Skinheads.

★

if i look back, i am lost
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@schwoin
Skinheads.
Go ahead boy, step on up, You might like it.
I will ty you up c*cks*cker for USE & ABUSE& f*cking deep your holes..
yeah!!!
Alex the skin meets Liam
The grey sky hung low over the council estate, mirroring the mood that usually clung to the place. Cracked pavements, boarded-up windows, and the incessant drone of traffic painted a bleak picture. I’d lived here my whole life, and honestly, I’d never seen a reason to leave. Maybe that was why I was still stuck in the same rut – a dead-end job at the local garage, nights spent drinking lukewarm lager with the same old faces.
Then I met him.
I was leaning against the wall of the off license, waiting for Kev to get his smokes, when he strolled past. He was… imposing. A mountain of a man, easily six foot four, with a shaved head gleaming under the dull streetlights. His muscles strained against the fabric of his black Fred Perry polo, the tattoos on his arms dark and intricate. He wore bleached jeans so tight I could have counted the coins in his pocket, and the way he walked, with a kind of confident swagger, made my breath catch. And the bulge… well, there was no mistaking the hard outline that strained against the denim, a blatant display that made my heart pound a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
He met my gaze, his eyes a startling blue against his tanned skin. There wasn’t any hostility in them, just… an intense scrutiny that made me feel like I was being peeled open, layer by layer.
“Alright?” he rumbled, his voice surprisingly soft.
“Yeah, you?” I managed, my own voice sounding thin and reedy compared to his.
“I’m Alex,” he said, extending a hand. His grip was firm, sending a jolt of electricity through me.
“Liam,” I replied, my palm tingling where he’d touched me.
We stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, the noise of the estate fading away into a dull hum. Kev finally emerged from the shop, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and gave Alex a wary once-over.
“Alright, mate,” Kev said, a bit too loud. “You buying?”
Alex just gave him a curt nod before turning back to me. “Fancy a drink?”
I glanced at Kev, who shrugged. “Go on then, mate. Catch you later.”
And just like that, I found myself walking with Alex towards The Lion's Head, the local pub, my mind still reeling. I didn't know why, but I felt this pull towards him, an almost magnetic force, something I’d never experienced before.
Inside, the pub was dimly lit and smelled of stale beer and smoke. We found a quiet corner booth, and as we settled in, I couldn't help but steal glances at Alex. He had an aura about him, a mix of raw power and unexpected gentleness. He talked about his work in construction, the pride he took in his craft, the precision he demanded. I found myself captivated. It was so different from the usual conversations I was used to– all gossip and football scores.
Over the next few weeks, we spent almost every night together. We'd hang out in the pub, walk along the canal, or simply sit in his small, surprisingly tidy flat, listening to old ska records. Alex started telling me about skinhead culture, about the pride and brotherhood, the music that resonated with his soul. At first, I was hesitant, a bit apprehensive of the image I had in my head of what a skinhead was, but slowly, he broke down my preconceptions. He showed me the loyalty, the respect that was at its core.
One rainy afternoon, he looked at me with those intense blue eyes and said, "You'd look good with a number one, Liam."
My heart skipped a beat, but strangely, I didn’t say no. I was starting to feel a different kind of pull, a need to be closer to him in every possible way.
That evening, he took me into his bathroom and shaved my head. The cool steel against my scalp was a strange sensation, a mix of fear and excitement. When it was done, I looked at myself in the mirror. Gone was the unruly mop of brown hair. I looked… different. Stronger, somehow. Then he started to dress me. A white Fred Perry, dark jeans, and Doc Martens. He even produced a Harrington jacket that fit perfectly.
“You look… brilliant,” he breathed, his gaze locking onto mine. “Like you were meant to be this way.”
The next few weeks were a whirlwind. I started working out with Alex, my body slowly morphing into something stronger, more defined. We listened to more music, shared more stories, and that tension, that unspoken need between us, grew stronger.
One night, we were sitting side by side on his sofa, sharing a cigarette. The air crackled with unspoken desire. He turned to me, his eyes filled with a tenderness I’d only seen glimpses of before.
“Liam,” he whispered, his voice husky. “I want you.”
I didn’t hesitate. I kissed him, all the feelings I’d been holding back exploding into that one moment. It was raw, passionate, and real. His hands were both powerful and gentle as he explored my body. When he pulled me down to his lap, I felt the solid heat of him against my thigh. He looked at me, those blue eyes burning into me, and kissed me again, more deeply this time.
That night, the transformation was complete. I wasn't just Liam from the garage anymore. I was Liam, Alex's skinhead lover. I’d become part of something bigger, something real. It wasn't just about the clothes or the music or the shaved head. It was about the love, the loyalty, the connection that Alex had awakened in me. It was about finding myself in the arms of a man who saw me for who I truly was, underneath the layers of uncertainty and apathy. The council estate still looked the same, but the world around me, the world inside me, had changed forever. I was finally home.
Happenstance meeting leads to becoming a skinhead.
The ABCs of Being a Faggot
A good faggot is the product of good education and training. And the foundation of everyone’s education, of course, is the ABCs. Here’s a new alphabet that every faggot should learn:
A is for Ass. A faggot must always be prepared to sniff, eat and lick a Man’s ass — whether it’s clean or dirty, smooth or hairy, dry or sweaty. As a faggot, it’s your duty to be a human asswipe wherever and whenever your services are needed.
B is for Balls. A faggot never neglects a Man’s balls. Fresh from a shower or ripe and sweaty after days without a shower, His sack is your snack.
C is for Cum. Cum is the staple of the faggot diet. Your primary source for sustenance, therefore, should always be seed. It is your lifeblood. Down your throat or in your ass, you need a constant supply of cock snot and must be willing to do whatever it takes to get fed.
D is for Dick. A faggot exists to service and worship dick. Never forget it. His dick is your deity.
E is for Enema. Unless otherwise instructed by his Master, a faggot always must keep his hole in pristine condition: clean, shaved and ready to be used at a moment’s notice.
F is for Feet. Figuratively and literally, faggots live at the feet of real Men. At your Master’s feet, therefore, is where you belong. Furthermore, it’s your duty as a faggot to worship Men’s feet. Stinky, sweaty, dirty, bare, socked — it doesn’t matter. When you’re so commanded, you are to lick, sniff and suck your Master’s feet.
G is for Gangbang. Faggots are ideal for sharing. Even if you belong to just one Master, therefore, you must be mentally and physically prepared to be passed around among Men, who will bond over the experience of sharing your holes.
H is for Hole. Every faggot has two holes, both of which were designed to be used and abused by Men. It is not up to the faggot which hole is used; a Man may choose to occupy — and, if He so desires, ruin — whatever hole He pleases.
I is for Inspection. Faggots are subject to frequent and thorough inspections by Men, who have the right to ensure their faggot meets their standards both physically and mentally. You must be prepared to have every inch of your body examined and prodded during an inspection, and — at the discretion of the Man who is inspecting you — to either thank Him if you receive a passing grade, or to commit yourself to making whatever improvements He deems necessary if you receive a failing grade.
J is for Jerking Off. When they are being used, faggots are not permitted to pleasure themselves, unless given permission to do so by the Man they’re servicing. This includes jerking their fag-dick and cumming; a faggot is not allowed to do either without prior permission.
K is for Kneeling. A faggot’s default position is on his knees. Unless ordered otherwise, a faggot should never stand or sit in the presence of a Man; he should always kneel.
L is for Licking. A faggot must get used to licking, because he will do a lot of it. He will lick his Master’s cock and balls, for instance. He will lick his Master’s ripe shit hole. He will lick his Master’s feet. He will lick up spilled spit, piss and cum from the floor. He may even be required to lick the shit and piss stains from toilets.
M is for Masochism. Faggots are masochistic by nature. They enjoy being used, degraded and abused. It is their place in life. If you’re going to be a practicing faggot, you must get used to the idea that you are less than a Man — perhaps even less than human — and will be treated as such.
N is for Nipples. A faggot must recognize that His Master’s nipples are centers of pleasure, and deserve to be licked and sucked for his Master’s enjoyment. Likewise, he must recognize that his own nipples are centers of pain, and will be used for training or during punishment if so desired by his Master.
O is for Obedience. As a faggot, it’s your duty to obey Men. When they tell you to do something — no matter how humiliating, scary, gross, etc. — you do it. End of story. In the event that you do not obey, you should be ready and willing to receive appropriate punishment for your disobedience, which might range from spanking to solitary confinement to chastity, or anything in between.
P is for Poppers. Many Men love using poppered-up pigs. If your Master is one of them, you must open your nose and inhale from his little brown bottle whenever he presents it. It is your duty to please him, so if he tells you to sniff, you had better sniff long, hard and deep.
Q is for Quiet. A good faggot expresses appreciation to the Men he services with verbal thanks and moans of pleasure. However, there comes a time when every Man demands that a faggot simply shut up and take it. During these times, it’s your duty as a faggot to remain quiet — and to be gagged if you fail to do so.
R is for Restraints. Faggots often must be bound and restrained in order to be of maximum use to the Men they service. As a faggot, therefore, you must not object when your Master breaks out the rope, handcuffs and chains. If He needs you to be immobilized so that He may make optimal use of your fag holes, you must submit. He knows what’s best.
S is for Service. Faggots must have a servant’s heart. Service and enslavement are in your faggot nature; embrace them.
T is for Toilet. “Faggot” is a synonym for “toilet.” As a faggot, therefore, your holes must be available for Men to use as they would any other toilet. That is, as a receptacle for spit, piss, cum, snot, farts and perhaps even shit. Not every Man will choose to use His faggot this way, but if you’re to be a true faggot you must resign yourself to your role as a waste receptacle. If a Man’s body produces it, it is His right to dispose of it in you.
U is for Underwear. Unless otherwise instructed, faggots are not allowed to wear underwear — or any clothes, for that matter — in the presence of Men, as their holes must be as available and as accessible as possible. The only exception is a jockstrap; because it does not block access to a faggot’s cunt, a jockstrap is an acceptable fag uniform.
V is for Vibrator. As a faggot, your hole should be constantly occupied. When it is not filled with cock, then, it should be occupied by a vibrator or another anal toy — a dildo, perhaps, anal beads or a butt plug.
W is for Whore. Faggots are whores. Remember this. If you find yourself feeling ashamed or embarrassed or regretful of your fag activities, remind yourself that you are a whore. The knowledge that you are fulfilling your God-given purpose in life should be comforting, such that you can continue your mission of sexual servitude.
X is for X-ray. Remember that Men have the equivalent of X-ray vision when it comes to spotting pigs and whores. If you’re a faggot, they will see it and they will know it. There is no use pretending to be a real Man, therefore. You might as well give in and accept your true identity as a faggot, because everyone around you already sees it and knows it — even if you yourself are trying to deny it.
Y is for Yes. As in, “Yes, Sir,” which is the only phrase a faggot should know how to say.
Z is for Zoo. It’s no accident that many faggots identify as “pigs,” “otters,” “cubs” and “pups.” If they weren’t so useful to Men out in the real world, faggots would likely be kept in a zoo alongside the real pigs and pups. If you ever feel the urge to talk back to a Man, therefore, or to demand equal treatment from one, stop and remember that you’re really just another animal; the Man is doing what’s good and right by trying to domesticate you so you may live alongside him in society instead of in a zoo.
Swap? Absolutely! Way too many total bottoms out here.
❤️❤️❤️💪💪💪
Auf der Klappe mit einem megaheißen Bengel (ich rechts er links)
Der Bengel trägt meinen Saft voller Stolz in sich.