking and sniffing. His nose nudged the base of my prick. I released it to place a hand encouragingly onto his skull. My prick swayed like a dinosaur's neck above his eyebrows, dripping precum, pulsating and red, vein covered and vicious. Martin looked up, past it and into my eyes with gratitude and enthusiasm and relief. He had missed me. All the while his busy tongue and lips caressing, stimulating my stressed ball sack. My dark pubic dark hair crowded his nose. His teeth nibbled the loose wrinkled skin. His hands rested on my knees, gripping them gently. He was feverish.
"Good bo," I said. "There's a good cunt."
Him doing what he was doing, me excited as I was, I wanted him naked. I grabbed hold of his collar and lifted his face away from my scrotum.
"Tongue."
He opened his lips and stuck his tongue out for inspection, wide and pink and gooey, a cum plate, dripping saliva over his trembling lips and down his chin. I pushed his nose and lips onto the thick base. I told him to keep it pushed out. With my spare hand I tugged my shirt up my stomach and over my tits, up to my chin. Then, pulling him by the collar, he let me drag his tongue shimmering and wet over the sensitive bulbous underside of my shaft up to the top, it flicked off the runny tip and pulled his face onto my body. The sensation was electric. Grinding his un-razored face against the hairy griddle of my abs, I pulled his slobbering mouth like a delirious snail up to my sternum and into the hair between my pecs. Our bodies fell onto contact. Our hardened nipples pressed into each other's flesh. His arms crawled about me. He clbered for grip and support. Smearing spit and rasping on the underside of my chin, his tongue came at last to my own lips and I let him push it hungrily in, feeding on my face for some moments before pulling him clear, releasing his head and ordering him, "Strip."
Letting him step away from me was painful.
Martin stood up reluctantly. Lips and chin wet, eyes soft and crotch hard, he gathered his suit down his legs before bending down to unbuckle his boots.
"Let me see your arse."
He spun round, struggling with his gear, so I was looking at the tightly muscled landscape of his back and then his inviting butt and the backs of his wide hairy thighs. I pushed my foot against him and probed his crack with my big toe. He tried to remove his boots at the same time. It was difficult. In the end he managed. Then his socks. Then he pulled his suit off his feet. He was totally naked - except for his collar - and shivered, bending over so that my foot remained in his cunt.
"Ok Mar, stand up. Face me."
He did so, his prick jutting out.
I luxuriated in this vision of soldier boy strength and tenderness.
"Collar ok?" I said.
He put his palm to his neck and felt it with a grin.
"It's cool Mike."
He laughed.
His hands hung stupidly to his sides, his tough sturdy legs planted firmly on the floor. His prong jutted wildly into empty space, rocking gently with his pulse. His naked chest rose and fell: He was panting with excitement! His funny hair fell to one side, but part of it stood up, uncertain like he was uncertain, how to behave uncertain, what to do uncertain, and uncertain what to expect. Not at all the confident figure I'd met originally, that figure of cool well-practised heterosexuality: Closed and then open, suspicious and then friendly, aggressive and then reassuring. Now he set his eyes on me in obedient anticipation, like a hunt dog, loyal and dependent.
I let him stand there, naked, trapped in my gaze. Time was passing, and I had thought of so much I wanted to do with him.
"Come here."
He walked over, watching now my face and now the severe rod of meat extending out of my trousers.
"Sit," I said, indicating my lap.
He put his legs astride mine. His bollocks hung down onto mine and his dick throbbed up against mine. I put my hands on his strong narrow waist and pulled his torso against me. His chest pushed against mine once more and our faces came into contact. We kissed.
Once again that soft mouth hungrily assertive, that agile tongue insistent and grateful, his gentle lips caressing and gentle and smooth against mine, his teeth biting, rubbing, and my throat drinking in his warm sugary spit. We snogged like that for minutes, all the time our genitals abrading and stimulating each other and rubbing against each other to the edge of climax. My hands explored him with possessive delight.
I pulled his head against mine and we rubbed beards like men. He had his hands wrapped around my neck. He was rocking his backside on my lap, exciting himself against my body.
We stopped and looked at each other and smiled and then started again.
This was love, wasn't it?
I put a hand on his soft hard buttocks, tracing the hair-filled valley there down and under to his hole, stroking him there, he sucked in his breath, and then reaching for his balls which I grabbed and pulled back. He grabbed another deeper breath but continued facing me. I pulled on his bollocks and squeezed them.
"Mike... Mike..."
I yanked them down sharply, squeezing them as I did so and stretching his ball sack away from his body so that his hard dick was pulled down too. Against his own instincts, Mar fought to keep his position, tensing his legs, maximising his pain. He went still, absorbing the sensation. I watched his face concentrate and stiffen.
"Mike... "
"Mike... "
"M... Mike... "
When I let go, his hairy testicles slipping quickly through my fingers, he reacted ecstatically, licked and pushed his tongue in deep gratitude into my throat, mashing his face against mine and whimpering like a puppy.
"Oh yeh, Mar," I mumbled.
I stroked him back across his perineum and pushed a finger tip against his hole. One then two. Three. Still kissing me, Martin let out a groan and pushed himself down against my hand, begging to go as far as I could. I felt around inside his rectum, opening and stretching his tight rose. When I pulled out, he un-hesitantly let me place my fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean of his own innards. He fed on my hand for some time.
"Mike... Mike..." he whispered when he had finished.
His breath was full of his smell.
I love the smell of his shit.
I pulled my fingers away trailing a line of saliva which broke and fell down his chin, glistening on his lips.
He watched my face, wondering.
"Mike... Mike..." he whispered gently at last. "Please..."
"What is it Mar?"
He did not answer.
"What is it?"
Martin looked awkwardly.
"I... I... need you... to ... Please Mike, please..."
I waited.
I placed my hand back on his butt and with the other hand I stroked his hair.
"Do you know what I want, Mar?"
Martin looked at me.
"Yes, please, Mike, I want you to fuck me," he said.
I ran the tip of my finger across his trembling lips. I was trying not to shoot.
"Get on your back."
The acrylic carpet tiles were rough. Martin slid off my lap and down to the floor like a collapsed building. He rolled onto his on his back. He held his legs up to his chest, a hand behind each knee, his hole displayed in ugly hunger. I knelt down against him and placed my cock tip on his wet anus, pressing against his sore red star. We both groaned with un-suppressible excitement. He was so loose. He wanted it. Yes. And I pushed it in. Entered easily. Now I was fucking him, my knees on the carpet, my hands pressing down each side of his head. Now he tightened. I drove it into him like a crash.
"That's beautiful," In my mind.
I was fucking him gently and hard and nothing else. He was staring at me. He was controlling his sphincter perfectly in response to my own rhythm, releasing and tightening, opening and grasping. I could feel my knob hitting him up like a vehicle hitting a baby. I knew the carpet was ripping against him sharply, probably cutting his skin lke it was shaving my knees. He was trying to stop himself sliding each time I forced myself back into his cunt. It was too much too soon.
"M-mike I, I ... I'm cuming..."
"I have to cum," I said. "I have to ... cum."
I was squirting my days dam-bust of cavity filling sperm. He was jerking onto his face. Thick ropes of cum ran across his chest and I could feel myself sliding around in the cream of my own juices. It was running out and down. We were both wet.
For some time I held myself in him letting the final ejaculations subside. I wanted to give him my last little bit. Cum still oozed from his own slit and ran over his knuckles as he worked his foreskin up and down. We were both panting, both dripping sweat.
I waited and then I leaned down and gave him a little peck and started to withdraw, really, really, slowly. He fixed my eyes with his.
"I have to," I said with a smirk.
I pulled myself out of him, slowly, until my softening, still fat willie fell out of his cherry with a plop. He gave a petulant sigh, and relaxed. The lines on his stomach smoothed out as he lowered his feet to the ground on either side of me, and the sweat and the cum, which had settled in his abs' hairy furrows, ran down his sides in ticklish rivers. He held his head up on his hands, watching me lovingly, prodding me with his toes.
I sat back on my heels and surveyed the damage with some pride and satisfaction. My soft prick needed a clean up. So did he: He was covered in cum and there was a mass of shit smeared all over his backside where I'd slipped around out of him and poked to get back in.
"Whew, that was something else," I said.
We laughed, sweat dripping from our faces.
I put my hands on his knees and was about to heave myself up.
That's when a loud buzzer started screaming from the console, shattering the quiet.
"Christ! The delivery!" I cried.
"What delivery?" asked Martin.
"Never you mind." I hadn't told him anything.
I flipped my soiled penis into my pants, doing myself up and pulling my shirt back as I stood, reached for the intercom and looked at the CCTV screen. 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.
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