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Dark Obsession	By : jracklesfan77 Category: 1 through F > Dark Angel Views: 4878 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Angel, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Part
7

Ben
lay in bed, Jinx's hair spread across his chest, one leg thrown
over his thigh. True to her profession, Jinx played his body
perfectly. Ben couldn't remember the number of times they'd come
together in passion, but the look of incredulity on her face at
his stamina would never leave him. Her eyes had shone brightly
in appreciation and desire with each round of sex they'd engaged
in.

Watching
Jinx sleep, Ben traced lazy patterns on her exposed back,
remembering with a wicked grin how he'd made her beg. Jinx had
lived up to her word; acting out his favorite fantasy, his
elusive dream. He'd had Max, willing and excited, in all her
naked, wanton glory. He'd made love to Jinx, a whore in the
guise of his Maxie. Two faces, two names, two bodies. In his
mind they blended into one, and Ben had exploited the situation
for all it was worth.

Alternating
between soft and gentle, hard and rough, exorcizing his demons
in the depths of her body, Ben had used Jinx like the slut she
was. And now that it was over, he was repulsed.
Self-loathing filled him knowing he'd called the hooker Max; his
Maxie, the pure, sweet woman he loved. He felt disgusted; having
tainted Max's image with a cheap call-girl, a woman paid to be
whatever he wanted, a painfully inadequate substitute for what
he wanted and could never have.

Jinx
stirred beside him and opened sleepy brown eyes, locking gazes
with him. "Hey there, tiger. You were fantastic."

Ben
spoke the words expected of him, devoid of feeling. "You
too, babe."

Lips
curving seductively, Jinx ran a finger up Ben's jaw, trailing it
over the outer shell of his ear before pulling herself off his
body. Making her way over to the bedside table, she opened the
top drawer and began rummaging around.

"What
do you say we up the stakes a bit, babe? It's been forever since
I had sex under the influence. Got any preferences?"

Distracted
by his thoughts, Ben paid little attention to Jinx's actions. He
replied half-heartedly. "Alcohol. Strong. Straight."

Opening
the cupboard beneath the drawer she was still sorting through,
Jinx removed a bottle of amber liquid and passed it to him.
"I keep this here for cases like these. I prefer to ingest
my shit through the veins, if you get my drift." He opened
the bottle and took a deep drag, finishing a good third of the
bourbon and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He
lowered the bottle to the floor and leaned back against the
headboard.

A
sizzling sound hit his ears. Ben's eyes drifted over to where
Jinx now perched on the edge of the bed. He watched silently as
she touched the flame of her lighter to the underside of the
spoon, as the substance it held sputtered and boiled. His heart
began beating faster as she filled the syringe, wrapped a
tourniquet around her upper arm and then clenched and unclenched
her fist. Ben's mouth was dry and his head ached when she slid
the needle into her vein and depressed the plunger.

Jinx
dropped the needle, released the strap on her arm and let her
head fall back as the drug took effect. Finally, she turned
over, looking up into Ben's eyes, and mistook his glazed look of
fury for one of desire.

"Don't
just sit there, pretty boy," she purred through her hazed
state, hands roving over her breasts and pinching her nipples as
she moaned softly. Her hand dipped between her legs.
"Make me cum."

In
a flash, Ben leapt across the bed and slapped Jinx across the
face. Lip trickling blood, she stared at him in confusion and
fear.

"Don't
ever call me pretty boy again," he growled. "Fucking
junkie! Abusing your own body like that is sick. You want to be
used like the trash you are? Get on your knees, bitch." He
was livid.

Not
wishing to upset him further, Jinx complied. Kneeling before
him, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged hard, drawing
whimpers of pain from her lips. She pleaded with her eyes, her
apology breaking between choking sobs.

"What
are you waiting for? Do what you're paid to do!"

Closing
her mouth over his prominent erection, she bobbed up and down,
drawing small gasping breaths from him. Stilling a moment, she
looked up at him, eyes filled with tears. "I just wanted
you to," she gasped as he yanked at her hair again, pulling
her face back against his crotch. Her voice trembled when she
managed to speak again. "...make me cum."

Slapping
her again, he growled. "Shut up!"

Rage
spread through him like wildfire. Echoes of those words, long
ago buried deep in the recesses of his mind resurfaced,
accompanied by visions of times past that he had repressed for
so long.

| O | O | O |

After
leaving the McCawleys,
Ben wandered through different cities, trying to find a place to
call home. Having killed his foster father in an act of
brutality - though well deserved - Ben had been guilt ridden and
shaken. He spent months trying to come to terms with the hand
he'd been dealt and his lapse of faith in the Blue Lady.

*
* *

Just
shy of his sixteenth birthday, Ben had stumbled across a flier
for a church-run home for runaways and orphans. It was a cold
day. Lack of shelter and food tipped the scales, forcing his
reluctant admittance that he needed help.

Walking
up to the doors of the church, Ben hesitated briefly before
opening the thick, wooden door. The entrance was empty but warm,
and the soft glow of light coming from a room off to the side
beckoned to him.

"Can
I help you, son?" The soft voice belonged to a short,
rotund man casually dressed and not remotely priestly looking.

"I
was told I could find shelter here. And food." Ben kept to
the point.

The
man looked him over, his eyes gleaming appreciatively at Ben's
lithe body and boyish good looks. Nodding quickly he replied.
"Of course. You'll fit in here, I'm sure. I'm Mr.
Fenton," he said, stretching his hand out to the young man.

Ben
shook it, his grip strong and firm. "So how does this
work?" he asked stiffly. Harsh life lessons had taught him
that nothing came for free.

"You'll
have to earn your keep, but don't you worry. I assure you, it's
easy work. Now if you'll follow me? I'll show you to your
room."

Days
passed. Ben was given his own room and put on kitchen detail. It
was close to two weeks in that Mr. Fenton approached him and
broached the subject of additional work for better quarters.

"Ben,
my son," he began, staring thoughtfully at the physical
perfection before him. "I like you. You're a hard worker
and a nice boy. If you want a nicer room, maybe a TV and radio,
I can help. Maybe even help you earn some pocket money."

Ben's
eyes lit up at the thought. "Sure, Mr. Fenton, I'd like
that," he answered excitedly.

"Be
in the conservatory on the second floor at 9:00 pm. I'll explain
everything then." Fenton turned to leave but called over
his shoulder. "Oh, and Ben? This is between you and me.
Let's keep it that way."

*
* *

Later
that evening, Ben found himself in the plush room, anxiously
awaiting his benefactor. Walking around the large space, he took
in the plush furnishings, soft couches and a well stocked wet
bar. A bottle of cola nestled in a bucket of ice on the surface
of the bar, a note tucked neatly beneath it.

'Help
yourself. I'll be with you shortly.'

Ben
poured himself a drink and took a seat on one of the couches.
Downing the contents, he refilled it and held the cold glass to
his cheek. The temperature of the room seemed to increase
significantly but in his relaxed state Ben was loath to move
from his place.

"Ben!"
Fenton bellowed jovially from the entrance. Turning to face his
benefactor, Ben returned the friendly smile with one of his own.
A second figure entered the room.

Tall
and dark, the man towered over Fenton, greedy eyes raking over
Ben's body, sending shivers of apprehension down his spine. But
he couldn't bring himself to move.

"This
is Dr. Gillis. He's going to give you an injection - truth
serum. I hope you forgive the liberty, but I need to know I can
trust you implicitly, Ben. As soon as he's finished we will talk
business, yes?" Fenton was standing at the bar, making
himself a drink.

Doctor?
Injection? Ben was highly confused by the doctor's presence, but
he trusted Fenton. The man hadn't steered him wrong yet and he
had no reason to believe he would. If this was what it took to
be trusted he would do it.

*
* *

Ben's
head fell back against the cushions.

The
questions came shortly after. "What is your name?"

"Ben."

"Where
are you from?"

"Wyoming."

"What
are you doing in Detroit?"

"It
seemed as good a place as any."

"Do
you have any family?"

"Somewhere.
I haven't seen them in years. I don't even know if they're
alive. If they are, they probably think I'm dead."

"Do
you have a significant other? A girlfriend, boyfriend
perhaps?"

"No."

Fenton
clapped him on the back. "I'll leave you and Dr. Gillis
alone. Till tomorrow, Ben," he added with a little wave.
"Goodnight, Doctor."

Light-headed
and delirious, Ben stared at the doctor who had begun to remove
his shirt. He giggled as a broad, bare chest was revealed to
him.

"Dude,
what the hell?" he asked, his breathing a bit stilted.
"I know it's hot in here, but..." His words fell flat
when Gillis' belt fell to the floor, pants and underwear
following quickly.

"Lose
the clothes, boy. I want to see what I'm paying for."

Ben
was struck dumb, feeling at once euphoric and uncomfortable. The
position he was in was all too familiar but his body refused to
act on his command and he found himself instead, being pulled
upright and divested of his clothing.

"I
don't -" he began shakily only to have his words cut off by
a sharp smack to the face. Dr. Gillis' ring cut a small gash on
Ben's lip. He reached out and dabbed at it with his finger.
"You cut me!"

Swinging
with all his might, Ben toppled forward, unable to keep his
balance, his fist completely missing Gillis. The older man
looked down and grasped Ben by the hairs at the back of his
neck.

"Don't
just sit there, pretty boy," he snarled. "Make me
cum."

| O | O | O |

Jolting
back to reality, Ben tried to shake his anger. Jinx wasn't
responsible for his pain; he'd been out of line.

Gently
stroking her soft hair, Ben whispered, "I'm sorry. Drugs
bring back bad memories." His grip on the back of her head
loosened, and she relaxed slightly. Jinx refused to meet his
eyes as she continued her ministrations. The push and pull of
her lips and tongue on his shaft had him shaking. The increasing
suction of her mouth as she hollowed her cheeks was driving him
to distraction. Ben felt in control of his mind, if not his
body. Until Jinx, well, jinxed it.

"Tell
me how it feels," she demanded, feeling more bold since his
apology.

A
mistake. Ben's hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly.
He forced Jinx to keep up her pace, even as she gasped for
breath with every dip of her head over him.

"You
disgust me," he hissed, unsure who he was referring to in
his fury, eyes glazing over again before closing them to ward
off the unwanted memories.

| O | O | O |

It
was late one night in the conservatory. His 'business dealings'
had been concluded when he heard a knock on the door. Striding
naked to the other side of the room, Ben pulled the door open to
find Fenton's smiling countenance.

"You've
done well for me, Ben. I got you a little bonus."

Ben
looked down at the small plastic bag, at the powdery substance
that filled it, at the pudgy hand that offered it to him. He was
addicted to the drug all thanks to the fat, ugly man who pretended
to help and care for him. But he was powerless to resist the
sensations of blood rushing through his veins, the thump of his
heart, the surge of need that hit him when he opened the bag,
licked a finger and touched the powder to his lips, running it
over his teeth.

"The
wife is at her mother's for the weekend. Why don't we share
tonight? Unless you'd rather go without..." The double
meaning and not-so-subtle threat weren't lost on Ben as he eyed
his benefactor with distaste.

"If
that's the only way to get a fix, fine," he replied with a
shrug. Indifferent now, he began removing Fenton's clothes,
trying to ignore the gasping breaths being expelled from the
other man's lungs and the rapid swelling of his sex.

"I
love your mouth on my cock," Fenton moaned, hands secured
in Ben's soft hair. "Tell me how it feels."

*
* *

Swimming
figures danced before his blurry eyes. Disjointed bits of
conversation taunted him, images flashed and faded, noises hurt
from their sheer intensity and then muted. His body cramped and
he cringed in shame when he couldn't restrain his bodily
functions. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he cried for his loss
of innocence and prayed for death to deliver him.

Fragments.

"...overdose...treatment...LAAM."

So
tired.

"Can
you hear me?"

Blinding
light searing his eyes.

"Pupils
dilated...heart rate..."

White-hot,
searing pain.

*
* *

He'd
recovered. When told to seek counselling, Ben agreed. Now in
control of his own mind again, he was hell bent on revenge.
Drugs would not rule his life. Sick, demented men would no
longer control him. Fenton had made Ben lose his self-respect,
made him question his faith again. Having hit rock-bottom,
bordering on death, was a reality check laden with poison.

Fenton
would pay.

*
* *

It
was his first premeditated kill. He spent weeks preparing;
following his target, keeping tabs on his activities, watching
his family. Ben waited patiently, determined to find the perfect
moment for payback.

Late
one evening as Ben stood watch outside Fenton's bedroom window,
two figures stumbled into the room. Moonlight illuminated their
forms, casting shadows on the wall. Ben watched with almost
demented pleasure as Mrs. Fenton's robe fell to the floor,
revealing a sensuous, voluptuous figure. She entered the
bathroom and closed the door. The opportunity had finally come.

Easing
the window open, Ben crept inside. He took Fenton by surprise,
covering his mouth with one hand to stifle any sound, the other
tight against his throat, a cold steel blade pressing the
warning clear as day.

"Make
a sound and you're dead." Ben's tone was deadly, quiet.
After securing Fenton to a chair, he leaned against the wall and
chuckled.

"You
and I have a score to settle, Fenton. But I think your wife
should hear this too."

Mrs.
Fenton sauntered out of the bathroom, hips swaying, breasts
bouncing. Her lips parted to scream only to be silenced by Ben's
hand gripping her throat, instantly dissuading her from making a
sound.

"Do
you have any idea what your husband does every night, Mrs.
Fenton?" he asked in a honeyed tone. "Does your
husband tell you everything?"

She
nodded vigorously and Ben laughed, the icy ring causing her to
shiver.

"I
doubt that. Were you aware that he peddles flesh for pocket
money? Drugs kids with no ties and sells them to the highest
bidder for sex? That he gets them hooked on it, dopes them up
and makes them have sex against their will, something they
continue to do as long as he promises them another fix?"

The
woman shook her head vehemently and tried to pull away.

"I
wouldn't do that if I were you. Your husband might get
hurt," he threatened, pulling a gun from behind his back
and pointing it at the shaking man.

Heedless
of the warning, the woman squirmed and yelped beneath his hand.
Without a second thought, Ben sent a round into Fenton's knee,
shattering bone. The man's screams echoed in the room.

"Will
you listen now?" She nodded wildly, tears streaming from
her eyes. "Fenton, tell her that it's true. I want to hear
you say it. Say 'I'm a pimp for underage kids.'" He kept
the gun trained on the man and his hand around the woman's
throat.

In
a shaky whisper, Fenton complied. "I'm a pimp for underage
kids."

Ben
grinned. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" He pulled
out a length of rope from his pocket and secured Mrs. Fenton's
wrists behind her back. Ben then unbuttoned his fly, slid the
zipper down and dropped his pants and boxers.

Looking
at Fenton, he smiled icily. "I'm going to show you what
it's like to have innocence and goodness stolen from you."
Turning to the frightened woman he snarled.

"On
your knees, bitch. You're going to give me head, and you're
gonna give it as good as I ever did. You bite me, he dies.
Disappoint me, he dies. Simple as that." Placing the gun on
the table next to him, Ben motioned for her to begin.

Trembling,
she leaned forward and took him in her mouth. Ben's lips curled
up in pleasure. Warm, wet lips moved up and down his shaft, hot
velvet tongue swirled around his member, pressure increasing as
she sucked. As his breathing became rapid and shallow and he
felt the building of release at the base of his spine, he
gripped the woman's throat and squeezed. Gasping, she fought
desperately for breath but he kept her head in place, striving
for relief. The labored breaths teased his swollen flesh and he
held tighter as he came, his iron grip choking the life from the
woman on her knees.

Coming
down from his high, Ben relinquished his hold and watched in
satisfaction as she fell lifeless at his feet. The quiet sobs of
his former benefactor were a pleasant bonus.

"Your
late wife really knew how to blow a guy to the edge of oblivion.
Too bad you'll never have the pleasure again." Retrieving
his firearm and taking a step towards Fenton, Ben raised the gun
and pointed it at the other man's head.

"Burn
in hell, motherfucker," he hissed in lieu of goodbye. The
report from the shot reverberated loudly.

| O | O | O |

Ben
felt the heaviness beneath his hands and looked down in horror
to find Jinx; her mouth open wide, throat bruised a dark purple,
eyes bulging sightlessly from their sockets. Her face and chest
glistened with the residue of his fluids.

Ben
sunk to his knees, pulling Jinx's lifeless body into his arms,
and broke into shattering sobs.

TBC
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Dark Obsession