EXCERPT = tape-wrapping

From an original 10,000 word story titled
THE MECHANIC'S TALE
by Jim Stewart
inspired by the drawings of "Joe T"

The garage mechanic has taken enough arrogance from the leather-clad biker and, using the element of surprise, has strapped him down onto his bike using tough black rubber 'bungee' cords.

The burly biker is shouting abuse but, seated astride the Harley, belly down, neck fixed to handlebars, boots tethered to the front wheel and elbows tightly cinched together in back, he is unable to free himself although his hands are not yet secured.

Satisfied that the biker is going nowhere, the mechanic (Pete) walked calmly away to the workbench.
.

... "Big Dunk" strained his head upwards against the rubber to yell "What the fuck you think … " but he stopped at the sight of the roll of wide duct tape in Pete's hands.

Desperately he struggled as he felt one wrist being circled behind is back. But strain as he might, he could not see to evade the winding of the tape. With elbows tightly pinioned by tough black rubber cords it was no contest, however much he tried to resist. Wrists were soon solidly bound together by the unbreakable tape.

Dunk’s mouth had not been as busy during this battle of the wrists, but now he was ready to open his mouth wide and recommence his yelling … when the crotch of Pete’s greasy cotton coveralls loomed close to his face. A hand lifted his chin painfully against the tug of the double rubber strap which dragged his neck downwards. The crotch pressed closer to the angry face, which was then slowly and deliberately embedded into the fabric and whatever lay beneath. After a couple of provocative thrusts, the crotch drew back and a voice from on high said quietly:
“Now is the time to keep quiet, Duncan .”
But Big Dunk was in no mood to keep quiet. He opened his mouth to speak and it was immediately filled with a small ball of some kind, and tape was circling his jaw and chin around the back of his head.
“Oh, Duncan, Duncan , you pushed your luck and your luck ran out.”

In the silence that followed, Pete realised he was not in the least excited. That surprised him. He was deadly calm. In spite of the potential danger of the un-planned situation he’d suddenly created, he felt only a sense of extreme … calm (no other word for it).

Looking down on the helpless, now silent figure - what stirred in his memory was the sense of slow-motion he’d experienced when any situation in his life had taken an unexpected turn – and a problem had to be dealt with. This situation needed to be dealt with. Big Dunk needed to be dealt with. Here was a challenge to be met, a situation to be handled efficiently and imaginative. The mechanic considered his options.

Disconcerted by the silence and lack of action, the trussed figure suddenly renewed efforts to struggle free of the flexible but totally efficient bindings. The bike was rock solid in it’s clamp-stand. The rubber straps had ‘give’ but no amount of muscle-power was going to break them or dislodge the steel hooks. The powerful jaw and neck lunged and thrashed as far as the rubber would allow – but was always dragged back to the original position. There was no slack to be gained - but Big Dunk was by no means ready to give up his struggle. Sweat now glistening on the massive naked back and upper arms, water running off the short-cropped head and brawny neck.

Pete laid a calming hand on a writhing shoulder – and the struggling subsided. “Save it, buddy, there’s a few hours ahead before anybody comes looking for you. A lot can happen in the time … and the party isn’t over until somebody sings a song I want to hear”.

With that, Pete walked across to the big sliding door of the workshop and began to close it. Dunk strained to see what was happening, and was just able to see the mechanic putting the ‘closed’ sign in the office window – and, as an after-thought, find something else and put that against the window.
“Gone Fishing,” said Pete by way of explanation. “Gus is off on one of his trips.”
Pete closed the tattered window blind so the only light was through the skylights. “Just you and me, buddy,” he said, walking back towards the bound figure. “Just you and me for as long as it takes.”

Belly-down along the bike, naked to the waist with leather legs pulled forward - left his tightly bent leathered ass dangerously vulnerable. Above it, pinioned elbows pulled down even tighter, the taught rubber straps fixing both body and legs to the sturdy machine – and strong but powerless fingers flexed uselessly above shiny black buns .

Pete’s hand explored the leather-covered ass, feeling around the gleaming buttocks - and then under, deep under the crotch lifting it so strong fingers could find the base of the fly. The gagged figure squirmed angrily.
“Calm down!” advised Pete, “I’m just assessing the potential”.
Pete swung his leg over the back of the bike and sat tight behind his captive. He positioned his crotch close against the immobilised ass, moving it up and down to gage the height. By planting his feet on the ramp either side of the bike he could stand - which brought his crotch into contact with the hands captive beyond the taped-together wrists.
“Just need to explore the possibilities, Dunk buddy. Get the ass nice and accessible – and I decided not to tape your fingers (at least not yet), so you can enjoy a feel around my crotch. Can you feel that?” he asked as he undulated his greasy coveralls against the trapped fingers.

Swinging his leg back off the pillion, the mechanic now walked around the bike to bring his crotch close against the top of the perspiring head. Again a hand raised the chin against the downward pull of the rubber cords until all the gagged face could see was crotch.
“There’ll come a time when you’re desperate enough to have the gag off, to knuckle under and do what ever I tell you to do. A nice juicy mouth, open, ready and willing – because if you’re not willing I’ll find alternatives that will soon make you more willing to co-operate. I’m a mechanic – and I have a few tried and tested little devices – all quite easy to make up.
There’s a lot of junk around this workshop which will, I’m sure, excite my creative imagination. A hose for your butt; a funnel for your mouth; good strong waterproof tape to wrap your dick so it will direct it’s spunk or piss wherever I decide it might do the most good."

... With the adrenalin now pumping, Pete started to take stock of what he might need and in what order he would jump his new playmate through which hoops. He needed time to prepare. He circled the stretched and straining body bent double astride the shining Harley.

“You look real uncomfortable there,” he observed, “and I need easier access to the more interesting regions of that impressive body. I can’t wait to get my hands on all those delicious parts – and check them out – and put them to the test. But, for starters ... "
Taking a small pocket-knife from his coveralls, the mechanic approached the face of the suddenly fearful Dunk. Opening the knife he aimed it at his victim’s face, and suddenly clamped the other arm around the head in a vice-like grip. His captive screamed in real terror behind the efficient gag.

“Hold still!” he ordered. “Don’t struggle and you won’t get hurt,” Then with a delicate twist of the razor-sharp knife, he pierced first one and then a second small hole in the tape over the mouth, either side of the rubber ball which was holding the teeth slightly apart.
“You look like you need a little more air. So, now you can breathe easier.”
A moan of fear and relief escaped from the now less totally gagged man. He was on the edge of sobbing or pleading. Saliva dribbled from the newly pierced holes.
“Hang in there good-buddy! I’m not going to harm you or scar you. I may mark you up a little, but nothing you can’t live with … but I don’t want you giving way under the pressure. I want you fighting fit and fighting back. That’s what pushes my buttons – a little fear – but a lot of anger”.
A hand suddenly face-slapped the taped cheeks and jaw. Wack! Wack! In two directions.
“I prefer you angry, buddy.”

With that, he walked away, leaving Dunk with eyes filled with tears from the unexpected blows – but at the same time a sudden welling up of anger lifted him onto another level of determination to survive this ordeal. He threw himself against the tantalisingly flexible bindings, grunting more audibly through the punctured tape wrapping, saliva flying.
“That’s more like it!” said Pete, a bit of struggle always turns me on”.

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