Ready for the Floor

Content warning for sexually explicit scenes and BDSM. Filling in the blanks between two scenes in Pillion (2025).

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Colin followed behind Ray as Ray unlocked the door to his maisonette. Once Colin stepped inside, Rosie trotted over to welcome him in. He leaned down, giving the Rottweiler some pets and compliments, and she happily panted in response. Colin liked that Rosie had warmed up to him; it helped him feel like Ray was warming up to him too.

As he pet her, he heard Ray issue him a command.

“Try these on.”

“Try what on?” Colin looked up and saw that Ray was already turning the corner into the kitchen. As usual, he did not offer any clarification.

Colin noticed the three boxes in the hallway. One had a name, Arlen Ness, printed in large font on the front; Colin recognized the brand from some of Ray’s motorbike gear. He felt a rush of intrigue and anxiety wash through him. He could certainly use a leather jacket like the one that Ray had—the jacket he was currently borrowing from his father didn’t really stop the wind from cutting through him during rides—but he didn’t know what exactly Ray had in store for him.

He lugged the boxes up the stairs, taking care to not scuff the stairwell walls. He made his way into the bathroom and unceremoniously placed the boxes on the floor. He figured it would be good to try on the items in here, where he could get a good view of himself in the mirror.

He decided to open up the smallest box first. As he opened it up, he saw that it was his very own Caberg helmet, just like the one Ray owned. He placed it on the bathroom counter, deciding to wait to try it on until he opened the rest of the boxes.

He opened the next box, which had a label for a brand named Sidi across the lid. He opened the box and discovered leather boots. He remembered that first night alone with Ray, when he had gotten down onto the asphalt to lick Ray’s leather boots. He had never thought much about people’s choice in footwear prior to that moment, but since then, he had found himself fixated on the intense tactical boots worn by Ray and his friends. There was something erotic about all of it—the rubber tread soles, the silver hardware, the way that the men kept their leather conditioned and polished—that he had never recognized before; it was like Ray had flicked on a switch in his brain.

He put on the boots right away. They were tight around his toes, but they fit.

Finally, it was time to open the Arlen Ness box. He unboxed the items inside and found a full motorbike uniform. There was a structured, rigid leather jacket and a pair of leather pants.

He recalled Ray taking his measurements a few weeks ago—Ray had deliciously wrapped the measuring tape around his neck to measure the width and had him hold out his arms so he could get his wingspan. He realized that this was what Ray had in mind.

When he pulled the leather garments out of the box, he noticed that they didn’t smell like Ray’s gear, which radiated the smell of Ray’s musk and petrol. These new garments had a waxy and artificial scent, almost like plastic. However, he could tell that they were made of real leather. He touched the grain, feeling the tight fibers against the pads of his fingers.

As Colin finagled his legs into the pants, he felt like he was being encased in armor. The pants felt like they could stand up on their own; they were firm, and there was padding around the delicate areas, meant to protect him in the event of a crash. He felt comforted by the fact that Ray was giving him something to ensure his safety on their rides together. The pants felt snug around his crotch; he savored the sensation.

Then, he held up the jacket. He debated whether to wear his t-shirt underneath the jacket. He imagined Ray unzipping his jacket for him and touching his nude torso. The thought excited him.

He took off his shirt and put on the jacket; he liked the feeling of the leather against his bare body.

He looked at himself in the mirror. The rich black color of the leather looked striking against his pale skin. The jacket had a tight collar that chafed against the base of his neck, and the material looked slightly glossy, almost like snake skin.

He thought about how this get-up would contrast with Ray’s favorite outfit—the cream and blue set he always wore when they would meet up with the boys.

He imagined the two of them standing next to each other—two parts of a whole.

He continued to stare at himself in the mirror. The outfit was objectively sexy. He hoped that it would help him fit in with Ray’s crowd.

However, as much as he willed himself to appear cool and confident… he was still himself. He looked awkward, with his tight shoulders and unsure expression. His mop of hair looked noticeably unstyled. It felt a bit like a protective helmet in its own right.

He decided to put on the helmet. There we go, he thought. He looked cool if his face wasn’t visible.

There was a knock on the door. He preened himself; he hoped Ray would like what he saw.

Ray walked in, wearing his own riding outfit, boots and all. He evaluated him wordlessly. They stood inches apart; Colin felt sized up.

Ray took off Colin’s helmet. Colin gazed up at him, feeling vulnerable.

Ray opened a bathroom drawer and pulled out a pair of Wahl clippers. He grabbed Colin by the shoulders and sat him on the toilet. Although he enjoyed being pushed around by Ray, he felt dread in his stomach at the idea of Ray using the clippers on him.

He had always had his curls, and his mum always complimented them. He only ever got them cut with scissors once every few months.

“What are you doing?” He tried to stand up, and Ray shoved him back down onto the porcelain.

“Are you going to behave?” Ray’s hot breath beat onto Colin’s face. Colin nodded.

Colin watched as Ray clicked a guard onto the clippers blades. The guard seemed incredibly short; was it going to block the blades from hacking through his hair at all? It would certainly make his hair shorter than how Ray kept his—Ray had a sensible haircut, with tapered sides and a slightly longer top. What was Ray going to do to him?

Ray turned the clippers on. They buzzed with an intensity that chilled Colin. Ray grabbed Colin’s chin to keep him still. He then leaned over him and got to work.

He started at the top of Colin’s hairline, running the clippers through the middle of his locks. Hair tumbled into his eyes and onto his lap, covering the fresh leather. He could feel the blades catching on his hair, tugging his scalp.

From this vantage point, Colin couldn’t see the mirror. He imagined how silly he must look, with a strip of stubble at the top of his head as the rest of his hair—briefly—remained long. Ray continued to mow through the area with no regard to how he felt, working the clippers back and forth along the crown of his head. Colin could suddenly feel the cool air from the bathroom fan.

He had never had his hair so short. He worried that it would expose his receding hairline—and what if he had a weird head shape that he didn’t know about? He recognized that the humiliation was probably the point, and he felt both distressed and wildly turned on.

Colin then felt the clippers along the side of his head. The vibrations against his temples were intense. Ray’s movements felt somehow simultaneously careless and precise; the motions felt practiced, but they were quick. Colin was concerned that his ears were going to get nicked.

As Ray worked on the nape of Colin’s neck, he gripped the top of Colin’s head to hold him steady. Then, he pushed his head forward; he looked down at his own lap as Ray sheared behind his ears. Colin craved this manhandling; it reminded him of how Ray would shove him around whenever he was bent over and sucking his cock.

Ray made a few more passes around Colin’s entire head; Colin was certain that he was nearly totally bald. Then, as quickly as it started, Ray flicked the clippers off.

Ray opened the drawer again. He removed the guard from the clippers, and he grabbed a brush to clean the blades. Then, he used the brush to remove the hair clippings off of Colin’s outfit. Colin noticed the sensation of Ray flitting the bristles against his leather-clad chest, especially as they ran along his nipples. Ray then worked the brush around Colin’s crotch; Colin yearned for Ray to touch him there, and yet he knew that Ray would not indulge him.

Colin also hoped that Ray would brush off the itchy hairs around his neck; he did not. He did, however, grab the top of Colin’s head again as he surveyed his handiwork; Colin relished in the feeling of Ray’s calloused fingers against his buzzed scalp. Then, Ray took a step back.

“Get up.”

Colin complied. He glimpsed at himself in the mirror. There was a shadow of stubble on his head and nothing more. It was a severe buzz cut; he felt that his features had nowhere to hide.

He wasn’t sure if he liked it. His ears stuck out and his eyes looked sunken in. At the same time, he liked the way it emphasized the broadness of his forehead and the darkness of his eyebrows.

He also liked that he looked distinctly… queer. Ray had taken him and shaped him to his liking, turning him into one of the gay biker boys. There would be no question about his orientation whenever he stepped out in public; the idea embarrassed him for a moment, but it also exhilarated him.

Ray was looming behind him. He certainly liked that Ray had this control over him.

He could see the glint in Ray’s eyes, and he could feel the tension in the air. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to take Ray into his mouth or kiss his feet; he figured he would let Ray decide for him.

“Get down.”

Colin kneeled on the tile floor. He waited eagerly for Ray’s next movement, to see whether Ray would unzip his trousers or guide him closer to the ground.

Ray didn’t budge. Colin thought for a moment. He always felt pathetic—in a good way—while giving Ray head; there was just something about the feeling of his eyes tearing up as he gagged on Ray’s length. The idea of Ray grasping his clippered head as he sucked him off—pushing and pulling him to his heart’s content—electrified him.

However, Ray appeared to have the other option in mind. He tapped his right foot impatiently.

Colin began slowly licking the top of Ray’s left boot, just like he had on that cold Christmas night. He tasted the bitter polish that Ray used, but he also picked up an earthy essence, a mixture of leather and dirt. He worked his tongue in long, slow strokes, leaning into the unpleasant flavors.

He imagined what Ray must be seeing from above: his shorn head eagerly bobbing as he aimed to please him. He found himself moaning as he licked; he had worked himself up.

He kissed where the sole was stitched to the leather, making sure the sounds were audible to Ray. Not knowing what else to do, he returned back to the front part of the shoe and began sucking and swirling his tongue, imitating fellatio.

He felt somewhat uncertain about the best technique for worshipping Ray’s boots, and his knees were starting to get tired. He hoped Ray would like this, but he couldn’t really tell what Ray thought from down there.

He thought he heard him sigh, but he couldn’t tell if it was from pleasure or boredom. He continued flitting his tongue, now focusing on the area near the laces.

“That’s enough.” Ray took a step back. Before Colin could react, Ray left the room, leaving Colin still on all fours.

Colin felt disappointed. Had he done something wrong? Could he have done better?

Ray came back into the room; Colin heard metal jingling in his hands. He stood up to try to get a better look. He could see several linked chains and a padlock—his heart rate quickened. Was Ray about to shackle him to the bathroom radiator?

Unceremoniously, Ray put the links around Colin’s neck; the metal felt hefty as it rested on his collarbones. He then used the padlock to connect the links at the front—like a collar. Ray was collaring him. The realization sent excited shivers through Colin.

He had seen some of the motorbike crew—generally the submissive boys—wear collars. He had always wondered how the collars worked. When did they get bestowed? When could they be unlocked?

Ray used a small key to lock the padlock, closing it with a satisfying click. Ray walked around him in a circle, sizing him up. Colin realized that he wouldn’t be able to take this off without Ray. He wondered where Ray would keep the key.

He felt a bit uncomfortable, which was exacerbated by the unfamiliar sensation of the chain links around his neck and the spiky hair shavings still sitting on his skin. Questions, requests, concerns raced through Colin’s mind, but he didn’t have a moment to ask them.

“We are going out,” Ray said. “Everyone is meeting in Sidcup.”

Ray sauntered out of the room, giving Colin one more moment to look at himself in the mirror.

He looked so different, with his bare head, bulky collar, and full leather ensemble. Every part of him had been marked by Ray.

It felt… strange… but it felt right.

He walked out of the bathroom, realizing his steps felt heavier than normal. He stomped down the stairs and went out the front door. He heard Ray already revving the engine of his motorbike.

Colin’s new helmet had a chemical smell, and he could feel the bristles of his buzz cut when he put it on. He gripped onto Ray as they took off into the late afternoon light.

He felt more secure than usual in this outfit—more protected from the elements. He imagined passersby seeing them—two men in leather, a blur of black, white, and blue.

He could feel the leather warming up under the heat of the sun. The tightness around his groin—coupled with the rumbling of the motorbike seat—titillated him.

As they turned into the street next to the bar in Sidcup, Colin could see all of the bikers crowded around outside, bantering over pints of beer. He felt a bit nervous for them to see him like this.

The two of them came to a stop in front of the bar entrance. Ray took off his helmet, and Colin followed his lead. Immediately, he heard jeers and whistles from the crowd.

“What’s this, then?” A friend of Ray’s, hulking and bald, approached them; without asking, he tugged Colin’s collar and rubbed the top of his head. Colin tried his hardest to hide how erotic he found this.

Another friend commented, “Oh, good luck with that,” and Colin couldn’t tell if the comment was meant for him or for Ray.

He felt very exposed like this, and he was still itchy from the loose hairs, but he also felt welcomed into the fold. He found himself laughing a bit more easily at the boys’ jokes, and he noticed that Ray seemed to be smiling at him more often. He felt masculine.

Colin eavesdropped on Ray’s conversation with one of the older bikers. “I’ll be shaving him like this weekly,” Ray said nonchalantly.

For a moment, Colin’s stomach churned. He gulped and felt the collar against his Adam’s apple. What would his parents and colleagues think of him looking like this?

But then, he imagined being in the bathroom with Ray each week, being molded into someone—or something—that Ray may someday, somehow love. He felt intrigued by the idea of a weekly ritual—of Ray focusing his attention on touching him for several minutes, even if that touching was done in order to shear him down.

He could withstand the odd looks from passersby and the jokes from the biker gang. He could brush off any comments of concern from the people in his life.

He looked at Ray, taking in his ridiculous handsomeness, his muscular frame, his relaxed demeanor with his peers.

He did a double take at the delicate silver chain that Ray always kept around his neck.

Ray was wearing the key to his collar as a pendant.

In that moment, Colin realized that everyone outside this bar knew he was the one who Ray could unlock.

And he realized he would do anything to keep himself at Ray’s feet.