Are you okay?

NOTHING ruins a scene faster, I think, than a constant asking of "are you okay?" It takes a sub/slave/bottom out of the head space quite quickly; it may, in fact, make the sub/slave/bottom lose confidence in the Top's ability to "read" the scene and keep it alive and on edge.

Still, there are times when it doesn't hurt to make sure that all is okay, that there is no "bad" pain, that the panic-breathing is because the sub is loving every minute rather than truly panicking, etc.

Out of the blue yesterday, working with a young man who clearly was not very experienced and was, in my opinion, a little overly excited and maybe even close to passing out from hyperventilation, and occasionally shivering from fear? or excitement?--in any case, out popped these words from me---

"Are you where you wanna be?"

When the scene was over I had used the phrase three times, each time making direct verbal contact with the young man, but I believe never destroying the critical head-space we were working so hard to achieve. The phrase carries so many meanings and allows for so many interpretations on the sub's part, that it was, for me, a way to check in, without breaking the focus.

The sub answered "yes Sir" all three times and on we went.....

And each time the answer seemed to say:

"Yes, i like this headspace."
"Yes, i'm glad i hooked up with You."
"Yes, this bondage is great and comfortable and unforgiving."
"Yes, i love wearing hoods."
"Yes, this is the punishment i craved."
"Yes, and I never want to leave."

And yes, I'm officially working on a "Rosetta Stone" language class for interpreting "yes Sir" and "mmmmmphfyps", just for dedicated leather/rubber/BDSM men.

The Universe Laughs

Recently my partner and I agreed to play with a local man who wanted some "rubbery action." Agreed to some bondage, light pain, hoods, gags, gas masks, ass play, TT, CBT....the general gamut of good fun. He arrived on time, in his rubber singlet, donned his Black Diamond rubber waders. We skipped the chit-chat and headed right for the play area where the hubby was in a rubber jock and hip waders, blindfolded, gagged with bit gag and strung from some hanging chains.

On a side note it was a sad day as we completely blew out the full rubber suit (cheap piece of shit) after covering hubby in j-lube and trying to put him in the suit. LOL--he had to scramble into the shower with box of salt to deactivate the lube, then out quick and into the modest rubber gear. Sigh.

On a second more upbeat sidenote, we also broke in some new ball stretchers I ordered from Fort Troff. They're called the Jelly Fatties and are incredibly stretchy rings that can be loaded on. They're amazing. You know as well as I do that one day your balls hang low and you feel like you could load on six inches of stretchers while the next day those 'lil fuckers have moved north and you can barely get 1/8 inch of stretch on 'em. Or with one guy you feel like the descending sack is so small you could never get anything on tight, while the next guy's sack is so tight you can't get your fist around it. These little rubber rings solve both problems.

And for the next three hours we had a blast! This little fucker was explosive fun. Laughed at the light bondage, squirmed like a greased pig, stuck his butt out further when i started beating on it, screamed appreciatively when I smacked his low hangers, climbed in to his first rubber sleepsack experience, kissed with a passion I've not seen for a very long time, and practically flew out of the sling while the hubby was fucking his brains out. (Note for future: tie this motherfucker TIGHTLY and gag him completely for next orgasm as he damn near brought this place down when we tried to touch his dick after he came...)

Hubby and I both knew this was a keeper. Kidnap and cage images came to mind. I began to wonder if he was any good at cleaning bathrooms. The storage room would make a nice pigslave cell. China patterns danced in our heads. Up to the roof we went for a little dinner and wind-down chat. Turns out he's leaving. The country. In two weeks. For good. I think he was pretty disappointed as well.

And all I could think was how the universe does this to us: gets us hot and horny and hopeful, and then pulls the rug out from under us. And the universe laughs.

Grab your opportunities, men.

Iowa Farm Boy, Part IV

Almost immediately after graduation Steve put me to work at the shop shining boots and shoes. I’d been shining my own shoes and boots for years but had no clue how badly I’d been doing it. Steve set me straight. “Cleaning the dirt and old layers of wax or paste off is as important as applying the new coat. You’re just wasting your time applying a new coat without doing a good cleaning. Brush it well, use the dental picks to clean out the crevices, scrub it down with saddle soap if you have to. You want to open the pores on the leather to receive the new coat of wax. Brushing and buffing? Develop a routine. Learn to show off. And you gotta get good with both hands.”

I practiced on Steve’s and my boots back at the farm. I bought extra brushes to fill out the kit. I added more colors to my waxes. And I stayed very busy at the shop. I could see a pair of my highly polished boots from across the street. I was proud of that. And I was stashing away a little more cash.

Mid-summer I had a panic attack. Arriving at the shop early, Steve brought me a letter that had been shoved under the front door. It was a packet from the college that had awarded me the scholarship. Freshman registration materials. I figured my mom had brought it in after it had been delivered to their house. I wanted to puke. Steve sat me down on the customer sofa and sat next to me.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“You know we can’t stay here for ever. If you don’t leave for college in the fall, there will be a lot of talk. And it won’t be good for either of us. This is still cow, pig, and corn country and they’d be just as happy to shoot us as look at us if they knew what was going on. But I’m not gonna make your mind up for you. You’ll know in your heart what is right. Take a couple weeks to think about it. I’ll even take you down to the college if you wanna take another look around.”

I was devastated. I didn’t want to make that decision. I just wanted life to go on as it was. I was happy. That seemed like enough to me.

That weekend I undertook another major step in my education. Saturday afternoon we’d closed the shop early and headed back to the farm. We took the horses out in the pasture and down to a creek that flowed through the farm. The water was fairly high, and hot and sweaty as the horses, we pulled off all our clothes and lay down in the creek to cool off. The cool water was a tonic and before long I was on top of Steve, licking and biting his leathery nipples. I could feel his dick getting hard against my stomach. Steve was pushing his tongue deep into my ear, a velvety growl vibrating my entire head. I could feel my guts churning and my anus clenching. It was like there was a direct connection between my ears and cherry butthole, one being the key to unlock the other.

Steve took a wet finger and pushed it against my rectum. I gasped. I wanted it so badly.

“Relax. Deep breath. Let it go. Deep breath. Let it go. One more time.” And as I exhaled that third time Steve’s finger slipped inside. I sucked in a huge breath, blood rushing to my head and my dick. “Now, sit up slowly. I want to see your dick.”

Slowly that finger explored my insides and before long found my rock hard prostate. Steve massaged it ever so slowly and my dick was dancing. I started to ride that finger, I wanted it deeper inside me. With each plunge Steve’s finger did another poke on my prostate. The tenth time down I quivered and shot a monster load. It was probably the most explosive orgasm I had ever had.

Steve was grinning when I opened my eyes, and I collapsed onto his broad chest holding on to him for dear life. I was still clenching that finger in my ass, wanting to hold on to that feeling forever. In the distance we could hear some loud engines revving up by the house.

“I’ll be go to hell. C’mon, get dressed. We gotta get back to the house.” And just like that the finger was pulled out of my ass. We threw on our clothes and raced back to the house. Upon arrival we tied the horses up in the shade of the barn and made our way to the front of the house. Two huge motorcycles, choppers with huge handlebars, were parked there, and sitting on the front porch stairs were two monster-sized men. They stood as we came around the corner of the house.

They were both dressed in jeans under leather chaps. Leather vests covered with decals hung open on their torsos. The chaps covered black leather boots. And that is where the similarities of the two ended. The taller of the two had a shaved head and a huge Fu Manchu mustache light brown in color. Under the vest I could see a glorious tattoo. From a distance it looked like a Japanese watercolor cascading down his chest and continuing down below the waistline of his jeans. More tattoos covered each arm and I caught a glimpse of yet another tattoo arising from the neck of his vest and coming up the back of his head. He was lanky, probably 6'2" and chiseled. Sharp, knife-like muscles seemed to arise everywhere. The black chaps accentuated a tight butt and a packed crotch.

The other guy’s skin was covered as well. This time with hair. He was probably 5'10" and was built like a brick shit house. His biceps were as big as my thighs and his thighs as big as my waist. And everywhere he was covered in dark, thick, luxuriant hair. It was like a rug. The top of his head was covered in stubble but starting at his sideburns he’d grown a thick, long beard, the bottom of which nearly reached the center of his chest. A huge gut poked out from the vest and threatened to overflow the jeans and chaps.

Steve was laughing his ass off as he rushed to greet the two men. Bear hugs and butt slaps were exchanged. Steve was holding onto the shorter one’s head and giving him a huge sloppy kiss. I could feel myself turning red with embarrassment, or was it jealousy?

As if on cue the kiss came to an end and Steve looked back at me. “C’mere. I want you to meet ChromeDome and NastiBear. You only get one guess as to which is which.” He pulled me over to where the two guests were standing. “Gentlemen! I want you to meet barberboy!” I was shocked. Steve had never called me that in front of anyone. I could feel myself blushing.

ChromeDome grabbed me into a hug and ran his hand over my head three or four times. “Damn he’s fine.” He snuck his other hand into my crotch and gave it a playful squeeze then pushed me over to the other man. NastiBear pulled me to him and damn near squeezed the life out of me. It was like hugging a tank that had been covered with Brillo pads. He smelled of sweat and asphalt and leather. He loosened up on the hug and turned me around, wrapped his arms around my chest, pinning my arms to my side. His head peeked over my left shoulder, his boulder stomach tight against my back.

“I want one of these! CD! You gotta get me one of these! I can’t live unless I get me one of these! In fact, I want THIS ONE!”

ChromeDome teased back, “You know how you are with toys. You break ‘em the first time you play with ‘em. I can’t begin to count the number of toys you’ve broken. But if you insist, I guess this one looks pretty sturdy....”

“Hands off, boys!” Steve shouted jokingly. “Mine, all mine.” He winked at me.

“Fuckwad!” Nastibear let go his grip and shoved me toward Steve. “See if I tell you the good news we traveled 120 miles to deliver in person.” Without missing a beat, Steve shoved me right back at Nastibear.

“I guess we could share.”

“Nope. You hurt my feelings.” I was shoved aside “C’mon, CD, let’s go.”

“And miss a free steak dinner? Corn on the cob? Cold beer?” Steve offered.

Nastibear hemmed and hawed. “Well, maybe just a little bite to eat before we go back. I got my girlish figure to worry ‘bout. But I still ain’t delivering the good news.”

“Maybe later I can persuade you. You know, with my charm, and ‘special’ skills.”

“Fuckwad! You ain’t got no charm. But maybe we can talk further about those ‘special’ skills.” He laughed.

We ate dinner out back at the picnic table by the barbecue pit and watched the sunset. The men bantered about mutual friends in Omaha and the changing “scene” there, as they called it. I gathered up the dishes and carried them into the kitchen. Steve picked up the remaining few and followed me.

At the sink he turned me around. “Finish the dishes and then I want you to head for the hay loft and go to bed. The three of us are going to continue our discussion.” He paused. “And we’re going to have sex. But not like you and me, at least not yet. These guys are very special to me and a couple times a year we get together for our own types of enjoyment. You’re gonna act all jealous and I want you to get over that shit quick. Just stay in the loft tonight and we’ll talk more tomorrow when they head back to Omaha.”

“Yes, Sir.” I mumbled. He was right. I was feeling jealous. And curious. And afraid. Afraid these guys were taking my place, whatever “my place” was.

“Good boy.” Now finish up and head to bed.”

I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep but surprisingly I did finally nod off, exhausted by the days events. I focused on the time at the creek and clutched my pillow tightly dreaming of Sir’s finger up my ass.

A few hours later I awoke abruptly and sat straight up. The clock radio said it was just after 2:00. I heard a crack followed by a scream. I climbed down the ladder quickly, still naked, threw on my boots that were at the base of the ladder and went out the back of the barn where I thought I’d heard the sounds coming from.

The shed door was partially open and light spilled out the frame. Another crack was followed this time by a moan. I went directly to the door and pushed it open just a bit further, concerned that someone was hurt inside. Was it Steve? Were these guys hurting Steve?

Just inside the door, his back to me, was Steve. A huge leather whip was hanging in his right hand, the tail of it trailing behind him. He was naked except for his socks and boots and was glistening with sweat. In the middle of the room were NastiBear and ChromeDome. They had removed their vests and jeans but both had boots and chaps on. They were tied together at the waist facing each other, a rope coiled multiple times around them. Both had their hands tied together with thick rope, their arms stretched above their heads and secured to a rope that had been thrown over a beam up above. The rope had been tied tight enough that both men were standing on tiptoe trying to keep their balance. ChromeDome had a huge black leather patch over his mouth that was held in place with a leather belt around his head. Later I would learn of the penis shaped leather gag that was attached to that patch. Nastibear had a bandanna gag in his mouth but it was his moans and groans and screams that had obviously been escaping from around the gag.

Steve lifted the whip and sent a powerful lick towards Nastibear’s back. “Crack!” Again Nastibear screamed, pushing against CD and nearly sending them both flying.

I stepped back into the shadows afraid of being caught in disobeying Steve. I should hurry now back to the loft, I thought, no harm, no foul. But I couldn’t. I wanted to watch. I had to watch. In my childish mind I was reminded of all those ‘Wild Wild West’ episodes where James West was strung up, enduring the torture of his enemies. My cock began to stir.

I squatted very low and crawled over by the door and peered through the vertical opening between the door and frame. Now it was CD’s turn. Steve spun the men around so that both he and I had a good view of CD’s back. The tattoo I’d seen peeking out of the top of the vest was an intricately drawn mountaintop on top of which was perched a dragon. The dragon’s neck and head climbed CD’s neck and multi-colored fire designs covered the back of his head. The first crack of the whip hit the mountain and CD’s squeals reminded me of those I’d heard from young hogs being castrated.

For the next two hours I watched Steve beat, flog, tease and whip these two tied men until they were quivering, sobbing towers of bloodied flesh. When he finally set them free and removed their gags they both dropped to their knees in front of him. They began to kiss his boots and slowly worked their way up his tree trunk legs licking away the sweat. CD moved behind Steve and pushed his massive cheeks apart burying his face in the hairy crevice.

NastiBear began skillfully taking Steve’s hard dick in his mouth, every inch of it disappearing in that thick beard. His hairy hands moved up Steve’s chest and grabbed the fully ripe nipples. Steve began his trademark growling. Nastibear’s head was bobbing more quickly on his dick. CD was holding on to Steve’s buttocks slapping them in yet another rhythm.

I spit in my hand and started to massage my aching cock. I was jealous. I wanted to take Steve’s cock in MY mouth, to have my tongue working his hungry asshole, to taste his sweat and shit, to feel his nipples between my fingers. My right hand was pumping faster, my left hand was darting between my sensitive nipples.

I was breathing hard and about to cum when I heard Steve shout.

“Yeah! Drown in my cum, you motherfuckers! You Fucking Motherfuckers! AAAAArgh.”

We came at the same time.

Thinking they were done I hustled back to loft and climbed under the blanket. It turned out to be nearly two hours later when their grunting, shouting, screaming, and laughter finally came to an end. The sun was coming up and a rooster was crowing at a nearby farm. I could hear the three men walking back to the house. I rolled over and fell fast asleep.

3 Hot Men

Chilling out!

Iowa Farm Boy, Part III

The next three months went by very quickly. I worked hard at the shop, at Steve’s farm, and at school. I saw my folks on the street a couple of times while I was working in the shop. They’d walk by turning their heads, not looking in. I knew they had heard I was working there and I guessed they knew I was staying at Steve’s. I wanted to open the shop door and scream at them about how the ‘robbed’ man had taken in the thief and how the parents of the ‘robber’ couldn’t forgive their own son. Sort of shove their Christianity back in their face. I decided it wasn’t worth my effort.

A couple of times in April Steve had gotten on his bike with a small bag packed. The bag he had retrieved from the locked shed behind the barn. He’d take off late on Friday afternoon and return late on Sunday night, closing the shop for those two Saturdays. During those times I was left alone on the farm. I had a list of jobs to finish up but always found time to ride the horses over the weekend. I explored the farm and even rode into town a couple of times to get a few extra groceries. Both times upon his return Steve seemed happier and more at ease in his life. He’d joke with me and dole out fewer punishments for the next few days. I wondered where he’d gone, but he offered no explanation.

Before I knew it graduation day was here. It was the first Sunday in June and I was going to graduate as valedictorian of my senior class. I was pretty proud of myself for digging in these last 3 months. I had picked up my robe and mortarboard on Friday afternoon and left it in the shop. I’d been working on my little speech to deliver as valedictorian and was actually sort of nervous. Sunday morning I’d done my chores and Steve had breakfast ready when I came in the kitchen. This was the first time he’d cooked for me in over two months. He’d been quick to teach me that duty shortly after I’d moved in with him.

Sitting on the kitchen table in front of my chair was a large box, wrapped in graduation paper. “Open it,” he said.

I tore the paper off and found a complete shoeshine kit. It was beautifully handcrafted and filled with brushes, pastes, waxes, and buffing cloths. There were even a couple of picks that looked like dentist tools in a small tray at the top. I was stunned. I could feel tears welling in my eyes. Steve walked over with a plate of food and I lunged into his arms. “Thank you, Sir,” He grabbed me in a rough hug, our first real extended hug.



“Damn! I can’t wait to see what I get in return for your other two gifts!” I was truly flabbergasted. This man had taken me in, aroused my spirit, fed me, clothed me. He owed me nothing and I owed him everything. And he was buying gifts for me. It was amazing.

“Leave the dishes. Your other two gifts are at the shop. Get back out to the barn and brush your teeth and wash up. Get dressed for graduation. I’ll meet you at the bike in 10 minutes.”

I made it with 30 seconds to spare. The motorcycle was revving up and I leapt on back hugging Steve closely. We were at the shop in less than five minutes and in the back room we went. Steve told me to undress and he started to do the same. I had never seen his dick, never seen him naked in all that time. It took my breath away. His chest, butt, legs and groin were covered with the most wonderful wiry, tightly coiled hair. His beer can dick was framed by two equally large and low hanging balls. There was a Greek statue quality to his roundness, to his muscular smoothness. Sadly the Greeks couldn’t sculpt that luscious body hair into their marble.

Steve led me into the barbershop and he sat in the barber chair, fully exposed to me.

“I want you to suck my cock. I will teach you how and that is your second gift for graduation day.” I was breathing hard. I could think of nothing more I wanted to do than to suck my very first dick. I’d been dreaming of it for years. “Straddle my legs. Now look at my dick. Feel the saliva building in your mouth. That’s it.” I wanted to plunge my mouth down, to take it all in.

“Now slowly, lick the tip. That’s it. Nice and slow.” He was growling ever so slightly. And the monster was awakening.

“No hurry, barberboy. No hurry. Now run the tip of your tongue from the base of my cock to the tip. Slow down. Nice and easy. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be but right here with my cock and your tongue. That’s it boy, good barberboy. I want you to repeat that pattern until you see veins bulging all over my cock. Now get to work, boy.”

I flicked my tongue ever so carefully and slowly around the tip, then up and down that throbbing shaft. I could hear Steve growling and I glanced up a couple of time to take in that massive chest heaving heavily, the eyes in Steve’s head rolling back and eyelids fluttering. It took little time before dark blue veins were throbbing,

“Good boy, good barberboy. Now I want you to lick my right ball. Same speed, go easy, clean it good, smell it, lick it all over and when it is completely slimy with your spit I want you to very carefully take that whole ball into your mouth. Not one tooth is to touch my ball, just your velvet tongue.” And with no further prompting I dove into that musky groin and tongued and licked for all I was worth. With a deep breath I pulled Steve’s right ball into my mouth. It filled my mouth completely, leaving just enough room for me to caress the underside with my tongue.

“That’s it. God, yes. That’s it. Now my left nut. No hurry. Take your time. Take it all in, the smells, the tastes. Make me growl if you can, barberboy.”

I floated. Giving another man this much pleasure was all I wanted. Giving Sir this much pleasure was everything I wanted. Before long he pulled my head up with his hands holding my head still, and looking deep into my eyes.

“Good boy, good boy. Now there is no way you will take this entire dick in your mouth the first time. Don’t worry about it. Relax your jaw, breathe deeply through your nose, and work slowly. Come up for air if you need to. There is no race to get this done. Savor it. Use all your senses and savor it.”

And for the next half hour I licked and sucked and tongued and gasped for air. I returned to his balls at his command, then darted my tongue along the shaft, licking and tasting the precum now drooling heavily from the tip. And I’d plunge my mouth over that glorious shaft taking in as much as I could. Once I thought I would throw up, but Steve just pulled me off to catch my breath. He laughed–“leave a little for lesson number two....” and back on his shaft he placed my head and I sucked for all I was worth. He left his hand on the back of my head as a little encouragement I could feel a change coming over Steve’s dick and his breath was getting shallower and quicker. I knew he was about to cum.

I dug in with a renewed vigor and was rewarded with my first load of hot spunk shooting down my throat. I was crying for a second time that day. I don’t even know how to describe how good I felt. I swallowed load after load of hot cum and would have continued to suck until I died. Steve finally lifted my head off his now softening dick and laughed. “Down, boy, down!” He brushed a tear from my face. “And now for gift number three.”

He stood up from the chair and told me to get in. My bare butt slid across the sweaty leather. My dick, a third the size of his was standing at full attention. He lifted the cape and placed it over me. He caressed my head and pulled out his clippers and comb. Naked still, with a heavy swinging dick, he proceeded to give me the shortest cut I’d ever had. I had whitewalls and mere stubble left on the top of my head when he was done. He lowered the cape a bit on my neck and lathered my neck and the sides of my head. The strait razor finished the job the clippers could not. I thought I was done, but that was nowhere near the truth. He pulled the lever on the chair and I was laid out flat on my back.

“A little more trimming to do on barberboy. Lay back and enjoy.”

The cape was removed and my naked body trembled in the cool chair. The clippers were started up again and he quickly removed all the stringy hair in my groin and armpits and the 6 hairs that had come in on my chest. Working for Steve, my baby fat had finally disappeared and my chest had started to fill out. I was proud of those six hairs but was intrigued by Steve’s work.

Again I could hear the hot lather machine spewing thick cream. Steve spread it on my groin, my chest and my armpits. And again the strait razor scraped away what little the clippers had left behind. Maneuvering around my throbbing dick, Steve was careful to not arouse me any further than I already was. Any erotic touch would surely have sent me over the edge.

A hot towel removed the remaining shaving cream from my pits and chest. Again I could hear the hot lather machine’s roar and a huge glob of that warmth was spread on my dick. Steve’s paw grasped my cock firmly. I thought I would pass out.

“You do not cum until I say you can cum. Is that understood?

“Yes, Sir.”

And he began to pump me. I cried out many times, telling him to stop as I was about to shoot. With great knowledge he would pull back, tug on my balls, apply pressure under them, and then start again. I was squirming and screaming for mercy.

“Shoot it. Shoot your load now, barberboy!”

And I shot. And shot. And shot. Waves of cum hit my chest, face, and beyond. I was gasping for air. And Steve was grinning.

I got up from the chair and held on to him for dear life. My third set of tears in one day. He just kept stroking my head and kept saying, “My good barberboy. My good little barberboy....”

We wiped each other off the best we could and headed for the school. Me with a shaved body and Steve with a big smile on his face. I managed to get through my stupid little speech, accept a couple of academic awards, and the stupid thing was over. We walked silently back to the shop when it was all done. This was the biggest day of my life ever. I kept thinking that over and over.

As we entered the back door of the shop to drop off the robe and hat and retrieve our helmets, I turned to Steve, dropped to my knees and asked,

“Please, Sir, may I suck your cock, Sir?”

Steve smiled at me and unzipped his pants.

More Rope Please!

My fascination with rope just keeps getting stronger and stronger. It seems like I'm spending all my time looking at the work of the great rope masters trying to discover how they created a harness, or how they have managed to make the rope and the subject one unified whole, or how they've achieved a beautiful piece of suspension. I have no qualms in rating my own work still as amateurish, but I do feel that this has become a worthy challenge, and, no surprise, there seems to be no end to the number of men who would willingly submit for extended periods of time for me to "practice". Not long ago I had a chance to build upon the chair bondage. The main thing I wanted this time around was better access to the crotch for some nice edging time! Little did I know that I was going to discover a ticklish young man under all that bondage.

Iowa Farm Boy, Part II

I actually slept better than I thought I would. Maybe the emotional draining had done it, or maybe it was just true that the guilty always sleep easily. I was awakened by the sound of a thrumming motor very close to my head. I slowly opened my eyes, looked up to find Steve atop his motorcycle. In a flash the entire events of yesterday filled me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I got kicked out.”

Steve nodded. “I was afraid of that. Get on.” I gave him a funny look. He patted the back of the motorcycle seat. “GET ON!”

I hesitantly grabbed my bag and threw a leg over the seat, I was barely settled when he took off. With nothing to hold on to I felt sure I was going to go over the side and onto the gravel in the alley.

“GRAB MY WAIST, YOU STUPID SHIT!” And he sped up even more. I grabbed hold for dear life.

We sped down main street and headed out of town on one of the farm-to-market blacktops. A couple miles out Steve slowed and pulled onto a small gravel lane. Another mile down the shady lane he pulled up in front of an old farmhouse. A barn and a couple of sheds were set some ways back from the house.

He shut the bike down and I carefully climbed off. I had no idea what Steve had planned or what the hell was going to happen. He lifted the top of the seat and pulled out a small bag, tossing it to me. “There’s a couple sandwiches that should get you through the day. Fresh water from the well over there. Stay the fuck away from my house and sheds. You can stay in the barn for now, and you might show gratitude by mucking the horses’ stalls. I’ll be home late afternoon and we’ll talk about what can happen from here.” I was stunned. “Well.......?”

“Thank you.....” he glared at me and I quickly added “Sir.”

He climbed on the bike and was gone.

I was hungry, scared, cold, and just plain mad at myself. I had fucked up so royally I really began to wonder if I would ever get my life back in order. I could deal with the hunger thanks to the sandwiches from Steve. The sun was higher in the sky and I knew it would be at least 70 degrees that day, so another problem solved. Scared and mad?, well, I just had to put those on the back burner.

I unwrapped one sandwich and ate it slowly, sitting alongside the wall of the barn. As I finished it, I was determined to pay back Steve in any way I could, first for not telling my father about what really happened in the barbershop, and second for giving me somewhere to spend the day. I ripped off a couple of layers of the clothes I’d bundled up in the previous night, stashed them in my duffle bag, and made my way into the barn carrying the bag.

The barn was small with a couple of horse stalls below, a small kit room, an area to hose down the horses, and a small loft above filled with hay for the horses. I led the two horses out to a small pen making sure the gate was closed, found an old radio I could turn on for musical distraction, and went to work inside with an energy that surprised even me. Hours later I’d managed to muck the stalls, sweep out the entire barn, restack some loose hay bales, and give the horses a good brushing down. I was sweaty, filthy, but surprisingly happy. Somehow working hard had helped me keep my mind off the incredible mistakes of yesterday. A voice on the radio told me it was 3:30. I figured Steve would be home sometime after 5:00. The nervousness crept back into my stomach.

I brought the horses back into their stalls, ate the second sandwich, then stripped naked in the barn. I was covered in hay, horseshit, and dust and smelled just as bad. I turned on the hose usually used for the horses and gave myself a good scrubbing holding the hose over my head. The water was ice-cold but it felt good to be clean. I could feel my nuts and dick shriveling from the cold water. Turning the hose off, I found an old towel in the kit room and dried off. A couple of woolen blankets were there and I grabbed them and my duffel bag and climbed into the hay loft. Using one blanket to cover a loose pile of hay, I made a small bed, lay down, naked, and pulled the other blanket over me, falling asleep almost immediately.

The warmth of the loft and the weight of the wool blankets must have been too much heat during my nap. I had kicked off the blanket on top and was sprawled out on my stomach my ass completely exposed when I heard Steve’s growl,

“Get up. Get dressed. Get in the house, now.”

He was already on his way down the ladder when I grabbed some clean jeans, t-shirt, my socks and my work boots. I could feel myself blushing, again from Steve seeing me naked in rather awkward circumstances. I made my way from the barn to the back of the house where the kitchen door was open. I slowly stepped in. Steve was at the stove, his back to me, wearing only his wife-beater t-shirt, tight jeans, and black boots. Those jeans cupped his ass, lifting the cheeks higher than seemed possible. He turned around and caught me staring.

“Sit down at the table. Dinner’s ready.”

Dinner was a good beef stew along with chunks of earthy, heavy bread. We ate in silence. A glass of milk for me, a cold beer for Steve. I kept my head down the entire time, afraid to make eye contact with Steve As I was sopping up the last bits of gravy on the plate, he said,

“Do the dishes then come into the living room. We need to talk.”

As I quickly gathered up the few dishes and hurriedly washed and dried them my mind went over and over what little speech I could make to try to put my life back in order. Go see the minister, get him to talk to my folks, get back to school in a day or two, and keep my head down for the last few months of my senior year, were the arguments I would make.

I stepped into the living room. Steve was sitting in a huge leather chair, his dark brown eyes watching me carefully as I entered. A black ottoman was sitting a bit away from the chair. He patted the top and I understood that was where I was supposed to sit. I was only about a foot from him, sitting just lower than him, looking up into those eyes.

“Look, Steve, I’m really, really sorry about yesterday....” I spit out. Steve raised a hand and slapped me hard. Tears welled in my eyes.

“Shut up and listen. While you were napping I went through your bag. I found the note your folks left you. You are in deep shit and I know what you’re thinking. See the minister, plead with your folks, and be the dutiful little boy. It’s a plan, and if it’s the one you’ve got your heart set on, I’ll drive you to town now so you can talk to the minister.

“But I’m going to offer you another plan, one that I think, deep down, a boy like you really wants. You see, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen you grow up, I’ve seen you blush in my shop when I touch you, I’ve seen you wait outside the shop to watch me ride my bike home, and I’ve seen that boner under my black cape twice a month for the last 3 years.

“I think what you really are is a first-class candidate to be a barberboy. Now I know you don’t really know the full meaning of that term but I’m offering you a chance to learn what it means, and who you really are.

“Instead of going back to your folks I’m offering you a chance to stay with me, work for me, finish high school, and after a three month apprenticeship, choose your next step in life. I’ll feed you for that three months, clothe you, and put a roof over your head.

“You’ll tell everyone in school that you’re working for me at the farm and barbershop to earn extra money for college. You’re folks won’t say anything because they’ve basically disinherited you. I’ll even make a small weekly deposit to your savings account in case you decide to go to college.

“You’ll learn to call me ‘Sir’ without constant prompting, you’ll shine shoes and boots at the shop, you’ll keep the barbershop spotless, you’ll do all the farm work I ask you to do, you’ll sleep in the barn, and you’ll do other services for me as I request them.

“You did a good job in the barn today so I know you can work. If you work like that over the next three months I’ll respect you, I’ll teach you, I’ll whip you into shape, and hopefully I’ll learn to trust you. And I’ll make you grow as human being. So which is it. To the minister’s house tonight or do you want to start an apprenticeship?”

I was stunned. I could barely breathe. It was more than I could comprehend. Steve just continued to stare at me.

“Sir, I would like to stay here, Sir.”

“Then your apprenticeship begins now. Push that footstool back and get on your knees.”

I did as he said, my head spinning.

“I want my boots cleaned now.”

I looked about for a shoeshine kit or brush or shoe polish.

“You’ll only need your tongue. Get to work.”

He pushed my face to his left boot and I slowly began to lick. Above me I could hear a low growl in Steve’s throat. My dick began to throb.

As I tongued that boot, humiliated at first by even agreeing to do so, I slowly grew more and more avid in my work. Above me I could hear Steve undo his belt. I could hear him tug at the buttons of his 501s and I heard him spit, probably into his hand. The growls continued, slowly at first then more quickly as I switched over to his right boot. I could hear him yanking on his dick, the slurping of spit mixing with precum. I worked my tongue over every square inch of those boots, growing almost hungry for the taste and texture on my tongue.

As the growls started coming with every breath he took I knew he was close to coming. I plunged my face on to that boot and licked with every ounce of energy I had. I inhaled the aroma of the leather, drinking it in, a musty richness sending me into a sensory overload. Above me I heard a guttural, long, loud gasp. I could feel his load hitting my head, my neck, and the back of my shirt. If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have put my hands on my own throbbing dick and burst my own load in probably seconds.

“Stop. Stay kneeling with your head down. Good boy.”

A moment later he stood and lifted me up. I kept my chin down, almost afraid to look at him. He lifted my chin and looked directly, deeply inside me.

“Good job, boy. Now out to the barn. You are NOT to masturbate this evening. Is that clear? Set the alarm for 6:00. You’ve got a lot of work to do before I take you to school in the morning.”

I half stumbled, half floated to the barn. I set the alarm and climbed into the loft. My aching cock leapt from my pants as I pulled them off to crawl into my make-shift bed. I could follow Steve’s instructions about not touching but was afraid I’d have wet dreams that night as aroused as I was. Still, I was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and fell into an almost blissful sleep as I wondered what was in store for me.

The next morning the blanket was yanked off me. Steve stood at the foot of my bed. Throwing a hooded sweatshirt at me, he said,

“The alarm would have gone off in 10 minutes. Thought I would be your personal alarm this morning. Get up, get dressed, put on that sweatshirt and meet me outside.”

My morning hard-on was huge. It took everything I had to relax enough to get a load of piss out. I tugged on my jeans and t-shirt, the sweatshirt, socks and boots, and headed out to meet Steve. He stood just outside the door, both horses saddled and ready to go.

“Get on. These horses, like you, need some exercise. We’ll ride for about a half hour, then you’ll brush them down and cool them off. Then you shower with the hose in the barn, put on clean clothes and meet me in the kitchen.”

We mounted the horses and began a great ride through his back pastures and woods. I was never great at riding, but watching Steve was inspiring. The way his ass fit in the saddle was near perfection. I purposefully fell a few steps behind every chance I could just to gaze at it those watermelon-sized mounds of muscle gripping the leather. When we were in sight of the barn he kicked the sides of his horse and set out in a full gallop. My horse took no urging but fell right in stride with his companion. I was hanging on for dear life when the horses pulled to a screeching halt at the barn door.

Steve merely dismounted, dropping the reins in my hand, and headed for the house. I quickly took care of the horses, hosed myself off after taking care of them, and dressed the best I could with the last clean shirt and jeans I had. As I approached the kitchen I could smell bacon frying. I knocked, unsure if I should enter without doing so. The door opened and Steve pointed to a chair at the table. No words–just a point. Was he mad at me? It shook me a little.

A plate of bacon, eggs, and home fries was set in front of me. We ate in silence, my keeping my head down all the time. As we finished the food, I squeaked a

“Thank you, Sir.”

I got up quickly picked up all the dishes and set out for the sink. Steve left the room. After scrubbing and drying them all I heard Steve coming back in the room. He had on his leather jacket and held a second jacket and helmet in his hands.

“These are for you to wear when you’re on the bike with me. Take good care of them. Do not take them to school, but leave them at the shop each day. When we are alone you are to call me ‘Sir’ at all times. I will address you as ‘barberboy’ or ‘boy.’ When in hearing of other people you will STILL call me ‘Sir’ and I will address you as ‘Jack.’

“Yes, Sir, but everyone knows me as John or Johnny.”

“And today you are being re-christened to a name I like. To me you’ll be ‘Jack.’ When we get to the shop I expect you take care of any cleaning that might need to be done before I open. The you walk to school, you fucking apply yourself, and immediately after school you’ll come directly to the shop where I’ll have plenty of work lined up for you. Now get this jacket and helmet on. We’re running late, barberboy.”

And life fell into a pattern that first month: morning work, school, after school work at the shop, more work at the farm, homework in the loft, exhaustion and sleep. Saturdays were spent in the shop working full-time, Sundays on the farm tackling larger projects. Two or three nights a week I would be called into the living room after finishing the dishes. No words had to be exchanged, Sir just pointed at his boots, and I was immediately was on my knees with tongue flying into grateful action. Never was I allowed to touch myself during these times, but after the first boot-licking episode Sir had granted me the privilege to masturbate when I returned to the hay loft. And this I did most gratefully. Being 18 I still measured an orgasm by how far I could shoot. More than once I’d shot in an ear, or an eye, but that first time he let me jack-off I hit the wall nearly a foot behind my pillow.

And twice daily, six days a week, I would put on a leather jacket, zip up the front and sleeves, don a motorcycle helmet and hold on to Sir, tightly grabbing his waist as we made our way to town or back home again. My nostrils would fill with the scent of his jacket and on our in-bound trips I was glad we went directly to the back door of the shop so that I could get in the shop and at least begin to lose my rock hard erection before I walked to school from the shop.

Iowa Farm Boy, Part I

I gave you fair warning earlier. I'm long winded. This is just the start of many more chapters to come. But I like this story! Combines so many of my fetishes and interests!

And publishing it here is sort of my anger/revenge for BuzzedHard, an almost defunct site, now publishing it after I'd asked them to remove it due to them seemingly going belly up.

In any case. Enjoy!



Iowa Farm Boy Part I

It was in 1974, a small farm-town in Iowa, where I realized my fetish for barbers and every last thing in the barbershop. The smell of antiseptics, talcum powder on my neck, “Butch Wax” on my cow’s lick, the black nylon barber cape, the high-necked zip-up nylon uniform of the barber, and that fucking chrome, porcelain, and leather-seated barber chair.

It was a time in Iowa when farm boys where known as steers or queers and I definitely wasn’t fooling anybody. Never “nelly” or “faggy” I was still clearly labeled as a queer long before most of us knew what it meant. Too much time in band, drama club, and on the honor roll to fool anyone I guess. But I was soon to graduate with a scholarship in hand, and I’d be long gone from this stupid hole in the wall.

Much as the hippy movement had taken over the east and west coasts, and even wormed its way into places like bumfuck Iowa, my parents were pretty strict about haircuts. Every other Wednesday I walked a mile to town with 4 bucks in my pocket to get my buzzcut. I pretended to resent the fuck out of it, but my Dad made damn sure I toed the line. I think if I had said I WANTED a buzzcut he’d have made me grow it long, that’s how much we argued. Deep down I couldn’t wait to get back to the barbershop. I was beginning to want weekly cuts, bi-weekly cuts, daily cuts.....Hell, cut it every hour!



The shop was small, one chair only, with the barber chair throne parked right in front of a full-wall mirror. A big plate glass window to the street made you on display while getting your haircut, just one simple form of humiliation I endured twice monthly. Guys from school, with long hair of course, would walk by and point and laugh, and I could always feel myself turning red, sitting in that chair, with that black nylong cape tight around my neck. And while my face was turning red, my cock was getting hard, and as only a teenager can do, precum soaked my underwear.

The public humiliation was part of it, but the barber was even more important. While our tiny town had two barbers I at least got to pick which one I went to. Having no clue what was driving me I had chosen Steve’s Barbershop. Steve scared the fuck out of me. Well over six feet with beefy arms, legs, torso, and neck, Steve was definitely a “steer” in my eyes. He always wore these tight jeans under which you could see a beer-can sized dick straining against the denim, tall leather boots shined to high polish, and a black nylon barber’s smock zipped up as far as his bull neck would allow. His voice boomed, usually with laughter when the place was filled with farmers shooting the shit. When it was just me in the shop, which it often was, his voice was more of a growl--low, resonant, and at times almost hypnotically kind.

In the spring, summer, and fall Steve would finish the day’s work, zip off the uniform revealing a tight “wife-beater”, throw on his leather motorcycle jacket and hop on his motorcycle to head out to his farm house. Frequently I would linger near the backdoor, where he parked the bike, just to get a glimpse of those thighs gripping that bike, imagining that beer-can dick being vibrated by that huge motor. Most haircut days I’d head home, my dick pounding in my pants, get behind the corn crib and whack off. Amazing how far I could shoot. Ah, youth.

One of my real turn-on moments was when that black nylon cape would go around my neck. Steve would put the tissue paper tight around my neck and pull the cape even tighter. It seemed to work just like a cock ring around a dick and balls. The blood would flow to my head as friends walked by outside, but the tightness of the tissue paper and cape seemed to hold the blood, pounding, in my head. I know Steve had to have noticed, but he always seemed kind enough not to say anything.

One day my hormones, gonads, and dick took over and I made the mistake that changed my life.

It was early spring of ‘74, just 3 months until graduation, just 6 months ‘til I left this hell-hole for ever. Like any 18 year old I whacked off a lot. Riding on the school bus? Instant hard-on. Little Joe on Bonanza? Instant hard-on. Maverick? Instant hard-on. And don’t even get me started on Wild Wild West! But my constant fantasy involved Steve at the barbershop.

March 1st, 1974 was the pivot point of my life. 3 months until graduation, probably as valedictorian of my tiny high school graduating class. 3 additional months of free labor for my father on the farm and then long gone to college. Who knew it would be lust that would change that plan so completely?

On that day, a Friday afternoon, I went at 4:30 for my semi-monthly haircut. As the last customer of the day, Steve took his time and carefully trimmed my two week growth. I was especially horny having not whacked off for almost a day and half. As Steve finished the cut he pushed the button on the hot lather machine and applied it directly to my blood-engorged neck. Out came the strait razor and he carefully, meticulously scraped the few remaining stubs around my neck. Jesus, I thought I would come in that chair. Finishing the neck he remarked that I probably needed a real shave on my face as well. I mumbled something about not having the extra cash to pay for it but he told me, “On the house. You’re a good customer. Maybe when you see how nice it is you’ll bring the extra two bucks next time.”



Without letting me respond he hit the hydraulic lever lifting me higher in the chair then pulled the lever to lower the back of the chair until I was almost laid out flat. I nearly fainted. My cock was straining so hard against my jeans I felt sure he had to see it even under that black nylon cape. My hands moved toward my crotch on instinct–to protect? or to stimulate?

A hot towel was pulled from a little cabinet on the counter and wrapped around my face. Steve said he’d be right back and I heard, from under that savory smelling towel, a door to the back room open and close. A little later I could hear what sounded like the opening of a beer can and the smell of a rich cigar tobacco.

More hot lather was dispensed and applied to my face and that strait razor clicked open. With a firm hand on my forehand and a firm thigh resting against mine Steve slowly stroked the razor down the left cheek. I could feel I was holding my breath. Steve just said, “Relax....” and really I tried.

I can barely remember the sensation of that first complete strait razor shave of my face, other than it was fantastic. Up until then I’d been using a shitty electric razor that did little more than pull the hairs from my face and leave embarrassing red spots. The cool razor against my face slowly scraping the skin was absolutely intoxicating. All too soon the face shave was over, the chair erect, the cape off, and Steve standing there with his hand out for my four dollars. I mumbled a quick thanks, pulled a jacket on and headed out the door.

As I was leaving the shop I could see Steve pulling down the blinds for the door and window. Was he grinning as I looked back? It sure seemed so to me.

I walked slowly to the end of the block, my cock throbbing mercilessly in my tight jeans, and decided then and there I needed to fulfill my #1 fantasy. I sat on the corner bench listening for the start of a motorcycle engine. Less than 5 minutes later I was not disappointed. Around the corner came Steve in his tight jeans and leather jacket. No helmet, but with goggles he roared past me and headed on the main road out of town.

Quickly I went around the corner and headed down the alley. I could easily make out the back door to Steve’s shop and I headed immediately for it. My heart was pounding, my cock pulsing, but I had a purpose and went after it with a vengeance. Coming to the door I could see that while locked, it would take little effort to jimmy that silly little thing. Glancing around I found a piece of strap metal discarded in the alley and quickly pushed open the little lock, turned the knob and was inside the barbershop’s back room.

The back room of the barbershop was dingy, small, and dark. A toilet in one corner, a few supplies on a shelf, a hot water heater and a washer and dryer on the other wall. The door to the front area was closed, and hanging on a hook of the door was Steve’s uniform smock. I pulled open the door very slowly and peeked into the shop. The blinds over the door and picture window were pulled all the way down.

Quickly, my heart pounding so very loudly, I stripped naked and pulled the smock off the hook. Holding it to my face I could smell Steve’s sweat, the remnants of his cigar smoke, and all of the barbershop smells mixed in an intoxicating aroma. I pulled the smock on and pulled the zipper all the way to the very top. A little large for me, I didn’t care. The nylon rubbed against my nipples and my dick throbbed in sync with my ever louder heartbeat. I laughed a little. reminded of Poe’s Telltale Heart.

Slowly I opened the door to the front area and made my way quietly to that throne of a barber chair. I eased my naked butt onto the cool leather and reached to the side of the chair where the cape was hanging. Slowly I caressed my dick with it. The precum was streaking the cape in long ropes of slime. Reaching over I pulled the lever on the chair so that I could recline and began to masturbate. This was my fantasy fulfilled. It took only a few more firm tugs on my dick and I exploded a huge load into the fabric.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!”

I sat bolt upright. Standing in the back door was Steve. He lunged at me and the chair forcing it upright. I almost fell on the floor. Holding my clothes that I’d left at the back door he threw them at me.

“Get dressed, you little faggot!”

I pulled off the smock and set the cum-filled cape on the floor. My dick was still at full mast but I somehow pulled on my underwear and jeans. As I was pulling on my t-shirt I heard Steve on the phone.

“Duane, I need you to come to town and pick up your son. There’s been a little problem at the shop.”

I wanted to plead for him to not call my parents but that call had already gone through.

“Please–don’t tell them what I did. They’ll kill me.” I was beet red with embarrassment.

“You shut up and sit on that sofa. And not one word while your father is here. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve picked up the cape and smock and went to the backroom. I could hear the washing machine fill and start to run. I also heard the sound of breaking glass A few minutes later he returned to the shop area with my Dad directly behind him.

“So I came back to the shop to get my week’s worth of profits, found the door broken, and found your son in here with his hand in the cash register.”

My dad was beyond fuming. He was absolutely white hot with anger. His eyes glancing only once in my direction.

Steve continued, “Now, I know your son is headed for college and I don’t want to ruin his life, but I am gonna need payment for that broken window and some sort of understanding that this will never happen again. If we can’t reach this agreement then I’ll need to go to the police on this.”

My father pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed fifty bucks to Steve. “Trust me. It won’t happen again.” He looked at me, “Tell the man you’re sorry and get the fuck outside.”

“I’m very sorry, sir.” I stammered. I didn’t know which part of this whole episode was more shocking–Steve’s lie or my father using a swear word. My father was a pretty stern bible thumper and my guess was that buggery and thievery were about equal in his book of sins, so it didn’t much matter that Steve had told the lie.

As I stepped outside the back door of the shop into the alley I walked to the red Chevy pickup my Dad had hastily parked there. My dad was already inside and shouted at me as I reached for the door handle, “You can fucking walk home and think about what you did and how you’re going to live with that sin.” He spun out pulling away from me. And I made the mile walk home my head spinning with how I was going to live through this.

I finally reached home and as I walked up to the front porch I saw a suitcase sitting there. A note was taped to the top.

“Do not come in. You are no longer welcome here. Pray for your sins. And when you have found salvation contact the minister in town. We will hopefully be able to forgive you with time.”

I looked inside the bag. Two pair of jeans, two pair of socks, two pair of underwear, two t-shirts, and my bank book. I’d been saving for college the best I could and had just over $1200 in there. At least I wouldn’t starve in the near future. I made the slow walk back into town, the duffel bag on my back. While walking I tried to think of whose house I could go to, at least for one night. I didn’t really have the kind of friend that would happily open the door to me.

I wandered around town for a couple of hours and finally found a little alcove in the alley a few doors down from Steve’s shop where I could lay down and spend the night. I pulled on all the clothes I had to try to keep warm and rolled up the duffel bag to use as a pillow. I decided my best plan of action was to go to the minister in the morning and confess my sins. Hopefully he’d intercede with my folks and I’d be able to get back home and get done with school as quickly as possible.

The Pole

Quite a few men have commented on the pole that gets used quite a bit in my bondage photos. We actually have three of these structural columns in our loft. Two of them are a full fourteen feet tall and have wonderful egg and dart designs at the top. A simple hitching post ring about 7 feet off the ground makes a great anchor point for countless activities!








The main column in the main living space is where most of the action seems to end up. It makes a great built in tool for bondage and works especially well for flogging. (There is nothing worse than trying to flog someone in a room with a low ceiling!).

No Expectations

Don't expect me to be this prolific (or as some might say, boring) every day. I travel a lot for work and there will be, unfortunately, some days when I just can't put the thoughts or pics out there. But for now, I'm having a great time and really appreciate all of the feedback I've received in just a couple of short days. So those of you just reading for the first time? Let me share to you and the other readers what I hope to accomplish.

HONESTY: About me. About my scenes. About my head. About when I get it right. About when I get it wrong.

MY VIEW of MY perversions.

MY TOTAL RESPECT for all men, all shapes, all sizes, all ages, all races. If you're looking for muscle-bound studs, you won't find many of them here (although I don't turn them away at the door.....). This is "real guy" stuff.

MY SPECIAL RESPECT for special men. When I run across a man who inspires me greatly I hope to do an occasional highlight of that man's work here, with his agreement. People like James Bond (the one who perverted many of us with all those pics in Bound & Gagged Magazine), Domasan (whose artistic rope work is stunning), RopesandRoper4u (who is hereby "bound" to teach me how he does those incredible head harnesses) and countless others who have joy in their play, and the kindness to share it with us all. All three of these men are some of the nicest you'd ever hope to meet in our kink world. While I've not had the chance to meet any of the three in person, I'm working hard at making that happen!
























(by the way,
Mr. Green Tie
is visiting in June
and I can't wait!)











AND MOSTLY MY PICS. I may sneak in a pic or two from other sites that have sparked my imagination, such as these two, but I'm not here to promote other sites, the shops, the porn studios, etc. Trust me, I know you readers! I've got more than one site bookmarked myself for the absolute thoroughness of their links. Check out Metalbond or Ruff's Stuff or Mr. Kristofer, all great blogs with tons of bound studs, and copious amounts of links. And when you're ready to go shopping for some great latex or rubber bop on over to RubberZone where squirm has a list of vendors that will get your eyes popping.