2009-10-21 - lthr_jock - Undercover - Part Seven

Author: lthr_jock
Title: Undecover Part Seven
Date: 21 October 2009

When Jim arrived at Inferno, he used his key to let himself in and headed straight to the bar area. As part of his strategy of getting into Steve's inner circle, Jim had let himself be convinced to work behind the car a couple of nights a week. So far he hadn't found out anything but there was still time. As he arrived he nodded to the other two bar staff, who were dressed like himself and both heavily muscled making their Fred Perry shirts strain over their barrel chests. As he started to sort his section of the bar out, he chatted with the two others. As they passed to and from behind his position, their bodies rubbed against him and he could feel his cock swelling down the leg of his bleachers and he grinned. One guy stood behind Jim and pressed up close so he could feel the man's bulge press hard against the arse-zip in Jim's bleachers. Instead of moving away, he chuckled and pushed back. The man laughed and went back to his own section of the bar. Jim turned to call to him and realised he didn't know the guy's name - actually he didn't know the name of any of the staff here. That was weird. Brow furrowed, he tried to remember. Try as he might, he couldn't think of a single name. Meditatively he took a long gulp of his orange juice and almost immediately realised that it didn't matter and went back to his work.

Once Inferno opened, Jim was too busy to worry. The club was soon full of guys, most of whom were dressed similarly to Jim. His world reduced to taking orders, pouring drinks and handing them across the bar. The temperature in the club soared and soon his shirt and bleachers were soaked with sweat. His only breaks were to gulp down orange juice from the supply Steve put behind the bar for the three bartenders. Jim soon had no idea of how much time had passed or how many drinks he had served. As he and the other guys worked, they were constantly rubbing up against each other and as a result, all three were permanently semi-erect.

Jim was interrupted by a hand landing on his shoulder. He turned to see Steve grinning at him, 'Take a break, Ben. I'll hold the fort for a while.' He handed Jim another orange juice and leant past him to take an order. Sweating and tired, Jim gulped down the juice as he worked his way out from behind the bar and into the main area of the club. He looked around for somewhere to sit down but couldn't see anywhere so he moved further into the club, looking for anywhere he could relax for a few minutes. In a dark corner, he pushed between three guys as they snogged and groped each other to sit down on a metal bench. Head bent down, he tried to ignore the pounding of the music and the fuzziness in his head. He tried to collect his thoughts, decide what he should be doing but didn't seem to be able to concentrate. He took another gulp of orange juice but that didn't seem to help.

As he sat there, head bowed and trying to clear his thoughts, a pair of highly glossed black Dr Martens boots came into his vision. He slowly raised his head, taking in the knee high glossed boots, the blackness offset by the white laces, then the skin-tight bleachers showing off a musculature that was similar to his own. The bleachers were held in place by a thick leather belt and a pair of leather braces, which were secured over a very tight black t-shirt. The t-shirt left nothing to the imagination being made of some sheer material which clung to the chest and 6-pack of the man stood in front of Jim. Jim's gaze lingered over the chest and well packed crotch, until the man's hand gripped him by the chin and pulled his head upright to stare at his face. The man's grip tightened and Jim stood up to avoid the pain - to his shock he was still looking up at the man and he realised that the skinhead must be at least 6ft6' in height. As he looked at the man's face, Jim gasped - he seemed familiar. He had brief flashes that seemed like dreams:

- Being pushed against an alley wall

- Being punched in the gut

- A slave collar

- Being strapped to some kind of bench

Jim shook in the man's grasp and realised he had been spoken to, but the combination of the pounding music and his reverie meant that he had missed what was said.

'Sorry - what did you say?'

The man sighed with annoyance and maintained his grip on Jim's chin.

'I SAID are you deliberately sat here or what?'

'What? What do you mean?'

The man pointed at the bench Jim was sat on and twisted his head so that he could see. What he had thought of as a bench was the metal lid of a cage and Jim could see inside a metal dog bowl.

'Huh? No - no - I was just sat here, that's all. Umm I should really get back to work.'

At this point another figure stepped past the man and Jim saw to his relief that it was Steve.

'Hi Steve - glad you're here. This guy has got some idea...'

'..that you like the cage and what it represents? Well, you do, don't you?' Steve grinned, and turned to the larger skinhead. 'Have fun.' With that, he disappeared back towards the bar.

'Playing games, eh? You'll pay for that, boi.' He pushed Jim back against the wall, his free hand rummaging in the bottom of the cage. After a few seconds he found what he wanted and picked it up with a grin. 'Open wide.' The skinhead tightened his grip on Jim's jaw, pushing his fingers into the sides to force it open. As it opened he slid in a thick cock gag. The gag was mounted on a leather faceplate which was moulded to fit under the chin. Straps and buckles hanging off the faceplate were quickly strapped around Jim's head and he realised he was now wearing a muzzle. The last strap to be fastened was that on the thick collar attached to the muzzle and Jim once again had the sense that this man had done something like this to him before. His swelling cock betrayed his mounting excitement. The skinhead roughly rubbed at Jim's bulge and chuckled crudely 'Yeah, Steve said you were a horny little sod and he was right.'

Jim tried to say something but could do nothing but grunt into the gag. The skinhead grinned 'no talking for you, boi. Not now, not later.' Reaching into the cage again, he pulled out a pair of thick, padded leather fist-mitts. Almost before Jim could realise what was happening, he had slipped them over Jim's hands and buckled them shut. His hands were now helpless, even before the skinhead padlocked each one in place. Placing one hand in the middle of Jim's chest, the skinhead shoved him hard against the wall, with the other he roughly groped Jim's bulge where a stain was now showing on the bleachers. 'Good, I like my bois to be horny'

Still holding Jim against the wall with one hand, he tucked the other hand under Jim's shirt collar and with one sharp downward motion ripped his shirt in two. Jim's sweaty bulging pecs and flat stomach were exposed to view. He nodded appreciatively and ran his hands over Jim's muscles, tweaking his nipples. 'Nice, much better.' Jim groaned into the gag as he shuddered under the man's rough touch.

'On all fours.' Horny and mitted, Jim obeyed instantly. He could feel his cock leaking freely into his bleachers and groaned into the gag. The skinhead roughly ran his hands over Jim's back and reached under him to open his fly. Roughly, he reached inside and pulled Jim's cock and balls out. Running his hand over Jim's cockhead he collected the pre-sum and smeared it over Jim's shaved head. 'Much better look than last time we met, boi. We have some unfinished business, and I'm gonna sort that out right now.'

Jim felt the skinhead's hands on his arse and then a sudden chill as his arse-zip was opened. Fingers rubbed roughly up and down his crack and then slowly slid inside him. To his surprise he found himself getting more aroused and he wondered if Steve was right after all - maybe he was one of them. The fingers were removed and he felt a cold splash as the skinhead poured beer over his arse. Then after a few seconds, he felt something else pressing against his crack. Thicker, larger, more insistent, without seeing it he knew the skinhead was pushing his cock against Jim's arse. He tried to pull away but something inside betrayed him and he found himself pushing back, feeling the cockhead push against his arse hole until with a sharp thrust from the skinhead, it pushed inside. Jim yelled into the muzzle as his arse stretched around the invading cock, his own cock now rock hard beneath him betraying his own arousal.

Jim's world became centered around the cock that impaled him, feeling its every movement as it pounded to and from, alternately pushing deep inside him and then pulling almost completely out before driving inside again. The rhythm grew faster and faster until suddenly the skinhead pulled out and Jim felt a splattering of hot liquid across his back. At the same time, his cock spurted cum all over the floor beneath him.

'Good boi' he looked around to see the skinhead zipping his bleachers up, his engorged cock forming an obscene bulge down his leg. 'Till next time'. He turned and walked off into the club. Jim watched him go, still mitted and muzzled and realising that the skinhead had taken the keys with him.