TITLE - Scully's Release AUTHOR - Romp RATING - NC-17 AUTHOR's NOTE: Completes story arc running through "Scully's Dilemma," "Mulder's Tail," "Krycek's Game," and "Scully's Instruction." CLASSIFICATION - Story/Humor/Angst -- MSR SPOILERS - Set in the latter half of Season Six. No spoilers I'm aware of. KEYWORDS - MSR, Smut SUMMARY - Scully finally gives in to her fantasy of performing at the strange club known as "The Menagerie." Unexpected consequences ensue, forcing her to consider confronting Mulder about the true nature of her feelings. FEEDBACK: Please! Was it Dennis Miller who said, "All writers are whores for attention?" Thanks to everyone who responded to the previous stories. E-Mail: Rompier@aol.com. WARNING: This story is rated NC-17 for language and adult sexual situations. ARCHIVING: Sending to Gossamer's and Whisper's of X. Anyone else who wants it, just ask and promise to keep all headers intact. DISCLAIMERS: First, this story contains a couple of well- known lines from the Charlie Daniels' Band song, "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Obviously, I don't own the song, they do. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from its use. Second, there are a couple of lines spoken by CSM that draw heavily on dialogue from William Davis' excellent script for "En Ami." Again, no infringement is meant. (That episode served as the inspiration for one of the "under stories" in this series of tales and I can only hope I do justice to Davis' portrayal of our favorite villain.) And, lastly...The X- Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. ********************************************** The tile felt cool against Dana Scully's bare buttocks. That was the first thing she noticed. The second, of course, was the unwelcome realization that she was completely nude. No, that wasn't quite right. She had on a pair of her better high heels, the four-inch, suede uber-pumps that were among her favorites. But, for some reason which she couldn't quite understand, she found it impossible to take them off. Standing slowly from the crouch she'd awoken in, Scully found her legs wobbly. The uber-pumps didn't help any, but after a few moments she nonetheless managed to regain her balance. It was only then that she recognized where she was: the hallway outside her and Agent Mulder's basement office. Her heart thudded into overdrive as she searched desperately around for any covering. Nothing. No clothes. No blankets. Not even a fucking sheet of scrap paper. The hallway was completely bare. Scully grimaced. Pun intended. Worse still, the elevator lights at the end of the hallway were charting the descent of carriage from the fourth floor and Scully knew in the pit of her stomach that it was headed directly to the basement. She glanced in the opposite direction at the door to her office. Black. Mulder wasn't in yet! Her heart skipped. And he kept gym clothes stashed in that infernal desk of his, didn't he? Scully broke into as fast a trot as her uber-pumps would allow, promising God that this time she *really* would start attending Sunday mass again, if (please, oh, please) the door would just be unlocked. Pulling at the knob, she felt a surge of relief at the solid clicking sound the mechanism made as it turned in her hand. Whisking herself inside the door, Scully stole a furtive glance back at the elevator: first floor and closing. Her fingers flittering in the dark with the knob, Scully realized the device simply wouldn't lock. She quickly moved on to plan B: flicking on the overhead light, she dove madly at Mulder's desk, intent on turning the drawers inside out if that's what it took to find one of his musty old Knicks T-shirts. Blind panic quickly set in. The drawers wouldn't budge. Scully stood back from the desk. They looked liked they'd been welded shut. How could that be? Footsteps in the hallway focused her attention elsewhere. With every ounce of will, Scully forced herself to focus. An office door that won't lock. Drawers welded shut. And just how the hell did she get here naked in the first place? As the truth dawned on her, Scully glanced up at the light fixture for confirmation. She saw it: a slight, violet glow, the kind she always saw around light sources in her dreams. No, it occurred to her, not always. For several nights she'd been plagued by a series of dreams where she'd been humiliated and tormented by men from her past. On those occasions, she'd been completely clueless to the fact that she was actually asleep, safe in her own bed. Indeed, those experiences had seemed all too real. Which, she only now realized, was completely uncharacteristic for her: ever since she was a young child, Scully always had a rare knack for realizing when she was dreaming. Why, exactly, her unique gift had abandoned her in recent nights could be addressed in more detail during her waking hours. As the distinctly masculine footsteps in the hall grew louder, a more pressing thought occurred to Scully: she was naked, in her office, and a man was about to walk through that door. A wicked grin spread out over her face. And she could do anything she damn well pleased with him. Scully looked around, trying to decide how best to position herself. Her first inclination was to crouch behind the desk, to let *him* -- and she had an all too good idea who *he* might be -- have to search for her. She quickly discarded that idea. This was her dream world, she could be as bold as she liked. Scully got up on the desk on all fours. After a few seconds, she shifted into a seated position on the edge of the desk. There was bold, she decided, then there was giving the man a heart attack before he passed the threshold. Crossing her legs, Scully laced her fingers over her knee, pointing the tip of one uber-pump straight in the air. Pretending to admire the shoe-tip absently, she did her best to look disinterested as the doorknob clicked. It seemed as if the man on the other side held the door for an eternity before opening it. Scully let her excitement race, as she felt a slight draft wash over her body from the movement of the door. Devilment in her eyes, Scully looked up. "Good morning, Mul--" There weren't shades of red deep enough to describe the coloring in her face. "Agent Scully, was there a change in the Bureau's dress code I wasn't apprised of?" AD Skinner barked the question as he slammed the door shut behind him. Not sure that her heart was beating, Scully did the only thing she could think of: she glanced quickly back at the overhead light. Still a violet hue. She *was* dreaming then. Wasn't she? "I believe I asked you a question agent?" Skinner was only feet away from her, his chin slightly upturned at the optimal angle for sternness. Awkwardly Scully scrambled off the corner of the desk, secretly giving thanks that she had abandoned her previous position. Her hands moving awkwardly to cover herself, Scully could only stammer, "I...I...don't know...don't know what to say...sir." Skinner was staring her dead in the eyes and Scully desperately wished his gaze would take itself to some of the more obvious attractions that presented themselves. He let out a disgusted breath. "Agent Scully, I have a good mine to parade you up to my office like this before signing the papers to terminate your employment with the Bureau." Something clicked with Scully. She let her hands drop to her sides. She knew for sure now: definitely a dream. "Agent Scully, I expect this type of bizarre behavior from your partner, but frankly I'm shocked to find you like this. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Setting herself, Scully placed her hands on her hips. Then she balled them into fists. Yes, she decided, that was better. More defiant. She cleared her throat. "Yes, sir, I do have something to say." Skinner glowered. "And that would be?" The wicked smile returned. "I think I'd like that." Skinner's chin dropped as he switched from stern to confused mode. "You'd like what, Agent Scully?" Scully took a slow seductive step towards him. "The part where you parade me through the building. Nude." Skinner's cheeks flushed as confusion passed into arousal. "Really, Agent Scully?" Scully took another step, her mind planning all sorts of delicious things. She'd been hoping for Mulder, but, in a pinch, Skinner would do. She reached out and ran her fingers up the underside of his necktie, stopping at the knot. "But do you know what I'd really, really like, Walter?" Skinner took off his glasses. "What would that be...Agent Scully?" "I'd really like your cock in my ass right now." Scully stepped back to examine his reaction, inwardly thrilling at her own naughtiness. It was her dream, Scully decided. She could talk like she was in a porno movie if she wanted. Scully's eyes were still locked on Skinner's as she heard the whir of his zipper being undone. Followed by a loud flop. Scully looked down and gulped. Porno movie, indeed. "Is there a problem, Agent Scully?" "No, sir." Merriment in her eyes, Scully took two greedy steps and leapt into his arms. Then the alarm clock went off. ****************** "GODDAMMIT!" Scully barely finished saying the word before she'd beaten the alarm clock into submission. It was only as the pain in her wrist set in that she realized she'd said it out loud. Her face reddened. *And at the top of my lungs,* she noted. Scully eyed her bruised alarm clock sadly. So many times in recent days the device had been her savior, summoning her back from the brink of one of the many tortuous dreams she'd experienced of late. It deserved better. Still, she desperately wished this morning's dream had reached (pardon the expression) its climax. The fact that it revolved around her superior at the FBI, AD Skinner, wasn't necessarily the point. Though she certainly found the assistant director physically attractive, he didn't conjure up the range of emotions that her relationship with her partner, Fox Mulder, did. No, what made this dream so special was that for the first time in what seemed an eternity she had been aware she was dreaming, indeed, even was in control of the dream to an extent. And she had very much enjoyed that. Scully sighed. In eight hours, she was to arrive at the Menagerie where she would indulge one of the most wicked and forbidden fantasies she could imagine. At the invitation of the Menagerie's proprietor, Lydia Carnivale, Dana Scully -- yes, Dana Katherine "raised-devout-catholic- son-of-a-naval-officer-trained-as-a-medical-doctor-special- agent-of-the-FBI" Scully --- would don an x-rated red leather devil suit and act as one of the Menagerie's serving wenches for a night. Scully's heart quickened. This particular costume would render her nude from the waist down. It was insane she knew. She could jeopardize almost everything she cared about: her career, her livelihood, her reputation. If, and she stressed the word *if* in her mind, anyone ever found out. But she'd gone over the scenario a hundred times and couldn't see any way that anyone could know. The costume would conceal her facial features, as well as the tell-tale tattoo on her lower back. She'd arranged to get dressed before the other performers arrived. And for some reason that she couldn't quite name, she trusted this woman, Lydia Carnivale, deeply and instinctively. Scully felt a warm glow build inside her. Hell, she'd let Lydia dominate her and the ensuing orgasm had brought Scully to the brink of passing out. Scully closed her eyes tightly on the memory. Was what she was going to do this evening really so wrong? Repeating the mantra she had developed to calm her anxiety prior to her session with Lydia, Scully told herself that this was a one-time event. She would do it, enjoy it, and learn what she could from it. A one-time thing. Like skydiving. Or bungee jumping. She had imagined all manner of potential negatives before allowing herself to be dominated by Lydia and none of them had come to pass. Instead she'd experienced one of the most intense sexual experiences of her life. Once more Scully assured herself: you do this once, you enjoy it, and you move on. Really, what could go wrong? ****************** "You have no idea how glad I am that you're joining us tonight, Dana." Seeing Lydia again had not been as awkward as Scully feared. There was still a part of Dana that felt slightly uncomfortable with the notion of another woman provoking such an intense sexual response in her. But Lydia had a certain air about her that put such concerns and taboos readily to rest. Scully cleared her throat. "Lydia, before we begin, I just wanted to thank you again. Both for what you gave me yesterday and for what you've helped me understand about myself." Lydia smiled warmly and placed an arm around Scully's shoulder guiding her through the Menagerie's showroom. "You're more than welcome. But as I told you when we first met, that's what I do. Help people accept themselves." They paused in front of the red devil suit. "Have you thought of a name?" "Name?" Scully asked. Lydia laughed lightly. "Well, I don't think you want me calling you 'Dana' tonight." Scully blushed. Good point. But she hadn't had time to consider a name and she hated having to choose on short notice. Then it came to her. It was silly, even stupid, but the song had been in her head for days now: >Johnny, Johnny, Rise Up Your Bow and Play Your Fiddle Hard< >Hell's Broke Loose in Georgia and The Devil Deals The Cards< Wincing, Scully said, "Do you know that old Charlie Daniels Band song?" Lydia smiled knowingly. "All too well." Scully decided. "Okay. My name will be Jonni." "Jonni it is." They continued on to Lydia's office, arm-in-arm now. "By the way, have the dreams stopped, Dana?" Scully shook her head. "Yes and no." Lydia turned to face her, surprised. "Oh?" "The dreams are different now. There's still an element of humiliation. But I'm somehow more in control." Scully laughed. "Bottom-line is that I enjoyed the most recent one a hell of a lot more than ones from previous nights." "That's wonderful, Dana." Lydia's smile broadened. "Now, let's get you dressed." **************** Eying the stack of videos assembled in his basement office, Fox Mulder admitted that there were times he disgusted even himself. "Ass Kittens 4." "They Came From Planet Butt." "Victoria's Secret Ass Party, Part II." "Backdoor Becky and What the Parrot Saw." "Buttman 7." For some reason -- one it didn't take an Oxford-educated psychologist to unravel -- his choice of porno tapes had recently strayed towards those focused explicitly on the female posterior. With Scully out of the office recovering from an all-too-close encounter with a curare-tipped dart, Mulder had abandoned any pretense of concealing his collection. He grimaced at the thought of the curare dart. Part of him recoiled at the thought of how close he'd come to losing Scully. Part of him berated himself for the secret pleasure he took in the memory of sucking on his partner's luscious backside to remove the deadly poison from her wound. He sighed. I *am* one sorry son of a bitch. His hormones had been on overload ever since he'd been forced to examine Scully's derriere for signs of a potentially deadly discoloration some weeks ago. Deep down, a part of him knew that matters were getting out of hand. He was jerking off up to five times a day and that was without even having to see Scully on a daily basis. By Monday she would be back on the job and Mulder was beginning to fear that he would need to spend a full half of his day in the men's room. An abrupt beep startled Mulder back to his computer. Clicking on Outlook Express, Mulder saw the tell-tale signs of an untraceable e-mail: a blank domain address. Under sender, it simply said, "A Friend at the FBI." There was no accompanying path or address to respond to and Mulder knew it would be hopeless to try to trace the sender. He'd received similar e-mails before, but none in almost three years. Not since his last benefactor inside the Syndicate -- the man he knew simply as Mr. X -- had been assassinated. The text of the message was short and Mulder was out of his chair before he'd finished reading it. It simply said: "As you value your partner's life and reason, be at the Menagerie tonight at 6:00 pm. Come alone." Vaguely Mulder realized that the wording of the warning had been borrowed from something he'd read once. Sherlock Holmes maybe? But he brushed the matter from his mind. Riddles could be solved later. Right now he needed to get in touch with Scully. Cell phone in one hand, the door knob in his other, Mulder was completely defenseless as he opened the office door. The figure waiting in the hallway already had his weapon drawn. Alex Krycek fired point blank into his ribs and Fox Mulder's world went black. ****************** Pain. Then pleasure. And lastly power. At first the leather seemed so tight Scully was sure she could barely breathe. The boots were perhaps the worst. Lydia needed to pinch and prod Scully's thighs and calves every inch of the way as she laced the zipper up the back of each tapered boot. With six-inch heels, the boots were true weapons: both to anyone she might inadvertently step on, and to Scully's own feet. She felt like she was walking with her feet at an impossible angle, practically placing all of her weight on her toes. The bustier was little better. The first few seconds after Lydia laced her in, Scully feared she might suffocate. She had to strain her stomach muscles just to exhale. Her head piece was equally constrictive, even though it was open in the back. But the pain and discomfort quickly subsided after a few minutes. The leather of the bustier relaxed and adjusted to the rhythm of her breathing. Her mask, too, settled after a fashion, letting a blissful layer of air in between the leather and her skin. And the boots. Well, after she got used to the sensation of balancing on the six-inch stilettos, the boots made her feel -- literally and figuratively -- ten feel tall. The whole outfit imbued Scully with an immense sense of power. Just the way she felt moving through Lydia's office made every muscle somehow feel preternaturally strong. The height and power of the boots, the steel-like support of the bustier, and the ironclad anonymity of the headpiece all combined to make Dana Scully feel as sexually potent as ever she had. The sensation was only heightened by the whoosh of air on those parts of her body not covered by the costume. There had always been a part of Scully that felt overly conspicuous because of her firm round ass. Somehow it seemed a little too bawdy for her personality. With the red leather stiletto boots and tightly drawn bustier, the effect was to accentuate her hips and ass. But not in a way that made Scully feel more subconscious about them. Just the opposite: by leaving them on full display, it seemed the consummate act of rebellion. Instead of worrying about concealing and hiding her ass as she had her whole life, Scully was literally going to stick it in everyone's face. Scully examined herself in a full-length mirror. She smiled wickedly under the mask -- her mouth and chin the only distinguishing features visible. Powerful indeed. "You look wonderful Dana," Lydia said as she helped Scully slip on a pair of red silk gloves that ran high above her elbows. As ludicrous as it might seem, Scully actually blushed at the comment. Next came a small set of clip-on horns to round out the "devil look" of her head. Scully admired this new item as well then said, "I guess that's it." Lydia shook her head, a wicked smile once again on her face. From behind her back she produced a two-foot long black leather tail which ended in a classic "devil's point." Scully eyed the tail -- and in particular the healthy sized butt plug at the terminal end of the prosthetic -- and grinned sheepishly. "I'd forgotten about that." Lydia made no pretense of believing her. "Had you now?" Scully nodded and breathed deep in anticipation. Lydia took a step forward. "Lean forward, Dana." Lydia was exquisitely rough in its insertion and Scully harkened back to their encounter the previous day. With a pat on the ass for good luck, Lydia moved towards the door. "I have to see how the other girls are doing. I'll be back in a half hour, Dana. When it's time for the ritual." Scully felt her stomach sink. Ritual? ********************** She spent the next half hour patrolling Lydia's office, attempting to get used to the twin sensations of walking in the exaggerated heels and of moving with the wonderfully wicked devil tail now securely in place. Almost a half hour to the moment she left, Lydia reappeared, looking resplendent in a flowing black velvet gown. In her hand she held a long stretch of red ribbon. She smiled pleasantly. "Ready?" Scully laced her hands together awkwardly. The feel of the silk on silk between her fingers momentarily distracting her from the anxiety now raging in her stomach. "Umm, Lydia, you...you didn't mention anything about a ritual." Lydia's grin took on a bit of a menacing hue. "No I didn't." Then she laughed lightly. "But I promise you, it won't be anything you won't enjoy. Just a little something we do for new members of the Menagerie." As she spoke, she laced a large loop at one end of the ribbon. Scully had a fairly good idea where it would go. Lydia gently placed it over Dana's head. For a second time, she asked, "Ready?" Scully took a deep breath. Too late to turn back now. Without a word, she just nodded. At a slow pace, Lydia began leading Scully out through the showroom and down the staircase into the main bar area. It was only at the point where she was halfway down the stairs that the limited view of her mask allowed Scully to see who was assembled below. Five other women lined the base of the stairs, two on one side, three on another. Scully immediately saw the now familiar sight of Thumper's her well-muscled, espresso-colored body, completely nude except for her hare's tail and clip-on ears. To her right a tall, beautifully Rubinesque woman stood equally nude, save for an elaborate peacock-like headpiece and -- Scully shuddered to think what was holding it on -- a large fanned peacock tail which must have been at least three-feet at its widest. On the other side stood a small, brunette outfitted with a single unicorn horn on her head. More modest than the others, she wore a kind of white tasseled material over her breasts and sex, but her ass was bare, save for a thong and the a trademark white tail poking out between her well- rounded cheeks. A pair of white, spiked ankle boots topped off the look. Next to her, a striking African-American woman wore a pirate costume similar in design to Scully's own devil ensemble: thigh-high black buccaneer boots complemented by a tight black bustier. The woman wore no tail, nor a mask, but did don the requisite pirate hat. Finally, came a young blonde woman, perhaps 5'2", with beautiful (and seemingly real) breasts thrust forward. With the exception of a pair of faux white hooves on her feet and a rough-looking matching tail emanating from her backside, the woman wore nothing, but did have an elaborately decorated shield across her back. Leather straps ran under her arms securing it in place. She was also the only performer tonight wearing the type of elaborate face paint Scully had expected to see. The woman was made up to have a distinctly equine look, an image only enhanced by the braiding of her hair into a plume rising straight up from the top of her head. Latin characters also were painted at various places on her body. Scully thought she understood: the woman was supposed to be some sort of warhorse from classical times. Arrayed out in a loose semi-circle around this short corridor of performers were perhaps ten or twelve customers, the first of the night and mostly male. Reaching the end of the stairs with Lydia in the lead, Scully saw now that each of the costumed women held a serving tray in one hand. Scully suddenly had a bad feeling about "the ritual," a hunch that was immediately confirmed as Thumped applied a hard smack to her left ass cheek with the tray. Each of the other women spanked in turn. Scully bit down hard, not wanting to cry out, despite the fact that the butt plug was serving as a lightening rod for the sting of each blow. To her credit, she managed to survive all five swats without so much as a yelp. At the end of the mini-gauntlet, Lydia halted and addressed the room: "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jonni, our devil." A surprisingly thunderous ovation followed. The spanking had distracted Scully from the obvious fact that she had officially entered the Menagerie. Here she stood with almost every aspect of her body on display for a roomful of strangers. Scully's heart quickened. She was loving it. Scully quickly realized that Lydia still held her homemade leash and she was leading her now towards the small stage set off to the right of the bar. Lydia looked back and cooed reassurance, "Don't worry, Jonni. I'm sure you're going to do fine." "Do I have to?" Scully whispered back in a voice she thought only Lydia could hear. Thumper squeezed her from behind. "Of course you have to! All the newbies get first dance of the night!" Over the sound system, Scully heard a song kick in. Her mind searched and then clicked on it. Oh God, she thought, it's that band with Axl what's his name. "Welcome to the Jungle," reached its crescendo and kicked into high gear as all eyes turned to Scully. Lydia slipped off the ribbon and helped her to the stage, Thumper giggling wildly nearby. Then Scully did something she never thought she would. She grabbed Thumper by the shoulders and pulled her up onto the stage with her. Shouting into her ear, she screamed, "Show me how to dance!" ****************** Goldfinger? Was that that the movie? The one where Sean Connery almost has private parts incinerated by an industrial laser. Then, just when he escapes that unpleasant fate, a technician steps up and shoots him point blank with a tranquilizer dart. Only Connery doesn't really know its a tranquilizer dart till he wakes up on a plush private jet with Pussy Galore. Mulder glanced around his dingy basement office. Honor Blackman was nowhere to be seen. Still lying on his back, Mulder sniffed the dart he'd extracted from his ribs. The odor wasn't anything he recognized. Must have been one of the Syndicate's homemade brews. He doubted that it would be lethal. If Krycek wanted him dead, Mulder reasoned, he wouldn't be awake now pondering the nature of the substance that had rendered him unconscious. And now left him extraordinarily dizzy. And nauseous. For a third time, Mulder tried to struggle to his knees only to be sucked back to the floor in a gut-wrenching internal whirlwind. Clinging to the cool tile, Mulder tried to steady himself. Scully. He had to get to Scully. ****************** The hours passed remarkably quickly. After she and Thumper brought the house down with her inaugural dance, Scully set to tending a section of six tables. It was still early and the crowd was light. One table was occupied by a middle- aged professional couple. They treated her practically like a china doll. Ever so polite and complimentary on how nicely Scully filled out the devil costume. They were sweet, but Scully had the unwelcome feeling they were searching for a third corner of a private triangle to be formed later. At another table, sat an overweight young man. Scully couldn't guess at his profession, but he clearly could afford to tip well. He was another sweetie and actually did his best to try to make conversation with her whenever she would stop by to check on his drink. Looking into his eyes that first time, she hit upon an important truth: at least half the men in the bar were thoroughly intimidated by Scully and the other performers. An aging beatnik and an elderly lawyer rounded out her current slate of customers. People came and went, but the Menagerie never really seemed to fill up. The tone was muted and respectful, though the gazes of some patrons could be extremely uncomfortable at times. But, as a whole, the Menagerie's clientele was extremely well-behaved. Scully sensed there might have been a screening process or even membership requirements. A small team of well-muscled bouncers patrolled behind the scenes and at the door in case anyone failed to obey the rules. Scully delighted in each moment: the sensation of the air moving on her bare buttocks and sex never seemed to grow old. So, too, she thrilled to the secret surge she felt each time a new pair of eyes locked on her for the first time. That wonderfully naughty sensation of exposing herself to some anonymous stranger, a man or woman who would see her most intimate parts but have no clue as to her true identity or the entirely respectable and proper life she led outside these walls. And then, of course, there was the wicked tail! It swung gently side-to-side as she moved in the six-inch boots up and down the aisle. The swaying reverberated in the attached butt plug, making it a virtual pendulum of pleasure. It was a wonderful feeling and made her constantly recall the splendid reaming Lydia applied the day before. Scully came to welcome the long winding walk through the table from her section to the bar where Thumper now reigned over an elaborate network of taps and bottles. The knowledge that every eye was focused on her as she passed set her insides ablaze, as did the feel of carting mugs and glasses of beer and wine around to her customers. It was raw. It was dirty. And it was so unlike anything she'd ever done before. Maybe that's why she loved it so. Scully willed herself to enjoy every moment, promising herself that she wouldn't come back, that she could only risk this experience just this once. In between serving, there was time to laugh and compare notes with the other girls. Kara, the peacock, tended the adjoining section and was relatively new as well. She and Scully exchanged schoolgirl whispers about the blissful insanity of what they were doing. The more seasoned performers stopped by to welcome Scully -- "Jonni" -- and flatter her on the magnificence of the devil costume. Sarah, the unicorn, made Scully promise that she would be her next dancing partner, as soon as time allowed them to get on stage together. God help her, Scully actually found herself looking forward to it. Setting her tray down on the bar, Scully couldn't believe how much she was enjoying herself. It was like nothing she could have ever imagined, yet somehow so enjoyable. Thumper loaded up two more Scotches for the middle-aged couple at table four. Dropping the drinks off with her admirers, Scully turned round to find a new occupant at one of her empty tables. Her heart stopped. Her entire body blushed. Scully had once reasoned through the odds of running into someone she knew at the Menagerie. She'd examined the possibility of encountering Mulder. Or Skinner. Or a friend of her brother's from the Pentagon. She hadn't thought to worry about Melvin Frohike. But there he sat, his hair slicked back, a shocking white ascot poking up from the top of his fully buttoned leather jacket. And he was staring straight at her. Scully willed herself into remembering that there was no way -- absolutely no way -- that anyone could recognize her through the red leather mask. But she knew she would have to get out of there now. She couldn't risk discovery. God only knew how long he would stay. But she also knew she was trapped for the moment. A sudden retreat could tip her hand. No, Scully decided. Get his order. That's it. Get his order. Give it to Thumper. Then get up to Lydia's office and go the hell home. Using the same slow seductive prance she'd employed with her other customers, Scully eased up to the table. Only this time, she laced her hands together and waited for him to speak first. Frohike eyed her head to foot, making no pretense of concealing his enjoyment of the picture she presented. So much, Scully thought, for Lydia screening members. "A quiet one, huh?" Frohike said the words with the a classic 60s-era playboy smirk. Scully nodded. Then let a hand slip to her hip. She was waiting. "French fries, sweet cheeks. And a root beer." Scully turned to leave. Then something truly extraordinary happened. Melvin Frohike spanked Dana Scully's bare ass. No, Scully would later reflect, the extraordinary part came next. She didn't plunge her fist into his chest to extract his still beating heart. Scully simply waggled her finger at him and walked away, thinking *Dear God, Frohike just spanked me.* She paused. *And maybe I enjoyed it.* Scully quickly put such details aside. Amused as she may have been, she couldn't risk staying. She dropped her tray with Thumper and gave her Frohike's order. "I have to go," she whispered. Thumper nodded. "No problem, there's a rest room up in the showroom." Scully sighed. She really was starting to like Thumper, but brains clearly weren't her strong suit. "No, Thumper," she said in a hush, "I need to leave. I know that man who just sat down in my section." Thumper nodded, then thought for a second. "Bummer. Head up to Lydia's office. I'll buzz her you're coming." Scully started to leave when Thumper leaned over and kissed her on the neck. "Thanks for the dance." Blushing under her mask, Scully began the careful ascent of the stairs, almost as challenging a task as the descent had been, given her boots. She had just reached Lydia's office when the alarm started clanging downstairs. Immediately, random shouts began echoing up the stairway. One chilled Scully's blood: "It's a raid!" ****************** Christ, Mulder thought, I could be dead down here and it would be weeks before anyone thought to check on the strange smell coming from the basement. He glanced at his watch: seven o'clock. An hour past the deadline set in the mysterious e-mail he'd received. Almost three hours since Krycek's attack. He glanced around again for his cell phone, but to no avail. Something told Mulder that Krycek had dropped into the nearest urinal on his way to God knows where. From his vantage point on the floor, Mulder could also see that Krycek had been thorough enough to yank the phone lines from the walls in the office itself. He was completely incommunicado. Mulder swallowed back against the urge to regurgitate once more. Taking slow steady breaths, he prepared himself for one more effort to stand. ****************** Scully had envisioned many different sensations and situations prior to her evening at the Menagerie. Dangling out of a window completely nude save for a pair of spiked red leather thigh-high boots was not one of them. Scully had nearly run into Lydia as she burst from her office in response to the alarm emanating from below. The two had exchanged an immediate look of dread: Lydia knew just as well as Scully that an FBI agent could ill-afford to be found here at the Menagerie, dressed like this. Lydia quickly ushered her into the office and immediately began undoing the elaborate snaps and zippers that bound Scully into her costume. But sirens could already be heard out front and official sounding voices were making their way up the stairs. Lydia had managed to free Scully of the bustier and headpiece. But there hadn't been time to take off the boots. Or, Scully now realized, to remove her tail. God, Scully thought, the thing's been in so long it's starting to feeling like a part of me. Thumper had fought as best a delaying action as she could, employing her ample assets to stay the approach of the intruders en route to Lydia's office, but soon they were just steps away from the door. In desperation Scully had thrown her keys and the knapsack containing her street clothes out the window of the small bathroom that adjoined Lydia's office. Now as she clung to the window's ledge, she could hear men talking to Lydia: small grease-fire, they were saying. Need to close down for a few days. Have you back open soon, Lydia. But business is done for the night. Scully closed her eyes tightly. It hadn't been a raid at all. A grease-fire. Scully's cheeks flamed. Frohike and his fucking French fries. Lydia's familiarity with the local fire department notwithstanding, Scully knew she had to get out of there. The Menagerie's patrons had fled the building at the sound of the alarm and they were milling hither and yon around the building, though none had yet made it to the rear of the establishment Plus fire and other emergency personnel were everywhere inside the building and there was every chance that Scully would have met (or would someday meet) one or more of the local police and fire officials in the course of her work at the Bureau. She had to leave. Now. Looking down at the drop below her for the umpteenth time, Scully estimated it at about nine or ten feet. If she let her legs go slack and rolled, she prayed she could manage it without breaking an ankle. If only there'd been time to get rid of the boots. Realizing that she wasn't exactly on the best spiritual footing, she nonetheless said a short prayer, then let the ledge slip from her fingers. The ground hit she hit was damp and relatively soft. Scully bounced once off the balls of her feet, then contracted her body and tucked into a series of rolls as planned. As she came out of her third tumble, she was able to right herself on her hands and knees, sore and a little dizzy, but with nothing broken. Scully gave herself a few seconds to adjust to the cool night air. It felt wonderful after the smoke-ridden heat of the club, and her skin welcomed the respite from the confining bustier. The moon was full and she was having no problem seeing, despite the absence of any artificial light. Still on all fours, Scully cast about for her where her knapsack had landed. Then she heard it. The slow, sarcastic clapping. The rat's smile flickered in the moonlight. "Well, well, Scully, I wasn't expecting you to be in *that* position till later this evening." Alex Krycek stood over her, her knapsack strapped around one shoulder, her keys twinkling in his good hand. "Looking for these?" Any embarrassment that Scully felt about being nude in front of Krycek was subsumed by the blind rage the man immediately engendered in her. And that was under normal circumstances. Now, as he held her keys tauntingly in front of her, anger oozed from her every pore. Straightening her chin, Scully stood deliberately, managing to do so without faltering in the damp grass. Locking her eyes with Krycek's, she said simply, "Give me those." More rat smile. "What's the magic word, Dana?" Scully bit back a half dozen obscenities that threatened to explode from her at once. In between short, deliberate breaths, she uttered a single word: "Please." Krycek laughed loudly and let his eyes run up and down Scully's body. Then he heaved the keys off into the depths of the night's darkness. Scully took a violent step towards him, and Krycek's eyes filled with clear excitement. "You son of a bitch." She said the words with clear, cold precision. Krycek was nonplussed. He shrugged and directed his gaze elsewhere. "Nice tits." Another angry step, another visceral condemnation: "You're an evil bastard, Krycek." Krycek chuckled coldly. "I may be an SOB and a bastard. But you're a piece of ass." Scully's heart skipped. Piece of ass? Hadn't Krycek said almost the exact same thing in her dream days ago. Hadn't she said "evil bastard?" Confused, she took a step backwards. Puzzlement also flashed across Krycek's face for a moment. Then he set himself. Time to get down to business. "Look, Scully, let's keep this simple. This place is teaming with cops and firemen and I'm you're only ride out of here." He paused and let his gaze drift down to her crotch. "Although I imagine you wouldn't have any trouble hitching a ride once you make it to a main road." "And I suppose you'll help me out of the kindness of your heart?" "Actually, I had a few unique services in mind for you to perform." Scully nodded angrily and began glancing around her. No one had yet come out behind the Menagerie where they stood now, but voices were getting closer. Unless she was willing to give in and get help from the police there was no retreat either back into the building or around front. Her mind cast about for other options. Her car was parked about a quarter mile away on a residential side street. She'd left it there, presciently it now seemed, to make sure no one would recognize it in the Menagerie's driveway. What were the odds that she could somehow navigate her way to the vehicle unseen? And then what? Break into her own car, hotwire it, and drive forty minutes to Georgetown completely nude? Plus she didn't even know what direction to take. There was no way she could cross round to the front or sides of the building unnoticed. Behind her there was a steep hill descending down into a thick wood that led who knows where. Even with her advanced skills at running in high heels, Scully sincerely doubted she could navigate the descent without taking the boots off first. Scully closed her eyes, contemplating the impossible. Could she really go with Krycek? Put herself at his mercy like that? When she opened them, Krycek had made the decision for her. Extracting a digital camera from his jacket, he asked, "You don't mind if I snap a few mementos while you mull over my offer? Just for my private scrapbook?" Maybe it was the years and years of anger and hatred inspired by Krycek and all his works. Maybe it was the frustration of having her fantasy evening so rudely interrupted by Frohike and the fire department. Maybe it was the frustration that had been building in her ever sense her alarm clock curtailed her rendezvous with Skinner's cock. Whatever it was, Scully was fairly certain she could never execute a move quite like it again. Not in six inch heels on wet, muddy grass at night anyway. From Krycek's perspective, it was one of the nicer views he could remember seeing prior to having an act of violence perpetrated against him. His eyes locked on Scully's rich thatch of amber as she spun and swung her right leg around, executing a perfect -- and powerful -- wheelhouse kick that sent his camera spinning aimlessly off into the dark. It was followed by a shorter, straight-on kick of equal power delivered with care and precision to the epicenter of his crotch. As his stomach congealed and his genitals screamed out, Krycek collapsed in a lump on the ground. Unfortunately for Scully her knapsack swung forward and under him as he fell. She took a short step towards him, hoping to free it, but quickly saw that it was hopeless. The brief scuffle had attracted attention and men were rounding the building now. There was just no time. Out of options, Scully turned to the hill, determined to try to make it home somehow on her own. Just as she was ready to begin the descent, she felt a taut, tugging sensation coming from in between her cheeks. Laughing through his pain, Krycek had snagged her tail. Scully's eyes narrowed to slits of rage, but she knew there was only one choice. Biting her lower lip, she took a deliberate step forward, her tail squirting free with an audible pop that reddened her cheeks yet again. Then she dropped into a sideways roll hoping her momentum would carry her to the woods below. Krycek's wicked cackle echoed in her ears as she tumbled down the wet hillside. ******************** From the top of the hill, Scully hadn't been able to make out the stream. It really didn't matter. The little gully and cool spring which drifted along through it provided something of a gentle break for her tumble. And the shallow ravine actually afforded decent cover from the various people milling around behind the Menagerie. Sitting on one muddy back, Scully realized she was beyond the point of hopeless. She knew deep down that she had no reasonable prospect of making it back to Georgetown like this on her own -- nude and covered with mud. No, as she massaged her aching calves, she realized that she would need some other plan. For the moment, her best hope was to wait for the fire department to clear out of the Menagerie, scamper back up the hill, and hope Thumper or Lydia was still around. As a shiver ran through her, Scully winced. The trick would be to not catch pneumonia before the coast was clear. At least she finally had a chance to take off those damn boots! Moving her ministrations down to her heels, she was starting to understand why Thumper performed barefoot. Not for the first time, she glanced up at the full moon, hoping against hope to see a purplish halo around it indicating that she was, in fact, asleep in her bed in Georgetown. But all she saw was the moon's pale, undiluted surface. Looking up at the heavens, she couldn't help but think of the one person she truly wished was here to save her now. Mulder. She closed her eyes thinking of him. Was there anyway he could know she needed him now? In her work on the X-Files she'd seen so much she couldn't explain. Telekinesis. Telepathy. She and Mulder had their own link of sorts, didn't they? Wishing for the impossible, she prayed that somehow he would find her tonight. That he would scoop her up in a warm fuzzy blanket then whisk her back to his futon-ridden apartment and slowly, painstakingly lick the mud off every inch of her body. Scully sighed. Yeah, that'll happen. Then she felt the overcoat slide over shoulders. Her heart leapt as she looked up into the face of -- Frohike. "Come on Memnoch," he said, "let's get you home." ***************** There was humiliation, Scully decided, and then there was humiliation. Huddled in the front seat of Frohike's van, with mud caked in places she dare not think about, Dana Scully decided that tonight qualified as a truly humiliating experience. From Krycek yanking out her faux tail -- her ass still smarted from its unexpected departure -- to the necessity of being rescued by Frohike from certain arrest for indecent exposure, there was almost nothing that could qualify as dignified about the entire evening. Scully let out an exasperated breath. And, worst of all, she had to admit that it was all her fault. She had been the one who'd decided to take the plunge. She had been the one who had gotten the high off her version of sexual skydiving. So much, she resolved, for experimenting. "Umm, Scully?" Frohike's voice was soft, mildly paternal. Scully didn't want to talk. She desperately didn't want to cry and not being verbal in any way, shape, or form, seemed like a smart move to that end. Begrudgingly, she whispered, "Yes?" "What happened tonight...I want you to know it doesn't change anything. In terms of the respect I feel for you." Scully's ears perked up. "I don't understand?" "Well," Frohike's voice was steady, even, "It's just, I've always had a great deal of respect for the women at the Menagerie." Scully stared out the window absently. "You do?" Frohike nodded. "It's hard for me to respect myself in a place like that if I don't have equal esteem for my female counterparts." Scully gave in to a small, but much needed laugh. There was some sort of warped logic in that she supposed. "Scully, there's just one thing I don't understand. That really I never understood." Scully looked at Frohike now. Her eyes glistened, but the threat of full blown tears had receded for the moment. Somehow this conversation was actually making her feel better. "What's that?" Frohike gulped audibly, realizing he was getting to the hard part. "I just never understood. I mean, it's none of my business. But, well, there's Mulder with his bevy of porn tapes. And then well, there's you and your, um, unique interests..." Scully was too tired to get angry now. So she indulged him. "Yes?" Frohike shrugged. "Well, I guess a lot of us just wondered why the two of you never got together." Scully mulled the question in her mind. Hadn't it been what she'd been wondering for the past several weeks as well. Frohike eased the van up in front of Scully's building. For the umpteenth time that night a look of terror crossed Scully's face. Oh God, she thought, my -- "Keys?" Frohike held the magical implements in front of Scully as she gasped in disbelief. French fries forgiven. "H-How did you?" "I came across them in the woods while I was looking for you. I recognized the moon landing key chain Mulder gave you." Scully leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, no longer caring that she was probably giving him a full-on view of her bare breasts as she did. She brushed his cheek lightly. "Thank you, Melvin. For everything." Frohike let his eyes run up and down Scully's body. The old letch was back. "No, Scully, thank you. For one of the most amazing sights I've ever seen without the benefit of controlled substances." She blushed visibly, but let him enjoy his moment. Mercifully, she made it to her apartment without encountering any of her neighbors. Though Frohike's overcoat covered everything important (if just barely), she wasn't quite sure how she would explain her bare legs and mud-stained feet. Once inside, Scully was willing to permit herself to cry, but found the tears just wouldn't come. Instead, she walked somberly to the bathroom and began drawing a scalding hot bubble bath, with the intent to stay in it for at least a fortnight. ***************** "It was a good plan. As plans go. A noble plan." He paused, reflecting on the simmering cigarette, pointed upwards in his right hand. She resisted the urge to ask the question that had built in her mind over the past weeks and months. No, she thought, let him do this at his own pace. "But then all plans seemed destined to go awry. Even the noble ones." He pulled deeply on the Morley, exhaling slowly. "In the end, one only wonders at the randomness of the plan's undoing." Lydia cleared her throat, ready to speak now. "Raul…" She started slowly, uncomfortable with the use of his first name. "I've had it checked thoroughly. The fire appears to be entirely accidental. Something went wrong with the deep fryer. One of our regulars, he always orders French fries…" "French fries?" The Smoking Man laughed the words. An awkward silence hung in the room as he returned to his contemplation of the smoldering Morley. Finally, the Smoking Man shrugged. "So be it." He extinguished the cigarette. Lydia reached out lightly, touching his hand. So cold, she thought. He stared back at her, more amused than aroused. "Your work was exceptional Lydia. You have nothing to fear." Lydia massaged the clammy flesh on the back of his hand. "It's not me I'm concerned about." She looked down for courage, then up into his icy gaze. "You seem to have invested so much into this operation. So much into this woman." The Smoking Man smiled. Not the usual Smirk of Evil, but an honest, true smile. "Would it surprise you, Lydia, if I said I had genuine affection for Scully? That after so much time watching her, my admiration blossomed into something more?" Lydia held his gaze, a tingle coming over her. How many people ever got *this* close to him? "Perhaps after so much time trying to do what was right to protect so many, I felt there could be redemption in doing for just one." Gently, he let his hand slip from under hers and stood to leave, a fresh cigarette already between his fingers. "Raul?" she said the name crisply this time. He turned in the doorway, the Morley now in his lips. "Yes?" "Are you so sure that we failed?" ***************** Mulder sat at his desk pouring over field reports. It was, of course, no way to spend a Saturday morning, but his work was the one thing that he could count on to put his mind at peace. He rubbed his side, still sore from the tranquilizer dart. No apparent explanation for Krycek's attack had yet to present itself, but at least Scully was safe. Mulder had finally gotten through to her around ten on Thursday night and she swore no harm had come to her whatsoever. "The Menagerie?" she'd asked. "What would I be doing there?" She'd been sleeping soundly all night. She would be back at work on Monday. And that was all that really mattered. The fact that Scully was safe at home the whole time was scant consolation for Mulder, who felt sure his partner was meeting some horrible fate while he toiled under the aftereffects of Krycek's assault. Mulder managed to make it to the elevator before finally succumbing to the nausea for a full half hour. Then he'd willed himself up the first floor where more vomiting ensured. The maintenance workers on two floors were still giving him dirty looks for the trail he'd left en route to the first available payphone, which, unfortunately, happened to be located in the cafeteria. All in all, Mulder decided, another reason to hate Alex Krycek's guts. Mulder skimmed the latest file. A park ranger in Idaho reported a sighting of a creature he described as "half- man, half bat." Mulder chuckled to himself. Man bats? Some things even he had a hard time buying. "What's so funny?" Mulder's head snapped up. "Scully?" He rounded the desk and gave her a full-on bear hug. Pulling back, he noticed something strange. It was Saturday, but she was wearing her full-length business raincoat. And heels. "I didn't expect to see you to Monday." She grinned sheepishly. "I, um, just wanted to talk, Mulder." A look of concern crossed Fox's face. "Scully is everything --" "Fine," she cut him off. "Everything's fine." "Okay..." Mulder sat down on the edge of his desk, confused. Scully looked down towards the floor for courage, then up into his eyes. Her smile was suddenly radiant. Not sheepish, not bashful. Mulder couldn't help but smile back. She laughed the first words, "I can't believe I'm doing this." Then she composed herself and added quietly, "But then I can't believe a lot of the things I've done lately." Mulder watched her in silence, utterly perplexed, but pleased to see her this way. It was rare that Scully was so effusively happy. "Mulder," she paused, a little unsure. Then the contented smile returned. "Mulder, I have something to tell you. Something I've never felt comfortable enough to trust anyone with." She paused and thought of Lydia. "Well, practically no one." Mulder was nodding slowly, wanting to help her in any way he could. She slid her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, the motion somehow emboldening her. "You remember, of course, a few weeks ago. When I had the, uh, discoloration." Mulder's cheeks flushed full red. He couldn't look at her. He'd been jerking off to the image of her half-nude on all fours for weeks now. He managed to gulp out a "yes." Scully's smile grew brighter at her partner's embarrassment. "I'm sorry Mulder." Mulder shook his head, still unable to make eye contact. "For what?" Gently, she said, "I didn't need for you to be so thorough in...in your examination." Mulder's cheeks were absolute flame. Dry-mouthed, he looked into her eyes. She inclined her head in sympathy: he looks like a deer in headlights, she thought. She took his hand in hers. Mulder's heart beat triple time. "I've never shared this with any man I've known." Her voice quivered as she got to the important part. "And I believe you're the one I should share it with." He was staring dead at her, but now it was she who couldn't make eye contact. "Mulder, you have been my friend, my colleague, my nemesis, and my companion. You have gone to the ends of the earth to save me." She looked up, and what she saw in his eyes told her everything she needed to keep going. "There are elements of my sexuality that I have never been sufficiently comfortable about to share with another." She let the statement hang in the air. Mulder could barely breath for fear that the exertion would cause his pounding heart to rupture. Tears building in her eyes, Scully crossed the Rubicon. "Mulder, I love you. I guess I always have. I wanted you to touch me that way because -- " His lips were on hers with a force that almost made her cringe, their mouths interlocking with a sweet intensity, their tongues intertwining till Scully couldn't tell where she ended and he began. She had no idea how long the kiss lasted. It just lasted. And lasted. Six years of passion and feelings unleashed in one moment. When the kiss ended, Scully wasn't sure who had stopped or how. She just felt herself free from his embrace. And already she missed it. But that was but a small smirch on the otherwise utter bliss that consumed her. She opened her eyes and felt like she was seeing the world for the first time. There he stood. Grinning. A wicked smile built on Scully's face. She turned around and the raincoat slipped to the floor. Later, reflecting on the moment, Fox Mulder would note that somehow his brain must have been working in reverse. As the raincoat fell, he focused on the heels first. Then the stockings. Only last did his eyes lock on the most gorgeous ass he'd ever seen. The Uber-ass, he decided. Or, the Queen of All Asses. Maybe, Ass to the Google Plex. Then she turned around. If the rear view grabbed his animal instincts by the throat, seeing Scully front-on evoked every image of classical art Mulder had ever been exposed to. Pure beauty. No other words could describe her. Then it occurred to Mulder: she said she wanted to be touched *where*? Mulder straightened his posture and walked back around his desk. His voice firm, he spoke while rifling desperately through the drawers. "Agent Scully?" Dana set her hands squarely on her hips, her tongue dancing playfully along her upper lip. "Yes, Agent Mulder?" Mulder stopped searching the drawers. His voice artificially stern, he barked, "There's something I've wanted to say to you since the first day you joined the X- Files." "And that would be?" Scully cooed in response. Mulder set the jar of vaseline down on the desk with a thump. "Bend over." **************** Another office. Another miasma of smoke. Another grainy videotape. All that masturbating had done wonders for Fox Mulder's stamina, the Smoking Man thought. It had been going on for at least twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of pure ecstasy on the face of Dana Scully. Perhaps, the Smoking Man thought, all plans don't go awry. ***************** EPILOGUE The Santa hat fell off for perhaps the eighth time. Fox Mulder paused from his exertions to replace it firmly on his partner's head. Dana Scully smiled broadly as she felt Mulder return to the wonderfully full thrusts he applied to her ass. She had met Mulder at her door wearing nothing but the Santa hat and a pair of spiked red heels. The shoes hadn't lasted to the couch, but for some reason Mulder seemed to particularly enjoy the site of her nude in nothing but the hat. He was a quirky little pervert. But her quirky little pervert. Three months. Three years. Three decades. What had it been? How long since the first fumblings in their basement office. Both of them so unsure about what they were doing. How could they ever have questioned it? Scully's heart still leapt at the thought of Mulder setting the vaseline on the desk and ordering her to bend over. Funny, of all things, it had been their mutual interest in this particular act that had finally torn down the barriers. It was almost laughable. After years of being unable to explore their basic feelings towards one another, they'd finally broken through with one of the most taboo of sexual acts. Scully gasped as Mulder pushed up into her with another long, slow deep thrust. He withdrew at an equally excruciating pace, almost pulling completely out of her, letting his head dance around her tight opening. Then quickly he pushed back in, rapidly engorging himself between her two ethereal ass cheeks. Utterly content in the fullness in her backside, Scully thought back to when anal sex had first become part of their regular repertoire, when she'd finally convinced him that it was not only okay, it was actually highly desirable. It'd been a blustery November Saturday and the two of them had squirreled themselves away in Mulder's apartment to watch the Army-Navy football game. On a whim, Scully proposed a challenge: if Army lost, Mulder had to go down on her that night once for each touchdown that Navy won by. If Navy lost, Mulder could fill her ass once per each touchdown the Midshipman lost by. She'd considered it a win-win bet but secretly thrilled as Navy went down in a crushing defeat. They lost by 21 glorious points and she'd had to endure three splendid ass-fucks in the same evening. Mulder altered his style with each one. The first quick and dirty: he needed to get off. The second, long, slow and splendidly punishing, her every nerve-ending tingling with the ecstasy of his skewering. The third, was somewhere in between. Mulder, his endurance at its peak, alternated between vicious rounds of fast, hard reaming and deep, rhythmic stroking. He had taken care to mix in two wonderfully deliberate oral performances after the first and second screws, just to ensure that Scully came in every sense of the word. Though she loved anal, she still couldn't always achieve orgasm off it. Scully had never felt so spent as Mulder cradled her in his arms after the third ream. He had the slyest, guilty school-boy look on his face. "What is it?" she'd queried him. He finally gave in to the laughter he'd been trying to hold back. "I was just thinking what your brother would say if he found out what I got to do to his sister because Navy lost a football game." She'd giggled hysterically before passing off into the sleep of the fucked and the contented. That was almost two months ago. Now he knew it was okay. Now he knew that he didn't have to hold back. They'd established a safety word in case he ever did anything that she really found painful, but she'd agreed to that more for his peace of mind than out of any requirement for it herself. She trusted him and she wanted him in complete control, at least here in this bed, doing this particular act. Scully grinned as Mulder quickened his pace. There was, of course, so much more to their sex life. Being the perfectionists they both were, they strived to out do one another with their oral ministrations. And neither of them was ignorant of the fact that Scully also had a perfectly wonderful vagina: there was always plenty of time for good old-fashioned fucking. Or simply making out or even cuddling. But, God help her, there was just a part of Scully that couldn't help but love it when Mulder fucked her ass. As she felt him tense inside her, she squeezed tight around him, forcing forth the warmth that he unleashed deep in her bowels. As Scully cooed to his quick, erratic jerks, she closed her eyes and tilted back her head to meet his lips. He withdrew and turned her full round to face him. The Santa hat tumbled to the floor for the umpteenth time but neither of them bothered to replace it now. He looked her deep in the eyes and she gazed back equally enchanted. Then he pulled her tight, pressing her breasts flat against his chest, one hand wandering down to massage that magnificent ass. Their tongues melted into one another. Breaking away gently, Fox drew up a small black box from under the covers. Scully furrowed her brows. How had she missed that? "Merry Christmas." Scully smiled and eyed the box. For a second her heart nearly stopped. A small black box. No, it was too big for *that.* More of a medium-sized box really. And it was too soon for a ring, wasn't it? Nervously she undid the bow and opened the black cardboard. She grinned from ear to ear. Inside was a small bunny tail attached to a tapered butt plug. With it were a set of clip-on bunny ears. A note said, "Compliments of Ms. Lydia's Menagerie." Mulder grinned. "I thought they would look good on you while you make me breakfast tomorrow." Scully laughed. Then pushed Mulder backwards. Very hard. "I'm sorry, Mulder, what was that?" Mulder sat up laughing. "I said I think they'd look great on you while I'm bringing you breakfast tomorrow." Wrapping his arms around her, Fox pulled her down under the covers. They both shivered as the cool linen adjusted to their warmth. "Well, Scully, is this the best Christmas ever?" She nodded. "Much better than shooting one another in a haunted house." Mulder smiled as she nestled against his chest. Definitely nothing paramasturbatory about tonight. He'd never much cared for the holidays. But now as he cradled this wonderful woman and beautiful friend in his arms, Fox realized he was feeling something he'd only glimpsed since the earliest days of childhood. As Dana Scully drifted off to sleep in his arms, Fox Mulder knew he was happy.