Leather Skin Biker

I’ve decided to be very up front about one of my fetishes and put it on the table for my readers and anyone who happens to find my blog through other blogs, word of mouth, and search. I’ve really discovered my fetish for cashslaves and cashrape through recent experience with the German cash ssklave. I’ve found that every time the German cash ssklave sends me funds, it makes my cock hard. I want to see more of that.

I definitely need more leather gear, including more boots, full leather SS uniforms, officer coats, skin gear, and Nazi gear. I know I was born to wear that kind of gear, and want more of it.

Subhuman cashslave maggots who get off on sadistic use, abuse, torture, humiliation, degradation, dehumanization in exchange for tribute should definintely contact me. Sieg Heil!

I’ve found a Web site that caters to my fetish. You can view my profile on the site at http://dominants4cash.ning.com/profile/LthrSSkinBiker

Visit DOMINANTS4CASH

When I ordered our first round of beers at the bar, I noticed a tall, nice looking “older” man leaning against the far wall, near the doorway to the Clubroom. It turned out that I would run into that man later in the evening. We made eye contact at the time when I first arrived with my slave, but I didn’t realize then that there would be more communication with him that night.

Since the first pass through the Clubroom and the backroom really didn’t offer much to stimulate the senses, I decided that after a while me and my slave would make another pass through to see if things had picked up any in the back. As it turned out, the backroom had become much more full in the time since I first checked it. I decided that this time we’d stick around a bit back there in the dimly lit compartment. Since I love head so much, I decided that I’d unzip and let my slave suck on my cock a while. I always love that, public or non-public head. So in no time at all, the handsome daddy-type I’d spotted early in the evening appeared out of the corner, apparently interested to see what me and the slave had going on.

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Me and my slave made our return to the Chicago Eagle in June. It had been over a year since our last visit. The nice thing about taking a break from a regular hangout is that it’s almost as if you are the new kids on the block again. There is an opportunity for other pigs at the bar to perceive you as new and exotic. Of course, we remain, as always, a bit exotic. But the new is not always the case. So it was refreshing–for us, for them, for the night.

As luck would have it, it was old home night at the Eagle that sultry June evening. boy mick was at the bar, as was boy kyle. Me and my slave remain friends with boy mick and boy kyle to this day. W/we don’t play anymore, but we’ve retained a good friendship with them both. Not only were two of our old friends there, but Jim, the manager, was on duty, and happy to see us. There were also assorted friends of boy kyle’s whose acquaintance I had made previously. It was good to see those friends of kyle’s again.

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There is a slave who I found through a Craigslist ad over the summer. He does not live in Chicago, but travels here on business from time to time. He also travels abroad on business. I made plans to meet him at his hotel near O’Hare to use and abuse him. He expressed certain hard limits, which I acknowledged before the planned meeting. This slave is into bondage and humiliation. He is the type of slave who enjoys a nice heavy boot on his neck, holding his face to the floor. The fact that he is German feeds right into my whole fetish milieu, what with my skin orientation and such. German blood is German blood, and something told me that I could appeal to his respect for power by exercising mine.

At the time of the  proposed meeting, work commitments on my part kept me from being able to meet the German slave. These things happen sometimes. I’m not generally one to flake on a play date or first meet, but in this case circumstances were just beyond my control. And since I don’t yet have sufficient number of slaves to pimp out and/or cashrape, I still have to work for a living. As many of my readers know, I work hard, and I work some long hours. So the proposed meet date just didn’t work out. Read more

It’s been quite a summer for LeatherSkinBiker. It’s going to take some consistent posting to catch my readers up on all the events and unexpected turns and twists this summer. In terms of a sneak preview, there was an unexpected reconnection with smokedog, skin cancer surgery, new friends, testosterone-charged Sox games, and fortunately, a couple of visits to the Chicago Eagle before it closed in the location I’ve always known it.

The days are already getting shorter, there is a hint of autumn in the air, and time just refuses to slow down.

It’s time for me to resume my blog posting. Talk is definitely cheap, but the written word is priceless.

Things have really heated up this summer. A lot of good things have been happening, and some others less good. But generally, the news is good. I’m letting some ideas for new posts involving new adventures in power imbalance and inequality ferment a bit in my head, but they are coming. I can feel it.

I think you will enjoy what will be forthcoming. I just need to focus and get some of this related to you. It’s Summer 2008, and it’s passing very quickly. It definitely feels like a new day, and I am feeling darker than ever—and I mean that in the best possible way.

By way of a teaser, just look at the categories above this post. All that and more on the way.

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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