SkinMarvin Gay Stories

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Chapter 6

"Come on Ann-Toe-Nee, get the rest off - give Nisbo your shoes and socks like a good boy....that's right," said Charlie. Anthony gingerly took off his shoes and socks and handed them meekly to Nisbo who in turn flung them on top of the leather jacket. "Now your expensive jeans, they've no place in your new home Ann-Toe-Nee..."

"Look, this has gone far enough, I am not..." Anthony was interrupted by a sharp slap across his jaw. It came so quick he didn't see even who did it.

Charlie stated the facts. "Nobody knows you're here, boy, and nobody gives a fuck. You gotta learn you're stuck with us, because we ain't lettin' you out of our sight, and you may as well know, Ann-Toe-Nee, we're gonna change you to fit your new surroundings, and you can either do it your way, which I don't recommend, or you do it our way, get it??" The more Charlie went on, the more menacing he became - he got closer and closer to Anthony's face the more he laid down the law. Their eyes met, only a few inches from each other. "Now, what's it to be?"

Anthony said nothing. "Very well. Have it your own way. Lads, get his gear off." Four of them eagerly went for Anthony and in less than a few seconds had stripped him naked, adding his remaining clothes to the pile. The skins easily overpowered him and soon had him in the chair, directly under the bare lightbulb. It was like something out of a spy movie - lone suspect under intense light. The skins held him till Charlie and Nisbo had wound enough rope around both his wrists to tie them securely to the arms of the chair and similarly bind his ankles tight too. The skins formed a circle round the prisoner in the chair.

From somewhere, some loud hard Oi music was put on, and the skins started passing beer and cigs among themselves, congratulating each other on their capture. Anthony took all this in, not knowing what was ahead of him, only sure that escape was now nigh on impossible. He knew something was afoot when another chair was set up in front of his chair and a large mirror propped up on the arms of the chair. He could see his predicament now more clearly.

"Listen, listen," announced Charlie. "As Sammy did such a good job today, I think he gets to do the honours. Sammy, get the stuff and we'll let you get started on Anthony." Anthony gulped. "Now, Anthony. Time to make a start on you, lad. You know that we skinheads only like to mix with skinheads, don't you, well, you see, this means that THIS has to go." Charlie ran his big stubby fingers through Anthony's hair.

"But I don't want to be a skinhead," bleated Anthony.

"Tough shit, Ann-Toe-Nee. Remember what I told you, you ain't got no choice. We're goin' to make you much better to live with, my son."

"You'll never get away with this..."

"Oh Gawd, he's off again," mocked Charlie. "I've had enough of this fuckin' bleating. Gobbo, bring me two cans of Special Brew."

"Comin' up Boss!"

" This'll make you a bit more cooperative." Charlie nodded to Nisbo, and Nisbo in turn knew instinctively to get behind Anthony in the chair and hold his head back, forcing his mouth open. Charlie poured the strong beer into Anthony at speed, only pausing to allow him to grab a breath.

"Now fuckin' learn, boy. I'm in charge here, and you do as you're fuckin' told and thank us for it. Right Sammy, he's all yours."

Anthony's head began to swim ever so slightly as the fast rush of beer on a by now relatively empty stomach took it's toll. Sammy stepped forward with a pair of rough looking scissors in his hands. Anthony could see what was coming but by now he couldn't even raise a protest because the beer (that he wasn't used to) was doing a good job at numbing him down.

Sammy began to roughly snip off Anthony's brown locks and let them fall to the floor. The rest of the skins vied for position to get a good view. Anthony wasn't so far gone to see that they were all, without exception, fondling their crotches as young Sammy hacked away at his hair. Anthony's worry about what the skins were doing soon took second place as he saw his reflection in the mirror. Sammy was obviously cutting his hair down as close as he could with the scissors, turning what was a non-descript haircut into some punk rock nightmare. It was almost a relief when Gobbo reached a pair of clippers over to Sammy. The young lad's face lit up. "This is what I've fuckin waited for all day," he gloated.

"Wait, Sammy," ordered Charlie. "Lads, we want to do this right. Ricky, get a new pint glass - you all know what to do. Go ahead, Sammy." The pint glass was brought out and handed first of all to Deck. Deck wasted no time in getting his dick out and depositing a stream of piss into the pint pot. He handed it on to Nisbo who did likewise. Anthony was now scared witless. What's next, he thought. Sammy clicked on the clippers and, steadying Anthony's head like a true professional, ran them up the side of his victim's head in front of his right ear. The next swipe ran from the back of his neck up behind his right ear, to the crown. With no attachment on the clippers, they took Anthony's hair down to stubble. He gasped audibly.

"Yeah, down to the wood, that's it Sammy!." "SKKKKKIIIINNNNNNHHEEAAADDD" " "Mohawk him first, Sammy!!" "Take it a off!!" "Scalp him, Sammy!!" The encouragement spurred young Sammy on - Anthony was getting his first skinhead haircut. Sammy moved behind Anthony for the last bit - he didn't want to obstruct the prisoner's view of the top of his head being sheared. Once the back and sides were taken down to a zero crop, Sammy worked from forehead to crown, slowly taking off Anthony's brown hair, leaving only a short stubble all over. Anthony thought that they were done as Sammy brushed the hairs roughly from Anthony's bare shoulders. But the pint pot that the lads had been pissing into had just been passed to Charlie, and it was full.

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