Leather Skin Biker

It was early, and I was still in that state halfway between sleep and wakefulness where things are kind of hazy. I heard him rustling around in the kitchen and smelled coffee brewing. I didn’t see a clock in his bedroom, so I was not sure what time it was, but could tell it was daylight outside. I got up and peeked out the window. From the 40th floor I could see a winter wonderland covered in snow, and it was still falling. I wondered how much snow we might have on the ground by now. I went to piss, and on the way caught a glimpse of the faggot cooking my breakfast. he was leathered up in chaps, boots, collar, and barechested. In case you haven’t had the pleasure, trust me—it’s nice to have a submissive bitch in leather cooking breakfast for you.

he served up breakfast in short order, and everything was to my liking. As I had requested, he had made me two eggs over medium, whole wheat toast, bacon crisp, nearly blackened, orange juice, and Starbucks coffee. he had ventured out into the storm to the little store across the street before I woke up. I asked him how he slept. he replied , “I slept very well, Sir.” I had that satisfied smirk on my face upon discussing his sleep, reflecting on how this submissive shit eating leather slave had slept on the floor on my command, and out of respect for me. That works for me.

I sensed in him an anticipation, perhaps a hunger—literal hunger, you could say. There’s something that I’ve noticed about these nasty toilet boys—they love to watch me eat. They study the food and I can hear the cogs and wheels spinning upstairs. Twisted? Definitely. But I get it. As a matter of fact, it’s hot. I like to feel their hunger, in much the same way that I like controlling the how and when of feeding it. A hungry boy is a good boy. It clearly put the ball in my court, where it belongs. And in leatherscatpig’s eyes I saw that hunger. It was palpable and intense. he was fucking starving.

For those of you versed in the logistics involved in feeding a hungry shit eating toilet slave, bear with me. But for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, know that planning has to go into the process. Planning can include everything from watching what you eat to carefully selecting foods that will make for the best shit, or taking Immodium to try to manage the consistency and size of the turds. I was a newbie the first time I fed this pig, so all I knew to do back then was to try to avoid taking a dump for as long as I could. I had been successful in avoiding taking a dump all day Friday, Friday night, and it was by then Saturday morning. I had to be careful with the coffee. As much as I love my strong coffee in the morning, I knew that too much would send me to the bathroom with an urgent wet dump, and my hungry faggot would lose out. And honestly, I wanted to feed him as much as he wanted to eat. I had waited all week, errr, actually my whole lifetime, for this experience. I wanted it to happen.

So I finished eating, I drank coffee in moderation, and felt sensations down below that told me it would not be long before the pig would be subject to what many consider to be the ultimate act of humiliation and submission. I had fantasized about this for a long time, and was not sure I could do it. I’m human. I’m not a machine. This was new for me, and I had no proven track record as a dom top feeder, so of course I wondered how it would go. I also wondered what it would do to my head. I anticipated this new, unprecedented feeling of superiority to come with another man eating my waste. Already, I had changed my perceptions about subs who engage in this vile play. At the risk of repeating what I have already said about leatherscatpig in previous installments, the faggot has a handsome face, a nice body, beautiful white teeth, and a great personality. If you passed him on the street you’d probably think, “Ah, he’s a nice looking guy.” But I doubt you’d ever think to yourself, “I bet he eats other men’s shit in the privacy of his own home, and gets off on it.” But the prospect of having him ingest my waste struck me as incredibly hot. And the time was growing closer.

I told the faggot that it would not be long. Well, you’d have thought I had just told a kid that Santa Claus had been to visit and the presents were downstairs under the tree. His eyes lit up, and he sprung into action with preparations. The blessed event was near, and my pig was ready to worship at the altar. In this case, the altar comes in the form of a rimseat. Central to the process of feeding a bottom eater is the rimseat, at least in my experience. I would liken rimseat feeding to the missionary position in hetero fucking. rimseat : feeding :: missionary position : hetero intercourse. You get it. The rimseat is traditional, it’s expected. Feeding a human toilet using a rimseat is the best way to learn. The more exotic approaches can come later, after the feeder wraps his brain around the whole thing, when he is more adventurous and relaxed. Lest you become at all confused about terminology here, the guy who produces the shit is called the “feeder,” and the guy eating the shit is called the “eater.” At first the “feeder” part threw me, because that word suggested to me the bottom, someone who does the eating.

You can probably imagine my amusement and arousal when leatherscatpig had things in place. I did not previously mention that he had a sling set up in his livingroom, and a massive porn collection. He had been priming me with scat porn while he set things up. The rimseat was positioned in proximity to the sling, without encumbering his legs or interfering in any way. And here is what I considered perhaps the hottest thing prior to the actual feeding: the faggot had connected a chain to the rimseat. The chain could, and would, be attached to a locked collar. This ensured that he could not slide out from under the rimseat, regardless what I served up. He would be mine, and he would have no choice but to take it. The locked collar and chain would serve as my insurance policy. Okay, is it just me, or does this seem like one of the hottest things ever? My head was kind of spinning with anticipation, just like the faggot’s, but for entirely different reasons.

Next I connected the chain and lock to his collar. Logistically, it is kind of cumbersome to manage the rimseat, chain, collar, and lock simultaneously. But I got the job done. With the faggot securely collared, chained under the rimseat, my next task was to restrain his wrists. If he could use his hands, in theory he could push me off the rimseat, or at least try to do so. He could also use his hands to manage the turds, or worse yet, pull them away from his face, mouth, etc. Well, I could not have that. I needed to make sure his hands were bound. So I slipped a pair of nice police grade handcuffs on him. I figured that would take care of the hands. Restraining his ankles was the next task at hand. In that case, I used ankle restraints connected with one of the hooks from the sling. So he was in position, and the feeding would start very soon.

I found my engineers freshly polished, placed carefully by his kitchen breakfast bar. I slipped them on and that is all I wore for the feeding. As I said, I was a newbie, so I had not developed my whole dom top feeder routine yet, so all I needed was lube, the remote, and a beverage to sip. Over time I developed more sophisticated needs, including cigars, scotch, and some 420. But not on that snowy day. With the lube close by, my soda at the ready, and the remote within reach, I lowered my hairy ass onto the rimseat. There was some adjustment required on the faggot’s part to get his head at just the right height. I had to help with the adjusting, since he was in cuffs. It didn’t take long, and everything was all set.

I mentioned in a previous installment that leatherscatpig had once come over to eat my ass, and that he has a quite talented tongue. So I was looking forward to feeling his hot, wet tongue on my hole again. I love to be rimmed, and especially love to be rimmed as foreplay to feeding a hungry sub bottom toilet slave. The faggot really did a great job of helping me and my hole relax. It is important, as everyone know, to be able to relax the sphincter in order to take a dump, among other things. The warmth of his tongue, and his obvious talents, helped to do that. Oh, and I almost forgot: poppers. Those definitely helped. I took a hit of poppers and within seconds felt his tongue probe deeper up my hole. I have always felt that having a faggot’s tongue up my asshole was a very intimate, personal experience. But I had no idea what intimacy was until that day. Two words that I use to describe feeding are those two words: intimate and personal. But I had no idea, until I fed a toilet slave for the first time. And it was about to begin.

To be continued.

This entry was posted on Sunday, April 6th, 2008 at 10:09 am and is filed under Dehumanization, Dominance, Humiliation, Leather, Master/slave, Power Imbalance, Scat, Submission.