+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ BIKER MATES PART TWENTY-FIVE
THE USUAL WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS TALE.
KEEP WOOD! AND IT IS VERY NICE TO RECEIVE YOUR COMMENTS. PLEASE CONTACT sharper@inorbit.com SEARCH NIFTY FOR sharper@inorbit.com TO READ OTHER TALES BY ME.
REMEMBER TO MAKE YOUR DONATION TO WWW.NIFTY.ORG !! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
[Spoiler : This is the final part of Biker Mates - assuming, that is, there is no public outcry! Please let me know if you have enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.]
BIKER MATES PART TWENTY-FIVE - Any questions. [CHAPTER TWO : TEN YEARS LATER, continued]
I can't stop masturbating. Can you?
===
I said, "I said, Lick my nob."
He did. He sucked the hot tip into his lips. The whole red thing disappeared into his head and juddered to a stop in the passage of his neck like a red submarine docking for a re-fit in some Dr.No-like complex. He dropped his jaw to accommodate it. I felt the juice rise almost to the point of exploding out. He stayed there, motionless for some seconds, sensing the degree of stimulation I could endure, managed to swallow a bit and then ever so slowly raised his head, letting my gigantic hardon reemerge like a huge glistening solid worm, blood-red from the deep of his tightly controlled lips.
Now, that's professionalism.
I sat forward. I pushed his head off my erection with a hand against his forehead. I was shaking with excitement.
I pinched hold of his sandpaper chin. "Come here." I angled his head up, pulling him towards me. He supported himself with his hands beside my thighs, just above the knees, and I put my hands, like boat hooks, into the thick wet hair of his pits, heaving him as he knelt up on the sheets, legs astride my waist. He bent forward, laying onto my chest, and I kissed him; his face stank of my sex, where he'd been buried in my groin, the smell.
His chest and my chest fastened like moulded plastic.
He reached his tongue into my throat, at the same time resting his weight on me, and closing his thighs in a tight trap around my rock hard penis. He massaged it against himself, pleasuring himself, and reaching his tongue even deeper into my mouth, grunting and moaning with passion and desire.
He lifted his head away, dribbling a row of spit, staring into my eyes for a mirror of his excitement. My hands felt the small of his back and pushed. My erection forced further up. His arms were around my head.
"Please, keep ... yes," he said, forcing his arms around my neck and driving his perineum repeatedly against my dickhead. I knew it was entering him.
He groaned and flexed his body across me, gripping tighter until I thought he'd climaxed but then he just allowed himself and myself to relax slightly, and then the moment subsided just enough...
... and then he was just panting gently ...
... and then he lifted his face away, partially, to speak ...
"... and then, Gunther often says, 'Do you have any questions?' Like I'd have any questions!" he laughed awkwardly, sweating, lips touching mine as he spoke, "but he wants me to ask. He won't tell me anything as such; generally, he just says that: 'Any questions?' and I have to, like, guess. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but it's the hottest thing, cs I have to, like guess and see if he likes what I come up with. I'm trying to read his mind and I'm trying to think exactly what he wants me to think and I'm imagining all sorts of things and, like, you know: They're all hot!"
Our chests were pressed together and our rough men's faces rubbed as he spoke, our lips grazing or his cheek on my cheek. And always, my cock. My hands played with the feel of his back: skin, hair, muscle.
"... so what sort of questions do you come up with?" I whispered, pressing myself into him and wondering, wasn't this the BEST way EVER to keep a slave excited and alert, willing, subservient and controlled?
"Well, it depends," said Martin. "I might ask him if he would like me to suck his cock, for instance. I might ask him that. That's an easy one, 'cept, bad example cs he always does want me to suck his cock - that's the default position, but I might ask, What is your favourite form, your favourite way to punish me? That's a good question. And then he would say, 'What for? And then I'd have to make another guess, and so on. 'Cept I'd still be punished, naturally, cs that's what he wants. He loves that.
"Sometimes he says, 'That is a good question', and I'm none the wiser, or he says 'That is the correct question', and I still don't have a clue."
Interesting, what he was saying. I'd have to try Karol with this technique! It'd be cool to see what he comes up with...
"Oh, and sometimes he says to me, 'What do you want, objekt?' - 'cept that's really the same question, cs I still have to guess. But always I'm trying to think what thinks, guessing what he wants, and that's hot, basically trying to recreate his mind inside my own head. Cs it's like a way for him to read my mind but also, cs I'm trying to guess, he's like controlling what I think, cs I'm trying to imagine what he wants me to say... And all the time there's things I like and I'm trying to guess if he'll... you know ... do it to me, you know, hurt me the way I like to be hurt, or, you know, made to do what I like to be made to do. And he knows it.
"It's like he hands me control but then totally controls what I do with it. So I'm never really doing what I want; I'm always doing what he likes; I'm always trying to, like, fuck up myself for his pleasure. Which is obviously good."
Obviously, I thought.
"An' he likes me to guess so he can reward me if I'm right and punish me if I'm wrong and, either way, he's happy."
I hugged Martin tighter.
"Do you think Gunther loves you?" I asked.
"I don't know. All I know is that Gunther fucks me. He fucks me even when I am tired. Even when my bottom's sore. He has this massive cock and he has to use it every day. He's a cum god."
"So he fucks you every day, this 'god of cum'?"
"Or twice ... or more... 'course."
"So you have already been fucked today by him."
"He fucked me this morning, 'course. Obviously, cs he wakes up well hard, like anyone."
"Anyone with a penis."
Martin laughed.
"And where is he now?"
"I don't know."
"And he lets you go out?"
I pulled Martin's face closer still.
"Yeh. He says I should be fucked by everybody. I am there for anyone's use," He said. "You taught me that! Remember those Welsh boys?" He kissed my lips a few times, gently from different angles, and looked at me.
And then he smoothed my forehead.
"Are you going to fuck me now?" he said.
I pushed his chest away so he was kneeling astride me, astride my cock. I held it upright, thumb on the thick purple vein to guide it
"Fuck yourself," I said, and he dropped himself onto it and I drove it right up him. It buckled briefly and them slid. Martin exhaled sharply, pushed harder, closed his eyes and raised his face towards the ceiling. He was tight inside, tight but easy to fuck; it drove home and I gave it another push for luck and then retracted and eased it in and out a couple of times with my hips. Martin held steady then leaned on my chest and lifted himself until the tip was nearly exposed. I checked him from going further. He knelt up and pushed back down, chest arched, slamming himself onto it with grotesque sensuality. We did that for a few minutes and each time he landed against me it went further up, his balls hit my pubis and he was moaning like the best girlfriend ever moans, holding it and exciting himself on it. He put his hands on my chest and fucked himself on it repeatedly, lifting his pelvis and then bending his knees, whining stupidly each time as it slid through his anus, widened his sphincter, and struck his prostate with force.
"Hold on."
I grabbed him and pushed it in as far as I could and held him tight in my arms and breathing hard in his face rolled us both, laying him down on his back and giving his anus all my weight punched it home over and over again until I was that close and it was making a noise like a gallop and he was silently eyes tight concentrating on staying tight and the pain that it was all about ripping through him.
When I thought that was it I slowed and then thought I'd lost it and then pumped and looked at it sliding in and out and and it was still hard still strong still filling, he opened his eyes and smiled, "Mike. You.
"Fuck.
"So.
"Good."
I turned him round and did it from the back for about half an hour like that juicy cunt.
I got him to dog fours and fucked it braced against the headboard, as I looked down at my cock disappearing into his buttocks I imagined I could see the torpedo outline moving within him like the X-ray of a racing heartbeat.
Still tight rectum still both receptive and responding. It was as good as I remembered, like handling a favourite motorbike, revving the grip. How many times had I been bonking Karol's squishy rectum thinking of Martin's marvellous magic hole?
"Oh man," I said involuntarily. I knew I was about to shoot my load. Ten years of jizzm spewing into his tunnel, backfilling and gushing out. I knew from the way he shook that he had climaxed. Oh baby. I held him and wiped my face across his shoulder-blades. I felt his sphincter gripped and pulsating.
We held like that for minutes. In agony.
We relaxed.
I eased my penis out.
"Don't take it out please Mike..."
I took it out, gradually, and then got up and ran to the bathroom to wash it in the sink. When I came back with a towel Martin was still there, kneeling awkwardly, looking dirty.
"Shower's free. Be quick."
He got up.
"Here,"
I kissed him.
He ran to the shower.
I followed him in, adoring him while the shower played over his skin and he pushed his soapy fingers up into his sore ass, wincing. His beauty sent me into a kind of trance.
===
When he had finished I threw him a towel and we went back to the bedroom and lay down. We may have slept. I had my arm around him. I think we curled up together, like lovers do.
He sat up, freeing himself from me, and went to the toilet. I heard the flush. When he came back he sat on the bed.
"How's your Dad?" he asked suddenly.
I was staring at the ceiling.
"He's fine," I said. "Still going strong. Older. You know. Sometimes... he asks about you."
"Yeh? I only met him the once."
"He remembers."
"I... I thought I saw Jez again, a few years later, in a bar in Munich..."
"Did you?"
"Couldn't be sure. It was dark. Might have been. D...Do you know what became of Jez?"
"No." I pulled myself up onto my arse and looked at my feet. "Nor Wayne, nor Lacie, nor Hud. I don't know what became of any of them."
"Do you care?"
"No. Why should I?"
"They were friends."
"Your friends."
"Jez you introduced me to."
"Yeh'n'look where that led me. I."
I started to weep.
I guess I'd been lying there in the silence, thinking.
For a few seconds I was unable to utter a word. I swallowed repeatedly, trying to master my feelings.
"I..."
I could feel Martin's eyes on me. I could feel him, troubled, concerned, worried, uncertain. He, was a slave after all. The poor blighter was passive in every aspect of his personality. So passive.
"I...
"I... lost.
"The.
"The only thing."
I said, with tears running down my cheeks, hot and creased with agony.
"I ever loved.
"I lost the only thing I ever loved. I..."
Martin blinked. "And what was that?" he said.
You cunt.
He wasn't thinking.
In fact, I reasoned bitterly, this was probably all just too much for him to understand or cope with.
"What did you lose?" He repeated, innocently, and then he said, "Sorry... What... me? No, that's ridiculous." And he laughed.
Was that all he'd got to say?
He laughed.
"That's ridiculous..." he repeated.
You stupid cunt.
I didn't answer him.
"Oh..." I said. "No matter."
"Yes it does," said Martin, "obviously it does matter: You're upset. Obviously something has upset you. That much is obvious."
Was this for real?
"You know, Mike, you take things too seriously. Nothing matters that much. Not when all's said and done. ... After all ..." His list of clichés trailed off.
I took a deep breath and looked at him with something approaching hatred. I was lying down, supporting my head on one arm. My flaccid dick lolled over to one side, the skin wrinkled and loose. He was sitting cross-legged in front of me, still naked. His dick was soft. The skin on his stomach creased: No fat. He rested his elbows on his thighs and cupped his head, watching me, like a nurse, with all the engaged indifference of a hospital nurse.
I sniffed and tried a smile.
He smiled, as if the moment had passed.
"So now you're just this kept boy," he said with a grin, extending one leg and nudging me with his foot. I suppose he was trying to lighten things up, change the subject, look on the bright side, etc.. "A life of ease, eh? What do you do with your time?"
"What about you?!" I snapped.
"Yeh, well, touché! Guess we both landed with our backsides in the butter."
I didn't laugh. I had fucked him now; now I wanted him to leave.
"Look," I sniffed at last, "you should be going."
Martin did not look at the heavy watch he had still not removed from his wrist, but at me, with continuing concern.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Yes I'm sure. You need to be getting back. You really do need to be getting back. Believe me, Martin. You have to go. What about Gunther?"
"He'll understand or he won't understand. No matter." He grinned.
"Won't he punish you if you are late?"
"He'll punish me if I'm not late," Martin laughed. "Makes no difference."
I smiled. Charming.
"Even so: I'm expecting Karol any minute. You shouldn't be here."
"Oh! No, I guess not. Best to skedaddle!"
He rolled off the bed. His pretty bottom bounced as he waddled out to get his clothes from the sofa. I took a breath and followed. As I crawled across the bed where he had been it was still warm. Mar! My beautiful blue arsed boy... My beautiful dark, hairy anused guy.
It took him a little while to get everything back on. I sat and as he dressed I watched him closely. I watched his whole beautiful hair adorned, flowery-skinned, muscle-tight, dark Italian body disappear once again into the camouflage of his garments. The jeans slid up. The blue ITALIA shirt restored itself to the pull of his chest. He untangled his small white socks and popped them back on. One. Two.
When he finally started lacing his boots I thought of him leaving and started yet again to well up.
What would become of me?
How would I live?
Martin stood, patted himself over, pulled his jeans straight, fixed the position of his cock and looked at me with a broad friendly grin.
I stood.
He stepped forward to hug me and I let him.
"Hey, you need to get cleaned up yourself," he said.
I was still naked and covered with the smell of him.
"I will," I mumbled, trying not to blubber.
He stood still for a moment as if waiting for something.
"I wish I knew what's upset you..." He said.
The guy's an idiot.
"Oh, Mar... you cocksucker!" I grabbed his bicep quickly and pushed him towards the door, opened it and shoved him out. No one last kiss.
He tried to kiss me as I shoved him out.
No.
"Just go," I mumbled, pushing on the door. "You need to fetch your bike."
Martin got some kind of point.
"Shall we stay in touch... ...Sir?" He said.
The door still had a gap.
"No. No point."
Click.
I shut the door without waiting.
I needed somewhere safe.
I ran to the bathroom in panic and sat on the bog and wept and tried to have a shit. That helps. My bowels were empty, but I sat down to shit. I wished I had a cigarette.
I sat there for ages, dribbling a little piss into the bowl, staring at the wall, breaking wind, wondering if he would come back and knock quietly on the door. Hoping he wouldn't. Hoping he would. Then I had a shower.
I made a cup of tea.
And tidied up.
===
Do you ever get the feeling that there's somebody you were meant to be with, but you're not quite sure who that person was? I mean, like when you're certain that it's someone from your past, someone you've met, someone who came into your life and then left it again, someone who still exists; someone, somewhere, who is waiting for you; someone, somewhere, who if they could remember you they'd realise that you were meant for them and come running? Someone who, if you could only remember them, you could go and fetch them and they'd realise, and you'd get together at last and make up for all the lost time, watching television together on Sunday afternoons?
Yeh. Doesn't exist. I get that feeling all the time. Doesn't exist. We're alone. We're meant to be alone. That's it.
I once asked my Dad, "Why'd'y marry Mum?" And he replied, "Because she always did what I said."
That surprised me.
===
An hour or so later, I heard the key turn and Karol stepped into the flat. I ran to him, he grabbed my hand and I gave him a hug.
"What's this?" He said with a laugh. "Happy to see me?"
"Why not?" I answered. I grasped his waist and gave him a spousal peck on the lips.
He looked surprised.
"Any questions?" I said.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++ END OF PART TWENTY-FIVE ++++++++++++++++++++++++++ THE END