Finally he awoke.

Still feeling dizzy from the effects of the chloroform, Mike observed his surroundings. The cage - which stood in a windowless bunker or basement room - measured only about four or five square meters. Inspector Scott was sitting next to him, one arm around Mike, giving him a worried look. "Mike, lad! I'm here! Are you all right?"

"What...? Oh... yes, Inspector. What the...! Where are we?"

"I'll tell you where you are", an unfamiliar voice boomed. In the semidark room, lit only by the dim bulb of a table-lamp in the corner, Mike finally saw the man standing in front of the cage. He was a slightly heavyset Caucasian male in his late thirties, dressed unpretentiously in jeans and a T-shirt. In his right hand he held a caliber .44 Magnum semi-automatic pistol. "You're at my mercy; that's where you are!"

Mike instantly remembered. "You!" he shouted. "It's you! John Wayne Gacy!" He was about to fire a series of demanding questions, but the realization of where he was made him fall silent with horror. Mouth agape, he stared at Gacy and knew this was the greatest peril he'd ever been in.

And if that wasn't enough, Inspector Scott was here too! Shit! He had brought his partner and best friend in the hands of this sick-minded serial killer! "Oh my God", he mouthed quietly to himself. The Inspector gripped Mike's shoulder, and Mike looked at him. He knew Scott as someone who usually never hesitated to take charge, but right now Scott was strangely silent.

John Wayne Gacy.

The FBI had hired twenty-five year old investigator Mike Harris as an undercover agent in order to bait this on-the-run serial rapist and murderer of several young men; and to lead him directly into the arms of the police. It was never clearly said but implied that he was perfect for the job: Mike was a handsome young man with a lithe figure and a pretty face that made every criminal underestimate him.

And he fit perfectly in the target group of that serial killer. Gacy's modus operandi was to kill young men he fancied, the prettier the better.

Yes, Mike had known how dangerous the job was, but with the constant surveillance and expertise from the FBI, what could possibly have gone wrong? With the constant presence of his older, experienced partner Inspector Scott with whom he'd solved the trickiest cases of the past few years, what could have gone wrong? That was the question he pondered now. What on earth had gone wrong? How had he fallen prey to John Wayne Gacy when it should have been the other way around?

"Inspector", he whispered in his native Quebec French, "the FBI is supposed to observe all my actions. If I'm gone from their radar, they'll search for me. We must try to stay alive here as long as possible! They will turn up and rescue us, it's just a matter of time."

"Shut up!" Gacy bellowed and approached the cage, holding the gun close to the metal bars. "We're talking English here, got that? You better do what I say, because you already know who I am. Don't you, Agent Mike?"

"Oh yes", Mike responded, "I know who you are. You are a swine, a twisted murderer who violates his victims in the most horrible ways before killing them. I've seen the photos at the FBI office. Those bodies they found under the floor of your house... Ah, yes, your house! Obviously we're somewhere else right now. What is this place, Mr Gacy? Where are we?"

A wide smirk crossed the serial killer's face. "Indeed, a bright kid." He chuckled. "Just like what I've heard. Always curious, asking questions." He was close enough so Mike could see his face clearly. Gacy's eyes seemed wide and blank despite the broad smile. It gave his face an unnerving expression, and Mike found himself slightly disturbed just by looking at the man.

Gacy sat down on a chair directly in front of the cage, still smiling. "Brings up old memories. You know, I've always wanted to be a cop when I was a kid." His tone was casual, and he was not even looking at Mike, as though trying to recall something. "I've also wanted to be an artist. I love painting and drawing. I mean, I do it all the time. Maybe I should show you my Snow White paintings some time. And the ones of the Indians. They're not bad at all so I don't understand why the gallery didn't want to represent me... I guess it's all part of the same system!" His voice became louder, and he got up so suddenly that the chair tumbled over backward. Waving the pistol at Mike, he shouted "You, too, are part of the fucking system and you're all the same! Motherfuckin' liars and oppressors, sending baby-faced assassins like you to get an honest citizen into trouble! I ain't a criminal! I never killed anyone in my entire life yet they hunt me down like a fucking dog!"

Mike stared at him, eyes wide. They had warned him that Gacy was an unpredictable psychopath; apparently that was true.

"But, you know..." Gacy continued, calming down. "I'm gonna make them pay, and I've already got an idea. I want you" - he pointed the gun at Mike - "to give him a blow job." He pointed at the Inspector.

Scott finally spoke - a loud, incredulous "Excuse me?"

"Shh, Inspector", Mike hissed, whispering. "Don't!"

"Yeeeees", Gacy said slowly, letting the syllable drop like syrup. "That's right. Go ahead, Agent Mike. I'll be watching so do your best."

Mike wondered why this demand shocked him despite he knew what kind of person Gacy was. Perhaps because it wasn't quite what he had expected. To do such things with Inspector Scott? He looked at an equally dumbstruck Inspector, then back at Gacy.

The serial murderer started laughing. "Ah ha ha! Of course, how did I miss that? You've never done that before! Am I right? I should've known! An innocent lad like you, of course you're as inexperienced as you look! You'll need to practice first!" He waved Mike closer to the iron bars, then stuck the pistol barrel through the rods, his finger dangerously close to the trigger. "Here. Suck this baby. Give it a real nice blow job." As if he'd read Mike's mind, he added, "And don't try anything stupid. If I even see the slightest hint of a dumb move, I'll blast your brains right onto that floor. Got it?"

Anger still dominating over his fear, Mike hissed a "yes" from between gritted teeth. Just you wait and see, Mr Gacy! The FBI would be here shortly and arrest this psychopath.

"Got it?" Gacy asked. "You do exactly as I say, or your friend here will have mashed cop brains for dinner!"

"Yes", Mike said more clearly, suppressing the horrible images of Gacy's victims in his mind. Kneeling on the cold tiled floor he leaned close to the shiny gun barrel.

"Lick it first", Gacy said. "You gotta tease it. Always start with teasing."

Mike obeyed, licking the barrel slowly and trying not to look at the man's face which was only inches away from his own. The metal felt icy on his tongue.

"Good", Gacy said, voice calm. "Now you take it into your mouth. Slowly. As deep as you can."

The barrel was slightly thicker than what Mike assumed to be an average penis size so he had to open his mouth quite widely. His stomach and throat seemed to revolt, protesting against that hard, cold, foreign object in his mouth.

"Move your head. In and out. Slowly. You're still teasing... Keep those hands down!"

Mike's hands had been twitching, eager to rip the gun away from Gacy. He forced himself to stay still and clasped his hands behind his back. He reminded himself that he had experienced worse than this. This was just humiliating but would not physically harm him. Most likely. He'd get this over with, and hoped Scott was not watching.

It was hard to keep his mouth so wide open all the time, and he felt his lips and tongue getting dry. Silently, he continued sucking the gun barrel. Gacy seemed to approve; speaking no more, only making an appreciative 'mmh' sound.

"Jesus fucking Christ", Inspector Scott muttered, "how long is that gonna take? Leave the lad alone already, you depraved monster!"

"Shut up, old man", Gacy snapped; then in an almost gentle, low voice he said to Mike, "Good. You're learning fast. Now, suck a little harder. When your cheeks are hollow, you're doing it right."

Mike followed the instructions. His facial muscles were beginning to ache, and he felt nauseous. He prayed that Gacy wouldn't push the gun further into his mouth or he would have to retch.

Finally, Gacy pulled the gun away, still keeping it pointed at Mike. "Good boy."

Mike realized he was shaking, either from fear or revulsion. Possibly both. Gacy's voice sounded distant. "Now, suck your friend. Just like you did with the gun."

Inspector Scott spoke before Mike could prevent it, but surprisingly he managed to keep his emotions under control this time. "Mr Gacy, if you don't mind, I'll be the one doing this...! Please, don't make Mike do it. Let me do it to him instead!"

"You ain't making the rules here", Gacy shouted. He was breathing heavily and now Mike noticed the bulge at the front of the serial killer's jeans. "Scott's your name, right? Well, Scott, the boy will give it to you, because you need to be ready to fuck him afterwards!"

"What?" the Inspector shouted. "You sick pervert! Why would I-!"

"Inspector, quiet!" Mike was close to panic, gripping Scott's arm firmly. "Calm down! We must play along, it's our only option!"

To his relief, Gacy did not become enraged. He grinned, menacingly waving the gun at them both. "The lad's right, Scott. Listen to him. You both better play along now if you don't want to die."

Mike put his hands onto Scott's shoulders. "Inspector, look at me. ... It's all right. I can do this." Lowering his voice, he added, "It could be worse. Better you than him, right?"

The Inspector sighed, then nodded. He did not look at Mike.

"C'mon, c'mon", Gacy said, waving the gun impatiently. Its barrel glistened, still moist with saliva. "What are you waiting for? ... And stand so that I can see what you're doing!"

Mike told his partner to stand against the bars, then knelt down in front of him and with trembling hands proceeded to unzip the Inspector's black trousers. Hell, it felt degrading, being forced to do this, and he was a little scared - but even so, it was still lot better than anything Gacy usually did to his victims. He was Mike, he could do this!

"Mike..."

He looked up at the Inspector. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

"No, Inspector, don't be. We're both in the same boat." Opening the Inspector's pants and tugging down the waistband of gray boxer shorts, he began what Gacy had ordered him to do. Strangely, he found it rather fascinating to see how hairy the Inspector's lower belly was, just as he had sometimes guessed – in secret, of course. As he focused on the task, tasting a hint of salt and feeling wiry, dark pubic hair tickle his nose, he realized he didn't feel as repelled by doing this as he'd feared.

On the contrary - with Inspector Scott, whom he knew and trusted, he felt somewhat in control of the situation. The Inspector was becoming erect and Mike found it difficult to keep his mouth open without interruption.

"Yeees." He heard Gacy's hoarse voice. "Keep going."

Ignoring the killer, Mike continued, feeling Scott's erection twitch as it grew to full size. His mouth felt dry and he knew he couldn't take it much longer – if only he'd had some water to drink! – but still, there were worse things. Surely this would not change anything between him and Inspector Scott, would it?

Scott did not fully manage to suppress a moan. Putting a hand on Mike's head, he muttered, "You better stop now... stop, before I..."

"Damn right", Gacy said, his tone chatty and casual. "You can stop now, Agent Mike. Ha! Ha! Ha! Agent Mike!" He laughed as though he'd made a joke. "Okay. I want you to stand against the bars now, facing me. Pull down your pants and let your friend take you from behind."

"But..." Mike began, then realized that no amount of pleading would get him anywhere with a psychopath like John Wayne Gacy who, by the very definition of the word, was completely unable to feel empathy for another human being.

"Goddamn it", Scott shouted, still breathing heavily. "You... you can't force me! I'm not gonna stay hard! It's physically impos-"

Click.

Gacy had released the pistol's safety and pointed the barrel at Scott's lower body. "It will be physically impossible if I shoot your dick off, cop!"

Mike instantly held onto the Inspector, and for a moment there was silence as they both stared at Gacy, holding onto each other, frightened. Inspector Scott was still hard, his arousal poking against Mike's thigh.

"Don't provoke him", Mike whispered. "I don't want you to get hurt or dead! I'm sure the police will bust in here any time. Let's do whatever we can to win precious minutes." At Scott's worried gaze, he added, "It's all right, Inspector. Better you than him, right? Let's do it now. Be gentle, okay?"

"Damn it, Mike", Scott muttered, blushing.

Quickly and silently Mike unzipped his jeans and pulled them down along with his underpants. The embarassment he felt at being so exposed to the world's presently most notorious serial killer was nothing compared to the anxiety rushing through him – he'd never done it with a man before! And there was the disappointment and anger that it would be like this. This was a nightmare!

"Your pullover and shirt too", Gacy commanded. "And you'll need this." He threw something into the cage, and Scott picked it up. It was a small tube and looking at the label Mike realized it was a lubricant. He continued undressing without looking at the killer. The air was cool, and soon he shivered. Bending over slightly and holding onto the bars, he tried to relax, to somehow prepare himself for what was to come. "Okay, Inspector. Go ahead."

John Wayne Gacy was chuckling, apparently enjoying the show. "C'mon, cop, he's already asking for it. Christ, just look at that pretty boy. I've known quite a few of 'em, but this one's exquisite." He was standing close to the cage, still holding the gun pointed at Mike. "Such a delicate build. And his skin looks so soft. I bet you've been wanting to touch it for a long time. Go ahead, feel it!"

Dear God, if only that pervert would stop babbling!

Mike felt Scott's hands on his thighs, hesitatingly caressing him. Then the Inspector, standing behind him, did something else, probably using the lube, and then Mike felt something push inside him and he gasped at the sudden stretch.

"Relax, it's just one finger", the Inspector whispered. "Does it hurt?"

Despite the generous amount of lubricant it felt quite tight, and very strange. Mike shook his head. I should be glad, he told himself, that it's the Inspector doing this, and not someone else! He tried to detach himself mentally from the situation but it was impossible. Fear was keeping him on the edge and his senses alert.

Scott continued fingering him, gently pushing it in and out. His other hand was still resting on Mike's hip, wandering to his groin. "Y'know, Mike, let me make it a little less awful for you. Do you want...?"

Mike instantly objected. "No! Don't touch me there!" Great snakes, how could he possibly allow himself to become aroused in front of this dangerous perverted bastard?

Too late. He heard Gacy's familiar, casual voice. "But why not, Agent Mike? You're a virgin, aren't you? Don't you want to enjoy your first time?" He switched to a commanding, harsh tone. "Go fuck him, old man. And jerk him off, too. Make sure he likes it!"

Throwing one quick glance at Gacy, Mike noticed that the killer still was holding the gun, but now was also rubbing himself through his jeans. Only rarely had Mike ever felt hate, and right now he had a lot of it. If only that cage were not between them! Then he would erase that smug expression from Gacy's face with a well-placed punch.

"Ow!" It hurt when Scott, slowly at first, entered him. As Gacy had ordered, he was stroking Mike at the same time, an efficient but gentle hand job. Closing his eyes, Mike told himself to relax, to just let it happen. He had to admit the Inspector's touch felt good and experienced. Getting aroused, he bit his lip and gripped the iron bars more tightly, as though to direct his energy elsewhere.

"I'm so sorry", Scott muttered close to Mike's ear. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up and continue", Mike panted. He whimpered as the Inspector pushed deeper into him. Damn, it was painful, that big thing inside him, filling him out. Oh dear God. His eyes filled with tears, and he was glad Scott could not see it from there. It'll be over soon, relax, it'll be over soon... He kept his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to see Gacy standing in front of him.

Again the murderer spoke, and his voice sounded triumphant. "Whoa there, Agent Mike! Crying already? It's a tad too much for you, isn't it? A big cock like that, on your very first time!" There was a low giggle.

You swine! If I had that gun...!

When would the FBI finally arrive? Was this place so faraway and godforsaken that they couldn't find him? The demon of hopelessness was teasing him, telling him what would await him if the police did not arrive in time.

The stimulation from Scott's hand sent hot, tingling rushes of arousal through him, undermining his pride. In addition he felt a strange thrill at the sensation of the Inspector's other hand on his body – it was so large and warm, rough from years of hard work, and he wondered if those hands were actually big enough to close around his waist. Maybe almost.

He felt Scott slide out of him and then back inside with one gentle thrust, and gasped at the returning pain. His legs were shaky, and his hands, damp with sweat, started to slip from the iron bars despite his firm grip. Scott must have noticed it for he stopped stroking Mike and tried to keep him steady. "Relax, my boy", he muttered, leaning further over Mike's back, embracing him with strong arms around Mike's waist and chest. "Relax. Be strong. It'll be over soon."

"No..." Mike panted, tried to focus. "You... you must keep going." Dear God, it was a matter of life and death! When Gacy was finished having fun with them, he'd kill them, just as he had done with twenty or thirty other men and boys.

For what felt like several minutes there was silence, except for the Inspector's heavy breathing as he continued thrusting into Mike. His warm, solid torso, still inside that blue shirt, felt comforting against Mike's bare skin – protective, reassuring. Mike inhaled the familiar scent; slightly musky, sweaty, with a hint of tobacco. Even though the penetration still hurt, it was becoming easier to bear.

Once again he heard Gacy's distant voice. "Yeah... now it's getting better, isn't it, Agent Mike? They all get used to it after the first shock fades... Is it feeling good already? Your body clearly likes it." A creepy laugh.

"Go to the devil", Mike muttered in his native French.

Gacy ordered the Inspector to go harder, faster; which Scott did. Whimpering and moaning, Mike rested his forehead against the cold iron bars and tried to focus on something else. It still hurt a little and was starting to feel raw, but it was also strangely stimulating somewhere deep inside him, sending tingly shivers through his body.

"All right", Gacy shouted, stomping a foot onto the floor to get their full attention. "Time for a change! You-" he pointed at Mike, "lie down on the floor, on your back; and he'll take you like a woman. ... It's nice because you can look into each other's eyes! Ah ha ha!" For some reason he seemed to think that was funny.

Quietly, Mike and Scott did as he told them to, and Mike arranged his clothes on the floor so he could lie down on them without feeling the icy cold tiles on his bare skin.
"Here, take this too", Inspector Scott said and took off his shirt, revealing a strongly built body covered in wiry, dark hair. He spread the shirt onto Mike's clothes, and Mike lay down.

"You still okay, lad?"

Mike nodded silently, still feeling humiliated and increasingly desperate, but at least the Inspector was doing his best to hurt him as little as possible. He opened his legs and Scott knelt between them, applying more lube onto his still-hard erection.

Then Mike felt himself being lifted by secure, large hands under his bottom, and he pulled his legs further back, not entirely sure what to do with them. With a groan, Scott entered him deeply, leaning forward over Mike and draping the young man's legs over his shoulders.

Their faces were close to each other, and Mike couldn't bring himself to look away from Scott. The Inspector's face was flustered and shiny with sweat, black eyes gazing at him with previously unknown intensity. It was an expression Mike had never seen on this face before.

So that's what he looks like during sex. It was something Mike had not actually ever wanted to know, but now the fact was there, literally staring into his face.

"Mike, I can't..." He paused. "I can't any longer. Or I'll come."

"They'll be here soon", Mike whispered, heaving and panting. "We'll be saved soon. Keep going. Take it slow." He put his arms around Scott, feeling tense muscles under hot skin and marveling at how broad and strong those shoulders were. Maybe the Inspector needed some encouragement...!

"It doesn't hurt anymore", he said. A little white lie. "I can bear it just fine. Keep going." He actually preferred this position over the previous one. Here the Inspector was over him like a shield, as though to guard him from whatever evil was out there. It was strangely intimate.

There was a series of loud metallic clanking sounds as Gacy hit the iron rods with the gun barrel. "Hey there! What'cha waiting for? Fuck him harder! Can't you see he wants it? Make him scream!"

Mike brought his mouth so close to Scott's ear that he was sure Gacy could not see him speak, and whispered in French, "It's okay, Inspector... Do what he says. I'm gonna get a bit louder, but don't be afraid. I'm just faking it, all right?"

It seemed that Inspector Scott was hesitating at first, perhaps unsure if Mike could really handle him, then he moved faster.

Initially Mike was not sure how the insane pervert wanted him to react; how to make it look 'real'. The arousal was there, all right. No sense in suppressing it, was there? Maybe he should close his eyes... He let out a sigh.

Unable to fight the pleasant tingling sensation that was getting stronger - much stronger - with each of the Inspector's rough thrusts, Mike's reactions soon came of their own accord.

Writhing, moaning, arching his back towards Scott above him and clinging to him hungrily, gasping and crying out along with the Inspector's rhythm, Mike soon forgot the place around him.

There was a distant, "You... you all right, boy?", in Scott's voice, but even when Mike finally understood the words he found himself unable to respond. Mon Dieu, why was his face so tingly and tense? Eyes closed and mouth open, the only reply he managed was a low cry.

"You ain't faking that, are you?" the Inspector muttered in French, pausing.

"Wha...?" Mike half-opened his eyes, seeing the Inspector above him... why was he stopping? ... just when it had started to feel perfect...! "More", he mouthed, and not having heard his own voice, he tried again, louder. "More!"

Scott continued, taking him with a hard, rhythmic staccato. Mike moaned and shouted, dear God, he needed release, needed it badly-

"Mike..." The Inspector's voice was distant and low.

Then it was gone, everything was gone - he could not hold back anymore and surrendered to the climax, spilling his seed between their bodies.

What in hell... what...?

He lay there on the hard floor, heaving and his mind in a dizzy mess, but he already felt cold tiles touching his skin where the clothes had slipped away from under him. Suddenly the Inspector was gone. Mike felt a breeze of cool air on his body, and realized he was naked, totally naked, and there was -

ô mon Dieu! The insane, sick-minded serial murderer!

Still breathing heavily, he perceived how the hazy fog, that strange lust that had clouded his mind, faded away, allowing harsh reality to sink in.

Fuck! What had he done? He had let himself go, allowed to be overwhelmed with pleasure!

In this place, of all places!

And he had come. There was sticky stuff all over his stomach.

"Inspector?" he muttered . "Where...?" He tried to sit up, but winced when he felt the pain. Looking around he did not see the Inspector. Panic rose up inside him.

Then there was the other man, John Wayne Gacy, in front of him, and Mike felt his blood pressure drop as dizziness and dismay threatened to overtake him. This was the end! He was exhausted, naked, vulnerable, helpless.

He wanted to scream.

"... buttered bun", he heard John Wayne Gacy say. "Don't you know that expression?"

Mike stared at him, slowly shaking his head. "What-?"

"That's what you are, a buttered bun." Gacy was smirking. "It's what they call you when you're still all wet and slippery inside from having sex with a man." He approached Mike, kneeling before him, and reached for Mike's shoulder, trying to push him back down. "I've never had a buttered bun before. You'll be my first one."

The gun was apparently gone, but Mike was aghast to realize that Gacy now held something else in his other hand. What was that? A wire? Not just a wire, but a strong metal cord with wooden pieces on its ends– a garrote.

"No", Mike shouted, twisting under Gacy's grip, "no! Please, no!"

"Keep still!" Gacy's face contorted with anger as he positioned himself between Mike's open thighs while at the same time trying to keep Mike down and sling the garrote around his neck. He was stronger than he looked, and Mike had barely any energy left for a struggle.

"Keep still or you die!" The killer was panting heavily, grinding himself aggressively against Mike.

"Goddamn it! ...Don't touch him!", someone screamed. It was the Inspector who pulled at Gacy's shoulders trying to get him away from Mike, but then the garrote tightened around Mike's neck. Cold hard wire was biting into his skin. "Let go" Gacy barked, "or your boyfriend will die!"

This was the end...! Stifling a sob, Mike made a final desperate attempt to dig his fingers under the wire, trying in vain to loosen its hold around his neck.

In the same moment he heard the thundering footsteps. Running. Shouting. Doors crashing open.

Before Gacy even had a chance to realize what was happening, the heavily armed police squad in bulletproof vests was all over the room.

"FBI! FREEZE!"