By Unowned in NYC
I’m driving home from work with a raging hard-on, knowing my gimp is sitting on the closet floor right where I left him this morning. It’s only been a week since he quit his job, and since that first day, this Monday, barely a moment has passed where I haven’t been throbbing in my pants, oozing precum.
I wonder if I’ll eventually get used to having a gimp, take it for granted, forgetting about him for hours at a time, no longer ready to bust my nut just picturing him.
Almost there. It’s been all I could do to not whip out my dick and jerk off in the car, but I’m waiting until I get home so I can get into my full leather and see the gimp as I shoot my load. Still early spring, so the days are still short. It’s dusk as I take the last turn on to my street. My place sits at a dead end.
But although he succeeds in opening the snaps on the fly of my leather jeans, he is frustrated and unable to reach my cock and balls as they are tightly contained by my piss-soaked leather jock. He moans, his body suddenly jerks with another shock, and bites down hard on my encased package. As I grunt with the sudden pain, the skinhead re-enters the cell, laughing at the sight. “Great to see two helpless leather faggots trying to eat cock.”
