A couple years out of High School had left me with a rugged, hard-worked body, mold­ed by the heavy con­struc­tion job I had found in a city far from home.

I was living in a small furn­ished room and ate most­ly alone in cheap rest­au­rants, spending my even­ings watch­ing tele­vis­ion in my room and drinking some of the beer that one of the older men on the con­struc­tion crew would buy for me, since I was still under the legal drink­ing age of twenty-one.

Increasing feelings of restless­ness drove me out in­to the night streets, where I would wander aim­less­ly, at­trac­ted by bright lights and crowd­ed side­walks, but somehow unable to make any social con­tacts.

I had sev­er­al times no­ticed some motor­cycles out­side a bar in a small strip-mall some half mile from my room, and in par­ti­cu­lar I grad­u­al­ly real­iz­ed that one group of very clean, shiny cycles tended to show up before nine on Friday nights and leave after mid­night.

The riders wore identical sleek, black hel­mets paint­ed with names and a small club emblem, and with visors that slid down to com­plete­ly cover the face, along with black leather jackets, boots and tight jeans of denim or black leath­er. Their tight jeans struck a famil­i­ar note since most of them re­sem­bled the work-rough­en­ed, sun-faded, shrink-wrap-tight Levi's I always wore, along with work boots and, now warm weather was beginning, a snug T-shirt or tank top.

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One Friday night about eight, I was loafing around the bar as one of the first club members showed up. The rider noticed my awed attraction to his cycle, glanced at his watch and said,

"It's early yet. Want a ride?"

"Oh yes. That's great. Thanks."

The eager anticipation on my face showed more than my stumbling words how pleased I was at the invitation.

"Climb on and hold onto me. Hold tight, now."

I swung onto the buddy-seat behind him on the heavy cycle, putting my arms around his slender waist and finding the foot-rests for my boots as he wheeled around and roared out of the parking area into the street.

He drove fast, swerving back and forth in the traffic and around corners, making me hold on even more tightly, pressing my chest against his back and occasionally smelling a delicious whiff of his leather jacket.

The ride was over all too soon, and we were back at the bar. I swung off the cycle and he followed, then took off his helmet so I could see his face for the first time, noticing he was about twenty-five, good looking with short black hair that contrasted sharply with my own straw blond.

"Like it?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, it was really great. Thanks very much. I loved it."

He grinned at my eagerness, and said,

"Hang around, I'll be out around midnight and we can go for a longer spin, if you really want to."

"I sure will. See you then."

"OK. Watch the bikes for us."

Proud of the responsibility he was giving me, I responded quickly,

"Yes sir!"

Some of his other buddies showed up, and they went inside with only a brief glance back at me.

Around midnight, the club members began to drift out, some looking curiously at me, and I wondered what he might have told them. Soon, he came out with some others with whom he talked for a few moments, then we watched them ride off.

He looked at me, waiting anxiously for my ride, and said almost to himself,

"I wonder if you're ready for this."

"Anything you say," I responded.

He pulled a pair of hand-cuffs out of his pocket and bounced them in one hand, looking for my reaction. I was only a little surprised since I had noticed hand-cuffs dangling from the belts of several of the club members -- and once one of the younger members had come out with his wrists cuffed behind him to ride away with an older man.

My memory flicked back to an incident during my last year in High School. A buddy and I had been picked up by the police, frisked, cuffed behind our backs and taken to jail, where we spent the night, but luckily the real culprits were identified and we were released the next morning.

I remembered the fear and humiliation, but also a thrill of excitement which I had felt at the time, and now some of that same excitement surged through me.

"Anything you say," I said again, softly.

He glanced around, noting that the parking area was now deserted.

"Turn around."

I turned quickly, and almost automatically put my hands together behind my back, then felt the cold grip of hard steel on first one wrist, then the other. He put on his helmet, climbed onto his cycle, rocked it off its stand and started the engine, then glanced at me.

"Climb on, and hang onto the luggage rack."

I swung my leg over and sat on the buddy seat, then grasped the bars of the tiny luggage rack just behind me with my cuffed hands.

He drove more carefully, now, knowing it would be harder for me to hold on this way, while I wondered if any of the drivers who followed us would see the shiny gleam of the hand-cuffs on my wrists, but gradually realized that from a little distance they would blend in with the luggage rack and not be noticed.

We left the city streets behind as we swung onto a highway, picking up speed, roaring through the dark. I felt the chill bite of the night air through my thin T-shirt and pressed closely against his leather-clad back.

I couldn't help but worry about what I had gotten myself into, hand-cuffed, helpless, being carried off by someone I knew nothing about to I knew not where, but the thrill of excitement and a stirring in my loins as my chest and legs pressed hard against his body soon overcame my fears.

After some time, we left the highway and followed a secondary road, then turned off and climbed a narrow trail through some woods to the top of a hill, where he cut the engine, and we both dismounted.

Looking around, I saw only the glint of distant lights before us and the woods through which we had ridden, dimly illuminated by the stars and a partial moon, behind. I shivered slightly from the cold as I worried again about what was to happen next.

He removed his helmet and laid it beside the cycle, then stepping directly in front of me, put his arms around me and hugged me close. He was slightly taller than me, and again I smelled the leather jacket as my face was smothered in his collar.

After a few seconds, I stopped shivering and he released me, then put an arm around my shoulders and guided me over to the woods.

We stopped in front of a tree about eight inches thick and bare of branches to well above my head. He stepped behind me and unlocked one of the cuffs.

I thought for a moment of breaking loose and running, but then relaxed as something in his gentle firmness told me this would work out all right.

He guided me around with my back to the tree, then pulled my arms back and locked my wrists behind the tree.

I was suddenly scared again, realizing my complete helplessness, as he stood in front of me, a stern expression on his face and just a tiny glimmer of reflection from the black leather of his jacket and boots.

"Relax, kid. This won't hurt any more than you want it to, and you look like you can take it OK."

I wasn't quite sure what he meant, but was able to relax a little and the shivering stopped.

"I want you on your knees. You can do it yourself or I'll help you."

Then he turned and went back to the cycle, taking something from a small compartment. When he came back, I was still standing, feeling just a little defiant in the face of his self-assertive manner.

"I told you, on your knees. I don't tell people twice to do things, but this is your first time."

Surprised at my own bravado, I replied,

"I guess you'll have to make me."

He dropped the things he had brought to the grass, then hit me hard in the guts a couple of times with his fists and brought his knee sharply up into my groin.

I gasped in surprise and pain, then let my knees buckle as I slowly slid down the tree trunk to kneel before him.

He went behind the tree and pulled my boots back and closer together, forcing my knees wide apart, then tied my ankles with the rope he had brought from the bike.

Now I felt even more helpless, which was obvious to us both as he stood in a commanding attitude in front of me and I stared straight ahead at the growing bulge inside his jeans, just visible in the dim light.

Despite my fear, my own cock was responding by swelling and throbbing against the tightly stretched cloth of my Levi's.

He pushed his groin against my mouth and told me to chew on it. I opened my mouth, then leaned my head to one side and gently closed my jaw on the soft fabric and the rigid cylinder inside.

He pressed harder against my face, forcing the back of my head against the tree, as I chewed on his cock, then licked it with my tongue.

Soon, he backed away.

"I guess you're ready for the next step."

He opened his fly and pulled out his distended cock and swollen balls, then reached down and picked up the small packet he had dropped there earlier, opened it, and carefully rolled a rubber onto his cock. Next, he picked up a small plastic bottle and squirted a little syrup onto the rubber, saying,

"This makes it taste a little better."

By now, of course, I knew what he expected of me and I remembered a few furtive moments during my High School years.

He pressed his stiff prick against my lips, and I resisted for a moment, then opened my mouth to let it in.

The sweet syrup moistened and covered the taste of the rubber, so I licked and sucked on it like a lollypop, enjoying the feeling of the stiff prick swelling even larger as it was forced deep into my mouth.

I gagged and retched as it thrust down my throat, and he pulled it back a little, only to renew the pressure after I had gasped a few breaths of air.

I frantically sucked and licked as he slammed into me, banging my head against the tree behind me.

I thought of the picture we must make -- me kneeling there in my Levi's, work boots and black T-shirt, helplessly chained and tied to the tree, while he, in his black leather jacket and cycle boots and tight jeans stood before me, hands against the tree trunk above my head, thrusting ever harder and deeper into my mouth.

Finally, he gave a gasp and a shudder, squirt after squirt of hot, thick liquid slammed against the thin rubber sheath at the back of my mouth, then he relaxed a little and slowly pulled back from me.

He turned, removed the rubber, wiped his cock and tucked it back in his pants.

"You OK?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm OK."

He reached down and felt my cock, noting it was still hard and stiff from the excitement.

"Yeah, I guess you didn't mind too much."

He sat beside me, slowly stroking my cock, then working on it faster and harder until I gasped and shot a heavy load into my pants.

He untied my ankles and removed the hand-cuffs, then we walked back to the bike, and climbed on.

We rode back to the city with my arms wrapped tightly around his body, my chest pressed against his back and my cock stiff and hard, clamped between my leg and his ass.

He dropped me off at the bar and I walked home, hoping the damp stain on the front of my jeans would not be noticed, to go to my room, strip down and lie on my bed, thinking about the fears and pleasures and excitement of the night, slowly jerking off until a spurt of white splattered across my chest.

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I could hardly wait for the next Friday night, and arrived early at the bar, this time wearing a light blue tank top which showed off my well developed chest and arms, and the tan which came from working long hours in the sun without a shirt. I was afraid he wouldn't show up, but finally he arrived just before nine.

"Sorry we don't have time for a ride now. You want to wait around for later?"

"Yes sir. Any time."

He glanced around, but none of the few people visible seemed to be paying attention. He pulled out his hand-cuffs, saying,

"This should make sure you don't take off. Turn around."

I turned and again put my hands behind me to feel the sense of excitement as the cuffs clamped in place.

He left me there and walked into the bar, and I suddenly felt very exposed and foolish as I stood there for anyone to see.

A few other bikers arrived and glanced at me with a grin, and then I realized that one or two other people were looking at me.

I gave a little shrug and backed up against the wall, hoping nobody would do anything.

After a few minutes, I moved along to a doorway, thinking it would give me better protection from watching eyes, but then, thinking someone might think that was suspicious, I walked around behind the strip of stores to a dark alley with a few dumpsters for trash along the back of the building.

I found a narrow space between a dumpster and the wall and sat there, well concealed, keeping track of the passing time from the chime of a distant church clock.

Twice police patrols drove by and a spotlight flashed past my hiding place as I crouched fearfully, but they didn't see me and drove on.

Finally, as midnight struck, I got to my feet and walked to the front of the strip and stood, back to the wall, waiting.

Several club members drifted out, some again glancing curiously at me, and then he came out, talking with two others.

He just nodded to me and I hurried over to take my place behind him as he mounted and started the cycle.

As before, we left the city streets behind and took to the open highway, but this time two other cycles were with us, sometimes following behind, sometimes abreast, as we flashed through the night. We led and they followed up the dirt track and we all stopped on the hill-top.

I almost protested, but he simply pushed me toward the tree we had used last week, and again I knelt, cuffed and tied, helpless to prevent whatever they might do to me.

The two newcomers hit and kicked me a few times, but not hard, and I assumed it was just to establish the superiority of their position over mine.

Then, three rubber-covered cocks were presented to me, and I sucked and licked on all of them in turn until eventually they were satisfied.

One of them came back and stood before me, a couple of feet away, with his now flaccid cock aimed at my head. I guessed what was to come and struggled for a moment against my bonds, then bowed my head as a stream of hot liquid surged out and splashed onto my hair, then down to my shoulders and chest.

I kept my eyes and mouth tightly closed, but there was hardly any smell, as he must have had a fair amount of beer and pissed several times earlier that evening, flushing out his bladder.

Seeing little reaction from me, the others also came over and poured their offerings over my body.

I had drunk a couple of beers before starting out that night, and suddenly realized that my bladder was full, so just relaxed and let my own piss gush through my cock, soak my groin and run down my legs, leaving a dark, wet stain covering the front of my Levi's.

They untied my ankles, then opened just one hand-cuff to release me from the tree, cuffing me again behind my back for the ride back to the city.

"Looks like he can take it pretty well," remarked one of them.

"Yeah, not too bad, so far," responded another.

We rode back to the city and the others peeled off toward their homes while I was again dropped off at the bar, hand-cuffs removed, and walked home, keeping to shadows and dark alleys so no one would notice the damp stains on my jeans and tank top.

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Next day I visited a hardware store and bought a pair of hand-cuffs of my own, since I had enjoyed so much the excitement of wearing them.

I lay naked on my bed each night, wearing them in front and jerking off, or sometimes wearing them behind my back, and learning how to get them unlocked again by feel.

On the following Friday night, I was again waiting outside the bar in my tightest jeans, a red tank top and work boots. My cock was already stiff in anticipation, and it pointed straight up, causing an obvious bulge in my jeans reaching almost to my waistband.

As I saw the first of the club members coming down the street, I pulled the hand-cuffs out of my pocket and put them on my wrists, behind my back, then stood with my back to the wall, waiting, and several of them grinned at me and made comments to each other as the went inside.

He showed up and came over to me, glancing behind me.

"Where are the keys?"

"One is in my back pocket, sir, the other is hidden outside my house with my other keys."

"I'll keep this one for now."

He reached into my pocket and removed the key, tossing it in his hand a few times and putting it into his pocket.

He went into the bar, and came out a few minutes later with a paper bag.

"Come around back."

I followed him around to the back of the block of stores into the shelter of one of the dumpsters, where he took a bottle of beer out of the bag, opened it and held it to my lips. I took a long drink, then another, and a little dribbled down my chest.

"We're not supposed to bring any of this outside, but I guess you can use it, and no one will notice."

I finished the bottle, and then a second, feeling a little bloated and uncomfortable at having to drink them both so quickly.

Turning to go back to the bar, he said,

"I'll see you here, after."

I sat down to wait, hidden by the dumpster, and soon felt the need to piss, forced by the two beers I had just been given on top of two others I had drunk at home before coming out. I squirmed and wriggled, trying my best to hold it in.

I thought about walking home to get the other hand-cuff key, release my wrists long enough to take a leak, then returning, but I couldn't face all that, and he would surely figure out what I had done.

It was nearly midnight when I could hold it no longer, knelt on the pavement and relaxed, enjoying the blessed feeling of relief as the hot piss gushed out, soaking my Levi's and running down my legs to make a wide puddle on the ground.

At least I would be spared the embarrassment of standing out front, trying to decide whether to face the building so passers by would see my hand-cuffs or face away from it so they could see the dark, damp stain on my jeans.

I faintly heard several cycles start up, then a single headlight came into sight and I stepped forward as he coasted to a stop beside me.

He glanced at my soaked jeans, grinned at me and told me to climb on the cycle.

Again we soared along the highway, climbed to the hilltop where I received his offerings much as before, and then returned to the bar.

He stopped for me to climb down, then said,

"See you next week."

Then he roared off into the night, leaving me standing there in the deserted parking lot, hands cuffed behind my back and Levi's still stained and damp in front.

I looked around, then figured I had better get out of sight, for any roaming cop would assume I had escaped from somewhere. The moan of a distant siren lent reality to my fears of facing a trip to the police station and the embarrassment of explaining what had brought me to this condition.

I walked quickly to a dark side-street, and then headed for home, hiding in deep shadows when I could, keeping as much as possible to the quiet back streets and alleys, watching for cars before I darted across the major streets I had to cross and trying to avoid any of the few people still around this late at night.

I found I was really enjoying the thrill of fear and a sense of being hunted, along with the feel of the tight steel cuffs binding my wrists.

Once I came around a corner and almost ran into three men who started talking about calling the police, but I managed to convince them that it was just a joke some friends were playing on me and got away from them.

Finally I reached home, found my bunch of keys and unlocked the cuffs, but later as I lay in bed, I couldn't resist wearing them again and jerking off as I recalled the excitement of running through the dark streets, so vulnerable and yet feeling so vitally alive.

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Next Friday, I was again waiting as he rode up, with my cuffs tightly clamped on my wrists behind my back. Again, I waited for him, hiding behind a dumpster and then stepping out to meet him as he rode up the alley.

"Climb on and let's go," he ordered.

I swung on as usual, grasped the luggage rack with my cuffed hands and we roared away.

This time, we didn't take the highway, but followed city streets to a residential area, then slowed in front of a small apartment building which had a row of garage doors facing the street with three floors of apartments above.

He must have pushed a garage door opener button because one of the doors opened. We drove inside and the door closed behind us as we dismounted and he flicked on some lights.

I looked around, noting a small car parked beside us, then a few feet of open space before the series of storage lockers and a door along the back wall.

He opened one of the lockers and I noticed a collection of ropes, chains and a variety of leather fastenings which I could not readily identify.

As I glanced with some nervousness at the collection, he asked,

"You've taken everything pretty well, so far. Can you take some more?"

With more confidence sounding in my voice, I hoped, than I really felt, I told him,

"Yes sir, anything you say."

"OK. You can stay for the weekend. Strip."

It was a statement more than a question, but it was my last chance to object to whatever might be coming.

After a moment's hesitation, my excitement and curiosity overwhelmed my caution and I quickly peeled off my clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the floor.

He brought out two single hand-cuffs, each attached to a length of chain, and clamped one of the cuffs to each of my wrists.

Then, using a small step-stool, he attached the chains to hooks in the ceiling above, leaving my arms spread-eagled above my head.

Next, he produced a piece of wood about three feet long with lengths of chain attached to each end. He wrapped the chains snugly several times around my ankles and the wood, then fastened them with padlocks, leaving my legs spread as wide as my arms and causing a good deal of strain on my wrists.

Finally, he brought over what at first glance looked like a very short, wide belt, but as he held it up to my face, I noticed a bulbous projection which he forced into my mouth, then pulling the ends together behind my head he fastened some straps and I was securely gagged, unable to make more than a slight noise in my throat which I knew would never be heard outside.

He attached a short length of chain to my teats by strong alligator clips at each end. The sudden bite of pain made me gasp.

He picked up my boots and tied the laces of each to my balls, leaving them to swing, hurting me.

He stood back and looked at me, hanging there by my wrists, chained, gagged and helpless, then gave a little grin and snortled,

"Don't go away."

He turned out the lights and left by the door at the back of the garage, closing it firmly behind him.

I hung there in the quiet dark, helpless and wondering how long this would go on as the pain gradually increased from the tit clamps, the boots and the cuffs around my wrists which were supporting much of my weight.

It seemed forever, but actually was probably only about half an hour, when he returned to remove clamps and boots and let me down, but using a pair of conventional hand-cuffs to fasten my wrists behind my back, then adding a pair of leg-irons to replace the wood and chains on my ankles.

He gestured toward the door, then opened it for me and closed it behind us as I started to climb, leg-iron chain rattling loudly on the metal circular staircase enclosed within cement block walls.

As I found out later, the building had been designed for tenants who valued their privacy -- each apartment was connected to its own garage by a private stairway.

When I reached the top, he opened another door into a nice apartment with seating and dining areas in the main room facing a glass wall with balcony outside.

Following his lead, I sat on the couch and felt appropriately thankful when he removed the gag from my mouth.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"OK, sir. A little dry, though."

"How about a beer?"

"Sounds great. Thanks."

He went into the kitchen and brought back two bottles, one of which he held to my parched lips as I very thankfully sucked down the frosty cold beer.

He sat beside me and we talked for some time, mostly about my life up to now, as I told him about my job, my lonely rented room and something about the excitement he had given me with our bike rides and last week's run home in hand-cuffs.

Finally he let me use the bathroom, then he stripped and led me to bed, where we snuggled happily together, and I again sucked his rubber-covered cock before drifting off to contented sleep, still wearing cuffs and leg irons.

The rest of the weekend passed pleasantly, with several sessions each day in chains or ropes as he tried out most of his collection of toys, and Saturday night again chained in his bed.

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Another Friday night after the meeting, one of the younger members took off his leather jacket and stood smiling at me, naked to the waist in his boots and jeans, while one of his friends hand-cuffed him behind his back as I was already.

The rules of the game were explained and we both climbed on the backs of motorcycles to roar off in different directions to be dropped at equal distances from the bar.

Each of us had to run back, hiding, dodging through shadows and dark alleys, trying to avoid being seen or caught, occasionally seeing but often hearing the cycles that seemed to weave around our respective routes.

I reached the bar just before my opponent to the laughter and cheers of the members who had stayed to watch the fun, then went on to the apartment for another weekend in chains.

A couple more weekends passed similarly, and he suggested I should move in with him. I agreed eagerly, and soon brought my few possessions over and stowed them in the small guest room, although I never used it for sleeping.

Several weeks later, I turned twenty-one. He gave me some slacks and shirts, which I appreciated since I had owned nothing but jeans and work clothes, and he took me to a nice restaurant for a candle-lit supper for two.

The big surprise, though, came on Friday night when I rode with him to the usual bar, again wearing jeans, T-shirt, boots and hand-cuffs.

While I had always waited outside for him, I could now go inside the bar, and after a bouncer at the door glanced at my ID and made a crack about just making it, I followed inside and down a flight of stairs.

At the bottom, I stopped and a leather hood was placed over my head, allowing me to breath through some holes near my nose, but restricting my sight completely and my hearing mostly, while making it difficult to speak.

I was pushed to one corner of the small space at the foot of the stairs and quickly tied in position. I could faintly hear others coming down the stairs and a door opening and closing, as well as a soft buzz of conversation, but could not make out any words.

After perhaps half an hour, I was untied and brought through the door in complete silence, then pushed into position in front of a vertical post.

Several hands grasped my arms as one of my cuffs was briefly removed so my wrists could be hand-cuffed behind the post.

My feet were dragged backwards, forcing me to drop to my knees, and my ankles were crossed and bound with rope, then more rope was used to bind my chest, waist and legs securely to the post.

Even now I can not reveal all that happened that night, for I swore to keep secret everything that happened within the club room and to obey the rules of the club.

This basement room belonged to the club and the members could meet and drink in good fellowship and enjoy some bondage games each evening, involving ropes, chains and the like.

There was occasionally some moderate pain, but no overt sex within the club room, while all the members were required to use safe sex practices outside.

Before the end of the evening, I was released from my bonds and the hood was removed, so I could be introduced to all the others and receive their congratulations, along with the sleek black helmet which was a symbol of membership.

I enjoyed a few beers, then we left together as the others drifted off homeward.

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Back at the apartment, I stripped in my little room as usual, then went into the larger bedroom, stopped, and gasped with surprise.

Lying on the bed was a black leather jacket and standing before it was a pair of gleaming black cycle boots.

His pleased grin reflected my happy smile as I gently stroked the smooth black leather.

"Try them on," he suggested.

I quickly put on the jacket and boots, then went to get my helmet and put that on as well. The fresh leather smelled and felt wonderful on my bare skin.

I must have looked ludicrous in helmet, jacket and boots, but no pants, but I was too happy to care.

He guided me gently to the bed, where I lay face down while he attached cuffs and chains to my wrists and ankles and adjusted them snugly, leaving me spread eagled.

As he gently stroked my rounded ass, he said,

"You've never had this before, but I think it's about time."

I felt his finger enter a bit, then leave and return with some lubricant which he spread around and into my tender hole.

He removed his own jeans and replaced his boots, then put on a rubber, while I thought of what was to come, knowing I could stop it with a word, but suddenly realizing that I wanted it more than anything I could think of.

His body moved to cover me and very gently he began to enter, a little at a time, as my protesting sphincter slowly relaxed and I felt some gentle pain until he was fully inside me when he paused a moment, then started a rhythmic motion which spread waves of pleasure through my body.

My own cock, pressed hard against the mattress below, stiffened and swelled in sympathy as his pace increased until finally we shot in unison and lay together in our leather jackets and boots, as close as any two people could ever be.

After, he got up and released my chains, then we both stripped and went back to bed, happy and content, to share whatever the future might hold.

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