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
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
"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!"
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.
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
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
"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!
A printer-friendly version of the complete story is now on-site courtesy of the author at WEEKEND IN THE LIFE OF A MOTORCYCLE MESSENGER
from other Motorcycle Messenger stories -
follow this link FURTHER ADVENTURES