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BIKER MATES PART EIGHT
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BIKER MATES PART EIGHT
Tuesday morning.
When I awoke Martin was tight around me, his leg across my groin, pressing my morning hardon against my leg, and his face lay on my chest. I moved, and he woke, raising his head instinctively to kiss me.
He looked at his watch.
"Fuck, I'm gonna be late."
He climbed out of the covers and stood up with the neat, hairy cavern of his bum pointed towards me and his dark quivering ballsack visible between his parted legs.
"Look, I gotta rush. Sorry."
He turned round, looking for his things. Swinging about in front of him, his dick, at an undecided angle, and his bollocks, large, loose and fleshy. That's what I was looking at. He found his suit and started pulling his nude body into it, leaving the rest of his clothes to one side. He zipped up and went for his boots, nearly falling over.
I still hadn't moved. He came over to me and knelt down and kissed me, thoughtless of his unshaven face which rubbed against my skin.
He was still wearing the dog collar; I found it with my hand as we kissed.
"What about this?" I said.
"Oh who cares? ... I like it."
He laughed and kissed me again.
I put my hand on his head and pushed my fingers though the Mohican stripe of hair running across his scalp, gripping it and tightening my hand.
I let go as he pulled his lips from mine. He lifted up his helmet and pulled it over his face.
"I'll give you a call."
He grabbed his other clothes, made for the door, and was gone.
===
I heard the KLX rip into life and growl off. I was left in silence. It was 8am. My day started at 9, like anyone else's, but I could afford to be late. I went back into the house and cleaned myself up. Dad was out cold in his bed, just as well; I didn't want to chat. It was already 9 when I jumped my RX into life and raced off.
As I cycled into town I pictured my hand holding the top of Martin's head by his hair and the feel of the shaved sides of his head under my palms and I thought of the rough-looking assistant at the bike shop. That bike shop guy was well rough. He had a Mohican too, but he was not otherwise like Martin at all. Martin was soft. Martin had an edge, but he liked me to be top. He liked being a sub. I didn't see the bike shop guy like that: He'd got some serious tats, and the nose ring and all indicated a pig mentality that relished grime and disgust. He was dirty. Martin was clean. Martin liked being the centre of my attention; he was a princess. The shop guy was a dirty pig. He was a slut. Martin was shy. The shop guy was up-front. Martin kept his feelings hidden.
As I drove, thinking about this, my dick grew hard once again and I could feel the racing of the cylinders through it where it pushed pleasantly against the seat. I considered dirty scenes I could enact with Martin. Truthfully, with his hair, his collar, and his gaping hole and throat, Martin was already halfway to pig-slut. His neat style of clothing and his well-kept bike, all clean and well-maintained: That was all a pose. Underneath it was an animal yearning for humiliation and filth. I'd be the one to lead him there. I'd be the one to open him up and lead him into the trash lifestyle where he would find himself, his true self. In my minds eye I pissed on him and fed him a plate load of my own shit. He ate it with a spoon, smearing it on his face. He was dirty.
I arrived at work in a frenzy of perverted excitement. I had to go straight to the bogs to get a release. I shot my load against the cubicle wall and wished I had Martin there to lick it up as it slid towards the floor. He'd've done that. My cum slipped into a pale glossy puddle on the tiles. I drew in it with my toe which I then had to wipe. I put the paper in the bog and flushed.
I had to wank several times during the day. I texted Martin dirty comments and he texted back in a similar vein. Each time he did I was aroused and needed to knock out another one. I guess my work suffered: I wasn't concentrating. All I could think about was Martin and Martin's bitch mouth and my prick in Martin's hole and Martin licking cum from my palm, or licking up phlegm mixed with bike grease off the concrete garage floor.
- will i cu 2nite, he wrote. - yeh cum over fuc - cum now!? - save it
I was tossing off continuously but I didn't want him to. It turned me on. Everything turned me on.
- will u fk me - yep to blood - :) fucboy
===
Barry, my boss, came over and touched me on the shoulder whilst I was in the middle of a text. I shuddered in surprise and embarrassment.
"Mike, you've got stuff to do." He said calmly.
"Yeh, sorry boss."
Barry's hand rested on my shoulder for some time. When he took it off it felt as if he'd removed something heavy from me. I slid off my stool and was about to run off, looking busy, but Barry didn't move.
He looked me in the eye and said, "You don't seem to be with us today, Mike. Trouble is there?"
"No, no boss. It's ok. Sorry."
"If you need time off... Well that's impossible."
"No, no, I'm fine, boss, honestly. I'll get that order we was looking at."
Barry stepped back to let me pass. I had to step past him pretty gingerly because my hardon was pretty huge. Did he notice? He looked at me disapprovingly. I was desperate to throttle off another one.
"Mike," he said as I was passing him. "Are you in trouble?"
"W-why're you asking?" I felt red.
"You seem distracted."
"No. S'nuth'n. I'm fine. I'm ok. Just stuff."
"Stuff?" Barry stared me in the eye. "If you need any help with anything, just ask."
"Yeh. I will. That's cool. Thanks."
I tried to carry on my way but Barry put a hand on my arm to stop me.
"Anything at all."
I nodded.
"Just ask."
"I will, Barry. Believe me."
Barry was staring at me. I've often wondered if he fancied me so much that he gave me the job mainly for that reason. He was looking at me now with a look that was difficult to decipher. His hand was still resting on my arm. He just seemed to be looking at me for the simple enjoyment of filling up his eyes with my appearance. I stood meekly still, like a fly caught between a child's cruel fingertips.
I guess I am pretty fit.
Barry wasn't in very good shape. He was of an age. He had let himself go. His shirt buttons strained to contain his belly. His waistband looked tortured. His hair was thin. His skin was blotchy. He walked awkwardly. Yet, he had the strength and cumbersome agility that such people often exhibit. A surprising ability to get things done. A sort of disgusting, repellant, fascinating, charming ability to get things done.
I sure didn't want to have sex with him but I'd long felt that it might come to that if I wanted to keep my job. That gave me a certain erotic feeling of power mixed with powerlessness. Like I could use sex to get what I wanted but that I also would be forced to use sex to keep it. Like a rent boy. Have you ever wanted to do it for rent? What could I get in return for sex?
I wondered what kind of thing he'd be into? Would he suck my cock? Would he want me to poke him with it? I imagined him bending over, showing his fat inaccessible arse. Or would he want to kiss and mutually masturbate? I'd fuck him if that's what he wanted, but I wasn't inclined to get all soft and intimate. That I couldn't do. I couldn't put my tongue in his mouth, not with those teeth, not with that tongue, could I?
Barry's hand was still resting on my arm and he was still looking at me and I was still just standing there waiting for something to happen. My stillness was gradually turning into an acknowledgement of what was happening. I should have shaken Barry off and carried on with my work, but I didn't. I just stood there, still, and acquiescent.
"Who is he?" asked Barry at long last.
"Oh, just somebody I met," I replied, realising that I might have just started opening up.
"But you're pretty serious?"
"He's good."
Barry shifted his position slightly and his hand resting on my arm changed itself into a kind of grip.
"What is it about him?"
"There's lots of things."
"You like him a lot."
"Yeh."
Strangely, I felt my eyes start to glisten as I admitted this.
"Oh dear," said Barry. "You be careful. People can hurt you."
"He's not like that."
"People are like that, and he's people. I'm not saying he will. Just be careful before you go loosing your heart. Not that it matters: You've already lost it. I can see that. And you've been walking around with that hardon for two days - it'll go septic if you don't let the blood refresh occasionally!!"
I laughed and wiped my nose.
"I can't stop thinking about him, I guess."
"You've got a job to do. So I suggest you quickly go to the toilet, smarten yourself up" - he nodded his head towards my bulge - "and get back to work. You're in love, not disabled. Have a cup of tea. That helps."
He gave me a little push and I sailed off in the direction of the staff rooms.
===
There is a staff room at the back of the shop. It has grey walls. There's a kettle and a little fridge. On one of the walls there's a white board; people use it to write training notes and risky comments. Once there was a picture of Barry in mascara, dragged up for the Rocky Horror; it lasted a week. Barry didn't realise it was supposed to be him until someone wrote the word "Barry" above it, and an arrow.
There's also a couple of toilets; one for the boys and one for the girls.
I chose the boys.
Inside the privacy of the stall I quickly whipped my meat out and started to work, thinking of Martin. Martin's face looking up at me, kneeling with me in his face, gripping my shaft and dissolving into it with his sweet juicy rose-coloured lips. Licking it round. Sucking its tip. Deep throating it.
My prick felt huge in my fist. Pumping it viciously I tried to think of a cum-fast scenario. Mentally I turned Martin around and pushed my dick up his furry asscheeks. He arched his back that beautiful way. He groaned and let me slip quickly into him. My prick slid through my fist like it was sliding up his rectum, tight in his interior grip.
But then, my imagination threw a pair of mysterious hands around my waist; they reached between my legs and played with my ball sack; they caressed me gently and tickled me indulgently; they cupped my buttocks and fondled my thighs in unabashed admiration. The fantasy proceeded. I was determined to cum quickly. I had to get back to work without annoying Barry further. Then I realised that it was Barry himself who, in my imagination, stood behind me, pressing his sweaty paunch against my behind, groping me without inhibition, using my body for his pleasure, testing my flesh in his grip.
As my vision of Martin misted and dissolved my mind delivered a clearer formulation of Barry's rancid breath wetting my neck, and the wires of his scanty beard on my neck, his thick fingers in my pubic hair, his grip on my balls, and the slow heartbeat of his penis pressing voraciously. Soiling me with his fingers. What?
But I needed to cum and I hadn't the time to argue with the perversities churned out by my imagination. Here, I gave in to Barry's repellant lust, stripped myself off in my thoughts and bent forward to let him fuck me.
I came, but that was dirty, and put me off chasing my endless eroticisms for the rest of the day. My cum dribbled into the toilet bowl, twisted and drifted down to the bottom of the U-bend. I felt soiled. When Martin texted me next I waited and then said things were really busy. It was past four when we communicated again.
My phone went chingchink and I read, - u ok? - busy day - me too - what time u finish? I asked. - 6 - come straight to me? - yeh ;P
Satisfied, I put the phone away and carried in with my tasks. Barry was no longer bothering me. He had lost interest now that I was doing my job properly. He sat at his desk troubling over spreadsheets and invoices, or on the phone. I spotted him with his feet up on the table, leaning back in his chair, phone under one ear and holding up papers. He was irate.
"You need to get it over here TONIGHT," he said with the calm assertive voice he saved for difficult clients. "No. It has to be tonight... Yeah, 8 o'clock... I'll be expecting you then... Look, thanks mate... Yeah, cheers."
He put the phone down with a bang.
"Mike," he said, "get over here now."
I slid off my stool and trotted over to him obediently.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, look I'm sorry about this but you're going to have to stay late."
My heart sank.
"There's this delivery. I need someone here."
Why can't he do it? I asked myself.
"Aw, Barry, I'm sorta doing something already."
"Like what, lovebird? Look, I said I'm sorry, but it has to be."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"Look Barry I ..." But I couldn't think of anything to say except, "How late?"
"You heard. I told them by 8, but stay as long as you have to. When they get here, check it all in and give me a call."
"What's so important anyway?"
"Don't fucking argue. It's stock for tomorrow's run. The City job."
The City job was important.
"And I want you in early as well, got it?"
"How early?"
"Well not fucking ten o'clock like this morning, you prat. Be here at 8. Can you do that?"
I thought of tying Martin to the wall of the garage.
"Well, it's important, i'nt it?" I said.
"Good lad. It's three pallets of 150. I've written it all down. And any probs, phone this number. It's their man."
He pushed a square of note paper towards me. It had a mobile phone number scrawled on it and the name of a company plus a load of product specs. I pushed it into my pocket.
===
As soon as Barry's back was turned, I sent Martin a txt. - cum 2 my work when ur finished.
After a few seconds he replied. - I tht meetn ur place? - changed. C U.
Then I got on with my jobs, though I was hard thinking of Martin jogging along in the office. I'd make him strip immediately.
The shop I work in has a glass-walled frontage onto the street. That's the customer entrance. There's a desk and stuff, and the security cameras are displayed there on a flat screen the customers can't see. Behind all that the room continues, it's massive, where we do all the ... all the shit, printing and processing and stuff; you're not interested.
By 6pm the place was empty and I was alone. I lowered the front shutters like normal... and to get a bit of privacy.
It was a long wait til Martin arrived. I fantasised every kind of pervert's treatment of him: I had him sitting naked in a pool of my piss; I had him spread eagled over one of the machines, fucking the shit out if him; I had his red ass whipped raw with a bundle of sharp Strapex and the tears were running down his face and he was begging for more, like he was a druggie and that vicious stinging tape was his fix...
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