Biker Mates

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BIKER MATES PART THREE

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BIKER MATES PART THREE

When I woke next day the late morning sun was shining through our tent. Martin was lying naked on top of me, snoring quietly. I could feel where his cum had dried and stuck us together. The tent was full of the smell of cum and shit, his body odour and mine, the dried collected stink of bike oil and leather, stale underpants and bad breath. Night stench.

I reached my arms over him and stroked the soft mounds of his cute soft ass and wondered how his shitter would feel when he woke up. I marvelled at where we were at: I'd never expected ever to fuck him up the arse. In my dreams. I'd never expected him to give it up like that; he'd wanted it so much. I decided I wasn't going to lose him. I'd make sure I had him and kept him completely.

He stirred, pulling at my skin where it was stuck. His hair was glued to my cheek. He pulled his face away, looked at me and kissed me on the chest.

"Hi," he said with a drowsy smile.

"Hi," I said, stroking his beautiful body, running my fingers gently across his back and butt like I might never get another chance. "How are you?"

"Good," he said. He knelt up over me, one leg to either side, with his bottom resting on my lap.

My prick woke up to the fact and, jumping to attention, tapped him on the behind.

"Oo," he said.

"That's my prick," I said. "I'd introduce you 'cept I think you're already familiar..."

He slid his ass backwards and rested himself there.

"Yeh, I do remember," he said.

I wanted it again.

"Sore?" I asked.

He rubbed his hands about on the muscles of my chest, and beat me gently with his palms, playfully.

"Yeh! ...I thought you gays always had lube and poppers by the bed?"

"This isn't exactly my bed, and this isn't exactly what I'd planned for..."

"Guess not."

"What happened last night, Mar?" I asked.

"You don't remember?"

"I'll never forget. I mean what happened to make you... change?"

Martin tucked a strand of hair behind his ear; now everything he did seemed camp.

"I don't know," he sighed, leaning forward to embrace me.

He put his arms round my neck, brushing his rough cheek against mine, and kissed me gently with his bright pink lips. He straightened and parted his legs so that my morning erection sprang up between them, hitting him with a slap. He closed his thighs on it, gripping it and pushing it into the moist hairy cleft of his ass, inviting me to stick it in him again.

"Don't you have any lube then?" He asked, all innocent.

"I might have," I replied.

=== === ===

We hardly left the tent that day and our tour of the Peaks had turned into a different kind of tour: I toured him and he toured me. When we eventually went out to shower and find food the sun was low on the hills and a kind of settled quiet filled the air. The village was dead.

We went to the pub to eat.

Martin was quiet and let me do the ordering.

"Anything you say," he replied when I asked him what he wanted. We stood at the bar and Martin stood close enough to tickle my hand with his hand.

"Go and sit down," I told him.

He turned and went to a table and sat, looking at me adoringly. After I'd made the order I signalled him over to fetch the drinks to the table. I followed him back, watching him walk.

"Good man," I said, sitting down next to him at the table, on his right. I patted him on the leg.

"You're so gay," he said.

I didn't say anything.

He grinned and tapped my foot with his foot. Then he pressed his leg against mine and held it there, touching and shaking.

I took a sip from my pint. "You know Mar," I said, "you're a really good fuck."

He smiled. "Thanks, Mike," he said. "So are you."

"You know I really like fucking you," I said. "Don't you?"

Martin put a hand on my leg and squeezed.

"I like being fucked," he said with a grin.

He reached for his pint but I seized his hand and pushed it onto my dick.

"Leave it there," I said. "I want to feel your fingers pressing on it."

He did as he was told, massaging my packet slowly under the low pub table until I noticed the barman get our plates and steer towards us.

"Ok," I said, "take a sip of your drink, here comes our food."

Martin grabbed his pint and gulped down a load.

"Not too much," I said.

"You what?" asked Martin.

"Don't drink too much."

Martin put down his glass and made way for the barman to put down our food.

"Eat," I said.

We were quiet. We hadn't much left to say.

"How's your food?" I asked him. "Good is it?"

"Yeh. I'm ravenous."

"You've used a lot of energy," I said.

Martin laughed.

"Me shitter feels like it's had a cement mixer driven up it," he said.

Around about then the group of bikers we had seen the day before came in again. There were six of them, four older blokes and two younger. All in their leathers. We were both in jeans'n'tees - we hadn't touched our bikes all day. But they recognised us: Whenever I looked up I noticed one of the younger bikers was always staring at us. He'd be taking a sip from his pint and looking at us over the rim, whilst apparently talking to his friends.

What does he want? I wondered.

We finished our pints.

"Get some more, Mar," I told him. "It's your round."

Martin got up, separating himself from me, and walked over to the bar. The biker who had been taking such an interest in us immediately went and stood next to him, leaned into his ear and said something. Martin laughed.

Martin's face always lit up when he smiled. It was very, very sexy. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at his feet and them said something back. They had quite a conversation. The pints were slow in coming. The other blokes stopped what they were talking about and listened to Martin and their friend in conversation, laughing at the appropriate times and sometimes adding their own comments. It was tedious. Several times the guy indicate me and several times Martin shook his head and laughed some more.

Finally, Martin brought the drinks over.

"What was that all about?" I said.

"Nothing," Martin replied. "Bloke over there just said we looked like Hall and Oates! Remember them? It's karaoke tonight and he was saying we should do 'Maneater'. I think they're gays."

"Oh, you think so do you?" I said sarcastically.

"Yeh. He's saying he saw our bikes. He's got a terrific bike - a Ducati. Fuckin' ace. Said we could take a look. Ducati's sweet. They got everything between'em. One's got a Triumph Tiger ... and a Beemer.. It's like fuckin dream-bike museum out there. I can't wait to take a look. They're off tomorrow. Said we might wanna join their group. Seems nice. They're camping too" - he smiled - "in that other field, the one near the farmhouse."

We has seen the other field but went for ours because it was less crowded, though it was further from the toilet block and showers and washrooms.

"We don't look nothin' like Hall and bloody Oates," I stated. "Or at least... I don't... perhaps you do..."

Martin turned and was about to leave the table again.

"Hold on," I said. "Where are you going now?"

"I need a piss," Martin said.

"Don't take forever."

I stuck my fork in my food.

Martin headed for the gents.

I watched him go. The man that had seemed so strong and straight and desirable when first I met him had become re-sexualised into an entirely different, sensually fuckable and vulnerable male. He was wearing his tight, over-washed-pale-red Honda Bike tee with the little winged-Honda device just below the nape of the neck. I though of the way the worn-thin fabric puckered tightly into a crows foot at his armpit and creased under his pecs, his nipples pointing through, touchable and sharp, clinging to him, stretched over him, revealing all the structures of his upper body. He walked with a mesmerising and inviting twist at the hip. He shook his head to flick his tousled glossy curls out of his eyes. It cried out for a Nr.1.

I glanced at the bikers. The young one was staring at Martin as well.

What the fuck does he want?

Martin disappeared into the door marked with a little man.

For a moment I thought he was going to follow Martin into the toilet. No. He turned to his mates and said something. They agreed with him. Whatever it was, they definitely agreed with him.

I counted the time.... Now Martin would standing at the steel urinal wall. He would be opening his fly right now and flicking out his prick. He'd be pissing now and the pale yellow wine would be spreading in a wide delta before dropping into the gulley filled with flourescent yellow hygeine tabs. His piss would thunder to a stop and ... about now ... he would be shaking the last drops from his foreskin, pulling it back and squeezing it out.... before tucking it back into his pants, doing up, rinsing his fingers, cecking himself in the mirror... and returning to me...

Eventually Martin appeared and walked from the toilet towards our table. The younger biker turned round from the bar and watched him. His eyes were fixed on Martin's behind. He leant back on the bar, facing us, and continued to look as Martin sat down again next to me.

"Did you wash your hands?" I said.

"Yeh," said Martin without thinking. then he said, "My fuckin' asshole's that sore!" wiggling his behind carefully on the hard wooden bench.

"Are you complaining? You can't make omelettes..." I said, "...without breaking eggs, you know. Did you have a shit, then?"

"Sort of."

"I didn't know you needed a shit," I said, tring to amend my visualisation. "That must've hurt. Your ass is too tight," I said, "which is good!"

I was picturing him on the bog in agony trying to squeeze one out. Then I pictured him on his back, beneath me, with a gag stuffed into his face.

"Mike, are you going to fuck me again tonight?" he asked.

"Yea. I am," I said.

Martin twisted on his seat.

"Basically all I want to do is fuck you," I said. "You're best for fucking. There's no way you're getting away from it ever," I said, "and I'm gonna fuck you every night for the rest of your life."

Martin became even more subdued after I said that. Thoughtful, and introverted he ate his food in small careful forkfulls.

=== === ===

Now the young biker Martin had been talking to pushed himself off the bar with his elbows, and strode towards us.

Here we go, I thought.

He grabbed a stool from under our table and straddled it with his big legs.

"Mind if I join you?" he said in a Welsh accent, though he had already sat down. He looked at Martin in a steady way which apparently prompted Martin to speak.

"This is Joe," said Martin to me, quietly.

"And you are Mike," said Joe to me. "Pleased to meet you. Saw you here yesterday. You was chatting up those girls."

Pause.

"Neither confirm nor deny," he said to our silence. "Very wise. So you're the gay one and he's the other way, is it? I'd never've guessed but last night it was plain. You was all over'er wasn't you Martin?"

Martin put a forkful of food in his mouth and kept the fork there, sucking it awkwardly.

"...and she reciprocated... What did you do, Mike?" Joe continued "Waited, I guess. Judging by the sounds coming out of that tent you must'a been quite out'a the picture with waiting. Where were you? Were you cold?"

"Where were you?" I asked. "You seem to have been nearby."

"Oh, we was," said Joe. "We went over to investigate. We was that interested, you see. We had a little bet on."

"A bet?"

"How many people you can squeeze into one tent!" He laughed. "Jacko won. He said it was only two at a time, he said, an' he got the bonus for which two, and who was on top!"

Martin was sucking his fork still in his mouth.

"Martin's quite the raver! We're quite ravers too, ourselves, as it goes. You should join us. For the fun."

"We're kinda still eating, here," I said.

"Course you are, course you are. But afterwards."

"We've got to turn in, I said frostily."

Had they really been spying on us last night? Did Martin and I have an audience?

"Tired you are. Course you are, course you are. But it's only nine o'clock and there's the karaoke."

A couple had been setting up their travelling karaoke gear in the bay window earlier and were now getting ready for the go.

"You must do the karaoke. Hall and Oates! Maneater!" He exclaimed.

Martin laughed.

"Don't encourage him," I thought.

"Martin's up for it. Aren't you Martin? Y'said so earlier. Which is Hall and which is Oates? I never can remember. Either way, I could play the other half if you don't want to, Mikey."

Joe reached across Martin's plate, ran a finger across the back of Martin's hand, took his fork away, and quickly snatched a mouthful of food. Martin didn't move.

"You don't mind that, do you Martin? See, Mikey, Martin doesn't mind it either way... it seems... What about you?"

I was amazed at Joe's impertinence and Martin's docility.

"Have you got another bet on?" I asked in irritation.

"What do you mean?" Joe asked innocently, placing the fork gently back into Martin's hand.

Martin continued his meal.

"Eat up..." said Joe. "You'll need your strength!"

I was speechless.

At that moment the karaoke machine burst into life and one of the couple embarked on an introductory rendition of 'And I am telling you'. It was undeniably awful, but it broke the tension of the moment. Joe leapt from his seat in ecstasy, rejoining his friends who were all acting out their own personal versions of this camper-than-camp Jessica Houston classic.

"Join us when you're ready," Joe shouted over the noise as he departed.

A moment later, Martin put his fork down.

"I'm finished here," he said. "What shall we do?"

I thought for a moment.

"I want to get you back to the tent, I said. I want to fuck you like I did last night. I want to fuck you all night long. And then in the morning I want us to ride out of here like bank robbers - like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid!" I laughed. "Let's go back to the tent," I said, getting up, draining the last of my beer as I did so.

"Hold on," said Martin.

But I didn't hold on. I started towards the door leaving Martin to follow and then turned and waited for him outside in the darkness.

It was a few moments before he emerged and when he did so he was followed close behind by Joe who was holding him by the arm - I could see, briefly in the light of the closing door, his thumb digging sharply into Martin's bicep. Martin wasn't protesting about that. He looked confused, but he let himself be held, like that was his way now... and Joe was a big guy.

The doors swung-to behind them and shut off the light and the noise of the karaoke. They came to a stop.

"Mike, Joe has an idea," said Martin quietly.

"What the fuck?" I said.

"Mikey," said Joe. "Here's what I suggest we do: Let's all go to our tent. It's bigger. There's more space. We can have some fun."

"Joe thinks we can have some fun," said Martin.

"Well, Mar, what do you want?" I asked.

"Well, fun sounds good..."

"Well, if that's what you want..." I said.

"Is that alright?" asked Martin passively.

Joe was standing next to Martin with his arm still firmly in a grip.

"Is that ok with you, Mike?" He asked. "Wha'd'you think of that?"

Martin looked at me with the neutral face he had adopted, though he was obviously in pain from Joe's hold. He looked at me awkwardly.

"Wouldn't you like that, Mike?" he said finally.

Joe pinched Martin's arm so hard Martin winced and twisted in pain.

It turned me on.

"What if I say no?" I said.

"Don't'cha wanna see what we're gonna do?" said Joe with a smile.

I was interested. I liked the way Joe was holding Martin and Martin was letting himself be held.

"It's ok," I said. "You can go. Lead the way."

I followed them both. Joe walked with his hand still around Martin's arm, still squeezing it, still painfully, saying something I couldn't overhear... but it sounded like "we're g'nnafk'you'til you bleed, baby".

The tent was close by.

When we got there Joe released Martin and told him to zip open the door flap, and Martin did it. Martin was taking instructions like he'd been enlisted. Joe stepped into the tent before us; he turned on a light.

"Wait there," he said to Martin.

"Come on in, Mike," he said to me.

I stepped through. You could practically stand up inside. Martin stayed outside. Joe arranged a couple of folding canvas chairs.

"Take a seat, Mike."

I moved towards a chair.

"You can come in now Martin," he said, and pointed a patch of tarpaulin in front of the two chairs.

"Kneel there, mate."

Martin entered and then hesitated, for some reason.

"That's alright isn't it?" said Joe. "There's only the two chairs, sorry."

Martin looked at me.

"Do as he says," I said.

Martin sank to his knees and rested there with his hands on the floor to support some of his weight, his thighs spread naturally apart in front of him.

I looked down on him from my chair. It felt good.

Joe got a couple of beers from a chiller at the back of the tent. Without comment he gave one to me. Then he sat.

I took a long swig. Then I held out my beer to Martin, who was kneeling down, looking at me.

"Take a sip," I said and Martin took a sip before handing the beer back to me.

That felt good.

I had an urge to kick him, not too hard, with my boot.

We were silent for a moment.

"So what's it to be, then?" Asked Joe.

Martin didn't speak. He was watching my feet like a pet dog.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"Well," said Joe, looking at Martin kneeling on the ground in front of us. "Martin, just to get us in the mood, why don'cha give us a little strip-tease?"

Martin grinned idiotically and looked at me to see what I'd say.

"Sounds cool," I said.

We waited. Martin knelt up, sort of playing with the waistband of his jeans.

"So do as he says, Mar," I said.

Martin stood up slowly and awkwardly.

"I'm embarrassed," he laughed.

But that didn't stop him crossing his arms in front of him, grabbing his tight Honda tee by the hem and then slowly peeling it up from his waist, over his hairy navel, past his chest, his nipples pointed in the fresh air, and across his head, revealing his muscular, tough, dark-skinned body. My hands remembered what it felt like to hold him and fondle his bollocks. So did my dick. Joe whistled.

"Oh yeeeeeeh," I said. "That's good."

"Give it some!" Said Joe. "Twist a bit, you know, like a girl. That's it..."

Martin started swaying and twisting his tough biker's body, sticking out his behind, giving it a wiggle, begging for it, and drew the teeshirt off his head, letting it fly.

I was staring at him like he was my next meal, holding onto my chair with trembling fingers. Joe had his hand on his leathers, gripping his crotch in his fist, squeezing it and rubbing it. At the same time he was easing himself down in his seat, spreading his boots.

Martin had such a terrific body. His pecs jutted and his back curved strong as he danced. He rocked his large shoulders from side to side flexing his arms and rolling his hips like he was in some slow-motion disco. He kicked off his trainers and opened the button at the top of his fly. Pushing his pelvis forward he forced his zip down and pulled his jeans open revealing a forest of pubes.

Oh, I thought. He had no underpants. Honey, that's different...

Just then, to my complete surprise, the tent door ripped open and Joe's other young biker pal poked his head through the slot like a ginger haired Jack Nicholson.

"It's me!" He laughed.

Martin stopped mid-move.

"Oi, Jacko, just in time!" Joe exclaimed.

"I've come to collect on me prize, isn't it," said Jacko looking at Martin. Martin was standing in front of him holding his jeans open like a book.

"Uh-huh. Looks like I'm just in time!"

There's not going to be enough of Martin to go round, I thought, but he's mine! I was longing to be alone with him in our tent again, my arms around him, pulling him onto my prick and fucking him yes again deeply. But also I just wanted to be with him lying next to him, my arms and legs wrapped around him, holding his strong arms in my own firm hug and feeling him press his backside up against me and smelling his skin and kissing the nape of his neck where the small Honda wing was placed on his worn pink shirt.

Jacko was a hunk of a man. The youngest of us, I reckoned, but also the biggest. He put one leathered boot into the tent and then drew the rest of himself in and zipped the slit shut. Standing with his head forward to avoid the low tent roof, he let his jacket fall open, revealing a sharp chest, smooth, white and muscular, big abs, big pecs. He had broad tree trunk legs encased in his leather trews and massive biker boots.

I didn't want to be interrupted. Martin was exciting me more and more. "Carry on Mar," I said. "You doing well."

Martin lowered his jeans and his prick flipped out. He wriggled the waistband down, exposing his hard, hairy, rounded buttocks. He turned his back to us so we could inspect his dark, gorgeous asscrack, pulling his jeans off his feet as he did so.

He turned to face Joe, side-on to me. Jacko took a step forward so that Martin's rear bumped into his biker pants. Jacko bounced his packet against Martin's cute buns. He grabbed Martin by the waist and held him tight. Martin didn't move.

Jacko was a huge guy and now he held Martin in his hands, sliding them up and down the sides of Martin's chest. Martin arched his back as Jacko's fingers rubbed firmly over his nipples and up to his throat, down again to grope his bollocks. He grabbed Martin's erect prick and squeezed it hard and tight. Martin winced and held his breath. Jacko whispered something in his ear. Martin pushed his backside into Jacko, mouth open, panting gently. Jacko turned him around and gave Martin a big slobbering kiss. He placed a hand on Martin's shoulder and forced him down to a kneeling position.

"Open," he said.

Martin obediently released Jacko's trousers and reached inside the fly.

"That's it baby," encouraged Jacko, "get it all out. Play with it."

Martin lifted Jacko's heavy prick and balls out and let them flop down in front of him. Jacko was only semi-hard.

Jacko grabbed his cock in one hand and Martin's hair in the other and pushed his dick between Martin's lips. It was quickly solid. He worked it into Martin's face like a fuck hole. Martin's gagged and struggled. Jacko's ignored this and tightened his grip.

But I was amazed at Martin's novice ability: he was a naturally gifted sub. He was gagging and choking but he was coping with being face fucked, no problem.

Jacko took his massive curved tool out of Martin's head and started to slide it about in Martin's saliva, all over Martin's face. Martin stuck our his tongue, long and broad and red, and let it slurp all over Jacko's dick and then all over his baggy ginger balls.

"Oh boy," moaned Jacko, polishing his nob, pressing it down and letting it flip up impressively against his stomach. "That's good."

He dangled his balls over Martin's eager mouth and lowered them gently in.

"Suck 'em properly," he warned.

Martin opened his jaw to its fullest extent, swallowing Jacko's huge bollocks, sucking them and working them. Jacko worked on his prick almost to orgasm, but holding off.

Martin started playing with his own hardon, but Jacko wasn't having it.

"Hey, Joe," he said, "grab the bitch's arms. He's touchin's his self and I don't want him cummin'. I want him on the boil."

Joe had got his cock out and was playing with it, stroking it, watching the action. Now he jumped in behind Martin and grabbed both his arms, his dick sliding against Martin's asscrack. He pulled Martin's arms back behind his back and Martin lost his balance, leaned forward, letting Jacko's bollocks slip from his mouth. Jacko slapped Martin's face, hard.

"Concentrate, you cunt!"

I loved to see Martin hurt like that.

Martin mumbled something and quickly resumed working Jacko's gear as hard as he could. Jacko grinned in satisfaction and stroked Martin's hair kindly and smoothed his face where he had slapped it. He put his fingers in Martin's mouth and played with Martin's tongue whilst Martin's tongue coddled Jacko's balls.

Joe, meanwhile, had the other end, his hands full with holding Martin's wrists. Now he slid his cock into Martin's still tight, still sore, wet ass.

So now Martin was being played by these two fucking massive Welsh rugby bikers: pale, ginger, steroidally muscular and powerful, horny like fuck, and full of cum. I was left watching like a dumdum while the man I was in love with was being used like a sex doll. I didn't leave my chair from the moment I sat down, eaten by a desire to watch Martin being boned by the relentless Welsh guys, and aching to have him back to myself for my own private use - or at least to get some of the action... But, like I said, there wasn't enough of Martin to go round. With frustration and enjoyment I watched the boys abusing Martin; I was going spare. Joe's thick dick was slowly driving its way up Martin's hole and Martin was gagging on Jacko's nuts.

Jacko dragged his bollocks out of Martin's gob, dripping with spit and vomit, and tucked his prick into Martin's face before he could draw breath - ramming him deep. Martin was probably in so much pain and discomfort he didn't know what was happening, or perhaps he did. He choked on Jacko, which made Jacko pleased - he simply rammed him harder - and meanwhile Joe was ramming him from the other end. They got some rhythm, both ramming in and then both pulling out, so Martin was being rocked, held, beaten and fucked like a piece of steak by two in-out ramrod machines.

The boys were starting to peak. They leaned forward towards each other, big gooey tongues stretching out, and Joe, forgetting Martin's arms, put his hands round Jacko's neck, and his tongue down Jacko's throat and they just held that position, locked and perspiring, as their bodies jerked in climax, dicks burying deeply into the object between them.

Their turbulent orgasms had Martin chocking, struggling and choking, on their juice. He moved some of his weight onto his knees; with one hand he grabbed tightly onto Jacko's leather trews so that they were pulled down, revealing Jacko's large, hard, white buttocks. With the other hand he began frantically working his own abandoned stick... but what with Jacko's cum engulfing his neck and Joe's engulfing him from the other end, and their deep, oblivious snogging, he was left unsupported and unsteady. He couldn't wank himself off before the boys had ceased jerking their loads into his body and pulled out of him. All three were panting and exhausted. Martin just collapsed on the floor holding his prick ineffectually. The boys stepped over him and continued snogging, squeezing out the last of their dripping dicks out onto Martin's heaving back. They were snogging and drooling like animals, holding each other's faces, chest to chest, groping and gripping and clambering their boots over Martin for lust of each other's flavour. Martin was kicked away in a discarded heap like just a piece of junk they had used and filled and used and all used up.

After a moment, Martin crawled towards me, jerking himself in a fist of cum and assjuice.

I was in an abusive mood, sexually angry and hyped out.

"Yeh fucker," I said. "You piece of shit."

The boys stopped kissing suddenly and looked at me. "Oi, boyo," said Joe, "you was up for it, weren't you? Said yes. Let it happen. Don't blame the cuntface if you don't like it!"

Jacko didn't speak, seeing my flushed staring face, and the beckoning spread of my thighs beckoning Martin towards me. Hugely turned on by the display of the degenerate, utterly humiliated, degraded property Martin had become; I was so turned on that I couldn't get which hole to start with...

Martin knelt in front of me and started to kiss my boots like he was sorry for something. I deliberately kicked his face a few times and then put one boot on his neck, pushing his face into the other boot top. When I let go Martin pulled himself up to be level with my lap and quickly opened my zip. He pulled my cock out and started licking and sucking it. His tongue was hot and slippery and soft.

I pulled his thick hair by the root, making him gag like he had with Jacko. He put his hands on my knees to resist and steady himself. I simply pushed his head harder. It was cool hitting the back of his throat with my nobhead. I started to want to cum. I pulled out.

Joe and Jacko had gone into a compartment at the back of the tent, like a bedroom, and we were alone.

"Turn around," I said. "I'm going to fuck you."

Martin went to all-fours with his back to me and I fucked him like he was the loser in a no-hope town, where the only entertainment is flogging the horse ...

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