Summary:
Whip came to the Gay Riders Carnival fundraiser weekend looking for a good time, but what he found was infinitely better.
Whip always has a good time at the Gay Riders Carnival, and this year he’s hoping to meet up with some studs and top last year’s festivities. The last thing he expects when he walks into his cabin is to be nearly bowled over by a skinny lad with a bruised jaw.
Nick came to the Carnival with his so-called Master Dirk, but instead of having a good time, things moved quickly from bad to worse and Dirk responded to his safeword with a punch. Running away and hiding was Nick’s only option.
Broke, alone and not entirely sure how he’s going to get home, Nick thinks Whip is a dream come to life and he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For his part, Whip is drawn to the sweet pup and falls hard for Nick over the course of the long weekend.
But what’s going to happen when the weekend is over?
Summary:
Trig isn’t looking for something special when he comes to the Gay Riders’ Carnival this year, but it just might have come looking for him.
It’s Trig’s fourth year at the Gay Riders’ Carnival and this year he’s not sure if he’s looking for more than a few nights of camping, checking out the booths and listening to the music. He’s been dumped a lot in the last year and is looking more to lick his wounds and just relax.
It’s the first time at the Carnival for Tarzan and he doesn’t know exactly what to expect. When he lays eyes on Trig, though, he knows what he wants. Trig claims he’s not a bottom, but he’s tripping all of Tarzan’s instincts.
Can these two men find a middle ground, or will their attraction last only as long as the Carnival itself?
The Biker's Pup #1
Whip pulled up into the parking lot of the campground, grinning as he looked around. Bikes from one end of the parking area to the other. He did fucking love the Gay Riders Carnival fundraiser weekend. Bikes, leather, men as far as the eye could see. There were harnesses and collars, chaps and jock straps. It was like the horny man playground of joy.
Bring it on.
Grabbing his saddle bags, he put them over his shoulder and made his way to registration. He wasn’t too into fucking in tents, or sleeping in them really, so he’d made a reservation at one of the cabins on the property. He took his time getting to the front desk, admiring bikes and asses alike. God damn, there were some hot motherfuckers here—handlebars and leather daddies, cowboys and inked guys.
His cock was nice and hard in no time, pushing against his leathers like it wanted out. He didn’t worry about it, this was family here this weekend and people would be flattered, not offended. In fact, he got more than one nod, a grin.
Fucking A. He knew he looked good. At six foot seven and three hundred pounds, he was pure muscle and leather. In fact, he was going out for Mr. Leatherman 2014 this year. He’d been more or less dared to do it, so here he was, competing.
He got his key, and headed to the group of little cabins toward the back of the campgrounds. This was the farthest from the carnival itself and it was quieter back here, the woods heavier. He liked the back cabins. Out here he could make someone scream. He could tie someone up and drive them to the moon.
A big bruiser in head-to-toe leather walked by him, nearly as tall as he was. Yeah, someone like that would look good tied to his bed. The thought had Whip grinning as he opened up his cabin door.
A soft sound surprised him almost as much as the sight of someone running for the door, trying to get by him. His hand shot out automatically, wrapping around one arm.
Huge blue eyes stared up at him from under a shock of jet black hair that had to go as far as the guy’s ass. “Let me go!”
“I don’t fucking think so. You’re squatting in my cabin.” Why was the real question.
“I…” The guy was whip-cord lean and sported a huge bruise on his angled jaw.
Whip nodded at that mark. “Did you deserve that?”
The skinny pup shook his head. “I’ll go. I was just… I’m sorry, man. Please. I’m in way over my head.”
“And you think letting you back out in biker central with a sweet body like yours is the shallow end?” Whip shook his head. There were enough guys who would eat this pup alive… “Answer the question. Did you deserve the shot to your jaw?”
“No! No, I didn’t. I safeworded. I promise.”
That made him growl, loud and deep. “And he didn’t stop. Is he here?” It wouldn’t be the first ass he’d kicked and it wouldn’t be the last.
“Please. Just let me go, man.”
No. No way he was letting this wee pup loose with the lions and bears. He needed to check that jaw, make sure it was just bruised and not broken.
“That ship sailed, kid.” He walked the guy back to the bed and sat him on it, taking a close look at the jaw. Touching it gingerly, he tested for swelling. It wasn’t broken, he didn’t think. “Looks to just be a bruise. Don’t suppose there’s anything in the freezer.” A bit of cold would go a long way.
“There’s a freezer?”
“A teeny one. In the little fridge.” There should be anyway. “So who did this to you?”
The pup shook his head. “Not a snitch.”
Whip crossed his arms. “You got a name, pup?”
“Nicky. Nick.”
“Well, Nicky Nick, I guess you’d better stay for now.” This pup would get eaten alive out there.
The Biker's Dom #2
Trig Magnussen drove onto the Gay Riders’ Carnival campgrounds, pulling his camping trailer. He’d decided not to ride his Hog in. The weather was fucking awful, one huge storm after another for the last few days and forecast for the entire weekend. There was no reason to miss the festival, though. He fucking loved this party, but damn, he intended to be comfortable, especially at night.
The place was already pretty packed, lots of folks with their camping gear. Looked like he wasn’t the only one determined not to miss the gay bikers’ biggest weekend of the year. He got himself a spot and backed the trailer into it, opening it up into his home for the next few days.
It took him about an hour to set everything up the way he liked it—the lawn chairs out facing the stage, the citronella candles for the bugs. He’d put in some groceries, but not too many, knowing that he’d be sampling some of the food there. At least it wasn’t raining at the moment, which made setup much smoother and less grumpy-making.
He knew if Whip and Nicky made it, they’d be staying at the cabins. They were still in their honeymoon phase, even after a damn year, and needed a good solid bed underneath them. Hey, at least someone was happy, right?
No bringing yourself down. Just because you’ve gone through no less than six subs in the last twelve months… One of them had even lasted four months.
He shook himself and double checked that everything was set up to his liking. Then he headed out into the carnival. He was dressed in his leathers, hair pulled back and bound in a braid, tight T-shirt on. He looked good.
He decided he wasn’t searching for a boy this time out. He was looking for a good time. He had friends here and he was sure if he struck out altogether with picking anyone up, one of them would be happy to roll in the trailer with him. Still, that didn’t stop him from admiring.
The booths and vendors were still in prep mode, but no one seemed to mind him being nosy. He was drawn to the leather booth, loving the smell of it. To him it always meant sex—kinky, toppy sex. Trig loved the clothes, the heaviness of a bracelet. Hell, he was into the workmanship. Leatherwork was a different skill from woodwork, but he loved the care that went into it.
He touched everything, his fingers lingering over the butter-soft leather jackets and the harder sensation of the thick leather saddlebags. One of these would go perfectly on his Hog. Maybe that would be his splurge this year.
“Anything I can help you with?” asked the vendor, the man wearing his own gear and looking fine. That was the best advertising.
“How much for the saddlebags? They’re gorgeous.”
“Three hundred and fifty apiece.”
Which wasn’t bad at all for good-sized bags. An excellent price, if you considered they were hand-crafted.
He nodded. “Sounds more than fair. I’ll have to look at everything before I blow my load, but I’ll be back.”
“Fair deal. Feel free to browse around. I’ll be here all weekend. If you’d like me to hold one back…”
“Oh, that would rock. Thanks, I appreciate it.” Trig gave the guy his name and shook the man’s hand before checking out the rest of the goods in the tent.
Man, look at the chaps. He didn’t need them, but he loved the look—on a big, hard body, with a tight, full ass. It made him groan and begin to fill the front of his own leather pants, making them just the right amount of uncomfortable.
God, he needed to get laid.
Whip pulled up into the parking lot of the campground, grinning as he looked around. Bikes from one end of the parking area to the other. He did fucking love the Gay Riders Carnival fundraiser weekend. Bikes, leather, men as far as the eye could see. There were harnesses and collars, chaps and jock straps. It was like the horny man playground of joy.
Bring it on.
Grabbing his saddle bags, he put them over his shoulder and made his way to registration. He wasn’t too into fucking in tents, or sleeping in them really, so he’d made a reservation at one of the cabins on the property. He took his time getting to the front desk, admiring bikes and asses alike. God damn, there were some hot motherfuckers here—handlebars and leather daddies, cowboys and inked guys.
His cock was nice and hard in no time, pushing against his leathers like it wanted out. He didn’t worry about it, this was family here this weekend and people would be flattered, not offended. In fact, he got more than one nod, a grin.
Fucking A. He knew he looked good. At six foot seven and three hundred pounds, he was pure muscle and leather. In fact, he was going out for Mr. Leatherman 2014 this year. He’d been more or less dared to do it, so here he was, competing.
He got his key, and headed to the group of little cabins toward the back of the campgrounds. This was the farthest from the carnival itself and it was quieter back here, the woods heavier. He liked the back cabins. Out here he could make someone scream. He could tie someone up and drive them to the moon.
A big bruiser in head-to-toe leather walked by him, nearly as tall as he was. Yeah, someone like that would look good tied to his bed. The thought had Whip grinning as he opened up his cabin door.
A soft sound surprised him almost as much as the sight of someone running for the door, trying to get by him. His hand shot out automatically, wrapping around one arm.
Huge blue eyes stared up at him from under a shock of jet black hair that had to go as far as the guy’s ass. “Let me go!”
“I don’t fucking think so. You’re squatting in my cabin.” Why was the real question.
“I…” The guy was whip-cord lean and sported a huge bruise on his angled jaw.
Whip nodded at that mark. “Did you deserve that?”
The skinny pup shook his head. “I’ll go. I was just… I’m sorry, man. Please. I’m in way over my head.”
“And you think letting you back out in biker central with a sweet body like yours is the shallow end?” Whip shook his head. There were enough guys who would eat this pup alive… “Answer the question. Did you deserve the shot to your jaw?”
“No! No, I didn’t. I safeworded. I promise.”
That made him growl, loud and deep. “And he didn’t stop. Is he here?” It wouldn’t be the first ass he’d kicked and it wouldn’t be the last.
“Please. Just let me go, man.”
No. No way he was letting this wee pup loose with the lions and bears. He needed to check that jaw, make sure it was just bruised and not broken.
“That ship sailed, kid.” He walked the guy back to the bed and sat him on it, taking a close look at the jaw. Touching it gingerly, he tested for swelling. It wasn’t broken, he didn’t think. “Looks to just be a bruise. Don’t suppose there’s anything in the freezer.” A bit of cold would go a long way.
“There’s a freezer?”
“A teeny one. In the little fridge.” There should be anyway. “So who did this to you?”
The pup shook his head. “Not a snitch.”
Whip crossed his arms. “You got a name, pup?”
“Nicky. Nick.”
“Well, Nicky Nick, I guess you’d better stay for now.” This pup would get eaten alive out there.
The Biker's Dom #2
Trig Magnussen drove onto the Gay Riders’ Carnival campgrounds, pulling his camping trailer. He’d decided not to ride his Hog in. The weather was fucking awful, one huge storm after another for the last few days and forecast for the entire weekend. There was no reason to miss the festival, though. He fucking loved this party, but damn, he intended to be comfortable, especially at night.
The place was already pretty packed, lots of folks with their camping gear. Looked like he wasn’t the only one determined not to miss the gay bikers’ biggest weekend of the year. He got himself a spot and backed the trailer into it, opening it up into his home for the next few days.
It took him about an hour to set everything up the way he liked it—the lawn chairs out facing the stage, the citronella candles for the bugs. He’d put in some groceries, but not too many, knowing that he’d be sampling some of the food there. At least it wasn’t raining at the moment, which made setup much smoother and less grumpy-making.
He knew if Whip and Nicky made it, they’d be staying at the cabins. They were still in their honeymoon phase, even after a damn year, and needed a good solid bed underneath them. Hey, at least someone was happy, right?
No bringing yourself down. Just because you’ve gone through no less than six subs in the last twelve months… One of them had even lasted four months.
He shook himself and double checked that everything was set up to his liking. Then he headed out into the carnival. He was dressed in his leathers, hair pulled back and bound in a braid, tight T-shirt on. He looked good.
He decided he wasn’t searching for a boy this time out. He was looking for a good time. He had friends here and he was sure if he struck out altogether with picking anyone up, one of them would be happy to roll in the trailer with him. Still, that didn’t stop him from admiring.
The booths and vendors were still in prep mode, but no one seemed to mind him being nosy. He was drawn to the leather booth, loving the smell of it. To him it always meant sex—kinky, toppy sex. Trig loved the clothes, the heaviness of a bracelet. Hell, he was into the workmanship. Leatherwork was a different skill from woodwork, but he loved the care that went into it.
He touched everything, his fingers lingering over the butter-soft leather jackets and the harder sensation of the thick leather saddlebags. One of these would go perfectly on his Hog. Maybe that would be his splurge this year.
“Anything I can help you with?” asked the vendor, the man wearing his own gear and looking fine. That was the best advertising.
“How much for the saddlebags? They’re gorgeous.”
“Three hundred and fifty apiece.”
Which wasn’t bad at all for good-sized bags. An excellent price, if you considered they were hand-crafted.
He nodded. “Sounds more than fair. I’ll have to look at everything before I blow my load, but I’ll be back.”
“Fair deal. Feel free to browse around. I’ll be here all weekend. If you’d like me to hold one back…”
“Oh, that would rock. Thanks, I appreciate it.” Trig gave the guy his name and shook the man’s hand before checking out the rest of the goods in the tent.
Man, look at the chaps. He didn’t need them, but he loved the look—on a big, hard body, with a tight, full ass. It made him groan and begin to fill the front of his own leather pants, making them just the right amount of uncomfortable.
God, he needed to get laid.
Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and persuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to "Chicago."
A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
EMAIL: seanmichaelwrites@gmail.com
The Biker's Pup #1
KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY / ARe
The Biker's Dom #2(Available January 5, 2016)
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
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