Motorcycling race track sex - S & M in the pits

Gay practice days at the track - helping your rider go faster

Geoff writes:

Hi John,

Didn't you attend one of my gay practice days at Brands Hatch when I was racing bikes?

The first bike I raced was a blue Suzuki X7, which I replaced with a Yamaha LC 250. The attached picture was of the Yammy in it's original black colour but it got resprayed to blue when I had it rebored to 350cc a year later.

Even as a 250cc it could pull a wheelie on the straight as this picture proves, but when I had 350cc between my thighs it was truly awesome!

Didn't you ever pit crew for me, even on race days? Alan S. and his Norwich mates use to pit crew at Snetterton and West Raynham (also in Norfolk). Terry C. and his mates were a regular pit crew at Brands Hatch, Lydden (also in Kent), and many other circuits. The worst problem about a gay pit crew on race days was keeping them together. They'd always be chasing after a series of nice looking guys in leather! When racing you have to wear a dog tag, on one side giving your date of birth. Gay pit crews always found this invaluable information as most of the guys racing stripped their leathers down to their waists when in the paddock area, the ACU dog tags were easy to read. On the other side of the dog tag is the guy's name, so this made introducing themselves to someone they fancied very easy!

About twice a year I used to organise an S & M session on a road racing practice day. I would invite two or three gay guyz as pit crew and we'd pitch a small marquee style tent at the far end of the paddock. The pit crew would supervise my dressing, fitting a ball stretcher with attached leather thongs secured to my big toes, inserting a butt plug up my arse, or fitting me with clover leaf tit clamps. It was their choice what I had to endure. Then they'd zip up my leathers, lift me onto the bike if my balls were attached to my toes, and open up the flaps of the tent. They'd then push me to get the bike to jump start and off I'd go. I'd always be as horny as hell after all the attention I had received and my cockhead would be rubbing against the suede inside of the tight racing leathers making me even more excited.

I was instructed to complete five laps and to achieve a certain lap time on at least one lap. The pit crew would go to track side to watch and time my progress, while I endured the torture of sliding across the saddle to get my knee down on each corner.

When I returned I would be told of my results, which they nearly always said wasn't good enough and I would have to endure whatever punishment they thought fit. This could be to keep me on the bike, strip the leathers down to my thighs, handcuffing my hands behind my back, and securing them to the rear wheel so I was laid out flat. They'd then proceed to drip candlewax over my tits, cock and balls. On other occasions I was taken off the bike, leathers stripped to my calves, bent over the bike seat, handcuffed to the footpeg on the other side and given a heavy birching. If one or more of the pit crew were feeling particularly randy, I'd get fucked as well.

They'd then fit me out to suffer more pain back on the track, which could be anything from a bigger butt plug, fresh nettles stuffed into my groin and under my arm pits, even more extreme ball torture, or the chain of the tit clamps being attached to my toes.

Zipped back into my leathers, my cock oozing precum, I'd be put back on the bike, the tent flaps opened, and I was pushed off for another 5 laps.

My reward for achieving the lap time expected was to cum whatever way I wanted. If I failed they wouldn't let me cum, or else select whatever painful method they could think of, and then put me back out on the track for another five laps. Then more torture back in the tent if I failed, followed by another attempt to beat the lap time back on the track.

The sounds of the whipping and my cries of agony couldn't be heard by anyone else over the sound of the other bikes roaring around the track or tuning up in the paddock.

I never wore a watch when racing, so I lost all idea of time, and some sessions just seemed to last all day, although in reality the track was only open for four hours.

On these sessions I experienced the most fantastic orgasms, frequently having a double climax, much to the amazement of the pit crew. I remember on one occasion when tied astride the bike, my hands behind my head and attached to the rear wheel, I was wanked off with really rough biker gloves. Despite the pain of the rain induced cracked leather on the inside of the gloves rubbing over my cockhead, I shot a first load of spunk straight through the open visor of my helmet, covering my face. I pleaded for the wanking to continue as the remaining spunk softened the leather and I could feel a second orgasm coming on. Within 45 seconds I had done a repeat performance! Spunk was over the inside of the visor, all over my face and down my front. My balls felt as if they'd been sucked dry and really ached. The pit crew were dumb struck and totally silent. They'd never experienced anything like it before! Then one bright spark barked "Not good enough!". "Get him out for another 5 laps!". And would you believe it, they slammed the visor down, zipped up my leathers and pushed me out again!

Those five laps were not fun. I wasn't feeling randy at all and the S & M torture was hurting like hell. I knew the first two lap times were poor, but I was really scarred of what three leather-clad bikers, all now as randy as hell, were going to do to me if I failed. So I really gritted my teeth to put in some fast times. All to no avail apparently. They said I'd failed and so I awaited my fate.

I was helped off the bike, leathers stripped down to my calves, bent over the bike, and hands cuffed to the footpeg on the other side. They organised all this without saying a word, so they'd obviously decided I was going to fail whatever lap time I had achieved! Then, whilst I had each of their cocks trust down my throat, I was whipped and fucked alternatively by each one of them. When the third guy had shot his load, I was feeling really randy again but despite my pleas they wouldn't let me cum another time. Bastards!

P.S. I can't remember on which occasion, but one practice day the pit crew didn't let me cum at all. They finished up by smearing my raging hard cock as well as my balls in Deep Heat and then binding them tight in bandages so I couldn't wank myself off once they'd released me from the bondage they'd subjected me to whilst they'd abused me. And finally, as if my arse wasn't sore enough by being fucked at least four or five times during the afternoon, they stuffed a butt plug up my arse before zipping up my leathers, which I then had to return home wearing. However, once we arrived they gave me a fantastic session in my playroom, when I almost blew my balls off!

(Geoff is still a good mate. I know the people he mentions, was also dealt with in the playroom he mentions but wasn't there on this particular track day)

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