A Mormon’s True Calling.

By Malskin
published June 6, 2020
3184 words
Summary

The tail of a new commissioned Mormon on his first assignment overseas, when he knocks on a door his life will change for ever in a direction, he never thought possible.

A Mormon’s True Calling.

By Malskin (and his Skin Alpha Lad)

The tail of a new commissioned Mormon on his first assignment overseas, when he knocks on a door his life will change for ever in a direction, he never thought possible.

Comments are welcomed

Rain poured down. Typical, just how the Americans assume the English weather to be. It was part of the rules that Mormon missionaries go out in pairs, which is what happened that fateful Friday afternoon. And so it was, a long, dreary wet January week, in a large Black County West Midlands town in the UK that, covered with large black umbrellas and wrapped up warm, the two men wandered among the mixture of new and old back to back houses with a social mix that was just as varied.

Under their warm raincoats they were dressed in smart suits, white shirt and black ties and were going from door to door to spread the good news of the lord. Often however, doors were just being shut in their faces. Michael, the younger of the two, had not long arrived in the UK, looking at him you would put him in his early twenties, a good boy next door type, that you see depicted as, ‘All American.’ He stood at six foot two inches tall, his body was in good shape, framed perfectly by his white shirt tight across his chest, showing off his rounded muscular pecs. He had been sent to the UK, as he had worked hard in school, graduating top of his class and the only one to be sent overseas as a missionary for the church from his school. Following his success, he was excited to do the work that God had called him to do. As well as this he was keen to develop his immense intellect in one of the most historic countries in the world. Like a large number of young men, he had a girlfriend back in the States, waiting for his return.

The other man, William, was in his late thirties and had been in the UK for a number of years, he was not bad looking himself, standing at about six foot five, clean cut like all Mormon men. He had been put in charge of Michael and it was his place to shadow Michael, as he was older and more experienced.

It was getting late and the light had already started to fade for the day. They made their way down another street, this street was much more working class; with traditional terrace houses, some were boarded up. As they made their way down the street they knocked on some doors, which, more often than not, were shut in their faces. William was there to encourage Michael. They walked past a few boarded up houses, until they came to a house with a light on in the front room. Either side of it, there were more boarded up houses like the majority of the street. William instructed Michael that on the next house, he would take the lead. William would watch and if needs be would gently put him right. Michael knocked on the door and soon heard the sound of heavy boots marching towards it from the other side. The door opened and an intimidating skinhead, who filled the door frame, asked what they wanted in an aggressive manner.

With his American accent, Michael very politely introduced himself as Elder Michael and his partner as Elder William. He started off by thanking the skinhead for opening the door in the first place then went on to say, he would like to talk to him about the work of the mission, The Skinhead invited them both in.

Once seated, Michael, went straight into the prepared script that he had been taught in school. He went on to explain the book of Mormon to him. The skinhead sat back and listened to what they were telling him. The skinhead sat back in his aging worn armchair and placed his booted foot onto his knee. The men could see the tip of the boot and tread fully. Michael felt a slight trepidation but continued as the skinhead looked interested. Unknown to either pious man the skinhead was focused on Michael more so then William. Although Michael uncomfortable, as he felt the skinhead’s deep stare boring into him but as he was leading the conversation he thought that to be the reason. Michael discomfort was heightened however by the smell of tobacco that filled the room. He did not approve of smoking in the slightest and thought, quietly to himself, once we convert this man that will be one of the changes that will be high on his list. Turn this skinhead man into a devout non-smoker.

After about ten to fifteen minutes of politely listening to the missionaries, he interrupted them and asked if they would like a drink. Michael thanked him and after checking that the drink were allowed, Michael nodded the affirmation the skinhead needed. He brought them some drinks. Michael carried on talking, after some time Michael started to slur his words, both missionaries started to feel light headed and then slumped where they were sitting.

The skinhead was more interested in Michael, gratifyingly fresh, just out of missionary school, new to the country and as yet not many friends other than his fellow missionary. Just perfect for what he had in mind.

He moved across to the missionaries who were not exactly unconscious just in a trance and open to suggestion. First, he told the older of the two, to sit back and relax and to remember that they had simply had a good chat, once instructed, he would remain in a trance and leave with Michael. They would head back up the street and only when they turned the corner would they fully wake with the memory of the conversation planted by the skinhead.

Michael, on the other hand, The Skinhead had plans for. While he was deep asleep, he whispered in his ear, using a monotone voice, you could hardly hear. He told Michael, that once they had finished for the day, he was to sneak out of the house which he shared with the older guy and return to him for further instructions, soon after he instructed them to leave, fully programmed with false memories. They walked out of the house, faces blank. They walked along the street and turned the corner and were back to normal as the skinhead had instructed them to be.


At nine o clock sharp there was a knock on the skinhead’s door and Michael walked in still in his suit, wet from the rain, he had a vacant look in his eyes which said he did not have a care in the world. He addressed the lad standing in front of him, “So you thought you could come into my fucking house and convert me? Well it’s going to be the other fucking way round lad.” The skinhead gave him an evil smirk; the first part of his work was working perfectly, so far.

The skinhead ordered the lad to undress, which he did without thinking about it, under his shirt he wore the ‘temple clothing’ that Mormons wear which was also wet through.

He lead the lad into another room sat him down in front of a computer screen He placed ear buds into his ears, turned off the light in the room, he told the lad to look forward towards the screen, as he was about to leave. He clicked on the icon of a skinhead symbol on the screen, which opened the program, that was about to change Michael’s life. First, there was a bright pulse of multicolours. The lad eyes were drawn to it. At the same time, the Skinhead could faintly hear a high pitch sound radiating from the ear buds.

As the Skinhead left the room, all he could see was the silhouette of the lad facing the screen. His eyes caught a small glimpse of the swirling patterns on the screen. He left the room to let the program do its stuff and went to bed.


The first part of the program had been designed to extract all the information about Michael’s past life, it showed his clean cut home life, back in the states, memories flashed up of him growing up in a loving family, attending the temple, his education, how he had met his girlfriend, accepting the strict rules of the Mormons, only eating and drinking the correct foods. His body was a temple and to be used in accordance with the teachings of the book of Mormon. All other things about society was rejected.

All of these things where collated and put into a file in part of his brain, like a computer, these were put in the recycle bin, which, then got deleted.

Once this part of the program had been completed, Michael’s brain was like a sponge and soaked up everything he saw and heard, his brain was bombarded with images of skinheads on the screen, shaved heads in bleachers booted up and wearing braces.

In his ears he could hear the skinhead talking to him, telling him to relax and forget his old life and embrace his new life, to totally believe in what he was seeing and hearing, he heard chanting, loads of foul language and swearing, skinhead music, telling him to look straight forward and let the images and the sounds control him.

As the night went on, the program changed showing Michael, more graphic imageries of skinheads, having sex, smoking, drinking, showing fights. If Michael was not spaced out, he would have been appalled with that he was seeing and hearing. His clean living life of the past, but that was not the case, Michael’s brain absorbed all that he was watching and hearing, and started to believe in everything he saw.

The next morning the skinhead walked into the room and Michael, was still staring at the screen with a blank expression on his face, a little drool seeping out of the corner of his mouth, his hand stroking his cock which was hard as a rock, the mushroomed head red from the constant stroking, at the tip a dribble of pre cum. The program had finished so he knew it was safe for him to switch of the computer.

He ordered the lad to face him, and asked him if he knew who he was, “Of course I fucking do Boss, and you’re my superior skin Boss, who I have to obey and look up to,”, as he said this a smile appeared on his face, he was speaking in a strong and broad Black Country / West Midlands accent, as if he had spoken with that accent all his life.

The Skinhead then lead him back to the room they had first met, he lit himself a cigarette and could see the lad look longingly towards the cigarette, as he inhaled it.

“You want one?” the Skinhead asked.

“I thought you’d never fucking ask, Boss,” he replied. Boss passed over the cigs and the lad grabbed a cig, sparked it up with a contented smile on his face, “Fuck I needed that,” between inhales, as if his life depended on it.

“Tell Me Lad, what’s your name,” Boss said to him.

“It’s Michael,” he answered, “but that too fucking posh for me, Boss I prefer Mick.”

Boss left the room and returned with two cans of lager, placed them down in front of lad, who leaned forward and pulled the tab, handing one can to his Boss and looked toward him, looking for the nod, before he pulled the other tab.

“Go on lad drink up,” Boss told him.

“Thanks Boss,” the lad replied.

The Boss was drinking his lager lying back in the chair his boots facing towards the lad, in that instant the lad knew what he had to do, he looked up towards his Boss instinctively awaiting permission. His Boss gave the nod, and he was on them in an instant, for some reason he knew what he was doing, worshipping them with every inch of his being, licking and polishing the toe caps with his tongue.

After a few hours of Mick servicing his Boss, the Boss ordered him back into the other room and told him to sit in front of the computer. Lad then put in his own ear buds and pressed another skinhead logo on the screen. Like last time, it sprang to life, taking him deeper into the world of becoming a Skinhead.


Meanwhile, across town, William had awoken and found Michael missing, he checked around the area, before calling the police. When questioned, William told them, they had both been out doing vital missionary work around town, knocking on doors, but when pressed by the police, William could not remember, where they had been. It was a complete blank.


Back at Boss’ house, Mick was undergoing more training in his new life as a skinhead. More images where ingrained into his brain; now the brain of a skinhead, the culture and the brotherhood, that they shared. Again there where videos of man on man sex, Skinheads in rubber, involving being fucked and fucking, of rough sex sessions always with a dominate skinhead being serviced by other skins. The second file finished six hours later, Mick turned the computer off and he walked back to where his Skinhead Boss, was watching TV. As he entered the room Mick said, “Boss I know exactly who and what I am now”. “So what’s that then”? His Boss asked, “I’m a Gay Skinhead and a fucking proud member of your crew” was his reply.

His Boss told him to look in the mirror, and asked him what he could see; he replied that he needed a haircut, to fit in with his new household. His Boss told him to get the clippers and then proceed to buzz all his hair off, and then with a bowl of water, he used a mac 3 razor, to make it smooth like his. This was done in front of a large mirror, so Mick could see it happening, His Boss with a cig in his gob as he did it, Mick also had a cig dangling, his cock was getting harder and harder, with pre cum flowing, the more hair that fell off.

Now My lad, I think it’s time to get you dressed more like a skinhead and he lead him into the bedroom, laying on the bed, were a pair of bleachers, these had a rear zip in them, he told the lad to put them on. He struggled to get into them, they were skin tight, showing off his bulge and he felt them tight around his arse. Once he had got in them, his Boss handed him a black polo, with white pipping on the collar, there was a logo on it Saying “Skinhead Crew” this was a lot easier to put on, it did show off his well-defined chest, the socks where next, which he rolled up his legs. The boots were next, they already had the start of the white laces, laddering up, Mick, knew exactly how to lace them up, as if he had done so on many occasions, after a short period of time the boots where tightly on his feet.

His Boss then attached the braces in the down position, passing him a pair of tight Damascus cop gloves, He struggled to pull them on, they were ultra-tight, but with some help from his Boss, they had encased his hands and fingers, Mick, looked at his hands, staring back you could see his hands had been replaced by smooth Shiny Leather.

Once he has finished dressing, his Boss led him to a full length mirror, telling Mick to close his eyes, once in position, he told his lad to open his eyes, staring back at him was a fully clothed skinhead, instantly he got a boner and could see his cock, snaking down his leg, causing a damp patch to appear, down his leg in his bleachers. As he was looking at himself, he saw his lip curl up into an aggressive sneer, which matched his Boss. “Yeah that’s more fucking like it,” he shouted out loud. It was only the start to his New Life….


That was a six months ago, searches took place, but there was no sign of clean cut Michael anywhere to be found, The authorities came to the conclusion that Michael, must have gone AWOL and the file was closed. Just another missing person, if they only knew where to look in the run down part of town. In fact, William did just that. By sheer chance, he and his new associate, Marie, were walking down the same street where Mick now lived with his Boss. There was something familiar about it but William just could not recall. He knocked on Boss’ door and this time it was Mick who answered the door. But Mick had changed His soft fresh clean cut look was gone replaced with a hardened, mean skinhead look. A rolled up cig hung from his lip, and his large rough hands were clenched.

“Yeah, whatta you want?” he growled at the two missionaries.

William froze for just a second, there was something in this man he recognised but he could not think what. “We are here to spread the word of the lord,” William announced.

Mick glared at them menacingly, “Why the fuck do I wanna ‘ear ‘bout that shit for? Fuck off, ya pair of stuck up cunts,” he rattled off at them and turned slamming the door in their faces. Boss now knew that Mick had no recollection of his previous life.

William and Marie walked away rather shocked. For some reason though William’s cock was hard and he did not know why. A voice muttered something from deep in his brain and William knew it was not the voice of God.

He grabbed Marie’s arm and oblivious to what he was saying told her, “Quick we need to get the fuck outta here!” Marie stared at him for a second before being dragged away.

In the photo you can see Michael, or Mick as he now prefers to call himself, taken while out with his Skinhead mates, he has had a good night out patrolling the streets, He is on a mission, his Boss has given him, he knew when he got home He would get a reward for the good nights work his arse fucked and seeded……..

photo taken from the net, if you own it contact me and i will take it off

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