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Gaybdl: The Biker


By

Otto Van Raunchenhausen

Copyright 2016


Author's note: All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.



Use of an image of a model in this ebook or in advertisements for it does not suggest that the model is depicted in the work presented here, nor that the model participates in, endorses, condones or approves of the thoughts or behavior described in this ebook.





Nate had been smoking weed all day, so he was stoned as hell when he went shopping at All-Mart. It always seemed like a good idea to do that stoned, he thought, but then when he did it, he regretted it. The store was choked with people, most of them fat and sweaty. Nate wanted to laugh at how ridiculous they looked, one male college student in particular, whose purple mohawk and safety-pin piercings combined for a look that was trying entirely too hard.

He only needed to pick up a few things, one of which had the potential to be embarrassing. Nate needed some adult diapers. He didn't need them because he had bladder or bowel problems though, he needed them because he intended to have sex.

Nate was really into diapers. He always had been. He loved role-playing as a submissive little boy being fucked by his daddy, who was usually some other gay twink just like Nate. Just seeing the stacks of diapers sent a thrill up his spine because it made him think of sex.

As he picked up the package of diapers, Nate felt a surge of paranoia. Someone was watching him. That wasn't necessarily so strange. People sometimes gave him funny looks when he bought diapers. That was to be expected. It was embarrassing the first few times, but not anymore. If anyone ever asked, Nate had a whole story planned out -- he was buying the diapers for his grandfather, whom he took care of. They would ooh and aah over how attentive Nate was, and he'd look like a great person.

But no one had ever actually asked, so Nate had never tried out that cover story. Whenever he felt self-conscious, though, he rehearsed that story, and tried to look like a sympathetic grandson.

When Nate looked up to see who watched him, he blushed at the sight of a long-bearded biker in dark leather and dirty jeans. He had deep-set eyes and a square jaw. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with muscles that didn't fit in the torn t-shirt he wore under his black leather jacket.

He nodded at Nate as he picked up a tube of anal lubricant. He licked his lips. Was he turned on by the thought of anal sex (presumably with a woman)? Or was he turned on by Nate? Though it seemed he looked right at Nate as he licked his lips, Nate thought that couldn't possibly be it. If any man were obviously straight by his appearance, it'd be this one.

The biker-looking man grunted as Nate walked away, heart pounding. He'd had bad experiences with bikers on numerous occasions. Once a biker had presented himself as pro-gay just to get Nate alone and punch him.

So Nate was nervous. He knew he came across as gay. Even here in Mobile, Alabama, he never hid it. That wasn't always easy, but he was open with his sexuality (or at least his orientation, if not his diaper habit). He hurried away from the biker, whose eyes Nate could feel following him.

He went to the household supplies section, both because there were a lot of people there and because Nate really needed to buy trash bags. He went into the back corner and took a deep breath.

Then a hand closed over his mouth and strong arms grabbed him. The smell of chewing tobacco and vehicle exhaust made his nose wrinkle. Before Nate could do anything, he was dragged through a nearby employees-only door.

It was the biker, who stared Nate down once the door had swung shut and they were both in a shadowy storage area. He had such an intense aura about him that Nate was unable to do anything other than quake.

"I ain't gonna hurtcha," said the biker. "You gayboy, right?"

The biker still had a tight grip on Nate, including his mouth, so Nate couldn't really say anything. He didn't have the focus right now to lie anyway, and he certainly couldn't act convincingly straight in this moment.

He nodded as though Nate had confirmed his homosexuality. Then he dragged Nate further into the storage corridors behind the All-Mart. They were in a small, dimly-lit area cut off from the rest of the store by the refrigerated units, which buzzed and hummed just a few yards away.

This storage area seemed to be primarily for holding holiday decorations and other rarely used supplies. There was a table there with remnants of a gift-wrapping station -- the remaining wrapping paper was gnawed on by mice, so it looked like the table was covered in Christmasy confetti.

The biker -- who would eventually reveal he went by Charcoal as a name -- pushed the scissors and other stuff off the table. Then he undid his belt and those filthy jeans went to the ground. He had thick, trunk-like thighs covered in coarse black hairs and colorful tattoos, including an ornate tattoo of a blonde woman wearing nothing but a cowboy hat.

He wore dingy white boxers -- prison-issue, by the look of them --which he pulled down as well. He had a long, thick cock, dark brown with a thick scar near the base as though someone had tried to cut it off.

"You one of dem diaper-lovers, huh?" Charcoal said. He had a thick Texan accent.

"Uh... Yeah," Nate said. He was still terrified, but he didn't want to leave -- he could have run now, easily, and he considered it. Charcoal had his pants around his ankles. Nate could have fled and Charcoal wouldn't have been able to catch him.

"Will you rape me?" Charcoal asked, his voice a throaty grumble.

A long awkward silence filled the room. Nate had trouble processing what was happening -- just two minutes ago, he had been comparing prices on trash bags.

"Hey. Queerboy. Pay attention. You gonna have to hold me down and fuck me."

"Uh... What?"

Charcoal inhaled deeply and sharply like he was annoyed. He towered over Nate, so tall that his bare cock lined up with Nate's chest. Nate couldn't concentrate because of the awe-striking smell of muscle, motorcycle and machismo. His knees were weak.

He wrapped one of his hands around Nate's neck. He didn't squeeze, so Nate could still breathe, but Charcoal narrowed his eyes to slits.

"I learned somethin' 'bout myself recently," Charcoal said through gritted teeth. "When I was in prison. I learned somethin' very important, gayboy. I ain't like you. I'm a real man."

"Uh-huh..." Nate was too nervous to be offended.

"So if you wanna be my daddy, you best hold me down and slip one of dem diapers on me," he said. "That's what it'll take. Once you get a diaper on me, things'll change." Then he hopped onto his back on the table. The wood strained and stretched, but it didn't collapse beneath him. He lifted his legs up so Nate could take off his pants and boots.

This was all happening too fast for Nate to consider his options. His mind told him to flee, but his cock told him to stay and see what Charcoal wanted. He undid the laces of those heavy boots -- it appeared to take all of the strength in Charcoal's bulging thigh muscles to hold his legs up for an extended period.

Nate was not a foot-lover, but if he was, he would have adored Charcoal's massive paws. Nate pulled his jeans up and off. His eyes were inexorably drawn to Charcoal's bare cock and hairy crotch, and when Charcoal took off his jacket and shirt, his chest as well.

Charcoal was a strapping-muscled biker, covered in cheap tattoos, some of which appeared to be prison-made. He had a series of scars on his belly that Nate suspected were from shivs behind bars. There was an iron cross tattooed on his sternum.

"When you put one of those diapers on me, gayboy, I ain't gonna be Charcoal no more, and you won't be some silly queer. You'll be my daddy," he said. "You're going to hold me down and rape me."

"I, uh, I don't want to rape you," Nate said. He felt silly. He was about a third of Charcoal's size, and he was weak even for a small, thin, delicate gay twink. Charcoal was on his back on the table, stark naked except for a gold crucifix that sparkled where it lay between his massive pecs.

"That's the only way it'll happen," Charcoal said.

"Uh... Why don't we have a safeword?"

"Fine. The safeword is faggot. You okay with that?" Charcoal turned his head to spit on the ground.


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