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BIKER MATES PART SEVEN
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BIKER MATES PART SEVEN
That only was Monday night. Seems like a lifetime ago now.
As we lay panting on the mattress I heard a gentle knock on the garage door and a voice calling my name.
"Mikey? Mikey! Are you coming in, son?"
Christ, it was my old Dad!
I pulled myself out of Martin's grip and rolled over to face the door.
"I'm with a friend!" I shouted.
"Mikey, open the door!"
I glanced at Martin. He was staring hard at the door like it was about to burst and let the Wrath of Doom fly in.
"Don't let him in."
"Hey, he's cool, Mar."
I gave him a peck and stood up. There was nothing much to cover him up with, so I threw him his kit and a towel... he would have to be quick.
"Hold on, Dad."
I dragged my trews up, stuffed my blokes in and then, pulling my zip, jumped towards the door. I opened it ajar. The rush of cool air hit me in the chest and face. Dad looked at me with annoyance, his grey hair smoothed down under the hand he held there, on top of his skull, like a hat.
"What the hell are you doin' there, Mikey? The whole neighbourhood's woken up."
"Dad," I sighed, "don't exaggerate."
"It's after midnight, son."
He's so much shorter than me. He looked up at me with the panic of a boy who had lost his plimsoles. He lifted his hand off his head and held the palm up to my face, as if it meant something, and then let it drop to his side, exasperated.
He tried to look round me.
"What the fuck's all that noise, Mikey? What are you doing in there?"
Like he didn't know.
After his attempt to see in he now looked straight at me, like he no longer wanted an honest answer.
"We're just horsing around."
"Yeh, well, keep it down, son."
He paused.
"You got a friend, is it?"
"Yeh."
"New one?"
"Yeh."
"Bring him in, I've got some dinner left."
"We just ate."
"What's that?"
"Fish'n'chips."
"Oh, that's fine. Bring him in anyway. I'll make yous some tea."
"It's late."
"Well I fuckin' know that don't I? People are sleeping already. You're waking them up."
"Dad, I don't think we were making that much noise."
I remembered Martin's screaming performance with satisfaction. If he woke up some people ... was it that loud? Dad was just lonely and bored. You can understand that, can't you?
"Look Dad, I'll come in. He's just leaving."
"There's no need," said Dad, sadly.
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Hi there Mr Shannon," said Martin behind me, making me turn quickly, I bumped into him. That was confusing. Martin was wearing his leather suit. He'd rushed it on and you could still see his hardon pressing inside. The zip was caught halfway up his chest and he struggled with it with his right hand. Out of sight, his left hand grabbed my waist. He gave up on the zip, reached his right hand past me and grabbed my father's hand, the one he'd been holding to his head. Martin's right hand to Dad's left hand. It's awkward shaking the wrong hands.
Dad smiled and said, "I know you!"
"This is Martin," Dad.
"I know Martin," he said.
"You don't know him, Dad. That was someone else."
"Was it? Looks familiar."
He was recalling one of my tricks from a while back. Come to think of it, they did look similar.
Now Dad and Martin were face to face, holding hands. Dad looked like a school kid. Martin looked like his carer. They were smiling politely at each other and stayed like that for some time. I don't know if Dad was holding on or if it was Martin.
"Come in for a tea, uh, Martin," Dad said.
"Yeh, sure," said Martin with a grin.
I sighed inwardly, but I could do with a cup of tea after my exertions. They let go of each other. Dad turned back to the house. I moved out of the way and Martin followed him. I followed Martin. I shut the garage door. I pulled my leathers onto my shoulders as I walked, grunting.
"You ok Son?" Dad said.
"Yeh," I said. "Fine."
"Yeh, I've met you before, Martin."
Well, who cares? I thought.
We sat in the kitchen with our teas for a good hour. I was falling asleep. Dad kept asking Martin questions and Martin kept answering them, on and on. Dad wasn't going anywhere. Nor was Martin. I was bored to death, except for my foot, which I kept pressed to Martin's under the table, and gazing at that sexy collar. I could watch my sexy boy all the time; I didn't much listen to them. Martin was telling Dad all about his job, his parents, where he lived, and his brothers.
"You've got brothers?" I perked up.
"Yeh, five."
"Five!" Dad said. "That's good going."
That explains a lot, I thought. Although, in actual fact, what does it explain? Martin was brother number three. What does that explain? But he's never mentioned his brothers, or his family, to me. Ever. What does that explain? What is there to explain, anyway? I was getting tired. I wanted to sleep and I wanted Martin held tight.
Eventually I raised myself up from my seat and said, "Look, Dad, I need to go to bed. So does Mar."
Martin stood up.
"I'm workin' tomorrow. I need to get back," he said.
"Yeh," I said. "C'mon Mar."
Martin shook hands with Dad and followed me. Dad stayed on his chair.
"Night night lads," he said.
I went out into the night air and stood by the garage door, holding it open. A narrow triangle of light illuminated the drive. Martin stepped into it.
"Sorry about that," I said.
"Hey, it's. cool," said Martin with a grin. "I like your Dad."
He entered the garage and stood in the middle of the floor.
"I should be going. // "You can stay if you want."
We both spoke at the same time and then laughed and I put my arms around him and we hugged and kissed for some time. I couldn't stop wanting to have sex. I pulled his body hard against mine and held his hard narrow body as tight as I could.
After some minutes we were both so excited again. I pushed him down onto the mattress and fell on top of him. His eyes were looking into mine with adoring passion.
"Look, it's nearly two," I said. "Sleep here."
"What about some blankets?"
"I'll get some."
I stood, reluctantly, and adjusted my prick upwards.
"You wait here."
"Yeh," he said, and sort of rolled over.
I raced off to the house. Dad was still sitting there in the kitchen, like a robot toy that had been switched off, he was staring straight ahead at nothing. He looked up at me as I entered the room.
"Where you going now then lad?"
"I'm just gettin' some blankets for Mar."
"What's he sleeping in the garage then? Why not in the house?"
"I don't want him in the house."
"He was just in the house!"
"I'm keeping him in the garage."
"What about you?"
"Wha'd'ye mean?"
"Where're you sleeping?"
"In me room, I guess."
"You don't want to sleep with 'im, then?"
"It's not like that, Dad."
"Yeh? That's not what I heard. Don't you fancy 'im? What was that all about then? Earlier. You sure sounded like you fancied 'im."
"Course I fancy him. Just don't want him in the house."
"You'll sleep alone, will yer?"
"Dad..."
"Or is it none if me business?"
"Dad..." I paused. "... I've got to get these blankets."
I ran upstairs, grabbed the bedding, and raced back down again and out, ignoring Dad.
Martin had stripped to his briefs. He was lying on the mattress with his heels pulled up to his buttocks, one hand behind his head and the other cupping his gear, fondling it. He seemed to be contemplating the universe and took a moment to turn his head towards me. He took his hand away from his balls quickly and let the hand flop to his chest. I threw the bedding at him.
"That should do," I said. "Now, where were we?"
Martin knelt up, throwing the bedding to one side. He had a look of dog-like obedience on his face. From that position he watched me take off my kit, like he expected me any minute to throw him a ball to chase after. I pretended to ignore him, but knowing he was there like that, watching my every move, made me wild hard, which I could not disguise. So when I turned towards him ready to poke my boner down his neck he was drooling, mouth half open, lips wet, tongue hanging over his teeth; my stiffie slid into him like a piston into its own machined cylinder, smoothly and silently, til it felt home with a bump and my balls went against his chin with a satisfying slap. I made him gag on it for a bit.
"Fondle my balls."
He obeyed. I pulled out just enough for him to grab a noisy breath and then plugged it into him again.
"Don't touch the shaft."
He stroked my sack up and down and touched between my legs while my nob pressed up against the back of his throat. It was great.
"That's it. I need to cum quickly so as I can get me sleep. Don't touch yourself. Concentrate."
Martin looked up at me, his clear, dark pupils, under protruding eyebrows, communicating his brave desire to have me cum in him as quickly as human possible. He allowed my dick to push well past his gag reflex, caressed by his lips and tongue formed in a solid ring on the trunk of it. I slid it gently in and out, deliciously aware that he was holding his breath and every muscle of his body in preparation to receive my haul. The jism rose and suddenly I was spewing jerk after jerk of freshmen onto his tonsils. Even when the throwing stopped I held myself into him relentlessly to enjoy the choking discomfort of his tightening neck. When I dragged out Martin fell forward red faced, heaving and coughing, onto the floor, like a dressmaker's mannequin. I kicked his arm.
"Finish yourself off."
I knelt down and grabbed his face, letting my spit run onto his lips.
"Yeh, yeh," I said as he rubbed hisself fast and gobbed fat curls of cream onto the cement floor.
"Thank you," he said dutifully.
I let him go and strode out with the words, "See you in the morning."
Once again in the cold night I felt triumphant.
That guy worships me, I thought, picturing his supplication and struggle on my tremendous penis, the definite feel of the back of his throat tightening and slackening for my cum.
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Back in the kitchen Dad was asleep in his chair. I crept past but I guess he woke because I heard him murmur at me as I passed.
"Don't you ever go to bed?" I said.
"Look who's talking!"
I stopped and turned to look at him, my ageing father.
"You've left him out there?" He said.
"Dad, I've already told you."
"You worship that guy. Don't you?"
"Y'wha'?"
"Judging by how you behaved."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm just saying. I've never seen you like that before."
"Like what?"
"All quiet, listening, watching, waiting. You clearly worship him."
"He's cute... s'all."
"Cute is he?"
"Dad I'm tired."
"Don't let him out of your sight. He'll go off."
"Thanks for the advice."
"Here's some advice: when you love somebody you don't take any chances; you make damn sure. Just don't piss him off."
"He seems pretty eager."
"Even so, you'll be pretty unhappy if he's had enough and fucks off."
"He's not fucking off."
"How do you know?"
"Because he fucking worships the earth I walk on, that's how!"
"That won't last. Nothing does. You have to give him a reason."
"Why do I?"
"'Cs you worship him, son; I can see it. Don't get hurt. Now go to bed if that's what you want."
I turned and went upstairs, cleaned my teeth and went to my room... and then I went back downstairs, crept past dad's dosing figure and out to the garage. There was Martin curled up in the mattress, his form outlined in the bedding. I undressed.
"Think I'll sleep here," I muttered, and lay down next to him. I put an arm under his neck and he nestled himself against me. My fingers found the metal rings of his collar and fastened themselves into them and held tight. He was breathing gently now.
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