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A Thanksgiving to Remember.
The Day Before: Stuffed, Bred, and Buttered.
• Introducing the dreaded holiday season.
Liam’s fingers were white knots wrapped around the frosted glass. He knew his family’s spiel. The Moores’ dining room was packed. And he wondered who would be the first to open the usual Thanksgiving hostilities. The room was swirling, a suffocating cloud of false cheer and the grease-heavy, congealed odor of overcooked turkey mixed with the cloying fumes of canned cranberry sauce and boiled-to-death sprouts.
“Still no girlfriend, Lee?”
The question – always the same, delivered in a sarcastic, judgmental pitch – came from one of his many cousins, Carol. It wasn’t a question; it was the annual, public declaration of Liam Moore’s failures. At twenty-one, the college freshman was the family’s greatest embarrassment – a man riding solo, set up as less successful than this year‘s turkey. The entire Moore lineage waited for him to perform the expected rite of passage.
He tried to force a thin smile, but the effort felt like shattering glass. “Trying to focus on school, Carol,” Liam replied stiffly.
A booming, dismissive laugh erupted from the head of the table – his Uncle Frank.
“School? Boy, you won’t catch a job or a decent woman with your head buried in books. You need grit, fire! Look around, son. You’re becoming a liability! No one will hire a lefty like you!”
The word – liability – hit harder than the clatter of silverware that followed. The college freshman wasn’t a left-wing idealist either. He was more ‘left-of-center’. But they had not invented a party like that. Liam felt the familiar, raw freezing insult settle in his gut, a cold, painful reminder of holidays past. And politics wasn‘t the only contentious topic. Although it divided the dinner table more than most other discussions.
Last Christmas, his room had been requisitioned by his grumpy grandparents, leaving him shunted to the drafty attic. But the year before that was the crowning humiliation: his parents, desperate to accommodate the sprawling family, had simply told Lee to sleep in his car in the freezing garage.
Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s – they had all merged into one regular, inescapable nightmare. Every year, he was dissected, judged, and shamed. And every year, Liam retreated further into the secret furnace of his own desires – desires his Christian, right-wing family would never understand, desires that centered entirely on the powerful, dangerous strength of other men.
He needed an escape. He needed love and understanding. Liam needed anything that wasn’t the suffocating cold of the Moore-Johnson family holiday traditions.
• The longing beneath the ice.
Liam – or Lee, as his few true friends called him – wished for escape. This holiday season, he regretted not staying on campus. The freshman had given in to his family’s demand to come home for the holidays. Even though he imagined those alternative realities, where his chances of connecting with someone – or simply getting laid – would significantly increase on campus.
Although not a true virgin, Moore lacked a great deal of experience. This wasn’t entirely due to a lack of opportunity in his past; it had been more by choice, a quiet, almost defensive reservation. But during the last couple of high school years, that choice had eroded. A deep, consuming interest had taken root. This awakening felt like a secret furnace burning beneath the layer of ice his family tried to encase him in. This interest, he knew, would not merely displease his extended, Christian family; it would shatter the fragile peace they demanded.
Lee had taken a powerful, gravitational fancy to men. But not just any man, and certainly not the ‘daddy-type‘. No, the men who captured his imagination were those who radiated a sense of brawny, unyielding strength – slightly older than Liam. Yet, significantly tougher. The kind of man who looked like they could snap the arguments of his uncles in half.
Who was he kidding? Fueled by the buff jocks he bumped into on campus. Lee liked his men big and muscular, or dressed in a very particular way.
His imagination was highly specific, tethered to a single, breathtaking reality. Liam Moore wasn’t just attracted to an older Alpha-male type; he was consumed by a desire for the intimidating, rugged older brother of one of his best friends from high school, Blake Ryder.
• The brother from another mother.
The thought of escaping his family’s suffocating atmosphere was eclipsed only by the terrifying, thrilling prospect of running straight into the object of his obsession: Colton Ryder.
Colton, at twenty-six, was a walking contradiction to everything the Moore family revered. Where the Moore men were starched shirts and muted opinions, Colt was a muscular force of nature. His skin, a radiant ebony, seemed to absorb and intensify the light. A stark contrast to the pale, caucasian, God-fearing faces around Liam’s dinner table.
Colten Ryder was often swathed in the dense, black embrace of leather, a uniform of defiance that made Liam’s throat go dry. Thick, ropy muscles defined his upper body, his arms a roadmap of discipline and power. Punctuated by ink – intricate, bold tattoos that hinted at a life lived outside the family’s narrow, paved roads. Even Colt’s long, wavy black hair was often pulled back in a ponytail, highlighting a jawline sculpted from granite. He wasn’t just handsome; he looked dangerous. A beautiful, thuggish biker type whose presence alone felt like an act of rebellion.
Colton was the older brother of Liam’s best friend, Blake Ryder, a twenty-year-old whose quiet intensity perfectly mirrored Liam’s own introversion. Blake was the antithesis of his brother: skinny, shy, and always apologetic for the world-shaking chaos Colt seemed to bring into a room. Liam cherished Blake’s friendship. Still, his eyes, his focus, and his entire nervous system were spellbound by the older brother’s leather gear.
• The allure of the leather outfit.
Liam had seen Colton Ryder countless times over the years, usually when picking up or dropping off his younger brother, Blake, on his motorcycle. Every encounter was a slow-motion study in raw masculine power. The way the leather creaked when Colt moved was a constant distraction. Liam cataloged every detail: the scent of leather and something rich, musky, and uniquely his own, the glint of silver rings on his heavy fingers. Each moment fueled a tremor of forbidden desire. He was fascinated by the sheer density of Colton Ryder’s massive arms and tattooed upper torso, the way his biceps strained against the taut leather sleeves. He had even, shamefully, imagined sliding his hands over that thick, muscular torso. Worshiping the leather and feeling the heat radiate through it.
These imaginary thoughts also began to dominate Moore’s wet dreams. Feeling up a hack of a lot more than just those arms. Dreaming a wild dream of groping and stroking the bulge, ass, and the ebony-coconuts hiding in the thick leather jeans. Wishing the nightmarish domination of nighttime thoughts would eventually come true.
And it wasn‘t even the sexual encounters he dreamed up over the last years – it was much more about the leather gear the rugged bikers wore. Liam just admired that look on men and the confident attitude that seemed to come with it. Whishing he had the guts – or the money – to get stuff like that.
Not that clothes like these were within Moore‘s grasp. No, the only thing leather Lee owned was his thick, studded watch strap, a belt or two, and some highly polished lace-up work boots. Liam wasn’t even sure he could pull off a bad-boy biker look – as he liked to call those outfits he adored so much.
Liam had carefully constructed a silent fantasy around Colton, believing this man was the ultimate untouchable imagination: straight, potent, and virile. Utterly unaware of the taut, fair-haired Moore boy who watched him like a moth near a scorching lamp. Only telling his best friend, Blake, that he likes the leather look on men.
Liam had no earthly idea what was actually happening behind the scenes. If he had, a shockwave of adrenaline would have blasted straight through his nervous system. The truth was that Colton Ryder, the dark-skinned muscle god and leather-clad enigma, was not only secretly gay but was always looking for young men to dominate. He had an unapologetic, sharp preference for the very type Liam represented: the young, fit, yet slightly twinky, wide-eyed college boy seeking danger and escape.
During those encounters, Colt hadn’t just noticed the way Liam stared at him; he’d clocked the trembling eagerness behind those innocent eyes. He fully intended to take the innocent, curious boy and show him exactly what sex with a buff, dominant Black Alpha like himself could be like. Quietly pressing his Lil’ brother Blake for every detail about Liam Moore.
Just before leaving the college campus, Liam texted Blake Ryder. Telling his buddy how much he dreaded going home for the holidays.
Blake had the answer, “Lee, spend Thanksgiving with us instead. Colt will be here, too. Just tell your folks you’re staying at college this year. Trying to catch up on classes or something, bro.”
Well, the disappointing lie to his family was told quickly enough. Liam packed his bags, boarded the train back home, but stopped at the wrong side of the tracks, on his own parents’ side of the neighborhood.
• The hometown advantage.
The Amtrak had pulled into the mid-South East station well after sunset, the darkness clinging thick and cold. The train arrived around 7:30 PM. Liam tightened his coat, pulled his collar higher, and began the eighteen-minute walk through the dimly lit, hilly neighborhood.
The air was tense, and these streets were run by dealers, hustlers, and thugs. If this was the wrong side of the tracks, it wasn’t so bad. And Liam smirked to himself; Colton Ryder would fit right in. The walk instilled a low, delicious thrill – the promise of meeting the Ryders again after all this time away. This feeling only intensified his eagerness to reach the warmth and blessed relief of their home, finally free of his own family’s suffocating, cold Thanksgiving traditions.
Blake’s mom, Mama Dee, or Deseray as she was called by very few, opened the door before he could even knock. She had seen him climbing up the street with his duffel bag and roller case. Pulling him into a hug that smelled of cocoa butter and genuine warmth.
“Blake’s just run out to grab some last-minute errands for tomorrow’s dinner, honney,” she explained, shooing him toward the stairs with a smile... “Good to see ya, Lee. But make yourself at home, son. I know Colton is around somewhere. I’m sure he’ll be ‘happy’ to see you. He wants to show you his ride.”
She emphasized the word – happy – with a subtle, devious twinkle in her eye that left Liam feeling puzzled but undeniably giddy. Mama Dee’s empathy was sharp; she didn’t know the sexual specifics, but she had certainly clocked Liam’s deep, youthful crush on her son. She was simply offering him a non-judgmental space to indulge his crush. His heart did a traitorous little flip in his chest. Knowing he would get a chance to hang out with Colton Ryder as well. He stammered a quick thanks... before she shunted him upstairs to dump his bags in Blake’s room.
It wasn’t much, but it was a heck of a lot better than having to spend yet another miserable Thanksgiving with his family... A camp-bed with a warm and inviting mattress had been set up next to Blake’s crib. Moore wasn’t hindered in the slightest by Blake’s considerable stack of porn magazines on the bedside table. Even though he had never seen them on full display before.
It made Lee smirk nastily as he thumbed through the large variety. Blake even had a few gay mags. Moore had no idea Blake was into that kind of smut. That wasn’t even considering the slutty seducing images of ladies and burly men hanging on the walls. For an introvert, Blake seemed quite outspoken in his choice of decorations. Not that Moore minded that, it was just a new revelation to him. Blake seemed to have moved on from high school, too.
With a deep sigh of horny anticipation, Liam finally set down the gay porn magazine. He pulled his phone from his jeans pocket; the screen read 8:25 PM. Time to stop gawking at Blake’s posters and go find the kitchen. As Lee quietly snuck back downstairs to hang his zip-up jacket in the chilly hallway, his heart did a somersault. The cold instantly vanished, and his nuts started to tingle.
• The leather attraction.
There, draped over the coatrack like a discarded suit of armor, was the object of Liam’s most concentrated fantasies: Colton’s leather jackets. Three or four of them. Different styles, but all in rugged black leather. From trucker to trenchcoat. Colt had it all. His gaze fixed on the classic black Brando-style biker jacket that Colton always wore.
It wasn’t just clothing; it was a promise of power and freedom. Thick, heavy, and radiating a quiet heat even in the cold hallway. Liam’s gaze locked onto the garment, his heart hammering out a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The feeling was a sneak attack – a strange, potent mixture of audacious curiosity and horny desperation he couldn’t deny.
“Don’t do it. If someone walks in...” The thought only intensified the need in Moore’s head. He was a nerdy, sheltered, mainstream college kid; he needed to know what that dark, intimidating armor felt like on his skin. It felt wrong, forbidden, and perfectly right all at once. Liam let his hand slide over all the different jackets. Feeling the supple cowhide and calf-skins under his fingers. They felt nice, all a bit different in weight and texture, but dammed nice. He scoffed at himself for not owning his own.
Liam brought a sleeve to his nose. Fuck, his dick got hard just by touching the leather. “I dare you to try one on...” Lee’s inner monologue sniggered. With a low, nervous gasp, he pulled the heaviest rugged leather biker jacket off the coatrack. The surprising weight of the coat settled in his mind; the thrill was eclipsed only by the cold fear of being discovered by its owner.
“Just try it on, man,” a voice whispered in his head. “See what that tough jacket does for a guy like you. No one will know. You’re not stealing it, after all.” This was perfectly true, but it felt like that anyway.
• Caught in the act.
Glancing quickly down the hall, Liam made his move. He slipped his arms entirely into the jacket. Pulling it over his shoulders and flicking the butch collar up. The cowhide’s incredible weight and musky smell thrilled Moore’s senses. He took an up close look, bringing an arm to his face and inhaling deeply. The scent was intoxicating: a heady, raw mix of worn leather, a faint metallic tang of gun oil, and that deep, musky cologne that was only Colton. It held the scent of danger, the allure of freedom, and confidence, everything Liam definitely was not.
As the tell-tale tightness in his jeans became a burning flush on his cheeks, confirming this private ritual of desire, Liam walked over to the hallway mirror. The heavy leather creaking softly with each step, he admired the reflection of his fair body, encased in the intimidating black armor of the man he wanted to be. He pulled his shoulders back, puffing out his chest, imagining the kind of man he could be if he wore this kind of confidence every day. He was so engrossed in the fantasy, lost in the scent and the weight of the jacket, that Liam didn’t hear the kitchen door open and close.
A deep, rolling voice, the sound of which vibrated against the very air in the hallway, broke the silence.
“A’ight, look at you, you horny sneaky bastard. Look’n good, bro.”
Liam jumped, spinning around so fast he nearly lost his balance.
Standing butchly propped against the kitchen doorway frame was Colton.
His tall, muscular frame was imposing, his ebony skin a rich canvas against the crisp skintight shirt and leather vest he now wore. The thick muscles of his neck and arms were even more prominent. Colt’s dark, discerning eyes were fixed entirely on Liam, a slow, predatory smile curling on his lips. Liam felt the blood drain from his face, the heat of embarrassment quickly replaced by the terrifying, thrilling awareness of Colton’s presence.
“I... -I’m so sorry, C... -Colt, man,” Liam stammered, frantically trying and failing to yank his arms from the restricting sleeves. “I was just... I just –.” But he could not go on, feeling caught in utter wrongdoing and unable to explain the allure that the leather jacket held for him.
Colton didn’t move. Ryder understood what was going on on the other side of the hallway. As if he had experienced Moore’s wet dreams about them in a leathery embrace himself. He simply leaned against the wall on the other side of the hallway. Smirking. One arm crossing over his broad chest, pinching a nipple under the leather waistcoat. Colt’s gaze was unwavering, and his predatory smile deepened as his other hand squeezed his impressive cockshaft. His seductive voice was low, rich, and held a rhythmic, streetwise drawl that sent a shiver straight down Liam’s spine.
“Hold up, hold up... Ain’t no need to be flinching, man. You look good in my leather, kid. Like, fo’ real. Ya dig the feel of that, huh? Heavy and proper. And sexy. I’d know that look, bro,” Colton huskily proclaimed as he shifted toward Liam.
• The revelation.
Colton’s words, deep and rumbling with an undeniable warmth, seemed to melt some of Liam’s initial panic, even as his body remained a quivering mess of nerves and burgeoning desire. Liam was still trying to disentangle himself from the heavy leather, his face burning, when Colton began to move.
He pushed off the wall with a languid grace that belied his robust build, strolling, deliberately, over to Liam. Each step was a quiet statement of intent, a predatory saunter that made the air crackle. Liam watched, mesmerized and terrified, as Colton’s dark eyes never left his, a smirk playing on his lips. He was too stunned to move, too caught in the amber of Colton’s gaze.
Colt reached him, his presence suddenly overwhelming, a wall of muscle and heat. The man adjusted the jacket and flicked the collar back up. Without a word, he placed a large, calloused hand on Liam’s shoulder, the weight of it surprisingly gentle yet firm. He twirled Liam back to face the hallway mirror again, a slow, sensual pivot that brought Liam’s smaller frame flush against Colton’s broad chest.
Suddenly, Liam was trapped. Colton’s arms, thick and corded with muscle, wrapped around him, the hard planes of Ryder’s torso pressing against his back. The scent of leather and Colt’s musky cologne enveloped him, more potent now, dizzying. Liam could feel the heat radiating from Colton’s body, the solid thrum of his heartbeat against his own racing pulse. In the mirror, their reflection was stark: Ryder’s, a dark, powerful silhouette, engulfing the pale, slender figure of Moore, still swallowed by the too-large jacket.
Colton’s big, ebony hands, surprisingly soft against the worn leather, began to wander. They splayed across Liam’s chest, slowly, deliberately, tracing the contours of his ribcage beneath the thick jacket. Liam’s breath hitched, every nerve ending screaming to life under Colton’s touch. He wanted to push away, to flee, but his muscles were locked, his will was dissolving under the sheer force of Colt’s presence.
One of Colton’s hands slid lower, tracing the line of Liam’s stomach, a surprising – but welcome – intimate gesture. Then, in a move that was unmistakable, raw lust, Ryder’s fingers curved, his thumb brushing over the straining fabric of Liam’s jeans. His big hand enclosed Liam’s already prominent bulge, with a possessive, powerful grip that made Liam gasp. Colton gave it a slow, deliberate twist, a silent claim that sent a shockwave of pleasure and terror through Liam’s core.
Liam’s head snapped to the side, a startled gasp escaping his lips. Colton seized the moment, his face dipping down. Liam felt the warm, wet brush of Colton’s tongue as he licked Liam’s cheek, a brazen gesture that stole Liam’s breath. Before Liam could even process the sensation, Colton’s lips, full and soft, pressed against Liam’s startled, open mouth, a deep, devouring kiss.
Liam’s mind screamed for him to struggle, to fight free of this first, utterly overwhelming gay embrace. He tried to pull away, a frantic, desperate twitch of his shoulders. But Colton was an immovable force, his arms tightening, his body a rock against Liam’s. He was much too strong, too determined to let Moore escape. Lee was caught, pinned between Colton’s hard body and the cold glass of the mirror, utterly at his mercy. And somewhere, beneath the terror and the shock, a dangerous spark of something else began to ignite.
• Down to the basement.
The kiss broke first, not by Liam’s will, but by Colton’s deliberate choice. He pulled back only centimeters, his breath hot and fast against Liam’s chin, his large hand still clamped over the straining fabric of Liam’s jeans. The sound of his own pulse roared in Liam’s ears, drowning out the domestic sounds of the Ryder house. Liam’s eyes were wide, blinking rapidly, trying to reconcile the sight of the dark, powerful man dominating him in the hallway mirror with the sheer, blinding reality of the taste and feel of him.
“Nah, will ya look at that. Ain’t no fight in them eyes. You ain’t pullin’ away ’cause you beggin’ for it. You want me to take dat ass. Tell Master Colt I’m lyin’, boy. Lil’ bro dropped a dime on you. Said you got a itch for this leather gear.” Colton’s voice was a low, guttural murmur, vibrating right through Liam’s spine. The rhythmic, possessive twist of his hand was a stark, sensual anchor that demanded Liam’s full attention.
“You dig this? You dig the feel of me working your whiteboy cock? I’ma take exactly what you’ve been wanting,” Colt growled, his hand stroking Liam’s length with the same rough familiarity he used on himself. Liam’s mind reeled, his thoughts fracturing into pure sensation.
“Please don’t let this be a dream,” thought Lee to himself. Liam was drowning in the scent of leather and musk, acutely aware of the heavy, rock-hard ridge of Colt’s leather-clad erection pressing firmly against his butt.
Ryder didn’t wait for a response. He leaned in again, his lips grazing Liam’s ear. “We gon’ move, man. Now!” It wasn’t a request; this was a command. Words that made Liam Moore quake in his polished boots.
Before Liam could form a coherent protest or even a gasp of assent, Colton released his hips, only to grasp the back of Lee’s neck with his freed hand. It was a hold of absolute control, and Colton started walking Moore backward, steering him across the hall and toward a second staircase. As they walked past the coatrack, Ryder picked up a second leather jacket. They descended into the darkness to the basement.
Colton maintained his hold, pushing Liam ahead of him down the ominous stairs. The air immediately grew more musky, cooler, carrying the faint, clean scent of polished metal and old leather. They were descending into a subterranean space, and when they reached the bottom, Liam’s eyes widened in stunned recognition. This basement room was Colton’s domain, his kingdom. And what a King he was in Liam’s eyes.
The walkout basement room was immense with its own private entrance. Big enough to span the footprint of the house above, and only moderately dark, illuminated by low, recessed lighting. Liam quickly registered the thickly padded, soundproofed walls and the use of leather furniture. Confirming this was a space explicitly built for Ryder’s private, testosterone-filled endeavors. Realizing this, Liam was sure he was next on Colton’s list.
At the foot of a massive king-sized bed – covered in a dense, black leather draped duvet and pillows – stood Colton’s gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle. This, Liam realized, was “the ride” Mama Dee had mentioned, and clearly, it was Colton’s pride and joy. The bike was kept indoors, its chrome reflecting the dim lights, giving the room an industrial look. The presence of the Harley right next to the bed screamed of Masculinity and possession, sealing the atmosphere of the Alpha’s domain.
The walls were a gallery of Colton’s desires: large posters of sexy bodybuilding men, gleaming chopper images, and shots of erotic male art that Liam had only ever accidentally stumbled upon in the deepest corners of the internet. However, it confirmed the thought that had been overwhelming Moore’s mind. Colton Ryder was gay! And not the soft and gentile kind.
• The leather exchange.
Colton pinned Liam against the padded wall near the stairs. The low light and the overwhelming masculinity of the space made Liam’s head swim. He knew, from the demanding, dominating set on Colt’s face, that he was utterly in for it now. The realization hit Liam hard: he was going to lose his anal virginity tonight. He could see the intent burning in Ryder’s eyes.
Colton sensed the spike in the boy’s panic, the way Liam’s breath hitched shallow and fast, bordering on hyperventilation. The biker wasn’t going to abuse the boy, but the urge to claim him – to breed that ass if Moore let him – was a roar in his blood. Yet, he didn’t exploit the panic; he anchored it. His large, warm palm slid up to cup the back of Liam’s neck, his thumb pressing firmly against the racing pulse, grounding the boy with his sheer physical weight. He leaned his forehead against Liam’s, forcing their eyes to lock in the dim light.
“Breathe, Lee,” Colton rumbled, his voice dropping to a frequency that seemed to bypass Liam’s brain and soothe his nervous system directly. “I ain’t gonna break ya. Not unless you ask me to. Ya ain’t out there, and dat white ass is mine in here, bro. Just let go and let Master take the wheel. I got ya.”
With Liam’s breathing steadied, Colton reached out, not for Liam, but for the heavy leather jacket he still wore. He roughly grasped the thick collar of his classic biker coat that Liam had adored the look of in the hall. But it was way too big for the college twink. Pulling the sleeves down in a decisive motion. The heavy jacket dropped to the shagpile floor with a hefty thwump, leaving the boy feeling cold and oddly exposed in his thin college varsity shirt.
Moore’s varsity shirt followed. It got cleanly ripped from his torso. Ignoring Liam’s small, choked protest, Ryder pushed his body against the boy, pinning him to the wall. After looking at the half-naked twink for a while, he said with a dirty grin, “Look at ya, all exposed.”
Ryder reached behind him for the jacket he had carried down with his prey. Colton murmured sneakily, his voice now lower, tinged with a dangerous satisfaction. Taking the black leather bomber jacket and, with surprising tenderness amidst the rough play, slipped it over Liam’s bare torso. It fit the boy perfectly. As if it were made for the man. Youthful and sexy at the same time.
The new coat was softer and more flexible, and it fit Liam’s taut, twinky frame perfectly. It wasn’t the heavy, challenging armor of the first one; this was a custom-made fit. Colton reached forward and grasped the jacket. Pulling Liam toward him. He leaned in close, his lips almost touching Liam’s ear, the raw assertion leaving no room for misunderstanding.
Colton didn’t waste time. Ryder started pushing the college freshman backward into the room. Gripping the bomber’s zippered lapel at the height of Liam’s chest. They moved past the gleaming bulk of the Harley, past the foot of the king-sized bed. Keeping eye contact with Liam, Colton stopped their movement a few times to kiss the twink. Well, it was more to slobber his tongue over Moore’s face. The quiet journey was a deliberate, controlling drag – a display of ownership. Colton then slammed Liam against the padded wall again. But nearer to his bed and the walkout door.
• The imposition.
Colton’s full, considerable body weight was pushing against Moore. He pulled a knee up and gently let the boy experience the smooth leather of his biker jeans against his balls. Lee gasped in shock, but let his hands wander over the kinky pants. The low light and the overwhelming masculinity of the space made Liam’s head swim. He knew, from the demanding, dominating set on Colton’s face, that they had crossed the point of no return. The playful teasing of the hallway was gone, replaced by a raw, predatory hunger.
“How far will Ryder take this?” The question flashed through Liam’s mind, but he wasn’t backing out now. After years of stifled desire, he wasn’t going to deny himself this terrifying, exhilarating moment with a rough, ebony thug like Colt. He was ready to find out just how good it felt to let a Ryder be his first rider. He was ready to explore anything and everything Colt was willing to do to him.
Colton’s eyes, dark and gleaming, raked over Liam’s slightly trembling body. Without a word, he reached up to his own chest and, with a swift, powerful motion, rudely stripped out of his leather vest. It landed with a slap on the leather duvet-covered bed behind him. Next came the skintight shirt he wore underneath; It too was gone in a flash. He tossed the fabric aside, revealing the magnificent musculature of his tattooed dark pecs and abdomen. The ink seemed to writhe in the dim light, a stark, mesmerizing display of raw power. Liam’s breath caught in his throat as he watched a darksome hunk in full glory. Swollen nips, sweaty pits, tattoos, and all. All covered in a thin fuzz of trimmed curly chest hair.
Liam gave a gasp, a startled, strangled scream of outrage and shock, trying to weakly twist away. Colton disregarded the protest completely. His dark gaze was relentless, dominant.
“Shut that up, Lee,” he commanded, the streetwise drawl now edged with menace. Moore froze where he stood.
Colton stepped back to pick up his heavy biker jacket and draped it over his bare, powerfully built shoulders. The look was to die for. Moving menacingly back toward the frozen boy, Colton reached forward and grasped the bomber jacket, pulling Liam toward him. He leaned in close, his lips almost touching Liam’s ear, the raw assertion leaving no room for misunderstanding. Liam felt Colton’s ragged, hungry panting; Ryder’s intent was clear. He was going to make Moore give his ass and take his load.
Whispering, “I saw you watch me, Lee. Not just looking, man. You undressed me with those horny eyes. You fantasized about this look, about this life. Haven’t you, bro?” Colton paused, his breath hot, his eyes burning into Liam’s soul. “This jacket is yours now. But it’s a leash. You wear what I give you. You’ll do what I say. You belong here. With me? You’re my Thanksgiving bitch!”
He stepped back, surveying Liam in the new, customized leather-look. The bomber jacket was a confirmation, part of a uniform, solidifying Liam’s position in this dark, private world. The tension between them, thick enough to choke on, had just escalated from a forbidden kiss to an absolute demand for submission.
• Forced into servitude.
Liam crumbled. The final, brutal command – “You’re my Thanksgiving bitch!” – was the pressure point. This sudden release shattered the last vestiges of his resistance. The anger, the shame if his family found out, the fear of exposure at school, the desperate, pent-up desire for this dark, dominant man – it all dissolved into a messy, overwhelming flood of raw, confusing emotions.
He didn’t fight the bomber jacket; the soft, yielding leather felt like a strange form of acceptance, a supple, skintight comfort. He wanted this. He wanted this terrifying, exhilarating intensity to continue. Still, the truth hit him hard: Liam had absolutely no idea how to do it. After all, he was still an ass virgin. He had dreamt of submission, but he had zero practical experience in this extreme, demanding field.
Standing there with his head bowed, his chin almost resting on the supple leather collar. Liam wanted, desperately, to obey Colton, to earn that position beneath him. He loved the dominant feeling – the exhilarating rush of knowing this powerful black man was taking charge of his destiny. But obedience meant action, and he was paralyzed by ignorance.
A single, frigid tear broke free, tracing a burning path down his cheek. He quickly lifted his hand to wipe it. As his head dipped, the knitted cuff of the bomber jacket brushed against his face, efficiently wiping the frightened tear dry. He froze, his hand dropping back to his side, mortified. Not wanting Colt to see his moment of weakness.
He stood there, broken but ready, his body trembling beneath the new leather. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. Liam simply waited, his eyes fixed on Colton’s muscular, tattooed chest, utterly reliant on Colton to show him the way. Sex is hard when you don’t know how.
Colton, reading the complete, shattered submission in Liam’s posture, let his hard gaze soften slightly, recognizing the difference between defiance and lack of experience. He knew this wasn’t a veteran; this was a fragile piece of glass that required firm handling. Colton strode forward, slowly circling Liam. He stopped behind him, his warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin on the back of Liam’s neck, a dramatic contrast to the cool leather.
“A’ight,” Colton murmured, his voice returning to a low, possessive rumble. “We gon’ start simple. Show me how much you trust me, Lee. Take off dem boots.”
• The unmaking.
Liam was momentarily puzzled. His boots? He didn’t understand the command, yet the need to obey was paramount. The single tear was gone, replaced by a tense focus on his task. Moore squatted on one knee and began fumbling with the laces of his highly polished work boots, his hands shaking slightly against the leather.
Ryder watched, his relentless scrutiny acting as an impatient spur. Forcing Liam’s shaking fingers to hurry. Colton remained silent, letting the sound of the laces being untied fill the immense, soundproofed space. He was a statue of muscle and leather, his thick leather jeans stuffed to the breaking point with his own impressive bulge. He knew exactly what the boy needed, and that fragile tear had only cemented his resolve.
Liam finally kicked the boots off, hitting the shagpile with two soft thuds. He stood in his thin socks and the soft bomber jacket, feeling even more vulnerable, yet utterly expectant. He was right to rely on Colton; Master Colt couldn’t wait to see his new bitch fully encased in the dark uniform he had in mind for the college twink.
“Lose dem jeans, too, Lee. I ain’t trying to ride you with all that denim blockin’ dat ass, man. I gotta get in there, now.” Colton’s voice was low, cutting through the silence. Liam’s eyes flashed up, meeting Colton’s gaze, a raw mix of terror and eager compliance.
It was actually gonna happen. The thought scared Liam half to death. He was wearing his threadbare, favorite jeans. Slowly, awkwardly, he worked the belt and zipper. He peeled the denim down his hips, then stepped out of the trousers and kicked them aside.
Liam stood between Colton and his love nest in nothing but his socks and his checkered, loose-fitting boxers. He was a boy already halfway into his new role, clad only in a supple new leather bomber jacket. The thin fabric of his boxers – partially hidden behind his cupped hands – did little to hide the nervous growth that had sprung to attention under the jacket.
Colton didn’t bother to remove his own heavy leather biker jeans. Instead, he reached down and yanked his zipper open with a slow, grinding rasp. He released the massive, dark head of his already engorged erection – the “mahogany baseball bat”, allowing it to spring free from the thick leather pants.
The sight of the girthy schlong made Liam take an involuntary step back, his eyes glued to the shocking display. Ryder didn’t touch himself; he just let the heavy tool swing free for a moment. Forcing the boy to absorb the reality of the impressive size of what was coming for him. The lewd display achieved its goal: fear and an agonizing, immediate desire to let that dick enter him where no man had gone before.
Colton’s eyes dropped, lingering on the boy’s vulnerable stance, then traveling back up to the panicked, eager expression in Liam’s eyes. The biker knew precisely what the boy needed: his cherry popped. And Colton was going to do it without an ounce of remorse. This wasn’t going to be a gentle, exploratory introduction; it would be the boy’s first swift, forceful foray into gay domination sex. Colton was going to establish absolute control, and he was going to make sure Liam obeyed.
It wasn’t going to be a prolonged session – but a fast in-and-out endurance test. Colt was keen to share his black demon seed with the boy already. And it was probably not going to be entirely painless. Ryder’s more than nine inches is rather girthy and built like a hung horse.
Colton took one slow, deliberate step closer, his gaze burning with possessive intent. He knew he was sharing his ebony DNA with the Moore boy – a genetic mark of ownership that would be as unforgettable as the pain and the pleasure of the ride. He would make Liam come back for more.
• The collaring and final undressing.
“You’re shaking, Lee?” Colton’s hand shot out, not to touch Liam’s skin, but to grip the soft leather of the bomber jacket just above Liam’s heart. He pulled Liam tight against the thick leather of his own torso.
“Ya want this. So, don’t fight it. Just let Colt take your ass for a ride. It’ll all be over soon, bro. As long as you obey. Feel me, bitch? I like a twink in leather. It’s been a while since I stuffed my puppies into one of you.”
Colton didn’t loosen his grip on Liam’s jacket. Instead, his other hand reached behind him, pulling a leather dog leash and studded collar off a hook on the wall behind the two. The sight made Liam’s breath hitch, a silent, primal recognition of the role he was being forced into.
Colton fitted the cold leather collar around Liam’s throat, roughly threading the strap through the metal buckle and yanking it tight, stopping just short of throttling him. The metal chain of the leash dangled down Liam’s spine, hitting his ass. The cold weight of the leather choker was a shocking, immediate affirmation of his new status.
“This ain’t just for looking good, Lee. Although you do look mighty fine this way.” Colton growled, his voice a low vibration against Liam’s ear. “This is your uniform. Your new skin. I like a twink in leather.”
With his fist grasping the collar around Moore’s throat, the two men looked intently at each other for a minute. He then released Liam and roughly pulled off the thin boxers, tossing them aside. Liam stood naked. His pale skin, a stark contrast against the dark leather of the bomber jacket and the collar. His body trembled, entirely exposed.
• Finishing dressing up.
Colton stepped back, his eyes raking hungrily over the naked twink encased in the bomber jacket and collar. With a purposeful stride, he walked to the bifolde wardrobe beside his massive bed, knelt, and pulled a black, heavy-duty storage box from it. He rose, tossing a set of kinky leather chaps and a posing jockstrap onto the bed. They landed right next to where the wide-eyed Liam stood.
Moore had to steady himself on Master Colt as he helped him step into the leather jock. Ryder expertly nudged the boy’s swollen cock and balls beneath the taut pouch.
Stepping around the young man, Master Colt pressed his front to Liam’s backside. A hand clasped over the boy’s collar, and Liam noticed the ebony dick start to grow as the pulsing rod touched his exposed hairless crack. Master Colt felt the boy calm down as he held him tight, slightly choking his neck and pressing Liam’s hips to the fat dick. He rode the crack with the intent to rudely invade the hole.
But after a few minutes of quietly increasing the tension between them, Moore let out a moan of loss when Colton stopped grinding his buttocks. Ryder had stepped back to cinch the cords of the chaps tight to match Liam’s frame.
Colton roughly twisted the boy around. Moore’s back was now to the bed. Ryder squatted down and did up the inside zippers over the legs. Liam was trembling in anticipation. And Master Colt only intensified the high-end state of arousal when he pressed his entire face into Moore’s leathered crotch. Licking, sucking, and even nibbling on the captured goodies inside. Lee just let his hand rest on Colt’s long, wavy black hair. Loudly moaning this during foreplay. Or at least, Liam hoped this was foreplay. He had never been treated like this by a man.
Master Colt ran his palms greedily over the leather chaps and the exposed ass, worshipping the way the leather clung to Liam’s tight frame. His lips followed his big hands. Kissing and licking up the hairless torso of the twink. Arriving at the neck, Colton leaned in, his lips seeking the delicate skin just above the collar. He didn’t just kiss; he bit and sucked, planting a dark, possessive hickey – a visible mark of ownership. Liam tilted his head and arched his back, trusting the dominant man’s hands.
The sensual exploration ended abruptly. Colton pulled back, his eyes dark with predatory focus. He grasped the leash that was already clipped to the collar and pulled it sharply up.
“Look at me, Lee,” Colton commanded. “I’m not playin’. I’m gonna own you. I’m gon’ breed you. I’m gon’ take that tight ass and fill it up. I’m taking you all the way, boy. Ya still want this? Tell Master you want dis.”
Liam couldn’t speak, but his head snapped forward in nervous agreement, a sharp, tremulous nod of total acceptance. Colton’s face broke into a satisfied grin. “Good boy. Me knew it. We gon’ have fun.”
• The inspection and preparation.
Colton stepped back, a dark predatory grin spreading across his face as he assessed his handiwork. He ran a slow, dark finger under the studded collar, applying just enough pressure to make Liam swallow hard. His hand moved down, raking over the pliable material of the bomber jacket before pausing at the open ass of the chaps. Master Colt gave a rough, possessive squeeze to Liam’s exposed ass. Ryder knew the answer already; he had felt that same undeniable yearning growing up, wishing for a master to take him.
“Check ya out, all dressed up for yo’ master,” he murmured, his breath hot against Liam’s ear. “This what you’ve been waitin’ on, boy?”
Liam nodded again. His throat was too dry to speak.
Colton reached into his own coat pocket and pulled out a small, amber bottle of oil. He ignored the sharp, anticipatory gasp that caught in Liam’s throat. He tilted the bottle and poured a thick, liberal amount onto his dark, dominant palm. The slickness of the oil was a final, explicit declaration that the actual ritual was beginning. Liam flinched, instinctively trying to step back, but Ryder held him fast.
“We ain’t done yet, little bitch,” he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly assertion. He dropped the bottle and immediately moved in close, wrapping a heavy, leather-clad arm around Liam’s back of the waist to hold him fast. With his hand slicked, he slipped a single, long, lubricated finger between the chaps and into the cleft of Liam’s ass.
Liam’s breath hitched on a tiny, pathetic gasp – half shock, half pleasure. Colton leaned in close, his guttural moaning breath hot against Liam’s ear, savoring the sound of the boy’s sharp intake of air. He pressed firmly, feeling the tight resistance, and then – with a brutal, commanding force – he drove a second finger deep inside. The pressure of the two fingers, combined with the slick and wet lubricant, caused the outer ring of Liam’s sphincter to immediately relax – a soft, involuntary surrender that confirmed he was yielding to the invasion. The deep, rhythmic working of the fingers stretched and prepared his submissive body.
Then, in a final surge of adrenaline and daring submission, Liam Moore moved. With his free hand, he reached down and grasped the thick, heavy shaft of Master Colton’s exposed man-tool. Liam spat into his own palm, coating the smooth, dark head, the foreskin, and the magnificent ebony shaft with a slick layer of his own saliva. He squeezed, pulling Colton’s erection taut. The boy’s wide eyes flicked up, meeting Colton’s gaze, a challenging, urgent invitation. He was wordlessly telling his Master he was finally ready for his massive shaft.
• The bondage and ownership.
Ryder got the message. He released Liam’s ass and smoothly stepped back. “On the bed, face down, ass up, little bitch.”
Liam obeyed instantly, crawling onto the king-sized leather-covered bed as ordered. He settled on his knees on the bed, his legs spread wide, the chaps gaping open. He risked a nervous glance over his shoulder at Master Colton, his vulnerability making him instinctively try to shuffle up the bed, away from the massive black dong poking out of those kinky leather pants. A frightful sight for the uninitiated.
Colton was already reaching into the tote. He pulled out heavy leather ankle cuffs and, in a blur of movement, grabbed Liam’s flailing ankles and yanked them brusquely down, pulling the boy back toward the foot of the large bed. Liam cried out, the sudden, rough spreading of his legs an abrupt end to the teasing. Ryder didn’t hesitate, jumping his considerable weight onto Liam’s back, pinning him to the mattress. Flattening the man like a pancake on the bed.
Liam gasped under the sudden pressure, the breath forced from his lungs. Colton used his hands to quickly fasten the cuffs, hooking them to short chains attached to the corners of the bedposts. Liam was now utterly spread, his ass tilted up and trapped. He belonged here. This submissive pose was his position.
Colton ignored Liam’s struggles. His eyes dropped to the target, framed perfectly by the chaps. “Time for ya to earn the right to wear these leathers, be-atch,” he growled, bending low. Ryder pulled the boy onto his knees at the foot of the bed and drove his face deep into the boy’s exposed ass crack. Yanking both cheeks apart with extreme force.
Liam cried out again, this time a sound of shock and immediate ecstasy as Master’s tongue hit his slick entrance. The rough, trimmed whiskers of Colton’s chin beard tickled and rasped against Liam’s sensitive skin as the biker devoured him. Spitting at the back door and lapping around the outer rim with his coarse tongue. Liam had never experienced anything so explicit and intense; he was absolutely loving it, his bound hips bucking helplessly against the chains.
Begging, “... Please, fuck me, sir,” Just as Liam crested the edge of a scream, Colton pulled away.
Ryder grabbed a wide, black leather paddle from beside the bed. “Not yet. Time for obedience. No one struggles and gets away with it that easily, bitch.”
The first strike was hard, the leather snapping loudly against Liam’s tight buttocks. The impact registered immediately as a sharp, white-hot sting, like a burst of flame, instantly hijacking the pleasure. The freshman reacted on pure, panicked instinct, throwing his hands back to deflect the black leather paddle.
The sound of leather hitting flesh was replaced by Colton’s low, angry growl.
“Don’t you ever raise your hands to your Master, little bitch.”
Colton got visibly annoyed with the man’s attempt at defiance. He grabbed Liam’s wrists and pinned them tightly behind his back. As Colt proceeded to teach obedience, bringing the paddle down with swift, stinging regularity. Breaking Liam’s whimpering, sobbing, and weak apologies.
• No mercy.
Colton tossed the paddle aside. He yanked his own heavy leather trousers open wider. Hoisting free the coconuts and the raging length of his fuck stick. There would be no more mercy. Both men understood this.
He positioned himself behind the boy. His impressive ebony rod slammed against Liam’s reddened buttocks with a sound as rough as the paddle strikes. Colton didn’t let up. With a firm, unforgiving grip, pinning both wrists tightly behind his back. Master Colt yanked Moore’s hips toward him, completing the arch. Liam’s tight hole involuntarily flexed open, ready for the invasion.
“This is your life now, Lee. You serve my dick. Ya belong to my pleasure. Ya belong to me!” Colton’s voice was a low roar of dominance, forcing the words into Liam’s ear. “Scream me name, little bitch! Scream it, if you wan’ me to fuck ya leathered ass!”
With a relentless, measured intensity designed to be much longer than any quick pop, Colton drove his massive girth deep into the boy’s stretched body. Liam’s first cry was swallowed by the thick leather of the bedcovers.
The penetration became an agonizing, rhythmic ritual. Colton thrust hard, pulling back just far enough to stretch Liam to the absolute breaking point, then driving back in with a powerful, dominating depth. The sound of the assault filled the room.
“Say thank you, BITCH! Say it!” Master Colt demanded.
Liam bucked helplessly against the chains, his muscles screaming against the bondage and the unending intrusion. The pain was searing, yet the depth of the pleasure was a dark, dizzying promise of addiction. He sobbed, his voice hoarse, finally managing the choked-out command: “M... -Master! Thank you! You’re so big. Fuck me. I want it. Ohh... Gosh... Fuck... Arghh.”
Colton roared his satisfaction, thrusting with renewed, brutal energy, claiming the core of the boy in a punishing rhythm. This was not a ride; this was an endless, dominating possession. Slamming the heavy leather jeans against the freshman’s ass with percussive force. Grunting dirty, and demanding the boy take all nine inches. Liam was utterly consumed, every thrust marking his surrender complete.
• The end of the beginning.
Colton felt the inevitable rush bubble up. The blinding moment of release that his new plaything would remember forever. He pulled back one last inch, then slammed forward with a final, desperate grunt, driving his entire load deep inside the bound boy. He didn’t pull out. He held himself fully buried in Liam’s tight, shuddering heat, his own body shaking violently, his seed pouring into the boy’s guts – a final, undeniable act of breeding and ownership.
With the last energy spent, the massive man collapsed onto Liam’s sweat-slicked back, his weight a heavy, exhausted blanket. The only sounds were their ragged, wheezing breaths and the creaking sounds their rugged outfits made against the leather duvet. The high-adrenalin tension dissolved into immediate, aching exhaustion. Colton stayed planted inside him, savoring the feeling of Liam’s tight warmth contracting hole around his spent shaft.
After a long moment, Colton finally found his breath, his voice low and raspy from the exertion. He pulled back just enough to lean his head near Liam’s ear, the sweat on his trimmed chin beard transferring to Liam’s neck.
“Tell me something, Lee,” Colton whispered, his voice soft but demanding. “You just got taken, marked, and bred by a black man. Did my skin color do it for you, boy?”
Liam whimpered, his voice scratchy and thick with residual pleasure and pain. He forced the words out, the truth undeniable in his exhausted state.
“No, Master,” Liam choked out a shocked response. He swallowed hard. “It wasn’t the black color of your skin... it was the black leather. And the way you took me. That hit all the right boxes for me. Hard work, but well worth it.”
Colton smiled, a slow, deeply satisfied sound in his chest. He finally pulled his now-soft shaft from Liam’s body, the sound a wet, final declaration. “Good answer, little leather bitch. Now let’s get you cleaned up.” Colton Ryder smacked the boy’s ass and unfastened the binding cuffs from the bed. Watching his thick, creamy cum dribble out of Liam’s well-worn-out, gaping ass.
• The Aftermath.
Master Colt didn’t give Liam much time to process what had happened to him. He needed to get back upstairs, and his new toy required cleaning. Colton performed a quick wipe with a rough cloth, removing the majority of the cum.
Moore looked down at his outfit as he rolled over on the bed. He felt like a new man. Stronger and more confident than ever before.
“Get up, little bitch. Yo’ Master gotta bounce upstairs. Don’t breathe a word to Blake, ya hear me? Or that fag gon’ be wantin’ a piece of this shit too. Shower right over there. Towels in the closet. Keep dem leathers, you wear them well. You can Dom Blake like that in a heartbeat.” Colton said brusquely, smirking. His limp, glistening dick still swinging freely, poking out of those kinky leather biker jeans Liam loved so much. Even flaccid, the heavy slab of meat was a sight to behold.
Liam had to make a few attempts to get off the bed. But Colt reached out an arm and hauled the boy to his feet. Moore, unable to stand, instantly crumbled right back to the floor. Appologetically looking up, Liam seized the moment of intimacy. He pushed himself forward and took the limp brisket into his mouth for the last time. He let his tongue swirl around the sensitive ebony pole, tasting his own ass and Colton’s glistening cum. Master Colt grunted appreciatively at the voluntary attention. Clasping a hand over Lee’s face and pumping his dick a few times. Colton smiled broadly, the grin dirty and possessive.
“I said shower! Obedience ain’t no damn option, Lee. Ya gotta give it to me. I demand it.” Colt smirked darkly, hoisting the boy to his feet. He sealed his command with a deep French kiss, releasing the leather collar from Liam’s neck before pushing him toward the bathroom.
When Liam stepped back into the room, a towel wrapped around his battered bottom, he saw that Colton was gone. Lee had wanted to thank him for the freeing experience. But on the bed, where minutes before he had been bred like a bitch, Colt had laid out his clothes. Neatly folded with a note on top.
“Before you come up and say hi to Mama Dee, change your shirt. Sorry about tearing it to bits. Go up to Blake’s room and put on this old shirt of mine, bro. Keep the bomber. It suits you better than me. Leave the chaps for now. On Black Friday, we can get you some shirts and leather jeans. I know a place where we can get them cheap.”
The written letter did not match the tone the verbal African-American thug Colt Ryder had used at all. But the idea of going shopping for leather with him intrigued the college freshman very much. He knew leather jeans weren’t cheap, but Lee wasn’t sure he could afford them on his college budget.
Liam moved with a painful, unnatural stiffness. He was dressed in Colton’s hand-me-down white shirt, still clad in the black leather bomber jacket, and the dark, possessive hickey on his neck was starkly visible. He began the slow, aching climb up the stairs, heading toward Blake’s room. The physical pain was a constant reminder of the Master he had just submitted to. He was no longer Liam Moore, the college freshman; he was something new, and he was taking that newness straight to Blake.
• Continued in part 2 of 3 •
Thank you for reading this story.
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And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spilled cum! 😋
© StrykerJ - Thanksgiving 2025
