poeticdesires

Category: Leather

  • Boymeat

    “I was disappointed I missed your class. I was demo bottoming for another presentation at the same time. So, if you don’t mind me picking your brain, how did you get over piss play?”

    “I’ve liked piss since I was a kid. The class was about piss play and different ways to use piss.”

    “Oh, well… Um, then may I ask your opinion? How can one get over their hangups about piss?”

    “There’s a few ways. Some people simplify it; think about it like it’s just warm water. Others will take the degradation route. Like, say… There are a few drops of piss left on my boots from my class, and only a filthy fucking slut would want to lick the piss off my boots.”

    I met Boymeat last year. We spoke less then ten words during our initial introduction. Hellos were exchanged as Boymeat began punching a mutual friend. I quietly excused myself as to not disturb the two of them.

    The Thursday night of Fusion, I patiently waited for my shift at Playdate with the Pros. I had arrived early in case Shay needed help; she didn’t. So I found myself with an hour to kill. And then in a conversation I desperately wanted to have. And then in a situation that both scared and thrilled me.

    “Boymeat, do you want to sign up for one of my playdate shifts?”

    “No.”

    “Shit.”

    “It’s so hard, the torture of deciding what to do. Knowing that you’ll have to ask for it. Get my permission to lick piss off of my boots. That I won’t give you any help. That you will have to make the decision yourself.”

    I bent and twisted inside. I was wet, wetter than I wanted to admit. The idea of piss play had been on my mind for some time. Readers of this blog may have noticed its occasional appearance in pieces of erotica as of late. And now here was this sick-twisted-incredibly-hot man pushing me to do the things I wanted but feared.

    And so, I leapt.

    “Boymeat, may I lick the piss off of your boots?”

    “Drop.”

    I sunk down to my knees.

    “All the way down.”

    On all fours, I stared at his leather. At the drops that would soon be in my mouth. I crept towards his boots, stuck out my tongue, and licked. Lapped up his piss. First one boot, and then the other. The event swirled around us, but the people were far way. My world held only my body, writhing in pleasure, and Boymeat’s boots for my tasting.

    When I finished, I stood, a huge grin on my face. Boymeat adjusted himself.

    “The problem with not cuming after your pissing class, and then having someone lick piss off your boots.”

    He must’ve seen my smile. Must’ve noticed the extra perk in my face. Boymeat is great at reading people.

    “I’m gonna go sit on a bench over there and light a cigarette. Only a filthy fucking slut would randomly sit down, pull out a cock, and suck it from a guy she’s never met. Let’s see if a filthy little whore is going to come by and service me.”

    As soon as he walked away, I dashed about looking for safer sex supplies.

    “Where are the condoms?” I asked Shay in my rush. She pointed me towards a small table in the middle of the room.

    “Poetic, what’s wrong?” asked Stefanos as he mingled among the guests.

    “Oh, nothing. I just need a condom, now.”

    I found the condoms, grabbed one, and scurried through the crowd.

    Boymeat had just lit his cigarette when I stood in front of him. He looked up and smiled at me. I handed him the condom. He ripped open the packaging, pulled out his cock, and put it on.

    In a breath, I was down on my knees with his covered cock in my mouth.

    As my mouth bobbed up and down on him, took all of him in. As Boymeat gripped my hair, guiding my lips along his cock, he spoke sweetnesses into my ear.

    “Such a filthy little whore. Such a dirty little slut. Sucking on some stranger’s cock. You don’t even know me.

    “You licked piss off my boots and we barely know each other. You want me to piss on you now, don’t you?

    “Tonight, when you’re lying in bed, touching yourself, you’re gonna think about my piss in your mouth. When you masturbate tonight, you’re gonna cum to the idea of me pissing all over you.”

    He fucked my face til he came.

    “Are you one of those lucky few whose clit is hard wired for pain?”

    “Yes.”

    He grabbed my shoulders, turned the flesh. He hurt me as I writhed in his crotch. First my head brushed against him stomach, then lifted closer to his face. My body snaked across his chest. My hands rested on his thighs. My noises came. He enjoyed them.

    He gripped my breasts, pulling, twisting at the flesh, deep under the muscle, rubbing against my ribs.

    “Please. Please.”

    “Please. I love to hear that.”

    I was so wet, so slick from his work. I begged. Whispered my pleas.

    He allowed me to cum. I twisted in ecstasy from my pleasure and his pain.

    He started punching my chest. Concentrated on one side. And planted the seed of yet more fun to come.

    “Sometime tomorrow, when you least expect it, I am going to find you, throw you to the ground, rip off your clothes, and pee on you.”

  • Vignettes

    When I dropped off Gray at his cabin, off loaded his things, and made sure he was good, I stepped up to hug him. I kissed his cheek. He turned his face into my kiss. He wanted more than a peck.

    His lips met mine. We kissed. And kissed. And kissed. I stood up on my tip toes. My arms around his chest.

    Eventually he ended our embrace.

    “You better go. My cock’s getting hard and you have to work.” 

    He slapped my ass and sent me on my way. I, regretfully, went back to setup duty.

    ~

    “I just wanted to ask for your advice on running for Dirty Pig.”

    “Well, you’ve seen the show before. You know what to expect. I think the only thing that might harm you is wanting it too much.”

    Brakes screeched in my brain.

    FULL STOP, yelled a voice in my head.

    ~

    “Maybe I’m trying too hard? Maybe I’m taking this too seriously? I’m gonna stop. I’m not going to talk about Dirty Pig for the rest of the night. And as far as bribing the judges…”

    “When it comes to the judges, I think they need to get to know you. You can’t just be the next person offering them something. Not just another pretty face. They need to remember your name.”

    “You know, I was thinking. I went to Del’s class at GKE. And I saw Carol at CatalystCon. And I just got an email about possibly getting a short story published. What if I spoke to them about those things first? Make myself a person instead another contestant just trying to get a vote.”

    “I think you’ve got this, Lil Sis.”

    ~

    “I just wanted to thank you for teaching Top of the Boot at the first GKE. I was fairly new to bootblacking then, and it was the first time I’d seen a class from the perspective of the person receiving the blacking. I really appreciated the presentation.

    “Also…A little birdie told me you were one of the judges for Dirty Pig. I’m running for Dirty Pig. How would you like me to bribe you?”

    ~

    “Yes, you can use rope for breath play. You can use twine. You can use piano wire, but then you’ll run into other issues.”

    “Mmm,” I moaned, while stroking my neck.

    “You are one sick and twisted chic.”

    ~

    “Other fun activities can also be used for breath play.”

    “Yeah, I know.” Rough turned me, noting my sly smile as I stood in front of the class.

    “Really?”

    “Yeah, last night.”

    “Good on him.”

    “Indeed,” I said.

    ~

    “How do you want me to prepare for your Basic Suspension class?”

    “Don’t eat a big meal beforehand, and don’t die in Rough’s class.”

    ~

    “Now, I’m at a disadvantage for my class. Poetic is an experienced suspension bottom. She’s suspended herself and others, and can make up for any mistakes or discomfort this suspension may cause.”

    Wow, I thought. People, even Gray, actually notice my rope-y-ness. I may be kind of good at this.

    ~

    “Now, what if she fainted in her suspension?”

    I let my body go limp in his ropes. Listened as Gray explained how to get someone down to the ground quickly. Felt as familiar hands lifted my frame, loosed the ropes, and rested me on the floor. Kept my eyes closed, and my body unmoved, as people “scrambled” around me.

    “Okay, you can get up now.”

    I popped up to sitting, smiling at the class.

    “Okay, everyone spread out on the frames and try your suspensions.” Gray looked down on me. “Can you…?”

    “Yup.” I scooted my butt across the floor, ropes still tied to my body. In the corner, I started untying his ropes and leaving them in neat-ish lines to be coiled.

    ~

    “If he were at Summer Camp, he would totally win Fresh Meat.”

    “Well, it’s not exactly a competition.”

    “Well no, it’s a popularity contest.”

    Rough looked at my friend.

    “Can you hold this please,” he asked. My friend took up Rough’s bag.

    Rough’s fist slammed into my chest before I had time to register his movement.

    “Thank you,” he said, taking back his things.

    “Thank you,” I said to Rough as he left class.

    I was a smiley-happy-floaty girl again.

  • Kidnapped

    ~ erotica ~
    {Trigger Warning: This is a rape fantasy.}

    I carried my backpack over my shoulder, beleaguered from my long day and night’s work. Though there were few contents, it still felt heavy, weighing me down as I tried to walk home.

    I knew this path, this way I took every day or night. My long hours dulled my mind, but I could never forget the way home. Down two blocks, turn left. Pass the cheap gas station where beggars asked for change during the warmer days. No need to avoid the fried chicken and lake trout restaurant across the street, whose aromas often tempted me. Right after the corner store; too late to stop in for a few groceries. Five blocks more, and then home.

    My feet moved without me thinking. My mind didn’t register the actual short length, instead feeling my fifteen minute walk as a labor.

    I loved these streets, the people in the them, the neighborhood which I adopted and the inhabitants who accepted me.

    So I knew it wasn’t one of them who did it.

    Not Mr. Brown, who swept his front stoop every Sunday, watered his flowers in his window box every other day, and was the first to have his trash and recycling out, ordered and more neat than refuse should be.

    It wasn’t Dobs or Karl, the vets who rested their bones on the sidewalk in front of the gas station from March to September, and only asked for a little help when I could.

    It wasn’t Ms. Crystal, who owned the restaurant, and always wanted to put good food in my belly and a smile on my face.

    It wasn’t the Asian family who ran the corner store, whose kids I’d seen grow up in the five years since I moved to this part of town.

    It wasn’t my neighbors, my community.

    It happened after a particularly long day. Sixteen hours of work with few moments of rest. My whole body ached.

    My steps were slow, my march home more strenuous then need be. My limbs moved out of will to rest, knowing at the end of my journey a bed and soft covers would soothe their pain.

    I didn’t notice the van as it approached. Didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t know a man got out behind me. Didn’t know he had a knife, wore a mask, and stalked me for a block before he attacked.

    First I felt the pull on my hair, craning my head back. Then there was the knife on my neck, the scratch, the few drops of blood. My hands gripped his arm. My bag hung from my elbow. He dragged me to the open door of the van. Pulled me in. Closed off what little light from the dark night was left.

    There were four of them. One driving, because the van kept moving. One to hold my arms. Another to hold my legs. The last, my original attacker. They all wore masks. They all wore gloves, leather. Boots, too. I guessed they were military. They communicated without words. Their cruelty was precise.

    One pulled away my bag, pulled down my pants and panties. One by my head used his knees to hold my arms. He tore open my shirt. A knife split my bra. In a matter of seconds, I was naked and open.

    I was pinned with my back on a mattress. It didn’t move as they worked.

    I heard the ripe of condoms, and was shocked at a flash of relief.

    The one by my head placed his hand over my throat. I felt a knife against my cheek. I knew what he would want.

    The one by my ankles bent my knees. All three flipped me over.

    The one by my head grabbed my hair. Lifted my head. Pushed open my jaw. He shoved his cock in my mouth. I gagged, but took it. Tears trickled down my face. He rubbed a gloved hand over my eyes. Then smacked my ass.

    The one by my ankles gripped my hips. Lined up his cock. He drove his dick deep inside my cunt. My hands held onto the edge of the mattress. He pounded my pussy hard and fast.

    The one at center used a gloved hand to stroke his cock. Rubbed his dick against my ass. Used a cold slick finger to probe my asshole.

    The one in my cunt stopped, pulled out, moved back. The one at center took his place. His dick circled my asshole before pushing, pushing. Sliding all the way inside me. More tears.

    He didn’t fuck my ass. He followed the rhythm of the man by my head. Rocking his body with mine, cock slid in and out of my throat but remained in my ass.

    Then I felt two sets of hands on my hips. Heard a gasp of pleasure. The man who invaded my pussy took refuge in the asshole of his friend.

    They all followed a rhythm, a beat they knew well. I took them, accepted my fate.

    When they were close, each rising to a crescendo together, the van stopped. I heard the driver’s door open and close. In the time it took him to walk around, they all came, grunts and groans filling the small room.

    The driver opened the side door. He pulled me out onto the sidewalk. Another flung my bag out.

    All four men stood over me. I cowered, hiding my face from the dim light of the night, from their eyes. I felt the four streams of piss hit my back, my ass, my hair.

    When they finished, they got back into their van and left.

    I laid on the ground for a few breaths before raising my head to figure out where I was. At once, I knew. The small tree. The bike rack. The number on the building.

    They discarded me at my front door.

  • Baby Bootblack

    I had more than my fair share of memorable moments and lesseons learned from this past Winter Fire, but one in particular has stuck with me: I will always schedule myself for the last bootblacking shift of an event.

    The last two hours of my chair time at DO:WF were hectic, and challenging, and I would not trade them for the world. I can’t even tell you how many people sat in my chair. Person after person put their leather in my hands.

    I was nervous at first, but when I saw the long list of people waiting, and it dawned on me the limited amount of time we had, I found myself dropping into a zone I had not felt before.

    Fast forward to this past weekend at Frolicon. I scheduled myself for eight hours of blacking, two four hour shifts over the two days, one of which included the last shift of the event. My chair time was not as hectic as it had been in February, but it was still something altogether amazing.

    Just a year ago, I was a novice bootblack. I sat and watched as Elegant worked, taking pointers from her wealth of experience. Previous to that event, I had only blacked for friends, never publicly. Elegant offered up her kit to me, and a new friend sat for me to black his boots. He took pictures I later posted to my Fet.

    This past weekend could not have felt more different from last year. I was confident. I felt sure of my skills. No more nerves. No more fear. I sat in my chair and waited to perform my service.

    As the last shift ended, after I’d had a couple dozen people cycle in and out of my care, I felt great. I packed up my supplies with a smile.

    But my new found confidence was not the only reason for my happiness. As the last bootblack finished work on her last piece of leather, others gathered in the area. Her friends blocked the view right beside my stand. A person served as a table, holding boots to be gifted.

    When the last bootblack finished, her friends parted. Her mentor spoke words for and about her. There were hugs and tears and cheers. The last bootblack was gifted a shiny pair of boots of her own, showing her progress in her craft, her care, her dedication to her work, all that she had learned over 14 months of instruction.

    As her mentor laced up the new boots with pretty pink chord, I stood on the side of the circle, seeing all the faces of her friends. In that moment, I felt something stir inside me.

    I wanted that, the community, the fidelity, the shared comradery of this group of folks in leather.

    I am not where she is, nor have I had the training she’s had. Still, I am a bootblack (though maybe just a baby bootblack). Each time I sit down and work, I am learning. I am grateful for my haphazard training, for the many voices who’ve guided me along the way this past year and a half, and for those who will teach me more as I grow in my craft.

    And I hope, one day, I too will have that moment of a gift of leather.

  • An Excerpt

    ~ erotica ~

    [Note: The following is an excerpt from my NaNoWriMo project.  Enjoy…]


    I knelt on the ground, my head bent down, naked, waiting. He told me to wait. Told me he would be back. But when he’d be back I did not know. The chain around my neck, and it’s lock by the top of my sternum, weighed heavily on my chest.

    When would he return? Would he return? Was this a test? All I wanted was my Daddy. All I wanted was his cock. On me. In me. My mouth. My ass. Wherever he wanted. I wanted my Daddy.

    I heard footfalls, the familiar click clack of his boots on the wooden floor. Daddy was coming. Daddy was back. Daddy was home.

    He opened the door and closed it behind him. I didn’t look. I knew he didn’t want me to look, knew he liked it when I just waited, same as he had left me, same as he wanted me, on my knees, hands on my thighs, head bent in supplication to him.

    I heard the click clack as he walked to his chair right in front of me. Out of my periphery I saw those familiar boots, and those familiar chaps. I smelled his cologne. Even from those few feet away, I felt his heat. My Daddy was ready for me, wanted me, needed me. And his boy needed him too.

    “Stand.”

    I curved my toes under and glided up, my head still bent.

    “Look at me.”

    And, finally, I saw his face. His salt and pepper beard. His sky blue eyes. His jet black hair.

    “I missed my boy.”
    “I missed you too, Daddy.”
    “At my knee.”

    I rushed towards him, gripped his leg tight, and rested my head at his knee. He caressed my head, his leather gloved hands in my hair. My head instinctively leaned into his touch, leaned into each stroke of his hand.

    And then came the grip. He held onto my hair and pulled my face towards his. With his free hand, he unzipped his jeans which he wore under his chaps. Out came his massive and hard cock, the cock I had so missed, that cock that would soon be inside me.

    Daddy pushed my mouth onto his cock, all the way in, down my throat. I gagged at first, but made myself relax. My Daddy was in me again. I couldn’t be happier.

    He pulled on my hair, moving my head back and forth on his cock. Stroke, stroke, hold. Stroke, stroke, hold. Daddy had taught me how he liked his cock sucked, taught me how he would use my body for his pleasure.

    Once he pulled them out, my hands eased up to my Daddy’s balls. With each pause at the back of my throat I was to squeeze as hard as I could. This meant my Daddy would soon cum. My Daddy loved it when I squeezed his balls.

    Stroke, Stroke, hold/squeeze. Stroke, stroke, hold/squeeze. He grew faster with the rhythm, faster and deeper in my throat. I gripped harder and harder, so much that my hands hurt, but I didn’t care. It was what my Daddy wanted, what my Daddy needed, and I would do anything for his pleasure.

    And then it came, my Daddy’s grunts as he spewed into my mouth; warm cum filled me. I love the taste of my Daddy’s cum, love it when he cums in me, in my mouth, in my ass, just in me.

    Pulling me up by my hair, my Daddy encircled his arms around me as he kissed me, licking his cum from my tongue, filling my mouth now with his own tongue. Oh how I missed him, his dick, his tongue, his cum, my Daddy all in me.

    But he wasn’t done yet.

    As my Daddy lapped at his cum in my mouth, one of his hands now gripped one of my ass cheeks and a finger played with my asshole. My Daddy was especially horny and wanted yet more of me. I leaned my ass back into his touch, wanting more than just his finger playing with it.

    And then I was turned around, bent over, my hands on the floor. Daddy gripped my hips and pulled my ass into his mouth, licking and lapping at my hole. He spit into my crack. He licked and sucked all he wanted.

    His first ungloved finger slid in and I gasped from the surprise and the sensation. A moment later, after working me good, his second slid in. Daddy was opening me up good and wide. Sure enough, his third finger soon followed.

    I breathed. I screamed. I cried my pleasure as my Daddy stuck in a forth finger deep inside me. Daddy was going to do it. Daddy was going to give me my greatest pleasure, my favorite pleasure.

    A moment later, my Daddy’s full fist slid inside my ass. “Yes!” I moaned as Daddy began pumping his hand in my ass, ramming me hard. He punched my prostate, bracing his arm in front of my thigh both so that I wouldn’t fall but also to give him extra leverage, extra pushing as he pummeled my insides how I loved.

    With his hand so close to my crotch, he soon began stroking my cock as well. It was so much, oh so much pleasure as my Daddy fucked me right. And then, oh my god, and then Daddy bent down and started sucking my balls too. I could barely stand, could barely think of anything but all the sensations, all the pleasures running through my body.

    “Daddy, please! Oh god, Daddy please!”
    “No!”

    Daddy pounded my ass harder, squeezed my cock firmer, and lapped at my balls even more.

    “Please please please, Daddy! Oh god, please let me cum. Please Daddy, I want cum for you. I want to cum for you. Please!”
    “No!”

    Daddy sucked both my balls into his mouth, held his knuckles against my prostate, rotating around, and gripped the base of the shaft of my cock.

    “Fuck! Daddy, please! Please!”
    “Cum!”

    The world went tumbling as Daddy flipped me onto my back, my cum racing from my body into his mouth, onto his face, lapped up and on him. He used his hand to milk my cock, pulling every last bit of cum out of me for him to enjoy.

    Daddy slowly eased his fist out, then brought his face to mine. His kissed me softly as I tasted myself on him. He let me lick his face, lick my cum off of him, before kissing it from my lips again.

    His hand caressed my cheek, then cradled my neck, lifting me up off the ground. He softly placed my head back by his knee where I rested, waited, happy to have my Daddy back home.

  • Busy Day

    With the sacrifice of my Saturday a given, an unintended consequence arose. All of sudden I only had one day left at camp. One day to go to class. One day to play. One day to make everything happen.

    When I woke up Sunday morning, I already had a tight schedule. One class, four play dates, participating in an elaborate scene, and I still wanted to spend some time with friends. I wondered how I would make everything work.

    Quickly getting up, I showered, changed into a cute dress (cause this was my last day, dammit, I was going to look good), and headed to breakfast.

    After food, I went to the one class I knew I wanted to make, Playing Well With Others. I had already taken one of Vesper’s classes and knew that this one was a must see.

    As luck would have it, two of my cabinmates attended. We shared a futon couch as Vesper spoke, asking everyone questions, engaging the entire class in the conversation. The discussion focused on Monogamous and Polyamorous relationships, how they differed, and elements that were important to every relationship.

    At the end of the class, with most everyone gone (including my cabinmates) I found myself in a conversation with Vesper and one of the other class attendees. As one would expect, we mused on relationships and life in general.

    As it was soon time for lunch, once our extra-class discussion came to a natural end, I asked Vesper if he’d like to have lunch together. I had felt a friendly vibe from him from our initial meeting and wanted to get more time to chat. He agreed. We strolled down to the Dining Hall.

    During our meal, he flagged the camp organizers over. Vesper’s flight home was that evening and he needed a ride to the airport. I was now very happy I’d asked to spend some time with him.

    As the organizers thought on who could give Vesper a ride, an idea occurred to me: I could.

    Yes, my schedule was tight, but I could postpone a playdate for later that evening, opening up the time I would need to get him there. With Vesper happy to have a ride with someone he actually knew, we called over to the organizers; problem solved.

    Of course, this opened up a new can of worms for me, but I do love rising to challenges.

    And thus began my three hour whirlwind.

    First their was lunch with Vesper, chatting and laughing and such. Then, right after lunch, I rushed back to the cabin, changed, and waited for my first play date: cigar play lessons on the grass in front of my cabin.

    I told the gentleman with whom I played simply, “You scare me. I appreciate that.”

    He replied, “The way I get girls to play with me is I scare them.”

    “Like I said, you scare me and I appreciate that.”

    He requested my clothes off. I left on my red underwear with the words “I HATE U” printed on them. I think he appreciated that.

    After smoke-and-heat-and-ashy fun, and the promise of more play together at some time in the future, I grabbed my things and caught a taxi to the Dungeon for my second play date.

    Jim was waiting for me. I was five minutes late.

    We found a sex swing, setup two chucks (one in the swing and one on the floor), and then began our fun.

    The date was Jim’s idea. He quickly cleaned my boots before licking my leather and slipping his hand inside my pussy.

    “You have to be quiet; they’re having a class.”

    Behind Jim, across the Dungeon, I saw a group of people sitting in folding chairs having what seemed like an intense conversation.

    I wanted to scream as Jim’s fingers danced inside me. Orgasms rolled, but I had to muffle myself, my hands often covering my mouth, quieting my ecstasy.

    When we finished, with about ten minutes to spare, Jim and I chatted for a moment.

    As we spoke, I kept looking down at his boots. In a moment of asking for exactly what I wanted, Jim granted me permission to kiss his boots. I kissed and caressed his leather, allowing myself to get lost in the smell and sensation, but only for a few precious minutes.

    Cleaning the swing and collecting my things, I put my dress back on. I thanked Jim for the fun and then ran off.

    Arriving at Vesper’s cabin, I was right on time. He said his goodbyes before we walked to my car.

    During the ride, we again got to chatting, learning still more about each other. My initial vibe was confirmed in that car ride. He’s a cool guy; I could definitely see us being friends.

    I gave him a hug before he flew away, and then I flew back to camp. I still had two play dates and a psycho drama to perform in.

  • Teeth

    I looked at him, smiled, and asked a simple question.

    “May I smell your jacket?” He returned my grin and stepped into my personal space. As my feet dangled from the short stage, I felt lost in the wondrous aroma.

    “I got this in Florence.” Real Italian leather, soft and supple leather. I rested my face against it, wanting to melt into him.

    Bringing myself back, I had to ask.

    “So, do you want to do anything?”

    He did, but… he had event duties and other dates already set. Still, he acknowledged the desire was there, as was the feeling that if we played it would be fun.

    For a second I stuck out my finger, but then I pulled back.

    “Do I have permission to touch you?” He looked on me quizzically, but then gave his consent, provided I stayed on the outside of his clothing. I poked his exposed tummy, just above his belly button.

    “May I touch you?” I gave him carte blanche, but then he wondered what my definition of touch was.

    “You can touch anywhere, including under clothing. You may take off clothes, but not rip off without consent.” A devilish grin crept across his face. Out popped his small knife. “Dammit! I’m not wearing destroyables.”

    I gave my usual caveats: no broken bones, no load bearing rigging from my piercings, no riping out of piercings.

    He looked at me, seeming to come to an understanding, and said, “Okay.”

    Slipping his hand into my hair, he gripped and pulled. My moans started.

    Tilting my head to the side, he brought his face to my neck. I could feel his hot breath just before he sunk down, his teeth gripping my flesh.

    I yelped at first, squirming, before settling into the pain and pleasure, my hands finding his hips, holding him to me. My moans grew loud. Symmetry being important, he graced the other side of my neck as well. Pulling my head back, his teeth found the front of my neck, gripping down not as hard, avoiding damage to my wind pipe.

    Stepping back, he looked on his work. His impressions laid in my skin nicely, but he decided to make them beautiful. Attacking each side of my neck again, his teeth once more found their places in my flesh, staying in their spots for much longer, digging in further. My moans, in turn, grew deeper and longer. The pain and pleasure was exquisite.

    To commemorate his work, he photographed each set.

    Later, as I stood around, chatting with him and another friend while coming down from watching an intense needle scene, he slipped his hand to the back of my neck. His fingertips grabbed around my tattoo, pinching the flesh in, intense pain coming from his touch. I whined, high pitched and longingly.

    “What? It’s a neck massage.”

    Gripping my hair, he sunk his teeth down into the back on my neck, framing my tattoo. I screamed, yelped, and then finally moaned as the delicious pain swept through me. I wiggled, squirmed, but again found myself inside his space, leaning into his body, diving into this moment with him.

    And, once more, he took a picture.

    It is now about twelve hours later. No matter how I move my face, my neck always aches… just a little.

  • Leather, Sex, and Cars

    ~ a dream ~

    My eyes opened slowly, the fog of sleep clinging to me like a wet blanket. Had someone come in? I wasn’t sure.

    When my eyes did more than peek open, the first thing I saw was black. It was a matte black, and I noticed at once that it was leather. My lids opened fully now, I gasped in amazement.

    A dozen pairs of boots, short and tall, spiked and healed, graced a corner of my room, the corner right next to the end of my bed. Flinging off the covers, I rushed over to the boots like a child to her presents on Christmas morning.

    The smell was wondrous as my fingertips graced the first pair. The soft supple leather was creamy to the touch. I picked up a boot and brought it to my nostrils, all the better to take in the aroma.

    As I set it down, and looked at the rest of the pile, a thought dawned on me: I recognized each and every pair boots.

    It was not a month prior that I’d gone out with a friend, Hoop, and we’d decided to check out a leather store. There I lost myself in the boots, trying on so many pairs. With each, Hoop took a picture. It wasn’t until now that I realized why.

    A cough from behind me startled me. I spun my body around and viewed a man dressed in all black with a ski mask on, sporting a mile wide grin. Instead of being scared, I ran to him. I recognized the form as DeepEnd, who had obviously been the one to sneak in all the boots.

    “It was N3rddom’s idea,” he explained as my arms hung around his neck. “We all pooled our money. Happy Birthday.”

    I turned around to view my leather once again, but spun into another place. Beside me stood Dane Cook, who smiled widely. No longer in a night shirt (which I have not worn since childhood), I now wore a fun sundress that swished with my slightest movement.

    I stepped closer to Dane, giving him an eager grin.

    “We can’t,” he said. “We work together.”
    “I don’t care.”

    He turned to walk away. I stepped into his path.

    “Who would know?” I asked.  He thought for a moment, then slid his arms around me, a hand gliding onto my ass, and his thigh in between my legs.
    “I don’t have protection,” he whispered.
    “Leave that to me. I’ll go CVS and be right back.”

    The tension between us was great, but still I pulled myself away. As I walked towards the entrance, I saw through a glass wall what looked like a tornado forming. The cone’s gold and black crosshatching gave the storm a fantastical quality.

    Suddenly, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. The tornado riped apart and fighter planes burst forth. Half looked to be military, the other half alien.

    As the two factions circled each other, the alien aircraft came in for a landing, morphing into Mini Coopers of all colors. The American fighter planes landed beside them. 

    The cars looked cooler.

  • Another One

    ~ Sunday afternoon at The Floating World ~

    I first noticed him during a class. He sat a few rows behind me.

    I happened to turn around and glance towards him. I first saw his boots. And then, slowly, up trailed my eyes, taking in the head-to-toe leather. Finally I saw the soft smile on his stern face, his gaze not on me.

    I made myself turn towards the front. I knew it, as soon as I saw him.

    Shit, another one. He was a leatherman.

    When class ended, I walked out into the hallway, avoiding the incredible urge to go say hi to him.
    It was the last day, and I was about to go to my last class.

    I passed Lynk in the hall, and doubled checked where Sadistic Massage would be held. He pointed me towards a nearby room. I sat down my things and wandered about the convention center during the break as the classes turned over.

    I stopped by the bootblacking station, checking in with D3 and rabbit to see how they were fairing. Few pairs of boots had graced their seats that day.

    Wandering back towards my class, there he was. He stood, showing off his cricket bat to a man I did not know.

    Meh, I thought. Why the fuck not?
     
    I slowly approached him and lightly touched his shoulder. He turned, looked at me, and smiled.

    “Hi. I just wanted to say your cricket bat looks awesome. I have a friend who uses one for play, and it’s a lot of fun.”
    “Why thank you.”
    “I’m poetic.”

    He introduced himself. I smiled wide.

    “Nice to meet you.”
    “You say your friend uses a cricket bat?”
    “Yes. In fact for my birthday, during my birthday spankings, I got hit with his cricket bat. And a pool stick. And a hockey stick.”
    “Really?”
    “I like pain. May I look at your bat?”
    “Sure.”

    He showed it off to me.

    “Yours looks rougher than his.”
    “Ah, his is finished.”
    “Finished?”
    “Laquered.”
    “Yes. And stingy as a hell. Well, I have to go. Class.”
    “Which one are you attending?”
    “Sadistic Massage with Lynk. It’s happening right over there.”
    “Sadistic Massage? I may see you in there.”
    “That would be nice. Well, it was nice meeting you.”

    I smiled, turned, and walked away.

    Fuck me; another one.

    I am such a sucker for a man in leather.

  • A Boot Scene

    He stood beside me for a moment before his turn. He asked for a light for his cigar, which I gratefully gave.

    Sitting down in my chair, the din of the event fell away. I picked up his boot and placed it on my thigh. I unlaced his leather and began working.

    I was still in the bar shine mindset. I made myself slow down. I made myself take care with his leather. I cleaned each of his boots twice, making sure I massaged the flesh beneath the leather.

    As I worked, he blew cigar smoke into my face and ran the cherry of his tobacco delicately near my skin. The intensity of our interaction increased.

    He ashed into his hand and brought his palm to my eye line.

    “May I?”
    “Yes.”

    I took his hand into mine and licked up the flecks. Some ash spilled onto his thigh. His hand clean, I bent down and licked the ash off of his leather kilt, all the while nuzzling my face into his crotch.

    His kilt free of ash, I sat back. He flashed me momentarily. I gave a smile, but got back to work. I’d already cleaned his boots once and not gotten to the polish; I didn’t want to get sidetracked again.

    As I reached down for my polish supplies, he stood, placed his boot on my thigh, and pointed. I bent my head down and licked all over his leather. I kissed. I caressed my face.

    Satisfied, he sat back down, but then placed his boot in between my legs, applying intense pressure onto my clit. With the force of his weight behind him, he merely pulsed his boot as he fucked me with his leather.

    I leaned back in my chair, moaning rather loudly. I begged permission to cum. He gave it. He allowed sweet warmth to pass through me three times, my hips bucking with the rhythm of his leather, before he ceased his delicious torment.

    As I rode his boot, as I sunk into my ecstasy, I forgot about anything else going on around me.

    When finally he stopped, I raised my head back up, regained my breathing, and got back to servicing his boots. I cleaned where his leather had met my pussy. I asked him what polish he preferred; Lincoln.

    I pulled out my tin and popped it open. I rubbed the dark substance and applied some polish to his leather.

    He took the tin from my hand. He built up saliva on his hand, so much so some dripped from his lips, rubbed his hand into my polish, and applied it to his leather.

    Moving his hand to my face, his fingers rubbed my lips. My mouth parted and I sucked on his fingers, sucked like I knew he wanted me to suck on his cock. I could hear him moan from my mock fellatio.

    Upon his request, I put the tin in my mouth between my teeth. I vigorously worked the polish from the tin into his boots. I buffed his leather.

    Taking my brush from me, he licked the bristles and buffed his toe caps. Once again I followed his lead, licking my brush and buffing his heel caps.

    “Now you are in my leather.”
    And you are in my polish.