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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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I found this chapter extremely hard to write. Even though I created Holland, I absolutely detest him, and the thought of him touching Booker makes me want to vomit. It's rather strange because I created Mosco in "Chasing a Butterfly", and yet, despite all the horrible things he did to Tom, I actually liked him. Weird!
In peace,
OpenPage x

Booker stood with his back to the wall, his arms held rigidly at his sides as per Holland’s instructions. Clothed only in the silk bow tie, the conscious awareness of his nakedness had him cringing with shame. Six pairs of eyes feasted hungrily on his naked flesh, their probing gaze heating his face, and as the long minutes ticked by, he could feel his self-esteem slowly ebbing away. Through clever manipulation, Holland had reduced his status from competent cop to worthless whore, and the idea that someone could have such a coercive power over him was not only aggravating, it was also soul-destroying. He was a piece of meat, his body placed on display for the sexual gratification of the mogul’s dinner guests, and he could not help but wonder if protecting Tom made the ordeal worth the degradation. His inner voice loudly argued that Hanson was a grown man, a competent police officer who was more than capable of taking care of himself. But whenever he closed his eyes, the painful memory of Hanson’s terrified face screaming for him to please stop, ripped a bloody hole in his heart, and he knew he would walk through the fiery lakes of hell to help his friend. Whether he liked it or not, Tom was his Achilles’ heel, and he would do everything in his power to keep him out of harm’s way.
The sound of laughter pulled Dennis from his thoughts, and with a slight shake of his head, he refocused his gaze. Jorge stood at the opposite side of the dining table, his stance mirroring the young officer’s stiff posture. However, unlike Booker, his face bore no discernible signs of embarrassment. With his vacant eyes staring blankly in front of him, he reminded Dennis of the heroin addicts who haunted the alleyways of downtown L.A., and the officer wondered if drugs had numbed the Latino's mind, or if he had just become immune to the degradation due to excessive exposure. It was evident Jorge had made the choice to obey his master, the consequence of his decision sealing his fate and exposing him to untold suffering at the hands of the unscrupulous tycoon. However, what remained unclear was just how long he had submitted to the nefarious treatment. By Booker’s calculation, he was in his late teens, and the idea the pool boy could have experienced sexual abuse while still at school was both nauseating and infuriating. But Holland was a monster, and given Jorge’s looks and physique, Booker knew it was highly likely he had groomed the innocent boy with offers of money and expensive gifts. After all, it was extremely easy to coerce young, socially disadvantaged children with promises of a better life, especially for someone with Holland’s well-polished, charismatic charm. Poor Jorge would have been putty in the magnate’s hands. He would not have stood a chance.
“Dennis!”
Upon hearing his name, Booker turned his head and scowled at Holland. “What?” he asked sullenly.
A sinister expression darkened Holland’s face, the look pressing his full lips into a firm line. “What is not an answer, Dennis. You will address me with the respect I so rightly deserve, or I might find myself inclined to make a phone call to Michael McCarter. Do we understand each other?”
Holland’s hubristic expression reminded Booker of a cartoon super villain. The barefaced effrontery of the man made his skin bristle, and through sheer determination alone, he forcefully contained his steadily rising rancor. At that moment, nothing would have pleased him more than to feel his adversary’s bones splinter beneath the force of his fist. But if he were to protect Tom, he knew he needed to swallow his pride and play the game, otherwise, he faced an even heavier burden of guilt.
And so, as much as it pained him to do so, he submissively lowered his gaze and spoke in what he hoped was a tone heavy with contrition. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
But Holland was nobody’s fool, and he saw straight through Booker’s weak performance. Immediately, a dangerous glint lit up his eyes, and his lip curled into a malevolent sneer. “I think it’s time for some entertainment, don’t you, gentlemen?” he addressed his distinguished looking companions. “Any suggestions?”
The man sitting to Holland’s right leaned in and whispered something to his host, a rakish smile pulling at his thin lips. He exuded an air of aristocracy, his black Dolce and Gabbana suit fitting his slender frame perfectly. On his wrist, a gold Rolex watch winked in the light from the overhead chandelier, each tiny flash publicly affirming the excesses of his wealth. Although in his sixties, his complexion had the smoothness of a man fifteen years his junior, and all-in-all, he cut a dashing figure. But looks could be deceiving, and beneath the suave exterior lurked a cruel, dominant man intent on causing pain to those he viewed as inferior.
Unimpressed by Mister Dolce and Gabbana’s affluent demeanor, Booker’s eyes remained fixed on Holland. Over the last three days, he had become quite adept at reading the older man’s body language, and he stared intently into the narrowed eyes. The chips of emerald ice glinted cruelly, reflecting the coldness of the mogul’s heart, and a chill ran under Booker’s skin. The dark-haired officer immediately cast a worried glance at Jorge, but the younger man appeared unperturbed by the unexpected turn of events, his heavily-lidded, depthless stare giving nothing away. Whatever horrors the Latino had experienced at the hands of Holland’s associates remained concealed behind the lifeless eyes, his shame forever secreted from the rest of the world, and Dennis doubted if anyone knew of the torment he had suffered.
With growing trepidation, Booker’s concerned gaze flitted back to Holland. Their eyes met, and the tycoon’s mouth rippled into a predatory grin. “Jorge, honey,” he intoned pleasantly, his sharp, penetrating gaze remaining fixed on Booker’s face. “Be a good boy and stand next to Dennis.”
At the sound of his name, a spark of life registered in Jorge’s eyes, and he walked around the rectangular table and stood compliantly in front of the dark-haired officer. Booker drew in a deep, shaky breath, and his flesh quivered as he fought to control the stirring within his groin. With the attractive Latino’s perfect body only inches from his own, his eyes roved over the naked flesh, unconsciously absorbing every little detail. From head to toe, Jorge was a masterpiece of perfection, a sculptor's living, breathing fantasy. But it was the young man’s impressive appendage Booker found himself drawn to, and his gaze lingered a little too long on the smooth, mushroom-shaped head before he remembered the other men in the room, and he quickly tore his eyes away.
A soft tinkle of laughter added to his embarrassment, and he lowered his head in shame. “Ah,” Holland crooned. “I see you are as affected by young Jorge’s magnificent cock as we are, dear Dennis. But don’t feel inadequate, yours is just as tantalizing. In fact, my honored guests would like to see just how tantalizing.”
Unable to maintain his inner cool any longer, Booker stepped past Jorge, and covering his genitals with his hands, he threw Holland what he hoped was a devil-may-care look. “You know what, Holland? You may think you’re all that, but you’re not. Newsflash, asshole, I’m not scared of you. Yeah, I made a stupid decision by agreeing to prostitute myself to you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll humiliate myself in front of your friends. The deal’s off. I’m taking the tapes and going home, and if you or any of your sick Pi Tau associates ever contact Tom or me again, there’ll be hell to pay. So here’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, do you understand me, shit-for-brains?”
Holland’s smug smile instantly vanished, replaced by a seething anger that colored his face a dark crimson. Abruptly pushing back his chair, he rose to his feet, the violent motion sending his cloth napkin fluttering to the floor. The fury uncoiling within him stiffened his limbs, giving him a Frankenstein-like appearance that would have been laughable if the situation were not so serious, and narrowing his eyes, he glared at the insolent officer. “Do you think I’m playing with you, boy?” he hissed, his voice low and threatening. “All it’ll take is one phone call, and your precious Tom will find a dozen Pi Taus on his doorstep, all looking for a good time. Got it?”
Booker’s stomach rolled with indecision, but outwardly, he remained stoic. “Bullshit,” he challenged. “McCarter and the others may think they got away with rape, but they’re not stupid enough to risk getting caught a second time, and not even you have the power to convince them otherwise.”
For the first time since arriving at the dining room, Jorge showed signs of life. His eyes flitted nervously from Booker to Holland and back again as he watched the power play unfold. Although brainwashed into obedience by Holland, he secretly hoped Booker would, at the very least, win one round, thereby proving to the arrogant tycoon once and for all that despite his perception, he was not, in fact, a God. However, the odds did not look good, and his brow furrowed in a worried frown.
“Is that what you really think?” Holland asked in a soft, alluring voice. When Booker cocked a contemptuous eyebrow in answer, the mogul’s face darkened and walking over to a Queen Anne style mahogany tea table situated in the corner of the room, he motioned toward the telephone. “Shall I call McCarter and find out?”
Uncertainty raised the fine hairs on Booker’s arms, but he retained his composure. “Sure,” he replied with a matter-of-fact shrug of his shoulders. “Let’s see what the small-dicked prick has to say.”
Someone at the table snorted, their amusement evident by the mocking resonance of the sound, but Holland’s expression remained grim, and picking up the phone’s receiver, he dialed a number. Several long seconds passed before he spoke, and all seven pairs of ears tuned in to listen to what he had to say.
“Michael?” he inquired, a self-satisfied smile curling the corners of his lips. “It’s Ingram Holland. Our dear friend, Dennis, has forced our hand. Please set Operation Officer in motion. Yes, yes, he's calling our bluff, so it’s time to show him—”
“Wait!” Booker cried out, and with all thoughts of protecting his modesty now forgotten, he rushed over to the older man’s side and grasped his arm. “Okay, I believe you. I’ll do whatever you want, just promise me no one will hurt Tommy.”
A wicked glint lit up Holland’s eyes. “Stand down until further instruction,” he muttered into the phone, and placing the receiver back on the cradle, he reached out and lovingly stroked the tip of Booker’s cock with his thumb. “That’s a very sage decision, my sweet, beautiful boy. Now, enough talk, let’s have some fun.”
With no other option left but to give in to Holland’s demands, Dennis’ shoulders slumped, and he silently waited for instructions. A click of Holland’s fingers brought Jorge to his side, and without waiting for direction, the young Latino dropped obediently to his knees. “Suck him,” the magnate commanded softly. “But don’t let him come… yet.”
Booker immediately screwed his eyes closed and with each jagged, expectant breath, he felt a little piece of his soul die. Warm hands grasped his hips, and when Jorge’s lips made contact with his cock, he covered his face with his hands, hiding the shame that flamed his cheeks. Although he could not see them, he was acutely aware of the eager audience sitting in their chairs, enthusiastically taking in the show, and he willed his body not to react. But as Jorge’s mouth moved up and down his thickening shaft, he knew it was a futile gesture. He was physically unprepared for the skilled artistry of the soft lips that eagerly engulfed him and unable to control his growing needs, his lower body bucked forward, forcing his cock further into the hot, willing mouth. A low groan of approval spilled from his lips, and lowering his hands, he entwined his fingers in the younger man’s dark hair. “Yesss,” he breathed, his hips thrusting rhythmically in a sensual, private dance of lust and longing. “Fuck yes.”
The tip of Holland’s tongue darted out from between his lips, a look of enthrallment animating his features. “Slowly, my sweet angel,” he tutored softly. “Take your time.”
A tall, lanky man with sparse gray hair stood up, his arousal evident by the tenting in his pants. “C’mon, Ingram, enough playing around. I want to fuck that spick’s firm, tight ass.”
Offended by the crudity of the statement, Holland threw the man a withering look. “Sit down, Beasley,” he commanded in a gruff voice. “We’ve got all night, and I want my two beautiful boys to get to know each other. After all, they’re going to be spending a lot of time in each other’s company.”
With the titillating thrill of fellatio sending nerve-jangling jolts of rapturous pleasure throughout his body, Booker barely registered the underlining meaning of Holland’s words. His blood ran hot through his veins, and with little regard for Jorge, he selfishly allowed his mind to escape into the euphoric world of self-gratification. “Harder,” he moaned, his fingers tangling in the pool boy’s lustrous, shoulder length hair. “Suck me harder.”
A twinkle of arousal illuminated Holland’s eyes. Booker’s cock was fully erect, the blood-engorged veins now showing prominently along the length of his thick shaft, and stepping behind him, Holland gently caressed his firm buttocks. “Talk to me, my sweet,” he murmured against Booker’s ear. “Do you like Jorge sucking your cock.”
Booker was now in a sexually induced dreamlike state. In his mind, it was Tom’s tender, pliant lips wrapped around him, giving him the pleasure he so desperately craved, and his answer tumbled from his lips without thought. “Yes,” he breathed. “God, yes.”
Now that he had Booker exactly where he wanted him, Holland motioned to Mister Tall and Lanky. “He’s all yours, Robert.”
A fiendish grin stretched the corners of Robert Beasley’s mouth. The moment he had been waiting for had arrived, and kicking off his shoes, he unbuttoned his trousers and let the neatly pressed material crumple to the floor. He quickly pushed down his shorts, and stepping out of the discarded clothing, he dropped to his knees and took his position behind Jorge.
“Lube?” Holland asked casually as if all he was offering was a cup of tea.
Beasley nodded, and Holland tossed him a tube of lubrication. After liberally coating his cock, he tossed it back. “Aren’t you going to join in?” he inquired politely.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Holland replied pleasantly, and releasing his cock, he applied lubrication to his erect shaft before tossing the tube to the floor.
Oblivious to the courteous banter taking place around him, Booker’s eyes flew open in surprise when the tip of Holland’s slick finger pressed against him. “What the—”
“Shhh,” Holland whispered into his ear. “Relax and enjoy the ride, dear Dennis. I promise you, this will be an experience you’ll never forget.”
“I-I...” Booker stammered, but the misgivings in his heart instantly vanished when Holland’s slick finger pushed inside him, filling his emptiness. Beasley immediately followed suit, eliciting a groan from Jorge that resonated sensually around Booker’s cockhead. “Jesus,” the young officer hissed, and as Holland’s finger worked its magic, a tremor shuddered throughout his body. “Oh, Jesus.”
Holland grinned like a man possessed, and withdrawing his finger, he focused his attention on Beasley. “Ready?”
Robert Beasley nodded, and removing his finger, he dropped to his knees and pressed the tip of his cock against Jorge’s anus. “On the count of three?” he inquired with a smile.
“Of course,” Holland laughed, and positioning his cock against Booker’s entrance, he counted down in a singsong voice. “One… two… THREE!”
There was no teasing prelude, just a forceful thrust, and Holland’s cock buried deep inside Booker’s anus, the tip slamming into his prostate. “FUUUCK!” the young officer yelled, his fingers ripping at Jorge’s hair. The double stimulation ignited a fiery ball inside his genitals, and thrusting his hips forward, his eyes gorged on the erotic sight of Beasley’s cock sliding in and out of the young Latino’s ass. Every nerve in his body screamed with pleasure, and abandoning any semblance of control, his body jerked forward, and a husky, sexual mantra exploded in a heavy pant from between his lips. “Ahh ahh ahh ahh…”
Jorge grunted, his sun-kissed flesh quivering with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Booker’s juices coated his tongue, the intoxicating sapidity heightening his arousal, and pre-cum bubbled from his slit. He longed to fondle himself, to slide his hand up and down his burgeoning erection, but he knew better. Touching was strictly forbidden, and to openly defy the rules resulted in excruciating pain at the hands of his master. Therefore, it was better to abstain than face the wrath of a psychopathic lunatic.
The smell of sex permeated the room, the musky, testosterone-based scent fueling the men’s sexual appetites. Three of the four men still seated at the table openly masturbated, their hands unconsciously falling into a libidinous rhythm born from years of shared experience. The fourth man’s eyes, however, remained fixed on the Waterford crystal wine glass grasped in his hand, his expression unreadable. But his dinner companions more than made up for his lack of enthusiastic participation, the discord of their breathless grunts releasing into the atmosphere, adding to the heaviness in the air.
Holland’s warm breath tickled the back of Booker’s neck. “You like it, don’t you, whore,” he whispered, a tinkle of laughter coloring his voice. “You get off watching Beasley fucking another worthless whore while I fuck you up the ass, don’t you? Or is it fucking the whore’s mouth that gets you hot under the collar?”
“Fuck fuck fuck…” Booker chanted by way of reply, his raging libido suffocating all cognitive thought.
With his fingernails digging painfully into Booker’s hips, leaving tiny crescent moons in their wake, Holland continued to taunt the young officer. “Come for me, bitch,” he wheezed, his cock sliding in and out at a rapid pace. “Fill that fucker’s mouth.”
“Oh, God,” Booker groaned. “I wanna I wanna I wanna I… AHHH!”
Warm semen shot into the back of Jorge’s throat, and swallowing deeply, he eagerly consumed Booker’s offering. Seconds later, Beasley released a primal yell, his orgasm shooting forth with bone-shaking force. With Dennis’ softening cock still filling his mouth, Jorge moaned loudly, and without any further stimulation, he climaxed, his juices splattering the officer’s legs. Only Holland continued his frantic thrusting, his determination to outlast everyone else suppressing his urge to ejaculate. But when his three seated compatriots shuddered out their release, he surrendered to his desires, and with a long, drawn out moan, he shot his seed deep inside Booker’s quivering body.
Heavy breathing cut through the airless room. The four men remained conjoined, their cocks linking them together in an artist’s erotic sculpture. Eventually, Holland withdrew from Booker’s throbbing body, which in turn allowed the officer to release his cock from Jorge’s mouth. Beasley remained inside Jorge’s anus for another few seconds before shuffling back and releasing his cock, sending a river of semen and blood trickling down the younger man’s tanned thighs, the sight validating the level of abuse.
Ashamed of his wanton behavior, Booker dropped to his knees, and cupping the Latino’s beautiful face in his hand, he tenderly caressed the soft skin with his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he choked, his desperate eyes filling with tears. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Jorge smiled, the tempting curve of his mouth drawing Booker in, and placing his hand behind the younger man’s neck, the dark-haired officer gently pulled him forward, and brushed his lips over the enticing full pout. He had barely made contact when his head snapped violently backward, and a stiff hand delivered a stinging slap to his face. With a cry of pain, he raised his arms and tried to ward off the blows, but Holland continued his vicious attack, his fists raining heavy punches over Booker’s back and shoulders. “YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!” he screamed, his face twisting into a frightening mask of impending lunacy. “HOW DARE YOU KISS HIM! HOW DARE YOU!”
Frightened by the physicality of the onslaught, Jorge scuttled away to a safe corner of the room. Beasley and the other men watched on with mild interest, all except Mister Waterford Crystal, who sat hunched in his chair, his fingers tightly gripping his now empty wine glass. Left to defend himself, Booker attempted to rise to his feet, but Holland was now a man insane, and grabbing the telephone off the table, he swung it at the officer’s head.
With a sickening crack, the heavy ceramic phone struck Booker’s temple. His vision blurred, and falling to the floor, he fought to stay conscious as the room spun before him. Blood poured from the wound above his eye, and wincing in pain, his fingers explored his damaged flesh. A rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins, and drawing in a deep breath, he attempted to rise using the wall for support, his hand leaving bloody streaks on the cream paint. But a bout of nausea weakened his limbs, and his legs buckled, sending him crumpling back to the floor with a cry of pain. Despite his confused state, he knew he was in serious trouble, and drawing on his inner strength, he desperately tried to overcome his affliction. But his injury was too severe, and with his will to fight slowly ebbing away, he closed his eyes and slipped toward the welcoming darkness.
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Beneath a Heart of Darkness