Dexter’s Laboratory Porn Story: Chemical Bonding Chapter 7

Dexter’s Laboratory Porn Story: Chemical Bonding Chapter 7

CHEMICAL BONDING VII

By Lennon Karma, who looks in a mirror and sees a perverted image

Well well well. Chapter 7. Woo hoo hoo. Why do I always say that? That’s like asking why I always say Vote for a Scrote! Owell. Uh, I don’t own any of da people + pleez r & r. And as always, enjoy!

Oh! One more quik thing5Older Dexter (you know, “I’m typing!!!”) I have named #12, again, just to lessen the ever-present confusion time travel brings with it.

Chapter 7:

Covalent Bonding

No matter what a worthless sliver of hell his life appeared to be at the time, #12 pressed on. Rather than risk yet another merciless beating, he kept his mind on task even surpassing his usual work ethic. The gruesome punishment the night before was still fresh in his mind and on his back; the wounds sent a stinging sensation through him with every movement he made. His lab coat, which had been white to perfection, was now blemished with his blood. Shifting in his chair to find a typing position that suited him was mission impossible. There was no way to escape the pain. Each brush against the coarse cushion on the back of his chair exposed an old raw gash, and he became used to the feeling of blood slowly trickling down his back.

Without Douglas around to keep him company, it felt as if there was nothing to live for. He had no other friends, love was never even considered, and typing was all that ever came of him. Occasionally, a disciplinary measure would separate the monotony of anonymous typing. It was anonymous, as he was known by no other name than #12. He wasn’t a person at all, he was a number. To CEO, he was sure he was less than a number. If only he knew the truth of CEO5 Not that it would have had much effect on #12’s opinion of him. CEO would still be the oppressor he was no matter what his life had been like. No matter how much he truly adored #12.

The abhorrence #12 felt for CEO’s tyrannical ways was magnified thousands of times the day Douglas was removed from his life. One day, Douglas was just a hall away, the next, he was many floors above him. They could often catch a glimpse of each other, but never speak. This was enough for them, just to know that the other still thrived through the adversity and remained supportive. #12 had waited for Douglas to appear at their daily meeting spot near the elevator that day, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. After a suspiciously long time, #12’s brow furrowed as he wondered, “Where could he be? Why is he taking so long?” The reason for his absence was explained when a horrific shriek echoed through the halls. Without even thinking, he knew. It must be Douglas. #12 ran blindly through the halls in a desperate search for Douglas. Not far from Douglas’s cubicle, #601, was the Hall of Damnation. A crack in the door revealed Douglas chained to the metal ring, veins bulging in his neck, trying to escape the gamma rays that were bombarding him. After moments of Douglas forcing himself not to let CEO win and succumb to death, but it was out of his hands. Douglas weakened, and his life slipped away from him. #12 gasped, biting his lip. How could this happen? The question was answered when he saw CEO proudly aiming a tiny gamma ray straight in Douglas’s direction, laughing hysterically. #12 could only imagine the power trip CEO was taking himself on. He must have forgotten who he was; only weeks ago he was a secretary possessing no life of his own, and suddenly rose up, murdering his own former boss. This could not be the CEO he knew. He remembered CEO had once been one of the quiet ones, much like himself. CEO was insecure; he could beat someone and laugh about it, but kill someone? #12 never could really get his mind around the fact that CEO had ended Douglas’s life. He didn’t want to believe it, but the fact stared him in the face ever since that day. Seeing Douglas there, he just wished that Douglas would open his eyes and say, “Hi, Dexter,” just one more time. Remorsefully, #12 looked back knowing that Douglas never would, he was lost forever. What bothered #12 the most, however, was that he never got to say goodbye or let Douglas know that he wouldn’t let another day pass without thinking of him. This plagued #12; the question burned in the back of his mind, screaming at him, “Did he know how much you would miss him?”

#12 feared not, as he had never said anything to let Douglas know how he would be missed. Still, they had been friends for so long, he may have figured it out on his own. The two seemed to share one brain, always on top of the other’s latest discovery. Maybe that’s why CEO was so extreme.

The possibilities were infinite, but this was not all #12 had to worry about. He lived in constant paranoia; if CEO would kill Douglas without giving it a second thought, what prevented him from being next on the list? He jumped at every sound. The beeping of monitors in nearby cubicles caused his heart to race, fearing an unsparing gamma ray awaited him in the Hall of Damnation. Much as this fear tormented him, he knew in his heart that there were things far worse than death, and the life he currently lived could be one of them. One thing #12 added into the confusion was the fact that Douglas had been gone for years. If the same fate awaited him, wouldn’t CEO have made it easy on himself and dealt with both in one devastating blow? Or CEO may have simply let #12 remain to watch him suffer as he watched the empty chairs in empty cubicles build around him, where his friends and family had once been.

Whichever was the case, it didn’t matter. #12 was too harried to care. Cubicle design had seemed so simple at first glance; how could it become so complicated? #12 sighed and began adjustments for the new wing to be added to the building in the months to come.

The beep of the intercom nearly gave #12 a heart attack. He heard the words he was so seriously hoping he wouldn’t hear, “Number 12! Appear in my office immediately.” #12 turned pale; his sweat-drenched fingers quickly logged out of his program, and he turned his chair to face the door, preparing to be led to his death.

Mandark was on the edge of his seat, trying to leash his anticipation. He was no less nervous than #12 himself. What if this didn’t work out, and #12 found out who he really was? Mandark shoved this worry to the back of his mind. Even if #12 did find out the truth, he wouldn’t dare say anything. Even then, what would he say? And to who?

#12 found himself, once again, surrounded by the grandeur of the recreation room that allowed CEO to be surrounded in splendor as he rested his superior intellect. It was this room that he especially feared; from here, he knew of CEO to slink out of the shadows only to mock #12 in a jeering delight. This encounter seemed no different.

Sure enough, Mandark stepped elegantly from the shadows, hands folded behind his back, his monogrammed robe billowing around him. Not wanting to appear over-eager, Mandark tried to imagine how CEO would handle the situation, disliking the idea of putting himself in CEO’s fine Italian leather shoes5

All was silent except for the click of Mandark’s feet on the tile floor, as he slowly approached #12. An air of tension surrounded them, the only souls in the room. Mandark saw #12 swallow hard, his eyes widened with fear. Mandark had often dreamed of himself in a position of power, mainly in the form of a passionate fantasy, yet nothing like this had ever crossed his mind. #12’s fear was not a fantasy; it was real, very real. In the short time he had to wait for #12 to show up before him, he puzzled over how to handle it. Again, a whimsical fantasy told him to be overly dominant. He had had fantasies before of taking off Dexter’s clothes and being rough with him, but that was before it was ever a true possibility. Now that the option was open to him, he knew he didn’t have the power within him. Even if he did, he knew he couldn’t bear to see any more suffering in the face of anyone so innocent as #12.

Mandark watched #12 sink into the chair as if it would make him invisible. #12 tried to hide the fear, but after years of being beaten over nothing, what could he expect? His presence on earth was a punishable offense. Mandark extended a hand to #12, who stared at it, wide-eyed. Withdrawing the hand, Mandark wanted to tell #12 everything. To get the dread out of #12’s mind. To let him know the reason he was here. But this couldn’t happen; there was no way to explain it.

Wordlessly, Mandark backed away from #12, beckoning with his hand for him to follow. #12, swallowing the lump in his throat, rose shakily to his feet, and followed Mandark, with his eyes intently focused on the floor. Soon, he was sure, his back would again resemble the tile floor: red, cracked.

Blindly he followed Mandark. It didn’t matter; he was sure he was only going to the same place as usual, the Hall of Damnation. Or was he? #12 raised his eyes to find himself certainly not in the Hall of Damnation. It appeared to be an office, but an office far different from his cubicle. The walls were perfectly painted in a mural of a scientific motif; banners, plants, and portraits of CEO in various regal poses lavishly adorned the walls; and in the center of the room was a large desk of polished maple, covered in a orderly array of odds and ends, most of which were monogrammed.

#12 was taken aback at how this glorious setting, a Holy of Holies, existed only seconds away from the hall of Damnation, hell on earth. Mandark was now fighting for hold on his coolness. How could he explain to #12 the truth behind the matter in a way that made sense? Unsure, he stood, facing the opposite wall, hands folded behind his back, trying his best to fit the posture of CEO. He found himself staring at a portrait of CEO that seemed to want to leap off the wall. CEO stood in a dramatic pose, a look of fury on his face, his hand in a tight fist. Even Mandark found it terrifying to look at, unable to imagine himself becoming this oppressive fireball.

Choosing not to take the path of least resistance, Mandark turned, planning to take on the ways of CEO. Silently, he strode over to #12, grasping his wrist, and roughly pulling him to his feet. There was something about that moment, the impulses that created it, and would continue to fuel it. It was those impulses that had brought Mandark here, out of his won time, and away from a feeling of perpetual hopelessness. After the urges had done so much for him, he couldn’t just ignore them. As he felt a new sense of power radiate through his blood, he remembered what that drive was: hormones.

It was simple as that. Holding #12’s wrist with one hand, he quickly rested his other on #12’s shoulder, and pressed his lips firmly against #12’s. He did this as if it was custom, their daily routine. The kiss lasted to brief a time for Mandark’s taste, as #12 pulled away in shock. Mandark grinned. “I love you,” was all he could think of to say, and he said them more as a defense of his action than as an actual statement. #12 wanted to respond; he felt he had to say something. But what was there to say? Also, did he dare speak to this man who he had been positive was CEO. In a way, he was CEO. They were the same, yet vastly different.

Mandark released his grip on #12’s wrist and gently caressed the side of #12’s face. The feel of the skin beneath his hand was incredible. #12’s face changed from one of suspicion to one of acceptance. What did it matter? If this was CEO, why pass up an opportunity of him being civil? No, more than civil, romantic! But it was happening so quickly, and seemed too perfect to be so easily received.

“Why are you doing this? Why me?” #12 asked, rather boldly. Mandark was surprised, and unsure of how to answer the question. It would have been so simple to just tell #12 the truth of it all, but instead whispered, “Because I am devoted to you. I always have been.” It was the truth, in a sense, and it came from his core. What worried him was that it may have come out sounding too submissive. But what did it matter? They were here, together. Nothing could ruin the moment.

* * * * *

CEO rose up from his resting place on the floor of the lab of Mandark’s youth, ready to spring his futuristic ways on Mandark’s time. His interest lay not far away, only houses away. In a flash, he was out the door, on his way to Dexter’s. Dexter had one thing going for him; he was in the front yard, making the search for him that much easier. CEO looked down at his scrawny body, embarrassed at his bony frame exposing itself through his skin. He had log since forgotten the undesirable appearance he had back in those days5

But CEO was not about to let this hold him back. If Mandark was willing to wrestle him to the ground in Dexter’s defense, he must have an apparent weak spot for Dexter. CEO had to admit to himself that it was not as if he didn’t; he adored Dexter as much as he always had. He just didn’t know how to show it and yet avoid the niche that he knew would come with his affections.

“Hi, Dexter,” he said casually, trying to mask the unease in his voice. Dexter looked up from his work warily, answering mechanically, “Hello, Mandark.” The greeting was not out of friendliness and certainly not compassion. It was an automatic response. Intense as he was, CEO was persistent. He would not simply let this go.

* * * * *

Mandark didn’t plan to let go, either. Here, for the first time in his life, he had #12 in his arms, just as he had always prayed he would someday; he would sleep in love’s embrace at last. He had relocated #12, so he was leaning back in the well-cushioned chair behind CEO’s elegant desk, calming the wounds on his back. Even without the protective cushion, #12 would have held out. Mandark was stretched across #12’s lap, stroking #12’s chest with one arm. #12 turned his head and kissed Mandark passionately, leaving little room for improvement. He had actually come to enjoy this, but that didn’t eliminate his mixed feelings. Someone so hateful suddenly becoming a sweet, gentle lover? Rather than risk jinxing the moment, or finding he was in the middle of the best dream he had had soothe his psyche in years, #12 determined to have the time of his life. For once, it was right.

When Mandark released his upper half from its shroud of the dressing gown, #12 saw it as an invitation to stroke the smooth, velvety skin on Mandark’s chest. #12 couldn’t believe the thoughts running through his own mind. The whole atmosphere that surrounded them made #12’s emotions fly. He could imagine no female who could compare to his pristine erotic lover. He laid his head on Mandark’s warm chest, wanting to just sleep here, with the one person he never wanted to be away from again, and wake up together. To spend their lives together.

Standing up slowly and briefly, Mandark let his monogrammed robe fall to the ground. He nestled gently back in #12’s arms, and kissed #12 airily on the neck. Soon, they found themselves entranced in each other; kissing, stroking, loving.

With one final kiss and embrace, both sighed deeply, and with a heavy reluctance, stood up. Mandark wrapped his robe around his body once more, and locked hands with #12 as he saw him to the door. #12 turned quickly, and after a moment’s hesitation, whispered, “I love you, too.” In Mandark’s longing ear. No words ever spoken to him before had ever sounded so beautiful. #12 sat on the cushion of his chair, and was taken back to his cubicle.

It was certain. Mandark found his time machine experiment to be a success and #12 to be the affectionate lover he had always pined for. Yet, there was one thing that ruined his moment of euphoria on top of the world: his need to return to his own time. There was still so much to discover in his own world, and he couldn’t stand for his name to be an alibi. This life, however perfect it was, just was not for him, not his life to live.

* * * * *

Dexter was in awe. *Mandark* being so5 nice? Gentle? Pleasant? None of the words he came up with could fully describe what the afternoon had been. CEO was not anxious to leave; he had been having the time of his life as well, but clouds collected overhead, and rather than be stuck here in the rain, even if it was with Dexter, the only person on the planet who could tame his brutality. “See you soon, Mandark,” Dexter murmured after him. “Of course.” CEO responded, seductively, although he was imagining that he wouldn’t.

As he got back up to the house, the rain was streaking the skies violently with large, heavy drops. A thunderclap echoed not far away, and CEO quickly entered the house, locking the door behind him. Masked in shadow, he shot up the stairs, ready to head home; he’d had his fun. On the way back to his room, his gaze crossed through Olga’s room, his eyes landing on her. Just the sight of her filled him with an old fury. It was Olga who had pitted him against Douglas in the most devastating way5 All he could remember of the incident was how Douglas was letting her destroy their relationship.

This was not entirely true, as Olga had been just as upset about Douglas’s cheating, but that never crossed CEO’s mind. He saw an intruder, disturbing his life. Revenge was in order, he told himself, and blindly careened into her room, seething with rage. It wasn’t something he even had full control over. His brain screamed at him, “No! Just go back to your time. What’s done is done.” This was what remained of Mandark’s life in him. CEO’s life-force, however, forced him in pursuit of this repeat offender of vandalizing what he called his life.

At that moment, Mandark, refreshed in body, mind, and spirit, returned from the days of his future. They were beyond satisfying, in fact, he found them beyond any description. For once in his life, it seemed all was right. Until the sound of Olga’s terrified scream penetrated the wall that separated their rooms.

She didn’t see CEO coming in his stealthy swiftness. With one will – aimed blow, he knocked her to the ground. Olga was no pushover; she was she was back on her feet, ready to strike back much faster than CEO had called for. This didn’t matter to Mandark, who appeared in a frenzied rush from his room. Olga looked up, hearing the noise, and turned pale at the sight of Mandark standing at the door. She backed away from CEO, and Mandark moved in. Grasping forcefully at CEO’s collarbone, Mandark hissed, “You5leave5NOW5” Rage that built up inside him made it impossible to speak normally; after the chance that he might hurt Olga, it took every spark of energy within him to keep him calm. “Come on,” CEO spluttered, “You don’t like her either. Admit it!” Mandark glanced quickly at Olga, and responded, “I already owe her for not letting on about5well, Douglas. But I owe you, as well.” Two rapid strikes caught CEO’s attention. “What did I do to deserve that?” he shouted at Mandark. “One is for Dexter, and one is for Olga. This is not over; but you would be smart to leave now. But I’m warning you, I’m a stronger Mandark by far.” He thrust CEO to the ground, and CEO stalked away, a spiteful look crossing his face. Olga and Mandark followed him, seeing him off as he left for his own time. After a moment of silence, Olga looked up at Mandark. “Thanks,” she said, almost smiling, and returned to her room. Mandark collapsed into a chair, worn out after the constant activity of the last while. Thrilled as he was to have shown #12 his love for him, and rid the house of CEO, he imagined with dread that not so distant day when they would meet again.

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