THE DARKROOM TALES: BREAKING WILL'S WILL NSFW 18+ GAY EROTICA STORY
Warning - Explicit 🔞 Part 2
Welcome back to part two of the first in the series of The Darkroom Tales, Leather Brotherhood. If you missed that first part you can read it here in full free of charge to all subscribers.
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The below trailer sets the scene for where we begin the next part of our story...
BREAKING WILL'S WILL
The question hangs in the air—unspoken, but understood.
Are they worthy?
The older man rises from beneath the exit sign. He turns toward Will—still on his knees, t shirt drenched, breath shallow, eyes flickering between the men surrounding him.
A sharp kick to the ribs—not brutal, but enough to send him sprawling onto his side.
"Get up."
Will exhales, pushing himself upright, the weight of the moment settling against his chest.
Boots stomp against the concrete, the faint clink of spurs echoing in the silence.
The older moves toward Jason, sprawled on the floor, sweat slick against his skin, the heat of the struggle still burning in his muscles.
The Brotherhood watches. Waiting. Expecting.
The older man tilts his chin, surveying them both.
"Thirty miles back—that was just the first stage."
A pause. A slow inhale.
"Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes."
Then—the command.
"Men—it’s time. We ride to The Hollow."
A shift in the room. Jackets pulled close. Gloves tightened.
The roar of engines splits the night, tires screeching against pavement as the Brotherhood tears into the streets—a force, a movement, a ritual in motion.
Will grips the back of Jason’s jacket, holding tight as the bike surges forward. He doesn’t ride—not yet—but tonight, he belongs. Jason takes one hand off the bike's handlebars, sliding it around to feel Will's bulging crotch, grabbing it with a boldness leaving Will breathless.
The others flanking them in formation—a Brotherhood in motion. The city fades behind them as Will deftly unzips Jason’s denim jeans; reaching in, grabbing hold of his cock, and stroking it quickly…
"Oh God," Will cries out, the sounds snatching from his mouth by the whistling wind and the roaring engines, as Jason’s strong thumb continues rhythmically rubbing the tip of his cockhead.
The Hollow awaits.
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The scent of gasoline and leather thick in the night air.
Then—the forest.
The bikes slow, gravel crunching beneath tires as they roll to a stop.
A bonfire crackles, flames licking at the night sky. Bottles clink. Cigars light up. Laughter rumbles low.
Will stands at the edge, watching. Waiting. His jeans still soaked in pre-cum from the ride.
Jason tosses him a beer. “Drink up.”
The older man watches from his seat near the fire, boots planted firm, eyes unreadable.
Then—the test.
A beer can is set atop a stump.
The Frenchman steps forward, boots crunching against the dirt.
His long leather coat swaying with each movement, the hem brushing against the ground. A handlebar mustache curling at the edges of his smirk, his sharp eyes flicking toward Will. The revolver spins once in his hand—a slow, deliberate motion—before he cocks it.
“Think you can hold still?”
Will exhales, slow.
The others watch, waiting.
The fire throws jagged shadows across the clearing. The scent of burning timber, leather, and whiskey clouding the air, wrapping around them like smoke.
Will swallows hard, his breath uneven.
The older man—broad, built like a bear, his military leather cap casting a shadow over his eyes—watches from his seat near the fire. His chaps creaking as he shifts, the silver of his spurs catching the light..
Then—he stands. The weight of his presence undeniable.
He moves first toward Will, gaze flicking over him—the basic leather jacket, the yellow piss-stained T-shirt, the jeans.
“Get this stinking article off you boy!”, he growls. With a flash of a switchblade he shreds the T shirt from beneath Will's leather jacket. It falls to the ground in tatters, infront of his impossibly polished boot. With one swift kick he sends the remains flying, incinerating it into the bonfire flames.
A pause.
A smirk.
The Frenchman moves his head, gesturing toward the denim.
"An initiate," he muses, voice edged with amusement. "Clearly, not yet dressed for the part."
The others murmur in agreement.
The older man nods once.
"Strip him."
Hands move fast—gripping at the denim, pulling, tearing. Will stumbles, breath hitching as the fabric is yanked away, leaving him standing in nothing but his damp boxer shorts and leather boots.
The firelight flickers against his skin, the cold biting at his exposed legs.
The older man steps closer, towering over him.
"You earn your leather," he says, voice low, firm. "And tonight—you prove you deserve it. Carlos ―the can!"
A slender 6 foot tall military dressed daddy steps forward. The empty beer can is plucked from the stump and set atop Will’s head.
The Frenchman lifts the revolver again, raising his chin.
The others watch. Waiting. Expecting.
The fire crackles, throwing shifting shadows against the trees, illuminating the sea of leather and steel that surrounds the clearing.
Will stands stiff, the beer can perfectly balanced on his head, trying not to let his breath shake. The weight of eyes on him is heavier than the cold.
The Frenchman adjusts his stance, one boot sliding forward, his long black leather coat shifting around his legs. The fire’s glow catches the sheen of the worn leather, the brass buttons glinting in the low light. The scent of whiskey and cigar smoke clings to him, like a second skin.
“Wait!”
The word cuts through the thick night air like a blade.
The Brotherhood shifts, their attention snapping to the older man.
His military leather cap catches the firelight, the polished silver chain across the brim gleaming. His mustache twitches; his eyes are dark, assessing.
He steps in front of Will….deliberate, commanding.
Cold eyes flick over him—bare legs, boxer shorts, the exposed skin beneath the leather jacket.
He exhales, shakes his head.
“Too easy.”
Will tenses, swallowing. Sweat beading on his forehead despite the coldness of the night air.
The older man turns sharply, locking onto Carlos.
“Get behind him. Make this interesting.”
Carlos nods once. Boots shift across the dirt, circling.
Will tries not to react.
Carlos steps behind him, close, the warmth of his body pressing against the cold of Will’s exposed legs.
Then— a sudden pulling down of his boxer shorts and Will is totally exposed.
The shock vibrates through Will’s spine, jerking his instincts—but he fights it. He stays still. His cock and balls now shrinking fast with the freezing air. The Frenchman scoffs under his breath.
“That is a pathetic looking specimen you have dangling there boy.”
The Brotherhood watches, smirking, murmuring among themselves as the challenge unfolds.
The older man presses his face close up against Wills Blonde stubble. His piercing green eyes don't hold anger—but something colder.
Expectation.
Disappointment.
A slow shake of his head. A long exhale through his nose.
Will stays still, his breath shallow. He can smell the fumes of whiskey coming from the man's nostrils into his.
His eyes narrow.
"Carlos! Get around front here and fix this!"
The words drop heavy between them—an order, not a suggestion.
Without hesitation, Carlos’mouth descends upon Will, his tongue exploring his nipples, sucking with such intensity that Will gasps. The sensation creating ripples of warmth that course directly downward towards Wills’ cock, bringing it to life and rendering his erection completely vulnerable to Carlos’ now unrelenting lips and tongue.
Still balancing the beer can on his head Will cannot stare down, but can feel Carlos’ powerful suction pulling his rock-hard shaft into his warm mouth.
Carlos grips the sides of Will's legs with his firm, large hands. pressing his thumbs against the front of his knees. Holding him firmly in position, all of his movements exuding both authority and allure.
Starting to feel the rise of climax in him, Will desperately tries to keep the can balanced.
"You like that, boy?" he mumbles as he tongues the sides and pre-cum oozing slit of Will’s cock.
"Fuck yeah," Will can feel he's about to lose control. In desperation, he grabs Carlos's shaggy dark hair trying to slow down the sucking movements. But Carlos is bigger and stronger and pushes on relentless.
The Frenchman smiles, still holding the revolver steady.
“This is such a fun challenge”.
But—he’s not finished yet.
He lifts his free hand.
Grabs a fresh beer.
And—he drinks.
One deep swallow. Then another.
The alcohol thickens his grip, sways his balance. His leather coat rolling with each movement.
He exhales, tosses the empty bottle into the fire.
Adjusts his grip on the revolver.
The older man watches closely, arms crossed, unreadable.
The fire pops, sending embers floating into the thick night air.
Will squeezes his eyes shut for half a second, trying to stay steady, trying to ignore the sensations and sounds of Carlos sucking and licking him. Overwhelmed by the sensation of a rising climax.
The Frenchman steadies his aim…
And then—
To Be Continued… Let us know in the comments what you think happens next. Where do you want the story to progress?
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