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BIKER MATES PART FOURTEEN
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BIKER MATES PART FOURTEEN - Tuesday night ctd.
He was funny, more or less, but not my type. It was good because I actually started to feel so un-attracted by him that I was repelled, and that made it easier to get through it.
He had started in the car. His hand fell predictably on my thigh. He gave it a squeeze like, Are you alright? but really meant Will you fuck me when we get home? I didn't move. After a moment he removed his hand. The engine burbled into life and we eased away from the kerb. Being in control of a car made him look masculine and cool. It didn't turn me on. I'm not attracted to sissies but he had command of the drive lever on his black Merc E-Class Automatic, which any girl could do, and I knew him immediately, and he was a bottom. I know the territory so well.
We made the short journey to his building without hurry. We didn't talk: I took out my phone and set up an alarm for the morning. No point in any of this if I were late for Barry after all!
He drove slowly and wasn't trying to impress. That figures: He was a bottom. They think differently. They basically do not think the same. They do not want to be admired. They want you to sit your gear in their faces. They want you to fuck them, and that's it. All he could think about was my penis. He manoeuvred his vehicle into a ramp that dipped beneath the street. A shutter rose automatically and I think he thought I would be impressed by that. I was. I thought, You must be loaded, man!
We glided through the subterranean darkness to his designated spot. The engine switched off.
He turned to me.
"You ok?" he said.
"Yeh, fine."
He paused like he thought we would kiss. We didn't. Then he got out and ran round to open the door for me, again like a chauffeur. I got out, feeling the soreness in my muscles. He lifted my arm to help me. No help.
He pointed. "There's a lift."
We went up to the silver doors. He pressed a button. They drew apart to expose a compartment which was mirrored and chromed and spot-lit like a showgirl's dressing room. He had a card key and swiped it before pressing the top button, the penthouse. I was still impressed. I thought, how much money has this guy got?
The lift started to race. I found it difficult not to look at his reflection looking at me and the expression on his face as he tried to think of something to say.
"You alright aren't you?"
He wanted to put his arm round me. His hand hovered at an odd angle just beside my waist. I positioned my helmet between us.
"Yes," I said. "Absolutely. I'm great."
"Hurts still does it? You'll soon feel better. Once we get inside. Hot bath, or shower."
Soon the doors opened, straight onto his lounge: a long large room with large furniture, subtle light that didn't seem to come from anywhere, and a large glass wall through which you could see the whole of Manchester.
"Christ. What are you? This must cost a bomb."
More confident now that he had at last got a positive response, Karol sighed, "I can afford it. I work for a very successful company. It's a football team."
That made sense.
"I take it you're not a player," I said eventually.
"Not footie, if that's what you mean."
I ignored him. "What do you do then?"
"Oh, boring, contracts, merchandising, accounts... that sort of thing."
"Money," I said.
"Yeah," he said with a broad smile and his eyes twinkling. "It's an aphrodisiac."
"You must be good."
"Must I?"
"I mean, to earn this much."
"It's not about being good," he said. "It's about being good enough."
I saw our reflections in the plate-glass window, two actors in a porn film, his figure moving towards mine. Brad and Jack. Brad you're hot. Jack you're hot. Brad lets fuck. Jack I'd like that.
I wanted to back away. He grabbed my hand and pulled it.
"Here, let me show you the rest of the flat."
He was referring to the bedroom.
Jack and Brad go into the bedroom. They touch.
We went through a short corridor into what you might by now expect: An opulent, diva-ish chamber with another view of Manchester and a massive bed covered in dark, wine coloured sheets. The walls were even darker. The floor was carpeted in dark, dark brown. The ceiling was a shade of grey. Very dark. The city outside was the only source of light.
"Why don't you relax?" he said. He took my helmet from me and put it by the wall.
Brad why don't you relax? Jack I am relaxed. Brad why don't you remove some clothing. Jack why don't you remove some clothing?
Karol reached at my neck for the zip under my chin, and pulled it down towards my penis.
Brad why don't I help you undress? Jack yeah you help me undress.
"Will you let me pull it down!" I said. "Fuck off."
Brad yeah I'll help you undress. Jack why don't you help me undress.
He stepped away from me like I was a pan of hot oil on ignition, but once I'd opened the zipper I started struggling with the shoulders. He swooped back in, behind me, seeing a chance to help, folding back my collar, peeling it down my back. He patted my shoulders and arms admiringly, then helped the leather over my waist and buttocks. I held onto my underpants.
Brad what's inside the kecks? Jack what's inside your kecks?
He came round to the front, lifted my T-shirt up - I raised my arms - and off, revealing my hard chest and countable abs. He stared at me like I was a present he couldn't believe was exactly what he'd asked for.
"My, you're in terrific shape," he said.
Brad you're in terrific shape. Jack I know. Brad take off your trousers then. Jack I'm trying to.
The absurdity of porn had infected my life.
I leaned back, fell down, and sat on the bed, pulling the suit down my thick legs incapably. He grabbed it finally and ripped it away from my feet like a plaster. I fell back. My hair struck the covers. My feet went up in the air and down again. I lifted my head and propped on my arms saw Karol kneeling between my shins, looking all over. His eyes went everywhere like I was a feast he didn't know how to get going on. My chest. My armpits. My legs. My bulge. He put his hands on my stocky thighs, my packet helplessin front of him, and looked up and met my eyes like, What next? His hands were laid so gently on my skin it tickled. My penis stirred and he noticed it.
"What's this?" he asked rhetorically, sliding his fingertips towards it.
"I need to sleep," I said.
Brad let me take out your cock with my tongue. Jack I need to sleep.
I lifted my legs away from his hands, faced away from him, and curled into the bed with a lurch, defensively tugging his glossy purple-red sheets over me. He laid his hand on my waist for a moment, shifting the shiny fabric over my skin with his fingers, and then decided to desist, took them away again.
"Sure you don't need a shower?" he said, standing up.
Jack and Brad in the shower.
I ignored him.
I was conscious he was standing there for a moment, still looking at me, then left the room. I pushed into the pillows and drifted into sleep.
Moments later, probably, I felt him beside me carefully rocking everything and disturbing me with his absolute effort not to.
"You ok?" He said quietly in the dark.
His back towards me, he pushed out his arse. He was naked. He pushed back, all points touching me. His hand reached back and grabbed my stuff in a speculative grip. I wasn't really hard. Not really. I tried to ignore it. He gave me a squeeze. I guess he wanted it. Duh.
Jack and Brad pretend to be asleep. Brad isn't really asleep. Jack isn't really asleep. Jack and Brad start to play with each other.
I was giving in. I put my arm over his shoulder and pulled his face toward me, twisting his neck sharply, like I was committing a murder. I found his mouth and kissed him. His fast busy tongue was like a fish I couldn't catch. I let him release my penis from my pants. He rubbed it against his buns. He liked that and wiggled. I was gradually stiffening. After a while he turned his whole body round and in an accomplished manoeuvre put his arms out and rolled into me, clambered on top of me, straddled me, and had me bounced up between his legs. My nob hit his hole with a boink. It's funny the way a bottom will act like he's in charge when he really really wants it. When he really really wants it he can get quite tediously shirty.
I pressed myself up his crack but he was wiggling about and wouldn't stay still long enough for me to find him. He shifted about...like a ship lurching in high seas, smooching into my face and putting half his weight on my biceps, pushing them up near my ears. The weight of his belly was pushing on my stomach.
I didn't have time for all this. I forced him up with my arms, grabbed him by the waist and threw him onto his back. I spread his legs apart fast and knelt with my prick quivering above his groin.
"Look, do you want me to fuck you or not?"
"Yeah, I want you to fuck me," he said. "There's lube in the cabinet."
Brad there's lube in the cabinet. Jack I'm not going to use any lube.
I pushed his thighs up against his chest, reached down and found him. I put on some spit, held myself tight and poked myself in.
Jack and Brad.
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I don't know why I like hitting men so much or why they like it. I mean, they always complain, and sometimes they protest, but if you hold them down and just do it they become compliant afterwards, and so on heat they'll do anything for you, even lick their own shit off your nob like it was an ice-cream cone.
I think they like the feeling of being completely contained within someone-else's strength. That's my theory. It is not about something as simple as relieving their feelings of guilt, guilt at being alive, guilt at being gay, guilt at being sexual or having pleasure, or something they once did, or how someone once hurt them and they never knew why.
I'm not into guilt. I was holding Karol down by pushing his thighs up against and to the sides of his chest, watching my prick poking in and out of his little cave, each time out and each time in, up to the hilt, my nuts hit against his backside with a satisfying slap and a satisfying ache, and he said, "nughh," each time I hit home against his prostate until I got annoyed and I slapped him and said, "Shut the fuck up with your stupid noises," and he said, "Don't hit me, please, Houston." So I hit him. I punched him hard across the face. I think he liked it. I liked it. I coughed something up and spat it onto his face. He blinked and grinned with the touristic excitement of the amateur pervert.
His belly was wobbling about in front of me and he was staring at me like he was in love. It was making me sick, so I turned him over and pushed him flat into the mattress and fucked his big bottom from the back, spreading his legs with my legs, digging my prong up hard inside his rectum, pressing down against his spine with my fists.
Then I held my arm on his neck so he was pushed face into the pillow and I guess it was hard to breath. Then I stretched myself out on his back and put my full weight into him and worked my pelvis so I was moving inside him rhythmically finally getting some kind of purchase, and I put my head by his ear and said, "Like that up your cunt."
He couldn't speak, but he tried to reply.
Using my hips to slip it out of him and up of him, looking at his neck, I imagined he was someone younger, thinner and fitter, someone I'd get off on. My hips got quicker.
Martin.
Strangely enough when I came, eventually, it was a terrific orgasm that flowed through my buttocks and started in my arsehole like an electric current. I shot loads into his bucket and when I whipped it out I sat back and in the bedroom gloom saw a little fountain of my soldiers squirting out and running away across his ball-sack.
He was tight for his age.
I knelt back and he rolled onto his back, big legs either side of me, wet anus clearly visible beneath his sagging balls. He grabbed his cock and wanked furiously.
"Grip," I said.
"Sorry?"
"Close your sphincter. I don't want to see my boys leaking out."
He grinned like it was a game and his hole shut visibly. The little slut.
He looked so happy.
"Suck me off," he said.
"No fucking way," I said. "Suck yourself off!"
"You're so butch," he said. We were both laughing. I wasn't laughing. I just smiled.
He reached down and felt the cum running out of his hole with his fingertips and then put his fingers in his mouth.
"That's your cunt," I told him.
Then I clambered up his body and let my dripping gear dangle in his face. He sucked on it and after a while he grunted and lifted his back off the bed. He was cumming. I let him finish then raised myself off him, stood over him and looked down: A little splidge of his sperm sat in a small puddle in his hairy belly button.
I grabbed a handful of bed-sheet and wiped it away like an offence. I fell into the bed without speaking. I turned on one side and tries to sleep without touching him. The feeling in my urethra carried on pulsing for some time. I was beat. Now I'd fucked it I just wanted to sleep.
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END OF PART FOURTEEN