(2190 words)

A 5700 sequel to the 'Motorcycle' stories by John Strickland

The main 'topic' here is self-imposed testing - and
the practicalities of outdoor game-playing.


THIS EPISODE IS TOLD IN THE VOICE OF CHRIS - who still works as a medical attendant at the establishment for violent prisoners.

Still sharing a flat with the motorcycle courier Sam, together they continue to develop on their 'challenge' games. On this morning, as soon as Chris has arrived home from a night shift, still in his leathers he is ready to put the pre-agreed plan into action.

Sam has set himself a challenge and it's up to Chris to make sure he goes through with it. THE STORY BEGINS ...

"Do it!" said Sam.
"It's a long time," I said.
"Get on with it before I change my mind!" he answered.
"No looking back" I warned.

Sam was naked apart from a pair of well-worn leather shorts he'd squeezed himself into. I could sense his tension. He was sentencing himself to being locked into a leather hood for twenty-four hours, and he knew what he was letting himself in for. He knew I'd be relentless, he knew there'd be no turning back.
"Do it!" he breathed. I took a long last look into that tough and determined face of his. How could I bear not seeing those sexy angular, rugged features for a whole day? I lived to see his toothpaste-ad smile and those sparkling brown eyes. How could I lock them away from the light behind thick leather? ... Easily!

I spent half my time dreaming up new ways of restraining and imprisoning this hunk of masculinity. He expected a challenge. Arrogant and defiant, he would battle to escape, and I would do my best to make sure he didn't.
We got down to work. He took a tin of wax ear plugs and started warming and softening two between his fingers. While he was pushing them into his ears I got a bandage.
"Can you hear me?" I asked.
"Muffled and distant," he said. "What's the bandage for?" he asked.
"Your eyes," I answered.
"You don't need that, the hood has no eye-openings." he said.
"We'll do it my way, Sam. Sit down."

I taped cotton pads gently over those clear eyes and wound the white bandage three times around his head, fixing it with tape. Twice round with an adhesive bandage assured it wouldn't slip.
"Comfortable?" I asked, and asked again as he didn't hear me properly the first time. He nodded and his unseeing face turned up to look into mine. The white bandage contrasted starkly with his brown skin and black hair. We kissed deeply for the last time for twenty-four hours.

I picked the hood up off the bed and started to work it over Sam's head, adjusting it over the chin and tucking his hair in. This hood was thick, very thick, lined with smooth leather and in parts padded between the layers. A flap of leather closed across the opening at the back before leather laces pulled the hood tight. This stopped any hair catching. A heavy-duty nylon zip closed the hood over the laces, a strip of velcro closed a leather flap over the zip. We'd had the hood made to enclose the neck, too, and the leather reached down to where the neck joined the body. I wound the leather around Sam's neck and strapped it shut.
"OK. Sam" I asked.
He didn't hear me but started to adjust things slightly, making sure he was getting enough air. He gave me the thumbs up signal.

I took a steel padlock and worked it through the metal eyelets designed for it. I snapped it shut and thus sealed Sam's head irrevocably in black leather. Unless I unlocked that padlock, no-one, let alone Sam, could get at the zip or laces to free that guy's head. I tapped Sam twice on the shoulder and he stood up, gripping his head in his hands, feeling around the mask, fingering the closings at the back and tugging on the padlock. I lay back on the bed watching my man standing almost naked, except for his head locked in leather, his prick bursting in shiny leather shorts.

His muscular chest was heaving, taking in the oxygen his sexually aroused body was screaming for. I felt as though my prick was going to prize apart the teeth of the zip in my leather jeans.
Suddenly Sam's left hand dropped to massage his aching prick through his leather shorts.
"Don't do that," I said.
Sam didn't hear me tell him that. He could only hear his heart thumping, his blood hissing through his ears and the creaking of the leather his head was locked in.
"Don't do that, Sam, that's my job," I said again and sprang up to grab him. Not seeing me coming, I took him unawares and was able to easily push him off-balance onto the bed, where I immediately fell on him. It was a struggle. Sam always fought against being restrained - but I soon managed to get his wrists locked into the leather cuffs we always left dangling from the iron bed-frame. As he couldn't see my intentions, it didn't take me long to get his ankles secured either, although I took a pretty hard kick on the shoulder getting there.

Sam loved to be tied and I loved to tie him, and the struggle, the battle, turned us on unbearably. Sometimes the fight to get Sam restrained went on until we were near exhaustion and sometimes when Sam felt particularly like resisting, I nearly ended up in trouble myself. But this time, by submitting to be locked in the hood, Sam had defeated himself. So now, my man was lying there stretched out on his back, his hands secured high above his head. Getting off the bed, I looked down at his athletic, muscular body stretched taut, his tight leather shorts defining his rigid prick bursting to be free. Muffled grunts issued from somewhere deep behind leather as Sam twisted and writhed, pulling against his bonds ... and the day was only just beginning.


The first two hours of the twenty-four Chris spent teasing the hooded Sam while he was tethered nearly naked to the bed. Sam hated 'cum control' games and Chris was good at bringing his sexually insatiable partner close to orgasm and then frustrating him.

Locked inside the padded hood and shackled to the bed, his angry complaints went unheeded, It was at least two hours before Chris allowed Sam to explode inside his still locked-on leather shorts. Having relieved himself and allowed Sam time to "stew in his own juice" Chris was now ready to provoke and challenge his partner further.

Chris's narrative continues ...


I padded naked back to Sam confident he'd resigned himself to whatever I had in store for him. I know how to maintain my control of Sam however angry he might get.

As I unlocked his hands and feet he reached out and found me ... and although defensive, I allowed him to follow through. He pulled himself up to me and embraced me gently ... silently thanking me ... his leather-covered head leaning against mine. Eventually I pulled away from him, got up, sorted out which pair was whose and threw him his leather jeans.

As I pulled on mine, I watched him feeling and turning his, at first not sure whether he had got jeans or a jacket. Then he stood up and started to step into them. I turned him around, - he was facing the wall,- and watched as he worked his shiny jeans up over his leather shorts. He fumbled with his studded belt.

When fully dressed in my leathers, I pulled this powerful man to me, my hands travelling down his firm, muscular back to reach his hard, leather-covered buttocks. He hugged me tightly, enjoying the feel of my leather jacket against his naked chest. I kissed the hard leather stretched over his mouth and caressed the leather over his unseeing eyes. At that moment I longed to see his face and look into those deep, dark eyes. I longed to kiss him deeply, but I remained resolute, twenty-four hours we'd agreed, twenty-four hours it would be.

I helped him pull tight, black leather gloves on and laced special leather thongs around each wrist. He couldn't get them off any more, his fingers couldn't feel finely enough to untie the neatly finished knots, and he was unable to use his teeth. I helped him pull his boots on under his leather jeans and locked a steel band around each ankle. No getting the boots off, and locked in them he'd never get his jeans off either. I gave him his jacket, almost glossy with grease and long wear. He pulled it on and zipped it up. I clicked a padlock through the zip and the D-ring hidden just inside the jacket. He couldn't get the jacket off either now. My man was once again completely imprisoned in well-worn, shiny black leather, every inch of his body covered, and thus he would have to stay until I decided otherwise.

My prick hardened again as I drew him to me and we embraced, our leathers creaking against each other, my Sam unable to see me, locked away in his highly-polished hood. I felt like falling back on the bed with Sam and having sex with him again, but I had other plans. We were going out.

I tried to get his crash helmet on over the mask, but it was too small. I got one of mine - my head is bigger than Sam's. It was a struggle but I got it on and fastened, a uniformly black helmet with a darkened visor that hid Sam's face. Sam reached up to the helmet. He couldn't hear anything now, just muffled creaking from the leather. I hoped he could breathe! I led him out of the bedroom towards the flat door. He just put his arm over my shoulder and let me lead him. Trust.

Down the stairs he came with me, walking reasonably comfortably, knowing I'd look after him. I loved this guy. Out onto the street. A young kid in denims nervously crossed over the road to stay out of the path of two guys completely in black coming towards him, one carrying a crash helmet, the other looking like something out of a science-fiction film. He probably had wet dreams for a week! We turned into the courtyard and I bumped Sam into the concrete gatepost. He grunted. His leather jacket took another scratch. We crossed over to the bike. I lifted his arm off my shoulders to put on my crash helmet.

Sam tentatively reached out with his hand and made contact with the gas tank, followed it up to touch the hand grip. He had known he must be at the bike, and this confirmed it. The change in the air he was inhaling had told him he was, outside, although his thick leathers hadn't let him notice much temperature difference.
I started the bike, got on and Sam reached out and found my shoulder. He swung his leg over the bike and judged the action pretty well because he was now sitting behind me feeling for the foot rests with his boots. He lent forward a bit too far and his crash helmet struck mine with a loud crack, but soon he had sorted himself out and was holding me tightly around the waist.

We drove off. We just drove around. The weather was good, other bikes were on the road, too. At one point two rode with us for a while, never realising the guy behind me never even knew they existed. Sam held tight. His gloved hands put pressure on my swollen prick. I pushed them away, I was having trouble concentrating on driving. I thought it was time to take a break and pulled in at the next motorway stop.

A tap on Sam's knee gave him the message and he got off but nearly lost his balance, so I took his elbow, led him to the grass bank and got him to sit down. He lent back, banging his crash helmeted head a bit too hard. He looked great, the sun shining off the waxy leather stretched over his thighs. I could have thrown myself on the guy and had sex twenty times over for the rest of the day, but my screaming desire still left me with enough sense to realise it was not the right place to do it!

I gave Sam a reassuring pat on the shoulder and walked away from him ... across the lot to the gas station to get a coke ... there was still eighteen hours ahead. Anything might happen and I felt totally in control.

END OF 'Locked in Leather' EXCERPT (the story continues for another 5000 words)

A printer-friendly version of the complete text is at LOCKED IN LEATHER

For excerpts from other John Stapleton stories -
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For an ALTERNATIVE VERSION of this story
check out Jim Stewart's personal 'take' on the same situation,

(March 2007)

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