Dallas Terminal by Billy Nakasaki.

I break down the blue Werner Express Freightliner Classic XL and signal to other drivers that I’m exiting the L.B.J. Freeway in south Dallas. Dallas Terminal is right off of Texas State Route 342. I expertly pilot the rig to a graceful stop and head south on the four lane asphalt. Skin Hauler stares at me with his sad deep blue eyes. I’ve ran with him for seven weeks, one extra week just because he didn’t want to let me go and I didn’t want to go. I’m feeling a little depressed and excite at the same time. Skin Hauler’s face says it all. He’s pissed and sad, but tries to hide it by smiling at me. I glance at him every now and then, but I hold back the tears. We roll up to the gates, check in, go thru the Safety Lane Inspection, and park the rig.

I type in my duty status onto QualComm and sign off for the last time. Tyler closes the curtains as I type. He reaches over me and kisses me. I taste his tongue and his breath as he forces it down my throat. I moan as we make out. When we finally come up for air, I run my tongue all over his shaved head. He groans and grunts as I lick every inch of his skull. Our hands run down to each others pants. He pulls me by my short pants to the sleeper and unbuttons them. He pushes them down and his hands enter my jock strap to fondle my cock and balls. I unfasten his bleachers and push them down. While I lick his head I enter his jock and grab the monster…

• Dallas Terminal by: Billy Nakasaki
   

Kidnapped into Slavery by Skinphil.

Scar drove the van for over an hour, Shit and I both blindfolded and manacled in the back. It was an uncomfortable ride, as we slipped and bumped our way over the entire trip. I realised we had arrived, when the van turned, and started to drive slowly, with the sound of gravel crunching under the wheels. It was a long driveway, and became a rough track. We drove for another 5 minutes or so, and then the van stopped. It then started to reverse, and I could distinguish a change in the engine note, as if we were in a tunnel. Scar got out, slamming the door. I could here voices, and then a heated exchange began. This lasted for several minutes, and then Scar came back to the van, and opened the side sliding door. “I am sorry Daniel, truly I am. I had no idea what this pig had in mind. Please forgive me.” With that, I felt my body being dragged out of the van. And being manhandled down an echoing concrete corridor. I heard the van start up, and drive out, and steel doors slam shut. “NO!” I screamed realising what had happened. “NO, NOT ME!” I screamed again, but I knew I had no way to escape: I was doomed to my fate.

I was dragged without care for my skin or body, being manhandled through doors and against rough concrete walls. I sensed others around me, but could not determine who or how many. Finally, I was dumped in a cold damp room, and left manacled and blindfolded. I remained this way for many hours, or so I felt, as I was unable to move or see any light or movement. I was left to contemplate my fate, and I felt betrayed. I was a master not a slave. I owned slaves, I trained slaves, and I was not a whore to be fucked at the whim of a master. I was not a dog to be whipped and beaten as the master saw fit. But I was helpless: manacled and blindfolded, at anyone’s mercy. I heard a noise at last. A key in the door, a sound of footsteps, heavy boots near my head, heavy breathing, the smell of raw leather, the smell of a man, sensual, sending my senses reeling, my cock starting to rise for a heavy session of rough sex. PAIN, my head is in pain, the boot, kicking my head, kicking my body, my ribs caving in, and my head again, my back, and my kidneys. I was being beaten viciously, and not a word being said. My cock was still hard, and growing harder, a second pair of boots next to my head. They smelled of cumm. I loved that smell. It made me harder again, and I could feel myself Cumming. Then the whip flayed my back. It continued to strike and strike til I went into unconsciousness…

• Kidnapped into Slavery (Story 5) by: Skinphil
   

Vengeance is Mine by Skinphil.

Vengeance is not sweet; it is a dirty, grubby deed, carried out by people full of hate and hurt. But I had sworn to revenge Larry’s death over his grave, and nothing would stop me. I knew the faces of the 6 guys who had attacked us, as they had been the same ones who had attacked Larry and I once before. I started to hang out around the games parlours, and cafe’s where the street gangs frequented. It was several weeks before I saw the group again. I followed them, and would follow a different member each time, making notes on where they went, where each lived and worked, or went to school, as 2 of them were still at school near the housing development. Within 2 months, I had a dossier on each member of the gang. Now I could act.

The first guy was called Errol. He was an apprentice with the local electrical firm. He was 17 years old. He often worked late on Mondays, as his boss usually used this day of the week to catch up on remnants of jobs from the previous week. I decided he would be first, as he was the guy who had been the most active with the boot into Larry’s head. Errol would feel the pain of Larry, the helplessness and fear Larry had felt. Errol would die first, but his death would be slow and painful, he would know why he was to die, and why he was first. I was determined to carry this act of vengeance to the extreme and beyond if necessary…

• Vengeance is Mine (Story 4) by: Skinphil
   

Skinhead Slave by Ted Gay.

I was walking home from a rockabilly gig and noticed a gang of teenage skinheads hanging around a street corner. I was feeling kind of horny as there’d been some very cute rockabilly kids at the gig, but of course they were all unavailable. Or at least, if they were available, they weren’t going to admit it in that setting, amongst their straight mates. I’d been standing behind one particularly fuckable rockabilly aged about 18, and had a raging hard-on all thru the gig, staring at his very lickable neck with a tattoo of a Rebel Flag and the legend ‘Rockabilly Rebel’. It was all I could do to stop myself pressing up against his tight little bubble butt, and taking a vampire-like bite out of his neck.

So in this sexed up state, I guess I looked at some of these attractive teenage skinheads a little too long. As I turned the corner, I heard footsteps behind, and realized the gang were following me. I quickened my pace, but my heart sank as I heard:

‘Oi there, queerboy! Wotcha lookin’ at?’…

• Skinhead Slave by: Ted Gay
   

Young Master by Skinphil.

At the tender young age of 17 years, Johnnie Burkett had become an accomplished lover of gay men, through his lover Mick, and through his acts of prostitution. His life in the tiny Island in the English Channel had blossomed since meeting Mick, the leader of the Queerskins. Their relationship had been passionate, violent, at times brutal, but always loving. Johnnie’s grasp and love of the brotherhood and culture of the skinheads was quick and total, as if he had been born to be a skin.

The Island (the name shall remain anonymous for obvious reasons) was small, and nights long. The teenagers of the Island had little to do on long summer nights, and sex was their main preoccupation, as well as the Odeon or Gaumont Cinema’s. This led to a high early marriage rate of teenagers, some marrying at 14 and 15 years. Most were parents before they turned 16 years old. Therefore, to think of Johnnie as promiscuous or Mick as being a pedo, is unwarranted. This was life in the 60’s in the Islands; with sex their only form of entertainment. Yes it was illegal to have sex before 21 years of age, but if enforced, the entire Island population would have been in jail.

The Islands were also different from the remainder of Europe for their progressive attitudes to some things and regressive thinking in others. The good points were their attitudes to road safety. At age 12 years, a youth could have a motorcycle licence for an auto cycle up to 49cc. At 16 years, a motorcycle licence up to 99cc, and at 18 years up to 199cc. At 21 years, they could have an open licence. This allowed the youth to learn gradually…

• Young Master (Story 2) by: Skinphil