Leather Skin Biker

chicagopitbull is a thick muscular 37 year-old boy who stands about 5 feet 6 inches tall, weighs around 170 pounds, with a moderately hairy body, average cock size, brown hair and blue eyes. This boy fits his name: he’s solid and tough. He’s comfortable in a pair of shorts, an old flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, a jock, and construction worker boots. But he’s even better naked, bound, and humiliated. This is a a boy who loves to be used and abused by other men. When I stumbled upon him on slave4master.com I read his profile and browsed his pictures. He had chosen the novel idea of posting photos of himself laying on the ground on the Chicago lake shore in his profile. It is very appropo for this boy to be photographed on the ground–for he truly belongs down there. So when I met this pit bull bitch of a boy I took it as my task to push him down even further.

The day of our scheduled meet this faggot messages me and asked what he can bring me. I suggested that he could bring some beer. Of course he asked me what kind I like. I told him I wanted Beck’s. So when he showed up at my door that evening he had two six-packs of ice cold Beck’s. Immediately I knew this was a boy who wanted and needed to please me. The good news in this case was that the boy looked like his pictures, and that he seemed to be just as submissive as he claimed in his profile. I’m not a big fan of boys who claim to be sub bottoms who insist on backleading or driving from the bottom. After all, it is all about me. I had told the boy to wear a white T under a flannel shirt, a white jock, jeans, and boots. And that is exactly what he was wearing when he presented himself to me.

First things first, I tell him to put the beer in the refrigerator–nothing worse than beer that is less than ice cold. With that business out of the way I tell him to go back over by the door and strip. I told him to take everything off and get on his knees. He took great care to fold his things neatly and stack them by the door. He placed his boots neatly together, with one white sock placed carefully in each boot. I liked seeing him naked. He had a nice body. Honestly, he looked better in person than in his photos. He had a cute smile and his eyes kind of twinkled. I’m a sucker for cute sub boys, especially cute muscled sub boys. He was fair-complected, ostensibly of Northern European descent, and solid. He wore a size 10 boot, which is fairly large for his height. I really enjoyed the fact that he was nearly a foot shorter than me. I stand at 6′5″, so I pretty much towered over this 5′6″ faggot boy.

So within about 60 seconds after he arrived I had him on his knees naked just inside my front door. That done I started the way I like to start with a boy like this: I took my right hand and I pushed his head into my crotch, pretty much squashing his face and nose. I held his head there for several seconds, only releasing the pressure on the back of his head when I was ready to unzip my jeans so he could service me. Once my jeans were unzipped and unbuttoned I told him to lick my jock. This faggot was all over that jock, wetting it down with his saliva with the kind of enthusiasm I like to see a boy exhibit. As soon as he had thoroughly soaked the jock with his tongue, I took the hard bulge and shoved it into his pig mouth–hard. He did not balk or complain or draw back from the wet pouch I was forcing into his gaping mouth. Instead it seemed he wanted to devour it. Again, I like seeing that kind of enthusiasm and hunger in a pussy boy.

I was satisfied with the work he had done on my cock and balls while in the pouch, so I pulled it out of his mouth and slid my jock down. Now the boy would get to lay his tongue on my cock without the stretchy fabric in the way. That cocksucker sucked my cock as if his life depended on it. He took it down his throat and nursed it and would keep sucking just as long as I wanted. He only stopped when told to stop. I let him go on servicing me for several minutes. I was enjoying it quite a lot. Of course, I was thinking, as long as he’s sucking my cock he’s on his knees, leaning forward, his legs spread and his ass wonderfully vulnerable. I couldn’t resist the urge to explore his hole while he sucked me, so I did. I took my index finger and felt the smooth warm hole, reaching for my favorite spot: the prostate. I heard him whimper and moan quietly as I rubbed that fucker. It was clear at that moment that I would be using that hole any way that I wanted that night–until I was done and I was ready to throw his ass back out into the street.

With this getting to know you stuff out of the way, I was ready to move on to bigger and better things. I told him to stop sucking and to get back up on his feet. He responded immediately. The boy had worked up a sweat and was slightly winded. I decided it was time to start force feeding beer into this bitch. So I told him to get two beers–one for me and one for him. Before he even arrived I knew that I would be getting this faggot fucked up on beer and poppers. I like taking away what little control a faggot has–letting him become even more vulnerable, even more at my mercy. And so it began, with the one bottle of Beck’s. When he stopped drinking I told him to chug the rest and get another bottle. This kicked off what would be a very interesting evening.

If you are anything like me, then you have a weight bench somewhere in your house. At the time I had one in my bedroom, with iron, dumbbells, and a bicep/tricep bar cluttering one corner of the room. My plan was to tie this fucker up on the weight bench. It’s not very comfortable, so it forces a boy to remain alert, with both feet on the ground. I used rope to tie his wrists to one of the weight bench supports, while placing akle restraints on his ankles and securing those with rope to the other support post. I had set the bench to an incline position so that the boy was laying at roughly a 45 degree angle, his ass and legs flat, legs spread and feet on the floor. I covered his eyes with a blindfold to enhance all the sensations that were yet to come.

With the boy securely in place, bound on the weight bench, I began feeding him poppers and beer. He’d already had two bottles by the time I tied him up. So I fed him bottle three and administered the poppers aggressively. This was great fun for me. Since he was on an incline it was fairly easy to force feed the beer to him without him choking on it. I pretty much just turned the bottles upside down and emptied them into him. By the time he swallowed the last of the beer I’d start hitting him hard with the poppers. He had little down time during this process. I have never tried to hide my sadistic side from boys. I believe in truth in advertising, and I am up front about it. I could tell by the way he was breathing and sweating that he was nicely buzzed on beer and poppers. That’s when I began to up the ante.

I’m fond of nipple torture, so I retrieved my alligator clips. Essentially these are two very tight metal clips with jagged teeth connected by chain. I attached one clip, and then the other to his nipples. The boy had relatively small nipples. I could tell they had not been tortured, trained or worked over that much. So I made sure that teeth connected with some of the flesh beyond the nipples when I attached the clips. In spite of his buzz, he definitely felt the alligator clips. His reaction was both audible and visual. He winced and moaned as I attached each clip, but then even moreso when I let the clips bear the full weight of the chain that connected them. This put a smile on my face. I like hearing a boy make those sounds. With that I decided I’d take a short break and let him rest for a few moments before going further.

I’m a fairly verbal kind of guy, so I made sure to use keywords like “faggot,” “cunt face,” and “boy” throughout the evening. I like to remind a boy who and what he is with these verbal cues. For those boys who enjoy being humiliated as much as I enjoy humiliating them, this is definitely a winning system. Not that it matters whether they enjoy it–the important thing is that I enjoy it. The sub bottom bitches just need to take it, like it or not.

After the break I returned with another bottle of Beck’s, poppers, and a candle. I checked in with the boy to see how he was doing. He reported, “Fine, Sir.” Of course, I replied with the standard, “Good boy.” It was time for more beer. I think this would be beer five for him. Again, I basically poured it down his throat, then gave him poppers as a chaser. And then more poppers. Then I lit the candle. So poppers stopped, and hot wax began. I dribbled hot wax on his chest and stomach. I gave him the hot wax in a rhythmic pattern–drizzle, break, drizzle, break, drizzle, break until I was satisfied. With each drizzle he winced slightly, jerked a bit. But he took it well. He took it, umm, like a good faggot. I could see the little red welts forming under the warm wax drippings all over his torso. Again a big smile on my face.

It was time for another beer once I was done with the hot wax–a beer for me and for him. So I retrieved two cold beers from the frig and again poured one down his throat. I sipped mine at a leisurely pace. With beer six in his gullet I began to then push poppers into him again. This time he said, “Sir, I need a minute.” The combination of beer chugging and poppers in such close succession was overwhelming him. I’m a sadist, but I’m not insane, so I let him rest for a few moments until this passed. And it did pass rather quickly. He was fine–reasonably fucked up, but fine–as in not in danger.

It was time to untie the boy so we could move onto his next duty station, which was to be the bathroom. I got him up on his feet. He was kind of wobbly, and still blindfolded. I guided him to the bathroom by putting one hand on each shoulder and pushing him forward. I steered him around corners quite easily by pressing on the appropriate shoulder. It was incredibly easy to “drive” him, even in his fucked up state. I had already prepared for this next part of the evening by placing my electric clippers in the bathroom. I did not plan to use a guard when I took his hair–just the hot metal of the clipper directly on his skin. My target was his bush. As part of the whole mindfuck I was going to take his pubic hair–which in a sense equates to manhood. I would make him more boy-like within a matter of minutes with my handy clippers. I watched his face when I flipped on the clippers–he seemed a bit startled, but again, did not try to get away or pull back from the sound. That sound told him what was coming. I didn’t take away the hair on his check and stomach. That hair was matted with dried wax now anyway. I wouldn’t want to gunk up my clippers with wax. I liked seeing his crotch freshly shorn. His average size cock looked slighly larger sans the pubic hair. The clipping was a good idea.

From there I next put him into the tub. All that beer I had drunk made my bladder full, and I needed to empty it. What better place to empty it than all over this pit bull bitch boy. So that’s what I did. I didn’t miss anything with my aim. I managed to hit his crotch, his hole, torso, face, and his hair. It’s a lot of fun to soak a boy down with hot piss. As he lay there in what was quickly becoming my cold piss, robbed of his bush, hot wax all over his torso, I told him that he looked like a fucking mess. Yeah. Humiliating. Embarrassing. But yet, something was missing. At first I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but then it dawned on me what this boy needed. I should have thought of it earlier: Sharpies. Sharpie markers are great things. They’re so versatile–perfect for marking moving boxes and boys. Who knew? Yeah. They are. So I told the bitch to get out of the tub. He was dripping cold piss all over, so I told him to stand on the towel for a few. I didn’t want him tracking piss all over my floors.

The boy was kind of cold, as evidenced by his trembling. Well, cold and fucked up. The six beers and poppers had taken their toll. Not to mention the alligator clamps, the wax, the clippers, and the golden shower. It just warms my heart to see a boy all fucked up, right where I want him, trembling. I could feel compassion or sympathy for him. But no. Not necessary. This is his lot in life and he asked for it. This boy wanted and needed what I was dishing out. I was doing him a favor. And I was having a good time. So it’s a win-win. Enough about that.

Okay, so blue Sharpie marker in hand, I turn the faggot around and set out to label him appropriately. Talk about truth in advertising–I was going to call a spade a spade. So I scrawled my own sort of graffiti on his ass. I wrote the words “FAGGOT,” “CUNT,” and “PIG” on his lightly hairy ass cheeks. From the word “CUNT” I drew an arrow toward his asshole. I had slipped the blindfold back on him, so he wasn’t sure what I’d written at that point. But he’d see it later.

Well. What to do next with this so-called “chicagopitbull.” He didn’t look or act so tough anymore. He seemed more helpless fucked up boy than pit bull at that point. In the short time I had spent with this boy, I had learned that he did not complain or balk unless there was a good reason. So when he said, “Sir, I think I need to lay down” I took him at his word. I could see that he was having trouble standing, seemed exhausted. So I led him to the bed and let him lay down–face down. I covered him up because he seemed to feel very cold. It was the dead of winter, and in spite of the heat being turned up, a naked boy can still feel cold. So I sat there on the weight bench listening to him breathing. I think he passed out the instant his face hit the pillow. I listened closely to make sure that he kept breathing. At one point it sounded as though he’d stopped breathing, so I checked to make sure by putting my fingers under his nose. He was definitely still breathing, albeit very quietly. This went on for some time. Me, the dutiful dom sitting by monitoring the boy while he slept. After 20 minutes or so I felt confident that he was fine. That’s when I decided I needed to take his hole, marking it as mine–at least for that night.

I pulled off the blanket and sheet and climbed on him. He had warmed up nicely, and remained passed out as I slid my unwrapped cock up inside him. He did give a very low moan, but did not fully awake. I found myself being highly aroused by the situation. There I was raping his smooth, tight, pink hole while he was out cold. Bareback. Skin on skin. Cock in hole. As it was meant to be. It was incredibly hot contemplating breeding him while he was out. Focusing on that thought actually led to the breeding happening fairly quickly. I shot my load deep inside him while he was still out. Then I pulled out and covered him back up. Not more than five minutes later he wakes up, pulls off the covers and puts his ass up in the air, legs spread. At that moment I wondered whether he knew that I had just pumped a hot load of spooge up inside his boy cunt. But then, it really didn’t matter. He wanted my cock and cum, and I was happy to give it to him–again. Sometimes I get whatever I want. Life is good. It’s great to be me.

With two of my loads inside him, marking him, if only for that night, it was time to get him out the door. I had to get up early for work the next day. I told the faggot that he was to get dressed and go. Scene over. Fini. Done. With that chicagopitbull asks me, “May I clean up, Sir, so I don’t have to go out into the street like this?” He’d caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror when I let him pee, so he knew how he looked–the wax, the Sharpie graffiti, the bare crotch, wearing the smell of my piss. After considering his request for a millisecond, I responded flatly, “No. Get your clothes on and go.” His reply? “Thank you, Sir.”

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 15th, 2008 at 9:59 am and is filed under Breeding, Chem Control, Dominance, Fucking, Humiliation, Power Imbalance, Submission, Unwrapped.