Dead or Alive

by Daniel Guy

Ned was working late.  His wife was at a party so it didn’t matter. He was editing the best of the many digital photos he’d taken earlier that evening, of a twenty-three year old model called Sarah. She was happy to pose naked and she had been fun to work with. Ned was pleased with some of the shots he’d taken.

He’d been lecturing at a local college for twenty years and finally packed it in so he could pursue his dream of becoming a photographer. He’d been renting the studio for a couple of months and so far everything was going well.  The space he’d found was a large room with high ceilings and big windows, located on the first floor of an old red brick factory in the heart of London’s old industrial East End.  It was Friday night, everyone had gone home and the rest of the building was dark and quiet and empty.

Ned heard a car pull up in the yard, but paid no attention. Moments later he thought he heard some men talking outside. He turned down the Bach piano music he’d been listening to and swung round in his chair. Sitting quite still, he stared at the window, with half a mind to get up and find out who it might be. He waited for more sounds. Nothing.  He turned back to his computer. He lit a cigarette and decided he would finish sifting through the last folder of images and then pack it in for the night.

Another noise interrupted him. He stopped again and looked up. This time it sounded like footsteps on the concrete steps of the staircase.

Silence again.  There were other creative types using studios in the building so he guessed it must have been one of them.  He listened out for more footsteps.  As he was about to turn back he heard something else, very faint, voices whispering in the corridor outside.  He turned to the door. He saw a shadow breaking the thin line of white light, seeping in under the door from the bright lights of the corridor outside.  Moments later there was a gentle tap on the door.  Ned got up and walked to door. When he opened it he saw four uniformed policemen.  They stepped in uninvited.  They wore dark blue uniforms, shiny black leather gloves and thick black boots. 

‘What’s going on?’ he said.

A fifth man, in a dark suit and a loosened tie, appeared at the doorway and stepped through them to speak to Ned.  He was tall, overweight, with a shaved head, and he spoke with a snarling grin.   

‘Ned Wilson?’

‘Yes. What the hell’s going on?’

‘I’m Detective Inspector Snark and you, my friend, are under arrest. Section 63 to 67 of the Criminal Justice and Immigration Act of 2008 make it an offense to possess extreme pornographic images.  Someone has hacked your computer and sent us the details. We have evidence that you are in possession of illegal pornographic material.  We are authorized to search the property.’

He clicked his fingers and the other policemen began to look around the studio. One pushed Ned aside and sat down at Ned’s computer.

‘I need to speak to a lawyer.’

‘ You need to sit down shut the fuck up’ said another of the policemen, before grabbing Ned by his shirt and pushing him into an old armchair by the window. 

They began opening cupboards, sifting through books and magazines neatly stacked along shelves, tipping out boxes onto the floor.  It wasn’t long before the officer at the computer was opening up a file containing graphic images of naked women bound and gagged tight with tape and rope. The other policemen stopped to glance over. One smiled and mumbled  

‘Mmmm, nice.’

Another folder was opened which contained Ned’s collection of video clips of women suffocated with plastic bags.

‘Oh yes, these will do,’ said another.

The detective turned to Ned.

‘Is this what gets you hard, then?

Ned flushed

‘Look – I want to call a lawyer. I have a right to…’

Before he could finish he was grabbed by the neck by one of the policemen. The black-gloved hand gripped Ned’s neck so tight, his face turned red.

‘Just answer the fucking question.’

His neck was released and he coughed and spluttered.

‘I’m asking you if you get horny watching this,’ repeated the Inspector.

Ned said nothing and so he was pulled out of the chair. He was forced onto his knees in front of the computer and his arms were twisted behind his back till he yelled in agony.

Another file was opened, this time containing images of men wearing lingerie and wigs, tied up, sucking cocks and being fucked by large pink dildos.

‘Look, I’m a photographer!  This stuff is just for research!

I just found it on line. I’ve got nothing….’

Again he was interrupted, this time by a slap across the face.

‘Don’t give us shit Mr Wilson. Don’t waste our time.’

Another officer opened a large box he’d found under a thick red velvet curtain at the bottom of cupboard, and called the Inspector over to see.

‘It’s full of women’s clothing, sir.’

The Inspector picked out an assortment of stockings and silk dresses, wigs and satin panties.

‘These are nice. Bet they really suit you. You want to show us

what a little sissy you can be?’

‘They’re not mine,’ said Ned, sullen and angry.

‘Whose are they?’

‘Someone lent them to me for a photo shoot.’

‘So you don’t get off on this kind of stuff then?’

‘No,’ said Ned after a moment, and without much conviction.

The other policemen sniggered.  The Inspector smiled.

‘If you are not aroused by this stuff, then prove it. Get undressed.’

‘What?’

‘You heard. Get undressed.’

Ned was lifted to his feet.

A Taser gun was pointed at his groin till he began to tremble in fear and had no choice but reluctantly to undress. He was forced to stand naked in front of his computer and watch the screen as a slideshow of his favourite photos appeared, images he’s collected over the years and yet rarely looked at.  He was too frightened and angry to be aroused.  The policemen stood beside him and they all stared in silence at the computer. A photo appeared on the screen of a pretty male youth wearing stockings and suspenders, lying face up on a blue carpet, with his arms tied behind his back, a clear plastic bag tied over his head and his cock sticking up erect and shiny.

‘These are Category One, Mr Wilson.  You’re going to be put away for a very long time.’

Ned stared helplessly at the photo, and at the young man’s eyes, smiling out through the clear plastic. Finally his own cock began to stiffen.

The Inspector watched it rise. He smiled and sat down and said,

‘It’s not looking good for you Mr Wilson.  I’ll be honest with you.

What happens now is that you’ll get dressed and come with us to the station to be formally charged. You’ll make a statement then you’ll probably be released on bail until the trial.  You’ll get between five and seven years and put on the sexual offenders list for the rest of your life.  I imagine this will destroy your marriage and your kid will never see you again.  Your worst nightmare, Mr Wilson, has only just begun.’

Ned slowly sank down into his chair. 

 ‘But don’t take it too badly, sir. You’re not the only one.  In fact since the crackdown, the prisons are filling up fast with perverts like you….’

Ned cupped his hands around his face.  He began rocking slowly back and forth and it sounded like he was crying for a moment.

The Inspector sat back and crossed his fat legs.

‘However, there is an alternative you may want to consider, a way out which some are happy to choose…’

The four uniformed policemen continued to stare at the images on the computer screen. Ned was shaking. His mind was spinning with his own thoughts and fears and he was hardly taking in what the Inspector was saying.

‘Accidental death, misadventure, you know the sort of thing..’ 

‘What?’

‘Think about it, Mr Wilson; you could instead take the easy way out. It would make things much easier for everyone if you were found in here tomorrow morning, dressed in all your sissy gear and a rope round your neck.  It’s very common these days, as you probably know. Wouldn’t you like to die that death you’ve always dreamed of dying?   As I say, it will be easier for everyone.  The chances are your family and friends will be so embarrassed they’ll hush it all up.  That’s what usually happens. We don’t need to tell the press anything.  When all is said and done, it does save everyone a lot of time, money, resources and shame. What do you think?’

Half an hour later, Ned had dressed himself in tights and knickers. He wore his favourite bra, and long dark wig.  He was still shaking. He felt sick. His mouth was dry. He found a clear plastic bag, a pair of handcuffs and a piece of elastic.  He placed them on the desk in front of the computer and sat down. He stared at them for a minute, frozen. Then he turned to the Inspector.

‘I..I can’t do this, not with you lot watching me.’

‘We need to be here, in case you try to escape, Mr Wilson. And besides, Frank here likes to watch, don’t you Frank.’

One of the armed policemen had a thin moustache and this was Frank. He grinned and said,

‘Yeah, love it.’

Ned lowered his head and closed his eyes.

The Inspector stepped out of the studio, closed the door and then stood in the corridor outside and called his boss. He explained the situation and his boss seemed satisfied.   

‘Good work, Mike. I’ve got three more in the area I need you to visit. They’re all lecturers at the same college Wilson used to work at.  Some one evidently wants the college to close because they’ve hacked the computers of all the teaching staff and sent us the ones with hard drives full of Category One. But these other guys you will need to bring in alive.’

‘Will do, sir.’ said the detective.

He finished the conversation and then wandered back into the studio, closing the door behind him.

Ned had tied the plastic bag over his head, cuffed his hands behind his back at sat on the chair facing the computer.

He was gazing vacantly through the misted plastic at more familiar images, skinny men with huge cocks, hanging by their necks from trees, rubber clad couples engaged in a wide variety of sadomasochistic games involving needles, knives, fists, pain and humiliation. His breathing was quicker, his skin was moist with sweat.  It wouldn’t take long now.

Frank stepped forward, crouched beside and gripped Ned’s cock with his leather-gloved hands.

‘Here, let me help you,’ he said and began to move his tight grip slowly up and down Ned’s thick shaft. 

The other policemen had their cocks out and were rubbing them gently, groaning quietly to themselves.

The Inspector watched them and said,

‘Tut, tut, lads. Remember, no spillage.  We don’t want to leave any traces here tonight, do we..’

‘No sir,’ they mumbled.

Before the spunk was cold on Ned’s belly, the job was done,

the police had quietly left the studio, walked back to their cars and driven away.

Daniel Guy March 2014