The distinct sound of a motorbike revving in the distance awoke me from my slumber. I turned in its direction then climbed further onto the grass verge to allow it to pass safely. The bike screeched with an ear-splitting sound as rubber burnt on tarmac and it came to a halt beside me, the rider gruffly asking whether I wanted a lift.

I had never ridden on a motorbike before. That's a fib. My uncle had taken me for a brief spin over lumpy fields on some ancient wartime machine many years back. I remember I fell from the back on that occasion, my uncle not giving me time to wrap young arms about his waist. Putting those thoughts aside, I accepted.

A dog, almost as big as me, sat in the sidecar of the stationary bike. I obeyed the rider and tossed my holdall in beside it, hoping the brute wouldn't eat my grub when I climbed onto the rear passenger seat. This time I did grab hold, so tightly I could have squeezed all the air from the pilot. That was, if he hadn't been such a massive guy.

The biker sped his machine around bends and beneath low hanging branches. The ride was both exhilarating and frightening at the same time. Some of the time, I dared look over the big man's shoulders but mostly it was too nerve racking, so I buried my head into his broad back and closed my eyes tightly. The dog seemed unconcerned at the phenomenal speeds the machine was travelling. Tongue hanging out and thick fur flying, it seemed in its element. It wasn't even wearing a crash helmet. Come to that, neither was I, or the pilot. I gripped the massive man's waist tighter still.

The odours that now met my nostrils were certainly not of stale fish and chips or of Ruth's feminine heady scent. These were more earthy and manly smells - countryside wafting in the wind, leather, oil, petrol and grease. Dog odour and sweat were also apparent, pungent sticky sweat that trickled down the insides of solid bare biceps and tattooed arms of the biker as he fought his impressive machine around hairpin bends.

My face remained buried in the biker's back, just below his long hair flowing in the wind and over a studded, leather waistcoat - the studs formed into an obligatory scull and crossbones, the name TEX beneath. For sure, this was no guy dressed in fancy dress. This was the real thing.

Dearly, I would have loved to pull further back from this Angel from Hell and his heady odours, but I was too damn scared of falling off. Tighter and tighter went my arms around the firm abdomen, slightly smaller than the massive chest above.

The headlight on the bike shone a thick beam along the quiet road, illuminating the hedgerows and trees far ahead. At a gap in a thick black wood, the bike banked away to the right and into its darkened depths.

As we moved deeper into its heart of oaks, elms, chestnuts and other fine trees, the headlight struck the foliage of low bushes, their leaves glowing in silvers, browns and gold. Fallen leaves stirred in windswept spirals as the pilot fought the machine between sturdy trunks. Twigs cracked beneath the speeding tyres and sprang upward as the bike moved ever deeper into the darkness. When the bike weaved speedily between the drooping branches, eerily they reached out as if trying to pluck me from the machine. I held on tighter yet, my excited heart racing wildly.

A clearing appeared from nowhere, a large area of leaf-mould earth surrounding us. Tex halted the bike and extinguished the headlight. In total darkness and moist with nervous sweat, I remained riveted to the seat, a sudden apprehension surging throughout my vulnerable body.

Tex pulled away and climbed from the machine. Reluctantly, I released my grip from around the solid waist. Nervous sweat seeped between my shoulder blades and trickled toward the small of my back as I contemplated my fate.

Shafts of light suddenly smashed into my body, my eyes momentarily blinded by their brilliance. I scanned my surroundings, squinting into the light. Gathered around me, hidden between various tree trunks, I could barely make out the gathering of leather-clad bodies sat upon their machines. Most supped beer. Some held chains or other strange implements of torture. Many had wicked grins upon their grimy faces. None appeared friendly.

The silence that followed was unnerving, interrupted briefly by whispered comments, empty cans hitting trees or bikers pissing in bushes.

My heart raced wildly fearing what was about to happen next, sensing it would not be pleasant. Desperately I wanted to call for help but my lips remained locked and quivering in fear. Panic-stricken and barely able to breathe, I began to scramble from the machine.

Two hands immediately gripped my wrists. I stared helplessly at the huge bikers on either side. Frozen with fear, I remained riveted upon the hot machine.

The two bikers, both with heavily tattooed bodies and arms, pulled me forward, bringing my palms to each of the handgrips. With no words spoken, their roughened hands gripped my own against the handlebars. Then, with their free hands, both reached over my back, gripped my white front and tore it from my bell-bottoms waistband, tugging it over my head and down my arms. My naked chest met the air. I didn't struggle, there seemed little point.

The sweat on my tanned teenage torso cooled and dried when it met the warm air. In a strange kind of way, I found it comforting.

The bikers' next actions definitely weren't comforting. Reaching into leather pouches on their belts each produced steel handcuffs. With a click from both pairs, they fastened my wrists to the chrome handlebars.

This time I did speak, crying out in protest when the cold metal encircled my soft skin and sparkled brightly in the illuminated clearing. Still my leather-clad audience spoke no words; only the occasional grunt of approval disturbing the deadly silence.

Tex moved forward, a wry grin upon his face. I watched him apprehensively in the bike's right hand mirror. A glint of silver caught my eye as the broad-shouldered biker stood at my side. My heart pounded fiercely when I spotted the steel blade shimmering threateningly in the strong hand. With a swift upward flick, Tex slipped the knife beneath my bell-bottom's belt and sliced it in two. A second flick, just as swift, just as precise, sliced the bell-bottom's waistband.

The two assistants moved slowly forward, one on either side of my vulnerable body. Each grasped the bell-bottom's waistband. With a hefty tug on the strong blue serge, they tore them apart, dragging them over thighs, calves and ankles. A pair of brilliant white briefs, covering perfectly rounded, sexy virgin buttocks, shone invitingly in the illuminated arena. Like some sacrificial offering upon a sacred alter, my vulnerable buttocks awaited their fate.

The two assistants stepped aside. Tex moved forward. Gripping the white cotton briefs in both hands, he tore them from my buttocks. Naked, white and wonderful, sandwiched between tanned thighs and torso, they beckoned for attention.

Tex moved aside and his assistants moved forward. With greasy hands, they gently massaged my back and buttocks with oil, several times slipping fingers between the hairless crevice, or probing the hot virgin hole. Never deep enough to take away my virginity, that was Tex's job.

Whimpering like a lost boy, I lay straddled over Tex's bike, feet standing on the footrests.

The hands continued to massage and probe. Another biker moved forward and raised my head. He produced a bottle and brought it to my drying mouth. A hefty gulp of scotch went down my throat. I coughed and spluttered when it fired my throat and insides.

Continuously, the palms caressed my soft skin, more gently than I imagined they could. As the alcohol seeped into my brain, I began to slip into a kind of sexual bliss. All the while, the soothing palms slipped and slid, searched and stroked.

The next glimpse into the mirror sent my cock rigid against the petrol tank. Tex had withdrawn his cock from his leather pants. Powerful, long and thick, it hung loosely from the open fly. Kneeling before him was a biker youth dressed only in black cap, harness and leather chaps, his delicious young cock dangling free. Mesmerised and excited I watched the youth begin to suck and savour the enormous head of Tex's cock, bringing the shaft solid in seconds. My own cock pressed ever harder against my abdomen and the petrol tank, pre-come spilling over the warm metal.

Enthusiastically, the young biker sucked and savoured the entire length of Tex's cock - bud to base and back. Simultaneously, the assistants continued to work over my delicate buttocks. Aroused like never before, I began flexing them tightly and driving my dick hard against the bike, my concentration focussed on the massive cock that constantly sank and withdrew from Biker Boy's mouth.

Biker youth had done his job, done it well, well enough to bring that strong and thick ten-inch cock to it full penetrating power. Tex was ready!

Tex moved forward, his huge thick cock pointing powerfully toward my virgin buttocks. My youthful arse twitched in anticipation of being fucked, losing its virginity. There was no apprehension though. This time I was keen to get fucked, for Tex to fill my arse with his solid sex, fill me with his manly spunk.

Biker youth and biker man reached my side. I glimpsed their excited expressions. Tex mounted the bike, pulling my legs apart and laying them over his leather-clad thighs. I felt the massive meat press between my buttock cheeks. My hole twitched excitedly. With a single, slow thrust, the lubricated, condom-covered cock sank deep into my hole. I released a squeal of delight as the massive cock took away my virginity.

Powerfully, Tex drove his cock deep, then withdrew to the bulging bud, then drove deeper still. My cheeks parted wide when my hole gratefully accepted the thick shaft. Meanwhile, Biker Boy had slid his hand under my abdomen and had begun pumping the six-inch solid cock beneath. Pre-come oozed from the head and into the youth's working palm.

More feverishly, Tex hammered his cock home, his studded jacket pressing painfully into my bare back. I didn't mind, I was arching my arse enthusiastically into that delightful cock driving between my cheeks, taking every centimetre as Biker Boy's hand simultaneously pummelled my cock.

I fought against the handcuffs when my excitement reached fever pitch. Desperately, I wanted to free myself, wrap my youthful arms and legs around this gorgeous hunk and ride him frontal.

Biker Boy's mouth was unexpected, his head slipping between my tightening tummy and petrol tank. Down went those luscious lips upon my cock. Up to the hilt went Tex's cock, the force pushing my pubics against Biker Boy's working mouth.

'Jesus,' I screamed when Tex's cock and Biker Boy's mouth seemed to meet, sending my spunk sailing.

Biker Boy gulped on my spunk as it flooded his soft palate, a sample of the teenage liquid slipping down his chin. Bringing his mouth onto Tex's, he gave him the remainder, transferring my virgin juice into the man's wide mouth.

The taste of a virgin sailor's fresh spunk sent Tex into overdrive. The other bikers fired up their engines ready for the finale, the cylinders pumping fiercely in unison with each of Tex's desperate thrusts.

The two assistants moved forward. They lifted Biker Boy from the ground and carried him to the front of the machine. Carefully they lowered him into place, feeding his legs between my shackled wrists and over the petrol tank.

I needed no encouragement, the powerful young sex was just perfect, its tuft of black curls sitting tantalisingly above the delectable shaft. My mouth opened wide and began to savour, bringing Biker Boy's balls high and tight with excitement.

Bikes revved hard when my mouth drove madly over Biker Boy's cock and Tex rammed his shaft hard and fast between my soft buttock cheeks. With a nod from Tex, Biker Boy's hands fell upon my head and held it fast against the base of his throbbing cock. Ecstatic moans emitted from my mouth when the bud of the cock exploded in the depths of my throat, pumping the contents in rapid spurts. Biker Boy gasped with the pleasure.

The sight and sound of Biker Boy's orgasm sent Tex's balls high. Speedily, he pulled away from my buttocks and tore off the rubber. The first jet of spunk struck me on the back of the neck. Biker Boy bent and slurped it away. The second jet, more than the first, landed between my shoulder blades. Biker Boy climbed from the petrol tank and slid his body over the spunk, naked chest against naked back. The penultimate whack of spunk landed between my buttock cheeks. Straddling my body, Biker Boy had his tongue there in a flash, lapping deep into the sweaty hole. As I wriggled and squealed excitedly, the final jet of spunk, accompanied by manly gasps, contained enough juice to fill Biker Boy's mouth.

A whaling siren, as a cop car sped toward us, brought me from my daydreams. My cock was painfully proud in my bell-bottoms, my hands gripping tightly upon Tex's solid sex. I brought my palms smartly around his waist, embarrassed flushes filling my cheeks. I glimpsed a signpost as we left a dual carriageway. It seemed we had travelled a good distance and already the sun was on its way earthward. I guessed I must have fallen asleep. Miraculously, I hadn't fallen from the machine.

An hour later, after cruising down more country lanes, we came to a wood. Tex turned us into it. Skilfully, he zigzagged around tree trunks and beneath low hanging branches. A mile or so later we entered a clearing where a welcoming committee of bikers and bikes greeted us, chrome glinting in the shafts of evening sunlight, the bikes having been set out like a ceremonial guard for some high-ranking official.

Tex parked his machine into the centre of the clearing and dismounted. I followed him as he walked toward the village of tents bustling with bikers. 'Look, lads. I've found me a sailor boy,' he called out.

A party of men and boy bikers, beer cans and bottles in hand, gathered round. The youngest biker walked up and laughed. I smiled shyly back at him. A bigger biker, fourteen stone of him, all muscle, pulled the youth away, laughed, then tossed me a can of strong ale that would kill a horse.

'Thanks,' I said, shyly, cracking the can open, a hint of dejavu surfacing.

'Boy, are you in for some fun tonight!' laughed Tex.

'You bet!' said Biker Boy.

 

Ken Smith

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