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meeting skin

You can feel the evil in them, just with one glance. The shaved head, heavy boots used to kick the shit out of those that have crossed them, the sneer that intimates those around them. And damn, if all that and more makes me crave to kneel before them and lick their white laced boots.

While it is deeply hidden, service to the skins is something I have craved for a while now. Living here in London has allowed me to see skins almost daily. I never really knew how far my submissive streak went until I finally met with one skin.

I had seen him in the area, many times. While I would never venture out in the skin kit that I had worked up, I would wear it at night, and think of him as I wanked in a black hanky like the one he wore in his back pocket. In my dreams, he would take me to his flat, bind me up and flog the shit out of me. Make me drink is Guinness laced piss, then kick the shit out of me before leaving me gagged with his dirty jock for the night after fucking me so deep I swore I would sing in the boy's choir next Boxing Day. While dreaming, I found I was surfing the web, checking out the skinhead sites. At first I thought them silly, but damn if this deeper evil made my lust to serve grow. I knew I had to serve one skin, be educated to serve him best and my life would be set on a path I could not return from.

Waking one morning, I needed my morning Starbucks. Not thinking, I pulled on a shirt and headed down to the local spot. As I was almost halfway there, the clunk of my boots brought me to reality that I was outside in my skin kit. My 14 holes had white laces, my bleachers were tight with braces and I even grabbed my FP shirt. Fuck if I didn't start to sweat. What if someone I knew saw me in this get-up? And if a skin or two… they'd laugh their asses off, cause of my blond hair. Never had I dared to actually shave my head. But I was more than halfway to the "Bucks" so I just continued.  

Ordering went without incident, and I was starting to get a little randy in my kit. I think one or two of the neighboring fags were checking me out. Hell, if a skin makes me rock hard, what was I doing to them? Heading to the door, I was checking one of those pervs out. He wasn't half bad looking, wearing a rugby shirt from some team up north. But any thoughts of anything with him were shattered when I crashed into a brick wall. His name was Trevor, complete with the black hanky in his back pocket. My drink spilled from the cup and splattered on Trevor's camos and boots. The rest of the coffee was grabbed from my hand, my neck grabbed tightly and I was forced to his boots.

"Lick 'em cunt!"

I couldn't believe, here in the doorway of a Starbucks, I was about to touch the leather of his boots with my tongue. I didn't hesitate, I just did it. The mixture of leather and mocha was actually good and I licked deeply. As I finished up, I felt his leather belt go around my neck and tighten. I was dragged from Starbucks, as a few watched but didn't do anything. Perhaps since we were both dressed like skin's they didn't worry. Because no one gets involved with skins.

I barely kept up with his pace, as the belt was choking me. Through the busy street he led me, until we reached an alley and he shoved me back against the wall.

His arm rested snuggly against my throat, cutting off my air. As I looked up, his eyes were blue, staring me down. He was not showing any bit of remorse for what he had or was going to do to me. His nose twitched slightly tense, then he moved closer and slammed his lips against mine. My knees almost gave out from under me, as his tongue carved my lips open and explored deep inside. As he kissed me, he poured the remaining hot coffee down my pants and I moaned into his lips. As he pulled back, his teeth took my bottom lip and pinched them to nearly break the skin. He let go and I took in my breath.

"I knew you were a skin at heart. You have been checking me out and you just had to taste my boots."

Fuck, had he known about my lust for him the entire time?

"Be here tonight at 10, and I'll show you what being skin is."

He spits on my face, leaned forward, licked it off, and took off.   Just like that, he was gone. And my burning dick was glowing with excitement. It was all I could do to not start wanking right there!

Walking home, people must have thought I was some basket case that pissed his pants, but I didn't fucking care. Even with the leather belt hanging from around my neck, I didn't give a fuck. Tonight I was going to be with a skin. The hottest fucking skin there is. I didn't care about fear, I wanted to serve.

I was gonna clean my kit that day before meeting up with Trevor that night. But I remembered what I had learned online about skins and liking things dirty. After all, before he left, Trev spat on my face and cleaned it so quickly. So I didn't even change that day. I had some reports to write and spent the day working on them, in communication with my business partner. He would have laughed knowing what I was wearing. While we've worked together for 5 years, he still doesn't know my fetish for skins. It's just as well, for I'm not sure how he'd react. Hell, I know he'd be pissed that I was going out here in 5 minutes to meet this ox of a man. I know I will end up regretting locking the door behind me tonight. But this is one of those things that you do, not because of your brain but because of the raw lust in your crotch.

Fucking cold and wet, a typical night in London. Standing, waiting to taste those boots again. Oh and that raping of my mouth was beyond obscene.   Damn, if I didn't want more. I was glad I wore my MA1, it helped keep some of the drizzles off, but even that was starting to soak in. I heard a noise to my right, turning I found this skin that I lusted after coming towards me. At first the bright alley lights behind him only made him a silhouette.   It was like out of one of those stupid Hollywood action flicks. But I eventually could see him more and I think I might have grunted. He had turned in his BDUs to have tight leather pants tucked into the 20-hole Rangers. He wore his MA1 and carried a baseball bat. This scared me, for I began to worry that my lust might have hooked me up with a skin that was not gay. Some of those straight skins could be ruthless when it comes to being a faggot. But I worried less as he got near me and smiled. I stared deep into his blue eyes and didn't even see the bat strike my side and bring me crashing to the dirty wet cobblestone.

"Fucking cunt, you really want to serve don't you?!"

I couldn't get a word out, cause my lungs were trying to get air in from being sideswiped. Just then the skin's boot came up and caught my chin and flew my back into a pile of garbage bags. As my lungs filled again, the stench was horrible. I couldn't tell if it was drizzle or blood but something was running down my chin. As he grabbed the collar of my jacket, I thought now was the time for me to leave. This was beyond anything I'd ever wanked to and I was convinced that I would be dead in an alley very shortly.

But no words came out of my mouth. He dragged me across the cobblestone until I could get to my feet. He slammed me against the wall, with my cheek kissing the brick wall. Pressing against me, I felt his hand run down my ass and under my crotch squeezing my balls tightly. I opened my mouth to yell, and he shoved a wet cloth in. It was followed by a leather gag that pressed the cloth in deeper.  

"I pissed on that before I came, so it is nice and moist for you," he whispered. As I swallowed I took in the salty taste for the first time. He pulled a wool ski mask over me, to cover up the gag, he quickly cuffed my hands behind my back.   He pulled me away and we headed out of the alley.

The interior of his large flat was quite different from the exterior. Inside the touches of a decorator were of a classic European flair. While I raced through the rooms, I was able to catch glimpses of nice artwork. Some pieces looked to be very rare and could be expensive. I wondered just what Trevor did to afford such things. Coming down the stairs to the basement, I nearly fell as he left little time for me to hit each step with my booted foot. I was getting cold from the soaked hood on my head, and the drizzle drenching my coat, shirt and jeans.

He took me to the center of the room, near the coal furnace, and put me on my knees. Removing his jacket to show a white tank shirt with SKINHEAD across the chest he turned and stared me down. He walked around me; I could feel the stare cut my skin, shave my head and rape my ass. I wanted to look up at him, but I only peeked at his boots as they passed in front of me. He stopped with his bulging leather crotch in my face. It was so close I could smell the wet leather, but I didn't dare to touch it with my lips.

"You’re here 'cause you want to be here.”

Was that a question or an observation? I couldn’t tell and couldn’t respond with this pissed rag in my throat.

“You have no choice, what is going to happen is going to happen.”

And it did. Before I knew it, I was mummified head to toe in plastic, then tape. He had removed only the gag to install a metal open-mouth gag. I couldn’t see the outside world, alone in this tape cocoon. Through it all, he never spoke, he was distant as if wanting me to beg to do something, but I didn’t know what I could beg for. Hell, I was owned by him now. I was helpless when he forced me to lick the coffee from his boots. He knew it and would show me things I only dreamed of at night.  

I was laid down and further secured with more tape. My hearing was muffled by plugs that he had placed in my ears. After laying me down, an urge of pleasure came over me when he must have started to take my dick into his mouth. I’d been blown by the best of them, but this guy was the Master. Totally helpless, I could only struggle in my bondage, as he worked me closer and closer to orgasm. My only connection to breathing was through a hose he had connected to the open gag now closed. Now I was truly helpless, was he going to off me now? I arched my back to get to that final stage and shoot my load.

I knew he wanted it, for then he would own me totally. As my breathing faded, I felt something in the tube and it filled my mouth. Fuck, something was being poured down the tube. It tasted like a beer and it wasn’t stopping. This was more difficult for I had to breathe and drink, while he was taking me beyond the stars. I was gonna get drunk with all this beer and he knew it. But I was drunk with lust, I was pumping his face with my dick and he took it all the way down. Deeper and deeper he let me go. My fists were in balls taped so tight, I could hardly move them, my wet clothes covered me, under a layer of rubber and tape, trapped in my boots, jeans, MA1, gagged and being sucked by the hottest fucking skin that walked the planet. I was going to serve him forever, I had no doubt. Sir, this slave is yours.

He let go of my dick as the cum burst forth, landing in the tube that leads to my mouth. I must have pumped a great deal, for it slowly filled my mouth, mixing with the beer I had downed.

I’ve never been sure how long I was in that bondage. He left me that way for days, working my mind and training me to serve him. He would bring me to ecstasy over and over to reinforce a point. At times, I would nearly pass out from the intensity of the sessions. While I rested, he fed me more beer and piss. He was ruthless in his punishment of me in this helpless state. He sometimes cut away parts of the tape and rubber and used his stun gun on me. Voltage would make me want to burst from the cocoon, but I was helpless and my screams were muffled by a filthy rag he would stuff in the tube in my mouth. I know I pissed on and in myself, for he would run the hose from my dick to my mouth. I would feel his boots over and over all over my body. And when I was ready to beg for release, he would start again with me sexually. He was hitting each button that made my dick grow, in his mouth, hand, and ass. He let me rest and listen to tapes he had made about submission, serving him and his ideals, how I wanted nothing more in life than what I had now and when I left I would miss him and be helpless without him. Listening to these tapes in his voice would bring me to the edge over and over again. Often I would fall asleep listening to his voice. I was so safe where I was, I didn’t want to leave.

That was all a few months ago. I am his slave, through and through. I have done a great deal of learning on my own and with his guidance. I have sunk into the gay skin world I never dreamed I would actually live in. I’ve met a few of his mates, but he never allows them to touch me. He is very protective of me, but tells me that someday I will become a true skin. I’ve come so far, and I know I will make him proud.

I’m half wasted as I write this, because he and I were out at the pub after a ride on his ZX-1. He wears his full leathers, while I am only allowed my skin kit. But I wear it with pride now, because I understand the loyalty and honour it is to be allowed to wear it while serving Trevor.   It's amazing to me that I’m almost there, I’m almost a true skin.

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