By ty dehner

The sun was nearing the height of the day, as the heat was rising. My hiking boots were making easy work of the gray shale covering this part of the desert trail. Only a short distance from the homes on the edge of the open land of the foothills of the mountains in the center of Phoenix. I had to stop as memories started to fill my mind. Memories from a very long time ago when I was a lot younger. When I was eighteen, I was dealing with feelings that I was the only one to have these desires. But damn if the thoughts didn’t make my dick hard.

As I paused, I looked at the rocky hill I was at the base of and I remember when this area was far from any people, the neighborhoods had not been built. It was an open desert as far as one could see. I spent a great deal of time walking this desert in my teen years, with thoughts that no normal person would have. I would think about being kidnapped, tossed in a van in bondage, gagged and taken to who knows where. As I remembered those thoughts, I realized that I never thought about what happened after being tossed into the van. It was the bondage I was craving and I didn’t care how I ended up in rope and tape, I just wanted to be helpless at the hands of another man.

There was something else that flashback to my mind, a memory that now seemed so distant but as it came flooding back, it was so fucking real and I realized how fucking horny that experience was.

In those days the desert was open to anyone, including the guys that rode their dirt bikes on the trails. The motocross gear the dirt bikers wore in the seventies was more rugged, with the boots being more leather, straps and buckles up the side. The pants were quilted, padded made of real leather, the jerseys were thin nylon with the leather gloves having a rubber strip on the fingers and top of the hands. The beginnings of full-face helmets were being developed so the guy’s identity was protected, with them wearing goggles. Or they wore snap-on face guards that protected their mouths and noses. Seeing these bikers turned me on. As I was discovering my sexual turn-on, this heavy gear combined with my desire to be controlled and in bondage.

I have no idea how it came for me to naturally get a woody for leather, bondage and gear, but fuck if I did love the look and when I could the scent of leather. I would get motocross magazines, keep them in my locker at school, bring them home in my backpack, and get horny looking at them at night. The next morning I would wake to moist and crusty pajamas from very vivid dreams of motocross gear and bondage.

It was late Summer after high school graduation and I had a rare Saturday off from my job. I watched American Bandstand, where I realized I was watching as much for the music as I checked out what the guys were wearing! Tossing some food in a backpack, I pulled on jeans, a shirt and athletic shoes. Grabbing my bike, I rode to the end of the street my house was on and into the desert. Taking my time I was headed to my favorite spot, a rocky hill where I would sit hoping some dirt bikers would come in and ride. I would sit and watch them, in their gear.

As I made my way deeper into the desert, farther away from the housing development, I could see the dust from some dirt bikers in the distance and the distinctive sounds their Japanese engines made. I would be getting some views of some boots and gear. One of the things that always turns me on is when they are in their helmets and gear, they are unknown to me. Though I was sure they had no idea that I was watching them because of the gear, I was always cautious in how I interacted with them. Acting like I was looking in other areas of the desert when I just wanted to watch them.

As I got further into the desert the flatland started to disappear, getting more into the foothills of the larger mountains. Part of the fun of riding in the desert was going up and down through the washes, especially the deeper ones.

I kept hearing the bikers during the ride, but none ever came near enough. I was getting a little disappointed so I thought I would stop and have my lunch.

Having made my way to the shale outcropping that provided me a good view of the desert to the north, I enjoyed my lunch. There was always the sound of the bikers, but none ever came my way. Well, that was until I was nearly finished with my sandwich. I heard the whine of several bikes and they seemed to be getting closer. I wrapped up my lunch, stuffed it into the backpack and just sat in the sun as I awaited the bikers. It didn’t take long before they appeared, racing each other on the trails within my view.

There were three of them. One was on a Yamaha dirt bike with bright yellow leather with a black stripe that ran down the leg into the black Hi-Point boots he was wearing. Keeping his yellow, the long sleeve jersey with the Yamaha logo on the front, flowed in the wind as he rode, black gloves gripping the handlebars. His Bell Moto2 was yellow with black lettering and visor, and dark goggles completed his headgear. Yam seemed to be the lead guy as the others always followed where he rode.

The second dude was in a red Honda, wearing red leather, a big Honda in white letters on the thighs and black Malcolm Smith boots with seven or so straps going down the side of the boots. Red was wearing a red, white, and blue jersey with some sort of pads on his chest. His helmet was red, open face wearing goggles and a facemask.

Lastly was another Honda rider, wearing black leather with a white stripe and Lancer Leathers on the side. Lance also wore Norstar black boots, with socks folder over the top of his boots. He wore a white jersey which seemed to be over some shoulder pads, and black gloves on his hands. His helmet was red, with goggles and a face guard.

The group of trails before me seemed to be of their liking as they spent a great deal of time riding them. The trail dropped into a wash, and they would get some air as they rode out. The Yamaha rider was always in the lead but the other two volleyed for second place.

I watched them for a while, wanting to wear their leather and boots. But it was getting warm as the sun continued across the sky. They must have been getting warm also as they ended their racing, coming together in the shade of a palo verde tree. Both the Honda riders removed their faceguards as they drank some water, Yam lifted his helmet so that he could drink. They stretched a bit, as they straddled their bikes, talking. Red leaned on his handlebars as they all kept their helmets on as they conversed. The group was too far removed for me to see their faces.

Moving to my bike, I took a few sips from my water bottle. As I took another look out across the desert it seemed like they were looking in my direction. Putting my water bottle into the holder on my bike, I hear the MX bikes start up. Looking towards them they did a few donuts and raced into the desert and out of sight. Eventually the sound of their bikes faded away and the desert was quiet again, just a lone mourning dove cooing in a nearby bush.

Mounting my bike, without a motor, I started peddling and made my way out across the desert on one of the trails.

After a long stretch of the desert had passed I paused to take a short break and have some water. As I looked back, I was far from the rocks where I had lunch. Taking a sip, the water felt good on my lips, though it was starting to get warm, the ice has melted in the desert heat.

Looking across the horizon, I heard the faint distinctive sound of the dirt bikes. They were far away and they were probably another group of guys. I took another sip, put my bottle in the holder and started peddling again. The rolling trail before me was a good ride, for there were points when I could need to pedal hard, and the other times I could coast.

Before I knew it there was a flat stretch before me, with the dirt bikers seemingly getting closer. Not too far ahead was a deep wash I would be dropping into. As I was getting closer, the three dirt bikers I had watched while eating my lunch popped out of the wash. This seemed like I might be riding into something I was unprepared for. But fuck, look at their gear.

I didn’t want to seem intimidated so I kept riding forward as they were between me and the edge of dropping into the wash. Their engines were idling as they watched me approach. Not sure what I was going to do as I was approaching them.

As I reached them I came to a stop, I had to play it cool and make sure I didn’t stare too much at their gear. From under his helmet the dude in Yamaha yellow asked, “What are you doing, fucker?”

I didn’t expect that question, I paused as I wondered what answer they would want to hear to leave me alone. “Just riding my bike.”

The two Honda riders suddenly revved their engines to intimidate me.

“You sure, faggot?” asks Yellow.

Not sure why I responded as I did, but the words “Yes, Sir” spilled from my lips, rather humbly. I was close to seeing the leathers, boots and gear they wore. But they could see what I was looking at so I had to make it obvious that I wasn’t turned on by their heavy riding equipment.

“What should we do with him?” the Yamaha rider asked his fellow dirt bikers.

Red responded, “How bout we tie the fucker behind my bike and drag his pansy ass through the desert!”

That shocks me as they all laugh. Their tone was going from threatening to intimidating. At this point I had to be careful as I was no longer certain of their intentions.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Yamaha orders me.

I waste no time, jumping on my bike pedals, slipping off them and awkwardly getting away from the bikers. I don’t dare turn back as I get my stride and put a large distance between them and me. They did look fucking hot in that gear, but I nearly put my ass in danger by letting my cock control my thoughts.

The desert surrounding me was quiet as I was confident they were out of my life. I noticed the whine of motorcycles, but they were far off and I figured those three were off doing some racing.

As I grew confident that I was once again safe, I was startled from behind when the three bikers raced by me, leaving me coughing in the dust and exhaust. They turned around as I was determined to continue moving forward. They passed me again; the Red Honda rider grazed me with his boot trying to knock me down. I wobbled a bit but maintained control.

They rode up beside me, maintaining the same speed as me. As they cruised with me, they were holding and drinking cans of Coors beer.

“You go to Camelback High don’t you?” asked the leader, yellow rider, from under his helmet.

He was right, but I couldn’t see who he was by his full-face helmet.

“I graduated a couple weeks ago.”

“Yea, you were in the band. Where are you headed?”

“Back home.”

“You look thirsty. Hey guys, doesn’t he look thirsty?”

They all agree, with the Honda rider in black, coming beside me and pouring some of his beer over my head. All this is occurring while we keep moving, me peddling. The beer dripped down my head, soaking my blond hair. The scent was unmistakable and was going to be soaking into my shirt.

“That cool you down?”

I ignore them, looking forward and maintaining my focus before me. They maintained a slow speed as the two Honda riders paralleled me and Yamaha followed me. I was now going where they wanted me to go. Part of me wanted to stare at their gear, but this moment was now more than something I would be jacking off to tonight. I don’t know their intentions.

Moving forward the two side bikers decrease the space between us, suddenly Red turns into my front wheel as I grab my front brake. Not wanting to hit the motorcycle I end up going down into the hard desert ground, sliding a bit across the shale and dirt, and landing just short of a barrel cactus. A little roughed up, I gain my senses and look up to find the three bikers parked in front of me, the red Honda pressing his knobby front tire into my stomach.

“Get up!” demands the Yamaha rider.

I struggle to get to my knees as the other two riders push their bikes into me making my effort a bit of a struggle. They yell at me as I ensure not to fall into the cactus they seem to be pushing me towards.

Finally, I get to my feet where I am grabbed by my shirt and shoved toward Red by the Yamaha dude. “Get on the bike, fucker!”

Shocked and wary of what will happen if I get on the bike, I look at the dude in yellow, before glancing at the other two. Before I can politely refuse, the Red grabs me by the shirt and pulls me to his bike, positioning me behind him. That is when I get my first touch of his leather riding pants as I pull my leg over the tall seat of the dirt bike. Not sure how to balance myself, I reach around the Honda rider’s waist. Immediately my hands are slapped sharply by Red’s gloved hands. “You ain’t riding bitch, faggot!”

Yamaha dismounts his bike and reaches into the backpack Lance has on his back, Yam pulls out some duct tape, and my right wrist is snatched and held down at the side of the seat I sit upon. Rather quickly the leader of this biker gang secures my hand into position, followed by my left wrist. The tape is stuffed back into the backpack as Yam climbs aboard his bike and quickly the four of us are racing away from my bike and across the desert.

I never imagined how horny riding a dirt bike was, as there was a vibration that my cock that was ever hard in my jeans was enjoying. I can only imagine what it would be like to wear leather motocross pants and the rest of the gear.

The ride was anything but fun as I was secured into position but felt out of control on the back of the bike with nothing to hold. But these guys seemed to be experts; they seemed to know how to ride, as they made quick time across the sand and rocks. Soon there we were headed back to the rocks where I had my lunch and first saw these guys.

Finding a secluded area, they rode into the space between the large shale rocks parking their bikes. Straddling the Honda with my hands taped, they stand looking at me, three men in heavy biker gear. I can feel their eyes staring me down, while I cannot see their faces covered by their helmets, goggles and face gear. Taking the backpack off, they grab more beers, each taking one. Yam lifts his helmet to drink, while the other two remove their face masks. After taking his beer, Yamaha spits his out onto me, splashing me in my face.

“Shit man, what a waste of beer!” notes Lance.

Yamaha turns, staring down at this fellow rider. Taking another sip, the guy in the yellow leather steps to me, the helpless bicycle rider, lifting his free gloved hand, grabbing my face by the chin. He pushes his fingers into my lips until I open my mouth wide. Leaning forward, Yam quickly removes his hand, spitting the beer that he saved in his mouth into mine. He then squeezes my mouth closed, gagging my lips with his gloved hand, forcing me to swallow the recycled beer.

His mates moan as they watch me swallow the used beer. There isn’t much difference in taste as the other two take another drink and spit it on me.

“Cut him loose,” orders Yam, as he steps away, taking another drink of his beer but keeping it for himself.

The other riders cut the tape holding me to the bike, helping me stand. Quickly they grab my arms so that my hands are behind my back which they tape together, making me helpless. Lance kicks the back of my leg at the knee and I collapse onto the desert floor. As I struggle to right myself, they also grab my ankles and tape them.

Fighting the bondage for a little bit, I realize that it is truly hopeless so I roll on my back, looking up to see the three of them standing over me, drinking their beers. The sunshine reflected off their leathers and helmets. The wind ruffles their nylon jerseys in bright colors matching their leathers. On occasion one would lightly kick me with their heavy MX boots, getting my clothing dirty with the dirt from the sandy desert.

The silence of the desert was in contrast to the image that was filling my head of these solidly armored motocrossers. Enjoying their power, drinking beer as the heat of the day was climbing, me laying in bondage at their boots, soaked in beer, being kicked to cause some discomfort. Red finished his beer, burping loudly from under his helmet and then tossing the can. I could hear it bounce in the rocks before settling. In a short moment, the other two toss their cans after finishing their beers.

Sighing, Yamaha reaches to his leathered crotch, unzipping them. Working his gloved hand, he pulls out his long dong from behind the cup he wears. “What’s the first thing a guy’s gotta do after having a couple of beers?”

The others look at their partner in crime as Yam lifts his head to the sky, exhaling as he holds his cock steady. I struggle in the sand, not wanting to be pissed on, I beg him not to do it. There is no reaction from the other two riders as the stream comes out of the Yamaha rider’s dick, and a steady, strong stream of pale yellow piss splashes down onto my chest. He soaks my shirt as he moves the flow back and forth.

“Open your fucking mouth!” after Yamaha orders that, I clam shut.

Red kicks me in the side harder than before, “You heard him faggot, open your fucking pussy mouth!” Red lifts his boot, pressing it into my balls which causes me to open my mouth in pain. Quickly, Yam aims his urine directly into my open lips. The piss puddles in my mouth before I am forced to swallow it as Red presses his boot crushing my balls. The piss is warm, salty, and laced with beer. My face is drowned in piss, as I keep my eyes closed.

As the flow begins to wane, I feel a second then a third flow of piss. Opening my eyes briefly, the other two bikers are pissing on me as Yamaha returns his cock into his leathers, zipping up. Yam lifts his boot, placing it on my throat choking me as the other guy’s piss splashes on the leather of his boot. I struggle but can’t move as all three attacks me as I lay in a growing puddle of piss. Coughing and choking, the piss runs down my throat as my mouth opens. I can hear them laughing at me as I must look pathetic. Feeling the urine soak my jeans, I can feel that my hard-on is straining the denim and I can’t believe my body is betraying me like this. Lance uses his boot to stomp my hard cock which causes me to yell as my body reacts by wanting to sit up, but Yam’s boot remains pressing on my throat.

As the other two run out of piss, they leave their cocks hanging and start stomping me with those heavy MX boots. Struggling to avoid the soles of those boots, I also yell in pain as they stomp all over my body.

“Silence this pathetic shit,” complains Yam.

Lance reaches into the backpack, pulling out a rag that he lowers to the ground and allowing it to soak in some muddy piss. Swiftly he shoves the rag into my lips, as Red starts wrapping my head with tape, sealing in the gag.

Tossing the tape, they stomp me a bit longer, then stop. Red rolls me onto my stomach, then grabs me from under my arms, lifting me up and pushing me over the seat of his Honda. I try to steady myself which is difficult with my feet bound together. I try to look behind me to see what they are doing, but I can’t see. I hear them discussing something but it is hard to distinguish with their helmets on.

The breeze is warm but chills me because of my piss-soaked clothes. I feel something on the ass of my jeans. They start cutting with what has to be a knife, and the ass of my jeans is ripped open. Now I start to struggle because I totally know what they are doing to do to me. One punches me in the side, ordering me to remain still. They cut my boxers and I can feel the warm desert air on my ass.

With the sound of a beer can opening, I heard it being poured and splashing on the ground. That is when I feel the tip of one of the dirt biker’s cock at my ass. It is damp as it pushes in, me struggling, not wanting to be fucked. A fist pounded my other side, which caused me to exhale into the gag in pain. Using the moment, the dirt bike rider shoved his hard cock into my hole, causing me to scream into the gag, my body freezing as the pain shutters through my bound frame.

Hearing the heavy breathing from under the helmet, I feel the cock go all the way into my virgin ass as the coolness of the leathers this biker wears rubs against my ass. I find my manhood twitches and gets even harder as I think about being fucked by one of the riders in their leathers and boots. I now learn what happens at the end of all my fantasies that I have dreamed of while out here in the desert, alone. Faceless, they are fucking me, soaked in piss and helpless over their dirt bike.

This dude is violent as he fucks me, slamming what seems a long dong in and out, with my manhood rubbing against the side of the bike I am leaning on. I grunt on each piston into my ass and he reaches the limits of what I can hold. This biker is using me as his bitch, fucking me with a great deal of power. I feel his weight upon my back as I turn my head to the side and see the familiar yellow helmet of Yam, my gagged, soaked face reflected in his goggles.

“Take it all, shithead. Take…it…all.” He emphasizes his tool in my ass with each word. His gloved hands reach up, gripping my shoulder as he slams even more intensely. He stops, his cum escaping from his cock filling my ass deeply as he puts all his weight onto my body, crushing my arms taped behind my back, a little bit of dirty piss trickling down my throat from the gag that is taped in my mouth.

As we both catch our breath, I try to see where the other two bikers are but cannot see them.

As Yam pulled out quickly, I could feel his seed dripping from my hole, probably falling into the desert. I was exhausted, my hole burning as it stretched wide open, and my breathing labored because of the gag filling my mouth.

Yam slaps my ass as I hear his boots step away in the gravel of the desert ground. I barely catch my breath before Lance enters me. His cock is shorter but thicker as he is rough with my hole, stretching it even more. I hear another beer open as the riders cheer on their buddy, telling him to fuck my ass and shoot his man juices deep inside me.

Zipping their leathers up, the three bikers complete their pissing on me again with Yamaha kicking me a few times with his heavy boots, the sandy earth mixing with the piss to make my shirt covered with mud. Since I could barely move because of the intense fucking and the opening of my ass, I tried to see these men that have shown me true submission.

Rolling slightly on my taped hands I watched them make their way to their dirt bikes, mounting them. Though Lance was moving slower, I noticed he kept an eye on me, his helmeted head maintaining his gaze upon me. I must have looked like a wreck laying in the desert, dirty, bruised and in bondage, gagged with duct tape.

My attention to Lance was broken when I heard the other two start up their machines, the blue smoke escaping from the tailpipes as they revved the screaming engines. Lance mounted his bike and kicked his engine to start as the other two raced out into the desert, kicking sand and rock onto me, which stung it hit my chest and arms.

The last guy moved his bike closer to me, revved it a few times, then raced off and into the desert. In a matter of moments, the desert was missing the sounds of engines and I was alone in the jagged shale rocks, bound, gagged, and filled with biker cum spilling out of my tortured ass. The duct tape was strong as I tried to work my arm to the front of my body, but pulling my legs through my arms was difficult, especially since my ankles were taped together.

I had been so focused on trying to escape, that I didn’t hear the returning sound of one of the dirt bikes. When I did, I froze, sighing as I hoped they weren’t returning to do even more to me. They showed they could own me, my mind and cock loved being their prisoner, feeling their leathers against my skin as they plowed my ass three times.

The bike raced right up to where I was laying in the piss-soaked sand. Pushing forward, the biker pushed his knobby front tire against my crotch and I found myself humping trying to release the cum in me. Lance turned off his engine, leaning on his handlebars as he looked down at this pathetic fag in the desert. I wondered who was behind the helmet and goggles. I also wondered what he was going to do to me, what was left to torture me with.

Dismounting his iron beast the biker stepped right in front of my gagged face, his multi-buckled heavy Norstar boots just a little bit away, the spots that I licked still visible. Looking up I saw this biker in black and white towering over me as his gloved right hand reached into a pocket on his leathers and pulled out a switchblade that popped open.

Now I was scared, I was horny as fuck up to this point, but I wasn’t into being cut or seeing my own blood. As the biker lowered himself I tried to back away. His free hand tightly gripped my body keeping me in place as he pushed me onto my stomach. Then I heard the ripping of the tape and soon my ankles were free.

The biker was sitting in the desert sand, stabbing the knife into the ground. With his gloved hands-free, the biker grabbed me, positioning me on my back into his lap and holding me for a moment. My hands were still bound behind my back, and I could feel the coolness of the leather of his riding pants and the top of his boots.

Releasing me from his grip for a moment, the biker removed his face guard that snapped to his helmet, lifting the goggles and taking the helmet off. There in my sight was a handsome guy that I knew from school. Kevin had been an asshole in school, one would consider him a bully, a jock football player. Curly dark hair slightly matted because of the helmet and sweat, blue-eyed, he smiled. I must have been surprised as I looked at him with my gagged face as he had a grin on his lips, bringing his glove hand up and wiping my long blond hair from my face so I could see him clearly. It sent chills down my spine as I felt the leather of his well-used gloves lightly slide across my facial skin. What happened next rocked my world.

Cradling my face in his hand, Kevin lowered himself and touched my taped lips in what was my first kiss. This was not just a tease, even being gagged, I could tell there was a spark. As he continued the embrace, my cock was getting harder in my soaked, muddy jeans as I so wanted to taste his lips for myself. This was never part of my fantasy.

As he finished the kiss, his eyes didn’t disconnect from mine, a smile on his face. “I always wanted to do that to you.”

My eyes arched, so surprised to hear that this bully was gay. Gay, and he wanted to kiss me. “You need the discipline that a man like me can give you, don’t you?”

That wasn’t so much a question as it was a confirmation that he was in charge of his world and if I was going to be part of it, I would have to accept that he was in charge. Kevin patted my face with his gloved hand, a little firmer than a romantic touch. More of doing what I say touch or find myself in trouble.

I nodded my head, mumbling into the gag that was tight around my head.

“Trust me?”

I nodded again. Kevin took the blade from the sand, bringing it to my cheek where he cut the tape. As he ripped it off, it pulled my beard and I struggled to keep my mouth shut with the pain but some noise was released.

“Fucking pussy,” was his response as he pressed the used tape to my chest. Immediately he leaned in and pressed his lips against mine. They tasted of sweat and beer, but it was so sweet, the feeling was amazing. Showing his experience and confidence, it was a matter of moments as his tongue slipped between my lips providing me with another new erotic sensation that caused me to struggle in the bondage that kept my hands bound.

Kevin stroked my head with his gloved hands, running them through my hair as I just dreamed of him with my closed eyes, feeling the leather he was wearing. I never knew I could feel this way, and it was the man that treated me like shit doing it.

Gently, he released our lips taking his leathered thumb and swiping over my lips. With a little pressure he pushed his thumb into my lips. “You don’t know how much I want to taste you, fucker.”

I hesitated for a moment, then quietly asked, “You’re gay?”

His face changed in demeanor, a bit stern. “You think I’m gay?”

I nodded with his thumb now sliding in and out of my lips.

“Yes I am and I had my eyes on you since our freshman year.” He stopped teasing my lips and gently rubbed my chin. “But you were so mean to me.”

Kevin now showed some regret. “I know, sorry about that. But I had to hide. You know how that goes; you did the same.”

I knew he was right, though I never made an effort to hide. I just never did anything to show that I wanted a guy, those were just things I thought of at night. Or when I was looking at my motocross magazines.

“Those other guys know?”

Shaking his head, Kevin let it be known that they didn’t. “Frankly, it’s none of their business. Now that we’re graduated I am an adult and going to live my life as I want.”

He sounds so confident. Being gay was a struggle and not accepted by many. Only recently did I realize that I was gay and attracted to men. And I’m dealing with my desire to be in bondage and fetish gear. I’ve barely learned that there are other men into all this shit.

“How do you feel right now?” Kevin asks me.

I pause, realizing that I am very comfortable, and feel safe, though I’m in the arms of a dirt biker that used to bully me in school. My hands are bound behind me and I’m soaked in his piss. “I can’t believe this, but I feel safe in your arm, right where I am meant to be.”

I receive a small kiss as Kevin looks at me, “I hoped you’d feel that way. I like holding you, I like that you’re helpless and you accepted how we treated you, fucker.”

I feel his leathers again with my bound hands. He notices this time.

“You’re into my riding gear aren’t you?”

I shyly nod yes, a bit embarrassed by how I see the gear.

“It’s fucking hot, for I get a boner each time I gear up. Then add the power and vibration of the engine and shit I shoot such a load when I’m done riding.”

Holding my chin tightly in his hands, Kevin looks at me. “A load that should go deep in your ass.”

His leathered hand slides across my lips, gagging me tightly. “Now I think of it, I could ride and have you tied up, gagged, in the van. You’d be helpless, just where I want a fag like you. Maybe I’ll get you some of your own riding gear. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

I nodded as much as possible in his tight grip of my face.

“Yea, all nice and sweaty from my riding, then roll you over and fuck your ass silly. Unload my sperm into you, take more control of you. Hell, might even own you.”

Lifting my head to see into his eyes, “You know there are guys that own other men as their slaves. It seems to be a gay thing. I think you’d like that and I certainly wouldn’t mind you licking my boots regularly.”

Fuck, what he is doing to me. Reaching down with his free hand, he kneads my crotch, my hard dick straining in the denim of my jeans, truly my mind can think of nothing of his pecker deep in my ass.

“I could put you on the back of my bike, you still in bondage. Take you to my van, toss you in and dump you in a garage I have access to. Be my biker bitch. Not much you can do, end up disappearing from the world. Being just like my bike, my property that I own.”

That was it, I exhaled through his gloved fingers, my load creaming my jeans. Kevin released an evil laugh as he continued stimulating my cock, pumping the last drops of cum out of me.

“Fuck, that was easy.”

Kevin positions my head to see his eyes as he looks sternly into mine. “I own you now, nothing you can do.”

He tightens his grip, “I fucking own you.”

© Copyright 2023  ty dehner  All rights reserved.

You can visit the author at his own site, tydehner.com