John Carter stared into the darkness of his room, wondering why people
had to be so complicated? If it wasn't his parents and grandparents
going off right at Christmas, it was Steve acting angry because John
had decided to move out into his own apartment. John would have
thought that Steve would be happy about getting the room all to
himself - hell, he'd have more room in which to toss his clothes
around, John thought. But, no, Steve had pitched a fit when John told
him, and he'd been irritable ever since. When Christmas break arrived
and Steve had left, John had been relieved. He'd wasted no time in
tidying up their room, even though he was planning to leave it.
And now, the room held boxes waiting to be packed as well as boxes
already packed. John hadn't thought that he'd brought all that much
stuff with him, but obviously he had. Stereo, books, clothes. The
trophy from the recent tournament. John grinned into the darkness as
he remembered the rush he'd felt when he'd won his weight class. The
varsity coach had been watching, too, and had commented that if John
kept up that kind of performance on the mat, then he'd pull him up to
the varsity squad. John was proud of that offer, but not sure if he'd
take it. He had enough on his agenda without having to add the more
competitive varsity-wrestling schedule. But, he wasn't going to make
up his mind until the next semester began. They had a few more
matches in January, and then the season would be over, so there was no
rush to decide right then if he wanted to push himself enough to make
the varsity team.
As for his family, well, John preferred to not think about them. They
most likely had good and compelling reasons for spending Christmas out
of the country, he was sure of that. Of course, he wasn't really sure
why they couldn't have invited him, although John did have a hint that
his grandfather was upset over their last conversation, in which John
insisted that he would be going to medical school once he had his
college degree. His grandfather had been pushing for him to go to
Wharton and get a masters degree in business, but John was sticking to
his guns on this. He was going to be a doctor, and nothing would
change his mind on that.
And, with determination to rule his own life echoing in his head, John
drifted off to sleep.
And he awoke to a nightmare. At least, he was pretty certain that it
was a nightmare and not reality, because there was no way that someone
would be holding him down against his mattress while someone else was
shoving something over his head. He cried out, demanding to be
released, and yelling, even though he knew it wouldn't do him any good
to yell - he was the only student staying on his floor over break.
And the people grabbing him ignored his yells, at least that's what
John thought as he felt his hands being bound together with something.
And then a strip of cloth was being tied around his head, where his
mouth was, and it pushed material into his mouth as well. And there
he lay, panting with fear and anger on his bed, bound and gagged, and
blind, courtesy of the hood or whatever it was over his head.
John heard whispers from the other side of the room, and then hands
were hauling him to his feet. A rough sounding voice warned him to
cooperate or else, and the next thing John knew, he was being walked
somewhere. Out of the room, most likely. Oh, God, he thought, dismay
settling in, I'm being kidnapped. When were his parents leaving
Chicago? He couldn't remember. And he couldn't remember when his
grandparents were leaving, either. What if the kidnappers called and
couldn't reach anyone? Would they kill him?
John made as much noise as he could, hoping that they'd undo the gag
so he could plead with them, tell them that no one would be home when
they called. But all his attempts to communicate earned him were a
punch in his back, and a voice whispering hoarsely against his ear.
"Keep quiet, Hoss, and this'll be a lot easier on you."
Since the guy was whispering, John couldn't tell if he knew the voice,
but he knew that term! He could vaguely remember someone calling him
that. But who? Had it been someone in a class, or at a wrestling
match? If only he could remember who it was, then John knew he'd have
an edge up on his kidnappers - provided that he didn't let on that he
recognized the guy.
His mind churning as he tried to remember, John paid little attention
to where he was going until he heard the metallic clink of a door
slamming. Before he could deduce where he was at, John found himself
being hoisted up and thrown over someone's shoulder. They were on the
stairs, John was sure of it. And he thought they were going down. He
tried to concentrate on the sound of footsteps, but since he didn't
know exactly how many people had been in his room, he really couldn't
separate the sounds from one another. After going down a bit, they
started to head back up the stairs, and John could hear the guy
carrying him grunting from the exertion. He was put down, and when
someone tried to whisper a question, it was instantly hushed. So,
John wasn't the only one who didn't understand why they were going up
and down the stairs.
After what felt like an eternity to John, he was heaved up again like
a sack of potatoes and they went down the stairs, then through a door,
and the soft sounds of shoes on the metal stairs went silent, and John
knew they were on a carpeted dorm floor. Damn the school for having
carpeting, he thought. John thought he'd be put down again, but that
didn't happen. Instead, his captor kept walking, and then he suddenly
stopped and John heard laughter.
"What's going on?" a voice asked, and John felt the body beneath him
go rigid.
"Frat initiation," came the rumbling voice of his captor. John knew
that voice. It was the voice that had called him "Hoss" before. But
he still couldn't place the guy. He kicked his legs then, more from
frustration than from trying to call attention to himself. A firm
slap on his butt made him stop, though, and there was more laughter.
"Damn freshmen don't know when to keep still."
"Looks to me like he needs a good paddling," another voice said.
The hand patted his backside lightly. "Oh, don't worry, he's gonna get
that...and then some. Isn't that right, Hoss? Yeah, he knows that
bad little boys get punished."
There was more laughter, and John felt his face burning over the fact
that they were laughing at him. Damn, he thought, kicking again.
Couldn't they see that he was a prisoner of these creeps? A hood over
his head, gagged and tied, and they thought it was a frat initiation?
In fucking December? Who held frat initiations in December?
That hand fell on his butt again, hard this time, stinging through the
heavy cotton of his sweatpants, and John quit kicking. "Kick me
again, and I won't be held responsible for what I do, understand that,
Hoss?"
John nodded, his spirits falling as he heard goodbyes and good lucks
being said, and then they were moving again. John heard a door close,
felt more movement, then the closing of another door and the next
thing he knew, he was being tossed onto a bed, landing on his back.
He tried to move, to sit up, but hands grabbed his ankles and pulled
them apart, and John felt something being tied onto them. Hands held
his arms while his wrists were untied, and then his arms were pulled
up and out, and his wrists re-tied. He was completely helpless and at
their mercy, and John felt ashamed of the tear that slipped from his
eye. It wouldn't do any good to cry now, he told himself
"John Carter," the voice of his main captor resonated in the room.
"You have been charged of being an all-around asshole, an arrogant
prick, and just a bastard in general. Who here thinks that he's
guilty as charged?"
"Definitely."
"In spades."
No more voices, John noted. There were just three of them then. But
when had he behaved like that? He didn't even know these guys. At
least, he didn't think he knew them. He pulled at the bindings,
trying to see if he could get free, but his attempts just seemed to
make the knots tighter.
"John Carter, you have been tried and found guilty. Now be prepared
to face your punishment. First, you will be stripped of all dignity."
Hands once more grabbed his ankles, and John heard metallic sounds,
then he started as he felt the cold of metal against his skin, and
heard the sounds of something being cut. They were cutting off his
sweatpants. He tried to protest, shaking his head, but they kept on
going. And they didn't stop there. Once his sweatpants were gone,
they went after his T-shirt, and then his boxers.
John shivered in the room; the cool air causing goose bumps to erupt
all over his body. God, what did they want? They hadn't mentioned a
ransom yet. They would, wouldn't they? Or would they...John didn't
want to think about what they might do.
"Second, your family will be called upon to cough up a sizable amount
of money for your return. Third, you will be subjected to the very
things that you've subjected others to."
Once more, John felt hands upon him, only now there was no barrier of
clothing, and the hands weren't holding him down. They were touching
him, pinching him...John mewed softly behind the gag, wishing and
praying with all his might that this really was a nightmare and that
he'd wake up from it any minute.
Dave motioned Harry to follow him, and then he went into the sitting
room of the suite. He felt ashamed of the fact that he was getting
turned on by watching Harry and Ron messing with Carter, and he needed
to do something to get his mind off of all of that. When he took
Carter, he wanted it to be with retribution, and not because the sight
of the asshole's body had turned him on.
Harry closed the door on the soft whimpering that was coming from
behind the hood, and he looked questioningly at Dave. "What's up?"
"I'm going back to Carter's room to get the video tapes and his
wallet. I was thinking that we might as well take advantage of his
ATM card while waiting for his family to deliver the money."
Harry nodded. "That's a good idea. When are you going to call them?"
Dave looked at his watch. It was almost 5 am, and he knew that
Chicago was an hour behind them. "At six, I think. It'll wake 'em
up, but at least I know I'll catch them at home." A quick trip into
the computer database for the students had given them a telephone
number for Carter's parents. When Dave had picked his 'team' for
this, the fact that Ron worked part-time in the office of Student
Affairs had been an asset and helped get Ron selected. Harry...well,
Harry was just a good guy who had been done wrong. Strong, but not
overly intelligent. The kind of guy that people took advantage of,
and all too often. Dave felt that Harry deserved the pleasure of
getting back at Carter for the indignities that had been heaped upon him.
"I'll grab Carter's stuff, bring it back and then head out to a phone
booth to call," Dave said as he headed for the door. "In the
meantime, I'm sure that you and Ron can find things to do to keep
Carter busy. Just don't fuck him. I get his ass first."
Harry nodded. "Right. But we can do anything else? Shame we had to
use the pillowcase on him. It would have been sweet to make him suck
my cock the way he had me suck his."
"Yeah," Dave agreed, and his cock stirred at the image of Carter on
his knees before him, those big blue eyes looking up obediently while
working Dave's cock over. "But, we couldn't risk him seeing us. He
can claim all day long that he knows us, but without him seeing us,
it'll be hard for him to prove anything. Then there's the fact that
if he goes to the cops to finger us, we have the proof that he
blackmailed us. I don't think the Carter family back in Chicago will
be too pleased to know what Johnny-boy's been up to while in college."
Harry grinned. "Fuck, no. You got your key?"
Dave held his hand up, his key ring easily visible. "Got it. Have
fun." Dave opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, but he
didn't head away from the suite until he heard the lock engaging on
the other side. Breathing a sigh of relief, Dave headed for the
stairs and Carter's room, his body finally quieting down.
Six am found Dave in a phone booth on the other side of Philadelphia.
He'd had to borrow Ron's car to get there, but Ron hadn't minded
handing over the keys after Dave had returned to the suite with the
box of videos, which had ended up being in a footlocker. Ron and
Harry were still enjoying their vengeance, and Carter's body seemed to
be enjoying it, too, Dave thought. At least, to him that's what that
raging hard on and writhing meant. He more or less ignored the fact
that the pillowcase was wet right where Carter's eyes would be. And,
not wanting to have to notice Carter's tears, Dave had grabbed the
print-out that Ron had made with Carter's contact numbers on it, as
well as Carter's wallet, and then he'd left to go make the call that
would pay for their college educations and then some.
Dave unfolded the computer printout and decided to try the number for
Carter's parents first. He dropped coins into the slot and then
dialed, his hand tapping out a nervous staccato as he waited for
someone to answer the phone, but no one did. He did get an answering
machine, but Dave was pretty sure that ransom demands weren't made on
tape.
Dave replaced the receiver and cursed over the fact that he didn't get
his money back, since technically, the line had been answered. He
then repeated the process; only this time he dialed the number for
Carter's grandparents. He looked around, hoping that he didn't look
guilty of anything, but since there was nobody out and about yet, Dave
found it didn't matter.
He was just about to give up on that number when the line was answered.
"Carter residence."
"Uh, yeah. I'm calling from Philadelphia, and I need to speak with
Mr. Carter. It's about his grandson, John."
"I'm afraid that Mr. Carter doesn't take calls this early. If you'd
like to leave a message, he'll be able to call you back at a more
convenient time."
"No, that won't work. Look..." Dave didn't want to tell the butler or
whoever this bozo was that they'd kidnapped John, but he didn't know
what else to say if he wanted to get the older Carter on the phone.
"It's vital that I talk to Mr. Carter right now. John's life just
might depend upon it."
There was a long pause, and then Dave heard a sigh from the other end.
"Very well. Please hold the line."
Dave heard the phone being laid down, and he steeled himself for a
short wait. They'd decided on asking for six hundred thousand, an
amount that would set all three of them up nicely. And, if they
needed to negotiate the amount, then they'd all agreed that the six
hundred was a decent starting point. Jesus, Dave thought, how long
did it take for someone to come to the phone? He'd thought that being
told that it was urgent would make a person hurry to the phone, but
the rich obviously didn't think that way.
Just as Dave was about to give up on being able to talk to anyone
again, he could hear the sound of voices on the other line - faint,
but getting stronger, and then the phone was picked up.
"This is John Carter. Who are you and why are you calling me at this
hour about my grandson? If this is some kind of a prank, then I
assure you that it's not amusing at all."
Dave smiled at the indignation in the man's voice, and wondered just
what the guy would sound like when confronting his grandson over his
'business' venture. "This isn't a prank..." The rest of Dave's words
were cut off as a recording began, instructing him to insert eighty
cents for three more minutes. What the fuck? His hand dove into his
pants pocket, but all Dave had was three dimes. And his other pocket
only held a quarter. He slammed the receiver down.
"Fuck it all!" Now he'd have to go back to the suite and admit to the
guys that he'd fucked up the ransom call by not having enough money.
And then Dave remembered that he'd grabbed Carter's wallet, thinking
at the time that he could try out the ATM card on his way back. Well,
might as well do that now, before Carter's grandfather got suspicious
and had the bank put a hold on the account or something.
Dave went back to Ron's car, locked the doors and then began to go
through Carter's wallet. A business card for Carter Industries, with
the name 'John Carter, Jr., Vice President' on it. Another card for
the same company, this one for a 'Branch Carter', also a V.P. What
the Hell kind of a name was Branch? Dave snorted derisively as he
found yet another business card, this one for the President and C.E.O.
of the company, John Carter, Sr. The family had a serious problem
when it came to naming kids, Dave thought. They were all either the
same, or completely out of the ballpark. Next came a library card for
Chicago, a library card for Philadelphia, a Visa card, and Carter's
driver's license. Dave added it to the pile of other cards, intent on
finding that ATM card, and then he paused in the middle of reaching
into the wallet again. Something wasn't right.
Dave reached down and picked up the driver's license. It was for
Illinois and it gave all kinds of vital information for John Truman
Carter, III. Birthdate, expiration date, hair color, eye color,
height, weight. And a photo, too. Dave's mouth went dry as he looked
at the ID, his brain not quite believing what he was reading and
looking at. The guy in the photo didn't have light brown hair and
brilliant blue eyes. He had dark brown hair and beautiful brown eyes.
And the description matched the photo.
This wasn't the guy he knew. "Fuck," Dave said into the emptiness of
Ron's Toyota, and his fists beat the steering wheel relentlessly until
it hurt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He tossed the wallet onto the other
seat and started the car, knowing that he needed to get back to the
dorm as quickly as possible. He had to find out just who the guy was
that was tied to his bed, find out if he really was John Carter, and
if he was, then who in the Hell was the guy that had been blackmailing
Dave and all the other guys?
*******************************************
John tried to hold back the moan that was rising, but he failed, and
when his tormentors heard it, they laughed, making more comments about
how much he 'loved it'. God, he hated it. John hated it all. He
hated being helpless to stop them from touching him. He hated being
betrayed by his body as it responded to what they were doing to him.
He hated it that he couldn't stop the tears. They streaked down the
side of his head, wetting his hair, and some even pooled in his ears.
His nose was running, too, and he hated that as well.
Worst of all, he was hard. So achingly hard, and release - John
didn't want to think about what it would mean to gain release. It was
bad enough to be hard over what two guys were doing to him, but to
come because of it - no, John didn't want that to happen.
Another moan was torn from John's throat as warm lips tugged at a
nipple, pulling hard on it and licking while fingers painfully twisted
the other one. It wasn't fair, this combination of pain and pleasure,
not fair that it was guys making him feel this way, stripping him of
his dignity in so many different ways.
A door slammed, and then he heard the head guy - the mean one --
ordering the others to get away from him. Was he being released?
Hands grabbed John's shoulders roughly, and he was being shaken. "Who
are you?" the guy asked. "Are you John Carter?"
John nodded, and the shaking stopped. The others were trying to ask
what was going on, but the head guy shushed them. "John Truman Carter
the third? From Chicago?"
Again, John nodded, and he nodded yet another time when the guy asked
him about his home address. "And you've got brown hair and eyes?"
John nodded vigorously, and he heard one of his captors, the one with
the softer hands, mutter 'Oh, shit.' The hands left him, and then
John heard a door close.
They'd left him alone, and John was grateful for that. But, oh God,
what he wouldn't do to be able to come. They'd put something on him,
something metallic and cold, and had laughed and said that he couldn't
come even if he wanted to. And it shamed him to admit that he wanted
to come.
This nightmare had to end, and it had to end soon, or else John knew
he'd go crazy.
**********************************************************
"What the Hell is going on?" Ron asked as soon as they were in the
main room of the suite. "John Carter has fucking blue eyes, dammitt."
"Calm down," Dave said, although he himself was far from calm. He
held out John Carter's driver's license. "I don't know who the guy is
who we all...who was blackmailing us, but that guy in there isn't him."
Harry grabbed the driver's license and shook his head, cursing under
his breath as he held it out to Ron to look at. "So that guy in there
is the real John Carter? And we've been..."
"Yeah," Dave replied, his voice a monotone. "He is, and we have."
Ron looked at the photo. "I've seen this guy before. One time when I
was going to Carter's room, this guy was coming out. Carter told me
that it was his roommate Steve." Ron looked up into Dave's eyes, his
own eyes now haunted. "I'd bet anything that the guy we thought was
John Carter is really Steve."
"I don't doubt it," Dave said. He sat down on the couch, his hands
covering his face as he tried to think about what to do. "Okay...I
couldn't get in touch with his family," that was only a half-lie, but
it would do, Dave thought. "And I didn't make it to the ATM, so
there's no harm done."
"Other than us raping him," Harry pointed out.
"We didn't exactly rape him," Ron countered. "We just..."
"Sexually assaulted him," Dave said. He was glad then that he had
never touched the guy, but he was still responsible, since most of it
had been his idea. "We've got the tapes, so we can get away from
Car...from Steve. We can untie this guy, wrap him up tightly in a
sheet or something, dump him on his bed and run like Hell. We can be
out of sight before he can get free, and we'll just take off for home,
like we had planned. We'll pack, get Ron's car loaded and then let
him go."
Ron and Harry both nodded, but Harry looked doubtful. "Won't he go to
the police? He has to know that he never left the dorm."
"I doubt if he'll report this," Ron said. "I know I wouldn't, if it
were me."
"Me, either," Dave agreed. He got to his feet. "Okay, let's get
packed and then we'll end this." And may God and John Carter forgive
us for what we'ved done, he prayed.
To be continued
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n