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This story is strictly fictional and contains male-on-male (gay 🏳🌈 ) sexual content, both implied and explicit. 🔞 Reader discretion is advised. The names, ages, circumstances, parties, and locations mentioned in this narrative are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual individuals is purely coincidental. This story is a product of the author’s imagination. The author does not endorse any products or entities mentioned herein.
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A gay summer Holiday – Chapter 6
• A walk on the wild side.
The early afternoon ferry ride to the mainland felt different this time. For Chris, the salt spray and the vibrating deck beneath the large van they’d procured weren’t just signs of a commute; they were the boundary markers between his new reality and the structured world he’d left behind.
Beside him, Jelmer leaned against the railing, the wind whipping his hair into a mess. They weren’t alone. Skippy and Jan-Timo were huddled nearby, checking lists and talking shop about the supplies needed to overhaul the bunkers. But Chris could tell Jelmer’s mind was already drifting toward a plan he hadn’t been informed about.
The initial building work had progressed at breakneck speed. The permits were pulled, and all they needed were the materials. However, Jelmer had other ideas. Once they were out on the water, he told the guys they were taking a detour. Jel wanted to go dancing in Amsterdam and do some shopping while they were there. Skip had already booked a hotel for the four of them in the beating heart of the capital, and Jelmer had pre-ordered the building supplies from a builders’ yard and an IKEA in the area. Skip and Jelmer had their van license, so the other two were at their mercy.
Chris felt a surge of anticipation, knowing precisely what the Dutch capital had to offer. He’d visited Amsterdam with his parents years ago and seen men doing things in public that were well outside the norm of his hometown. Come to think of it, those ancient glimpses might have contributed to Chris’s sexual preferences. Now, Christopher had a whole new view of his future to live up to.
“Amsterdam won’t know what hit it,” Jan-Timo laughed, glancing at Jelmer. “Though I think Jelmer is just looking forward to seeing you in something other than work boots and denim, Chris.”
He finally understood why Skip told him to bring an overnight bag. They were going to ‘cut a rug’ and hit a few places — maybe even a gay bar or two. Jelmer’s eyes darted to Chris, a hungry, inquisitive look settling in.
The ferry docked, the heavy ramp lowering with a thud. As the four drove off the ship, Chris made a surprise stop at the ferry company offices. To the guys’ amazement, he dropped off the buff leather jacket he’d found on the first trip to the Island.
“Don’t look so sad, Jelmer. I can buy a new one in Amsterdam. I read about Mr. B, an excellent leather shop. I can probably find a coat that suits my style. Maybe you can find something you like there, too!”
Even Skip and JT’s ears pricked up at that.
“Sounds like a plan! But genuine leather ain’t cheap,” Jelmer sighed.
Chris just smiled as he climbed back into the van. “True, but if you take care of it, it’ll take care of you for years.”
The van hummed along the massive closure dike-highway that separated the North Sea from the rest of the Netherlands. The road was a narrow ribbon of asphalt stretching for twenty miles, with nothing but a gray-green expanse of water on either side. It felt like driving across a tightrope over the ocean, suspended between the world they’d left and the wild adventure ahead. Chris pulled out his notebook and began to write.
• Diary: May 12th, 01:45 PM. Change of plans.
The guys and I are on the way to Amsterdam. I thought it was just a quick supply run, but Skippy told me to bring an overnight bag. Seems he planned this little heist with Jelly-Belly behind my back. Oh well, a detour to the gay capital of the Netherlands can’t hurt. I might even pick up a jacket or a pair of pants for myself. As much as I like the stuff I found, was given, or took from those pervy bikers, I’d feel better in my own gear — something that hasn’t been lived in by someone else. I’m definitely leaning into the leather look. It feels right. And by the sound of it, the guys are just as hungry for it as I am. There’s an energy in this van that’s hard to ignore. The suspense is killing me. Should be fun, though.
The guys arrived at their hotel around three o’clock, giving them enough time to grab a quick bite before heading to find Mr. B. The fetish boutique was nestled in the middle of an action-packed street, a chaotic blur of tourists, red-lit windows, and the bass-heavy hum of nearby bars. Inside, the shop was a sanctuary of black wood and the intoxicating, heavy scent of premium hide and slick rubber.
The four men fanned out, their eyes wide as they took in the rows of gear. Chris quickly found his target: a classic biker jacket with a sharp, modern twist. It lacked the epaulets and the waist belt of the one he’d found on the ferry, giving it a sleeker, more tailored silhouette that hugged his frame in all the right places. It felt like a second skin — the supple, smooth texture of the genuine cowhide looked even better than before. “It feels made for me,” he realized, admiring his reflection.
He didn’t stop there. Emboldened by the shop’s butch atmosphere, Chris picked out a short-sleeved police-style shirt and a pair of sleek leather jeans with a suggestive zipper running from front to back. He looked over to see Jelmer being fitted for a pair of rugged leather chaps and a matching modern standing-collar jacket, the light catching the supple grain of the thick hide. It was versatile gear — it could even be worn as a vest in the heat of summer with the arms zipped off.
Skip was busy admiring a pair of the buffest stomper boots he could afford, eventually adding a half-body harness, gloves, and a leather ball cap to his haul. Even Jan-Timo got into the spirit, emerging from behind the racks wearing a sleek cafe-racer jacket with an elastic waistband and a leather jockstrap that left very little to the imagination. He wore it right over his pale blue jeans, grinning at the others. The man shopped for some bits and bobs in the SM-gear department and left with their wallets considerably lighter.
As they hauled their finds to the counter, Chris felt a hum of electricity between the four of them. They asked the shopkeepers for a recommendation — somewhere they could truly show off the new gear and dance the night away. The staff traded knowing smirks and handed over a few addresses. One was just a few blocks from their hotel. It was settled. After a quick wardrobe change at the hotel, the four buff men jumped right into the fray of Amsterdam’s nightlife.
The four of them made a pact to stick together and take it easy on the drinks. The primary mission was still the building supplies — they couldn’t afford to be hungover and useless at the builders’ yard tomorrow. But as they stepped into the club, the ‘leather-and-denim’ theme was in full swing, and the resolve to stay sober began to feel like a tall order. The air was thick with the scent of intoxicating leather, man-musk, and the rhythmic, bone-deep thrum of the bass.
They looked perfectly in place in their new gear, but beneath the tough exterior, Chris felt a little flustered. It was one thing to play ‘Sir’ in a secluded dune or a quiet public restroom; it was another to be surrounded by men who lived and breathed this world. They drank slowly, their eyes darting around as they checked the place out, testing the waters. The early evening atmosphere was friendly enough, but there was an unmistakable edge of hunger in the room that made the hair on Chris’s arms stand on end.
Despite the early hour, the nightclub was teeming with fit, young men lost in a frenzy of movement. Most were stripped down to the bare essentials — leather harnesses, collars, and jeans, or just low-slung briefs that left nothing to the imagination. The four Islanders fit right in with the city crowd, though. Jelmer and Chris leaned against the bar, their shoulders brushing as they watched a pair of guys who seemed to be in a world of their own.
The older of the two, with short-cropped black hair and a Muir cap, was a masterful vision in full leather. Beneath his classic biker jacket, he wore a black chest harness with red piping; under his assless chaps, a pair of leather shorts featured a provocative red zipper. He wore a pair of red-laced heavy boots that had even caught Skippy’s attention.
This guy was clearly the top in the relationship, issuing sharp, silent tasks to his younger companion. Every time his boy faltered or missed a beat, the butch man delivered a swift, stinging crack of a leather-tipped riding crop. Each flick echoed through the club as leather hit bare skin or cowhide, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight to Jelmer’s gut. He actually felt a pang of sympathy for the guy.
But Chris only had eyes for the ‘master’. The man was in his early thirties, Christopher estimated, while his boy-toy looked to be in his mid-twenties. Both were in peak condition and didn’t seem to mind the four Islanders ogling them. In fact, the dominant man gave Chris a nasty wink just as he delivered a sharp slap to his boy’s face. The hit reverberated through the air, yet no one in the club batted an eye. The ‘slave’ instantly bent over, his tongue working to lick the man’s fourteen-hole, red-laced boots.
The sub, dressed in short chaps, had a butt plug up his hole, Chris noticed. He leaned in and pointed it out to Jelmer.
“I bet the boy is being stretched for a good, rough fucking tonight!” he whispered.
“Why don’t you go introduce yourself to them?” Chris joked.
“No fucking way! Have you seen how the boy gets a beating whenever he does something wrong? I’m staying far away from that whip!” Jelmer said. “You mean a leather crop like this, boy?!” Chris asked with a mean, dirty grin. He reached down and pulled a similar crop from the side of his right cowboy boot.
Chris playfully tapped Jelmer on the inner thigh. “Ouch — oh, fuck!” Jelmer exclaimed, his voice cutting through the music. It was loud enough that the master heard him and looked over at the guys at the bar. Jelmer, wearing his new chaps over a pair of torn jeans, felt a flush of embarrassment as he realized several people were watching them now.
Christopher grabbed Jelmer behind the head, pulling him close for a tender nibble of his lips. “Don’t be shy,” he whispered. “Take a closer look at the guys in this club. Most of them have their dicks swinging to the rhythm of the music, and plenty of them are dominating their partners. Just play along. The rest won’t mind here — no, they won’t mind at all.” Chris gave Jelmer a wink, and Jelmer finally relaxed, realizing that Chris was right. They were among ‘friends’ here.
The submissive was ordered by his master to fetch a round of drinks. Chris watched the man approach; he stood a little too close to the honorary Islander, his leaky, semi-erect cock drooping over Chris’s new leather jeans. The task had clearly turned him on, leaving a small, glistening wet spot of pre-cum on the supple cowhide. He ordered six beers — two for his master and four for the Islanders — before introducing himself.
“Hello, Sirs. My name is Mark. Master Cody would love to invite you to join us,” Mark said, his eyes bright with excitement. Chris reached out, softly cupping the sub’s cock and balls, staring deep into his eyes.
“We’d love to meet your master — but you’ve left a bit of a mess on my new gear. What do you plan to do about that?” Chris asked. A dirty smirk had magicked itself onto his face as he glanced over at Jelmer.
Mark took the cue and pressed his face to the Islander’s lap, licking the spot clean before greedily moving toward Chris’s crotch. He didn’t get far before Chris delivered a firm, stinging slap to his plugged ass with the crop.
“You need to learn to do exactly what you’re asked, boy!” Chris barked, looking over toward Master Cody across the club. “You were told to clean my knee — weren’t you?”
Mark stammered a quick, “Yes, sorry, Chris!”
“A good boy starts and ends every sentence with ‘Sir’,” Chris coached with a knowing look. Skip and Jan-Timo broke into laughter. “Sir, yes, I was only told to clean your knee, Sir. Sorry, Sir!”
“Let’s not keep Cody waiting,” Chris said, pulling a horny, flustered Jelmer to his feet with a deep kiss. “First lesson over,” he winked at him. Jelmer was a mess of nerves and arousal; he found Chris firm but just, precisely the kind of authority he craved. The darkening wet spot in his own jeans made his enjoyment plain to everyone.
The five of them headed to the VIP booth, where Skip and JT introduced themselves. “This is Jel,” Chris told Cody, handing the master a beer.
“He’s my boyfriend, and he’s eager to learn how to be a good sub.” Cody invited the group in, placing Chris beside him while Mark knelt on the floor on his other side. Chris gestured for Jelmer to sit on the edge of the bench, facing the club. “Sir, thank you, Sir. Thank you, Master Cody!” Jelmer chirped, settling in happily.
“Welcome to my club, men. Are you guys new in town? I haven’t seen you around before,” Cody asked as he looked the men over. But before he got an answer, he turned to Christopher. “I think your boy isn’t the only one riding on a learner’s permit, now, is he, Chris?”
“Oh, was it that obvious? Sorry about that, Sir,” Chris replied.
“Don’t be. Mark is feeling a little disobedient tonight, so your correction ‘hit’ the right mark. Didn’t it, Mark? He’s a dirty pain-pig; he likes to test my patience just to get a good whipping.”
“You’re right, Sir. I am green as grass — just got these fucking cool leathers today,” Chris admitted.
Cody barked a laugh. “You do look the part. And there are plenty of sparring partners around here to get your dick wet… umm… your feet wet,” Cody joked, flashing a predatory grin.
Chris noticed Mark casting horny glances at Jelmer.
“If your master allows it, Mark, you may go warm up my boy. But make sure he doesn’t blow his load!” Chris said with a wicked grin.
Skip and JT looked at Chris in amazement. Still, Jelmer was already spreading his chapped legs, clearing the way for an eager sub to provide a very public service.
Cody nodded his approval and ordered his boy to go play with Jelmer, his focus shifting entirely to Christopher. The leather of Cody’s jacket creaked with that heavy, familiar groan as he draped a thick arm over Chris’s shoulder. He didn’t waste time; following the lead of Skip and JT, he pulled Chris in and began a deep, demanding kiss.
The man’s rough stubble tickled Chris’s skin as he was slobbered and tongued by a complete stranger in a dark club, surrounded by men who looked dangerous. The nerves nearly got the better of poor Chris, the sheer intensity of the atmosphere making his head spin. He came up for air, gasping, and looked at the others.
Jelmer had Mark by the ears, pumping his shaft into the sub’s mouth like a madman. The more brutal Jelmer became, the more Mark seemed to thrive on it. Across from them, Skippy was already throat-fucking Jan-Timo right there on the booth seat. Neither of them seemed to have any hang-ups about getting it on in the open.
When Chris looked back at Cody, he realized the leather master had freed his manhood. The heavy dong was a solid seven-and-a-half inches long, but the length wasn’t what stopped Chris’s heart. It was the girth. The fat slab of meat was as wide as his own wrist, topped with a helmet that looked even more intimidating. Chris gulped, but before he could process the scale of it, a heavy hand gripped the back of his neck and gruffly bent him down.
Master Cody smacked his meat against Chris’s flustered cheek a few times, the heavy thud of flesh on flesh punctuating his order. “Take it… It doesn’t suck itself!”
Chris didn’t know why he felt bashful all of a sudden. By now, he’d blown plenty of men — strangers, even. But Cody radiated a totally new intensity. This close to the action, the scent was overwhelming; Chris could smell the master’s leather on the swollen cock, and even the salt and sweat on the shaft and balls tasted of cured hide.
The longer he hesitated, the more ruthless Cody became. The master grabbed a fistful of hair with one hand and the base of his throbbing shaft with the other. The aim was perfect. The first breath Christopher took felt like it might be his last as the thick head launched itself between his quivering lips and lodged deep in the back of his mouth. The taste was surprisingly clean, and once it was inside, Chris found he could actually accommodate the brutal monster better than he’d feared.
“Take it deeper…” Cody barked, the sound vibrating through Chris’s jaw. “I want to feel it in your throat, Chris. Make me cum, boi.”
The command was so nasty that even Skip, JT, and Jelmer looked over in a mix of shock and fright. The ‘Light and Inquisitive’ vibe of the night had suddenly veered into something much darker and more demanding.
But Chris wasn’t about to be broken that easily. He smacked the leather master against his chest, a sharp strike to reclaim the control he’d felt slipping away. Cody let go of his locks, looking genuinely surprised. “What?”
“Dude, are you in a hurry? Need to catch the last tram or something?” Chris challenged, wiping his mouth. “We’ve just started. Let’s enjoy this a little. I’ve got so much to learn, see, and do…” He paused, adding, “… Sir. I told you I’m new to this domination shit,” for good measure. He didn’t wait for a reply before leaning back in, determined to take that baseball bat of a cock as deep as he could on his own terms.
It took Chris a while to accommodate the heavy, leather-bound sausage. Still, he soon received some ‘encouragement’ from Master Cody.
“If you don’t deep-throat it in the next four seconds, I’m going to ram it in myself!” Though the words were nasty, the tone was far more playful than before, a challenge rather than a threat.
Chris took a deep breath, spitting a thick wad onto the slab of meat. Across from them, Skip and JT joined in the fun, chanting with a grin: “Four — three — two — one — !”
Chris took it. He took it all. The moment he reached the base, Cody’s cow-poke began to throb with a life of its own. The master held Christopher firmly in place, sending one controlled squirt of man-juice straight down his gullet. Just as Cody began to release his grip and pull Chris up, the Islander decided he wasn’t finished.
Chris locked his lips tightly behind the glans, swallowing hard as he swiped his tongue over the twitching head. He worked the shaft with a ruthless rhythm, teasing a second and third salvo to blast from the tight, leather-clad nuts. Finally, he pulled back and looked up at an astonished Master Cody, whose dominant mask had slipped off entirely for a moment of pure, raw, unadulterated pleasure.
The two leather masters locked eyes as Chris showed off his ‘milkshake surprise.’ He hadn’t swallowed the juice; instead, he shared it with the man in a messy kiss. But a kiss wasn’t the only affirmative action the Islander took. Emboldened by the adrenaline and the thrill of the room, Chris scooted over and kneeled right over the heavy-breathing master.
Chris reached down and unzipped his leather jeans — from the back, all the way to the front — exposing the bare meat. Without waiting for an invitation, he lowered himself, taking the still-throbbing monster gently into his inquisitive hole. He thanked his lucky stars he’d remembered to pre-lube back at the hotel; otherwise, that seven-and-a-half-inch girth would never have found a home.
Chris didn’t ask. He took. He took the nasty nightclub owner raw and deep, right there in the VIP booth for the whole damned club to see. The sight took Jelmer and Mark completely by surprise; neither man had expected the ‘new guy’ to seize control so aggressively.
“What the fucking hell, Cody!” Mark exclaimed, his eyes wide as he watched his master being ridden. Jelmer was equally shocked, shouting, “Geez, Christopher! Stop it!” Calling over the thumping bass.
Cody, however, was clearly loving the defiance.
“Deeper, boi! Ride me hard. Fuck, you have a nice ass, Sir Chris,” he groaned, his hands helping Chris slide up and down.
He shot a sharp look at his own sub. “Shut up, Mark. Go sit on Jel and make sure he doesn’t bust a nut, or Sir Chris will whip you raw!”
“Whip Mark raw, you say?” Chris replied with a breathless, predatory laugh as he bounced on the thick shaft. “If that’s what the master wants to see, I will obey. Let’s find a nice spot where his screams won’t be heard, though.” Master Cody pulled Chris in for a crushing hug, his leather-clad arms pinning the leathered Islander against his chest as he thrust his dick violently deep inside.
It took the two men ages to come down from their leather-infused cloud, completely ignoring the heavy chants and cheering from the dance floor below. An anal-heavy floor show like that wasn’t exactly the norm for the VIP booths — usually, that kind of action was reserved for the basement darkrooms — but tonight, Cody was making his own rules.
As the adrenaline began to fade, Cody moved to order another round of beers, but Chris belayed the order. He called for sodas and alcohol-free drinks instead; the mission for the building supplies was still the priority.
Cody took the change of pace in stride and treated the guys to a full tour of his nightclub’s basement before they ended the night back on the dance floor. The later it got, the kinkier and older the crowd became, but our four Islander twinks had already had the time of their lives. With an empty van waiting to be filled with lumber and hardware, they finally said their goodbyes and headed back to the hotel.
• Dear Diary: May 13th, just past midnight.
I’m sure this wasn’t what Skip and Jelmer had planned when we left the Island. But fuck, man… this was exactly what I needed to see — and do. This was such an eye-opener for me. I want more of this kind of action. I got my own gear and made out in public with a proper nasty leather man and his boy.
Jelmer can’t complain, either. He got those sexy leather chaps and fucked the absolute crap out of a pain-sub. Even Skippy and JT had the time of their lives, although I suspect they spent way more money than they would have without my influence. I’ll talk to them on the way back. But first, a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.
Back at the hotel, the silence of the room felt heavy compared to the thrumming bass of the club. Even though the sounds of Amsterdam’s inner city still rang loud. As they stripped out of their new leathers, the air smelled of sweat and spent adrenaline. Jelmer noticed that Chris crawled especially close to him when they finally climbed into bed, seeking the familiar warmth of his body.
“Are you okay, buddy?” Jelmer whispered into Chris’s ear, pulling him into a tight, protective embrace. He could feel the slight tremor of a lingering high still vibrating through Chris’s chest.
“Yeah, honey. I’m better than okay,” Chris murmured, tucking his head under Jelmer’s chin. “I was glad you and the guys were there, though. Otherwise, it might have been a bit too wild, even for me. But it was fucking amazing, being treated so roughly. I liked it — in a weird, dark sort of way. And you looked fucking amazing in those chaps.” He paused, his voice trailing off into a sleepy haze. “But I like you… too, Jel.”
Jelmer squeezed him, a silent promise that no matter how far they explored the shadows of the city, they’d always come back to each other. Chris didn’t need to say another word; the tension left his shoulders as he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, anchored safely in Jelmer’s arms.
• Continued in chapter 7 •
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© StrykerJ - February 2026
