An Evening at His Boots

September 30th, 2014

Tonight Marc Bellenger invited me over to his home for the evening, after the incredible night a few evenings prior, I lept at the chance.  He arrived in full formal leathers, his Langlitz leather jacket which I just cannot get enough of, leather pants, hi-shine engineer boots, and his leather gauntlet gloves.  He's such a traditional leather gentleman, he even bought my drink for me, and I fell into step behind him of my own accord.  I felt naturally at ease and at peace in my submission.

As much as I may tease and poke fun at traditionalists and men who subscribe to the idea of "old guard" leather, I only do it when they get obnoxious or zealous about it.  In truth, I do find a mild form of what's considered a "traditional" form of  leather protocol comfortable with the right man.  When I am forced into something, or when something is declared socially mandatory is when I resist, question, and become stubborn and mischievous.

Once we arrived at his place, I stripped out of my shirt and shorts into my harness and jockstrap as well as my boots.  I helped Marc with a few tasks around the house before I took my place at his boots, they rested around my neck and on my chest as I sat between his legs in front of the couch.  I didn't watch much TV as my vision was obscured by leather gloves gripping my mouth and face, boots suffocating and choking me, as well as being stepped upon, and crushed between his legs.

  At one point he pulled me up, and wrapped those gloved hands around my neck from behind, forcing me up against the mirror so I could still see the dark gleam in his gaze.  I fell deep into submission, I was Daddy's little leather boy toy, his boot rest.  I belonged under his boots, it's where I wished to be.  I can't stand spankings or breath play, but when Marc did it all I wished was that it pleased him to play with me.  At one point he put his favorite motorcycle jacket on me, and shockingly enough it fit me like a glove!  It felt so smooth and wonderful, like a liquor on my skin.

He dominated me even more, and I wanted nothing but his pleasure, and to earn the two words I yearn to hear every day of my life..."Good Boy."

He said I was a good boy, that I was a very good leather boy!  I was so happy to hear such praise from this dominant and powerful leather man.  As I sat at his boots and wrapped myself around his leg, and lost myself in thought.  This is where I truly wanted to be: in a submissive role.

I found myself in Marc's favorite biker jacket, wearing gloves as I stroked him off, listening to him grunt, and snort, making some very aggressive growls and snarls before he let out a deep scream of ecstasy as he shot out his load.  I was only too happy to make him feel so amazing!

I short while later we set out to return me home, I rested my hand on his leg, sealed in leather, my arm out the window as we drove down the empty streets with the top down, cruising into the night.  It felt like a time shared by many leathermen before us.

I'm excited to see where he takes me next, how deep, how far.  He talks of suspending me in the air from the tree in the yard, he spoke of whipping my back.  I want to please him, I want to make him smile a wicked grin, to ignite that awesome spark when we both snarl and tumble in a roll of fire, feeding off the other's energy in grand passion to fall to the ground breathless and laughing in gasps.

I can't wait.

Play Safe Dear Reader.