Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  ‘What’s going on?’ Julian said.

  ‘Nothing yet - but I’m hoping we’ll see a show.’

  Julian tried to drink his whisky but the bile in his throat made it sting as it went down. ‘What sort of show?’

  Erikson grinned at him. ‘So, you’re full of curiosity now you think you might be in danger.’

  Julian felt his stomach cramp into a tight ball . . . shit, why did he say that . . . what sort of show would put the audience in danger?

  Erikson glanced at him and let out a husky laugh. ‘You’ve gone a lighter shade of pale, dear boy.’

  Julian stood up.

  ‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ Erikson asked.

  ‘I need the toilet.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  Julian stayed on his feet and looked around the room anxiously. The event was starting to look like a convention for funeral directors.

  ‘Sit down,’ John hissed at him.

  He sat down. There was nothing he could do but wait for whatever was about to take place. Five minutes later, all the front row seats and some in the second row, were occupied by men with partners wearing black leather. Julian tried to reason with himself . . . it’s just a show . . . how bad can it be for Christ’s sake . . . but the lights in the room started to dim and the darkness added more weight to his fears.

  The discordant electric guitar intro of Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix blasted out of the speakers around the room. A spotlight lit up the door by the bar, the same door Erikson had used, and a tall man dressed in black leather, chains, a long black cloak and a black mask with slits for eyes and mouth, walked out in time with the music. His hands were held up high, a whip in one hand and a long black stick or staff in the other. Spotlights lit up the edges of the stage creating a circle and he stood in the middle turning to glare at the audience on all sides. The tension increased with the crescendo of the music. He did some gestures and stances that followed the heavy beat, as if he was impersonating a demented warrior.

  When he stepped off the stage, the lights came up and he walked around the circle of tables, pointing the staff at some of the men wearing leather and touching a few on the head. The men that were selected stood up to yells and applause from the audience. He paused in front of Julian and let the staff hover for a few seconds before tapping it hard on his head. There was a roar from the audience and the stamping of feet. Julian didn’t stand up but two men appeared behind him and got him to his feet, and they removed the chair so he couldn’t sit down again. When the music had finished there were seven men standing.

  The man in the cloak detached the mic off the stand. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ There was a sound effect on the mic system making his voice sound very deep and suitably evil. ‘My name is Max, and I’m your master for tonight’s entertainment - all chosen subs on the stage.’

  Julian turned his head to look at Erikson who was grinning from ear to ear. He had known all along what was going to happen and had served him up like a sacrifice. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the men who got him to his feet hovering close by. There was no escape.

  ‘Gentlemen, for those of you who haven’t been here before only one submissive can be chosen to star in the show. This is your chance to vote for your favourite.’

  The seven of them were lined up on the edge of the stage. They were told to strip. Julian didn’t move a muscle and the audience started jeering.

  Max walked up behind him and leant forwards to speak into his ear. ‘You have a choice. Take your clothes off voluntarily or we’ll rip them off.’

  Julian glanced at Erikson who was smiling like a Cheshire cat and he promised himself that one day he would wipe that smile off his face permanently. He removed his clothes to cheers and wolf whistles. One by one, the naked men were handcuffed behind their backs and leather collars fastened around their necks. A chain hanging from the back of the collar was attached to the handcuffs and shortened until the wrists were pulled higher up the back. They were led off the stage at that point and had to wait their turn for the voting. Julian was the fourth man up on the stage. He had watched three men do their walk without any assistance from Max but when he was pushed up there, he stood frozen to the spot.

  ‘We have a shy one tonight,’ Max said. ‘He’s going to need a bit of encouragement.’

  The audience roared, cheered, and stamped their feet but Julian still didn’t move. Max walked up behind him and took hold of the chain down his back, forcing his hands higher. He physically dragged him around the stage. Cheers, applause and foot stamping were the methods used to vote and Julian attracted a lot of attention.

  His obvious anxiety and reluctance had the result of inciting the audience to fever pitch. He was the main contender until a very young golden-haired youth, Winston’s young man, stepped onto the stage. The audience responded with their usual enthusiasm, even louder than they had done for Julian. The youth smiled, proud to be the winner but Julian, overwhelmed with relief, couldn’t believe that the lad really understood what the winner’s prize would be. When the unsuccessful contestants were led off the stage and allowed to get dressed, Julian was the only one who had to stay. He was told that the runner-up was kept as backup, in case the winner couldn’t stay the course.

  Julian was held at the back of the room, still naked and chained, with a couple of heavies by his side. He was horrified to see the youth strung up from the ceiling, spread-eagled on bars. Max attached clips on his nipples and testicles with leads giving him electric shocks, and weights were attached to his scrotum. When the youth made too much noise Max whipped him until he was quiet, and all through the show the youth replied to Max’s questions with “Yes, Master” or “No, Master” and “Thank you, Master”.

  In the finale, he was fucked by Max who had a penis that would make a bull proud, and the stamina of a long distance runner. It was unfortunate for the youth that he was such a success because he was up there on his own, humiliated in front of a baying audience. Julian felt guilty that he hoped the lad was strong enough to finish the show.

  The youth reminded him of Sam, and he wondered if Erikson had brought him here as well. Perhaps, it gave him a kick to debase a father and son. His hatred for Erikson multiplied tenfold during that evening and he made himself a promise to make the bastard pay. He thought back to Chase’s last words . . . I’d prefer it if you didn’t actually kill him . . . it was interesting how the English language had evolved. Take the word ‘didn’t’. It was an overused abbreviation of ‘did not’, and many people objected to the frequent use of the adverb ‘actually’ where it added nothing to the meaning of the sentence . . . I’d prefer it if you kill him . . . sounded much better and it was, after all, a reasonable request.

  Twenty minutes from the end, Julian had to stop watching and tried to block out the lad’s pathetic cries while he was being abused. The applause at the end went on for minutes, and there were calls for the runner-up to be brought on for an encore but their requests were ignored, and they eventually quietened down. Julian was still at the back of the room when Max passed him on his way out.

  ‘Don’t be disappointed you didn’t win - I’ve got something else planned for you.’ He nodded to the two heavies.

  The men grabbed Julian by the arms and pushed him through the door, down a passageway and into a room at the back. It was set up as a dressing room and Max sat down in front of a mirror with his cloak and mask off.

  He looked at Julian in the reflection. ‘I believe your name is Julian and you already know mine.’ He swiveled around in his chair. ‘So, with the pleasantries out of the way we can get down to business. When I do shows here I’m given the runner-up as a perk of the job but your boyfriend paid me to rig the voting and make sure no-one touched you. He said it was your first time.’ He stood up and walked towards Julian. ‘You didn’t think that skinny lad was the real winner, did you? I had my men dotted around the room to lead the applause.’

  He walked around Julian and stopp
ed behind him, pressing himself into Julian’s back while he took hold of the chain and forced Julian hands further up his back.

  ‘You know, I don’t believe in wrapping my subs in cotton wool, it’s best to start as you mean to go on.’ He encircled his right arm around Julian’s neck and tightened the grip in a powerful chokehold. ‘But what I really want to know is what John Erikson meant by “your first time”. It could mean it was your first time here tonight or your first experience of SM or that you’re a virgin and you have a nice tight arsehole.’

  There were the sounds of a scuffle outside the room and the two heavies went out to investigate. Julian was losing consciousness but heard Erikson’s voice booming out and for a fleeting moment he was transported back to the showers at Pendlebury, and his rescue by Gwyn. When the door burst open, Max released his grip and Julian fell to his knees.

  Erikson stood in the door way like an angry bear. ‘I paid you Max - and you know I hate it when people welch on a deal.’

  ‘I haven’t touched him.’ Max said.

  Erikson looked down at Julian. ‘Are you ok?’

  Julian was dazed but managed to nod in reply.

  ‘You see – he’s fine - no need for us to fall out.’

  Erikson grabbed Max by the throat and slammed him against the wall. ‘We’ll be doing more than fall out if you try this again,’ he said, lifting Max off the floor, ‘I’ll fucking kill you.’ When he let go, Max fell like a dead weight.

  Erikson grabbed Julian by the arm and half-lifted half-dragged him to his feet. In the passageway outside they walked past three men lying down; one of them was nursing an arm that stuck out at an unnatural angle and the other two were unconscious. It occurred to Julian at that moment that if Erikson hadn’t come to find him, Max would have been free to do whatever he liked and so, in a strange twist of fate, Erikson had ended up being a hero . . . so what are you in this weird scenario . . . he thought cynically . . . his damsel in distress?

  CHAPTER 22

  The drive to Erikson’s flat was a silent one. Julian didn’t know what to say to the man, and Erikson seemed equally dumbstruck. Back at the club, Erikson had managed to find a key to the handcuffs and had stood guard while Julian got dressed. He behaved as if he was expecting some kind of retaliation from Max. The whole situation at the end of the show, with Erikson coming to his aid, had thrown Julian off-balance. Just minutes earlier he had thoughts of killing the man but now he was thinking that maybe, just maybe, Erikson might not be all bad.

  He sat in the front passenger seat as instructed and made an observation that doing exactly what Erikson demanded not only kept the man on a more even keel, it was easier on the nerves. The time would come, however, when following Erikson’s orders would be impossible. He thought about Joe’s advice. His suggestion that Julian could get through it all without losing his virginity was almost laughable but Joe didn’t know that he was about twenty-seven years too late.

  His mind centred on something he had tried to bury since meeting Erikson . . . why does he want you so much? Does he recognise something in you that convinces him you’re homosexual or do you behave in any way that makes him think you want him? These were his old anxieties coming back to taunt him; the horrific thought that his years of being sexually abused at Pendlebury had permanently affected his own sexuality.

  While thinking of Pendlebury, he thought of Gwyn, the boy who had changed everything for him, and he was able to recall some of the happy times from his childhood. He remembered a close friendship that had developed between himself and Charlie. From the moment they met in Julian’s third year at the school, they became friends. Such good friends that everyone, teachers and pupils alike, joked that if you wanted to find Julian or Charlie, you only had to find one of them and the other would be close by. ‘Joined at the hip’ was how the Head Master had described them when they were caught coming back into the school after a night out with some local girls. That little escapade earned them six of the best with the cane on bare backsides and they couldn’t sit down for a week.

  Though, at times, Julian wondered if what they had between them was love, not in a sexual context but as a child loves a sibling or parent, a pure love that hadn’t been tarnished by life’s disenchantments. In moments of despair, however, he questioned that ideology and feared that what they really had was the love of adolescent homosexuals.

  Back at Erikson’s flat, Julian went into the bathroom to change back into his own clothes. He sat on the edge of the bath and tried to persuade himself that he wasn’t going to vomit and he almost made it. He was dressed and ready to leave the bathroom before he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet. His stomach was empty apart from whisky and bile so it was a painful experience of retching without bringing up anything of substance.

  Before leaving the bathroom, he remembered to switch the syringe and the bottle of diazepam from the leather jacket back into his own. At that point, he realised he hadn’t had a panic or asthma attack throughout the most distressing evening of his life. It was probably the combination of the beta blockers and the Diazepam or perhaps Dr Deacon’s method of persuading him to talk about his childhood had helped. But whatever it was, he welcomed the control and added confidence it gave him.

  Erikson was sitting on the sofa with a bottle of whisky, glasses, and a cafeteria of hot coffee on the table in front of him. ‘Coffee or whisky?’

  Julian didn’t reply and sat in the armchair opposite Erikson.

  ‘What did you think of the club?’

  Julian remained silent.

  Erikson gave him a sideways look. ‘You don’t want to talk about it?’ He waited for Julian’s reply. ‘What’s this - the silent treatment? Ok, I’ll do the talking and tell you what I think. Despite your obvious nerves, which really turned the punters on by the way, you were in your element. When you were naked with the collar and cuffs I could see the look in your eyes - you loved every minute of it, and I think you were disappointed that you didn’t win.’

  Julian clenched his fists . . . one more word . . . just one more word.

  ‘You know, if you’re into that kind of stuff I’ve got just the place for you.’ Erikson stood up. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’ He started to walk towards a door on the far side of the lounge. ‘Are you coming?’

  Julian stood up to follow him. He presumed Erikson was going to show him the room Chase had told him about. However, Chase’s description didn’t do the room justice. It wasn’t just a bed with some restraints and whips; there were harnesses and chains hanging from the ceiling, shelves filled with different sized dildos, doubled ended dildos, butt plugs, gags, masks, knives, candles, whips, canes, straps, paddles and other contraptions that Julian could only guess at. It was like the Aladdin’s cave of kinky sex.

  ‘Is this where you brought David Woods?’ Julian said.

  Erikson shot him a look. ‘That’s not the first time you’ve asked about him.’

  Julian shrugged. ‘I’m just curious about your previous relationships.’

  ‘That’s fair enough, I suppose - as I am of yours.’

  ‘So did you?’

  ‘Yes, he was really into bondage.’

  ‘You mentioned before that he liked it rough.’

  He laughed. ‘Actually, I don’t think he knew what he liked. One minute he wanted it rough - the next, he complained if his delicate skin got chafed.’

  ‘Was he in any of your films?’ Julian asked, as he walked back into the lounge.

  Erikson followed him. ‘Now, there’s a reason why I haven’t told you about the films.’ He turned off the lights in the room and closed the door. ‘I don’t think you’re ready, dear boy.’

  Julian sat down in the armchair and poured himself a coffee. Erikson poured himself another whisky.

  ‘Since when did you worry about someone not being ready? Tonight you threw me in at the deep end.’

  ‘True - but I actually arranged for you to be a spectator with a bit of extra fear added in to s
pice it up. I’m sorry about Max. That wasn’t part of the plan.’ He looked at Julian seriously. ‘I suppose I could tell you a little about the films but you have to swear to me you won’t repeat a word to anyone.’

  ‘You can trust me.’

  ‘They started off as straight porn - when I say that I mean straight gay porn - nothing kinky, just sex between two men. They sold well, no complaints about that but I started to get a bit bored with them. One day while we were filming, this guy - he had a reputation as a bully off-screen - suddenly decided his partner wasn’t giving his all so he hit him, and every time the pace slowed or his partner held back, he hit him again. It transformed the film into something really hot – violent, but fucking hot. The guys wanted to stop filming but I told him to film the lot and we could edit out anything we didn’t like later. It was the longest and most aggressive film we had ever shot but it was so good, we didn’t edit out a thing. The poor guy who was beaten up was upset when it finished, so we paid him extra, but that aggressive sod was in lots of our films after that.’

  ‘And is that the sort of film you do now?’

  ‘Yes, films like that one but also like the club tonight. We can’t keep up with demand.’

  ‘Did Woods do some films for you?’

  Erikson nodded. ‘He was ok in them but he didn’t like it too rough. He was a bit of a prima donna.’

  ‘So that’s what you use that room for?’

  ‘No, we don’t do the filming here. That room’s for my own pleasure - and my friends, of course. Would you like to see where we do the filming?’