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Beneath a Heart of Darkness	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 4657 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 21JS or the characters. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.

Chapter List
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A warm spray of water flowed over Booker’s battered flesh, the heat helping soothe the pain radiating throughout his abused body. With a drawn-out sigh, he tilted his head forward and concentrated the steady stream over his aching neck muscles. He had spent the last three hours on his hands and knees, succumbing to each and every one of Holland’s humiliating sexual predilections, the aftermath of which had left him not only feeling demoralized but physically bruised and bleeding. However, despite the degradation he had endured, in his mind, it had all been worth it. His seventy-two-hour ‘contract’ with Holland was complete, and once showered, he would collect his recompense and put the whole sordid experience behind him. He was looking forward to seeing Tom again and presenting him with his hard-fought prize. Although it would not be an easy conversation, he was mentally prepared for it, and he had forged a plan. To spare his new friend any unnecessary feelings of responsibility for his rash and somewhat foolish agreement to surrender his body to Holland in return for the tapes, he would lie as convincingly as possible. Tom was astute, and he ran the risk of his plan backfiring, but he was ninety-nine percent certain the young officer would experience such an overwhelming rush of relief, he would not bother to interrogate him too deeply about the ‘hows’ or ‘whys’. After all, the tapes would be in safe hands, and that was all that mattered.
A sudden draft snaked through the shower curtain, billowing the wet vinyl against Booker’s legs, and lifting his head, his brow knitted with irritation. When the curtain pulled back, he cupped his hand over his exposed genitals and glared angrily at Holland. “No more free peep shows,” he snapped. “I’ve paid my dues, and as soon as I’m showered and dressed, I want those tapes, so I can get the hell out of here and never have to lay eyes on you again.”
Holland’s jade eyes shone with amusement. “Peep show? My dear Dennis, the love we shared was purely consensual, or have you forgotten? You agreed to be my concubinus, and judging by your explosive orgasms, I would say you rather enjoyed our little dalliances.”
Booker had the grace to blush a deep crimson, but, despite his embarrassment, his lip curled into a sneer. “Love?” he mocked with a hollow laugh. “You sick, delusional bastard. You treated me like a whore. What the fuck do you know about love?”
An expression of mild irritation cast a shadow over Holland’s face. He was not used to one of his playthings giving him cheek, and he briefly considered fetching his switch and giving the ungrateful officer the whipping of his life. But another idea quickly formed in his mind, and cleverly disguising the smile that threatened to expose his duplicity, he took a white, Egyptian cotton bath towel from the railing and handed it to Booker. “As much as I would like to debate the actual meaning of love with you, Dennis, I have something much more important to discuss.”
With a snort, Booker turned off the shower, and snatching the towel from Holland’s hand, he wrapped it securely around his waist. He was through bowing down to the mogul’s every demand, and pushing rudely past his antagonist, he walked into the bedroom. “Really?” he scoffed, a look of boredom neutralizing his expression. “What makes you think I’d spend another minute listening to anything you have to say?”
The smile twitching at Holland’s lips slowly manifested, and his eyes clung to Booker’s, eagerly waiting to analyze the young officer’s reaction to his next statement. “Oh, I think you’ll listen. You see, I just had a phone call from Michael McCarter, and it appears he has an itch that needs scratching.”
“An itch?” Booker echoed abruptly. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Then I’ll spell it out for you in words you’ll understand,” Holland smirked. “You see, young McCarter is planning a midnight visit to your beloved Officer Hanson because he wants to—and I quote—fuck that bitch’s sweet ass until he screams my name—end quote.”
The revelation sent a shiver of alarm down Booker’s spine, but he quickly recovered and pushing his dripping hair back from his face, his brow arched skeptically as he unwaveringly held Holland’s gaze. “You’re lying.”
Holland’s grin transformed into a smug sneer. “Am I? Well, my darling boy, I guess only you can decide whether to believe me or not. But considering the stakes, are you really prepared to take a chance?”
A sudden wave of nausea rolled over Booker’s body, leaving him flushed and dizzy. Holland had him by the balls because, despite having serious doubts about the validity of the threat, he could not and would not risk Tom’s personal safety. He felt trapped, like the proverbial fly in a web, but with Holland still grinning at him expectantly, he knew he needed to draw on his inner tenacity and show no fear. Therefore, he squared his shoulders and spoke in a clear, steady voice. “Enough bullshit, Holland. Why don’t you just tell me what it is you want.”
The silent message glinting in Holland’s eyes was clearly sexual, and Booker shifted uncomfortably. He knew what was coming, and his heart thudded painfully in his chest as he waited to hear the dreaded words.
“Dennis, darling, there’s no need to get testy,” Holland replied in a nauseatingly oleaginous voice, his greedy gaze devouring the erotic sight of Booker’s glistening torso. “I’m trying to help you. I hold a lot of clout with the Pi Taus, and given the right incentive, I could be persuaded to tell McCarter to back off and leave poor Tom alone. But you have to understand, my benevolence comes at a price… a high price. So I guess it all depends on how far you’re prepared to go to protect the man you love.”
Unable to maintain his inner calm any longer, Booker shot Holland a hostile look. “Meaning?”
Holland’s amused laughter filled the room, the sound raising the fine hairs on the back of Booker’s neck. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean, my gorgeous boy. I want to continue to bask in the splendor of your magnificent body… I want you on your hands and knees, begging me for mercy as I fuck you day and night until I’m limp and incapable of fucking you anymore… I want your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock... I want to show you off to my friends, so they too can take pleasure from the artistry that is your divine beauty... Shall I go on, or am I making myself clear?”
Hot bile rose in Booker’s throat, but he quickly swallowed down the vile liquid. “Crystal,” he spat, the foul aftertaste of vomit lingering in his mouth. “You’re blackmailing me, and you’ll continue to blackmail me until you find another sex-toy to keep you amused. Right?”
A genuine look of hurt passed over Holland’s face. “Dennis, my sweet, you have it all wrong. All I’m asking is for another two weeks of your company.”
Cynicism clouded Booker’s eyes. “I don’t believe you, you sonofabitch,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “You planned this all along. You never had any intention of giving me the tapes.”
“Au contraire, mon jeune homme,” Holland purred. “As a sign of good faith, I will give the tapes to you now, and when our time together is over, you’ll fall into the arms of your precious Tom, and in his eyes, you'll forever be his hero.”
Booker’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Prove it.”
“As you wish,” Holland replied, and walking over to the replica of Dali’s ‘Christ of St John of the Cross’, he flicked a hidden switch, and the painting swung away from the wall, revealing a door and a tumbler lock. His nimble fingers made short work of the combination, and moments later, the wall-safe opened. After moving several concealed items, he pulled out two VHS tapes and held them up triumphantly. “Do you want to view them?” he asked brightly, a flicker of malice glinting in his emerald eyes. “They’re rather fun, especially the non-edited version.”
Although Booker’s stomach churned at the thought of reliving Tom’s rape, he knew he needed to make sure the tapes were genuine. “Play it,” he instructed, the muscles in his shoulders tensing in apprehension.
“As you wish,” Holland grinned, and moving lithely across the room, he inserted one of the tapes into the VCR unit that sat on a shelf in the bedroom’s small entertainment center and switched on the television.
Tom’s frightened faced filled the twenty-six-inch screen, his panicked gaze frantically flitting from left to right. Suddenly, his eyes bulged, a look of shock replacing his fearful expression. “DENNIS, DON’T!” he screamed.
Loud cheering sounded through the TV’s speakers, and Booker watched in horror as the camera panned down, revealing a side-on view of him enthusiastically sucking on Tom’s cock. Tears filled his eyes, and he covered his ears so he would not have to hear Hanson’s terrified voice crying, “Stop, Dennis! Oh, God! Please stop! Don’t! Don’t! DON’T!”
“ENOUGH!” Booker yelled, his voice choking with emotion, and spinning around, he stumbled into the bathroom. Guilt swirled inside him, and when his midriff collided with the edge of the hand basin, he clasped hold of the cold ceramic, and with an ab-clenching heave, he retched violently into the bowl. Heat prickled the back of his neck, and not trusting the strength in his legs, he remained stooped over the sink, a silvery thread of spittle dripping from between his lips, the sound of Tom’s screams echoing in his ears. Reliving the horror in full color had ripped open his soul, releasing his cleverly suppressed guilt, and he was now drowning in a torrent of shameful remorse. He had betrayed Tom in the most despicable way possible, and he was sure to burn in hell for his sins.
A warm hand touched his shoulder, and lifting his head, he wiped the spittle from his mouth and stared with dead eyes into the gilt-edged mirror. When he saw Holland’s face reflected next to his own, he struggled to suppress his tears. “Why are you doing this to us?” he whispered.
Although his psychopathy made him genetically incapable of feeling empathy, Holland managed to transform his features into a passable impression of a man living with regrets. “My dear, dear, Dennis,” he soothed, his hand moving in a circular motion over the smooth skin of Booker’s back. “Some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. It’s nothing personal; actually, I rather like you. But I have this need… no, it’s more of an inherent obligation to the Pi Taus to put you in your place. Did you honestly think you could infiltrate one of the most prestigious fraternities in America and disclose our sacred secrets without fear of reprisal? Of course not, or if you did, you now know better because I’m here to show you who really governs this country, and it’s not the police or the politicians. It’s the respected alumni of the distinguished universities who have the control, Dennis, and that means me. Therefore, if you refuse my invitation, rest assured, your beloved Tom will suffer the consequences.”
Defeat dulled the remaining spark in Booker’s eyes, and he lowered his gaze to the stinking mess coating the sink. “Okay,” he conceded softly. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just promise me no one will hurt Tom.”
With a zeal that portrayed the indubitable nature of his sins, Holland slowly unwrapped the towel from around Booker’s waist and let it fall to the floor. “I promise, my beautiful boy,” he murmured, and slipping an arm around his enslaved lover’s waist, his skillful fingers gently caressed the young officer’s cock. “Now, I have a surprise for you. Please follow me.”
Being careful to avoid the mocking existence of his spiritless reflection, Booker obediently accompanied Holland into the bedroom. He stood in the middle of the room, much like he had on the first day, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do, and it took several moments of quiet introspection before his mind finally refocused on Holland. With growing trepidation, he watched as the Pi Tau patriarch retrieved a narrow box from a shelf in the closet. Tension built in his muscles, reawakening the pain from his injuries, and he shifted nervously. However, when Holland pulled a blue silk bow tie from the packaging, his agitation soon turned to confusion.
“Put this on,” the Keymaster instructed softly, the excited gleam in his eyes revealing his growing arousal.
Bewildered by the command, Booker’s fisted hands remained by his side. “Where’s the suit?” he asked innocently.
Holland’s lips pulled back into a lecherous grin, revealing his perfectly even teeth. “You’re wearing it.”
When Booker’s expression remained blank, Holland rolled his eyes in frustration and stepping forward, he clamped his hand around the young officer’s cock. “It’s a joke, you dolt,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. “You’re wearing your birthday suit, get it?”
Booker winced, but fearing further injury, he remained where he was standing. “You want me to wear just a bow tie?” he queried, the ridiculousness of the request making him blush. “Why would you ask me to do that?”
The tip of Holland’s tongue traced a lascivious trail over his lips. “Because, my darling boy, I want you to look your best. You see, tonight I am entertaining some very influential clients, and not only will you be the waiter, but you will also be the entertainment.”
And it was then Booker realized he was in serious trouble.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness