Monday, December 21, 2015

Solstice greetings!

Celebratinv a very bright and happy Solstice to one and all - with this rather sexy photo from the fabulous Inked Kenny. Now that's one Santa visit I'm ready to make... ;)

Friday, December 04, 2015


I squirm underneath His boot - the heavy Vibram cleats bite into the side of my face whilst my senses are overwhelmed by the heady tang of oil and polish that shines from the smooth leather, just inches from my nose...

He towers over me: Bal-laced patrol boots shined to a mirror, and heavily padded leather breeches hugging His lithe and muscular legs. A tight leather shirt covers His furred torso, and heavy gauntlets encase His hands. I can't see His eyes for the dark shade of His Muir, but I feel the possessive bore of His gaze nonetheless. I lie beneath Him, surrender myself to the press of His boot - honoured to be the ground upon which He walks.

He is leathered - the epitome of Masculine Power; I am rubber encased, and sleep-sack bound - my body compressed into a wriggling tube of helpless surrender and hungry submission. A rubber worm beneath the boot of my God.

He leans forward, rest His Hand against His knee as He pushes downwards with His foot - lets me feel the weight of Him through the cleats, and lets me feel the reality of my predicament: that I am helpless beneath Him, bound and unable to resist, a subhuman thing that is His to use or abuse as He sees fit. For a moment I wonder if He might keep pressing until my head pops like a rotten fruit. I whimper in a complex mix of fear and desire, restraint and release. My trapped and aching cock throbs beneath the tight multiple layers of my imprisonment.

 He sees my hunger and submission - hears my animal noises of surrender and fear - and His bearded face breaks into a growling appreciative smile:

"You fuckin pervert...!"

He presses harder once, then moves His boot away from my cheek - hovers the cleats over my mouth: my tongue, unthinking, laps up to press into the deep clefts and ridges.

"Sir. YOUR pervert, Sir!"

He laughs - takes a step back to stand staring down at the long rubber tube that is my restrained body. I wriggle and hump, flopping my useless rubber-flesh across the floor towards Him - my soft body within the layers bathed in sweat and precum. Breathless and panting, chest heaving against the tight restriction, I finally reach His boots, press my face into the leather.

"Good boy! - my rubber worm!"

I pant and squirm all the harder at His words.

Yes: I'm a worm. A rubber grub pupating inside my maggot-sheath, half way between man and object. Completely lost in perversity and hunger, submission and devotion to HIM. And it feels so fucking liberating to be able to let go and just BE like this: to be rubber, to be an animal - to be HIS.

I lie at His feet - squirm under His boot - and grin up to my Master with all the love and hungry happiness that only a true pervert can express...

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