The tribe's adventures on their separate weekend trips had left them exhilarated, not to mention sexually exhausted. But now work resumed with the usual energy and discipline that Randy, Zack and the other men always demanded from their boys, setting themselves as examples.

But memories of the trips still resonated, especially in young Brandon, stoked from his first motorbike run. When the 'biker gang', as Darius called them, got home it was like the opening scene in a porn movie - four powerful bikers astride four powerful machines, engines still throbbing, with their boys behind them, grinning with pride, knowing how totally hot they looked.

On the last bike, sitting behind Pete, Brandon took off his helmet and beamed at the welcome-home group, his face flushed with excitement, eyes blinking hard behind his black rimmed glasses. "Dude," Eddie gushed, "you look way cool in those leather pants and vest."

Brandon's eyes sparkled. "You think I look good enough as Pete's leather boy?"

"Duh! You look like a real badass motherfucker on that bike. Scares the shit outa me - next thing you'll be tying me up and working me over like Zack does to Darius."

Brandon's excitement had not gone unnoticed during the trip by Pablo and Darius who had hatched a plan. Brandon had come to be loved and respected by all members of the tribe, and he worked and played so hard they usually didn't even notice anymore that he was in a wheelchair. But it was that factor, and their desire to help Brandon join in all the same activities as everyone else, that formed the basis of their plan.

After dinner that evening, while Brandon and the junior boys were helping the twins in the kitchen, the men and senior boys lingered at the dinner table over drinks. Ranger Pete smiled at Pablo's eager face. "You tell 'em Pablo - it was you and Darius who hit on the idea, after all."

All eyes turned to Pablo who held the floor confidently. "Well, sirs, see Darius and me were talking about Brandon and how he really loved the ride - you know, the bikes, the speed, his leather outfit and all. Well, were thinking how great it would be if Brandon had a motorcycle of his own." He paused to let that crazy idea sink in.

"You know I research trucks and bikes all the time, me being head mechanic and all ..." (Pablo could never resist a little self-promotion) ".... and I've seen pictures of three-wheel motorbikes adapted to take wheelchairs. They're real snazzy looking and would be way cool for Brandon. See, the wheelchair goes up a ramp at the back of the bike and latches into place."

"I know just what you're talking about," Zack said. "I knew a guy who had one ... made all the difference to his life. Would to Brandon's too, and he deserves it. You're a lucky man, Pete. Your kid is something special - I really like and admire him. And he's real discreet - you could tell him anything and he'd keep it to himself." He paused for a moment, lost in errant thought, then snapped back to business. "'Course, those machines don't come cheap."

"We talked to Pete about that," said Pablo, "and told him that the senior boys would like to chip in part of our wages - maybe the other boys too - and Pete would come up with the rest. And sir," he said to Randy, "that motorbike dealer we use all the time could cut us a deal, you being such a good customer and all, and buying two brand new Harleys."

Randy gazed at him affectionately. "You've really thought all this through, haven't you, kid - you make me real proud of you. And sure, you can leave the dealer to me. He won't say no to me. What's your take on all this, Pete?"

"I think it's a terrific idea," Pete enthused. "Damn, I can picture me and my boy going on bike runs together. He would get off on that so much - make all the difference. I want him to do everything the other boys can do, and I agree with Zack, he deserves it. Maybe we can check out this dealer of yours this week, Randy, 'cos I'd like to get started on it right away. I'll keep it a secret from Brandon right now, though, 'til we know it's feasible. Sshh, he's coming back."

The idea intrigued Pete so much that the next day he went with Zack to the dealership the men used, where Randy and Zack had recently bought two new Harleys. The dealer had already got a phone call from his buddy Randy and was enthusiastic about their idea for the motor trike. He gave them a ton of information and a video for them to show Brandon.

Feeling good, they drove back in Zack's truck mulling over the possibilities. "He'll have to take a written test first for his motorcycle permit," Pete said, "and then I'll take him on a few test runs. But there's been something playing on my mind and maybe you can help, Zack. In a couple of weeks I have to go to Arizona where there's a big inter-agency meeting about updated forest fire-fighting techniques. I think Jason will probably be there too.

"Thing is, if all goes to plan, Brandon will be all hyped about his new machine right around then and I was wondering - if you have the time - whether you could take care of him in that regard for me. I mean, you know everything there is to know about bikes, and Brandon seemed to get on real well with you in the canyon. Seems to be hot into leather and stuff."

"Sure," Zack said right away. "I have a real soft spot for that boy - everyone does - and I'd love to take him on a run. I'd take real good care of him and I could show him things he wouldn't get to see anywhere else..." he grew pensive ... "special things no other guys ever get to see. So sure, Pete, it's a deal. It'll be fun."


It was time to let Brandon in on the plan. That evening Pete summoned him to Pablo and Darius's apartment where Darius had all his video equipment and had set up a viewing space where the boys regularly gathered to watch his latest videos of the tribe's sexual exploits. Pete told Brandon that he, Zack and the two boys wanted to show him something.

"Wonder what they want?" Brandon said to Eddie and Ben, nervous but intrigued.

"Maybe you're gonna get gang fucked," said a scary-eyed Eddie unhelpfully.

"Could be," agreed Ben solemnly. "Said they wanna show you something. Has to be their dicks. Only question is where they're gonna shove 'em ... and how many times."

Brandon frowned at them for a moment, then laughed realizing they were teasing - weren't they? "Dudes, you're sex addicts, you know that? Every time a master calls you think he wants to fuck his boy."

"Duh," Eddie jerked his head forward. "You should be so lucky, man. Every time Hassan calls for me I hope it means I'm gonna get fucked." Ben shrugged, "Works that way for me. Jason can't get enough of my ass. Hey, if you need help up there just call on us, kid. We're experts."

"You're gonna be there, dudes. You gotta help me up the stairs." He assumed a superior look. "I might even let you stay and watch," he said grandly. "Course, it was me they asked for, so I dunno." Brandon usually got the last word.

Together they bumped Brandon's wheelchair up to the spacious apartment. (Randy and Zack had created a living space that befitted their boys' status). Pete beamed at Brandon and said, "Pull up here, kiddo. We wanna show you a video."

The three amigos exchanged glances and Eddie pursed his lips and snapped his fingers in a gesture of frustration. No dicks - just a video. He and Ben turned to leave but Pete said, "No, guys, stay. You'll enjoy this too." (Not as much as a gang fuck, thought Eddie).

Darius did the honors in his usual dramatic form. As the guys took their seats close to Brandon he dimmed the lights and turned on the video. The boys had seen so many sex videos in this room that they were not ready for what flashed on the screen - a young man in a wheelchair rolling himself into a motorcycle dealership. He was greeted by a salesman standing beside a sleek red motorcycle ... well, kind if a motorbike, but with two wheels at the back. The salesman pressed a button and a panel on the back of the bike lowered to form a ramp.

The guy wheeled his chair up the ramp, then there was a close-up of the wheels being clamped tight to the floor. The ramp folded up like a wall to secure him from behind. With hand controls the guy started the bike and maneuvered it through the showroom doors. The final shot was of him swinging onto the street and disappearing into the distance. That was followed by pictures of different models of motorcycle trikes.

The screen went dark and Darius raised the lights. There was a long silence and Brandon suddenly realized that all eyes were trained on him. The guy in the wheelchair on screen was obviously meant to be him, and the bike was..... He took off his black rimmed glasses, wiped his moist eyes with the back of his hand, and put the glasses back on.

"What do you think, kiddo?" Pete asked eagerly. Another silence as Brandon was lost for words, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. But finally the truth sunk in and he found his voice. "You mean I could have my own motorbike?" Pablo beamed at him. "Well, motor-trike to be exact, but dude I've seen them before and they're way cool. You looked such a stud on Pete's bike you gotta have one, don't you think Darius?"

Darius growled, "It looked like shit." Then, on their shocked looks, he grinned, "The video, I mean. Obviously the shitty work of an amateur. Brandon, when you get your bike (in Darius's mind it was a done deal) we're gonna make a real video and sell it to the dealer and even the manufacturer. It'll make you a star and prove that I'm a genius. Congratulations dude."

Brandon looked up at them all in turn, then opened his arms to Pete who knelt and hugged him tight. When he pulled back Brandon stared at him wide-eyed. "You mean I can really have one of my own? But they must be real expensive, sir, I'm not sure we should....."

"Don't worry about that, kiddo, it's taken care of. The question is, would you like one?"

Brandon's eyes lit up. "Would I?!! Fuck yeah." He pumps both fists in the air and yelled, "Let's roll...!"


This tribe didn't hang about. When they wanted something they moved fast. From the selection on the video Brandon chose his two favorites and the dealer promised the get them so Brandon could inspect them and make his final choice. In the meantime, although he already had his driver's license, he needed a separate motorcycle permit, which involved a written test.

He got the handbook from the Department of Motor Vehicles and studied it diligently. Mark, as a cop, knew the motorcycle rules intimately and the likely questions on the test so he offered to coach Brandon as soon as he got off his shift in the late afternoon.

Brandon and Jamie were working in the office as usual, heads down over their separate computers. But it was hard for Brandon to concentrate as he kept glancing at the handbook beside him, and out of the window for signs of Mark's return. He was barely aware when Jamie's phone rang, he answered it briefly, then said to Brandon, "Gotta go, dude."

With the office to himself Brandon gave all his attention to his handbook. There were a few points that confused him and he couldn't wait to talk to Mark. At that moment he heard his truck pull up outside. The gate opened and he got a clear view of the tall, uniformed cop striding purposefully across the lawn and into his apartment. Brandon grabbed the handbook ... but decided to wait a few minutes to let the cop catch his breath after a long day's work.

Impatiently he waited five minutes, then left the office with his book. He wheeled himself across the garden, then up the shallow ramp to Mark's front door. (Randy had installed ramps for Brandon at all the ground-floor doors in the compound.)

He knocked gently but there was no reply. The door was unlocked so Brandon eased it open and went into the large living room. Empty. "Are you there, sir?" he called out. "It's Brandon, sir. I came for my lesson." No reply. Must be in the shower, Brandon thought. He went to the bedroom door and sure enough, heard sounds coming from the room.

"Good," he murmured. He opened the door and, looking down to make sure his wheels cleared the doorway, went right in.

He looked up and gasped, "Oh shit!" Of course, he thought, what an idiot! He knew that Mark fucked his boy as soon as he got off work, it was a near-sacred ritual - and a private one - and that's just what was happening now. That's why Jamie had left the office so abruptly after the phone call, and Mark must have been so hot for his ass that he was fucking him in full uniform.

Blushing in acute embarrassment Brandon backed up his chair and murmured, "Sorry, sir ... real sorry ... I'll come back."

"Freeze!" Brandon was approaching the door but stopped dead in his tracks. The cop's authoritarian voice said, "You're not going anywhere, boy. Now that you've barged in you can help me with this surfer boy here."


In this house guys often inadvertently walked in on other guys having sex. It kind of went with the territory - a territory littered with men and boys fucking. But this was a big shock to Brandon not only because it was such a private ritual, but because it involved the alpha cop whom Brandon always found intimidating in his uniform. Also, the guy he was fucking was one of the senior boys, the gorgeous Jamie - Brandon's boss!"

Brandon's focus on his handbook and much anticipated lesson had clouded his common sense, and stumbling in on the two men like this was an acute embarrassment to him. His only thought was to get out of the room as quickly as possible, which made even more shocking the officer's order to "freeze." He was forbidden to leave the room and ordered to "help" the cop with Jamie, whatever that meant.

He stared at the awesome sight of the naked surfer on his back, pulling his own legs back and offering his ass to the uniformed officer whose blond hair flew over his face as he drove his rod into his boy. Still 'frozen' as ordered Brandon watched as the cop, still fucking hard, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off and tossed it over to Brandon. He continued fucking, the contours of his muscular upper-body visible under his white T-shirt.

Brandon held the discarded shirt to his face and inhaled the pungent smell of sweat that had oozed from the cop's armpits during his long hot patrol. Then the order came - "Get over here, boy." Brandon sprang to life and wheeled himself over to the bed, still apologizing for being there. "I didn't mean to intrude, sir. I should have known that you and Jamie ...."

"Save it kid. I want your mouth for something more than apologies. You see my boy's dick down there? Hard as a rock, straining to cum when I give him permission. What you're gonna do is suck it ... but more than that. I've heard what a great cocksucker you are so you're gonna make him cum - almost - then hold off and start over again. It'll drive him crazy, trying not to shoot while I hammer his ass."

Brandon watched wide-eyed as the cop pulled off his damp T-shirt and tossed it to him, his chiseled torso gleaming with sweat, narrow hips pounding forward against the young surfer's ass. "Clean me up," he ordered Brandon.

The boy stuffed the wet T-shirt into the side pocket of his wheelchair for future use. When Mark leaned forward Brandon saw sweat trickling down his side. He licked the drops of sweat all the way up his side to the blond, wiry hair of the cop's armpit. He clamped his mouth over the wet hair and inhaled deeply. After swallowing the acrid juice he wheeled himself round to the Mark's other side and did the same again.

"OK, kid, now the cock." Mark knelt straight up, grabbed Jamie's ankles and pushed his legs high in the air. Brandon had a clear view of Jamie's shuddering cock, so close to orgasm. "I warn you kid," the cop said, "if you make him cum I'll whip your ass." That thought almost made Brandon himself cum but he took a deep breath and focused on his task.

The cop had given him a tough assignment that would take every trick Brandon had ever learned from the blowjob master Eddie. Reflexively he looked at his young boss Jamie for his approval, but Jamie was clearly in a state of nirvana gazing at his master. The thought crossed Brandon's mind that Jamie would swing naked from the rafters if Mark ordered him to, which, come to think of it, was a pretty hot image.

To work, he told himself. It was easy for him to lean forward and lower his mouth over the surfer's long rod, but he knew that if he closed his throat round it Jamie would cum instantly. So, keeping his mouth wide open he merely breathed in and out through his mouth, letting the hot air float round the trembling cock He heard Jamie moan loudly so he pulled away and stared anxiously at the cock, willing it not to erupt, but all he saw was pre-cum oozing from it.

With a sigh of relief Brandon glanced up at Mark who looked down at him with the slightest hint of a smile on his handsome face. "Good boy, Brandon .... Now go again."

This time Brandon went farther, letting the tip of Jamie's cock brush the back of his mouth. He closed his lips lightly over the cock, but just briefly. Then he pulled away and Jamie groaned, "Aaah ... no ... please...." That mere touch had been enough to let Brandon taste the musky pre-cum oozing from the surfer's cock, but again he stopped just short of orgasm.

With two successes under his belt Brandon was feeling more confident and started to enjoy himself. He matched the rhythm of the cop's fuck, easing his mouth onto Jaime's cock as Mark drove his rod in his boy's ass. He used every technique he knew to torment Jamie to a pitch of ecstasy, but just short of spilling his load.

It was magical for Brandon. Everyone in the house knew of this nightly ritual, but few had ever seen it. Now here was Brandon, not only present, but using his skills to add another whole dimension to the men's euphoria.

Mark tormented his boy's ass by alternately pounding it hard, then easing up, massaging it with his cock before heating up the action again. And Brandon followed along with the same rhythm, squeezing his throat tight for an instant, then simply exhaling hot breath over it.

Jamie was going wild, his ass and his cock on fire, his wide eyes gazing up at the gorgeous cop and pleading with him. "Please, sir. It feels so good ... my ass, my cock ... I gotta ... I mean, please let me ... please .... I love you, sir."

Mark ginned down at Brandon. "What d'ya say, Brandon? Should we have mercy on him?"

Brandon pulled off the cock, looked up at the rugged face and said, "Yes please, sir. I think we better 'cos I'm ready to cream my shorts."

"Right, pull out your cock and stroke it while you go back to work on my boy." Brandon obeyed, stroking his own cock and sucking Jamie's. So now he was controlling two orgasms - Jamie's and his own - waiting for the cop's permission to cum. Mark turned up the heat, his blue-gray eyes boring in Jamie's as his powerful body ramrodded his ass.

Brandon pumped his own cock faster and faster as he felt, right by his face, the thud of the cop's pubic hair slamming against the white globes of the surfer's ass. Jamie was feeling delirious, his ass and his cock on fire as he fought a losing battle against his orgasm. He yelled, "Please, sir .... I can't hold back anymore .... please let me cum. Please.....!"

"OK, guys .... let it go .... Aaagh" The cop's roar was the permission they had waited for and, as his cock erupted deep in Jamie's ass, Brandon clamped his throat tightly round the surfer's cock, felt sperm surge through it and pour into his mouth. He swallowed hard, again and again, without gagging once, then pulled away, his mouth full of jizz. Gazing down at the shuddering, butt-fucked young surfer Brandon sprayed semen all over his writhing body.

Mark leaned down, grabbed Brandon behind the head and pulled his face forward, clamping their mouths together. He sucked Jamie's semen from Brandon's mouth, then broke away and smiled, "Best taste in the world, eh kid? - the fresh warm juice of a hot young surfer jock. Come on, boy, help me clean him up.

Together Mark and Brandon licked Brandon's cum from Jamie's chest, their faces side by side, cleaning the sweaty cum-soaked body and face of the cop's boy. When they reached Jamie's lips Brandon's tongue touched Mark's and they kissed. Jamie opened his mouth and joined them in a three-way embrace, lubricated by the juice of both boys.

The intimacy thrilled Brandon who felt privileged to be part of this ritual between the cop and his boy. But he finally pulled apart from them and backed up his wheelchair in deference to their privacy. "Thank you sir," he murmured, "I'll leave you alone now." He had almost got to the door when Mark pulled off Jamie's lips and said, "Hey, you boy. Did I give you permission to leave? Think we should let him go, Jamie?"

"Hell no," Jamie grinned. "Dude, you were fucking awesome ... my cock's never felt like that. Get back over here." As he wheeled himself back to them Mark saw the precious handbook still in Brandon's lap, splashed with semen but still usable. "You came for a lesson, didn't you, kiddo? So let's get to work. Jamie, would you bring three beers from the fridge? You can judge how well Brandon's done his homework."

A minute later Brandon was sitting beside the bed, with Mark and Jamie sprawled on it, Mark propped on one elbow, thumbing through the pages of the book with his free hand. "Shit," he grinned, "what you been doing to this book, boy, the pages are stuck together? Never mind, it should impress the examiner. Might bring you a few extra points. OK, let's see here ... 'When making a left turn on a motor cycle you should always.....'"

It was without doubt the strangest lesson Brandon had ever had. He was sipping beer, his teacher sprawled naked before him, a muscle-god cop with his golden-boy surfer, in a room heavy with the smell of semen. Even though the distractions made it hard to concentrate, it crossed Brandon's mind that more school classes should be like this.

It would sure cut down on truancy. What student would ever cut a class like this?


It came as no surprise to anyone that Brandon sailed through the written test. Pete and Randy accompanied him to the dealership where, after much thought, Brandon selected the red model he had seen in the video. The dealer gave him instructions on how the controls worked and Brandon took to it like a duck to water. He wheeled himself up the ramp, his wheels locked into place, and he sat at the hand controls like a seasoned professional.

In the ensuing days Pete and Brandon spent a lot of time on the road, Pete on the Harley, Brandon beside him on the 'red peril' as Darius had dubbed it. But, as Pete had predicted to Zack, the day was approaching when the Ranger had to report to the firefighting training in Arizona. Over drinks with Zack in the small garden of Zack's house Pete asked, "So, buddy, you still up for taking care of my boy like we discussed?"

"Absolutely, chief. Just waiting for your instructions."

Pete chuckled, "No instructions, man. You make the rules, as you always do. I just wanted to let you know that the kid is already pretty expert at handling that trike. It's just that I don't feel comfortable yet letting him go out on his own. But he's raring to go on a run.

"Don't worry about a thing, big guy, I've got just the place. I often used to go to a biker bar down in Orange County, just past Sunset Beach. They know me down there and Brandon would really dig it. Thing is, a lot of drinking goes on and I sure wouldn't want him on the road after that. There's a small motel behind the bar and I usually overnight there, so I was wondering...."

"Zack, I'll tell you something. Brandon has mostly led a pretty isolated and restricted life. Now he's really come out of his shell with the boys and all, but he clings to me a whole lot. I love that of course, but I just don't want is him exchanging the restrictions of his old life to a life restricted to me. I want him to spread his wings, get new experiences - stuff that will broaden his mind.

"So what I'm saying is, I want you to do whatever it takes to help Brandon in that, including sex. I've told Brandon the same thing. On this trip he's to be temporarily your boy. He can sleep with you, give his ass to you if he wants. I trust you completely man and, you being the big leather stud and all, I have a feeling you could show him things - new situations that excite him and expand his horizons. That biker bar sounds just the thing - the motel too if it comes to that. You hear what I'm saying, Zack?"

"Loud and clear, Pete. I love that kid and you know I'll take care of him. So you go fight your fires and leave the home front to me." Their firm, alpha-male handshake, sealed the deal.


The boys were agog about Brandon's upcoming bike run to the leather bar. No one but Zack had ever been there so it became the source of rumor and homoerotic fantasies, based on drawings they had seen of impossibly handsome, muscular leathermen gathered round a bar.

Actually, not quite 'impossibly handsome', as Zack could have been lifted from just such a drawing and would fit right in there, with his shaved head and perfect physique, shirtless in black leather pants. They knew he made solo trips there, spending the night in the motel, but no one, even Darius, knew what he did there.

Pete was already in Arizona when Zack and Brandon got ready to leave. Dressed alike in leather pants and boots with black leather vests flapping open over their chests, Zack was astride his new Harley and Brandon sat proudly on his red motorcycle, eyes shining behind his glasses. All the boys gave him advice, ranging from loving to lurid, but Darius's was the best.

"Zack's a great guy," he said of his master, "and tells me all the time that he's real fond of you. You're safe as houses with him Just do as he tells you and you'll have an epic time, kiddo."

Randy said simply to Zack, "Take care of him bro." He didn't have to say anymore, his tone said it all. He loved and admired Brandon, and God help anyone who harmed him. "I know, buddy," Zack said simply. They put on their helmets, revved up their engines and, with a rousing sendoff, roared away.

They headed south. Zack had explained, "Can't take the freeway yet, kid, with your temporary permit. Pacific Coast Highway is slower but much more fun, running right by the shore most of the way, and we can stop off for a bite to eat." When the road was wide enough they rode side by side. When it narrowed Zack made Brandon ride ahead so he could keep an eye on him and help if he got into trouble.

But Brandon didn't get into trouble. He rode like a seasoned biker and as Zack followed and watched the boy sit proudly in his wheelchair, confidently manipulating the hand controls, his heart went out to him, not for the first time. The kid was remarkable. Living alone for so long he had determinedly clung to his independence, and even when Eddie had met him and brought him into the tribe, he more than held his own with the exuberant boys, more often than not rejecting offers of help, still asserting his independence.

Like other men before him Zack had to admit there were tears in his eyes as he watched him ride. The kid had a natural intelligence, born of hardship. He was mature beyond his years and could be trusted implicitly. Zack resolved to go ahead with a plan he had in mind. 'Expand his horizons,' Pete had said. Yeah, he'd do that alright.

It was a perfect day as they rode beside the ocean, sun beating down on them, a fresh offshore breeze blowing on their faces and bare chests. They rode through one beach town after another, stopped in San Pedro for lunch at an old diner, and in late afternoon, finally drove through the ramshackle town of Sunset Beach.

Their destination was obvious - a small bar with motorcycles filling the parking lot, bikers walking through the leather strips flapping over the door. They pulled up next to each other, took off their helmets and Brandon lowered his ramp and wheeled backwards down it.

"Some ride, eh kid?" Zack grinned at him. Brandon beamed up at him. "The best, sir. The absolute best. I'm real stoked - thirsty too."

"OK, so come on, let's check out this beer joint. Looks like we're in time for the weekend beer bust." Brandon followed Zack through the leather straps and paused to get used to the darkened bar after the brilliant sun outside. They heard before they saw the bartender. "Hey, Zack, good to see you again, stud. Looking hotter than ever. Been a long time ... what brings you back to this neck of the woods?"

As Zack strode to the bar the crowd of awestruck bikers parted to let him and Brandon through. Zack shook the barkeep's hand. "Hey, Jim, you old son-of-a-bitch. Thought I'd bring my good buddy Brandon to check out this dive of yours. Brandon, this here is Jim."

Jim leaned over the bar and bumped fists with Brandon. "Good to meet you, Brandon. You should bring this big musclehunk down here more often - he's good for business. When word gets out he's here my business doubles. He give you a good ride down here?"

"Not exactly, sir," said Brandon. "See, I got my own bike."

"Now way," Jim frowned. "You parked out front? This I gotta see."

He came round the bar and walked to the door, followed by a group of customers who mostly wanted to rub shoulders with the spectacular leather-master. They gathered round Brandon's bike and he gave them a demonstration of how it worked. He was proud to be the center of attention, and even prouder to be seen as Zack's boy in front of these guys.

Back inside they eventually broke away from the bikers crowding round them and sat quietly at a corner table. "You must have come here a lot, sir," Brandon said, "though even one visit from you they'd never forget. See how they were all drooling?"

Zack smiled, but with a faraway look in his eyes. Brandon stared at him through his glasses, blinked and said, "You wanna tell me about it, sir?"


Feeling warm and relaxed with the boy's bright eyes trained on him, Zack opened up.

"This place brings it all back. I was still married when I started riding down here. I was still OK with my wife but I began feeling the need for something else. Hard to describe, just something ... I dunno ... rougher, more masculine. When I looked at myself in the mirror that's what I saw and that's when I got into the leather scene, got a bike and started coming down here.

"It wasn't that I was attracted to men exactly - more like attracted to masculinity. Some of the guys here, when they got drunk, started to tell stories about times they got into heavy duty sex, bondage, discipline, that kind of stuff and ... and I was embarrassed to feel my dick getting hard. Then there was this big leather guy - never wore a shirt, real hot, macho, handsome face, built like a brick shithouse, muscles that wouldn't quit."

"Just like you, sir."

Zack smiled, "Yeah I guess so, kiddo. Anyway, I'll never forget the time he told this story about one night when he was drunk with a bunch of horny guys and they overpowered him, tied him up and worked him over - stripped him naked, held him down on a bar table and made him suck cock, one after another. Then they started whipping him and said he had a choice - get flogged or get his ass ploughed. He told them he never got fucked but they thrashed him so bad he was soon begging them to stop whipping him, begging them to fuck his ass instead.

"So they tied him spread-eagled in front of a mirror and lined up behind him. And this big alpha leather hunk, always a top man, was forced to watch himself get gang fucked, one huge cock after another ploughing into his ass. In the end, he said, he lost all control and was begging to get his dick sucked so he could bust his load. So while they fucked him they got their young leather boys to suck his dick in turn. Each one almost made him cum, then stopped and handed over to the next boy.

"He said he was going crazy, screaming at them to make him cum until finally they cut him down. He lay on his back on the floor and they let him touch his dick while the men and their boys all stood around, pounded their cocks and shot their loads all over him. The big tough leather master lay naked on the ground drowning in jizz ... and that's when he busted his load."

Zack drank again. "To this day I don't know how much of that story was real or fantasized, but either way it opened a door for me to a whole other world. That became a core image for me, a hot muscular top man, tough, rugged, captured by another master, tied up and worked over.

"I was that guy, but I also saw myself as the guy torturing him. All my life I've been a tough alpha male, but for the first time I wanted to be the victim too. I would be captive and captor. All I needed was a mirror. It wasn't narcissism, not the kind Jason goes in for. It's just that I wanted to see a guy like me tortured by a guy like me."

"Wow," Brandon said. "I understand. I get that, sir. So what did you do after he'd finished?"

"The only thing I could, kid .... I went into the restroom, that one right over there, locked the door, pulled off my shirt and looked at myself in the mirror. I imagined all that stuff happening to the guy in the mirror and I talked to him, taunted him as if I were doing it to him. It only took a few strokes of my cock before I blasted a massive load all over the mirror.

"Right away I felt shame and embarrassment. I wiped the mirror clean with paper towels, put my shirt back on and left the bar. I was way too drunk to drive so I got a room in the motel next door. I tried to sleep but I couldn't get the image of that guy out of my mind. There was a full length mirror in the room so ... I did it again, naked this time."

Zack took another long swig of beer. "And you know what, Brandon, my life was never the same after that. I kept up my marriage for a long time, but now I had a totally different private world of my own. I guess a lot of guys harbor some deep secret they don't share with anyone.

"Anyway, I started coming down here more and more often, checked into the same room and fantasized like before. I brought stuff down and fixed up the room - more mirrors, lights and stuff. The manager didn't mind. He used to laugh, joked that it gave the room 'a Touch of Glass'. He still calls it Zack's room.

"Later on my marriage fell apart and I got an old beach shack up north in Guadalupe where I could play all alone just as I liked. It was up there that I came across Mark and the boys on the beach. Mark introduced me to Randy and all the guys ... and you know the rest. I was home."

He smiled at a wide-eyed Brandon and said, "No one else knows that story ... and now I'll tell you something else no one knows, not even Darius. You guys all wonder what I get up to when I'm all alone in my house ... well now you know, Brandon. I do what I used to do all those times in the motel room ... right behind the bar here"

Brandon's heart was pounding and he plucked up his courage. "Are we too drunk to drive, sir?"

"You bet we are, kiddo. So it's the motel or sleep on the beach."

"I'd go for the motel, sir," Brandon grinned.


The motel was old and faded, a collection of small one-room bungalows near the ocean. The night manager recognized Zack right away. "Well son of a bitch, if it isn't that gorgeous hunk Zack we all dream about. Good to see you again, big guy. You and your buddy want your old room? 'Course you do," he chuckled, sliding the key across the counter. "About time you warmed it up again. Sleep well, stud .... or not."

When Brandon wheeled himself into the room his cock immediately stiffened in his pants ... somehow the place oozed sex. Like all the other rooms it had a pitched roof and rafters, but the similarity stopped there. This room had floor length mirrors, lights on dimmer switches and hooks in the rafters. Brandon could imagine Zack ... but his train of thought was cut short.

"After all that beer I gotta piss," Zack growled. He walked into the bathroom and left the door open, giving Brandon a clear view of the leather master yanking open his pants, pulling out his huge schlong and pissing an endless stream into the toilet. "Aaah," Zack sighed with relief. He buttoned up and said, "Your turn, kid. And take your time."

As Brandon wheeled himself into the bathroom he saw Zack bend down to a big leather bag he had brought in from his motorcycle. Brandon went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He found that he had to 'take his time' as Zack had ordered, as the bathroom wasn't really wheelchair accessible and it took a while to maneuver into place.

Zack hadn't flushed and Brandon saw in the toilet bowl the golden liquid, steam still rising from it. That alone was enough to make him cum but he knew he mustn't. With his cock this hard it wasn't easy to pee but, after a long wait, liquid finally poured down and mingled with Zack's.

Already Brandon was so overwhelmed by images of raunchy sex that it scared him, knowing he would do anything this man ordered him to. But then he flashed on Darius's parting words - "He's a great guy, you're safe with him" - and also Randy's, "Take care of him, bro." His fear disappeared and he gave in to the excitement and lust he was feeling for this amazing man.

He waited a while, then opened the door and looked down to make sure his wheels clear the narrow doorway. When he looked up .... "Aaagh". It was incredible.

The black muscle god stood under a spotlight in front of a mirror, in leather pants and boots with a studded leather harness crossed over his sculpted chest. His head was bowed, his shaved head shining under the lights, and round his neck was a wide black leather collar, attached to a rope that stretched up to a hook in the rafter. His hands were behind him, his wrists through leather restraints clipped together. His eyes were closed, like he was semi-conscious.

Brandon held back in the shadows mesmerized. It was like an image from that guy's story, an image that had turned Zack on then and made him re-enact the scene all on his own ever since.

Brandon knew that Zack could pull his hands free but he was immersed in the homoerotic experience of seeing himself tied up and helpless - facing his captor.

At first it was like slow motion. Zack began to stir, moving slowly as if he were regaining consciousness. He raised his head, opened his eyes and stared into the mirror. "What the fuck...?" He struggled against his restraints and his neck jerked against the collar. He looked at the black bodybuilder in the mirror and shouted "Mother-fucker...!"

Like watching a porn video Brandon stared at the bound leather master, at his agonized face and his bulging pecs straining against the studded harness, pacing the floor, tugging at the collar like a raging black stallion fighting for freedom. He yelled at the mirror, "I'll fucking kill you, man. What do you want from me?" ...... "Fuck you, man - like hell I'll suck your cock."

Suddenly he howled and arched his back as if he had just been whipped. Again and again Zack watched the man in the mirror strain forward to escape the lash until finally he shouted, "OK, OK, I give up .... I'll do it." He sank to his knees, the rope just long enough to allow it, and hung his head in subservience.

Brandon knew this was an act that Zack performed solo, but he couldn't resist anonymously playing a part. He wheeled himself in front of Zack's face, unzipped his own pants and pulled out his rock-hard cock. He reached forward, pulled the prisoner's face up, saw the sagging jaw and pushed the open mouth hard down on his cock. He heard the leatherman gag, saw his body jerk, his shoulders bulge as he pulled at his wrist restraints in a futile attempt at escape.

Brandon lost all inhibitions as he kept slamming the rugged face down on his cock. It was hopeless to hold back and in seconds ..... "Aaagh!"... the boy's cock exploded in the leather master's throat making him choke and swallow desperately. Brandon pulled out and grabbed his own cock which exploded with more jizz, this time slamming into the gasping black face.

Brandon quickly withdrew to his corner of the room and watched. The leather master was on his knees, sobbing, tears and jizz running down his cheeks, sperm pouring from his mouth and over his sagging jaw. The room was stifling hot, making sweat pour down his face, mixing with the tears and semen and dripping onto the harness crossed over his chest. It was one of the hottest sights Brandon had ever seen.

The room was silent except for the sound of heavy breathing. Gradually Zack staggered to his feet and stared at the erotic sight in the mirror of the muscle-god, alpha male in submission, smothered in cum, sweat, and tears. "Fuck you, man," he said.

He easily slid his hands out of the leather restraints, unbuckled the harness and let it drop. He reached forward to the bare-chested leather stud in the mirror bound by the neck and groaned, "Man that looks so fucking hot. Let me touch you, man ... I gotta touch that body."

He strained forward, pulling against the collar, the veins in his muscled torso bulging. "Shit, you're beautiful." He yanked open his pants, pulled out his cock and stroked it, still reaching forward with the other hand. "Man, that's hot .... gonna make me shoot .... Noooo!"

Suddenly he let go his cock just before it exploded. He reached round his neck and momentarily unclipped the rope from the collar. He reach down to the bag, grabbed a shirt and pulled it on, a thin, frayed black T-shirt, a work shirt stained with grease and sweat. Then he re-hooked the collar and walked forward again gazing at the mirror.

"Look at you, big guy. Arrogant prick ...huge cock sticking out of your pants. Think you're hot shit don't ya, but you're nothing but a fucking animal, tied by the neck, stinking of sweat and jism. Fucking loser, I can make you submit in a heartbeat, make you beg me to let you bust your load. Watch this, asshole. Get ready to beg....."

Zack reached out with both hands trying to touch the mirror image, alternately captive and captor, torturing himself. He slapped his hands against his chest, grabbed the neck of his shirt and ripped it. He let it hang ragged over the gleaming muscles of his chest, then yanked it again, intoxicated by the image facing him.

The shirt was hanging in shreds from his shoulders as he jerked against his collar and yelled, "That's so fucking hot I gotta cum. I gotta cum ...aaah .... aaah .... OK I give up .... I submit, sir ...." He ripped the shirt down off his shoulders so it hung in rags round his waist. Reaching forward pleadingly with both arms he yelled, "Fuck ... fuck ... I'm cumming ... aaagh." His cock erupted and blasted sperm so high it arched up and splashed onto the mirror image of the struggling leatherman.

Zack gazed in awe at his own reflection with cum streaming down it. "Jesus," he moaned. He put his hands behind his back and hung his head, just as Brandon had seen him at the start.


Still Zack paid no attention to Brandon. He was still locked in the secluded space of his private fantasy. He had detached the rope from his collar and now sat slumped in a chair with a beer, in front of the mirror, gazing at the shirtless leatherman. The collar round his neck and the ragged shirt still hanging round his waist were the only signs of his master/slave ordeal.

Brandon was frozen in place in the shadows, his heart still beating like a drum. He had just witnessed something so phenomenal, yet so private, that Zack did not seem real - more like a pornographic icon from the vivid imagination of an artist.

At last Zack stirred and instinctively Brandon knew what he should do. His full bladder was also a prompt, sending him silently to the bathroom where he closed the door behind him. He repeated his earlier maneuvers in the restricted space and let loose a stream of piss. His actions were all mechanical, his mind still reeling from the incredible images he had been allowed to see. He heard muffled sounds from the room and when they fell silent he held his breath and gingerly opened the door.

Another homoerotic tableau, even more stunning than the one before. The magnificent black bodybuilder was naked, except for the collar round his neck and the shreds of his sweaty black T-shirt clinging to his slim waist. Two ropes now hung down from the beam, four feet apart, with leather wrist restraints at the end through which Zack had slid his hands. His arms were stretched up in a spread-eagled V, his straining, ebony muscles gleaming under the lights, a naked black slave captured and bound.

Trembling with excitement Brandon returned to his place in the shadows where he had a clear view of both men, the real and the reflected, captive and captor. His cock was still hanging out of his pants and he stroked it lightly, careful not to cum. He watched .... and listened.

Defiantly Zack stared at the man in the mirror. "OK, man, you win. You made me beg, made me bust my load. I'm your prisoner, shackled buck naked like your black slave. What you gonna do to me now, man?" A long pause, then he smiled scornfully. "The whip or my ass, is it? Now way, man, no one's ever fucked my ass .... never gonna happen. I can take the whip, asshole ... try me."

"Aaaagh!" Zack screamed and his body jerked forward as if lashed from behind. His body writhed under an imaginary rain of lashes as he pulled frantically against the ropes. To avoid the whip he hauled himself up from the ground, his muscles bulging as he hung from the ropes like a marionette, body writhing, his legs thrashing wildly.

Brandon drifted into a delirium where his imagination took flight. As he watched the alpha slave suffer he fancied he could see his tormentor, a muscular black biker, shirtless in leather pants and boots, wielding a bull-whip, slashing it across his slave's back. The captor looked like Zack ... it was Zack! ... torturing himself, watching himself in the mirror get thrashed.

Lost in his world of implausible fantasy Brandon was hardly aware that he was pumping his own cock hard until he heard himself scream and saw a ribbon of cum spurt out before him and splash on the floor.

Zack too was lost in his fantasy, hearing the scream that seemed to come from the tortured slave before him. His body shuddered and he yelled, "I can't take any more.... I submit ... I can't take the whip ... you're my master ... fuck my ass .... I'm begging you, sir ... my ass is yours." His muscles collapsed, his feet crashed to the ground and his body went limp, his head hanging down in surrender.

Brandon stared in disbelief at the broken slave, shackled naked except for the torn shirt hanging round his waist, sweat pouring down his magnificent black body sagging in humiliating defeat. .

And then Brandon saw something else - something that almost made his heart leap from his chest. He wheeled himself to the table where it was lying and picked it up. It was a long, rigid black dildo, solid rubber, ridged along its length, a handle at the end so it looked like a sword. Brandon gripped the handle and realized the business end of the rod was already greased up.

His courage almost failed him until he heard the slave murmuring in a trance, "Fuck me ... fuck me .... fuck my ass." The boy stared at the black ass, the fragments of torn shirt hanging over it, and tried to stop his hands from trembling as he pressed the tip of the dildo between the cheeks. "Fuck me, man," he heard again ... and so he did. Slowly he pushed the thick rod into the man, inch by inch, amazed that the whole length was disappearing into the black ass.

It finally came to a stop with only the handle left poking out like some massive butt plug. Brandon looked into the mirror and saw the prisoner's eyes open wide and his face contort in a scream. "Aaagh .... my ass .... the pain in my ass. Fuck .... fuck .... fuck me."

Brandon was acting now on pure adrenaline and the agonized sound of Zack's voice. He pulled the dildo slowly back, then pushed it in again, harder ... harder each time as he watched Zack stare at himself, tears streaming down his agonized face. "NO! ... you're ripping me open, I can't take it, man. My ass is on fire."

Brandon shoved the dildo in deep, then wheeled himself back to his dark corner and watched the muscular black slave in the final stages of his torture.

The slave's body was writhing desperately, his handsome face twisted in pain. He heaved himself up in a futile attempt to pull off the black rod sticking out of his ass. Gripping the ropes he held himself up off the ground, muscles cracking in his shoulders and arms, until even his strength collapsed and his feet hit the ground, his legs buckled and he hung from the ropes, his body shuddering, the rod deep in his ass.

Sweat poured down his face and body and pooled on the floor as he stared desperately at the man in the mirror. "You win, man. I can't take that rod ... I gotta cum. Help me cum, man, I'm beaten, I gotta cum." Then in the last depths of degradation he begged, "Tell your boy to suck my dick, sir. Tell your boy to suck your slave's cock and make him cum."

In a trance now, Brandon rolled across the room and sat before the bound muscle-slave, his massive cock pointing straight at his face. He opened his mouth, leaned forward and took the whole length of the black club in his mouth. He clenched his throat muscles round it and pulled back, then thrust forward again.

Zack's screams echoed round the room, his cock in fire, and he clenched his ass muscles round the huge rod plugging his gut. Brandon worked him to a pitch of frustration, bringing him to the edge of orgasm time and again before backing away. The black bodybuilder was begging the man in the mirror. "Please, man, tell him to make me cum. Tell, him." He sobbed, then appealed directly to the boy in a final act of total humiliation. He looked down at him and said, "Please, boy, let me shoot my load .... I'm begging you, sir .... let me cum......"

Brandon knew it was time. He squeezed his throat muscles round the cock, released, then squeezed again. He was milking the cock, felt it pulse in his mouth, felt it shudder, swell up .... and "aaagh!!" .... The broken bodybuilder howled as his cock exploded in the boy's mouth, an act of final surrender to the man in the mirror and to his boy.

Brandon swallowed hard and when the cock at last ran dry he released it and wheeled himself back to watch. Zack pulled his hands free of the leather restraints, staggered toward the mirror and pressed himself against the glass, hands clawing upward as he frantically kissed his reflected mouth. He was making love to the man who had broken him, and to the man he had watched suffer like a chained and tortured slave. He was making love to himself.

Brandon sat hypnotized by the homoerotic display, then moved forward and grabbed the handle of the rod sticking out of his ass. He paused, then suddenly pulled it out in one rapid move. Zack screamed in pain, his legs buckled and he and the man in the mirror slumped together onto their knees, sobbing against each other's face.

Zack pulled away at last and pivoted round on his knees to face Brandon. He leaned back, elbows braced on the floor, exposing his bare chest to the boy and staring up at him for the first time. Brandon grabbed his own cock, stroked it a few times and watched a plume of white juice gush from it onto the naked leatherman's face, the slabs of his chest, his ribbed abs and down onto the remaining shreds of his wet shirt clinging to his tight waist.

The boy gazed at the sweat-soaked, tear-stained, cum-drenched leather-god, knowing that he had never seen a master, so strong and proud, reduced to such an abject image of defeat and naked degradation.

Zack pulled himself back onto his knees facing the mirror. Gazing into his own eyes he reached back round his neck and unbuckled his collar. He held it to his mouth, licked the semen and sweat off the studded leather... and kissed the collar. Then, holding it loosely by his side he smiled at the man in the mirror and said, "Thank you, sir."


In a state of stunned disbelief Brandon felt strong arms pull him up and lay him on the bed, and felt his boots and pants being pulled off. Then Zack lay beside him and folded him in his arms. Zack was still stinking of sweat and semen and Brandon wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

His mind was still reeling from Zack's extraordinary display, something so private rising up from the secret depths of his male sexuality. The leather master had reduced himself (and the bound slave in the mirror) to the most degrading depths a man could sink to, and yet he remained more of a rugged master than ever.

Zack had released his demons, daring to display the opposite face of the alpha male, the part of him that secretly wanted to be dominated, beaten and humiliated. And who better to do that with than the man in the mirror.

Brandon snuggled against his hard body, proud to be the only one ever to be allowed to witness Zack's secret passion ... and even to have played a part. Zack murmured, "You OK, kid? I promised Pete I'd keep you safe."

"I feel incredible, sir. Safe as houses, as Darius promised." The mention of Darius roused a daring thought in Brandon and he screwed up his courage. "Sir, is it alright if I make a suggestion?"

"A suggestion? Well sure kid, fire away."

"Sir, I .... I think you should let Darius see what I saw today." There was a surprised silence from Zack, so Brandon ploughed on. "I mean, he's your boy, sir, and he's more into fantasy than anyone I know. If he doesn't see what he wants he makes it up - exaggerations accepted, as he always says.

"Sir, I've seen the way he looks at you. He worships you, sir, you're his hero. To Darius, you walk on water. I know it would be the most exciting thing in his life to watch what you allowed me to watch. 'Course, he'd probably want to film it, but that would be up to you. Oh, sorry, sir, everything's up to you of course. Sorry if I spoke out of turn, sir."

Zack pulled back and gazed into his eyes. "You know Brandon, you are one hell of a boy. Thanks for suggesting that. I'll probably do just as you say. How come you're so damn smart?"

"Well, I was thinking, sir. That secret part of your life you showed me today .... well, in a funny way it's not so different from my life. I lived alone all the time and had secret fantasies that I couldn't share with anyone - 'cos there was no one else there. And I couldn't do anything like what you did. I mean, watching a boy in a wheelchair jerk off into a mirror ain't too big of a turn-on. So I watched porn videos - lots and lots of them. But there's nothing like sharing that, like I do now with my buddies like Eddie and Ben. That's what gave me the idea of Darius, sir."

Zack smiled warmly at him. "So if you're so goddam smart, observing everyone in the house, what other secrets you think are brewing?"

"Oh, lots, sir, but because they're secrets I can't spill the beans. Except maybe for the twins. Have you noticed how they look at Bob these days, ever since he let that sexy stubble grow on his chin? No-one knows what kind of sex they have with Bob, but I've seen a change in them lately. They dress differently - not so buttoned-up tighty-whitey. Their clothes are even a bit ragged sometimes and they both stare a lot at Randy when he comes off the construction site all sweaty, ripped clothes, covered in dirt.

"They'd love to see what I saw today, sir - maybe even get into similar stuff with Bob, I dunno. Course," Brandon chuckled, "they wouldn't need a mirror - they're already the perfect reflection of each other."

"You've got it all worked out, haven't you kid, and you may be right. But now you mention Randy, there's something I've noticed too. Of course he's the ultimate top man, the gypsy boss, but there are times when he's taken a beating, been tied up, made to grovel to the guy who broke him. But after he's been humiliated like that, his first instinct is always to reassert his masculinity. He wants to prove he's still the boss and he does that by fucking ass .... usually Bob or Pablo.

"Well Randy and I are very alike - brothers under the skin - and when I've been beaten up I want....

".... to do the same, sir? Prove you're still the top guy? You want to fuck ass?"

"Hell yeah," Zack grinned. "I wanna find a boy I can take to bed, forget all the rough stuff, make love to him and fuck his ass. But he's gotta look at me like I'm the top-man he has to obey at all times. The boy has to submit completely. He has to service me without question - suck my dick, get fucked in the ass by my big black club as often as I want - all night if necessary."

Brandon's eyes shone. "Look no further, sir. You've found your boy."

"That's what I was hoping," Zack grinned. "'Course, he'd have to start right away."

Brandon rolled over. "No problem there, sir. No problem at all."


TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength" - Chapter 262


Rob Williams

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