I've been lurking for a while, and this is my first posted Scully
slash, so please be gentle...(but feedback is always appreciated) I
apologize for the length, but I do hope you all enjoy the story.
Please feel free to distribute as you wish--this baby is off my
site, so I can't very well be restrictive, can I?

The characters and situations are the creations and property of
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and the Fox Broadcasting Corporation
and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is
intended and no money shall be made with this piece of fiction.

I can only hope that the aforementioned can find it in their hearts
to forgive this fan for taking hours out from watching their show
and using their tie-in products to create and showcase a
not-for-profit piece of work. To them, I say...please don't hurt
me!

Synopsis: X-Files meets Exit to Eden...'nuff said?

Inspired by Gillian Anderson's reading of the audiobook "Exit to
Eden." It takes place is a (way) alternate timeline than the show.

Rated NC-17


PARTNERS

by cds218@geocities.com


Night--Georgetown

Special Agent Dana Scully lay in bed, reading her novel and
touching herself.

She had made slow progress in the book, due mostly to the fact that
she couldn't read it at work. It wasn't her usual thought-provoking
tome concerning medicine or current events, but a slightly trashy
little piece of fluff called Exit to Eden by that woman who wrote
sexbooks about vampires and bitched when Tom Cruise got cast in the
movies. Dana wasn't sure why she'd picked up the book when she'd
spotted it in a nearby drugstore on a narrow rack with other
non-descript bestsellers. Something in the blurb had snagged her
imagination like an invisible fishhook. Perhaps it was simply that
things had been intense the past couple of weeks and she wanted
something light and disposable. Or perhaps it was the concept of
sexual slavery that had appealed to her. The idea that someone
could wield such power over another that had has stimulated some
long-dormant sinkhole of depravity deep inside her psyche.

It had been a long time since Dana Scully had enjoyable sex with a
man she felt real love for, and she wondered if she would ever find
another. Trailing that fear, like a dingy lashed to a yacht, was
the fear that she would never again feel the passionate touch of a
man. Hers was not a generation in which the men were receptive to
strong women, especially not ones who carried high-powered pistols
beneath their blazers. Neither, Dana suspected, were the men of the
generation who claimed the author of the book. Was that why she
invented this elaborate scenario of a woman taking complete and
total control over strong, successful men? Dana didn't try to
psychoanalyze, simply read and projected herself into the fantasy
while her free hand strayed over her full breasts and lingered
between her legs. She never quite managed to please
herself--remnants of her Catholic upbringing burst like
depth-chargers of guilt--usually finding herself aroused and
sensitive between the silky sheets.

Tonight, however, her nerve-endings had reached a fever-pitch, and
with tributaries of ice-water lancing through her chest and stomach
she dogeared the page and slid out of bed and padded quietly over
to the firearm lockbox she kept in her dresser. Using both hands
she lifted off the top shelf where it stayed and placed it on the
bureau beside her pooled keychain which she picked up and fumbled
with, searching for the proper key. They felt unusually cold in her
fingers. She inserted the correct one and unlatched the box, pulled
open its heavy metal lid.

The box contained the Sig/Saur 9mm Bureau-issue sidearm in its
canvas, clip-on holster along with three spare clips and two boxes
of 9mm ammunition. Dana lifted these items out to expose the three
blank, white boxes beneath. She didn't lift them out, simply popped
open the lids and regarded the pink, plastic contents that sat atop
black foam packing.

The leftmost box contained the one called "The UFO Vibrator." The
joke wasn't lost on her. It may have factored into her decision to
buy it. It had a thick, bulbous base where the battery was
contained off of which sprang a thin, curved, three-inch long wand
with a slightly enlarged snake-like tip. It was a multi-speed
device designed to stimulate the labia or the clitoris depending
upon which the operator desired to be attended to.

Inside the middle box was a straight, four-and-a-half inch long,
narrow probe, the base of which was wired to a small remote-control
box. The device was called "The Equalizer," though Dana hadn't a
clue why. The device was designed for anal stimulation, the
remote-control to allow her to take charge of the speed and
direction of the probe without having to reach behind her. Dana
skipped over it. This was not the sensation she desired this
evening.

The rightmost box contained what would satisfy tonight's cravings.
It was called "Mr. Satisfier," and asofar, it had lived up to the
designation. It was a meticulously-shaped phallus, a full ten
inches long and two-and-a-half inches wide, with fine detailing
that included a sculpted, circumcised head and a roadmap of soft
veins running along the surface. Dana gently lifted this one out of
its box, unconsciously caressing it as she did so, and turned it
over to check the batteries. The two Energizers were still good,
and Dana carried the soft, warm shaft back to the bed with her
using both hands as if it was fragile or treasured. Cool,
shuddering anticipation migrated from her stomach to her chest,
causing her deep breaths to shudder slightly. She slid back to her
spot between the sheets that had grown cold in her absence. No
matter. Dana killed her bedside lamp. She could make love without
darkness, but not to herself.

Dana placed the Satisfier on the mattress beside her, then used
both hands to wriggle free of her panties and pull out of her
nightshirt. She shifted during the process, and the warm plastic
touched her left buttock, causing her to jump slightly. When she
was free of her bedclothing, she settled back and picked up the
Satisfier, gently drawing it over her thigh to the space between
her legs. Her body cried out for relief, but masochistically, she
denied it, instead wetting the thumb and forefinger of both hands
with her tongue and touching the moistened digits to her nipples,
coaxing them to full erectness and making cool circles over them
and around the dark corneas. She did this for several moments,
teasing herself until she could not bear it, then her hands went to
the firm rod of skin-textured plastic. Inhaling, she slipped it a
few inches into herself and switched it on.

In the long, lazy, frantic, explosive moments that followed, Dana
twisted and writhed, manipulating the instrument that her body
currently rested upon. It had only one speed, but Dana knew her
body well enough to be able to tilt it to stimulate her most
sensitive areas.

She cried out several times when the wave of orgasms hit; gasping
"my god," "Oh...please..." "yes...that! there!"

Generic cries sent into the darkness, for she had no ones' name to
call.

* * *

He knows that he will never be accepted by the people laughing and
drinking in the bar that fades into the neon-crammed street behind
him, so he turns up the collar to his coat and slinks off down the
darkened alley where his possible salvation awaits. The night turns
black here, drained of the glitz of the nocturnal businesses that
line the street. The din of traffic and pedestrians eventually
falls off, too, as he slips through a splintered doorway and into
an abandoned warehouse. His salvation sits amid piles of dust and
litter, handcuffed to a rusted, unused pipe. He is a well-dressed
man of about twenty-seven with strong cheekbones and long hair
pulled into a ponytail. He looked up with eyes pregnant with
terror.

"Don't be frightened. You're simply helping another human being."

Salvation stared up at him with fear bordering on madness.

"You'll understand when it's over. You must have faith in this
fact." The linoleum knife comes up and begins the first
slice--along the jawline. Salvation tries to turn away, but he has
a stronger grip and holds him still as the next few cuts are made.
"You must have faith that you'll understand once its over. Just as
I have faith I'll belong."

He continues cutting and stops only when he's removed salvation's
face.

********

Tuesday--129 Port Street

The body that was handcuffed to the steampipe was twisted in death,
resembling a bird that had struck a pane of glass and fallen to
earth. There was a symmetrical grace to it, even in death, offset
by the bloody, pulpy mass that was the face. Or at least what had
held it on.

"Have you ever seen this kind of thing before?" asked the fishbelly
white officer who swayed just the slightest bit. He was the
hardiest of the investigating officers. He was the only one
presently not vomiting his guts out.

"Not exactly," Agent Fox Mulder replied, looking over the body.
Whoever had done this was careful and efficient. The face had been
peeled away from the supporting muscles and skull as easily as the
rind of an orange could be twisted away from the meat. Arterial
spray over the corpse's chest, arms and the surrounding area
leading Mulder to the inescapable and very unpleasant truth that
the victim had been alive when skinned.

"Why the hell would anyone do this. I mean...why would they do
this?" The officer was looking over the edge, getting close to
losing it. Mulder put a hand on his shoulder.

"Do me a favor: head outside and get the crime lab guys in here.
I'm going to need this scene roped off and gone over with a
fine-toothed comb. This isn't the sort of crime we're going to
solve with informants and interrogations."

The officer looked over Mulder with something akin to awe. "It's
just you? Aren't you working with anybody?"

Mulder shook his head. "She's on vacation."

"Hope she's having a better time than we are."

* * *

Dana shifted in the kitchen chair, lifting her feet onto the stool
by the counter. This was her favorite spot to sit in the morning
and drink her tea. Most mornings, though, she didn't have the time
to spend luxuriating before the picture window in the suns rays.
Most mornings she rushed through her breakfast, already clad in her
standard pantsuit, and reading a few headlines before she threw
away the remains of her food and rushed to work.

This morning, however, was all hers. She was stretched out in the
warm morning sun, thoroughly reading the paper--even the TV
section--in her white, terrycloth robe. On the table before her
were two, patient, English muffins lightly covered with tangerine
jam and a steaming cup of raspberry tea. Time had trained Dana's
body to wake at roughly the same time every morning, but these
mornings, at least, she could take her time.

In all, Dana spent a full forty-five minutes reading the paper and
eating her two muffins.

Later she dressed in a pair of jeans and a maroon turtleneck,
gathered up her purse and went to the mall for some idle window
shopping. It had been a long time since Dana had bought anything
she didn't need, and she felt that she was about due. The
mall--whose name she instantly forgot after walking through the
front doors--was a recently-built sprawling complex crammed to the
gills with shops and department stores and kiosks. Dana walked
through them slowly and aimlessly, remarking at some of the things
she found, barely seeing others.

It was a slow afternoon, but there were enough couples floating
through the mall's traffic lanes to trigger dark ponderings. There
had first been her godchild's birth five years ago that raised the
question. As a career woman, could she hope to meet someone who
would accept her priorities and shoulder a little extra weight in
the raising of a child? Then she had been placed with Mulder and
thrown into the midst of intense, probing, and often detailed
investigations that demanded her time and energy. That was when she
wondered if she could ever meet anyone who would be able to accept
her lifestyle. Finally, there were the revelations that the X-files
had brought. Could she even conceive of a life with an insurance
salesman husband and a couple of kids in little league, all settled
in their Colonial nestled amid the green of the suburbs?

Dana doubted it.

Problem was, the revelations would not welcome her, did not provide
safe haven, leaving her alone and alienated. She had only Mulder as
a comrade in exile, and she'd already agreed he would not be a very
good lover for her. Their roles as FBI agents and partners simply
wouldn't mesh.

She window-shopped for the better part of an afternoon, buying a
cordless phone and a pair of flats, before proceeding up the street
to the local Barnes & Noble for a cup of coffee and some
private reading. She chose a stack of magazines and a cafe latte
and a table in the corner.

Dana found the article in the New Yorker. A slightly incredulous
profile of a very interesting service located right here in
Virginia.

A very interesting service.

********

FBI Headquarters

"What have you got?" Mulder asked Alex Tayback who sat over his
microscope like an amorphous blob in a labcoat.

"Well, I'm not sure if I can give you the same service as your
partner, but I did manage to get the autopsy done, if that'll hold
you."

Mulder nodded. "Good enough. What have you got?"

"Okay," Tayback muttered as he got up from his microscope and
walked over to the examining table where the morning's corpse
waited beneath a crisp, white sheet. Tayback pulled it back with a
slight flourish, exposing the mutilated face--the mass of
glistening, mask-like viscera made shocking by the clear, blue
eyes. "No ID as of yet, but we're running prints and dentals.
Something should show sooner or later. Victim expired due to blood
loss resulting from massive facial mutilation. Big surprise, huh?
Here's an interesting little bit, though. Flesh was peeled right
off in one big piece. He literally took this guy's face. Not
piecemeal or patchwork, he took the whole damn thing. Sound
familiar to you?"

"No," Mulder said. "We've had facial mutilations, but never
something like this. This is a very particular mania we're dealing
with."

"Pity," Tayback said casually. "I was hoping this would ring a
bell. I mean, he didn't exactly pick up this talent overnight, did
he? He must have had some practice."

"I'll start checking the files. Any idea what he used?"

"Looks to be a short, delicate, and very sharp blade. Something
like a strapping knife or an X-acto knife."

"How long until we get a toxicology report?" Mulder asked.

"Formally? About a week, but what you interrupted was me running my
own set of somewhat informal tests. Our boy's blood is clean, but
for some residual alcohol. Not enough to anaesthetize him. This
poor blighter was quite aware of what was happening to him."

Mulder suppressed a shudder. "This is a hell of a case to be going
solo on."

"Oh, but you have me," Tayback said with a cold grin.

* * *

night


Dana lay awake on her couch in the darkened living room,
illuminated only by the flickering of the television set cranking
out an episode of One West Waikiki. She had to admit, Cheryl Ladd
still looked good.

The profile in the New Yorker fascinated her. At first she'd delved
into the article simply because it seemed such an outrageous topic,
and on some level, it appealed to her. As it most likely appealed
to a great many people in a tawdry voyeuristic way. It should have
remained an odd little discovery, fodder for fantasy, but she was
finding herself considering it more and more seriously.

Was there any reason she couldn't do it? Money wasn't a factor. And
the location was conveniently nearby. Was there a reason she
couldn't? Was there a reason she shouldn't?

One. She was Dana Scully, and Dana Scully simply didn't do things
like this. Dana Scully dated only a handful of boys in high
school--went to the prom with a platonic friend, and had only one
romance in college.

Dana Scully was a good daughter and sister, sensible and smart. She
didn't sacrifice her dreams or career aspirations for matters of
love or desire.

But would this mean sacrificing either?

No.

The sad truth was, she was programmed. She was conforming to her
own invented stereotype. She had become frightened and small-minded
and unoriginal. She had settled for simply being Special Agent Dana
Scully, competent FBI agent and medical doctor. Dana Scully the
woman nearly no longer existed. Only the purchase and intermittent
use of the devices in her lockbox acknowledged that part of her
personality.

Perhaps it was time for an indulgence.

The phone number listed in the profile mentioned that it was
answered 24-hours a day.

And she could simply take a look, an evaluation. Plenty of time to
change her mind if she wished.

With trembling hands and an ice-filled stomach, she reached for the
phone on the coffee table.

********

1187 W. Pinecrest
Alexandria, VA


The dental records had come through late last night--the faceless
man was named Steven Briggs. He was a grad student at Georgetown
supposedly out for a night on the town. But it was a little more
complex than that. By pounding on doors early in the morning and
catching students on their ways to class, he'd come up with some
reasonably thorough leads. The OT didn't bother Mulder. Actually,
he welcomed the intrusion of work into his private life. It kept
him from thinking about Phoebe.

Phoebe. His albatross. The letter incomplete. His failing. The
pursuit of a killer who'd left no clues distracted him from the
tougher demands on his life.

The mansion was a beautifully renovated domicile, all white
Corinthian columns and vast green estate that shone in the Indian
Summer heat. Mulder parked on the outskirts of the property and
walked up the long driveway. The Daughters of Liberation Social
Club wasn't known to any of the Bureau databanks, and the
generic-looking seal that adorned the front gate didn't tell him
much, either.

Question: Why was this address written in yesterday's box on Steven
Briggs' wall calendar?

The initial stages of the answer appeared to Mulder in the form of
a tall, platinum-blonde woman in a tuxedo. The black of the suit
clashed pleasingly with her fair complexion and hair. Her face was
supported by some of the most beautifully prominent cheekbones
Mulder had ever seen.

"Yes?" she aid coolly. Mulder flashed his creds. The woman's blue
eyes scanned them, but didn't register surprise, alarm or even
interest.

"I'd like to ask you or the head of the household or the leader of
the Daughters of Liberation a few questions."

"You should speak to my employer, Ms. Cole. She is all three."

"Okay," Mulder nodded. "Is she in?"

"Yes, please follow me." The woman led Mulder down a marble-tiled
corridor and into a softly-carpeted study dominated by a great,
polished slab of oak that served as a desk nestled between two
towering bookcases jammed with hardcovers. The woman who sat behind
the desk was an image off of a pornographic magazine cover:
airbrush-perfect features, long, luxurious black hair, piercing
blue eyes, and impishly attractive features, now regarding Mulder
with abject curiosity.

"Ms. Cole?" the butler asked. "This is Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI.
He'd like to ask us a few questions about a Steven Biggs..."

"Briggs," Mulder corrected her. "He was found murdered last
evening. Apparently he was scheduled to come here today."

Ms. Cole nodded authoritatively and gestured to the seat opposite
her expanse of desk. "Please...Megan. Have a seat Agent Mulder.
Tia, you may leave us now."

The butler said nothing and left the room. Megan Cole leaned
forward and propped the elbows of her violet silk blazer on the
reflective wood. "So, Agent Fox Mulder, what is it you'd like me to
tell you about Steven Briggs. I'm afraid whatever it is, it won't
be much."

"What was he going to do here, for starters?"

"He was going to interview me for a thesis, I believe. Women's
Studies. He wanted my perspective on assertive women in business.
Murdered, you say? Well, that is disturbing."

"Mutilated is more like it," Mulder said authoritatively while he
tried to keep his gaze from being pulled to Megan Cole's chest. It
was a bit too prominent for his peace of mind.

"My God," she said emotionlessly. "Well, it's becoming a dangerous
world isn't it? This just proves a point."

"Yes it does," Mulder nodded, his gaze dipping into the part
beneath the collar of her blouse. He caught a glimpse of black bra.
"But tell me: what exactly are the Daughters of Liberation? Sounds
vaguely revolutionary."

Megan Cole smiled coldly. "Well I can assure you that we are not.
In fact the DOL is a sort of support organization for women in
business. We publish a magazine, offer seminars and workshops
concerning women's role in the business world. Host speakers, offer
college scholarships, that sort of thing."

"This is a beautiful estate. Unlikely for your type of
organization, isn't it?"

For the first time, Mulder saw a genuine emotion cross her
face--appreciation and warmth. "It's my grandfather's. He left it
to me, and I've been maintaining it ever since. I'm the only person
who lives in the mansion, spare the staff, so I saw no reason we
couldn't simply set up the organization here."

"Unique use of space."

"Yes, and it saves me from the tiresome corporate trappings. Do you
like horses, Agent Fox?"

"Um," Mulder said, taken aback. "Sure, I guess."

"I'll have Tia show you the stables. There's a little business for
me to take care of here, but I could join you in a few minutes. We
could take a ride together."

Mulder knew that he'd never forgive himself if he passed this up.

* * *

"So what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Mulder
asked the platinum woman who led him down the hallway. she smiled
and looked him over with cool, grey eyes.

"I actually work for Ms. Cole in a variety of capacities. This is
only one in my rotating roster. I also serve as an executive
secretary, business liaison, accountant...I'm a Renaissance woman,
really."

Mulder grinned and nodded. Tia paused by a doorway and gestured
inside. Mulder took a few steps before he realized that it wasn't a
hallway, but an empty room. He turned, throwing a quizzical look at
her.

Tia stood in the doorway, a short-barrelled tranquilizer pistol
leveled at his chest. "This is another one of my various
capacities," she said shortly before the dull exhale of compressed
gas and the sting in Mulder's midriff.

He had only three seconds of consciousness to be amazed.

********

Megan Cole was looking over the latest applicant evaluations when
her phone buzzed. She picked it up. Tia's voice.

"Agent Mulder has been handled without incident."

"Very good," Cole said. "Put him in B-quarters and have Teri
prepare him for his return to consciousness."

"Yes, ma'am."

Cole hung up and signed off on the evaluations. A moment later the
phone buzzed again. Tia's voice. "Ms. Cole? Your nine-thirty
appointment is here."

Megan Cole smiled. "Please, Tia, send Dana Scully in."

********

"Tell me, Ms. Scully," said the elegantly-dressed, raven-haired
woman behind the desk, "are you a professional woman? Please, don't
tell me what it is. That's not important."

"Yes," Dana said. "I am."

"And has that affected your decision to come here?"

"I'm...I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Well, is your current...dissatisfaction a result of your status as
a professional woman? Even in a small way?"

"I guess so, yes. Men tend to be put off by my profession, as well
as my dedication to it."

Megan Cole nodded sympathetically. "You're good at what you do?"

"Very."

"I imagine that's caused problems at work as well as in your
private life."

"Yes, it has."

"Dana, your situation is not original. In fact it's practically
mundane. Your stories aren't new, no matter what you do--whether
you're a cop or a doctor. What we need to know aren't the details
of your angst, but of your private life. Your most intimate
situations."

"I imagined as much. Well, my last lover was..."

"Have you ever made love to a woman, Ms. Scully?"

Dana blinked. "I'm sorry. What..."

"It's a simple question, Ms. Scully. Have you ever had a lesbian
experience?"

"I don't see what that has to do with..."

"Ms. Scully," Megan Cole said wearily, "if you're truly interested
in the DOL, then you're going to have to get used to divulging
intimate facts about yourself. It's like saying if you're going to
be a football player, you're going to have to get used to physical
exertion."

Dana mulled this, fighting her own defensiveness.

"Ms. Scully, may I submit that you wouldn't have come to us if you
didn't want an outlet for your intimate thoughts and feelings, as
you have no one to share them with."

Dana nodded. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'm just a little nervous, I
guess. To answer your question, though, no. I've never...never been
with a woman."

"Do you find the prospect repellent? Either physically or morally?"

"No, I suppose not. I know several homosexuals. I just never, uh,
felt that way. About women."

Megan Cole nodded clinically, and Dana felt a strange ease settle
through her. "I see. Have you ever been in a power-relevant
relationship, and by that I mean a relationship in which one
partner is clearly the stronger of the pair and asserts this
authority?"

"No. Not that I can think of."

"Have you ever practiced bondage or sado-masochism?"

"No."

"Have you ever had sex with more than one partner at a time?"

"No."

"Incest?"

"No. I guess you could say that I've never really violated the
norms. I must be a very boring applicant." Megan Cole gave her a
reassuring smile.

"Most people who come here are those who've played by the rules all
their lives and wish to find a comfortable place to...bend those
rules. Now tell me, do you masturbate?"

"Yes," Dana's mouth was suddenly dry and she cleared it. "Yes, I
do. On occasion."

"I see. Do you do this manually, or do you use a device of some
sort?"

"I use something."

"Always?"

"Yes," Dana nodded.

"Are uncomfortable touching yourself?"

"I...It must be a holdover from when I was a teenager. I grew up in
a Catholic household."

"But self-gratification hasn't been condemned by the church in a
long time, Ms. Scully. Actually, homosexuality is much more of a
hot-button to the church. Interesting that you don't seem to feel
any Catholic guilt about that."

"I never thought about it."

"I'll bet not. So why are you here, Ms. Scully? Tell me."

Dana took a breath and tried to organize the loose jumble of
thoughts. "I suppose because...I want to bend those rules. I want
to be something that I'm not. That I can't be in my normal life."

"The normal life when you must give up the strength and
determination that brought you to this admirable point in your
career in order to make romantic contact? The compromises others
expect you to make because they're intimidated by you? The
compromises men expect you to make?"

"Yes," Dana said softly. "I don't want to compromise anything
anymore."

"And you're willing to do what for this?"

Dana took a breath. "Whatever I have to. I'm owed this."

Megan Cole got up from behind the best and slowly paced around the
side, walking with the measured stride of a casual tiger. She
stopped at the right arm of Dana's chair. "Whatever?" she asked
before her mouth came down. Dana tasted the woman's tongue probing
at her teeth, lashed back with hers and cupped Megan Cole's face in
her hands. When they broke, Megan Cole slowly leaned back against
the desk."Well," she said evenly, "I guess we can start you off
right away."

The ice in Dana's stomach turned to heat.


* * *

time unknown
place unclear


Mulder felt consciousness return with a dehydrated graveliness in
his mouth, and a dull ache that ran throughout his body. He opened
his eyes to darkness, wondered for a moment if he was blind, then
noticed differing shades of dark. He was in an unlit room. Groaning
under his breath, he stretched into a sitting position and felt
some kind of rubbery cocoon surrounding him. His body felt warm and
clammy. Was his body burned to the extent that the nerves had been
wiped out? No, he felt some sensations that weren't attributable to
massive neural damage. He reached to his hip for the implausible
comfort of his holster, and felt cool leather. Incredulously, he
ran his hands over his body and found that he was encased in some
sort of body-suit. Slowly, he stood. The suit pinched his joints.
With groping hands, he felt a cot with a soft mattress and sat down
on it.

"I'm dressed for Debbie does Dallas," he muttered. "There's not
going to be any easy way to explain this in my personnel file."

"Get off the cot!" The voice was a cold, strong female voice,
distorted with an electronic resonance which would make a
voice-print impossible, but didn't detract from the firm femininity
behind it. "I won't ask twice!"

Mulder looked around. It was impossible to judge from where the
voice was coming from. "Yeah, sure, okay. Hey, I'll tell you what:
you tell me where I am, and I'll get off the cot. Sound fair?"

There was a buzz/crackle and the stench of ozone just a fraction of
a second before the shock gripped his body, shook him spastically,
reducing him to a jerking, twitching puppet on the floor, trying to
cry out in pain, but unable to do something as simple as drawing
breath. A moment later it was over, and he was a trembling heap in
the darkness, sucking air into his starved lungs, feeling sweat
slicken against the leather.

"Please make this difficult. I do so enjoy breaking a challenge.
And I will break you, servant. Make no mistake."

"If this...is the way they treat the staff...the cook's going to
spit in the food." It was a feeble insult, but Mulder felt his
strength ebbing away. The crackle of electricity met him, took him,
controlled him. When it stopped, he inhaled with a whimper.

"Understand your situation, servant. There are electronic nodes
implanted in your uniform. I can send the pain directly into your
spine. But that's really rather crude and unoriginal, so
some...latitude was built into the system. I can, for example,
control precisely where the pain occurs. I can use this to deprive
the brain of oxygen and destroy parts of your brain--making you a
vegetable. And as a cherry on the sundae, I can set these things to
electrocute you. Slowly, if I wish. So be as tough as you wish,
servant, it'll only make breaking you that much more fun."

"Where...where am I..." Mulder gasped. The electronic voice
whispered mechanically in his ear. He would have reached out for
her, if he could lift his arms.

"In my complete and total control...all mine."

********

Megan Cole stood silently in the corner of the room, the
tranquilizer pistol pointed at Mulder's rapidly relaxing bulk.
Carley stood above him, looking like a cross between a porno star
and a Borg in her Mistress uniform and Nitefinder goggles. She
whispered something Mulder's ear and he reaches lazily for her. He
looked subdued, but experience had taught Megan that servants
weren't above playing possum. She kept the pistol levelled, but it
seemed a redundancy, as Carley suddenly took a step back and lashed
out with one muscular leg, her boot's spiked heel catching Mulder
in the cheek, sending him to the floor, listless. Carley looked
over at Megan through her goggles. Megan nodded at the door and the
two of them walked out through the soundproof door. The hallway was
pitch black, too, but only until the quarters' heavy door slammed
shut and the electronic lock engaged. The lights came on dimly
enough not to hurt their eyes.

"Prognosis, doctor?" Megan asked.

"He's hard, but I've had harder." Carley yanked off the headset and
adjusted the lace-down bustier of her Mistress uniform.

"You do enjoy the double-entendre, don't you?"

Carley smiled impishly. "Okay, say this: less than a week and he'll
be as hard as I want whenever I want."

"When will the shocks be unnecessary?"

Carley shrugged, nearly pulling out of her bustier. "Electricity
always makes for a fun coupling, but as a training method? Maybe
two days, maybe less when the Dopamine takes effect."

"You are the master."

Carley grinned. "Well, his anyway."

********

Megan Cole returned to her office and found the co-director sitting
in one of the visitor chairs. She swiveled and threw her thick
braid over her shoulder. "Both are here?"

"Yes," said Megan closing the door behind her. "Both have started
their regiments."

"Where are we?"

"In the initial stages yet, but both of them are such...model
recruits this promises to be a relatively easy process."

"Pride goeth before the fall. What's the progress?"

"He's in his initial will-breaking stage. Scully is too, I suppose.
I think the alienation she feel from her body is at the linchpin to
many of her reticence. Remove that and she'll be doing virtually
anything that excites her."

"And you're removing this how?"

"By teaching her to masturbate without embarrassment. We started
her out with one of the horse-trainers. The male stimuli and
promise of sex with a man who works with horses seemed to be the
easiest way to ease her into it. Since then she's moved up to using
only a film as stimuli and has been practicing in front of a
mirror."

"They're being taped?"

"Of course."

The co-director nodded, then stood. "Is the hot tub fixed. Megan,"
she asked teasingly.

Megan Cole returned with a teasing smile. "Of course, Phoebe."

* * *

Dana Scully lay across the silken bed in the stretch of golden
afternoon sun that shone brazenly though the room's window. The
black silk of her lingerie slid languidly across the silver silk of
the bedsheets making a soft noise like a sigh of pleasure. The red
lace trim scraped like fingernails across a naked back. She enjoyed
the sound, loved it and loved the feel of the bed sliding beneath
her body. In her life, Dana had never known the sensuality this
room had afforded her. For the first time, Dana intimately knew the
most sensitive places on her body. Knew how to touch them and
caress them and make them respond with a power and intensity she'd
never felt before. For the first time, she didn't consider her
body--her vagina--dirty, evil, staining, but a wonderful, amazing
thing. A miracle of nature designed and given to her for no purpose
other than her own pleasure. She'd learned to love its
slippery-slick feel, its scent, its secret places and mysteries.

She stretched out on the bed and looked at the mirror that covered
the ceiling. She had a beautiful body, she realized. Curvaceous.
Strong, shapely legs, a full, inviting chest, a breathtakingly
narrow waist. Dana laughed at her own luxury and realized that she
was even more beautiful when she smiled.

The door chimes jingled and Dana pressed the buzzer on the
nightstand. She didn't ask who it was. Most of the magic of this
place, she'd found, came from the surprise of who would walk
through the door and what they wished to show her. Tia strode in
first, confident, but not assuming. She didn't wear her tuxedo, but
a short, cotton bathrobe. Following her was a smaller, darker young
woman with long, ringleted black hair and enormous dark eyes. She
reminded Scully of the girlfriend in Ferris Bueller's Day Off at
the age of eighteen.

"Yes," she sighed happily.

"Ashley and I are here to bathe you, Ms. Scully," Tia said primly.

"Oh? Is my personal hygiene in question?"

Tia smiled sheepishly. "A self-luxuriating bath is part of the
regiment. Ashley and I have been specially trained for this honor.
You'd be amazed at how few people truly understand how to pamper a
body."

Dana felt her lips curl in a mocking smile. "Specially trained for
this...honor?"

"A body like yours is such a beautiful thing," Ashley said, meek
but enthusiastic. "I mean, why wouldn't it be? You don't know how
many people would look at you with complete envy..."

"All right, I'm sold," Scully said, sliding off the bed. "Do what
you will."

********

Carley Meijer forced Mulder onto his back with a quick, precise
kick of her stiletto heel. By the seventh session, she'd let him
see her, flooding the room with 200-watt lights that after however
long he'd been in the darkness which had blinded him and left him
crawling, staring at the dark-tiled floor. "You were attempting to
stand, weren't you?" Carley asked, her natural voice unencumbered
by the voice-distortion device and carrying an edge that
electronics couldn't best. "Weren't you, servant?" She pulled the
short, plastic whip off her belt, coiled it and lashed out across
Mulder's thighs and buttocks. He gasped in pain--the sting, Carley
knew, would carry nicely through the leather. The servant tunics
were specially designed to be softer, less resilient in certain
areas. "I thought we had an understanding. This disappoints me to
no end, servant. You seemed smarter than this."

"I am, Mistress," Mulder's voice was rough-edged and dry. The
dopamine was working his system by now, Carley knew, knocking down
his psychological resistance without doing any permanent
neurological damage. Carley sat on the couch and allowed Mulder to
place his head in her lap. She touselled his hair and whispered in
his ear.

"Then why did you try? Don't you know better than that?" Mulder
nodded, the motion exciting her beneath her leather G-string.

"I...I forgot."

Carley reattached the whip to her belt and quickly brushed her
fingers over the control pad. Mulder's collar buzzed sending him to
the floor. Carley slid off the cot in a low crouch, placing her
steel-toed boot tip on his throat and gazing down into his
desperate, malleable eyes. "Then you'll have to redeem yourself,"
she hissed as she pulled the chrome-plated handcuffs off her belt
and ratcheted them on his wrists around a water-pipe. When she was
done, she stood over his prostrate form, a boot on either side of
his leather-clad torso. "Are you ready to redeem yourself,
servant?"

"I am, Mistress," was Mulder's weak reply.

Carley smiled. "Good," she said smugly and unsnapped the lower
portion of her Mistress uniform and let it fall onto Mulder's
chest. With a suede gloved hand she stimulated herself into
moistness, then lowered herself onto Mulder's waiting mouth.

* * *

Dana Scully floated in a luxurious sea of warm, lilac-scented water
while unseen hands played over her body with firm but forgiving
strokes, kneading muscles, easing tension, sending relief flooding
through her limbs and chest.

"Lay back a bit," Tia asked quietly from behind her. "I want to
work on your shoulders." Dana, her eyes still closed, nodded and
let her upper body sink even lower into the sweet-smelling water.
She felt Ashley's hands gain further purchase on her legs and
thighs. The dark beauty sat between her legs, tending to her lower
body.

"You have such good muscles...how do you keep in shape?" Ashley
asked meekly.

"Exercise," Dana murmured as she felt her shoulders being massaged,
"a steady regiment."

"Does that feel good?" Tia whispered. Dana felt wisps of the
woman's blonde hair touch her cheek.

"Oh yeah," Dana sighed and leaned back into Tia's firm breasts.
"Yeah, don't stop that." For several long, languid moments, Scully
existed there in the center of a warm, moist Universe, tended to by
all the elements therein. Her body was growing looser and looser,
her legs spreading wider and wider. A moment later there was a
sudden surge in the tub, warm florid water over his midriff and
breasts. Suddenly Dana felt the presence of a very close body, and
a moment later a mouth tentatively touched her breasts--just a
fleeting brush of the tongue over the extended nipple. Dana
started, but heard Tia's voice in her ear.

"Shhhh...relax, Dana. Don't you want to be pampered?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Then jut sit back and let us do our work," the voice was all level
composure. "Is this your...first time?"

"Yeah," Dana choked past the steam.

"Well, don't worry. We're gentle," Tia giggled.

"You have such a beautiful body," Ashley gushed. "We can't help but
want to...touch it an play with it. I mean, you don't mind do you?"
The last one must have been accompanied with a hair flip, since
Dana felt it brush her stomach. She was suddenly very hot and too
tired to deal with her insecurities or prejudices.

"Ashley," she said, "you can do whatever you want."

A moment later, Dana felt an eager, girlish mouth on her breast and
a stronger, more mature set of lips on her neck. She slid her hand
between her legs and found a set of fingers already there. She
didn't care whose. They linked and explored together.

*********

Daughters of Liberation HQ
Bedroom 13
time irrelevant


Megan Cole stretched out on the long, wide expanse of a bed, more
aroused than she should have been by the action shown on the
high-resolution video-feed monitors. After all hadn't she seen
countless Mistresses pampered and servants disciplined?

But this time, Phoebe was so fascinated with them that some of the
residual excitement was affecting her. The air was thick with sex
pheromones, she guessed. On the large, central monitor she watched
as Dana Scully gave in peacefully to Tia's and Ashley's
ministrations. It was always this way with button-down types, she
knew. First it would be passive--allowing the women to pamper her.
Laying still with her eyes closed while her body was stimulated and
pleasured. Perhaps she was fantasizing of her dream man. Perhaps
not. It was difficult to tell. Her hand suddenly went between her
legs--good sign! Masturbation with other women meant her
inhibitions were crumbling. She watched as Scully's fingers twined
with Ashley's to work her clitoris. Tia was french-kissing her
aggressively. Good technique: Tia the aggressive one to challenge
the woman; Ashley the demure one that she could retreat to if Tia
went too far.

Scully's body began to convulse, but her pubic region never cleared
the water and Ashley wasn't aggressive enough to try and eat her
out underwater. Pity, that would be an important maneuver for
Scully to experience. Then Ashley surprised her. The Italian nymph
suddenly brought their linked hands away from Dana's pussy and to
her mouth, sensuously sucking and licking them, the girl's quick,
pink tongue dating over them. Then she lowered their hands between
her own legs and began to work on herself. Dana was suddenly put in
the position of being the intimator. Megan waited breathlessly for
the next few minutes while Dana went through the motions
automatically, then she shifted, pulled Tia toward her and took one
of the woman's firm breasts in her mouth.

"The girl's good," Phoebe said. "What's her name?"

"Ashley," Megan answered. "She is a subtle little vixen, isn't
she?"

"She certainly is doing a job on Ms. Scully. Let's switch over to
Mulder." Phoebe pressed a few of the keys set into the office chair
she lounged in. The image of Scully's homosexual threesome was
banished to one of the outer screens and replaced by a view of
Mulder being dominated by Carley Meijer. Carley had slipped off the
detachable G-string portion of her uniform and was straddling
Mulder's face, rocking and bucking against him. "Well she certainly
seems zealous. What's her name?"

"Carley Meijer. One of our senior Mistresses. We recruited her out
of Catholic school. Our best recruits seem to come out of private
schools."

"Interesting," Phoebe said dispassionately as she watched the
scene. "She must be talented to be able to submit to his
ministrations, but still keep control like that."

"It takes years to develop talent like that. And even then, half of
it's talent."

Phoebe nodded. "All this is being recorded?"

"Yeah. This just happens to be a live feed."

"These'll be helpful, but the final stage tapes will really be what
gives us leverage. What do we have on the good Senator?"

"Playing horsey with Rita and a bridle."

Phoebe grinned coldly. "Well that should ensure he votes our way.
Unless CNN wants to play that on a constant loop. How about Judge
Werner?"

"He seems to have a predilection for the horse trainers along with
the Mistresses."

"At once?"

"We had to bar him from the stables. Don't ask why, but know that
it's on tape."

"Excellent," Phoebe said, then wheeled around in her chair. "So
when does Ms. Scully reach the end stage?"

Megan stretched out of the bed. "Soon. I want to test her in a few
more ways first to make sure she has all the skills and
proclivities necessary to be efficient for our purposes. In short:
I want to see how well she dominates a man before we assign her a
servant."

"Well, that can't be too hard. Send a masseuse in after the bath. I
think after that workout she's going to be looking forward to a
little intercourse."

"Fortunately, I don't have the same cravings," Megan smiled. Phoebe
grinned back and crawled onto the bed.

* * *

The bath had been the most languid, sensual experience that Dana
had ever received. She'd long heard the assertion--often she'd
chalked it up to the imagination of the writers of Penthouse
Forum--that women make better lovers since they know what another
woman wants, where to touch her, how to be gentle, delicate, and
loving. Tia and Ashley had certainly proved that this afternoon in
the warm, sweet-scented bath.

And now she lay on a soft, cotton towel while Andre the Swedish
masseuse kneaded her back and shoulders. Dana was acutely aware,
however, by a certain craving that nagged at her--a longing that no
tongue or hand could fulfill.

Dana was thinking of alternate uses for Andre.

He was an almost stereotypical Swede--large and well-muscled with
soft, delicate features, long, wavy blonde hair, and a ridiculous
accent. His strong hands played over her and she made a content
noise in her throat and turned her head so she could admire his
well-defined abs and fantasize about what lurked beneath the towel
he wore around his waist.

Dana had definite ideas about what Andre could do next. She slowly
rolled onto her side and propped her head up on one hand. Smiling,
she ran a fingertip down his rippled musculature, feeling the heat
of his smooth skin, until she reached the towel. She tugged at the
soft knot and let it fall away, exposing his stiff, torpedo-shaped
member. Dana ran a fingertip over that member, sliding it along the
length of the underside until she reached the bulbous tip. Very
meticulously, she drew the nail over the sensitive head, enjoying
the involuntary shudder that went through Andre's body as she
traced the trench on the dorsal side.

She sat upright on the table and gripped Andre's entire package
with both hands, kneading his cock with one, while the other
cradled his genitals. She gazed up at him, smiling coquettishly,
then backed him to the wall and fell to her knees. Dana gently
kissed the tip that strained for her attention, ran her tongue over
it, eliciting a low moan from deep within Andre's chest. Then she
grew more bold, sliding her hands around behind him to firmly clasp
his muscled ass as she took the first five inches or so into her
mouth. She held it there between her tongue and teeth for a few
exquisite moments before drawing him deep into her throat. Using
her tongue and throat muscles, she worked him for long moments,
until she felt his hands ruffling her hair.

Desire called her hands to her breasts and vagina, but she paused,
trying to figure out why, if she had a fully functioning man before
her, she should resort to masturbation. Dana tried to pull away,
but Andre's hands were firm against her head. Dana knocked his grip
away easily and pulled away into a sitting position. Andre looked
quizzically down at her. "What...?" he started, but Dana suddenly
grabbed him by the cock and yanked him to the floor onto his back.
Dana loomed above him, throwing a leg over his body while she
braced herself with her hands on his shoulders. Deliciously slowly
she lowered herself onto his staff, filling herself with him, then
allowing him to go free. For a few minutes she pleased herself with
long, firm strokes, but the desire was cresting like a tidal wave
within her, begging to be released. Her bucking became faster and
more frenzied and more precise--stimulating the sensitive shallows
of her cunt, pausing occasionally to use his rock-hard shaft to
work her clitoris, setting off a chain of quick, easy orgasms like
a string of firecrackers, before resuming her joyous descent onto
his staff.

When the orgasms hit--the ones from deep within her body--she
shuddered and thrashed, raking her nails across Andre's pale skin,
drawing lines of blood. She moaned, then shouted with deep primal
satisfaction that she'd never allowed to be expressed before. She
felt as if her world was exploding across the galaxy like a comet
and she was its mistress, in complete command and control.

Dana coaxed seven fireball climaxes out of Andre's engorged cock
before feeling the warm, satisfaction roll through her breasts and
stomach. Panting, running her hands through her damp hair, Dana
dismounted and stood, reaching for her robe.

"Wha-wait!" Andre's choked. "I'm not done yet!"

Dana blinked at him. "And this affects me how?"

Andre grew a bit more insistent. Dana broke his wrist and then
dismissed him.

********

The Control Room
time irrelevant


Phoebe Green stood in the small room off of Megan Cole's bedroom
where the woman dozed satisfiedly, and looked at the bank of
monitors showing the workings of the club. The various members
doing the various things--all caught on videotape. Leverage,
credit, and merchandise. Phoebe's attention, however, was drawn to
the two favored guests. Both were engaged in sex acts, though
playing it from different ends. Scully was practicing with one of
the other Mistresses. They were working on impertinent subjects,
Scully showing an impressive set of skills with the whip and
stun-gun. Mulder, by contrast, was pleasuring Mistress
Carley--anally it looked like, but from the camera's vantage it was
difficult to tell. That would be about the right stage in his
training, Phoebe knew. If a man could be taught to perform anal sex
to the specifications of his Mistress and without succumbing to the
temptation of playing a dominant role, his training would be
considered a success.

Phoebe thought about Scully and Mulder, the club and the plan. Her
plan.

She thought about her P-7 9mm pistol--loaded and cocked.

She thought about the resident of suite 15. The one watched by the
bottom-left camera. The one that took faces.

********

"I think you're ready for your first servant," Megan Cole said,
making Scully warm and wet beneath her sarong skirt.

"Thank you."

From behind her desk, Megan Cole held her hands palms up. "Don't
thank me. Mistress Margi tells me you've got innate instincts for
this work. Not many do. Most have to make do with the most
dominated servants, the most submissive. But according to Margi
you're a natural with the tools, and you didn't need any training
in the martial arts."

"I took a self-defense class," Dana said.

"Well," Megan Cole smiled, "you're ready, and that's the bottom
line. Go back to your suite. You'll find a Mistress uniform in the
closet. Dress. A few minutes later, your servant will arrive."

"If I'm unhappy with him, will I be able to select another?"

"Of course. We simply want you to be happy. Now we've tried to find
a servant whose personality profile matches your own. We've put a
great deal of work in the process--not taken lightly at all."

Dana uncrossed and recross her legs, abating the heat there. "I'm
sure I'll be very happy with your selection."

* * *

He sat in the corner of his room, by the barred window, reading a
magazine and smoking a cigarette. He was a lean, wiry man, kept
clean-shaven and well-groomed, but his eyes had a dull meanness to
them. "So, you're telling me the door will be open?"

Phoebe nodded. "Of course."

"And I go to suite thirteen."

"Yes."

"And I kill the woman, but not the man. He's yours."

"I'll take care of him, yes," Phoebe said.

"And afterwards, I'm free to do whatever I want to whomever I want
in the compound." He shook his head. "Sounds good. But how do I
know I can trust you?"

"Do you have a choice? If you don't want to stay here for the rest
of your life."

"Good point."

Phoebe smiled. "Then I'll see you when I see you."

********

Dana admired herself in the mirror. The Mistress uniform had been
tailored to fit her body perfectly and flatteringly. She was not
shapely or leggy, she knew. She didn't have a fashion model's body,
but she was attractive and the tailors of the uniform knew how to
accentuate her best parts, while hiding the hindrances.

She tilted her body to better view it and the lines of the uniform.
The boots, which despite the four-inch heels were comfortable and
easy to walk in, came up just past the knees, where they flared
slightly to allow a certain freedom of movement. The lower portion
of the uniform was G-string which exposed more of her downy, curvy
buttocks than she would have liked, but a few minutes contemplation
in the mirror assured her that it wasn't such a bad view. The
G-string snapped onto a leather, front-lacing corset which showed
off the swell of her breasts and the alluring haven of her
cleavage. The gloves were fingerless, but fit tightly up to her
elbows and had palms which were sensuously soft when being rubbed
over something, and excruciatingly stinging when slapped against
the same.

The ensemble was completed by a velvet choker that bore a strange
seal. Dana admired herself for a few moments longer, then began
fitting her tools onto her belt.

The whip and the control pad in case the servant got impertinent.

********

The plastic explosive and detonator had been attached to the main
gas line of the house at it source, deep within the basement's
depths. The timer had been set and was counting down in soft,
metallic clicks.

A buried sub-system command was entered into the estate's
maintenance computer's autoexec.bat file that would ensure that the
door to suite fifteen would be unlocked at the proper time.

And now she watched the action take place on the screen. She was
dressed and ready. Now all there was to do was wait.

"Keeping tabs on our new Mistresses first challenge?" Megan's voice
cooed from behind her.

Phoebe turned with the silenced 9mm, put a single shot through
Megan's chest, then turned back to the screens.

* * *

He's here," Tia informed her. "He's fastened to the bed in the
other room."

Dana turned away from the mirror and nodded. "Good. I can hardly
wait."

Tia smiled and gave Dana a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Have a
good time," she said and slowly trailed out of the room. Dana
waited until she heard the suite's door shut and lock before she
pulled herself away from the mirror and looked at the doorway into
the main room of the suite. She took a deep breath and walked in.

The servant knelt beside the bed, his wrist clasped in one of the
frame's built-in restraints, looking at the floor. Scully pressed
the release button set into the wall beneath the lightswitch.
"You're free," she said, "but please don't get any ideas. We both
know what we're here for. Understand?"

The servant's head snapped up and he stared at her with wide, green
eyes beneath a well-trimmed shock of brown hair.

"Scully?" he said.

********

Phoebe waited, her eyes glued to her watch. The seconds ticked
down. Then the minutes.

Soon...

********

"Mulder?" Dana said, feeling as if she'd been sucked into a
whirlpool. It was a unpleasant, unwelcome sensation. One she'd
longed to leave behind.

"Scully," Mulder croaked as he shakily stood up. "What the hell is
going on here? What are doing dressed like that?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I was kidnapped...I had a case..." he shook his head dumbly as of
trying to override the effects of a powerful drug, though Dana knew
that was not the case. "Why are you...never mind, we got to get out
of here."

"What? No. You're free to go if you want, but I'm not..."

"Scully, this is serious! We've got to move! You have no idea..."

Her hand went to the control pad before she even knew what she was
doing. By the time it caught up with her, Mulder was on his knees
shaking. All of the defiance, the assumed authority, the confusion,
was left behind. It sunk to the floor with him and puddled away.

Mulder looked up at her, shocked. "Scully...what...?"

Dana's boot caught him flush in the cheekbone where Mistress Margi
had taught her to aim. It sent Mulder sprawling on his chest. She
planted the heel between his shoulder-blades and pulled the plastic
whip off her belt. "You will refer to me as Mistress," she said.
"And nothing else. Do you understand?"

"Scully..." The whip came down on his butt with a crack.

"Mistress!" she hissed and gave him another jolt. Mulder writhed
beneath her boot. "Mistress! Do you understand?"

"What...oh God...Mistress...Please Mistress..."

Dana lifted her boot and let Mulder roll over. He looked up at her
with dull, beaten eyes. She crouched beside him and kissed his
cheek. "Now that wasn't so hard was it?"

********


She didn't lie to him. The door opened and he was free with his
linoleum knife. First he had the job to complete, and then he was
free to hunt.

The people who'd kept him here as their pet, their slave, their
guard dog.

He'd enjoy robbing them of their masks.

He continued to suite thirteen.

********

Phoebe watched the drama unfold on the monitor before her. He was
freed from his cage in suite fifteen and on the hunt. He appeared
to be moving toward Scully's suite. Good.

The camera in that suite showed Scully dominating Mulder; first
subduing him with the control pad and whip, then crouching over
him. The bitch.

She walked away from the monitor. She wanted to watch Scully being
skinned.

She didn't notice Tia, blending into the shadows.

********

Dana had unlaced her corset and was allowing the servant to nurse
her erect nipples and caress her through the leather G-string. She
was quite pleased with this one, he was now compliant and gentle
and satisfying her deliciously well. His trainer had done a good
job with him.

Her first orgasm was quickly approaching when the door to her suite
burst open and a thin, wolf-like man bolted inside, metal glinting
in his hand. Dana barely had time to process the scene when she was
thrown against the far wall, a knife at her throat. A long, bent
face leered at her.

"It'll only hurt a little," he grunted. Dana felt the edge bite her
neck.

Then it was gone. She blinked and took in the sight of Mulder
yanking the thin man away from her and struggling to disarm him.

"No!" A cry from the doorway. Phoebe Green stood there, dressed
like she should be delivering a report to the Scotland Yard
Administrators. The thin man ignored her, locked as he was in his
struggle with Mulder. He twisted free, swiped the knife across
Mulder's chest, drawing blood. Phoebe screamed in shock and
produced a silenced automatic. There was a dull thump and the thin
man whirled, blood flowing from a hole in his throat. He looked
with wide eyes at Phoebe who shot him again. This time he fell and
didn't move.

"Your killer, Foxy," Phoebe said. "He was supposed to take out that
bitch of a partner, not you. You're mine."

"What the fuck is going on here?" Dana demanded.

"Simple," Phoebe said, levelling her pistol at both of them. "The
DOL was set up as a bondage club for high-priced call girls. But
Megan and I got involved and tailored it to a different clientele:
businessmen and politicians. Judges, lawyers, influential people.
We videotape all of the goings-on here. It gives us leverage. John
Doe over there was a recent recruit. A good way to put on the
thumbscrews, as it were."

"By taking skins," Mulder said.

"Exactly. Megan would handle domestic affairs, and I was brought in
to take the program international. Unfortunately, you were assigned
the case of the skinned, victims, so we had to destroy the two of
you. It was only supposed to be Mulder, but when your prissy little
partner showed up looking for a little thrill...well, things just
fell into place. It was supposed to work that the two of you would
eventually be subject to intense psychotropic drugs. That the tapes
would be doctored to look like Scully killed you during one of your
bondage games. The club would be exposed, Scully would be
humiliated and arrested, and you...your memory would be dumped and
you'd belong to me."

"You've got severe codependency problems," Mulder observed.

"Be that as it may, now things are going to change a little." She
spun, pointing her gun at Dana. "The whole place is going up in
smoke in about a minute, but before it does..." She squeezed the
trigger, blowing a chunk out of the wall next to Dana. Then she
corrected her aim, sighting on Dana's left eye.

A gunshot shook the room. Dana flinched, felt nothing, and saw
Phoebe slide to the ground, a hole in her chest. Striding through
the doorway was Tia, a big revolver in her hand. "She killed
Megan," the woman said simply. "I guess we wipe it all away now,
huh?" She pointed the gun at Mulder, but Dana had already gone for
the whip, cracking it across Tia's wrist, Indiana Jones-style,
sending the gun flying. She pivoted, threw a powerful kick into
Tia's midriff sending her into the far wall. She grabbed Mulder's
hand. "Let's get out of here!" she shouted.

"Sounds good to me."

They ran for the entrance, made it, found the keys in the Bureau
car and actually cleared the gate before the explosive ignited the
gas line and vaporized the house in a great inhale of oxygen,
feeding a ravenous ball of flame.

7

Agent's Personal Log: Dana Scully


The Daughters of Liberation social club has been completely
destroyed. Informal inquiries with the various fire departments
that responded to the call confirms that nearly the whole set up
has been ruined. The secret things that occurred there are still
secrets. As are the secrets that Mulder and I share. We have
returned to work and manage to go about our usual (?) duties
without tension or incident. It would seem that any lingering
feelings about what happened in that mansion went up in flame with
the estate.

Apartment of Dana Scully
9:37 PM

The work day had finished, and Scully had bid goodbye to Mulder and
everyone else at the Bureau and headed for home. She'd had some
errands to run on the way home from work--a couple of suits to pick
up at the cleaners, and a package to UPS to her mother for her
birthday. Along the way, she picked up some fast-food Chinese.

That was four hours ago.

Now she stood before her bedroom mirror, admiring the way the
Mistress uniform looked on her, enjoying the way Mulder knelt as he
waited for her.

Tonight, he would do whatever she commanded. As he had last night,
and the night before that.

THE END

Adriana