Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (0-1 of 6) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: EXTREME 17+ Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess. Definitely "Amor Fati." Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7 Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut, PWP Summary: Mulder and Scully explore trust and control issues as they embark upon a D/s relationship. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: This is a complete departure for me, first in the fact that it is a PWP/erotica series, and second in that the smut goes *beyond* smut and tiptoes on the line between erotica and porn. I tend to be nervous about pure erotica stories to begin with, especially about those dealing with subjects such as BDSM, because they are *SOOO* far removed from what we see in the show that it's extremely difficult to keep them in character. I'm a characterization snob, and reading a story where Mulder and Scully just *aren't* Mulder and Scully can be physically painful for me. There are some stories that *do* manage to portray Mulder and Scully getting a little kinky and still keep them in character, but only for a one-time shot, and even then they tend to play pretty lightly. I have yet to see a long fic where Mulder and Scully (by themselves, without Skinner or anyone else) explore an in-depth, extended BDSM relationship and remain in character. Can it even be done? I will confess that I considered throwing characterization concerns out the window. I tried to do it, but my conscience wouldn't allow it. So what started out as being pure porn has evolved into what will become a character study of Mulder and Scully as they explore control and trust issues, and do some healing from their own sexual histories, as they go deeper into a Domination/submission relationship. Can I do it and still keep them in character? Well, I guess you, gentle reader, will be the judge of that. But in my own defense, I will say I'm trying my damnedest. One thing to keep in mind is that BDSM games can and do involve some altered mental states (not chemically altered, but as a result of certain hormones and endorphins released during a scene.) If you see Mulder or Scully doing or saying something you think they just wouldn't do or say, stick around a while and you may discover that some of that behavior was included by design. This will be an ongoing series, with several long installments that track the progression of the relationship. Because it's a PWP story, I figure I can get away with calling it a series rather than a WIP, but be aware that there will be some downtime between installments. Each installment is fairly self-contained though, and while you may be left wanting more, you won't be left hanging mid-story with an unresolved plot (though I may include a gratuitous "cliffhanger" hook at the end of each installment just for shits and giggles.) Thanks, as always, to my marvelous, and expanding!, beta crew: Heather, Tiff, Beth, Shelba, Nancy, Christy, and Sybil. Thanks to Jen, Trina and the I Want To Believe list for taking a sneak peak and letting me know what they thought. DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, and The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without permission. No profit is being made by their use in this story. "Story of O" by Pauline Reage is also used here without permission (but with great respect.) SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM- related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. Questions, praise, feedback and comments can be sent to kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com. You can find this story (soon) and my other fanfic at my website: http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns/ On with the show... Aprodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall "Tell me you don't want me, Scully, the way I want you." Those were the words that signified my downfall. I stared at Mulder breathlessly, my head lolling against the wall beside my front door, my lips swollen from the savagery of his kisses. I'd known the moment I let him in the door that there was something reckless and wild in his eyes. We'd returned from an out of town case late in the evening and he had dropped me off, staying in the car while I made my way to my apartment alone. The past several days between us had been tense--I wasn't sure why. Mulder had seemed on edge, watching me sharply the entire time. There had been moments when I had felt his gaze like it had physical weight. I had a feeling I knew what he was thinking, what he was struggling with as he stared at me. I'd struggled with the same things myself a great deal recently. Mulder and I were approaching a point in our relationship where we were going to have to make some decisions about where we were headed. But I didn't know how to bring it up and so I had assumed the issue would remain unresolved, delicately sidestepped until we were forced to confront it. I believed that right up until the moment Mulder pounded on my door. "We need to talk," he'd announced brusquely after I opened the door to him. I didn't play coy, didn't pretend to not know what he was talking about. Instead I stared at him expectantly, waiting. If he had something he wanted to say, I wasn't going to stop him, even if it meant breaking the silence with which we had enshrouded the issue. I had stepped aside and allowed my wild-eyed partner to enter, my mind whirling. He'd looked at me for a long moment and I met his gaze. I had the unpleasant feeling I knew how this would play. He would make a rash, impassioned declaration and I would rebuff him. But he surprised me. He had opened his mouth once or twice, then growled "Fuck talking!" and swooped down on me, his hands gripping my shoulders with merciless insistence. He had pulled me close against his chest and his mouth plundered mine, his tongue thrusting between my teeth as though the inside of my mouth was his own God- given territory. He'd pushed me back against the wall, plunged his hands into my hair, and kissed me for all he was worth. He'd kissed me until I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, until my knees buckled and moisture flooded my sex. By the time he pulled away, I knew my own eyes were as wild as his, my body echoing the throbbing desire I felt in his. "Tell me 'no' if you want me to leave." "What happened to talking?" My voice was rough and breathless. I knew I should stop him, should sit him down and talk this thing through before we got carried away. This was dangerous. It could upset the balance of our entire partnership. But inside I was begging him not to let me stop what was happening here. I had wanted this, waited for it--why did I have this instinctive need to fight it? "I think we should--" "We'll talk later, afterwards," he promised gruffly. Before I could respond, his lips had claimed mine again, demanding entry, demanding reciprocation. Melting from the inside out, I gave it. I gave him everything. His hands insistently pulled my blouse from the waistband of my skirt, thrusting underneath, cupping my breasts. I groaned, thanking God that Mulder had known, somehow, that this was what I needed to make it right. If he had come to me that night as a supplicant, requesting rather than insisting, I might have turned him away. I would have rejected the one person on the planet I had wanted with an intensity that was a physical ache within me. I loved Mulder, would do anything for Mulder. But God help me, I knew that if he had allowed me an out--other than saying 'no,' which I hadn't wanted to say and wouldn't really have meant even if I did say it--I would have taken it and this chance would have been lost. Mulder moved fast. This was no slow, gentle seduction; it was an eruption of passions that had brewed for years. That was all right--I didn't want a tender seduction. I wanted him inside me as soon as possible. There would be less chance of something going awry. Once our coupling was a fait accompli, then we could address it. Then we couldn't make it go away, or pretend it hadn't happened--no matter how good at denial we could sometimes be. Beneath my blouse, he unclasped my bra and his large, warm hands covered my breasts. His palms rubbed roughly against my nipples; his blatant erection ground unapologetically against my belly. His lips had made it to my ear and then were on their way down my neck. They traveled down the opened collar of my blouse, pressing scalding kisses to the upper swells of my breasts and I moaned my breathless encouragement. My skirt, seemingly unzipped of its own volition, slid down my thighs to puddle around my ankles. One of Mulder's hands cupped my sex through my pantyhose, the heel of his palm grinding against my mons. He stroked my clit through layers of nylon, satin, and my own flesh. I felt him tugging on the hose and I heard the telltale sound of the material tearing. It didn't matter; I was beyond caring. Somehow the pantyhose made it down my thighs and to my feet, dragging my dampened underwear with them. I couldn't stifle a low wail as Mulder's fingers found my soaking core and delved within. Mulder covered my mouth with his, devouring my impassioned exclamation. Finally, he pulled back again, searching my eyes. He slid his wet fingers from between my legs and studied me a long moment, his eyes nearly black with desire. *Don't ask me if this is all right, Mulder. Please, just don't make me think about it,* I pleaded with him silently. As though he heard my unspoken entreaty, he ripped his tie off and began rapidly unbuttoning his dress shirt. He stared at me until I lifted trembling fingers to my own blouse and began to strip as well. I didn't speak, didn't trust myself to talk or think too long. Briskly, I unbuttoned my blouse and dropped it to the floor, letting my unclasped bra slide down my arms and join it. I stepped out and over my discarded skirt, nylons and panties. Lifting my head, I walked past Mulder, trying to look confident and dignified, as though I had orchestrated this entire thing. The last thing I had wanted to admit was that I was as nervous as I was aroused. I headed directly toward the bedroom as he pushed his pants and underwear down over his furiously engorged penis. I had only made it about ten steps before he caught up with me, grabbing me from behind and pressing his long, hard, hot body against my back. He turned me forcibly around and pushed me against the back of the couch, arching me backward over it. He cupped my breast with one hand while he thrust the other between my legs. "Oh, God!" I yelled as his fingers found my clit with flawless precision. He manipulated me mercilessly while his cock bumped insistenly against my stomach. Staring into his intent, almost scowling face, I climaxed rapidly amidst my own guttural cries and moans. For a second I thought Mulder would lift me and set me down on his cock, fucking me right there in the middle of the living room. Instead, he took my hand and nearly dragged me into the bedroom. I had to trot to keep up. He gave me a nudge toward the bed and I crawled into it and lay down in the middle. I was panting and trembling. In slow motion, he knelt on the edge of the mattress and moved in over my body. I opened my arms and legs, welcoming him. Trying to scan his dark eyes for some indication of his thoughts proved futile; I couldn't read him. One large palm cupped and molded my breast while his other hand guided his cock to my entrance. He slid into me in a single, sure thrust. Oh God, I felt full, so fucking full...I moaned, stretching almost painfully, yielding to accommodate him. My own hands, even my vibrator, could not have prepared me for the reality of Mulder's cock inside me after such a long abstinence. He descended on my open, gasping mouth and began kissing me as though he intended to drain my soul out through my lips. Any semblance of coherency fled. The twilit room was filled with the sounds of moans, grunts, the slapping of sweat-dampened flesh, and an occasional startled outcry when the head of Mulder's penis collided roughly with my cervix. Mulder shifted, supporting his own weight with his elbows braced on either side of my head. The finely detailed muscles of his biceps shifted and flexed subtly with each thrust of his pelvis. I wrapped my legs around his hips, my nails scrambling over the sweaty flesh of his back, and began to meet his thrusts. After a moment I began shifting my hips from side to side to alter the angle of entry. The pace increased and the rhythm of our thrusts broke down into a frenzied pounding. I tore my lips from Mulder's to gulp a ragged, panting breath, then buried my face in his shoulder and braced myself to ride out the coming storm. It came, sweeping me up with it. Lights flashed behind my eyelids and I cried out loudly, quickly biting into Mulder's shoulder to stifle the ear-shattering shriek I wanted to give voice to. My body quaked and shuddered fiercely, my inner muscles contracting and convulsing. As I came down, I was dimly aware of Mulder's final, forceful thrusts and his cry of triumph next to my ear. When I finally regained awareness of my surroundings, Mulder was collapsed on top of me, trembling. His body was a heavy, welcome weight on mine. The moisture on our flesh was slowly cooling in the air and I shivered. Mulder lifted his head to meet my eyes and I felt a spasm of fear. What had just happened between us was seven long, frustrating years, finally coming to fruition in this dark moment in my bedroom . Had it been the right thing to do? I didn't know anymore; I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to stop thinking so damned hard about everything. All I knew was that I was finally where I wanted to be and Mulder had brought me here. But how we handled the next few minutes would be the most important trial that we had ever faced together. *I don't want to do this,* I thought frantically. *I don't want to think this to death. I just want to BE right now...* Mulder shifted off me, moving to lie beside me. From the uncertain expression on his face, I was afraid for a moment he might apologize. It would be just like Mulder to do something this rash and hasty and feel guilty afterwards. I couldn't let him tell me he was sorry, or try to take the blame for initiating this without asking me first. God, knowing him he might even feel like he had forced me. I rolled to face him and opened my mouth to speak, determined to stop him before he got started. Mulder surprised me again by placing a finger on my lips, shushing me. "We have two choices here, Scully," he said gravely. "We can pick this thing apart and analyze it to death, or we can just let go and feel for a while. What do you say?" Thank God. No apologies, no regrets, no guilt, no angst. The fact that he had so closely echoed my exact thoughts made me feel a little more secure in the knowledge that we were doing the right thing. "The responsible thing to do would be to talk it out," I murmured reluctantly. I might not have particularly felt like dissecting the moment, but if Mulder needed to talk it out, then talk we would. Mulder nodded. "That *would* be the responsible thing to do," he agreed with a noticeable lack of conviction. Silence fell again, until I drew a deep breath. "I'm tired of being responsible, Mulder," I answered at last in a tone of finality. As far as I was concerned, I was in bed with Mulder, where I had wanted to be forever, and that was all there was to be said. What more could talking accomplish? Would anything be made better by sifting through the same old tired bullshit? I didn't need flowery, emotional declarations or a long drawn-out conversation about the possible consequences. If issues arose, we'd deal with them in their proper time and place. There was no sense to borrowing trouble. Mulder closed his eyes, a relieved expression crossing his face, and opened his arms. I crawled into them, snuggling down against him with my head on his chest. With his muscular arms around me, I felt small and protected. It was a feeling I hadn't enjoyed in far too long. I liked feeling that way, but I wasn't sure that I liked the fact that I liked it. I ought to be stronger than that, ought to be too independent to enjoy feeling weak. I needed to be rigid, responsible... In control... Mulder kissed me again and thoughts of control faded. The kisses were not as furious as those he had given me when he first entered my apartment, but they were no less demanding, no less insistent. I yielded to them and returned them because holding back was not an option. His hands on my body were gentle, but they wouldn't be denied the right to travel over my flesh. I felt myself growing warm and heavy with desire. I would think about control and strength and responsibility later. At that moment, on that night, though, I let it all go and just felt for a while. End of Part One of Six Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: EXTREME NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess. Definitely "Amor Fati" Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7 Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut, PWP Summary: After their first D/s encounter, Scully struggles to reconcile what she wants and needs with the identity she has constructed for herself. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: First, thank you to everyone who sent encouraging feedback for Book One. Thank you also to my betas and test-reading crew: Heather, Tiff, Shelba, Nancy, Beth, Sybil, Indi, Christy, Jen, Brynna and Cal. Credit where credit is due: "Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns" was written by Molly Devon and her top, the late Philip Miller. It is available through Mystic Rose books (http://www.mysticrose.com/) and is considered by many to be the BDSM bible. In this chapter I also quote passages from Molly Devon's lecture notes from her seminar "Altered States: The Biochemisty of S&M" which I had the remarkable good fortune to attend at Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco this year. I even had the luck to converse with Molly privately in the hotel hot tub later that weekend. "The Bottoming Book: or, How To Get Terrible Things Done To You By Wonderful People" is written by Dossie Easton and Catherine A. Liszt and is available through Greenery Press (www.bigrock.com/~greenery/) "Story of O" is by Pauline Reage and is available just about everywhere. DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, And The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property Of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without permission. No profit is being made by their use in this story. SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM-related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust, and Desire It was late Monday evening before the "glow," as Mulder called it, finally wore off. I spent most of those two days of that week in a haze of pleasure and contentment. I felt happier, lighter, freer... I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so good, and I had Mulder to thank for it. I missed having him in my bed Sunday night. We had talked on the phone, but it wasn't the same. All I wanted was to be in his power again. Monday night, reality made its way back into my brain, striking with devastating force. I don't know how it happened. One moment I was happily humming in the kitchen as I prepared dinner for myself, thinking back upon the scene we had played, and the next I was slumped against my countertop, my eyes wide with horror. All of a sudden, the things I had said and done came rushing back to haunt me. I remembered how I had begged him--begged him!--to fuck me, how desperate and needy I had become. I remembered telling him how, in those moments, nothing had mattered to me but pleasing him and giving him pleasure. I remembered how completely I had surrendered to his demands. I was mortified. The woman who had said those things wasn't me. I didn't even recognize her. She had been weak and helpless and utterly without thought for her own needs and desires. How could I possibly have become that woman, and gone for days that way without realizing it? I didn't know what was worse; that I had let it happen, or that I wanted nothing more than to let it happen again. God help me, I wanted to go back and become that woman again. Dinner forgetten, I shuffled weakly toward a chair at the table and slumped into it. I should have known, I thought bleakly. I should have known better than to give in to the part of me that told me it was okay to let go, okay to relinquish control. Ten years I had spent trying to get to a point in my life where I was my own person and made my own choices, and in a single evening I reverted to the behaviors I had despised so much in my youth. But what made it worse by far was I had been happy to be that way; I had enjoyed it. I'd worked so hard, for so many years to get to where I was. Professional, respected, competent...Why the hell couldn't I be happy with that? Why wasn't it enough? Why was it that once I had finally, finally gotten control over my life, I wanted to give it up all over again? There were women on this planet who would sell their souls to be like me. Sell their souls. There was a disturbing thought. I had made some sacrifices to get where I was, certainly. But I thought they had been worth it; I thought control was what I needed. And it was! I wouldn't go back to that person I had been when I was with Daniel if you paid me. But had I given up something I needed in order to become the person I wanted to be? How could Mulder possibly respect me again? He hadn't acted any differently toward me at work, but how could he ever possibly see me again as the strong, controlled, determined woman I had made myself to be in his eyes? Even if he loved me, even if he managed to work with me, how could he ever regard me the same way he always had? I had let him see me weak. The word echoed in my mind: weak...weak...weak... I was unaware of the setting of the sun. Suddenly, it was dark and I was sitting alone in my unlit kitchen. I finally stood from the table and made my way into the living room. Just as I was settling on the couch, the phone rang. Mulder. It had to be. Mulder. Who now had seen me become that pathetic, spineless creature I had rid myself of all those years ago. Mulder. Whose respect meant more to me than anything else on this planet. Mulder. How could I talk to him? How could I ever look him in the eye again, knowing surely the respect he'd had for me must be diminished? After four rings, the phone fell silent and my answering machine kicked in. I heard my own cool, confident voice instructing the caller to leave a message. As I had predicted, Mulder's voice filled the room. It was the voice that had left a message on my machine Friday, telling me his demands. It was the voice I had obeyed without question or hesitation, the voice to which I had surrendered everything. I couldn't bear to listen to it and yet I couldn't hope to stop myself. The voice, even at a distance and on a tape, evoked a physical response from me. It was a voice I had come to irrevocably associate with passion and devastating pleasure. Self-assured, deep and gentle, I imagined his voice entreated me to give in, to pick up the phone and let the caress of his words wash over me. I wanted to let it draw me back in, let it strip away my control again. I couldn't do it. I had to clench my hands in my lap to keep from picking up the phone and dialing Mulder's number, but I didn't call him that night. I couldn't face him, couldn't talk to him until I had this weakness of mine under control. It was very late when I finally fell asleep on the sofa. In my dreams, I was again under Mulder's power, with his whispered command, "Give yourself to me," echoing in my ears. I woke up at dawn panting and trembling from a climax I could barely remember. I arrived at work Tuesday morning pale and tired. Mulder was already there, immersed in a file. If he noticed my tension and distraction, he didn't say anything. Within the hour we were on the road for a possible spiritual possession in Pennsylvania. It was nice to have something else to focus on. With the issue of a case looming, I didn't have to figure out what I needed to say to Mulder about what had happened that weekend. Absurdly, I felt as though I should apologize to him for getting so carried away. He didn't seem particularly concerned with it, but I sure as hell was. Nathaniel Androvich, age 11. He had a mild case of autism, and was generally sweet and mild-tempered. He excelled in school and was even able to attend a few classes with his peers rather than strictly special education courses. He was also a talented artist. Up until two months ago, he had been very well liked by his teachers and anyone who knew him. Then something had changed. Practically overnight, he had become a holy terror. He had become uncooperative and withdrawn, and violent when pressed to do something he didn't want to do. He had quit eating and was losing weight. He had quit paying attention in his classes and had started cutting up until he had to be removed. He became destructive of both himself and his surroundings, banging his head against walls in his room until he suffered a mild concussion, breaking things, striking out at people who came near him. Only one person, a social worker by the name of Dominic Krause, seemed to be able to reach him. Dominic spent an hour every other day working with Nathaniel, but while Nathaniel seemed to calm down when he was with Dominic, he reverted back to being a terror when Dominic left. Nathaniel's parents, strict Eastern Orthodox immigrants, were convinced he was possessed. Their church, however, claimed not to find any proof to support the theory of possession and would not perform an exorcism. Through various connections, they had somehow gotten Mulder's name. Needless to say, I wasn't sold on the possession theory. Which is not to say I don't believe in evil--I do, emphatically. In my experience, evil tends to come from within rather than without. I personally didn't believe a young autistic boy was inherently evil, and barring demonic possession, that meant something else was causing his behavior. In Nathaniel's case, that left many options. "What do you think?" Mulder asked when I closed the file and set it aside. "I think there could be any number of factors for his altered behavior, not the least of which is his autism. It's quite common for autistic children to undergo this sort of change." "Except his parents adamantly deny it's a possibility. They say they've seen him experience behavior changes before, and whatever is happening now is entirely different," Mulder pointed out. "Are his parents doctors?" I asked. "No, but they have lived with Nathaniel and his autism his entire life," Mulder replied. "But they're not objective," I pointed out. "They simply might not be able to accept that his condition could cause this sort of behavior. They want to look for an outside cause rather than accept that this kind of change is something they're going to have to live with for Nathaniel's entire life." Mulder nodded, frowning. I don't think he was really sold on the possession theory either. He'd give it a whirl, sure, but the odds were good the cause of Nathaniel Androvich's altered behavior was all too earthly. It was unlikely we'd see anything unusual here, and all too likely we would find something highly unpleasant. Eight hours later, we were back in the car headed for a local motel. As I had predicted, nothing good had come of the case. When I attempted to speak to Nathaniel, he had tried to attack me. During the struggle to subdue him, I discovered his jaw was hurting him. That was why he hadn't been talking or eating. I stood by while his pediatrician examined him and diagnosed that his jaw had been severely sprained. It would need to be wired shut to heal. At that realization, little doubt remained that someone was abusing Nathaniel. There were no bruises on his body, but he had panicked when his pediatrician attempted to examine his groin. A sick knot had formed in my stomach; it was all too easy to imagine how the child's jaw had come to be injured. Our attempts to interview his parents, Serbian refugees, were rendered difficult by the language barrier and an interpreter had to be called in. Several hours later, we learned, of all the people who might have hurt Nathaniel, it couldn't have been his father. Mr. Androvich had been injured during the turmoil in his homeland and was impotent. He was physically incapable of inflicting the kind of injury Nathaniel had suffered. The case then became a matter for the local police and child services to take care of. They would be responsible for determining who had been abusing Nathaniel and seeing justice met, or so we hoped. Nathaniel's social worker, Dominic Krause, was high on Mulder's hit parade of possible Suspects. Mulder made certain the police understood justbecause Krause was the only person in whose presence Nathaniel *didn't* become agitated was not an indicator of innocence. Quite the contrary, often abused children will often act out around everyone except their abuser. I could see the sickened expression in Mulder's eyes and knew it mirrored my own. Sometimes we saw far too little good in our work. It made us wonder occasionally why we kept at it, when so often it left us frustrated and shaken in our sense of justice. Unless we made certain to keep tabs on the investigation into Nathaniel's case, we would possibly never know what had become of him or the man who had been hurting him. It was too late and we were both too heartsick to make the drive back to Washington, so we checked into a motel, weary and disappointed in our day's work. We were subdued throughout dinner and the remainder of the evening. My awkwardness over my behavior during the weekend warred with my desire to comfort Mulder and take comfort in return. It was, as always, Mulder who solved the dilemma. When we returned to the motel, he followed me into my room rather than retiring to his own. I looked at him warily, unsure of his intentions. I wanted him to stay; I wanted him to go. I wanted him to hold me, and I wanted to push him away. Jesus, I was so tired of fighting with myself all the time. "Do you mind if I stay here, Scully?" He asked softly, his eyes dark and somber. He lowered his head and plucked idly at a loose string on his jacket, his shoulders slumped. I had to realize he took this sort of outrage as hard as I did. If he needed me, then wasn't that more important than whatever superficial embarrassment I might be suffering? I nodded and without words, we washed up and crawled into bed, Mulder in his boxers and me in the pajamas I kept in an overnight bag I stored in the trunk of Mulder's car at all times in the event of an unexpected out of town stay. I know Mulder must have wondered about the pajamas--it had been months since I had felt the need to wear any when I shared a bed with him--but he didn't say anything and I was content to leave it at that. I felt I needed a barrier, however flimsy, between us until I sorted myself out. I laid my head on Mulder's chest and sighed as he wrapped his arms around me. This was okay. This was Mulder taking comfort from me and letting me be strong for him. That he had allowed me the choice to say whether he could stay with me or not, rather than simply assuming, or worse, demanding, made me feel a little better about my ability to reclaim my own sense of control. It also reassured me that his respect for me was still intact. I lay awake for a while as he slept, thinking over the panic of the last twenty-four hours, but I had reached no conclusions by the time I finally drifted to sleep. * * * * * I had another dream, as I'd had the previous night. I was with Mulder, yielding to him, bound to my bed with him thrusting into me. The pleasure was unimaginable, blossoming and exploding inside me again and again. Soon, he had climaxed and was rolling off my body and falling asleep, but he hadn't untied me. I struggled and yelled at him to release me, but he wouldn't wake up. I awoke with a strangled cry, rubbing my wrists as though I could feel the pain from struggling against my bonds. Mulder apparently had been roused when I bolted upright and he reached out, stroking my back. I couldn't help myself; I shrank from his touch. Unfortunately, that was not the way to prevent him pursuing the matter. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?" he asked finally, his voice groggy, when I failed to look at him. I was too damned tired for this and far too uncertain of what I wanted to say, or what I wanted, period. "Nothing's wrong, Mulder, just a dream," I finally replied, still not glancing toward him. "I'm just tired. Go back to sleep, we'll be busy tomorrow." "Scully--" Mulder started, then stopped, sighing. He sat up and turned to me. "Scully, come here. Please?" I didn't want to do it, didn't want to meet his eyes or feel his touch. I was too vulnerable, too confused. But to reject his hand would be to reject him, and though I might not know how I felt about what we had done Friday night, I did know I wasn't ready or willing to do that. Whatever happened, whatever I decided, I didn't want to drive a wedge between us again. Our relationship was more important than my insecurities. I reluctantly reached for his hand and he enclosed my fingers in his. "Talk to me, Scully," he said, playing with my fingers as they intertwined with his. Beyond touching my hand, he made no other effort at physical contact with me and I appreciated his restraint. "I can't right now, Mulder. It's just--I'm trying to figure some things out. You told me to take some time away and think about things, so I am. But I haven't got it all worked out yet and tonight I'm just too tired to try. So please--give me a while, all right?" I finally looked up to meet his eyes, afraid of what I might find there. If there had been impatience, or contempt for my confusion, I couldn't have borne it. Instead, there was just concern and affection. After a long moment, he nodded, sighing. "This is about this weekend, then?" he asked. "Yeah, Mulder, it is. I--um--I don't know what to think about the things I said and did this weekend. I, uh, I feel like I made an ass out of myself." "Scully--no..." He shook his head, denying my claim. Frustrated, the words began to tumble from my lips in an undisciplined stream. "Mulder--whatever happened to me this weekend, whoever that person you were with was...Mulder, that wasn't *me*. And what terrifies me, Mulder, is I enjoyed it so damned much. You said it was easy to fall into this thing and you were right. I fell. But I can't be that person, Mulder. I can't do it; I won't let myself do it." Mulder was silent a long moment, staring at me thoughtfully. Shit. Now I was embarrassed about my outburst as well as my behavior the previous weekend. I was on the verge of apologizing when he finally spoke. "Scully--what we did this weekend we did because it seemed to be something you wanted and needed. Now, that's not to say I didn't enjoy it. I enjoyed it a hell of a lot," he gave me a wry grin. "On Sunday, you said you felt you had visited someplace special. Why do you suddenly believe if you visit that place, you can't come back?" I didn't answer. The question was rhetorical, at any rate. We both knew there was no logic to my fear. "Whoever that person was, Scully, she's a part of you. If she's a part of you, then I love her. And she's brave, Scully, so brave. I know you see it as weak, but what you did--sharing your fantasy with me, sharing *yourself* with me, trusting me to do what I did--it took guts," he sighed, and his expression was distant for a moment. I knew he, too, was replaying what had happened that weekend in his mind and relishing the memory. "But just because that person is a part of you doesn't mean she has to rule who you are. You're still in control; you can say when it's time to go back." "Just Sunday you were warning me I could get sucked in too deeply to go back," I pointed out, unwilling to be reassured just yet. "Why wouldn't I be? It's happened before. God, it's the story of my life." "First, I was being overcautious," he admitted. "I panicked for a moment when I saw how into it you were. I, um--I almost got sucked in once. Phoebe--that's who I had been talking about when I told you I'd had some experience before--she knew just what buttons to push to play upon all my neediness at the time. But I'm not the person I was back then, Scully. I'm stronger now, and a large part of that I owe to you. And you're not the same person you used to be, either. "The fact is, Scully, neither of us seems to have all that many outlets for the things we keep inside all the time, and at the risk of playing psychologist with you--which I know you hate--I don't think that's healthy. Maybe that person inside you, that woman who needs to surrender control, can find an outlet, in a controlled and safe environment. Maybe the person inside me who sometimes needs to have control can be released for a little while, too." "I don't know, Mulder. I liked what happened. I liked it so much I didn't *want* to come back, and that's what scares me." He didn't answer and I didn't expect him to. This was something I was going to have to work out on my own. Finally I said, "I just need time to think it over, Mulder, to figure out what I want. I mean, I *know* what I want, but I don't know if it's something that's necessarily good for me. Just give me time, okay?" "Okay," he nodded. "Whatever you decide you want is fine with me--it doesn't matter. If it's not good for one of us, it's not good for either of us. But Scully--" his hand tightened on mine, "--don't shut me out, okay? We've come too far for that, and I don't want to go back to where we were before." "Okay," I whispered, nodding. I felt ridiculously near tears. I wanted Mulder to hold me and comfort me and let me know everything was all right, but I couldn't ask him for it. I had to feel strong right now, had to rebuild the shields I had rashly and foolishly let down. I couldn't let myself be weak; if I did, I might never be able to go back. I would fall into Mulder and never emerge. Mulder regarded me for a long moment, very obviously not satisfied with my response. He seemed ready to press the issue, but he didn't, and I silently thanked him for it. We lay back down on the bed and I turned my back to Mulder and let him wrap me in his arms from behind. As his warmth soaked into me, I sighed, feeling inexplicably content despite my confusion. The contentment didn't last long. As much as I knew I should sleep, and as tired as I was, the warmth and scent and feel of him awakened all the instinctive responses my body had spent the last two months growing used to in his presence. I could feel the tension deep in my belly, the unconscious clenching of the muscles of my sex, the acceleration of my pulse. I wanted him, and against my backside I could feel the proof he wanted me as well, though he had made no move to do anything about it. Abruptly I sat up and began unbuttoning my pajama top. Mulder lay there silently, his dark eyes taking in every movement in the dimly lit room. He neither touched me nor spoke, but instead waited until I had shrugged off the shirt and tossed it to the end of the bed. Drawing a deep breath, I went one step further and pushed my pajama bottoms and panties off my hips and down my legs. They joined the shirt at the foot of the bed. Only when I was naked did I turn to face Mulder, my breasts heavy with my desire and pointed toward him, and spoke. "I want you to touch me, Mulder. I want you to make love to me." There. I had told him what *I* wanted, seized the initiative to make it happen. I had taken control over my own desires and decided what to do about them. As long as I had made the decision, I didn't feel threatened by it, didn't feel as though it undermined my own sense of control. Rather, I was exercising my control by making demands of him. As if in slow motion, Mulder reached out for me. "What do you want?" He asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. His hands stroked my skin lightly, almost casually. A feeling of power rushed through me at the knowledge he would do whatever I asked of him. I lay back upon the pillows and drew a deep breath. "I want your mouth on me," I said. "I want you to suck on my nipples and then I want you to go down on me." Mulder sat up and leaned over me, his hands falling on my breasts. He stroked and kneaded my flesh with his long, elegant fingers. Slowly, his mouth descended on my right nipple and began to suckle--gently at first and then harder, drawing it into his mouth and caressing it with his tongue. He nibbled softly and I moaned. "That's it...harder." He closed his lips over the turgid peak and pulled hard, evoking small, sharp lightning flashes along nerve endings all over my body. I could feel the nipple becoming engorged, could feel the rush of blood to the crest and the corresponding flood to my clitoris. It began throbbing in time with my pulse, growing hard and hot as moisture wetted my labia and thighs. Mulder changed breasts and gave the left one the same exacting attention he had lavished upon the first. Another rush of blood, another spasm of pleasure, another flood of moisture...Then his lips were trailing down my body while his hands continued to massage my breasts and tweak the nipples. He stroked my abdomen with his tongue and dipped it into my navel, then slowly slid his lips and nose through the tight curls covering my mons. He rubbed his face against the bristly hair, then removed his hands from my breasts and slid them over my hips. He combed the pubic hair back, damp and slick with my own moisture, and used his thumbs to part my lips and expose my clitoris completely to the cool air. His tongue darted out, quickly, like a cat licking cream from a dish. Once, twice, three times he stroked across my clit with short swipes of his tongue. I moaned deeply in response and threaded my hands in his hair, pressing his head closer as I thrust my hips up at him. "Harder..." He ran the entire length of his tongue, as far as he could extend it, over my clit with agonizing slowness, then closed his lips over the sensitive nubbin and began to suck on it. Within minutes I was thrashing and writhing on the bed, giving short, breathless cries as I ground shamelessly against his face. He took his lips off my clitoris for a moment to thrust his tongue into my body and then began to alternate between sucking on my clit and penetrating me with his tongue. His thumbs still held my labia open, leaving me fully exposed. He tongued me and sucked on me mercilessly. My moans and whimpers grew louder and more urgent and he worked me with his mouth, lapping at me, making wet sucking sounds. I could feel my body tense, the pressure in my womb building, and knew I would soon be sliding over the edge into blissful oblivion. Soon I would lose control... "No, stop!" I gasped. Mulder withdrew immediately, concern written all over his face. He opened his mouth to ask me what was wrong, his lips glistening with moisture in the dim light of the room, but I forestalled the question. "I want you inside me when I come," I panted. Immediately and without question or argument, Mulder shucked his boxers and began to crawl up my body between my thighs. "No, roll over," I instructed, and again he obeyed, reclining on his back upon the pillows. I moved over him and straddled his hips, kneeling over him, then taking his cock in my hand, plunged down onto the shaft. I cried out loudly, having thrust myself onto him too quickly, to the point where pleasure became pain. I drew a deep, hissing breath and could feel Mulder tense, ready to withdraw at a moment's notice. "Don't move," I muttered, concentrating on breathing deeply and relaxing, giving myself a moment to adjust. Mulder waited, his body quivering with need, until I braced myself with my hands over his heart, almost as though administering CPR, and began to raise and lower myself with my thighs. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of my still-tight body was beyond incredible. Even the lingering discomfort from that initial, abrupt penetration couldn't dispel the pleasure I felt. In this position, he penetrated me so deeply I could feel him butt up against my cervix with each stroke. After a moment of slow movements while I relaxed around him, I pushed myself up and leaned backward slightly. This brought his penis into firm contact with my g-spot with every stroke. The pressure was marvelous. I closed my eyes and moaned, knowing my face was contorted with pleasure. I pulled at my lip with my teeth and supported my weight with my hands behind me, braced on his thighs, moving faster upon his shaft. Soon my movements lost all semblance of rhythm and became a wild, animalistic pumping. I didn't object when Mulder grabbed me by the hips and began to lift and lower me faster; my thighs were getting tired. Mulder was grimacing, his eyes intent upon me, and I met his gaze. "Are you close?" I gasped. "I'm...about to...explode, Scully," he replied, his voice harsh and ragged. "You're killing me here." "Rub my clit. I want to come when you do." "God, yes..." he groaned and took one hand off my hips to press on my clitoris with his thumb. He stroked in hard, deep circles and I could feel the lightning bolts flash through my body with each rotation. "Ahh, ahhh, ahhhhhh, ohgodohgodohgod!!!" my breathless cries bled into one another until they became one continuous wail. My body jerked as the climax hit me, and I stiffened, my hair hanging over my face and my mouth open and gasping as spasm after spasm rocked me. Somewhere, seemingly a million miles away, I heard Mulder yell and felt him buck his hips into me hard one last time. When reality returned, I was laying collapsed on Mulder's chest with his body trembling beneath mine. I lifted myself weakly to meet his eyes. "Thank you," I murmured. I was a little surprised by my own behavior. I had never done that before, never so selfishly demanded a lover meet my needs like that. But I had needed to feel in control and it seemed like taking control sexually, the way Mulder so often took control of me, was the only way to do it. But I couldn't help feeling like I had used him somewhat. I leaned forward to kiss him gently on the lips, the first time I had done so since he had entered my motel room. The kiss deepened and soon our tongues were meeting and dueling. I sighed into his mouth and let myself relax onto his chest, let myself revel in the feel of his arms around me, warm in the chilly air. "Thank you," I repeated, a little stronger this time. I wasn't just thanking him for the sex. Now I understood what Mulder had meant when he said I had given him a gift when I let him guide our lovemaking. He'd just given that gift back, given me my control when I felt I needed it the most. It was late and now my weariness was overcoming the incessant tumbling of my thoughts. I relaxed for a moment as Mulder pressed gentle kisses over my jaw and neck and shoulders; then I rolled off of his body and snuggled in beside him. We'd still have to talk later. I hadn't figured out what I thought of my uncharacteristic behavior in the aftermath of our "scene" Friday night, but I was feeling considerably reassured I wasn't beyond reclaiming my control. I was also certain that whatever I had done, it hadn't altered Mulder's respect for me. Truthfully, it had been a ridiculous fear, and yet I hadn't been able to help myself. But now, knowing without a doubt that it wasn't true made it easier to relax into his arms. I drifted to sleep feeling his lips lovingly brush my forehead. * * * * *Talking to Mulder Tuesday night eased some of my knee-jerk fears about my visit to the land of submission. By the time we returned to Washington on Wednesday, I decided I could handle the decision intelligently and without panic. Mulder had mentioned he had done some research when planning our scene. I was a scientist; I could do research. It wasn't until after I had decided to do that research the realization struck me I had gone three days before it even occurred to me to do so. Normally, I would try to learn more about the issue and get the facts before making a decision, but this time I hadn't even considered it. At that thought, I was once again very nervous. I realized why Mulder had been afraid we could lose ourselves in these games. I had demonstrated his point perfectly by virtue of the fact it had taken me 72 hours to even think to do something that normally would have been second nature to me. If what I had experienced was so powerful it could make me forget who I was, then it did need to be approached cautiously. At the same time, however, I couldn't deny how *right* it had felt for me, how much I had enjoyed it, or how much I craved feeling it again. I was much more solemn as I began my search Wednesday night. My first stop was the Internet, under the logic most alternative lifestyles had founded a community there. In Washington and the surrounding area I found a number of establishments and social clubs that catered to the bondage community. They had web-sites that usually provided some sort of resource guide, including FAQs and recommended reading materials. In a way, it was like learning a new language. Luckily, I'm good with languages. The concept in general was called BDSM, which I learned was actually a combination of several acronyms: B&D -- bondage & discipline; D/s -- Domination & submission; and S&M -- sadomasochism. Upon learning more about each particular segment of the whole, I decided my primary interest was in Domination and submission. Bondage and discipline piqued my interest, but only as a means to emphasize my partner's dominance. The moment I saw the term "sadomasochism" my mind shut down and I steadfastly refused to delve any further into that concept. Domination/submission focuses on a phenomenon called "power exchange," where one person gives complete authority over their body and will to another, for however long a time they decided upon. Some do it day in and day out; others dabble in it occasionally. This usually involves some in-depth negotiations between the partners and sometimes a contract is written up to dictate the terms of those negotiations. The end result is to make both parties feel more empowered and fulfilled. Judging by my own reaction, I would have to say when done properly, it worked. The first couple of days after we played I had felt better about myself than I had in years. I realized I am what's known as a sexual submissive, which means I'm interested in the aspects of BDSM which lead to deeper and more powerful sexual gratification, but beyond that I had very little need to submit or be controlled. I was relieved to find a description so closely describing my own needs. When I considered many of the varieties of submission described included a total relinquishing of control of self, my desires seemed relatively benign. There are those who actually enter into a form of voluntary slavery, giving up all their rights as a human being to another, willingly. I shuddered at the idea, thinking I could never do such a thing. I'd spent too many years trying to seize my own rights as a human being to ever willingly give them up. But it was nice to know is it possible to be a submissive in one part of your life without it invading your entire existence. It is possible a submissive in the bedroom and still be strong in the world outside. After the rosy haze of our scene on Friday, I'd had my doubts. But now I felt reassured--if others could do it, so could I. I went to a "woman friendly" adult bookstore (which is to say it was cleaner, brighter, and less sleazy than your normal adult bookstore, and had more merchandise that would appeal to women) to look for some of the texts that had been recommended on the web-sites. "Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns" was one. There was another called "The Bottoming Book." While they offered more information about sadomasochism than Domination/submission, there was still enough data to help me understand the concepts and practices a little more clearly. By the time Thursday rolled around, I felt I had been sufficiently enlightened. I was getting impatient to see Mulder again. After Tuesday night, we had been carefully and excruciatingly professional to each other while we were together at work, but I was missing the personal time. We had called each other once an evening, but our conversations had been of inconsequential things. I think we were both reluctant to bring up the particular topic that was first and foremost in our minds when we didn't have much of a chance of getting in-depth with it or resolving it. That was a discussion we needed to be face to face for. I would have waited, however reluctantly, for Friday. But Mulder didn't. I had just sat down with a reheated plate of pasta and a small salad for dinner on Thursday night when Mulder called me. We made small talk for a moment as we had been doing all week; then Mulder took a deep breath and plunged straight into the subject. "I know it's early," Mulder began, sounding a little hesitant, "but I've been thinking a lot about what we discussed. Have you--?" "I haven't been thinking about anything else," I admitted, realizing for the first time this was something that was important to Mulder, not just to me. "I've been doing some research, trying to figure out what exactly it is I'm interested in and what I want to do about it. I feel I know quite a bit more about the subject than I did this time last week." "Did you decide anything?" He sounded tense, anxious. "I think so," I replied. "I think what scared me the most was how different my own behavior seemed--I didn't understand what could make me behave that way. Then I came across something interesting. You know more about this than I do--have you heard of the concept of headspace?" "Headspace" was the general, multi-purpose term derived from the play- on-words used to describe a submissive's state known as "subspace." "I've heard of it, yes," Mulder answered. "It has to do with the mental and emotional condition someone experiences while playing." "It's basically an altered state brought on by endophins and other neuro- chemicals. Listen to this," I picked up the printout I had made the night before from a web-site I had visited. "Sub- or bottom-space is a type of altered consciousness identified with feelings of falling into a state of submission...Characterized by diminished ego awareness, less active cognitive behavior, surrendering of will and/or inability to verbalize. The individual may be giddy or uncoordinated. Frequently these functions are assumed by the dominant partner who becomes the submissive's center of focus. Rational thought is replaced by a meditative state, similar to tantric yoga..." "Ooh, Scully, tantra--" I could practically hear Mulder's eyebrows wag lasciviously. "Maybe later," I said in my best school-marm voice. "Seriously, Mulder, you don't think that sounds a little familiar?" "Scully, you'd know better than I would what you experienced. From an observer's standpoint though, I'd have to say, yes--that seems to describe the way you behaved last weekend. So what does it mean?" "It means," I could feel myself smiling, remembering the relief I had experienced when I had read this same text the night before, "that I understand what happened to me now. It's not unusual or even unexpected. It's just biochemistry." And biochemistry I understood a hell of a lot better than the uncharacteristic behavior I had experienced the previous weekend. I continued reading the description to Mulder. "The submissive response is visceral. Tone of voice, pheromones, body language, role-play and personal emotional triggers cause a recognition of the other partner as dominant--" Which explained why I seemed to react a certain way when Mulder spoke to me in a particular tone of voice. "-- This is responded to by a rise in PEA; followed by oxytocin and endorphins when touching begins. This creates a state of intoxication to which the submissive surrenders. Testosterone, norephedrine, estrogen, vasopressin and dopamine also rise..." I stopped when Mulder burst out laughing, then realized that I was relating all this in the same tone I would use to discuss research on a case we were working. I laughed sheepishly at myself. I remembered my thoughts the previous night about how learning about this lifestyle was like learning a new language. Now, however, we were talking my language. This I could understand and accept. I had found myself smiling at my computer as I read the words and my heart had assumed a trip-hammer rhythm in my chest. I had realized that with these reassurances, I felt much more at-ease with the idea of what I had done and what I wanted to continuing doing. "What it means," I repeated, "is that I don't need to worry about being unable to come back from--wherever it was I went. Headspace. Whatever. This is a state that's sought after and enjoyed by people who lead normal, productive lives outside these activities." I took a deep breath and took the plunge. "I want to do it, Mulder. I--I need it." Mulder let out a long breath, and I realized he must have been nervous about what I might say. He had told me Sunday he relied on me, and I knew he did. The outcome of this discussion had the potential to affect our entire relationship, and what affected our relationship could very well affect our partnership. Things had not been strictly professional between us long before we became lovers. "Okay," he drew the word out in a sigh. "Okay," I agreed, a tingle of pleasure running through me. There was a short, awkward silence before I plunged ahead, "I suppose this is the point where we begin negotiations?" Mulder gave a snort of laughter. "You did do your research. Yeah, that's exactly what I was just thinking. I, um, I'm gonna email you a file. It's a little questionnaire I'd like you to fill out. When you come over tomorrow, bring it with you. I'll make us dinner and we can discuss some of this, maybe decide how we want to handle this." "I'd like that," I murmured. "I'd like that a lot." "All right," Mulder said briskly, exhaling loudly. "I just sent the file, so you should have it by now. I'll see you at work tomorrow." "Yeah." I stopped and took a deep breath, then told him softly, "I love you." Silence greeted me and I knew I had surprised him. I'm not a terribly demonstrative person, and I certainly have a hard time expressing my emotions verbally. Though I have no doubts Mulder knew I loved him, I think that was the first time I ever actually told him. But our relationship would soon be making a very significant change, one involving a strong leap of faith and a huge amount of trust. I didn't think it would be appropriate to enter that arena without letting him know without question how I felt. "Thank you," he said after a long moment, sighing. I was glad he hadn't responded with an automatic "I love you, too." I knew he loved me. He'd told me before, and it meant more to me for him to say it spontaneously than as a reflex. "I'll see you tomorrow," I said, my voice barely over a whisper. "Bye." I hung up with his soft "good-bye" still caressing my ears. I went straight for my computer and booted up. As promised, Mulder's email was sitting in my inbox. My pulse quickening, I opened it and began to read. "Scully: "Please fill this out and return it to me. I have omitted some items I didn't feelwould apply. "Mulder." Attached was a long list of various sexual and BDSM-related activities. The instructions indicated that next to each activity, I should first indicate whether I had any experience with it with a "yes" or "no." Then I was to indicate my level of interest or willingness to perform the aforementioned activity on a scale of NO and 0 to 5. NO would indicate I absolutely would not consider the activity under any circumstances, what's known as a "hard limit". 0 meant I disliked and might even loathe the activity but would do it if the Dominant partner demanded it, also known as a "soft limit." 1 indicated indifference, something that had no appeal or interest, but which I would do if the Dominant instructed me to. 2 was something I wasn't sure about but would be willing to try once to see how I liked it. 3 was something I might enjoy on an occasional or infrequent basis, 4 something I would enjoy doing regularly, and 5 meant the activity was a wild turn-on and I couldn't get enough of it. I was also to make notes next to points I felt required clarification. From there, I began to go down the alphabetically ordered list point by point. I passed through the A's relatively quickly, though occasionally I had to stop and think. Most of the activitiesmentioned, I had had no experience with. Many were activities I wasn't sure about. I wasn't indifferent to them, but neither did I know if I would enjoy them, even on an infrequent basis. I found myself giving a lot of the items a rating of 2, with the logic I could downgrade or upgrade depending on how I liked an experience. I also found myself putting a question mark next to many of them, unsure what they meant. Then I came to the item titled "Anal play/sex." That one stopped me cold. My heart began to pound, but I couldn't be sure whether it was with excitement or fear. When I was fifteen and read "Story of O" for the first time, I hadn't known men and women could have sex anally. I hadn't even known men had sex with each other that way (by that point, I knew just enough about the world to have heard whispers about homosexuality, but I was ignorant of the mechanics involved.) I probably would have been appalled if I had known. So my introduction to the concept had been O struggling with Sir Stephen as he forced himself into her, and then later told her she would bleed until she became accustomed to being taken that way. This impression had been reinforced sometime later when in the Q&A section of a women's magazine someone had written complaining her husband demanded anal sex of her, even though it hurt her and made her bleed. The response she had gotten was basically a treatise on what an insensitive pig the husband had been and how she should tell him off. The gist of the advice was to "Ask your husband that if you enjoyed some unsavory activity that caused him pain and made him bleed, would he do it for you? If he has the gall to say yes, tell him that each time he asks for anal sex, you feel an equal desire to penetrate his nostril with a rolling pin." As I studied medicine and learned more about the world in general, I found out people could and did have anal sex and enjoyed it without injury, when it was done properly. That the "expert" in the magazine I had read hadn't pointed this out was an indication of the lingering prejudice many had against "deviant" activities. Still, that knowledge never quite managed to eradicate the instinctive fear I had at the thought of it. I'd had a lover ask me once or twice if I would be willing, but I always adamantly refused, too afraid to allow it. And yet... My memories of reading "Story of O" are some of the first memories of sexual arousal I have. That arousal is inextricably intertwined with the shock and fear I had also experienced reading it. In retrospect, I know I had no business reading it at that age. I hadn't been mature enough to understand any of it. It had shaped many of my early ideas of what sex should be like and in truth I think I expected less pleasure than I should have from sex because of it. I think it also lead me to the idea if I loved a man, I should be willing to do anything for him, even if it wasn't the right thing for me. The activities described in that book were dangerous. Forbidden. It was easy to see why I had been drawn to it. But if I could admit to having a submissive streak, then I could admit it also seemed to be a very submissive thing to do, to be taken that way. So while the concept of anal sex frightened me, it also aroused me desperately. I had to fight against the instinct to put a large "NO" next to "anal play/sex" on the list. I remembered last Friday when Mulder had inserted a finger into my anus. I had been nervous, but he hadn't hurt me. The sensation had been quite intense, if somewhat foreign. And with Mulder, things were different than with anyone I had known in the past. I trusted Mulder beyond question or doubt; I knew he would never harm me. I'd never had such confidence with anyone else. If I was being honest, I was intrigued and excited by the prospect, by allowing Mulder to do what no one else had done with me before. Drawing a deep breath, I indicated I had not had any experience in that area and put a 2 next to that item, as well, and continued making my way down the list. "Blindfolds". After last Friday, that one was a piece of cake. I happily marked it with a "Yes" for experience and a 4 for level of interest. I didn't feel any further explanation was necessary. There were four different categories of bondage: light, heavy, multi-day, and public-under clothing. Light got an effortless 4. Heavy I had to consider, not quite sure what "heavy" entailed, then put a 2, figuring if I didn't like it if we tried it, I could amend. Multi-day got a 0 for being impractical. Public I also had to consider. The idea of being in public and bound under my clothes without anyone else's being aware of it intrigued me. I finally settled on a safe 2 for that as well. "Cock worship." Wasn't quite sure what "worship" entailed, but if it involved Mulder's cock and me, I was all for it. I enthusiastically marked it with a 4. "Collars (worn in private)" and "Collars (worn in public)." Private I thought I might be interested in. A mark of ownership, of possession...I could get into that. I chose 3. Public I marked with a 0, not sure it would be a wise idea for us to take our play out of the bedroom. "Corsets." Hmm, fetish wear. Given Mulder's reaction to the shoes the other night and the fact he tends to be a very visually cued man, I thought that might have some possibilities. It got a 3. Through the rest of the list, my most common answer remained 2. It made sense; I had no experience with probably 90% of what was listed, but I wanted to try a little of everything to begin with, maybe more if I ended up enjoying it. Leather cuffs, dildoes, double penetration...the list went on. A few items gave me pause, though. "Fantasy Rape" was one. As a woman and law enforcement professional, the idea of rape was abhorrent to me. But I already knew I liked feeling helpless and being totally in Mulder's power. What could possibly evoke those feelings more than his pretending to wrestle me down and force himself on me. I was embarrassed to find I was getting wet just considering it. I struggled with my reticence and then marked it with a 2, amending a note that I might be willing to try it in the future, but not yet. "Fisting (vaginal)" got a similar response; I was discovering I was a little more adventurous than I had ever really imagined myself. Some of the items were simply impractical or absurd. Infantilism, legal/permanent name change, plastic surgery, sleep deprivation. I suppose they might have had their place in some peoples' lives, but certainly not in mine and Mulder's. If these were left after Mulder had gone through and edited out everything that he felt was inapplicable, what had he removed himself? It was a very long list. Breast whipping, nipple clamps, spanking, paddling, restrictions on speech and behavior, whipping...Some of the prospects thrilled me; others confused me. Often I found myself questioning my initial knee-jerk reaction to a given activity. Everything from various forms of bondage to various forms of servitude was covered. I gave most of the sadomasochistic activities listed a 0 or 1, struggling with the urge to put "NO" by them instead. I couldn't imagine possibly enjoying sadomasochism is any way-nor could I imagine Mulder doing so-but at the same time, if I were turning myself over to Mulder's control, then he had to have the right to punish me for disobedience. Implicit in the concept of punishment was pain, or at least unpleasantness. Of course, since I didn't plan to disobey him, I didn't figure it would be an issue. When I had finished, I saved the file and emailed it back to Mulder. I went to bed feeling very content and excited by the possibilities for the future, but found myself unable to sleep. All the sexual possibilities on Mulder's survey had aroused me to the point where I could think of nothing else but being fucked and fucked hard. It was nearly midnight when I finally picked up the bedside phone and called Mulder. "Are you okay?" was the first question out of his mouth when he heard my voice. If it had been him calling me, I wouldn't have blinked, but I didn't often call him in the middle of the night. "I'm fine. I just can't sleep," I murmured, feeling somewhat foolish for calling him. What did I expect him to do? "You just want to talk a while?" "Mm hmm," I sighed, settling back into bed. "I got the survey back," he said softly. "I'm going over it now." "That's part of my problem," I responded. "Lots of food for thought there." "Like what?" "Well...maybe I'm naive, but I didn't know what the hell some of it was," I said. "So ask me." "Okay, Mr. All-Knowing," I replied tartly. It made sense Mulder would know more about this stuff than I would, with his predilections, but I still felt rather unworldly. "For instance, what's 'age play'?" Mulder paused, then asked in his sexiest voice, "Do you want to be daddy's little girl?" I shuddered and cringed. "Oh, God, no," I answered immediately. I'd had one father in my life and that relationship had been quite satisfactory, thank you very much. I'd made a huge mistake early on in trying to imitate that dynamic in my later relationships, dating older authority figures. I did not want to go there with Mulder. I mentally scrawled a big 0 next to "Age play" on the list. "There are other age games," he said, chuckling at my reaction. "You could be an innocent school-girl and I your devastatingly sexy, much older and worldly principal. You could be sent to my office for chewing gum in class..." Now *that* had possibilities. I upgraded the 0 to a 2, possibly 3. "What else?" Mulder asked after a moment. "I'm just--I found myself considering a lot of things tonight I didn't think I'd ever consider," I said after a moment. "I guess I'm a little confused by what it all means." "Well, Scully, some of the point is to try things you've never done and might not normally do. That's why it's called fantasy." "I know, but--" I stopped. I couldn't explain my reaction to myself yet, much less Mulder. There would be time for us to discuss this tomorrow night. Mulder didn't press me for clarification. Silence settled between us, and over the phone line I could hear Mulder's soft breathing. Even at such an innocent sound, my nipples tightened as I imagined Mulder's breath upon them. I groaned. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "I'm horny." Mulder burst out laughing and I joined him. I had to laugh about it, or I was going to lose my mind. "It's fine for you to laugh," I said petulantly. "You're the one who decided we should take a week off." "You think I'm not suffering here, Scully?" I stopped laughing, because Mulder's voice wasn't amused. It was tight, tense, rough... "Then what the hell are we doing this for, Mulder?" I had passed petulant and was approaching whiny. It was a voice I recognized from when Mulder dragged me out on a case I saw no point to. Hard to believe only two months ago, I hadn't had sex for years; now I couldn't even stand a few days without. I wanted him to get his ass over to my apartment and lay me, but it was already midnight, so I suspected that wouldn't be happening. We did have to work tomorrow. "I don't remember, Scully. To heighten the anticipation, maybe?" I snorted, letting him know just what I thought of *that* idea. "My anticipation is sufficiently heightened, thank you." We were silent for another moment, and then Mulder spoke again. "Go get your vibrator, Scully." My pulse raced as I realized what he was planning; my body shouted a loud "hallelujah!" Phone sex was something we hadn't done before--we were always together, so we never had the need. My thrill was increased because Mulder had assumed what I was quickly coming to think of as his "command voice." It wouldn't be as good as having Mulder here, but in a pinch... "I'll be right back," I answered with more calm than I felt, and set the phone down on the bedside table. I crossed the room to my bureau and pulled my Hitachi Magic Wand and G-Spotter attachment out of the top drawer. The vibrator had been a gift from one of my college friends. A few years ago, I had complained over drinks about how little (read: none) sex I'd had in recent years. My next birthday, she had sent the vibrator with a card that read: "For your enjoyment until that hunky partner of yours (whom, of course, you care nothing about) gets his act together..." The Hitachi and I had become close friends over the years. Mulder knew I had it, but this was the first time he'd ever asked me to use it. And to tell the truth, he and I were together so regularly these days it had been gathering dust for near two months. It was heavy and bulky, but it was the most powerful vibrator available. There were times I regretted the Hitachi didn't come with an attachment that more closely simulated the length and girth of an actual penis, but it served its purpose. I plugged the massager into an outlet behind my nightstand, lay back down on the bed and picked up the phone. "I've got it," I said breathlessly into the receiver, feeling as though I had just done the hundred-yard dash. "Good. What are you wearing?" "The beige satin pajamas with the short sleeves." "Good. I want you to turn the vibrator on and I want you to run it over your nipples lightly, while you're still clothed. Get them standing up for me. I want them so erect you can see them through the satin shirt." That was the voice, calm and low. I don't think I've ever heard anything sexier than Mulder when he starts speaking in that voice. It was a voice made for use behind closed doors where illicit pleasures were given and received; there was nothing I wouldn't do for Mulder when he spoke to me in that tone. I could feel myself sinking into the spell of his words, growing languid and heavy, becoming sensual rather than cerebral. Sighing with pleasure, I turned the Hitachi on low and, foregoing the attachment for now, began to draw the rounded head in slow circles around my nipples. The higher setting might be quicker, but the vibrations of the lower setting penetrated much deeper. I could feel it all the way in my chest. When I spoke, I imagined I sounded like a traffic reporter in a helicopter. "It almost tickles," I murmured. "But I can feel myself getting wet. I've got my left nipple erect, and I'm moving to my right." "That's good, that's good. Once you're done, I want you to set the vibrator aside and unbutton your shirt. Don't take it off yet." I fell into a breathless silence while I stroked my right nipple with the appliance. Soon, it too was jutting forward, feeling tight and sensitive. I was very aware of the softness of my satin pajama top rubbing against the peaks of my breasts. After a pleasant, relaxing moment I shut the vibrator off and laid it on the bed. I held the phone between my ear and shoulder and unbuttoned my pajama top. It hung from my shoulders, the cloth sweeping back and forth against my skin as I moved. "Can you see your dresser mirror from where you are, Scully?" "If I sit up, yes." "I don't just want you to sit up, I want you to stand and look in the mirror. Tell me what you see." Moving slowly, I did as Mulder instructed, rising from my bed with the phone on my shoulder to gaze into the mirror. The woman I saw there wasn't the same woman I usually faced every day. The woman I normally saw was very composed and dignified, neatly dressed and well groomed. The woman staring back at me was none of those things. She was-- "Talk to me, Scully. Tell me what you see." "I look...wild," I said softly, my gut clenching with desire as I spoke. "My hair's kind of messy because I was tossing and turning earlier. My cheeks are really flushed and my eyes are sparkling. My pajama top is hanging open with my breasts sticking out. I look...wanton. Slutty. Like I'm moments away from getting the fucking of my life." "Good, Scully. Very good. You want to know something?" "What?" I whispered. Wearing the satin pajama top seemed sexier and more alluring than if I had been nude. Without thinking about it, I lifted the hand that wasn't holding the phone and watched as the woman in the mirror cupped her breast, playing idly with the nipple. "When we're together, when we're making love, that's exactly how I see you. And though you are always beautiful to me, in those moments, you are the most stunning creature on this planet." I gave a soft sigh of pleasure, letting his voice and words wash over me. "You're touching your breast, aren't you, Scully?" Surprised, the movements of my fingers on my nipple stilled as I answered. "Yes, I am." "Good. That's exactly what I want you to do. Now tell me--Friday night, did you like it when I ppinched your nipples?" I thought about it, about the pressure of his fingers tightening on my nipple. How the sensations had gone from pleasure to discomfort to pain, and then faded away like they had never been when he stroked me softly. His pinching my nipples had hurt, but I had enjoyed it. "Yes," I replied. "I'm glad. I enjoyed doing it. I enjoyed your whimpers and the movements when you tried to get away from me, and the way you bit your lip to keep from crying out," Mulder paused, and I heard a deep, shuddering breath across the line. I suspected I wasn't the only party in this conversation with their hands on their body. "I want you to do that, Scully. Pinch your nipple, as hard or as soft as you like. Let me hear you when you do it, though. No biting your lip to hold back the sounds." My fingers closed over my nipple and began to squeeze. The gentle pressure I applied didn't seem to be enough, so I tightened my grasp. The pleasure-pain of the sensation made me moan softly into the phone. "That's it. Keep going." I wanted more. I wanted to feel what I had felt that night with Mulder's fingers on me. Drawing a deep breath, I moved from squeezing between the tips of my thumb and forefinger to gripping the nipple between the thumb and the side of the knuckle of the forefinger instead. I squeezed with as much pressure as I could muster the courage for. I could feel my wetness starting to seep into the crotch of my panties as I cried out sharply and released my nipple. It tingled and ached and I rubbed it softly as Mulder had done that night. "Mmm, I like that sound, Scully. I like it a lot. You wanna do the other nipple?" "Yes..." I whispered. Sliding my free hand to the other breast, I repeated the process. I applied increasing pressure until I reached a plateau, then used my thumb and the side of my forefinger to squeeze sharply. I yelped again and began tenderly stroking the offended nipple. "That's perfect. I love the way you sound when you do that. Now stroke it softly. Soothe away the pain. Does it feel more tender now, more sensitive to the slightest touch?" "Yes, it does," I replied, still watching my actions in the mirror. "I want you to take off your shirt now, Scully. Don't move away from the mirror, though." Maneuvering carefully so as not to drop the phone, I did as Mulder told me, letting the pajama top fall into a small pool of satin around my feet. "Look at yourself again," Mulder said huskily. "See how pure and white your skin is, how dark your nipples are? Hold the phone with your shoulder and use both hands to cup your breasts and lift them. Feel how heavy they are, how soft and warm and smooth the skin is? Rub them, Scully. Mold them with your hands, feel how the flesh yields to the pressure of your fingers. Can you feel that?" "Yes..." I sighed, seduced by my own touch and the sound of Mulder's voice. The muscles in my sex were throbbing in time with my pulse as my arousal mounted. I could see and feel all that Mulder described and more. I was stunned at this person staring back at me, this woman I never seemed to see. I found her beautiful and wild and alluring. The weight of her breasts was heavenly and warm in my hands. "Good. I love it when I feel your breasts in my hands, love the way the flesh feels. They're perfect, Scully." Silence fell while I continued caressing my breasts for a long moment. Once or twice, I thought I heard a gasp from Mulder. I could imagine his hand on his cock, stroking softly up and down. His fingers would travel back and caress his sac; then he'd close his palm over the head of his penis, squeezing firmly to simulate the pressure of being inside me. How close was he to coming, I wondered. "Talk to me, Mulder," I murmured, squeezing the soft flesh of my breasts. "Tell me what you're doing." "You know what I'm doing, Scully," he said softly, his voice a little breathless. "I want--" My voice trailed off as I toyed with my nipples. "What?" Mulder asked. "Tell me what you want." "I want to feel your cock in my hands," I whispered. "I want to taste you..." "Oh, God..." Mulder groaned. "I'm supposed to be the one seducing you," he protested weakly. "Welcome to the nineties, caveman," I chuckled huskily. We fell silent again, savoring our mutual pleasure for a while. "Take off your pajama bottoms and panties, Scully," Mulder said at last. I did so still standing, lifting one leg and then the other. The cool air touched my damp crotch, chilling the wetness there. "Are you still standing in front of the mirror?" "Yes." "Good. Look at yourself. Look at how beautiful and natural you are standing there naked. Look at the lovely shape of your body, the softly swelling breasts leading into the curved waist, the flatness of your belly before it gives way to the dark red hair between your legs. Do you see all that, Scully?" "I see it, Mulder." And I did. Normally, I wouldn't find myself even remotely exotic but when I saw myself through Mulder's eyes I saw a different person entirely. "I want you to slide your hand down your belly, Scully, and slip it between your legs. I want you to rub it back and forth. Are you wet?" "God, yes..." "Good. Now, spread your legs and watch yourself in the mirror as you fuck yourself with your fingers. Start with two, then three, and then four, if you want. Do it, Scully. Now." I moaned softly with a combination of embarrassment and desire. I thought I had looked slutty before, but now I appeared downright lewd, semi-squatting before the mirror with my hand disappearing and re- emerging from between my thighs. Why was I doing this? Would I have done it if Mulder hadn't asked me to? Somewhere inside, my good little Catholic cringed in horror at my own abandon. That I was wildly aroused at this point was an undeniable fact, and yet there was a bashful part of me that shrank from this wanton display of my own sexuality. I hadn't realized before how much more comforting it was to be uninhibited when I couldn't actually see myself. If Mulder hadn't assured me of how beautiful he finds me when he sees me like this, I would have been mortified that he had ever seen me this way, humiliated at the image of myself--cool, calm, collected Scully--doing these things and more importantly, enjoying them. But it was Mulder on the other end of the line and he wanted this, wanted me to pleasure myself in his stead. And because it was Mulder, I would do it. I slipped my fingers into my dripping canal and pulled them back out, covered in wetness. I added a third finger and began to thrust, slowly at first, then gaining speed. It was hard to bend over far enough to reach myself and still glance into the mirror, but I managed. I could hear myself making throaty, breathless noises into the phone, giving sharp moans and whimpers. I curled my little finger into a bundle with the others and thrust them all the way in. I almost dropped the phone as I cried out from the sensation of fullness. "Oh, Scully, yes. That's it. Yes..." It went on for some time that way, each of us getting louder and more explicit in our exclamations of pleasure. Finally, Mulder spoke again. "Okay, Scully, stop. Take your fingers out and go back to the bed. Lay down and get comfortable. Find a comfortable way to support the phone by your ear so you can use both hands." I obeyed, wiping my hands briefly on my discarded underwear, and soon had myself arranged in a fairly accessible position on the bed. "Pick up the vibrator, Scully. Have you got the attachment on yet?" "No, not yet." "Put it on now, then turn the vibrator on low." I did as Mulder told me, and the vibrator began humming in my hand again. "Okay, I want you to touch it to the top of your mound, just above your pubic hair, and move it slowly downward toward your clit. Slowly. I want you to feel the gradual intensity of the vibrations as they get closer to your clit. Don't touch your clit, though, until I tell you to." "Okay..." I followed his instructions carefully, paying close attention to the increasing sensation the closer I got to my clitoris. When I got to the point right above the hood, I began to moan softly, the deep, penetrating vibrations reaching my clit even without being in direct contact. It was, in some ways, better than direct contact--gentler, deeper, less overwhelming. I stayed there for some time, making soft sounds of pleasure, which were echoed by Mulder's own guttural moans. "Okay, Scully, now...touch your clit. Just for a second, then go back to what you were doing." I moved the vibrator down just a centimeter and the rubber cup with its curved protrusion covering the head of the vibrator came into direct contact with my clitoris. I yelled loudly, the feeling so intense as to be nearly unbearable. It shot through me like a thunderbolt, and then was replaced by gentle, deep vibrations as I moved the massager back to the point just above the clit. "That's good...I want you to do it again, but hold it there longer this time. Hold it until I tell you to stop." Oh, God...I prayed Mulder wouldn't ask me to hold it too long. It really was nearly too intense to take for more than a few seconds at a time. I touched my sensitive clit again and held it, fighting against the urge to pull away from the electrifying vibrations. It seemed to go on forever, with me giving a never-ending series of moans and gasps, before Mulder finally told me to stop. "Now I want you to fuck yourself with the vibrator, Scully. Don't wait for instructions from me. Just do what feels good until you come, okay? Be sure to let me hear you." "Okay," I whispered. I slid the curved end of the attachment into my convulsing vagina and groaned loudly. The end curled up toward the front wall of my canal and with a little bit of shifting, I found my g-spot. I pressed there for a long moment, making incoherent noises and listening to Mulder's gruff, breathless encouragement. Then I began sliding it in and out of my body. I quickly found a rhythm. Push it in, find the g-spot, hold, withdraw, find the clit, hold, then in again. The attachment wasn't long or thick enough to make a simple, fast, deep fucking very effective. The Hitachi was a precision tool. I followed that careful pattern, alternating the point of pressure for different sensations, and soon I felt my muscles growing tighter and tenser, winding up toward a release. "Oh, God...Mulder...feels so good...wish it was you...inside me...God..." I babbled a breathless commentary on the sensations to Mulder before I lost my ability for clear or coherent speech. I was aware of Mulder's steadily increasing groans and exclamations that finally erupted into a strangled shout. Mulder would now hear me come without being distracted by his own orgasm. The tension was becoming unbearable, approaching the point where something simply must give, and in desperation, I shoved the smooth side of the attachment hard against my clit and held it there, grinding roughly. I came with a sob, shuddering and quivering, still holding the vibrator to my clit to drag out the sensations until at last I lay limp and sated on my bed. "So, Scully," Mulder said after a long moment. I realized the Hitachi was still turned on and shut it off. "Was it good for you?" I laughed, still gasping, with the occasional tremor running through my body. "It was fantastic for me," I said at last. We fell silent, quietly coming down from our climaxes, until I broke the silence with a jaw-cracking yawn. "Think you can sleep now?" Mulder asked affectionately. "I have no doubts whatsoever," I replied, stretching. My body was growing heavy and my eyelids became increasingly stubborn in their refusal to remain open. "Then get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow," Mulder replied. I managed to mutter a sleepy "good night," then fumbled with the phone until I found the base. I set the Hitachi on the bedside table, knowing I should get up, get dressed and clean it, but I was unable to summon the energy. I crawled under the covers, delighting in the decadent feel of the soft, cool cotton percale against my bare, sensitized skin and was soon asleep. * * * * * I made pasta. Linguine with clam sauce to be exact. I may have a tendency to live off junk food, but that doesn't mean I can't cook when I put my mind to it. One of the benefits to an eidetic memory is you see a recipe once and it's yours for life. I bought a French loaf, sliced it down the center, smeared it with butter, real minced garlic and parsley and put it in the oven to bake for fifteen minutes. While it was baking, I opened the bottle of wine I had purchased, letting it breathe for a moment. I had planned for Scully and me to have only a small glass with dinner, and even then I'd had to think hard about the decision. On one hand, we were going to be doing a lot of heavy talking and it might help us to relax a bit, but I didn't want us to be impaired in any way. In fact, if we had decided to do any playing that night, I wouldn't have bought the wine, period. One thing I had discovered in my research years ago, after my relationship with Phoebe had ended was that any responsible practitioner of BDSM agrees that alcohol or drugs do not mix with scene-play. The Dominant needs to have all his faculties intact to perform safely and responsibly, and the submissive needs to be aware enough to call a halt to things if she's in distress. Not long ago, a story had made the news about a woman who had left her female lover chained to a Saint Andrew's cross while she went into the bathroom to shoot up. The window had been open and the breeze had blown the curtains across the candles. The submissive had been badly burned. Scully wasn't the only person who had spent our time off doing research. I had left her apartment last Sunday determined that if, after giving it some thought, Scully still wanted to pursue the matter, we would decide how to do it in as responsible and thorough manner as possible. The questionnaire I had sent Scully had been one such tool. I had found it on an online resource guide. Actually, the list I'd found had been much longer than the scaled-down version I had sent her. A great deal of it had been inapplicable, and quite a bit more had simply been distasteful. I didn't need Scully to tell me what experience or interest she had with such things as bestiality, forced prostitution, scarification and scat. The list was to give me an idea of where Scully's limits lay, but I had limits myself. Even if Scully had been willing to go there--which, knowing her as I did, I highly doubted--I wasn't; and as I had said to Scully earlier in the week, if it wasn't good for one of us, it wasn't good for either of us. Besides, I was afraid that including those options would only muddy the waters, as it were. Leaving those possibilities in might have only served to make her more uncertain about whether what she wanted was something she should really be pursuing. I was looking forward to discussing her responses. Having a clear guideline of what Scully would do, wouldn't do, or might at some point be willing to do would be a tremendous help in determining how to go about conducting our scenes. Part of me feared I was perhaps rushing things, getting this involved so quickly, but I didn't want to take the chance of doing something that might hurt Scully out of ignorance. I would rather be thorough, even at the risk of moving too fast. It was seven o'clock when Scully arrived bearing her overnight bag. I looked up from the clam sauce and felt a foolish grin break across my face. She looked spectacular. Though we had spent Tuesday night together, I had missed her desperately. Seeing her at work didn't count; often I thought of the Scully I knew at work and the Scully I knew at home as two different people. One was Special Agent Dana Scully, a woman of formidable will and intelligence; the other was simply my lover, soft and gentle and wonderfully passionate. An ache of happiness filled my chest when she smiled back, and before I knew it, I had dropped the wooden spoon into the sauce and was striding across my small kitchen to pull her into an embrace. I cupped the back of her head firmly and kissed her hungrily, starved for the taste of her lips, delving into her mouth. "Christ, I've missed you," I muttered feverishly against her lips. Her hands toyed with the short hair at the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine as she returned my kisses, her lips pulling at mine. She hummed something at me that might have been a reply, but it was lost inside my mouth. I began pulling her knit top out of her jeans, seeking the feel of her skin beneath my hands. The second I touched her warm flesh, though, it wasn't enough. I pulled back, looking into her eyes, which were glittering with desire. "Don't move," I said firmly. I went back to the stove and turned the burner off beneath the sauce and took the garlic bread out of the oven. When I turned around, Scully was right there behind me. I pulled her back into my arms and shoved my hands inside the back of her shirt to touch her satiny skin once more. "I can't wait anymore. I want you, Mulder," she murmured, rising on tiptoe to kiss my neck. "Here. Now." Who was I to argue? Within moments, I had her pants and shoes off, and she was perched on the edge of the counter with me standing between her thighs, my cock pressing against her center, seeking entrance. "Jesus, Mulder," Scully whispered harshly. "Do it. Make love to me." I plunged forward with my hips and slid into her waiting body. Our groans were simultaneous and loud. She was hot and tight and soft all at once, and being within her was paradise on earth. I felt I might explode from sheer pleasure. Dragging her forward slightly with my hands on her ass, I withdrew and thrust in again hard. "Oh, God, yes," she panted. "More, Mulder." "Not gonna...last long...Scuh--Scully," I warned her, feeling my control disintegrating. I pumped wildly in and out of her body, feeling her muscles contract around my cock with exquisite tension. "That's...okay," she replied. "Neither will I. More...Faster...God, yes!" I cut loose, slamming into her receptive body, listening to her moans and cries while her nails gouged painfully into my back and shoulders. I pulled one of her hands away from my back and thrust it between our bodies, and picking up on my cue she rubbed her clit while I gripped her hip once more. A high-pitched keening emerged from her throat, and I pressed harder, thrusting faster. Soon, Scully's body tensed and then the spasms began, wave after wave of overwhelming pressure surrounding me. Her head fell back against the cupboard behind her and her flushed face contorted in a grimace of pleasure. I registered all this in an instant, delivering a few uncontrolled thrusts, before I felt myself slide over the edge. I poured into her with a shuddering groan, breathlessly gasping her name. I came back to myself slumped against her, my face buried against her neck, her arms and legs holding me. For a long time I couldn't utter anything more coherent than a satisfied "Hmmm..." I wrapped my arms around her torso and held her close for a moment, her soft breasts pressed against my chest. It felt good to hold her after so many days of doing without. After a while, I drew away and began picking clothes off the floor, handing them to Scully while she remained seated on the countertop. "Now that we've gotten that our of our systems, how about dinner?" Scully smiled warmly. "I'm starved," she replied. * * * * * Scully took the disinfectant spray to the countertop while I finished preparing dinner. It wasn't until after we had finished eating that we began discussing the matter at the forefront of both our minds. I sat on the couch, relaxing, with the survey Scully had emailed me printed out in my hands. I was silent as I scanned her answers and Scully sat on a chair across from me, looking somewhat nervous. I was surprised by some of her answers, particularly those relating to pain play. A great many of the activities I thought she would have vetoed without consideration she had put down as future possibilities or at least something she would consent to if I demanded it, whether or not she enjoyed it. She also was open to behavior modification activities, such as limiting the eye contact she could make with me, forms of address she could use, and so on. I had originally assumed Scully's submissive tendencies mainly centered on sexual activity, but I now suspected they went deeper. I began questioning her about her answers, trying to understand the thought processes behind them. "Why did you rate whipping as something I could do even if you hated it?" I asked, watching her reactions intently. "I almost didn't," she replied, looking away. "But I was thinking about it- -about all of it, not just the whipping--and I realized I want more than just to be tied up and taken. I might have mentioned last weekend I enjoyed the fact you pushed the boundaries of what I thought I wanted. When I started looking into all this earlier in the week, I realized I truly want to be controlled, and that if you feel you have no recourse for my disobeying you, then I wouldn't be able to feel as though I had fully turned myself over to you...given you control of me. "I wouldn't consider myself a masochist, though admittedly I've never really given a great deal of thought to the concept. I'm frightened by the idea that you would ever--do that. But you have to have the freedom to correct me if I step out of line. I don't think I'll feel I'm truly in your power otherwise." I blew my breath out in a hard sigh. I remembered the times when Phoebe had whipped me far too well. There was a part of me that had wanted it, but not for anything close to those reasons. At twenty- something, I still blamed myself for my sister's disappearance. My parents hadn't been abusive; my dad never laid a finger on me from the night Samantha was taken. Instead, they had simply withdrawn and left me alone with my own feelings of guilt and remorse. They never made any effort to assure me Samantha's abduction *hadn't* been my fault and, therefore, I could only assume it was. I hated myself for that, and Phoebe's punishment felt right. Essentially, I allowed Phoebe to abuse me as a form of self-castigation. I hadn't *wanted* to be whipped, hadn't gotten off on it, felt terrible about myself when she did it, and yet I emerged from the experience feeling shriven. It was another example of how essentially wrong my relationship with Phoebe had been. In place of acceptance, she had given me pain. She had used my own self-loathing to meet her own sadistic ends. I had lapped it up because I was starved for the attention, for someone to acknowledge my existence. That realization served to emphasize how healthy and appropriate Scully's reasons for wanting the same things were. I frowned, looking away from Scully. "I should be honest with you--I doubt my ability to do that--to punish you that way, even for disobedience." "Why?" She asked softly. "I'm not a sadist, Scully. I can't think of anything in the world I would want less than to cause you pain. I've seen you hurt, and I would give my right arm never to see it again." I looked up at Scully and her eyes glittered compassionately. "I didn't think about that, Mulder," she said quietly. "I didn't think what such a prospect might mean for you emotionally and I should have. I'm sorry." I nodded, some of my earlier elation abandoning me. How badly did she feel she needed this? I didn't want her to ever feel that she was missing something important because of me. I wanted to be the man who fulfilled all her desires, but the hesitant, insecure part of me wondered if I could be everything she needed. Damn. "If it's not something you feel right about, then we don't need to do it," Scully said softly. "The only important thing here is that we're together. I wouldn't jeopardize that for anything. But I trust you, Mulder. Besides, there's a difference between hurt and harm, you know. You're the only man on this planet I would trust not to harm me. I think you need to recognize that difference as well. Just in the last week, you've shown me that pain--being *hurt*--can be accomplished without being harmed. When you've done things such as pinching my nipples, or poking my clitoris something pointy, that's essentially what you were doing." I nodded. She was right, of course. I'd sooner die than harm her, but I hadn't balked at causing her a bit of pain last weekend during our scene. Still, there was a world of difference between that brand of erotic pain and the kind of punishment she was proposing. I would need to think that detail over before deciding what I was and wasn't capable of doing for Scully. I drew a deep breath, afraid I might be treading on dangerous ground. "There's another reason I worry, Scully. Sometimes...sometimes you have trouble communicating with me when you're in pain or distress. You try to be strong and stoic and not let me see how it affects you. You trust me with your life and your body, but you don't trust me enough to let me know when you're hurting, to let me know when you feel--weak. If-- *if*--we were to pursue this, you're going to have to trust me with a hell of a lot more than your life. You're going to have to trust me enough to show pain in front of me; to be weak, if that's how you insist on seeing it. Because this whole thing revolves around communication, and I am going to need to know everything you're thinking and feeling, or it won't work. If we do this, the words 'I'm fine' can't exist in your vocabulary anymore." Scully was silent for a long moment, frowning pensively. I think she was trying to decide whether to be offended or not. Finally, she gave a stiff, jerky nod. "That's fair enough," she answered at last. "You're right. I don't like to admit when I'm hurting. If I am going to trust you to have that sort of power over me, then I suppose you have to be able to trust me to be honest about what I'm feeling." We fell silent for a moment and I set Scully's list aside. "How much of our time did you want to spend on this?" I asked at last. She shook her head. "I'm really not sure. Quite frankly, I think you might be a better judge of what we should do there than I am. After last weekend, I'm not confident I won't be...over-enthusiastic." I was helpless to prevent laughing. Scully was looking to me to provide moderation. Would wonders never cease? Sobering, I thought about it. "I'd say once a week would be enough to start with. Perhaps on a Saturday, so we can start early and go as long as we want. We can decide later if we want to spend more or less time on it. I enjoyed what we did last weekend, but I still need you as just my lover and friend. I enjoy that time together, and I don't want to lose it or spend too little time on it." "Of course," Scully murmured. "From what you've indicated here about behavior restrictions and such, I assume you're talking about more than just physical domination. You want to get into the mental aspects?" She nodded. "I've thought about that a lot," she said softly. "I think part of what worked the most for me last weekend was the way you commanded me, the way you made me *believe*...I wasn't just pretending after a while. I believed in your control over me. I want to explore that more...I want to feel it's more than a game." I swallowed. This was it then; this was where we tested the boundaries. I cleared my throat and spoke. "If that's how you want it, then you should know I plan to be demanding when we're in these scenes together," I warned her, my voice firm. I had to make sure we were absolutely clear on this. "You've mentioned punishment. If you're putting yourself in my hands, then I won't take no for an answer and your only out is your safe-word. Do you understand?" "Yes," she replied, looking away. After a long moment, she met my eyes again and gave a shuddering sigh. "That's what I want, Mulder. That's how much control I want you to have over me." Amazing. Simply amazing. Scully was an intriguing combination of trepidation and arousal, sitting across from me with her hands clenched in her lap and her pupils dilated. Despite the seriousness of the moment, I was getting aroused. I shifted uncomfortably and tried to focus on the matter at hand. What Scully was offering me was the ultimate act of faith. She was offering to let me have what she had never willingly turned over to anyone, and I wasn't unaware of the responsibility that came with that honor. Taking a deep breath, I met her eyes squarely. "I won't be me, and I doubt you'll be you when we're playing together like this," I said. "It's like you said--you became a different person for a while. That's the point; for us to let go of who we are and be who we want to be for a while. I want to be sure, though, that who we are when we're 'in scene' together doesn't spill over into who we are in our other times together, so I don't think we should call each other by our names. Scully is my partner and my lover. She's not my pet or my sex toy or...or whatever. I don't want her to be. So...we need to come up with something else for me to call you when we're playing." Scully didn't answer, and her expression was distant and dreamy. After a moment she blinked and looked at me, smiling abashedly. "Sorry. I was still stuck on 'sex toy.'" I laughed and Scully gave me a grin that let me know what had been her intention all the while. Scully always could give me a run for my money in the innuendo department. I was taking this perhaps *too* seriously, my previous negative experience having made me leery of the whole thing. We were serious about it, but that didn't mean we couldn't enjoy it. "I'm going to have to be on the lookout for this mischievous streak of yours," I said, chuckling. "In your research, did you come across the term 'brat-bottom'?" "No, I didn't. What is it?" "It's a submissive who intentionally cuts up for the express purpose of being disciplined," I said. "The practice tends to be frowned upon as a form of 'topping from the bottom' where it's the sub who's actually running the show, even if it's the Dominant wielding the paddle." "Sounds intriguing," Scully replied with a smirk. I wagged a finger at her in warning and she subsided. "Where were we?" "I was asking if you had any suggestions on what I should call you when we're playing." "Well, you could always call me Dana." We both considered a moment, then shook our heads in unison. "No..." Scully thought about it a moment longer. "My great-grandmother Katherine used to call me Katie." I thought about it. "Katie..." I said finally, trying the name out on my tongue. It didn't work for me. An idea struck, something I knew Scully would hate, but which might just work. "Kat..." I tried the name out for size and Scully narrowed her eyes as I continued, "That's it. I'll call you Kat." She grimaced. "Oh, come on, Mulder. At least make it Kate?" "What would the fun in that be?" I asked. "Now, whenever I call you Kat, you'll remember I chose that name for you and *that is* your name, whether you like it or not." I watched her reaction carefully. If she wanted me to have total control over her, then this was the time to accept it. Scully squirmed. "Damn. I'm way more turned on by that idea than I should be." She paused for a moment, then asked, "So what should I call you?" The test was passed; she was accepting it. "Well, I don't think you should call me Mulder, and you're sure as hell not going to call me Fox. A lot of subs just call their Dominants, 'Sir.'" Scully considered and shook her head. "I don't think that would work. I have to use the term 'sir' for too many superiors at the FBI to want to associate it with you." True. I did not want our play-time evoking images of Skinner, or worse, Kersh, in Scully's mind. "You could call me Master," I said, finding the idea rather ridiculous myself. I had thought it would make her laugh. I was wrong. Scully blinked, looking stunned. "I guess that's pretty accurate, isn't it?" she said after a long moment, her voice muted. "That's what I've been asking for." "Are you all right with that?" I asked, surprised she was taking the suggestion seriously. "Yes," she sighed. "Yes. That's what I want; that's what this is all about. But hearing the word makes it all so much more real. It's one thing to say you'll have control over me, and quite another for me to acknowledge you as my master. They essentially mean the same thing, and yet it feels different..." she paused. "It's going to take some getting used to." "I'll give you a while to adjust," I promised, understandingthat since I had thrown the word out there, there was no chance that Scully would consider calling me anything else--not that I had any other suggestions that weren't downright absurd anyway. "After that, when you address me inappropriately during a scene, there will be consequences." She gnawed on her lip and nodded solemnly. Suddenly I'd had enough of the talk. I knew where to begin, and if we had other issues to work out, we could discuss them later. Now, I just wanted Scully. "Come here," I murmured. Scully rose from the chair and moved over to where I sat on the sofa. She didn't seem to know what to do with herself. I stood and looked down into her face. "We'll start tomorrow," I said, taking her face in my hands. "Tonight, I just want the woman I love. I just want you..." I kissed her gently, interlocking my lips with hers for a long moment before pressing forward with my tongue. She opened willingly, and with a small sigh wrapped her arms around my torso. I pushed her backward until her knees hit the edge of the sofa and she sat; then I went down on my knees in front of her. "You're beautiful," I murmured, reaching up to kiss her again. I quickly removed her shirt and bra, tossing them to the far end of the sofa, then kissed my way down her neck and over her shoulders, closing my mouth over her nipple. Scully gave a sharp gasp and I began to apply suction. "Ohhh, God, Mulder..." She crooned, threading her fingers through the hair in back of my head. "That feels so good..." I changed breasts, devoting equal time and attention to both. I worshipped the hard, dark nipples with my tongue and massaged her soft flesh between my lips. Scully arched her back, her head resting on the back of the sofa while her breasts thrust forward to meet my mouth. I softly stroked up and down her torso with my hands. Her skin was soft and slightly chilled under my touch. "Are you cold?" I asked, pulling my lips from her pebble-hard nipple for a moment. "No!" She shook her head emphatically. "Just don't stop..." I turned my attention back to her breasts and began to remove the pants she had donned again after our interlude in the kitchen. She lifted her hips, enabling me to drawher pants down her thighs and, at the same time, causingher to thrust her breasts closer to my face. Soon she was naked, her white skin luminescent against the black leather of the sofa, and I made my way down her belly with my mouth. When I closed my lips over the moist heat of her sex, Scully shuddered violently and moaned. I was without mercy, working her clit with my lips and tongue for what seemed like forever until she was bucking and moaning on the sofa. She came once with thunderous force and then again only a moment later when I thrust my fingers into her dripping center. Still I kept at it, feeling the damp perspiration on her thighs as they cradled my face and reveling in the unrestrained writhing of her body. Thrusting my fingers rapidly and forcefully into her body, penetrating hard and fast, I then closed my teeth softly over her clit and she shrieked, fingers pulling at my hair painfully, wracked with uncontrollable spasms and shudders as she came yet again. I continued to gently kiss her sex and inner thighs, moving my fingers in and out of her canal slowly as she slumped on the sofa, panting and making small, weak whimpering noises. "Please, no more," she whispered, and I looked up to see an exhausted tear trailing from her eye, mingling with the sweat dotted on her brightly flushed face. She gave me a trembling smile and I felt my chest constrict, my heart missing a beat as I was overwhelmed with adoration for her. Never had my emotions run such a gamut. There were times when I admired her for her courage and intelligence and times she drove me up the wall with her stubborn insistence on proof in the face of the undeniable. There were times I wanted nothing more than to hold her and protect her and times I wanted nothing more than to be held and protected by her. And then there were times when I was simply left in stunned astonishment at the selfless way she had dedicated her whole life to me. I loved her with a power that frightened me as much as it elated me, knowing she held my whole life in the palm of her hand. I told her as much in whispers as I kissed my way back up her body to her lips. Finally I rose from knees gone stiff with kneeling and reached out my hand to help her to her feet. She tried to rise and her legs wobbled and buckled beneath her, so I caught her and held her gently against meuntil she had regained her balance. Without a murmur of protest, she allowed me to lead her to the bed. She sat on the edge while I undressed, and I watched her face, taking in that enigmatic Scully smile as she viewed my raging erection. I was in agony, desperate to bury myself in her body, but I took my time stripping, giving her time to recover her energy. When I was nude, I crawled onto the bed and sank into her open arms and legs. I pulled a couple of pillows down, and Scully lifted her ass to allow me to tuck them under her hips; then I sank my shaft into her waiting heat. I kissed her while I made love to her; slow kisses, fast kisses, hard kisses and butterfly soft kisses. I took my time thrusting in and out, savoring her exquisite tightness and scalding heat. When I finally lifted myself up on my arms and began to thrust in earnest, I stared into her wide-open eyes. She gazed back, biting her bottom lip and occasionally gasping. She was tired and perhaps a bit too overly sensitized from her earlier orgasms for this to be entirely pleasurable for her, and I doubted she would come again. I'd like to say I was a strong enough man to pull out and go to sleep with this burning need in my balls, but I wasn't. Nothing short of her asking me to stop could keep me from finishing. But I kept watching her eyes for any indication of distress. "Don't worry about me," she finally whispered between gasps. "Let go. I want to feel you come." With a strangled groan, I buried my face in her neck and she clasped her arms tightly around me. Her whispered entreaty signified the end of my control, and I began to pump hard into her body, moving quickly but with little finesse or rhythm. Only seconds later I came, my shout muffled against her soft, damp skin, my penis burning with the force of my orgasm. I sank down upon her, my muscles failing me and drew deep, harsh breaths against her skin. She stroked my hair and back softly, crooning words of love and reassurance, kissing the top of my head where it lay just above her breasts. It was a long moment I lay there, knowing I was too heavy for her but too drained to move. Finally, I mustered up the strength to roll off her body and flopped over onto my back beside her. I lay there slowly regaining the ability to move or think again while Scully rose from the bed and padded naked into the bathroom. I heard the sounds of water running as she washed her body and face and brushed her teeth. I finally moved and stripped the cases off the pillows that had been underneath Scully's backside and tossed them into the hamper, and fluffed the remaining, clean pillows for us to sleep on. I straightened the covers that had been twisted and disarrayed with our lovemaking and then took my turn in the bathroom when Scully emerged. When I had finished wiping the sweat off my body with a damp washcloth and brushing my teeth, I returned to the bedroom to find Scully already sound asleep, naked beneath the covers. I crawled into bed behind her and snuggled close, folding one arm beneath the pillow under her head and tucking the other around her waist. Unconsciously, she wiggled until her bare body was pressed against mine, and pulling the blankets over myself, I too fell into an exhausted sleep. * * * * * As soon as Scully stirred Saturday morning, so did I, awakened by the movements of her body against mine. At first, I didn't think--I just nuzzled her neck, my morning erection cheerfully pressing against her backside. Then I remembered it was Saturday, the day we would begin exploring the other side of our relationship as Dominant and submissive. I considered how best to approach the issue; I had made some plans, but I didn't know how to smoothly segue into those roles once we had started the day as ourselves. The last time we had tried this, we had started out in the mindset we had needed. I figured that was as good a way to go as any and decided rather thanwaiting, to begin now, before we could fall into our normalroles. I was nervous, I realized. As much as I wanted to do this myself, it was especially important to me that I not screw it up for Scully's sake. The concern that I might grow too used to being in control where Scully was concerned was a real one. I had struggled long and hard in my life to gain some control, rather than being everyone's puppet. Perhaps I might be unwilling to yield any once I had it. I had to trust that Scully wouldn't let me do that, that just as she could return from the place where she relinquished control, I could return from the place where I claimed it. There was also the fact I'd never been a Dominant before, and the one example I'd ever had of a top was far from being a good one. How the hell was I supposed to know if I was doing it right? I didn't know, and I wasn't going to find out until I did something, so taking a deep breath, I combed my hand into Scully's hair and, gently pulled her head back so that her face was turned to me. Her eyes were still half-lidded with sleep and a small smile curved her lips. Putting my lips against her ear, I whispered, "Who are you?" "Wha--?" She blinked, waking slowly, and gave me a puzzled stare. "It's Saturday," I said, not releasing her hair. I ran the forefinger of my other hand down her cheekbone and over her lips before dragging it down her neck and collarbone to claim one breast territorially. Today I had full possession of this woman's body, I reminded myself. She was mine. "Who are you?" She was suddenly completely awake as she understood my meaning. Her eyes were wide and her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she whispered, "Kat." "Say it again," I commanded. She looked away, squirming. "Kat," she whispered again. "Say it to *me*," I said insistently, pulling her head back up to look at me. "I'm Kat," she said, her voice firmer, and she grimaced as she spoke the name. I could see her pulse fluttering in her throat. I moved my lips along her cheek, a mere breath away from her skin. "And are you mine?" I breathed against her face. She swallowed hard. "Yes," she murmured. Her nipples grew hard as she spoke the word, and her breathing accelerated. She was becoming aroused as I exerted control over her. Suddenly I wasn't so unsure of myself. This was what she wanted. "Say it to me again, all of it," I instructed her, my voice still low and soft and calm. "Who are you, and who do you belong to?" "I'm Kat," she said softly, her pupils dilated. "And I belong to you." "Very good," I said and kissed her mouth gently. She sighed and yielded to the kiss, melting against me, and I lingered, stroking her skin with my hands. After a long moment, I pulled away and rolled onto my back, half-reclined against the headboard. My cock tented the covers over my hips, and I pulled them back, revealing my arousal. I softly pushed on Scully's head. "Take me in your mouth," I told her, and without hesitation she slid down to the foot of the bed and crawled between my legs. Pushing her tousled hair back from her face, she bent over and slid her lips down my shaft. I sighed heavily and closed my eyes, relaxing as she went to work with her lips and teeth and tongue. I could take my time; I knew I wouldn't be able to ejaculate until after I had made a trip to the restroom. I left my hands lying loosely at my sides, not touching or rushing her in any way but simply enjoying her efforts. She ran her tongue around the head of my cock, teasing the slit in the end and the sensitive backside before engulfing me in her mouth until I touched her soft palate. She drew back, encircling my shaft and sucking hard while she pulled away. I groaned and shifted my hips when she wrapped her lips around the head and sucked it rapidly in and out. Occasionally she would release my shaft, or stroke it with her hand and lick my sac, pulling the halves gently into her mouth and running her tongue over them before releasing them and returning to my cock. After several minutes, I told her to stop. She looked up at me, her face flushed with exertion and her lips full and red and glistening. She looked wild and exotic with her hair uncombed and floating around her face and her eyes dark and wide with arousal. And she was mine. "I want you to go and start a pot of coffee, then meet me back here in bed," I said, rising to get out of bed. Scully slipped out the other side and reached for one of my button-down shirts, which she habitually wore on the mornings she spent here at my apartment. I walked around the foot of the bed and caught her wrist as she slid one arm into the shirt. "Did I tell you to get dressed?" I asked. She blinked, looking stunned. "No, but--" "Go make the coffee," I said firmly, pulling the shirt off her arm and taking it from her hands. "You can close the blinds if you feel the need, but you're not to get dressed until I tell you to." She looked on the verge of rebelling and I wondered briefly if I was pushing too far, but she nodded jerkily and left the room, her naked derriere swinging as she disappeared through the door. While Scully made the coffee I used the toilet and brushed my teeth. I would shower a little later when I was done playing with Scully. By the time I emerged, Scully was back, perched on the edge of the bed looking nervous. I could hear the sound of the coffeemaker burbling in the kitchen. "You can use the bathroom if you need to, and brush your teeth, then come back to bed," I instructed her. She rose silently and began to walk past me when I stopped her by closing my hand over her shoulder. She froze in place, her body tense, and I pushed her chin up with my fingers and forced her to meet my eyes. I stared at her for a long moment, looking for any indication something wasn't working for her, but in spite of her tension, her eyes were placid. I nodded and released her, and she went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. A few moments later she returned and approached the bed, looking at me uncertainly. I held out my hand and she placed hers within it. Gently but insistently, I tugged her to the bed. "I'm going to take you now," I announced, still taking care to keep my voice soft and calm. "I want you to get on your hands and knees and hold the headboard." Eyes wide, she did as I had instructed her, climbing onto the bed and positioning herself as I had told her to. I tucked a pillow between her head and the headboard to protect her from any accidental collision and then moved in behind her. I draped myself over her body, wrapping my arms around her torso to grab her breasts, which I massaged and kneaded until she moaned softly. I pinched the nipples gently, eliciting a sharp gasp and a wriggle. Pulling one hand away, I slapped her quickly and lightly on the hip. "Don't move," I said and returned to playing with her breasts. I pinched her nipples again, harder, and again, increasing the pressure until she gave a sharp cry, then I rubbed them softly. I slid my hands down her back and over her buttocks before slipping one between her slightly parted thighs. "Spread your legs," I commanded, and she obediently shifted her knees further apart. I pressed my finger between her folds to find her moist and pulsing. Wetting my finger inside her, I moved it forward and began to circle her clit. "You're wet, Kat," I commented, the name feeling strange on my tongue. Perhaps someday I would grow used to it. I supposed I must if I were to truly believe that, on Saturdays, she was not Scully. She was mine...my pet, my toy, my property. "I think you like this." She sighed, humming with pleasure, and I rubbed her clitoris harder. "Do you like this, Kat?" "Yes," she murmured, her voice muffled against the pillow. I took my finger away from her clit, wiping it dry upon her hip, and seized her nipple again, pinching firmly. "Yes, what?" She hesitated, moaning softly until I released her nipple and rubbed it gently. "Yes!" She said again, ignoring my demand for specification. "Yes, what?" I said, my voice louder and firmer, and pinched her again, even harder. She yelped at the pain and squirmed, making a noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan deep in her throat. Without letting go, I asked, "Who am I, Kat?" "Mmm---" She faltered, trying to pull away from my pinching fingers and only succeeded in causing herself more discomfort. She cried out loudly. I almost released her, instinctively inclined to give her mercy, but I didn't allow myself to do it. I had promised her I would be demanding, and I would keep that promise despite my own initial instincts. It was what she wanted, what she had agreed to. "Say it! Who am I?" "M--Master!" she gasped, her voice high and breathless. "Master," she breathed again, softly. I stroked her offended nipple gently, soothing it as she trembled at the resulting pain and tension. "Master," she whispered finally, sinking weakly into the pillow. "Look at me," I said softly. After a long moment, she turned her reddened face to the side and looked up at me, still on her knees with her head on the pillow. Her eyes were bright and wild. "Are you all right?" I asked gently, falling out of my dominant role for a moment. I wasn't sure yet of how far to push this. She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip slightly. I breathed a sigh of relief. "So you remember the safe-word I gave you last week?" Another nod as her breathing gradually slowed. "Tell it to me." "Flukeman," she whispered. I nodded in satisfaction. "That's right. You can stop this by saying it, you know that, don't you?" "Yes," she murmured, then: "Yes, Master." My heart skipped a beat, a thrill of elation and arousal rushing through me as my concern abated. She was still into it. I lay down on the bed on my back and slid my head underneath her torso, taking her sore nipple into my mouth. She whimpered as I stroked it with my tongue and sucked it softly between my lips. At first, her sounds were of discomfort, but they gradually transformed to pleasure. Withdrawing from beneath her, I bent down and kissed her lips gently. Her lips clung to mine, her sigh contented, and she lifted her head from the pillow to deepen the kiss, which I allowed. She opened her mouth in mute invitation, and I thrust my tongue inside, devouring her. Finally I pulled away and moved in behind her again, running my hands over her back and ass soothingly. I slid my hand between her thighs again to find her, if anything, wetter than she had been before. "You do like this," I said, half-wonderingly. "Yes, Master," she answered automatically, though it had been a statement rather than a question. I closed my eyes; overwhelmed for a moment at the responsibility I faced in possessing her this way. She was mine to care for and protect as well as command and instruct. When we were together like this, she was totally reliant upon me. It was an awe- inspiring thought, and again I considered the trust it took for her to give herself to me this way. "I love you," I said softly, and began rubbing her clitoris firmly and kissing the small of her back, just above her buttocks. After a moment she was groaning and sighing with pleasure, her hips moving uncontrollably, which left me staring at her marvelously shaped back and ass as she writhed. I gripped my cock in my other hand and positioned myself at her entrance. I nudged forward and she moaned loudly. "Yes, oh yes..." "You want me to fuck you?" I asked. "Yes, God, yes please..." "Please, what?" She whimpered desperately. "Please, *Master*, fuck me..." "Well, since you ask so nicely..." I thrust forward, increasing the pressure of my fingers on her clit simultaneously, and slid into her waiting wetness. She wailed--there's no other word for it--a low, keening sound that started in the back of her throat and crescendoed, getting louder and higher pitched as I drove further into her body, until I was seated to the hilt, at which point she sighed loudly. I stroked her back with my free hand, following the fine ridges of her spine with my fingers and watching the subtle movements of her muscles beneath her skin. She was exquisite. I pulled out and thrust back in again quickly, grunting with the effort as I did so. Her internal muscles clamped around my cock with overwhelming pressure and I knew this wouldn't last long. Continuing my firm circles around her clit, I began to move, thrusting fast and hard, her soft exclamations with each new thrust driving me closer to the edge. Within moments I felt her shudder and her walls tightened around me. She gave a breathless shout and buried her face in the pillow, grasping the headboard in a white-knuckled grip as she rode the spasms out. I removed my hand from her clitoris and gripped her hips, pumping furiously into her body as her back arched and her breathless moans continued. It was only a few moments later when I poured myself into her, cursing through gritted teeth and giving a few more jerky thrusts with my hips before I sagged against her. I only remained there only for the few moments it took me to regain enough strength to move. I lifted my weight off her and rubbed her skin lightly. "Here, lay down," I said and she slid her legs out from beneath her and rolled onto her side, facing me. Her knees were reddened from being pressed into the mattress, and for as long as she had been in that position, I knew they were stiff. I began to massage her calves and knees gently while she lay silent and pliable before me. "That was wonderful," I said approvingly, smiling at her. She returned the smile tremulously, looking rather shell-shocked. I leaned forward and kissed her softly, whispering praise and reassurances in her ear. After a moment, she flexed her legs experimentally and sighed in relief. "Better?" I asked, sliding one hand up her thigh and over her hip to rest at the dip of her waist. She nodded and I gave her a stern look. "Yes, Master," she amended the response. I had expected a grimace to accompany the words but it didn't. She seemed calm and at peace, even happy. "Thank you." "Very good. Now go take a shower, then you can join me in the kitchen for breakfast," I told her and gave her a firm pat on the bottom to motivate her to move. She moved, but rather than getting out of bed, Scully wriggled closer to my hand, smiling widely and stretching. Seeing that caressing her wasn't going to convince her to obey any quicker, I pinched her butt firmly and she gave a startled yelp. "Ow!" "See, that's what you get for not obeying my instructions," I told her, unable to force myself to sound as firm as I knew I should be. I was simply too thrilled to see her smiling. Despite my words, she seemed disinclined to move, and I pinched her other cheek. She yelped again, but still didn't rise from the bed. "I don't want to move," she said. "Let's go back to sleep for a while, please? You wore me out." "Too bad," I answered. "I have plans for us today and we need to get moving. Now go." I slapped her butt lightly, unwilling to hurt her or punish her when she was so obviously cheerful, but it had no effect. "Are you trying to provoke me?" I asked incredulously, unable to resist smiling myself. "Do you think I won't punish you for disobedience?" She giggled--giggled!--and I shook my head in warning. I'm sure my stern demeanor lacked something, given the fact I could not for the life of me banish the grin from my own countenance. "I think you are trying to provoke me. I think you want to see what I'll do if you don't obey, right? What do you think I'll do, spank you? Pinch your nipples again? Is that what you want?" She didn't answer, but simply stared at me, her eyes wide and her lips parted. I realized she really was trying to figure out what I would do to her if she disobeyed. The specter of punishment was there, and rather than allowing it to remain an unknown quantity, she wanted me to reveal what would happen so she could weigh the merits of obedience versus disobedience. I frowned at her. "The last thing you'll get for willful disobedience is what you want or expect," I said, forcing myself to be serious. "Therefore, you *will not* get a spanking, or any other kind of physical punishment. Instead, you get to go make breakfast for me while *I* take a shower." I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, striding toward the bathroom. When I looked back, she was staring at me in amazement. "Eggs and toast will be fine," I tossed over my shoulder, then paused again in the doorway to the bathroom when I heard her sigh and move on the bed. "And Kat--" I added, looking at her again. She was now on her feet and definitely not looking amused. Rather, she looked embarrassed and irritated. "--no clothes," I reminded her. Her eyes narrowed in an expression that looked suspiciously like a scowl. I closed the door behind me before she could reply. Only after I had the shower safely running did I allow myself to give in to the laughter building inside my chest. * * * * * I must say, when Scully does something, she doesn't do it by half- measures. I emerged from the shower to find her in the kitchen in nothing but her skin, her delectable backside turned toward me while she buttered toast at the counter. It was among the most erotic sights I had ever seen. She turned around when she heard me behind her. She had scrambled some eggs and had them dished out onto two plates and had just finished with the last piece of toast. As I drew near, I could see she had crumbs dotting her breasts. I leaned down and cleaned them off with my tongue. "Let's eat." Two cups of coffee and small glasses of orange juice were already on the table, so only the plates remained. She had been busy. We sat at the small two-seater table against the wall, Scully squirming at the cool varnished wood of the chair against her bare skin. By that time, we were both starved. I decided not to set any restrictions on her sitting at the table or eating, because I enjoyed having her there, naked, across the table from me. I also felt forbidding her to eat or sit at the table bordered on humiliation play, and I really didn't want to go there. If she was going to be my submissive, I wanted her to be proud of the fact, not humbled by it. It also could prove a powerful punishment tool, to take away such assumed privileges if the situation called for it. "May I ask what you have planned for us today?" Scully asked after we had both taken several bites and the edge on our hunger had dulled. Her voice was stronger than it had been in the bedroom as she gained confidence in her role. I allowed the fact she hadn't addressed me as "Master" to slip. There's respect, and then there's affectation; I preferred the former. "We're going shopping for supplies," I answered. "There are some toys and equipment I want to have. I'll be choosing what I want to get, and I'm taking you along to try things on for size." "I see," she replied, her voice muted. Several moments passed with us eating in silence, until we were almost finished. "Where will we be going?" I could practically read her thoughts; if we went shopping for the kind of supplies I had in mind here in Washington, there was a chance, however minor, of being spotted by someone we knew in a place she would really prefer not to be seen. "Come here," I said. With surprisingly little hesitation, Scully rose and stepped around the small table to approach my chair. I put my hands on her waist and pulled her close, until she was straddling my legs, facing me as I continued to sit. I pressed her downward until she was seated on my knees. "What would you do if I said I planned to do the shopping here in Washington?" I asked seriously. I genuinely wanted to know; we hadn't discussed what level of discretion we wanted to maintain in these games the previous night. I stroked her bare breasts softly. Scully blinked and thought for a long moment, and I could see the struggle on her face. Finally she took a deep, trembling breath and answered, "I would go with you as you planned. It's your prerogative to decide where we go, whatever I may think of it." A thrill of elation ran through me at her words and her commitment to this game. Sublimating her own wishes in the matter didn't come easily or readily to her, but she was doing it. She was doing it because some part of her I could never hope to understand actually wanted to belong to me. I ran my hands up her ribs, caressing her. "Kiss me," I ordered her. Without hesitating, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine, stroking softly, waiting to see if I would take the lead in guiding the kiss. I pulled back just a fraction of an inch. "You can touch me. Put your arms around me and kiss me." She leaned forward and slid her arms around my bare shoulders. Her breasts pressed warm and soft against my bare chest and I felt my cock stir within the confines of my jeans. She opened her lips and slanted her mouth across mine, stroking my lips with her tongue. I made a soft sound of pleasure and encouragement and she became bolder, sucking and nibbling on my bottom lip, and when I opened my mouth, she thrust her tongue inside and kissed me demandingly. I parted my knees, spreading her legs further apart as they straddled mine, and began fingering her folds, finding her slick with new arousal and her thighs sticky from our earlier coupling. I thrust my fingers inside quickly and she moaned into my mouth, a soft mewl of pleasure. I moved my fingers in and out, stroking her clit with my thumb, until she forgot about kissing me and arched backward. She thrust her hips forward against my hand, her head falling back and baring her long, slender neck. I pressed hot, moist kisses to her throat and shoulders and listened to her whimpers and sighs for a long moment, then slowly withdrew my fingers and sucked them into my mouth, cleaning our fluids off them. "Go take your shower," I commanded, kissing her one last time. "I'll clean up from breakfast. You can get dressed afterward; we have a lot to do today." She nodded and rose from my lap, sliding off my legs and walking away. When she reached the archway leading into the rest of the apartment, I called out to her. "Kat?" "Yes, Master?" She answered automatically, turning to face me fully. I smiled; realizing that using the name I had given her would prove to be a powerful instrument in triggering her submissive state of mind. "We're going to Philadelphia," I said, answering her earlier question. She smiled softly in relief and I watched her, enraptured. She looked beautiful and wild and elegant standing there in the doorway as bare as the day she was born. She was magnificent. "Thank you," she murmured, and turned away. End of Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust, and Desire Questions, comments and suggestions can be sent to kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Aphrodisia III - The Joy of Surrender Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: EXTREME NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess. Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7 Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut. I have taken out the PWP keyword since so many readers have sworn to me that a plot made its way into the series unbeknownst to me. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: An unexpected side effect of writing this series is that I have actually had an impact on people's real lives. People have written to me informing me that due to interest sparked by this series, they have approached their spouse/mate/significant other about the possibility of adding some BDSM play into their own relationships. Needless to say, I was utterly floored. It has made me realize just how important it is that a tale such as this be told accurately and responsibly. It is genuinely frightening, in light of the fact that people sometimes DO act on what they read, that there is so much unrealistic and inaccurate material (especially in fanfic) dealing with this subject matter. If done incorrectly or unsafely, these activities could be dangerous or injurious. If I have touched off a spark of curiosity within you, I am thrilled. If you decide to pursue this curiosity, so much the better. The best of wishes to you and your partner. But--PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE handle the situation responsibly. I *KNOW* how tempting it is to plunge in with both feet, but take your time. Do it right. Do your research, learn the proper and safe ways responsible BDSM is practiced. Safe, sane, and consensual--learn it, live it, love it. It's not just a tag-line, believe me. For everyone's convenience and edification, I have created a links page on my web-site to various BDSM dictionaries and resource guides (many thanks to Indi for providing the URLs.)Please do check out these sites and avail yourselves of the resources they offer. Enjoy your exploration, but BE SAFE! The URL for my web-site, where you can find the aforementioned links page as well as the earlier stories in this series (this story won't make much sense without them) and my other fan-fiction is: http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns/ DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, And The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property Of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without permission. No profit is being made by their use in this story. SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM-related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. APHRODISIA III - THE JOY OF SURRENDER I stared at my wrist as though I'd never seen it before. It was wrapped in a two-inch wide band of black leather with a steel buckle Mulder was securing snugly. Over the large strap of leather was a narrower, smaller strap secured to the main cuff with rivets. Between the two straps was the flat side of a D-shaped steel ring, ostensibly for using the cuff to secure the wearer--in this case me--to various and sundry objects. The buckle was also odd. Rather than being a simple steel spike that passed through a small hole in the band, the buckle had a small loop at the end, and the holes in the band were elongated slots. While nimbly and confidently wrapping my arm in this leather contraption, Mulder kept a steady conversation going with the shop owner. The man was middle-aged and of a medium build, dressed only in tight black jeans and a leather vest. Numerous tattoos covered his arms and chest, and he had more piercings than I could remember ever seeing on any one person--and in my line of work, I've seen a lot. Most fascinating to me was the bar that passed under the skin on the bridge of his nose with small balls on both ends, looking like a miniature barbell. He was bald and had a long, thick beard and moustache. I felt very exposed in this public place. Despite the fact that I was decently dressed and our behavior, considering the purpose of our visit, was nothing shocking, I felt as though every eye in the place was trained upon me. The fact that I was the person for whom these cuffs were intended branded me in the sight of whomever cared to notice as a submissive. I felt I could have had it tattooed on my forehead--surely everyone who walked through the door knew. What must they be thinking, I wondered. In the armor of my professional suits and badge, I was a woman to be reckoned with, but here, not only did I not have that armor, but they could see very clearly my role in this new dynamic Mulder and I were exploring. Realistically, I knew no one particularly cared. If they were here, their purpose was no more or less savory than ours. No one patronizing this store had any right to pass judgement of any form on me, and yet I was still incredibly conscious of being viewed in these surroundings by all and sundry. "Those cuffs are good because the leather band holding the D-ring on is thicker and won't stretch. See the rivets on either side of the ring? They keep the ring from slipping around or twisting," the owner commented. "These cuffs can also be locked on with a small padlock passing through the loop on the tongue of the buckle." Mulder gave an experimental tug on the ring, holding my wrist in place with one hand while pulling on the cuff with the other. I would have expected the leather to bite into my skin, but it didn't. The cuff was lined with a soft, fleece-like material that padded the inside and kept it from cutting in. Mulder grabbed my other wrist, which had already been similarly cuffed, and pulled my wrists together behind my back. He secured the rings on both cuffs to one another with a carabiner, a metal clip used in outdoor sports such as rock-climbing. I would have wondered at his easy handling of the cuffs, had I not already known he'd had some experience in this realm. Besides, a buckle is a buckle, I suppose, whether it's on a belt or a wrist cuff. "How do those feel?" he murmured next to my ear. "Are they biting in anywhere?" They were a hell of a lot more comfortable than the kind of handcuffs we normally dealt with. I shook my head. "No." "Are they too tight? Too loose?" They were neither. I didn't feel they restricted my blood circulation to my fingers, but neither did they slip around on my wrists. "No," I answered. "They're comfortable." I didn't pause to allow myself to consider the unreality of it all. I was in a Philadelphia fetish shop, surrounded by leather gear bearing outrageously expensive price tags, basically serving as a human mannequin for Mulder. I was not there to pick or choose or even voice an opinion on the matter. I was simply to try things on and let my master know if they fit and were comfortable or within an acceptable range of discomfort. My master. If anyone had told me a week and a half ago I would ever speak those words, I would have laughed at them and then called their sanity into question. Even the previous evening when Mulder and I had discussed how I should address him, I hadn't even seriously believed I could ever say it. And yet... When the moment had come this morning, I had known what he wanted me to say but I had faltered. The word on my tongue had felt strange, but as Mulder had pinched my nipple and forced me into acquiescence, I came to realize it was true. On this day, until we awoke Sunday morning, I had given this man the right of ownership of me. He could use me as he wished, do with me what he pleased, and command me to do what pleased him. He had stripped away my name and given me another, one that was solely his to call me. And all this realization came to me with a greater ease of acceptance than I ever could have imagined. So be it, I had decided. And so I had yielded and had called him Master. And though the title still felt strange, with each repetition it came to feel more right, more proper. And I had realized with a start of surprise as I had showered and taken a moment to consider the situation I was happy, even thrilled by this development. I don't think I'll ever know what it was within me that needed this, had been missing it for years, but I couldn't fight it any longer. As long as I had the assurance the next morning I would be Dana Scully, special agent and medical doctor, formidable and independent professional once more, I could let myself be Kat for the day, and Mulder would be my Master. I came back from my mental meandering to find Mulder and the shop owner had moved away onto another display of cuffs. With my hands still cuffed behind my back, I shuffled forward to keep pace with them. When I reached Mulder, he lifted one hand and stroked the side and back of my neck idly. To my own surprise, I found myself leaning into his caress, turning my head aside to make my neck more accessible to his touch. A thrill of pleasure raced across my skin, raising small bumps over my flesh, and I blushed when I found the shop owner looking at me in amusement. I realized I was arching into his petting, just as my namesake would. Mulder had done it deliberately, I realized. He was testing me, seeing if I would protest his public, proprietary displays. He was emphasizing that, on this day, I was as much his in public as I was in private. As long as we were nowhere that such displays could be seen by anyone we wouldn't want to know about our games, we were not going to keep them confined to the bedroom. Was I okay with that? I didn't know. I felt awkward that I could be seen by anyone, that anyone could know what was happening between us, and yet there was a comfort in being possessed by him, even here, that I wasn't willing to forego. Mulder bent over and brushed a reassuring kiss to my temple, still chatting with the shop owner who then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. They were discussing something called suspension cuffs. I looked at the rack of leather goods before us and realized these cuffs were different from the ones I was currently wearing. They, too, were lined in either a faux fur or soft padded fleece, but at the same point where the buckles came together around the wrists, two tapering straps of leather curved away from the cuffs and ended with steel rings. As they spoke, Mulder stepped behind me and began to release my wrists from the current cuffs and the owner handed him a pair of the suspension cuffs. Bringing my arms forward, Mulder buckled me into the new cuffs. "May I ask what these are for?" I finally murmured, my tone deferential, pulled from my musings by sheer curiosity. "They're for use whenever I choose to bind you in a way that could put a strain on your wrists," he answered softly, taking a moment to sensuously caress my hands and forearms on either side of the band of the cuff. "These--" he indicated the leather straps which dangled by my fingers, "-- pass through the palms like this--" he pulled on the straps and I instinctively opened my hand to grasp them in my fist. He grabbed the rings of the cuffs and pulled my arms over my head in an abrupt, sudden gesture. I gripped the straps in my hands tightly as he stretched my arms up as far as they would go while keeping my feet on the floor, "--and holding them keeps the cuff from pulling up and biting into your hand." Anyone in law enforcement, much less medicine, can attest that one of the main problems with steel handcuffs is that struggling in them can wreak a great deal of havoc on the connective tissues in the wrist. Tendons and ligaments can be injured from the steel gouging into the flesh in a struggle. I could see that while leather cuffs such as the ones I had first worn might reduce this danger, they wouldn't eliminate it. If the edge of the cuff dug into the base of the hand where it flared out from the wrist, those same connective tissues could be damaged. I realized with surprise that these suspension cuffs were expressly designed for my safety. It was something I hadn't considered before. Still holding my arms stretched over my head, Mulder bent over and gave me a brief, almost chaste kiss on the lips before murmuring in my ear, "Wouldn't want to injure your gun hand." Then he turned his attention back to the shop owner and announced his intention to buy both pairs of cuffs, as well as a pair of matching ankle cuffs. I obediently sat when instructed, and Mulder fastened two cuffs identical to the first pair he had put on my wrists, but slightly larger, around my ankles. He again pulled on the D-rings and once again inquired about my comfort. As before, they were reasonably comfortable. The cuffs selected, Mulder chose several lengths of chains of varying strengths, and began looking through a display of odd objects in a velvet display case before choosing two pair of shiny silver devices, each pair joined by a length of chain running between them. One looked to be a V- shaped clip with small rubber sleeves on the ends where they met. It had a spring to force the ends together and a small screw stuck out the side, which I later learned was to tighten or loosen the tension on the spring. The other was a much more elaborate apparatus, round and with criss- crossing beams through the center. It also employed a spring and a screw, but the ends that protruded from round body were flat disc-like surfaces. I realized with combined fascination and horror that these were nipple clamps. Nipple clamps--dear God. I would have wondered what he intended to do with those, but I could already imagine all too well what the purpose was. His fingers pinching me was one thing, but the sight of the cold, steel clamps--foreign objects that had no other purpose but to inflict discomfort or even pain--were enough to make me swallow my tongue. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and my underwear were damp with my arousal as he gave both sets of clamps to the store owner to add to our purchases. We bypassed the displays of whips and crops, harnesses, clothing and shoes and stopped at a display of paddles. Mulder picked up a few leather-covered pieces and examined them as I watched warily. He finally chose one of blond wood covered with leather on one side and fur on the other. He gave me a mischievous grin and I swallowed hard. Again, this was an object with a very express purpose--one I could all too easily envision. Did he intend to use it, or was this simply part of the game, him driving home the point that he was in control and could do with me what he wished? He handed it to the owner and I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting again the spasm of fear I felt. What had I gotten myself into? Lastly, we reached a display case in which several very lovely and elaborate collars were on display. The store had offered other collars, but they were very plain affairs of black leather with buckles and rivets, spikes and studs and rings. These were much more artful. One after the other, Mulder placed several on my neck and fastened them, then stood back to stare at me intently, his eyes dark and serious. I was silent throughout the process, feeling somehow as if Mulder putting these collars on my neck sealed the deal we had brokered and to which I had willingly agreed--I was his. His what? Slave? Pet? Property? All of the above? I didn't know and I supposed it didn't really matter, beyond the fact he was without question staking his claim. This entire day was an exercise in his domination over me. I knew that, like me, he was feeling his way, but from his air of self-assurance, one couldn't possibly have guessed it. He had forced the admission from my own lips earlier when he made me acknowledge the name he had given me and when I had yielded and called him Master-- I belonged to him. The thought filled me with pride and pleasure, and I stood straight and held my head high while I modeled the collars for him. At long last, he chose one. It was made of two layers. The inside was a kind of black leather that was softer than velvet against my skin, which the storeowner said was doeskin. The outside layer was a circlet of shiny steel, and because the inside layer could not be seen from outside, it looked like the collar itself was steel, but still was comfortable to wear. It fastened behind my head and apparently, as with the cuffs, could be locked into place with a small padlock through the buckle. Agreeing to purchase the collar, Mulder stepped over to the register. The sale was totaled and the merchandise bagged. We left the store with Mulder carrying the bag and guiding me out with his hand at my waist. We stopped for lunch immediately afterward, since the drive to Philadelphia from Washington had taken up most of what had been left of the morning. Breakfast hadn't been terribly substantial. After eating, I was surprised to find our next stop was, of all places, a tack shop. I stood by Mulder, my eyes wide, while he painstakingly chose a leather riding crop, a quirt, and a signal whip and made the purchase. After making the purchase, we walked to the car, and as I opened the door, he met my eyes and held them, but I remained silent. Of course I was wary, and a little fearful, but I had given my consent to all of this. I had meant what I had said the night before regarding his right to punish me. By my own consent, he had the option to do it if I disobeyed. Nonetheless, I hadn't really visualized what that punishment would entail. In the novel I had read, "Story of O", O had been whipped with such implements for no other reason than it pleased her masters. I couldn't imagine Mulder desiring to do such a thing to me--I would have to misbehave before he would actually punish me, but in some way, wasn't that worse? If I disobeyed, I would be forcing Mulder to hurt me, and as he had told me Friday night, that was something he really didn't want to do. It would almost be easier if he was a sadist--at least then, if he hurt me, I knew I was at least enduring it for his pleasure. If I disobeyed, all I would be doing was making us both unhappy. I really had no choice, then, but to be the most obedient of submissives. Strangely, I wasn't quite content with that idea, either. We made another stop in a clothing store. On Saturdays, if I was permitted to wear clothing, Mulder told me it would need to be easily accessible for him. That meant a loose skirt with no underwear and a button-down top with a front-clasp bra. This formula was simplified by the addition of several loose dresses that buttoned all the way down the front to my wardrobe. I took the dresses into the fitting room to try on, and Mulder instructed me to wear one when we left the store, sans panties. With the clothes I had come with and my underwear in a bag the store had provided, I walked outside with Mulder to feel the cool air touch my sex. The decadent thrill of the sensation was wonderful. We also stopped at a lingerie shop where Mulder chose several negligees and teddies, which, he told me with a smile, didn't necessarily need to be reserved for Saturdays. They were a gift to me. When we reached the car in a covered parking ramp with this last round of purchases, he pinned me to the side of the car and began kissing me passionately. He'd been tender and casual in his physical contact with me during the shopping excursion, but the afternoon was aging and it had been hours since he had made love to me that morning. I could feel his erection gouging my belly as he ground against me and I moaned into his open mouth. "Take me home?" I asked with a hint of a plea in my voice. I wanted him more than I wanted my next breath, needed to feel him in and around me, possessing me. He pulled back and studied me for a moment, as he had earlier in the day, and I felt I could practically read his thoughts. Was I okay with this? Surprisingly, the answer was yes. Even when something evoked turmoil in me, like the sight of the nipple clamps, I was strangely content with this state of affairs. I didn't have to think, didn't have to decide, I just had to consent and exist within his power. There were no worries or uncertainties, just arousal and his tender approval. I was happy. "I need to make one more stop before we head home," he told me and kissed me deeply once again. Only once I was breathless and my knees were buckling beneath me did he release me and open the car door. I slid into the passenger seat and, while he dropped our purchases in the trunk, closed my eyes and savored the pleasure of the moment. Our final stop, it turned out, was at an adult toyshop. Aside from an assortment of books and more or less cheap fetish gear, edible body oils, lotions, and novelty condoms, there was a vast assortment of dildos, battery-operated vibrators, ben-wah balls, and anal plugs--ranging from reasonably sized to absurdly huge. I hung back, feeling as though every eye in the store was on me as Mulder browsed the merchandise. Finally he selected three dildos. One was about as wide as the average human penis, with a long rubber handle and deep ribs, another was also human- sized, but without the ribs and instead of a handle had a flat circular base, and the last one appeared, to me, gargantuan, a good two inches in diameter. It was larger than Mulder, who was himself generously endowed. He also picked out a rubber battery-operated vibrator that was smaller and more portable than my Hitachi, if nowhere near as powerful. Then he looked at me as I stared at the wall of toys. "I want you to pick out two anal plugs for yourself," he told me firmly, in that low, commanding tone he used. Though he had spoken softly, so that none of the other customers in the shop could hear, I could feel my face turning crimson and wished wildly I had never allowed for the possibility of anal play on the damned survey. Mulder was taking my every request very seriously. I had never before felt so abjectly embarrassed and desperately aroused at the same moment. If Mulder had touched me, I might have climaxed there in the store. "One should be small, for training, and another larger, about as wide as my cock. I'll be at the front counter; bring them to me when you've chosen." He kissed my forehead and stroked my cheek reassuringly, then carried his own selections over to the counter and struck up a low conversation with the female clerk there. If I had felt I was being stared at before, now I was certain I had a stadium audience observing as I stared in stupefaction at the selection of butt plugs. Dear Jesus, how did I get into this situation? Damn him for being a psychologist, anyway. He knew exactly what my concerns about anal intercourse were without my even speaking them, so he deliberately made *me* pick out the anal toys. This was a very calculated maneuver designed to ease my fears and help me grow accustomed to the idea of anal sex. I sighed in helpless frustration. There was nothing to be done but to choose and choose quickly, so I could bring a quick end to my own torment. One small and one Mulder- sized, he had instructed. I scrutinized the selection carefully. There seemed to be two varities of plugs. Some were round and door-knob shaped, sometimes with multiple round "knobs" stacked atop one another. I couldn't imagine using those--they started out quite wide. The others were long and tapered, starting narrow and slowly widened to their fullest point, before dipping sharply to a stem about the size of the tip. At the bottom of the stem was a flat, elongated rubber base, so the plug could neither be expelled nor lost inside. I finally chose one that was probably less than an inch in diameter at its widest point--certainly no more--and another closer to an inch and a half. I carried the boxes to the front counter where Mulder had added a few more items. He had added a large pump-bottle of lubricant called "Slippery Stuff" and--to my astonishment--a jumbo box of condoms. I glanced at him questioningly, prepared to be hurt depending on what his rationale for needing the condoms was. With my infertility, we hadn't felt any need for birth control and we were both very certainly STD-free. "For the toys," Mulder answered my unspoken question gently, knowing contraception was a sensitive issue with me. "They'll make clean-up quicker and easier." I smiled in relief and hung my head. Actually, the idea was quite ingenious, and I wondered that I had never considered it with my Hitachi vibrator. Of course, with the irregular shape of the attachment for the Hitachi, a condom might be difficult to use but it sure as hell beat the effort I put into cleaning the thing with the special disinfecting cleaner I had purchased from the Good Vibrations online store. The toys were duly bought and paid for and deposited in the trunk of the car with the rest of the purchases we had made. It was already late afternoon and would be well into the evening by the time we had dinner and reached Washington again. I felt somewhat dismayed the day was fleeing as quickly as it had. Mulder and I would have a very limited time in which to play tonight. If we went back to his place, I would need to be up early in the morning to return to my own apartment and prepare for Mass and Sunday dinner with my mother. Thinking of my mother was uncomfortable in the present situation, so I quickly dismissed that line of thought. Mulder unlocked and opened the passenger side door for me, and soon we were on our way back to D.C. * * * * * I looked at Scully in the passenger seat beside me as we made our way out of the city to the interstate. She had been quiet and composed all morning, handling everything that had happened with remarkable aplomb. In some ways she seemed almost disconnected, as though mentally she was somewhere else other than the proceedings, coming back only when I asked a question or did something which surprised her. I'd half-expected her to cut and run when the reality of what we were doing sank in, thought she would become panicked as she had earlier in the week, but I saw none of that. If she was unusually quiet, she also seemed unusually content, sitting beside me with a small, enigmatic smile on her face. I was still feeling my way as to how far I could push her. For a moment, I was sure she would bolt in the adult toyshop when I had her choose the anal plugs. The stunned expression on her face and the way her eyes had widened had made me almost take back the mandate, but I wouldn't do that without breaking out of the game, and I had to know how far she wanted or was willing to go with this. At any rate, it was time to up the ante again. Part of the responsibility I faced was to test and expand her limits, and I couldn't begin to do that until I knew where those limits lay. Some of that I had been able to gauge from the survey, but more I would have to learn just by trial and error. I just hoped the error part was kept to a minimum. Not one to let an opportunity go to waste, I stopped at the first rest station we reached and pulled the bag of toys from the trunk. I chose the long ribbed dildo and got back into the car, handing it to Scully along with the lubricant and a condom. She stared at the items in her hand as though she had never seen them before, wide-eyed and surprised. Before starting the car again, I leaned over and clasped her with one hand around the back of her head, closing around her hair, and pulled her in for a scalding kiss, thrusting my tongue roughly into her mouth. "You're going to provide the entertainment while I drive," I said authoritatively after breaking the kiss. "I want you to pull your skirt up, prepare the dildo, and then fuck yourself with it." I clasped both her breasts in my hands and squeezed firmly, until she writhed and whimpered under the pressure. I kissed her again, moving my tongue in and out of her mouth suggestively, sliding it over her lips. If we hadn't been at a rest stop full of people, I would have pulled her into the back seat and fucked her that instant. I'd spent the entire day in a low state of arousal, the tension spiking each time I imagined the possibilities implicit with each item and purchase. I slid my hand between her legs and felt her clitoris, hard and engorged, throbbing with the beat of her heart. Drawing a shaky breath and stamping down my arousal, I started the car and pulled back out onto the freeway. From the corner of my eye, I saw Scully glance around nervously, then she lifted her hips and slid her skirt up until it was bunched around her waist, a short fold of the material covering her upper thighs. Her hands trembled as she opened the box containing the dildo. Unable to resist the availability of her sex, I thrust my right hand between her legs again and inserted my fingers into her slick sex. I could smell her excitement, a heady, intoxicating scent that made the pressure in my groin increase exponentially. I thrust and withdrew my fingers quickly and roughly, massaging her clit, and then removed my hand and sampled her tangy-bitter flavor from my fingers. She rolled a condom onto the dildo and slathered it with the lubricant, using the excess to supplement her own moisture between her legs. I alternated between watching the road and glimpsing her in my peripheral vision when I checked my passenger side mirror. I wished I could stop the car and watch the show, but this exercise was less for my visual pleasure than it was to test Scully's limits. Forced exhibitionism had been another possibility she had allowed for on the survey. She glanced around again, then leaned her seat back and spread her thighs. Sliding one hand under the brief covering of the hem of her skirt, I could tell by the movement of her hand closer and closer to her body that she had spread her lips and guided the dildo inside her body. I imagined how the cool rubber would feel against her heated flesh, and heard her moan as it stretched her and the wide, deep ribs passed inside. She paused a long moment, holding the handle close between the juncture of her thighs and panted slightly. When she released the handle, the dildo began to slip out and I knew the muscles of her vagina were contracting around the object, working to expel it. I'd felt those contractions around my own cock time and again. She seized the handle once more and thrust it back into herself. I was painfully turned on, My cock was straining against my pants in hopes of joining in the fun, and I realized that this car idea might not be the smartest one that I had ever had, so I concentrated on driving carefully and safely, my cock throbbing against the stiff seam of the crotch of my jeans. I took care to stay in the far right lane so no one could pass on her side of the car. After all, I didn't want her to be seen. My inner gentleman would cut off his gun hand before he allowed her to be humiliated, while my inner caveman wanted to drag her home, fuck her senseless, and guard her from the prying eyes of potential competitors. I had to wonder: was she aware of what I was doing; aware no one could actually see her? Or did she still feel exposed with her skirt up around her thighs in the open car in the light of day? Did the idea someone could see added to her excitement? And she was excited. I might not have been able to watch her closely, but I could hear her; her soft sighs and whispers filling the interior of the car as her musky scent did. Did she know what I was doing? Did she notice the pattern to what I asked of her; testing all the maybes and soft limits she had set forth on the survey, pushing the boundaries. The items she had readily consented to would be held in reserve, for reward or to supplement these more questionable activities. Did she like that? Would she prefer it another way? My Scully-radar said no, this was what she wanted. It was presumptuous to assume to know what Scully was thinking, and sometimes I just flat-out couldn't. Sometimes she was a total mystery to me, but in this circumstance, I think I knew what she was feeling. I realized so many of the things she had marked on the survey as a 2, meaning she might be willing to try them once, were actually things she *wanted* but hadn't been willing to admit to wanting. She had, in essence, been asking me for a push to get her past that hesitation. Somewhere in her life, she had either lost the confidence to ask for her own sexual wants and needs to be met, or perhaps as a result of any variety of factors from societal prejudice to a conservative upbringing, she'd never possessed that confidence to begin with. Whatever it was, I'd noticed from the first time we'd made love that she wasn't comfortable making requests or demands--she would only speak of what she wanted when I prompted her to do so. But by submitting to me, by following my commands, if she did things she wanted because I had ordered her to, because it pleased *me*, it was all right. It gave her permission, of a sort, to have her desires met and enjoy them without the guilt and embarrassment she might have experienced in any other situation. More important to me than anything was that I provide her with what she needed. She'd lost so much and known so little happiness in the seven years we had been together that if there was anything I could give her, I wouldn't hesitate to do it. If I could help her meet her own desires, I would do it happily. The fact that the process was such an extreme turn- on for me was an added bonus. And so, doing something completely removed from her normal self, she fucked herself with the dildo, where anyone who might have taken the time to glance in the car could have seen her. She did it because in pleasing her Master, Kat had the freedom to do all the wild and uninhibited things Dana Katherine Scully would never dare. She thrust the dildo enthusiastically into her body, hard and fast, thrusting with her hips in time to the rhythm of her hand and making feral, animal grunting noises. Soon her other hand joined the play, rubbing her clitoris vigorously. It seemed to go on forever, an exercise of my own torturous arousal as well as her submission, as she hovered on the brink of orgasm, close but not quite reaching release. It wasn't until I encouraged her to bring herself off that she ground harder with her fingers on her clit and plunged the dildo into herself a few more times. She soon came with a hoarse yell and strangled invective, shuddering and gasping. She lay in the seat a long moment, seemingly stunned, her legs spread and her hands hanging limply by her thighs. The dildo hung loosely, still half inside her body, the handle sticking out from under the hem of her skirt. She grasped the handle and withdrew the toy, then peeled the condom off and tossed it into the small trash-bag hanging from the cigarette lighter. With a small pack of baby wipes she kept in her purse for spills and other messes, she cleaned herself as best she could, then shifted and pulled her skirt back down, before raising her seat again and glancing over at me. By that point, I was quivering with my own desire, ready to come in my shorts. I held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip and clenched my jaw, fighting for control. When I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, I could see her eyeballing the bulging crotch of my jeans with a knowing expression. If I hadn't wanted to re-enact "The World According to Garp" I would have demanded she do something about my condition. "Thank you," I sighed. "That was beautiful." And it had been. To see Scully so free, wild and uninhibited was the most incredible thing I'd ever experienced. I'd waited years to experience this side of her, the side I knew she herself wasn't all that certain about. She vacillated between acceptance of this part of her and amazement at it. But I couldn't tolerate any sort of false modesty; if we were going to be lovers, we were going to be honest about it. "You enjoyed that?" It was barely a question--I knew the answer--but it required a response nevertheless. "Yes," she murmured, blushing. "Tell me what you enjoyed about it." At that Scully laughed. "Shouldn't that be obvious?" she smirked. Of course. She was a human being and human beings are built to enjoy being fucked--in Scully's mind, the physiological consideration would always come first. But there had to be more than that--forcing someone to do something so private in such a public venue could be a potentially humiliating and degrading experience. If she hadn't been aroused, she would have been miserable using that dildo on herself--and unless she had some kink toward humiliation I hadn't been aware of, which I doubted, she certainly couldn't have gotten off on it. So what had transformed that activity from something that could have been uncomfortable and embarrassing in the extreme to a turn-on? "It was dangerous," she finally admitted after a thoughtful silence. "Anyone could have seen me and known. But more than that was the fact you ordered me to do it. Despite the fact I would have been mortified if anyone had seen, I had no choice but to obey." I nodded. "Good," was my only response and I subsided into a relieved silence. She was still with me and she was still okay with what was happening. I stroked her knee with one hand while driving with the other, occasionally lifting the hand to caress her face. She kissed my hand softly, almost reverently, and rubbed her face against it almost as though seeking my caress. The trip back to Washington passed in silence but it was a very peaceful, contented silence. When we arrived at my apartment, we carried the bags inside and set them in a pile near the door, then turned our attention to dinner. Since we had become lovers and subsequently begun spending a great deal of time together outside of work, I had taken to keeping my kitchen well stocked. Scully had once confessed she had always assumed the reason I never seemed to keep any food around was a combination of laziness and an inability to cook, so I lived off take-out. The truth was, I'm actually good cook, but when alone, I tend to be fairly indifferent to such basic inconveniences as the need for sleep and food. Once Scully became a regular fixture in my apartment that changed, so now not only did I keep a fully supplied refrigerator, I made a great many of our meals--and very good ones, I might add--myself. With the evening wearing on and our time growing short, we bypassed any sort of elaborate meal and just made cold-cut sandwiches. Sliced smoked turkey and ham on cracked wheat bread with lettuce, tomatoes and Dijon mustard, to be exact. Actually, Scully made the sandwiches at my command. I turned my attention to unpacking and some other preparations for the upcoming evening. When we sat down with our sandwiches, I began going over the various items I had purchased with her. She looked nervous when I pulled out the bag from the tack shop, and in an effort to reassure her, I explained the differences between the various implements we had bought. The riding crop had a flat, roughly rectangular leather surface perhaps two inches wide, attached to a long flexible stem that ended in a contoured handle. I knew from experience it would provide a light, stinging pain on the surface of the skin rather than and sort of deeper pain. "This could potentially be used for some light erotic pain if I decide to go in that direction," I told Scully. She watched wide-eyed as I stroked the flat leather surface. She blinked when I slapped it into my palm for effect. The truth was, of my experiences with Phoebe, I remembered the riding crop rather fondly. "It doesn't really hurt until it's wielded really hard. But it can be used that way as well, for punishment, if necessary." The quirt had two six-inch long leather strips that ended in points on a stem of stiff rope, more flexible than the crop's handle, but not quite floppy. This, too, could be used for erotic pain, if only the tips of the leather strips are used. They would sting, but nothing lasting or truly painful. If the entire length of the strips were used, with enough force, they could burn like fire and leave wicked welts. "This one I'll probably save for the most severe offenses," I said at last, showing her the signal whip. The stem was like that on the crop, but a length of thin cord attached, which ended in a small knot. Of the three, it would be the most painful. It either didn't register, or barely stung when swung lightly, but it burned like fire when used with any force. It made a wicked, high whistling sound when swung hard, and I knew from experience it could leave marks ranging from light welts to angry red ones. Phoebe had broken my skin more than once, and I was certain I would never use it on Scully, but I didn't want her to know that. At most, I might use it for show, to evoke fear with the sight of it, but never to strike her. Scully nodded mutely and solemnly. We put the dinner dishes in the kitchen and then I pulled her into the living room and stripped her dress from her, the put the wrist and ankle cuffs on her. It was time to get down to business. * * * * * I stared at Mulder as I stood naked before him. "Undress me," he commanded. My heart in my throat, I obeyed. I tried to do so as carefully and reverently as I could. Here, in this moment, he was my master, and he deserved no less. He assisted me by moving when he had to, lifting his legs out of his shoes and stepping out of his pants, until he stood before me in all his nude glory. He took my breath away; he was masculine beauty personified. I wanted to touch him and caress him, but I couldn't without his permission. Instead I stared in awe until he sat on the sofa, leaning back, and tossed a pillow down at his feet. He pulled on my hand. When he spoke, he used that sexy, low, commanding voice that my entire body responded to. "Kneel down. I want you to use your mouth and bring me off--I have plans tonight, and I'm won't be able to carry them out properly if I'm too hard to think straight." My mouth went dry for a moment, and I felt myself growing wetter beneath my dress. The muscles in my vagina clenched and released hungrily. I knelt and leaned forward, then took his cock in my hands and allowed my lips to brush the flared head of his penis. Just the feel of him in my hands and against my mouth, the musky scent of him, sent another wave of arousal through me. Unthinkingly, I rubbed my face against his cock, much as I had his hand earlier, with tender reverence. My one purpose here was to please him, and I would do so enthusiastically. I wet my lips and then opened my mouth to take him in. Running my tongue over and around the flared head of his penis, I could taste the salty flavor of his pre-ejaculate on my, and I thrilled at the knowledge I would taste a great deal more before I was done. I sank my mouth down upon him, until his cock nudged my palate, and sucked hard as I drew back. I settled into a rhythm on my downward plunge and subsequent withdrawal. After a moment, I changed my pattern by stroking the sensitive backside on his penis with my tongue. I released his cock to suck the separate globes of his sac gently, listening to his sighs and moan. Returning my mouth to his cock, my hands remained on his balls, holding them, massaging them softly. I sucked hard and fast on the head of his cock until he was gasping and grunting, thrusting helplessly with his hips. In that moment, the fact I was doing this at his command, for his pleasure, didn't matter--I had the power. I had the power to bring him to the precipice of release and then back off, until he had slid down from that peak, only to bring him back to it once more. I could make this as long or as short as I wanted to; in that moment, he was mine. I settled for a happy medium, for delaying his release meant delaying whatever else he had in mind for us this night. I didn't want that, but neither did I want to shortchange him in any way, and so after teasing him a while, I did what I had done the previous weekend. I drew a deep breath and consciously relaxed my whole body, then slid my mouth down on his cock. When the head bumped my palate, I drew another breath and pressed forward insistently. With a small, popping sensation, he slid deeper into my mouth until my lips were nestled in his pubic hair. I heard his startled shout as though from a distance. His hands were twined in my hair, not pressing my head but simply caressing me. At this point last weekend, he had stopped me before his release. I had never learned if I could repeat this action or continue to do so for any length of time. This time, however, I had my orders; I was to bring him off. There was no stopping, so I had free rein to explore this new skill. I drew back until I felt that peculiar popping sensation again on the reverse motion, then moved my lips all the way back to the head, sucking on it lightly and taking care to breathe evenly and not tense up. I drew in another breath and plunged downward, faster this time, not pausing when the head of his shaft hit my palate but pressing onward. Again his cock slid past the tightest point and into my throat. I thus began to fuck him with my mouth, taking him all the way into my throat, drawing back past that tight point of pressure, and then taking a breath before plunging down again. As I got used to the sensation, my gag reflex diminishing to the point where I was not concerned about choking, I picked up my pace. I moved up and down rapidly, heedless of the fact I could feel the head of his cock swelling and hardening in my mouth. When I felt the telltale flutterings against my bottom lip at the back of his cock, I withdrew, sucking hard as I brought my lips back up to engulf only the head. With a shudder and a groan he exploded in my mouth, his hands gripping my head tightly. I swallowed quickly and convulsively, trying to keep up with the rapidly repeated surges of his semen into my mouth. Some dribbled out and back down the outside of his shaft to wet his springy hair and balls, and when the eruptions had subsided, I went to work cleaning that up too, my tongue and throat coated in his salty-bitter flavor. "Thank you," he murmured, caressing my face weakly. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead tenderly. "That was wonderful." I thrilled at his praise. If my purpose had been to please him, then I had succeeded admirably. He rose naked from the sofa and offered his hand to me to help me stand, then walked over to the table to retrieve the collar. Despite how foreign it seemed, I could appreciate it as a beautiful object, artfully designed and constructed. My heart pounded as he walked toward me and then placed it around my neck. "Who are you?" he asked, as he had that morning. I shivered with a combination of delight, arousal and a touch of fear. The question had taken on a formal, ritualistic tone, as though I were taking a vow rather than making a statement. "I'm Kat," I murmured. "What does it mean to you when I put this collar on your neck?" I was approaching something that bordered on religious ecstasy, sharp, painful and transcendent all at once. I was surrendering myself to him, all of myself. And he was claiming that ownership. "It means I belong to you." My voice wavered. "You're my Master." "Yes," he murmured. "You are mine. And do you acknowledge I can do anything with you I desire?" My legs were weak and I trembled where I stood. "Yes," I whispered. The joy in that admission was so intense, I felt ready to cry. "What's your safe-word?" "Flukeman." "Very good." He gently stroked my face and hair, then ran his thumb over my cheekbone and lips. When the pressure of his thumb on my lips increased, I opened my mouth, allowing him to thrust it inside. "Is this mouth mine?" he asked huskily, mimicking intercourse by thrusting and withdrawing his thumb several times and spreading my saliva across my lips. "Yes." Again, I could only whisper. The more thoroughly he emphasized his dominance over me, the less capable I found myself of speaking loudly. It would be inappropriate, disrespectful to presume to speak boldly in his presence. His hands slid down my shoulders and over my breasts. He closed his hands gently over them, kneading softly, tweaking the nipples with his fingers. "And who do these breasts belong to?" "You," I answered automatically. Suddenly, his hands closed sharply on my flesh, painfully, and I cried out. Realizing my error, I amended my answer. "They're yours, Master." "Very good," he murmured. I realized he didn't need to bark orders or speak harshly with me. The soft, calm murmur in his voice, alone, brooked no refusal and controlled me. He pressed a kiss to the upper swell of each aching breast, then slid his hands down my waist and over my hips to cup my ass, massaging lightly. "Who does this ass belong to?" "You, Master." I was proud to note there was no error in the response this time. He stepped back slightly, and I could feel his hands stroking my body all over, warm against my bare skin. At last, he stood behind me, one arm around my shoulder, playing with my breast, and the other sliding down my waist. His chest was hard and hot against my back as the roaming hand threaded through my pubic hair and cupped my mons. "And who does *this* belong to?" As he spoke, he thrust three long fingers into my sex and simultaneously ground his palm against my clitoris. So heightened was my state of arousal I climaxed even as I cried, "You, Master!" in response. I sagged weakly in his supporting arms, and he held my weight, stroking me again softly and lovingly. The orgasm had been quick and hot, blazing through me and leaving me limp and stunned. He pressed a warm kiss to my temple. "I love you," he murmured. This scene was the beginning of what would in subsequent weeks become a ritual for us. Each Saturday as we assumed our roles of Dominant and submissive, he would demand from my own lips the admission that I belonged to him. Not until I acknowledged this ownership and called him Master would he begin play, and then he would bring me to heights of passion I couldn't have imagined existed. "Follow me," he instructed, then grabbed the bag of our purchases and led the way into the bedroom. * * * * * Upon entering the bedroom, he reached into his nightstand drawer and withdrew the eye mask I had worn the previous week. He slipped it over my eyes and, once again, I was in the dark. The lack of sight heightened my other senses, so that I could hear Mulder's breathing as he moved around the bed. He left me standing alone just inside the door for a long time while he worked. Finally, he took my hand and guided me to the bed. "In the center, on your back, with your arms spread wide over your head," he instructed. I crawled onto the bed and positioned myself as he had commanded, and I felt him seize my wrist. I heard a soft click, and then he released my wrist only to capture the other in the same manner. When I tugged experimentally, I found he had secured my cuffs so that they limited my range of motion, allowing each arm to move perhaps six inches up or down, but leaving no possibility of escape. Thus secured, he instructed me to lift my hips so he could slide two thick pillows beneath them. Judging from the rough texture against my skin, he had spread a towel over them. He told me to brace my feet apart with my knees bent, exposing my sex to him. I felt something rub against my hips and sides and shoulders, and then I heard two more clicks. The ankle cuffs had been secured from the head of the bed, making it impossible to extend my legs or squeeze them together. I drew a deep breath, trying to assuage the nervousness I felt. Mulder spent a long moment caressing me and murmuring reassuringly, then his hands closed over my breasts. He leaned over me from between my thighs and I could feel his waist rubbing against the wetness between my legs. I shifted my pelvis, trying to grind against him, but with my legs secured there wasn't a great deal I could do. "Stay still," he commanded sharply, and I immediately halted my movements. He suckled my breasts for a long while, until I could feel myself relaxing and enjoying the pleasant sensations that ran through me as his lips pulled on my nipples one after the other. He took his time until I was calm and pliant beneath his touch. "I'm going to place the nipple clamps on you," he told me sedately. "Without using my fingers, I won't be able to tell how much pressure I'm applying, so you must talk to me. I'll be watching your reactions, but if I go past what you can bear, I want you to tell me, all right?" "Yes, Master," I murmured, feeling oddly placid in the face of his announcement that he willfully intended to inflict pain upon me. He sucked on my nipple for a moment longer and then withdrew. A second later, he held my breast in his hand while something cold and tight closed over my nipple. Although immediately uncomfortable, the pain was no unbearable. I squirmed slightly, then relaxed into the sensation. I tried to focus on my breathing. A second later the pressure tightened and I gasped. He didn't tighten the clamp again, but instead lifted the other breast and set the second clamp upon it and tightened it. "I'm going to leave the clamps like this for now," he told me, stroking the skin of my abdomen and thighs lightly. "I want to just look at you nipples for a while. They're beautiful like that," he murmured, "dark and swollen, with the silver clamps glittering against them. This might become one of my favorite sights," he said in a teasing tone. The unspoken message, of course, was that he intended to use them in the future, an announcement to which my body responded with another rush of arousal. I nodded, unable to answer. Though he hadn't tightened the clamps, with prolonged wear they were steadily growing more uncomfortable. I now had to force myself to resist the urge to struggle against them. That was when Mulder's hand fell on my exposed sex and began to caress my wet folds. I mewled softly, the pleasure added atop the pain nearly overloading my senses. I was also keenly aware that, tied as I was, I was completely open and vulnerable to him. I could do nothing to cover or shield myself against his intentions. My knees could fall together, but with my feet bound separately, that wasn't much cover, and they could be easily pushed apart again. One finger slipped into my canal and moved in slow, lazy circles, gently thrusting in and out. "Ohhh," I moaned, wanting more, needing more. "What?" Mulder asked softly. "Tell me what you're feeling." "Please--give me--more," I pleaded breathlessly. The insistent and unyielding ache in my nipples was all but forgotten. All I could think of was the need to be filled. "More what?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "More fingers?" Even as he asked, he slipped a second finger in with the first and began to fuck me with them. "Yesss..." I hissed with pleasure, feeling my muscles contract and release around his fingers. Though I wriggled and tried to thrust into his movements, he refused to let his pace be rushed. "Oh, God," I whimpered after a moment of this exquisite torment. "Please, more..." He didn't tease me, but instead added a third finger and began thrusting them quickly and firmly into my body. "Oh, God! Oh! Yes!" I cried, tossing my head from side to side. This is what I needed--to be fucked and fucked hard. I needed it, needed to ease this burgeoning pressure in my belly, needed to come... Just as I thought I might be approaching that point, Mulder suddenly withdrew his fingers and I moaned in dismay. As the pleasure of being filled faded, the pain of the clamps around my nipples increased, and I whimpered, biting my bottom lip in an effort to resist the unrelenting ache. At that moment something cold and thick pressed against my opening, and I realized it was the large dildo he had purchased earlier in the day. "Ohhhh!" My moan started softly and increased in volume as the simulated cock stretched and filled me. It was larger than Mulder, larger than anyone I had ever known, and the pressure was incredible. I felt every inch of the toy sliding into me, felt myself contracting around it, my tunnel made tighter by the tension created by the pain in my nipples. While it didn't hurt, the sensation was enormously intense and I groaned, my head thrashing on the pillow. He slowly withdrew the dildo and just as slowly slid it back in. I was now grateful he wasn't rushing the movements. Surely being penetrated quickly or roughly by something that size when I was unaccustomed to it could easily be painful. I drew deep breaths, trying to relax and enjoy the slow fucking, enjoy the pressure of being filled completely. As he thrust the dildo into me, Mulder began to pull with slow, steady tugs on the chain connecting the two nipple clamps, adding to the tension on my nipples. It didn't take much force to increase the ache. I couldn't be sure which sensation was more intense, the fucking or the pain. "Oh, God!" I gasped as Mulder pulled harder. I was ready to cry out, to ask him to stop when he released the chain abruptly and I sighed in relief. The throbbing pain in my nipples was relentless now, and it was all I could feel. Even the fullness in my sex came a distant second. "I'm going to take off the clamps now," Mulder said with a hint of warning in his voice, and I understood why a moment later when he released the clamp on my right. Pain flooded into my nipple and I cried out sharply. Mulder rubbed the nipple softly with one hand while he held the dildo inside me with the other. When the pain had subsided to a dull ache, he released the other nipple from the clamp. It was just as painful and unexpected--I would have thought the removal of the clamps would be the least painful part of wearing them, rather than the most. My nipples were unbearably tender and Mulder sucked on them softly as he continued gently fucking me with the rubber dildo. Mulder spent several long moments caressing me all over. He felt my fingers to check the circulation and then kissed me softly. "How are you doing?" he asked, as ever conscientiously aware of my wellbeing. How was I doing? He didn't honestly expect speech, did he? I felt relaxed and languid, the tension from the excessive stimulation having left me limp. I managed to mutter a satisfactory response to his questions. Satisfied, his kisses trailed down my body to my sex, and he leisurely stroked my folds with his lips and tongue. When his tongue stroked my perineum, I immediately pulled my knees to my chest so rather than bracing flat on the bed, my feet were in the air. They were held in place by the resistance of the bindings attached to the cuffs on my ankles from the head of the bed. The effect was similar to being in stirrups. The position exposed me even more than I had been before, but it also provided Mulder with better access to my sex. "That's good," he murmured, rubbing his hands up and down the backs of my thighs, massaging lightly. He continued to lick me, lapping at my juices, not rushing or even making any particular effort to stimulate me, but taking his time and steadily obliterating any residual tension. He moved from my clitoris to my labia to my perineum and back again, repeating the sequence. I was floating peacefully on the pleasure of the sensations until the moment when his tongue dipped further back and caressed my anus. I stiffened instinctively and tried to pull away from the foreign sensation. I tried to put my feet back down on the bed, only to find his hands firmly gripping my thighs and holding them open and pressed back to my chest. "Don't move," he instructed firmly and went back to lapping at me. I quivered with tension, my relaxation of a moment before now a distant memory. For a long time, he made no effort to repeat that particular caress, and some of my tension eased, but then he did it again. Rather than a quick stroke of his tongue, he lingered, licking, circling, pressing against the muscle. I clenched my fists above my head and fought not to struggle. This was what I had wanted, what I had been obliquely asking for, what I had fantasized about for over twenty years. But I had also dreaded the possibility, particularly because of the agony I knew shouldn't be there but automatically expected to come with it. Although what Mulder was doing to me didn't hurt in the slightest, I had the overwhelming urge to resist it. I tried to put my knees together, but his large hands forcibly kept them separated. Mulder held my legs aloft by bracing his arm crosswise behind both my thighs and used the other hand to rub lightly over my skin; my breasts, my waist, my hips and thighs all received his impartial and reassuring caresses. He wanted me to relax, to surrender to this as I had so many other things even in the last twenty-four hours, and I made a conscious effort to do just that. This was Mulder, and he was the last man on earth who would do anything to harm me. Mulder would protect me. With a few last tender caresses, Mulder pulled away from me and with relief I let my feet fall back to the mattress. I felt him moving to the side of the bed and rustling through the bag. Then I heard a sound I would have recognized anywhere; the sound of a latex glove being donned. I hadn't seen him grab gloves, but considering we both tended to keep them around, I didn't need to wonder where he'd found it. Then Mulder was lying beside me on the bed, nuzzling my neck and hair softly, murmuring gently in my ear. "I'm going to release you now--" the words were spoken in conjunction with the sound of the clips attached to the rings on my wrist and ankle cuffs being released, "--and you're going to roll over onto your stomach. That's good, now lift your hips--" the towel-covered pillows that had been beneath my backside before were now underneath my hips and lower belly, lifting my ass above my body, "--good. Now relax..." He began to knead my shoulders with his hands, massaging the tension from them. I could feel the rubber glove on the right hand. His hands worked their way inch by inch down my back, taking time to linger at each tense muscle they found. "You know I love you, don't you?" He asked softly, intently. "Yes, of course," I answered, and I did. There was nothing else on this planet I was more confident of. "Good." He kissed my back between my shoulder blades. "You know how to stop me if you need to. Just use your safe-word," he reminded me. "Now I want you to focus on your breathing, in through your nose and out through your mouth, and no matter what else happens, center your attention on that." He kissed his way down my back to the base of my spine, after which he began to knead my buttocks as he had the muscles of my back, soothing and relaxing me. I did as he had instructed, focusing on my breathing, trying to ignore what else he might do. Not that I had any prayer of succeeding, but at least if I tried to focus my attention on something other than his actions, I might prevent tensing up. Even as Mulder continued to stroke the skin of my back softly with his left hand, I felt a finger of his right hand slip into the crevice between my buttocks. Covered in something cold and wet, it circled my anus, lightly at first, then with increasing pressure, not entering me, but merely rubbing, massaging and loosening the muscles just as he had relaxed those of my back. Despite how odd it felt, the sensation was far from unpleasant. In fact, as I grew accustomed to the feeling, I rather enjoyed it. Just as I was thinking I might want more, Mulder's finger withdrew from me and then returned with another cold glob of lubricant. I clenched my hands unconsciously and Mulder saw the action. "Focus on your breathing," he instructed again, and with the finger of his right hand still against my anus, he reached with his left hand to physically unfurl my fingers and massage my hands. I drew a deep breath and consciously relaxed my muscles as best I could. "That's good," he murmured. "My purpose here isn't to create any discomfort, so if something hurts, let me know." I nodded silently, my face against the soft sheet covering the mattress. Seconds later, Mulder's finger pressed inward. He moved slowly, not rushing the motion but easing his way past the muscle until he was finally inside. I released the breath I had unconsciously been holding and endeavored to breathe slowly and regularly. I could feel my muscles working to expel his finger, but he held it motionless within me, giving me time to adapt to the feeling. Again, I found myself surprised by how good it felt. To my amazement, I felt my vagina spasm. A steady stream of wetted my labia and dripped from my pubic hair onto the towel beneath me. Mulder began to move his finger in slow circles, spreading the lubricant and working to further open the tight ring of muscle. In the absence of the pain I had feared, relaxing became easier and required less conscious effort. I lay pliant beneath his caressing left hand and probing right hand, breathing slowly and regularly as he had instructed, feeling my irrational fear abate somewhat. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew the finger from my body. My anus spasmed and tightened in its absence, but soon after I felt two gloved fingers pressing against my rear opening, cold and slick with lubricant. As he had with the first finger, he rubbed the muscle firmly with both fingers, loosening it in slow circles. The two together seemed so much larger than just the one, so I found myself tensing up again, giving in to my nervousness. In his calm, confident voice Mulder repeated his entreaty for me to relax, massaging more firmly with his two fingers and slowly, very carefully pressing forward. They began to push past the muscle in a steady, unyielding motion. At last, his fingers passed the barrier and slipped into my body. With his fingers inserted up to the second set of knuckles, the pressure grew uncomfortable and I gasped. "Does that hurt?" Mulder asked, his tone intent. "Not...quite..." I replied in a whisper, my body tense once more. It didn't hurt, but it was intense, more intense than I felt I could bear. I had expected he would withdraw the fingers. Instead he held them where they were, not continuing forward but instead doing as he had done when he inserted the first finger, moving in slow circles to widen the opening and relax the muscle. Once my tension had eased, he pressed forward once more, and the fingers slipped in the rest of the way. "Oh!" I cried, taken by surprise at how full the feeling was. It didn't hurt, but it was tight, with an odd pressure, pleasant in a way I had difficulty cataloguing even to myself. "Talk to me," Mulder commanded firmly. "It doesn't hurt," I hastened to assure him. "It's just...intense...I don't know how to describe it..." I was at a loss for words to explain the feeling. I was also aware of Mulder pressing his fingers into me fully had sent a concurrent wave of moisture over my sex. However odd or foreign the sensation was, there was no denying I was incredibly turned on by it. Slowly, Mulder began to withdraw the fingers, and I whimpered at the retreating feeling of fullness. But instead of pulling them out completely this time, as I thought he might, he pressed inward again and in that manner began very slowly and carefully fucking me with them. The feeling was amazing. Whatever I had expected, this intense combination of pleasure and pressure hadn't been it. I moaned softly. "Tell me what you're feeling," Mulder said. "It feels...good," I admitted breathlessly. "I don't...I can't...it's amazing..." I felt greedy, wanted more, but Mulder was unrelenting in his slow, steady determination. The moment the lubricant he had used began to feel tacky, he gently withdrew his gloved fingers, stroking my buttocks very softly with his bare left hand. "I'm going to try the small plug and then we're going to stop this for tonight," he advised me. I wasn't sure whether I was relieved or disappointed. "We'll have time for more some other weekend." He pulled away from me for a long moment, and I could hear the soft sounds he made preparing the toy for use, opening a condom and rolling it on, and the slick, wet sound of lubricant being smeared liberally over it. I felt cold and awkward lying there on my belly while he worked, embarrassingly exposed with my ass in the air. The bedclothes against my tender nipples were rough and scratchy. Then he was back, caressing me with his left hand while applying lubricant to my loosened anus with his right. "Same rules apply," he told me. "If you feel any pain, tell me immediately, okay?" "Okay," I whispered, and I felt the cold, softly rounded end of the anal plug press against my opening. With slow, unyielding insistence he pushed forward with the object, which at first slipped in easily, then gradually met with more resistance as it grew wider. I forced myself to relax, to breathe, and just as the pressure became so intense I expected pain, there was the tiniest popping sensation and a very slight burning pain. The toy was completely inserted, seated firmly within my body with its narrow stem holding it in place between the wide, flat base and flared shaft. "How are you doing?" Mulder asked. "F--Good," I replied, biting back the "fine" that had sprung automatically to my lips. "There was a second when it burned, just a bit, but now it's okay." Better than okay, really. The marvelous sensation of fullness was back, and though I could feel my muscles contracting around the toy, working to expel such a foreign object, it was secure in its position and would require more than those autonomic contractions to be pushed out. I was also unbelievably wet by this time, unsure whether the excessive natural lubrication was a normal physiological response to anal penetration or just my own excitement. Either way, the result was extreme. "Are you comfortable?" Was I? I wasn't sure comfortable wasn't the word to describe my condition, but neither was uncomfortable. It was an odd feeling, but not an unpleasant one. How did I explain that to Mulder without causing him to think I was in discomfort? "For the most part," I said at last. I could feel Mulder's hesitation at the ambiguous answer and continued, "It's strange, but not in a bad way." My answer seemed to satisfy him. I heard Mulder remove the latex glove from his hand and a moment later he was fingering my obscenely wet folds. I was thankful he had used the glove; like the condoms, it made cleanup easier. He could change from anal to vaginal contact without having to leave me long enough to wash his hands to prevent infection. "You seem to be enjoying it," he commented idly, delving into my well- lubricated vagina with his fingers and slowly moving them in and out. I mewled softly. The feel of his fingers inside me in addition to the pressure of the plug was phenomenal. My internal muscles clutched eagerly at the digits. He added a third finger and I felt full to bursting. I was to have him inside me and began to plead for just that. "I need you...fuck me," I whimpered softly against the mattress. "I don't think I heard you," Mulder replied, a hint of teasing in his tone. "What was that?" "I need you to fuck me...now..." I begged. Suddenly, a sharp crack sounded, coinciding with a sting on my buttock. I screamed, more out of surprise than pain. "You're forgetting your manners, Kat," he murmured calmly in my ear. "What do you say?" His words were simultaneous with his fingers plunging hard and fast into my slick canal. I cried out loudly. "Oh, God! Please, Master, fuck me!" "That's better," he said softly. "Turn over." I obeyed immediately, conscious of the burning skin on the cheek of my ass where he had slapped me as it rubbed against the towel beneath me. The change of position also changed the pressure of the anal plug still lodged in my body. With the pillows beneath my backside pushing against the base the pressure was even more intense and I moaned softly. I spread my legs without being asked and could feel Mulder crawl between them. I was keenly aware he would be fucking me with the plug still in, and the idea I would be filled simultaneously in both places was unbearably arousing. Mulder jerked the pillows out from beneath my ass, and a second later his hands closed around my calves and dragged me roughly down the bed. I exclaimed loudly as the motion jostled the plug, but Mulder was already positioning himself between my legs, pushing my knees up and apart and guiding his cock into my body. He gave a sharp thrust and we both yelled in unison. I hadn't thought I could possibly feel any fuller, but he proved me wrong. The dual pressure was exquisite. I felt Mulder's breath against my face, harsh and ragged through his teeth as he held still for a long moment, allowing me to adjust. "I didn't think you could be any tighter," he hissed against my ear. "You feel incredible." "God, yes..." I moaned. His weight was laying full upon me and his chest pressed hard against my over-sensitized nipples. He gave me a deep, probing kiss, his hand clenched in my hair, and began to pump. He wasn't gentle, and I didn't want him to be. There was too much desperate arousal involved to be gentle. Once he was certain I wasn't in distress, he began to thrust into me with a force that stopped just short of being brutal. He gripped my breast with one hand and squeezed the flesh until I cried out, overwhelmed for a moment by the combination of pain and pleasure and God only knew what else. Mulder ran his hands down my arms and pulled them up over my head. He held them there with one large hand around both my wrists. The other hand began to pinch my nipple. They were still tender from the clamps, so the pressure he applied soon crossed the threshold from pleasure to pain. I whimpered, biting my lip and squirming, trying to pull my breast from his grasp. All I succeeded in doing was causing myself more pain by pulling against his unrelenting grip. He changed nipples and began inflicting the same torment upon the second as he had the first. I went from making soft sounds of pain to crying out, to pleading with him to stop, to struggling to get away. He would release me for a moment only to seize me and begin the process again. My cries went unheeded and through it all, he continued fucking me, his endurance seemingly unending. Long, deep thrusts filled me so completely I thought I couldn't bear it, until he withdrew, and the resulting emptiness was so much worse. Amidst the cries and pleas and moans came the realization he was exercising the rights I had freely given him, to possess my body and do with it what he pleased. I was his to use as he wished; if it pleased him to pinch my nipple until I cried and begged for mercy then he had the freedom to do just that. With that knowledge came a calm sense of acceptance. My body still struggled and cried out against the unbearable excess of stimulation, still fought against his painful grip and the overwhelming pleasure of his thrusts, but somewhere outside it all, my mind observed with satisfaction that this was what I had wanted, this complete surrender of myself. I felt euphoric; he could do this to me because I had asked him to do it. He released my nipple and slid his arms behind my legs, pummeling me violently. He pulled my head back with his hands in my hair and placed hard, sucking kisses and love-bites along my neck, shoulders and breasts. With my legs on his upper arms, my pelvis was tilted so each of his thrusts bumped hard against the anal plug, adding an entirely new depth to what I was experiencing. I was dimly aware of the fact I was yelling each time the head of his penis collided with my cervix. He bit the upper surface of my breast hard and I came with a scream, shuddering and crying at the intensity of it. I could feel tears of sheer ecstasy wetting the mask over my eyes. I heard myself chanting his name in a breathless litany, but it wasn't Mulder I was calling upon. It was Master. He brought one hand down to brush my clitoris, and that was all it took to send me over the edge again, hard on the heels of the first orgasm, shrieking my pleasure. My throat was dry and hoarse from my exclamations, but I could not have remained silent if my life had counted upon it. Inside me I felt his penis swell and harden and knew he was approaching his own precipice. Perspiration dripped from his face and body onto my skin, his shoulders sliding slickly against the backs of my calves, and as he gave his final hard, jerky thrusts he ground his hand hard against my clitoris. I screamed again, lights exploding behind my eyes. I might have lost consciousness, or simply gone so far from myself that when I returned, my Master had already roused himself and was wiping me gently with a damp that I couldn't recall him retrieving. While I was in that boneless state, he rolled me over and slowly withdrew the plug from my ass. I felt incredibly empty and bereft, the muscles of my anus contracting as they tightened again. He gently and carefully cleaned the excess lubricant from between my buttocks and then he was lying beside me. He pulled the mask from my eyes and I met Mulder's tender, familiar gaze. "Are you all right?" he asked softly, concerned. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly, kissing my temple and hair. I nodded slowly, wetting my dry lips with my tongue. I couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything more than lie there in that incredible moment of exhausted well-being. He kissed my lips, and somehow I mustered the energy to lift a hand to stoke his face as I kissed him back. "I love you," I murmured, feeling waves of adoration for him wash through me. I had never suspected it was possible to feel this way, to feel this combination of euphoria and satiety. I'd never experienced such amazing pleasure or complete contentment. Now I had and it was because of him, because I trusted him enough to give myself over and let him bring me to this wondrous place. Without him, I would never have known this kind of rapture. He sat up and began unfastening the cuffs from my wrists and ankles. I lay still while he completed the task. When he started to remove the collar, however, I moved away from him, frowning in disappointment at its loss. "I would like to wear it for the night, if you'll let me," I said and Mulder gave me a soft smile. "I'd planned to put it back on after our bath," he reassured me and rose from the bed. "I think we both could use one." I crawled off the bed only to find my knees wobbled when I tried to stand on them. Without a word, Mulder picked me up and carried me into the bathroom. At any other time, I would have found the action to be macho posturing, He-Man slinging the helpless little woman around. But not now. In light of what I had just experienced, I felt pretty helpless, and I was keenly aware of his superior strength. This man had completely possessed me, and if he wanted to carry me to the bath, so be it. Just as he possessed me, he also gave to me his strength and protection and in that moment I was not ashamed to accept it. He eased me to my feet once we were in the bathroom, and I sat gingerly on the covered toilet while he ran the bath water. The tub really wasn't large enough for two people, but it didn't matter. He filled it halfway then held me steady as I stepped into it and sat, pulling my knees up and sliding forward to make room behind me. Mulder sat down at my back, his legs bracketing me on either side, and with a sigh I leaned back against his chest. He lifted his wet hands to massage my shoulders gently. It felt pleasant though the gesture was probably wasted--there wasn't a tense muscle in my body. "How are you feeling?" he murmured close to my ear. "Wonderful," I replied enthusiastically, closing my eyes. All I wanted was to be close to him, to be surrounded by his presence. If I could have crawled into him and stayed there, I would have. Of all the things Mulder had been to me over the years, in that moment, he was everything. I was his, body and soul, and happy to be that way. I'd never felt anything like that for anyone in my life, but rather than frightening me, the feeling elated me. In surrendering to him, I was for the first time in my life completely and utterly free to be the woman I wanted to be. Most amazing to me was that calm place of acceptance I had reached in the middle of everything. He had been hurting me, and I had been begging him to stop, crying out from the pain, yet I hadn't wanted it to end, no matter how unbearable I had found it. I didn't understand what had transformed that combination of pain and pleasure to such utter euphoria, or how I could have simply existed in it and accepted it, but I didn't want it to change. If I felt free, it was because I had relinquished myself and my body so utterly that what I was feeling--pain, pleasure, whatever--didn't matter, so long as I was feeling it and it was Mulder who was the source of the sensation. He laughed and hugged me tightly, kissing my wet shoulders. He picked up a washcloth he had thrown into the tub and lathered it with a bar of soap. He began by washing my arms, then moved on to my shoulders and back, and finally my chest. The rough washcloth against my tender nipples made me whimper. He dropped the washcloth on my lap and ran his soap-slicked hands over my breasts instead. Looking down, I could see the dark red love-bites on the upper slopes of my breasts. He had, of course, avoided anything that couldn't be hidden under a collar. It didn't matter. I saw these marks with which he had branded me as badges of honor against my pale, lightly freckled flesh, trophies of my submission and his ownership, just as the collar was. They would linger for days, mute reminders of who I had been in this glorious 24-hour period, long after I had gone back to being Scully. The thought made me deliriously happy. After thoroughly soaping and rinsing my breasts, Mulder retrieved the washcloth to wash my legs and then between them, taking care not to unduly chafe my swollen flesh. We were silent through most of this endeavor, enjoying the peaceful time together. He was tender and affectionate, but still somehow indubitably in charge. It was the sort of control one might exercise over a beloved pet, caring for me and tending to me, and I relished it. When he had finished, I relaxed against him again for a long moment. He held me until the water began to grow tepid, then pushed me gently off his chest. "I want you to dry off and go change the sheets on the bed," he instructed. "Put a glass of water on the night stand for me. I'll be in when I've finished bathing." Climbing out of the tub, I grabbed a large, fluffy bath towel for my body and another for my hair and dried myself in front of his admiring eyes. Wrapping the second towel turban-like around my head, I walked naked from the bathroom, stopping when I'd reached the bedroom to retrieve and don my oversized button-down pajama-top and a clean pair of underwear from my overnight bag before fetching clean sheets from the linen closet and making the bed. I noticed he had used the parachute cord from last week to tie around the legs of the bed-frame and from there had tied carabiner clips to the ends of the cords. It had been those to which he had attached my wrist and ankle cuffs. When had he done that? While I prepared dinner? While I had made breakfast or showered that morning? While I had stood blindfolding by the bedroom door? Had he anticipated and planned his actions so thoroughly as to prepare in a manner that rendered the actual event seamless. Rather than removing everything, I neatly bundled the cords and tucked them under the bed next to the legs to which they were tied. I stuffed the old linen in his laundry hamper and padded barefoot into the kitchen to fulfill Mulder's request for a glass of water. By the time I returned to the bedroom, he was out of the tub and standing in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom, his head bent, rubbing his hair vigorously with a towel. Beads of water still dappled his skin and, overcome with an irresistible impulse, I walked over to him and licked a few droplets from his shoulder. His head emerged from the towel, a smile on his lips as he looked at me. The smile quickly transformed into a dark frown, however, and I stepped back, worried. Staring at me, Mulder continued to dry his body with the towel, then dropped it on the floor and stood there. He didn't move, but only looked at me. Several long moments passed before I realized he was staring at the pajama top I was wearing. Only then did I recall his injunction against my wearing clothes without his permission. "Oh!" My hands flew to the collar of my shirt and I began unbuttoning it rapidly, my fingers unsteady. I quickly doffed the shirt and tossed it into the corner, followed soon thereafter by the panties. "Sorry," I mumbled, hanging my head. He looked pensive and unhappy for a long moment, still watching me silently, and I wondered what the consequence for this infraction of the rules would be. It had been stupid of me to be so careless and forgetful. I was normally more mindful of things. Finally, without speaking, Mulder crossed to the bedside table and lifted the collar off it. He stared at it for a long moment with a troubled frown, then tucked it in the drawer of the nightstand and crawled into the freshly made bed, folding his hands behind his head and staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. I found myself gazing at the drawer into which the collar he had to place on my neck after our bath had disappeared. I had been proud to wear the collar, pleased by what it represented. I had looked forward to wearing it for the rest of the night, until we awoke tomorrow and our time in this game was over. I understood the message he was sending by putting it away; if I could so heedlessly disregard his rules, then perhaps I wasn't ready to handle his ownership of me. I found the thought unbearable and approached the bed with trepidation. "You're not going to put the collar on me?" I asked, trying not to let my voice tremble. I might not deserve the collar, but I still wanted it. He met my eyes for the first time. "To wear the collar, you have to accept my rules," he said softly. "I did. I do. I just--forgot," I said lamely. It was no excuse; his rules should be more important to me than to be so easily forgotten. He seemed to think for a moment. "You have a choice," he said finally. "We can either leave the collar in the drawer until next week and see if you can remember the rules then, or you can accept my punishment, and we'll put it back on for the rest of the night." It was my choice. I had told him he had the right to punish me, but I had been sure it would never be necessary. I had planned to be the ideal submissive. But I had screwed up, and now he was asking again, asking if I was *sure* this was what I wanted. If I crossed that line, I had to be prepared for the fact that he wouldn't ask for confirmation again in the future. Perhaps he even needed an out for himself, if I chose to provide it. I could choose not to accept the punishment, but I wouldn't wear the collar then. I wouldn't be *his*. "What punishment?" I asked softly. So far, the only thing we had discussed as far as punishment went had been the crops, and those he had told me would be reserved for more severe offenses. Had this first-time infraction of the rules been enough to be considered severe? Lurking somewhere in the back of my mind was a preconceived notion of a dominant using the tiniest offense as an excuse to satisfy sadistic impulses. Mulder wasn't like that; that I knew for certain. But if that was the case, what was his idea of punishment, and what did he consider a severe offense? It wasn't as though I had willfully disobeyed him-surely he recognized that. "Whatever punishment I choose," he answered, refusing to allay my fears by giving me an indication of what to expect. There were to be no conditions on this; I either accepted the punishment or I didn't, end of story. Was the collar really so important to me? Important enough to suffer for? God, how did I get myself into this? This was just a game, wasn't it? But I had told Mulder I wanted it to be more than a game; I wanted to believe in it. That was the choice he was truly giving me, to make his ownership of me real. To accept the collar, I had to accept he owned me completely, even to the point of punishing me for breaking his rules. I had to believe the words I had spoken. "I'll accept the punishment," I whispered, gnawing nervously on my lip and kneeling by the side of the bed. "Please, put the collar back on me." Rising, he bent down and placed a tender kiss on my lips, giving me a small, reassuring smile. He pulled the collar from the bedside table and placed it around my neck, fastening it in back, then stroked my face softly. He sat on the edge of the bed with his feet over the side and held out his hand to me. "Get up and come lay across my lap, face down." He wanted me to lie across his lap? Did that mean he was going to spank me? I almost laughed in relief. A spanking was a joke, a punch-line. It couldn't possibly hurt all that much. I was almost jaunty as I crawled up onto the bed and lay across his lap. He stroked my ass for a moment, softly and sensually, even making the occasional foray down my legs and up my inner thighs, until I was more aroused than frightened. Against my belly, I could feel the stirring of his cock and knew he, too, was becoming excited. I had a second of warning before the first blow came in the form of the tensing of his body, and then his hand landed hard on my ass. I yelped, startled by the noise and the impact, and then a red-hot stinging began to make its way across my buttock. Just as I was adapting to the feeling, another blow fell, and another soon thereafter. I quickly realized I had grossly underestimated how painful a spanking could be as my ass began to burn beneath his hand. This wasn't make-believe; it wasn't even a spanking for the sake of sexual arousal. This was punishment and he meant business. Soon I was yelling and struggling with each blow, kicking my legs frantically, but he held me in place with his left arm across my waist while he right rained brutal slaps upon my blazing flesh. In a moment of cognizance amidst my instinctive thrashing and yelling, I realized somewhere in the process of all of this, he had become fully aroused. I had been so proud of myself earlier for what I had perceived as my surrender to him, giving him control over my body. I didn't know what the word surrender meant. Surrender was to allow myself to be punished for breaking a rule I was under no true obligation to follow in the first place. Surrender was accepting pain not because I had to, but because in doing so I was reaffirming his domination over me. By the time he had finished, my face was flushed with Exertion, and tears of pain and embarrassment stung my eyes. Gingerly, I sat on the bed with the headboard to my back, huddled with my arms around my legs and my knees pulled protectively to my breasts. The sheets, which had seemed so soft earlier when I made the bed, now felt rough and coarse against my burning backside. Mulder sat beside me and pulled my tense form against him, stroking my arms and shoulders softly as he held me. His erection was still in full evidence. "You enjoyed that," I said accusingly, tossing him an injured glare. He placed a finger beneath my chin and forced me to meet his gaze. "I think a little more respect would be appropriate when you address me, don't you?" He asked softly, in a tone of warning. My irritation fled in an instant, replaced by a spasm arousal and trepidation. "I'm sorry, Master," I whispered--and meant it. "And I'm sorry I forgot your rule about the clothes." "Thank you," he replied seriously. "I forgive you." I bowed my head, humbled and relieved. Fingering the doeskin and steel collar around my neck, I was relieved to have it there. I had thought certainly he wouldn't give it back to me until after he had punished me, but I realized it was a powerful symbol--unless I was wearing the collar, I wasn't Kat, and therefore he had no right to punish me. Placing it on my neck before punishing me emphasized dominance and possession. There was a sense of comfort that came with the reminder of his possession, a feeling of belonging I had rarely known in my life. I sighed softly. After a moment, I heard him chuckle. "As for your accusation--yes, I did enjoy that. You were squirming and wiggling on my lap," he shrugged. "What's not to enjoy?" I laughed reluctantly, feeling oddly light-hearted despite what I had been through. The Catholic in me recognized this feeling; I had done my penance and all was forgiven, my foolish screw-up forgotten. I was extremely conscious of the collar around my throat and what I had sacrificed to attain it. Sitting in his embrace, feeling his warmth against me and seeing the evidence of his desire for me, it seemed worth it. He kissed the top of my head tenderly, nuzzling my hair, and I felt my posture loosening, becoming less defensive. "Are you all right?" he whispered. "Yeah," I muttered, grimacing and shifting carefully. "It's just my pride that's hurt." "I didn't realize how pretty you'd look with your little ass all red like that," he murmured sexily in my ear. Within my gut, something clenched in response. For a man looking forty in the eye, I had to marvel at Mulder's recovery time and seemingly inexhaustible supplies of sexual energy. His hand slid to my knee and then between my legs, which I extended and spread immediately to provide him with better access. His fingers ran over my slick folds teasingly and I gave a soft sigh of pleasure. "Lay down," Mulder instructed me and obligingly, I moved down on the bed to lie flat upon the mattress. The irritation of the percale against my buttocks was quickly forgotten as his fingers played expertly upon all my most sensitive points. He did not linger long in arousing me; it was late and we were both tired from our long day. Nonetheless, he was thorough, kissing me deeply as he moved between my legs and slid into my waiting body. I had already been fucked twice that day (four times if one counted the two dildos that had been used) and twice the night before, so I was extremely tender, my labia swollen and sore. But Mulder was gentle with me and despite the discomfort I was glad to welcome him into my body once more. Even if he hadn't taken care to make the coupling pleasurable for me, at that point the only thing that mattered to me was that he take his pleasure with me, from me if necessary. In later days I would wonder at what had come over me, but right then I didn't care. I existed for his pleasure, felt as though I had been consecrated throughout the day for that express purpose, and it felt right the night should end with him claiming me once more. But he did take care to give me pleasure, sucking on my sore nipples softly and rubbing my clitoris with infinite tenderness as he fucked me slowly and gently. To my own amazement I came again, a soft, weak climax that left me gasping as I clutched him with my arms around his shoulders. A few moments later he shuddered in my arms and sagged atop my body, limp and exhausted. The last thing I felt as we settled into sleep, relaxed and sated, was the leather and steel collar around my neck. I went to sleep with a smile on my face. * * * * * I awoke Sunday morning to an armful of amorous Scully. No sooner had I opened my eyes than she had crawled atop me and straddled my hips, kissing me deeply. She thrust her tongue into my mouth and rubbed her breasts firmly against my chest. She would be leaving soon to go home and get ready for mass, and I felt a twinge of regret our interlude was ending for the weekend. When she came up for air, I looked up to see the collar around her long, elegant neck and smiled. Saturday had been marvelous and full of surprises for me. I had discovered things about myself I hadn't suspected. I hadn't known just how satisfying I would find the ability to possess Scully so completely, how rewarding it would be to see her yield everything to me. I had set out immediately to test her boundaries and she had risen to the challenge admirably. The day had been intensely fulfilling for me, and I was disappointed to see it end. Some moments of the previous day had been harder than others for me. There had come a moment while I was pinching her nipples and fucking her the night before that Scully had pleaded with me to stop. I almost did, my first reaction being to immediately cease what I was doing and comfort her. The urge to protect her and keep her from pain was strong enough within me that to ignore that initial protective instinct had been almost more than I could do. Only when I had forcibly reminded myself that she hadn't used her safe-word was I able to continue. Even then, I'd had doubts. Had she forgotten her safe-word? Was she so distressed that she was unable to do more than plead for release? If Scully hadn't been wearing the eye-mask, she would have seen the uncertainty on my face. Though most of the day I had been able to fall into the role I was playing, her distress had been enough to bring me out of it. It had happened several times during the day, when my confidence had faltered, and yet I had needed to project an image of confidence and assuredness to enable her to relinquish control to me. If I had appeared less than certain of myself and what I was doing, I would have ruined the mood for her, and I didn't want to do that. But there were times when it hadn't been so easy for me. By far the hardest moment of the evening had been when I had punished her for forgetting the rule about clothing. I had been disturbed when I'd seen her wearing the pajama top, unsure of the message she was trying to convey. Had she thought the scene was over and that the rule no longer applied? Had she intentionally disregarded the rule in an attempt to provoke me, to see what I would do? Only when I saw the realization of her error dawn on her face did I realize she had simply forgotten. My first impulse when she apologized had been to dismiss the faux pas or at most, give her a stern reminder and a promise of punishment should it happen again. I had actually opened my mouth to tell her it was all right when it occurred to me that Scully wouldn't thank me for going easy on her. She had committed to the game, seemed sincere in her desire to do it, and she had the safety valve of her safe-word if she needed it. I had not only a right but a responsibility to take action to correct her oversight. I had been troubled by the duty, and I had yielded to the impulse to offer her an out. She had surprised me by accepting the punishment over not being allowed to wear the collar. The fact that she wanted the collar and all it represented enough to accept the punishment instead had been a humbling realization for me. She had dedicated herself whole-heartedly to the endeavor--she wanted me to possess and control her. The depth of her faith and trust had been awe- inspiring. But Sunday meant Kat was gone for the week. It was important we make a point of separating our time in the scene from the rest of our time together. I had meant what I said when I told Scully I didn't want the two mixing together. I had spent too many years loving her to want to give her up for a full-time fantasy, however exciting the fantasy might be. Master might needKat, but *I* needed *Scully*. Smiling tenderly, I reached up and unfastened the collar from her neck. I pulled it off and set it gently aside and looked up to meet her eyes. I know Scully understood the significance of the gesture as well. She had given herself to me for a while, without hesitation or reservation. For a marvelous 24-hour period, I had possessed her body and soul. Now it was important I give her back that control. It was important she know I did not expect to have domination over her outside that single day we spent each week as Master and Kat. She bent down to kiss me again and then proceeded to thoroughly ravish me. My cock was practically raw, and I knew Scully had to be uncomfortable as well, but it didn't seem to faze her. She rode me enthusiastically to her own shuddering climax, and only then did she allow me out of bed to make a trip to the bathroom. When I was finished, I returned the gesture, crawling between her thighs and taking my time making love to her. There wasn't a portion of her body I didn't adore with my lips and tongue before sliding into her welcoming heat. It wasn't until after we had finished that I took note of the dark love-bites over her breasts and shoulders. I felt myself becoming tense, realizing how uninhibited I had become while topping her. I wouldn't say that sort of violent passion existed within me, normally, but certainly something had come over me while we played. I was suddenly afraid. Had I gone too far? "How are you feeling?" I asked as she snuggled against my chest. "You mean aside from the fact I won't be able to sit properly for days? Between the spanking you administered and the sheer quantity of sex we've had, I'm done for." "Good thing work keeps us on our feet so much, I guess," I chuckled before becoming serious again. "But I need to know how you're doing, how you feel about what happened yesterday." "How do I feel?" She considered the question a moment. I was relieved to see that none of the turmoil she had evidenced on Tuesday lingered. "Well, I'm fairly certain at this point we're doing the right thing," she said solemnly. "The more we explore this, the more I realize how much I need it, need to relinquish control for a while. It just--feels right. And I'm no longer afraid I won't be able to claim control back; I feel perfectly in control of myself at this moment. You were right when you said we're not the people we used to be. I can let go without letting go for good." She sighed, looking away from me for a long moment. "I feel peaceful, Mulder. Content. I don't know when the last time that happened was, when the last time was I didn't feel I was missing something. Whatever we've stumbled upon here, I think it's something I needed for a long time and just didn't know it." "Roll over," I urged her and she complied, rolling onto her belly so I could inspect her buttocks. I hadn't known the previous night how much force to apply when spanking her. My goal had been to make it hurt enough to get my point across, without doing any injury. I had expected it to be more difficult to punish her than it had been; in my role as Dominant, it had felt right, no matter how abhorrent I found the concept of willfully inflicting pain upon her when we were just Mulder and Scully. Nevertheless, Scully's statement about the difference between hurt and harm was firmly lodged in my mind. A few tiny red dots, where surface capillaries had ruptured, dotted her fair skin. My initial reaction to the sight of them was regret, and it took a concerted effort to overcome that and remind myself with her fair skin, it was to be expected; anything could look worse than it actually was. When I prodded with my finger on her soft flesh and questioned her, there didn't seem to be any bruising in the tissue and so I was content I hadn't done her any true harm. Sighing with relief, I spread her buttocks to inspect between, running a finger tenderly over her anus. I'd never given much thought to the concept of anal sex with Scully, or anyone for that matter. It sounded interesting as an abstract concept and supposedly it felt good, tighter than vaginal intercourse and therefore more intense, but I'd never felt any overwhelming need to try it. I certainly hadn't cared to run the risk of offending a sexual partner by suggesting it. But anal sex had figured heavily into the novel Scully had read when she was young. I thus reasoned it had impacted her idea of submission, had perhaps even formed her concept if what submission should be. Although I knew the fear was invalid, her diminutive size made me nervous. Scully squirmed and tensed a little at my inspection. "Does this feel all right?" I asked, rubbing the outer rim of the opening lightly. It looked perhaps a little pink, but I could see nothing alarming. Still, what was important was what she felt. Scully sighed before answering. "Maybe just the tiniest bit sensitive, but it doesn't hurt, really," she said. "It's strange...I never really believed it wouldn't." That explained her tension the night before and even now as I touched her. It didn't surprise me; I had read the same book she had, though I wished she hadn't read it at such an impressionable age. To get such a brutal and extreme look into sexual behavior when a girl's first sexual ideals were forming couldn't have been a completely healthy experience. I kissed her buttock gently and crawled back up the bed to lie on my side next to her, propped up on one elbow. "If you had expected it to hurt, why didn't you veto anal sex when I sent you the survey?" I asked seriously. I needed to know what Scully was expecting from this who experience, needed to know if this was something that would be truly healthy for us. I trusted Scully to know her own mind, to know what was best for her, but I had to make sure we were on the same page. She had to know better than to expect me to willfully do something that could harm her. "Because..." Scully sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "Because of something I only really realized yesterday," she said at last. "I finally understood what I've been looking for wasn't just the ability to let go of control for a while. It's about possession. I wanted to give myself to you, all of myself. If I was going to do that, I didn't want there to be any part of me you couldn't have if you wanted it. And besides--I knew you wouldn't hurt me. If you didn't feel you could do something without causing me harm, you wouldn't do it." "But you still fear it," I stated, running my finger over the crevice of her buttocks again. Her instantaneous tension at the gesture proved my point better than words could. "Scully--whatever happens here, even when I'm in charge, has to be something you're okay with or it's no good. Frankly, anal intercourse isn't anything I've ever felt any desperate need for. Sure, it sounds like an interesting idea, but really the only thing that matters to me is I'm with you, not what we do. If you do something you can't or don't want to do just because you think you should, it's not going to work." I was feeling uncomfortable and anxious by that point, afraid I had misread her desires and needs. How much did she really want and how much was she consenting to just because she felt she should? I knew Scully and her tendency to feel she had something to prove--was this something she actually wanted? All of a sudden, I wasn't sure we were doing the right thing. "Mulder, no--" Scully finally rolled over, facing me fully. "It's not that I'm not okay with it. In fact, the idea interests me--a lot. I want to try it. It's that I have this preconceived, irrational fear about it, one no amount of anatomical knowledge seems to eradicate completely, and I want to get past that. Not because I think it's something I *should* do but because it's something I want to do. I want to stop being afraid and I want you to possess every part of me when you possess *me*." She groaned, closing her eyes again. "I don't understand it anymore, Mulder," she said at last, sighing. "It sounds ridiculous and antiquated when I say it aloud, but--" "It doesn't sound ridiculous to me, Scully," I interrupted, reaching out to stroke her face lightly. "If there's something you feel you need, then I want to be able to fulfill that. But I have to understand what it is and make sure we both know where the boundaries lie." "When I finally started thinking about it--when I finally started to *let* myself think about it, all of a sudden it occurred to me I'd been living a lie," Scully said quietly. "Nothing I should want--nothing that's *acceptable* for me to want--seems to be what I really need. None of it felt right, at least, not completely. But yesterday and last weekend, finally I found something that seemed to fill that missing part of me. When I let you have possession of me, I finally feel complete. I feel-- free. I don't understand it; I don't know if I'll ever understand it, but I'm tired of trying to dissect it. I just--when we're together like we were yesterday, I don't want to hold back any part of me from you. If we're going to do this, play this game, I want it to be complete." She sighed again. "I've spent a lot of years not willing to give much of myself to anyone. I did it with everyone, Mulder, not just you, but with you it was worse in a lot of ways. It was worse because you completely opened yourself up to me time and again, and I know it hurt you when I closed you out. It's important there aren't any more barriers. Sometimes, I know I won't be able to help myself; keeping things inside has become a way of life for me. I'm sure there will be times when I shut you out or turn you away, and we'll have to deal with that. But--if I'm committing to turn myself completely over to you one day a week, then I want--I *need*--to know I'm not holding back. I want to give you all of myself, because it's important to *me*. And because you deserve that from me, and because ultimately I know you'll never hurt me." I was overcome for a moment, stunned by the enormity of her declaration. Emotions were a difficult thing for Scully, hard to acknowledge and even harder to discuss. What was happening here went beyond something as trivial as what varieties of sex we would or wouldn't have. She was talking about offering me more than her body--she was offering me her soul. I thought for a moment I might weep for all she had given me. "Oh, God, Scully," I whispered, pulling her close and kissing her tenderly on the forehead. We cuddled there for a long moment before finally yielding to the inevitable passage of time. If we didn't get going, Scully would be late. We took a brief shower together and though it made Scully later, I couldn't resist the temptation to kneel down before her and make love to her with my mouth with the hot water cascading around us. She came shuddering and groaning, her knees buckling slightly while I held her upright by her hips, and her hands scrabbling against the slick tile walls of the shower. We had a couple pieces of toast for breakfast and then she left. The remainder of the day seemed empty without her. * * * * * I hadn't expected to see her Sunday night. Usually we spent that night apart, catching up on business and errands we needed to do separately before the week began. I had spent the day going over files we would need for the upcoming week. I was surprised when, rather than calling as she normally did, Scully showed up on my doorstep. "Hi," I greeted her when I peered around the corner at the sound of the door opening. It was almost ten o'clock, and I had just finished getting ready for bed, prepared to watch the late news before retiring. "Hi," she smiled and stepped close to embrace me and kiss me. I returned the kiss enthusiastically. When we parted, she pressed her forehead to my bare chest, her face hidden by her hair. Her posture was tense, which didn't surprise me. While we had slowly been chipping away at the boundaries we had abided by for so many years before becoming lovers, this was the first time she had shown up on my doorstep when she hadn't been invited or expected, with the intention of staying. I didn't ask her why she had come; the fact that she wanted to be here was enough. I wasn't about to question it or make her feel her being here was anything less than 100% acceptable. I went into the kitchen to heat some water for some chamomile tea while Scully got ready for bed, then we sat in front of the TV with our tea and watched the news. When it was over, I turned it off and we went into the bedroom. As I crawled under the covers, Scully removed the pajamas she had donned before we'd settled on the sofa and climbed into the bed beside me. The feeling of her soft, warm, bare body next to mine was exquisite. I could feel my body stirring in response, and yet I was unwilling to disrupt this intimate interlude when she was cuddled, naked and silent, in my arms. We were both tired and sated from the adventure we had undertaken over the weekend, so I ignored the urging of my libido and simply held her. She was peacefully and deeply asleep with her back pressed to my chest within minutes. Not long thereafter, I joined her. End of Aphrodisia III - The Joy of Surrender