Leather Skin Biker

Late last month, I had an opportunity to have dinner with Master David—the dark, sadistic master who lives here in Chicago. The two of us don’t get to hang out together very often, so it was a pretty big deal. I hadn’t seen Master David since over the summer, when I took him to a ball game. The dinner plans fell together pretty much effortlessly, once we found an evening that worked for both of us. He let me choose the restaurant, so I chose a gay restaurant in the heart of Boystown—one where there would be no real restrictions on me, in terms of clothing, demeanor, or PDAs, should those occur. We have had dinner at a few different places over the years, and being in a “regular” restaurant has never stopped Master David from expressing himself. I can recall vividly one time we had dinner at a sports bar/restaurant in my neighborhood, during which he stuck his boot into my crotch under the table, and pushed quite hard while we ate. Ahh, good times, that.

Of course, on the appointed day, there were logistics to be worked out. We are both working professionals, and are both quite busy during our work hours. And since Chicago is a city, we have several options for getting to the restaurant, where to meet, etc. The key in this case was that I really wanted us to both be able to enjoy a few drinks before, during, maybe even after dinner without being irresponsible and driving. Normally, if Master David picks me up and he drives, then he limits his alcohol intake. I was hopeful that in this case, he could get buzzed, along with me, instead of being the designated driver. With that objective in mind, there was the question of how best to get together and get to dinner. Options included cabbing and public transportation. During the negotiations about the how, Master David was commuting home from work, so he could get ready for dinner. I had taken off work a bit early, so I would have time to get ready and have some time to spare to relax with a drink and a little weed. I wanted to be uninhibited and relaxed with Master David at dinner. He likes me relaxed, open, and buzzed. If I go beyond buzzed, and enter the state that I call “kind of fucked up,” so much the better, in his opinion. So while he was commuting home, I was working on the fucked up part fairly enthusiastically.

I use a BlackBerry, and all of a sudden there were a flurry of text messages between Master David and me regarding the logistics. I notice daily that when I receive YIMs on my BlackBerry rapidly enough, that the BlackBerry cannot move fast enough to keep up with my replies. It frustrates me greatly to have IM sessions with someone who is logged into a computer while I’m on BlackBerry, because the BlackBerry slows down my replies unnaturally. In any case, I kept up as quickly as I could on the stupid BlackBerry. Since I was getting ready, I was not sitting down with my MacBook, Y3. The way that Master David was leaning was for us to meet somewhere by train, and then go to the restaurant together. Quite honestly, Master David had not been to my house, in a year, based on my best recollection. I really wanted to have him in my house, sitting on my sofa, just the two of us, with me at his boots. In an effort to encourage him to swing by my place, I described what I was wearing. I was dressed in my leather jeans, a black T with a Asian-influenced design on the chest, my Wescos, and a black leather wrist wallet. Master David had never seen my Wescos in-person up to that night, so it was important for him to be able to see them, and do whatever he wanted with them.

What Master David decided to do was to drive to the South Loop, park near my building, and then we would take a cab to dinner on the north side for dinner. In less time than I expected, Master David was downstair ringing me. I buzzed him in, and anticipated his arrival at my door. I was feeling pretty good, and very relaxed. I was also excited to see him, and to welcome him into my home. And then there was a knock at the door and he was there. I welcomed him in. The first thing I got was a nice kiss on the mouth. Master David took a quick look around the place. Much had changed since he’d last been there. All the clutter was gone, there was fresh paint, a different sofa, less furniture, etc., as my loft had been on the market for about six moths, and there had been plenty of showings, but no contract. So the place looked almost in showing condition, which is nice and neat and uncluttered.

I had my Wescos placed on the livingroom area rug, a starch-colored low shag rug, bought just for the showings. Master David immediately commented on the boots, and how good they looked. Before I knew it, he had slipped his boots off and slipped into mine. Since Master David wears around a size 10 to 10-1/2 boot, he was swimming in my monster size 15 custom-made boots. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that he had his feet in my boots—the very boots he had chosen for me. Before I had the boots custom-made between February and June, I had consulted Master David about the options, style of boot, etc. I put together the specs and he made the final decision about the boots. There was a lot of time and effort invested in the ordering and making of my Wescos. I’d studied the options, picked options, had my slave measure me for them, put the order together, and then used a chunk of my tax refund to pay for them. Master David had given the final sign-off before I mailed the order in February. He had anticipating seeing me in those boots for some months, but had also mentioned more than one time how he was going to put his feet in my boots the first time he saw them in-person. It is significant because it symbolizes Master David’s dominance and his right to do what he likes, including putting his feet in my boots. This is in keeping with the way he opened my closets and sat on my bed the first time he visited my place in 2006, almost two years to the day of this dinner. Call it a two year anniversary, a milestone, or just dinner, but just keep in mind that I waited over a year to have dinner with Master David since the most recent dinner we had shared in October 2007. I haven’t blogged about that dinner yet, but I will. Master David wants me to get this post out first, rather than work on 2007 back story, so I am.

Getting back to the pre-dinner time spent at my loft with Master David, as I was saying, he slipped into my Wescos. He didn’t walk far, but he put them on, said he liked them very much. He reminded me that he had picked them out for me, and I acknowledged that fact both verbally and with my eyes. Master David took a seat on my sofa, with one boot on the floor, and the other resting up on the sofa. Master David told me to give my own boots a good tongue bath, to clean them up while he was wearing them. We had discussed this moment for many months, and it had finally arrived. Since January we had discussed the day when I would lick my own boots while Master David wears them. And that moment had arrived. And it was an amazing moment. It felt very natural, very intimate, and very right. I wanted to please Master David, and did my best to lick and worship my own boots while his feet were in them. In this case, it was the right boot, as the left was up on the sofa. He let me tend to that boot worship for a few minutes, and then quite naturally, I climbed up onto Master David, and we kissed. Not crazy deep French kissing, but passionate and wet. As we were kissing Master David grabbed me by the back of my head, pulled my head back, got over me, and spit into my mouth several times, then kissed me some more. I craved that and swallowed down his spit with gratitude. I loved having his warm, wet tongue in my mouth, and I loved running my fingers through his hair as all this transpired. I wanted part of him inside me, in my belly, my gut. I wanted and needed that.

Master David twisted and squeezed hard my nipples quite a lot, but what naturally evolved was me on my knees, but easily able to wrap myself around his torso, both arms under him, wrapped tight around him. I laid my head on his chest and could hear his heart beating. He wrapped his arms around me and held me. It was in that moment that I felt protected, safe, and loved. Of all the things I could have done with Master David alone at my house, what I most wanted and needed was to feel the warm of his body, and to be held safely in his arms. So many months had passed since I last had the opportunity to feel his arms wrapped around me, quite literally. I remember how good he smelled—not cologned, but freshly showered and fresh. Before I had knelt down to lick my own boots, I had the opportunity to run my fingers through his black, black hair and smell it too. I love touching Master David’s hair and breathed in the freshly shampooed smell of his hair that night. For what seemed like several minutes, though, I just kept my arms wrapped around him, his crotch at roughly my chest level, my head on his belly and chest. I was warm and safe there, and on some level, didn’t want to leave that safe place.

Regardless how good that felt, and how safe and warm it was, we both agreed that time was pressing on, and that we needed to get going. I was anxious to get to dinner, having eaten lunch several hours before, and me feeling so hungry—hungry for food and so much more. Before we went downstairs to catch a cab, though, there was something that Master David wanted to do. We had discussed it, and now it was going to happen. We went to the bathroom, which is heavily mirrored, so I could see for myself what Master David was about to do. Master David has brought a collar. It was not my size, but it could go on me for the evening. The collar had a small black padlock on the front, and a heavier steel padlock for the back. As Master David approached, he gave my nipples another squeeze, fairly hard squeeze. And then he put the collar on my neck, buckled it in back, and locked the heavy padlock. The padlocked collar on my neck symbolized the relationship between Master David and me—the inequality, the strength of the bond—the physical manifestation of what I need and crave. I stood there looking at myself in the mirror wearing Master David’s collar, he standing behind me. The collar looked good on me. It looked appropriate for who and what I am. It felt good too. Master David agreed.

With Master David’s collar securely locked on my neck, I threw on my jacket and we grabbed a cab up to the north side. The cab driver took Lake Shore Drive, and by the time we made it over the Chicago River bridge, we encountered a massive backup, reportedly due to the construction on North Lake Shore Drive. The cab driver asked us if we wanted him to take a different way. We did. So he cut across Division to Halsted, and then it was a straight shot up Halsted to the restaurant. The time in the cab was fun. I was with Master David. I was safe. I was buzzed. And going to dinner for the first time in over a year with him. Life is good.

Master David had the address and told the cab driver when to stop. I got out first, since I was on the side by the curb, and I let Master David step into the restaurant first. I followed right behind Master David, as is appropriate for a slave in a collar. The service at the restaurant was good, and the food was adequate. It was an environment in which a lot of twinks, some bears, and other fags hang out. Master David had two drinks and I did as well. Master David had a few questions for me over dinner. I answered them as honestly and accurately as I could, based on what I know about who and what I am. As is usually the case when I have dinner with Master David, I was sending out signals to him about hoping to play after dinner. Once I sent out those signals, Master David asked me multiple times whether I was sure about the play after dinner. I assured him every time that my head was in the right place, and that I welcomed being connected to him on a very deep level—and that, in fact, I needed it.

After dinner we went for a walk around the neighborhood. Master David correctly observed that I loved that, and was having a great time. I was walking around Boystown in the mildly cold evening air with him as if he were my boyfriend. Passersby probably weren’t sure what to make of the two of us, what with me collared and Master David not. We held hands for most of the walk. I admired many of the motorcycles that I saw on the street, and pointed out one similar to mine, except that it was black. Master David likes that I ride a bike, and finds the whole idea of a big, tall, inked, pierced, Aryan leather biker with the word “Master” tatted on his back being so submissive to him extremely hot. To my surprise, many doms find the idea of domming me quite hot. The interesting part is that I do not sub to very many men. It’s a matter of trust, mostly. I don’t trust doms easily, because I have no reason to trust most of them. Doms have a lot of power and control, and in some cases, power over life and death—I don’t take surrendering to that kind of control lightly. Master David has earned my respect and my trust, and I have no reservations about subbing to him. When I am with Master David, I enjoy the opportunity to explore and feel my sub self, to let him take control, to put down the responsibilities I carry with me day to day, if only temporarily. There’s no mystery about this. It’s really BDSM 101. Many people understand the concept of high-powered business professionals who control resources and make decisions by day, but love to be tied up at night. I’m not really high-powered, but I carry a lot of responsibility both in my work and at home. To let that go, as I say, if just for a brief period of time, can be very liberating.

The cab ride back to Master David’s car was swift. It took no time to get back, especially when compared to how long it took to get to the restaurant. While in the cab, Master David asked me again if I were sure I was comfortable coming over to his place for a while to play. I assured him I was comfortable and craving it. And with that, the cab driver dropped us at Master David’s car, and we were at his place in a few short minutes. Once inside, Master David told me to remove my coat and shirt immediately. I tossed my jacket on the chair, and took off my shirt. He asked me if I’d like something to drink. He was clearly concerned about my care and safety, and also about my head. I told him that I would like very much some Grey Goose on the rocks. He surveyed the bar and found that he was out of Grey Goose, but he had another vodka I like, so I poured myself a nice big glass and added some ice.

Master David is very verbal during play, but not overly so. He talked about who and what I am, while looking deep into my eyes. He pinched my nipples hard, and gazed at me. Master David offers me exactly what I need and crave—to be close to him, to feel cared for, connected, safe. He’s my mentor, my advisor, my sounding board, my Daddy, and my Master. He’s hot and handsome and stable and smart, and in the two years that have elapsed since that first meeting, I’ve grown to trust him and love him. I know that he takes better care of me than I take care of myself. I know that I’ve fucked up a lot of things, and he knows it too. I know that Master David expresses his love through pain, and I wanted to take it, wanted to please him, wanted to feel that connection deep in my bones. Last month, on the night of our dinner together, Master David would take me apart and put me back together. He would break me down to my core, and then hold me, keep me safe.

It would not take long before my leather jeans were open, unzipped, exposing my cock and balls to the torture and manipulation that Master David wanted to give them. Master David took a hit of poppers, and then he squeezed my balls very hard, one at a time, then squeezed and twisted my cock, which bruised almost immediately. Without warning, Master David slapped my face, then grabbed my head, as he had done earlier in the evening, kissed me, and spit into my mouth again. I was knocked off balance by all of that, but was fine, and buzzed and still a little high. My head was spinning, my emotions were brought to the surface, and I was present in the moment with this dark, sadistic man as he held me safely in his arms.

Next Master David had me step back a bit from him, and then he began to punch my pecs as hard as he wanted to, and no harder than he thought I could stand. He kept punching and punching until I broke down in tears. Master David had told me what he expected to hear from me after he hurt me, and that was this: “Thank YOU, MASTER, and I love YOU, too.” And that is exactly what I said. Master David held me while I balled a bit, but I collected myself and told him I was fine. I told him that I’m not a pussy, and a real man can take it. I consider myself a real man, even though sometimes on the inside I feel like a scared little boy. Master David sees both in me, and embraces both the strong man and the scared little boy in me.

There was a brief respite for me, and Master David encouraged me to have another sip of my vodka while he went to get some more equipment. The ice cold vodka felt good going down my throat. I wasn’t sure exactly what was coming next, but I was certain that it would not exceed that which I could handle. Master David knows me well enough to know how much I can take, and what would constitute too much. We had never discussed a safe word. When a sub is with the right dom, there is no need for safe words. Where there is complete trust, the sub can trust that the dom knows how hard to push, how far he can take the sub, and when to stop, when to hold and sooth the sub while he cries. Master David returned shortly with paddles. He put the paddles down, excused himself for a few moments. During those moments, I wasn’t sure what was coming next. But that would be answered in short order.

Master David returned with a glass of what was obviously his piss. I had been begging to taste his piss for over a year, and the time had finally come. He had warned me for many months that he doesn’t drink enough fluids, and that his piss is typically dark and rank. I never felt daunted by this, in spite of the fact that my piss-drinking experience had been mostly of the easier, clear beer piss variety. What Master David handed me in that glass looked dark and smelled rank. But I was up for the challenge. I feel lucky to take any body fluids that Master David will give me. Ingesting his body fluids makes me feel closer to him. Master David watched as I drank down his arm strong piss. I didn’t chug it down. I had to take breaks after each series of gulps. Admittedly, at a few points I felt a bit nauseous. I had never tasted stronger piss than what Master David was giving me. But I took it all down like a champ, and he seemed pleased. Perhaps not half as pleased as I was, though. I had craved Master David’s piss for well over a year, and having it in my belly made me happy. I felt objectified, like Master David’s urinal, but I also felt connected, safe, cared for, owned.

So there I stood, nipples tortured, chest punched with bruises already forming, cock and balls tortured, Master David’s piss in my belly, and Master David’s collar locked on my neck. I stood in the Wescos that Master David had approved for me to buy, leather jeans down around them, sweat dripping from my pits because of the excitement and the pain, my head spinning. I had a sense that the paddling was coming next. I was not wrong about that.

Master David announced that he was going to paddle my ass next. He had me bend over the leather chair in the livingroom. I positioned my hands to help support me, and asked Master David if I was positioned the way he wanted me. He said I was fine. And with that, he began paddling my lower buttocks, first on one side, and then the other. That paddling represented the most intense pain that Master David had ever given me. While I wanted to take the pain for him, and took it admirably, what the voice inside my head was saying repeatedly was, “Please make it stop, please make it stop.” I’m a big, strong, tough man, but I have to admit that it hurt so bad I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. But I trusted Master David to know how much I could take. Finally, I just started balling, wailing really. The paddling stopped, and Master David took me in his arms and held me tight. Again, I verbalized my feelings, as I knew Master David wanted me to express them by stating, “Thank YOU, MASTER. I love YOU, too.”

I was allowed to have more vodka and a brief break. Master David told me that he could see the bruises already beginning to form on my ass cheeks. He said that I was going to have some nice marks from him. And no sooner than I was assured about the bruises, it was time for more paddling. There were still tears drying on my cheeks, but I was ready. I wanted to please Master David, and I wanted the deep connection I felt to go deeper still. I felt as though I had let go completely by that point, and that I was like putty in Master David’s hands. He could have done anything to me at that point, for I was all his, under his complete control, body, mind, spirit, and soul. On the one hand Master David was expressing his love for me, but at the same time he was punishing me because I’ve fucked up so much in my life, and hurt others. We had discussed that over dinner and countless other occasions online for two years. Master David knows my deepest darkest secrets, and he knows all the ways that I’ve fucked up. And while Master David enjoys giving pain because it pleases him, in my case, there is so much more going on.

Master David asked me if I was okay, and whether I was ready to continue. I answered in the affirmative, “Yes, Master David.” He had me get in position again, legs spread, leather jeans down around my Wescos, hands bracing me on the leather chair. This time, a different paddle, and higher on my buttocks, toward the top of them. Then the next round of paddling began, and it was harder and more intense than the first paddling. This unrelenting paddling, especially on the right ass cheek, very high, was excrutiatingly painful. I was yelling at the top of my lungs, with no one to hear me besides Master David. There has to be some release for the energy that is unleashed through that kind of intense padding, or else I’d have bitten down on my own tongue. It hurt so bad, I wasn’t sure I could take it, but I was determined to get through it, and focused on how close I felt to Master David at that very moment, which helped me get through the paddling. Again, I broke down into tears, I balled, and then the paddling stopped, and I just fell into Master David’s arms, a heap of flesh and emotion, a man-boy surrendered to Master David’s will, his lust, his power, in his care. My head was just spinning, and the emotions were right on the surface, bare, exposed, raw. Master David said that I was bruising much more easily than he anticipated. He could see it already, immediately after the last paddling. I could feel the heat on my ass, and could feel the difference in the texture of my skin where the bruising was already setting in when my arm grazed the side of my ass.

Master David had done what he had long promised to do: broken me down to my core. I let go completely. I surrendered completely. I felt his love for me to my core, and all those layers were peeled back, like an onion’s layers. All that was left was the very center, essence of my being, exposed, naked, in Master David’s hands. For how badly I wanted to be connected to Master David, for how much I had earlier in the night, while wrapped around his torso, I had wanted to climb inside him, I hoped that the pain was over for that night. I felt I had nothing left to give—I was not confident that I could take any more that night. Master David confirmed that my ass was bruised badly already, and that he was done with the paddling. And with that, Master David told me to follow him to one of the other downstairs rooms. With that, Master David’s collared slave followed him for whatever was to come next.

Master David told me to lay on the futon, and I gladly did. I felt pretty much spent, exhausted, exilirated, aroused, deconstructed, safe, and loved. I was looking forward to what I hoped would happen next. I hadn’t seen or felt Master David’s big beautiful cock in over a year, except through his pants. You can imagine my pleasure at finally being able to touch it, stroke it, feel the blood coursing through his cock again after all those months of absence. Master David handed me the lube, and told me to lube up his cock. I put lots of lube on his big rock hard cock, and I stroked it. I loved hearing the sounds of pleasure that Master David was making. There was some verbalization about who and what I am: Master David’s slave until I die, and perhaps beyond. No equivocation, no doubts, no uncertainties. That is who and what I am, and will be for the rest of my life.

As I stroked Master David’s cock, there was this moment of complete realization that what I wanted most was for him to be happy, to please him, to give him physical pleasure and emotional pleasure, and to make him ejaculate. I cared so little about my ejaculation, compared to how much I wanted him to ejaculate. I wanted to bring a hot load of semen out of Master David, and wear it. I wanted him to mark me with it. I wanted to be responsible for causing his masculinity to manifest in the form of semen, and take it home with me. Master David had straddled me, and I was under him, figuratively and literally, right where I wanted to be. His shirt was open, and I could run my hands through the black hair that covers his chest and belly, down to his pubic hair. I could look up into his dark, penetrating eyes, gauging his pleasure by those eyes and his nonverbal cues. I felt his cock pulsing in my hand as I stroked it. I played with his balls gently, and craved what was in those balls. I craved and longed for a load of his cum. The kind of load his other slave gets routinely, while I typically just get to hear about it. This load was going to be mine, and I cherished the idea of it, the implications of it.

After several minutes, Master David announced that he was going to cum. I was already starting to tear up at the prospect. My emotions were so raw, so close to the surface, and my connection to Master David so tender and deep, that I was going to cry because I was bringing him pleasure, and his seed was going to be released for me, on me, because of me. That meant the world to me. Master David’s pleasure, as he experienced it, was one and the same as my pleasure. To please Master David is to please myself. To give him pleasure is the ultimate in pleasure for myself. To have him shoot his hot, sticky load all over me, was something I’d been dreaming about for over a year and a half, and the moment had finally come. I heard sounds coming from deep within Master David as he prepared to shoot. I aimed Master David’s cock toward my face, in hopes that I could get some of his load directly into my mouth if I aimed his cock accurately. I could feel his balls tighten up, and I knew the moment had almost arrived. Tears were streaming down my face as he unleashed one stream after another of his seed, covering my neck, chest, stomach with the stuff my dreams are made of. Master David shuddered, and fell down onto me, then kissed me hard and deep. At that moment I felt completely at one with him. I felt completely spent, drained, fulfilled, and loved.

After Master David climbed off of me, he seemed a bit delirious, basking in the afterglow of what had just transpired. For how intense the whole experience had been for me, I think it had also been intense for him. I lay there on the futon, looking up at this dark, sadistic man. This is the man who knows me better than I know myself, the man who takes better care of me than I take care of myself. I gazed through teary eyes at this Master, the embodiment of masculinity, integrity, and intelligence. A man of ideals and ideas, responsibility and care, sadism and wisdom. I remember thinking to myself something that echoed what Master David has said to me many times: “I am SO owned.”

Sadly, Master David next removed the collar he had put on my neck for the evening. He told me to get dressed while he cleaned up and dressed himself. I gave my hands a quick rinse, but washed none of his cum off my body. I wanted to wear his marks and his cum home. I was spent, cashed, fulfilled, and content. Master David drove me home, and watched patiently to ensure that I got inside my building safely before he left. That’s the kind of man he is.

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 16th, 2008 at 2:57 pm and is filed under Boots, Bruising, CBT, Cum, Dominance, Humiliation, Leather, Master/slave, Objectification, Paddling, Pain, Power Imbalance, Psychological Control, Punching, Submission, TT.