Title:  Revenge
Author: SBaker
Fandom:  HollyOaks
Pairing:  Rob/Lewis
Rating: NC17, violence, enforced sex.
Series:  Yes, chapters 3-7 of 'Revenge'.
Email: sebastian@the-wilderness.freeserve.co.uk 


by S. Baker

Chapter 3

Thump, thump, thump…the frightful pounding in his head was back with a vengence, but this time Lewis knew it wasn’t a hangover. He lay quietly, wondering where he would find himself this time when he opened his eyes. He supposed he wasn’t dead, surely dead people don’t have headaches?

Or was it one of the torments of hell reserved for sick cunts like himself, debased animals who got off on being at the mercy of lying, murdering

sadists? Strangely the crystal-sharp memory of what had been done to him, what he had begged Rob to do to him both vocally and by the arousal of his own body no longer filled him with shame. He felt serene, empty, unafraid of what Hawthorn had in store for him.

He flexed his limbs and stretched, his eyelids peeled apart gluely. Rob had untied him and laid him on a crash mat, covering him with his jacket. His other clothes were in a neat pile close by, but Rob was gone. He could see the old vaulting horse in the centre of the cluttered room, but not the ropes and cuffs. He rubbed his wrists and felt a warmth between his thighs as he recalled the secure grip of the leather restraining his arms and legs. A slight redness, already fading, at the more bony parts of his joints was all that showed of his struggles against his bonds; the cuffs had been very well padded…there was no sign of bruising. His face felt puckered and tight where the mixture of semen and blood had dried on his skin. Lewis reached out and snagged his jeans and pulled his hanky from his pocket. Spitting on it he scrubbed his face as his mother used to when he was a sticky child. The cloth came away streaked with pink and smelling of Hawthorn.

<My face must look a fright> he thought.

Lewis drew a deep breath and sighed.

<I’d better get home and give this some serious thought. The way I feel about this can’t be normal! Perhaps I’m in shock, I should’ve been out of here like greased lightening and straight round to the police station!>

He got up slowly and inspected himself. Rob hadn’t injured him further as he lay unconscious, there was only a slight soreness from the wound in his gum and he couldn’t even find the pinprick in the skin of his scrotum. His hips and shoulders ached rather from the stretching they had received and there was a vague discomfort in his arse. He wondered suddenly how long it had been since he chased Rob into that factory, and searching around found that Rob had stuffed his watch into his jacket pocket. Just after 2pm., still Thursday.

<God it’s only been four hours since he caught me… it seems like a lifetime>

He clambered slowly into his clothes. There was no point in rushing, Rob would be long gone, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable about facing his friends, about facing Ruth.

<For Christ’s sake, I’ve just had sex with her husband’s murderer. There’s no way I can say I’ve been raped, though I’m sure he would have forced me if I’d resisted>

He bundled the bloody tee-shirt in his hand, and turned to go. Just then he spotted something lying on the horse, glittering in the harsh light of the fluorescent tube overhead. It was the knife, Rob’s beautiful steel knife.

The wide triangular blade was smeared with blood.

<Rob’s blood. This must be Rob’s blood from when he sliced his cock> thought Lewis, and his body was suddenly hot again with lust.

The knife had been cast in one piece, the steel of the blade thickening to form the contoured handle, dimpled so that one’s grip wouldn’t slip. Lewis put out a shaking hand and lifted the weapon. It was cool and heavy, and fitted his hand perfectly. He brought it up to his face and gently touched the tip of his tongue to the stained blade, an image of Rob’s rigid cock flashing into his brain. He shuddered and, laying his stained tee-shirt on the horse, quickly wrapped the knife in it, snatched up the bundle and rushed out through the door.

He found himself in a school corridor, the open door of a gym to his left and opposite a room labelled ‘Boy’s Showers’. Lewis entered the washroom, thankful for the chance to clean up before venturing into the street. As he expected, his face was filthy, his hair matted and spiky with congealed blood. He thrust his head under a cold tap and scrubbed with his fingers until the water ran clean. There was no towel, but it was a warm day - his short hair would soon dry.

Back in the corridor, he began to walk away from the gym, looking for a way out of the building.

<There must be a open door somewhere> he thought. <Rob’s not strong enough to haul me through a window without covering me in serious bruises.>

As he got closer, he could see that a fire door at the other end of the corridor was slightly open. A tiny packet was lying just inside the entrance. Lewis picked it up and found he was holding an opened packet of condoms. He dropped them into his pocket.

<Rob must have dropped these. I wonder why he used one on me? Maybe he had something in mind that turned out to be impractical> he mused < it’s not as though he thought he would catch something, he certainly wasn’t scared of a bit of blood>

<Oh *FUCK*…*he* didn’t think he’d catch anything, but what about *me*> Lewis nearly fainted with horror as he gripped the door frame. <Is *that* what all this was about, is that what he meant when he said that this was only the beginning. Where was my brain? No wonder they say men think with their pricks. Hawthorn has the morals of an alleycat, the scruples of a Nazi. What was I doing revelling in lust when he was busily inoculating me with HIV. He was a junky once, for God’s sake!>

Lewis staggered out into the open, pushing the door to behind him. It wouldn’t latch, the wood of the door frame was splintered around the handle. Gulping

in lungfuls of clean cool air he finally managed to steady himself and fight off the dizziness his awful realisation had caused. As he looked around he recognised the buildings as St. Peter’s School, only a mile away from his home. Suddenly nothing was more important than to be home, to be in a safe place. Perhaps then the alien planet his existence had become would rearrange itself back into its usual familiar contours. He ran wildly across the playing fields to the school gates, scrambling over when he discovered they were padlocked. Without regard to the traffic or other pedestrians he sprinted back to Ruth’s flat, locked and bolted the door behind him, and leant against it sobbing, beating his fists over and over against the sturdy panels until they were bruised and bleeding.

End Chapter 3




by S Baker


Chapter 4


Rob watched Lewis’s exit through a transom above a classroom door, smiling smugly when he saw Richardson drop the condoms into his pocket. Turning to the outer windows he confirmed that Lewis was leaving the grounds and laughed aloud as he noted his victim’s clumsy scramble over the gates.

"Well, I um, really spooked him," he drawled to himself. "I think darling Lewis’s conscious mind is going to have a *lot* of trouble coming to terms with what his subconscious likes to do for fun. Who would have thought it though? If I’d known he’d got such a, um, submissive kink I would have taken him under my wing years ago."

But it was too late now, Rob’s new plan was underway. It was, in Rob’s modest opinion, a real belter. However the next few hours were crucial, and depended to a large extent on Lewis doing nothing, hopefully silenced by a mixture of guilt and embarrassment. After all, Rob hadn’t really *hurt* him (nothing to show the police anyway) and Lewis’s eager participation in his own deflowerment was something he was probably not keen to share with his friends. Rob jumped down from the desk he had been occupying and nipped back into the storeroom.

Good, the knife was gone, and Lewis had also taken the bloodstained tee-shirt. Better and better. However Rob was not going to be complacent when the amount of time available was an unknown. He dumped the sports bag he was holding on the floor and unzipped it. First he withdrew a small Tupperware box and retrieving the carefully knotted used condom from his pocket, he gently undid it and dribbled some of its contents into the container. Stowing the box back in the bag, he made a small tear in the end of the condom with his fingernail and then tossed it to one side. He put on a pair of gloves and fished out a large object wrapped inside a plastic bag. Gripping it carefully by the ridge at the end so as not to smudge the fingerprints that the unconscious Lewis had obligingly provided, he withdrew the object from the bag and lay it beneath the horse. It was an old rounders bat and its wide end had been smeared unpleasantly with a thin sheen of Rob’s blood and shit. He chose another bat from a box in the corner and popped it into his holdall, together with the soiled plastic bag. Next a bunch of ropes emerged from the bag and were tied firmly to the legs of the horse. Rob slipped out of his shoes and socks and knotted each cord in turn tightly to his wrists and ankles. The captured limb was twisted and yanked cruelly until Rob was satisfied with the bruises and burn marks he had produced, before untying that joint and moving on to the next.

<I wonder if I’m overdoing this > he thought, <one of the drawbacks of being a perfectionist, I suppose. *And* it wouldn’t do to underestimate the stupidity of the police, better to give them plenty of evidence.>

One final piece of scene-setting and his preparations would be complete. This was mainly to help his imagination later when he related his ‘ordeal’.

He quickly stripped off his clothes again and knotted the ropes loosely around his sore ankles. He rubbed his hands sensuously over the polished old leather of the horse, then bent and caressed it with his cheeks, inhaling deeply and thinking about the heady smell of sweat and musk exuding from Lewis as he lay across its surface. His penis began to swell once more as he remembered his captive’s arousal, the way he had squirmed and bucked against the apparatus. Bracing his arms, he lifted his body from the floor and then let himself flop over the padded cushion, hanging head-down and suspended by the ropes around his legs. He took a good look around, carefully noting how the storeroom appeared from this viewpoint.

Bending his neck back he tried to imagine how it would feel to have Richardson holding his head in an iron grip, stretching his mouth wide with his cock, and thrusting hard and fast against his face. Lewis’s penis was longer and more slender than his own, glinting at its base with sparse fine golden hairs and nestling in a luxuriant tangle of darker brassy curls. The wrinkled foreskin had been silky and soft and Rob could almost feel his tongue teasing its way between it and the glistening knob and stroking, probing, into the tiny slit at the tip.

His penis was rock-hard by now , and bobbing against the underside of the horse. He began to moan as he rubbed his stomach and chest over the cushion, then reached back with his hand and started to jerk and pull at the shaft of his cock. He ground it hard over the rougher hide on the horse’s underside, reopening the shallow wound and anointing the leather with his blood.

<I’m standing behind Lewis now. His back is slim and pale. His buttocks are small and tight, the muscles clenching as I pleasure him. He’s desperate for me. "Fuck me Rob" he’s crying "Fuck me please.. I’m your toy, your slave, hurt me, do what you want with me… I only exist for your pleasure" His bum is twisting and writhing as I shove the knife handle in and out. I pull out the knife and impale him with my cock. He screams as I tear him open, his virgin hole too tight to take me. "Yesss Master, make me yours, take me harder">

Robs hand pumped faster and the blood pounded heavily in his dangling head. He was grunting and biting his lip, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

<I ram into him as hard as I can, my hand around his chin to give myself leverage. This shuts him up, he can only worship me with grunts and moans.

I can feel him tensing… he’s going to come soon. >

Rob could feel the wave of orgasm cresting towards him.

<I pull my shoulder back and lift my knife and twist Lewis’s head to the side. He sees my knife descending as he spasms in pleasure. The knife plunges to the hilt through his neck and I twist it and the blood fountains out over our heads and shoulders>

As Rob’s semen jetted out over the floor he was bathing in the steaming shower of liquid pumping from his slave’s neck, the jet becoming a dribble as the heart slowed and stopped. Rob lay gasping, spent, across the horse.

"Whoops," he muttered to himself, wryly, sliding from his perch, "*that* wasn’t quite the frame of mind I was trying for."

His watch was lying on top of his clothes and Rob could see he’d have to hurry. He had an appointment at four, essential to his plan. He dressed, being careful not to disturb his handiwork, including the smears of blood and come that had just been added to the tableau. He zipped up his bag and placed it outside the door then returned and looked carefully around the room. Everything seemed to be in order, the stage set to illustrate the tale of Rob’s rape by the dastardly Lewis Richardson.

He left the light on and the storeroom door open, picked up his bag and put his gloves on again. He left the building by the fire door and closed it behind him.

Just outside and screened from the road by the school was the caretaker’s van, an anonymous white Transit, like hundreds of others on the Chester streets. Rob had used this to transport Lewis. He’d nicked the key weeks before from the caretaker’s coat when he had visited the school posing as an electrician from the council, and after noting the key number put the keys back unnoticed. It was during this visit that he’d researched the alarm system and the caretaker’s work rota.

Opening the back of the van he retrieved a large carrier bag containing his jemmy and a couple of cans of quick hardening foam. These had also been primed with Lewis’s prints. He locked the van and pocketed the key.

Rob had disabled the alarm in the building he’d broken into simply by filling the bells with this foam. He knew that each of the blocks had an independent alarm system. The caretaker had made the bells easy to reach, his ladders were stored behind the bike sheds and clearly visible from the public park behind the school.

He crossed the grassy area behind the school, keeping to the shelter of the bushes and trees that dotted it. Some of the school railings had been levered apart by generations of school kids who wanted a short cut to the swings in the park. Rob slipped easily through the gap and headed diagonally across the park towards the exit where he had left his motorbike.

End Chapter 4





by S Baker


Chapter 5

Breathlessness and exhaustion finally caused Lewis to stop pounding his fists against the wood. His body slithered down the door and he curled at its base in a miserable shuddering heap, a little boy wanting his Mum to put her arms around him and tell him everything was all right.

<Is this how Mandy felt, > he wondered, <desperate for comfort and reassurance but too frightened and ashamed to tell anyone.>

<At least she had right on her side; at least she was innocent and could eventually accept that Dad was totally to blame. What am I now? Rob’s conspirator I suppose, ‘cos I’m thinking I’m never going to tell anyone about what he’s just done if he keeps quiet about my reaction. Fuck…why did I carry on like that? I didn’t even think, my body just took over. Perhaps Dad abused me before he had Mandy to pick on and I’ve buried it so deep that it took a shock like this to make me act so strangely. Even that wouldn’t be so bad as knowing this pervert is the real me, that this is how I want my lovers to treat me.>

He got wearily to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. Perhaps this too could be sorted by that traditional solution to all the world’s ills, a nice cup of tea. Everything looked so normal, the flat was the same as when he left earlier to visit the shops, but now he seemed to see it from afar; it was somebody else’s life, someone who had died in a dusty storeroom that morning. Going back to the lounge he noticed the bloodstained bundle by the door. The proof that this wasn’t a dream, that he’d never be able to convince himself it hadn’t happened simply by refusing to think about it. He knew he was going to hold that knife again sometime, to use it…. The tea mug dropped from his hand and shattered on the floor.

He swept the tee-shirt from the floor and ran into the bedroom. Flinging wide the wardrobe door he thrust it and its seductive contents to the back beneath a pile of old trainers and musty shoes. He slammed the door shut and held it closed, pushing hard against it as if all the legions of hell were trying to drag him through to his doom.

<It’s not tea I need, it’s a proper drink> he thought <there must be some booze in the sideboard>

Back in the sitting room he unearthed a half-full bottle of brandy and a glass from amongst Ruth’s hotch-potch of sherry, stale vermouth and home-made wine and took it into the bathroom for company while he tried to wash away the smell of Hawthorn and guilt.

By the end of an hour in a hot bath his mind was still going round in circles, but now Lewis was drunk as well. He wrapped a towel around himself, and drained the last of the brandy straight from the bottle. He wiped the steamed bathroom mirror with a face flannel and looked at the man that stood there. The man’s face looked back, unblemished, serene, perhaps even smiling slightly. This man looked just like Lewis Richardson, and everyone here would think that’s who he was. But he was an impostor, a creature of the dark who had taken over this body. A twisted fucker who craved degradation and mutilation. A traitor to his friends and probably a disease carrier and soon to be a liar to his girlfriend. Lewis swung the brandy bottle by the neck and smashed it into the reflection. The man was gone, shattered into a hundred jagged pieces, like all the certainties in Lewis’s life.

He staggered into the bedroom, collapsed onto the bed and passed out in a drunken sleep.

It was just after 6pm when a key turned in the front door and Ruth tried to enter her flat. She had had a bad day at the college, a couple of articles promised hadn’t materialised, her computer had caught a virus (not a disaster, but it had taken a couple of hours to sort) and to cap it all Lewis had stood her up at lunchtime. He’d said he would meet her in the office at one but he hadn’t showed, he hadn’t even rung to apologise. She was in a foul mood and he was going to suffer.

The door caught on something that grated across the carpet as she pushed it open and she nearly stood on the brown stain and broken china as she flicked on the light.

"Lewis", she called, "Lewis….what’s this mess in the hall? LEWIS are you here?"

She walked tentatively further into the room, leaving the door wide open in case she wanted to make a quick getaway.

<Has Rob been here? He got into Carol’s place, he could be here.>

She was shaking, but determined not to be frightened from her own home. Grabbing a vase from the windowsill as a makeshift weapon, she sidled quietly up to the kitchen and switched on the light. The room was empty, though Lewis’s jacket and keys were on the worktop. She tiptoed back to the bedroom and peered round the door. There was her boyfriend, snoring gently on the bed. Snapping the light on she stormed over to him, grabbed his shoulder and shook him hard.

"Lewis, LEWIS, what the *hell’s* going on? Where were you earlier? You forgot AGAIN you were supposed to meet me, didn’t you." Ruth’s voice became shriller as her temper boiled. Then she got a whiff of his breath.

"Christ, Lewis, you’re drunk aren’t you" she sneered, "Been playing cards with that poxy Finn again I suppose. What a loser… and he’s making you just as bad. Wake up! WAKE UP"

Lewis groaned and flailed his arms, flopping over on his back. His eyes remained tightly shut as he wrapped his arms around his body and rolled over on his side, drawing up his legs and curling into a ball.

"G’ way" he slurred "G’ way. Get off me."

He began to thresh about and his voice rose to a shout

"Ge’roff…. *go away*…LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Well, I know when I’m not wanted" said Ruth tartly.

She flounced into the bathroom. Glass crunched under her feet as she looked around astounded at the debris. The bathtub was full of scummy water, a dirty tumbler perched on its rim and an empty brandy bottle lay among the shards of the mirror whose frame yawned emptily above the basin.

"You bastard, Lewis, you *pig*," she spat. "You’d better have this sorted by the time I get back or you’re moving out."

A muffled groan answered her from the bed. She walked over and looked at her boyfriend, her lip curling, then grabbing her bag and coat she marched out of the flat and slammed the door.

It was early and the Dog had few customers when Jack’s daughter pushed open the door. Ruth’s anger had had time to subside on the trip from the flat and had been replaced by self-pity. She looked the picture of misery as she came over to her Dad and hugged him.

"What’s the matter love? What’s wrong?"

"It’s just today, Dad. It’s been a rotten day…everything went wrong at work and when I got home there was an awful mess and Lewis had passed out on the bed. He was completely pissed, I think he’d drunk most of a bottle of brandy. He was supposed to take me to lunch and he never came, he never even let me know." Ruth’s voice broke and she started to snivel.

"Why on earth.."

"Probably Finn" interrupted Ruth. "He’s always coming up with mad schemes, encouraging Lewis to gamble. He’s completely irresponsible. I expect they spent this morning in the pub and by lunch Lewis was so out of it he didn’t know if he was coming or going."

"Never mind love. Have you had any supper yet? Why don’t you go upstairs and make a nice cuppa. If you’re hungry there’s some stew left from earlier. Once you’ve sat for a while and got something inside you things won’t seem nearly as bad. I’ll be up soon and we can have a chat. Carol’ll be here in a minute and she can take over. It’s not as though we’re busy."

He pulled back from Ruth and smiled at her, then steered her towards the stairs. Ruth sighed and smiled back.

"Thanks Dad. What *would* I do without you?"

End Chapter 5





by S. Baker


Chapter 6


As Rob strapped his bags to the rack on his bike, he was pondering the next part of his scheme. He knew he had to make the assault look real, to fool the police and any medical examiner into thinking that Lewis had really laid into him and then raped him. He had thought hard about how to achieve this and had decided that he was going to have to acquire some bad bruises and a few cuts. He could slice himself easily enough, using a new razorblade there would be little pain at first and he wasn’t lacking in courage and a great deal of determination, but the bruises needed some help if they were to be realistically placed and the blows forceful enough.

His four o’clock appointment was with the accomplice he had chosen for the job. Of course, this favoured soul didn’t know what an *honour* was in store for him (Rob definitely preferred to be on the administering end when it came to pain) because Rob hadn’t thought he could trust him not to blab about this bizarre request. However he knew that the person he had chosen would do exactly what he wanted, Rob’s hold over him was too strong for any other response. But taking a beating was not without risk, and Rob was very nervous not so much of being hurt as of the blows being misjudged and causing him a permanent injury. All the same, he wished he could afford to take something like morphine which would completely switch off the pain. The trouble was it would switch his brain off too, and he needed to be alert. He pulled a bubble pack of diclofenac from his pocket and took one. The doctor had prescribed this drug for the ache in his legs, which could sometimes be excruciating. It worked well and perhaps would deaden the feel of the upcoming beating.

He jumped on the motorbike and set off down the road. Soon he was out of the bright and affluent shopping centre, and into dingy streets where boarded-up houses and broken windows vied with graffiti and heaps of torn and overflowing binbags for the attention of the passer-by. The area was a vast council estate, abandoned and awaiting re-development. Though the bulldozers had not yet moved in, the squatters had. The more weathertight buildings often held a group of druggies, perhaps a hideout for a gang of local yobs or a drunken tramp kipping in a nest of newspapers and cardboard.

He pulled the motorbike into an alleyway between two blocks of flats and dismounted outside a battered but secure door. He knocked and an anxious voice responded immediately.

"Rob, is that you?"

"Well, um, it’s certainly not the Avon lady. Come on, get this door open and help me with the bike. I’m not leaving it out here to be nicked"

The door opened onto a rubbish strewn passage. On the left a flight of concrete steps led up into the gloom and a dim light spilled through another doorway at the far end of the corridor.

The young man who opened the door was gaunt and pale. His dark hair, though clean, was long and unkempt, lighter at the ends where it had been bleached and allowed to grow out. He was bundled into a sweater which looked too big for his thin frame.

"What’s this all about, Rob?" he asked as he helped push the motorbike inside.

"Have you got another job for me? You know you can trust me, you can rely on me," His voice took on a whining tone. "And I never ask much. I haven’t made much money lately and it’s been ….difficult. Please Rob, I’ll do anything. You *know* I’ll do anything and you know how *well* I can do it."

"Shut up Sam, you’re going to make me throw up in a minute with your whinging. Yes, I’ve got a job for you, and no, I don’t want your filthy mouth on my cock. I think you’re going to relish this, though, and if you do a good job I’ll give you enough stuff to last for a couple of weeks and maybe a couple of hundred quid as well"

Rob pushed the outer door shut and bolted it. He unfastened the holdall from the bike and made his way down to the far room, with Sam trailing behind.

He’d met Sam a few months ago. They’d been introduced in a club by a mutual acquaintance who knew what Sam needed and what Rob could supply. He knew little of Sam’s background, except that he’d started on heroin as a way of escaping some personal tragedy and loathed himself deeply for his weakness in succumbing to drugs. He’d lost his job (some sort of social work) because of it, though Rob had heard he’d originally trained as a nurse. Somehow he’d ended up in Chester and Rob had made use of him as a delivery-boy (and for the occasional blow-job). Rob didn’t know how he earned the rest of his income, though with his escalating habit Rob suspected he’d turned to prostitution.

"Great Rob, that’s great. What do you want me to do?" Sam was virtually wagging his tail like an eager puppy.

"Well, um, I suppose you could say that I want you to, sort of, err, beat me up."

Rob suspected that Sam would not be loath to make him suffer, given an invitation. Rob had made no secret of his contempt for the young man’s addiction and had not spared his insults or scorn at what Sam was prepared to do to feed it. He had seen the resentment on Sam’s face as he bit back his retorts because he couldn’t afford to upset his supplier and occasional employer.

"Uh" said Sam intelligently. "What?"

"I want you to hit me, Sam, hard enough to bruise. And no, I’m *not* doing this for fun. I’m going to explain enough so that you can do it right, but you’re not getting the whole story"

"I’m not sure if I can do something like that, Rob" protested Sam. "I can try, but I might hit you too hard, and then you’ll get cross and hit me back. I suspect I could get badly hurt."

Sam eyed Rob’s broad shoulders with trepidation. Then the strangeness of the request sunk in.

" Anyway, why the fuck do you want to be beaten up? And why by me?"

"The ‘why you’ is because you used to be a nurse. I’m relying on you knowing how hard and where you can hit me to make the most spectacular bruises with the least risk of lasting damage. The reason I need this is um, personal.

Someone has been spreading rumours about me, making my name mud, trying to set my girlfriend’s parents against me. I’m planning to get my own back, to make everyone think he’s attacked me, show him up as the liar he is. He’s too sneaky to leave any evidence of the harm he’s doing me, so I’m going to frame him, make it look like he’s attacked me."

"Y-esss, but this is bloody risky, Rob. You could get badly hurt by accident and how will this guy get the blame? It’ll be your word against his. Surely you’re going too far"

Rob grabbed Sam by the front of his jumper and yanked him close. Bringing his face within a few inches of the other’s, he tilted his head to one side and frowned.

"Are you suggesting" he said silkily "that I haven’t thought this through? All a little junky like you has to do is *exactly* what he’s told. If you do, you get your fix. If you do it well, you might get an extra treat. If you don’t…. well I’m hoping that won’t happen because I might have to, um, punish you. Are we clear where we stand now, hmm?"

He released Sam and smoothed the baggy jumper back into shape. Sam nodded jerkily and whispered "OK".

"Good" said Rob, unzipping his bag. "This is what I want you to do. I need you to hit me a few times on the face with your hands… try to keep away from my eyes and don’t knock out any teeth. Then I want you to use this on the rest of my body. Try to make marks as if I were stretched out face down across something."

He passed the rounders bat to Sam as he spoke.

Sam looked at the wooden club in his hands with horror.

"You can’t possibly be serious, Rob." he gasped "Christ, I could kill you with this. At best you could have broken ribs or damaged kidneys."

"One more thing, Sam," said Rob, grinning nastily "for a finale I want you to shove that bat up my arse."

"WHAT!" exclaimed Sam "I can’t do this… honest Rob, I’m petrified of really damaging you. And you know you’d never be able to stand the pain long enough to let me finish."

"Don’t worry about the pain, I took a pretty powerful painkiller about half-an-hour ago. Shame I can’t risk a dose of your favourite recreational drug isn’t it, you could run a steamroller over me and I’d smile about it. Still I um, need to keep my wits about me when I’m dealing with shit like you, don’t I. And *don’t* think you can bop me over the head with that thing and steal your payment, ‘cos I only brought enough for a couple of doses. You get the rest if I’m happy with your handiwork."

"How about a fix now, Rob? Just enough to calm me down enough to do this… please." pleaded Sam.

"Uh-huh, oh no, I don’t think so. That’s enough talk, let’s get on with it. Put the bat down and punch me."

Bloody hell, he really means this, thought Sam. Well, he’s been a real bastard to me and it’ll be satisfying to turn the tables; I just hope he doesn’t change his mind when I start to hurt him.

Sam laid the bat on the ground, and swung back up as fast as he could, drawing back his right fist then striking out and punching Rob hard on the side of his jaw. Rob staggered back and Sam sprang after him and clipped him on the nose with his other hand. Blood poured from Rob’s nostrils, and he clenched his own fists and braced himself. Sam jumped back out of range and threw up his hands.

"Rob, ROB! It’s what you wanted!" he yelled. "Don’t hit me!"

Rob stopped short and slowly uncurled his fingers. He steepled his hands in front of his face and bowed his head. Letting his breath out with a shudder he said,

"Yes, I’m…I’m sorry. I forgot myself. I’ll hold my hands behind my back… just try and make it look really bad without *being* too bad, if you can."

He clasped his left hand around his right wrist and gripped hard. Holding his head up and closing his eyes he willed himself not to move. Sam came up to him and stared at his face, then gave him a series of open-handed slaps on his cheeks. Using his fists again he punched Rob on the temple and then on his mouth, cutting his lip. Rob’s muscles were flinching and tears were leaking from his screwed-up eyes but he didn’t cry out.

"Stop, stop a minute" Rob mumbled. "Tell me how it looks. Fuck, I should have brought a mirror."

"Pretty bad. But you don’t *really* want me to stop, do you? I was just starting to enjoy myself" said Sam plaintively. And strangely, Sam *was* finding it distinctly therapeutic being able to punish Rob for the mess he had made of his own life.

"Hmmm, I suspected you’d find this fun. Well don’t worry, you get the main event now."

Rob felt around his face. It was distinctly tender and his nose was still dribbling blood. However the painkiller must have kicked in because on the whole there was just a throbbing ache.

He began to remove his clothes.

"Hey, what are you up to now, Rob?"

"Surely it must have dawned on even your drugged up brain that this is supposed to look like a rape. Yes… don’t tell me, I know you don’t have to completely strip someone to rape them. But, um, my screenplay calls for the stars to be naked for their pas de deux and I don’t believe in sloppiness. So, yes, it really is your lucky day, Sam. You get to beat me *and* you get to drool over my body" sneered Rob.

Sam considered the fine figure that was being revealed to him. It was a shame, it was wasted. He knew that not long back he’d have been getting a hard-on from the sight, but heroin didn’t do a lot for the libido. In fact, it might as well have been a girl stripping for all the interest he felt. Christ, Rob had even faked rope marks on his wrists and ankles. He picked up the rounders bat, knowing now that Rob was loopy enough to go through with his plan.

"OK, six or eight good whacks should be enough. Don’t make them too symmetrical. How do you want me?"

"Well, the *safest* place to hit you would be your buttocks, we won’t break anything there"

"Yeah.. but I’m being assaulted by someone who’s not too bothered about *anything*, short of killing me. You can see he tied me up" and Rob waved his injured wrist under Sam’s nose.

Sam swallowed nervously. Using a club on Rob was not going to give him the release that the hand contact had and he was very reluctant to use it. His life had been dedicated to healing, not hurting, and though he despised Rob, he was going to find this unpleasant.

"Right, well, face the wall, bend over slightly and brace yourself against it. In spite of what you say I’m going to hit you a couple of times on your bum to get a feel for how hard I need to hit and how much damage this’ll do. Then I’ll try and bruise you elsewhere, all right?"

It sounded reasonable enough to Rob so he nodded and got into the stance Sam had suggested. ‘Markie 4 Lisa’ declared the scrawls on the wall in front of him. ‘Shakira has big tits’. He concentrated on absorbing this information as he waited for the first blow. There was a swish of air and a sharp ‘crack’. A fraction later he felt an agonising shooting pain in his rear. Rob whimpered and gasped out "Fuck."

It took him a couple of seconds to realise that Sam was asking him a question.

"Rob, ROB, d’you want me to stop?"

"No." groaned Rob "No… just do it, get it over with and don’t stop until it’s done." He braced himself again and took a deep breath.

Sam took him at his word. Another couple of ranging blows on his buttocks, then the pain came quickly on his thighs, one of his shoulders and the back of his ribcage. Rob screamed in pain at the last couple of strikes.

The clubbing stopped and Rob slumped to his knees, groaning.

"I can’t do this any more" wailed Sam.

"S’OK. You’ve done well" gasped Rob. "How are the marks?"

"Sickening" replied Sam "You’re going to have some real prize bruises, as requested."

"While I’m down here, you’ve got one more thing to do with that bat"

"No, Rob, you *don’t* want to do that. I could rupture your rectum, you could get peritonitis!"

"It’s got to be done, it’s the icing on the cake" said Rob through gritted teeth. If he hadn’t already planted the prepared bat back at the school, he knew he’d chicken out of this bit. The last thing he needed was to have to argue Sam into doing it.

"Well if we’ve got to do this, maybe we can minimise the danger. What effect do you want? Just a sore arse? You don’t really want to be split open, do you?"

"Some bruising, a smear of blood… nothing too spectacular."

"And does your scenario call for your rapist to fuck you first, or after, or to just shove this thing up your anus?"

"He fucks me first, I guess."

"Right… so there’d be some lubrication… spit, perhaps and semen. So it’s not unreasonable for the bat to enter without causing major trauma, especially if you were experienced with anal intercourse and the sphincter had just been distended by a penis. I presume you’re no stranger to being fucked, Rob?"

"A rather personal question…" Rob laughed shakily "but knowing what you’re about to do I think I may as well admit it."

"Right… your spit or mine?"

"Considering your lifestyle, I think I’ll opt for mine."

"Work yourself open first, then."

Rob sucked his fingers and tried to relax through his pain as he pushed them inside himself, stretching the muscle as far as he could.

The bat was presented to him and he slathered it with a mixture of mucus tinged with blood. He leaned forward and presented his bottom to Sam. Sam’s hand brushed lightly across his sore cheeks.

"A shame," said Sam regretfully. "Under other circumstances I’d have been more than happy to avail myself of what you’re offering here."

Rob gave a muffled snort. "Well you’d better make the most of this, ‘cos I don’t expect you’ll see me like this again."

Rob felt the top of the bat pressed firmly and irresistibly against his hole. He relaxed as much as he could as Sam inserted the end with a screwing motion, then pushed the wooden bat inside to half its length with a strong but steady shove. There was a sharp moment of agony, then just an aching fullness as his sphinter clamped around the shaft.

"Yeaow" yelped Rob, inhaling sharply and feeling a stab in his ribs where one of the blows had been struck earlier.

The bat was gently withdrawn and Rob felt Sam’s fingers probe inside him.

"And just what *are* you doing" said Rob snidely.

"Just checking" replied Sam. "You’ll be pretty sore I should think, and there’s a little bleeding. Are your tetanus shots up-to-date?"

"What?" exclaimed Rob and began to snigger "This is getting distinctly surreal."

He got unsteadily to his feet and leant against the wall, wincing at another jolt from his ribs, and clutching his side. Sam reached out.

"Let me feel" he said. "Where’s the pain?"

"Would you really be surprised if I said ‘all over’" replied Rob sarcastically. "I must congratulate you on a job well done. Owww… what are you doing now?"

"Palpating your ribs. I reckon I’ve cracked one of them, though I don’t think it’s broken. You must get to a hospital as soon as possible and get it looked at."

"Well thankyou *Nurse* Sam, I really must remember to look you up when I’m feeling poorly."

Sam flinched and came back to earth with a crash. Suddenly his body reminded him why he was here.

"What about the stuff you promised me" he muttered.

Rob smiled kindly at him as he carefully clambered back into his clothes. After his initial reluctance, Sam had put his heart into the job, and had not tried anything funny. Rob was quite sorry that he couldn’t be trusted to carry the knowledge away with him; but now he must be disposed of. He rummaged in his bag and found a small package of powder which he dropped into Sam’s eager hand.

"Thanks… you’ve done well. I’ll get the rest to you on Saturday, and your bonus. You’ve earned it."

But Sam was already squatting on the floor, preparing himself a fix with shaking hands. Within a few minutes he was slumped against an old mattress, a band still round his arm and the needle on the floor beside him. As Rob tidied his stuff and checked the room to make sure there was nothing to show he’d been there, Sam went into convulsions. The heroin had been pure, uncut, far too strong a dose. Rob knew it would all be over soon.

He didn’t wait to see him die.

End Chapter 6







by S Baker


Chapter 7


By the time Rob had driven back to Hollyoaks he was beginning to stiffen up from the beating and he knew that once the painkiller wore off he’d be in agony; he needed to finish his preparations swiftly. It was deep twilight now and Finn, Lewis’s business partner, had closed the yard for the day. There was a light on in the bus where Finn lived, but the yard was deserted and dim.

In his dark clothes and helmet he blended easily with the shadows as he crept up to the vehicle. He carefully slid the carrier bag containing the jemmy and foam canisters behind one of its wheels, hidden, but not *too* thoroughly.

Next stop was a quiet part of the riverbank where he disposed of the holdall , weighting it with bricks before tossing it in. Gone were the cuffs, the rounders bat used by Sam…all the evidence that could support Lewis’s version of events or cast doubt on his own.

At last the stage was set, the props were in place, his own ‘costume’ was nearly complete, now to go home and draw aside the curtains on Act One of this little comedy. Rob’s grin sent twinges of pain through his face.

<Owww…method acting does have its disadvantages. But I suppose one must suffer for one’s art.>

Chuckling to himself he drove back to his flat.

Rob had a small place on the top floor of an old house quite near the park that he’d crossed earlier when he left the school. Just a sitting room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom; nothing too ostentatious, though his *unofficial* job, facilitating ‘substance abuse’, brought in a substantial income. He didn’t want any questions asked by having a lifestyle at odds with the modest wage he earned doing casual clerical work through an agency. He kept the flat clean and neat and the rooms were light and airy, with a view across tidy suburban gardens and ornate Victorian rooftops.

As he let himself in his front door his movements were slow and careful. It was about 7pm now, four hours since he had taken the painkiller, and his whole body was in torment. He didn’t want to think how he would feel when the pill really wore off, it was supposed to be effective for twelve hours and only a third of that time had passed. He limped into his bedroom and took off his clothes to examine himself in the mirror. The sight of his face almost made him vomit. It was swollen and bloody, and angry purple bruises covered at least half the surface. A large lump graced his forehead where Sam had hit his temple. His lips were split and distorted and his nose was an ugly distended blob. He poked it gingerly.

<At least I don’t think it’s broken>

He turned around to see the rear view. Sam was right, his back and shoulders were horribly marked, though the skin was not broken.

<What a splendid job. Pity the bruises are on me, not Lewis. It’ve been fun to rough him up like this. Still, the way he was carrying on he’d have probably got off on the pain. Bit ironic really.>

The little pot of semen had been rescued from the holdall before he’d dumped it. He opened it and placed it handy on the chest of drawers. Very gently he worked a finger into his anus. He was swollen and sore and the stretching made him wince, sending a shooting pain through his chest from his ribs.

<Fuck.. Christ, this whole thing was a *stupid* idea, Hawthorne.> Rob shook his head in disbelief at his own plotting, groaning as an agonising throb passed through his scull.

He scooped out the pot’s contents on his fingers and worked them up as far inside himself as he could. The pot was washed up right away and then Rob fetched a new razor blade from the bathroom and looked at his body in the bedroom mirror again.

<Right. He makes me obey him by threatening me with a knife. Let’s see, I expect he starts by grabbing me and dragging me into the bushes in the park and holding the knife to my throat. Then I get marched into the school with it pressed into my ribs. Probably holds my hair and rests it on my neck while he makes me strip. >

Rob drew a shallow line with the blade beneath his jaw near his ear. The sting was un-noticeable past the agony that was beginning to embrace his body. The blood, crimson and viscous, welled out and a fat drip began to track down his neck. Rob let it trickle as he debated Lewis’s next move.

<He’s holding me round the neck and the knife’s over my belly as I struggle out of my trousers. He’s grinding his hips into my bum and calling me names - bastard, psycho.>

Rob made a couple of small nicks with the razor on his chest and stomach.

<He’s getting hard now, I can feel the bulge rubbing against my bare arse. His insults are changing - queer, shirt-lifter, slut, ‘cos the situation’s making me get an erection too. Then he grabs my cock and holds the knife to it, tells me to put the ropes round my wrists and ankles or he’ll cut it off. When I protest he cuts it a bit…>

The cut from earlier on Rob’s penis was’t bleeding any more, but the line showed lividly against his skin. Dribbles of blood from the cuts higher on his body were seeping into his pubic hair and down his legs. Rob used his shirt to mop himself.

<Don’t want blood on the carpet, do we? Now, he’s got me by the ropes on my wrists, he yanks me off balance and up against the wall. He’s put the knife down.. He winds the ropes around so my hands are tied. The he holds the rope’s end and starts hitting my face. I’m begging him to stop, trying to kick but I’ve got bare feet so *that* doesn’t do any good. He drags me back to the horse and slams me against it then he’s got the rounders bat and he hits me with it. I’m dazed with pain, bent over the horse. He’s managed to tie the rope on my wrists to one of the legs. Then he quickly ties up my legs. He goes back to my wrists and reties them, one to each leg of the horse. I’m so scared now that he’ll hurt me again I can’t put up any defence. He says he wants me to watch while he fucks me, and if I co-operate he won’t hurt me any more. Hmmm, the police are going to want to know if I’ve got any idea why he’s doing this. They’ll hear about the feud between me and Kurt… so it could be a power thing… ‘see what I can do if you don’t stay away from Hollyoaks’ maybe. I think I might hint that Lewis knew I was bisexual, um, maybe a suggestion of flirting between us or even, *yesss*, how about a previous, secret relationship sometime in the past. That’ll put the cat among the pigeons. >

Rob’s original plan had been simply to separate Lewis from the others by physical means; frame him for an assault and he’d be thrown in jail. But it would be *so* much more fun to turn his friends against him, make them think he was a liar and a hypocrite. His brain began to toy with the idea of Lewis trying to keep secret the revelation that Rob had been his lover; beating and raping Rob to keep him quiet, because Rob had been threatening to tell his friends about Lewis if they kept making his life a misery. Lewis pretending all the while that his animosity was about Lucy and Kurt! OK, so *perhaps* the police would think that the assault was a bit of rough sex play that got out of hand, and not throw the book at Lewis. Lewis might not end up in jail, but his reputation would be in shreds. Rob began to snigger. Sometimes his creative powers left even himself breathless with admiration.

<Right, let’s see. Um, he comes back round, he’s got the knife again, he makes me give him a blow-job. This gets me all worked up again. He pulls out as he’s getting close, puts on a condom, lubricates my arse-hole with some of my spit, and fucks me. I can see him through the legs of the horse. I come as well as him. When he realises I’ve got off on it he gets abusive again. ‘Not taking my warning seriously’ sort of thing. *Then* he wacks me again with the bat until I’m screaming and shoves it up inside me. I faint; when I come to he’s gone. He’s undone the ropes, I’m on the floor. I sort myself out though I can hardly move. I come across the painkillers in my pocket, take one and when it kicks in I get my bike and go home. It’s dusk by now, so that’s why no-one notices me in the park. I sit here in shock for a long time, I’m too scared and ashamed to tell anyone. *Then* I remember I’m supposed to be seeing Beth tomorrow.>

As Rob rehearsed his story he cautiously climbed back into his blood-stained clothes and put the razor-blade away. There was no need for any more injuries, he thought thankfully. He picked up the phone and dialled Beth.

She was in her bedroom when her mobile rang.

"Hi, babes."

"Hi, Rob. I was just thinking about you. Hey, what are we going to do tomorrow? Y’know I’ve got all day, it’s half term, remember?"

"Uh, babes, I was just ringing you about that," Rob let it sound as if he was straining a little to speak. "I, um, I’m not very well." He drew in his breath with a gasp. It set his damaged ribs off again and he gave a genuine groan. "I can’t make it tomorrow."

"Oh, Rob, what’s the matter? You don’t sound too good."

"I, well, I *was* going to tell you I had a little accident, ‘cos I didn’t want you to worry. And it’s really not too bad," he added tightly. "It’ll be better in no time."

"What is it, Rob? WHAT’S THE MATTER?"

<God, schoolgirls are *so* easy> Rob’s lips twitched in amusement. He stepped up the pain in his voice.

"I didn’t want to have to burden you with this stuff, it’s old news and you shouldn’t be troubled with it. I’m *really* sorry Beth. It’s all my fault, I should’ve known you’d get tangled up in this mess. You’re so sweet, and now I’ve let my stupid past spoil things"

Rob gave a little sob.

<Ohh… enough with the histrionics…. Don’t overdo it Rob>

"ROB! tell me! Are you OK? WHAT’S HAPPENNED"

"Um, I had a sort of run-in with Lewis. A fight. You know the lies he’s been spreading about me? Well, he’s been threatening me too. It came to a head today," Rob groaned and panted sharply. "I came off the worst… he had a knife, babes, and… and he said he’d hurt you too if I didn’t leave, didn’t disappear. I’m so sorry babes"

"Rob, he can’t do that sort of thing, it’s awful! Get the police, and call the doctor! How badly are you hurt? Are you bleeding much? I’m coming round right away."

"No, Beth, no! He might be watching, he might get you like he did me." Rob began to pant and let his voice weaken. "Promise me you’ll keep away, and tell your Dad what’s happened, please, babes. He’ll protect you. I’m so, so, sorry my darling. I didn’t stop him, he could get you…"

Rob made his voice trail off into an incoherent ramble and finally fall silent, despite his girlfriend’s increasingly desperate pleas. He let the phone dangle, the line open, and then pushed a couple of thick books from his coffee table to the floor. They landed with a satisfyingly dull ‘thud’ .

<Just like a body> Rob grinned.

He could hear Beth’s insistent squawking from the earpiece for a couple more minutes, and then the dial tone.

<Ta da!! Take a bow, Rob. Curtain falls, end of Act One>

End Chapter 7

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