Leather Skin Biker

To those of you who are (were?) consistent readers of my blog, I apologize for the long pause in my postings. The confluence of several factors has contributed to my absence from the blog editor. To wit:

• As my posts recount more recent interactions, encounters, events, I reflect on the relative dry spell that was June 2007 - May 2008. This reflection has, in part, helped to propel me back into action, reengaging with friends and other sorts of men who have been largely absent from my life for some time.
• The more time that I spend reengaging with old friends, and making new ones, it seems the less time I have for writing. That’s not an excuse, just an observation.
• It’s summer in Chicago. After an especially winter-like winter, it feels as though I’ve come out of hibernation, and I’m embracing the opportunities to enjoy the summer before it ends.
• I feel nearly ready to shift gears with the blog, and begin introducing posts that describe relatively recent encounters, rather than filling in the backstory. My “Wescomania” post represents more of the current events type of post. This is not to say that there will not be more backstory. There really needs to be more of that, in order that my readers understand why I am who I am today, and how I became this person.

All of this is to say that I haven’t given up on the blog, and I have more to say. I’m still here.

There was a warm summer Saturday when I had some errands to do on the North Side of the city. I had called my slave while en route back to the South Loop and he told me he had a surprise for me. It was going for 1:00 p.m. by the time I got back home. When I arrived home, I opened the door and found that my slave had found a little skin boy (lsb) for us to use. The skin boy was blindfolded and on all fours. he looked to be no more than maybe 5′7″ and all of 150 pounds, tops. I would estimated his age at that time to have been perhaps 25 or 26. he had a shaved head, and his body was essentially smooth except for the hair under his arms and a small amount of pubic hair. My slave had already gotten him high on weed, and was playing with the boy’s tiny nipples. My slave announced to the boy that Master was home and that I was going to use him for my amusement.

I took my slave in the other room, where we could talk with some privacy. I asked him what the kid’s deal was—what is he into, what are his limits, and asked what had he already done with this little skin boy. my slave had told the lsb that we would respect his limits, which included no blood, no scat, no permanent marks. I asked my slave where the lsb stood on pain. My slave had told him we would give him no pain. I found that a little disappointing, and of course, knew I would have to push that a bit when I got at lsb.

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There’s nothing particularly special or unusual about a fag with a boot fetish. It’s not every gay man’s dream come true, but there are plenty of boot whores out there. I don’t own 72 pairs of boots. I have my basic combat, engineer, construction worker boots, and in the past have worn Docs, harness boots, etc. I love boots and the men who wear them, but I’m not out-of-control insane about it. Well, at least not up until recently.

In February I had my slave measure me for custom-fitted Wescos. I didn’t choose custom-fitted because I have cash to burn, but instead because my feet are too big for off-the-shelf Wescos. I normally wear size 15 mediums, so finding a pair of boots that fit can be a challenge, let alone a pair I actually like. The Wesco style I ordered was “The Boss.” Custom orders take about 15 weeks. When you submit a custom order, Wesco makes the boots just for you, according to your specifications, with every option you want and can afford. I mailed my order on Velentine’s Day, and the boots shipped the first week of June.

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It didn’t take me long to get to Master David’s place. He only lives about two miles from my loft. I found a parking space on the street in the mostly Mexican neighborhood. I arrived at the iron gate leading to the entrance to his home. He had instructed me how to get through the gate, but it wasn’t working for some reason. I called him on his wireless to let him know I was outside and having trouble gaining access. Master David came to the door to let me in. He had on a leather shirt, jeans, and his Wesco boots. His Wescos are tall and broken in, but well kept by his slave. His black hair shone in the mid-spring evening light. He invited me in and told me to head to the room in back. His slave was busy cleaning as we trotted through the livingroom, completely naked except for a head harness.

I felt glad to be getting this opportunity to share time and space with Master David, and especially liked the fact that his slave was about the house, completely aware of what was going on. In contrast to the reaction one might expect in such a situation, his slave is happy when Master David has a boy over for play. Master David had taught his slave that whatever makes Master David happy makes his slave happy. That is exactly as it should be. A true slave will always find pleasure in what gives his master pleasure.

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On Good Friday I had boy jay come down to Chicago to spend Easter weekend with me and my slave. I had plans for Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday with my former partner’s family about 65 miles southwest of Chicago (long story), and my slave and boy jay were going to go to boy mick’s place for Easter dinner on Sunday. boy jay took the bus down from Madison, then hopped on the blue line el, and came to my workplace. he was really early, arriving before lunchtime. After lunch I headed out with slave candidate number two in tow. I was anxious to get boy jay home so I could fuck his hot pink hairy hole. I hadn’t seen the bitch for a couple of months, and wanted inside both of his warm holes, and to breed him.

W/we were home in no time, and I put boy jay to work giving me head for as long as I wanted. he dutifully sucked and worshipped my pierced cock until I told him to stop. Then I took his ass into the bed and fucked his hole hard and real, and was very verbal with him, saying things like, “Take my cock you fucking cunt boy,” and “you’re nothing but a fucking faggot, nothing but two warm holes, that’s all you are to me, boy.” Meanwhile his face was smashed into the mattress and he would try to slip away, and then I’d pull him back and tell him to stop moving around, then pounded him harder, more sadistically. I wanted to make him bleed. One thing that is consistent about boy jay—he always manages to inspire my sadistic side. I grabbed him by his hair and released a string of verbal jabs to demean and humiliate him as I fucked into his boy cunt. I wanted to hurt him, make him cry. I also wanted to breed him. And then I wanted a fucking nap.

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There is this boy who lives in Indiana who I will refer to as “hotelbear.” He’s a good kid, and wants to be a master one day. He’s about 30 y.o., stands around 5 foot 10 inches tall, with brown hair, green eyes, and a hairy body. He’s fond of the baseball cap, big T-shirt look. As a matter of fact, I’ve never met him, but I feel I know him fairly well. This guy looked to me for mentoring on becoming a master. He was full of questions about how to find a slave, now to train the slave, what does it take to be a master, etc., etc. I kind of took him under my wing for a while, and tried to help him find himself. He had doubts about his ability to be a master, wasn’t sure of himself, and that kind of thing. In the course of our many chats, we spoke of my slave more than one time. hotelbear took a liking to my slave, and wanted to know all about him, how I found him, how he came to live here in Chicago with me, etc. After quite some time, probably six months or so, I felt fairly comfortable making arrangements for my slave to visit and serve hotelbear. This is a post detailing how I pimped my slave out to hotelbear.

What? Pimp my slave out, you ask? Yes. It was part of the headspace. I got off on it, my slave got off on it, and so did hotelbear. It was a win-win-win situation. hotelbear would get the opportunity to meet and play with my slave, and my slave would get something he wanted. On more than one occasion my slave has asked me whether I would be willing to let him try working as a rent boy, or at the very least a male escort. As tempting as that might sound financially, I have never felt that it would represent a good life for him, and could be frought with dangers. Since one of my primary jobs is to protect my slave, why would I knowingly put him in harm’s way for financial gain? That’s not to say that it does not appeal to me on some level. My slave has modeled in the past, and I think I could earn good money pimping his ass out. I’ve checked out what some rent boys charge and found that some command up to $2,000 for a full night, or $200-$500 for an hour. I have a friend who has a friend in the business, so I could ask him for the inside scoop if I were to pursue something like that.

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There is a guy I know who is into roleplay who loves cigars, rubber, and piss. I had been exchanging messages with him for some time, and finally went to play with him in his play space. While it was impossible to know this based on the scene I had with him, he stands over six feet tall, with dirty blond hair, nice build, in his 40s. It’s kind of ironic, but I have never spoken to the man face to face. It will be clear why that is after I describe the scenes I’ve had with this guy, who I will refer to as “smokedog.”

The way this scene worked is that he was in the role of a rubberized, submissive human ash tray and urinal. I was the leathered dom cigar and watersports top. he would leave his door unlocked, and I would find him in full rubber, in his play room, waiting. I got the impression that he stays in gear for sometimes 6-8 hours or more at a time. When I chatted with him online, I usually had the impression that he was geared up for quite some time prior to our chat. This guy really embraces his fetishes, and spends hours in the headspace before he does a scene. From way back I have been a fan of the unlocked door scene in which I walk into someone’s house where I may or may not have been before, and engage in a hot scene with a guy.

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I had met this guy from Rhode Island online who seemed interesting. He was into boots, leather, role play, and me and my slave. He was going to be in Chicago on business, and invited me and my boy to have dinner. I thought that was a good idea, so we made a plan to get together for dinner. We met at the Fireside restaurant in the Ravenswood neighborhood in Chicago. That place has a nice outdoor “tented” dining area in back, which is used year round.

Me and my boy arrived first, got a table, and ordered something to drink. The Rhode Island guy, to whom I will refer as “Rhode Island Pig,” or “RIP,” arrived shortly thereafter. He was as he appeared in his photos. He was of average build, about 5 feet 9 inches tall, brown hair, brown eyes, and bearded. He had short, but not cropped hair. He wore jeans, a black T-shirt, and black harness boots. I found him mildly attractive, and not unpleasant. He was an academic and had that air about him, which is fine. He was bright, which is always a plus, and seemed nice enough. We had a nice dinner, and afterward decided to go to the Eagle for a drink.

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Before I claimed my slave, I went shopping for his pup accessories. I bought a spiked dog collar and had a Milk Bone-shaped ID tag created for him. I bought a kennel, a ceramic dog food bowl, a doggie placemat, a dog biscuit cookie jar, a new leash, and a Woolrich dog bed that was big enough for a large dog. Prior to moving my slave to Chicago, we had discussed our common interest in pup training and dehumanization, so I wanted to be ready. Subsequent to his relocation I bought pup mits, a down boy device, and a guide to training the human K9.

It was not until our first IML that I purchased a puppy hood for my slave, which represented the largest investment in pup training gear. The one that I bought is black and brown, with pointy ears and a zipper mouth. The main body of the hood is black, with brown trim around the eyes and the snout. The snout is removable, for those occasions when the pup’s handler does not want to have a metal zipper interfering with anything going into pup’s mouth.

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