Category: gay bdsm
It's Friday night. My first week in the university town. Finally I can investigate the gay world, while being unobserved. During the introduction week of the university I had already managed to get my hands on a folder with gay bars and one of them has my particular attention: where the leather scene comes together.
Ever since my earliest childhood I have fantasized about dominant guys in leather biker suits. That I am forced to go on the buddy seat of their motorcycle. The fantasy does not go much further, but it tends towards dependence and submission.
I enter the bar around midnight. Although I am not unattractive with my straight blond almost white hair, I still feel insecure, but I'm so excited that I barely give myself time for a first drink or to think about the opportunities. Nor do I wonder which codes apply in such an environment. I continue to the dance floor, where there is no dancing, but which is full of a sweltering atmosphere.
I see a red-headed boy about my own age who is exciting. Half-long hair and a round bottom in very tight jeans. Shall I copy the art first? He approaches a man of about 30/35 years in a leather jacket, dark trousers. Black hair and as far as I can see a dark black spectacle frame. Not particularly striking. But that red-haired boy does catch my attention. Shall I approach him?
I put the bottle of soda to my lips and drink it so that I have my hands free.
Inconspicuously, I move in the direction of the two men and approach the red-haired boy. Then I see the man in the black leather jacket feel his buttocks. Would it be noticed if I also put a hand on that other tight butt? Before I know it I've already done it. His hand on the right buttock, my hand on the left. I feel and rub, and carefully try to see how far the black-haired man goes in his exploration. But then I suddenly feel his hand touch mine. A shudder goes through my body when I feel that it is not just a hand, but a hand in a tight leather glove. The feel of leather is so hot and the shudder so confusing that I realize too late that I should have withdrawn my hand. Too late. The glove not only touches my hand anymore, but the gloved hand is now on mine. I stiffen. Not sure what to do. Too late again, because before I can choose I feel how that leather hand tightens its grip on my hand.
The man in the leather jacket slowly takes two steps forward and stands in front of the red-haired boy. His gloved hand still on mine, resting on the red-haired boy's buttocks, but now with his eyes focused on me too.
I look straight into dark, emotionless eyes. I feel how they study me, calculate probabilities, gauge my mood. I feel like a deer looking into headlights. I'm nailed to the floor and stiffen. I feel intuitively that I have to let it happen, but I feel very insecure about what's to come.
His second hand moves to my stomach. I am wearing nothing but a white shirt with which his touch is almost directly on the skin. His hand slowly moves up and over my left nipple. Is my nipple always that big and hard? I have never been aware of that. But I am aware of a huge stiff pole in my pants. It prances against my tight jeans.
After the left nipple, the leather hand visits the right and - damn it - it's tight and hard and bulging too.
I can feel his leather fingertip rubbing that nipple and without me being able to do anything about it my body trembles ... I can feel it, but from his quick ironic grin I can see that he sees it too.
His hand returns to the left nipple and I remain immobile, unable to withdraw. Again that leather fingertip over the nipple and his gaze continuously focused on my eyes. Finding out how I react. Those eyes: emotionless but powerful. They determines everything.
Then - in the blink of an eye - his leather fingertip has merged into two leathered fingertips, which firmly grip my nipple. I can go through the ground, but at the same time I feel a rush of horniness going through me. My eyes go uncontrollably to the ceiling at this sensation. My god, what's going on here? What is he doing to me?
If he gives me a moment of rest, I can see from the corner of my eye how the red-haired boy walks away. His approach has failed. The leatherguy has completely focused on me and as soon as I realize that, I feel the second leather hand slide under my shirt over my chest. A moment later he also grabs a nipple and the first hand goes as well between the shirt and skin. Four fingertips clasp my two nipples and I feel helpless, horny and surrendered at the same time. My head moves adrift with the intensity of his squeezing leather fingers. He plays my vulnerable and powerless body like an instrument by working those buttons.
And meanwhile he studies my reactions with his dark, emotionless eyes. He reads my pain, my pleasure, my horniness, my dependence, my sluttiness. I have become an object, an instrument in his hands.
Suddenly I feel him putting pressure on my body, while his fingers remain clamped to my nipples. I step back ... step by step .. decimeter by decimeter. Gradually I am forced to disappear into a somewhat dark alcove, visually separated from the other guests. He isolates me, but I can't do anything about it. And I don't want to do anything about it, because I'm as if hypnotized by that sensation in my nipples, the smell of leather and the cold compulsion and calculation that his eyes radiate. Is this the continuation of my childhood fantasy?
Not much later I am alone in that niche with him. Powerless. Narrated.
One of his hands - while the fingertips continue to hold the nipple - pushes the white shirt up, freeing my stomach and chest. His face moves to the left nipple and in an instant his leather fingertips are replaced by his teeth. An unprecedented horniness seizes me. I drop my head back with so much pleasure. What is happening to me?
His teeth knead my nipple and my hands grab the leather of his jacket ... slide down and discover that his tight buttocks are also covered in leather pants. Oh fuck ... it's getting hotter and I feel more and more helpless and out of control.
I am wedged between him and a wall and cannot move as long as my nipples are at his mercy.
Then I feel his leather hand pushing back on the skin around my nipple to keep me under control. His teeth come loose and he wipes the nipple dry with his leather glove. Attentive. Or...? No ... not so much thoughtful, but a next step: while one leather hand presses me against the wall, he places a clamp on my nipple with the other. More violent than his fingers, more violent than his teeth, the teeth of the clamp in my nipple bite.
I almost collapse from impotence and horniness.
Then - for the first time - I hear his cold voice, whispering: "Well done, little bitch, give your nipples to me. Give them to your new owner. I know what's good for them, cum slut!"
Interested in the sequel? Send a message to jhvdv1@hotmail.com. Perverted suggestions are welcome ;-)