Kingdom Of Red Heaven

Posted: April 2005
Title: Kingdom of Red Heaven
Author: sandyg
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Genre: RPS
Characters: Orlando/Sean Bean/Viggo, Elijah
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: No money made from any fic or insane fleeting idea.
Warnings: Imagine a ridiculous cross between "Deliverance", "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" and "Pulp Fiction" directed by Quentin T. and Mel Brooks' luv child. OK, here ya go. This chappie is the tip of the proverbial bizarre iceberg. Threats, sex, mouth-rape, unwilling sexual deviance.
Summary: Poor Detective First Class Sean Bean wonders why he ever agreed to a year- long exchange program with the Charleston, SC's PD. He must have decided during a typical hangover brought on after a fight with his unfaithful boyfriend. Sean's latest annoying assignment; bust a suspicious ring of bondage call boys dwelling in a cherry-red trailer hidden deep in the Four Holes swamp. Are Sean's equipment and, erm, skills up to the daunting task?
Author's Notes: Sorta written for Adorfuckable's V-Day "Red' challenge. Sorta.

Chapter 1

Fuck. Sean wiggled again and tried giving his leather-trapped cock relief. The angry detective swore the red-neck idiot at Charleston's Vice Squad provided Sean a pair of leather trousers two sizes too small just out of jealous spite. The fuckin' bitchy britches positive strangled his thick cock. Jesus Christ, a Doberman's jaw might feel more bloody forgiving against his tender boy flesh! As he grumbled to himself Sean admitted he should have splurged and bought his own pants but he simply wasn't into leather trousers. Other leather treats were cool but the pants never caught on with Sean. Deep inside he always thought he looked silly in them. And see, he was right, especially since these trousers were vivid red.

All right, time to check the directions again. The detective didn't fancy becoming lost back in this dead ringer for a scene out of "Southern Comfort" swamp, especially not the way he was dressed. The red leather trousers, strappy bondage harness, which, in Sean's humble opinion, made his firm chest look fabulous, spiked dog collar, combat boots and nipple rings screamed "queer!" Sean imagined knocking on a swamp shack's door and, instead of being given directions, he'd be hauled in, bonked on the head then vigorously butt fucked by salivating, in-bred twins, their randy old gummy grandad and their six mongrel mutts. Once they'd pumped Sean's ass fill of hot dick juice they'd throw him to the snakes and laugh while he swamp-wrestled. Not cool.

A disgusted snort escaped Sean's tense lips. Yeah, Homer Simpson, Charleston's Chief of Detectives, shoved this outrageous job on Sean because he, to be blunt, hated Sean. Hated Sean's accent. Hated Sean's degrees in law enforcement, economics and Eurasian Culture. Hated Sean's stylish dress. Hated Sean's appreciation for fine wines and food. Sean swore the blithering dolt even hated Sean's innocent left nut. Homer certainly tried castrating the old boy off Sean's body more than once with his so-called humorous comments.

Well, face it, Homer also hated Sean being queer. Fuck, it wasn't like Sean strolled into Homer's office, sat down and conducted a sincere heart to heart chat with the bigoted asswipe. Fuck no. Unfortunately five months ago a fellow detective on the Vice Squad spied a hammered to his toes Sean exiting a notorious Charleston gay club. The fact that Sean had been tongue slurping a tasty piece of boy fluff didn't help matters. Well, claiming he visited the club to question said fluff boy crowned the farce and gained Sean a spiteful slap in the face. Laughingstock didn't cover Sean's profound humiliation. Not only had Sean been outed but he couldn't return to that club ever again. Seemed his insulted boy fluff knew the owner and word spread that Sean was a drunken ass. Groan. The damage to his sex life lasted for weeks.

Please, Sean's sexual habits and his off-the-clock bottle fests hadn't mattered one fucking whit over in London. Clever Sean was a crack detective and if he fancied shagging boys on his off time his own Detective Chief Inspector didn't care, not as long as Sean hauled in the baddies, made DCI Tennyson look super and refrained from dancing naked in Hyde Park. Granted Sean had fucked, sucked and puked in Hyde Park but that didn't count.

But once old Homer the Homo Hater learned Sean's sexual tastes he never let up. Sean came close to conducting physical violence against the corpulent Chief 69 different times. "Hey, Sean, what's this Spring's fashion color? Hot pink? Har, har, har." "Sean, I need to buy the wife a pretty silk negligee for her birthday. Care to come with me so I make the right fashion choice?" "Sean, your hands are always so smooth. What's your secret, boy?" "Sean, can you teach me how to suck them darn slippery oysters right down my throat? Never could understand how to relax my gag reflex."

Three weeks ago the insults spearheaded into Sean's actual work. "Sean, I need someone to bust a notorious bunch of queer boys conducting an illegal prostitution business out in the swamp. Given your experience I think you're the perfect boy to pay them a visit." The file thudded on the desk. "All we got is a shitload of smoke and rumors. Treasury even poked around and found nothing or nothing they shared with me. I've also sent a few men out there with out any success. Now I think this special job is right up your manly alley, boy." Old Homer's sly wink and mocking, yellow-toothed grin added further injury. Yeah, Sean swore if a student looked up "pecker-headed asshole" in the epic Real World dictionary Homer's ugly puss would meet their seeking gaze.

Sean's furious hands gripped the steering wheel so hard he almost bent the structure to his knees. For long, satisfying seconds Sean imagined the wheel was Homer's thick, flabby neck. Ahh, his cock twitched against the leather. Whoo. Ouch. All right, knock off the fantasies.

Shit, suddenly the complex leather harness chafed Sean's right nipple. One hand steered the wheel while the other darted under and adjusted the leather so it didn't pinch his nipple ring. Fine, Sean didn't mind fun and games but he hated chaffed nipples.

Damn, could it grow any darker back on these sand-corrupted-with-a-touch-of-dirt roads? Each bumpy, barely maintained road became progressively narrower and harder on Sean's rented Porsche. The theme from "Deliverance" kept whispering through Sean's anxious brain. Why the fuck hadn't he brought his gun along? Simple answer; no good place to hide it in this skimpy outfit. Well shucks, Sean guessed he could have shoved it up his ass or something equally clever. Yeah, right.

After a right turn, two lefts and another right Sean arrived at the tree he had marked earlier in the day. A relived sigh escaped his lips. Fuck, Sean feared he might have driven clear into Georgia. Yeah, see, the empty bottle of Jack Daniel's jammed into a lower oak limb caught his headlights in a lovely directional fashion. Sean looked on his effort as recycling; after he killed off that bottle of Jack he reused the bottle in his work. Brilliant. High marks. Snaps. Being a functioning drunk had its merits.

Too bad Sean didn't have a bottle with him now. He needed a healthy dose of the devil's brew. Fuck, Sean knew if he started drinking how he'd end up driving around in happy circles until he ker-splatted into an annoyed live oak. Aw hell, at least he'd leave a really bitchin' corpse. Die young, stay pretty, eh, especially on Valentine's Day. Yeah, how bloody ironic, he was conducting his prime whorehouse investigation on Cupid's Busy Day. Fuck, maybe he should have brought along a heart-shaped box of sweets like a proper gentleman caller.

Sean mentally smacked himself. Concentrate! Unfortunately this was where Sean's job turned dead tricky. During the warm mid-winter day Sean had performed surveillance, OK, he'd crept down the dirt drive far enough to know the rutted track defined narrow. Worse yet the kin to a goat path drive hiked up on a levee barely above noxious swamp level. One wrong turn and splash, Sean backstroked with the critters slinking through the swamp. Not something he fancied.

Three deep breaths filled Sean's lungs. In and out. Cool. Sean shrugged off his practical tan jacket, pulled on his black leather jacket and let tonight's character become obvious. There. Whoops, he almost forgot to transfer his wallet and cell phone into his new jacket. Idiot.

Sean carefully turned down the drive and peered into the gloomy murk. Oh just capital; a cloying mist rose up from the waiting swamp and created a milky shroud against Sean's headlights. Fuck, fuck, fuck. All right, calm down. Verify the illegal activity then get the fuck out quick, well, maybe after a quick fuck with one of the boys. Sean knew he couldn't just stroll in, look around then exclaim, "Dearie me, look at the time, must dash!" No, no matter how skanky the ho's Sean must butt dance. Appropriate for Valentine's Day.

Actually his ridiculously-titled snitch claimed the bordello's men were prime lookers. Then again the Lord Lestat, aka David Whelham Jr., needle-addicted heir to a gazillion dollar oil fortune, was so fucked-up a lumpy purple frog with arthritis and rabies might appeal to his scrambled mind. Shit.

Just remember, after tomorrow's raid Sean would be off the hook for this mess. Then only 75 days remained in his sentence in Swampland. Sean swore he'd never leave fair old London ever again. He'd return home, try patching matters up with his dear fuck-anything-that breathed Marton and surrender himself back to his beloved work.

Branden Fraiser, his amiable, burly exchange partner, adored London. He frequently emailed Sean claiming he'd never experienced more fun. Fuck.

After an excruciatingly slow drive through the swirling swamp gas Sean hit the brakes and almost skidded into the murk. What the fuck was that massive gate doing there? Bloody wonderful, his task turned more difficult. Stupid Lestat never mentioned a gate; probably he'd been so wasted he never noticed. Fuck! So much for pulling up and knocking on the door.

Well, time to play proper detective. First Sean rolled down his window and moodily surveyed the gate, yeah, maybe if he glared at the fucker hard enough it'd melt into slag. Har har. No luck there. An angry rumble echoed under Sean's breath. "When I see that fucking little weasle again I'm gonna strangle his neck and maybe his dick too." As he grumbled Sean swung his door open and stared down. Great, super, a mere six inches of crumbly-looking sand rested between his tires and the sullen swamp water. Furious smoke almost rose from Sean's perfectly styled hair. All right, he hoped his balance proved impeccable.

One combat-booted foot met the sand. Next foot. A low whirring filled the night air. Huh? Sean glanced over and arched his brows in true surprise. The imposing steel gate slowly swung inward. But why? Sean casually peered around and almost smacked his forehead with his palm. Could he be a bigger dolt? Well looky up there; a tiny surveillance camera hung high in the left cedar tree. Only a quick flash of red told Sean where it hid. So someone had been watching him the entire time. Not comforting. He hoped they hadn't read his lips. Damn, the angry detective swore his months in Charleston had rotted his superior instincts. Well, his substantial drinking didn't help matters either.

Instead of pondering life's current mysteries too far Sean accepted the break and drove on. Once he reached a clearing he maneuvered his Porsche next to four other cars. Sean examined them and nodded. A Jag, a Mercedes SUV, a vintage Aston Martin and a top of the line Bimmer huddled against each other away from the swamp's damp threat. The high end metal didn't surprise him since Sean knew only dudes with serious cash visited this remote pleasure post. It's why he convinced moronic Homer to let him rent the Porsche. If Sean had pulled up in his leased Honda he'd sorta blow his rich boy cover.

Sean stared through the wind screen and thoughtfully pursed his lips. Soft lights glowed through the budding with green life tree branches but he couldn't make out the notorious cherry red trailer. Well, too bad, end of the line, all out. Let the porking party begin.

The distinctive snick of a rifle being cocked sounded in Sean's left ear. Fuck; he'd never rolled his window up! As he mentally screamed at himself for being an unobservant mush brain Sean removed his hands from the steering wheel and gently waved them toward the wind screen. "Hey, careful with that thing. I like my head just where it is."

A decidedly non-Southern accent answered Sean's words. The light voice sounded oddly insubstantial although the words traveled rougher highway. "Hey, look, don't give me orders, asshole. We weren't expecting another guest tonight. Let me tell you Viggo doesn't like surprises, no sireee, in fact he despises surprises." A pleased giggle punctuated the words.

Since he needed a breather here Sean's mind wrapped around the name and tasted it. Viggo. That weasel Lestat told Sean that Viggo was the owner/ brains/ well, madam of the boys. Unfortunately Viggo didn't freely offer his last name; apparently this bunch fancied themselves to be a pack of Madonnas and only went by first names. Viggo wasn't to be trifled with, oh no, Lestat made that abundantly clear. In fact when Lestat spoke about Viggo Sean thought the snitch might shit himself in abject fear. Sean looked forward to meeting this Viggo character. Sean appreciated tough guys. He appreciated locking them up even more.

The light male voice smacked Sean back to reality. "Hey, rude dude, are you gonna talk to me or gaze off into the swamp? If you like it so much I'm sure Viggo will be more than happy to give you a face-first tour. Now come on, asshole, why the fuck are you here?"

While he slowly moved his head toward the voice Sean kept his hands in plain sight. Shit, that rifle tip hovered a little too fuckin' close to his nose. He never thought he needed a nose job, especially not one performed by Dr. Bullet. Sean decided staring into the swamp might prove wiser. "Lord Lestat referred me. He told me Viggo ran quite an interesting erm, club."

The rifle tip bobbed in time to its owner's speech. "British, eh? Hey, you're in luck; someone in charge might take a shine to you. You say Lestat referred you? How do you know Lestat?"

"From parties, clubs, you know, rough fun and games. Old Layabout Lestat and his open for business ass gets around the town. I've played pattycake with him at his mansion a few times if you catch my drift."

The voice's light tone tuned petulant enough to shame a whiny three year-old into awe. "Well, Orlando opened the gate for you so he must have liked what he saw but I don't understand why he didn't warn me first. That wasn't fair. He knows without advance warning I get nervous. When I get nervous I get hasty. Damn, I gotta think here so shut up."

When the rifle tip lightly prodded Sean's temple he swallowed hard and willingly remained silent. His mind reviewed more data; Orlando, ah yes, Viggo's young lover and second in command. Reportedly beautiful, clever and completely addicted to every sexual act. Lestat claimed he'd never seen a man so well-versed in seduction. It was rumored that Orlando had learned every position in the Karma Sutra, in both the men's and women's role, just for fun. Fuck, if that salacious tidbit was true then Sean wondered why this sexual powerhouse lived in a trailer parked in a dismal South Carolina swamp.

But remember, Lestat also felt dead terrified of Orlando's sadistic side. Apparently under Orlando's usually sunny nature lurked a brutal temper sparked when his subs didn't listen to him. Yeah, it sounded like Viggo and Orlando were a match made in a fiery Hell pit.

The petulant voice sprung back into life and passed judgment. "Ya know, I don't like you, asshole."

Who was this rifle-toting moron? "Look, I'm turning my head now. Don't blow my brains out, OK?" Sean finally focused past the threatening rifle and blinked. He certainly didn't expect to see a blue-eyed angel dressed in a sexy red latex body suit brandishing the weapon. Yep, that dark-haired cherub handled the rifle like he knew exactly what to do with it. Gulp. Sean acted coy and winked. "What's your name, pretty one?"

"Elijah. I have guard duty cause Orlando's pissed off at me. Shit, I didn't hurt Mr. Biggles that badly. He asked for it! I mean..." Elijah sucked in a breath and pouted again. Someday he was gonna do Orlando, yeah, make him scream. Whoa, refocus. He tapped the rifle tip against Mr. Surprise's forehead. "Now get out of the fancy car nice and slow, asswipe. Keep your hands in the air." Elijah stepped back and gestured with his rifle. Yep, if this dude, good-looking or not, made the slightest wrong move Elijah would take out a kneecap. Then maybe the other just to watch the rich, red blood ooze through those sweet red leather pants. Blood red on red looked really hot. Then Elijah might sit on this asshole's face, slap those fine cheeks with his hard dick and mouth fuck him into the blood-stained mud. Then he'd...

Whoops. Elijah shivered a bit. Someday he'd learn how to control his demented imagination although Orlando claimed imagination was good for the tortured soul. Yeah, Orlando often prattled off silly ideas. That bitch was too smart for his own good although Elijah knew Viggo appreciated Orlando's brilliance, body and ass. Oh did he.

Sean finally stood next to his car. That rifle still hovered too close like an over-horny dog sniffing a crotch. "Hey, beautiful, you mind not holding that thing so close?"

Well wasn't this dude ever so tough? As he grinned in manic menace Elijah casually poked the rifle's tip against the man's leather-clad cock. One click and say bye-bye to Mr. Chubby. "Only if you tell me your name. Or is it really asshole? Calling Mr. Asshole! Dinner is served in the toilet! Come and get it, Mr. Asshole."

Holy crap, a rifle cuddled against the family jewels never felt good, especially when wielded by what Sean determined to be a pretty psycho. Once Sean controlled his panic and notorious temper he offered a name. "Sean Branson." He always wanted to be a billionaire. The Branson character had been his well-established alias even back in the UK. Sean had a driver's license, passport, everything under that name. When drunk enough Sean even claimed to be related to the rich Richard. That fantasy was always good for a date.

To Sean's amazement Elijah tapped a button and spoke into a wireless headset concealed in the black curls spilling across his head. " Orlando, you copied that? We have a Sean Branson come for a surprise visit. He claims Lord Lestat recommended him." Silence then Elijah snickered. " Orlando wants to know if you're like Lestat."

A slight sneer, totally honest and natural, curled Sean's lips. "If he's asking if I am a cringing pussy afraid of his own shadow then no."

Elijah snickered again then he grinned at Sean. "You heard that?" Pause. "Well, he's dressed for action but you already know that. Full leather gear. Red leather trousers tight enough to cause pain. Oh, hold on, what have we here?" Elijah lunged forward so fast Sean didn't have time to digest the movement. He held up the snatched cell phone. "No cell phones here, especially not a picture phone. I'll keep this baby for now."

Fuck. No cell, no gun, and, if this pretty psycho had his way, no cock. Deep worry poured into Sean's mind like rancid syrup. Nothing felt right tonight.

Elijah listened then he pointed his chin toward Sean. "What do you expect tonight?"

"The unexpected." No lie there!

"Shit, it must be a British thing. Always making with the oh so clever answers." Oh shit. Elijah stiffened then he shivered and apologized. "Sorry, Orlando. Forgive me. Slip of the tongue." As he listened to a tirade of reprimands Elijah's already pale flesh lost all tone. Damn, Orlando could be the ultimate bitch. "Yes, sir, I want to keep my naughty tongue in my head. Please. Can I bring the gent up?" Elijah listened then he angrily gestured with his rifle. "Walk ahead of me, asshole, but keep your hands on the back of your neck. You move wrong and you're snake bait." That was after Elijah had his way with this dude's tight body.

What a charming young bitch. Instead of reacting Sean casually shrugged then he strolled toward the lights. Fuck, there it sat, the legendary cherry red double wide perched at the swamp's moist edge.

Sean so didn't understand this bizarre scene. Lestat had babbled something about the place being huge but Sean thought that was the heroin talking. Yeah, wacky Lord Lestat had been busted one too many times for indecent behavior so he plea bargained his way to freedom by telling Sean about this place. Shit, since Lestat was the only one Sean knew who had entered this fabled refuge Sean relied on his words. Now Sean knew the frightened prick hadn't told him everything but nonsense like that was to be expected from a spoiled-rotten junkie. Still, there were four clients celebrating their own warped Valentine's Day celebration. How could a mere double-wide accommodate such sexual action?

As Sean walked toward the door it swung open. A long, slim body, slender arms held out to meet the door frame, created a glorious silhouette against the golden light flowing from the opening. For a second Sean thought he'd stumbled into a scene from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." Fuck, his love for movies entered his psyche at the weirdest times.

Sean deadstopped and admired the presentation until Elijah firmly pressed the rifle tip against Sean's ass crack. "Keep moving, asswipe. Don't make me tell you again."

Hell, was he asswipe or asshole? Inconsistent nutter. 75 more days until he escaped Swampville. 75 more days. The mantra spun in Sean's head. Sean mounted the five wooden stairs leading to the trailer and halted again. His dazed eyes finally appreciated the lithe man waiting in the door way.

Holy fuck. Wow, if Sean had known Swampville held such fleshy delights he might have broken the law and snuck out here himself. Before him posed possibly the sexiest man he'd ever seen. If a large red and purple neon sign flashing "Sex" appeared above this man's head Sean would nod, raise his hands to the sky and shout "amen."

When he saw the virile specimen standing before him Orlando directed his welcoming smile into stun mode. Always nice to see the effect he had on handsome men. Time to shine. Orlando ran his fingers along the cedar door frame and cocked his hips, the act rolling his outrageously defined cock against his tight red vinyl hot pants. As he tossed his dark wavy hair to the left Orlando made sure his distended nipples rotated enough to make his ruby-studded snake nipple clamps dance a kicky circle. His fun fake red feather wings, a tribute to Cupid, floated behind him. Orlando concluded his welcoming presentation with a slow, ripe lip lick. "Welcome to Kingdom of Red Heaven. I'm Orlando. So Lestat sent you?"

A near to drooling Sean could only nod in befuddled awe. Brain cells streamed away like lemmings toward a steep cliff. Wow. His cock battled against the controlling leather pants.

Fuck, he had asked for the unexpected and so far his wish became pristine flesh. Sean wasn't sure it that proved good or bad.

As Sean numbly gazed into Orlando's enticing eyes a masculine vision sporting midnight blue eyeliner and a red feather boa appeared and slid his muscular arms around Orlando's taut waist. His firm, dimple-blessed chin rested on Orlando's golden shoulder then he crafted a smile so cold, so cruel that Sean feared his eyeballs might freeze into ice cubes. "So you're here for the unexpected. Welcome to the Valentine's Day party, Sean. I hope you're prepared for anything and everything. You know how capricious Cupid can act."

So his surprise arrival merited attention from both Orlando and Viggo, the dynamic duo from Hell. Oh shit. Suddenly Sean thought those salivating in-bred twins plus their randy old gummy grandad and their six mongrel mutts might prove safer.

Shit. His crawling in alarm balls almost yanked free and ran back to the car. The detective was not an idiot. Sean knew he had been outed. He didn't know how but his cop sense told him he was right well and truly, absolutely fucked. Then again if these two did the fucking he might not mind the problem. Jesus God, what was he thinking? He was a decorated London Detective First Class! Sean came here in order to gain enough evidence to bust this place on a major morals charge, not to be fucked.

Right? Sean's brain panicked and tried taking over again. Right? His cock called him an idiot. Right? Sean's entire body gave up and snickered at his brain's self-controlling efforts.

Oh fuck.


Chapter 2: Sean matches wits with the swamp foxes. Is Sean a sexual mouse or a man?

Hmm, oh dear, their handsome visitor looked adorably distressed. Orlando decided to make matters worse. As he draped himself against his Viggo's potent masculine warmth Orlando languidly reached up and calculatedly ran his pointer fingertip across Viggo's lower lip. Viggo's long tongue flicked out and teased against the smooth digit but his piercing light gaze never left Sean's face. The happy Orlando emitted a breathy coo and rolled his winged shoulders into Viggo's strong chest. He adored his Viggo's wet finger sucks.

A transfixed Sean tried not to shiver. In retaliation his pummeled common sense gave up and planned a long, warm vacation to Bermuda's pink sand beaches. Common sense knew that searing light hurtling toward Sean announced a runaway freight train called total career disaster.

Ahh, yeah, as he controlled his cock's excitement Viggo laughed to himself. Fuck, he had never seen a grown man look more like a helpless chick captivated by a stalking cobra. His shimmering Orlando had that effect on the male species; Viggo swore his lover's blatant sexuality instantly dislocated vital human nerve centers. Orlando was a breathing sex cluster bomb.

Viggo continued licking his Orlando's sweet flesh and examining Sean's sex-tense face. The madam mentally thanked Simpson for sending a handsome man with a definite taste for boy flesh. Yeah, the corrupt old rat would see a generous bonus in his next bribery envelope. Viggo bet himself Simpson never told Sean that the first two detectives, who bravely came bent on a bust, never left Kingdom of Red Heaven the way they arrived. Of course Viggo won the bet, cashed in his chips and became wealthier. Yeah, Homer was one slick dickhead.

A vision of a sparkling, red-embraced Marlene Deitrich crooning "Falling in Lust Again" wavered beyond Viggo's shoulder, winked at Sean and stuck her kittenish tongue out at him before she dissolved into swamp fog. The baffled Sean nearly whimpered. What the fuck did that sight mean?

Thick, dark hair paraded against the night air in artful seduction. Orlando made sure his cultured voice sounded like Venus in furs coated in pure, unfiltered honey. "Well, Sean, won't you come in and play with us?"

Now the words totally fucked hung over the trailer, the glowing red letters held aloft by giggling, fat, crack-smoking cherubs. Sean's strong legs pondered on how they could sink roots into the ground. At least they could say they tried stopping Sean. Their horny pal stiffening about them certainly didn't help matters.

The usually brave, highly commended and award-winning detective glanced at the waiting swamp and considered running like a craven coward. Could Sean defeat the swamp? Not bloody likely.

Since their guest stood there performing an accurate impersonation of a leather-wrapped statue Elijah's rifle tip tried butt-fucking Sean again. "You heard Orlando, asswipe, move it in."

Heavens, when would that pretty savage learn manners? Orlando exhaled a delicate sigh and scoldingly wagged his saliva-damp finger at Elijah in his best patient Mom manner. "Elijah, my boy, you know that's no way to treat a guest. Goodness, honey, do you want me to bend you over my knee and shove the cattle prod up your ass again? Your high-pitched screams are really quite invigorating."

"No, sir, I don't." Sadistic British bitch. Just once Elijah'd like to grab that mincing, prissy prick by his willowy neck, squeeze said neck until Orlando's pretty face turned blotchy purpley-red then mouth fuck the sexy asswipe until he screamed for mercy. Now that sounded, ha-ha, god-damned fucking invigorating. Yeah, shit, if Elijah tried that stunt the relentless in revenge Viggo would feed him, bit by bloody bit, to the woodchipper. Splat, shread, yuck. But the fantasy sure warmed Elijah's dick.

Mmm, Elijah hoped they were gonna hurt this asshole, yeah, make him plead and beg before ripping him raw. Music to the ears. Mad instinct told Elijah this dude didn't belong here. He giggled in fresh glee and almost jammed the rifle forward again. Since he felt too damned excited Elijah tested fate's patience and brutally rifle-goosed the nice, tight, oh-so-ready-for-a-whipping red leather clad ass.

The fed-up Sean almost whirled and backhanded the psycho idiot but he determinedly remained cool. Above all remain cool.

Sean kept his gaze locked to Orlando's dark stare. The wary detective realized Elijah's defiance caused a definite change in the fake Cupid's sultry mood. Between blinks Sean saw an incandescent demon blaze up in Orlando's wide eyes yet before the wrath contorted his smooth face into vicious intensity the beauty shrugged and acted merely annoyed. But shit, Sean understood why Lestat feared this slinky sex-addict. For a few seconds the enchanting man looked like death was his middle name. Spooky. Not cool. Not cool at all. Fuck.

Once he controlled himself Orlando seethed in inner fury. Fuck, that pretty little cunt was lucky he was the only one who enjoyed creating those dreadfully dull Excel spread sheets and transferring funds from account to account. If not for Elijah's talents Orlando might slice Elijah's lush lips off for openly defying him. Damn, he wished Johnny would shoulder more of the financial work. Hell, the man was ex-Treasury.

Despite his rage Orlando simmered down and rubbed his shoulders against Viggo again because flesh on flesh always calmed his violent nerves. Well, at least Johnny knew how to completely mask their bank accounts from the Feds. Since Orlando didn't trust anyone he called their banks every day and checked on their accounts. Come on, he trusted Viggo least of all. Loved the handsome, sexy man right down to his clever toes but trust? Ha! Orlando wasn't a fool!

Oh shit, someone nearly went ballistic again. Viggo's chest felt scorched from Orlando's searing rage. God, Viggo's cock responded in delight and prodded against his leather pouch. How he loved Orlando's manic rages. If his lover already felt edgy then tonight was gonna be delicious.

When he realized all stares still fixed on him, something he quite appreciated and expected, Orlando slowly urged Viggo to step back. He felt Viggo slide his hands down around his waist. Next Orlando gestured invitingly toward the 10 inch gap between his body and the door frame. Mmm, he adored making a man tremble. So satisfying. A fey smile laced with arsenic shone over Sean.

This was it. Sean inhaled a breath, realized he now completely understood the words "certain doom" and came close to swamp surfing. No, fuck, stiff upper lip, chin up, and, well, stiff cock too. Shit. As he desperately convinced himself he had a job to do here Sean slipped into the trailer. He restrained himself from grabbing the lithe Orlando close and playing the man's molars like Yo Yo Ma wailing at a cello. The detective even refrained from peeking at the erotic vision although Sean felt Orlando's warm breath coyly stroke his ear. Oh God.

What the fuck? As he halted Sean blinked then he gazed around in complete bewilderment. The large, tastefully decorated room surprised the sense out of him. Hello, wasn't this trailer a swamp-side cat house? Instead of proclaiming bordello tacky the room's high-end decor belonged in a "GQ" designer spread. The expensive, bluestone tiled floor complimented the glowing blonde oak walls, these enhanced by modern paintings Sean swore he recognized from his gallery-hopping days. Groupings of elegant furniture, mostly in blacks or bold reds, littered the space. A sleek silver, accented-with-black computer desk held a stylish chrome laptop. The trailer's interior displayed more taste than a regal French chef's tongue. But where were the guests?

Fingers casually teased Sean's right ass cheek, ran up his spine and stroked his neck's tense nape. The coiled-too-tight detective almost squeezed right out of his snug pants and slammed the ceiling, goosh, perfect toothpaste imitation. To Sean's shock Viggo, not Orlando, leaned close and wetly licked his cheek. His husky voice mocked Sean. "Why so jumpy, Sean?" Oh crap, the erm, madam's pale blue eyes hadn't regained any warmth, oh no. A freezer held more warmth, fuck, that stare made the damned polar ice cap look tropical. But God, the man was so freakin' sexy!

Once again Sean frantically reminded himself he came here to do his job, not to drool on the fine stone floor over supremely handsome men. Unfortunately his excited cock kept distracting his trying to pack its bags for that vacation common sense. Sean offered Viggo what he hoped was a successful smile. "Well, seeing all these beautiful men just overwhelms me." Shit on a hot crap shingle, he sounded like Scarlett O'Hara simpering at a fancy Save the South ball. Damn.

"Why thank you, Sean." As he controlled his giggles Orlando strolled to a gleaming Art Deco bar and gestured like the bar contained the answer to world peace and possibly a cure for male-pattern baldness. How he loved seeing the handsome lawman imitating a squirming, hook-spiked worm. Little did Sean know what was in store for him; actually Orlando wasn't completely sure either but he knew the punishment would change their victim's life perspective, yeah, it might right well end it. "So, Sean, what would you like to drink? Since I felt like treating myself on Cupid's night I opened a bottle of Roederer Cristal Rose Limited. Does fine bubbly sound pleasant to you?" Orlando adoringly caressed the bottle's neck, fluttered his lashes and shook his wings.

Visions of a game show hostess seductively offering the big-assed grand prize flickered through Sean's ready-to-run brain. Don't choke. As he tried looking pleased-but-not-shocked-out-of-his-too-tight pants-impressed Sean nodded in acceptance. "The Roederer sounds delicious." Yeah, at over $1400 a bottle the classic champagne should grab Sean's aching cock and give him the finest blow-job ever imagined.

Ah, the tease always proved rich! Viggo slowly rubbed his naked thigh against Sean's hip, wrapped his boa around the dazzled detective's neck and playfully nudged him toward the black leather couch. "Come, Sean, sit down. Before we can make your night everything you ever dreamed of we need to know you better." As he slid his left arm around Sean's lean waist Viggo's right hand skillfully plucked Sean's wallet from his black leather jacket's pocket and handed it to the waiting Elijah.

The angry Elijah opened the wallet and arched his brows in disappointed surprise. Yeah, fuck, asswipe had the fee for the night; a wad of crisp $500 bills nestled in his wallet. A quick count offered 20 of 'em. Aw, too bad, asshole knew the steep financial drill. Elijah plucked out the driver's license, scanned it then he frowned in concern. Wait; a Brit had South Carolina Driver's license? Fuck that nonsense. He handed the wallet sans license and cash back to Viggo, who effortlessly slid it back into Sean's pocket. Viggo knew trailing his tongue across Sean's cheek again guaranteed distraction. He finished his lick with a hard nip to the detective's earlobe. Sean's little moan made him smile.

After Elijah nodded to the watching Orlando he wandered to the computer and began quickly drilling for information. Movement made Elijah glance up. A smiling Orlando offered him a champagne flute and leaned close, his lips nuzzling Elijah's ear. "Sweetie, don't bother researching him. He's a gift from Homer. Just record the money and make sure Homer receives half of it. This copper is all ours and you know what that means."

Holy fuck! A brilliant smile cross Elijah's angelic face. Oh yeah, whee, tonight promised piles of sexual pain! Goody! He accepted the flute and playfully winked at Orlando. Orlando's practiced smile remained firmly in place but something wicked in that steady stare told Elijah he was still on the volatile beauty's supreme shit list. Not healthy. Fuckin' twitchy bitch.

The oblivious to the drama Sean willingly sank down onto the couch. Viggo sat next to him and ran his fingers over Sean's thigh. After Sean realized he rudely stared at Viggo's well-filled red leather decorated with silver studs cock pouch he yanked his gaze back to Viggo's intense eyes. At least now when Viggo smiled he looked less frigid. Whew. But fuck, nothing at this place made any sense! Why did the owner of this operation dress like a drag queen? Come on, the red boa and thick eye liner weren't so bad but Viggo's less than feminine feet were encased in red, fuck-me spike pumps and his muscular legs sported red fishnets held up with red leather garter belts attached to his cock pouch. Whoa. Yet Sean knew Viggo wasn't a pushover. No way. His cold eyes told Sean the exact score. This dude was the real boss.

Orlando sashayed across the room and gracefully held out a silver try containing three champagne flutes. "Here you go, darlings." After he served Viggo and Sean Orlando cuddled against Sean's lonely side. He casually lifted his naked thigh, draped it over Sean's legs, and massaged his bare toes into Viggo's fish-net clad thigh. "So what's your pleasure, Sean? Here at Kingdom of Red Heaven we pride ourselves on being able to meet almost every fantasy as long as it doesn't involve death." As he spoke Orlando slid his finger under Sean's harness and tickled his tight nipple ring. "What does a handsome man like yourself want from us?" Orlando's long nails pinched Sean's nipple. Viggo returned to tiger mode and roughly licked Sean's cheek again.

Sean couldn't halt his shiver. Aroused? Ha! Never had being breathing filling flanked by two pieces of profound sex felt so wonderful. Should he just give in and confess? His inner alarms told him he was being toyed with in a serious manner. But what the fuck could he do?

A door at the trailer's far end swung open. This time not even John the Baptist and Jesus dueting on "Red is the Color of My True Love's Hair", fitting considering the situation, could have distracted Sean from staring in stunned awe. The man who entered the trailer was another beautiful specimen; Sean thought those sculpted cheekbones alone could provoke orgasm. Long, tangled brown-spiced-with-blonde highlights hair brushed his slight shoulders. A red sequined tube top wrapped around his narrow pecs and skimpy ragged denim shorts hugged his lean hips. Applied with a trowel turquoise eye shadow and outrageously long false eye lashes gave the beauty an oddly cheap, slutty look. Yet most amazing of all was the pale, round belly bulging from the wet dream's naked middle. The dude looked like he expected a bundle of joy in three days.

What the major league fuck was going on here? Did the dysfunctional duo slip him a hallucinogenic? Sean warily glanced at his beyond tasty champagne and almost choked in fear.

As he walked across to the trio the beauty held up his hands in sincere apology. "Sorry, boss, I didn't know you were entertaining."

"Not a problem. Johnny. Meet Sean, ah, Branson. He's a friend of Lestat's."

"How charming. Hello, Sean." Before Sean could blink Johnny leaned forward and kissed him let, right, up and down. That heavy belly brushed Sean's chest in a decidedly seductive manner. Sean's left fingers instinctively fluttered up and stroked Johnny's smooth flesh. Guuuh, soft and warm.

When he straightened up an adorable pout slid across Johnny's lips. "Viggo, our fussy King Henry isn't into the Krug Champagne Grande Cuvee. Can I give him the Cuvee Dom Perignon Rose?"

Orlando tutted under his breath. "Ah, Johnny, is old King Henry acting picky tonight? Does he need a strict lesson?"

"No, he's not so bad, he just bitched about the champagne. I have him chained to the max and you know how he loves being punished by his pregnant, trailer trash boy. Oh, Orlando, he also said this is my best belly yet." Johnny lovingly ran his fingers over his distended middle. "He likes my belly big and round. Makes my King feel more guilty that he, ha, knocked me up."

Both Orlando and Viggo released merry laughter. "Well, Johnny, you do look magnificently pregnant. Go ahead, take as many bottles as you need."

"Hey, we're talking King Henry here. He can suck back gallons of champagne, piss and cum." Johnny almost waddled across the room to the silver refrigerator at the room's back.

Don't sputter. The confused Sean stared in disbelief. He couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Erm, tell me Johnny's not really pregnant."

Orlando's fingertips seductively rubbed Sean's taut belly. "Of course he's not pregnant, silly. We have a scientist in Brazil who concocted a wonderful elastizing herbal drug for us. King Henry has a extremely specific fantasy. He wants to be abused by Johnny but he likes Johnny to be a, as King Henry termed it, a "knocked-up, trailer trash whore." Once Johnny ingests this drug he drinks plenty of harmless gelatin solution and boom, his belly grows. We've been experimenting and now Johnny can grow quite large. His stomach stretches marvelously. Since we have a few other clients into seeing a pregnant boy Johnny becomes pregnant a few times a month."

Johnny held up three bottles of champagne and laughed. "You should try it, man. There's something about having a big belly on demand that blows my mind. I'm addicted to the sensation. Well, time to return to the King." He waddled back to the door and left the trailer.

If Sean's startled brain had been a car engine it'd be stuttering and knocking. Seeing beautiful Johnny looking so, well, fertile did strange things to Sean's cock. And where did that door lead to? Did the rest of this bizarro place burrow under the swamp?

Orlando observed Sean's reaction and smiled. He winked at Viggo who arched his brows in consideration. "Oh look, you need more champagne." Orlando unfolded from Sean's side, strutted to the Deco bar and wheeled the cart against the sofa. Next he plucked the glass from Sean's fingers and refilled it from the bottle. Upon his return he curled against Sean again and fluttered his luxuriant lashes. His long fingers slowly stroked Sean's exposed flesh. "So, handsome, tell me more about Sean Branson."

All right, cool, something normal and safe. Sean fell into his usual cover story. "Nothing exciting to tell; I'm a crack investment banker who's good at playing the unusual angles. If it's not risky then what's the fun, eh? I've got some hot clients who adore the Cayman Islands, if you know what I mean." Sean sipped and grinned in cocky, nudge-nudge-wink-wink triumph.

Well, this detective certainly lied well. "Hmm. Yes, the Cayman Islands and myself go way back." Viggo flicked his boa and smiled in financial satisfaction. Yeah, the outrageous money this place earned hid safely down in those free-wheeling Islands. Dear Orlando didn't know about all the accounts. Viggo made sure of that detail. His beautiful, talented lover, bless his paranoid soul, couldn't be trusted.

"Nothing like them for hiding the assets eh?" Sean nodded sagely and ingested another healthy sip. Orlando immediately refreshed his bubbly and casually began tapping his fingers against Sean's crotch.

Viggo's smile hardened into diamond-sharp intensity. Yeah, time to push the scene. "Yes, but you know, the problem is Treasury occasionally becomes suspicious about my money. Remember pretty Johnny? Can you believe he's ex-Treasury? I caught him sneaking around the trailer, ahh, was it three years ago, darling?"

"Yes, three years ago, erm, I believe it was on April 16, yes, just after tax day. How funny! I remember the poor dear looked so deliciously frightened when you drug him inside, ripped off his clothing, chained him up and threatened his cock with the heated battery charger clamps." Orlando smiled fondly like he remember a relaxing beach holiday. "Johnny owns the most piercing scream; I mean I adore screams but I finally had to gag the boy with a dildo." As he spoke Orlando stroked his fingers up Sean's chest then he tickled his fingernails against Sean's quivering lips. His voice dropped to a wet whisper. "I shoved the biggest, thickest, most dangerous dildo we own between his lips, mmm, I tried shoving the massive thing right out his ass."

Sean tried not to whimper. Tried not to wince. Tried not to clench his champagne flute too hard. Tried not to imagine getting the biggest, thickest dildo on record shoved down his throat. His frightened imagination saw himself choking down a dildo the size of a baseball bat. Oh fuck. What was he gonna do to get out of this dangerous mess?

Viggo leaned so close to Sean that Sean had trouble focusing on his handsome face. "Yet I recognized potential in the man; under his thick-framed glasses and ghastly crew cut lay a beautiful creature. It took a few weeks of coaxing but suddenly Johnny decided this was the life for him. He has the most charming domination style, all laid back and quiet until he strikes." Teeth swiftly nipping Sean's nose punctuated Viggo's sentence. "You see, Sean, I hate the government. I hate all those nosy agencies. And I truly detest the police. They come around here once in a while and irritate the shit out of me. Don't you think that's rude?" The feather boa flicked across Sean's cheeks.

The rest of Sean's champagne went down his throat. Much better than a dildo. "Erm, yeah, bloody rude of them." He nodded thanks when Orlando poured him more.

"So what do you want from us, Sean?"

In his sexual daze Sean almost babbled the awful truth. Fuck! His barely coherent mind spun out on a mental oil slick and actually blurted out the truth. "I wanna be fucked by you both."

The hosts laughed in fateful unison until Orlando gasped in delight. "Well, luv, that's blunt enough, eh? Sorry, darling, these days I tend to be fucked rather then do the physical work. What can I say, if I'm not inflicting pain I like being fucked. Would that bother you? Would ramming your hard, wet cock deep inside my asshole bother you?" Skilled fingers slowly undid Sean's snaps and released his erect cock into the air. As he fondled his fingers up and down Sean's semi-erect dick like a skilled violinist working his strings Orlando lowered his voice to a sultry whisper again. "Mmm, Sean, you have a potent, thick cock. Can your big cock make me beg for more? Do you want to hear me beg, feel me squirm, make me come?"

Sean couldn't believe Orlando offered such glory to him. He tried sounding confident. "Erm, well, Orlando, that sounds like something I could do for you." All right, so instead he sounded pompous. Great.

Viggo's mockingly husky laugh brushed Sean's face. His pointer finger brutally prodded Sean's freed balls. "Man, I think you'd better look before you brag. Do you really think you, a relatively handsome yet hardly superior specimen, can make someone like my Orlando sing with pleasure? Think before you speak."

Oh fuck, now they insulted him? Sean quickly gulped back more champagne. Ooo, hard to be angry when Viggo's pointer finger knew just where to abuse his balls. Ahhhh. The overwhelmed with lust detective vaguely saw Elijah bring over a new bottle. His glass brimmed to the top again. Damn, everyone stared right into his soul. Should Sean confess and try working this shitty situation out?

Since his common sense already sat on a plane reading the in-flight magazine Sean's next words weren't Nobel prize worthy. "Well, I have been known to satisfy." Lame, fucking bloody lame! As he mentally shrieked in alarm Sean sucked down his champagne again.

"Do tell. What was it, just last year..." Viggo arched his brow at Orlando. "Remember when I fucked you for five hours and you never came? You fucking laid there reading a magazine and sipping your wine."

Orlando smiled in competitive memory and revealed the date. "August 24 of last year. Ooo, you acted so petulant about not making me come. I completely wore you out." Long fingers pinched Sean's cock head. "Now what you were saying about making me come? Oh, you need a refill again. My, you are a thirsty boy." Orlando took Sean's glass, twisted away from Sean and watched as Elijah slipped Orlando's favorite sleeping concoction along with fresh bubbly into the glass. "Here, darling, enjoy." Orlando congratulated himself for not smirking.

Sean accepted the glass back and gulped back two stinging mouthfuls. Oooooo shiitt...why did the elegant room suddenly waver and stretch like a warped Scooby Doo ending? Wooooo... fuck. Drugged. Sean rolled his eyes toward the smiling in mock sympathy beauty and moaned. "Y-you... ahhhh..." A red-flavored darkness flared against his sight's edges. Man, what the fuck had they given him? He must fight it off, must...whooooo shhhiii...his stare fixed on that beautiful red cock pouch.

A triumphant Viggo plucked Sean's glass from his limp fingers just as Sean fell forward and pressed his nose against Viggo's cock. The madam ran his fingers through Sean's hair. "Welcome to the rest of your life, Detective Sean of the Yard. It's time to play good cop, bad cop for as long as you can stand the pain."

Elijah giggled in excitement.

Orlando smiled. The normally pleasing expression defined cruel.


Chapter 3: Sean is taken into the belly of the beast. But can he remain alive and whole? How can he survive? Will he survive?

As Viggo cradled their downed conquest Orlando playfully patted Sean's slack cheek. "How sweet, he looks so peaceful. We'll change that soon, eh, darling?" Wanton lips met above Sean's limp body. Orlando's wicked smile tangled with Viggo's evil expression and created something nasty that, in a sane world, was best left firmly hidden under a large rock.

Orlando rose from the couch, stretched his lean body in pleasure then he strolled to the computer. He hated even touching the baffling thing but he did appreciate his camera surveillance system. After punching in a secret code Orlando released a pleased whistle. "Whoa now, our Eric's become quite proficient with his fine wire work. He's got the CEO of Southern Pride Chemicals wrapped like a shiny present." Another key code arrangement followed then Orlando spoke to the monitor. "Eric, darling, I hate to bother your amazing creativity but we need your masculine strength up here."

As Orlando watched wire snips created a tiny click. Eric looked up toward the camera and winked his acceptance. "No problem, Orlando, just let me secure a few loose ends." He turned back and firmly yanked at the strand of silver wire connected to the elaborate web he'd built around his client's cock. Eric breathed in his finest stern voice. "Think on if you deserve me, naughty Madame Pompadour. I might, and I stress might, come back and free you tonight. Better yet I might come back and give you the punishment you so rightly deserve." Eric's white-powdered-wig wearing victim nodded and rapidly blinked in silent submission. Since Eric had already wired Madame's teeth shut with thin gauge wire his client couldn't exactly reply. He couldn't even move his pink, high-heeled feet but the rich old man loved every second with his clever Eric.

Where else could one dress up as Madame Pompadour, complete with curled, powdered wig and pink bejeweled pumps, and have a handsome man abuse the nasty, lusting flesh? The giddy experience was worth every well-worn penny stripped from the uninspired backs of the greedy tycoon's employees.

The next series of key taps brought up a different room's camera. The aroused Orlando sighed in sincere admiration. "Oh, I don't want to bother dear Hugh. He's in the middle of an intense fist fuck and we all know how cranky he gets when distracted from his craft. He's such an artist."

A meaty thump signaled Sean's limp body meeting the stone floor. Viggo swiftly kicked off his high heels. Yeah, he needed moleskin on his corns. "No worries, darling, Eric and I can handle our new toy; he's relatively slender. The Lavender room is open so that's this cop's new home, well, for now." Toes playfully prodded Sean's slack lips then Viggo brutally slid his callused big toe past Sean's teeth. Damn, toe fucking the human mouth just wasn't fun when the victim was passed out. No struggle to make the act worthwhile. Viggo rubbed his toe over Sean's tongue then he withdrew the assault.

As he rubbed his hands together a giddy Elijah almost bounced up and down like a puppy hopped up on manic uppers. "What are you gonna do to the asswipe? Can I help? Plllluuuueezee?" He skittered over to Orlando and reverently kissed the faux Cupid's smooth cheek. "Pleaseeeee? Pretty Orlando, no lie, I'll do exactly what you say, honest. Just let me mouth fuck him realllll good. Let me have him first."

In response Orlando shot up from his seat, dug his strong fingers into a clump of Elijah's thick hair and yanked backwards toward the floor. Orlando's petite nose aimed toward the grimacing Elijah's face. A smile designed by Lucifer's well-paid decorator stretched his sculpted lips. "Listen, Cuntboy, if you ever dare disrespect me before a guest again I will march you out to the swamp's dark depths, find a large hornet's nest, razor wire your skimpy cock, smear honey on your hips then I'll disturb the nest. Understand me? You have been here long enough to learn the proper respect to me. Remember how your previous master kept you locked in a chest and only let you out when he felt like it? I rescued you from that sick existence yet when you act out I realize why he did that to you." Orlando tightened his grip and rattled Elijah like a put-out poodle playing with a pull toy. "In the future you will obey me with every single breath in your miserable body. Do you comprehend me?"

The startled Elijah whimpered and nodded in cowed submission. "Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir." Fucking bitch! Ouch! Legothehair now!

One more sharp yank almost dislocated hair from Elijah's screaming scalp. Mmm, that act felt divine. Since he thought Elijah received his discreet message Orlando released his naughty boy's hair then he tenderly patted Elijah's flushed cheek. "Good boy." Feeling more even Orlando unleashed his brilliant, designed to induce sexual madness smile over the watching in amusement Viggo. "So, darling, what exactly are we going to do to this handsome caller? Hmm, I know my part of the kinky plan." Orlando lightly rubbed his fingers over his own flat middle.

The back door opened and the naked except for a well-stocked, black leather tool belt clad Eric stepped into the room and stretched. "How can I be of service, my..." Eric's curious brown gaze traveled to the fallen Sean. "Whoa, who's the new dude?"

Viggo's salvia-damp toe casually prodded Sean's right temple. "This copper cutie is a new gift from Homer."

Eric jangled his tool belt in sincere appreciation. He hoped he could wire someone's teeth to his cock. "Cool! Are we gonna see how long he lasts?"

Orlando shrugged and sipped his champagne. "That's the plan but who knows what fancy may strike us?"

Yeah, Eric knew from past experience that Orlando's touchy emotions waxed whimsical. The wire smith swore only a teenage girl acted more fickle but of course Eric never breathed that thought aloud. Shit no, he liked his life. "Primo, hombres. I'll take our fresh copper down to the Lavender Room. Once I have the good Madame P. in his proper restraints can I come play too?"

"The more the merrier, darling." Orlando fluttered his fake wings in happy anticipation then his hard brown gaze skewered Elijah. His long pointer finger viciously pressed against Elijah's nose. "Cuntboy, despite your ignorant behavior I'll let you mouth fuck our copper. Then I'm tying you up and making you merely watch the wet, hot pleasure."

Elijah nodded in mixed emotions and controlled his mad fury. Cunt. Godamned British airy-fairy snot-nosed prick. Someday Orlando'd be on the bottom. Yeah, like never.



Errrgh. What the fuck? A woozy Sean blinked and slowly shook his head. What the hell was going on here? This freaky tableau absolutely could not be real. No. The last time Sean checked reality the sky wasn't tinged a brilliant deep purple and pointy tree leaves didn't glow in tangerine glory. This bizzaro world must be a sick hallucination. Whatever interesting concoction those slick pricks slipped Sean didn't play nice with his psyche plus a rank taste filled his mouth. Euuyych. Fuck, weird, it tasted like Marton's unbathed toes. That handsome man was such a hippie slob!

Yeah, as Sean's mind examined the sick scene the detective doubted he really laid naked on a, what the hell was the term, bier, yeah, good word, infested with thick, black rose thorns. Long, lime green tendrils loaded with garish purple-black roses curled up and wrapped around his entire body but by some miracle Sean's deeply pricked flesh didn't bleed. His skin itched, burned, and felt like acid attacked his pores but bled? Nope. Talk about taking the crown of thorns concept too far, yeah, Sean thought that applied here. But why the hell did his belly feel so bloated? The strangest sensation filled his belly. Sean's wondering stare fixed on his middle. Fuck, his belly not only felt bloated but it looked bloated. His new paunch stuck out for a good five inches. What the fuck had they done...oh shit. Sean remembered Johnny's faux pregnant middle. Had those nutters done the...?

Far-off motion in the sky attracted Sean's neurotic attention away from his swollen middle. Yep, one weird hallucination definitely ruled Sean's mind. Two men gracefully flew across the purple sky, their large feathery wings beating against the air. Yeah, guess who? Sean's staring eyes took in the dazzling, and, although he hated admitting it, dead sexy spectacle. Now instead of fluffy fake Cupid wings Orlando owned a real set of broad red wings. No surprise; Viggo's impressive wings looked resplendent in midnight black. Sean choked against the leather mouth ring holding his lips wide open and zeroed his stunned stare on the pair's cocks, or, yeah, where their cocks should be. He frantically blinked and tried making the hallucination go away but no such grace greeted his mind.

Fuck, instead of a cock a thick stick of flesh-hued dynamite, the pale fuse unlit, hung from Orlando's lean hips. Viggo's cock had somehow morphed into a long, shiny steel shotgun barrel. Oh shit. No, fuck, Sean did not like this creative hallucination. No fucking way.

The pair hovered close and smiled in carnal delight. As he hovered inches above Sean's trapped body Orlando's brilliant wings swooshed against the garish air in slow movement. The breeze slithered against Sean's naked flesh. "Look, Viggo, doesn't Sean seem like he's enjoying a wonderful time?"

"Why yes he does. That's not right." Viggo's feet touched the spiky blue grass surrounding the rose bed. "Sean, old man, don't take this news personally but I plan on recreating you. It's just your bad luck you had to be a cop. And a stupid one at that. Yep, I know right now Homer's sitting in his bedroom jerking off his tiny cock and laughing at how easily he set you up."

Black rage blasted through Sean's compromised mind. Homer the Homo Hater was in on this nasty mess? Holy shit, if, and unfortunately Sean felt that was one big if, Sean escaped from this disaster alive he'd definitely have Homer's shriveled balls on a frigid silver platter. That wretched old shithead! How could he do this to... yeah, right, why ask why? Idiot.

As he ranted in internal fury Sean glared up at Orlando's beyond perfect face hovering inches from his own flesh. How could someone so warped be so beautiful? No fair!

After he slowly licked Sean's nose Orlando smiled in catty glee. "Poor Sean, oh, so poor, frustrated Sean. Real life isn't kind to the meek, eh? Well, enough chat; now it's time to play." As he spoke Orlando reached down, plucked off his dynamite dick in his left hand and snapped his right fingers. A small golden flame ignited from his right pointer finger. The bright flame kissed the dynamite's wick and hissed in romantic completion.

Even as Sean whimpered and strained at his thorny captivity his panicked brain tried telling him this warped scene was not real. Absolutely not real! But seeing Orlando fluttering above him holding a burning stick of fleshy dynamite dislocated Sean's reason. The bound detective tried thrashing his head from side to side but Viggo's controlling fingers suddenly grasped his hair and easily halted his futile effort. Orlando giggled and shoved the non-business end of the sparking dynamite into Sean's open mouth. Uggh, the thick thing felt warm and fleshy against his tongue. Sean choked and desperately tried expelling the dangerous stick from his throat.

Above him Orlando sullenly pouted and angrily bitch slapped Sean's dick. "How dare you try ejecting my cock! I thought you wanted me so badly. What a liar. Fine, you deserve what you get." After crafting one last perfect pout Orlando petulantly whirled and swiftly winged away from Sean.

Viggo shrugged then his fingers casually patted Sean's cheek. "Bye bye, handsome copper. Yeah, fuck, better luck next life." The black-winged madam leapt up and flew after Orlando.

The beyond frantic Sean choked and thrashed but the dynamite cock gained a life of its own and quickly slithered further into his throat. No! Oh fuck, he prayed for a sudden rainstorm. Please!

The fuse hissed toward its final goal.

Arrrgghh! Ouch! Sean blinked and met darkness. Oh shit, something truly moved in his mouth. Fuck this blindfold! Light singsong chanting suddenly filled Sean's hearing. "Fucking asswipe thinks he can waltz in here and play big bad cop, well here's news, asshole, Elijah's cock now owns you, man. You are my bitch. Hey, fucker, are you awake?" A hard slap hit Sean's right cheek.

A familiar British voice snapped against the air in stern reprimand. "Elijah, no slapping!"

"Yes, sir." Bitch, fucking bitch, bleed and die, you bitch.

Never before had Sean so wished he could bite down as hard as humanly possible. Great, they let the psycho boy mouth fuck him. Just bloody brilliant. Well, it was better than having his head blown off by a dynamite dick, right? Right? Oh fuck. As Sean endured the mouth rape he realized his detective training never quite prepared him for this type of shitty situation. The recent hallucination merrily stroked his waking memory. Had Homer really set him up? Oh fuck.

A hot warm rush filled Sean's unwilling throat. In Elijah's panting aftermath Orlando's irritated voice snapped out commands again. "All right, Cuntboy, as usual you finished in your typically pathetic time. Now get off of him before I taser you senseless."

Sean heard Elijah mumble something that sounded suspiciously like "fucking bitch."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, sir."

Jesus God, this warped bunch definitely deserved each other. Elijah's knees quickly left Sean's sides. During the break in the abuse the stressed detective tried assessing his current situation. Something tight coated his chest, stomach, arms and legs, yeah, something tight and oddly warm. His dick and ass didn't have the strict covering. A new sensation filled Sean's unhappy brain. The same intensely bloated feeling occupied his belly. No. Oh shit no.

Sean's near to explosion brain, it running in blind panic mode, decided he wasn't going there. Far away Sean's common sense shifted on a warm, pink sand beach and blew a supreme mental raspberry. "Good luck, sucker." It ordered another gin and tonic, relaxed back and counted the grains of sand. Oops, lost count. One-two-three...

All right, every appendage felt supremely secure and helpless. Only Sean's fingers wiggled free, they brushing against what felt like cool metal. Was he strapped to a gurney? Yeah, strapped to something that was easy to wash off after they were finished with him? Sean's mind also didn't want to go where he went next but his ornery thoughts just weren't fucking listening to him. Instead they wildly cavorted around in his brain and eagerly opened the door marked "Do not open unless panicked." The snarling nasty thought lurking behind the door roared out, danced a hokey-pokey jig and merrily banged against Sean's skull. The message polluted Sean's entire being. He was fucking gonna DIE! These freaks were gonna torture him then dump him in the swamp. After Sean's decorated years serving the public he was gonna be tortured then killed by a pretty pack of sexual deviants. Sean was gonna, drum-roll and marching band salute, DIE! That concept just wasn't fucking fair!

Snarling, nasty thought triggered the final sad synapse. Despite his stiff-upper lip resolve Sean abruptly caved in and blubbered in utter fear. He began crying in whooping gasps. Yeah, in his tormented mind a snot-nosed brat abandoned in a noisy mega mall by his older punk brother might display more angst but Sean doubted it because Sean was gonna DIE! Fuck! Tears gathered under his blindfold then the liquid leaked down his cheeks. How undignified! Not only was Sean gonna die but he was gonna die after falling apart. Was this the proper ending for a detective first class? A highly decorated credit to the force?

Sean nearly choked on a snotty sob. Not fair, no, fucking not bloody fair!

Suddenly fingers gently stroked Sean's wet cheeks then Orlando's melodic tone cooed in distress. "Oh honey, are you crying? How sad." Next Sean felt a warm, moist tongue lap at his cheeks. "Mmm, tears taste divine. I consider them eye nectar. Thank you so much for offering them to me."

"Don't tell me our brave detective Sean of the Yard had already given into tears?" Viggo's husky voice defined mockery. He stepped close to his naked Orlando and stroked his fingers down his lover's abused spine.

Mmm, Orlando loved it when Viggo tickled his scars. "Isn't that ever so sweet? Poor dear. Now how did he know how much I adore tears? In terms of pleasure they outrank screams. I don't know, lover, perhaps we'd best rethink our plan." Orlando tickled Sean's rounded belly. After all, the copper's false pregnancy looked ever so cute.

" Orlando, sometimes you can be such a soft pushover." Viggo leaned close and bit his lover's golden shoulder.

"I know, aren't I such a romantic sap?" Warm fingers fussed against Sean's lips then liquid entered his throat. "Back to dreamland, darling. While you drift think on how lucky you were tonight. Cupid saved you."

Sean choked on a sob then he spiraled down into his colorful new realm. In the endless time span Sean swore he conducted a conversation with an adorable munchkin that looked like Johnny. The beautiful munchkin quietly advised Sean to give in since he thought they needed a blonde in the staff. Sean talked with the Lizard King who swore Jim Morrison was alive and well and living with Elvis in Moose Jaw, Canada. Hoffa spanked Sean's cock and gruffly advertised cement shoes. Moses parted Sean's thighs and let something long, wet and hard burrow deep inside. Oppehiemer exploded Fat Man deep inside Sean's body.

The leather teeth ring was replaced by a ball gag. The ball gag was replaced by a cock. The cock was replaced by a cinnamon-spiced cloth. The teeth ring returned. Sean didn't give a fuck because of the marvelous fucking. Yeah, Sean definitely fucked Orlando. He knew he fucked Orlando since the man smelled special, his smooth skin fragrant with warm boy sweat and spicy, perverse lust. Plus the red-winged angel rode Sean's oddly stiff cock forever, they engaging in a strange, never-ending hard-on dance that still felt like every last pleasure escalated to 1000.

In one epic scenario Orlando's demanding ass used Sean's willing cock while Viggo savaged Sean's accepting ass. Wet, hot flesh hit flesh, demanded, spiked in endless lust. They took the blindfold off for that special event. A numb Sean stared up at the panting in pleasure Orlando and swore he'd never seen someone so in love with sex. The clinging to sanity by a gossamer spider strand detective instinctively tried looking around the room for escape purposes but once he saw Elijah hanging from the wall wrapped in a full red leather body suit, with only his wide blue eyes showing, Sean decided he didn't have a chance in hell of escape. Beside, everything felt so wonderful.

What did it really matter?

Sean fucked Johnny since Sean recognized that warm, round belly pressing against his own round belly. The blindfold came off again and Sean watched in detached fascination as a handsome, bearded male tied Sean's cock to his teeth and nipples with thin sliver wire. Once he finished the man plinked the strands like a demented Beethoven until Sean gargled in overwhelmed delight.

Sean's compromised mind thought he'd never, ever fucked so much while helplessly tied up, blindfolded, unblindfolded, gagged, ungagged, fuck, as long as a cock teased his body Sean felt satisfied. Since days passed, or at least it felt that way to Sean, they fed him. When Sean pissed and shit himself they hosed him down with cold water. They fucked him until Sean swore his abused dick might drop off or his ass might cramp up. They stripped away Sean's humanity and turned the detective first class into a throbbing morsel of wet, raw pleasure.

They recreated him.

After a few weeks Sean didn't mind. Not at all.



A low buzzer sounded in the Forest Room. Sean glanced up in anticipation. " Orlando?"

"Sean, my sweet, oh my, look at how well you tied up naughty Master Robin. You truly have become our knot master. But come up; we have an extremely surprise for you."

Now what did that mean? "One second, darling." As he spoke Sean skillfully snipped off the thin twine then he cruelly smacked his client's cock. "Robin, you even think about moving and I'll know it. Are we clear there? You still haven't paid for your crimes toward me."

Master Robin, his green felt-clad limbs twisted in various directions, nodded in submissive joy. He loved how his stern, pregnant Maid Marian put him in his place.

Sean adjusted his silver silk mini-dress over his round belly, walked down the hall and ascended the stairs to the Red Trailer. When Sean entered the elegant space his eyes widened in complete surprise.

Orlando smiled his perfectly sinful smile and viciously slammed his champagne glass against his trussed-up victim's right temple. Blood spurted free. "Happy first anniversary, Sean. Guess what red-necked asshole pissed Viggo off by trying to report us to the Feds? Tsk-tsk." As his smile swerved toward Hell Orlando licked the bright blood off his elegant fingers. Mmm, yes, there should be a name for champagne-laced blood. Perhaps it could be the Orlando Offering. He'd think on that hilarious problem.

Mmm, that blood staining Orlando's lips looked every so sexy. Instead of attacking his lover Viggo stretched his clad-in-a-plum-lame-corset-decorated-by-pink-ruffles body, rose from the couch and kicked Homer to his ample stomach then the purple-pump wearing madam pressed one spiked heel into the wretch's back. "He's all yours, Sean. Make all the mess you desire. I'll even haul the remains out to the swamp for you." Viggo winked in coy playfulness.

Really? Oh shit, dear Orlando and Viggo acted so good to him. As he nearly drooled Sean rubbed his palms together in excited thought. "Yeah, fuck, I think I'll need the pliers, sweeties. The really dull ones." After a hesitation Sean snapped his fingers. "Do we have a silver platter?"

Orlando and Viggo laughed in dark harmony. Orlando rolled his wide, dark eyes heavenward. "Already polished, darling."

Only the alligators heard the last screams.



If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: sandyg


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