Date: Mon, 12 May 2014 06:47:58 -0400
From: sharp Harper <sharper@inorbit.com>
Subject: STORY : BIKER MATES -- PART NINE

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BIKER MATES PART NINE

THE USUAL WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS TALE.

THANKS FOR THE POSITIVE RESPONSES I HAVE RECEIVED -- KEEP WOOD!
CONTACT sharper@inorbit.com IF YOU LIKE.

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BIKER MATES PART NINE

Tuesday evening.

The delivery was at 8pm, and I heard the grumble of Martin's KLX out back
at around 7.

Directly behind us there's a yard where our loading bay has access. There's
plenty of room for a van. That's where I park my bike. There's a metal door
I'd leave open for the delivery. Now Martin sailed his bike into that same
area and parked it next to mine. They looked cute together: mine, big and
new and shiny; his, soiled and beat, but trim.

He pulled off his helmet before lifting his leg round over the tail and
dismounting nimbly.

I watched Martin on the security camera from the front desk. He always
looked great doing his shit unselfconsciously because he didn't know he was
being watched. Having jumped off the bike he immediately started adjusting
his pants. Fuck, he was hard already. So was I. I gently fingered the tip
of my penis through my trousers. I could have knocked one out there and
then. A patch of precum moistened my fingertip where the juddering head of
my thick curved prong ate into the tenting fabric. I couldn't resist
letting it out and stroking it gently as I watched Martin adjusting and
preening and flexing himself in the conveniently dark mirror of a piece of
glass.

He opened his zip from neck to groin and thrust a hand into his crotch,
pulling out a purple boner which he tried to tuck back into his waistband
so that it wouldn't knot painfully under his leg and wouldn't stick out
obviously against his fly. Then he pulled up the zip leaving a pretty
triangle of chest hair visible beneath his neck and his
dog-collar. Standing with his legs apart like a soldier, he ran his hand
through his Mohican, standing it up carefully; he yawned widely, scrunching
up his eyes, stretching out his jaw, then pouting his lips into a rosebud
kiss. He felt round his buttocks checking the tight shiny leather pulled up
into his arse crack and lay evenly across his fuckingly beautiful buns.

I was touching myself gently, hardly able to resist wanking off.

Finally, with one last grip on his packet, Martin was finished sorting
himself out and started looking for the door to the shop. I pressed the
intercom switch.

"Mar, the door's on your left. It's open."

I pressed the release switch just as Martin was looking up in surprise and,
spotting one of the cameras, he smiled broadly his thick tasty teeth. He
waved and pushed open the door. Moments later his face appeared round the
door to the shop. He saw me, looked at me, looked relieved, looked relaxed,
and grinned.

"Man, there you are!" he said.

"Here I am. You're late. What took you? You said six. You're taking the
piss."

"Traffic... Sorry ... "

My hand was still on my cock.

He walked towards me, saw my hand and stopped.

He laughed.

"Why don't you get over here," I ordered. "Get your kit off, faggot."

He smiled. He put his helmet down and pulled his leathers off his shoulders
and they fell off his sides. He was pushing them down his waist and letting
his cock spring free. That was far enough. I stopped him. I couldn't
wait. I scooped my sweaty cum filled bollocks out of my pants.

"Kneel down and worship my nuts, cunt."

Martin fell to his knees and threw his face into my groin, slobbering over
me, licking, sucking and sniffing. His nose nudged the base of my prick. I
released it to place a hand encouragingly onto his skull. My prick swayed
like a dinosaur's neck above his eyebrows, dripping precum, pulsating and
red, vein covered and vicious. Martin looked up, past it and into my eyes
with gratitude and enthusiasm and relief. He had missed me. All the while
his busy tongue and lips caressing, stimulating my stressed ball sack. My
dark pubic dark hair crowded his nose. His teeth nibbled the loose wrinkled
skin. His hands rested on my knees, gripping them gently. He was feverish.

"Good bo," I said. "There's a good cunt."

Him doing what he was doing, me excited as I was, I wanted him naked. I
grabbed hold of his collar and lifted his face away from my scrotum.

"Tongue."

He opened his lips and stuck his tongue out for inspection, wide and pink
and gooey, a cum plate, dripping saliva over his trembling lips and down
his chin. I pushed his nose and lips onto the thick base. I told him to
keep it pushed out. With my spare hand I tugged my shirt up my stomach and
over my tits, up to my chin. Then, pulling him by the collar, he let me
drag his tongue shimmering and wet over the sensitive bulbous underside of
my shaft up to the top, it flicked off the runny tip and pulled his face
onto my body. The sensation was electric. Grinding his un-razored face
against the hairy griddle of my abs, I pulled his slobbering mouth like a
delirious snail up to my sternum and into the hair between my pecs. Our
bodies fell onto contact. Our hardened nipples pressed into each other's
flesh. His arms crawled about me. He clbered for grip and support. Smearing
spit and rasping on the underside of my chin, his tongue came at last to my
own lips and I let him push it hungrily in, feeding on my face for some
moments before pulling him clear, releasing his head and ordering him,
"Strip."

Letting him step away from me was painful.

Martin stood up reluctantly. Lips and chin wet, eyes soft and crotch hard,
he gathered his suit down his legs before bending down to unbuckle his
boots.

"Let me see your arse."

He spun round, struggling with his gear, so I was looking at the tightly
muscled landscape of his back and then his inviting butt and the backs of
his wide hairy thighs. I pushed my foot against him and probed his crack
with my big toe. He tried to remove his boots at the same time. It was
difficult. In the end he managed. Then his socks. Then he pulled his suit
off his feet. He was totally naked - except for his collar - and shivered,
bending over so that my foot remained in his cunt.

"Ok Mar, stand up. Face me."

He did so, his prick jutting out.

I luxuriated in this vision of soldier boy strength and tenderness.

"Collar ok?" I said.

He put his palm to his neck and felt it with a grin.

"It's cool Mike."

He laughed.

His hands hung stupidly to his sides, his tough sturdy legs planted firmly
on the floor. His prong jutted wildly into empty space, rocking gently with
his pulse. His naked chest rose and fell: He was panting with excitement!
His funny hair fell to one side, but part of it stood up, uncertain like he
was uncertain, how to behave uncertain, what to do uncertain, and uncertain
what to expect. Not at all the confident figure I'd met originally, that
figure of cool well-practised heterosexuality: Closed and then open,
suspicious and then friendly, aggressive and then reassuring. Now he set
his eyes on me in obedient anticipation, like a hunt dog, loyal and
dependent.

I let him stand there, naked, trapped in my gaze. Time was passing, and I
had thought of so much I wanted to do with him.

"Come here."

He walked over, watching now my face and now the severe rod of meat
extending out of my trousers.

"Sit," I said, indicating my lap.

He put his legs astride mine. His bollocks hung down onto mine and his dick
throbbed up against mine. I put my hands on his strong narrow waist and
pulled his torso against me. His chest pushed against mine once more and
our faces came into contact. We kissed.

Once again that soft mouth hungrily assertive, that agile tongue insistent
and grateful, his gentle lips caressing and gentle and smooth against mine,
his teeth biting, rubbing, and my throat drinking in his warm sugary
spit. We snogged like that for minutes, all the time our genitals abrading
and stimulating each other and rubbing against each other to the edge of
climax. My hands explored him with possessive delight.

I pulled his head against mine and we rubbed beards like men. He had his
hands wrapped around my neck. He was rocking his backside on my lap,
exciting himself against my body.

We stopped and looked at each other and smiled and then started again.

This was love, wasn't it?

I put a hand on his soft hard buttocks, tracing the hair-filled valley
there down and under to his hole, stroking him there, he sucked in his
breath, and then reaching for his balls which I grabbed and pulled back. He
grabbed another deeper breath but continued facing me. I pulled on his
bollocks and squeezed them.

"Mike... Mike..."

I yanked them down sharply, squeezing them as I did so and stretching his
ball sack away from his body so that his hard dick was pulled down
too. Against his own instincts, Mar fought to keep his position, tensing
his legs, maximising his pain. He went still, absorbing the sensation. I
watched his face concentrate and stiffen.

"Mike... "

"Mike... "

"M... Mike... "

When I let go, his hairy testicles slipping quickly through my fingers, he
reacted ecstatically, licked and pushed his tongue in deep gratitude into
my throat, mashing his face against mine and whimpering like a puppy.

"Oh yeh, Mar," I mumbled.

I stroked him back across his perineum and pushed a finger tip against his
hole. One then two. Three. Still kissing me, Martin let out a groan and
pushed himself down against my hand, begging to go as far as I could. I
felt around inside his rectum, opening and stretching his tight rose. When
I pulled out, he un-hesitantly let me place my fingers in his mouth and
sucked them clean of his own innards. He fed on my hand for some time.

"Mike... Mike..." he whispered when he had finished.

His breath was full of his smell.

I love the smell of his shit.

I pulled my fingers away trailing a line of saliva which broke and fell
down his chin, glistening on his lips.

He watched my face, wondering.

"Mike... Mike..." he whispered gently at last. "Please..."

"What is it Mar?"

He did not answer.

"What is it?"

Martin looked awkwardly.

"I... I... need you... to ... Please Mike, please..."

I waited.

I placed my hand back on his butt and with the other hand I stroked his
hair.

"Do you know what I want, Mar?"

Martin looked at me.

"Yes, please, Mike, I want you to fuck me," he said.

I ran the tip of my finger across his trembling lips. I was trying not to
shoot.

"Get on your back."

The acrylic carpet tiles were rough. Martin slid off my lap and down to the
floor like a collapsed building. He rolled onto his on his back. He held
his legs up to his chest, a hand behind each knee, his hole displayed in
ugly hunger. I knelt down against him and placed my cock tip on his wet
anus, pressing against his sore red star. We both groaned with
un-suppressible excitement. He was so loose. He wanted it. Yes. And I
pushed it in. Entered easily. Now I was fucking him, my knees on the
carpet, my hands pressing down each side of his head. Now he tightened. I
drove it into him like a crash.

"That's beautiful," In my mind.

I was fucking him gently and hard and nothing else. He was staring at
me. He was controlling his sphincter perfectly in response to my own
rhythm, releasing and tightening, opening and grasping. I could feel my
knob hitting him up like a vehicle hitting a baby. I knew the carpet was
ripping against him sharply, probably cutting his skin lke it was shaving
my knees. He was trying to stop himself sliding each time I forced myself
back into his cunt. It was too much too soon.

"M-mike I, I ... I'm cuming..."

"I have to cum," I said. "I have to ... cum."

I was squirting my days dam-bust of cavity filling sperm. He was jerking
onto his face. Thick ropes of cum ran across his chest and I could feel
myself sliding around in the cream of my own juices. It was running out and
down. We were both wet.

For some time I held myself in him letting the final ejaculations
subside. I wanted to give him my last little bit. Cum still oozed from his
own slit and ran over his knuckles as he worked his foreskin up and
down. We were both panting, both dripping sweat.

I waited and then I leaned down and gave him a little peck and started to
withdraw, really, really, slowly. He fixed my eyes with his.

"I have to," I said with a smirk.

I pulled myself out of him, slowly, until my softening, still fat willie
fell out of his cherry with a plop. He gave a petulant sigh, and
relaxed. The lines on his stomach smoothed out as he lowered his feet to
the ground on either side of me, and the sweat and the cum, which had
settled in his abs' hairy furrows, ran down his sides in ticklish
rivers. He held his head up on his hands, watching me lovingly, prodding me
with his toes.

I sat back on my heels and surveyed the damage with some pride and
satisfaction. My soft prick needed a clean up. So did he: He was covered in
cum and there was a mass of shit smeared all over his backside where I'd
slipped around out of him and poked to get back in.

"Whew, that was something else," I said.

We laughed, sweat dripping from our faces.

I put my hands on his knees and was about to heave myself up.

That's when a loud buzzer started screaming from the console, shattering
the quiet.

"Christ! The delivery!" I cried.

"What delivery?" asked Martin.

"Never you mind." I hadn't told him anything.

I flipped my soiled penis into my pants, doing myself up and pulling my
shirt back as I stood, reached for the intercom and looked at the CCTV
screen. There was a hunky young guy in the delivery bay, bearded, dressed
in the overalls uniform of his company. His finger was on the button,
impatiently pressing. He was looking around, looking at his watch, looking
at the camera impatiently. As he twisted, his overalls tightened on his
body, revealing its form in a dark spiral of rough material.

I recognised him.

It was Jez.

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END OF PART NINE