Biker Mates

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ BIKER MATES PART TWENTY-THREE

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BIKER MATES PART TWENTY-THREE - This objekt [CHAPTER TWO : TEN YEARS LATER, continued]

Martin stopped again, to think.

"Look, Mike, I can't remember everything. It's too long ago."

"Well, you've done ok so far," I said. "You remember everything. Every little detail. It's incredible. You're incredible. Don't stop," I said, and stroked his alert, moist tipped penis.

"Mar, do you remember anything besides sex?"

"There hasn't been anything... besides sex..."

He was serious. He put his lips on mine and gave my lips a gentle kiss.

"There must'a been something besides sex."

I stroked his penis gently from the base, letting my finger chastise the grooved underside before slipping off the glans and into the air.

"Don't stop," he said.

I hooked my thumb over his penis at the root and gripped his balls, tickling him just behind the sack.

"Do you like that?" I said

"Yes, Mike, I like that."

I squeezed them. "Do you like that?"

"Yes, Mike, I like that."

I squeezed them harder. "Do you like that?"

"Yes, Mike, I like that."

I squeezed them harder.

"Do you like that, Mar?" I said.

"Yes," he said, "Mike."

For some time I held them in my grip and we were both enjoying it. His lips were hovering millimetres from mine and I could sense the cooling effect of his nose breathing against my cheek.

"Tell me what happened next."

Martin swallowed.

"I, I think that was when..."

His voice trailed off.

"I, I think that, that..."

I released his balls.

"No. No please. Please. Don't. Don't stop. Pl..."

I seized his bollocks once more and gripped them, mashing the slippery eggs against each other in my fist. Martin stopped breathing. His lips touched mine, shaking as I held his hot hairy sack with greater and greater force.

"Mar," I said, "I want you to tell me what happened next."

"Nnext. Yyeh. There... Jez..."

"Jez?" I released him again and he let out a little yelp, like a puppy yelp.

Such a pleasing sound.

I threw myself down into the armchair, spread legged, and popped my fly. My raging hard flipped up steaming, and Martin stared at it like a dog that's never been fed. "Get down in front of me," I said. "Kneel."

He fell to his knees and paws, panting. I reached in and dragged out my testicles, huge and red.

"Smell that."

Martin crawled forward, put his face to my ripe bollocks and inhaled the scent, eyes closed.

He knelt there for some time, paws planted firmly on the ground between my feet, blue back, flower-strewn, straight and firm with a dramatic dip just before the rise of his round and solid buttocks; his arse-valley veered dramatically down in the direction of his exposed and hairy male cunt.

I wanked my foreskin a few times, catching precum in its folds, holding it away from his face.

Watching him sniff me was heaven. I thought of all the lucky men who had been Martin's Masters. Lucky Masters.

'Helplessly horney, aren't ya?' I thought, meaning him, meaning me.

I let go of my dick - it was too close - and put my hands behind my head, spreading my arms and relaxing. Martin stayed where he was, breathing it. My shaft rocked in time with my pulse, seeping gunk and alive with sensation.

"Feel better?" I said as calmly as I could. "You like that smell."

Martin's face just hovered in the heat of my crotch, his beautiful eyes closed, and he nodded. "Yes Mike, I like that smell."

I grabbed my prick again, gently so as not to go over. "Now, tell me."

Martin took a breath, his mouth opened and his eyes opened and the tip of his wet tongue almost touched me as he spoke.

"Well... the bloke said he'd be in touch," he said at last, mesmerised by my hot bushy nuts and my fist sliding slowly up and down my pole.

"Go on," I said. "I want every detail."

Martin swallowed the drool in his throat. His mouth opened again. His lips brushed my quivering curly cockhair.

"It was a long day," he said at last. "In the evening Jez drove me to a place... I've no idea where.

"He got in the van with me and I licked his hands and his feet and he let me suck his cock again and he came in my mouth again. That hurt cs he banged my head against the side of the van.

"When he came he was pushing it so deep in my neck I thought I'd faint and I started to panic but he kicked me in the shin and that... seemed to stop me and I realised I could breath even so, you know, if I stayed calm, and the cum was filling my mouth and running out so he pulled off and let me swallow and clean it off my face and chest and then his prick too. He seemed satisfied with that.

"Then he blindfolded me once more. He put the gag in my mouth. He opened up the back of the van; I could feel the cold. He strung me up, by the neck, you know? I mean... he dragged me over to the door and roped me up there. He literally strung me up, you know, using the rope tied to my collar."

"Is that the same one?"

"Yes. It is. "

"Is that the same one I put on you?"

Was he still wearing it, after all these years?

"Yes. It's your collar."

"How come?"

"No one has ever took it off... It's a good collar. Gunther likes it."

I agreed, "Good collar. Looks good."

I sat up, stroking my hardon with my right hand, and put a finger of the left through his collar, tightening it on his neck. I remembered locking it onto him, with pride in the satisfaction that my claim of ownership was still, in one respect at least, intact.

His day's beard neck roughed the back of my hand.

Martin licked his lips and swallowed and looked at me in case I was about to do something, then resumed his story. "Yehh, so I was almost choking, tied by the rope to the roof of the van somewhere and tight so's I was nearly off balance, you know, but not quite? On me toes."

I nodded.

"If I'd've fallen from the van I'd've been throttled," he grinned.

I let go of my cock - I had to. I placed that hand gently on the back of his head and drew his face right up to my nuts, the hairs and the wrinkled skin.

"Ok," I said. "That's good, just there, Mar, that's right. Just keep talking."

"... So now I was hanging there, like that, balancing on my toes. Twisting and swaying. Nearly off balance. Like a condemned prisoner you could say, 'cept I was stiff, I mean, prick stiff. I could feel the air cool my dick as I kinda rotated.

"An' then there's these voices. That was scary, cs I didn't know who from what, and I jus' kept listening for Jez's voice cs I thought, 'I'm his. He's gonna look after me an' make sure I'm alright. He's not going to let anything bad happen.' An' I listened for Jez."

"Jez never struck me as that reliable," I said, stroking Martin's soft ear.

"He was all I had, I thought, at the time."

"But he's the one put you in this situation!"

"That's why I had to trust him, and, cs there were these voices, Jez an' another bloke an' another bloke, an' another bloke."

"How many?"

"I don't know how many. Five or six, maybe. I don't know."

"That is scary..." I said. The idea aroused me. "Were you scared of what was about to happen?" I twisted the collar again.

"I just remember, Mike, this process. One of them said, 'I think we should cut him down and take it in turns,' but then someone said, 'It's up to Gunther. He belongs to Gunther."

"So that's how Gunther fits in," I said. "And where was this Gunther?"

"Oh, he was around..."

"'Choking the bitch will put it into a submissive state,' one of 'em says, like he's reading from a manual!"

I reached forward and gripped Martin's thick neck, my thumb on his voice box.

"Like that?" I said.

Martin murmured.

"And did it?"

He murmured again and opened his lips in a way which made me want to put my penis into it and stop all this mucking around.

I let go of him and relaxed back into my chair. My right hand curled delicately back round my upright.

"You never saw these men?"

"Well not at the time. Later, I mean, I never was sure, when, you know, Gunther had men round and I served for them, and I'd see them, though not to look straight at them but just in the course of things, when I'd suck their cocks or lick their balls or their feet or their arseholes, or they wanted to play with me or hurt me or somethin', or serve them, you know, like refreshments or food or they'd piss in me... I thought I recognised one or two. I'm not sure. Cs they all had different cocks, didn't they? Different styles, different interests... if you know what I mean. Sexual interests. But that was back in Germany and I'm not sure how many of them were German but I think that most of them were..."

He swallowed. And then he thought about what he had just said - I could see it on his face - and then he started laughing.

"They..." he laughed, "they seemed German!"

We were both laughing.

"I think they'd come over with him, like on holiday - some kind of German fag biker gang weekend bender!" And then we were both laughing and laughing and laughing. Like drains! For a brief moment there it was like we were just mates again in the chippy taking the piss and arsing around. Relaxed. Just as well, cs we were both nearly to cum. My penis was swollen and bolt stiff. His was poking forward like a gun.

"Germans are funny!" I said.

He laughed and almost choked; snot shot out of his nose onto my nuts and he apologised and laughed again. And when he stopped he ate the snot out of the hair on my nuts and then he laughed again, licking his lips and licking my nuts and then the laughter started to subside. His head still between my knees, inches from me, staring, mesmerised, at the blood stuffed pike held carefully in my fingers he became quiet again and then, all of a sudden, typically, he was sad.

I smiled.

I grabbed him and pushed his face into my balls and he sucked for a bit, the rough of his face scratching my soft scrotum, and when I leaned back and released him he stopped again and said, distractedly, "Even when I'm clean I'm dirty."

"What's that mean?"

"That's what they said, the Germans. They said I'm dirty even when I'm clean. They looked at me and said I was dirty, like soiled goods."

"You're not soiled goods, Mar."

I nudged him with my foot.

"Yes I am. I was then. It's ok. They liked that. They did. That's what made me damaged and they liked that. I mean, they were very nice. Yeh. Saying things like, 'Oh he's good, hot', an' calling me a specimen an' Jez was like selling me to them, saying how obedient I am, I'm a cocksucker, I'm servile and... I'm... I'm a dirty gay fag and... and how I'm broken and won't have to be re-broken... you know... cs I'm already broken. I mean, I know I'm like that."

I wanted to do more than stroke his head. I wanted to lift him up by the dark cups of his armpits and have him sit it into him, but I wanted to hear this whole fucking story first. I had to hear it.

"Keep talking."

"They said they had to make sure."

"Sure of what?"

"Fuck, Mike!"

Martin drew suddenly away and sat in his heels and looked at me.

"They had to make sure of everything, Mike! Everything. Everything had to be checked. They had to make sure I was a good cocksucker. They had to make sure I was a good fuck. They had to make sure I could take punishment and grovel for more of it. They had to make sure that I was totally focused on slave behaviour and service and unable to resist mentally, menial and subservient and totally, you know, in the place. That I'd be totally willing in every respect to serve my new Master whatever."

"Gunther."

"Yes. Gunther! I had to be broken for him, they said."

"Broken."

"Well, 'damaged', they said. 'beschädigt'. That was their word. I had to be damaged. They agreed on that. They wanted to know if I was really up for it; kept asking Jez if he was sure I wasn't a flight risk; wanted to be sure I was completely broken and wouldn't protest; willing to be owned. All that. I wanted to say to him that I was. I wasn't afraid. I was excited at the prospect.

"But they didn't tell me to speak; I was just being talked about. It was amazing. And I was still spinning, like a pig in an abattoir...

"Basically, Jez said to just look at me, that anyone could tell I was compliant. Well, they agreed. They praised Jez."

"What for?"

"For procuring me, I guess. They praised him for it and didn't know how he'd done it..."

"I don't know how he did it either!"

"Yeh, well, if you say so," he said. "Then they thanked him and said..." He paused again.

"Said what?"

"They said, Gunther should be satisfied, but they had to be sure. That's what they said. And then they said, 'So shall we begin it?' and someone said, 'Right, we begin.'"

Martin relaxed a bit and sank his bottom down between his heels. His palms came to rest on the hair of his broad inked thighs as they adjusted wider, and then, after a pause, he lifted his hands up and placed them behind his head, stretching his torso forcefully into a rigid arch. His body took on the structure of a bridge balanced improbably on-end in a kind of sustained tension rising gracefully from his dangling balls and his dickmeat poking impertinently out of the gloom between his legs, up to his head, then down again through his shoulders and neck; through his bent arms displaying their undersides like fish turning in the water, flexing his boulder-like biceps; through his abs and chest which shined and heaved under his hair and his tattoos, inflating and falling as he inhaled and exhaled, and, superimposed on that, the disturbance his gentle heartbeat expressed in the trembling of a repetitive little shiver.

"So... Jez... released me," he said. "He told me to climb down, you know, from the van - still blindfolded - and these guys immediately just sorta you know just sorta handled me: Their hands, their cocks, brushing me, investigating every inch. They felt in my ears, in my mouth, my teeth and tongue, my hands and feet. They made me walk and kneel and bend forward and present my hole and stretch up and present my prick and my testicles. All for inspection.

"Then they fucked me.

"Took it in turns.

"Over the end of the van or in the mud.

"Fucked my face.

"Came on my face. Gave me plastic cups filled with their cum to eat. Gave me their fingers to suck and made me lick it off their hands and the floor. Made me lick their spit off their hands and let it drip like into my face. Had their feet in my face, licking mud off the soles. Sniffing their socks. Drinking piss from their boots. You name it... and on and on.

"I mean, it's really cool, you know, being like that, just like this domestic animal, like on a farm, just the receptical for all their male fluids."

I smiled and nodded.

"You sound happy..."

"Yeh. I was.

"So that was all good, but it wasn't enough. They wanted to test my CP skills. They took it in turns. Whip. Stick. Cane. Clamps and stuff. The whole shamoozle! At least I had poppers. They weren't cruel. Not deliberately. Well, I mean, they were... but it was for my own good, wasn't it?"

"I guess so..."

"Yeh. Cs I had to be broken. So I mean, completely broken."

Martin turned at the waist left and then right, catching the light differently on his skin and pointing his deep black armpits towards me, first the one then the other, under the cantilever of his elbows. His erection directed itself sharply towards me like a spear.

Martin fell silent and looked at me. Then he said, "Mike, is there anything you want me to do?"

"I wanna hear this fuckin' story you cunt, but I want to screw you too!"

It was so horney, I could hardly breath. But I found myself wondering how much was true.

Martin crawled back towards my crotch on his hands and knees, leant and buried his face in my billowing sweaty pubes and wiped the lot with his agile tongue.

"So you knew what was coming," I said.

"Y'wha'?"

"When you were there and there were all these men."

"I had a rough idea. They weren't out for a picnic. But I couldn't do anything."

"You could have said stop. You could have said no. You chose not to. You wanted it. You wanted it to happen. Admit it."

"That's no problem. Of course I admit it, Mike. It's easy to admit to obvious facts like that. That's me. I'm like that. I'm a dirty guy. I'm basically a slut, a pig." He grinned, staring at the throaty root of my thick cock shaft. "I... I think... I mean, I thought I was broken, but I wasn't quite. There was some of my resistance still left and... I wasn't completely vulnerable, but when they finished..." Martin kissed my scrotum again, a long slow lips kiss. "There wasn't anything left. Once they'd finished, they could do anything."

"Yeh. It's like that. You wanted the last thread of your resistance to be snapped, didn't you? Cs even when you want to comply there's a bit inside of you won't do it, sometimes, isn't there? Slaves try too hard sometimes. Even that gets in the way of owning them. Sometimes the only way is to force the slave to do something which it simply cannot bring itself to do ... and that's when it loses it's sense of self. It's no longer sensible. It just 'is'.

"And you haven't truly broken a guy's spirit until you have got him to do something he is fundamentally opposed to, have you?"

"I guess so, Mike. I don't know. I... I guess you're right. You probably know best what it's like to destroy a guy's spirit, Mike. Don't you? It's something I have never had to do. Have I? You're so top, but I wanted to be broken; I owed Jez that."

"Owed?! Owed what?"

"Like I've already said, Mike: Gratitude. Thanks. I felt this gratitude. I've already said. I owed him cs he'd taught me, about, basically, you know, what I am. What it is. I wanted to pay him back an' that's only one way: By going all the way for these men, being their good slave, being their good boy, being their good slut; I did everything they told me. I wanted to go ... further than I could go for these men. I, I wanted to go ... further than I could go for these men. I mean, it means, wanting to go ... as far as it went."

He paused.

"To go as far as it went..." I repeated.

"Look, Mike, I can't explain. All I can say is that I wanted to go as far as it went... I just wanted to go as far as it went."

"And you didn't care how far."

"I didn't know how far.

"Anyway... I guess I passed the test cs they was well happy at the end of it... They'd all cum in me one way or another. They'd all committed some abuse in some way. I knew them all by their marks. They all contributed to me til I was... cs they had all cum in me... one way or another."

Martin stopped talking completely. He stared at nothing for some time, like he was remembering; I could almost see the scene replaying on the glossy surfaces of his dark eyes.

"... One way or another..."

"Aaand, well, I was completely sore and literally, shaking, and shaking and shaking and, shaking and, you know, floods of tears. Really upset. Really sorry. Shaking. Shaking. I was in a right state. I could hardly catch my breath and I couldn't stop crying and I'd yelp if they touched me or anything and I curled up and licked the concrete floor... cs ... well ... I was that upset ... I was licking anything I could find cs, like it, might... help or something. Make it stop."

"Naturally!"

"Yeh," Martin laughed, "Naturally!

"But not like in a stop-word way. It wasn't to say stop. It was just... I... ...I was that close... I was losing control... of myself... physically. I wanted to show that I was sorry and that I was grateful and that I was really really trying and that I was... It wasn't to say stop, Mike, it was to say sorry, Mike, I just wanted to say that I was sorry, sorry, sorry."

"Did you feel it? Did you notice? I mean, were you conscious of the precise moment when you snapped and you broke... When you lost it?"

"No. It's not like that. You aren't conscious. The whole point of the exercise is that you aren't conscious."

"No I guess not."

"You become nothing. A receptacle for the male fluids, a servant, an anus and a cocksucker."

"I guess..."

"But then, then was this best bit, Mike, cs then I felt these new hands from another bloke I didn't recognise from before, different feel, different smell... and he just like suddenly he was there and I was like collapsed in the dirt an' he grabbed me and held on and said, 'There, there.' And I immediately knew. And I said, 'I'm sorry, Sir.' And he just said, 'It's good to be sorry.' His hands on me felt... immediately, like, yeh, this is it, this is the finality, this is the end.

"I mean, I know his voice now," he went on, "but I didn't then. Gunther's voice. Really dominant, dark voice, like chocolate chip, tree bark, toffee, tyre tracks, crocodile. D'you know what I mean?"

I didn't respond. I didn't have a clue what he meant.

"Yeh, I know his voice now, my Master's voice: I'm his property. He said, 'Hold on to me, objekt; hold on property', an' I did. I held on to his amazing powerful shoulders like, like... 'Objekt': That's his name for me. That's what he always called me. Objekt, meaning 'Property'. That's the German word. And everyone else calls me, 'Gunther's Objekt', 'Gunther's Property'."

"Objekt," I repeated. "Sexy."

"It's great! I mean, and to be completely owned by some guy who has actually, you know, come up with the means, the power, the intention, the understanding, the strength. Like you say, it's the willpower of another man to own your powers of resistance. It was amazing. It still is. It's fucking fantastic. I'm so lucky."

"Wow," I said, fingering my rod. "That is so fucking horney."

Martin nodded and smiled like an angel who has has just returned to Heaven after a long walkabout.

"I don't know what it is. I just get this feeling of incredible excitement when I am with him. Especially when I'm kneeling."

It made me want to hurt Martin in some way. Like with a branding iron, or some massive hammer, or leave him in a cellar to starve. Martin suffered so beautifully.

"Yeh," he said, "yeh, an' Gunther said, 'I'd like to thank you Jez for bringing this to me. This objekt. You can now consider your marker wiped.'"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++ END OF PART TWENTY-THREE