We’d met in passing on a porn Web site and had given each other a couple of satisfying private chat cyber fucks. Without openly asking for it, he increasingly pushed our cyber play to the kinky and S&M. His site moniker was Bigboy and mine was Viper, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that he turned on to bottom and domination, which was just fine with me. I could also tell that he was very curious, if a little shy and hesitant. Chances were good he’d never gone beyond the cyber but was drawn like a moth to the whole concept of what we were cybering.

His site profile was scanty—an artist in California, claiming to be bi—but the location opened up a wealth of possibilities for me.

[Viper] Located in California, bb? North, South, Central?

[Bigboy] Central.

[Viper] Ah, profile says u’re an artist. frisco then?

[Bigboy] No, farther south. even more artsy. Coast.

[Viper] must be monterey then.

(Pause)

[Viper] santa cruz myself.

(Pause)

[Bigboy] Interesting.

[Viper] yes, interesting. interested, yes?

(Pause)

[Bigboy] Any significance to posting name?

[Viper] a long, thick, dangerous snake. any more questions?

(Pause)

[Viper] u’ve said u wanted to see my basement room.

(Pause for three minutes, and Bigboy signed off chat)

Three days later I was cruising the chat room and he invited me for a private chat. I was beginning to think he wouldn’t contact me again, but all the time the moth was fluttering around my light.

[Bigboy] Maybe. But here in Monterey. Out on the pier.

[Viper] no. must be something u want. u have to come to me in santa cruz.

He signed off again then, and I didn’t enter the chat room at all the next evening. Toward midnight, he IMed me, eagerly agreeing to come to Santa Cruz that weekend. I put him off, telling him I couldn’t make it until the following weekend, although I didn’t really have anything else to do. Just stringing him out; giving him line to either slither away or hook himself. He agreed to meet, and I picked out a gay biker’s bar in the rough part of town, telling him what the bar was, giving him plenty of room to cut and run.

On the designated night, I tricked myself out in my leathers and black net muscle shirt that stopped short of my belly button, showing off my abs real well, and biked my Harley over to the bar. Chances were that he wouldn’t show, but I’d have me a fine evening anyway.

Surprise, surprise, though. He showed. I easily picked up on him when he entered. Nice looking; good, trim, muscled bod, but nervous as hell. He saw me when I waved at him, and I saw his eyes get all big. I didn’t think he was dissatisfied, just hyperventilating at the whole concept.

He came over and sat, and after establishing we were who we thought we were, we tried some small talk. From time to time, he looked like he wanted to bolt for it, and each time I asked him if he wanted to leave alone, but he set his jaw and said no. He told me that his life had become just so boring in the sex department and he needed to give it a jolt start. I told him I could do that—and he had no idea how close to reality my plans were to do that—but that where we could go from here wasn’t going to be for the fainthearted. He swallowed hard and asked me if I was going to show him my basement. I told him, no, not this time—and his body seemed to deflate as if he’d worked himself up for nothing. But I went on to say that I thought he might like to see my garage instead tonight. Asked him if doing it tied up and on my Harley appealed to him, and I felt his thigh tremble under my hand.

Out in the parking lot, he climbed onto the bike behind me. When we started off, he was sitting well behind me and having a hard time figuring out where to put his hands, but I upped my speed and his pelvis was soon plastered tight against mine and he had to wrap his arms around my bare, steely midsection to keep from flying off the bike. I could tell he was excited by what I could feel snaking up the small of my back and getting harder as it rubbed up against me.

We sped through the town and back out into a more disserted area in the dust- and sagebrush-covered hills and pulled up short in front of the large corrugated, isolated garage building I kept to work on my cars and bikes. I zapped the high entry door open and then zapped it closed again when we had driven into the building. The same zapping turned on the industrial-strength lights hanging from the rafters well above our heads. I ran the cycle right up to a clearing in the middle, under some gymnastic arm rings suspended from an overhead beam. I stopped the bike there and knocked down the kick stand with the heel of my boot as I hopped off. Bigboy, who I had learned was really named Roy—or at least had chosen for me to know him by this name—sat on the cycle, scoping out the surroundings in the brightly lit garage, as I went over to the side and picked up a pile of leather material and tossed it at him.

“Here. Strip and put these on,” I directed, using a voice of authority both to keep him focused and because I had discerned that was what he wanted from me.

He stripped, and I was pleased to see that he had gotten the Web moniker “Bigboy” honestly. His new costume was composed of a leather harness crisscrossing his chest, leather chaps, leather boots, and thick leather wristbands lined with fleece. No pants. He seemed pleased with the outfit, and his cock was rising to attention, clearly anticipating having a good time.

“Come over here and get back on the cycle; turned facing the back, your back on the handlebars,” I commanded.

When he’d done that, and after showing him what I was holding in my hands and giving him an opportunity to object, which he didn’t do, I quickly attached a long chain to his right wristband, threw the chain through one of the gymnast rings overhead, and attached the other end to his left wristband. There was some give in the chain, but he couldn’t bring his hands and arms to in front of him now. I then attached shorter chains through rings in the ankles of his boots to something in the wheel of the motorcycle on either side. He wasn’t going anywhere for a while, now.

He watched me, all wide eyed, as I then stripped my own pants and muscle shirt off, and stood there only in my leather boots—and those busy tattoos and all those metal rings piercing my body, including the big, thick silver ring in the head of my penis. I already had quite a hard on, one to rival what he was showing me. His cock was something to whistle at, but I was bigger and thicker than he was. I could see that he was panting at the sight of me. Starting to sweat, and his well-muscled pecs were twitching.

I took out a camera and took “memory” shots of him astride my cycle and in restraints, which I promised to share only with him. I expected him to object to that, but he was licking his lips, obviously aroused at the prospect of being able to see this real-life encounter on replay. I promised to break out the video when the scene heated up.

I brought out a tube of ointment and started lathering up Roy’s ass, while pumping his cock with my other hand. He was already writhing at my touch. When I had him all lathered and pumped up, I took out the camera again and took some “hard on” shots of my new Harley decoration. Then I set up video cameras on pods that zeroed in on the bike and the now-glistening-with-anticipation Roy from three different directions, turned up the lights on the “set,” turned on the video cameras, and came back to the bike. I threw my leg over the bike and was sitting on the seat, facing Roy. He was trembling all over, and his skin sizzled where I touched it. The video cameras were running, as I ran my hands over Roy’s torso and thighs and lathered up and stroked my own cock until it was hard and slick enough for me.

I told Roy what I was going to do to him then, and he invited me in—hesitatingly, but I could see the lust in his eyes. There was no way his libido was going to let his body back out of this now. Then I tilted his ass up with my hands on his butt cheeks and entered him, slowly but fully. He was in fine shape and was very vocal for the cameras—and so was I.

All the way in and pumping in short strokes deep. “Nice tight ass, and nice tits, Hot Shot. Gonna fuck you until your eyeballs are swimming in spunk.” I was using the language of our cyber fucks now, language that turned him on for real as much as it had hard the Internet. It certainly was keeping him aroused now.

“There, you want me. Not just in the chat room. You want my cock throbbing inside you. I’m in and you’re pulling me farther in. Can’t get enough of me, can you? Been wanting me for weeks, haven’t you? Ah, made you moan, made you flinch, made you pant. You haven’t had a man until you’ve had me, have you?”

His “yes” answers were inserted weakly, but with determination, between moans and groans and pain cut by pleasure outcrys.

He managed to pant out that my penis ring was driving his ass walls to distraction deep inside him, and I pulled my cock toward the surface until he could feel the ring dragging back and forth across his prostate. He threw back his head and screamed in ecstasy, the reality obviously living up to what he’d imagined and was seeking.

And I pumped and pumped and pumped, showing off for the cameras—covering his torso and thighs with my searching hands and brutalizing his nipples and armpits with my teeth. When I was about to blow, I withdrew, stood up, and sent my cream flying all over his chest and belly, good footage for the cameras.

I then got up and switched off the cameras. I went back to the cycle with a damp cloth and wiped Roy down and then I wiped myself down. I did this all in silence, listening to Roy’s panting and groaning as he rattled the chains holding him on the back of the Harley and came to grips with his fantasy turning into reality. He probably wondered if it was over, but I wasn’t ready to let him go yet—not by a long shot.

I glided around the garage in fluid motions, with Roy’s lustful eyes following my every move, working myself up for what he’d learn was a grand finale, recharging my load.

After several minutes, I went back over to Roy and wrapped a studded leather ring around the base of his cock, ensuring that he would remain hard for the cameras when he got hard again. Then he watched me as I encased my own cock in a special sort of sheath and strapped an apparatus around my head and over my mouth, that, when it was in place, made me look like I had big, thick, black lips. I moved my new set of lips up and down, making sure that the device moved with me properly. Then I turned the video cameras back on and went back to the bike, once more throwing my leg over the saddle and facing Roy. I didn’t make him wait long to learn what my new lips were for.
The lip device was electrically charged, with batteries and emitted a low-level current that registered at just above the tingle stage. It did have an electrical zap feel to it, but only just at the threshold of being painful.

My torso muscles rippled for the cameras and Roy screamed out in agony and ecstasy, as I started to kiss him with those lips from his neck to his pits and biceps, across his chest to his nipples, and down his sternum to his belly, navel, pubic region, thighs, and cock and balls, sending slight electric shocks into him wherever they touched. Pleasure mixed with pain, causing Roy to jerk slightly for the cameras with each touch of the lips. Electric pinpricks to his tender inner thighs, on his butt cheeks, across his perineum, on his balls, and firmly applied to the rim of his asshole. He jerked and jumped and cried out with each touch.

Then Roy found out about that sheath covering my cock. I tilted up his ass with hands under his butt. My cock slid into him again, and he found that the sheath was electrified too. But the voltage here was higher. I was manually operating the jolts somehow, applying the first one as I slid my penis ring over his prostate, causing his whole torso to lift off the bike handles in pain and arousal and sending him into spasms that had barely subsided when the second jolt hit him, all along the ass canal some five inches down; another half inch and another jolt. My lips went to his nipples and held onto them, one after another, sending electrical shocks into him there. Six and half inches of my cock’s journey up his canal and another, stronger, more prolonged jolt. It lifted his torso off the bike and took me with him.

He was bucking like a rodeo stallion now. I wrapped my arms around his waist and rode with him, giving the muffled shout through my electrified lips, “Whooeee! Ride ‘em, Cowboy!”

Seven inches in and a jolt that made him spew his hot lead all over my belly, and eight and a half inches in, I filled him with even hotter lead of my own.

We lay there, arms and legs entwined, astride the Harley, panting and moaning and coming down off our electric high. I removed the apparatus from my head and nuzzled my own lips into the sweat-drenched hollow of his neck.

“So, how does the real thing stack up to the cyber fucking?” I whispered in his ear.

“Amazing. Can I see what you’ve got waiting for me in your basement now?” he croaked back to me between heavy pants.