Rating: NC17, violence, enforced sex.
Series: Yes, chapters 3-7 of 'Revenge'.
by S. Baker
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
<My face must look a
fright> he thought.
Lewis drew a deep breath
<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
<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
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
<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
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.
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
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
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
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
called, "Lewis….what’s this mess in the hall? LEWIS are you
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
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.."
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
He pulled back from Ruth
and smiled at her, then steered her towards the stairs. Ruth sighed and
"Thanks Dad. What
*would* I do without you?"
End Chapter 5
by S. Baker
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
"Rob, is that
"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
"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
"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
"Uh" said Sam
"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.
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
He released Sam and
smoothed the baggy jumper back into shape. Sam nodded jerkily and
"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."
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
"How about a fix now,
Rob? Just enough to calm me down enough to do this… please."
"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
"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,
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
He began to remove his
"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
"OK, six or eight good
whacks should be enough. Don’t make them too symmetrical. How do you
"Well, the *safest*
place to hit you would be your buttocks, we won’t break anything
"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?"
replied Sam "You’re going to have some real prize bruises, as
"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
"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
"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
"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
lifestyle, I think I’ll opt for mine."
"Work yourself open
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.
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.
replied Sam. "You’ll be pretty sore I should think, and there’s
a little bleeding. Are your tetanus shots up-to-date?"
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
"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
"Well thankyou *Nurse*
Sam, I really must remember to look you up when I’m feeling
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.
done well. I’ll get the rest to you on Saturday, and your bonus. You’ve
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
End Chapter 6
by S Baker
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
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.
does have its disadvantages. But I suppose one must suffer for one’s
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
<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 -
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
<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, 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
<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
"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>
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