From: "Kristel S. Oxley-Johns" Date: Tue, 3 Oct 2000 19:08:55 -0700 Subject: NEW "Aphrodisia I" NC-17 (0-1/6) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Source: xff Reply To: "Kristel S. Oxley-Johns" Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (0-1 of 6) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: EXTREME NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess. Definitely "Amor Fati." Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7 Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut, PWP Summary: Mulder and Scully explore trust and control issues as they embark upon a D/s relationship. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: This is a complete departure for me, first in the fact that it is a PWP/erotica series, and second in that the smut goes *beyond* smut and tiptoes on the line between erotica and porn. I tend to be nervous about pure erotica stories to begin with, especially about those dealing with subjects such as BDSM, because they are *SOOO* far removed from what we see in the show that it's extremely difficult to keep them in character. I'm a characterization snob, and reading a story where Mulder and Scully just *aren't* Mulder and Scully can be physically painful for me. There are some stories that *do* manage to portray Mulder and Scully getting a little kinky and still keep them in character, but only for a one-time shot, and even then they tend to play pretty lightly. I have yet to see a long fic where Mulder and Scully (by themselves, without Skinner or anyone else) explore an in-depth, extended BDSM relationship and remain in character. Can it even be done? I will confess that I considered throwing characterization concerns out the window. I tried to do it, but my conscience wouldn't allow it. So what started out as being pure porn has evolved into what will become a character study of Mulder and Scully as they explore control and trust issues, and do some healing from their own sexual histories, as they go deeper into a Domination/submission relationship. Can I do it and still keep them in character? Well, I guess you, gentle reader, will be the judge of that. But in my own defense, I will say I'm trying my damnedest. One thing to keep in mind is that BDSM games can and do involve some altered mental states (not chemically altered, but as a result of certain hormones and endorphins released during a scene.) If you see Mulder or Scully doing or saying something you think they just wouldn't do or say, stick around a while and you may discover that some of that behavior was included by design. This will be an ongoing series, with several long installments that track the progression of the relationship. Because it's a PWP story, I figure I can get away with calling it a series rather than a WIP, but be aware that there will be some downtime between installments. Each installment is fairly self-contained though, and while you may be left wanting more, you won't be left hanging mid-story with an unresolved plot (though I may include a gratuitous "cliffhanger" hook at the end of each installment just for shits and giggles.) Thanks, as always, to my marvelous, and expanding!, beta crew: Heather, Tiff, Beth, Shelba, Nancy, Christy, and Sybil. Thanks to Jen, Trina and the I Want To Believe list for taking a sneak peak and letting me know what they thought. DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, and The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without permission. No profit is being made by their use in this story. "Story of O" by Pauline Reage is also used here without permission (but with great respect.) SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM- related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. Questions, praise, feedback and comments can be sent to kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com. You can find this story (soon) and my other fanfic at my website: http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns/ On with the show... Aprodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall "Tell me you don't want me, Scully, the way I want you." Those were the words that signified my downfall. I stared at Mulder breathlessly, my head lolling against the wall beside my front door, my lips swollen from the savagery of his kisses. I'd known the moment I let him in the door that there was something reckless and wild in his eyes. We'd returned from an out of town case late in the evening and he had dropped me off, staying in the car while I made my way to my apartment alone. The past several days between us had been tense--I wasn't sure why. Mulder had seemed on edge, watching me sharply the entire time. There had been moments when I had felt his gaze like it had physical weight. I had a feeling I knew what he was thinking, what he was struggling with as he stared at me. I'd struggled with the same things myself a great deal recently. Mulder and I were approaching a point in our relationship where we were going to have to make some decisions about where we were headed. But I didn't know how to bring it up and so I had assumed the issue would remain unresolved, delicately sidestepped until we were forced to confront it. I believed that right up until the moment Mulder pounded on my door. "We need to talk," he'd announced brusquely after I opened the door to him. I didn't play coy, didn't pretend to not know what he was talking about. Instead I stared at him expectantly, waiting. If he had something he wanted to say, I wasn't going to stop him, even if it meant breaking the silence with which we had enshrouded the issue. I had stepped aside and allowed my wild-eyed partner to enter, my mind whirling. He'd looked at me for a long moment and I met his gaze. I had the unpleasant feeling I knew how this would play. He would make a rash, impassioned declaration and I would rebuff him. But he surprised me. He had opened his mouth once or twice, then growled "Fuck talking!" and swooped down on me, his hands gripping my shoulders with merciless insistence. He had pulled me close against his chest and his mouth plundered mine, his tongue thrusting between my teeth as though the inside of my mouth was his own God- given territory. He'd pushed me back against the wall, plunged his hands into my hair, and kissed me for all he was worth. He'd kissed me until I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, until my knees buckled and moisture flooded my sex. By the time he pulled away, I knew my own eyes were as wild as his, my body echoing the throbbing desire I felt in his. "Tell me 'no' if you want me to leave." "What happened to talking?" My voice was rough and breathless. I knew I should stop him, should sit him down and talk this thing through before we got carried away. This was dangerous. It could upset the balance of our entire partnership. But inside I was begging him not to let me stop what was happening here. I had wanted this, waited for it--why did I have this instinctive need to fight it? "I think we should--" "We'll talk later, afterwards," he promised gruffly. Before I could respond, his lips had claimed mine again, demanding entry, demanding reciprocation. Melting from the inside out, I gave it. I gave him everything. His hands insistently pulled my blouse from the waistband of my skirt, thrusting underneath, cupping my breasts. I groaned, thanking God that Mulder had known, somehow, that this was what I needed to make it right. If he had come to me that night as a supplicant, requesting rather than insisting, I might have turned him away. I would have rejected the one person on the planet I had wanted with an intensity that was a physical ache within me. I loved Mulder, would do anything for Mulder. But God help me, I knew that if he had allowed me an out--other than saying 'no,' which I hadn't wanted to say and wouldn't really have meant even if I did say it--I would have taken it and this chance would have been lost. Mulder moved fast. This was no slow, gentle seduction; it was an eruption of passions that had brewed for years. That was all right--I didn't want a tender seduction. I wanted him inside me as soon as possible. There would be less chance of something going awry. Once our coupling was a fait accompli, then we could address it. Then we couldn't make it go away, or pretend it hadn't happened--no matter how good at denial we could sometimes be. Beneath my blouse, he unclasped my bra and his large, warm hands covered my breasts. His palms rubbed roughly against my nipples; his blatant erection ground unapologetically against my belly. His lips had made it to my ear and then were on their way down my neck. They traveled down the opened collar of my blouse, pressing scalding kisses to the upper swells of my breasts and I moaned my breathless encouragement. My skirt, seemingly unzipped of its own volition, slid down my thighs to puddle around my ankles. One of Mulder's hands cupped my sex through my pantyhose, the heel of his palm grinding against my mons. He stroked my clit through layers of nylon, satin, and my own flesh. I felt him tugging on the hose and I heard the telltale sound of the material tearing. It didn't matter; I was beyond caring. Somehow the pantyhose made it down my thighs and to my feet, dragging my dampened underwear with them. I couldn't stifle a low wail as Mulder's fingers found my soaking core and delved within. Mulder covered my mouth with his, devouring my impassioned exclamation. Finally, he pulled back again, searching my eyes. He slid his wet fingers from between my legs and studied me a long moment, his eyes nearly black with desire. *Don't ask me if this is all right, Mulder. Please, just don't make me think about it,* I pleaded with him silently. As though he heard my unspoken entreaty, he ripped his tie off and began rapidly unbuttoning his dress shirt. He stared at me until I lifted trembling fingers to my own blouse and began to strip as well. I didn't speak, didn't trust myself to talk or think too long. Briskly, I unbuttoned my blouse and dropped it to the floor, letting my unclasped bra slide down my arms and join it. I stepped out and over my discarded skirt, nylons and panties. Lifting my head, I walked past Mulder, trying to look confident and dignified, as though I had orchestrated this entire thing. The last thing I had wanted to admit was that I was as nervous as I was aroused. I headed directly toward the bedroom as he pushed his pants and underwear down over his furiously engorged penis. I had only made it about ten steps before he caught up with me, grabbing me from behind and pressing his long, hard, hot body against my back. He turned me forcibly around and pushed me against the back of the couch, arching me backward over it. He cupped my breast with one hand while he thrust the other between my legs. "Oh, God!" I yelled as his fingers found my clit with flawless precision. He manipulated me mercilessly while his cock bumped insistenly against my stomach. Staring into his intent, almost scowling face, I climaxed rapidly amidst my own guttural cries and moans. For a second I thought Mulder would lift me and set me down on his cock, fucking me right there in the middle of the living room. Instead, he took my hand and nearly dragged me into the bedroom. I had to trot to keep up. He gave me a nudge toward the bed and I crawled into it and lay down in the middle. I was panting and trembling. In slow motion, he knelt on the edge of the mattress and moved in over my body. I opened my arms and legs, welcoming him. Trying to scan his dark eyes for some indication of his thoughts proved futile; I couldn't read him. One large palm cupped and molded my breast while his other hand guided his cock to my entrance. He slid into me in a single, sure thrust. Oh God, I felt full, so fucking full...I moaned, stretching almost painfully, yielding to accommodate him. My own hands, even my vibrator, could not have prepared me for the reality of Mulder's cock inside me after such a long abstinence. He descended on my open, gasping mouth and began kissing me as though he intended to drain my soul out through my lips. Any semblance of coherency fled. The twilit room was filled with the sounds of moans, grunts, the slapping of sweat-dampened flesh, and an occasional startled outcry when the head of Mulder's penis collided roughly with my cervix. Mulder shifted, supporting his own weight with his elbows braced on either side of my head. The finely detailed muscles of his biceps shifted and flexed subtly with each thrust of his pelvis. I wrapped my legs around his hips, my nails scrambling over the sweaty flesh of his back, and began to meet his thrusts. After a moment I began shifting my hips from side to side to alter the angle of entry. The pace increased and the rhythm of our thrusts broke down into a frenzied pounding. I tore my lips from Mulder's to gulp a ragged, panting breath, then buried my face in his shoulder and braced myself to ride out the coming storm. It came, sweeping me up with it. Lights flashed behind my eyelids and I cried out loudly, quickly biting into Mulder's shoulder to stifle the ear-shattering shriek I wanted to give voice to. My body quaked and shuddered fiercely, my inner muscles contracting and convulsing. As I came down, I was dimly aware of Mulder's final, forceful thrusts and his cry of triumph next to my ear. When I finally regained awareness of my surroundings, Mulder was collapsed on top of me, trembling. His body was a heavy, welcome weight on mine. The moisture on our flesh was slowly cooling in the air and I shivered. Mulder lifted his head to meet my eyes and I felt a spasm of fear. What had just happened between us was seven long, frustrating years, finally coming to fruition in this dark moment in my bedroom . Had it been the right thing to do? I didn't know anymore; I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to stop thinking so damned hard about everything. All I knew was that I was finally where I wanted to be and Mulder had brought me here. But how we handled the next few minutes would be the most important trial that we had ever faced together. *I don't want to do this,* I thought frantically. *I don't want to think this to death. I just want to BE right now...* Mulder shifted off me, moving to lie beside me. From the uncertain expression on his face, I was afraid for a moment he might apologize. It would be just like Mulder to do something this rash and hasty and feel guilty afterwards. I couldn't let him tell me he was sorry, or try to take the blame for initiating this without asking me first. God, knowing him he might even feel like he had forced me. I rolled to face him and opened my mouth to speak, determined to stop him before he got started. Mulder surprised me again by placing a finger on my lips, shushing me. "We have two choices here, Scully," he said gravely. "We can pick this thing apart and analyze it to death, or we can just let go and feel for a while. What do you say?" Thank God. No apologies, no regrets, no guilt, no angst. The fact that he had so closely echoed my exact thoughts made me feel a little more secure in the knowledge that we were doing the right thing. "The responsible thing to do would be to talk it out," I murmured reluctantly. I might not have particularly felt like dissecting the moment, but if Mulder needed to talk it out, then talk we would. Mulder nodded. "That *would* be the responsible thing to do," he agreed with a noticeable lack of conviction. Silence fell again, until I drew a deep breath. "I'm tired of being responsible, Mulder," I answered at last in a tone of finality. As far as I was concerned, I was in bed with Mulder, where I had wanted to be forever, and that was all there was to be said. What more could talking accomplish? Would anything be made better by sifting through the same old tired bullshit? I didn't need flowery, emotional declarations or a long drawn-out conversation about the possible consequences. If issues arose, we'd deal with them in their proper time and place. There was no sense to borrowing trouble. Mulder closed his eyes, a relieved expression crossing his face, and opened his arms. I crawled into them, snuggling down against him with my head on his chest. With his muscular arms around me, I felt small and protected. It was a feeling I hadn't enjoyed in far too long. I liked feeling that way, but I wasn't sure that I liked the fact that I liked it. I ought to be stronger than that, ought to be too independent to enjoy feeling weak. I needed to be rigid, responsible... In control... Mulder kissed me again and thoughts of control faded. The kisses were not as furious as those he had given me when he first entered my apartment, but they were no less demanding, no less insistent. I yielded to them and returned them because holding back was not an option. His hands on my body were gentle, but they wouldn't be denied the right to travel over my flesh. I felt myself growing warm and heavy with desire. I would think about control and strength and responsibility later. At that moment, on that night, though, I let it all go and just felt for a while. End of Part One of Six Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (2 of 6) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com * * * * * Control. That's the name of the game. It's my most cherished possession and my most reviled character flaw. You think I don't know what they say about me in the bullpen? You think I don't know I have a reputation for being frigid and unapproachable? Of course I know and that's all right, because I've worked damned hard to win that control. I've struggled to have control over my life since I was a teenager. At first it was the typical rebellious teen behavior. I wanted to break the apron strings, so I sneaked a cigarette, or went to an R-rated movie when I was only sixteen. I lost my virginity in the back seat of Marcus's car the night of the Homecoming dance my senior year. I couldn't tell my parents and my older brother and all their lofty expectations to take a flying leap aloud, so I carried out my need to make my own choices illicitly, usually by doing things that weren't very wise or good for me. Then came college and like an obedient daughter, I went to the "right" school and excelled as I was expected to do. Now, don't get me wrong--my parents are wonderful people. Well, my mom is, and my dad was. They were very loving and I don't feel I lacked for anything, materially or emotionally, growing up. But somehow, the message that I would someday grow up to the point where I had to be my own person and make my own choices got lost on them. I found myself a slave of their expectations, unwilling to bear the censure of their disappointment and therefore trapped in the mold they had fashioned for me. But as I got older and bit by bit gained the freedom to live my own life as an adult, I would unwittingly turn that little bit of control I had over to someone else. Daniel was a perfect example. Older, supposedly wiser, at a time when I should have been spreading my wings and learning what it was to fly solo, I was letting him choose where I was going to do my internship and residency. He told me what kind of clothes he felt looked attractive on me, so I wore them. He told me what kind of food he liked, so I cooked it. He told me how, when, and in what position he preferred sex, so that was the way we had it. Eventually, I couldn't do it anymore. Daniel had no respect for me as a thinking, reasoning adult. I will admit, I gave him little to respect in me. I had given a cardboard protest to his first advances due to the fact that he was married, but I hadn't meant it. The ring on his finger made him a forbidden fruit and I couldn't resist. If I had been a good girl, I would have left him alone, but I didn't want to be good. So when he had persisted in asking me out, I had yielded. And that, as they say, was the beginning of the end where his respect for me was concerned. As with my parents, particularly my father, I couldn't stand the idea of failing or disappointing him, so I became what he expected me to be. But inside I was drowning, suffocating; languishing in a prison of my own making. It got to the point where I began to feel claustrophobic when Daniel kissed me. He'd be atop my body, thrusting into me, and I had to turn my face away, unable to breathe. Finding out what our relationship was doing to his family gave me the perfect excuse to get out. And it was an excuse. I'm not proud to admit that if my relationship with Daniel had made me happier, I probably wouldn't have cared that we were destroying his marriage. Not at that point in my life. The truth was, I just needed to get as far away from him and his domineering influence over my life as I possibly could. In an act of rebellion not only against him, but also against everyone's expectations of me, I joined the FBI. My training at Quantico was beyond wonderful. Not only was I doing something *I* had chosen to do, but they were providing me with physical empowerment as well. Martial arts, hand-to-hand combat, weapons training. Surely no one could tell me what to do and who to be again now that I had all that going for me. Enter Jack Willis. Again, he was older, more experienced, respected and respectable, and even better, without the excess baggage of a wife and daughter. I found myself reverting to the same behaviors I had known with Daniel. Soon Jack was making my decisions for me, planning my career in the FBI, shaping me into the woman he wanted me to be. But just like Daniel, he didn't respect me or my ability to make my own choices. Again, I found myself fleeing the relationship (though, thankfully, this time it was nothing so drastic as choosing another career) and struggling to establish my own independent footing. Mulder was the first man I ever met who didn't try to change me or dictate to me. I went into my assignment on the X-Files resenting him, defensive because I hadn't *chosen* to work with him. It was a thankless task thrust upon me unwilling and I begrudged the hell out of it. It wasn't until I once again bucked the expectations of others and supported Mulder, rather than bringing him down, that I began to feel I finally had control over my own actions and choices. But that control was not without a price. I gained my ice queen reputation and I pushed Mulder away many times when I should have pulled him close and taken comfort from him. I spent years in a lonely bed when I didn't have to. I didn't want him to see me as weak, to lose his respect for me. It wasn't until four years later, in Philadelphia with Ed Jerse, that I was finally confronted with a truth about myself I hadn't wanted to know. I hated being in control all the time. I hated being cold and hard. I had gone for men who controlled me because something within me needed to be controlled, needed someone else to take charge for a while. Now, that didn't mean my previous relationships had been right or healthy. Those relationships had taken *too much* control from me, but there was a proper time and place to let go of it and I was denying myself that outlet in my determination never to be dictated to again. Still, I couldn't bring myself to go to Mulder, to be anything less than independent and self-sufficient before him. I wanted to--God knows I wanted to--but control had become too large a habit for me. And the truth was, there was a while when I wasn't even sure Mulder could be the man to give me what I needed. There were times when he came close to breaking, when I had to be the strong one and pull him back together. What if, sexually, he was as needy as he sometimes was emotionally? To be in that sort of relationship with him would be the kiss of doom to our partnership as well, when things went sour. What was worse, if I allowed myself to be less self- controlled with him, how would that make him see me? The fact that Mulder respected me as an equal was invaluable to me and I wouldn't give that up under any circumstances. I couldn't bear for him to see me as weak or incompetent, so I held myself aloof, apart from him. For seven years we did that, until that night when he appeared at my door and stripped all my excuses away from me in a single blazing embrace. Mulder surprised me, make no mistake. I had never realized how confident and sure of himself he would be in bed. I don't know if he had figured me out somewhere along the way, if he'd instinctually known what I needed, or if he was just naturally that sort of lover, but he made it perfect. He was commanding and determined in bed and wouldn't allow me to give less than everything to our lovemaking. He left no room for polite omission and false modesty and I yielded everything to him that night. But it wasn't until I looked into his eyes the next time we were in the field together and saw that the respect and admiration he held for me were still present and in full force that I truly accepted what was happening between us. Only then did I become comfortable with the idea that, for better or worse, Mulder was my lover. We'd been lovers for a couple months, not long at all really, when I shared the rest of it with him. I hadn't intended to do it. Letting him be the aggressor when making love was one thing; outright admitting that I enjoyed being controlled by another person was quite another. I was completely content with our sex life and didn't think I needed more. Sure, I had my wild little fantasies, but those were just fantasies, right? As long as Mulder didn't know about them I had no reason to fear that he would think less of me. I should have known that nothing is "just" anything with Mulder. It was a Wednesday night when I made my confession. He'd had some errands to run after work and I was to meet him at his apartment that evening for what had become, for us, a typical "date". Dinner, maybe a rented video, and mind- blowing sex before we collapsed for the night. We were still new enough to the relationship and each other that the physical desire was nearly unbearable at times. I felt insatiable. Perhaps after a while things would cool down, but for the moment, sex with Mulder occupied a great deal of my mental processes and I loved every minute of it. He wasn't home when I reached his apartment, so I let myself in, fed the fish, and settled down to wait for him to arrive. After a while, I grew bored. Since I was getting hornier by the minute from waiting, I began perusing his video collection. Mulder's porn predilection has never offended me and has often been the source of many a wondering fantasy. At home, alone in my bed, I would ponder what he did with these videos to relieve all those tensions I knew he had. I preferred that he had them as a release valve rather than seeking out other women. Personally, though I had tried once or twice, I was never really turned on by porn. This is mainly because most of it is written for men, with men's desires in mind. The men in the films tended to be very average looking, so as not to make the viewing audience feel inferior or insecure (Though conversely, the actors were always hung like horses. So while the male viewers couldn't pretend they looked like Brad Pitt, they could pretend to have a cock the Incredible Hulk would envy. Go figure.) To make matters worse, the women were all vacuous, big-haired bimbos with inflatable boobs. There simply wasn't much there in your average porn to appeal to me. But as I dug through the footlocker Mulder kept his tapes in, one video cover caught my eye. I couldn't tell you the title now to save my life, but among the photo stills splashed across the sleeve was one that made my heart skip a beat and my breathing accelerate. Without thinking about when Mulder would be home or what he would think of me helping myself, I popped the tape in. I forwarded through the first three segments, the actors' bodies pumping and grinding at quadruple speed, the bad music and contrived moans and grunts silenced, until I reached a scene with a set-up identical to the one shown in the picture. There it was. The woman was tied to bed with her hands above her head, blindfolded. Her impossibly perky tits pointed up at the ceiling like twin war-heads. A nude man entered the scene and began to fuck her where she lay spread-eagled on the bed. The tendon along the backside of his cock seemed absurdly large in the close up of him plunging into her, glistening and wet as he pulled out. Her shaven labia stretched and pulled with his movements and I could hear her moans through the bump 'n' grind rhythm of the soundtrack. I watched enraptured, empathizing with the woman in her helpless position. She made a token resistance against her bonds, grimacing with pleasure and I felt a surge of arousal. My hand moved of its own volition under my skirt and I stroked myself firmly through my panties. I had discarded my nylons before coming to Mulder's apartment, knowing by now how he hated struggling with the things. Stockings and garters simply weren't practical for me. As I masturbated, the man crawled up the woman's body and thrust into her mouth. I could feel it all. I could taste the salty flavor of him mixed with her own tangy/bitter juices. I could feel the strain of neck muscles as she lifted her head off the bed to try to improve the angle, and her efforts to open her throat so as not to choke when he thrust all the way in. She wasn't giving him head; he was fucking her mouth, gripping her head in his hands and pumping in and out. I sat there, Indian style on the floor, rubbing my fingers furiously over my clit, the satin of my wet underwear starting to chafe against my sensitive flesh. When I came it was swift and sudden, rocketing through me with electric intensity and then leaving me breathless and panting on Mulder's living room floor. As I came back to myself, the man on the screen pulled out of the woman's mouth and we got the obligatory contrived cum-shot of him spurting over her face, her collagen lips and glistening tongue lapping at the semen. She moaned as though him coming on her face was the most wondrous experience she'd ever had. The milky-white fluid stood in relief against the black blindfold and then the scene faded and the movie progressed to another sequence, this one featuring two women and a man. I lost interest, concentrating instead on straightening my clothes and getting my pulse back down to normal before Mulder came home. I was just rising from the floor when the door swung open and he entered, his arms full of take- out. His eyes darted to the TV screen, where the video was still playing, and then to my flushed cheeks, and he grinned. "That's one of my favorites," he said easily, depositing the food on the coffee table and coming to stand beside me, his eyes on the screen. I envied him his relaxed attitude toward sex. He wasn't at all awkward or embarrassed to find me watching the tape, but I was ready to crawl under the sofa and hide. After a moment he looked back at me and gave me a deep, probing kiss. I placed my hands around his neck and he pulled back, looking at me like a specimen under a microscope. He grabbed my right hand and brought it to his face, sniffing the fingers before giving me another grin. I was blushing furiously when he sucked one of my fingers into his mouth, licking from the digit the scent and taste of me. "Got some to share?" He asked huskily. He changed fingers and gave the middle one the same treatment he had the index finger. My knees nearly buckled when he finally released my hand. The food was forgotten, the movie playing in the background drowned out by the pounding of my own pulse in my ears. All I could feel was his tongue swirling around my fingers, licking my essence off them. Before I knew it, I was back on the floor with Mulder sprawled on top of me, devouring me from the mouth down. My blouse was unbuttoned, my unclasped, and then Mulder was sucking hard on my nipple. The pressure of his lips and tongue sent electric sparks to the tips of my toes and the top of my head. Mulder is utterly unreserved sexually and I was steadily, if not without some difficulty, picking up his penchant for anytime, anywhere, and any way. He unzipped my skirt and pulled it down my legs, and I lifted my hips to assist him in getting it past my ass, taking my underwear with it. No sooner were they gone than he had my thighs over his shoulders, his face buried between my legs. I could hear him inhale, drinking in the scent of me. "Ambrosia," he muttered, his tongue sweeping up my damp inner thigh. Slowly, he cleaned one thigh, then the other, not going near my center until he had licked my juices off both legs. Then, slowly, he lapped his way up my labia, from as far back as he could reach to the thick thatch of red curls covering my mound. He gave the same side the other treatment, slow and thorough, before he made his way up my cleft, from perineum to clit, stroking firmly. I yelped at the first pressure of his tongue on my hyper- sensitized clit and he lingered there, pressing hard with his tongue, moving in deep, slow circles. The sensation was warm and profound, starting somewhere deep in my gut. It was entirely removed from the shallow, electric shocks that I feel when my clit is stroked in light, quick motions, and I moaned throatily. He withdrew his tongue after a moment and brought his lips into play, sucking my clit between them and rolling it. He slid two fingers into my drenched core, twirling them, pressing them against my g-spot, eliciting cries that grew in intensity with the increasing pressure of his fingers. He ate me out, making growling, humming noises against my clitoris while he finger-fucked me, faster and harder until I was howling and writhing on the floor, finally quaking and shuddering from a thunderous climax. Mulder withdrew from between my thighs slowly, licking softly to catch any lingering drops he might have missed. He pulled his fingers out of my body, shiny and slick with my moisture, and reached up, wiping them across my lips. God, I thought sometimes I'd die of abject embarrassment from his complete lack of inhibition if what he did for me didn't feel so damned good. He allowed me to be unrestrained sexually in a way I'd never been before. Of course, all my previous lovers had either been inexperienced boys or set-in-their-ways older men who had lacked anything resembling an adventuresome spirit. It seemed that nothing was too raunchy for Mulder. So with my lips moist and sticky with my own juices, I opened my mouth and invited his fingers in, licking them clean. When I was finished, he kissed me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, drinking my fluids from my lips, sharing my essence with me. When the kiss finally broke, I stared at him, breathless. "Christ, Mulder," I murmured, thunderstruck. "God, Scully, I need you," he rasped. I looked down to see the front of his slacks bulging. The look in his eyes approached desperatation. Without hesitating, I reached down and began fumbling with his belt and fly. Pushing his pants and boxers down around his hips, I insistently reached for his cock. I guided him between my legs and lifted my hips, spreading my knees wide to cradle his weight. I brought him to my entrance and with a low groan, he thrust forward, sliding into me with a few sharp pushes. We moaned in unison and Mulder buried his face in my shoulder for a moment, shaking with arousal. As confident as Mulder was sexually, he wasn't ashamed to let me know when his need was too great for control. Pressing a quick, almost chaste kiss to my lips, he lifted his weight on his arms and, staring into my face, began to pump into my body. "Let go," I whispered, my eyes fluttering closed as I reveled in the full feeling of having him inside me. "Do it. Fuck me." Mulder didn't need to be told twice. I didn't come again that time, but the feeling of him moving in and out of my body was sublime. I encouraged him with whimpers and moans and impassioned words of pleasure. He answered me with guttural groans and mutterings. He came shuddering and barking my name and then sagged weakly in my four-limbed embrace. I sighed and pressed soft kisses to his damp forehead. Finally he returned to himself and lifted his weight off my body. "So tell me," he propped himself up on an elbow beside me, stretching out on the hardwood floor as he recovered. His hand played idly with my breast. "What was it about the movie that got your motor going, Scully?" It occurred to me, not for the first time, how surreal all of it was. I was lying nude on Mulder's floor, my thighs damp with our combined fluids, and about to discuss one of his pornography tapes with him. I looked at the TV screen where the tape was still playing. It was the same scene, with the threesome. One of the two girls had gone down on both the man and the other woman, licking them simultaneously while they fucked. It did nothing for me, not in any significant way. Certainly nothing bearing even the most marginal resemblance to what I had experienced during the bondage scene. As the flush of passion faded, I was starting to feel embarrassed. Two months with Mulder and his policy of sexual forthrightness did not an entire lifetime of "good girls don't" erase. I pushed off the floor and began to slip into my blouse, but Mulder's hand on my arm stopped me. "Tell me," he said, the tone somewhere between a request and a command. It was a voice I was powerless to say no to. "It's not this," I gestured to the TV. "It was the one before." "Refresh my memory." "The one with the girl tied to the headboard..." He gave me that studious look again. "You liked that?" He asked solemnly. I think if there had been even the slightest note of incredulity in his voice, I might have melted through the floorboards. I nodded mutely. "Yeah, I did." "Just that scenario, or is this an ongoing thing with you?" "What do you mean?" "Is being tied up and taken just an individual fantasy, or do you tend to have a lot of submissive fantasies?" Submissive. There was a word I'd been avoiding, even in my own thoughts, for years. People think submissive and they think needy, weak, helpless. Being submissive is not a respectable thing, most especially in a woman trying to make it in a male-centric environment. It's seen as reverting to type at best. It certainly doesn't jibe with the competent, confident, self-sufficient self-image I had been cultivating over the years. Being dominant, well, people might think you a tad kinky, but they wouldn't look down their nose at you. But being submissive... I was again confronted with that same fear, the one that had kept me from really discussing my desires with Mulder. I wanted to deny it, didn't want to take the chance that once Mulder associated me with submissiveness, his whole view of me as a person might shift. But I couldn't. The only thing Mulder had me to change when we became lovers was that I not hide anything from him. This was the test of that promise he had exacted. Mulder, bless him, gave me time to collect my thoughts. He brought the Thai food that had been cooling since he'd arrived home and set it out on the coffee table, retrieving a couple plates from the kitchen for us to dish the food onto. I pulled on my blouse and underwear, considering my next words. "When I was in the tenth grade," I started slowly, my food forgotten in front of me. The videotape reached its end and the screen went to static. No help there. "I came across a book in a used bookstore. 'Story of O.'" "Pretty hefty reading for a--what--15 year old girl?" Mulder commented. "Yeah," I agreed. "A 15 year old virgin, at that. I spent the next two years vacillating between fascination and horror, about the book in particular and sex in general. I mean, now I can look back at that book and say, sure, it's just fantasy, but back then...I was appalled by some of what it described--the gang rape, the brutal sex, the whipping, the branding--but I was so aroused despite myself. I hid the book in my mattress and I swear I must have read it once a month until I was out of college. And each time, I would cringe even as I got so wet..." My voice trailed off, my skin becoming flushed, and I reached for the beer Mulder had opened for me. I took a long swig before I could continue. Mulder was watching me raptly, his eyes dark with arousal. "But, to answer your question, yeah, I guess I've got an on-going submissive fantasy happening. I used to hate that in my relationships, I always seemed to end up being completely controlled by my lover, but recently, I've come to realize I need that, to a limited extent. "I spend every day of my life living in a state of rigid control, Mulder. I get so tired of it. Sometimes I just want to let go, but I can't. It's become too much of a habit for me and sometimes I'm afraid that if I let it go, I'll never get it back. But when I'm confronted with it, like in that video...God, Mulder, I want it so badly. Sometimes I just want to turn it all over to you and let you do with me what you will. Let you control me, not in everything, but just for a few moments when we're alone together." I drew a deep, shuddering breath, winded from my rushed confession. Mulder was still watching me with earnest intensity and I met his gaze, relieved that I could find no censure there. Finally he spoke. "I've never been a top," he said softly. "Not that I have a huge amount of experience, but I have had some exposure to bondage games." Bondage. My mouth went dry at the word. Mulder tying me up and touching me and fucking me, with me helpless to do anything about it...I felt that spasm deep in my body again. His voice had gotten quieter, as though he was speaking to himself rather than to me. After a moment, though, he looked up and actually addressed me. "I can give you the fantasy, Scully. A scene like what was on that video, an occasional one-time shot. But if you want more, if we want to take it farther than that, we really need to think long and hard about it. Because when you get into that sort of thing, there's a lot of really raw emotions that can be triggered, Scully. We have to be sure we're ready for it." I nodded. He was right. The desires ignited by viewing that scene were just a little too hot still to make any lasting decisions based upon them. But did I want the fantasy? God, yes. "I want to do it," I heard myself saying, simultaneously excited and frightened. "I want the fantasy. I want to let it go with you." Mulder let out a small moan, somewhere between arousal and contentment. "Let's eat," he said, handing me a plate. His eyes were glowing with that inner light I recognized. That's Mulder when all the internal wheels are spinning. "Then we'll see what we can do." End of Part Two of Six Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (3 of 6) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com * * * * * After dinner, Mulder rewound the tape and we watched the bondage scene again, together. He turned the sound down and seated me between his legs on the sofa, so that I could feel his erection gouging my back. While the scene played, he asked me soft, murmured questions. "See how she's tied up, Scully? Do you think she lay there and let him tie her up, or did she struggle a bit first? Did he have to subdue her before he could tie her up?" Of course, I had no way of knowing what was supposed to have happened before the cameras started rolling. He was asking me to fill in the blanks on my fantasy. See, there are advantages to sleeping with a psychologist. Mulder enabled me to discuss my fantasy by helping me disassociate from it. It wasn't me we were talking about; it was the couple on the screen. "I think she laid still while he tied her up, but I think on another day, if she had been in a different mood, she might have fought." That seemed a nice and safe answer. Somewhere in my mind, I imagined her kicking up a fight, but that seemed a little too out there for me to admit to, so I just hinted at it. "What was she thinking as he came into the room, Scully? What did he say to her? How did it make her feel?" "She was a little frightened. He told her exactly what he was going to do to her--gloated about it. Made her aware of how helpless she was to stop him." "How long did he spend touching her before he fucked her?" I was starting to get into this, imaging how the scenario had gone down. "Hours. He kept her blindfolded the entire time, so she couldn't see what he was doing, and the anticipation was maddening. She never knew what he was planning next, and it was frightening as well as arousing." "See how red her nipples are? Do you think they're naturally that color, or was he pinching on them a lot?" I was so wet by that point I was beginning to think Mulder's sofa was in imminent danger. I shifted, rubbing my thighs together. "He pinched them--hard. He pinched them until she begged him to stop. He toyed with her until she begged him to fuck her." "If she got too loud, what would he do, Scully? Would he let her yell, or would he gag her?" "That depends on if she was good when he was trying to tie her up. If she misbehaved and fought him, he might gag her--for punishment. If she was good, he might let her yell." His arms had encircled my torso and his hands were squeezing and molding my breasts through my shirt. Every once in a while he would squeeze just hard enough to draw a sharp gasp of surprise from me, then he would run his hands lightly over the mounds of flesh, soothing the ache. "When he came, do you think she was left wishing he had done something else before he finished?" Yes, I thought. I knew exactly what she was left wishing for, but I couldn't bring myself to say it aloud. I searched my mind for some other way to hint at it. I considered how to phrase my answer his hands clenched on my flesh--so hard that I cried out in startled pain. "Answer me." "Yes!" I exclaimed as he stroked the ache away. "She wished he'd taken longer fucking her, taking her in more positions, in more ways." There, that was nice and circumspect. Mulder hummed thoughtfully then sighed, kissing my shoulder. "Not tonight," he murmured next to my ear. "We don't have the time tonight, and I need to think about this. So here's what I propose: I'm going to take you into the bedroom now and make love to you. Give me 'til Friday to get things set up for the fantasy, okay?" I nodded, aroused by the announcement he intended to make love to me, thrilled he was agreeing to my desire, nervous of how this might affect the way he viewed me, and disappointed I couldn't have the fantasy right this moment. The video was shut off and Mulder led me by hand to the bedroom. My heart was pounding in my throat. There was a terribly vulnerable feeling involved in knowing Mulder now knew my darkest fantasy. I trusted him implicitly, knew he'd take care of me, but God, I'd just shown him my last card. Mulder didn't allow me to dwell on it too long. Once we were in the dimly lit bedroom, he turned and pulled me to him, slanting his mouth across mine. His tongue pushed through the barrier of my lips and teeth and I sucked on it, savoring the flavor of him, the scent of his skin in my nostrils. I let him take over. I was glad Mulder turned out to be as sexually aggressive as he was. There were times, when I was struggling so hard for control, that I thought I might freeze up and never make a move if it were left up to me. It was so nice not to have to choose, not to have to think about it. All I had to do when I was in his arms was exist. I hadn't realized the burden it had become to be in control all the time. He unbuttoned the few buttons securing my blouse and peeled it off my arms. He slid my panties off my hips and pushed me back to lie on the bed, my legs dangling off the edge from the knees down. I scooted back and laid down the middle of the bed while he stripped, baring his gorgeous body to me one article of clothing at a time. Mulder was tender and slow at first, leisurely exploring me then pulling me over him and instructing me to explore him. My partner is a tactile, visual and olfactory treat. I don't think there's a single part of him that doesn't make me wild with desire. When, at long last, he lifted me over him and drove me down onto his cock, I was trembling with need. I kept trying to pick up the pace, and he kept preventing me with a firm grip on my hips. At his murmured request, I reached down and rubbed my clit while he lifted and lowered me steadily. My orgasm, when it finally came, was gentle and deep, rocking me in slow, languid waves rather than exploding violently through me. It wasn't until after I stopped moaning that Mulder sat up, flipped us over, and began thrusting into me like a pile driver. He grabbed two handfuls of my hair and pulled hard, yanking my head back to give him unrestricted access to my lips and neck, which he devoured like a starving man. My moans and gasps began to meld one into the other, until I was making a single continuous, animalistic cry. I could feel him sucking the tendon in my neck, his teeth nipping roughly. I knew I'd have a mark the next day, but I didn't care. This was my favorite time between Mulder and I, when he just cut loose with me. I loved the feel of his muscles rippling beneath my hands, the sound of his harsh, ragged breathing next to my ear, the drops of his perspiration on my skin. I loved the way he groaned my name, called upon God, gasped obscenities. I loved the expression of pain-pleasure on his face when he finally came, growling and thrusting wildly. I loved the feel of him limp and sated, draped over my body, cradled in my arms and legs. It wasn't long before he rolled off me and I snuggled against his chest, our hearts slowly resuming their normal pace. Long after he fell asleep, though, I lay awake, a small knot of tension twisting in my belly. Friday, he had promised me. Friday he would take my fantasies and make them reality. By the time Friday arrived, I still wasn't sure if I was more frightened--or more aroused. * * * * * I am a man who has spent my life pandering to one pet obsession after the other. I've had many over the years. But I have finally found the one fixation which will consume me to my dying day. Her name is Dana Katherine Scully and I can't get enough of her. Going to her the way I did that first night had been an all or nothing gamble. All I knew was I couldn't take anymore of the stalemate--something had to give. And I decided if I was going to do it and run the risk of destroying everything, I'd just as soon be hanged for a lion as a lamb. At least that way, Scully couldn't think I wasn't serious, and I couldn't look back later and think there was something more I could have done. But Jesus, I was terrified. If the way I came on to her pissed her off, if she pushed me away, it could have ruined everything, including our working relationship. How was I to know that it had been the exact approach she had needed? My taking command was what she required to be able to let go and allow what was happening between us to happen. I'd always known Scully was a woman of deep passions; it was getting through the rigid barriers of self-control that surrounded all that passion that posed the largest problem. I'd been trying for two years to tear the walls down, slowly and painstakingly trying to ease my way past them. But it wasn't until I lost my patience and hauled out the battering ram that I got anywhere. So much for the gentle approach. We spent two months in a haze of passion, living for the moments when we could be together. I don't think I went an hour during that entire time without getting a hard-on thinking about her. When we were in the field, Scully was everything she has always been: the voice of reason and logic, reluctant to believe, stubbornly demanding proof. She stood nose-to-chin with me with that look she gets and took zero shit off me. But when we were alone together, I began to know a whole other side to her, one I had hardly glimpsed before. She seemed happy to let me be the aggressor sexually, and so I was. Truthfully, it felt pretty damned good to be in control for a while. So much of the time, I'm not. I tend to get swept along by circumstance and there are days when I don't know what the hell I'm doing or why I'm doing it anymore. At first I was afraid Scully wanted me to be the aggressor to compensate for her own reticence. I was afraid that she wasn't sure she wanted to be doing what we were doing and therefore let the responsibility for the choice fall on me. She'd have at least some form of deniability that way, should she choose to exercise it. I couldn't allow that, couldn't let her give less than 100%. If she wasn't committed entirely, then it wasn't any good. After the first few times we were together, when I was starting to question things rather than simply feeling my way, I told her as much. It was then that I started to understand what she really needed from our intimate time together. "It's not that I'm not committed, Mulder," she answered solemnly, lying on my chest in bed. "I've wanted this as much as you do, for just as long. I'm glad it's happening. But you struck closer to home than you know when you told me we shouldn't analyze this to death. There are times when I want to stop thinking so damned much and just let myself go with what's happening. I didn't realize how much I really needed that until our first night together. It felt so good to let you take over, to simply exist in the moment for a while. So it's not reluctance which causes me to allow you to be in charge when we're together, Mulder. You don't have to worry about me someday turning around and saying 'that wasn't what I really wanted, I just went along for the ride.' If anything, you can take it as a compliment. I don't think I could let go this way with just anyone." I couldn't suppress the elation her words gave me. We made love then, slow, sweet, exquisitely tender love, taking hours to explore one another and be explored. I'd never made the mistake of touching Scully as though she were made of glass. I knew she'd resent it. But that night, I handled her body as though it were the finest porcelain china. I cradled her breasts in my hands as though they were roses in full bloom and I was afraid of knocking off a petal if I wasn't careful. I rubbed her clitoris with slow, deep circles as I moved inside her in languid strokes, bringing her to a climax that was thrilling not in its power but in its profundity. I whispered words of endearment and adoration against her ear as I cradled her to me and came inside her, letting her know beyond doubt that I was extremely conscious of the trust she had given me. In truth, I felt blessed, and I remained awake most of the night--long after she had drifted to sleep in my arms-- thinking about her admission. She allowed me to guide our lovemaking, to take the reins, because she felt secure and safe with me. There were times, even as recently as six months ago, when Scully wouldn't have trusted me enough to do that. I had thought that we would become lovers after Antarctica, and we were well on our way until the entire Diana Fowley debacle created a chasm between us. It's strange. When I first met Scully, my motto was "trust no one." It was soon amended to "trust no one but Scully." But looking over the last seven years, I realized that Scully is less likely to trust someone than I am. She's much more suspicious. It was true where my informants were concerned, where witnesses on cases were concerned. And don't get me started on the whole Skinner thing. For the most part, he's been on our side for five years but Scully still doesn't trust him. I do, but then I know what he tried to do for Scully when she was dying of cancer and she doesn't. In Skinner's case, she's wrong, but in Diana's case, she was completely right, and I just couldn't allow myself to believe it. It had taken a while after the El Rico disaster for Scully and I to finally address the argument we'd had in the Gunmen's headquarters. That's because it had taken me that long to figure out precisely why I had felt the need to reject her words out of hand. If we had been talking about anyone else other than Diana, I would have taken her word for it, even on the purely circumstantial evidence she had gathered. But not that time. I finally realized what the problem was. Though the relationship had ended, there had been a time when I had loved Diana in some way. And there was this little thing called precedent. Just about every person I had loved in my life had betrayed me. My father, my mother, women for whom I had cared...I needed someone to break the trend. And if I allowed myself to consider that Diana could betray me, then somewhere in my mind, I had to allow for the possibility Scully could as well. And I couldn't accept that. Now, logically, I knew I couldn't compare Scully to Diana. They, and my relationships with them, were really nothing alike. My relationship with Diana had started as two casual acquaintances whom had found themselves sexually attracted to each other and eventually began to care about one another. My relationship with Scully had started as two comrades-in-arms facing impossible odds with no one to trust but each other for whom respect had become friendship and friendship had evolved into love. Nothing Diana and I had gone through together, even when we both worked on the X-Files, came close to matching what Scully and I had been through. But the two women did have something in common--I had loved and trusted them both, and that alone had been enough to allow me to draw a comparison, however faulty the logic. I could see in Scully's eyes when I had made my confession she was tempted to be offended I had dared to compare her to Diana. But she hadn't gone there, because she knew what we were dealing with went beyond issues of feminine rivalry. We were talking about trust, which was the foundation of everything we had together. And in the end, our trust had endured and flourished despite what had happened. When Scully had informed me Diana was dead, she'd been able to mourn with me because she was secure enough in my trust to accept that my grief at Diana's death bore no reflection on my relationship with her. Our experiences together between the time I explained why I hadn't accepted her word about Diana and the night we became lovers cemented the commitment of trust we had made to each other. The Padgett thing, Scully's trip to Africa...the question of trust never arose again. And that was what had allowed Scully to let down those final walls and let me in. I was awestruck by the gesture of faith, and determined never to abuse it. But what Scully and I had started the night she had made her admission to me was the first step of a process that would culminate the evening I found her watching that video in my apartment. Beyond allowing me to guide our relationship sexually, Scully was step by step letting me to know her deepest needs and desires. She wasn't hiding anything, or holding anything back. Despite the fact that the good little Catholic inside her was groaning in abject horror, she let go of her reservations and the contrived concepts of modesty and decency created by a sexually repressed society. I'm not a stranger to Dominance/submission games. True, I wouldn't call myself an expert--I had gotten out of my relationship with Phoebe before I could reach that point-- but neither am I unknowledgeable. Actually, it was a very good thing that I found Phoebe sleeping around on me when I did, when I still had enough control over my own will to get out. If we had gone too much deeper, to the point where I couldn't claim back my control from her, I would have been in big trouble. A D/s relationship where the top has no respect for the feelings and needs of the bottom is called abuse, plain and simple. It was in that direction that my relationship with Phoebe had been heading. All that had mattered to Phoebe was her own gratification and I was just the tool by which she achieved it. About the third time I slept with her, she rolled over to face me afterwards and, playing with my chest hair, told me that sometimes, she liked to play certain games. She fancied herself a Domme, though she'd never bothered to really learn anything about how consensual S&M was practiced. If she even knew what a safe-word was, I never knew it. It pleased her to have me at her beck and call, willing to do whatever she wished. You want to tie me up and whip my ass with a belt? Well, Phoebe, I dunno--You'll love me if I do it? Sure, Phoebe, great. Whatever you want. You want to humiliate me in front of your friends? Want me to pretend to be your slave and call you 'Mistress'? Well, okay, as long as I have your approval...You want me to go down on you and get you off, then fall asleep, leaving me with a raging case of blue-balls? All right, if it means I get to wake up with you tomorrow knowing I've done something right. Six years living with my parents' implicit condemnation for allowing Samantha to be taken had left me with little self- regard. I craved approval and I wasn't too picky about what I had to do to get it. And there was something very comforting about the knowledge that you really can't displease someone if all you're doing is what they told you to do. The problem was, I never seemed to be able to really please Phoebe, even when I did everything she asked. She would be kind and loving and funny when she wanted something from me, but the moment she'd had what she wanted, she became a class-A bitch. When I found her fucking someone else, it took every last scrap of self- respect I possessed to call things off, and even then I nearly buckled more than once. The only thing that kept me from leaving with a really negative impression of such D/s relationships was my own inherent curiosity. I was a sensualist, possibly bordering on being a voluptuary, and if nothing else Phoebe had opened my eyes to an entirely new realm of sexuality to be explored. There was nothing relating to pleasures of the flesh that didn't intrigue me, and so I did my research and learned more about BDSM than what I had seen with Phoebe. And though I had never really felt inspired to try playing again, certainly not as a bottom, I at least learned enough to figure out what I had experienced with Phoebe had been wrong in the extreme. She had taken all my emotional hot buttons and used them against me. In truth, it felt good to know I really hadn't done anything wrong, hadn't displeased her to the point she felt the need to screw someone else. It was a very liberating realization. I discovered something after that first night with Scully-- I liked being in control. I mean, I got off on it, the feeling of power, the feeling of having Scully willing and pliable in my arms. I wouldn't have suspected that about myself, but there it was. But I didn't want to tread on Scully's toes where her personal control boundaries were concerned, so I didn't take it beyond being the aggressive party when we made love. The night Scully told me she had submissive fantasies, however, I realized we had a chance to explore these things together. I could begin to understand the thrill I got at being in charge while fulfilling Scully's needs. I spent Thursday night away from Scully getting ready. One of the things I had learned when trying to understand the concept of BDSM was that there is nothing more dangerous than a top who doesn't know what the fuck he (or she) is doing. There's more to being a Dominant than barking "On your knees, bitch!" On the Internet those creatures are known by the community as CHuDWas, or Clueless Het Dom Wannabes. Enough said. There's also a concept, essentially the Golden Rule of BDSM practitioners, called safe, sane and consensual. A Dominant who wasn't safe in their practices, or who had desires that were physically unrealistic, could injure someone, and any games played without the bottom's consent are called felonies, ranging from battery to rape. So if I was going to play with Scully, I needed to make damned sure I knew what I was doing. She trusted me not to harm her. I went on the 'net looking for bondage tips and then went shopping for the right kind of rope. When I had more time, or if Scully and I decided we wanted to explore this further, I could invest in some cuffs that would be better suited to bondage purposes, but for now rope seemed the more viable, and versatile, alternative. I then spent the rest of the night practicing various knots used in different forms of rope bondage. The information I had gathered indicated it was safer to know your knots, and that rope bondage, when done properly, can be quite artful as well. While I practiced, I laid out in my mind what I wanted to do. Scratch that, I laid out in my mind what I thought we should, and could, do. The possibilities were endless and I was more than a little interested in trying as many variations on the theme as possible, but for our first time out together--and *my* first experience being a top--it would be better to keep it simple, if for no other reason than safety's sake. Also, I wanted to make this a wonderful experience for Scully, wanted to give her everything she desired. The problem was, I wasn't quite sure what her thresholds and boundaries were yet. I had tried to get an idea with our little Q&A session that Wednesday night with the video. Her leeriness when I asked her if the man in the movie had needed to use force to tie the woman down led to the knowledge Scully was hesitant about, but not totally uninterested in, rough or "forced" sex. Now, this is not to be confused with wild sex, which we'd been having regularly since that first night together. Rough sex gets a lot rawer, requiring physical force, and usually some element of pain. Scully indicated to me she might be willing to go there some day, but she wasn't ready yet. Since we were basically talking make- believe rape, I could understand her reluctance. The idea gave me pause as well. Her statement he had taken hours pleasuring the woman while she was blindfolded, before fucking her was a statement she was interested in sensation play, possibly even involving some sensory deprivation. Her claim he had pinched the woman's nipples hard meant she was interested in some erotic pain. That the man had taunted the woman, told her what he was doing and emphasizing her helplessness meant Scully was into mental domination, not just physical. She didn't want to lie there and pretend to be helpless, she wanted to feel it, to believe it. Her claim the man in the video might have gagged the woman for punishment meant she would be interested in the discipline aspect as well, where the bottom gave up control to the point where the top had the right--and the responsibility--to punish her for disobedience. Just to test that concept, I had squeezed her breast hard when she hadn't answered my last question immediately, to see how she would react to negative reinforcement. Her remark about positions and styles of sex indicated she was not interested in simply lying passively in supine acquiescence while being taken. She wanted me to demand more of her. It had been a very revealing discussion, all things considered, and I had a feeling I knew where to start. I could keep it fairly simple and test the boundaries a little. One of the most important things about playing, or so I understood, was a debriefing period after the scene had ended. At that point, we could get an idea of what she had enjoyed, what she hadn't enjoyed, what she wanted to go further with, and if she was even interested in exploring the concept in greater depth. Scully was on tenterhooks throughout Thursday and Friday, and I couldn't really blame her. She had taken a large leap of faith sharing her fantasy with me, leaving herself in a very vulnerable position. Unfortunately for her, part of the game was the mystery, the anticipation, the not knowing what would happen. So while she knew I was making plans and preparations, she didn't know what to expect of the finished product. Me? I was lapping it up. I was sincerely getting off on her uncertainty. It meant I was in control, and I was growing enamored of that feeling the more I was exposed to it. I suppose that should have alarmed me a little, but instead I felt curiously content with our state of things. Everything felt right, as if things were finally the way they should be. When Scully left to grab a bite to eat on Friday, I dropped a handwritten note on her keyboard and left early to get things ready. I went to her apartment to set up what I needed, and then left before she could get home. I wanted her to have some time alone with her anticipation, time to decompress from the workday and get into the spirit of things. Having no place else to go, I went home to change out of my suit. While I was there, waiting for the right time to return, I lay on my bed and imagined Scully arriving home, imagined her methodically and carefully obeying the instructions I had left for her. I jerked off, taking my time, enjoying the mental picture, knowing I would have better staying power later if I got off once beforehand. When I came over my hand, I was moaning Scully's name, picturing her face. I looked at the clock and realized I had just enough time to shower and dress before leaving for her apartment. It was show time, and I was ready. End of Part Three of Six Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (4 of 6) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com I shouldn't have told Mulder about my fantasy, I thought in a panic Friday afternoon. I had no idea what he had planned for me or how it would go down. We hadn't gotten together Thursday night, because he said he had shopping to do. What kind of shopping, I don't know. I wasn't sure I wanted to know. All I knew was I had been in a constant state of low arousal from Thursday morning until Friday afternoon. In between panic attacks, that is. The fates were kind. Mulder and I didn't get called out of town at the last moment Friday. Mulder hadn't said a word to me about what was going to happen since Wednesday evening. When I had returned to the office after lunch on Friday, there was a handwritten note on my keyboard. In it, Mulder had instructed me to leave work and head for home at 4 PM sharp. The muscles in my groin clenched pleasantly as I re-read the note and then shredded it. I didn't see Mulder again before I left. I can only assume he had taken the afternoon off to set up whatever he had planned. Apparently, it would be happening at my apartment, since that was where he had instructed me to go. The minutes crept by until the clock finally ticked four and I left the office. Mulder's car was nowhere to be seen when I parked on the street outside my building and my apartment echoed eerily. I hated the sound, because it emphasized the emptiness of the apartment without Mulder's presence; I'd gotten so used to having him around nearly every night. I could see no sign of Mulder having been there. Unsettled, I dropped my purse on my desk and pressed the button that would play back the messages on my machine. Mulder's rich voice filled the room. "I'll be at your apartment at 5:30. I've put a Cobb salad in the refrigerator for you to have for dinner before I arrive. Be sure to eat well before I get there; it may be late before we can have supper. I've set out a robe for you to wear on your bed. Be naked underneath it. When I get there, I want you kneeling in the middle of your bed with the candles I've placed around your bedroom lit. Have a large glass of ice water waiting for me on the bedside table." That was it. I stood there staring at the machine in disbelief after the message had ended. Whatever I had been expecting, this wasn't it. I rewound the tape and played the message again to be sure I hadn't missed any of his instructions. As I did so, I felt myself begin to sink into the confident, commanding tone of his voice. Everything was all right; Mulder was in charge. I erased the message and, running on auto-pilot, focusing on meeting his instructions, I went to the kitchen and pulled the salad he had grabbed for me out of the refrigerator. My stomach was so tense I only managed to eat a few bites, then I went to the bedroom and surveyed what Mulder had done. Candles were scattered around the room on just about every flat surface. A blue silk robe was spread out on my bed. I stared at it. I didn't own a blue silk robe. With my heard pounding in my chest, I began to undress. I slipped on the robe, taking comfort in its luxuriant feel against my skin. I lit the candles and fetched a large glass of ice water then, with ten minutes to spare, climbed into the middle of my bed to await my lover's arrival. As I waited, I became aware of even the smallest sound in the silent apartment. My own breathing was thunderous in my ears. Distant muffled thumps were my neighbors coming and going, depending on how their plans for the evening lay. The covers on my bed rustled with my every movement. My mind kept trying to envision what would happen when Mulder finally arrived and I could feel my wetness spreading from my cleft down my thighs until they were uncomfortably slick rubbing against each other. I was acutely aware of the sounds of Mulder arriving. I heard his key in the front door, his footfalls as he entered my apartment, the thud of him shutting the door behind him and the click as he locked the door. He came straight for the bedroom, and I was grateful I didn't have to wait. I looked up at him, taking in his appearance. He was wearing a soft blue button-down flannel shirt and comfortable, worn blue jeans, and he carried a gym-bag over his shoulder that he gently sat on the floor beside the door. It was the same Mulder I had seen practically every day of my life for the last seven years, and yet in that moment, I was as nervous as if it were a stranger entering my bedroom. My pulse was pounding and I felt the same tense elation as I had all those times in my youth when I knew I was doing something Dangerous, something Forbidden. My palms were damp as I clenched my fists on my thighs and knelt there on the bed under his perusal. His eyes were dark and inscrutable as they traveled over me, taking me in. His gaze was practically a physical thing I could feel through the delicate silk of the robe. After a moment he nodded his slow approval. "Very nice," he murmured. "I knew that robe would look terrific on you the moment I saw it." I felt an absurd rush of pleasure at his words, pleased I had pleased him. He placed one knee on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, pulling me to him in a passionate kiss, his hands cupping the back of my head. His tongue explored the inside of my mouth, thrusting deeply, then he drew my tongue into his mouth, nibbling and sucking on it. I gave a low whimper of arousal and he released me, running his tongue around the outline of my lips before drawing back and searching my eyes. He nodded again, as though mentally deciding something I wasn't privy to and stared into my eyes. "Stand up. Take off the robe and place it across the back of the chair over there." Moving slowly, I climbed off the bed moved to the chair in the corner. I untied the sash that held the robe wrapped around my waist and it fell open, the silk sliding across my skin. Drawing a deep breath, I let it drop off my arms, baring my body for him. I draped the robe over the back of the chair and stood before him, my arms at my sides. I tried once more to read his expression as his eyes traveled up my body from my feet to my head, but I couldn't. He was the most familiar person in the world to me, but I had no idea what was going through his head. I stood naked beneath his gaze for what seemed like an eternity before he bent down and pulled something out of one of the side pockets of the gym bag he had brought with him. He approached me and held before him a black satin sleeping mask, the kind you see rich prima donnas wear in movies. For a moment, his impenetrable expression softened. "Scully, do you still want this? I'll stop if you want me to." God bless him, he knew how terrified I was. I had told him I wanted this and I did, but in that moment, with the expression on his face and in his eyes so unknown to me, I didn't feel the sense of security I usually did with Mulder. "I do," I answered. "But I--" "You know I love you. You know I'll never hurt you, Scully," he murmured, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his warmth. I could feel the strap dangling from the mask in his hands against my back. "I want to give you this fantasy, if you'll let me." "Yes," I whispered against his shoulder, burying my face against his shirt for a moment. After a moment of taking comfort from Mulder, I pulled back, and my voice was stronger as I repeated, "Yes." Mulder nodded and his expression became shuttered again. He held out the mask and made sure I had a good close look at it before he lifted his arms and placed it over my eyes, securing the elastic band around my head. Light peeked in a little around the edges, but it didn't matter since the sensation of my eyelashes rubbing the mask each time I blinked annoyed me to the point I simply kept my eyes closed beneath it. Deprived suddenly of sight, I felt a shiver run through me as I stood there in the middle of the room. I could feel Mulder mere inches from me, hear the whisper of his clothing, but he wasn't touching me. I was extremely conscious of my own nudity, knowing he was looking at me when I couldn't see the expression in his eyes. Just the simple act of putting that blindfold over my eyes had stripped away all the little comfort and support mechanisms I hadn't realized I depended on to make me feel secure when I was naked and vulnerable like this. I shivered again and my nipples hardened. I wanted to fold my arms over my chest, cover myself, but I couldn't move. An odd paralysis had overtaken my body, and I knew in that instant what Mulder had warned me about when I made my confession to him, when he told me there can be severe emotional reactions to these sorts of games. There was power here, and I was in its thrall. I couldn't bring myself to do anything until Mulder told me to. "Are you cold?" Mulder's voice reached me from across the blackness that had surrounded me. His voice wasn't the comforting murmur of a moment before, but firm and confident. Mulder's voice had anchored me in moments of panic for seven years but now it was as unfamiliar and intimidating as anything I'd ever heard. I couldn't speak. I could not have forced words past my throat to save my life in that moment. I gave the smallest of nods and listened, alone and bereft as Mulder walked away from me. Eventually, I couldn't hear him in the room at all, but a moment later I heard the heater come on and the quiet whisper air moving through the heating vents. I was still cold, but I knew that would go away soon. Mulder had taken care of it. It seemed a very long time before I heard Mulder come back in the room, and he stopped in the doorway, far away from me. I heard sounds which could only be the rustling of him digging through his bag again. It seemed to go on forever, and then abruptly stopped. I heard the whisper of his footsteps crossing the floor to me, knew he was approaching, but I still jumped slightly when his hands fell on my shoulders. "I'm going to need you to communicate with me here, Scully. I want you to remember the word 'flukeman.' It's what's known as a safe-word. If something goes wrong, if you want to stop, just say 'flukeman.' OK?" I nodded again, and I felt Mulder's fingers under my chin, forcing my head up. "I need an answer. What's the word?" "Flukeman." It came out as a whisper, weak and pathetic even in my own ears. I had no idea why I was whispering, except it just seemed out of place to raise my voice. I should stop this, I thought in a flash of panic. For a moment I regretted I hadn't taken the opportunity to call it off when he had given me the chance. I should take this blindfold off and tell Mulder I've changed my mind. He won't object--he's just doing it for me anyway. I'll give him the blow-job of his life to compensate for it. I knew that the intimidation, the fright was a part of the game, but I wasn't sure I liked the weakness I was feeling. I think somewhere inside I was afraid that if I became that person, I might not be able to get back, to become myself again. I was Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, confident, determined, controlled-- There was that word again. Control. I had agreed to give my control over to Mulder for a while. Mulder. My partner, my lover. He would die before he harmed me. I trusted him with my life. Was there anyone on this planet it was safer to let go of my control with? I swear the man is telepathic. Just as I was considering stopping what we were doing, his voice reached me again. "Do you want to stop?" Did I want to stop? Yes. No. I didn't know anymore. "No." The answer slipped past my lips of its own volition. I was still mentally spinning my wheels when the word escaped. Well, there it was then. I was committed. Mulder rubbed my arms softly, warming my skin. "Do you trust me, Scully?" "Yes." There was no hesitation, no doubt in my answer. "Then let go. Let me take over for a while." I felt my body obeying his words even as my mind balked at the idea. I felt relaxed and languid all of a sudden. Mulder's hands slid down my arms to grasp my own chilled fingers, raising goose-bumps along my skin as they passed. "Give yourself to me." He had whispered the words, but I felt them as though they were a shout. I wanted to do it, wanted to be safe and powerless in his gentle hands. I nodded and he gently, one small step at a time, turned me until I was pretty sure I was facing my bed again, and then instructed me to move forward. He guided me a couple paces, walking backwards before me with my hands in his, before telling me to stop. "We're at the edge of the bed," He informed me. I had already figured as much, but of course, being unable to see anything, I couldn't have known for certain. I heard a creaking that I though must be Mulder sitting on the bed. A soft sound and a gust of air announced something dropping to the floor in front of my feet. "There's a pillow in front of you. I want you to kneel down on it." He took my hands again to help stabilize me as I went down on one knee and then the other. The peaks of my breasts brushed something rough in passing, sending little jolts through me. I realized suddenly what I had touched must have been the hair on Mulder's legs. At some point, he must have gotten undressed. There was another shiver that ran through my body, another knot of tension formed in my belly, and another surge of wetness spread between my legs. "Lean forward. You can place your hands on the bed if you need support, but don't touch me." I carefully felt out until I found two spots on the edge of the bed on which to brace myself and support my weight as I leaned forward. Something hot and hard and satiny bumped my cheek and a scent I'd have recognized anywhere on this planet reached my nostrils. I realized with another wave of arousal that it was his cock. "Take me in your mouth," he commanded, even as I was instinctually parting my lips and seeking to engulf the bobbing shaft. "Don't use your hands." His cock bumped my cheek again and I turned my face toward it. I felt something damp trail across my skin and realized that a drop of pre-ejaculate had already collected on the head. I turned my head a little further and the head was sliding along my lips. I licked it softly, gratified by his hissing intake of air, tasting the remnants of the fluid gathered in the slit at the peak, then drew it into my mouth. I enjoyed giving Mulder head and the taste of him, so it was no hardship for me to go down on him. I was gradually learning what evoked the best reactions for Mulder and employed that knowledge, carefully applying pressure with my teeth, sliding my tongue over his shaft, sucking and rubbing my lips rapidly back and forth over the head. Having Mulder's cock in my mouth was a sensual treat. His scent surrounded me, leaving me drenched in my own wetness, and his taste teased my tongue. I loved the feel of his silky heat passing between my lips. Kneeling there, so close to his body, yet barely touching except for my mouth on his shaft and the occasional brush of my breasts against his knees, my chills subsided, the warmth of his body reaching and filling me. I ran my mouth up and down his cock, sucking, licking, nibbling in strategic places. Giving head without using one's hands, while blindfolded, is an interesting challenge. Every time my mouth released him I had to search for his cock again. Finally I gave up using teeth and tongue and settled for sucking on him. I stroked him with my lips, my cheeks hollowed out, pulling hard. I pushed my mouth down on him as far as I could go, until the head of his penis bumped my soft palate and threatened to cause my gag reflex to kick in. I slid my lips back up his shaft and took to sucking on the head. I was still somewhat awkward giving oral sex. I'd done it before Mulder, true, but always with a sense of reluctance. My previous lovers had not had Mulder's easy manner about all things sexual and their inhibitions had only exacerbated my own uncertainty, especially given the fact I was almost always quite a bit younger and looking to them for guidance. Mulder made it so easy for me to behave more naturally that I was losing my Catholic-conditioned hesitancy where sex was concerned. But though I was slowly gaining confidence, I still lacked something in technique. Mulder, bless him, never complained. Instead, he made low moans of pleasure and stroked my hair. He didn't push on my head, or attempt to thrust into my mouth (though in some part of my brain I wished he would, to take his pleasure from me selfishly) but merely encouraged me and let me pleasure him instead. "That's enough," Mulder murmured, running a hand gently over my cheek and cupping my face. "That was very good." He leaned forward and bestowed a tender kiss on my lips, and I felt an irrational thrill at his praise. He'd given me a task and I had performed it to his satisfaction. I felt like had he stopped the game there, I would have been glowingly content. He deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue into my mouth. I sucked on it greedily, wanting him inside me, all of him. I made a small sound of disappointment when he pulled away and reached down, taking my hands again. "Stand up," he commanded, and using him for balance, I rose from the pillow. My knees were a tad stiff from kneeling, and I flexed them experimentally. "Kneeling for extended periods of time is a bit harder than the stories make it out to be," he chuckled warmly. "I won't have you do it often." "Thank you," I murmured quietly, genuinely grateful that he had decided not to make me kneel. The idea that at any moment I could have risen up and refused never even entered my mind. It was as though I had lost all sense of myself in my focus on him. Somewhere in my brain, I fell a small thrill that he had implied a repeat performance of this whole scenario at some future time. "Get on the bed," he instructed, his tone solemn. Feeling my way, I crawled onto the bed. He took advantage of the opportunity to stroke my backside, running his hand around my buttocks and hips and thighs. "Lay down on your back, in the middle of the bed, and put your hands up over your head." I obeyed, and once I was in position, Mulder crawled onto the bed, straddling my torso. "Raise your arms." When I had lifted my arms, he slipped something around the wrists. I would have said it was rope, but it was much softer. Several loose strands brushed the outside of each wrist, as though he had encircled both wrists with a single loop of rope. I couldn't feel what Mulder was doing, but the cords on my wrists began to get tighter, pulling from the space between my wrists. Eventually, each wrist was encircled by what felt to be a bunch of soft cords, positioned about 10 inches apart, but with something solid yet slightly yielding between them. He pulled my bound wrists upwards and soon thereafter I discovered I couldn't move them from their position by the headboard. I had no idea what he had done, but I was undeniably tied to the headboard of the bed. The tension of arousal twisted in the pit of my gut again. I was bound and helpless at Mulder's hands. I felt his lips start at my forehead and work their way down over my cheek and finally to my mouth, where he gave me one tender, searching kiss after another, until I felt my body relax beneath his. After a long moment, his lips left mine to trail to my ear. "What's your safe-word?" He asked softly. "Flukeman," I whispered breathlessly. After I had answered, his body shifted off mine and moved away. Seconds later, his hand closed over my breast, his palm hot against my cool skin. His other hand covered the opposite breast and they caressed together, molding, squeezing gently, tweaking the nipples. The tips of his fingers closed over one nipple and began to squeeze. I moaned my pleasure to him and after a moment he released the nipple, performing the same act on the opposite nipple. My hips shifted restlessly, my sex contracting, dripping my juices down the backs of my thighs and buttocks to the bedspread below. The next time he squeezed my nipple was harder, bordering on painful. I began to twist in discomfort, seeking to pull my nipple away from his hand, even as my breathing and heartbeat accelerated. He left that nipple, soothing away the lingering discomfort with soft strokes of his palm, and began to pinch the other nipple again. Gently at first, and growing in pressure until he once again had me squirming, trying to get away. "What's your safe-word?" He asked again, his voice firm and commanding. "Flukeman," I whimpered. He released my nipple and began to soothe it. I felt his mouth close over it, his tongue stroking, his breath hot on my skin. At the same instant, his fingers closed over the other nipple and began to squeeze. The period between gentle pressure and discomfort was a lot less this time. I don't know if he was moving through the stages of pressure more quickly or if I had simply become more sensitive, but on this round, he crossed the threshold to actual pain. I gave a startled yelp and he let go of the nipple. He did not, however, soothe it as he had before, but instead seized its partner, still damp from his mouth, and began the process again, eliciting another exclamation from me. When he let go of the nipple, I whimpered again, this time in relief. Even after his fingers were gone, the peaks of my breasts were burning and throbbing. If he had pinched any harder, I would have had to say "flukeman" and I hadn't wanted to do that. It sounded too much like admitting defeat. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine. "I'm going to do that once more, and then I'm going to stop for now. Are you all right?" "Yes," I whispered against his mouth, amazed by the fact the moment he had announced his intention to pinch my nipples again, I had grown more aroused. I was anticipating it even though I knew it would hurt. I opened my mouth against his lips, silently pleading for the intrusion of his tongue. He didn't disappoint me. As he thrust his tongue between my lips and teeth, licking the roof of my mouth, his hands grasped my nipples simultaneously. Again, the pressure started. He squeezed the sensitive crest between with the pad of his thumb and the second knuckle of his index finger, gradually increasing the pressure. Soon I was squirming, then writhing, thrusting my hips up off the bed, kicking against the mattress with my bare feet. God, it hurt, and though I yelped and moaned him, he wouldn't release me. He held on as I struggled, my own movements unintentionally increasing the pain by pulling my nipples against his grasp. He continued to kiss me all the while, his tongue invading deeply, and finally I cried out loudly into his mouth. He released my nipples then, throbbing and aching, stroking them gently with his palms and I whimpered one more time at the lingering ache. Mulder ran gentle kisses over my face, complimenting me softly. "That was very good, Scully...you look so sexy when you're struggling like that...I didn't expect you to take so much...You're so beautiful...so sexy...I'm very impressed..." I turned my face into his kisses, seeking more, craving his contact as well as the gentle whispered praise. His cock was lying next to my belly and I could feel it dripping on my skin. "Please..." My voice was a keening, crooning whisper. "Please what?" "Please fuck me. I need you..." "Mmmm," he hummed in pleasure. "I like it when you plead like that. It's a huge turn-on." He rubbed his cock against my belly, letting me feel its heat and hardness against my skin. "Feel that? Feel how hard I am for you?" "Yes, I feel it...please, just do it..." "Not yet. I'm not finished with you yet." Oh, God...the combination of arousal and nervousness was maddening. I had no idea what he had planned, but if it didn't include fucking me soon, I was going to die, plain and simple. He crawled off the bed and rustled around in his bag some more. I could hear quiet clinks and thumps as he set items down in the bedside table. Finally his weight was pressing down on the mattress again and I could feel the heat of his body as he loomed over me. I heard the tinkling of ice in a glass and realized he had picked up the glass of water I had set out of him. I could hear him gulping and swallowing, and a couple drops of condensation fell from the glass to my skin. I shivered, and my sore nipples tightened painfully. End of Part Four of Six Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (5 of 6) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com * * * * * "Are you thirsty?" He asked me gently. I was, I realized. I hadn't noticed before, but I had been breathing and gasping through my mouth for some time by that point. "Yes." He slid a hand beside my head and helped lift me up enough to drink from the glass he held to my lips. "Careful now..." I sipped carefully from the rim of the glass, swallowed, and sipped again, licking my lips to moisturize them. He gave me a third drink and took the glass away. "Thank you," I whispered, and he kissed me softly. "I don't want you getting dehydrated, so if you need a drink, you have my permission to tell me, ok?" "Ok," I agreed and he gently laid my head back down on the pillow. There was more movement, more shifting around, and then I felt something lightly tickling my collarbone. It moved softly from one shoulder to the other and I wriggled. The persistent tickling did not go away, however. It was a feather, I realized, and Mulder was dragging it softly over my skin. After that realization, I quit struggling against it and tried to block out how much it tickled my skin. "If you relax it won't tickle as much," Mulder advised sternly from above me. I made a conscious effort to relax muscles that had gone tense at the first tickling sensations, and soon the touch of the feather was just a gentle, soothing whisper across my skin. It encircled my nipples, which were still overly-warm from the treatment they had received earlier. When the feather brushed across the peaks, I gasped. "Tender?" Mulder asked. I nodded wordlessly, and the feather went away. A moment later, something cold and wet landed on my nipple. I squealed and tried to bolt off the bed, only to discover I had forgotten I was tied to the headboard. The bonds stopped me short, and I lay there squirming as Mulder held an ice-cube to my nipple. "Hold still." His voice was firm, authoritative. It was the kind of voice that implied dire consequences if not obeyed instantly and completely. I froze, except for the involuntary twitching of my skin, shrinking from the cold presence on my breast. "Breathe," Mulder commanded. I did so, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it slowly. Eventually my nipple began to grow numb. That was when he switched to the other nipple. While he was holding the ice to the second nipple, warmth began to return to the first, tingling sharply. Mulder's mouth came down and covered it, scalding hot against my chilled flesh. One nipple was freezing while the other was on fire. I wasn't sure which sensation was the most maddening. Once the second nipple had gone numb, the ice disappeared, and Mulder sucked it into his mouth, warming it as he had the first. Then the feather was back, sliding across my belly and over my thighs. I squeezed them shut against the possibility that he might see fit to use the feather on my sensitive inner thighs and clit, which was exactly what he proceeded to do. Pushing my legs firmly apart, he pulled the feather over my slippery inner thighs and then spent long, torturous moments tickling my clitoris with it. Then it was gone again, and something sharp and scratchy began to make its way across my skin, starting at my shoulders just as the feather had. Mulder pressed just hard enough with whatever it was to elicit discomforted gasps and whimpers from me as it scraped my skin. He circled my breasts with it, spiraling upwards toward the peaks, and I could imagine whatever it was, it was leaving a reddened trail of scratches over my body. It stopped just short of my areolas, thank God, but then rather than scraping the sharp object over them, Mulder poked my nipples with it firmly, in a sharp, unexpected movement. They were so sensitive I cried out, not necessarily in pain, but certainly in an uncomfortable excess of sensation. He then trailed it down my abdomen, almost as though he were drawing on my skin with it. From my belly it went down my thighs to my knees, and then back up. Sensing where he was headed, I slammed my thighs together. "No. I can't." "Yes you can," he answered firmly. "If I choose for you to." "No. Please...I just want you to fuck me. I feel like I'll die if I don't have you inside me soon." I was ready to start sobbing with need, might actually be reduced to tears if he made me wait much longer. I couldn't bear the thought of that sharp object on my tender flesh when I was in such a desperate, sensitive state of arousal. It would kill me. "Open your legs for me, Scully." "Please, no..." I moaned, but I felt my tense thighs loosening. Mulder slid his hand between them. "I said open them. I'm not going to force you, but you won't get fucked until you do it." Oh, God, I was going to do it. I was going to let him do it. Trembling, I spread my legs, my pussy now dripping steadily. I spread them obscenely wide, and they quivered and twitched as I fought my own instinctive desire to press them together again. I prayed he was just teasing me and would, rather than continuing his journey over my skin with the sharp object, crawl between my thighs and thrust his cock into me, then proceed to fuck me within an inch of my life. It started at my knees, sharp against my skin, burning a quasi-painful path up my inner thighs. I realized with dread that if he scratched the skin there, my secretions would sting like holy fire when they touched it. He stopped just short of where my thighs became wet and I breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing. That was when he poked me with the object, directly on my clit. I screamed. I'd never felt anything like it--it felt like my clit was on fire. It wasn't even that it hurt just it was so intense I didn't know what else to do. I bucked and writhed on the mattress, pulling against the bonds at my wrists. It was a long moment, even after the sensation had faded, that I settled down. "I'm going to do that once more, because you gave me trouble earlier," Mulder murmured, and I wriggled violently, trying to get away from him. I tried to close my legs but he had positioned himself between them, blocking my efforts. "Oh, God...please, don't..." "Do you want to use your safe-word?" He asked. "No," I denied quickly. I didn't want to stop, didn't want to lose this encompassing feeling of his power surrounding me. "No, but please...I can't take anymore." "Then maybe next time you won't disobey me." Oh, God...I had brought this on myself. I shouldn't have tried to block him, should have spread my legs when he commanded me to, rather than pleading with him. Next time I would know better... Sighing, trembling, feeling dangerously close to tears, I subsided. He stroked my thighs and belly and hips, murmuring comfort and reassurances, drawing my tension from me. "You can do this. You can do it because I want you to. And when I'm done I'm going to fuck you," he promised, and I felt an answering spasm in my body. "I'm going to fuck you until you beg me to finish. Are you ready for me?" "God, yes!" I cried. "I'd better make sure..." His voice was amused, teasing, and he slid his hand between my thighs. Three fingers sank quickly and easily into my dripping canal. "Mmm, you *are* wet," he commented in a murmur. "I don't think I've ever felt you this wet, Scully." He withdrew his long fingers and I heard a sucking noise, and an instant later they were thrust into me again. "You taste marvelous." "Oh, God..." I bucked my hips against his hand. Inside me, his fingers had bent and were rubbing my g-spot insistently. He twisted and shifted them inside me and I moaned. And that was when he poked my clit again, a sharp, firm jab. I exploded. I came screaming, my hips pressing hard into the mattress, my back arching off the surface of the bed. Breathless, incoherent utterances fell in a senseless babble from my lips while I rode out the spasms. I finally lay still again, panting on the bed with Mulder looming over me, his body half covering mine. "I think you nearly broke my fingers," he murmured in my ear, laughter in his tone. I gave a helpless giggle. He shifted, bringing his weight over me, settling his hips between my thighs. "Now I think you're ready to be fucked." "God, Mulder, *please*..." I was begging now, and I didn't care. If I didn't have him inside me immediately I was going to come out of my skin. He lay there a moment, braced over me, teasing me. He'd rub my folds with his cock, then move away. He'd position himself at my entrance, nudging forward just the tiniest bit, and then draw back, leaving me whimpering in disappointment. Finally, he rose to his knees and sat on his heels. He gripped me under my ass and scooted forward, lifting me up until my butt was resting on the shelf of his thighs, my legs dangling in the air past his hips. He shifted forward a little and slid into me in a smooth thrust. I thought I heard a small moan from him, but it was drowned out by my own warble of pleasure. I could feel my internal muscles clenching and throbbing around his shaft, could feel his answering twitch. Raising his hips, thrusting forward, lifting my body until only my upper back and shoulders were still in contact with the bed, he held me by my hips and began to move within me. The angle was strange. It didn't allow for full penetration, but it did position his penis so that he stroked my g-spot with every thrust. I moaned loudly each time, overcome with the wave of pleasure that washed through me with his strokes. "I decided to take you this way so I could watch, Scully," Mulder spoke from above me. "All I have to do is look down and I've got a bird's eye view of the show. I can see every inch of my cock slide into your body." "Oh, God..." I groaned. The mental picture he provided with his description sent another lightning-bolt of arousal through me. In the darkness insured by the eye-mask, I had no other visual image to distract me. I could see him penetrating me as though I was actually watching it happen. "I can see your clit," with his words, one of his hands left my hip and he began to stroke my clit over so gently. "It's red and swollen, and when I touch it, I can feel your pulse. I can feel the racing of your heart through your clit." So could I. He thrust harder into me, simultaneously increasing the pressure on my nerve center, and I squealed, utterly beyond coherency. Then he resumed his slow even stokes and gentle fingering of my clitoris. "I can see your breasts swaying and bobbing every time we move. With you bent backward like this, your nipples are practically next to your chin. I want you do to something for me, Scully..." "What?" I gasped. He gave another hard thrust, another hard press against my clit, and then back to his leisurely pace again. "I want you to lift your head and lick your nipples. Can you do that for me?" I could do anything for him in that moment, anything at all, as long as he didn't stop fucking me. I tipped my head forward, pressing my chin to my collarbone, and sure enough, I could feel my breasts wobbling against my face. That's the nice thing about one's natural tissue, I suppose--it's still subject to the laws of gravity. Hanging essentially upside down as I was, it was easy to reach out with my tongue, searching for my nipples, lapping at the air until I found them. Getting inspired, feeling more confident now that he was doing something as familiar and normal as fucking me, I did his suggestion one better. Once I had captured one, I sucked it into my mouth. It was hyper-sensitive from the rough handling he'd given them earlier, and even the softest strokes of my tongue and the gentlest pressure of my lips had a profound effect. I whimpered, my mouth wrapped around my own nipple. "Open your mouth, Scully. Let me see your tongue as you lick it." He picked up his pace, fucking me harder, faster. I was grunting each time he thrust into me. Obediently, I released my nipple and then chased down its swaying movements, jabbing with my tongue, stroking lightly. Determined to give Mulder a good show, I then turned my head and did the same thing for the other nipple. He increased the speed of his strokes again, jarring me with each thrust. "That's it. That's beautiful. Scully, you are so damned sexy..." Again, fucking me harder, slamming into me. I had no hope of possibly finding my nipples with my tongue with the rapid movements, and gave up trying. "If you come again before I'm finished, I'll give you a reward," he told me, his voice gravelly with desire and breathless with exertion. Considering my state, I didn't consider what he'd proposed much of a challenge. Just the tiniest nudge was going to push me over the edge. But then, I didn't know just how close he was, so time might be of the essence. Never let it be said he wasn't beyond fair in helping me meet the challenge. He increased the pressure of his thumb on my clit, rubbing almost painfully hard, as I managed to capture one of my nipples again. I sucked hard while he stroked me. Jesus, I was so close... Mulder's thrusts were getting faster, less controlled, and I knew I didn't have much time. His breathing was ragged and labored, his skin slick with sweat. He kept his hand on my clit, though, kept rubbing, helping me along. "I'm close, Scully," he warned, and he spoke with a hissing tone, as though forcing the words between clenched teeth. "So close..." Desperately, wanting so badly to know what reward he had in mind for me, I bit my nipple, tugging at it with my teeth. Out of sheer chance, Mulder chose that moment to pinch my clit between his fingers, and I was lost, coming and yelling, thrashing wildly. I was dimly aware of Mulder pulling out of me, he hands no longer on my body. When he spoke, his voice was more controlled than it had been, and I suspected he might have pinched off his impending orgasm while I was still coming. "Oh, that was very good. That was beautiful...so beautiful..." he murmured, crawling up the bed to lay beside me. His perspiration-soaked skin chilled my flesh. He kissed my cheek, nuzzling my hair, and again I felt a warm glow suffuse me at his praise. "For your reward, you can choose how we finish this. How would you like it?" The question took me by surprise. I hadn't expected to be required to make a decision. What would it take to make this encounter my perfect fantasy? What else was left? I considered the question a moment, knowing that the longer I delayed, the further Mulder came back off the brink. I rolled the question around in my mind. What would make it complete? My body tightening in pleasure again, I realized I had my answer. I had to be on my knees. "I want you to take me from behind," I told Mulder, a hitch of excitement in my voice. Without hesitation, Mulder reached over my head, and I could feel him doing something with the cords that bound my wrists. When he was finished, my hands were still bound, but they were no longer secured to the headboard. "Roll over," Mulder commanded gently. "Get on your knees." I did as I was told, laying my cheek against the pillows and supporting my upper body with my elbows, since my hands were out of commission. Still denied sight, I could feel Mulder moving into position behind him, feel his cock brushing my thighs and buttocks before nudging against my entrance. His fingers tested the state of my readiness and when there was friction, withdrew. Our exertions earlier had absorbed most of my natural moisture. He shifted around behind me, and then his fingers were back, smearing something cold and slick over my labia and into my canal. They pulled back again and were soon replaced by his cock. He pushed into me with exquisite slowness, centimeter by centimeter at a time. We groaned in unison, and I pushed my pelvis back to hasten his entry. He quickly gripped my hips to stop me. "I'm still in charge," he cautioned me, and I obediently stilled my movements. He stroked my hips and ass softly, the fingers of his right hand still damp with the lubricant he had applied. Holding me firmly, he began to move. It didn't take long for the pace to accelerate, until he was pummeling into me. I gripped the headboard with my bound hands, bracing my elbows on the pillow alongside my head to prevent being shoved against the bars. I tightened my internal muscles around his cock to increase the sensation for both of us. His response was a barking gasp that sounded vaguely like my name. He was holding my hips hard enough to leave bruises, thrusting into me with all his force, and I was moaning in rapture. I felt his body tense, knew he was getting closer and cried out my pleasure and encouragement. His right hand slid over my ass, stroking, then to my astonishment I felt a single lubricated finger rubbing gently at my anus in slow circles. I stiffened in a combination of fear and arousal, turned-on beyond words, but afraid. My muscles had tightened, clamping around his cock, which only heightened the pleasure for both of us. A particularly deep stroke drew an impassioned cry from me as he hit my cervix, and while I was still focused on that, his finger pushed firmly but painlessly into my ass. I screamed, climaxing a third time with devastating force, and Mulder was right there with me, giving me a hammering thrust with each spasm of his body, pouring himself into me, calling my name. He sagged back onto his knees and I felt his sweat-dampened face and hair drop onto my buttocks, resting as though on a pillow. I knelt there, gasping for breath, shell-shocked. After a moment, Mulder stirred, raising himself off of me. His left hand stroked my back softly and he carefully withdrew his finger from my anus. I shuddered as he did so, unaccustomed to the sensation. It was not uncomfortable or painful as I had thought it might be. Just strange. He gently removed the mask from my eyes and I blinked in the candlelit room, grateful the light was just candles rather than harsh incandescent bulbs. The first thing I could see was my bound hands in front of my face, still gripping the bars of my headboard. He had wrapped the soft cord several times around my wrists, and then taken what was left and wrapped it evenly around the slack between my hands. He had created what was in essence a short bar of rope between the loops encircling my wrists, flexible but unyielding. And completely comfortable. I settled in beside him, snuggling up, unwilling to ask him to release my hands. He pulled an afghan spread at the foot of my bed over our bodies and we lay there together, breathing heavily. After a moment, Mulder pressed a kiss to my cheek. "That was amazing," I sighed. Despite my languor, I felt strangely energized, giddy even. "*You're* amazing," he replied, smiling at me. "I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life. I think we killed some brain cells." I chuckled, feeling marvelously alive and carefree. "You've got plenty to spare," I replied. He gave me a mock-ferocious growl and rolled over, pulling me on top of his body. I held my hands up between us. "What is this?" Mulder smirked. "I don't know, Scully, but it looks like your hands to me." I gave a huff of exasperation. "No, smart-ass, the rope." "Oh, that!" He feigned sudden understanding and I jabbed him in the ribs. "Maybe we killed more brain-cells than I originally assumed," I commented dryly. He chuckled, the sound of his laughter washing over me. "Silk parachute cord," he finally answered my question. "I did some research on bondage material. You can get it through surplus stores. It's some of the strongest and softest bondage material out there, and very versatile. Experts say specially prepared hemp rope is best, but it takes some time and practice to use comfortably. The parachute cord is a close second. It's also much better for your wrists than hard ropes or handcuffs would have been, and easy to cut through quickly in case of an emergency." I paused, staring at him, realizing how much trouble he must have gone through to set this up for me. Such things as the rope and eye-mask must have been what were on his shopping list when he was gone last night. I glanced over at the bedside table and saw a long white feather lying there, and a large pocket knife I'd never seen in his possession before, safely folded into its own handle. Curiosity prodded me as I wondered what the knife was for. Surely not..."What were you poking me with?" I asked cautiously. I glanced down at my chest and sure enough, there were swirls and squiggles of faint pink lines over my skin. If he told me he had used the knife on me, had touched my clitoris with it, I was not going to be responsible for my actions. "You really wanna know?" He asked, taunting me, looking very smug. "Mulder, you didn't--" He shook his head at me, smiling. "The knife is for cutting the ropes if we got into trouble." He reached over and picked up the feather, flipping it so that the stem pointed in my direction. "They're not just good for tickle torture, you know." I laughed. I don't know why, really. Sheer happiness, perhaps? But the enraptured expression on Mulder's face when I looked down at him was enough to bring tears to my eyes. It brought him sublime happiness just to see me laugh. This was not a man I'd seen happy many times over our seven-year history. In fact, he could be a downright moody bastard, but seeing me smiling and lighthearted was all it took to bring him joy. I was so overcome with love for him in that moment, I didn't think my heart could contain it all. Unsure of what to do, I kissed him, tenderly at first, then with increasing passion. I cradled his face in my hands with the rope between my wrists under his chin and held him while my tongue sought entrance into his mouth. He sighed softly and his lips parted for me. I moved from his lips down his body, pressing kisses to every inch of skin I could reach, laving his chest with my tongue. I made my way to his hips and took his flaccid penis into my mouth, sucking gently. My goal was not so much to arouse him as to bring him pleasure, like he'd brought me tonight. There was no rush, no urgency, even when, after a certain recovery period, he did start to harden in my mouth again. I continued leisurely sucking and licking him, stroking his hips and groin and sac with my bound hands. He buried his hands in my hair, holding me to him, thrusting gently into my mouth. It was an eternity later when he finally came, gently, with soft whispers of love and encouragement and none of the fury that had engulfed us earlier. He spilled his seed in my mouth and I drank it in, savoring the essence of him on my tongue. Then I crawled up to lay beside him again. Drowsily, he unwrapped the silk cord from around my wrists, lightly rubbing the impressions it had left in my skin, and we settled in to sleep. End of Part Five of Six Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall (6 of 6) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com * * * * * I think I'm addicted. Great sex is a self-perpetuating phenomenon. The more you have it, the more you want it. After our scene on Friday night, which could not possibly have gone more perfectly, we spent the entire weekend together. We took a long nap after we had finished playing that night and awoke starving. It was nearly midnight, but that didn't prevent us from getting dressed and heading to a 24-hour diner to get something to eat. We were both giddy, laughing and talking animatedly over our omelets, and I think the waiter at the restaurant thought we were high on something. When we had finished eating, we headed back to Scully's apartment. By the time we reached the front door, I was devouring Scully from the mouth down. We didn't make it to the bedroom. Hell, we didn't even make it out of our clothes. We ended up making love against the wall in the hallway, her legs around my hips, my pants around my ankles. We never got around to taking our shirts off. Oddly, neither of us minded. Before we slept, I made sure to question Scully about the scene. I needed to know how she was feeling about what had happened. "It was wonderful, Mulder," she said solemnly. "It surpassed anything I had ever imagined." "What did you like best about it?" "What didn't I like best? God, Mulder...all of it was incredible." "I'm glad, Scully, but I need more detail." She fell silent, considering the question a moment. "I liked that you pushed it. That you were firm with me. If you had just tied me up and fucked me and then released me, I don't think I would have been satisfied. But instead, you said things and did things that made certain I knew you were in control--you were intimidating and stern. Your tone of voice--Jesus, Mulder, it gave me chills. I was frightened, but at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to stop it." I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought maybe I had taken the dominant act too far, seemed too arrogant in ordering her. Truth was, I didn't have the first fucking clue how to dominate Scully, but I knew if I had gone to her as the Mulder she's always known and trusted, she wouldn't have taken the game seriously. And I had the feeling Scully was the type who would want the game to be *very* serious. "Was there anything that happened that you weren't comfortable with? That you don't want to have happen if we ever decide to do this again?" She considered for a moment, then shook her head. "No. I mean, at the time, I can remember thinking 'oh God, I can't do this' at certain points, but looking back, there was nothing there I wouldn't willingly--and happily-- do again." "What about physically? I--um--I kinda improvised there. I wasn't really sure what your limits were as far as erotic pain went, so I was afraid maybe I was pushing too far. Did I hurt you?" Her eyes grew distant, as though re-enacting our scene in her mind. "You did push it, Mulder," she said at last. "But that wasn't a bad thing. I probably wouldn't ever have had the courage to ask for it, really, even though I had considered it. I don't think I could really feel I had truly given myself over if there hadn't been something that pushed the limits of how much I was comfortable with." "Thank you," I told her, kissing her forehead and feeling enormously relieved. "And just so you know--I thought it was wonderful, too." Satisfied, we fell silent and soon drifted off to sleep. We slept in Saturday almost to noon, woke up, made slow, sweet love, showered together, had lunch, and settled in on the sofa to watch the Saturday afternoon matinee movie on some cable network or the other. As luck would have it, it was "The Blue Lagoon" which, though fairly unsophisticated by today's standard, we were both old enough to remember when it was the hottest and sexiest movie of the year. Of course, it was edited for television and all the really good stuff got the chop in that process, so we supplemented what was on the screen with our own action. Funny, I didn't remember the movie being that good when it was out in the theatres. I took Scully out on a date that night. The romantic in me reared his sappy, besotted head and I couldn't help myself. I made reservations at DeNicola's Italian Restaurant, told Scully to get dressed up, put on the spare suit I've taken to keeping in her closet and took her out for an evening of wining and dining. She wore a tight red knit dress with a wide neckline that bared most of her shoulders and long sleeves. It stopped mid-thigh, so I got a generous view of her shapely legs, turned out nicely with scarlet spiked high-heels that had straps criss-crossing over the top of her foot and up her ankle. The first sight of those shoes was the birth of what would become a serious foot-fetish on my part. It was late before we got back to her apartment. We had decided before the evening began to take a taxi rather than drive, so we could both imbibe freely of the expensive Italian wine, and on the way home we gave the cabby quite a show. I couldn't get enough of touching Scully. I felt like I'd die if I didn't have my hands on her body, and she seemed just as voracious. I've loved Scully for years, but I can't remember ever being as passionately infatuated with her as I was that weekend. "Christ, Scully," I vowed, running my mouth over her cheek before taking the shell of her ear between my teeth. We were just inside her door, which is exactly where we started our first sexual encounter. "I don't think I've been this horny since I was sixteen." She gave a rich, throaty laugh. "As long as you have more staying power than you did at sixteen, be my guest." I unzipped the back of her dress while thrusting my tongue into her ear. She gasped as my hands made contact with her bare back. "Lose the shirt, now," she commanded and I pulled away from her and practically tore the shirt off. She peeled the crimson dress off her body and unhooked her bra, tossing it aside so that her breasts swayed freely with her movements. The dark nipples were pebble hard, poking straight at me. I pulled her to me again and they burned like twin brands against my bare chest. I ran my hands down her back and over her curvy ass. Earlier I had discovered, much to my delight, she was wearing stockings and garters. While she licked her way over my shoulders and chest, I slid my hands inside the elastic waistband of her satin underwear, cupping the soft globes of her ass. While I squeezed her flesh in my hands, she closed her full red lips over my nipple and began to suck. Soon the suction was replaced by the scrape of her teeth, and she tugged firmly. I was so hard I thought I was going to split my trousers. I crushed Scully to me and ground roughly against her belly. "Mmm, Agent Mulder, feels like you've got a problem..." Scully commented against the skin of my chest. She began to slide her mouth down my torso, and before I knew it she was on her knees in front of me, her sure hands making quick work of my belt and fly. She pushed my pants and underwear down my hips in a single motion and engulfed my cock in the scalding heat of her mouth. "OH! God! Scully!" I fell weakly back against the door, unable to support my own weight. She grabbed my hips with both hands and began to move up and down my cock while I closed my eyes and started doing multiplication tables in my head to avoid blowing my wad like that horny sixteen year old I had referred to. I twined my hands helplessly in her hair and held her head to my groin. Her lips were like exquisite silk sliding up and down on my shaft. She tongued the head, lapping up the fluid that had gathered in the slit there, humming softly. She wrapped her mouth around me and slid down again, then dragged her teeth lightly up my cock. I gave a wordless shout. I wasn't going to be able to take much more of this. The multiplication tables weren't doing any good. I was up to quadratic equations and headed for advanced calculus, but Scully wasn't done with me yet. In the next instant she had taken me as far as she could go into her mouth, but instead of drawing back, she kept pressing forward. I felt the slightest popping sensation and then her lips and nose were buried in my pubic hair. My cock was engulfed to the hilt. Christ-on-a-crutch, Scully was deep-throating me! I made a strangled noise, but I was so amazed that my need to come lost some of its urgency. She'd tried it before and had confessed a certain frustration she hadn't been able to relax enough to do it. Truthfully, I hadn't minded. I'd never felt it before and couldn't miss what I didn't know. Besides, she had more than enough oral talents to keep me a sublimely happy man, though I think she questioned that occasionally. I looked down at Scully. She opened her azure eyes and rolled them upward to meet my gaze. They were glowing with triumph. The sight of her staring smugly at me through black fringed eyes while my cock was buried in her mouth, combined with the pressure of her throat around the head of my shaft nearly killed me. "Scuh--Scully...gotta stop...gonna come..." I barely managed to gasp out the warning. Slowly, she slid her lips off my cock. "Do it," she murmured, opening her mouth again and moving forward. "No!" I grabbed my cock and squeezed the base. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing for a moment. When I looked down again, Scully was blinking up at me. "I wanna fuck you," I told her, knowing I sounded needy and desperate as I practically begged. "Please...I wanna be inside you when I come..." I grabbed her upper arms, not particularly careful to be gentle and pulled her to her feet. I shoved my hands into her underwear again, and bless her soul, she had been kind enough to put the panties on over the garters. I pushed them down her legs and maneuvered them past her shoes. "I'm going to fuck you with these shoes on," I growled, breathing hard between clenched teeth, regaining my confidence with the crisis of the near-miss past me and sheer animal hunger upon me. I shoved a hand between her thighs and pushed my fingers into her oh-so wet tunnel. With my fingers probing her, I grabbed her around the waist and propelled her backward toward the sofa. She was making loud, feral moans as I thrust my fingers in and out. Withdrawing them, I wiped her juices on her breast and pushed her back so that she was perched on the high arm of the couch. Intuiting my intent, Scully grabbed me around the neck while I grasped her thighs and pushed them open, guiding her legs around my waist. With her spiked heels gouging my buttocks, I shoved my cock into her body. "Hang on, Scully," I advised her gruffly and began to thrust. I was in an agony of wanting, beyond consideration for her pleasure, and I didn't particularly care if this was the shortest ride in our personal books, as long as I came and came soon. I pumped into her wildly, mindlessly, only distantly aware of her grunts and moans with each impact. Her shoes bumped and scraped along my ass as I moved. When I climaxed, I came so hard it was painful, my cock burning with each jet of semen. The orgasm exploded through me and I yelled, my fingers digging in where they gripped her thighs. My knees sagged, my sated body going limp as my cock gave a couple final twitches inside Scully's body. I think the only things keeping me from collapsing to the floor were her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips. I panted harshly against the skin of her neck, sweat beading and dribbling down my face. "Sorry," I muttered as I slowly came back to myself, pressing soft kisses on the upper swells of her breasts. I was well aware of the fact Scully hadn't come. I made a mental promise to take care of that as soon as I could move again, which hopefully would be sometime this year. "Don't be," she whispered, stroking my back softly. "I'm not. I wanted to feel you come, to watch you and hear you with nothing distracting me from the show. It was gorgeous." Have I mentioned I am madly in love with this woman? My penis was growing soft inside her, slipping out a tiny bit at a time, and I knew our combined secretions were dribbling out of her body, coating our thighs and probably the sofa arm as well. Neither of us really cared. Sex is a messy process. If it ain't, you're not doing it right. Necessity being the mother of invention, you can see why we have showers and upholstery cleaner. This certainly wasn't the first time we had christened her couch and worried about the mess later. "Mmm," I hummed in contentment, listening to the beating of her heart from where I rested with my head on her breasts. "Gimme a minute to recover here and I'll make that up to you." "Don't you dare," she stated, and I looked up at her, taken aback by her vehemence. "I don't want you to. I want to go clean up a bit, and then I want to go to bed and feel you fall asleep in my arms. I could have come tonight if I'd wanted to, but I didn't. I wanted tonight to be about you. After what you gave me last night..." Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away. When she looked back, her eyes were suspiciously shiny. "Mulder, this has been the most incredible weekend of my life. I just--there aren't any words for it. I just want to focus on you right now. Besides," she gave me a sly grin. "I know you're good for it tomorrow." I kissed her deeply, thoroughly. It was a kiss of love rather than of passion. When it was over and our lips had parted, we stood there a moment, foreheads pressed together in silent communion. Then I stood straight and took her hand, helping her down off the arm of the couch. "Come on. Let's go to bed." * * * * * I finally left Scully's apartment Sunday. Sunday is her day with her mom, usually. She goes to Mass in the morning and then to her mom's house for dinner. Scully has told me more than once that if I wanted to hang around her apartment while she went to church, I could go over to Mrs. Scully's for dinner with her afterward, but I declined. I think it's important she have time with her family apart from me. This had only become an issue I cared about after we had become lovers. When we just worked together, I hadn't given a great deal of thought to how much time she spent with me she could've been spending with her family. When we found ourselves together during nearly all our off- hours as well, I realized it was very important to me that she have time with her family away from me. I didn't want to take over her entire life and I was afraid I would try to do precisely that if I wasn't conscientious. Mrs. Scully is fond of me, in a cautious way. When Scully was missing, it had created a bond of fear and concern between us, but a lot has happened since then. Unlike her son, she doesn't blame me for all that has happened to her daughter, and her family, since Scully and I began working together, but she's still a mother. She worries about her child and rightly so. As fond of me as she might be, I think it possible she'd breathe a sigh of relief if Scully stopped working with me. I don't want to create any awkwardness between Scully and her mother by imposing on their family time, so I always politely decline Scully's repeated offer, telling her I'll see her on Monday. I hadn't expected to see Scully again that day, so when I woke up Sunday morning, a good hour earlier than was required to pack up my gear and go home, I took advantage of the opportunity. With Scully still sound asleep beside me, I gently pulled the covers off her nude body and stared at her for a moment. I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful woman. She lay leaning forward, half on her stomach, half on her side, so while most of the front of her was blocked from my view, I had a great view of her shapely back. I think one of my favorite parts of the feminine anatomy is where the straight slope of the torso dips down into the curve of the waist and from there, flares out into the hips. I thought the top of my head might blow off the other night when Scully asked me to take her from behind. We don't do it often, because while it provides me with a great view and deeper penetration, it makes it harder for me to reach her clit, and the angle is wrong for me to really get her g- spot, with a cock that tended to thrust upward. She has to be very aroused to even get close to coming that way. But when we do make love in that position, it's a visual treat, make no mistake. She was sleeping on her left side and so her tattoo was clearly visible. It was an object of combined fascination and anger for me. Whatever her claims, we both know what she had done that weekend she had done to strike out at me. I don't blame her, really. She felt like I didn't respect her, like I took her for granted and maybe I did. But she had jeopardized her own safety in the process. She had broken some internal Golden Rule I didn't even know I had. Thou Shalt Not Harm Scully. It wasn't even that she may or may not have fucked Ed Jerse. That detail might have driven me up the wall with a jealous rage I really had no right to, but what truly got to me was her careless disregard for the danger she had been courting. Going out with a virtual stranger--ok, not the brightest idea, but she's a trained federal officer. She could probably take care of herself. Getting drunk in the presence of said stranger--well, we're tipping the scales toward downright foolish there. Going into a seedy tattoo parlor and letting someone you don't know, whose credentials and record with the health department you haven't checked out, stick a needle in you--the scales have done tipped and broken under the weight of their burden. Going home with the virtual stranger, drunk and flying an endorphin high from getting the tattoo--that one goes right past foolish and touches upon insane. But at the same time, the tattoo represented a side to Scully I hadn't known before. It was a side that took risks, that got off on danger, that broke free of that rigid control I now know she simultaneously cherishes and despises. I was intrigued and aroused when I considered it, but then I learned of her cancer and any thoughts I might have had about trying to get to know that side of her better got pushed into a dark corner and forgotten. By the time we were sure she was going to live, those ideas had been all but forgotten, part of a past I didn't really care to look back upon. All those considerations aside, it was visually a gorgeous tattoo. The blood-red dye against the paleness of her skin, the slightly rough, indented texture--when I wasn't twisting what the thing might or might not mean for Scully and I in the great scheme of things over in my mind, it was sexy as hell to look at. Combine that with the silhouette I mentioned before, the subtle motion of her finely toned muscles beneath her skin, an ass that's more shapely than any one woman has a right to and it's easy to see why I would enjoy the occasional tour driving from the back seat. Once my eyes had drunk their fill, I crawled to the foot of the bed, getting a close-up view of her magnificently muscled legs as I did so. Her calves were taut and well- defined, curving elegantly down to her ankles. Looking at her feet, all I could do was remember those shoes she had worn the night before. After we had made our way into the bedroom, Scully had sat on the edge of the bed and began to untwine the straps that had crossed over her feet and around her ankles. I had knelt beside her on the floor, taking her leg into my hands. Balancing her sharp heel on my bare thigh, I had slowly removed the shoe, stroking her legs and foot. "These are gorgeous," I had commented, eyeing the shoe appreciatively. "You know, you made one of *my* fantasies come true tonight. The moment you came out wearing these all I could think about was your legs wrapped around my waist with these things on your feet." Scully gave a slight smirk. "Well, I imagine that's why they're known as 'fuck-me' shoes, Mulder." "I think these shoes are probably illegal to walk in along most major highways," I replied. "It'd be a traffic safety hazard." Scully had chuckled softly. I took my time removing the shoes and stockings and garters, pausing to stroke her leg and rub any tense muscles I found. I started to give Scully a foot massage when she stopped me and reiterated the request she had made earlier, that we should go to sleep with the peace and contentment of our last lovemaking still upon us. Oh well, can't blame a guy for trying. I had agreed and climbed into the bed, stretching out with a weary sigh. Scully had curled up beside me and I had fallen asleep with her eyes still upon me. I had no intentions of being sidetracked this morning, considering it would probably be a good 36 hours before I would be alone with Scully again. I sat up and drew her foot into my lap, holding it between my hands. With my thumbs, I began to rub the front pad of her foot, just behind her toes, in slow, firm circles. Scully began to stir and I moved down to the arch, sliding my thumbs back and forth hard enough not to tickle. She sighed in contentment, her eyes slowly opening to stare at me. "Mmm, I like a man who's persistent," she remarked before yawning hugely. Grinning, I moved on to her heel, listening to her groan of pleasure. I went slowly, spending long moments on the first foot before moving on to the next. Scully arched and stretched sensuously, content to let me pamper her. Relaxation quickly turned to arousal when I lifted her foot and began slowly sucking and licking the toes. "God, Mulder," she murmured. "You do find erogenous zones in the strangest of places." "You like this?" I asked. Scully nodded, her eyes darkening with passion. I changed feet and began working that one over with my mouth as well. By the time I was done, Scully was squirming and giving soft moans of pleasure. When I looked up at her, she was watching me breathlessly, waiting. She had made a brief tour as sexual aggressor last night, but now she had stepped back again, waiting for me to call the play. In anyone else, I might have considered it a sign of reluctance or shyness, but looking in Scully's eyes, in light of the discussions we had had, I knew better. It added to her pleasure, the anticipation, waiting for my decision, wondering what I would come up with next. It was a rush to know there was very little I could ask of her that she wouldn't willingly and happily do and take pleasure from. But I needed to know her thoughts, her desires. Her allowing me to call the shots would wear thin pretty quickly unless she was confident that my decisions took into consideration what she wanted, too. "Tell me what you're thinking," I said, using the tone of voice I had when we were playing Friday night, the one that brooked no refusals. Scully's eyes fluttered shut the moment I spoke, an expression akin to ecstasy claiming her features for an instant. "I'm thinking how great it felt last night to pleasure you," she murmured. "I'm thinking how proud I was to take your cock all the way into my throat. Mulder--I can't stop thinking about Friday night," she confessed breathlessly. "Every time I look at you, I think what it was like to be helpless and totally in your power and how the only thing I wanted in that moment was to obey you. I've never felt like this before. I mean, I've always tried to please my lovers, but only because they expected me to do what they wanted when they wanted it, and I didn't know how else to respond. But this-- "I wanted to please you that night because I knew it would make you proud of me, and how proud I would be of myself, to succeed in meeting that goal. It was an accomplishment for me--to let go of that control and, rather than feeling weakened and cheapened by the loss, find myself so empowered instead. Every time you told me how good I was, every time you praised me, I felt like there was nothing in the world I couldn't do. And what I did last night, when I took command of the moment--I went down on you not because you expected it or would have asked it of me, but because I *wanted* to do it. I deep-throated you because it was something *I* wanted to accomplish. And I look back at my past sexual experiences and I realize I would never in a million years have done that before--I would have waited to be asked, and then I would have performed out of a sense of obligation. But I wouldn't have felt any pride and I wouldn't have pushed myself to do more, to do better, to make it the best experience you'd ever had. I--I don't even know how to describe it, Mulder, but I feel different. I feel like I've visited someplace very special and I want to go back there and visit that place again." I was simultaneously moved beyond words and a little afraid. I was thrilled more than I could comprehend that what had happened between us Friday night had been so profound for her. I had given her something she'd never had before, something that perhaps no one else could give her. But I was frightened. I knew from experience how easy it was to lose yourself in a situation like this, to go so deep wanting to please someone that you can't find your way out. And with Scully, I couldn't take the risk of that happening. I moved up the bed and pulled her close. "Scully, I need you to understand something. And even if you think you already know what I'm going to say, or think you've got it in hand and nothing I can say will make a difference, I want you to listen to me anyway, and I need you to *hear* me, please? Will you do that for me?" Scully nodded solemnly, her eyes wide. "I told you some pretty powerful emotions could be triggered when you get into this sort of thing, and you just proved me right. I know exactly how you're feeling right now and believe me when I tell you I'm feeling the exact same way. What we did Friday night was one of the most powerful things I've ever experienced. Just the trust it took for you to turn yourself over to me like that...I was in awe. "But we need to be careful. When you're feeling something this powerful, this overwhelming, it's very easy to lose yourself in it. You get swept up in the rush and it's nearly impossible to get back out. You told me that when you let previous lovers control you, they took over your life and that was why it had become so important for you to seize and hold control over yourself and your surroundings. You can't let that happen again, Scully. I can't let that happen. Aside from what it would do to our relationship, professionally it would be a disaster in the making." I saw Scully blink suddenly, as though coming out of a trance, when I used the word "professionally." It had surprised her, because we often took great pains to leave the office outside the door during our personal time together. Truth be told, I hated to introduce it into the discussion here, but it had to be done. "I want you to step back a bit, Scully, and really consider what you want, and where to draw the line, because when you're together both personally and on the job like we are, sometimes the line can get very blurred. It's a good idea for both of us, because I'm in just as much jeopardy of going too far and too deep, too fast with this as you are. Maybe more." I paused, overwhelmed for a moment with emotion. "I need you to know I don't expect you to please me, or pleasure me. You've given me a great gift in your willingness to do so, and an even greater gift in allowing me the control to guide how we go about pleasuring each other, but understand I regard it as exactly that--a gift. Not a right, or my due, but as a privilege. I love you for it, Scully, as well as for a thousand reasons established long before you gave it to me. But I *don't* expect it, and *wouldn't* demand it and I don't ever want us to get to the point where, in our daily dealings with each other, you don't feel you can tell me 'no.' Because when we're outside the bedroom, I need you to remain the strong, controlled Scully I've always known. I rely on it. I rely on *you*. And if we lose ourselves in this to the point where you're not that person anymore, or where *I* become a person who doesn't appreciate that in you, it will be all wrong. It will destroy everything we've built together and I can't lose that." Scully nodded again, and some of the glow had faded from her eyes. When she spoke, her expression was very solemn. "Mulder, I hear what you're saying. And I agree. You're one hundred percent correct we have to know where to draw the line, especially as it relates to our work. I don't know what you experienced all those years ago, but I can tell from your reaction it wasn't a positive experience. It didn't leave you feeling very good about yourself. I can understand why you'd be a bit leery of taking a chance that might happen with me. But Mulder, the difference is what we've done so far *has* left me feeling good about myself. Better than I have in a very long time. I feel-- liberated, like I was carrying some terrible burden and now it's been lightened. And I have no fear you'll take advantage of it or take my willingness and eagerness to please you for granted. I solemnly promise you, if you try it I'll kick your ass." She tossed that last comment out with a jaunty grin and I couldn't help but laugh. After a moment, I stroked her face and kissed her forehead gently. "Promise me one thing." "Just one?" "I'm serious, Scully." "You're right. I'm sorry, I know you are. Go on." "Let's take some time off. Give it a few days, time for the glow to wear off, before you make any decisions about what you want to do and where you want to go with this. Maybe until Friday. We'll step back, take inventory, figure out what's going to work best for us, and then we'll get together Friday night and discuss it." "Friday, huh?" She didn't sound terribly enthused with the prospect. "I promise you this is hurts me as much, if not more, than it does you." "Well, if I have to wait a whole five days," she started, pushing me onto my back and draping herself over my chest, "we should probably make this time count." "You're going to be late for Mass if you don't start getting ready now," I warned her. "I'll tell Mom I had a headache this morning and couldn't make it." "Hmm, I don't think I should let you put your immortal soul in jeopardy for a little last-minute nookie," I replied, trying for a stern expression and falling far short. "Let me?" Scully repeated incredulously, straddling my hips. "Let me? Agent Mulder, I don't recall giving you much of a choice." By the time I thought of a suitably witty rejoinder, I had this new, improved, not-so-submissive Scully's tongue in my mouth and couldn't speak. End of Aphrodisia I - Scaling the Last Wall Questions, comments and feedback can be sent to Kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Look for Aphrodisia II to be posted around October 18. From: "Kristel S. Oxley-Johns" Date: Wed, 18 Oct 2000 08:21:00 -0700 Subject: "Aphrodisia II" NC-17 (1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Source: xff Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: EXTREME NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess. Definitely "Amor Fati. "Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7 Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut, PWP Summary: After their first D/s encounter, Scully struggles to reconcile what she wants and needs with the identity she has constructed for herself. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: First, thank you to everyone who sent encouraging feedback for Book One. Thank you also to my betas and test-reading crew: Heather, Tiff, Shelba, Nancy, Beth, Sybil, Indi, Christy, Jen, and Cal. Credit where credit is due: "Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns" was written by Molly Devon and her top, the late Philip Miller. It is available through Mystic Rose books (www.mysticrose.com) and is considered by many to be the BDSM bible. In this chapter I also quote passages from Molly Devon's lecture notes from her seminar "Altered States: The Biochemisty of S&M" which I had the remarkable good fortune to attend at Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco this year, and I even had the luck to converse with Molly privately in the hotel hot tub later that weekend. "The Bottoming Book: or, How To Get Terrible Things Done To You By Wonderful People" is written by Dossie Easton and Catherine A. Liszt and is available through Greenery Press (www.bigrock.com/~greenery/) "Story of O" is by Pauline Reage and is available just about everywhere. DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, And The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property Of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without permission. No profit is being made by their use in this story. SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM-related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust, and Desire It was late Monday evening before the "glow," as Mulder called it, finally wore off. I spent most of those two days of that week in a haze of pleasure and contentment. I felt happier, lighter, freer... I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so good, and I had Mulder to thank for it. I missed having him in my bed Sunday night. We had talked on the phone, but it wasn't the same. All I wanted was to be in his power again. Monday night, reality made its way back into my brain, striking with devastating force. I don't know how it happened. One moment I was happily humming in the kitchen as I prepared dinner for myself, thinking back upon the scene we had played, and the next I was slumped against my countertop, my eyes wide with horror. All of a sudden, the things I had said and done came rushing back to haunt me. I remembered how I had begged him--begged him!--to fuck me, how desperate and needy I had become. I remembered telling him how, in those moments, nothing had mattered to me but pleasing him and giving him pleasure. I remembered how completely I had surrendered to his demands. I was mortified. The woman who had said those things wasn't me. I didn't even recognize her. She had been weak and helpless and utterly without thought for her own needs and desires. How could I possibly have become that woman, and gone for days that way without realizing it? I didn't know what was worse; that I had let it happen, or that I wanted nothing more than to let it happen again. God help me, I wanted to go back and become that woman again. Dinner forgetten, I shuffled weakly toward a chair at the table and slumped into it. I should have known, I thought bleakly. I should have known better than to give in to the part of me that told me it was okay to let go, okay to relinquish control. Ten years I had spent trying to get to a point in my life where I was my own person and made my own choices, and in a single evening I reverted to the behaviors I had despised so much in my youth. But what made it worse by far was I had been happy to be that way; I had enjoyed it. I'd worked so hard, for so many years to get to where I was. Professional, respected, competent...Why the hell couldn't I be happy with that? Why wasn't it enough? Why was it that once I had finally, finally gotten control over my life, I wanted to give it up all over again? There were women on this planet who would sell their souls to be like me. Sell their souls. There was a disturbing thought. I had made some sacrifices to get where I was, certainly. But I thought they had been worth it; I thought control was what I needed. And it was! I wouldn't go back to that person I had been when I was with Daniel if you paid me. But had I given up something I needed in order to become the person I wanted to be? How could Mulder possibly respect me again? He hadn't acted any differently toward me at work, but how could he ever possibly see me again as the strong, controlled, determined woman I had made myself to be in his eyes? Even if he loved me, even if he managed to work with me, how could he ever regard me the same way he always had? I had let him see me weak. The word echoed in my mind: weak...weak...weak... I was unaware of the setting of the sun. Suddenly, it was dark and I was sitting alone in my unlit kitchen. I finally stood from the table and made my way into the living room. Just as I was settling on the couch, the phone rang. Mulder. It had to be. Mulder. Who now had seen me become that pathetic, spineless creature I had rid myself of all those years ago. Mulder. Whose respect meant more to me than anything else on this planet. Mulder. How could I talk to him? How could I ever look him in the eye again, knowing surely the respect he'd had for me must be diminished? After four rings, the phone fell silent and my answering machine kicked in. I heard my own cool, confident voice instructing the caller to leave a message. As I had predicted, Mulder's voice filled the room. It was the voice that had left a message on my machine Friday, telling me his demands. It was the voice I had obeyed without question or hesitation, the voice to which I had surrendered everything. I couldn't bear to listen to it and yet I couldn't hope to stop myself. The voice, even at a distance and on a tape, evoked a physical response from me. It was a voice I had come to irrevocably associate with passion and devastating pleasure. Self-assured, deep and gentle, I imagined his voice entreated me to give in, to pick up the phone and let the caress of his words wash over me. I wanted to let it draw me back in, let it strip away my control again. I couldn't do it. I had to clench my hands in my lap to keep from picking up the phone and dialing Mulder's number, but I didn't call him that night. I couldn't face him, couldn't talk to him until I had this weakness of mine under control. It was very late when I finally fell asleep on the sofa. In my dreams, I was again under Mulder's power, with his whispered command, "Give yourself to me," echoing in my ears. I woke up at dawn panting and trembling from a climax I could barely remember. I arrived at work Tuesday morning pale and tired. Mulder was already there, immersed in a file. If he noticed my tension and distraction, he didn't say anything. Within the hour we were on the road for a possible spiritual possession in Pennsylvania. It was nice to have something else to focus on. With the issue of a case looming, I didn't have to figure out what I needed to say to Mulder about what had happened that weekend. Absurdly, I felt as though I should apologize to him for getting so carried away. He didn't seem particularly concerned with it, but I sure as hell was. Nathaniel Androvich, age 11. He had a mild case of autism, and was generally sweet and mild-tempered. He excelled in school and was even able to attend a few classes with his peers rather than strictly special education courses. He was also a talented artist. Up until two months ago, he had been very well liked by his teachers and anyone who knew him. Then something had changed. Practically overnight, he had become a holy terror. He had become uncooperative and withdrawn, and violent when pressed to do something he didn't want to do. He had quit eating and was losing weight. He had quit paying attention in his classes and had started cutting up until he had to be removed. He became destructive of both himself and his surroundings, banging his head against walls in his room until he suffered a mild concussion, breaking things, striking out at people who came near him. Only one person, a social worker by the name of Dominic Krause, seemed to be able to reach him. Dominic spent an hour every other day working with Nathaniel, but while Nathaniel seemed to calm down when he was with Dominic, he reverted back to being a terror when Dominic left. Nathaniel's parents, strict Eastern Orthodox immigrants, were convinced he was possessed. Their church, however, claimed not to find any proof to support the theory of possession and would not perform an exorcism. Through various connections, they had somehow gotten Mulder's name. Needless to say, I wasn't sold on the possession theory. Which is not to say I don't believe in evil--I do, emphatically. In my experience, evil tends to come from within rather than without. I personally didn't believe a young autistic boy was inherently evil, and barring demonic possession, that meant something else was causing his behavior. In Nathaniel's case, that left many options. "What do you think?" Mulder asked when I closed the file and set it aside. "I think there could be any number of factors for his altered behavior, not the least of which is his autism. It's quite common for autistic children to undergo this sort of change." "Except his parents adamantly deny it's a possibility. They say they've seen him experience behavior changes before, and whatever is happening now is entirely different," Mulder pointed out. "Are his parents doctors?" I asked. "No, but they have lived with Nathaniel and his autism his entire life," Mulder replied. "But they're not objective," I pointed out. "They simply might not be able to accept that his condition could cause this sort of behavior. They want to look for an outside cause rather than accept that this kind of change is something they're going to have to live with for Nathaniel's entire life." Mulder nodded, frowning. I don't think he was really sold on the possession theory either. He'd give it a whirl, sure, but the odds were good the cause of Nathaniel Androvich's altered behavior was all too earthly. It was unlikely we'd see anything unusual here, and all too likely we would find something highly unpleasant. Eight hours later, we were back in the car headed for a local motel. As I had predicted, nothing good had come of the case. When I attempted to speak to Nathaniel, he had tried to attack me. During the struggle to subdue him, I discovered his jaw was hurting him. That was why he hadn't been talking or eating. I stood by while his pediatrician examined him and diagnosed that his jaw had been severely sprained. It would need to be wired shut to heal. At that realization, little doubt remained that someone was abusing Nathaniel. There were no bruises on his body, but he had panicked when his pediatrician attempted to examine his groin. A sick knot had formed in my stomach; it was all too easy to imagine how the child's jaw had come to be injured. Our attempts to interview his parents, Serbian refugees, were rendered difficult by the language barrier and an interpreter had to be called in. Several hours later, we learned, of all the people who might have hurt Nathaniel, it couldn't have been his father. Mr. Androvich had been injured during the turmoil in his homeland and was impotent. He was physically incapable of inflicting the kind of injury Nathaniel had suffered. The case then became a matter for the local police and child services to take care of. They would be responsible for determining who had been abusing Nathaniel and seeing justice met, or so we hoped. Nathaniel's social worker, Dominic Krause, was high on Mulder's hit parade of possible Suspects. Mulder made certain the police understood just because Krause was the only person in whose presence Nathaniel *didn't* become agitated was not an indicator of innocence. Quite the contrary, often abused children will often act out around everyone except their abuser. I could see the sickened expression in Mulder's eyes and knew it mirrored my own. Sometimes we saw far too little good in our work. It made us wonder occasionally why we kept at it, when so often it left us frustrated and shaken in our sense of justice. Unless we made certain to keep tabs on the investigation into Nathaniel's case, we would possibly never know what had become of him or the man who had been hurting him. It was too late and we were both too heartsick to make the drive back to Washington, so we checked into a motel, weary and disappointed in our day's work. We were subdued throughout dinner and the remainder of the evening. My awkwardness over my behavior during the weekend warred with my desire to comfort Mulder and take comfort in return. It was, as always, Mulder who solved the dilemma. When we returned to the motel, he followed me into my room rather than retiring to his own. I looked at him warily, unsure of his intentions. I wanted him to stay; I wanted him to go. I wanted him to hold me, and I wanted to push him away. Jesus, I was so tired of fighting with myself all the time. "Do you mind if I stay here, Scully?" He asked softly, his eyes dark and somber. He lowered his head and plucked idly at a loose string on his jacket, his shoulders slumped. I had to realize he took this sort of outrage as hard as I did. If he needed me, then wasn't that more important than whatever superficial embarrassment I might be suffering? I nodded and without words, we washed up and crawled into bed, Mulder in his boxers and me in the pajamas I kept in an overnight bag I stored in the trunk of Mulder's car at all times in the event of an unexpected out of town stay. I know Mulder must have wondered about the pajamas--it had been months since I had felt the need to wear any when I shared a bed with him--but he didn't say anything and I was content to leave it at that. I felt I needed a barrier, however flimsy, between us until I sorted myself out. I laid my head on Mulder's chest and sighed as he wrapped his arms around me. This was okay. This was Mulder taking comfort from me and letting me be strong for him. That he had allowed me the choice to say whether he could stay with me or not, rather than simply assuming, or worse, demanding, made me feel a little better about my ability to reclaim my own sense of control. It also reassured me that his respect for me was still intact. I lay awake for a while as he slept, thinking over the panic of the last twenty-four hours, but I had reached no conclusions by the time I finally drifted to sleep. * * * * * I had another dream, as I'd had the previous night. I was with Mulder, yielding to him, bound to my bed with him thrusting into me. The pleasure was unimaginable, blossoming and exploding inside me again and again. Soon, he had climaxed and was rolling off my body and falling asleep, but he hadn't untied me. I struggled and yelled at him to release me, but he wouldn't wake up. I awoke with a strangled cry, rubbing my wrists as though I could feel the pain from struggling against my bonds. Mulder apparently had been roused when I bolted upright and he reached out, stroking my back. I couldn't help myself; I shrank from his touch. Unfortunately, that was not the way to prevent him pursuing the matter. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?" he asked finally, his voice groggy, when I failed to look at him. I was too damned tired for this and far too uncertain of what I wanted to say, or what I wanted, period. "Nothing's wrong, Mulder, just a dream," I finally replied, still not glancing toward him. "I'm just tired. Go back to sleep, we'll be busy tomorrow." "Scully--" Mulder started, then stopped, sighing. He sat up and turned to me. "Scully, come here. Please?" I didn't want to do it, didn't want to meet his eyes or feel his touch. I was too vulnerable, too confused. But to reject his hand would be to reject him, and though I might not know how I felt about what we had done Friday night, I did know I wasn't ready or willing to do that. Whatever happened, whatever I decided, I didn't want to drive a wedge between us again. Our relationship was more important than my insecurities. I reluctantly reached for his hand and he enclosed my fingers in his. "Talk to me, Scully," he said, playing with my fingers as they intertwined with his. Beyond touching my hand, he made no other effort at physical contact with me and I appreciated his restraint. "I can't right now, Mulder. It's just--I'm trying to figure some things out. You told me to take some time away and think about things, so I am. But I haven't got it all worked out yet and tonight I'm just too tired to try. So please--give me a while, all right?" I finally looked up to meet his eyes, afraid of what I might find there. If there had been impatience, or contempt for my confusion, I couldn't have borne it. Instead, there was just concern and affection. After a long moment, he nodded, sighing. "This is about this weekend, then?" he asked. "Yeah, Mulder, it is. I--um--I don't know what to think about the things I said and did this weekend. I, uh, I feel like I made an ass out of myself." "Scully--no..." He shook his head, denying my claim. Frustrated, the words began to tumble from my lips in an undisciplined stream. "Mulder--whatever happened to me this weekend, whoever that person you were with was...Mulder, that wasn't *me*. And what terrifies me, Mulder, is I enjoyed it so damned much. You said it was easy to fall into this thing and you were right. I fell. But I can't be that person, Mulder. I can't do it; I won't let myself do it." Mulder was silent a long moment, staring at me thoughtfully. Shit. Now I was embarrassed about my outburst as well as my behavior the previous weekend. I was on the verge of apologizing when he finally spoke. "Scully--what we did this weekend we did because it seemed to be something you wanted and needed. Now, that's not to say I didn't enjoy it. I enjoyed it a hell of a lot," he gave me a wry grin. "On Sunday, you said you felt you had visited someplace special. Why do you suddenly believe if you visit that place, you can't come back?" I didn't answer. The question was rhetorical, at any rate. We both knew there was no logic to my fear. "Whoever that person was, Scully, she's a part of you. If she's a part of you, then I love her. And she's brave, Scully, so brave. I know you see it as weak, but what you did--sharing your fantasy with me, sharing *yourself* with me, trusting me to do what I did--it took guts," he sighed, and his expression was distant for a moment. I knew he, too, was replaying what had happened that weekend in his mind and relishing the memory. "But just because that person is a part of you doesn't mean she has to rule who you are. You're still in control; you can say when it's time to go back." "Just Sunday you were warning me I could get sucked in too deeply to go back," I pointed out, unwilling to be reassured just yet. "Why wouldn't I be? It's happened before. God, it's the story of my life." "First, I was being overcautious," he admitted. "I panicked for a moment when I saw how into it you were. I, um--I almost got sucked in once. Phoebe--that's who I had been talking about when I told you I'd had some experience before--she knew just what buttons to push to play upon all my neediness at the time. But I'm not the person I was back then, Scully. I'm stronger now, and a large part of that I owe to you. And you're not the same person you used to be, either. "The fact is, Scully, neither of us seems to have all that many outlets for the things we keep inside all the time, and at the risk of playing psychologist with you--which I know you hate--I don't think that's healthy. Maybe that person inside you, that woman who needs to surrender control, can find an outlet, in a controlled and safe environment. Maybe the person inside me who sometimes needs to have control can be released for a little while, too." "I don't know, Mulder. I liked what happened. I liked it so much I didn't *want* to come back, and that's what scares me." He didn't answer and I didn't expect him to. This was something I was going to have to work out on my own. Finally I said, "I just need time to think it over, Mulder, to figure out what I want. I mean, I *know* what I want, but I don't know if it's something that's necessarily good for me. Just give me time, okay?" "Okay," he nodded. "Whatever you decide you want is fine with me--it doesn't matter. If it's not good for one of us, it's not good for either of us. But Scully--" his hand tightened on mine, "--don't shut me out, okay? We've come too far for that, and I don't want to go back to where we were before." "Okay," I whispered, nodding. I felt ridiculously near tears. I wanted Mulder to hold me and comfort me and let me know everything was all right, but I couldn't ask him for it. I had to feel strong right now, had to rebuild the shields I had rashly and foolishly let down. I couldn't let myself be weak; if I did, I might never be able to go back. I would fall into Mulder and never emerge. Mulder regarded me for a long moment, very obviously not satisfied with my response. He seemed ready to press the issue, but he didn't, and I silently thanked him for it. We lay back down on the bed and I turned my back to Mulder and let him wrap me in his arms from behind. As his warmth soaked into me, I sighed, feeling inexplicably content despite my confusion. End of Part One of Five Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 2 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com The contentment didn't last long. As much as I knew I should sleep, and as tired as I was, the warmth and scent and feel of him awakened all the instinctive responses my body had spent the last two months growing used to in his presence. I could feel the tension deep in my belly, the unconscious clenching of the muscles of my sex, the acceleration of my pulse. I wanted him, and against my backside I could feel the proof he wanted me as well, though he had made no move to do anything about it. Abruptly I sat up and began unbuttoning my pajama top. Mulder lay there silently, his dark eyes taking in every movement in the dimly lit room. He neither touched me nor spoke, but instead waited until I had shrugged off the shirt and tossed it to the end of the bed. Drawing a deep breath, I went one step further and pushed my pajama bottoms and panties off my hips and down my legs. They joined the shirt at the foot of the bed. Only when I was naked did I turn to face Mulder, my breasts heavy with my desire and pointed toward him, and spoke. "I want you to touch me, Mulder. I want you to make love to me." There. I had told him what *I* wanted, seized the initiative to make it happen. I had taken control over my own desires and decided what to do about them. As long as I had made the decision, I didn't feel threatened by it, didn't feel as though it undermined my own sense of control. Rather, I was exercising my control by making demands of him. As if in slow motion, Mulder reached out for me. "What do you want?" He asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. His hands stroked my skin lightly, almost casually. A feeling of power rushed through me at the knowledge he would do whatever I asked of him. I lay back upon the pillows and drew a deep breath. "I want your mouth on me," I said. "I want you to suck on my nipples and then I want you to go down on me." Mulder sat up and leaned over me, his hands falling on my breasts. He stroked and kneaded my flesh with his long, elegant fingers. Slowly, his mouth descended on my right nipple and began to suckle--gently at first and then harder, drawing it into his mouth and caressing it with his tongue. He nibbled softly and I moaned. "That's it...harder." He closed his lips over the turgid peak and pulled hard, evoking small, sharp lightning flashes along nerve endings all over my body. I could feel the nipple becoming engorged, could feel the rush of blood to the crest and the corresponding flood to my clitoris. It began throbbing in time with my pulse, growing hard and hot as moisture wetted my labia and thighs. Mulder changed breasts and gave the left one the same exacting attention he had lavished upon the first. Another rush of blood, another spasm of pleasure, another flood of moisture...Then his lips were trailing down my body while his hands continued to massage my breasts and tweak the nipples. He stroked my abdomen with his tongue and dipped it into my navel, then slowly slid his lips and nose through the tight curls covering my mons. He rubbed his face against the bristly hair, then removed his hands from my breasts and slid them over my hips. He combed the pubic hair back, damp and slick with my own moisture, and used his thumbs to part my lips and expose my clitoris completely to the cool air. His tongue darted out, quickly, like a cat licking cream from a dish. Once, twice, three times he stroked across my clit with short swipes of his tongue. I moaned deeply in response and threaded my hands in his hair, pressing his head closer as I thrust my hips up at him. "Harder..." He ran the entire length of his tongue, as far as he could extend it, over my clit with agonizing slowness, then closed his lips over the sensitive nubbin and began to suck on it. Within minutes I was thrashing and writhing on the bed, giving short, breathless cries as I ground shamelessly against his face. He took his lips off my clitoris for a moment to thrust his tongue into my body and then began to alternate between sucking on my clit and penetrating me with his tongue. His thumbs still held my labia open, leaving me fully exposed. He tongued me and sucked on me mercilessly. My moans and whimpers grew louder and more urgent and he worked me with his mouth, lapping at me, making wet sucking sounds. I could feel my body tense, the pressure in my womb building, and knew I would soon be sliding over the edge into blissful oblivion. Soon I would lose control... "No, stop!" I gasped. Mulder withdrew immediately, concern written all over his face. He opened his mouth to ask me what was wrong, his lips glistening with moisture in the dim light of the room, but I forestalled the question. "I want you inside me when I come," I panted. Immediately and without question or argument, Mulder shucked his boxers and began to crawl up my body between my thighs. "No, roll over," I instructed, and again he obeyed, reclining on his back upon the pillows. I moved over him and straddled his hips, kneeling over him, then taking his cock in my hand, plunged down onto the shaft. I cried out loudly, having thrust myself onto him too quickly, to the point where pleasure became pain. I drew a deep, hissing breath and could feel Mulder tense, ready to withdraw at a moment's notice. "Don't move," I muttered, concentrating on breathing deeply and relaxing, giving myself a moment to adjust. Mulder waited, his body quivering with need, until I braced myself with my hands over his heart, almost as though administering CPR, and began to raise and lower myself with my thighs. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of my still- tight body was beyond incredible. Even the lingering discomfort from that initial, abrupt penetration couldn't dispel the pleasure I felt. In this position, he penetrated me so deeply I could feel him butt up against my cervix with each stroke. After a moment of slow movements while I relaxed around him, I pushed myself up and leaned backward slightly. This brought his penis into firm contact with my g-spot with every stroke. The pressure was marvelous. I closed my eyes and moaned, knowing my face was contorted with pleasure. I pulled at my lip with my teeth and supported my weight with my hands behind me, braced on his thighs, moving faster upon his shaft. Soon my movements lost all semblance of rhythm and became a wild, animalistic pumping. I didn't object when Mulder grabbed me by the hips and began to lift and lower me faster; my thighs were getting tired. Mulder was grimacing, his eyes intent upon me, and I met his gaze. "Are you close?" I gasped. "I'm...about to...explode, Scully," he replied, his voice harsh and ragged. "You're killing me here." "Rub my clit. I want to come when you do." "God, yes..." he groaned and took one hand off my hips to press on my clitoris with his thumb. He stroked in hard, deep circles and I could feel the lightning bolts flash through my body with each rotation. "Ahh, ahhh, ahhhhhh, ohgodohgodohgod!!!" my breathless cries bled into one another until they became one continuous wail. My body jerked as the climax hit me, and I stiffened, my hair hanging over my face and my mouth open and gasping as spasm after spasm rocked me. Somewhere, seemingly a million miles away, I heard Mulder yell and felt him buck his hips into me hard one last time. When reality returned, I was laying collapsed on Mulder's chest with his body trembling beneath mine. I lifted myself weakly to meet his eyes. "Thank you," I murmured. I was a little surprised by my own behavior. I had never done that before, never so selfishly demanded a lover meet my needs like that. But I had needed to feel in control and it seemed like taking control sexually, the way Mulder so often took control of me, was the only way to do it. But I couldn't help feeling like I had used him somewhat. I leaned forward to kiss him gently on the lips, the first time I had done so since he had entered my motel room. The kiss deepened and soon our tongues were meeting and dueling. I sighed into his mouth and let myself relax onto his chest, let myself revel in the feel of his arms around me, warm in the chilly air. "Thank you," I repeated, a little stronger this time. I wasn't just thanking him for the sex. Now I understood what Mulder had meant when he said I had given him a gift when I let him guide our lovemaking. He'd just given that gift back, given me my control when I felt I needed it the most. It was late and now my weariness was overcoming the incessant tumbling of my thoughts. I relaxed for a moment as Mulder pressed gentle kisses over my jaw and neck and shoulders; then I rolled off of his body and snuggled in beside him. We'd still have to talk later. I hadn't figured out what I thought of my uncharacteristic behavior in the aftermath of our "scene" Friday night, but I was feeling considerably reassured I wasn't beyond reclaiming my control. I was also certain that whatever I had done, it hadn't altered Mulder's respect for me. Truthfully, it had been a ridiculous fear, and yet I hadn't been able to help myself. But now, knowing without a doubt that it wasn't true made it easier to relax into his arms. I drifted to sleep feeling his lips lovingly brush my forehead. * * * * * Talking to Mulder Tuesday night eased some of my knee-jerk fears about my visit to the land of submission. By the time we returned to Washington on Wednesday, I decided I could handle the decision intelligently and without panic. Mulder had mentioned he had done some research when planning our scene. I was a scientist; I could do research. It wasn't until after I had decided to do that research the realization struck me I had gone three days before it even occurred to me to do so. Normally, I would try to learn more about the issue and get the facts before making a decision, but this time I hadn't even considered it. At that thought, I was once again very nervous. I realized why Mulder had been afraid we could lose ourselves in these games. I had demonstrated his point perfectly by virtue of the fact it had taken me 72 hours to even think to do something that normally would have been second nature to me. If what I had experienced was so powerful it could make me forget who I was, then it did need to be approached cautiously. At the same time, however, I couldn't deny how *right* it had felt for me, how much I had enjoyed it, or how much I craved feeling it again. I was much more solemn as I began my search Wednesday night. My first stop was the Internet, under the logic most alternative lifestyles had founded a community there. In Washington and the surrounding area I found a number of establishments and social clubs that catered to the bondage community. They had web-sites that usually provided some sort of resource guide, including FAQs and recommended reading materials. In a way, it was like learning a new language. Luckily, I'm good with languages. The concept in general was called BDSM, which I learned was actually a combination of several acronyms: B&D -- bondage & discipline; D/s -- Domination & submission; and S&M -- sadomasochism. Upon learning more about each particular segment of the whole, I decided my primary interest was in Domination and submission. Bondage and discipline piqued my interest, but only as a means to emphasize my partner's dominance. The moment I saw the term "sadomasochism" my mind shut down and I steadfastly refused to delve any further into that concept. Domination/submission focuses on a phenomenon called "power exchange," where one person gives complete authority over their body and will to another, for however long a time they decided upon. Some do it day in and day out; others dabble in it occasionally. This usually involves some in- depth negotiations between the partners and sometimes a contract is written up to dictate the terms of those negotiations. The end result is to make both parties feel more empowered and fulfilled. Judging by my own reaction, I would have to say when done properly, it worked. The first couple of days after we played I had felt better about myself than I had in years. I realized I am what's known as a sexual submissive, which means I'm interested in the aspects of BDSM which lead to deeper and more powerful sexual gratification, but beyond that I had very little need to submit or be controlled. I was relieved to find a description so closely describing my own needs. When I considered many of the varieties of submission described included a total relinquishing of control of self, my desires seemed relatively benign. There are those who actually enter into a form of voluntary slavery, giving up all their rights as a human being to another, willingly. I shuddered at the idea, thinking I could never do such a thing. I'd spent too many years trying to seize my own rights as a human being to ever willingly give them up. But it was nice to know is it possible to be a submissive in one part of your life without it invading your entire existence. It is possible a submissive in the bedroom and still be strong in the world outside. After the rosy haze of our scene on Friday, I'd had my doubts. But now I felt reassured--if others could do it, so could I. I went to a "woman friendly" adult bookstore (which is to say it was cleaner, brighter, and less sleazy than your normal adult bookstore, and had more merchandise that would appeal to women) to look for some of the texts that had been recommended on the web-sites. "Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns" was one. There was another called "The Bottoming Book." While they offered more information about sadomasochism than Domination/submission, there was still enough data to help me understand the concepts and practices a little more clearly. By the time Thursday rolled around, I felt I had been sufficiently enlightened. I was getting impatient to see Mulder again. After Tuesday night, we had been carefully and excruciatingly professional to each other while we were together at work, but I was missing the personal time. We had called each other once an evening, but our conversations had been of inconsequential things. I think we were both reluctant to bring up the particular topic that was first and foremost in our minds when we didn't have much of a chance of getting in-depth with it or resolving it. That was a discussion we needed to be face to face for. I would have waited, however reluctantly, for Friday. But Mulder didn't. I had just sat down with a reheated plate of pasta and a small salad for dinner on Thursday night when Mulder called me. We made small talk for a moment as we had been doing all week; then Mulder took a deep breath and plunged straight into the subject. "I know it's early," Mulder began, sounding a little hesitant, "but I've been thinking a lot about what we discussed. Have you--?" "I haven't been thinking about anything else," I admitted, realizing for the first time this was something that was important to Mulder, not just to me. "I've been doing some research, trying to figure out what exactly it is I'm interested in and what I want to do about it. I feel I know quite a bit more about the subject than I did this time last week." "Did you decide anything?" He sounded tense, anxious. "I think so," I replied. "I think what scared me the most was how different my own behavior seemed--I didn't understand what could make me behave that way. Then I came across something interesting. You know more about this than I do--have you heard of the concept of headspace?" "Headspace" was the general, multi-purpose term derived from the play-on-words used to describe a submissive's state known as "subspace." "I've heard of it, yes," Mulder answered. "It has to do with the mental and emotional condition someone experiences while playing." "It's basically an altered state brought on by endophins and other neuro-chemicals. Listen to this," I picked up the printout I had made the night before from a web-site I had visited. "Sub- or bottom-space is a type of altered consciousness identified with feelings of falling into a state of submission...Characterized by diminished ego awareness, less active cognitive behavior, surrendering of will and/or inability to verbalize. The individual may be giddy or uncoordinated. Frequently these functions are assumed by the dominant partner who becomes the submissive's center of focus. Rational thought is replaced by a meditative state, similar to tantric yoga..." "Ooh, Scully, tantra--" I could practically hear Mulder's eyebrows wag lasciviously. "Maybe later," I said in my best school-marm voice. "Seriously, Mulder, you don't think that sounds a little familiar?" "Scully, you'd know better than I would what you experienced. From an observer's standpoint though, I'd have to say, yes--that seems to describe the way you behaved last weekend. So what does it mean?" "It means," I could feel myself smiling, remembering the relief I had experienced when I had read this same text the night before, "that I understand what happened to me now. It's not unusual or even unexpected. It's just biochemistry." And biochemistry I understood a hell of a lot better than the uncharacteristic behavior I had experienced the previous weekend. I continued reading the description to Mulder. "The submissive response is visceral. Tone of voice, pheromones, body language, role-play and personal emotional triggers cause a recognition of the other partner as dominant--" Which explained why I seemed to react a certain way when Mulder spoke to me in a particular tone of voice. "--This is responded to by a rise in PEA; followed by oxytocin and endorphins when touching begins. This creates a state of intoxication to which the submissive surrenders. Testosterone, norephedrine, estrogen, vasopressin and dopamine also rise..." I stopped when Mulder burst out laughing, then realized that I was relating all this in the same tone I would use to discuss research on a case we were working. I laughed sheepishly at myself. I remembered my thoughts the previous night about how learning about this lifestyle was like learning a new language. Now, however, we were talking my language. This I could understand and accept. I had found myself smiling at my computer as I read the words and my heart had assumed a trip-hammer rhythm in my chest. I had realized that with these reassurances, I felt much more at-ease with the idea of what I had done and what I wanted to continuing doing. "What it means," I repeated, "is that I don't need to worry about being unable to come back from--wherever it was I went. Headspace. Whatever. This is a state that's sought after and enjoyed by people who lead normal, productive lives outside these activities." I took a deep breath and took the plunge. "I want to do it, Mulder. I--I need it." Mulder let out a long breath, and I realized he must have been nervous about what I might say. He had told me Sunday he relied on me, and I knew he did. The outcome of this discussion had the potential to affect our entire relationship, and what affected our relationship could very well affect our partnership. Things had not been strictly professional between us long before we became lovers. "Okay," he drew the word out in a sigh. "Okay," I agreed, a tingle of pleasure running through me. There was a short, awkward silence before I plunged ahead, "I suppose this is the point where we begin negotiations?" Mulder gave a snort of laughter. "You did do your research. Yeah, that's exactly what I was just thinking. I, um, I'm gonna email you a file. It's a little questionnaire I'd like you to fill out. When you come over tomorrow, bring it with you. I'll make us dinner and we can discuss some of this, maybe decide how we want to handle this." "I'd like that," I murmured. "I'd like that a lot." "All right," Mulder said briskly, exhaling loudly. "I just sent the file, so you should have it by now. I'll see you at work tomorrow." "Yeah." I stopped and took a deep breath, then told him softly, "I love you." Silence greeted me and I knew I had surprised him. I'm not a terribly demonstrative person, and I certainly have a hard time expressing my emotions verbally. Though I have no doubts Mulder knew I loved him, I think that was the first time I ever actually told him. But our relationship would soon be making a very significant change, one involving a strong leap of faith and a huge amount of trust. I didn't think it would be appropriate to enter that arena without letting him know without question how I felt. "Thank you," he said after a long moment, sighing. I was glad he hadn't responded with an automatic "I love you, too." I knew he loved me. He'd told me before, and it meant more to me for him to say it spontaneously than as a reflex. "I'll see you tomorrow," I said, my voice barely over a whisper. "Bye." I hung up with his soft "good-bye" still caressing my ears. I went straight for my computer and booted up. As promised, Mulder's email was sitting in my inbox. My pulse quickening, I opened it and began to read. "Scully: "Please fill this out and return it to me. I have omitted some items I didn't feel would apply. "Mulder." Attached was a long list of various sexual and BDSM-related activities. The instructions indicated that next to each activity, I should first indicate whether I had any experience with it with a "yes" or "no." Then I was to indicate my level of interest or willingness to perform the aforementioned activity on a scale of NO and 0 to 5. NO would indicate I absolutely would not consider the activity under any circumstances, what's known as a "hard limit". 0 meant I disliked and might even loathe the activity but would do it if the Dominant partner demanded it, also known as a "soft limit." 1 indicated indifference, something that had no appeal or interest, but which I would do if the Dominant instructed me to. 2 was something I wasn't sure about but would be willing to try once to see how I liked it. 3 was something I might enjoy on an occasional or infrequent basis, 4 something I would enjoy doing regularly, and 5 meant the activity was a wild turn-on and I couldn't get enough of it. I was also to make notes next to points I felt required clarification. From there, I began to go down the alphabetically ordered list point by point. I passed through the A's relatively quickly, though occasionally I had to stop and think. Most of the activities mentioned, I had had no experience with. Many were activities I wasn't sure about. I wasn't indifferent to them, but neither did I know if I would enjoy them, even on an infrequent basis. I found myself giving a lot of the items a rating of 2, with the logic I could downgrade or upgrade depending on how I liked an experience. I also found myself putting a question mark next to many of them, unsure what they meant. Then I came to the item titled "Anal play/sex." That one stopped me cold. My heart began to pound, but I couldn't be sure whether it was with excitement or fear. When I was fifteen and read "Story of O" for the first time, I hadn't known men and women could have sex anally. I hadn't even known men had sex with each other that way (by that point, I knew just enough about the world to have heard whispers about homosexuality, but I was ignorant of the mechanics involved.) I probably would have been appalled if I had known. So my introduction to the concept had been O struggling with Sir Stephen as he forced himself into her, and then later told her she would bleed until she became accustomed to being taken that way. This impression had been reinforced sometime later when in the Q&A section of a women's magazine someone had written complaining her husband demanded anal sex of her, even though it hurt her and made her bleed. The response she had gotten was basically a treatise on what an insensitive pig the husband had been and how she should tell him off. The gist of the advice was to "Ask your husband that if you enjoyed some unsavory activity that caused him pain and made him bleed, would he do it for you? If he has the gall to say yes, tell him that each time he asks for anal sex, you feel an equal desire to penetrate his nostril with a rolling pin." As I studied medicine and learned more about the world in general, I found out people could and did have anal sex and enjoyed it without injury, when it was done properly. That the "expert" in the magazine I had read hadn't pointed this out was an indication of the lingering prejudice many had against "deviant" activities. Still, that knowledge never quite managed to eradicate the instinctive fear I had at the thought of it. I'd had a lover ask me once or twice if I would be willing, but I always adamantly refused, too afraid to allow it. And yet... My memories of reading "Story of O" are some of the first memories of sexual arousal I have. That arousal is inextricably intertwined with the shock and fear I had also experienced reading it. In retrospect, I know I had no business reading it at that age. I hadn't been mature enough to understand any of it. It had shaped many of my early ideas of what sex should be like and in truth I think I expected less pleasure than I should have from sex because of it. I think it also lead me to the idea if I loved a man, I should be willing to do anything for him, even if it wasn't the right thing for me. The activities described in that book were dangerous. Forbidden. It was easy to see why I had been drawn to it. But if I could admit to having a submissive streak, then I could admit it also seemed to be a very submissive thing to do, to be taken that way. So while the concept of anal sex frightened me, it also aroused me desperately. I had to fight against the instinct to put a large "NO" next to "anal play/sex" on the list. I remembered last Friday when Mulder had inserted a finger into my anus. I had been nervous, but he hadn't hurt me. The sensation had been quite intense, if somewhat foreign. And with Mulder, things were different than with anyone I had known in the past. I trusted Mulder beyond question or doubt; I knew he would never harm me. I'd never had such confidence with anyone else. If I was being honest, I was intrigued and excited by the prospect, by allowing Mulder to do what no one else had done with me before. Drawing a deep breath, I indicated I had not had any experience in that area and put a 2 next to that item, as well, and continued making my way down the list. End of Part Two of Five Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 3 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com "Blindfolds". After last Friday, that one was a piece of cake. I happily marked it with a "Yes" for experience and a 4 for level of interest. I didn't feel any further explanation was necessary. There were four different categories of bondage: light, heavy, multi-day, and public-under clothing. Light got an effortless 4. Heavy I had to consider, not quite sure what "heavy" entailed, then put a 2, figuring if I didn't like it if we tried it, I could amend. Multi-day got a 0 for being impractical. Public I also had to consider. The idea of being in public and bound under my clothes without anyone else's being aware of it intrigued me. I finally settled on a safe 2 for that as well. "Cock worship." Wasn't quite sure what "worship" entailed, but if it involved Mulder's cock and me, I was all for it. I enthusiastically marked it with a 4. "Collars (worn in private)" and "Collars (worn in public)." Private I thought I might be interested in. A mark of ownership, of possession...I could get into that. I chose 3. Public I marked with a 0, not sure it would be a wise idea for us to take our play out of the bedroom. "Corsets." Hmm, fetish wear. Given Mulder's reaction to the shoes the other night and the fact he tends to be a very visually cued man, I thought that might have some possibilities. It got a 3. Through the rest of the list, my most common answer remained 2. It made sense; I had no experience with probably 90% of what was listed, but I wanted to try a little of everything to begin with, maybe more if I ended up enjoying it. Leather cuffs, dildoes, double penetration...the list went on. A few items gave me pause, though. "Fantasy Rape" was one. As a woman and law enforcement professional, the idea of rape was abhorrent to me. But I already knew I liked feeling helpless and being totally in Mulder's power. What could possibly evoke those feelings more than his pretending to wrestle me down and force himself on me. I was embarrassed to find I was getting wet just considering it. I struggled with my reticence and then marked it with a 2, amending a note that I might be willing to try it in the future, but not yet. "Fisting (vaginal)" got a similar response; I was discovering I was a little more adventurous than I had ever really imagined myself. Some of the items were simply impractical or absurd. Infantilism, legal/permanent name change, plastic surgery, sleep deprivation. I suppose they might have had their place in some peoples' lives, but certainly not in mine and Mulder's. If these were left after Mulder had gone through and edited out everything that he felt was inapplicable, what had he removed himself? It was a very long list. Breast whipping, nipple clamps, spanking, paddling, restrictions on speech and behavior, whipping...Some of the prospects thrilled me; others confused me. Often I found myself questioning my initial knee-jerk reaction to a given activity. Everything from various forms of bondage to various forms of servitude was covered. I gave most of the sadomasochistic activities listed a 0 or 1, struggling with the urge to put "NO" by them instead. I couldn't imagine possibly enjoying sadomasochism is any way-nor could I imagine Mulder doing so- but at the same time, if I were turning myself over to Mulder's control, then he had to have the right to punish me for disobedience. Implicit in the concept of punishment was pain, or at least unpleasantness. Of course, since I didn't plan to disobey him, I didn't figure it would be an issue. When I had finished, I saved the file and emailed it back to Mulder. I went to bed feeling very content and excited by the possibilities for the future, but found myself unable to sleep. All the sexual possibilities on Mulder's survey had aroused me to the point where I could think of nothing else but being fucked and fucked hard. It was nearly midnight when I finally picked up the bedside phone and called Mulder. "Are you okay?" was the first question out of his mouth when he heard my voice. If it had been him calling me, I wouldn't have blinked, but I didn't often call him in the middle of the night. "I'm fine. I just can't sleep," I murmured, feeling somewhat foolish for calling him. What did I expect him to do? "You just want to talk a while?" "Mm hmm," I sighed, settling back into bed. "I got the survey back," he said softly. "I'm going over it now." "That's part of my problem," I responded. "Lots of food for thought there." "Like what?" "Well...maybe I'm naive, but I didn't know what the hell some of it was," I said. "So ask me." "Okay, Mr. All-Knowing," I replied tartly. It made sense Mulder would know more about this stuff than I would, with his predilections, but I still felt rather unworldly. "For instance, what's 'age play'?" Mulder paused, then asked in his sexiest voice, "Do you want to be daddy's little girl?" I shuddered and cringed. "Oh, God, no," I answered immediately. I'd had one father in my life and that relationship had been quite satisfactory, thank you very much. I'd made a huge mistake early on in trying to imitate that dynamic in my later relationships, dating older authority figures. I did not want to go there with Mulder. I mentally scrawled a big 0 next to "Age play" on the list. "There are other age games," he said, chuckling at my reaction. "You could be an innocent school-girl and I your devastatingly sexy, much older and worldly principal. You could be sent to my office for chewing gum in class..." Now *that* had possibilities. I upgraded the 0 to a 2, possibly 3. "What else?" Mulder asked after a moment. "I'm just--I found myself considering a lot of things tonight I didn't think I'd ever consider," I said after a moment. "I guess I'm a little confused by what it all means." "Well, Scully, some of the point is to try things you've never done and might not normally do. That's why it's called fantasy." "I know, but--" I stopped. I couldn't explain my reaction to myself yet, much less Mulder. There would be time for us to discuss this tomorrow night. Mulder didn't press me for clarification. Silence settled between us, and over the phone line I could hear Mulder's soft breathing. Even at such an innocent sound, my nipples tightened as I imagined Mulder's breath upon them. I groaned. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" "I'm horny." Mulder burst out laughing and I joined him. I had to laugh about it, or I was going to lose my mind. "It's fine for you to laugh," I said petulantly. "You're the one who decided we should take a week off." "You think I'm not suffering here, Scully?" I stopped laughing, because Mulder's voice wasn't amused. It was tight, tense, rough... "Then what the hell are we doing this for, Mulder?" I had passed petulant and was approaching whiny. It was a voice I recognized from when Mulder dragged me out on a case I saw no point to. Hard to believe only two months ago, I hadn't had sex for years; now I couldn't even stand a few days without. I wanted him to get his ass over to my apartment and lay me, but it was already midnight, so I suspected that wouldn't be happening. We did have to work tomorrow. "I don't remember, Scully. To heighten the anticipation, maybe?" I snorted, letting him know just what I thought of *that* idea. "My anticipation is sufficiently heightened, thank you." We were silent for another moment, and then Mulder spoke again. "Go get your vibrator, Scully." My pulse raced as I realized what he was planning; my body shouted a loud "hallelujah!" Phone sex was something we hadn't done before--we were always together, so we never had the need. My thrill was increased because Mulder had assumed what I was quickly coming to think of as his "command voice." It wouldn't be as good as having Mulder here, but in a pinch... "I'll be right back," I answered with more calm than I felt, and set the phone down on the bedside table. I crossed the room to my bureau and pulled my Hitachi Magic Wand and G-Spotter attachment out of the top drawer. The vibrator had been a gift from one of my college friends. A few years ago, I had complained over drinks about how little (read: none) sex I'd had in recent years. My next birthday, she had sent the vibrator with a card that read: "For your enjoyment until that hunky partner of yours (whom, of course, you care nothing about) gets his act together..." The Hitachi and I had become close friends over the years. Mulder knew I had it, but this was the first time he'd ever asked me to use it. And to tell the truth, he and I were together so regularly these days it had been gathering dust for near two months. It was heavy and bulky, but it was the most powerful vibrator available. There were times I regretted the Hitachi didn't come with an attachment that more closely simulated the length and girth of an actual penis, but it served its purpose. I plugged the massager into an outlet behind my nightstand, lay back down on the bed and picked up the phone. "I've got it," I said breathlessly into the receiver, feeling as though I had just done the hundred-yard dash. "Good. What are you wearing?" "The beige satin pajamas with the short sleeves." "Good. I want you to turn the vibrator on and I want you to run it over your nipples lightly, while you're still clothed. Get them standing up for me. I want them so erect you can see them through the satin shirt." That was the voice, calm and low. I don't think I've ever heard anything sexier than Mulder when he starts speaking in that voice. It was a voice made for use behind closed doors where illicit pleasures were given and received; there was nothing I wouldn't do for Mulder when he spoke to me in that tone. I could feel myself sinking into the spell of his words, growing languid and heavy, becoming sensual rather than cerebral. Sighing with pleasure, I turned the Hitachi on low and, foregoing the attachment for now, began to draw the rounded head in slow circles around my nipples. The higher setting might be quicker, but the vibrations of the lower setting penetrated much deeper. I could feel it all the way in my chest. When I spoke, I imagined I sounded like a traffic reporter in a helicopter. "It almost tickles," I murmured. "But I can feel myself getting wet. I've got my left nipple erect, and I'm moving to my right." "That's good, that's good. Once you're done, I want you to set the vibrator aside and unbutton your shirt. Don't take it off yet." I fell into a breathless silence while I stroked my right nipple with the appliance. Soon, it too was jutting forward, feeling tight and sensitive. I was very aware of the softness of my satin pajama top rubbing against the peaks of my breasts. After a pleasant, relaxing moment I shut the vibrator off and laid it on the bed. I held the phone between my ear and shoulder and unbuttoned my pajama top. It hung from my shoulders, the cloth sweeping back and forth against my skin as I moved. "Can you see your dresser mirror from where you are, Scully?" "If I sit up, yes." "I don't just want you to sit up, I want you to stand and look in the mirror. Tell me what you see." Moving slowly, I did as Mulder instructed, rising from my bed with the phone on my shoulder to gaze into the mirror. The woman I saw there wasn't the same woman I usually faced every day. The woman I normally saw was very composed and dignified, neatly dressed and well groomed. The woman staring back at me was none of those things. She was-- "Talk to me, Scully. Tell me what you see." "I look...wild," I said softly, my gut clenching with desire as I spoke. "My hair's kind of messy because I was tossing and turning earlier. My cheeks are really flushed and my eyes are sparkling. My pajama top is hanging open with my breasts sticking out. I look...wanton. Slutty. Like I'm moments away from getting the fucking of my life." "Good, Scully. Very good. You want to know something?" "What?" I whispered. Wearing the satin pajama top seemed sexier and more alluring than if I had been nude. Without thinking about it, I lifted the hand that wasn't holding the phone and watched as the woman in the mirror cupped her breast, playing idly with the nipple. "When we're together, when we're making love, that's exactly how I see you. And though you are always beautiful to me, in those moments, you are the most stunning creature on this planet." I gave a soft sigh of pleasure, letting his voice and words wash over me. "You're touching your breast, aren't you, Scully?" Surprised, the movements of my fingers on my nipple stilled as I answered. "Yes, I am." "Good. That's exactly what I want you to do. Now tell me- -Friday night, did you like it when I ppinched your nipples?" I thought about it, about the pressure of his fingers tightening on my nipple. How the sensations had gone from pleasure to discomfort to pain, and then faded away like they had never been when he stroked me softly. His pinching my nipples had hurt, but I had enjoyed it. "Yes," I replied. "I'm glad. I enjoyed doing it. I enjoyed your whimpers and the movements when you tried to get away from me, and the way you bit your lip to keep from crying out," Mulder paused, and I heard a deep, shuddering breath across the line. I suspected I wasn't the only party in this conversation with their hands on their body. "I want you to do that, Scully. Pinch your nipple, as hard or as soft as you like. Let me hear you when you do it, though. No biting your lip to hold back the sounds." My fingers closed over my nipple and began to squeeze. The gentle pressure I applied didn't seem to be enough, so I tightened my grasp. The pleasure-pain of the sensation made me moan softly into the phone. "That's it. Keep going." I wanted more. I wanted to feel what I had felt that night with Mulder's fingers on me. Drawing a deep breath, I moved from squeezing between the tips of my thumb and forefinger to gripping the nipple between the thumb and the side of the knuckle of the forefinger instead. I squeezed with as much pressure as I could muster the courage for. I could feel my wetness starting to seep into the crotch of my panties as I cried out sharply and released my nipple. It tingled and ached and I rubbed it softly as Mulder had done that night. "Mmm, I like that sound, Scully. I like it a lot. You wanna do the other nipple?" "Yes..." I whispered. Sliding my free hand to the other breast, I repeated the process. I applied increasing pressure until I reached a plateau, then used my thumb and the side of my forefinger to squeeze sharply. I yelped again and began tenderly stroking the offended nipple. "That's perfect. I love the way you sound when you do that. Now stroke it softly. Soothe away the pain. Does it feel more tender now, more sensitive to the slightest touch?" "Yes, it does," I replied, still watching my actions in the mirror. "I want you to take off your shirt now, Scully. Don't move away from the mirror, though." Maneuvering carefully so as not to drop the phone, I did as Mulder told me, letting the pajama top fall into a small pool of satin around my feet. "Look at yourself again," Mulder said huskily. "See how pure and white your skin is, how dark your nipples are? Hold the phone with your shoulder and use both hands to cup your breasts and lift them. Feel how heavy they are, how soft and warm and smooth the skin is? Rub them, Scully. Mold them with your hands, feel how the flesh yields to the pressure of your fingers. Can you feel that?" "Yes..." I sighed, seduced by my own touch and the sound of Mulder's voice. The muscles in my sex were throbbing in time with my pulse as my arousal mounted. I could see and feel all that Mulder described and more. I was stunned at this person staring back at me, this woman I never seemed to see. I found her beautiful and wild and alluring. The weight of her breasts was heavenly and warm in my hands. "Good. I love it when I feel your breasts in my hands, love the way the flesh feels. They're perfect, Scully." Silence fell while I continued caressing my breasts for a long moment. Once or twice, I thought I heard a gasp from Mulder. I could imagine his hand on his cock, stroking softly up and down. His fingers would travel back and caress his sac; then he'd close his palm over the head of his penis, squeezing firmly to simulate the pressure of being inside me. How close was he to coming, I wondered. "Talk to me, Mulder," I murmured, squeezing the soft flesh of my breasts. "Tell me what you're doing." "You know what I'm doing, Scully," he said softly, his voice a little breathless. "I want--" My voice trailed off as I toyed with my nipples. "What?" Mulder asked. "Tell me what you want." "I want to feel your cock in my hands," I whispered. "I want to taste you..." "Oh, God..." Mulder groaned. "I'm supposed to be the one seducing you," he protested weakly. "Welcome to the nineties, caveman," I chuckled huskily. We fell silent again, savoring our mutual pleasure for a while. "Take off your pajama bottoms and panties, Scully," Mulder said at last. I did so still standing, lifting one leg and then the other. The cool air touched my damp crotch, chilling the wetness there. "Are you still standing in front of the mirror?" "Yes." "Good. Look at yourself. Look at how beautiful and natural you are standing there naked. Look at the lovely shape of your body, the softly swelling breasts leading into the curved waist, the flatness of your belly before it gives way to the dark red hair between your legs. Do you see all that, Scully?" "I see it, Mulder." And I did. Normally, I wouldn't find myself even remotely exotic but when I saw myself through Mulder's eyes I saw a different person entirely. "I want you to slide your hand down your belly, Scully, and slip it between your legs. I want you to rub it back and forth. Are you wet?" "God, yes..." "Good. Now, spread your legs and watch yourself in the mirror as you fuck yourself with your fingers. Start with two, then three, and then four, if you want. Do it, Scully. Now." I moaned softly with a combination of embarrassment and desire. I thought I had looked slutty before, but now I appeared downright lewd, semi-squatting before the mirror with my hand disappearing and re-emerging from between my thighs. Why was I doing this? Would I have done it if Mulder hadn't asked me to? Somewhere inside, my good little Catholic cringed in horror at my own abandon. That I was wildly aroused at this point was an undeniable fact, and yet there was a bashful part of me that shrank from this wanton display of my own sexuality. I hadn't realized before how much more comforting it was to be uninhibited when I couldn't actually see myself. If Mulder hadn't assured me of how beautiful he finds me when he sees me like this, I would have been mortified that he had ever seen me this way, humiliated at the image of myself--cool, calm, collected Scully--doing these things and more importantly, enjoying them. But it was Mulder on the other end of the line and he wanted this, wanted me to pleasure myself in his stead. And because it was Mulder, I would do it. I slipped my fingers into my dripping canal and pulled them back out, covered in wetness. I added a third finger and began to thrust, slowly at first, then gaining speed. It was hard to bend over far enough to reach myself and still glance into the mirror, but I managed. I could hear myself making throaty, breathless noises into the phone, giving sharp moans and whimpers. I curled my little finger into a bundle with the others and thrust them all the way in. I almost dropped the phone as I cried out from the sensation of fullness. "Oh, Scully, yes. That's it. Yes..." It went on for some time that way, each of us getting louder and more explicit in our exclamations of pleasure. Finally, Mulder spoke again. "Okay, Scully, stop. Take your fingers out and go back to the bed. Lay down and get comfortable. Find a comfortable way to support the phone by your ear so you can use both hands." I obeyed, wiping my hands briefly on my discarded underwear, and soon had myself arranged in a fairly accessible position on the bed. "Pick up the vibrator, Scully. Have you got the attachment on yet?" "No, not yet." "Put it on now, then turn the vibrator on low." I did as Mulder told me, and the vibrator began humming in my hand again. "Okay, I want you to touch it to the top of your mound, just above your pubic hair, and move it slowly downward toward your clit. Slowly. I want you to feel the gradual intensity of the vibrations as they get closer to your clit. Don't touch your clit, though, until I tell you to." "Okay..." I followed his instructions carefully, paying close attention to the increasing sensation the closer I got to my clitoris. When I got to the point right above the hood, I began to moan softly, the deep, penetrating vibrations reaching my clit even without being in direct contact. It was, in some ways, better than direct contact--gentler, deeper, less overwhelming. I stayed there for some time, making soft sounds of pleasure, which were echoed by Mulder's own guttural moans. "Okay, Scully, now...touch your clit. Just for a second, then go back to what you were doing." I moved the vibrator down just a centimeter and the rubber cup with its curved protrusion covering the head of the vibrator came into direct contact with my clitoris. I yelled loudly, the feeling so intense as to be nearly unbearable. It shot through me like a thunderbolt, and then was replaced by gentle, deep vibrations as I moved the massager back to the point just above the clit. "That's good...I want you to do it again, but hold it there longer this time. Hold it until I tell you to stop." Oh, God...I prayed Mulder wouldn't ask me to hold it too long. It really was nearly too intense to take for more than a few seconds at a time. I touched my sensitive clit again and held it, fighting against the urge to pull away from the electrifying vibrations. It seemed to go on forever, with me giving a never-ending series of moans and gasps, before Mulder finally told me to stop. "Now I want you to fuck yourself with the vibrator, Scully. Don't wait for instructions from me. Just do what feels good until you come, okay? Be sure to let me hear you." "Okay," I whispered. I slid the curved end of the attachment into my convulsing vagina and groaned loudly. The end curled up toward the front wall of my canal and with a little bit of shifting, I found my g-spot. I pressed there for a long moment, making incoherent noises and listening to Mulder's gruff, breathless encouragement. Then I began sliding it in and out of my body. I quickly found a rhythm. Push it in, find the g-spot, hold, withdraw, find the clit, hold, then in again. The attachment wasn't long or thick enough to make a simple, fast, deep fucking very effective. The Hitachi was a precision tool. I followed that careful pattern, alternating the point of pressure for different sensations, and soon I felt my muscles growing tighter and tenser, winding up toward a release. "Oh, God...Mulder...feels so good...wish it was you...inside me...God..." I babbled a breathless commentary on the sensations to Mulder before I lost my ability for clear or coherent speech. I was aware of Mulder's steadily increasing groans and exclamations that finally erupted into a strangled shout. Mulder would now hear me come without being distracted by his own orgasm. The tension was becoming unbearable, approaching the point where something simply must give, and in desperation, I shoved the smooth side of the attachment hard against my clit and held it there, grinding roughly. I came with a sob, shuddering and quivering, still holding the vibrator to my clit to drag out the sensations until at last I lay limp and sated on my bed. "So, Scully," Mulder said after a long moment. I realized the Hitachi was still turned on and shut it off. "Was it good for you?" I laughed, still gasping, with the occasional tremor running through my body. "It was fantastic for me," I said at last. We fell silent, quietly coming down from our climaxes, until I broke the silence with a jaw-cracking yawn. "Think you can sleep now?" Mulder asked affectionately. "I have no doubts whatsoever," I replied, stretching. My body was growing heavy and my eyelids became increasingly stubborn in their refusal to remain open. "Then get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow," Mulder replied. I managed to mutter a sleepy "good night," then fumbled with the phone until I found the base. I set the Hitachi on the bedside table, knowing I should get up, get dressed and clean it, but I was unable to summon the energy. I crawled under the covers, delighting in the decadent feel of the soft, cool cotton percale against my bare, sensitized skin and was soon asleep. End of Part Three of Five Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 4 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com I made pasta. Linguine with clam sauce to be exact. I may have a tendency to live off junk food, but that doesn't mean I can't cook when I put my mind to it. One of the benefits to an eidetic memory is you see a recipe once and it's yours for life. I bought a French loaf, sliced it down the center, smeared it with butter, real minced garlic and parsley and put it in the oven to bake for fifteen minutes. While it was baking, I opened the bottle of wine I had purchased, letting it breathe for a moment. I had planned for Scully and me to have only a small glass with dinner, and even then I'd had to think hard about the decision. On one hand, we were going to be doing a lot of heavy talking and it might help us to relax a bit, but I didn't want us to be impaired in any way. In fact, if we had decided to do any playing that night, I wouldn't have bought the wine, period. One thing I had discovered in my research years ago, after my relationship with Phoebe had ended was that any responsible practitioner of BDSM agrees that alcohol or drugs do not mix with scene-play. The Dominant needs to have all his faculties intact to perform safely and responsibly, and the submissive needs to be aware enough to call a halt to things if she's in distress. Not long ago, a story had made the news about a woman who had left her female lover chained to a Saint Andrew's cross while she went into the bathroom to shoot up. The window had been open and the breeze had blown the curtains across the candles. The submissive had been badly burned. Scully wasn't the only person who had spent our time off doing research. I had left her apartment last Sunday determined that if, after giving it some thought, Scully still wanted to pursue the matter, we would decide how to do it in as responsible and thorough manner as possible. The questionnaire I had sent Scully had been one such tool. I had found it on an online resource guide. Actually, the list I'd found had been much longer than the scaled-down version I had sent her. A great deal of it had been inapplicable, and quite a bit more had simply been distasteful. I didn't need Scully to tell me what experience or interest she had with such things as bestiality, forced prostitution, scarification and scat. The list was to give me an idea of where Scully's limits lay, but I had limits myself. Even if Scully had been willing to go there--which, knowing her as I did, I highly doubted--I wasn't; and as I had said to Scully earlier in the week, if it wasn't good for one of us, it wasn't good for either of us. Besides, I was afraid that including those options would only muddy the waters, as it were. Leaving those possibilities in might have only served to make her more uncertain about whether what she wanted was something she should really be pursuing. I was looking forward to discussing her responses. Having a clear guideline of what Scully would do, wouldn't do, or might at some point be willing to do would be a tremendous help in determining how to go about conducting our scenes. Part of me feared I was perhaps rushing things, getting this involved so quickly, but I didn't want to take the chance of doing something that might hurt Scully out of ignorance. I would rather be thorough, even at the risk of moving too fast. It was seven o'clock when Scully arrived bearing her overnight bag. I looked up from the clam sauce and felt a foolish grin break across my face. She looked spectacular. Though we had spent Tuesday night together, I had missed her desperately. Seeing her at work didn't count; often I thought of the Scully I knew at work and the Scully I knew at home as two different people. One was Special Agent Dana Scully, a woman of formidable will and intelligence; the other was simply my lover, soft and gentle and wonderfully passionate. An ache of happiness filled my chest when she smiled back, and before I knew it, I had dropped the wooden spoon into the sauce and was striding across my small kitchen to pull her into an embrace. I cupped the back of her head firmly and kissed her hungrily, starved for the taste of her lips, delving into her mouth. "Christ, I've missed you," I muttered feverishly against her lips. Her hands toyed with the short hair at the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine as she returned my kisses, her lips pulling at mine. She hummed something at me that might have been a reply, but it was lost inside my mouth. I began pulling her knit top out of her jeans, seeking the feel of her skin beneath my hands. The second I touched her warm flesh, though, it wasn't enough. I pulled back, looking into her eyes, which were glittering with desire. "Don't move," I said firmly. I went back to the stove and turned the burner off beneath the sauce and took the garlic bread out of the oven. When I turned around, Scully was right there behind me. I pulled her back into my arms and shoved my hands inside the back of her shirt to touch her satiny skin once more. "I can't wait anymore. I want you, Mulder," she murmured, rising on tiptoe to kiss my neck. "Here. Now." Who was I to argue? Within moments, I had her pants and shoes off, and she was perched on the edge of the counter with me standing between her thighs, my cock pressing against her center, seeking entrance. "Jesus, Mulder," Scully whispered harshly. "Do it. Make love to me." I plunged forward with my hips and slid into her waiting body. Our groans were simultaneous and loud. She was hot and tight and soft all at once, and being within her was paradise on earth. I felt I might explode from sheer pleasure. Dragging her forward slightly with my hands on her ass, I withdrew and thrust in again hard. "Oh, God, yes," she panted. "More, Mulder." "Not gonna...last long...Scuh--Scully," I warned her, feeling my control disintegrating. I pumped wildly in and out of her body, feeling her muscles contract around my cock with exquisite tension. "That's...okay," she replied. "Neither will I. More...Faster...God, yes!" I cut loose, slamming into her receptive body, listening to her moans and cries while her nails gouged painfully into my back and shoulders. I pulled one of her hands away from my back and thrust it between our bodies, and picking up on my cue she rubbed her clit while I gripped her hip once more. A high-pitched keening emerged from her throat, and I pressed harder, thrusting faster. Soon, Scully's body tensed and then the spasms began, wave after wave of overwhelming pressure surrounding me. Her head fell back against the cupboard behind her and her flushed face contorted in a grimace of pleasure. I registered all this in an instant, delivering a few uncontrolled thrusts, before I felt myself slide over the edge. I poured into her with a shuddering groan, breathlessly gasping her name. I came back to myself slumped against her, my face buried against her neck, her arms and legs holding me. For a long time I couldn't utter anything more coherent than a satisfied "Hmmm..." I wrapped my arms around her torso and held her close for a moment, her soft breasts pressed against my chest. It felt good to hold her after so many days of doing without. After a while, I drew away and began picking clothes off the floor, handing them to Scully while she remained seated on the countertop. "Now that we've gotten that our of our systems, how about dinner?" Scully smiled warmly. "I'm starved," she replied. * * * * * Scully took the disinfectant spray to the countertop while I finished preparing dinner. It wasn't until after we had finished eating that we began discussing the matter at the forefront of both our minds. I sat on the couch, relaxing, with the survey Scully had emailed me printed out in my hands. I was silent as I scanned her answers and Scully sat on a chair across from me, looking somewhat nervous. I was surprised by some of her answers, particularly those relating to pain play. A great many of the activities I thought she would have vetoed without consideration she had put down as future possibilities or at least something she would consent to if I demanded it, whether or not she enjoyed it. She also was open to behavior modification activities, such as limiting the eye contact she could make with me, forms of address she could use, and so on. I had originally assumed Scully's submissive tendencies mainly centered on sexual activity, but I now suspected they went deeper. I began questioning her about her answers, trying to understand the thought processes behind them. "Why did you rate whipping as something I could do even if you hated it?" I asked, watching her reactions intently. "I almost didn't," she replied, looking away. "But I was thinking about it--about all of it, not just the whipping-- and I realized I want more than just to be tied up and taken. I might have mentioned last weekend I enjoyed the fact you pushed the boundaries of what I thought I wanted. When I started looking into all this earlier in the week, I realized I truly want to be controlled, and that if you feel you have no recourse for my disobeying you, then I wouldn't be able to feel as though I had fully turned myself over to you...given you control of me. "I wouldn't consider myself a masochist, though admittedly I've never really given a great deal of thought to the concept. I'm frightened by the idea that you would ever-- do that. But you have to have the freedom to correct me if I step out of line. I don't think I'll feel I'm truly in your power otherwise." I blew my breath out in a hard sigh. I remembered the times when Phoebe had whipped me far too well. There was a part of me that had wanted it, but not for anything close to those reasons. At twenty-something, I still blamed myself for my sister's disappearance. My parents hadn't been abusive; my dad never laid a finger on me from the night Samantha was taken. Instead, they had simply withdrawn and left me alone with my own feelings of guilt and remorse. They never made any effort to assure me Samantha's abduction *hadn't* been my fault and, therefore, I could only assume it was. I hated myself for that, and Phoebe's punishment felt right. Essentially, I allowed Phoebe to abuse me as a form of self-castigation. I hadn't *wanted* to be whipped, hadn't gotten off on it, felt terrible about myself when she did it, and yet I emerged from the experience feeling shriven. It was another example of how essentially wrong my relationship with Phoebe had been. In place of acceptance, she had given me pain. She had used my own self-loathing to meet her own sadistic ends. I had lapped it up because I was starved for the attention, for someone to acknowledge my existence. That realization served to emphasize how healthy and appropriate Scully's reasons for wanting the same things were. I frowned, looking away from Scully. "I should be honest with you--I doubt my ability to do that--to punish you that way, even for disobedience." "Why?" She asked softly. "I'm not a sadist, Scully. I can't think of anything in the world I would want less than to cause you pain. I've seen you hurt, and I would give my right arm never to see it again." I looked up at Scully and her eyes glittered compassionately. "I didn't think about that, Mulder," she said quietly. "I didn't think what such a prospect might mean for you emotionally and I should have. I'm sorry." I nodded, some of my earlier elation abandoning me. How badly did she feel she needed this? I didn't want her to ever feel that she was missing something important because of me. I wanted to be the man who fulfilled all her desires, but the hesitant, insecure part of me wondered if I could be everything she needed. Damn. "If it's not something you feel right about, then we don't need to do it," Scully said softly. "The only important thing here is that we're together. I wouldn't jeopardize that for anything. But I trust you, Mulder. Besides, there's a difference between hurt and harm, you know. You're the only man on this planet I would trust not to harm me. I think you need to recognize that difference as well. Just in the last week, you've shown me that pain--being *hurt*--can be accomplished without being harmed. When you've done things such as pinching my nipples, or poking my clitoris something pointy, that's essentially what you were doing." I nodded. She was right, of course. I'd sooner die than harm her, but I hadn't balked at causing her a bit of pain last weekend during our scene. Still, there was a world of difference between that brand of erotic pain and the kind of punishment she was proposing. I would need to think that detail over before deciding what I was and wasn't capable of doing for Scully. I drew a deep breath, afraid I might be treading on dangerous ground. "There's another reason I worry, Scully. Sometimes...sometimes you have trouble communicating with me when you're in pain or distress. You try to be strong and stoic and not let me see how it affects you. You trust me with your life and your body, but you don't trust me enough to let me know when you're hurting, to let me know when you feel--weak. If--*if*--we were to pursue this, you're going to have to trust me with a hell of a lot more than your life. You're going to have to trust me enough to show pain in front of me; to be weak, if that's how you insist on seeing it. Because this whole thing revolves around communication, and I am going to need to know everything you're thinking and feeling, or it won't work. If we do this, the words 'I'm fine' can't exist in your vocabulary anymore." Scully was silent for a long moment, frowning pensively. I think she was trying to decide whether to be offended or not. Finally, she gave a stiff, jerky nod. "That's fair enough," she answered at last. "You're right. I don't like to admit when I'm hurting. If I am going to trust you to have that sort of power over me, then I suppose you have to be able to trust me to be honest about what I'm feeling." We fell silent for a moment and I set Scully's list aside. "How much of our time did you want to spend on this?" I asked at last. She shook her head. "I'm really not sure. Quite frankly, I think you might be a better judge of what we should do there than I am. After last weekend, I'm not confident I won't be...over-enthusiastic." I was helpless to prevent laughing. Scully was looking to me to provide moderation. Would wonders never cease? Sobering, I thought about it. "I'd say once a week would be enough to start with. Perhaps on a Saturday, so we can start early and go as long as we want. We can decide later if we want to spend more or less time on it. I enjoyed what we did last weekend, but I still need you as just my lover and friend. I enjoy that time together, and I don't want to lose it or spend too little time on it." "Of course," Scully murmured. "From what you've indicated here about behavior restrictions and such, I assume you're talking about more than just physical domination. You want to get into the mental aspects?" She nodded. "I've thought about that a lot," she said softly. "I think part of what worked the most for me last weekend was the way you commanded me, the way you made me *believe*...I wasn't just pretending after a while. I believed in your control over me. I want to explore that more...I want to feel it's more than a game." I swallowed. This was it then; this was where we tested the boundaries. I cleared my throat and spoke. "If that's how you want it, then you should know I plan to be demanding when we're in these scenes together," I warned her, my voice firm. I had to make sure we were absolutely clear on this. "You've mentioned punishment. If you're putting yourself in my hands, then I won't take no for an answer and your only out is your safe-word. Do you understand?" "Yes," she replied, looking away. After a long moment, she met my eyes again and gave a shuddering sigh. "That's what I want, Mulder. That's how much control I want you to have over me." Amazing. Simply amazing. Scully was an intriguing combination of trepidation and arousal, sitting across from me with her hands clenched in her lap and her pupils dilated. Despite the seriousness of the moment, I was getting aroused. I shifted uncomfortably and tried to focus on the matter at hand. What Scully was offering me was the ultimate act of faith. She was offering to let me have what she had never willingly turned over to anyone, and I wasn't unaware of the responsibility that came with that honor. Taking a deep breath, I met her eyes squarely. "I won't be me, and I doubt you'll be you when we're playing together like this," I said. "It's like you said--you became a different person for a while. That's the point; for us to let go of who we are and be who we want to be for a while. I want to be sure, though, that who we are when we're 'in scene' together doesn't spill over into who we are in our other times together, so I don't think we should call each other by our names. Scully is my partner and my lover. She's not my pet or my sex toy or...or whatever. I don't want her to be. So...we need to come up with something else for me to call you when we're playing." Scully didn't answer, and her expression was distant and dreamy. After a moment she blinked and looked at me, smiling abashedly. "Sorry. I was still stuck on 'sex toy.'" I laughed and Scully gave me a grin that let me know what had been her intention all the while. Scully always could give me a run for my money in the innuendo department. I was taking this perhaps *too* seriously, my previous negative experience having made me leery of the whole thing. We were serious about it, but that didn't mean we couldn't enjoy it. "I'm going to have to be on the lookout for this mischievous streak of yours," I said, chuckling. "In your research, did you come across the term 'brat-bottom'?" "No, I didn't. What is it?" "It's a submissive who intentionally cuts up for the express purpose of being disciplined," I said. "The practice tends to be frowned upon as a form of 'topping from the bottom' where it's the sub who's actually running the show, even if it's the Dominant wielding the paddle." "Sounds intriguing," Scully replied with a smirk. I wagged a finger at her in warning and she subsided. "Where were we?" "I was asking if you had any suggestions on what I should call you when we're playing." "Well, you could always call me Dana." We both considered a moment, then shook our heads in unison. "No..." Scully thought about it a moment longer. "My great- grandmother Katherine used to call me Katie." I thought about it. "Katie..." I said finally, trying the name out on my tongue. It didn't work for me. An idea struck, something I knew Scully would hate, but which might just work. "Kat..." I tried the name out for size and Scully narrowed her eyes as I continued, "That's it. I'll call you Kat." She grimaced. "Oh, come on, Mulder. At least make it Kate?" "What would the fun in that be?" I asked. "Now, whenever I call you Kat, you'll remember I chose that name for you and *that is* your name, whether you like it or not." I watched her reaction carefully. If she wanted me to have total control over her, then this was the time to accept it. Scully squirmed. "Damn. I'm way more turned on by that idea than I should be." She paused for a moment, then asked, "So what should I call you?" The test was passed; she was accepting it. "Well, I don't think you should call me Mulder, and you're sure as hell not going to call me Fox. A lot of subs just call their Dominants, 'Sir.'" Scully considered and shook her head. "I don't think that would work. I have to use the term 'sir' for too many superiors at the FBI to want to associate it with you." True. I did not want our play-time evoking images of Skinner, or worse, Kersh, in Scully's mind. "You could call me Master," I said, finding the idea rather ridiculous myself. I had thought it would make her laugh. I was wrong. Scully blinked, looking stunned. "I guess that's pretty accurate, isn't it?" she said after a long moment, her voice muted. "That's what I've been asking for." "Are you all right with that?" I asked, surprised she was taking the suggestion seriously. "Yes," she sighed. "Yes. That's what I want; that's what this is all about. But hearing the word makes it all so much more real. It's one thing to say you'll have control over me, and quite another for me to acknowledge you as my master. They essentially mean the same thing, and yet it feels different..." she paused. "It's going to take some getting used to." "I'll give you a while to adjust," I promised, understanding that since I had thrown the word out there, there was no chance that Scully would consider calling me anything else-- not that I had any other suggestions that weren't downright absurd anyway. "After that, when you address me inappropriately during a scene, there will be consequences." She gnawed on her lip and nodded solemnly. Suddenly I'd had enough of the talk. I knew where to begin, and if we had other issues to work out, we could discuss them later. Now, I just wanted Scully. "Come here," I murmured. Scully rose from the chair and moved over to where I sat on the sofa. She didn't seem to know what to do with herself. I stood and looked down into her face. "We'll start tomorrow," I said, taking her face in my hands. "Tonight, I just want the woman I love. I just want you..." I kissed her gently, interlocking my lips with hers for a long moment before pressing forward with my tongue. She opened willingly, and with a small sigh wrapped her arms around my torso. I pushed her backward until her knees hit the edge of the sofa and she sat; then I went down on my knees in front of her. "You're beautiful," I murmured, reaching up to kiss her again. I quickly removed her shirt and bra, tossing them to the far end of the sofa, then kissed my way down her neck and over her shoulders, closing my mouth over her nipple. Scully gave a sharp gasp and I began to apply suction. "Ohhh, God, Mulder..." She crooned, threading her fingers through the hair in back of my head. "That feels so good..." I changed breasts, devoting equal time and attention to both. I worshipped the hard, dark nipples with my tongue and massaged her soft flesh between my lips. Scully arched her back, her head resting on the back of the sofa while her breasts thrust forward to meet my mouth. I softly stroked up and down her torso with my hands. Her skin was soft and slightly chilled under my touch. "Are you cold?" I asked, pulling my lips from her pebble- hard nipple for a moment. "No!" She shook her head emphatically. "Just don't stop..." I turned my attention back to her breasts and began to remove the pants she had donned again after our interlude in the kitchen. She lifted her hips, enabling me to draw her pants down her thighs and, at the same time, causing her to thrust her breasts closer to my face. Soon she was naked, her white skin luminescent against the black leather of the sofa, and I made my way down her belly with my mouth. When I closed my lips over the moist heat of her sex, Scully shuddered violently and moaned. I was without mercy, working her clit with my lips and tongue for what seemed like forever until she was bucking and moaning on the sofa. She came once with thunderous force and then again only a moment later when I thrust my fingers into her dripping center. Still I kept at it, feeling the damp perspiration on her thighs as they cradled my face and reveling in the unrestrained writhing of her body. Thrusting my fingers rapidly and forcefully into her body, penetrating hard and fast, I then closed my teeth softly over her clit and she shrieked, fingers pulling at my hair painfully, wracked with uncontrollable spasms and shudders as she came yet again. I continued to gently kiss her sex and inner thighs, moving my fingers in and out of her canal slowly as she slumped on the sofa, panting and making small, weak whimpering noises. "Please, no more," she whispered, and I looked up to see an exhausted tear trailing from her eye, mingling with the sweat dotted on her brightly flushed face. She gave me a trembling smile and I felt my chest constrict, my heart missing a beat as I was overwhelmed with adoration for her. Never had my emotions run such a gamut. There were times when I admired her for her courage and intelligence and times she drove me up the wall with her stubborn insistence on proof in the face of the undeniable. There were times I wanted nothing more than to hold her and protect her and times I wanted nothing more than to be held and protected by her. And then there were times when I was simply left in stunned astonishment at the selfless way she had dedicated her whole life to me. I loved her with a power that frightened me as much as it elated me, knowing she held my whole life in the palm of her hand. I told her as much in whispers as I kissed my way back up her body to her lips. Finally I rose from knees gone stiff with kneeling and reached out my hand to help her to her feet. She tried to rise and her legs wobbled and buckled beneath her, so I caught her and held her gently against me until she had regained her balance. Without a murmur of protest, she allowed me to lead her to the bed. She sat on the edge while I undressed, and I watched her face, taking in that enigmatic Scully smile as she viewed my raging erection. I was in agony, desperate to bury myself in her body, but I took my time stripping, giving her time to recover her energy. When I was nude, I crawled onto the bed and sank into her open arms and legs. I pulled a couple of pillows down, and Scully lifted her ass to allow me to tuck them under her hips; then I sank my shaft into her waiting heat. I kissed her while I made love to her; slow kisses, fast kisses, hard kisses and butterfly soft kisses. I took my time thrusting in and out, savoring her exquisite tightness and scalding heat. When I finally lifted myself up on my arms and began to thrust in earnest, I stared into her wide-open eyes. She gazed back, biting her bottom lip and occasionally gasping. She was tired and perhaps a bit too overly sensitized from her earlier orgasms for this to be entirely pleasurable for her, and I doubted she would come again. I'd like to say I was a strong enough man to pull out and go to sleep with this burning need in my balls, but I wasn't. Nothing short of her asking me to stop could keep me from finishing. But I kept watching her eyes for any indication of distress. "Don't worry about me," she finally whispered between gasps. "Let go. I want to feel you come." With a strangled groan, I buried my face in her neck and she clasped her arms tightly around me. Her whispered entreaty signified the end of my control, and I began to pump hard into her body, moving quickly but with little finesse or rhythm. Only seconds later I came, my shout muffled against her soft, damp skin, my penis burning with the force of my orgasm. I sank down upon her, my muscles failing me and drew deep, harsh breaths against her skin. She stroked my hair and back softly, crooning words of love and reassurance, kissing the top of my head where it lay just above her breasts. It was a long moment I lay there, knowing I was too heavy for her but too drained to move. Finally, I mustered up the strength to roll off her body and flopped over onto my back beside her. I lay there slowly regaining the ability to move or think again while Scully rose from the bed and padded naked into the bathroom. I heard the sounds of water running as she washed her body and face and brushed her teeth. I finally moved and stripped the cases off the pillows that had been underneath Scully's backside and tossed them into the hamper, and fluffed the remaining, clean pillows for us to sleep on. I straightened the covers that had been twisted and disarrayed with our lovemaking and then took my turn in the bathroom when Scully emerged. When I had finished wiping the sweat off my body with a damp washcloth and brushing my teeth, I returned to the bedroom to find Scully already sound asleep, naked beneath the covers. I crawled into bed behind her and snuggled close, folding one arm beneath the pillow under her head and tucking the other around her waist. Unconsciously, she wiggled until her bare body was pressed against mine, and pulling the blankets over myself, I too fell into an exhausted sleep. End of Part Four of Five Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 5 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com As soon as Scully stirred Saturday morning, so did I, awakened by the movements of her body against mine. At first, I didn't think--I just nuzzled her neck, my morning erection cheerfully pressing against her backside. Then I remembered it was Saturday, the day we would begin exploring the other side of our relationship as Dominant and submissive. I considered how best to approach the issue; I had made some plans, but I didn't know how to smoothly segue into those roles once we had started the day as ourselves. The last time we had tried this, we had started out in the mindset we had needed. I figured that was as good a way to go as any and decided rather than waiting, to begin now, before we could fall into our normal roles. I was nervous, I realized. As much as I wanted to do this myself, it was especially important to me that I not screw it up for Scully's sake. The concern that I might grow too used to being in control where Scully was concerned was a real one. I had struggled long and hard in my life to gain some control, rather than being everyone's puppet. Perhaps I might be unwilling to yield any once I had it. I had to trust that Scully wouldn't let me do that, that just as she could return from the place where she relinquished control, I could return from the place where I claimed it. There was also the fact I'd never been a Dominant before, and the one example I'd ever had of a top was far from being a good one. How the hell was I supposed to know if I was doing it right? I didn't know, and I wasn't going to find out until I did something, so taking a deep breath, I combed my hand into Scully's hair and, gently pulled her head back so that her face was turned to me. Her eyes were still half-lidded with sleep and a small smile curved her lips. Putting my lips against her ear, I whispered, "Who are you?" "Wha--?" She blinked, waking slowly, and gave me a puzzled stare. "It's Saturday," I said, not releasing her hair. I ran the forefinger of my other hand down her cheekbone and over her lips before dragging it down her neck and collarbone to claim one breast territorially. Today I had full possession of this woman's body, I reminded myself. She was mine. "Who are you?" She was suddenly completely awake as she understood my meaning. Her eyes were wide and her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she whispered, "Kat." "Say it again," I commanded. She looked away, squirming. "Kat," she whispered again. "Say it to *me*," I said insistently, pulling her head back up to look at me. "I'm Kat," she said, her voice firmer, and she grimaced as she spoke the name. I could see her pulse fluttering in her throat. I moved my lips along her cheek, a mere breath away from her skin. "And are you mine?" I breathed against her face. She swallowed hard. "Yes," she murmured. Her nipples grew hard as she spoke the word, and her breathing accelerated. She was becoming aroused as I exerted control over her. Suddenly I wasn't so unsure of myself. This was what she wanted. "Say it to me again, all of it," I instructed her, my voice still low and soft and calm. "Who are you, and who do you belong to?" "I'm Kat," she said softly, her pupils dilated. "And I belong to you." "Very good," I said and kissed her mouth gently. She sighed and yielded to the kiss, melting against me, and I lingered, stroking her skin with my hands. After a long moment, I pulled away and rolled onto my back, half-reclined against the headboard. My cock tented the covers over my hips, and I pulled them back, revealing my arousal. I softly pushed on Scully's head. "Take me in your mouth," I told her, and without hesitation she slid down to the foot of the bed and crawled between my legs. Pushing her tousled hair back from her face, she bent over and slid her lips down my shaft. I sighed heavily and closed my eyes, relaxing as she went to work with her lips and teeth and tongue. I could take my time; I knew I wouldn't be able to ejaculate until after I had made a trip to the restroom. I left my hands lying loosely at my sides, not touching or rushing her in any way but simply enjoying her efforts. She ran her tongue around the head of my cock, teasing the slit in the end and the sensitive backside before engulfing me in her mouth until I touched her soft palate. She drew back, encircling my shaft and sucking hard while she pulled away. I groaned and shifted my hips when she wrapped her lips around the head and sucked it rapidly in and out. Occasionally she would release my shaft, or stroke it with her hand and lick my sac, pulling the halves gently into her mouth and running her tongue over them before releasing them and returning to my cock. After several minutes, I told her to stop. She looked up at me, her face flushed with exertion and her lips full and red and glistening. She looked wild and exotic with her hair uncombed and floating around her face and her eyes dark and wide with arousal. And she was mine. "I want you to go and start a pot of coffee, then meet me back here in bed," I said, rising to get out of bed. Scully slipped out the other side and reached for one of my button-down shirts, which she habitually wore on the mornings she spent here at my apartment. I walked around the foot of the bed and caught her wrist as she slid one arm into the shirt. "Did I tell you to get dressed?" I asked. She blinked, looking stunned. "No, but--" "Go make the coffee," I said firmly, pulling the shirt off her arm and taking it from her hands. "You can close the blinds if you feel the need, but you're not to get dressed until I tell you to." She looked on the verge of rebelling and I wondered briefly if I was pushing too far, but she nodded jerkily and left the room, her naked derriere swinging as she disappeared through the door. While Scully made the coffee I used the toilet and brushed my teeth. I would shower a little later when I was done playing with Scully. By the time I emerged, Scully was back, perched on the edge of the bed looking nervous. I could hear the sound of the coffeemaker burbling in the kitchen. "You can use the bathroom if you need to, and brush your teeth, then come back to bed," I instructed her. She rose silently and began to walk past me when I stopped her by closing my hand over her shoulder. She froze in place, her body tense, and I pushed her chin up with my fingers and forced her to meet my eyes. I stared at her for a long moment, looking for any indication something wasn't working for her, but in spite of her tension, her eyes were placid. I nodded and released her, and she went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. A few moments later she returned and approached the bed, looking at me uncertainly. I held out my hand and she placed hers within it. Gently but insistently, I tugged her to the bed. "I'm going to take you now," I announced, still taking care to keep my voice soft and calm. "I want you to get on your hands and knees and hold the headboard." Eyes wide, she did as I had instructed her, climbing onto the bed and positioning herself as I had told her to. I tucked a pillow between her head and the headboard to protect her from any accidental collision and then moved in behind her. I draped myself over her body, wrapping my arms around her torso to grab her breasts, which I massaged and kneaded until she moaned softly. I pinched the nipples gently, eliciting a sharp gasp and a wriggle. Pulling one hand away, I slapped her quickly and lightly on the hip. "Don't move," I said and returned to playing with her breasts. I pinched her nipples again, harder, and again, increasing the pressure until she gave a sharp cry, then I rubbed them softly. I slid my hands down her back and over her buttocks before slipping one between her slightly parted thighs. "Spread your legs," I commanded, and she obediently shifted her knees further apart. I pressed my finger between her folds to find her moist and pulsing. Wetting my finger inside her, I moved it forward and began to circle her clit. "You're wet, Kat," I commented, the name feeling strange on my tongue. Perhaps someday I would grow used to it. I supposed I must if I were to truly believe that, on Saturdays, she was not Scully. She was mine...my pet, my toy, my property. "I think you like this." She sighed, humming with pleasure, and I rubbed her clitoris harder. "Do you like this, Kat?" "Yes," she murmured, her voice muffled against the pillow. I took my finger away from her clit, wiping it dry upon her hip, and seized her nipple again, pinching firmly. "Yes, what?" She hesitated, moaning softly until I released her nipple and rubbed it gently. "Yes!" She said again, ignoring my demand for specification. "Yes, what?" I said, my voice louder and firmer, and pinched her again, even harder. She yelped at the pain and squirmed, making a noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan deep in her throat. Without letting go, I asked, "Who am I, Kat?" "Mmm---" She faltered, trying to pull away from my pinching fingers and only succeeded in causing herself more discomfort. She cried out loudly. I almost released her, instinctively inclined to give her mercy, but I didn't allow myself to do it. I had promised her I would be demanding, and I would keep that promise despite my own initial instincts. It was what she wanted, what she had agreed to. "Say it! Who am I?" "M--Master!" she gasped, her voice high and breathless. "Master," she breathed again, softly. I stroked her offended nipple gently, soothing it as she trembled at the resulting pain and tension. "Master," she whispered finally, sinking weakly into the pillow. "Look at me," I said softly. After a long moment, she turned her reddened face to the side and looked up at me, still on her knees with her head on the pillow. Her eyes were bright and wild. "Are you all right?" I asked gently, falling out of my dominant role for a moment. I wasn't sure yet of how far to push this. She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip slightly. I breathed a sigh of relief. "So you remember the safe-word I gave you last week?" Another nod as her breathing gradually slowed. "Tell it to me." "Flukeman," she whispered. I nodded in satisfaction. "That's right. You can stop this by saying it, you know that, don't you?" "Yes," she murmured, then: "Yes, Master." My heart skipped a beat, a thrill of elation and arousal rushing through me as my concern abated. She was still into it. I lay down on the bed on my back and slid my head underneath her torso, taking her sore nipple into my mouth. She whimpered as I stroked it with my tongue and sucked it softly between my lips. At first, her sounds were of discomfort, but they gradually transformed to pleasure. Withdrawing from beneath her, I bent down and kissed her lips gently. Her lips clung to mine, her sigh contented, and she lifted her head from the pillow to deepen the kiss, which I allowed. She opened her mouth in mute invitation, and I thrust my tongue inside, devouring her. Finally I pulled away and moved in behind her again, running my hands over her back and ass soothingly. I slid my hand between her thighs again to find her, if anything, wetter than she had been before. "You do like this," I said, half-wonderingly. "Yes, Master," she answered automatically, though it had been a statement rather than a question. I closed my eyes; overwhelmed for a moment at the responsibility I faced in possessing her this way. She was mine to care for and protect as well as command and instruct. When we were together like this, she was totally reliant upon me. It was an awe-inspiring thought, and again I considered the trust it took for her to give herself to me this way. "I love you," I said softly, and began rubbing her clitoris firmly and kissing the small of her back, just above her buttocks. After a moment she was groaning and sighing with pleasure, her hips moving uncontrollably, which left me staring at her marvelously shaped back and ass as she writhed. I gripped my cock in my other hand and positioned myself at her entrance. I nudged forward and she moaned loudly. "Yes, oh yes..." "You want me to fuck you?" I asked. "Yes, God, yes please..." "Please, what?" She whimpered desperately. "Please, *Master*, fuck me..." "Well, since you ask so nicely..." I thrust forward, increasing the pressure of my fingers on her clit simultaneously, and slid into her waiting wetness. She wailed--there's no other word for it--a low, keening sound that started in the back of her throat and crescendoed, getting louder and higher pitched as I drove further into her body, until I was seated to the hilt, at which point she sighed loudly. I stroked her back with my free hand, following the fine ridges of her spine with my fingers and watching the subtle movements of her muscles beneath her skin. She was exquisite. I pulled out and thrust back in again quickly, grunting with the effort as I did so. Her internal muscles clamped around my cock with overwhelming pressure and I knew this wouldn't last long. Continuing my firm circles around her clit, I began to move, thrusting fast and hard, her soft exclamations with each new thrust driving me closer to the edge. Within moments I felt her shudder and her walls tightened around me. She gave a breathless shout and buried her face in the pillow, grasping the headboard in a white-knuckled grip as she rode the spasms out. I removed my hand from her clitoris and gripped her hips, pumping furiously into her body as her back arched and her breathless moans continued. It was only a few moments later when I poured myself into her, cursing through gritted teeth and giving a few more jerky thrusts with my hips before I sagged against her. I only remained there only for the few moments it took me to regain enough strength to move. I lifted my weight off her and rubbed her skin lightly. "Here, lay down," I said and she slid her legs out from beneath her and rolled onto her side, facing me. Her knees were reddened from being pressed into the mattress, and for as long as she had been in that position, I knew they were stiff. I began to massage her calves and knees gently while she lay silent and pliable before me. "That was wonderful," I said approvingly, smiling at her. She returned the smile tremulously, looking rather shell- shocked. I leaned forward and kissed her softly, whispering praise and reassurances in her ear. After a moment, she flexed her legs experimentally and sighed in relief. "Better?" I asked, sliding one hand up her thigh and over her hip to rest at the dip of her waist. She nodded and I gave her a stern look. "Yes, Master," she amended the response. I had expected a grimace to accompany the words but it didn't. She seemed calm and at peace, even happy. "Thank you." "Very good. Now go take a shower, then you can join me in the kitchen for breakfast," I told her and gave her a firm pat on the bottom to motivate her to move. She moved, but rather than getting out of bed, Scully wriggled closer to my hand, smiling widely and stretching. Seeing that caressing her wasn't going to convince her to obey any quicker, I pinched her butt firmly and she gave a startled yelp. "Ow!" "See, that's what you get for not obeying my instructions," I told her, unable to force myself to sound as firm as I knew I should be. I was simply too thrilled to see her smiling. Despite my words, she seemed disinclined to move, and I pinched her other cheek. She yelped again, but still didn't rise from the bed. "I don't want to move," she said. "Let's go back to sleep for a while, please? You wore me out." "Too bad," I answered. "I have plans for us today and we need to get moving. Now go." I slapped her butt lightly, unwilling to hurt her or punish her when she was so obviously cheerful, but it had no effect. "Are you trying to provoke me?" I asked incredulously, unable to resist smiling myself. "Do you think I won't punish you for disobedience?" She giggled--giggled!--and I shook my head in warning. I'm sure my stern demeanor lacked something, given the fact I could not for the life of me banish the grin from my own countenance. "I think you are trying to provoke me. I think you want to see what I'll do if you don't obey, right? What do you think I'll do, spank you? Pinch your nipples again? Is that what you want?" She didn't answer, but simply stared at me, her eyes wide and her lips parted. I realized she really was trying to figure out what I would do to her if she disobeyed. The specter of punishment was there, and rather than allowing it to remain an unknown quantity, she wanted me to reveal what would happen so she could weigh the merits of obedience versus disobedience. I frowned at her. "The last thing you'll get for willful disobedience is what you want or expect," I said, forcing myself to be serious. "Therefore, you *will not* get a spanking, or any other kind of physical punishment. Instead, you get to go make breakfast for me while *I* take a shower." I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, striding toward the bathroom. When I looked back, she was staring at me in amazement. "Eggs and toast will be fine," I tossed over my shoulder, then paused again in the doorway to the bathroom when I heard her sigh and move on the bed. "And Kat--" I added, looking at her again. She was now on her feet and definitely not looking amused. Rather, she looked embarrassed and irritated. "--no clothes," I reminded her. Her eyes narrowed in an expression that looked suspiciously like a scowl. I closed the door behind me before she could reply. Only after I had the shower safely running did I allow myself to give in to the laughter building inside my chest. * * * * * I must say, when Scully does something, she doesn't do it by half-measures. I emerged from the shower to find her in the kitchen in nothing but her skin, her delectable backside turned toward me while she buttered toast at the counter. It was among the most erotic sights I had ever seen. She turned around when she heard me behind her. She had scrambled some eggs and had them dished out onto two plates and had just finished with the last piece of toast. As I drew near, I could see she had crumbs dotting her breasts. I leaned down and cleaned them off with my tongue. "Let's eat." Two cups of coffee and small glasses of orange juice were already on the table, so only the plates remained. She had been busy. We sat at the small two-seater table against the wall, Scully squirming at the cool varnished wood of the chair against her bare skin. By that time, we were both starved. I decided not to set any restrictions on her sitting at the table or eating, because I enjoyed having her there, naked, across the table from me. I also felt forbidding her to eat or sit at the table bordered on humiliation play, and I really didn't want to go there. If she was going to be my submissive, I wanted her to be proud of the fact, not humbled by it. It also could prove a powerful punishment tool, to take away such assumed privileges if the situation called for it. "May I ask what you have planned for us today?" Scully asked after we had both taken several bites and the edge on our hunger had dulled. Her voice was stronger than it had been in the bedroom as she gained confidence in her role. I allowed the fact she hadn't addressed me as "Master" to slip. There's respect, and then there's affectation; I preferred the former. "We're going shopping for supplies," I answered. "There are some toys and equipment I want to have. I'll be choosing what I want to get, and I'm taking you along to try things on for size." "I see," she replied, her voice muted. Several moments passed with us eating in silence, until we were almost finished. "Where will we be going?" I could practically read her thoughts; if we went shopping for the kind of supplies I had in mind here in Washington, there was a chance, however minor, of being spotted by someone we knew in a place she would really prefer not to be seen. "Come here," I said. With surprisingly little hesitation, Scully rose and stepped around the small table to approach my chair. I put my hands on her waist and pulled her close, until she was straddling my legs, facing me as I continued to sit. I pressed her downward until she was seated on my knees. "What would you do if I said I planned to do the shopping here in Washington?" I asked seriously. I genuinely wanted to know; we hadn't discussed what level of discretion we wanted to maintain in these games the previous night. I stroked her bare breasts softly. Scully blinked and thought for a long moment, and I could see the struggle on her face. Finally she took a deep, trembling breath and answered, "I would go with you as you planned. It's your prerogative to decide where we go, whatever I may think of it." A thrill of elation ran through me at her words and her commitment to this game. Sublimating her own wishes in the matter didn't come easily or readily to her, but she was doing it. She was doing it because some part of her I could never hope to understand actually wanted to belong to me. I ran my hands up her ribs, caressing her. "Kiss me," I ordered her. Without hesitating, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine, stroking softly, waiting to see if I would take the lead in guiding the kiss. I pulled back just a fraction of an inch. "You can touch me. Put your arms around me and kiss me." She leaned forward and slid her arms around my bare shoulders. Her breasts pressed warm and soft against my bare chest and I felt my cock stir within the confines of my jeans. She opened her lips and slanted her mouth across mine, stroking my lips with her tongue. I made a soft sound of pleasure and encouragement and she became bolder, sucking and nibbling on my bottom lip, and when I opened my mouth, she thrust her tongue inside and kissed me demandingly. I parted my knees, spreading her legs further apart as they straddled mine, and began fingering her folds, finding her slick with new arousal and her thighs sticky from our earlier coupling. I thrust my fingers inside quickly and she moaned into my mouth, a soft mewl of pleasure. I moved my fingers in and out, stroking her clit with my thumb, until she forgot about kissing me and arched backward. She thrust her hips forward against my hand, her head falling back and baring her long, slender neck. I pressed hot, moist kisses to her throat and shoulders and listened to her whimpers and sighs for a long moment, then slowly withdrew my fingers and sucked them into my mouth, cleaning our fluids off them. "Go take your shower," I commanded, kissing her one last time. "I'll clean up from breakfast. You can get dressed afterward; we have a lot to do today." She nodded and rose from my lap, sliding off my legs and walking away. When she reached the archway leading into the rest of the apartment, I called out to her. "Kat?" "Yes, Master?" She answered automatically, turning to face me fully. I smiled; realizing that using the name I had given her would prove to be a powerful instrument in triggering her submissive state of mind. "We're going to Philadelphia," I said, answering her earlier question. She smiled softly in relief and I watched her, enraptured. She looked beautiful and wild and elegant standing there in the doorway as bare as the day she was born. She was magnificent. "Thank you," she murmured, and turned away. End of Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust, and Desire I apologize...I was so busy remembering who all I needed to give credit to in my author's notes that I forgot to mention this story is the second in a series in which Mulder and Scully explore a D/s relationship. It's not going to make much sense unless you've read "Aphrodisia I" which you can find (along with my other fic) at my website: http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns/ Thank you, Kristel From: "Kristel S. Oxley-Johns" Date: Tue, 31 Oct 2000 12:55:32 -0800 Subject: "Aphrodisia III" NC-17 (1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Source: xff Aphrodisia III - The Joy of Surrender (1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: EXTREME NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess. Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7 Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut. I have taken out the PWP keyword since so many readers have sworn to me that a plot made its way into the series unbeknownst to me. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: An unexpected side effect of writing this series is that I have actually had an impact on people's real lives. People have written to me informing me that due to interest sparked by this series, they have approached their spouse/mate/significant other about the possibility of adding some BDSM play into their own relationships. Needless to say, I was utterly floored. It has made me realize just how important it is that a tale such as this be told accurately and responsibly. It is genuinely frightening, in light of the fact that people sometimes DO act on what they read, that there is so much unrealistic and inaccurate material (especially in fanfic) dealing with this subject matter. If done incorrectly or unsafely, these activities could be dangerous or injurious. If I have touched off a spark of curiosity within you, I am thrilled. If you decide to pursue this curiosity, so much the better. The best of wishes to you and your partner. But--PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE handle the situation responsibly. I *KNOW* how tempting it is to plunge in with both feet, but take your time. Do it right. Do your research, learn the proper and safe ways responsible BDSM is practiced. Safe, sane, and consensual--learn it, live it, love it. It's not just a tag-line, believe me. For everyone's convenience and edification, I have created a links page on my web-site to various BDSM dictionaries and resource guides (many thanks to Indi for providing the URLs.)Please do check out these sites and avail yourselves of the resources they offer. Enjoy your exploration, but BE SAFE! The URL for my web-site, where you can find the aforementioned links page as well as the earlier stories in this series (this story won't make much sense without them) and my other fan-fiction is: http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns/ DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, And The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property Of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without permission. No profit is being made by their use in this story. SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM-related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. APHRODISIA III - THE JOY OF SURRENDER I stared at my wrist as though I'd never seen it before. It was wrapped in a two-inch wide band of black leather with a steel buckle Mulder was securing snugly. Over the large strap of leather was a narrower, smaller strap secured to the main cuff with rivets. Between the two straps was the flat side of a D-shaped steel ring, ostensibly for using the cuff to secure the wearer--in this case me--to various and sundry objects. The buckle was also odd. Rather than being a simple steel spike that passed through a small hole in the band, the buckle had a small loop at the end, and the holes in the band were elongated slots. While nimbly and confidently wrapping my arm in this leather contraption, Mulder kept a steady conversation going with the shop owner. The man was middle-aged and of a medium build, dressed only in tight black jeans and a leather vest. Numerous tattoos covered his arms and chest, and he had more piercings than I could remember ever seeing on any one person--and in my line of work, I've seen a lot. Most fascinating to me was the bar that passed under the skin on the bridge of his nose with small balls on both ends, looking like a miniature barbell. He was bald and had a long, thick beard and moustache. I felt very exposed in this public place. Despite the fact that I was decently dressed and our behavior, considering the purpose of our visit, was nothing shocking, I felt as though every eye in the place was trained upon me. The fact that I was the person for whom these cuffs were intended branded me in the sight of whomever cared to notice as a submissive. I felt I could have had it tattooed on my forehead--surely everyone who walked through the door knew. What must they be thinking, I wondered. In the armor of my professional suits and badge, I was a woman to be reckoned with, but here, not only did I not have that armor, but they could see very clearly my role in this new dynamic Mulder and I were exploring. Realistically, I knew no one particularly cared. If they were here, their purpose was no more or less savory than ours. No one patronizing this store had any right to pass judgement of any form on me, and yet I was still incredibly conscious of being viewed in these surroundings by all and sundry. "Those cuffs are good because the leather band holding the D-ring on is thicker and won't stretch. See the rivets on either side of the ring? They keep the ring from slipping around or twisting," the owner commented. "These cuffs can also be locked on with a small padlock passing through the loop on the tongue of the buckle." Mulder gave an experimental tug on the ring, holding my wrist in place with one hand while pulling on the cuff with the other. I would have expected the leather to bite into my skin, but it didn't. The cuff was lined with a soft, fleece-like material that padded the inside and kept it from cutting in. Mulder grabbed my other wrist, which had already been similarly cuffed, and pulled my wrists together behind my back. He secured the rings on both cuffs to one another with a carabiner, a metal clip used in outdoor sports such as rock-climbing. I would have wondered at his easy handling of the cuffs, had I not already known he'd had some experience in this realm. Besides, a buckle is a buckle, I suppose, whether it's on a belt or a wrist cuff. "How do those feel?" he murmured next to my ear. "Are they biting in anywhere?" They were a hell of a lot more comfortable than the kind of handcuffs we normally dealt with. I shook my head. "No." "Are they too tight? Too loose?" They were neither. I didn't feel they restricted my blood circulation to my fingers, but neither did they slip around on my wrists. "No," I answered. "They're comfortable." I didn't pause to allow myself to consider the unreality of it all. I was in a Philadelphia fetish shop, surrounded by leather gear bearing outrageously expensive price tags, basically serving as a human mannequin for Mulder. I was not there to pick or choose or even voice an opinion on the matter. I was simply to try things on and let my master know if they fit and were comfortable or within an acceptable range of discomfort. My master. If anyone had told me a week and a half ago I would ever speak those words, I would have laughed at them and then called their sanity into question. Even the previous evening when Mulder and I had discussed how I should address him, I hadn't even seriously believed I could ever say it. And yet... When the moment had come this morning, I had known what he wanted me to say but I had faltered. The word on my tongue had felt strange, but as Mulder had pinched my nipple and forced me into acquiescence, I came to realize it was true. On this day, until we awoke Sunday morning, I had given this man the right of ownership of me. He could use me as he wished, do with me what he pleased, and command me to do what pleased him. He had stripped away my name and given me another, one that was solely his to call me. And all this realization came to me with a greater ease of acceptance than I ever could have imagined. So be it, I had decided. And so I had yielded and had called him Master. And though the title still felt strange, with each repetition it came to feel more right, more proper. And I had realized with a start of surprise as I had showered and taken a moment to consider the situation I was happy, even thrilled by this development. I don't think I'll ever know what it was within me that needed this, had been missing it for years, but I couldn't fight it any longer. As long as I had the assurance the next morning I would be Dana Scully, special agent and medical doctor, formidable and independent professional once more, I could let myself be Kat for the day, and Mulder would be my Master. I came back from my mental meandering to find Mulder and the shop owner had moved away onto another display of cuffs. With my hands still cuffed behind my back, I shuffled forward to keep pace with them. When I reached Mulder, he lifted one hand and stroked the side and back of my neck idly. To my own surprise, I found myself leaning into his caress, turning my head aside to make my neck more accessible to his touch. A thrill of pleasure raced across my skin, raising small bumps over my flesh, and I blushed when I found the shop owner looking at me in amusement. I realized I was arching into his petting, just as my namesake would. Mulder had done it deliberately, I realized. He was testing me, seeing if I would protest his public, proprietary displays. He was emphasizing that, on this day, I was as much his in public as I was in private. As long as we were nowhere that such displays could be seen by anyone we wouldn't want to know about our games, we were not going to keep them confined to the bedroom. Was I okay with that? I didn't know. I felt awkward that I could be seen by anyone, that anyone could know what was happening between us, and yet there was a comfort in being possessed by him, even here, that I wasn't willing to forego. Mulder bent over and brushed a reassuring kiss to my temple, still chatting with the shop owner who then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. They were discussing something called suspension cuffs. I looked at the rack of leather goods before us and realized these cuffs were different from the ones I was currently wearing. They, too, were lined in either a faux fur or soft padded fleece, but at the same point where the buckles came together around the wrists, two tapering straps of leather curved away from the cuffs and ended with steel rings. As they spoke, Mulder stepped behind me and began to release my wrists from the current cuffs and the owner handed him a pair of the suspension cuffs. Bringing my arms forward, Mulder buckled me into the new cuffs. "May I ask what these are for?" I finally murmured, my tone deferential, pulled from my musings by sheer curiosity. "They're for use whenever I choose to bind you in a way that could put a strain on your wrists," he answered softly, taking a moment to sensuously caress my hands and forearms on either side of the band of the cuff. "These--" he indicated the leather straps which dangled by my fingers, "--pass through the palms like this--" he pulled on the straps and I instinctively opened my hand to grasp them in my fist. He grabbed the rings of the cuffs and pulled my arms over my head in an abrupt, sudden gesture. I gripped the straps in my hands tightly as he stretched my arms up as far as they would go while keeping my feet on the floor, "--and holding them keeps the cuff from pulling up and biting into your hand." Anyone in law enforcement, much less medicine, can attest that one of the main problems with steel handcuffs is that struggling in them can wreak a great deal of havoc on the connective tissues in the wrist. Tendons and ligaments can be injured from the steel gouging into the flesh in a struggle. I could see that while leather cuffs such as the ones I had first worn might reduce this danger, they wouldn't eliminate it. If the edge of the cuff dug into the base of the hand where it flared out from the wrist, those same connective tissues could be damaged. I realized with surprise that these suspension cuffs were expressly designed for my safety. It was something I hadn't considered before. Still holding my arms stretched over my head, Mulder bent over and gave me a brief, almost chaste kiss on the lips before murmuring in my ear, "Wouldn't want to injure your gun hand." Then he turned his attention back to the shop owner and announced his intention to buy both pairs of cuffs, as well as a pair of matching ankle cuffs. I obediently sat when instructed, and Mulder fastened two cuffs identical to the first pair he had put on my wrists, but slightly larger, around my ankles. He again pulled on the D-rings and once again inquired about my comfort. As before, they were reasonably comfortable. The cuffs selected, Mulder chose several lengths of chains of varying strengths, and began looking through a display of odd objects in a velvet display case before choosing two pair of shiny silver devices, each pair joined by a length of chain running between them. One looked to be a V-shaped clip with small rubber sleeves on the ends where they met. It had a spring to force the ends together and a small screw stuck out the side, which I later learned was to tighten or loosen the tension on the spring. The other was a much more elaborate apparatus, round and with criss- crossing beams through the center. It also employed a spring and a screw, but the ends that protruded from round body were flat disc-like surfaces. I realized with combined fascination and horror that these were nipple clamps. Nipple clamps--dear God. I would have wondered what he intended to do with those, but I could already imagine all too well what the purpose was. His fingers pinching me was one thing, but the sight of the cold, steel clamps--foreign objects that had no other purpose but to inflict discomfort or even pain--were enough to make me swallow my tongue. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and my underwear were damp with my arousal as he gave both sets of clamps to the store owner to add to our purchases. We bypassed the displays of whips and crops, harnesses, clothing and shoes and stopped at a display of paddles. Mulder picked up a few leather-covered pieces and examined them as I watched warily. He finally chose one of blond wood covered with leather on one side and fur on the other. He gave me a mischievous grin and I swallowed hard. Again, this was an object with a very express purpose--one I could all too easily envision. Did he intend to use it, or was this simply part of the game, him driving home the point that he was in control and could do with me what he wished? He handed it to the owner and I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting again the spasm of fear I felt. What had I gotten myself into? Lastly, we reached a display case in which several very lovely and elaborate collars were on display. The store had offered other collars, but they were very plain affairs of black leather with buckles and rivets, spikes and studs and rings. These were much more artful. One after the other, Mulder placed several on my neck and fastened them, then stood back to stare at me intently, his eyes dark and serious. I was silent throughout the process, feeling somehow as if Mulder putting these collars on my neck sealed the deal we had brokered and to which I had willingly agreed--I was his. His what? Slave? Pet? Property? All of the above? I didn't know and I supposed it didn't really matter, beyond the fact he was without question staking his claim. This entire day was an exercise in his domination over me. I knew that, like me, he was feeling his way, but from his air of self-assurance, one couldn't possibly have guessed it. He had forced the admission from my own lips earlier when he made me acknowledge the name he had given me and when I had yielded and called him Master-- I belonged to him. The thought filled me with pride and pleasure, and I stood straight and held my head high while I modeled the collars for him. At long last, he chose one. It was made of two layers. The inside was a kind of black leather that was softer than velvet against my skin, which the storeowner said was doeskin. The outside layer was a circlet of shiny steel, and because the inside layer could not be seen from outside, it looked like the collar itself was steel, but still was comfortable to wear. It fastened behind my head and apparently, as with the cuffs, could be locked into place with a small padlock through the buckle. Agreeing to purchase the collar, Mulder stepped over to the register. The sale was totaled and the merchandise bagged. We left the store with Mulder carrying the bag and guiding me out with his hand at my waist. We stopped for lunch immediately afterward, since the drive to Philadelphia from Washington had taken up most of what had been left of the morning. Breakfast hadn't been terribly substantial. After eating, I was surprised to find our next stop was, of all places, a tack shop. I stood by Mulder, my eyes wide, while he painstakingly chose a leather riding crop, a quirt, and a signal whip and made the purchase. After making the purchase, we walked to the car, and as I opened the door, he met my eyes and held them, but I remained silent. Of course I was wary, and a little fearful, but I had given my consent to all of this. I had meant what I had said the night before regarding his right to punish me. By my own consent, he had the option to do it if I disobeyed. Nonetheless, I hadn't really visualized what that punishment would entail. In the novel I had read, "Story of O", O had been whipped with such implements for no other reason than it pleased her masters. I couldn't imagine Mulder desiring to do such a thing to me--I would have to misbehave before he would actually punish me, but in some way, wasn't that worse? If I disobeyed, I would be forcing Mulder to hurt me, and as he had told me Friday night, that was something he really didn't want to do. It would almost be easier if he was a sadist--at least then, if he hurt me, I knew I was at least enduring it for his pleasure. If I disobeyed, all I would be doing was making us both unhappy. I really had no choice, then, but to be the most obedient of submissives. Strangely, I wasn't quite content with that idea, either. We made another stop in a clothing store. On Saturdays, if I was permitted to wear clothing, Mulder told me it would need to be easily accessible for him. That meant a loose skirt with no underwear and a button-down top with a front- clasp bra. This formula was simplified by the addition of several loose dresses that buttoned all the way down the front to my wardrobe. I took the dresses into the fitting room to try on, and Mulder instructed me to wear one when we left the store, sans panties. With the clothes I had come with and my underwear in a bag the store had provided, I walked outside with Mulder to feel the cool air touch my sex. The decadent thrill of the sensation was wonderful. We also stopped at a lingerie shop where Mulder chose several negligees and teddies, which, he told me with a smile, didn't necessarily need to be reserved for Saturdays. They were a gift to me. When we reached the car in a covered parking ramp with this last round of purchases, he pinned me to the side of the car and began kissing me passionately. He'd been tender and casual in his physical contact with me during the shopping excursion, but the afternoon was aging and it had been hours since he had made love to me that morning. I could feel his erection gouging my belly as he ground against me and I moaned into his open mouth. "Take me home?" I asked with a hint of a plea in my voice. I wanted him more than I wanted my next breath, needed to feel him in and around me, possessing me. He pulled back and studied me for a moment, as he had earlier in the day, and I felt I could practically read his thoughts. Was I okay with this? Surprisingly, the answer was yes. Even when something evoked turmoil in me, like the sight of the nipple clamps, I was strangely content with this state of affairs. I didn't have to think, didn't have to decide, I just had to consent and exist within his power. There were no worries or uncertainties, just arousal and his tender approval. I was happy. "I need to make one more stop before we head home," he told me and kissed me deeply once again. Only once I was breathless and my knees were buckling beneath me did he release me and open the car door. I slid into the passenger seat and, while he dropped our purchases in the trunk, closed my eyes and savored the pleasure of the moment. Our final stop, it turned out, was at an adult toyshop. Aside from an assortment of books and more or less cheap fetish gear, edible body oils, lotions, and novelty condoms, there was a vast assortment of dildos, battery- operated vibrators, ben-wah balls, and anal plugs--ranging from reasonably sized to absurdly huge. I hung back, feeling as though every eye in the store was on me as Mulder browsed the merchandise. Finally he selected three dildos. One was about as wide as the average human penis, with a long rubber handle and deep ribs, another was also human-sized, but without the ribs and instead of a handle had a flat circular base, and the last one appeared, to me, gargantuan, a good two inches in diameter. It was larger than Mulder, who was himself generously endowed. He also picked out a rubber battery-operated vibrator that was smaller and more portable than my Hitachi, if nowhere near as powerful. Then he looked at me as I stared at the wall of toys. "I want you to pick out two anal plugs for yourself," he told me firmly, in that low, commanding tone he used. Though he had spoken softly, so that none of the other customers in the shop could hear, I could feel my face turning crimson and wished wildly I had never allowed for the possibility of anal play on the damned survey. Mulder was taking my every request very seriously. I had never before felt so abjectly embarrassed and desperately aroused at the same moment. If Mulder had touched me, I might have climaxed there in the store. "One should be small, for training, and another larger, about as wide as my cock. I'll be at the front counter; bring them to me when you've chosen." He kissed my forehead and stroked my cheek reassuringly, then carried his own selections over to the counter and struck up a low conversation with the female clerk there. If I had felt I was being stared at before, now I was certain I had a stadium audience observing as I stared in stupefaction at the selection of butt plugs. Dear Jesus, how did I get into this situation? Damn him for being a psychologist, anyway. He knew exactly what my concerns about anal intercourse were without my even speaking them, so he deliberately made *me* pick out the anal toys. This was a very calculated maneuver designed to ease my fears and help me grow accustomed to the idea of anal sex. I sighed in helpless frustration. There was nothing to be done but to choose and choose quickly, so I could bring a quick end to my own torment. One small and one Mulder-sized, he had instructed. I scrutinized the selection carefully. There seemed to be two varities of plugs. Some were round and door-knob shaped, sometimes with multiple round "knobs" stacked atop one another. I couldn't imagine using those--they started out quite wide. The others were long and tapered, starting narrow and slowly widened to their fullest point, before dipping sharply to a stem about the size of the tip. At the bottom of the stem was a flat, elongated rubber base, so the plug could neither be expelled nor lost inside. I finally chose one that was probably less than an inch in diameter at its widest point--certainly no more--and another closer to an inch and a half. I carried the boxes to the front counter where Mulder had added a few more items. He had added a large pump-bottle of lubricant called "Slippery Stuff" and--to my astonishment--a jumbo box of condoms. I glanced at him questioningly, prepared to be hurt depending on what his rationale for needing the condoms was. With my infertility, we hadn't felt any need for birth control and we were both very certainly STD-free. "For the toys," Mulder answered my unspoken question gently, knowing contraception was a sensitive issue with me. "They'll make clean-up quicker and easier." I smiled in relief and hung my head. Actually, the idea was quite ingenious, and I wondered that I had never considered it with my Hitachi vibrator. Of course, with the irregular shape of the attachment for the Hitachi, a condom might be difficult to use but it sure as hell beat the effort I put into cleaning the thing with the special disinfecting cleaner I had purchased from the Good Vibrations online store. The toys were duly bought and paid for and deposited in the trunk of the car with the rest of the purchases we had made. It was already late afternoon and would be well into the evening by the time we had dinner and reached Washington again. I felt somewhat dismayed the day was fleeing as quickly as it had. Mulder and I would have a very limited time in which to play tonight. If we went back to his place, I would need to be up early in the morning to return to my own apartment and prepare for Mass and Sunday dinner with my mother. Thinking of my mother was uncomfortable in the present situation, so I quickly dismissed that line of thought. Mulder unlocked and opened the passenger side door for me, and soon we were on our way back to D.C. End of Part One of Five Aphrodisia III - The Joy of Surrender (2 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com I looked at Scully in the passenger seat beside me as we made our way out of the city to the interstate. She had been quiet and composed all morning, handling everything that had happened with remarkable aplomb. In some ways she seemed almost disconnected, as though mentally she was somewhere else other than the proceedings, coming back only when I asked a question or did something which surprised her. I'd half-expected her to cut and run when the reality of what we were doing sank in, thought she would become panicked as she had earlier in the week, but I saw none of that. If she was unusually quiet, she also seemed unusually content, sitting beside me with a small, enigmatic smile on her face. I was still feeling my way as to how far I could push her. For a moment, I was sure she would bolt in the adult toyshop when I had her choose the anal plugs. The stunned expression on her face and the way her eyes had widened had made me almost take back the mandate, but I wouldn't do that without breaking out of the game, and I had to know how far she wanted or was willing to go with this. At any rate, it was time to up the ante again. Part of the responsibility I faced was to test and expand her limits, and I couldn't begin to do that until I knew where those limits lay. Some of that I had been able to gauge from the survey, but more I would have to learn just by trial and error. I just hoped the error part was kept to a minimum. Not one to let an opportunity go to waste, I stopped at the first rest station we reached and pulled the bag of toys from the trunk. I chose the long ribbed dildo and got back into the car, handing it to Scully along with the lubricant and a condom. She stared at the items in her hand as though she had never seen them before, wide-eyed and surprised. Before starting the car again, I leaned over and clasped her with one hand around the back of her head, closing around her hair, and pulled her in for a scalding kiss, thrusting my tongue roughly into her mouth. "You're going to provide the entertainment while I drive," I said authoritatively after breaking the kiss. "I want you to pull your skirt up, prepare the dildo, and then fuck yourself with it." I clasped both her breasts in my hands and squeezed firmly, until she writhed and whimpered under the pressure. I kissed her again, moving my tongue in and out of her mouth suggestively, sliding it over her lips. If we hadn't been at a rest stop full of people, I would have pulled her into the back seat and fucked her that instant. I'd spent the entire day in a low state of arousal, the tension spiking each time I imagined the possibilities implicit with each item and purchase. I slid my hand between her legs and felt her clitoris, hard and engorged, throbbing with the beat of her heart. Drawing a shaky breath and stamping down my arousal, I started the car and pulled back out onto the freeway. From the corner of my eye, I saw Scully glance around nervously, then she lifted her hips and slid her skirt up until it was bunched around her waist, a short fold of the material covering her upper thighs. Her hands trembled as she opened the box containing the dildo. Unable to resist the availability of her sex, I thrust my right hand between her legs again and inserted my fingers into her slick sex. I could smell her excitement, a heady, intoxicating scent that made the pressure in my groin increase exponentially. I thrust and withdrew my fingers quickly and roughly, massaging her clit, and then removed my hand and sampled her tangy-bitter flavor from my fingers. She rolled a condom onto the dildo and slathered it with the lubricant, using the excess to supplement her own moisture between her legs. I alternated between watching the road and glimpsing her in my peripheral vision when I checked my passenger side mirror. I wished I could stop the car and watch the show, but this exercise was less for my visual pleasure than it was to test Scully's limits. Forced exhibitionism had been another possibility she had allowed for on the survey. She glanced around again, then leaned her seat back and spread her thighs. Sliding one hand under the brief covering of the hem of her skirt, I could tell by the movement of her hand closer and closer to her body that she had spread her lips and guided the dildo inside her body. I imagined how the cool rubber would feel against her heated flesh, and heard her moan as it stretched her and the wide, deep ribs passed inside. She paused a long moment, holding the handle close between the juncture of her thighs and panted slightly. When she released the handle, the dildo began to slip out and I knew the muscles of her vagina were contracting around the object, working to expel it. I'd felt those contractions around my own cock time and again. She seized the handle once more and thrust it back into herself. I was painfully turned on, My cock was straining against my pants in hopes of joining in the fun, and I realized that this car idea might not be the smartest one that I had ever had, so I concentrated on driving carefully and safely, my cock throbbing against the stiff seam of the crotch of my jeans. I took care to stay in the far right lane so no one could pass on her side of the car. After all, I didn't want her to be seen. My inner gentleman would cut off his gun hand before he allowed her to be humiliated, while my inner caveman wanted to drag her home, fuck her senseless, and guard her from the prying eyes of potential competitors. I had to wonder: was she aware of what I was doing; aware no one could actually see her? Or did she still feel exposed with her skirt up around her thighs in the open car in the light of day? Did the idea someone could see added to her excitement? And she was excited. I might not have been able to watch her closely, but I could hear her; her soft sighs and whispers filling the interior of the car as her musky scent did. Did she know what I was doing? Did she notice the pattern to what I asked of her; testing all the maybes and soft limits she had set forth on the survey, pushing the boundaries. The items she had readily consented to would be held in reserve, for reward or to supplement these more questionable activities. Did she like that? Would she prefer it another way? My Scully-radar said no, this was what she wanted. It was presumptuous to assume to know what Scully was thinking, and sometimes I just flat-out couldn't. Sometimes she was a total mystery to me, but in this circumstance, I think I knew what she was feeling. I realized so many of the things she had marked on the survey as a 2, meaning she might be willing to try them once, were actually things she *wanted* but hadn't been willing to admit to wanting. She had, in essence, been asking me for a push to get her past that hesitation. Somewhere in her life, she had either lost the confidence to ask for her own sexual wants and needs to be met, or perhaps as a result of any variety of factors from societal prejudice to a conservative upbringing, she'd never possessed that confidence to begin with. Whatever it was, I'd noticed from the first time we'd made love that she wasn't comfortable making requests or demands--she would only speak of what she wanted when I prompted her to do so. But by submitting to me, by following my commands, if she did things she wanted because I had ordered her to, because it pleased *me*, it was all right. It gave her permission, of a sort, to have her desires met and enjoy them without the guilt and embarrassment she might have experienced in any other situation. More important to me than anything was that I provide her with what she needed. She'd lost so much and known so little happiness in the seven years we had been together that if there was anything I could give her, I wouldn't hesitate to do it. If I could help her meet her own desires, I would do it happily. The fact that the process was such an extreme turn-on for me was an added bonus. And so, doing something completely removed from her normal self, she fucked herself with the dildo, where anyone who might have taken the time to glance in the car could have seen her. She did it because in pleasing her Master, Kat had the freedom to do all the wild and uninhibited things Dana Katherine Scully would never dare. She thrust the dildo enthusiastically into her body, hard and fast, thrusting with her hips in time to the rhythm of her hand and making feral, animal grunting noises. Soon her other hand joined the play, rubbing her clitoris vigorously. It seemed to go on forever, an exercise of my own torturous arousal as well as her submission, as she hovered on the brink of orgasm, close but not quite reaching release. It wasn't until I encouraged her to bring herself off that she ground harder with her fingers on her clit and plunged the dildo into herself a few more times. She soon came with a hoarse yell and strangled invective, shuddering and gasping. She lay in the seat a long moment, seemingly stunned, her legs spread and her hands hanging limply by her thighs. The dildo hung loosely, still half inside her body, the handle sticking out from under the hem of her skirt. She grasped the handle and withdrew the toy, then peeled the condom off and tossed it into the small trash-bag hanging from the cigarette lighter. With a small pack of baby wipes she kept in her purse for spills and other messes, she cleaned herself as best she could, then shifted and pulled her skirt back down, before raising her seat again and glancing over at me. By that point, I was quivering with my own desire, ready to come in my shorts. I held the steering wheel in a white- knuckled grip and clenched my jaw, fighting for control. When I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, I could see her eyeballing the bulging crotch of my jeans with a knowing expression. If I hadn't wanted to re-enact "The World According to Garp" I would have demanded she do something about my condition. "Thank you," I sighed. "That was beautiful." And it had been. To see Scully so free, wild and uninhibited was the most incredible thing I'd ever experienced. I'd waited years to experience this side of her, the side I knew she herself wasn't all that certain about. She vacillated between acceptance of this part of her and amazement at it. But I couldn't tolerate any sort of false modesty; if we were going to be lovers, we were going to be honest about it. "You enjoyed that?" It was barely a question--I knew the answer--but it required a response nevertheless. "Yes," she murmured, blushing. "Tell me what you enjoyed about it." At that Scully laughed. "Shouldn't that be obvious?" she smirked. Of course. She was a human being and human beings are built to enjoy being fucked--in Scully's mind, the physiological consideration would always come first. But there had to be more than that--forcing someone to do something so private in such a public venue could be a potentially humiliating and degrading experience. If she hadn't been aroused, she would have been miserable using that dildo on herself--and unless she had some kink toward humiliation I hadn't been aware of, which I doubted, she certainly couldn't have gotten off on it. So what had transformed that activity from something that could have been uncomfortable and embarrassing in the extreme to a turn-on? "It was dangerous," she finally admitted after a thoughtful silence. "Anyone could have seen me and known. But more than that was the fact you ordered me to do it. Despite the fact I would have been mortified if anyone had seen, I had no choice but to obey." I nodded. "Good," was my only response and I subsided into a relieved silence. She was still with me and she was still okay with what was happening. I stroked her knee with one hand while driving with the other, occasionally lifting the hand to caress her face. She kissed my hand softly, almost reverently, and rubbed her face against it almost as though seeking my caress. The trip back to Washington passed in silence but it was a very peaceful, contented silence. When we arrived at my apartment, we carried the bags inside and set them in a pile near the door, then turned our attention to dinner. Since we had become lovers and subsequently begun spending a great deal of time together outside of work, I had taken to keeping my kitchen well stocked. Scully had once confessed she had always assumed the reason I never seemed to keep any food around was a combination of laziness and an inability to cook, so I lived off take-out. The truth was, I'm actually good cook, but when alone, I tend to be fairly indifferent to such basic inconveniences as the need for sleep and food. Once Scully became a regular fixture in my apartment that changed, so now not only did I keep a fully supplied refrigerator, I made a great many of our meals--and very good ones, I might add--myself. With the evening wearing on and our time growing short, we bypassed any sort of elaborate meal and just made cold-cut sandwiches. Sliced smoked turkey and ham on cracked wheat bread with lettuce, tomatoes and Dijon mustard, to be exact. Actually, Scully made the sandwiches at my command. I turned my attention to unpacking and some other preparations for the upcoming evening. When we sat down with our sandwiches, I began going over the various items I had purchased with her. She looked nervous when I pulled out the bag from the tack shop, and in an effort to reassure her, I explained the differences between the various implements we had bought. The riding crop had a flat, roughly rectangular leather surface perhaps two inches wide, attached to a long flexible stem that ended in a contoured handle. I knew from experience it would provide a light, stinging pain on the surface of the skin rather than and sort of deeper pain. "This could potentially be used for some light erotic pain if I decide to go in that direction," I told Scully. She watched wide-eyed as I stroked the flat leather surface. She blinked when I slapped it into my palm for effect. The truth was, of my experiences with Phoebe, I remembered the riding crop rather fondly. "It doesn't really hurt until it's wielded really hard. But it can be used that way as well, for punishment, if necessary." The quirt had two six-inch long leather strips that ended in points on a stem of stiff rope, more flexible than the crop's handle, but not quite floppy. This, too, could be used for erotic pain, if only the tips of the leather strips are used. They would sting, but nothing lasting or truly painful. If the entire length of the strips were used, with enough force, they could burn like fire and leave wicked welts. "This one I'll probably save for the most severe offenses," I said at last, showing her the signal whip. The stem was like that on the crop, but a length of thin cord attached, which ended in a small knot. Of the three, it would be the most painful. It either didn't register, or barely stung when swung lightly, but it burned like fire when used with any force. It made a wicked, high whistling sound when swung hard, and I knew from experience it could leave marks ranging from light welts to angry red ones. Phoebe had broken my skin more than once, and I was certain I would never use it on Scully, but I didn't want her to know that. At most, I might use it for show, to evoke fear with the sight of it, but never to strike her. Scully nodded mutely and solemnly. We put the dinner dishes in the kitchen and then I pulled her into the living room and stripped her dress from her, the put the wrist and ankle cuffs on her. It was time to get down to business. * * * * * I stared at Mulder as I stood naked before him. "Undress me," he commanded. My heart in my throat, I obeyed. I tried to do so as carefully and reverently as I could. Here, in this moment, he was my master, and he deserved no less. He assisted me by moving when he had to, lifting his legs out of his shoes and stepping out of his pants, until he stood before me in all his nude glory. He took my breath away; he was masculine beauty personified. I wanted to touch him and caress him, but I couldn't without his permission. Instead I stared in awe until he sat on the sofa, leaning back, and tossed a pillow down at his feet. He pulled on my hand. When he spoke, he used that sexy, low, commanding voice that my entire body responded to. "Kneel down. I want you to use your mouth and bring me off--I have plans tonight, and I'm won't be able to carry them out properly if I'm too hard to think straight." My mouth went dry for a moment, and I felt myself growing wetter beneath my dress. The muscles in my vagina clenched and released hungrily. I knelt and leaned forward, then took his cock in my hands and allowed my lips to brush the flared head of his penis. Just the feel of him in my hands and against my mouth, the musky scent of him, sent another wave of arousal through me. Unthinkingly, I rubbed my face against his cock, much as I had his hand earlier, with tender reverence. My one purpose here was to please him, and I would do so enthusiastically. I wet my lips and then opened my mouth to take him in. Running my tongue over and around the flared head of his penis, I could taste the salty flavor of his pre-ejaculate on my, and I thrilled at the knowledge I would taste a great deal more before I was done. I sank my mouth down upon him, until his cock nudged my palate, and sucked hard as I drew back. I settled into a rhythm on my downward plunge and subsequent withdrawal. After a moment, I changed my pattern by stroking the sensitive backside on his penis with my tongue. I released his cock to suck the separate globes of his sac gently, listening to his sighs and moan. Returning my mouth to his cock, my hands remained on his balls, holding them, massaging them softly. I sucked hard and fast on the head of his cock until he was gasping and grunting, thrusting helplessly with his hips. In that moment, the fact I was doing this at his command, for his pleasure, didn't matter--I had the power. I had the power to bring him to the precipice of release and then back off, until he had slid down from that peak, only to bring him back to it once more. I could make this as long or as short as I wanted to; in that moment, he was mine. I settled for a happy medium, for delaying his release meant delaying whatever else he had in mind for us this night. I didn't want that, but neither did I want to shortchange him in any way, and so after teasing him a while, I did what I had done the previous weekend. I drew a deep breath and consciously relaxed my whole body, then slid my mouth down on his cock. When the head bumped my palate, I drew another breath and pressed forward insistently. With a small, popping sensation, he slid deeper into my mouth until my lips were nestled in his pubic hair. I heard his startled shout as though from a distance. His hands were twined in my hair, not pressing my head but simply caressing me. At this point last weekend, he had stopped me before his release. I had never learned if I could repeat this action or continue to do so for any length of time. This time, however, I had my orders; I was to bring him off. There was no stopping, so I had free rein to explore this new skill. I drew back until I felt that peculiar popping sensation again on the reverse motion, then moved my lips all the way back to the head, sucking on it lightly and taking care to breathe evenly and not tense up. I drew in another breath and plunged downward, faster this time, not pausing when the head of his shaft hit my palate but pressing onward. Again his cock slid past the tightest point and into my throat. I thus began to fuck him with my mouth, taking him all the way into my throat, drawing back past that tight point of pressure, and then taking a breath before plunging down again. As I got used to the sensation, my gag reflex diminishing to the point where I was not concerned about choking, I picked up my pace. I moved up and down rapidly, heedless of the fact I could feel the head of his cock swelling and hardening in my mouth. When I felt the telltale flutterings against my bottom lip at the back of his cock, I withdrew, sucking hard as I brought my lips back up to engulf only the head. With a shudder and a groan he exploded in my mouth, his hands gripping my head tightly. I swallowed quickly and convulsively, trying to keep up with the rapidly repeated surges of his semen into my mouth. Some dribbled out and back down the outside of his shaft to wet his springy hair and balls, and when the eruptions had subsided, I went to work cleaning that up too, my tongue and throat coated in his salty-bitter flavor. "Thank you," he murmured, caressing my face weakly. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead tenderly. "That was wonderful." I thrilled at his praise. If my purpose had been to please him, then I had succeeded admirably. He rose naked from the sofa and offered his hand to me to help me stand, then walked over to the table to retrieve the collar. Despite how foreign it seemed, I could appreciate it as a beautiful object, artfully designed and constructed. My heart pounded as he walked toward me and then placed it around my neck. "Who are you?" he asked, as he had that morning. I shivered with a combination of delight, arousal and a touch of fear. The question had taken on a formal, ritualistic tone, as though I were taking a vow rather than making a statement. "I'm Kat," I murmured. "What does it mean to you when I put this collar on your neck?" I was approaching something that bordered on religious ecstasy, sharp, painful and transcendent all at once. I was surrendering myself to him, all of myself. And he was claiming that ownership. "It means I belong to you." My voice wavered. "You're my Master." "Yes," he murmured. "You are mine. And do you acknowledge I can do anything with you I desire?" My legs were weak and I trembled where I stood. "Yes," I whispered. The joy in that admission was so intense, I felt ready to cry. "What's your safe-word?" "Flukeman." "Very good." He gently stroked my face and hair, then ran his thumb over my cheekbone and lips. When the pressure of his thumb on my lips increased, I opened my mouth, allowing him to thrust it inside. "Is this mouth mine?" he asked huskily, mimicking intercourse by thrusting and withdrawing his thumb several times and spreading my saliva across my lips. "Yes." Again, I could only whisper. The more thoroughly he emphasized his dominance over me, the less capable I found myself of speaking loudly. It would be inappropriate, disrespectful to presume to speak boldly in his presence. His hands slid down my shoulders and over my breasts. He closed his hands gently over them, kneading softly, tweaking the nipples with his fingers. "And who do these breasts belong to?" "You," I answered automatically. Suddenly, his hands closed sharply on my flesh, painfully, and I cried out. Realizing my error, I amended my answer. "They're yours, Master." "Very good," he murmured. I realized he didn't need to bark orders or speak harshly with me. The soft, calm murmur in his voice, alone, brooked no refusal and controlled me. He pressed a kiss to the upper swell of each aching breast, then slid his hands down my waist and over my hips to cup my ass, massaging lightly. "Who does this ass belong to?" "You, Master." I was proud to note there was no error in the response this time. He stepped back slightly, and I could feel his hands stroking my body all over, warm against my bare skin. At last, he stood behind me, one arm around my shoulder, playing with my breast, and the other sliding down my waist. His chest was hard and hot against my back as the roaming hand threaded through my pubic hair and cupped my mons. "And who does *this* belong to?" As he spoke, he thrust three long fingers into my sex and simultaneously ground his palm against my clitoris. So heightened was my state of arousal I climaxed even as I cried, "You, Master!" in response. I sagged weakly in his supporting arms, and he held my weight, stroking me again softly and lovingly. The orgasm had been quick and hot, blazing through me and leaving me limp and stunned. He pressed a warm kiss to my temple. "I love you," he murmured. This scene was the beginning of what would in subsequent weeks become a ritual for us. Each Saturday as we assumed our roles of Dominant and submissive, he would demand from my own lips the admission that I belonged to him. Not until I acknowledged this ownership and called him Master would he begin play, and then he would bring me to heights of passion I couldn't have imagined existed. "Follow me," he instructed, then grabbed the bag of our purchases and led the way into the bedroom. End of Part Two of Five Aphrodisia III - The Joy of Surrender (3 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Upon entering the bedroom, he reached into his nightstand drawer and withdrew the eye mask I had worn the previous week. He slipped it over my eyes and, once again, I was in the dark. The lack of sight heightened my other senses, so that I could hear Mulder's breathing as he moved around the bed. He left me standing alone just inside the door for a long time while he worked. Finally, he took my hand and guided me to the bed. "In the center, on your back, with your arms spread wide over your head," he instructed. I crawled onto the bed and positioned myself as he had commanded, and I felt him seize my wrist. I heard a soft click, and then he released my wrist only to capture the other in the same manner. When I tugged experimentally, I found he had secured my cuffs so that they limited my range of motion, allowing each arm to move perhaps six inches up or down, but leaving no possibility of escape. Thus secured, he instructed me to lift my hips so he could slide two thick pillows beneath them. Judging from the rough texture against my skin, he had spread a towel over them. He told me to brace my feet apart with my knees bent, exposing my sex to him. I felt something rub against my hips and sides and shoulders, and then I heard two more clicks. The ankle cuffs had been secured from the head of the bed, making it impossible to extend my legs or squeeze them together. I drew a deep breath, trying to assuage the nervousness I felt. Mulder spent a long moment caressing me and murmuring reassuringly, then his hands closed over my breasts. He leaned over me from between my thighs and I could feel his waist rubbing against the wetness between my legs. I shifted my pelvis, trying to grind against him, but with my legs secured there wasn't a great deal I could do. "Stay still," he commanded sharply, and I immediately halted my movements. He suckled my breasts for a long while, until I could feel myself relaxing and enjoying the pleasant sensations that ran through me as his lips pulled on my nipples one after the other. He took his time until I was calm and pliant beneath his touch. "I'm going to place the nipple clamps on you," he told me sedately. "Without using my fingers, I won't be able to tell how much pressure I'm applying, so you must talk to me. I'll be watching your reactions, but if I go past what you can bear, I want you to tell me, all right?" "Yes, Master," I murmured, feeling oddly placid in the face of his announcement that he willfully intended to inflict pain upon me. He sucked on my nipple for a moment longer and then withdrew. A second later, he held my breast in his hand while something cold and tight closed over my nipple. Although immediately uncomfortable, the pain was no unbearable. I squirmed slightly, then relaxed into the sensation. I tried to focus on my breathing. A second later the pressure tightened and I gasped. He didn't tighten the clamp again, but instead lifted the other breast and set the second clamp upon it and tightened it. "I'm going to leave the clamps like this for now," he told me, stroking the skin of my abdomen and thighs lightly. "I want to just look at you nipples for a while. They're beautiful like that," he murmured, "dark and swollen, with the silver clamps glittering against them. This might become one of my favorite sights," he said in a teasing tone. The unspoken message, of course, was that he intended to use them in the future, an announcement to which my body responded with another rush of arousal. I nodded, unable to answer. Though he hadn't tightened the clamps, with prolonged wear they were steadily growing more uncomfortable. I now had to force myself to resist the urge to struggle against them. That was when Mulder's hand fell on my exposed sex and began to caress my wet folds. I mewled softly, the pleasure added atop the pain nearly overloading my senses. I was also keenly aware that, tied as I was, I was completely open and vulnerable to him. I could do nothing to cover or shield myself against his intentions. My knees could fall together, but with my feet bound separately, that wasn't much cover, and they could be easily pushed apart again. One finger slipped into my canal and moved in slow, lazy circles, gently thrusting in and out. "Ohhh," I moaned, wanting more, needing more. "What?" Mulder asked softly. "Tell me what you're feeling." "Please--give me--more," I pleaded breathlessly. The insistent and unyielding ache in my nipples was all but forgotten. All I could think of was the need to be filled. "More what?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "More fingers?" Even as he asked, he slipped a second finger in with the first and began to fuck me with them. "Yesss..." I hissed with pleasure, feeling my muscles contract and release around his fingers. Though I wriggled and tried to thrust into his movements, he refused to let his pace be rushed. "Oh, God," I whimpered after a moment of this exquisite torment. "Please, more..." He didn't tease me, but instead added a third finger and began thrusting them quickly and firmly into my body. "Oh, God! Oh! Yes!" I cried, tossing my head from side to side. This is what I needed--to be fucked and fucked hard. I needed it, needed to ease this burgeoning pressure in my belly, needed to come... Just as I thought I might be approaching that point, Mulder suddenly withdrew his fingers and I moaned in dismay. As the pleasure of being filled faded, the pain of the clamps around my nipples increased, and I whimpered, biting my bottom lip in an effort to resist the unrelenting ache. At that moment something cold and thick pressed against my opening, and I realized it was the large dildo he had purchased earlier in the day. "Ohhhh!" My moan started softly and increased in volume as the simulated cock stretched and filled me. It was larger than Mulder, larger than anyone I had ever known, and the pressure was incredible. I felt every inch of the toy sliding into me, felt myself contracting around it, my tunnel made tighter by the tension created by the pain in my nipples. While it didn't hurt, the sensation was enormously intense and I groaned, my head thrashing on the pillow. He slowly withdrew the dildo and just as slowly slid it back in. I was now grateful he wasn't rushing the movements. Surely being penetrated quickly or roughly by something that size when I was unaccustomed to it could easily be painful. I drew deep breaths, trying to relax and enjoy the slow fucking, enjoy the pressure of being filled completely. As he thrust the dildo into me, Mulder began to pull with slow, steady tugs on the chain connecting the two nipple clamps, adding to the tension on my nipples. It didn't take much force to increase the ache. I couldn't be sure which sensation was more intense, the fucking or the pain. "Oh, God!" I gasped as Mulder pulled harder. I was ready to cry out, to ask him to stop when he released the chain abruptly and I sighed in relief. The throbbing pain in my nipples was relentless now, and it was all I could feel. Even the fullness in my sex came a distant second. "I'm going to take off the clamps now," Mulder said with a hint of warning in his voice, and I understood why a moment later when he released the clamp on my right. Pain flooded into my nipple and I cried out sharply. Mulder rubbed the nipple softly with one hand while he held the dildo inside me with the other. When the pain had subsided to a dull ache, he released the other nipple from the clamp. It was just as painful and unexpected--I would have thought the removal of the clamps would be the least painful part of wearing them, rather than the most. My nipples were unbearably tender and Mulder sucked on them softly as he continued gently fucking me with the rubber dildo. Mulder spent several long moments caressing me all over. He felt my fingers to check the circulation and then kissed me softly. "How are you doing?" he asked, as ever conscientiously aware of my wellbeing. How was I doing? He didn't honestly expect speech, did he? I felt relaxed and languid, the tension from the excessive stimulation having left me limp. I managed to mutter a satisfactory response to his questions. Satisfied, his kisses trailed down my body to my sex, and he leisurely stroked my folds with his lips and tongue. When his tongue stroked my perineum, I immediately pulled my knees to my chest so rather than bracing flat on the bed, my feet were in the air. They were held in place by the resistance of the bindings attached to the cuffs on my ankles from the head of the bed. The effect was similar to being in stirrups. The position exposed me even more than I had been before, but it also provided Mulder with better access to my sex. "That's good," he murmured, rubbing his hands up and down the backs of my thighs, massaging lightly. He continued to lick me, lapping at my juices, not rushing or even making any particular effort to stimulate me, but taking his time and steadily obliterating any residual tension. He moved from my clitoris to my labia to my perineum and back again, repeating the sequence. I was floating peacefully on the pleasure of the sensations until the moment when his tongue dipped further back and caressed my anus. I stiffened instinctively and tried to pull away from the foreign sensation. I tried to put my feet back down on the bed, only to find his hands firmly gripping my thighs and holding them open and pressed back to my chest. "Don't move," he instructed firmly and went back to lapping at me. I quivered with tension, my relaxation of a moment before now a distant memory. For a long time, he made no effort to repeat that particular caress, and some of my tension eased, but then he did it again. Rather than a quick stroke of his tongue, he lingered, licking, circling, pressing against the muscle. I clenched my fists above my head and fought not to struggle. This was what I had wanted, what I had been obliquely asking for, what I had fantasized about for over twenty years. But I had also dreaded the possibility, particularly because of the agony I knew shouldn't be there but automatically expected to come with it. Although what Mulder was doing to me didn't hurt in the slightest, I had the overwhelming urge to resist it. I tried to put my knees together, but his large hands forcibly kept them separated. Mulder held my legs aloft by bracing his arm crosswise behind both my thighs and used the other hand to rub lightly over my skin; my breasts, my waist, my hips and thighs all received his impartial and reassuring caresses. He wanted me to relax, to surrender to this as I had so many other things even in the last twenty-four hours, and I made a conscious effort to do just that. This was Mulder, and he was the last man on earth who would do anything to harm me. Mulder would protect me. With a few last tender caresses, Mulder pulled away from me and with relief I let my feet fall back to the mattress. I felt him moving to the side of the bed and rustling through the bag. Then I heard a sound I would have recognized anywhere; the sound of a latex glove being donned. I hadn't seen him grab gloves, but considering we both tended to keep them around, I didn't need to wonder where he'd found it. Then Mulder was lying beside me on the bed, nuzzling my neck and hair softly, murmuring gently in my ear. "I'm going to release you now--" the words were spoken in conjunction with the sound of the clips attached to the rings on my wrist and ankle cuffs being released, "--and you're going to roll over onto your stomach. That's good, now lift your hips--" the towel-covered pillows that had been beneath my backside before were now underneath my hips and lower belly, lifting my ass above my body, "--good. Now relax..." He began to knead my shoulders with his hands, massaging the tension from them. I could feel the rubber glove on the right hand. His hands worked their way inch by inch down my back, taking time to linger at each tense muscle they found. "You know I love you, don't you?" He asked softly, intently. "Yes, of course," I answered, and I did. There was nothing else on this planet I was more confident of. "Good." He kissed my back between my shoulder blades. "You know how to stop me if you need to. Just use your safe- word," he reminded me. "Now I want you to focus on your breathing, in through your nose and out through your mouth, and no matter what else happens, center your attention on that." He kissed his way down my back to the base of my spine, after which he began to knead my buttocks as he had the muscles of my back, soothing and relaxing me. I did as he had instructed, focusing on my breathing, trying to ignore what else he might do. Not that I had any prayer of succeeding, but at least if I tried to focus my attention on something other than his actions, I might prevent tensing up. Even as Mulder continued to stroke the skin of my back softly with his left hand, I felt a finger of his right hand slip into the crevice between my buttocks. Covered in something cold and wet, it circled my anus, lightly at first, then with increasing pressure, not entering me, but merely rubbing, massaging and loosening the muscles just as he had relaxed those of my back. Despite how odd it felt, the sensation was far from unpleasant. In fact, as I grew accustomed to the feeling, I rather enjoyed it. Just as I was thinking I might want more, Mulder's finger withdrew from me and then returned with another cold glob of lubricant. I clenched my hands unconsciously and Mulder saw the action. "Focus on your breathing," he instructed again, and with the finger of his right hand still against my anus, he reached with his left hand to physically unfurl my fingers and massage my hands. I drew a deep breath and consciously relaxed my muscles as best I could. "That's good," he murmured. "My purpose here isn't to create any discomfort, so if something hurts, let me know." I nodded silently, my face against the soft sheet covering the mattress. Seconds later, Mulder's finger pressed inward. He moved slowly, not rushing the motion but easing his way past the muscle until he was finally inside. I released the breath I had unconsciously been holding and endeavored to breathe slowly and regularly. I could feel my muscles working to expel his finger, but he held it motionless within me, giving me time to adapt to the feeling. Again, I found myself surprised by how good it felt. To my amazement, I felt my vagina spasm. A steady stream of wetted my labia and dripped from my pubic hair onto the towel beneath me. Mulder began to move his finger in slow circles, spreading the lubricant and working to further open the tight ring of muscle. In the absence of the pain I had feared, relaxing became easier and required less conscious effort. I lay pliant beneath his caressing left hand and probing right hand, breathing slowly and regularly as he had instructed, feeling my irrational fear abate somewhat. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew the finger from my body. My anus spasmed and tightened in its absence, but soon after I felt two gloved fingers pressing against my rear opening, cold and slick with lubricant. As he had with the first finger, he rubbed the muscle firmly with both fingers, loosening it in slow circles. The two together seemed so much larger than just the one, so I found myself tensing up again, giving in to my nervousness. In his calm, confident voice Mulder repeated his entreaty for me to relax, massaging more firmly with his two fingers and slowly, very carefully pressing forward. They began to push past the muscle in a steady, unyielding motion. At last, his fingers passed the barrier and slipped into my body. With his fingers inserted up to the second set of knuckles, the pressure grew uncomfortable and I gasped. "Does that hurt?" Mulder asked, his tone intent. "Not...quite..." I replied in a whisper, my body tense once more. It didn't hurt, but it was intense, more intense than I felt I could bear. I had expected he would withdraw the fingers. Instead he held them where they were, not continuing forward but instead doing as he had done when he inserted the first finger, moving in slow circles to widen the opening and relax the muscle. Once my tension had eased, he pressed forward once more, and the fingers slipped in the rest of the way. "Oh!" I cried, taken by surprise at how full the feeling was. It didn't hurt, but it was tight, with an odd pressure, pleasant in a way I had difficulty cataloguing even to myself. "Talk to me," Mulder commanded firmly. "It doesn't hurt," I hastened to assure him. "It's just...intense...I don't know how to describe it..." I was at a loss for words to explain the feeling. I was also aware of Mulder pressing his fingers into me fully had sent a concurrent wave of moisture over my sex. However odd or foreign the sensation was, there was no denying I was incredibly turned on by it. Slowly, Mulder began to withdraw the fingers, and I whimpered at the retreating feeling of fullness. But instead of pulling them out completely this time, as I thought he might, he pressed inward again and in that manner began very slowly and carefully fucking me with them. The feeling was amazing. Whatever I had expected, this intense combination of pleasure and pressure hadn't been it. I moaned softly. "Tell me what you're feeling," Mulder said. "It feels...good," I admitted breathlessly. "I don't...I can't...it's amazing..." I felt greedy, wanted more, but Mulder was unrelenting in his slow, steady determination. The moment the lubricant he had used began to feel tacky, he gently withdrew his gloved fingers, stroking my buttocks very softly with his bare left hand. "I'm going to try the small plug and then we're going to stop this for tonight," he advised me. I wasn't sure whether I was relieved or disappointed. "We'll have time for more some other weekend." He pulled away from me for a long moment, and I could hear the soft sounds he made preparing the toy for use, opening a condom and rolling it on, and the slick, wet sound of lubricant being smeared liberally over it. I felt cold and awkward lying there on my belly while he worked, embarrassingly exposed with my ass in the air. The bedclothes against my tender nipples were rough and scratchy. Then he was back, caressing me with his left hand while applying lubricant to my loosened anus with his right. "Same rules apply," he told me. "If you feel any pain, tell me immediately, okay?" "Okay," I whispered, and I felt the cold, softly rounded end of the anal plug press against my opening. With slow, unyielding insistence he pushed forward with the object, which at first slipped in easily, then gradually met with more resistance as it grew wider. I forced myself to relax, to breathe, and just as the pressure became so intense I expected pain, there was the tiniest popping sensation and a very slight burning pain. The toy was completely inserted, seated firmly within my body with its narrow stem holding it in place between the wide, flat base and flared shaft. "How are you doing?" Mulder asked. "F--Good," I replied, biting back the "fine" that had sprung automatically to my lips. "There was a second when it burned, just a bit, but now it's okay." Better than okay, really. The marvelous sensation of fullness was back, and though I could feel my muscles contracting around the toy, working to expel such a foreign object, it was secure in its position and would require more than those autonomic contractions to be pushed out. I was also unbelievably wet by this time, unsure whether the excessive natural lubrication was a normal physiological response to anal penetration or just my own excitement. Either way, the result was extreme. "Are you comfortable?" Was I? I wasn't sure comfortable wasn't the word to describe my condition, but neither was uncomfortable. It was an odd feeling, but not an unpleasant one. How did I explain that to Mulder without causing him to think I was in discomfort? "For the most part," I said at last. I could feel Mulder's hesitation at the ambiguous answer and continued, "It's strange, but not in a bad way." My answer seemed to satisfy him. I heard Mulder remove the latex glove from his hand and a moment later he was fingering my obscenely wet folds. I was thankful he had used the glove; like the condoms, it made cleanup easier. He could change from anal to vaginal contact without having to leave me long enough to wash his hands to prevent infection. "You seem to be enjoying it," he commented idly, delving into my well-lubricated vagina with his fingers and slowly moving them in and out. I mewled softly. The feel of his fingers inside me in addition to the pressure of the plug was phenomenal. My internal muscles clutched eagerly at the digits. He added a third finger and I felt full to bursting. I was to have him inside me and began to plead for just that. "I need you...fuck me," I whimpered softly against the mattress. "I don't think I heard you," Mulder replied, a hint of teasing in his tone. "What was that?" "I need you to fuck me...now..." I begged. Suddenly, a sharp crack sounded, coinciding with a sting on my buttock. I screamed, more out of surprise than pain. "You're forgetting your manners, Kat," he murmured calmly in my ear. "What do you say?" His words were simultaneous with his fingers plunging hard and fast into my slick canal. I cried out loudly. "Oh, God! Please, Master, fuck me!" "That's better," he said softly. "Turn over." End of Part Three of Five Aphrodisia III - The Joy of Surrender (4 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com I obeyed immediately, conscious of the burning skin on the cheek of my ass where he had slapped me as it rubbed against the towel beneath me. The change of position also changed the pressure of the anal plug still lodged in my body. With the pillows beneath my backside pushing against the base the pressure was even more intense and I moaned softly. I spread my legs without being asked and could feel Mulder crawl between them. I was keenly aware he would be fucking me with the plug still in, and the idea I would be filled simultaneously in both places was unbearably arousing. Mulder jerked the pillows out from beneath my ass, and a second later his hands closed around my calves and dragged me roughly down the bed. I exclaimed loudly as the motion jostled the plug, but Mulder was already positioning himself between my legs, pushing my knees up and apart and guiding his cock into my body. He gave a sharp thrust and we both yelled in unison. I hadn't thought I could possibly feel any fuller, but he proved me wrong. The dual pressure was exquisite. I felt Mulder's breath against my face, harsh and ragged through his teeth as he held still for a long moment, allowing me to adjust. "I didn't think you could be any tighter," he hissed against my ear. "You feel incredible." "God, yes..." I moaned. His weight was laying full upon me and his chest pressed hard against my over-sensitized nipples. He gave me a deep, probing kiss, his hand clenched in my hair, and began to pump. He wasn't gentle, and I didn't want him to be. There was too much desperate arousal involved to be gentle. Once he was certain I wasn't in distress, he began to thrust into me with a force that stopped just short of being brutal. He gripped my breast with one hand and squeezed the flesh until I cried out, overwhelmed for a moment by the combination of pain and pleasure and God only knew what else. Mulder ran his hands down my arms and pulled them up over my head. He held them there with one large hand around both my wrists. The other hand began to pinch my nipple. They were still tender from the clamps, so the pressure he applied soon crossed the threshold from pleasure to pain. I whimpered, biting my lip and squirming, trying to pull my breast from his grasp. All I succeeded in doing was causing myself more pain by pulling against his unrelenting grip. He changed nipples and began inflicting the same torment upon the second as he had the first. I went from making soft sounds of pain to crying out, to pleading with him to stop, to struggling to get away. He would release me for a moment only to seize me and begin the process again. My cries went unheeded and through it all, he continued fucking me, his endurance seemingly unending. Long, deep thrusts filled me so completely I thought I couldn't bear it, until he withdrew, and the resulting emptiness was so much worse. Amidst the cries and pleas and moans came the realization he was exercising the rights I had freely given him, to possess my body and do with it what he pleased. I was his to use as he wished; if it pleased him to pinch my nipple until I cried and begged for mercy then he had the freedom to do just that. With that knowledge came a calm sense of acceptance. My body still struggled and cried out against the unbearable excess of stimulation, still fought against his painful grip and the overwhelming pleasure of his thrusts, but somewhere outside it all, my mind observed with satisfaction that this was what I had wanted, this complete surrender of myself. I felt euphoric; he could do this to me because I had asked him to do it. He released my nipple and slid his arms behind my legs, pummeling me violently. He pulled my head back with his hands in my hair and placed hard, sucking kisses and love- bites along my neck, shoulders and breasts. With my legs on his upper arms, my pelvis was tilted so each of his thrusts bumped hard against the anal plug, adding an entirely new depth to what I was experiencing. I was dimly aware of the fact I was yelling each time the head of his penis collided with my cervix. He bit the upper surface of my breast hard and I came with a scream, shuddering and crying at the intensity of it. I could feel tears of sheer ecstasy wetting the mask over my eyes. I heard myself chanting his name in a breathless litany, but it wasn't Mulder I was calling upon. It was Master. He brought one hand down to brush my clitoris, and that was all it took to send me over the edge again, hard on the heels of the first orgasm, shrieking my pleasure. My throat was dry and hoarse from my exclamations, but I could not have remained silent if my life had counted upon it. Inside me I felt his penis swell and harden and knew he was approaching his own precipice. Perspiration dripped from his face and body onto my skin, his shoulders sliding slickly against the backs of my calves, and as he gave his final hard, jerky thrusts he ground his hand hard against my clitoris. I screamed again, lights exploding behind my eyes. I might have lost consciousness, or simply gone so far from myself that when I returned, my Master had already roused himself and was wiping me gently with a damp that I couldn't recall him retrieving. While I was in that boneless state, he rolled me over and slowly withdrew the plug from my ass. I felt incredibly empty and bereft, the muscles of my anus contracting as they tightened again. He gently and carefully cleaned the excess lubricant from between my buttocks and then he was lying beside me. He pulled the mask from my eyes and I met Mulder's tender, familiar gaze. "Are you all right?" he asked softly, concerned. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly, kissing my temple and hair. I nodded slowly, wetting my dry lips with my tongue. I couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything more than lie there in that incredible moment of exhausted well- being. He kissed my lips, and somehow I mustered the energy to lift a hand to stoke his face as I kissed him back. "I love you," I murmured, feeling waves of adoration for him wash through me. I had never suspected it was possible to feel this way, to feel this combination of euphoria and satiety. I'd never experienced such amazing pleasure or complete contentment. Now I had and it was because of him, because I trusted him enough to give myself over and let him bring me to this wondrous place. Without him, I would never have known this kind of rapture. He sat up and began unfastening the cuffs from my wrists and ankles. I lay still while he completed the task. When he started to remove the collar, however, I moved away from him, frowning in disappointment at its loss. "I would like to wear it for the night, if you'll let me," I said and Mulder gave me a soft smile. "I'd planned to put it back on after our bath," he reassured me and rose from the bed. "I think we both could use one." I crawled off the bed only to find my knees wobbled when I tried to stand on them. Without a word, Mulder picked me up and carried me into the bathroom. At any other time, I would have found the action to be macho posturing, He-Man slinging the helpless little woman around. But not now. In light of what I had just experienced, I felt pretty helpless, and I was keenly aware of his superior strength. This man had completely possessed me, and if he wanted to carry me to the bath, so be it. Just as he possessed me, he also gave to me his strength and protection and in that moment I was not ashamed to accept it. He eased me to my feet once we were in the bathroom, and I sat gingerly on the covered toilet while he ran the bath water. The tub really wasn't large enough for two people, but it didn't matter. He filled it halfway then held me steady as I stepped into it and sat, pulling my knees up and sliding forward to make room behind me. Mulder sat down at my back, his legs bracketing me on either side, and with a sigh I leaned back against his chest. He lifted his wet hands to massage my shoulders gently. It felt pleasant though the gesture was probably wasted--there wasn't a tense muscle in my body. "How are you feeling?" he murmured close to my ear. "Wonderful," I replied enthusiastically, closing my eyes. All I wanted was to be close to him, to be surrounded by his presence. If I could have crawled into him and stayed there, I would have. Of all the things Mulder had been to me over the years, in that moment, he was everything. I was his, body and soul, and happy to be that way. I'd never felt anything like that for anyone in my life, but rather than frightening me, the feeling elated me. In surrendering to him, I was for the first time in my life completely and utterly free to be the woman I wanted to be. Most amazing to me was that calm place of acceptance I had reached in the middle of everything. He had been hurting me, and I had been begging him to stop, crying out from the pain, yet I hadn't wanted it to end, no matter how unbearable I had found it. I didn't understand what had transformed that combination of pain and pleasure to such utter euphoria, or how I could have simply existed in it and accepted it, but I didn't want it to change. If I felt free, it was because I had relinquished myself and my body so utterly that what I was feeling--pain, pleasure, whatever--didn't matter, so long as I was feeling it and it was Mulder who was the source of the sensation. He laughed and hugged me tightly, kissing my wet shoulders. He picked up a washcloth he had thrown into the tub and lathered it with a bar of soap. He began by washing my arms, then moved on to my shoulders and back, and finally my chest. The rough washcloth against my tender nipples made me whimper. He dropped the washcloth on my lap and ran his soap-slicked hands over my breasts instead. Looking down, I could see the dark red love-bites on the upper slopes of my breasts. He had, of course, avoided anything that couldn't be hidden under a collar. It didn't matter. I saw these marks with which he had branded me as badges of honor against my pale, lightly freckled flesh, trophies of my submission and his ownership, just as the collar was. They would linger for days, mute reminders of who I had been in this glorious 24-hour period, long after I had gone back to being Scully. The thought made me deliriously happy. After thoroughly soaping and rinsing my breasts, Mulder retrieved the washcloth to wash my legs and then between them, taking care not to unduly chafe my swollen flesh. We were silent through most of this endeavor, enjoying the peaceful time together. He was tender and affectionate, but still somehow indubitably in charge. It was the sort of control one might exercise over a beloved pet, caring for me and tending to me, and I relished it. When he had finished, I relaxed against him again for a long moment. He held me until the water began to grow tepid, then pushed me gently off his chest. "I want you to dry off and go change the sheets on the bed," he instructed. "Put a glass of water on the night stand for me. I'll be in when I've finished bathing." Climbing out of the tub, I grabbed a large, fluffy bath towel for my body and another for my hair and dried myself in front of his admiring eyes. Wrapping the second towel turban-like around my head, I walked naked from the bathroom, stopping when I'd reached the bedroom to retrieve and don my oversized button-down pajama-top and a clean pair of underwear from my overnight bag before fetching clean sheets from the linen closet and making the bed. I noticed he had used the parachute cord from last week to tie around the legs of the bed-frame and from there had tied carabiner clips to the ends of the cords. It had been those to which he had attached my wrist and ankle cuffs. When had he done that? While I prepared dinner? While I had made breakfast or showered that morning? While I had stood blindfolding by the bedroom door? Had he anticipated and planned his actions so thoroughly as to prepare in a manner that rendered the actual event seamless. Rather than removing everything, I neatly bundled the cords and tucked them under the bed next to the legs to which they were tied. I stuffed the old linen in his laundry hamper and padded barefoot into the kitchen to fulfill Mulder's request for a glass of water. By the time I returned to the bedroom, he was out of the tub and standing in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom, his head bent, rubbing his hair vigorously with a towel. Beads of water still dappled his skin and, overcome with an irresistible impulse, I walked over to him and licked a few droplets from his shoulder. His head emerged from the towel, a smile on his lips as he looked at me. The smile quickly transformed into a dark frown, however, and I stepped back, worried. Staring at me, Mulder continued to dry his body with the towel, then dropped it on the floor and stood there. He didn't move, but only looked at me. Several long moments passed before I realized he was staring at the pajama top I was wearing. Only then did I recall his injunction against my wearing clothes without his permission. "Oh!" My hands flew to the collar of my shirt and I began unbuttoning it rapidly, my fingers unsteady. I quickly doffed the shirt and tossed it into the corner, followed soon thereafter by the panties. "Sorry," I mumbled, hanging my head. He looked pensive and unhappy for a long moment, still watching me silently, and I wondered what the consequence for this infraction of the rules would be. It had been stupid of me to be so careless and forgetful. I was normally more mindful of things. Finally, without speaking, Mulder crossed to the bedside table and lifted the collar off it. He stared at it for a long moment with a troubled frown, then tucked it in the drawer of the nightstand and crawled into the freshly made bed, folding his hands behind his head and staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. I found myself gazing at the drawer into which the collar he had to place on my neck after our bath had disappeared. I had been proud to wear the collar, pleased by what it represented. I had looked forward to wearing it for the rest of the night, until we awoke tomorrow and our time in this game was over. I understood the message he was sending by putting it away; if I could so heedlessly disregard his rules, then perhaps I wasn't ready to handle his ownership of me. I found the thought unbearable and approached the bed with trepidation. "You're not going to put the collar on me?" I asked, trying not to let my voice tremble. I might not deserve the collar, but I still wanted it. He met my eyes for the first time. "To wear the collar, you have to accept my rules," he said softly. "I did. I do. I just--forgot," I said lamely. It was no excuse; his rules should be more important to me than to be so easily forgotten. He seemed to think for a moment. "You have a choice," he said finally. "We can either leave the collar in the drawer until next week and see if you can remember the rules then, or you can accept my punishment, and we'll put it back on for the rest of the night." It was my choice. I had told him he had the right to punish me, but I had been sure it would never be necessary. I had planned to be the ideal submissive. But I had screwed up, and now he was asking again, asking if I was *sure* this was what I wanted. If I crossed that line, I had to be prepared for the fact that he wouldn't ask for confirmation again in the future. Perhaps he even needed an out for himself, if I chose to provide it. I could choose not to accept the punishment, but I wouldn't wear the collar then. I wouldn't be *his*. "What punishment?" I asked softly. So far, the only thing we had discussed as far as punishment went had been the crops, and those he had told me would be reserved for more severe offenses. Had this first-time infraction of the rules been enough to be considered severe? Lurking somewhere in the back of my mind was a preconceived notion of a dominant using the tiniest offense as an excuse to satisfy sadistic impulses. Mulder wasn't like that; that I knew for certain. But if that was the case, what was his idea of punishment, and what did he consider a severe offense? It wasn't as though I had willfully disobeyed him-surely he recognized that. "Whatever punishment I choose," he answered, refusing to allay my fears by giving me an indication of what to expect. There were to be no conditions on this; I either accepted the punishment or I didn't, end of story. Was the collar really so important to me? Important enough to suffer for? God, how did I get myself into this? This was just a game, wasn't it? But I had told Mulder I wanted it to be more than a game; I wanted to believe in it. That was the choice he was truly giving me, to make his ownership of me real. To accept the collar, I had to accept he owned me completely, even to the point of punishing me for breaking his rules. I had to believe the words I had spoken. "I'll accept the punishment," I whispered, gnawing nervously on my lip and kneeling by the side of the bed. "Please, put the collar back on me." Rising, he bent down and placed a tender kiss on my lips, giving me a small, reassuring smile. He pulled the collar from the bedside table and placed it around my neck, fastening it in back, then stroked my face softly. He sat on the edge of the bed with his feet over the side and held out his hand to me. "Get up and come lay across my lap, face down." He wanted me to lie across his lap? Did that mean he was going to spank me? I almost laughed in relief. A spanking was a joke, a punch-line. It couldn't possibly hurt all that much. I was almost jaunty as I crawled up onto the bed and lay across his lap. He stroked my ass for a moment, softly and sensually, even making the occasional foray down my legs and up my inner thighs, until I was more aroused than frightened. Against my belly, I could feel the stirring of his cock and knew he, too, was becoming excited. I had a second of warning before the first blow came in the form of the tensing of his body, and then his hand landed hard on my ass. I yelped, startled by the noise and the impact, and then a red-hot stinging began to make its way across my buttock. Just as I was adapting to the feeling, another blow fell, and another soon thereafter. I quickly realized I had grossly underestimated how painful a spanking could be as my ass began to burn beneath his hand. This wasn't make-believe; it wasn't even a spanking for the sake of sexual arousal. This was punishment and he meant business. Soon I was yelling and struggling with each blow, kicking my legs frantically, but he held me in place with his left arm across my waist while he right rained brutal slaps upon my blazing flesh. In a moment of cognizance amidst my instinctive thrashing and yelling, I realized somewhere in the process of all of this, he had become fully aroused. I had been so proud of myself earlier for what I had perceived as my surrender to him, giving him control over my body. I didn't know what the word surrender meant. Surrender was to allow myself to be punished for breaking a rule I was under no true obligation to follow in the first place. Surrender was accepting pain not because I had to, but because in doing so I was reaffirming his domination over me. By the time he had finished, my face was flushed with Exertion, and tears of pain and embarrassment stung my eyes. Gingerly, I sat on the bed with the headboard to my back, huddled with my arms around my legs and my knees pulled protectively to my breasts. The sheets, which had seemed so soft earlier when I made the bed, now felt rough and coarse against my burning backside. Mulder sat beside me and pulled my tense form against him, stroking my arms and shoulders softly as he held me. His erection was still in full evidence. "You enjoyed that," I said accusingly, tossing him an injured glare. He placed a finger beneath my chin and forced me to meet his gaze. "I think a little more respect would be appropriate when you address me, don't you?" He asked softly, in a tone of warning. My irritation fled in an instant, replaced by a spasm arousal and trepidation. "I'm sorry, Master," I whispered--and meant it. "And I'm sorry I forgot your rule about the clothes." "Thank you," he replied seriously. "I forgive you." I bowed my head, humbled and relieved. Fingering the doeskin and steel collar around my neck, I was relieved to have it there. I had thought certainly he wouldn't give it back to me until after he had punished me, but I realized it was a powerful symbol--unless I was wearing the collar, I wasn't Kat, and therefore he had no right to punish me. Placing it on my neck before punishing me emphasized dominance and possession. There was a sense of comfort that came with the reminder of his possession, a feeling of belonging I had rarely known in my life. I sighed softly. After a moment, I heard him chuckle. "As for your accusation--yes, I did enjoy that. You were squirming and wiggling on my lap," he shrugged. "What's not to enjoy?" I laughed reluctantly, feeling oddly light-hearted despite what I had been through. The Catholic in me recognized this feeling; I had done my penance and all was forgiven, my foolish screw-up forgotten. I was extremely conscious of the collar around my throat and what I had sacrificed to attain it. Sitting in his embrace, feeling his warmth against me and seeing the evidence of his desire for me, it seemed worth it. He kissed the top of my head tenderly, nuzzling my hair, and I felt my posture loosening, becoming less defensive. "Are you all right?" he whispered. "Yeah," I muttered, grimacing and shifting carefully. "It's just my pride that's hurt." "I didn't realize how pretty you'd look with your little ass all red like that," he murmured sexily in my ear. Within my gut, something clenched in response. For a man looking forty in the eye, I had to marvel at Mulder's recovery time and seemingly inexhaustible supplies of sexual energy. His hand slid to my knee and then between my legs, which I extended and spread immediately to provide him with better access. His fingers ran over my slick folds teasingly and I gave a soft sigh of pleasure. "Lay down," Mulder instructed me and obligingly, I moved down on the bed to lie flat upon the mattress. The irritation of the percale against my buttocks was quickly forgotten as his fingers played expertly upon all my most sensitive points. He did not linger long in arousing me; it was late and we were both tired from our long day. Nonetheless, he was thorough, kissing me deeply as he moved between my legs and slid into my waiting body. I had already been fucked twice that day (four times if one counted the two dildos that had been used) and twice the night before, so I was extremely tender, my labia swollen and sore. But Mulder was gentle with me and despite the discomfort I was glad to welcome him into my body once more. Even if he hadn't taken care to make the coupling pleasurable for me, at that point the only thing that mattered to me was that he take his pleasure with me, from me if necessary. In later days I would wonder at what had come over me, but right then I didn't care. I existed for his pleasure, felt as though I had been consecrated throughout the day for that express purpose, and it felt right the night should end with him claiming me once more. But he did take care to give me pleasure, sucking on my sore nipples softly and rubbing my clitoris with infinite tenderness as he fucked me slowly and gently. To my own amazement I came again, a soft, weak climax that left me gasping as I clutched him with my arms around his shoulders. A few moments later he shuddered in my arms and sagged atop my body, limp and exhausted. The last thing I felt as we settled into sleep, relaxed and sated, was the leather and steel collar around my neck. I went to sleep with a smile on my face. End of Part Four of Five Aphrodisia III - The Joy of Surrender (5 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com I awoke Sunday morning to an armful of amorous Scully. No sooner had I opened my eyes than she had crawled atop me and straddled my hips, kissing me deeply. She thrust her tongue into my mouth and rubbed her breasts firmly against my chest. She would be leaving soon to go home and get ready for mass, and I felt a twinge of regret our interlude was ending for the weekend. When she came up for air, I looked up to see the collar around her long, elegant neck and smiled. Saturday had been marvelous and full of surprises for me. I had discovered things about myself I hadn't suspected. I hadn't known just how satisfying I would find the ability to possess Scully so completely, how rewarding it would be to see her yield everything to me. I had set out immediately to test her boundaries and she had risen to the challenge admirably. The day had been intensely fulfilling for me, and I was disappointed to see it end. Some moments of the previous day had been harder than others for me. There had come a moment while I was pinching her nipples and fucking her the night before that Scully had pleaded with me to stop. I almost did, my first reaction being to immediately cease what I was doing and comfort her. The urge to protect her and keep her from pain was strong enough within me that to ignore that initial protective instinct had been almost more than I could do. Only when I had forcibly reminded myself that she hadn't used her safe-word was I able to continue. Even then, I'd had doubts. Had she forgotten her safe- word? Was she so distressed that she was unable to do more than plead for release? If Scully hadn't been wearing the eye-mask, she would have seen the uncertainty on my face. Though most of the day I had been able to fall into the roll I was playing, her distress had been enough to bring me out of it. It had happened several times during the day, when my confidence had faltered, and yet I had needed to project an image of confidence and assuredness to enable her to relinquish control to me. If I had appeared less than certain of myself and what I was doing, I would have ruined the mood for her, and I didn't want to do that. But there were times when it hadn't been so easy for me. By far the hardest moment of the evening had been when I had punished her for forgetting the rule about clothing. I had been disturbed when I'd seen her wearing the pajama top, unsure of the message she was trying to convey. Had she thought the scene was over and that the rule no longer applied? Had she intentionally disregarded the rule in an attempt to provoke me, to see what I would do? Only when I saw the realization of her error dawn on her face did I realize she had simply forgotten. My first impulse when she apologized had been to dismiss the faux pas or at most, give her a stern reminder and a promise of punishment should it happen again. I had actually opened my mouth to tell her it was all right when it occurred to me that Scully wouldn't thank me for going easy on her. She had committed to the game, seemed sincere in her desire to do it, and she had the safety valve of her safe-word if she needed it. I had not only a right but a responsibility to take action to correct her oversight. I had been troubled by the duty, and I had yielded to the impulse to offer her an out. She had surprised me by accepting the punishment over not being allowed to wear the collar. The fact that she wanted the collar and all it represented enough to accept the punishment instead had been a humbling realization for me. She had dedicated herself whole- heartedly to the endeavor--she wanted me to possess and control her. The depth of her faith and trust had been awe-inspiring. But Sunday meant Kat was gone for the week. It was important we make a point of separating our time in the scene from the rest of our time together. I had meant what I said when I told Scully I didn't want the two mixing together. I had spent too many years loving her to want to give her up for a full-time fantasy, however exciting the fantasy might be. Master might need Kat, but *I* needed *Scully*. Smiling tenderly, I reached up and unfastened the collar from her neck. I pulled it off and set it gently aside and looked up to meet her eyes. I know Scully understood the significance of the gesture as well. She had given herself to me for a while, without hesitation or reservation. For a marvelous 24-hour period, I had possessed her body and soul. Now it was important I give her back that control. It was important she know I did not expect to have domination over her outside that single day we spent each week as Master and Kat. She bent down to kiss me again and then proceeded to thoroughly ravish me. My cock was practically raw, and I knew Scully had to be uncomfortable as well, but it didn't seem to faze her. She rode me enthusiastically to her own shuddering climax, and only then did she allow me out of bed to make a trip to the bathroom. When I was finished, I returned the gesture, crawling between her thighs and taking my time making love to her. There wasn't a portion of her body I didn't adore with my lips and tongue before sliding into her welcoming heat. It wasn't until after we had finished that I took note of the dark love-bites over her breasts and shoulders. I felt myself becoming tense, realizing how uninhibited I had become while topping her. I wouldn't say that sort of violent passion existed within me, normally, but certainly something had come over me while we played. I was suddenly afraid. Had I gone too far? "How are you feeling?" I asked as she snuggled against my chest. "You mean aside from the fact I won't be able to sit properly for days? Between the spanking you administered and the sheer quantity of sex we've had, I'm done for." "Good thing work keeps us on our feet so much, I guess," I chuckled before becoming serious again. "But I need to know how you're doing, how you feel about what happened yesterday." "How do I feel?" She considered the question a moment. I was relieved to see that none of the turmoil she had evidenced on Tuesday lingered. "Well, I'm fairly certain at this point we're doing the right thing," she said solemnly. "The more we explore this, the more I realize how much I need it, need to relinquish control for a while. It just--feels right. And I'm no longer afraid I won't be able to claim control back; I feel perfectly in control of myself at this moment. You were right when you said we're not the people we used to be. I can let go without letting go for good." She sighed, looking away from me for a long moment. "I feel peaceful, Mulder. Content. I don't know when the last time that happened was, when the last time was I didn't feel I was missing something. Whatever we've stumbled upon here, I think it's something I needed for a long time and just didn't know it." "Roll over," I urged her and she complied, rolling onto her belly so I could inspect her buttocks. I hadn't known the previous night how much force to apply when spanking her. My goal had been to make it hurt enough to get my point across, without doing any injury. I had expected it to be more difficult to punish her than it had been; in my role as Dominant, it had felt right, no matter how abhorrent I found the concept of willfully inflicting pain upon her when we were just Mulder and Scully. Nevertheless, Scully's statement about the difference between hurt and harm was firmly lodged in my mind. A few tiny red dots, where surface capillaries had ruptured, dotted her fair skin. My initial reaction to the sight of them was regret, and it took a concerted effort to overcome that and remind myself with her fair skin, it was to be expected; anything could look worse than it actually was. When I prodded with my finger on her soft flesh and questioned her, there didn't seem to be any bruising in the tissue and so I was content I hadn't done her any true harm. Sighing with relief, I spread her buttocks to inspect between, running a finger tenderly over her anus. I'd never given much thought to the concept of anal sex with Scully, or anyone for that matter. It sounded interesting as an abstract concept and supposedly it felt good, tighter than vaginal intercourse and therefore more intense, but I'd never felt any overwhelming need to try it. I certainly hadn't cared to run the risk of offending a sexual partner by suggesting it. But anal sex had figured heavily into the novel Scully had read when she was young. I thus reasoned it had impacted her idea of submission, had perhaps even formed her concept if what submission should be. Although I knew the fear was invalid, her diminutive size made me nervous. Scully squirmed and tensed a little at my inspection. "Does this feel all right?" I asked, rubbing the outer rim of the opening lightly. It looked perhaps a little pink, but I could see nothing alarming. Still, what was important was what she felt. Scully sighed before answering. "Maybe just the tiniest bit sensitive, but it doesn't hurt, really," she said. "It's strange...I never really believed it wouldn't." That explained her tension the night before and even now as I touched her. It didn't surprise me; I had read the same book she had, though I wished she hadn't read it at such an impressionable age. To get such a brutal and extreme look into sexual behavior when a girl's first sexual ideals were forming couldn't have been a completely healthy experience. I kissed her buttock gently and crawled back up the bed to lie on my side next to her, propped up on one elbow. "If you had expected it to hurt, why didn't you veto anal sex when I sent you the survey?" I asked seriously. I needed to know what Scully was expecting from this who experience, needed to know if this was something that would be truly healthy for us. I trusted Scully to know her own mind, to know what was best for her, but I had to make sure we were on the same page. She had to know better than to expect me to willfully do something that could harm her. "Because..." Scully sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "Because of something I only really realized yesterday," she said at last. "I finally understood what I've been looking for wasn't just the ability to let go of control for a while. It's about possession. I wanted to give myself to you, all of myself. If I was going to do that, I didn't want there to be any part of me you couldn't have if you wanted it. And besides--I knew you wouldn't hurt me. If you didn't feel you could do something without causing me harm, you wouldn't do it." "But you still fear it," I stated, running my finger over the crevice of her buttocks again. Her instantaneous tension at the gesture proved my point better than words could. "Scully--whatever happens here, even when I'm in charge, has to be something you're okay with or it's no good. Frankly, anal intercourse isn't anything I've ever felt any desperate need for. Sure, it sounds like an interesting idea, but really the only thing that matters to me is I'm with you, not what we do. If you do something you can't or don't want to do just because you think you should, it's not going to work." I was feeling uncomfortable and anxious by that point, afraid I had misread her desires and needs. How much did she really want and how much was she consenting to just because she felt she should? I knew Scully and her tendency to feel she had something to prove--was this something she actually wanted? All of a sudden, I wasn't sure we were doing the right thing. "Mulder, no--" Scully finally rolled over, facing me fully. "It's not that I'm not okay with it. In fact, the idea interests me--a lot. I want to try it. It's that I have this preconceived, irrational fear about it, one no amount of anatomical knowledge seems to eradicate completely, and I want to get past that. Not because I think it's something I *should* do but because it's something I want to do. I want to stop being afraid and I want you to possess every part of me when you possess *me*." She groaned, closing her eyes again. "I don't understand it anymore, Mulder," she said at last, sighing. "It sounds ridiculous and antiquated when I say it aloud, but--" "It doesn't sound ridiculous to me, Scully," I interrupted, reaching out to stroke her face lightly. "If there's something you feel you need, then I want to be able to fulfill that. But I have to understand what it is and make sure we both know where the boundaries lie." "When I finally started thinking about it--when I finally started to *let* myself think about it, all of a sudden it occurred to me I'd been living a lie," Scully said quietly. "Nothing I should want--nothing that's *acceptable* for me to want--seems to be what I really need. None of it felt right, at least, not completely. But yesterday and last weekend, finally I found something that seemed to fill that missing part of me. When I let you have possession of me, I finally feel complete. I feel--free. I don't understand it; I don't know if I'll ever understand it, but I'm tired of trying to dissect it. I just--when we're together like we were yesterday, I don't want to hold back any part of me from you. If we're going to do this, play this game, I want it to be complete." She sighed again. "I've spent a lot of years not willing to give much of myself to anyone. I did it with everyone, Mulder, not just you, but with you it was worse in a lot of ways. It was worse because you completely opened yourself up to me time and again, and I know it hurt you when I closed you out. It's important there aren't any more barriers. Sometimes, I know I won't be able to help myself; keeping things inside has become a way of life for me. I'm sure there will be times when I shut you out or turn you away, and we'll have to deal with that. But--if I'm committing to turn myself completely over to you one day a week, then I want--I *need*--to know I'm not holding back. I want to give you all of myself, because it's important to *me*. And because you deserve that from me, and because ultimately I know you'll never hurt me." I was overcome for a moment, stunned by the enormity of her declaration. Emotions were a difficult thing for Scully, hard to acknowledge and even harder to discuss. What was happening here went beyond something as trivial as what varieties of sex we would or wouldn't have. She was talking about offering me more than her body--she was offering me her soul. I thought for a moment I might weep for all she had given me. "Oh, God, Scully," I whispered, pulling her close and kissing her tenderly on the forehead. We cuddled there for a long moment before finally yielding to the inevitable passage of time. If we didn't get going, Scully would be late. We took a brief shower together and though it made Scully later, I couldn't resist the temptation to kneel down before her and make love to her with my mouth with the hot water cascading around us. She came shuddering and groaning, her knees buckling slightly while I held her upright by her hips, and her hands scrabbling against the slick tile walls of the shower. We had a couple pieces of toast for breakfast and then she left. The remainder of the day seemed empty without her. * * * * * I hadn't expected to see her Sunday night. Usually we spent that night apart, catching up on business and errands we needed to do separately before the week began. I had spent the day going over files we would need for the upcoming week. I was surprised when, rather than calling as she normally did, Scully showed up on my doorstep. "Hi," I greeted her when I peered around the corner at the sound of the door opening. It was almost ten o'clock, and I had just finished getting ready for bed, prepared to watch the late news before retiring. "Hi," she smiled and stepped close to embrace me and kiss me. I returned the kiss enthusiastically. When we parted, she pressed her forehead to my bare chest, her face hidden by her hair. Her posture was tense, which didn't surprise me. While we had slowly been chipping away at the boundaries we had abided by for so many years before becoming lovers, this was the first time she had shown up on my doorstep when she hadn't been invited or expected, with the intention of staying. I didn't ask her why she had come; the fact that she wanted to be here was enough. I wasn't about to question it or make her feel her being here was anything less than 100% acceptable. I went into the kitchen to heat some water for some chamomile tea while Scully got ready for bed, then we sat in front of the TV with our tea and watched the news. When it was over, I turned it off and we went into the bedroom. As I crawled under the covers, Scully removed the pajamas she had donned before we'd settled on the sofa and climbed into the bed beside me. The feeling of her soft, warm, bare body next to mine was exquisite. I could feel my body stirring in response, and yet I was unwilling to disrupt this intimate interlude when she was cuddled, naked and silent, in my arms. We were both tired and sated from the adventure we had undertaken over the weekend, so I ignored the urging of my libido and simply held her. She was peacefully and deeply asleep with her back pressed to my chest within minutes. Not long thereafter, I joined her. End of Aphrodisia III - The Joy of Surrender NOTE: It may be a while longer than you're used to waiting for Aphrodisia IV. Between RL and writer's block, it's taking a little longer to write. There will be one, though, never fear. Kristel From: "Kristel S. Oxley-Johns" Date: Fri, 15 Dec 2000 07:39:06 -0800 Subject: "Aphrodisia IV" Extreme NC-17 (1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Source: xff Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: EXTREME NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess. Definitely "Amor Fati." Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7 Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut, BDSM Summary: A few weeks into their exploration of the D/s dynamic, Mulder and Scully test the limits of how far they're willing, and want, to go. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: Consider yourself warned: from here on out, the BDSM acts and sex get a little rawer in the next couple chapters. If you're of a delicate constitution, you may need to step aside. If you do decide to continue reading, please read the notes at the end of the chapter before firing off any knee-jerk emails. Again, I want to thank my beta readers, Heather, Beth, Shelba, Tiff, Nancy, Brynna, Christy, Jen, Indi, Cal and Sybil. I would also like to thank all those who have written in supporting the story and asking for the next installment. Sorry it took so long, guys. If you have questions about some of the subject matter herein, be sure to check out my resource links page on my website (http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns) which has links to just about anything you could possibly need to know. I would like to especially thank Indi for providing me with the "best of the best" list of links that I've used, as well as her fact-sheets an a couple topics which you can find on the resources page as well. Feedback is welcomed at kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com On with the story... SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM-related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. APHRODISIA IV - Exploring the Boundaries I stared into Scully's angry eyes as she told me, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off. This was *not* good. It had seemed so simple--some discreet public bondage in the form of a silver and black brocade corset and a chain around her waist, under her clothing, as we caught a movie and did some Saturday afternoon grocery shopping. I should have known better, should have known it couldn't possibly be so easy. On the way out of the movie theater, my cell phone trilled. A burglary and fire at the D.C.P.D. headquarters, resulting in the destruction or disappearance of months of carefully collected evidence on a case, and my carefully laid plan was all shot to hell. Scully had begun glowering the moment the phone rang, and though she had made her way through the mess at the police headquarters with a stilted professionalism, her mood progressively darkened as the day aged into evening. I don't know whether her frustration over the destroyed evidence had her fighting me, or the fact she'd had to tend to the entire mess while still bound in the corset. There hadn't been time or opportunity to remove it between the cinema and police station. I hadn't been quite sure how to approach her as we drove back to my apartment. If all had gone according to plan, we would have been happily playing by this point. After several weeks of experimentation, we were starting to find our comfort level at last. Scully had asked, quite specifically, that we make an attempt at anal sex that weekend, and I had agreed. All in all, the day had started with the markings of a very pleasant session for us. I thought we could pick up our play where we'd left off, lest we (or at least I) brood over it the rest of the weekend. But I hadn't counted on Scully's anger, striking like a storm-cloud. We hadn't spoken on the drive back, each of us trying, instead, to let it go in our own ways. Keeping our personal relationship out of our work wasn't a problem for us--keeping the work out of our personal time was. "I'd like us to leave what happened today outside," I'd announced when the door shut behind us, gathering my dominant persona and donning it like a suit. I always thought I sounded rather arrogant in that role, but Scully's opinion was the only one that mattered, and she obviously responded to it. "It's not going to do us any good to keep going over it, and I don't want to let it destroy the rest of the day." It was true--I didn't want to dwell on it. I was angry and frustrated and felt totally useless. I was tired of feeling that way. I wanted to lose myself in something better, something healthy and beautiful. I wanted the comfort of Scully and the adoring devotion of Kat. She didn't look at me, but instead stood with her back toward me, her posture tense. "Would you mind if we picked up where we left off?" I asked, my tone hovering somewhere been entreating and commanding. To a certain degree, I suppose condescension was unavoidable in my role, but I tried to temper that by being studiously polite in my dealings with Scully in her submissive role. What I had told her our first weekend playing together still held true--in submitting to me, she was giving me a gift. She was entrusting me with herself at her most vulnerable, and she deserved my respect for that. No answer. Shit. Was that a sullen silence, or acquiescence? According to our agreement, which we'd worked on clarifying over the last few weeks, if we weren't on official FBI business on Saturdays, we were in our D/s roles. That meant the second we left the police headquarters, I had the right to resume my role as Dominant. Back in my apartment with no other business to attend to that evening, I was in charge again. The question was--were we in our roles? How did we delineate between our scene-play and our other selves? We'd been forced, abruptly, to become Mulder and Scully in the middle of our play--what was proper form for going back to being Master and Kat? From my coat pocket, I withdrew the leather and steel collar that had been in the car. I didn't make her wear it in public, but when we were out and about on Saturdays, I did have her hold it in her lap in the car. This, at least, was one way of establishing our roles. I stepped toward her, carrying the collar before me. The rings jingled against the steel band. "Take off your dress, Kat. We're inside now and you're not allowed to wear it in here." That was the moment she looked at me at last. It wasn't a good look. Her eyes dropped for a moment to the collar in my hands, and then she spoke. Her response had been explicit and the suggestions she made as to what I could do with myself anatomically impossible. Scully had told me quite clearly that when we were in her roles, she did not want me, as her Master, to take no for an answer. But again, I didn't know if I could assume we were in our roles. If I were to abide by the letter of out agreement, we were, but this was the first time she had openly defied me, and I wasn't quite sure why she was doing it. Was she simply not in the mood, and would I be an insensitive prick if I pushed the issue? I had to remember she did have her safe-word. And I knew she knew the word and its purpose, knew it was her immediate out if she chose to use it. If she didn't want to play, she could very easily end it, and she hadn't yet. Did she simply need to let off steam? If I decided not to push the D/s play, would I be helping her or disappointing her? The fact was, I wanted to play. I wanted to forget the defeat we'd suffered today and lose myself in something better. She had her safe-word--it was my reassurance, my guarantee. If she didn't intend to use it, I was in my rights to push the issue. Saturday was scene-time, and barring the handling of any non-scene business, I was in control from the moment we awakened Saturday morning until we went to sleep at night--that was our arrangement. Unless she used her safe-word, I didn't have to heed her refusals. A voice of doubt within me asked if I was using the fact Scully hadn't used her safe-word as justification for the fact *I* wanted to push the issue. I wanted to see how far I could go, wanted to bend her to my will. I was afraid that we were perhaps carrying our frustrations over the virtual defeat of our carefully built case over into our play. Perhaps that was why we both wanted to fight. Was bringing that frustration into our play a healthy outlet, or would it introduce something dark and unpleasant into the heretofore pure fantasy in which we'd been playing? In either event, I didn't have much choice. I had an obligation to Scully--had made a commitment to dominate her, even when she resisted. "I told you to take off the dress," I said again, calmly, firmly. Dominating Scully was not a matter of strength or force--it was a matter of will. Could I get inside her head and make her believe she had to obey? Could I project the confidence she needed to surrender? My outward demeanor in no way matched the doubt I felt over the situation inside. "I want to see the pretty corset you've got on." "You mean this fucking corset I've been in all day? Forget it," she replied, her chin jutting out. "I want to take it off. Unlace it," she commanded imperiously, presenting her back to me again. "The corset stays on until *I* take it off. Now, either remove the dress, *Kat*, or use your safe-word and end the scene," I lowered my voice to a threatening growl. "Because if you don't, I'm going to take that fucking dress off you myself and I just might blister your ass while I'm at it. Take it off...*now*." Something sparked in her eyes, a glimmer of arousal she was trying hard to mask beneath her anger. Was I taking this in the right direction, then? Was it not enough for her to willingly yield to me tonight? Did she need me to force her submission from her? God, could I do it? What if I went too far? What if I hurt her? "Fuck you," she answered scathingly as she tried to push past me on her way to the bedroom. That was it--I'd made sure she knew she could call it off, but she intentionally wasn't using her safe-word, and therefore, I had an obligation to subdue her. By her refusal to yield or speak the safe-word, *she* had chosen how this scene would play out. I caught her arm roughly and jerked her to my chest. "You think I won't do it?" I demanded, a hint of humor in my voice as though her defiance amused me. I let the collar hang loosely over my wrist while I caught her chin and insistently pushed it up until I could stare into her eyes. "You think I won't force you? You think I'll just allow you to get away with this behavior? Think again, *Kat*." I lowered my voice ominously and placed the emphasis on her submissive name, hoping she'd get the message; this was all still part of the play and I would still accept it should she choose to end the game. She tried to push away from me with her hands on my chest, so I grabbed both her wrists, stilling her movements. I transferred one of her wrists into the hand that held the other and gripped both of them tightly in my fingers, pulling them up over her head. I nearly winced when I realized my hand could encircle both her wrists, such was the size difference between us. Sometimes it was easy to forget how physically small Scully is, because she seems to fill a room with her presence. She began to struggle, trying to pull away from my grasp, and I tightened my hold until she flinched. With my free hand I grabbed the collar still hanging on my wrist and carefully maneuvered it around her neck. The band of steel on the outside had just enough give to open enough to encircle her neck, but when released, it regained its solid circular shape. Something flickered in her eyes, her tense posture loosening for an instant, and I thought perhaps she was going to yield, but then the look was gone and her body was ramrod straight once more. I left the collar hanging around her neck without fastening it, because doing so would require me to release her. Instead, I began pulling roughly at the buttons of her dress, one of those I had purchased during our trip to Philadelphia. I could hear threads popping, and some distant part of my brain registered the cliche--I was quite literally tearing the dress from her body. Beneath it, she wore nothing but the corset and chain I had bound her with. I could feel her nipples, pebble-hard through the soft fabric, and when I had opened the dress to her waist, I reached inside and grabbed her breast, squeezing firmly enough to make her gasp. "These are *mine*, Kat," I growled in her ear. "You gave them to *me*. And you are *not*," I emphasized the word with another hard squeeze of her tender flesh, "allowed to tell me 'no,' got it?" I grabbed the hair at the back of her head and jerked her head backward before I released her wrists. She immediately lowered her arms, and with one hand, I pushed the dress off her shoulders so it fell from her body and pooled at her feet. Her bare body was hot and tense against mine, the scent of her arousal rising in waves between us. With her hands free, she tried to push away from me again, but my grip on her hair limited how far she could go, and any attempt to struggle only caused her pain from pulling her hair against my grasp. She glared up at me, her eyes defiant. "We're going to the bedroom," I announced, "where you are going to lay down and spread your legs so I can fuck you. And then we're going to talk about your behavior. Now, are you going to walk, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you?" "You wouldn't dare," she spat and renewed her struggles. They weren't full strength; I knew Scully and knew she could and did fight much harder than this. She could easily hurt me if she tried--I was hardly half-trying, and I was intentionally leaving her plenty of openings to get her shots in if she needed to. It was just one more clue she wanted me to conquer her. Fine. I was game for that. Within seconds I had bent down, pressed my shoulder against her solar plexus, and lifted her with an arm around her thighs. She could only struggle so much without causing me to dump her on the floor, but that didn't prevent her from pounding on my back and coming dangerously close to kicking me in the groin. I could feel the dampness of her pubic hair against my shoulder. I knew the position couldn't possibly be comfortable in the stiff corset, but she hadn't left me a choice. I raised my free hand and slapped her hard on the ass. She yelled, outraged, but didn't stop pounding on my back. I followed the first slap with several hard swats, then dumped her unceremoniously on the bed. She scrambled to her knees, her face flushed and her hair wild. As she stared at me with combined anger and arousal, I slowly began to undress. I peeled my T-shirt over my head and tossed it aside, then unfastened my belt and fly, pushing my jeans and underwear down my legs as I simultaneously kicked off my shoes. My erection jutted forward demandingly, and her eyes dropped to it before she looked back up into mine. She could have run at any time while I was stripped, but she stayed there, watching me intently. It wasn't until I was finished that she resumed her defiance. As I approached the bed, she began to crawl backward, away from me. She was just about ready to slip off the opposite side when I lunged at her and caught her around the waist, pulling her forward. I dragged her toward me then flipped her roughly onto her back, straddling her thighs while she squirmed and attempted to free herself. There was no way she would remain still long enough for me to bind her or cuff her, and no way I could do so effectively if she struggled, so anything I did here would have to be accomplished by muscle power alone. Luckily, at the moment, I had the upper hand--literally. I caught her wrists and attempted to insinuate myself between her thighs, but her frantic wriggling made it impossible. I ended up pinning her entire body to the bed with mine, crushing her. "Either give it up or say the word, Kat!" I snarled, getting in her face. She glared up at me. "Fuck. You," she said slowly and succinctly. That was it- -I'd given her plenty of opportunities to end the game. I again gripped both her wrists in one hand and with the other began to traverse her body. The rough brocade of the corset and the cold steel of the chain around her waist created a tactile juxtaposition against the heat of her flesh. Her soft curves were emphasized and exaggerated by the corset, the dip of her waist even more severe, the swell of her hip more dramatic. I remembered how, when I'd put it on her that morning, I'd been so enamored of the sight I'd bent her over where she stood, holding her hips and keeping her balanced while I fucked her. She had braced her hands on the wall and moaned loudly until I had finished, but she hadn't come--the angle had been impossible for reaching her clit. When I was done, I'd turned her around and pinned her to the wall, going down and sucking her clitoris while our combined fluids leaked down her thighs. She had climaxed loudly, grinding her mons to my face. Her movements beneath me dispatched the memories of that morning. Her breasts hung over the top of the garment, pushed up and forward, as soft and yielding as the rest of her body was tense and stiff. If I fucked her right now, I knew she'd be exquisitely tight with the tension of the struggle. But first, I had to overcome her resistance. I played with her breasts leisurely with my free hand, dipping my head to capture one nipple as she writhed to get free. I rolled off her body, not releasing her wrists, and slid my hand to the juncture of her tightly clenched thighs, attempting to force my fingers between them. They were too tightly closed to allow any play. "Spread your legs," I muttered against her ear, running my lips over her cheek. Her only response was more struggles and grunts of effort as she pulled against my grasp. My hand returned to her breast, my fingers slippery with the moisture that had seeped into her pubic hair. I took one nipple between my fingers and pinched it until she gasped. "I said spread your legs," I repeated more firmly. "No," she panted, thrusting up with her torso in an attempt to push me away. "What did you say?" I asked, taking the other nipple and giving it the same treatment as the first, refusing to stop squeezing until she had whimpered. "I said 'no!'" "Wrong answer, Kat," I said roughly, and pinched her hard. Nipple pain, we had discovered over the intervening weeks, was a turn-on for Scully. She'd seemed stunned when she had admitted to it and yet the proof was undeniable in the form of her moist arousal. With that realization, we were gradually coming to define the boundaries between "good" pain and "bad" pain. "Good" pain was euphemistically referred to among the S&M types as "heightened sensation" to avoid the negative connotation that came with the word "pain," but Scully had scoffed at the phrase. "It's pain, all right," she had said with a wry smile during one of our Sunday morning debriefings. "Just because it feels good doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Or just because it hurts doesn't mean it doesn't feel good. Whichever." The circular reasoning went unanalyzed. Neither of us had felt any overwhelming need to apply logic to that particular statement. As I pinched, perhaps as hard as I had ever done so, she squealed, and against my legs I felt her thighs go slack as she writhed to escape the pain. Before she could clench them again, I thrust my hand between and pushed three fingers into her slick sex. "Ooh!" she moaned, her back arching. She attempted to press her thighs back together, but my hand was already there, my fingers pumping in and out of her body. "Mine, Kat," I said forcefully against her ear, making my words deliberately crude. "This pussy is mine." "NO!" she shouted, her struggles taking on new energy. She almost succeeded in throwing me off, but I gripped her wrists tighter and curled my fingers inside her, pressing hard against her g-spot while my thumb found her clit and began to grind mercilessly against it. "That's the wrong answer," I told her again. "The proper answer is 'Yes, Master.' Got it? Now, say it." "No! No, no, no!" She muttered, her head thrashing wildly back and forth. Shit, I was really starting to dislike that word. In any other circumstance, to your average sensitive new-age guy like myself, "no" means "No, hands off NOW, sumbitch!" But this wasn't any ordinary circumstance. The D/s element meant Scully had relinquished her right to say "no." Actually, that's not true--she could say it all she wanted, could sing it in Gregorian chant if it floated her boat, but she had released me of my obligation to heed it. At this point, anything that happened had been consented to in advance, and the only means of withdrawing consent was her safe- word. This knowledge, however, did nothing to eradicate the immediate instinct to remove my hands from her body and take myself to the other side of the room until "no" became "yes" once again. Fuck it, I thought irritably. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. If she was fighting without using her safe-word, then I had a responsibility to subdue her, to overcome her struggles and force her to yield to my will. That I might enjoy doing so was secondary and could be analyzed later, at my leisure. I knew I would only win her acquiescence once I had worn down her ability to keep up the fight. I pressed hard with my thumb once more on her clit and she came explosively, growling in her throat, her body clenching and shuddering around my fingers. When the tremors had subsided, she lay limply, as though stunned for a long moment. I took the opportunity to release her wrists, knowing her hands had to be going numb by that point, and conscious I could very easily be bruising the thin flesh over the slender protuberance of her bones. I was about to crawl over her body and position myself between her thighs when she came abruptly and unexpectedly back to life--I should have known it would take more than an orgasm to put an end to her resistance. She pushed me away roughly and slithered out from beneath my body in a second. No sooner was she on her feet than I was after her, pursuing her to the far side of the room with a few strides. I pinned her to the wall and lowered my head to her neck and shoulders; kissing, licking, biting. She groaned, pushing helplessly against me even as her knees sagged. "You can fight harder than that," I taunted her. "I know you can. You want to get away? Just try it." End of Part One of Five Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (Part 2 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com She went wild, thrashing in my grip, trying to pull her wrists from my hands. She thrust against me with her body to push me away, but I braced my feet and stood firm, keeping my legs between hers to protect myself from her knees should she decide to lift them. Every thrust of her body rubbed roughly against my cock, heightening my own arousal. "Come on, keep going! Fight me!" I snarled at her, forcing her arms up and apart until she was spread-eagled against the wall with my cock pressing against the stiff fabric of the corset over her belly. It was a long moment of struggling before she went limp in my grasp, panting hard. That had been my goal, to provoke her into expending her energy in one quick, hard struggle. If she felt she had put up her best fight, it would make acquiescence that much easier. I continued lavishing kisses and licks upon her sensitive neck above and below the collar, the entire while, making it clear she was fighting against me, not I against her. By projecting an attitude of indifference toward her struggles, I was telling her I was confident I would win. The fight was futile because the outcome was predetermined. "Say it, Kat," I muttered against her flesh, nipping the tendon where shoulder met with slender neck. "Say 'Yes, Master.'" She jerked her head away, shaking it in denial. She was panting as though she had just run a marathon, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. Wrapping my hand firmly around her upper arm, I dragged her over to the dresser and thrust her belly-first against the edge. With a hand on her back, I pushed her shoulders down until she was bent over with her face mere inches from the mirror and my leg wedged between her thighs. "Say it!" I growled, grabbing my cock with my other hand and guiding myself to her entrance. From my vantage point, I could see both the exaggerated hourglass curve of her figure in the corset and her reddened face in the mirror. Her blue eyes were bright and febrile. I thrust forward with my hips, pressing my way into her exquisitely tight core. Her eyes widened and a loud gasp spilled from her lips, her hands clenched into fists on the surface of the dresser. Pausing only a second to take in the tableau, I began to fuck her with rapid, short jerks, not penetrating deeply enough to give her any significant pleasure. I held her hips tightly with my hands to keep her still when she tried to press backward and deepen the thrusts. "Is this what you want?" I asked, bending over to bite firmly on the back of her neck. She whimpered loudly, the reflection of her face contorted with excitement and frustration. "Nooo..." she moaned. I slid one hand between her arm and her body to play with her breast, tweaking the nipple gently, rubbing softly. She bit her bottom lip, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. With my other hand I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. "Open your eyes, Kat," I demanded roughly. "Look at the mirror. See that? That's your Master fucking you, whether you want it or not, see? I can take you when I want and where I want, because you belong to me!" She shook her head in adamant denial even as I felt her muscles clench around my cock in response. I chuckled gruffly. "You like that, don't you, Kat? You like knowing I own you, like me taking you no matter how hard you fight. Does it turn you on, Kat? Does it make you hot?" Her groan might have been a denial, but it was unintelligible. I gave a sharp stab of my hips before resuming my shallow thrusts. "Say it, Kat. Tell me how much you like me forcing you, fucking you." I bit her neck again, not particularly careful to be gentle. I could see light red teeth imprints where I had bitten her before. I could see the shifting and flexing of the muscles in her back and shoulders with each jerk of my hips. She tried to thrust back, so I let go of her hair and breast to hold her hips steady again. I could feel the tension mounting in my own body, knew I would have to cut loose soon or explode. This battle of wills had to end quickly. I concentrated on my breathing, trying to slow my racing heart, to hold out a while longer. "Oh, God!" she gasped, whimpering in frustration. The whimper escalated to a low moan of despair. "What's that?" I asked, taunting her. "You want it harder, Kat? You're not going to get it until you say what I want you to say. Call me Master and tell me how much you like getting fucked." She didn't answer, biting her lip stubbornly. This struggle had become more of a battle of pride for her now-- the only way to get what she wanted was to yield and admit all her previous struggling had been futile, that she was vanquished. If I was lucky, her desire would win out over her pride and she would surrender--that was the point, after all, for me to force her surrender from her. But if her pride was too strong, there was no way I could possibly defeat it, and I knew it. Ultimately, it had to be her choice to give in. "Yes..." she finally whispered, hanging her head. "Then say it." She groaned again, a sound of torment and longing. It was a long moment, punctuated only by my shallow, rapid thrusts, before I heard her whimper, "Please..." "No! Lift your head, Kat. Look in the mirror, look me in the eyes and say it." Another long moment of tension, and then her body slumped as if all her tension fled from her at once. I could feel the fierce grip of her sex on my cock relax, and she lifted her head weakly from the dresser. She stared at me for a long moment, then finally murmured, "I like it when you fuck me." I couldn't tell if the redness of her face was arousal or effort or embarrassment, but I wasn't going to give her an out. My initial suspicion that many of the things she had indicated she "might be willing to try" on the survey I'd given her were actually activities she wanted and just couldn't bring herself to ask for was too strong. But I couldn't go on guessing what she actually wanted, and I wasn't in the mood to let her off the hook. I needed to hear her say this was all right, this was what she wanted. "Even when you struggle? Do you like me forcing you?" Another sharp jab, another low cry, and then back to the maddeningly steady rhythm. I had to grip her hips hard to keep her from moving in counterpoint to my thrusts. I met her eyes in the mirror again and almost lost control when I saw the glazed look of passion there. Whatever was happening, she was as turned on as I'd ever seen her. She squeezed her eyes shut, an expression of dismay crossing her face. I could understand that--I was asking her to admit to a fantasy of a concept utterly abhorrent to any woman, or man for that matter. But there was a difference--to enjoy surrendering to me, even being forced by me, the person to whom she'd given express permission to use her body as I wished under a pre-arranged set of circumstances did not in any way condone rape or imply a desire to be raped. There was always the fact that with a single, specific word, I'd cease immediately. "Say it, Kat," I growled, bending over so that my breath was hot against her ear. "Yes, Master," she said after a moment of an internal struggle I watched play out on her face. "I like this. I like you forcing me, even when I struggle." "Tell me what you want. Ask me for it." Another long moment of silence. I gritted my teeth and wondered if she realized what she was putting me through, forcing me to hold off until I had her complete capitulation. "Ask me, Kat! Now!" A shuddering sigh..."Please, Master, fuck me. Hard." I jerked out of her body, pulled her away from the dresser, and pushed her back down onto the bed in a series of rough, abrupt movements. She fell back on the bed as I pushed her, limbs spread and eyes stunned. Gripping her knees and wrenching them apart, I pushed between her thighs and within seconds I was buried in her tight, wet heat, breathing a ragged sigh of pleasure. Her moan of pleasure echoed in my ears. As I sank into her, she closed her eyes and turned her face away. I couldn't allow it, couldn't allow her to hold back even a piece of herself from me. I took her face in my hands and forcibly turned her head. "Open your eyes," I growled, thrusting deeply. Her eyes fluttered open, looking dazed. "Who do you belong to?" "You..." she whispered weakly, her defiance draining from her in a matter of seconds as I ground my pelvis against hers. She closed her eyes with my next thrust before snapping open again as she recalled my mandate. "Say it again." "I belong to you, Master. I love you, Master." I closed my eyes, overwhelmed for a moment. It wasn't just power she was placing in my hands--it was responsibility, obligation to see her needs and desires met by responsibly wielding the authority she was given me. I loved her madly for that gesture of faith. Keeping my movements steady as I slid in and out of her welcoming body, I kissed her softly. A soft whimper escaped her lips as I increased my thrusts and I stared into her eyes as I cut loose, pumping into her body harder and faster. After a moment, I murmured, "Reach down and rub your clit. Bring yourself off. You've got until I'm finished, or you're out of luck." I wasn't going to make the task easy for her. She had to struggle to wedge her hand between our bodies, and the mobility of her fingers was limited by the tight space. Normally, this wouldn't be something I would make her do--I was always very conscientious of her pleasure while we played, using my ability to bring her pleasure as an aspect of my power over her. But my primary dominance over her was always sexual, and I had to emphasize I could deny her pleasure as easily as give it. I didn't *have* to help her, didn't *have* to please her; doing so was a reward for her obedience that could easily be revoked. At the same time, I was careful to "accidentally" bump her fingers with my pelvis each time I thrust, adding more pressure to her own efforts. My own rapidly mounting excitement, coupled with the arousal of the struggle that had gone before, was quickly pushing me past the edge. It seemed only seconds had passed before I was groaning, burying my face against her neck as I poured myself into her. I was disappointed to discover her fingers were still wiggling frantically against her clit, and I could hear her soft moan of frustration. Just because I had decided not to help her didn't mean I hadn't wanted her to succeed. I rolled off her body and lay resting a moment, trying to work through my mind what would come next in this scenario. She had defied me--I couldn't let that slide. Scully wouldn't *want* me to let it slide, wouldn't want me to go lightly on her. We'd made a commitment, between the two of us, to make this thing real, if only for one day a week. But I had never considered she would ever defy me this way, and I didn't have the first fucking clue as to what to do about it. I couldn't help but laugh silently at myself. Being dominant was well and good when my submissive was perfectly willing and compliant, but not half so much fun if she made me work for it. I should have realized I wasn't the only person with an obligation to push boundaries in this relationship. Just as I tested Scully's limits, so could she test mine. It wasn't just a matter of pushing how far she would go to submit to me, it was a matter of pushing to see how far I would go to dominate her. I finally sat up and turned to look at her. She lay with her eyes closed, her breathing slow and deliberate. Her lips were drawn in a tense line that indicated her trepidation, if not her sexual frustration. "Look at me, Kat," I said softly. Her eyes slowly opened and met mine. "I want you to go into the bathroom and clean up," I said firmly. "While you're doing that, I want you to think about why you defied me tonight. When you're done, we'll have dinner and discuss what happened and why it happened. Then I'll decide what to do about it. Now go." She was still laying on the bed, her brow wrinkled in consternation, when I rose from the bed, pulled my pants back on, and left the bedroom. * * * * * There had only been a handful of times I had demanded Scully make our meals during our Saturday playtime, and those times were usually done as a form of discipline for some minor offense. For example, a couple weeks earlier, while playing with her, I'd instructed her to remain still, denying her permission to move without actually binding her. She'd moved anyway (admittedly, remaining still while one runs a fur-covered mitt down your ribs can be a bit of a challenge) and as a result had been "punished" by making dinner that night. For the most part, however, she was my submissive, not my servant, and I had never wanted to give her the impression I would take advantage of the control she had given me to acquire a housekeeper. Therefore, I reheated the previous night's lasagna in the microwave and sat at the kitchen table with a can of soda while Scully finished in the bathroom. I needed time to come to terms with the fact I had no choice but to punish her disobedience. When Scully and I had first started negotiating the D/s relationship, I had told her I wasn't a sadist. The truth was, at the time I hadn't been sure I didn't have sadistic tendencies, but I had been appalled by the idea I might have them, and I was determined I wouldn't indulge them if I did. The idea of willfully inflicting pain upon Scully was completely unthinkable, abhorrent to me. That's not to say erotic pain was out of the question--such as the nipple play we regularly performed, playing on already sensitive nerve centers to increase their sensitivity. It might hurt, in that it's intense enough to be nearly unbearable, but it doesn't *hurt* in that any sort of physical harm is done. At least, not the way we were playing--there were, of course, extremes to which the theme could be taken. They were activities in which many people participated and enjoyed immensely, however, I doubted my ability to visit those extremes with Scully, or if she'd even be interested. At any rate, there's a world of difference between pinching her nipples and getting off on it and strapping her ass and getting off on it. So often one assumes Dominance and sadism go hand in hand. In popular myth, a Dominant is always just waiting for the right excuse, the tiniest hint of disobedience, to pounce upon the hapless submissive and trump up a punishment to fulfill his sadistic inclination. Spanking her on our first official Saturday as Master and Kat had scared me--not that I was afraid I had hurt her. I'd been on the receiving end of some pretty hard whippings and knew a spanking, while it might burn, did no damage. No, what frightened me was that I had become aroused during the process, which Scully had been quick to point out. I had shrugged it off at the time, not really wanting to deal with the implications at that moment, but in the days following the event, the fact had haunted me. Did the hard-on mean I had gotten off on causing Scully pain? Did I have some latent sadistic tendencies? It wasn't until I sat down and forced myself to imagine inflicting pain on Scully in other situations that my fears were assuaged. The image did nothing for me. When I added in the detail of her squirming and writhing against my cock as she hung over my lap, however, things began happening down under. Mystery solved; my arousal had been the simple physiological result of penile stimulation. My relief had been immeasurable. What fulfilled me about dominating Scully, I realized, was the total trust she placed in me to allow it, the awe I felt at her faith in me, the tenderness I felt when I considered the responsibility I faced regarding her. So I considered what I must do in light of her defiance with an attitude of dread. The cliche "this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you" came to mind, though I could easily imagine Scully slugging me if I dared to utter it. I was startled from my reverie when Scully entered the kitchen and automatically knelt next to my chair, presenting the back of her neck to me so I could fasten the collar I had placed on her. Shit. This was the moment I had been dreading. I was now going to have to confront "Kat" with her disobedience. I fastened the collar around her neck with a sigh of reluctance. "The lasagna should be warm," I muttered. "Serve it for us and sit down." Mutely, she did as she was instructed, not meeting my eyes. She seemed to have gone back to the very quiet, thoughtful place she went while in submissive mode. Her calm acceptance of the circumstances of our play never ceased to amaze me. I guess I was so used to Scully arguing with me at every turn I didn't quite know what to think of this very pliant, acquiescent woman. In some perverse way, it made me treasure Scully all the more. It was as though I had two lovers, or more accurately, one lover and one sex- slave, and the difference between the two women made them each more precious to me. In becoming Kat, Scully granted a fantasy, a dream I would never have spoken to her. She gave me the opportunity to be strong, to protect and shelter and pamper her. She gave me permission to live out my wildest sexual imaginings with her. I could do all this without losing the strong, independent Scully I counted on, the one who so often sheltered and protected *me*. "Why did you do it, Kat?" I asked. She struggled for a moment with answering, and I waited patiently while she emerged far enough from wherever she had gone to regain her ability to speak. Scully had confessed to me that talking during a scene was difficult for her, and when she did speak, it was in whispered, monosyllabic replies. "I don't know," she answered with a shake of her head, her voice soft. "I just couldn't *not* fight." "Why?" "Because I was frustrated--and angry," she lifted her head and I could see Scully begin to emerge as she was pulled back to herself enough to require speech. Her voice became stronger and more confident. "I was angry with myself for being angry we were interrupted this afternoon. I was angry with you for bringing the cell phone, angry at whomever it was who called us, angry at the cops down at the police headquarters. I shouldn't have been feeling like that. Work's more important--I shouldn't have resented the intrusion the way I did, and when it came time to submit again, I couldn't do it. I couldn't get back into the mindset, headspace, whatever you want to call it. My anger wouldn't let me." "Was it me you were angry with or just the situation?" "I don't know. I felt humiliated all day in the police station in this--thing," she looked down at her corset- encased torso with an ironic glance. "It didn't matter that I was wearing my coat and no one could see me--I felt like everyone who gave me a second glance knew. I'll admit, I find the idea of exhibitionism to be a turn on, but not when we're on the job. There I was with the damn thing pushing my breasts up around my ears, stiff and uncomfortable and with every guy in the building leering at me--or so I felt. And yes, I felt you were to blame for it, even though logically I knew you couldn't have done anything about it. And I know you had to bring the phone; I just should have been more prepared in case business interrupted what we were doing. It was just too abrupt and I felt disoriented and out of sorts." That I understood, perhaps too well. I remembered the one time I had ever fought Phoebe. Normally, submitting to her hadn't been a problem--all I had wanted was to please her. I was in a state of perpetual headspace, constantly in my role as bottom. But one day, an emergency at the mental hospital I'd been interning at got me called away in the middle of one of her games. I'd had to get dressed, my clothes burning over my reddened ass, and I found myself unreasonably angry at the interruption, at the abrupt penetration of the mental bubble my submissive state had become to me. I'd had relatively little trouble easing out of the bubble when necessary, but when forced to do it all at once, I had become very cranky and defiant. It had taken hours for Phoebe to subdue me when I got back. I hadn't been so far gone I had actively fought her, because I might have hurt her, and, physically, she really hadn't stood a chance had I chosen to truly fight, but I hadn't made it easy on her either. Unfortunately, the difference between Phoebe and myself was that she clung to the urban legend image of a dominant, the one where a Dom is just waiting for an excuse to pounce upon the hapless sub. Any infraction, no matter how slight or contrived, was an excuse for punishment. Rather than being saddened and confused by my defiance--as I was with Scully's--she had simply been pissed off. She had reveled in the opportunity to use the infraction to inflict her punishment upon me and I had carried the scabbing welts for a week. "I am sorry about the corset--if we do something like this again, I'll plan better in case something comes up in the middle of the day," I said at last. "But it doesn't alter what you did. You disobeyed me. This--" I reached across the table and hooked a finger through one of the rings on the collar. She went still, held in place by my grip on the ring. "--means you agreed to obey me, no matter what. And once I put it on you, you still defied me." "I know," she murmured, touching the collar thoughtfully. She caressed it, her fingers brushing mine. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I couldn't stop, even though I knew what I was doing went contrary to our arrangement. Part of me *wanted* to stop, but once I got started, I couldn't. I realize what I've done, and I know there have to be consequences. If you feel I don't deserve to wear it, I'll understand." The look in her eyes contradicted the words. The collar was more than a symbol of my ownership--it was a symbol of her submission, and she took pride in it. Taking it away would be tantamount to someone telling his or her spouse they didn't deserve to wear their wedding rings. It would be a terrible blow. Damn. I had two choices, neither of them very pleasant. I could either punish her physically or punish her mentally. The absolute worst punishment I had ever experienced hadn't involved physical pain. It had been the night Phoebe had banished me from her sight, so disgusted with some offense she hadn't deemed me worthy of receiving her attention. The indifference had been a brutal, calculated maneuver to shame and humiliate me. That she hadn't cared enough to take the time to punish my infraction but, instead, had dismissed me as though I had no importance in her eyes had devastated me. Phoebe had been a master manipulator; she had played right into the emotional abandonment of my parents and punched the button so precisely it had only been a half hour since she sent me away until I'd gone back, begging her for anything else, some other punishment. Which, of course, had been exactly what she wanted. She used my desperation as an excuse to take our play into the one area I had absolutely and adamantly refused to consent to in the past- -fire play. End of Part Two of Five Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (Part 3 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Despite my deathly fear of fire, I'd been frightened enough by her rejection I'd willingly lain on my back on a wooden piano bench, my hands and ankles bound to the legs of the bench with rough, coarse rope that raised blisters and cut my skin. First, she'd shaved off my chest hair, then Phoebe had swabbed my chest with a fine cognac, its alcohol content very high and containing very few impurities. She took her time, drawing elaborate swirls and designs before she ignited it. It had flared for an instant and then she'd swiped her hand across the flames and put them out. The alcohol had instantly evaporated from my skin--I hadn't been burned at all, nor had Phoebe when she essentially wiped the flames out of existence with her bare hand. She'd repeated the process several times, and I had lain there with my head hanging backward off the edge of the bench, unable to see what was happening even if I hadn't been afraid to look, paralyzed with terror, as heat flashed again and again above my chest. Then she untied me, forced me to lay on my belly, bound me again, and repeated the process on my back. Only that time, she was a little more careless and got some of the cognac into my hair. I had felt the flames at the base of my scalp, felt her slap my head several times to smother the flames, and then I had smelled my own singed hair. I had vomited and then blacked out. Of course, I know fire play can be done safely, and until the final time, Phoebe hadn't harmed me at all. She'd actually been rather good at it, leaving to me wonder if her taunt as she tied me down ("I always did want to try this, Fox...") hadn't been more for effect more than for anything else. But there's no logic to a phobia, and knowing it could be done safely doesn't alter the fact that I broke into a cold sweat at the very idea of flames touching my skin. Phoebe had used my worst emotional trigger to coerce me into allowing her to play upon my worst physical fear. That was the sort of sadistic bitch she had been. It had only been a couple weeks later when I discovered her in bed with someone else and had mustered up what was left of my self respect and gotten out. I would never do that to anyone, especially not Scully. I could somehow banish her for a while but only at the risk of sending the wrong message to her about how I value her submission and the days we spend in the D/s game. I had decided early on I didn't want to venture into humiliation play with her--I had no desire to see her shamed or humbled. She submitted with pride and grace and I loved seeing it, loved taking her in public and knowing this beautiful woman with her head held high was *mine* body and soul. To send her away would be to tell her she wasn't worthy of being my submissive, and that, I think, would essentially end our D/s play. It would add something unhappy and ugly to our normally joyous interaction as Master and Kat. The other option was using some of the equipment I'd picked up weeks ago at the tack shop in Philadelphia, the riding gear I'd bought more for mental effect than physical. Spanking was one thing--it might sting, but it's really not all that bad, and if you hit just the right spot, it can be arousing because of the impact throughout the entire genital region. But Scully and I both knew this went beyond a spanking offense. Unbidden, a quote from the preface to "Story of O" sprang to mind. "You should never have agreed to be a god for me if you were afraid to assume the duties of a god, and we all know they are not so tender as all that. You have already seen me cry--now you must learn to relish my tears." It was melodramatic drivel, of course, written by a man trying to cash in on the furor surrounding the novel by droning on at length about his own interpretation of it. The latter was something I could never do, not in a million years, but there was something to the first part of the quote. Scully had trusted me with her most vulnerable self, her most secret desires, and some aspect of that required me to harden myself somewhat against my instinctive reactions where Scully was concerned. This wasn't a situation where my protectiveness of Scully applied--I had nothing to protect her against other than myself, and if she trusted me to do this, shouldn't I trust myself? There, however, was the crux of the problem. I wasn't sure I did trust myself. I'd promised to play the dominant role--and I enjoyed it, for the most part--but I had to fill it in all aspects, not just the pleasant ones. Could I do that? "I'm going into the living room, Kat," I announced as I finished eating. "Please take care of the dishes while I make some preparations." She nodded silently and rose from the table. I took a moment to enjoy watching her, clad in the brocade corset and nothing else, as she cleared the table. I felt myself growing aroused again at the sight of her and rose from my chair, leaving the room before I decided to act upon that arousal. Accompanied by the sound of dishes clinking and water running, I retrieved the bag I had picked up in Philadelphia from the hall closet. Slowly, inspecting each item, I laid out on the coffee table first the paddle I had gotten at the fetish shop, covered in leather on one side and rabbit fur on the other. Then I pulled out the riding implements, the flat-headed crop, forked quirt, and sharp signal whip. As I handled them, I replayed in my mind the sensation of each when wielded in various ways. Did they really not hurt all that much, or had time dulled the memory of the pain? Or was I simply cushioning myself from the reality of what I must do by convincing myself that in the final equation, they hadn't hurt all that much? Shit. I heard a sound behind me and turned to see Scully standing in the archway to the living room, watching me as I fingered the riding crop. I stood from my crouching position next to the coffee table to face her. While I was still deciding what to say next, she walked toward me, her head bowed, and of her own volition knelt at my feet. She took my hand in both of hers, kissed the back of it gently, and whispered, "I'm sorry I defied you, Master," as she cradled it to her bare breasts. Startled, I stared down at her bent head in something next to awe, filled at once with wonderment and tenderness. How had this happened? How was I able to suppress my sense of the absurd enough to accept *Scully* on her knees to *me*? Un-fucking-believable. It wasn't Scully, it was Kat, but in my mind, I could never quite separate the two entirely. The fact was Kat only existed because Scully *wanted* her to exist, and so ultimately it came down to the basic reality that Kat knelt before me and called me Master because Scully wanted it and had chosen to allow it. There was only one way I could respond to this gesture, and that was to be the Master she was looking for me to be. She had placed herself completely in my hands, and I had an obligation to her. "I want you to know," I said softly, stroking her shining hair as her head rested against my thigh, "I don't want to punish you. But I have to." I felt her nod ever so slightly. The breath through my jeans might have been a whispered acknowledgment, but I couldn't hear it over the pounding of my own heart. "I can't do it right now. Emotionally, I'm not up to it," I sighed. "I need a while to prepare myself. We can do it later tonight, or next Saturday. What I want you to do is to choose which of these," I indicated the toys on the table with a sweeping gesture of my hand, "I should use, and how many strokes I should give you. When you've decided, you must ask me to punish you. It has to be before the end of next Saturday or any time between now and then. But you must *ask* me for it." She stared at me, her eyes wide and surprised--this wasn't what she'd been expecting. But frankly, unless it's outright torture, pain isn't all that effective as a punishment, certainly not against a stoic like Scully. No, her punishment needed to be cerebral in nature, whatever form it took, and by making her consider it, *anticipate* it, that was what I had provided. In addition, by making her choose the form the punishment would take, I was safeguarding myself, making certain what happened was all right with her. If I knew Scully, if I had given her the option, she would have chosen that instant to have it done, would have gotten it over with as soon as possible. But that would have been too easy--she needed to consider it a while, sweat it a bit. *That* would be her punishment. It would also give me time to prepare myself, though the delay meant I would suffer the anxiety of anticipation as well. "What--" she cleared her throat, struggling, as always, with raising her voice enough to speak. "What will we do until then?" "Until then, you'll continue to serve me as you are supposed to. You can start by giving me a massage--the oil is in the medicine cabinet." She nodded and, using my hand for leverage, rose from her knees and walked toward the bathroom. Her steps were slow and even, her gait moderated by the enforced rigidity of her spine in the corset. It was black with a raised silver design, an off-the-rack job I'd picked up at a local fetish shop that week. If there had been time, or if I hadn't wanted to surprise her, I would have taken the dozen or so exacting measurements required to custom order a corset and gotten one specifically tailored to her contours. In my mind, I made the corset scarlet and added the pair of red strap on high heels she'd worn the one time, envisioning the tiny steps she'd be required to take to keep her balance. An idea for our next week's play began to take shape... My fantasy was interrupted as she returned, bearing the massage oil I had bought shortly after we had become lovers, when it had come to my attention Scully suffered lower back pain in lieu of menstrual cramps. Many very pleasant evenings had started with that small bottle of Desert Musk scented oil, but this was the first time I'd ever commanded her to play body servant for me. She knelt with some difficulty beside the sofa and I rose, getting on my knees behind her. "Hold still," I commanded, and began loosening the laces on her corset. She drew in a deep breath as the constriction around her ribs eased. Reaching in front of her, I released the steel hooks in the front of the corset and pulled it off, setting it carefully on the coffee table. Beneath the corset, she wore a form-fitting Lycra sheath on her torso, designed to protect her skin from chafing. I had purchased it with the corset. After her shower that morning, I had applied lotion and powder to her skin before she had donned the liner. The effort put into the precautionary endeavor seemed to have paid off--while there were some slight impressions in her skin from the pressure of the corset, there didn't appear to be any irritation or chafing. I pulled the Lycra liner over her head and took my time caressing the soft skin of her back, kissing and licking the powder-and-lotion scented flesh while Scully shivered and whimpered beneath me. I ran my tongue over her neck just under the collar and was rewarded by her soft moan. My hands moved over her ribs from her back to her chest, cupping her breasts. I rolled the nipples between my fingertips, pulling on them, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. I pressed my chest against the cool skin of her back and breathed deeply of the scent of her hair. I slid one hand down to the juncture of her thighs and threaded my fingers through the springy curls of her pubic hair. She was slick with moisture and she shuddered lightly when I stroked her swollen labia. I dipped my middle finger inside her and swirled it lazily while my thumb and forefinger played lightly with her clit. "Did you bring your toy back with you?" I murmured against her ear. In preparation for our attempt at anal sex, she'd kept the large plug we'd purchased in Philadelphia with her all week, regardless of where we slept on any given evening. She had worn it for a while each night to become used to anal penetration and to practice voluntary control over the muscles. This had served an additional purpose in bringing anal play out of the realm of our D/s relationship, because we approached the nightly ritual as ourselves rather than Master and Kat. Scully had told me this actually helped her overcome some of her nervousness, because she felt more relaxed and casual around me as Mulder than as her master. I was, perhaps, going over the edge a little on the cautionary measures, but it was important to me for this to be something Scully enjoyed, not just something that didn't hurt her. She claimed to find the feeling of the plug inside her pleasant, and we'd both been anticipating this experiment all week. "Yes, Master," she whispered, gasping as I lightly squeezed her clitoris between the pads of my fingers. I felt a ripple of excitement run through her, starting around my finger inside her, the instant I alluded to anal sex, and I could swear her already-wet vagina became even wetter. Fluid slowly rolled down my finger, into my palm and down the back of my hand. "You're turned on, aren't you, Kat?" I whispered tauntingly, nibbling on her ear. I continued molding and caressing her breasts with my other hand while the single finger of the hand between her thighs fucked her with a slow, relentlessly steady rhythm. She wriggled against my hand, seeking more. This was becoming one of my favorite Scully-states, when she's so aroused that nothing matters to her anymore but more pleasure, more sensation, where she becomes mindless and completely governed by her instinctual need. I continued my verbal foreplay, deliberately getting cruder, "It excites you to know that tonight, I'm going to fuck your ass." "Yessss..." she hissed, thrusting her hips forward against my hand. "Oh, God..." There was a note of desperation in her tone I didn't hear often, and I remembered she hadn't come when I'd taken her earlier. My cock was painfully constricted inside my jeans, desperate to get free and bury itself within her. The mental image of the orgasm she would have when I took her wasn't helping the situation much, nor was the anticipation of how tight it would be inside her ass, how it would feel when she shuddered and spasmed around me... Shit...time to get this under control again. I pulled my finger out of her, coated with her own juices, and held my hand up to her face. "See how wet you are, Kat? Taste it." Her tongue darted out and flicked against the trails of wetness on my palm, lapping in short, quick strokes, the slightly elastic secretions creating tiny strands between her lips and my palm before her tongue collected them with a solid swipe. I could see it all from my position behind and over her, barely breathing with the force of my own arousal. It was more erotic than any porn film had ever contrived to be, more sensual than my wildest wet dream. Her tongue stroking, her hot, moist breath against my palm... I moved my hand and slid my still-wet middle finger between her lips and past her teeth, into the warm cavern of her mouth. Her tongue stroked it softly as I moved steadily in and out of her mouth in mimicry of intercourse. She closed her lips and began to suck on the digit. I moaned softly at the suggestive, tugging pressure. Pulling my fingers from her mouth, I nibbled on her neck, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head aside for better access. I forcibly turned her head and took her mouth, kissing the taste of her from her lips. I released her hair and moved my hand between her slightly parted thighs again, sliding my finger into her once more. I resumed the steady in-and-out rhythm I'd begun earlier until she was moving restlessly, returning the pumping motion of my finger with small jerks of her hips. Her movements stopped when I withdrew my finger and slid it further back, over her perineum to her anus. With my body pressed intimately against hers, I felt the instant when she willed herself to relax as I moved my finger in slow, easy circles against the tight opening. "That's good, Kat--" I praised her, murmuring gently against her ear. I eased the finger inside very gently and slowly, mindful of the fact I had neither any lubricant other than her own, nor gloves. The absence of the gloves meant it would be unwise to go back to the well, as it were, for more moisture. In addition, we had learned during our experimentation the importance of a painstakingly careful trimming of the fingernails as a Friday night ritual, another dilemma which the gloves solved. I was alert for any indication of distress or discomfort, but she merely sighed softly and hummed with pleasure as I slowly moved my finger in and out. After a moment, I could feel what little natural lubrication I'd collected beginning to absorb, so I carefully withdrew my finger and kissed the back of her neck. "Go get the supplies," I commanded quietly. I helped her to her feet and went into the bathroom to wash my hands while she collected the gym bag we had converted into a toy bag. We met again in the living room, Scully standing with the bag at her feet, staring thoughtfully at the riding implements on the coffee table. I would have given anything to know what was running through her mind at that moment, but I couldn't read her face. Rather than pursue a topic I wasn't sure I was ready to handle just yet, I instructed her to lay on her side on the sofa with her back facing the room and knelt on the floor behind her. She instinctively assumed the pose we'd come to find easiest, with one leg straight down from her body and the other extended forward, her knee drawn up to her chest. This exposed her rear without creating tension in the muscles of her thighs and backside. I worked slowly and meticulously, putting a condom on the larger plug we had worked up to, and, with glove in place this time, prepared her anus with what appeared, from my end, to be an absurd amount of lubricant. "Too much is almost enough" seemed to be the prevailing wisdom where anal sex and lubricant were concerned, and I followed the advice religiously. I'd also gone back out shopping and gotten an oil-based lubricant in addition to the water- based lube we used for vaginal play, as it has more staying power and doesn't evaporate as water-based lubes do. The only drawback to oil-based lubricants is the damage they do to rubber, so since STDs weren't a concern and I'd rather buy more toys than risk harm to Scully, it wasn't an issue for us. The worst we had to fear should a condom break is an undue amount of time cleaning our toys or, at worst, replacing them if the petroleum products rendered them unusable. Lifting one buttock with my ungloved hand, I used the other hand to slowly open her with my fingers. We'd discovered the roundness of the plug was more comfortable than an attempt at three fingers, with the same widening effect, so after I was assured of her comfort with two fingers fully inserted, I introduced the plug and very carefully began working it in. I pressed forward and withdrew, fucking her with it and slowly going deeper, never rushing, giving her time to adapt and relax each time I pushed deeper with the gradually widening rubber plug. When she was taking in all but the very widest point before the stem, I spent a long while moving it in and out to that point, in slow, steady strokes. Scully's soft sounds of pleasure encouraged and reassured me until I gave one final, firm push and the plug slid all the way in, seated securely with the stem held in place by her muscles. Scully's gasp of surprise was almost a delayed reaction, sounding a split second after the feat was finally accomplished. "How does that feel?" I asked, kissing her perspiration- dampened shoulder lightly. I kept my ungloved hand on her back, feeling the tension, or lack thereof, in her muscles. I could also feel the tiny quiver that rippled through her intermittently, which I had learned was Scully's reaction to the intensity of having the plug inside her. "Good," she sighed softly. "Wonderful..." Solicitously, I used the baby-wipes I'd taken to keeping in our toy-bag to clean up the excess lubricant and discarded the wipes and glove. When I returned, Scully still hadn't moved from her position on the sofa. If I hadn't known better, I would have said she was asleep, but I'd become familiar with her reactions to certain play and recognized this languor as a state she reaches when whatever she's experiencing is profound. Thrilled as I was to see it, I was not, however, adverse to disturbing it. I smacked her lightly on the rump, jolting the plug, and she yelped and bolted upright, giving me an indignant glare. "You're in my place," I said firmly. "Or did you think I'd forgotten I'd ordered you to give me a massage?" If I hadn't forgotten, she certainly had, that much I could see on her face. I couldn't help but laugh at the instant of confusion she'd evidenced before recollecting the dictate. "Go get a sheet so we don't get oil on the sofa," I instructed. By the time she returned, I had removed my jeans and soon was lying on my stomach atop the sheet she spread over the sofa. Closing my eyes, I relaxed under her strong, gentle hands. It wasn't to last long, however. I felt her bare breasts brush my arm as she leaned over me and turned my head to find myself with a direct eyeful of Scully-bosom. Almost without thinking, I shifted myself up onto my forearms and took one of her nipples in my mouth, sucking and nibbling lightly while she sighed and moaned quietly. I switched breasts and gave the second the same treatment as its companion before releasing her now damp nipple to instruct her to hand me the toy bag. In a zippered compartment on the side were the two pairs of nipple clamps I'd purchased and withdrew the more elaborate pair. They were tighter than the other pair, with flat, round, slightly padded discs at their tips rather than the rubber sleeves of the other pair. I wondered what Scully would do if I pulled those rubber sleeves off the others and revealed the tiny metal teeth they covered. Not that I'd ever use them on her without the sleeves, but the sight would certainly give her pause, discompose her for a while. Now wasn't the time, however. Now, I wanted to present her with a challenge. "Twenty minutes," I announced, taking one soft breast in my hand and settling one clamp firmly on the nipple still wet from my mouth. I tightened the screw slowly until I heard a small gasp from her, then repeated the process on the other side. "Twenty minutes, and you're not to halt my massage for anything." She nodded silently and, satisfied, I lay back down on the sofa and closed my eyes to enjoy my massage. End of Part Three of Five Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (Part 4 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Twenty minutes. It might not sound like much, but with one's nipples in small vises, it's a virtual eternity. My only saving grace, I realized, was the plug that had been inserted by my Master. I'd discovered quite by accident the use of the plug had the effect of lessening discomfort from any number of other stimuli. It was a relatively simple concept, really, nothing more than a dispersal of sensation through my body. Like stubbing one's toe to ease the pain of banging one's elbow, only in this case, the distracting stimulus was infinitely more pleasant than stubbing a toe. I'd never imagined anal penetration could become something I found so immensely enjoyable. Initially, the idea had turned me on because it seemed such a taboo thing to do, illicit and so very submissive. I'd meant what I said when I told Mulder I didn't want there to be a part of me he couldn't have if he wanted it--what I needed to truly feel I belonged to him during these games was for him to exercise free rein over me. We were almost there, it seemed. He'd been confident enough in his role as Dominant to force my submission from me earlier when I'd resisted him. As time passed and our comfort in our roles increased, he became more assertive and commanding, and I responded by becoming even more submissive and yielding. But I hadn't counted on the sheer physical pleasure to be had with anal play. Hadn't counted on the surface sensations that came with being penetrated in that manner, or the unbelievable sense of fullness when the plug was securely seated inside me. Even with the medical knowledge I'd possess, the clinical information I'd absorbed that said the anus was full of nerve endings, good for both women and men, yadda, yadda, yadda, I'd never really *believed* how pleasurable it could be. And tonight my Master would replace the inanimate rubber plug with his own warm, living flesh. It would be his body filling me so completely and intimately. I was ready to come at the thought--I could feel my own pulse in my clit, could feel my sensitive, swollen labia. My thighs were sticky and uncomfortable with the secretions leaking steadily from my body. It was almost, *almost* enough to make me forget the ever- increasing pain in my nipples. There's no mercy to nipple clamps, just cold, unyielding metal. They don't need to let go and adjust their grip at intervals as my Master's fingers do. They don't respond to my wiggling and moaning--they're just there, constantly pinching, the pain increasing as the moments passed. I couldn't focus on that, though--my attention had to be dedicated to my Master, to pleasing him. I had to concentrate on the feel of his muscles beneath my hands, the warm, slick, oil-coated skin. Find a tight spot, knead it, caress it, move on to the next muscle group. I paid homage with my hands, conveying through my touch my devotion and adoration. I'd tried over the intervening weeks to analyze what it was that made me want to submit to him. Slavery and subservience are things we are taught from our earliest days are wrong. We're told it's dehumanizing, degrading...to call someone else "master" is to place them higher than yourself, more superior, important, worthy. Why then, should it be something I found fulfilling? Why should I willfully seek what most people would see as a devaluation of my own self-worth? But I didn't *feel* devalued. In fact, quite the opposite- -I felt more cherished and loved when I submitted to Mulder than in any other moment of my life. Mulder *knew* what it took for me to turn myself over, knew the effort required to set aside my own need for control, and he appreciated it, admired it even. It was as though submission was an endurance test--how far would I go? How much would I do? How sincere was I? The harder he made it for me, the happier I was. The deeper I could sublimate my own ego and sense of self, the more fulfilled I felt. I tried to fixate on how warm and alive his flesh was under my hands, the sensual delight touching him provided. Even with all this masculine pulchritude at my fingertips, however, I found myself biting my lip to stifle sounds of discomfort as the pain from the nipple clamps would not be denied. There was no clock I could see from where I knelt by the sofa, but I found my thoughts growing rebellious and angry. Damn him, why didn't he release me? Surely he had to know I was in pain, know twenty minutes was too long for me to suffer these merciless devices. My nipples throbbed with red-hot agony, my body was tense as I fought against the pain. I reveled in the pain even as I hated it. I was going through this trial because my Master had said I was to do so. It was easy to submit when everything he did to me felt good--the real challenge, though, was when I didn't enjoy what was happening. That was when my submission became a test of endurance, something I could overcome and take pride in. Leaning forward to rub the far side of my Master's ribcage brought my nipples in abrupt contact with the arm lying at his side and an unwilling whimper escaped me. That sudden jolt sent a sharp stab of agony through my nipples. I might have been able to endure the slowly increasing ache, but that sudden and unexpected contact proved to be too much for me. He was already in motion, sitting up, when I hung my head and whispered, "Flukeman." I felt ashamed of myself for my weakness, for my inability to handle a simple endurance test. I detested that I'd had to give in and use that word... "Hold still," he murmured. "I'll take them off now." I understood the warning and clenched my hands tightly, my nails biting into my palms. I bit off a wail when he quickly released the first nipple and the pain overwhelmed me, consumed my entire being for a moment. Instead, the sound escaped me a second later when the other nipple was freed. Then his hands and mouth were there, caressing, soothing, licking, sucking... The pain receded and was replaced by an achy, sore sort of pleasure. I sighed heavily. "Thank you," he said, kissing my lips tenderly. "For what?" Confused, I stared at him. I was humiliated I'd been reduced to pleading for mercy, and I'd done exactly what he'd told me not to, which was disrupt his massage--why on earth was he thanking me? "For reassuring me you will use your safe-word if you need to," he replied softly. Without my realizing it, he'd somehow maneuvered me into his lap and was cradling me against his body, stroking my breasts and skin gently. He pressed soft kisses over my cheek and temple. I could feel his cock inside his boxers, prodding my hip, and his thigh beneath my bottom was creating all sorts of distractions against the butt plug I wore. Somehow, through all these sensations, I was aware of his relief that I'd used the word. We were planning to do something new tonight--how could he do that if he wasn't confident I'd let him know if I had trouble? He'd intentionally tightened the clamps to the point where I almost certainly would be unable to bear it for long and then he'd waited to see what would happen. He seemed so confident--sometimes it was easy to forget he was feeling his way here. It was simple to let myself sink into my submissive state, to become a being of pure emotion and sensation. It was easy to neglect the fact he put a great deal of thought and effort into assuring my safety and well-being, and he needed my help to be certain he'd succeeded. He'd told me at the beginning he worried about my ability to be honest with him regarding any pain I might experience. Being a stoic was in my nature--you didn't hang out with the boys as a child if you cried like a girl when you skinned your knee. I'd learned early on to keep it inside, to not let on when I was hurting. But what Mulder and I were doing was so different from any experience I'd had in my life, the need to be forthright about what I was feeling so much more vital-- But I'd passed the test, I realized. As ashamed as I'd been to do it, I'd let him know when it had gotten to be too much for me to bear, let him know I was in distress. How long had he been waiting for that, I wondered. Had it inhibited what he felt able to do with me that I hadn't yet indicated my willingness to use my safe-word if I found myself going past my limits? How would this affect our future play? The question wasn't to be answered anytime soon. I found myself arching backwards as his gentle coddling became insistent caressing, lying across his lap as his hands roamed my body. It took only a matter of moments for the fingers that went seeking between my legs to bring me to the brink of climax--a few more strokes and there would have been no turning back, but he didn't cross that line. I stared at him in puzzlement even as I groaned my frustration--it wasn't usual for him not to pursue my climax with a vigor that bordered on obsession. Hell, it if thrilled him, who was I to argue? At his gentle prompting, I rose from his lap and followed him into the bedroom after collecting the lube and other supplies. Without comment, he grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom to wet a washcloth while I deposited my armful of miscellany on the nightstand. He set the towel and washcloth down beside the rest and, taking my hand, tugged me to the bed. "Don't worry about the safe-word," he said, kissing me softly, caressing my body with light, comforting strokes as he rolled me beneath him. "If something is wrong, say whatever you have to say to stop it; I'll be listening." I nodded, my heart in my throat. We were honestly going to do this, I thought in amazement. I was going to share with him something I'd never trusted anyone else with. I was going to give him something of myself no one had ever had. As trite as it sounded, I was immeasurably pleased by the idea, by the thought I would bring him something special and unique. He kissed me then, his tongue probing my mouth, his cock sliding back and forth between my legs, separated from me only by the silk layer of his boxers, which created a delicious friction against my clit. He took his time, making love to me as tenderly as he'd ever done, with hands and mouth and warm, massage-oil scented flesh worshipping my body. I returned the caresses, my own desire rendering me voracious in my pursuit of the pleasure we would give each other. In truth, our roles as Dominant and submissive were forgotten for the while, and we shared the moment instead as lovers. It was a long while before he rolled me, trembling and panting with desire, over onto my side and carefully extracted the lubricated plug from my body. As ever, he took his time, slowly inserting and withdrawing the toy repeatedly, making certain it was causing me no discomfort. To the contrary, I enjoyed the sensation immensely, and took care to make sure he knew it, but I was getting impatient. When we'd first begun the anal play, it had been something I wanted yet feared. We'd started out slowly to give me time to get over my phobia and, for the most part, my fear had passed. I could say I was 95% certain I wouldn't be hurt--the remaining 5% of me would need proof, first. But we'd taken longer to get to this point than it had taken me to become ready for it, and we had been more painstaking in our preparations than perhaps was physically necessary. That, I recognized, was a reassurance he needed, to take every precaution, even to the point of the absurd, to ensure I'd be okay. But now the moment was here, and I was anxious and eager as I heard Mulder peel the condom off the plug and discard it. I could feel his movements on the bed behind me as he prepared himself, donning another glove, slathering lubricant onto his cock. His hands trembled with the force of his arousal as he spread my buttocks and smeared a generous quantity of lubricant over my anus, two fingers sliding easily inside and moving in a twisting motion to distribute it thoroughly over the muscles. His body was warm as he pressed flush against my back, spooned against me, his slick cock rubbing my ass. With one gloved finger still inside me, he positioned his penis alongside it. "I want you to push back," he murmured against my shoulder. "Take your time, do it at your pace. Stop if you need to." As I nodded my assent, I realized I was forgetting to breathe and inhaled deeply, then released a long sigh. I pushed ever so slightly with my internal muscles and pressed backward with my hips. God, I could feel him going in! The pressure was incredible--overwhelming, too much, too good! It kept building and building and I hissed suddenly as I experienced a slight burning pain. He froze, but even as he did so, the discomfort was fading and I realized the small eternity that had just passed had only been the head of his cock entering me. "Keep going!" I whispered urgently, still pressing back against him, my eyes tightly closed, and he obeyed my mandate. The last of that small burning disappeared, replaced by blossoming pleasure as he slid deeper and deeper into my body. It was only a short, painless instant until I felt his hips against my ass. "Ohh...my...God..." I moaned softly. Somewhere at the edge of my consciousness, I was aware of the glove he'd been wearing being taken off, and then his arms were encircling me, holding me close. "This feels amazing," I said breathlessly. Full--that was the only word for it. I felt completely, indescribably full. I could feel my anus making tiny spasms around his shaft, could feel a ripple run through my entire body at intervals. I felt connected to him with an intimacy I'd never imagined before, awed and stunned by this unexpected depth of pleasure. He was quivering as he held me. "Are you okay?" he gasped at last, his face pressed into my hair. Out of nowhere, I began giggling, a breathless laugh of wonder. If what he was experiencing was anything akin to what I felt, he was doing well to string three words together in a coherent sentence, much less be concerned about my state of well-being. I'm not sure I'd be as mindful were our positions reversed. He moaned and I realized he was feeling my giggles intimately. The thought made me laugh harder, and his pleading tone as he groaned my name found me with my face pressed against the pillow, tears leaking from my eyes. It wasn't until he clutched a handful of my hair and jerked my head back that my merriment fled. "Stop. Now." he growled dangerously, giving a slight push of his hips. The effect was profound--I gasped sharply, the pressure that had eased somewhat as I had relaxed around his cock immediately back in full force. "Yesss..." I moaned. "God, yes. More." "You want me to move?" he asked against my shoulder. "Please..." I whimpered, pushing back. I'd discovered early on anal penetration had a significant effect on me, but now I could feel the absurd wetness of my moisture on my thighs and the throbbing of my clitoris. I thought I might die if I didn't come soon. I also desperately wanted to know how it felt for him to truly fuck me this way. Carefully, holding my hip with his upper hand while the other arm served as a pillow for my head against his shoulder, Mulder pulled back slowly and surged forward again. I cried out, overwhelmed for a moment by the pleasure of the sensation. "Oh, Jesus--I never even imagined it could feel this good-" he was mumbling in my ear, but I was only half-aware of his words. My entire being was focused on the tight, full feeling. I need more, had to have it. His second thrust was even better, setting a slightly awkward rhythm that came with the fact we were lying on our sides. His hand slid from my hip to between my thighs, finding my rock-hard clit with a precision born of intimate knowledge. I yelped sharply, my body going rigid as a shock-wave of pleasure rocketed through me. It wasn't an orgasm--there was no sense of release with it, just my body responding to too much sensation all at once. He barked out a hoarse cry and forgot about stroking my clit as I relaxed again in slow measures. "Better let me do that," I murmured, pulling his hand from between my legs. "I'm too sensitive right now." "Okay," he agreed breathlessly. I smirked and almost began giggling again. Mulder was reaching the precipice where my carefully conscientious lover took a brief leave of absence and left his Neanderthal alter-ego in charge. He'd agree to just about anything I proposed in that state. I bent at the waist, curled forward into a semi-fetal position, and the pressure increased as this new pose caused different muscles to tighten. We gasped in unison. "Damn, this isn't going to last long," he hissed in warning. "That's okay--neither will I," I replied. "Please...just move." He gripped my hip tightly and began to move slowly. I was vaguely aware I was alternating between a low, constant moan and breathless gasps. Sweet Jesus, the pressure, the unbearable fullness...I could feel, deep in my belly, that tension that said I was about to have the orgasm of a lifetime, if only I could get past the edge. Mulder's breathing was becoming harsh and ragged, punctuated by epithets and pleas for divine intervention. I roughly thrust my hand between my legs and began rubbing it over the hood of my clitoris, well aware I was too sensitive for direct contact. I pushed hard, creating a deep, steady pressure, moving in slow circles. I tipped my head back, arching my neck, and gave a soft cry as the tension in my abdomen increased. It was agonizing, to be so close... I could feel Mulder's body quaking with the attempt to restrain himself. I didn't want him to hold back--I wanted him to cut loose. I needed it, needed something to push me over the precipice. "Harder," I whispered, pulling at my clit with my fingertips. "I...don't want...hurt you..." his semi-coherent protest was delivered in hissing gasps between his slow thrusts. "You won't," I replied. "Please..." I hesitated, knowing what I wanted, but feeling foolish saying it. My need won out over my pride. "Take me. Please. Now." A violent shudder ran through him and he drew in a deep breath, then his hand tightened on my hip, hard enough to bruise, and he thrust forward fast and hard. We grunted in unison as his hips slammed against my buttocks. "Yesss..." I whimpered. Grinding my palm against my clit, I dipped two fingers into my vagina to search for my G- spot. Against the back of my fingers, I could feel the head of his penis through the wall of muscle, surging past in an ever-increasing tempo. As his pace grew faster, so did the feeling of being filled to bursting. As my fingertips found the sensitive spot inside myself, I used the other hand to continue circling my clit. "God, yes...Oh, God, yes..." I chanted breathlessly. My body was jarred with every impact of his pelvis against my ass, and then suddenly I was there, tumbling over the edge. I felt the contractions around the fingers still in my vagina, felt the pressure deep in my gut release with a suddenness bordering on painful. I was vaguely aware of muffling my shriek in Mulder's arm as it pillowed my head, though it would be sometime later before I realized I had actually bit his bicep. Mulder yelled and slammed into me a couple more times. He released my hip and hooked his upper arm around my torso, dragging me close to his body as he froze and shuddered within and behind me. I could feel his spasms deep inside my body, could feel his hot breath on my neck as he clutched me close and spilled himself into me. The room was strangely still afterwards, as our breathing slowed to normal. Neither of us moved, stunned and trembling by the intensity of what we had experienced. It wasn't until I felt wetness under my face that I realized I'd been crying through my orgasm and afterwards, overwhelmed by the combination of emotion and pure physical pleasure that had gone into making this one of the most profound experiences of my life. As awareness returned in slow increments, I also discovered Mulder had been speaking to me for an undetermined length of time. Declarations of wonder and devotion were interspersed with increasingly urgent inquiries as to my well being. "Love you...that was amazing...you all right? Beyond incredible...You okay? Scully?" The name surprised me for a moment, but it was appropriate, I realized. I'd always thought anal sex was a very submissive thing to do, raunchy and forbidden. I don't think I would have considered it had we not begun the sessions as Dominant and submissive. But what had just happened between us went beyond the games to the heart of our relationship. We'd made love in a new way. He had taken nothing of or from me, nor had I surrendered anything. We'd shared something intimate and wondrous. In a moment or two, we would return to our play, but right now, I faced him as his lover, the masquerade discarded in lieu of something even more precious. I hummed happily. "Yes, I'm okay," I said softly. "Better than okay. God, that was fabulous." "Hmmm, yes, it was," he replied, holding me tightly. His softening cock was still inside my ass and a second later, he regretfully released me to pull out. I moaned, feeling suddenly bereft, as Mulder grabbed the damp cloth and wiped away the residue of lubricant. I felt slightly chafed, but there was no pain and I answered Mulder's concerned inquiries with a negative. The muscles of my anus clenched and released slightly as they regained their original level of tension in slow degrees. I rolled over to face him and he took me into his arms again, kissing me passionately. I sank into the kiss, let myself be rolled beneath his body. He surrounded me, encased me with his body and his embrace and I felt sheltered and safe. The feeling of safety wasn't to last. After we showered, during the process of which we entered once more into our roles as Master and Kat, I made my way through the living room to get a glass of water from the kitchen. There my eyes were once more drawn to the whips on the coffee table. I stared at them, unable to move, as though mesmerized by a deadly snake. Somehow, over the weeks we had been playing, the whips had become an interesting novelty, something we had gotten not for actual use, but for effect. Somehow I'd never quite managed to assimilate the idea Mulder might actually strike me, much less with a foreign object. But it wasn't Mulder who would be striking me. It was my Master, and he had an entirely different set of rules of interaction by which he dealt with me. There were times I had the feeling Mulder was still seeing me as Scully while we played, rather than Kat. Was I guilty of the same error? I stared down at the display on the table and willed myself to think of the situation not as Scully, but as Kat. I, Kat, had done something for which I had to be punished, and I accepted that. But I would have to choose the punishment, and ask for it to be given to me, and that I wasn't as sure of. In the great scheme of things, where did my rebellion rank? To my own thinking, it was the worst offense I could have given, for I had willfully disobeyed. I had scoffed and sneered and insulted my Master, I had refused to yield my body to him, which was his rightful due. I couldn't imagine any worse a fuck-up than what I had done, and for that, the punishment would need to be severe. The problem was, I had no basis for judging "severe" from "moderate" from "mild." And was it a "one size fits all" issue, or was it subjective? Perhaps what was severe for me might be laughable to someone else. If I chose the course of punishment that seemed most appropriate for my offense, would it be more than I personally could bear? How then could I choose what should be used and how? And how on earth could I *ask* for pain to be inflicted upon me? "Kat?" I jumped, spinning to see my Master standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching me. "I was waiting for my glass of water, but if you've reached your decision, we can proceed with your punishment." His face was inscrutable to me. I knew this must be hard for Mulder, but in his Master persona, he seemed calm and composed. He'd told me earlier he wasn't up for it emotionally, but now he was saying we could go ahead if I was ready. Did that mean he'd resolved whatever conflicts existed within himself about punishing me? If he had, then I could give the go ahead and get it over with--I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore... All I had to do was choose the instrument, choose the number of strokes, and ask him to do it. Simple, right? I made to open my mouth and found myself shaking my head, instead. "I'm not ready," I whispered. "I haven't decided." He nodded, his expression still unreadable. "Then get the water and come to bed. It's getting late." He went back into the bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room. A long moment later, I retrieved the glass of water, turned out the lights, and followed him. End of Part Four of Five Aphrodisia IV - Exploring the Boundaries (Part 5 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com As it ended up, my Master wasn't all that interested in sleeping when I got to bed. In short order, I found myself bound, spread-eagled with a couple pillows beneath my hips, to the bed and blindfolded while he played his favorite game. In short, he drove me nuts. First came the sensation play--soft objects, hard objects, sharp objects, they touched me everywhere. It was similar to what he had done that first night we had played together in my apartment with the feather, but on a broader scale. I couldn't see what he was using, didn't know what he was doing; all I knew was something soft would whisper over my skin for a small eternity, sensitizing me until I was ready to scream, only to be replaced my something rough, bordering on painful. When he had me writhing with discomfort, it would change again. Feather dusters, fleece mitts, empty fountain pens--he'd even once bought body paint and used me as his canvas. And me? I had nothing to do but lie there and take it, wonder what he was up to now. It was maddening and exhilarating all at once. After the sensation play came the sex play. That's not to say we had sex--if his penis ever came out of his boxers until he was done playing with me, I was unaware of it. No, this game had two variations of the same theme--he would either tease and taunt me, bringing me to the brink of orgasm again and again and then letting me down, or he would try to see how many times he could make me climax before I passed out. He was damnably good at both. I had no idea which he would do tonight; sometimes it was a combination of both. He started by fucking me with the large dildo we'd bought. An easy eleven inches long and two inches in diameter, I sometimes swore I could feel it rubbing against my pelvis from inside me. Hard and deep, over and over, he thrust it into me. It slammed against my cervix, stretched the fornix until I was taking it all. I grunted with each impact, panting harder as the large, mushroom-shaped head of the dildo passed by my G-spot again and again, bringing me closer and closer to the edge... At which point he stopped. The dildo wasn't withdrawn, however. I could feel it inside me, filling me, my internal muscles contracting around it. I was still wondering what he was up to when I felt something icy-cold against my thigh. At first I thought it was water, or ice, but it didn't feel wet, and there was a small tinkling sound. There was a moment when he did something with the dildo--he wasn't doing it to *me* per se, but was more like he was making adjustments of some kind, a slight rotating motion I couldn't discern a purpose for. Then I felt him grip one of my tightly stretched labia at the side of the dildo and pinch it. And kept on pinching it, lightly, not painfully. It wasn't until he repeated the process on the other side that I realized the pinching was not being done by his fingers; he'd placed the nipple clamps on my labia. If I could judge the feel of the clamps correctly, he'd used the V- shaped clamps with the rubber sleeves on the tips. A spasm rippled through my gut at the thought. My vagina tightened and pushed against the dildo inside me--which in turn pulled on the clamps. I moaned loudly, amazed and aroused. Somehow, he'd arranged things so any attempt to expel the dildo would pull on the chain connecting the clamps and thus my labia. In essence, I couldn't expel the dildo, and any attempt to do so would cause discomfort. To demonstrate the point, he spent several long moments tugging lightly at the base of the dildo. Each pull on my vaginal lips sent another wave of arousal through me--it didn't hurt, or if it did, it was an ever so slightly pinching pain, but it was intense. I breathed a sigh of relief when he slid the dildo deep inside me and left it there. Then, a buzzing noise I'd come to associate with the battery-operated vibrator he'd purchased filled the room. He started with my breasts, teasing my sore nipples with the instrument until I was moaning and squirming. My earlier experience with the nipple clamps had left me far too sensitive to endure much stimulation, and yet-- I found myself wishing he'd put them back on me, even though they had hurt. I wanted the pain, wanted to be so overwhelmed with sensation I couldn't bear it anymore. I wanted to cry out and beg for mercy when none would be forthcoming...I didn't know how to let him know this, though. I couldn't bring myself to ask him to hurt me. But I wanted it, oh, how I wanted it... When he lightly pinched my nipple between his fingers, I yelped and then moaned a loud "yes," hoping he'd take the hint that it was okay, that I didn't mind more nipple play. He tormented my nipples with the vibrator for a long while before he finally took the chance. He set the clamps, with their cold steel chain, on my chest while he murmured to me, "be sure to use your safe-word if it gets to be too much." It was too much; far, far too much! Even the loosest pressure the clamps could provide was excruciating. I writhed and sobbed. It hurt, oh God, it hurt...I never wanted it to end. Even with the nipple clamps on, he continued to apply the vibrator to my breasts, and the sensation was beyond amazing...my nipples were numb and yet they burned unbearably. Every movement of my body as I helplessly sought relief from the torment at my breasts caused the rubber cock still buried in me to shift and tug at the chain attached to the clamps on my labia. I could feel how wet I was--my vagina felt loose even around the gigantic dildo. My body was so tense with a combination of pain and arousal I could hardly stand it. I bit my lip to keep from begging him to ease my torment-- if I begged him to stop, he just might do it, and I couldn't bear that either. I couldn't plead for mercy, couldn't... ...couldn't remain silent any longer. I wailed, sobbing in my agony, and a breathless babble began to stream from my lips. Oddly, as I began to verbalize my suffering, it became more bearable. It was as though holding the torment inside had made it all much worse. Thankfully, he didn't stop, didn't heed my pleas for a reprieve. What he did do was trail the vibrator down my torso to my belly and begin tickling me with it. When the tip of the device dipped into my navel, my body arched, moving of its own volition to get away from what was being inflicted upon it. No relief was forthcoming, however. The tickling continued, up my ribs and into my underarm, over my breast and across my collarbone. As it trailed down my sternum, I could feel the vibrations in my lungs and heart. Then a teasing at my groin, at the sensitive, ticklish skin where hip meets belly. It moved down my thighs to under my knees, and all the way to my feet. I kicked and yelled helplessly, but it didn't stop. It moved up the other leg in reverse of the manner it had gone down the first, and then it was between my thighs. I was hoarse and my throat dry with my exclamations by this point, and still I kept speaking. Pleas for mercy were interspersed with groans and wails and yelps. If it was possible to be in heaven and hell simultaneously, I was there. There was pain, pain beyond what I could ever imagine I could bear, but there was also unbelievable pleasure. Pleasure of the thick simulated cock filling me, pleasure of the vibrator pressing against my perineum, my labia--the chain on the lower set of clamps vibrating rapidly against my sensitive flesh. The vibrator went away for a moment, and the dildo, which had been creeping out of my body millimeter by millimeter, was firmly re-inserted, easing the pressure on my lips. He pressed against it, pushing it against my back wall, then released, and repeated the motion. Press, release, press, release, press, release...fucking me with barely any movement at all... And then the vibrator...my clit, hard and throbbing and unbearably sensitive. A single touch was all it took to set me off and I was coming...and coming...and coming, as though I'd never stop. He moved the vibrator in easy circles on my clit with the same consistent pressure, neither too hard nor too soft, and not stopping no matter how I jerked or wriggled or screamed. The pain in my nipples, the fullness in my vagina, the tension on my labia--all of it was insignificant next to the relentless pleasure. It might have been multiple orgasms or just one that wouldn't stop, but whatever it was, I was ready to lose consciousness. As reality began fading in and out, he released the clamps on my nipples simultaneously. Pain surged through my breasts, white-hot agony that possessed my body for a split instant. Every muscle tightened, my whole body stiffened and went taut. I screamed breathlessly, pulling my wrists and ankles against the bonds. He soothed my breasts with one hand, caressing and kneading and stroking the pain away, even as the other held the vibrator to my clitoris. Even through the pain, the contractions were unrelenting. When he finally pulled the vibrator away from my clitoris, I lay stunned and shaking and exhausted, residual shudders running through my body with the aftershocks of what I had experienced. My skin was damp with sweat and droplets of moisture had pooled between my breasts and in the hollow at the base of my throat. My Master, leaning over me, dipped his head down and licked them away, caressing my skin with his tongue. He very gently suckled my nipple and I whimpered softly, for even that tender pressure was excessive in my hypersensitive state. He released the clamps on my labia, which didn't hurt nearly as much as it did when they were on my breasts, and withdrew the dildo from my vagina. I could feel my internal muscles contract, adapting to the sudden emptiness, and then he was lying beside me, pressed against my still-bound body. His erection was steel-hard against my hip, pulsing with a life of its own. I wanted to ease his condition, to see him come selfishly, without thought for my pleasure. Speaking was all but impossible. I licked my dry lips and, picking up on the cause of my problem, he gave me a long drink of water, then reached for my wrist, ostensibly to release me from the cuffs. "No!" I gasped, and he looked up at me in surprise, his eyes dark and intent on mine. "Please--I want--" Damn, I didn't know why it should be so hard for me, had never even realized before that asking for what I wanted was a problem. Never in a previous relationship or even with Mulder had I been able to express my desires without being prompted, if not cornered and forced into it, first. But now he wasn't asking me what I wanted, wasn't trying to pull the words from me. He was just waiting, calmly, until I told him what was on my mind. "Please, Master, I want--" I drew a deep breath, hesitated, and then plunged forward. "I want you to use me." There was a flicker of--something--on his face, but I couldn't decipher it. His nostrils flared and his expression tightened ever so slightly. I felt his body quiver. "Like the video we watched," I said finally, beginning to feel foolish. Those movies were asinine in their treatment of women--why would I ever want to be treated like one of the porn queens who were used so casually in them? Because I wanted, just for a while, to focus on his pleasure and his alone, and if there was one thing I'd learned about those films, it was that they were designed for male viewers' pleasure. In those movies, though, the action seems degrading and defiling of women--but Mulder loved me, and there was the difference. He could never defile me, no matter what we did. He didn't force me to elucidate any further. Instead, he bent forward to kiss me. His tongue plundered my mouth, robbing me of breath, exploring every recess. He buried his hands in my hair and held my head stationary for his kiss. His teeth nibbled at my lips before at long last, he settled between my thighs and plunged his cock into me with one fast thrust. "Oh, God..." I moan softly. The dildo had loosened me to the point where his own not inconsiderable size barely registered, but what I could feel of him inside me, combined with the pressure of his pelvis against my clitoris, was sweet beyond imagining. He moved in and out in rapid thrusts, panting above my face as he supported his weight on his arms. This wasn't working, wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to focus on *his* pleasure, and even what small pleasure I felt this way was too much. It distracted me. "No!" I gasped, startled by a particularly deep thrust. He froze and looked at me again, waiting silently for me to tell him what I wanted. "My mouth..." I whispered, closing my eyes with embarrassment. "I want you to fuck my mouth." I couldn't bring myself to look at him as he moved into position, straddling my chest. The position was almost an exact re-enactment of the movie we had watched together. He held my head with his hands and shifted his hips forward. When his cock brushed my lips, wet with my fluids and his pre-ejaculate, I opened my mouth for him and he slid inside. His moan rumbled through both our bodies, and I sighed around his penis, tasting my own musky essence as I concentrated on breathing through my nose. There was the raw, animal smell of sex on him, underscored by the soap he'd cleaned with during our shower earlier. It was hard to breathe--his body was almost covering my face, and I had to struggled with a momentary sense of claustrophobia. Then he began to thrust, and everything else was forgotten as I willed myself to relax my mouth and throat. He was doing it--fucking my mouth as he had any other part of my body, thrusting in and out with abandon. The angle kept his thrusts from becoming too deep and triggering my gag reflex for the moment, until I could relax into what we were doing. When the moment came that he shifted and changed angles to go deeper, I was ready for him. He slid into my throat and back out again effortlessly. Holding me roughly by the hair, he continued that way. I could feel his cock growing even harder, swelling even more. His thrusts became less restrained, the sounds that emanated from him as he towered over me more animalistic. He was going to do it, going to come in my mouth. I could feel it in the tightening of his balls against my chin... Which was, of course, when a particular thrust hit the wrong spot and I choked. I coughed and spluttered after he withdrew, drawing in a few uncomfortable breaths while he quivered above me, getting himself back under control. "Are you okay?" he asked tenderly, stroking my face softly. So gentle and chaste was that moment of concern, one could almost fail to notice his was straddling my torso with his dick bumping my chin. Drawing another ragged breath, I nodded. "Please, don't stop." He bit his lip as though nervous, which I could understand. He didn't want me to choke again, and it was much more likely to happen a second time now. Then a decisive look crossed his face, and he reached for the bedside table. He came back with a handful of the water-based lube we used, which, after he slid further down my body, he smeared over the inner slopes of my breasts and sternum. He squeezed my breasts together and, positioning himself, thrust his cock between them. The pressure of his hands on my nipples was enough to remind me how tender I was, but I relished the discomfort as yet another testament to the fact that this act was solely about his pleasure, not my comfort. His lubricant-coated palms were wet and sticky as they clutched the mounds of flesh. The breath was driven from me as he thrust, hard and fast, between my breasts, again and again. I lifted my head and began bestowing licks upon the head of his cock as it emerged from the passage he had created. Between our bodies, the air was rife with his dark, musky odor and my own scent. But even as I observed all of this, he kept thrusting, his eyes fixed on my face, glazed with passion. His jaw was slack and his breathing ragged. Faster and harder, he moved. The head of his cock each time it peeked out from between my breasts became redder and more swollen. He began to growl and groan, spitting words of pleasure out with each breath. I watched his cock as though mesmerized as it appeared and then disappeared again. His body quaked above mine and then, as the head emerged again, a jet of milky-white fluid erupted from it to splash onto my chest and shoulders. The next stream hit my chin and cheek as he released my breasts and braced himself with his hands on the wall above the headboard. As some semen sprayed over my lips, I lapped it away as the porn queen I had imagined myself being would, catching it with my tongue and sucking it into my mouth. His taste was salty and bitter, but I swallowed it happily. My chest and face were something of a mess when he finally sank down onto the bed beside me. His breathing was still harsh as he released my wrists from the restraints and massaged my hands to make sure no impairment of the circulation had caused any trouble. His semen was growing cold on my skin, but I wasn't about to complain. Honestly, it was only a few seconds until he'd collected himself enough to fetch another wet cloth and clean me up. With my ankles now released as well, I took the cloth from his hands and wiped away what residue he had missed in his careful ministrations while he collapsed on the bed. We were both silent, content and sated. I went into the bathroom to wash a little better than just the cloth would allow, cleaning away lubricant and bodily fluids with soap and water. When I emerged, he'd remade the bed and put away the ropes and cuffs with which I'd been bound. "Thank you, Master," I murmured, kneeling next to the bedside. I took his hand and kissed it, caressing it with my face. I let myself luxuriate in my role as adoring submissive for a moment. With his other hand, he stroked my head as one would a beloved pet, running his fingers over my hair. Each time we played, I felt more truly his. It was liberating and exhilarating, the freedom I knew when I let myself belong to him. Dana Scully could never have asked for and done the things I had done this evening as Kat, and she would never know the kind of fulfillment I knew right now. Filled with joy and wonder, I let my Master pull me to my feet and settle me into bed. He curled his body around mine, our naked flesh pressed together, and sleep slowly overtook us. In the instant before I finally succumbed to slumber, I remembered our last unfinished bit of business for the day--the punishment I was to choose. But then it was too late--my Master was already asleep, and I was rapidly following him. Anything else would have to wait until the next Saturday. END of APHRODISIA IV - Exploring the Boundaries Special Note: In a D/s dynamic, "no" doesn't necessarily mean "no." A safe-word is assigned for the express purpose of giving the submissive the ability to "fight" and to say "no" and feel they are being forced without actually halting the action. A Dominant has the right to disregard a submissive's refusal for any given act (unless it takes the form of the safe-word) because the submissive has given the Dominant that right prior to the act itself. Some D/s relationships will even discard the use of a safe-word, but that is a very special kind of trusting relationship reached after a great deal of negotiation between partners who know each other's limits *EXTREMELY* well. That means that in the sort of situation depicted in this story, Scully's refusal to capitulate and Mulder's use of force in a sexual context *does not* equal rape. I would never in any way, shape, or form condone rape, even the kind seen in so many fan-fics where "he forces her, but then she realizes she likes it." Rape is a heinous crime in which a person's power and control over their own body is stolen without their consent. What is depicted in this chapter is a scene from a relationship where one partner has, willingly and with full informed consent, given over her personal power and control over her body to the other partner. Flames about rape-fic in disguise will be used to light my Christmas candles. Feedback will be welcomed at kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Wed, 10 Jan 2001 12:47:17 -0600 Subject: \"Aphrodisia V\" NC-17 (1/5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns by Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Source: direct Reply To: kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Aphrodisia V - Head Games (Part 1 of 2) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: EXTREME NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess. Definitely "Orison." Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7 Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut, BDSM Summary: Scully and Mulder have to face the consequences of Scully's actions in Aphrodisia IV. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: WARNING: Explicit sex and BDSM activities contained herein. If you are under-aged or oversensitive, do not proceed. Don't come complaining to me if you read this and don't like it for the content. Again, I want to thank my beta readers, Beth, Shelba, Tiff, Nancy, Indi, Cal, Sybil and Jennifer. I would also like to thank all those who have written in supporting the story and asking for the next installment. Sorry it took so long, guys. If you have questions about some of the subject matter herein, be sure to check out my resource links page on my web-site (http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns) which has links to just about anything you could possibly need to know. This story is a continuation of my "Aphrodisia" series and really works better if you read the others first. You can find those at my web-site too. Feedback is welcomed at kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com On with the story... SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM-related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. Disclaimer: Subtitle unabashedly borrowed from Foreigner. I don't own their song any more than I own The X-Files, Mulder, Scully, et al. Talk to da boys at 1013. APHRODISIA V - Head Games "Mulder?" I looked up from the file to meet his laughing eyes. "Yeah, Scully?" "You're nuts." "Thank you for that astute scientific analysis, Agent Scully. Now tell me something we don't already know." "No, I want to make sure we've got a firm grasp of the basics here, starting with your mental state. Mulder--the Milwaukee *bear-man*?" "The victim was seen being attacked by a large biped with shaggy fur." "According to the police report, the victim was a crack whore whose pimp happened to *really* like his long fur coat." "A pimp who has an alibi for the time of her disembowelment." "His alibi is his supplier, a man rumored to enjoy roughing up the girls on occasion just for kicks. He's just as likely a suspect as the pimp. Who says he didn't get a little over enthusiastic with the victim and then left her pimp to deal with the messy after-effects?" "You do, Scully, after you perform the autopsy." "Mulder--!" "What's the matter? You got something against Wisconsin?" "In the middle of winter? Yes, actually I do, especially when there's nothing about this case to indicate it might be an X-File." "Ah, but you're forgetting the anomalous bear-paw print found at the scene of the crime in the victim's blood." "I'm not forgetting the paw print, Mulder. Nor am I forgetting the fact that the gentleman who identified the print is a sheriff's deputy who last saw a bear paw print in the Cub scouts thirty years ago. Not exactly what I would call a highly qualified zoologist." "Scully--can I ask you a question?" "Sure. What?" "We're thirty-five thousand feet in the air on our way to Milwaukee. Why are you arguing this with me now?" "Because I spent the take-off hoping it was a joke. Besides, I didn't have a chance to talk to you until I met you at the boarding gate. But the fact remains that chasing after the Minnesota bear-man is a stretch even for you, Mulder. Your eyewitness is a wino who staggered out of his cardboard box at the wrong moment, your main suspect--*human* suspect, that is--has a bucketful of reasons or non-reasons for killing the girl, and the person providing his alibi has every reason to want to keep him out of jail. Now, unless you tell me we're on this case for another helping of some really to-die-for barbeque, I may have to hurt you." "Scully?" "Yeah?" "Wanna join the Mile-High club?" And there it was. After seven years, Mulder finally had me speechless. * * * * * It wasn't killer barbeque that brought Mulder and me to Wisconsin. It wasn't a bear-man, either. It wasn't even to fuck me in a broom-closet-sized toilet at thirty-five thousand feet, an offer I regretfully declined. No, Mulder's express purpose for rousting me out of bed at an ungodly hour and telling me we needed to get to Milwaukee ASAP was much more nefarious. Mulder was trying to drive me right out of my fucking mind. It had started Sunday morning. After showering and dressing, Mulder found me in the living room, staring once more at the whips and crops on his coffee table. It took all my resolve not to apologize for, or somehow excuse the fact that the night I hadn't made my decision and asked for my punishment. Quite frankly, there hadn't been an opportunity. That meant that we would have to wait until the following Saturday to do it. All right, that was fine- -except that Mulder wouldn't let me *forget*, even for the shortest while, what was waiting for me. The whips never left the coffee table. They sat there, 24 hours a day, waiting. If Mulder had a case file to go over, he laid it out on the table on top of them. If we sat down to watch television, our drinks sat on the coffee table next to them. They were the last thing I saw at night when I stayed at his apartment, and the first thing that greeted me in the morning. I proposed staying at my place a couple times, but Mulder always had a reason to stay at his place, so I stayed with him because I flat-out didn't like sleeping alone anymore. And now this trip to Wisconsin. On a Thursday. If things with this case didn't go smoothly, it was quite conceivable that we would be here over the weekend, which meant that there would be no Saturday play-time to bring a reprieve to my anxiety over the whole issue. I would have to wait another week before we could resolve it. Mulder knew this, but he had chosen to pursue the case anyway. Of course, I was being unreasonable. Admittedly, the case was weak, but we'd chased weaker cases in the past. That was just what Mulder and I did. Except I still couldn't help feeling put out by it, or that he was taunting me somehow. Okay, I had to admit, the paw-print *was* ursine. I even emailed a picture of it to a zoologist to confirm the fact. How it had ended up in a dead woman's blood, I hadn't a clue. And the four parallel gouges down the woman's torso- -which I determined to be the cause of death upon performing the autopsy--looked remarkably like claw-marks. But that still didn't alter the reality of the situation: there could be no bear-man. Mulder knew this, knew what I'd think of the case, and brought me along anyway. Not that he'd had much of a choice, of course; I would have torn him limb from limb if he'd left me behind. I was still grousing Friday afternoon, right up until the moment I was compelled to put four bullets into a 350-lb pimp in a floor-length fur coat who attacked me in the autopsy bay. His motives might have been related to the stash of crack the girl had taken from his supplier and secreted inside her person. In my autopsy report on the pimp, I took special care to note the man's excessively hairy body, thick, gnarled claw-like fingers, the anomalous bone-structure in his feet, and his extended canines. As Mulder read the report on the flight back to D.C., he looked up at me with a gleam in his eye. "Extended canines?" "So help me, Mulder, if you say 'were-bear' I may have to hurt you." "Weird shit happens, Scully." "Can we take a moment to apply a scientific analysis to the concept of 'weird shit?'" "Scully?" "Yeah?" "Wanna join the Mile-High Club?" I met his naughty smile with one of my own. "Yeah." * * * * * We landed in DC late Friday night. Working our way through baggage claim and driving home seemed to take forever. We finally crawled, exhausted, into bed. Oddly, considering we'd spent all week at his apartment at Mulder's insistence, we ended up at my place, and I had been too tired to pay any attention to the Mulder-logic behind that maneuver. When I awoke Saturday morning, it was to the sound of my alarm going off. My first thought upon seeing daylight outside my bedroom window, was that I was desperately late for work. My second thought, which came an instant later, was that I didn't normally set my alarm on Saturday, much less for nine o'clock in the morning. My third thought was that I was quite alone in the bed. At first, I didn't think much of Mulder's absence. It wasn't unusual for him to go fetch breakfast or at the very least coffee, if he awakened before I did. Which was when, in my circular, morning-befuddled logic, I came back to the realization that it was Saturday. Any cognitive difficulties I'd been experiencing upon awakening instantly fled. It was Saturday. Our play-day. And Mulder wasn't here. Where was he? What did this mean? When would he be back? The phone by my bedside rang and I practically pounced on it. "Hello?" the greeting came out more like a demand. "Kat." It wasn't a question, but a statement. I felt my body respond, conditioned now to the arousal I experienced when I was transformed from Scully to Kat, and Mulder to Master. There was a mental response as well, where cognitive thought took a back seat to instinct and emotion. I responded the only way I possibly could. "Yes, Master?" "I left a note on the kitchen counter next to an overnight bag I packed for you this morning. There's an address in the note, which is where I expect you to be in one hour. I'll be arriving shortly after you, so don't be alarmed if I'm not there. Please be ready for me when I arrive. The key is in the outside pocket of the overnight bag. We'll be staying there tonight." He sounded so serious and formal. I'd noticed this about him during our D/s play; every interaction takes on a sort of ritual significance. His idea of how I should behave as a submissive tends to hearken back to old ideas of chivalry and gallantry. When I am Kat, he opens my doors for me, orders for both of us when we go out to eat, and in general behaves like a perfectly groomed gentleman. This includes, unless he is intentionally taunting me to provoke a reaction, speaking to me with a sort of courtly politeness that would sound ridiculous if we weren't both so intent on realizing this control he wields over me. In a way, I take comfort in that sort of interaction. If he had addressed me casually, I would have feared he didn't take the D/s play seriously. If he had been patronizing or condescending, I would have feared that my role as submissive had somehow lessened his respect for me. As it is, I am absolutely confident that he respects me, both in and out of my role as submissive. That is perhaps the biggest mystery of all to me; even when exercising total control over me, when he possesses the ability to command anything of me, no matter how undignified or embarrassing, he is always conscientious about conveying an attitude of respect and admiration. "Yes, Master," I finally answered, finding my voice. "Good. I'll see you in an hour," he replied and disconnected before I could say anything else. As I crawled out of bed and made my way to the shower, I felt myself sinking into the soft, peaceful submissive state known as headspace. My frantic thoughts stopped racing and were instead replaced with acceptance. Nothing mattered now except that the time had finally come when I could let go of all the cares and concerns that weighed me down during the week. They didn't matter today--all that mattered was him. I had only to please him, or allow him to please himself with me. In return, I was pampered, cherished, and given a brand of ecstasy I'd never dreamed existed. The contentment wasn't to last, however. To be precise, it endured until the moment when, naked under my long-sleeved button-down dress and trench coat, I went to retrieve the overnight bag off the kitchen counter and found the note he had promised me. It did contain the address at which I was to arrive, but it was the post-script that caught my attention. "P.S. -- I expect you to make your decision by the time you arrive. Master." My decision? Oh--*that* decision. Damn. Grimly, I picked up the overnight bag and discovered it to be very light, as though practically empty. What exactly would he need me to bring to one of our play sessions, anyway? Clothes were prohibited, so surely I didn't require anything to wear. What could he possibly need from my apartment that he couldn't get from his? Suspicious, I opened the bag and closed my eyes as my worst fears were realized. He'd packed the back with the paddle and crops that had decorated his coffee table all week long. Shit. How had they gotten over here? Had he gone to his place just to retrieve them and bring them here? Why, when he could easily have taken them to this--wherever it was-- himself? Just to play with my head? Or had they already been here? How, when they had been on his coffee table until Wednesday night, and on Thursday we had gone to Milwaukee? Unless-- Oh, God, he hadn't brought them to Wisconsin, had he? Had he thought we might get stuck there over the weekend and decided to bring our play-day with us? Surely it wouldn't be the first time we'd found ourselves stuck somewhere over the weekend and left to our own devices where entertainment was concerned, but still... I had a decision to make, and I had to make it within the next twenty minutes. What would happen when I got to the address he had given me? Would he strip me down and do it then and there? We always started our Saturday play-days with him making love to me--I quailed at the thought that I could walk into a cold, unfamiliar place and find a vengeful master there waiting to exact the toll for my foolish rebellion the week before. Mulder wouldn't do that to me, I knew that. But it wasn't Mulder I would be meeting there. Would my Master do that? If so, how could I stand it? The anticipation and even, of all the absurd things, curiosity regarding the process left me feeling tingly and short of breath. I didn't know how I could get through this--if nothing else, the wait was sure to drive me mad. Gnawing nervously on my lip, I zipped up the bag and carried it and the note to my car. * * * * * The address revealed a small, brick, ranch-style house in an older suburban development. The yard was neatly kept if not artfully landscaped, which was an accomplishment considering the surrounding properties. The neighborhood was one that had just reached the point where it could fall into neglect. It wasn't old enough to be retro-trendy, nor new enough to be desirable by the yuppie crowd. Some of the surrounding houses showed peeling paint and unkempt landscaping. The development had cropped up before land- use laws went into heavy effect, and the houses were spaced comfortably apart on acre-sized yards, not cheek-and-jowl close like so many newer housing developments. Nothing was remarkable about the neighborhood, or even the house to which I'd been directed. As instructed, I retrieved the key from the overnight bag and let myself in. The inside was neat and tidy but obviously uninhabited. The heat had been turned on to a comfortable room temperature, and without specific instructions, I shed my clothes and put them away. He had told me to be ready for him. When my Master arrived, he would find me naked as suited his preferences. Slipping off my shoes, I padded barefoot over the taupe carpet, so new it hadn't yet lost the smell of the textile mill. The walls were a very dark cream, bordering on brown, and at the top they arched into a white plaster ceiling, a curved molding saving the room from being too angular. A large brick fireplace dominated one wall, but other than a single chair, the living area contained no furniture. The kitchen was empty, with only a few dishes and no food in the pantry. Some take-out deli sandwiches lurked in the refrigerator, which was my largest clue to date that Mulder had been in this house. Silently, I made my way down the hall to the bedrooms. The first two doors I opened led to small, empty rooms, and the third to a family-sized bathroom complete with dual sinks and a mirror that covered most of the wall. With the exception of a stack of towels on the counter top and a package of toilet paper under the sink, it, too, was empty. I opened the door to the final room and paused, taking in the setup before me. It was completely white. The carpet was covered in white sheets, and more of the same were draped down the walls in loose folds. Large, bright lamps lit the room with a painful, glaring light. A futon on a natural oak frame lay opened against one wall, and it, too, was covered in white draperies. On a table beside the futon, all of our toys--the dildos and plugs, gloves, condoms, lube, vibrators--were neatly arranged. The room looked like-- --A photographer's studio. Dumbly, I turned to look at the opposite end of the room, and sure enough, a high-end video camera I recognized as belonging to the Lone Gunmen sat on a tripod. A large, older Nikon camera sat on a table nearby. My heart skipped a beat and then began to race. I glanced around the room again in a panic, looking for any sign that surely he didn't intend what all this appeared to indicate. My mouth went dry with trepidation even as the flesh between my legs grew wet and swollen with arousal. I heard a sound behind me and spun around to find him standing there, his dark eyes intent upon me. A second wave of arousal rippled through my gut--dear Jesus, how could the mere sight of the man do that to me? His expression was approving as he took in my nudity and he gave me a smile I'd have gladly walked over hot coals for. As he approached me, he held out his hands and within them was the collar I took such pride in wearing. Out of a habit that had evolved into ritual, I knelt before him and bowed my head so that he could fasten the leather and steel around my neck. Another rush of arousal, a spasm of adoration filled my chest, and my ears rang with his calmly murmured words as he asked, as always, my verbal confirmation of my submissive state. Ceremony performed, he removed his jacket and tossed it carelessly into a corner behind the cameras. He was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and his cock bulged behind his fly. I watched him expectantly, wondering what was next, when he unbuckled his belt and pushed his jeans and underwear down his hips and nodded at me. He held my head as I took his warm, throbbing cock in my hands and stroked it. It felt alive in my hands, filled with blood and energy. "Use your mouth, Kat," he commanded, placing his hands alongside my face. I leaned forward and ran my closed lips over the surface of the shaft, up one side and down the other, and I was rewarded by my Master's swift inhalation as I blew my breath across the tip. I opened my lips and let his cock slide between, caressing, taking my time. Our Saturday mornings tended to be leisurely affairs and I could afford to dawdle. I made love to his cock with my mouth, worshipping it with my tongue and lips. I brought him to the brink and then backed off. I took him deep into my throat, then pulled back to suck on the glans, and repeated the process until his head was thrown back, his hips thrusting ever so slightly as an indication of his momentary loss of control. Right now, he was mine. It was a very long time before he gently pushed me away. Wordlessly, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and guided me to the futon. He positioned me on my hands and knees and plunged into my waiting body with little delay, causing me to moan softly into the white sheets. Originally I hadn't cared for this position much--while rumored to hit the G-spot better, it actually accomplished the opposite for me unless the position was just exactly right. Unfortunately, that correct position was with my knees wide-spread and my chest practically pressed into the mattress, a pose which wreaked no little hell with my back, knees, and hips. But in my submissive mindset, it was one of my favorite positions. The idea of him taking me in a way that held little of the trappings of love and was rather totally about the sex, and even more, about his pleasure, was one that excited me tremendously. It put a distance between us--I couldn't just look up and see the face of my lover, the man who adored me more than life. When he was behind me, fucking me with a firm grip on my hips, he was a stranger to me, as foreign and exotic as Mulder himself was familiar and comforting. I buried my face in the sheets and gave vent to the animalistic growls and moans that welled up within me as he slammed into me--deep, God, so deep and hard. I felt his chest press against my back as he bent over to caress my clitoris. He wasn't gentle, and the feeling was so intense it bordered on painful. He brought me off quickly, with a rough grinding of his fingertips against my swollen, throbbing bundle of nerves, and I howled when I came. I was still shuddering with aftershocks when I realized he had gone very still, laying on my back with his hips against my ass. For a moment, I thought he might have come and I had missed it, but the hard mass of his cock within my body belied that theory. His arm was outstretched as he fumbled at the bedside table, and then he was lifting his weight off me again and thrusting softly. His hands had left my hips, however, and he wasn't touching me in any way but where he was joined to me by his penis. It wasn't until I felt his fingers, slick with lubricant, in the cleft between my buttocks that I realized what he was doing and sighed in contented acceptance. Lying snuggled against him in bed Tuesday night, we'd discussed the events of the previous Saturday, particularly our first experience with anal sex. With explicit words and praise, I told him how wondrous I'd found the encounter. I came close to asking that we do it again that night but I hadn't, because that night our lovemaking had been less about sex than being close to each other. Or maybe that was an excuse. The truth was that I still couldn't bring myself to ask for the more exotic acts outside the scene. Kat could be uninhibited; she had permission from her Master to do so. Scully couldn't. Not yet, anyway--but I was learning. Instead, I had raised myself up and leaned over him, making love to him slowly and gently as I spoke. With my hands and mouth and breasts, I'd caressed his entire body from head to toe. As time passed, I became more comfortable in the aggressive role and he was content to lie back and let me convey my affection. I had to admit I tended to be a bit passive sexually--it wasn't something I was particularly proud of, but it was what I'd been conditioned to. I was certainly influenced by years of Catholic school in which the underlying message was always that no good girl would partake in unmarried sex, much less enjoy it, much less initiate it. Perhaps it was a lifetime of habituation to letting others take the lead. In previous relationships, my lovers were much older and more experienced. They were particular about how they wanted their sex--and it was *their* sex. It was best that I didn't presume to interfere or disrupt their pattern. Perhaps I'd never cared to do more than laying back and letting them do what they would. If I was lucky, they were conscientious enough to care about my pleasure. I'd become very proficient at quietly bringing myself to climax after my lover had rolled over and fallen asleep. But Mulder deserved better than that, deserved everything I had to give him, for the time and affection and pleasure he devoted solely to me. On Tuesday, I'd brought him to his peak with my hands, murmuring to him how beautiful and wonderful I found him. It had taken a concerted effort to speak--so often, Mulder and I have trouble with words, me much more than him. In sex, it's easy to let one's actions substitute for words that still need to be spoken regardless of the acts that accompany them. Mulder deserved it all, and I didn't want there to be any doubt of how I felt. Still, I hadn't been able to get the thought of the overwhelming sensations of that encounter on Saturday out of my mind all week, and now, as his finger slipped inside my rear, he echoed the sentiment. "I've been imagining this since last Saturday," he growled. Then more softly, "This feel okay?" With a whimpered affirmation, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feelings as he took his time preparing me, and then he pulled out of my vagina and slid with exquisite care into the other passage. It was tighter than it had been the week before, my position on my knees creating a tension in my thighs and buttocks that hadn't been there last time. An instant of discomfort accompanied his initial penetration until the head of his cock was inside, at which time the sensation segued into nothing but devastating pleasure. Afterward, I lay shaken and quivering with pleasure while my Master retrieved a cloth and cleaned me up. It wasn't until I opened my eyes and looked over at the video equipment on the other side of the room that I noticed a green light shining on the side of the camera. Had that light been on the entire time? I didn't recall seeing it when I had first noticed the machinery upon entering the room, but that didn't mean it hadn't been there. Had our entire interlude just been videotaped? Had that camera witnessed my going down on him? Had it seen me take his cock in my mouth and relish the scent and flavor and feel of him? Was my calling him Master and begging him to fuck me harder immortalized on magnetic tape now? Dear God, was there now a video of him fucking me in the ass and my loving every minute of it? The worst of my suspicions appeared to be confirmed when my Master grabbed a remote control off the bedside table. Upon pressing a button, the light blinked out of existence. I wasn't sure if I was more horrified or turned on by the possibility that it was all true. What would he do with these tapes? Why was he making them? Would I see them someday? What would it be like to see myself like that-- would I be mortified or aroused? In the height of my passion, did I look erotic or asinine? I sat in the middle of the futon, slowly inching my knees closer to my chest as I curled into a self-conscious ball. "It will never be seen by anyone but me--and maybe you, if you're good," my Master assured me, answering my unspoken thoughts. I tried to venture a smile of acknowledgment, but I couldn't quite pull it off. I couldn't think beyond the idea that someday, by whatever accident, someone else might see--someone else might *know*... "Come on," he said, pulling on my hand. "We need to wash up, and then we'll have lunch before we continue." * * * * * The riding gear was spread out on the breakfast bar when I made my way to the kitchen. Another knot of fear took up residence in my gut. He must have taken them out of my overnight bag and put them out on display again. Damn it. Why didn't he just use the damned things and get it over with? Because I hadn't asked him to. He might keep the implements out as a constant reminder, might refuse to let me forget or ignore what must be done, but he wouldn't actually do it until I requested it. Oh, God. He was going to do it; he was honestly going to force me to ask him to hit me, to hurt me. I don't know if it was fear of the actual physical pain that was holding me back, or the rebellion of my pride against *asking* to be punished. It was so ignoble to request one's own chastisement. To do so would be to swallow every last ounce of dignity I possessed. How could I possibly do it? I had to force myself not to laugh aloud as I realized the irony of the situation. I would submit to any number of indignities as long as there was pleasure to be had at the end of it, but take the earth-shattering orgasms out of the equation, and I wasn't nearly as ideal a submissive, was I? It was easy to yield myself to his will when it brought all sorts of pleasure, when everything that happened was something I enjoyed, even if I was embarrassed about enjoying it. But it wasn't nearly so easy when there was almost certainly no pleasure to be had in the experience. I had no pride when it came to pursuing sexual pleasure, but I was full of it (in more ways than one) when the time came to fulfill the letter of my commitment as a submissive. My Master was already at the breakfast bar eating one of the sandwiches I'd found in the refrigerator, and the other sandwich sat on the counter beside the whips waiting for me. I picked it up and took a bite, but it was dry and tasteless in my mouth. I swallowed with difficulty and finally spoke. "I'd--um, I'd like to get the punishment over with after lunch, if that's okay," I said at last, practically choking on the words. I found myself blushing, ashamed to discover I was becoming aroused again. Dear God, why? It was ridiculous, unthinkable even, to get excited at the idea of being punished. That thought was just too much--I couldn't process it right now. He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes cutting through me with the intensity of his scrutiny, until finally he shook his head. "No, that's not okay." I stared at him, stunned. "You don't plan on punishing me for last week?" "I most certainly plan on punishing you, but I told you very clearly at the time that you had to ask me for it. You need to decide when and how, and then you need to ask. So far, I can't see that you've done any of the above." Hadn't I just--? I closed my eyes with frustration and bewilderment. What did he want from me? I was starting to get pissed off when I saw the pained expression on his face. Damn it. It was hard to remember sometimes that this was something he wanted to do perhaps less than I wanted him to do it. I got so absorbed in what I was feeling that I occasionally overlooked what was going on with him. He had told me that from the very beginning, but I was consistently neglecting that fact as I got caught up in what was happening with me. He would punish me because it was required of him as my Master, but he wouldn't--and probably couldn't--take pleasure in it, and he wouldn't do it until I was sure I was ready for it. I had to ask him to reassure him it was all right. I fell silent, staring hard at the items on the countertop. How could I possibly choose? I was dealing with a complete unknown. When my Master had first showed the tack to me, he'd explained some of the differences between them. From his description, there was one he considered to be far worse than the others, so much so that he had even said he didn't plan on using it except for the most severe offenses. I had shrugged it off at the time--it had never entered my mind that I would ever do something requiring it. It figured the first time I truly screwed up in my submissive role, I did it in the worst way I could imagine. What would it feel like, that single braided cord? Surely it must sting something awful--could I possibly endure it? I had to, one way or the other. I'd committed the offense; I must accept the consequences. He would never do anything to me that I couldn't endure, or that would injure me, and even if he got close, I had my safe-word. If I was going to do this, I had to commit to it completely, not just when it felt good. I also had to choose the number of strokes. Ten was the first round number that came to mind, but it sounded insultingly low, too light for what I'd done. Twenty was the number of minutes he'd put the nipple clamps on me the previous weekend--a test I had failed. Perhaps I could rectify that as well... "This one," I sighed finally, picking up the wicked- looking, single-tailed signal whip. With the whip clutched in my hands, I knelt before him, my lunch forgotten. I drew a deep breath and swallowed my screaming pride with a loud gulp. "Please, Master. Please punish me with this whip, twenty strokes, for my disobedience last weekend." When I finally dared to look up at his face, his expression was tense and his eyes troubled. "No," he said again. "I won't use that one on you--you don't know what kind of damage it can do. I'll use the crop," he indicated the tool with the flat fold of leather at the end, "but to compensate, I'll start with ten swats with the paddle." Bewildered, I stammered, "I just--I can't imagine doing anything worse than what I did last week. I thought that it deserved the harshest punishment you could give me..." "You're right. You were horribly behaved," he chastised, and I hung my head in shame. It was the first time he'd ever actually criticized my behavior as his submissive, and despite my trepidation, I would rather take a hundred lashes than face the shame I felt in that instant. I was a person who had always taken pride in excelling, no matter what it was I had undertaken to do. But in this, I had messed up and I hated that fact. "But it was also your first offense. However, I will give you *two* strokes with the signal whip, when we're finished, so you can know what it feels like, and what will be waiting for you if you ever behave that way again." I nodded slowly, nervousness twisting my gut in tight, nauseating knots. Two strokes. That was a vast difference from the twenty I had chosen--was it really that bad? If it was, what would have happened if he hadn't gainsaid me on the issue? How could I possibly have borne it? The nervous rushing of my pulse increased as my fear--as well as, I was ashamed to admit, my arousal--mounted. "Will you--" I paused and cleared my throat as my voice threatened to crack. "Will you please do it now? I don't think I'll be able to eat until it's over with." "Yes, I will. Go back to the bedroom and get on your hands and knees on the bed. I'll be right there." He handed me the riding crop and wooden paddle with the leather on one surface and fur on the other, and I rose to my feet and made my way back to the room with the camera and futon. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked back at him over my shoulder for a second, and then turned away. My last glimpse of my master was of him very carefully fingering the signal whip. * * * * * I should have known. Did I think I'd cornered the market on overly harsh self-judgement? Why had I even thought to buy that signal whip? I'd thought I'd use it just for scare-effect. I certainly never imagined that she'd seriously consider having it used on her. She didn't know. She didn't know how a hard strike of that wicked little cord could burn like a living flame on your skin, lingering as though a stripe of molten lava had landed on the flesh. I'd never used one, but I'd felt it. I'd felt that streak of liquid fire on my back and ass. I'd borne the welts from a single-tail whip--how could I possibly consider seeing them mar her lovely flesh? I could have used it, sure, but the fact was, I didn't trust myself to wield it without injuring her. Maybe if I had more practice...But then, how could I possibly practice when I had no intention of doing this on a regular basis? At least with only two strokes, I stood better odds of not doing any damage. But whether or not I wanted to do it, I was going to have to give her a taste, just so she'd know why she couldn't ask that of me. I had chosen two because one is too easily forgotten, or dismissed as a fluke. With a single stroke, it would be too easy to think that it couldn't feel that way *every* time. I thought I was being so clever the previous weekend, making her anticipate the punishment all week before it happened. I'd even rubbed it in throughout the week, prodding her by keeping the instruments constantly on display. I even went so far as to hide them in the trunk of the car before we left for the airport on Thursday, to have them ready if we got back from Milwaukee in time for the weekend. But in doing all of this, I had also tormented myself. I think perhaps it was my way of hardening myself against what I had to do. Every time I looked at them, I could get a little closer to accepting the inevitability of what must happen if I was going to play this role for Scully. But now that the moment was finally upon us, I was once again reluctant. God, I was afraid--I didn't want to hurt her, and I especially didn't want to *like* hurting her. But the sight of her kneeling down to request her punishment had affected me deeply--her eyes wide and sincere, slightly afraid, her face on level with my groin...Her posture and comportment had been so beautifully submissive, I'd felt a rush of excitement. I had absolute ownership of her at that moment and I couldn't deny I was aroused by that. But I didn't know if I could handle it if I got turned on while punishing her. *...Now you must relish my tears...* The passage came back to haunt me again. In an odd way, Scully's tears were more intimate than making love with her. When she cried in front of me, on those rare and precious occasions, it was because the last barrier had been shattered. It was a moment when her pain overwhelmed her tremendous pride, and it was humbling that she would let me be witness to it. But while it was an honor for me to be present when it finally happened, that she trusted me enough to be so vulnerable before me, it also meant that something had hurt her deeply. If something hurt badly enough to get past those barriers, it was more pain than I ever wanted to see her in. How could I relish her tears when all I could do was ache for her pain? She was sitting on the edge of bed looking anxious. When I entered the room, she rose and crawled onto the bed on her hands and knees, her backside facing me. I allowed myself a second to be awed by the instant trust that allowed her to do that, to immediately and easily render herself vulnerable to me. Her head was turned to the side and she watched me approach warily. I picked up the paddle and weighed it in my hand. The leather-covered surface would carry a wicked sting--if we were just doing this for the fun of it, I might have started with the fur-covered side. I would have made this something pleasant--and I defy anyone, no matter what their inclination, not to enjoy a well-delivered erotic spanking. But this was supposed to be punishment, and so it wasn't meant to be pleasant. Nevertheless, I couldn't bring myself to be cruel enough to start in full strength when she was neither warmed up nor used to such treatment. "Ten strokes with the paddle," I reminded her. I took a long moment to caress her backside and learn the layout of her flesh. Where the muscle was stretched tauter, it would be more painful than where there was more padding. Where bones were closer to the skin, there was more risk of bruising and tissue damage. From reading up on how to conduct a punishment scene during the week, the most meaningful lesson I came away with was to always learn the topography of your submissive. I struck her with the leather-covered side of the paddle before I had a chance to psyche myself out of my resolve. We'd agreed that this was the way it was going to be and I'd made a commitment--there was no going back. Her startled yelp was more of surprise than pain, for I hadn't struck very hard. Still, the skin of her bottom developed a pink patch as blood rushed to the surface. My next blow fell on the other side of her ass and left an identical pink mark covering half her buttock. The third was a little lower than the first, and a little harder, and so forth. When I struck the sensitive spot where her thighs curved into her ass, she moaned loudly in her throat and I clenched my jaw to keep from responding by calling the whole fucking thing off, or for apologizing to her. I remembered in "Story of O" how O's tormenters had bragged that they judged their handiwork with the whip not by her cries, but by the quality of welts they raised, thus eliminating the possibility that pity might render them less harsh in meting out the blows. I didn't want that kind of detachment, needed to be aware of what was going on with her. I could no doubt separate myself--I'd faced just about every sort of brutality human beings could manage in one form or another, as an investigator and profiler. But that wasn't an option here--I had to be aware of what she was experiencing, had to know if I was going too far, regardless of how willing she might be to be taken there. I had to know if I was inflicting any sort of damage, yet, I also needed to be able to separate myself from my sympathy for her, at least enough to get the job done. This is Kat, I told myself firmly. It's not Scully. I'm not hurting Scully. But still, I couldn't quite make myself think of her as Kat. Except for that first exclamation, she seemed to struggle not to yell. It might have been that she wasn't in all that much pain, for though my blows were getting progressively harder, preparing her for the riding crop that would come next, they really weren't all that hard. Of course, I wasn't on the receiving end, which might color my perception a little. Her body quivered with tension, and at the seventh stroke, she began moving to try to escape the blows. My eighth swing grazed her hip because of her wriggling. I stopped and set the paddle aside. I grabbed her hips, finding her flesh hot to the touch beneath my hands. "I'm going to have to repeat that stroke," I told her firmly. "And I'll repeat every stroke that misses because you're moving. I'll tie you down if you think you can't keep still." She turned her face toward me and met my eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes bright. Shit. This internal vacillation I was going through was ridiculous. I'd been on the receiving end of a paddling--I knew, though it hurt desperately at the moment, it was nothing that would last beyond the moment the flesh cooled down again. Why was I struggling with this so much? "I--Yes, please, I think that would be better." "Okay. On your stomach, arms and legs spread," I commanded. She obeyed, assuming the position I had indicated. I had already affixed chains to the corners of the futon frame, screwing eyebolts into the wood and using steel clips to attach the chains. Briskly, I buckled the suspension cuffs I had purchased around her wrists to give her something to clench her fists around. She might end up struggling and I wanted the protection for her wrists the cuffs provided. I repeated the process with her ankles, then slid two pillows under her hips to keep them elevated. She would still be able to rock somewhat, but not with nearly the range of motion she'd have had in the previous position. The height of the futon meant I would either have to sit or bend far over to strike her with the paddle, but that problem would be solved when I moved on to the crop with its longer handle. In the meantime, I had three more strokes with the paddle, and I would need to make these hard, now that she was a little more prepared. Scully was intelligent enough to know if I was holding back, and she wouldn't thank me for stinting. I was afraid that if I had to keep my balance while bending over and paddling her, my accuracy and the force of the blows would be affected, causing me to hit her too hard, so I chose to sit. "Three more with the paddle," I reminded her, running my hands over her again to get to know the new layout of her tissue. Actually, I realized with her muscles a little looser in this position, the pain might be a little less severe. It would sting more on the surface of the skin, but the blow wouldn't penetrate into the flesh as it would have in the other position. Though she jerked each time a new blow fell, the only sounds she made through the final strokes with the paddle were loud grunts too soft to be classified as cries. She did try to move again, but a couple of times her movements would bring her closer to the paddle rather than further away from it. I'd thought I'd set a fairly predictable rhythm to my strokes, but perhaps she hadn't caught onto that enough to predict where the next one would land. On the tenth stroke, she wailed softly and buried her face against her upper arm. I lay down beside her, caressing her soft, cool back and burning ass, murmuring words of comfort and love and reassurance. She was trembling and breathing hard. This, I realized, felt good. I hadn't felt any pleasure while using the paddle, not the first hint of arousal, but to feel her in my arms, shaking and unsteady, brought out something fierce and protective within me. I enjoyed holding and comforting her. I enjoyed her body quivering next to mine, and God help me, even the warmth of her ass as I stroked it. So where exactly did that with regards to my reluctance to punish her? "Jesus, that hurt," she finally whispered, raising her bright pink face at last. Then she gave a self-effacing grimace. "I guess that's sort of the point, isn't it?" I couldn't help but notice the past tense on the word "hurt." Right about now, the pain should be abating, leaving in its stead a pleasant, tingling warmth. I ran my fingertips softly over her buttock and saw her shiver. Her nerve endings would be hypersensitive now, so that even the lightest touch would have a profound effect. I laughed a little at the ironic glance that accompanied her remark. "I suppose so. Are you ready to go on?" I asked, kissing her softly on the nose. She hesitated, then nodded solemnly. For a moment I thought I saw a flicker of something I recognized in her eyes. I wasn't sure if it was fear or arousal, but I couldn't bring myself to analyze either possibility too closely. Drawing a deep breath, I rose from the futon and picked up the long-stemmed riding crop. I caressed her bright, warm ass for a moment, then swung the crop, again starting fairly lightly to allow her to become used to the sensation. It cracked against her flesh and she made a small squealing sound. In the middle of the pink flesh of her buttocks, a small white patch appeared and quickly darkened. I didn't pause, but landed several more strokes in rapid succession, covering the whole surface of her ass. She hid her face, but the tension in her shoulders, the clenched fists above the cuffs, the way her toes curled all belied her struggle to remain silent. I wondered if it would help to tell her she could cry out, or if that would only shame her and make her dilemma more difficult. Scully was a proud woman who took great pains to demonstrate her strength. If she needed to remain silent to prove her own endurance, I wasn't going to disrupt that--whatever made it easier for her to get through this. On the seventh strike of the crop, she gasped loudly, sucking in a deep sobbing breath. She panted with a quiet, hiccoughing sound through the next two blows, and on the tenth, moaned deep in her throat. Whether I wanted it or not, my body reacted to that moan--just the tiniest twinge in my gut. I'd heard an identical moan a hundred times when we were making love. Even though my brain knew that this time, it was not a moan of pleasure or passion. Her ass and upper thighs were mottled with raised pink welts by that point, her flesh quivering with her tension. The eleventh blow caused her to cry out, and each subsequent stroke brought a longer and louder sound until she wailed with each blow. By the time I landed the final strike, I was sweating and trembling and tossed the crop aside with relief. Under the right circumstances, the burn of the crop on properly warmed flesh can be a pleasant thing, but these weren't those circumstances. The goal had been to inflict pain for the purpose of deterring her from other offenses and God help me, I had succeeded. She whimpered softly when I lightly ran my hands over her ass. I could feel the softly raised welts the blows had left behind and the heat of the blood that had been brought to the surface of the skin. When she turned her head to face me, her cheek pressed against the futon, a few shiny tear-tracks streaked her face. I sat beside her on the bed and leaned over, pressing my face against her heated buttock. "Two more," I heard her mutter shakily, and I nodded, pressing a kiss to her red rump. I stood once more and took up the signal whip. I stared for a long moment at the knotted cord attached to the handle, my jaw clenched tightly. She needed to know what it felt like, needed to know why I didn't want to use it on her, but I didn't have to like doing it. I swept the whip lightly across her buttocks for a moment, making sure I had my aim right, and then I brought it down in a swift, slashing gesture. There was really no way to start out gently with this, or the point would be lost. The cord made a whistling sound as it sliced through the air. There was silence for a second after it connected with her flesh, and then Scully reacted. The sound started low in her throat and escalated to a full-fledged wail as the burning began. I knew that burn, knew the slow agony that grew and grew without mercy. She writhed as though attempting to get away from the pain, and I knew that reaction, and the futility of it, too. I hadn't swung it nearly as hard as I could have--harder, and it could easily have broken the skin. As it was, an angry scarlet line marred her buttock. One more, just one more, I chanted in my mind. Biting my lip hard, I brought the crop down again on the other side. This time, her cry came close to being a shriek. Breathless and raw coming from between her clenched teeth, the sound finally eased and she slumped weakly onto the bed. "That's it, it's done," I murmured in relief, sitting once more. I wiped a trembling hand over my upper lip as I slumped beside her. I tried to touch her, to soothe her flaming skin, but the effort drew a shudder and whimper from her. Instead, I released her wrists and ankles and drew her close, holding her tightly against my body. I wanted to apologize to her for her trial, but I couldn't without breaking out of my role as Dominant. The cold fact was, if I regarded her as Kat rather than Scully, she *had* disobeyed and I *did* have an obligation to punish her. My difficulty with accomplishing the task had everything to do with my inability to separate Kat from Scully completely. I was regretting hurting Scully, not punishing Kat. "Thank you, Master," she finally said, her voice quavering. "I'm sorry I disobeyed. I'm sorry I made you punish me." "It's over now," I said softly, lying next to her and rubbing her back. She tried to roll over and press her back against me in the classic spooning position, but the friction of my jeans against her abraded rear brought an abrupt end to that effort in the form of a loud whimper. Instead, she pushed away the pillows that had been under her hips and lay on her stomach close beside me. I continued to caress her and murmured how much I loved her, how brave and strong she was for enduring the punishment, how happy I was that she was mine. I got to tell her all the silly, cliched things that were normally too absurd to speak aloud, and I enjoyed it. For a very long time we lay there while I touched and soothed her. I thought perhaps she had fallen asleep, but when I leaned over to peer at her face, her eyes were open, if unfocused, staring at the far wall. Eventually she spoke, a soft whisper that barely broke the silence of the room. "You hated that, didn't you?" I didn't know how to respond. I didn't *hate* anything we did together, but it had certainly been difficult for me. I took a very long time choosing my words, trying to get my turbulent thoughts into order. The fact was, I suffered with her as I punished her, remembering blows that had befallen me years ago--the shame and humiliation which had accompanied them. But now, holding her, I felt peaceful, content. We'd both made it through the ordeal and we were both all right. I hadn't harmed her. "I told you from the start that I didn't know if I could bring myself to inflict pain on you, Scully," I sighed, laying my head on her back. I intentionally addressed her by her name, breaking from our roles. This wasn't a conversation we could have as Master and Kat. She had asked the question of me as Mulder, and I answered in the same manner. "I've seen you in pain too many times--it's not something I can accept or welcome as the natural course of things." "But you said it yourself; you're not you and I'm not me. I'd love to tell you I'll never disobey again, but I can't," she said slowly. "What I did last weekend, I did because I couldn't *not* do it. But how can you be my Master if you can't bring yourself to punish me when it happens?" "What are you saying, Scully? Are you saying this is something you enjoy--something you want more of?" There was a long, pregnant silence as she closed her eyes and pondered the question. Finally, with an effort, she shifted so that she lay facing me, meeting my eyes as I propped myself up on an elbow. "No?" her response seemed to be more a question than an answer in itself, as if she herself weren't certain of it. "No," she continued, a little more decisively. "What just happened--the pain, the punishment, wasn't something I enjoyed. It hurt and it was humiliating. I was ashamed to know that I had brought it on myself by being disobedient, and I think perhaps that hurt more than the actual blows. But what I'm feeling right now--the sense of safety and contentment and belonging--I didn't know it would be like this. I've never felt more completely *yours* than I do at this moment," she caressed my bare chest with her hand, slowly and lingeringly, and I could see in her face her arousal. "There's nothing you could demand of me that I wouldn't give right now, nothing I wouldn't happily do if you commanded it. I wanted you to possess me, and right now, you do. And I like it, Mulder. I like it a lot." I closed my eyes, overwhelmed for a moment. What she was describing was something I'd never known. Punishment, in my experience, had been nothing other than a means to suffering and humiliation--there had never been any contentment or sense of belonging. All I'd ever felt after Phoebe had whipped me had been her disdain. I felt belittled and degraded, and after the tears had abated and my skin had stopped burning, I'd sworn time and again that I would get out. Even as fucked up as I was, I knew not even I deserved to be treated that way. But then she would seduce me, fuck me until I was doing well to remember my own name, much less any resolve I had made. She'd tell me how sexy she found me when I yelled from the lash, and how no man had ever cared so much about her needs that they would suffer for her pleasure and what an extraordinary, wonderful, selfless person that made me. I didn't stay with her out of some skewed need for flagellation over the sins or perceived sins of my youth; I'd stayed because after the pain, she made me feel worthwhile. In short, she told me everything I needed to hear to convince myself I wasn't a complete waste of good breathing air and, at twenty-two years old, I thought the world revolved between her thighs. Until that moment, I never allowed myself to consider how she had afflicted my later interactions with women. Kristen Kilar was a prime example--she had been just like me. Abused and coerced in a relationship that did nothing but make her feel worthless. When I'd fucked her, I'd done so remembering that like Kristen's lover John, Phoebe also liked to draw blood--she'd just had a different MO. Thrusting into Kristen, I tried desperately to forget the empty hole in my soul that had once been filled by Scully. I remembered the night my back had been so thoroughly scoured that the carpet was a flaming source of agony beneath me as Phoebe rode me with abandon on the floor. I was in so much pain, I was surprised I could even keep it up. But as the pain grew, so did my rage and lust. Finally I took Phoebe by the shoulders, flipped her beneath me, and drove into her body brutally. The force of my thrusts as I fucked her was the force of my anger. If she had once said no or tried to stop me I would have been a rapist, because I wanted to humble her, take away the power she held over me. There was no way in hell I would stop until I had shot all my fury into her body with my semen. But she hadn't said no or fought me. Instead she had run her sharp nails over my welted back and opened the final thin layers of skin left over the welts. The hot, coppery smell of blood had filled the room and she smiled and climaxed harder than I'd ever seen her come. Afterwards, she told me what an amazing lover I was, but that taking the superior position in sex was against the rules and, so sorry, I needed to be punished again... Fuck. Shame filled me at the memory, not that it had happened, but that I had allowed it to continue so long, and that to this day I had a hard time knowing the difference between what was healthy and what wasn't. I closed my eyes against the prickling of tears and sighed loudly. What Scully wanted was so simple and pure, motivated by nothing but love and mutual pleasure. She wasn't asking for anything unreasonable, but God help me, I didn't want to ever look at myself in the mirror and see the man who had screwed Phoebe with such raw, brutal anger and enjoyed it. And worse, I didn't want to see a person who could drive another human being to that point of madness and desperation Phoebe brought me to. I wasn't afraid of hurting Scully--I was afraid of liking it. I was afraid of becoming Phoebe. But there was a difference, one I had a hard time reconciling--I loved Scully, plain and simple. I loved Scully, I loved Kat, I loved her beyond the possibility of any of the ugliness that had infected my relationship with Phoebe intruding on that love. I felt for Scully as my lover, and for Kat as my submissive, all the pure and wonderful things Phoebe had never felt for me. A dominant is as much a protector as a controller, and that was one thing Phoebe had never understood. If I punished Scully as Kat, it wasn't for the purpose of inflicting shame or even pain. It was a means of realizing the power she'd willingly turned over to me in a gesture of trust unlike anything I ever imagined. It was only ugly and shameful if I made it that way. "But, Mulder--" Concern filled Scully's voice as she continued and I felt her move, drawing nearer to me, the warmth of her flesh filling me. "There's one point you seem to be missing. This isn't just about me, and right now, we're talking about how you feel about this. You said it before--if it's not right for one of us, it's not right for either of us. If this isn't working for you, it's okay. We don't need to do it. And I'd rather stop things now than continue with something you don't feel right about. We can end this right now if that's what you need." End of Part 1 of 2 Aphrodisia V - Head Games (Part 2 of 2) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Aphrodisia V - Head Games "You said you felt you needed it," I countered automatically, not thinking about what I was saying. Putting it that way made it sound like I was only doing it for her--that wasn't true, was it? Because if it was, I needed to end this immediately, for both of us. "What I need, Mulder, is to be with you," Scully replied with honest simplicity. "Anything else is negotiable. So if you need to stop, say the word. It's okay." Was that what I needed? I tried to imagine never again knowing the sweetness of Kat during that vital moment of surrender, when the last of her hesitancy faded away and she became mine completely. I cherished those moments, relished the power and trust she invested in me. The connection we forged in these games was something that made the emotional bond we shared stronger. I now knew more about Scully than I ever had before. And Scully was happier, more confident, more at peace with herself and the world. The woman I knew who so often found herself conflicted and confused had changed. So had I, for that matter. Whereas once I'd been reckless and ill-at-ease with everything and everyone, now I was more confident, with a greater sense of personal responsibility. I couldn't believe that it was entirely coincidence that much of this had happened since we began exploring these different sides of ourselves. No, what I needed wasn't to end this very precious and powerful thing we had happening between us--what I needed was to move on and leave my emotional baggage behind. I needed to quit letting the past taint what I shared with Scully. I was doing a disservice to myself and Scully to compare our relationship, and me as the Dominant partner, to what I had experienced with Phoebe. "I don't want to stop," I said finally. "I think what we're doing here is important, and I value it. I love seeing you as Kat, Scully," my voice was a little raw as I made the admission. "So beautiful, so graceful and soft...so trusting. It's very special to me, and I want you to know that." "Then tell me what you're having trouble with." "Shame," I said at last. I didn't want to discuss Phoebe-- she wasn't worth the effort it took to explain what had happened between us. "I guess I've never been able to separate punishment from belittlement, and I don't want to do that to you. Part of what I love about seeing you as a submissive is how proud you are, even when you're submitting. I love the way you lift your head and preen when I put the collar on you, how pretty you look when you prance around naked--" I grinned as she blushed and gave an abashed smile. "I don't want this--relationship--to become a source of shame for you." I was surprised to see a small start of tears in her eyes, rapidly blinked away. "You could never belittle me, Mulder," she whispered. "I *know* how you feel about me, I know how you value me. *These*," she grabbed my hand and placed it on her buttock, where I could feel the impressions left by the crop and whip, "aren't a source of shame for me. They're--they're badges of honor. They mean I've completely surrendered to you as my Master. They mean I've shared something with you I would never in a million years trust anyone else with. I endured a trial for my Master, and I'm proud of it." I blew my breath out sharply, overwhelmed for a moment by the enormity of her admission. Just when I thought I knew every facet of her, she managed to stun me again. God, I worshipped her. "Then we'll continue, and I guess I'll just have to learn to adjust my thinking," I said at last with a tremulous sigh, reaching my decision without consciously realizing I had done so. "But I think I need to get to know your limits and pain threshold. We need to experiment with this some--I think my worst problem with punishing you just now is that I didn't know how the amount of force I was using was registering with you. I was afraid I was going to harm you. That's something I need to become familiar with if we're going to continue." The irony was not lost on me that this could be accomplished only by doing more pain-related activities, these without the excuse of punishment behind them. The sole purpose would be to inflict pain and see how she reacted. She appeared to consider it a moment, then sighed, closing her eyes and bowing her head. "We made a commitment--on Saturdays I belong to you. You have the right to do anything with me you want or need to do." I stared at her a moment. The expression on her face lingered somewhere between fear and bliss. It cemented in my mind something about which I had wondered in the past. Despite her claim when we were first negotiating that she wasn't a masochist, I'd seen evidence to the contrary. "Sadomasochism" sounds so hard-core and extreme, and has such negative connotations that people immediately shy from the word, so I wasn't sure how to ask Scully about it without scaring her. "I need to know, Scully...pain...is it something that works for you?" Her eyes opened slowly and she frowned slightly as she pondered the question. It was a very long time before she answered. "I don't know," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. "I thought I knew--when we first started, I thought certainly I couldn't be someone who gets off on pain. But now... I mean--certain types of pain, usually sexually related, definitely cause a reaction, but I'm not sure that's more a situational effect than the result of the pain itself. For instance--when you use the nipple clamps on me, or pinch me with your fingers--it's *you* dealing with *my* breasts and hell yes, that's exciting." She gave me a wide, ironic grin before sobering. "But then, there was the time I got my tattoo. It hurt, but I was definitely aroused by it. But then, was it the pain that was arousing me, or was it the situation? I mean, I'd had a bit too much to drink that night. The situation was wild and dangerous and I was doing something reckless and illicit and rebellious. Any of those factors could have turned me on. And then there was just now when you punished me..." She paused, struggling for a moment with what she wanted to say. "I never felt so completely in your power before," she confessed. "Sometimes, when I call you Master, I'm pretending, playing a role, and I know it. I feel downright silly, sometimes. But when things become intense, when you challenge me and make it harder for me to yield, that's when it becomes real for me. That's when I'm no longer pretending. And just now as you whipped me, I believed that you owned me and that you had the right to do that to me. I believed it, utterly and completely. You could hurt me, you could do anything you wanted to me because I didn't belong to myself--you were my Master and I was yours to punish. I loved it and I loved you for bringing me that feeling. I knew you possessed me, and it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. It was intimate and erotic beyond anything I had ever imagined." "So--" she drew a deep breath and exhaled, blowing her hair out of her face. "If you're asking if I get turned on when pain comes into the picture, I have to say yes. But if you're asking if the pain itself is what turns me on--I don't know. Maybe that's something we should figure out." I nodded eagerly, relieved and reassured. "But first," Scully said, giving me a significant look, "if you have no objections, *Master*, I'd like to finish my sandwich. I'm starved." Laughing, I rose from the futon and held out a hand to pull her up. She hissed through her teeth as her butt rubbed against the sheets but gave me a bright smile once she was on her feet. "I love you," she murmured, wrapping her arms around my bare torso and leaning against me, allowing me to support her weight. After holding her for a moment, I sent her to the kitchen and took a moment to set up our next scene, one I'd been plotting since the previous weekend. "So whose house is this?" she asked after a couple bites of turkey on rye had taken the edge off her hunger. "Byers," I replied, swallowing a mouthful of roast beef and chasing down with water. "He bought it about ten years ago, when he almost got married just after I first met him." "I never knew he'd been engaged." "It was a rebound relationship after the Suzanne Modeski thing. It didn't work out, but he kept the house for some reason. Saw it as an investment. He just never lived here." "So why are we using it?" Scully raised an eyebrow meaningfully. I could hear the unspoken question as though it had been asked aloud--were Langly and Frohike involved in this? "Because I wanted us to have some privacy," I answered. "When Byers told me he was thinking of selling it, I told him--privately--I'd be willing to help him fix it up and make it more marketable if he'd let me use it on the weekends. Byers, of course, being Byers, didn't pry. He just turned over the keys." "How long do we have before he sells it?" "He's in no rush. He figures he'll still make money off it whenever he sells it, so it's no big deal. He just told me to let him know when I didn't need it anymore--which, of course, is Byers-talk for 'it's yours as long as you want it.'" "When, Mu--Master? We're together so much of the day--when did you have time to work on this? How long?" "A few weeks. I hired some college kids to come in and do the painting, had the carpet installed--though I have to admit it was hard to part with the old carpeting. I've always had a fondness for ectoplasm-green shag." "You would," She smirked. "So, what, you didn't feel your apartment offered enough privacy?" I gave her an ironic glance. How many times had my apartment been bugged, surveilled, or broken into? There was no such thing as privacy there. After a moment, I leaned close to her, dropping my voice and donning my best naughty-boy smile. "Kat, the fact that my neighbors have not yet called the cops when you get to screaming is almost enough to make me believe in miracles. As it is, I can only attribute it to the fact that they're used to noise, disorder, and general chaos issuing out of my apartment and thus they don't blink an eye when you're in your more-- vociferous--moods." I congratulated myself when her face ignited in a fiery blush. "Ooh," I gave an exaggerated moan of appreciation. "Now both ends match." If anything, her complexion flushed a darker red, the hue creeping charmingly down her shoulders to her breasts. "You're asking for it, Mulder," she muttered, taking a long drink of her juice. I pretended I didn't hear the threat or her slip in addressing me. "Well, isn't it nice to have a brick-walled house where you can scream your pretty little head off?" I teased her. "I might even line the walls with mattresses if you disturb the neighbors." "You think you don't yell?" she shot back. "Because if that's the misapprehension under which you're laboring, allow me to assure you that no one would ever accuse you of being the strong, silent type." I pulled her to me by hooking a finger through the ring on her collar and placed a kiss on her lips. "Don't sass back, Kat," I said, unable to keep the humor out of my voice. After I had released her, she scoffed. "Someday, I'll prove to you just how loud you can be..." she paused, her eyes glowing with merriment. It was so pleasant to see her having fun I was having difficulty putting a firm halt to the fact that she was addressing me far too casually for her submissive state. "And *then*," she continued, her face bright with inspiration. "You can be *my* plaything for a Saturday!" My mouth went promptly dry and my good humor faded. There was no way in hell I was ever bottoming again, not even to Scully. It was quite simply out of the question. I had to put a quick end to that line of thought. "Kat?" I called for her attention, my voice low and gentle. "Yes?" "You're forgetting your manners," I said, still calmly, pinning her with a no-nonsense stare. I saw her throat convulse as she swallowed hard. "Just because I choose to tease you doesn't give you permission to talk back or address me inappropriately. Now apologize." Her eyes wide, a shiver rippling through her body, she sank to her knees and took my hand in both of hers, brushing a kiss upon it. "I'm sorry, Master." "For what?" "For being disrespectful, Master." "You're forgiven," I said solemnly. "Consider this a warning. Now, finish your sandwich and go to the bedroom. You, Kat, are going to be my entertainment this afternoon-- or did you fail to notice the cameras in the bedroom?" I watched her carefully. Scully is a very private person, and yet the idea of exhibitionism obviously gave her a little thrill. What would she think of performing for a camera? Would she be embarrassed, or use it as an opportunity to unleash the wanton I knew from intimate experience lurked within her? She rose and swallowed the last bite of her sandwich with some difficulty, looking apprehensive. "No one will ever see the tape or film," I reassured her again. That much was certainly true. I couldn't bring myself to take the chance that anyone would ever see such a thing of Scully--*my* Scully--and lifelong paranoia ran too deep. She nodded, drawing a deep breath and straightening her shoulders. "What do you want me to do, Master?" she asked finally. "I want you to go put on the clothes I set out for you on the futon. I'll be there in a moment." * * * * * She was exquisite, I thought as I eyed her appreciatively. My first reaction to those shoes hadn't been a fluke--they were enough to give me an instant hard-on, even if the sight of her clad only in scarlet waist-cincher and stockings hadn't accomplished the task already. The bottom of the red corselet formed an inverted "V" over her mons, the sides of which trailed down to her thighs in the garters that secured the stockings. Her dark auburn pubic hair contrasted against the gaudy scarlet satin. There was something extremely erotic in seeing my normally composed Scully this way, looking wanton, even slutty. Perhaps the thrill of it was seeing her like this and knowing what a truly class act she actually is. The reverse was also true when I saw her buttoned up and dignified, with the knowledge that underneath the tidy black suits was this erotic, completely sexual creature. Unbidden, my mind started forming mental images of Scully naked under one of her most conservative suits. I'd given her plenty of time to get ready and with the small pile of clothes was her travel-bag of makeup. She'd long since given up packing and unpacking all her makeup and instead kept an entirely separate kit for when we were on the road. I gave it to her now, with the addition of a tube of bright red lipstick to match the outfit. I hadn't given her any instructions as to what to do with the cosmetics, instead wanting to see what her imagination would come up with. She didn't disappoint me. Apparently she decided that if she was going to play porn queen, she'd do it thoroughly. Her eyes were darkly shadowed, her lips deep red. Her cheeks were brightly blushed, her hair tousled, and to my utter amazement, she'd applied something a little darker than her lipstick--perhaps lip liner?--to her nipples. "Lady in red," I murmured appreciatively after taking it all in, and she hung her head demurely. I turned on the video camera and approached her. "No, don't do that," I commanded. "Look at me, watch my eyes. Tell me what you're feeling right now." Her mouth worked silently a moment as embarrassment and arousal warred in her eyes. Finally, she whispered, "I feel like a whore." I had the feeling she was going to say that. As harsh and ugly as the word was, a lifetime of habituation to regarding these acts as something only a whore would do was too much to overcome. I wanted to reassure her, to tell her that there was nothing wrong with what we were doing, but it wouldn't help. She knew that there was nothing wrong--but she felt illicit nonetheless. Logic didn't apply. I knelt before her where she sat on the edge of the low futon-bed. "Do you like feeling that way?" I asked. She bit her lip, looking troubled. "I shouldn't," she sighed at last. "Who gives a shit what you should and shouldn't do? I'm the only one whose opinion should matter to you, Kat." I slid a hand between her legs, not touching her in any other way. "This says you like it," I pointed out. "Feel that? Feel how wet you are? All hot and ready to be fucked?" Her eyes fluttered shut and her head fell back. "Yes, Master," she hissed. "No!" I grabbed her jaw with the hand that had been between her thighs, my fingers wet with her arousal, and forced her head back up. The only way to get through the mental programming that told her to be ashamed of this part of herself was to use those feelings, rather than to negate them. "No, do not look away. Look right at me. You're mine, Kat. And if I say you can be a whore, then you can, and you can like it. Because you're *my* whore if and when I say so." I thrust the fingers that had been holding her face between her lips while I used my other hand to slide back between her slick nether folds. Simultaneously, I fucked her mouth and vagina with my hands. When I withdrew my fingers from her mouth, I trailed saliva and other secretions down her chin to her chest. "Say it, Kat. You're my whore." She was blushing, but softly she echoed the words. "Yes, Master. I'm your whore." "Good girl," I praised. "Lie back. I'm going to taste you before the entertainment begins." She lay back and I pushed her knees up and apart, presenting her moist, musky sex to my mouth. I drank in her essence, lapped it up with my tongue, sucking and licking and nibbling ever so lightly. She moaned softly above me, but it was a distracted moan. When I looked up, her eyes were affixed on the camera with its light on. She was watching the camera as I went down on her. "That's it, baby," I muttered before sucking lightly on her clit. I'd never called her baby before; I thought it sounded absurd, but the point of this game was to emphasize the cheap, bawdy feeling she was experiencing. I addressed her as I would a whore, reciting cliched lines from a thousand adult videos. "Let the camera see how much you like having my mouth on you. Show me how you love it. Let me hear you." Next to her thighs, her hands were clenched in tight fists, worrying the sheet beneath her. She was tense, anxious, making small pleasured noises in spite of herself. I redoubled my efforts, going to work with my tongue inside her moist recesses, taking her balled hands in mine and opening them, interlacing our fingers. As I worked my mouth over her flesh, her tension began to ease and the sounds she made increased. Finally, I drew my head out from between her legs and looked up at her, licking her essence off my lips. "Use your hands," I instructed, bringing her right hand in mine to between her thighs. "I want to film you bringing yourself off." Doubt flashed in her eyes, a nervous uncertainty that I hastened to kiss away from her visage. "Do it, Kat. Let me see you--use the toys if you want to." I kissed her again and then pulled away, walking backward across the room and leaving her alone on the futon. She stared at me a moment, gnawing on her lip, as the hand I had led between her legs began moving in small, slow circles over her flesh. I picked up the Nikon and she started as the flash went off the first time. Her movements faltered. "Come on, baby," I encouraged. "Put on a show for me." There was a long still moment during which I thought she might refuse. Perhaps I was pushing her too far, too hard. She wanted to be brought outside herself, wanted a way to make all the things society told us were wrong all right, but everyone has a limit as to how far they can go. It's one thing to let your barriers down when someone else is taking control; quite another to do it when you're on display, and when there's no one guiding you. What she did right now was entirely up to her. I could see in her eyes the moment she made her decision. An expression of resolve and determination crossed her face. Breathless, I watched as her forefinger slipped inside her core and slid slowly out, glistening wet, to stroke her clit. She teased herself with her fingers, letting them lightly dance over her folds while the other hand closed over her breast, squeezing softly. Her long, slender fingers with their elegantly manicured nails tweaked the nipple, pulling and flicking at it, and her eyes drifted half-shut as she began to get into the game. She gave a soft sigh and licked her lips until they shone. She let her knees fall wide open, exposing herself fully. I brought the 35-mm camera to my face and snapped off a shot just as two slim fingers disappeared between her folds. My cock was painfully hard in my jeans, a condition which only worsened as she lay the two fingers on either side of her clit and slid them up and down, massaging the sensitive nubbin in the space between. She made a noise somewhere between a purr and a moan and I nearly lost it. The green light on the video camera glowed and the Nikon flashed repeatedly. I watched her through the camera; her head falling back *flash*...her throat convulsing in a moan *flash*...her nipple, dark and hard peeking out from between her fingers *flash*...her labia, pink and swollen and gently parted as she stroked the tender flesh between *flash*... I nearly came in my pants when she began talking to me. Never let it be said the woman can't improvise. Animalistic groans were interspersed with explicit exclamations. She called to me, called me Master, declared her pleasure and passion as she surrendered to the fantasy. It was everything I could do to remember to hit the button on the camera when what I really wanted to do was free my cock from the confinement of its denim prison and replace her fingers with my body. She built the action up to a fevered pitch and then came back down, slowing her strokes and movements, her sounds getting softer. She reached for the bedside table and came back with the vibrator and this time, I was the one who groaned. I cursed myself for ever thinking this was a clever idea. Finally I put aside the camera and slid my hand over the bulge at my crotch. Her heavily kohled eyes widened as she looked at me and caught the movement and she licked her lips, her nostrils flaring. "Yesss," she whispered, and I couldn't be sure if the affirmation was for my own actions, or the vibrator she had turned on and slid inside herself. One by one, the buttons down the fly of my Levis popped open as my fingers pulled at the fabric. Impatiently, I pushed the jeans and boxers down my hips, leaning against the wall as I wrapped my hand around my own flesh. My eyes never left her as she swirled the vibrator inside her, moving it in and out in a rotating pattern. Occasionally, it slid all the way out and teased at her clit before delving back in. It occurred to me that the pumping action of her hand as she thrust the vibrator in and pulled it back out was nearly identical to the motions of my own hand on my penis, caressing slowly. We were moving in intimate unison. I swallowed hard, moved by the absurdly sappy romantic connection my brain pulled from that fact and forced myself to focus on the show I was getting. She'd stopped speaking, and I didn't want that. I wanted her to think about her words being recorded by the video camera, wanted her to imagine that someday I would listen to her passion preserved on tape. "Come on, baby," I coaxed, keeping the rhythm of my hand on my cock steady, "let me hear you. I wanna hear you come, wanna hear you scream...come for me, Kat..." "Ohh," she moaned, closing her eyes as something approaching rapture crossed her face. It wasn't the first time she indicated that my voice had a profound effect on her, particularly when she was in her submissive state, but this was by far the most overt reaction I'd seen from her along those lines. She pulled the vibrator from her body and pressed it to her clit, lifting her hips and grinding against it. She began to cry out, short little yelps at first that crescendoed into longer, breathless wails. One particularly piercing sound had me coming over my hand like a teenager, and still I stood there against the wall, my cock softening and my semen congealing on my hand, as she writhed and strained on the bed. Her face was contorted with effort and fierce concentration. "I can't," she gasped at length, looking distressed as her hands slowed their movements. "I'm sorry, Master, I can't do it." Quickly I wiped my hand off and pulled up my jeans, approaching her. "Shh," I hushed her. "Don't apologize-- but don't stop either. Listen to me, Kat, listen to my voice..." This wasn't the first time this had happened; the harder the psychological pressure for her to climax, the more difficulty she had getting there. I wasn't surprised, given the circumstances. "I'm going to blindfold you, Kat. I want you to forget everything else and concentrate on what I'm saying to you..." The vibrator buzzed futilely in the hand hanging loosely between her thighs. I placed the eye-mask over her face and took the vibrator from her, flicking it off and laying it beside her where she could reach it again if necessary. "You are going to come for me, Kat. You're going to get yourself off while I watch, because I'm your Master and that's what I want from you. But right now, you're going to relax and slow down. That's it...that's good. Take a deep breath..." I look her hand in mine and licked her fingers, which were sticky and musky with her essence. Then I placed them against her rock-hard, throbbing clit and stroked her very gently with them. "Feel those fingers, Kat? Those are mine, and they're touching you. They may not be on my hand, but they're still mine, because you're mine, isn't that right? You're mine, and so your fingers are mine, so right now, those are my fingers touching your clit. Right? That's me touching you..." "Yes, Master." This was spoken with a shaky sigh and a gradual easing of the tension over her body. "That's good...and those are my fingers inside you, feel that? My fingers fucking you...my fingers giving you pleasure. That feels good, doesn't it, Kat?" "Yes..." "Good...Keep going, Kat. Just because I'm moving away doesn't mean I told my fingers to stop. That's right--feel how hot and tight it is inside you? I love that feeling...Feel how hard your clit is? I want to touch it...That's good, that's very good...Don't stop, just keep thinking about my hands on you. Keep listening to my voice..." She jumped as the camera I had picked up again snapped, but the motion of her hands didn't stop. I continued to speak even while I used the camera to catch every movement. Her sounds progressed from raw sighs to pants and moans. They grew louder with each click of the camera, with each explicit instruction I gave, until her thighs were quivering on either side of her hand and her body jerked each time the sensation became too intense. "Now I'm going to play with your nipple, Kat. Feel that? Feel my fingers? That's good..." Louder, faster, more intense...I kept the camera flashing at intervals throughout, kept talking to her, using my voice to seduce her. At long last, she gave a strangled cry, moving the flats of her fingers in hard, steady circles over her clit as her body spasmed again and again. When it was over, she lay limply on the bed, panting. With a sigh, I set the camera aside, turned off the camcorder, laid down beside her, and took her in my arms. * * * * * As afternoon aged into evening Kat drew me a bath in the master bathroom with its large, deep tub, and played handmaid. While I relaxed she scrubbed my back, massaged my shoulders, washed my hair, and sat on the edge of the tub while I fondled her at my leisure. "I would like to do something, but I'm going to ask your opinion first," I announced solemnly as I stood with my arms spread and allowed her to towel me dry. She gave me an inquisitive look but didn't speak. "I've been looking into some things, doing a little more research. There are some BDSM groups around DC. There's one in particular called Black Rose, and I think that they might be a good resource. The fact is, we're both new at this and it might help to be able to talk to people who are familiar with these relationships and the issues that come up--sort of a support system. It might be safer to have access to unbiased information, but we both are pretty private, and I wasn't sure how you'd feel about being open with other people about the activities we engage in. Anyhow, a lot of the groups have something called a munch, when they get together someplace very public and innocuous and just have a group dinner and socialize. If nothing else, it might be fun to observe." I looked at her nervously, unable to believe I was even suggesting this. If it weren't for the fact that I was afraid that, as a neophyte top, I could somehow harm her, I probably would never have brought it up. But if we were going to continue going deeper into these games, it might be helpful to know people who could provide guidance. But we *were* both intensely private people, and doing this meant we'd be taking perhaps *the* most private aspect of ourselves and exposing it to others. But those others had an interest in common with us and would be unlikely to be judgmental. I'd considered the issue a long while before deciding to take it up with her. "So you're asking if I think it'd be okay to go to one of these--munches?" she asked thoughtfully, and I nodded, sure she would veto the idea, if for no other reason than it meant bringing our Saturday-only play into the working week, at least to a limited extent. Technically, I was the one calling the shots, but if she wasn't willing to take the risk, I wouldn't insist on it. "I don't see why not," she sighed at last, perhaps a little hesitantly. "I mean, my first reaction is to shy away from going public at all, but there's no logic to it. If I wanted to be paranoid, I could say there's the danger of the wrong person seeing us, but if we're honest with ourselves, anyone who would care or want to see us could do so anyway, if they choose to go to the trouble. I'm not going to hide our relationship away like it's something shameful." I felt my eyebrows creep up in surprise. That was different. She hadn't exactly been thrilled when I had kissed her at New Year's, which would qualify as our first real public display of affection. I had always attributed that to a hands-off-in-public rule that had gone unspoken between us, but perhaps it had been something else? "Besides," she added with an ironic smile. "I'm curious. How can I possibly resist the opportunity to do some empirical research?" "Okay," I said at last, grinning in response. "Let's plan on it then, to go on Tuesday unless something comes up." "Okay," she agreed, and knelt to dry my legs. All thoughts except her physical proximity to portions of my anatomy, and how those portions were desperately missing her attentions, fled. * * * * * I awoke early Sunday morning with my head lying on Mulder's muscular upper arm. His chest was pressed warmly against my back and his breath was soft and even against my ear. At first I had a hard time placing where we were, for the bed didn't feel familiar, but gradually the dim light filtering in from outside enabled me to place us in Byers' empty house. I climbed out of bed, shivering in the early-morning chill, and padded nude into the bathroom. When I had finished, I stared at myself in the mirror while I washed my hands. I had washed my makeup off the night before, but my eyes were now heavy-lidded with sleep, my hair tousled and in fluffy disarray. I wasn't used to seeing this woman, even though I'd faced her in the mirror nearly every morning in the more than four months that Mulder and I had been lovers. She was a woman who was content and sated, who woke up each morning to enjoy a few blissful minutes where the troubles of the world didn't exist. She was happy; well-fucked and well-loved by a man she adored beyond words. I still couldn't quite believe that woman was me. Suddenly I remembered the events of the previous day. Curiosity kicked in and I turned around, craning my neck to look back at the mirror over my shoulder. My backside, which I had sworn would be bruised for a week after what I had endured the day before, was lightly dusted with small red dots where surface capillaries had burst. Only two slightly darker lines, one on each buttock, remained where the lash of the signal whip had stung me. Poking the rounded flesh, I could feel a slight rawness where the lash had fallen, but I didn't feel any real tissue bruising. I was surprised, and, I realized, disappointed. I'd meant what I'd said to Mulder about how I regarded the slightly raised welts that had lingered on my skin after he had punished me. I was proud of them, of what they represented: my surrender, his control over me. I wanted that feeling to linger, wanted a reminder I could look back on in days to come and enjoy. And yet, it seemed it was more than that-- Mulder had said we should explore my reaction to pain a bit more, so that we could both become comfortable with the concept. I was mildly troubled to realize that I wasn't concerned by that idea nearly as much as I knew I should be. I should resist the very idea of allowing pain to be inflicted upon me, and yet I had calmly, almost blithely accepted it. In the great scheme of things, I knew, logically, that what I had experienced the day before didn't really compare to pain I had known in the past. Being shot in the gut, *that* was pain. Being thrown into a glass-topped table by something that had looked exactly like Mulder, that had hurt. My cancer, as it slowly ate its way into my body was a slow, burning agony that I had known could only end in death. Frankly, in comparison, the pain yesterday didn't hold a candle to the rest. But what had happened yesterday had been a suffering entirely of my own choosing. That made it different. All the previous times, I hadn't had any option but to endure; yesterday, I had had the option, but I endured anyway. Perhaps that was the point. So often, I couldn't choose what befell me. Here, in this situation, I could. By surrendering my control to Mulder, I was, in essence, choosing my own trials rather than having them chosen for me. Even in yielding, I was still exercising my personal control. And what I had endured hadn't killed me. It hadn't even appalled me. I still couldn't--or perhaps refused to--wrap my mind around the idea of doing it for *fun*, of all the ridiculous notions, but many people did derive pleasure from it, regardless of my inability to grasp the concept. What if we took away the idea of punishment? What if the knowledge that I would suffer because I'd been bad was removed? That was what Mulder was proposing to explore and it was what I had accepted. Would that subtle psychological difference make it better or worse? Would it then become pointless suffering which I couldn't bear because I didn't have the knowledge that I'd done something to merit it? Or would the suffering be eased by removing the shame that came with knowing I did deserve it? Would I be buoyed by the thought that the sole reason we did this was simply because my Master wanted to? I remembered the times in "Story of O" when O had been informed that she would be punished not for any cause, but simply because it pleased her Masters to punish her. I remember how those passages had simultaneously terrified and intrigued me. What deeper surrender could there possibly be than to endure pain for no other reason than it pleased your Master to give it to you? I felt a spasm deep within my gut and realized, with no little horror and shame, I was getting wet as I envisioned the scenario. I had lied to Mulder yesterday, I realized. When he asked me if pain turned me on, I had told him it was the situation surrounding the pain that turned me on. And it was true, of course--I wasn't going to get aroused outside a sexual situation by pain. But within the sexual situation, sometimes the arousal, or an increase in my arousal, was the effect that followed the pain. Even as my mind registered it hurt, there was something that said it also felt good, something that wanted more. That fact frightened and shamed me so that I couldn't admit to it, not even to Mulder. But in an unguarded moment of self-truth, I realized I was turned on by the idea of Mulder and I exploring that reaction more. I wanted to delve deeper into those sensations and see where they carried me. But that was just too much to process, even for me. It was absurd. Suddenly I was embarrassed and angry with myself and I left the bathroom in a hurry, flicking off the light behind me. I paused upon reentering the bedroom, my eyes settling on the video camera, sitting with apparent innocence on the tripod. The thought of what could be found on that videotape sent a spasm of mingled pleasure and fear through my body. What would Mulder do with that tape? Would he keep it for his pleasure, for some moment when I wasn't there, so that he could remember? Would he watch and masturbate, as he doubtless had done to dozens of other such (albeit populated by strangers and more professionally made) tapes? Oh, God...What would he see when he watched it? Would he view me with the same disdain I felt for those silicon- inflated bimbos who writhed and moaned their way though those videos he professed not to own? Did I look that cheap, that phony, that tasteless? Of course I did--wasn't that the point? Wasn't that why he dressed me up like a whore, why I made myself up like a raccoon and put on the show of my life? I couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the thought that he would look at that tape and see someone who was no different than any of the big-haired sluts with which he'd entertained himself alone for years. Without even realizing my intent, I was walking toward the camera, desperate to see the tape and reassure myself that I didn't look that way. Nervous and chilled, standing naked in the cold air, I peered in the view-finder of the camera and pressed "rewind." Nothing happened. Perhaps he had already rewound it. I pressed "play," and still nothing. My mouth dry, I checked the battery and found it still had some charge, but there was no image, or even a confirmation that the camcorder was on. With hands that trembled, I opened the side of the camera to find it empty. There was no cassette. Oh, God... Panicked, I grabbed the Nikon. Popping open the back panel revealed that the 35-mm camera was missing its film as well. Oh, God, this was not happening. Mulder and I had left the house for no more than an hour and a half yesterday evening to get some dinner. Someone could have broken in and stolen the video and film in that time. But why on earth would anyone do such a thing? To discredit us? All that needed to happen was for that tape to make an appearance at the FBI, or some of those pictures to appear in the wrong person's email and Mulder and I were done for. Oh, shit... "Mulder!" I shook his shoulder roughly, nearly hyperventilating. "Mulder, wake up!" He came instantly alert, glancing around the room in a panic. "Wha--Scully, what is it? What's the matter?" "The video, Mulder! The film in the camera! They're gone." He stared at me in bewilderment. "What?" "The cameras are *empty*, Mulder!" I shouted. "Jesus, why did I agree to it? The film and video you shot yesterday are *gone*." There was a moment of silence, and then Mulder began doing the last thing I expected under the circumstances. He began fondling me. "Don't worry about it, Scully. Come back to bed." Was that *amusement* I heard in his voice? So help me God- - "Mulder, what the hell are you doing? Did you not hear what I just said? The film--" Realization struck and a horror worse than any I had imagined thus far came over me. It was even worse when his subtle amusement turned to laughter. "Oh, God. I'm going to assume by your reaction that you know who took the film and video. And if it's Frohike, you'd better be prepared to let that little troll know there's no hole deep enough for him to hide in." He caught me around the waist and pulled me to him, nuzzling at my breast. Whatever he said in response was unrecognizably muffled by my nipple. "Nufumnuhkumruh..." I disregarded the pleasant vibration his effort to speak made around my nipple. "What?" I pushed away from him, pulling my nipple from his mouth with a popping sound as the suction broke. "What did you say?" "I said there was no film in the camera. No video either. Never was." "What?!" He closed his eyes a long moment, shaking his head. "I should've known..." he muttered. "Should have known *what*?" "Should have known you'd be too nosy to not mess with the cameras," he retorted snippily. I glared at him. "The cameras were empty the entire time, Scully," he said at last. "I wasn't going to take the chance that anything would happen to the video or pictures, so I didn't take any. Now, where was I?" He leaned forward, going for my breasts again. I shoved him roughly way, cursing. "Jesus, Mulder, I swear I'm going to strangle you!" "C'mon, Scully--wouldn't you rather fuck me instead? Hmm?" He thrust forward with his hips a little, letting me feel his morning erection. Yes, as a matter of fact I would, but I wasn't done being pissed off yet. Everything I did yesterday, the show I had put on, the anxiety I suffered at doing something so private in front of a camera...all of it had just been Mulder fucking with my mind. I spluttered for a moment before finally seizing on something to say. "WHY?!" The question erupted from me. "Why what?" he pulled back and blinked at me disingenuously. A bystander wouldn't believe I'd just suffered a life-shortening panic attack courtesy of him. I could have throttled him in that moment. "Why go through all this if you wouldn't have anything to show for it afterwards?" I said at last, shrugging in helpless confusion. "What's the point?" "The point was to see if you would do it. And if you'd known the cameras were empty, there wouldn't have been any way to truly get a feel for how far you were willing to go," he said, in a voice that indicated he felt he was being supremely logical. "You're the one who said you wanted me to challenge you. Besides--" he snuggled up to me and began kissing my neck, not allowing me to push him away this time. "Who needs a crummy video when I have the real, live thing right here?" "Okay, that's a good answer, I suppose," I sighed, ceasing my struggle as my toes began to curl. A smile curved my lips almost against my will. "But I'm still pissed at you. Just thought you should know." "I can live with that," he muttered against my throat. "But Scully, maybe instead of chewing me out, we could put our mouths to other uses, whaddya say?" "Hmmm...I guess I can do that..." * * * * * If I'd known that morning it would be some time before we played again, I might have savored it a bit more. As it was, I smiled when he took the collar off me and made love to me on the futon, morning breath and all. Then we showered and parted for the day. I had things I had to take care of at home that night, so we didn't get back together, and I went to sleep alone in my bed Sunday night. As it was, I had no way of knowing Sunday morning that within twenty-four hours, one of my worst nightmares would make his way back into my life. Donnie Pfaster. END of Aphrodisia V - Head Games Feedback to kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com From: "Kristel S. Oxley-Johns" Date: Sat, 17 Feb 2001 12:37:03 -0800 Subject: "Aphrodisia VI" NC-17 (1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Source: xff Reply To: Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (1 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: S7 through "Orison" Timeframe: After "Orison" Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut Summary: The events of "Orison" affect Mulder and Scully's relationship and the developing D/s dynamic. Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: Thank you always to my betas and test-reading crew: Indi, Jennifer, Tiff, Shelba, Beth and Nancy. DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, And The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property Of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without permission. No profit is being made by their use in this story. WARNING: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM- related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. If you have questions about the subject matter contained herein, check out the resources page on my website, http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns. This story is part of a series and will make much more sense if you read the other parts first. You can find those at my website as well. Feedback is welcomed at kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com APHRODISIA VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant Too much of my life has been based on what-ifs. What if Samantha had never been taken? What if Scully had never been assigned to the X-Files? What if I'd been just thirty seconds later reaching her apartment the night Donnie Pfaster came back for a return engagement? What if I'd been thirty seconds earlier? Would anything have changed? I don't know--Christ, I don't know. Don't look any further, Mulder. Yeah. Right. * * * * * Scully stayed alone in her apartment Sunday night. There was too much going on that day, and though we spent our nights together whenever possible, sometimes it just wasn't practical. That was okay. Monday morning, Donald Addius Pfaster escaped from prison. By Monday afternoon, Scully and I were on the investigation to find him again. We didn't find him--he found us. More precisely, on Wednesday, he found Scully. I'm a fucking profiler and it took me precious hours to put together where he might go if he had no place else. I can excuse it by saying I didn't want to get into his head. I would have done anything to avoid it. That's why, at the earliest opportunity, I bugged the hell out of there with Scully in tow. I was in Donnie's head ever so briefly once before, and I didn't want to go there again. What's more, I didn't want Pfaster to have a chance to make his way into Scully's mind again. I could see it happening already--for whatever reason, when we'd investigated the Pfaster case the first time around, he'd gotten to her. *No one* gets to Scully. Call me a Neanderthal, but if anyone's allowed to penetrate the formidable fortress of her brain, it's me and no one else. So even though the federal marshal was clueless, I didn't offer to stick around and help. Instead, I booked two tickets on the first flight available out of Chicago. "I--um, I think I need to be alone tonight, Mulder," Scully said after I announced I was going to go home, ditch my dirty clothes, grab a suit for the next day and return to stay the night with her. "Scully--" I wanted to argue. She hadn't been herself since we'd gotten the call about Pfaster, and I couldn't blame her. The horror of Pfaster's crimes had touched her personally, long before he ever got a hold of her and nearly made her his next victim. That she was unsettled was natural and expected. That I wanted to help her was also natural and expected--but in this case, not an option. I wanted to get him out of her head, shield her from his intrusion into her psyche. But the bottom line was Scully didn't want to be shielded. She wanted to cope with it alone, as she so often does. I didn't have to be happy about it--I just needed to respect her wishes. "I know you want to be here for me, Mulder. You want to comfort me and help me work through this, and I appreciate it, really I do. But tonight, I need to pull *myself* together and decompress. So go home, Mulder. I'll call you later, okay?" There was no way I could argue with her. She'd already tolerated more protectiveness from me on this case than she would put up with normally. She hadn't torn me a new asshole when I tried to convince her to go home the first time, even though we'd already had that discussion before leaving Washington. She hadn't objected when I wrapped myself around her in the hotel in Illinois as though I would be her physical shield from the world and clung to her through the night like a newly sprouted 6'1" appendage. She hadn't protested when I told her there was no longer an X-File for us to investigate, so it was okay for us to go home, even though we both knew I'd hung around on cases where our help was less welcome for flimsier excuses. She was making a simple request--to give her some time to work it out--and I couldn't deny her that. So I dropped her off at her apartment--where she hadn't even kissed me good-bye--and went home alone. I didn't stop worrying, though. Not for an instant -- until I heard the song as I brushed my teeth. That's when I finally let my mind drift. At that point, I quit worrying and started wondering. If I were Donald Addius Pfaster, where would I go? I was a scavenger, not a predator. I didn't hunt my victims--I started out taking them when they were already dead, or I lured them to me, or grabbed them when they chanced to pass by. But I hated--oh, how I hated. I hated that bitch who gave birth to me and her gaggle of bitch daughters who could never do any wrong, who teased me and taunted me as I grew up awkward and alone and frustrated. I hated the youngest of them, only 17 months older than I, when she screamed about cooties whenever I toddled across her path, and I hated the oldest of them when she called me a pervert when she caught me masturbating. I would have hated my pussy-whipped father, except he was too pathetic to hate. He just didn't know how to handle the girls, didn't know what to do to show them how worthless they really were. He didn't know that if you took away their pretty hair and pretty nails, they were no better than us rough, clumsy creatures called men. So now I'm free and I can take every last one of those girly-girls down a peg, one at a time. I can show them what it feels like to be rough and ugly, show them how it feels to be humiliated. But where do I begin? And that's when it occurs to me--I begin with that uppity FBI girly-girl who landed me in prison because she just didn't know when she was supposed to die. The one who had the audacity to sit there on the stand and plead for my life with her hair and nails perfectly neat and styled, looking across the courtroom at me with revulsion and pity co-mingled in her gaze. I bolted out of bed and broke land-speed records on my way to Scully's apartment. What if I hadn't allowed myself to profile Pfaster? What if that stupid song hadn't tweaked me? What if I'd been too late? I'd spent the entire case in a state of denial, refusing to listen to what she was saying, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of there and get her away from anything related to Pfaster. What if my stubborn refusal to look any further had killed her? Fuck. * * * * * "You've got to stop this, Scully," I said at last on Friday, after nine days in which she had done little but pace and sleep in my apartment, not returning to her own. She was sleeping too damned much, a sure sign of depression. She was suspended until the shooting inquiry could be conducted and with her work taken from her, she had little to occupy her time. But that didn't mean she should sleep it all away. Not that I had any better suggestions for what she could do. Besides, I rather liked knowing where she was every minute. "Don't start," she warned me. "I murdered a man, Mulder. I don't care how you want to dress it up for the board of inquiry, I killed him in cold blood, so don't try to comfort me, okay?" "I'd hardly call it cold blood, Scully. At the very worst, it was a result of the trauma of being attacked. You'd just been through hell. There's not a jury in this country that would convict you." "That's because they don't *KNOW*!" she yelled, clenching her fists at her sides. "Mulder, I know you don't want to believe it of me, but that shooting was one hundred percent premeditated. As I crawled across the floor to get my gun, I wasn't thinking of getting away or saving my own life. I was thinking about nothing else but putting Pfaster down. Don't tell me it was trauma or temporary insanity, because I was well aware that it would be wrong, that I could subdue him and cuff him and call the cops, or just get away, but *I DIDN'T CARE*. I killed him, Mulder. I planned it and I did it. And what's bothering me isn't that I killed him, but the fact that it *isn't* bothering me. So don't try to tell me it's all right, because I know right from wrong, and it just didn't matter then." I stared at her a long moment, my jaw clenched in frustration. She was right, of course, in a way. By the letter of the law, she had committed murder. And anyone who ever learned what had passed through her mind when she made her life-and-death struggle across her bedroom floor would see it. Our only saving grace was that the board of inquiry was bending over backwards to justify the shooting. No one wanted to destroy a respected and highly qualified agent for taking down a piece of shit like Pfaster. But if that made her evil, then what was I? Her eyes widened and her head swiveled to stare at me. "What did you say?" Realizing I'd said the last part aloud, I raised my voice and repeated, "If you hadn't done it, Scully, I probably would have. What does that say about me?" "You don't know that, Mulder." "The hell I don't!" I hissed as I crouched over, getting in her face as she glowered at me. "There was no other thought in my head as I drove to your apartment that night but what I was going to do to that evil fuck if he had hurt you. I wasn't planning justice, Scully, I was planning revenge. Malice aforethought. And when I saw you-- when I asked you if he had hurt you-- when I saw you *bleeding*-- I was ready to pull the trigger. I would have done it, Scully, without batting an eye. I had every intention of killing him--you just got there first. Either way, the result would have been the same. Donnie Pfaster would still be dead, and I wouldn't regret my actions any more than you do now." "No, Mulder--no!" She shook her head in adamant denial. If I had seen fear or revulsion in her eyes, I don't think I could have borne it. But I couldn't regret that I had fully intended to see Pfaster dead that night. Not after what he had done, or almost done, to Scully. If anything, I was less noble than she--her need to see Pfaster brought down, legally or no, was because of the horror of his crimes against all his victims. Mine was fueled solely by my need to protect--or at the very least avenge--her. And it wasn't the first time I'd planned to commit mayhem in retribution for harm done to Scully. As she lay in a coma after being abducted, I'd sat in my darkened apartment waiting to ambush the men who'd taken her, to take my rage out on them. I would have killed them, or been killed by them, for no more reason than I'd wanted to avenge the wrong done to the woman I loved. If not for a timely intervention, I would have done it. It was odd. There had been moments over the years, when I'd faced someone like Krycek or Cancerman in the heat of the moment, wanting to kill them and yet I ended up walking away. I'm not a loose cannon, not prone to shooting first and asking questions later. I can contain my violent impulses. Any time I've considered pulling the trigger in an instant of anger, I've been able to back down. No, the only times I've been truly willing to kill were the times I've had a chance to think about it first and decide that the right and wrong just didn't matter. When Scully was in that coma, I'd cornered C.G.B. Spender in his apartment and waved my gun in his face, but ultimately hadn't been able to kill him. But when Scully was in the hospital dying with cancer, I'd faced Spender yet again and told him that if Scully died, I'd put him down--and meant it. What did that say about me, I wondered. "Do you think I'm evil, Scully?" "No, Mulder--" she reached out to me, a flash of tears in her eyes. That was progress. She'd dealt with this as she so often did with any trauma--she closed up shop emotionally until she could regain her equilibrium. She'd been dry-eyed and stoic for over a week, unwilling to touch or be touched. She'd showered several times a day, and her skin looked raw and dry. "I'd never think that of you. You know that." "Yeah," I muttered. My resolve not to touch her, to let her proceed at her own pace, disintegrated. I grabbed her by the hand she extended to me and pulled her close. I clutched her to my chest and buried my face in her hair. I did what I'd been wanting to do from the moment Donnie Pfaster went down for the final count but hadn't because she'd been so damned skittish--I held her like I would never release her again. "I nearly lost you again, Scully. Do you have *any* idea what I would do to keep that from ever happening? Nothing else matters to me. Nothing at all." "Oh, God, Mulder..." she whispered against my chest. She clung to me, trembling slightly in my arms. She gripped my upper arms tightly, not letting me go--as if I would leave if I could. "I'm going to get past this," she finally said, her voice muffled in my shirt. "I've got to. I can't let that sick bastard have any more of my life." "You will," I said softly, stroking her back. "You're better than him, Scully. That's what it boils down to--he was just a sick, evil fuck and you--you're an angel. Well, an avenging angel, maybe, with a wicked right hook..." I felt her chuckle and I relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief. We were going to be okay. "Hey, whaddya say we go back to your place tomorrow and start getting things cleaned up? Your neighbors are going to bitch about the crime scene tape if we don't take it down soon." She stiffened against me and drew a deep, shuddering breath. It was a long moment before she replied. "Yeah," she said at last. "Yeah. Let's do it." * * * * * I wasn't sure which was worse--the puddles of wax from candles that had burned obliviously in the bathroom long past the moment Pfaster went down for the count, or the slivers of glass covering the bedroom floor. I didn't want Scully cleaning the glass--I'd seen the cuts all over her arms, legs, and belly. If I had any say in the matter, I wasn't letting her near it. She collected the globs of wax scattered throughout the bathroom while I took a broom to the bedroom. It was a mess. I damned my fertile imagination as I envisioned Scully dragging herself through the broken glass to her weapon, ignoring the pain and the blood as she fought for her life. Shit. What I wouldn't do to Pfaster if he weren't already dead... The bookcase had gotten twisted in its fall and needed to be replaced. It tottered precariously as I attempted to load books back onto the shelves. Down below, there were tiny smears of dried blood on the hardwood from Scully's life-or-death struggle across the floor. I grimaced and made my way to the kitchen to retrieve a wet towel and some detergent to try to remove the stains. That was when I found her. "Scully--God, Scully, stop. I'll do that." I grabbed her shoulders as she rocked back and forth, rubbing a ruined towel across the large dried bloodstain where Donnie Pfaster had lain. We had consciously skirted it upon our arrival and had been diligently avoiding it since. Until now. "I know how squeamish you get, Mulder," Scully said tiredly, a hitch in her voice. I could tell she meant it as a joke, but her heart wasn't in it. Her head was bowed and I couldn't see her face, but I was willing to bet there were tears staining her cheeks. "So what? So I'll puke and have to clean that up too. Damn it, Scully, just stop, all right?" She roughly pulled away from my hands and threw the cloth on the floor. Browning smears of dried blood were streaked across her hands. "I made the fucking mess, Mulder! I can clean it up," she snapped. She glared up at me and I stepped back, my hands held up in as non-threatening a manner as I could manage. It hurt to move away from her. I was right--there were tears on her face. Tears for that piece of shit, Pfaster. "It's not going to come out," she muttered woodenly at last after several moments spent in futile scrubbing. "The flooring will have to be stripped, maybe even replaced." She was right, of course. The stain had been setting into the hardwood planks for days. The thick, coppery smell from her wetting the dried blood was nauseating even from where I stood, and Scully was sitting there in the thick of it. "Come on, Scully, get up. We'll call a cleaning service to take care of the rest of this and your super can handle getting a contractor in here for the floor. This was a rotten idea--I thought it might help, but I was wrong. We shouldn't have come here." "No, Mulder, I needed to come back here. This is my home, and I'm damned if I'll let that bastard ruin it for me," she shrugged tiredly. "I thought maybe I'd sleep in my own bed tonight." "Not tonight, but soon," I promised, extending a hand to her. "Are you feeling too closed in at my place? Want to get a room instead? Someplace nice, with a fireplace and Jacuzzi and king-sized bed?" I gave an exaggerated leer in an attempt to make her smile. "Someplace too classy for magic fingers?" "No," she sighed, finally taking my hand and letting me pull her to her feet. "I'd rather be at your place than anywhere." I blinked, surprised by the admission. I always thought she only tolerated my place because I was there. We spent a lot of time there, yes, but I never thought Scully particularly liked my apartment, especially not after being assaulted in my foyer during the Padgett case. "You know you can stay as long as you need to," I said finally. Scully nodded and looked down at her bloodstained hands. "Go wash up and I'll grab some clothes for you, okay?" When I was done packing several days' worth of clothes for her, I found her in the bathroom, staring pensively at her bathtub. The remnants of Pfaster's ceremonial candles were gone, but nothing could ever erase the memory of what he'd planned to do to Scully once he got her into that tub. "I used to love taking baths," she murmured, staring blankly at the tile floor. "Long, hot bubble baths that I could soak in for hours. But I tried to take one the other day at your place while you were gone and I couldn't." I didn't know what she wanted me to say, so I remained silent. If she needed to talk, I was here to listen. Sometimes, my role wasn't to offer comfort or reassurance, but just to be a sounding board, as she so often was for me. "After Tooms and Duane Barry broke into my apartment, I moved up here. I loved this apartment building, but I didn't feel safe on the ground floor anymore, so when they had a unit open upstairs, I moved. But it didn't help, Mulder. They can still get to me. Krycek and Luis Cardinal shot Melissa here. Now Donnie Pfaster...I feel like if I give up the apartment I'll be admitting defeat, but I don't feel safe here anymore. I don't know how I managed to live here so long." I could understand that--I needed an abacus to keep track of the number of violations of my own apartment. I, too, would be damned before I let them have that victory over me. "Do you want to move in with me, Scully?" I asked before I even realized I intended to make the offer. "Not that my apartment is any great shakes where security is concerned, but if you feel safer there..." She shook her head, giving me a small smile. "No. Thank you, though. Even if I thought we could do it, there's really not enough room." "Someplace else, then. We could buy Byers' house, maybe. It's not great, but we could afford it on two G-folk's salaries, and I've got some life insurance money left from my father." Scully sighed, smiling fondly at me. "I appreciate the offer, Mulder, but it's probably not a good idea right now. Thanks for trying, though." I shrugged. "I'm not just offering because I think I should, or because I think that's what you want, Scully. I'd be more than happy to do it. All you have to do is say the word and I'm there." She nodded, leaning wearily against the sink. "I know you mean it. I do. But we do still have work to consider. Right now, it's easy to keep our relationship out from under the eyes of anyone who would question its effect on our work. What you're proposing would change that." I gave a discontented frown. Within a two-minute conversation, I went from not even having considered moving in with Scully to proposing it to actually being disappointed when she refused. "Makes you wonder if our priorities are out of whack," I muttered, turning away. I picked up the bag I had packed for Scully and walked out of the bathroom without waiting for a reply, or even to see if she'd actually heard me. "I'm ready to go when you are," I tossed back over my shoulder. End of Aphrodisia VI, part One Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (2 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com My comment about our priorities surprised me. For all Scully's talk about getting out of the damned car, I was the one finding myself increasingly discontented with the direction of my life. Once upon a time, I would have said there was nothing more important to me than my work. Once upon a time, not long before Scully, I might have even meant it. But that was long ago, and these days I wasn't sure I even recognized the man I was then. I sure as hell didn't like him. Let's face it--I'm not a hero. My motivation has always been enlightened self-interest. I wanted to know what had happened to my sister--if that meant unraveling an international conspiracy and revealing the government's duplicity to the public, great, but that was never my goal. I had a brief flirtation with self-imposed martyrdom around the time I learned the truth I'd been seeking was that extra-terrestrials were going to colonize the planet unless I stopped them. At that time, I thought surely I would live and die for the cause of exposing the conspiracy and preventing the annihilation of the human race. Eventually, I was appalled at my own egocentricity. There was no way I was going to save the planet on my own, even with Scully's help. We were there to set the wheels in motion, perhaps. It's an important task, but I was deluding myself if I envisioned my destiny as being the savior of mankind. So now I was caught in the middle, between wanting the life so many others live in blissful oblivion and possessing the power to stop what I knew could be coming. The knowledge I had would prevent me ever having the one, but denied me access to the other. Scully and I did have a job to do, and it was an important job. But that didn't mean we had to sacrifice everything that makes life worth living to do it. I refused to feel guilty for wanting to seize some modicum of normalcy for myself. Once we arrived back at my apartment, Scully nearly drove me out again with a stick. "You've been hovering all week, Mulder," she pointed out when I argued. "Go to the Y, play some basketball for a while, have some fun, would you?" "Maybe I want a quiet afternoon at home with you," I replied, unwilling to leave her alone after what she'd been through. I wasn't quite confident enough yet to venture a playful pout. "And maybe I need some time to myself right now. Don't worry--in case you didn't notice, Pfaster's dead," she said acerbically. "It's not likely he'll come back from the grave to get me." I could argue that we'd seen precedents for precisely that event happening, but I wisely remained silent. In the end, it was Scully's request that I leave her alone for a while that got me to go. The irony did not escape me that I'd just been ejected from my own apartment by a woman who recently refused to move in with me. I had to admit it was nice to burn off some of the excess energy that had accumulated for more than a week of watching over Scully. A couple of pick-up games later, I jogged home to find my apartment redolent with the smells of roast chicken. Scully peered out at me from the kitchen door and leaned against the archway, arms crossed over her chest as I kicked off my tennis shoes. "I swear you are the only man on the planet who can make sweats look sexy," she announced after a moment. I recognized that husky tone of voice well, but it was the last thing I expected to hear coming from Scully any time soon. I stared at her a bit warily, unsure of how to react. Getting horny seemed an inappropriate response in light of her present emotional struggle, though I was undeniably turned on by her tone of voice. Checking my baser impulses, I gave an exaggerated sniff of the sweatshirt I had donned upon leaving the YMCA to keep me from freezing on the run home. "You wouldn't be saying that if you were standing downwind." "You're such a romantic. You'll notice I'm wisely keeping my distance," she deadpanned. "Lest the reality of your...bouquet...shatter my delusions. And if *you're* wise, you'll go shower. Dinner's almost ready." "Yes, Milady," I attempted to click my sock-clad heels together and gave a jerky bow. I stripped my sweatshirt and tank top off as I made my way to the bathroom. Underneath the shower's hot spray (no wussy low-flow showerheads in my older apartment building, thankfully) I pondered Scully's mood shift. Once upon a time, I thought *I* was mercurial, but there were times Scully had mood changes that left my head spinning, especially when she was coming off an emotional upset. By the time I emerged from the shower, it was entirely possible, likely even, that she'd be brooding once more. I'd been on the roller coaster with her more than once, as she had with me. The only thing to do was to hang on for the ride. I was surprised by a burst of cold air and turned to see the shower curtain sliding open, revealing a very naked Scully stepping into the shower with me. She arched an eloquent eyebrow at my look of consternation. "Huh. Betcha thought I was joking when I said you were sexy in sweats," she said without preamble, pressing me back against the tile wall and kissing her way across my chest. I yelped as the cold ceramic touched my wet skin. "I just didn't interpret the idle comment as an offer," I replied, my voice surprisingly steady considering the southerly course of her lips. "You should know I don't tease, Mulder." Her tongue stroked the soft skin of my groin as she sank to her knees. "Yeah, but there's a difference between flirting and teasing." Christ, she was licking everywhere but my rapidly and painfully stiffening cock. "Me? I never flirt," she answered, batting her eyes coquettishly at me. God, had it only been two weeks since we'd last had made love? I was suddenly horny as a teenager. Trying to be sensitive, though, I laid a hand on Scully's face to stop her. "Scully, you don't--" "Hush, Mulder," she said with a gentle smile. "I'm concentrating." Her mouth engulfed my cock, hot and wet, her tongue stroking firmly across the sensitive head. I groaned, my head falling back and my eyes snapping shut. I felt her hands on my thighs and knew I was utterly at her mercy. Perhaps that was the point. I wondered if I should stop her, and if she'd be pissed off if I did. If she needed to feel as though she was in control, this was a good way to do it, and perhaps it would be wrong to disrupt that. Of course, it would also be wrong to take advantage of it, but there were certain parts of me demanding I at least give her the benefit of the doubt. My hands fell on hers where they rested on my thighs and she laced her fingers intimately with mine, holding me while her mouth caressed me. I could feel her eyes on me, watching my reactions. I didn't make any particular effort to hold back, but instead let her lips and teeth and tongue work their magic on my senses. I was reduced to guttural moans when she began humming, the vibrations running up my cock and through my body. When I finally opened my eyes, hers were shut, her expression serene. I let my head fall back and allowed the sensations to carry me away. Several long moments later, I helped her to her feet and, clutching her close to my chest, moved us both back under the hot stream of the shower. I kissed her, tasting my own salty ejaculate on her tongue, holding her tightly as the water cascaded around us. I thanked the fates for old apartment buildings and inexhaustible quantities of boiler- supplied hot water. I washed her tenderly, my soapy hands running over her soft, slick skin and stood patiently while she returned the favor. "What about dinner?" I asked, suddenly remembering that she'd been cooking. "I turned the oven off. It'll keep." "You gonna be all right?" "Of course. I'll be fine." "Uh-huh." "Don't, Mulder." "Scully--" I let my head fall back, squeezing my eyes in frustration and letting the water rush over my face. After a long moment, I looked at her again. "I don't want you to hide anything from me." She smirked, glancing down at her nude body. "Does it *look* like I'm hiding--" her voice trailed off and an odd expression crossed her face, freezing my next sentence in my throat unspoken. "What?" I asked when her lips twitched. "Just--recollecting. You said almost the exact same thing to me five years ago when we first encountered Donnie Pfaster, remember?" *I don't want you to feel you have to hide anything from me,* the voice of the past whispered in my ear, soft and intimate, from a day in our relationship where every move was hesitant and threatened to disrupt the delicate balance we'd reached. Scully was back from her abduction only a short time when suddenly we found ourselves in Minneapolis investigating a death fetishist. I'd never forget that case--never forget how shaken Scully had been by the sheer horror and hatred that fueled those crimes. I'd known it was bothering her, but I was at a loss as to how to help her without trampling her precious sense of independence. I'd never forget how it might have been Scully's coppery hair in Pfaster's pillow and her elegant, infinitely capable fingers in his icebox--or the moment her reserve had shattered and she'd cried in my arms. I'd always remember how desperately I loved her in that moment of vulnerability, and how close I'd come to losing her again that night. "I remember," I murmured, slicking my hair back from my face. "But things are different now." "Yes," she acknowledged. "They are. And I swear, I'm not trying to deflect you or repress the trauma or any of that. I just need to reclaim what's good in my life, Mulder. Pfaster can't have that; it's not allowed." "Okay," I sighed with a nod of resignation. I had to trust that if she needed my help, or my comfort, she'd let me know. "But if there's anything you need--anything I can do..." "I will, Mulder," she cut me off. "I promise. Now let's get out of here before dinner gets cold." * * * * * Later that night, Mulder and I lay spooned on the sofa, watching the late news. For the first time since last Thursday, there was no mention of the shooting of escaped murderer Donald Pfaster. We'd gotten numerous calls from reporters wanting to interview me, which I declined for obvious reasons. Luckily, the media was painting me as the victim and heroine, not as a villain. It was yet another reason why the board of inquiry investigating the shooting was anxious to exonerate me--anything else would look bad for the Bureau. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, though. We lay silently together through the weather forecast and sports news, and then the newscast went on to a human interest story. Bored, I rolled so that I lay on my back in front of Mulder, looking up at him as he propped himself up on an elbow. "You don't really think our priorities are out of whack, do you?" I asked, frowning. His offhand comment had been nagging at me the entire day, perhaps more for the hint of anger it revealed than anything else. Part of me had wanted to say yes to his proposal, and part of me was frightened by it. There were too many uncertainties in our lives right now--I wasn't sure it would be wise to start making plans at this time. Perhaps day-by-day was the only sane way to proceed with our lives. He sighed. "Honestly, Scully, sometimes I don't know. Sometimes it sure as hell does feel like maybe we've got our priorities wrong." I watched silently as he collected his thoughts. "When I-- when I was taken from the hospital, when I was operated on, I had--I don't know. A dream, I guess. Maybe a vision. Whatever it was, it was vivid, and it was very real. And in that vision, I left everything behind--the X-files, the truth, even you...I abandoned everything and went after that elusive entity known as a normal life. I think I didn't take you with me because I knew you'd never go, you'd never let me do it. You're noble enough to make the sacrifice. But it was wrong, Scully--everything was wrong. And eventually everything around me died--not just the people, but the whole world, and I knew that by giving up, *I* had caused it. No doubt I have a terminal case of hubris to presume that what we do would have that sort of impact, or that it all rests on me, but I think it's apparent that what we're doing is right. And I'm sure it's selfish to resent the fact that what we do demands a certain sacrifice--a sacrifice I'm *not* sure I'm willing to make, at least not entirely. I don't think it's wrong to try to stake out some happiness for ourselves in the midst of everything." I blinked, stunned by the admission. This wasn't the Fox Mulder I'd grown used to over the years. That Mulder had little room in his life for anything except the quest. It was frightening now to be the singular focus of his attention. "I don't know what to say, Mulder. I don't believe it's hubris to think we serve a higher cause. At the most basic, we're law enforcement officers. We put our lives on the line to protect those who can't protect themselves and to see justice met. That in itself qualifies as a higher cause. Beyond that, well--I don't know anymore. It probably is presumptuous to think the fate of the world rests on our actions. In the final analysis, that's all we are--law enforcement officers. We've seen things that most law enforcement personnel don't see, we've trod on toes a little higher in the hierarchy than most investigators get to trample, but in the end, the concept is the same. And I don't see that we're required to make any sacrifices beyond what any of our colleagues make. They have normal lives, families, houses, dogs...and so could we, if we chose to." "How can you say that after all you've lost in the course of the work?" he demanded, a little angrily. "Are you saying any of this might have happened if you'd gone into private practice or taught at Quantico or gotten assigned to some field office somewhere?" "Maybe. Who's to say it wouldn't have happened, but for other reasons?" I sat up abruptly, swinging my legs around to hang off the sofa while his stomach pressed against my hips and back. I raised my voice, agitated at being asked to second-guess the rather clear-cut course of our lives. Things were what they were; why did we need to question that? "What's the use of dealing in abstracts? There's no predicting these things, and there's damned sure not any way to look back and say 'this would never have happened if I'd done such-and-such,' because you *just don't know.* I think if you're guilty of hubris, Mulder, it's in assuming responsibility for everything bad that has happened, to me and to you, over the last seven years. You once told me that it was fate--who's to say that we wouldn't have been fated to endure the same trials if our lives had been different?" He was silent. There was no answer he could give me and he knew it. "Mulder, we chose this life. We chose to make the sacrifices, to take the risks. Not that I don't imagine we're discussing more than our living arrangements here, but let's just stick with that metaphor. Sure, we could move in together--but at what cost? Do we *want* to take the chance that we'll be separated and reassigned at work? Do we want to go back to doing background checks and wiretap surveillance? Now maybe, if we were other agents, we'd be able to get away with setting up house together without being separated, but the fact is, you and I tend to be under a lot more scrutiny than other agents, and we've got some black marks against us. But we could still do it- -if we chose to. I just don't think that's what we want." "Sometimes I don't know what I want, Scully," he mumbled, covering his face with his hands and rubbing his eyes wearily. "I want you, I know that. I want you safe, I want you happy...And sometimes I think, yeah, I think maybe I'd be willing to give up the work for that. I'm not like you. You got into this because you believed in truth, justice, and the American way. I got in it because I wanted to find the truth about my sister. Frankly, my motivation is a little easier to let go of and not feel like a heel." I blew out a frustrated breath. "Don't do that, Mulder. Don't put me on a pedestal. I didn't join the FBI for some high ideal--I joined because I wanted to do something *other* than what was expected of me, because I wanted to upset the nice, tidy apple cart of who Dana Scully was. And it's not up to you to ensure my safety or happiness," I said firmly, a little annoyed that he would presume to take on that duty. "That's my responsibility. And I choose to do what I'm doing. It's the right thing to do. And whether or not you acknowledge it, when it comes down to the wire, you always choose to do what's right, no matter what your initial inclination is." Suddenly my ire fled. If something was rubbing me the wrong way, it wasn't Mulder's fault and I had no right taking it out on him. I leaned over him where he lay propped up on his elbow and gave him a teasing smile. "I'm afraid, Agent Mulder, you're not quite the selfish pig you like to tell yourself you are." Suddenly, he rolled over onto his back and pulled me down on top of him. I stretched my legs until I lay flush atop his body, my chin resting on my hands on his chest. We sat there a long while simply staring at each other. "I don't think our priorities are a problem," I said finally, decisively. "We're together--that's certainly number one. And we've got our work. We've managed to find a satisfactory balance between the two; so I guess if it's not broke..." "Hmm," he nodded in acknowledgment, if not acceptance. "Perhaps I was just greedy enough to want more, to want it all, no negotiating, no sacrifices." There was no way I could answer that, so I didn't try. We sat silently for a moment. Morose thoughts, however, were quickly being replaced by something else as I felt the tension of his body beneath mine. He placed his hands on either side of my skull, threading his fingers through my hair as he drew my face toward his and grazed my lips in the lightest of kisses. "You know, you're wrong about one thing," he commented, whispering against my cheek as his lips caressed my skin. "What's that?" "I *am* a selfish pig. I look at you, and I want to keep you all to myself. I don't want to share you--not with the Bureau, or the work, or anything." "Ooh, testosterone poisoning. Next thing I know, you'll be grunting, Mulder," I chuckled. "No, I draw the line at grunting. I might oink, but I don't grunt." "Oh yeah?" I shifted my weight so that my hips pressed hard against his groin. "Uh!" the sound escaped him before he could control it. "Okay, point taken--I have been known to grunt with the proper stimulus." I smirked, content I'd made my point. Soon, it became apparent that my lying atop him was having an effect. "Better get off me before I forget I'm a gentleman," he warned me. "Who needs a gentleman?" "Scully--" "Mulder, has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?" "Actually, no," he replied ironically. "As a matter of fact, I can remember a number of times you've admonished me for not worrying enough." "Oh. Well then..." I pursed my lips thoughtfully. Finally I rocked back, bringing my legs beneath me and straddling his hips. My bottom pressed against his burgeoning erection. "Ah, screw it," I declared. "Mulder, take me to bed and make love to me. Now." I rocked again, causing him to groan softly, before I dismounted and sashayed toward the bedroom. At bedroom door, I paused to look back at him where he lay rubbing a hand over his erection through his pajama bottoms. "You coming?" I asked haughtily, stripping off my tank top and hooking my thumbs in the waistband of the boxers I'd appropriated from his drawer. "No doubt sooner than expected," he answered, unable to resist the too-obvious double-entendre as he heaved himself off the sofa and ambled after me into the bedroom. End of Aphrodisia VI, Part Two Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (3 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com By the time I reached the doorway, she was bent over, sliding the boxers down her hips, her positively gorgeous bottom in full view. "Allow me," I murmured, sinking to my knees behind her. I placed a tender kiss to the small of her back and ran my tongue over that erogenous zone until she moaned softly, then I took over the task of easing the shorts and her underwear down her legs. I nipped her buttock as she stepped out of the boxers, carefully helping her keep her balance as I held her waist in my hands. I nuzzled her hip and the soft mound of her derriere, stroking her fine skin with my bristly face, licking, tasting the sweetness of her flesh. She hummed softly in pleasure, a small shiver rippling through her body. My hands traveled upwards from her waist to cup her breasts, kneading gently, while my tongue trailed over the crease where her thigh met her buttock. I nipped again, a little harder, at the soft, fleshy underside of one cheek and was rewarded by hearing her gasp. "Talk to me, Scully," I entreated as I kissed and licked my way up her spine. "What do you want me to say?" I let go of her breasts to run my hands down her arms, starting at her shoulders and caressing downward until our fingers laced together. I wrapped all our collective arms around her torso and held her tightly with them as I began to kiss her neck. Her head fell to the side, baring the graceful arch of her throat to my teeth. They grazed over the artery where her pulse fluttered, working upward until I reached her ear. I pulled the lobe between my lips, sucking lightly, then finally releasing it to answer her question. "Tell me how to touch you. Tell me what you want me to do." My tongue dipped into her ear and she shuddered, her fingers clenching around mine. She slumped against me as her knees went weak. "You're doing pretty well on your own, Mulder." "I want to know what you want, how you want it. I want to know what you need." "Then touch my breasts again, hold them." "Like this?" I released her hands and engulfed the flesh in my hands, supporting their weight. Her nipples were warm, firm nubs in the center of my palms. "Yes. But gently--I'm tender." "Bruises?" I asked, uncertain of whether I should be touching her if she was bruised. It had been over a week, and I hadn't seen any in the shower, but then, I was looking from overhead--who knew what damage lingered on the soft underside of her breasts. "No, hormones," she answered with a hint of impatience. "Don't be so paranoid, Mulder." "Oh, sorry," I muttered. Granted, we hadn't been lovers long, but certainly long enough for me to know by now that her breasts got very sore in the days leading up to her period. I hadn't witnessed her taking off her bra while I was in the shower, or I might have noticed her grimace, or heard her soft hiss, as gravity took hold of the sensitive flesh. "Touch me--" she prompted. I refocused on the task literally at hand and, adhering to her instructions, palmed her breasts gently, cupping the soft--and presently sore--undersides in my hands. The skin of her shoulders was silky and cool against my bare chest, her hair fragrant against my nose. She allowed herself to lean back on me, letting me support her as my erection prodded the small of her back. "Yes--keep doing what you were doing to my neck." I went back to laving her neck with my tongue, listening to each gasp and hitch of her breath. She'd probably throttle me for thinking it, but I was afraid to touch her, afraid she was too fragile, emotionally and physically, for me to handle. I could feel the rough patches on her skin where half-healed cuts lingered. On the back of her neck was one particularly nasty specimen from when Pfaster had slammed her into the dresser mirror. I needed the reassurance of her voice, and the guarantee that if I followed her instructions, I could be sure everything I did was something she was all right with. I didn't trust myself to guess. I sucked on the tendon between her neck and shoulder and she shuddered, her weight pressing against me even more as her knees buckled for a second. It was only an instant, though, before she regained her balance and stood upright, pulling away from me. She walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, looking at me expectantly. I approached her slowly, sinking to my knees once more as I reached the edge of the bed. She bent over and kissed me, softly and yet with passion, her lips parting mine, her tongue stroking my teeth and the inner recesses of my mouth. I let her explore, let her lead the kiss, responding but not taking over. This was about Scully-- what she needed to do to feel good, to heal, to feel in control of her life once more. She lifted my hands from where they rested on the outsides of her thighs and brought them to her breasts once more, massaging lightly. I picked up the motion and rhythm from her and she let her own hands fall away, taking my face between them and holding me still with her lips on mine. She sighed into my mouth before pulling back and arching, pressing her breasts toward my face. I took my cue as she very gently pulled my head to her chest and softly took one nipple into my mouth. Keeping in mind her tender state, I didn't suck, but squeezed it gently between my lips, laving it with my tongue before changing sides. She gave a quiet whimper of pleasure that was amplified in her chest so that it rang in my ears. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by emotion. I removed my mouth from her breast and pressed my ear between them instead, listening to the steady drumming of her heart. Still beating, still alive...My throat tightened and I had to trap a muffled sob before it escaped my chest as I considered how close we'd come once again to that not being the case. My arms closed around her back and I pulled her to me, clutching her desperately as I concentrated on that reassuring rhythm that was the beating of her heart. I felt a tear slide off my face and splash onto her breast. Shit. No, not tonight. This wasn't about me. It wasn't about my needs or my comfort or my fear, but it was too late. A second tear followed the first, and then a third. They were silent tears, not accompanied by sobs or other histrionics, for which I was grateful. I just held her tightly and shuddered within the arms twined around my shoulders while the tears squeezed out from between tightly closed eyelids. After several long moments, I heard a sniffle and looked up to see glistening tracks of moisture on Scully's cheeks as well. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. I reached up, cradling her face, wiping her cheeks with my thumbs as one pair of wet eyes gazed worshipfully up into another. "*I'm* okay. We're gonna be okay." I nodded slowly, composing myself internally as I continued to stare at her. I had never in my life felt this brand of tenderness and protectiveness toward a woman, never known what it was like to love so completely that the beloved person became a part of your soul. Unthinking, we moved in tandem, I rising and she descending until our lips clashed desperately. There was a mad moment when we tried to devour each other, slowly cooling in increments until our lips clung tenderly one to the other. Our mouths mated, our tongues twined, our hands stroked the bare skin of one another's backs. She pulled back and hissed as my hand found a large bruise on her back that hadn't yet disappeared and I murmured an apology, which she dismissed with a shake of her head. Trustingly she allowed me to lay her down on the bed, rising to lean over her from where I knelt between her legs. My lips traversed her torso, pressing hot, openmouthed kisses all over her body, over her shoulders and breasts and stomach. My tongue flicked out, tasting her skin. Nuzzling her with my nose, I sank farther downward until my mouth brushed lightly over the wet lips between her thighs. My tongue parted them as I would the lips of her mouth in a gentle kiss, gently delving between. Her musky flavor and scent filled my senses--rich, heady, a little sweet, a little tangy. It was as though all of Scully could be summed up in that vital essence. Her soft gasps and shuddering sighs rang in my ears, her thighs quivered where they bracketed my head as I continued the intimate kiss. My tongue dipped into her moist sex and then withdrew to stroke the engorged knot of nerves above-- teasing, flicking, sucking. Her fingers dove into my hair and held me to her while her hips rose and fell in a gentle rhythm that matched the thrusts of my tongue. It was a long while before I ceased that caress, unwilling to relinquish this opportunity to pleasure her, to savor her. But her whispered entreaty and the insistent pulling of her hands on my head brought me up from the floor as she slid further back onto the bed and lay waiting for me as I took off my pajama bottoms and boxer briefs. I knelt on the mattress between her thighs and leaned forward, bracing my weight on my arms on either side of her shoulders. She brought her knees up and reached for me, taking my cock in her hand and guiding me home. We moaned in unison, softly, as her flesh yielded to mine. I gave a couple of gentle experimental thrusts, changing angles, watching her reaction to try to discover what was working best for her. Moving slowly in and out, I sank down above her, capturing her lips and finding a rhythm to settle into. All that existed in that moment was the pleasure of her tight, hot flesh surrounding me, the hitching sound of her gasps, the small shudders that ran through her when something felt just right. I kissed her, my mouth melding with hers, our tongues dueling. When her hands grasped my ass, pulling me deeper into her, I increased the pace. In an instant, everything changed. One moment she was gasping in pleasure, and the next a wheeze of fear had entered the sound. She began hyperventilating, bringing her hands up to push with sudden desperation at my shoulders. Her eyes were wide with panic. "Get off me! Now!" The urgency in her voice penetrated the fog of passion enshrouding my mind and I rolled away in an instant. I sat up, torn between the need to assist her and the instinctive knowledge that she needed me to keep a distance while she panted in fear, a white-knuckled fist clenched and pressed between her breasts, over her heart. "I'm sorry," she said breathlessly after a moment. "I just...felt a little claustrophobic all of a sudden. I couldn't breathe..." "Shh, it's okay," I reached out to pat her back reassuringly, and found myself the one reassured when she didn't flinch or pull away. It was to be expected that she would have some post-traumatic reactions from her ordeal. I couldn't help feeling we had moved too fast, done too much for her to handle. I kicked myself for not arguing harder when she'd stated her desire. I should have known she wasn't ready... "Come here," she murmured after a long moment, extending her arms to me. I looked at her questioningly, uncertain that approaching her would be a good idea. If she needed space, I could give her space, as long as I knew she was all right. The ache in my groin didn't even signify. "It's okay, Mulder, seriously. I'm all right now. Please, just come here." Hesitating only for another instant, I obeyed, crawling slowly to close the small distance between us. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and settled her head against my chest. Her warm breath wafted across my skin. After a moment, I cautiously returned the embrace, placing my arms gingerly around her and stroking her hair. "I'm sorry," she said again, softly. "Don't be. Scully--anything you need, just tell me. It was too soon, we pushed too fast...I should have realized it wasn't a good idea." "It wasn't the sex, Mulder, that's not the problem." "Then talk to me, Scully. What was the problem?" "I just--I've never been really fond of tight spaces, even when I was young. But recently--" Frowning, she leaned back and began to tick off incidents on her fingers. "There was the trunk of my car with Duane Barry, our first encounter with Donnie Pfaster, the people in Dudley, Arkansas, Gerry Schnauz, Antarctica, and now Pfaster again. Hell, I don't even think that's all of them. I hear some people can go their whole lives without riding in the trunk of a car or getting crammed into a closet; I practically do it once a year. So, I'm not terribly fond of small spaces. I just--I just felt suffocated for a moment, closed in. My face was covered, my breath blocked, and I panicked." "You don't have to explain to me. It's okay..." "No, it's not okay. What I'm trying to explain to you is that I want to try to pick up where we left off. It wasn't the sex that got to me, and I don't want to give up on it just because I had a moment of panic," she sighed with frustration. "I'd like to continue making love, if that's all right with you." "You don't have anything to prove, Scully," I said, shaking my head. "It's all right for us to take our time. There's tomorrow, or there's next week, or next month or next year. The only thing that matters to me is that you're okay." "And what matters to *me* is taking my life back, Mulder. I told you, Pfaster can't have this. I won't allow it. I want to make love with you. Please--I need you." Her words stopped me cold. I don't know that I'd ever actually heard them from Scully. I certainly knew that I'd never be able to deny her anything she asked for when she finally did speak them. Her hand trailed down my chest to encircle my rather wilted erection. The first touch caused a violent shudder to run through my body and I watched as Scully pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her expression almost studious as she slowly and skillfully brought me to a fully erect state once more. I sat there silently, waiting for her direction. "Here--lay back," she instructed quietly. Without hesitation, I slid up on the bed until I was lying in the center. She straddled my thighs and carefully lowered herself onto me. Another mutual sigh filled the room. Bending over to kiss me gently, she began to move with agonizing slowness, raising and lowering herself at an easy pace. Her soft breasts swayed enticingly with each movement, and I reached up to hold them, then slid my hands around her waist to her back. I worked on kneading the muscles of her back with my hands as she rose and fell, working away the tension. We took our time, moving slowly, until Scully went still. "Sit up," she murmured. "I want to feel you against me." We maneuvered carefully until I was sitting upright against the headboard, a pillow cushioning my back. Scully, still astride me, leaned forward to claim my mouth in a passionate kiss and began to move again. Her exquisitely soft breasts rubbed intimately against my chest. It was of her doing that we were face to face, breathing each other's breath, as she pressed herself against me and kissed me over and over. I moved my efforts at a backrub to her shoulders and upper spine for as long as I could, before the feeling of being inside her became too much to allow for anything other than existing in the sensation. Our movements became faster and less restrained, and uncontrollably I began to move upward to meet her thrusts. The sighs of pleasure became rapid pants of passion, and she tore her mouth from mine, throwing her head back and giving a ragged moan of pleasure. She leaned backward, holding my shoulders and meeting my eyes, her heavy-lidded gaze glassy. Simultaneously, we grabbed each other's faces, our fingers threading into the other's hair, staring intently at one another as we approached our peaks. Her lips were swollen and her mouth hanging open as she gasped and moaned. I felt the start of her orgasm in the fluttering of her sheath around my cock a few seconds before she fell forward, kissing me desperately while I swallowed her cries. My own climax followed just a moment later, leaving me shuddering and groaning in her arms. As I came back to myself, Scully and I were twined around one another, rocking slowly. Her face was pressed into the curve of my neck and she was murmuring to me. Her words were muffled, but I think I picked up a "thank you." "My pleasure," I chuckled softly. She lifted herself off me and padded into the bathroom to clean up while I folded back the bedcovers. By the time she returned, I was lying on my back on my side of the bed in the darkened room, my arms folded behind my head as I gazed pensively up at the ceiling. "What are you thinking?" she asked quietly, slipping under the covers beside me. She propped herself up on her elbow as I turned my head to face her. "I'm wondering how many more hits we can take before something has to give." "We take as many as we have to, Mulder. But we should try to choose our battles whenever possible. That's something we've never been very good at." "You mean that's something I've never been good at," I corrected her, grimacing. Most of what had happened to Scully had not been of her own creation, but circumstances which happened to her. Me, I tended to go running after trouble. That had stopped, though, a little over a year and a half before. It had stopped after my insistence on pursuing a case nearly got her killed and led me on a chase to the bottom of the world to bring her back. "It's a partnership, Mulder," she sighed. "I'm not going to try to separate virtues and vices or attempt to assign blame." "I wish you'd leave, Scully. I wish you'd get out before anything else happens to you." "Then who would hang around to save your sorry ass?" she replied with dry laugh. "No. For better or worse, I'm in this, too. And for better or worse, it's where I want to be, no matter how grumpy I get about it sometimes." I let the common phrase from the traditional wedding vows pass without comment, even though we both knew it had been a deliberate choice of wording on her part. "Whatever happened to getting out of the damned car, or grabbing life by the testes?" "God, you still remember that car remark?" She sighed as she considered the question. "That was--a different time. It was right after Dallas and Antarctica, and not even a year had passed since Emily... we weren't accomplishing anything then, and we were on Kersh's manure patrol. It just--wasn't a good time. I don't feel that way anymore." Notably missing from the list of grievances which haunted that time in her life was how I'd professed my faith in Diana Fowley despite Scully's reservations. "As for the testes comment--" she tossed me a saucy grin. "I had one very specific pair of testes in mind at the time, but they--or at least their owner--seemed to be oblivious." "Believe me, I was *not* oblivious." "You're getting me off track," she said primly. "My point is, we're no longer spinning our wheels. After what I saw in Africa, I feel like we have a purpose again. I don't want to give up, Mulder. I'm right where I should be." And that was the end of that, I supposed. There wasn't really anything left to say. I extended my arm and she slid closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder while her leg stretched across my groin and her hand came to rest in the middle of my chest. I gave a sigh as she snuggled in, then closed my eyes to rest. "It was Saturday today, you know," she muttered drowsily. It only took a second before I caught on to the significance of her remark. "It doesn't matter. It's not important." Frankly, I couldn't envision ever going there again, ever setting aside my protective instincts enough to be demanding with her. I suppose it was good we became lovers when we did--if this redux with Pfaster had happened before I accosted her in her apartment that night, I might never have been secure enough in the knowledge of her well-being to do it. I could only be thankful that we'd had a few months respite, a brief period of time for us to enjoy our love unblemished before the grim reality of our lives set in once more. "Yes it is important," she replied in a sleepy murmur. "It is to me. But I just need to take my time. Soon, though-- " "Take all the time you need, Scully. I'll still be here when we're both ready again." "'Kay," I barely heard the mumbled answer. "'Night." I turned my head and kissed the top of hers. "'Night, Scully." End of Aphrodisia VI, Part Three Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (4 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com The board of inquiry was almost absurdly pleased to exonerate me and I was absurdly distressed by their willingness to do so. It didn't matter that I tried to take ownership of my crime, tried to explain to them what had really happened. They didn't want to know; I had put down a sleaze who would have kept killing in the most horrific manner imaginable if I hadn't stopped him and they weren't going to fault me for that. After a few weeks' mental health leave and a thorough psych evaluation, I would return to work on the X-Files. The truth would remain forever between me and Mulder and my confessor, if I ever managed to force myself to go to confession. I didn't think I was pushing it when nearly a month later, I asked Mulder if we could resume our Saturday play-dates. He was uncertain, that much was apparent. His first reaction was a knee-jerk refusal, but I convinced him it was all right. Had I been in a frame of mind to question my actions, I might have recognized there was a problem with me essentially seducing him into agreeing. But what was important to me was proving I had regained control of my life--and what better way to do that than getting right back in the saddle in everything I did? I was doing all right, and I made Mulder believe it. I even believed it myself; I wasn't just putting up a front. The nightmares were slowly becoming less frequent and I wasn't nearly as moody as I had been immediately after the incident. In fact, most of my days I would classify as good, cheerful even. We had resumed a healthy, if somewhat less frantic and more tender, sex life. I had all of a sudden become the aggressor, with Mulder hanging back to let me decide what I wanted before I came to him. And I went to him frequently, because in his arms was the only place I could forget for a while. I thought we were well on the road to recovery and I very deliberately ignored the voice inside me that told me I was faking it, putting a happy face on everything in an attempt to make it all right again. I thought surely what I was doing was better than all the times in the past when I pushed Mulder away while I was hurting. I plunged forward, determined to reclaim my life. He started out slowly during that first play session, with an emphasis on sensation and eroticism rather than any intense bondage or rough sex, touching me softly, sensually, setting nerve endings ablaze and driving me out of my mind. He handled me with care, conscientious of my healing emotional state, and if I objected to being treated as if I was fragile, I had the sense to recognize that it wasn't my place to question his judgment in this arena. He had changed things in the house we were borrowing from Byers since our last time there. He'd moved the futon into the living room so that it was before the fireplace and when we entered, he had me turn on the natural gas flame around the faux logs that had been added there. I wondered if that was his addition, or Byers'. At any rate, it was certainly a good choice, considering I would have had to build and tend the fire if the fireplace hadn't been updated. I sank down onto the futon as he kissed me, facing the fireplace and feeling the warmth upon my body. "Lay down. Put your hands up over your head," he instructed me in that sensuous voice that went straight to the pit of my belly. I obeyed while he stroked me slowly, seductively, his fingers feather-light across my skin. "Spread your legs." At this command he nudged my knees farther apart until I was wide open and exposed to him. Then he gently drew a hand over my eyes. "Close your eyes, now, and keep them closed." I did as I was instructed, letting myself float on his voice; that calm, caressing voice that normally left me feeling like I was drowning in warm honey. When I felt it wasn't working, I tried harder to focus on it and let it take me to that peaceful, contented place I went when we played. I needed to go there--it was a safe, gentle place where I felt cherished and protected. "You said something to me the last time we were together, Kat. You told me you sometimes felt like you were pretending when you called me Master. But you also told me you wanted that fact to be reality, and so that's what we're going to work on today. This isn't real until you believe it's real." A kiss, whisper-soft across my lips, and then his breath came warm next to my ear. I was unbearably wet already and we had hardly begun. My heart pounded in my chest. "As of this moment, Kat, you are bound. Not by ropes or cuffs or chains, but by your submission. You are bound by my command. Your hands," he ran his long fingers up my arms to stroke my wrists where they rested above my head, "are anchored here cannot move from this spot. Your feet are tied, spread far apart, so that you're open for me to use as I see fit. Your eyes are blindfolded and cannot open, and your mouth," this he whispered against my trembling lips, "has been gagged so you cannot speak or cry out." He returned to stroking me, allowing me to adjust to the idea that I couldn't move despite the fact I had all the freedom in the world to do so if I chose. Somehow the heat of the fire seemed more intense now that I could only feel it rather than look at the flames. Sounds were exaggerated in my ears. My eyes kept wanting to blink open, if just for a moment to see what he was doing, but I was forbidden. "If you succeed in remaining still and silent, except for such sounds as could normally escape a gag, and keep your eyes closed, you will be rewarded. If you fail, you will be punished. The only thought that should be in your head is how being bound like this is every bit as real as if I had tied you." I nodded silently, squeezing my eyelids shut. Surely this couldn't be that hard--with the one rather spectacular exception of the time I had fought him, I'd had no problems obeying him in the past. I wanted to obey him, so it wasn't a difficulty. I felt something soft and silky running over my belly and thought he must be using his fur mitt. The first test of my mental bondage came when that diabolical bit of fur moved from my belly and breasts to the sides of my ribs. That tickled, and I went rigid in an effort to avoid wriggling. My body quivered with tension, which only made the sensation of being tickled that much worse. I gasped aloud when it reached my armpit, then clamped my lips lightly together, appalled that I had erred so soon. "That's right, Kat--it's not so easy. In the past, you've always had the ability to speak and move actually taken away from you, so you didn't have the option of doing it. Now, you are fully able to move, or look, or speak-- physically. But anyone could bind your body, Kat. Anyone can subjugate another person and force that person to their will. What I want is your surrender, your acceptance of my ownership, to the point where no ropes are necessary to bind you. I want you to be mine in your own mind." My heart did a sickening somersault in my chest and a spasm of fear ran through me. My mind. He wanted my mind. I'd given him my body happily, and my heart with only slight hesitation, but he wanted more. He wanted the very essence of me, and suddenly I wasn't so sure I could give him that. Wasn't that what I had fought against my entire adult life? Suddenly I was afraid. The tickling was unbearable and unrelenting, ceasing only long enough to move to the other side of my ribcage. I bit my lip hard in an effort to offset the sensation, clenching my fists so that my nails gouged my palms, and still it persisted. I wanted to put my arms down, wanted to protect my ticklish flesh from the unyielding assault. I even began to pull them down and stopped only when I was surprised to discover I was not meeting with any resistance in my efforts to move them. No pull of ropes or cuffs signified the limit of my range of motion, though I had fully expected to find myself so restrained. "Kat." His voice was low and ominous as I sat with my arms suspended half way above me. "Put them down. Now." Slowly, cautiously I inched my hands back into their position above my head. "The tickling will only stop when you stop resisting it," my Master said firmly. "You're prolonging your own discomfort. If you surrendered to it, it wouldn't bother you anymore." Surrender. Right. Fat fucking chance, I thought rebelliously. As if he would surrender if our roles were reversed. I gritted my teeth tightly, trying to outwait the torment, but it was no use. When one side became acclimated to what he was doing, he'd change sides, change pressure--whatever it took to keep my nerve endings alert with the sensations he inflicted. There was no escaping, though I wriggled as best I could within the confines of my "bindings." Finally, with a sigh, I forced myself to be still and to relax as best I could. If that was the price for making it stop, then I would do it. And yet it didn't stop. He continued long after I made the decision to quit struggling and I found myself growing angry. Another pass of the glove over my armpit and upper arm and I bolted upright, snarling, "Flukeman!" He immediately sat back and placed the mitt in his lap, waiting for me to tell him what the problem was. I glowered at him, rubbing my ribs as if I could wipe away the phantom sensations. "You promised you'd stop," I said finally, hating the petulance in my voice but unable to stop it. "I promised the torment would end once you surrendered to it. You didn't do that." "I did! I laid there, laid still, accepting it, but you didn't stop!" "Why did you accept it, Kat? Were there conditions to that acceptance?" he fixed me with an uncompromising stare. "Of course there were. You only accepted it to make it stop, which isn't acceptance at all. You have to accept that it will continue as long as I choose for it to continue, and surrender to that fact. That's when you'll be able to stop resisting and simply accept it for what it is--my way of exercising my authority over you, my *rights* over you. The rights that *you* gave me. And that's when it will stop tormenting you, even if the physical act causing the torment doesn't cease." I blinked, staring at him for a long moment, feeling my expression change to incredulity. Forget that my inner thighs were now desperately wet with the fluids of arousal seeping from my body--he was crazy if he thought anyone could possibly do what he was asking. Wasn't he? That sort of willing acquiescence to something one would most certainly find patently unpleasant--real people just didn't do that. It was great in a book or a fantasy, but we were talking about what the human body and mind were actually capable of dealing with. "You need to trust me, Kat." "Don't bring trust into this!" I snapped, irrationally angry all of a sudden. Worse, I felt my eyes prickling and was mortified to discover I felt like crying. I turned my head away quickly, refusing to face him. "It has nothing to do with trust! And don't call me Kat--I used my safe- word, dammit." "It has everything to do with trust," he replied in that too-reasonable voice. "You trusted me enough to tell me your fantasy, your darkest and most secret desires, but you don't trust me to fulfill them for you--not completely. You'll let me play the role you want me to play for you, but only to a point--so at the end of everything, you can look back and say 'I was just pretending.' But you don't want that, and you know it. You've admitted as much; now you just need to let go of it." He wasn't playing by the rules--he was supposed to take my control away, rather than making me exercise it. That wasn't what we had agreed to. "Can't you just tie me up?" I asked plaintively, disheartened, still struggling with the tightness in my throat, the tears I refused to let fall. Jesus, why was I suddenly so emotional? This was just a sex game, it was nothing to get weepy over. "No, I can't just bind you. If we're going to do this--if we're going to make it real, the way you said you want it, then you have to let go and let it be real. You have to surrender." God, his voice! I wanted to sink into it, let it wash over me and surround me. I wanted to wrap it around me like a safe, warm blanket I could hide under for as long as I needed to--but I couldn't. "Shit!" I hissed when I realized two rogue tears had escaped and were making their way down my face. I wiped them away hastily, knowing it was pointless to hope Mulder hadn't noticed. Now he would fret and be all solicitous and worried... "Hey--" a hand on my face, forcing me to meet his concerned eyes. "Let's go home, Scully. This wasn't a good idea today. You need more time." Can I call it or what? "I don't want to go home, Mulder," I said, hating how choked my voice sounded. "I want to be here. I don't know why I'm acting this way--" I gave a low groan of frustration and stood from the futon, intent on crossing the room to don the dress I wore that morning, but Mulder caught me with his hands on my waist and pulled me down into his lap. "Dammit, Mulder, let me go!" I wriggled and pulled, trying to jerk away, but his arms were locked in a death-grip around me. "No, I don't think I will," he murmured, clutching me to his chest. I could have broken free of his grasp if I'd tried, but why? He wasn't going to hurt me; he just wanted to hold me. And whether I wanted to acknowledge it or not, I wanted to be held. "When we're here, in this place, you're mine to take care of. And I don't give a damn whose feminist mentality that offends, or if it upsets your precious sense of independence, or any of that. I try to give you all the space you need out there, but not in here. That's the way it's got to be or we're not doing this anymore. We can't; it wouldn't be safe." I ceased struggling, but I couldn't relax into his embrace. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to come here, to try to do this again. Something drastic had changed for me over the last month and the things that had suited my emotional state then weren't what I needed now. After a long moment, he spoke again, in a soothing tone that chafed against my mood. I didn't want to be soothed, or comforted, or have things made better. "Now, if you say you don't want to go home, that you want to be here, I believe you. But things are different from the last time we did this, and I think we need to reevaluate what we want out of this in light of those changes. You said you need this, but I need you to be more precise. What do you need?" "I don't know," I answered, frustrated. "I just started to feel panicked when you spoke of getting into my mind. I know that's what I said I wanted, but that was then--that was before..." I couldn't say it. I couldn't say his name. The last time I'd spoken Donnie Pfaster's name was at the hearing held by the board of inquiry into the shooting. After that, I'd sworn I'd never speak it again. "I don't know if I can give you that, Mulder. Maybe I could have, once, but not now." "Why?" I growled in annoyance, trying to pull away from him again. "You're the goddamned psychologist. You tell me why!" "You're afraid." It wasn't a question, and though there was no contempt or blame in the words, I bristled nonetheless, automatically defensive. It took several moments for me to prevent myself from snapping back in anger. He continued, "When we started all this, it had been some time since our last crisis. We were getting comfortable, starting to feel secure once more, and now that's gone. Without that sense of security, you can't let go. You're afraid and you're taking it out on me because it's pissing you off." "I'm not afraid," I said at last, firmly. We both knew it was bullshit, but I was compelled to say it anyway. I couldn't admit to being afraid; admitting it made me feel somehow weaker. Still, I tried to tone down the anger. He was right that I was taking it out on him, and knowing Mulder, he'd just keep taking it as long as I dished it out. I didn't want to do that to him. "I wanted to come here because when we do this, when I'm here with you, I feel safe." "You *used* to feel safe here." "Quit it, Mulder." "Quit what?" "Quit trying to make this about Pfaster. I don't--I don't want him in this. He has no place here with us." "Too late, Scully. Like it or not, what happened with Pfaster is going to affect every part of your life. You can't escape it; you just have to deal with it. I've watched you for a month now, trying to cut yourself off from what's happened, and I'm sorry to say it's not going to work." My head was starting to ache with my tension and when I noticed Mulder's arms had relaxed around me, I pulled away from him and sat on the futon beside him, pulling my knees protectively to my bare chest and wrapping the blanket over my shoulders. "That's not what I come here for, Mulder. I come here to get away from all that." Even as I spoke the words, I knew if that was the case, my reasons were all wrong. What was I here for? When we first started this whole thing, it had been because I found the fantasy of submission to be a huge turn-on. But somewhere along the way, I'd found an emotional need I wasn't even aware of was being fulfilled. A need to be protected and sheltered, to let myself relinquish the crushing sense of duty and obligation and responsibility under which I found myself so often laboring. When I submitted to him, I felt free. But that was the problem, wasn't it? Before, I had been able to relinquish those things to Mulder because I felt safe doing so. I didn't have to be strong when we played. But now, I couldn't release my personal control enough to successfully do this with Mulder, and that annoyed me. I hated the idea that there was something I *couldn't* do. I wanted the sexual and psychological release submission provided me with, but I wasn't prepared to risk what was necessary to achieve it. Not now. "Maybe you're right," I muttered after a long moment, rising and crossing the room to my clothes, the blanket wrapped protectively around me. "Maybe this was a bad idea. Let's go home." "Are you sure that's what you want?" his eyes were dark and solemn as he studied me from where he sat on the futon. I gave a low growl of incredulous anger. "Let it go, Mulder, okay? Let's just get out of here." I dropped the blanket and pulled the dress over my head. "Why do you want to leave?" "Because obviously this isn't working!" "Why isn't it working?" "I don't know! Dammit! Quit playing twenty questions, all right? I'm not in the mood." "We came here because you requested it. Obviously, you felt there was something here you wanted or needed, and I need to know what that is or I can't give it to you." He was like a fucking bulldog with a bone in his teeth! "I wanted sex, Mulder, okay? I wanted to get a little kinky, because it's been a while. Now, apparently that's not going to happen, so let's go." In retrospect, I had to wonder how long he'd been waiting for an opening like that. He pounced on it. "Just like you've wanted sex practically every night for the last month?" he asked dangerously, unfolding his long form as he rose from the futon. He began to stalk me across the empty living room. "Is that why you've jumped me every time you find you have five minutes to analyze what's going on in your head? Hate to tell you this, Scully, but I didn't get into this relationship so you can use me to run away from your feelings." I saw red for a moment and felt my face flush angrily. He'd struck a nerve--I'd been using him for weeks to get away from my own thoughts, and I should have known he'd see it. "Go to hell," I snarled, feeling something ugly and cruel rear up inside me. "I didn't exactly notice you protesting whenever I decided I wanted to fuck you." "That's because I trusted you to know what's best for you. Now I'm not so sure." I realized I was walking backward, trying to get away from his implacable approach. "Oh, well that's just great, Mulder. Hate to tell *you*, but I didn't get into this relationship so you could decide what is and isn't best for me!" "Well maybe someone should, because you sure as hell can't seem to do it for yourself!" "Fuck you, Mulder. That's not your call to make," I said coldly, crossing my arms over my breasts. Somewhere inside, I cringed at my own words and behavior--Mulder hadn't done anything to deserve this, but I was beyond controlling it. This was getting ugly; *I* was getting ugly. If he even heard the progressively more hurtful words I hurled at him, he gave no indication. "Then whose call is it?" he demanded. I stood my ground as he finally reached me, getting in my face. "Who better than someone who loves you? Someone who's been with you during every step of this process and would cut off his right arm to help you if you just gave me the first goddamned clue as to what's going on inside your head. I'm tired of guessing what you're thinking, Scully, and I'm tired of waiting for the moment you decide you're ready to let me in." "What the hell do you want from me?" I demanded heatedly. Even through my rage I could feel tears pricking the back of my eyelids, and it only served to make me more irate. He had no right to put me through this. It didn't matter that it was true--he knew I wouldn't be willing to have this discussion. "I've given you more than I've ever given anyone. What more do you want?" "I want everything," he growled, his voice low. "The only thing I asked from you going into this relationship was that you don't hold back on me. It was an all or nothing proposition, and we both knew it. Now it's time for you to do your share." "Are you giving me an ultimatum, Mulder?" End of Aphrodisia VI, Part Four Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (5 of 5) Kristel S. Oxley-Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com "Are you giving me an ultimatum, Mulder?" I asked, dangerous rage roiling within me. I clenched my teeth in an effort to suppress it. We both knew what had happened the last time I got this angry with someone. "Oh, no," he shook his head in a brusque gesture. "I'm not going to let you blackmail your way out of this discussion with the threat that you'll walk away from everything if I don't drop it. It was all or nothing and we chose all. We're in, and it doesn't matter how pissed off we get, there's no going back. We chose to be in this relationship. I'm demanding you live up to that choice." "Which means what?" I inquired sarcastically. He was right--unless I was honestly willing to walk away from him, I couldn't play that card, and I wasn't willing to do that. I'd be damned if I let our relationship fall apart because of that piece of slime, Pfaster. Nonetheless, I wasn't willing to yield to his insistence, either. "You get to badger me until I do things to your satisfaction? Until you're convinced I'm dealing with things properly?" "I'd be satisfied for you to deal with things at all rather than running away from them," he replied calmly. He wasn't irritated anymore, and I wonder if he'd been irritated at all earlier, or if it had been an act to provoke me. Now he was frighteningly composed, his words and motions deliberate. He stepped forward until he was pressing me back against the wall, pinning me. At his physical proximity, as I realized my inability to move, my heart began to pound in my chest and my breath came faster. "Get back, Mulder. Now." I'd like to think I sounded ominous and threatening, but the truth was I probably sounded as panicked and desperate as I felt. His blank expression seemed cold, cruel. "Why should I, Scully? Are you afraid?" he taunted. "Dammit, get away from me!" I yelled hoarsely, my rising hysteria audible. How could he do this to me? There was no question in my mind that he fully intended the effect he was having. I'd never seen Mulder act so coldly, with such calculation, except perhaps on a case. I began to hyperventilate, shoving at his shoulders. He leaned his weight into me, pressing me harder against the wall. Scalding tears spilled down my cheeks, but I was oblivious to them in my need to escape him. I tried to lift a knee to catch him in the groin, but he'd positioned himself so that I hit his hip instead. He grunted in surprised pain, but didn't back off. He was too heavy; pushing him away was no use. Frantic, I began to strike out, hitting, clawing, elbowing...When he caught my hands, I tried to bite. *Too big...too strong...can't get away!* A voice chanted desperately in my head. I hated him for being stronger, hated my weakness, hated my inability to get free...Amidst the thrashing of my head as I tried to reach him with my teeth, animalistic screams issued from my throat. "Scully!" he snapped, releasing my hands to catch my face before I succeeded in biting him. "Scully, stop! Look at me, Scully! Damn you, look at me!" My head held immobile by his large hands, I had no choice but to look up at him--and see only Mulder standing there, with an expression of fear and concern. Mulder, who would never harm me, looking sad and worried as I tried my damnedest to hurt him. Mulder, who loved me more than anything on earth, standing immobile as I made him the target of my desperate, murderous rage... "Oh, God!" I gasped, horror filling me. I couldn't do this, couldn't get this angry with Mulder--couldn't let myself hurt him. My knees sagged and I began to slide down the wall. Mulder went down with me, holding me as I began to sob. "I'm sorry," I whimpered between racking, gulping gasps for air. "Oh, God, Mulder, I'm sorry!" "Shh, it's okay," he whispered against my hair. "It's okay, Scully. Let me help you." "I hated him, Mulder!" I cried, choking on my sobs. "He got the drop on me and I couldn't fight him, couldn't get away from him! It didn't matter how much training I had--I wasn't strong enough to fight him. He made me feel weak and I hated him for it! I hated him and I killed him!" "I know, Scully. It's okay..." "No," I said mournfully, "it's not. For just a moment just now, when you trapped me and I couldn't get away, I hated you too, Mulder. It was the same; the weakness, and the fury..." "No, Scully, no. It's not the same at all. You wouldn't have hurt me. I know that." "*I* don't even know that! I would have said once that I knew I wouldn't gun down an unarmed man no matter how much I hated him, Mulder, but it's not true. I feel like I don't know myself anymore, don't know what I'm capable of doing--" My voice hitched on a sob again and I could feel the tears chilling in wet tracks down my face, but it seemed like too much trouble to reach up and wipe them away. It didn't matter; Mulder had already seen them, seen me at my weakest. I'd been unable to yield to him earlier because I couldn't bring myself to be weak again. The last time I'd been weak, Pfaster had gotten the drop on me and nearly killed me. I'd ended up murdering him instead. I'd wound up so far beyond reason, beyond control, that I had unthinkingly pulled the trigger on an unarmed man already in Mulder's custody. If I didn't get past this--*really* get past this, not just pretend--Pfaster really was going to win. I couldn't force myself to be sorry he was dead, and that was what bothered me. I hadn't gone to confession since killing him, because in order to receive absolution, I'd need to repent of what I had done and I couldn't bring myself to repent at all. Pfaster deserved to die, and I didn't know how to reconcile that with the person I knew myself to be. I hadn't allowed myself to feel sorrow, because Pfaster hadn't deserved any, but neither had I allowed myself to feel joy, because it would have been inappropriate to be happy when I had murdered someone. I hadn't allowed myself to consider how terrified I was, not just that I could have been killed, but that everything could have been taken away from me in an instant if it had been decided the shooting was unjustified. But most of all, I hadn't let myself feel my own rage; rage that a monster like Donnie Pfaster existed on this earth to hurt people, that he'd hurt me, that he'd stripped away my personal control, violated my home, and made me feel weak. "You wouldn't have hurt me, Scully," Mulder reiterated after a moment. "How can you be so sure?" "Because you're stronger than that," he replied simply. Simple emotional exhaustion caught up with me at that point. I was barely aware when moments later, he lifted me and carried me to the futon. I thought of protesting that I didn't need to be carried, but decided against it. Mulder already knew that; he was carrying me because he wanted to. Besides I was tired, and it was just Mulder. I could be independent tomorrow. * * * * * At some point toward the evening, I awoke to find Mulder lying on his back behind me, my back pressed to his side. I rolled over to snuggle against his chest, my head pillowed by his shoulder and my leg thrown across his groin. He hummed, nuzzling the top of my head. "You okay?" he murmured sleepily. "Yeah," I said, meaning it for the first time in a month. Mulder let out a satisfied sigh. I lifted my head. "Though if you ever speak to me like you did this afternoon again, I'll have to kick your ass." "Hey, whatever works, I say," I felt him shrug beneath my head. "I had to get through to you somehow." That was true. Who knows how long I would have carried on if he hadn't? "You're not weak, Scully," he said after a contemplative pause. "I don't need to tell you that, I know, but it's true. You have more guts than I do, that's for certain." "I wouldn't go that far..." "No, seriously, Scully. I mean, just think about the reason we're here. I know I've said it before, but it takes courage to turn yourself over to someone like that, to give up control even for a little while. But you've done it and you continue to do it." "I didn't quite pull it off today," I murmured, grimacing as I remembered how extraordinarily horrid I was to Mulder, and the hateful, hurtful things I'd said to him. "So? I'd say there were enough extenuating circumstances to make that understandable. I can't even bring myself to think about giving up control that way, even to you, Scully." I looked at him sharply. "I didn't realize you'd given that idea any thought." "I haven't. I can't. It scares the shit out of me. You made a joke about it last time and I practically panicked. I'm asking you to do something I can't even contemplate doing myself," Mulder said discontentedly. "You've never really spoken about what happened when you were with Phoebe," I said softly. "I didn't want to pry, but I have to assume she's the reason. It doesn't matter anyway; it's not like it's something I have any great interest in doing." "In other words, I've been holding out while demanding complete openness from you. You should have called me on that sooner, Scully," he sighed heavily. I didn't bother protesting his overly harsh self-assessment, but let him go on. "I ask myself now why I stayed, why I didn't get out when I saw what was happening. I allowed her to abuse me, physically and emotionally, for almost two years. I know that what happened with her is not what it's all about. That's not what most submissives experience, or no one would ever do it. Why would they want to? "I didn't stay in the relationship because of what happened when we played. I didn't stay because I got off on pain or humiliation or even the sex--though I won't deny sometimes all those things felt pretty good, depending on when and how. I stayed because of what happened between all that. As worthless as she made me feel when she was 'topping' me, if you want to call it that, when we weren't in the scene she made me feel good about myself. Praised me, flattered me, told me how great I was--everything I needed to hear at exactly the time in my life I needed to hear it most. What took me so long to realize was that she didn't mean any of it--she only said it to get me to play her game. Whether all those good things were true or not, I couldn't believe it because she didn't mean them." I squeezed him tightly. "You don't have to explain this to me. We both know she was wrong in how she treated you, and I'm not surprised it affects how you regard things now. I can only be grateful that even after all that, you haven't made it your model for how we relate when we do this. You make me feel good *during*, Mulder, as well as afterwards. You make me feel like I'm doing something incredible, and doing it well, when I let you take over. We've already hashed this out, so you know how I feel. And just because we had a setback today doesn't mean I want to give up." "Me, either," he said quietly, kissing the top of my head. "I just want you to know that I don't see it as being weak, and just because I can't bring myself to do what you do doesn't mean I think any less of it. In fact, I think more of it, because it means you're strong and brave and of all the fucking amazing things, you've decided to trust me with that." I smiled. "Well, it's not all that amazing that I trust you to do it. It is a huge turn-on, after all. And you are pretty damned sexy." "You coming on to me, Scully?" "Actually, no," I chuckled as my stomach growled. We'd slept through lunch and were overdue for dinner. Besides, his comments about my using him to get away from dealing with my feelings were far too accurate. I had things I needed to settle in my own head, first. "About the only thing I'm coming on to is a plate of chicken parmesan at DeNicola's. My treat. Let's go." I rose from the futon, only then realizing I was in one of the easily removed dresses we'd gotten for Saturdays, sans bra or panties. It was a cotton floral print, long-sleeved with a row of buttons down the front. In some ways, it looked like the sort of soft, feminine, Bohemian thing Melissa would have worn. Only she'd had the legs for it and I didn't. It had been exciting to wear something in public that left me so accessible. No matter where we were, all that was required was a few buttons undone, or a skirt lifted, for Mulder to have any part of me he wanted. The dress itself really wasn't in bad shape for having been slept in, and DeNicola's ranged from casual to formal, but as for the lack of underwear, going out really wasn't an option. "We have to swing by home first, so I can pick up some underwear," I said, walking to the closet to retrieve our coats while Mulder rose and stretched. "No," he said, and his voice had taken on the tone that sent shivers down my spine. "I'd like you to go just as you are." I turned to him, my eyes wide. I thought we'd dropped the idea of playing today, but there he was going all dominant on me. My body reacted with a rush of arousal, my nipples getting hard beneath the cotton of the dress, even as my mind spun to catch up. Mulder looked at me calmly, a little bit of a challenge in his eyes. Maybe we weren't up to actually physically going back to where we had been, but we could go there mentally, still. A little cerebral foreplay to prepare for the day we were ready to pick up where we left off. But in order to do it, I needed to release my mind enough to let him take over and make the decisions for me. I needed to accept that if he didn't want me to wear a bra or panties to the restaurant, then I wouldn't, because it was his call. I would sit in the restaurant the entire time, bare beneath my dress, a delicious secret that only he and I knew. I would glance at the other patrons and wonder if they could see the extra sway of my flesh as I moved. I'd feel the wetness on my thighs and wonder if anyone suspected... "Okay. Let's go," I murmured, donning my long winter coat. With a secretive smile, I slipped on my shoes and preceded him out of the house. END of Aphrodisia VI From: "Kristel St. Johns" Date: Wed, 25 Apr 2001 20:30:54 -0700 Subject: NEW "Aphrodisia VII" NC-17 (1 of 6) Kristel St. Johns Source: xff Reply To: Aphrodisia VII - New Territory (1 of 6) Kristel St. Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: NC-17 Classification: SR Archive: Please notify. (Redistribute with permission only, and with headers and disclaimers intact.) Spoilers: S7 through "Orison" Timeframe: After "Orison" Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut, BDSM Summary: "I think we've passed from 'Beginner' to 'Intermediate.'" Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings: Thank you always to my betas and test-reading crew. You guys are the best and work for wayyy too little pay: Indi, Jennifer, Tiff, Shelba, Beth. DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, And The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property Of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without permission. No profit is being made by their use in this story. WARNING: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual activities between consenting adults, including BDSM- related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. Thank you. If you have questions about the subject matter contained herein, check out the resources page on my website, http://ksaintjohns.topcities.com/. This story is part of a series and will make much more sense if you read the other parts first. You can find those at my website as well. Feedback is welcomed at kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com To be kept updated on the progress of the upcoming installments in this series, join the Aphrodisia Updates list by sending an email to "Aphrodisia_Update- subscribe@topica.com" or visiting http://www.topica.com/lists/Aphrodisia_Update/ See additional notes at the end of last section. Aphrodisia VII - New Territory My eyes fluttered open, my cheek pressed against the sheet beneath me on the floor. I stared at the flames in the fireplace before me as their glow warmed my skin, trying to divert my attention from my present position, trying not to feel absurd, inelegant, vulnerable, exposed, and of all things, aroused by all of it. I was in a position of utter debasement; my ass in the air, my knees spread wide, my weight borne mostly on my chest and the arms upon which my face was pillowed. Worse, my backside was in direct view of the door by which my Master would enter when he finally arrived. Such was his dictate, for me to await him in this position which emphasized my availability to him. It was embarrassing to say the least, and I struggled with the inner demon that told me to get up and try to salvage some dignity before it was too late. My attention drifted between sensations; my own breathing against the folds of the sheet, the crackling of the fire, and the occasional creak of an older house settling were the only sounds that met my ears. To my right, flames flickered in the fireplace, heating my bare skin, and beneath me the cloth of the sheet and the fibers of the carpeting imprinted on the skin of my knees. Occasionally, uncontrollably, my gaze traversed the room, taking in the blank off-white walls, an expanse of taupe carpeting, the wood-framed futon, the merry popping of the fire. Those moments when I felt the need to let my vision wander were becoming less frequent, though. In slow increments, my concentration turned inward and the world lost focus, until all I was aware of was the trip-hammer rhythm of my heart and the exciting, vaguely nauseous sensation of nervous butterflies in my stomach. My Master was coming. I wasn't sure how long I'd been waiting there--time had ceased to have any meaning. I had been instructed to be here in this position when he arrived, but I had no idea how soon that would be. It felt as if an hour had passed, but relativity dictated that to someone who hadn't been waiting in silence on her knees, it was probably much less. Not that it mattered. I'd wait as long as it took for him to come to me. When I first arrived at the house I had been thinking of our play as nothing more than an exciting game between us, a kinky diversion, but while I waited in our special place my perspective changed. When I prostrated myself by the fire, my heart pounding, all I'd been able to think of was the devastating sexual pleasure that certainly awaited me. But after a few moments of kneeling in impatient silence, his instructions replayed themselves in my mind, the instructions he'd given me when he'd called me that morning, and I felt myself calm. "I want you to spend the time thinking about what it means to give yourself to me, body and soul. I want you to think about whom you belong to, and why. I want you to focus, not on your own pleasure, but on pleasing me. I want you to remember that you will be there in that position because I commanded you to be, and that today, doing what I command of you is your only concern. Nothing else matters but obeying me and pleasing me. I want you to think about what it means not to belong to yourself anymore, to not be in control of what's going to happen or when or why. That's all up to me. When I get there, I want you to be ready for me to possess you completely." His final command had been for me to keep my eyes lowered at all times. I could have come from hearing him speak, floating to a state of rapture on the wings of his caressing voice. As I'd showered, my hands crept upwards of their own volition to cup my heavy breasts, fingers gently squeezing the nipples to tautness under the cascade of warm water. I'd leaned back against the cool tile wall and stroked my water-slicked skin, aching for his firmer touch that my own hands couldn't hope to replicate. The temptation to repeat the gesture now as I posed in the specified position before the fire was strong, but I didn't have permission for that. I was to concentrate, to focus on my submission. Unbidden, my thoughts went back over the last several weeks since our aborted play-session. The catharsis I experienced when I finally began to confront what had happened to me and what I did when Donnie Pfaster attacked me in my home left me more certain of myself and ready to move on. Mulder and I had eased into play gradually week by week, beginning with building upon the foundation he had laid that Saturday when we had our confrontation. My challenge and my focus during our recent Saturday sessions had been my total surrender, not only physically, but mentally. "If we're going to explore pain play," my Master had reasoned, "I need you to be mentally in a place where nothing I do to you is met with any sort of resistance. I need you to be able to not only accept and endure the pain, but embrace it, not just because you necessarily enjoy it, but because *I* have chosen to give it to you." Those weeks of gradual build-up had finally led me to this place and time. Now, I had no doubt that I was more than ready to submit myself to his control. I was ready to be possessed by him to the fullest definition of the word. I wriggled a little, trying to gain a modicum of comfort, and then sharply chastised myself for the movement. When he gave me my instructions that morning, he made it clear that he was aware the position I was expected to wait in would be somewhat uncomfortable but rather than resisting the discomfort I was to go with it. I was to cease to think about myself as my own being and instead remind myself that on this day, in this place, I was nothing more than his possession. We'd never assigned a specific title to my role; slave, pet, toy--it didn't matter. Whatever I was, He was Master, and I was his. I played it over and over in my head like a mantra: I belong to him, I belong to him, I belong... Today, we would fulfill the promise he had made me before Pfaster upset everything: we would begin to explore different types of pain play. We discussed it last Sunday morning, during the time Mulder referred to as our "debriefing" session. Each implement he possessed had its own "flavor" of pain, he explained, some of which I might find less objectionable than others. With a candor to which we were gradually getting used to, he related some of his experiences with Phoebe. He told me how some of the various whips she used were actually pleasurable, at least on a mental if not physical level, when used correctly and in the proper circumstances. His plan for this weekend, he informed me, was to give me a taste of each so that we could decide what worked for each of us and what didn't. So today, he would administer the first whipping that we would do simply for the sake of the experience, rather than for any sort of punishment. I still wasn't sure what to make of the idea that I was going to willingly, and perhaps even eagerly, allow this to happen to me. The prospect filled me with a delicious mixture of dread and desire. Last night we slept in our separate apartments, for he'd wanted to heighten the anticipation and give me time to prepare myself. He, too, needed time to get back into his headspace, to ready himself for exploring my physical tolerance for more extreme sensations. I smiled wryly at my own use of the euphemism. I'd had weeks to adjust to some of the things I learned about myself since we'd begun this whole thing, and still I wasn't quite able to accept that it was possible I might be turned on by pain. Calling it by some other term, one without the negative connotations of the word "pain," helped me to embrace the concept. As time passed and my waiting drew on, the exposure and vulnerability I felt in my pose eased and in its place came acceptance. It didn't matter what I felt. All that mattered was that this was how he wanted me. In accepting that imperative, the importance of everything else diminished. I didn't *stop* feeling vulnerable and exposed--indeed, I believed that my feeling this way was at least a part of his purpose in commanding me to position myself in such a manner--but it was no longer significant compared to the necessity of heeding his instructions. At last the door opened behind me and, my concentration broken, I instinctively pushed myself up on my arms to look over my shoulder to see Mulder enter, carrying the gym bag in which he kept our toys and supplies. The second my concentration lapsed, so did the mindset in which he was my Master, and then he was just Mulder. Perhaps he knew this, because once he saw me looking at him, he spoke without pause or hesitation, reclaiming his control over me and the situation before any confusion could set in. "Lower your eyes. You're not allowed to look up today. Get back into position." I pulled my gaze away from his face and slowly lowered my chest to the floor again, a spasm of excitement twisting in the pit of my belly. Behind me, I could hear him moving around, taking off his jacket, doing--whatever. It was interminable, the amount of time he moved behind me without coming near me or speaking. I kept wanting to sneak glances back at him, to see what he was up to, but I determinedly kept my eyes from wandering. I let myself be comforted by the rustling and shuffling behind me, knowing he was there and that everything was in his hands now, including me. I didn't have to control anything, didn't have to make any decisions--I just had to obey him. At long last, the whisper of his footsteps crossed the carpeting, approaching me, and then stopped. He still wasn't touching me, though. He could be inches or feet away from me for all I knew. What was he doing? Why wasn't he--? Then I felt him kneel on the sheet beside me, his clothed body brushing against my naked one. Softly, slowly, a hand swept over my hair from behind. Had the touch been any lighter, I might not have felt it at all. There was no other contact but that caress on my hair. I shivered, despite the warmth of the fire. My scalp prickled as though a current of static electricity had passed through me, and my skin rose in gooseflesh. My nipples hardened painfully where they pressed against the sheet. "Now you can kneel up," he said softly, moving away, and I promptly did as I was told, raising my upper body. A second hand returned in the company of the first to my hair, taking my head between them and holding it steady, and then something hard brushed the back of my cranium. It was the fly of his jeans, I realized. His crotch, masturbating against my skull. I felt him bend over me and one hand ran down my neck and shoulder to my right nipple and his fingers closed over it, pulling and squeezing firmly. I whimpered softly; even those caresses affected me profoundly. There was something different here, a new kind of energy between us. It was as though we had graduated, I realized. In those early months of our play, we were both feeling our way through something strange and unexplored, uncertain of how far or fast to take things. Now I knew what was expected of me; he didn't have to guide me anymore. My Master was taking us to a new level, where things would be much more intense and less tentative. His whole demeanor was sterner, more intimidating and less lenient. I knew what was expected of me now; he didn't have to guide me anymore. *I think we've passed from 'beginner' to 'intermediate,'* I thought with a secretive smile, pleased with the idea. His whole hand closed around the flesh of my breast and clamped down, hard enough make me gasp, but not excruciating. The tissue of the breast itself was much more tender than the nipple in many ways. It didn't have the profound sexual effects when stimulated that the nipple did, but it hurt more, and in a very different way, when handled roughly. I hated it when he squeezed the soft flesh rather than simply playing with the nipple, yet conversely yearned for him to do it more, precisely because I hated it. He knew this, and applied that knowledge to set the tone of our encounter. I felt my own wetness begin to coat my inner thighs. His other hand moved to my left breast and repeated the process of tugging and squeezing as he continued to brush his pelvis against the back of my head. There was something strangely erotic about his doing that; it emphasized my own submissive state in that it was pleasure he took for himself, rather than asking or even commanding me to give to him. I had nothing to do but sit there and be used by him. His hands on my breasts were possessive, territorial, touching me not to stimulate me but to stake his claim upon my body. I closed my eyes, transported not so much by physical pleasure as mental stimulation to a state approaching complete bliss. This was what I had wanted and had never received. Not until Mulder. Suddenly, his hands were gone and I whimpered again, bereft. The contact between his crotch and my head was broken. I heard a small, clinking sound and then he reached forward to fasten the leather and steel collar on me. It was chilly against my heated skin and it took an effort to keep from gasping at the shock of it. "Who do you belong to?" he asked, his voice a dark, seductive caress in my ear as he knelt behind me and cupped my breasts once more. "I belong to you, Master." The vow was familiar and comforting. In some distant corner of my mind, I recognized how silly this might appear to someone not experiencing it, but I didn't care. All that mattered was the vital moment when he took ownership of me. "That's right," he murmured, hands running over my body. "All of this -- every part of you belongs to me." I drew a deep breath and let it trickle out in a soft hum. His hand passed over my belly and two fingers delved between my legs, sliding through the moisture there. Then he brought his hand away and pressed the two fingers against my lips. I opened my mouth to receive them, feeling the slippery fluid on my lower lip and tasting my own smoky flavor as they entered my mouth. "Yes, Master," I sighed tremulously when he finally withdrew his hand. As ever, a distant part of my brain wondered at what I was doing, at this strange contentment that descended over me. I was willingly giving up the very thing our society said people--especially women--should protect with their very lives. The caveat that he would give me back my freedom, indeed my *self,* wouldn't matter to those who didn't understand. They would say I shouldn't want this at all, and yet I wanted it more than anything on earth. I was happy. "What's your safeword?" "Flukeman," I whispered. "That's good, very good, Kat," his lips brushed my ear. "Very good. Now, here are the rules for today: I'm going to need you to talk to me, because we're going to be doing some new things and I need to know if you have any trouble with what's happening. Don't be afraid to use your safeword. Any screams, moans, or cries will be interpreted as a good thing unless otherwise stated." There was a smile in his voice and I grinned in spite of myself. "You're not allowed to look at me or what I'm doing. Keep your head up, so I can see your pretty face, but your eyes down. And don't expect me to pleasure you; if I choose to, I will, but it's my decision. Understand?" "Yes, Master." "Good." He pressed against me, his fully clothed chest against my back, my head reaching only to his shoulder. He stroked me, slowly and firmly, from breasts to belly to thighs and back again. Sometimes his hands slipped between my thighs to dance along the folds of my sex before continuing along their journey. One finger would rock along the crevice from perineum to clit, sliding with delicious friction back and forth. Then he wrapped an arm around my waist and held me firmly against him as he pinched my nipple with gradually increasing pressure, until I moaned and struggled futilely in his grasp, becoming ever wetter as the ache of arousal grew between my thighs. "Get on your hands and knees, Kat," he finally commanded, taking his hands away. I immediately moved forward into position and listened to the rustling sounds behind me. Only a moment had passed when his cock slid along my cleft, and I felt his denim-clad thighs brush mine as his shirt hem swept along my buttocks. *He didn't even bother to undress,* I thought, a quiver of lust and shame shaking me. I might have been offended in other circumstances, but here it only heightened my desire. He slipped inside me easily and I moaned with pleasure. He felt so wonderful filling me, hot and hard within my body. The sides of his zipper rasped against the backs of my thighs. He began to move quickly, with no pretense of gentleness. I gasped as he slammed into me and panted as each thrust shook me. I braced my weight on my elbows and let my head hang forward, my cheek resting on my forearms. "I want you to hold your weight forward like that, but push yourself up on your hands," he said raggedly after a moment, his breathing labored with the effort of the frenzied fucking. I did as I was instructed. I felt him bend over and curl his arms around my thighs and suddenly he rose, pulling me off my knees so that my lower body was in the air. I cried out in surprise, my lower body supported now only by his arms around my thighs, lifting them up over his narrow hips. Instinctively I bent my knees and hooked my ankles together somewhere beneath his shoulders, my feet banging against his back. Once we were secure in this new position, he thrust forward again. "OH MY GOD!!" I cried, not sure if it was pain or pleasure causing me to shout. He was penetrating me far more deeply than anything I'd ever experienced before. It was good, but so intense; too much, too deep, too helpless held this way. Part of me wanted to ask him to stop, and part never wanted to stop; the depth of his intrusion into my body was more than offset by the incredible pleasure. "If you're not okay, let me know," he commanded between clenched teeth. "That's your job today--if I don't hear from you, I'll assume everything is all right." "It's...good," I replied breathlessly, dizzy with sheer mind-numbing rapture. "Please..." I couldn't complete the sentence begging him not to stop. He didn't. I screamed with each forward surge, the angle of penetration far more extreme than anything I'd ever felt, but it felt so wonderful. He was merciless, and I wondered if he was testing me to see if I really would alert him to any distress. This fucking was just a shade short of brutal but I wasn't about to stop what he was doing. It was enough to make one believe in out of body experiences, the way I felt disconnected when the rapture reached the point where I could no longer bear it, the way the sensation burgeoned until my body couldn't contain it any longer and I was sure I'd explode with it. I was no longer myself, but some strange creature of light and pure feeling. There was definitely pain each time he rammed forward, and I had no doubt I'd end up sore for the experience, but I reveled in it, yearned for more. It wasn't even that I didn't mind that it hurt; I enjoyed it for that exact reason. I came with a scream. It didn't matter that he hadn't touched my clit or pressed against my g-spot or made any particular effort to cause it, I climaxed explosively just before I felt him come, groaning behind me. My arms gave out and I sank trembling onto the sheet with a sigh of relief. As incredible as it had been, I felt exhausted by the experience and needed a breather. I didn't think the human body was equipped to handle that much sensation at once. Gently, he lowered my legs to the floor, his softening cock slipping from me. I sighed at the sense of loss. End of Aphrodisia VII - Part One Aphrodisia VII - New Territory (2 of 6) Kristel St. Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Aphrodisia VII - New Territory Lying down beside me on the floor, his breathing harsh, he stroked my back lightly. I turned my head to look at him, but he stopped me mid-motion. "Don't, Kat--" he said ominously. "There're reason I want you to keep your eyes lowered today," he explained gently. "One is that I want you to come to terms with the fact that you can't change, or guide, or control what I'm doing. If you're watching me, you're going to be thinking about what I have planned, trying to presuppose me and worrying about what's going to happen. You've got to let go of that. I'll do exactly what I plan to do, and you will accept that. Also, when we're here, I don't want you to look at me and see the person you deal with every other day of the week. It confuses the authority issue and takes your concentration away from your submission. I think keeping our playtime separate is important, and there will be consequences each time I catch you breaking this rule. Do you understand?" Yes. Yes, I understood perfectly. Unable to look into his familiar, beloved face, he was a stranger to me, as far removed from the Mulder I knew as he could possibly be. I trusted him completely, because in my mind I still knew he was the same man, but on an instinctual, visceral level, it denied me the sense of security provided by looking at him and knowing Mulder was still there. Now my security was to be derived from another situation, not from the familiarity of Mulder, but from the absolute possession of my Master. If he wanted to give me any margin of comfort, he would do so, but it was in his hands. As for rules and consequences, they were an ingrained part of me, something I understood and heeded on the most instinctual level, and he knew me well enough to incorporate the predisposition into our play in such a way that my obedience was almost guaranteed. "I understand, Master," I murmured. He kissed the side of my face and then moved toward my mouth, taking my chin in his hand to turn my face toward him. He claimed my lips, softly at first and with increasing passion, his tongue intruding, exploring. I gave a pleasured sigh, melting into him. In a way, it was amusing. Here we both were, him looking forty in the eye and me not far behind, only just now having the most profound sexual experiences of our lives. I'd had lovers who were Mulder's present age, and the result had been a fairly sedate sex life. I certainly would never call their libidos prolific. In contrast, it was almost absurd how insatiable Mulder and I were, how once the floodgates of physical contact were opened, there was no going back. We couldn't get enough of each other, and I had to wonder; if he was supposedly past his sexual prime at this age, what had he been like when he was younger? After a long moment, he pulled back and my eyes fluttered open, meeting his before I could prevent it. I immediately corrected the error, but he had already noticed. "That's one," he remarked. "I'll be keeping track." I gnawed on my lip, another ripple of combined pleasure and fear running through me. I didn't need to be told what "keeping track" meant. There would be an accounting for every failure to obey. As someone who spent her life living by rules and consequences, I could respect and understand that concept. I cleaned myself up with a towel I'd set nearby upon my arrival and sat on the pillow on the floor while he began to lay out our "toys," including the implements that heretofore were used only for punishment. We would be using those items today, I knew, but for an entirely different reason. My heart began pounding in my chest. How could I possibly consider willingly doing this? My upbringing hadn't been quite cosmopolitan enough to foster an understanding of how people could enjoy pain. I'd heard of it, of course, but I always experienced a sense of revulsion at the idea, accompanied by a spark of-- something. Interest or curiosity, perhaps even excitement? Those people were doing something out of the mainstream, something taboo, forbidden. Dangerous. It was all the things that had always fascinated me, but I'd never been able to admit to that fascination until now. And the scientist in me wouldn't let it go unexplored.I found myself watching him as he laid out the crop, quirt, signal whip and paddle. Then he added something else to the collection: a flogger with numerous suede tails. So soft they appeared almost fluffy, each tail was an inch wide, but very thin. The flogger trailed with a whisper across the futon where he set it, perhaps two feet long with a contoured handle. How would that feel, I wondered. We hadn't discussed adding anything new to the picture, but-- "That's two, Kat," my Master's voice interrupted my musings, and I quickly jerked my eyes away from his preparations. I closed them instead, to avoid the temptation of sneaking another peek, trying to calm the wave of anxiety that passed through me. I had consented to do this, bottom line. I had consented to turn myself over to his control and let him do with me what he wanted. I had no say in the matter, I told myself, finding comfort in the thought. My only job was to accept what was going to happen and surrender to it. I heard his approach at last, and turned my face up, my eyes still closed. His breath was soft and warm against my ear as he went down on one knee on the floor beside me, pulled me to him and held me tenderly. He cradled me between his legs, rocked me, pressed my head back to his chest and held me there, letting me hear the soothing drum of his heartbeat. His hands stroked me everywhere, trailing lightly over my skin in a way more comforting than erotic, cuddling me all the while. When the caresses did become sexual, they were still slow and gentle, running over my breasts and buttocks, up my thighs to stroke the damp folds between. "Answer me honestly--do you think you'll be all right if I tie you?" he asked in a hushed voice. Nothing could eradicate my trepidation at the knowledge of what was coming, but even so, I felt myself grow languid and pliant beneath his touch. The fear became a quiet murmur in the back of my mind, rather than a scream of terror. "I would feel better," he continued, "until I'm sure of my aim and control, to know you can't move." Did I think I could handle being bound? Over the intervening weeks, I'd done a lot of emotional processing of my experience with Donnie Pfaster, and I knew I felt safer and less edgy now. I wasn't afraid of having my ability to be strong taken away anymore. Suddenly, I saw the reason for the game of invisible bondage he'd started in that aborted attempt to play weeks before when I'd had my breakdown, and continued in more recent weeks as we regained our momentum. He had been preparing me for this, this voluntary and absolute surrender. "Yes, Master, tie me if it pleases you" I replied in a whisper. "Okay. You know what to say if you get into any trouble. Stand up, and move over here--" he guided me to a spot a few feet from the futon. I stood there with my eyes closed, feeling as though I was swaying in the middle of the room with nothing nearby to support me. "Open your eyes. See this? It's a quick release clip--" he held out an odd-shaped steel clip and hooked the ring of one of the suspension cuffs onto it. "If you have trouble, I can have you down in a second." It happened so fast I couldn't see precisely how he did it, but in a swift motion of his hands and a split second, the ring of the cuff was freed. Contrary to his instructions, I glanced up as he buckled the cuffs securely onto my wrists and noticed an eyebolt had been screwed into the ceiling at some point. He clipped thin chains to the rings on my cuffs with the quick-release mechanism, then pulled my arms up together, stretching them to the point where there was only a small amount of slack in the chain. I gripped the straps that passed through my fists and held them tightly. He turned me to face the wall and took me in his arms from behind, once again pressing his body close to mine and cuddling me for a long, silent moment. His large hands splayed over my torso as he held me. The warmth of his body suffused me, even though his clothing. Our breathing took on the same cadence as our bodies relaxed. His hold on me was firm and unyielding and I took comfort in it. Eventually, his touch once again became erotic, travelling to my belly and breasts. He tweaked my nipples, pulling harder as my sensitivity increased. Two fingers lazily circled my clitoris, waves of pleasure emanating into my body from that touch. At last he pressed a kiss to the back of my neck and moved away. "I love you," he murmured, and his fingers went to my shoulders. Slowly, he dragged his nails down my back, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make me notice. All down my back, nerve endings awoke to that touch. He repeated it a number of times, until the skin of my back tingled warmly. The scratching moved down my buttocks and thighs until they, too, tingled, hypersensitive to even the lightest contact. I gasped in discomfort when his fingernails slid once roughly down my inner thighs, then they disappeared entirely. I stood there with my arms stretched over my head a long moment, unable to see what he was doing behind me. I felt aware in a way I never had before, every sound, every touch amplified in my sensitized state. I started when something soft and cool touched my ass, rubbing across it lightly. I didn't recognize the sensation, and the only item that soft he possessed that I hadn't felt before was the flogger. Surely he wasn't going to use that thing on me right out of the gate? I wasn't accustomed to it--the very sight of the thing frightened me. A flogging went beyond a paddle, beyond a riding crop, to the very extremities of my comprehension of the phenomenon that is pain play. When I thought about floggings, I thought of sailors on the high seas, tied to masts with their backs scoured raw and bloody. I thought of slaves of the old south with scars crisscrossing their ebony skins. It didn't matter that the flogger, when I had seen him handle it, looked light and soft as a feather--I didn't want it touching me when I was so damned nervous already. I was about to open my mouth to protest when it landed on my back between my shoulder blades with a soft "whoomph!" and rush of air, as though I had been hit with a pillow rather an implement of torture. Nevertheless, I screamed, startled by the unannounced impact. "That did *not* hurt," he stated, and I could hear amusement heavy in his voice. "No, of course not," I muttered, embarrassed by my reaction. "Just startled me. Sorry." "That's okay," he replied softly. "Don't be afraid to let me know if something's wrong." He punctuated the command with another stroke of the flogger. It created a large sound, but virtually no pain. "It's just a suede flogger," he informed me conversationally. "I think you'll like the way it feels. Just relax and go with it." He swept it over one buttock, then back across the other, in quick, light strokes. The fluffy suede lashes created a breeze that cooled the moisture on my inner thighs. As my nerves eased, I did indeed begin to enjoy it. As though he were massaging me rather than beating me, I felt the tension in my muscles ease. It didn't matter that there was actually no pain, the mental drama and decadence of being bound and flogged was enough to have me moaning softly with each contact. In my own mind, I became a medieval serf, a peasant girl with my gown ripped down the back, tied to a post and being whipped for some infraction of the authority of the feudal lord under which I lived my life. After a while, he moved the flogger from my buttocks to my shoulder blades, landing rapid blows across my back. The rush of air blew my hair forward to tickle my face. I let my head fall forward to give his strokes better access. The fantasy forming in my mind deepened, and the arousal between my legs sharpened. The lashes came sweeping across my back from one side, then returned traveling in the opposite direction. Only when he wielded the whip full- force on the final few blows did I sample some of the pain that could come from a genuine flogging, and then it was gone. The light suede lashes were gently swept across my skin before disappearing entirely. He moved around my body, stroking my skin softly until he stood before me. With my eyes downcast, I could see the tails of the flogger swinging freely beneath the point where he held the handle in his hand. "Turn your face up, look at the ceiling," he instructed, and I did so, letting my head fall back. I had a frightening feeling I knew his purpose, which wasn't even allowed to come to fruition in my mind before, in the same rapid, back and forth strokes he had first used on my buttocks, he began to sweep the flogger across my breasts. I gasped loudly in shock and surprise, my head snapping forward to stare at him. "Three, Kat," he announced ominously and I quickly tilted my head back once more. Unruffled, he continued his actions, flicking the flogger gently back and forth across my nipples. The peaks were sensitized enough to feel a slight discomfort, but not a great deal, and certainly not enough to be called pain. More than anything, I was simply shocked that he would even conceive of whipping my breasts. The small swipes with the ends of the tails across my nipples gave way to larger, sweeping strokes of the suede strips across my whole torso. In my peripheral vision, I could now see he was moving his arm in a figure-eight sort of motion, sweeping down on an angle across my chest before coming back in the opposite direction. The blows took on a regular rhythm to which I became accustomed, and I closed my eyes and let myself ride the sensations. Eventually, the force and speed of the blows eased and then he was there, embracing me, running comforting hands over my skin, which was flushed with desire. He held my body against his, soothing me, stroking me, sometimes chastely, other times erotically and I sighed, melting into his caresses as he ran moist open-mouthed kisses over my face and shoulders and neck. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he prodded teasingly and I felt a stab of embarrassment at my initial response. I shook my head, unwilling to speak and disrupt the seductive spell in which I was enshrouded. He had taken something I had dreaded and turned it into an experience that was nothing short of magical. Adrenaline surged through me, leaving me feeling invigorated. Now I felt greedy. I wanted more. My Master withdrew, the lack of his warmth leaving me chilled. In a moment he returned and ran something silky over my buttocks. Fur, I realized. A second later I came to the conclusion it had to be the fur-covered side of the paddle, for it had none of the malleability of the mitt he used on me. My heart pounded, my pulse thunderous in my ears. He didn't strike me with the paddle yet, simply swept it over my skin, back and forth, in slow circles. I shivered, gooseflesh rippling across my body. He withdrew the paddle and then struck me with it, without warning. The fur-covered surface connected with a muffled thud and I yelped in surprise. I felt his hand on my shoulder, steadying me. "Relax," he said soothingly. "Go with it. Just let it happen." He punctuated the command with another swat of the paddle. This time I managed to restrain myself from another startled exclamation. It really didn't hurt; the sound was a little unsettling, but even though I felt the impact it wasn't uncomfortable. Of course, I knew he wasn't striking me with anything near his full strength. The next impact was harder, and did register as something more than just contact. A warm, gentle prickling spread throughout the spot then faded. That stroke was followed by several more of comparable force in quick succession until my whole ass was warmed by it. The swats came even harder then, the heat of my buttocks increasing. The blows jarred me, creating a motion that traveled with a fresh wave of arousal through my vagina and abdomen. The fur on the paddle lessened the impact somewhat, but not enough to keep it from being felt. I moaned softly in my throat and found myself moving my hips to get away from the paddle and the sensation it created. It wasn't so much that I wished to escape the pain--which really wasn't all that great--as the fear I had of the pain itself. Perhaps it wasn't even the pain I was afraid of, I thought, but my own reaction to it. So far, I would have to put this paddling into the "feels pretty good" column. But how much of that was the fact that he wasn't hitting me very hard, and how much of it was the way I perceived the blows? Would it still feel good to me when the force of the blows increased to a level where pain would be inflicted? I didn't understand how the mechanisms of masochism worked, and that lack of comprehension frightened me. Was it as simple as the way one's nerve endings interpreted different signals, so that pain equaled pleasure? But in my lifetime of experience, pain had not equaled pleasure. I certainly hadn't gotten off on being shot in the gut. Surely there was a point where the two were, indeed, delimited, but where did that point lie? And was I honestly going to go there? Suddenly the train of thought derailed as his left arm wrapped around my hip and his hand dipped between my legs. I think we were both surprised to discover how wet I had become during the proceedings, throwing me into a whole new spiral of confusion. His fingers slid effortlessly into my slick sex even as the paddle continued to rain heat upon my ass, eliciting another moan from me. "Well, there's one question answerned," I thought I heard him murmur, his tone amused. Indeed, I silently concurred. There was no denying the effect this stimulation had on me. Completely aside from feeling divine, his fingers within me and the arm around my hip kept me from moving away from the blows. In fact, he pulled my hips back so that my ass jutted out, creating an easier target. The next stroke introduced the cold leather surface of the paddle and I yelped again. The sound changed from a thud to a sharp snap and the skin blazed in a way it hadn't with the fur- covered side. That had been a deeper sort of impact; this didn't really go beyond the surface of the skin, but it stung much more. His strokes slowed, each one landing with a sharp burn that rapidly dissipated into a warm tingle before the next blow fell. Now things were getting uncomfortable; with his arm holding me stationary I was unable to move to avoid the oncoming strokes, and a feeling of helplessness washed over me. I couldn't stop him, couldn't escape what he was doing, and that thought was at once both frightening and reassuring. I had the same problem I always encountered with being unable to control what was happening to me, but the fact that I couldn't alter the situation made it somehow easier to accept. If I had the freedom to stop it, surely I would have to, wouldn't I? Wouldn't any normal person? The swats of the paddle were constant and merciless now, and my skin had progressed past that not-unpleasant tingle to being ablaze. Small moans of pain escaped me with each impact, each fresh wave of heat over my burning flesh. Through it all, though, were his fingers inside me, curving to press against my g-spot, the heel of his hand rubbing against my clitoris, adding a wholly different sensation to the mix. Pleasure intermingled deliciously with pain, and not even the pain was truly painful, not something to be escaped but rather craved. I whimpered low in my throat, unsure of what to make of what I was experiencing. All I knew was that at some point, I'd begun to enjoy the biting caress of the paddle as much as I did his fingers inside me. The fluid seeping down his fingers and my thighs were proof of that. The paddle moved down from my ass to the backs of my thighs and I cried out as suddenly that tender skin was set afire. Several more rapid strokes fell and I yelped with each one, finding a comforting release in the vocalizations. Somewhere in my mind, I knew these blows were softer than those he'd landed on my buttocks, but the entire flavor of the pain was different and more frightening. Through the fear came the knowledge that I was still enjoying myself, which only served to scare me more. Only three or four strokes passed before I began to whimper for him to stop. I was increasingly frightened when he didn't do so immediately, but instead he tapered off his blows before setting the paddle aside and running his hands over my flaming skin. End of Aphrodisia VII - Part Two Aphrodisia VII - New Territory (3 of 6) Kristel St. Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com "I'm stopping now because it's time for a break," he murmured, caressing my ass gently. "You need to understand that the decision to do so is mine, and no amount of pleading from you will change that. I have to assume, since you didn't specifically tell me something was wrong, that was just a general, all-purpose 'I'm frightened' request to stop, right?" I nodded, licking my dry lips. Nothing had been actually wrong. Begging him to stop was more of a panic reaction to too much stimulation than anything else. As I tried to sort out what was happening in my head, I felt something nudge my lips and realized it was a water bottle. Lowering my face from its upturned position and closing my eyes I pulled greedily at the sipper nozzle, taking a long drink, and then sighed when he withdrew. Already I felt forlorn with him no longer touching me, even to strike me with the paddle. I raised my face to the ceiling again and stood silently while he felt my fingers to make certain my circulation was still good and then he began to caress me once more. Down my neck and shoulders and over my breasts his hands traveled leisurely, wandering my body seemingly at random. As the residual burn of the paddling faded to a soft tingle, his fingers pulled roughly at my nipples, bringing new distressed gasps forth from my throat. The fingers clamped down brutally, eliciting a pained moan, and the next instant I felt his soft hair brush my belly and realized he had gone down on his knees before me. As he pinched my nipples harshly, his tongue darted out to seek my clitoris. I could only spread my legs a little farther before all my weight would be supported by my arms suspended from the ceiling. To do that would create an unbearable stress on my shoulders and I groaned in frustration at my inability to provide him with better access. Even as the pain in my nipples grew to the point where I could barely tolerate his hands, my hips thrust restlessly forth, seeking his mouth. Abruptly, he released my nipples and grabbed both my buttocks, dragging my hips forward to meet his mouth and sucking on my clit. I cried out hoarsely in surprise, clenching my hands tighter around the straps of the cuffs at the momentary panic of instability. It went against my instincts to feel secure with him supporting my weight in such a manner and I struggled for balance. He brusquely commanded me to hold still before returning his mouth to my clitoris. Within moments he had me moaning and panting in relentless pleasure. All memory of pain faded and all that existed was his mouth upon me, even as his hands kneaded my sore buttocks and his fingernails lightly scored my sensitized skin. I was at the brink of climax before he stopped and rose again. He warm breath, scented with my own essence, brushed my ear. "I told you it's my right to give you pleasure," he reminded me gently, running a single idle finger over my clavicle. "But I'm going to offer you a deal. I still want you to alert me if you have trouble with what's happening, but unless you're in genuine distress, you're not allowed to ask me to stop. Maybe later, when we're both more comfortable with what we're doing, you can plead with me if you want to, but not now, not while I'm still learning what your limits are. If you don't give off any false distress signals for the rest of today, I'll let you come tonight. If you do, then you won't be allowed to come at all again today. Got it?" "Yes, Master," I said softly, nodding. He kissed my mouth gently and murmured his love to me once more. It was cuddle time again, I realized, as he once more took me into his arms and held me tightly, stroking me until I relaxed. The comfort and gentleness were as delicious as the pleasure he'd given me with his mouth a moment before. "I love you," I whispered, nuzzling the crook of his neck. His response was a deep sigh and the tightening of his arms around me. I didn't say that nearly often enough to him, but I recognized it was especially important to make sure he knew it now as we explored this new territory. After a long moment, he pulled away again, moving into position behind me once more. Seconds later, a small patch of something cold and hard touched my skin. The riding crop, I deduced from the size and texture of the object. He spent a long moment caressing me with it, running it up and down my thighs, over my buttocks, my back, around the curve of my waist to my belly. Tapping it lightly against my inner thighs, he urged me to spread my legs and then slowly dragged the crop between them, sliding it over the moist crevice until I moaned softly. It was neither enjoyment nor discomfort which induced that moan, but rather the knowledge that he was using something designed to inflict pain and applying it to my center of pleasure. He pulled it back and forth along my sex again, and then ran it over the crease of my ass. I was terrified and elated all at once, and in that moment, if only to myself, I was able to admit honestly that I wanted him to hit me with the crop. I wanted the pain and the pleasure and whatever else might come with the experience. He circled in front of me and ran the crop over my breasts, its surface now warmed by the contact with my skin and carrying both the heady, masculine scent of leather and my own musky essence. He caressed my shoulders and breasts and belly and thighs as he had my back and ass, stroking me softly with the crop, but never striking. I felt a moment of worry--would he strike me on the breasts? The crop would be an entirely different sensation from the suede flogger in that regard. Instead, he patted and tapped the upper slopes of my breasts for a moment, not hard enough to create any real pain. The crop became an extension of his own touch, loving and tender and sensual, foreign and comforting all at once. Finally, I felt the brush of his clothing and the heat of his body as he pressed up against me, encircling me with his arms. He dropped a kiss on the top of my head, and at the same moment struck with the crop. I gave a shrill, high-pitched gasp at the sharp crack of leather against my buttock. A second later, heat filled the spot where contact had been made, causing me to pant softly. A second blow followed, and then a third, my small sounds of surprise and discomfort muffled against his chest as my ass quickly grew hot again beneath the persistent blows. He held me for some time, raining steady strokes over my butt and thighs before finally releasing me. There was a moment of blessed reprieve as he circled behind me, but it was short lived as the blows returned with greater strength and less recovery time between. The force and tempo of the strokes increased, and though my front now felt chilled in his absence, my ass was on fire. My gasps became small cries of pain, and I bit my lip to stifle them. They were uncontrollable, and yet I didn't want him to stop just yet, and I was afraid he might if I evidenced too much distress. A particularly loud snap of the crop against my flesh broke through my resolve and I let out a small wail of alarm, but to my relief he didn't cease. He wouldn't, not until he was ready to do so, or unless I used my safeword, I realized thankfully. I became freer with my vocalizations, transforming the pain to yelps which somehow made the physical sensations easier to bear and made room for the pleasure that was lingering under the surface of all the fear. The pleasure. I didn't understand it entirely myself. The sound of the flat leather surface snapping against my skin, the heat that emanated from the point of contact, the impact I could feel in the juncture between my thighs... All of these combined to create a sensation as elusive and indefinable as any I had ever encountered. There was no drama here, no fantasy in which I could submerge myself and claim it was the mental stimulation which turned me on. But with each impact a jolt of pleasure ran through me, and with each passing moment, I felt myself begin to approach that state I had touched occasionally when he employed the nipple clamps to inflict pain upon me. It was a state of euphoria where *everything* felt good and I felt more alive than I'd ever known I could be. The heat on my skin sang a sensual melody along my nerve endings and the rest of my body hummed in pleasure with the chorus. The wetness was spreading over my inner thighs again and I could no longer deny that I was aroused by the pain that he was giving me. I moaned softly, in anxiety and denial of the thought and as I did so the blows came even harder and faster, sharp and merciless against my heated skin. Each impact seemed absurdly loud in the otherwise silent room. My moans transformed into cries that echoed off the blank walls, and it hurt, God yes, it hurt and I enjoyed it. It stung and burned unbearably and I wanted it to stop, I wanted it never to stop, I couldn't take any more...Dear God, I was terrified! "Flukeman!" There was an instant when I was afraid he might not have heard me over the cracking of the crop against my skin, but the blows ceased immediately and suddenly his gentle hands were there on my ass, caressing and stroking. He held my hips and pressed his cheek to my buttock, rubbing his face against the hot skin. "Shh..." he murmured while I trembled in my bonds, my breathing gradually slowing. He kissed the spot his cheek had just caressed, then began to run his tongue over my buttocks, along the small raised welts that would disappear in a matter of minutes. He soothed me that way for a long moment before finally speaking again. "You all right?" he asked, holding me with his arms wrapped securely around my waist and his face against my ass. "What happened?" "It...it was just--t-too much," I mumbled at last, finding speech inordinately difficult. It was everything I could do to put that small sentence together. I knew I was leaving him with the implication that the pain had been too much to bear. *It wasn't too much,* a small inner voice prodded. *You're just scared again.* "Do you want to stop?" he queried, without a hint of disapproval or censure or reluctance in his tone. If I answered yes, he'd free me from the cuffs immediately and find something else to do. *Do I want to stop?* I asked myself, my mind reeling. *Yes. No. I don't know! I don't want to know these things about myself!* He was giving me the freedom to end this, to take back possession of my own body and mind. I could shield myself from disturbing epiphanies I never wanted. All I had to do was answer with an affirmative. I couldn't do it. "No," I said finally. As frightening as I found the idea of him doing these things to me, I found the idea of him *not* doing them downright unbearable. Guilt flooded through me, and I was angry at myself for misusing my safeword. More than anything else involved in this exotic relationship we were forming, the safeword was a gesture of trust. He granted me the right to use it with the express understanding that I would do so responsibly. It was not intended to be used just because I wanted to change what was happening, or because I wanted to step back from the edge and get my bearings. If he wanted me to be on the edge, then I had no business saying otherwise. He'd promised me a reward if I refrained from giving off false distress signals, but I did precisely that. I even chose a means of doing so that he would always heed instantly and without question. I'd abused his trust. I felt wretched as he rose and enveloped me in his arms, holding me, placing soft chaste kisses along my skin, stroking me tenderly until my nerves abated. When he released me and once more took up position behind me, I drew a deep breath and stilled myself for what was to come. I wouldn't make the same mistake again, I swore to myself. I jerked when the crop struck me, feeling a small patch of flame on the surface of my skin, and hissed between my teeth until the sting faded, then repeated the process with the next blow. Soon, the strokes rained without pause over my buttocks and I again felt that suffocating sense of dread in realizing that, though undeniably the sensation of pain accompanied the blows, I was enjoying the beating, perhaps more because of the pain than in spite of it. This was insane! I could not be turned on by pain. I wouldn't accept it! The idea that I could possibly be a masochist--it was twisted, it was wrong, it was contrary to everything I was ever taught and had come to believe about what I should want. My breath came in shallow, hitching gasps as I readied myself to use my safeword again and get away from this madness. *If he were really your Master, you wouldn't have the option of stopping him,* that inner voice mocked me. I swallowed the word burgeoning on my lips, stunned by the thought. I was doing it again, I realized. I had given him total ownership over my body and being on this one day of the week, but this was the first time I really understood what that meant. If he truly possessed me, then I had relinquished the right to say no to anything other than outright harm, an extreme I knew Mulder would never take me to. The safeword was a marvelous safety net, but to use it for no other reason than to assuage my own fears and steal back the control I had willingly yielded to him was cheating. If I meant what I said when I affirmed, of my own free will, that I belonged to him, that avenue of escape was closed to me. I had no choice but to surrender to him and what he chose to do with or to me. The only alternative was to admit that this game was a farce, that I didn't mean the declaration I made every time he placed the collar around my neck, and to leave this place and never come back. I didn't ever do things by halves; it wasn't who I was. It wasn't the way I was raised and it wasn't the way I chose to live my life. If I made a commitment, I saw it through, or I didn't make it at all. If I used that word and ended this now, I ended it for good. I would have to tell Mulder I had made a mistake and we would go back to our lives. We would be partners and lovers still, but this special and superlative brand of ecstasy we found while exploring this game would never be ours again. If I used that word, I was permanently giving up what we had found here, not because we were incapable, but because my own knowledge that my "surrender" was nothing but a sham would prevent me from ever allowing myself to come back. I couldn't do it. I had learned too much about myself, recognizing both the deep-seated needs and the new developments that made me who I was. This was just too big a part of what I needed to let it all go that easily. Cementing the decision in my own mind, I released a trembling breath and refocused my thoughts on what was happening to me. As far as I was concerned, unless I legitimately felt I was in jeopardy-- a position I was absolutely certain Mulder would never put me in--I no longer had a safeword. As though privy to the mental resolve I had reached, my Master increased the force of his blows. What had been a minor, exciting discomfort became actual pain. It was the sort of pain I felt when he had punished me, sharp enough that even the cramping tension of arousal deep within my belly was overridden by the burning of my skin. One after another, those merciless strokes landed on my flesh until each breath was accompanied by a small, breathless scream. My fingers clenched hard around the straps of the cuffs, my eyes squeezed tightly closed and in my mind I repeated my new mantra. I belonged to him--he could do with me whatever he wanted. Suddenly, the blows lightened and eventually faded away, leaving the skin of my ass a blazing field of sensation. He ran his hands softly over the flesh, his fingers feather-light, and I shivered, startled to find I was trembling. "What?" I heard him murmur, as though from a long distance, and it was then I realized that I was gasping out words intermingled with my hitching breaths. "...belong to you..." I whispered, feeling another surge of arousal as I did so. I felt euphoric, weak and invigorated all at once. I wanted him to hold me and I wanted him to fuck me within an inch of my life and I wanted to run a marathon. My whispered declaration affected him deeply. As he took me in his arms, I felt a shiver run through his body. His embrace enfolded me tightly enough to leave me unable to draw a deep breath as he pressed tender kisses to my shoulder and temple. His denim-clad hips rubbed against my abraded ass with delicious pressure while he rocked me softly. "You do belong to me," he replied and I sighed happily. "And you are the most amazing woman on the planet, Kat. You handled that perfectly. I love the way you move when you're trying to get away from the crop, and the way you cry out when it hits you. You're so brave, and so beautiful, and I love seeing you like this and knowing you're all mine. My beautiful Kat." His words heightened my arousal until I wasn't sure what I wanted more: the comfort of his arms around me, or the feeling of his cock inside me, or the taste of the crop on my skin again. "Will you fuck me, Master?" I asked in a slurred murmur, unable to muster enough energy to raise my voice. "In a moment I will," he assured me. He reached up and felt my fingers, which were slightly cold from being above my head for so long. "How are your hands?" he asked. "Do you think you'll be okay being bound this way a few minutes longer?" "They're fine," I replied, some coherence returning. "I'll be all right for a little while yet." "Good...just a couple more minutes. Let me know if it gets to be too much." "Yes, Master," I agreed, elated that he still planned to continue. He pulled away and I closed my eyes, listening as he made whatever mysterious preparations he required for what he had planned next. When I heard him come around in front of me, I opened my eyes again, immediately dropping them in accordance with his rules. What I saw hanging from his hands, however, frightened me. Alarmed, my eyes flew open wide as I espied the quirt. Its dual, sharp-tipped lashes flicked forward like a serpent's forked tongue, and I gasped in alarm. I quickly glanced up at him, once again afraid. "That's four, Kat," my Master's voice reached me menacingly. "There will be one hard stroke with the signal whip for every time you disobey me today. Now close your eyes." I stood there staring, unable to believe he would use those sharp leather straps on my breasts. Surely he wouldn't... "But you can't--" I protested, too shocked by his intent to obey his directive. "That's five. Close your eyes, now." I closed them with a shudder of fear running through me. "Please don't," I pleaded in a whisper, unable to resist despite the knowledge that I was tempting the addition of another stroke of the signal whip, which my one brief experience of had led me to dread more than anything. "Kat," his voice was soft and patient as his hands claimed my breasts, molding and squeezing them softly, then with increasing pressure. "Who do these belong to?" "You," I whispered helplessly, elation and terror warring within me. "They belong to you, Master." "And that means I can do with them what I want, doesn't it? I can kiss them--" he punctuated his words with the actions he described, "--or pinch them, or squeeze them, or even whip them, can't I?" "Yes, Master." "Good. Now, no more disobedience. Hold still and be quiet." "Yes, Master." End of Aphrodisia VII - Part Three Aphrodisia VII - New Territory (4 of 6) Kristel St. Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com I stood there too afraid to even tremble, and a moment later a muffled "thwack!" reached my ears, followed soon by another and another. Hesitantly, I lifted one eyelid to see what he was doing, to find him using the quirt on a throw pillow, biting his bottom lip in concentration. He struck it repeatedly, aiming for and, I noticed, hitting, the same spot each time. I became so engrossed watching him that I only belatedly realized I was disobeying and hastily looked down and closed my eyes. A second later, the sounds of his practicing ceased and I once again felt his hands on my breasts. He caressed me for a long moment, then placed a gentle kiss on my parted lips and moved away. A second later I gasped loudly as the tips of the twin leather tongues connected sharply with the fronts of my thighs. More than anything, it was surprise which opened my eyes again. Without breaking his prohibition against looking up, I could still see he had gone down on one knee, taking careful aim from a few feet in front of me. He drew back the somewhat floppy-handled quirt by holding it by the grip with one hand and running the length of it through his other, back over his shoulder. Then he would release the tails and swing it over-hand in a gentle arch, letting it flash out to lick my thighs. Tiny pinpoints of pain blazed into life where the pointed lashes landed, leaving me squirming and rotating my hips in discomfort. I belong to him--he can do with me whatever he wants, I chanted in my head. I tried to focus on my breathing, keeping it slow and steady and counting each breath. In that way, I could distract myself from what was happening to my body. As he had with the paddle and the crop, he started out slowly and softly, allowing me time to get used to the sensation before increasing the force of his blows. My attempts at self-distraction gave way to new vistas of sensation that turned out, once again, to be more frightening in theory than painful in practice. He hit me with only the tips, flicking them sharply across my tender flesh. It was a small, biting pain, dissipating quickly and leaving none of the lingering burning on my skin I had experienced before with the other implements. Each stroke drew a yelp from me that increased in volume and intensity with the force of his blows. My counting was completely defeated, each breath its own entity as I yielded myself and became absorbed by the moment rather than seeking to escape it. There was pleasure to be had here as well, I realized. Toward the end of the whipping with the crop, the pain had become severe enough that it no longer equated to pleasure in that strange alchemy of sensation he created for me. The same had been true of the paddle. The pain of the quirt, however, was sharp and fleeting, of an entirely different "flavor" from the crop or paddle, and was accompanied by a delicious fear that had the muscles of my sex clenching greedily. By the time he moved to my breasts and repeated the process, I was panting heavily in a combination of pain and desire. He spent a very long time on my breasts, pacing his strokes at a leisurely rate. The swing of the quirt, the bite of the lashes, the sting of the contact all came and passed in their turn, until my breasts, as with my thighs, were mottled with small red marks that gave me a secret satisfaction when I caught sight of them, even as I cried out in pain. The licks of fire gradually tapered off, leaving me panting, my skin moist with perspiration as though with exertion. "That's good, Kat," my Master murmured to me, laying aside the implement of pain and lavishing praise and caresses upon me. His hands gently cupped my breasts, soft fingers soothing away the lingering sting of the quirt. "You handled that beautifully. I'm very proud of you." I glowed and preened under his compliments, but soon his fingers seized my nipples and began to pinch. This combination of pain and pleasure I knew very well and I panted my way through the increasing pressure. In short order, I found my nipples grasped by the familiar vise of the nipple clamps and he was gone, passing behind me once more. At some point, my ass had quit burning, my skin cooling while he bestowed his attentions upon my breasts. I was highly sensitized to his hands as they ran over my buttocks and thighs, but the heat that lingered after the crop had finally dissipated. I felt something cool and soft as velvet brush my flesh, rubbing softly over the surface of my skin. The flogger again, I thought as the scent of the new suede wafted reached me. Delicious anticipation sizzled through me, a jolt of excitement I was powerless to contain. The first blow he struck was full strength, the soft tails of the flogger impacting with a force that teetered on that magical threshold between pleasure and pain. The sound of the blow was enormous, thundering in my ears, the percussion causing my eardrums to ache. The blows rained down without pause or mercy, fast and hard. It didn't hurt nearly as much as the paddle or crop, but instead began to relax me, like a brutal massage. The impact caused my body to sway beneath my bound hands, which in turn jostled the clamps I wore, creating a whole other level of sensation as my nipples began to ache in ever-increasing measures. "Tell me what you're feeling, Kat," he commanded, panting with the effort of swinging the flogger. "Do you like this?" "I--" I stammered, unable to complete the sentence. He was asking me not only to accept that I enjoyed pain, but to admit it aloud. I didn't know if I could do that. "Answer me, Kat," another thundering blow crossed my shoulder blades, followed by more. Under the unceasing repetition of the blows, the mild half-pain I felt when he first swung the flogger full-force became an unrelenting ache. Yes, I liked it, I thought deliriously, feeling the force of his will, to which I had so utterly capitulated, battering at the vestiges of my reticence. I remembered the times, during our most intense scenes involving nipple pain, when I had felt transported to a place of sheer sensation, where I existed only as a being of pure feeling. That feeling returned now, all the more powerful because I was gradually coming to a mental place where I could embrace it rather than resist. "Yes," I whimpered under another blow, then again, louder, "Yes...Yes." The strokes of the flogger immediately began to taper off, sweeping gently back and forth across my shoulder blades, getting ever softer until finally it disappeared completely, leaving me breathless and stunned. Relief and regret mingled inside my mind as I sought to make sense of time and place. "Are you all right?" he queried, enveloping me in his arms as he began the startlingly painful process of removing first one nipple clamp, then the other. He stroked my breasts softly as I sighed and allowed my head to roll back on his shoulder. I felt limp and drained, alive in ways I had never imagined and yet utterly boneless at the same time. "Yes, Master," I murmured. His hands slid up my arms and a moment later, my cuffs were released from the chain that suspended them from the ceiling. I whimpered as the new freedom made me aware of the stiffness in my shoulders and arms, and my Master solicitously guided me to the futon. "Here, lay down," he urged gently, placing me upon my stomach. He quickly unbuckled the cuffs from my wrists and tossed them carelessly aside, giving me a shoulder rub until the ache eased and I lay pliant and drowsy beneath his touches. All the time, he spoke soft words of praise and admiration to me, telling me how well I had handled what he did to me, how brave and strong and beautiful I was and how proud of me he felt. By the time he was finished, I was humming with contented desire, ready to be fucked but reluctant to break this tender intimacy. He lay beside me and held me for a long while. I faded in and out of reality a few times, and I wasn't precisely certain how much time passed before he rose and retrieved the bottle of water, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to help me sit up and drink it. If I were to venture a guess, a good half hour or more passed before I came back to myself. The entire while, he cuddled and soothed me as I slumped against his chest in a daze, awareness returning in slow increments. "Now," he said at last, "I think there's the little matter of a fucking I promised you, but first, we have to deal with your disobedience. Six strokes with the signal whip." "Six!" I protested weakly, lifting my head. "But you said fi--!" "Did you or did you not watch me while I was practicing with the quirt?" he asked pointedly. Muttering, I conceded the sixth offense. How the hell he knew I'd watched him was beyond me, because I was positive he'd never once glanced in my direction. In my altered state, I was almost ready to believe that dominance imbued omniscience. "Get up on your hands and knees," he instructed me brusquely, and I sensed he still wasn't comfortable with this aspect of his responsibilities as the dominant. "Let's get this done so I can get on with fucking you." Reluctantly, I rose up on my knees and presented my posterior for the whip. From my one previous experience with the signal whip, I was not eager to taste it again. Especially after today's session, I was coming to realize that there were varieties of pain I found arousing and others I did not. I had enjoyed the crop more than the paddle, for instance. The sensation had been entirely different. I was sure, just from my prior encounter, that the signal whip would not create a flavor of pain I particularly cared for. I felt the single, knotted cord brush across my ass, lightly back and forth with increasing force until my skin was once more warm and tingling. Then, without warning, the first stroke landed with a sharp, whistling sound, blazing a trail of liquid fire across my skin as I writhed and whimpered against the pain. Unlike the crop and paddle, both of which created a sting that quickly faded after the instant of impact, the single-tailed short whip left a line of heat that was slow to recede. My Master's hand caressed the tender spot softly, drawing an uncomfortable gasp from me, and as the pain began to abate, a second stroke landed. I whimpered loudly and shrilly, wriggling as though I could dislodge the lingering burn. On the next stroke, I jerked away, going so far as to nearly flip all the way over. I was tempted to make my escape but was prevented first by my own uncertainty and then by his restraining hand in my hair. "There will be another stroke for each time you cause me to miss," he vowed. Shuddering and reluctant, I resumed my position on hands and knees. Three more times, the process repeated itself, until I had six lines of pain running across my ass, three on each buttock, and I was biting the comforter beneath my face to keep from shrieking. Tears burned my eyes, but when my Master disentangled my hands from the covers and pulled me into his embrace, I went willingly. Rocking me slowly back and forth, he soothed away with loving murmurs the pain which he had administered for my disobedience. I was reminded of the few times in my childhood that it had been necessary for my father to spank me, and how he had always cuddled me afterward and never left until he was satisfied that we were once again right with each other. When my Master kissed me at long last, I yielded my lips eagerly, parting for him and welcoming the intrusion of his tongue into my mouth. My hands grasped the back of his neck and hungrily pulled him closer to me, desperately enflamed with passion. When I would have leaned back and pulled him down atop of me, he resisted, taking the time to kiss me leisurely, exploring my mouth, nibbling on my lips until they were swollen and numb. Contrary to his claims of intending to fuck me, he very slowly and thoroughly made love to me. He eased me back and claimed my breasts with his mouth and hands, until I was squirming and moaning beneath him, before his fingers traveled further down my body and delved between my legs, sliding in and out of my slick sex easily. His thumb plied my clitoris while his fingers set a slow, delicious motion within me and soon my moans gave way to small cries of delight. He trapped one of my legs between his, spreading me wider open, and cradled my body as he ran impassioned kisses over my face and neck and shoulders. "Come for me, Kat," he murmured. "Come for me, baby. Let me see how beautiful you are when you come." I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling in dismay. This was wrong; he shouldn't be doing this for me. I hadn't earned the reward he had promised. "No!" I gasped, sitting up and pulling away from his hands. "Please don't." "What's the matter?" he queried, in an instant changing gears from passion to tender solicitude. "I didn't--you shouldn't--" I stuttered for a moment, my disorientation working against me as I fought for the proper words. "I lied." "How did you lie?" "When I used my safeword earlier," I answered slowly. "I shouldn't have used it. It was for the wrong reasons. I wasn't in danger and I didn't feel unsafe. I was just scared and wanted you to stop." "I'll never punish you for using your safeword," he said solemnly. "That's what it's there for. And it's for emotional distress as well as physical. If something was wrong--" "Nothing was wrong," I countered sharply, frustrated by his predisposition for giving me the benefit of the doubt. "That's the problem. I just wanted to make you stop, and that was the only way I could think of. But there was no reason for you to stop--I wasn't in trouble. It didn't even really hurt all that much. I was--I was trying to take back control, not giving it up the way I was supposed to, and that's why I used the safeword. You told me not to send up any more false distress signals, but I did. By your rules I shouldn't be rewarded after that." A moment of silence passed and then he nodded. Slowly I lay back down, expecting, even somewhat hoping, that he would simply crawl atop me and fuck me without thought for my pleasure. But though the foreplay was most definitely over, his manner was no less sensual as he slid his body along mine, moving into position between my thighs and kissing me tenderly and deeply. With a tremulous sigh, I wrapped my arms and legs around his body, clutching him to me as though I would crawl through his skin. No matter how tightly I held him, how deeply he filled me, I couldn't get close enough to him. All that mattered in that moment was the feeling of him on top of me, his flesh filling me. I held him too strongly to allow for much movement, and so we laid together, rocking in a slow, steady rhythm with his weight pressing me into the futon and his skin hot and slick against mine. Some time later, he came with a shuddering gasp as I smiled past his shoulder at the ceiling, happy beyond reason. By the time he rolled off of me and spooned his body against mine, I was asleep. End of Aphrodisia VII - Part Four Aphrodisia VII - New Territory (5 of 6) Kristel St. Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com I glanced over at Scully as she slipped her hand into mine. We were outside the pub where a local BDSM society held their Tuesday evening "munch." We had a long debriefing after our play session Saturday, during which she informed me that she enjoyed the play immensely, and we decided that if we were to continue on our present course, it would definitely behoove us to investigate some sort of support and information system. We decided to proceed with the plan we had formed some time ago: to become acquainted with the local BDSM community and see what resources we could find there. The success of our encounter Saturday went a long way toward reassuring me about the direction in which we were taking our D/s relationship. I was hesitant about introducing pain play into the situation, but it seemed like the proper step to take, if for no other reason than to provide Scully with a thorough exploration of her submissiveness. My reluctance sprang from my own uncertainties. I had no interest in making Scully suffer, but conversely I was afraid of finding sadistic tendencies in my own nature. I'd seen into the minds of monsters too many times, enough that I was half-afraid I might be a monster as well. I was scared that if I undertook to perform what seemed on the surface to be violent acts, some ravening beast lurking inside me, an aspect of my own personality that I frequently feared existed, would charge forth to wreak havoc on poor Scully. It was ridiculous, I knew, seeing as I'd cut off my own arm before harming her intentionally, and yet I hadn't been able to shake the dread of what might lurk within me. But as I slowly got into the rhythm of our play, that fear dissipated. I found that my concentration had been focused on what she was experiencing, and my attention centered on her safety and her reactions. I freely enjoyed the gratification that indubitably accompanied what I was doing, because my pleasure in no way originated from the idea that I was hurting her. Rather, it came from the movements and sounds she made in time with the elemental rhythm of the whip. It came from the scent of her arousal and the knowledge of her surrender. It came from the moment when, by the tension of her muscles, I saw her cease to struggle against what was happening and instead relinquish herself to it--to me. It came from the fact that she trusted me with her most vulnerable self and from the knowledge that what I was doing, I was doing to fulfill that trust. Slowly, I was becoming less afraid of myself and the harm I might do either of us. I was finally allowing myself to enjoy our games, not just for the fact that I was pleasing Scully by participating, but because it brought me pleasure as well. Her yielding to me was at once heady and humbling, filling me not only with power, but also with an enormous sense of obligation and responsibility. Physical pleasure aside, it was an emotional thrill more profound than anything I'd ever known before. We had crossed an important line, and now I wanted more. It was as though a curtain had been pulled open, revealing behind it the marvelous vista of possibilities of where this could lead us now that I no longer had cause to worry about what I might do. The erotic potential of these new activities was boundless as long as we were both willing, but these were not the sort of games one jumped into unprepared and uneducated. We were both nervous about this step. The discussion we'd had months ago about the fact that we were both deeply private people still held true. There was a definite chance we might be seen by someone who would carry tales, or by someone whose job it was to spy on us for evidence of impropriety, or we might even be recognized by someone already in attendance. Both of us had made the news at one time or another, though luckily, despite the press surrounding the Donnie Pfaster ordeal, Scully had been able to avoid the cameras and hadn't recently been plastered across the six o'clock news. My primary inclination was to stick to the shadows, to fulfill my reputation as Mr. Paranoia and assume that anyone could be a spy for those who would use this against us. But the fact was, the act of us sleeping together was enough to doom us, for technically Scully was an agent under my supervision and therefore the relationship subject to anti-harassment regulations. We didn't need to be kinky to get busted. But we weren't going to live in the shadows, weren't going to behave as though we were ashamed. We had lives to lead, and we wanted to live them together. But even that need to live a life approaching normalcy I might have dismissed in my need for self-isolation, if not for one fact: I was a novice top, and half the time what I did was conducted by guesswork and intuition. I practiced with the whips and crops for hours on end whenever Scully wasn't around for weeks to be sure I felt ready to use them on her in an extended scene. I lifted weights to make sure my arms didn't tire and cause a mis-stroke, and still I nearly decided not to go through with it. It was a dangerous game in the hands of the unwise or unwary, and I didn't want to harm her. Finally it was that fact that made me decide we didn't have any other option but to seek out the company of others who shared this interest of ours. If Scully and I were going to continue the D/s play, I needed to be exposed to others who knew better than me what the hell they were doing, for her safety. If Scully hadn't felt comfortable attending the munch, I would have gone alone, so deep was my determination to keep her safe and protected from any blunder on my part. A cursory glance around the interior of the pub revealed nothing of where the people hosting the munch might be. The place was filled with average, unremarkable people. I spent a long moment scanning the room until I espied, toward the back, a sort of banquet area filled with long trestle tables, as opposed to the booths and smaller tables in the front of the pub. If a large group was going to assemble, no doubt that was where they would be seated. Already, there were small clusters of people here and there in that area. As we drew closer, it became clear that there was a marginally higher ratio of pierced/tattooed/leather-clad people in the bunch gathered around the long picnic-style tables than might normally be seen, but perhaps not as much as I expected. Discussion and laughter flowed freely among the groups, but there were no behaviors in evidence that could be considered abnormal or deviant. As far as anyone on the outside looking in could tell, all these people were a bunch of friends meeting for dinner and beers. "Are you here for the munch?" a soft contralto voice came from behind us and we both whirled to face the person who had addressed us. It was a striking woman in her late thirties, small and thin, with snapping dark eyes and a spectacular head of thigh-length dark hair. Her irregular features could hardly be called pretty, but the way she carried herself and the two or three small streaks of white running through her hair were certainly attention-worthy. "Sorry to startle you," she laughed. "You just had the 'what the hell am I doing here?' look on your faces I see every time someone new shows up. I'm Tamara, and my top, Blade, over there--" she nodded toward a huge African- American man of indeterminate age in muted conversation with another couple-- "is sort of the founding father of this particular munch. It's one of my duties to keep an eye out for newcomers and make sure you don't run away before we have a chance to corrupt you properly." I could see Scully blink at the woman's flippancy, which was slightly off-putting. I extended my hand and Tamara grasped it firmly and confidently. "I'm Marty and this is Kate," I introduced us as Scully shook her hand in turn, venturing a wary smile. "Well, come on and have a seat. Everything is on one tab and we're on the honor system here. Just leave enough cash to cover your meals and a tip in the basket there in the middle of the table before you leave. Be sure to leave a *generous* tip, if you can. The waiters here work their asses off for us, and ensuring their goodwill is the way we calm the proprietor's qualms about allowing the kinky folk to gather in his wholesome establishment," she informed us with slight sarcasm. Tamara slid onto a bench seat toward the end of the long table and Scully and I claimed the seats across from her. She was dressed casually in faded blue jeans and a tight black long-sleeved t-shirt. A hint of a tattoo could be seen above her breast where the v-neck of the shirt dipped down. Her merry candor, while initially unnerving, was tremendously helpful in dispersing our unease. Beside me, Scully sat quietly alert while our hostess began a long and well-rehearsed introduction to the munch and the people who attended it. "You'll meet a lot of people with 'scene' names, like Blade. It's nothing unusual. I guess you might assume it's because this is Washington and probably half the people here work for the government in one form or another, but the truth is you can get fired from just about any job if you're outted as being a pervert. Several people here can attest to that," Scully and I both squirmed uncomfortably. Surely that was the worst thing she could have told us at that point in time. I squashed my instinct to bolt while Tamara continued, unaware of our nervousness, "But I think also, people just get off on the drama." A short, plump African-American woman with large glasses and bobbed hair approached and gave Tamara a warm hug and kiss in greeting. She was dressed in a crisp white blouse and short plaid skirt and carried a stuffed teddy bear tucked under her arm. She wore a large button with the words "Daddy's Girl" emblazoned upon it. "This is Belinda," the introduction was made. "She's been around a couple years and has taken it upon herself to act as a sort of protector for all the new female subs who show up." "I keep the vultures away," Belinda clarified cheekily. "Vultures?" Scully asked, an eyebrow lifting. "You haven't seen a feeding frenzy until some of the single het male tops find out there's a new sub-fem on the scene," she threw out the scene jargon without pause, assuming we'd be able to keep up, which we did--barely. "I just make sure they give the poor girl some breathing space. You're with someone, so you shouldn't have cause to worry," she informed Scully. "She's also our resident knives expert," Tamara added. "There's always somebody willing to act as the fruit platter at the play parties when Belinda's doing the cutting." A little startled by this announcement, Scully and I cringed as we were introduced by the names we had given Tamara. Belinda sat down beside Tamara and hauled out a Polaroid from her purse. "See?" she handed the photo to us and Scully and I both smiled in absurd relief to realize the "fruit platter" was a presumably naked woman lying on a table and covered in artistically arranged sliced fruit. "I sliced all the fruit on her, physically, so she was the cutting board as well as the platter--without a single nick, I might add," she declared proudly. A waitress finally arrived to take our order, and Belinda joined in the conversation we'd been having with Tamara, explaining the purpose of the munch and what we'd encounter from the people here. For the munch itself, socialization was the primary purpose. It was a chance to get to know other people, a place to find potential partners if you didn't already have one, and a place to discuss issues affecting the leather community. There were clubs, seminars, and workshops that also took place around the city, each appealing to a different type of player. Issues ranged from the psychology of pagan sex magick to the proper care and cleaning of leather goods, from do-it- yourself sex furniture to S&M safety practices. I made a mental note to check out some of these last types of meetings. The munch was also a place where you could find various items which might not be available at your local fetish shop. There were a couple whipmakers who brought samplings of their wares and took orders for custom-made implements, and a couple people who specialized in designing or making leather and fetish clothing, as well as other services. "Before you leave, you'll have to check out the swap box," Belinda urged. "It's over there in the corner. That's my daddy, Mike, standing next to it." Scully shot a glance at me and I shrugged gamely. She'd asked me what age play was all those months ago and here was a real live example. "The idea for the box is this: if you have a toy you don't like, or are tired of, bring it to the munch and leave it in the box. Then you go through what's already there and see if you find something else you like. The contents of the swap box are always rotating, so if nothing strikes your fancy keep checking back and when you find something you want to try out, go ahead and take it. With good leather gear and sex toys being as ungodly expensive as they are, it's a good way to get to try new things without shelling out the outrageous prices you'll see in the fetish shops. All we ask is that anything you bring to the box be cleaned and disinfected, and that HIV positive people not leave any toys which have come into contact with blood or bodily fluids." The people around us were, we learned, from all walks of life. There were probably a higher percentage of government employees than would be present anywhere else in America, but professions ranged from medicine to computers to day-care providers. Some were dressed in everyday street clothes, others a bit more outlandishly. We saw tattoos and piercings in strange and unusual places, alongside other people who were virtually unmarked. The main impression I came away with was that no one here could be considered "unusual" in any fashion. Not even Spooky Mulder. As our meals arrived and were consumed, other people came by to introduce themselves, or to greet Tamara or Belinda and thus be introduced. Eventually I became aware of the slight hesitancy and awkwardness both Scully and I shared in this social setting. We'd been insulated from other people for too long, I thought guiltily. Neither of us knew anymore how to relate to others socially. There was always a pause before we introduced ourselves, a discreet but unmistakable summing up of the other person as the opening volley of a conversation was made. We were bordering on downright anti-social, I realized unhappily. Had I done this to Scully? I didn't care so much about myself, I was used to being alone, but surely Scully had been more comfortable with people before she joined the wild ride that was the X-Files. Troubled, I sat back and watched Scully interact with the others. Eventually, Tamara's top, Blade, also joined us, approaching Tamara from behind as she and Belinda kept up a steady and helpful stream of conversation. He threaded his massive fingers through her coal-black hair and pulled her head back until she was looking up at him. I heard a small hitch of breath from beside me and turned my head to see Scully watching them. Her lips were parted and her pupils dilated, her forehead creased with consternation as though witnessing something highly intimate and yet unable to look away. Through the cotton of her blouse, I could see her nipples peak and understood with a flash of insight that the exhibition of power-play between the two was turning her on. Her eyes were riveted on Tamara. "Have you ordered for us yet?" He asked in a rumbling bass voice. He wore a black leather vest over a white t-shirt that strained over the muscles of his biceps. "No, Sir, I was waiting for you," she answered with a sublime expression. I could understand why Scully was so captivated by the display. I was staring, too. Tamara scooted over on the bench to make room for him and he sat across from us. When the waitress arrived, he autocratically placed an order for both himself and Tamara, without even asking what she wished to eat, while she smiled serenely. We were treated to a lesson on how their particular branch of the D.C. leather scene came into being. Blade had been active in the community for over thirty years, dating back to the time when the main S&M scene was the gay biker gangs with their clubs and initiation rites. Eventually, the leather scene had spread out and been adopted as a lifestyle by others from all walks. We also got some personal history about our companions. Blade and Tamara had been together for five years and were both involved in other romantic relationships. They only played together, with the knowledge and consent of their partners. At that knowledge, I squirmed uncomfortably. What I felt for Scully was too powerful and all-consuming to leave room for anyone else. Though I was familiar with the concept of polyamory, the practice of having "open" relationships with the knowledge and consent of all involved parties, it wasn't anything I would remotely consider doing myself. There had never been any question of exclusivity between us. It was simply an assumed fact. There were some single people in the group, but a lot of couples. We were introduced to a pair by the names of James and Anne as they stopped by to tell Tamara and Blade good-bye on their way out the door. James was wearing a collar and stood obediently a step behind Anne, who was dressed in a somewhat subdued version of your stereotypical leather goddess outfit. Anne was, we learned, a professional dominatrix and James her live-in slave. Another woman, dressed much like Belinda and as obviously into age-play, was introduced with her "daddy", who was actually a woman. "This bunch is pretty pan-sexual," Belinda explained as she gestured around the room, pointing out various people we might want to get to know and explaining their 'kink.' "You have some groups specifically for gays, or lesbians, or for different types of play. I've actually recently become involved with a support group for sub females, or at least, self-identifying females." "Self-identifying?" Scully asked, obviously intrigued. "Anyone who lives their daily life as a woman," Belinda clarified. "You and I would, of course, be allowed. So would Marie over there," she gestured to a tall, willowy transvestite at the end of the table. "But Ben--over there--who just dresses up occasionally at the parties, would not. The group started because of the difficulty some of us encountered with being a submissive female in today's society. A lot of feminists have a problem with what we do, maybe not so much because we're submissive, but because we're *het* submissives. It's okay to bottom to another woman, but not to a man, or so the current theory says. They accuse us of reverting to type. The way I see it, that's a pretty ironic declaration when you consider the definition of feminism is a woman having the right to choose to do what's right and empowering for her. If we find that empowerment in submission, then aren't we actually living the very spirit of feminism?" "We're a political bunch," Tamara interjected with a sardonic smile, and Belinda ducked her head apologetically, realizing she'd been evangelizing. "It comes with the territory. And it's not quite that cut and dried, either. Belinda and I are both bisexual, polyamorous switches. We play with multiple partners and we top and we play with other women. You get all kinds here, but it's hard not to get into the 'my kink is okay, yours is not' mindset." "Speaking of politics," Belinda jumped in, changing the subject so quickly that Scully and I both blinked. "Before you leave, you might want to stop by the end of the table and pick up some of the brochures there. We're selling memorabilia for the Paddleboro Defense League, if you're interested." Of course, neither of us knew what the Paddleboro Defense League was, prompting her to explain. Only a couple of months previously, in Attleboro, Massachusetts, police raided a private play party. As Scully and I were also unfamiliar with the concept of play parties (I wanted to hazard a guess but was unwilling to make any assumptions), our hosts were obliged to backtrack and give us more information. A play party was a gathering of BDSM practitioners, a.k.a. "leather folk," meeting to socialize and also to perform scenes in a group venue. Usually they were privately hosted, though some bars hosted a "Fetish Night" at which play could also be done publicly. It was not, contrary to the way it sounded, an orgy, they were careful to explain. Though most S&M play is, at its core, sexually motivated, these parties tended to be less about sex than about the other aspects of the play, Tamara clarified. It was more along the lines of extended foreplay. Intercourse was often prohibited as such parties, and in fact was prohibited at the Attleboro party. You might see someone stripped naked and whipped, but you wouldn't see anyone fucking. It was simply a group of friends indulging a common interest, almost like a dance club. In the Attleboro incident, police were supposedly investigating reports of some stolen stereo equipment from one of the nearby lofts in the old warehouse complex... ("At eleven o'clock on a Saturday night," Belinda interjected, scoffing.) ...when they witnessed people lining up at the door of one suite of rooms, paying someone at a table. The guests at the party were asked to make a donation to cover the cost of space rental, as well as food, beverages, and latex supplies for the party. The police entered the party without a warrant, which wasn't obtained until four o'clock in the morning, some five hours after they first entered. The raid on resulted in two arrests. The first was the host of the party, on charges ranging from operating a business without a license to running a place of prostitution to possessing objects of "self abuse." The definition of items of "self-abuse" under the specific law referenced for his arrest would also make the distribution of condoms illegal. Additionally, the host was charged with assaulting a police officer. The other detainee was a woman at the party whom police claimed to have witnessed beating another woman. She was charged with assault and battery with a dangerous weapon, under a Massachusetts statute which states a person cannot "consent" to be assaulted, even for the purpose of sexual gratification. "Makes you wonder how many boxing matches have been busted up in Massachusetts," Blade commented from where he had sat while Tamara explained the history of the incident. Aside from the extremely belated attainment of a warrant, there appeared to be some questionable search and seizure, including a list of names and email addresses of the people invited to the party. The press painted a picture of people being "recruited" for these kinky sex parties over the Internet. The "dangerous weapon" the woman had been charged with using turned out to be a wooden spoon, which many players carried for use as paddles. Someone at the munch this evening was selling wooden spoons emblazoned with the "Paddleboro" logo and the black and blue "Leather Pride" flag in support of the legal defense fund. There were also black t-shirts with a picture of a pair of handcuffs declaring "THIS was non-consensual." Scully and I exchanged wary glances, unsure how to respond. As law enforcement officers, assault on a police officer was a serious issue to us. Sure, the rest of the charges sounded like complete bullshit, but without further facts, we could not, in good conscience, either support or denounce the acts of either the participants at that play party or the raiding police officers. We did promise to pick up some of the literature on our way out, if for no other reason than to be in possession of more facts on the matter. Being involved with these activities and with our jobs being what they were, it would help considerably to know what we were up against if these two facets of our lives should ever collide. Talk of the incident in Attleboro led to a discussion of the state of the leather community in other parts of the country. Portland, Oregon, we learned, had something called a Sexual Minorities Round Table. It was a forum in which representatives from the gay, lesbian, and leather communities met with law enforcement officials and lawmakers to ensure that such misunderstandings were not an issue. There was campaigning from members of the leather community around the country to institute such forums in other cities. San Francisco not only tolerated its leather folk, but embraced them, going so far as to allow a BDSM- oriented street fair every year, much along the lines of the Gay Pride parade. End of Aphrodisia VII - Part Five Aphrodisia VII - New Territory (6 of 6) Kristel St. Johns kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com We left the munch with a whole cache of names, email addresses, and information we hadn't had before. I think we were both relieved to find the people we met to be so ordinary and approachable. There was a slight hint of the exotic counter-culture we anticipated, but not nearly as much as we expected. There was no pageantry or outrageousness at the munch; the people we met were no more or less normal than ourselves. There were varying degrees to which the BDSM activities in which they participated affected their lives and their lifestyles. Though we had known before that we were not alone in our interest, now we finally understood that we were part of a community. Scully was quiet on the drive home, a state I wasn't sure heralded well for our situation. Had she been put off or intrigued by the people we met? Did she wish to continue pursuing the D/s play, or had she seen or met someone that made her change her mind? "You know, I still don't get the age play thing," she announced out of the blue, her voice flat as she shifted in the passenger seat to face me. "Don't get it or don't want to get it?" I inquired, giving her a sidewise glance as I recalled her initial distaste at the idea. "I don't know. Both, maybe. I just don't feel the need to sexualize that particular dynamic in my life. And I know it can take other forms, but even so I don't understand the point of pretending to be a child. I'd feel silly." "You think so? You've said you like yielding control-- being a child is place in life where you have very little personal control, anyone can guide you, tell you what to do, where the rules and discipline of an authority figure are the very center of your life." "That's true, but that's not what concerns me so much," Scully replied, shifting in her seat again. "I have to wonder about the mentality of the 'adult' in such a scene. When I try to make sense of what they get out of such a scene, the best I can come up with is that it's a healthy outlet for an unhealthy desire. That somewhere in their cerebral makeup, they share some of the same desires as, say, a pedophile, the desire to exercise complete and utter control over something smaller and weaker and more innocent. But unlike your average pedophile, these people have intact the portion of their reasoning and comprehension that says 'No, that's wrong, I won't do that' and so instead they seek an outlet with a consenting adult assuming the role of a helpless child." "I think you're being unfair to them, Scully," I countered after a moment of thought. "Just because I like tying you up and fucking you while you play the role of slave-girl doesn't mean I am at all turned on by the idea of actually kidnapping someone, subjugating them, and forcing my will upon them. That's why it's called role play. It's not the role you play that's the turn on, it's the fact that you're playing it. It's getting to see the differences between the woman I know you to be and the persona you're assuming. For them, I would venture to say it's not the idea of interacting on a sexual level with an innocent that turns them on, but rather the drama of the role play and the sexual gratification that, for them, can only be provided by another consenting adult." "Are you saying that's something you'd like to try playing at?" she asked me, arching an eyebrow in an attempt at disdain. "I'm a hedonist at heart, Scully. I'll try anything once," I shrugged, unconcerned by her attempt to turn the conversation back to me and my preferences. "The point I was trying to make was that there's probably more to the experience than either of us would assume. Maybe they just find it to be fun." "Well, sure, I suppose it could be fun if you didn't feel like an idiot doing it," Scully retorted, folding her arms stubbornly over her chest. The too-stubborn set of her jaw and defensive posture made me smirk. I looked at her for a long moment as we came to a light, trying to decide if I'd get my balls handed to me on a plate if I assumed there was a little too much protesting going on...and was wrong. No. I wasn't wrong, I resolved with an internal nod, and turned at the light. Scully blinked in surprise. "I thought we were going to your place." "Nope," I answered, grinning. Though we had only been a few blocks from my apartment, I made the trip over to hers without speaking, despite her best efforts. By the time we arrived at her door, she had given up grilling me. "You got any Catholic school uniforms left, Scully?" I asked, holding her by the elbow as I hurried her into the building. "Yeah--in a box in my mother's attic, not that they'd fit me," she replied. "Then improvise," I commanded, ushering her into the bedroom then walking out. Her outraged huff followed me into the living room where I began neatly tucking away the loose papers and file folders on her desk. It wouldn't do to have the files crumpled or otherwise...damaged. I rifled through the drawers until I found what I was looking for, which I laid conspicuously on the now-bare surface of the desk. In a perfect world, the desk would be in the middle of the room, facing the archway between the living room and bedroom, so it would be the first thing she would see when she came out, but I really didn't have time to move it. I was still in my suit and button-down shirt from work, so I pulled the tie from my suit coat pocket and put it on, using my reflection in the window, and buttoned the top button of the blazer. Ideally, I'd be wearing tweed, but that just wasn't going to happen, so I'd have to make do. Finally I slipped my glasses out of my breast pocket and put them on, letting them hang a little low on my nose. It wasn't perfect, I decided, checking myself out one last time in the window, but it would suffice. I sat myself down in the chair, trying to look officious, and turned when I heard a noise behind me. Scully stood in the archway, her hands folded behind her back while she squirmed uncomfortably, rolling her eyes in exasperation as if to say "Happy now?" I felt my eyes widen at her improvisational skills. Somewhere she'd located a pleated navy blue skirt, which she had rolled at the waistband to shorten it. It was an old trick, a parochial school-girl mini-skirt. Below the skirt was a stretch of bare skin that ended in navy knee socks and loafers. Her legs looked impossibly long. Her top was a plain white button-down blouse, with the top two buttons negligently left undone, and she'd pulled her hair back in a short ponytail. It was as though she had shed twenty years, and she somehow managed the coltish combination of gangliness and grace that is the curse and blessing of youth. Her face was carefully clean and devoid of obvious makeup, though it looked like she may have used lip liner to add a little extra poutiness to her mouth. Then she pulled out the object she'd been holding behind her back and slipped it into her mouth, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. Saints preserve us, Scully had found a Tootsie-Roll pop. I confirmed the theory I had put forth in the car in that instant, I realized. No fantasy could be sexier than the reality of Scully fulfilling it. It wasn't the school-girl image she portrayed that caused my cock to stiffen in my pants. It was the fact that *she* was the one playing the role. She scrutinized me for a moment, then slowly withdrew the sucker from her mouth as she leaned insolently against the archway, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. Behind her eyes, mischief intermingled with nervousness, as though she wanted to join the game but wasn't sure of her footing. For that matter, neither was I. I doubted my own wisdom in initiating this role play. This wasn't the solemn, studious young girl I'd always imagined young Dana Scully to be. This Dana Scully gave men of the cloth enough impure thoughts to keep them in confession for a month. This Dana Scully would be the death of the nuns charged with her intellectual and spiritual guidance. This Dana Scully was trouble. "Sister Mary Roberta said you wanted to see me, Mr. Mulder," she finally spoke, falteringly, as though she had to force the words to come. Which was no doubt exactly the case. "Yes, Miss Scully," I replied gruffly. "Your homeroom teacher, Sister Margaret Sebastian, tells me you've been late to class every morning for the last week." "Sorry," she shrugged carelessly, striking the perfect note of innocence and impertinence. She still wasn't comfortable, but she was starting to get the hang of it. "My boyfriend's been having car trouble. It seems to stall at every stop." "You're not supposed to be riding to school with your boyfriend, are you, Miss Scully?" I asked severely. "That's why we provide a bus, so that none of the students need be late because of--car trouble. Isn't that right?" Another indolent shrug, and the sucker slipped back between her pouty lips into her mouth. I felt myself grow harder inside my slacks as she hollowed her cheeks sucking on the candy. "Besides, Miss Scully, your teacher told me that she saw you in the parking lot with your boyfriend a full ten minutes before class begins. That should be plenty of time to be at your desk before the bell rings, shouldn't it, Miss Scully? Unless you're doing something you shouldn't be doing." Suddenly her contrived insolence fled, and she was all wide-eyed innocence. "Please don't tell my parents," she whispered urgently. "They don't know--they think I ride the bus." Fuck me, I thought in amazement, surprised by her turn- around. She was actually getting into it. "I don't see any reason why your parents have to know," I responded after making her wait for an anxious moment. "But here at the school, we have rules. And we have consequences for breaking those rules." I lifted the wooden ruler I had salvaged from the bottom of the desk drawer and turned it over in my hands. "If you are prepared to accept those consequences, we can forget this matter. Are you prepared, Miss Scully?" "Yes, Mr. Mulder," she murmured, ducking her head in chagrin. "Then turn around and bend over the desk, Miss Scully," I commanded and rose from the chair while she obeyed, putting the lollipop down. When she presented her backside to me, I flipped up the pleated skirt to reveal the simple pair of white cotton bikini underwear she wore beneath. Admiringly, I caressed her rear before sliding the panties down onto her thighs, baring the smooth buttocks. "There will be twenty swats with the ruler, Miss Scully," I informed her. "Ten for being late to class, and ten for breaking the rules about riding the bus." I saw a small shiver run through her, but judging from the scent of her arousal, it was one of anticipation rather than fear. I started out softly, warming her up with gentle swats that left light pink streaks across her pale flesh. She squirmed and wiggled beneath the strip of wood, gasping softly as I increased the force of my swing on the fifth stroke, snapping the makeshift paddle sharply against her skin. "Tell me, Miss Scully, your boyfriend--he's an older boy, isn't he? College aged, right?" I asked on the tenth stroke while she moaned. "Yes," she panted, a hint of obstinate rebellion in her voice as I landed the eleventh blow. "He's nineteen. He's a--" The twelfth swing cracked against her skin-- "man, not a boy." Ah, the true Dana Scully peeks through. I knew her dating bio. She always had a thing for older men. Authority figures. I could use that. Thirteen. "And do you like older men, Miss Scully?" I queried calmly, swinging again. Her ass was now taking on a vivid red hue. I gave her the fourteenth and fifteenth stroke, each one harder than before, and then I demanded an answer, placing a firm hand on her back to hold her still while she squirmed. "Yes!" she gasped loudly on the sixteenth blow. I didn't reply as I finished off the final hard strokes in rapid succession, while she squealed and struggled against the hand holding her down. Then I set the ruler on the desk beside her and gently caressed her lightly welted buttocks, blowing across the heated skin to cool it. "Tell me, Miss Scully," I murmured, running my hands possessively over her ass, squeezing and kneading her buttocks while she moaned. "Has your boyfriend done this to you?" I slipped a finger between her thighs to find her wet and the cotton of her panties soaked. "No," she whispered, shaking her head so that her ponytail bobbed. "Not yet." "No?" I asked incredulously, running a teasing finger lightly back and forth over her labia. I withdrew my finger and sucked on it as I ordered her to turn around. "Has he done this?" I queried, unbuttoning her blouse to the waistband of her skirt. I pulled her sensible cotton bra cups down so that the garment caught under her breasts, spilling them out and forcing them upward. She shook her head again, batting her eyes innocently. "You sure?" I insisted, cupping them in my hands and thumbing the nipples. "Well, maybe a little," she answered, blushing. I leaned forward and took one pink nipple into my mouth, running the flat of my tongue over it until she gasped. "Has he done that?" I demanded when I pulled away. "Or this?" I pulled the other nipple gently with my teeth. "No!" she whimpered, closing her eyes, her hands falling on my shoulders. I teased her nipples for a moment longer before I pressed her back against the desk, lifting her under the armpits to sit her on the wood-grain surface. "That's good," I murmured, scooping up both her breasts and pressing them close together to lick rapidly back and forth between the nipples. "Because you're mine now, little girl," I crooned, the line feeling a little absurd on my tongue. "Mr. Mulder's gonna take good care of you." I went down on my knees to draw her panties down her legs and dropped them on the table, glancing up at her. She looked young and wild sitting on the desk with her legs spread, her breasts thrusting boldly out of her open blouse. I threw her skirt up off her thighs and covered her clit with my mouth, pushing her shoulder so that she leaned back upon the wall behind the desk, relishing her breathless cry as her fists clenched and unclenched on the desk beside her thighs. I slowly licked over her mound, savoring the nectar of her arousal from the slick, swollen folds of skin and the springy auburn curls. I slipped two fingers inside her, twisting and wriggling them to thoroughly coat them with moisture before I withdrew one and slid it farther back, carefully inserting it into the tighter opening behind. As I stroked her clit firmly with my tongue, I fucked her slowly and purposefully with both fingers. Soon she was growling and writhing above me, incoherent with passion. I loved this, loved the rhythm of her movements in counterpoint to mine, loved the totality of her surrender to the pleasure I gave her, loved the tightness of her surrounding whatever part I happened to have inside of her at the moment. I loved the trust with which she gave herself into my hands. I loved the sounds she made as she reached a breathless, shuddering climax, her muscles pulsing and contracting around my fingers and her fluids leaking over my lips and tongue. She sat hunched over, limp and panting on the desk with her knees draped over my shoulders as she recovered from her climax. Her face was flushed and her eyes glittering as they met mine. I rose slowly, removing her legs from my shoulders, wiping my hand clean on her discarded underwear and tossing them carelessly on the floor. I purposefully shed my suit coat and loosened my tie. Then I opened my belt and fly, letting my cock spring forth as I took up position between her legs. My hand threaded through her hair and roughly pulled her head back, forcing her face up so I could kiss her as I positioned my cock with my free hand and slid inside her. "Ohh...God...feels...good..." she panted against my lips when I began to move with short, rhythmic strokes. She tasted like the candy she'd been sucking on, her lips sticky with sugar. Her sheath was exquisitely hot and tight around me, encasing my cock in a vice of fire and I groaned, knowing I wouldn't last long. Determined to keep up the game until it was over, I cupped her ass in both hands and pulled her closer, holding her in position as I pumped in and out relentlessly, as though unconcerned for anything but my own satisfaction. She wrapped her arms around my neck and held on tightly, her breasts crushed against my chest, until I came with a low groan and a few last jerky thrusts. It took me a long moment to recover as I stood there, leaning on her small form until I regained my strength. Finally I pulled myself upright and fastened my trousers, straightening my clothing and making a show of smoothing my hair while she watched me quizzically. "I'll expect to see you in my office again tomorrow if you're late to class, Miss Scully," I said with a stern look at her, pushing my glasses up on my nose from where they had slipped. With a becoming blush, she tucked her breasts away and buttoned her blouse, then slid off the edge of the desk. She bent far over, giving me a good view of her shapely ass as she retrieved her panties from the floor and approached me. Smiling cheekily, she tucked them in my shirt pocket, then picked up her Tootsie-roll pop and gave it a slow lick, before turning her back and walking back to the bedroom. When she emerged from cleaning up in the bathroom, all hint of the adolescent seductress gone, I was laying sprawled on the bed in my boxers, my hands folded behind my head. She'd put away the skirt and blouse and donned a cotton tank top and satin underwear. "That was fun," she commented, crawling up onto the mattress beside me. "Even if I did feel silly." "You didn't look silly," I replied, giving her a leer. "Good thing you don't dress like that for work. Remind me never to challenge you to improvise again. I'm obviously outclassed at that game." "I sure never had a principal who looked like you when I was in school. Good thing, too. I had quite enough impure thoughts to confess as it was," she giggled and I stared at her, enraptured. When did Scully begin giggling? I took a moment to flip through the last year or so in my mind, trying to pinpoint the moments when these little changes became evident. When had we ceased to be the humorless, compulsive workaholics we were for so many years and had started to make room for fun in our lives? Was it after Antarctica? That sounded right. Stuck on Kersh's manure patrol, the work that had once consumed us became something from which we required frequent escape. We'd begun socializing more together, Scully accompanying me on "unofficial" investigations, me dragging her out to haunted houses on Christmas Eve, baseball lessons in the park... "What?" she asked finally, prodding me with an elbow and snapping me out of my reverie. "Nothing," I shook my head, dispelling the train of thought. It didn't matter when it had begun or why, only that we were here, together, and we were happy. I wasn't going to spoil that by analyzing it to death. I reached for her and pulled her down until she lay on top of me, nuzzling her neck. "How ya feelin'?" I asked, cupping her buttocks and squeezing softly to test how much residual soreness there might be from the ruler I'd spanked her with. "Mmm," she grunted noncommittally. Concerned, I pulled back to look at her closely. "Scully?" I prompted. "You *are* okay, aren't you? Is there--" She snorted a brief laugh. "Yes, Mulder, quit worrying. I'm okay. I just--I'm still trying to get used to all of this. I'm enjoying it way more than I ever thought I would--or should--and I don't know what to make of that fact." That I understood completely. I was only just now starting to come to terms with the fact that I could inflict even an erotic level of pain upon Scully and be okay with it, much less enjoy the hell out of it. I don't think either of us ever expected to find our very natures challenged by this game. "I don't know what to tell you, Scully," I shrugged as she rolled off of me to her side of the bed. "You are who you are, and it's a part of you. It doesn't change you, or change the way I perceive you, or how you should perceive yourself. But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, am I?" "I just wonder where it ends," she said thoughtfully. "Does it escalate? Is it a ruler today, a bullwhip next week? I looked at myself in the full-length mirror just now and was disappointed that I didn't have any marks. Where does that lead, if I should decide that marks are something I want to have?" That one stopped me cold, causing me to back up a step. I'd only just gotten a handle on the idea of causing pain for her--I wasn't ready to tackle inflicting any sort of lasting physical damage. "I don't know where it leads, Scully," I said carefully, wanting to give myself time to consider her words and what they might mean for our play. "My only experience with this was one in which it went somewhere I never wanted it to go, for all the wrong reasons. I never had a chance at finding any sort of comfort zone or discovering what turned me on as opposed to what was just painful and humiliating. You have a chance to discover the good parts, the ones that work for you, and I intend to be there with you the entire time. And as long as we can continue to find something we enjoy about it, I say quit worrying and just go with it." "Mmm," she grunted again, and I knew she wasn't convinced, at least not entirely. Setting back on my knees beside her, I nudged her to roll over onto her stomach. "Lemme take a look and see what kind of damage we've done," I urged, now nervous over what sort of injury I might have inflicted. When she was lying on her belly, I eased her underwear down over her hips much as I did earlier, and surveyed the soft skin of her derriere. Tiny white raised lines crossed her skin and I touched them lightly with my fingertips, eliciting a shudder and a sigh from her. Somehow, the sight of those marks was reassuring to me. They were proof, of a sort, that I could do some of these more extreme activities with her without lasting harm. She wasn't bruised or scarred--just a few small lines were all that remained, transient and temporary. They'd be gone by morning and what I had done to cause them I could do again without inflicting any more harm than I had this time. "Tell me why you wanted to see marks," I prompted, caressing her. "Well, it's like I told you before--I seem to perceive them as badges of honor, as trophies," she answered, her voice muffled by the pillow. "If I undergo an ordeal, even one from which I derive some pleasure, like what we've done so far with the pain play, I seem to feel like I should have something to show for it, something to look back upon and remember it by." Of course. My perfectionist Scully, who took such pride in her achievements, whether it was closing a case or taking a beating. "There *are* marks here, you know," I commented, tracing them slowly. "They're small, and they won't be there long, but you can feel them." She sighed again, heavily, as I leaned forward to follow the small welts with my tongue. My hands moved up to massage her back as I licked over her buttocks, occasionally sliding my tongue along the crevice between. It was late, and we'd need to get to sleep soon, to be at work the next day. Early in our relationship, we'd had a difficult time finding balance between sleep and sex, and it took weeks of dragging ourselves through the day quasi- comatose to finally realize, contrary to the demands of our sex drives, we weren't eighteen anymore. It was a dilemma I once again found myself confronted with as my cock gave a small twitch of arousal. "Don't tease," Scully grumbled sleepily from where her face pressed against the pillow. I wanted to make love to her again, to feel her surrounding me once more. Anal sex had made its way into our everyday sex life during our hiatus from the D/s play after Donnie Pfaster, and I wanted to feel that exquisitely tight embrace of her body around my cock again. I wanted to feel her sob and shudder and to know that she trusted me to take her to places that she's never trusted anyone else with. I wanted to lose myself within her. Early in our relationship, I'd felt the need to cram as many tactile memories into each moment as possible, certain that something would happen, that it couldn't possibly last. I refused to live like that now, however. Scully would be there in the morning, and tomorrow night, and the day after. I could enjoy being in the moment, but I didn't need to live each instant as though it would be our last together. She was here to stay. So though I wanted to bring her to the very limits of passion once more, instead I laid beside her and took her into my arms. She stretched an arm out to shut off the lamp, and in the darkness we slept. END OF APHRODISIA VII Notes: I have attempted to describe the events of the incident in Attleboro, Massachusetts accurately to the best of my ability with the information available, with the exception of the fact that the actual date of the incident was July, 2000. I imagine this story takes place sometime earlier in the year 2000 than that, but for my purposes here, I'll pretend Paddleboro already happened. Bottom line: these incidents can and do happen. Six people were arrested in 1999 in San Diego on public lewdness charges when a play party was raided. The jury dismissed the charges against the first defendant brought up for trial of what's now known as the San Diego Six, with a firm chastening of the prosecutors for wasting a jury's time, prompting the DA to drop the charges against the other five. It was a victory for the leather community but there still remains the legal fees that these bogus arrests cause, not to mention the emotional trauma resulting from being arrested simply for living a different lifestyle. There is also a world of difference between the mentality of San Diego and Attleboro, and the Attleboro defendants could likely see a much less understanding jury than the San Diego Six. Your personal liberties are at stake here. If it can happen to these other people, it could happen to any of us, to be prosecuted--or persecuted--for what we do in the privacy of our own homes or in the company of select acquaintances in a private gathering. Get involved. For more information, visit http://www.paddleboro.org "With you...there's no easy answer, it's true. You changed the equation I add up to. And all of the things that I thought I knew, You turned it around! I'm amazed, when push comes to shove, what I'd give to you--everything. I'm amazed, the hallways I wouldn't mind crawling through--and I'd do it for days and for days..." Poe, "Amazed"