Captured

I don't own any of the House of 1000 Corpses characters, the other ones were created by me. I'm making no money off this I just get off on writin' fucked up shit lol. this has some sick stuff in it, so beware! lol.

This wasn't meant to offend heterosexuals, homosexuals, men, women, insurance salesmen or clowns.

The slender man groggily raised his head, blinking puffy eyes. Was he hungover? Trying to move his limbs informed him that wasn't the case, but that he was in fact strapped to a musty old bed. His arms were splayed, the wrists manacled and his feet were tied together and attached to the footposts of the bed. This was a new situation for him, it flashed in his mind that this is what his victims usually felt. He was in an unfamiliar room with two large windows letting in sunlight. The view they afforded Otis didn't recognize so he brought his attention back to what had happened to him.

Now he remembered: a fresh-faced thirtysomething male had drugged him or some shit...how the hell could something like that have happened? No matter, he would wait and watch.

He didn't have long to wait. Whistling announced someone entering the room, moments later entering the wiry man's field of vision. "Ah, you're awake!," the abductor lilted. His long brown hair was tied back, revealing an ordinary-looking face framing piercing blue eyes. "I see the confusion on your face, haha. I brought you here for a reason."

"You must have a death wish," grunted Otis. "You're one stupid fuck."

"No, but I do thrive on danger," quipped the suave man. "I've been following you for a long time, Otis Driftwood. I had to have you."

Otis let loose with a long cackle, startling the other man. "Christ, ain't that fuckin' precious? You realize what you've gotten yerself into, boy?"

For a few seconds the man was taken aback, but recovered and replied, "I've taken precautions. You're not going anywhere." He neared the bedside and bent over the prone man. "I am Julian. It took me a long time to orchestrate this whole thing, and now you're mine." He licked Otis' cheek, looking at him appreciatively.

"You know, big boy, I don't swing that way," Otis told him bemusedly. "I am flattered an' all, but still. So enjoy yerself while ye can. In the meantime I'll be thinkin up somethin' reeeal good to do to ya."


Otis snapped awake at the door opening; it was the woman he'd picked up and she appeared surprised and uneasy. "Julian, you didn't tell me he was awake!," she complained, then turned back to him. She had a mane of black hair and was wearing a burgundy elephant-legged pantsuit and big hoop earrings. Ooh, nifty.

"I have him restrained so you're safe, Mary," Julian called from another room. 'Safe' to Mary was somewhere far away from the pale creature staring back at her. He was lean and hard and his face had equally harsh features which were somehow not repulsive. He had nice lips, she thought, then remembered what he was.

"So you gonna stand there an' gawk at me all day," Otis demanded. "You wanna fuck me too? Jesus I'm a popular guy all of a sudden."

The woman wondered how he could be so nonplussed. He was strapped to a bed and completely helpless, yet his pale eyes were filled with calm intensity as they roamed over her. She also wished Julian had gagged him as well. Her companion soon joined her, hypodermic in hand and humming cheerily. When Otis caught sight of it a slight bit of anxiety flashed on his angular face, and anger as well. It sort of reminded the lady of Regan posessed in the movie the Exorcist as she eyed the priest with the holy water. "What've you got there, fuckbag? What, you gotta dope up yer dates, big man?," Otis continued taunting him as he jabbed the crazed man with the needle. "Hahahha, is that painkillers? You think I can't stand pain ya fruitloop? Fuck me with a chainsaw I LIVE FOR PAIN! Motherfucker, I'll....eh...," he finally went out again.

Hours later the psycho horror calling himself Otis Driftwood prised his heavy eyelids open and became aware of his captor cutting his shirt off him. Julian's dark brown hair was loose and fell around his square-jawed face as he worked, his smooth hands large and strong. The other man tried moving but there was very little feeling in his whole body, he felt disjointed and light-headed. "Oooh, nice," Julian crooned, tracing over the batwing-skull tattoo on the killer's chest with a fingertip. What a beautiful and deadly animal he'd caught, he was sure to have hours of fun. Sniffing, Otis smelled hot coals and glancing to his left espied a bucket with a hot poker sticking up out of it. Grasping the fireplace tool Julian put the heated end to his object of obsession's right breast and watched the smoke from charring skin drift up. He plunged the poker back in the coals to reheat, vaguely disappointed there were no screams. No, Otis merely watched him with murderous intent as Julian derived sexual pleasure from branding him with the iron. Toward the end of the session the medication began to wear off and Otis hissed through closed teeth, with pleasure or pain or both Julian couldn't tell, but it excited him.


He suddenly remembered how he got here in this unfamiliar, well-furnished room.

Otis drove along the main road alone, scouting for fresh meat. Runaways and prostitutes were best. The old Ford pickup rattled as it made its way across the blacktop--he'd have to get Rufus to have another look at it soon. He'd hate to get stranded in the middle of nowhere with the bright sun beating down on his pasty skin. Ahhh, there's a possibility, Otis thought. A lone female walking at the side of the road, backpack slung across her narrow shoulders as she trudged along. He grinned, a shark's tooth smile that would send chills down someone's spine.

Otis slowed the vehicle to a stop just in front of the woman and waited for her to approach his rolled down window. He observed her in the side-view mirror, cutoff shorts, raven hair and a cotton button-up blouse marked her for immediate male attention. She looked in her late 20's and conveniently clueless. Heh. "Hiya, mister," she chirped when she reached him. "I'm heading into Deadwood. Are you going that way?"

"As a matter o' fact I was," the long-haired man heartily replied, then bid her hop on in the passenger side of the truck. "Thanks!" She complied, seeming relieved of not having to walk anymore.

They made small talk, the man's excitement slowly building--this was quite a catch, and so easy! Glancing over at her surrepitiously he imaginied what her corpse would look like when he was done with her, and how it would feel.

"Ooh, what's that?," she asked with interest, indicating a car with its hood at the side of the road. A well-dressed man was frantically waving his arms, wanting the truck to stop. Oh great, Otis thought. Distractions. He slowed the truck.

The man went up to the open driver's-side window, but before Otis could make an excuse as to why he couldn't stick around or help, he felt a sharp sting in his upper arm. The stranger had given him a shot of some sort; the needle was still in his arm. "Son of a bitch--," Otis slurred, attempting to open the door and get out.

The brown-haired stranger laughed triumphantly as the world began to spin, then Otis slumped over, forehead resting on the steering where. "The hunter has become the hunted," the man said. The woman in the passenger side giggled, mostly out of relief. The creature unconcious beside her had tortured and murdered dozens of females.


"So now that you have him, what're you gonna do with him?," Mary pointedly asked as they ate their hamburgers in the restaurant.

"I haven't decided," Julian conceded, slurping his milkshake.

"God, you're not a killer like he is, you can't just kill him, can you?"

The effete man popped a seasoned french fry in his mouth and considered. "Well, you said yourself how lethal he is." At the expression of horror on her face he went on, "Well, who's gonna miss him? He's a murdering, raping, criminal with a record a mile long. We'd be doing the world a favor, right? Anyways, I don't want him dead for some time."

Mary didn't like the sound of the word 'we'. At least in conjunction with the current subject.

Otis, his brain in a drugged fog, could hear the dynamic duo arguing with each other from another part of the house. "Whoa," he mused, realizing he was now standing, spikes driven in his arms attaching him to the wall, his feet shackled. They were strategically placed to not hit anything too vital yet still hold him to the wall. Hmm, not a bad job.

"You said nobody would find out, and here you are sending me notes and shit talking about it! You moron!," went Mary.

"Don't call me a moron, you dip!," Julian yelled back. "You're just jealous of my prize!" Some thunks could be heard, then the black-haired woman appeared in the room, horsewhip in hand.

"We'll see how sexy you are to him when I'm done with you," she vowed, letting the length of it fall to the floor. She reared back, and let fly, hitting him across the collarbone, leaving a welt. Otis' eyes sparkled murderously. She flicked her arm for another strike when Julian grabbed her arm, attempting to wrench the whip out of her grasp.

"Crazy bitch, I oughta use that thing on you! Dumbass," he finally got it from her, backing her against the dresser.

"Fuck, I love you," she groaned.

"Sorry, but you don't have what I want." Yet he kissed her with some feeling before shoving her out the door, slamming it.


"RJ," said the blonde dynamo going from room to room. "Have yew seen Otis?" The dark-haired giant shook his head no. The girl then went to anothe impossibly tall figure and repeated her question. He shook his severely scarred face no as well. Biting her lip she next went downstairs. "Mama? Ma!"

"Yes, sweetie?," answered Mother Firefly.

"Have you seen Otis?"

The older but still attractive woman joined Baby in the hall. "Why no, I ain't."

"Where d'you reckon he's at? It's been two days since I talked to him."

"Could be he went on another trip for some live ones," suggested Mother, giggling.

"And not take me? Nah, I doubt it."

"Well maybe I'll call Johnny, he could be with him. You know how those two are."

Spaulding was gnawing on a juicy chicken leg and reading a book about freakshows in the 19th century when the phone started up its warbling ring. "Aw, shit on a biscuit," he grumbled, putting the greasy object down and shuffling to answer it. Just his luck, it was the old battle-axe. "Why, hello Eve," he said sarcastically. "How're you doin today?" He picked his stained teeth. "Well if he was up yer ass, you'd know it!," he guffawed. *sigh* "No, I ain't seen 'im in a couple days. Why don't y'ask Baby? As a matter o' fact, how is our youngun doin? Need ta pay more attention to that'un, Otis can take care of hisself."

Pause.

"Sweet baby Jesus, woman, I can't come fix that damn pipe, I'm busy! Yeah, workin! I already had Ravelli fix the generators. My dick ain't even been in ya in two years, it's tired and so'm I!" He rolled his big black eyes at the response. "Eve, why you cryin? What did I....is Baby that worried bout him?" He groans. "Well, I can have some of the boys keep an eye out, and I'll call ya soon as I hear anything. All right? Yeah. I said yeah, goddammit! Go fuck yerself. Bye." He dropped the phone on its cradle, swearing under his breath. That woman was too much of a mother, sometimes. What did he do with that drumstick? Ah, there it is. He picked up the book and resumed where he'd left off.

Something kept tugging at the back of his mind for the next several minutes, finally causing him to put the book back down. Fuckin hell, he'd call Charlie and have his boys be on the lookout so he could have a little peace.