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To Chase a Feather in the Wind	By : OpenPage Category: 1 through F > 21 Jump Street Views: 1696 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- 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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Thirty-six hours later
A gentle hand caressing his cheek woke Dennis from a light sleep and he immediately shrank away from the touch. “No more,” he muttered through cracked lips. “Please, no more.”
Conan smiled wickedly and trailed a finger down Dennis’ naked thigh. “Aww, c’mon beautiful, don’t you wanna play?”
Dennis dragged himself into the corner of the room and pulling his legs up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged himself protectively. “No,” he whispered. “Please, just leave me alone.”
Sighing in annoyance, Conan walked over to where Dennis cowered on the floor and squatting down next to him, he ran a light finger down his cheek. “I don’t want to leave you alone,” he taunted in a low voice. “I own you now. You’re my bitch.”
Staring up with wild eyes, Dennis’ voice began to shake. “Own me?”
“That’s right pretty boy,” Conan whispered menacingly. “Mike’s got no need for you anymore, the movie’s finished and you’re too much of a risk to keep around. So I paid him to take you off his hands and now, you’re mine.”
Dennis’ dark eyes grew wide with shock. “W-What?”
Sitting down on the ground, Conan draped a companionable arm around Dennis’ shoulders. “It’s pretty simple, I bought you and now your ass belongs to me.”
Closing his eyes, Dennis shook his head from side to side in an attempt to banish Conan’s words from his brain. “No, no, no, no, nooo!”
“Oh yes, yes, yes,” Conan murmured and leaning forward, he trailed his tongue up the side of Dennis’ face. “You and me are gonna have so much fun.”
Dennis knew he had to try to escape and dropping to his hands, he attempted to crawl away from his abuser. But he was sluggish from the cocktail of drugs that still circulated through his system and he had barely moved a few inches when a meaty hand grasped the back of his neck. “Going somewhere?” Conan growled.
Moments later, he heard the terrifying sound of a zipper pulling down and he froze in fear. He knew what was coming but he was powerless to stop it and when Conan pressed his enormous cock against him, he screwed his eyes closed and waited for the pain.
The sight of Dennis’ bare ass trembling in front of him was enough to make Conan hard and with a moan of pleasure, he rammed his cock into his victim’s unprepared entrance.
The huge cock ripped through Dennis’ already damaged muscles and he screamed in pain. “DON’T! OH GOD! STOP! PLEASE STOP!”
Blood seeped through Dennis’ channel and coated Conan’s thick shaft. At the sight, the large man groaned with pleasure and rocking his hips forwards and backwards, he steadily increased his pace until he was slamming his cock in and out of his victim’s tight, bleeding anus. With each thrust, he penetrated deeper inside Dennis’ abused body and grinning with excitement, he let go of his neck and grabbing a handful of his dark hair, he yanked his head backwards. “YEE-HAW!” he yelled and using his free hand, he slapped Dennis on the ass as he continued to slam his cock in and out. “Giddy up horsey! Giddy up!”
Tears streamed down Dennis’ face and the muscles in his neck bulged from the tension of having his head pulled backwards. His huge, wild eyes stared up at the ceiling and his mind started to shut down. Instead of nicotine stained paintwork, he saw blue sky and fluffy cumulus clouds dispersed across the imaginary cobalt canvas. The shriek of his rapist’s voice transformed into the eerie call of the California Gull and even though he knew he was losing his grip on reality, he did not care. Escapism was a way of coping with the abuse, a way to disassociate himself from the pain and degradation. It was a way to hold onto his sanity.
The gull’s shrieking cry became steadily louder and the clouds sped crazily across the imaginary sky, the white translucent vapor blurring in front of him. He became lost in the vision, immersed in the sound; he could smell the saltiness of the sea in his nostrils…
Then it was over.
Collapsing to the floor, he returned to reality with a jolt. Conan was still inside him, shuddering out his release and he stifled a sob. He had managed to block out the brutality of the rape but only for a moment and no matter where his mind went, the truth would never be far away. He was Conan’s toy and until someone found him, he would continue to be raped and abused over and over by a sexual sadist.
**
Penhall wound his way through the crowded bar, expertly carrying a pitcher of beer in one hand and in the other, two empty glasses with a basket of salted nuts balanced on top. Settling them down carefully on the table, he sat down opposite Tom and filled their glasses before raising his in salute. “Bottoms up.”
Tom lifted his head. “Huh?” he asked distractedly.
Letting out a sigh, Doug pointed to the full glass. “I said, bottoms up.”
Lifting up his beer, Tom’s eyes wandered around the room. “Yeah, cheers,” he mumbled in a faraway voice.
Doug took a large swig of his drink and studied his friend’s face. He had brought him to the bar after work to help take his mind off Booker. It had surprised him how hard Tom was taking the news of Dennis’ disappearance; they had never been close and although they were all worried about their colleague, Tom’s concern was on another level. He was moody, distracted and full of nervous energy. He spent his days pacing back and forth across the floor of the Chapel or in Fuller’s office, pushing for information. But there was no information. Mike Ferris had eventually been located and interviewed and his studio searched but there was no sign of Dennis. Ferris remained friendly during the interview but he was adamant, he had never laid eyes on the young officer and if he had been at the mall during the recruitment drive, he had not seen him.
Fuller put a tail on Ferris but the process had taken time to organize and it had not started until that morning. So far, they had come up blank. Ferris spent most of his day at the studio and there was no suspicious activity to report. If Ferris did have anything to do with Booker’s disappearance, he had covered his tracks well. It was then that Fuller knew he needed to ramp up the investigation and so somewhat reluctantly, he notified the media. Within hours, the news stations were beaming Dennis’ photo into millions of homes across the country along with footage of the Police Commissioner offering a hundred thousand dollar reward for information that led to the safe recovery of the young officer.
It was something, but for Tom, it was not enough. Dennis was still missing and he knew from experience that the longer a case dragged on, a successful conclusion became less and less likely.
Sighing heavily, Doug reached out and laid his hand over Tom’s long fingers. “We’ll find him,” he murmured.
Tom turned his head and gazed back at his friend with sad eyes. “And if we don’t?” he asked quietly. “He’s out there somewhere Doug and we’re pretty sure Ferris’ modeling school is a front for something more sinister. God only knows what they’re doing to him. He could be…” His voice trailed off and he lowered his eyes. “What if he’s dead?”
A shiver ran down Penhall’s spine. The thought that Dennis might have died had never entered his mind but it was certainly a possibility. Snuff films were a reality and if Ferris really did make underage pornographic movies, there was a chance he delved into the more depraved side of filmmaking. The thought was horrifying and picking up his beer, he gulped it down and poured himself another. He suddenly felt the urge to get mind-numbingly drunk and to hell with the hangover in the morning.
A long silence hung between the two officers and Doug’s nerves started to jangle. Draining his glass, he slammed it down on the table and stood up. “Fuck this,” he muttered. “I need a whiskey.”
Tom watched him disappear into the crowd and picking up his drink, he sipped at the cool amber liquid. Unlike Doug, he did not feel the need to obliterate the thoughts that consumed his mind. He wanted to stay focused and in control so that when the call came, he could be there to help Dennis because since his disappearance, he could no longer deny his feelings; he was not infatuated with the dark haired officer, he was hopelessly in love with him.
A loud commotion at the bar pulled him back to the present and looking over, he saw Doug wrestling a short, stocky man’s arm behind his back. Jumping to his feet, he ran through the throng of people who had swarmed around the two men and pulled out his badge. “Police!” he yelled. “Get out of the way!”
Caught up in the excitement, the mob jostled together, all vying for a better vantage point. Tom eventually pushed his way through and rushing forward, he helped Doug tackle the man to the ground. “What the hell’s going on?” he gasped.
Doug yanked the man’s arms upwards, eliciting a yell of pain from his captive. “I overhead him talking,” he puffed and pulling out his handcuffs, he snapped the manacles around the struggling man’s wrists. “He said he knew where Dennis was being held!”
Tom grabbed hold of the man and hauled the man to his feet. “You’d better start talking,” he growled into his frightened face, “and you’d better do it quick.”
**
An hour passed before Dennis felt capable of standing and hauling himself to his feet, he walked drunkenly across the barren room and into the bathroom. Leaning heavily against the chipped porcelain hand basin, he gazed with unfocused eyes into the cracked mirror. Two bloodshot eyes stared back at him, the dilated pupils making his irises appear black. His dark hair hung in sweaty strands around his ash-colored face, giving him a ghostly appearance and he looked much older than his twenty-three years. The sight was so shocking that fresh tears filled his eyes and he choked back a sob. He felt dehumanized, a shadow of his former self and he wondered how much longer he could cope with the abuse before he lost his mind completely.
Turning on the faucet, he gulped down several mouthfuls of water. His throat was sore from screaming and the cool fluid helped to soothe the pain. Moving over to the toilet, he relieved his bladder, his eyes purposely avoiding his blood stained thighs. After flushing the chain, he staggered over to the shower cubicle and pulled back the curtain. He sighed with relief when he saw a bar of soap sitting in the ceramic dish; at least he could rid himself of the foul stench of his rapist and cleanse his battered body.
Swaying heavily on his feet, he stepped into the shower and turning on the hot faucet, he added a small amount of cold water to the mix. The temperature in the bathroom rose and steam filled the air. Lowering his head, he braced his palms against the black and white tiled wall and let the scalding water beat against his tired, abused body. The stinging heat against his skin momentarily masked the pain inside his anus and closing his eyes, he concentrated on the steady thrumming of the water. Ten minutes passed before he picked up the soap and methodically washed his body. Turning his back to the shower head, he leaned forward and let the blistering heat beat over his aching backside as he scrubbed frantically at his anus in the desperate hope that he could cleanse himself of the semen that had violated his body. He ignored the searing pain; all he wanted was to rid himself of the fluids that had infected him. Another twenty minutes passed before he turned off the faucets and stepped dripping from the shower and out into the steamy bathroom. The rail was devoid of towels but he found a washcloth in the cupboard under the hand basin and he dabbed himself dry as best he could.
Exhausted from the effort, he stumbled back into the empty room and lowering himself to the floor, he curled into a protective ball and fell asleep
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To Chase a Feather in the Wind