Dexter Finds a Playground
Rated ADULT!!! Gloryholes, object penetration, fisting, breathplay, drugs, gunplay, bloodplay, object penetration

Gloryholes and Object Penetration (Toys)

Dexter slipped into the back of the dirty club and watched the other men, seeking a pattern in their behaviors so he could mimic them, hide among them. It wasn't easy in the dark, but that's why Dexter had sought this place out. In the dark, no one could see him. The men slipped through the darkness, moving without looking at each other.

Things had gone so wrong with Mary, so very wrong. It should have been perfect. He was the smart college student; she was the waitress. Dexter knew the script for their relationship, only he didn't. He finally had sex, and she had taken one look in his eyes at the one moment when all his defenses had gone down, and she knew. He didn't know how she'd known, but she had. She'd stammered some excuse and scrambled out of his bed, and Dexter couldn't even ask her why, because he knew. He knew what she'd seen.

And now Dexter was haunting these dark corners looking for sex that didn't come with a partner who looked you in the eye and found you lacking. A man brushed by Dexter and walked up to a plywood wall. Pulling his dick out, he stuck it through a hole and waited. It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds before he started groaning.

Somewhere on the other side was a man who was sucking some anonymous dick. Dexter wondered at the mind that would do that. Harry had always told him that sex was about connection, but there was no connection here.

Choosing a section of wall far from the others, Dexter pulled his own dick out and stuck it through the hole. Maybe his dick wasn't as attractive, or maybe he was too close to the wall for others to see it, but no one serviced him right away. Dexter started feeling ridiculous standing with his dick exposed, and he had almost decided to leave when a hot mouth sucked at just the tip, a tongue probed at his slit before the mouth slid all the way down.

Dexter slapped his hands against the plywood and panted as the talented mouth slid up and down, each stroke bringing Dexter closer to the edge until finally Dexter came with a hoarse shout. The anonymous mouth gave his cock one last lick and then vanished, leaving Dexter to pull his spit-damp cock back through the hole.

He'd orgasmed, but Dexter felt somehow worse than ever. That man... Dexter had a sudden urge to see the man who'd just sucked his dick without ever knowing that he was servicing a killer... a predator. Dexter hurried farther into the club, to the place where the plywood wall ended, and he looked behind it. Men were on their knees sucking cocks stuck through the wall, and Dexter watched.

These men couldn't see how the penis' owner looked, whether he liked or didn't like a certain technique. Dexter studied the faces of the men on their knees and what slowly turned his discomfort to anger was the fact that they were serving themselves. The man who had sucked Dexter hadn't served Dexter at all.

That fact shouldn't bother him. He should appreciate the irony of the man not seeing into Dexter's soul. He should accept the fact that they had each gained something from the experience, but instead Dexter felt uncomfortable, like he'd been taken advantage of.

"First time?" a voice next to Dexter asked. He looked over to find a man with a heavy mustache looking at him.

"Yeah," Dexter nodded.

"Gotta love the boys, all mouth and a desire to please,"

"They're only pleasing themselves," Dexter said with some disgust. The other man slapped him on the back.

"That they are. It usually takes men a little longer to catch onto that game. I’m Chuck."

"Daniel," Dexter offered the pseudonym he'd prepared.

"Well Daniel, you have boys who serve themselves, and boys who can be trained to serve their betters. You seem like the kind of man who would prefer the second."

Dexter looked at his new friend, studying him for some sign that the man had seen his true nature, but Chuck just smiled back with that same open expression Dexter saw on so many others.

"Yes," Dexter answered simply.

"This way," Chuck said as he took Dexter by the arm and led him deep into the dim room. Cigar smoke made Dexter cough, as they passed a table of men playing cards. One had a young man on his knees next to him, and the boy's elbows were pulled behind him so harshly that his back arched and his chest stuck out. He remained silent on his knees with his face a sketch in pain.

Chuck led them into an area where men leaned against tables and a long rough bar made from unfinished planks ran the length of the room. "I'm looking for a boy to torture. I have a new top to show the ropes, and I'm not planning on playing nice, so if you're some pussy who's going to cry to get let out the minute I get you strapped down and start hurting you, don't even waste my time."

Chuck looked around the room, and two or three men separated themselves from their groups. "You," Chuck said as he poked a thick finger toward the far side of the room at a Hispanic man wearing a leather harness and pants with bare feet. "Hurry it up," Chuck ordered and then he turned his back and walked away. Chuck followed, listening to the bare feet slap against the concrete as the chosen male ran to catch up with them.

"You ever play with their ass?" Chuck asked.

"No. I've read a lot about it, though," Dexter said. And he had. He'd researched a lot about this culture before he'd tried to infiltrate it.

"Not the same until you've seen a pussy boy crying for mercy," Chuck said with a chuckle as he patted a tall leather bench. "On your stomach," he told the Hispanic man, and the man climbed up on the bench. Chuck grabbed on wrist and started tying it off, and Dexter imitated his knots on the man's second hand. So by the time Chuck had pulled the victims arm down tight and tied the rope off against a brace, Dexter had done the same on his side. Chuck checked the knots.

"Good work."

"Now, the thing with the boys is that they always want only as much as they think they can handle, but a real top knows how to get more out of them without breaking them," Chuck said as he now started securing the man's knee and ankle. Dexter noticed that the pants had no crotch in them as he was working on securing the leg on his side.

"This one's well used," Chuck said as he stuck two fingers in the hole and then pulled them out and wiped his hand on the man's back.

"Loose," Dexter said as he watched.

"Yep. I figure I'll start with Big Bertha and work my way up from there. Chuck pulled out a large dildo and a tube of lube.

"Can I?" Dexter asked. He always found hands on training to be the best.

"Knock yourself out." Chuck handed over the supplied, and Dexter lubed the toy and slid it in a couple of inches until he hit some resistance. Then he worked slower, feeling the muscle fight him as he forced it deeper. The man tied to the bench moaned and Dexter worked the dildo in and out. The man was trying to squirm, and Dexter pushed the dildo as deep as it would go and watched the man's ass tighten around the base.

"Looks like he's ready for more," Chuck commented as he pulled a larger dildo out.

"He would come if we gave him enough slack to rub against the leather," Dexter pointed out as he lubed the new dildo and pushed it in faster than the last. The man cried out and started panting.

"That he would. Some boys are going to want to come. But the ones who are trained up right, they know they only get to come when we feel like it. They're here to suffer for us, we aren't here to play nursemaid to them."

Dexter worked the dildo, shoving it deep inside and pulling out in a rhythm that mimicked sex. The man was really moaning now, and Dexter shoved the dildo in and bent down to check the hole in the bench. The man's cock dangled down hard and red. "This is better than the gloryholes. The other men have too much control there. I need a larger dildo," Dexter said as he worked the large dildo easily in the sub's hole.

"Oh, you're going to be a popular man around here, Daniel," Chuck said as he gave over a huge dildo. Dexter had to work to push it in, and the sub moaned the whole time. Finally, Dexter got it in and started a slow fucking motion that left the sub straining against the ropes.

"I'm not going to let you come," Dexter announced to the man. I'm going to keep doing this as long as I feel like, and then I'm going to leave this thing in you as I go and get a drink, and then I’m going to decide if I feel like playing with you anymore. The sub just whined and Dexter set up a strong pace with his new toy. Oh yes, he liked this a lot more than the gloryholes.

Fisting

Dexter stalked the bar area of the club, the predator on the prowl for prey, only these prey so wanted to be chosen. Dexter could feel their need as he walked through them. When he thought about it, Dexter was fairly sure that Harry wouldn't mind his trips to the club. It allowed him to fit in. He fit in here better than he did anywhere else in his life. Here, he could be the predator, and men wanted him for it.

A half dozen men were watching him, but Dexter waited to find the one who wasn't quite brave enough to come out on his own, the one who watched with furtive glances. Finally, he spotted him, a boy with short curls and a full mouth.

"You," Dexter commanded. "I want someone who is going to suffer without whining or expecting to come in the end. Follow me."

Dexter walked away. Rarely, his chosen mark would run the other way, but unlike his other hunt, here, it didn't matter. If they didn't follow, then Dexter would find a half dozen men twitching to take the place of the one who ran. And the one who ran didn't think twice about Dexter, except possibly to regret the missed opportunity. Dexter had an excellent memory, so once someone ran, they were never chosen again.

"On the table," Dexter ordered the young man, and he quickly arranged himself. Like most of the subs, his pants split in the middle, so he pulled his cock free and placed it over the hole before laying down and waiting as Dexter tied him down tightly. Dexter had modified Chuck's approaching, adding a strap across the waist so the sub couldn't get even a hint of motion going. He pulled the strap so tight the sub grunted.

"Why do you let me do this?" Dexter asked curiously as he opened his bag and prepared his tools. He liked for them to see the options before he played with them. He picked up a mask that allowed Dexter to control the sub's access to oxygen and played with it while he waited for an answer.

"I... I don't know, sir," the sub finally said.

Dexter put the mask down and picked up a midsized dildo. "I could really hurt you, and you can't defend yourself."

The sub was moaning in need before Dexter even slipped the toy into him. Now that was interesting. "I could gag you and tie you and walk you out of here, and no one would stop me," Dexter warned. Then he sank the dildo deep into the sub, and the man cried out. "You know that, yes?"

"Yes, sir," the sub yelped as Dexter started a harsh rhythm. The sub panted.

"Do you think I will?" The sub didn't answer, and Dexter delivered a sharp slap to the man's back while still working his ass.

"No. I don't know, sir," the sub gasped. Dexter shoved the dildo in and walked to the man's head.

"I could. A part of me wants to try just to see how far you'd let me go," Dexter said. But there's a limit to what you deserve. Not everyone respects limits."

And not everyone did. Dexter had been disturbed at some of the college work this week. Some serial killers were just... wrong. They targeted people who didn't deserve to die. Dexter picked up a larger dildo and returned to his boy. He had to work to get it in, and the boy had tear-stained eyelashes by the time Dexter had gotten it in and started up a nice rhythm with it. "How far would you let me go?" Dexter asked.

"I don't know," the sub whispered, "sir," he added after a pause.

"Would you let me take you somewhere private?"

"Yes, sir. You're known around here, and you wouldn't be if you weren't careful, sir," the sub said. Dexter paused with the dildo deep in the boy's ass. He was known. Harry had always told him to avoid being seen. But then again, being known meant that they trusted him, which had to imply that he had successfully fooled them or they would not give him such liberties.

Dexter went back to his bag and pulled out a heavy rubber glove, putting it over his hand and lubing it heavily.

"Oh god," the sub groaned, but he didn't say no. That was significant. Why did these people put so much trust in him. Could they see that he had a code that protected them? He wasn't a killer like the ones he was studying in school. They had no code. He had a code.

Dexter pulled the dildo out and slipped four finger into the boy immediately.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," the boy muttered as if it was a mantra. Dexter worked slowly but steadily, pushing and twisting until he could curl his fingers, and then he slipped the thumb in side. The sub's ass closed around his wrist, and Dexter pushed.

"Oh god, oh god," the sub called louder.

"One sharp jab would be enough to perforate the colon and allow fecal material to contaminate your internal organs. The hospital would have to operate and put you on massive antibiotics and even then, you might not survive," Dexter warned as he pushed in a little farther. "Do you still trust me?"

"Yes, sir," the sub cried out, and everything tightened. Dexter's hand was uncomfortably squeezed then then the sub went lax. Well that didn't happen very often. Dexter started working his hand back out, disappointed that the sub's orgasm had ended the game. Some tops considered it a victory if the sub orgasmed without having his cock touched, but Dexter always considered it a failure when the sub came without his direct control. He'd lost this round.

Dexter stripped off the glove and tossed it at the garbage. Then he started working on the ropes that tied the sub down.

"Sir," the sub said quietly. Dexter looked up at him. "I trust you because you always admit to having a darker side and to controlling it. It's the ones who claim that they don't have a darker side, that they want to see us have pleasure, they're the ones who worry me."

Dexter rocked back on his heels and studied the boy's face. Now that was unexpected.

Breathplay

Dexter needed something. He needed to feel control over his life right now, and he could feel that control sliding away. He hated professor Sorensen. Hated him. How dare he turn Dexter into the laughing stock of the class?

Dexter could feel the anger rolling just below his skin as he hit the club. So many of the men would talk about not playing when they were angry, but that's what fueled Dexter: anger and a need for control. He would dominate a man and then go home and masturbate for a month off that hot memory. He never came in the club, not after the very first day when he'd used a glory hole, because when he came, he lost control. The man getting the orgasm out of him took the control. But there was a sexual satisfaction from watching them come, and the masturbation later filled all his sexual needs.

Something in his posture must have warned them, because most of the boys avoided his gaze. He could respect that. Like him, these boys had learned to read human emotion and motivation. Like him, they used that knowledge to fit into their world, and right now, they knew they couldn't handle him.

Dexter searched the crowd for the gaze that wouldn't flinch, for the boy who would do whatever he wanted. Thumping his bag down on a table in the corner, Dexter caught the eye of a bright-eyed blond boy staring straight at him. With a crook of the finger, Dexter summoned him, and the boy came trotting over without a moment's hesitation. He was going to be sorry for that later.

"Kneel," Dexter ordered as he pointed to a spot at his feet. The boy instantly lowered himself, and looked up at Dexter from under long bangs. From out of his bag, Dexter pulled his sub breathing mask. The boy's eyes went wide, but as the waiter approached, the boy sat quietly as Dexter fitted the clear plastic carefully over his nose and mouth and tightened the straps behind the sub's head, making sure the seal was air tight all the way around.

"Anything to drink?" the waiter asked as he glanced down. Dexter knew that the club owner was leery of this form of playing. Breathplay and bloodplay were dangerous games, not for amateurs. Dexter wasn't an amateur. "Ice tea," Dexter said as he pulled out a thick vibrating plug and lubed it. "Shove this up your ass," Dexter ordered the sub as he handed it over.

The sub looked up at him in surprise, but obediently took the plug and reached around behind him. The mask was already fogging as the sub breathed, the open valve on the bottom not quite large enough for all the moisture to clear from each breath.

"I want this tight," Dexter said as he handed over a specialty vibrator that went around the base of the balls. The sub obediently took it and wrapped it around himself.

"Don't think this means you're going to come or even particularly enjoy this," Dexter warned.

"I don't, sir. I understand," the sub agreed, his voice muffled by the mask.

"Good." Dexter started pulling out the restraints now. He locked the ankles into a spreader bar and tightly bound the boy's elbows so that his chest thrust out. A bracket in the center of the spreader bar allowed him to add heavy leather cuffs, and he locked the boy's wrists into those. The boy was now awkwardly bent back and Dexter pulled up the remotes dangling from the plug and the ball vibrator and hooked them to a leather armband he attached to the boy.

The waiter appeared with the tea, and Dexter took the glass. "How old are you?" Dexter asked the man at his feet.

"Twenty-two, sir." Strange. The boy was older than he was, but Dexter felt infinitely older than his own twenty-one years.

"When did you start coming to places like this?" Dexter reached down and fingered the valve that would cut off the boy's oxygen. He could see the panic in the boy's eyes, and really, it was such a normal human reaction, to panic when threatened with the loss of air.

"Two years ago, sir."

"How did you find it?"

"On the internet, sir."

"You know I'm going to cut off your oxygen whether you answer right or not," Dexter said with some amusement.

"Yes, sir," the sub agreed. Dexter turned the valve to the full off position. The sub's mouth went open, and Dexter could see him struggle to remain calm as seconds passed. It must have been a good minute before the boy started pulling against his restraints. And mere seconds, after that, he was arching his back and straining as his body finally figured out air was not coming. Dexter flipped the trigger on the butt plug vibrator and the sub's whole body stiffened before Dexter reached over and opened the breathing valve.

He could hear the harsh sucking sound as the man gulped air. Dexter reached over and turned the vibrator off.

The sub shivered and slowly his breathing slowed as he relaxed back into his kneel. "You can't stop me from doing that again. All I have to do is catch you on an out breath, and you won't even be able to make a muffled call for help," Dexter pointed out.

The sub looked up at him. "I know, sir," he answered.

"So, do you come here often or when you're feeling something in particular?" Dexter asked.

"When I'm feeling stressed, sir."

Dexter reached down and turned the valve to half off, and immediately the sub slowed his breathing, sucking deeply to get air through the half-closed vent.

"What stresses you enough to bring you to me?"

"Being out... of control... at work... sir," the sub fought against the limited air flow to talk.

"If you're out of control there, why do you seek to lose control here?" Dexter asked with honest confusion.

"Here I choose... who I want... to give control... over to, sir."

"It's an illusion of control," Dexter pointed out as he waited for the out breath to turn the knob to full off. This was more dangerous, and the sub would pass out quicker, so Dexter watched carefully as the sub almost immediately starting straining and arching, his mouth open in a desperate search for air. Dexter reached over and turned the valve to one quarter and listened to the harsh struggle to breathe. The man's body was still tight, but he wasn't straining against the bonds. Dexter triggered the plug and watched as the man's cock quickly inflated. The ring around the balls had to hurt now, but the sub wasn't saying much about it. He pulled air as hard as he could, but his body wanted to pant, and the lack of air was quickly draining him of fight.

Dexter turned off the plug and waited another second before turning the mask to full on.

"You have no control. You chose me without knowing who I truly am, what kind of monster I have inside. You gave control to me, and I may not be the type to ever give it back," Dexter pointed out. For long seconds, he only heard the quick and labored breathing as the man tried to get oxygen to his starved body.

"Control out there is an illusion too, sir. At least this is honest."

"Is it?" Dexter thought about that. He was certainly closer to his real self here than in his classes or sitting at dinner with his sister. Maybe the sub had something there.

"Daniel!" a voice called out, and Dexter looked up to see Chuck coming. He smiled at his onetime mentor.

"You do have the prettiest boys," Chuck said as he dropped into a chair across from Dexter. "What are you up to tonight?"

"The boy can't even breath without my permission," Dexter said as he reached over and fingered the valve without moving it. He could see the boy's slight flinch as though he would turn away, but he didn't. "I'm going to sit here all night and turn his air on and off, and turn the vibrators on and off until he's hard and aching and desperate to get out of my chains."

"Ah, so nice to see a young man learning how to train the boys up right," Chuck said with honest pleasure. "Waiter, a bourbon," he called across the room. He turned back to Dexter, and Dexter watched a couple of boys avidly argue over the right to bring Chuck his drink.

"Would you like to play a game of chess?" Dexter asked as he reached over and cut the sub's air off again.

"I'd love to." Chuck turned to the room. "Someone grab us that chess set," he bellowed as he poked a thick finger toward a far table, and Dexter watched his sub start to strain. He flipped the vibrator around the man's cock and then rested his chin on his hand and watched curiously as the lack of air and vibration did its job. Maybe the boy was right. Maybe this was honesty. Dexter liked honest.

Kink Bingo: Drugs (with a side order of bloodplay)

Dexter watched his chosen prey. He had a ten hour window to work in, and he had high hopes for this drug. He'd already rejected three other drugs because of their side effects, but etorphine hydrochloride acted fast and should immobilize the prey quickly. The young man in the business casual clothing and streaked blond hair that made him look like a California surf boy stepped out of a taxi and paid the driver quickly. He was apprehensive.

Dexter watched as the man hurried into his apartment, no doubt secure in the knowledge he'd be safe there. He wouldn't be. Dexter turned and strolled toward the side of the apartment building where an abandoned coffeeshop offered easy access.

Pulling on his gloves, Dexter ran a mental checklist before he headed for the side door he'd already forced open. Inside his tools were all laid out, and Dexter ran his hand along the prep table he'd chosen as his work surface before heading for the ladder to the roof access. Moving his prey might be tricky, but Dexter was strong, and Shawn was not a large man. Dexter popped out onto the roof and double checked that the windows between him and Shawn were all dark. It was early evening, and the others would probably be out for a while.

Within seconds, Dexter was at Shawn's window, slowly sliding up the window. He'd disabled the lock and removed the screen already. Inside, the shower was running, so Shawn obviously intended to go to the club tonight. Well, Dexter had other plans for him.

The living room was shadowed as Dexter slid along the wall, so when Shawn came out in just his boxers, he didn't immediately see Dexter. In fact, he didn't see Dexter until Dexter had slammed into him from behind, trapping Shawn against the refrigerator and slipping the needle into his neck.

Shawn had time to look back and mouth Dexter's name silently before his eyes glazed over and Dexter carefully let him slide to the ground. Shawn's head flopped to one side, and Dexter crouched down next to him, brushing his hair back from his eyes.

"How does it feel to be the captured prey?" Dexter asked curiously, but Shawn's eyes just slowly sagged shut. "I supposed how you feel about it is rather moot at this point," Dexter shrugged as he pulled Shawn up and got a shoulder under the man's stomach. Shawn mumbled without actually protesting as Dexter maneuvered them both out the bedroom window, onto the roof of the coffee shop and then down into the shop proper.

Dexter had time to lay Shawn out and chain his feet and wrists into heavy padded leather restraints before Shawn started making almost coherent moans. His eyes fluttered open, and immediately found Dexter, even in the low light of a camping lantern hanging from an old hook in the ceiling.

"Daniel?" he mumbled, his voice low and strained.

"I caught you," Dexter pointed out, even though it did seem rather redundant. This was the first time Dexter had used M-99 tranquilizer, so he wasn't sure how much Shawn would understand. Dexter needed to find a drug that allowed the prey to understand what he was saying to them.

"Yes, sir," Shawn agreed as his eyes flicked around the room.

"Can you move your arms and legs?" Dexter asked as he ran a gloved hand down Shawn's arm. He could feel the arm tremble and tense with the effort, but he was so weak that a string would have been enough to hold him flat against the table.

"I'm sorry, sir," Shawn apologized when it was clear that he didn't have enough muscle control to actively fight the restraints, and Dexter had left him two or three inches of play in each chain so the prey could fight, but apparently he didn't have any fight in him.

"It's the drug," Dexter assured him. "It will wear off in a few hours. Meanwhile, do you remember what we discussed earlier?"

"Yes, sir," Shawn nodded but his eyes still had that blurry drugged look. Dexter might need to lower the dosage or allow more time for his prey to wake up before truly getting to work on them.

"Tell me what I'm going to do," Dexter ordered as a way to test the boy's mental abilities.

"If I could stay out of your control for six hours, you'd let me come, but I didn't, sir," Shawn sad sadly. There was mental functioning, but clearly not full mental functioning.

"And what will I do with you now?" Dexter prompted him.

Shawn blinked a couple of time and then smiled. "Knifeplay, sir."

"You gave your consent for a man to capture, drug, and cut you. That seems suicidal," Dexter pointed out as he picked up his favorite knife.

"Not with you," Shawn said with that same blissful smile.

Dexter put the flat blade against Shawn's chest. "Why not with me?" he asked. More than any other top in the club, Dexter was capable of murder. Dexter had committed more than one murder, and while hunting and hurting his prey at the club took an edge off the way hunting animals with Harry had, it never totally fed the need that Dexter still had in his soul.

"You wouldn't ever kill one of us, sir," Shawn said with utter conviction. Dexter drew his knife down the center of Shawn's chest and watched at the skin parted leaving a red trail that slowly cried drops of blood that rolled down his chest.

"How much did that hurt?" Dexter asked. If Shawn weren't drugged, he would label that a 7 or 8, especially since it was the first cut and he wouldn't be in the right psychological place to endure the larger cuts yet.

"Five, sir," Shawn said, and Dexter could see the man's cock start to tent his boxers. Dexter watched the individual drops of blood, each leaving their own trail behind as they rolled off Shawn's body. He pressed the knife against Shawn's side hard enough that the flesh bulged on either side of the knife and the blood drop suddenly change direction.

"Why do you trust me?" Dexter asked curiously.

"Something always stops you, sir."

"Something always stops all the tops from doing real harm," Dexter pointed out, but Shawn was already shaking his head so that his hair flopped back and forth.

"You want to do real harm, but you won't, sir. From the time you walk into the club, you feel the same need to hurt us, but you don't ever get lost in that need. You don't ever get lost in the scene. You're the only one I'd trust to do this, sir," Shawn disagreed. Dexter frowned as he pressed his thumb into the cut. Blood welled up and Shawn hissed in pain even as his cock hardened. Clearly Shawn was feeling some pain, which was necessary for Dexter's purposes. His victims—the ones who didn't want to be prey and didn't want to be hurt—they needed to feel the pain of death as they'd brought it to others. Dexter put etorphine hydrochloride M-99 down as a real possibility for his new hunting drug of choice.

"There are a lot of psychos out there. You still shouldn't put yourself in a position where you can't defend yourself," Dexter pointed out, and the second the words were out of his mouth, he frowned. No, he certainly wasn't worried about Shawn or the other subs in the traditional sense. He wouldn't especially care if one had a heart attack, but he disliked the idea of anyone else preying on them. Maybe that was Harry's code about protecting the weak coming through. Dexter pushed that puzzling thought to the side as he walked down to the end of the table where Shawn's feet lay. Time to find out how much control Shawn had and how long it took for him to get control back.

"You're not going to like this," Dexter warned as he brought the tip of his knife to the bottom of Shawn's foot. As Dexter pushed the knife in just deep enough to really hurt, Shawn twitched his foot barely enough to make the chain attached to his ankle cuff rattle against the metal table and then he lay still with his hard cock sticking up and making an impressive wet spot on the front of his shorts, and his silence gave Dexter permission to do whatever he wanted. Now that was a turn on. Dexter shifted as his own erection pressed against his pants, but Dexter ignored it. This was about control, and Dexter had the control to wait until he'd done this job properly. He moved the knife to Shawn's other foot.

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Kink Bingo: Gunplay/object penetration

Dexter laid his tools out for the other top to examine: the breathing control mask, three knives, two dildos, a vibrator, one flogger, two whips, nipple clamps, a cock and ball stretcher, a brass cock plug, a couple of urethral sounds, his anal scope, and his newest toy, a lexan cane that was light enough for Dexter to swing it without getting tired. Last he pulled out a small S&W Model 10 handgun with a four inch barrel. Dexter could hear the other top suck in a breath at the sight of the weapon.

Dexter smiled as he studied the instruments laid out in neat rows. The noise of the club had faded to a distant thrum as he focused on the growing need for power... for control. And there were so many willing to give him his control. He turned to study the pretty boys who were circling the space Dexter had claimed as his own for the night.

Some were desperate, pressing forward until they stood dangerously near the area. Dexter dismissed them immediately. He wanted more timid prey. So he studied the more distant corners of the club. He knew most of the men here, and a few of the tops gave him a respectful nod as he looked their way.

He'd always hidden in the shadows, learning every lesson Harry had taught him about surviving in the dark corners of society. However, Harry had never known that so many others were hiding in those same shadows. There was Mike... his real name was Michael Lopez and he managed a used car lot. He liked to whip the boys. Ricky was really Rashad Saran, a teacher at the local high school and he was particularly interested whenever blood was drawn. When Dexter would take a knife to some boy's back, Ricky would always shift closer, but he watched more often than he actually played with the boys himself. It gave Dexter a sense of power over the other tops that he knew so much about them. If they had ever tried to track him, they would only find the identity he had created for himself, that of the mysterious recluse Daniel Kreisler.

But right now, Dexter was more interested in the boys gathered around the room. There were more subs than tops in the room most nights, and tonight was no exception. Shawn was near the long bar, watching with furtive glances, and Dexter considered going back to that boy. Even now, he could feel Shawn's hesitation. He knew how hard Dexter played, and he both wanted and feared that attention, even if he did trust Dexter. That still amused Dexter—the depth to which these boys trusted him. Paul was near the center of the bar... Dexter had played hard with him, cutting off his air with a casual twist of a knob on the breathing mask. By the time Dexter had untied him, Paul had been limp and exhausted and as hard as a man could get. The second Dexter had turned his back to indicate the scene was over, Paul had masturbated right in the middle of the club. Like Shawn, Paul watched him with both caution and need.

But Dexter always preferred the unknown prey, the ones who were nothing more than a body for him to work with.

"How do you choose?" John asked with an eagerness that annoyed Dexter. He glanced over at the other top and wondered for a moment why he had agreed to this. But even as he felt that annoyance, he knew why he had agreed to teach John. He could always force the boys to talk to him. He'd get them to confess their fears, to lay out their need to submit, to beg for him to take control because they didn't trust their own control. They would crawl at his feet and offer as much of their souls as Dexter demanded, but none of them ever told Dexter what he really wanted to know: why Dexter felt the need to take their control away. Only another top could explain that, but the lines between tops were so much more difficult for Dexter to navigate. John would be his window into another's need to dominate. He was a top, but he was a top who would owe his allegiance to Dexter. And to get access to that insight, Dexter had to share something of himself.

This frightened him more than any game he played with a boy. This came too close to exposing his own secrets, but Dexter had already mentally prepared his battle lines—what he was willing to share and what he was not. Clearing his face of any trace of emotion, Dexter turned back to the crowd.

"I don't want a boy who is rushing to get into my chains. If he wants in my chains it's because he knows what he wants, and I want a boy who will serve me and not look for me to fill his fantasy," Dexter answered his protégé as he scanned the room. There—a black man, young, his hair cropped close to his head and a wide-eyed look of hope and desperation on his face. Dexter's glance meant nothing to him, which suggested he was new. Dexter liked that too. He headed into the crowd and boys shifted out of his way, some looking disappointed and others angry as Dexter passed them.

He closed in on his prey, and dark, apprehensive eyes finally focused on Dexter. "I don't play nice. I'll make you suffer and beg, and I probably won't let you come so you'll be hard and hurting until I let you down and you can masturbate yourself," Dexter announced matter-of-factly. The boy's mouth came open and he swallowed several times before he managed a brief nod. Dexter turned around to head back to his area, and he almost walked into John who was right there behind him. John stepped to the side and Dexter strode back to his work area. He gave each of the chains attached to the wood frame a test pull and they were solid. Everything was ready.

The boy was right behind him, and Dexter gestured toward the frame. Skittish eyes went from the bench where Dexter had laid out his tools to the frame, to the audience who had started to gather. Dexter could see the tremors in the boy's hands, but Dexter didn't offer any reassurance as he checked over his tools, his hands skimming over them, lovingly touching each one.

John took a deep breath, and Dexter shot him a silencing look before the man could say something that would ruin this moment. The prey had to choose to enter the trap; just like when Dexter hunted for real. That prey had to choose their own death by being killers; this prey had to walk into Dexter's bonds. Slowly the boy moved toward the frame, and Dexter waited as he took his position. Unlike most of the bottoms, this one actually had on normal jeans, so no access to his cock or his asshole.

"Strip off the jeans," Dexter ordered without turning around. He watched out of the corner of one eye as the boy's hands fluttered around his fly as he tried to decide whether to run or submit. Dexter wasn't surprised when he slowly unfastened his jeans. Soon, the boy was naked from the waist down and wore only the leather vest. Only then did Dexter turn and start chaining him into place: his arms stretched wide toward the upper corners of the frame and his legs spread.

The boy started breathing hard, the panic starting to truly set in now, and this was when Dexter had to show his art. Dexter finally turned his attention to the sub, to studying the way his stomach muscles twitched and the way he fought the wrist restraints. Dexter reached out and ran his hand over the bare skin, feeling the heat between them. This was the most intimate thing he could do short of killing, and Dexter gave the boy his full attention. Immediately, the sub settled.

Dexter circled the restraining frame and then ended up in front of the sub again as he studied the boy's reaction. "If I threatened to control your breathing, to strap on a mask that only allowed you to breathe when I wanted you to..." Dexter paused long enough to let the boy really think about that one. "Or if I threatened to pick up a gun and trace the line of your muscle and watch your skin crawl from the cold metal pressing against it... which do you fear more?"

The boy swallowed several times, his gaze darting over to the counter where Dexter had laid out his tools. Dexter reached out and grabbed the boy's slowly hardening cock, pulling it so that the boy yelped and went to his toes as he tried to ease the pressure. "Which do you fear more?" Dexter asked again in the same tone.

"The gun. I fear the gun more," the boy blurted immediately. While Dexter didn't care about the lack of respect in the boy's voice, this society had rules, and the boy had to learn the rules. Dexter pulled the cock a little higher until the boy whined low in his throat. "Sir," the boy finally added. Dexter held the boy's cock for another second before he slowly released it, watching as the boy's wide eyes studied him.

Turning away, Dexter turned to his tools. He picked up the gun. It wasn't loaded, and the fact was that the breathing mask was far more dangerous, but this is what the sub feared. Dexter had long ago given up trying to understand fear. But if the boy feared the gun, then Dexter would use it. He turned around with the gun in his hand, and the boy exploded into motion, struggling against the cuffs. But for all his flailing, he didn't call out to the audience who now watched with unwavering attention.

The moment Dexter let the cool metal touch the boy's chest, he froze, his breath shallow as he stared at the dull metal. Letting it slide down the boy's chest, Dexter used the barrel to nudge the hard cock and lifted the cock's head as he studied it. The boy feared the gun, but the fear excited him. Sometimes Dexter wondered if the boys didn't see the world more clearly. His sister had gone through a phase where she'd taped her favorite quotes to random spots in the house, and Dexter still remembered one: "We must travel in the direction of our fear." Well, he was helping this boy travel the direction of his fear.

Dexter slid the gun down and used it to prod at the boy's balls. With his hands curled into tight fists, the boy started straining against the wrist cuffs, his arm muscles standing out in cords as he fought against the restraints that forced him to stand still as Dexter ran the muzzle of the gun across his peritoneum. "You're afraid," Dexter commented as he reached up and ran a thumb over the boy's nipple.

"Yes. Can't we just use something el—." The boy ended with a startled scream as Dexter reached down and grabbed his ball hard enough to bring tears to the boy's eyes.

"There are rules... a code that is always respected when you're here," Dexter informed him without letting go of the boy's balls. "You must be respectful. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," he squeaked out. Dexter released the balls and studied the boy more closely. Sweat stood out on his chest.

"Why does the gun scare you so much?" he asked curiously as he turned back to his tools. He needed lube for the next part. He pulled a rubber glove out and slid a single finger of the glove over the barrel of the gun, using his own body to block the boy's view.

"It just does, sir."

Dexter didn't answer that, and he could hear the chains rattle behind him as the boy shifted nervously. "You could shoot me," the sub added with reluctance.

"I could kill you with most of my tools. I could take my knife and slit you open from the breastbone down to the genitals and watch your blood and guts spill out." Dexter used scissors to cut the extra latex off the glove before he added lube to it. "I could strap a breathing mask on you and then turn the valve to off. I could take my cane to your lower back where vital organs are most vulnerable. The gun is not the only danger here." Dexter started circling, cradling the gun in his hand so that the sub couldn't see it, but he would know it was there. "Why do you fear the gun?"

The boy was silent for a long moment, until Dexter stopped and studied him. "I really don't know, sir. I just... I just do." For a moment, Dexter considered pushing the man, but he could relate to the idea of acting without understanding one's own actions. Instead of challenging the boy, he walked around to his back and ran a finger down his spine. The boy's body reacted predictably, shivering and then arching into the touch. Dexter didn't give any warning before he then shoved the gun deep into the boy's ass.

Leaning forward, he rested his weight against the boy's back, feeling the heat and the frozen panic in the boy. "You know what I just put inside you, right?"

The boy just swallowed. Dexter could feel even that small movement as he embraced the boy, one arm around the sub's waist and the other holding the gun inside. Slowly, Dexter began to twist the gun, pulling it out just a little bit before thrusting it back in. He slid his hand down until his open hand rested on the boy's abdomen right above his curled hair. "I love the feel of your body when you're stiff with fear. I like the way that smells," Dexter confessed. He started thrusting the gun in deeper and pulling it out a little farther each time. "I'm going to go home tonight and lay in bed thinking of you helpless and afraid, and I'm going to come," he informed the sub. He could feel the body tremble with desire, and he altered the direction of his thrusts just enough to hit the prostate gland.

The boy shuddered, his whole body undergoing a miniature spasm as he threw his head back. "Please, sir," he begged.

"Please what?"

"Please... please finish me off, fuck me, anything, sir," the boy pleaded, and Dexter was disappointed. He preferred it when he had to fight harder to earn the sub's capitulation. But Dexter didn't have much time to think about it because then the boy was coming with a hoarse scream that made the audience sigh with a communal pleasure. Dexter stepped back and pulled the glove off the gun, throwing it at a nearby trash can. The sub spilled his come on the concrete floor, the splatter pattern reminding Dexter of a very small arterial bleed the way the drops lay on the ground. For a second Dexter just stared at it.

"I'm sorry, sir. I really didn't mean to. I didn't know I was going to come so quick, sir."

Dexter glanced over and the sub was hanging limply while still mouthing words of apology. "Get him down," he told John who was standing to the side with eyes dark with lust. It took John a few seconds to realize that Dexter meant him and then he rushed to get the boy down. Dexter was disappointed. He would still masturbate to this session, but he wouldn't come as hard as he did when he remembered his mock attack on Shawn.

Well, there was nothing he could do now, and Dexter definitely didn't want to play with another boy. He'd had his chance to do something beautiful with his canvas, and tonight he'd failed. Hopefully he would do better when he had his drink with John and discussed the source of desire—specifically for those who desired control and dominance. Dexter still might be able to salvage the evening. And who knows, maybe John would turn out to be a respectable chess player.

While John lowered the boy to the cold concrete and helped him catch his breath, Dexter packed his tools, his mind already on the rest of the evening and the game he wanted to play tomorrow.

Amputee Fetish/ Sensation Play

Dexter watched the play area over his drink. The boy strapped down was pleading for mercy, far too vocal for Dexter's tastes, but every top had his own preference. Dexter liked to gag the boys into silence and work with the minute twitches of their muscles and the line of their fearful gazes. However, Gus liked to hear them begging.

A boy hesitated near Dexter, his eyes wide and hopeful, but Dexter ignored him. The willing submission of flesh under his hands was growing to bore Dexter even as his reputation had opened doors in local clubs and given him access to any sub he wanted. Boy after boy yielded to his whip. They laid their lives in his hands, trusting him to not kill them. Dexter enjoyed the irony as much as the acts he committed on their bodies.

Gus' boy fell silent, the sight of a long cane silencing him where the whip hadn't. Dexter leaned forward and watched Gus. The sharp-faced dom searched the boy's body with a dark lust that wasn't just about sexuality. It was power. Right now, Gus had it. Dexter had read so many articles about the sub having the power, and the naiveté in that amused him. The sub had the power in nice, safe clubs where men signed contracts and negotiated every move. In places like this, the subs had only one choice—who they trusted with their submission and their life. Every other choice was the dom's... at least when the subs chose men like Dexter and Gus. And they did.

In the corner, a man grunted as he sucked on the cock of a man who was drinking a beer, and that vignette caught Dexter's attention for a moment... the way the dom appeared to not even notice the boy on his knees. That wasn't how Dexter dealt with a sub on his knees. Dexter was closer to Gus, and that's where he turned his gaze now.

Dexter knew exactly what the sub would say if Gus bent over and whispered in his ear. He'd say that he needed to let go of his control... that he was more honest, more real when he let go. The manager locked the doors to the club, and several of the men started shifting. Anyone not otherwise engaged would have a chance to state his preferences and try and find a partner for the night in the circle that was forming on the other end, but Dexter ignored that half of the club. He watched as Gus pulled the prosthetic arm from the sub and fingered the stub of the arm.

The sub lay still and panted, the stripes from his recent caning having left even tracks across his back. Gus used the boy's silence to finger the slick, scarred skin. Gus fascinated Dexter. Sitting in the darkest corner where Gus and his sharp eyes couldn't see him, Dexter watched as Gus abandoned the cane and used a finger to trace over the old injury.

The sub twisted, his stump of an arm raising up before he sagged back down onto the bench where his other three limbs were restrained. From the expression on his face, Dexter was guessing that Gus hated that missing limb, but he couldn't resist touching it, feeling it. Leaning forward, Dexter strained to see every nuance of that scene. Picking up a knife, Gus traced a line down the back of the boy's arm, and when he raised the knife, Dexter could see the red stain along the edge of the blade. That would sting. Only now Gus reached into his water and retrieved an ice cube.

The sub said something too softly for Dexter to hear from his space in the shadows, and Gus tilted his head, his sharp features softening into something almost sympathetic before the mask slipped back into place. Dexter wondered if that's how he looked to others... or if there was anyone else who watched him closely enough to even say with authority what Dexter looked like. He'd played the parts Harry had given him for so long that Dexter didn't know what he had inside when the mask slipped. The subs came closest to seeing him. They crept around the edges of his world, well aware of the predator among them, and Dexter enjoyed the freedom that gave him.

He had his first job... for the police department of all things, but sometimes Dexter wished that just one person could see him. He was the geek, the squint who knew all things about blood but nothing about anything else. It was an easy role to play, but he felt sometimes as if it would suffocate him.

Gus traced the line his knife had followed, this time with the ice, and Dexter could see the sub's hand clench into a fist. The cold should numb the sting, but in that case, why inflict the sting at all? This was the third time Dexter had watched Gus work, and he still could not understand the other man. Now Gus picked up a feather and started on the mangled stub end of the limb, brushing the delicate edges over the abused skin.

At first, the sub didn't react as he lay still, obviously gathering his resources. However, the moment Gus reached skin with undamaged nerve tissue, the boy jerked and gave a rough yell that would have annoyed Dexter. He did so hate having his work interrupted. Gus grabbed the stump in one hand, slamming it back down to the table before he continued to trace the edges of the damaged skin with his feather as the sub writhed and humped. He dropped the feather and grabbed the cane, bringing it down on the injured limb so fast that the sub didn't have time to stop writhing before he screamed.

"Red! Red!" A couple of other doms unobtrusively waited to see if Gus would respect the rules, but when Gus started freeing the boy from all the straps, the other members of the club continued to wander on their merry way.

Dexter leaned back farther into the shadow and listened as other subs discuss whether they would have safeworded out.

"Sensation play tricks the mind... makes everything worse," an older sub whispered to his friend.

"Wimp," his friend offered without much sympathy. "And Karl's a huge wuss for calling that off," he added even more dismissively. The subs had their own rules, rules set by their peers and not the doms, but Dexter generally didn't worry about them. Other subs would line up to see for Gus next time, hoping to prove they could go farther and this Karl would need to redeem himself. Ignoring that relationship for now, Dexter focused on Gus's reactions. Instead of showing any disappointment or frustration, Gus was watching the sub with a sort of satisfaction. He had intended to force the boy to safeword out.

Dexter had taken his boys deeper into the experience. He'd left his boys bleeding and gasping and crawling, and they still came back for more. Gus's boy had a neat row of cane stripes down his back, a lacework of whip tracks under that, but he didn't look nearly as bad as most of Dexter's toys. And yet he couldn't stand without bracing himself on the bench where he had just been strapped. Right about now, Dexter would be tending his tools, including tending the sub who had become his for the length of their exchange. But Gus continued to watch the boy struggle for balance and grope for his prosthetic arm without reacting at all. He found it and clutched it to his chest, unwilling or unable to put it on over the deep cane score on his injured limb.

Gus exchanged a few words with the boy, and then the sub went wandering off with a dazed expression, and Gus sat on the bench, looking around the room--very much like a cat considers the cage from which he has just stolen a canary. When that gaze wandered his direction, Dexter scooted a little farther back into the shadows.

More than any other, this new dom interested Dexter. Clearly, Gus enjoyed the power, but Dexter was still restless and annoyed. He understood no more than when he had first seen Gus identify his prey. On the table, a business card waited, and Dexter fingered the edges, wondering if he dared expose himself to the eyes of so many tops at once. The subs saw his predatory nature, but they understood the rules and appreciated his ruthless pursuit of perfection. They had some strange sense that he wouldn't ever kill or maim then, and he wouldn't. Doms, however, were still a largely unknown quantity in Dexter's research. Pushing aside that decision for later, Dexter slipped the card away into his wallet, a wallet that carried a full set of identification for Daniel Kreisler, a well-respected member of Miami's leather underground.

Gangbang

Dexter walked into the empty office space, a half dozen other tops greeting him with slaps on the back and nods. Imitating their behavior, Dexter acknowledged them. "Chuck" was here—the dom who had first shown Dexter into this world—and "Ricky" who loved bloodplay. Dexter was surprised to see him; he enjoyed watching more than participating and tonight was supposed to be an old fashioned gang-bang. Dexter hadn't yet decided whether or not to penetrate the sub since he was more into the pain than the sex, but being invited into such a large group of doms was a triumph of his camouflage.

"Daniel!" Chuck called out, grabbing Dexter's shoulder and pulling him along. "Good to see you. I keep telling Logan we need to start grooming the next generation or else these yuppie boys with their fucking limits and negotiations are going to ruin the scene. Sometimes I wish for the old days where condoms didn't exist and if you saw some boy with the right bandana, you could just grab him up and do what you wanted," he sighed as thought mightily put upon.

Nodding knowingly, Dexter silently thought to himself that he would have used a condom even without AIDS to contend with. Studying blood, he knew what corruption bodily fluids could carry. "Logan, this is Daniel. I'm telling you, he's got a strong hand with his boys," Chuck said as he introduced Dexter to a short man with a heavy mustache and wide shoulders.

"Logan," Dexter offered briefly. The man had a challenging glare... it reminded Dexter of Gus, only Logan was looking at him. Dexter turned to study the room rather than compete in whatever game Logan was playing. Obviously that was the right move because the man clapped Dexter on the shoulder.

"Chuck calls you one of the best, and I like to have the best at my parties," he offered.

"So, where's the happy boy?" Chuck asked.

"The next room. He's all trussed up and ready for the main event." Dexter wandered away from them and studied the room. Jerry was here, and Dexter was again struck by the fact that the man looked like an upright turtle. A little part of Dexter wondered how his poor posture would affect the arterial spray. One of the doms was magazine perfect, his strong features making him stand out from the much more mundane collection of men in the room. Like Dexter himself, the stranger was studying the room.

Dexter wandered into a small knot of doms who were comparing the leather work of a new shop on Biscayne Boulevard. Two of the men argued about whether the type of leather affected the bite for the sub. So far, Dexter couldn't identify any traits that made this group so different from the subs other than the prevalence of cigars.

"So, does anyone want to see the ritual sacrifice?" Logan asked, his voice booming over the dozen or so doms gathered in the large room. Throwing open a set of double doors that would have led to an executive office if the building wasn't abandoned, Logan revealed a well-muscled sub tightly bound, gagged, and blindfolded and bent over a custom bench. His legs were spread wide, the ankles chained to the legs of the bench, and the base of a thick plug was visible between cane-marked cheeks. "If you stuff his ass, make sure you make your mark," he said as he held up a black marker before dropped it back on the table next to the boy before patting his bare butt. "And if you're not stuffing his ass, feel free to abuse the servers."

Logan walked to another door and opened it. A half dozen boys came out, all of them tightly bound and masked with leather over huge gags that made their face look long and vaguely horse-shaped. Two round holes allowed them to breathe and small eyeholes allowed them to navigate the room. Each of the boys had a container strapped to his back, and they wandered among the groups where the doms grabbed beers and cigars and chips from the containers. Dexter recognized several of the serving boys from their bodies and one from a gang tattoo half hidden by a nasty scar—these were the eager ones who Dexter always bypassed in his search for the more reluctant subs, and he was no more interested in them now than before.

One brushed past Dexter, wigging his ass so that the plug set deep into him shifted, but Dexter ignored him. This was a sub's paradise—a place where the doms outnumbered them and where the sex wasn't carefully corralled into dark corners where it could be quickly hidden if police or strangers showed up. One of the doms already had a boy on the floor. He'd put the tub of beer on the floor and he had his boot on the boy's neck as he stroked his own cock. Another top was slamming into the main event.

Dexter wandered to the edge of another group and listened to the conversation about insurance, adding a random comment whenever he felt it would be appropriate. Strangely, Logan wasn't indulging in any of the entertainment he'd provided. He stood near the edge of the action smoking his cigar and slowly rubbing his crotch through his pants. The magazine-cover dom was wandering from one point to another without actually interacting. Most of the other doms had their eyes on the boys, on all that naked flesh available for pinching and hitting. None of the boys had any sort of covering over their cocks, and all of them had full, heavy cocks that begged for attention and gagged mouths that couldn't object to whatever the doms wanted.

"What do you think?" Chuck asked as he stroked his cock, his eyes watching the main event as he waited for the current dom to finish. Honestly, Dexter could not figure out the attraction of having everyone penetrate the same boy. However, subs often admitted to this fantasy when Dexter forced them to talk. They wanted the promiscuity of multiple partners without the guilt of having to admit to wanting them, and they dreamed of being tied down as man after man took them. But as much as the subs dreamed of such a scenario, it wasn't normally what Dexter thought of as a dom's fantasy. However, these doms seemed to be taking their cues from Logan.

"It's remarkable," Dexter answered. The main event sub arched his back and then thumped his head against the bench. It was all the freedom he had.

"I'm not normally into a gangbang, but the clubs are getting too tame. The owner of the Dustbowl actually kicked some top out for going too fucking far. What the hell is the point of having a sub if you don't get to do what you want with the little shits?" Chuck snorted unhappily. Dexter suddenly wished he could go through Chuck's house and see whether the man respected any of his possessions. He believed in using his subs, but he looked after them as carefully as he looked after his sadistic tools or his murder bag.

"The subs who can't let go of control are never going to be happy," Dexter hedged. He had no idea what had happened at the Dustbowl, but he believed in limits. When he was overwhelmed with the need to dominate, to hunt and to kill, Dexter held onto the rules that defined his life. The rules kept the subs safe and kept him safe. They did little to help the victims of his more deadly hunts, but those people had already chosen their fate.

"Who is he?" Dexter asked as he watched the magazine-cover dom walk up to Logan.

"Some French guy. Ricky brought him," Chuck said dismissively. "My turn. I’m going to leave that boy so loose he's not ever going to be able to tighten up again."

Chuck turned to the gangbanged sub, and took his place between the chained legs the moment the other dom left. Dexter wandered closer and studied the bound form. Logan was too far away to appreciate the subtle shift of muscle under the skin or see the sweat gathering along the sub's backbone. Dexter studied the form, frowning slightly as he watched the show. The sub was bound tightly and his face obscured by the locked gag and blindfold. Standing near the boy's shoulder, Dexter let his gloved hand rest against a tense shoulder. The sub went utterly still. No tremors... no ripple of muscle under the skin.

Cocking his head, Dexter glanced over at Logan. The other dom watched Dexter, his eyes dark and a smirk on his face. Chuck finished with a grunt and grabbed the marker, adding his own tick mark to the sub's ass and dropping his used condom to the floor.

"You next?" one of the others asked Dexter. He shook his head, and the other man took his place between the sub's legs.

Bending over, Dexter whispered in the sub's ear... "I'm going to pound into you until you cry. I'm going to shove you so full you'll split open." Dexter expected a shiver of anticipation, but instead the boy went perfectly still, not even breathing.

Well fuck.

Grabbing a beer from a passing serving boy, Dexter wandered to the double doors and tried to figure out what to do from here. Clearly most of these men were clueless... too caught up in their own fantasies to spot the obvious problems with this scenario. The subs were local, so Dexter thought they were probably ignorant as well. But the boy tied down in that room 1) wasn't local and 2) wasn't willing.

Either the boy had been brought in with lies or he'd been grabbed, but there was no guilty pleasure in his reaction, no shivers of delight or delighted fear. His body stank of terror, and he froze in horror at Dexter's words. If this was a sub who had gotten more than he deserved, Logan would probably let him go and count on shame and police apathy about such crimes to keep him safe. If the man had been kidnapped... well, that would put this more into Dexter's territory.

He pretended to drink his beer as he watched Logan who was still focused on the main event. Walking across the room, Dexter chose a spot a little farther from the action. While a dom normally focused on the sub, Logan was watching the other doms. Something was definitely wrong. Dexter considered calling the police, but if Logan was doing what Dexter suspected, the police couldn't adequately handle this situation. If Logan planned to kill that sub, then death was the only appropriate consequence for his actions.

He had M-99 tranquilizer in his car, but he wasn't properly equipped for a kill. And he hadn't yet verified that Logan was, in fact, setting up men to be raped and killed. The verification could come easily enough tonight, but that still left the problem of tools.

"A fascinating event, yes?" a voice asked. Dexter didn't bother turning toward the voice. He had already noticed the magazine-cover dom coming.

"Fascinating," Dexter echoed as he put his beer bottle on a small ledge. Hopefully this man would leave with the others, but like Logan, he had been paying more attention to the doms than the subs, so this might be a second target. "Daniel," Dexter introduced himself.

"Michael," the man returned in a slight French accent. Michael was still watching the room, his eyes only occasionally glancing over at the sub tied to the table.

"Are you a long-time acquaintance of Logan?" Michael asked. The question made Dexter frown because it was the one he had been about to ask. For a long minute, Dexter focused all his attention on this stranger. Michael had wavy hair that just brushed his shoulders, and a grace that whispered 'predator.'

"I met him tonight," Dexter said, gauging the other man for a reaction.

Michael nodded once. "It was good to meet you," he offered, and Dexter realized that he had suddenly lost Michael's interest. However, he'd said nothing interesting enough to satisfy any curiosity the man might harbor.

As Michael wandered the room, Dexter took an inventory of all the people present. Ricky was in the corner looking almost ill. Michael had wandered to a random spot that just happened to give him easy view of Logan and the exits. Dexter himself had the only other appropriate spot for observing. Chuck and two other doms were vociferously arguing leather over latex and several other doms were working over the servers. One boy had backed into a corner, clearly out of his depth, but unable to call a safeword bound and gagged. The other servers were either enduring or actively teasing the doms trying to get more attention.

Dexter recognized one of the boys as one Dexter had rejected because he seemed to have no limits. When Dexter played hard, other subs would watch as he tortured some boy nearly unconscious and then they would carefully give him distance. The harder Dexter played, the more this one tried to put himself in Dexter's path. Dexter wanted a tool who would respond to his hand, not a creature who set his own agenda. If anything, the sub hiding near the corner called to Dexter like a tool that hadn't been cleaned, that was laying out and slowly rusting. Dexter wanted his tools neatly cleaned and tended.

Giving up the superior vantage point, Dexter headed for the reluctant sub. Blue eyes went wide, and bound shoulders started trembling, so this one knew him.

"On your knees," Dexter ordered as he grabbed the sub's neck. The sub dropped immediately, but just like with the sub in that room, there was no tremor of need and anticipation accompanying the move. Dexter bent over. "The next time you make a choice, remember how wrong that choice can go," Dexter suggested. Someone had worked him over, and red marks along his stomach and back were already darkening into bruises. Whoever had done this had worked dangerously close to the kidneys.

Dexter rested his foot on the sub's back, using him as a footrest without doing him any harm. This situation was growing increasingly dangerous. Dexter mentally catalogued the weapons in his dom kit in the trunk of his car. He had a gun, but no bullets. Some of these men would not be easily bluffed. And Dexter had yet to decide just how many of these men were actively involved. Several of the knives had brutal edges that would kill as well as provide sexual satisfaction, but Dexter hated when his kills degenerated into physical fights. And he didn't have enough M-99 tranquilizer for more than one target.

"Daniel, you should go pound the communal property before he's too loose to be any fun," Chuck said as he wandered over. Dexter leaned on the sub just hard enough to make him grunt.

"I prefer to watch today," Dexter offered. In the clubs, he was known for his voyeurism as well as his sadistic play, so that shouldn't seem particularly strange.

"Logan doesn't throw these parties often. You should take advantage of this one while you can," Chuck advised him.

"Oh, I'm enjoying myself," Dexter said as he again stepped on the sub under his foot and then watched another man fuck the tied up boy. Several of the subs were watching that action enviously. In fact, all of the subs not currently getting walked on or tortured were watching enviously.

Chuck shrugged and walked away, and Dexter wondered just how long he could stand here. The violation of the rules he had so carefully crafted for himself made him edgy and angry. He could feel his tenuous control slipping as he glanced over at Logan. The longer he stood here, the more he felt his rage building, but he wouldn't violate the rules. He couldn't. He just didn't know quite how to avoid doing exactly that. And he really didn't know what he would become once he had crossed that line.

Begging

Logan was working the room, walking among the small groups and prodding the men into action. Very few of the subs were trying to antagonize the doms at this point, and Dexter had seen at least two boys go down to punches that Dexter considered dangerous. Most of the boys were still rushing to obey, but the party was turning dangerous. Dexter could feel the atmosphere shift in the room, and several of the doms seemed to react as well, moving closer or talking louder.

Dexter bent over and yanked the sub to his feet. "The door you came in, does it go to the outside?" he asked quietly. He nodded and blinked rapidly. "Move it," Dexter said as he shoved the man toward the doors. He pulled the server to a stop near the exit when he noticed eyes on them. He had to preserve the rules as best he could. That's all he knew to do. Dexter began to torture the man's balls, forcing him to spread his legs. Blue eyes watered, and Dexter squeezed and pulled on the boy's balls until he could hear the dom in that main event room cry out. Logan's eyes immediately focused there, and Dexter shoved the boy through the doors and into the hallway.

"Which way?" Dexter asked. The sub looked down the hall, and Dexter started down the corridor, the sub scrambling behind him. One of the offices had paper up in the window, and Dexter paused there, glancing at the sub for confirmation before pushing in. Inside, boxes lined one wall, and various leather gear was hanging on hooks. The subs had dressed here.

Dexter started by getting off the hood, and the sub almost immediately began to cry.

"Shut up," Dexter ordered harshly, and the sub stopped with an indrawn hiss. Dexter fisted his hands, caught between disgust for the situation this man had put himself in and respect for the rules that required him to protect him. He wanted to hurt the man, but he wanted to put him right and slip him away like a well cleaned and oiled knife. He wanted too many things that just didn't fit into his head.

"Where are your clothes?" Dexter asked, focusing on the mundane since the larger psychological issues were clearly past his control right now.

"Locked in box five, sir."

Glancing over, Dexter could see a huge padlock, and that was not going to be easy to break into. "Any personal information in there? ID? Keys?"

"No, sir. I was going to call a friend collect from the club when he returned us, sir."

"At least you're not a complete idiot," Dexter sighed as he started pulling the boy toward the door to the outside. He was going to cut up his feet on the gravel, but at least he was getting out. As an innocent, he had that right, and the rules said that Dexter had to make sure that happened.

"I'm naked," the boy objected as Dexter opened the door. Thank god Dexter hadn't unchained his hands. He reached out, caught the boy by the back of the neck and hauled him out into the night. The air was muggy, and the lights from the street barely lit the dim area. Dexter had parked half way around the building, and so he headed that way at a trot, pulling the sub along with him.

"Sir, please," the boy pleaded.

"I have clothes in my car," Dexter relented and told him. The boy was an innocent Dexter was supposed to protect, he was a sub who was a tool for Dexter's pleasure that had to be cared for; however, right now, he was an annoying obstacle to Dexter's plan.

The sub nodded and now he struggled to keep up without Dexter having to pull him. The whush of a door opening sounded in the dark just as Dexter popped his trunk. Grabbing the first weapon he could, a large Bowie knife inlaid with bone, Dexter turned back to the sub.

"Beg," he ordered.

"Sir?" Dexter could see the sub swallow, even in the low light.

He leaned in close. "We have an audience, now beg for your life, beg for my cock, beg or I'll leave you here to deal with your own mess," he whispered.

"Please, please let me suck your cock. Please. I've seen you in the club so much. I know you don't let the others suck you, but I promise to do a good job," the sub started as he sank to his knees in the parking lot. He might have a career in acting. With a sneer, Dexter raised the knife.

"You aren't worth it," he told the sub. Confusion flashed across the boy's face and then frustration. "I'm good, sir. I'm the best. Please, just let me try."

"I should cut you open," Dexter said, angling the knife in a way to let him watch Logan who now lurked the shadows of the landscaping trees.

"Please, please don't hurt me," the sub begged with a sob, and Dexter could hear the honest fear in that. When he was killing, he liked that tone, but not now. Now, it wasn't fear he wanted... it was control.

"So, do something to make me think you're worth leaving alive," Dexter said as he stared down. He leaned back against his open trunk and brought one foot up to rest on the sub's thigh. "You've seen me in the clubs, so you know what I like... what I like to do."

The sub must have understood Dexter's silent promise to leave the boy happy and sated, like the boys at the club. "Sir, I'll be the best. I can deep throat. Please, please let me do this. Please, sir," the sub begged as he knee walked forward and rubbed his head against Dexter's crotch. "Please, I'll do anything," he promised.

Dexter pretended to consider that.

"Please," the sub muttered as he inched closer. "Please. I see you in the club, and every time I try to catch your eye. I'd do anything you asked."

"Would you let me suffocate you, drug you?" Dexter asked, just loud enough for the watcher to hear. If the man was armed, Dexter needed him to believe that he had found a kindred spirit.

The sub gasped a little, his breathing so rough that Dexter could hear it over the night insects and the distant drone of cars on the highway. "Yes sir, you could, sir. Please, just let me prove that I'm worth keeping. Please," he begged again, and then he turned his face and mouthed Dexter's crotch.

Dexter could feel his erection pressing toward that warm mouth. He was following the rules, and more importantly, he was stealing another man's prey. His domination of a boy and his hunting of a monster had culminated into this one point, and with Logan watching from the shadow, Dexter could feel his hot erection harder than ever.

Instead of indulging, Dexter pushed the boy back so that he sat back on his heels and looked up with worshipful eyes. "Please, sir. You know I'd do anything for you," he whispered, and Dexter knew the boy meant it. He'd been hurt. He was scared. He'd do anything to prevent Dexter from abandoning him.

"Would you spread your legs for me, beg me to ride you bareback?" Dexter asked, pushing the game a little farther.

"Yes, sir," the sub said happily, scrambling to get up. He leaned over the hood of Dexter's car and spread his legs. His arms were encased in leather straps and buckles, and a wide plug still filled his ass. "Please, sir, fuck me. I don't need you to use a condom, I trust you."

"I might have AIDS. Maybe I just want company in my misery," Dexter said as he moved in on the sub, touching his hip and watching the muscle twitch in response. This was a willing sub, his body aching to move and react as the mind inside forced control on it. The straps and the ropes were a kindness, a physical restraint that allowed them to loosen some of that control they so desperately wanted to lose.

"Please, sir, anything. Please, fuck me," the boy begged. Dexter ran the flat of his blade over the exposed side, his own cock painfully hard now. "Please," the sub added one more time, and Dexter slammed the knife down on the hood and pulled his own cock out, pumping it several times before he splattered his come over the boy's hip. Panting, Dexter closed his eyes and leaned forward until his forehead rested on the boy's shoulder. He could hear Logan in the bushes, and Dexter picked up the knife.

Turning and casually tucking himself in, Dexter pretended to not notice the other dom closing in on him. Wandering to the back of the truck, he popped a secret compartment and retreived the M-99 and slipped it into his waistband.

Logan stepped out into the drive, and Dexter feigned surprise. "Logan."

"Daniel," the other man answered, his eyes darting to the sub still stomach down over Dexter's car. A second shadow came from around the side of the building, and Dexter recognized Michael's shape. "You left the party."

"I like to hear my boys beg. I just thought I'd arrange something a little more to my taste," Dexter answered, blatantly lying. If Logan or Michael had observed him in the club, they'd recognize his lie, but he didn't think they had seen him. Dexter had grown up observing his world for clues about how to act, so he rarely missed a detail. The subs might be largely faceless to him, each a tool for Dexter to choose or discard, but he had mentally cataloged every dom he had ever met. Michael and Logan, both such careful observers themselves, would have caught his attention in any club. Logan stepped close, but Michael stayed to the shadow.

"The party is inside. None of them agreed to anything like this," Logan said, and while the words might be taken as a warning that he had treated the sub badly, Dexter could hear the truth. Logan was testing him.

"I don't care what they agreed to," Dexter answered simply.

"Really?" Logan shifted again, this time moving toward the sub.

Dexter laughed and walked over to the boy, quickly pulling buckles and straps free, even as he used a hand on the boy's neck to keep him safely pinned. This was bordering on insanely dangerous, and if the boy ran now, Dexter wasn't sure what would happen. Michael was staying so far away that Dexter was now almost sure the man was armed. He certainly wasn't close enough to provide backup with a knife or with fists.

Tossing the last of the restraints on the hood of his car, Dexter grabbed the boy and spun him so that his back was to the passenger side door. He was naked, barefoot and bruised, but he was breathing, and Dexter wasn't sure that all the subs would be at the end of the night. He was almost positive that Logan and Michael intended at least one sub to die, and Dexter was going to have to use every skill he had to prevent that from happening. In fact, Dexter was going to try and add two new drops of blood to his collection of trophies.

"Stay," Dexter ordered, and he slapped the boy across the face to make his point. The sub stared at him with wide eyes and nodded. Taking a chance that the boy had control enough to follow orders, Dexter grabbed a pair of dirty running sweats and a t-shirt from his trunk. He came back and thrust them into the subs hands.

"I'm bored with you," he said as he stepped back and looked at him with more than a little contempt. "Walk naked to the far side of the parking lot, and then put on my dirty clothes and walk home barefoot," Dexter ordered him. The sub swallowed, and Dexter stepped close. "And if you were stupid enough to bring your house keys or ID, I'm going to make a house visit to you that you will never forget or recover from," he threatened. "Now walk!"

Dexter grabbed the boy by the neck and gently flung him away from the car. The boy started slowly, padding across the parking lot with Dexter's come dripping down one leg and his old running clothes clutched tightly to his chest. Leaning back against the car, Dexter smirked at the retreating ass, trying to not hold his breath as the boy passed Michael without ever seeing the other man. One piece of prey stolen from these monsters, and now Dexter just had to figure out how the turn the tables and make them his prey.

"His clothes are still inside," Logan pointed out.

"I don't care," Dexter answered, and he didn't. The boy was nearly running now. Hopefully he'd get some medical help for those bruises because Dexter was pretty sure that the kidneys were bruised.

"Chuck said you had a rougher edge to you," Logan said slowly. Dexter didn't answer, letting the words hang in the air as he waited for more. If Chuck was in on raping unwilling boys, Dexter would kill his former mentor. Of course, the odds were not in his favor with so many apparently involved.

"Chuck talks more than he acts," Logan added. Again, Dexter just waited, watching as the boy reached the far side of the parking lot and pulled on the clothes Dexter had given him. "And those clothes stunk."

"He got what he deserved," Dexter shrugged. He was willing to bet that the sub would agree that he deserved Dexter's old sweats more than being hooded and tied in a room full sadists who were not paying attention to how far they were going. Although, to be fair, all the doms left the boy alone once he had retreated to the corner. He reached the far end of the street and turned right, and Dexter returned all of his focus on Logan and Michael.

"Enjoy the show?" Dexter asked as he walked to the back and slammed the trunk of his car.

"Very much," Logan agreed.

"I don't appreciate being watched." Dexter looked meaningfully at Logan before turning his gaze to Michael.

When Logan made a strange noise, Dexter looked over in time to see a flash of alarm before the night exploded into violence. A half dozen armed men leap up from behind a low retaining wall, shouting commands, and Dexter dropped his knife, not willing to physically fight with such an overwhelming force.

"What the fuck?" Logan cursed as two black vans squealed around the office building and screeched to a stop in front of them. Dexter could feel panic rise in his throat as the gunmen shoved him face first onto the hood of his car where the sub had just stood and kicked his legs apart. One man forced Dexter's arm high up onto his back while another frisked him. The small knife in his boot and his syringe of M99 were confiscated, and from the cursing, Logan was being just as efficiently searched.

"I have money, damn it. Name your fucking price. I know people."

"Shut him up," Michael ordered in his French accent, and Logan's words were muffled by a gag.

"What about him?" a voice asked, and Dexter's guts tightened as he realized that someone else was deciding his fate right now, and he had no control at all. The thug behind him leaned his weight into Dexter's ass, pinning him to the car even more firmly.

"Leave him," Michael ordered. Dexter lay silent as doors slammed and boots thumped against the pavement, and finally the man pinning him to the car let go. Dexter stood up and turned, and one van was already pulling out of the lot. In the second van, Michael studied him for a second, clearly evaluating Dexter, and Dexter realized he had badly misjudged this whole situation. The second van pulled away and Dexter was left alone in a parking lot that looked exactly like it had five minutes ago before the blitz attack.

Dexter's heart pounded, and for several seconds, he couldn't do anything other than lean against his car and try and sort through what had just happened. Quite often, he found himself bewildered by human behavior and emotion, but this was beyond even his ability to deal with the oddities of humanity.

Still dizzy with adrenaline, Dexter focused on the office building. He had subs to get out and horny doms to distract from an unwilling guest of honor, but at least now, the person responsible was no longer around to interfere with Dexter's attempts to get the world to again conform to his rules. He just had to wonder who the hell had just taken the monster who Dexter had marked for death.

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Sensory Deprivation

Dexter woke slowly, no sun streaming in through his windows to wake him, but no cops pounding at his door, either. It was incredibly ironic that he had never been targeted for any of his fourteen genuine kills, but now the police were narrowing in on this mysterious leatherman who had been the last person to see Mark Whittaker III, aka "Logan," alive. Somehow, Dexter didn't think anyone would believe his story about the mysterious Michael and two black vans full of gunmen. And Ricky, the one who had vouched for Michael and more than likely knew who he truly was, had gone mysteriously missing.

When Dexter went to roll to the edge of his bed, he realized he had a problem. His eyes came open and he wasn't in the dark of his apartment with the soft glow of the alarm clock numbers and the city lights dulling glowing through his curtains. He was in perfect darkness. And he could feel nothing. He tried each of his limbs, and found he had very limited movement. A soft line brushed against his cheek, and Dexter realized he was in a sensory deprivation tank with air and water so perfectly calibrated to his body temperature that he could feel nothing, not even the restraints that had to be around his wrists and ankles. He might even have drugs in his system dulling his senses.

Dexter veered between impotent panic and a cold admiration for someone who could have pulled this off. As a predator, Dexter was more wary than most, so it took a real pro to capture him and to do so with so little fuss. If he was lucky, he might learn how they did it before they killed him.

"You're awake," a man's voice said, echoing strangely in the sensory deprivation chamber. It wasn't a question, and so Dexter remained silent. "Name?"

No doubt they already knew, but far be it from him to deny them their petty rituals. "Dexter Morgan."

"Number of kills?"

Dexter hesitated. Of course, if they already had him, they most likely knew the answer, but saying it out loud... that was a different thing. The code demanded that he never get caught killing. Never. But then it seems that he already had. "A dozen or so," he finally answered.

"Number of kills?" the voice repeated, emphasizing the word number. Oh yes, they knew. They had probably found his trophies. Dexter could feel his chest tighten at the thought of that loss, but then he wasn't likely to survive long enough to miss them.

"Fourteen," Dexter answered.

"Describe your first."

These couldn't be the police. Why did they care? For a moment, he wanted to demand some answers of his own, like why they wanted him to say what they obviously already knew, but then didn't Dexter do the same thing? He could kill so quietly that his target never saw death coming, but he didn't. He needed them to see their own sins and acknowledge that they had brought death to themselves. He needed the control. Only now, it seemed that someone else was taking that same control away... several someones because it would take a coordinated effort to arrange this, he was sure about that.

"She was a nurse," Dexter started. Closing his eyes, he described the kill... from Harry's pained request that Dexter stop the nurse who was killing him through his own investigation of her habit of killing terminally ill patients through the sloppy job he'd done with the actual kill. Normally Dexter would feel fulfilled when he relived the memory of his kills. His inner killer would revel in the memory of blood and death, but now he just felt empty. He was recording his own sins before he died on someone else's altar. Dexter just wished he had the energy to feel more upset about it.

The disembodied voice led him through his other kills, asking such specific questions that he realized that they knew far more than he would have thought possible. After they finished with his fourteen kills and how each conformed to his code, they started asking about his times at the clubs. What had he done to the subs? How had he felt? How did the subs react to him? Dexter answered the best he could, but as far as how the subs felt... he had no idea.

The subs he'd gotten back to the club after "Logan's" party had known something was wrong the moment Dexter hurried the other doms out of the room. Several had been ready to safeword out, but they couldn't gagged as they were. Originally, Dexter had meant to leave the main sub tied and come back, but the man's breathing had grown so strained that he'd been forced to get bolt cutters and cut the lock on the gag with the other subs still there. The victim had begged to be let go so abjectly that Dexter had finally promised him that the dom who had set him up for a rape was gone and wouldn't come back.

The subs should have been terrified of him. When they saw "Logan" on the news and realized that the police were looking for the man who had tortured and killed him, they should have feared Dexter. Instead they had looked at him worshipfully. And despite the fact that a half dozen subs had all seen him and knew he was the leatherman who had gone out back with Logan, no one had identified him to the police. It was amusing. They thought he was some sort of great protector, and he wasn't. The only thing he wanted to protect was the code.

"Will they continue to protect you?" the disembodied voice asked.

That was a hard question because it asked Dexter to understand human nature, and he truly didn't. "I don't know."

"Guess."

"If it's easy for them, yes," Dexter guessed. Subs were subs because they wanted to serve... they wanted to feel like someone was protecting them, and the boys at that party had latched onto Dexter. "If the police can charge them with something... drugs, prostitution, accessory to murder... they might give me up to save themselves."

"But you didn't eliminate them." The voice wasn't asking a question, and so again, Dexter waited. "Why?" the voice finally asked.

"They didn't do anything to deserve death," he answered.

"You care about them?"

"I care about the code. You have to be sure a person deserves it before you kill," Dexter answered calmly. He doubted that these people would care that he had followed the code so carefully, but it was something for Dexter to be proud of. He'd never let Harry down... not once.

The voice didn't answer for a long time, and when it returned, it was a different man. The new speaker had a soft voice and a French accent, and Dexter suspected that it was Michael although the chamber distorted the voice enough that it was hard to tell.

"You've answered honestly. You may ask a question in return."

He only cared about one answer. "How did you capture me?" he asked into the darkness. The silence from the stranger felt like a triumph. He had surprised them.

"We ran a tube from the roof into your ventilation shaft. We released a gas which is not currently available outside our organization into your room. Once you were unconscious, we waited for morning and came into your apartment posing as delivery men with a new couch. We removed you with the old couch."

"You waited until daylight?" Dexter asked, admiration in his voice. He never would have done anything quite so public, not with a target who was a member of the police department as Dexter was.

"People are less suspicious of what appears to be normal movements."

Dexter nodded. The chamber was so perfectly balanced that he couldn't even feel the waves that his body must have made. Closing his eyes, he waited for the end now. Would these people make the end slow and painful, or would they introduce a lethal gas into the chamber?

A touch brushed against his lower stomach, and Dexter's eyes came open. He still couldn't see anything, but his skin still tingled where the gentle touch had traced a path just below his belly button.

"You are remarkably efficient and have shown incredible control," the voice offered.

"You're Michael," Dexter answered. He needed to have a face to put with that voice, with that touch. The voice didn't answer, but he knew he was right. Michael was standing outside the chamber and he had some sort of access panel that allowed him to reach in. It made sense. They could stab or shoot or just inject Dexter with some poison without ever taking him out of the chamber.

"Every part of your life is so carefully controlled, but you still feel the need for more control. Even now, you wish you could try and duplicate our capture of you with your own captive. You admire the precision of our strike."

The comment surprised Dexter, in part because it was so accurate. He did want to experiment with the capture method. And the idea of walking in the sunlight, past crowds of people, with a captive under his hand... it was exhilarating. And dangerous. Perhaps too dangerous to be compatible with Harry's code. "I wouldn't take the risk," Dexter answered.

"Hunting alone, no, you would not."

Dexter frowned into the darkness. He always hunted alone, at least since Harry died. And even when Harry was alive, they had only hunted deer, and that wasn't enough anymore. Sometimes he did miss it though, the feeling of completion when Harry would congratulate him on a well executed mock attack or when Harry would admire his knife work when cutting a deer's throat in one deep cut that ended the pain immediately.

The touch returned, tracing up Dexter's middle, over his belly button and up to a spot between his collarbones. He shivered as the touch made his skin tingle, ghosts of it lingering even after the finger was gone and Dexter was again in the nothingness. It was strange. He could only feel those body parts where the touch had brought him alive. It was as if the rest of his body didn't even exist in the perfect nothingness of the chamber. His whole awareness focused on that one line of skin.

"Gus, from the clubs," Michael's voice pulled Dexter out of his strange fugue, "his real name is Brian Moser. He started coming to the clubs to find you. He is the oldest son of Laura Moser. He is your brother."

Dexter frowned. "Harry said I didn't have any relatives." He didn't like where this conversation was going... not at all.

"He has only killed two people, and neither with the finesse you have shown, but when he learns of your other pastime, we have no doubt he will focus on becoming an even greater serial killer than you."

"You can't know that," Dexter argued, even as his gut told him that these people could know that. This was not a simple case of a killer or even a group of killers. These people had taken Mark Whittaker III and now him for reasons he couldn't even fathom, but somehow this was not about killing.

"If he suspects that you are the man the police are searching for, he will begin to track and eliminate the subs who were at that party."

That made Dexter squirm uncomfortably. Harry's code was that he never kill an innocent. Never. But if innocents were killed for him, was that a violation of the code? Certainly, he had no trouble killing Gus if he began targeting innocents, but did he have an obligation under the code to kill him? "That doesn't matter now," Dexter finally concluded.

"Because you do not care for the subs? If that were the case, why risk your freedom to save them at all? Had we not taken Mr. Whittaker, you were prepared to act, even as poorly equipped as you were."

"I wouldn't participate in that boy's death. I wouldn't be manipulated by Whittaker," Dexter answered immediately. He could still feel that empty, cold rage at what Whittaker had done, and he had never managed to sate that feeling by killing the man. It was an uncomfortable sensation.

"But your actions are dictated by the code," Michael pointed out.

"The code keeps me safe."

"The code put you at risk this time, and yet you still follow it."

"Harry knew things. He understood humans in a way I can't. I'm safe if I follow the code."

"The police are moving closer to you every day. Other dominants know you were invited. Even if the submissives continue to protect your identity, they will hear your name eventually. Your experience with the police will make you the natural suspect." The touch returned, running up his thigh, and the tingling heat confused Dexter. He wanted to press into the touch even as he expected to feel the sting of a needle or a knife at any moment. "We left behind a confession letter in your handwriting. And an apology to your sister." The hand continued to run up and down Dexter's inner thigh, and he found it hard to concentrate.

"Why?"

"Because it is part of our code. We do not leave questions behind. But when you forced us to accelerate our timetable in the parking lot, there were too many questions... too many witnesses. Now there are no questions. You have confessed to killing Whittaker after finding out that you had been manipulated into participating in a rape. You are horrified at having helped to hurt that boy, and you have done everything you can to try and rectify the situation, including taking the victim to the hospital. However, you cannot live with knowing what you have done. The rape, far more than the torture and murder of Whittaker, continues to weigh on your soul. You dirty those whom you love by simply being in their lives. It was a far more... human note than you would have managed on your own, but then you are so successful at appearing human that not even the police profiler or your sister will see anything suspicious in the wording."

The hand had paused somewhere during that revelation, but now it travelled up to Dexter's hip, tracing slow circles that made Dexter's normally shy cock start to twitch. "You have your code, and we have ours," Michael concluded.

"And now you'll kill me to complete the mission." Dexter found he was calmer than he'd expected. His own victims usually cried or begged, but he relaxed in the tank and allowed himself to enjoy that slow touch while he could. Either death or torture would end the pleasure soon enough.

"I've killed far more than you have, so perhaps you do not realize what an anomaly you are." Michael sounded strange, the emotion changing the tone of the voice in ways Dexter didn't understand. Human emotion escaped him even under the best of circumstances, but with the echo of the chamber and the lethargy that was settling into his bones, he had no hope of interpreting it. "Do your victims usually beg?"

"Yes."

"But you don't."

"You'll follow your code. Begging wouldn't change that," Dexter answered simply enough. "How many have you killed?"

"Myself directly or from a distance as I commanded a team?"

"Directly."

"One hundred and seventeen."

Dexter heard the number with some awe. "Do you remember them all?"

"Most of them. Some were unimportant. Some are so long ago that I no longer recall specific details."

Dexter wondered what it would feel like to have killed so many that he couldn't remember each one. His fourteen seemed like such a paltry number faced with that. "Will you remember me?"

"Definitely," Michael answered. Dexter supposed that would have to be enough. The hand brushed Dexter's cock, and he let himself sink into the physical pleasure of it. He no longer had to worry about appearances or codes or plans. He had only this one moment, and in this moment, that hand on his body felt good.

It brushed over his cockhead, and Dexter groaned at the raw need that filled him. Nothing existed... no sound, no sights, no feeling but in the inch of skin around that touch. Dexter curled his hands without actually being able to feel them. He couldn't feel anything except the thigh that still prickled from the memory of that touch, and his cock.

The hand enveloped his cock, slowly stroking it to full hardness, and Dexter arched his back and surrendered to the pure, white pleasure of it all. He was so tired of trying to control everything, and now that he dropped all those walls and defense and just allowed himself to feel, his body came alive. Panting for air, Dexter twisted as the hand stroked him harder and faster. His orgasm gathered like a hot ember in his guts, but then it stopped, and Dexter was left with only the ghost heat of that missing hand. No. Damn it. Dexter wouldn't even mind dying if he just got to finish what was promising to be the best orgasm of his life.

A heavy click interrupted the silence, and Dexter squinted as the lid of the chamber rose straight up into the air to show Michael standing next to it.

Blinking, Dexter waited for the final blow. It didn't come. Instead, Michael unlocked his arms and legs, opening heavy rubber restraints. When he tried to sit up, his movements were uncoordinated and he banged his knee against the side of the chamber. He'd been drugged.

"Lay back," Michael ordered as he turned away, and a little part of Dexter warned him that this was his last chance to fight for his survival. He wanted to survive, he really did. But he was just too tired to manage anything more than a weary obedience. He laid down.

The room the chamber was in looked to be concrete. The walls were smooth, coated with something, and Dexter had a fleeting desire to do a blood splatter test against the surface. Would the blood flow down in smooth rivers or trace a meandering course like over concrete. Maybe he'd see his own blood against the white wall. Michael returned to his side with new restraints. Dexter was familiar with any number of toys, and he widened his legs so that Michael could wrap the thigh restraint around his leg easily. He did, and then he attached Dexter's wrist to the restraint. He went to the other side and repeated the procedure, and now Dexter didn't have to worry about the code or fighting or trying to maintain his image as a real person with an actual conscious. Nothing mattered anymore.

Michael grabbed his cock and started stroking it, reaching over with his other hand to sharply pull one of Dexter's nipples. "You have been searching in those clubs, but you have not found what you needed."

Dexter looked up at him.

"You serve your code, but that is a master who cannot change or adapt or answer the questions you have."

"I'm not a sub." Dexter said the words quietly, his anger closely guarded as he thought about what Michael was implying.

A woman just out of Dexter's sight answered. "You don't know what you are," she said as she walked around to the side of the chamber, her finger trailing over the edge where the two halves of the chamber had joined. "Michael, if I ordered you to kill Dexter, would you?" Dexter stiffened at the addition of this new person to a game where he was already confused.

"Yes." Michael answered simply, and Dexter knew he was telling the absolute truth.

"Do you want to kill him?" she asked.

"No."

She smiled at Dexter. "Michael has a code and someone who can lead him... teach him new ways to kill or give him answers." Dexter didn't answer as he watched her. She looked like a socialite, her dark hair and makeup perfect, but he could see a familiar emptiness in her that Michael didn't have. She was like him.

"I will give you a choice," she said with a cold smile. "We are going to remove the suicide note from your apartment, which means that you will be a suspect but certainly not the only suspect. Your brother will react by trying to eliminate any evidence, including the submissives who witnessed you at the party. You may decide if we eliminate Brian Moser before he begins his work or not. What is your choice?"

Dexter froze. He didn't want anyone to die for him, that came too close to violating Harry's code. But if he asked for Gus to be killed with no confirmation—no evidence—that was also a violation. "You have no reason to remove that note," Dexter pointed out instead of answering.

"It amuses me," she answered, and Dexter could see that she would do this; she would put lives at risk because it amused her.

"Don't," he said simply, well aware of the irony because he had no power here to affect anything she did.

"Do we kill Brian Moser or not?" she asked as she stood at the foot of the chamber and crossed her arms, looking at him expectantly. Dexter's stomach rolled with distress, and he had no answer to give her.

"You are more submissive than you have ever allowed yourself to believe, but like all good submissives, you will only give yourself to someone who understands and respects your needs."

Dexter shook his head, but if he had been in the dominant position, he would have taken the hard cock resting against Dexter's stomach as evidence to the contrary. Michael reached down and stroked his balls with his thumb, and Dexter brought his knees up.

"Lay flat," Michael ordered roughly, and when Dexter didn't obey, Michael grabbed his balls so tightly that Dexter shouted in pain and thrashed helplessly for a second. His brain kicked in, warning him that he wouldn't escape the pain until he obeyed, and he put his legs back down into the water. Immediately, Michael's hand gentled; however, Dexter's balls still throbbed with pain and sent streaks of agony up into his body.

"Your code has no answer," the woman said. "Mine does. I will do what I have to in order to minimize Section's exposure and ensure the fewest number of deaths."

"Then you would leave the suicide note in place," Dexter quickly pointed out.

"Yes, I will," she answered, and Dexter looked up at Michael. The man's face was emotionless... not empty like Dexter, just so guarded as to be unreadable. "The only question is how to handle you."

"I thought that was already settled," Dexter pointed out.

"Not at all. If you cannot admit that you are, in fact, submissive and accept Section's leadership, then you are a liability and I will order Michael to cancel you to minimize Section's exposure." She turned away and started pacing again. This might be a trick, some way of trying to get a reaction out of him or maybe even to make him beg, but Dexter couldn't quite figure it out. "If you can submit yourself to us, you could have a very bright future in Section."

Michael's hand slowly stroked Dexter's thigh. The temptation was there, to just give in, to survive by bending to another set of rules. But Harry's code had brought him this far. Could he betray Harry?

"Michael, deal with him," the woman said, and then she was gone, her heels now clacking over the cement floor where they hadn't before. Every detail so very carefully controlled and manipulated. Dexter felt a chill go through him.

"You don't actually care about being good, only about following the code," Michael said thoughtfully as he stroked Dexter's cock. It had soften some, but now it came back to life. Dexter couldn't help it, he strained against the thigh cuffs. "Was Harry in the military?"

"Yes," Dexter answered, even though he suspected Michael already knew.

"He followed orders, and then he tried to simplify those orders into something you could live by. It's time to grow up and live by Harry's real code, the one he lived by. Military men kill when they have to. They kill to protect people or even an idea."

Dexter hissed as the fist around his cock grew painfully tight. "You will follow orders as Harry did in the military. Understand?"

Dexter nodded, his breath stolen by the pain in his cock. Michael loosened his hold and then dragged fingers up Dexter's body. "You will obey every order, knowing that even if you do not understand the order, it is part of a larger plan to keep this world safe from terrorism."

"Whittaker?" Dexter gasped, his skin tightening as Michael rested his palm against Dexter's chest.

"Arms dealer. We had hoped to pick him up after the... party. He had a contact coming into town, and now we must try to identify his buyers before they find another supplier and kill a dozen innocent people in some café." Michael reached around to the back of Dexter's neck. The water was starting to cool, so the heat of his hand warmed the skin there.

"If you fail to follow orders, expose Section in any way, or simply prove inadequate at your job, someone will take you to a room very similar to this one and put a bullet in the back of your head. Failing our code is not an option." Dexter opened his mouth, but he couldn't find anything to say. What if they asked him to violate Harry's code? Would Harry have let the boy die in order to identify terrorists? The code certainly didn't require that Dexter actively save people, but wasn't that what Harry did... save people? Dexter didn't have any of these answers. He couldn't even go through Harry's old case files trying to find some hint of what Harry might have done.

Michael ran a finger over Dexter's lips, and salty water from the chamber dripped into his mouth. "In return, you will work for an organization which does not make mistakes. We are very good at stopping terrorists. The best. You will never again have to hide what you are or suffer silently as you try to understand something beyond your ability to understand," Michael promised.

His fingers trailed back down to Dexter's cock and closed around the shaft firmly as he started stroking. Dexter thrust up, his need so sharp that he didn't know if he could come though the pain. Michael ran a finger over the slit, and Dexter shouted as he came in an orgasm so powerful that it forced the air out of him.

"Harry would appreciate that a soldier follows orders, and he would be more comfortable knowing that his beloved son was safely within an organization that understood and appreciated the talents that he passed on to you," Michael whispered, and Dexter found himself wanting to believing it. Harry had wanted him to be useful... to be safe. He lay gasping long after the orgasm passed, the cooling water now uncomfortable and his balls still aching after their abuse.

"Get up," Michael ordered as he got a hand under Dexter's arm and started tugging.

"Yes, sir," Dexter answered as he tried to obey. Not even trying to reconstruct the mask of humanity that was always so frayed after an orgasm, Dexter awkwardly climbed out of the sensory deprivation chamber and followed Michael from the room.

Foot Fetish

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 challenge 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

"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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Dylan Carter has always played second fiddle to his perfect older brother, but now that brother is implicated in a terrible crime, and Dylan's family is imploding. Dylan can’t hide anymore. Knowing he’s falling apart, he searches for something or someone to hold him together—and lands in a BDSM bar called the Stonewall. Dylan doesn’t understand Miss Dolphinia, the hard-drinking queen who seems determined to play matchmaker. But more confusing is the way the powerful men in leather make him feel. In her wisdom, Miss Dolphinia sends Dylan off to a back room for his introduction to the world of erotic spankings and bondage. Dylan’s teacher—for want of a better word—is the very dominant Vin Hauser. Vin likes to play hard, but he’s honest with himself—he knows all those men want is a strong hand, not a long-term relationship. Yet Vin can’t help but hope Dylan might be different. With controversy over his brother’s sins stirring up danger around him, Dylan needs Vin’s support more than ever. But until he and Vin learn to trust each other, Dylan will have to face his fear and the growing threats alone.	College students Jeremy and Ryan both have rocky pasts, but when Ryan discovers his friend has a dangerous fascination for gay bondage, he decides to show Jeremy that giving up control isn't safe or sexy. He should know--he's seen the dark side of BDSM up close. However, his plan backfires as the two men find that their needs and desires dovetail so nicely. Lust drives them both deeper into a 24/7 lifestyle, but neither of them is prepared to deal with the emotional backlash. When fear threatens to destroy their relationship, Jeremy has to not only submit, but he must also find a way to help his master heal well enough to admit to his own needs. If Jeremy can find a way to confront the past, maybe he can repair their relationship and rediscover their balance as dominant and submissive. If he fails, they both lose.	Bored with the privileges and duties of a member of the first family, Ferro finds himself in the slave tents as a consequence of his antics, knowing he’ll be rescued before long. At least, that’s the way it’s always worked before. This time, though, Ferro finds himself sold as a sheep-tender along with an intriguingly mysterious slave called Lysias. For the first time, Ferro’s met someone who seems immune to his wiles, and he’ll soon learn that Lysias has more to teach him than just shepherding.	Three years ago, Carl Ragar turned on the mob. His conscience couldn’t handle the murder of an innocent bystander, and he had to turn his back on his mentor, Petroc “Pete” Barbu, a man he’d admired and lusted after. Pete made no apologies for his job as an enforcer, but he’d never planned to get himself or Carl involved in the murder of a reporter. When Carl turned state’s evidence, Pete couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. Now Pete’s still on the run, and Carl is unceremoniously dumped out of witness protection. Two men tangled in their own pasts, they will have to face the shifting moral lines in the sand that drove them to make disastrous choices. Once Pete and Carl were partners who trusted each other with their lives—now they’re struggling to save their souls.

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