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Tag: leather

Courtesy call

Marc’s hands trembled as he reached for his cell phone. As soon as he had it safely in his sweaty palm, a pair of gloved hands clamped onto his shoulders and pulled him roughly back into his chair. Marc sighed with pleasure as the scent of Master’s leather gear filled his nostrils, and the sensation of Master’s hands on his naked body sent waves of arousal radiating outward from each point of contact. 

The phone continued to ring, but Marc hesitated to answer. He felt awkward taking this call while sitting naked in his Master’s dungeon. It was a further step in blurring the lines between facets of his life that were, until recently, strictly compartmentalized. Master deserved credit for blurring a lot of those lines Himself, and Marc had a hunch that the bank’s urgent requests to speak to him might be related to his new status as Master’s slave. 

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Selected (My perfect dad 30)

This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.

The windowless room was thick with the smell of cigar smoke, leather, and sweat. My brothers and I had roughhoused enough for one day. It was time to relax and wait for our visitor to get here. 

“What do you think he’ll be like?” I said. 

Master” (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0) by bearloveorg
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Empty-headed dad (My perfect dad 27)

This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.

Hello. My name is dad. I am a dad. I like to stand here and dad all day long. 

I used to wear dad clothes, but then my Son gave me this dad uniform for when I’m performing my dad duties. Like standing here with this cigar between my dad lips. Maybe one day, my Son will actually let me smoke it. I’d do it myself, but I don’t know how. 

A Cigar is a good smoke” (CC BY-NC 2.0) by thaths
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My Son’s musk (My perfect dad 21)

This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.

Everything changed when I turned 40. The day before my birthday, I was at Buddies, my local leather bar, drinking a glass of scotch while a pup serviced my boots. I’d always been dominant, the one in control, the one calling the shots. 

What a difference a day makes. 

I set my empty glass down on the bar and felt a hand grip my shoulder, the friction causing my leather jacket to creak. “Hey, dad,” I heard someone say. 

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