Friday, March 30, 2012
The woodland ground is damp and uneven beneath the armoured padding of my knees. My bike leathers feel tight and warm around me: the inbuilt armour limits my movements, but makes me feel contained; safe; secure. The smooth surface creaks against my Man's leather breaches as I wrap my arms tighter around them: reaching upwards to place my gloved hands against the back of His thighs. I can feel the muscles bunch as He slowly grinds His hips forwards - driving Himself deeper into my throat.
Beside Him, just at the edge of my vision, I can see one of the dozen guys who surround us: business suited, cock out and eagerly stroking - his eyes wide at the spectacle of my Master, fully leathered and helmeted with His bike-dog, leathered and hooded at His boots - its muzzle obediently filled with His meat. I hear another of our watchers swear under His breath as my Man grips my chain dog leash between His gloved hands, then wraps it around the back of my head and uses it to pull me hard up against Him - forcing His meat down past my vocal chords and stopping my breath completely. I feel a wash of true pride in knowing that they are in awe as I obediently relax and open myself to Him.
It has been a fantastic day out on the bike. A perfect day with my Master, a chance for His pup to let go of the stresses and strains and simply *be* for a little while: one with the bike, one with my Man - whole and alive and simply a pup again.
We've been to Devises and back - swinging ourselves along the winding country roads, laughing and talking all the way through the intercom in our helmets. Discussing our plans for the imminent release of my book of short stories: agreeing if, where and when we might hold a launch party - and whether to plan a US tour of 'personal appearances' for this book or the next... Talking through ideas for new stories too - and my progress with the book on pup-play that the publishers originally asked me to produce. The weather has been wonderful too - clear and warm and dazzlingly bright, the sun and the nearness of my Man's body heating both my leathers and the rubber one-piece I am wearing beneath it, until I could feel the sweat glossing my skin and pooling distractingly around the soft silicone plug that fills my hole...
That sweat now pools around my knees and trickles down into my boots. As I shift my position, the tight rubber tugs at my encased crotch and squeezes the plug deeper into my aching hole - and a shudder of pleasure ripples through my core. The teasing perversity only makes me more hungry for my Man: my hips buck and a groan rumbles up through my throat - and stirs His own hunger as the vibration ripples around His meat.
This is the second time in the day that I've knelt before Him on the damp ground. He had to stop earlier in the day too: finding a silent road-side copse and swinging off the bike to stride deeper in under the greening trees - His pup pulling off its lid as it scampered after Him, then wordlessly sinking to its knees with thirsty tongue and open throat - greedily glugging down the hot wash of His piss as a truly perverted piss-pup should. He fastened my leash on my collar then too - although then it was to lead me, grinning, four-legged over to a tree so that I could cock a leg and share my own piss with the wild.
He had needed a piss this time too - and brought us to this well known spot between Motorway and junction, knowing that the woods would be filled with cruising men eager for entertainment. He parked the bike up, just short of the waiting parked cars - knew that many of the men would have heard the rich purr of His steed and seen the glint of chrome and leather with dry mouths and sweating palms. He took His time dismounting too: letting them stoke their desire on His leathers, His boots, the shining bike - and the pillion-pup perched behind Him with his arms wrapped tight around His waist. Sure of our audience, He then had me follow Him over the wall and into the trees - His voice over the intercom ordering me to leave my helmet on, so that we could both be hidden in leathered anonymity and power.
I knelt when He told me - finally pulling my lid off when He commanded, but leaving my hooded liner on: only my eyes and my mouth exposed. He let me nuzzle His leathers then - even licking down onto the steel shin-plates of His MX boots whilst we listened to the crack and rustle of leaves as our audience nervously made their way through the trees, wondering what they might find here in the gloom. Then I grinned up at the blank swing of His helmeted head as He wordlessly challenged each man to step forward into our clearing - then placed His one hand possessively upon my head as the other slowly drew down His zipper. There was total silence when His voice echoed from the helmet: telling His dog "Gentle now, dog - take your Man's piss..."
A few of the men overcame their fear whilst I worked Him deep into my throat - the ring of their hunger slowly closing inwards, drawn by the primal power of these leather-clad Men from out of their fantasies. A few reached hands out to touch, but shied back when that cold helmeted stare swung towards them - challenging them to look, but forbidding them from being allowed to do more. I know that we both drew power from their hungry gazes - and their frustrated desire to be a part of this taboo tableau of leather and masculine power.
Their hunger made His release all the more perfect when I finally milked His cum from Him with my tongue and the rippling pulsing of my throat. It made my own shuddering hump of His leg afterwards all the more purely bestial too.
And then - with us both sated, but our frantic audience only teased and frustrated - He pulled me to my feet, ordered me to pull on my helmet once more, then locked on my leash and led us both back to the bike - the circle parting before Him without a word.
Not a single man followed us back - but I know that every one of them will carry the image of us in their fantasies for many years to come.