Scott Sherman - Third You Die

Kristen didn’t move. He had a glassy stare that scared me.

Was he in shock?

Why was he was standing so far away?

And, I wondered, what did he have in his other hand?

“Kristen?” I asked louder, trying to rouse him from his stupor. “Lucas is hurt. I think there might be a fire somewhere, too. You think I can get some help here?”

“No, baby.” Kristen sounded genuinely regretful. “You probably can’t. At least, not in time.”

What?

My alarms went off and I started to rise.

“No!” Kristen barked. His sudden authority made me freeze. “Wouldn’t want you bruising the merchandise, too.”

He brought his hidden hand around.

It wasn’t the first time I’d ever seen a stun gun.

Ever the director, Kristen called the scene.

“Lights out, Kevin.”

A moment later, they were.

From the darkness, light.

If I was dead, at least I’d made it to heaven.

It certainly looked like it. The first thing I was aware of was an infinite whiteness. A blindingly bright flood that filled my vision and obscured everything else. I blinked once, twice, a third time, then left my eyes closed for a bit, fighting off the sting.

I reopened them. Gradually, shapes and shadows formed. Across from me came the second evidence that I’d made it past the pearly gates: an angel. Blond, handsomely shaped, physical perfection. Floating above the ground as if on wings, although none were visible.

I sensed my feet weren’t quite planted on terra firma, either. A cloud.

The divine creature facing me appeared to be meditating or asleep. Like you’d imagine, he was beautiful. Pale, golden-haired, and nude, like a vision of God’s messenger from a Renaissance painting. His nakedness seemed natural and fitting. We leave the world as we enter it: unclothed.

The only incongruous detail was his impossible-to-ignore erection. It pointed at me accusingly, as if I were to blame for his current predicament. It was large, throbbing, and so red it looked like you could use it as a branding iron. I didn’t remember Michelangelo or da Vinci depicting their heavenly representatives as quite so… happy to be there.

Seeing the angel’s condition made me consider my own. Yup, pretty much like my cherubic companion’s. Hello, hard-on. Who invited you to this party?

But we weren’t floating. We are hanging.

I, too, was naked.

And, although I didn’t feel particularly happy, I was at full salute, too.

Unless rigor mortis started with your dick, I guessed I wasn’t dead after all.

I was dazed, though. My head felt like it was stuffed with mud. Not painful, but numb. My arms were extended above my head. Something that felt like leather looped around my wrists and held me to a beam or pipe I couldn’t see. I was standing on what felt like a chair. I moved my legs a little and it rocked under me. Careful. If it tipped over, I’d be hanging free, my full weight pulling on my arms. It wouldn’t be comfortable.

My memory of recent events slowly seeped back. I’d gone to see friends. Someone fell. Something sizzled.

Focus, Kevin, focus.

That was no angel.

Hi, Lucas.

Damn, he looked good.

Kristen.

He’d called me in because Lucas had fainted. But he hadn’t. I hadn’t seen it, but I bet Kristen zapped him like he’d done me.

I was still dizzy and thick-headed. Was I remembering this right? Why would Kristen have done that?

I should have been struggling to get out. Screaming at Lucas. But I couldn’t muster the will. All things considered, I was pretty calm. Actually, kind of… carefree. Maybe a little turned on, too. Lucas really was adorable hanging there. If I had a free hand, I’d take it and…

Wait. If I had a free hand, I should be thinking how it could help me get the hell out of here. Not using it to grope Lucas like he were a cantaloupe I was judging for ripeness.

What was wrong with me? How come I wasn’t more freaked out to be here?

Where was here, anyway?

I looked around as best I could. It wasn’t painful to turn my head, but it wasn’t easy, either. The slightest movement took great effort and came with a heaping side dish of nausea.

I hadn’t been wrong in my initial impression-it was awfully bright in here. But now I saw it came not from celestial grace but from six or seven heavy-duty light stands, like the kind you see on movie sets.

They went along with the cameras, monitors, and other video equipment I eventually discerned in the glare.

Let’s see, what did we have here?

Lights, cameras… what comes next?

Oh yeah.

Action.

“Well, look who’s an early riser.” I heard the smooth voice of Kristen LaNue before I saw him walk into the lights. He was dressed in the same jeans and tan, long-sleeved T-shirt I’d seen him in at his home. Could we still be there? No, this space was much too large. Kristen’s apartment probably cost well upward of two million dollars, but a setup like this would have been unaffordable by Donald Trump at El Santuario.

Which raised an interesting question: How did a porn director afford a place at El Santuario, anyway? I was sure he was well paid, but nowhere near the kind of money you needed to live there. Kristen must have had another source of income. It probably wasn’t selling Girl Scout cookies.

“What’s…?” My mouth was dry. I swallowed a few times. “I don’t understand.”

Not my best line, but, like I said, I wasn’t feeling quite myself.

“Ah,” Kristen said, stepping up to me. He ran a finger from just under my chin down to just below my belly button. I wish I could tell you my cock didn’t give it an expectant little nod, but I’d be lying.

Listen, I’m the first to admit I’m probably oversexed, but this was ridiculous. I’d been accosted, kidnapped, restrained against my will, possibly by a killer, and judging by the red lights on the cameras that circled us, the whole thing was probably being filmed. How the hell could I be turned on at a time like this? Was I more of a freak than I knew?

Worse, Kristen noticed my reaction. “It looks like ‘Little Kevin’ wants to play-ay!” he singsonged. He gave Little Kevin a long stroke. I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning with pleasure.

I twisted away as best I could.

More, I thought.

“Stop,” I said. “Don’t touch me, you sick bastard.”

Kristen’s smile was dazzling. Confident and cocky. “Your lips say stop-”

“Yeah, yeah.” I shut him up. “It’s an old line, Kristen. I had you pegged as a little hipper than that.”

Kristen’s smile didn’t waver. In fact, it might have widened. “Listen to you. Considering how high you’re flying, you shouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence, let alone be so… what’s the word?… feisty.”

How high…

“You drugged me with something,” I said.

“Oh no.” Kristen grimaced with faked offense at my accusation. “I drugged you with a lot of things.”

A cocktail. I bet I knew what was in it.

“Valium,” I said. Which explained why I was feeling so calm under perilous circumstances.

“And Ecstasy,” I added, remembering the mild euphoria I’d experienced earlier. Not to mention the yearning to touch and be touched. I’d never used the drug, but I knew it had a reputation of earning its name on a number of levels.

Kristen clapped his hands together in polite golf applause. “Very good. Bunches and bunches of those two. But don’t forget ‘Little Kevin’ here.”

The other drug found in Brent’s system. “Viagra.”

“Impressive. You got three out of four. But the Viagra’s just to prime the pump, as it were. More effective is the phentolamine.”