SkinMarvin Gay Stories

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Chapter 14 - Death

It was late Tuesday evening before I was awake. Frankie had opened the workshop for me on the 2 days I was unconscious. Mick was laying on the bed on his right elbow looking at me.
"Hungry?" he said. "You look like hell, how do you feel."
"Like the rival gangs had me for pleasure for a few days" I felt like hell, but seeing Mick made me feel better. I hurt in every orifice, ached in every muscle, and my mouth tasted like a public toilet. Oh that's right, it was for 24 hrs. Still, I was well rested, and tried to sit up in bed.
"Your mum left some food for you at the workshop, Frankie said you were out on a job, so she left it for you and went." Mick went off to the kitchen and within a few minutes, came back with a steaming hot bowl of vegetable soup and some crusty bread. Good old mum, nothing like hot soup on a cold day.
"What happened to the skin you captured? Have you let him go yet?"
"Yeah, we had some fun with him Sunday night, put him in the chains and shackles we had you in, diapered him, and fucked the hell out of him. He shit and pissed his diaper many times, so when I dropped him off at the wharf we left him in the cage, chained, still naked except for his boots, and put the dirty diaper on his head like a cap. He was a mess, but no permanent damage, no broken bones, just humiliated. His leader won't be happy, so we should expect a response. The crew will be ready whenever that is."
"I felt sorry for him Mick, Although I could not see him, I could feel and smell his fear. Did I show and smell of fear?"
"No, I was proud of you. You did not shed a tear, fought when you could, and took it all like a man. You are truly a skin now, in all respects, and I am proud to be your master. Come on, get out of bed, the crew will be here at 7 pm for a meeting, and you have to be there. I know you hurt, but try not to show too much. Show them they will have to do much more than that to get you. Show your strength and pride, you may need to walk a little funny, but the guys will accept that as normal, just don't let them see your pain."

I finished my meal and got out of bed. I was very saw and was still bleeding slightly from the split anus. I put a pad of toilet paper in my underwear to soake it up to stop it showing. I Dressed slowly and went into the clubroom. The crew arrived shortly afterwards: all slapped me on the arse as they arrived, and the pain was like a red-hot poker shooting up my arse, but I grinned and bared it. Each of them had a parcel which they laid on the bar. When they had all arrived, grabbed a drink from the bar and generally chatted and sorted themselves out, Mick called them all to order. I was then called to swaer the oath of allegiance to "The Brotherhood of Skinheads'. I knew this off by heart and said it loud and clear, so all would know I meant every word. I felt proud to finally be uttering these words, words I had wanted to say since meeting Mick. Once the oath was said, I was given a sharp ceremonial dagger which had the crew's emblem and motto's on it. I cut the palm of my hand, and then passed the dagger to Mick who did the same, passing it on to the next in line. Each member of the crew carried out this task. I then placed my hand on the hand of each member of the crew, joining this brother in blood. Then the crew joined hands in the centre, renewing their oaths and mixing their blood with their brothers in arms. This done, we hooped and hollered and Oi'd for many minutes hugging, kissing and slapping each other in a celebration of brotherhood.

The serious ceremony over, Mick now went to the bar and grabbed the parcels. He arranged them in an order only he knew, and brought them over to the group.
"Babe, the crew have decided you have to change your style of clothing, and become a true skin. These are gifts from the crew to you for your birthday and initiation and allegiance to the brotherhood." He opened the first parcel and passed me a Bomber jacket in army green, with the crew's emblem on the back and the motto's on the top of each sleeve. Babe was also embroidered on the front and across the back above the emblem. I put it on immediately, and it fit perfect, and was so warm. The next parcel was a pair of bleachers. Frankie had spent 2 days bleaching and shrinking them for me, so he said, and I believe he would have too. They were tight at first, but once I had rearranged my cock to a more central position, they fitted great. The bulge was big and looked great. I was still growing and had noticed my cock was becoming much bigger. In time I was to be well endowed for my size, must be all the exercise I had given it in the past. The Fred Perry shirt was next, black with the collar and cuffs in the crew colours of red and grey. I was now starting to look the part, with the next parcel revealing 7 pairs of white heavy work socks and a pair of red braces. I was looking great and feeling proud, strutting my stuff for the crew to see. I put my boots on and the guys started to laugh, but said nothing. Did I look stupid? Did the gear not suit me? The last parcel was the biggest and had me intrigued. I had all my gear, so what could be in that large box? Mick was laughing so much: tears were rolling down his face. Frankie was on the floor rolling around in agony with laughter and so were the rest of the crew. When the mirth subsided, Mick revealed the contents of the large box. Boots! A pair of Doctor Martin's 20 hole, leather welted, hobnailed leather soled, steel-capped work boots (Doc's for short, Hugh told me). I had never seen such a more beautiful pair of work boots in my life. Big, black and the shiniest leather I had ever seen. Hugh said he had spit polished them especially for me. I knew he had, as Hugh never lied and never exaggerated, ever. Inside the boots was a pair of the longest red laces in the world I recon. It took me over 30 minutes to lace my new boots the correct way. Of course I had plenty of instruction, all different, but eventually I had them laced and on my feet. Now I knew why they were all laughing at me. I could not get up at first. The boot was hugging my calves so tight: they would not allow my ankles to flex. I was pulled up by the guys, and spent the next few minutes walking them in and getting used to the high boot. They were so comfortable, but a little restrictive, but I would get used to that.

There was a great crashing noise and the sound of a truck revving up and shouting outside. Mick immediately jumped up, calling the guys to "rumble'. We rushed outside, and saw a truck had smashed through the front gates of the compound. There were about 8 guys on the back shouting and screaming. They shoved something off the back of the truck and I could hear it crash down with a metallic sound. The 8 guys on the back and 2 from inside the truck jumped out and had pipes, bars, chains, and knives in their hands. We immediately jumped into the group to defend our turf. The battle was fierce, and Mick was in the thick of it, but the attackers targeted Mick, and 3 of them started to lay into him with bars and chains. I called on the crew to help Mick, and as sore as I was, went to Micks defence. The fight lasted for about 20 minutes, and the attackers fled once again battered and bruised, leaving the truck behind. I believe a couple got broken bones, mainly arms, and the rest cuts and bruises. The crew were very battered this time. The attack on Saturday and tonight had left its toll. Mick was rescued, but was unconscious. Frankie and I carried him to the bed, and laid him on top, I checked him out, but could see no major damage, just a lump on his forehead. I would check him out later, but the security of the compound was first priority. We went outside to try and secure the compound. As we left the club, we noticed a cage. Inside the cage was the skin we had captured, still as Mick had delivered him back to the wharf, only with a broken broom handle rammed up his arse. Blood was pouring out of his arse, and he had coughed up large amounts of blood, as it almost covered his upper torso. On checking, we found he was dead. Frankie immediately forgot about the security, opened the cage, and pulled the body out. The skin was only about my age. It was the first time I had seen the face of the fear I had smelt. Frankie removed the broom handle and chains. It was almost 15 inches long, and had been rammed up as far as it could go, rupturing body organs as it did so. The skin died from massive blood loss from ruptured organs so the Coroner said. Frankie never said a word. He went inside and brought out a bowl of water, and started to clean the skin up, washing away the blood, filth, and shit from his body.

Mick came outside about that time, his head still painful, but quite conscious. He saw what Frankie was doing and went inside and grabbed another cloth and gave Frankie a hand. Neither spoke. Once the skin was washed, Mick carried him inside and lay him on the table. He grabbed my old clothes, and the clothes the skin had been wearing in Saturdays attack, and dressed him in those clothes not torn or badly soiled. Once dressed, Mick carried him outside, placed him on the back of the truck the other skins had left, and reversed it out of the yard. Frankie jumped into the crew's truck, and I jumped into the passenger seat. We followed Mick to the nearest police station, where he parked the truck right outside the door. There was no one around. Mick got out of the truck, and walked over to our truck and we drove back to the club.

The crew had finished securing the compound, and were in a solemn mood. Mick stood just there, I could see he wanted to say something, but just could not say the words. His face was sad looking, but when he finally spoke, his words were strong and angry.
"He was just a kid. He was a skin. He didn't deserve to die. He was our brother, he had the right to live and be a brother till old age. You do not kill your brother. You rape maybe, you hit or strike maybe, you attack or defend, but you do not kill. If you capture a rival skin, you do with him as you like, but you do not injure him with permanent injuries, you do not break his bones, you do not kill your brother. You humiliate your capture and set him free to live another day. Humiliation is the ultimate revenge. You will always remember this night as the night a skinhead killed a brother. Remember and learn. It will not happen again in this island or in this crew. We will all be at the funeral dressed as he would expect, spit and polished, heads freshly shaven, and we will recite the oath over his open grave. I will meet with the 2 other crews and we will truce for the funeral." He said no more, just walked into the bedroom.

The crew left, I turned off the lights, and went into the bedroom. Mick was silent. We undressed slowly and separate. We got into bed, and Mick immediately started to weep. His body started to convulse uncontrollably, and I hugged him tightly. He continued to weep openly and I joined him. He started to become aroused and I reacted to his arousal. I was still very painful in the arse from the splitting, but I needed Mick inside me tonight, regardless of the pain it would cause. It was excruciating, but I knew it would be worth it and Mick and I both needed this coupling. Mick was gentle. His anger and violence was not present tonight, instead there was passion and love, fear and compassion, the feeling of loss and the love of a master. Mick came quickly, but remained inside me. He was warm inside me and I loved the feel of his cock resting inside me, deep inside my anus. We fell asleep hugging with Mick still deep inside me, his tears still flowing down his cheeks and onto my neck and shoulders.

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