Dexter’s Laboratory Porn Story: Vox Mandark Chapter 2

Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter! I need more reviews to keep my hopes up! (O.K., maybe not, but it doesn’t hurt to tell me what you think of this story)
I haved decreased the rating from an R to PG-13 to attract more readers. I will post the full monty of this story on which will be NC-17, after I complete posting up every chapter. Be patient. I am winging it, and this will be a LONG story, but nonetheless, a very complex one with action, drama, and a twisted plot.
(BTW, the real version has gore, crude language, and sexual scenes. I will have gore and crude language in this one, but keep it to a minimum)
I do not own Dexter’s Laboratory, but I wish I did. :)

Tick. Tick. Tick.

As enduring as the driping of a faucet, the clock droned in the ears of the anxious raven-haired genius posed under it in a plastic black chair.

It annoyed him, but it was the only sound to keep him from going insane with the unnatural silence within this hall.
This hall was unnatural to him, now that he came to think about it. He had no need to be in this part of the campus, nor he heeded to be in any of his life, but, life delt him a wild card, and he had to take it.

Dexter was, after protest from him and Douglas, taken to the nearest emergency room when the bus driver finally noticed the small injury.
Dexter had to get ten stitches across his cheeks, and Douglas was NOT eager to watch, as he fainted when the needle was inserted in the scarred flesh; or so what Mandark heard from behind the closed door to his left hours ago.

As for the bully….he could care less.

Mandark pointed his slightly aqualine nose downward and looked at the checkered vinyl floor that narrowed further down the hall. Quite an acute optical illusion for one of his interests, but none the less, interesting enough for him to curb his boredom.

Grey flecks adorned the interiour of each black or white tile, to give it a well used look.
Mandark then looked upwards to the ceiling, and noticed the flickering cobwebs around the air vent. Each cobweb danced with every pressure of decreasing cool wind, at which he guessed that these ‘webs’ were actually made from yearly accumiliations of dust, instead of the suspected animal itself.
Right across from the cobwebs was a large coffee-like stain on some of the ceiling tiles. No doubting that this was a sign of mold making it’s home above the tiles, and living off of the cellulite within.

“Such a complex and adaptive group of microscopic creatures,” he mused, looking up at the large stain, “able to be a denizen of anyplace it chooses. It can be a cryophite, thermophile, xerophillic, hydrophillic, or anything in between. Just invades a place and takes it”
Mandark sighs.
“And like me, it is not wanted. Very underestimated.”

He turns his head away from the fungus, and fixated his eyes down on his Oxford shoes. Noting an untied shoelace, he quickly applies his dexterous fingers to do the work, then reasserts his attention on whatever he can analyze.

Astronominov glared up at the wall in front of him and spotted modest prints of flower paintings that were framed. They were reminicent of a caged animal in a zoo behind glass. “Out for show, pretty to look at, and so many copies to replace it,” he thought in his own sence of caustic humour. “Oh, how many simple things can reflect our human culture.”

Across from the hollowing echo of the clock, a small clack perked up his ears, and immediately he turned towards it like one of Pavlo’s dogs in his experiments.

A thin woman with dark, thick-rimmed glasses like his came down the hallway. She had strawberry hair that flowed almost to her knees that would sashay with every step. Covering her was a robin’s egg blue abaya adorned with red and orange arabesque vines stitched into the fabric. Over her breasts dangled a golden Om pendant – symbolizing the Hindu faith – and on her feet were a pair of pleather khaki Berkenstocks; as Mandark always joked about them being the religious symbol of the lesbians.

Next to the woman was a tall man, beautifully built, with midnight hair like his, and a pair of rose-coloured John Lennon glasses across the bridge of his nose.
He wore a blue-jean jacket with bellbottoms to match, and a green tye-dye shirt. He also wore a golden chained pendant, but, his was of the third eye, one of the very common symbols used on the walls of Tibetian and Nepalese stupas.

Both looked very young for their age, due to their vegetarianism and daily yoga practices.
Mandark knew, as these people were his parents; Oceanbird and Windbear Astronominov.

Instinctively, the boy slunk in his chair, cowering from the figures who were soon to lay a fierce punishment upon him like the wrath of God.
All he could do is look up, and smile nervously at the parental figures.

“SUSAN LENNON ASTRONOMINOV”
The male barked, approaching the scientist.

Mandark narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
“It’s Mandark.” he whispered under his breath, cursing the name that they bestowed upon him.

“That’s it! No tapioca and coconut tofu pudding for you tonight!” Oceanbird scolded as she looked down on the pathetic boy.

As much as he hated some tofu dishes, Mandark indeed loved the dessert she spoke of. Now rice cakes were of the devil, in fact, they were an abomination to humankind. In fact, Mandark was so sure that they served them in Hell alongside with a T.V. consisting of only The Weather Channel, and UPN.

An older man opens the door from his left and ushers the parents inside with a deep, oily, voice.
“Ah! You must be Mandark’s parents! Please! Come inside.”

“Mandark? Noooo, no. You must be mistaken. That boy over there is called Susan.” Windbear objected, deaf to his son’s recollection of being called ‘Mandark’.

“It says here ‘Mandark L. Astronominov’.” the older man looks down on the manilla folder he was holding. “You ARE Mr. and Mrs. Astronominov, correct?” he looks up over his glasses, but all the boy could see was a silloette of the principal from the frosted door window.

“Yes.” both parents answer.

“I guess that he is just trying to be himself!” Oceanbird laughed, causing chuckles from both men.

“Please! Come inside, and we’ll discuss Mandark’s incident on the bus.”

Incident. On the bus.
The skinny male shuddered at the recollection of events that happened earlier.
Dexter screaming. Douglas’s look of shock. The bully’s taunts. The jeering of the pupils.
But what stuck out in his mind was his spontainous action to club the biggot with his backpack.
Not only for him…..but for Dexter.
Dexter. The rival scientist whom he hated.
But why?

Mandark heaved a sigh and placed the bridge of his nose between his index finger and his thumb in distressed thought.

The headmaster shook each parent’s hand, while they addressed their name to them. And with all formal greetings done, they cut to the chase.

“Oceanbird, Windbear. As you may know, your little boy is a genius. One of the top here at Huber elementary, in fact! That’s why he surprised me with what he did earlier today”
Both parents nod their head in agreement.
The principal then leans forward, folds his hands, and interlaces his fingers.

“Now what I recall, not only from my memory, but from his record, he has been such a shy, quiet student. All perfect A plusses in his gifted classes, very constructive during his free time. He seems to be in his own world sometimes, and that’s what scares me.”

“I don’t remember him bringing over any friends, except a small redheaded boy with a lab coat and purple gloves,” Oceanbird delicately mused out loud to the headmaster, “Dexter was his name…I think.”

“Uh, huh. Absolutely,” Windbear added with a slight British accent, “And what a nice lad he was too. Always polite. I dunno why Susan only brought him over once. Even Olga liked him.”

“This Dexter you speak of, seems to fit the description of the child that was injured on the bus earlier this afternoon”
The headmaster swivels around in his large leather chair, and opens up the file cabnet, and pulls out another manilla folder. He turns around and plops the file on the desk, making a heavy thud.

“Is this him?” He pulls out a picture of the husky boy.

“Yes! Definately!” both parents agreed, nodding their heads.

“This is Dexter Eugene McPhearson. He also is in the same classes as Mandark, and to my note, rides the same bus with him, which brings us back to why we are here”
He pauses in his droning, and continues.
“Many eyewitnesses said that your son gave a fifth-grader named Gene Slovaski a concussion, and some even say that he punched Dexter McPhearson in the face, causing his glasses to shatter in which he now has ten stitches.”

“Oh god….” Windbear sighed, placing his face in his hand.
“Why would our son stoop so low to attack such innocent children? We always taught him that violence isn’t the answer, unless it was for self-defence.” The mother cooed, then place a reassuring hand on her husband’s back.

“Now, don’t jump to any conclusions Mr. and Mrs. Astronominov. I do NOT believe the latter accusiations of him punching Dexter. Not only because of the records of Mr. Slovaski, who does have a repitation of being a troublemaker, but also by the protests of two boys, one which is Dexter McPhearson himself.”

The headmaster blinked, and sat straight back upwards.
“But, your son will not go scott free, as the bus driver even identified him as the one who hit Mr. Slovaski. She even said that he confessed to it.”

Both parents groaned.
The headmaster pulled out a yellow sticky note and jabbed it with the pen in his left hand, scribbling down information.
“Now, Mandark must see the guidence councilour with these requirements every Tuesday after school for a year, or until needed. The appointments shall last until 5:30 P.M”
The man hands the note over to Windbear, and the young father accepts it.
“One of you will be able to pick him up, right?”

“I will, since I am a househusband only for four days a week.” Windbear replies, folding the note, and pocketing it in the jacket.

“What type of counciling is it?” Oceanbird questioned.

“Mandark will be counciled with the school psychologist for half of the year, then will be moved into a group counciling program where he can interact with others his age and with people that have the same problems like he has. It would be advised for him to make friends, otherwise, he will grow up depressed, roudy, secluded, and might try to commit suicide. I want no more outbursts like this from your son, and I am sure you don’t either.”

Both parents nodded.

“Also, I will suspend him from school for two weeks, but during those two Tuesdays, I want him to be here for counciling, understood?”

“Yes sir. He’ll be there. We’ll make sure of that.” Oceanbird firmly barked.