By lthr_jock

Clark staggered upstairs, still slightly unsteady on his feet. He tried to stand unsupported but wavered and had to hold himself up against the wall. He shook his head and pulled himself together and headed back to his post. But he hardly got there, when he grabbed his stomach and dived into the nearest toilets. There he threw up – he thought it must be a reaction to the drugs Palmer had given him but it could well have been a reaction to his rape by Morrison. As he thought about it, his stomach churned and he threw up again, retching bile as the protein shakes he had been eating for the last 2 days gave him little to bring up.

“Clark? You OK?”

He heard a voice outside the stall and stood up, grabbing his cap from where it had fallen on the floor and using it to hide his shaven head before flushing and heading out. There he saw Palmer, a concerned look on his face. He rubbed his stomach ruefully.

“Must have eaten something bad. I’m going to head home.”

“Yeah. Look after yourself, Clark.”

Palmer turned towards the urinals and Clark stepped towards the door. Then something struck him and he walked back to stand behind Palmer. “Palmer – what was it that you gave Morrison?” Palmer coughed and without turning around tried to answer, but Clark could see that Palmer’s urine stream had dried up with nerves.

“Morrison? I didn’t give him nothing.”

Clark gave Morrison a friendly pat on his back – and kept the pressure there forcing the younger man to lean forwards. With his hands on his cock he was vulnerable and he tried to push back, but Clark had him under control.

“Second chance, Palmer, or I take this straight to the warden.”

Palmer hesitated. “Ok, OK, it was just something to make him feel good, you know, something that the guys like to experiment with. Maxwell brews up the stuff. It’s harmless.”

Clark relaxed his pressure on Palmer, letting the man resume his urination.

“You got any more of it?”

“What? You mean … you?” Clark said nothing, letting Palmer draw his own conclusions. “Well, yeah, I got some left. A couple of doses.”

“Where?”

“Left breast pocket.”

Clark reached around behind Palmer and felt in his breast pocket. He took out two twisted wraps containing a blue-ish powder and put them in his pocket. “This is between us, Palmer.

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Palmer relaxed as he now thought that Clark was in on a similar game to himself and his flow resumed. Clark stepped away but not before giving Palmer a hefty slap on the back that caused him to stagger and splash urine all over the front of his trousers. As the young man swore and cursed behind him, Clark headed out of the prison and drove himself home.

At home, Clark stripped off his uniform and threw it into the laundry bin. He then went and took a long hot shower, staying in and scrubbing himself down until the water started to run cold. He then went and laid down on his bed, not bothering to dress, too worried about what was going on to do anything else. He ran through scenarios in his mind, but nothing that he could think of could stop Morrison from doing exactly what he wanted. If he hadn’t been involved he would have found the whole thing ironic.

Despite himself, he managed to fall asleep after the stress of the last few days, giving in to a bone-deep fatigue. He woke to the sound of his doorbell. He hoped whoever it was would go away, but the bell sounded again. He shrugged into a pair of shorts and went down to open the door. Outside was a UPS delivery man with a box. He handed over a tablet for Clark to sign and then handed over the box.

Clark shut the door and saw the box had an envelope taped to the top. He pulled it open and a date stick fell out. Without opening the box, he headed upstairs and put it into his computer. The stick had a single executable file on it titled “Samuel.” Clark sighed and double-clicked. The programme was nothing but a video file and he grimaced as he saw Morrison’s face. The backdrop looked to be some bar. For a moment he thought that Morrison was out, and then reflected that this must have been recorded over the weekend. He started the file.

“Hey Mr Clark. Hope you had a great couple of days. I’m having a blast.” Morrison raised a bottle of beer into view and saluted the screen before taking a long swig.

“Anyway, I’m sure you want to get back into the swing of things. But before you do, I have a job needs doing. Your ride will get to your house at about 6. The box contains what you should wear. Take nothing but what’s in the box and do everything you’re told to do.” Morrison took another swig.

“Oh, and here’s the threat. Refuse to do what you’re told and your story goes viral. Have fun!”

With that the screen froze on Morrison’s mocking grin and the file terminated. Clark sighed. He had little choice. He checked the clock – 5:30. He didn’t have much time – and certainly not enough time to think of a way out of this mess.

When the bell rang again at 6, Clark was ready. He looked at himself before he was heading downstairs. He was wearing a pair of skin-tight leather jeans that had clearly been well worn before – and judging by the smell, pissed in several times. Over them was a pair of similarly dirty leather chaps that accentuated his crotch and arse. Both were held in place by a thick studded leather belt that sported a heavy steel skulls head belt buckle. His feet were in heavy, worn bike boots that clicked as he walked due to the metal studs on the sole. On the top he wore a leather waistcoat that hung open at the front, exposing his torso. Clark had tried to close it, but it was far too small. Over that was a denim waistcoat that had a back covered with chains and studs and a skull and crossbones under the legend “Hells Angels.” He sighed at the look he was sporting and headed downstairs to open the door.

Outside were 2 men dressed like himself – except they had open face bike helmets on, the bottom half of their faces covered by half-masks styled to look like skulls. Their eyes were hidden behind goggles. Behind them, Clark could see their bikes drawn up on his drive. Wordlessly, one handed Clark a pair of thick studded leather bracers. He paused, then strapped them on. The man then handed over a thick collar, studded like the bracers. Clark sighed and put it on. He was then handed a helmet. Inside it, he could see a half-mask and goggles like the ones the men were wearing. He pulled them out and another item fell out and bounced onto the floor. He groaned and picked up the ball-gag and pushed it into his mouth before strapping it behind his head. He then put on the half-mask, helmet and goggles and headed out, looking exactly like the others.

The two men got on their bikes and one nodded at Clark to get on behind him. Clark did so and tried to ask where they were going, but could do nothing but grunt into the gag. Ignoring the man behind him, the biker headed off and they were soon speeding out of town. Clark tried to keep track of where they were going, but they soon headed away from familiar roads and all he saw was the occasional road sign. They were clearly keeping off main roads and after nearly an hours riding, they pulled up outside an isolated building. There were 4 other bikes outside as well as a beat up panel van. Clark was motioned towards the back of the van and he got inside to sit on the rough bench seating to either side. He was soon joined by 3 other men and the van pulled away. The other men were as silent as the bikers had been and as he was gagged he couldn’t exactly start a conversation himself. Each of the men had a heavy black bag with him and Clark wondered what was in them. When the van stopped, he found out.

The men’s attitude changed to one of alertness. One of them took off Clark’s goggles and helmet and motioned to him to remove the mask. When he did they unstrapped the ball gag and he took the opportunity to spit out the drool that had accumulated. He was then handed a balaclava and as he rolled it on, saw the others taking weapons out of their bags. He wasn’t given one, but as the rear door of the van opened he was ushered to the middle of the group.

Clark could see that they were in the centre of a town and rushing towards a betting shop. As they went in, all the others started yelling and one fired a shotgun into the ceiling. The men he was with moved like a well oiled machine, getting the customers into a corner and threatening the staff. Barely two minutes had passed before they had filled bags with cash and were heading for the doors.   Clark was grabbed by both arms and pushed towards the door and a third man grabbed his balaclava from behind and pulled it off. Clark reflexively looked up and into the lens of a security camera. He put his head down, but knew the damage was done and shook his head in despair as he was man-handled back into the van.

Clark didn’t resist as they re-gagged him, this time blindfolding him and tying his hands behind him. Clearly they thought he was going to react badly after the incident and his passivity surprised them. Clark was ready to weep. He could see what Morrison’s plan was – Morrison was going to ruin him and there was nothing he could do about it. As he sat in the van, his mind was racing – and he was wondering how far he would get if he tried to get out of the country.

The van delivered its cargo to the same ramshackle building and Clark was put back on the back of the bike. This time, his hands were pulled around in front of the rider and padlocked together as if they thought he might try and throw himself off. But Clark was not that stupid and he merely endured the ride home.

When they arrived, he was released and the men led him up to his front door. Once inside, they left him and Clark was stood, still blindfolded in his hall. He slowly removed the helmet, gag and blindfold and dropped them on the floor. As he did, an idea that had been running through his mind came to the fore and he found himself grinning. Clark ran upstairs and sat in front of his computer.

He checked and found the person he wanted was online and initiated a Skype call. The call was accepted and he found himself looking at Vickers.

“Mr Clark? Wow – interesting get up.”

“Forget that, Vickers, I need your help. Tell me – how good are at manipulating CCTV?”

 

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Metal would like to thank the author, lthr_jock, for this story! If you like it, be sure to leave comments in the comments section below.