Biker's Liberty - Enhanced

Sailor Mac Turner strolled the weathered docks, salt air clinging to his skin like a lover's whisper. Then biker Tim Kramer roared up, his machine purring with raw promise. A sly grin, a few heated words—that's all it took. Mac swung his leg over, pressed close against Tim's broad back, the engine's thrum vibrating through them both as they sped away. Tim's garage loomed like a shadowed lair, tools and leather scents thick in the air. He pulled Mac inside, eyes locking with intent. 'Time to learn how to play when you're off the waves,' Tim growled, stripping away Mac's shirt with rough, eager hands. Mac's breath hitched as Tim pinned him against the workbench, lips crashing in a bruising kiss. Clothes fell fast—jeans shoved down, boots kicked aside. Tim's callused fingers wrapped around Mac's hardening cock, stroking with firm, teasing pulls that drew out low moans. He dropped to his knees, mouth hot and demanding, swallowing Mac deep, tongue swirling over every ridge and vein until Mac's hips bucked, fingers tangling in Tim's hair. But Tim wasn't done. He rose, flipping Mac around, spreading his cheeks with a possessive grip. Slick lube from a nearby shelf eased the way as Tim's thick shaft pressed in, inch by relentless inch, filling Mac completely. They moved hard and fast, Tim's thrusts pounding like pistons, sweat-slick bodies slapping together. Mac braced against the bench, gasping as pleasure coiled tight. Tim reached around, jerking Mac in rhythm, pushing him over the edge first—hot spurts spilling across the wood. Tim followed with a guttural roar, burying deep, pulsing inside. Panting, they weren't finished. Tim grabbed his toys from a battered toolbox: a thick plug, gleaming vibes, cuffs that bit just right. He shared them all, binding Mac's wrists, sliding the plug in slow to keep him stretched and wanting. They played through the night, bodies entwined in the garage's dim glow, teaching Mac the wild freedoms of dry land.