Leather Skin Biker

Me and my slave made the acquaintance of a boy who was a feature on the Chicago leather landscape in the weeks and months after I claimed my slave. I will call him skin bill. This boy self-identified as a skin and as a pup at the time when we met him. One of his most salient qualities was his extraordinary intelligence. It is often easy to tell within a few minutes of meeting a boy how smart he is, his intellectual prowess. I would almost go so far as to call this boy nerdy. Like a fine wine, this boy was complex, with subtle notes of darkness and sadism that belied his boyish appearance. Skin bill stood at about 5 feet 7 inches tall, and weighed maybe 150 pounds. He had very short cropped brown hair, and blue eyes behind smallish round glasses. This boy of no more than 24 years old was frequently sighted in the Chicago leather bars in skin attire—Fred Perry shirt, white braces, straight leg washed Levi’s or bleachers, the white-laced boots. His music was punk, his attitude both cocky and kind, his conversation often intellectual, peppered with punk culture references. This boy was a technogeek, with a highly sophisticated knowledge of technology for sound, music, and audiovisual displays. It goes without saying that he knew a great deal about computers, servers, networks, and Internet technologies. This boy was sought after and employed by local gay bars, and oftentimes to do AV for International Mister Leather.

It took very little time for me and my slave to develop a rapport with skin bill. I am always attracted to brainy boys (and men), so that was a good fit. There was something in this boy’s eyes that was at once wild, yet sad. It was through our conversations that me and my slave were able to get past what appeared on the surface, to connect with what was deeper, and sometimes darker, within this boy. For all of his technogeek, skinhead boyish good looks, there was a darkness in this boy that I found compelling. One of the truisms that skin bill shared with us that made an impression on me was one having to do with the purpose of fucking. Skin bill told me once that there are two, and only two, purposes for fucking: 1) to get off, and 2) to hurt someone. When a boy articulates a belief system liek that, I make note. This simple statement of belief told me volumes about skin bill’s views on power, dominance, submission, and pain. This was a boy who felt great fondness for the bloody fuck, and liked to talk about it. Those of you who are faithful readers know something of my experience with bloody fucks. Suffice to say that I found this boy’s intellectual complexity engaging, and his darkness compelling. I remember thinking that at the very least, this boy could be a friend to us, or perhaps even more.

On the first evening that me and my slave chatted with skin bill, we found ourselves in the back bar at the Eagle in Chicago. There was clearly chemistry between us. Skin bill related to me as a Sir, and treated me with great respect. He was quick to buy a round of beers for the three of us, and exuded warmth toward me and my boy. Skin bill’s sexual interests included the aforementioned rough fucking, as well as pup training/play. It is lucky to meet a boy who is versatile enough to be able to fuck someone bloody, submit to a handler in pup mode, and to serve as protective guard dog. One thing about skin bill is that when he sees something he wants, he goes after it. On that very first night we met, skin bill asked my permission to fuck my slave. He didn’t want to fuck him bloody, but he definitely wanted to get inside my property.

Given all of skin bill’s qualities, I was inclined to let him fuck my slave. Honestly, I thought it would be hot to watch him use my boy’s hole. What I didn’t realize when skin bill presented his request was how nicely he was hung. Skin bill had a very respectably sized penis, which was probably in the neighborhood of 8 to 8-1/2 inches. My slave being who he is, I knew that he would enjoy taking that up his ass. So it seemed like a win-win. What was really fun about it is that skin bill asked whether he could do it right there at the back bar at the Eagle. Those of you who have been to the Chicago Eagle know that there is a back room where all variety of activities go on, and that depending on how crowded the back bar area, sometimes groping, sucking, and, umm, fucking occur right there in the open. In this case, skin bill and I made a bit of a wall that provided a small amount of privacy amid the curiosity seeking pigs who alway senjoy a good show.

Before getting things started, we had the conversation about skin bill’s status. He was poz, and so I wanted him to use a condom. He had no problems fucking my slave wrapped. So he went to the front bar for some condoms, and returned, ready to plow my boy in public. Soon skill bill’s pants would be unzipped, and his big cock would be out. I gave it a few strokes to get it hard. It took little time to become rock hard. Skin bill ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth, and spit the plastic onto the floor. I watched him slide the sheath over his cock while I took my slave’s jeans down in the corner of the bar. Not long after that, I heard my slave let out a moan, and with that skin bill was inside him, very deep. My boy’s hands were on the wall, skin bill was pumping his ass, and I was right behind skin bill. I enjoyed watching skin bill’s tight little ass muscles clenching as he thrust deep into my boy’s hole. As all of this was going on, a steady stream of onlookers shuffled past, some looking at me, grinning, and giving me an approving nod. Many of them realized that the boy getting fucked was my slave, so the nod was both a compliment and an acknowledgment of their pleasure at seeing my boy taking skin bill’s fuck in that dark corner of the bar.

There was a lot here for me to like. On the one hand, I had this smart skinhead boy fucking my property in a semi-public setting, and on the other, there was an implicit trust on my part for skin bill. On that evening, I wondered what role skin bill might play in our life, our relationship, whether it be friendship or more. I was intrigued by the combination of skin and pup in one boy. I looked forward to knowing more, and doing more with this interesting boy. After he had his fill o of my boy’s hole, he came very hard into he condom. Just as quickly as he unzipped, he was zipped back up, braces back on his shoulders. My slave assembled himself, and asked permission to go to the washroom. Permission granted. Meanwhile skin bill and I ordered another round of beers. He’d worked up a thirst, as had me and my boy. When my slave returned, he gave me a kiss and said, “Thank you, Master.”

This entry was posted on Monday, May 12th, 2008 at 6:23 am and is filed under Bloody, Dehumanization, Fucking, Neo-nazi, Objectification, Pup play, Skinhead, Wrapped.