All characters in this story are 18 years of age or older. Luuk is 18, Matteo, Ricardo, and Ryan are 19.
The bus back home is packed again. Full of seniors who can’t wait for the weekend to start on this Friday afternoon. There were no seats left when I got on. I’m standing right next to Lars. Every time the bus accelerates or brakes, I get pressed against Lars. Lars ignores it. Secretly, I don’t mind it.
The bus is taking this turn too sharp. My hand reaches out for something to hold onto to steady myself and lands on Lars’s thigh. He’s wearing leather pants. Very daring. A jolt runs through my body as my hand feels the warmth of his body through the smooth leather.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“No problem,” Lars says, but I do notice his irritated look.
In the back of the bus, I hear the loud voices of the tough guys who always sit in the back. Matteo, Ricardo, and Ryan. All three are nineteen, a year older than the rest of us. They had, after all, repeated a year. Matteo, as usual, is doing all the talking. “Damn it!” he shouts, “so that jerk Elbers is a dirty fag?”
“Didn’t you know that?” Ryan asks in a cool tone.
“Damn it!” Matteo just repeats.
Their stupid bullshit is driving me mad. Mr. Elbers is a good teacher. One of the few who can keep order in his class.
I glance over at the boys. A little too long. I get even more annoyed when I get a boner. Not now, not here, not in front of those assholes!
For a moment, I make eye contact with Ricardo. I look away and fear the worst.
“Hey, look!” Ricardo shouts, pointing in our direction. “Lars is wearing gay pants.”
“Ah, look at that. A pair of sexy leather pants!” Matteo shouts mockingly.
Lars says nothing, and although he’s usually stoic, he looks a little uncomfortable.
“Don’t pay any attention to those guys,” I whisper, “the pants really do look good on you.”
Lars remains completely silent and looks no less uncomfortable.
Ryan hits the stop button, and the red light, indicating that the bus will stop at the next stop, comes on.
The three tough guys push their way toward the exit, shoving other guys rudely out of their way. No one dares to say anything.
“Hot!” Matteo calls out to Lars in a fake voice.
I watch them as the tough guys get off the bus, their tight jeans hugging their hot asses. Hot, I think, and the bus doors slam shut with a hissing sound.
#
“Hot leather pants!”
Ricardo’s voice now sounds much closer, almost in my ear.
I look down. To my surprise, I am indeed wearing leather pants. The tight pants feel like velvet against my legs, my ass. It feels so sexy, so soft.
The bus is empty, except for the three guys.
Ryan walks toward me. “Gay pants, I knew it.” He presses on my shoulders. “Get on your knees!” he commands.
When I’m on my knees, Matteo stands in front of me. He pulls his cock out of his pants. I wrap my lips around his shaft.
In the background, I hear an ambulance siren. Matteo growls low. His cock tastes salty.
The ambulance siren grows more insistent, irritating.
Just let me! Just let me suck him off!
The siren keeps going. Too loud, too real.
I try to grab hold of Matteo, but with a horny smile on his face, he quickly fades away.
My eyes snap open. Dark. My room.
I reach into the void; there’s nothing left. Matteo’s smile has given way to the darkness.
The sound lingers, then it dawns on me: my alarm clock.
I’m sweaty, my breathing is rapid. My body lies here in bed. My cock pulses to the rhythm of my heartbeat; my mind mourns a lost reality.
The worst part is, I didn’t even need to set my alarm. It’s Saturday! Reality is now fully sinking in. My cock is still hard, but a knot is forming in my stomach. Do I really want to suck Matteo’s cock that badly? I can picture him again: that horny look, his smile. His cock.
Fuck.
Those leather pants felt so good. I’d like to wear a pair myself. But then again, I saw what happened to Lars.
Still, the idea won’t leave me alone this morning. What would it be like to wear pants like that?
I remember a little vintage shop downtown. In the window was a mannequin dressed in punk clothes. Wearing leather pants.
#
It is cool and sunny as I hop on my bike, beautiful spring weather. In the city center, I see lots of people out shopping. In the alley where the vintage shop is located, it’s strangely quiet. There’s no one around. The sound of a tram seems much fainter and farther away the moment I step into the alley.
I lock my bike. I look at the mannequin in the shop window: a punk boy in leather. The shop’s name is written on the glass: “The Second Chance.”
The bell above the door rings more softly than I expected. It seems as if the space muffles the sound. Inside, it’s quiet. Not just quiet, every sound is immediately swallowed up. Even my footsteps sound duller. The scent of leather, incense, and a sweet perfume I can’t quite place.
The shop is deep and narrow, a shoebox. By the entrance lie books on esoteric subjects, various types of incense. Dreamcatchers hang from the ceiling, large red candles sit on black metal candlesticks, a pentagram on the wall.
I pause for a moment. For a second, I’ve forgotten why I’m here.
“Can I help you?” The voice of the young man behind the counter brings me back to reality. His voice is low and soft, masculine, yet still a bit boyish. He’s calm, clearly has all the time in the world. He looks barely older than I am. His hair is black, shaved on one side, and he wears a small silver ring through his lower lip. He doesn’t immediately look up from the book he’s reading. He radiates tranquility. Something I’m not feeling at all right now.
His eyes are lined with black eyeliner, which makes his gaze intense and a touch inscrutable. He’s attractive in a way I’m not used to; slender, pale, and completely at ease in this environment filled with curiosities.
“I... I saw those pants in the window,” I stammer. My heart is pounding in my throat. “Those leather pants.”
The boy slowly puts down his book. A faint smile plays on his lips, but his eyes remain cool and professional. He stands up, and his clothes rustle; he’s wearing a long, black coat with countless buckles. He, too, is wearing leather, I can hear it creaking softly.
He takes me to the back. Everywhere I look, heavy, baroque mirrors with gilded frames hang on the walls. Instead of reflecting the shop, they distort the light; they don’t show the shop, but a place that seems to lie just behind it.
In the middle of the shop stands a glass display case full of curiosities. Old watches, all stopped at different times, silver rings with skulls. Everything is covered with a thin layer of dust.
Along the left wall are racks full of leather clothing: biker jackets with countless zippers that gleam silvery, long coats of supple suede, and shiny leather pants. The smell of leather is overwhelming here; a warm, almost chemical scent that mingles with the waft of sandalwood incense curling from a small copper bowl sitting on one of the shelves.
“Here are the leather pants.” The Goth guy rests his hand briefly on a rack holding a row of leather pants. “I’m sure you’ll find something here.” He glances at the curtain behind which the fitting rooms are located. “Feel free to try a few on; this section is all in your size.”
“Take your time,” he adds as he walks back to his station, behind the counter by the entrance.
My hand runs along the leather of the row of pants. One pair feels warmer than the others. I take it off the rack. The leather feels lighter than I expected, incredibly supple. When I slide open the black curtain of the fitting room, it feels claustrophobic and exciting at the same time. The space is cramped and smells of fabric and that typical, pungent scent of new leather.
I take off my own jeans and decide to take off my underwear as well. I want to feel the pants directly against my skin. I step into the leather pants.
It’s as if the pants recognize me. The leather caresses my skin with a soft, crackling sound. They fit snugly but don’t pinch; it feels more like a firm embrace. As I zip them up, I feel the same thing I felt in my dream. A wave of heat spreads from my groin to the rest of my body.
I look in the mirror of the small fitting room. The mirror is different from the ornate ones in the store; this glass is clear. I see myself, but more sharply. The pants gleam in the dim light and leave nothing to the imagination. My ass, my legs... So sexy. I look like someone I wouldn’t normally even dare to look at.
The pants clearly fit like a glove. This is the one! I haven’t asked about the price yet. I hope I can afford them.
Satisfied with my future purchase, I want to take the leather pants off again. Part of me would prefer to keep them on. I try to undo the button. Only… it won’t budge. They’re stuck tight, no matter what I try. The zipper won’t move a millimeter either.
Panic flares up for a moment, but it’s immediately pushed aside by an overwhelming sense of power. Warmth courses through my body; lust takes hold of me. I look in the mirror and I know: I’m being watched, even though I’m alone.
I slide the curtain aside and step outside.
The world seems to have changed, even though everything looks the same at first glance. The smell of leather is now so strong I can almost taste it. The colors of the vintage shirts on the racks pop off the walls, deep blood red, bright royal blue, poison green. The fabric dancing in the beams of light looks like gold.
I walk to the large full-length mirror in the corner. For a moment, I think someone else is standing in front of the mirror. I barely recognize myself. My posture is different; my shoulders are straight; my gaze is more confident. The pants gleam in the subdued light and seem to follow every movement just a fraction of a second before I make it.
I look cool. Confident and sexy.
#
The store’s bell rings. I turn around. Three guys walk in. The Goth guy greets them. The guys give a brief nod back, but immediately walk straight to the back, toward me.
It’s Matteo, Ricardo, and Ryan. They’re wearing their usual bleached jeans and brown leather jackets. Their colors are more intense too, their presence more pronounced. They fill the space with a raw, masculine energy that makes the air shimmer. But their movements seem calmer, purposeful, deliberate,
My stomach drops and my mouth is dry; I swallow with difficulty. These are the bullies from the bus. But when I look back in the mirror, I see someone who isn’t running away. Behind me, I see the boys standing there; they no longer look like bullies, but like men with a sizzling dominance.
Matteo steps forward. He doesn’t look at me with the mockery I’m used to seeing from him. His eyes take me in from head to toe: my legs, the black leather; his eyes linger where the pants are tightest. He slowly licks his lips.
“Just look at that,” he says, his voice hoarse. “You put those on just for us, didn’t you?”
My first instinct is to look away. To make myself small, as I usually always do. My heart is racing, not only from fear, but from a kind of excitement I’ve never felt before as well.
I glance quickly in the mirror. The boy in the black leather doesn’t look away. He stares back with a look that says: This is what you came for.
“I… I’m just trying it on,” I stammer. My voice sounds different. Deeper, less shaky.
Matteo smiles. Not a mean smile this time. He takes a step closer. I feel the heat radiating from him. The scent of his leather jacket mixes with the scent of my own pants. It’s overwhelming.
“Trying them on?” he repeats. He places a hand on the wall behind me, effectively trapping me. “They’re so tight they’ll never come off, Luuk. You know that.”
The sound of my name on his lips feels like a touch. Ricardo and Ryan close the circle. They stand behind him; their eyes fixed on the leather tightening around my legs.
“Let’s see,” Ryan says forcefully. “Turn around.”
My mind screams that I should run, back to the fitting room. But my body… my body obeys Ryan. As I slowly turn around, I feel the leather rubbing against my skin. It feels forbidden, but at the same time so incredibly good.
I feel a hand on my ass. The touch is firm, possessive.
“See that?” I hear Matteo say to the others. “He likes it.”
The hand on my ass is warm and forceful. I feel Matteo’s fingers against the smooth leather of my pants. It sends shivers down my spine. I could duck away, back into the fitting room, but my feet seem anchored to the floor. Or maybe it’s the pants holding me back, forcing me to endure this.
“Look at him,” Ricardo whispers. He’s standing so close now that I can feel his breath on my neck. “He’s speechless.”
Matteo steps in front of me. He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. His gaze is no longer that of a bully; it is the gaze of a Master. There seems to be a supernatural sparkle in it, a zest for life I haven’t seen before. A hunger for lust, for me.
“You dreamed of this, didn’t you, Luuk?” he says softly, almost tenderly, but with an undertone of steel. “On the bus. While you were watching us.”
I want to deny it, but I know it’s pointless. The truth hangs between us, thick and tangible as the scent of leather. I nod slightly. That confession makes the blood rush to my cock.
“You were rude on the bus, looking away when I looked at you,” Ricardo says sternly.
My stomach tightens for a moment. But when I glance sideways in the mirror, I see a boy who is certain he’ll get what he desires.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I say briefly.
“I shouldn’t have done that, Sir,” Ricardo corrects me sharply.
“Sir,” I say quietly, lowering my gaze.
“Indeed,” says Ricardo. He walks over to a wooden chair next to the full-length mirror and sits down with his legs spread wide. He slaps his thigh hard. “Over my knee. Now.”
He leaves me no time to think; my legs obey automatically. The leather of my pants creaks with every step I take toward Ricardo. I lie across his lap. The position leaves nothing to the imagination; I see it in the mirrors all around me. They seem to emphasize my humiliation. My butt sticks up, encased in the shiny black leather of my pants. I realize this is where I’m supposed to be.
The first slap from Ricardo’s flat hand lands squarely on my left buttock. The sound claps loudly, a sharp crack that echoes through the store. The shock ripples through my entire body. It doesn’t really hurt yet, but the heat spreading through my ass makes my balls tighten with lust. I notice that I’m lifting my ass slightly, without consciously deciding to do so. My body is begging for more.
“Let’s see how that leather reacts first,” Ricardo growls. He delivers a few more hard swats. My buttocks are getting hotter and hotter, but the leather of my pants is protecting my butt for the most part.
In the mirrors, I see Matteo coming closer. He leans over me. “He looks pretty comfortable in those pants, don’t you think?”
Ricardo growls in agreement.
I feel Matteo’s strong fingers grip the top of my pants. Where I had previously tried desperately to undo the button, it opens effortlessly under his touch. The zipper slides down without a hitch. With a forceful motion, they pull the pants down, over my hips, to mid-thigh.
The cool air on my bare buttocks is a shock. Only now do I feel truly vulnerable, powerless over Ricardo’s knee while my pants keep my legs restrained.
Ricardo reaches between my legs for my stiff cock. “He’s enjoying this a little too much. We’re going to do something about that.”
The first slap on my bare ass is immediately harder. No more dull “thud,” but a sharp, cutting slap that instantly leaves a burning mark. I bite my lip to keep from screaming.
“Count them,” orders Matteo, who is now standing right in front of my face, so that I inhale his scent of musk and leather deeply.
“One... Sir,” I say with difficulty after the next slap. Ricardo doesn’t hold back. “Two... Sir.”
With every blow, my body moves along with Ricardo’s lap.
“Three… Sir.”
The pain intensifies. But lying here, between the three of them, at their mercy… makes me hornier than I ever thought possible. My buttocks burn and turn deep red under Ricardo’s relentless hand.
When he finally stops, my backside is on fire. My body is still trembling, my breathing ragged. Ricardo now strokes my burning buttocks gently, almost tenderly.
Matteo then grabs me by the neck and pulls me to my feet. He pulls the leather pants back up. With a simple movement, he fastens the button again. I feel the leather immediately close around my body, unyielding. With a smooth motion, Matteo zips them shut. I’m locked in again.
Ricardo remains sprawled out. My buttocks are burning and throbbing from the spanking, a searing reminder of his stern hand on my bare ass. The leather pants, which Matteo has magically zipped back up, now feel hotter than ever; as if the leather has absorbed the punishment.
He spreads his legs even wider. “I’m not done with him yet. If he didn’t want to look at me on the bus, he’d better take a very good look now.”
Ricardo looks at me intently and points to the floor between his legs.
Again, it feels as if I’m being guided by the pants. I slowly sink to my knees, between his legs. The tight leather stretches across my punished buttocks, a tingle running through my body. From my humble position, I watch as Ricardo unzips his jeans.
His raw, masculine scent penetrates deep into my brain. Sweat. Unwashed denim. And the warm, salty musk of his cock and balls... His shaft is hard. Inescapable. I feel the heat of his cock against my face.
“Suck it, slut!” he commands hoarsely.
Eagerly, I move toward him. As I wrap my lips around his cock, I feel his fingers clawing into my hair. He isn’t gentle; he guides my head in a forceful rhythm.
“Yeah… like that,” he growls. “Taste it… Isn’t this what you’ve wanted all along?”
“Mmmm… mmm,” is all I can manage, with his cock in my mouth. I know he’s right.
In the large full-length mirror next to us, I see us: the tough, dominant Ricardo, leaning back relaxed in the chair. Me, kneeling in shiny black leather, completely at his mercy. Ricardo enjoys my surrender. He slides his other hand down my back and squeezes firmly into the tight leather covering my still-tingling ass. After a few minutes of forceful thrusts, he yanks me away by my hair.
“Enough,” he says hoarsely. He looks at Ryan. “I’ve warmed him up. Your turn.”
Ryan steps into the circle of candlelight. He stands directly in front of me, his legs spread wide around mine. “Look at me, slut,” he commands. Ryan’s gaze is frenzied. He unzips his fly with a brutal gesture. The scent emanating from him is sharper than Ricardo’s; even more sweat, more adrenaline.
He grabs my head with both hands. “Did you think you were safe on the bus? Show us how much you want to serve us.”
He forces me to take his cock deep into my throat. His movements are fast and eager. He’s unpredictable; I can’t possibly keep up with his pace. I can barely breathe.
Ryan stops for a moment. “Breathe through your nose.”
I nod briefly, after which Ryan relentlessly continues to fuck my throat.
I feel Ricardo’s hands on my back; he has stood up and is now behind me, his fingers sliding over the curve of my buttocks. Ryan’s taste is sharper. Rougher. I feel like a slut, made for their pleasure. To serve them. My Masters.
Just as Ryan picks up the pace, Matteo pulls him back by the shoulder. “Whoa. Take it easy, Ryan,” Matteo says, his voice low and sultry. “Now it’s my turn. I’ll show him who’s boss here.”
Matteo steps forward. The atmosphere in the shop changes immediately; the air thickens. Matteo’s scent completely fills the room. It’s an intoxicating mix: not shower gel, but the raw scent of piss, salty sweat, musk, and pre-cum.
He slowly unzips his pants. When he frees himself, my breath catches. He’s bigger, thicker, and more veiny than the others. The veins run like thick cords along the length of his shaft. It’s mesmerizing.
“Taste me, Luuk,” he whispers.
He grabs my hair and pulls my head forward. Matteo starts fucking me, but he does it slowly and methodically, as if he wants me to feel every vein, taste every nuance of his flavor. Ryan and Ricardo’s hands rest heavily on my shoulders and my ass. I’m anchored between them, trapped in the creaking leather.
“Yeah, swallow it,” Matteo growls. “Did you really think I didn’t see it on the bus? How you were staring at my package?” He slowly picks up the pace. “You’re our toy. Our very own slut.”
I can only manage a muffled sound. The humiliation of his words makes me insanely horny. Matteo drives me with short, powerful thrusts.
He pulls his cock back. “Say it then,” he commands. “Say you belong to us.”
“I... I belong to You,” I manage to say, trembling with lust. I look around. “I belong to you all, Sir...”
“Just so you know!” He thrusts his cock back into my mouth, “This is what you were made for.” He fucks my throat in his signature style, slow and deep, so I can taste and feel every bit of it.
Matteo grins and growls low in his throat. “Now, Luuk! Swallow it all!”
The shockwave that runs through him is violent. He cums powerfully, his hips pressed forcefully against my face. A salty-sweet, milky sensation fills my entire mouth, a wave of salty, almost creamy, warm cum. What he gives me is more than just his cum. It tastes fuller, sweeter. The sensation washes over me, settling deep in my brain. I swallow, and feel how I belong to him, how I am calming down.
As he recovers from his orgasm, he still holds my head firmly, enjoying my total submission in my tight, creaking harness.
“Nice, huh, little slut?” he whispers, before finally letting me go.
He zips up his jeans. Ryan and Ricardo do the same. Without another word, they walk toward the exit. The bell rings as the door locks behind them. The silence that returns is deafening.
#
My body is still trembling. My breathing is ragged. I haven’t regained control yet. I feel dirty, but in a good way. Used by my Masters. And now I know how much I wanted that.
The store feels bigger now. Empty. Then I hear the tapping of the heels of heavy boots. The Goth boy steps out of the shadows. He says nothing about my disheveled state, the stains on the floor. He offers me his hand. “That’s enough for today,” he says calmly.
As soon as I’m standing, he places his fingers on the top of my pants. The button comes undone and the zipper slides down effortlessly. The immense pressure ebbs away. “You can take them off now,” he says. “Nothing in this shop is fixed forever, Luuk. Unless you want it to be.”
He points to the oak wardrobe with my name on it. “The pants stay here. In your wardrobe. You can always come back.”
I get dressed. My ass is still burning. In the mirror, I look at the redness, almost proud, like a trophy. I feel strangely refreshed, energetic.
I walk toward the exit; the denim of my jeans rubs against my sensitive butt with every step. An uncomfortable yet pleasant reminder of what I’ve received. I hope it lasts a little longer.
Before I step out of the store, the Goth guy gives me a friendly nod. Outside, the air is crisp. I unlock my bike and ride out of the alley, toward the sounds of the city.
Around the corner, I see them standing there. The three guys, leaning coolly against a wall. Matteo looks me straight in the eye. There’s still that same sparkle in his eyes as there was in the store. He gives me a slow, horny wink. The taste of his cum still lingers on my tongue. For a moment, I hesitate, wondering if I should keep riding.
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