By rts
Note from Metal: This is a continuation of a long-standing story by rts. To start at the beginning, click here.
I was relieved to be getting on my Harley again. It felt weird to be sitting in my piss and sweat soaked leathers in the saddle. I’ve been in all my gear, boots and leathers for 9 days and now locked in them until I get home. The worst part is being constantly trapped in this long sleeve rubber shirt under my jacket hurting with every movement making me sore. I am filthy, smelly, with sweat, piss and stale beer. I am going to be quite the sight on this miserable trip home. It’s about 700 miles and I hope I can do it without any problems in less than 2 days.
I checked the gas and it’s pretty low. Boss told me the nearest station is just over 12 miles and pointed me down the road. I started the bike and headed out. It felt good to be riding again, taking it easy and checking the odometer. When I got to 10 miles the motor started to sputter. I nursed the throttle but only made it another mile before the tank was empty. Crap, I was alone on this empty road, I hadn’t seen another car. Hoping that Boss was right and there was only a mile to go to reach gas, I resigned myself to push my heavy bike that long mile. Lucky for me the road was flat and had no hills to deal with, but locked in my leathers it was a slow long hot sweaty struggle and I had to keep stopping to rest but finally I could see the Gas sign and managed to push the bike the last hundred yards to the pumps. I sat down on the saddle, my leathers squishing with sweat feeling 10 pounds heavy.
It was a small 2 pump station with attached blacksmith shop, not self-service so I sat there breathing heavily cooking in my hides waiting for the attendant. This very hot man in tight greasy levis, a leather vest, and motorcycle boots slowly came out of the blacksmith shop, looking me over as he reached for the pump hose. “Fill er up?” I nodded and unscrewed the tank cap. “You look like you have been through one hell of a ride. Ain’t it too hot in those leathers? And man you stink and could use a shower.”
He finished filling my tank. I reached for my wallet, opened it. It was empty, no money, no license, no registration, just a folded piece of paper with “emergency contact” written on it. My heart sank. I have no money I mumbled. “What’the hell are you trying to pull?” I frantically started to search my pockets in my leathers finding nothing. “What’s in your inside pocket in your jacket?”
I mumbled I can’t get to it my jacket because it is locked on me. I’m locked in these leathers, my boots are locked on me too, and I’ve been stuck wearing a long sleeve rubber shirt under this jacket that’s keeping me miserable, I explained. “Holy crap you some kind of leather fag? How long have you been those hides?” About 9 days now I answered. My traveling partner ripped me off and just left this piece of paper. I handed it to him. He opens it and reads “this leather faggot likes to be kept restrained in uncomfortable bondage and needs to be kept in the gear you find him in. He can’t be trusted. Call the Boss at this number ———.
“Well boy your traveling days are over. Push your bike inside my shop.” He grabs my arm and forces me face down over the seat of my bike. “Shut the fuck up. Start pushing boy, you have no ID no bike registration you probably stole this Harley.” No, no, it’s my bike, I plead. I struggle to push the bike toward the shop.
It’s dark inside, a dirty forge and anvil on one side, work benches on the other, the walls are concrete with multiple metal hooks attached. Inset in one wall is a narrow steel door with a barred window. He pulls my arm behind my back and walks me over to it, grabbing something from one work bench. It’s a set of handcuffs and he quickly snaps one bracelet over my wrist and grabbing my other arm closes it on it. Opening the steel door, arms now locked behind my back, he forces me backward into a narrow dark space, my back pressed hard against one wall, the cuffs digging in, my shoulders wedged tight against the sides, the steel door firmly tight against my knees as he closes it, locking me in. I am wedged in tight, impossible to move, it’s hot and difficult to breathe. I hear him outside the door. “My name is Smitty, but you can only call me Sir. I’ll be calling this “Boss” of yours to find out what the hell you have been up to. It’s going to get pretty petty warm in there once I fire up my forge and per your Boss’s instructions you will remain in your leathers. I’ll try to get you some water by shoving a hose thru the bars and aiming at your face.
I am totally helpless. I can’t move at all. Please don’t leave me like this, Sir, I shout, I can’t take this, at least get me out of this fucking rubber shirt. “Boy, shut the fuck up, I don’t want to hear any pathetic pleas from you. I can make it worse.”
It’s getting worse, the cuffs are digging into my back, my muscles are cramping, I can’t move anything, and it’s been getting a lot hotter. He must have fired up the forge. I can hear him hammering on steel on the anvil. He made an attempt to get me some water but the hose he shoved through the barred window missed my mouth and just soaked my leathers. He shouts out, “I tried to call your ‘Boss’ but no answer, he must be at work still, so looks like you will be stuck in there for a few hours longer. I’m making some improved restraints for your boots and jacket, so there is no way a bolt cutter could remove them, and when I get these on you, you will really be locked in all that leather you seem to enjoy.” This scares me as it turns my sicko cock on. I feel like I am about to pass out as I struggle to take a deep breath inhaling the strong smell of my sweaty leathers. I have to piss and can’t hold it, so I endure the misery as the warm liquid further soaks into my imprisoning hides.
The passing hours are painful, I just want to be out of this nightmare, I am scared that I will never get out of here.
At last I hear Smitty unlocking the steel door, pulling me out. I collapsed on the floor, making the mistake of calling him Smitty as I thank him, and he viciously boots me in the butt then drags me by my collar to his work bench. I quickly gasp out sorry Sir, and he boots me again. “Shut the fuck up fag, don’t speak without permission.”
“So I just had an interesting talk with ‘Boss’ and agreed to keep you in your gear tonight, giving you a shower in the morning before locking you back in the leathers with my improved metal restraints, Your rubber shirt comes off for the cleaning but you can choose to either have to wear it or accept having your cock locked in a chastity cage. I might not give you the choice, as far as I can see you are now just my slave.” He now shoves a water bottle in my mouth. I drink it all as I start to shake in dread at this. He orders me to get up on my knees, but having my hands still cuffed behind my back makes this awkward. Reaching for something on the workbench, he holds up and shows me a lockable steel collar which he quickly has fastened around my neck and locks with a final click. (“when you hear the click of the lock you know you are done for”..metalbond)
“This will be permanent and confirm my intent to consider you my slave.” I am now scared of this man. I want to protest and gasp out “No Way.” He slaps me hard across my face and punches me in the gut. “You are in for an unpleasant night, faggot.” Picking up a length of chain from the workbench, he locks one end to my new collar and drags me back to that narrow steel door, opens it and again forces me backward into the confining space, my hands still locked in cuffs behind my back. He now pushes the end of the chain from my collar thru the barred window of the door, slams the door, locks it and starts pulling the chain so that my face is pressing tight against the inside of the bars. He fastens the end of the chain preventing any movement from me. The collar digs into my neck, and my face aches from the pressure of the bars. I plead with him. My eyes tear up. I’m moaning. I’ll do anything he wants. “Cry away boy, you are not getting out till morning and that’s only 8 or 9 hours away and only then when you willing accept that you are my slave.”
Please, please, I am sobbing but the only sounds I can hear are his boots walking away, and the shop lights go out. I am weak, haven’t eaten all day, I am beyond uncomfortable, the tight confines of this space forcing me to remain immobile. I ache all over, resigned to a helpless long painful night, the only thing I can do is breathe, sweat and piss myself, I just can’t take it, but this is beyond anything I have ever experienced. I am trapped here with this man, without my money or license or ID. Een if I could escape, there is no way I could make it home. Get me out of here I scream in frustration.
Finally, it’s morning, I see the lights come on thru the bars. My body is cramped, my legs tremble, everything hurts. I can’t move anything. I hear Smitty’s boots thudding across the floor. I see him approaching, now wearing his biker leathers looking so hot. He pounds on the steel door. “Wake up, fag boy, are you ready to submit?” Please, Sir, get me out of here! “Is that a yes boy? You are not getting out of there until I hear you accept that you are now my slave.” Yes, Sir, I feebly gasp. I am your slave, please get me out of here.
“Good boy, that’s better, from now on you will continue to obey me or you will be punished, understand?” Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir.
I feel the chain to my collar loosen as he unlocks and opens the door feeding it thru the barred window now pulling on it as he leads me out of this hell hole. I can hardly walk and collapse in exhaustion on the dirty concrete floor. He laughs, kneels down, lifting my head and kisses me firmly on my mouth. Now dragging me to my feet by the chain still locked to my collar, he supports me leading me to the workbench, reaches for bottle and gives it to me to drink. It’s some sort of protein drink. It’s the first thing I have had since I left the Boss’s house yesterday. Sir then uncuffs me and hands me a pen and points to a paper on the bench and orders me to sign it. I see it’s some sort of contract surrendering me into his service permanently as his slave. I hesitate to sign it and start to protest. He is pissed at me, and jerking hard on the chain he pulls and drags me as I stumble and fall, cursing me as I try to get up trying to speak but he slaps my face. “Shut the fuck up.” He is leading me into the garage over to my Harley. “Sit on it, fag, and think about this. You have no money, no ID papers, no food and are 700 miles from home. A steel collar is locked tight around your neck, and you are still locked in your stinking leathers, You have enough fuel for only 150 miles. I’ll pull the plate for the bike and report it stolen. How do you like that future? The only chance you have is to accept that you are my slave, boy.”
I am feeling so helpless and sob as I mumble, “please, Sir, I will admit I am now your property. Sorry, forgive me.”
He yanks me off the bike dragging me as I stumble behind him leading me to a small bathroom at the back of the shop. It’s a dingy concrete space, a bench on the side, a squat toilet in a corner by a drain, exposed pipes, a showerhead and rubber hoses for cleanouts.
He sits me on the bench, goes out the door, returns with that contract, a pen and some bolt cutters. “Sign it, boy.” I do as I am told as he takes the bolt cutters and cuts the wire locking my boots on, and the chain locking my jacket closed. “Get those boots off and get out of those leathers, stack them on the bench.” I am now standing there naked except for the rubber shirt and the steel collar and chain. He unlocks the chain. “Don’t try taking off that rubber until you get under the shower and can get some soapy water inside it.”
He hands me a bar of soap and leaves me to it. I get under the shower. It’s been 10 or 11 days in full leathers all day every day. I am rank with stale sweat and piss. Once I work up a good soapy lather I let it run down my neck into the rubber shirt before I attempt to pull it off., It’s a struggle and a bit painful on my tired skin, which is sensitive and raw after being in it for so long. The pleasure of this shower is dulled by the realization that I will again be wearing my dirty leathers as soon as I finish. Looking over at the rubber hose, I thought it might be a good idea to clean out my insides, so I noticed it had a suitable fitting and proceeded, and after a few flushes down the squat toilet I was totally clean. There was no towel in the room, so I sat on the bench dripping wet.
I heard two voices outside the room. Ine was Sir’s the other was familiar, holly it was the Boss’s!
The two men walked in, both booted and in full leathers. The Boss was carrying something, laughing. “Do you think he will go for it?” “Why not? He doesn’t really have a choice.” “Hey, boy, stand up. Boss here has a gift for you.” He was holding a metal chastity belt. It had a metal down tube for the cock with attached crotch strap attached up on the back. There was a large enough hole in the crotch strap to access the butthole and permit full time wearing. The inner surfaces of the metal straps were cushioned in rubber.
“Stand up, boy,” Sir ordered. I immediately obeyed. He then fitted the device to me, the tube was tight, my cock now bent down toward my crotch, the crotch strap now snug up my ass, the hole in the strap carefully aligned with my butt hole, the belt was snugged around my waist and the lock was clicked shut. My cock responded and forced itself tighter into the restraining tube.
“Now, boy, get back in your leathers and lace up those boots.” I dreaded putting on the damp sweaty hides over my naked body. At least Sir handed me a clean pair of socks. Grateful to not be wearing that rubber shirt, I pulled the leather jacket on, and then the leather jeans, sitting down, pulling on my 20-hole boots, carefully tucking the leather jeans into them as I laced them up tight. Sir made me zip the jacket fully closed. “Stand up, put your left boot on the bench.” He then locked a steel cuff around it, repeating the process with my right boot. “Those boots aren’t coming off for a while, and neither will you be able to remove your leather jeans. He next took hold of my arms and locked steel cuffs tight over the leather sleeves. “This will make sure that that jacket can’t be removed. Here’s your immediate future, locked in your boots, leathers steel collar and chastity, with locks that require special keys which I hold. You will ride your Harley the 700 miles to your home, pack up any boots, leathers, Levis, rubber gear and toys you own and ship them to me here, close out your accounts then return here. If anyone asks, tell them you have a new job as apprentice blacksmith. You have been wearing those boots and hides of 10 days now, another 2 days ride to your old place, 2 days to to sort your things out 2 days to return here if you hustle. Boss here has your cash, license and ID. The quicker you return the better, the only keys are here.”
Both men now hugged me. “We both were looking for a suitable bottom ridding buddy for some serious play. We will all do a few road trips on our Harleys.”
They walked me over to my bike, Boss handing me my money and papers. I climbed on the machine. This chastity belt will take some getting used to. I kissed both of them and told Sir I am proud to be his slave.
I started the bike. They helped me back it out of the garage, and I headed for home.
Metal would like to thank the author, rts, for this story. If you like it be sure to leave a message to the author in the comments.
