Story: The Biker

This one was published in issue 5 of the zine The Noose Letter in 1995; this was the version published by Winter Publishing (I was member 023), before Dragon Publishing took it over (where I was member B0018). I honestly haven't really looked at it in a few years.

I'm going down this highway in Montana doing about 70 on my Harley. The engine's just roaring along like some big contented cat, and I'm riding in full leathers: jacket, vest, chaps over my jeans, harness boots. I'm wondering if this is something how they felt a hundred years ago traveling by horseback across these plains. I've been on the road for three or four days, me and my bike alone, and I feel like I could stay out here forever. Except that right now the summer sun has me cooking underneath my jacket and I'm a little bit horny too.

So I pull the bike off at the next wide spot in the road for a break. It takes a while for the ringing in my ears from the wind noise and the bike noise to die down. I pull off my helmet and jacket and let the air cool my furry face and chest. Boy that feels good. My cock and balls are still vibrating from the ride, and when I brush my hand over my crotch it feels like they want to come out and play. I see a path from this roadside to a small grove of trees off in the distance. Leaving my jacket and helmet with the bike, I take off down the trail. On the way my left hand spends most of its time under my vest scratching my chest and playing with a nipple or two, which makes me feel better and better.

Until the trail bends and I see something dangling from one of the trees. A minute or two closer I stop dead in my tracks. That's a man hanging from the lowest branch of a tree on the far side of this patch of woods.



My first thought is to run back for the bike and take off. But what if he's still alive? I continue, trying not to look at the tree as I walk, faster now.

When I get there I circle around the tree cautiously looking at the guy, who looks definitely dead. He's shirtless and his pants were pushed down around his ankles. Fine body, muscles look like they were from working hard. His hands were tied behind his back, and his wrists were raw from trying to pull them free, I guess. But the incredible thing was his cock, 7 rock-hard inches jutting into the air, like he was ready to fuck someone. Except here he was hanging dead from this tree, staring down at me with sightless eyes.

Well, there's nothing I can do for this poor fucker. Don't know how long he's been here. I looked around the area--the grass was flattened, horses' hooves or boots, couldn't tell how many or how old the prints were. Maybe I should hightail it out of here, call the sheriff or something. . . . I take another look at the guy dangling there and his meat at about eye level to me, and my cock jumps a little in my pants. "You sick fucker," I say softly to it, but then I grab it through my pants anyway and start massaging it. Though I try to avoid it I end up staring at the strong young body hanging before me while my hands are busy ruffling the hair on my chest and getting my dick good and hard in my jeans.

I'm actually thinking about undoing a button or two on my 501s when I hear a horse. I look in that direction and see five horsemen riding fast toward me. I panic, then figure running will make me look guilty so I wait for them and hope my dick doesn't look too big when they get here.

They ride up and surround me. I'd stepped out from underneath the tree so a couple of riders end up between me and the hanged man. My hands go in the air by reflex when I see three of them with rifles pointed at me.

"Hey, he was like this when I got here, I swear," I said.

"Is that so," the oldest looking guy said. He looked like the boss, in his 40s with a salt and pepper beard. They were all dressed like working cowboys and all looked lean and hard. Especially the one young guy to my right who's wearing a brown leather vest, no shirt, cowboy chaps and jeans, and boots. The guy next to him looked pretty good too in his blue workshirt, chaps, jeans and boots. The other guys were probably good looking but their rifles distracted me.

"Get those pants off," Boss Man tells me gruffly. Slowly I unbuckle the chaps and take them off, then my boots and 501s. I'm naked except for my vest and socks. My cock is soft now but it left a trail of precum on my thigh that I hope isn't too noticeable.

"Ok, now why don't you put those boots and chaps back on, biker." This surprises me but I comply. I feel a little better now, but still pretty exposed. The guy in the blue shirt dismounts with a short length of rope and ties by hands tightly behind my back. The shirtless guy is off his horse too by now and stands next to me, to keep me from running, I guess.

"Now here's the deal, biker. You're gonna make my men here happy, Joe first. Then we'll figure out what to do about you."

The guy in the blue workshirt pushes me to my knees and holds me by my shoulders while the Joe, the one with the vest and no shirt, unbuttons his fly. The rifles made me nervous, but the smell of his sweaty crotch got my instincts to take over. He lets me take his seven-inch cock in slowly, lets me enjoy the feel of it as it gets hard in my mouth, before he starts fucking my face with his hands guiding my head so I couldn't pull away. He slams into me harder and harder, and I suck harder and harder till he explodes and shoots a big load down my throat. Joe slowly pulls out and looks down into my eyes longer than I'd have expected, not cold at all.

One of the gun men was next. He hands his rifle to Joe who points it at me. This guy has a fat dick and he gets right to it, fucking my face hard and rough. His hands hold my head and makes me choke on his rod. He pulls out when he shoots so his cum goes all over my beard and chest. The next rifleman treats me just as rough, choking me with his long uncut dick and shooting into my beard too when he cums. By now all I can smell is their ball sweat and the cum splattered on my face. The guy in the blue workshirt is last. He's not as rough but he has the biggest dick and makes me work on it a good long time before he pumps his load into my sore, tired throat.

When he's done he and leather cowboy pull me off my aching knees to my feet. I look up toward the tree and see another noose hanging over the branch next to the guy already hanging there. "Wait a minute, I told you I didn't do it," I say, really getting scared now.

"Don't matter what you said," Boss Man says. "You're gonna look right nice strung up next to the other fellow."

The guns pointing at me tell me I don't have any way out of this. My mind's racing and finally I say, "What about a last request?"

Boss Man shrugs and says "Why not"

"I want a blow job. From him," and I nod toward Joe. He looks at Boss Man who says, "Go ahead Joe. Just remember." Joe comes over and gets down on his knees before me. But he goes for my boots first, licking the dust off of each one slowly. Then he works his way up both legs, worshiping my chaps, getting me hard just feeling him through the leather. Then up to my balls, sniffing and licking the sweat off each of them, gently pulling my scrotum with his teeth. By this time his friend in the blue workshirt is holding me from behind and I'm glad for the support because Joe's putting me in orbit with his mouth and tongue. Joe licks my crotch next, then finally his tongue touches my cock and makes it jump. He takes me in slowly, just the head at first then the shaft then all the way to my crotch hair. He starts bobbing up and down on my rod, and watching him do it gets me close to the edge. Just as I think I'm not gonna hold back he does one last pull and lets me go.

"Aw fuck why'd you stop?" I gasp. The guy behind me says "Don't worry, you'll finish it all by yourself in a couple of minutes." Joe smiles up at me before he stands up.

"Good boy Joe," Boss Man says. "Now let's get this over with." Joe and the other guy grab me and put me on Joe's horse, pushing me around like a sack of potatoes till I'm upright. Joe sidles the horse into position while the guy with the blue workshirt mounts his horse and moves up next to me. He brings the noose over my head and tightens it around my neck with the knot behind my right ear. He gives it one good tug then edges his horse away. I'm sitting there bare-assed on this horse, trying not to lose my balance with my hands tied behind my back. When I swallow I feel my Adam's apple catch on the noose. I look down at my cock, which is just as hard as when Joe was working it.

They give me a few minutes to think about it. My heart's pounding waiting for the final moment. At least I'm going the western way, with my boots on. And with a hard dick besides. Even the feel of the horse's hide and muscles of its back is turning me on. I look over at my dead friend next to me, knowing I'm about to join him. "By the way," Boss Man says, "We know you didn't kill Johnson there. We strung him up yesterday. Just like we're doing you."

I don't have time to react to that statement. Boss Man nods, and the cowboy in the blue workshirt takes his cowboy hat, swats my horse on the tail and yells. My horse takes off, and I try to hold on grabbing with my knees. But the rope pulls me off the back of the horse. I'm swinging wildly, kicking for the ground that's about two feet below my boots. The noose has me good and I can't pull any air into my strangled throat. My face is throbbing with trapped blood and my crotch is throbbing too. The orgasm feels like an explosion, and the first two shots go a foot past the toes of my boots. The third and fourth shots hit my boots, and the rest land on my chaps and start trickling downward. By the time the last shots pulse through my dick everything goes dark. My struggles become erratic, then stop as my head pitches forward and my body relaxes. The cowboys watch until I stop moving. Then they turn their horses and ride off. Joe is the last one to go, and he looks longest at my leather-clad body before he leaves me dangling next to my fellow victim Johnson in the hot summer sun.