By Alex Ironrod
This story contains adult-oriented material, involving sexually explicit, non-consensual behavior between men.
Copyright 2021 by Alex Ironrod. All rights reserved.
This story is posted here with permission.
Jack Thomson was pissed off, pissed at himself. He’d done in the transmission of his car on a rock sticking out of the dirt on the back road. It was his own fault for showing off to Mary-Louise. He’d invited her to the parade at Texas A & M, and he’d dressed up in his cavalry uniform – khaki breeches with a wide flare, spit-polished brown boots and his uncle’s Prince of Wales spurs, with new straps – his right as a senior. He knew his 6’ frame looked good in the khaki shirt, tie and the Sam Browne belt; he’d strutted round the parade ground with his boot cleats ringing loudly and his campaign hat at just the right angle.
Mary-Louise had been properly impressed, according to his best friend, Tim Dixon, and so he’d stayed in uniform to drive her back home in the hills outside College Station. They’d made out in the back of his Chevy, but he had to be back for duty by 7pm, so he’d cut it short, and, following her directions, tried the short cut through the dry and dusty hills back to college. Now it was late afternoon; he was stuck, and he hadn’t bothered to tell Tim or the others where he was going. He kicked at the tire with his boot in exasperation.
“You need some help?” a voice helloed from behind him. Jack swung round; a man sat a tall horse on the nearby hill. “Got a problem with your car?” “Yes, sir, wrecked the transmission.” “Hold on,” and the man urged the stallion down the slope and trotted towards him. Jack watched him approach and dismount with a jingle of spurs.
Continue reading An ‘Aggie’ Man and the Texas Ranger – Part 1
By Alex Ironrod © 2021
PART FIVE- THE RETURN
“OK, boyo, I’m going to seriously bruise that fucking bubble-butt of yours with this whip. I’m not forgetting you can’t see it with that hood and blindfold on. But you can feel these knots trailing down your back right now and tickling your ribs. Right? Just nod. Good. Now I want you to count the strokes as I lay them on you.
Yes, you’ll have to shout through the gag. Here comes number…ONE. Let me hear something. Shout louder next time. TWO. It’s no use trying to pull yourself loose from the ropes. I’m a master at knots as well. THREE. And I like my boys stretched good and tight for thrashing. FOUR. I still can’t hear you. Shout, damn it! FIVE. We’re getting you warmed up nicely. SIX. And let’s try a couple round the front. One to get those nipples erect, and one for your cock – although that’s already at attention.
“You’re sweating – and groaning – and wriggling – that’s good. I like that. Now comes the main event – my seven-inch ramrod at your door. Shit, donut stiffen up. I need your fucking chute relaxed to receive me. That’s right, push back and welcome me into your warmed-over hole. Come on, for Christ’s sake, this is Master Jim giving you a fuck, not some Nelly queen from the nearest leather bar. You told me you’d been ploughed before, so let me in and stretch your passage. No, you can’t buck me out, and I’m coming in all the way.
Continue reading Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 5
By Alex Ironrod © 2021
CHAPTER FOUR – THE REVENGE
Colin and I, Jim Barnes, became part of Tyrell’s elite team. I discovered they were highly respected as an efficient and effective law enforcement group, who took no shit. That was why no-one harassed the sergeant, and why he got his pick of new recruits. He’d got it all worked out – cruisers and bikes by day; bikes only by night – which was very unusual. The HP station operated normally in the daytime, with a small office staff and a full complement of officers. At night there was rarely any workers – only in emergencies. Tyrell was in charge; the captains and lieutenants were content to leave it so, as long as there were no complaints. He kept the basement double-locked, claiming it was a workshop with expensive equipment. Indeed it was, but not the type of equipment in a normal workroom.
Colin and I soon got to know the rest of the group. The women office workers were pleasant and efficient; we, and the sergeant, made much of them and we joked and worked well together. The cruiser drivers and the daytime motor officers seemed straight, mainly family men, although at least one had a gloved hand badge. The night shift was smaller and more exclusive. Basically it was four motor officers – Tyrell, Witkowski, Foreman [Colin] and Barnes [me].
Continue reading Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 4
By Alex Ironrod © 2021
PART THREE – PUNISHMENT
I don’t know how long we hung in our tightly yoked bondage, the dim light refracting on our leather breeches and black boots, as we fought to keep our footing with bound ankles and knees, while our arms ached from being anchored to a high pulley. The sweat dried on our thrashed upper bodies, but our pricks, bound together, enjoyed the constant stimulus and remained rock hard.
Colin gasped occasionally as the rope gag sawed at his tongue, but neither he nor I could move our heads more than an inch and his face was darkened by the leather mask blinding his eyes. He could feel my body as our torsos were bound together, but my groans from the stabbing pain from the nipple clamps were effectively silenced by the black leather gag which had been inflated to fill my mouth.
Eventually our “hosts” returned. “Glad you’re still awake, and ready for the next challenge”, remarked Sergeant Tyrell, stretching in his all-leather uniform and taking off his helmet. Officer Witkowski undid the belts, clamps and cords that bound us together, freeing our pricks to explore further and our bodies to sag independently in their chains.
Continue reading Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 3
By Alex Ironrod © 2021
PART TWO – INITIATION
With my violated and beaten ass and aching arms, I made it back on my bike to my apartment in town. I pulled off my high black boots, stripped off my once shining leathers and took a long hot shower. It didn’t wash away the memory of my rape and I brooded in silence. What could I do alone to get my revenge? How could I get close to the leather-shirted Sergeant Tyrell and learn his tricks and his weaknesses?
Gradually a plan of action emerged. I would join the Highway Patrol and become a motor cop. With luck and careful planning, I could meet Tyrell again and I would take it from there. After all, I knew all about bikes; I’d been riding them for almost ten years, and my three-year military experience should count for something. I gave up my computer sales job and got ready.
I spit-polished my boots until they gleamed, put on a fresh pressed shirt and pants, slung my leather jacket round my shoulders, walked into the nearest Highway Patrol station – and signed on. It was easier than I dared to hope, with my existing background paving the way. Soon after I was called up to the Academy for training.
Continue reading Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 2
By Alex Ironrod © 2021
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form
Hi, my name is Jim, Jim Barnes. I used to be Highway Patrol Motorcycle Officer # 3758, Barnes J, but now I’m on the run. On the run from a blackhearted, black-leathered HP Sergeant, who tricked me and raped me and on whom I had my revenge. In case he catches up with me, I want to tell my side of the story. So here goes.
I heard the siren and saw the flashing lights too late. I’d had a few beers with friends after work, before zipping up my leathers and climbing onto the Harley. It was a cool spring night as I turned onto the freeway. The warmth of the engine warmed my balls and prick, as I clamped my knee-high black boots to the bike. Down came the visor; up went the speed and my body responded to the vibration of the machine. My penis expanded, seeking release from my tight leather pants.
Two Highway Patrol motorcycles were following me, as I slid into the slow lane, looking for a place to stop. One bike and officer overtook me, signaling for me to take the nearby exit; the other followed closely behind. From my military days, I knew there was no point in not obeying.
As I took the exit, I found we were out in the country, further from town than I’d realized. The first bike had stopped at the bottom of the slope and a tall figure in black leathers swung off the saddle. His six-foot frame was impressive as he came towards me, black leather jacket and slightly flared breeches tucked into high black boots. His face was in shadow under the white helmet, with the single street light reflecting on his plain glass shades. “Do you know how fast you were going, sir?”, a gravelly voice asked “I’m sorry, officer. It’s a new bike and I wanted to open her up” I countered. “License and registration please. Turn off the engine and come over to me, sir”.
Continue reading Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 1