Part 4: The Cadre
In the dry hills of California, water is the factor that determines success or failure.
In June, the last wildflowers have gone to seed and the grass in the meadows is gold, dry and brittle. The brush begins to take on a grey tint, and even the huge oaks drop leaves under the hot sun to preserve their lives through the six months without rain. The valley beyond the Bear Trap Ranch begins to resemble a parched African savannah, and one might almost glimpse zebras and elephants milling in the midday heat ripples rising from the valley floor.
Continue reading The Bear Trap – Parts 4 to 6
1. It is months now since I agreed to be here. I met Trainer online, a rubber/leather top looking for a boi to help out on his small ranch and looking for some bondage and play time in full gear. This place is a totally isolated 100 acres with a house and large barn. (I have never been allowed into the house, always kept in the barn ) . When he met me at the airport I saw a well-built man taller than me, head shaved wearing black leather jeans, a tight rubber T-shirt, and red laced 20 hole Rangers.
Continue reading Trainer’s Bois
If you travel over the rough Santa Lucia Mountains, past towering Cone Peak, and away from the white water Big Sur coast, you come to set of broad oak studded valleys and chaparral covered ridges descending eastward toward the Salinas Valley. The Bear Trap is named for a box canyon among the ridges where oaks stud the grassy north facing slopes and brush and ghostly grey pines the sunburn south faces. Long ago, Mexican vaqueros would lure grizzly bears into the steep sided “trap” with live bait, such as a steer, to be roped and killed.
Continue reading The Bear Trap – Parts 1 to 3
By an anonymous friend of Metalbond
Forcing himself to enter full awareness, Tim wrestled in confusion. The dreams of sharp pain and oppressive constriction transcended his state of awareness. “Fuck, I hate this feeling,” Tim thought, as he realized his true dilemma. Passing from sleep to consciousness, mental images were replaced by physical sensations. Waking up in tight rubber bondage sometimes caused Tim to panic, and he battled now to contain his agitation.
Continue reading Waiting for Ross – End Game – Part 3
Sandro awoke with a start. He opened his eyes but all was black; he could not see anything and for a moment he wondered where he was. But the sound of a motor engine and the feeling of motion soon brought him to his senses. He was seated on a metal chair, wearing his motorcycle leathers with his wrists strapped tightly to the chair’s arms, his ankles to its legs and his chest strapped firmly to its back. His hands were locked into tight leather mitts and his head was covered in a tight spandex hood obscuring his vision. Try as he might, he could not move as the restraints kept him firmly secured.
Continue reading The (Bike) Test
I am wearing my 20-hole steel toe Rangers with tight black thick leather pants tucked in. The leathers have a removable codpiece, and centered over my butt is a round opening directly placed to give access to my butthole. My upper body is clothed in a tight leather shirt over which I am zipped into a heavy black collarless motorcycle jacket. My hands are gloved in leather gauntlets. I am standing in a very warm underground concrete cell waiting in silence and dressed as I was told to be.
Continue reading Thirty Hours
Written by an anonymous friend of Metalbond
Tim’s body jerked suddenly, overtaken by a sensation of falling. Sightless within a tight rubber hood, Tim strained to see through it. His efforts produced a weird, omniscient vision in his mind. Watching himself from above while embodying the experience below, he saw and felt the movement as he shifted uncomfortably off balance, forced to bend at the waist, trying not to tip further forward.
Continue reading Waiting for Ross – End Game – Part 2
I met this biker bud on line, he’s living about 700 miles from me but wanting to get together we agreed to meet halfway and go on a 1 week road trip on our Harleys. The basic rules were simple, in full leathers 24/7 and camping out every night and just get to know each other. We met up at a campground on the Columbia river, I was wearing my leather jeans, motorcycle jacket and 18″ linesmen boots, with just a T shirt and sox under my hides, the only thing I packed on the bike was my tent, bed roll and extra sox. It had been an almost 400 mile ride to the campsite and I had been feeling nice and horny the whole day.
Continue reading Leather Road Trip