WEEKEND IN THE LIFE OF A
MOTORCYCLE MESSENGER
An 14500 word story by John Strickland

A flight of fantasy, but many of the details have a disturbingly authentic ring to them.

THREE EXCERPTS
The main topic in this introductory episode is obsolete prison premises and equipment,
including the accurately described old-style strait-jacket.

Once inside the massive old building in a remote corner of the grounds, Sam's heart was racing. This looked more like it! This is how he'd imagined it might be ... but he tried to look cool as the tour progressed. Together they walked down a grim corridor, three tough-looking young men in hospital whites and training shoes, and Sam clumping along beside them in heavy boots, dressed from top to toe in tight, shiny black leather.

The dark-haired attendant who'd introduced himself as Robert, stopped at one of many steel doors. It was already unlocked, and from a switch outside the heavy studded door he turned on a light. A dull bulb set in the ceiling behind its mesh shade lit a small room. Stone walls, whitewashed, now dirty and stained. Small unbreakable glass block window high in one wall. The room was not much more than eight feet by four.

Sam hardly heard the guys comments about the alternatives to sedation and all that now being history ... because in this small room most of the floor space was taken up by a bed, or rather, a strong metal frame bolted to the floor. A grimy mattress covered in brown canvas lay set in the framework. Parts of it were darker, obviously the result of sweaty bodies. Straps hung from the framework at intervals.

"This was they way they used to keep the really naughty cons out of mischief," said the blonde Chris with a smile. "What's the matter, Sam? You're looking a bit pink around the gills."
"He looks as though he ought to lie down," suggested Robert.
The other attendant who had kept quiet until now said, "You were asking how it used to be".
"Go on, be a sport, try it out?".
"You must be joking," the leather guy said but his face was flushed with undeniable interest.

For a moment nobody said anything and then Chris said reasonably ...
"Why not while you've got the chance? You seemed very interested in how they used to do things. They'll be pulling the building down very soon?"
Sam was looking uneasy ... but he was obviously weighing up the possibilities.
The dark-haired Robert challenged quietly, "Chicken? I don't think so. Come on! Just to see how it feels. We'll let you up again - promise." he said.
"How do I know I can trust you?" asked Sam in a way that everybody knew he was ready to say 'yes'..
"You don't, but you can," said the quiet guy with the cropped head who first suggested their trip.
"OK, but ... you will let me up again."

Heart pounding and wishing his leather jeans weren't so tight he sat down on the bed. He felt self-conscious - stupid in fact, but he had to try it, he just had to. Anyway, the three guys were obviously not exactly bored. All three had big grins on their faces. As soon as he started to lie sideways on the mattress his doubts got stronger - but a hand lifted his legs up and he was on his back - and three pairs of capable hand had already got to work. In the cramped space they were all around him and expertly beginning to fix him to the framework. Straps around his wrists simultaneously secured each hand low on either side of him. At the same time the guy Chris leaned across to fasten Sam's left elbow to the metal frame. As leaned he pressed down lightly on the leather-covered figure as he lay there. The biker felt a surge of sexual excitement and the blond guy increased the seemingly unintentional pressure on Sam's leather-covered groin because there seemed to be some trouble strapping his upper arm. Out of his sight at the end of the bed Sam felt his boots being pulled wider apart.

"These clumping great boots of yours are making things difficult here," said a voice. "How long does it take to strap these things on?"
The biker didn't answer. The straps on his boots didn't interest him much at that moment - and he was only vaguely aware of other hands strapping his knees and upper thighs - because the sexy blonde had just fastened a two-inch thick strap hard across his crotch area - and was now leaning down on him to strap another across his chest. Finally, expertly buckling a thinner one across his throat ... and the immobilisation was almost total.

At last all three stepped back a bit. In a room as small as that there wasn't much stepping back to be done. Sam turned his head as much as the neck strap would allow - which wasn't much.
The close-cropped guy at the end of the bed slapped Sam's heavy boots. "OK Houdini, get out of that, as they say".
"That's how they used to do it in the old days, Sam." smiled Robert. "That's what you wanted to know."

"You look great lying there," said Chris, smiling down at him. "The brown straps make a nice contrast to your black leather! How'd ya feel?" It suits you!
"Of course really stroppy prisoners were usually strapped down naked, but you never take your jacket off, do you?" taunted Robert.
"Perhaps we should have stripped him - just so prove we could do it ... " suggested the bullet-headed guy now looking more menacing.
Sam gave a token struggle of defiance.
"Oh, that looked good" said Chris, "Give us another struggle - test what movement is possible."

Sam did his damnedest - but it was obviously a waste of his energy. He was going nowhere until these guys decided otherwise ...

After leaving him alone for a short time strapped to the bed, the attendants return smiling and free the bike courier. Reassured, Sam admits the idea of men being 'controlled' turns him on and the tour continues.

In an old store cupboard, one of the old-pattern handcuff belts is soon offered for demonstration. Distracted by Robert closing a chunky old padlock at the back of his waist, Sam is only vaguely conscious of one of his wrists being guided into one of the attached handcuff. This now being secured San realised that two men would have no difficulty imprisoning his second wrist even if he decided to put up a struggle - and so he allows them to complete the process.

What promises to be a dangerous moment passes because Chris (who'd disappeared briefly) was returning …

The hunky-looking Chris grinned when he saw the leather guy standing securely handcuffed and flanked by his two minders.
"Ah! Still interested in trying out the equipment, I see," he observed and Sam acknowledged his new predicament sheepishly. "Be our guest" smiled Chris … and only then did Sam take-in what he was carrying. It was a formidable arm-full of thick old leather; a sort of natural brownish hide bundle which was covered in rivets. Leather loops, metal 'D' ring and straps ... lots of straps! Instinctively, although he'd never seen one (only a limp sort of canvas one used by a street Escapologist) Sam knew this was some sort of old and formidable real-life heavy-duty straitjacket - and it was being held out purposefully towards Sam.

The way it was hanging from Chris' outstretched arms, there seemed to be straps and buckles attached to every part of the jacket. Sam couldn't exactly see what went where, but the stained tan hide seemed to be reinforced with black leather at many different points, and long sleeves hung to the floor and straps twisted around like a nest of coiled snakes.
Sam's crotch began to throb harder. He almost lived in his tough leather German-made bike jeans, but suddenly they were uncomfortable, the extra-heavy leather restraining him from swelling with excitement.

"Take that handcuff belt off him, Robert, I think this is more his style," said Chris, a determined glint in his eyes. Looking directly into Sam's face he continued to talk, holding the straitjacket out in front of him as if what happened next was inevitable. "Some people just can't resist a challenge - especially people who like leather - and take any opportunity to wear leather - I wonder if he sometimes sleeps in his leathers - do you Sam?"
Mesmerised, Sam licked his lips, his eyes torn between the bundle of tough hide and straps and the dazzling eyes of the confident and capable prison guard. Meanwhile, Robert and his mate (who had each produced an appropriate old screw key from their pockets), were expertly releasing the handcuffs.

"I .. I don't want to be put in that!" said Sam, lying. He had always wanted to try a straitjacket since he'd first seen an escape artist. He'd only been about twelve then, but the thought of wearing a jacket that held you prisoner had haunted him ever since. The escape artist had put up a good show of escaping from a flimsy affair of white canvas, but even that had provoked Sam's imagination. Now he stood before a tough, good-looking man, piercing him with brilliant and implacable grey eyes, challenging him with a punishing-looking jacket, not of canvas, not flimsy, but a complicated menacing contraption of thick leather.
"Bundled up like a madman! … I don't want to be …" Sam faltered, perhaps aware that he didn't sound very convincing. His hands were now free and Robert was unlocking the padlock holding the belt around his waist.

"Don't want? Come on, Sam!" said Chris. "Take your punishment like a man. It's leather, your material, the straps and buckles will match those on your boots. Who knows, maybe it'll be something you could adapt to wear on your bike from now on!"
"Well … just to see what it feels like," said Sam lamely. He felt dry in the mouth, his legs felt weak and his heart was pounding with anticipation as Chris moved closer to him holding the jacket invitingly.
"Wanna take your leather jacket off" asked the crew-cut.

"No, leave it on!" said Sam, making a decision as he continued to look Chris square in the eyes. The heavy jacket was now allowed to fall more fully open, and gripped by it's tall and solid-looking collar, Sam saw that the neck of the jacket was tall enough to have two strong straps that would tighten right round it one higher than the other. Sam drew in breath ... which seemed to be in short supply even at the thought of that collar strapped around his throat and up under his chin ... but his eyes stayed with Chris who he saw through a haze of anticipation.

The other two men stood on either side of him as if ready to deal with any change of mind. But with sudden determination, Sam zipped his bike jacket right up to his neck and gripped his own leather jacket cuffs, and plunged his hands into the menacingly riveted sleeve holes.

Only in passing did he notice how the sleeves were not only sewn but reinforced along every seam by extra strips of riveted leather. Immediately his hands disappeared down the armholes, the thickness of the leather (thick but supple from lots of previous use) the character of the jacket seemed to engulf him. Well worn, extremely scuffed and greasy in some places, it was darker in colour where prisoners had sweated and strained. The thought of being encased in what had held many men prisoner turned him on even more. His prick was bursting.

Expertly, Robert pulled at the jacket from behind and Sam's hands almost reached the ends of the sleeves but stayed encased in the closed ends. Extra layers of tough black leather were sewn over the brown at the ends of the sleeves. His hands were behind several thicknesses of leather, his fingers deprived of their right to feel. He was reminded of the time when he'd managed to pull both laces on his boxing gloves into a knot with his teeth. He couldn't get his gloves off and had this same feeling of having hands that were useless. He noticed the elbows were also reinforced in the same way. In addition, a black leather yoke went across his chest and a wide black leather strip was riveted to the front leading down to the crotch. Someone, Robert Sam supposed, was resolutely strapping the jacket at the back … but a second pair of hands was raising the collar of his bike jacket inside the massive straitjacket collar. The hands made sure his neck gained yet another layer of leather close around it. During all this Chris, smiling but with an edge of menace, was gripping Sam at the elbows as if he was going to make some desperate effort to resist. Tom was now standing back, a grim smile on his face, enjoying the scene.

As strap after strap was pulled through buckles, Sam felt the body of the jacket enclose and imprison him tighter and tighter in all directions. He needed to move his boots further apart to withstand the determined pushing and tugging going on behind him. He tried to look down at the jacket he was allowing himself to be restrained in. Although the high collar of the straitjacket was still loose, it was almost impossible to look down. Sam bent from the waist in order to see his arms hanging by his sides - and his legs and heavy bike boots - but firm hands firmly pulled him back upright as most straps were re-tightened an extra notch or even two.

Suddenly, he saw Robert's hand come through his legs under his crotch. The searching fingers found the wide leather strap hanging there and pulled it back through the heavy leather bike pants. As the strap was pulled through a corresponding buckle at the back, Sam jerked because the jacket dramatically increased in tension in every part, the thick strap pressing hard onto his enraged penis.

Chris let go his arms and reached around Sam's neck. Robert put the lower collar strap into the waiting hand and Chris brought it forward and smoothed it through two riveted keepers before buckling it low on the side of the collar, and it felt comfortably snug, Sam thought. The softer leather that circled his neck reached way up, slightly above his chin. As Sam looked Chris straight in the eyes, more than one pair of hands smoothed the supple leather and soon the higher collar strap was also tightening, drawing the collar much higher and not so comfortably under Sam's chin. In fact his head was now braced rigidly high so he had to strain to look down to keep contact with the eyes of the good-looking 'handler' who still smiled the smile of a winner as he buckled the final collar strap on the opposite side of Sam's neck and immobilise his head totally.

That a straitjacket would be as complete as this, Sam never could have imagined. It was a total prison of leather. The straitjacket encasing his own leather jacket completely and even with his arms hanging down by his sides he felt it was absolute containment. Often, on his bike, Sam had been conscious of the fact that his body was enclosed when he was riding in the rain. He'd enjoyed the sense of restriction. His tough black oilskin over-trousers were bib-and-brace style, and heavyweight fisherman's style anorak that he sometimes wore over them didn't leave much visible except his eyes, but over his leathers and boots the feeling of containment was nothing like this.

Chris suddenly took a grip on leather loops which were riveted to his arms.
"OK. That's enough," said Sam. "I've got the feel of it. I don't want my arms fastened."
"Oh, no, leather man," said Chris. "You're going all the way." There was now a more grimly serious look in his eyes - the smile had gone. Tom stepped closer and gripped an arm, Robert clenched Sam's shoulders from behind. Sam decided it was time to put up some resistance although he knew it was too late. Robert's arm slipped powerfully round the high cylinder of leather strapped around Sam's throat, clamping his already immobilised neck in a vice of muscle. Sam let out a strangled cry as the man on either side of him expertly stood astride his booted feet, efficiently preventing any kicking.

He felt strong hands dragging his arms across his chest, left over right, jerked and pulled to their extremes. In his panic Sam did not see who pushed his elbows together as someone wrenched the sleeve strap through other buckle-keepers on opposite sleeves. Somewhere in the centre of his back a final buckle was wrenched another few notches tighter. It was done. Robert released his head lock from around the high and rigid cylinder which imprisoned his neck and jaw.

Sam was strait-jacketed! …..

END OF EXCERPT

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follow this link FURTHER ADVENTURES

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