Master of the Leather Festival (mm hypno)

It’s Festival Day!

And it’s going to be the biggest event of the summer. Why, it’s already crowded and noisy, filled with men and boys and booths and bootblacks and colorful banners and stalls. There will be bands and shows and parades and demonstrations.

And the shopkeepers are already busy hawking their wares:

“It’s the perfect harness for you, Sir!” “You want me to put more studs on this vest, Sir?” “Care to buy a new leash for your boy, Sir?” “Shine your boots, Sir!” “Sure, we can pierce that too, Sir!” And: “Get your porn here, Sir!”

There’s a nice, bright, sunny blue sky overhead and it’s going to be one hell of a great day.

Yes, you’ve just arrived at the Leather Festival, the big outdoor fair held downtown in the district, and it’s a carnival of men all dressed up in black and metal, acting tough, showing off their chains and tattoos and their look. Take a whiff of the air: it’s absolutely full of the fine smells of skin and muscle and oil and cycles and leather.

Check out the men, check out the booths; take your time. You’re not supposed to meet up with your friends at the beer tent until later so you have plenty of time for yourself.


It’s a warm day so you wore your leather shorts.

You also wore your boots.

And since this is an event to show off a little, you soon feel confident enough to strip off your shirt and tuck it behind. Why not show off your chest? You look fine, and so many others are only half clothed anyway. Some men in chaps aren’t even covering their asses, and their butt cheeks are white in the sun, sure to become burned, and sure to be gripped and slapped by more than a few firm hands before the day it out.

The sight makes you smile; you have chaps too, and you might have worn them today, but you’d never bare your butt in public.

Leave that scene for the other guys.

So wander through the stalls. Check out the new toys. Check out the men.

Some of them look pretty good.

And take notice of the little doorway that leads between the buildings.

Over there between two of the shops, there is a narrow passage, dark and cool.

It leads back to an alley, a bright but enclosed private place all the men know about. It’s a place guys can go and play. Watch, and every now and then you’ll see a man in chaps, or a couple of men in harnesses, or maybe a man leading his collared boy, heading into the dark corridor, heading back to the alley for some fun.

Wouldn’t you like to see what’s going on back there? Aren’t you curious?

Would you like to join that man going in, the one with the shiny black officer’s cap, or maybe that couple wearing the chains? See them enter that dark porthole in the wall, and your excitement rises just a little. You wish that you had the nerve to go back and join them and maybe take part in some leather scene. But maybe you shouldn’t. That’s for other guys. You won’t go in. And definitely not alone, that wouldn’t feel right. And it might not be safe.

But, maybe, if the right leatherman just happened to come along . . .

That’s when you see him standing back away from the rest, away from the street, away from the noise, cool in the shade.

He’s in full leather, including the gloves, and he’s wearing a black shirt beneath his black vest. And heavy boots; he’s wearing his pant legs tucked down into a pair of tall, black boots. This man is lean, and he wears his leather just fine.

And other than the metal studs of his vest and belt, his only jewelry is a small silver pendant and chain that he wears around his neck.

This is your kind of leatherman.

Confident? Yes, he looks absolutely sure of himself. It radiates from him as he stands alone, adjusting his gloves, casually taking in the scene. He’s looking to the right; and he turns and looks off to the left. He’s eyeing the crowd as though looking for someone.

He’s definitely your kind of man and you stare. You watch him a little too long.

And eventually, he begins to watch you back.

He doesn’t look away. Is he studying you? Should you turn and move along?

No, he doesn’t seem too threatening; he looks pleasant enough. He gives you a slight smile and a nod to make you feel a little more at ease, and then he pushes himself off from the wall and approaches you. And only as he gets near, do you become fully aware of the feel, the power, of his presence.

He enters your space, standing almost touching, his voice practically next to your ear: “Are you enjoying the fair?” It’s just a little friendly small talk.

But something about him envelops you.

“Uh, yeah,” you’re at a loss for words. Your heart starts to beat.

He inspects you up close: your skin, your wear, your stance, your appearance, and your scent. He even looks you right in the eye, and after a second, he approves, and then he whispers: “There’s a place for you and me, care to go?”

He motions to the passageway.

This man is not some tough acting fake, no. He’s not the ordering, command barking type; he’s much too self assured for that. He stands so close, his head right next to yours, waiting for your answer. And somehow he’s very persuasive. His barest suggestion that you follow him has you almost begging.

“There’s a place for you and me, care to go?” To be approached by a man such as this, as real and as masculine as this, well this never happens to you; to others, yes, but not to you. You may never have this chance again, so just do it.

Say yes. Take the chance. Go.

“Uh, yeah,” breathlessly, again you’re unable to connect two words. This stranger is already in control, and with his hand on your back, he guides you to the opening, and then inside the passageway.

And the passage is long and dark and quiet and empty.

And then, when he’s guided you halfway through, he suddenly moves for you, reaches out for you, grabs you from behind and pulls you back against him. He pulls you back against his body, back against the stone wall and he pulls you in tight. One arm is around your chest, and the other: a gloved hand firmly over your mouth, holding your head back against his. He pulls his glove against your face.

You struggle and your surprised cry is muffled by his glove, but he’s quick to sooth: “Shh,” he hushes, “I’m not hurting you. I’m not even holding you that tight.

You can escape if you like. You can run away if you want to. Are you sure you want to?”

He has loosened his hold just a little and, no, he’s not hurting you. And, yes, you could run if you wanted. But this is all just part of some scene. It’s an act.

He’s just playing, that’s all. Feel his leather pressing against your bare back, and his leather wrapped around your bare legs.

And smell the rich scent of the leather of his glove pressed against your face.

Breathe through his fingers. Breathe it in slow. Breathe it in deep. It smells good, doesn’t it? Being held by this man with his hand across your face, somehow, makes you feel so safe.

His breath surrounds you and his power surrounds you.

“Are you sure you want to?” Reply to him by falling quiet and still in his hold; and when you are no longer struggling, he keeps you for yet another moment, breathing so slowly, so quietly, allowing you to relax a little more.

Then he reaches behind him and pulls out his pendant, the little silver pendant he wears around his neck, and he holds it out in front of you, just in front of your eyes. It rotates, and it catches a reflection, and the light hits your eyes and stays there.

“Now, I ask you to do only one thing for me,” he speaks almost silently into your ear. “Just look at the pendant and relax. That’s right, just watch the pendant and let yourself relax.”

A tingle rises through you.

He wants to ‘hypnotize’ you. Can this be happening? This strong leather clad man is holding you in the dark of the passage, and he’s so confident and assured, and now he asks you to allow him hypnotize you. Say yes. It’s just a friendly scene. It’s just a little play. This man is so absolutely sensuous and strong. Play along.

Rest your weight against his chest, and let go. Let him lead; follow his words.

It’s just for a little fun.

“That’s right; that’s better,” he says when he senses your response. “Focus your eyes on the pendant and let me speak for a minute. All you have to do is listen and relax. Listen and relax.” And the pendant hangs motionlessly in front of your gaze and you do as he says; you listen to his words and you willingly follow them down, and the pendant becomes big and bright and clear. And the darkness becomes soft and smooth and still. And his voice is steady and soothing and soon it fills your mind.

Feel his heat, feel his breath, feel his strength; feel his words as they work through your mind.

Listen to him as he leads you down.

Your body is lying against his and the powerful sensation of his leather is becoming even greater. It holds you, it warms you, and it caresses you. He will protect you so just do as he says. And when he asks you to follow him still further down the passage, don’t think, just listen. Don’t think, just relax.

Don’t think, just follow him further down.

“And as you take your steps, start counting down from one hundred. And with each step, and with each count, you will become even more relaxed.”

“One hundred. . .” “Ninety nine. . . ninety eight. . .”

Your steps are slow and heavy, and with each step you’re slipping further down.

And he continues to talk to you long as you make your way to the far opening.

And as you approach the daylight, he tells you. “You are now feeling totally relaxed and at peace. You are in a wonderful place. You are in a wonderful trance. You don’t want anything to take you from this wonderful place, or wake you from this wonderful trance. You won’t let anything wake you. The light won’t wake you, the sounds won’t wake you, the other men won’t wake you.

Only I can wake you. And that is how it is supposed to be.”

“Yes. . .”

He stops you again, and turns you towards him, and he looks right into your eyes, and he tells you: “I am your Master now. You will address me as Master.”

“Yes Master.” Don’t think. This feels too good. Don’t think. You must not break the spell. Don’t think. This is your Master.

“You want to obey your Master, don’t you? You must to obey your Master.”

“Yes Master, I must obey my Master.” This feels too good. Concentrate on his voice and obey. You must obey your Master.

And finally, he leads you out of the passage and into the alley, but you’re off in your own space now and you’re not really aware of any surroundings anymore, or of the other men standing in their corners; you’re only aware him.

You follow him and he takes a hold of you. Your only desire is to serve, to serve and worship, to worship and obey. And then he lowers you down to the ground.

And now all you see are his boots, his tall black boots.

Put your mouth to them. Put our tongue to them. You cannot stop yourself; you cannot help yourself. Let yourself taste them, lick them, suck them, make love to them.

Worship them as his voice continues to sink deeper into your ever emptying mind. Do not worry about a thing; he will take care of you.

It is not a crowded place, but there are other men watching you.

One of the men approaches you from the right and another from the left.

They’re watching you on your hands and knees, with your ass in the air, and you’re deep in your obedient, hypnotized euphoria, and your mouth is pressed against, and suckling at your Master’s boot.

Of course these other men each want their own piece of you.

But your Master stops them with a glance. He glares silently at the one, then the other, and they dare not intervene. The other men in the alley become afraid of your Master and leave. They leave you all to him.

You belong to him.

Breathe deep his scent and let yourself relax a little deeper. Let yourself sink a little deeper into his control. It feels so right to surrender to his control.

And then he takes your face and lifts you up, and he places your mouth over his crotch, and you press your nose into the fold.

You want this.

The only man who might interrupt your Master now is the patrolman. The officer’s job is to make sure there is no public display; that’s the rule at the festival; and he knows of the alley and he watches it, and when he catches the guys, he orders: “Break it up guys, you know the law,” and escorts them back to the street.

He regrets it, but it’s his job.

And at this moment, he enters the alley and sees you, now bare and on your knees, with your face buried in your Master’s crotch. He should say: “ok guys, that’s enough.” But your Master stops him, and the officer blinks once, then twice, and then he quietly turns and exits.

Perhaps they have met before.

By now your Master does not want any more interruptions. He needs this time with you alone and so he weaves a spell over the alley. He lowers a veil so no one else will enter this world of his and yours. There will be no more intruders.

It’s just you and Him; just you and your Master; just your Master and his boy.

By now, even the birds and insects are absent.

And so your Master places his hand upon your neck and begins to massage, relaxing you still more. Surrender; surrender deeper into your Master’s power.

Your head falls forward, and your face slides back down the leather, back down to his boots and you continue to lick.

Even when you’re this deep asleep, worshipping your Master can be this good.

Then, finally, he takes your chin in his glove, and lifts you up so your eyes meet his and he says: “Now, boy, you want to obey your Master, yes?”

“Yes Master.” He towers above you.

“And you know you can trust everything your Master tells you, yes?”

“Yes Master,” right up into his eyes.

“And now you will focus on my voice and sleep deeper.”

“Yes Master,” and it all just slips away.

And presently, it’s late afternoon, and the alley has become quiet.

A chill breeze crosses you; it strokes your chest and crosses your nipple and shivers you back awake. Wake up. You’re in the shade, sitting all alone on a crate in the alley, and it’s starting to get cool. The alley is empty; where did everyone go? Shake yourself some and make the blood flow.

. . . Oh shit, what have you done . . .

You can remember the man, you remember the dark where he took hold of you, and you remember his voice. Who was he? And what did he look like?

Put your head in your hands. What happened? What just happened?

You can remember his gloves on your neck, remember his boots, and remember his scent, but the rest is just out of reach. You really can not recall much of it at all and yet somehow you know that you did more.

And somehow that makes you feel alright.

Damn. What about your money and your I.D.? Check your pocket. No, it’s all still there; he didn’t take a thing.

But there’s something new: a small card with an address, the address of some place near. Yes, you remember, you have someplace to go tonight.

No, no, you won’t. You won’t go. It’s wrong. Who was this stranger? You can’t even remember what he looks like. This could be dangerous. And then you remember the feel of his soft gloved hand stroking the back of your neck, and the sensation of his fingers exploring your lips, and the reassuring way he says “good boy.”

And you can remember how wonderful it feels to look right up into his eyes and say “Yes Master.”

However, now there are new men coming through your passageway, and they’re entering your alley, and they’re invading your space, and so you rise and you pull on your shirt, and you return to the excitement and commotion of the festival. But you’re changed now, and you cannot stop thinking about Him, so you try to lose yourself in the noisy crowd.

And the shopkeepers are still busy hawking their wares:

“It’s a dog dish made of plastic, Sir, just perfect for your boy!” “Whips? We’re all out of whips, Sir. How about this nice suede flogger?” And finally: “Sorry Sir, we just sold the last Madonna CD.”

Look at these leather festooned men, and you realize they’re all just ordinary guys. They’re playing dress up, that’s all, strutting around in costumes and acting out some fantasy.

Oh, but where is your Master? Scan the crowd. Is he still here among this mass of pretenders? Would you even recognize him if he was standing right next to you? Close your eyes and clear your mind: yes, you can feel his presence. He is still here, somewhere near in the crowd, but he’s invisible to you now, just as he’s invisible to everyone else in the crowd.

So there’s nothing left to do but head off to the beer tent and meet up with your friends. You’re long overdue and they’ve been looking for you. “Hey,” they shout, “where have you been? Did you get lucky with some Top?” There’s no need to answer. You’re not even sure of the answer.

You feel for his card in your pocket. Visit him tonight? You’ll think about it, sure, but nothing more.

Visit Him tonight?

Well, maybe yes.