Leather Skin Biker

Blog has moved, 3/23.

2008-03-23T10:15:00.003-05:00

Readers,

My blog has moved to a new home. The new address is

http://www.leatherskinbiker.com/darkness.

You will be redirected automatically to the new blog site if you type in the old URL for my blog on Blogger http://leatherskinbiker.blogspot.com.

For those of you who use a reader to keep up with blogs, the feed address is

http://www.leatherskinbiker.com/darkness/feed

Watch for more consistent posting on the new site, and be sure to check out some of the unobtrusive ads on my blog in its new home.

Cheers.

LSB

15.

2008-03-20T07:07:00.003-05:00

There is a boy I know whose lot in life is to serve other men, especially with his warm holes. He knows it, I know it. He's now in his 40s, but his need to serve began many years ago. At age 15 this boy began to offer up his hole to older men in a forest preserve near his home. There was little verbal exchange involved--it was just a transaction. The older men got what they needed, which was to unload in a warm hole after work, often before they returned home to their wives. And the boy, this pig boy, had found his true path in life--under the many men who would use his warm holes for decades to come. This pig boy knows his place and it shows. Serving older men in the woods as a teenager was just a precursor to the years of serving that lay ahead. So every time that this pig boy of mine took a load from an anonymous stranger in the woods, then walked home feeling both gratified and conflicted, inevitably producing cum-stained underwear for his mother to launder, he was learning the role he was to play in life. And time has not changed that role. He was then, and is to this day, here to serve and pleasure other men. It doesn't matter whether he enjoys it. None of us cares about that. His gratification is irrelevant. My gratification and that of other men he serves is everything.

This pig boy had the good fortune to find me on the Internet in late 2005. All things considered, I would have to say that all of his prior experience serving countless men in countless venues over the years, prepared him well for his new life--the life in which he is tied to me forever. The life he now leads, and always will. So what began at age 15 for this pig boy would ultimately propel him into his proper role and place, serving me, for the rest of his life. Numbers seem to mean a lot with this pig boy. They always do. So for this boy, he will always remain 15 regardless his current chronological age. The psychology, the animal urges that compelled him to bend over in the woods as a teenager, the needs within him that led him to lay on the floor of an adult bookstore in a cold puddle of strangers' semen, ultimately put him right where I wanted him. Now he serves me, and nothing will ever change that. He can try to forget me. He can try to escape me. But there is no escape. He is tethered to me for life. I could always walk away from him, abandon him, cut off all communication with him, but he can never escape me. Even after he passes from this life, I will haunt him. Of this I am certain. All I can say is that he's one lucky fucking pig boy to have found his rightful place tethered to me forever.

Black Cop Top.

2008-02-14T04:50:00.011-06:00

I was feeling the need to let another top use my slave, so I logged into a few Internet hookup sites to cruise for one or more tops to come over. Usually this kind of thing could be really easy to arrange, or really time consuming. Generally I seek out a top or dom who has some redeeming qualities beyond a certain look--I want a top or dom who has the right head for the job. A degree of trust on my part is also desirable, given that this person will be using my property. On this particular night it took some time to find the right guy, but eventually I did. This gave my boy plenty of time to anticipate what was going to happen while he lay hooded in the sling. Suffice to say that he was in the sling long enough that I had to give him bathroom breaks--this prior to the other top's arrival.

On this night I hit paydirt. Like so many other men in the BDSM world, I do love a man in a uniform, especially when it is real. Costumes are great, but a man who gets paid to wear a uniform? Priceless. I had the particularly good fortune that night to find a Chicago cop. Yeah, plenty of them look like they spend a little too much time hitting the coffee and donuts, and far too little time hitting the gym. But this guy was one of those fit Chicago cops, and he lived within walking distance of my place. Sometimes the planets do align properly, and it can be a lot of fun.

I exchanged messages with this cop top for a while, and I had a good feeling about him. He sounded like a solid top, not versatile. He seemed to respect limits and was really into the scene I had in mind. As mentioned, he was in shape and hung nicely. I had a feeling that I'd enjoy watching him use my boy as much as he would enjoy using the boy. It was a win-win. So I invited him to come over. I had started my search at maybe midnight that night, and by the time I found him and invited him over, it was going for 3:00 a.m. I actually had to take the boy out of the sling for a while to let him nap while I did the search. But he'd had his nap and I had him back in the sling by the time the "deal" was struck.

A few minutes had passed and Black Cop Top called me to say that his car had a flat tire. At first I thought he was flaking on me, and just using that as an excuse. But he said that he was going to take care of the flat and could still come over to use the boy. That was fine with me, although it meant a delay of 15-20 minutes. Finally he arrived downstairs and I gave him access to the building. Shortly I heard the elevator arrive on my floor. As the doors opened there were the familiar series of three tones "ding, ding, ding." Pity the poor woman who lives right next to the elevator doors who has to hear that every time the elevator doors open. But I digress. So there was a knock on the door, I open the door. The hallway was brightly lit, in stark contrast to the muted light of my loft.

I gazed at the cop standing in my doorway and I was very pleased with my selection. This black early 30-something Chicago cop was nicely built--beefy is the word I'd use to describe his build. Nice worked out, built black guy about 6 feet tall, maybe 180 pounds. He had big arms, a nice big chest, flat stomach, good legs, and a big plus: a handsome face and nice smile. I'm not a racist, but sexually I don't generally find most black men appealing. It's just not my thing. There are exceptions, but they usually don't do it for me. But this guy was one of those exceptions. He was handsome, had good energy, a good head, and a nice positive vibe about him. So with that we got things moving. He stripped, revealing the goods under the clothes, including a more than respectable black cock. He'd said seven inches online--but this was one of those cases where it looked even larger in person than on the Internet. Go figure.

So I take him to the bedroom, which doubles as a playspace. The boy heard him arrive and seemed to be excited that my recruit was finally in the house. Hours had elapsed since this began. By the time the cop was padding around my place naked it was nearly 4:00 a.m. Me and the boy were more than ready to do this. From the minute I opened the door, I had the sense that this guy was not just here for the boy. He was turned on to me as well. That was an added and extra bonus, and not part of the requirements on that night, but there it was. I can be pretty verbal, and I said to the boy, "my buddy is here to use your hole, slave." Of course, since the boy was hooded, he really couldn't say anything, but that didn't matter. He didn't have to say anything--the things I had to say were the only things that mattered.

Black Cop Top liked what he saw in the sling. It didn't take long for him to get hard. He wrapped his thick black cock in latex and prepared to use my boy's hole. I was dressed in leather chaps, harness, and boots for the occasion, and was looking forward to seeing him plow my boy. It did not bother me that the cop's ass was nice and round and firm. I could probably bounce a quarter off of it easily. At that point I told the cop, "He's all yours--go for it." So he did. He started by getting my slave's nipples hard, pinching and kneading them. The boy let out some low moans and squirmed in the sling. I had taped the loose ends of the chains down so that they didn't "clang, clang, clang" against the frame. I swear I could almost see the boy's pink puckered hole twitching with anticipation. I liked very much the idea that the boy would never see the face of the man who was about to fuck his hole. That works for me. Really well.

The long-awaited fuck finally began when Black Cop Top eased into my boy and started thrusting deep. The boy let out a much louder moan as a good eight inches of black cop cock opened up his very white boy hole. The cop was good. I've seen enough guys fuck to know a good one when I see it. He varied his pace, he increased intensity, he eased off, mixed it up. And all the while he was fucking my boy, he'd keep looking over his shoulder at me, connecting with me, which was really hot. I'll admit that I was engaged in the same behavior that is so common in bathhouses--I was jacking watching a guy fuck. Difference here was that I didn't have to deal with all the annoyances of a bathhouse, and I didn't have to leave the comfort of my own home. I like to refer to this as "ordering in." The ultimate convenience--come to my house, take part in my scene, do what is expected, then get the hell out. Total win-win. Black Cop Top gets what he wants, I get what I want--everybody is happy.

As I stood there jacking, watching him go at my boy I was just that--happy. I liked the show, I liked the energy, and I liked this black cop. As a matter of fact, I liked him enough that I stopped jacking long enough to put my gloved hands on his back, his ass, his legs. He felt as firm as he looked, and smelled great. Just ripe enough to be manly smelling, but the faint smell of soap remained on his body from his morning shower. I reached around to his nipples and I pinched those fuckers, which elicited an instant response from the cop. He turned his head back, and leaned into my face, and we kissed. His tongue was in my mouth, and my tongue was in his. And all the while, he never missed a beat with his fucking. I was still hard at the time, and kissing him got me even harder. It was at that moment that I decided I would take things a step further with this black fuck machine, and return the favor.

I lubed up my cock, stood behind Black Cop Top, and I slid my very white cock into his black ass. It was warm and tight, and again, he didn't miss a beat or lose his concentration on the fucking he was doing. As I thrust into him, he continued to thrust into my boy. This experience brought a whole new meaning to the CPD's tagline "to serve and protect." Oh, this hot cop was definitely serving--he was serving me by fucking my boy, as well as opening his lightly used hole up for me. It was a good place to be. This was the first time, to my knowledge, that I had fucked a cop. That was not lost on me as I took his hole. This gun carrying, Kevlar vest-wearing cop was taking my cock. It's no secret that for a dom, one of the biggest turn ons can be domming another dom, topping a top. The fact that he was in law enforcement could only add to the turn on value.

Speaking of turn on value, check this out. I mentioned that I made Black Cop Top wrap it. But there was no mention of me wrapping myself. Yeah, that's right. Not everyone gets to breed my slave. As a matter of fact, very few men get to breed my slave. If you've read my previous posts, like "slave rape," you know that I let that guy fuck him raw. But that's more the exception than the rule. In the case of Black Cop Top, I took great pleasure in knowing that I made him wrap in order to use my boy's hole, but I was in him bare. That fucking got me off, and it still does. As far as I was concerned, his hole was mine once I fucked into it. I took it, and I was gonna breed it, thereby marking it as mine. Doesn't matter whether I ever breed it again--it only takes one time. A bred hole can never be unbred--it just is what it is. So I get to unload in cop, but cop doesn't get to unload in my boy. That works for me. Always with the inequality, the power imblaance, the double standard, the oneupmanship--that's me. And as I say, with a scene like this, once I get what I want, get the hell out. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

After I'd unloaded in Black Cop Top, and he unloaded into the condom, the party was pretty much over. He dressed, he thanked me for letting him use my boy, and he was on his way. That having been said, it's important to note that he would be hearing from me again. There would be some return engagements for that one, but those are for future posts.

boy kyle.

2008-02-04T18:12:00.002-06:00

boy kyle is an early 30s boy who has an interest in leather, bondage, breath control, watersports, and neonazi headspace. He's a goodlooking boy, about 5'11", nice build, toned, worked out, with a moderately hairy chest, a cute ass, and hung about 7" cut. He has brown hair and green eyes, and wears either glasses or contacts. This boy was registered on various m4m sites, and we had been exchanging messages for quite some time before we met. In his day-to-day life boy kyle is very much in control, so he enjoys losing control from time to time. His need to surrender control worked to my advantage on a hot summer night when he came over to visit.

On that night boy kyle presented himself for me and my slave to use, there was no advance plan for what would happen to him. I had planned to play things by ear, and see where things would go. He arrived wearing a white dress shirt, jeans, and black harness boots. He had a goatee, but was otherwise clean shaven. One of the first things I had to do was remove his shirt, revealing a well-toned upper body. I told my slave to get the cigar hood. He returned quickly with the hood, which has no holes save for one: the hole into which the cigar is placed. What I had planned for boy kyle was some smoke play, cigar torture. Once we had him hooded, we led boy kyle out onto the balcony, where he could be seen by people passing by the street below. While people would not be able to see everything that we were going to do to him, they could definitely tell that something was going on six stories up from the street.

I lit a fat cigar and puffed on it a bit. While I was getting the cigar started, my slave unbuckled boy kyle's belt, unzipped his jeans, and then began to knead boy kyle's cock, twist his nipples, and explore his hole. low moans came from boy kyle as he was groped and probed. His nipples grew stiff under the light play. He didn't know exactly what as going to happen next, but he learned quickly. I put the fat stogie in the hole in the hood so that with every breath the boy took, he would draw in more gar smoke. The boy had told me he enjoys smoking a cigar from time to time, but that is not the same as being put into a cigar hood and tortured with the smoke. The boy took the smoke well, and while I forced the smoke into him, my slave kept playing with his cock, which was rock hard. Me and my slave were verbal with boy kyle during all of this, reminding him that he was under our control, and that people on the street below could see him being tortured on the balcony. That knowledge seemed to satisfy this boy's exhibitionist side, because his cock grew even harder when we reminded him of his public display of vulnerability.

My slave had edged boy kyle very close to shooting more than once while I fed him the smoke. boy kyle took it well, and I felt satisfied with his stamina. I was ready to transition into some indoor play, and so we led boy kyle back inside. I removed the cigar hood, and found boy kyle's hair wet with sweat. The expression on his face suggested that he was holding up well, and enjoying the experience thus far. I directed my slave to get the poppers so we could force feed him those. I had my slave give boy kyle several hits of poppers while I worked his nips and cock. The poppers would be a bridge between the gar torture and what I had planned for him next: breath control.

I took boy kyle to the bedroom and put him on the bed. I climbed onto the bed with him, and got behind him, so that I could easily reach around with one arm to hold him in place. My slave pulled boy kyle's jeans down around his ankles, so that we could easily get to his cock and balls, edge him, and finally milk him. I directed my slave to work boy kyle's cock while I controlled his breath. With that I covered boy kyle's nose and mouth with my right hand, and held him in place with my left arm. If he struggled, I'd hold him still so that my hand could remain over his mouth and nose. And struggle he did. I had covered his mouth and nose, cutting off his breathing, for probably 30 seconds, when he tried to break free. I held him tight with my arm and kept him from breathing for about 15 more seconds. Then I uncovered his mouth and nose and he gasped for air. I looked down at his cock. It was rock hard. The boy enjoyed this too. So I repeated the process several times. The more he struggled and fought me, the more I liked it. To the extent that he could, my slave kept edging boy kyle. I was both amused and aroused at boy kyle's protest. When he sensed that I was about to cover his mouth and nose again, he would say "No, no, no..." to which I responded "Yes," and then do it again. This process went on for well over 30 minutes, with him protesting and fighting against me, and me controlling his breathing over and over. Finally, I told my slave to milk his cock. After all that edging and everything that we'd done to him, boy kyle was more than ready to blow. And blow he did--he shot far and wide, spraying all over himself and me and the wall behind us. It was a huge hot load and it went everywhere.

Me and my slave had a plane to catch in the morning. We'd played much later than we planned to play. It was going for 2:00 a.m. and our flight was at 8:00 a.m. We got boy kyle dressed and sent him on his way, and with that we crashed.

nolimitpigboy.

2008-01-29T04:36:00.001-06:00

I once used and abused a boy I call "nolimitpigboy." I met him online very early on a Saturday morning. I hadn't planned to play, but I was horny and awake at 4:00 a.m. nolimitpigboy presented as just that: a pig who had no limits. I could not remember running into a boy online who claimed to have absolutely no limits until that morning. The piggy sadist in me was really intrigued. I probed him before meeting him for signs of limits, and based on his answers, he really had none. Of course, once he volunteered a key piece of information, it all made sense: he was tweaking. As a rule I don't knowingly play with boys who are "under the influence," and I certainly don't go looking for them. I'm up front about that in my online profiles. But given the hour, and the blank check this pig boy was offering me, I decided to invite him over.

nolimitpigboy arrived at my door high. He didn't look different or odd. In fact, he seemed to behave quite normally. As for his look, he was total boy next door, an all-American, cleancut, clean shaven, goodlooking boy. I grew very excited when he stepped in and he stripped on my command just inside the door. He stood about 5'10", with blond hair and blue eyes and a baby face. He was 27 or 28 years old tops. He had a swimmer's build, nice smooth chest and stomach, a nice tight little ass, and a 7" cut cock. I thought to myself that I was really going to enjoy this. I also thought that this one would wind up very sore and very bruised.

With the boy in my presence, under my control, I confirmed again that he did not want to use a safeword and that there were no limits. He affirmed that he wanted no safeword and there were no limits. Life doesn't drop opportunities like this on my lap every day, and I had been thinking about what exactly I wanted to do to a no limit pig boy. It went without saying that I was going to put him in the sling and breed his boy cunt. I also considered watersports, shaving, Sharpie markers, nipple torture, hot wax, and other standards. I didn't really need to fuck him up with alcohol or poppers, since he arrived pre-medicated. Given the hour, I assumed that he'd been high for hours and probably already been fucked multiple times that night. I figured that I was his last stop that night. There was something about this boy that told me he would take pain. It was something deeper than simply him saying he had no limits. Once he presented himself to me, I began to tap into this darkness in him. I could feel it.

My gut told me to get at the darkness, probe it, explore it, exploit it. So I did. I gave his pretty face a nice hard backhand. That felt good. I observed his reaction--his cock sprung to attention with the backhand. Given that response, I ratcheted things up a bit by throwing punches to his chest--one, then another, and another, and another. The boy took it in stride. He seemed to be built for this kind of play. This really seemed to loosen him up. He didn't draw away or ask me to stop--he just kept taking it. This was good fun. I loved watching what his face did each time I hit him--he'd grimace slightly, but didn't look sad. In fact, he seemed to soak the punches up like a sponge. The boy was a pain pig for sure. I was punching him hard enough that there were sure to be bruises. He'd be wearing my calling card for a few weeks, easily.

By the time I had finished with the chest punches nolimitpigboy was dripping. He was really turned on, and so was I. I decided that next I'd check out his boy cunt. I love that initial moment of discovery when I finger a boy's hole for the first time, checking for tightness, smoothness, and evidence of other men's cum. This boy's hole was nicely tight, smooth, warm, and wet. He'd taken loads from one or more men that night. I found that really hot. Here was a boy who lived up to the name "pig." There was no need to lube him up since he was pre-lubed with spooge. With boy placed conveniently in sling, legs spread nicely for me, I slid into him and the semen of how many other men I do not know. I thought about how hot it was, and how much I would enjoy adding my load to the others this fucking pig had already taken. What happened next was unexpected, and a little unsettling at first. But then it really turned me on big time.

As I pounded his pig hole with my pierced cut cock, I happened to look down at the floor. I saw these dark spots on the floor and thought at first that he was leaking shit on the floor. I stopped thrusting into his hole and pulled out long enough to bend down and take some of whatever it was on my finger so I could smell it. It wasn't shit. It was blood. At first that fucked with my head. I'd never had a boy bleed onto the floor like that before, and it seemed alarming at first. But then I processed it, and in this context it worked. So I slid back into him and continued fucking his hungry pig hole, now lubricated with cum and blood. And he bled still more. That turned out to be highly erotic and heady for me--knowing that I'd made him bleed and was continuing to plow him and making him continue to bleed out of his asshole. All of that swirled around in my head, and I fucked him good, and then I was ready to breed this pig. I unloaded inside him, adding my cum to the blood and the cum of those other men. I knew the pig was going to be dripping cum and blood when I took him out of the sling and put him on his feet. That thought aroused me as well.

At that point I was ready for a break. I felt great, and the boy seemed just fine. His blue eyes just beamed. I told him I wanted to lay down and relax for a few. It was nearly 7:00 a.m. by then, and I had been up all night without the benefit of any illegal substances--my ass was tired. So we lay in bed making out and talking. I worked his nipples over lightly while we talked. He was basking in the "afterglow" of the chest punches and my ripping his ass up. What a romantic little scene, eh? So our conversation goes in a not entirely unexpected direction at that point, when he starts talking about how hot it would be if I really hurt him and then dumped his body someplace. Yeah, we were verbalizing a snuff fantasy. Talking about offing him and dumping his body got me hard again, as it did him. What a twisted little motherfucker. He provided the cues and I ran with it. I suggested ideas for the type of place I could dump his body, such as an industrial area on the South Side. I talked about how I could do it--suffocation, gun, drug OD. He just ate that shit up.

All the snuff fantasy talk had made me really horny, and I spontaneously straddled him and started punching his torso again. This boy sure made a nice punching bag. I pounded him with my fist until I got what I really wanted--I made him cry. How hot was that? The pig was hard and crying at the same fucking time. That turned me on so much that I fucked his bloody cummy hole again. The whole time I was fucking him we kept talking about how he was never going to be seen again, where I'd dump his body, and how much I'd enjoy that. Then I put my second load up inside him. After that I was really spent. All I wanted to do was sleep. The sun was out, and it was going for 9:00 a.m. Sensing my exhaustion, nolimitpigboy offers me some of what he had been doing that night. I abstained courteously, telling him "Thanks, but no."

The next thing I remember was waking up and finding that he'd gone. It was nearly 1:00 p.m. I was not pleased that I'd conked out with the boy still about the loft. I got up and looked around, checking for my credit cards and cash, laptop, etc. Nothing was missing. Deep down I think nolimitpigboy was the boy next door. I looked at the towel I'd used to sop up his blood from the floor. The bloody towel confirmed that I had not been dreaming--the whole thing really happened.

I received an e-mail from nolimitpigboy about two weeks later. He reported that I'd seriously bruised up his torso, and that it turned him on every time he looked at the bruised flesh in the mirror. It turned me on to imagine him looking at what I did to him. I'm the kind of man who likes to know that I've made an impact--the bruises confirmed that I did.

lawboy.

2008-01-23T21:08:00.001-06:00

This post introduces a late-20s skinhead I refer to as lawboy. I'd seen this boy online off and on for months, and we'd exchanged some messages, but for whatever reason never met. He was busy, I was busy--that kind of thing. But the planets finally aligned, and we agreed to get together. He lived in the same part of the city that I did at the time, and parking was not bad around his building. So I agreed to travel to him. Sometimes lack of parking can be a deal breaker in Chicago. Fortunately, that was not at issue in this case.

So I show up at his building. He'd told me what to say to the doorman to avoid standard building access protocols, so I sailed through to the elevators. Before I knew it, I was up on the 21st floor of lawboy's building. I find his apartment, knock on the door, and the door opens. lawboy is standing there barechested, wearing bleachers, boots, red leather suspenders, and no shirt. He was smoking a Marlboro red, which I understood was a fetish for him. lawboy is about 5'7", very trim and toned, with hairy chest, stomach crotch and ass, thick black hair and intense big brown puppy dog eyes. I thought to myself that he was even hotter than he appeared in his online photos.

Once inside lawboy's apartment he tells me things one would normally tell a friend. The only problem with that was that I wasn't his friend, wasn't his lover--I was a trick at that point. Once we got past the updates about his neighbor and his ex, things moved along. There was this electricity between us. We ended up in his bed. Turned out he was an aggressive boy--especially that night. We'd talked about his fetishes and my fetishes in the past, but this was the first time that they became part of a real time encounter. Did I forget to mention that a full size nazi flag hung over his bed? Yeah. Honestly, the first time I had ever seen a real one. The whole skin headspace had long been familiar to me, but I had never actually played with a skin boy under the flag. It fucked with my head, and it seemed to really inspire lawboy, but the whole scene was working for me. This was my first experience with hatesex. While it produced some cognitive dissonance in me, it was hot. Perhaps that is precisely why it was hot. Appropriately enough, lawboy was very verbal during play. His hatespeak was novel to me at the time, and it was highly arousing. It sure kept lawboy hot and horny.

Picture lawboy straddling me, still wearing his white-laced boots and bleachers, grinding his ass into my crotch while doing the hatespeak thing. Then factor in a bareback fetish undercurrent. lawboy, this hot sexy skin boy for whom hate was an aphrodisiac, also enjoyed taking hot loads up his tight little boy cunt--hot Aryan loads, that is. As he affirmed during our play, "No loads from n-----s, no loads from jews." The two of us were making out, our crotches grinding into each other, my hand on his tight little ass. lawboy had not showered in two days, so his pits were really ripe, which I loved. I believe a man should smell like a man, so ripe pits, crotch and ass are all turnons for me. I also enjoy nipple torture quite a lot, so I squeezed and twisted his little untrained nipples as we made out under the flag. All of a sudden lawboy hops off of me, and runs to the bathroom. I wasn't sure exactly what was wrong with him, or why he jumped off so suddenly. I heard the water running, and the next thing I know lawboy returns with wet hair. I remember thinking to myself, "What the fuck?"

lawboy seemed a bit agitated, and started talking about how shitty the temporary color he had put in his hair looked--how it made him look like a "fuckin' fag." Okay. Not to say anything, but isn't temporary hair color faggy by definition? Didn't that occur to lawboy when he was putting that shit in his hair? I admired his uncanny ability for stating the obvious. Whatever. Admittedly, I found this a bit bizarre. But I can go with the flow and ignore some things without letting them become a buzzkill, so I just tried to get back into the scene and forget about the hair color and the wet hair weirdness.

Then we picked up where we had left off, and spontaneously he starts saluting the nazi flag. I'd shed my jeans by that time, and lawboy went down on my hard cock after saluting. I told him to get out of his boots and pants, because I was going to breed his hot hairy Aryan cunt. lawboy takes off his boots and bleachers, and then went back to sucking my cock nice and hard so I could rip up his hole. His teeth made contact with my cock several times. I knew that this was not poor technique, but instead deliberate teeth on cock, so it was pretty hot. I pulled him by the hair off my cock and told him to ride my cock. As he sat down on my cock he saluted the flag again and then spewed a string of hatespeak. The driving force for me then became my need to breed his ass. This hot little hateful skin fucker was gonna take my hot Aryan seed, finally. With that I unloaded inside lawboy, breeding his white boy cunt with my white Aryan seed. Done and done. If I were our simian president, I would have hung a banner that read "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED."

It was late and I had things to do the next day, so once I was done breeding lawboy, I found the door. I bid lawboy farewell, my load "safely" up inside his white ass. Downstairs I said goodnight to the (black) doorman, got in my closely parked car, and went home. I was still processing what had just happened, and thinking about it made me hard again. I didn't realize it then, but lawboy would continue to be part of my life, albeit intermittently, for years. There will be more posts about lawboy in the future, and some themes will recur: white power, smoke, hate, fatalism, poetry, and staunch advocacy for barebacking.

boy mick.

2008-01-21T18:39:00.001-06:00

boy mick is a corn fed 30-year old Midwestern boy who stands about 6'1" tall, cleanshaven, with brown hair and big green eyes. He has a nicely hairy chest and stomach, and a thick cut 8" cock and low hanging heavy balls. His build is one that I would characterize as a swimmer's build--trim and toned but not overly muscular. The boy is into leather, but neither a slave owner, nor a slave. I first exchanged messages with him on manhunt.com. I was recruiting a versatile boy to plow my slave, and he was in the right place at the right time. The idea was that I'd have my slave hooded, waiting in the sling, lights dim, and boy mick would come in, fuck him hard with that big tool, and then get the hell out. He was game, and so it was all set.

I got my slave ready by hooding him, putting wrist restraints and ankle restraints on him, and getting him in the sling. I didn't tell him who was coming over. I just said I wanted him ready for anything. Once I had him in the sling I lubed his hole up and tweaked his nips a bit. My slave has a hungry fucking boy cunt, so I could have lined up 10 guys to plow his hole and he'd take them all with no problem. So far he hasn't encountered a cock that has been too big for him to handle. And that is interesting, because he has a fairly tight hole, even now.

When boy mick arrived I was very pleased. Even in the dim light I could see that he was very handsome, with brown spiky hair and nice teeth. I didn't know it at the time, but boy mick would be returning again and again, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I helped to undress him myself, and was somewhat surprised at how full the pouch of his jock was (yes, that's his picture below). He advertised a thick 8 inches. I noticed right away that boy mick was not a grower, but a shower. I'm sure that his basket turns many a man's head. I grabbed the pouch and gave it a tug. Then I handed boy mick a condom, per our agreement. Mind you, it was his request, not mine. Given how handsome and hung boy mick was, I really would have liked it if he had bred my slave. But I respect a boy's wishes, for, umm, the most part.

In no time boy mick was pumping my slave's boy cunt. I had just put up the sling, and had not taped the loose chains to the supports, so there was a lot of clanking going on. I tended to that almost immediately, which helped to reduce the distraction caused by the clanking. boy mick was quite a good top, based on what I saw and what I heard. Even though my slave was hooded, I could hear those deep moans of pleasure coming through the hood. While I tried not to distract boy mick from the task at hand, which I'd brought him over to do, I got right behind him and felt the heat of his trim body, putting my hands first on his shoulders, then his back, and then his firm ass cheeks. boy mick, this total boy next door type, with no facial hair, was getting me all worked up. I let him finish up what he had come over to do, but I had other plans for him.

With my slave well and thoroughly fucked, I took him out of the sling, walked him over to the bedroom, and put him on the bed. I kept his ankle and wrist restraints on, as well as the hood. I commanded him to stay there on the bed until I commanded otherwise. That business out of the way, I returned to the living room and the sling, where I found boy mick. I put my lips on his and stuck my tongue in his mouth. We made out a bit. He was kissing me back very deeply, which I was enjoying tremendously. I'd taken a very sudden liking to this cute versaboy. At that moment I could think of nothing I'd like more than to get him in the sling.

He'd fucked my slave good, and I wanted to return the favor. We'd previously discussed his position on safer sex, so I knew he'd want me to wrap it. And I agreed to wrap it. I also asked him whether he would be open to wearing a hood. He was game, so I slipped another hood on him and laced it up. boy mick could essentially see nothing, and could not speak. The hood I chose had a built-in gag--the type that snaps into place and keeps a boy from talking. And that was what I wanted: boy mick in the sling unable to see or talk. (I later learned that boy mick is claustrophobic, so the hood was a big deal for him--but he wore it to please me.)

Next I slipped on a condom and slid into boy mick's warm hole. It was reasonably tight. I'm guessing he really did bottom about half the time and top about half the time, as he suggested. I was enjoying his hole quite a bit. Given the noises I heard coming out of him, I think he liked it too. Of course, my slave was in the other room, clearly able to hear the noises boy mick was making. I pulled out to put some more lube up inside his boy cunt, and with that done I slipped the condom off. I know he said no bareback, but I liked this boy and wanted, err, needed, to breed him. At that point it no longer mattered what he wanted--it became all about what I wanted. Thinking about breeding him against his wishes made me very hard. I couldn't wait to slide back inside him bare, skin on skin. My cock, his hot hole. And then I did. It felt great. The real challenge was fighting the urge to shoot my hot load deep inside his guts immediately. I held back and pounded him for a while, but then I just couldn't resist any longer--I felt my balls tightening up, and with that I shot my hot load deep inside him. I remember thinking that he was obviously going to realize what had happened as soon as he left, if not sooner. Even if he didn't feel me shoot, he'd be bound to feel the cum in his ass.

With my slave well fucked, and with my hot load deep inside boy mick's guts--where it belonged that night--I bid him farewell. To this day neither of us has spoken of what I did to him that night. But I often think of it, and feel pleased with myself. You will hear more about boy mick in future posts.

Hierarchy.

2008-01-17T20:11:00.002-06:00

There is a natural hierarchy that exists in nature--a natural order of things. There is a natural tendency for leaders to lead and followers to follow. We observe in most systems a pecking order. There are queen bees and worker bees. We speak of the food chain, wherein each species has a natural predator. There are also examples from government and business. When we talk about a corporate organizational structure we inevitably think in terms of hierarchy--the management and the managed. By virtue of strength, temperament, instinct, or sometimes conscious choice there emerges a dominant force that imposes itself on a less dominant force.

There exists the same tendency among gay men. We consider a man either a top or a bottom, a dom or a sub, a Sir or a boy, a Daddy or a son, a Master or a slave. Men tend to self-select based on a complex set of perceptions they hold about themselves, as well as those provided to them by others. But even when all the evidence is in, and all factors are considered, there is still a conscious choice a man must make: dom or sub. There are, and always will be, those men who claim to be true "switches." They may fall into the same category with "bisexual" men. It's fine to acknowedge the existence of tendencies toward dominance and submissiveness in the same man. In fact, it is quite possible for a man to be dominant over some men, yet be dominated by others--again, the concept of hierarchy.

While I'm couching this in terms of men involved in role-based leather/BDSM relationships, there are similar tendencies exhibited in men who consider themselves "vanilla." The important point is that to a great extent men are "born" to be dominant or submissive.

chicagopitbull.

2008-01-15T09:59:00.001-06:00

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."

slave rape.

2008-01-15T07:56:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I like to surprise my slave with something unexpected. Bondage, kidnap, and rape scenes are among my favorite scenes. So I decided to set up a rape scene for the boy. I screened candidates online until I found just the right man for the job. This guy was cruising one of the hookup sites that I frequently troll to find a bud to help me use my slave. He was a cocky guy with a nice face and long cut dick of average thickness. He was ex-military, blond-haired, blue eyed, nice runner's build and lightly hairy. About 6 feet tall. Early 40s. About a size 11 boot. I like to get to know the men who will use my boy, so I asked him some questions about his military experience, his views on power dynamics, authority, and rape. This guy was on the same page with me, and I decided to give him a shot at my boy.

I planned the rape for a weekday evening. My boy usually gets home from work around 8:00 p.m., so I had the perp arrive at 7:30 or so. We talked about the scene, what I wanted him to do, how it would go down, how intense he could be--all the logistics. My gut told me that I had chosen well. This fucker was just as cocky in person as he was online. Nice, but overly confident and full of himself--a man after my own heart. And he was very masculine--the military experience would surprise no one who met this guy.

So the plan was that the lights would be out when my boy arrived home. The perp, Gaius, would be waiting in the dark, just inside the door, wearing a ski mask and nothing else. He'd surprise my boy, wrap his arm tightly around my boy's neck, then drag him to the bedroom, throw him on the bed, rip off his pants, and rape his boy cunt. That was the plan. At about 7:50 we got into position and lay in wait for the boy. I fully intended to stick around for this scene--I wanted to watch him rape my boy according to my instructions. The way I look at it, when a guy participates in a scene at my request, then he is really serving me as he uses my boy. I looked forward to letting this cocky ex-military bitch fuck my boy on my command.

At 8:00 p.m. on the dot we hear the key in the door. The lights are all out. My boy walks in and before he knows what's happening Gaius has his arm around my boy's neck and he is dragging him to the bedroom. There was some struggle, but my boy caught on pretty quickly. So Gaius was nicely verbal, forecasting for my boy what was about to happen, telling him to keep his mouth shut and take it. I could hear the rapist pull off my slave's pants and then I heard the pumping. I took a look in at the scene, and saw Gaius raping my boy. My slave still had his shirt and work ID badge on as the ski-masked rapist fucked his hole. I had already agreed to let Gaius rape his hole raw, which was not a common thing. So there was the rape scene itself, and then there was the subtext, which was bareback rape. I had encouraged Gaius to cum inside my slave's hole when he was done raping him. I knew I was going to enjoy this.

So after Gaius had plowed my slave's hole for a few minutes he got up and came back out into the livingroom and kitchen. Once again exhibiting the confidence I had sensed in him, he walked around my house as if it were his, roaming from one room to the next, letting my slave savor the moment and wonder what would happen next. Gaius checked in with me to get some feedback on how he was doing so far. I told him that he was doing a great job, but that he could kick it up a notch and rough the boy up a bit. No sooner said than done.

Before I knew it Gaius was back at my boy's hole, this time while he had his arm wrapped snuggly around my boy's neck. I heard my boy gasping for air as Gaius raped his boy cunt yet again, this time even harder. I could hear the pounding my rapist perp was giving my boy's hole--the hole that I own and control. I was enjoying this scene very much. It was like watching live porn in my own home. And knowing my slave the way I do, I knew he was loving this.

Finally, I could hear Gaius' breathing get louder, and I heard his thrusting slow a bit. I knew what was coming. As I mentioned, I don't normally let strangers cum inside my property, but Gaius had received my permission, so I was looking forward to him breeding my boy's hole with his hot load. And then he did. I heard my slave whimper as the hot spooge filled up his hungry boy pussy. And with that, Gaius pulled out, got up, told my boy not to move, and then came back out to the livingroom where I was standing. He pulled off the ski mask and handed it to me. I offered him a bottle of water for the road. Gaius had worked up a good sweat raping my slave's hole. This was definitely a win-win-win. I enjoyed it, Gaius enjoyed it, and there was no doubt the boy enjoyed it. I took quiet satisfaction knowing that this handsome bitch, Gaius, had done my bidding.

After the rapist was gone, my boy comes padding out of the bedroom naked from the waist down. He still wore his shirt and employee ID badge. Meantime, some of Gaius' hot, sticky seed was dripping down the inside of his right leg. I took some of it on my finger and put it in my boy's mouth. What did my slave have to say? Simply this: "Thank you, Master."

faggotjewboy.

2008-01-13T19:05:00.001-06:00

It was December 2005. I received an IM from someone. The message simply said "nice pic." At first I was there like, "WTF? Do I know you?" It was a fortuitous day for him, for me. Turned out that this guy was a self-loathing jew cocksucker. And that was just scratching the surface. Little did I know how submissive this faggotjewboy was at the time. I didn't ask for him to message me. In fact, my attitude at the time, as well as today, is "Why should I talk to you? What can you do for me anyway?" or better yet, "What does he want from me?" When it comes to sub boys they always seem to want something. "Sir, please train me." "I want to learn." "I don't have experience but I'm service-oriented." Blah, blah. If I had a dollar for every time a boy opens with a fuckin' line like that. Oy. But I digress.

Back then I was in the early days of setting up a household with my new slave. I'd just claimed him December 3. The new slave was just getting settled, finding a routine in his new home. Unemployed, not able to get around the city alone, not driving, totally dependent on me. I was his lifeline to everything. He was essentially confined to the house for the first month. Was it fate or just dumb luck that put this faggotjewboy in my face at a time when I was preoccupied with my new possession? And what DID he have to offer me? Why should I waste my time talking to this early 40s jewish bitch boy? It seems time would tell. Not sure he knew then what his future held. But there's little doubt that I entered his life for a reason--that seems abundantly clear--clear to me, clear to him.

They say everything in life happens for a reason. We don't always know the reason at the time, but in hindsight it all makes sense.

My First Post...Ever.

2008-01-13T14:33:00.002-06:00

So new year, new goals, new adventures. In keeping with "new," a new blog. Actually, my only blog to date. You may be asking, "Why this? Why now?" Good question. I've held off for years, operating on the assumption that blogs should be posted by people who are experts on some topic, or those who have something really meaningful to say. Never mind that there are plenty of blogs written by people who really have nothing particularly original to say, are local experts about nothing, and may not be very good writers. How lucky to be so lacking in self-consciousness that every day they post something, anything--just because.

Once I was able to sort out my mixed feelings about blogging, and acknowledge all the really useless blogs out there, the next hurdle I had to clear was the commitment issue. Committing to a blog is non-trivial. It represents a commitment, if only to one's self. If a blogger manages to pick up even one regular reader, then he has taken on a commitment to that reader as well. Let's face it, there's no point in starting a blog with no intention of continuing it. So for years I was unwilling to take the risk. I didn't want to begin a blog unless I felt reasonably certain that I would commit to it and stay with it. Are blogs infinite? Do they have a definite beginning and ending? How long must a blog be? Will I honor my commitment to myself? Will I honor my commitment to my reader or readers, should they choose to read my blog? That remains to be seen. This post represents the first step leading to an answer to those questions.

With the question of quality addressed, and the even larger question of commitment addressed, serendipity entered the picture. Today I attempted to create a permanent link to BikeGuy13's most recent blog post. (See my "Links" section to learn more about BikeGuy13, or as I like to call him, BikeGuy2.0). Clicking on the "create link" link led me to a new blogger.com window, which in turn prompted me to create a blogger.com account. And so here I am--taking the plunge. After all, I am an exhibitionist too.

You may be asking yourself, what is this guy's blog going to be about? Tell us already, right? Enough with the back story--just get on with it. That was another consideration: What do I have to say? Is there a single topic about which I have something meaningful to say? Are there a handful of them? Will I limit my posting to a single theme? Will I be all over the board? I pondered all of those questions and the best answer I could come up with is this: My blog posts will be concerned to a lesser or greater degree with a topic with which I am well acquainted--something that consumes a great deal of my time and passion. What would that be? In a nutshell, the primary focus of my blog will be reflections on intense erotic bonds that I have formed with other men. Exploring, probing, navigating those intense erotic bonds provides me with endless stimulation and self-discovery.

You might ask whether there will be sufficient material to support a blog over the long haul. Off the top of my head I'm thinking the answer is "yes." Given the depth, intensity, and variety of the bonds I have formed with various men over time--especially the past two to three years, I think I will have more than enough material. That's my opinion. I will leave it to my readers to decide for themselves. If it turns out that I am mistaken, readers can vote with their feet and move on.

This feels like enough for my first post. I've addressed the "why" of this blog, as well as a general sense of the "what" of the blog. So let's just see where this goes.