SkinMarvin Gay Stories

Part | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | epilogue |

Chapter 12

After the second tattoo session, and seeing that the skins had effectively cut off any hope of his returning to his prior life and existance, Anthony allowed the skins to lead him back to the house. Everyone was staring at him and this time he wasn't imagining it. The new tattooes on his face were smarting and the area around them was completely red. The bottom of his nose was swollen where his septum had been pierced with the oversized ring.

Charlie was delighted with the almost-finished product. "Keep your gear on, Buster. We wanna take a few mugshots," he said as they got through the door of the gang's house. They ushered Anthony out into the back yard and made him stand against the brick wall of the yard as one of the other skins fetched an expensive-looking digital camera.

"I suppose that was just 'taken', was it?" Some of the cop was left in Anthony.

"You catch on fast, Buster," replied Charlie. "Never know, we might take you out on our next shoppin' spree." That was enough for Anthony not to pursue that subject.

He was directed to stand and pose in his skingear against the wall. Deck must have taken about twenty pictures.

"Now, Buster, get your back against the wall, and your legs apart," said Charlie, "we want some 'artistic' shots now," he continued with a giggle. At this, one of the other skins went over and knelt down and put his face into Anthony's crotch, making it look as if he was giving Anthony a blowjob. Deck clicked furiously. Next, Deck himself went over and pulled up Anthony's Fred Perry teeshirt, and began to pull furiously on Anthony's tits. Anthony had never had his tits played with before, and he yelped out. Charlie caught every facial expression. Sadly for Anthony, it looked from a distance as if he was enjoying the treatment.

"OK, that's enough, more than enough," Charlie announced. "These are our insurance photos, Buster. You try to escape, and they go on every skinhead porn site on the web, they go to your mates in the police station in London, and they even go to 32 Dewhurst Avenue." Anthony let out a "fuck no" when he heard his parents address being mentioned.

"Now, lads, I reckon we should go back inside and have a bit of a party to celebrate Buster joining our little fold, and to celebrate doin' away with Ann-Toe-Nee." Cheers of consent all round. Except from Anthony.

Cans of Special Brew were handed out all round. Anthony even took one willingly. The skins all sat around allowing the beer to mellow them down, or liven them up in some cases. Once Charlie had made sure all the lads had two or three cans of beer lined up each, he handed each of them a carton of Benson and Hedges. "Well done lads, here's to one more of us and one less of them!" He handed Anthony a carton of cigarettes.

Anthony shook his head. "I don't smoke, Charlie. I'll stick with this can of beer."

"Buster, all skins smoke. And no skin sticks to one can of Special Brew. Hurry up and get that can finished and then fuckin open another one straight away. You're livin with us now, mate, and you'll do things our way."

Anthony took another small slug of beer. Charlie, moody bastard that he was, grabbed the rest of Anthony's can and poured it over the newboy's head. "You'll see I fuckin mean business, lad," he growled and opened up another can. "Get drinkin, drinkin properly." Anthony gulped down about a third of the can as fast as he could. "That's fuckin better," approved Charlie. "Now we'll get ya smokin."

Anthony had virtually no mental or physical strength left, but he knew he didn't want to be a smoker, skinhead or no skinhead. He was determined to resist.

"Take a pack out of your carton, Buster." Charlie had his don't-fuck-with-me voice on. Anthony began to protest. "Fuckin' do it."

"No."

"Lads bring the chair from the kitchen. Just like on the first night." The chair was brought in. Anthony was placed in the chair.

"Look, mate, just as you were fuckin doin so well, you don't want to upset your new family now, do ya?" asked Charlie. "Here's the carton, rip it open and take out a pack, and open the pack up."

"I don't want to smoke Charlie, it's unhealthy."

"Yeah, so's five or six fuckin gutpunches from a fat bastard like me, Buster."

Quivering, Anthony took the carton and ripped off the paper at one end and took out a packet of Benson and Hedges. "I don't really want to do this..."

"Just fuckin' do as you're told, Buster, you ain't getting out of this chair till you do." Anthony, still trembling, opened the packet and saw the cigs staring up at him. He couldn't, he simply couldn't - it went against everything he knew to be sensible. He handed the pack back to Charlie. "I can't Charlie, I'm sorry."

Charlie would win. Charlie won every step of Anthony's transformation so far. Anthony was stupid to even think of refusing to smoke.

"Have it your own way, Buster." It took Anthony a good fifteen minutes to recover from the blow to his gut, and that wasn't Buster's full force either.

"You ready to try again, Buster?" asked Charlie. Anthony nodded slightly in reservation. Charlie handed him the packet again. Shaking, Anthony reached into the packet and pulled out a cigarette. Even the smell of them in the pack revolted him. He couldn't even get it to his mouth.

"For fuck's sake give it here," shouted Charlie. "Lads, get his head. Nisbo, bring me the necessary." Nisbo, who'd been pretty much in the background during Anthony's last encounters, scuttled off. Deck held Anthony's head straight from behind.

Charlie lit the cig, took a short drag on it, and then put it to Anthony's lips. "Open up, Buster," said Charlie, "I'm goin to hold it in your lips till you take a drag." Gingerly, Anthony sucked on the cigarette. The end of it glowed as he did so. Charlie removed it from Anthony's mouth and Anthony blew out the smoke as if he was blowing up a balloon.

"Fuck we've a long night ahead, lads," sighed Charlie, much to the amusement of the others. "Now this time, Buster, you suck it down into your fuckin lungs, got it?" The cigarette was placed back in Anthony's lips and he sucked. "Now, with the smoke in your gob, breathe in." Cough, cough, cough. That time it worked because Anthony felt giddy.

"Hehe, you'll get there. Now, another drag, and again down into the lungs, my lad," said Charlie, almost cheerfully. Anthony did as he was told to avoid any further possibility of his insides being ruptured by Charlie's fist. Charlie removed the cigarette and Anthony exhaled.

"Please, I feel sick."

Charlie showed his concern by putting the cig back into Anthony's mouth. "One more for this one, Buster, come on." Anthony did as he was told. His world began to spin and his eyes began to close. Charlie took the fag out and instructed that a glass of water be brought for the patient. Anthony gratefully took a slug of water. He was wrong if he thought that was the end of that little game. There was still a good drag in the cigarette and Charlie wanted it in Anthony's virgin lungs. Charlie held the cigarette in Anthony's mouth again, "Come on, one last drag, Buster, make it a long one." Anthony did as he was told. His whole body felt warm and his head was going round in circles.

"There, wasn't so bad, was it."

"I hate it, Charlie."

"You'll get used to it. You're getting your next one in twenty minutes."

And he did. And another one twenty minutes after that.

When it was time for cigarette number four, Anthony refused. "Sorry, Charlie, but I've tried it for you and I don't like it. Please don't make me have another one."

"Look, Buster, if I say you're goin to be a smoker like the rest of us, then you will be. Nisbo, bring me the kit. It's useless resistin, Buster, you should fuckin know that by now." Anthony was quickly restrained in the famous chair and almost instantly began to regret what he'd told Charlie.

Charlie told the other lads (those who weren't already) to start smoking. He himself fished out a huge fuck-off cigar from the side pocket of his army camos. He bit off the end and fired it up.

"OK, Charlie, I'll smoke another one for you. Just don't make me smoke cigars."

"Too late my son. Too late." Nisbo handed Charlie the plastic bag he'd been nursing. Out came a Russian-type gasmask with a long tube attached, like an elephant's trunk. "No prizes for guessin who the lucky fucker is who gets to wear this!" chided Charlie, as he pulled it on to Anthony's bald head. He gave Anthony a few minutes to adjust to breathing with the tight rubber over his head.

Charlie reached for the tube connected to Anthony's mask. He held the open end towards Deck, who took a long drag on his ciggie and blew the smoke down the tube. Anthony began to cough. "If you fuckin know what's good for you, Lad, you'll breathe nice and steady and slowly, otherwise you'll fuckin suffocate." Charlie was giving Anthony good advice.

After another drag, the tube was passed to another skin who did the same, even though there was still a lot of coughing and spluttering from underneath the mask. "Slowly, Buster, slowly."

Nisbo was the last skin to add his contribution of smoke. By now, the smoke could be seen through the eyeholes of the mask. "Only way to get rid of the smoke is to breathe it in, Buster."

Finally the tube was handed to Charlie, who in his turn took a huge drag on his stogie, and blew it down the tube. Anthony's coughing rate went up again and all could hear he was gasping for breath. "Maybe we should stop now, Charlie," cautioned Nisbo. "Yeah, I think you're right, mate," conceded Charlie as he undid the tube, but left the mask in place. Anthony made a huge gasp for air. Obviously no harm was done, but Anthony had learned his lesson. Don't mess with Charlie. If Charlie tells you to do something, you do it.

"Untie the lad and let him have a rest to think about being a smoker. He'll see it our way eventually. Buster, just make sure you keep your gear on if you fall asleep - we want to get it a bit more worn-in lookin" Nisbo and Deck half carried Anthony upstairs to one of the makeshift bedrooms, (well a bare room with an old mattress on the floor), and laid him down. They closed the door behind him. They weren't two seconds away from the room when they heard the sobs. Loud, loud sobs. Deck laughed, Nisbo gulped. Poor Anthony.

Part | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | epilogue |