Note from Metal: This is a continuation of a long-standing story by rts. To start at the beginning, click here.
I was relieved to be getting on my Harley again. It felt weird to be sitting in my piss and sweat soaked leathers in the saddle. I’ve been in all my gear, boots and leathers for 9 days and now locked in them until I get home. The worst part is being constantly trapped in this long sleeve rubber shirt under my jacket hurting with every movement making me sore. I am filthy, smelly, with sweat, piss and stale beer. I am going to be quite the sight on this miserable trip home. It’s about 700 miles and I hope I can do it without any problems in less than 2 days.
I checked the gas and it’s pretty low. Boss told me the nearest station is just over 12 miles and pointed me down the road. I started the bike and headed out. It felt good to be riding again, taking it easy and checking the odometer. When I got to 10 miles the motor started to sputter. I nursed the throttle but only made it another mile before the tank was empty. Crap, I was alone on this empty road, I hadn’t seen another car. Hoping that Boss was right and there was only a mile to go to reach gas, I resigned myself to push my heavy bike that long mile. Lucky for me the road was flat and had no hills to deal with, but locked in my leathers it was a slow long hot sweaty struggle and I had to keep stopping to rest but finally I could see the Gas sign and managed to push the bike the last hundred yards to the pumps. I sat down on the saddle, my leathers squishing with sweat feeling 10 pounds heavy.
Looking up from my laptop, I noticed this burly man for the first time, wearing well-worn brown leather boots, his work jeans stacked on them. He was wearing a pair of black jeans that were slightly looser than skinny jeans. The man with a dark beard but no mustache was wearing a black Carhartt jacket over a denim shirt. In his right hand, he was carrying a black Ariat duffel bag as I watched him continue down the concourse with a backpack on his shoulder.
Yeah, I’m a pig that admires guys in the right type of clothing, boots, leather or whatever. I always check what a guy is wearing on his feet. That the wearer seems to be a cowboy or redneck can also make my cock twitch. As my mind wanders while checking these guys out, I wonder if they might be a top who likes to grab a dude and bind him until he is helpless. Or perhaps the guy in jeans, boots, and a black leather jacket might be more submissive. They might want to be taken, gagged, then locked in steel restraints and used for a few hours.
Jed and myself were relaxing in the sitting room. It was the day after the judicial whipping, and I was still very sore. Jed had treated me very well in the aftermath of my beating with the sjambok. He had dressed my wounds after having treated them with an antiseptic ointment. Nevertheless I had spent a somewhat restless night, sleeping on my stomach to avoid any unnecessary pressure on my buttocks that still throbbed from the beating.
“The film is just great,” Jed told me, saying that he had watched my beating several times and shared it with a few friends who were all very complimentary about the content.
“I thought that you might pass out towards the end. You were squealing like a stuck pig. I will advertise it on a few sites for fifty bucks a throw. Should go down a storm. Lots of guys like to watch rough stuff.”
Every year, the International Mr. Leather event in Chicago brings us moments of inspiration, pride, and joy. This year was no exception. I want to offer my heartfelt congratulations to Rene Hebert, Mr. Palm Springs Leather 2025, who was named International Mr. Leather 2025.
But this post isn’t just a congratulations. It’s also a personal reflection, because Rene’s win means a lot to me in ways that go far beyond a title sash or a victory walk across the stage.
For one thing, Rene is not only a leather man but also a bootblack, and that struck a deep chord with me. I competed as a bootblack at IML in 1998 and 1999 (that’s how old I am!), and I was honored to be first runner-up both years. That time in my life shaped me profoundly. I was encouraged in this endeavor by Philip Williams, an Old Guard leather man I met in New York City who knew a great deal about intimacy, trust, tradition, and power, and who had a profound effect on me. Philip taught me not only about bootblacking, but also about finding erotic energy in humble, grounded acts of service. It was Philip who taught me how to wear leather and who helped me purchase my first pair of chaps, paid for with tips I earned bootblacking! Philip also insisted I donate a large portion of the tips I earned while bootblacking to charity. Fast forward to today, and seeing someone like Rene, who proudly embodies values of service and community, ascend to the IML title, well, it brought everything full circle for me.
But there’s more. Some of you may recognize Rene from his online alter-ego of Buck Harder on TikTok — that’s actually where I first discovered him. His feed is smart, sexy, and full of heart. He shares educational and empowering content about leather, kink, and bootblacking. What struck me most was how out and proud he is, using his platform to be visible, vocal, and real in a world that too often tells us to hide.
I had the pleasure of meeting Rene in person earlier this year at Mid Atlantic Leather. I recognized him from TikTok! He was working the door, collecting tickets, and I remember turning to my friend and saying, “Now that guy is giving some serious leather top energy!” There was just something about him — the confidence, the presence, the quiet power. You could feel it.
And then came IML this May in Chicago, and with it, this wonderful speech from the stage. Watching the clip brought a tear to my eye. (Click HERE to watch.) Rene didn’t just talk about kink or leather or titles, he talked about the importance of being unapologetically ourselves. In a political climate that feels increasingly hostile to queer people, to trans people, to anyone outside the norm, his message landed like a rallying cry.
It reminded me why we have leather titles in the first place: not for ego or glory, but to represent, to serve, to advocate, to stand tall for our communities. Rene is doing just that, and doing it beautifully.
Of course, Rene isn’t the only one who made an impression at IML this year. Congratulations as well to Zephyr Merkur, Mr. Eagle NYC 2025, named First Runner-Up, and to Michael Tikili, Mr. Pittsburgh Leather Fetish 2024, who was honored as Second Runner-Up. It was a strong class, and each of them brought something powerful to the stage. (To learn more about ALL the IML contestants this year, click here.)
Photo: https://x.com/IMLchicago
I’m especially thrilled for Rene—for the bootblack, the self-described nerd, the kinkster, the educator, the man singing showtunes in his car and hitting the gym and taking unapologetic thirst-trap selfies. He’s not only a worthy IML, he’s the kind of titleholder our community needs right now.
So here’s to you, Rene. Thank you for your visibility, your voice, and your leadership. And from one bootblack to another, thank you for making us proud!
Leather dom Colton Reece has very strict standards for all his subs, especially Quin Quire. Wearing nothing but a black harness, a jockstrap and boots, Quin obediently opens his mouth for Colton’s gloved fingers as they make their way down his throat to prepare him for Colton’s thick, long cock. The verbal top then instructs Quin to put his tongue to work by worshiping every inch of his boots. With Quin bound and his ass fully exposed, Colton begins flogging the sub harder and harder until he’s finally deserving of penetration. He drops to all fours as instructed and thanks Colton for rimming his hole before Colton is shoving his big bareback dick into Quin’s grateful slit and breeding his insides.
I met this biker bud on line, he’s living about 700 miles from me but wanting to get together we agreed to meet halfway and go on a 1 week road trip on our Harleys. The basic rules were simple, in full leathers 24/7 and camping out every night and just get to know each other. We met up at a campground on the Columbia river, I was wearing my leather jeans, motorcycle jacket and 18″ linesmen boots, with just a T shirt and sox under my hides, the only thing I packed on the bike was my tent, bed roll and extra sox. It had been an almost 400 mile ride to the campsite and I had been feeling nice and horny the whole day.
I woke up in total darkness. I was just lying there on a bench that was fixed to the wall, slowly remembering what had happened. I started to panic. I immediately remembered some fetish stories where guys were kidnapped and tortured. I could move my arms. Everything seemed all right. I calmed down and was sure all those stories were fiction.
My movements must have triggered the lights in the room. Suddenly the whole room was lit. I looked around. A strange small room, like a cell. The walls were covered with black rubber. On each wall was a large monitor with a black monitor screen. There was an open door which led into darkness beyond.
I slowly realized my own situation. My mouth felt filled with something solid that tasted like rubber. Something felt strange on my skin, too. I wanted to touch my skin, but I had to learn that I couldn’t open my fists. There were black leather fist mitts on my hands. I could see two small locks fixing the mitts’ buckles. Now I knew that I was trapped. I tried not to panic. When I looked down, I saw that my whole body was fully encased in a tight black leather suit. My head was also covered with a tight hood that smelled like leather. I jumped on my feet but lost my balance and fell to the floor.
