Dexter Finds a Playground
Title: Dexter Finds a Playground
Previous parts: Dexter discovers the clubs. Dexter expands on his own. Dexter runs into trouble at a private party (consent issues). Dexter discovers Section.
And now... just how much of Dexter is left once Section is through with him?
Foot Fetish
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Dexter studied the blood splattered across the wall.
"No way are you going to figure that mess out," Rudy said with a snort as he considered the wall in front of Dexter. Three Section operatives had died here, and Dexter was going to trace every move, every shot, every bleed.
"Take samples on a six inch grid for DNA testing. I want to know which spray belongs to which operative. This is... this is complex, nothing more." Dexter smiled as he tilted his head and studied the mess. This was beautifully complex.
"You figure this out, and I'll buy the beers," Rudy offered. "I'll call you some sort of idiot savant on top of being a blood-freak, but I'll buy the beer." Rudy pointed the high resolution at the mess on the wall.
Dexter turned to the other wall and the one clear arterial spray that caught the wall halfway up and then splattered down onto the floor. Had they all died at roughly the same time? Had one lived long enough to betray the mission? How many terrorists entered the room and did the question the team or kill them and leave? The mess would have been indecipherable with police equipment, but Section had the best of everything. He'd figure this mess out.
"Daniel," a soft voice called, using the pseudonym that had become Dexter's new identity. He looked up.
"Michael," he said, putting down his camera and walking over to the other man.
"How long?"
A simple intel-gathering mission rarely rated Michael's involvement, no matter how complex. "Six to twelve hours, maybe longer if the mess on the back wall is from all three of them."
Michael nodded. "When you are done, there's a file for you. Call me."
After that, Michael left, but Dexter's stomach tightened in anticipation. A file meant a chance to kill. Maybe he'd even get to go with Michael on a kill. That had happened once... with a gunrunner whose fear of being dominated and sodomized had led to Dexter's involvement on the team. In the past, Dexter had avoided such torture, but after seeing that man's file, he had every reason to believe that Harry would have approved. After all, Harry told him that some people deserved to be taken out, that killing in the service of a cause was more than murder. And when the target had revealed his contacts, his bank accounts, his suppliers in the military... Dexter had enjoyed that quite a lot.
With a smile, Dexter returned to the bloody scene. Rudy and Karla liked to work from the computers, to try and use mathematical models to do all their work for them. Dexter preferred something more hands on. As Rudy collected the DNA samples from the grid and prepared to send them for testing that would return far faster than any police test would, Dexter pulled out his string. He was doing this the old fashioned way. Track the point of origin of the various spray patterns and determine number of bullets, cutting weapons, and assailants from the patterns.
"You're a freak and a technophobe," Rudy snorted as Dexter started setting up.
"I'm good at my job," Dexter countered.
"Well, yeah. You're the best." Rudy sounded confused that Dexter would even feel a need to point that out, but then before Dexter could parse the meaning of that, he was gone, taking his video feed and mathematical precision out to work with Karla, leaving the scene to Dexter.
It took sixteen hours, but Dexter had the evidence and Rudy had the computer model showing the final moments of the team. One died from a bullet wound, the coroner said that he never could have talked. The second had his throat slit, but from the blood spray, Dexter could determine that the dying man had been flung from one side of the room to the other, the spray pattern even encompassing the third team member, most likely to terrorize the man. And the third team member had been on his knees when a single blade across the neck had killed him. Dexter's blood analysis along with the psychological profile led to the infallible conclusion that the third member had talked, and now Section was calling off the mission, recalling operatives and Rudy owed him a round of beers.
Some days Dexter really liked his job. He was exhausted, but the intellectual challenged left his brain in hyperdrive as he found himself seeing the blood spray pattern even after he closed his eyes. However, Michael had promised him a file. So, as he entered his small apartment, Dexter looked for the file.
Instead, he found Michael. The operative was sitting at Dexter's table and looking through the file himself. He didn't even bother to look up as he pointed at the floor at his feet. The desire started building in Dexter. Michael feigned such disinterest, as though he were barely aware of his surroundings, but he was a predator through to his core. Dexter worked for Section, but there were only three operatives who could scratch his itch when he switched from domination into submission: Michael, Madeline, and Jurgen.
Dexter went to his knees at Michael's feet, watching the other predator and accepting the paper he handed down.
"She is a contract killer. As a doctor, her credentials are impeccable, and she travels widely, so the few deaths coinciding with her visits did not immediately trigger alarms." Michael spoke calmly, never reacting as he handed over pictures of people lying dead in hospital beds. "We suspect 29 kills, 18 deaths were ruled natural causes, and 11 were secondary infections contracted in the hospital. We have confirmation on three of her kills." Michael handed over a still from a surveillance video. "She injected the patient with clostridium difficile, which aggravated his already delicate medical conditions and killed him. This one she injected with insulin." Michael handed down another photo. "We were tracking her movements, gathering information when she went off the radar and killed a third woman, apparently by changing the dosage on her medication. The hospital settled a rather large lawsuit and the death was ruled accidental." The picture Michael handed down this time was of a smiling woman in a publicity photo.
"I can kill her?" Dexter asked as he looked up. He'd review the file first, but Section never sent him information that didn't justify a kill. And when he'd researched on his own, he'd never found that Section had falsified a single detail.
Michael reached down and fisted his hair, pulling Dexter's head back. "How long has it been?" he asked, his voice rough enough that Dexter knew he wasn't asking about the time since his last kill.
"Seven weeks."
"Too long," Michael said as he ran a hand over Dexter's stretched neck. "Get my bag."
He let go, and Dexter got up to get the black bag from the bed. The very sight of it made his cock harden. "Strip," Michael ordered coldly. Putting the bag on the table next to Michael, Dexter hurried to do just that. "Have you dominated anyone in the seven weeks?"
"Three different boys, a total of eight times."
"Did they enjoy it?"
"Yes, sir," Dexter said as he folded his clothes and laid them on his chair.
"It's still not enough for you, though," Michael said, and of the three agents Dexter knelt for, Michael was the only one whose voice alone could make him hard. Dexter returned to knee at his feet with his cock begging for attention that he did not think it would get for a long time.
"No, sir, it's not." Michael was impressive. Dexter knew that emotionally he was closest to Madeline. She had no emotions to cloud her judgment, no pity when she tortured him. But it was Michael who Dexter wanted to kneel for. Always Michael. He was dangerous, a predator even among predators. The other agents whispered his name and Dexter was fascinated by how someone who had killed so many could be both feared and loved. They all wanted on his team, and when Michael chose him or chose that new woman recruit, the others would seethe with jealousy and struggle to not show it because questioning Michael's choices never ended well.
Michael's boot landed on Dexter's cock, pressing into it until Dexter struggled to hold his position. "Good boy," Michael finally said as he eased off, and Dexter struggled to not make any noise as the blood rushed to the bruised flesh. If he lost control and made Michael gag him, he would lose what he really wanted. "Turn around," he ordered, and Dexter turned, going to his hands and knees when a hand shoved his shoulder.
The plug was huge. Dexter panted through the pain and spread as knees to try and give it as much room as possible, but he doubted that Michael would take much pity on him if he complained. The constant pressure against his prostate made his cock ache horribly. Two or three good pulls, and he'd come and be a whole lot more comfortable. He didn't touch himself. "Back in position," Michael ordered, and Dexter moved carefully into position, nearly crying out when he had to bring his knees closer. He panted through the need and the discomfort and focused on Michael.
"I've had a difficult mission. My feet are tired," he commented as he dropped a white towel beside Dexter. It landed with a thud and opened. Creams and lotion and fucking toenail clippers were inside. Dexter groaned at the thought of being forced to kneel in front of Michael and do something as trivial as rub his feet. It was all about humiliation, not that Dexter was humiliated, but he certainly did feel less significant after being given such an order.
"But first, stand."
Dexter got up, the plug shifting uncomfortably so that his cock now ached in a less pleasant way. He needed to come, and he wasn't likely to have that need satisfied soon. Michael brought out straps, and Dexter's heart stopped when he recognized them.
"Do you have a comment?" Michael asked, his voice making it very clear that he could take his toys and leave. Dexter wasn't the center of his life. Hell, he had probably been ordered in here to scratch Dexter's itch before sending him off to do a mission. And somehow knowing that this dangerous predator was here under those circumstances made Dexter even harder. There was no relationship to betray, no strange rules to try and navigate. There was only a beautiful, efficient predator who could kill Dexter in a moment and instead played this game.
"No, sir," Dexter quickly answered as he put his hands behind his back. Michael fastened the belt around his waist and tightened it. The thigh straps and crotch strap hooked in quickly, and then Michael tightly bound the base of Dexter's cock and worked the cockring around the bindings before locking it to the harness. Dexter couldn't contain a hiss. Michael almost smiled. Then he pulled out two locks and took the short strap on one thigh cuff and ran it through the D-ring on the opposite cuff. It forced Dexter to close his legs, and the monster plug in him felt about twice as large as Michael fitted a lock to the straps.
"Turn around." When Dexter obeyed, Michael pulled the back tight and then a second lock clicked in place. Dexter couldn't separate his legs at all now, and the plug was locked deep inside. "When you were young, was it this hard to not kill those who annoyed you?" Michael asked quietly, his tone not changing at all even if they were discussing what a monster Dexter was.
"Yes, sir. Harder. Harry stopped me once." Dexter turned back around, and Michael was leaning back in his chair. He gestured toward the supplies, and Dexter dropped to his knees, grunting as the pressure on his cock forced tears to his eyes.
Ignoring his own needs, Dexter began unlacing the boots. "Who did you want to kill?"
"Just a boy who was teasing me, sir."
"How did Harry keep you from killing him?"
"He told me not to, sir," Dexter said as he put the boot to one side and pulled off the sock.
"And you once thought you were not submissive," Michael said with some amusement.
"I'm not around most people, sir," Dexter pointed out as he put the second boot to the side. He guided Michael's foot to rest on his thigh. Even his foot was muscled, the extensor digitorum longus muscle from his ankle down into his foot standing out. Dexter traced it with his finger before he picked up the lotion. "Sir, may I ask a question?" he asked as he started stroking the lotion into Michael's foot. He wondered if Michael had ever made a kill with this foot, but that wasn't the most important question in his mind right now. Michael nodded.
"The clean room. Madeline had me study it, and the blood drip pattern was erratic. What happened to the person in there, sir?"
"A new drug. It's a blood thinner that mimics the effects of hemophilia. Madeline only inflicted a minor wound."
"But it wouldn't clot," Dexter said as the pattern suddenly became clear. Non-arterial drips quickly petered out, but these had not. The same, regular drips and splatters had been all over the room. Madeline had injured the person and then allowed him to thrash around the room unfettered.
"Effective for those who fear blood. Had Madeline attempted to use it on you, I have no doubt you would have been far more fascinated with the patterns you could create than with Madeline's questions." Dexter didn't deny it as he pressed his thumbs into the ball of Michael's foot, watching as the muscles relaxed under his care. Dexter pressed a little harder, just until he could see Michael twitch, and then he softened his touch just a little.
"Dexter, who did you talk to after Harry died?" Michael asked as he stretched with pleasure under Dexter's hands.
"No one, sir."
"Not even your sister?"
"She can't ever know. If I got caught, she had to be free of any guilt or blame."
"Harry's rule?"
"Yes, sir." Dexter pressed hard on a pressure point and Michael sighed. There was a certain pleasure out of this type of service, not that Dexter was feeling much pleasure as tightly plugged and bound as his genitals were. Dexter turned his attention to Michael's second foot, retrieving more lotion, and that first foot rested against Dexter's cock, toes nudging it.
Dexter swallowed and struggled to remain still as his tightly bound cock responded to the touch and the heat and the fact that it was Michael he was kneeling in front of. He wanted to come so badly, but the need to come was just one more pain on top of the rather significant pain he was already feeling. Dexter forced his thoughts away from his body and focused on Michael's foot... on the square shape of his toenail and the blue veins branching along the top. He knew how to control himself, and this would not break him of that control. Dexter stroked Michael's left foot, ignoring the way the right one tortured him.
"If you had a choice, would you violate Harry's code or Section's?"
He paused for a second on that question. "I would never violate Harry's code," Dexter finally answered.
"So, you would break a Section rule first?"
"Yes, sir." Dexter massaged Michael's foot, running his hands over the curves even as Michael prodded his sore cock. "Will Madeline kill me for saying that, sir?"
"Are you afraid she will?"
"Not particularly, sir" Dexter admitted. He'd come to realize that he was just as flawed as the people who'd lives he'd taken. His own death would fit into Harry's code with an odd symmetry.
"She understands that Harry's code comes first," Michael offered, his toes pausing in their torment. "She values your skills both in investigations and the field."
"Sir, is that why she sends you?" Dexter asked, keeping his gaze focused on Michael's feet. There was something oddly erotic about being denied the right to service Michael in more personal ways.
"Yes." Michael answered simply. Dexter didn't answer, but he silently vowed to himself that he would continue being valuable and earning Michael's time. That, too was a form of control, and Dexter knew all the subtle ways to manipulate control. He worked his thumbs into the ball of Michael's left foot, lavishing all his attention and skill on that one piece of anatomy, admiring the shape and the strength as he tried to prove his worth again.
Roleplay (misc)
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"Are you here for the convention?" Dexter asked with a charming smile. He'd been picked in part because of Dr. Engleton's soft spot for a boyish face, and Dexter knew this part intimately. He'd played it for long enough before joining Section.
"Yes, and you?" she asked as she checked him out. Dexter's tailored gray suit and manicured hands matched the role he was playing, that of a doctor.
"I got volunteered by my practice. The drawback of being the youngest, I think," he said as he carefully wove his identity. He found this nearly as exciting as the kill these days. His cock twitched in interest, but after its workout with Michael, it wasn't enough to even distract him from his chosen prey. The game had changed, but this moment when he contacted his target, when they looked him in the eye and had every chance to escape, this role play had become a sacred part of his ritual. His Section backup was observing from a considerable distance, and now Dexter was a secret agent, role playing a doctor, hunting a serial killer. He wondered if Harry would smile at that convoluted twist in reality.
"These things are always boring," she admitted as she smiled and tilted her head, a sure sign she was interested. Dexter glanced shyly away and shrugged. "I'm Dr. Amanda Engleton. I specialize in exotic diseases, which means I travel quite a bit rather than have a steady practice." She held out her hand, and Dexter took it. He could feel himself flush with anticipation, but he had no doubt that she would misinterpret that reaction.
"Daniel Landry," Dexter introduced himself. "I'm just a general physician right now. Exotic diseases, though. That must be exciting."
"Sometimes," she agreed with a smile. "But it's usually just the same three diseases all the time, and I spend more time in airports running from one place to another than actually practicing medicine."
"That has to be hard. So, you didn't want to spend a weekend at home? I mean if I had the chance, I would have skipped this thing and stayed home."
"Stayed home with the wife and dog and 2.4 kids?" Dr. Engleton probed. Dexter flushed as he considered just how very wrong she was. So very, very wrong. But again, she misinterpreted the response. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."
"No, no," Dexter stumbled over himself to assure her. "I'm not actually married, and I guess I'm just really bad at this, probably because I'm not used to beautiful women even noticing me."
She laughed. "I'm surprised. Beautiful women should be fighting over you," she said as she reached over and laid a hand on his arm.
"Not so much. But then I'm working a lot. That's what killed the last relationship," he said sheepishly. He could feel her desire wrap around him like a mist, and he studied her. She was beautiful. Aging, but beautiful. She was taller than Madeline, and softer looking. Maybe that was the way her makeup was just a little smudged, the way her dark hair struggled to escape its combs and wisps gathered around her face. But she had the same sharp gaze that Dexter had learned to associate with killers. And Dexter was going to kill her.
"I don't want to sound forward, but this is the last day of the convention. Perhaps we could go out for a drink."
"I thought we were drinking," Dexter said as he gestured toward the wine glass in front of her.
"A more private drink," she amended herself with a mischievous grin that left no doubt as to her meaning.
"Oh! Oh." Dexter feigned embarrassment. If she was operating true to form, she'd take him to her hotel room and then offer to play with a few toys and chains. Dexter would cut off his own arm before he would submit to her, but he could certainly play his role. "I'm so sorry. I'm not normally this dense, and I would love to have a drink with you," he said, all awkward blushes that made her laugh and move closer. He could feel his own desire creeping up his spine. The game was intoxicating, maybe because later Madeline or Michael or Jurgen would tie him down and make him relive every moment, sharing in his kill and the pleasure of the kill. Madeline always looked so satisfied when he'd told her every detail, but it was Michael he really wanted to confess to. But first, he had a game to play through to the end.
"Come on," she said as she caught his hand and headed for the elevators. Dexter followed meekly, his fingers checking on the syringe of tranquilizer as they headed for her suite.
They had just reached the room when Dexter grabbed her in a headlock and sank the needle deep into her neck. "What are you..." she managed to get out before she slumped in his arms. Dexter moved her to the couch and then checked the three rooms he had available. The main room was the best. There was actually a dining room table that would function well to lay her out, and he could put his tools on the buffet.
A sharp rap on the door interrupted his thoughts, and Dexter pulled on his gloves before going and checking the peep hole. When he opened the door, a young woman in a maid's uniform pulled Dexter's two large bags out from under her cart and deposited them just inside the door. Dexter closed the door and smiled as the time for the ritual began.
By the time Dr. Amanda Engleton started to stir, Dexter had her stripped and bound in clear wrap and laid out on the dining room table. Plastic sheeting covered every soft surface, and his tools were carefully arranged on the buffet.
"What do you want?" she mumbled as the tranquilizer started to wear off.
"Dr. Engleton, you have been a very bad girl," Dexter said sadly as he opened her file. "Jean English, Ray Brockes, Jeffery Barklage, James Allen, Lloyd Patterson, Rosalie Celia Duncan, Ruth Holland, Myron Brown." He read the names of her victims, and he could see in her eyes that she knew exactly who they were.
"Who do you work for?" she demanded. "I have very powerful friends and very deep pockets."
"You're assuming I work for someone," Dexter shrugged as he flipped through her file. He did, but he would have killed her on the principle of it long before he'd met Section.
"Don't think I’m stupid. You're working for someone," she snapped. She struggled to free herself and then opened her mouth to scream, but the tranquilizer meant that she could only make weak attempts at either.
"I just like to kill. But unlike some people, I try to channel it where it can do some good," he said as he approached her. She stared at his scalpel and swallowed nervously.
"Please," she whispered. Dexter flicked the blade against her cheek and she gave a thin wail that wouldn't penetrate even hotel walls. And even if it did, Section had cleared the adjoining suites. He touched the pipette to the wound and collected his trophy. "Seriously? You're doing this because you like it?" she asked as he opened his trophy box and added her slide. He wasn't killing as fast as he had before going into Section; he probably would never catch up with Michael. However, the investigative work and the ability to submit his will to the three operatives could sometimes dull the edge of need in a way that Harry had never dreamed possible. Okay, if Dexter was honest, he wouldn't have ever wanted Harry to find that particular control mechanism. Some things a parent simply should not do.
"If you get off on killing, I can make you an offer that will make us both happy," she said desperately.
"No, you can't," Dexter said as he picked up his saw and turned it on. She couldn't even manage a weak scream as he ended her life in a spray of arterial blood.
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