Bordering on a dangerous obsession. Chapter 46-Secret Diary

Author's Note: Apologies, but this last month has been... messy.

Well I'll try to pick up the pace. Won't be promising though. Stupid recession.

I think I laid it on a little thick there with all the Max butt kissing, but I had to make sure he thought he had me whupped in this, our battle of wits.

Don't get me wrong, the videos were incredible. So much to learn, so much to practice, it'd help me immensely.

But I was fairly certain that all I did to myself on Wednesday was what he was really after. All the nitty gritty of that night. And these videos were supposed to help nudge me into telling him.

And while I respected him immensely, I couldn't blindly trust him, not about me and Dave. While he was repaying a debt, that clearly wasn't all he was doing.

And he'd never once directly demanded the information from me. Always hinting. Suggesting. Implying.

A damn shame I don't remember half of that night. Shit got awful hazy about an hour after I used the Orange Jar. The mix of pain in the upper half and pleasure in the lower half, it all whirled into nothing but indiscriminate sensation... I think it was like one of those trance things some people practice, though I wasn't putting hooks in my back, no sirree.

In any event, something happened. I had smashed a mirror through all the Plexiglas and chicken wire I put up, I had replaced the batteries in the egg's remote once, I had cried at some point, and I had bit the thicker Little Dave so much it looked like it was tossed in a dingo pit for a night.

I don't remember doing any of those things.

And yet I'm still here, still me.

Though I was working on that.

That Max wanted that info meant it had value. In time he'd get it from me, but by then I had to have more. I'd have to keep ahead of the curve.

And that meant keeping the Doc on my side.

I had a pretty good idea how, but more on that later.

Oo0oO

Sunday, the day after my birthday, had me up bright and early, despite the greasy food and cake I'd gorged on.

Another nightmare, I'd been having them ever since Thursday.

I figured it was due to what I did to myself. If they didn't go away soon, I might have to talk to Max about them.

After exercise, food and my now vastly reduced pills regimen, I got ready to go for a jog.

Oo0oO

I had gone back to the bolthole in the wee hours of Sunday to see if I could salvage the place.

Someone had been there.

At this point, I'm not going to say how I know, I'd like to keep that particular ace up my sleeve, only that at least one, maybe two people have gone in. And they'd worked very hard to conceal the fact.

The Maid-Man had to be one of them, I'd seen him I think when I was heading from here to the Safehouse.

So, I carefully went in, disarmed the bomb, and did a quick check, I didn't have too much time before Marcus got up.

It was minute, but someone had been by. Nothing was taken, in fact I found both Little Dave's in short order.

If nothing was taken then that meant something had been added.

I didn't reach for the bugsweeper I had in my hoodie, I didn't want to give away that I could tell. If he knew, he'd simply try a different type, less effective no doubt, but something I couldn't catch as easily.

So, why did Max want to know about Wednesday so badly?

I adjusted the bomb so instead of an explosion, it'd just burst and burn and spread.

MRE's, lime, water, cots. Nothing that would be missed.

I'll jump to #9 I think, it should be harder to find by ghosting me, and any noise I make shouldn't be a problem.

I set the timer for five minutes.

Oo0oO

Marcus took his Sunday's late, especially with all the beer he'd had watching the game after my party.

I waited until he was moderately conscious before asking if I could set up the Wii on the TV.

It should be good way to whittle a couple of hours before I went back to my room for a nap. It'd make him feel good about his present choice. Heck, it might even be a bit of fun.

Oo0oO

After the nap, I did one more trial run of things in my room.

As I suspected, I couldn't still look at myself doing things to Little Dave. A new spare mirror confirmed it.

I didn't try to force it, force wasn't the answer. I know, I never thought I'd ever say that with a straight face either.

But after a quick shimmy into both the lower half of my modified costume, and the egg I'd attached into it, I tried again.

Egg pushed in as far as it could go, phone set both to record and chime an alarm after five minutes in case things got too fuzzy. And placed carefully out of swinging distance, just to be sure.

With a wink to the camera, I switched the egg on to a steady 5 and got started.

With it going, looking at my reflection with a dick was easy. So easy. It barely felt like me at all.

Oo0oO

I didn't need the alarm, I stopped after four minutes and a number of techniques I'd practiced.

Switching the egg off, I got out of the bottom half of the costume before I could get it dirty. Tissues were nearby as I popped the egg out, just in case.

I was wet, like slut-wet, but not make a mess of the sheets wet. A single tissue was sufficient. It would go into the toilet shortly, no way in hell was I leaving that in the trash bin to stink up the room.

For good measure I used a bit of air freshener to guarantee it.

Then, with fresh underwear and jogging pants on. I watched myself on the phone.

It was beyond creepy.

My face was... off. It wasn't like Jessi's was that one time, that pro escort face she'd taken off while I watched in the tree. No, it was much cruder. My eyes were barely open and kind of glazed, like I wasn't really all there, like I was high on something. I was also blushing, and worst of all, as my head went up and down, up and down, flecks of spit marred her cheeks, and drool trickled down my chin.

I had a Hit Girl and a Fuck mode now. Still terrible with the naming, I know. I'd work on it.

Still it sucked when it was supposed to, licked and nibbled when it was supposed to, and it pushed the rubber dick deep into her -my- throat without hesitation for the finale. My eyes crossed when I did, which blew any thought of looking seductive out of the water with a .50-cal.

But, it didn't bite, didn't crush anything, didn't reach for a weapon.

Crude, but it'll do for now. I'd work out something better later.

I went for a shower.

Oo0oO

After dinner, I spent the last hour just laying on my bed, deep in thought.

Innocence.

Innocence was the only answer I could come up with for how I made it through that first time.

It sounds absurd, me being innocent about anything, but I had been horribly naive about the whole thing from the get-go. All my initial plans about getting together with Dave were ignorant and childish when I go back and reread them. Like I could offer him anything that Katie couldn't.

It was like a tugboat going against a damn battleship. The big guns helped a lot in a fight.

And in my innocence I had treated the practice as exactly that. Practice. Not sex.

I was careful, neat, and precise. It didn't taste like anything, no one was watching (they better fucking not, heads would literally roll), and nothing smelled.

And then I did it for real, I sucked Dave until he came in my mouth. I smelled and tasted it, tasted him, and it was messy and noisy...

And then the old lessons came bubbling up. The old rules. Things carved into me by Daddy.

- Pedos had to die, screaming.
(Dave wasn't a pedo! He liked big tits!)

- The only time a dick could be in my hand is if my other had a knife ready to saw it off the Pedo who waved it at me.
(Dave didn't do anything! I did it all!)

- The only things a man could splatter on me was blood, tears, and the occasional bit of brain matter.
(The fault was mine! I let it drizzle on my lips.)

- I could never be like my mother. Ever.
(I wasn't!)

- A whore.
(I wasn't... there was a difference…)

I had danced through a minefield without even knowing it was there until the very end.

My thoughts were interrupted by my phone buzzing.

Dave.

Time to pack up and go.

My present was waiting.

Oo0oO

It was the same rooftop as before. We couldn't let this place become a habit, too many spots to be seen, or sniped.

Still, it was a special place for me, and Dave knew that.

A perfect place to unwrap a present.

And it was a weapon, a staff that hid two swords.

Just like Daddy, Dave got me the best of presents.

Functional, sturdy, blunt, and then open it up and it's beautiful, sharp, and deadly. It represented everything about me. About what I was trying to be.

Did he know?

I twirled the staff in the forms I had trained in and tried not to grin like a maniac. Okay, I let a little bit of a grin out, I couldn't help it.

And waited for the perfect moment.

A gunshot. A .38 special if I didn't miss my guess. A couplea miles away from the echoes but the acoustics of the buildings and the wind made it sound closer. We heard them a few times a night, or at least I did, but then I knew by ear pretty much every caliber and grain count on the street.

Dave didn't, and so he turned and went to the edge of the railing of the rooftop, looking for the source.

His back was to me and I figured there wasn't gonna be a better moment tonight.

I carefully stalked closer. The rough gravel didn't make it easy.

And then I tossed the staff behind me and leapt for his back.

Oo0oO

Sentimentality almost did me in. I didn't want to ding the staff, and I didn't toss it far or hard. Thus it hit the ground while I was still jumping and Dave heard it hit the gravel.

Then he heard the sound of my knife leaving its sheath.

He reacted beautifully. Everything we practiced came together and he stopped the blade inches from his neck as I landed on his back.

I wrapped my legs around him from behind and locked my feet around his waist, then I brought my free arm to both strangle and help leverage the knife closer.

Final exam Dave. Can you figure it out?

He grunted at my weight and wheezed around the elbow lock on his throat. The knife inched closer.

He whirled and spun, but I had my legs locked tight and his spinning just made the choking worse.

He couldn't pry my arms free, couldn't dislodge me, and one possible solution, slamming me against a wall or corner, was too far away.

From my position I could see him gritting his teeth now, and personal experience with a good strangling or three had me guess what stage he was at now. The edges of his vision were probably starting to fade, and that primal panic, that desperate need to breathe, was setting in.

It was an almost nostalgic sight, I must have been eight when Daddy did it to me over and over until I knew what to do and to not panic.

What now Dave?

And then he surprised me.

Oo0oO

The Brazilian Leaping Jugular Cut was designed to incapacitate a target, and specifically for teams to use. Brazil had a lot of alleys and narrow spaces for ambush. It was made for a smaller assailant to get the drop on a larger and stronger opponent. Even if it failed, the target was effectively helpless for others to close in and do the deed.

Dave didn't know any of that. All he knew was that I was on his back and he had to get me off.

Of him. Off of him. Phrasing, I know, shut up.

And so he went to the edge of the building, toward the guardrails. He kept one hand against mine to keep the knife at bay but his other went to my feet and gripped them where they met at the ankles.

It took me a few seconds to figure it out, and by then we were airborne.

Dave had planted a foot on the middle rail and launched himself backwards towards the gravel. And he'd trapped my arms and legs so when we hit, I'd take the brunt of it.

It was a terrible solution, yet a perfect one. He would be extra helpless if this were a team takedown, but against just me...

My breath whooshed out of my lungs as he rammed me into the rooftop, and I could hear my cape scratching and tearing against the jagged gravel.

And his back and shoulders, they squashed my armor into my chest hard. Man did it hurt, I almost moaned.

The shock of the impact made my limbs go slack, and he capitalized on it. Rather than trying to climb loose and leave me behind him still armed with the knife, he instead twisted around until he was facing me, grabbed my hands, and bashed them until I lost grip of the knife. As it clattered against the gravel, he pinned both of my hands with one of his own above my head, using his greater weight to deny me any leverage to escape.

His other hand, now free, reared back to hammer my face in, then abruptly stopped as he realized what he was about to do.

I was pinned.

Oo0oO

He was panting, and what skin of his face I could see was rapidly regaining proper color. I was panting too, though not from having the wind knocked out of me, Daddy had made sure I had proper breathing and diaphragm control. It'd take very specific blows or a very thorough boot fucking to make me breathless.

I was panting because of the position I was in. We were in.

He was between my legs. What had been a fine jockey lock from behind was now a textbook missionary when he was facing me. I didn't have any ankle or boot blades, no knee spikes.

I was pinned, no leverage, I couldn't even bite him, and I had no mouth darts to spit at his eyes.

And he was hard. I could feel him press against me.

He still had a hand free. He could do what he wanted, take what he wanted.

I had to say the words.

"I give up."

Oo0oO

With Daddy, those were words you never ever say. I must have been seven the last time I did. It was the third time I could recall saying it ever, and we'd stopped the spar then and there.

I remember how disappointed he had been, and how I didn't get any desert that night. I got the belt instead.

With Daddy, you kept going until you passed out or were taken out. Never quit. Never give up.

But Daddy was dead, and now I was with Dave.

And it's all right if it's Dave.

Things were different.

Oo0oO

At my words he relaxed slowly, I could tell from how he was pressed against me. But he didn't let go of my hands, he wasn't that stupid.

Our faces were only a few inches apart. I could feel his breath on my face.

"A bit unorthodox, but you finally figured it out."I said to him. Then I carefully went limp.

I think that made him even harder. It felt like it, but I couldn't see it with my skirt in the way, not unless I wanted to break eye contact.

And I didn't want to break eye contact.

He was staring at me but I don't think he was seeing me. Not me me, but the me I promised him on this very roof, not that long ago.

His personal Cunt. (That's what I should call it!)

And even with me breathing in his face, his dick at full mast in-between my legs, me limp and not resisting, he still wouldn't give in and fuck me.

That's how I know Dave is a good person, even if he doubts himself.

And to keep him that way, I had to make sure I did it all, keep his hands clean so to speak.

So I smiled up at him. Small, but proud.

"I think that calls for a reward."