Too defiant to Abuse

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

Introduction:

Longer-read: After college, the 23-year-old Michael J Cox moved clear across the country. Finding a new house, job, and a heap of trouble. Getting to know the friends and enemies he encountered. And the great sex he had with both. However much he liked the thuggish type, the defiant Mikey Mike hates to be dominated, bound, or abused. 
This is a 9-part dramatic depiction of what Mike had to endure setting up shop.

Disclaimer:
This story is strictly fictional and contains male-on-male (gay) sexual content, both implied and explicit. 

• If this offends you, please do not continue. 
• If you are under 16 years of age, please exit this story now. 

All character names, implied situations, parties, or locations are strictly fictional. Any similarities with real people are unintentional and purely coincidental. This fictional story is the author's imagination and is not based on real-life events or people. The author does not endorse any products or parties named in this story.

Copyright:
Any and all copyrights to this story remain strictly that of the author. No other publication, use, or reproduction of this story or parts of this story is allowed without the author's written consent. 

Too defiant to Abuse - Part 5.

Michael J Cox awoke two hours before his alarm clock was set to go off. He was bright awake and could not wait to get the day started. Tomorrow the much-appreciated help from the Grunnings staff would come to square his new home away. The two large dumpsters would arrive around eight this morning. So Michael took the time to sort through everything he did not want. Either because it was too dirty or too broken to fix. He threw it all out of one of the second-floor windows. Ready to be loaded up and carted to the landfill. Mike cleared his future home room by room. Opening all the windows to air out the house. 

By the time the two dumpsters arrived, Michael had already thrown enough downstairs to fill one of them. The truck driver was very helpful. Using the grapple on his truck to pick up the garbage and fill one dumpster. Without unloading the skip, he drove it away right away. The other dumpster got positioned underneath the window. Saving Mike the trouble of having to move stuff twice.

Mike kept most of the furniture and beds, even some clothes in his size. But he threw out old matrasses and stuff that was too un-hygienic to keep. Some torn curtains and blinds also did not meet Mike's exacting standards. So they got dumped as well.
By the time the second floor was cleared, Michael had a good impression of the type of people that used to live here. Judging by the clothes they had left behind, they were male, in their mid-twenties to early forties. Probably rough and rugged construction workers, musicians, or truckers by day. Bikers or hard rock fans by night. Into rock music. Judging by their clothes, records, CDs, several guitars, and a keyboard, Michael had found. And more than likely queer as fuck. 

If the number of kinky sex toys and male bedtime literature was not a good indication. Then Mike surmised as much when he opened up the attic room. Those dudes had all used the attic as their playroom. And the type of play they were into was hardcore bondage. The attic was full of dungeon equipment. Mike found a sling, a couple of fuck benches, and hoists to hang someone to the rafters. Two large tanned cowhides lay on the floor. The slanted planks on the ceiling were covered in thick soundproofing panels painted black. And the dark gray rafters had one side painted bright red. 

All in all, a very welcoming look for a playroom. Michael could not say the same for the torture instruments, bondage straps, ropes, and chains. They had even created a prison cell in one corner out of two large dog kennels welded together. A queen-size bed with leather and rubber sheets was much more Mike's speed. But it too, had various attachment points to tie someone down. Mike kept most of the stuff up here. Only dumping some filthy items of clothing and sex toys. And taking one of the black-tanned cowhides to his bedroom. He wanted to use it to create a new headboard. Making the light oak bed fit in with the rest of the black leather furniture.

The morning and most of the afternoon had gone, and so were years of detritus from the second floor. On the first floor, only the kitchen was a mess. Steel's man seemed to have cleared the rest into the garage. Including, what smelled like, half the city's garbage dump. Michael had put on one of the old army coveralls, thick rubber gloves, and a respirator. Clearing the garage. When Vincent saw the boy toiling away, he offered to help. The two guys went through every moving box, searching for anything interesting. They found very a lot of personal belongings that Mike kept for now. 

Vincent came across an old set of dumbbells, some tools, and painting supplies. Michael found some old bed sheets that could be used as dust sheets and some erotic art. And even more kinky and fantastic party clothing in his size. He had to stop and take a breather when he found a pair of metal pointed black-leather cowboy boots. Vincent joked: "Damn dude... Don't throw those out... Try them on for size... You can kick a hole in a brick wall with those..." Mike got excited when he tried them on for looks. Those pointy high-heeld fit him surprisingly well. And the two-inch heels gave Mike a feeling of superiority he had never felt before. Laughing seductively to Vinney: "Oh god... What a few inches extra can't do for a guy..." 

The rest of the garbage got sorted through. It filled dumpster number two in no time. What was left was a garage bay filled with home gym equipment. And one with the fucking hot Yamaha dirt bike and a boatload of lawnmowers, strimmers, and leave blowers. And a workbench spread over the two-and-a-half bay garage back wall. But still nowhere to park Mikey's pimped-out hot-hatchback.

However, Michael had an idea that the large walkout basement around the back could be an excellent place to build his new home gym. Mike showed Vincent the site, and the Nigerian god began grinning from ear to ear. "Dude, this would be excellent... But a bit of a project... You can put in a downstairs toilet and a bar... Move the pool table down here to free space in the living room... And make one of the spare bedrooms into your office and a playroom..."

Now it was Mikey's turn to grin. He gestured to Vincent to follow him up to the attic. Well, it was good that Kumsukba was black. Or Mikey would have seen Vinney turn as red as a sunburned lobster. His jaw dropped to the floor in awe. And so did his jogging shorts. Mike knew what time it was.
Vinney walked to the leather sling and lay in it. The chains rattled as the strapping black dude hooked his boots into the stirrup straps on either side. Winking his hole to Michael. The boy removed the coveralls and hung his dripping dick inside the warm opening. Mikey bent forward and kissed Vinney lovingly, asking: "You charge by the hour or the minute?... Do I need to wear protection or will you take my load?... Fuck, your ass feels nice, Vinney..." Soft, gyrating movements were all it took to relax Vincent's backdoor. Swallowing all of Mike's eight inches. 

"Whatever you want, Mikey... But I think I will have to pay you this time, bro... Take my hole as rough as you like... Con-man has stretched it wide enough for an elephant to fuck me..."
"Hmmm... I see what you mean... But you still feel nice, Vinney... And you look fucking cool too... I think I could get used to this... Uhmmm... I mean fucking someone in a sling... Normally I prefer doggy style..." Michael said as his movements became rougher. Mikey grabbed on to Vincent's eleven-inch pecker and bent double. The boy sucked and screwed Kumsukba at the same time. Apparently, Mike's eight-inch slammed hard against Vinney's prostate. Because a continuous stream of precum filled Michael's mouth.

Michael felt Vincent's cock twitch violently before hearing him growl: "Oh... Shit... You're making me cum... O, Fuck... Oh... Arghh... Hell... Fuck yeah... Swallow it!... O, Fuck, I can't stop cumming... Arghh... Oh, fucking hell... This is nice!... Urghh... Mikey..." Mike would have shouted the same things, only he had his mouth full of the black horse cock. Mike pounded his cum so fierce into Vincent that the man let out a loud fart with every cum pump inside. Smacking his hips against the black hunk like a drum. But sounding much wetter and nastier.

"Pump your dick in there a while longer... But come here... I want to kiss you, Mikey..." grunted Vincent. Pulling Michael toward him. Wrapping his arms around the boy, stroking his back and head. The prolonged coupling was something new for Mike. Usually, he dumped and run. Well, not quite as rude as that. But when he was done, he was done. 

Michael could feel Vincent's heart race while both men had difficulty catching their breath. All the while, Michael kept grinding the cum filled ass as if they had just started. Short but steady strokes. Feeling the jizz drip along his shaft, down his balls, and onto the floor. They could hear every thick juicy glob hit the rubber tiles under the sling.

"Damn, Vinney... That was hot!..." muttered Michael. "Next time you cum over... you can take me on one of those fuck benches... Hell... I might even let you tie me down and give my ass some love taps... Just to see what that feels like..." muttered Mikey between gasps for air.

After a beer or two and a long but pleasant kissing session, Vinney left for home, and Michael went into the garage to check out the lawnmowers. After changing the oil, the gas, and the blades, Mike set out to mow the grass. He started cutting the yard without lowering the deck. Leaving the grass deliberately long. So he could mulch in the clippings in a day or two. Michael could not help it. He had the distinct feeling he was being watched. Mike saw Hardy Simons peek from across the street. But he was not the only one watching this new guy.

According to the rental contract, the city owned the grass between the road and the sidewalk. So they would be responsible for maintaining that. But the grass on this strip of land was ridiculous. Six feet high in places. And a proper fire hazard. A quick glance up and down the Bush street neighborhood showed this to be the case everywhere. In front of nearly every house. As well as the open public space and play area in the middle of the community. The kids could not even use the basketball court or the play equipment.

The first trip around the neighborhood did not bring much relief to the situation. But the second and third time round, the public spaces started to resemble a lawn again. So the helpful mister Cox pointed his mower up the street and took another crack at it. Curious and somewhat angry neighbors looked at what this young man was doing from a distance. Some even came rushing outside. Demanding that Michael stop what he was doing. However, a calming word from Mike, explaining who he was and why Michael wanted to help, cleared things up.

By the third time around, most neighbors had gotten their strimmers and leafblowers out to help Michael clean up the community. Blowing the clippings into a few big piles ready for collection. It turned out that the city workers avoided the area because of the terrorizing skinheads. Most of the neighbors helped out. There was one that was not having it, though. Despite Mike's friendly explanation of his intentions. That particular man said he had actually called the police on Michael J Cox.

The older scruffy-looking gentleman had rushed over to Michael. Wielding a shotgun with an angry, frightened look on his face. The man started to shout that he had called the police. Requiring Michael to get off the public grass in front of his house. Telling the boy he had no right to mow the neighborhood. Because that was a job for the town council. Adding that Mike's behavior would only attract the terrorizing gang.

Michael tried to reason with the guy, but the older man was having none of it. If anything, he only got angrier at Michael. The man kept up the same shouts. Even after Mike had shown the balding, chubby, gray, and gun-wielding neighbor his driver's license. From what mister Ryder shouted, Mikey had understood that the man used to be a teacher, that he was nearing his 60th birthday, and that professor Ryder hated know-it-alls like Michael. Mikey just let the man rage. He knew he had done nothing wrong, so he wasn't worried about the police either.

The two men could hear a police siren screaming in the distance on the main street below the neighborhood. The tires squealed as it made the sharp turn up the hill into Bush street. When the police officer put on the brakes, mister Ryder finally calmed down. Realizing that he was still pointing the shotgun at Michael, he quickly tried to hide it behind his back. The policeman had drawn his own weapon. The police sergeant sprang out of the car and called: "Ryder!... Put that thing away!... Does he look like one of those skinheads?... Think man... For once, think!... I have half a mind to run you in, Dick!..."

Roy Peterson beamed warmly at Michael J Cox. Not letting Dick Ryder know the two had met before.
The officer turned back to Dick Ryder and told him firmly: "Ah... Well then... What's all the fuss about Dick?... The boy seems harmless enough!... I know you're scared... But let the police handle this!... No need to point that shotgun at every passer-by!... Dick..."
Turning to Mike, he calmly said: "Good to see someone is actually doing something good for the community... Thanks, son..." Shaking Michael warmly by the hand.

"*Grumpff*..." muttered Dick Ryder indignantly under his breath at the two.
"Oh, shut up, Ryder!..." said Peterson to the old man. "Are you alright, BOY?" he asked Michael.
"I would appreciate it if-..." replied Mikey defiantly. But Dick Ryder cut across the boy.
"Yeah, well... I would appreciate it if you didn't attract attention to our neighborhood... We don't need another house fire... And if you must help out, boy, then mow along the footpath to the bus stop!..." said an irate mister Ryder. 

"He is not one of your students to command!... And that's a good thing, or you would be nailing his ass to the blackboard, I fear... Just like all the others... Yeah... don't give me that look, Ryder... Dick Ryder... Aptly named... And yeah... I know all about your school-day shenanigans... They did not 'retire' your ass without a good reason, Dick... Just be glad none of the students filed sexual harassment complaints against you!..." called officer Peterson to the back of mister Ryder. The old retired substitute teacher obviously had a few skeletons in his closet, thought Michael. Watching him retreat into his home.

"Sorry about that, Michael... I've asked mister Ryder to keep me informed of any trouble in the neighborhood... But he turns out to be more of a hindrance than an asset..." said Roy, a little irritated by Dick Ryder.
"Here... boy... let me show you what Ryder meant about the footpath... It sure would help if we get this second route in and out of this community opened up again..." Seeing the indignation on Michael's face at the word 'boy', he added: "I did not mean any disrespect, mister Cox... I was just toying with you a bit... You do look quite nice when you're angry... Vincent was right about that!..."
"Jesus, Peterson!... Uhmmm, officer Peterson... Who else did you talk to about me?..." said Mikey harshly.

Peterson just grabbed Mikey by the shoulder and guided the boy down the slope. Next to Dick Ryder's place was a winding footpath leading down to the bus stop at the foot of the hill. Just beyond the back of Ryder's house, the path was heavily overgrown with weeds, shrubs, and thorny bushes. The sort of place you would not want to be on a dark and dreary night. An ideal location where you could get mugged or raped without anyone noticing a bloody thing.

"Peterson... Stop!..." called Mike in alarm to the police officer.
"What?..." said the gorgeous black stud of a man.
"Don't take another step!... Unless you want the pants ripped from your firm buttocks..." said Michael.
"Geez,... Are you going to rape me, Master Cox?..." laughed the officer. "I'll handcuff you to a tree and do you myself if you not careful, BOY!..." grinned Peterson naughtily.
"Nothing of the sort... SIR!... But those brambles have a hold of your pants... Here let me cut you free... I hate to waste tax-payer dollars on new police pants... Don't you?..." said Mikey as he bent his knees and cut the thorny branch away from Peterson. 

The boy looked up at the towering buff man above him. They looked at each other for a moment. In a swift move, officer Peterson adjusted his stiffening black truncheon. And Michael's hand instinctively followed. Peterson just let the boy cup a feel of the eleven-inch relatively fat club. Mikey put the palm of his hand over the hot prick. Resting two fingers on either side of the rod. Squeezing the shaft between the fingers and stroking it softly up and down a few times. 

"You want that, Mikey?... Go for it, boy... Unzip me, man... Take it out and swallow me down, boy... Don't make me put handcuffs on you and force you at gunpoint..." smirked officer Peterson softly at Mikey.
Well, the reaction was predictable. Mike let go instantly and straightened back up. Looking angry at the police officer. Calling: "I am no one's boy... Please remember that!... God damn... I would have let you throat fuck me, man... If you only would have kept your dominating mouth shut!... It sounds like you are no better than the old pervert Ryder..."

"Ha... Yeah... But you DO LIKE a big black cock!... Vincent told me all about yesterday's encounter... He said you took Conner too... Did you really?... That's impressive!... So how about it, Mikey?... Want a little taste?... It's okay if you don't..." said Roy hotly. He had pulled his beautiful BBC out. Stroked it three times and got it hard enough for Michael to start drooling. The boy looked around him to see if no one was watching. But the path was so overgrown that no one could see if they would have wanted to. Mike took the black truncheon in his hand. Moving the foreskin back and feeling the cock grow even harder.

"Looks like you have been missing Brandy... Haven't you, Roy?..." grinned Mikey nastily up at the cop. Swirling his tongue over the hot glans. Then taking more than half of the eleven inches into his mouth. Sucking the officer hard. It took a surprisingly short time to get Roy worked up.
"Fuck your good, Mikey... Vinney and Steel told me you liked it... You are just as nasty as Brandon..." said Roy
Mikey let go of the cock for a second. Muttering: "Well, Brandy was my first... He taught me everything I needed to know..." Michael edged Roy a bit longer. Stroking the officer with a deliberate, firm grip. When Michael opened his mouth, he smacked the hot black cock on his tongue. Roy grabbed the boy's head and experienced a full-body orgasm on the spot. Giving Mike an obscene facial.

But Mike was still thinking about what Roy had said before about Steel. Getting annoyed with the officer again. Asking: "So... Uhmmm... Why do you and Steel talk about me?..." asked Mikey.
"Ah... yeah... Uhmmm... Hardy, the twins, Steel, some other guys, and I are friends... We used to hang out sometimes... Went riding together and... well, we let it all hang out..." winked Peterson, a little dirty to the boy.
"Right... Well... I get that a lot... People talk about me... Rather than talking WITH me!... I HATE THAT, ROY!... And I would appreciate it if you DO NOT call me Boy in that masterful tone of voice!..." said Michael Cox to the 29-year-old tall and strapping police officer. Quickly adding: "... Uhmmm... officer Peterson..." to not sound as ridiculously rude.

"Ha, that's okay, Cox... Steel told me you had an aversion against being called certain things... Or to be dominated by superior men..." laughed officer Peterson.
"Right... did he, by any chance, also tell you that he tried to rape me?..." asked Michael angrily. Watching Peterson like a hawk through squinting eyes.
Officer Peterson took a few moments to think and replied calmly, determined: "Well... Actually, he did, BOY... But you got his number... didn't you... So what are you complaining about?..." said Peterson with a knowing grin. This shut Michael up. But Roy could see he had to make things up to Mikey. "Anyway, I will keep that in mind, Michael... But wow... Thanks for the help yesterday... Your photos and that GPS tracker let the FBI straight to the bastard... It's only a matter of time until we catch his deluded little skinhead friends..." 

Peterson could see that Cox still felt a bit hurt that he had talked behind his back to Steel and the others. So Roy said as they walked up the path: "I am sorry for talking behind your back Mike... But you have to understand, Michael, you're the unknown here... I got to have all the evidence, you know... Once a policeman, always a policeman..." laughed Roy sheepishly.
"Yeah... It's like, 'Once you go black, you never go back'... But hey, if you want to release some tension sometime... I live at number twelve... I would love for you to take Brandon's education a few steps further... If you catch my drift, Roy?..." said Mike sneakily. Leaning into the police car, chatting with Roy a while longer.
"Shit boy... really?... Well, we can certainly do that... But I think Tomas Johnson would love that job... Thanks again for helping to clean up the neighborhood... See what you can do to open that footpath again, Mike... It would be a tremendous help... I'll get in touch with the council about it... See you, Sweet..." Said Roy as he slowly drove off. This cleared any bad feelings Michael J Cox had right up. Despite being friends with Rick Steel and Hardy Simons, Mike loved that black stud.

When Michael drove back up the hill, he saw a dozen neighbors and their kids tackling the overgrown play area. Mike revved the zero-turn lawnmower and helped clear the field. 

All it took to get the beleaguered community back together was one bit of human kindness. Someone made the suggestion of organizing a street barbeque. Michael jumped on that idea. He had found a large outdoor kitchen barbeque in his backyard. And his freezer was freshly stacked with enough meat to feed an orphanage. The neighbors made a list of things they would bring. Setting the date and time for the party.

Mike told his new neighbors to leave the grass clippings on the field. Telling them that he would do a final cut and mulch in the morning. The BBQ put Mike in a bit of a bind. Michael needed to get a propane tank and get his outdoor kitchen cleaned. This meant another shopping spree at Grunnings. Michael snapped a few photos of the house to show Frank and Ellise. Switching out the zero-turn lawnmower for the small walk-behind brush cutter. 

This made short work of cutting the wildly overgrown footpath from the Bush street community to the bus stop down the hill. Rather than pushing the thing back up the steep path, Mike decided to cut along the street to the community's entrance. Cleaning it up, Michael found the neighborhood name signs hidden in the bushes. A few swipes with the brushcutter made the entrance into the community look much more presentable. The only good thing about being overgrown was that they had no graffiti tags. B I H or others. They looked rather welcoming, actually.

Mike got stopped by a guy from city maintenance. The guy was the head of the parks department. He asked how the city could help Michael. Telling Mike some of his staff had refused to go up there due to the terrorizing gang. It turned out he had heard of Michael's efforts from Roy Peterson.
Mike found it funny that the town would ask what the boy needed rather than the other way around. But after a quick and friendly discussion, Michael said that it would help if they fixed the broken streetlights. Or trimming the shrubs and trees next to the footpath down the hill. And having the grass clippings collected.

The head of the maintenance department instantly agreed with Mike. Handing the boy his phone number, should Michael remember anything else that needed to be done. Mike thought a second and asked the man to contact the bus company about the vandalized bus stops. It was, after all, the first thing the town's visitors saw driving into town.

Just before closing time, Michael parked behind Grunnings. All the staff wanted to know how Mike was doing. They had heard from sergeant Peterson he had been working on his new house. While the shop closed, Mike showed Frank and Ellise the photos he had taken. And that the neighbors had come together and wanted to organize a street party on Wednesday evening. Telling them that he needed to buy cleaning supplies and propane for the BBQ.

"Once a leader, always a leader... Roy told us you got them together just by mowing the public spaces... Clever boy..." Ellise laughed. Noticing Mike's new haircut and the earring in Mike's ear for the first time. "Not sure that's such a good idea, though..." she added, pointing at the slightly red earlobe.

"Oh, Ellise... Frank used to have an earring too... Let the boy express who he is..." said Martha, one of the lunchroom staff. Many of the others nodded in agreement.
"Right... 'Use to have!'... Who do you think told Frank to take it out?... It's disgusting... A 55-year-old with an earring..." said an annoyed Ellise Grunnings. Looking daggers at Martha Stewertson.
"I think it looks very butch... It suits Michael, dear... Mike is a lot younger... And better looking... At least he did not get his nose pierced... So don't mind Ellise, son..." grinned Frank.

"Now then, that is an idea... I wonder how a cowbell would look... Or maybe I could get my tongue pierced and start talking with a lisp..." laughed Michael naughtily. Ellise had that "OH NO, YOU DON'T" look on her face after Mike teased her with it. So Michael said, "Ma'am... I would never do that!... Still thinking about a tattoo, though..."

When Frank helped to load the supplies into Michael's car, he asked to see the photos of the house again. He put an arm around Mike's shoulder as they bend their heads together to view them. Frank said fatherly: "Don't mind Ellise, son... She just has to get over it that you are gay... Before I met Ellise, I had a boyfriend in my army days... And he is still a good friend of mine, he's the best painter in town... I think I'll give him a call... He owes me a few favors... Maybe I'll have him come with us tomorrow and paint the outside of your home... What do you say, Michael?..."
Stunned, Mike looked at Frank. To flabbergasted by both bits of information to respond. Frank said softly: "Don't give me that look!... I still crave a little man-love every now and then... But Ellise does not know that, of course... And as for that painter buddy of mine... I think Tom would love to help you out... Do you have the paint supplies, Mike?... Can I call you Mike?..."

"Of course, you can... Frank... Mike, Mikey, or Michael... Are all fine by me... But... But..." stuttered a dumbfounded Michael J Cox.
"There are no if's or but's about it... Here is Tom's phone number... I will text you if his company is willing to help... Then you can send him these photos... You're the son I never had, Mikey..." said Frank as he gave Michael a fatherly kiss on the cheek. Mike gave Frank a warm hug. Hearing Frank give a longing moan made Michael glow from the inside out. Feeling warm and fuzzy, he left Frank and headed home. 

Mike cleaned the BBQ, a couple of coolers, and a mini camping fridge on the back porge. Conner Kumsukba had been enjoying his music. Sitting outside, enjoying the last of the warmer summer evening. Watching the sunset over the forest behind their houses. Conner walked up to Michael. As he stood bent over, cleaning the camping freezer, Mike had not seen him coming.
The six-foot-seven Nigerian horse-hung god pressed his loins to Mikey's rear. Pulling the boy up and kissing his neck. Nibbling on his earlobe for a little while. "Hey, Man... How are you doing?... Just wanted to say thanks for the great time we had... It was a bit rude of me to do you like that... I don't usually get my dick out as quickly as Vinney does... Sorry if-..." started Conner to apologize, but Mike grabbed the face and stuck his tongue in Conner's mouth.

"Don't be sorry... I enjoyed it... And wanted to ask... Can we get together sometime?... See how much actually fits... I don't mind the length, I think... I played with toys longer than yours... But that girth?... Fuck, that's something I'd love to get used to... Not tonight, though... I have help over to clean my home tomorrow... And then there is the street party the neighbors are organizing..." said Michael pleased.
"Oh... That sounds like fun... I can get the band together... What time does it start?..." said Conner excitedly.
"We set up around six or seven and BBQ at eight... Ha... I guess I need to set up a newsletter for the folk that don't know about it yet... Shit... Ha... More work... Oh well..." laughed Michael.

"Cool... I'll see what the guys say... The neighborhood looks a thousand times better already... Thanks for all you've done, baby... And as for that playdate... I am up for that... I'll stretch you open, even if it takes me all night to do it... I am sure we can make it fit one way or another, Mikey..." said Conner happily as he kissed the boy good night.
"Oh... and if your work party needs space to park?... Then they can use our drive... We both leave early tomorrow morning... Thanks again, Mikey... Love you..." called Conner as he waved and went inside.

A little too horny, Mike went inside to type up a quick newsletter. It informed the neighbors about tomorrow's party. Inviting them to join. Mike also got Frank's text. So he sent the photos of his house to Frank's painter buddy, Tom. They chatted a moment via Whatsapp. Mike told him about the type of paints and colors he had bought. Tom's firm would arrive around seven. After that, Michael J Cox hand-delivered the newsletters to each neighbor. Chatting with the folks that were still up. Where the lights were out, he stuck the newsletter in the mailbox.

When Michael had finished his round in the community, it was already eleven o'clock. He wanted an early night. Tomorrow was going to be an exhausting day, he figured. But Mike had one more letter to deliver. The last newsletter was for Hardy Simons. Michael contemplated just dropping it in his mailbox. But he wasn't going to let this bully frighten him. Michael knocked on the bodybuilder's door with a slight tremble in his knees.

"Evening, mister Simons... I am glad I caught you... I hope I am not disturbing you?... The neighbors and I are throwing a street barbeque tomorrow evening... We wondered if you like to come too?... Here are the details..." Michael handed the last copy of the newsletter to Hardy Simons.
Simons took the letter and said: "Ah... That's okay, Michael... I wanted a word with you anyway... Why don't you come in?..." said Hardy Simons, friendly. "You have been a busy boy... The neighborhood looks much better all ready... Thanks, Michael..."

Michael J Cox followed Simons reluctantly into his house. It was a nice-looking place. Stone floors and a lot of white marble. Accentuated with cream-colored walls and gold framed paintings and pictures. The photos on the wall had a slight erotic quality to them. Showing Hardy and his biker friends clad in leather.
Hardy sat down on a vintage black leather chair. With a big leather footstool in front of it. He gestured to Mike to sit opposite him on the modern beige-colored leather couch. It had comfortable cream and gold cushions. All in all a warm place, but not Mike's first choice. He preferred his leather to be black.

Hardy wore a denim shirt, vintage brown leather pants, and boots. The shirt was unbuttoned. Making Hardy's humongous chest pop out. Next to him stood a side table with a rude phallus sculpture and a bottle of bourbon. In the ashtray lay a half-smoked cigar. On the TV over the big fireplace was playing a muted bi-sex bondage porn. The rougher stuff. Like Mike had expected of Hardy since his last run-in with Hardy at his gym. 

Michael asked: "What did you want to talk to me about, sir?..."
"I wanted to apologize... Mike, I was stupid yesterday... Sorry man... I had a completely wrong impression of you... I hope you can accept my apology..." said Hardy. In a tone that sounded sincere enough for Michael to accept. But the boy also detected something much more calculating in Simons's expression.
Michael put it in the back of his mind and said: "Well, now that that is out the way... Can we start over?... I am new to the neighborhood... Heck,  new to this town even... But I already like it... As you heard, I had some issues with Steel... He made the wrong assumption about me too... But we settled it... I am going to buy number twelve from him on Friday... But I am still looking for a gym... Try as I may, I can't seem to get my upper body muscles to grow... Any tips?..." Michael looked expectantly at Hardy Simons. Hardy started to smile.

"Many... It's all a matter of how much time you are willing to spend in the gym... But from what I hear, you rather spend your time exploring other men..." grinned Hardy. Lowering his hand over his pants and seductively stroking his leathers.
"True... I do like guys... And even more so when they wear as much leather as you do, Simons..." replied Michael hornily.
"Call me Hardy..." said Simons. "But what's this about you not liking domination?... I love to teach you!..."
"A wise man told me my issue is not with domination or bondage... My issue is with not being in control, sir..." said Michael honestly.

"BULLSHIT!... That guy is an idiot!..." called Hardy harshly. Making his words echo in the open-plan living room.
Hearing Hardy Simons call Tomas Johnson an idiot infuriated Michael. "Oh... Is that so?... I think he was right, though..." said Michael defiantly. "In fact, I know he was!..."
"Bondage is a matter of trust and a good safe-word... Something you can say even if you're choked within an inch of your life... And domination is just a form of play you need to let happen... It's not about your pleasure... But for the enjoyment of the guy controlling you..." explained Hardy. "And leather gear does not make it better or worse... I can let you try some of mine if you like... I have a nice pair of chaps that would look cool on those light jeans... Want to see, boy?... Uhmmm... Sorry... Michael..." Mike had not responded, but Hardy was already leaving the room. He dragged a rack on wheels behind him when he came back. It was filled with all kinds of kinky clothes.

"Come here... Let me show you... Come on... I am not going to bite..." grinned Hardy to the boy.
"Yeah... but I don't want to get choked either... Word on the street is you like breath play... I am not up for that!..." Drawn by the black leather articles, Michael got off the couch anyway and walked over to Hardy.
"I know... but you seem to have developed a thing for leather... So just try some on for looks... If you like, we can fool around a little in leather later... I know how it feels... Watching a nice guy in leather... Hoping he wants in your pants... Well, what do you say, Mike?..." asked Simons.

Mike watched as Hardy ripped off his denim shirt. He swung a harness over his brought shoulders. Leather straps on top and thick chains on his side. Hardy put on thin leather gloves, a thick brown leather jacket, and a severe-looking master's cap. Flexing his muscles made the leather creek. The fucker even punched his own fist into his hand. Scary, but overall, thought Michael, the effect was quite mesmerizing.
Hardy Simons looked with pleasure at Mike's reaction. The boy got brave and stroked his hand worshippingly over the jacket. Simon twirled the boy round and lifted his shirt up from behind. Sticking one gloved hand under it. The other went over Mike's jeans, searching for the stiffening dick. Whispering seductively: "Want to try some on yourself?... I bet you look fucking amazing in  leather..." Michael just nodded.

Hardy took a pair of thick black leather chaps off the rack. Closing the snaps on the front and sinching the lace at the back closed so tightly that Mike felt captured in it. The bodybuilder roughly rotated Michael and dropped to his knees. Zipping both sides of the chaps close. The compression of the leather chaps felt marvelous. But it made it a little harder to move. 

Hardy jumped up and took Mike's t-shirt off. Hanging a heavy chest harness over his shoulders. Adjusting the strap buckles at the back to fit Michael's size. Pushing him to a mirror. They watched the effect. Well, the result was evident. Mikey was as hard as a rock. Hardy unzipped Mike's fly and stuck a few fingers inside the boy's pants to fish the eight inches out. Wanking Michael off while the bodybuilder rubbed his crotch to Mikey's ass. That Michael allowed all this surprised Hardy a bit. He had expected Mike to protest by now.

Hardy left the boy standing in front of the mirror. Giving Mike time to marvel at the leather chaps. Playing with his dick. Imagining what it would be like to fuck someone dressed like this. It did not only look butch. It felt tough too. Hardy was back with a leather collar and two wristbands. "Let's see this effect..." rasped Simons sternly.
Before Michael could object, the studded slave collar and the wrist cuffs went on. Mike stood rooted to the ground as Hardy fumbled behind the belt of the chaps. Undoing the button of Mike's jeans. Hardy kneeled down and untied Michael's sneakers. Taking them off and unzipping the tight leather chaps. Pulling the jeans down, Hardy looked straight up at Mike's shaved asshole. Kissing the ass-cheeks while he zipped the leather chaps closed again. Michael could have known what would come next if he had only paid more attention. Hardy pulled out a condom, quickly snapping it over his ten-inch tattooed daddy dick.

Standing back up, Hardy lay a hand across Michael's stomach. Grabbing onto the boy's harness at the back. Pushing him slightly forward. Before Mike knew it, Hardy's cock slipt between the buttocks. Penetrating Michael while the astonished boy watched himself getting skewered in front of the mirror by a leather master. After a while of slow and tender movements, Hardy sped up. Getting a little rougher, going a lot deeper. Michael could hear that Hardy was getting closer. He bent both Mike's arms onto his back. Both guys started to breathe faster and groan louder. Asking: "Do you trust me?..."

Mike wanted to answer, "No, I don't!..." But instead, he muttered: "A little... What are you going to-...?" Before Michael could complete the sentence, he had the answer. Hardy hooked the leather cuffs together with two carabiners. Grabbing the slave collar by a ring on the back and pulling it toward himself. Choking Michael a little. 

Now Hardy had the boy where he wanted him. And Michael got scared. He started to sputter and gurgle. Trying to wriggle free from his capture. Hardy just laughed meanly and let rip. Pounding the boy for a while and filling the condom deep in Michael's ass. When he yanked his dick out - way too fast - the filled condom stayed behind. Hardy pushed the boy away from him. Making the red-faced boy topple to the ground.
Hardy bent over. Placing his gloved hands on his knees. He was breathing hard as if he had been running a marathon. Saying: "That was for losing me my best trainer... BOY!..."

Michael let out a derisive laugh: "That wasn't me... Vincent wanted to leave well before I moved to this town... You should really be careful making ass-sumptions like that, Simons... So far, you have been wrong twice..." Mike fumbled behind his back and undid the handcuffs. Michael removed the collar, the wrist cuffs, and the harness. Taking his jeans and T-shirt after he had removed the chaps. 

Saying, after he had dressed:  "This was fun... Hardy... I think I have seen and experienced enough, though... The leather was nice, but you're definitely not my thing..." When Michael was halfway out the door, he turned around. Mike casually leaned against the door frame and asked Hardy Simons: "Oh... I forgot to ask... Are you going to the street barbeque?..."
"Oh... Sorry... No, I can't... I am having some of my biker friends from the gym over... We have a bro's night planned for tomorrow... Steel is coming too... He really wants to talk to you, Cox... But you're welcome to use the outlet on the side of my garage... If you need power or water on the field... Yes, this was fun... You do look nice in leather, Michael... I hope we are okay?..." he asked hopefully.

"Sure thing, mister Simons... Thanks for letting me try on some of your leathers... Next time just ask nicely, though... Good night, dude... I'll think about getting a gym membership again..." Michael had no intention of going to Hardy's gym. He had a personal trainer and all the equipment he needed.
When Michael stepped into his home, it was well past midnight. And he needed to rise and shine at six. The painters would arrive at seven and the cleaning help at nine. Stepping into the bathroom to take a piss, Michael felt something odd in his ass. When he felt back there, he pulled Hardy's filthy rubber out. Mike smiled to himself, brushing his teeth, thinking: "Yet another day done... What a fucking adventure... I must have honey on my ass... All the guys want to poke me..."

< Continued in chapter 6 >

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And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spunk! ;-)

(C) StrykerJ - 09-2022