Marcin sat leaning against the bar counter, sipping beer straight from the bottle. In the joint, old Oi! music was playing. Kuba stood next to him, in ordinary dark jeans and a white tank top that hugged his chest. He looked like any other guy from the neighborhood - except everyone here knew he was Marcin's. That he belonged to Marcin. That he was his man.
Marcin didn't have to say anything. It was enough that he placed his hand on Kuba's neck and lightly squeezed his fingers. Kuba immediately straightened up, looked straight ahead, waiting. That was enough for the buddies at the table to smirk to themselves. They knew what it meant.
"Come," Marcin tossed in a low voice, not even looking at Kuba. He just stood up and headed toward the back exit, to the courtyard behind the pub. Kuba followed him without a word. It was always like that.
Behind the bar, it was dark. Marcin leaned against the wall, unzipped his fly, and pulled out his thick, heavy cock. Kuba knelt right away. Without asking. Without hesitation. He opened his mouth and took it deep, the way Marcin liked - hard, right to the throat, until tears welled up in his eyes. Marcin grabbed him by the hair at the back of his head and started fucking his mouth, slowly but firmly. Kuba only moaned quietly, but didn't try to pull back.
After a moment, the door behind them creaked. Bartek and Grześ came out. They stood there, watching. Marcin didn't even slow down.
"You want some?" he just asked, not taking his eyes off Kuba, who was just choking on his cock.
Bartek laughed.
"What do you think?"
Marcin pulled out of Kuba's mouth, leaving him with his mouth open and saliva dripping down his chin. Kuba didn't move. He waited.
"Go for it then," Marcin said and stepped back a pace.
Bartek went first. He unzipped, pulled out his own - smaller than Marcin's. He shoved it into Kuba's throat without ceremony. Kuba took it all into his mouth, as always. Grześ stood nearby, smoking a cigarette and watching.
"Fuck, he sucks so nicely," Bartek muttered, fucking Kuba's mouth. "Like he was born for it."
Marcin just smiled.
"Because he was born for it."
Kuba had his eyes closed. He took everything. Like that was his place. Like that was the only thing he knew how to do well.
When Bartek finished - straight down the throat - Kuba swallowed it all. Without a grimace. Then he took Grześ. Then Marcin again. And then Bartek once more. Until all three were satisfied.
They went back inside. Kuba had red lips, slightly swollen. Saliva and cum dripped down his chin. But he walked straight. With his head held high. Because he was his man. And he was proud of it.
***
At home, it was different.
Marcin undressed slowly. He watched. Kuba stood naked, smooth as a child - because Marcin shaved him every week. His whole body. Chest. Back. Balls. Legs. Pussy. Everything. Thoroughly. So he'd be clean. So he'd be ready. So he'd be perfect.
Marcin liked watching Kuba stand before him - tall, muscular, but completely submissive. With his cock hanging heavily between his legs, with a smooth pussy, pink and tight. He liked touching him. With fingers. With tongue. He liked opening him up.
"Spread yourself," he said quietly.
Kuba lay on the bed, on his back, spreading his legs wide. Marcin entered him slowly. First with fingers. Then with tongue. Until Kuba started moaning and begging.
"Please…"
"What?"
"Put it in me…"
"What do you want me to put in?"
"Your cock. Please. In my pussy."
Marcin laughed. But he put it in. Slowly. Until Kuba howled with pleasure. Because that was his role. To be fucked. To be taken. For his man to have him - all of him.
And then he shared him. Because a real skinhead doesn't hide his man. He shows him off, gives him away. Because his man is his pride.
***
On Friday evening, there were six of them. Marcin, Bartek, Grześ, Seba, Łysy, and Długi. They sat in Marcin's apartment. Beer. Music. Kuba walked around in just boxers - white, tight ones that Marcin made him wear at home.
Marcin sat on the couch, with his legs spread wide. Kuba knelt between them, sucking slowly, as if it were the most important task in the world. The buddies watched.
"Fuck, he really likes it," Seba said.
"Because he does," Marcin replied.
After a moment, Marcin pulled out of Kuba's mouth.
"So, who's first?"
They all laughed.
They started right away.
Kuba lay on the table, on his back. Legs up. Marcin entered him first. He fucked him hard, until the table creaked.
Then Bartek. Then Grześ. Then Seba.
Kuba took them all. One after another. Without a break. With his mouth open. With his legs spread. With his pussy wrecked and red.
When Łysy entered—thick, heavy, with a cock like a club—Kuba howled. But he took it, all of it. To the end.
Długi was last. He entered from behind. Kuba knelt on all fours, face in the pillow. Długi fucked him like an animal.
"Go on, go on," Marcin said, standing nearby and smoking a cigarette. "Fuck him hard. He likes it."
When they finished, Kuba lay on the floor. Covered in cum. On his face. On his chest. In his pussy. Everywhere.
Marcin approached, lifted him up. Hugged him.
"Good boy," he said quietly. "Mine."
Kuba just nodded. Because he was Marcin's.
On Sunday morning, Marcin shaved him again.
Kuba stood in the shower, naked. Marcin sat on a stool, with a razor in hand. Marcin spread Kuba's legs and smeared on foam.
"You like being smooth?" Marcin asked.
"Yes."
"For whom are you smooth?"
"For you."
"And for whom else?"
"For your buddies."
Marcin smiled. Then he took him in the shower.
***
"His woman is hidden. His man is on display." That sentence hung in the air for years, like an unspoken law among the crew. No one repeated it out loud, because they didn't have to. Everyone knew.
Kuba entered the "Red Dog" a little after ten-thirty. An ordinary Friday in an ordinary November. Bomber jacket unzipped, white tank top underneath, dark jeans, boots. There were already about twenty guys in the joint. Music thumped, someone yelled at the foosball table, smoke stung the throat.
Marcin sat in the corner, in his spot. Legs spread wide, elbow on the table, beer in hand. When he saw Kuba, he just raised an eyebrow. That was enough. Kuba approached slowly, no words needed. He stood before him. Marcin grabbed him by the belt, pulled him closer, between his thighs. Fingers dug into the skin under the jeans.
"You're five minutes late," he said quietly, but in a way that Kuba felt it in his spine.
"The bus."
"Next time, leave earlier."
"Got it."
Marcin let go of the belt, moved his hand higher, under the tank top, over the smooth chest.
"Go say hello," Marcin tossed, leaning back in the chair.
Kuba turned and headed toward the bar. On the way, anyone who wanted slapped him on the ass. Someone grabbed his butt through the jeans and squeezed lightly. Kuba didn't react. He just kept going. That was the greeting. Normal.
At the counter stood Bartek with Grześ. Bartek threw an arm around him, pulled him close tightly.
"Hey there, little whore," he muttered right into his ear. "I missed that pussy."
Kuba smiled weakly.
The first hour passed with drinking, talking, laughing. Kuba sat on Marcin's lap, facing away from him, with his hand slipped under the guy's tank top. Marcin pinched his nipple every now and then or slid his fingers over his stomach, lower, under the belt. Kuba didn't move. He just drank beer and listened as the guys talked about work, football matches, how some leftie got punched in the face by them at a protest.
At half past eleven, Marcin stood up.
"We're going to the back," he said loudly.
No one asked why. They just went. Ten guys. Kuba walked in the middle, surrounded. They locked the courtyard door from inside.
***
When the last one finished in his mouth, Marcin grabbed Kuba by the hair and lifted him.
"On the barrel," he ordered.
Kuba lay on his back on the cold metal. Legs spread wide, knees pulled to his chest. Pussy open, wet from saliva and arousal.
"Fuck," someone groaned from behind. "Look how his cunt is spreading."
Marcin fucked hard, with all his strength.
They went back inside. Kuba's boxers were wet from the guys' cum. He sat on Marcin's lap. Marcin slipped his hand in from behind, under the fabric, putting two fingers in the pussy. Kuba sighed quietly.
"We're not done yet," Marcin said loudly.
The buddies laughed.
***
At two in the morning, they moved to Marcin's apartment. Two rooms on the eighth floor in a panel block. Door locked with two locks, and Marcin's woman sat in the other room.
Marcin sat next to him. Lit a cigarette. Looked at him for a long time.
"I love you, you know?" he said quietly.
Kuba smiled.
"I know."
Marcin put out the cigarette, lay down next to him. Hugged him tightly. Kuba nestled into him, all dirty, smelling of cum and sweat.
The next day, Saturday afternoon, Marcin fucked him in the shower. Kuba stood leaning against the tiles, water running down them, Marcin's cum finally filling his pussy. Then they washed. Marcin dried Kuba with a towel, like a child. Kissed his neck. The evening was calmer. Just the two of them. Movie. Beer. Kuba lay with his head between Marcin's thighs, and Marcin lazily played with his own cock.
***
Marcin left the stairwell at seven in the morning, as always in a black bomber, Dr. Martens, and hands in pockets. November, gray, wet, but a few guys from the crew were already milling around the neighborhood. He nodded to them, they to him. No one greeted loudly, no need.
Kuba locked the door with two locks, adjusted his backpack on his shoulder. White sneakers, dark jeans, gray hoodie, ordinary white tank top underneath. Hair buzzed to a number one two days ago by Marcin. He went down the stairs slowly, like he wasn't in a hurry anywhere. Downstairs, Marcin waited, leaning against the wall, cigarette in mouth.
"Good morning," Kuba said quietly.
Marcin didn't answer. He just grabbed him by the neck, pulled him close, and kissed him hard, with tongue, right in the middle of the stairwell, so anyone coming out or in could see. Kuba didn't resist. On the contrary, he opened his mouth wider, let Marcin possess him for those few seconds. When Marcin pulled away, Kuba had wet lips and slightly quickened breath.
"Let's go," Marcin tossed and walked ahead.
They walked to the bus stop together. Marcin in front, Kuba half a step behind. At the stop, a few guys from the block were already standing. One, Paweł, nodded to Kuba.
"What's up, faggot?"
Kuba smiled.
"Cool."
"You guys gonna be at the 'Dog' tonight?"
"We will," Marcin replied instead.
The bus arrived. They got on. Marcin sat by the window, Kuba on his lap. Marcin slipped his hand under Kuba's hoodie, under the tank top, touching his smooth belly skin. Kuba sat motionless, looking straight ahead. Marcin's fingers slid higher, pinching the nipple. No one on the bus looked. Or pretended not to.
At work, Kuba sat at a desk in an open space, ordinary logistics company, nothing special. Wrote emails, took calls. Normal guy. Only every now and then he glanced at his phone. Message from Marcin: "Be home at 6:00."
At five-thirty, he left. At home, shower first. Then he waited. Naked. On all fours in the hallway. Exactly how Marcin liked.
Marcin came in at six-fifteen. Tossed keys on the cabinet, took off his jacket. Looked at Kuba.
"Stand up."
Kuba stood. Marcin approached, pulled his cock out of his pants, pulled back the foreskin, and squeezed it lightly.
He went to the bathroom. Kuba followed. Marcin handed him his dick. Kuba knelt between his legs and took it in his mouth. Deeply, exactly how Marcin had taught him over all these years. Marcin smoked a cigarette, looked in the mirror, sometimes just placed his hand on the back of Kuba's head and pushed harder.
"Good," he muttered after ten minutes and came straight down the throat.
Kuba swallowed it all. Then wiped his mouth with the hoodie sleeve.
***
Marcin never said "my boyfriend." He said "my man." And he said it loudly, with pride, with his hand on Kuba's neck, so everyone within ten meters knew what was up.
Kuba was twenty-eight, six-foot-two, shoulders like a swimmer, arms that could disassemble a Golf engine in twenty minutes, and a face that the girls in the neighborhood called "hottie." He walked in ordinary dark Levi's 501 jeans, white Fruit of the Loom tank tops, and black Martens. No earrings, no tattoos, no bling. Ordinary, strong guy from the projects. Except that for five years, he belonged to Marcin completely. And everyone in the crew knew it.
The beginning was simple. They met at a match. Warsaw–Łódź, closed sector. Kuba stood next to Marcin by chance, but when the opposing hooligans charged, Kuba grabbed a chair leg and stood shoulder to shoulder. After the match, Marcin bought him a beer and said:
"Come with us."
Kuba went. And stayed.
The first time, Marcin took him by force, a week later, after a won match. Kuba knelt on the cold floor, and Marcin fucked his throat, holding his hair. Kuba cried, but not from pain. From relief.
Marcin set the rule: every Saturday evening, he shaves Kuba. Shaves his whole body. Chest, back, stomach, legs, balls, and pussy. Thoroughly, with foam and a new razor. Kuba stands in the tub, hands against the wall, legs spread. Marcin kneels behind him, spreads his cheeks, and runs the blade over the most sensitive skin. Kuba trembles, but stands still. Because he knows if he twitches—he'll get punched in the face.
"You'll be clean," Marcin says quietly, rinsing off the foam.
On Friday, November 17, Kuba finishes work at four. Leaves the office, puts on his jacket, and goes straight home. On the way, buys a pack of L&M Red and a six-pack of Żywiec beer. Enters the apartment, closes the door, takes off everything except boxers, and kneels in the hallway. Waits.
Marcin returns at six-forty-three. Tosses keys, takes off the bomber, looks at Kuba.
"Stand up. Show yourself."
Kuba stands up. Marcin walks around him slowly, like an inspector. Runs his hand over the chest, stomach, back. Stops behind, spreads the cheeks.
"Good. Smooth as silk." Slips a finger into the pussy dry. Kuba sighs.
"What?"
"Because I'm thinking about tonight."
Marcin laughs low, slaps his ass.
"Get dressed. We're going hard."
***
Marcin sits in his corner on the couch. Kuba sits on his lap. Bartek approaches, hands over beer.
"It's gonna be heavy tonight," Bartek says. "Some guys from Łódź came."
Marcin nods.
"All the better."
For the first hour, Kuba sits on Marcin like on a throne. Whoever wanted approached, groped, kissed his neck, or bit his ear. Kuba drinks beer and allows it. Sometimes someone slips a hand into his pants, feels the ass, slips a finger into the pussy. Kuba just smiles.
At half past ten, Marcin stands up.
"Drop your pants."
Kuba pulls down his jeans and boxers to his ankles. Stands with a hard cock and smooth ass on display. Marcin grabs him by the hair, pushes him to his knees.
"We start."
First is Marcin. Pulls out his cock and shoves it into Kuba's throat in one motion. Kuba chokes, but takes it all. Marcin fucks the throat hard, until tears stream down Kuba's cheeks.
"Look at him," Marcin says, not slowing. "Look how nicely he swallows."
Bartek has already unzipped, jerking off nearby. After five minutes, Marcin pulls out with a loud smack.
"Your turn."
Bartek enters Kuba's mouth like butter. Fucks hard, holding by the ears.
"Fuck, he sucks like a pro."
After Bartek, Grześ. Grześ has a long, thin cock, but with a big head. Shoves it to the balls. Kuba gurgles.
Then Seba. Seba likes fucking the throat slowly, looking in the eyes. Kuba looks up, tearing up, but doesn't look away.
Długi has a cock like a sausage. Barely fits in the mouth. Kuba stretches his lips to the limit, but takes it. Długi fucks him like a machine, until saliva pours in a stream.
Łysy, Młody, Paweł, Kosa, Szrama, and five more new ones from Łódź. Each gets Kuba's throat for a few minutes. When the last from Łódź finishes in his mouth, Kuba swallows and pants heavily. Marcin grabs him by the hair, stands him up.
"On the Golf hood."
Someone opens the hood of the old Golf II parked in the courtyard. Kuba lies on his back, legs up, spread wide.
Marcin enters first. Kuba screams loudly, but it's a scream of pleasure.
"Shut your mouth," Marcin growls and shoves fingers into his mouth.
Fucks hard, deep, balls slapping against the ass with a smack. After seven minutes, pulls out his cock.
"Bartek."
And so on. Eighteen guys. Each takes Kuba's pussy as long as he wants. Some finish inside - hot streams fill Kuba to the brim. Some pull out and cum on the stomach, chest, face, in the hair. After an hour, Kuba's pussy is red, swollen, open to five fingers, cum dripping in streams down the thighs.
When the last one finishes, Kuba lies on the hood, pants, trembles, eyes glassy.
Marcin approaches, kisses him hard on the mouth, with tongue.
"Good man," he says loudly. "My man."
***
Marcin sits next to him, lights a cigarette, looks.
"I love you, you know?"
Kuba nods. Can't speak - his throat is raw.
Marcin puts out the cigarette, lies down next to him, hugs him tightly. And they fall asleep like that - Marcin clothed, Kuba naked, dirty, happy.
On Saturday morning, Marcin wakes Kuba at ten. Coffee, cigarette, shower together. Then breakfast. Kuba in just boxers, Marcin feeds him with a spoon from the plate.
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