From: "SubRosa" To: "Whispers" Subject: [XFNC17ff] "A Gift of Silk III," 1/4 Date: Saturday, September 21, 2002 8:25 PM TITLE: A Gift of Silk III AUTHOR: SubRosa RATING: Hard NC-17 for graphic consensual sex and language. CATEGORY: SRA KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance SPOILERS: None DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting, and to the actors who portray them. They are being used without permission, and no profit is being made. DISTRIBUTION: *NO ARCHIVE* to ephemeral; I'll send it directly. All others are welcome to it, but please let me know. THANKS: To Denise, Adara, and Laura for beta services. DEDICATION: To Jean Helms, Angelique, and Sybil, who had a bad week a while back. Thanks, ladies. FEEDBACK: Obsessed over at subrosa31@yahoo.com. SUMMARY: Mulder, Scully, D/s, and some light angst. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is rated NC-17 for graphic sex. Please do not read if you are under the age of 17 or if this subject matter may offend you. The story is a work of erotica in a fictional D/s context; it is not necessarily an accurate representation of a BDSM relationship. All my stories, as well as some sites used for research into the BDSM lifestyle, can be found at my website: http://www.geocities.com/subrosa31. ******************** Scully's damp, tangled hair is a dark russet stain across the pillowcase. The only sounds in the moonlit room are the gentle susurrations of the cotton sheets and her breathy voice rising and falling in urgency. I've been working on making her more vocal during a scene. Her task for tonight is to talk, to narrate each sensation and desire I create in her. I want her body to control her voice; I want to hear her plead and beg as the throbbing in her blood, not her brain, demands. Vocalizing her desire is among the more difficult things that I ask of her, and she's normally reticent about expressing her needs. But a heavy caseload and her family obligations have conspired to keep us from playing for longer than either of us would like, and tonight she yielded to my command without a murmur. Now her soft words fill the room with the sounds of her submission, hanging in the air around us as my fingers play between her legs, coaxing the whispers from her. When it's finally time to reward her, I begin to stroke her in firm, quick circles, first ordering her to talk for as long as she can. I'm waiting for that adorable little crease in her forehead when her brow knits as she focuses on her climax. Usually the relief shows on her face when I begin to build her to orgasm, but as I watch tonight her forehead wrinkles in anxiety, not concentration. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" "I can't, Master." "You can't? Can't what?" She shakes her head, shame in her eyes. "I can't come, Master. I'm sorry." She sounds surprisingly certain about that. She's occasionally been unable to climax, but never at playtime, and she's never given up so quickly before. I stop stroking her, but leave my hand lightly covering her mons. "What's wrong?" "I'm just--I can't come under pressure." Pressure? How is this different from any other time I've topped her? An iron band constricts my chest. Has she changed her mind about this game? I take a deep breath and sit back, giving her space. "Do we need to talk?" With a small shrug, she reverts to typical Scully reserve. I touch her scarf, the sign that the game is still on. "Do you want me to take this off?" To my relief, she shakes her head. Past experience has taught me that it is easier for her to discuss her sexuality when she is in her submissive persona. Declining my offer to end the game probably means she wants to talk, even if it's difficult. I ask for the third time, "What's wrong?" Instead of responding she rolls closer to me. I lie back down and draw her into my arms. For a few minutes I just hold her, breathing in her scent, steeling myself for whatever she might say. Finally I take the plunge. "I want you to be honest with me, baby. Is this too much? Are you having second thoughts about playing this game?" She shakes her head firmly. "No." The iron band loosens as I hold back a sigh of relief. My worst fear has been allayed, and she has given me the opening to find out what is wrong. If she wants to play the game she has to do it by the rules, and that means answering my questions. "Then that's enough holding back. Tell me what happened." She pauses so long that I'm afraid I'll have to discipline her. Finally, though, she sits up. "It was the talking, Master." I silently wait for her to elaborate. She looks down at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap, and continues. "As I described how I felt, I was thinking about it more and feeling it less." I nod understanding, and she continues, "And I just lost the illusion." "You mean the game didn't seem real anymore?" She nods. That makes sense, based on what I've observed in earlier games. Scully usually needs to hear my voice, my commands, to make the scene come alive for her. One goal of this evening was to help her break free of this limitation, but we can work on it another time. There's something else that needs to be explained first. "Okay, I can see that you lost the mood. What I don't understand is why you gave up so quickly." She sighs. "I just know, when I feel a certain way, that I'm not going to be able to come. It's happened before." Her hands are twisting restlessly. "Sometimes I'm just not very responsive. And I knew you'd be disappointed in me." "You, not responsive," I repeat in disbelief. Scully's reserved at work, but only an idiot would assume that's the sum total of her personality. Yes, I've bedded less inhibited women, and that's fun for a one-night stand. But Scully burns with a quiet, deep passion that I plan to warm myself with for the rest of my life. "Other men have told you that?" I ask, knowing even as I phrase the question that's not it. Scully, even a younger, less confident Scully, wouldn't stay with a man who belittled her. "Other men let you think that." She shrugs. I don't push her further. But I want to know what I did to make her see me in the same light as those men. "Why did this come up now?" "Because we hadn't done this for a while, and I wanted it so badly..." "And?" I prompt. "And so it became that much more important to get it right." She pauses. "To do it perfectly." Not me at all, then. That's a relief. In fact, I probably should have expected this. I guessed a long time ago that Scully has had performance anxiety in her previous relationships, though she's never confirmed it before. I'd like to think all her past problems would vanish with me, but that's not how it works. A person's sexual makeup doesn't change just because you're with a new partner. We haven't had many problems before because we've been in the honeymoon phase of our relationship, but sooner or later reality was bound to emerge. She fingers the scarf. "That's one reason I always liked the idea of this game, even before you made it real for me. I thought I'd be putting everything in your hands, but the truth is I still have to respond. Perhaps now more than ever." I nod noncommittally, trying to show my understanding without reinforcing her sense of guilt. "Is anything else bothering you?" She shakes her head. "No, I think that was it. I just got jarred out of the game, and other worries started creeping in." I hold her for a minute. I know something unusual has happened here; she has opened herself up to me. She's never talked to me about her sexual insecurities before. I'm humbled, even a little frightened by her trust. Will she regret this in the morning? Even if she does, she chose to continue the game tonight. I need to figure out how to do so, now that she's lost the mood and isn't going to get it back. We could just go to sleep, but she might see that as a rejection. So it's time to refocus. If she's worried about success or failure, I'll give her something she can succeed at. Besides, the rule is that her body is mine to use whether she has an orgasm or not. "Let's make something clear, baby. Those other men were fools." Her breathing quickens as I adopt my commanding tone of voice again. I rest my hand over her heart, then her sex. "They didn't know what passion is in here, how to bring it out. And you never gave yourself to them like this, did you?" She shakes her head. "No, Master. Only to you." I kiss her deeply. "Only to me. So this is different from anything you've ever done before, felt before. I'm going to make it different--and I'm going to make *you* different." Her eyes widen. I speak in my sternest voice. "Your pleasure is important, sweetheart, but let's talk about what your responsibility really is. You know the answer." She quivers and lowers her eyes. "To obey you." "That's right. Now, if you want to forgo an orgasm tonight, you may. But I'm not going to. Lie back and spread your legs." I lay her on the bed in the good, old-fashioned missionary position. I cover her with my body, overwhelming her, position myself at her entrance and stop. "Maybe you've forgotten what these evenings are about." I slide into her in a single hard stroke, burying myself to the hilt. She gasps. I pull out slowly and ram in again, letting her feel every inch of me. "Your body is here to give me pleasure. It's nice if you come, but not necessary." Another slow, hard thrust, another gasp. I settle into a steady, firm rhythm, the strokes hard enough to rock her body. I want to drive away the thought of the men who didn't satisfy her in bed, who let her feel responsible for not satisfying them. I want to drive away the memory of every man but me. So I talk to her now, giving her the words she needs. She's hot and snug, I tell her, wet and so, so yielding.... And she is. She's warm and accepting, her passivity more erotic than I ever could have imagined. My hips move faster of their own accord, snapping into her. She grunts softly. I force myself to slow down, continuing the lesson. I won't be deterred by a little setback, I tell her. The game is new to her, and she still has much to learn. But she made her promises, and I'll make sure that she lives up to them. I have to stop to catch my breath. My hips are setting their own pace, and I'm fast approaching the point of no return. "There's nothing for you to worry about," I growl harshly. It's all I can do to keep my words from dissolving into pants. "It isn't"--pant--"your place"--huff--"to worry." She clutches me closer, her body relaxing. Was she seriously afraid that I would be angry? I would reassure her, but the tightness in my balls and at the base of my spine makes speech nearly impossible. With difficulty, I grit out, "I'm going to have so much fun teaching you." She moans and I come, claiming her for my own. ******************** Mulder was up and out of bed by the time I woke up this morning, the morning after we encountered our first serious problem as lovers. I get up at the crack of six without fail on workdays, but one of the few college-era pleasures I still cling to is sleeping in on weekends. Mulder knows no such schedule; he gets up whenever his frenetic energy demands it. This morning, he left our bed early, jogged, and showered before I was ready to stir. I was relieved; I want some time to think. Besides, when he gets up first he brings me my morning coffee in bed. I feel restless this morning, worried about my failure and more than a little sexually frustrated. As I listen to Mulder bustling around in the kitchen, I brood about last night. I don't need a psychologist to analyze the origins of my sexual preferences. I'm perfectly aware that I have a tendency towards perfectionism and a tight control of my emotions. I don't consider those qualities flaws; they got me where I am today, and enable me to perform my job and survive everything life has thrown at me. So my control and attention to detail aren't something I need to escape, as such, by letting Mulder top me. Even so, it's nice to lay them aside sometimes. I'm not happy they interfered last night, but I trust Mulder to keep working until I've overcome them. I'm rather looking forward to it, in fact. No, what I really need to think about is how unusually forthcoming I was when he asked me questions. Perhaps Mulder didn't notice anything; one would expect any new couple to have that discussion when they hit a bump in the road. But it's not a conversation I've ever had before. With anyone. When Mulder and I began our D/s relationship, he told me I wouldn't be able to keep secrets from him. At the time, I thought those words were just part of the illusion that he builds to seduce me. Now, though, I understand better what he meant. My emotions are much closer to the surface when he tops me. My natural instinct to be reserved is still there when he asks me questions, but last night it was overcome by that emotional rawness and--well, it's difficult to accept, but my reserve yielded to his dominance. I've carried anxieties about my sexual performance around for a long time. I've accepted that those anxieties were part of the appeal that submission holds for me, and have mentally reconciled this small dependency in the bedroom with the independence that I jealously guard in the rest of my life. Last night, however, crossed out of the sphere of the exclusively sexual. My emotional independence has been eroded as well, and I'm feeling an instinctive withdrawal now, a desire to pull back and rebuild my walls. For the first time in my life, I want to fight that instinct. If Mulder and I are going to remain a couple, it will require an emotional openness that isn't easy for me. I have to suppress the flight instinct that, if truth be told, contributed to the failure of my past relationships. Not only because openness is more healthy for our relationship, but because it actually felt good to let those past fears out. It would seem that somewhere, somehow, my paradigms have shifted. I'm just not sure the best context for exploring emotional honesty is when I'm on my knees addressing him as "Master." And yet, that felt good too. Mulder must have decided it's time for me to be up, because he enters the room with my coffee and the Sunday crossword. He's dressed again in his pajama bottoms, but his hair is still damp from his shower. He hands the puzzle and mug to me, sets his own coffee on the nightstand, and climbs back into bed. "Want to go out for brunch when you're ready to drag yourself out of bed?" he teases lightly. Good. He's not going to bring up last night unless I do. After a week on the road, it'd be nice to have a home-cooked meal. I take a quick mental stock of what's left in my refrigerator. I'd planned to go to the store last night, but he showed up early, scarf in hand, and other things intervened. As a result, I realize, our breakfast options are a quart of skim milk, some canned peaches, and a few stalks of celery. Even if cooking were one of my talents, that wouldn't work. "Brunch sounds good." We laze in bed for a while. I work on the crossword while Mulder channel-surfs through the Sunday news shows, finally settling on one. "Club drugs and orgies!" the announcer intones. "Could YOUR kids be at risk?" I divide my attention between the puzzle and the TV as the news segues into a hyperbole-laden account of drug busts at a few raves. Supposedly, several raids looking for the latest trendy drug also turned up stoned teenagers engaging in risky sexual behaviors. Within a few minutes, the commentator has turned a couple anecdotal incidents into an impending epidemic of drug-induced hedonism sweeping the nation's youth. Fox News must be trying to combat declining ratings. When the reporter interviews a vapid young woman whose gushing account of her experiences sounds more like an advertisement for the behavior than a warning, I abandon the crossword and look up. Mulder gives me an appraising look as the story wraps up, and mutes the TV. "Are you interested in incorporating that into a scene?" I just raise an eyebrow. What other comment does the idea of two federal agents using illicit substances in the pursuit of better kinky sex require? He matches my expression, just to show that he can. "Not drugs, obviously. I was thinking of a little wine at dinner, maybe an Irish coffee afterwards. Enough to get you nice and relaxed as I plan to have my way with you." I set the puzzle aside. "I thought alcohol and drugs were strictly contraindicated with BDSM. We've never had more than a single glass of wine before a scene." He grins wryly at my use of the medical language. "Yes, that's the general rule. It's common sense, and I prefer to err on the side of caution, but I know you and your limits pretty well by now. I have to remain sober no matter what, but we could probably get you a little looser if you explicitly wanted to. Say, if you wanted to play 'Frat Boys and Drunken Cheerleader.'" "'Frat Boys and Drunken Cheerleader,'" I repeat dryly. There may have been a touch of derision in my tone, but if that suggestion didn't deserve it, nothing does. Now he looks a little sheepish. "You know what I mean. It's a common fantasy to be out of control." His voice softens as he watches me, knowing this is potentially dangerous ground. "Does it bother you to think about this?" I shake my head. "Nothing is off limits for us, Mulder. I might refuse to do something, but not to talk about it. Nothing that happens outside our bedrooms determines what we do inside them." He leers. "Or living rooms?" "Or living rooms." "Or kitchens?" "Or kitchens." "Or automobiles?" "Don't push it, Mulder." Smirking, he returns to the original topic of conversation. "I'm not suggesting that we dress you in a little skirt, give you pompoms, and get you tanked--although I'll find you the skirt if you like--ow!" I withdraw the hand I smacked him with and smile innocently. God, I'd forgotten what it was like to have *fun* with a lover. "But people do fantasize about doing something wild under the influence of alcohol or pot," he continues doggedly. "Something they wouldn't consider otherwise." I sink back against the pillows as his voice flows over me. This is a technique he's used before; he outlines a scenario to see how I react, then either discards it or uses it to create a scene for us later. I play along, mulling the idea over. "So the cheerleader can have an orgy with the frat boys and not be responsible for it?" "Exactly. Would you like that? Being so tipsy that they lead you to an upstairs bedroom and take turns on you? Floating in a haze as one anonymous stranger after another screws your unresisting body?" His voice has adopted the cadence reserved for our games, and my body shivers in the automatic response he has so exquisitely trained it to give. "Perhaps you'd become so wild that you'd do whatever they wanted. I bet they'd get you on your hands and knees and make you suck one thick cock while another one fucks you from behind. When they both came, two more would take their place until you'd serviced them all." I consider the scenario. It's never appealed to me before, but group sex is a common fantasy, and the times we've acted out Mulder's secret desires have shown me that things which never appealed to me before can be wildly exciting with the right partner. Seeing that I'm picturing the scene, he offers another image. "Or maybe they'd all service *you*. You'd be spread out on a bed, a mouth sucking each breast and another between your legs while a dozen hands held you down. You could be so high that you'd think you were dreaming as you climaxed again and again. They could move you, touch you, fuck you every which way and all you'd do is writhe and beg for more." Watching my face intently, he concludes the scene. "You'd have no inhibitions. None. All you'd feel is bliss as they took whatever they wanted from your beautiful, helpless body." He thumbs my erect nipple before his voice returns to normal. "If that interests you, I could approximate it by blindfolding you and using various toys. But if we do anything to diminish your alertness, I'd pull the plug if I had the slightest suspicion that anything might be wrong. Especially if I thought that you'd lost the ability to use your safewords. "Would you like me to set something up?" The decision takes surprisingly little thought. "No." His gaze flicks pointedly to my breasts. "You sure?" My brow furrows as I try to verbalize the reasoning behind my automatic denial. "I'm sure. The story turned me on because I respond to your voice and the idea of being controlled, but not to the scenario itself." He nods acknowledgement. "But it might help with the...difficulty you had last night." I shake my head, becoming more convinced as I consider the idea further. "First, alcohol dulls sensation, for me at least. I'd be less inhibited, but it'd actually be harder to reach orgasm. And..." My voice trails off as I try to formulate my thoughts. His gaze is level and open, nonjudgmental. "And what?" I begin to suspect that I've been played. "If I lose my inhibitions, I lose the ability to participate. This sounds odd when I'm the submissive"--I can now say that word without stumbling over it--"but it feels like I'd lose responsibility." He nods. "It's not odd at all. It's submission because you choose to give it. That's always the case, no matter what the scene shows. Even if you become fully immersed in the fantasy, subconsciously you know it's your choice." Warm fingers thread through my hair. "And so do I. Every time, your submission is your gift to me. That never leaves your control. And when you give it to me you've given your part of the exchange, no matter what else we do." He leans over and kisses me softly, then with rising heat. Suddenly, I'm not in the mood for brunch any more. As he settles me back against the pillows and moves to loom over me, an idea forms. I kiss his cheek lightly and hop up. "I'm going to shower before we go out." Nonplussed, he responds "Okay. I'll wait." I put a little extra swing in my hips as his eyes follow me out the room. ***** As Scully indulges her sudden need for cleanliness, I sift through what I've learned from the conversation. It doesn't surprise me that she wasn't attracted to the idea of chemically subduing her inhibitions. Leaving aside everything that has happened to us, it's just not what she finds erotic. Without getting rough, Scully likes to feel completely subdued, both mentally and physically. She likes to feel all her resistance being battered down, freeing her vibrant sexuality. Alcohol would blunt that fine edge of domination. So I need to come up with another scenario. I'm always on the lookout for new ideas to incorporate into playtime. Before Scully, power games never appealed to me much, so I have only limited experience, both real and vicarious, to draw upon. But she's given me a taste for domination, and now I crave it as much as she craves being subdued. I like creating our own little world where I control all that happens; I like having a playmate who is so completely accessible, who denies me nothing and melts at my touch. There's also a voyeuristic thrill to a scene that appeals to the porn-watcher in me. I'm a generous top: I usually make love to her instead of having her satisfy me, and she always comes, usually more than once. By the end of a session I've made her loose and relaxed, her body sated with more sexual pleasure than she knew she was capable of feeling. But that very pleasure is a performance, scripted and acted for my entertainment. She moans, she pleads, she climaxes at my direction, unwittingly playing out the role I create for her in my head. I shake my head and try to focus. Fun as it is to have Scully as my personal, unsuspecting little porn actress, the point is she will *not* be starring in a private screening of "Frat Boys and Drunken Cheerleader" anytime soon. I need to come up with some other ideas. I shut off the television, which has been flickering silently the whole time, and get up to put the remote control away. The remote in Scully's household *must* reside on top of the TV if it is not in active use. Let your remote wander, and chaos is sure to follow. Glancing idly over the bookshelf next to me, I notice that she has updated her photos of her nephews and made room for one of us together. And there's something odd--a book has been shelved backwards. I pull it out to turn it around properly. My hand stops in mid-air when I notice the title: "The Harem in Western Art." Hmm. Palming the spine, I let the book fall open. The pages part at a color plate of Ingres's "Grande Odalisque." The beautiful courtesan glances coyly over her shoulder at me, her lush body beckoning. I flip through the pages rapidly, one ear cocked toward the closed bathroom door. The commentary is critical of the harem image, but I don't think that's what Scully's been focusing on. The well-thumbed pages are not of the text, but of the color plates depicting women in what the artists imagined were daily harem scenes. "Scully, Scully, Scully," I whisper to myself. I can see her looking at these pictures, imagining herself in this sybaritic setting. I can visualize her being bathed, massaged, and pampered by attendants whose only function is to keep her ready for her master's call--for *my* call. The hard-on I got from our last conversation springs back enthusiastically. I can get behind this fantasy. Me and every straight guy in America who went through puberty watching reruns of Barbara Eden shaking her ponytail. I file this fascinating tidbit away for later incorporation into our play. I'm a little surprised to have found the book, but pleased. She's got a harder edge to her fantasies than I expected. Maybe I can up the intensity of our sessions. The shower shuts off. I hastily slide the book back the way I found it, making a note of the title so I can order it on-line later. Just as I sit back down on the bed, the door opens. I jump up again. Scully's wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her small body and tucked in between her breasts. Drops of moisture are still pearling on her skin. "Ready to go out?" she asks, turning to rummage in her lingerie drawer. I step behind her, grasping her by her softly rounded, terry-covered hips. She drops a lacy camisole as I lick away the water on her shoulder. "I think I'd rather stay in." She laughs throatily and turns to face me. With a coy smile, she reaches for her towel and lets it fall. "I thought you'd say that." I run my eyes over her body in blatant admiration. Her fair skin is warm and rosy from the shower, decorated by the beads of water. The soft curls between her legs are dark and enticingly damp. I want to just grab her and toss her on the bed, but she has assumed the lead here. She enjoys the compartmentalization in our lovemaking; the more submissive she becomes at playtime, the more uninhibited she is at other times. I reap the benefits both ways. "So what did you have planned instead, Agent Scully?" She smiles coyly. Running her hand up her body from her thigh to her throat, she licks her lips and levels a smoldering gaze on the bulge in the front of my pajamas. Oh, what the hell. I grab her and toss her on the bed. She shrieks in surprise before twining her arms around my neck and tugging me down with her. The sweet, clean scent of her shampoo envelops me as her little tongue pushes into my mouth. Of its own accord, my hand slides down the smooth skin of her back, cupping a firm buttock and pulling her closer. With a quick move she pulls me down and rolls us over. She deepens the kiss as she grinds her damp crotch against mine. My dick twitches happily as heat from the juncture of her legs spreads through me. I try to pull her closer, thrusting my hips up to meet hers, but she twists out of my hold, leaving me humping at the air. My growl of frustration is arrested by the sight of Scully's glistening pussy right in front of my face. She'd prefer that I refer to it as her vagina, but the point is that it's right there--glistening, no less--and the sight makes up for her sudden abandonment of my own crotch. She moves in aggressively to straddle my face. Did you want something, Agent Scully? Cunnilingus is a normal part of our "vanilla" love life, but less common during playtime. Then I use it as a special treat, or to drug her into compliance while pushing her boundaries further. She's learning to orgasm more easily from other stimulation, as I'd hoped, but she's also becoming more assertive about demanding oral sex at other times. I'm only too glad to oblige. Once she's in place, she leans back with her eyes closed. Heat radiates from her smooth thighs bracketing my face. I turn my head and rub the soft skin with my scratchy cheek. She giggles--yes, Dana Scully does permit herself to giggle in bed--before opening her eyes and looking at me with mock reproach. Now that I have her attention, I pull another pillow behind my head and extend my tongue teasingly. Her eyes go dark and her breath catches as she watches me. She gasps as my hands dart up to cup her ass and yank her closer, then groans as the first long, slow stroke of my tongue parts her labia and nudges at her clit. Her body goes taut with anticipation. Scully loves oral sex and it is, if I do say so myself, one of my talents. I taste her with soft exploration, even wonder. Being Scully's lover is still new enough that every time is different. I lick away dampness from her shower, tasting her musky arousal as it flows, and worry her clit gently with my tongue and teeth. My dick stiffens even more as her scent surrounds me. Scully would probably say that bringing her to climax is a science, a matter of applying the right stimulus at the right time. But I know it's an art. It's about teasing the right sounds from her, knowing what they mean, knowing when to hold a note and when to stop. I play her in long strokes and staccato bursts, coaxing out the aria of Scully. She arches her back, running her hands through her hair before letting them fall limply at her sides. I rub more firmly, savoring the contrast between her soft labia and hard clit. I'm waiting for those little whimpering gasps.... "Mmm...oh!" Ah, there we go. Licking faster now, I take her unresisting hands and raise them to her breasts. She begins stroking her own throat and breasts enthusiastically. Very enthusiastically. The disappointment of last night seems to have gotten her all keyed up. Next she'll become more vocal.... "Mmm, Mulder, that feels good, sogood..." As I said, Scully *loves* oral sex. I squeeze her firm ass, sinking my fingers in hard enough to bite. Then I go for broke, lashing her clit as fast as I can. "OH! God, yes!" I glance up again. Her face is transported in ecstasy and her fingers are pulling firmly on her tight nipples. She begins to rock on my face, bouncing gently as her moans ascend the scale. "So good, uh, uh, sogood, pleaseplease..." My hips rock too, as the primitive part of my brain responds to her sounds and scent. My cock twitches, seeking its home in her wet heat. She's gasping and squirming, trying to move faster without losing contact. As I watch, the telltale flush spreads over her skin. Just a little more.... "Oh, don't stop, don'tstop...Oh, God!" Her hand flies to her mouth as she throws back her head and screams, muffling the sound against the back of her wrist. I work her hard and fast, making her shake, pushing her higher. Each gasp and moan goes straight to my cock, which is leaking in anticipation. Finally her spent body relaxes. She looks down at me with a sated, languid smile, scoots into a more comfortable position, and stretches like a cat. My dick bobs a salute to her breasts as she arches her back. "So, where were you thinking for brunch?" Well, aren't we the teasing vixen this morning? "Don't you have other things to attend to first?" "Do I?" "You certainly do." I tighten my grip on her hips and nudge her downward. "Not to be impatient, Scully, but if you don't do something about my cock soon, I'm going to embarrass myself." "Well, we can't have that." She slides down my body, smoothly removing my pajama bottoms and boxers in one move. With sinuous grace she straddles me again, takes me in hand, and guides me into her welcoming heat. I let her do the work, savoring the feeling of being slowly enveloped by her swollen passage. When I'm fully sheathed in her she begins to move, too slowly for my taste. I rest my hands on her hips and buck up. "A little impatient, aren't we?" I thrust again. "That *was* quite the show you put on," I defend myself. "Show, huh?" She grins down at me wickedly. "You like to watch, Mulder?" No answer is necessary. She knows I do. She leans forward, still riding me slowly. I thrust faster. She gives me a long, assessing look and her smile turns seductive. As I watch, one hand goes to her nipple, twisting sensually. She closes her eyes and slowly rolls her head back as I surge into her. Oh, Christ! She's doing the squeeze with her inner muscles. I thrust harder. She shivers and moans erotically as she squeezes me again. I grunt. Now she's purring. "Mmm, you're so big, Mulder. I can feel every inch of you like this. I feel so...full." Ah, Scully, you know the way to a man's heart. I look down to where we are joined. My shaft is wet with her fluids as she slides up and down almost hesitantly, as if she has to struggle to accommodate me. She lays her hand on her lower abdomen, right over that narrow passage that's holding me so snugly. "It feels like you're stretching me." I grunt again. Coherent response is impossible now. The Neanderthal part of my brain takes over as I watch her tiny body move on my thick, pulsing cock. Her hand shifts, stroking her belly. Do it, Scully, I chant mentally, do it. No, it's too much for her. The hand slides back up again to play with her nipple. I try not to let my disappointment show. "It feels so good that I just have to touch myself." Holding my gaze, she brings her hand to her lips and sucks on her middle and index fingers. Then those damp fingers move down to her clit and circle slowly. Fuck. Scully's touching herself for me, because she wants to. Did I say it was good to have her as my unsuspecting porn actress? This is *much* better. I give up trying to control myself, letting my hips buck wildly. She does some incredible shimmy motion that makes her breasts bob and squeezes me again. "Ooh, Mulder, I could ride you all day." No, baby, you can't. Because I can't hold back any longer. I grip her tighter, thrusting up desperately. The tension is boiling inside me. She squeezes me again and I cry out as I come hard, spurting into her. She squeals. Through narrowed eyes, I see her squirm ecstatically. "Fuck!" I shout. The last spasms of my orgasm take all thought with them. When I reemerge from an exceptionally fine post-orgasmic haze, she leans down and kisses my mouth softly. Then she slides off and lies down next to me. Knowing her moans and gasps were for my benefit, not a sign of her own fulfillment, I slip my hand between us and stroke her clit. She covers my hand with her own, squeezes reassuringly, and moves it away. "That's all right, Mulder." "But you didn't come," I point out. As if she didn't notice. "It's okay, Mulder. I'm not really multi-orgasmic. I just wanted to watch you. " 'I've seen you have multiple orgasms,' I think, but let it go for now. Instead, I wrap my arm around her body and try to summon up the energy to go to brunch. ******************** I sit quietly on my bed, waiting for Mulder to come to me. No. Waiting for Master to come to me. I shift restlessly before stopping myself. Discipline, he told me. I think of the cool tone in his voice when he sent me in here, and it soothes me. Everything is out of my hands now. We have not played this game for several weeks, not since I stumbled so badly, failing to climax when he demanded it of me. I have been nervous about beginning again, afraid that I'll fail once more and set a pattern that could destroy the pleasure we take in our games. He knows this. He saw the trepidation in my eyes when he brought out the scarf. Saw, and dismissed. "On your knees," he told me calmly. My fears didn't mean anything to him. I sank to the floor, my heart pounding. "We're going to work on your obedience tonight," he told me as he arranged the silk around my throat. "Obedience isn't in your body; it's in your mind. Isn't that right?" "Yes, Master," I whispered, trembling in a strange mixture of fear and relief: fear that I might ruin the game, relief that he wasn't going to let me. "And will you obey me tonight?" His roughened voice promised such delights, if only I would. "Yes, Master." He smiled approvingly. "Go undress and wait on your bed. Think about what obedience is, and how much you want to give it to me. It doesn't matter how long you have to wait. Discipline your mind to focus on nothing but your desire to please me." And so I went. I undressed quickly, noting that he had already attached my restraints to the bedposts, and knelt in the middle of the bed, schooling my mind to accept his will. The door opens and he enters quietly. I keep my head lowered, awaiting his instruction. Cloth rustles and the bedside drawer opens and closes as he moves quietly about the room, making his preparations. I jump when his hands come to rest on my shoulders. They are both tender and possessive as he strokes the back of my neck, slipping his finger beneath the loosely wrapped silk. I don't try to contain the quiver that rushes through me at his touch. The warmth trails away. Then the bed shifts as he seats himself in front of me. He is shirtless now, and my lowered gaze focuses on his midsection, on the muscles defining the smooth, bare skin of his abdomen and the enticing bulge beneath his jeans. His warm fingers come to rest on my cheekbone. He traces over the ridge of my brow before his touch flutters over my eyelids, telling me to close them. Two fingers come to rest on my lips. I kiss them softly. In my mind's eye I see the tableau that we present. His honey-toned skin contrasts to my fair complexion, radiating vitality and energy. He lounges casually, his broad shoulders dwarfing my frame, an easy command in his carriage. My kneeling position makes me appear even smaller as I bow my head meekly, awaiting his command. Finally, he speaks. "Tell me what you are, baby." "I'm a submissive, Master." Even months after we began this aspect of our relationship, the word still holds erotic power over me. He delights in making me use it. "That's right. And you're my submissive, aren't you?" "Yes, Master." He loves to start a session with questions like these, just to hear me respond. And I love to do it. The repetition of his title seems to toll through my brain, sinking into my consciousness. The fingers stroke my cheek again. "And I love you very much." I flush with warmth. Mulder tells me he loves me at other times; he says the words far more easily than I do. But they have a different effect when has says them as my Master: they make me feel safe and cherished. This the only time in my life when I let myself feel protected. Maybe that's a weakness, but I can't give it up. I turn my face into his hand, kissing the palm as he speaks again. "I want you to imagine something for me, baby." The commanding tone in his voice is almost palpable. I wait, trying to convey complete readiness with my posture. His fingers return to my forehead. "Imagine obedience seeping through your skin, entering your bloodstream. It's coursing through your veins now. All your thoughts and worries are falling silent. Your body aches to submit to me. Are you picturing that?" "Yes, Master," I whisper, my brow creasing as I concentrate on getting the image right. His fingers smooth over the wrinkles. "Flowing through you, baby. You don't have to try. Just imagine." I think of warm golden energy permeating my skin, wrapping me in his will. My forehead relaxes. "You're going to be so good tonight, baby, so sweet and open. I promise I will not give you a command you can't obey. It will be so easy, if you just give in." I nod slowly as his words infuse me with a languorous calm. "You feel at ease now, soft and complaint. You're deeply relaxed, almost limp. Nothing matters but my voice." His fingers finally stroke along my jaw down to my chin. At his light pressure, I lift my head and open my eyes. He's sitting perfectly still, radiating absolute calm and assurance. The nervous energy so characteristic of Mulder at other times is gone, channeled instead into intense concentration: concentration on me. He is Mulder and not Mulder, all the commanding elements of his personality distilled into the persona of my Master. His eyes fascinate me, tugging with magnetic force. I stare into them dreamily. There are no words for how I feel at this moment: peaceful and aroused, open to his will. I'm aching for him to make love to me and content just to stare at him forever. I'm not sure how long I've been looking at him when he speaks again. "This is your submissive mindset, baby, your subspace. This is how you feel when you embrace what you are. Concentrate on that. Feel how peaceful you are, how pliable." My eyelids flutter closed. "Yes, Master." "Look at me." I look at him again. His eyes are tender and intense. "I want you to remember where you are now, in your perfect subspace. If your mind drifts at any time, if you become frightened, I want you to return to this moment, when there's nothing in your world but submission." "Yes, Master." His very words jar me from the space a little. What does he have planned? He begins caressing my lips and throat. "We're going to try something different tonight, sweetheart." Two fingers force their way into my mouth, probe gently, and withdraw. "I like listening to you babble, hearing you say whatever your body tells you to say. It makes you so crazy that you can't help yourself, right?" Blankly, I nod. He kisses me, stroking my passive tongue with his own. The kiss ends with his hands cupping my jaw, his thumbs on my lower lip keeping my mouth slightly open. "You're very sexy when you beg, baby, but tonight I'm going to teach you"--he leans in to whisper in my ear--"restraint." The dark promise in his voice makes me shiver. I am intensely conscious of his thumbs on my lip as he kisses me again. "Your vocabulary for the rest of the evening is limited to four phrases. 'Red light,' 'yellow light,' 'no, Master,' and 'yes, Master.' Nothing else. No begging. No pleading." He traces my lips with his fingers, making them tingle. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as my mind calls up the odd image of a delicate chain across it. "Just those six words. Do you understand?" The game has already begun, I realize. He has neatly trapped me in near-muteness, without even a token gesture toward seeking my consent. I lower my eyes meekly. "Yes, Master." "Of course you do. You take direction so well." His mouth closes over mine as I preen at his praise, inwardly renewing my vow to please him. He kisses me over and over, rubbing my tongue with his own as if to remind me of its muteness. I respond eagerly, meeting each caress. Eventually he breaks the kiss and firmly pushes me backward, his strong hands arranging me on the bed. He ties me up the way he did on the night he first made me his plaything. Each wrist and ankle is soon bound in a soft cuff, which is then attached to its mate on the bedpost by an adjustable tether. He leaves almost no slack in the ropes, holding me stretched and completely open to him. He won't fuck me like this, I know. This position means that he plans to tease me, to make me writhe and jerk uncontrollably, so I pull against my bonds with each motion. Pleasure will always be accompanied by the reminder that I am restrained and helpless. He leans over me, stroking my lips again. "Just think about it, baby. Tied hand and foot, even your voice is bound now." I shiver. "You know you were made for this, don't you? Made for me to possess you." "Yes, Master." He tells me that every time. I'm starting to believe him. His eyes devour me. "You think you know, sweetheart, but there's so much more for you to learn." He brushes a strand of hair back from my forehead, the tender touch at odds with his fierce expression. "I could spend years teaching you." I picture years of learning, of being initiated into deeper and deeper mysteries. He'll claim me completely, absorb and consume me, and free my darkest, most carnal desires. "Yes, Master. Please." His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare at my ready acceptance. Then a cold smile comes over his face. "You have pretty manners, sweetheart, and I'm glad you agree. But 'please' isn't in your vocabulary tonight, is it?" How could I forget so quickly? "No, Master." "That's better. Don't forget again. I will punish you if you disobey, you know." My voice is very quiet. "Yes, Master." He crawls down between my legs and breathes on me until my muscles tremble in anticipation. He doesn't usually go down on me at playtime. This probably means that he has something new planned.... My thoughts scatter as he gives me a long, hard lick. "Ah!" He works me over expertly, tasting and teasing my sex with light, fast motions. The calm acceptance that filled me earlier evaporates as his tongue flutters on my clit for a too-brief moment. "Unh...oh, God..." His eyes flash a warning. I clamp my lips shut. He goes back to mouthing me gently, playing with my labia until I relax. Then he strikes again, tonguing the underside of my clit hard and fast. I can't keep quiet, not when he does that, and he knows it. "Oh, please!" He looks up. "Last warning, baby." ************************* I bite my lips, stifling my gasps as his tongue moves down to probe my vagina. A voice inside me whispers to disobey, to push him and see how he will react. I chase the thought away. I'm going to make up for my body's failure last time. I'm going to make him proud of my obedience. His attention returns to my clit. With a few well-placed strokes, he deliberately steals the choice from me. "God!" He stops. Rising and coming around to sit on the bed next to me, he watches me silently until I fidget under his gaze. Then he pulls something out of the nightstand drawer. "If you can't control your voice, I'll have to control it for you." My eyes widen when he shows me the object in his hands. It's a gag. Normally, Mulder avoids the overt trappings of a BDSM relationship. I wear a scarf instead of a collar, my cuffs are fabric rather than leather, and he doesn't own even a toy whip or flogger. But there is nothing discreet or subtle about the gag. A sturdy leather rectangle with wide straps to secure it around my head, it looks more suited to a fantasy dungeon than to the softer surroundings of my bedroom He turns it over, and a shock pulses through me. The other side has protruding from it a very short, thick dildo. For as long as he makes me wear it, I'll feel the sensation of a cock in my mouth, muting my cries. I think of the websites I sometimes visited before we became lovers, when I was furtively feeding my secret desires. I imagined myself as the women in those pictures, but never thought my fantasies would be realized. Will he dress me in leather next time? Put rings on my nipples? Restrain me in even more revealing poses? I squirm in embarrassment at the arousal the thoughts evoke. His expression is perfectly neutral. "Do you want to use either of your safewords now?" I shake my head. "You know that isn't good enough, baby. Do you want to use either of your safewords now?" My whisper is barely audible, but enough. "No, Master." He leans over me, the gag in hand. I look from his face to the gag and back again, remembering my promise. Drawing a deep breath, I open my mouth. He swoops down and kisses me hard, his tongue again invading my mouth. The instant he pulls away I feel the tip of the false cock between my parted lips. He inserts the gag firmly and fastens it around my head, careful not to catch my hair in the buckles. I breathe through my nose, the scent of leather filling my nostrils. "Does that hurt?" he asks solicitously. "Your mouth should feel a little stretched, but not uncomfortable. At least, not yet. You'll be wearing it for a while." I stroke my tongue over the thick plastic. It feels strange to be silenced this way--almost humiliating. I feel more naked then ever, but not uncomfortable in the way that he means. I shake my head. Reaching into the drawer again, he brings out a small bell, like one from a tambourine, and places it my right hand. "If you need to use your safewords, just shake or drop the bell." I nod my understanding, visualizing the scene again. This isn't the pretty eroticism of daintily bowing my head before him. This is stark, even harsh: Dana Scully, M.D., FBI agent, naked and cuffed spread-eagled, with this obscene prop stuffed in my mouth. His gaze turns to the wet folds between my legs, and his lips curl in satisfaction. "This is really winding you up, isn't it?" My eyes close in embarrassment. "Eyes open, baby." When I focus on him, he continues, "You know, there's nothing more exciting than seeing your lush, needy body splayed out before me." He doesn't look excited. He looks cool and appraising, as if I'm an intriguing problem to be solved. He has never seemed less like my partner and more like my Master. "But this," he continues, "is incredible. I've never seen you more vulnerable." He cocks his head to the side and traces his finger over the gag, as though he were stroking my lips through it. "I could do anything to you now," he murmurs. "Absolutely anything, and you couldn't stop me. You know that, don't you, sweetheart?" I nod. My insides are melting into liquid arousal. He's still toying with the gag. "I'm proud of the way you opened your mouth and took it." Now the fingers slip between my legs and massage lightly. "Very proud. You're such a good little submissive." His skillful manipulation of my clit lets me relax, making me more receptive to his soothing words. It doesn't matter what I am at other times. Right now, I'm a submissive. I don't need to be embarrassed or nervous. He'll take care of everything. Suddenly he rolls over me, his solid body pressing heavily on mine. His mouth is on my breasts, sucking, worrying with his teeth, devouring so fiercely that he'll leave marks. I arch into the sensation happily. I love rough treatment when I'm so excited. His low growl comes to my ears. "Suck the dildo, baby. Work it like you'd work my cock." The strange intruder no longer feels humiliating, but it's a forceful reminder of his possession. I tongue the plastic cock experimentally, hoping he'll move back between my legs and finish what he started. Instead he reaches into the drawer once more and pulls out something that he's threatened to use on me, but hasn't: a vibrator. Long and slender with a curved tip, it looks as though it would be equally effective on my clit or thrusting inside me. I haven't used a vibrator since med school, the last time I played power games with an adventurous boyfriend. It's been years now, but I remember what it will feel like. If he puts it in me and turns it on, I think that the pleasure will be so intense that I won't be able to bear it. Suddenly the thought of him using it on me seems too much. Whimpering inaudibly, I shake my head. He looks at the bell in my hand. "Do you want to use your safewords?" The only thing I want less than for him to stimulate my helpless body with the vibrator is for him not to stimulate my helpless body with the vibrator. I shake my head again. "This is important, baby. You have to remember this. If you need to use your safeword, drop the bell, all right?" I nod. A fillip of embarrassment mixes with the lust coursing through my blood. It's one thing for me to go wild while he's inside me, sharing the sensation, or when I can hear his moans of desire and pleasure as he goes down on me. Even when he used a dildo on me before, I could feel his arousal. But for him to stimulate me with that toy while he watches me so passionlessly is different. It will make me feel wanton and shameless. And controlled. I want it. His face softens momentarily. "Go back to your subspace, sweetheart." My subspace. Calm and open, think of warm energy flowing through me.... He moves back between my legs and licks me again, probing my opening with the slender rod. "You know why you haven't used your safeword. When I slide this into you and turn it on, you'll go insane with lust. You're frightened, but you want it." He's right. Perhaps if I weren't tied down it would be different; being restrained makes everything so much more intense. But if I weren't tied down, perhaps I wouldn't let him use it on me at all. Ignoring my trembling, he slips the vibrator into me and begins fucking me softly. Inert, it just feels like a slender dildo. I steel myself in anticipation of it springing to life. He pulls it out and touches my breast with the damp tip. Only then does he turn it on, using it to circle each nipple in turn. They crinkle tighter at the pleasant buzzing sensation. "It's a shame the nipple clamps I ordered haven't arrived yet." My eyes fly to his face. He smiles blandly. "Didn't I tell you I have quite a toy fixation?" Weakly, I shake my head. "Don't worry. You'll have one soon enough." His smile turns to a wolfish grin. "I'll make sure of it." The vibrator is gone from my nipple. Avoiding my clit, he runs it between my labia, circling my opening. It's still humming. My body tenses automatically, but the toy is so slim that he easily forces it past the initial resistance and into my vagina. Electric tingles run through me as he pushes it in deeper, until a starburst explodes behind my eyelids as it reaches my G-spot. Sensation radiates outwards, like heat shooting through me but so much more intense.... "Beautiful," he whispers. I shake as he withdraws it, then start as he touches the tip to my clit. No motion, no finesse, just a tickle that grows stronger and stronger until it seems like my clit itself is vibrating. I moan against the gag, feeling the cock stifle the sound. This vibrator is more powerful than the one my former boyfriend used, and it's stimulating my clitoris in a way I've never felt before. It hints of an orgasm of frightening strength. My mind recoils even as my body seeks it out, the muscles in my thighs and abdomen tensing automatically. He breaks the contact and I collapse, panting through my nose, not knowing whether to be relieved or disappointed. The tip is at my left nipple again, circling teasingly, but I'm too aroused for the light sensation to be noticeable. I take a deep breath, thinking I have a brief reprieve. Just then his strong hand covers my other breast, rolling the nipple before giving it a firm pinch. My sex clenches as if there were a direct line between them. "I'm going to love clamping these sweet nipples tight. They'll be so pretty with a gold chain hanging between them." I whine, cursing the gag that holds my mouth open and violated while silencing me so effectively. His head bows over me. Still pinching one nipple between his fingers, he bites down on the other just as the vibrations assault my clit again. I writhe helplessly and he chuckles, intensifying the pressure. My mind goes blank as I try to apprehend the sensation, so powerful that there are no words to describe it. It feels like the vibrator is pushing pleasure into me, pleasure that enters through my clit and forces its way throughout my entire body, making it arch like a bow. My arms and legs ache from straining against the cuffs by the time he lifts the toy away. "By the way, baby, I don't want you to worry any more about being responsive. I will make you respond, whenever and however I want. Like a beautiful, sexy marionette." Again the electric touch on my clit. My hips jerk as if yanked upward by an invisible string, rubbing against the humming plastic, craving more. Please don't stop, don't stop... He stops. My frustrated wail is audible even around the dildo. "See? You can't do anything *but* respond." He sets the vibrator aside and begins adjusting the tethers that join the cuffs on my wrists and ankles to those on the bedposts. He lengthens each in turn, giving more freedom of movement to my arms and legs. When he's satisfied he props another pillow beneath my head, lifting it so I can see down my body. "I want you to watch now, baby. Watch yourself respond." I instinctively try to close my legs when the vibe approaches me again, but he hasn't permitted me that much movement. There's a wicked glint in his eye as he builds the speed slowly, sending raw excitement through me, as irresistible as the tides. My hand clutches the metal bell so tightly that it leaves impressions on my skin as he plays with me, making my body jerk and relax like the puppet he called me. Soon I'm on the brink of a blinding climax--and he snatches it away from me again. I draw a deep breath, fury welling in me. Lightening-fast, his free hand comes up to cup my chin. His expression is cold, almost cruel, and absolutely unyielding. His eyes burn into mine. The voiceless protest dies in my throat. He puts the toy aside and slides two fingers into me, pumping roughly. I squeal, intensely conscious of the false cock between my lips. I've never felt so completely penetrated, so wholly possessed. "Is this an illusion, baby? That ache in your cunt, that pulse in your clit, that need in your body--is this a game?" I shake my head, blood rushing in my ears. It's the gag. Somehow, the gag in my mouth feels like his will imposed on my mind. And the humming begins on my clit again. I shy away, but he follows me implacably, keeping those electric tingles shooting through me. As he traces tight, precise circles on my clit with the fiendish device, my body takes over, pleading for more. He nods in quiet satisfaction, as if my reaction has confirmed some hypothesis. "You feel it now, don't you? You're completely mine. Your body is mine to toy with." I shake as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. It's true. Oh, God, maybe this game is spinning out of control. Sensing my gaze, he looks up sternly. "I told you to watch, baby." I look back down my quivering body, suddenly crying out and thrashing against the restraints as he increases the speed sharply for a few short seconds. "Just watch yourself move. See how wild you are? See how easy it is? I told you that I wouldn't give an order you couldn't obey." I watch myself undulate, finding it strangely erotic, but embarrassing too. Dana Scully might lose control under a skilled tongue, but an inanimate object is something else entirely. As he continues to play with me, I'm glad that he silenced me. I don't want to hear my shameless voice alternately pleading with him to stop and howling for release. The tease goes on. I can't stop squirming, but my motions are useless. No matter how I move my hips, the toy is always there until he's ready to lift it. He probes all over my sex, moving from my clit to vagina seemingly at random. His movements are impossible to predict; the only certainty is that he'll deny me satisfaction. Now I understand why he loosened my bonds. He wants me to be able to move. He wants to see me cringe away as it approaches me, knowing that when he stimulates my clit just right, my traitorous body will escape my control. My thighs will spread and I'll arch upward, rocking against the buzzing plastic as my body begs for the release that my mind knows he will withhold. He doesn't stop until I'm sobbing around the gag, my mouth aching from its thick intrusion and tears running down my cheeks. Still, I'm holding the bell in a death grip lest I drop it accidentally. He brushes my tears away and regards me fondly. "You are so beautiful when you struggle." I moan inaudibly--a moan that turns to a stifled shriek when he gives my clit another brief but high-intensity jolt. He lifts my chin with his free hand, his eyes searching my face. His voice drops, brooking no disagreement. "But you'll be even more beautiful when you give in." Oh God, it's on me again, and I can't stop moving. He pins me with his gaze, somehow following my movements without looking away from my eyes. I feel as though he can read my every thought and desire. I'm cringing inside as he watches me, but I'm incapable of looking away as the orgasm swells.... And he stops again. I howl, throwing my head back against the pillow. His face is perfectly neutral, indifferent to my torment. He puts the toy down and strokes my cheek. "You may rest for a minute." Only now do I realize my body is shaking with fatigue as well as frustrated desire. He's still caressing my cheek tenderly. "I can see you getting tired, sweetheart. You need to stop fighting me. Go back to your subspace." His eyes have softened, once again watching me with warmth as well as command. I focus on them and force myself to relax, recalling the image he painted for me when we began. "There you go. It's so peaceful there. It feels so good to let go." I exhale slowly, trying to release the tension. My hand eases into a loose fist around the bell. "Picture it again, baby. Feel obedience flowing through your body." I picture the golden energy spreading through me again as his voice murmurs to me. The image becomes stronger, until I can feel the energy starting at my clit and washing through my body. No, not just the energy. He's using the vibrator on me again. The sensation blends with the mental image of submission flowing within me. My hips start to rock gently. As he slowly builds the speed, I stop thinking about moving into it or away. I stop thinking at all. "That's right, baby. Still in your subspace. So soft, so compliant." God, what he's doing to my clit is unbelievable. It's shivering with excitement. Instead of trying to close my legs I open them, inviting more of the incredible sensation. He murmurs soft approval. "Give yourself up to it. You know how good it will make you feel." Yes, so wonderfully good. My hips are gyrating mindlessly now, responding only to his direction. My eyes fall shut, breaking our connection, but I can still feel him watching me with that cool expression on his face. I stretch my arms and legs wide, feeling a sweet pulsing to the tips of my fingers and toes. I'm flotsam floating in a river of bliss. I have to move, have to writhe as it carries me along in its current. Moans and whines vibrate in my throat, escaping the gag. They are like music, providing the accompaniment as I perform my lewd dance. "That's right, baby," he whispers again. "Just take it." The sensations pummel me. I squirm faster, my helpless sounds increasing in pitch. The pull of the bonds restraining me is unbearably exciting as he makes me squirm against them, my whole body crackling with sexual energy. When he removes the stimulation again, I sag like a puppet with its strings cut. Setting the toy aside, he runs his finger over the flat leather front of the gag. My body is still trembling, as if the very molecules are vibrating. He reaches behind my head to unbuckle the straps and gently removes the dildo from my mouth, only to replace it with his fingers. I suck them eagerly. They taste warm and slightly salty. He strokes my tongue before tugging my jaw down, inclining his head and plundering my mouth roughly. Now my moan is swallowed by his mouth as he fingers my clit roughly, compensating for the numbness caused by so much stimulation. When he breaks the kiss, he gives me a long, thoughtful look before reaching over to retrieve the toy from the nightstand. My eyes fixate on it as he moves it back toward my clit and I lift my hips eagerly, shamelessly. His expression perfectly neutral, he brings it to my lips instead. I kiss the shaft deferentially. A thrill goes through me as I demonstrate my surrender. His eyes are knowing as he looks at me. "I'm going to make you come now. Do you want me to gag you again?" "Yes, Master." "You like it, hmm? Feeling the scream build in your throat with no escape?" There's never any illusion of force with Mulder. I must freely admit to loving what he does to me. Once that admission is made, there's no going back. If I say "yes" now, it will be inevitable that I'll climax screaming into that phallic gag. And whenever I catch the scent of leather near my face, it will always remind me of my bound body quaking with pleasure as I orgasm with my mouth stretched and silenced. "Yes, Master." "So it's no punishment at all, is it?" I'd almost forgotten it was supposed to be. It is and it isn't, but I can't explain that in the words he's permitted me. "No, Master." Sensually, he reinserts the gag. Then he unclips the tethers from my cuffs, rolls me over onto my stomach and secures them again. My limbs are starting to feel the effects of being stretched for so long, but it doesn't register as pain. He has taught my body to automatically associate restraint with pleasure, and the endorphins coursing through my blood mask the discomfort quite effectively. Until he begins to spank me. I cry out at the hard slaps, momentarily stunned, and tears well in my eyes. I've been in far worse pain and should endure this stoically, but I can't. I'm too raw and open now. I jerk my hips, futilely struggling to evade the blows. "Oh, baby, I could watch you hump the bed all night." The slaps stop as he straddles me, rubbing his crotch against my ass. The denim abrades my burning skin, reminding me that he has been clothed the whole time. He does that to remind me that we are not equals, that my nudity is at his command and for his pleasure. He feels so powerful and I feel so small and weak.... Hot breath in my ear again. "Keep sucking, baby. I love the thought of your little mouth stretched around that cock. It makes you feel so helpless, doesn't it?" I nod, the only response I can give, and struggle to follow his command as his weight leaves me. The slaps begin again, hard and rhythmic. It's too much--the pain of the blows, the aching frustration between my legs, the awful vulnerability. I dissolve into tears, shuddering uncontrollably. He strokes my shoulders and pets my hair with his free hand as he begins to talk, the words soothing and subduing me. He tells me he knows what is best for me, and he knows I need the punishment. He murmurs that my tears are beautiful and cleansing, washing away the pride and stubbornness hampering my complete submission. And as his hand falls again and again on my reddened flesh, he whispers that he can see my cunt getting wetter and wetter as my resistance erodes. And I feel it. Resistance I didn't know I was harboring crumbles away. His words grow oddly distant and indistinct as the slaps reverberate through my body. My clit begins pulsing in time with the blows and my skin starts humming, every inch alive. I fall still, enthralled, lying quiescent under his discipline. "That's right. So soft." He touches me between my labia, dips into my cunt, and runs his fingertip in a wet trail down my inner thigh. I am passive, accepting whatever he does to me. I hear a faint hum as he turns the vibe on again. "Beautiful." He jams the vibrator hard up against my clit. The sensation explodes within me, and I go wild. My hips make frantic fucking motions against the buzzing head and my thighs ache from spreading wider. Pleasure balloons through me, frightening in its intensity. Pumping in my clit, throbbing at the base of my skull, it's going to consume me, washing away all thought and reason. I start to struggle--and the orgasm hammers through me, forcing me to convulse endlessly in my bonds, making me scream into the gag until my throat goes hoarse. When the spasms finally fade I go limp, unable even to lift my head. I feel different somehow, looser, like the intensity of the climax broke a spring inside me. Then the tickle comes again. I twitch in protest, my flesh too sensitive for the stimulation, but he doesn't stop. He stretches out on the bed next to me, his heavy, warm body again pressing against mine. The vibrator rests patiently between my labia, buzzing gently. "I know you've had trouble climaxing in the past, but that doesn't matter anymore. You'll climax when I want." I gasp in surprise as the sensitivity gives way to pleasure. Without the tension in my body blocking it, the arousal flows through me freely. "That's right," he murmurs with satisfaction. "You're going to make me so proud of you." The shivering ecstasy builds faster this time, as if my body expects it. "Keep working the dildo, baby." The dildo, the gag that somehow has come to symbolize all his control over me. I obey, sucking it harder, and the vibrations grow stronger in response. "You're mine. I own you, body and soul. It's time you learn what that means." The speed of the vibrations increases sharply again. I groan against the cock, feeling my thighs stiffen in anticipation, feeling my clit thrill happily on the humming plastic. I'm caught in a whirlpool of sensation, spinning inward in tighter and tighter circles. "It means I can make you come whenever I like. Now, later, every hour on the hour if the mood strikes me." My eyes fall shut as he relentlessly imposes his will on my body and mind. I'm completely open to it now, wanting only to be filled by him. Fluttering waves begin in my clit and pulse through my abdomen, my thighs, my breasts. The whimpers swell in my throat again, aching, pleading... "Come, baby." Slavishly, I do. ***** The gag was a good idea, I decide as Scully's prone body writhes in orgasm. Scully knows perfectly well that we are using softer props than is normal in these sorts of sex games, and she has become accustomed to them. The unexpected introduction of fetish gear has claimed all her attention, distracting her from any fears about her performance. And she's been thoroughly getting off on it. I'm quite pleased by that as well. I wasn't kidding about my toy fixation--too many years of porn, perhaps--and I plan to ride this pony as far as it will go. Oh, and I'll have to remember that she benefits greatly from a good spanking. I could actually feel her growing more compliant with each blow. Scully doesn't get off on the pain itself, but there's no more tangible proof of my dominance than discipline. All in all, this evening has yielded a wealth of valuable information for future use. I turn the vibrator down as she emerges from her climax, finally shutting it off and setting it close at hand. Her eyes are closed and the leather covering her lips is moving slightly, as if she is still working the cock in her mouth. Good. I think I can push her even further tonight. I untether her one more time, roll her onto her back again, and secure only her feet. If she wanted she could slide down the bed and gain enough slack to close her legs a little more, though they'll still be parted widely enough to give me full access. She doesn't move. Her muscles are so limp that I momentarily think she's passed out, but her eyes are open. I remove the gag, lift her chin, and stare into her dazed eyes again, imagining my gaze burning through to her brain. She moans softly. She loves that, loves the vulnerability as I search her naked soul. In fact, I'm making sure that she's alert enough to continue. She focuses on me, awareness returning to her expression. "Is your mouth sore?" I ask her. She nods. "Take a minute to adjust." She works her jaw, easing the tension as I watch her in a proprietary manner. She'd probably prefer that I turn away while she makes her funny faces, so I don't. Self-consciousness isn't an option for her now. "You may speak if you need to, by the way," I inform her. "You're not limited to those four phrases any more." I'm curious how she'll respond when she realizes I'm going to make her come again. I slide off the bed and finish undressing, seeing her eyes go straight to my cock. It's hard and aching, but I carefully suppress any sign of excitement in my voice or expression, as I have been doing all evening. In my younger, sensitive-80s days, I once read a pop-psychology book that compared the emotional interaction between a couple with liquid in two joined, pressurized chambers. When the emotional level in one drops, the other rises to compensate. As I recall, the point was that both partners should be open about their emotions so they don't build up and cause imbalance. That's not the way I'm applying it now. I want to cause imbalance. The cooler I am, the hotter Scully gets. "That was very pretty, sweetheart, seeing you wriggle like that. And that gag in your mouth? Hot. You're such a good little cocksucker." A soft whimper, just as I expected. Earthy language makes her feel dirty, and praise turns her on. It's the perfect combination. I climb back onto the bed, turn around and straddle her face, looming over her on my hands and knees. My cock bobs eagerly as I lower myself slowly, giving her the chance to object. "Speaking of cocksucking..." To my delight, she lifts her head and takes me in. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation. Her hot, wet mouth feels so good, and I've denied myself so long, I could just let her finish me off.... But that isn't the plan. Balancing my weight on one forearm, I reach for the vibrator with my other hand and slide it gently into her opening, ignoring her surprised grunt. I wasn't teasing her earlier to be cruel. I've been priming her body for renewed pleasure, teaching it to expect stimulation in repeated waves. She should be ready to come again in a minute, if only she'll let herself. I switch the power on again, and she pulls her mouth away from me. I barely stifle my groan at the loss of contact. She can't see me out of control. "Oh, God! Please, no more. Please stop." I inject a note of polite confusion into my voice. "Stop? Why would I stop? I want to see you come again." Her voice is a breathy pant. "No...I can't. Not again." I release the vibrator, leaving it to protrude lewdly from her body, and slap the tender flesh of her thigh hard. Then I pull the vibe out and touch the curved tip to the little bundle of nerves that controls her pleasure. "You can, baby. And you will." I jack up the power. Instantly her hips thrust up so hard that she nearly hits me in the face. I let her quiver for a few seconds, then reduce the speed and rub the tip in small circles over her clit. "I could bring your body to climax in seconds if I wanted to." Another tweak of the pressure, another jerk of her hips. "But first, we're going to talk about what happens when I play with you." She's squirming, not to escape, but because she's too overstimulated to do anything else. Following her movements, I adjust the speed and pressure of the vibrations until her hips begin undulating automatically. "Feel your hips moving? Are you thinking of that? Are you trying to do that?" She whimpers. "No, Master." "Then why?" "It's making me." "That's right. It's making you. *I'm* making you." I glance back over my shoulder at her. Her hands are scrabbling desperately at the sheets, the black cuffs still wrapped around her slim wrists. Beautiful. I lower the speed until she unclenches her fists. "And I'm going to make you more excited, and I'm going to make you come. You don't have a choice." I turn the toy off, knowing that she won't be able to follow my next order with its stimulation. "Now, I want you to go back to your subspace." She groans softly, but I hear her breathing grow slower and more even as she complies. When her taut thighs relax, I turn the vibrator back on, building the speed in infinitesimal increments. I rub it over her sex, fascinated by the visual display of the bright pink plastic in her lush, dark pink folds. Her little clit is fully erect, standing out proudly. I prod it from beneath with the buzzing tip. "Oh!" There's a note of wonder in the exclamation. "What are you thinking, baby?" "Oh, I feel so strange...." I've never heard that tone in her voice before. Keeping the tip at that magic spot, I command, "Tell me how you feel." "It's humming all through me. So excited...my nipples, Master, they're so tight..." I prod her clit again. "Are they, now?" "Yes, Master. And oh, I feel like I'm floating." I smile down at her body as it lies stretched wide and restrained, trapped below my weight. "That's very good, baby. Anything else?" Another small circle with the vibe. "Master, I'm scared." I close my eyes against the sudden surge of emotions--tenderness, protectiveness, and instinctive urge to stop. I shove it back. She's trusting me not to let her fear impede the game. "It's okay to be scared, sweetheart. Something new is happening to you. But it's something wonderful, you'll see." I've given her enough time to stop, and she hasn't. It's time to finish her off. I've been straddling her all along, my cock thrusting arrogantly over her face. Now I lower myself to her mouth again. "That's enough talking. Let's see what else you can do with that pretty mouth." I maneuver downward, prodding her lips. They part and take me in again. She begins to suck gently. Perfect. I tease her with the vibe and she begins making soft grunting noises. Her thighs are taut again, quivering with tension and anticipation. I close my eyes against the pleasure of her mouth and its sweet, dutiful labors, trying to concentrate on her. "Feel your climax building now, baby. It's going to happen soon. You don't have to think, don't have to move, don't have to try. Just let it go. I'm picturing it now--that tightness in your belly, that tremor in your clit." She sucks harder, whining around my cock. "Whenever you're ready, baby. Just let it happen." I bump the speed up again. She tenses, her body shakes, and the muffled shrieking begins again, creating amazing sensations in my cock as Miss "I'm not usually multi-orgasmic, Mulder" shakes helplessly in the throes of her third orgasm this evening. Gritting my teeth, I hold my own climax at bay long enough to control hers. I follow the motion of her hips with the vibe, keeping the pressure constant no matter how she moves. Her mouth never leaves my cock as she gasps and pants through her climax. When she calms I flex my hips, reminding her of her unfinished business. She begins sucking again, submissively returning to her task, and my chest swells with pride. I toss the toy aside, steady myself with both hands, and finally let myself go. "Suck me, baby," I grit out. "I'm gonna come in your mouth." The pressure builds with my words, taking me past the point of no return. She's sucking harder and the blood is drumming in my ears and I'm going to come, gonna come... "Unh! Fuck, yeah!" Oh, eloquent, Mulder. Real eloquent. When I've finally caught my breath, I free her ankles and turn around to look at her. Fierce triumph and satisfaction rush through me. Her eyes are soft, awash in the endorphin haze. She looks perfectly malleable, completely tamed. I feel a deep, primitive victory. I did that to her. She lies still as I remove the cuffs from her wrists. I cup her chin and force her to look at me, knowing the satisfaction shows in my face. "You did very well, baby. You made me proud." She sighs contentedly. I kiss her lips and then her hot, open cunt. She flinches. I climb off the bed. "Stay there," I tell her. "I'll be right back." I head off to the bathroom and return with a warm wet cloth to bathe her. This is my favorite part of our after-scene ritual. It's a reminder for both of us that she lets me care for her as well as dominate her. As I gently run the cloth between her legs, the triumph softens to possessiveness mixed with an overwhelming urge to protect and care for her. When I've finished I lie next to her, wrapping my arm around her. "How did that feel, baby?" She smiles softly, snuggling into my touch. "I was dancing for you, Master." Dancing? "And you were coming for me, weren't you?" "Yes, Master." I pull her closer, injecting my voice with a confidence I don't always feel. "You must never doubt my control of your body again, understand? I don't want to hear the phrase 'I can't come' again." "Yes, but..." "What?" "But that was with a vibrator." "So?" "I can't do it at other times." "Why? Does a vibrator change human biology? Create new nerve endings, rewire your pleasure receptors?" She shakes her head. "You know it doesn't. It provides stronger stimulation, but that's all." She nods. I make my voice stern and implacable. "Never again tell me you can't climax. You may be frightened or uncomfortable; you might not want to. But you can, because I can make you." "Yes, Master." It might not last for long, but I know that at this moment, she believes me. When her eyes drift closed, I kiss her forehead, get up, and pace around the room for a few minutes. Playing takes intense concentration; I love it, but get a little restless afterwards. I bring her a glass of water when she stirs, sitting next to her as she drinks it. At her nod I remove the scarf, signaling the end of the game. "How do you feel?" She grins, laying a hand on her abdomen. Scully sometimes gets minor cramps in the aftermath of a powerful orgasm. "I think I'm going to be sore in the morning." I waggle my eyebrows at her. "Is a full night of Mulderlovin' too much for you to handle?" She hands the glass back. "I can take it." I brush her fingers as I take the glass from her. "I know, Scully. I think you can take anything I throw at you." As I lean over to put the glass on the nightstand, I catch some fleeting expression crossing her face--doubt, perhaps, or even fear. When I turn back, it's gone. She yawns. "Right now, I'm taking a nap." Nap, hell. After three orgasms, she'll be out cold until morning. I shut off the light and join her. ******************** The ringing phone startles me out of a half-doze Tuesday night. I check the clock--it's only midnight. I must be getting old. That, or Scully wore me out this weekend. "Mulder, it's me." Speak of the devil. "What's on your mind, Scully?" "I was, uh, thinking about what we did this weekend. About how it made me feel." I'm suddenly wide awake. "I'm listening." She's quiet for a moment. My brow knits in concentration. To understand Scully, you have to listen to her silences as closely as her words. "It's just me, Scully. You know you can tell me anything." She chuckles humorlessly. "That's what's bothering me." My heart skips a beat. What the hell is that supposed to mean? She backpedals at once. "That came out wrong, Mulder. I didn't mean--" She lets out a frustrated sigh. "I *do* want to talk to you." I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing my pulse back to normal. The important thing is that Scully is following through on her promise to talk to me if she has a delayed reaction to a scene. "Maybe you should just start from the beginning," I suggest cautiously. She sighs again. "It's about the way I've been feeling in a scene. I've noticed it for a while, but these last two times, something became very clear to me." Knowing how to proceed now, I keep my voice neutral. The experience gained in years of interviewing traumatized crime victims, anxious family members, and reluctant witnesses has been invaluable in coaxing Scully to talk about her emotions. "How did you feel?" "Um...it was weird. I felt--I guess 'open' is the right word. I think I would have told you anything you'd asked." Mentally, I congratulate myself for anticipating this. In fact, I'm surprised she didn't bring it up earlier. "I think we've both noticed it's easier for you to discuss your sexuality in a scene, and I thought you were okay with that. Are you concerned about the night you mentioned your past relationships?" Scully would call that leading the witness, but it's the best way to elicit information. "Yes. I'm torn, Mulder. I know I'm not always as...forthcoming as I should be with a lover." 'Lover.' I'm still adjusting the concept of being Scully's lover; so much so, in fact, that whenever she says the word I instinctively feel a rush of jealousy for the nameless bastard who's bedding my Scully, immediately followed by a desire to shout to the rafters that the nameless bastard is *me.* I contain myself as she continues. "And it was easier to answer when you asked me as my Master. But it wouldn't be healthy to use a scene to try to overcome that tendency." Uh-huh. I recognize evasion when I see it. "We both know that, Scully. That's why I didn't pursue it. What else is bothering you?" Another pause. "I'm just, uh, concerned by the idea that I'd do it at all." 'Concerned' hell, Agent Scully. You're scared. "You know you always have the power to stop, Scully. Your safeword is for emotional distress too." "I know." Further silence. That line of inquiry is a dead end. I keep coaxing gently. "I understand your concerns, and I tried to respect your privacy. Do you think I crossed a line?" That will get a straight answer. She won't take evasion so far as to let me shoulder the blame. "No, you didn't. I know you were being careful." I set myself up for the key question. "That was three weeks ago. Why are you concerned again now?" *Exactly* like countless witness interviews. "What happened this weekend?" "Mulder, I got so into the scene that I--I don't think I would have thought to use my safeword." That requires some response, but I'm distracted by my rapidly stiffening dick. Okay, that doesn't happen in witness interviews. Well, not often. Focus, Mulder. "Scully, we're in new territory for me too. I've never done this before: never taken power games to this level, and never experienced anything like what I feel with you." I don't know what the right answer is, but she deserves the same honesty she's given me. "I can't tell you how strongly it affects me to know I made you feel that way." A nice, neutral way of putting it. "It frightens me a little." And that's true as well. Her voice is very soft. "Yes, me too." Finally, then, we've reached the reason she called. "In the end, Scully, it's about trust. Not just trusting me not to hurt you--trusting me not to take advantage of you." Nothing. Damn, I wish I could see her face, but she chose to discuss this by phone for a reason. I probe verbally, trying to figure out what she wants. "But I already know you trust me. You don't have anything to prove. If that's not the direction you want to go in, it's okay. Just tell me." More nothing. I'm faced with a dilemma. Ever since we began playing power games, I've analyzed every question Scully has asked and her every response to a proposed scene, building a sort of a sexual profile on her. And what I've concluded from this profile is that when she is in her submissive persona, she wants to be pushed. Asking her to tell me what she wants takes away some of the mystique of my dominance. The problem is, after all we've been through, I won't risk pushing her in the wrong direction. I try to depersonalize the situation. "A lot of submissives discover the things that make them most nervous are also the things that are most exciting. Emotional vulnerability and exposure is a good example. It's frightening, but it's arousing to know you've put yourself wholly in your dominant's hands." I hear the soft intake of her breath, then a long moment of static on the other end of the line. Finally she replies, "Yes, I could see that." "And a lot of tops think it's their job to take their submissives further than they thought they could go. To discover those frightening, exciting things and force their subs to do them." A longer silence. "I think that's probably right." I'm definitely on the right track. I quickly review the weekend's game, trying to figure out what that frightening, exciting thing was for her. Wait a minute--she told me herself, 'Master, I'm scared.' "Some submissives discover they like being compelled to tell how they feel while being topped. By forcing them to lay themselves entirely open, their masters make them realize they're completely loved." Her breathing has quickened. "Completely?" "Completely. And they find it almost inexpressibly erotic." A pause. "What do dominants find inexpressibly erotic?" Well, since you bring it up... "When some dominants picture their subs on their knees, whispering their darkest fantasies, sharing secret desires they've never told anyone--well, some dominants have been known to masturbate to that image." She stifles a moan. "They want to see their submissives like that?" "Oh, yes. And if they have to overcome a little struggle to do it, that just makes the reward all the sweeter." Her words come out in a rush. "Promise me, Mulder, only things that relate to the scene. I want--I want to open up to you at other times. I'm trying, but it's difficult, and power games add a whole new level of complexity. I want to keep them compartmentalized." The promise leaps to my lips, but the easy answer isn't always the right one. "Scully, you know we can't compartmentalize completely. You couldn't come that night because something from your past was affecting the scene. It will probably happen again, and you'll have to trust my judgment on where to draw the line. But I promise if we have another conversation like we did that night, I'll do one of two things. I'll either limit the questions to things I think are necessary to continue the scene, or stop the game so we can talk about it as partners. All right?" Another pause. "All right." "You okay?" "Yeah. It's just a little scary." "It is for me too, Scully. I'm glad you called." And I am. Just the fact that she's admitting to fear now is a milestone for us. I hear her yawn--it's long past her bedtime. Well, she knows what I'm doing once we hang up, so I'll give her something to think about before going to sleep. I lower my voice, making it warm and intimate. "You know, Scully, I've been thinking a lot about this weekend too." She hears the difference, and matches my tone. "You have?" "Oh, yeah." I wonder where her hands are now. "Watching you wriggle on that vibrator was fantastic. Knowing you thought you couldn't do something, and knowing I was going to make you--" She moans almost inaudibly. "--well, I can't wait to do it again." Quiet, rapid breathing comes over the line. "Good night, Scully. Sweet dreams." I hang up the phone and slide my hand down to relieve the aching tension, picturing her doing the same thing. END ******************** All feedback welcomed at subrosa31@yahoo.com. TITLE: A Gift of Silk IV AUTHOR: SubRosa RATING: Hard NC-17 for graphic consensual sex and language. CATEGORY: SRA KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance SPOILERS: None DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting, and to the actors who portray them. They are being used without permission, and no profit is being made. DISTRIBUTION: Wherever you like, but please let me know. THANKS: To adara, Denise and Wylfcynne for beta services, and to jaz for her help with Scully's costume. FEEDBACK: Obsessed over at subrosa31@yahoo.com WEBPAGE: http://www.geocities.com/subrosa31 SUMMARY: Mulder, Scully, D/s, and some angst. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic is rated NC-17 for graphic, consensual sex. Please do not read if you are under the age of 17 or if this subject matter may offend you. This story is a work of an erotica set a fictional D/s context; it is not necessarily an accurate depiction of a BDSM relationship. All my stories, as well as some sites used for research, can be found at my webpage. ********************************************* My pulse quickens--quickens more than usual, that is--as I knock on Scully's door. She's expecting me, and it swings open immediately. I put on my game face the instant I walk into the apartment. Grabbing her by the arms, I pin her against the wall. Her breath catches at the look in my eyes, and she falls still. She doesn't move when I release her to close the door. I scrutinize her in silence before casually drawing her scarf from my pocket. Giving her my most arrogant smile, I lean into her space. Her pupils dilate instantly. I stroke her petal-smooth cheek with the silk, then trail it down the soft skin beneath her chin. She tilts her head back, offering me her throat. "Do you want this?" I murmur, caressing her neck with the fabric. "Yesss..." she hisses softly. Her eyes fall shut. "Don't move." I drape the scarf around her neck and leave her there before slipping out of the apartment to fetch the duffel bag in my car. Bringing it in with me would have ruined the element of surprise and made me considerably less maneuverable; it's pretty full today. If we keep this up, I'm going to need a bigger bag. When I reenter the apartment, Scully is exactly where I left her. Her hands are flat against the wall and her back is arched; her breathing is rapid and shallow, eager. I've never seen her go from zero to sixty this fast before. She follows me meekly as I lead her into the living room, but her eyes go to the bag with undisguised curiosity. Ever since she responded so positively to a vibrator, I've been introducing more toys into playtime, and she's liked most of them quite a bit. Tonight, though, the props are just to set the mood. Most of the actual stimulation will come from her own mind. At least, I hope it will. This is the first time I've tried to create such an elaborate scenario, and I'm none too sure how it will play out. Adding to my trepidation is the fact that, also for the first time, I'm acting out a fantasy which she has kept hidden from me. Some time ago, I found an art book on harem imagery tucked away in her bookshelf. Speculating that the book reflected some secret desire of hers, I decided to arrange this evening as a surprise. I figure that her reaction is going to be either very good, or very bad. "I've got something very special planned for you tonight," I tell her with a confidence that I don't quite feel. For her sake, though, I'll fake it. Dressing Scully as an odalisque posed more obstacles than I'd expected. To my wallet, yes, but I'm used to that--in fact, I rather enjoy it. There's no better use of my money than making Scully happy, and this is one of a very few times when I can spend freely on her without meeting resistance or protest. No, the damage done in preparing for this evening was to my dignity. The whole experience renewed my respect for Scully, as I realized what a gift she gives in laying aside her fierce pride when she submits to me. Normally I just order our toys on-line, but tonight required a little more effort. I rejected mall-store lingerie and on-line shopping for her costume out of hand--what they offered seemed too cheap and tacky for the setting of elegant captivity that I envisaged. So I started at a shop that sold Middle Eastern dance supplies. The proprietor was a handsome woman in her late forties, with an olive complexion and a strong nose. When I told her I was shopping for a woman's dance outfit, she took one look at me and led me to a section of the store clearly intended for men playing dress-up with their girlfriends, rather than for the professionals. I found the pattern I wanted quickly enough, but the fabrics didn't appeal. I didn't want cheap polyester--I wanted rich silk caressing Scully's skin with her every movement. So I picked up the pattern from the dress-up side, a bolt of silk from the "professional" section, and brought both to the counter where the owner was showing a set of finger- cymbals to the rep of a dance troupe. "Could I have this pattern made in this material?" I asked when they completed their business. She glanced at the cloth with a practiced eye, then looked up at me doubtfully. "That will be more expensive, sir." "I know. That's fine," I told her. I think respect flashed through her eyes when I insisted on the silk. Or maybe she couldn't have cared less, and I was just nervous about buying sexual props from an establishment that didn't have a posted policy congratulating me on my healthy celebration of my sexuality and promising never to sell my name to less savory businesses. But seeing Scully in the costume will be worth the discomfort. Deciding that she's waited long enough, I unzip the bag. "Undress." Her hands go to the buttons of her blouse, deftly slipping them loose. She's not wearing a bra. Did we have plans for tonight, Agent Scully? I admire her breasts as she unfastens her jeans. She shimmies out of them and looks up at me shyly. I watch her sternly, and she squirms out of her panties too. "Very nice," I praise her as I draw the neatly folded pants out of the duffel bag and offer them to her. Her eyes widen when she realizes what they are. "We're going to play a new game tonight," I tell her. She takes the pants, stroking the midnight blue silk and fingering the silver trim. "Put them on," I order quietly. She steps gracefully into the garment. It reveals as much as it covers: the fabric is semi-sheer, and the pants are slit from the ankle to hip. The costume also has a midriff-baring bodice in the same fabric, but I don't intend to use it tonight. Instead, I use her scarf to make a halter, framing and enhancing her breasts rather than covering them. I flick her nipples casually when I finish, and she stifles a yelp. Next come thick, cuff-like bracelets which I place on each of her wrists in turn, followed by a delicate chain around her waist. Kneeling before her, I trail my fingers down her calves. She shivers as I put on the final touch: an anklet with heavy bells. I step back and appraise her when I'm finished. Her breasts rise and fall fetchingly even as she studies my face doubtfully, perhaps wondering how much I know about this fantasy. "Did you really think you could keep it a secret from me?" I ask, smiling at her unease. Unease is a concept that I became quite familiar with while organizing this evening. Ordering the dance costume was the easy part, in fact. The hard part was going into a bookstore and buying several romance novels with a harem theme--not that I've seen Scully read them, but I figured they could give me some insight into the female perspective on that particular fantasy. So I braved row after row of books with studly, bare-chested men peering disdainfully at me from the covers. Yes, I could have bought them on-line, but they *all* have titles like "Sweet Captivity" and "Love's Enslavement," so I needed to see the blurbs. Besides, I didn't want them traced back to my credit card. Sex toys, fine, but I draw the line at bodice-rippers. I selected three books as quickly as I could and hurried to the counter to pay, only to stop cold when I spotted Walter Skinner in the line ahead of me. I ducked behind a rack of foreign newspapers, losing my place in line to a harried-looking woman with a toddler on one hip and a five-year-old clinging to her hand. She probably needed it more than I did anyway. Concealing the books under my trenchcoat, I watched surreptitiously over "Le Monde" while Skinner paid for his purchases. Only when he turned to leave did I realize I was hiding from a complete stranger with male pattern baldness. I got back in line, reminding myself that I was secure in my masculinity and trying to hide the bookcovers from the gaze of the bright-eyed toddler now peering at me from between his mother's legs. An eternity later I plunked down the money and hightailed it out of the store before my imagination could call up Scully's mother browsing the bestsellers. I clutched the bag furtively against my body as I made my way to the car, wondering if Scully is ever this afraid of being found out. But that's a question for later. Removing my own shirt, I have her walk across the room and back to show off her costume. The fabric in her pants is cut generously, but glimpses of her legs flash through the slits with each step. She blushes, very prettily, as the bells jingle with her movements. I watch with naked possession as she moves about the room. When she stops in front of me, I reach out and toy with the chain around her waist. A muscle in her abdomen twitches as I brush her warm skin. "Are you all right with this setting?" I ask. Tonight requires her complete cooperation; if she's harboring doubts, I need to know now. To my relief, she nods. "Yes, Master." I've put too much work into this scene to hop right into bed, so I draw the evening out. We begin with dinner, carry-out that I brought from a Lebanese deli near my apartment. In keeping with the evening's theme, we eat at the coffee table seated on cushions rather than at her dining room table. She doesn't ask about her dress, and I don't volunteer any information. Instead we chat idly, though I revel in asking her questions just to hear her muted "Yes, Master," and "No, Master" in response. When we finish, I ask her to remove the remains of the meal while I move aside the coffee table and pillows, leaving one cushion on the floor. The tinkle of bells marks her return as I complete my task. I tell her to walk back and forth across the room one more time, just because I can. Even during playtime I'm not usually this blatant, and she feels the difference. She colors again, but puts a little extra swing in her hips as she crosses the floor and returns. At my command she kneels on the cushion. Leaving her there for the time being, I take my time making the final preparations in the bedroom. When I think she's waited long enough, I return to the living room with another prop--a long peacock plume. She is still in position: sitting back on her heels, legs spread, hands resting on her thighs. She doesn't move as I come to a halt behind her. Pleased, I trail the feather over her bare shoulders. She shivers. I turn my attention to her back, painting imaginary brush patterns on her smooth skin, as I move on to the evening's main event. "I'm picturing a new scene for today, sweetheart. Would you like to hear it?" "Yes, Master." I retrace the feather's path up her back, over her shoulder, and begin brushing the erect tips of her breasts. "I'm imagining you in an old-fashioned dress--Victorian, perhaps. It's slightly torn. You're blindfolded, your hands tied behind your back, as you're led into a strange room. When the blindfold is removed, there's a man waiting for you. He tells you that you've been brought here as a harem slave." She flinches at the word. I modulate my voice, trying to exude both command and reassurance as I weave her fantasy into the control I normally exert in a scene. "He assures you that you won't be harmed--as long as you don't resist." Lifting the feather away, I break persona for what I hope is the last time this evening. "I need you to be perfectly obedient tonight, baby. Much as I enjoy subduing you"--and much as she enjoys being subdued--"punishments are too harsh in the harem." Her spine stiffens in resolve. "I understand, Master." Nothing for tonight is likely to give her trouble, but I remind her anyway, "You can always use your safewords if something becomes too difficult." At her nod, I resume tickling her breasts with the plume. "So they lead you into the women's section of the harem, to begin training for your new life." I give her time to imagine it before commanding, "Tell me what you see there." She hesitantly describes a lush, textured setting. Dark teak and mahogany, subtly patterned rugs and tapestries shot through with gold enclose her in an exotic prison. I'm doubly pleased with the scene waiting for her in the bedroom. When she finishes, I pick up the narration with a different scene. "Now I can see you walking through the hallway with a group of other women. You're dressed as you are now, as you have been ever since you entered the harem. Your bare feet sink into the soft carpet, and your clothes stroke at your skin, parting to reveal your legs with every step. It's almost worse than being naked. And you can feel the constant weight of the jewelry as you move. You feel ornamented, decorated. The bells chime with each movement, a constant reminder of what you are, as they lead you to the harem baths." I'd lay money that Scully fantasizes about soaking in the marble pools depicted in her harem paintings almost as much as she imagines the sex itself. Scully does love her baths. "They undress you and let you soak in the warm water for a long time, until you're relaxed and almost half-asleep. Only then do they wash you and shave you completely, admiring your pretty, pink sex." The feather dances down her abdomen, as far as I can reach from my position behind her. Heat is pooling in my own belly in anticipation of the next scene. I'm not just fulfilling her fantasy tonight--as her Master, I'm claiming it for myself. "Next, they take you to a high, padded table. Still naked, you stretch out on it. Two of the women begin to rub warm oil onto your skin, making it even softer, as they knead every last bit of tension away from your muscles: your back, your shoulders, even down your legs. You're completely limp when they roll you over onto your back." Laying the feather aside, I kneel behind her. She shifts a little, leaning back to feel my body heat without actually breaking position. "You lie still, enjoying the sensation as they continue. Over your arms and neck, down your chest. Then, warm hands are rubbing the oil onto your breasts." She gasps as I palm her breasts. "They linger there, massaging every inch of your skin," I continue in my best 'Master' voice, matching my words with action, "and you're getting turned on. Your nipples grow erect. The woman rolls them between her fingers, pinching them until you moan." I keep working her breast with one hand, letting the other creep downward. "The other woman begins smoothing the lotion into the skin of your belly, your inner thighs. They pull you all the way down the table, almost to the end, and spread your legs as she starts rubbing the oil over your smooth, bare pussy." She starts as my fingers reach the damp silk over her sex. My cock jerks in response. "But she doesn't need to, baby, because you're already wet." She sighs as my fingers circle gently. "She parts your labia, and you groan in spite of yourself. Against your will, you arch into her hand as she fingers your throbbing clit. And suddenly, her mouth is on you." You'll never find a scene like this in the romance novels, which is all the proof you need that they were never intended for male eyes. When you come right down to it, there are two kinds of straight men in the world: those who fantasize about watching two women together, and those who pretend they don't fantasize about watching two women together. I'm in the first group, and damn, is the image hot. "You shake your head in protest, but it doesn't matter to them. You're a slave: your body isn't yours to command. The other women move in to hold you in place. Can you feel their hands on your thighs now? Warm and strong, but soft and small too." "Oh..." "Those hands pull your legs wider apart. You're helpless now: there's nothing you can do. She knows exactly what a woman likes. Her tongue is teasing you, stroking between your labia. And it's been so long since someone touched you, and it feels so good, baby. What do you think you do?" I hold my breath as I wait for her reply. Finally she whispers, "I give in." With a groan of relief I pull her back against me. It feels like the heat of my cock is burning right through the denim and thin silk that still separate us. "That's right, baby. You give in. You start to rock your hips and whimper. And it feels so good to let go, with those hands everywhere: holding your arms, parting your legs, squeezing your nipples just the way you like it." My hands go back to her tight nipples as the scene fills my mind. "You're moaning now. You can't control yourself, not with that tongue making you so hot that you can't stand it. One of them lifts your head. You open your eyes--and there's someone watching you." My dick prods the small of her back as she shifts restlessly. "Is it a man?" "Yes, it's a man. The one who brought you into the harem. They're putting you on display for him, making you perform." "Ohhh..." I let my hand rest on her upper thigh, squeezing gently. "The hands tighten on your arms and legs. And you're a little frightened, baby. A little startled. You don't like him there, watching so coldly. But it doesn't matter." The muscles of her thigh tense. "Because they're holding me down." My fingers drift to the slit at the side of her pants. "Yes, sweetheart, they're still holding you down. But you hardly notice, because she's found that magic spot on your clit--the spot that makes you crazy. All you can think about is how badly you want to come." She moans incoherently. I slide my hand into the slit, going straight for her cunt. She's wet and ready. I circle her clit delicately, then with increasing pressure. "She licks that spot over and over, keeping you right on the edge. You're squirming and bucking against the hands holding you, whimpering and moaning as that man watches you. Your body is completely in their control: legs spread, arms pinned, head held in place so he can see your face." "Oh, God," she moans, leaning into my touch. I follow instinctively, keeping my cock trapped between our bodies. "He gives a command to the woman between your legs, and she goes faster and faster. Your body arches. You're so excited..." She whimpers as I hit the right rhythm. "Please, Master." I kiss her temple. "Do you want it, baby? Do you want her to lick you until you come?" "Yes...uh...yes." My fingers quicken. "Tell me. Tell me, and it'll happen." Her breathy voice is nearly my undoing. I let myself go, rocking against her as she gives the fantasy back to me. "She's between my--uh--between my legs. Her tongue is on my clit, and everyone's--everyone's watching me, and it feels so...feels so--oh!" And then she's coming, rubbing frantically against my hand. I pull her hard against my body, thrusting against her round ass as I think of her stretched out on a table, head thrown back in ecstasy as a raven-haired beauty licks between her quivering thighs, making her writhe and pant for me, making her come for me.... Dimly I realize that Scully has quieted, but I'm still rutting against her. Gritting my teeth, I bring myself under control. Lips at her ear, hand still between her legs, I continue the story. "Your eyes open to see the man still watching you. He's standing right next to the table, looking down at you. You realize that they're holding you tighter now. Your legs are quickly bound in place, wide open, as he steps in between them." She sinks back against me in post-orgasmic fatigue. I stroke her clit with a nearly imperceptible caress. "You think he's going to fuck you, but he doesn't; he's not the master of the harem. Instead one of the women brings him a little jar. He dips his fingers into it and begins rubbing a warm ointment into your sex." In the fictional harem world of women's erotica, I discovered, there's very little girl-on-girl action. There is, however, a pharmacopoeia of aphrodisiacal potions, salves, and unguents that permit chaste Victorian maidens to be driven to guiltless ecstasy by the strangers who hold them captive. "He works it between your labia, into your vagina, especially your clit. It's like fire on your nerve endings." Patient circles between her legs, gradually restoking her need... "He ignores your protests. You're a task to be accomplished, a job. And he's very good at his job." She lets out a shuddering breath as fresh arousal dampens my fingers. "And when you start to moan again, they release you." I stand, offering her my hand. She lets me help her to her feet and follows as I lead her into the bedroom, the bells at her ankle jingling accompaniment. Her eyes widen as she sees my recreation of a harem setting. A gold throw blanket made of plush silk velvet and a deep blue shawl from the dance shop are strewn in artful--if I do say so myself--disarray on the bed. In a less-tacky version of the "shirt-over-the-lamp" trick from college, I draped a wine- colored silk veil over the lampshade to soften the lighting. The rich fabrics and dim lighting transform her cheerful, comfortable bedroom into a mysterious, decadent chamber where very little sleeping is done. When she has looked her fill, I bring out the last prop for the evening. "To maintain the illusion," I explain as I tie the blindfold around her eyes. She nods a shaky acquiescence. With lingering caresses, I remove her pants. She is more nude than if she were naked as she stands bathed in the dim light, her breasts framed by the halter, the jewelry decorating and possessing her body, and the black silk stark across her face. Dropping to my knees, I cup her buttocks, pull her forward, and bury my face in her pussy. She shrinks back, still too sensitive from her earlier orgasm, but I show her no more mercy than her companion did earlier. Relentlessly I stroke and nibble until her knees buckle. I look up at her flushed face and parted lips, and suddenly I can't wait any longer. "And they put you on the bed." I guide her onto it, laying her on her back. "They don't restrain you. There's nowhere you could escape to, and you don't even want to now. You can still feel those cool fingers on your pussy, those soft hands on your breasts. The flesh between your legs is burning, aching." She lets me move her into position with her arms above her head and her legs parted. My final instructions come in disjointed bursts as my tongue dances on her, coaxing her to the fever pitch now gripping me. "And they leave you there, stretched out, waiting. Waiting to be fucked by an anonymous stranger." I crawl up on the bed to hiss directly into her ear. "Can you picture it, baby? Are you there?" I rub her temples, willing her to immerse herself completely. "In here, baby. Is it real in here?" She shifts, spreading her legs wider. "Yes." I tear my remaining clothes off and kneel over her, feeling the velvet beneath us in a sensual change from her crisp sheets. She moans as I sink into her. It's torture, absolute torture, to control my strokes as I push into her welcoming heat. She wants it, the voice in the back of my mind whispers teasingly, she wants me to fuck her hard and fast. I can let go now. But that isn't the plan. I grab her hips, warning her of my intent, and roll us over. Barely noticing the beaded fringe of the blanket under my ass, I maneuver her over me until she's in a position to pleasure me like a proper odalisque. I squeeze her hips once, firmly, and release her, watching to see if she gets the message. She does. She is the picture of carnal indulgence as she puts her hot little hands on my chest to balance herself and begins rocking. One of her legs is resting on the blue shawl, the other on the gold blanket, and I imagine the velvet tickling her shins and the tops of her sensitive feet. The metal of her anklet is cool against my outer thigh as she straddles me. I groan, letting my hips bump up to meet her. I've been aching for this for hours, it seems, and my head swims as her tight heat encloses me, sending those waves of bliss through me... Scully gasps above me as she moves faster, leaning forward for a better angle. Her head is thrown back now as she stares blindly at the ceiling. I'm so lost in the sight and sensation that I barely notice her hand creeping between her legs. Oh, no. This won't do. I catch her wrist sharply, exerting a pressure just short of bruising force as I pull her hand away from her cunt. She shivers, and her lips form a little "O." Placing her hand back on my chest, I reach out and toy with her belly chain, reminding her of her place. Never let it be said that Scully isn't sharp on the uptake. Realizing exactly what I mean, she contracts her inner muscles. I stifle a grunt. Much better. She does it again, and again, and again... Much, much better. And different from how this position usually feels. Normally Scully would be setting the mood and pace, but now I'm in control even as I lie passively on my back watching her pleasure me. I feel my orgasm building as she speeds up, coaxing me toward my release so that she can find her own. Another exquisite squeeze pushes me over the edge. With a shout I gush into her, feeling the orgasm from my scalp to my toes. When the throbbing in my cock subsides, I press my thumb against her clit in quick, impersonal circles. Her lips part in the most beautiful anticipation before her gasps turn to cries as the orgasm takes her. Then she collapses, panting, into my arms. The air in the room is cool on our sweat-dampened skin as we recover. She nuzzles my chest as I untie the blindfold, then sits up and presents her back to me in a silent request to take off her scarf. I unknot it and remove the halter, kissing the occasional mark left on her skin. She lies down with me again, resting one hand on my chest as a prop for her chin as she looks up at my face. "How did you know?" she asks. I leer at her. "A good Master knows these things." She snorts inelegantly, her free hand drawing idle patterns on my chest. The hand stops. "The book. You found the book on my shelf." "That, too," I concede. Her gaze drops from my face. "I should have realized that from the start." I thread my fingers through her hair, smoothing the disarray caused by the blindfold. "You should have done exactly what you did--respond to my directions. It's not the time for you to think or analyze." For a while she's content to trace her patterns again. Then she begins speaking in a contemplative voice. "It started with an art class--art history, I mean. The harem theme was a big part of our unit on Romantic art. There was just something appealing about the setting. It was so tactile, so sensual. And the unabashed focus on sexuality..." She trails off. "This was in college?" I ask, curious about the origins of the fantasy. "Yes. I had just become sexually active, and something about the motif struck me. That was before I'd even learned about the appeal of submission, but I guess the attraction is the same: loss of control giving the freedom to be completely sexual." She's watching her finger rather than looking at me. "The harem thing is probably a little silly. I know it has nothing to do with reality." "Scully, we should be long past the point where we have to qualify or make excuses for our fantasies. It's just about what feels right for you. For us." She nods. Silence falls for a moment, but I'm too curious to let it go on for long. "So did this--" I wave to indicate the entire evening--"live up to your fantasy?" Her finger stills once more. "It was good, but different." "How so?" Her expression lightens as she shoots a teasing glance at me. "Well, normally there's less homoerotic content." I probably could have guessed that. "Were you okay with it?" She nods. "It wasn't really a surprise. I *have* seen your video collection, you know." She grins wickedly. "Although I didn't realize you went in for the shaved look." "Variety is the spice of life," I defend myself tritely. Shooting for a casual tone, I ask, "Did that interest you, by the way?" She considers it. "I wouldn't have a problem with being commanded to do it in-scene." I'm briefly distracted by the possibilities, but give myself a mental shake and return to the topic at hand. "I wasn't sure how you'd react to me introducing the whole harem scenario, since we haven't talked about it." She rolls to the side, propping her head on her arm, and looks pensive again. "It's hard to verbalize. It was a little frightening that you knew my secret fantasies, but frightening in a good way. Exciting. It made you seem very much in control." "If you have secrets from me, the possession isn't complete?" "Yes, that's it." I maneuver the blanket out from under us and pull it up to ward off the chill. "What else worked for you?" She fingers the gold cloth. "Everything about the setting was perfect. At first I was afraid the costume would feel silly or artificial, but in fact it strengthened the illusion." Her voice drops. "And being made to walk around, showing off for you--that worked." I read between the lines. "You liked being a sex object." Her voice goes very soft. "Yes." "What didn't you like?" She purses her lips. "The anonymity of the final scene, the term 'slave' itself--those were less appealing. When we're together like this, I like the sense of giving you total control, not having it taken from me and exercised by a stranger. But those elements were exactly what was appealing about the fantasy." She squeezes my hand. "A lot about these games has been different from my fantasies. Sometimes that's unsettling, but it just makes the experience more intense." She sits up and lifts the shawl, shaking out the wrinkles and folding it neatly before picking up the gold throw. "Where did you get all these things? They must have cost a fortune." "Money well spent," I assure her, helping her to fold the blanket. I shake my head when she tries to give it back to me. "I want you to keep it. If you get cold in the winter when I'm not here, I want you to curl up in this blanket and think of me topping you." Her cheeks color as she accepts it. I love the way she responds to even the suggestion of my dominance. She doesn't admit it often, but she loves it too. Figuring I might as well go all out, I retrieve the silk bodice from my bag and hand it to her. "You know, I couldn't very well ask for a harem-slave costume, so it's actually a dancer's outfit." She holds up the long-sleeved top, giving me the eyebrow when she realizes how much of her midriff it will expose. "Did I ever tell you about my secret belly dancer fantasy?" I ask with another leer. She smiles sweetly. "And did I ever tell you about my secret cabana boy fantasy?" I quail. "Of course, every relationship needs its secrets." ********************************************* I watch Mulder out of the corner of my eye, silently willing him to bring out that magical swatch of silk that signals the beginning of our power games. I want it tonight. I definitely want it tonight. By unspoken agreement, only Mulder can initiate the game. I'd hoped he would today, but my optimism dimmed when he drove us to his apartment after work. Mulder can take command at any time and place provided we're off duty--and sometimes does at the office to signal the end of the workday--but we usually end up at my apartment with its larger bed, softer carpets, and more things to tie me to. So it seems he has nothing planned, and I have family obligations for the rest of the weekend. If I don't want to wait another week, I have to start playtime myself. As Mulder putters into the kitchen for some wine, I steel myself to do something daring. Something I haven't done before. "What are you up for tonight, Scully?" he calls out. "Chinese and a movie?" I don't respond. Slipping off my shoes, I silently creep after him. His head pops around the doorframe. "Scully? Did you hear--?" I drop to my knees and bow my head, a warm flutter beginning in my belly. "Whatever my Master wishes," I murmur. He takes in a sharp breath. I startled him. There's a long, uncomfortable pause. Suddenly I can't tell if the flutter in my stomach is arousal or fear. Too nervous to look up at his face, I watch as his feet come into view on the floor in front of me. "I wasn't aware that we were playing today," he comments levelly. A hot blush creeps up my neck and cheeks. Maybe I shouldn't have done this. His voice lowers, making me shiver. "Is it now your choice to decide when to play?" My pulse pounds in my ears. If he rejects me, I'm going to feel so humiliated. But he's using the voice, and I can see his cock tenting his dress pants... "No, Master. Only yours." I struggle not to fidget under his silent scrutiny as he lets the pause drag on interminably. Finally his voice comes again. "Would you like to ask me for something?" I close my eyes in relief. "Yes, Master." He grips the hair at the base of my neck and pulls my head back. "You may ask me." He's wearing the cool, implacable mask that is so much a part of his dominant persona. I'm instantly wet. I lick my lips, seeing his nostrils flare. "Master, please, will you use me tonight?" A wicked smile crosses his face. "I believe I will." Releasing my hair, he looks searchingly up and down my body, noting the visible signs of my desire. His hand stretches out and clinically traces my nipples in turn. When he gives one turgid peak a firm squeeze, a hot pulse echoes between my legs. "You want it bad tonight, don't you?" he asks. The hand toys carelessly with my breast. I stifle a moan, surprised at how quickly the arousal is taking over my body. "Yes, Master," I respond. He pinches my nipple once more. "That's not true." I look up at him blankly. "You *need* it." The words send another pulse through me, and he smirks knowingly. "Yes, Master," I reply once more. He releases me and turns away. "I want you naked when I get back," he tosses over his shoulder as he vanishes into his bedroom. I quickly strip and kneel again right where he left me. When he returns dressed only in his jeans, he's carrying a pillowcase in one hand and my scarf in the other. He makes a production of winding the scarf around my throat, stroking and caressing the tender skin as he arranges it. By the time he finishes I'm almost quivering with excitement. I want him to push me down and fuck me, quick and hard, right here on the floor. Instead he kneels too, putting himself on my level. His hands begin running over my body, cupping my breasts, circling over my belly and hips, and delving between my legs. As he arouses me, he guides my body into the pose that he wants: back arched, breasts thrust forward, and knees parted wide. His voice coaxes me as he puts me into position, telling me how pretty my body is, how he can see the sexual energy flowing through me, how he wants me to feel it too. And I do. I feel beautiful and sensual, and so alive. He pushes my thighs wider apart, then cups my sex possessively. I arch into his hand, hoping he'll soothe the ache there. He chuckles. "I'll give you what you want, baby, but on my terms. Don't think you have control because you started the game." Sparks shoot through me as he flicks at my clit. "That's not what you need." His other hand reaches into his pocket as he continues, "Never forget that I run the show." The hand opens to reveal a pair of nipple clamps. I cringe involuntarily. He used clamps on me once before, and I accepted them eagerly, expecting an erotic pinching. Instead, I had to use my safeword to have them removed when the pinch became a gripping pain that made my submissive mindset impossible to maintain. Later I wondered aloud why they had that effect, when the pain of spanking never did. "It's a different sort of pain," Mulder responded. "Or maybe I introduced them too soon. Next time I'll use them to intensify your subspace, not to induce it." His finger was lazily stroking my temple in an unspoken reminder of how much of the game is mental, and I remember shivering at his casual reference to the ease with which he manipulates my mind as well as my body. Below the studied casualness was another message, however: he was offering me the chance to refuse further use of the clamps. I didn't take it. Now I look warily at the cruel little devices, my excitement rapidly draining away. "This is a different set," he informs me. I know what is unsaid in that statement. He doesn't need to reassure me that they won't hurt, doesn't need to ask my permission. If he wants to put them on I must let him--even if they hurt. He can hurt me if he wants to. Taking a deep breath, I arch my back further, offering him my breasts. He smiles his approval. Leaning forward, he sucks my nipples erect again and screws on the clamps. He stops tightening when the pressure reaches a light squeeze, just enough to hold them on firmly. Then he pulls at the chain joining them. It feels as though he's biting or pinching both nipples at once. It feels...oh, it feels good. He cups my chin, forcing me to meet his predatory gaze. His thumb strokes between my lips, though I can't remember parting them. The calloused skin is rough and stimulating. "You are shameless, baby, totally wanton. You're going to do things tonight that you've never done before. And remember that whatever happens, happens because you begged for it." The eyes that burn into mine are not Mulder's, but my Master's. I tremble in anticipation. Releasing my chin, he sits back on his heels and reaches into the impromptu toybag. "Have you ever given a prostate massage?" My mind needs a minute to process the sudden change in subject. Belatedly I respond, "Yes, Master. But a long time ago." He hands me a bottle of lubricant and a finger cot, a small latex sheath that slides over the finger. "I'm sure it will come back to you." I slip the cot on my index finger, careful not to tear the rubber with my nail, as he rises and undresses with slow and unhurried movements. He steps out of his jeans and stands before me, his swollen cock jutting arrogantly toward my face. I lean forward to take him into my mouth, but he stops me. Reaching down, he catches my chain in the crook of his finger and tugs gently. A moan escapes my lips as the squeeze goes straight to my sex. His cool possession of my body helps me sink deeper into my submissive mindset, the sharp need to come yielding to the growing urge to obey. His other hand goes to the back of my head. "You may begin now." I start to mouth him gently, feeling the tight pressure on my nipples. As my mouth moves up and down his shaft, I squeeze some lubricant onto my finger and let it warm up before I circle his anus. He gasps, his cock twitching in my mouth. Another tug at my nipples sends a searing bolt through me. It makes me quicken my movements, eager to bring him to climax so he'll turn his attention to me. Banishing the thought, I remind myself that my role is to serve. I lavish his cock with lingering strokes of my tongue as I apply more lube. Engulfing him in my mouth again, I gradually increase the suction as my finger carefully pushes into his tight heat. He grunts, and my nipples throb with excitement under the clamps. I slide my finger forward until I reach the swollen gland, and stroke gently. Another grunt, another light pull at my nipples. I establish a rhythm of steady stimulation with my mouth and light pressure with my finger. I want him to match my pace with the chain, want him to make my clit pulse with every throb of his cock in my mouth, but he doesn't. The tugs come at irregular intervals, with no discernible pattern. I can't feel the power that usually comes with a blowjob, not when he has my nipples trapped and squeezed like that. Not when he can make my sex clench with the lightest pull of his finger. Not when his cool aloofness is making me squirm. He's groaning openly now, making shallow thrusts into my mouth, but still controlling me even as I service him. I'm panting with arousal, the ache between my legs consuming all my thoughts. At last he begins tugging and releasing in a regular pattern. I match it with my mouth as my body gratefully slides into the rhythm of a building orgasm, hips pulsing in excitement. "Close...," he grunts. I redouble my efforts. With a long groan, he climaxes. I swallow rapidly, still massaging the small gland to draw out his pleasure, and moan with vicarious pleasure and anticipation. Now it will be my turn.... Finally he lets go of the chain, withdraws from my mouth, and tilts my face upward. "Very good." Praise is nice; an orgasm would be better. His eyes glint wickedly at my expectant expression, and he steps back, leaving me unsatisfied. Picking up the pillowcase in one hand, he helps me to my feet with then other. Then he turns toward the living room, pulling on the chain between my nipples in a silent command to follow. Startled, I stand rooted in place. Glancing back with a frown, he gives the chain a little tug. Sweet fire blossoms in my nipples. Grinning smugly at my gasp, he moves toward the living room again. I follow, captive to the desire that he knows how to manipulate so well. He lets me discard the finger cot and clean up while he pulls his jeans back on. I bring him a glass of water at his command, suspecting that he gave the order just to watch me pad through his apartment naked and flushed. When I return he informs me, "Since a movie is out, you're going to provide entertainment for the rest of the evening." "Yes, Master," I agree, trying to hide my growing frustration. His eyes linger on my erect nipples. "Are you horny tonight?" My cheeks color anew, but I gave up the right to modesty when I knelt before him. "Yes." "Tell me." Can't he see? "Master, I--I'm horny tonight. I just--God, Mulder, please!" He swats me on the ass. My voice breaks off. His breath in my ear makes me shiver. "Baby, you don't call the shots because you started the game. That's not how it works. If you'd just wanted to have sex, you would have said so. But you wanted to be dominated." Roaming fingers trace fiery trails down my belly. "Remember? You begged to spend the evening pleasuring me." I barely hear his words as his hand creeps between my legs. Driven by need, I begin rubbing against it. He doesn't stop me. Instead, his other arm goes around my waist to steady me as I part my thighs awkwardly and thrust faster. He watches placidly, letting me move until I begin moaning in anticipation. Then his voice drops to an icy whisper. "Sorry, baby, but there are things that will give me more pleasure than watching you hump my hand." He releases me abruptly. "Back on your knees," he snaps. Anger flashes through me as I comply. My headspace is odd tonight: I'm partially in my submissive mindset, turned on by his orders and eager to obey them, but I can't quite shut off the critical part of my brain. Maybe he's right: maybe a part of me thought that initiating the game gave me control over it. Or maybe it's because *he's* pushing harder tonight, his words and actions rawer than usual. Is it a response to my boldness? Whatever it is, it's driving me crazy. He picks up the pillowcase he brought from the bedroom and reaches into it, grinning at the sudden alertness in my posture. Mulder wasn't joking when he told me he had a toy fixation--or boasted that he could instill one in me. Even so, I'm disappointed when he brings out an unfamiliar dildo with a strangely wide base. It's not what I want right now. I want him. Face impassive, he lays it against the side of my face. It feels slightly warm, almost like human flesh, and it's noticeably larger than he is. I understand the command implied by his action: when I'm on my knees he loves to see me rub my cheek against his cock affectionately, and now he wants me to do the same to the dildo. Shyly I comply, but to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure about this. It's strange, almost embarrassing. Oh, God, it's vibrating. He's never fucked me with a vibrator this big. Okay, it's embarrassing, but it's pretty hot too. He joins me on the floor. Still holding the vibrator to my cheek, he swoops in and claims my mouth. The kiss is possessive and domineering, branding me as his. "Still horny?" he asks, lips moving down my chin. "Yes, Master," I whisper. He chuckles against my throat. "You hate that word, don't you?" Without waiting for a response, he draws back. Leaving me on my knees, he pushes the coffee table against the sofa and studies its wide legs. With a start, I realize the strange base is a suction cup. He's going to affix it to the table leg and make me....My mind shies away from the image. "You're always so refined, baby, so demure," he remarks as he mounts the dildo at the right height. "Have you ever taken anything this big between those pretty white thighs?" My throat has gone dry. "No, Master." He unwinds the long cord of the vibrator's battery pack, fingering it casually. "I didn't think so. Let's see how demure you are when you're on your hands and knees, making love to this huge cock." Making love. The words were not chosen casually--they never are. He won't give me the control even to use the dildo for my pleasure. Instead he wants me to kneel before him, this chain decorating my nipples, and make a show of myself. What could be more submissive than servicing a mere toy while he watches? I knew Mulder liked pornography, but for me to do that.... As if he hears my thoughts, his head snaps around and he fixes me with an implacable gaze. I stare at him, transfixed, the protest dying in my throat. My pulse quickens as his eyes burn into mine, and the relentless throb in my clit begins again. Without a word he turns back to the table, leaving me to squirm at the growing wetness between my legs. Not because of the vibrator. Because he subdued me with nothing but a glance. "Come here." Oh, God, that voice. My body knows that voice. I crawl toward him, the fire burning in my sex compelling me to obey. "Suck it first, baby. You're so good at sucking cock." I cringe from the coarse words even as dizzying anticipation spirals through me. The dildo juts lewdly out from the mounted base, seeming to grow before my eyes. I lean forward and cautiously kiss the round head, then run my tongue up the shaft. His hot hands come to rest on my shoulders as I suck the tip. "You can do better than that." With a shiver, I lower my head and take it into my mouth. I'm blushing to the roots of my hair as I obediently fellate it. "Don't stop," his voice comes from behind me. Cool fingers part my labia. Squeezing my eyes shut, I chant a silent plea when his hot breath teases the overexcited flesh. Please, please, please... "Mmmph!" The cock muffles my moan as he laps at my clit. He works me as I work the dildo, his tongue fluttering with just the right pressure. The delicacy of the touch strikes me as incongruous, given what he is preparing me for, but it does its job well. Soon he has me quivering, my vagina weeping with need. I can't control the images that flow through my mind now. I can see him rising up on his knees and driving into me, fucking me as I suck the toy. His voice would goad me on as his hips pumped into me, making me take it deeper and deeper into my mouth as he pounded harder into my body. I can see him standing before me, forcing me to love him with my mouth as I ride the cock. He'd make it buzz fast and strong inside me, and he'd hold my head close so he could feel every moan and whimper as it drove me wild in spite of myself.... As if he can feel my rising excitement, he mutters against me, "The lube is on the table. You'll need to prepare it more." He returns to eating me out as I gratefully stop sucking the dildo. Balancing awkwardly on one arm, I find the bottle and begin slicking the lube onto the shaft, measuring it with my hand as I do so. It will not be an easy fit. His tongue pushes in and out of my vagina, fucking me, making it impossible to think of anything else. Letting my arm fall to the floor, I arch my back, inviting him to lick me faster, deeper, harder... He stops. "Ah, I think you're ready now." I groan in frustration. "Look at it, baby," he commands. "Looks almost obscene, doesn't it? Think of how you'll look screwing it." His thumbs are still parting my labia, holding my sex open and vulnerable. I stare at the glistening cock. "Master," I plead, but he cuts me off. "You asked for this, sweetheart. Begged for it." I hang my head in defeat as he releases me. He's right. I begged for it. And worse, he's made me ache for it. I turn around and guide myself to the tip as he watches, fiddling with the battery pack in his hand. When I'm poised to sink down on the dildo he touches the control, and the shaft begins to vibrate gently. My clit twitches in response, indifferent to my trepidation. The stern command in his face tells me I've stalled long enough. I thrust backward, feeling graceless and exposed. He settles down cross-legged in front of me, putting himself at eye level as the blunt, thick head nudges between my labia. With a deep breath, I force myself to meet his eyes as I take the cock into my body. He smirks with satisfaction as it fills me. His fingers move on the control, rewarding me with stronger vibrations for each inch that I take in. The cock, which seemed only large when he brought it out, now feels enormous and intimidating. I can't tell which is burning hotter: the walls of my sex as the toy stretches me, or my cheeks as he drinks in the sight. "You're completely naked now, baby. Don't close your eyes. I want to see all the way to your soul." I struggle to follow his command as I push backward on the fat shaft. The vibrating mechanism is in the base of the toy, enticing me forward, but the sheer size of the thing forces me to hold back. Grateful for the lubricant, I ease downward with a gentle rocking motion, stopping when I can't take any more. He leans over to peer around my body. My cheeks redden even more as I imagine how pornographic I must look: on my hands and knees, legs spread, impaling myself on that lewd toy. And liking it. "Just another inch, baby. God, you look tiny on it." The vibrations grow stronger. My clit pulses in anticipation but I still hesitate, steeling myself to take that final inch. His face hardens. "All the way down. Now!" he barks. I obey, grunting at the strange pressure. Before I can adjust to the intrusion, he increases the vibrator's speed, then gives the chain joining my nipple clamps a few swift tugs. The excitement ratchets exponentially higher. I cry out, grinding back until I can go no further. "That's right. Now move. Show me how much you like that huge cock in your hungry little cunt." Again his voice seems harsher than usual, and the words cruder. Heart beating like a trip hammer, I recoil from his commands even as I crave them. His eyes burning into mine are too much. I drop my head, letting my eyelids fall shut. Instantly the vibrations stop. He grips my chin, fingers tightening until I open my eyes again. "What did I tell you?" he asks. "To keep my eyes open, Master," I whimper. I feel both stuffed full and split open, my body violated for his pleasure. "That's right. No secrets. Not now." He releases my chin, a calculating look on his face. "Tell me, baby, have you ever felt so completely penetrated?" Pinned fast as I am, the only motion I can manage is a shake of my head. My vision swims as the world begins to shrink to just this room, just this space. With lightening speed, he tightens the screws at my nipples. I groan, loud and needy, when they reach that firm pinch that drives me wild. My cunt clenches on the plastic shaft, shamefully aroused by the rough handling. The dildo feels like it's spearing through my whole body, and those little clamps will hold me fast in this heightened arousal until he chooses to release me. I sway on the cock, sinking down to that place where my will is enslaved to his, where obedience and pleasure on the same. His face softens. "That's better," he says. The vibrator springs to life again, tearing another groan from my throat. My hips begin to rock infinitesimally, in spite of the impossible fullness within me. Patiently, implacably, he builds the intensity until I'm squirming. I feel my wetness coating the shaft, and I wonder if my entire body will vibrate when he turns the toy to its highest speed. "Now make love to it." I obey. Starting with careful strokes, I slide slowly up and down, letting my muscles adjust. I fuck the massive cock as if it were my Master's, slowly, deferentially, waiting for permission before I take my own pleasure. It feels huge, leaving no room for breath, no room for thought.... "Oh, you're good, baby. You look so hot." Picking up my right hand, he lifts my fingers to my clit. "Play with yourself." My fingers move in tentative circles as my hips move forward on the next upstroke. My clit throbs impatiently, not yet receiving the stimulation it wants. Yielding to its command, I shimmy backward until my sex meets the cock's heavy balls. He increases the power, and the vibrations from the base flood my cunt. Electricity shoots through me, sparking in the base of my spine and in my trapped nipples. My body begins grinding back against the toy, seeking more of that incredible stimulation, and my moans become guttural as even my throat seems to vibrate. My fingers move with a mind of their own, crushing my clit against the vibrating balls. "There you go. You're not so refined now, are you?" I undulate on the thick plastic, feeling the delicious stretch, feeling the strange buzz. I'm fucking it in earnest now, the insistent pulse in my clit driving my entire body. He watches me, his expression eminently pleased. "I saw the look on your face when I brought the dildo out. I could see that you wanted to resist. But your little pussy is so needy that it didn't care, did it? You would have fucked anything I told you to." My cheeks flame with embarrassment at his smug words, but I just keep getting hotter and hotter. I'm mortified to hear rhythmic grunts emerging from my throat on every downstroke. His voice is silky and dangerous. "You like this, don't you?" That distant, demure part of me balks at giving up the last shreds of my pride. "I don't--uh--I don't know, Master." He grins cruelly as a twitch of his finger on the remote makes me wail. I lose my rhythm, jerking wildly at the overload of sensation. "Don't lie to me, baby. You like this, don't you?" I mewl and gasp, thrusting harder. I'll be sore in the morning, but that doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now but the bite at my nipples, the pulse in my clit and the awful, thrilling fullness in my cunt. "Don't you, baby?" The vibrations cease with shocking suddenness. I find my voice. "Master! God, Master, please..." His eyes are burning, but his voice is smooth, even affable. "Tell me, baby. You fucking *love* this, don't you?" My supporting arm trembles in fatigue as the fingers of my other hand work frantically on my clit, trying vainly to make up for the lost stimulation. "Yes," I whimper, still thrusting back against the now-inert shaft," "I love it, please, Master, I love it--oh!" It springs to life again. The need in my clit goes white-hot, all my nerves screaming in anticipation. I writhe like the porn star he wants me to be, controlled by the ecstasy now rising inexorably as his finger moves on the remote. He tilts my chin up, smiling. "See, baby? You can't hide anything from me." I'm panting, past speech, my eyes glazing but still locked on him. "Oh, you're close now." I yelp as the contraction in my sex tells me that orgasm is coiled and ready to strike. A little more, just a little more.... His words are still flowing, harsh and demeaning in the most loving tone of voice. "You are such a shameless little slut." I come with a howl, fingers flying on my clit and the humming toy buzzing in my cunt. Animalistic sounds wrench from my throat as the spasms jolt through me, over and over, washing away all pride and thought. When the waves fade away, the vibrator goes still as well. My head falls forward, too heavy for my neck to support, as I weakly gasp for breath. Warm fingers stroke my cheek, then loosen the nipple clamps until they're just tight enough to stay on. Smiling gently, he holds out his arms in invitation. With a final shudder I pull away from the toy and collapse with my head in his lap, barely noticing the hard floor beneath me. I feel thoroughly sated, but wrung out and exhausted too. His smug voice comes again. "God, you've been naughty tonight." The question that has been nagging me all night won't be denied any longer. "Master, did you make--" I stop to correct my words. He doesn't make me do anything. I always have the right to say "no," and my obedience is a choice. I start again. "Did you tell me to fuck the dildo because I displeased you?" There's pause before he responds, "We use new toys all the time. Why do you ask that?" Because you've never made me feel so shameless and wanton before. Because you've never gloated so coldly as you made revel in every sensation. "Because you called me a slut." His voice is perfectly level. "I knew that you wouldn't like that word, but do you really think anything tonight was punishment?" "I don't know," I falter. Tender fingers brush my hair back from my face. "When I punish you, I promise you'll know." Lifting me to my feet, he leads me to the bathroom and pulls me in front of the mirror. He stands behind me as his hands grip my arms, holding me tightly. His voice comes again, soft and unyielding. "Say it. Tell me what you are." Reluctantly, I whisper, "A slut." He murmurs into my ear, "What else?" I meet his eyes in the mirror, his tender hazel eyes. The answer comes to me in a flash, and my voice is a shade more confident as I reply, "Yours, Master. I'm your slut." His smile lights up the small room and he drops a kiss on the top of my head. "That's right. You're mine. I can do anything I want to you, can't I?" "Yes," I whisper, but the thought of how I must have looked still makes me cringe. He nuzzles my hair. "You were so hot tonight, baby, so desperate for anything to fill your cunt. Watching you get off on being stretched by that toy was fantastic." Seeing me shy away from the words, he shakes his head. "Your desire, your neediness, your willingness to do anything to come is what makes you mine. I would *never* use it to punish you. But I will teach you to embrace it without hesitation, to give in to what your body wants without caring what your mind says." The raw sincerity in his voice is unmistakable. I watch him in the mirror, willing him to reassure me. "You can be as refined and controlled, as prim and proper as you want any other time. But when you wear this--" he fingers the scarf that means so much more than we put into words "--none of that matters. Your body exists for my entertainment." Something thrums inside me at his words. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, watching coolly, expectantly. "The only thing in your mind is obeying my commands. You'll say whatever I tell you, do whatever I demand, be whatever I want. I will not accept anything less, because deep in your heart, sweetheart, that's what *you* want." His words evoke the same blend of unease and excitement I felt when he surprised me by reenacting my "harem" fantasy. It's frightening that he knows me so well, and it's erotic that he knows me so well. I close my eyes, unable to look him in the face as he wrings this last admission from me. "Yes, Master," I whisper. He lets my words hang in the silent room for a moment. I can sense his triumph, the rush of power he feels at my surrender. "Open your eyes," he commands. I look at myself in mirror, at the flush coloring my cheeks and the chain dangling from my clamped nipples. "Do you know what I see?" I shake my head. "The most beautiful, wanton creature in the world. Always so hot and eager to get fucked. Perhaps not quite as obedient as you should be, but you're learning, aren't you?" The gentle reproof stings. "I'm sorry, Master." His hands close over my shoulders. "I accept your apology. But I'll tell you a secret." "What, Master?" "I like to see you squirm a little. I like to see you struggle before you give in." He rubs his clothed erection against the small of my back, arousing himself on my body. "It makes me hard to know that I've stripped away another bit of your pride and forced you to bend to my will." I groan aloud at the deep, involuntary clenching in my sex. "See? You're learning so well." His voice is a caress in and of itself. "I'm so proud to be your Master." ***** I think of his words now as I wait for him to come to me. In spite of his promises, the rest of the evening has been pretty quiet. He left the clamps lightly clasped and permitted me to put on a pair of silk pajama bottoms, but nothing else. "You look too pretty walking around with your nipples like that to cover up," he said. He had dinner delivered from a nearby restaurant. When the doorbell rang, I got up from the couch to go into the bedroom. Mulder pinned me with a glance. "Did I tell you to get up?" I shrank back into the cushions, knowing that the delivery boy couldn't see me--unless Mulder let him into the foyer. The possibility of exposure, rather than cooling my desire, rekindled it. We watched a movie after dinner, lying together on the couch with my back to his chest. He tweaked my nipples casually whenever he felt like it, giving me no other contact, just enough stimulation to keep me keyed up. And so now I kneel on his bed, my back to the door, while he closes up the apartment for the night. I play idly with my clit, as he instructed, but it isn't really necessary. I'm more than ready for him. The sound of the door shutting behind him alerts me that he has entered the room. I go down on all fours with my legs spread as the bed shifts under his weight. His hands and lips roam over my body, stroking, licking, sucking so tenderly. He teases me for an endless time, until I'm aching for the one thing he had denied me all night. "What do you want?" he growls when I whimper in sheer frustration. "Your cock! Please, Master, your cock!" I spread my legs wide and arch my back, revealing my dripping opening to him. Part of me is cringing at my shamelessness, but that's nothing next to the aching emptiness within me and the dark thrill I always feel when he makes me beg. He takes me from behind, sliding into me while he rubs my clit and tugs the chain at my nipples, always with just enough pressure to excite. He strokes in and out easily, but the lesson isn't over yet. As his body makes tender love to me, his words are darker and rawer than anything he's said to me before. "Slut" is the least of what he calls me. I'm his whore, he tells me, a slave to my body's desires, a sextoy for his use. And I'm beautiful, perfect, the most precious thing in the world. He swears that he'll never let me shrink or hide from him. He'll tease, train, and force me until I've lost all shame, and he'll never let me go. I'll be his perfect submissive, his obedient pet. I'll ache to serve his needs, get wet at his voice, shiver at his touch, and come at his command. I moan helplessly, the images flitting through my mind as his words sink into my brain. I want it, want it so badly, want to submit so deeply that I obey without conscious thought. More than that, I want him to *make* me submit. I want him to steal my will with a word, and make me feel things I've never let myself feel before. His voice comes again in my ear, soft and calm in spite of his steady pumping. "Who do you belong to?" I struggle to find the words as his deft touch makes thought nearly impossible. "You, Master. I belong to you--ah!" My clit is pulsing, throbbing under his fingers. How can he command such effortless responses from my body, responses I didn't know I could give? "What are you?" The question gives me pause. I don't know--he has called me so many things tonight. He thrusts into me again, and the answer comes. "I'm whatever...unh...whatever my master wants me to be." Stopping abruptly, he pulls out and flips me on my back. My howl of disappointment turns into a shriek as his mouth closes over me. I lose all control as his tongue lashes at my clit. Moaning incoherently, legs flailing helplessly, I surge up against his restraining hands. I gasp and babble as he drives the need higher and higher. My moans become embarrassingly loud, but I couldn't stop to save my life. It feels as though I'm outside my body, watching myself wriggle and scream, with no hope of controlling my actions. Finally I climax, my vagina contracting around nothingness. I sob in relief as his body covers mine again. He rams into me in short, hard thrusts, his pubic bone against my clit, and I'm stunned to feel another climax building. He works me ruthlessly with his cock, letting out a dark laugh as I scream and spasm again. Only when I go limp does he take his pleasure from me. I drift in a haze, my body shuddering under his thrusts. Even half- conscious, I feel a rush of satisfaction when he grunts and spills into me. His weight rests heavily on me for a few moments before he withdraws. He rises from the bed and goes through our normal routine of bringing me some water and bathing me gently with a wet cloth. Finally he removes the clamps, but not the scarf. My exhausted body is floating near sleep as he climbs back into bed and draws me in to spoon against his chest. "You liked it tonight, didn't you, baby?" he asks, stroking a lock of hair back from my cheek. "You like a firm hand." Too sleepy to consider the implications, I let the response slip out before I can censor it. "Yes, Master." He hugs me tighter. "Then you shall have it." ********************************************* Some days I hate my job. Days like every day last week, when it sank its claws into my brain and wouldn't let me shake myself free. Days like yesterday, after we closed the case too late to catch a flight home, and I spent one more night alone in a motel room, dreaming of murdered girls. Days like today, when there's a beautiful, naked woman kneeling at my feet, and I can't feel anything but numb. I gather my scattered thoughts and try to focus for Scully's sake. I know she wants this tonight; we were overdue for a session even before we were unexpectedly called from our homes into a grueling hunt for a serial killer. Then for two weeks and across four states we did what we do best: I profiled and Scully autopsied. Neither of us ate or slept half as much as we should have. Twice she broke our unspoken rule of no fraternizing on the job and crawled quietly into my bed late at night. Once we made love; the second time she simply held me until we both fell asleep. Other than that we never departed from a professional demeanor even off-hours. To do otherwise would have meant letting down the emotional barriers we had each constructed between ourselves and the case, and that way lay despair. The perpetrator was a typical--and I hate that there is such a thing--missionary killer, seeking to rid the world of the prostitutes and runaways on whom he preyed. Once we'd accumulated enough evidence, his profile was by the books. It didn't require the soul-draining trip into his twisted mind that profiling sometimes does; I could distance myself with the charts and statistics. But there's no distancing in an autopsy, and Scully grew more demoralized with each one. The victims weren't children--that's the one thing that could have made the case worse--but they were all young women, in their teens or barely out of them. All girls whose lives had been shattered by abuse or addiction long before he picked them up and destroyed their hopes forever. Long brunette hair, all of them, all thin and scarred from life on the streets. All of them died alone, without families to turn to for shelter or protection.... I saw Scully's face grow more tight and drawn with each victim, and I swore to myself that when we were finally home, I would take her away from all the ugliness, at least for a night. I look down at her now, kneeling so patiently at my feet, and my brain simply goes blank. Not a command, not a word comes to my mind. My eyes close and my fists clench in frustration. Dammit, she needs this. *I* need this. We have to leave the horror of the past two weeks behind us. When I open my eyes again, she has lifted her head and is watching me. Technically, that is a break in her training. She is not supposed to look up until I give the word, which I normally do only after some moments of silence. It's easiest for her to get into her role if she spends a few moments in her own head, and the thought of her kneeling before me becoming more and more aroused makes *me* hot, so I often leave her there for longer than I have tonight. But today she knows that my silence isn't part of the game. Without even looking at me, she must have felt the frustration and anger rolling off me in waves. And now her slim fingers go to her throat, removing the scarf. Gracefully she rises. "Come to bed, Mulder." She takes me by the hand and leads me to the cool sanctuary of her bedroom. I undress as she lays the scarf on the nightstand, turns down the covers, and stretches out on the bed. "Come to bed," she repeats. I loom over her, touching and kissing softly, seeking comfort in her body. She meets my kisses tenderly as she strokes and pets me. Her hands run over my back and down my chest. When she touches my cock, flame bursts through me. I kiss her harder, devouring, trying to escape the images in my head. She's silent, motionless except for her caresses, but she's ready for me when I enter her. I slide in and out of her welcoming body, first slowly and then with increasing urgency, but can't find release. My breathing grows ragged against her neck as I pump into her. "Shh. It's all right, Mulder." Hands circle my biceps and slide over my back again. Cool fingers flutter over my face, tracing my eyebrows and running down the bridge of my nose to rest on my lips. I kiss them and they slip inside my mouth. I suck them lightly. "It's all right," she says again as the fingers withdraw. And then she's gripping my butt, pulling me closer, urging me into her. A wet little finger slides between my cheeks to circle my anus. The caress pushes me over the edge. I climax with a gasp of relief, tears dampening the soft skin of her neck, her voice whispering soothing nonsense into my ear. Finally I roll to the side and slip my hand between her legs, seeking to give her the solace she just offered me, but she deflects me gently. She holds me for a few minutes, then gets up and vanishes into the bathroom. When she returns, she glances at the scarf on the bedside table for the briefest second before climbing back into bed. I reach out and pick it up, dangling it over her breasts. She sighs. "Do you still need it tonight?" I ask. Her response is short and honest. "Yes, please." The simple appeal nearly undoes me. I wrap the fabric around her neck and cover her breast with my hand, kneading softly. "Tell me what you need." She closes her eyes and there's a long silence before she meets my gaze again. "Catharsis." Catharsis. It takes me a minute to catch her meaning, but it makes perfect sense. Scully has been bottling up her emotions-- all her emotions--for two weeks. She needs to release them to feel again. I guide her up onto her hands and knees. When she's in place I cover her left hand with my own, running my other hand over her body. I stroke her smooth curves with tenderness, even reverence in my touch. Then I slap her hard. She jerks and moans. The sound is heartbreaking: raw and vulnerable, aching and yearning. I give her a few more quick slaps. "Yes, please," she sighs. I continue. Her body is tense, unmoving as the sound of skin striking skin resounds through the still room. I spank her until her cheeks turn red, to no avail. "Please, please..." she whimpers. Gritting my teeth, I swing harder. She shrieks, and finally the tears begin to flow. They come in a torrent as the anger and frustration that have been choking her for two weeks comes rushing out. I lighten the blows but keep up a steady rhythm. Soon she sinks down to lie on her stomach on the bed, sobbing. I spank her until she is limp and the tears have finally been cried out. Only then does she squeeze my hand. I slow the slaps, then finally stop. She remains limp on the bed, her face blank and her eyes half-closed. I rub her shoulders soothingly. "Are you all right?" "Think so," she mumbles against the pillow. "Tired now." She needs to sleep. We both do, but there's one more thing I want to do for her. I run my hand up her inner thigh and find her still hot and wet. Tentatively, I probe at her clit. "Uh!" I repeat the caress. "It's all right, baby. I'm going to take care of you." I place the pads of two fingers against her clit and begin to circle. I start slow and steady, building the speed and pressure gradually, until... "Uh! Uh! Uh!" ...her soft grunts tell me that she is coming. When it's over, I lie next to her with one hand still cupping her sex. For the first time in days, her expression is peaceful. I kiss her damp cheek. "You did well, baby," I whisper, my voice breaking. "It's over now. You can rest." With a touching, almost childlike trust, she snuggles against me and complies. Sleep eludes me for a long time, but Scully's even, steady breathing is a comfort as I wait for it to come, feeling as if a weight has lifted from my chest. This won't exorcise all our demons. But it's a start. ***** I awaken uncharacteristically ahead of Mulder, who is snoring softly, his arm draped heavily over me. I knew we were both exhausted, but he must have been sleeping even less than I thought. I creep out of the bed, pulling the covers over him when he stirs restlessly. His furrowed brow relaxes. I fix myself a cup of tea as I wait for him to wake, noticing a slight soreness as I sit down. I sip from my mug slowly, mulling over the previous evening. He'll want to talk it over, but will let me choose when and how. I've resolved to do it in person, not over the phone, and I need to compose my thoughts. I've just finished my tea when Mulder drifts in, his hair mussed and spiky, scrubbing his face with his hands. I get up and start some coffee, not ready to meet his eyes yet. He follows me into the kitchen. As I flip the machine on, I feel his hand on my back. "Are you okay with last night?" His voice is still husky from sleep. I lean against the counter for a few seconds, letting his touch warm me. Without turning around, I reassure him, "I'm okay." Silence reigns in the kitchen as the coffee brews. He lets me busy myself with the mugs and milk, giving me the space that I need. When we're back at the table, I take a deep breath and plunge in. "Last night was different for us, I know. But it was what I needed. I didn't realize how much until we started." "We both needed it," he responds. In spite of his full night's sleep, his face is still haggard. "All the way home, all I could feel was the weight of that--" He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to. I nod, staring into the teacup. "I'm used to adopting a professional detachment. Normally, I don't even think about it anymore. But with this case, it was a constant struggle to maintain it. And when was it finally okay to let go, I couldn't. Couldn't feel anything else until..." My voice trails away. They tell you at Quantico that the stresses of the job can "carry over" into your home life, euphemistically alluding to the toll that law enforcement takes on marriages and families. They never mention cases gripping you such an emotional stranglehold that you'll need your lover to beat you to tears before you can feel anything else. "Until you were pushed into it," he finishes for me. I look at his face again, seeing mirrored pain there, and confront my fear about the previous evening. "I asked for last night, and I'm glad that you did it. I just wonder if that was a healthy way to deal with things like this." The waxing morning light shows new lines etched in his face. "Scully, there *isn't* a healthy way to deal with things like this. I remember back in VCS...." Now his voice trails away. Something dark and grim stirs in his eyes before he shakes it off. "Think of it this way. How would we have dealt with it before we became lovers?" I consider his question. I would have done what I did in the hotel last night: turned off the phone, taken a bath so hot that my skin reddened, and gone to bed still feeling cold. And Mulder? Even now, I don't know how he would have handled it. Because, like me, he would have dealt with it-- "Alone." Reaching across the table, he takes my hand. "Yeah. And when you look at it that way, this is an improvement." I squeeze and release his hand, struggling to maintain my composure. There are more tears to cry over this case, but not now. Picking up the empty coffee mugs, he retreats into the kitchen and rattles around ostentatiously for a few minutes. My eyes are dry by the time he returns. He stands behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. "What would you like to do today?" The answer springs to mind immediately. I want to get as far away as possible from the dark, gritty alleys and sterile autopsy rooms where I've spent the last two weeks. I want to do something frivolous and wholesome. "I'd like to go to a park. I just want to feel the sun on my face." "Sounds good," he agrees promptly. "Why don't we pick up a picnic lunch while we're at it?" Relief colors his voice, and I don't think it comes from the prospect of spending a few hours ducking incoming Frisbees. I remember that we came here straight from the airport, and recall how bare the refrigerator was when I got the milk for our coffee. "We don't have any food in the apartment, do we?" His tone is lighter than it has been in weeks as he replies, "Maybe a picnic breakfast too." I chuckle, covering his hand with mine, and we head off to the shower together. END ********************************************* All feedback welcomed at subrosa31@yahoo.com.