An experienced British biker travelling in a rainy rural area in the USA meets a farm boy who shows him the heavy oilskin coats and rubber hip boots farm hands wear in the fruit orchards.

Hung up to dry in the barn, several oilskin coats are suspended with arms threaded onto horizontal poles stretched sideways and dangling from pullies.

EXCERPT ... The beaming kid, Darryl, indicated the hanging gear. “These things get mildew if they’re not dried off. The hired help all need to use them. There’s a dozen or more for fruit picking time."
“Can you still buy that kind of coat?" I asked.
"Sure can." he grinned, "If you want one, we get ‘em on a discount.”
I looked towards the several crucified coats, each hanging from a separate pulley. “I can see that. They look good up there,” I said.
“They feel even better,” he replied as he shucked off his coat which was still running with water from their bike ride. He moved towards a vacant hanging bar. It was a piece of steel scaffold pole with two metal loops welded about a foot apart at it’s centre. Two short chains attached the bar to a single pulley rope.

He seemed to hesitate while unhooking the bar to stow his coat. “You wanna try this on before I hang it up to dry?” he asked, laying aside the bar and offering the coat.
I was tempted, but still determined not to push my luck too far with this innocent.
“Come on,” urged the kid. “It’s still warm! These damn things can get real stiff when they’re cold, I can tell ya’. But then they can get you hot real quick. Try it on. I think you’ll look good in it - specially over that bike suit. That will really cook up a storm.”

The rain hammered down on the tin roof of the barn, and my brain was in overdrive - as was my cock deep inside my PVC covering. It was too much to resist and, as he continued to hold up the big old coat, I slipped first one arm and then the other into it. He was quick to start closing the collar, and then the other heavy-duty press-stud fasteners down the front. The snaps at waist and crotch level pressed hard into me as he forced them closed. After stooping to close the lower fastenings, he picked up the leather waist belt he'd been wearing.
“Here,” he said, “this keeps the front from getting in the way when you’re working in the orchards.”

I was about to refuse the offered belt when he commanded. “Hold your arms out wide to the sides so when it’s belted your arms ain’t restricted.”
I did as ordered, and grinning broadly into my face, he reached around me and connected the hefty strap into it’s buckle, cinching it tightly around my waist. The thick oilskin gathered into deep folds which the kid’s workman-like hands quickly evened out.
“Don’t lower your arms yet,” he said - and from nowhere he produced another leather strap and deftly wrapped it around me at armpit level. When this was cinched to his satisfaction, he ordered “OK. Now you can lower your arms. See, that keeps the coat snug and the sleeve-ends well up when you’re working in the rain. But you should have gloves on too, o’course.”
He was busily peeling off the long rubber industrial gloves he’d been wearing for the ride - and didn’t seem to notice my protests that I had got the general idea. Holding out one glove for me he insisted. “Come on, it’s well slickered up with my sweat. Push your hand down into it.”

His enjoyment of the situation was impossible to resist, so I complied first with one hand then the other. He easily manoeuvred the long gloves up inside the wide sleeves of the coat, almost up to elbow level.
“Them coats are quite something, ain’t they,” he enthused.

It felt a bit oversized, but so did my dick inside this wrapping of oilskin over PVC. But he was right, it was quite a trip. I tested what movement was left to me in the restrictive coat. It felt, smelt and even sounded great as I flexed my shoulders within it’s confines and pushed against the inside of the wide sleeves with my elbows. My PVC suit slid around against what I now realised was unlined oilskin. I suddenly regretted that I wasn’t wearing rubber waders as the kid stood watching me, his legs planted well apart in his high rubber hip boots. I looked down to where my shiny PVC legs and bike boots showed below the duller fabric of sticky oiled canvas.

“See. It ain’t restrictive,” said Darryl, “not unless you want it to be,” he added, his weather-beaten face grinning from ear to ear.
This remark had made me look back up at him suspiciously. “What do you mean,” I asked.
“Well sir, me and my brother sometimes have a bit of fun with a new hand by slipping the pole in the sleeves while they’re wearing the coat for the first time."
“The pole - what, the hanging pole?”
“Yes, indeedy,” the kid chortled. He turned away and picked up the nearby pole. “See, the sleeves are wide enough. If you tell ‘em to hold their arms out sideways when you’re putting the belts around. They need to test if they have enough arm movement like you did. So, hold your arms out straight sideways.”

“Now wait a minute,” I started but the kid was thoroughly enjoying the moment.
“Go on! Hold your arms out and I’ll show you how easy it is to … come on now!” he insisted and somehow I knew that I was going to let him show me. I raised both arms sideways and allowed him to start to slide the five foot long metal pole into one sleeve. It travelled easily up the arm and across my shoulders inside the loose coat. I even raised the opposite arm so the pole could run smoothly into the second sleeve until, cuff-to-cuff my arms were held rigid.
“Ain’t that great!” crowed the kid. “These coats is so tough you can’t even rip ‘em apart. You try.”

And try I did, because I was totally immobilised by the pole. I attempted to bend my elbows but the fabric held. I tried tilting one arm down and the other up - but it would take more than that to slide the pole out. I flexed again, and by now my cock was rampant and I gave it all I’d got in an attempt to get free.

Behind me, I could hear the kid laughing with delight at my gyrations. “That looks great! Give it all you’ve got” he encouraged. I was just about to start trying with one hand to grip the pole and try to slide it back up one sleeve, when from behind me I felt the kid attached first one of the chain snap-hooks dangling from above onto the pole and then the second, both inside the collar of the coat. These would now prevent me from sliding the pole out, and I was tethered.

“See!” I heard him say, “The coat is tough enough to even hang somebody from it.”
I felt the chains tighten against the pulley rope and the pole rose until the coat was held taught under my wide-spread arms. I bent my legs to test the fabric of the coat and was able to hang my full bodyweight from it until I straightened my legs again.

“OK, let me down now, Darryl” I said, trying to keep any tone of urgency out of my voice.
“Aw, c’mon,” he complained. “It’s only a bit of fun. I thought as you’d like to see how we do it. You said you like these coats. With a couple of extra straps, around the tops of each arm and the pole - and they can fix you good - and with less strain on the coat if you’re hanging in it for a couple of hours.”

From behind I felt a strap circle the pole and my arm close to the shoulder, then one on the other side. I was ready to start getting firmer with my demands for him to let me loose when a brawny hand from behind my head clamped itself over my mouth. A voice close to my ear spoke soothingly.
“It’s only a game we play, me and my brother - my big brother. But we don’t like a lot of hollering and argument,” and then the hand relaxed and freed my mouth.

“Come on, Darryl,” I insisted. “Let me loose - please.” No reply from behind me. “Darryl - enough is enough!”
I repeated more firmly.
“Yes, indeedy. Enough is enough complaining !” and I recognised the sound of adhesive tape being ripped from a roll. The wide tape was across my open mouth before any sound escaped from me, and it was twice around my head and wrapping my face from nostrils to the point of my chin in seconds. After that I felt tape circle first one of my thickly gloved wrists to one end of the pole. And there was nothing I could say or do to prevent the same happening to the other. Both wrists were soon securely taped back against the metal pole.

My legs and booted feet were all that were left free of restraints - and I should have anticipated that my movement would attract the attention of this rural con artist who had well and truly suckered me.
I was unable to look down and, because of my thick bike boots, I could only sense something heavy being taped securely around one ankle - but when my second ankle was dragged aside I knew it was another steel bar. Efficiently and determinedly strong hands bound tape around the bar and my boot. Obviously this was a process this kid was familiar with. Even out of sight behind be I could sense the exhilaration of this brawny hick. - and felt the suspension rope tighten, but only very slightly until my boots were lifted slightly free from the ground. I began to revolve - until the grinning face came into view. He walked slowly towards me stopping my swing, and his hands spread wide to reach each of my two taped wrists and then his strong fingers interlocked with my rubbered fingers, clamping onto them as he breathed into my taped face.

"When we got talking at that cafe, I hoped you was turned on by oilskins and the like - because I sure am - and so is my brother Donny. As he turned and stomped away in his heavy hip boots the only sound I could hear was my restricted breathing behind the heavy industrial tape which immobilised my mouth and cheeks.

For complete text of 'Ride to Greenville' see STORYLINES
or return to the TAPE & TAPING pages.

For other PVC / oilskin stories see
FANTASY AND FACT IN PVC by Jim Stewart
PVC PACKAGED by John Stapleton