Disclaimer: the following story is a purely fictional account. Any relationship to any real person living or dead is coincidental. The narrative contains non-consensual torture and death. It is intended for mature readers who wish to view such material, and for whom it is legal to do so. The author in no way condones or promotes such acts in real life.
Copyright © 2002 by POW. For spam prevention, an animal name has been added to the author’s e-mail address. Remove the animal name to get the actual address: POWauthor zebra at yahoo dot com. This story may be freely copied and distributed so long as it is copied in its entirety, unchanged, including the author credit information and disclaimer. Other POW stories are available at https://powauthor.wordpress.com. The author welcomes feedback.
Double Cross
It wasn’t so much that I was getting bored with crucifixions. I don’t think that will ever happen. It’s just that, well, I was getting a little tired of the same old routine – kidnap a young, muscular man, fix him to a cross, and sit back and watch him suffer and die.
Even though I varied the positions, it was always the same thing every time. He’d struggle powerfully for a while, which was wonderfully fun to watch. But after a few hours the fight would drain out of him as he weakened, until near the end he was just hanging there listlessly, which provided me with no entertainment at all.
I began trying various ways to liven my victims up in their final hours. I tried adding to their pain by striking them, puncturing them, burning them, or slicing bits off of them. Each technique worked briefly, but the men soon lapsed back into torpor. Past a certain point, nothing I did could drive them to expend their strength the way they did at the beginning of their ordeals.
I tried cajoling them, too, telling them that if they could just last X more minutes, I’d let them go. That had a better effect, but after their hopes were dashed a time or two as I kept resetting the clock, they soon gave in to despair, too.
I suppose what bothered me most about all the things I tried was that each one involved work for me, which was all wrong. I was supposed to be sitting back enjoying the show. It was the victim’s job to do the work.
What I needed was some way to get my victim to push himself to the limit right up until the end. And he needed to push himself willingly, without needing me to provide any external stimulus.
Then, one evening as I sat watching the rabbits frolic in my backyard, I suddenly knew how I could make it work.
“Throw it! Aww, you butthead, throw it here! Loser!”
Ultimate Frisbee was just one of the sports Matt and Keith fought each other at. Now in their third year at college, they had between them one of the most intense rivalries on campus. They were both active on the school’s basketball, soccer, and track teams, and they competed at a host of other informal sports. In fact they competed at everything they did, both on and off the field.
Matt was the quicker of the two. He had blond hair, a small but muscular body, and green eyes that could twinkle with laughter or pierce with rage. He tended to outperform Keith at anything that involved bursts of speed or strength, although this was by no means certain.
Keith was darker of face and hair, with a perpetual five-o-clock shadow gracing his cheeks. He had the build of a distance runner, with long, lanky muscles that rippled smoothly when he moved. His strength was endurance, and he could usually best Matt at anything that lasted long enough.
Right now they were going at each other at Ultimate. From the sidelines, the game looked, as their games often did, like “MATT vs. KEITH (with lots of other little people running around, too)”. When it came to physical sport, either one alone could dominate whatever game was being played. When both were on the field together, they might as well be playing one-on-one.
This game ended with a victory for Matt. He rubbed it in, as he usually did, taunting Keith’s lack of agility, his clumsiness, his reportedly bovine and incestuous parentage. Matt excelled at dishing out insults, but did not respond particularly well when abuse was directed his way, particularly if he had lost at whatever was his most recent challenge. Keith, on the other hand, tended to smolder, suffering the verbal missiles until he either cooled down or exploded in physical fury. More than once, the two had had to sit games out on the sidelines when their rivalry came to blows.
This time, Matt was feeling happy, and let Keith go with only a minor ribbing. Life was good. The semester was almost over, his girlfriend would be joining him to share an apartment for the summer break, and he was not in danger of failing any of his courses this term. Not that he ever would actually fail, of course – one or the other of his coaches would see to that – but it felt good to be pulling Cs and Ds on his own merit, for once.
They all had dinner at a local pizza place, then headed off campus for one of the many end-of-year parties going on. Keith was not much of a drinker. He usually felt like he was a step behind everyone else, conversationally, and getting a buzz on just slowed his head down even more. So he made a show of joining in the revelry, but was not actually as blitzed as Matt was when the time came for them to make their way home.
They stumbled out the door together, heading back to their adjacent rooms in the dorm. It was about three miles to walk, and the friend they had hitched a lift from to get to the party was long gone. Ordinarily, three miles was a light morning warm-up jog, but Matt kept alternating between leaning heavily on Keith’s arm and crashing into him, and the going was slow. So when the guy in the little Subaru pulled up and offered them a ride, Keith accepted with no hesitation.
I look at these 20-something kids these days and I think I was never that young. And if I was, I was certainly never as naive and trusting as these yahoos. They were so docile that abducting a pair of sheep would have been more challenging.
I came prepared for just about any contingency. You don’t get to my level of criminal behavior – seventeen unsolved abductions so far, and not a single body found – by being careless. I had brought drugs, both inhaled and injected, ropes, cuffs, a taser, and even a gun. And I didn’t need any of it.
All I did was ask them to give me a hand unloading some furniture before I dropped them off. Keith, the less wasted of the two, was so happy to skip the remaining 2 1/2 miles of drunkard’s walk that he quickly agreed.
I drove to where I had parked my rented U-Haul truck (in front of the house I “borrowed” this car from). I put the car back in the driveway, exactly where I had found it. Tomorrow morning, its owners wouldn’t even know it had been gone the night before. Then I led my sheep into the back of the truck, where a large sofa hide-a-bed was waiting. I positioned them each at one end, then asked them to hang on a sec, and went out and closed the door.
An hour and a half later, they were sitting in my warehouse, still in the back of the truck. They were either asleep or plotting something – it didn’t really matter which. I backed the truck up to the holding cell, so that the edges fit so tightly together that there was no way one of them could slip out between the cracks. Opening the back door of the truck was the riskiest part, but I’ve done this enough times now that I’ve got a pretty good system down. All I do is flip the catch loose before backing the truck up completely, then put the truck in place and tug the door open from the top with a rope attached to the handle. So far, none of the victims has tried to open the door himself during the minute or so that he could do it and escape. I guess they’re afraid of what they might find on the other side.
When I looked inside, Matt was passed out on the sofa, and Keith was curled up in a corner, just waking up. I banged on the wall to get them moving. After they stumbled sleepily into the 8×8 foot cell, I slid the cage door closed behind them.
Matt blinked sleepily at me. “Dude, what the fuck?”, he said. I so hate profanity. I mean, it has its place, but if you pepper your ordinary conversation with “F” this and “S” that, what is left to say when you hit your thumb with a hammer?
“Matt,” I answered. “I would appreciate it if you would not use obscenities here.” He pondered on that, mouth agape. Keith stepped in then.
“Uh, we, uh… why are we here? I thought you, you know, wanted us to help you move the couch?” He looked at me hopefully, like I would smack my forehead, say “oh, yeah!”, and the cage bars would magically go away.
“No, that was a ruse. I actually wanted to kidnap you. Which I have.”
“Kidnap? Dude, did you say kidnap?”, Matt said. “Like, you want our folks to pay a ransom or something?”
“Right. ‘Or something…’” I looked them each in the eye. “I’ll give you the details in the morning. For now, get some sleep. It’s very late.”
I debated my options. Having two of them presented a different challenge than I was used to. I always needed a certain amount of cooperation from my victims to get them onto their crosses. There’s only one of me, and I’m not in the best of shape any more, unlike my captives. In a fair fight, I’m sure any one of them could overpower me easily. The fact that none of them ever has is testimony to the fact that it’s never a fair fight.
Sometimes I use drugs to knock them out, then bind their limp bodies at my leisure. The drawback to that method is that they wake up groggy and weak, not in peak physical condition. This tends to detract from their endurance, and means I don’t get all the show I could. For what I had planned today, I wanted them in top form, so drugs were out of the question. I was even concerned that I’d have to wait an extra day to let Matt get over his hangover, so putting more junk in his system was not an option.
Trying to manhandle them is another possibility. It’s certainly more fun, and it has worked well a few times in the past. I just have to make sure that three of the four limbs remain restrained at all times while I work on the fourth. I didn’t think that would work with these two, though, because the yelling of whoever I took first would alarm the other, making him much harder to work with.
I finally decided on the tactic that had worked so well when taking them: lie.
The lights snapped on, and a banging on the bars woke Matt and Keith from a sleep that it seemed like they had just started. Matt’s head was pounding and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. Keith was dazed and groggy, too, having spent hours during the night exploring the confines of his cage by touch in the pitch blackness.
The kidnapper stood by the cell door, a tray of breakfast in his hand and a perky grin on his face.
“OK, boys, eat up. While you do, I’ll tell you why you’re here. Deal?”
He pushed the tray through a slot in the bars, and the two young men started picking at their meals.
“Oh, come on, guys, it’s just food! Are you worried I’m going to poison you or something? Look, if I wanted to drug you, or shoot you even, it’d be easy, right? You’re sitting ducks in that cage. Come on, I swear to you I’m not going to hurt you. ‘Kay? Go ahead and eat.”
They did. He continued talking while they chewed.
“Here’s the deal. All I want from you is a couple of photographs, OK? I’ll pay you for them. I’m a professional photographer, and I do most of my work for customers who have, let’s say, unusual tastes.”
“I want you two to pose for me. It’ll only take a couple of hours, and I’m willing to pay you $500 each for your trouble. I faked this whole ‘kidnap’ thing because I didn’t think you’d hear me out if I just came up to you and asked you.”
“The reason I didn’t think you’d listen is that the pictures involve some, ah, kinky stuff.”
The boys stopped eating and turned wide eyes to their captor. Matt spoke through a mouth full of masticated pancake and sausage. “No way, dude, no way am I doing no queer shit.”
The man jumped in, waving his hands. “No, no, there’s no sex involved. Nothing queer. In fact, most of my customers are straight, although I’ve got to tell you I do wonder about one or two of them. No, these guys are into military scenes. They have these POW fantasies, and they like seeing pictures of ‘soldiers’ being ‘tortured’ by the enemy. No sex at all, I promise. All you have to do is let me tie you up, pretend like you’re being tortured, and that’s it.”
“See, I could have done it without your cooperation. That food could have been drugged. You could have woken up to find yourself already tied. I could have taken all the photos I wanted, then dropped you off at school without that $500. But I didn’t. That should convince you that I’m sincere about this. This is for real.”
They still didn’t seem convinced.
“Look, the torture is all going to be fake. And it’s not like the ropes are going to be all that tight, anyway. I’ll make sure to tie them so that it looks real for the camera, but you’ll be able to slip out any time you want to if it gets too much for you to handle, OK?”
That did it. Neither one of young men liked the implication that there was anything that was “too much” for them to handle, especially having to admit it in front of the other. They finished gulping down the last few swallows of orange juice and raced to see who could say “Sure, OK” first.
The man pulled some camouflage clothing off a table and handed it in through the bars. “Great. Here’s your ‘uniforms’. You guys change into them. I’ve got the studio already set up.”
He went on. “Matt, how’s your head? You were pretty far gone last night. Feeling OK now?”
Matt answered, “Uh, ‘sawright, I guess.”
“Here, take some aspirin, just in case. I mean, I want you to LOOK like you’re suffering for these pictures, but there’s no reason you should actually BE suffering, right?”
They bought it again. Don’t these kids watch horror movies? I mean, come on, this setup is as suspicious as they get. All that’s lacking is the soundtrack playing the scary music. But they ate it all up. Maybe I’m a better actor than I realized.
Naah. They’re just dumb.
They changed into their ‘uniforms’ – modestly turning their backs while they changed, aw, how cute! – and I opened up the door. I was terrified at the idea that I was letting them loose in my warehouse, and could barely control my anxiety. How could they not hear my heart thumping?
Trying to keep my voice calm, I told Matt to wait, then had Keith come out, carefully closing the door behind him. He looked sharp in his uniform, and I struggled to keep my cock from tenting my pants. This was the moment. If he was going to make a break for it, now would be the time. I fought to keep my face serene as I escorted him to the ‘studio’ and had him lie down on the cross.
Of course, it didn’t look like a cross – I had piled sticks and brush around it to hide its true shape, and to lend credence to the POW scenario. The rest of the area was shrouded in black fabric, with lights and camera tripods placed here and there.
I quickly stretched his wrists out, and tied them in place. Then I had him bend his knees slightly and lashed his ankles to the piece that would become the upright. I used two ropes, one to bind his ankles to the wood, and another that just looped over the tops of his feet. It was tough to keep a business-like manner, but as my victim continued to lie there so trustingly, it became easier to get into the act.
In short order, he was tied. I resisted heaving a sigh of relief. I stuck an end of rope in each of his hands, and told him that they were the leads to the slip knots. If he wanted to get out, all he had to do was pull them and the ropes would come off. But I asked him not to do it unless it was absolutely necessary, because if he untied himself, I’d just have to do it all over again.
Sucker.
Matt followed the same way. Once he was secured, I couldn’t keep a smile of exultation from crossing my face. We were past the point of no return, now. I relished the thought of the expressions on their faces once they began to realize the truth about their situation.
“OK, now that everything’s set up, it’s time to come clean: everything I told you so far is a lie.”
Their eyes started to show the faintest hint of worry. I cleared away the useless brush and camera crap and started fixing some putty to the ropes holding them to their crosses. They fought, but their struggles were useless. Keith tugged, adorably, on the “slip knots”, and the look on his face as he realized they weren’t going to slip was priceless.
“Here’s the real reason I kidnapped you: I. Like. Watching. Young. Men. Suffer. And I like watching them die. And you two are going to do that for me, or at least one of you is.”
Matt was squirming in his ropes, but they held him tight. Keith shouted something, so I stood on his fingers and his shout died away into frantic gasping. I got off and pushed a button on a little remote control I was carrying.
Two motors began to hum, and four cables began to tighten. One cable was attached to each end of each of their crossbeams. When the slack was gone, the crosses began tilting up in the air. Panic lit my two victims’ faces.
“Listen now, because everything I say from now on is the unvarnished truth. As you’ve noticed, those crosses you’re tied to are rising into the air. Yes, those are crosses. You have been crucified. Once they go up about six feet, you two are going to start a competition, the most important competition you have ever had.”
They kept struggling as the crosses tilted more and more toward vertical, and their arms and legs had to take more and more of their weight. But they were listening.
“You two are going to compete at being crucified. Here’s how it works. Behind your head is a photoelectric sensor. When you push yourself upward, either by using your arms or your legs, or both, your head blocks the sensor and no light gets to it. When you slump down, your head falls, and light can reach the sensor.”
The crosses had nearly reached vertical. I paused them with the remote and began cutting away their silly outfits. They hated this, and shouted more obscenities at me. They would have fought even more, but they were already dealing with the discomfort of being crucified, and the most they could do was lurch a little. When they were both naked, I turned on the motors again, and the crosses lifted clear of the floor, swinging back and forth. As soon as they had risen a few inches, I placed two switches on the ground, one each on a marked position underneath each cross.
I smacked them on their balls to shut them up, then continued. “Listen! The sensor behind your head basically determines whether you’re up or down. You’ll want to be up as much as possible. When you’re both up, nothing happens. Likewise when you’re both down, nothing happens. But when one of you is up while the other is down, these crosses will move. The ‘up’ cross will move down, and the ‘down’ cross will move up.”
They weren’t concentrating very well, adjusting as they were to the the pain in their balls and the feeling of being crucified. They were both trying to find comfortable positions, which they didn’t yet know wasn’t going to happen. I figured I had to spell it out better.
“Keith, you’re pushing up right now. So is Matt, but let’s say you keep pushing up while Matt decides to take a rest. All while that happens, your cross will move lower to the ground, while Matt’s will move higher. Does that make sense? And Matt, the same goes for you. If you work while Keith rests, your cross goes down and his goes up.”
Keith answered “But what happens when one of us reaches the ground?”
“Ah, if you touch down first, then you win. And if Matt does, he wins. Simple, right?”. I pointed to the switches on the floor. “These switches underneath your crosses will tell when you’ve moved down far enough to win. Just get down far enough so the cross lands on the switch, and victory is yours.”
I used the remote to pause the crosses in their upward journey again. The bases were about four feet off the ground, putting two pairs of knees at about my eye level. I began to affix putty to the backs of each of their knees, sealing it on with duct tape. Leads of wire ran out from each chunk. Matt was the first to ask what the putty was for.
“Ah, my friend, that’s the reward for the victor. See, the winner gets to come down off his cross once he reaches the ground. The loser… dies. This putty on your knees is an explosive. When the winner flips his switch, the putty on the loser’s legs explodes, shattering his knees. That will prevent him from pushing up any more, and his death from asphyxiation will follow shortly thereafter. Meanwhile, explosives attached to the ropes holding the winner to his cross also explode, setting him free. He’ll be tired, sore, hungry, thirsty, and angry, but he’ll be free.”
I finished attaching the putty and sent the crosses on their way up again.
“As you can see, you’ve got a lot of incentive to work hard. Stay up as long as you can. At the speed the crosses move, you’ll need to spend a total of about half an hour up while your opponent is down to reach the ground. So pace yourself. It would be such a pity if you got within a few inches of your goal only to have your muscles give out on you, wouldn’t it?”
The crosses were now each six feet in the air. I stopped them with the remote, and the competition began.
Matt strained to keep himself up and blocking the sensor. Three feet away, directly in front of him, Keith did the same. Twenty minutes into their crucifixion contest, though it already felt like hours, both men were geared up for, literally, the fight of their lives.
After a few tentative lowerings to test the cross mechanisms, both young men had realized that this was for real, and their innate competitive nature took over. Neither one had slumped since. Both were in top physical condition, and while the effort was strenuous, they both had plenty of reserves left.
The position they were forced to hold was grueling. Their legs were tied in a way that made it imossible to lock their knees, so lifting themselves up required constant effort from their muscles Their knees were bent, and their feet were held flat against the upright by the ropes. The ankle ropes held them in place, and the loop across the tops of their feet made a kind of pocket for their toes to fit into. Putting weight on their feet when they were bound in this manner was painful, and it would get worse as time wore on, but they had no other choice if they wanted to give their aching arms a rest.
And their arms did need the rest. Already, Matt’s hands were going numb from the lack of circulation and the pressure the rope put on the nerves in his wrist. He desperately wanted to shake his hands, or lower them to his sides, or move them anywhere but where they were now. But it was impossible. He was trapped.
He looked across at Keith. His rival’s eyes were closed in concentration, and sweat was pouring down everywhere on his body. It dripped from his forehead, it ran down his legs, and soaked the dark fuzzy hair that covered his chest. His breath came deeply and evenly as he tried to feed oxygen to his laboring muscles.
In the first few minutes of their ordeal, they had tried to get more information from their captor, but he just reiterated what he had already told them. Since they had been tricked and lied to twice, already, they pressed him for guarantees that he really would release the winner. Not that they were in any position to argue.
He reassured them. “Look, I told you that this time I’m being honest. The only reason I lied to you before was so you wouldn’t run away before I could get you on the crosses. Now that you’re there, I have no reason to lie anymore. I swear to you, only one of you will die on the cross. The other will not. The moment the winner’s cross hits the ground, the ropes will come off, and he’ll be free.”
So they fought on, not that there really was any choice at all.
Half an hour in, Keith gave up for the first time and slumped down in his ropes. Matt held on as long as he could, watching Keith’s body rise before him, but he only lasted another minute or two before he, too, dropped down to rest. By that time, Keith had recovered some strength and inched his way back up again. By the time Matt found the strength to pull himself up, they were once again nearly at eye level with each other.
It was beautiful to watch. None of my earlier victims – none of them – had lasted in an ‘up’ position for an entire half an hour before. They had all been just as strong as Matt and Keith, but they hadn’t had the incentive to fight like these two did.
Watching them from my seat, I reached down and undid my pants. My cock was as hard as it had ever been, and I had barely wrapped my hand around it when an eruption of milky fluid gushed out as wave after wave of ecstatic convulsions swept over me.
My orgasm didn’t go unnoticed. From above, Matt’s voice came down. “Aww, you fuckin’ pervert! Let us down, you psycho!” His cross shook with his rage as he kept up the torrent of abuse. I mopped up the evidence of my pleasure.
An hour in.
Matt had started out with the upper hand. Like always, Keith just couldn’t sustain the same level of constant muscular exertion that he could. Matt gloated, to himself for once, as he watched Keith’s body rise until his head was about a foot above his own. He looked forward to an easy victory. It was too bad about Keith, but Matt wasn’t about to give up his own life to save anyone else’s, much less his main rival’s.
Then things had begun to change. Matt found he had to drop more and more often to rest his tired muscles, but Keith didn’t seem to need the same amount of recovery time. He watched, seething, as Keith worked his way back down until they were even, then continued gaining ground.
Keith was sore, but he fought through his pain. At the moment, his eyes were about even with Matt’s chest. He couldn’t believe how much his body hurt. The pain was everywhere, from his aching and exhausted muscles to his numb fingers to his raging thirst. He tried to keep his eyes closed most of the time, to improve his concentration. But he kept getting distracted by Matt’s mouth.
“God DAMN it!” Matt shouted for what had to be the one thousandth time. Keith had finally had enough.
“Look, shut up, will you? He’s not going to let us down, awright?” His words came in jerks, punctuated by his gasps for air. “You’ve spent the last hour fuckin’ shouting at him, and it wasn’t good for shit. Just shut up!”
Matt turned his temper on Keith then, blaming Keith for the whole situation, for accepting the ride with the guy in the first place, for willingly going with him to be tied up, for not fighting harder to get away when they had the chance.
“Hey!” Keith replied, “this is just as much your fault as mine. What’d you have to get so fuckin’ drunk for? And you could have made a break for it, too. Don’t go blaming me for your problems.”
Matt launched into a stream of obscenities, all directed at Keith, and Keith swore to himself that no matter what kind of effort it took, he was not going to lose this fight. The lump of spit that came flying out of Matt’s mouth and landing on his cheek just firmed up his resolve all the more.
I loved watching them. I loved listening to them. I came three more times while Keith slowly, slowly, inched his way downward. Matt was getting desperate. He knew Keith was gaining, but he just couldn’t force his muscles to hold him up. I heard him once offer Keith a deal – if Keith stopped fighting and let Matt win, then Matt would rescue him as soon as he got down and overpowered me. It was laughable. Keith ignored him.
I had to admire Keith’s strength. He had become attuned to the hums of the motors, and had timed his efforts to match Matt’s. Neither one of them had the strength to stay up all the time. But Keith was clever – he timed his movements around Matt’s. While they were both resting in the down position, Keith waited for Matt to rise. As soon as he felt the hum of the motor, he forced himself up, so Matt only got a few seconds of time up by himself. Then he waited for Matt to fall, and stayed up as long as he could afterward.
The net result was that Keith gradually got lower and lower, while Matt wasted his energy screaming obscenities. To hear him talk, Keith was the real enemy in this contest. He was completely ignoring me in his hatred for his rival.
After about four hours, both men were utterly exhausted. Matt wasn’t even trying anymore. I wasn’t sure if he was even still lucid. Keith fought his way downward, fifteen seconds at a time. When he was minutes away from victory, I called up to Matt that I was about to give him a helping hand.
Keith’s eyes flew open and he glared at me as I walked over in front of him. His crotch was positioned at just about the perfect height, and I slowly, deliberately, leaned in and began licking his balls.
Nothing else could have broken his concentration as well. He let out a yell that rivaled Matt’s. “Oh, you fuckin’ faggot, get the fuck away from me!” He bucked and twisted, but he couldn’t avoid my probing tongue.
His balls were rancid with the stench of old sweat. I ran my tongue all over them and crammed it between his sac and his legs, licking up every drop and tickling his sensitive testicles in the process. His rhythm was completely ruined, and his cross began lifting upward as Matt tried to take advantage of his distraction.
Soon, completely against his will, his heavy cock began to rise under my attentions. When it had thickened about halfway, I sucked it into my mouth and began pumping up and down, rubbing the sensitive head with my tongue until he became fully stiff. After that, it took less than thirty seconds for him to climax. The muscles all over his body quivered and failed, and he pumped an enormous load of semen into my mouth and down my throat. I greedily guzzled down every drop.
I stepped back to admire my work and jerk myself off yet another time. Keith was broken, weak from his post-orgasmic rush, and couldn’t hold himself up for more than a few seconds, when he even bothered to try. His cross steadily inched upward as Matt found his second wind.
All in all, my little antic cost Keith about another twenty minutes on the cross, but it didn’t alter the outcome of the game. He gradually recovered his strength and his focus, and eventually got back into his rhythm. Matt’s second wind was short-lived, and Keith worked his way single-mindedly downward.
Matt was incoherent. He saw the ceiling coming steadily closer, but there was nothing that he could do about it. His muscles wouldn’t respond to him at all. Every few minutes, he could summon enough strength to rise partway up and suck in a lungful of air, but it was mostly from his body’s unconscious effort to go on living. The process was autonomic; he had no control over it. And he could never get high enough to block the sensor. He was completely at Keith’s mercy.
He sobbed his frustration and anger, and found himself almost wishing that Keith would hurry up and get it over with. What was taking the bastard so long? Was he TRYING to prolong Matt’s misery? That was probably it. Keith had set this whole thing up with that guy just so he could get rid of Matt and be the uncontested star of the school. They were in it together all along.
The blowjob proved it. How could Keith get it up for a guy unless he was a faggot? They had to be conspiring against him, coming up with this vicious plot to torture him. Those two fags were down there enjoying every moment of Matt’s suffering. And, try as he might, he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
He was so lost in his sorrow and self pity that he barely heard the banging noise. He felt a slight twinge at his knees, but he was already so far gone in pain that one additional ache hardly mattered. Then he felt his body gearing up for another surge up for air, but nothing happened. His muscles contracted, he tried to lift himself, but strangely, he didn’t move.
Without the boost that standing provided, he found he couldn’t exhale. He fought, panicking, for breath, but it was no use. Time slipped away while he ached for air. Then, with one last thought of hatred for Keith, he watched helplessly as the blackness at the edges of his vision expanded to fill all his sight, and his consciousness slipped away.
I don’t think Keith even knew he was about to touch the ground, he was so lost in his concentration. The bang from the explosives was deafeningly loud, and reverberated in the metal-walled warehouse. When the echoes had died away, Keith was lying on the floor, face down in front of his cross.
One more orgasm, this one dry, shook my body as I alternated between looking at the doomed body high above and the equally doomed one below. The force of the explosives on the ropes had blown both his hands and his feet from his body. Blood poured out from four severed arteries and pooled on the ground around him.
“Oops,” I said, not very convincingly. “Guess I used a little too much putty.” I don’t know if he heard me or not, but nevertheless I went on. “You’ll notice I told you the honest truth. Only one of you died on the cross.”
POW's Fiction - Gay S&M Stories 