Author Topic: The Zone by PVCnLeather  (Read 6530 times)

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The Zone by PVCnLeather
« on: February 19, 2016, 10:28:59 am »
‘The Zone’


I like to ride early and on the weekends. There is something about the crack of dawn and cruising through winding strips of outstretched blacktop with the first morning’s light meeting you at every curve and then disappearing into the darkened shadows of the next. Gone again back again. Gone again back again. The wind caused by your own speed slicing at your eyes forcing tears that evaporate before they roll past your temples. Even the ‘zzzzzzzaaap’ of every bug that whizzes past your face and those that careen into your knuckles or your neck sending a sharp biting sting through your veins. Oh, the solitude, the tranquility, the freedom of it all. It’s the one time I can really escape into the deepest inner depths of myself and get into what I call "the zone". That place I don’t believe any non-biker can ever feel or even imagine. That is until I met Tom.

After my ritualistic cruise every Saturday morning, I would always stop by the local coffeehouse and sit and bask in the euphoria of the ride that is near its end with a tall cup of coffee... Black, always black. It was an unusually busy morning this weekend and I grabbed the only remaining table. No sooner did I sit than a gentleman approached me and asked if I minded he share my table. I said “no problem”.  The gentleman sat down and promptly introduced himself as “Tom”.  Tom was an attractive man in his mid to late 20’s, about 6’ 2” blond hair and in great shape. You could tell he worked out. Tom had said he noticed I was in pretty regularly and asked if I always rode alone. Of course my answer was ‘yes’. I could never imagine tainting the experience with another rider vying to set pace. It just wouldn’t enable me to get in the zone. We engaged in small talk – Music, movies, careers, etc. As it turns out Tom was a fitness trainer at a local gym. That explained the build. I am in good shape as well but I don’t know the first thing about fitness or sports. My build comes from busting ass at work, not working out. I liked Tom. He was every thing I was - Confident and cocky. We got along well.

Tom joined me at coffee every week from that point on regardless of table availability. We enjoyed each other’s company. We started having beers together occasionally after work during the week, Tom joined me at a couple of Bike shows and I spent a couple of nights on Tom’s couch too buzzed to risk the ride home on my bike. It was one of these times that I told Tom about ‘The Zone’. How I desired, no craved, to be in this place and that’s why I rode alone. Tom smirked.

I rode my bike every chance I got and Tom usually saw me in my gear whether it was at the coffeehouse, the bar or his place. My gear usually consists of my tightest black leather pants…I mean these puppies are tight… like a glove. I think they are my favorite because of the attention I get when I wear them. They hug every curve and bulge of my body. There is not a pocket of air to be found between my leather pants and my skin and the feeling I get when I see a head turn out of the corner of my eye is worth all the tea in China. I never wear anything under them. The lines would ruin the effect of their flawless design. Sometimes I will wear a pair of tight leather chaps over my leather pants to maintain the black look depending on time of the year. My boots are 17 eyelet above the calf and as tight as my pants. My jacket is a bit worn but ads an element of character. Black leather zip gloves and my black crash helmet with tinted visor to top it all off. There is something about the look - Power, invincibility. Leather  - the feel, the smell. The way it forgives but never forgets your body. The color black – mysterious and dark.

Tom is a relatively neat guy or some might say "anal". His apartment is contemporary with an industrial element. Most of his furniture is crafted of a brushed alloy with raw welds and a slightly aged patina. The bed in his bedroom is what I thought a little raw for a master bed. It is crafted of the same alloy the furniture is with 2X2 square tubing for the lower frame, four posts and upper frame. There are a series of holes throughout the tubing. I never thought to inquire. I just assumed it was a design element - A peculiar element though.

One Friday evening Tom called me and asked if I could swing by his place in the morning before I started my ride. He said he wanted my expert opinion on some work that he wanted to do in his apartment. I reminded him I like to ride early to ride with the rising sun and could I show up before the sun did? Tom replied, “The more time the better”. I told him I would see him a bit before the crack of dawn and didn’t think anything of his comment until after I hung up the phone.

I arrived at Toms’ in my gear the following morning and he greeted me at the door with a coffee in hand and said “Black and hot, just the way you like it and just like your leathers. Let me take your coat”. Another strange comment I thought to myself as I handed him my coat but brushed it off.

We sat down in Tom’s front room to drink our coffee. I immediately noticed something on Tom’s coffee table that I thought might be the smallest pair of boxing gloves I had ever seen. At least I assumed that’s what they were since Tom often had fitness apparatus lying about. They were heavily padded black leather and a little bigger than the size of a fist. So I said, “Those are probably the smallest boxing gloves I have ever seen”. Tom began to reply as he quickly scooped them up almost spilling his coffee he had just brought to his lips. “Oh, These aren’t boxing gloves, they are um ‘sparring’ gloves”. As if I should know the difference…Boxing, sparring, whatever.  I asked Tom where the laces were. Tom paused and then spurt out that they were too small to accommodate laces so they had a buckle to hold them on the wrist instead. “Besides, have you ever tried to lace your own boxing gloves before?” I hadn’t so this made perfect sense to me. Tom kept on,  “Here, real quick, I’ll show you. Stand up.”  I reminded him why I had come over and that the sun was about to come up so I wanted to get started. He replied, "It will only take a minute. Humor me. I have been going to your bike shows, show some respect for my interests.” With this I obliged and Tom began to put the gloves onto my hands.
 
The first thing I noticed was that there was no thumb, or that the fingers didn’t curl over as they would in a ‘boxing’ glove. My hand went in and formed a tight fist inside of a tight leather padded sack. Tom expertly threaded the thick leather strap through the eyelet buckle of the first glove and then through the two buckle retainer clips - One squared and one half-round. As Tom began to place the second glove on my other hand I realized his comment about lacing your own boxing gloves didn’t make any sense because I saw that the same would stand true for the buckles on these ‘sparring’ gloves as well. There was no way I would be able to buckle the second one once the first was on and fastened. Nor get them back off for that matter. I guessed I could use my teeth if I had to but the strap was such a tight pull for Tom I guessed this would still be a challenge.

Tom finished buckling the second glove and stood back. “What do you think? And they match your leathers!” That’s when I noticed the second thing. Most of the heavy padding was on the back of my hand and on the opposite side where my fingers and thumb now lived. There was no padding where your fist would traditionally make contact with an opponent, just the leather lining. I also couldn’t grab anything through the padding. I giggled as I pictured myself hitting someone with the heavier padded part of the glove and how silly it would look. Tom noticed this and said, “It’s not funny, it’s sparring now put up your dukes” as he poised himself with a foot planted back and his dukes up. I laughed and said “Come on, you don’t have any gloves”. Tom said, “Now how would I put them on since your hands are already incapacitated? I’ll use an open hand” as he slapped one of my gloved hands. “No, I don’t think so” I replied. “C’mon” slapping my gloved hand a bit harder this time forcing a reaction from me to ‘spar’ back. “That’s more like it,” said Tom.

Soon we were sparring. However I was not landing any hits partly because I thought we were playing and Tom was good at blocking. But then Tom started slapping harder. There was a little sting to his slaps. Slapping my face with his right as he blocked my swing with his left. Tom was dancing around me slapping my back, my thighs and my ass and back in front with another sharp slap to the face. I started to get more aggressive as I could feel the burn from his slaps on my face and through my leather. Tom was still slapping and grabbing me turning me around to slap me on the backside again. I fronted myself and got serious and came in with a right hook that Tom immediately blocked. He then swiftly moved to my side and laid a slap on my abdomen that carried so much force it took me to one knee.  I curled over in pain as my stomach was on fire through my shirt.

“What the fuck was that?” I said. “C’mon you big sissy. Big bad leather boy can’t take a little punishment?” This got my ire going. I had fire in my eyes as I began to stand up and Tom didn’t even let me get to a full stand before he threw his foot in front of me and slapped me hard on the back of the head hurling me face first into the floor. It was at this point that I realized I was at a disadvantage… I HAD NO HANDS! I couldn’t even use my hands to get back up. At least boxers can grab the rope with their gloved hands to stand back up. I had to use my fists. All of a sudden I wanted those gloves off and at that point remembered my teeth.

I was groping for the straps with my teeth when all of a sudden Tom was on top of me pinning my forearms to the floor with his knees and with his feet expertly crossed at the ankles over my lower back holding me tight against the floor. Next thing I know everything went black. Something had been pulled over my head. I could feel leather gripping my face and getting tighter as I heard the sound of a zipper and then a ‘click’. Then as quick as he was on me he was off. “What the Fuck” I yelled. (Muffled but audible) I was slowly getting up not knowing which direction I was facing and where Tom might come from next.
“Tom, you shit bastard. What the fuck is going on? No answer. “Tom!!! get this shit off of me!!!” I was frantically trying to push this leather hood off of my head with my gloved hands. It wasn’t budging. I couldn’t see a damn thing. The only opening I could find was with my tongue. - A small eyelet hole about a quarter of an inch in diameter right in front of my mouth. At least I can’t suffocate I thought. Then Tom spoke. “First no hands, now no eyes. Sparring gloves have laces dumb ass.” I reached and lunged in the direction of his voice and planted myself hard into a wall. I was disoriented. I had no idea which way was what.

Never in my life had two such important senses been stripped from me. No use of my hands and no ability to see. I tried to calm myself. Tom wasn’t a bad guy I told myself. We have been hanging out for nearly a year. I never saw anything that would indicate any animosity toward me. “Tom? Where are you? What’s going on? Did I do something? I know you can hear me”. No answer. “Tom? Talk to me? Tom?” No answer. Now I am feeling my way down the wall I came into contact with listening for the slightest movement that may give me an indication where Tom was. “Tom?” I am at a doorway. I step in. Tile floor. Must be the bathroom. I come to the doorway at the end of the hallway and stand in it. I know this is Tom’s bedroom if my bearings are right. “Tom?”

My arm is suddenly wrenched up behind my back and on my tiptoes I am forced into the room and thrown face first onto the bed. “Fuck you shit!” I yell. Tom forcefully rolls me over and is now sitting on my chest with my arms pinned beneath his knees. “Oh, god no! Not this” was the next thing to come out of me. “Don’t worry you little fuck. There won’t be any sex. However you’re probably going to beg for it before I get through with you, but sex is not what’s on my mind.” All I could do was murmur “oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…”

I hear a quick whirring sound and a click. Tom’s right knee is lifted from my left arm and my arm is suddenly pulled tight to an extended position above my head and to the left. ‘Whiiiiiir, click’. Pressure is taken off of my right arm and it too pulls to an extended position on the opposite side. I can pull my arms forward but there is quite a bit of tension and that same whirring sound when I do so and they immediately get pulled right back to the position they were in when I relax. I am fighting the tension and slowly trying to pound at Tom’s chest with my padded hands. I find irony in the fact that I am now hitting Tom in the exact manner I thought earlier would look ridiculous; with the face of my hands. I am already getting sore and tired from pulling but the tension wanting to pull my arms back to an extended position. Finally the tension is too much for me and I let them get pulled back above my head.

Tom leans forward while reaching back and placing his hand over my leather-clad cock and he whispers: “There is no use struggling. You are mine now and there isn’t shit you can do about that. You have been teasing me for months with your skintight leather pants and your bad boy look and now it is time for me to offer up some payback. You claim you can only enter your so called zone alone and I think you are quite mistaken and aim to prove your theory wrong today. Lay still and enjoy your morning ride, it’s going to be a long one. Oh… And I hope you came before this ride.” What? I hadn’t I thought. In fact I have been in a dry spell. Busy at work, longer bike rides, new friends (?), In fact’ I can’t remember the last time I came. As these thoughts are running through my mind, Tom has turned around while still sitting on me and has attached what feels like thick leather straps around each of my ankles. Then I hear that same ‘Whiiiiir, click’ sound again as something is attached to my left foot and it is pulled to the corner of the bed. Then once again… ‘Whiiiir, click’ as my right foot is extended to the opposite corner of the bed. Tom climbs off of me and I hear him walk out and close the door behind him. I yell “Nooooooo” as it is drowned out with an emergence of classical music filling the room.

So here I lay, tied to the four corners of the bed with some sort of tension contraptions that allow limited movement but wear me out when I do try to move. Hooded with no use of my hands. I struggle to pull my right arm forward. I can reach my chest but I can’t hold that position too long as the tension is fighting against me. I can close my legs, but as soon as I relax them they are immediately pulled back into position. I can bring my gloved hands together but I can’t clasp them or even grab at the buckles. I bring my left had to my face and curse myself as I realize my teeth are out of commission as well. I give up and let my limbs fall victim to the tension cables.

“Your going to hope you came before this ride” is what he said. What did he mean by “this” ride? Maybe he is expecting that I had. Had we talked about when we relieved ourselves in the past? Maybe we had. But I know I would have said that if I do it is only after my rides and never before? When I was in ‘the zone’. Is he confused? Maybe he does have plans for me of a sexual nature and hopes I came this morning to prolong “this” ride. “It’s gonna be a long one” Arghhh! He’s fucking with me.

 I now have no idea how long I had been at Tom’s, but I am sure the sun is now cresting the horizon and I am losing any time left to ride. “Damn it!” …As I think about how, right now, I should be leaning hard into the first tight curve of the morning meeting the light of the sun as I exit it, I realize that my cock is as hard as a rock and throbbing to get out of its leather enclosure. How long have I been hard? Was my cock hard when Tom was on top of me? Or even before? Oh God, am I sending him signals I don’t want to be? I take my right arm and pull against the tension to try and reach it. “Shit!” enough to lightly brush the top of the leather but not enough to give it the pressure I want…I need. I can’t fight the tension anymore and my arm relaxes and is pulled back to its extended position. “Son of a Bitch” what the hell have I gotten into? I am scared and at the same time hornier than hell.

I lost concept of time. I couldn’t see any daylight, couldn’t count songs and multiply by three minutes on a count of classical songs not being songs at all but rather friggin epic movements. It could have been the same movement for all I knew. But nonetheless to escape any thoughts of what might happen to me I took my mind to my morning ride and I went there. At what point I got there I don’t know and I didn’t even realize it until Tom came back in and I heard another ‘click’ snapping me out of it… It was my place. I was inside of myself like I am when I ride. In ‘the zone’… Floating above the surreal and… still rock hard!

When I heard the ‘click’ I immediately reacted and jerked my arms forward in a defensive posture but only my left arm moved forward and my right remained tight in its extended position. I could now only move my left arm and legs. It’s stuck. Bastard went and got itself stuck. Another ‘click’. Now my left arm is stuck… Not stuck. That other bastard, the one with the blond hair and athletic build is locking these devices from allowing movement. ‘Click’…”Click’... All limbs stationary. No matter how hard I pull now I can no longer move my limbs. Not that I wasn’t before, but now I’m Fucked.

Tom then sat on the bed and placed a hand over my mouth forcefully grabbing my cheeks and said, “I see you’ve changed your perception of the predicament you are in. I did not speak. Tom rode his fingers up my leather-clad thighs. It felt glorious but I did not give Tom the satisfaction of knowing. But my cock has a mind of it’s own and it said, “Don’t Stop!” Tom laughed at my cock’s enthusiasm and said, “ It’s going to be a long weekend”. “Weekend?” I finally spoke with a muffle. “I’ve got shit to do, make me cum and get me out of here!” “No, no, no” said Tom. “You can give me two days. I’ve given you months.” “Fuck no! This is not cool. What the hell did I do to deserve……” Something was being forced through the eyelet in the hood and into my mouth behind it. It tasted like a balloon. He’s shoving a balloon down my throat. No, too thick, but latex nonetheless. What’s he using? A tube to push it in? I could not thrash my head as Tom was at this point sitting on my chest with my head wedged between his knees. The balloon like thing was all the way in my mouth now with some sort of tube sticking out of it. My oxygen supply had just been cut off! Before panic set in I then realized that I could breath through my nose. There must be holes there as well. I began to protest more at this point only to realize I was so muffled now I couldn’t even understand what I was saying. Then, I heard a squeezing type sound and the balloon like thing began to fill with air. “Shit” I could feel the balloon expanding in my mouth forcing my jaw wide open. The leather of the hood was getting tighter and tighter around my head as my mouth opened wider and wider. “We can’t have you pissing and moaning all weekend now can we?” said Tom. “I take that back, moaning you will be doing a lot of this weekend”

Tom began to caress my cock through my leather pants. Slowly back and forth. Up and Down. Shaft to head. Now circle around the head. His touch is so light. My cock is so pronounced through the leather that the veins are nearly visible. I struggle at my binds but go nowhere. I only manage to wear out my already aching body. He has been at it for hours it seems. Always knowing just when to pull back before I shoot my load. I can’t take the torture anymore. I moan and plead through my gag. My drool has built up so much around my chin it is beginning to seep out under the hood around my neck. I am so aware of where I am at at this point. I am in myself, above myself. Out of body, out of mind, floating. I am deeper into the zone than I have ever been before.  I can barely feel the clamps that were attached to my nipples at least an hour ago.

God, make it stop. No, I don’t want to leave this place - Mental ecstasy and severe anguish at the same time. Can they coexist? “Yeees!” Did I say that out loud? I don’t know. My pants around my cock are so soaked with pre-cum it has created a lubricated barrier against the leather. The lightest touch and my cock could explode. But Tom knows. He knows how much and how hard. He is a master.

This relentless torture goes on through the night and into the following morning. The tension locks are set back so I have some movement during rest periods.  I am captive to a man who was once my friend, then my nemesis, and now my savior…

In the zone I can see the sun on the horizon around the next curve. That hazy glow of a wet first sun is getting closer and closer. This curve is lasting forever it seems. Any minute and that sun will be melting me off the pavement, but every time I think it is within reach, I feel more road extending out in front of me. Will this ride ever end?  I am not alone on this ride.  I am not alone.


So where does that leave Tom and myself today? Well, I am here at the coffeehouse writing this experience down, but its not Saturday morning, its Sunday morning. And Tom? He is not here with me. He came. So I left him at my place to think about the importance of abstaining while riding the zone under the control of a close friend. I don’t think he’ll have gone anyplace by the time I get back. There is a boy two tables over that can’t keep his eyes off my bulging cock in my favorite leather pants. Maybe I’ll ask him if he want’s to go for a ride.





 

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