Further adventures of a motorcycle messenger | free straitjacket story

Chris, one of the highly efficient hospital 'handlers' now shares a flat with the motorcycle courier, Sam.

Early in this story the author tells us ...

... When they had discovered somebody who made clothes out of heavy, black PVC, the two bikers had both gone to town with the ordering, both having boiler-suit styled rainsuits made, plus anoraks based on the navy's foul weather suits and also over-trousers, bib and brace style. One big difference was that the clothes were all double thickness, the glossy black surfaces inside and out. Completely waterproof, the heavy gear was practically impossible to get on and off alone, especially when wearing leather underneath.

And so on the morning the story starts ...

... Sam, already kitted out in well-worn padded leather pants, jacket and heavy motorcross boots, let one of the PVC bundles fall open, sat down on the bed where Chris was luxuriating, and started to push his boots through the trouser legs. The shiny surfaces of the heavy black plastic were stuck together by the folding and storing, but Sam eventually got his legs through, although with difficulty, especially as his strapped boots were so cumbersome. He stood up and wrestled the creaking suit up and over his leather-covered backside.

"Chris, you gonna help me or not?" he asked, and Chris stopped enjoying the sight of the struggling biker and started to help him, pulling the suit up from behind and over Sam's shoulders. Sam pulled the zip up from crotch to under his chin and folded the long velcro-flap over the zip to seal the suit shut. Chris then pulled the wide lower flap snug across Sam's throat and looking straight into Sam's blue eyes, pulled the buckle so tight Sam pulled away, gasping.

"Cut it out, Chris, it's pissing down out there and I'm getting late. You can have your fun later if you want," said Sam with a wink as he adjusted the efficiently watertight double oilskin collar up over the leather underneath his chin and closing the suit's special soft mouth and nose cover that they'd designed to fit under a crash helmet

"OK, off you go then. Hope you don't have any bank deliveries today. You look liked the masked raider with that mouth cover. Right, off you go, I'm going back to bed""

"I want the anorak on, too," said Sam, opening the other bundle, "It's pissing down".

"Christ, you'll be stuck in that all day. I can't see you wriggling out of that lot in the middle of a crowded street if the rain stops", but. with a certain enthusiasm he shook out the stiff folds of the belted and hooded anorak.

"Here, hold the cuffs of your suit and I'll pull this over your head."

Sam disappeared into the blackness of the closed-fronted smock which Chris worked down over his shiny body only with difficulty, the shiny surfaces clinging to each other. Sam pulled at the draw-cord and the opening around his neck closed snugly against the bulky inner collars.

Chris adjusted the anorak's heavy hood downwards to reduce it's bulk. If the hood was worn up, with the face draw-string tightened, and then the two broad straps were closed across his neck and lower face, only his eyes would be visible. The combination of suit and anorak made the wearers totally wind and weather-proof on a wild day or in a wild scene. But, while on his bike Sam liked his lower-face cover by pungent PVC under his helmet, so the specially designed suit collar-cum-mouth cover was perfect inside his helmet without restricting his vision. Sam buckled the heavy waist belt tightly to minimise the bulk of leather and oilskin under his anorak as Chris bent down and, reaching between Sam's shiny black legs, pulled the crutch panel through and then attached it to two other buckles at the front tightly cinching the bulging black fabric over his crotch.

Sam was now fully suited up - and would need help at the end of the day to extricate himself.

... "Hi Chris, I'm back!" shouted Sam. No reply.

"Chris, I'm back!" This time he heard the sound of water running from the bathroom. Chris was having a shower and obviously couldn't hear him with the water running. Sam loosened the draw-cord of his anorak hood which was still bunched around his neck, and with the inner suit mouth cover still in place pulled the thick outer hood up over his head. Next, he pulled the face draw-cord tight, closing down the opening until it covered his nose and mouth, leaving only his eyes showing. He tied it in a double knot before fastening a heavy flap of black PVC across his throat, fastening it with velcro at the other side of his neck. He repeated this process with a second broad flap of PVC across his lower face. He un-snapped and flipped down the peak which was designed to protect the eyes in Foul Weather ... and was ready for action. All that was visible of Sam apart from a mass of black shiny PVC was his eyes, peeking through just an oval opening. He opened the bathroom door and went in, moving like the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

The steam hit him immediately. He saw Chris' form through the shower curtain. Chris hadn't noticed him yet. In true 'Psycho-style, Sam pulled back the curtain and stepped into the shower with Chris. Chris started so violently that he nearly lost his balance and fell, but Sam grabbed him, pushing him towards the wall. Chris opened his soap-filled eyes and saw the black figure hugging him. Chris looked great, his powerful body covered with foam and his hair plastered to his head by the falling water. He put his arms around the shiny black figure and pulled him to him. He felt Sam against him, cold and slippery in his oilskins against Chris' warm skin. He looked at the beads of water pouring over Sam's hooded head and trickling all down his PVC-encased body, washing dirt off the suit to pour over his boots and turn the water in the shower basin brown.

"I hope it's you in there, Sam, because I never shower with strange men!" said Chris ...

After wasing the grime off Sam's oilskins in the shower, the biker stays to bring Chris to organsm in the steamy cubicle ...

... with a final jerk, Chris slumped against Sam's slick black-encased body. Sam had avoided coming inside his leather jeans so deep under the oilskins. He wanted to wait for other opportunities later. He held Chris against him until the orgasm finally subsided, then, like a guy working in a car-wash, Sam reached for the shower gel and started to wash down his naked friend.

Eventually they stepped out of the shower together and stood there dripping. Chris took a towel and started to rub himself down, Sam was trying to get his hood down, but he had knotted the draw-cord by mistake and the cord was now wet.

"Hang on a second," said Chris, "I'll go and get a couple more towels and then I'll dry you down." He left the bathroom. When he came back, Sam was still trying to unpick the knot that was stopping him from getting the hood down.

"Give us a hand here," said Sam from behind the thick oilskin wall across his moth.

"Wait a moment," replied Chris, "I'll dry you a bit, water's absolutely running off you," and he started to rub down Sam's thickly padded body with a white towel, working methodically across the broad black shoulders and down each thickly padded arm.

Suddenly, with the expertise that came from his job, Chris snapped a pair of steel handcuffs onto one of Sam's wrists. Sam reacted immediately and violently, jerking away from Chris so suddenly that he stumbled against the sink, which he couldn't see due to the restricted vision in the hood. He lurched against the wall and fell, pulling the shower curtain down and clinking the tiles with the loosely hanging handcuffs. Chris was on him in an instant and before Sam could recover his balance at all, Chris had his hands firmly cuffed together behind his back. Chris helped the protesting figure to his feet.

Sam was cursing and shouting inside his hood, the sounds coming out muffled and incoherent. He obviously wanted to get out of the heavy layers of leather and PVC after spending all day inescapably strapped inside the triple protection against the rain-soaked day. Chris could understand this, he could see that Sam had had a rough day, but the sight of this magnificent guy pre-packed in oilskins, his hands pulling ineffectually at the steel cuffs, futile protests coming from behind layers of thick PVC, was just too much for him. His spent-out prick was already hard again and he had plans for Sam.

He pushed the shackled guy out into the living-room and practically ran into the bedroom. From the cupboard where the two kept all their leather and bike gear, Chris pulled out his own one-piece black PVC rain suit. This he pulled on over his naked body, gasping a little as the shiny lining touched cold against his warm skin, still steaming from the shower.

Sam's muffled shouts, accompanied by a crash as the struggling guy knocked something over, caused Chris to rush back to his friend, carrying something he'd taken from their cupboard. Sam was jerking and struggling in his oilskins. Chris felt a thrill as he saw the light shining off the black figure as each contortion threw another set of folds across the writhing anorak, padded legs and boots. Sam stopped when he saw Chris.

"Come on, Chris," came a muffled voice, "I just don't feel like playing Houdini tonight."

As though to help him, Chris set to, using his fingernails to get the soggy cord which knotted the anorak hood undone. Eventually he pulled the hood down, although Sam's chin and almost his mouth were still covered. His boyfriend looked fantastic, his neck and lower face still swathed in the soft, black high suit collar.

"Why are you all zipped up in your oilskin suit, too," asked Sam. "Are we going anywhere?"

"You'll see, Sam," said Chris as he fingered open the strip of velcro which held the nose and mouth cover in place. Sam's moist lips drank in the fresh air, almost too late to notice the leather gag Chris has produced from nowehere.

"Oh, no, you don't!" exclaimed Sam, and pulled away from his friend. Chris grabbed him and they both fell onto the leather sofa, Sam face down with Chris on top of him. Their black oilskins chaffed together making creaking noises as Sam struggled under the weight of his muscular friend. Sam didn't have a chance, not with all his gear on and his hands locked behind his back. He refused to open his mouth, though. Chris just pinched Sam's nostrils together until Sam gasped for breath. At this moment Chris shoved the leather gag home and expertly tightened the strap behind Sam's head. Sam emitted loud protests from his throat, but knew he was beaten, especially as Chris got the inner face cover closed and anorak hood back over his head, both neck and face draw-strings tightened and all the neck and mouth-coverings secured ...

Further into the story ...

... Chris returned with a roll of wide, black adhesive tape. Expecting resistance, Chris practically threw himself on the unfortunate Sam, who grunted as his manacled arms took Chris' weight. He started to unroll the heavy tape with a loud ripping sound but Sam couldn't really see what was going on because as he turned his head, the hood didn't turn with him. Chris expertly and determinedly started to wrap the sticky band around Sam's hood at eye level, the only part of his face not already wrapped in layers of tight black oilskin. Sam strained and pulled at his handcuffs to no avail, unintelligible protests coming muffled from within the hood. Within seconds, Sam was blindfolded, the hood and double mouth covers taped tightly to his head over the gag, his eyes stuck shut by the clinging tape. Only a slit was left open, just enough to stop Sam having too many breathing problems. He got off Sam and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Sam was pulling himself to his feet now, twisting his head from side to side in a desperate effort to free himself from his restraints.

Chris suddenly got the urge to wrap the rest of the shiny tape around the man, sticking his arms firmly to his body and wrapping his legs together until they were as one. But, that would be something for another day ....

... but a similar situations is described in loving detail in another story PVC PACKAGE

Instead he drags him out into the garden and stakes him out spread-eagled on the grass in the pissing rain.