YPA: Your Privacy Assured/YPA.ISO/text/bikeshow.txt

Text File | 1994-06-04 | 12KB | 207 lines

                        Biker Slave

    Last weekend I attended a favorite Winter distraction, a
    Motorcycle show. This is an annual affair with dealers
    displaying their parts and accessories. Tattoo artists come
    to practise their art. Even though it is the coldest part of
    February, people from all around wade through the ice and
    snow to shake off the Winter blues and look forward to
    better days to follow. The location is little more than a
    warehouse but the women still wear their skimpy halter tops
    and bikini bottoms. That alone is enough to break my
    hibernation.
    A quick pass around the hall gave a overall view of the
    show. Individual exhibitors were mainly located around the
    outside. Dealers had the center of the building. Gas fired
    heaters, placed around the area, gave warmth while one was
    right below them but between heaters it was none too
    comfortable. At the far end, a semi-trailer provided a stage
    for a loud band. Their brand of Rock-N-Roll was low on
    quality but high on decibels. The stage had a dozen straw
    bales with a blue plastic tarp spread inside them arranged
    in front. This was the mud wrestling pit. I toured around
    the rest of the area and saw the Big Python Display and The
    Jap Motorcycle Bash. There was quite a commotion around the
    stage and the band had, mercifully, stopped. Mud wrestlers
    had begun their contest but it was over before I could get
    there. The crowd was packed so thick I couldn't see anyway!
    On the way to the mud wrestlers, I passed one of the
    individual exhibitors that caught my eye. The bike was
    nothing special as Harley Shovel-Heads go. Mild rake,
    chrome, fancy seat and the usual display. I still don't know
    why this situation struck me. The couple were sitting in the
    display on folding chairs. She has a black leather skirt,
    leather vest (with nothing underneath), heels, and leather
    collar. Granted the leather collar is unusual but not at a
    bike show. He was wearing a screen print T-shirt, leather
    vest, boots and pants. I am no foot fetishist, but the
    outstanding thing about this guy was the boots. These dudes
    were shined like a military school cadet's. Here we are,
    dead of winter, snow ass deep and this guy has boots you can
    see yourself in! On second glance, she had something too.
    There was a gold chain between the front of her vest. I
    first wrote it off as some sort of jewelry, but that made no
    sense. Then it struck me. This chick had a chain between her
    tits! When I looked again, she was in the process of getting
    up from the folding chair and going the back of the display
    where they had a curtain strung up to make a sort of
    backdrop for the display and to store their stuff out of the
    way during the show.
    I saw an old friend at one of the dealer's trailers in the
    middle of the building. "Hey Curt!" I went over to shoot the
    shit for a while. We swapped gossip and parted later. When
    leaving the trailer, I spied the chick with the vest and
    nothing under it. Remember her? Well, this time she had
    changed her stuff a bit while she was behind the backdrop
    for the display. She had an even wider collar on and was
    pulling her hair out of the way to get to a padlock she was
    hooking in the back. In addition, she had put leather cuffs
    on her ankles that were padlocked together with about
    eighteen inches of chain. I could not help but stare at this
    sight when the dealer came over and offered me a convenient
    folding chair at his booth. "Take a load off. If this goes
    like last night, You are going to see quite a show." Well, I
    hadn't spent a nickle with this guy but I know hospitality
    when I see it. I took him up on his offer. After all, a
    ringside seat is nothing to sneeze at!
    She had gotten her hair untangled from the collar and I had
    gotten my dick untangled from my underwear. I sat down to
    see what transpired next. Well, she had a problem sitting
    down. She had fastened a chrome dog lead to the collar and
    the guy with the shiny boots was using it to direct her to
    the folding chair. She had both hands on either side of the
    chair easing her butt down like the thing was a block of
    ice. This made no sense at all! Sure it was cold in there.
    But their display was near one of the heaters. Finally, she
    got parked with a lot of squirming and grimacing. The
    salesman for the dealer pulled up a chair next to me and
    asked for an update. I told him that nothing much happened.
    "She just sat down." He told me that he was taking a break
    because he figured that the place was about to get covered
    by lookers. "Last night these bikes on display were covered
    with people drooling all over themselves." "What for?" I
    asked. "What's the big deal? Just a biker chick with half
    her chest exposed. Nothing special." "You'll see," He
    replied. "These two are slave and master. He worked her into
    a frenzy last night." Always willing to take advise from a
    pro, I prepared for a show.
    I did not have long to wait as it turned out. The guy with
    the shiny boots, the master, motioned with the dog lead for
    her to get up. This she did willingly. She then revealed the
    reason for the shiny boots! She pulled out a shoe shine box
    and proceeded to kneel down before him and brush the boots
    to an even higher gloss. She was turned toward me and
    occasionally I could see where the gold chain was connected
    to. Sure enough, her tits had been pierced and there were
    gold rings through them. From my seated vantage point I
    could see it all. Slave rings! However, most people passed
    with little more than a quick glance. A few stopped and
    tried to look like they were shopping for bikes. "Go out
    there and close a sale." I told my salesman partner. He
    laughed and leaned back. "No need to waste my time. Those
    bikes won't be selling soon. I can see it happening all over
    again."
    After she had shined on his boots for a while, he pulled her
    up and said something to her. She nodded her head and,
    holding the lead in her left hand, walked back behind the
    backdrop. Walking is really not the proper term. Although
    her ankles were hobbled, she was not limited to the point
    that she should walk all that bad. Something else was going
    on here. Maybe she had kneeled too long and her legs had not
    yet regained circulation. That was probably it, I prided
    myself on my deductive powers. "Did you see her walk?" My
    partner spoke. "Looks like she has a cob up her ass!" An old
    saying but I never thought it would apply here.
    She brought out a stand with a sign on it. "Shoe Shine 25
    Cents." Now there's an old fashioned bargain if ever I saw
    one! Quickly a line formed. Let me describe this as best I
    can. This biker chick, slave if you will, is facing away
    from me. She is shining boots that have been out in the slop
    and snow and walking around this show and mud and crap.
    Well, you get the picture. These are messy boots! Anyway,
    the leather skirt is not covering her butt as well as it did
    earlier because her master picks it up occasionally to give
    her a swat with his hand because she is not doing a good
    enough job. "Maybe you can't see well enough." He tells her.
    So to improve her view, he connects the dog lead to the shoe
    shine box. I can't imagine her being that far-sighted. He
    has her nose about 10 inches from this customer's grubby
    boot. It becomes obvious that this will take some time and
    most of these patrons are not much on waiting their turn.
    They join the crowd of spectators that is growing by the
    minute. "Told you that there was no need to get excited.
    There won't be any bikes sold here 'til this show is over."
    My salesman friend said.
    The slave girl is busting her brushes now but the results
    are not pleasing the master. He raises the hem more often
    for a spank now and from my ringside seat I can see her
    bottom is turning red. Once he raised it higher than usual
    and I got a glimpse of some angry red stripes across her
    butt. My hypothesis of her sitting down so carefully was at
    once formulated and shattered. Those stripes, from some kind
    of whip, could not be the reason she approached the chair so
    carefully. She had been sitting in that very chair only
    minutes earlier. This has my curiosity aroused as well as
    some other parts of me aroused.
    The master is acting pissed now. I know he is acting
    because, regularly, he bends to her ear and asks her
    something. She nods her head affirmatively and he proceeds.
    He has gone over to the bike and picked up a short whip from
    the display. The crowd backs up a bit when they see what he
    has in mind. I silently thank them for improving my view.
    Master raises her skirt to expose her whole butt. The crowd
    goes nuts with whooping and cheering at the sight of her
    rounded hips. Slavegirl pauses her buffing momentarily when
    she feels the cold on her exposed flesh. Her red cheeks
    don't stay cold long as master applies the whip to her. I
    have to marvel at this whole spectacle. Here I am, not five
    feet away from this naked assed slave girl, and all my mind
    can think of is the leather strap up the crack of her butt.
    I figured she was wearing leather panties or maybe nothing.
    But this! There is a belt around her waist that has another
    belt connected that goes between her legs. This whole affair
    is locked by a padlock in front. I can see it swinging as
    she moves. Now she doesn't move much. Her ankles were still
    connected and her collar was connected to the shoeshine box.
    And yes, she was still brushing. This pair of boots was
    beginning to show some results!
    This leather strap is drawing my attention again. I believe,
    yes it is, there is a dildo in her! Two of them! No wonder
    she can't sit down. The dilemma is solved. At least for me.
    Slavegirl's problems, however, continue. In order to get a
    satisfactory luster, these boots will have to get a
    spitshine. Master tells her to lick the boots. She does this
    willingly while he eases off on the whip a bit. Her red
    bottom is still moving around with the dildoes still working
    their magic within her. She starts breathing heavier and the
    crowd is yelling. Her master puts his boot next to the
    customers and she licks both of them at almost the same
    time. Suddenly, she pauses and stretches her neck as far as
    the chain will allow and makes a sound like none I have ever
    heard before. A sound that echoes throughout the hall and
    causes the crowd to silence for a moment in wonder.
    "MMMAAASSSTTTEEERRRRRR!" And then she goes limp like a
    puddle of pudding.
    She lays there breathing slowly and shaking a bit
    periodically. Master unfastened the collar chain and carried
    her back to the display. The customer with the now-shiny
    boots picked up the shoe shine box and carried it to them.
    Master thanked him. He dug down in his jeans. "Here's your
    quarter, lady." He replied. "Thanks for the shine."
    Master gets the dildo belt removed and straightens her up a
    bit. She has her eyes open but is crying a bit. She is
    smiling too so she must be OK.
    "Told you there was a hell of a show." My partner broke the
    moment. I had to agree with him. "Thanks for the ringside
    seat. Now that we can talk, what is the price on the bike
    over there?" "I can give you a bikeshow special on that
    under one condition." "What?" "You don't make me clean the
    damn thing up after this show tonight. These lookers make a
    mess of everything." "Deal!" Well I was the proud owner of
    new wheels and had witnessed the show of my life. "You
    know," He said. "The guy that sat in your chair last night
    bought one the same way you did." I guess his evening wasn't
    a total loss either.