Chapter 3: Chapter 3

“Action,” O’Meara called, her voice heavy with anticipation.

I held my breath as I watched. That moment as Brandon slipped into his character never failed to excite. And there it was, like an entirely different person had taken over his body. His smile was slightly maniacal, and he started humming a wordless, eerie tune of his own invention. He picked up the huge but fake knife his character used to cut apart his victims. His actions were slow, methodical, as he mimed slicing into the victim’s abdomen. For her part, the extra was perfect, whimpering and crying out until the life left her. Brandon seemed to take no notice of her as he went about his work, walking around her, getting covered in the fake, viscous, sticky blood. And then he lifted the knife, holding it up and admiring it, before he extended his tiny, pink tongue and licked it.

I shuddered. What did it say about me that a scene like that made me want to fuck him six ways to Sunday?