Biker Mates

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ BIKER MATES PART TWENTY-FOUR

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BIKER MATES PART TWENTY-FOUR - Busy [CHAPTER TWO : TEN YEARS LATER, continued]

"So that's Gunther," I said.

Martin had drawn my nuts back into his mouth and was sucking them carefully.

"Mmm... ...mmm."

"You belong to Gunther."

I pushed his mouth away until my balls slipped from his lips, bubbled in spit, so that he could answer me, but his lips and nose remained engulfed in my sweaty bush.

"Yeh. I'm his property now. He took me straight to Germany... well, not straight back."

"You had to get your toothbrush! You had to get your passport, I assume."

He moved his head back a little more, though he seemed torn between answering me and continuing to luxuriate his mouth on my hairy scrotum. He could only just speak.

"Got rid of everything! He told me I had to get rid of everything. Start anew."

"Everything? You just fucked off? I never heard anything. I could'a been worried."

Martin leaned back, placed his paws behind him and rested on them defensively.

"Were you worried?"

"Course I was fuckin'worried! I was frantic! Not a word? You could'a been dead in a ditch, you fucker."

Martin sat forward once again, looking at me over my nobshaft and my tight fist and kissed the joint of my knuckle "I wasn't dead in a ditch," he said.

"And what about your bike?" I said with irritation.

"Wha'? Oh, I never bothered with that. I told Wayne to get rid of th'fuck'n thing. Anyway, Gunther told me to get rid of everything, di'n'ee? so I did."

"Yeh," I said, with a sigh. "Again, nothing. It just disappeared. Not a word. Wayne wouldn't tell me anything. Just you've gone. Just this 'Lacie say dis, Lacie say dat' shit. 'Lacie say'... "

Martin laughed. "Wayne and Lacie; what a pair!" he said. "Mm, 'She be like...' " and he pulled a face that made me burst out laughing despite myself.

"And Hud..." I said, "another cunt."

"What did he do?" asked Martin.

"Nothing," I said. "Absolutely nothing. Fuck all. Absolutely fucking useless."

We were both silent for a bit and didn't move. Then I just reached out and stroked his cheek, meaning it as if in a forgiving-unforgiving way, meaning it was his fault; and he let me do that, sloping his face.

At long last, changing the subject, I said, "You had such gorgeous hair when I first met you. Then you had that Mohican. That's gone as well. I liked that."

"I...oh... you know I used to play with me hair a lot. The Moho!" He laughed. "Gunther liked it as well. He said it made me look like'n Ossie rent boy. You know, those punk kids who came over after the Berlin Wall came down and tried to make it big in the West..."

"I think I missed that..."

"Yeh, well, they did, accordin' t'Gunther. I dunno. But then the first thing he does with me is shave absolutely everythin' off!"

"So typical," I whined.

"Everythin', I'm talkin' about! He says he will want to keep me naked always when not on the street and he wants me to look neat and clean, he says, not like a sticky carpet! Yeh. So it's like I'm all silky smooth for about a day and then I'm beginning to get rough already so it's more or less constant but he wants to fuck me, not constantly shave me, so we only do it when it needs it, in a big number where I have a proper inspection and he gets the razor and spends about an hour scraping it all off. Or someone he tells scrapes it off. What do you think? He shaved everything. He shaved everything."

"Stand up," I said.

He did.

"Come here."

Hands held behind his back, Martin shuffled forward until his balls hung over my beckoning fingertip and his his knees just touched the inside of my knees spread open. I tickled him, behind the sack, with my fingers, and fondled his balls.

"You like that?"

He nodded. "Yes."

My fingers stayed there, stroking the soft fur on his nuts, searching into the scratchy fold in front of his hole, poking it like a hook in a nostril, and I tugged him forward.

He pressed the inside of my thighs with his knees trying to spread his legs a bit to let me probe further into his arsecrack with the inquisitive tip of my index finger.

All the while my other hand is pulling on my meat and my hardon comes and goes, but mainly holds firm.

"Bend forward. Show me your head again."

He bet forward from the waist and as his head lowered I caught it, held my finger under his nose for him to smell himself, and then wiped my palm across his face. He leaned forward, resting his upper weight on his paws on the arms of the chair, dropping his head so that I could pat it and feel the round skull.

"Free from lice," I joked.

He turned his head appreciatively, scratching my skin gently with the black upright hair stiff under the arch of my palm.

"What next?"

"Er, well the first time when he shaved everything he said like it was to be a fresh start, he said. Start with nothing. Start again. Clean boy. Clean slave. Clean skin. Ready for my new life. Gunther's objekt. Gunther's slave. Gunther's property... but he leaves the collar. He says the collar's mine cs I'm a slave and I'll always be a slave, even when I'm not owned."

"What if I wanted it back?"

Martin froze.

"Do you want it back?"

"Nah," I said, and laughed, fingering it. "It's part of you."

He smiled. Then he laughed, "I haven't been that hairless since I was born... Even then!" He laughed. "Cs I was born with hair... Like a monkey."

I laughed.

"So you don't miss anything you had then? So you don't miss your life, anything? So you don't even miss your bike? You were such a biker-boy when I first met you. We both were. We lived for our bikes."

"Yeh! I got another bike! Much better one! Yeah."

"So where is it?"

"It's... where I left it."

"Where's that?"

"By the bar!"

"What, by the bar where we just met? For fuck'sake, Mar, why didn't you say anything?"

"Say what?"

"Say like, Here's my bike!"

"I didn't know you wanted me to!"

"I didn't even fuckin' know, did I?"

"Then what?"

"Then what, what?"

"What if I'd said, Here's me bike, look. Then what?"

"I... I... dunno. Nothing. I'd've looked it over. You could've driven us here."

"I'm sorry Mike. I thought you wanted to talk."

I could'a punched him.

"I thought that you wanted to talk!"

"I did! But you did all the talking; Karol this, Karol that... everything."

I groaned. "Oh what the fuck..."

"I'll go back and get it," said Martin, all innocent as usual. "I didn't know you'd be interested."

"I'm not fucking interested," I said, picturing him spread over the fuel tank.

"Oh, ok."

"Fuckin' idiot. What sorta bike is it?"

"Oh, it's fantastic. It's a Ducati!"

"Oh!"

"Yeah. Ducati Monster."

"Wow! That's a really hot bike." I'd really, really like to have seen him balanced on a machine like that.

"Yeh. Gunther bought it for me. As a gift. Yeh."

"He's a generous man!"

"Yeh. He's in finance. Well, first he got me a Yamaha Monocross!" Martin reeled off some statistics, "then, when I crashed it, he got me the Monster." Martin reeled off some additional statistics. "Gunther's like that. He likes to give me things that, you know, turn him on, sexy things that make him hard and make him want to fuck me, made to keep me fuckable. Clothes, dildos, toys, stuff... 'Here', he says, 'you go make yourself fuckable', when he gives me something. Underwear. Dog stuff. Restraints. Rubber. Leather. Dungeon stuff... You know, chains, tit clamps..."

"Tit clamps? Yeh, your nips are big. They've had some working. Hold still," I sat forward, reached up and grabbed them once again - tough grips I turned and pinched.

He smiled.

"Yeah. He likes 'em big."

I let them go with a snap and relaxed back into my chair and laughed, "... Ducati Monsters! Presents, toys, gifts... Tats'n'tits. They a gift as well, the tats?"

I pointed at the fine-tuned shading and dark lines, the fronds and curling leaves, and blooms exploding on his skin like the punctuating lesions we find in war films of the countryside in Vietnam.

"They're beautiful..."

Following the paths and plants and Prussian undergrowth verdantly composed across his muscle-tightened body, I had the experience, the sense I had had once before, of chasing, like from aloft, like from an American jet, across the troughs and mounds of his surface, a motorbike on the sinuous lanes round the gently rolling valleys and hilltops of a classically Tuscan landscape.

"Yeh, course Gunther had this all done," he said, proudly stroking his chest with a smile, and patting his stomach. "He's kind. He sat and watched while I had it done. Turned him on. Turned me on. Took ages. He loves it, you know, the process. Always fucked me straight afterwards, still sore. He loved that. He loved the sensation."

Another gift.

Martin rotated his torso as he spoke, illuminating himself differently, and held out his arms, looking at them admiringly like they were someone else's - that made sense. He opened his fingers and spread them in the air with a distant look of satisfaction.

On his wrist, that heavy watch he did not remove.

Another gift.

He dropped his arms to his side and was silent, facing me whilst I fondled my meat, watching him. His dick was still stiff but he did not touch it.

"Put your hands behind your head. I like that.... Good. That looks nice. Stay like that."

In the pause that developed he seemed to find inspiration. "Gunther has this strange shaped plastic bottle with, it has lots of like twists and chambers and sometimes he likes to cum in it or get somebody to cum in it and likes me to drink it out and that takes ages cs I have twist and turn it about to let it drain into my mouth and he likes to watch that. And of course I like that cs I get to eat lots of cum of other people's and he watches me as I try to twist and turn to get it to dribble into my mouth and some times I have to use my fingers for the last bit and I like that cs he watches me. And I like that. I like that he watches me."

"Did you like that?"

"Yeah. I mean, he used to give me my cum in an old jam jar or a mug or my bowl but then I think someone found this bottle and he bought it off 'im."

Another gift.

"He likes it cs I have to twist it about to get all the cum out... He likes that."

"He's got you your own dog bowl?"

Another gift.

"That's how I eat normally. I eat from the floor like I should. I can't use the plates. Normally. Only sometimes for cum he hands a mug round and they cum into it and I eat from that but even that like nowadays for eating cum I use the plastic bottle."

"Now I'm picturing you in a cage waiting to be fed man-cum."

"To sleep in, I have a cage as well."

Another gift.

"But that's not always for sleeping in cs mainly, well, it's complicated. Sometimes Gunther wants me by him, sometimes not. Sometimes it's like you said, a slave cage for waiting in and waiting to be fed or... abused or whatever. I wait there for him if there's nothing else's happening. So, yeh, course I have a cage. Have to. Slave cage, like a kennel, where I can be displayed as well if he feels like it. Fed and looked at and poked by guests, and fed cock, through the wires. So, yeh, right, course I have a cage. Have to."

He laughed nervously.

"He keeps me naked," he added.

"Who wouldn't?" I said.

"Put your head back here, Mar," I said, pointing at my ball-sack. He nodded, knelt one leg at a time, folded his arms back down, put his paws, the knuckles of his fists back on the ground and leaned his head in towards my crotch, mouth open and soft with wet. He nodded, brushing his lips against me, kissed me on the piece of pimply skin stretched between my two swelling nuts.

"And what happened about your job?" I asked, wanking slowly.

He looked up. "What about it?"

"You had such a good job at the BBC. Prospects."

"Oh I never went back to that shit hole. Who cares? I chucked that, fucknwaste'a'time. 'Good job'? It wasn't that good a job. Kept me outa trouble... for a time."

"Well paid..."

"Not bad, I suppose."

"Pension..."

"Like I care. I was mainly a run-around. I didn't care. I was hopin' it'd lead somewhere but it wasn't. Bunch of poncey wankers. Gunther told me to quit. Told me I didn't need the fuckin' BBC. He was right. I just never went back. I went on to Germany, with Gunther, obviously," he laughed, "cs Gunther told me I had to go there cs that's where he lived, lives, obviously, so that was that."

"So you have never regretted the choice that you made? You just did what Gunther told you? You just went off with Gunther, just like that, drop-of-a-hat? You just gave up on your whole life?"

"Why not? He owns it."

"He'd only just met you! He'd only just taken you like that and... but it's not like any if this was real, like he really owned you. It was pretend, 'obviously'. It was fantasy. You didn't 'pay' for Jez's 'marker', whatever that was. You just went along."

"No!" said Martin looking directly at me for once. "I was sold! 'Objekt' equals 'Property'. Gunther was my new owner. He still is."

"You didn't have to be 'sold'. You were free to do as you liked. You still are."

He pulled his head away in protest.

"Martin!"

This was pointless.

"No. No. Don't you understand? I HAD to be sold so that Gunther would OWN me. It wasn't pretend. Nothing is. I was sold, well, exchanged for the marker. Ownership transfer. I went from being in Jez's ownership to being in Gunther's ownership."

"And what WAS this marker?"

"Ah, well, that I do not know. All I know is what I heard, and it was Jez owed Gunther for something."

"What'd 'you think it was for?"

"Dunno, but I suspect... I suspect it was something like Jez took something and then couldn't give it back."

"Like an objekt?"

"Quite possibly."

"Yeh, well, Jez was a liar. And a thief. And that what you just said, that makes NO sense. It's bollocks!"

"You're right, Mike. It makes no sense. I don't know. Mike, all I know is I was passed on, you know, and that made enough sense for me, at the time. I mean, I started out as yours, then - "

"Mine?!" I interrupted.

"I belonged to you, Mike. But you -"

"You did as you liked!"

"I did what you wanted. Who handed me to Jez? You did. I didn't ask why. And then Jez handed me on, to Gunther. For a debt. An' that's how it is."

Martin was sitting up now, breathing heavily.

"I mean, I was lucky he wanted me."

"Jez was the lucky one," I sighed.

"Jez always knew that he would accept me as payment."

"So now you were just this parcel, in your mind, with no rights. And none of this ever got to you?"

"Why should it?"

"You weren't being given many choices."

"I wasn't being given any choices, Mike! Can't you listen? There's no such thing as choices, Mike. No such thing as freedom of choice. There's no kind of freedom like that. No freedom to choose, I don't believe. That's life. Only the freedom you are given by others, and that's the freedom to obey, to be obedient, to be a slave, to serve, and... to be a slave to another man for the rest of your life, like I am. That's how it is. You know that."

"There's only one kind of freedom," I interrupted, "the freedom YOU choose. Not the freedom you are given. And there's only one kind of slavery, the slavery you inhabit in your own mind. You take it with you everywhere."

I was turned on, fascinated and frustrated by the absurdity of it all.

"All this Master-slave stuff is bollocks!"

"I know," said Martin in a downcast sort of way. "I know. You're right, of course. Of course you're right, but you're a, you're a natural Top. For you it's... it's completely different. I don't have any choice. That's all. Sorry to say," he said with a smile.

He knelt forward forward and kissed my feet.

"Like that," he said, as if that was anything.

"Do that again," I said.

He knelt forward and kissed my feet. He knelt with his face on my toes gently kissing and fondling with his lips and licking like a cat.

I sat forward and reached down and pushed my finger into his mouth. He sucked it. I hooked him by the cheek and pulled his head back to where I wanted it, on top of my gear, and made him, let him, sniff my balls again. They were still wet from where he'd been licking.

I pushed his face into me and for some time watched him at it, nuzzling and sucking.

"Hey, Mar," I said, "let's go to the bedroom.

Martin stood up and turned to look for the door.

We went to the bedroom.

He crouched on the carpet as before.

I undressed.

I lay on the bed and opened my legs.

I told him to worship me some more and he clambered onto the sheets.

When Martin licked my balls it was like a dog licks: Obsessively, repetitively and constantly dragging his scarlet tongue, dribbling and wet, across the prickly surface. Fondling my balls with his lips, sucking them into his mouth and pulling on them, teasing them. I wanked my cock slowly, playing with it, not letting it go too far, not losing it.

"So you never said," I said, "'Just hold on a minute!', and walk away... ...cs, in your mind, it wasn't your decision..."

Well, it wasn't a question, and he didn't reply. He soaked my pubic hair and reddened his mouth on my stuff.

I went on, "...So now you belong to someone else? But now you're here, kneeling in front of me and worshipping my fat steamy bollocks."

He grunted, mouth full.

"Won't he mind?"

"Nn-nnrr," said Martin through his nose.

'None of my fucking business,' I thought, leaning back.

Martin was busy.

'I guess he's just mine to enjoy, at long last.'

++++++++++++++++++++++++++ END OF PART TWENTY-FOUR