Tag Archives: Alex Ironrod

Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 3

April 6, 2021 Alex Ironrod Leave a comment

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.

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Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 2

April 5, 2021 Alex Ironrod Leave a comment

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.

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Black Leather Cops and Revenge – Part 1

April 4, 2021 Alex Ironrod Leave a comment

PART ONE

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”.

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