Lucian Ch. 03

***

Time's pestle has this penchant for bizarre repetition, grinding sheer lunacy into a semblance of everyday routine.

October went and November came. Lucian remembered Halloween, though he'd rather not.

It had been an excuse to dress up extravagantly, and fill the hallways and corridors with dead whores and naked skeletons. There were clanging chains; there was skintight black latex and fake blood everywhere.

The desks in Beauty Class were robbed empty, and so were the closets in Fashion.

Barbs turned into sex oozing vampires and tall-heeled sluts. Masked and anonymous they moved to the central hall, where they brazenly kissed and dry fucked in corners and niches under the excuse of dancing.

Lucian understood that it was a tradition for Bobs to crash the party under cover of their elaborate disguises, snatching punch and cigarettes. The blood red drink must have been spiked, as a soothing buzz hummed in his skull after only two glasses.

Harper had done his make up, painting a bloody gash from his left eye down his cheek and throat -- like a red arrow pointing at his rouged left nipple. His blue eyes lived in grottoes of black; teeth were painted on his cheek where the gash opened. White powder enhanced his natural pallor.

His hair was a purple flame.

When he hit the ballroom, loosing himself into the masquerade and the other Bobs' general excitement, Lucian was a half naked ghost in shards of floating latex. His arms and legs showed painted knuckles, his ribs seemed a cage of bones.

He'd looked for Drew, but hadn't found her.

He hadn't seen her for days, ever since they'd made love -- neither in the building nor on the track. He'd asked around, but none of the Barbs could exactly tell him. She was 'out' doing 'chores,' they said, waving him away like the lowly Bob he was.

"Hey, boo, bloody stranger!" an excited voice yelled at him over the booming music.

He turned and saw a whore.

Her entire body was painted golden bronze and clad in a see-through body stocking with torn holes that showed off her nipples and the bare skin of her thighs. She wore towering heels, and her face was covered in black leather, only showing her eyes through slits, and blood red lips that held a cigarette.

She'd covered her crotch with a harness, he saw; from its triangular front poked a black, curved dildo, swaying with the music.

Lucian had no idea who she might be.

He took a step back, but her red-clawed hand grabbed him and pulled him closer. A cloud of smoke made him cough.

"You're a Bob, eh? Here to crash paradise?" she screamed. "Okay then, boy, welcome to hell. Why not fuck a Barb while you can. Trick and treat -- it's Halloween!" And she pulled him even closer, her fake phallus nudging into his belly.

He'd heard the voice before, but it was hard to be sure with all the music and the screaming going on.

They danced, in a way.

She'd gotten rid of the cigarette and thrown both arms around his neck -- pushing her hot, steamy body against his. The cock kept getting in the way until she pulled it up and pressed it tightly between them.

It poked into his navel.

Lucian wasn't much of a dancer; too shy to have gained much experience. But it didn't matter. All they did was rub their bodies together, hardly moving their feet.

"Don't be shy, Luci-boy" she yelled into his ear. "I know you fuck Drew. She's all over the moon!"

So the girl recognized him. She also knew about him and Drew. Drew must have told her. Did she tell everybody?

"Come on!" the masked girl cried. "I know a better place."

She stepped back and grabbed his hand, pulling him with her as she sashayed on her tall heels to one of the dark corridors leading away from the hall. Painted faces floated by -- ghosts and monsters, half-naked, half-drunk, yelling, dancing, kissing.

He pulled free and turned around to get away, but he bumped into two tall creatures, painted and clad as outrageous as the first girl, wearing the same masks and net stockings and heels. But they lacked the swinging dildo.

Their wide red mouths grinned. Long, painted fingernails reached for him. With a click a thing closed around his throat from behind -- something wide and tight.

Turning, he saw a chain that led to the first girl's hands. She pulled at it as hands pushed his back. Voices hissed 'go.'

He felt nauseous.

Doors opened and closed; there were narrow corridors and spiraling stairs. He didn't think he'd ever been where they led him. Then the girl opened one more door and flipped on a light that poorly lit a small room, a closet, really, filled with stuff.

On the floor was a mattress.

The music still boomed from a distance. He smelled the girl's scent, mixed with perfume, sweat and smoke -- alcohol too. She pulled at him to get him into the closet. He resisted, but hands pushed him from behind.

"No," he said.

"Nonsense," she answered. A girl behind him giggled.

The girl with the leash pushed him against the wall. Her kiss was greedy, tasting of punch and tobacco. He held his arms stiff, trying to push her away, but she was strong, and very focused. The other two girls were close behind her, their eyes fixed on him from within their masks.

The girl handed the chain to one of her friends and let her mouth travel down his body, her claws scratching his skin. She bit the painted nipple and tore at the flaps of dark latex to expose his crotch.

Maybe he said 'no' a few more times. He certainly pushed at her leather-covered skull, but all he got were grins and chuckles. When he really tried to get free, the girl with the chain pulled him tighter, slapping his face. Falling back against the wall, he felt the kneeling girl's hot mouth around his penis. It twitched and swelled inside her until it became hard.

He felt betrayed.

Her eyes looked up at him, dark inside the slits of her mask.

"Yummy," she said, smacking her lips exaggeratedly. "It works."

It worked.

To his growing horror it worked. But not at all as it had with Drew. It worked like it once used to, when he was alone in a shower, his hand around it, building it up to a fast, short-lived spasm, a sudden spitting of goo -- and then a stretch of lingering frustration.

After two more pulls and a hard suck he felt himself come into her mouth. He arched and stiffened as the energy oozed away, sucking all power from his limbs.

The girl opened her red mouth, showing a small pool of white on her tongue. Then she swallowed.

"Mmmmm. Good boy," she said, grinning. "Next chapter."

A sudden jerk on the leash made him stumble and fall onto the mattress, face down. Hands grabbed his wrists, twisting them on his back, and clicking cuffs around them.

His face was pressed into the moldy-smelling mattress. Hands pushed and pulled until his ass pointed up. He cried out, protesting. Someone slapped his ass cheeks hard.

Then he felt a cold, slippery thing enter his anus.

At first it just rubbed and pushed against his sphincter, but soon it started sliding deeper, causing sharp stabs of pain with every thrust. He cried out and bucked, only to feel hands on his hips and back pushing him down. Voices hummed a monotonous chant, setting the rhythm for the fat pole to deflower his asshole.

He resisted.

He groaned and pulled, fighting the hands that held him down, just to receive more slaps, blows and kicks to his naked body.

"Good boy," a voice hissed and the others took it up, turning it into yet another shanty -- 'good boy, good boy...'

He knew he'd started crying, sobbing into the mattress. A hand lifted his face. He saw a mask and eyes, a smiling mouth.

"Poor boy," the mouth said. "But it will get better. Muuuuch better."

And she chuckled.

The thing inside him -- no doubt the girl's strap on dildo -- began a true pounding, and the pain dulled into a throb.

"That's my girl," the leading voice chanted, followed by the others. "That's my girly-girl."

Lucian stopped resisting.

Bathing in sweat he became a rag doll, pulled up and down on the dildo. The pain dissipated, but the slippery friction went on. With new and deeper pounding he felt a glow starting to spread. Every ending of his nerves seemed to sparkle, causing a tremble. It made his fingers claw and his toes curl.

Then the true horror started.

His body separated itself from his screaming mind, becoming a senseless machine that acted on its own -- gathering energy from the mechanical assault of the piston that pounded and pounded.

It was a pestle in a mortar, grounding his resistance to a pulp.

Lucian's body relaxed; his mind -- watching from a distance -- noticed the change. The ball of heat inside him started spreading, making him tremble on his knees and shoulders. His mind might still try to close doors on the spreading wildfire, but he felt the gorgeous heat jump from artery to artery, reaching for his chest, his throat, his brain.

He started sobbing again, and moaning, but the girls noticed the change too.

The fucking intensified, and so did the cheers that replaced the chanting. A hand crawled under his belly, cupping his genitals. Another hand joined it.

By now the girls went at it like cheerleaders, repeating 'cum, cum, cummmm...' Hands slapped his ass cheeks and the dildo started hitting one single spot over and over. It made him jerk as if hit by bolts of electricity.

Then he came.

Again it was nothing like any orgasm he ever had. There was no explosion, no climax. It felt as if the churning fireball was being pressed through a tiny hole, streaming out into the world. It created a sensation of utter freedom, flushing out stress and frustration, making all his gathered tensions leak out.

He floated. He flew. He gasped.

Then merciful unconsciousness spread a cloak over him.

***

"Hm, you're right, it looks a bit red, yes," he heard the doctor say. "But no tearing, nothing serious."

His face rested on the rustling paper of the examination table. All he saw was Dr. Kurtz's white coat. What he felt were her latex-wrapped fingers pulling apart his sore ass cheeks. Then one digit probed his anus and he winced.

"Sorry," she said. "It must still be a bit sensitive. But it looks good. Did you enjoy it?"

He slid from under her and off the table, his bare feet finding the floor.

"No! Of course not!" he cried out. "Are you crazy? I was raped!"

The doctor raised both blue hands as if to ward off violence.

"Yes, yes," she muttered. "Awful, yes. But please lie down again and let me finish my examination."

Lucian grabbed his robe.

"No thanks," he said. "You only laugh at me."

She gently took the robe out of his hands and patted the table.

"Please," she said. "You are right, I shouldn't have said that. Now please let me see."

Lucian stared at the woman for a moment. She looked tired again, he thought. Even her smile looked tired.

He shrugged and mounted the table, lying on his belly and spreading his thighs. The fingers returned to his sphincter.

"Please relax, honey," she said.

Fuck your 'honeys,' he thought.

There were metallic sounds. He groaned as something slick and cold started going in. It seemed to part and stretch his anus as it opened. He shuddered, but there was no pain.

"Wow," he heard her whisper. "They sure have been enthusiastic. But they also must have been careful, using grease. Nothing's damaged, I see."

The probing and the stretching brought memories his brain recoiled from -- but his body warmed to them.

He tried to get rid of both.

Then he heard a click and felt the stretching stop. The metal thing left his anus, but the fingers returned. They were slick and greasy.

"This is a balm to sooth you, and to stop possible infections -- though I don't expect any," Dr. Kurtz said. She cleaned the excess cream with a tissue and told him he could get off the table.

When he was dressed, she was back at her desk, asking him to sit down. After he did, she handed him a small jar.

"Three times a day for two days and you'll be as good as new, honey," she said. By now the endearment hardly registered, as so many seemed to use it.

He stared at her. She looked back, her eyebrows rising.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Shouldn't you do something?" he asked. "Call the police, maybe?"

Kurtz looked away, suddenly concerned with a few items on her desk.

"Ehm, well," she said. "Maybe you should talk with Ms. Parker about that."

***

"It was Halloween, honey; it's a tradition. Once in a while we allow the girls a day to unwind. They really deserve it."

Ms. Parker smiled; of course she smiled.

"By tying me up and raping me?" he asked, hating how indignation always made his voice sound thin and high.

"Of course not," she said, pursing her lips. Her lipstick was way too red for her pale face. Pudgy face, he thought. Her equally shrill fingernails moved over the desktop to line up some papers that didn't need lining up.

"Besides," she said, looking up. "You had no business being there. The hall was off limits for Juniors. You knew that."

Lucian was aware of the formal rules that discouraged contact between Bobs and others at Norton's Academy. He also knew no one gave a damn, certainly not on Halloween.

He fidgeted, searching for what to say. Moving in his chair, he felt the soreness that lingered deep inside.

Parker sighed.

"Okay," she said. "Who were they?"

"How would I know?" he asked. "They were all dressed up, wearing masks."

Ms. Parker sighed again, shrugging.

"See?" she said. "Just what I feared. Poor boy, they took advantage of this Halloween thing. So what can we do? Thank God Dr. Kurtz didn't find anything serious."

A hot wave of frustration hit him.

"They were Barbs," he said. "Ask around."

Ms. Parker blushed. She didn't like being told what to do, certainly not by a scrawny student with the face of a pre-teen and the voice of a child.

"A Barb?" she said, feigning ignorance.

"Well yes, you know, Barbies, Senior girls."

"We have twenty-three of them," Ms. Parker said, trying to stress the enormity of the number. "I feel for you, darling, I really do, but I'm not going to turn this place into a chaotic henhouse, just because a few drunk girls made fun of you."

"Drunk!" he cried out. "See? So you know there was alcohol!"

Ms. Parker blinked behind her glasses. Then she rose.

"Don't you have classes to attend, young man?"

Lucian felt the well-known drain of initiative when he was being bullied. This was all wrong and the woman knew it. But what could he do?

"I want my cellphone back," he said, rising too. "My mother won't like this."

Parker smiled.

"You might be amazed," she said, walking over to a cupboard, opening it and searching for his phone amongst the many she had. She handed it to him and showed him to the door.

"Return it tonight," she said.

***

"But mom, they raped me!"

"Don't be like that, darling."

His mother's voice was hoarse; he thought he heard her inhale and puff out the smoke of a cigarette. Images of moist, red lipstick on a white filter entered his mind, together with the heady mixture of perfume and tobacco.

"So girls get interested in you at last," she went on. "Be glad."

"They tied me down, mom, and then they forced me with a strap on cock."

"Wow," she said. "Kinky."

It had taken Lucian three calls to reach his mother. At last she'd responded to his voice mail, not showing any curiosity or asking questions about his wellbeing.

"What's up, honey?" was her opening, followed by an urge to keep it short, as she had an 'appointment.'

Lucian was irritated, but not surprised.

He would have been if she'd shown any real interest. This was his second phone call with her since she'd dropped him off at Norton's. He'd tried to reach her more often, but Parker usually flat-out refused to give him his phone. On other times his mother had been unreachable in the timeslot Parker gave him -- or she responded with a text message telling him to be 'strong' and that she was 'busy.'

Only once had she taken up the phone.

It had been after the debacle at Mamselle's, when the girl Mackenzie had tried to shave his crotch. His mother was tipsy, he remembered, laughing his fears away, telling him to 'man up,' at which she'd laughed until she'd coughed.

It had been enough for him to not try again for a month.

And now she chuckled away his rape. She poohed and asked if the girls had been pretty. He didn't cry. He didn't even try to explain how wrong she was.

Lucian knew there was no one out there for him.

***

Two days after the Halloween disaster he saw Drew on the track, maybe twenty yards in front of him. Her ponytail swept left and right; he loved how the tendons of her calves tightened her long, easy-stretching muscles.

He wondered why she hadn't told him she was back. Picking up speed he yelled her name.

"You're back!" he panted when he reached her.

She nodded, looking at him and turning away.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "I missed you."

She looked at him for another second.

"Here and there," she said noncommittally as she ran on.

"When did you come back?"

She shrugged, spreading her hands.

"Yesterday."

Maybe it was the handicap of speaking while running, but why did she seem this distant?

"Are you all right?" he panted.

She looked at him, then away again.

"Of course," she said. "Why?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were back?"

She kept looking ahead, saying nothing. He reached out for her.

"Please stop," he said.

She kept running, avoiding his touch.

"Please?"

"We'll catch a cold," she said.

For a few more yards he watched her running, her face stubbornly on the track.

"Drew? What's wrong?"

She stopped. The suddenness surprised him; he stopped a few yards ahead. Walking back he saw her face. It looked dark.

Shrugging she said: "Nothing's wrong. I had things to do. Nothing special."

He watched her as she started stretching her legs by putting one foot on a bench, arching her body to reach for her toes.

Lucian jogged in place to keep warm.

"Did you tell your friends we made love?" he asked.

The question seemed to surprise her.

"Of course," she said. "Why not? And we didn't make love, we fucked."

Speechless he watched her put pressure on her stretched leg, then changing to the other. She never looked at him.

He turned away and started running again.

Maybe it was her voice he heard calling after him; maybe it was a bird, or even a figment of his imagination.

It certainly must be sweat leaking into his eyes.

***

Two days later he took the decision.

Still feeling numb after the cold shower Drew gave him, Lucian was convinced that no one cared about him inside Norton's.

There was no one to protect him; no one to love.

He didn't see Drew again. He'd tried to avoid people, seeing mockery in the eyes of every Barb he met -- suspecting each one of being his unpunished rapist.

Even the teachers seemed to chuckle behind his back.

Harper and the other Bobs were their same uncomplicated selves, but they too seemed to withdraw when he couldn't stop sulking.

He guessed he was just boring company.

He remembered what Parker said, one of those first days -- about this school being the only save place for him, where people accepted him as he was, encouraging his talents, discouraging bullies.

It was all just bullshit, of course. He was alone. He'd been bullied, and there was no one to turn to, no one to trust at Norton's.

He believed what Mamselle 'd said about running away, though.