by lthr_jock
Part one
PC Jim Maxwell paced nervously up and down. He was in his Inspectors office and had now been waiting for Inspector Turner for 15 minutes. Three weeks out of Hendon and already summoned to the office. He had no idea why, but he was sure he had done something wrong. He racked his brain but couldn’t think of anything. Since joining, he’d done everything right and had received no criticisms from his Sergeant. Sure, it had been easier for him that for some of the other recruits – at 27, he was older than them and the 9 years he’d served in the army had got him used to the sort of discipline required in the police.
Even so he was worried. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair – while not long, it was no longer in the tight military cut he was used too. His 6ft frame moved lightly across the floor, despite the weight of his muscles. Always a big man, he had already found the usefulness of his size in dealing with awkward situations.
“Ah good, you’re here, Maxwell.”
As the Inspector entered the room, reflexes brought Jim to attention. The Inspector smiled.
“At ease, Maxwell.”
“Sorry, Sir. Army reflex.”
“No problems, son. Take a seat.”
The Inspector waited for Jim to get settled and opened the personnel file that he’d brought in with him. After a few moments reflection he closed the file again and faced Jim.
“Maxwell, I’ve called you in here as there’s a job I’d like you to do for me. Now, I know you’re very new and normally this kind of task wouldn’t be given to someone still working their probation. However, we’ve tried all the normal avenues and got nowhere. We need someone unknown who can go undercover.”
Jim started with surprise. “Undercover, Sir? But that requires..”
“Extensive training and experience. Yes I know. The problem is that we suspect that someone on the inside is giving information about our undercover operatives. So we need a new face, someone who can handle himself, but is unknown to anyone working the normal police channels. In point of fact – you. Your record in the army is impeccable and you passed the training with a very high mark indeed. I’m confident that you could do this. It won’t be a long assignment – I would imagine it will all be over in 4-6 weeks. Are you interested? I’m sure I don’t need to point out how good this would look on your record.”
Jim thought for a moment, before nodding and asking for more details.
“Great – I knew you were the right man for the job. The background is this: for some months now we’ve been aware of criminal activities centring on a nightclub in Soho called Inferno. It seems to be connected to a string of robberies as well as suspected links to money laundering and the selling of low level narcotics. The club has been raided several times, as well as the home of the owner, but we have found nothing. Two undercover policemen have been sent in, but were spotted immediately – which led me to suspect that we have an informer inside the force. What we want you to do, is infiltrate the club, see what’s going on there and get us some stronger information on what’s going on and who’s behind it.”
“Sounds straightforward enough, Sir. I can pass myself off as a club guest and gain access that way.”
“Yes – but there’s a wrinkle, which is why you’ll need to go completely undercover. Inferno is a gay club – so we’ll need to set you up with a new identity and background. Is that a problem?”
Jim squirmed a little in his chair. This “wrinkle” made the job much more difficult – but it would do his career good to have this on his record – and it never hurts to have a senior officer owing you a favour. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d have to actually do anything – just go in and observe.
“No problems, Sir – when do I start?”
“As soon as possible.” Turner opened a drawer in his desk and brought out a thick document folder. “In here are details of your background, supporting documentation, driving license, fake ID and the address of your flat in Balham. As I see you’re a bike rider, we’ve provided you with a bike rather than a car. The folder also contains details about the club, its owner and the staff. Your name is Ben Davies and you’ve just moved into town from your home in Plymouth. Your parents died recently, leaving you the money which bought you the flat and which you’re living on until you get a job. All the background information is there, and you need to memorise it as soon as possible. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“One last thing. You’ll need new clothes.” The Inspector handed over a business card. “Go here and ask for Kyle – he’s expecting you. He’ll get you kitted out and advise you on what to wear to Inferno.”
The inspector stood up and leaned forward to shake Jims’ hand. Realising he was being dismissed, Jim, stood as well.
“Good luck, Maxwell. The folder contains details of how you will report in, as well as a mobile phone with an emergency number on it. There’s a GPS chip in the phone that will allow us to track your location. “ The Inspector looked at his watch. “I have another meeting to attend now. Kyle is expecting you at 14:00.”
With that, the Inspector ushered Jim out of his office. Jim checked his watch and looked at the address on the card. It was 12:30 already, which gave him very little time. He headed down to the locker room, to get changed out of his uniform. He had just enough time to pop back to his bedsit and change into something suitably un-noticeable. Selecting a pair of old jeans, t-shirt and trainers, he slipped into an old sweatshirt and pulled an old Arsenal baseball cap on. Satisfied he wasn’t noticeable he headed out.
The address that Turner had given him was a warehouse just off Clapham High Street. Jim looked around the front and could see no way it. Looking around the side, he spotted a discrete door with an entry phone beside it. He pressed the bell and stood close to the door, trying to look inconspicuous.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Ji..Ben Davies. I understand you’re expecting me.”
“Ah, Mr...Davies. Yes, come on in and head up the stairs.”
With a buzz, the door unlocked and Jim walked inside. Instead of a warehouse, he found himself at the foot of a well decorated staircase. He headed up and onto a small landing with another security door. The door opened, revealing a man just taller than Jim, with cropped black hair and wearing jeans and a T-shirt which was tight enough to display his impressive musculature. Jim stared in surprise – if this was Kyle, he had been expecting someone far more effeminate.
“Hi, I’m Kyle.” Kyle held out his hand, “Come on inside”
Kyle led Jim into a small reception area with two changing room doors off it. Pictures on the wall showed various models – all male – wearing clothes which varied from formal suits, to swimwear. Kyle waved Jim to a chair.
“Right, Officer...sorry, I mean Mr Davies” he grinned mischievously. “I understand we need to clothe you for a work assignment. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“Ok, and I understand you will be expected to go to a club called Inferno and to fit in?”
“Yes – is that a problem?”
Kyle laughed “Oh no, not at all – though you may end up wearing clothes that you really don’t expect to.”
Before Jim could ask what he meant by that, Kyle stood up and pulled a tape measure and PDA out of his pocket.
“Right, time to get some measurements. Take off your sweatshirt, please.”
In brisk, efficient style, Kyle measured Jim and noted the measurements down in the PDA. He then headed through the staff door, coming back a couple of minutes later with a handful of clothes. “Try these on for starters.”
For the next hour, Jim tried on several sets of clothes, including suits, sports gear and leisure wear. To his surprise, none of it seemed “gay” to him – although he had to admit that the cut was a lot tighter than he would have normally picked. By this time, several bags and suit covers were full of clothes and he was wondering how he was going to get them all to his new flat. Kyle saw his look “Don’t worry – all of this will be couriered over to your flat by 5pm. Right, now we need to get something for Inferno. Go into the changing room and I’ll bring something through for you.”
Jim went into the changing room and stripped out of the bleached jeans, Fred Perry shirt and boots that he had been wearing. Kyle tapped on the door “I’ll leave it out here. Oh, and you’ll need to remove your underwear for this.”
After Jim heard Kyle move away he opened the door and grabbed the pile of clothes lying there. Looking at the armful in shock he raised his voice “Are you sure this is the right stuff?”
Kyle’s voice came from around the corner “Yes. I know it’s unusual, but you’ll get used to it.”
Jim shrugged, removed his pants and began pulling on the strange attire. First was a jockstrap made of black leather. This was followed by a tight pair of chaps that showed his leg muscles off as he zipped them around his legs. He then added socks and a pair of knee-high glossed boots. He then shrugged into a leather tank top, only realising when he pulled it on, that its low-scooped front left most of his chest exposed – including his nipples. The last item was a thick leather wristband which he buckled around his left wrist. For the first time feeling less than confident, he headed out of the changing room.
Kyle was waiting for him. “Well, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever been dressed like that. Turn around and let me take a look.” Jim did so – as he had for all the other clothes – realising a little too late that the chaps and jock left his arse almost completely on view. Kyle didn’t seem to react. “Yes, I think that’s fine – one small alteration though.” Deftly, he unbuckled the wristband and re-secured it around Jim’s right wrist. “Is that important?”
“Definitely – you may have the build of a Top, but your lack of confidence will make it obvious you’re not. Might as well go in looking right. OK, well I think we’re finished here. Change out of that into something less...indiscrete, and I’ll pack it up with the other things. I’ll add some other things as well for you – wouldn’t want you to have to wear the same things on every visit would we?”
“Guess not – and thanks.” Jim hastily changed out of the leather, opting for a combination of jeans, white T-shirt and black leather jacket. Thanking Kyle again, he headed out for his new flat in Balham.
Chapter Two
Jim stood in front of the apartment block in Balham and checked for the third time that he had the address right. He had heard stories about the accommodation provided for undercover work – rat-infested havens for disease and cockroaches, but this was something else entirely. His flat seemed to be the penthouse of a newly developed block called Ascension Point. He entered the plush lobby and using the key Turner had provided him, called the lift. As he looked around, he could see state of the art security cameras and among the tasteful decor were the logos of the alarm and security firms.
By the time the smooth, silent lift had reached the penthouse flat, he had started to relax. For some reason, he’d fallen on his feet with this assignment. The flat itself was luxurious – the main room was as large as his whole flat and decorated very tastefully. Off the main room, he soon found bedroom, small personal gym, bathroom, kitchen and a steam room. In each the furnishings were obviously high quality and the walls were adorned with tasteful paintings. Alongside the bedroom he found a final corridor with a locked door. As Jim was sorting through the keys, he heard a chime from the front door and went to see what it was – further exploration could be left for later.
Beside his front door he found a video-entry phone and he activated it to see a man standing on the doorstep.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Sir. I have a delivery for...” the man scrutinised his clipboard “..Mr Davies?”
“That’s right – come on up.” After a few seconds fumbling Jim worked out which button activated the outside door. He then realised that the courier would need the key for the lift, but as he opened his door, he saw from the indicator that the lift was already heading down to the ground floor. Clearly the courier had been here before and had his own key.
After a few minutes, the lift returned and the doors opened to reveal the courier surrounded by boxes and bags. Jim moved to help him and together they moved everything through into the main room.
“I’ll just go and get the rest, Sir.”
“There’s more?”
“Oh yes, Sir. Another full load at least.”
Jim was stunned. Kyle must have added more than “a few” items to the list. Jim wondered again why this job had received such a large budget.
The courier returned with another full load and then insisted on unpacking everything and putting it away in the bedroom. Clearly the man knew his way around the apartment and Jim wondered whether he was a police employee of some kind. He couldn’t think of any subtle way to ask and so pottered around in the kitchen while the guy worked on. He popped out to see if they guy wanted a coffee, just in time to see him open the front door to leave. The courier smiled and waved “See you soon, Mr Davies” and then Jim found himself alone in the apartment.
He spent the next couple of hours familiarising himself with the apartment, including the spa bath, the kitchen equipment and the 42” flat screen TV. As the sky faded outside, he thought he’d better get ready to start his job properly and so he decided to get ready to head out to Inferno.
He headed into the walk-in wardrobe to find the clothing that Kyle had selected and stopped in surprise. The wardrobe was full – and one side of it was devoted to clothing made out of leather, lycra or rubber interspersed with what looked like uniforms. Below the hanging clothing were several sets of boots in various shapes and size. Kyle hadn’t been joking – he really didn’t want Jim going out in the same clothes twice!
A little taken aback, Jim sorted through the clothes until he found the ones he’d tried on earlier and pulled them on. Grabbing a long leather duster to go over the top, he put his wallet and keys in his pocket and headed out. Inferno was less than a mile away, so Jim decided to walk.
Inferno itself looked innocent from the outside – an innocuous door in an alley between a newsagents and a betting shop. As he approached the door, he could hear the bass thump of music from inside. Steeling himself, Jim pushed the door open and walked in. Inside was a small foyer, with a cloakroom attendant and two other doors. One clearly led to a toilet and changing area, the other into the club proper.
The tall, well built attendant looked up from the newspaper he was reading and grinned a welcome.
“Hi. First time here?”
“Umm,, yes”
“Ok no problems. Welcome to Inferno. I just need to get you to sign the book as a guest.” As Jim did so, he continued “That’ll be £5 for the evening – unless you’ll be coming regularly in which case its £30 for the year.”
“I’ll stick with just this evening for the moment”
“No problems. Can I take your coat?” Jim handed the duster over and the attendant openly appraised him. “Nice. I can see you’ll fit right in here. Go on through. It’s quiet at the moment but it should pick up in an hour or so.”
Jim muttered something that he hoped sounded polite and went through the door into the club proper. Inside, the dull bass beat became a roar as he was exposed to the full-force of the music pounding through the club. The area beyond the door was dimly lit, the only well-lit area being the bar, which he stumbled towards. Apart from himself, there were only a couple of people in the club, including the bartender who turned to greet him.
Forcing himself to remain calm, he ordered a beer and stood at the bar, slowly scanning the room. The few others in the room stood apart, not talking to each other and looking around in a manner similar to himself. He tried to be surreptitious as he looked at them. Jim was surprised as he had expected to see the typical mincing queers in here. Instead, the guys looked..well..normal. They were a range of body types and ages, some muscular, one overweight but still filling out his leathers quite well. As he looked around he became aware of movement behind him and out of the corner of his eye he saw the familiar pattern of a uniform shirt. Reflexes kicked in and he surged to his feet, standing to attention. The man behind him chuckled and put his hand on Jims shoulder.
“At ease, soldier. We don’t tend to be that formal here – not on a first visit anyway.”
Jim turned to see a man in his mid thirties, about 6ft 3” tall and wearing a tight police uniform over his impressively bulky muscle. As Jim looked closer, he could see that the entire uniform was made of leather – the shirt of soft white leather, the black tie, skin-tight trousers. The uniform included insignia, the only thing differing from the standard uniform being the boots – which in this case were knee-high glossed leather.
“Well, I see you’re not shy about staring,” the stranger grinned.
Jim babbled an apology “Sorry, I just haven’t seen a uniform like that before....umm..looks great.”
“Thanks – I’m Steve”
“J..Ben”
“Well, J-Ben, welcome to my club. Dave, another beer for B-Jim”
The bartender nodded to Steve and brought the beer. Steve sat down on a stool beside Jim and the two men began to talk. To Jim’s surprise the conversation flowed easily and ranged from politics to motorbikes. The one thing they didn’t talk about was sex, which put him at his ease. He had expected to be having to fend off advances all evening, but this bar was constantly challenging his expectations.
As they talked, Dave kept replenishing Jims beer and the bar slowly filled up. The level of the music increased too, and the two men found themselves leaning closer so they could hear each other. Occasionally, Steve would turn to greet someone as they came in and give Jim a chance to scan the crowd. Jim was aware that making contact with Steve was a great step forward in his mission and he didn’t want to lose contact with him. Eventually though, he had to go to the loo, and when he came back, to his disappointment Steve wasn’t there.
He waved the bartender over who explained that Steve had to go and sort some business out and would be back soon. He had told Dave to keep Jim’s drinks coming though, so Jim soon had another beer. He was feeling pleasantly buzzed now and decided to switch to water as he needed to keep his mind on the job. He slowly scanned the room, more curious than anything else and was surprised by the variety of clothing being worn – leather, rubber, uniforms, sports gear, leather and rubber versions of uniforms, skinhead gear – in fact, virtually everything that Kyle had provided him with.
Then he saw Steve beckoning to him and he worked his way across the crowded bar towards him. As he pushed through, he was aware of hands brushing against him and one squeezing his butt. He didn’t react, just headed over to Steve. Steve grinned as he approached.
“So, J-Ben, enjoying yourself?”
“Yes, I am. Thanks, Steve. Great club.”
“Good – glad you like it. So..” Steve paused, “..are you ready to make your first visit here more memorable.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Just a bit of fun.” Steve held up a pair of leather wrist restraints. “For a start, I think you should probably be wearing these.”
Jim hardly hesitated as he held his hands out to Steve. Steve quickly unbuckled Steve’s wristband and then strapped the wrist restraints tightly on. Then he padlocked them shut and secured them together with a larger padlock so that Jims hands were crossed in front of him.
“Much better – now you really look like a boy. Follow me.”
Jim followed Steve through the crowded club. To his surprise he wasn’t nervous. He realised that he trusted Steve, that Steve wouldn’t hurt him or do anything that Jim didn’t want to happen. A small part of his brain was telling him that letting Steve lock his hands together was unwise, but he ignored that. Steve took Jim to a quieter corner of the bar, where a heavy metal frame stood out from the wall. Picking up a bottle of beer he put it to Jim’s lips and tilted it until Jim swigged the whole bottle. His head now felt decidedly fuzzy.
Steve grabbed Jims secured wrists and locked them to a heavy chain. Pulling on the other end of it, Jim’s wrists were raised to the top of the metal frame until his arms were stretched up and his muscled torso displayed through the tight leather vest. This happened so fast that he hardly had time to yell. He went to ask Steve what was going on, but Steve pressed his gloved hand over Jims mouth.
“Ssshh. You know you’ll enjoy this – why else come to this bar?”
Jim immediately calmed down as the words penetrated his beer-addled brain.
“But just to make sure...open wide.” Jim opened his mouth as Steve pushed a red rubber ball inside it. The leather straps attached to the ball were secured tightly behind Jims head and now all he could do was grunt at Steve as the club owner rubber his hands over Jims bulging pecs.
“Now this is nice – hmm, Ben, you really are a hot piece of muscle.”
With that, Steve pulled out a thick leather collar and strapped it around Jims neck. Locking it on, he tugged at the D-Ring on the front, pulling Jim close to his face.
“Oh, yes, I’m going to keep you.”
Kneeling down in front of Jim, he removed Jim’s boots, and then unzipped his chaps. Letting them fall to the floor, he rubbed his hands up and down Jims, legs, resting them on his upper thigh.
“Very nice – though the hair will have to go.”
He replaced Jims boots and secured ankle shackles on each of Jims feet. Then kicking them wide, he locked them to the sides of the frame. Jim was now stretched out and helpless, and naked except for his leather tank-top and jockstrap.
“Yes, I think you’ll make a fine addition to the stable.”
Jim hung there, hardly comprehending what had been just said. Instead he felt happy, proud, and judging by the bulge within his jockstrap, highly aroused. He had never been treated this way before, never been aroused by a man and yet he found himself eager to submit to the man standing in front of him.
Steve moved close to Jim, pressing against him, letting Jim feel his leather uniform against his own leather and flesh. He ran his gloved hands up and down Jims back, letting them rest on the tight globes of Jims arse.
“Oh yes, a good addition indeed. I think we’ll have to start your training in the very near future.”
He let go of Jims arse.
“But not tonight. I don’t want to freak you out. I think just hanging there for a while should give you enough of a taster of what’s in store.”
With that, he pressed some buttons on the wall, and Jim felt the frame rise into the air. Once it was about 10ft up, Steve pressed another button and the frame moved out away from the wall. Jim realised that he could now be seen by the whole club and the cheers of appreciative patrons showed that he had been spotted. Two spotlights clicked on to highlight his helpless body.
Jim hung there, feeling horny in a way he’d never felt before and completely on display to the club. His beer-fuddled mind was confused by the lights and he could only vaguely remember why he was in the club in the first place. As he tried to deal with his increasingly engorged cock by thrusting his hips to and fro, he heard appreciative yells from the floor below. The lights began heating him up so sweat began running down his muscles, the drool running around the gag joining it and he briefly wondered what the hell the Inspector would think of this as an undercover role.
Part three
Jim woke up the next day in his new bed. He lay there, arms crossed behind his head and wondered how he had got into the situation he found himself in last night. He had no idea how long he had been suspended in the frame – but by the time he had been released, he was dripping with sweat, his muscles were cramping and his cock was desperate for release. He could vaguely remember hands touching his muscles, fondling his crotch, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember what happened next or how he got home.
His muscles still ached from his bondage yesterday, so he levered himself out of bed and took a long, hot shower to try and get the kinks out. Sitting down to some breakfast, he crunched his way through a bowl of cereal while typing out his first days report for the Inspector. He discretely omitted details about the events in Inferno, instead mentioning that he had made contact with the club owner. Sending the email, he sat back to plan his day.
He decided to spend part of the day exploring the area, then workout and maybe a run in the afternoon. Then back to Inferno in the evening. His planning was interrupted by the intercom. He padded over to the panel still clad only in a towel and punched the button.
“Yes?”
“Good morning, Mr Davies. There’s a package here for you, sir. Shall I send it up?”
“uh yes, sure. Thanks”
Jim wasn’t expecting anything, but assumed this was something else from the Inspector. He opened the door and waited for the lift to arrive. Inside was the doorman, and beside him was a large box, approximately 3ft square.
“Hello, Mr Davies. Late start today, sir?” The doorman grinned and Jim belatedly remembered he was still only wearing a towel. He secured it tighter around his waist.
“Umm yes. Thanks...err...Mike?” He read the name on the security badge.
“You’re welcome, sir.” Mike held out a clipboard with a delivery receipt for signature. Once Jim had signed, he helped carry the bulky box into the flat.
“Have a good day, sir.” He winked and left.
Jim wondered what the wink was for and settled down to look at the box. The delivery note on top proudly displayed the name of the company the box was from – Dante. Jim had never heard of the company – presumably it was some cover company the police were using. Curiously, Jim opened the box and found inside several packages of what looked like leather and an envelope addressed to “J-Ben”. Quickly he opened the envelope and read the note inside:
“Ben, I hope you enjoyed yourself last night – it certainly looked like you were having a great time. I took the liberty of getting you something from Dante, which I think you’ll enjoy. I hope you’ll wear it tonight. Steve.”
Jim lifted the items out of the box, laid them out on the floor and stared at them. This certainly wasn’t what he had in mind when he accepted the job – but wearing this would improve his relationship with Steve. Jim just wondered how close he was going to have to get.
When Inferno opened that evening, Jim was waiting outside. Leaning against the wall opposite the door, he was wearing camouflage jacket and trousers as well as a highly glossed pair of army boots. On his head was a marine beret complete with badge. As the door opened, he stood up to attention. The doorman looked out and grinned.
“Hi there. Steve said he was expecting someone – come on inside. “
The man ushered Jim inside, taking the chance to run his hands over the globes of Jim’s arse as he escorted him past the cloakroom and straight into the club.
“I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Leaving Jim by the bar, he went back outside. Jim looked around curiously. Apart from the barman who was going to and fro as he set up for the evening, he was alone in the club. As he wondered about trying to take a look around behind the scenes, Steve came in through the staff entrance. Like Jim, he was wearing camo gear, boots and a marine beret. Seeing Jim, he grinned and walked across.
“Good, my parcel arrived. And it seems I got your measurements right.”
“Yeah – thanks, Steve. Look this is very generous, but..”
“Hey think nothing of it.” Steve leaned in close and whispered “I intend getting my moneys worth out of it.”
With that he headed off, leaving Jim alone in the bar with the barman. As on the night before, Jim found that all his drinks were paid for and over the next hour, the club slowly started to fill. As he started his third or fourth beer – he was already losing track – he sensed a familiar presence behind him. He turned to see Steve grinning at him.
“Time to see the rest of the uniform, Ben,”
Jim put down his beer and with a momentary hesitation, pulled off the beret and put it on the bar beside him. He then unzipped the camo jacket and in a swift movement pulled it off. Underneath he was wearing a harness of thick, supple black leather. Straps over and under his shoulders met in thick chrome rings in the centre of his chest and small of his back. Another pair of chrome rings were centred over his navel and the small of his back, held in place by similar thick leather straps. A final strap disappeared under his trousers where it ended in a thick chrome cock ring that he could feel heavy around the root of his cock. As well as the harness, Jim was wearing a thick leather collar, and wide straps around his wrists and biceps. The leather bit tightly into his muscles, accentuating them and drawing appreciative glances and comments from the men stood around him. Jim quickly became the centre of attention in the bar, and then he unzipped his camo trousers and pulled them off without removing his boots. His legs were covered with a complex leather harness that reached down from a thick leather waistband to the top of his boots. His cock was covered with a tight leather jockstrap that did little to hide the tumescent bulge beneath it. As he turned around, the bar got a clear view of his tight, muscled arse, naked except for a leather strap running from the body harness to connect to the base of the cock ring.
Jim stood there, embarrassed, but also clearly aroused. All he could hear were appreciative wolf whistles and comments from the bar patrons. A few hands started to rub at his muscles, but Steve waved them back. He walked close to Jim and taking out a handful of padlocks began locking collar, wristbands and both harnesses in place. Finally, he clipped a heavy chain leash to the front of Jim’s collar and with a jerk pulled him away from the bar. As he led Jim deeper into the club, Jim was groped and fondled by appreciative hands and he found himself growing more aroused by the minute. His thoughts seemed to be a blur – which he put down to the beers he had drunk. He was no longer focused on his mission, no longer worried about work. All he knew was that he was horny and enjoying himself. He hardly noticed as Steve stopped and attached chains to his wristbands.
Jim didn’t resist as the chains were pulled upwards and outwards, stretching his arms out to the side. Steve also locked restraints attached to chains around his ankles and soon he stood there spread-eagled in full view of the club. Steve then approached Jim with a thick red ball-gag. He opened his mouth without thinking and the gag was strapped tightly in place. Steve walked around the helpless Jim, stroking his muscles around the tight leather harness, and Jim could do nothing except shudder at each gentle touch. A flash alerted him to the fact that someone as taking photos and for a moment the haze in his mind cleared. He realised what a dangerous place this was for him to be and he yelled into the gag, trying to get Steve to release him. Steve undid the gag, then strapped it tighter in place with a malicious grin. He stood close behind Jim, and Jim could feel the bulge of Steves cock through his camo trousers against his arsehole.
“Well, boi, looks like you’re well and truly stuck now.”
With a sharp slap on Jim’s arse, he melted back into the crowd, who clustered around Jim’s form. Hands tickled, teased and kneaded his muscles. Occasionally, one would linger on his arse or cock and he could do nothing about it except bellow incoherently into the gag. Through all this abuse his cock remained hard in the leather jock and the size of it got him several appreciative comments. After what seemed like hours, he felt a firm pair of hands on his shoulders, they slowly moved down, stroking his back and sides, stopping at his arse, where they kneaded his tight muscular globes. While one hand held Jim steady, the other started to tickle his arse. The feeling made Jim jump and struggle desperately, while at the same time made him hornier than ever. The fingers tickled, then scratched and began to push at Jim’s arsehole. He tried to twist away but couldn’t, yelling into the gag as the finger pressed harder. Suddenly, it slid in and he felt the finger inside his arse. As he did, his cock exploded, spurting cum into the jockstrap and over the top of it. As he hung there, gasping in the chains, a hand holding a white pad of cotton was pushed in front of his face. He tried not to breathe in, but the sweet smell from the pad over-powered him and he soon sank into blackness.
Chapter Four
Jim awoke to blackness. Although his eyes were open, he could see nothing. As he blinked he could feel something soft over his eyes and he realised he must be blindfolded. He tried to raise his hands from his sides to remove the blindfold and found he couldn’t move them – they seemed to be strapped to the harness at waist level. As his mind cleared he realised that his mouth was open, and filled with some kind of gag. As he explored it with his tongue he could feel it was long, thick, filling his mouth and had a hole at the end through which he could breathe. Jim tried to raise his head and found he couldn’t – it was strapped down.
He tried to analyse his situation. From what he could feel he was still wearing the harness, collar, wrist and bicep straps. Something else was covering his body, something thick and heavy that was making him sweat. He could flex and move slightly, but in places something thicker and heavier was holding him down – at ankles, knees, thighs, waist, chest, neck and forehead. His arse felt uncomfortable and he realised something was stuck inside him. At that realisation he began to struggle in earnest, yelling incoherently into the gag. Even as he did so, he realised that he could hardly hear himself – earplugs had been pushed into his ears.
Jim struggled for several minutes before he slumped in the restraints, recognising the futility of struggle. Almost as soon as he stopped, he heard a voice in his ears and realised the plugs were also speakers.
“I see you’re awake then, Ben. No need to panic. Just think of this as an initiation test.” Steve’s voice faded away and Jim felt fumbling at the sides of his head. As the blindfold was lifted off, he blinked at the bright light until he could see what was going on. Leaning over him was Steve who grinned at him. Steve seemed to be wearing some form of leather uniform shirt and tie, but Jim couldn’t move his head to get a proper look. Steve was wearing what looked like a mouthpiece from a hands free phone kit and he thumbed the activation button.
“So, Ben, seemed to me like you were enjoying yourself last night – but you were holding back a bit. So, I’ve devised this initiation exercise to make sure you’re really one of us. Let’s start with giving you a view of yourself.” Steve leant back and pulled a mirror forward. Angling it over Jim’s head, Jim could now see himself. He was lying on a padded leather table, his body encased from head to toe in thick black leather. His head was hooded and he could see the thicker leather of the gag strapped around his head. The rest of his body was secured in a leather sleepsack which was secured by lengths of chain at ankle, knee, thigh and waist. Two thick leather straps over his throat and forehead completed his bondage.
“Now, I bet you’d like a drink...one side-effect of that drug is a very dry mouth. And I’m sure you’re sweating in that sleepsack. Want a drink?”
Jim grunted once and tried to nod. At least he would have to be un-gagged to have a drink and he might be able to talk Steve into letting him out.
To his frustration, Steve took out a small funnel and screwed it into the external port of the gag. Then he unscrewed the top of a bottle of beer and started to pour it in. The beer flooded through the tube inside the gag and into Jim’s mouth. He coughed and choked at the unexpected flood, and Steve paused until Jim stopped. Then he resumed. Jim soon got the hang of it, gulping the beer down, and then blocking the tube with his tongue when he needed a breathing space. Once the bottle was empty, Steve unscrewed the funnel and grinned again.
“So, Ben, this is how the test will work. You’re either into this or not and this will enable me to find out. It’s very simple. You’re trussed up in a way that no red-blooded heterosexual could stand – especially with that butt plug lodged in your arse. No real man could cum in this situation. So, that’s all you have to do to convince me you’re not one of us – just don’t cum.”
Steve moved down Jim’s recumbent form and opened a zip on top of the sleepsack, reached inside and pulled out Jim’s cock. To Jim’s surprise, he could see it was already half hard, kept that way by a thick metal cockring. Steve poured some lube onto his hand, and started to rub at Jim’s cock. Almost immediately he could feel it twitch and start to stiffen. Steve chuckled.
“So you see, Ben, all you have to do to prove you don’t belong here is not cum. If you don’t cum, then I’ll let you go. If you do, however..” at this point he gripped Jim’s cock hard, “..you’re mine!”
Jim lay there helpless as Steve manipulated his cock. He knew he wasn’t gay, he knew he wasn’t turned on by this, but despite all that he could feel his cock hardening, feel his excitement growing. He knew that passing this test would allow him into Steve’s confidence, but he just couldn’t, wouldn’t do this. He would do a lot for work, but this was just too much. He wasn’t gay, he wasn’t aroused, he wasn’t...his train of thought was interrupted as his cock jerked and spasmed, splashing cum over the front of the sleepsack.
“Well, Ben, I think I have my answer.” Steve took out a cloth and wiped his hand clean and moved to smile into Jim’s face. “I shall be seeing much more of you then, boy – and that plug won’t be the only thing you have up your arse. Time enough for that later though – no need to rush. For now you need to rest.”
Steve picked up a small brown bottle and dripped a few drops from it onto a pad of cotton wool. Jim tried to hold his breath as Steve blocked the breathing tube in the gag and pressed the pad over the nose holes in the leather hood. In the end he had to breathe and as he inhaled the sweet fumes, he slowly passed out.
Jim coughed as he woke, up, firstly from the dry taste in his mouth and secondly from the acrid smell of urine. He quickly looked around – he seemed to be in an alley, sprawled behind a dumpster. Opposite him was a broken mirror and Jim gulped as he looked at his reflection. His short cropped hair was gone – completely shaved off. He was wearing a skin-tight pair of bleacher jeans and a pair of highly glossed black rangers, laced to his knee with white laces. His muscular torso was barely covered by a white Fred Perry shirt that showed every contour of his chest and abs. He could still feel the cockring around the root of his cock and it made a bulge down the right leg of the bleachers. But worse was the 2” thick black leather collar that was around his neck. Secured at the back by a heavy padlock, the front sported two D-rings and the word “SLAVE” in solid metal lettering. As he lifted his hands to pull at the collar, he realised that heavy leather bands were around each wrist – each one sporting D-rings and padlocked on.
He didn’t know where he was, but somehow had to get back to his flat. He could hear the sounds of traffic at the end of the alley and judging by the sun it was mid-morning. Jim decided to stay here until dark, and then work out where he was and head home under cover of darkness. At that moment, he heard the sound of a lorry and he peered around the dumpster to see the bin men working their way down the alley. With no other choice available, he headed out the other end of the alley and into the mid-morning crowds. As he started to get stares from people, Jim could only think one thing....”FUCK!”
part five
Jim kept his head down and moved along the road as fast as possible, eyes fixed on the pavement, only glancing up to try to see a street sign and to avoid walking into people. Even so, he attracted attention very quickly as people noticed the collar and wristbands standing out starkly against his skin. Worse, his cock was being kept solid down his right leg by the cock-ring was a noticeable bulge in the bleachers and he heard several shocked comments.
After what seemed like an age, he got to the end of the road to where he could see a street-sign. Ignoring the road name, he looked quickly at the post-code on the sign – NE9 – bloody hell, he was miles from home. He shoved his hands into his pockets and found nothing inside – without money he couldn’t even get a tube, bus or taxi. Jim shivered at the predicament he was in, chose a roughly south westerly direction and kept walking.
Jim carried on like that for several miles, walking fast, head down as the light slowly faded. He was starting to worry and as he progressed, he was stumbling more often and more than once he blundered into a group standing outside a pub – on each occasion he heard jeers as he hurried away down the road. It was as he was stumbling away from one of these groups that he got himself into trouble.
Head down, all he saw was a pair of cherry red DMs and he pulled up just short of walking into their owner. As he went to look up, a fist slammed into his stomach and he doubled over. He felt hands from behind him grab him under each arm and as he retched helplessly he was dragged into a alley.
Forced back against a wall, Jim found himself held in place as rough hands grabbed the ring at the front of the collar and forced his head up. He found himself looking up at a huge skinhead, his muscles clearly outlined under his skin-tight Fred Perry shirt.
“What the fuck is this then? SLAVE? What the fuck is that about?”
Jim tried to explain but a sharp slap across his face stopped him.
“Slaves don’t talk do they? Fucking idiot. Show him Tim.”
The big skinhead slammed a fist into Jims midriff, and as he gasped, the skinhead to his left stuffed a thick ball-gag into Jim’s mouth and then strapped it tightly behind his head. The two guys holding them then spun him around and pushed him roughly against the wall. Pulling his hand behind him, then locked his wrist restraints together with a padlock. Face pressed hard against the wall, Jim could only grunt as he felt hands caressing his arse.
“That’s better. Now, slave, you’re gonna learn what happens to people who come into our territory without permission.”
Pushing has hand between Jim and the wall, he pressed a gauze pad over Jims nose and mouth. Jim recognised the sweet smell, but could do nothing about it and soon lost consciousness again.
Jim woke to cramps in his arms and to find himself in an uncomfortable position. He was crouched kneeling over a leather bench, with his legs strapped to it at knees and ankles. A strap around the top of his back secured him in place on the bench with his arse slightly elevated. As he looked up he could see a mirror in front of him which showed that the gag was still in place. His hands were secured behind him, but winched away from his body, causing his muscles to cramp painfully. He pulled against the bonds but they were tight and very secure. As he stopped, he looked around. Jim was in what looked like a warehouse. To his left was a small office and he could hear a voice coming from it. As he strained to listen, he could make out the big skinheads accent and realised he was on the phone.
“Yeah, no problems. Like you said, we followed him for a couple of miles, till he was getting a bit panicky then we picked him up. Nah, he won’t be around for a while yet. So, like you said, scare him a bit, then you come in to collect him. No problems.”
As the voice stopped, Jim heard footsteps coming closer to the office door, so he dropped his head back to the bench and closed his eyes. He heard the footsteps coming closer and could not suppress a shudder as he felt rough hands rubbing over his arse.
“Nice. I know yer awake – I been watching on a webcam.” As the skinhead spoke, his hand kneaded Jims arse harder, pushing his fingers deep into the seam, tickling at Jims arse. Jim opened his eyes reluctantly and tried to speak, but the ball gag prevented all but muffled grunts from emerging.
The skinhead moved to crouch in front of him, his head level with Jims. “I bet you’re wondering what happens now. Well, normally I’d already be fucking you – but a friend of mine has other plans.” The skinhead stood, walked out of Jims eye line and returned pushing a television on a trolley. Turning the TV on, he moved behind Jim and clipped a chain to the back of Jims gag, yanking the chain roughly, Jims head was pulled up so he was looking directly at the TV. The skinhead then slipped earphones on Jims head.
“You’ll enjoy this.” The skinhead turned the TV on and Jim saw a spiral of colours, revolving slowly, pulsing gently. Behind him, the skinhead deliberately turned away from the TV and prepared a syringe. Jim felt nothing but a small prick as he was injected into the buttock. He realised that the spiral was something hypnotic and closed his eyes. Soon, though, he heard a soft voice in his head telling him to open his eyes, focus on the spiral, look deep within the colours. As the drug in Jims system took hold, he opened his eyes and began to obey the voice. As he stared at the spiral it changed speed, pulsing at a different frequency. The voice began giving more instructions, speaking slowly and clearly, but Jim was focussed totally on the spiral.
The skinhead knelt beside Jim, noting the way in which his eyes were now totally focussed on the screen and grinned as he initiated the second part of the programme. The spiral now faded slightly on the screen, still present, but overlaid with pictures. Pictures of men in uniform, me in leather, men in rubber. Pictures of men talking, kissing, rubbing each other. Pictures of men in bondage, restraint and chastity. As the pictures grew more graphic, the skinhead reached under Jim to rub his swelling cock and was pleased to find it rock-hard underneath him. Drawing a knife, he slit the seam at the back of Jim’s bleachers and with two fingers rubbed some lube into his arse. Jim’s reaction was a groan into the gag and to buck his thighs backwards into the skinhead fingers. He grinned, and slowly, gently inserted a butt plug into Jims willing hole.
Moving the programme to the next level, the skinhead chuckled at Jims reaction. The combination of the visual and auditory input as well as the drugs now coursing through his system were making him incredibly aroused and incredibly open to suggesting. He was now wriggling and writhing in his restraints – not in an attempt to escape, but in extreme arousal. The plug in his arse was more stimulating than anything he had imagined before and as the TV images sped up, becoming more and more sexual and perverse, Jim shuddered with what would be the first of several climaxes.
The skinhead chuckled – this guy would be good once the programming was complete. He doused the lights in the warehouse, leaving the TV as the only light source, illuminating the twitching, drooling form of Jim.
Part six
As the police patrol car drove slowly past the end of the alley, the police officer in the passenger seat swept his torch down the darkened alley revealing nothing but half-empty rubbish bins and discarded McDonalds boxes blowing around in the wind and rain. The patrol car moved on and the alley remained still, the only sound being the falling rain, the distant sound of a window banging in the wind and the low rattle of the rubbish being blown away from the street.
After a few minutes, there was movement as four figures stood up from their hiding places – three from behind bins, the fourth from a darkened doorway. Without speaking, the four padded forward to the entrance of the alley and looked cautiously out into the road. After checking in each direction, the lead figure made a series of gestures with his hand and all four men ran into the lit street, swiftly moving along the pavement until they reached the door of a jewellery shop. Two took crouching positions either side of the door where they had a clear view of the street. The other two unstrapped packs from their back, one taking out a screwdriver and removing the cover of the alarm box by the door, the other pulling out a laptop and booting it up.
All four men could now be dimly seen in the illumination of a nearby streetlight. They seemed to be of a similar height – roughly 6ft and they were dressed identically. Each was wearing a form-fitting black suit of a matt-black material that did nothing to hide their impressive musculature. Laced tightly on their feet were army boots which had clearly been tightly glossed before their foray into the rain. Their heads were covered with balaclavas made of the same material, with only eye holes revealing anything of the person beneath and on their hands they were wearing gloves of thin black leather. All four moved with the confidence of athletes, and the grace of people used to their muscle and the physical activity associated with it.
At the door, the cover was removed and the laptop connected directly to the circuit board. A scroll of numbers appeared on the laptop screen, rapidly running through combinations until after a few seconds 9 numbers began to flash. One of the men rapidly typed the number into the still connected pad of the alarm box, and the light on the outside of the box went out. As one man disconnected the laptop and began to put it away, the other took out a sophisticated set of lock-picks and began working on the door.
It took him no more than 3 minutes to open the lock. As soon as it was open, all four men swiftly stepped inside, shutting the door behind them.
Inside, all four stood close by the door, unmoving except for their heads which scanned the room, noting the CCTV cameras and the sensors at ankle level. Taking a can out of his pack, one man sprayed a fine mist into the room, revealing the red lines of lasers crossing the room. Touching one would set off the alarm. Beside the door was another alarm panel. Taking a slip of paper from his pack, one man typed a long number into the panel. With a click, the red lights revealed by the mist disappeared and the panel display turned to 5:00 and began a slow countdown. The man turned to the others and raised his right hand with the fingers spread indicating the number 5. Still without speaking, the four men split up around the room and began levering open display cabinets and removing the contents stuffing them into their packs.
As the CCTV cameras watched they continued to work efficiently, none noticing as the count down on the alarm pad jumped to 1:00. After no more than 2 minutes, the silence of the shop was shattered by the sound of the alarm. One man dropped the lid of the display cabinet on his arm and it smashed, driving a splinter of glass into his forearm. Still silent, he removed his balaclava to get a clearer look at the wound, revealing the reason for his continued silence. Under the balaclava he was wearing a tight leather hood, laced and strapped in place and locked with a padlock at the back. Part of the hood is a cover over the mouth – and presumably a gag beneath – which was also locked in place. He gently pulled the splinter from his arm and with the others shipped his pack on his back and hurried out of the shop.
The night was broken by the distant sound of sirens as the four men sprinted through the rain and disappeared into the alley as swiftly and quietly as they had come.
As Jims alarm went off he struggled out of bed, sitting on the side and shaking his head as he tried to clear it of the night before. After 6 weeks working undercover he was no closer to getting into the inner circle at Inferno. He was still attending every night and the 3am finishes was starting to take its toll on his normal early starts – his alarm was now set to 10am each day and even that was becoming difficult. Shaking his head, he padded through to his kitchen, took a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and took a few gulps for it. Then he wandered into the gym and began his morning workout. Two hours later, he stood sweating in front of the full length mirror. Something about this job was clearly agreeing with him as he’d put on some muscle over the last few weeks. Jim smiled and flexed his pumped muscles and thought how much the guys at Inferno would enjoy seeing him like this. His cock started to rise at the thought and he started to stroke it. As he did so, he noticed a long gash on his forearm. Jim had no idea now the gash had got there, but as it ached it was obviously recent. Damn, must have been very drunk last night – Jim was glad that Steve had started providing him with orange juice at home and he decided that in future he should drink OJ when he was at Inferno.
Rubbing at his arm, Jim sat and sent off his normal report to Inspector Turner. Then he headed off to the shower and got dressed for the day. Steve had told him that tonight was Skinhead Night at Inferno, so he dressed appropriately – skin-tight bleachers, a pair of highly glossed black ranger boots ladder-laced with white laces and white Fred Perry shirt so tight that Jims’ pecs nearly burst out of it. He checked himself out in the mirror – his newly shaved head looked good over the skinhead gear and Jim rubbed at his cock as it made a bulge down his left leg. Adding leather wristbands, Jim pulled on a black MA1 jacket and decided to head down to Inferno early.
When the lift arrived, Mike the security guard was already in it. He grinned, his gaze travelling down Jims’ chiselled torso to the obvious bulge in his jeans.
“Afternoon, Mr Davies. How are things? Busy?”
“Good thanks, Mike. No, just heading down to Inferno to hang out.”
“Nothing urgent then – good.” Mike leant forward and pushed the Emergency Stop button on the lift. Pushing Jim back against the wall of the lift, he snogged him deeply, one hand caressing Jims’ arse while the other rubbed Jims’ cock until it swelled so much that the material looked close to tearing. The two men grunted with passion as they kissed deeply, hands running over each other as they massaged each other’s muscles.
Mike stood back and spun Jim around to face the wall. Unzipping the arse zip on Jims’ jeans, he licked his fingers and began to work them inside Jims’ arse. Jim stood facing the mirrored wall, arms and legs spread, groaning and grunting as Mikes’ fingers expertly worked his arse. All too soon, Mike stood up, grinning as he turned Jim around for a final snog and laughing at the stain of pre-cum on Jims’ bleachers.
“There, that should set you up nicely for Steve.” He said as he released the Emergency Stop button and the lift continued on its way. Jim laughed and zipped up his bleachers, fondling Mikes crotch one last time before the doors opened in the foyer.
“See you later.”
“Count on it” grinned Mike “I have a day off tomorrow, so maybe I can come by your place for a longer visit.”
Jim grinned “Feel free. Anytime after 1pm”. With that he left the building, heading for Inferno.
part seven
When Jim arrived at Inferno, he used his key to let himself in and headed straight to the bar area. As part of his strategy of getting into Steve’s inner circle, Jim had let himself be convinced to work behind the car a couple of nights a week. So far he hadn’t found out anything but there was still time. As he arrived he nodded to the other two bar staff, who were dressed like himself and both heavily muscled making their Fred Perry shirts strain over their barrel chests. As he started to sort his section of the bar out, he chatted with the two others. As they passed to and fro behind his position, their bodies rubbed against him and he could feel his cock swelling down the leg of his bleachers and he grinned. One guy stood behind Jim and pressed up close so he could feel the mans bulge press hard against the arse-zip in Jims bleachers. Instead of moving away, he chuckled and pushed back. The man laughed and went back to his own section of the bar. Jim turned to call to him and realised he didn’t know the guys name – actually he didn’t know the name of any of the staff here. That was weird. Brow furrowed, he tried to remember. Try as he might he couldn’t think of a single name. Meditatively he took a long gulp of his orange juice and almost immediately realised that it didn’t matter and went back to his work.
Once Inferno opened, Jim was too busy to worry. The club was soon full of guys, most of whom were dressed similarly to Jim. His world reduced to taking orders, pouring drinks and handing them across the bar. The temperature in the club soared and soon his shirt and bleachers were soaked with sweat. His only breaks were to gulp down orange juice from the supply Steve put behind the bar for the three bartenders. Jim soon had no idea of how much time had passed or how many drinks he had served. As he and the other guys worked, they were constantly rubbing up against each other and as a result, all three were permanently semi-erect.
Jim was interrupted by a hand landing on his shoulder. He turned to see Steve grinning at him, “Take a break, Ben. I’ll hold the fort for a while.” He handed Jim another orange juice and leant past him to take an order. Sweating and tired, Jim gulped down the juice as he worked his way out from behind the bar and into the main area of the club. He looked around for somewhere to sit down, but couldn’t see anywhere so he moved further into the club, looking for anywhere he could relax for a few minutes. In a dark corner, he pushed between three guys as they snogged and groped each other to sit down on a metal bench. Head bent down, he tried to ignore the pounding of the music and the muzziness in his head. He tried to collect his thoughts, decide what he should be doing but didn’t seem to be able to concentrate. He took another gulp of orange juice but that didn’t seem to help.
As he sat there, head bowed and trying to clear his thoughts, a pair of highly glossed black Dr Martens boots came into his vision. He slowly raised his head, taking in the knee high glossed boots, the blackness offset by the white laces, then the skin-tight bleachers showing off a musculature that was similar to his own. The bleachers were held in place by a thick leather belt and a pair of leather braces, which were secured over a very tight black t-shirt. The t-shirt left nothing to the imagination being made of some sheer material which clung to the chest and 6-pack of the man stood in front of Jim. Jim’s gaze lingered over the chest and well packed crotch, until the man’s hand gripped him by the chin and pulled his head upright to stare at his face. The man’s grip tightened and Jim stood up to avoid the pain – to his shock he was still looking up at the man and he realised that the skinhead must be at least 6ft6” in height. As he looked at the man’s face, Jim gasped – he seemed familiar. He had brief flashes that seemed like dreams:
- Being pushed against an alley wall
- Being punched in the gut
- A slave collar
- Being strapped to some kind of bench
Jim shook in the man’s grasp and realised he had been spoken to, but the combination of the pounding music and his reverie meant that he had missed what was said.
“Sorry – what did you say?”
The man sighed with annoyance and maintained his grip on Jim’s chin.
“I SAID are you deliberately sat here or what?”
“What? What do you mean?”
The man pointed at the bench Jim was sat on and twisted his head so that he could see. What he had thought of as a bench was the metal lid of a cage and Jim could see inside a metal dog bowl.
“Huh? No – no – I was just sat here, that’s all. Umm I should really get back to work.”
At this point another figure stepped past the man and Jim saw to his relief that it was Steve.
“Hi Steve – glad you’re here. This guy has got some idea...”
“..that you like the cage and what it represents? Well, you do, don’t you?” Steve grinned, and turned to the larger skinhead. “Have fun.” With that, he disappeared back towards the bar.
“Playing games, eh? You’ll pay for that, boi.” He pushed Jim back against the wall, his free hand rummaging in the bottom of the cage. After a few seconds he found what he wanted and picked it up with a grin. “Open wide.” The skinhead tightened his grip on Jim’s jaw, pushing his fingers into the sides to force it open. As it opened he slid in a thick cock gag. The gag was mounted on a leather faceplate which was moulded to fit under the chin. Straps and buckles hanging off the faceplate were quickly strapped around Jim’s head and he realised he was now wearing a muzzle. The last strap to be fastened was that on the thick collar attached to the muzzle and Jim once again had the sense that this man had done something like this to him before. His swelling cock betrayed his mounting excitement. The skinhead roughly rubbed at Jim’s bulge and chuckled crudely “Yeah, Steve said you were a horny little sod and he was right.”
Jim tried to say something but could do nothing but grunt into the gag. The skinhead grinned “no talking for you, boi. Not now, not later.” Reaching into the cage again, he pulled out a pair of thick, padded leather fist-mitts. Almost before Jim could realise what was happening, he had slipped them over Jim’s hands and buckled them shut. His hands were now helpless, even before the skinhead padlocked each one in place. Placing one hand in the middle of Jim’s chest, the skinhead shoved him hard against the wall, with the other he roughly groped Jim’s bulge where a stain was now showing on the bleachers. “Good, I like my bois to be horny”
Still holding Jim against the wall with one hand, he tucked the other hand under Jim’s shirt collar and with one sharp downward motion ripped his shirt in two. Jim’s sweaty bulging pecs and flat stomach were exposed to view. He nodded appreciatively and ran his hands over Jim’s muscles, tweaking his nipples. “Nice, much better.” Jim groaned into the gag as he shuddered under the man’s rough touch.
“On all fours.” Horny and mitted, Jim obeyed instantly. A heavy chain was clipped to his collar and the skinhead dragged him out into the club. Jim crawled after him, debased and humiliated, but horny and aroused at the predicament he found himself in. The skinhead seemed to know everyone in the room and stopped to talk to them all. Each time, Jim found himself being groped, stroked and fondled until he thought he would explode as he became more and more aroused. After more than an hour, the skinhead sat down on a stool at the bar, with Jim crouched on the floor beside him. He leant down and adjusted something on the faceplate of the muzzle, which allowed him to remove the gag. Before Jim could speak he pushed Jim’s head down onto the tow of his boot and uttered a single word.
“Lick”
Jim baulked for a few seconds, then tentatively licked at the gleaming black leather. Something clicked in his mind, and he soon found himself eagerly licking and roughly tonguing the boots, enjoying the way his tongue rasped over the leather. Minutes passed as he licked and slurped over the boots, his cock finally releasing its load into his bleachers. The skinhead chuckled and Jim looked up “Good boi – we’ll make a proper bootlicker of you yet.” Jim grinned and returned to licking the boots, uncaring of the guys stood back watching his humiliation.
Part one
PC Jim Maxwell paced nervously up and down. He was in his Inspectors office and had now been waiting for Inspector Turner for 15 minutes. Three weeks out of Hendon and already summoned to the office. He had no idea why, but he was sure he had done something wrong. He racked his brain but couldn’t think of anything. Since joining, he’d done everything right and had received no criticisms from his Sergeant. Sure, it had been easier for him that for some of the other recruits – at 27, he was older than them and the 9 years he’d served in the army had got him used to the sort of discipline required in the police.
Even so he was worried. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair – while not long, it was no longer in the tight military cut he was used too. His 6ft frame moved lightly across the floor, despite the weight of his muscles. Always a big man, he had already found the usefulness of his size in dealing with awkward situations.
“Ah good, you’re here, Maxwell.”
As the Inspector entered the room, reflexes brought Jim to attention. The Inspector smiled.
“At ease, Maxwell.”
“Sorry, Sir. Army reflex.”
“No problems, son. Take a seat.”
The Inspector waited for Jim to get settled and opened the personnel file that he’d brought in with him. After a few moments reflection he closed the file again and faced Jim.
“Maxwell, I’ve called you in here as there’s a job I’d like you to do for me. Now, I know you’re very new and normally this kind of task wouldn’t be given to someone still working their probation. However, we’ve tried all the normal avenues and got nowhere. We need someone unknown who can go undercover.”
Jim started with surprise. “Undercover, Sir? But that requires..”
“Extensive training and experience. Yes I know. The problem is that we suspect that someone on the inside is giving information about our undercover operatives. So we need a new face, someone who can handle himself, but is unknown to anyone working the normal police channels. In point of fact – you. Your record in the army is impeccable and you passed the training with a very high mark indeed. I’m confident that you could do this. It won’t be a long assignment – I would imagine it will all be over in 4-6 weeks. Are you interested? I’m sure I don’t need to point out how good this would look on your record.”
Jim thought for a moment, before nodding and asking for more details.
“Great – I knew you were the right man for the job. The background is this: for some months now we’ve been aware of criminal activities centring on a nightclub in Soho called Inferno. It seems to be connected to a string of robberies as well as suspected links to money laundering and the selling of low level narcotics. The club has been raided several times, as well as the home of the owner, but we have found nothing. Two undercover policemen have been sent in, but were spotted immediately – which led me to suspect that we have an informer inside the force. What we want you to do, is infiltrate the club, see what’s going on there and get us some stronger information on what’s going on and who’s behind it.”
“Sounds straightforward enough, Sir. I can pass myself off as a club guest and gain access that way.”
“Yes – but there’s a wrinkle, which is why you’ll need to go completely undercover. Inferno is a gay club – so we’ll need to set you up with a new identity and background. Is that a problem?”
Jim squirmed a little in his chair. This “wrinkle” made the job much more difficult – but it would do his career good to have this on his record – and it never hurts to have a senior officer owing you a favour. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d have to actually do anything – just go in and observe.
“No problems, Sir – when do I start?”
“As soon as possible.” Turner opened a drawer in his desk and brought out a thick document folder. “In here are details of your background, supporting documentation, driving license, fake ID and the address of your flat in Balham. As I see you’re a bike rider, we’ve provided you with a bike rather than a car. The folder also contains details about the club, its owner and the staff. Your name is Ben Davies and you’ve just moved into town from your home in Plymouth. Your parents died recently, leaving you the money which bought you the flat and which you’re living on until you get a job. All the background information is there, and you need to memorise it as soon as possible. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“One last thing. You’ll need new clothes.” The Inspector handed over a business card. “Go here and ask for Kyle – he’s expecting you. He’ll get you kitted out and advise you on what to wear to Inferno.”
The inspector stood up and leaned forward to shake Jims’ hand. Realising he was being dismissed, Jim, stood as well.
“Good luck, Maxwell. The folder contains details of how you will report in, as well as a mobile phone with an emergency number on it. There’s a GPS chip in the phone that will allow us to track your location. “ The Inspector looked at his watch. “I have another meeting to attend now. Kyle is expecting you at 14:00.”
With that, the Inspector ushered Jim out of his office. Jim checked his watch and looked at the address on the card. It was 12:30 already, which gave him very little time. He headed down to the locker room, to get changed out of his uniform. He had just enough time to pop back to his bedsit and change into something suitably un-noticeable. Selecting a pair of old jeans, t-shirt and trainers, he slipped into an old sweatshirt and pulled an old Arsenal baseball cap on. Satisfied he wasn’t noticeable he headed out.
The address that Turner had given him was a warehouse just off Clapham High Street. Jim looked around the front and could see no way it. Looking around the side, he spotted a discrete door with an entry phone beside it. He pressed the bell and stood close to the door, trying to look inconspicuous.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Ji..Ben Davies. I understand you’re expecting me.”
“Ah, Mr...Davies. Yes, come on in and head up the stairs.”
With a buzz, the door unlocked and Jim walked inside. Instead of a warehouse, he found himself at the foot of a well decorated staircase. He headed up and onto a small landing with another security door. The door opened, revealing a man just taller than Jim, with cropped black hair and wearing jeans and a T-shirt which was tight enough to display his impressive musculature. Jim stared in surprise – if this was Kyle, he had been expecting someone far more effeminate.
“Hi, I’m Kyle.” Kyle held out his hand, “Come on inside”
Kyle led Jim into a small reception area with two changing room doors off it. Pictures on the wall showed various models – all male – wearing clothes which varied from formal suits, to swimwear. Kyle waved Jim to a chair.
“Right, Officer...sorry, I mean Mr Davies” he grinned mischievously. “I understand we need to clothe you for a work assignment. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right”
“Ok, and I understand you will be expected to go to a club called Inferno and to fit in?”
“Yes – is that a problem?”
Kyle laughed “Oh no, not at all – though you may end up wearing clothes that you really don’t expect to.”
Before Jim could ask what he meant by that, Kyle stood up and pulled a tape measure and PDA out of his pocket.
“Right, time to get some measurements. Take off your sweatshirt, please.”
In brisk, efficient style, Kyle measured Jim and noted the measurements down in the PDA. He then headed through the staff door, coming back a couple of minutes later with a handful of clothes. “Try these on for starters.”
For the next hour, Jim tried on several sets of clothes, including suits, sports gear and leisure wear. To his surprise, none of it seemed “gay” to him – although he had to admit that the cut was a lot tighter than he would have normally picked. By this time, several bags and suit covers were full of clothes and he was wondering how he was going to get them all to his new flat. Kyle saw his look “Don’t worry – all of this will be couriered over to your flat by 5pm. Right, now we need to get something for Inferno. Go into the changing room and I’ll bring something through for you.”
Jim went into the changing room and stripped out of the bleached jeans, Fred Perry shirt and boots that he had been wearing. Kyle tapped on the door “I’ll leave it out here. Oh, and you’ll need to remove your underwear for this.”
After Jim heard Kyle move away he opened the door and grabbed the pile of clothes lying there. Looking at the armful in shock he raised his voice “Are you sure this is the right stuff?”
Kyle’s voice came from around the corner “Yes. I know it’s unusual, but you’ll get used to it.”
Jim shrugged, removed his pants and began pulling on the strange attire. First was a jockstrap made of black leather. This was followed by a tight pair of chaps that showed his leg muscles off as he zipped them around his legs. He then added socks and a pair of knee-high glossed boots. He then shrugged into a leather tank top, only realising when he pulled it on, that its low-scooped front left most of his chest exposed – including his nipples. The last item was a thick leather wristband which he buckled around his left wrist. For the first time feeling less than confident, he headed out of the changing room.
Kyle was waiting for him. “Well, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever been dressed like that. Turn around and let me take a look.” Jim did so – as he had for all the other clothes – realising a little too late that the chaps and jock left his arse almost completely on view. Kyle didn’t seem to react. “Yes, I think that’s fine – one small alteration though.” Deftly, he unbuckled the wristband and re-secured it around Jim’s right wrist. “Is that important?”
“Definitely – you may have the build of a Top, but your lack of confidence will make it obvious you’re not. Might as well go in looking right. OK, well I think we’re finished here. Change out of that into something less...indiscrete, and I’ll pack it up with the other things. I’ll add some other things as well for you – wouldn’t want you to have to wear the same things on every visit would we?”
“Guess not – and thanks.” Jim hastily changed out of the leather, opting for a combination of jeans, white T-shirt and black leather jacket. Thanking Kyle again, he headed out for his new flat in Balham.
Chapter Two
Jim stood in front of the apartment block in Balham and checked for the third time that he had the address right. He had heard stories about the accommodation provided for undercover work – rat-infested havens for disease and cockroaches, but this was something else entirely. His flat seemed to be the penthouse of a newly developed block called Ascension Point. He entered the plush lobby and using the key Turner had provided him, called the lift. As he looked around, he could see state of the art security cameras and among the tasteful decor were the logos of the alarm and security firms.
By the time the smooth, silent lift had reached the penthouse flat, he had started to relax. For some reason, he’d fallen on his feet with this assignment. The flat itself was luxurious – the main room was as large as his whole flat and decorated very tastefully. Off the main room, he soon found bedroom, small personal gym, bathroom, kitchen and a steam room. In each the furnishings were obviously high quality and the walls were adorned with tasteful paintings. Alongside the bedroom he found a final corridor with a locked door. As Jim was sorting through the keys, he heard a chime from the front door and went to see what it was – further exploration could be left for later.
Beside his front door he found a video-entry phone and he activated it to see a man standing on the doorstep.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, Sir. I have a delivery for...” the man scrutinised his clipboard “..Mr Davies?”
“That’s right – come on up.” After a few seconds fumbling Jim worked out which button activated the outside door. He then realised that the courier would need the key for the lift, but as he opened his door, he saw from the indicator that the lift was already heading down to the ground floor. Clearly the courier had been here before and had his own key.
After a few minutes, the lift returned and the doors opened to reveal the courier surrounded by boxes and bags. Jim moved to help him and together they moved everything through into the main room.
“I’ll just go and get the rest, Sir.”
“There’s more?”
“Oh yes, Sir. Another full load at least.”
Jim was stunned. Kyle must have added more than “a few” items to the list. Jim wondered again why this job had received such a large budget.
The courier returned with another full load and then insisted on unpacking everything and putting it away in the bedroom. Clearly the man knew his way around the apartment and Jim wondered whether he was a police employee of some kind. He couldn’t think of any subtle way to ask and so pottered around in the kitchen while the guy worked on. He popped out to see if they guy wanted a coffee, just in time to see him open the front door to leave. The courier smiled and waved “See you soon, Mr Davies” and then Jim found himself alone in the apartment.
He spent the next couple of hours familiarising himself with the apartment, including the spa bath, the kitchen equipment and the 42” flat screen TV. As the sky faded outside, he thought he’d better get ready to start his job properly and so he decided to get ready to head out to Inferno.
He headed into the walk-in wardrobe to find the clothing that Kyle had selected and stopped in surprise. The wardrobe was full – and one side of it was devoted to clothing made out of leather, lycra or rubber interspersed with what looked like uniforms. Below the hanging clothing were several sets of boots in various shapes and size. Kyle hadn’t been joking – he really didn’t want Jim going out in the same clothes twice!
A little taken aback, Jim sorted through the clothes until he found the ones he’d tried on earlier and pulled them on. Grabbing a long leather duster to go over the top, he put his wallet and keys in his pocket and headed out. Inferno was less than a mile away, so Jim decided to walk.
Inferno itself looked innocent from the outside – an innocuous door in an alley between a newsagents and a betting shop. As he approached the door, he could hear the bass thump of music from inside. Steeling himself, Jim pushed the door open and walked in. Inside was a small foyer, with a cloakroom attendant and two other doors. One clearly led to a toilet and changing area, the other into the club proper.
The tall, well built attendant looked up from the newspaper he was reading and grinned a welcome.
“Hi. First time here?”
“Umm,, yes”
“Ok no problems. Welcome to Inferno. I just need to get you to sign the book as a guest.” As Jim did so, he continued “That’ll be £5 for the evening – unless you’ll be coming regularly in which case its £30 for the year.”
“I’ll stick with just this evening for the moment”
“No problems. Can I take your coat?” Jim handed the duster over and the attendant openly appraised him. “Nice. I can see you’ll fit right in here. Go on through. It’s quiet at the moment but it should pick up in an hour or so.”
Jim muttered something that he hoped sounded polite and went through the door into the club proper. Inside, the dull bass beat became a roar as he was exposed to the full-force of the music pounding through the club. The area beyond the door was dimly lit, the only well-lit area being the bar, which he stumbled towards. Apart from himself, there were only a couple of people in the club, including the bartender who turned to greet him.
Forcing himself to remain calm, he ordered a beer and stood at the bar, slowly scanning the room. The few others in the room stood apart, not talking to each other and looking around in a manner similar to himself. He tried to be surreptitious as he looked at them. Jim was surprised as he had expected to see the typical mincing queers in here. Instead, the guys looked..well..normal. They were a range of body types and ages, some muscular, one overweight but still filling out his leathers quite well. As he looked around he became aware of movement behind him and out of the corner of his eye he saw the familiar pattern of a uniform shirt. Reflexes kicked in and he surged to his feet, standing to attention. The man behind him chuckled and put his hand on Jims shoulder.
“At ease, soldier. We don’t tend to be that formal here – not on a first visit anyway.”
Jim turned to see a man in his mid thirties, about 6ft 3” tall and wearing a tight police uniform over his impressively bulky muscle. As Jim looked closer, he could see that the entire uniform was made of leather – the shirt of soft white leather, the black tie, skin-tight trousers. The uniform included insignia, the only thing differing from the standard uniform being the boots – which in this case were knee-high glossed leather.
“Well, I see you’re not shy about staring,” the stranger grinned.
Jim babbled an apology “Sorry, I just haven’t seen a uniform like that before....umm..looks great.”
“Thanks – I’m Steve”
“J..Ben”
“Well, J-Ben, welcome to my club. Dave, another beer for B-Jim”
The bartender nodded to Steve and brought the beer. Steve sat down on a stool beside Jim and the two men began to talk. To Jim’s surprise the conversation flowed easily and ranged from politics to motorbikes. The one thing they didn’t talk about was sex, which put him at his ease. He had expected to be having to fend off advances all evening, but this bar was constantly challenging his expectations.
As they talked, Dave kept replenishing Jims beer and the bar slowly filled up. The level of the music increased too, and the two men found themselves leaning closer so they could hear each other. Occasionally, Steve would turn to greet someone as they came in and give Jim a chance to scan the crowd. Jim was aware that making contact with Steve was a great step forward in his mission and he didn’t want to lose contact with him. Eventually though, he had to go to the loo, and when he came back, to his disappointment Steve wasn’t there.
He waved the bartender over who explained that Steve had to go and sort some business out and would be back soon. He had told Dave to keep Jim’s drinks coming though, so Jim soon had another beer. He was feeling pleasantly buzzed now and decided to switch to water as he needed to keep his mind on the job. He slowly scanned the room, more curious than anything else and was surprised by the variety of clothing being worn – leather, rubber, uniforms, sports gear, leather and rubber versions of uniforms, skinhead gear – in fact, virtually everything that Kyle had provided him with.
Then he saw Steve beckoning to him and he worked his way across the crowded bar towards him. As he pushed through, he was aware of hands brushing against him and one squeezing his butt. He didn’t react, just headed over to Steve. Steve grinned as he approached.
“So, J-Ben, enjoying yourself?”
“Yes, I am. Thanks, Steve. Great club.”
“Good – glad you like it. So..” Steve paused, “..are you ready to make your first visit here more memorable.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Just a bit of fun.” Steve held up a pair of leather wrist restraints. “For a start, I think you should probably be wearing these.”
Jim hardly hesitated as he held his hands out to Steve. Steve quickly unbuckled Steve’s wristband and then strapped the wrist restraints tightly on. Then he padlocked them shut and secured them together with a larger padlock so that Jims hands were crossed in front of him.
“Much better – now you really look like a boy. Follow me.”
Jim followed Steve through the crowded club. To his surprise he wasn’t nervous. He realised that he trusted Steve, that Steve wouldn’t hurt him or do anything that Jim didn’t want to happen. A small part of his brain was telling him that letting Steve lock his hands together was unwise, but he ignored that. Steve took Jim to a quieter corner of the bar, where a heavy metal frame stood out from the wall. Picking up a bottle of beer he put it to Jim’s lips and tilted it until Jim swigged the whole bottle. His head now felt decidedly fuzzy.
Steve grabbed Jims secured wrists and locked them to a heavy chain. Pulling on the other end of it, Jim’s wrists were raised to the top of the metal frame until his arms were stretched up and his muscled torso displayed through the tight leather vest. This happened so fast that he hardly had time to yell. He went to ask Steve what was going on, but Steve pressed his gloved hand over Jims mouth.
“Ssshh. You know you’ll enjoy this – why else come to this bar?”
Jim immediately calmed down as the words penetrated his beer-addled brain.
“But just to make sure...open wide.” Jim opened his mouth as Steve pushed a red rubber ball inside it. The leather straps attached to the ball were secured tightly behind Jims head and now all he could do was grunt at Steve as the club owner rubber his hands over Jims bulging pecs.
“Now this is nice – hmm, Ben, you really are a hot piece of muscle.”
With that, Steve pulled out a thick leather collar and strapped it around Jims neck. Locking it on, he tugged at the D-Ring on the front, pulling Jim close to his face.
“Oh, yes, I’m going to keep you.”
Kneeling down in front of Jim, he removed Jim’s boots, and then unzipped his chaps. Letting them fall to the floor, he rubbed his hands up and down Jims, legs, resting them on his upper thigh.
“Very nice – though the hair will have to go.”
He replaced Jims boots and secured ankle shackles on each of Jims feet. Then kicking them wide, he locked them to the sides of the frame. Jim was now stretched out and helpless, and naked except for his leather tank-top and jockstrap.
“Yes, I think you’ll make a fine addition to the stable.”
Jim hung there, hardly comprehending what had been just said. Instead he felt happy, proud, and judging by the bulge within his jockstrap, highly aroused. He had never been treated this way before, never been aroused by a man and yet he found himself eager to submit to the man standing in front of him.
Steve moved close to Jim, pressing against him, letting Jim feel his leather uniform against his own leather and flesh. He ran his gloved hands up and down Jims back, letting them rest on the tight globes of Jims arse.
“Oh yes, a good addition indeed. I think we’ll have to start your training in the very near future.”
He let go of Jims arse.
“But not tonight. I don’t want to freak you out. I think just hanging there for a while should give you enough of a taster of what’s in store.”
With that, he pressed some buttons on the wall, and Jim felt the frame rise into the air. Once it was about 10ft up, Steve pressed another button and the frame moved out away from the wall. Jim realised that he could now be seen by the whole club and the cheers of appreciative patrons showed that he had been spotted. Two spotlights clicked on to highlight his helpless body.
Jim hung there, feeling horny in a way he’d never felt before and completely on display to the club. His beer-fuddled mind was confused by the lights and he could only vaguely remember why he was in the club in the first place. As he tried to deal with his increasingly engorged cock by thrusting his hips to and fro, he heard appreciative yells from the floor below. The lights began heating him up so sweat began running down his muscles, the drool running around the gag joining it and he briefly wondered what the hell the Inspector would think of this as an undercover role.
Part three
Jim woke up the next day in his new bed. He lay there, arms crossed behind his head and wondered how he had got into the situation he found himself in last night. He had no idea how long he had been suspended in the frame – but by the time he had been released, he was dripping with sweat, his muscles were cramping and his cock was desperate for release. He could vaguely remember hands touching his muscles, fondling his crotch, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember what happened next or how he got home.
His muscles still ached from his bondage yesterday, so he levered himself out of bed and took a long, hot shower to try and get the kinks out. Sitting down to some breakfast, he crunched his way through a bowl of cereal while typing out his first days report for the Inspector. He discretely omitted details about the events in Inferno, instead mentioning that he had made contact with the club owner. Sending the email, he sat back to plan his day.
He decided to spend part of the day exploring the area, then workout and maybe a run in the afternoon. Then back to Inferno in the evening. His planning was interrupted by the intercom. He padded over to the panel still clad only in a towel and punched the button.
“Yes?”
“Good morning, Mr Davies. There’s a package here for you, sir. Shall I send it up?”
“uh yes, sure. Thanks”
Jim wasn’t expecting anything, but assumed this was something else from the Inspector. He opened the door and waited for the lift to arrive. Inside was the doorman, and beside him was a large box, approximately 3ft square.
“Hello, Mr Davies. Late start today, sir?” The doorman grinned and Jim belatedly remembered he was still only wearing a towel. He secured it tighter around his waist.
“Umm yes. Thanks...err...Mike?” He read the name on the security badge.
“You’re welcome, sir.” Mike held out a clipboard with a delivery receipt for signature. Once Jim had signed, he helped carry the bulky box into the flat.
“Have a good day, sir.” He winked and left.
Jim wondered what the wink was for and settled down to look at the box. The delivery note on top proudly displayed the name of the company the box was from – Dante. Jim had never heard of the company – presumably it was some cover company the police were using. Curiously, Jim opened the box and found inside several packages of what looked like leather and an envelope addressed to “J-Ben”. Quickly he opened the envelope and read the note inside:
“Ben, I hope you enjoyed yourself last night – it certainly looked like you were having a great time. I took the liberty of getting you something from Dante, which I think you’ll enjoy. I hope you’ll wear it tonight. Steve.”
Jim lifted the items out of the box, laid them out on the floor and stared at them. This certainly wasn’t what he had in mind when he accepted the job – but wearing this would improve his relationship with Steve. Jim just wondered how close he was going to have to get.
When Inferno opened that evening, Jim was waiting outside. Leaning against the wall opposite the door, he was wearing camouflage jacket and trousers as well as a highly glossed pair of army boots. On his head was a marine beret complete with badge. As the door opened, he stood up to attention. The doorman looked out and grinned.
“Hi there. Steve said he was expecting someone – come on inside. “
The man ushered Jim inside, taking the chance to run his hands over the globes of Jim’s arse as he escorted him past the cloakroom and straight into the club.
“I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Leaving Jim by the bar, he went back outside. Jim looked around curiously. Apart from the barman who was going to and fro as he set up for the evening, he was alone in the club. As he wondered about trying to take a look around behind the scenes, Steve came in through the staff entrance. Like Jim, he was wearing camo gear, boots and a marine beret. Seeing Jim, he grinned and walked across.
“Good, my parcel arrived. And it seems I got your measurements right.”
“Yeah – thanks, Steve. Look this is very generous, but..”
“Hey think nothing of it.” Steve leaned in close and whispered “I intend getting my moneys worth out of it.”
With that he headed off, leaving Jim alone in the bar with the barman. As on the night before, Jim found that all his drinks were paid for and over the next hour, the club slowly started to fill. As he started his third or fourth beer – he was already losing track – he sensed a familiar presence behind him. He turned to see Steve grinning at him.
“Time to see the rest of the uniform, Ben,”
Jim put down his beer and with a momentary hesitation, pulled off the beret and put it on the bar beside him. He then unzipped the camo jacket and in a swift movement pulled it off. Underneath he was wearing a harness of thick, supple black leather. Straps over and under his shoulders met in thick chrome rings in the centre of his chest and small of his back. Another pair of chrome rings were centred over his navel and the small of his back, held in place by similar thick leather straps. A final strap disappeared under his trousers where it ended in a thick chrome cock ring that he could feel heavy around the root of his cock. As well as the harness, Jim was wearing a thick leather collar, and wide straps around his wrists and biceps. The leather bit tightly into his muscles, accentuating them and drawing appreciative glances and comments from the men stood around him. Jim quickly became the centre of attention in the bar, and then he unzipped his camo trousers and pulled them off without removing his boots. His legs were covered with a complex leather harness that reached down from a thick leather waistband to the top of his boots. His cock was covered with a tight leather jockstrap that did little to hide the tumescent bulge beneath it. As he turned around, the bar got a clear view of his tight, muscled arse, naked except for a leather strap running from the body harness to connect to the base of the cock ring.
Jim stood there, embarrassed, but also clearly aroused. All he could hear were appreciative wolf whistles and comments from the bar patrons. A few hands started to rub at his muscles, but Steve waved them back. He walked close to Jim and taking out a handful of padlocks began locking collar, wristbands and both harnesses in place. Finally, he clipped a heavy chain leash to the front of Jim’s collar and with a jerk pulled him away from the bar. As he led Jim deeper into the club, Jim was groped and fondled by appreciative hands and he found himself growing more aroused by the minute. His thoughts seemed to be a blur – which he put down to the beers he had drunk. He was no longer focused on his mission, no longer worried about work. All he knew was that he was horny and enjoying himself. He hardly noticed as Steve stopped and attached chains to his wristbands.
Jim didn’t resist as the chains were pulled upwards and outwards, stretching his arms out to the side. Steve also locked restraints attached to chains around his ankles and soon he stood there spread-eagled in full view of the club. Steve then approached Jim with a thick red ball-gag. He opened his mouth without thinking and the gag was strapped tightly in place. Steve walked around the helpless Jim, stroking his muscles around the tight leather harness, and Jim could do nothing except shudder at each gentle touch. A flash alerted him to the fact that someone as taking photos and for a moment the haze in his mind cleared. He realised what a dangerous place this was for him to be and he yelled into the gag, trying to get Steve to release him. Steve undid the gag, then strapped it tighter in place with a malicious grin. He stood close behind Jim, and Jim could feel the bulge of Steves cock through his camo trousers against his arsehole.
“Well, boi, looks like you’re well and truly stuck now.”
With a sharp slap on Jim’s arse, he melted back into the crowd, who clustered around Jim’s form. Hands tickled, teased and kneaded his muscles. Occasionally, one would linger on his arse or cock and he could do nothing about it except bellow incoherently into the gag. Through all this abuse his cock remained hard in the leather jock and the size of it got him several appreciative comments. After what seemed like hours, he felt a firm pair of hands on his shoulders, they slowly moved down, stroking his back and sides, stopping at his arse, where they kneaded his tight muscular globes. While one hand held Jim steady, the other started to tickle his arse. The feeling made Jim jump and struggle desperately, while at the same time made him hornier than ever. The fingers tickled, then scratched and began to push at Jim’s arsehole. He tried to twist away but couldn’t, yelling into the gag as the finger pressed harder. Suddenly, it slid in and he felt the finger inside his arse. As he did, his cock exploded, spurting cum into the jockstrap and over the top of it. As he hung there, gasping in the chains, a hand holding a white pad of cotton was pushed in front of his face. He tried not to breathe in, but the sweet smell from the pad over-powered him and he soon sank into blackness.
Chapter Four
Jim awoke to blackness. Although his eyes were open, he could see nothing. As he blinked he could feel something soft over his eyes and he realised he must be blindfolded. He tried to raise his hands from his sides to remove the blindfold and found he couldn’t move them – they seemed to be strapped to the harness at waist level. As his mind cleared he realised that his mouth was open, and filled with some kind of gag. As he explored it with his tongue he could feel it was long, thick, filling his mouth and had a hole at the end through which he could breathe. Jim tried to raise his head and found he couldn’t – it was strapped down.
He tried to analyse his situation. From what he could feel he was still wearing the harness, collar, wrist and bicep straps. Something else was covering his body, something thick and heavy that was making him sweat. He could flex and move slightly, but in places something thicker and heavier was holding him down – at ankles, knees, thighs, waist, chest, neck and forehead. His arse felt uncomfortable and he realised something was stuck inside him. At that realisation he began to struggle in earnest, yelling incoherently into the gag. Even as he did so, he realised that he could hardly hear himself – earplugs had been pushed into his ears.
Jim struggled for several minutes before he slumped in the restraints, recognising the futility of struggle. Almost as soon as he stopped, he heard a voice in his ears and realised the plugs were also speakers.
“I see you’re awake then, Ben. No need to panic. Just think of this as an initiation test.” Steve’s voice faded away and Jim felt fumbling at the sides of his head. As the blindfold was lifted off, he blinked at the bright light until he could see what was going on. Leaning over him was Steve who grinned at him. Steve seemed to be wearing some form of leather uniform shirt and tie, but Jim couldn’t move his head to get a proper look. Steve was wearing what looked like a mouthpiece from a hands free phone kit and he thumbed the activation button.
“So, Ben, seemed to me like you were enjoying yourself last night – but you were holding back a bit. So, I’ve devised this initiation exercise to make sure you’re really one of us. Let’s start with giving you a view of yourself.” Steve leant back and pulled a mirror forward. Angling it over Jim’s head, Jim could now see himself. He was lying on a padded leather table, his body encased from head to toe in thick black leather. His head was hooded and he could see the thicker leather of the gag strapped around his head. The rest of his body was secured in a leather sleepsack which was secured by lengths of chain at ankle, knee, thigh and waist. Two thick leather straps over his throat and forehead completed his bondage.
“Now, I bet you’d like a drink...one side-effect of that drug is a very dry mouth. And I’m sure you’re sweating in that sleepsack. Want a drink?”
Jim grunted once and tried to nod. At least he would have to be un-gagged to have a drink and he might be able to talk Steve into letting him out.
To his frustration, Steve took out a small funnel and screwed it into the external port of the gag. Then he unscrewed the top of a bottle of beer and started to pour it in. The beer flooded through the tube inside the gag and into Jim’s mouth. He coughed and choked at the unexpected flood, and Steve paused until Jim stopped. Then he resumed. Jim soon got the hang of it, gulping the beer down, and then blocking the tube with his tongue when he needed a breathing space. Once the bottle was empty, Steve unscrewed the funnel and grinned again.
“So, Ben, this is how the test will work. You’re either into this or not and this will enable me to find out. It’s very simple. You’re trussed up in a way that no red-blooded heterosexual could stand – especially with that butt plug lodged in your arse. No real man could cum in this situation. So, that’s all you have to do to convince me you’re not one of us – just don’t cum.”
Steve moved down Jim’s recumbent form and opened a zip on top of the sleepsack, reached inside and pulled out Jim’s cock. To Jim’s surprise, he could see it was already half hard, kept that way by a thick metal cockring. Steve poured some lube onto his hand, and started to rub at Jim’s cock. Almost immediately he could feel it twitch and start to stiffen. Steve chuckled.
“So you see, Ben, all you have to do to prove you don’t belong here is not cum. If you don’t cum, then I’ll let you go. If you do, however..” at this point he gripped Jim’s cock hard, “..you’re mine!”
Jim lay there helpless as Steve manipulated his cock. He knew he wasn’t gay, he knew he wasn’t turned on by this, but despite all that he could feel his cock hardening, feel his excitement growing. He knew that passing this test would allow him into Steve’s confidence, but he just couldn’t, wouldn’t do this. He would do a lot for work, but this was just too much. He wasn’t gay, he wasn’t aroused, he wasn’t...his train of thought was interrupted as his cock jerked and spasmed, splashing cum over the front of the sleepsack.
“Well, Ben, I think I have my answer.” Steve took out a cloth and wiped his hand clean and moved to smile into Jim’s face. “I shall be seeing much more of you then, boy – and that plug won’t be the only thing you have up your arse. Time enough for that later though – no need to rush. For now you need to rest.”
Steve picked up a small brown bottle and dripped a few drops from it onto a pad of cotton wool. Jim tried to hold his breath as Steve blocked the breathing tube in the gag and pressed the pad over the nose holes in the leather hood. In the end he had to breathe and as he inhaled the sweet fumes, he slowly passed out.
Jim coughed as he woke, up, firstly from the dry taste in his mouth and secondly from the acrid smell of urine. He quickly looked around – he seemed to be in an alley, sprawled behind a dumpster. Opposite him was a broken mirror and Jim gulped as he looked at his reflection. His short cropped hair was gone – completely shaved off. He was wearing a skin-tight pair of bleacher jeans and a pair of highly glossed black rangers, laced to his knee with white laces. His muscular torso was barely covered by a white Fred Perry shirt that showed every contour of his chest and abs. He could still feel the cockring around the root of his cock and it made a bulge down the right leg of the bleachers. But worse was the 2” thick black leather collar that was around his neck. Secured at the back by a heavy padlock, the front sported two D-rings and the word “SLAVE” in solid metal lettering. As he lifted his hands to pull at the collar, he realised that heavy leather bands were around each wrist – each one sporting D-rings and padlocked on.
He didn’t know where he was, but somehow had to get back to his flat. He could hear the sounds of traffic at the end of the alley and judging by the sun it was mid-morning. Jim decided to stay here until dark, and then work out where he was and head home under cover of darkness. At that moment, he heard the sound of a lorry and he peered around the dumpster to see the bin men working their way down the alley. With no other choice available, he headed out the other end of the alley and into the mid-morning crowds. As he started to get stares from people, Jim could only think one thing....”FUCK!”
part five
Jim kept his head down and moved along the road as fast as possible, eyes fixed on the pavement, only glancing up to try to see a street sign and to avoid walking into people. Even so, he attracted attention very quickly as people noticed the collar and wristbands standing out starkly against his skin. Worse, his cock was being kept solid down his right leg by the cock-ring was a noticeable bulge in the bleachers and he heard several shocked comments.
After what seemed like an age, he got to the end of the road to where he could see a street-sign. Ignoring the road name, he looked quickly at the post-code on the sign – NE9 – bloody hell, he was miles from home. He shoved his hands into his pockets and found nothing inside – without money he couldn’t even get a tube, bus or taxi. Jim shivered at the predicament he was in, chose a roughly south westerly direction and kept walking.
Jim carried on like that for several miles, walking fast, head down as the light slowly faded. He was starting to worry and as he progressed, he was stumbling more often and more than once he blundered into a group standing outside a pub – on each occasion he heard jeers as he hurried away down the road. It was as he was stumbling away from one of these groups that he got himself into trouble.
Head down, all he saw was a pair of cherry red DMs and he pulled up just short of walking into their owner. As he went to look up, a fist slammed into his stomach and he doubled over. He felt hands from behind him grab him under each arm and as he retched helplessly he was dragged into a alley.
Forced back against a wall, Jim found himself held in place as rough hands grabbed the ring at the front of the collar and forced his head up. He found himself looking up at a huge skinhead, his muscles clearly outlined under his skin-tight Fred Perry shirt.
“What the fuck is this then? SLAVE? What the fuck is that about?”
Jim tried to explain but a sharp slap across his face stopped him.
“Slaves don’t talk do they? Fucking idiot. Show him Tim.”
The big skinhead slammed a fist into Jims midriff, and as he gasped, the skinhead to his left stuffed a thick ball-gag into Jim’s mouth and then strapped it tightly behind his head. The two guys holding them then spun him around and pushed him roughly against the wall. Pulling his hand behind him, then locked his wrist restraints together with a padlock. Face pressed hard against the wall, Jim could only grunt as he felt hands caressing his arse.
“That’s better. Now, slave, you’re gonna learn what happens to people who come into our territory without permission.”
Pushing has hand between Jim and the wall, he pressed a gauze pad over Jims nose and mouth. Jim recognised the sweet smell, but could do nothing about it and soon lost consciousness again.
Jim woke to cramps in his arms and to find himself in an uncomfortable position. He was crouched kneeling over a leather bench, with his legs strapped to it at knees and ankles. A strap around the top of his back secured him in place on the bench with his arse slightly elevated. As he looked up he could see a mirror in front of him which showed that the gag was still in place. His hands were secured behind him, but winched away from his body, causing his muscles to cramp painfully. He pulled against the bonds but they were tight and very secure. As he stopped, he looked around. Jim was in what looked like a warehouse. To his left was a small office and he could hear a voice coming from it. As he strained to listen, he could make out the big skinheads accent and realised he was on the phone.
“Yeah, no problems. Like you said, we followed him for a couple of miles, till he was getting a bit panicky then we picked him up. Nah, he won’t be around for a while yet. So, like you said, scare him a bit, then you come in to collect him. No problems.”
As the voice stopped, Jim heard footsteps coming closer to the office door, so he dropped his head back to the bench and closed his eyes. He heard the footsteps coming closer and could not suppress a shudder as he felt rough hands rubbing over his arse.
“Nice. I know yer awake – I been watching on a webcam.” As the skinhead spoke, his hand kneaded Jims arse harder, pushing his fingers deep into the seam, tickling at Jims arse. Jim opened his eyes reluctantly and tried to speak, but the ball gag prevented all but muffled grunts from emerging.
The skinhead moved to crouch in front of him, his head level with Jims. “I bet you’re wondering what happens now. Well, normally I’d already be fucking you – but a friend of mine has other plans.” The skinhead stood, walked out of Jims eye line and returned pushing a television on a trolley. Turning the TV on, he moved behind Jim and clipped a chain to the back of Jims gag, yanking the chain roughly, Jims head was pulled up so he was looking directly at the TV. The skinhead then slipped earphones on Jims head.
“You’ll enjoy this.” The skinhead turned the TV on and Jim saw a spiral of colours, revolving slowly, pulsing gently. Behind him, the skinhead deliberately turned away from the TV and prepared a syringe. Jim felt nothing but a small prick as he was injected into the buttock. He realised that the spiral was something hypnotic and closed his eyes. Soon, though, he heard a soft voice in his head telling him to open his eyes, focus on the spiral, look deep within the colours. As the drug in Jims system took hold, he opened his eyes and began to obey the voice. As he stared at the spiral it changed speed, pulsing at a different frequency. The voice began giving more instructions, speaking slowly and clearly, but Jim was focussed totally on the spiral.
The skinhead knelt beside Jim, noting the way in which his eyes were now totally focussed on the screen and grinned as he initiated the second part of the programme. The spiral now faded slightly on the screen, still present, but overlaid with pictures. Pictures of men in uniform, me in leather, men in rubber. Pictures of men talking, kissing, rubbing each other. Pictures of men in bondage, restraint and chastity. As the pictures grew more graphic, the skinhead reached under Jim to rub his swelling cock and was pleased to find it rock-hard underneath him. Drawing a knife, he slit the seam at the back of Jim’s bleachers and with two fingers rubbed some lube into his arse. Jim’s reaction was a groan into the gag and to buck his thighs backwards into the skinhead fingers. He grinned, and slowly, gently inserted a butt plug into Jims willing hole.
Moving the programme to the next level, the skinhead chuckled at Jims reaction. The combination of the visual and auditory input as well as the drugs now coursing through his system were making him incredibly aroused and incredibly open to suggesting. He was now wriggling and writhing in his restraints – not in an attempt to escape, but in extreme arousal. The plug in his arse was more stimulating than anything he had imagined before and as the TV images sped up, becoming more and more sexual and perverse, Jim shuddered with what would be the first of several climaxes.
The skinhead chuckled – this guy would be good once the programming was complete. He doused the lights in the warehouse, leaving the TV as the only light source, illuminating the twitching, drooling form of Jim.
Part six
As the police patrol car drove slowly past the end of the alley, the police officer in the passenger seat swept his torch down the darkened alley revealing nothing but half-empty rubbish bins and discarded McDonalds boxes blowing around in the wind and rain. The patrol car moved on and the alley remained still, the only sound being the falling rain, the distant sound of a window banging in the wind and the low rattle of the rubbish being blown away from the street.
After a few minutes, there was movement as four figures stood up from their hiding places – three from behind bins, the fourth from a darkened doorway. Without speaking, the four padded forward to the entrance of the alley and looked cautiously out into the road. After checking in each direction, the lead figure made a series of gestures with his hand and all four men ran into the lit street, swiftly moving along the pavement until they reached the door of a jewellery shop. Two took crouching positions either side of the door where they had a clear view of the street. The other two unstrapped packs from their back, one taking out a screwdriver and removing the cover of the alarm box by the door, the other pulling out a laptop and booting it up.
All four men could now be dimly seen in the illumination of a nearby streetlight. They seemed to be of a similar height – roughly 6ft and they were dressed identically. Each was wearing a form-fitting black suit of a matt-black material that did nothing to hide their impressive musculature. Laced tightly on their feet were army boots which had clearly been tightly glossed before their foray into the rain. Their heads were covered with balaclavas made of the same material, with only eye holes revealing anything of the person beneath and on their hands they were wearing gloves of thin black leather. All four moved with the confidence of athletes, and the grace of people used to their muscle and the physical activity associated with it.
At the door, the cover was removed and the laptop connected directly to the circuit board. A scroll of numbers appeared on the laptop screen, rapidly running through combinations until after a few seconds 9 numbers began to flash. One of the men rapidly typed the number into the still connected pad of the alarm box, and the light on the outside of the box went out. As one man disconnected the laptop and began to put it away, the other took out a sophisticated set of lock-picks and began working on the door.
It took him no more than 3 minutes to open the lock. As soon as it was open, all four men swiftly stepped inside, shutting the door behind them.
Inside, all four stood close by the door, unmoving except for their heads which scanned the room, noting the CCTV cameras and the sensors at ankle level. Taking a can out of his pack, one man sprayed a fine mist into the room, revealing the red lines of lasers crossing the room. Touching one would set off the alarm. Beside the door was another alarm panel. Taking a slip of paper from his pack, one man typed a long number into the panel. With a click, the red lights revealed by the mist disappeared and the panel display turned to 5:00 and began a slow countdown. The man turned to the others and raised his right hand with the fingers spread indicating the number 5. Still without speaking, the four men split up around the room and began levering open display cabinets and removing the contents stuffing them into their packs.
As the CCTV cameras watched they continued to work efficiently, none noticing as the count down on the alarm pad jumped to 1:00. After no more than 2 minutes, the silence of the shop was shattered by the sound of the alarm. One man dropped the lid of the display cabinet on his arm and it smashed, driving a splinter of glass into his forearm. Still silent, he removed his balaclava to get a clearer look at the wound, revealing the reason for his continued silence. Under the balaclava he was wearing a tight leather hood, laced and strapped in place and locked with a padlock at the back. Part of the hood is a cover over the mouth – and presumably a gag beneath – which was also locked in place. He gently pulled the splinter from his arm and with the others shipped his pack on his back and hurried out of the shop.
The night was broken by the distant sound of sirens as the four men sprinted through the rain and disappeared into the alley as swiftly and quietly as they had come.
As Jims alarm went off he struggled out of bed, sitting on the side and shaking his head as he tried to clear it of the night before. After 6 weeks working undercover he was no closer to getting into the inner circle at Inferno. He was still attending every night and the 3am finishes was starting to take its toll on his normal early starts – his alarm was now set to 10am each day and even that was becoming difficult. Shaking his head, he padded through to his kitchen, took a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and took a few gulps for it. Then he wandered into the gym and began his morning workout. Two hours later, he stood sweating in front of the full length mirror. Something about this job was clearly agreeing with him as he’d put on some muscle over the last few weeks. Jim smiled and flexed his pumped muscles and thought how much the guys at Inferno would enjoy seeing him like this. His cock started to rise at the thought and he started to stroke it. As he did so, he noticed a long gash on his forearm. Jim had no idea now the gash had got there, but as it ached it was obviously recent. Damn, must have been very drunk last night – Jim was glad that Steve had started providing him with orange juice at home and he decided that in future he should drink OJ when he was at Inferno.
Rubbing at his arm, Jim sat and sent off his normal report to Inspector Turner. Then he headed off to the shower and got dressed for the day. Steve had told him that tonight was Skinhead Night at Inferno, so he dressed appropriately – skin-tight bleachers, a pair of highly glossed black ranger boots ladder-laced with white laces and white Fred Perry shirt so tight that Jims’ pecs nearly burst out of it. He checked himself out in the mirror – his newly shaved head looked good over the skinhead gear and Jim rubbed at his cock as it made a bulge down his left leg. Adding leather wristbands, Jim pulled on a black MA1 jacket and decided to head down to Inferno early.
When the lift arrived, Mike the security guard was already in it. He grinned, his gaze travelling down Jims’ chiselled torso to the obvious bulge in his jeans.
“Afternoon, Mr Davies. How are things? Busy?”
“Good thanks, Mike. No, just heading down to Inferno to hang out.”
“Nothing urgent then – good.” Mike leant forward and pushed the Emergency Stop button on the lift. Pushing Jim back against the wall of the lift, he snogged him deeply, one hand caressing Jims’ arse while the other rubbed Jims’ cock until it swelled so much that the material looked close to tearing. The two men grunted with passion as they kissed deeply, hands running over each other as they massaged each other’s muscles.
Mike stood back and spun Jim around to face the wall. Unzipping the arse zip on Jims’ jeans, he licked his fingers and began to work them inside Jims’ arse. Jim stood facing the mirrored wall, arms and legs spread, groaning and grunting as Mikes’ fingers expertly worked his arse. All too soon, Mike stood up, grinning as he turned Jim around for a final snog and laughing at the stain of pre-cum on Jims’ bleachers.
“There, that should set you up nicely for Steve.” He said as he released the Emergency Stop button and the lift continued on its way. Jim laughed and zipped up his bleachers, fondling Mikes crotch one last time before the doors opened in the foyer.
“See you later.”
“Count on it” grinned Mike “I have a day off tomorrow, so maybe I can come by your place for a longer visit.”
Jim grinned “Feel free. Anytime after 1pm”. With that he left the building, heading for Inferno.
part seven
When Jim arrived at Inferno, he used his key to let himself in and headed straight to the bar area. As part of his strategy of getting into Steve’s inner circle, Jim had let himself be convinced to work behind the car a couple of nights a week. So far he hadn’t found out anything but there was still time. As he arrived he nodded to the other two bar staff, who were dressed like himself and both heavily muscled making their Fred Perry shirts strain over their barrel chests. As he started to sort his section of the bar out, he chatted with the two others. As they passed to and fro behind his position, their bodies rubbed against him and he could feel his cock swelling down the leg of his bleachers and he grinned. One guy stood behind Jim and pressed up close so he could feel the mans bulge press hard against the arse-zip in Jims bleachers. Instead of moving away, he chuckled and pushed back. The man laughed and went back to his own section of the bar. Jim turned to call to him and realised he didn’t know the guys name – actually he didn’t know the name of any of the staff here. That was weird. Brow furrowed, he tried to remember. Try as he might he couldn’t think of a single name. Meditatively he took a long gulp of his orange juice and almost immediately realised that it didn’t matter and went back to his work.
Once Inferno opened, Jim was too busy to worry. The club was soon full of guys, most of whom were dressed similarly to Jim. His world reduced to taking orders, pouring drinks and handing them across the bar. The temperature in the club soared and soon his shirt and bleachers were soaked with sweat. His only breaks were to gulp down orange juice from the supply Steve put behind the bar for the three bartenders. Jim soon had no idea of how much time had passed or how many drinks he had served. As he and the other guys worked, they were constantly rubbing up against each other and as a result, all three were permanently semi-erect.
Jim was interrupted by a hand landing on his shoulder. He turned to see Steve grinning at him, “Take a break, Ben. I’ll hold the fort for a while.” He handed Jim another orange juice and leant past him to take an order. Sweating and tired, Jim gulped down the juice as he worked his way out from behind the bar and into the main area of the club. He looked around for somewhere to sit down, but couldn’t see anywhere so he moved further into the club, looking for anywhere he could relax for a few minutes. In a dark corner, he pushed between three guys as they snogged and groped each other to sit down on a metal bench. Head bent down, he tried to ignore the pounding of the music and the muzziness in his head. He tried to collect his thoughts, decide what he should be doing but didn’t seem to be able to concentrate. He took another gulp of orange juice but that didn’t seem to help.
As he sat there, head bowed and trying to clear his thoughts, a pair of highly glossed black Dr Martens boots came into his vision. He slowly raised his head, taking in the knee high glossed boots, the blackness offset by the white laces, then the skin-tight bleachers showing off a musculature that was similar to his own. The bleachers were held in place by a thick leather belt and a pair of leather braces, which were secured over a very tight black t-shirt. The t-shirt left nothing to the imagination being made of some sheer material which clung to the chest and 6-pack of the man stood in front of Jim. Jim’s gaze lingered over the chest and well packed crotch, until the man’s hand gripped him by the chin and pulled his head upright to stare at his face. The man’s grip tightened and Jim stood up to avoid the pain – to his shock he was still looking up at the man and he realised that the skinhead must be at least 6ft6” in height. As he looked at the man’s face, Jim gasped – he seemed familiar. He had brief flashes that seemed like dreams:
- Being pushed against an alley wall
- Being punched in the gut
- A slave collar
- Being strapped to some kind of bench
Jim shook in the man’s grasp and realised he had been spoken to, but the combination of the pounding music and his reverie meant that he had missed what was said.
“Sorry – what did you say?”
The man sighed with annoyance and maintained his grip on Jim’s chin.
“I SAID are you deliberately sat here or what?”
“What? What do you mean?”
The man pointed at the bench Jim was sat on and twisted his head so that he could see. What he had thought of as a bench was the metal lid of a cage and Jim could see inside a metal dog bowl.
“Huh? No – no – I was just sat here, that’s all. Umm I should really get back to work.”
At this point another figure stepped past the man and Jim saw to his relief that it was Steve.
“Hi Steve – glad you’re here. This guy has got some idea...”
“..that you like the cage and what it represents? Well, you do, don’t you?” Steve grinned, and turned to the larger skinhead. “Have fun.” With that, he disappeared back towards the bar.
“Playing games, eh? You’ll pay for that, boi.” He pushed Jim back against the wall, his free hand rummaging in the bottom of the cage. After a few seconds he found what he wanted and picked it up with a grin. “Open wide.” The skinhead tightened his grip on Jim’s jaw, pushing his fingers into the sides to force it open. As it opened he slid in a thick cock gag. The gag was mounted on a leather faceplate which was moulded to fit under the chin. Straps and buckles hanging off the faceplate were quickly strapped around Jim’s head and he realised he was now wearing a muzzle. The last strap to be fastened was that on the thick collar attached to the muzzle and Jim once again had the sense that this man had done something like this to him before. His swelling cock betrayed his mounting excitement. The skinhead roughly rubbed at Jim’s bulge and chuckled crudely “Yeah, Steve said you were a horny little sod and he was right.”
Jim tried to say something but could do nothing but grunt into the gag. The skinhead grinned “no talking for you, boi. Not now, not later.” Reaching into the cage again, he pulled out a pair of thick, padded leather fist-mitts. Almost before Jim could realise what was happening, he had slipped them over Jim’s hands and buckled them shut. His hands were now helpless, even before the skinhead padlocked each one in place. Placing one hand in the middle of Jim’s chest, the skinhead shoved him hard against the wall, with the other he roughly groped Jim’s bulge where a stain was now showing on the bleachers. “Good, I like my bois to be horny”
Still holding Jim against the wall with one hand, he tucked the other hand under Jim’s shirt collar and with one sharp downward motion ripped his shirt in two. Jim’s sweaty bulging pecs and flat stomach were exposed to view. He nodded appreciatively and ran his hands over Jim’s muscles, tweaking his nipples. “Nice, much better.” Jim groaned into the gag as he shuddered under the man’s rough touch.
“On all fours.” Horny and mitted, Jim obeyed instantly. A heavy chain was clipped to his collar and the skinhead dragged him out into the club. Jim crawled after him, debased and humiliated, but horny and aroused at the predicament he found himself in. The skinhead seemed to know everyone in the room and stopped to talk to them all. Each time, Jim found himself being groped, stroked and fondled until he thought he would explode as he became more and more aroused. After more than an hour, the skinhead sat down on a stool at the bar, with Jim crouched on the floor beside him. He leant down and adjusted something on the faceplate of the muzzle, which allowed him to remove the gag. Before Jim could speak he pushed Jim’s head down onto the tow of his boot and uttered a single word.
“Lick”
Jim baulked for a few seconds, then tentatively licked at the gleaming black leather. Something clicked in his mind, and he soon found himself eagerly licking and roughly tonguing the boots, enjoying the way his tongue rasped over the leather. Minutes passed as he licked and slurped over the boots, his cock finally releasing its load into his bleachers. The skinhead chuckled and Jim looked up “Good boi – we’ll make a proper bootlicker of you yet.” Jim grinned and returned to licking the boots, uncaring of the guys stood back watching his humiliation.