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A Thanksgiving to Remember.
Cruising with the big boys on Black Friday.
• Getting dressed for Black Friday.
With Colton’s gear slung over his shoulder, Liam Moore nudged a satiated, barely-awake Blake Ryder toward the bedroom where the twinks were preparing to dress. Last night was fun on so many levels, but they needed to get dressed for colder weather. “Bundle up, boys,” according to Maurits M’Kumi, “... or your ‘Cummi bags’ would freeze. We are going cruising for leather.”
A slight chill had settled in the area. And if it was cold here in Blackwood Valley, NC, it would be a couple of degrees cooler where they were going. Nemo did not tell the guys where the day would take them. Maurits just let out a sneaky chuckle.
Giddy with anticipation, Liam began dressing at top speed in Blake’s room. His ensemble was simple yet effective: He pulled on pale blue scuffed jeans over the black jockstraps he typically wore to the gym. Thinking they would look dope under the black chaps. A black V-neck shirt with lace cords, topped by a SHU college hoodie vest. The polished work boots completed the look. He then rolled up the chaps and tucked them into the large duffel bag that he had deliberately emptied to carry his shopping. Even though Lee was still worried about the cost of it all.
Blake was slightly more apprehensive of the impending trip. The twink’s outfit was more colorful, too: a yellow shirt layered beneath an ocker hoodie. He accessorized with a fake gold-plated Miami Cuban chain, all flash and no investment. Blake slipped bare-boned into tight, dark-gray jeans, a black belt with a golden buckle. The denim hugged his frame, looking welded on. And definitely not easy to get out of. Colorful canvas high-tops made the Ryder boy look more like a high school student than a hardworking full-time exterior painter.
Blake noticed Liam holding out the leather-collared bomber instead of putting it on himself. “Wha... what are you going to wear?” he asked.
Liam answered calmly, “Don’t worry, homie. I’m getting something new. Until then, I can wear my zip-up jacket.”
When Blake refused to put it on, Lee added, “... Look, man, Colt told me Wednesday that he bought it for you. If you don’t want to wear it for me, then do it for Colt and Maurits. I bet they’ll come in full leather, too.”
Liam smootched his best buddy. The tiny kiss, somewhere between a thank you and admiration. Nodding to Blake to follow him back downstairs. They gave Mama Dee a quick goodbye as they hurried back to Colt’s room. Moore had been right. Maurits dressed in black pants and a leather trench coat, yet somehow still looked sophisticated. And his man in a masterful-looking biker jacket with chrome snaps, thick leather trousers, and the pointiest cowboy boots Liam had ever seen. They even had freaking silver tips that could cut straight to the soul. A thug if ever there was one.
Colt smirked at Lee’s approving stares. Showing off the boot by lifting up the leather jeans he was wearing. “Gear up, pup,” Colton commanded, pointing to the duffel bag where Liam had stowed the chaps. “Mama Dee’s out of sight now. You’re not cruising in denim.”
Liam yanked the chaps out. His heart pounded – this was the line. Right there in front of his Master and Maurits. He quickly wrapped the kinky leather around his pale jeans and zipped it up.
Blake watched, his brown eyes sparkled as he wolf-whistled his rising excitement. Was the man finally starting to like the leather-look, too? Liam grinned back at the men.
“Perfect,” Colton said, his satisfied smirk stretching wider. “Now, let’s go. We have lots to buy, see, and ... Learn!”
• On the road to Independence.
The leather-clad figures didn’t waste time. It was 8:27 AM when the four men piled into Maurits’s black Lexus, the empty duffel bag tossed into the trunk. Nemo, acting as driver for Master Colt, was already hitting the gas, determined to make good time on the Friday morning highway to Independence City, GA.
Blake looked over his shoulder at Liam. They exchanged looks as they settled in opulent luxury. Blake had called shotgun and shoved his brother into the back with Liam. Yet, both twinks wondered the same thing.
Blake blurted out, “Wow... Man, this thing’s a palace. No offense, but how much did this cost? Does teaching lit really pay that much? Who did you have to rob to afford this?”
“Don’t be rude, man!” said Liam to his best friend, smacking his head from the back. Even in high school, Blake had a tendency to speak before he thought about the consequences.
Maurits M’Kumi chuckled, settling back against the supple black leather seats. His driving gloves were grasping the wheel. “It’s quite all right, Master Blake. It’s a fair question, but perhaps phrased a touch too directly for a gentleman of letters.” He adjusted the cuffs of his expensive shirt. “Let’s just say that teaching literature is my passion, but my hobby is capital. I learned long ago that a keen eye for market trends pays far better than grading freshman essays. It gets Colt to take his share of the deal, too.” He glanced quickly at Colton. “My money is simply the means to enjoy my life.”
Colton, sitting behind the man, was wearing a satisfied smirk, interrupted Maurits. “And he enjoys my company – and my other skills.” He turned to face the two twinks. “Nemo, here, had a lot of assets that needed... re-routing and structuring before I came along. We met back in college when he was moving some... uhm... let’s say... questionable inventory. Now, I handle all the business logistics and investments. The car, the clothes, the cash – it’s all his, but I control the purse strings. Isn’t that right, Nemo?”
Maurits gave a small, contented sigh, his dark eyes sparkling as he met Colton’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Yes, Master Colt. You control everything. My body, my wallet, and my soul are yours to command. You provide the purpose, and I provide the funds to execute that vision. Now, no more talk of money. We have a much more immediate concern: your gear.”
Blake lifted his eyebrows. His brother had not bothered sharing these details with his ‘Lil bro. Not that he would dare question Colt about his cash flow. That was always such a sensitive subject in the Ryder household.
Liam felt like he had just met his sugar daddies and was suddenly much more comfortable with the whole shopping trip.
• The pit stop.
They drove for thirty-five minutes – on a stretch of mostly quiet highway –before Maurits signaled sharply, pulling into a sprawling gas station lot. Trucks parked three rows thick. It was crowded with truckers eating breakfast in their cabs, or stretching their legs. And Black Friday shoppers were making a quick pit stop.
“Stretch your legs, boys,” Maurits said, stepping out first, his leather trench coat catching the light.
“Liam, Blake. Stay close,” Colton warned.
Liam and Blake exchanged a quick look of apprehension and excitement. The slight chill hit them, but the Lexus’s warmth had been oppressive.
Master Colt pulled a short chrome-plated chain and padlock from his inner pocket and publicly fastened it around Moore’s neck. The lock clicked shut ominously. He was owned, and the world could clearly see it. Moore uttered a stunned word of thanks as Ryder showed the boy the tiny key and stuffed it into the leather wrist wallet he was wearing.
The tension was immediate. Drivers stared, not just at the leather but at the younger men, one wearing kinky chaps and the other tight jeans, obeying two older ebony men dressed for dominance.
“See, terror?” Colton murmured to Liam, resting the chain heavily on his neck. “The world is watching. Now, let’s get some dick.”
Liam felt the weight of the collar and the stares. Master Colt took Liam’s chain and grabbed Blake’s shoulder. He paraded the boys in a deliberate walk around the perimeter of the lot, checking out the truckers and couples and making sure they were seen. When they headed for the public restroom facilities, a few interested truckers quickly followed the three men inside.
• First timers at the Gloryhole.
Blake and Liam got slammed in the face with the smell of the restroom. It was busy in here, too.
Colton shoved Liam and Blake into the center of five stalls around the back. Roughly carved holes were cut on either side of the partition. Ryder positioned himself in the still-open door frame, watching the novice boys examine the holes and stains below them. The lewd texts penciled in permanent marker left nothing to the imagination. The guys knew what was expected of them. Back-to-back, they kneeled down and looked into the stalls next to theirs.
“This is a service station, boys... So serve!” called Master Colt as he gestured to a biker and a younger trucker to give the boys something to do. The man stepped into their cubicles and closed their doors behind them. The jeans got torn open, and prancing dicks were presented at the holes.
Liam could hear the heavy, rhythmic sounds coming from a few stalls over. He glanced down, and his blood heated. Beneath the side wall, he saw a pair of worn, buckled engineer boots settle. And a hairy dick got stroked to life.
“Ready to serve, terror?” Colton’s voice asked darkly. A low and sharp question that cut through the noise.
Liam didn’t dare speak; he just nodded, his hand already stroking over the tightness of his chaps. Behind him, Blake gave a choked sound – perhaps a gasp or a nervous chuckle – as he, too, realized precisely what was expected. This was a lesson the novices would not quickly forget. Their first gloryhole encounter.
The trucker waited. The air was thick with body heat and anticipation. Liam leaned forward and twirled his tongue over the glans as Colton had taught him to do. First, the head. Then a bit more. And then – it was like riding a bike – it all came back to him. He was blowing the hairy dong, as a few slutty girls had done to him. Blake was mirroring him with equal vigor.
The biker came first. Colt, who had been watching the progress, handed the boy a paper towel to catch the load. The trucker on the other side followed. It didn’t take long, but it was pretty intense. And a couple more hard-up guys let the twinks service them to a happy end.
Master Colton yanked Liam away from the third or fourth dick. Tugging on Liam’s chain, pulling him roughly back to standing. “Enough. Duty done.”
Blake stumbled out of the stall moments later, his face flushed and his tight jeans slightly damp, a look of shocked, pleased disbelief on his face.
“Good boys,” Colton growled, adjusting his jacket. “Let’s go. We have a schedule.” Handing both guys 250 dollars each. They met up with Maurits and drove on.
• A bite and a fight.
Since the men had skipped breakfast, the sudden adrenaline crash left them yearning for a cup of joe and a quick piss. A bite to eat would be welcome, too.
They drove for another forty minutes. The first few minutes in the Lexus were silent, punctuated only by the low rumble of the engine and the hum of the tires. Blake, however, could never stay quiet long.
“Holy crap, Lee,” Blake gasped, running a hand through his hair. He still looked flushed from the adrenaline rush and the brief, public service. “That was... insane. Did you see those guys? And they just gave us money to blow them? Do you know how many square feet I need to paint to earn that shit?”
Liam, less shocked due to his prior instruction from Colton, gave a weak laugh. “Obedience is a powerful pleasure, man. Didn’t Colton and Maurits teach you that?” He shook his head, impressed. “Two hundred fifty dollars just for letting some truckers finish? That’s a damn good day rate. Better than painting siding, huh?” Liam gently rubbed the collar of his plain zip-up jacket, wishing he were wearing a vintage leather biker jacket like Master Colt.
“I just wish we had gloryholes like that on campus.” Moore sighed wearily.
“But we do!” exclaimed Maurits. “And we have a couple of gay fraternity dorms, as well. You just need to know where to look, Lee. They don’t advertise. But you won’t find me anywhere near there. I would lose my job in a second if the faculty finds out I am gay.”
Colton ignored the dialogue of the twinks, instead tapping Maurits on the shoulder. “How far, Nemo?”
“About five minutes, Master Colt. This place is usually busy on Black Friday, but it’s worth the detour. Best coffee on the interstate, and the food is... hearty.” Maurits let the last word hang with a knowing grin.
The Biker Cafe appeared suddenly, nestled off the highway ramp like a giant, rustic cabin. Its parking lot was already full, dotted mostly with motorcycles and a few work trucks. Maurits smoothly guided the Lexus into a spot near the back. This was clearly not the first time he had waylaid in there.
The moment the four men stepped through the heavy timber door, the conversation inside flattened. The cafe was packed with burly adults, mostly leather-vested bikers and workers who were now openly staring at the 4 men who dared to enter the cafe-diner. Liam instantly felt the raw, hostile atmosphere – it was thicker than the smell of grease in the air.
Master Colt immediately threw an arm around Liam’s chained neck, his massive bicep visible under his biker jacket. He wasn’t comforting the boy; he was claiming him. Maurits, meanwhile, moved with the measured gait of a CEO, his dark eyes calmly scanning the room, his expensive leather trench coat a statement of untouchable wealth and class.
“Find us a booth, Nemo,” Colton commanded, his voice loud enough to carry over the resumed, nervous chatter. His tone dared anyone to object. “And get the twinks some strong coffee.”
They slid into a booth near the back. The waitress looked nervous but quickly took their order: There was only one thing on the menu: bacon, eggs, and beans on toast. Nothing special, but warm, filling, and surprisingly effective.
After the food arrived, Liam asked to be excused.
He found the restroom mostly empty. As he relieved himself, two massive bikers, smelling of stale smoke and old leather, stepped in. They ignored the urinal etiquette, flanking Liam instantly.
“Well, well. Look what we found,” the first biker grunted, grabbing Liam’s collar chain. “The Master left his little pet unguarded. Guess that means you’re public property now.”
Liam knew the drill: he was collared and owned. This was part of the lesson. He offered no resistance, simply dropping his gaze. The bikers mistook his compliance as permission and quickly pushed him over the sink, pulling down the chaps and jeans. Liam felt the first rough penetration immediately, swiftly followed by the second biker aligning himself behind him. Both men rudely spat on Moore. They made a right mess of him. He let the men spitroast him for a short, intense while, focusing on his breathing and the rough, anonymous feeling.
The sound of the bathroom door slamming open killed their moment. Master Colt’s huge form filled the doorway, his eyes narrowed to slits.
“GET. OFF. MY. PROPERTY.” Ryder roared. Startled by Colton’s massive proportions, the bikers slid out in a hurry. Leaving Liam’s tormented, wet holes exposed.
Fists flailed, boots kicked, and the sound of bodies slamming against the tiles and stall doors like ragdolls was deafening. It was over in seconds. Moore had been ready to end the assault himself, yet felt a sharp warmth of loyalty when Colt stepped in to defend his property, his friend. Liam had smartened himself up and walked proudly out of the restroom with Colt as his protector and hero.
“Finish your breakfast, boys,” Colt said, his voice now dangerously soft as he slid back into the booth. “And Nemo, we’re on a tight schedule. Let’s get out of this dump.”
• The drive to Indie City.
When the four settled back in the warm Lexus, Colton sneakily asked Liam, “Did you enjoy that, Lee?”
“Not that bad, honestly. The one in the front was having trouble keeping his dick hard. The one in the back was only about five inches, and skinny as a pencil...” Liam said confidently. “... But thanks for protecting me. Damn, your boot went right up his ass. Did you see him flinch? Anyway, Thanks, sir.”
“You’re welcome, pup. It was that or join them... HA Ha ha..." Colt laughed butchly. “Remember, you’re not just my pup – I hope you understand I am your friend, too.”
Liam answered sheepishly, “Thanks, I think... But I settle for a good teacher or two. So far, so good.”
Maurits and Blake, now sitting in the backseat, listened to Liam with reddening ears. He had been forcibly used, yet he detailed the encounter without a trace of upset. They were speechless, utterly aghast that he could speak so matter-of-factly about the incident they had just heard described.
The men chatted the time away. Liam could not believe how quickly the trip had gone, or for that matter, what he had done. A few weeks ago, the unplanned casual sex with men had not even registered with him. And now? Now he could not get enough of it. Moore couldn’t care less about skin color. Black, yellow, white, red – heck, green if he could find a gay Martian, would do for him.
As soon as the twinks saw the highway signs pointing to Indie City, they knew where they were going. Liam had heard of this place. A very liberal city with relaxed attitudes toward LGBTQ people. In fact, he had thought of visiting the metropolitan area to check out the scene. It was halfway between Blackwood Valley and the college town of Sterling Harbor, on the Georgian coast.
Blake, however, could not care less. The story of Liam getting non-consensual sex had aroused something that had been dormant for much too long. Blake spoke from the back seat, his voice clear and unexpectedly demanding.
“Nemo,” Blake ordered, leaning forward, a broad, playful grin splitting his face. “Give me some road head before we go shopping.”
The power bottom Maurits merely chuckled, leaned back, and watched Blake extricate his eight-inch rod. Getting it half-hard with a few strokes.
“As Master commands,” he murmured, his expensive trench coat settling against the seat’s leather as he bent over Blake.
Blake’s eyes met Colton’s in the rearview mirror as the boy violently forced M’Kumi down as he pushed up. The springs of the backseat groaned as the heavy action ensued. Blake had grabbed a fistful of hair and dictated the tempo.
Arriving downtown, a little before midday, Colton drove the luxury car straight down to a dingy underground parking garage. He flashed a small, black RFID card at a sensor near the ramp, and a barred gate slid silently open.
They parked on the lowest level, and Colton got out. The spot was somewhat hidden from view to give the two in the backseat some privacy. Gesturing to Lee to get out of the vehicle, Colton and Liam exchanged a look of pure amusement. They let Blake assert his new, playful dominance over his 38-year-old new best friend.
Liam grinned at his own Master. “Well, that’s one way to start a shopping trip, huh, Colt?”
Colton just laughed, leaning against the warm hood of the Lexus and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “Yep. He’s learning fast. Get comfortable, pup. This might take a minute. But... uhm... thanks for getting him in that bomber jacket. And... Well, for getting him out of his pants. If he wasn’t my brother, I’d do him, for sure.”
Moore sat between the spread legs of Ryder and bummed a hit off his smoke. Rubbing a hand over the man’s slick leather jeans. Feeling an arm of Colton wrap over his chest and into the zip-up jacket. They kept an eye out for the two in the backseat getting hot and heavy. The air was filled with the cheerful sounds of two friends getting it on.
Not that Liam wasn’t enjoying a nice start to a very successful, if not unconventional, morning. Settling back against the broad chest of his Master, he felt one of his nipples burn beneath the playful twirling fingers of Colt. Listening to the wild orgasm of Blake Ryder and the guttural splutters of his English Lit professor.
• Going down in Indie City.
As the four exited the parking garage, Maurits asked, “Where do you guys want to start? There are a few excellent shops that sell gear. I got Colt those dangerous cowboy boots from up there.” He pointed toward Tafts – a gritty fetish wear store specializing in footwear for urban cowboys, bikers, punks, and goths. This wasn’t the place for loafers.
“Nah... Let’s hit Stitches first. I need to buy Liam a new shirt. I tore one of his on Wednesday,” replied Colton. As the two guys looked at each other, Liam murmured his thanks, but warned that he had a limited budget to work with. Maurits squeezed his arm and smiled, “Don’t worry, Lee. Colt and I have already decided to pay for whatever you want. And you have the 250 dollars you’ve earned, too.”
Colt grabbed Blake around the neck and pulled him close. “That goes for you too, ‘Lil bro. Let me dote on you. I really like how that jacket looks. But if you want to get a different style, that’s fine by me.”
“Thanks, bro. I was thinking a brown flight jacket with a fur collar and some brown stomp boots. Nothing much.”
Blake reached his arm around Colt’s back, pulling him close. Standing on tiptoes, he planted a wet kiss on his brother. It smelled of M’Kumi’s cum. Earning him a few odd stares from passers-by. Good thing his ebony color made it less noticeable. But Blake was blushing a deep crimson well past his ears and down his neck.
Liam caught the twink in mid-sway. He grabbed Blake’s face and kissed him back – hard, deep, and fully tongue-engaged, right in the middle of the sidewalk. He finally pulled away, his voice a low, confident whisper: “Fool, never let others dictate how you feel. Own it, even if it feels like a mistake!”
Elated, the four walked toward Stitches. The posters with Black Friday deals glared at them.
• Inside Stitches.
Despite it being Black Friday, the shop felt less like a chaotic rush and more like a carefully curated, dimly lit vault of cool.
Liam followed Colton past racks of brightly colored graphic tees and distressed hoodies. Blake and Maurits wandered in a different direction. He knew he needed a new shirt, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the denim section.
He paused at a display featuring several styles of ripped and patched jeans, running his hand over the abrasive tears. After wearing the tight, restrictive chaps, the idea of slipping into something equally rugged but fully enclosing appealed to him. His hand glided over a pair of jeans made to look like leather, with a shiny coating.
“You need a shirt, pup, not more pants,” Colton said, stopping beside him, his voice amused.
“I know, sir, but these are cool,” Liam admitted, picking up a pair of dark gray faux leather jeans – not the black he’d grown accustomed to. “My regular jeans are comfortable, but they’re boring. Let’s find a white denim shirt like yours first, one that fits, preferably.” Liam chortled. Colt’s borrowed shirt was a few sizes too big for him, but he liked the way it looked.
“Ha... Well, I know a place for some kinky pants. Don’t worry. And boring is safe,” Colton noted, “... but safe ain’t you anymore, is it, Lee?” He glanced at Liam’s old, pale jeans peeking out from under the chaps. As they found what they were looking for, Liam had spotted a blue denim jacket with leather arms and collar. Just as they found a promising rack, Maurits and Blake joined them.
“This is what would work for me!” he exclaimed excitedly.
“Fuck yeah. Good find. I want one in black,” said Blake as both twinks grasped a couple of denim shirts and summer jackets.
• Tafts and a stiff drink.
The men paid and went to look at boots in Tafts. It was busy as hell, but most of the shoes were 50% off or more. “Holy hell,” Blake muttered, his eyes glued to a display of stompers. These boots were something else entirely. The unique, heavy styles and unapologetic kinky aesthetic were not items you’d find anywhere near Blackwood Valley.
Blake found himself a pair of brown stomp boots he simply adored. They had massive, aggressive treads on the soles, deep and chunky like tire tracks, and half-high heels in a mottled brown color and dark laces.
Liam could not decide between a pair of zippered ankle boots, almost as pointy as Colton’s footwear, and a pair of high engineer boots with a harness.
“Get them both, they are half off,” suggested Maurits, elated.
Again, the cash register rang, and the men moved on.
“I need a drink. It was mad in there!” gasped Colton 30 minutes later. Guiding his companions into a bar. The bartender greeted Colt as an old friend. Looking a little surprised at the two twinks.
“Are... Umm... Are they old enough?” Derick sheepishly asked Colton, nodding to Black and Liam.
“Trouble with the pigs again?” smiled Ryder back.
Liam showed his ID, and Blake did, as well. He had brought a fake ID just for this case. On it, he was a year older than Moore. The bartender took a glance and smiled at Colton, “What will it be, boys?”
“Something stiff,” joked Colt to Derick.
“Meet me around back in ten, then...” laughed the bartender back. Pouring four large Boilermakers for the men. Adding, “Something to get some hair on your chest, boys.”
They drank in the jolly atmosphere of the gay bar and snacked on some leftover turkey sandwiches. Colton did disappear for a quarter of an hour. But came back with cum in his long, wavy black hair. When Liam pointed this out, he said jovially, “You should see the other guy... I made a mess. He’s taking a shower and needs to change his clothes.” Maurits almost choked on his non-alcoholic beer.
Colton finished his story, running his fingers through his dirty hair and ignoring Maurits’s distress. He announced, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray on their table, “Right, time to visit the Quartermaster’s.”
• To the Quartermaster’s Lockup.
He glanced at the boys. Liam was still wearing his old, pale jeans and chaps, but Blake had already changed into his new brown stomp boots and put the leather collared bomber jacket back on to go outside.
“I want you pups to try on stuff. Even if you have no intention of buying it,” Colton commanded. Take a piss and go put those pointy ankle boots on, Lee. They make you look a bit taller and more butch. You can take off the chaps. I think the Quartermaster’s may have something better.”
Liam, energized by the alcohol and the recent attention, obeyed immediately. He darted into the restroom, returning moments later in the high-heeled, shiny zip-up ankle boots, the chaps tossed into the bulging shopping bag. The tight fit and the aggressive stance instantly gave him a new, sharper posture.
“There you go, Lee. Now you look like you belong on a chain,” Colton purred, adjusting the collar of his own biker jacket. “But that zip-up jacket is an embarrassment. You need a lot more leather to hang with the queens I role with.” Blake looked Liam up and down and nodded sharply in agreement with his older brother.
“Liam and Blake, you’re about to meet Captain David Thorne and Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Gates. Good friends of mine. Don’t waste their time, or they will lock you up. They’re both Ex-Marines, and they don’t tolerate incompetence. I’ve texted them that we are coming, and they look forward to getting you whatever boost your confidence needs. Even if that means putting you on full display in the backrooms. Feel me?”
Maurits, swinging the leather trenchcoat over him like a cloak, added, “It’s a bit of a walk over there. But the Army dump is a great spot to... Umm... meet new guys. The Marines run the Lockup as a clothing business, but that’s not all you can do there. And they sell more than camo gear there. Even the stuff Liam is looking for. And they like to see their boys dressed for duty. We’ve sent your measurements ahead. Shall we get going then?”
They walked out into the busy Independence City street in the gay district, filled with Black Friday shoppers. The heavy clack of Blake’s new stomp boots and Liam’s pointy ankle boots echoed against the concrete, marking them as men on a mission. The walk took less than ten minutes.
The Quartermaster’s Lockup was housed in a brick warehouse with blacked-out windows, tucked away on a surprisingly quiet side street. However, the side parking lot was completely filled. Above the entrance, a worn army-green awning covered a big sign reading: THE QUARTERMASTERS LOCKUP. Below that, smaller lettering advertised its dual identity: Army/Navy Surplus Store, Men’s Gear, Boots, and Jackets. A hand-painted sign, fastened below, read simply: Adult Arcade.
The entrance itself was an unassuming, heavy steel door, unmarked save for a small pride sticker and an intimidating sign reading: ‘PRIVATE TRANSACTIONS ONLY.’
Colton smiled knowingly at the security camera and punched in a four-digit code on the well-worn keypad below the doorbell. Apparently, he was not the only one who knew the code by heart. The lock buzzed, and he shoved the door open, ushering the twinks inside.
• A shopping spree like no other.
The interior was not what Liam expected. It was huge, well-lit, and smelled strongly of leather preservative and gun oil. The front area was designed like a small, high-end military surplus shop, showcasing custom-made tactical gear, harnesses, and specialized camo. But given Moore’s experience over the last couple of days. He instantly spotted a heck of a lot of leather gloves, belts, and tactical strapping as well. Not directly related to the leather bondage scene, but still. Even Blake had a knowing smirk on his face as they looked around.
Behind the counter stood a stocky man. He was Liam’s height, standing at 5 feet 10 inches, but built and acting like an English bulldog. His head was perfectly shaved, and his arms looked capable of crushing a bowling ball. Dressed in green tactical gear – a riot of mismatched camouflage, insignia, and specialized equipment from every major service – that somehow all fit together well. This had to be one of the owners, Liam thought, impressed.
“Ryder, my King. How is it hanging?” the bronzed-skinned man grunted in a southern accent, his eyes immediately assessing Liam and Blake. The Gunnery Sergeant’s look lingered – a cold, calculating appraisal that stripped them of their names. “Looks like you brought the new inventory. Looking fine. Damned fine. I think we can work with that. Get them kitted out and in shape.”
Gates pushed off the counter and moved with surprising speed. Addressing the twinks, “Drop the bags on the deck, maggots. Now! Stand at attention, hands visible. This is not a social club, boys. When you are inside the Lockup, you belong to the house. If you get an erection, you stand still, so some Marine can use it. Understood? You don’t move, you don’t speak, and you don’t touch unless given permission. Any questions go through Master Colt. Am I understood?” He called back to the front office, “Dave, they are here... You gotta see these two, Cap... Wooff.”
Both Blake and Liam straightened up. Short of springing to attention, they snappishly answered, “Sir, Yes, Sir.” The interaction had caused quite the commotion amongst the other patrons. Colt took Lee’s duffel and parked it for safekeeping behind the counter.
Captain Thorne walked out of his office and started to grin. Taking Colton in a one-armed bro hug that ended in a game of ass-grab. Colton won. He took hold of Dave’s nuts and squeezed. He squeezed them hard. David Thorne had to tap out with a dirty grin. “Good to see you, Colt. Are those the guys you texted us about? Can we keep them? We could do with a few new houseboys.”
Colten Ryder just laughed and introduced his brother and Liam Moore to the horny Marines. Their camos stretched with delight at the sight.
Blake made the mistake of wanting to shake Thorne’s hand. The Captain ignored this. Addressing Colton, “Is this the one?” he pointed rudely over his shoulder at Liam Moore. Although Moore was standing right behind him. “Leave him with me. I’ll... sort him out... Full leather? All black?”
“Please, don’t spare any expenses, Cap. My brother knows what he wants too. So let M’Kumi and him find what he needs. I think they want to try on some brown leather aviators.”
• The Quartermaster’s fitting.
“Gunny, take the limp-wristed one to the fitting area. Show him the G-1 flight jackets. Then take him to the cargo pants, harnesses, and gloves,” Thorne bellowed. Liam had to stifle a laugh, knowing Blake’s awkward handshake with the Marine would haunt him.
“The full zipper ones?” Gunny asked.
“Yep. Full fucker access,” Colton replied, leaving Blake bewildered. He complied and followed Maurits and the Marine anyway.
Captain Thorne took charge of Liam, guiding the startled boy into what felt more like a stockroom than an office. But Liam Moore had died and gone to heaven. Racks and cabinets housed every leather and camo gear imaginable. A mobile rack had been assembled just for him.
Moore looked at Thorne, who nodded, giving the college freshman permission to inspect the clothes. Thorne sat back in his leather chair, legs wide, observing the boy float toward the leather like a moth to a flame.
Moore pulled three pairs of leather trousers off the rack. He instantly discarded one with white piping and the second, a regular pair of button-fly 501s. The third... well, that one sold him on the look he was going for.
It was the kinkiest, gayest pair of pants he’d ever handled. It featured a Full-Zip closure that ran from the front waistband to the back, splitting the pouch in two. A double-headed zip allowed access from either direction. Fucker pants, as Colton had described them.
Adding to the look were discreet padded kneepads. “For prolonged sessions in the kneeling position,” Liam imagined. Black metal D-rings flanked the hips, and stitching over the pouch made up for the lack of back pockets.
• Stripping down and dressing up.
As Moore looked up, he noticed Thorne stroking his eight-inch curvy weapon. Again, Lee laughed to himself. “Someone must have bent that barrel when they sat down.”
Thorne beat him to the question about the changing room. “Nothing I haven’t seen – or tasted – before, boy. Strip! If you play your cards right, you can lube up mine and Sit. On. It!”
The bluff wasn’t wasted on Liam. “Sir, yes, Sir... First the clothes, then the dick!” Liam replied. He stripped, giving the Marine a floor show of his pre-used ass and shaved college body.
“Oorah!” Thorne cried, giving his meat another vigorous tug. Puffing on his stogie like a steam train.
Liam slipped into the kinky leather pants. Thorne strode over, ordering him to bend over and do squats to appraise the fit. Moore was one step ahead.
“First, I need to see if these fit over my new boots. Then we need to talk about a harness, shirt, and jacket. I can suck you off later.”
Thorne, slightly flustered, stepped back. “Right... What kind of jacket did you have in mind, Maggot?”
“Stick with Moore, sir. Looking for something like Colt’s classic leather biker jacket.” He pointed to the epauletted coat on the rack. “But by any chance, do they come without the shoulder epaulettes and waist belt, and with black zips and snaps? Or am I getting too picky now?”
“Really? Not the direction Colt told me to look. But fuck yeah. The Quartermaster has something like that in the back. Give me a sec, son.”
Thorne darted out, giving Liam time to pick out a harness, a skimpy leather vest, gloves, wrist bands, and a small ball-cap – all in black leather.
The Captain returned with an officer’s shirt, a T-shirt, a necktie, and the plain leather biker jacket Moore had been daydreaming about.
“We don’t sell many of these anymore. So last decade,” Thorne sighed, hanging the simple jacket over the clothes on the rack.
“I love it. Not sure about the officer’s shirt and tie, though.”
Thorne convinced Moore to try them all on anyway. They fit nicely, though.
Lee noticed Thorne stacking the officer’s shirt, tie, and 501s into a separate pile. “Already paid for, son. These are coming home with you. You can combine them with regular clothes, too.” That made Liam’s day. He had not thought of that. A pair of leather jeans under a blazer. Or a leather necktie over a regular white shirt would work at college.
• The appraisal.
Liam finished the look: the leather T-shirt, harness, and jacket complemented by the chrome-plated chain and Master Colt’s padlock. The thin gloves and small ball cap finished the image: Young, sporty, sexy, owned, and queer as fuck.
He struck a defiant pose, turning slowly to let the leather squeak. The simple, streamlined biker jacket with its black snaps and zips was perfect – it gave him a clean, hard outline. The contrast between the rigid jacket and the full-zip trousers was electric.
Thorne moved around the boy. Looking at him from all angles. His expression was no longer lustful; it was purely predatory. The exact way Master Colt had looked at him on Wednesday.
“The jacket is for covering up your vitals,” Thorne said, his voice dropping to a low, rough command. “The harness is for holding you tight. But those Access Trousers, Moore? They tell you everything you need to know about your real assignment.”
Liam heard, rather than felt, the zip over his rump rasp down. The Marine put his cigar between his lips and slid a couple of fingers inside. “Someone’s been in there already?” It was more a question than anything else. Liam nodded. Thorne dug a little deeper, brushing up against the boy’s prostate. Moore sighed and reached back. Feeling the plump ammo bags of the Captain.
Huskily whispering, “Permission to suck freely, sir?”
Still holding his cigar in his mouth, his lips curled into a grin. “By all means, son. Do you top or bottom?”
Moore felt the fingers blow a retreat and thought.
“A bit of both. But as a recruit, I still have a lot to learn, sir. Fuck, these clothes make me so horny and powerful.”
Liam got pushed to his knees, and the dick presented to his lips. Moore took all the lessons he learned, all the memories of cocks he had sucked the last couple of days, and set to work. However, within a few minutes, the Marine pushed him off.
“Damn, Moore. You’re really good at that. Too good if you ask me. You’re ready for the lockup arcade. Why don’t we go in there and look for the rest of your reconnaissance party?”
• The Lockup arcade.
“Rule One, Maggot: Everything has a purpose. That look? That attitude? It’s meant to break resistance. It’s meant to be used.” Thorne’s eyes locked onto Liam’s, holding an implicit challenge.
Liam didn’t need any more instruction. He knew the fitting was over, and the appraisal had begun.
Hooking a finger under Master Colt’s chain, Captain Thorne dragged the horny leather basted through the shop and into the backroom, a maze filled with men doing things the Moore-Johnson family would NEVER approve of. The Captain took the freshman deeper, where they found Maurits M’Kumi, Gunny Martin Gates, and Blake Ryder watching Master Colt pounding an anonymous biker in a sling. Blake’s new outfit looked marvelous.
There was nothing left from the introversion Blake had suffered from all through high school. Egging his brother on to rape, choke, and breed the fucker.
Blake was dressed in a mottled brown vintage G-1 navy flight jacket with a small sheepskin collar and rib-knitted cuffs and waist. It fitted in nicely with his brown stompers. Even the gray-and-white camo-style cargo pants the man wore had a few extra features. A double-headed zipper, for instance. Opened all the way, the boy let anyone stroke, poke, and touch him.
Blake’s mouth fell open once he saw the fully leathered-up Liam Moore. Lee gave his best buddy a look that screamed, “Bring it here, bitch!” Blake did not walk; he ran at Liam and jumped up. Moore had to grab the exposed buttocks as the young Ryder mounted his front. Legs locked around Liam’s hips.
The twinks locked eyes for a moment, then let their eyes wander off the outfits either was wearing. They came to the same conclusion. If the day ended here, it was a resounding success. But the day did not end; in fact, the best part was just beginning.
Master Moore fumbled with the posing pouch zip and extricated his manhood. Stiff as a gun barrel, he let it spring up. Guiding it without lube and spit into the black hole hovering above it. Ready to get infiltrated. Blake let out a loud scream as he felt Liam’s grip loosen. The penetration was just as forceful and rough as Master Colt had done to Liam on Wednesday. It made Blake’s eyes water, but the ebony twink regained his grip and started bouncing instantly.
There the two introverts stood. All eyes were pinned to the heavy leather action in the middle of the room. Phones recorded the heavy action. And neither of the boys gave a fuck. Even Master Colt had lost focus on what – or who – he was doing. Watching his ‘Lil bro and best buddy pound ass. To say the man was impressed would be the understatement of the year. If it were any other guy Lee would be impregnating, Colt would force his own rod in there too. But yeah, Family was a line he did not dare to cross.
Blake saw his big bro watching and begged him to come closer. When Colton was within reach, he hooked an arm over Ryder’s neck, while he tilted his head. The man instantly knew, parted his lips, and began to kiss, slobber, and lick. First, the flustered lips of Blake, and then the leather boy he had mentored over the last few days.
• Clothes and a gangbang to boot.
Liam’s back was about to snap, so he stood Blake back on the floor. Ordering the plump lips to clean his dick. Then he looked expectantly over at Gunny and the Captain. Wanting to thank them for all they had provided at a generous discount.
Gunny Gates looked at master Colton, then back at Liam Moore. He squinted his eyes and marched the boy to a bench in the next room. It was bigger and had a throne facing the head end. Overseeing the proceedings. Gates pushed Moore, stomach down, onto the bench. The other men followed. Master Colt hooked ropes onto the D-rings on Liam’s new leather pants. Fastening the black paracords to hooks on the bench. Smacking the boy’s ass and ordering him to relax. A spike of adrenaline shot through him, locking every muscle in a panicked, useless rigidity as he braced for the unknown.
Well, that became quite clear once more ropes and leather belts locked him to the leather-padded bench. A few strategically placed mirrors gave the boy an excellent view of the bondage proceedings. He knew his holes were going to get stuffed, and he was just going to have to endure the gangbang lesson the Marines and Master Colt were preparing him for. Moore was thankful that the simple biker jacket, boots, and pants he was wearing would soften the blows he would undoubtedly have to endure.
Gunny Gates asked Master Colt for permission to proceed with the torture. The word “torture” hung in the air, cold and heavy, causing a sudden, paralyzing fear that made Liam’s entire body seize up again, hard and cold as the metal rings cinching his leather pants to the bench.
Seeing the fear flash in Moore’s eyes, Colton stepped off the Master’s throne and moved closer, his voice low and firm. “Do you remember what I said during Thanksgiving halftime, Lee?”
And then it came back to Liam, a lifeline in the rush of panic. “Only words,” Colton had said. Liam had accepted the promise: Colton would allow the use of his body, permit the rough names, the binding, the humiliation – he would let them use the leather bitch, nonetheless – but he would break anyone who even came close to truly harming his boy.
And that was precisely the line they rode for the next 45 minutes. The time blurred into a relentless procession of shifting weight, rough hands, and deep voices. Every enforcing dick gave off a new sensation. Every thrust, every pounding penetration, was a new feeling for Liam to deal with. The smell of sweat, leather, and smoke became thick and suffocating.
Liam was enveloped in the indescribable comfort of the rugged leather, the unfamiliar weight of the trousers, and the sturdy jacket, which settled like a second skin against his frame. This material was his new confidence booster, a constant commitment he would never abandon – a shield against any scorn from family or fellow campus mates.
The leather transmitted every vibration and impact directly to his body, grounding him in the action. The D-rings cinched tight at the waistband, constant reminders of his binding. Still, the material was a firm, protective second skin that managed the pressure without letting him retreat.
Moore endured the relentless humiliation, the heavy bodies pressing down, and the rough use of his orifices. Focusing on the distant, muffled Oorahs and the squeak of the leather straps, he found a strange, powerful detachment as the scene unfolded. All Liam wanted was to be the best hole these men had used in a long time, and the grueling ordeal proved that his wish had become his new reality.
For the final, chaotic round, the group moved in close. A flurry of hot, slick releases erupted, christening the new leather outfit with the combined climax that shot from every busting rod. The heat, the smell, the mess – it was the final, messy seal of his acceptance. Black nut, ebony nut, hairy nut, Mexican nut – it covered the rugged black cowhide of his jacket and the leather trousers.
• The release.
Liam ass felt violated and exhausted, yet oddly satisfied. Feeling as if a draft horse had used him and marked him as property. But Gunny, the Captain, Colt, Maurits, Blake, and God knows how many others had given Liam the best, most brutal lesson of all. It was truly a Black balled Friday.
The mess was the signal for release. Gunny Gates quickly cut the paracords with a sharp knife. While Maurits and Master Colt unhooked the remaining leather straps from the fuck-bench. As the bindings fell away, and Liam, still covered in the heavy, warm baptism of cum, was pulled gently but firmly off the bench. He was numbly aware of the other men dispersing into the haze of the arcade.
Captain Thorne and Gunny Gates took charge. They led Liam to a private washing area behind a curtained-off corner of the stockroom. The Full-Zip trouser was quickly undone, and the rest of the leather garments were peeled off, heavy with the load they had borne.
The cleaning was methodical: the rugged black leather of the jacket and trousers was meticulously wiped down, treated with a special solvent, and polished until the black finish gleamed again, smelling only faintly of musk and clean leather conditioner.
While his clothes were attended to, Liam was guided into a large shower stall. He leaned against the cool tile as Maurits and Thorne scrubbed his skin, washing away the residue of the 45 minutes of abuse. The cleaning ritual felt less like cleansing and more like a purification or reconditioning. Once dried, he was massaged with thick, scented oil. The attention was deliberate, easing the profound, bruising fatigue in his hips and shoulders. Clothed in a clean cotton shirt and his new engineer boots, he felt the newly conditioned, supple leather trousers as a comforting protective weight, his armor restored.
• The long drive to the future.
By the time they were ready to leave, the clock was pushing three AM. Thorne drove, with Liam and Blake settled in the back of the Lexus. The vehicle was silent except for the low rumble of the engine and the faint scent of cigar smoke clinging to the upholstery. Liam watched the rural landscape of fields and sparse lights blur past as they drove back toward Blackwood Valley.
He was physically depleted but mentally sharp. He felt the leather of his pants squeak softly with every slight shift of his body – a constant, affirming reminder of the night’s lesson. The experience hadn’t broken him; it had forged him. He knew he was no longer just the college freshman who arrived with a handshake; he was the leather bitch, and he had a new, powerful place in this world. He closed his eyes, thinking of Mama Dee’s quiet house, knowing he was returning a changed person, ready for the next move.
And this was just the start of the holiday season. Who knows what Liam Moore would experience and learn before he spends a few days around Christmas at his parents’ house?
Who knows what would happen once he found the elusive glory holes on campus, or his new Leather frat brotherhood in Lambda Beta Alpha? But Lee made a mental note to ask Professor Mr. Maurits M’Kumi about it anyway.
• Continued (maybe) •
Thank you for reading this story.
Please give it a 👍 Like or a Comment if you are inclined to do so.
And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spilled cum! 😋
© StrykerJ - Thanksgiving 2025
