From: "Finding Fiji" To: "Whispers Submissions" Subject: [XFNC17ff] Punishment (2/2) NC-17 Date: Monday, September 16, 2002 8:52 AM TITLE: Punishment AUTHOR: Finding Fiji EMAIL: findingfiji@yahoo.com FEEDBACK: Oh, yes! Yes, please! RATING: NC-17 CLASS: VR MSR SPOILERS: Not even a tiny one DISCLAIMER: Alas, they are not mine. Never were. Never will be. SUMMARY: "Tell me I've been bad, Scully." I am unsure of myself, confident only that I will sound foolish when the words leave my mouth. Yet, his voice is demanding in a way I can not deny. "You've been bad, Mulder." NOTES: This story is NC-17 and contains elements of BDSM. On a kink-o-meter, it might rate mild to moderate, considering the subject matter...but if you think you might be offended by the subject matter or Mulder's delicious little bottom getting spanked…please don't read this one… Extra special thanks to my beta readers Sdani & Adara...they did a remarkable job! I can't thank them enough!!! I watch as my partner's adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat. His head is leaned back, resting against the cool leather of his couch. I'm not sure what possessed me to ask the question, but with every silent second that passes, I wish I could take it back. "Yes, I could." His answer is a husky whisper, full of secrets I could never hope to learn. I sip my tea thoughtfully and pretend not to be rattled. My face is drawn into a mask of indifference and partnerly acceptance. If he were looking at me, I know he would believe it. He is not looking at me though, and has not ever since this conversation started. If I want to analyze it and rid myself of guilt, I could easily make the situation we are in now his fault. He is, after all, the one who wanted to pursue the case. Sure, I went along happily for the ride, considering the fact that we were headed to Cocoa Beach, located in the sunny state of Florida. Then again, had I known we were going to be investigating a dominatrix who hypnotized her clientele to be her slaves even when they were outside of her presence, I might have taken pause. Of course, neither of us knew that when the file landed on Mulder's desk last Wednesday. It had appeared to be straightforward, well, as straightforward as the x-files get, anyway. A "business-woman's" (I swear that's what the file said), clients would go missing for several days. Then, on the evening of the third day they would arrive home, kill their wives and children brutally and then themselves. The details of each of the scenarios were gruesome and identical. By the time we got the case, four families had already been affected. Eight agonizing days later, the case had finally been solved. It was not, as Mulder originally speculated demonic or spiritual possession causing the men to commit these crimes. Nor was it, as I had thought, a serial murderer creating alibis for himself in the husbands. No, much more creative than both those hypotheses, the culprit was in fact, a prostitute. A dominatrix, to be exact, who while her clientele were submitting to her, took the time to hypnotize them to kill their beloved and themselves. When we questioned her, she admitted to it freely, saying she felt she was doing the world a favor by taking these perverts off the streets. Now, on the evening of the eighth day, Mulder and I are back in chilly Washington D.C., going through what Mulder affectionately calls "detox time". After almost every case, my partner and I will retreat to one of our homes and replay the events. Not only does it help fill in missing pieces and create a verbal outline for the reports we have to submit, it also helps reduce the number of nightmares either of us might have. So, like I said, I could trace this situation back to make it Mulder's fault. He did, after all, present the case to me. But, like it or not, I can't talk my way out of the place I've put myself in currently. We were discussing the killer's unique way of choosing victims when I suddenly became fascinated with the idea of D/s lifestyles and the positive and negative affects. I asked my shocked friend if he felt one could engage in one of those relationships safely with healthy results. At his affirmative answer, I should have shut up. I'm always too quiet for my own good, and suddenly, I found I couldn't keep my lips closed. The question, "Could you ever partake in a BDSM scene?" was out of my mouth before I could stop it. His, again positive, answer has me in the quandary I am currently in. Maybe I should be relieved that he isn't looking at me, but I find it frustrating. I suddenly feel like I'm a mouse playing with a much larger cat, toying with it, tempting it. It's just a matter of time before the cat stops staring at the ceiling, turns towards me, and pounces. Why am I suddenly so aroused? "How about you, Scully? Could you?" "Hmmm?" I'm still stuck on my cat and mouse scenario. "Could you ever…how did you so tactfully put it? Engage in a BDSM scene?" His words are still spoken to the tiles on my roof, feigning disinterest. I take another drink from my teacup and consider my answer. There is a game of semantics that I play with my partner, choosing to reveal only little snippets. This is an important move and needs to be carefully calculated. "I suppose, if the conditions were right, and the relationship trusting, I could consider it." I am proud of my choice of words, until I hear his next question and then am instantly deflated. "What would the right conditions be?" His tone is conversational, but he knows he's pushing me. "I'm not sure they're describable. If I were in them, I believe I would know. It's like trying to ask a surfer which wave would be the best to ride. It's easiest to say for sure if you're on it." He nods slightly and seems to accept this answer. Before he has the chance to ask another question, I toy with him some more, both mystified and thrilled by my courage. "So, if you were to partake in one of these relationships, what part would you play?" This earns me a surprised glance in my direction before his eyes avert back to the ceiling. I am aware that the rather significant bulge in the front of his pants just twitched, but I'm politely trying not to look. "Bottom," is his one word reply. "So you would choose to be submissive?" I reiterate, half to make sure I understood his use of the slang term, half just to press his buttons. When he shifts positions on the couch, I know I've achieved the latter. "Yes." "Have you ever?" Whoa. Now that I regret asking. I didn't even realize I was thinking it! We never pry into each other's past lives, no matter how curious we are, no matter how pertinent the information might be. I'm searching for a tactful way to withdraw my question when he answers. "No." His simple yet vague replies leave much to be imagined but I keep my mouth firmly clasped shut. Seeming to sense my most pressing unasked question, he elaborates, "The right situation never occurred." Quiet reigns again, and I am grateful for a moment to collect my thoughts. I am about to call it a night, to put an end to the revelations we've shared this evening. It is, after all, the way we work together. We give a bit, and then pull back, then give, then pull back. After seven years, one would imagine there would be nothing left to give, but there is still so much unspoken, so much not done. Before I can stop us from taking a step further a deep breath from him signals that he is about to confess something. I wait, anxiously. "There are a multitude of different levels that BDSM can occur on. Even the acronym itself stands for multiple situations. What always fascinated me was not as much the idea of turning over my will to somebody else, or becoming someone's love slave, but the idea of discipline. I've done a bit of research on it, half for work, half for my own edification, and I've learned the interest I do have in it is on the tame end of the scale. To the best of my knowledge, I wouldn't find total mind or body control gratifying, but a good ole' fashioned spanking is another story…" His sentence trails off with an apparent wave of shyness. I am careful to not react, but I am grateful he doesn't expect a reply here. I have no idea what I'd say. Instead, he continues to speak. "Even aware of the desire within me, I never asked any former lovers to play that particular game. To share that with someone, the level of trust would have to be outstanding. I would have to know that they could both inflict pain on me and keep me safe at the same time. That person would have to be able to push me when I wasn't sure if I could go further and pull me back when I was out of my limitations. I'd have to be able to trust my life to them." As he turns to look at me, I realize my aforementioned cat has just pounced. My stomach is tightening into a knot and I don't know what to say as I stare at him, staring back at me. I am on the verge of doing something, whether it's jumping up and leaving or leaning forward and kissing the life out of him I'm not sure, but once again his voice stops me. "How about you, Scully? What role would you play?" I only vaguely realize all that I imply when I say "Dominant." He smirks and mutters, "That's convenient." Or at least, that's what it sounds like, but before I can ask he is asking me "Why?" I consider my answer, but in the end, I can't be nearly as brave as he has been with me. "I'm one of the few female members of the Boys' Club; it would feel good to wield some power over men." "Don't you realize how many men do look up to you though, Scully? Not only are you one of the guys, you are a respected doctor, pathologist, and agent." "Yes, I do realize that some people garner respect for me despite the fact that I'm female. Just the same, many still hold that against me. Even more agonizing than that, however, is that for the respect to be won I almost have to lose my gender. Like you said, I am one of the guys. It would be nice to hold someone's respect while still being a woman." Mulder appears to be pondering something and then finally says, "I see you as a woman." I sigh deeply, secretly wishing he really did see me as a woman. Not just a member of the female sex, though, but an attractive, desirable, potential mate. "I'm not sure I could ever pull it off, though." I continue cautiously, trying to avoid gender issues. "I mean, the well-being of my lover would be put into my hands in a context completely outside my normal realm. While I may be a pathologist, I am still a doctor whose inherent priority with patients is to ease pain, not create it." "Your being a doctor is exactly what would make you so good at it. You would have an understanding of the physical body that most laymen would not. That intimate knowledge would allow you to know precisely how and when to push and when to pull away." He stops for a moment, and then adds as an afterthought. "Besides, there is always a safeword." His words bounce around in my head, coming to rest with the weight of their implications. I hasten to reply before they sink too deeply into my consciousness. "I'm not sure the comfort a safeword offers would be good enough for me. My concern would be my partner wouldn't have the presence of mind to think of that particular word. Besides, I've always imagined using a ball-gag on my…" My words trail off into the thin air that I am trying desperately to suck into my lungs. Deer in the headlights does not even begin to summarize the expression I'm sure I'm wearing on my face right now. Dana Scully does not and has never admitted to fantasizing about taboo sexual subjects. She is a good, obedient, repressed Catholic girl. I feel him lift my chilly hand into his hot ones, but even with this physical contact, I am loathe to look in his direction. I don't know how to face what I know I'll see reflected in his eyes. "Scully," my name on his lips is patiently spoken. He waits, massaging my fingers gently with his two hands, until I find the courage to look in his direction. When I finally turn, he is watching me with understanding eyes. Still, I see my honest self reflected in them and have the urge to recoil. This is not the professional coif of Agent Scully or the intellectual façade of Dr. Scully. This is just me. Just Dana. Just Scully. His words are a whisper as if he is sharing a sacred secret. Or maybe he simply can't find his voice. "I am sure that you…and your partner…will find a way to make your fantasies attainable that's within your comfort zone." There are pregnant pauses before and after he says 'and your partner', and I am nervous to try and analyze all that this could mean. He presses my palm to his lips in a tender gesture that chases away any thoughts darkening my mind. I expect the moment to end and us to continue on talking, as if this tangent never happened, but it doesn't. It stretches on, both of us watching each other, him holding my tiny hand between his two larger ones, and neither of us making a move to disconnect. My heart is beating in my ear drums, and I wonder, if I leaned forward and pressed my head to his chest, would his be as rapid as mine? "I understand what you mean about being fearful," he says to my fingertips. As he speaks his breath is hot against the digits and they tingle at the invisible sensation. "When I consider my past, my history with abuse, I can't imagine allowing myself to succumb to the eroticism of what are typically thought of as negative sensations. I think I would need someone who was truly prepared to walk that journey with me, to explore the paradox inherent in a pleasure-filled painful encounter." He pauses, and I wait breathless with unanalyzed anticipation, for him to continue. "I would need to know that I would be accepted for whatever level I was able to give. I think there might be times I'd be riddled with flashbacks, unable to participate even on a superficial level. Then, there could be occasions when I want to push too hard, unaware of my own constraints. Confidence and trust would have to exist in the relationship on such a deep level. I'd need to know that I could fall, that I could let go, and I would still be safe." "What would you need, Scully?" he asks for the second time tonight. Except now, I am ready to try and answer. Minutes pass as I collect my thoughts and he does not rush me. Instead, his fingers massage between the tendons of my hands, down my fingers, and up my forearm. It is a sensation that is both extremely relaxing and tantalizing. I allow myself to bask in it as images dance through out my mind. Conscious thought is screaming at me that I should feel uncomfortable about this, but a cobweb covered part of me is squelching the yell into a locked box. This secret has been buried within me for too long, and the desire to free it is suddenly too great. Even with my pending freedom only seconds away, I can't totally pushed the reserved part of me aside. I begin my reply with a disclaimer. "I haven't really thought about it all that often, and I'm still not sure…" Mulder stops my worried words by pressing our intertwined fingers to my lips. "It's me, Scully. Just tell me." His statement elicits a shaky sigh from me, but with it, comes the courage to continue. "Like you, I would need someone who could accept the level I was able to give them. I don't think I'd be able to jump right in, which is probably one of the main reasons I've not considered it much. When I picture a domineering sex partner, I imagine someone with total confidence, complete control, and zero fear. I would not have any of those in that scenario, at least not at first. I'm not even sure I could pretend to." Mulder draws my fingers up to his mouth again and the gesture makes me pause in my explanation. Without moving my hand away from his face, he offers, "I think that it's a common misconception that role-playing scenarios have to go a certain way. That each 'character', if you will, has to play the stereotype of that image, embodying every distinct aspect. While at times those personifications might be a goal or ideal, I don't think it's necessary to start out there, or even ever get there. Sometimes the journey can be the most fun." He smiles tenderly at me, and adds. "I, for one, would not mind having a hesitant top. I think it might even be sexy to offer encouragement, to beg for her to continue." His cheeks are rapidly reddening, but much to his credit, he doesn't look away. Instead, he keeps his dilated pupils fixed directly on mine, tempting me to reply. "Nor, would I mind a frightened bottom. Part of a dominant's role is to nurture, is it not?" My rhetorical question goes unanswered, and the words from both of our confessions hang heavily in the air. I imagine I could reach out and pluck each sentence from the space between us, examine it, and put it back unharmed. They are the language of secrets, a world which both of us are all too familiar. As the silence drones on, I struggle to continue my answer from before. "Of course, I would also need all the rudimentary things one thinks about in that type of situation. Trust. Respect. Confidence. Secrecy. The knowledge we could stop at any time…" "We could, you know." Mulder's speech breaks my recited list. "We could what?" I respond, confused. "Stop at any time. If you got afraid or needed a break, I would understand." "Mulder." I inch away from him on the couch, but he keeps my hand firmly clasped between his two. "What, Scully? This is what all of this has been leading to, isn't it? I mean, I think we went well beyond the line of partners talking about a case a long time ago." His words are a gauntlet thrown down. His eyes have grown even darker and his intensity is scalding. "I thought we were just friends sharing about ourselves." He looks indignant at that explanation. "If that's what you want to believe Scully, you go ahead. Just don't think I buy that lie." "Are you saying I'm a liar?" My voice has an edge to it that I try to squelch. I don't want to fight with him. "No." His voice isn't appeasing; it's just stating a fact. "What I am saying is that you can and will think whatever you need to about tonight, about this conversation. Just don't fault me for being brave enough to finally say what we've both been thinking." "And what exactly is that?" I challenge. He stares at me, and for a moment I see a flash of fear that he might have been misreading me for all these years. Then, as quickly as it arrived, it is gone and his arrogance returns. "No, Scully. I'm not playing this game. We are both adults and I refuse to be the only one giving here. When you're ready, you tell me, and then we'll talk." I pull my hand away from his and open my mouth to refute him, aghast at his boldness and at what all of this could lead to. No words leave my mouth when I realize that no matter what I say, it would not be the truth. The truth is, he has never been more right. So, in a wild panic for what could be and what is not, I stand up, preparing to leave. As soon as the physical contact is broken his confidence disappears. "No. Scully. Wait. Don't." He reaches out for me and in his eyes I read terror. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean…" His suffering is pitiful and my overwhelming reaction is to soothe it. "It's OK, Mulder, just let me go to the bathroom." Flopping back down to the couch, he watches me retreat around the corner. I feel bad for leaving him alone after such a confession, I'm sure his mind must be racing a mile a minute. I just hadn't been expecting…wasn't ready….wasn't prepared for… His presumption had not been incorrect, nor did I resent him for trying to pursue it. It's just so difficult to play a game for seven years, and then try to end everything with one conscious decision. My hope for our leap into the world of sexually consenting adults was that it would be just that: a leap. I have always imagined that it would be a sudden burst of passion, both of us no longer able to hold back. There would be tongues and arms and legs and meshed together as we struggled to find the first soft surface nearby. Our jointly paranoid minds would not have a chance to interfere with the passion of our bodies. My mind long ago resolved the fears of intimacy invading our partnership or work habits. I always understood I was waiting for that step from Mulder, that he had to make the signal. Now he finally has, and I am hiding out in the bathroom. It is not any way that I ever imagined it, but when do we do things by the book? Time is running out, I know he will only wait a few more minutes before his conscience drags him over to knock on the door and apologize for the truth. I don't want to bring Mulder to the point of regretting honesty, and I know what I must do. I grip the door handle firmly and pull, preparing to change my life forever. As soon as I walk into the living room I am greeted with a fear filled Mulder. "Scully, please, let me explain," he is pleading with me, terrified of my departure. "There is only one thing I need you to explain." I remain standing in the middle of the room, he is perched perilously on the edge of the couch. "Anything," he responds. I think that I have never been this terrified before in my life. Never in the face of all the monster and demons, at death's door, and in the devil's presence have I ever felt that I had this much to lose. "I need to know that you meant it. Everything you said tonight." In two strides he is standing before me, breathing my air. "Everything, Scully. And so much more." "Tell me the more." I request, uneasily. He laughs and the smile reaches all the way to his eyes. "It would take a year, maybe longer. I've wanted this since before I understood what want was." "This? Or me?" Nervous that he has hurt my feelings, words pour out of him. "Yes. This, you, together, separate, everything, Scully. You. God, you, more than anything!" I nod and then thoroughly shock him. "So, do you still wanna do this thing?" "Scully, we don't have to. I mean…we can wait until another time. That's not important at all." "It's what got us here, Mulder; we might as well go through with it." He considers this for a moment, and I watch as he accepts this decision. It takes him a few moments, just as it did me, but I know immediately when the change occurs. His eyes grow even darker than before and he looks at me as a man starving. "We need a safeword." He is rubbing my hips with his thumbs in tiny circles as he asks. Somehow through my disbelief, I nod in reply. Scanning the room, my eyes jump from one inanimate object to the next, searching for a logical word. "Goldfish." I finally decree, when my eyes settle on his fishtank. "Goldfish," he repeats, and then adds, "are you sure?" I'm not sure if he is asking if I'm sure I know the safeword or if I'm sure I want to go through with this. The answer is yes, regardless, and I tell him so. The method in which to go forward hangs unknown in the air between us. I hope, even though I am supposed to be the one in charge, that he will find a way to guide me through this night. There will be plenty of times for me to completely take over, in the future. Tonight, I need his help, and thankfully I think he knows that. "Tell me I've been bad, Scully." "Tell me I've been bad, Scully." I am unsure of myself, confident only that I will sound foolish when the words leave my mouth. Yet, his voice is demanding in a way I can not deny. Strong, callused fingers are rubbing my hair gently but encouraging me to say these words with every stroke. "You've been bad, Mulder." I can not bring myself to look into his eyes as I say it. I stare directly at his chin, only vaguely aware of how his parted lips are exhaling warm air onto my forehead. "Say it again." My desire to refuse almost overwhelms me, but when my mouth moves, it is doing his bidding. "You've been a bad boy, Mulder." He moans even before I finish speaking his name. My confidence level is inching forward as I anticipate his next request. "Tell me you want to punish me." I change his words only slightly, testing my ground. "I'm going to punish you." His head falls back and he groans to the ceiling. His erection is pushing into my belly and I am shocked at how this is affecting him. "Tell me how." I pause, momentarily deflated. Up until now, I've been able to mirror his words. I've suddenly lost the ability to think for myself. Though it takes me a moment to find a way to continue, I finally do. "There has been times when I've fantasize about doing this to you. When I did you were on a bed. Tied. Face down. I spanked you. I teased you. I taunted you." I am out of breath from the weight of my confession and lean my face against his chest. His hands knead the muscles in my lower back as he holds me close to him. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I can hear his heart beating. The doctor in me immediately recognizes that it is much faster than normal. There is one last part to my fantasy. I am hesitant to admit it, but I don't want to hold back. In my relationship with Mulder I have always given my all, I don't want to stop now. "I whipped you." It is a whisper, and I am terrified that he didn't hear it and I will have to repeat myself. My fear is allayed as he tightens his grip on me and groans again into my hair. We stay like that for several moments, allowing ourselves to be swept away in the moment. Then, he takes my head in his hands, tenderly pulling my face upwards to look directly into his own. His pupils are dilated and intense and I feel as though my eyes are literally locked on his. The world could fall down around us and I wouldn't be able to look away. "Punish me, Scully." His voice is nothing more than a husky whisper, filled with longing and an unsatisfied ache. It is obvious he wants this so badly that he can feel it everywhere through him, taste it, and even smell it. I am awed at his ability to trust me to this. There is so much that we have left to share and discuss, but he is throwing himself down here. In this gesture he is allowing me everything. I nod, unable to find words amidst my myriad emotions. That response is good enough for him. I wait, expecting him to lead me into the bedroom. He has, after all, been the protagonist this evening, thus far. When he doesn't, I am brought to understand. I am the one in control here. He is telling me what to do, what he wants, as a means of leading me in an area that I am uncomfortable. His words are for me, not for himself. This may be his fantasy, but it is my game. Grasping his much larger hand in mine, I guide him to his bedroom. My shoulder's are squared in a symbol of confidence I don't feel, but I know that he's watching me from his place two steps behind. As soon as we are in his bedroom, I turn to face him. I am lost again. Cursing my inability to function well in this situation I try to imagine what is expected of me. Do I immediately begin spanking him? Do I tie him down? Is there a set way to do this? Please, Mulder, don't stop guiding me now! He must have sensed my plea, because he is talking again. "Do you want me to lie on the bed or do you want me to take my clothes off first?" "Take off your clothes." I decide quickly. If nothing else that will give me a few minutes to stall and try to decide how to handle this situation. As soon as his fingers began undoing his shirt's buttons, however, I realized that I would not be making my game plan. For years, I have been admiring his body in private, stealing glances only when I was sure I wouldn't be noticed. Now, I am being given the opportunity to gaze upon him in all his glory. I want nothing more than to enjoy this moment. I ease myself into a chair he keeps in the corner of the room, and he turns his body to face me. He is watching me intently as his fingers slowly undo each clasp. Very slowly. In fact, he must be doing this so gradually just for my pleasure. I hum softly, appreciatively and he smiles lazily at me. When he is down to just his boxers he looks at me expectantly. At my nod, he hooks his fingers into the sides and slides them down and off his body. Wow. Mulder's erection is huge and throbbing. I don't have a ruler, but he must be at least seven, maybe even eight inches long, and very, very thick. I want so badly to reach out and touch him, but I know I can't yet. There will be plenty of time for soft, sweet exploration. Tonight we are playing his game. "Where do you want me, Scully?" My eyes flicker away from his cock and I realize I've been just staring at it for a long time now. In looking at his face, I realize a bit of his arrogance is gone, and he actually looks nervous for what is about to happen. I'm not sure, but I imagine that is a good thing. "On the bed." I decree. That, at least, was an easily made decision. I can't think of where else I would put him. At least, I thought it was easy, before he asked his next question. "How?" When I don't answer, he is again forced to elaborate. "On my back? Stomach? Spread eagle? Bent over the side?" In my fantasy he had been spread eagle, face down. I almost definitely would have chosen that without question, were it not the way his voice trailed off on his last option. It was barely perceptible, but I know Mulder. I couldn't say for sure if it was fear, anticipation, or arousal that caused the slight change. Maybe a combination of all three? But, I do know for sure that I will choose that one. "I want you bent over the side of the bed." He doesn't say anything in response, just 'assumes the position'. He lays his belly down on the bed and used his hands for a pillow. His legs are tightly clasped together, allowing me no access to his most sensitive areas. This, I realize, will not do. It is time to do some rearranging. "Stretch your arms forward and out to the sides." I order. "Now open your legs up far. Farther than that. Stick your ass up in the air. Yeah, like that." It is easy for me to tell him how to lie. In fact, it is probably the simplest part of the whole evening. I can't explain why I am not embarrassed to do it, I'm just not. He looks delicious like that. He is, in actuality, spread eagle just as he had been in my fantasy. The difference is, he is bent at the waist, so that his ass sticks temptingly in to the air and his package hangs down against the side of the bed. "Do you want me tied up?" I glance around and realize not only do I not have anything to tie him with, I wouldn't even know what to tie him to if I did. "No, I don't think that's necessary." Then, I add as an afterthought, "But don't even think of moving without permission." Once again, I am unsure of how to continue. Once again, he senses it, and offers suggestions. "Tell me again how bad I've been, Scully." "You've been a very bad boy, Mulder." He moans, and I continue. "You deserve to be punished. Do you know that, Mulder? Do you know you deserve to be spanked?" He groans loudly and thrusts helplessly into the bed, trying to find some relief for his aching cock. "Didn't I tell you not to move?" He moans again, but doesn't offer any apology. "Didn't I?" Still nothing. As I search for words to reprimand him, his voice comes to me, barely above a whisper. "Spank me, Scully." I raise my hand, but can't bring it down to meet him. It is the moment of truth, and I am freezing. "Punish me, Scully. Punish your bad boy." He is speaking louder now, and his words give me strength. My hand falls onto his ass, but it is so light, it is more of a caress than a slap. "Again, Scully. Harder." He encourages from where his face is pressed into the mattress. I try, but again, it is barely a touch. Mulder thrust himself into the bed again, a blatant disregard to my previous order. This is not for his own relief; this is to goad me on. At my gasp, he does it again. I try again to spank him, but fear holds my hand back. The situation would be humorous if I wasn't so earnestly trying. He continues to fuck my bed, grinding out words between each thrust. "I'm gonna be bad, Scully. Until you teach me to be good. Until you punish me. Punish me for my disobedience, Scully. For my insolence. Make me pay. Oh, make it hurt!" With each sentence I hit him a little harder. I keep on trying, and he keeps on talking. "That's right, Scully. Spank me. Harder. Harder." After his second 'harder', I think he lost the ability to speak coherently. I have found my confidence in his words, and am slapping him full force now. His ass cheeks and the back of his thighs are turning a light shade of pink, and a steady stream of grunts and groans are pouring out of his mouth. I am shocked by how aroused I am. I want to rationalize it, to explain it to myself, but I am so caught up in the moment, I don't want to take the time. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I promise myself that I will thoroughly think this through, after it's over. I stop my onslaught, deciding that he definitely deserves a break. My fear is that I will truly hurt him, and he will never want to do this again. I feel in control, and if I let this go out of control, I would be discrediting the trust he gave to me. "How do you feel?" I ask, as I tenderly massage his two pinkened cheeks. "Like I've had the spanking, and now I want to be teased and taunted." He answers honestly. More than happy to comply, I drop to my knees behind him. In any other situation my position would feel submissive. But with him spread out before me the way he is, I feel potently powerful. I am at eye level with his balls which are hanging freely in front of the underside of his penis. I am growing wet just thinking about touching these beautiful objects. My tongue jets out of my mouth to taste a drop of precum that is dangling precariously from the tip of his cock. As soon as it touches him, he yelps and just about levitates off the bed. I put one hand on other side of his sensitized ass and squeeze tightly. "Don't move again, Mulder, unless you want another spanking." After I chastise him, I get to work on setting his lower body on fire. My tongue is everywhere lapping and licking, teasing and tickling. The angle is a bit awkward, but it's fun too. Much to his credit, he doesn't move again, although there is a litany of both curses and praises coming from his mouth. "Flip over." He does so, and scoots up just enough so that his sore butt is on the bed, but his legs still stretch out onto the floor. His engorged member is pointing straight up toward the ceiling now and looks absolutely glorious. I begin my sensory onslaught with renewed vigor. With him lying on his back now, I have better access to erogenous zones than I did before. All my touches are meant to titillate but not to satisfy, to arouse but not to allow release. This is, after all, a punishment. "Scully! Scully, I can't…much longer. I need…" "What do you need, Mulder?" My voice is just as taunting as my touches, carrying a wave of arrogance I don't know where came from. "I need… Oh, please, Scully, let me come!" He is pleading in earnest and I am touched that Mulder would allow himself to be so weak around me. I imagine all the times he has wanted this and all the people he wouldn't allow to get this close to him. Now, without even having the comfort of a prior physical relationship, he is giving himself to me in such a personal way. I could cry, but I push the tears off for later. Right now, I am determined to give him his fantasy. Without releasing his penis from my grasp, I urge him to roll onto his side and scoot further up the bed. Now, I am kneeling behind him as he lies on his left side, prepared, I'm sure, for me to finally give him his release. I am not ready to, just yet, however. I keep a firm pressure around the base of his penis with my left hand, and with my right hand I begin spanking his pinkened bottom. The resulting yell is thankfully muffled by the comforter. I've read that these experiences can be very intense, but that didn't prepare me for his whole body response. He is shaking and yelling at the top of his lungs into my bed. He looks like a man desperate with want and desire, so consumed with sensation that the rest of the world is left behind. Finally, without halting my steady slaps I move my hand up and down his shaft, once, twice, and he is taken over by his orgasm. I watch with a tender eye as his semen jets all over my bed spread and he repeats my name over and over again like a mantra. When his body stops quivering and shaking he begins to try and speak. "Scully…" "Ssshhh." I cut him off before he can continue. "Just rest now. We'll talk when you wake up." He looks up at me as if he couldn't possibly be more appreciative. We both know that there are so many things left to be discussed and experienced, but there is an ease that comes with knowing we don't have to hide anymore. We have the rest of our lives for this. With a slightly sheepish look, he pulls me down next to him and wraps his arms tightly around me. Together, we fall asleep this way, me fully clothed and him naked, both of us cuddled and content. --