Descent Pt. 01

Still on his knees, Evan reached up to his face and discovered to his mild relief that his mouth had reappeared. But the emissary's words had hit their mark. He was terrified. He took a deep breath and thought very carefully about what, if anything, he should say next. He decided to take the chance. He slowly regained his feet.

"So, what happens now," he offered, barely whispering.

"Now . . ." the emissary answered, the hint of a cruel smile touching the corners of its mouth, ". . . Now it begins."

Evan heard a distant rushing noise from several different directions that rapidly grew louder and closer until it ended in a sudden snap as four pairs of tough, rubbery cables shot into the circle of light from out of the darkness and whipped around his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles, wrapping themselves tightly and pulling his arms and legs taut, jerking him off the ground.

The suddenness of the assault and his now-helplessness had Evan's heart racing. The cords tugged him backwards just as suddenly and slammed his body against a slab of some sort about the width of his torso. His arms and legs were forced around behind it and pinioned securely by an unseen force. Evan cast a desperate glance at the emissary, as though there were some chance it would take pity on him. It did not.

The emissary met his gaze levelly for a moment, then turned on its heel and walked casually away, out of the circle of light, and back into the void.

"Wait!" Evan yelled after it. "Wait! Please! Come back! Please! Let's talk about this!" Tap-click, tap-click, tap-click . . . the sound grew more and more distant until, in a few moments, it was gone altogether.

And then the spotlight went out. Evan's universe was pitch black and silent, save for his labored breathing. Standing on the sound stage just a few moments earlier and realizing he didn't have his power had been truly unsettling. But being taken hostage by his own primal worst instincts was, by comparison, utterly horrifying. And he couldn't — didn't want to — imagine what might come next.

The slab to which he was bound began to glide backwards in the darkness, as though on silent wheels, and Evan closed his eyes and tried not to panic. As the slab picked up speed, Evan heard music playing in the distance. It was distinctive, and he recognized it immediately. It was a marching band playing Gary Glitter's "Rock and Roll Part 2," otherwise known as the "Hey" song, which Evan found totally baffling.

The music got louder and louder as Evan was pulled backward faster and faster, and suddenly the darkness disappeared as Evan was pulled through a doorway and whisked into a brightly lit room that assaulted his senses. The double doors he had passed through slammed shut, and the slab turned, letting him take in the fullness of the scene.

Evan was on a wide stage that he recognized because it was in the auditorium of the high school he had attended decades earlier. Above the stage, in huge, colorfully hand-painted letters, a sign hung that said, "TALENT SHOW!" The band was seated in neat rows of folding chairs on one half of the stage and was continuing to play. Da-da-da-DA-da-da-da-da — "HEY!" — Da-da-da-da . . . .

The auditorium was packed, and the enthusiastic crowd, energized by the band, stomped and clapped, smiled and cheerfully shouted, "HEY!" at appropriate parts of the song. Evan scanned the faces in the crowd and realized that it was filled with everyone he went to high school with. Many of the names were long forgotten, but he recognized the faces — hundreds of them — looking just as they had twenty-some years earlier. All the teachers and administrators were scattered throughout the crowd, too, and he recognized a number of the students' parents whom he'd known throughout his childhood.

Strapped to his slab, Evan was alone on the other side of the stage, which wasn't brightly lit, and nobody appeared to have noticed him. The band's song crescendoed to a spirited conclusion, and when the drums fell silent the audience erupted into cheers.

Amid the cheers, a blonde girl in a red, sequined dress emerged from off stage holding a microphone, was instantly illuminated by a spotlight, and crossed in front of the band to stand center stage, facing the audience.

She wasn't just some blonde girl. She was Samantha Parker: cheerleader, homecoming queen, and all-around goddess. Even all these years later the sight of her gave Evan butterflies. He, like so many others, had had a huge crush on her in high school. He was pretty sure she'd never registered his existence. He had been self-aware enough as a teenager to know that Samantha was miles out of his league. People like him didn't talk to people like her, let alone date them. But he had sure fantasized about her.

"Alright, everyone!" Samantha shouted into the mic. "Let's hear it for the marching band! Aren't they awesome?!" The crowd dutifully roared and applauded, and the girl waited until the cheers waned before speaking again.

"Okay, great," she continued. "That was really, really great, you guys! Thanks so much." She flashed the band a thumbs up and then turned back to the audience, which was settling down and giving Samantha its full attention. "It's been a really, really great show — so many great performances — but I want you all to know we saved the best for last. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to . . . Evan Copeland!"

As she said it, she turned and gestured dramatically in Evan's direction, and a spotlight cranked on, illuminating him for the audience. It was the first time he'd ever heard Samantha Parker say his name. It was probably the first time she'd ever looked at him. She caught his eye and gave him a winning smile. He felt a tug of pleasure at her attention, but he was fully on his guard.

The audience reacted to his name with a smattering of half-hearted applause, spoiled by pockets of derisive laughter and even some distant booing. It was precisely the sort of reception Evan would have expected if he'd ever had the temerity to take the stage in front of his high school peers. Dream or not, there was a sense of real truth to it, a bit of a punch in the gut, and Evan felt himself flush with embarrassment.

Samantha didn't seem to notice. She approached Evan, smile still gleaming like the sun, gliding on long, tanned legs that were visible right up to the mid-thigh hem of her skimpy dress. Once she was standing next to him, she placed a hand familiarly on his upper arm — which sent a little thrill through him — and brought the microphone to her lips, her eyes shining up at him.

"Hi, Evan," she cooed flirtatiously into the mic and then held it up to his mouth to catch his response.

"Uh ..." he stammered, and then managed a weak, "H- Hi, Samantha." Evan was startled by the sound of his voice. It's not that it was unfamiliar, but it was what his voice had sounded like when he was eighteen. What also surprised him was how flustered he was by the attention of Samantha and, now that he thought about it, of the crowd. This was just a dream and he knew it. He wasn't actually back in high school, tied up on stage. None of these people were real. He was asleep in his bed. This was all just a construct in his mind. But he nevertheless felt his body being ruled by adolescent hormones, and the attention and scrutiny were excruciating.

Samantha smiled at the crowd and turned back to Evan with a mischievous grin.

"Now, Evan," she began, in a sort of mocking conspiratorial tone, "we haven't really met before but there's a little rumor going around that you . . ." she paused for dramatic effect ". . . have a little crush . . . on . . . ME!"

The audience emitted a collective, "OOOOOOOH!" Evan felt his body temperature jump and the blood rush into his face.

"Well?" Samantha pressed, giving him a flirtatious, encouraging wink, "is it true?" She lowered her voice seductively, but still used the microphone for the crowd's benefit. "Come on, Evan. Be honest. You can tell me. Do you have a little thing for me?" Evan was paralyzed by his discomfort and yet absolutely entranced by the closeness of Samantha's beauty, her scent, and the sound of her voice — her sheer proximity to him as she held the microphone up to his face was making his heart pound. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. It was a pure, adolescent physiological reaction. A hush came over the auditorium as everyone waited for him to answer.

"Um," said Evan. He coughed, stricken. "Uh . . . I guess so," he muttered. The audience roared with laughter. Evan looked out at the crowd, wide-eyed, and saw people he knew, or rather had known — trusted teachers, other kids he'd considered to be his friends — howling with derision at him. Part of him wondered why he hadn't just said, "no," but he hadn't been able to think with any kind of clarity.

Evan frowned and could feel frustrated tears welling up in his eyes as he soaked in the cruelty of hundreds of people directed at him. He looked back over at Samantha, who was regarding him with a mixture of pity and satisfaction. Once again, apparently a natural stage presence, she waited for the audience to simmer down before she spoke again.

"Well," she said, matter-of-factly, "I am very flattered, Evan. But of course, you know you can never have me." More peals of cruel laughter from the audience. Evan's face contorted into a pained scowl. Of course he knew that. He'd always known that. What was the point of saying it here in front of all these people?

"And the reason you can never have me, Evan," she continued, "is *not* that you aren't good-looking enough. I mean, let's face it, you're really not," she observed frankly, "but that's not the reason." Twitters of glee washed through the assembly as Samantha smiled sweetly. Evan's eyes settled on the floor. He braced for more cruelty. "And it's not because you're clumsy and awkward or because you're a nerd . . . ." Evan absorbed and accepted the painful truths within her sing-songy disclaimer.

"No, Evan. The reason you can never have me is because you're a faggot." At that, the audience viscerally surged with delighted malevolence, shouting and laughter shaking the walls and feet stomping the floor until Evan could feel the stage vibrating beneath him. The din took on a life of its own.

Evan looked at Samantha amid the tumult, wounded and unable to resolve the incongruity of that ugly word having come from her beautiful mouth. His expression searched for an answer, but he wasn't sure he knew exactly what the question was.

"What . . . what do you . . . Why . . ." he tried to form a coherent sentence, but nobody could hear him anyway.

Samantha held up a hand to quiet the crowd. The crowd complied. She turned to address Evan once again.

"That's right, Evan," she continued. "You. Are. A. Fag. And everybody seems to know it except you." To his surprise, Evan could see heads nodding in the gallery, accompanied by murmurs of agreement — even among the adults. "I'm not saying you don't have a crush on me," Samantha continued. "I'm not even saying you don't like girls. But deep down, what you really crave — what you really need — is cock." Evan gaped, totally nonplussed.

"So tonight's going to be a big night for you, Evan," Samantha announced. "Because we're all here to help you take a big step forward into your new life!" A cheer went up.

Now Evan was more confused than hurt. Much of what Samantha had said to him had resonated terribly. He knew he wasn't all that attractive, and that he was awkward and nerdy, and he was painfully embarrassed to admit to his crush in front of everyone, but . . . gay? It just wasn't true. He was attracted to girls. He was attracted to Samantha. The accusation frankly seemed like a big swing and a miss in this whole pushing-painful-buttons routine.

But Samantha seemed so certain. And everyone else did, too.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," she announced to the assembly, "let's get this show on the road!" She produced — from somewhere — a comically large pair of pink scissors, perhaps eighteen inches long, and before Evan could even conceive of how to react, starting at the neck of his shirt and working her way swiftly down, Samantha deftly cut through all of his clothes and swiped the shredded remnants away, flinging them joyfully into the delighted crowd.

Evan was now completely nude, still bound, and to his horror he could feel his genitals shriveling in reaction. Whether or not the audience noticed that specifically, their shrieks of ridicule convinced Evan that they had.

"Okay!" Samantha rubbed her hands together enthusiastically. "This is really exciting, Evan; and I think . . . eventually you're going to agree that it was all worth it." She actually looked sincere when she said that. "But since you might be a little reluctant at the beginning, the first thing we're gonna have to do is set up some ground rules, okay?" Evan made no response, and Samantha didn't wait for one.

Instead, she produced a small but sturdy steel ring, perhaps two inches in diameter, with an open hinge and a clasp. She stepped in front of Evan and gently but firmly grasped his cock and balls in her left hand, tugging them down away from his body. For a fraction of a second Evan was able to gaze on Samantha's extraordinary beauty while experiencing her touch with an intimacy he'd never dared to hope for. He wished he could make the moment last. He hoped he would be able to recreate Samantha in a different dream on his own terms and feel her touch again. But the moment didn't last, and he suspected his hope was in vain.

Samantha held Evan's manhood just long enough to snap the steel ring around the bottom of both his shaft and scrotum, tightening and locking it in place. She gave the ring a stiff jerk to make sure it was secure, and then she let Evan's cock slide slowly, teasingly through her fingers, tickling the sensitive underside and glans as she released it. Evan gasped and stiffened slightly in response, which made the ring pull even tighter around his base. Samantha stepped back, raising the microphone once again.

"There we go! Now we can get rid of those stupid ropes." Samantha gestured to someone behind Evan that he couldn't see, and a moment later he felt the cords fall away from his arms and legs. Relieved, Evan rotated his stiff shoulders and rubbed his arms to restore circulation.

"Okay, Evan," said Samantha, her tone getting serious, her expression completely earnest. "I need you to listen to me really, really carefully, because — and I'm totally serious — I really only want to have to do this once." The crowd was hushed. Evan's brow furrowed.

"For the rest of the show," she continued slowly, "you need to do *exactly* as you're told. It doesn't matter if you want to or not; you just have to do it. And if refuse to do as you're told, or if you act out, or if you try to leave, you need to understand that *this* is what will happen to you."

Samantha held up a small, black box and pressed a button, and the ring around Evan's cock delivered a powerful current of electricity to his most vulnerable flesh. He collapsed to the floor, convulsing and shrieking between tightly clenched teeth as painful contractions gripped his abdomen.

To Evan it felt like it went on for an eternity. At some point Samantha decided that the message had been sufficiently delivered, and she released the button. Evan crumpled in a heap on the floor, moaning, hands covering his genitals protectively. The crowd let out an impressed "Whoa!"

Samantha let him recover for a couple of beats, and then raised the microphone.

"Evan," she said, softly but patronizingly. "Evan." He was still laying on the ground on his side, panting, essentially in a fetal position. She waited until he turned his head to acknowledge her. "Evan, it was necessary to do that once, just so you understand why you need to be a good boy. And now that it's done, I hope we won't need to have any more of that. I really didn't enjoy it.

"But now it's time to pull yourself together and put that behind us because —" she paused dramatically and mugged for the crowd, "— the show must go on! Right, folks?" The audience jumped to their feet and cheered.

Evan groaned, rolled slowly over onto his hands and knees and started to push himself up off the floor. As he did, a kind of dread settled over him. The pain he'd just experienced was unlike anything he'd ever known. And this was a place where anything was possible, and he was at the mercy of something hostile, there was no doubt about it.

He got to his feet and stood facing the audience, head bowed, with his hands in front of his crotch.

"Oh, put your hands down," Samantha chided playfully. "It's not like we haven't seen that little thing you've got under there already." Chuckles floated from the gallery. Evan dropped his hands to his sides, defeated.

"Now, we're going to need a little help for this next part of the show, so I took the liberty of inviting a Special Guest Star." Samantha took in the audience's approval. "Without further ado, Ladies and Gentlemen, please give a nice warm welcome to the captain and quarterback of your Treesdale High School Warriors —" The crowd was already on its feet cheering wildly. "—Jake Douglas!"

The band broke into a spirited rendition of the the school fight song as an all-too-familiar figure sauntered out onto the stage, the crowd screaming and applauding their hometown hero. Jake Douglas — all 6'2 and 210 pounds of him — in addition to being naturally handsome and the school's best athlete, had also been Evan's chief tormentor. For years, Evan had suffered having his books dumped on the floor, being shoved into lockers — even getting repeatedly punched in the stomach and kidneys — all for Jake's and his friends' entertainment.

As usual, Jake was accompanied by an entourage of his fellow football players. All wore their blue-and-red letterman jackets. Jake had his own microphone. He strutted over to Samantha and exulted in the crowd's adoration. It amazed Evan, as it always had, that everyone knew what a bully Jake was, but they still treated him like a hero because he won football games.

Jake raised a fist in the air and addressed the audience.

"What's up, Treesdale High!!" The crowd roared again in response. "All right! All right! Thank you! Great to be here." Jake turned to Samantha. "What's up, Beautiful." He bent down wrapped his left hand around her head and pulled her in for a deep kiss. The audience oohed and ahhhed. When he broke the kiss, and Samantha put her hand to her breast to catch her breath, Jake turned his attention to Evan.

"Well, well, well," Jake said slowly, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Look what we have here." Evan shuddered, bracing himself for any number of possibilities, but mostly a physical attack. Jake towered over Evan, looked him up and down and snorted into his microphone. "Man, you are pathetic, you know that, Queer?" Evan assumed the question was rhetorical and said nothing.

"Does it ever bother you that I'm superior to you in every way," Jake continued, evoking a common line of taunts from their mornings in home room. "Taller, stronger, better looking, much better athlete . . . Hell, I'm smarter than you, too." Evan doubted that but decided not to argue — though he did find it hugely irritating that Jake actually seemed to believe it.

"Shit, I even have your dream girl," Jake added, nodding his head in Samantha's direction. "You wouldn't believe how loud she yells my name when I fuck her. I am the Fucking Champ. But you? You're the bottom of the food chain. And tonight you're gonna learn your place."

"Come over here and get on your knees." Evan hesitated, and Jake's eyes narrowed. "Hey Sam, gimme that remote. Looks like this fucking loser needs some convincing." Evan scrambled to comply as Samantha passed the little black box, but it was too late. Without hesitation, Jake pressed the button and Evan fell to the floor, doubled over with the pain of electricity ripping through his core. A smile crept onto Jake's face as he watched Evan convulse for a long couple of moments. Unhurriedly, Jake released the button and repeated his command.