An Email from Mike

I met Mike a few years ago at a Leather Event in Atlanta. We played around a little. I thought he was another masochist just like me trying to make a connection. We smacked each other with leather straps, trying to make each other call "uncle" and wimp out. It got vicious, in fact so vicious that other people in the room stopped what they were doing to watch. The match was a draw.

Mike asked me to go home with him for the night and I quickly agreed. I promised to tie me up good and maybe work on me a little. I told him that I wanted to go up to my room to grab a few things before we left but he told me that I didn't need anything.

We were walking down the hallway when big local dungeon owner told me to be careful if I was going home because "Mike is a hot dog". Mike called him an ass hole and told him to shut the hell up and we went along our way to the parking lot to Mike's car.

Mike seemed a little redneck to me. I expected a run down house in the Georgia hills but instead, he pulled into the drive of a slick post-modern house that was brightly lit inside and out. It was sparsely furnished with few adornments just like my apartment in New York. I started to feel we were alike in many ways.

"This way to the Dungeon!"
I followed Mike through the house, down a flight of stairs and into a room that he said was below his garage. It was all poured concrete. The ceilings were quite high with steel beams from which a power hoist was hanging. He had iron rings and manacles bolted to walls, a long steel rack, Australian CP bench, an intense looking leather covered bondage chair and a walled that was covered with other small pieces of equipment.

To make things quick, Mike hung me upside down and tied my hands to rings in the floor and used several different whips on me then tightly strapped me in the bondage chair and went off to bed.
I was happy.

Master intercepted my Email as he always does. Master monitors everything I do online and everything that comes to me in the mail.

"Who is Mike?", he asked.
I was puzzled until he told me about a "Mike" that said he hoped he had found me again. "Mikeatlanta---".

I explained who he was and that we played one night.
Master let me read the email. It was the Mike I had played with and wondered if I wanted to play again sometime.

Truthfully, Aside from Master and our Leather family, I don't want to "play" with anyone. Master told me to answer him and invite him to the ranch.


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Master received his new Wesco Highliners this morning. He ordered me to put them on his feet and lace them up for him. They are his first American made boots. He usually wears Rangers or something from England. He had me scrunch down in front of his chair so he could swing his new boots up on my back so he could relax and read The Journal while he drank his coffee. He bent his right knee and placed the bottom of his boot against my ribs.