Captured

Julian loved the morbid and macabre, and had several lovers in the police department that let him read their crime files and rogues' galleries. His eye was caught by a grainy black-and-white photo of a pale, intense young killer known as Otis B. Driftwood. After reading the files on him Julian knew he had to have him--it formed a fantasy in his brain, of subjugating one so wild, lethal and free. Now it had become not only that, but to have Otis respond to him. He had become a mentally twisted thing like the Fireflys, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself.

"Fuck you, I'm going home! I gotta work tomorrow anyways," came Mary's shrilly voice, followed by the front door being slammed.

Shrugging, Julian fixes his gaze at his 'guest', doffing his dress shirt and leaving it where it fell. He walked to where Otis was affixed, undoing his belt and giving it a sling. The captive was strangely silent, just gazing back at Julian, at his muscular form facing him. The brown-haired man pressed his lips against the other's, who couldn't get away. After a moment, instead of turning his head, Otis opened his mouth to him, making it a passionate kiss. He didn't turn away, Julian thought excitedly. They broke away and the older man stretched his neck to kiss Julian's neck, sending fire to his loins. Of its own accord his right hand slipped down to his crotch and began stroking himself, the other hand caressing Otis. "Oh god....yes...," he breathed. "I wanted you...to want me..ahhh."

With a gargantuan heave Otis pulled his arms from their restraints on the wall, blood pouring down them and the spikes still sticking out of them. Julian's startlingly blue eyes widened in alarm, but Otis smiled benignly, taking his face in his artist's hands and kissing him, putting his tongue in his mouth. He wanted him, too! This was the fulfillment of his wildest dreams, he thought. Warm blood flowed over them both from Otis' wounds; neither of them paid it any heed. Julian lost control, driven to a frenzy of desire he frantically stroked his penis as Otis made out with him. This was sooo good, he thought. "OHHhhh, yes!," he hissed as he reached his climax. Semen splatted against the wall beside the slender man, followed a split second later by blood.

Otis had brought his spike-studded arm down across his abductor's chest, after a moment pulling it back out. Julian's manhood was still in his right hand, in his left was a syrienge--he was scant moments too slow to subdue Otis. His fantasy had been his undoing. Blood spurted out of the puncture holes and he sank to his knees unbelieving. "What else you got in them pockets?," wondered Otis, stooping and fishing out a set of keys which he used to free his feet. Julian coughed and gasped, and tried to raise the needle to get Otis with it. "Uh-uh, fancypants," Otis declared, wrenching it away from him. "I can honestly say," the psycho redneck went on, "You are the sickest lil monkey I've ever seen. And I like that. But you done fucked with the wrong cat, my friend. I still don't swing that way." He seized Julian by the throat, saying, "You've been a gracious host, Julian. I think I'll return the favor!"

Julian screamed.


Mary ran her hand through her raven locks as she drove home, aggarvated at her partner-in-crime. Maybe slipping him a little too much sedative would end her Otis trouble once and for all, and she could concentrate on Julian. She had no clue why he'd rented that stupid house so far from everything...well, yes she did, to keep them both from getting caught. She had to get up early in the morning and go to work for the insurance agency; Julian and her were co-workers as well. When she reached her apartment she decided to give him a call and make up with him. She stripped to her underwear, grabbed a juice out of the refrigerator and grabbed the phone. It rang, and rang, and rang, no answer. Gah, he was probably having his fun with that criminal. Jeez.

Julian was tied securely to the bed Otis had been lying in and pumped full of tranquilizers. Otis was busy searching the place, poking and pilfering to find out everything he could about Julian and Mary. In the closet he found a t-shirt which read 'Hog Wild and Pig Crazy'--could be the coolest thing his 'host' had ever done...He pulled it over his head. Ouch, he was mite sore, his arms had finally stopped bleeding and he'd been branded like a calf. Pain was nothing, he'd mastered it long ago as a child, it was either that or die. Julian Romaine, aged 33, executive assistant at an insurance agency...Mary Spence, aged 31, secretary at same place of business...letters to Julian from Mary...ah, bingo.

"Julian?," Otis spoke, smacking the man's face. "Hey man, I need ya awake for this." He opened his eyes to see Otis peering down at him, knife in hand.

"No, no wait--," Julian protested. "I was gonna let you go--I, I didn't mean it..."

"Ah, ye didn't mean all that sweet tawk? I'm hurt!," Otis sassed him, flicking the blade down to sever his left ear. Julian let out a screech and it was music to his ears. Crimson spurted onto the pillow and the more muscular man writhed and bucked to no avail. His heart was beating frantically in his chest and he was absolutely terrified of the monster who now had him at his mercy. "Pleeease, no!," he begged when Otis began cutting him with the knife. He carved 'Mary's bitch' on his chest, licked the blood off the knife and went in search for some painkillers to administer. An artist needed concentration when he created. After more snooping Otis found another interesting object: a hacksaw.

"Hey Yankee fuck, time for yer meds," Otis exclaimed with glee, sticking him with the needle. Julian's eyes went glassy but he didn't go completely out. Good. Straddling his abdomen Otis placed the hacksaw on his prisoner's right forearm and began sawing, blood gushing and covering the bedsheets. There was the currrr, currrrr sound as he worked the hacksaw blade through the bone, finally coming away with part of the forearm and hand. "Wha-," slurred Julian, watching Otis flop the hand about through the fog in his brain. "Hahaha, look it's limp-wristed--just like you!," he declared with mirth. He placed the well-groomed hand on the nightstand and swung himself onto the floor, moving with serpentine grace despite being tortured for the past couple of days. Julian couldn't help but watch him, even in the state he was in.

Damn, I'm hungry Otis thought. He made his way to the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. Mmm, beer. He cracked one open and took a swig, then dug around until he found some leftover pizza. He passed over the weird casserole and some kind of pasta, no fried chicken or soup beans to be had so he began munching cold pizza. After he quelled his growling stomach he fired up the old fireplace poker and went to work charring Julian's arm stub. Cauterized it real good. Smelled like...steak. He was so out of it he alternated between moaning and giggling like a schoolgirl. Good thing he can't feel anything for the time being. "And now, for the finale," Otis told him, taking the severed hand and duct taping the fingers into a fist. He then stripped his former captor and flipped him over on his side, since only one wrist was secured now. He then proceeded to cram the severed hand and partial arm into Julian's rectum, stuffing in in there with brute force and fastening it there with a staple gun. Satisfied with his handiwork Otis decided to have another beer.

Exhausted with the past few days happenings the madman drifted off to sleep in an easy chair in the living room when agonized screams woke him up; the painkillers had worn off. "Christ, you sound like a bitch," Otis snorted, raising himself up out of the chair and striding down the hall. Julian was flopping and yelping like a fish, his own hand still up his ass rupturing his bowels. Unsheathing the knife he slit the other man's throat to the bone, wet gurgling signalling his pain and terror was finally over. Otis' work wasn't over, however. He reached for the hacksaw once more.