From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 20 May 2002 12:13:35 -0000
Subject: A Gift of Silk (NC-17) 1/2 by SubRosa
Source: direct

Reply To: subrosa31@yahoo.com


TITLE:  A Gift of Silk
AUTHOR: SubRosa (subrosa31@yahoo.com) 
DISTRIBUTION: Wherever you like, but please let me know.  
RATING: Hard NC-17 for graphic consensual sex and language.
CATEGORY: SR
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance 
SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris
     Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century
     FOX Broadcasting, and to the actors who portray 
     them. They are being used without permission, and 
     no profit is being made. 
SUMMARY: Mulder. Scully. D/s. 'Nuff said.
DEDICATION: To Amy at the Haven and Kim at the L & F
     Board, for creating such wonderful places for
     authors and readers to discuss fic.
THANKS: To Jemirah and Laura for beta work. All 
     remaining mistakes, of course, are mine.
FEEDBACK: Cherished at subrosa31@yahoo.com.
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: 

Feeling post-finale angst?  Have some mind candy.  

This fic is rated NC-17 for graphic sex in a D/s context.  
Please do NOT read if this may offend you.  Readers under 17: 
please respect the age restriction on this story.

This story falls in the same universe as my first two works, 
"The Gift" and "Gifts from the Heart," but you do not need to 
have read them to follow this one.  It does not carry their 
content warnings: nuthin' in here but consensual smut, and lots 
of it.  

Practically everything I know about BDSM comes from reading 
fanfic.  The influence of Kristel St. John's "Aphrodisia" series 
on this story is no doubt obvious; other works used for 
reference are Fran Hartman's "Fire" and Audrey Cooper's "Bound."  
If you haven't read them yet, go forth and do so!



********************


I turn my key in the lock with some trepidation.  Mulder has 
been alone and unsupervised in my apartment for several hours, 
and I'm not sure what to expect.

The past week has been a grinding, monotonous round of listening 
to various papers on forensic pathology and engaging in the 
"social" functions that happen after-hours at a professional 
convention.  It's not all bad, of course.  I enjoy some papers 
and have given one or two myself, and there are a few faces in 
the crowd that I'm happy to see again.  Frankly, though, I 
derive all the benefit from a convention that I usefully can in 
the first forty-eight hours.  Anything after that is tedium. 

And I've missed Mulder.  This is the longest period that we've 
spent apart since we became lovers, a change that is still 
strange and wonderful to me.  Even though we rarely spend the 
whole night together during the workweek, the hotel bed has felt 
terribly cold and lonely.

It has been made bearable by his nightly phone calls.  Usually 
they were about nothing; he would tell me what he'd done at the 
office and I'd share an interesting tidbit from one of the day's 
better talks.  The conversations were actually tamer than what I 
would have expected from Mulder, with the exception of the call 
three nights ago.

"So Scully, what are you wearing?"

Of *course* I had an answer ready for that.  "Full-length, black 
silk negligee with a French lace bodice and a slit to the 
thigh."

I could all but hear his jaw drop.  "Uh, silk?  Slit to the 
thigh?"

"Yes.  I love the feel of silk on my skin.  So...sensual."

He picked up the thread of conversation pretty quickly.  "Now 
that you mention it, I do love it when you wear silk.  It feels 
so smooth when I run my hands over your body."  

He fell silent for a moment, getting into the game.  "Your 
nipples."  

"What?"

"Your nipples.  I was thinking of the way your nipples feel when 
I rub them through your silk pajamas.  So firm and tight, but 
the fabric is so soft and smooth."

I let out a sigh of pleasure.

"And what I like best is hearing you make those noises when I do 
it.  Will you do something for me, Scully?"

Hah, I thought.  I knew that sooner or later he was going to try 
phone sex, and I'd finally screwed up my courage to do it.  I 
ran my hands lightly over my breasts in anticipation.  "Of 
course.  What is it?"

He paused a moment.  "I want to set up a surprise for when you 
get home.  If it's okay, I'll go to your apartment to prepare 
for it before you get back."

I was intrigued, but he clearly didn't want to give me more 
information.  "Sure, Mulder.  That sounds nice."

His voice became quieter and more hesitant.  "Scully, are you, 
um, touching yourself now?  Through the silk?"

My fingers started circling one erect nipple through the worn 
cotton of my nightshirt.  "Would you like me to be?"

"God, yes," he muttered. "But no.  That's the favor I wanted to 
ask.  When you get home, I'd like you to have...built up an 
appetite."

My fingers stopped circling.  "Are you telling me that you don't 
want me to masturbate for the rest of the week?"

"Uh, yeah.  I guess I am."  His voice had gone quite soft.  
Mulder is the master of dirty talk in the bedroom and innuendo 
everywhere else, but toss clinical bluntness at him and he 
instantly turns into a junior-high student in a sex ed class.

"Mulder, may I remind you that I am currently experiencing my 
sexual peak?"

"What, right this second?"

I chuckled, conceding his victory on this round.  "Okay, you 
win, but what's good for the goose..."

"I promise to be equally famished, Scully.  See you Friday 
night."

The phone call did have one benefit: I could entertain myself 
for the rest of the week by speculating on what the surprise 
might be.  At night, though, I found myself tossing and turning 
before finally falling asleep.  

Now, appetite properly whetted, I cautiously open the door and 
step inside.  "Mulder?  Are you in--Oh, my God!"

Well, it *is* a surprise.  The table is set with my seldom-used 
good china.  A glass of wine stands at each place setting, and 
several long tapers are cheerfully burning in the dim light.  If 
the smells wafting in from the kitchen are any indication, 
Mulder has a candle-lit dinner prepared for us.

On the one hand, I'm touched.  On the other, I'm very much 
afraid that he'll come out wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron and 
I'll have to revisit that whole parallel-universe theory that he 
keeps tossing at me when he gets bored on long car rides.

A metallic clang emanates from the kitchen, followed by "Ow!  
Fuck!"

Okay, it's my Mulder.  I resume feeling touched.

"Mulder?"

There's another clatter before he emerges from the kitchen, 
wiping his hands on a dishtowel.  No apron, I'm pleased to see.  
The cranky look on his face vanishes when he sees me.  Tossing 
the towel on a chair, he strides over and envelops me in a bear 
hug.  I relax into his embrace, feeling some of the tension of 
the past few days fade away.

"I missed you," I murmur into his chest.  I'm still not used to 
being this demonstrative, but it's getting easier.  He squeezes 
me closer before purposefully running his hands down my back to 
cup my buttocks and pull my body flush against his.

"I missed you too," he rumbles into my ear.  "I kept thinking 
about all that...frustration you were complaining about at the 
conference."  The growing lump in his jeans suggests that he 
wasn't thinking of just *my* frustration.  He kisses me softly 
but suggestively and pulls away.

"If I'm done giving myself steam burns, I'll have dinner on the 
table in a few minutes."

I drop my bag in the bedroom and go to freshen up, my mind 
boggled by hearing the sentence "I'll have dinner on the table 
in a few minutes" from Mulder's lips.  Still, there's something 
oddly familiar about the scene....

*****

The meal was wonderful.  Say what you will about Mulder; he 
knows his take-out.  When I finish, Mulder comes to stand behind 
me and massages my shoulders gently.  

"Feel better?"

"Mmm," I sigh, feeling the muscles loosen under his 
ministrations.  He leans in so that his breath just tickles my 
ear.  "I know something that will relax you even more."

I tilt my head, offering him my neck in anticipation of a kiss.  
Instead, he speaks again.  "Why don't you take a nice, hot 
bubble bath while I clean up?"

Dammit, now he's got me worrying about that parallel universe 
thing again.  Mulder is often sweet and attentive, but he never 
behaves like this.

I'm still puzzling over it as I settle into the steaming, 
scented water.  Suddenly I realize why this setting felt 
naggingly familiar.  This is a scene that Mulder described to me 
once, before we became lovers.  It's actually, somewhat 
surreally, a sexual fantasy that ends with us exhausted and 
sated in my bed.  Any minute now Mulder will be here serving up 
wine and innuendo.  Next comes cunnilingus, and lots of it.

Oddly, though, excitement isn't what I'm feeling right now.  
Instead, it's love and a slight bittersweet ache.  What 
surprised me about this fantasy when Mulder first revealed it to 
me was not the sex but the setting.  Mulder would probably say 
he wants to give me an evening of romance and relaxation: two 
things that are scarce in our lives even now.  What I see in the 
fantasy, though, is domesticity, and I feel a pang of longing 
for what we can't have yet.

I shake my head to clear it.  Melancholy is pointless when I 
already have so much more than I could have hoped for even a few 
months ago.

There's a light tap on the door, and Mulder enters with two 
glasses of wine.  Grateful for the distraction, I reach out for 
my glass, noticing that he is now barefoot and has changed into 
a casual T-shirt.  We drink our wine in companionable silence 
for a few moments while the bubbles in the bath slowly 
dissipate.  

I think back to what he told me of the fantasy.  Now that the 
momentary sadness has passed, cunnilingus sounds pretty 
appealing.  I want to make tonight good for him too, though.  I 
know what he'd like: something I've been too shy to do in front 
of him yet.  We're still learning each other as lovers, and I'm 
much less adventurous now than I was in my younger days, but 
maybe it's time I got a little bolder.

I set my empty glass on the edge of the tub.  Circling the rim 
idly with one finger, I give him my best inviting look.  "So, 
Mulder, did I tell you how lonely it was in that hotel room?"

His eyes crinkle with delight as he realizes I intend to play 
along.  "Oh?"

I arch my back a bit, keeping my breasts under the line of 
bubbles.  "*Very* lonely."  Abandoning the glass, I lift my hand 
to rub at my neck.  Then I let the hand drift gently down my 
collarbone to rest on the upper slope of my breast.

I've got the feeling that watching me is making him forget 
whatever lines he'd planned.  "Uh, tell me more about this 
loneliness."

"It was worst at night."  My fingers disappear below the gauzy 
veil of bubbles, and his Adam's apple jumps.  "I just got 
so...restless."  His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.  He 
can tell by the motion of my wrist that I'm drawing slow circles 
around my nipple.

"Anyway, I'm glad to be back."  Somewhat taken by my own 
audacity, I lean back in the tub, resting my elbows on either 
side of it.  Letting my eyes drift closed, I use both hands now 
to cup my breasts and tease my nipples with my thumbs.  It's 
easier when I can't see him watching me, and a pleasant throb 
begins between my legs.

He groans next to my ear, "God, Scully, I missed you."  I hear a 
quiet splash before warm water trickles down my chest.  My eyes 
pop open to see his cupped hand scoop up more water.  Again he 
pours it over my breasts, dissolving the bubbles that hide me 
from his view.  The silky water teases me until he has washed 
them all away, revealing that my thumbs are still toying with my 
erect nipples.  Only then does he continue speaking.

"I dreamed about you doing this.  I imagined you touching 
yourself, pictured your little hand moving between your 
legs...."  

I can't quite bring myself to do that in front of him.  I give 
him a regretful smile and he shakes his head, denying that the 
apology is necessary.  He adjusts his storyline as another 
handful of water runs in rivulets over my sensitized skin.

"But in my dreams, you really wanted *my* touch."  His big, hot 
hand covers mine and squeezes gently, tightening around my 
breast.  A bolt of heat shoots through me as he whispers the 
next sentence into my ear.  "You told me that you ached for my 
mouth on you.  Here"--he squeezes my breast again--"here"--his 
fingers trail down my body--"and *here*."  

"Oh!"  Even though I expected it, the sudden pressure on my clit 
makes me jump.  God, I *have* worked up an appetite--my pulse is 
racing just from his words and those few caresses.  He kisses my 
cheek lightly.  I turn toward him, eyes closed and lips parted 
for a kiss that doesn't come.  Instead, his fingers--ooh--begin 
the pattern that--oohh--he *knows* makes me crazy.  My legs 
shift restlessly, instinctively parting only to meet the smooth 
sides of the bathtub.

When he still doesn't kiss me, I open my eyes to see his face a 
few inches from my own.  He's watching me, drinking in every 
expression that flits across my face in response to his touch.  
I know what he sees.  My flushed face and parted lips are 
telltale signs of the arousal that he is gently, steadily 
building in me.  

I moan involuntarily, overcome by the eroticism in his 
unrelenting scrutiny.  Like touching myself, though, being 
watched so closely seems too revealing.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"  The word is barely a whisper, so enthralled is he by 
watching the effects of his work play across my face.

"I believe I am aching for your mouth on me there."

Oh, that turned the tables; now *his* face is raw with longing.  
He gently urges me to stand up in the tub.  Sensually he pours 
water over me again and again, rinsing away the bubbles clinging 
to my skin.  Then he kneels, leans forward, and places a light, 
lingering kiss on my stomach.  

My heart swells as I gaze down at his dark head.  His eyes close 
momentarily, his lashes fluttering against his cheek.  With a 
few slow kisses he reaches the line just above my pubic hair.  
I'm sure that he can feel the quivering in my belly as my breath 
catches in anticipation.  Then he looks up at me, smiles, and 
places an open-mouthed kiss directly between my legs.

"Ohhh!"  There's nothing like that first electric jolt when a 
man goes down on you.  I grip his hair as he begins working my 
clit with excruciating slowness.  His lips and tongue tease me 
enough to keep me wired and on edge, but not enough to give 
satisfaction.  He wants to draw it out tonight, I can tell.

When he has my knees buckling, he looks up at me again.  
"Anything else that you missed in that hotel room of yours?"

"Mulder, I really missed having you make love to me until we 
both collapsed from exhaustion."

And so he lifts me out of the tub, carries me to the bedroom and 
proceeds to do just that.

*****

Later, as we lie in the tangled sheets, he whispers into my ear, 
"This isn't a one-way street, Scully.  I want to fulfill your 
fantasies too."

"Mulder, you know what they are.  Are you sure?"  

"I'm positive.  Anything you want, I want.  We can start slow if 
you like."

Mulder knows that the fantasies I harbor aren't always about 
bubble baths and sweet attentiveness.  For years I have been 
deeply aroused by dreams of submitting to him in the bedroom, 
giving myself over to whatever he demands.  

Once this fantasy embarrassed me, but now it's a delicious 
secret entrusted to Mulder's keeping.  I want him to make it 
real.

"Yes.  I'd like that."


********************


Scully's having trouble keeping her hands off me long enough to 
open her apartment door, which is just the way that I want it.  
I have plans for her this evening.  Big plans.  Scully has 
entrusted me with acting out her favorite fantasy, sexual 
submission, and I've been scheming and plotting how to do so for 
several weeks.  I've been gathering information by introducing 
elements of dominance into our sex play and watching her 
reactions.  After tonight, I should know enough to put together 
the perfect encounter for her.

We started out with little games.  I hinted at bondage by 
forbidding her to move her hands from the headrail of the bed 
when we made love.  Ordering her into the position I wanted 
before entering her gave her a taste of submission.  And 
whenever we played I teased her mercilessly, letting her come 
only when she begged for it.  

She loved it all.  I could see the change in her the moment I 
began.  When she heard the tone in my voice that meant 
domination, her eyes would close momentarily and her lips curve 
into a gentle, pleased smile.  Then she'd open her eyes again, 
fix them on me and immerse herself in the game.  

She, not I, set this evening in motion by giving me a firm hint 
that she wanted to move further.    

It started out purely by accident.  She was kneeling on the bed 
next to my reclining body, doing something teasingly erotic to 
my cock, but that wasn't what got me.  I had my hand between her 
legs and was toying with her clit.  For some reason, on that 
particular night I found her lips enthralling.  Each time I did 
something she liked, her lips parted and her little tongue 
peeked out to lick them.  It was unbelievably sexy.  And when 
her tongue made an especially enticing appearance just as she 
squeezed me with the perfect pressure, my eyes closed in ecstasy 
and I groaned out, "God, Scully, I want you to suck my cock."

It was just sex babble, I swear.  Scully sucks my cock when she 
wants to; it's a gift that I don't ask for.  But the moment the 
words left my lips, she stopped and pulled away from me.  Afraid 
that I'd offended her, I opened my eyes to see her sweet little 
ass rise as she turned, went down on her hands and knees and 
engulfed me in her mouth. 

"Oh, God," I groaned again.  It was wonderful.  Heavenly.  I 
closed my eyes to better savor the rhythmic sucking, sucking, 
sucking....

It only took me a moment to grasp that she was behaving as if my 
sex-drunk wish had been a command.  "Scully wants me to give her 
orders tonight," the small part of my brain that wasn't focused 
on my cock said.  The rest of my brain promptly offered up 
several suggestions.

"Now I want you to lick it."  She obeyed at once, dragging her 
tongue up my length and circling the crown before dropping down 
and repeating the action.  Oh, this had potential....

It went on to become a particularly X-rated game of "Simon 
Says."  In short order I had her straddling me, opening herself 
and sliding down onto my cock, then rubbing her clit as I 
gripped her hips with both hands and thrust upward into her 
body.  She was flawlessly, perfectly obedient.  
  
And she was wildly excited.  At my command she rode me eagerly, 
bracing one hand on my chest and leaning forward to get the best 
angle.  Though normally she's self-conscious about touching 
herself in front of me, that night her fingers danced on her own 
excited flesh with practiced ease.  When she began whimpering 
pleadingly, I finally growled, "Now I want you to come."  

A moan, a little more pressure on her clit, and she did.  Just 
like that.  I was stunned because Scully, like many women, has 
difficulty reaching climax during intercourse.  I'd fully 
expected to come and then bring her to orgasm with my fingers or 
tongue, but that night she came while I was inside her, still 
building toward my own climax.  

That's what made me realize that this wasn't just a game for 
her.  In some way, she experiences sex differently when she 
feels dominated.  

So tonight we're going to take it deeper.

She's already keyed up from the looks and touches that I've been 
giving her all day.  When we enter her apartment she makes a 
beeline for the bedroom, but I stop her in the living room.  
Pulling her body hard against mine, I give her a kiss that 
leaves her breathless.

Releasing her so quickly that she's momentarily off-balance, I 
palm her breasts and begin squeezing them gently but firmly.  I 
want to set the tone for this evening right from the beginning.  
She is more than willing to play along, thrusting her breasts 
toward me and moaning softly in her throat.

Again I release her abruptly.  Shrugging out of my jacket and 
tossing it onto the coffee table next to me, I order her, "Get 
undressed."

With a shuddering breath, she reaches for the buttons of her 
blouse and quickly begins to remove her clothing.  I finish 
first and watch her possessively as she removes her slacks and 
panties in one movement, tossing them aside.  

I cup her bare breasts, now flicking my thumbs over her nipples 
as I lean in to take her mouth with mine.  I hold the kiss until 
she's squirming in an effort to press her naked body closer to 
me.  Finally lifting my head, I tease her nipples a few more 
times and bring my hands to her shoulders, pressing gently 
downward.  

Then I look her straight in the eye and curtly order, "Go down 
on me."  I use the same tone of voice I have in our previous 
games.  God, I hope I read her right on this.  

Her lips part on a gasp before she sinks gracefully to her 
knees.  She places a few hot kisses along my shaft before 
looking up at me.

"May I use my hands?"

Oh, yeah.  She's with me.

I cup her delicate face in my hands.  "Not tonight, I think.  
Show me what you can do with your mouth."

She leans forward and takes me in.  It's almost too exciting, 
but I drink in the sight of her as she slowly bobs her head, 
still framed in my hands, up and down.  Talk to her, I remember.  
Talking pushes her buttons like nothing else.

"Your lips look so pretty wrapped around my cock."

"Mmmm..." she hums, still sucking diligently.  I start to rub 
her temples gently with my thumbs.  "You love this, don't you?  
It makes you hot to be on your knees pleasuring me."  

Her "Uh!" has new urgency this time.  Perfect.  I murmur to her 
and trace light circles with my thumbs until she's moaning, long 
and deep, even as she tries to tend to me.

Now she's ready for the next stage.  I fumble awkwardly for my 
jacket.  She pauses when my hands leave her face, but I guide 
her back to her work and motion for her to close her eyes.   
Finally I pull my prize from the jacket pocket.  It's a long 
silk scarf, creamy white in color, which I selected specifically 
for its smooth, sensual texture.  Trying not to give her any 
indication of what I'm doing, I pass one end of the scarf under 
her chin and grasp it with my left hand, holding the other in my 
right so that the length of it hangs between us.

Then I slowly brush her stomach with the soft fabric.  She 
pauses again.  I stroke it up her body this time, using it to 
caress her tight breasts.  She looks up at me as I regretfully 
withdraw from her mouth.  Realizing that I'm up to something 
else, she watches me silently.  Holding the scarf taut between 
my hands, I tease just the tips of her erect nipples.  

"Does that feel good?"  

Her whispered "yes," is barely audible, but I think that means 
I'm doing it right.  I kneel in front of her and begin running 
the scarf over her entire body: across her belly, around her 
back, up to lift the heavy weight of her breasts.  Her nipples 
show prominently through the filmy material.

"Feels so sensual, doesn't it?  Your skin feels so alive."  She 
nods, her eyes closed and lips parted slightly.  "I thought of 
you when I bought it.  How soft it would feel on your skin.  How 
beautiful you would look tied naked to a bed with this scarf.  
How excited you'd be to wear it, knowing that it makes you 
mine."  

Now we're into a new level of play, far beyond what we've done 
in the past.  I watch her upturned face for any sign of distress 
or discomfort.  We don't have safewords: "no" means "no," and 
she knows I'll always respect that.  Nonetheless, if we plan to 
pursue this sort of relationship they might be a good idea.  

They certainly aren't necessary now.  Her body is somehow both 
taut with anticipation and relaxed in her compliance.  I trace 
the arch of her collarbone and consider where to go next.  I had 
several possibilities planned, depending on her response.  Her 
complete acceptance tells me I can do whatever I want.

And I know what that is.  When Scully feels like taking charge, 
she can do things with her muscles that would stop the heart of 
a lesser man.  I wouldn't give those times up for the world, but 
there's also something incredibly hot about fucking a woman 
after you've made her come so hard that she's gone limp.  And 
that's what I'm in the mood for tonight.

*****

I swear that I can feel my skin humming as Mulder does creative, 
erotic things with that scarf.  He's whispering to me, but the 
words barely register.  It's his tone and his body language that 
have captured my attention and tell me what he intends to do to 
me tonight.  I've been shivering with anticipation since he 
ordered me to my knees in this unfamiliar, exciting position.

With a gesture telling me to stay in place, he rises and moves 
behind me.  The silk trails up my body again, lingers on my 
breasts and comes to rest at my throat.  Then he wraps it gently 
around my neck.  He kneels behind me before one hand comes to my 
breast and the other toys with the fabric that marks me as his.

"Is this okay?" his voice rasps in my ear.  I nod.

"That's good.  You're going to wear this the whole time we make 
love.  When you come, I want you to touch this silk around your 
neck and know that you're wearing it because I want you to.  Do 
you understand?"

My voice sounds drugged and far away.  "Yes."

"Of course you do.  From now on, whenever I want you like this, 
so sweet and submissive, I'll put this on you.  Sometimes like 
this.  Sometimes I'll tie your hands, or bind your pretty 
breasts.  Soon, you'll get wet just from the touch of a silk 
scarf."

I moan and sway slightly at the image his words evoke.  

"Did you know that your nipples just got tighter?  Your body 
knows.  It knows what I can teach it, if you just let your mind 
rest"--his hand presses hot on my forehead--"and give in to me."

His hands begin their expert manipulation of my body as his 
voice continues in my ear.  Mulder knows that his voice, when 
pitched just right, drives me nearly out of my mind with lust.

"White is for purity, you know.  That's why I chose this scarf."

I can't help but chuckle.  I'm on my knees in my living room 
while my lover introduces me to new levels of erotic domination, 
wearing his scarf like a collar.  Purity?  I don't think so.

His voice still holds that calm authority that makes me wet.  
"Aren't you pure like this?  Do you think of anything but my 
voice and my touch?  Does anything distract you?"  

I shake my head.  It's true--only during our games does my mind 
narrow to nothing but the two of us, leaving everything else 
behind.  No matter what my mood when we begin, by the time he's 
done with me my body is sated and my mind clear again, all 
tension burned away by the fire of need that he stokes in me.  
It's burning hot now.  I shake my head again, slowly, lowering 
my chin to brush against the smooth texture of the silk at my 
throat.

"You know that it doesn't.  That's why I chose this color.  When 
I take you like this, you're pure need, pure obedience and pure 
submission.  I love to make you so pure." 

My head falls back on his shoulder, perhaps guided by the hand 
still burning into my forehead as he fills my brain with his 
words.  His fingers never pause from working my body so 
knowingly.  Need, oh, the need that they build in me....

He touches me everywhere: caressing my breasts, dipping 
teasingly into my vagina, tracing the silk at my throat.  His 
words never stop, urging me to submit to him, offering me the 
delights of possession as he works my need to a fever pitch.  
When his fingers finally begin to circle my clit in the pattern 
I know will bring me to orgasm, my hips move involuntarily and I 
gasp in excitement.

"Are you ready to come, baby?"  I nod eagerly, my body 
tightening.  "No, you're not.  You know that you're not."  

What on earth...?  It takes my sex-dulled brain a moment to 
realize what he means.  With a slightly unsteady hand I reach up 
and grasp the cream-colored fabric around my throat.  

The approval in his voice pushes me right to the verge of 
climax.  "That's right.  Good girl."  

Under no other circumstances could he get away with that phrase, 
but oh! his pressure on my clit increased at just the right time 
and all I can think about is the building need and I'm clutching 
the fabric and thrusting my hips and whining softly in my throat 
until the climax finally washes over me...

...and I come back to myself to hear his voice, still murmuring 
in my ear.  "That's right, baby.  That's good.  *Now* you're 
ready to be fucked."

His hand presses hard at my back, knocking me onto my hands and 
knees, and he shoves into me in one hard, perfect thrust.

I groan at the sudden fullness and he checks himself.  He 
strokes my collarbone questioningly, seeking reassurance without 
using the words that would break the spell.  I cover his hand 
with my own and squeeze it.  That's all he needs.  He lowers my 
hand to the floor, ensures that I have my balance back, and 
moves his hands to grip my hips.

Then he fucks me.  No hesitation, no buildup, just hard, deep 
thrusts, using my hips for leverage.  Soon he's at a pace that I 
couldn't match even if I tried.  And I don't.  I wobble under 
his thrusts, satiated and drained, and revel in the sensations: 
the tight squeeze of his fingers, the slap of his balls against 
me, his grunts as he builds closer and closer to climax.  
Finally he pulls me against him so hard that I'm sure I'll have 
bruises from his fingertips.  I hear the groan that signals the 
beginning of his climax.  He gives few more short thrusts, holds 
himself buried in me for a long, sweet moment, and sighs in 
satisfaction.  When his fingers finally relax, I collapse to the 
floor with him right behind me.

*****

After a few minutes he stirs enough to move to the couch, 
pulling me up onto his lap.  His voice takes on a careful 
neutrality as he touches the cloth around my throat. 

"Did you like that?"

"Yes.  More than I expected."  I take a deep breath, knowing 
what was behind the question.  "I think I'd like to do 
it...again."

"Again, or more often?  We will if you want, but we have to be 
totally honest with each other as we set this up.  I won't take 
a chance on misreading you in the heat of passion."

I think about it a moment.  "I want to do it more often.  
Sometimes I just want you to take over."

"To take you over?  To command you and dominate you while we 
make love?"

It isn't easy for me to admit this.  I study his face and see 
nothing in it but love and acceptance.  I take a deep breath.  
"Yes."

He smiles.  "I thought you might say that.  Hoped that you 
would.  I have some ideas, but we need to talk through them 
first."  

At my agreement, he goes on.  "There are two ways that we can do 
this, Scully.  One is to script fantasies in advance and act 
them out.  You determine what we'll do and how, then I take over 
when the game starts."

That doesn't sound quite as much fun as what we just did.  The 
thought must have shown on my face, because he grins and 
continues, "Or we can agree that at certain times, you'll simply 
accept my dominance, and let me run the show."

"You mean, have a D/s night?"

He looks relieved that I know the terminology.  "Yes.  From what 
you've told me, you've played bondage games before, but nothing 
more intense than that?"

"That's right."

He nods and falls silent for a few moments.  I can see the 
wheels in his head turning.  When he speaks again, it's in the 
firm tone that commands my obedience.

"All right.  We'll try something for a week and then 
reevaluate."

That might be more than I wanted to get into.  "We're going to 
do this for a whole week?"

He chuckles indulgently.  "No, baby.  *You* are.  I'm going to 
leave the scarf here.  Every night for the next week, before you 
go to bed, I want you to imagine that I'm touching you with it.  
Stroke it over your body, run it between your hands, and know 
that you're doing it at my command.  Fifteen minutes each night.  
For those fifteen minutes you'll submit completely to me in your 
mind.  Can you do that?"

Fifteen minutes.  I should be able to do anything for fifteen 
minutes.  I nod.

"That's good.  You don't even have to become aroused."  His grin 
tells me how likely he thinks that scenario is.  "But if you do, 
when the time is up you may make yourself come.  On one 
condition."

"What?"  I barely notice that I've yielded him control of my 
orgasms even when I'm alone.
 
"No hiding under the covers, or slipping your hand coyly under 
your pajamas.  You'll lie naked on the bed, your whole body 
teased by the cool air of your bedroom, imagining that I'm 
watching you make love to yourself."

I can picture the scene in my mind.  "Totally exposed," I 
whisper.

"Exposure is the name of this game, baby.  If we do it right, 
there's very little that you'll be able to hide from me.  You 
know that, don't you?"

I nod hesitantly.  

"Knowing and experiencing are different things," he goes on.  
"Let's try this.  You think about it this week.  I'll come over 
Saturday evening.  If you have second thoughts, or want to talk 
about it further, we'll do that.  But if I see the scarf out 
when I come over, that means you want to go forward."

I agree and he continues.  "I'll put it on you and you'll be 
mine for the rest of the evening.  You'll serve my every whim.  
Any pleasure that you receive will be secondary to mine.  It 
should be pleasure enough to know that I possess you 
completely."

My body, which felt so sated not half an hour ago, shivers with 
renewed desire at his words.  Eyes closed, I moan into his 
chest.

He strokes my hair gently.  "You're going to be a natural, 
sweetheart.  And you're going to love it."


End 1/2
********************

A Gift of Silk, 2/2
Headings and disclaimer in part 1.
********************


I've been jittery with anticipation all day long.  Mulder will 
be here any minute, and we'll start a new phase in our sexual 
relationship.  The silk scarf he left here last weekend is 
sitting on the coffee table, its meaning clear: I am offering 
myself to him.  I want to be his to control, command, and 
dominate.

Unable to sit still for more than a few moments, I pace into the 
bedroom.  I guess it's ready for us.  I've cleared everything 
from the nightstand in case he needs the space and put clean 
sheets on the bed.  On *our* bed: the four-poster bed he bought 
for us the day after we became lovers, hinting even then that he 
would put the posts to good use.  I picture myself lying on it, 
tied spread-eagled and vulnerable to his every touch.  

God, I'm wet.

Casting one last glance around the bedroom, I return to the 
living room and lower myself to the couch.  With a will of their 
own, my hands brush over my silk-covered nipples.  I'd fretted 
over what to wear tonight but finally settled on a pair of silk 
pajamas.  The cut of this pair is flattering and feminine, and 
the material feels soft and sensual--maybe too sensual, if I 
can't keep my hands from wandering. 

I start at the sound of a key in the lock.  Mulder enters the 
apartment, carrying a canvas duffel bag.  His eyes search the 
room and light upon me at once.  Holding up his hand to stop me 
from speaking, he sets the bag down, strides over to me and 
pulls me to my feet.  Then he picks up the scarf.

"Are you ready to serve me tonight?"

I nod.  He runs the scarf between his hands for a moment, 
savoring the soft texture.  I want to feel it on my own skin.

Finally, he speaks.  "Tell me what you want.  Ask me for it."

I take a deep breath, trying to control an unexpected tremor in 
my voice.  The closer the fantasy comes to reality, the more 
pleasant anticipation is turning into nervous jitters.  "I want 
to serve you.  I want...I want you to control me.  I want you to 
use me for your pleasure."  My voice drops to a near-whisper.  
"Please put the scarf on me."

His expression doesn't change as he carefully wraps the fabric 
around my neck, but his very posture and bearing are different 
tonight.  They radiate a confidence and command that compel my 
obedience.  His hands brush my sensitive neck as he arranges the 
silk to his satisfaction.

"Good.  Now clear your mind of everything but your desire to 
please me."

He takes my mouth roughly with his own, his tongue staking his 
claim as his hands run over my body.  The simmering arousal I've 
felt all evening ignites as he finds my painfully tight nipples.  
He tweaks them hard before running a hand down my body.  Two 
fingers go unerringly to my clit, which is so erect that he must 
be able to feel it through the light silk.  With no buildup, he 
presses it firmly and begins making slow circles that send a 
melting sensation through me. 

Then, ignoring my disappointed moan, his fingers return to my 
breasts.  He pinches my nipples through the fabric, squeezing 
them tighter and tighter.  When I whimper, he breaks the kiss 
but doesn't release his grip.  I arch my back toward him to 
relieve the tension, feeling as though he is holding me upright 
by the pressure on my sensitive flesh.  

Then he rolls my nipples between his fingers and even that 
thought flees.  I shudder and fall still, trapped in his hold, 
awaiting his command.  

He smiles down at me.  "That's perfect, baby.  This is how you 
should always feel when you submit to me."

At his praise the nervous tension floods from my body in almost 
orgasmic relief.  I sway slightly, mesmerized by his burning 
gaze.

"That's right.  God, you're taking to this even better than I 
expected."  Another light squeeze.  "Do you remember your 
safewords?"

Mulder had insisted that we have safewords prepared if I chose 
to go forward with the plans for this evening.  "This is 
important, Scully," he told me.  "'No' means 'no' until we agree 
otherwise, but I want you to have a clear, unambiguous way of 
communicating with me.  'Red light' means you want to stop the 
game entirely.  'Yellow light' means you want to keep playing, 
but what we're doing at that moment is too intense or 
uncomfortable.  I'll change the activity without releasing you 
from submission."

I understand now why he insisted on them.  "No" seems like too 
harsh a word to use when I feel like this, too sudden a 
reassertion of the control I want to give up.  The terms he has 
given me will let me guide our play without shattering the 
illusion once I've immersed myself in it.

"Yes," I tell him.  "'Red light' and 'yellow light.'"

He pinches my nipples one last time.  "All right.  I'm going to 
make some preparations.  I want you naked when I get back."

Retrieving the bag, he heads off to the bedroom.  I undress 
quickly, feeling the cool air keeping my nipples taut.  Then, 
lacking instructions on what to do next, I stand where he left 
me.  To prevent a return of the jitters, I focus on how I felt 
at night when I touched myself with the scarf.  Its light caress 
on my skin was Mulder's will stroking over me, bewitching me, 
and it felt so good....

When he finally returns from the direction of the kitchen, he is 
clad only in his jeans and deftly carries two glasses of wine as 
well as the duffel bag.  He sets everything on the coffee table 
before returning to my spot.  Cupping my chin in his hand, he 
lifts my face to meet his gaze.  

"Your eyes tell me that you obeyed my instructions this week.  
I'm very pleased with you.  Think about that now, baby.  Think 
about how you felt when you followed my commands."

He sits down on the sofa and reaches into the duffel bag.  
Eagerly I watch his hand, impatient to be initiated into 
whatever mysteries he has planned for me.  I'm both disappointed 
and confused when he pulls out this month's issue of "Omni."

He grins at my expression.  "I'll play with you when I'm ready 
to, sweetheart.  I choose when and how."  

I feel ashamed for forgetting the rules of the game so quickly.  
Lowering my head, I murmur, "I'm sorry."  

"It's all right.  You'll learn soon enough, I promise."  

My clit throbs.

The gleam in his eyes tells me he knows precisely how his words 
affect me as his voice flows over me, warm and soothing.  

"You just need to remember how you felt when you practiced.  
Find that place in your mind where you opened yourself to me 
completely, and go there again.  Go there for me."

He leans back, opens the journal, and begins to read.  

"You may join me whenever you feel ready."

As he immerses himself in his reading, I try to sink into the 
mindset that he has demanded of me.  This evening is for his 
pleasure, I remind myself.  Breathing deeply, I look around, 
noting that he has turned my living room into a sanctuary for 
himself, not for me.  Everything he might need for an evening's 
relaxation is here.  Though he is now entertaining himself by 
reading, he wants my body available for use whenever he feels 
the urge for sexual release.  

The realization that I've been designated an erotic prop is 
strangely exciting.  Determined to show how well I can play my 
role, I drift over to sofa.  Without looking up he holds out his 
arm, inviting me to settle next to him.  I do so, first picking 
up the glasses of wine and offering him one.  His smile is all 
the praise that I need.

He is silent even after we finish our wine.  He sits calmly on 
the sofa, reading the journal with his glasses perched on his 
nose.  He looks for all the world like a man relaxing over the 
Sunday paper, except that I'm curled up naked at his side.  He 
runs his free hand over me almost absently, tracing my curves 
and occasionally fondling my breasts, never for more than a 
minute.  I whimper as he rubs his palm over my hard nipples.

"You're a hot little thing, aren't you?"  

After a few more passes over my body his hand starts probing 
between my legs.  His expression never changes and his eyes 
don't move from the magazine; he strokes my wet sex just as 
casually as he played with my nipples.  I'm burning now, 
fighting to control myself as he toys with me.  When he touches 
my clit, I can't contain my moan.  His lips quirk and he 
increases the pressure.  By the time he finishes his article, 
I'm ready to melt into an oversexed puddle at his feet.

Finally he stands up, pulls me to my feet, and ushers me into 
the dimly lit bedroom.  I go eagerly, thinking only of the ache 
between my legs--until the sight of the bed brings me up short.

It is bare of bedclothes except for the bottom sheet, which is 
the same cream color as the scarf at my throat.  The bed looks 
fresh and new, almost virginal.  But in stark contrast to the 
white sheet are four pairs of black cuffs, one set positioned 
neatly at each corner.  Lying open and ready to bind me, they 
promise that unspeakably decadent things will be done to me on 
that pristine bed.  

The sight jars me out of the dream-like state I've been in since 
Mulder claimed me with the scarf.  The fantasy I indulged in 
before he arrived is about to become real.  Frighteningly real.  
Mulder wants to tie me down so that I can't resist anything he 
does to me.   Suddenly, I'm not sure I can go through with this.

I jump at his hand on my back.  Ignoring my reluctance, he 
guides me firmly toward the bed.  When I'm almost touching it he 
steps in close behind me, murmuring into my ear.

"Do the cuffs make you nervous?"

I swallow, my gaze still locked on them.  "Yes.  A little."

"Your heart is pounding?  Maybe there's a little flutter in your 
stomach?"  His hot hand cups my belly right where the flutter 
is, and I gasp involuntarily.

His voice is smooth, almost smug.  "I like having you excited 
and on edge.  I want your breath shallow and your pulse racing.  
Every sensation you experience tonight, you feel because I want 
you to."  

I try to calm myself.  This is Mulder.  Mulder is giving me my 
fantasy.  There's nothing to be afraid of.

As he did before, he presses his hand to my forehead, making me 
feel as though the words are burning directly into my brain.  
"Don't think with your mind, sweetheart.  Think with this."  His 
fingers go to my clit and massage it until I moan and try to 
lean into his touch.  "Obey this, and everything will be all 
right."  

I focus on his words, trying to regain my equilibrium as he 
continues.  "There's no point in being nervous, you know.  You 
don't have any control over what's going to happen to you."

He steps away from me and voice sharpens. "Now lie down on your 
back in the middle of the bed."

With a shiver and a last look at the cuffs I climb onto the bed, 
carefully placing myself just as he commanded.  I take another 
deep breath, remembering how good he made me feel last week.  If 
I just obey him, he'll make me feel that way again.

Smiling gently, he trails his fingers over my body.  They start 
at my wrist, skate up my arm and neck and slide into my mouth.  
I suck obediently until he withdraws them, leaving my mouth 
feeling empty.  The damp fingers drift down to circle my breast 
and pinch the nipple hard, making me gasp.  Next they trace over 
the crest of my hip, down the thigh and shin, and circle the 
knob of my ankle.  

I spread my legs in shameless invitation, wanting him inside me.  
Finally his hand slides up my calf and inner thigh and slips 
between my labia.  A single finger enters me smoothly and 
firmly.  It feels so good, but not nearly enough.

"Feel how wet you are?  Soft too."  The finger slides out and 
two push in.  "And open.  So eager to be penetrated."  I grunt 
at the pressure of three fingers.  "You want me to fuck you, 
don't you?"

I nod emphatically.  Fucking is a known quantity, unlike this 
wonderfully frightening game.  I'm all in favor of fucking right 
now.  

He chuckles and pulls out of my body.  "You think you're ready 
now, sweetheart, but you have a lot further to go.  Soon you'll 
need it so bad that this will be nothing in comparison. You'll 
be begging for it; you'll do anything I ask."

His warm fingers circle around my left wrist, pulling it out so 
that my arm is stretched to the side and above my head.  Then 
the cuff closes around it.  Not the leather that I expected, 
it's made of a soft fabric that is a caress on my sensitive 
skin.  I hear the unmistakable rip of Velcro as he adjusts it 
snugly around my wrist before fastening the other end around the 
bedpost.  He repeats the process with the right wrist, then 
tightens the straps on each cuff until there's almost no slack 
in them.  They hold my arms extended and virtually immobile.

Next he moves down and closes the remaining pairs around my 
ankles.  He doesn't attach the other ends to the bed yet, but my 
legs stay open as if the cuffs themselves have stolen my ability 
to move.

He comes up to loom over me, kneeling between my thighs.  
Amazingly, only now do I realize that he is still wearing his 
jeans.  That means he doesn't plan to make love to me any time 
soon.  He's going to tease me first.

His hands roam over my body freely.  They cup and toy with my 
breasts, run up my inner thighs, and skitter away just as I 
think he will finally give me relief.  His voice whispers 
constantly and his eyes, God, his eyes never stop burning into 
me.  

"I do like having you bound and helpless like this.  Would you 
like me to touch you?"  

I sigh, assuming that this is a rhetorical question.  His 
fingers dance over my inner thighs and belly, teasing without 
really touching.  "Where?"

That's easy enough.  "My clit."

"Ah, yes, your clit.  I love watching your face go slack and 
your eyes get glassy when I touch your clit."  His stroke is far 
too light to matter in my excited state, so I thrust into the 
caress.  With a smirk, he pulls away.  "So impatient tonight.  I 
think you'll have to wait longer for that."  His fingers flutter 
over my labia and retreat.  "Where else?"

"In me."

"In you? You can do better than that."

I could be coy, but I know what he wants: the earthy language 
that he loves in bed and always teases me for avoiding.  Even I 
am willing to admit that "vagina" and "kinky sex" don't belong 
in the same lexicon, but it's difficult to suddenly start using 
words I never speak. 

Another light brush against my clit helps make up my mind.  "My 
cunt."

A slim finger slides into me, probes my g-spot tantalizingly, 
and withdraws.  "You're getting there.  Tell me again where to 
touch you."

What is it with men and this word?  "My pussy.  Please touch my 
pussy--oh!"  Well, he does have positive reinforcement down pat.  
I squirm happily as he finger-fucks me slowly, finally letting 
his thumb play on my clit.

"Very good.  Forget that you don't like those words.  They're 
beautiful if I say they are."

I sigh, opening my legs further in the hopes that he'll get down 
to business now.  He smiles benevolently down at me as his 
fingers keep stoking my arousal.  In just moments I'm closer to 
orgasm than he's permitted me all evening--and he pulls away 
again.  I can't stifle my growl of frustration.

"I know you want me to make you come, but you aren't ready.  
That's a reward for your obedience."

I give him a puzzled look.  I've followed his every command 
without a word of dissent.
 
The pitch of his voice drops lower into his dark, commanding 
range.  "Remember where you were when the evening began?  So 
soft and pliable.  But you let that go.  Ever since you entered 
the bedroom you've been fighting me.  Do you think I didn't 
notice your little pauses and hesitations?  Even now I can see 
you trying to figure out what I want you to say so you can get 
what you want."

He's right, I realize.  I exhale slowly, concentrating on 
returning to the state he wants me in.  The maddeningly light 
touch on my clit resumes, coaxing me back to that peaceful state 
I felt when we began.  He works me patiently, teasing and 
whispering to me until my body feels like it is floating.  

"What you want doesn't matter," he whispers.  "Only one thing 
matters to you."

The beautiful, awful word slips from my lips unbidden.  
"Submission."

He dampens his finger in my wetness and resumes the light 
stroking.  "That's right.  Submission.  You know how badly you 
want to give in to me.  Let me give you what you want."   

My arms and legs are tingling now, but not from the bonds.  All 
my blood has rushed to the center of my body, pooling in my 
belly, swelling in my cunt, pulsing in my clit.  I'll promise 
anything to keep feeling this way.  "Yes."

His face is infinitely tender.  "That's good.  You're there 
again, baby.  I can see it in your eyes.  Now I'm going to show 
you how good it is to surrender."

He crawls lower on the bed, settling in between my parted legs.  
I can feel his breath on my sex as his fingers keep up their 
maddening dance.  Just as I'm relaxing into it, a change in 
pressure makes me moan and jerk.  

"You're so responsive.  See how well I know your body?"  He 
licks my clit for the first time and my hips buck.  "I can play 
with you for hours if I want.  I can tease you until you're a 
heartbeat from orgasm and snatch it away from you.  I can push 
you to the plateau and hold you there, just to see you squirm.  
I can toy with you until you're babbling, too excited to even 
beg coherently." 

I wriggle in response.  His calm detachment is driving me crazy.  
I'm panting now, so aroused that every touch and word pushes my 
need higher.  

He strokes my clit meditatively.  "Such a tiny bit of flesh.  
Isn't it interesting, sweetheart, that I can use it to make you 
do anything I want?  I can make you moan.  I can make you beg.  
I can make you spread your legs and pant."  He flicks me lightly 
with his tongue and I do just that, instinctively parting my 
already-open thighs.  

Suddenly he's gone from between my legs.  Quick as a snake, he 
fastens the ankle cuffs to their respective bedposts and 
tightens them as he did with my arms.  Now I'm stretched out for 
him and completely vulnerable.

He returns to his previous position.  "If I want to, I can make 
you come."  He rolls my clit between his finger and thumb and I 
whine.  "You're a slave to your greedy little clit."  A firm 
pinch makes me jerk uncontrollably.  "I control it, so I own 
you."

He doesn't say these things to demean me.  Right now, they are 
true.  I don't feel any discomfort from my stretched limbs.  I 
don't feel any shame at yielding to him or my most carnal 
desires.  All I feel is the throbbing in my clit, which twitches 
and pulses in response to his words and touches.  I feel tiny 
and helpless, my world bound up in that bundle of nerves between 
his calloused fingers.  It feels only right that my body should 
be held in his bonds just as my clit is trapped in his fingers.  
It's a good feeling.

His seductive, hypnotic whisper never stops.  "You're ready to 
learn now, baby.  And I'm going to teach you wonderful things."

Lowering his head, he begins lapping at me.  I shudder 
convulsively, the movement checked at once by the tethers.  He 
pushes me hard and fast to brink of orgasm.  When I'm almost 
there he softens his touch until my body relaxes, then speeds up 
again until it arches pleadingly.  He slows down again and 
repeats the pattern over and over.

He's not just playing with my clit.  He's making my whole body 
dance to his tune, each lap of his tongue reminding me that I'm 
imprisoned by my own desire as much as by his cuffs.  

Finally I can't stand it.  I begin squirming wildly, every 
movement pulling at the bonds.  The feeling drives me insane.

He lifts his tongue from me entirely, rubbing me with his 
fingers to keep me from losing the edge.

"This is making you crazy, isn't it, baby?"

"Yesss," I groan, my hands opening and closing uselessly.  His 
tongue gives me a few more flicks.  

"You want to come?  You want me to lick your clit until you 
scream?"

"Yes.  Please, yes."

"Will you obey me now?"

"Yes.  God, yes--Oh!"  The hard lick is like a lash on my aching 
flesh.

His fingers roll my engorged clit.  "You'll follow my every 
command.  No thought, no questions."

He has driven me to the point where his voice, his touch, and 
the ever-present restraints are my entire world.  The words come 
to my lips effortlessly.

"Yes.  I'll do anything you want.  Please, please make me come."

He lowers his head again, pausing another moment to tease me.  
Finally his tongue probes at me deliberately, moving in firm, 
fast strokes that whip me into a frenzy.  The orgasm starts to 
build.  My back arches, my eyes close, and my thighs spread as 
wide as they can as he pushes my need inexorably higher.  He 
grunts in satisfaction, gives me one more hard flick, and the 
ecstasy pounds through me.  I do scream, writhing in the cuffs, 
loving the way they hold me spread and powerless as he licks me 
through my climax, prolonging it endlessly.

When I finally collapse back to the bed, the smugness in his 
voice is unbearably erotic.

"Yeah, baby.  *Now* you're ready to learn."

*****

I don't think my cock has ever been this hard as I look down at 
Scully, flushed and panting in her bonds.  I rise from the bed 
and slowly peel off my jeans before standing over her, sliding 
my hand over my cock idly.  She smiles at me in anticipation.  
I'm sure she thinks that I'm going to enter her now--she's never 
been multi-orgasmic, so I normally make her come, then fuck her.  
It will probably be the same tonight, but she'll climax at least 
once more first.

Faint confusion crosses her face when I make no move to take 
her.  I bend over her, still stroking myself as she looks up at 
me for direction.

"Do you remember your promise?"

"Yes," she whispers.

I run my hands over her body in broad sweeps, not yet 
particularly sexual.  I need to keep her in her headspace while 
I rekindle her desire.

"Tell me what you promised.  Tell me what you gave me in 
exchange for letting you come."

She's watching me like a bird caught in a cobra's gaze.  "I must 
obey your every command without thought or question."

"That's right.  Turn your will over to me."

I'm squeezing her breasts, small but perfect on her frame, and 
admiring her form stretched out on the bed.  I love the way the 
black cuffs stand out against her fair skin.
 
"Don't try to guess where I'll touch you next or anticipate what 
I'll do.  Don't think at all; just let your body respond.   You 
ache for this, baby; you need to give in to it.  You've wanted 
so long for someone to master you.  You can't resist the urge, 
can you?"

Her little nipples have gone stiff under my hands again.  I 
pinch them sharply.  "Can you?"

She gasps.  "No.  Oh, it feels so good...."

"That's right.  Your body exists only to give me pleasure.  You 
feel good because you're finally accepting that."

I straddle her, my cock bobbing eagerly.  She tries futilely to 
thrust her hips up to meet it.  A rush of power surges through 
me, taking me aback: I didn't realize how strongly this would 
affect me.  She's so exposed for me, open, prepared and utterly 
vulnerable.  Her nipples are pointing straight up, her sex is 
wet and glistening, and her gasps are pleading again.  My strong 
Scully, my indomitable Scully, now held weak and helpless, 
yearning to be dominated and used.  I could lose myself in her, 
plow into her endlessly, indifferent to her needs as her body 
quivers beneath me.  She'd love it.

This evening was supposed to be a fantasy for Scully; I ordered 
her to be subservient because *she* gets off on it.  But 
suddenly, I want it just as badly.  An image flashes through my 
mind of Scully kneeling before me, offering the scarf to me as 
she pleads for me to top her again.  And I want to.  I want to 
do it again and again until I've taught her to be soft clay in 
my hands, open and malleable and wanting nothing more than to be 
filled by me.  I want her to go limp and pliant when I put her 
scarf on and shiver in anticipation as I arrange her body to my 
satisfaction.  I want her to sob in bliss as my cock sinks into 
her, wriggling on me as I penetrate both her body and mind.

The images fade and I'm looking down at her again.  Her eyes are 
closed, her lips are parted, and she's thrusting her pelvis up 
imploringly.  Yeah.  I can make her want this again.  I can make 
it so good for her that she'll crave it, need it and beg for 
more.  

I rub my cock between her wet folds teasingly.  It twitches and 
she moans, both eager for me to plunge into her sweet depths.

Well, why not?  Bracing most of my weight on my arms, I slide 
into her.  My head swims as her hot, swollen passage grips me.  
I thrust a few times and hold myself buried within her, making 
her whimper and squirm.  It's unbelievably erotic to look down 
at her impossibly pale body, splayed, restrained and now pinned 
by my cock.  She can't touch me, can't wrap her legs around me 
and pull me closer like she loves to do.  She's capable only of 
shallow thrusts of her hips, urging me to pound into her.

Not yet, baby.  I want to play with my new toy first.

I give her one more hard thrust, just to hear her grunt, and 
pull out.  She makes a near-sob of disappointment but doesn't 
complain.  Her wide eyes watch me as I stroke my hard, wet flesh 
a few times.

Running my hands down her legs, I release the lower cuffs from 
the bedposts.  The Velcro sounds surprisingly loud in the quiet 
bedroom.  Then I adjust her ankle cuffs, moving them to clasp 
just above her knees.  I reattach the other ends to the upper 
posts of the bed, pulling her knees up and away from her body, 
and tighten the tethers.  Her sex is now completely open and 
revealed to me.

"Feel how vulnerable you are?  Your beautiful pussy is totally 
exposed."  I caress it possessively.  "This is a good position 
for toys, with you so open and helpless.  God, the things I 
could do to you like this."

I think she felt the change in my voice.  Her lips move, but no 
sound comes out.  I like it when she talks to me, I decide, and 
make a mental note to teach her to submit to me verbally as well 
as physically when we play.

I place an open-mouthed kiss on her wet cunt, making her jerk 
again before I uncuff her completely.  I massage her limbs for a 
moment to ensure that she's not in any discomfort, then turn her 
onto her stomach and bind her as before, arms and legs spread 
and held tightly.  

"Your pretty body belongs to me, you know."  She closes her eyes 
and goes limp as I run my finger down the length of her spine.

I stretch out over her, all but lying on top of her.  I 
completely cover her slight form.  Fucking her like this would 
be the ultimate possession.  She'd be overwhelmed by me, both 
pierced and sheltered by my body.  I'd fill her senses: she'd 
have nothing but my scent in her nostrils, hear nothing but my 
voice in her ears, and feel nothing but my cock pumping hard 
into her needy, wet pussy.

Mm, maybe later.  I slide my cock teasingly between her folds 
again before kneeling between her open legs.  Then I explore 
down her body.  I kiss the fine cords of her neck and the smooth 
muscles of her back while my hands slide between her thighs and 
dip into her opening.  She's gasping quietly into the pillow, 
hips pulsing, squirming so she can rub her nipples on the sheet 
below her.  She's so wonderfully responsive.

So responsive, and all mine.  My fingers trail her dampness over 
her inner thighs, then move up to knead her shapely buttocks.  
Her little anus winks at me as I ply her flesh.  Fascinated, I 
lick my finger and use it to circle the only spot she has ever 
kept secret from me.

She tenses slightly.  "Yellow light."

I stop as suddenly as if she'd thrown cold water over me.  
Lifting my hands to her upper back, I peer cautiously at her 
face.  To my amazement, it's still both aroused and peaceful.  
She's given the signal to change the activity without ending the 
game, and it would never occur to her that I would do anything 
else.  

God, I love her.

This heady feeling of omnipotence is her gift to me, and I can't 
ever forget it.  I can dominate her and respect her; she's just 
shown that she trusts me implicitly to do exactly that.  The 
fire in my veins still burns, but it's banked down.  I can find 
my own pleasure without losing sight of hers.  

I cover her with my body again, sliding my hands beneath her to 
toy with her breasts.  "Very good, sweetheart.  You did just 
what I asked of you.  I told you that you'd be good at this."

When she sighs happily I free her from the cuffs and turn her on 
her back once more.  I rub the soreness from her arms and legs 
again, letting my gaze trail hungrily over her body.  

"This week, did you use the scarf as I told you?"  

She hums affirmatively, enjoying the massage.  

"Did it turn you on?"

A small, secretive smile.  "Oh, yes."

"Very good."  I pull her up and arrange her body as I want to 
see it.  Soon she's sitting on folded legs, knees spread, back 
arched to thrust her breasts forward.  For the moment, I place 
her hands splayed on her thighs.  She's beautiful.  I take a 
moment just to admire the sight before moving to kneel behind 
her, teasing her with the brush of my cock against her back.

I touch her scarf.  "What does this mean?"

Her head lolls slightly.  "I must obey you." 

"Yes, you must obey me."  She gasps as my hands dart up and 
cover her breasts.  "Did you think about that when you were here 
alone, teasing your nipples and playing with your clit?"  

"Yes."

I roll her nipples for a moment.  The next step is something 
that she's had trouble with before, so I'm going to make it easy 
for her.  I'll ensnare her with pleasure now; there's time 
enough later to teach her to find fulfillment in obedience 
itself.

"Did you make yourself come?"

"Yes," she sighs.  

"Very good.  You're going to do that now."  She nods hesitantly, 
keeping her promise but struggling with her inherent shyness.

"We'll start slow.  Stroke your thighs...that's right...and 
think about what you did this week.  Remember how eagerly you 
lay on this bed, touching yourself.  What were you doing, if not 
practicing to display yourself for me?"  

She moans softly, her hands running up and down her inner 
thighs.  I keep rubbing her nipples to encourage her.  "Touch 
yourself between your legs now.  Just run your finger between 
your labia.  Feel how wet you are?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Your body is getting ready to be fucked.  Getting ready for 
*me* to fuck it.  Slide your finger into your cunt, as deep as 
you can."

"Oh!"

"Feels good, huh, baby?  Squeeze around your finger.  Good, but 
not enough, right?"

She shakes her head.
 
"Your finger's too little, I know.  I'll fill you so much better 
than that."  I nudge my cock against her back and she presses 
against it with a shiver.
 
"Are you ready?"

She nods eagerly again.  Perhaps she thinks that if she's 
willing enough, I'll fuck her instead of having her finish 
herself off.  If so, she'll be disappointed.  She needs to learn 
that my desires, not hers, are what she'll satisfy when we play. 

"Soon, baby."

I squeeze her nipples until she moans.  "Now, stroke your clit.  
Think about how pretty you look with your pink skin all glowing 
with need.  Think about how much you want to please me."

When she seems enraptured by her own touch, I move in front of 
her to better enjoy the show.  Her left hand flits up to her 
breast, teasing one of the nipples that I have abandoned, while 
her right rubs at her swollen clit.  The sight of her small 
hands playing over her smooth body is the most erotic thing I 
have ever seen.  I could throw away all my videos and replay 
this image in my mind forever, never tiring of it.

When her hand falters, I remember that she needs my voice to 
keep the illusion real.  That will have to change eventually, 
but it's no hardship to give her what she needs now.

"It's wonderful how much pleasure your body can give you.  Give 
in to it now.  Give it what it wants.  You're going to do what I 
tell you.  You're going to play with yourself until you come, 
and I'm going to watch you."

She whimpers, turning her face to the side, but I catch it and 
turn it back toward me.  I make no effort to be gentle.

"No.  You may never hide your passion from me.  You gave up all 
right to modesty when you begged me to put that scarf around 
your pretty neck."

She cries out, her hand pumping faster.

"That's right.  You can't do anything but obey me.  Feel the 
need building?  It makes you mine.  With every stroke, every 
squeeze, you give more of yourself to me.  You love it; you 
can't stop.  You're not going to stop until I own you, body and 
soul."

She falls backward onto the pillows, both hands now flying 
between her legs.  I prop myself up on my side next to her.  Her 
eyes have closed again, but I let it go this time.  She's 
gasping now, her forehead wrinkling in concentration.  

"Oh, I know what that look on your face means.  You're close.  
You need it bad now, don't you?"  When she sobs aloud in 
response, I reach out and squeeze one proud nipple.

Her spine stiffens as her orgasm hits her.  Her eyes fly open in 
shock as her voice rises in an ecstatic cry, and she rocks 
frantically on her own hand, greedily seeking more pleasure.  As 
she's still climaxing, I position myself over her and thrust 
into her hard.  Her body jerks involuntarily and I feel the last 
spasms of her orgasm milking my cock.  

Denied long enough, my libido takes over.  I mumble nonsense 
words of praise and possession into her ear as my hips set up a 
fast, almost punishing rhythm.  She clutches at me desperately, 
gasping in time with my shout when I finally spill myself into 
her sweetly yielding body. 

*****

We lie entwined for long moments afterwards.  Finally I lift 
myself from the bed and fetch a damp cloth.  Half-asleep, she 
passively lets me bathe her.  Eventually she rouses enough to 
drink the glass of water that I offer her and goes off to the 
bathroom to finish cleaning up.

While she's gone I restore order to the bed.  I remove the cuffs 
from the bedposts, strip the sheet from the bed, and put on 
fresh ones.  When she returns, there is no indication that 
anything unusual has happened this evening.

She removes the scarf, folds it neatly, and lays it on the 
nightstand before climbing back into bed with me.  Pulling the 
sheet over us, she spoons up against me, her back pressed to my 
chest.  She hasn't spoken since the scene ended.

"Scully?"

"Mmm?"  

"Are you...uh, was that okay?"

Slowly she rolls over to face me.  "Oh, Mulder, it was 
wonderful.  Powerful."  A wry half-grin.  "You wore me out, 
that's all."  She snuggles up against my chest.  "It was 
perfect.  Thank you."

"Anything for you, Scully."

"Love you," she mumbles as she fades into sleep.

I draw her close.  "Love you," I whisper into her hair before I 
drift off myself.


End "A Gift of Silk."
********************

When my brain cells delivered this story, they included the 
following note, addressed to "the readers" and made of letters 
cut and pasted from newspapers.  It reads:

wE HAve ROSa's neXt stORY.  SEnd FeeDBACK, loTS of IT, to 
subrosa31@yahoo.com OR It WiLL NEVER SEe THE liGHt of DAY!  HA 
HA HA HA!!






From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 29 Jun 2002 14:30:53 -0000
Subject: A Gift of Silk II, NC-17, by SubRosa (1/2) by SubRosa
Source: direct

Reply To: subrosa31@yahoo.com


TITLE:  A Gift of Silk II
AUTHOR: SubRosa (subrosa31@yahoo.com) 
RATING: Hard NC-17 for graphic consensual sex and language.
CATEGORY: SR
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance 
SPOILERS: None
DEDICATION: To the ladies at the Topica Smut list, who like
     toy!fic.  
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, 
     Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting,
     and to the actors who portray them.  They are being used 
     without permission, and no profit is being made. 
DISTRIBUTION: Wherever you like, but please let me know.  
SUMMARY: Mulder. Scully. D/s. 'Nuff said.
THANKS: To Jemirah for beta work. All remaining mistakes, of 
     course, are mine.
FEEDBACK: Cherished at subrosa31@yahoo.com.
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: 

This is work of erotica, rated NC-17 for graphic sex in a D/s 
context.  Please do NOT read if this may offend you.  Readers 
under 17: please respect the age restriction on this story.

As the name implies, this story follows from "A Gift of Silk."  
I'd like it if you read that one first, but it's not absolutely 
necessary to understand this fic.
 
Further author's notes and disclaimers at the end.


********************



Settling into a D/s relationship with Scully has been a lot 
easier than I expected.  I was initially afraid she would have 
second thoughts, but those worries were unfounded.  She made her 
peace with the idea before we began, and had no intention of 
backing out.

"It was wonderful, Mulder," she said softly when I questioned 
her the morning after her first night as my submissive.  "I 
felt...I can't quite put it into words, but it was so good.  
Beautiful."
 
No, I was the one nagged by doubts.  I was disturbed by my 
complete absorption in the thrill of dominating her, causing me 
to forget, however temporarily, that I had arranged the evening 
for her pleasure.  I was afraid, I told her, it could become too 
real for me.

She considered that carefully.  "Did you think about ignoring my 
safeword?"

I shook my head vigorously.  "Never.  Not for a second.  That's 
what brought me back to myself."

She nodded.  "And I never thought you would ignore it, no matter 
how you felt.  'Real' dominance, whatever that means, doesn't 
mean ignoring my well-being and pleasure.  Not to you, at 
least."

She asked the next question in a cautious, inflectionless voice.  
"Leaving aside that concern, did you enjoy it?  Enough to want 
to do it again?"

I thought of her thrashing beneath me, panting for my cock, and 
remembered my vow to make her crave my mastery.  "Yeah.  
Definitely."

"So do I.  I want it very badly, in fact.  But more importantly, 
Mulder, I trust you to do this.  I don't care how intense or 
real it feels to you--you would never hurt me or push me into 
something I don't want.  Period."

I couldn't disagree with a word she said.  Relaxing a bit, I 
asked, "But you're sure it doesn't bother you that I get into it 
so much?"

She considered for a long moment before responding, "Actually, 
I'd prefer that.  It felt real to me, Mulder, and frankly, I'd 
rather that it's real for both of us than that it's something 
you do to humor me.  It's...it's more exciting that way.  A lot 
more."

I don't believe I'm pushing this after that comment, but there's 
one question I have to ask.

"Scully, I'll do this if you want.  I'd do it to make you happy 
even if I didn't enjoy it--and I do.  But neither of us has made 
power games part of a relationship before.  Are you afraid it 
will affect how we deal with each other elsewhere in our lives?"

For the first time, doubt crossed her face.  "Yes.  That's the 
only thing I'm afraid of.  Not at work--we're too set in our 
ways to change there.  But I am worried about carrying the 
submission into the rest of our sex lives.  I've never been very 
aggressive in bed, and I'm afraid this might set a pattern for 
becoming passive as a whole."

She gave me a shy, beautiful smile.  She doesn't know it, but 
I'd do anything for that smile.

"But I want to try."

I spent the rest of the week researching D/s relationships.  
Most of the safety rules I already knew, but I wanted to review 
them.  I came across some fascinating research on the 
biochemical changes that occur during a BDSM scene, making a 
note to have Scully look at them as well.  And then I turned to 
looking at websites put up by individuals in the lifestyle who 
shared their experiences.  I wasn't looking just for techniques 
to try with Scully, but also for ways to adopt the persona of a 
dominant.  

If she wants this to be real, I'm going to make it real.  That 
means immersing myself in the scene just as deeply as she does, 
and making sure that I guide and direct it in ways that 
constantly emphasize her subordination and the pleasure she 
receives from it.  The key to topping Scully isn't going to be 
technique or force; it's going to be confidence.  If she 
believes I can throw her into an altered state with the mere 
touch of her scarf, then the task of getting her in the right 
mood is half done.  The endorphins released during a scene 
should do the rest.  

I came away from the research feeling much more convinced of my 
ability to give her what she needs.  Over the week we had some 
general discussions about her preferences, likes, and dislikes.  
She put a few things off-limits but resisted narrowing our 
options down any further, saying that she found it more exciting 
to be in the dark about what I might do next.

She came home with me last night.  This morning, after a late 
breakfast and separate showers, I set her on the couch with my 
laptop and asked her to do some reading I'd pulled out for her.  
I've been puttering around for what seems like hours, letting 
her work through the material at her own pace, when I finally 
hear her calling me into the living room.

"I've found a few more things we should talk about," she tells 
me in her most businesslike tone.

I come into the room and seat myself on the opposite end of the 
couch.  She puts the laptop on the coffee table, the screen 
facing away from me.  Her eyes are bright and her color is high.  
I grin to myself as I realize she's aroused by her reading but 
trying to hide it.  I'll let it go for now--we do need to 
establish some guidelines.  But when we're done, I'll show her 
that her little act doesn't fool me.

"Of course.  Where do you want to start?"

She's fiddling with a small notebook where she's been jotting 
things down.  "I was reading diaries and experiences published 
by other...other..."

"By other submissives?"

She falls silent.  I understand; society does not teach anyone, 
male or female, to willingly apply that term to oneself.  As I 
told her from the beginning, though, we have to communicate 
honestly about this.  Scully needs to recognize what she wants, 
accept it, and embrace it.

I deepen my voice at bit.  "Don't hide from it, baby.  That's 
not how this works."

Her shoulders tremble and relax.  "Yes.  By other submissives.  
Some of the experiences they describe...well, listen to this."

She reads aloud a bit of a post where a woman describes what is 
known as "deep subspace," in which the submissive experiences a 
remarkably powerful altered state comparable to the "runner's 
high" experienced by marathon competitors. 

"What if I can't do that?"

I keep a straight face with some difficulty.  "Well, what if you 
can't?"  

I haven't yet had the pleasure of seeing Scully on vacation, but 
I bet she plans them with the same precision she applies to the 
rest of her life.  I'll bet she decides she must see x number of 
museums and read y number of books before she considers herself 
properly relaxed and recreated.  Part of the allure of 
submission, I'm sure, is the freedom it offers from the rigid 
structure she otherwise surrounds herself with.

"There isn't a goal or a roadmap for how this goes," I tell her.   
"There's one unbreakable rule: D/s is a consensual relationship 
based on communication.  Beyond that, as long as neither of us 
feels coerced or pressured and we're both enjoying it, I'm 
happy.  I'm not following some master plan to turn you into the 
perfect submissive--unless that's what you want."

From the look on her face, I suspect it is.  I file that away 
for future reference before raising my one continuing worry.  

"Since we're on the subject, there's only one thing I'm really 
concerned about.  Putting yourself completely in my hands is 
going to be difficult for you.  Trust isn't the problem--you 
trust me implicitly, as I trust you.  But you're going to have 
to let go of your tendency to try to handle everything alone.

"I'm responsible for your well-being and safety before, during, 
and after a scene.  It's not uncommon to have a delayed reaction 
to something you enjoyed at the time.  So if something we do 
upsets you after the fact, you *must* tell me.  If you agree to 
accept my dominance, you agree to accept my care afterwards.  
That's not negotiable."

Her gaze is level and direct.  "I understand." 

She understands?  That's it?  Hell, if I'd know Scully would let 
me take care of her because it's a *rule*, I would have started 
following the damn things a long time ago.

There's another reason she's being so amenable, though.  In 
spite of her claim to like the element of surprise, she wants 
our roles more precisely defined.  There's some comfort in 
knowing what is expected of you, even if that means knowing how 
little control you have.

I glance at her notebook.  "No??" is written on the top of the 
first page.  Yeah, I expected that to come up.

"A common rule in BDSM is that the top doesn't have to heed the 
word 'no.'  Only the safewords carry that meaning.  Is that what 
you want?"

Her nod is barely perceptible.  

I lean forward and cup her face with my hand.  "This is 
important, baby.  You need to tell me.  Non-verbal communication 
isn't good enough here."

Her gaze flicks to the computer screen before returning to meet 
mine.  "Yes," she whispers.  "That's what I want."

"Very well."  I regard her appraisingly and adopt my commanding 
tone.  "From here on out, you don't have the right to say 'no' 
to me in a scene.  This does not take away your right to refuse 
an act--your safewords have the meaning we've agreed upon.  But 
unless you use them, nothing you say or do affects what I do to 
you.  You can sob, beg, or struggle as much as you want.  None 
of it matters."

I watch her reaction carefully.  On one level, it's probably a 
moot point.  I don't think her fantasy scenes include being 
forcibly subdued.  Scully doesn't like force; she likes a 
subtler domination, wants to feel velvet seduction over the 
steel will imposed upon her.  On another level though, this 
further establishes my control over her.  Absolutely nothing 
emphasizes her subordinate position more than the knowledge that 
her protests are meaningless to me.

The idea excites her; her breathing has become fast and shallow.  
Looking into her dilated eyes, I know that at this moment I 
could tell her to do anything and she'd obey me.

I'm not going to just yet, though.  This is fun--like a long 
tease leading up to the final seduction.  She'll be pleading to 
work on the practical applications of our discussion by the time 
we're finished.

I go back to my normal speaking tone.  "All right, that's 
settled.  What else do you want to talk about?"

She needs a moment to compose herself.  "If I disobey, how will 
you punish me?"

Good girl.  I would have raised this issue if she hadn't.  

"That's something which varies a great deal according to the 
relationship.  We haven't talked about this, but I've sort of 
assumed I have the right to spank you or strike you, as long as 
it's only with my bare hand.  Is that all right?"

She fidgets.  "Yes."
 
I pull the scarf from my pocket and finger it lightly as I 
speak.  "I don't just mean an erotic spanking, by the way.  I'm 
talking about a blow hard enough to hurt, anywhere on your body.  
I'd never strike your face, of course, but perhaps your thighs 
or your breasts if I want.  It will be my decision how to 
punish, and you are not supposed to enjoy it."

Her eyes are focused on the scarf.  "I understand," she repeats 
softly.

"Since you generally don't find pain erotic, I'm not likely to 
take it further.  I might send you away as sort of an adult 
'time-out'--and that *will* be a punishment if you're in the 
right mindset.  I might satisfy myself but refuse to let you 
come."

She looks stricken.  I file *that* away before elaborating.

"For us, this is always going to primarily be a sexual 
relationship.  Neither of us is interested in taking the power 
exchange into the rest of our lives.  But when we play, you're 
giving me control of your sexuality.  Period.  I can deny you 
satisfaction or make you come until you pass out.  Either is my 
right."

She squirms with arousal and nods.  What blind idiots did she 
date before, who never explored the depths of her wonderful 
sexual capacity?

"But to return to the subject of punishment, if ever you find 
you really can't get in the mood to obey, I'd rather we stopped 
the scene.  Use the safeword, or remove the scarf.  We'll try 
again another time.  Eventually, you might want to take it to 
the next level.  We could decide you don't have the right to not 
be in the mood, and we'd establish a range of punishments for me 
to use as I see fit.  That, again, would have to be negotiated 
in advance."

She glances at the screen again for a second.  There's just a 
hint of shame in her eyes--this is tough to get used to.

I try to reassure her.  "There's nothing wrong with finding a 
little punishment erotic.  It doesn't mean you get off on pain--
though you might learn to, when it's properly applied.  What it 
actually means is that I possess you so completely that I can 
discipline your body and mind as I see fit."

She moans, actually moans, and I can't suppress my grin any 
longer.  

"I love that.  I love making you hot with just words."  My voice 
drops without my conscious intent.  "You like the thought of me 
punishing you, don't you?"

Her eyes go soft and hazy.  "Yes.  I do."  She gives me a shy 
smile and looks back at her notes.

"Mulder, many of these women talk about how their masters push 
their limits, making them do things they don't like.  In the 
short term it's difficult, but in the long term they feel like 
they've achieved a deeper submission.  I'm supposed to give you 
control unless I feel endangered or distressed--but I have a 
safeword that just means 'change what you're doing.'  That gives 
*me* a lot of control.  What if I misuse it?"

That's another thing to file away for future reference.  Later 
I'm going to have to sit down, review all of her questions, and 
figure out exactly what she wants me to do to her.  For now, 
though, I have to concentrate on making sure she's totally 
comfortable with the boundaries that we establish.

"I'm reluctant to say there is any such thing as misusing a 
safeword, not in our relationship.  After all we've been 
through, I want to err on the side of giving you power.  It's 
your call, but a good rule of thumb is to use 'yellow' if you 
feel like you'll have to use 'red' if the stressor doesn't 
stop."  

I pause to emphasize my next point.  "I'm not just talking about 
physical discomfort, by the way.  The words are there if you 
find something emotionally distressing as well."

Another peek at the computer and a nod.

"If you use them that way, we'll be fine.  If you use them just 
to change something you don't happen to like, or to avoid 
punishment, I will always heed them, but we'll have to talk."

I hold up my hand to forestall the hurt rejoinder I see forming 
on her lips.  "I don't expect you do to that, Scully.  When you 
agree to do something, you always do it.  But the experience 
itself may be different from your expectations.  That's true for 
both of us, and if it happens we can and should renegotiate."

I search her face for agreement before I continue.  "And this 
isn't a contest to see how much you can take.  Yes, you'll do 
things that might be uncomfortable, and yes, I'll push you a 
bit.  But I never want to go past the point where the discomfort 
excites you."  

I stroke her petal-soft cheek with the scarf.  "I'd expect you 
to endure discomfort because you're too proud to complain, but 
when you wear this you must rethink what pride means."  

She sneaks another look at the laptop screen, and I turn it 
around to see what is so fascinating.  It is an image of a woman 
lying on her side on the floor.  Her hands appear to be tied 
behind her back, her legs are bound at the ankles and thighs, 
and her nipples are tight in the grip of weighted clamps.  If 
that isn't enough to demonstrate her complete subjection, her 
studded leather collar and its attached silver chain leave no 
doubt.  

The other end of the chain rests casually in the hand of the man 
who kneels behind her.  He is largely cropped out of the 
picture, but his hands on her body leave no doubt as to his 
mastery over her.  His left hand, the one holding the leash, 
grips her shoulder, posing her for the camera.  His right hand 
is between her legs, the middle finger on her clit.  Her face 
contorts as that finger makes her come for him, for the camera, 
for us.

The woman's top has stripped her of any conventional idea of 
pride or modesty.  She doesn't care that she's leashed, writhing 
on the floor, her orgasm being recorded for public viewing.  His 
complete control gives her the freedom to feel complete ecstasy.  

Take away the camera, and I'll bet this is what Scully wants.  I 
push her a bit harder.

"How I dress you, what I permit you to say and what I tell you 
to do may seem undignified, or worse.  I won't humiliate you, 
but you *will* do things your brain tells you a modern, self-
sufficient woman shouldn't do.  That doesn't matter.  All your 
ideas of dignity, autonomy, self-sufficiency, and endurance are 
irrelevant.  The *only* thing you should take pride in is how 
well you obey me."

God, she's responsive.  Her face is flushed with arousal and I 
can see her nipples poking at the thin material of her bathrobe.  
She touches the picture on the screen, her fingers resting on 
the woman's silent ecstasy.  "Would you do this to me?"

I carefully go into investigator mode, gathering information 
without offering any indication of my own thoughts.  "Do you 
want me to promise I won't?"

Her lips part, but no words come out.  After a moment's pause, 
it is clear she will not make that request. 

I reach out and deliberately tweak one of her erect nipples.  
"I'll remember that."  

Her mouth closes on a shuddering breath and she watches me 
silently, completely under the spell of my words and her own 
wonderfully active imagination.  

"Do you have any more questions?"

She shakes her head.

I lower my voice.  "Then take off that robe and get on your 
knees."

Her face lights up as she complies, making my heart swell with 
love and something darker.  I put on her scarf and then undress 
slowly, letting her watch me.  When I'm finished, I kneel down 
and cup her face, tilting it up.

"I can see the submission in your eyes, you know.  I see more 
now than I did last week.  By the end of the day, I'll see more 
still."

A soft sigh escapes her.  I stand up without releasing her face 
and draw her toward my painfully hard cock. 

"Suck me, baby.  Make it good, but I don't want to come yet."

She applies herself to her task with consummate skill, 
enveloping me in her wet mouth.  As she laps at me gently I 
murmur down to her shining bowed head, trying to allay all the 
concerns she brought up.  I've answered her questions as her 
lover and partner, now it's time to answer them as her Dominant.  

"Don't think this is going to be easy, baby, because it won't 
be.  You're going to do things you never thought you could do.  
And it will be hard.  Some days you're going to struggle and 
resist.  And do you know what will happen then?"

She makes a noise that could be interpreted as a query.  I pause 
for a minute, steeling myself against the pleasure washing 
through me.

"I'm going to push you harder.  I'm going to push you until you 
feel your will crumble and you find yourself yielding to my 
commands.  That's a promise."

She whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut.  I wonder what she's 
imagining as her hot little tongue strokes over me.  She can't 
be more excited than I am right now.  I'm swelling within her 
mouth, and I know I'm not going to last much longer like this.  

"Feel how hard I am?  I get that way every time I think about 
what I'm going to do to you.  I'm going to make you fight me, 
and I'm going to subdue you.  I'm going to strip your soul of 
every guilty pleasure, every hidden secret, and I'm going to 
make you revel in them."

Her long moan reverberates in the quiet room.  My dick twitches 
at the sound.  I take a deep breath, forcing myself to wait.  
Just a little bit more....

"And you're going to love it.  You're going to choose to give up 
all your pride, all your modesty, and give in to the need to 
submit burning inside you.  Every step of the way, baby.  You're 
going to beg you me to take you deeper."

She's grunting around my cock, her hips thrusting but meeting 
only air.  Both of us are on the edge now.  God, I want to grab 
her head and hold her close as I explode in her mouth, but 
that's not the plan.  She groans in disappointment as I pull 
away.  I'm damned tempted to plunge back in, but I control 
myself.  

My hardwood floor isn't suitable for the next phase, so I scoop 
her up and carry her into the bedroom, promising myself that the 
next time we're at her place with its softer carpet, I'll take 
her on the floor.  She needs to learn that she's far too wild 
and wanton to care about ladylike conventions such as fucking on 
a bed.

But today my bed is ready for her, the covers turned down 
invitingly.  I lay her down, pull off her panties and climb up 
next to her.  As she watches me passively, I place my right 
middle finger on her lips.  They part invitingly.  I slide my 
finger into her mouth and she begins working it with her tongue 
like she worked my cock.  Such a sensual creature.

I withdraw the finger from her mouth and slowly run it down her 
body.  It circles her nipple with a light teasing touch before 
moving down to her clit.  I dip into her cunt, hot and dripping 
wet, and move up again to circle her clit.  She moans languidly 
and rolls her hips.

I return to the lecture I began in the living room.  "I know 
you, baby.  I know that deep in your mind, you crave domination.  
Nothing excites you more than the thought of being bent to my 
will."  

Her lips move almost soundlessly.  "Your will..."

"That's right.  My will."  My finger is making the tight, 
precise circles that she loves.  At this stage in our 
relationship, nothing is more important than teaching her that 
submission is always associated with pleasure.  Her flushed, 
slick sex says she's learning her lesson well.  

I lean down and whisper confidingly, "Your clit is so swollen 
that it looks like a ripe little cherry."

"Oh, God..."

I pull back, again adopting my pedantic tone of voice.

"There's so much submission in you, but you tamp it down and 
hide it.  So it grows until you can't bear to hold it back.  
It's swelling inside you now.  You want to give in to it so 
badly you can't stand it.  Can you feel it?"  

She nods, her face flushed and her lips parted.  I touch the 
scarf around her neck with my free hand.

"What does this mean?"

She licks her lips.  "It means I belong to you."

"That's right.  When you're wearing this, you can't hold back.  
It lets me reach into your mind"--I rub her temple gently--"and 
release all that submission.  It's washing over you now."  

My finger crooks upward, jabbing her G-spot.  She gasps, her 
eyes going wide.  I repeat the caress again and again, picking 
up speed.  

"You can feel it through your whole body..."

"Yes...uh...please..." she whimpers.

"You can feel it filling you up, driving away every thought"--
she's panting--"every distraction"--writhing pleadingly--
"everything but your desperate need to obey me."  

Her body arches.  I pull my finger from her cunt and work her 
clit mercilessly.  

"Oohhh!"  

That does it.  She's gone, hips thrusting, eyes screwed shut, 
voice breaking as she surrenders to her climax.  I ram my finger 
back into her spasming channel.  

"AAH!"  

Her eyes fly open as I pump her roughly, forcing her into the 
rhythm I want.  Obediently she matches my movements, watching me 
even as she shudders in ecstasy.

I can't stand it.  I was going to fuck her, but the sight of her 
riding my hand in ecstasy is too much.  Hoping this isn't too 
big a step, I straddle her, grasp my cock, and begin jacking off 
in the same rhythm my other hand is using to fuck her.  Her eyes 
go even bigger, if possible, but she's far beyond speech.  I 
feel like a god as she surrenders to me.  Her orgasm is fading 
but still wracking her body as I bring myself off in a few more 
strokes, semen landing on her chest and belly.

My chest is heaving as if I'd just run a marathon.  It's a long 
moment before I can speak again.

"All it took was one finger, baby.  You needed it so bad that I 
made you wet, I made you beg, I made you come with one finger."

She throws her arm over her face and whimpers softly.  I pull it 
away.  Shyness isn't an option for her.  She'll need to learn to 
display her arousal and orgasms for me, whether they're brought 
on by my hand or hers, but we can build up to that slowly.

"You were made for this, baby," I tell her for now.  "Don't ever 
doubt it."

I clean us both up and adjust her scarf, emphasizing that we are 
still in our roles, before moving on to my plans for the 
afternoon.  

"Submission isn't just about being tied to a bed and getting 
fucked, you know.  It means you actively dedicate yourself to my 
pleasure.  Whenever you wear this, you should be thinking about 
how ready you are to serve me, in bed and out of it.  That's 
what we're going to work on today."

*****

The rest of the afternoon is spent on her comportment, demeanor, 
and actions when she is subbing.  My real interest is to see how 
she responds when sexual gratification is not the immediate 
goal.  True, most of our time in these roles will probably be 
spent having sex or building up to it, but if she wants to be 
serious about this game, we need to go further.  Obedience will 
be the end in itself, not something she does because it will be 
rewarded by an orgasm.

By the end of the day, I'm so proud of her that I can barely 
contain myself.  She's performed admirably, taking every 
instruction perfectly.  I glance over at her as I finish closing 
up the apartment for the night.  She's kneeling back on her 
heels, legs spread, eyes lowered, waiting for my command.  She's 
supposed to use these "waiting" periods to concentrate on 
putting aside her own wishes, focusing instead on her desire to 
serve me.  The dreamy, open look on her face makes me want to 
scoop her up, lay her down on my bed, and devour her with 
infinite tenderness.

So I do.  This aspect of our relationship is going to have all 
variations of lovemaking, from rough and wild to soft and slow.  
Tonight it's sweet and gentle.  I lavish kisses on her body as I 
praise her generosity in giving herself like this.  She opens 
herself like a flower for me, spreading her pale limbs with 
their rosy blush to embrace me, sighing and trembling with 
unchecked emotion at my touch.  I make love to her for what 
seems like an endless time, feeling her shiver as I spill myself 
into her body.  

Finally I coax her to orgasm with my fingers, carefully timing 
her climax with praise for her perfect submission.  She kisses 
my hand afterwards and curls up like a kitten against me before 
promptly falling asleep, but I stay awake for a long time, 
running my hands over her softly and marveling at my good 
fortune. 

********************

I wonder if it'd be all right if I touched myself.  Just a 
little.  Just to take the edge off.  

I sneak a sidelong glance at Mulder.  He couldn't possibly know 
I'm looking at him, but he suddenly turns his head and pins me 
with his eyes.  I melt back into my seat, feeling my skin flush 
as that look sends memories of the evening flashing through me.

It was past six when Mulder made his move.  We were probably 
among the last people to leave the building--even at the FBI, 
people leave promptly at five on Fridays.  Except for us, of 
course.  Mulder had suggested we stay a little later to finish 
up some paperwork, and I agreed in the hopes of clearing our 
weekend for other activities.  I was typing away at a report, 
cheerful about the prospect of a free weekend but otherwise 
unsuspecting, when he made his real plans for the evening quite 
clear.

He crept up behind me, leaned over my shoulder as if to read the 
screen--and I felt the smooth caress of silk around my throat.  
My jaw dropped.  We've been scrupulously careful about avoiding 
any kind of unprofessional conduct in the office; it's been 
bugged too many times for us to ever feel safe there, and we do 
try to separate our work and personal lives.  It never occurred 
to me that he would start anything here.  The act of putting on 
my scarf is technically innocent, since it would be meaningless 
to an observer, but to me it was as blatantly sexual as if he'd 
walked up and fondled my breasts.

And it had the same effect.  Concentration on the report became 
impossible.  All I could think about was the fabric at my neck, 
stimulating me long after he had returned to his desk.  
Lassitude spread through my body as my panties steadily became 
damp.

I jumped when his hand covered mine--I hadn't heard him 
approach.  He guided my hand on the mouse, saving the file and 
shutting down the computer.  

His breath teased my ear like a kiss.  "I'm taking you to dinner 
now.  We'll finish the report on Monday."

"Yes," I agreed vaguely.  "Monday."

I let him guide me to his car and sat placidly while he drove.  
He didn't ask me where I wanted to go, and it never occurred to 
me that he should.  I sat in the car, my skin humming, still 
thinking about the kiss of silk at my neck.  As he pulled into 
the restaurant lot, I lifted my hand and stroked the end of the 
scarf, brushing my erect nipple in the motion.  It felt good.  

I felt more than saw him glance at me.  "That looks good on you, 
baby."

Only then did I realize I wasn't just aroused--I had slipped 
into a state of submission completely unawares.  It surprised me 
that I would react so profoundly to the single cue of the 
scarf--we hadn't used it that often.  But when I looked back at 
the times we had, warmth pooled through me as I realized Mulder 
took complete control of our lovemaking from the instant he put 
it on me.  Not just the lead, but control.
 
Whenever I wore it, the sex was peppered with commands and sweet 
rewards when I obeyed.  Gradually, he pushed our sex play beyond 
what we've done before.  He now freely demands oral sex, smiling 
at the sight of me on my knees performing his favorite oral 
technique.  Once he had me wind the scarf around my breasts and 
lift them, offering them to him to suck and tease.  And even 
though I'm shy about the position, he delights in having me bend 
over a table or kneel on the floor and offer myself to be taken 
from behind.

I loved it, loved all of it.  Even in the short time we've been 
doing this, I've discovered an odd, wonderful dichotomy of 
freedom in my submission.  I had repressed my sexual desires for 
most of my adult life, afraid of what would happen if I 
expressed them and hiding them from myself and my partners.  
Instead I tried always to be demure and ladylike--embracing a 
passivity of a different sort.

Not so with Mulder.  He loves to see me wild and forbids me to 
hold back.  Mulder knew more about my preferences after a few 
times dominating me than my previous lovers ever learned in an 
"equal" relationship.  He would have learned anyway, of course, 
because that's what Mulder does.  But it was easier for me to 
tell him when he tied me up, kissed my lips, and ordered me to 
narrate my every reaction, however small, as he explored my 
body.  My body belonged to him, he said, and it wasn't my place 
to censor its needs.  If my nipples ached to be pinched, my clit 
yearned for his tongue, or my cunt wept for his cock, well then, 
my lips existed to tell him that.  He might ignore my body's 
demands, of course, but he knew them better than any lover I've 
ever had.  

And he satisfied them better.  He used his knowledge about my 
body and mind to so thoroughly ensnare me in pleasure that my 
very thoughts change when he puts on my scarf.  I can't remember 
how we got to the car after work or what he ordered for my 
dinner, but the entire evening I've been intensely conscious of 
the soft fabric around my neck and the hot throbbing between my 
legs.  

He has delighted in pushing and teasing me all night.  It 
started at dinner, as I sat only half-listening to his easy 
conversation. 
 
"...and so I told him we'd be *happy* to postpone the interview, 
but it couldn't be Tuesday because that day we're meeting with 
our IRS partners for the teambuilding workshop to promote better 
cooperation among federal agencies.  Turns out he can meet with 
us Monday after all.  I can see your nipples, by the way."

That jolted me out of my reverie.  "What?"

"They want to be touched, don't they?  I can see them all tight 
and erect right through your blouse."

I'd removed my suit jacket when we went to dinner; it didn't 
match the creamy silk now twined around my neck.  The thin shell 
underneath did a poor job of hiding that my nipples *were* rock 
hard.  I nodded cautiously.

"I want you to touch them."

I blinked at him in consternation.  We were in a public place, 
after all.  But the restaurant was dark, we were in a secluded 
corner, and I was seated with my back to the rest of the room.  
He must have arranged that deliberately.

He simply watched me, wearing his best cool, pleasant 
expression.  He didn't need to say anything else.  This was a 
test, and we both knew it.  The command was simply going to hang 
in the air between us until I either obeyed it or asked to stop 
the game.

In a move that would have sent my mother into fits, I set one 
elbow on the table so my arm partially hid my body from anyone 
who might pass by.  Then I rested my other arm lengthwise on the 
table, my hand just in reach of my breast.  Goaded by the heat 
in his eyes, I cautiously stroked my nipple.  

"Harder.  Pinch it."

I squeezed, feeling an electric jolt run through me.

"Very good.  You may stop--for the moment."  His eyes flicked 
behind me, signaling the approach of the waiter with our 
appetizer.  Oysters, of course.  Mulder doesn't see a need to be 
subtle at these times.

"I want to see your nipples erect for the rest of the evening," 
he informed me when we were alone again, grinning wickedly at 
the discomfort on my face.  "I'll remind you when to pinch them 
again."

The rest of the meal passed in a bizarre parody of normal.  
Conversation (his chatter, my monosyllabic answers) stayed on 
work and current events, but he kept me on a slow simmer the 
whole time.  The scarf alone wouldn't let me lose the arousal, 
but having to tweak my nipples throughout the meal was pure 
torture.  

When the plates were cleared away, he started again.  

"Your nipples are very pretty like that, and I like the blush on 
your face.  Are you wet?"

I wasn't sure whether to be ashamed or turned on.  My body felt 
no conflict, though.  "Yes."

"Put your hand on your thigh.  That's what I'd do if I were 
sitting next to you.  Run it up your leg."

I slid my hand over the fabric of my pantsuit as he watched my 
face coolly.

"Where is your hand now?"

"Uh...my upper thigh."

He adopted a chiding expression.  "I wouldn't stop there, you 
know.  Touch your clit."

I touched myself through the pants, catching my breath as my 
clit twitched at the stimulation.

That cool, reserved smile was back.  "That's better.  Now rub 
yourself in little circles, like I would."

I shut my eyes against his burning gaze for a second, stifling 
my automatic protest, but he would have none of it.  

"Open your eyes, baby."  He waited until I met his gaze again, 
and repeated gently, "Rub yourself.  Touch your clit the way I 
would."

Conflict swelled within me.  I didn't want to masturbate in 
public, even if the tablecloth and dim lights protected me from 
discovery.  I didn't want to do something so tawdry, something 
that, under the circumstances, was very unlikely to give me any 
pleasure.  

But his eyes reminded me of the promises I had made to him.  
They burned hot and expectant, waiting for me to live up to 
those promises--and oh, how I wanted to see them glow with 
approval.  

I began moving my fingers in slow, light circles over my clit.  
A gentle pleasure welled through me, not from the action itself, 
but from yielding to him.  He smiled at me with obvious pride 
and the pleasure grew stronger--until the waiter suddenly 
reappeared, making me gasp in surprise and chagrin.  

The young man glanced at me in confusion, and I could feel my 
cheeks burning anew.  Mulder gave me a stern look before calling 
the waiter's attention to himself.  I ducked my head as Mulder 
ordered coffee for us both, hoping that the dim light would hide 
my flushed cheeks.  I couldn't have said whether the heat 
suffusing my face came from embarrassment or excitement.  

When the waiter left, Mulder fixed his gaze on me again.  "It's 
amazing how much of this game is mental, isn't it?  Now you're 
learning what submission really is.  It isn't in giving me your 
body; it's in doing something that you want to resist, just 
because I tell you to."

I could only nod silently, my fingers still tracing slow 
circles.  My heart was pounding with a mixture of fear that I 
would be discovered and arousal at the audacity of my actions.  
I was still embarrassed, but the feeling was becoming oddly 
blunted, subdued by the pleasure of my own touch and the force 
of Mulder's presence across the table.

He licked his lower lip sensually before speaking again.  "I 
know you aren't touching yourself like I would."

I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

He leaned forward, speaking in a soft, intense whisper.  
"Because if I were doing it, you wouldn't be so quiet.  You'd be 
panting with need."

I inhaled sharply as the image formed in my mind of Mulder 
seated next to me, coolly driving me mad as he chatted idly with 
the waiter.  My head fell back as my sex clenched, sending a 
wave of sensation through me.  I whimpered, barely regaining 
control as the waiter returned with our coffee.  It was so wrong 
to touch myself in front of him, but it felt so good....

When the boy left again, Mulder gave me a satisfied smile.  "You 
may stop now, sweetheart.  Drink your coffee.  You're going to 
need the energy."

Stopping did nothing to alleviate the tension thrumming through 
my body.  If asked, I would have said that the excitement was 
more nervous than erotic, but Mulder soon proved me wrong.

He politely offered me his arm when we left the restaurant and 
walked me over to the passenger side of the car.  On the pretext 
of opening the door, he grabbed me.  One arm wrapped around my 
chest, pinning my arms to my sides.  The other hand shot between 
my legs, going straight to my clit.  I gasped as pure desire, 
hot and uncontrollable, flooded my body.

"As I said, you'd be making those noises if I were touching 
you."  His fingers moved just once in a slow, firm caress.

I gasped again, this time in surprise, as my body simply took 
over.  My hips started pumping against his hand of their own 
accord, creating the friction I desperately wanted.  My head 
fell back against his chest as the pulsing in my clit made 
thought nearly impossible.

He murmured, "God, you're shameless.  I can feel how wet you are 
right through your clothes."
 
I writhed, trapped in his hold, my heart pounding with 
adrenaline.  My mind cringed at our public exposure, but I 
couldn't form a word of protest as the need spiraled through me, 
building unbearably.  I was whimpering helplessly, desperate to 
climax.

His erection was hot against the small of my back, but his voice 
was as cool as if we were discussing expense accounts.  "I'm 
going to let you come now because you have a long night ahead of 
you.  This is just to take the edge off.  But you'd better hurry 
before someone sees you like this." 

I pumped against his hand frantically.  Just as the sweep of 
headlights indicated that another car was pulling into the lot, 
I threw back my head and came.  He rubbed me in soft circles, 
prolonging the climax, shielding me from view with his body as 
the car drove past us.  Only when *he* was ready did he lift his 
fingers, letting me collapse against his chest.

My mind reeled as he finally seated me in the car and shut the 
door.  He'd just brought me off in public, and I'd been 
powerless to stop him.

He climbed into the driver's seat.  Rather than starting the 
engine, he leaned over and pulled me in for a kiss, our first of 
the evening.  One hand cupped the back of my head while the 
other squeezed my breast before running down my body, slipping 
between my legs again with a knowing touch.  I moaned in 
surprise as fresh arousal flared up in my belly.

He pulled his lips from mine, his fingers still on my clit.  
"How did it feel to lose control like that?  To be so turned on 
you couldn't command your own body?"

I stared helplessly into his eyes.  When he looks at me like 
that, it's impossible to pull my gaze away.  I gave him the only 
answer possible.  

"Good."

The voices of the couple in the other car approached.  Mulder 
deliberately released my head and lowered his hand to my breast.  
Instead of complaining about our public place, I leaned into the 
caress, as shameless as he wanted me to be.  My body tingled as 
his hands teased me, indifferent to our possible exposure.

His voice was soft but commanding.  "That's what's in store for 
you the rest of the night, baby.  I command your body.  It's out 
of your control."  A deep, scorching kiss.  "That's the only 
thing you're to think about on the way home."

So I'm thinking.  Thinking about the raw power emanating from 
him, thinking about the residual throb still pulsing in my sex.  
Very slowly, I let my hand drift up my thigh.

"Hands in your lap."

I sneak another look at him, but his eyes are on the road.  He's 
smiling gently.

"Obedience, baby.  Focus on obedience."

I finger my scarf again and focus, trying to escape the now-
constant ache by dissolving my will into his.


End "A Gift of Silk II," 1/2
********************


From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 29 Jun 2002 14:32:05 -0000
Subject: A Gift of Silk II, NC-17, by SubRosa (2/2) by SubRosa
Source: direct

Reply To: subrosa31@yahoo.com


"A Gift of Silk II," 2/2
Headings and disclaimer in part one.
********************


As I guide Scully into her apartment, I'm awed by the soft, 
dazed look on her face.  I did that to her: I taught her to open 
herself completely to my wishes and her own body's needs.  She 
has taken to submission beautifully, sinking into it so deeply 
that she's seemed barely aware of her surroundings for most of 
this evening.

I suggest that she refresh herself and prepare for the rest of 
the evening while I do the same.  When she disappears into the 
bathroom, I retrieve my duffel bag from the trunk and change 
into jeans and nothing else: the outfit I normally wear when 
topping her.  As I wait for her to return, I review my plans.

I've been keeping her tense and off-balance, starting right with 
initiating the game in our office, the place where she is never 
submissive.  I wasn't certain that was a good idea, so I 
deliberately waited until the workday was well over before 
slipping the scarf around her neck.  Then I returned to my own 
desk, letting her imagination take over.

It was a very good idea.  When I looked at her a few minutes 
later, she was just sitting there, staring blankly at the 
computer screen.  Her cheeks were a delightful shade of pink.  I 
grin to myself as the thought brings to mind my other plans for 
this evening.  She doesn't know it yet, but her horizons are due 
for a little expansion.

I led her from the office when it was time to go, taking her 
through less-used corridors so we wouldn't encounter anyone.  
She was perfectly docile during dinner, not even noticing when I 
ordered on her behalf.  I was so erect that it hurt when I made 
her touch herself in front of the unsuspecting waiter.  But the 
best was definitely bringing her to orgasm in the parking lot 
without a word of protest.  She looked a little surprised that 
I'd done it, but more relieved that I'd let her come.

I'm pushing her harder than I ever have before, blatantly 
exercising my dominance over her.  This is all part of the 
broader plan for the evening.  I want to up the voltage on our 
games, encourage Scully to be a little more uninhibited.  That 
means going past her comfort level and doing things she hasn't 
done before.

My particular goal for tonight is penetration.  Scully loves 
clitoral stimulation; she comes easily at my touch, under my 
mouth, or by rubbing herself against my cock.  While she finds 
intercourse pleasurable, though, orgasms from it are another 
matter.  She's always found it difficult to climax when her 
lover is inside her, and she confessed to me once that when she 
masturbates, she never feels the urge to go beyond touching her 
clit.  So tonight is going to be all about penetration.  I don't 
intend to give her an iota of stimulation unless there's 
something in her cunt.

But there's a broader goal, and that is letting her be wild.  
Scully has some performance anxiety.  She hides it well, but at 
times I know she worries that she's not responsive enough or 
skilled enough to satisfy me--as if her mere presence in my bed 
weren't more than I ever hoped for.  

The appeal of power games is the way they short-circuit her 
inhibitions, proving that she can be wild and responsive to her 
heart's delight--or rather, to my heart's delight.  I'm 
presenting sexual freedom to her as proof of my control.  Things 
she can't do if asked, she *will* do if forced.  And so I can 
repay her gift of submission by giving her pleasures she hasn't 
previously been able to experience. 

I think Scully also has trouble simply enjoying sex for its own 
sake.  Many women feel sex should only be combined with love, 
and Scully's no exception.  Intellectually, she believes nothing 
two consenting adults do together is wrong, but emotionally she 
has some lingering guilt about just having a good fuck.  My 
guess is this tendency was really exacerbated by her last two 
relationships, especially the one with Daniel Waterson.  Dating 
a married man is so contrary to Scully's deep-rooted integrity 
that she must have preferred to think it was all about love, not 
physical gratification.  And even though Jack Willis wasn't 
married, a student-teacher relationship breaks social rules, if 
not actual ones.  Scully wouldn't do that just for cheap 
thrills.

So I think in her past two relationships, she couldn't choose on 
her own simply to enjoy sex.  That must have contributed to her 
domination fantasies, and her guilt about a healthy desire 
turned into a fetish.  Sex with love is okay, but sex for the 
sheer fun of it must be forced on her.

That's exactly what I'm going to.  Tonight is going to be a 
decadent, hedonistic night of pleasure for the sake of pleasure 
alone.  She might not accept it when we make love as equals, but 
tonight she'll give in to the cravings of her body, animal 
instincts that don't care about who is touching her, or why.

Or in this case, what.  We're moving to the next stage now.  
Since beginning these games, we haven't done anything really new 
in our lovemaking, although I'd never previously tied her to the 
bed before fucking her or simply ordered her to suck my cock.  
But tonight there will be new intensity to my demands and new 
elements in our play.  Specifically, she's going to be 
introduced to the first in a series of sex toys I hope to use on 
her.  And with her.

The dildo I've chosen for tonight is a bit smaller than my cock, 
but hard and inflexible.  Made of acrylic, it's not designed to 
appear realistic; rather, it looks like a series of increasingly 
larger crystal balls fused together.  I don't want it to feel 
like there's a man's penis inside her.  I want her to know she's 
spreading her legs and welcoming a foreign object into her body 
because it's going to make her feel good.  I want to make her 
revel in the fact that sexual pleasure isn't always about the 
joining of bodies for mutual satisfaction.  Tonight, it's about 
pushing her buttons, manipulating her until she begs for release 
and doesn't care how she gets it.  

She emerges from her bedroom with her hair brushed and wearing 
fresh lipstick--Scully would insist on touching up her lipstick 
before boarding a lifeboat to flee a sinking ship--but with the 
same vague look on her face.  She is, as I instructed, 
completely nude.

I step behind her, pulling her against my body, and push my 
clothed erection against the small of her back.  She trembles as 
I remove her scarf.  

"Lift up your hands for me, sweetheart."

Obediently she stretches out her arms.  I wrap the silk around 
her wrists, twining it over and over in a figure eight between 
them before knotting it.  She'll have some use of her hands, but 
it will be restricted.

Her eyes flick to the canvas bag on the couch, the one that I 
usually carry her cuffs in.  Since I've already restrained her 
hands, she must be wondering what else I'm planning.

Reaching into it, I pull out the dildo.  Her eyes widen even 
before I speak with deliberate coarseness. 

"I'm going to do you with this tonight. Would you like that?"

Not surprisingly, she shakes her head.  

I lean in and kiss her until she whimpers.  "That's what I 
thought you'd say.  But we agreed on this.  You obey me no 
matter what, don't you?"

Her head lolls as if it's too heavy for her neck to support.  
"Yes, Master," she whispers.
 
My cock jumps at her unprompted introduction of that term.  I'd 
suspected that was what was going on in her brain, but the 
confirmation is pretty damned hot.

"That's very good, baby.  I like hearing those pretty lips"--I 
touch them with the toy in my hand--"call me 'Master.'"

A little tension goes out of her body, as if she'd been afraid I 
might reject the title.  As if I would.  My mind is already 
working on how to incorporate this new twist and, by the time 
the evening is over, the term will come naturally to her lips 
when she addresses me.  Which is, after all, what she wants.

"Tell me, baby, who do those lips belong to?"

She gasps as I run the smooth head over them.  "You, Master."

With my free hand, I cup her breast and squeeze it possessively.  
"Who do these sweet breasts belong to?"

She leans into my touch.  "You, Master."

Still holding the dildo to her painted lips, I slide my other 
hand down to cover her sex.  She groans as my middle finger 
parts her wet labia and just touches the entrance to her body.  
"It aches down here, doesn't it?  Feels empty?"

She sways.  "Yes."

"Who does this needy pussy belong to?"

A shiver.  "You, Master."

"Tell me."

"You, Master.  My needy pussy belongs to you."

Scully has made great progress in talking dirty even outside a 
scene, and it's a hell of a turn-on.  My new favorite 
masturbatory aid is the memory of Special Agent Dana Scully 
gasping out how well I filled her cunt as I bent her over a 
desk, fully dressed in her work clothes with her silk panties 
and pantyhose in shreds around her ankles, and rammed into her 
again and again.  We did it on my desk at home, of course, but 
it was still the realization of a long-cherished fantasy.
 
"That's right.  So I can pinch it, squeeze it, lick it, or fuck 
it with anything I want to, can't I?"

She nods in defeat.  "Yes, Master.  Anything you want."

"Good girl.  I like to see you give in to me even when you're 
trembling."  

I stroke her clit lightly to reward her obedience.  Her lips 
part on a moan and I slip the tip of the rod into her mouth.  

"A little fear makes the sensations so much more...intense, 
don't you think?"

Her eyes flutter closed and she sucks softly on the tip of the 
plastic phallus.  Just for a moment, but that's all the 
permission I need to keep going.

I lean forward to whisper into her ear.  "Don't worry, 
sweetheart.  You're going to love it."

She whimpers.

Pulling the toy from her lips, I lift her hands by the silk 
binding them together and give it to her.  She looks more 
apprehensive than I would have expected.

"Have you ever used one of these before?"

She shakes her head, her big eyes fixed on the toy.  It's a 
little shorter than the length of my cock, narrower at the top 
and widening to a bit larger at the bottom.  She shouldn't have 
any qualms about taking it in, but perhaps it looks intimidating 
to a novice.  I'm a little surprised to learn she is unfamiliar 
with dildos.  I know the stodgy older men she dated wouldn't be 
likely to use toys, but the boyfriend she had in med school was 
no choirboy.  

"What about a vibrator?"

"Yes, Master.  But just on my clit."  It must have been good--
her eyes have gone glassy at the memory.

"So nothing like this has ever been inside you?  You've never 
taken anything but a cock or fingers or a tongue into your 
body?"

She shakes her head.  How her cornflower-blue eyes could look so 
innocent right now, I'll never know.  But they do.  Tonight 
we're moving into virgin territory.  That turns me on more than 
I'd anticipated. 

"Well, this is your best friend for tonight, sweetheart.  You're 
going to become *very* intimately acquainted with it."

Her eyes get even wider.

I pitch my voice lower as I continue.  "It feels so good when I 
use your body that I forget to watch you.  So tonight, you get 
that instead of my cock.  You're going make love to it with your 
sweet mouth, you're going to take it into your needy body, and 
you're going to come on it.  Does that turn you on?"

She just blinks at me, her hands clutching the base weakly.  

"Answer me, sweetheart.  You know you can't hide anything from 
me.  Does it turn you on to picture me watching you sucking it, 
screwing it, getting off on a plastic toy between your legs?"

Painting those verbal images for Scully always does it.  "Yes, 
Master.  But I'm nervous."

I step in closer and run my hands over her coolly, possessively, 
as if I were the proud owner of a very fine racecar.  

"Oh, baby, that doesn't matter.  This little body is so wanton 
that very soon you won't care.  When you follow my commands it 
will make you feel so good, you'll beg to come."

Her body relaxes a little as she opens herself to my will.  I 
love to see her like this.

"We'll start with your mouth, I think." 

She lifts the pseudo-cock to her lips and licks the tip.  I nod 
approvingly and step back.  Shyly, she takes it into her mouth, 
sliding her tongue over it.  That shy expression always makes me 
crazy.  I love to make it give way to raw lust and then orgasmic 
abandon.

"Doesn't that feel good on your tongue?  Think of how it's going 
to feel in your body."

Her eyes close again for a moment.  When they open I sit back on 
the couch, deliberately parting my legs to give her a good view 
of the bulge in my jeans.  She drops to her knees, whether to 
keep my crotch on eye level or because that's how she's now 
accustomed to performing oral sex, I don't know.

I stroke myself through the denim as I watch her fellate the 
plastic rod.  Her eyes fix on my hand and she begins sucking 
with more enthusiasm.

"Oh, you like that, do you?"

She nods emphatically.

Unzipping my pants, I tell her, "Do a good job, and I'll give 
you more."  

I free my cock from its confines and grip it lightly, watching 
her expectantly.  She moves her mouth over the dildo again, 
watching my hand.  I stroke myself in time with her actions.  My 
moan is echoed by hers.

My hand synchronizes with her mouth in an erotic pas de deux.  
She quickly loses her shyness as she sucks and licks the toy as 
if she were touching me.  As I match my movements to hers, I 
swear I can feel her little tongue as she runs it teasingly up 
the shaft.

The tightness in my balls builds rapidly--unlike Scully, I 
didn't experience the release of orgasm in the restaurant 
parking lot.  I'm grunting as I thrust into my fist, regretting 
that I have implicitly given her control over our pace.  
Suddenly she lifts her eyes to meet mine, a look of feral lust 
on her face.  She gives one last lick up the shaft and engulfs 
the toy in her mouth.  

I come with a muffled shout, intensely aware of her eyes on me.  

It's a few moments before I can focus on her again.  She's still 
kneeling there, sucking lightly on the plastic tip.  She gives a 
soft moan when I meet her eyes--whether of desire or 
disappointment, I don't know.  I guess it's pretty clear now 
that I'm serious about fucking her with the dildo only.

I catch my breath and clean myself up with a towel I pull from 
the duffel bag.  She's still on her knees.  My chest swells with 
pride at her sweet, docile patience as I join her on the floor.  
I reach out to tweak a nipple casually and she moans.  Watching 
me get off has made her hot.  

I know the feeling.

I retrieve the dildo from her unresisting hands.  "That was very 
good, sweetheart.  Now, I believe I promised you something else 
tonight.  Spread your legs a bit more."

She complies quietly, still watching me.  I move the toy down 
between her legs, stopping when it is a few inches from her wet 
sex to admire the sight.  The clear plastic looks amazingly 
phallic as I hold it poised to enter her.  Her eyes drop, 
staring at it.

"Open yourself for me."

Startled, she focuses on my face again.  I pause.  Scully likes 
the commands to be repeated, likes to feel the bonds of my 
control pull closer and tighter around her until she's entangled 
inextricably in her submission, but this is new for us.  She 
could be having second thoughts.

"What color is the light, baby?"

She is silent for so long that I'm afraid I've pushed her too 
far, but finally she lets her breath out on a sigh.  "Green."

I don't change my tone.  She isn't upset by a threat in my 
voice, but it doesn't do anything for her either; a threat 
implies she can disobey.  What makes her melt is a voice so soft 
and assured that she knows she has no choice.

"Then move your hand down to your pussy"--she does so awkwardly 
because her hands are still bound together--"and open yourself 
for me."

She slides the index and middle fingers of her left hand to her 
labia and parts them with a wet smack.  

"That's better."  I bring the dildo to her lips again, holding 
it lengthwise against them.  She dutifully parts her lips and 
presses her tongue to the shaft.  I move it back and forth, 
twisting it to be certain every bit is again coated with her 
saliva.  She shivers as the graduated balls bump over her 
tongue.

"Now keep your eyes on me."

As her eyes meet mine obediently I lower the rod from her mouth, 
bringing it to where her fingers still hold her labia open for 
me.  She gasps as it breaches her entrance, a heartbreaking 
vulnerability in her eyes.  Keeping my expression implacable, I 
begin to press the rod gently but firmly into her body.  She 
gasps again as each ball slides in, giving her the full 
sensation of its increasing thickness.  

"Squeeze around it.  Feel how hard it is?"

"Yes, Master."  

Oh, I do like the sound of that.  I twist it a bit, just to hear 
her whimper.

She's breathing hard by the time the toy is halfway in, moaning 
softly as I rock it to tease her.  Her forehead is creased in 
confusion.  She likes the fullness and pressure within her, but 
can't accept that she's deriving such pleasure from an inanimate 
object.  The conflict on her face is beautiful.
 
I kiss her hard, pushing my tongue roughly into her mouth.  When 
her body softens and leans against mine, I pull the rod out and 
thrust it in firmly.  She grunts.

Breaking the kiss, I nibble my way over to her ear.  I tongue 
the delicate shell, making her shiver, before whispering, "On 
your hands and knees."

She leans forward to rest on her elbows, making a funny squeak 
as I push the toy in another notch.  When she is in place I 
slide between her open legs, lying on my back so she's 
straddling my face.  Propping my head up with a few throw 
pillows from the sofa, I pull her legs wider apart and breathe 
on her clit.  Her whole body is quivering in anticipation.

I pull the dildo out a few notches and push it back in.  She 
chokes back a moan.  I repeat the tease again, getting a louder 
moan in response.  On the third time I lick her clit, just once, 
as I slide the rod in. 

"Uh!"

I twist the toy gently.  "I love doing this to you, baby.  I 
could keep it up for hours."  

Her groan is gratifyingly desperate.  I smirk to myself, glad 
that she can't see my expression.  

"And I want you to hold still while I do it."


*****

I'm shaking like a leaf as Mulder performs that endless, slow 
tease.  The acrylic shaft feels odd--smooth and absolutely 
unyielding, not like his penis, with its baby-soft skin over its 
inner hardness.  Feeling him put something foreign inside me 
after I protested is more than a physical invasion.  My will 
feels soft and weak, unimportant next to his, and my pride is 
irrelevant.  The resulting arousal is almost enough to make me 
forget the strangeness of the penetration, but not quite.

Now he's pushed the dildo in deep enough that he has access to 
my clit.  He sets up a teasing pattern of licking, then 
thrusting, licking, then thrusting.  Soon I'm whimpering, 
internally begging for more attention to my clit.  My body aches 
for the release of orgasm, but how can I come with that thing in 
me?

I gasp in frustration when he pulls his mouth away.  

"What do you want?"

What do I want?  "God, I want to come.  I want you to take it 
out of me and lick me until I come."

Another gentle thrust.  "Of course you do, sweetheart.  But that 
doesn't matter, does it?  You know it's not your decision."

I moan softly.  The more powerless he makes me, the more turned 
on I get.  

I obey his instructions to remain motionless until a sudden prod 
at my clit makes my hips jerk, the inadvertent movement taking 
the toy deeper.  I let out an unrefined grunt.

"I told you to hold still."  He delicately traces the entrance 
to my vagina with his tongue, caressing the flesh as it clenches 
around the intruder.
 
"I--oh!--I can't."

"You can't, hmm?"  His words are muffled and punctuated by soft 
lapping sounds as he eats me out.  "You're always so strong, so 
disciplined, but because I'm licking you, you can't control your 
own body?"

Tears spring to my eyes as shame suddenly overwhelms me.  God, 
does he have to rub it in?  He's taunted me with my lack of 
control all night: as I touched myself in the restaurant, as I 
came in the parking lot.  Does he think I'm proud of these needs 
that compel me to humble myself like this?

A particularly skilled stroke forces a pleading whine from my 
throat.

No, I realize.  He knows I'm not proud.  And he knows his words 
make me hot, make me melt, make me want to give him anything he 
demands.  He knows I'm embarrassed--and he's giving me exactly 
what I want.  

Just as he said he would.  Now I realize what he meant when he 
told me this would be hard.  

"I asked you a question."

The question.  Control.  Can I control my body when he touches 
me?  

"No, Master.  I can't."  I shiver at the eroticism of my 
admission.

A flurry of licks on my throbbing clit.  "I know you can't, 
baby.  But I can."

His words send another rush of heat through me and my hips 
thrust, instinctively fucking that strange invader in my cunt.  
He smacks my ass casually before pushing it deeper.

"Don't move."

Curious what he'll do next, I move again.  He spanks me harder 
this time.  I jolt at the sensation and feel a new gush of 
wetness between my legs.  He chuckles in satisfaction and gives 
me a few more lazy thrusts.

"This turns you on, doesn't it?  I can see your muscles 
squeezing it.  You like being fucked by this toy.  Or maybe you 
like being spanked?"

I squirm at the sheer arousal his words evoke and he slaps me 
again.  

"I told you not to move.  If you want to come, you'll do as I 
tell you.  More than that, baby.  You won't come until you give 
in to me completely."
 
God, his words make me wet and that plastic rod is hard, so hard 
within me, and his probing tongue makes me want to move *so* 
badly but the smack! of his hand on my ass reminds me to hold 
still....

And he forces the dildo in deeper and firmly licks my clit 
again.  I jerk and another slap reminds me of his command, then 
another, and another.  They make me whimper as I rock myself on 
that hard intruder until his third warning finally penetrates my 
mind.  I'm not supposed to move.  I'm supposed to hold myself 
here, head down, knees spread, ass in the air, because that's 
what he wants.

What *he* wants.  I touch the fabric round my wrists and a 
blanket of peace falls over me.  My body is still quivering with 
excitement, but the need to pump against the dildo as if I were 
making love to a man fades.  I'm not making love to Mulder.  I'm 
being made love to.  I'm also being fucked, used, and 
subordinated to his will.  All I have to do is obey.  

My head falls down to rest on my arms and I feel the weight of 
my body force the dildo in another notch as my legs spread 
wider, making me sink down further.  He hums in satisfaction as 
he recognizes my surrender.

"That's very good, sweetheart.  I can see you giving in to me.  
But I still want to see your ass turn a pretty shade of pink."  
He slaps me again before twisting the shaft.  "Tighten your 
muscles, baby."  

Obediently I tighten my vaginal muscles.  He slides out from 
between my legs, caressing my wet sex one more time before he 
kneels behind me.  He pauses long enough to make me squirm in 
anticipation before his hand falls again, stinging my ass 
sharply.  My clit throbs as he begins spanking me steadily, 
using both hands now.  

"Keep squeezing."

Realizing what he means, I begin a rhythmic working of my 
muscles, fucking myself with the toy buried in my cunt as my 
cheeks heat up under his punishment.

No.  He's not punishing me.  He's spanking me because he wants 
to, and that's reason enough.  It doesn't occur to me now to 
want anything except for him to use me as he likes.

The skin is burning where his blows fall.  I moan as I keep 
tightening and releasing my muscles, shivering in excitement as 
they squeeze around the hard plastic.  I don't mind the strange 
feel of it anymore; the odd smoothness is incredibly exciting.  
I'm in an altered state now, where the pressure of the thick 
shaft in my vagina, the sting of his blows, and the swipes he 
gives to my clit all blend into the dark excitement holding me 
in thrall.

His slaps are becoming less frequent and he fondles my rear 
possessively after each blow.  His voice comes in my ear again.  
"You like that toy in your pussy, don't you?  I told you that 
you would."

I moan against my bound hands.  "Oh, yes."  I can't remember why 
I doubted him.  

The slaps finally stop and I sigh in relief.  The dildo shifts 
again as he reaches for the base and begins to thrust it in and 
out of my body.  

"Yeah, I love watching you get fucked.  Watching you display 
yourself for me, watching a toy drive in and out of you from 
every angle.  Maybe next time I'll get you one that vibrates.  
I'd like to see you get yourself off with a vibrator so thick 
that it feels like you can't take it in.  But you will, because 
I tell you to."

I can picture myself as he would see me, sitting on the bed 
naked except for my scarf.  My legs are bent at the knees with 
the soles of my feet pressing together to keep my thighs as far 
open as possible.  I'm slowly pushing the large, buzzing 
vibrator into my body, rocking slightly as it fills me fuller 
than I ever have been before.

"Of course," he muses, "you're so pretty when you're tied down.  
I'd spread your legs so wide that your lips would open for me, 
showing that hungry little mouth begging to be filled."

The scene in my mind changes.  Now I'm bound to the bed, straps 
pulling my knees up and away from my body until my gaping, 
glistening sex is completely exposed.  

"And I'd fill it.  But I wouldn't neglect your clit."  I cry out 
as he strokes my clit with his free hand.  "I'd get you a nice 
toy that teases it too.  I'd stroke in and out of you, making 
you burn with need."  

His hands mimic his words as he moves the dildo while plucking 
gently at my clit.  My ragged breaths are loud as I wait for him 
to speak again, hanging on his every word.
 
"Can you picture it, baby?  I wouldn't turn it on at first.  I'd 
just fuck you, letting you feel that hard, smooth toy inside 
you, stroking at your clit with every thrust.  Then, when I 
decided you were ready, I'd bury it in you and turn it on high.  
I bet you'd scream."

My body arches as I imagine the sudden sensory overload.  He's 
pumping me harder and pinching my clit more firmly as his words 
paint those unbearably erotic images.  

"Can you feel it?  Buzzing away inside you, flicking at your 
clit even faster than my tongue can.  And you tied down the 
whole time.  I wouldn't blindfold you.  I'd prop your head on a 
pillow so you could look down and watch me screw you senseless, 
see your body jerk and writhe helplessly as that little toy 
drives you crazy.  I might have to gag you so the neighbors 
don't hear you screaming."

There's something so decadent about being fucked like he 
describes.  I can see his face, placid and disinterested as I 
writhe and try to impale myself on that tireless little machine, 
controlled not even by his will but by a mindless object that 
hums away, indifferent to its effect on my over-stimulated body.  

Even as my fantasy self struggles in her bonds, my body has gone 
nearly limp.  I feel a trickle of moisture down my inner thigh 
as his hands work me with consummate skill.

He isn't finished yet.  "And you'd love it.  You'd part your 
legs mindlessly for it and offer yourself.  Because when you're 
like this, baby, all you know is submission.  My voice, my 
fingers, my cock, my toys--you'll yield to anything that can 
make you come."

God, how does he know what I'm thinking?  His expert fingers 
play me like an instrument, coaxing just the response he wants 
until the need suddenly explodes within me, forcing me onto the 
plateau where orgasm beckons if only he will give it.  I begin 
to beg brokenly, helplessly.  Dignity is irrelevant here.  All 
that matters is that only he can give me what I need more than 
my next breath.

"Please oh please please please..."

"Please what, baby?"

"Please let me come."

"Let you come, hmm?"  I don't know exactly what he's doing to my 
clit, but it pulls a short scream from me.  "Let you come like 
this?"

I lift my head enough to look up at my body.  With Mulder still 
kneeling behind me I can't see much of him, but I certainly can 
see his hands.  One holds the base of the dildo, still moving it 
steadily in me.  The other has captured my clit, squeezing it 
between his first and second fingers as he rubs at me rapidly.  
I imagine that I can see the flesh pulsing as it sends waves of 
aching need through me.  

The sight of those seemingly disembodied hands tormenting me is 
too much.  Panting, I let my head fall back on my forearms.

"Yes, Master.  Please let me come like this."  An extra spike of 
arousal pierces me as the title rolls off my tongue without 
conscious thought.

"Or like this?"

He pulls the dildo out of me and forcefully replaces it with 
what feels like three fingers.  Now the smooth acrylic head is 
rubbing my clit.  I groan in ecstasy.

"Yes! Yes, please."

His voice nearly growls in my ear.  "Which is it, baby?  How 
should I make you come?"

I can't think.  He ties me up and teases me like this so I don't 
*have* to think.  All I know is that I need.  

"Please.  Whatever you want.  Please just make me come."

Satisfaction radiates from him as he takes his fingers out 
again, leaving me screamingly empty.  Moving me like a rag doll, 
he flips me over onto my back and spreads my legs wide.  My 
bound hands fall limply above my head.

"That was the right answer.  Good girl." 

His lips cover my clit just as the dildo impales me; there's no 
other way to describe the feel of it driving into my unresisting 
vagina.  I squeal as he forces the last, thickest ball at the 
base into me and uses the hard rod to hold my jerking hips in 
place as his tongue lashes my clit.  A few slaps remind me to 
remain still while he drives me mad.  Body screaming for 
release, I return to my broken pleading.  

"Please please oh please..."

He hums, his tongue prodding me harder, pulls the dildo out a 
few inches and pushes it home.

"AAH!  Please!"  

He mumbles into my overheated flesh, "Please, what?"

"MASTER!  Please let me come"--I sob as he pulls it out and rams 
into me again--"let me come, Master!"

God, he's driving me higher and higher and he's going to make me 
come with that hard toy inside me and I love it loveitloveit 
getting so tight around it...

..."Oh GOD!"  I'm coming on it! "Oh!" He's still licking and I'm 
coming coming "OH!" hard squeezing coming hard licking coming 
hard... 

"Ooh! Ooohhhh!"

Finally the convulsions fade and I lie panting, legs sprawled, 
as he slows the motion of his hand.  His voice comes smug in my 
ear.  

"We can do that again sometime, you know.  All you have to do is 
get on your hands and knees, lift your pretty ass, and say 
'Please, Master, fuck me with the dildo.'"

"Ah!"  A last spasm takes me as I picture myself doing just 
that.  He captures my mouth, swallowing my cry as he twists the 
shaft one more time.  

When he finally lets me go, I'm weak and limp.  I don't think I 
could move a muscle.  He lets me rest for a while before 
touching my face.  His fingers are wet with my juices.  

"How do you feel, baby?"

I love that endearment.  "Tired, Master.  Good."

He gently pulls the dildo out of my body.  I notice that my 
thighs are damp and sticky.

"I'm going to clean up," he tells me.  "I'll be right back."

I lie on the floor, feeling peaceful but drained and empty.  
Suddenly, nameless emotion swells through me with an 
overwhelming force.  It tightens my throat, rendering me 
speechless as he returns and kneels beside me.  When he starts 
to bathe me gently with a wet cloth, the tenderness is too much.  
I burst into tears.

"Scully!  Are you all right?"  He drops the cloth and pulls me 
into his lap.

I shake my head, rejecting the name he called me as the tears 
flow faster.  "Yes, Master.  I don't know why I'm crying."

He touches my vagina carefully.  "Are you hurt?  Sore?"

I sigh at the oddly soothing touch.  "No, Master."

He starts to untie my wrists, but I shake my head once more.  
"Please, no."  If he does, I'll have to be myself again, and I'm 
not ready for that.  

He stops, returning to petting my sex.  His cool fingers are 
soothing on the hot, overstimulated flesh.  Face tender, he 
slips a finger gently into my vagina and I sigh in relief.  
There's no arousal from his action, but his soft repossession of 
me grounds me even as I sob harder.  I curl into his chest and 
let the storm take me.


*****

I shift awkwardly, settling Scully in my lap.  Keeping one hand 
between her legs, I wrap my other arm tighter around her 
trembling shoulders as she weeps.  I let her go, murmuring 
soothing nonsense words, calling her "baby" and "sweetheart."  
She called me "Master," so she wants to stay in scene.  And in 
scene, I take care of her.

This sudden flood of emotion doesn't surprise me--actually, I 
was waiting for it.  I would never call Scully "repressed," but 
most of the time she does keep things bottled up.  I expected 
that eventually, the vulnerability she embraces here might 
loosen her tight hold on her emotions.  I'm just a little 
surprised it came out so openly.

I keep whispering to her.  "I told you this stirred up emotions.  
This is it, sweetheart.  Cry it out.  Those tears are going to 
wash away all your fear, all your tension, going to leave you so 
clean and peaceful.  I'm here.  Nothing bad will ever happen 
when you give yourself to me like this.  Ever.  Let it go."

It's a long time before she cries herself out, but I just rock 
her, heedless of the stiffness growing in my legs.  Maybe I 
should remember that the next time I have her on her knees for 
an extended period.

Finally her tears stop.  I hold her tight as I ask, "Feel better 
now?"

Her voice is soft but clear.  "Yes.  I don't know why I started 
crying.  It just--it just happened."

Carefully I withdraw my finger from her body and stand up, 
lifting her in my arms and carrying her to the bedroom.  

"It's all right.  That happens sometimes in a scene.  Sometimes 
you just find catharsis."

She looks at me as I place her on the bed, mild surprise in her 
eyes.  "Catharsis.  Yes.  That's it exactly."

I lean over and kiss her forehead.  "Will you be okay if I get 
ready for bed?  I'll be right back."

Her eyes are already closed.  "Yes, Master.  Thank you for 
taking care of me."

I stop in mid-motion, stunned, before whispering gruffly, "I'll 
always take care of you, baby.  I love you."

It doesn't take me three minutes to clean up the living room and 
shut off the lights, but when I return she's already fast 
asleep.  As I undress I look at her hands, still bound in the 
silk.  I debate removing it, but decide let it go.  She'll have 
no trouble releasing the knot if she wakes in the night.

I turn out the light and climb into bed, cuddling her close.  
She sighs softly.  Asleep, she seems small and fragile.  Her 
fair skin and delicate features are almost ethereally beautiful 
in the dim light filtering through the curtains.  

'Thank you for taking care of me.'  The phrase runs through my 
brain over and over again.  Those are words I never expected to 
hear from Scully in any context.  I never before realized how 
badly I wanted to.

I'm gently tracing the soft fabric around her wrists when she 
opens one eye.  "Y' all right, Mul'er?"  she mumbles around a 
yawn.

I give her a squeeze.  "Yeah, I'm fine.  I'm just planning what 
I'm going to do to you next time."

"Mmm."  Her eye closes again as she snuggles into my chest.  
"Did you like it tonight, Mul'er?  I did.  Never felt like that 
before."

Her words fill me with satisfaction and determination to repeat 
the experience.  "I loved it, baby.  And that was just the 
beginning.  You're *really* going to like what comes next."

"Yeah," she murmurs.  "I think I probably will."

She sighs again and slips back into sleep.  I give her forehead 
one last, feather-light kiss.

"You will, baby.  I promise."



End "A Gift of Silk II"
*************************

Liked it?  Hated it?  Want more?  Let me know at 
subrosa31@yahoo.com.  


MORE AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This fic endeavors to treat the subject of BDSM responsibly, but 
does *not* come from informed personal experience. (My penname 
has led some readers to that conclusion; in fact, it comes from 
the phrase "sub rosa," a Latin idiom meaning "in secrecy.")  I 
therefore relied heavily on the works of others in writing this 
fic.

Within fanfic the greatest influence, of course, was Kristel St. 
John's "Aphrodisia" series.  The second installment, which gives 
a more comprehensive and realistic depiction of establishing a 
BDSM relationship, was invaluable when I wrote the first scene 
of this story.  Throughout the "Aphrodisia" series, Kristel 
deals much more thoroughly with the complexities of a BDSM 
relationship, especially the emotional adjustments required of 
each party.  Her website, http://www.cchg.net/ksaintjohns/, also 
gives links to other BDSM sites.  

Nonfic resources consulted for this story can be found at:
http://www.sexuality.org/bdsm.html
http://www.sexuality.org/l/subnet/AboutBDSM.html
http://www.soj.org
http://www.unrealities.com/adult/ssbb/faq.htm
http://latches.beautyscastle.com/content.htm






From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 22 Sep 2002 12:43:31 -0000
Subject: A Gift of Silk III, NC-17, 1/3 by SubRosa
Source: direct

Reply To: subrosa31@yahoo.com


TITLE:  A Gift of Silk III
AUTHOR: SubRosa 
RATING: Hard NC-17 for graphic consensual sex and language.
CATEGORY: SRA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance 
SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, 
     Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting,
     and to the actors who portray them.  They are being used 
     without permission, and no profit is being made. 
DISTRIBUTION: Wherever you like, but please let me know.  
THANKS: To Denise, Adara, and Laura for beta services.
DEDICATION: To Jean Helms, Angelique, and Sybil, who had a bad
     week a while back.  Thanks, ladies.
FEEDBACK: Obsessed over at subrosa31@yahoo.com.
SUMMARY: Mulder, Scully, D/s, and some light angst. 
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: 

This story is rated NC-17 for graphic sex.  Please do not read if 
you are under the age of 17 or if this subject matter may offend 
you.  

The story is a work of erotica in a fictional D/s context; it is 
not necessarily an accurate representation of a BDSM 
relationship.  All my stories, as well as some sites used for 
research into the BDSM lifestyle, can be found at my website: 
http://www.geocities.com/subrosa31.



********************


Scully's damp, tangled hair is a dark russet stain across the 
pillowcase.  The only sounds in the moonlit room are the gentle 
susurrations of the cotton sheets and her breathy voice rising 
and falling in urgency.  

I've been working on making her more vocal during a scene.  Her 
task for tonight is to talk, to narrate each sensation and desire 
I create in her.  I want her body to control her voice; I want to 
hear her plead and beg as the throbbing in her blood, not her 
brain, demands.

Vocalizing her desire is among the more difficult things that I 
ask of her, and she's normally reticent about expressing her 
needs.  But a heavy caseload and her family obligations have 
conspired to keep us from playing for longer than either of us 
would like, and tonight she yielded to my command without a 
murmur.  Now her soft words fill the room with the sounds of her 
submission, hanging in the air around us as my fingers play 
between her legs, coaxing the whispers from her.

When it's finally time to reward her, I begin to stroke her in 
firm, quick circles, first ordering her to talk for as long as 
she can.  I'm waiting for that adorable little crease in her 
forehead when her brow knits as she focuses on her climax.  
Usually the relief shows on her face when I begin to build her to 
orgasm, but as I watch tonight her forehead wrinkles in anxiety, 
not concentration.
 
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I can't, Master."

"You can't?  Can't what?"

She shakes her head, shame in her eyes.  "I can't come, Master.  
I'm sorry." 

She sounds surprisingly certain about that.  She's occasionally 
been unable to climax, but never at playtime, and she's never 
given up so quickly before.  

I stop stroking her, but leave my hand lightly covering her mons.  
"What's wrong?"

"I'm just--I can't come under pressure."

Pressure?  How is this different from any other time I've topped 
her?  An iron band constricts my chest.  Has she changed her mind 
about this game?

I take a deep breath and sit back, giving her space.  "Do we need 
to talk?"

With a small shrug, she reverts to typical Scully reserve.

I touch her scarf, the sign that the game is still on.  "Do you 
want me to take this off?"

To my relief, she shakes her head.  Past experience has taught me 
that it is easier for her to discuss her sexuality when she is in 
her submissive persona.  Declining my offer to end the game 
probably means she wants to talk, even if it's difficult.

I ask for the third time, "What's wrong?"  

Instead of responding she rolls closer to me.  I lie back down 
and draw her into my arms.  For a few minutes I just hold her, 
breathing in her scent, steeling myself for whatever she might 
say.  Finally I take the plunge.

"I want you to be honest with me, baby.  Is this too much?  Are 
you having second thoughts about playing this game?"

She shakes her head firmly.  "No."

The iron band loosens as I hold back a sigh of relief.  My worst 
fear has been allayed, and she has given me the opening to find 
out what is wrong.  If she wants to play the game she has to do 
it by the rules, and that means answering my questions.

"Then that's enough holding back.  Tell me what happened."

She pauses so long that I'm afraid I'll have to discipline her.  
Finally, though, she sits up.  

"It was the talking, Master."

I silently wait for her to elaborate.  She looks down at her 
hands, tightly clasped in her lap, and continues.

"As I described how I felt, I was thinking about it more and 
feeling it less."  I nod understanding, and she continues, "And I 
just lost the illusion."

"You mean the game didn't seem real anymore?"

She nods.  That makes sense, based on what I've observed in 
earlier games.  Scully usually needs to hear my voice, my 
commands, to make the scene come alive for her.  One goal of this 
evening was to help her break free of this limitation, but we can 
work on it another time.  There's something else that needs to be 
explained first.  

"Okay, I can see that you lost the mood.  What I don't understand 
is why you gave up so quickly."

She sighs.  "I just know, when I feel a certain way, that I'm not 
going to be able to come.  It's happened before."  Her hands are 
twisting restlessly.  "Sometimes I'm just not very responsive.  
And I knew you'd be disappointed in me."

"You, not responsive," I repeat in disbelief.  Scully's reserved 
at work, but only an idiot would assume that's the sum total of 
her personality.  Yes, I've bedded less inhibited women, and 
that's fun for a one-night stand.  But Scully burns with a quiet, 
deep passion that I plan to warm myself with for the rest of my 
life.  

"Other men have told you that?"  I ask, knowing even as I phrase 
the question that's not it.  Scully, even a younger, less 
confident Scully, wouldn't stay with a man who belittled her.  
"Other men let you think that."

She shrugs.  I don't push her further.  But I want to know what I 
did to make her see me in the same light as those men.
 
"Why did this come up now?"

"Because we hadn't done this for a while, and I wanted it so 
badly..."

"And?" I prompt.

"And so it became that much more important to get it right."  She 
pauses.  "To do it perfectly."

Not me at all, then.  That's a relief.  In fact, I probably 
should have expected this.  I guessed a long time ago that Scully 
has had performance anxiety in her previous relationships, though 
she's never confirmed it before.  I'd like to think all her past 
problems would vanish with me, but that's not how it works.  A 
person's sexual makeup doesn't change just because you're with a 
new partner.  We haven't had many problems before because we've 
been in the honeymoon phase of our relationship, but sooner or 
later reality was bound to emerge.
 
She fingers the scarf.  "That's one reason I always liked the 
idea of this game, even before you made it real for me.  I 
thought I'd be putting everything in your hands, but the truth is 
I still have to respond.  Perhaps now more than ever."

I nod noncommittally, trying to show my understanding without 
reinforcing her sense of guilt.  "Is anything else bothering 
you?"

She shakes her head.  "No, I think that was it.  I just got 
jarred out of the game, and other worries started creeping in."  

I hold her for a minute.  I know something unusual has happened 
here; she has opened herself up to me.  She's never talked to me 
about her sexual insecurities before.  I'm humbled, even a little 
frightened by her trust.  Will she regret this in the morning?

Even if she does, she chose to continue the game tonight.  I need 
to figure out how to do so, now that she's lost the mood and 
isn't going to get it back.  We could just go to sleep, but she 
might see that as a rejection.  

So it's time to refocus.  If she's worried about success or 
failure, I'll give her something she can succeed at.  Besides, 
the rule is that her body is mine to use whether she has an 
orgasm or not.

"Let's make something clear, baby.  Those other men were fools."  

Her breathing quickens as I adopt my commanding tone of voice 
again.  I rest my hand over her heart, then her sex.  

"They didn't know what passion is in here, how to bring it out.  
And you never gave yourself to them like this, did you?"

She shakes her head.  "No, Master.  Only to you."  

I kiss her deeply.  

"Only to me.  So this is different from anything you've ever done 
before, felt before.  I'm going to make it different--and I'm 
going to make *you* different."

Her eyes widen.

I speak in my sternest voice.  "Your pleasure is important, 
sweetheart, but let's talk about what your responsibility really 
is.  You know the answer."

She quivers and lowers her eyes.  "To obey you."

"That's right.  Now, if you want to forgo an orgasm tonight, you 
may.  But I'm not going to.  Lie back and spread your legs."

I lay her on the bed in the good, old-fashioned missionary 
position.  I cover her with my body, overwhelming her, position 
myself at her entrance and stop.

"Maybe you've forgotten what these evenings are about."

I slide into her in a single hard stroke, burying myself to the 
hilt. She gasps.  I pull out slowly and ram in again, letting her 
feel every inch of me.

"Your body is here to give me pleasure.  It's nice if you come, 
but not necessary."  

Another slow, hard thrust, another gasp.  I settle into a steady, 
firm rhythm, the strokes hard enough to rock her body.  I want to 
drive away the thought of the men who didn't satisfy her in bed, 
who let her feel responsible for not satisfying them.  I want to 
drive away the memory of every man but me.

So I talk to her now, giving her the words she needs.  She's hot 
and snug, I tell her, wet and so, so yielding....

And she is.  She's warm and accepting, her passivity more erotic 
than I ever could have imagined.  My hips move faster of their 
own accord, snapping into her.  She grunts softly.

I force myself to slow down, continuing the lesson.  I won't be 
deterred by a little setback, I tell her.  The game is new to 
her, and she still has much to learn.  But she made her promises, 
and I'll make sure that she lives up to them.  

I have to stop to catch my breath.  My hips are setting their own 
pace, and I'm fast approaching the point of no return.

"There's nothing for you to worry about," I growl harshly.  It's 
all I can do to keep my words from dissolving into pants.  "It 
isn't"--pant--"your place"--huff--"to worry."
 
She clutches me closer, her body relaxing.  Was she seriously 
afraid that I would be angry?

I would reassure her, but the tightness in my balls and at the 
base of my spine makes speech nearly impossible.  

With difficulty, I grit out, "I'm going to have so much fun 
teaching you."

She moans and I come, claiming her for my own.

 

********************


Mulder was up and out of bed by the time I woke up this morning, 
the morning after we encountered our first serious problem as 
lovers.

I get up at the crack of six without fail on workdays, but one of 
the few college-era pleasures I still cling to is sleeping in on 
weekends.  Mulder knows no such schedule; he gets up whenever his 
frenetic energy demands it.  This morning, he left our bed early, 
jogged, and showered before I was ready to stir.  I was relieved; 
I want some time to think.  Besides, when he gets up first he 
brings me my morning coffee in bed.

I feel restless this morning, worried about my failure and more 
than a little sexually frustrated.  As I listen to Mulder 
bustling around in the kitchen, I brood about last night. 

I don't need a psychologist to analyze the origins of my sexual 
preferences.  I'm perfectly aware that I have a tendency towards 
perfectionism and a tight control of my emotions.  I don't 
consider those qualities flaws; they got me where I am today, and 
enable me to perform my job and survive everything life has 
thrown at me.  So my control and attention to detail aren't 
something I need to escape, as such, by letting Mulder top me.  
Even so, it's nice to lay them aside sometimes.  I'm not happy 
they interfered last night, but I trust Mulder to keep working 
until I've overcome them.  I'm rather looking forward to it, in 
fact.

No, what I really need to think about is how unusually 
forthcoming I was when he asked me questions.  Perhaps Mulder 
didn't notice anything; one would expect any new couple to have 
that discussion when they hit a bump in the road.  But it's not a 
conversation I've ever had before.  With anyone.

When Mulder and I began our D/s relationship, he told me I 
wouldn't be able to keep secrets from him.  At the time, I 
thought those words were just part of the illusion that he builds 
to seduce me.  Now, though, I understand better what he meant.  
My emotions are much closer to the surface when he tops me.  My 
natural instinct to be reserved is still there when he asks me 
questions, but last night it was overcome by that emotional 
rawness and--well, it's difficult to accept, but my reserve 
yielded to his dominance.

I've carried anxieties about my sexual performance around for a 
long time.  I've accepted that those anxieties were part of the 
appeal that submission holds for me, and have mentally reconciled 
this small dependency in the bedroom with the independence that I 
jealously guard in the rest of my life.  Last night, however, 
crossed out of the sphere of the exclusively sexual.  My 
emotional independence has been eroded as well, and I'm feeling 
an instinctive withdrawal now, a desire to pull back and rebuild 
my walls.

For the first time in my life, I want to fight that instinct.  If 
Mulder and I are going to remain a couple, it will require an 
emotional openness that isn't easy for me.  I have to suppress 
the flight instinct that, if truth be told, contributed to the 
failure of my past relationships.  Not only because openness is 
more healthy for our relationship, but because it actually felt 
good to let those past fears out.  It would seem that somewhere, 
somehow, my paradigms have shifted.

I'm just not sure the best context for exploring emotional 
honesty is when I'm on my knees addressing him as "Master."  And 
yet, that felt good too.

Mulder must have decided it's time for me to be up, because he 
enters the room with my coffee and the Sunday crossword.  He's 
dressed again in his pajama bottoms, but his hair is still damp 
from his shower.  He hands the puzzle and mug to me, sets his own 
coffee on the nightstand, and climbs back into bed.  

"Want to go out for brunch when you're ready to drag yourself out 
of bed?" he teases lightly.  Good.  He's not going to bring up 
last night unless I do.  

After a week on the road, it'd be nice to have a home-cooked 
meal.  I take a quick mental stock of what's left in my 
refrigerator.  I'd planned to go to the store last night, but he 
showed up early, scarf in hand, and other things intervened.  As 
a result, I realize, our breakfast options are a quart of skim 
milk, some canned peaches, and a few stalks of celery.  Even if 
cooking were one of my talents, that wouldn't work.

"Brunch sounds good."

We laze in bed for a while.  I work on the crossword while Mulder 
channel-surfs through the Sunday news shows, finally settling on 
one.

"Club drugs and orgies!"  the announcer intones.  "Could YOUR 
kids be at risk?"

I divide my attention between the puzzle and the TV as the news 
segues into a hyperbole-laden account of drug busts at a few 
raves.  Supposedly, several raids looking for the latest trendy 
drug also turned up stoned teenagers engaging in risky sexual 
behaviors.  Within a few minutes, the commentator has turned a 
couple anecdotal incidents into an impending epidemic of drug-
induced hedonism sweeping the nation's youth.  Fox News must be 
trying to combat declining ratings.

When the reporter interviews a vapid young woman whose gushing 
account of her experiences sounds more like an advertisement for 
the behavior than a warning, I abandon the crossword and look up.  

Mulder gives me an appraising look as the story wraps up, and 
mutes the TV.  "Are you interested in incorporating that into a 
scene?"

I just raise an eyebrow.  What other comment does the idea of two 
federal agents using illicit substances in the pursuit of better 
kinky sex require?

He matches my expression, just to show that he can.  

"Not drugs, obviously.  I was thinking of a little wine at 
dinner, maybe an Irish coffee afterwards.  Enough to get you nice 
and relaxed as I plan to have my way with you."
 
I set the puzzle aside.  "I thought alcohol and drugs were 
strictly contraindicated with BDSM.  We've never had more than a 
single glass of wine before a scene." 

He grins wryly at my use of the medical language.

"Yes, that's the general rule.  It's common sense, and I prefer 
to err on the side of caution, but I know you and your limits 
pretty well by now.  I have to remain sober no matter what, but 
we could probably get you a little looser if you explicitly 
wanted to.  Say, if you wanted to play 'Frat Boys and Drunken 
Cheerleader.'"

"'Frat Boys and Drunken Cheerleader,'" I repeat dryly.  There may 
have been a touch of derision in my tone, but if that suggestion 
didn't deserve it, nothing does.

Now he looks a little sheepish.  "You know what I mean.  It's a 
common fantasy to be out of control."  

His voice softens as he watches me, knowing this is potentially 
dangerous ground. "Does it bother you to think about this?"

I shake my head.  "Nothing is off limits for us, Mulder.  I might 
refuse to do something, but not to talk about it.  Nothing that 
happens outside our bedrooms determines what we do inside them."

He leers.  "Or living rooms?"

"Or living rooms."

"Or kitchens?"

"Or kitchens."

"Or automobiles?"

"Don't push it, Mulder."

Smirking, he returns to the original topic of conversation.  "I'm 
not suggesting that we dress you in a little skirt, give you 
pompoms, and get you tanked--although I'll find you the skirt if 
you like--ow!"

I withdraw the hand I smacked him with and smile innocently.  
God, I'd forgotten what it was like to have *fun* with a lover.  

"But people do fantasize about doing something wild under the 
influence of alcohol or pot," he continues doggedly.  "Something 
they wouldn't consider otherwise."

I sink back against the pillows as his voice flows over me.  This 
is a technique he's used before; he outlines a scenario to see 
how I react, then either discards it or uses it to create a scene 
for us later.  I play along, mulling the idea over.

"So the cheerleader can have an orgy with the frat boys and not 
be responsible for it?"

"Exactly. Would you like that?  Being so tipsy that they lead you 
to an upstairs bedroom and take turns on you?  Floating in a haze 
as one anonymous stranger after another screws your unresisting 
body?"
  
His voice has adopted the cadence reserved for our games, and my 
body shivers in the automatic response he has so exquisitely 
trained it to give.
 
"Perhaps you'd become so wild that you'd do whatever they wanted.  
I bet they'd get you on your hands and knees and make you suck 
one thick cock while another one fucks you from behind.  When 
they both came, two more would take their place until you'd 
serviced them all."

I consider the scenario.  It's never appealed to me before, but 
group sex is a common fantasy, and the times we've acted out 
Mulder's secret desires have shown me that things which never 
appealed to me before can be wildly exciting with the right 
partner.

Seeing that I'm picturing the scene, he offers another image.  
"Or maybe they'd all service *you*.  You'd be spread out on a 
bed, a mouth sucking each breast and another between your legs 
while a dozen hands held you down.  You could be so high that 
you'd think you were dreaming as you climaxed again and again.  
They could move you, touch you, fuck you every which way and all 
you'd do is writhe and beg for more."

Watching my face intently, he concludes the scene. "You'd have no 
inhibitions.  None.  All you'd feel is bliss as they took 
whatever they wanted from your beautiful, helpless body."

He thumbs my erect nipple before his voice returns to normal.  
"If that interests you, I could approximate it by blindfolding 
you and using various toys.  But if we do anything to diminish 
your alertness, I'd pull the plug if I had the slightest 
suspicion that anything might be wrong.  Especially if I thought 
that you'd lost the ability to use your safewords.

"Would you like me to set something up?"

The decision takes surprisingly little thought.  "No."

His gaze flicks pointedly to my breasts.  "You sure?"

My brow furrows as I try to verbalize the reasoning behind my 
automatic denial.

"I'm sure.  The story turned me on because I respond to your 
voice and the idea of being controlled, but not to the scenario 
itself."

He nods acknowledgement.  "But it might help with 
the...difficulty you had last night."  

I shake my head, becoming more convinced as I consider the idea 
further.  "First, alcohol dulls sensation, for me at least.  I'd 
be less inhibited, but it'd actually be harder to reach orgasm.  
And..."  My voice trails off as I try to formulate my thoughts.

His gaze is level and open, nonjudgmental.  "And what?"

I begin to suspect that I've been played.  "If I lose my 
inhibitions, I lose the ability to participate.  This sounds odd 
when I'm the submissive"--I can now say that word without 
stumbling over it--"but it feels like I'd lose responsibility."

He nods.  "It's not odd at all.  It's submission because you 
choose to give it.  That's always the case, no matter what the 
scene shows.  Even if you become fully immersed in the fantasy, 
subconsciously you know it's your choice."

Warm fingers thread through my hair.  "And so do I.  Every time, 
your submission is your gift to me.  That never leaves your 
control.  And when you give it to me you've given your part of 
the exchange, no matter what else we do."

He leans over and kisses me softly, then with rising heat.  
Suddenly, I'm not in the mood for brunch any more.  As he settles 
me back against the pillows and moves to loom over me, an idea 
forms.  I kiss his cheek lightly and hop up.

"I'm going to shower before we go out."

Nonplussed, he responds "Okay.  I'll wait."

I put a little extra swing in my hips as his eyes follow me out 
the room.


*****



As Scully indulges her sudden need for cleanliness, I sift 
through what I've learned from the conversation.  

It doesn't surprise me that she wasn't attracted to the idea of 
chemically subduing her inhibitions.  Leaving aside everything 
that has happened to us, it's just not what she finds erotic.  
Without getting rough, Scully likes to feel completely subdued, 
both mentally and physically.  She likes to feel all her 
resistance being battered down, freeing her vibrant sexuality.  
Alcohol would blunt that fine edge of domination.  So I need to 
come up with another scenario.  

I'm always on the lookout for new ideas to incorporate into 
playtime.  Before Scully, power games never appealed to me much, 
so I have only limited experience, both real and vicarious, to 
draw upon.  But she's given me a taste for domination, and now I 
crave it as much as she craves being subdued.  I like creating 
our own little world where I control all that happens; I like 
having a playmate who is so completely accessible, who denies me 
nothing and melts at my touch.  

There's also a voyeuristic thrill to a scene that appeals to the 
porn-watcher in me.  I'm a generous top: I usually make love to 
her instead of having her satisfy me, and she always comes, 
usually more than once.  By the end of a session I've made her 
loose and relaxed, her body sated with more sexual pleasure than 
she knew she was capable of feeling.  But that very pleasure is a 
performance, scripted and acted for my entertainment.  She moans, 
she pleads, she climaxes at my direction, unwittingly playing out 
the role I create for her in my head.

I shake my head and try to focus.  Fun as it is to have Scully as 
my personal, unsuspecting little porn actress, the point is she 
will *not* be starring in a private screening of "Frat Boys and 
Drunken Cheerleader" anytime soon.  I need to come up with some 
other ideas.  

I shut off the television, which has been flickering silently the 
whole time, and get up to put the remote control away.  The 
remote in Scully's household *must* reside on top of the TV if it 
is not in active use.  Let your remote wander, and chaos is sure 
to follow.

Glancing idly over the bookshelf next to me, I notice that she 
has updated her photos of her nephews and made room for one of us 
together.  And there's something odd--a book has been shelved 
backwards.  I pull it out to turn it around properly.

My hand stops in mid-air when I notice the title: "The Harem in 
Western Art."  Hmm.  

Palming the spine, I let the book fall open.  The pages part at a 
color plate of Ingres's "Grande Odalisque."  The beautiful 
courtesan glances coyly over her shoulder at me, her lush body 
beckoning.  

I flip through the pages rapidly, one ear cocked toward the 
closed bathroom door.  The commentary is critical of the harem 
image, but I don't think that's what Scully's been focusing on.  
The well-thumbed pages are not of the text, but of the color 
plates depicting women in what the artists imagined were daily 
harem scenes.  

"Scully, Scully, Scully," I whisper to myself.  I can see her 
looking at these pictures, imagining herself in this sybaritic 
setting.  I can visualize her being bathed, massaged, and 
pampered by attendants whose only function is to keep her ready 
for her master's call--for *my* call.

The hard-on I got from our last conversation springs back 
enthusiastically.  I can get behind this fantasy.  Me and every 
straight guy in America who went through puberty watching reruns 
of Barbara Eden shaking her ponytail. 

I file this fascinating tidbit away for later incorporation into 
our play.  I'm a little surprised to have found the book, but 
pleased.  She's got a harder edge to her fantasies than I 
expected.  Maybe I can up the intensity of our sessions.

The shower shuts off.  I hastily slide the book back the way I 
found it, making a note of the title so I can order it on-line 
later.  Just as I sit back down on the bed, the door opens.  I 
jump up again.  Scully's wearing nothing but a towel wrapped 
around her small body and tucked in between her breasts.  Drops 
of moisture are still pearling on her skin. 

"Ready to go out?" she asks, turning to rummage in her lingerie 
drawer.

I step behind her, grasping her by her softly rounded, terry-
covered hips.  She drops a lacy camisole as I lick away the water 
on her shoulder.

"I think I'd rather stay in."

She laughs throatily and turns to face me.  With a coy smile, she 
reaches for her towel and lets it fall.

"I thought you'd say that."

I run my eyes over her body in blatant admiration.  Her fair skin 
is warm and rosy from the shower, decorated by the beads of 
water.  The soft curls between her legs are dark and enticingly 
damp.  I want to just grab her and toss her on the bed, but she 
has assumed the lead here.  She enjoys the compartmentalization 
in our lovemaking; the more submissive she becomes at playtime, 
the more uninhibited she is at other times.  I reap the benefits 
both ways.

"So what did you have planned instead, Agent Scully?"

She smiles coyly.  Running her hand up her body from her thigh to 
her throat, she licks her lips and levels a smoldering gaze on 
the bulge in the front of my pajamas.

Oh, what the hell.  I grab her and toss her on the bed.  She 
shrieks in surprise before twining her arms around my neck and 
tugging me down with her.  The sweet, clean scent of her shampoo 
envelops me as her little tongue pushes into my mouth.  Of its 
own accord, my hand slides down the smooth skin of her back, 
cupping a firm buttock and pulling her closer.
 
With a quick move she pulls me down and rolls us over.  She 
deepens the kiss as she grinds her damp crotch against mine.  My 
dick twitches happily as heat from the juncture of her legs 
spreads through me.  I try to pull her closer, thrusting my hips 
up to meet hers, but she twists out of my hold, leaving me 
humping at the air.  

My growl of frustration is arrested by the sight of Scully's 
glistening pussy right in front of my face.  She'd prefer that I 
refer to it as her vagina, but the point is that it's right 
there--glistening, no less--and the sight makes up for her sudden 
abandonment of my own crotch.  She moves in aggressively to 
straddle my face.  Did you want something, Agent Scully?  

Cunnilingus is a normal part of our "vanilla" love life, but less 
common during playtime.  Then I use it as a special treat, or to 
drug her into compliance while pushing her boundaries further.  
She's learning to orgasm more easily from other stimulation, as 
I'd hoped, but she's also becoming more assertive about demanding 
oral sex at other times.  I'm only too glad to oblige.

Once she's in place, she leans back with her eyes closed.  Heat 
radiates from her smooth thighs bracketing my face.  I turn my 
head and rub the soft skin with my scratchy cheek.  

She giggles--yes, Dana Scully does permit herself to giggle in 
bed--before opening her eyes and looking at me with mock 
reproach.  Now that I have her attention, I pull another pillow 
behind my head and extend my tongue teasingly.  Her eyes go dark 
and her breath catches as she watches me.  She gasps as my hands 
dart up to cup her ass and yank her closer, then groans as the 
first long, slow stroke of my tongue parts her labia and nudges 
at her clit.  Her body goes taut with anticipation.  Scully loves 
oral sex and it is, if I do say so myself, one of my talents.

I taste her with soft exploration, even wonder.  Being Scully's 
lover is still new enough that every time is different.  I lick 
away dampness from her shower, tasting her musky arousal as it 
flows, and worry her clit gently with my tongue and teeth.  My 
dick stiffens even more as her scent surrounds me.

Scully would probably say that bringing her to climax is a 
science, a matter of applying the right stimulus at the right 
time.  But I know it's an art.  It's about teasing the right 
sounds from her, knowing what they mean, knowing when to hold a 
note and when to stop.  I play her in long strokes and staccato 
bursts, coaxing out the aria of Scully.  

She arches her back, running her hands through her hair before 
letting them fall limply at her sides.  I rub more firmly, 
savoring the contrast between her soft labia and hard clit.  
I'm waiting for those little whimpering gasps....

"Mmm...oh!"

Ah, there we go.  Licking faster now, I take her unresisting 
hands and raise them to her breasts.  She begins stroking her own 
throat and breasts enthusiastically.  Very enthusiastically.  The 
disappointment of last night seems to have gotten her all keyed 
up.  Next she'll become more vocal....

"Mmm, Mulder, that feels good, sogood..."

As I said, Scully *loves* oral sex.  I squeeze her firm ass, 
sinking my fingers in hard enough to bite.  Then I go for broke, 
lashing her clit as fast as I can.

"OH!  God, yes!"

I glance up again. Her face is transported in ecstasy and her 
fingers are pulling firmly on her tight nipples.  She begins to 
rock on my face, bouncing gently as her moans ascend the scale.  

"So good, uh, uh, sogood, pleaseplease..."

My hips rock too, as the primitive part of my brain responds to 
her sounds and scent.  My cock twitches, seeking its home in her 
wet heat.  She's gasping and squirming, trying to move faster 
without losing contact.  As I watch, the telltale flush spreads 
over her skin.  Just a little more....

"Oh, don't stop, don'tstop...Oh, God!" 

Her hand flies to her mouth as she throws back her head and 
screams, muffling the sound against the back of her wrist.  I 
work her hard and fast, making her shake, pushing her higher.  
Each gasp and moan goes straight to my cock, which is leaking in 
anticipation.

Finally her spent body relaxes.  She looks down at me with a 
sated, languid smile, scoots into a more comfortable position, 
and stretches like a cat.  My dick bobs a salute to her breasts 
as she arches her back.
 
"So, where were you thinking for brunch?"

Well, aren't we the teasing vixen this morning?  "Don't you have 
other things to attend to first?"

"Do I?"

"You certainly do."  I tighten my grip on her hips and nudge her 
downward.  "Not to be impatient, Scully, but if you don't do 
something about my cock soon, I'm going to embarrass myself."

"Well, we can't have that."  

She slides down my body, smoothly removing my pajama bottoms and 
boxers in one move.  With sinuous grace she straddles me again, 
takes me in hand, and guides me into her welcoming heat.  I let 
her do the work, savoring the feeling of being slowly enveloped 
by her swollen passage.

When I'm fully sheathed in her she begins to move, too slowly for 
my taste.  I rest my hands on her hips and buck up.

"A little impatient, aren't we?"

I thrust again.  "That *was* quite the show you put on," I defend 
myself.

"Show, huh?"  She grins down at me wickedly.  "You like to watch, 
Mulder?"

No answer is necessary.  She knows I do.

She leans forward, still riding me slowly.  I thrust faster.  She 
gives me a long, assessing look and her smile turns seductive.  

As I watch, one hand goes to her nipple, twisting sensually.  She 
closes her eyes and slowly rolls her head back as I surge into 
her.  Oh, Christ!  She's doing the squeeze with her inner 
muscles.  I thrust harder.  She shivers and moans erotically as 
she squeezes me again.

I grunt.  

Now she's purring.  "Mmm, you're so big, Mulder.  I can feel 
every inch of you like this.  I feel so...full."  

Ah, Scully, you know the way to a man's heart.  I look down to 
where we are joined.  My shaft is wet with her fluids as she 
slides up and down almost hesitantly, as if she has to struggle 
to accommodate me. 

She lays her hand on her lower abdomen, right over that narrow 
passage that's holding me so snugly.  "It feels like you're 
stretching me."

I grunt again.  Coherent response is impossible now.  The 
Neanderthal part of my brain takes over as I watch her tiny body 
move on my thick, pulsing cock.
 
Her hand shifts, stroking her belly.  Do it, Scully, I chant 
mentally, do it.

No, it's too much for her.  The hand slides back up again to play 
with her nipple.  I try not to let my disappointment show.

"It feels so good that I just have to touch myself."

Holding my gaze, she brings her hand to her lips and sucks on her 
middle and index fingers.  Then those damp fingers move down to 
her clit and circle slowly.

Fuck.  Scully's touching herself for me, because she wants to.  
Did I say it was good to have her as my unsuspecting porn 
actress?  This is *much* better.  I give up trying to control 
myself, letting my hips buck wildly.

She does some incredible shimmy motion that makes her breasts bob 
and squeezes me again.

"Ooh, Mulder, I could ride you all day."

No, baby, you can't.  Because I can't hold back any longer.  I 
grip her tighter, thrusting up desperately.  The tension is 
boiling inside me.  She squeezes me again and I cry out as I come 
hard, spurting into her.  She squeals.  Through narrowed eyes, I 
see her squirm ecstatically. 

"Fuck!"  I shout.  The last spasms of my orgasm take all thought 
with them.

When I reemerge from an exceptionally fine post-orgasmic haze, 
she leans down and kisses my mouth softly.  Then she slides off 
and lies down next to me.  Knowing her moans and gasps were for 
my benefit, not a sign of her own fulfillment, I slip my hand 
between us and stroke her clit.  

She covers my hand with her own, squeezes reassuringly, and moves 
it away.  "That's all right, Mulder."

"But you didn't come," I point out.  As if she didn't notice.
  
"It's okay, Mulder.  I'm not really multi-orgasmic.  I just 
wanted to watch you. "

'I've seen you have multiple orgasms,' I think, but let it go for 
now.  Instead, I wrap my arm around her body and try to summon up 
the energy to go to brunch.


********************

Part 2

I sit quietly on my bed, waiting for Mulder to come to me.  No.  
Waiting for Master to come to me.  

I shift restlessly before stopping myself.  Discipline, he told 
me.  I think of the cool tone in his voice when he sent me in 
here, and it soothes me.  Everything is out of my hands now.

We have not played this game for several weeks, not since I 
stumbled so badly, failing to climax when he demanded it of me.  
I have been nervous about beginning again, afraid that I'll fail 
once more and set a pattern that could destroy the pleasure we 
take in our games.  He knows this.  He saw the trepidation in my 
eyes when he brought out the scarf.  

Saw, and dismissed.  "On your knees," he told me calmly.  My 
fears didn't mean anything to him.  I sank to the floor, my heart 
pounding.

"We're going to work on your obedience tonight," he told me as he 
arranged the silk around my throat.  "Obedience isn't in your 
body; it's in your mind.  Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Master," I whispered, trembling in a strange mixture of 
fear and relief: fear that I might ruin the game, relief that he 
wasn't going to let me.

"And will you obey me tonight?"  His roughened voice promised 
such delights, if only I would.

"Yes, Master."

He smiled approvingly.  "Go undress and wait on your bed.  Think 
about what obedience is, and how much you want to give it to me.  
It doesn't matter how long you have to wait.  Discipline your 
mind to focus on nothing but your desire to please me."

And so I went.  I undressed quickly, noting that he had already 
attached my restraints to the bedposts, and knelt in the middle 
of the bed, schooling my mind to accept his will.

The door opens and he enters quietly.  I keep my head lowered, 
awaiting his instruction.  

Cloth rustles and the bedside drawer opens and closes as he moves 
quietly about the room, making his preparations.

I jump when his hands come to rest on my shoulders.  They are 
both tender and possessive as he strokes the back of my neck, 
slipping his finger beneath the loosely wrapped silk.  I don't 
try to contain the quiver that rushes through me at his touch.

The warmth trails away.  Then the bed shifts as he seats himself 
in front of me.  He is shirtless now, and my lowered gaze focuses 
on his midsection, on the muscles defining the smooth, bare skin 
of his abdomen and the enticing bulge beneath his jeans.

His warm fingers come to rest on my cheekbone.  He traces over 
the ridge of my brow before his touch flutters over my eyelids, 
telling me to close them.  Two fingers come to rest on my lips.  
I kiss them softly.

In my mind's eye I see the tableau that we present.  His honey-
toned skin contrasts to my fair complexion, radiating vitality 
and energy.  He lounges casually, his broad shoulders dwarfing my 
frame, an easy command in his carriage.  My kneeling position 
makes me appear even smaller as I bow my head meekly, awaiting 
his command.

Finally, he speaks.  "Tell me what you are, baby."

"I'm a submissive, Master."  Even months after we began this 
aspect of our relationship, the word still holds erotic power 
over me.  He delights in making me use it.

"That's right.  And you're my submissive, aren't you?"

"Yes, Master."  He loves to start a session with questions like 
these, just to hear me respond.  And I love to do it.  The 
repetition of his title seems to toll through my brain, sinking 
into my consciousness.  

The fingers stroke my cheek again.  "And I love you very much."

I flush with warmth.  Mulder tells me he loves me at other times; 
he says the words far more easily than I do.  But they have a 
different effect when has says them as my Master: they make me 
feel safe and cherished.  This the only time in my life when I 
let myself feel protected.  Maybe that's a weakness, but I can't 
give it up.  I turn my face into his hand, kissing the palm as he 
speaks again.  

"I want you to imagine something for me, baby."

The commanding tone in his voice is almost palpable.  I wait, 
trying to convey complete readiness with my posture.  

His fingers return to my forehead.  "Imagine obedience seeping 
through your skin, entering your bloodstream.  It's coursing 
through your veins now.  All your thoughts and worries are 
falling silent.  Your body aches to submit to me.  Are you 
picturing that?"

"Yes, Master," I whisper, my brow creasing as I concentrate on 
getting the image right.  

His fingers smooth over the wrinkles.  "Flowing through you, 
baby.  You don't have to try.  Just imagine."

I think of warm golden energy permeating my skin, wrapping me in 
his will.  My forehead relaxes.  

"You're going to be so good tonight, baby, so sweet and open.  I 
promise I will not give you a command you can't obey.  It will be 
so easy, if you just give in."

I nod slowly as his words infuse me with a languorous calm.

"You feel at ease now, soft and complaint.  You're deeply 
relaxed, almost limp.  Nothing matters but my voice."

His fingers finally stroke along my jaw down to my chin.  At his 
light pressure, I lift my head and open my eyes.  

He's sitting perfectly still, radiating absolute calm and 
assurance.  The nervous energy so characteristic of Mulder at 
other times is gone, channeled instead into intense 
concentration: concentration on me.  He is Mulder and not Mulder, 
all the commanding elements of his personality distilled into the 
persona of my Master.  

His eyes fascinate me, tugging with magnetic force.  I stare into 
them dreamily.  There are no words for how I feel at this moment: 
peaceful and aroused, open to his will.  I'm aching for him to 
make love to me and content just to stare at him forever.  

I'm not sure how long I've been looking at him when he speaks 
again.  

"This is your submissive mindset, baby, your subspace.  This is 
how you feel when you embrace what you are.  Concentrate on that.  
Feel how peaceful you are, how pliable."

My eyelids flutter closed.  "Yes, Master."

"Look at me."  

I look at him again.  His eyes are tender and intense.  

"I want you to remember where you are now, in your perfect 
subspace.  If your mind drifts at any time, if you become 
frightened, I want you to return to this moment, when there's 
nothing in your world but submission."

"Yes, Master."  His very words jar me from the space a little.  
What does he have planned?

He begins caressing my lips and throat.  

"We're going to try something different tonight, sweetheart."  
Two fingers force their way into my mouth, probe gently, and 
withdraw.  "I like listening to you babble, hearing you say 
whatever your body tells you to say.  It makes you so crazy that 
you can't help yourself, right?"

Blankly, I nod.  

He kisses me, stroking my passive tongue with his own.  The kiss 
ends with his hands cupping my jaw, his thumbs on my lower lip 
keeping my mouth slightly open.  

"You're very sexy when you beg, baby, but tonight I'm going to 
teach you"--he leans in to whisper in my ear--"restraint."

The dark promise in his voice makes me shiver.  I am intensely 
conscious of his thumbs on my lip as he kisses me again.  

"Your vocabulary for the rest of the evening is limited to four 
phrases.  'Red light,' 'yellow light,' 'no, Master,' and 'yes, 
Master.'  Nothing else.  No begging.  No pleading."

He traces my lips with his fingers, making them tingle.  My 
tongue feels heavy in my mouth as my mind calls up the odd image 
of a delicate chain across it.  

"Just those six words.  Do you understand?"

The game has already begun, I realize.  He has neatly trapped me 
in near-muteness, without even a token gesture toward seeking my 
consent.
 
I lower my eyes meekly.  "Yes, Master."

"Of course you do.  You take direction so well."

His mouth closes over mine as I preen at his praise, inwardly 
renewing my vow to please him.  He kisses me over and over, 
rubbing my tongue with his own as if to remind me of its 
muteness.  I respond eagerly, meeting each caress.

Eventually he breaks the kiss and firmly pushes me backward, his 
strong hands arranging me on the bed.  He ties me up the way he 
did on the night he first made me his plaything.  Each wrist and 
ankle is soon bound in a soft cuff, which is then attached to its 
mate on the bedpost by an adjustable tether.  He leaves almost no 
slack in the ropes, holding me stretched and completely open to 
him.

He won't fuck me like this, I know.  This position means that he 
plans to tease me, to make me writhe and jerk uncontrollably, so 
I pull against my bonds with each motion.  Pleasure will always 
be accompanied by the reminder that I am restrained and helpless.

He leans over me, stroking my lips again.

"Just think about it, baby.  Tied hand and foot, even your voice 
is bound now."  

I shiver.  

"You know you were made for this, don't you?  Made for me to 
possess you."

"Yes, Master."  He tells me that every time.  I'm starting to 
believe him.

His eyes devour me.  "You think you know, sweetheart, but there's 
so much more for you to learn."  

He brushes a strand of hair back from my forehead, the tender 
touch at odds with his fierce expression.  "I could spend years 
teaching you."

I picture years of learning, of being initiated into deeper and 
deeper mysteries.  He'll claim me completely, absorb and consume 
me, and free my darkest, most carnal desires.

"Yes, Master.  Please."

His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare at my ready acceptance.  
Then a cold smile comes over his face.  

"You have pretty manners, sweetheart, and I'm glad you agree.  
But 'please' isn't in your vocabulary tonight, is it?"

How could I forget so quickly?  "No, Master."

"That's better.  Don't forget again.  I will punish you if you 
disobey, you know."

My voice is very quiet.  "Yes, Master."

He crawls down between my legs and breathes on me until my 
muscles tremble in anticipation.  He doesn't usually go down on 
me at playtime.  This probably means that he has something new 
planned....

My thoughts scatter as he gives me a long, hard lick.  "Ah!"

He works me over expertly, tasting and teasing my sex with light, 
fast motions.  The calm acceptance that filled me earlier 
evaporates as his tongue flutters on my clit for a too-brief 
moment.

"Unh...oh, God..."

His eyes flash a warning.  I clamp my lips shut.

He goes back to mouthing me gently, playing with my labia until I 
relax.  Then he strikes again, tonguing the underside of my clit 
hard and fast.  I can't keep quiet, not when he does that, and he 
knows it.

"Oh, please!" 

He looks up.  "Last warning, baby."

I bite my lips, stifling my gasps as his tongue moves down to 
probe my vagina.  A voice inside me whispers to disobey, to push 
him and see how he will react.  I chase the thought away.  I'm 
going to make up for my body's failure last time.  I'm going to 
make him proud of my obedience.
 
His attention returns to my clit.  With a few well-placed 
strokes, he deliberately steals the choice from me.  

"God!"

He stops.  Rising and coming around to sit on the bed next to me, 
he watches me silently until I fidget under his gaze.  Then he 
pulls something out of the nightstand drawer.

"If you can't control your voice, I'll have to control it for 
you."

My eyes widen when he shows me the object in his hands.  It's a 
gag.  

Normally, Mulder avoids the overt trappings of a BDSM 
relationship.  I wear a scarf instead of a collar, my cuffs are 
fabric rather than leather, and he doesn't own even a toy whip or 
flogger.  But there is nothing discreet or subtle about the gag.  
A sturdy leather rectangle with wide straps to secure it around 
my head, it looks more suited to a fantasy dungeon than to the 
softer surroundings of my bedroom

He turns it over, and a shock pulses through me.  The other side 
has protruding from it a very short, thick dildo.  For as long as 
he makes me wear it, I'll feel the sensation of a cock in my 
mouth, muting my cries.  

I think of the websites I sometimes visited before we became 
lovers, when I was furtively feeding my secret desires.  I 
imagined myself as the women in those pictures, but never thought 
my fantasies would be realized.  Will he dress me in leather next 
time?  Put rings on my nipples?  Restrain me in even more 
revealing poses? I squirm in embarrassment at the arousal the 
thoughts evoke.  

His expression is perfectly neutral.  "Do you want to use either 
of your safewords now?"

I shake my head.

"You know that isn't good enough, baby.  Do you want to use 
either of your safewords now?"

My whisper is barely audible, but enough.  "No, Master."

He leans over me, the gag in hand.  I look from his face to the 
gag and back again, remembering my promise.  Drawing a deep 
breath, I open my mouth.  

He swoops down and kisses me hard, his tongue again invading my 
mouth.  The instant he pulls away I feel the tip of the false 
cock between my parted lips.  He inserts the gag firmly and 
fastens it around my head, careful not to catch my hair in the 
buckles.  I breathe through my nose, the scent of leather filling 
my nostrils.  

"Does that hurt?"  he asks solicitously.  "Your mouth should feel 
a little stretched, but not uncomfortable.  At least, not yet.  
You'll be wearing it for a while."

I stroke my tongue over the thick plastic.  It feels strange to 
be silenced this way--almost humiliating.  I feel more naked then 
ever, but not uncomfortable in the way that he means.  I shake my 
head.

Reaching into the drawer again, he brings out a small bell, like 
one from a tambourine, and places it my right hand.  

"If you need to use your safewords, just shake or drop the bell."

I nod my understanding, visualizing the scene again.  This isn't 
the pretty eroticism of daintily bowing my head before him.  This 
is stark, even harsh: Dana Scully, M.D., FBI agent, naked and 
cuffed spread-eagled, with this obscene prop stuffed in my mouth.

His gaze turns to the wet folds between my legs, and his lips 
curl in satisfaction.

"This is really winding you up, isn't it?"

My eyes close in embarrassment.  

"Eyes open, baby."  

When I focus on him, he continues, "You know, there's nothing 
more exciting than seeing your lush, needy body splayed out 
before me."

He doesn't look excited.  He looks cool and appraising, as if I'm 
an intriguing problem to be solved.  He has never seemed less 
like my partner and more like my Master.

"But this," he continues, "is incredible.  I've never seen you 
more vulnerable."

He cocks his head to the side and traces his finger over the gag, 
as though he were stroking my lips through it.  

"I could do anything to you now," he murmurs.  "Absolutely 
anything, and you couldn't stop me.  You know that, don't you, 
sweetheart?"

I nod.  My insides are melting into liquid arousal. 

He's still toying with the gag.  "I'm proud of the way you opened 
your mouth and took it."  

Now the fingers slip between my legs and massage lightly.  "Very 
proud.  You're such a good little submissive."

His skillful manipulation of my clit lets me relax, making me 
more receptive to his soothing words.  It doesn't matter what I 
am at other times.  Right now, I'm a submissive.  I don't need to 
be embarrassed or nervous.  He'll take care of everything.

Suddenly he rolls over me, his solid body pressing heavily on 
mine.  His mouth is on my breasts, sucking, worrying with his 
teeth, devouring so fiercely that he'll leave marks.  I arch into 
the sensation happily.  I love rough treatment when I'm so 
excited.

His low growl comes to my ears.  "Suck the dildo, baby.  Work it 
like you'd work my cock." 

The strange intruder no longer feels humiliating, but it's a 
forceful reminder of his possession.  I tongue the plastic cock 
experimentally, hoping he'll move back between my legs and finish 
what he started.  

Instead he reaches into the drawer once more and pulls out 
something that he's threatened to use on me, but hasn't: a 
vibrator.  Long and slender with a curved tip, it looks as though 
it would be equally effective on my clit or thrusting inside me.  

I haven't used a vibrator since med school, the last time I 
played power games with an adventurous boyfriend.  It's been 
years now, but I remember what it will feel like.  If he puts it 
in me and turns it on, I think that the pleasure will be so 
intense that I won't be able to bear it.  Suddenly the thought of 
him using it on me seems too much.  Whimpering inaudibly, I shake 
my head.

He looks at the bell in my hand.  "Do you want to use your 
safewords?"

The only thing I want less than for him to stimulate my helpless 
body with the vibrator is for him not to stimulate my helpless 
body with the vibrator.  I shake my head again.

"This is important, baby.  You have to remember this.  If you 
need to use your safeword, drop the bell, all right?"

I nod.  A fillip of embarrassment mixes with the lust coursing 
through my blood.  It's one thing for me to go wild while he's 
inside me, sharing the sensation, or when I can hear his moans of 
desire and pleasure as he goes down on me.  Even when he used a 
dildo on me before, I could feel his arousal.  But for him to 
stimulate me with that toy while he watches me so passionlessly 
is different.  It will make me feel wanton and shameless.  

And controlled.  I want it.

His face softens momentarily.  "Go back to your subspace, 
sweetheart."

My subspace.  Calm and open, think of warm energy flowing through 
me....

He moves back between my legs and licks me again, probing my 
opening with the slender rod.  

"You know why you haven't used your safeword.  When I slide this 
into you and turn it on, you'll go insane with lust.  You're 
frightened, but you want it."

He's right.  Perhaps if I weren't tied down it would be 
different; being restrained makes everything so much more 
intense.  But if I weren't tied down, perhaps I wouldn't let him 
use it on me at all.

Ignoring my trembling, he slips the vibrator into me and begins 
fucking me softly.  Inert, it just feels like a slender dildo.  I 
steel myself in anticipation of it springing to life.

He pulls it out and touches my breast with the damp tip.  Only 
then does he turn it on, using it to circle each nipple in turn.  
They crinkle tighter at the pleasant buzzing sensation.

"It's a shame the nipple clamps I ordered haven't arrived yet."

My eyes fly to his face.  He smiles blandly.  "Didn't I tell you 
I have quite a toy fixation?"

Weakly, I shake my head.

"Don't worry.  You'll have one soon enough."  His smile turns to 
a wolfish grin.  "I'll make sure of it."

The vibrator is gone from my nipple.  Avoiding my clit, he runs 
it between my labia, circling my opening.  It's still humming.  
My body tenses automatically, but the toy is so slim that he 
easily forces it past the initial resistance and into my vagina.  
Electric tingles run through me as he pushes it in deeper, until 
a starburst explodes behind my eyelids as it reaches my G-spot.  
Sensation radiates outwards, like heat shooting through me but so 
much more intense....

"Beautiful," he whispers.

I shake as he withdraws it, then start as he touches the tip to 
my clit.  No motion, no finesse, just a tickle that grows 
stronger and stronger until it seems like my clit itself is 
vibrating.  

I moan against the gag, feeling the cock stifle the sound.  This 
vibrator is more powerful than the one my former boyfriend used, 
and it's stimulating my clitoris in a way I've never felt before.  
It hints of an orgasm of frightening strength.  My mind recoils 
even as my body seeks it out, the muscles in my thighs and 
abdomen tensing automatically.

He breaks the contact and I collapse, panting through my nose, 
not knowing whether to be relieved or disappointed.  The tip is 
at my left nipple again, circling teasingly, but I'm too aroused 
for the light sensation to be noticeable.  

I take a deep breath, thinking I have a brief reprieve.  Just 
then his strong hand covers my other breast, rolling the nipple 
before giving it a firm pinch.  My sex clenches as if there were 
a direct line between them.

"I'm going to love clamping these sweet nipples tight.  They'll 
be so pretty with a gold chain hanging between them."

I whine, cursing the gag that holds my mouth open and violated 
while silencing me so effectively.
 
His head bows over me.  Still pinching one nipple between his 
fingers, he bites down on the other just as the vibrations 
assault my clit again.  I writhe helplessly and he chuckles, 
intensifying the pressure.  My mind goes blank as I try to 
apprehend the sensation, so powerful that there are no words to 
describe it.  It feels like the vibrator is pushing pleasure into 
me, pleasure that enters through my clit and forces its way 
throughout my entire body, making it arch like a bow.
 
My arms and legs ache from straining against the cuffs by the 
time he lifts the toy away.  
 
"By the way, baby, I don't want you to worry any more about being 
responsive.  I will make you respond, whenever and however I 
want.  Like a beautiful, sexy marionette."

Again the electric touch on my clit.  My hips jerk as if yanked 
upward by an invisible string, rubbing against the humming 
plastic, craving more.  Please don't stop, don't stop...

He stops.  My frustrated wail is audible even around the dildo.

"See?  You can't do anything *but* respond."

He sets the vibrator aside and begins adjusting the tethers that 
join the cuffs on my wrists and ankles to those on the bedposts.  
He lengthens each in turn, giving more freedom of movement to my 
arms and legs.  When he's satisfied he props another pillow 
beneath my head, lifting it so I can see down my body.

"I want you to watch now, baby.  Watch yourself respond."

I instinctively try to close my legs when the vibe approaches me 
again, but he hasn't permitted me that much movement.  There's a 
wicked glint in his eye as he builds the speed slowly, sending 
raw excitement through me, as irresistible as the tides.  My hand 
clutches the metal bell so tightly that it leaves impressions on 
my skin as he plays with me, making my body jerk and relax like 
the puppet he called me.  

Soon I'm on the brink of a blinding climax--and he snatches it 
away from me again.  I draw a deep breath, fury welling in me.  
Lightening-fast, his free hand comes up to cup my chin.  His 
expression is cold, almost cruel, and absolutely unyielding.  His 
eyes burn into mine.  

The voiceless protest dies in my throat.

He puts the toy aside and slides two fingers into me, pumping 
roughly.  I squeal, intensely conscious of the false cock between 
my lips.  I've never felt so completely penetrated, so wholly 
possessed.

"Is this an illusion, baby?  That ache in your cunt, that pulse 
in your clit, that need in your body--is this a game?"

I shake my head, blood rushing in my ears.  It's the gag.  
Somehow, the gag in my mouth feels like his will imposed on my 
mind.

And the humming begins on my clit again.  I shy away, but he 
follows me implacably, keeping those electric tingles shooting 
through me.  As he traces tight, precise circles on my clit with 
the fiendish device, my body takes over, pleading for more.  He 
nods in quiet satisfaction, as if my reaction has confirmed some 
hypothesis.

"You feel it now, don't you?  You're completely mine.  Your body 
is mine to toy with."

I shake as he hits a particularly sensitive spot.  It's true. Oh, 
God, maybe this game is spinning out of control.

Sensing my gaze, he looks up sternly.

"I told you to watch, baby."  

I look back down my quivering body, suddenly crying out and 
thrashing against the restraints as he increases the speed 
sharply for a few short seconds.  

"Just watch yourself move.  See how wild you are?  See how easy 
it is?  I told you that I wouldn't give an order you couldn't 
obey."

I watch myself undulate, finding it strangely erotic, but 
embarrassing too.  Dana Scully might lose control under a skilled 
tongue, but an inanimate object is something else entirely.  As 
he continues to play with me, I'm glad that he silenced me.  I 
don't want to hear my shameless voice alternately pleading with 
him to stop and howling for release.

The tease goes on.  I can't stop squirming, but my motions are 
useless.  No matter how I move my hips, the toy is always there 
until he's ready to lift it.  He probes all over my sex, moving 
from my clit to vagina seemingly at random.  His movements are 
impossible to predict; the only certainty is that he'll deny me 
satisfaction.

Now I understand why he loosened my bonds.  He wants me to be 
able to move.  He wants to see me cringe away as it approaches 
me, knowing that when he stimulates my clit just right, my 
traitorous body will escape my control.  My thighs will spread 
and I'll arch upward, rocking against the buzzing plastic as my 
body begs for the release that my mind knows he will withhold.  

He doesn't stop until I'm sobbing around the gag, my mouth aching 
from its thick intrusion and tears running down my cheeks.  
Still, I'm holding the bell in a death grip lest I drop it 
accidentally.  

He brushes my tears away and regards me fondly.  "You are so 
beautiful when you struggle."  

I moan inaudibly--a moan that turns to a stifled shriek when he 
gives my clit another brief but high-intensity jolt.  

He lifts my chin with his free hand, his eyes searching my face.  
His voice drops, brooking no disagreement.

"But you'll be even more beautiful when you give in."  

Oh God, it's on me again, and I can't stop moving.  He pins me 
with his gaze, somehow following my movements without looking 
away from my eyes.  I feel as though he can read my every thought 
and desire.  I'm cringing inside as he watches me, but I'm 
incapable of looking away as the orgasm swells....

And he stops again.  I howl, throwing my head back against the 
pillow.  His face is perfectly neutral, indifferent to my 
torment. 

He puts the toy down and strokes my cheek.  "You may rest for a 
minute."

Only now do I realize my body is shaking with fatigue as well as 
frustrated desire.

He's still caressing my cheek tenderly.  "I can see you getting 
tired, sweetheart.  You need to stop fighting me.  Go back to 
your subspace."

His eyes have softened, once again watching me with warmth as 
well as command.  I focus on them and force myself to relax, 
recalling the image he painted for me when we began.  

"There you go.  It's so peaceful there.  It feels so good to let 
go."  

I exhale slowly, trying to release the tension.  My hand eases 
into a loose fist around the bell.

"Picture it again, baby.  Feel obedience flowing through your 
body."

I picture the golden energy spreading through me again as his 
voice murmurs to me.  The image becomes stronger, until I can 
feel the energy starting at my clit and washing through my body.

No, not just the energy.  He's using the vibrator on me again.  
The sensation blends with the mental image of submission flowing 
within me.  My hips start to rock gently.  As he slowly builds 
the speed, I stop thinking about moving into it or away.  I stop 
thinking at all.  

"That's right, baby.  Still in your subspace.  So soft, so 
compliant."
 
God, what he's doing to my clit is unbelievable.  It's shivering 
with excitement.  Instead of trying to close my legs I open them, 
inviting more of the incredible sensation.

He murmurs soft approval.  "Give yourself up to it.  You know how 
good it will make you feel."

Yes, so wonderfully good.  My hips are gyrating mindlessly now, 
responding only to his direction.  My eyes fall shut, breaking 
our connection, but I can still feel him watching me with that 
cool expression on his face.  

I stretch my arms and legs wide, feeling a sweet pulsing to the 
tips of my fingers and toes.  I'm flotsam floating in a river of 
bliss.  I have to move, have to writhe as it carries me along in 
its current.  Moans and whines vibrate in my throat, escaping the 
gag.  They are like music, providing the accompaniment as I 
perform my lewd dance.  

"That's right, baby," he whispers again.  "Just take it."

The sensations pummel me.  I squirm faster, my helpless sounds 
increasing in pitch.  The pull of the bonds restraining me is 
unbearably exciting as he makes me squirm against them, my whole 
body crackling with sexual energy.  

When he removes the stimulation again, I sag like a puppet with 
its strings cut.  

Setting the toy aside, he runs his finger over the flat leather 
front of the gag.  My body is still trembling, as if the very 
molecules are vibrating.  He reaches behind my head to unbuckle 
the straps and gently removes the dildo from my mouth, only to 
replace it with his fingers.  I suck them eagerly.  They taste 
warm and slightly salty.  He strokes my tongue before tugging my 
jaw down, inclining his head and plundering my mouth roughly.  
Now my moan is swallowed by his mouth as he fingers my clit 
roughly, compensating for the numbness caused by so much 
stimulation.

When he breaks the kiss, he gives me a long, thoughtful look 
before reaching over to retrieve the toy from the nightstand.  My 
eyes fixate on it as he moves it back toward my clit and I lift 
my hips eagerly, shamelessly.

His expression perfectly neutral, he brings it to my lips 
instead.  I kiss the shaft deferentially.  A thrill goes through 
me as I demonstrate my surrender.

His eyes are knowing as he looks at me.  "I'm going to make you 
come now.  Do you want me to gag you again?"

"Yes, Master."

"You like it, hmm?  Feeling the scream build in your throat with 
no escape?"

There's never any illusion of force with Mulder.  I must freely 
admit to loving what he does to me.  Once that admission is made, 
there's no going back.  If I say "yes" now, it will be inevitable 
that I'll climax screaming into that phallic gag.  

And whenever I catch the scent of leather near my face, it will 
always remind me of my bound body quaking with pleasure as I 
orgasm with my mouth stretched and silenced.

"Yes, Master."

"So it's no punishment at all, is it?"

I'd almost forgotten it was supposed to be.  It is and it isn't, 
but I can't explain that in the words he's permitted me.  

"No, Master."

Sensually, he reinserts the gag.  Then he unclips the tethers 
from my cuffs, rolls me over onto my stomach and secures them 
again.  My limbs are starting to feel the effects of being 
stretched for so long, but it doesn't register as pain.  He has 
taught my body to automatically associate restraint with 
pleasure, and the endorphins coursing through my blood mask the 
discomfort quite effectively.

Until he begins to spank me.  I cry out at the hard slaps, 
momentarily stunned, and tears well in my eyes.  I've been in far 
worse pain and should endure this stoically, but I can't.  I'm 
too raw and open now.  I jerk my hips, futilely struggling to 
evade the blows.

"Oh, baby, I could watch you hump the bed all night."

The slaps stop as he straddles me, rubbing his crotch against my 
ass.  The denim abrades my burning skin, reminding me that he has 
been clothed the whole time.  He does that to remind me that we 
are not equals, that my nudity is at his command and for his 
pleasure.  He feels so powerful and I feel so small and weak....
 
Hot breath in my ear again.  "Keep sucking, baby.  I love the 
thought of your little mouth stretched around that cock.  It 
makes you feel so helpless, doesn't it?"

I nod, the only response I can give, and struggle to follow his 
command as his weight leaves me.  The slaps begin again, hard and 
rhythmic.  It's too much--the pain of the blows, the aching 
frustration between my legs, the awful vulnerability.  I dissolve 
into tears, shuddering uncontrollably.

He strokes my shoulders and pets my hair with his free hand as he 
begins to talk, the words soothing and subduing me.  He tells me 
he knows what is best for me, and he knows I need the punishment.  
He murmurs that my tears are beautiful and cleansing, washing 
away the pride and stubbornness hampering my complete submission.  
And as his hand falls again and again on my reddened flesh, he 
whispers that he can see my cunt getting wetter and wetter as my 
resistance erodes. 

And I feel it.  Resistance I didn't know I was harboring crumbles 
away.  His words grow oddly distant and indistinct as the slaps 
reverberate through my body.  My clit begins pulsing in time with 
the blows and my skin starts humming, every inch alive.  

I fall still, enthralled, lying quiescent under his discipline.

"That's right.  So soft."

He touches me between my labia, dips into my cunt, and runs his 
fingertip in a wet trail down my inner thigh.  I am passive, 
accepting whatever he does to me.

I hear a faint hum as he turns the vibe on again.  "Beautiful."

He jams the vibrator hard up against my clit.  The sensation 
explodes within me, and I go wild.  My hips make frantic fucking 
motions against the buzzing head and my thighs ache from 
spreading wider.  Pleasure balloons through me, frightening in 
its intensity.  Pumping in my clit, throbbing at the base of my 
skull, it's going to consume me, washing away all thought and 
reason.  

I start to struggle--and the orgasm hammers through me, forcing 
me to convulse endlessly in my bonds, making me scream into the 
gag until my throat goes hoarse. 

When the spasms finally fade I go limp, unable even to lift my 
head.  I feel different somehow, looser, like the intensity of 
the climax broke a spring inside me.  

Then the tickle comes again.  I twitch in protest, my flesh too 
sensitive for the stimulation, but he doesn't stop.  He stretches 
out on the bed next to me, his heavy, warm body again pressing 
against mine.  The vibrator rests patiently between my labia, 
buzzing gently.

"I know you've had trouble climaxing in the past, but that 
doesn't matter anymore.  You'll climax when I want."

I gasp in surprise as the sensitivity gives way to pleasure.  
Without the tension in my body blocking it, the arousal flows 
through me freely.

"That's right," he murmurs with satisfaction.  "You're going to 
make me so proud of you."

The shivering ecstasy builds faster this time, as if my body 
expects it.

"Keep working the dildo, baby."

The dildo, the gag that somehow has come to symbolize all his 
control over me.  I obey, sucking it harder, and the vibrations 
grow stronger in response.

"You're mine.  I own you, body and soul.  It's time you learn 
what that means."

The speed of the vibrations increases sharply again.  I groan 
against the cock, feeling my thighs stiffen in anticipation, 
feeling my clit thrill happily on the humming plastic.  I'm 
caught in a whirlpool of sensation, spinning inward in tighter 
and tighter circles.  

"It means I can make you come whenever I like.  Now, later, every 
hour on the hour if the mood strikes me."

My eyes fall shut as he relentlessly imposes his will on my body 
and mind.  I'm completely open to it now, wanting only to be 
filled by him.
 
Fluttering waves begin in my clit and pulse through my abdomen, 
my thighs, my breasts.  The whimpers swell in my throat again, 
aching, pleading...

"Come, baby."

Slavishly, I do.


***** 

Part 3

The gag was a good idea, I decide as Scully's prone body writhes 
in orgasm.  Scully knows perfectly well that we are using softer 
props than is normal in these sorts of sex games, and she has 
become accustomed to them.  The unexpected introduction of fetish 
gear has claimed all her attention, distracting her from any 
fears about her performance.

And she's been thoroughly getting off on it.  I'm quite pleased 
by that as well.  I wasn't kidding about my toy fixation--too 
many years of porn, perhaps--and I plan to ride this pony as far 
as it will go.  

Oh, and I'll have to remember that she benefits greatly from a 
good spanking.  I could actually feel her growing more compliant 
with each blow.  Scully doesn't get off on the pain itself, but 
there's no more tangible proof of my dominance than discipline.  

All in all, this evening has yielded a wealth of valuable 
information for future use.

I turn the vibrator down as she emerges from her climax, finally 
shutting it off and setting it close at hand.  Her eyes are 
closed and the leather covering her lips is moving slightly, as 
if she is still working the cock in her mouth.  Good.  I think I 
can push her even further tonight.

I untether her one more time, roll her onto her back again, and 
secure only her feet.  If she wanted she could slide down the bed 
and gain enough slack to close her legs a little more, though 
they'll still be parted widely enough to give me full access.  
She doesn't move.  Her muscles are so limp that I momentarily 
think she's passed out, but her eyes are open.
 
I remove the gag, lift her chin, and stare into her dazed eyes 
again, imagining my gaze burning through to her brain.  She moans 
softly.  She loves that, loves the vulnerability as I search her 
naked soul.  In fact, I'm making sure that she's alert enough to 
continue.  She focuses on me, awareness returning to her 
expression.

"Is your mouth sore?" I ask her.  

She nods.  

"Take a minute to adjust."

She works her jaw, easing the tension as I watch her in a 
proprietary manner.  She'd probably prefer that I turn away while 
she makes her funny faces, so I don't.  Self-consciousness isn't 
an option for her now.   

"You may speak if you need to, by the way," I inform her.  
"You're not limited to those four phrases any more."  I'm curious 
how she'll respond when she realizes I'm going to make her come 
again.

I slide off the bed and finish undressing, seeing her eyes go 
straight to my cock.  It's hard and aching, but I carefully 
suppress any sign of excitement in my voice or expression, as I 
have been doing all evening. 

In my younger, sensitive-80s days, I once read a pop-psychology 
book that compared the emotional interaction between a couple 
with liquid in two joined, pressurized chambers.  When the 
emotional level in one drops, the other rises to compensate.  As 
I recall, the point was that both partners should be open about 
their emotions so they don't build up and cause imbalance.  
That's not the way I'm applying it now.  I want to cause 
imbalance.  The cooler I am, the hotter Scully gets.

"That was very pretty, sweetheart, seeing you wriggle like that.  
And that gag in your mouth?  Hot.  You're such a good little 
cocksucker."

A soft whimper, just as I expected.  Earthy language makes her 
feel dirty, and praise turns her on.  It's the perfect 
combination.

I climb back onto the bed, turn around and straddle her face, 
looming over her on my hands and knees.  My cock bobs eagerly as 
I lower myself slowly, giving her the chance to object.

"Speaking of cocksucking..."
 
To my delight, she lifts her head and takes me in.  I close my 
eyes and enjoy the sensation. Her hot, wet mouth feels so good, 
and I've denied myself so long, I could just let her finish me 
off....

But that isn't the plan.  Balancing my weight on one forearm, I 
reach for the vibrator with my other hand and slide it gently 
into her opening, ignoring her surprised grunt.  I wasn't teasing 
her earlier to be cruel.  I've been priming her body for renewed 
pleasure, teaching it to expect stimulation in repeated waves.  
She should be ready to come again in a minute, if only she'll let 
herself.  

I switch the power on again, and she pulls her mouth away from 
me.  I barely stifle my groan at the loss of contact.  She can't 
see me out of control.

"Oh, God!  Please, no more.  Please stop."

I inject a note of polite confusion into my voice.

"Stop?  Why would I stop?  I want to see you come again."

Her voice is a breathy pant.  "No...I can't.  Not again."

I release the vibrator, leaving it to protrude lewdly from her 
body, and slap the tender flesh of her thigh hard.  Then I pull 
the vibe out and touch the curved tip to the little bundle of 
nerves that controls her pleasure.  

"You can, baby.  And you will."  

I jack up the power.  Instantly her hips thrust up so hard that 
she nearly hits me in the face.  I let her quiver for a few 
seconds, then reduce the speed and rub the tip in small circles 
over her clit.  

"I could bring your body to climax in seconds if I wanted to."  
Another tweak of the pressure, another jerk of her hips.  "But 
first, we're going to talk about what happens when I play with 
you."

She's squirming, not to escape, but because she's too 
overstimulated to do anything else.  Following her movements, I 
adjust the speed and pressure of the vibrations until her hips 
begin undulating automatically.  

"Feel your hips moving?  Are you thinking of that?  Are you 
trying to do that?"

She whimpers.  "No, Master."

"Then why?"

"It's making me."

"That's right.  It's making you.  *I'm* making you."

I glance back over my shoulder at her.  Her hands are scrabbling 
desperately at the sheets, the black cuffs still wrapped around 
her slim wrists.  Beautiful.  I lower the speed until she 
unclenches her fists.  

"And I'm going to make you more excited, and I'm going to make 
you come.  You don't have a choice."

I turn the toy off, knowing that she won't be able to follow my 
next order with its stimulation. 

"Now, I want you to go back to your subspace."

She groans softly, but I hear her breathing grow slower and more 
even as she complies.  When her taut thighs relax, I turn the 
vibrator back on, building the speed in infinitesimal increments.  
I rub it over her sex, fascinated by the visual display of the 
bright pink plastic in her lush, dark pink folds.  Her little 
clit is fully erect, standing out proudly.  I prod it from 
beneath with the buzzing tip.

"Oh!"  There's a note of wonder in the exclamation.

"What are you thinking, baby?"

"Oh, I feel so strange...."  

I've never heard that tone in her voice before.  Keeping the tip 
at that magic spot, I command, "Tell me how you feel."   

"It's humming all through me.  So excited...my nipples, Master, 
they're so tight..."

I prod her clit again.  "Are they, now?"

"Yes, Master.  And oh, I feel like I'm floating."

I smile down at her body as it lies stretched wide and 
restrained, trapped below my weight.

"That's very good, baby.  Anything else?"  Another small circle 
with the vibe.

"Master, I'm scared."

I close my eyes against the sudden surge of emotions--tenderness, 
protectiveness, and instinctive urge to stop.  I shove it back.  
She's trusting me not to let her fear impede the game.
 
"It's okay to be scared, sweetheart. Something new is happening 
to you.  But it's something wonderful, you'll see."

I've given her enough time to stop, and she hasn't.  It's time to 
finish her off.  I've been straddling her all along, my cock 
thrusting arrogantly over her face.  Now I lower myself to her 
mouth again.

"That's enough talking.  Let's see what else you can do with that 
pretty mouth."

I maneuver downward, prodding her lips.  They part and take me in 
again.  She begins to suck gently.  Perfect.  

I tease her with the vibe and she begins making soft grunting 
noises.  Her thighs are taut again, quivering with tension and 
anticipation.  I close my eyes against the pleasure of her mouth 
and its sweet, dutiful labors, trying to concentrate on her.

"Feel your climax building now, baby.  It's going to happen soon.  
You don't have to think, don't have to move, don't have to try.  
Just let it go.  I'm picturing it now--that tightness in your 
belly, that tremor in your clit."

She sucks harder, whining around my cock.  

"Whenever you're ready, baby.  Just let it happen."  I bump the 
speed up again.

She tenses, her body shakes, and the muffled shrieking begins 
again, creating amazing sensations in my cock as Miss "I'm not 
usually multi-orgasmic, Mulder" shakes helplessly in the throes 
of her third orgasm this evening.  Gritting my teeth, I hold my 
own climax at bay long enough to control hers.  I follow the 
motion of her hips with the vibe, keeping the pressure constant 
no matter how she moves.  Her mouth never leaves my cock as she 
gasps and pants through her climax.

When she calms I flex my hips, reminding her of her unfinished 
business.  She begins sucking again, submissively returning to 
her task, and my chest swells with pride. I toss the toy aside, 
steady myself with both hands, and finally let myself go.  

"Suck me, baby," I grit out.  "I'm gonna come in your mouth."  

The pressure builds with my words, taking me past the point of no 
return.  She's sucking harder and the blood is drumming in my 
ears and I'm going to come, gonna come...

"Unh!  Fuck, yeah!"

Oh, eloquent, Mulder.  Real eloquent.

When I've finally caught my breath, I free her ankles and turn 
around to look at her.  Fierce triumph and satisfaction rush 
through me.  Her eyes are soft, awash in the endorphin haze.  She 
looks perfectly malleable, completely tamed.  I feel a deep, 
primitive victory.  I did that to her.

She lies still as I remove the cuffs from her wrists.  I cup her 
chin and force her to look at me, knowing the satisfaction shows 
in my face.  "You did very well, baby.  You made me proud."

She sighs contentedly.  I kiss her lips and then her hot, open 
cunt.  She flinches.

I climb off the bed.  "Stay there," I tell her.  "I'll be right 
back."

I head off to the bathroom and return with a warm wet cloth to 
bathe her.  This is my favorite part of our after-scene ritual.  
It's a reminder for both of us that she lets me care for her as 
well as dominate her.  As I gently run the cloth between her 
legs, the triumph softens to possessiveness mixed with an 
overwhelming urge to protect and care for her.

When I've finished I lie next to her, wrapping my arm around her.
 
"How did that feel, baby?"

She smiles softly, snuggling into my touch.  "I was dancing for 
you, Master."

Dancing?  "And you were coming for me, weren't you?"

"Yes, Master."

I pull her closer, injecting my voice with a confidence I don't 
always feel.  "You must never doubt my control of your body 
again, understand?  I don't want to hear the phrase 'I can't 
come' again."

"Yes, but..."

"What?"

"But that was with a vibrator."

"So?"

"I can't do it at other times."

"Why?  Does a vibrator change human biology?  Create new nerve 
endings, rewire your pleasure receptors?"

She shakes her head.

"You know it doesn't.  It provides stronger stimulation, but 
that's all."

She nods.

I make my voice stern and implacable.  "Never again tell me you 
can't climax.  You may be frightened or uncomfortable; you might 
not want to.  But you can, because I can make you."

"Yes, Master."

It might not last for long, but I know that at this moment, she 
believes me.  

When her eyes drift closed, I kiss her forehead, get up, and pace 
around the room for a few minutes.  Playing takes intense 
concentration; I love it, but get a little restless afterwards.  
I bring her a glass of water when she stirs, sitting next to her 
as she drinks it.  At her nod I remove the scarf, signaling the 
end of the game.

"How do you feel?"

She grins, laying a hand on her abdomen.  Scully sometimes gets 
minor cramps in the aftermath of a powerful orgasm.  "I think I'm 
going to be sore in the morning."

I waggle my eyebrows at her.  "Is a full night of Mulderlovin' 
too much for you to handle?"

She hands the glass back.  "I can take it."

I brush her fingers as I take the glass from her.  "I know, 
Scully.  I think you can take anything I throw at you."

As I lean over to put the glass on the nightstand, I catch some 
fleeting expression crossing her face--doubt, perhaps, or even 
fear.  When I turn back, it's gone.  

She yawns.  "Right now, I'm taking a nap."

Nap, hell.  After three orgasms, she'll be out cold until 
morning.  

I shut off the light and join her.


********************



The ringing phone startles me out of a half-doze Tuesday night.  
I check the clock--it's only midnight.  I must be getting old.  
That, or Scully wore me out this weekend.

"Mulder, it's me."

Speak of the devil.  "What's on your mind, Scully?"

"I was, uh, thinking about what we did this weekend.  About how 
it made me feel."

I'm suddenly wide awake.  "I'm listening."

She's quiet for a moment.  My brow knits in concentration.  To 
understand Scully, you have to listen to her silences as closely 
as her words.  

"It's just me, Scully.  You know you can tell me anything."

She chuckles humorlessly.  "That's what's bothering me."

My heart skips a beat.  What the hell is that supposed to mean?

She backpedals at once.  "That came out wrong, Mulder.   I didn't 
mean--" She lets out a frustrated sigh.  "I *do* want to talk to 
you."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing my pulse back to normal.  
The important thing is that Scully is following through on her 
promise to talk to me if she has a delayed reaction to a scene.

"Maybe you should just start from the beginning," I suggest 
cautiously.

She sighs again.  "It's about the way I've been feeling in a 
scene.  I've noticed it for a while, but these last two times, 
something became very clear to me."

Knowing how to proceed now, I keep my voice neutral.  The 
experience gained in years of interviewing traumatized crime 
victims, anxious family members, and reluctant witnesses has been 
invaluable in coaxing Scully to talk about her emotions.  

"How did you feel?"

"Um...it was weird.  I felt--I guess 'open' is the right word.  I 
think I would have told you anything you'd asked."

Mentally, I congratulate myself for anticipating this.  In fact, 
I'm surprised she didn't bring it up earlier.

"I think we've both noticed it's easier for you to discuss your 
sexuality in a scene, and I thought you were okay with that.  Are 
you concerned about the night you mentioned your past 
relationships?"  

Scully would call that leading the witness, but it's the best way 
to elicit information.

"Yes.  I'm torn, Mulder.  I know I'm not always as...forthcoming 
as I should be with a lover."  

'Lover.'  I'm still adjusting the concept of being Scully's 
lover; so much so, in fact, that whenever she says the word I 
instinctively feel a rush of jealousy for the nameless bastard 
who's bedding my Scully, immediately followed by a desire to 
shout to the rafters that the nameless bastard is *me.*  I 
contain myself as she continues.

"And it was easier to answer when you asked me as my Master.  But 
it wouldn't be healthy to use a scene to try to overcome that 
tendency."

Uh-huh.  I recognize evasion when I see it.  "We both know that, 
Scully.  That's why I didn't pursue it.  What else is bothering 
you?"

Another pause.  "I'm just, uh, concerned by the idea that I'd do 
it at all."

'Concerned' hell, Agent Scully.  You're scared.  

"You know you always have the power to stop, Scully.  Your 
safeword is for emotional distress too."

"I know."  

Further silence.  That line of inquiry is a dead end.  

I keep coaxing gently.  "I understand your concerns, and I tried 
to respect your privacy.  Do you think I crossed a line?"  

That will get a straight answer.  She won't take evasion so far 
as to let me shoulder the blame.

"No, you didn't.  I know you were being careful."

I set myself up for the key question.  "That was three weeks ago.  
Why are you concerned again now?"  *Exactly* like countless 
witness interviews.  "What happened this weekend?"  

"Mulder, I got so into the scene that I--I don't think I would 
have thought to use my safeword."

That requires some response, but I'm distracted by my rapidly 
stiffening dick.  Okay, that doesn't happen in witness 
interviews.  Well, not often.

Focus, Mulder.  

"Scully, we're in new territory for me too.  I've never done this 
before: never taken power games to this level, and never 
experienced anything like what I feel with you."  

I don't know what the right answer is, but she deserves the same 
honesty she's given me.  

"I can't tell you how strongly it affects me to know I made you 
feel that way."  A nice, neutral way of putting it.  "It 
frightens me a little."  And that's true as well.

Her voice is very soft.  "Yes, me too."  Finally, then, we've 
reached the reason she called.

"In the end, Scully, it's about trust.  Not just trusting me not 
to hurt you--trusting me not to take advantage of you."

Nothing.  Damn, I wish I could see her face, but she chose to 
discuss this by phone for a reason.  I probe verbally, trying to 
figure out what she wants.

"But I already know you trust me.  You don't have anything to 
prove.  If that's not the direction you want to go in, it's okay.  
Just tell me."

More nothing.

I'm faced with a dilemma.  Ever since we began playing power 
games, I've analyzed every question Scully has asked and her 
every response to a proposed scene, building a sort of a sexual 
profile on her.  And what I've concluded from this profile is 
that when she is in her submissive persona, she wants to be 
pushed.  Asking her to tell me what she wants takes away some of 
the mystique of my dominance.  The problem is, after all we've 
been through, I won't risk pushing her in the wrong direction.

I try to depersonalize the situation.  "A lot of submissives 
discover the things that make them most nervous are also the 
things that are most exciting.  Emotional vulnerability and 
exposure is a good example.  It's frightening, but it's arousing 
to know you've put yourself wholly in your dominant's hands."

I hear the soft intake of her breath, then a long moment of 
static on the other end of the line.  Finally she replies, "Yes, 
I could see that."

"And a lot of tops think it's their job to take their submissives 
further than they thought they could go.  To discover those 
frightening, exciting things and force their subs to do them."

A longer silence.  "I think that's probably right."

I'm definitely on the right track.  I quickly review the 
weekend's game, trying to figure out what that frightening, 
exciting thing was for her.

Wait a minute--she told me herself, 'Master, I'm scared.'
 
"Some submissives discover they like being compelled to tell how 
they feel while being topped.  By forcing them to lay themselves 
entirely open, their masters make them realize they're completely 
loved." 

Her breathing has quickened.  "Completely?"

"Completely.  And they find it almost inexpressibly erotic."

A pause.  "What do dominants find inexpressibly erotic?"

Well, since you bring it up...

"When some dominants picture their subs on their knees, 
whispering their darkest fantasies, sharing secret desires 
they've never told anyone--well, some dominants have been known 
to masturbate to that image."

She stifles a moan.  "They want to see their submissives like 
that?"

"Oh, yes.  And if they have to overcome a little struggle to do 
it, that just makes the reward all the sweeter."

Her words come out in a rush.  "Promise me, Mulder, only things 
that relate to the scene.  I want--I want to open up to you at 
other times.  I'm trying, but it's difficult, and power games add 
a whole new level of complexity.  I want to keep them 
compartmentalized."

The promise leaps to my lips, but the easy answer isn't always 
the right one.

"Scully, you know we can't compartmentalize completely.  You 
couldn't come that night because something from your past was 
affecting the scene.  It will probably happen again, and you'll 
have to trust my judgment on where to draw the line.  But I 
promise if we have another conversation like we did that night, 
I'll do one of two things.  I'll either limit the questions to 
things I think are necessary to continue the scene, or stop the 
game so we can talk about it as partners.  All right?"

Another pause.  "All right."

"You okay?"

"Yeah.  It's just a little scary."

"It is for me too, Scully.  I'm glad you called."  And I am.  
Just the fact that she's admitting to fear now is a milestone for 
us.

I hear her yawn--it's long past her bedtime.  Well, she knows 
what I'm doing once we hang up, so I'll give her something to 
think about before going to sleep.

I lower my voice, making it warm and intimate.  "You know, 
Scully, I've been thinking a lot about this weekend too."

She hears the difference, and matches my tone.  "You have?"

"Oh, yeah."  I wonder where her hands are now.  "Watching you 
wriggle on that vibrator was fantastic. Knowing you thought you 
couldn't do something, and knowing I was going to make you--"

She moans almost inaudibly.

"--well, I can't wait to do it again."

Quiet, rapid breathing comes over the line.

"Good night, Scully.  Sweet dreams."

I hang up the phone and slide my hand down to relieve the aching 
tension, picturing her doing the same thing.


END
********************

All feedback welcomed at subrosa31@yahoo.com.




From: SubRosa <subrosa31@yahoo.com>
Date: Thu, 6 Mar 2003 19:19:13 -0800 (PST)
Subject: Gossamer Submission
Source: direct

TITLE:  A Gift of Silk IV
AUTHOR: SubRosa 
RATING: Hard NC-17 for graphic consensual sex and language.
CATEGORY: SRA
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance 
SPOILERS: None
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, 
     Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting,
     and to the actors who portray them.  They are being used 
     without permission, and no profit is being made. 
DISTRIBUTION: Wherever you like, but please let me know.  
THANKS: To adara, Denise and Wylfcynne for beta services, and to 
     jaz for her help with Scully's costume.
FEEDBACK: Obsessed over at subrosa31@yahoo.com
WEBPAGE: http://www.geocities.com/subrosa31
SUMMARY: Mulder, Scully, D/s, and some angst. 
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: 

This fic is rated NC-17 for graphic, consensual sex.  Please do 
not read if you are under the age of 17 or if this subject 
matter may offend you.  This story is a work of an erotica set a 
fictional D/s context; it is not necessarily an accurate 
depiction of a BDSM relationship.  

All my stories, as well as some sites used for research, can be 
found at my webpage. 


*********************************************



My pulse quickens--quickens more than usual, that is--as I knock 
on Scully's door.  She's expecting me, and it swings open 
immediately.  I put on my game face the instant I walk into the 
apartment.  Grabbing her by the arms, I pin her against the 
wall.  Her breath catches at the look in my eyes, and she falls 
still.

She doesn't move when I release her to close the door.  I 
scrutinize her in silence before casually drawing her scarf from 
my pocket.  Giving her my most arrogant smile, I lean into her 
space.  Her pupils dilate instantly.  I stroke her petal-smooth 
cheek with the silk, then trail it down the soft skin beneath 
her chin.  She tilts her head back, offering me her throat.

"Do you want this?" I murmur, caressing her neck with the 
fabric.

"Yesss..." she hisses softly.  Her eyes fall shut.

"Don't move."

I drape the scarf around her neck and leave her there before 
slipping out of the apartment to fetch the duffel bag in my car.  
Bringing it in with me would have ruined the element of surprise 
and made me considerably less maneuverable; it's pretty full 
today.  If we keep this up, I'm going to need a bigger bag.    

When I reenter the apartment, Scully is exactly where I left 
her.  Her hands are flat against the wall and her back is 
arched; her breathing is rapid and shallow, eager.  I've never 
seen her go from zero to sixty this fast before.

She follows me meekly as I lead her into the living room, but 
her eyes go to the bag with undisguised curiosity.  Ever since 
she responded so positively to a vibrator, I've been introducing 
more toys into playtime, and she's liked most of them quite a 
bit.  Tonight, though, the props are just to set the mood.  Most 
of the actual stimulation will come from her own mind.

At least, I hope it will.  This is the first time I've tried to 
create such an elaborate scenario, and I'm none too sure how it 
will play out.  Adding to my trepidation is the fact that, also 
for the first time, I'm acting out a fantasy which she has kept 
hidden from me.  Some time ago, I found an art book on harem 
imagery tucked away in her bookshelf.  Speculating that the book 
reflected some secret desire of hers, I decided to arrange this 
evening as a surprise.  I figure that her reaction is going to 
be either very good, or very bad.

"I've got something very special planned for you tonight," I 
tell her with a confidence that I don't quite feel.  For her 
sake, though, I'll fake it.

Dressing Scully as an odalisque posed more obstacles than I'd 
expected.  To my wallet, yes, but I'm used to that--in fact, I 
rather enjoy it.  There's no better use of my money than making 
Scully happy, and this is one of a very few times when I can 
spend freely on her without meeting resistance or protest.  No, 
the damage done in preparing for this evening was to my dignity.  
The whole experience renewed my respect for Scully, as I 
realized what a gift she gives in laying aside her fierce pride 
when she submits to me.

Normally I just order our toys on-line, but tonight required a 
little more effort.  I rejected mall-store lingerie and on-line 
shopping for her costume out of hand--what they offered seemed 
too cheap and tacky for the setting of elegant captivity that I 
envisaged.  So I started at a shop that sold Middle Eastern 
dance supplies.  

The proprietor was a handsome woman in her late forties, with an 
olive complexion and a strong nose.  When I told her I was 
shopping for a woman's dance outfit, she took one look at me and 
led me to a section of the store clearly intended for men 
playing dress-up with their girlfriends, rather than for the 
professionals.  I found the pattern I wanted quickly enough, but 
the fabrics didn't appeal.  I didn't want cheap polyester--I 
wanted rich silk caressing Scully's skin with her every 
movement.  So I picked up the pattern from the dress-up side, a 
bolt of silk from the "professional" section, and brought both 
to the counter where the owner was showing a set of finger-
cymbals to the rep of a dance troupe.  

"Could I have this pattern made in this material?" I asked when 
they completed their business.

She glanced at the cloth with a practiced eye, then looked up at 
me doubtfully.  "That will be more expensive, sir."

"I know.  That's fine," I told her.

I think respect flashed through her eyes when I insisted on the 
silk.  Or maybe she couldn't have cared less, and I was just 
nervous about buying sexual props from an establishment that 
didn't have a posted policy congratulating me on my healthy 
celebration of my sexuality and promising never to sell my name 
to less savory businesses.

But seeing Scully in the costume will be worth the discomfort.  
Deciding that she's waited long enough, I unzip the bag.

"Undress."

Her hands go to the buttons of her blouse, deftly slipping them 
loose.  She's not wearing a bra.  Did we have plans for tonight, 
Agent Scully?  

I admire her breasts as she unfastens her jeans.  She shimmies 
out of them and looks up at me shyly. I watch her sternly, and 
she squirms out of her panties too.

"Very nice," I praise her as I draw the neatly folded pants out 
of the duffel bag and offer them to her.  Her eyes widen when 
she realizes what they are.  

"We're going to play a new game tonight," I tell her.

She takes the pants, stroking the midnight blue silk and 
fingering the silver trim.
 
"Put them on," I order quietly.

She steps gracefully into the garment.  It reveals as much as it 
covers: the fabric is semi-sheer, and the pants are slit from 
the ankle to hip.  The costume also has a midriff-baring bodice 
in the same fabric, but I don't intend to use it tonight.  
Instead, I use her scarf to make a halter, framing and enhancing 
her breasts rather than covering them.  I flick her nipples 
casually when I finish, and she stifles a yelp.  

Next come thick, cuff-like bracelets which I place on each of 
her wrists in turn, followed by a delicate chain around her 
waist.  Kneeling before her, I trail my fingers down her calves.  
She shivers as I put on the final touch: an anklet with heavy 
bells.

I step back and appraise her when I'm finished.  Her breasts 
rise and fall fetchingly even as she studies my face doubtfully, 
perhaps wondering how much I know about this fantasy.

"Did you really think you could keep it a secret from me?" I 
ask, smiling at her unease.

Unease is a concept that I became quite familiar with while 
organizing this evening.  Ordering the dance costume was the 
easy part, in fact.  The hard part was going into a bookstore 
and buying several romance novels with a harem theme--not that 
I've seen Scully read them, but I figured they could give me 
some insight into the female perspective on that particular 
fantasy.  

So I braved row after row of books with studly, bare-chested men 
peering disdainfully at me from the covers.  Yes, I could have 
bought them on-line, but they *all* have titles like "Sweet 
Captivity" and "Love's Enslavement," so I needed to see the 
blurbs.  Besides, I didn't want them traced back to my credit 
card.  Sex toys, fine, but I draw the line at bodice-rippers.  

I selected three books as quickly as I could and hurried to the 
counter to pay, only to stop cold when I spotted Walter Skinner 
in the line ahead of me.  I ducked behind a rack of foreign 
newspapers, losing my place in line to a harried-looking woman 
with a toddler on one hip and a five-year-old clinging to her 
hand.  She probably needed it more than I did anyway.  
Concealing the books under my trenchcoat, I watched 
surreptitiously over "Le Monde" while Skinner paid for his 
purchases.  Only when he turned to leave did I realize I was 
hiding from a complete stranger with male pattern baldness.  

I got back in line, reminding myself that I was secure in my 
masculinity and trying to hide the bookcovers from the gaze of 
the bright-eyed toddler now peering at me from between his 
mother's legs.  An eternity later I plunked down the money and 
hightailed it out of the store before my imagination could call 
up Scully's mother browsing the bestsellers.  I clutched the bag 
furtively against my body as I made my way to the car, wondering 
if Scully is ever this afraid of being found out.
 
But that's a question for later.  Removing my own shirt, I have 
her walk across the room and back to show off her costume.  The 
fabric in her pants is cut generously, but glimpses of her legs 
flash through the slits with each step.  She blushes, very 
prettily, as the bells jingle with her movements.  

I watch with naked possession as she moves about the room.  When 
she stops in front of me, I reach out and toy with the chain 
around her waist.  A muscle in her abdomen twitches as I brush 
her warm skin.

"Are you all right with this setting?" I ask.  Tonight requires 
her complete cooperation; if she's harboring doubts, I need to 
know now.

To my relief, she nods.  "Yes, Master."

I've put too much work into this scene to hop right into bed, so 
I draw the evening out.  We begin with dinner, carry-out that I 
brought from a Lebanese deli near my apartment.  In keeping with 
the evening's theme, we eat at the coffee table seated on 
cushions rather than at her dining room table.  She doesn't ask 
about her dress, and I don't volunteer any information.  Instead 
we chat idly, though I revel in asking her questions just to 
hear her muted "Yes, Master," and "No, Master" in response.

When we finish, I ask her to remove the remains of the meal 
while I move aside the coffee table and pillows, leaving one 
cushion on the floor.  The tinkle of bells marks her return as I 
complete my task.  I tell her to walk back and forth across the 
room one more time, just because I can.  Even during playtime 
I'm not usually this blatant, and she feels the difference.  She 
colors again, but puts a little extra swing in her hips as she 
crosses the floor and returns.  

At my command she kneels on the cushion.  Leaving her there for 
the time being, I take my time making the final preparations in 
the bedroom.  When I think she's waited long enough, I return to 
the living room with another prop--a long peacock plume.  

She is still in position: sitting back on her heels, legs 
spread, hands resting on her thighs.  She doesn't move as I come 
to a halt behind her.  Pleased, I trail the feather over her 
bare shoulders.  She shivers.  I turn my attention to her back, 
painting imaginary brush patterns on her smooth skin, as I move 
on to the evening's main event.

"I'm picturing a new scene for today, sweetheart. Would you like 
to hear it?"

"Yes, Master." 

I retrace the father's path up her back, over her shoulder, and 
begin brushing the erect tips of her breasts.  

"I'm imagining you in an old-fashioned dress--Victorian, 
perhaps.  It's slightly torn.  You're blindfolded, your hands 
tied behind your back, as you're led into a strange room.  When 
the blindfold is removed, there's a man waiting for you.  He 
tells you that you've been brought here as a harem slave."

She flinches at the word.  I modulate my voice, trying to exude 
both command and reassurance as I weave her fantasy into the 
control I normally exert in a scene.

"He assures you that you won't be harmed--as long as you don't 
resist."

Lifting the feather away, I break persona for what I hope is the 
last time this evening.  "I need you to be perfectly obedient 
tonight, baby.  Much as I enjoy subduing you"--and much as she 
enjoys being subdued--"punishments are too harsh in the harem."

Her spine stiffens in resolve.  "I understand, Master."
 
Nothing for tonight is likely to give her trouble, but I remind 
her anyway, "You can always use your safewords if something 
becomes too difficult."

At her nod, I resume tickling her breasts with the plume.  "So 
they lead you into the women's section of the harem, to begin 
training for your new life."  I give her time to imagine it 
before commanding, "Tell me what you see there."

She hesitantly describes a lush, textured setting.  Dark teak 
and mahogany, subtly patterned rugs and tapestries shot through 
with gold enclose her in an exotic prison.  I'm doubly pleased 
with the scene waiting for her in the bedroom.

When she finishes, I pick up the narration with a different 
scene.  "Now I can see you walking through the hallway with a 
group of other women.  You're dressed as you are now, as you 
have been ever since you entered the harem.  Your bare feet sink 
into the soft carpet, and your clothes stroke at your skin, 
parting to reveal your legs with every step.  It's almost worse 
than being naked.  And you can feel the constant weight of the 
jewelry as you move.  You feel ornamented, decorated.  The bells 
chime with each movement, a constant reminder of what you are, 
as they lead you to the harem baths."  

I'd lay money that Scully fantasizes about soaking in the marble 
pools depicted in her harem paintings almost as much as she 
imagines the sex itself.  Scully does love her baths.  

"They undress you and let you soak in the warm water for a long 
time, until you're relaxed and almost half-asleep.  Only then do 
they wash you and shave you completely, admiring your pretty, 
pink sex."

The feather dances down her abdomen, as far as I can reach from 
my position behind her.  Heat is pooling in my own belly in 
anticipation of the next scene.  I'm not just fulfilling her 
fantasy tonight--as her Master, I'm claiming it for myself.
 
"Next, they take you to a high, padded table.  Still naked, you 
stretch out on it.  Two of the women begin to rub warm oil onto 
your skin, making it even softer, as they knead every last bit 
of tension away from your muscles: your back, your shoulders, 
even down your legs.  You're completely limp when they roll you 
over onto your back."

Laying the feather aside, I kneel behind her.  She shifts a 
little, leaning back to feel my body heat without actually 
breaking position.

"You lie still, enjoying the sensation as they continue.  Over 
your arms and neck, down your chest.  Then, warm hands are 
rubbing the oil onto your breasts."

She gasps as I palm her breasts.

"They linger there, massaging every inch of your skin," I 
continue in my best 'Master' voice, matching my words with 
action, "and you're getting turned on.  Your nipples grow erect.  
The woman rolls them between her fingers, pinching them until 
you moan."

I keep working her breast with one hand, letting the other creep 
downward.

"The other woman begins smoothing the lotion into the skin of 
your belly, your inner thighs.  They pull you all the way down 
the table, almost to the end, and spread your legs as she starts 
rubbing the oil over your smooth, bare pussy."  

She starts as my fingers reach the damp silk over her sex.  My 
cock jerks in response.
 
"But she doesn't need to, baby, because you're already wet."

She sighs as my fingers circle gently.

"She parts your labia, and you groan in spite of yourself.  
Against your will, you arch into her hand as she fingers your 
throbbing clit.  And suddenly, her mouth is on you."

You'll never find a scene like this in the romance novels, which 
is all the proof you need that they were never intended for male 
eyes.  When you come right down to it, there are two kinds of 
straight men in the world: those who fantasize about watching 
two women together, and those who pretend they don't fantasize 
about watching two women together.  I'm in the first group, and 
damn, is the image hot.  

"You shake your head in protest, but it doesn't matter to them.  
You're a slave: your body isn't yours to command.  The other 
women move in to hold you in place.  Can you feel their hands on 
your thighs now?  Warm and strong, but soft and small too."

"Oh..."

"Those hands pull your legs wider apart.  You're helpless now: 
there's nothing you can do.  She knows exactly what a woman 
likes.  Her tongue is teasing you, stroking between your labia.  
And it's been so long since someone touched you, and it feels so 
good, baby.  What do you think you do?"

I hold my breath as I wait for her reply.  Finally she whispers, 
"I give in."

With a groan of relief I pull her back against me.  It feels 
like the heat of my cock is burning right through the denim and 
thin silk that still separate us.

"That's right, baby.  You give in.  You start to rock your hips 
and whimper.  And it feels so good to let go, with those hands 
everywhere: holding your arms, parting your legs, squeezing your 
nipples just the way you like it."

My hands go back to her tight nipples as the scene fills my 
mind.  "You're moaning now.  You can't control yourself, not 
with that tongue making you so hot that you can't stand it.  One 
of them lifts your head.  You open your eyes--and there's 
someone watching you."

My dick prods the small of her back as she shifts restlessly.  
"Is it a man?"

"Yes, it's a man.  The one who brought you into the harem.  
They're putting you on display for him, making you perform."

"Ohhh..."

I let my hand rest on her upper thigh, squeezing gently.  "The 
hands tighten on your arms and legs.  And you're a little 
frightened, baby.  A little startled.  You don't like him there, 
watching so coldly.  But it doesn't matter."

The muscles of her thigh tense.  "Because they're holding me 
down."

My fingers drift to the slit at the side of her pants.  "Yes, 
sweetheart, they're still holding you down.  But you hardly 
notice, because she's found that magic spot on your clit--the 
spot that makes you crazy.  All you can think about is how badly 
you want to come."

She moans incoherently.  

I slide my hand into the slit, going straight for her cunt.  
She's wet and ready.  I circle her clit delicately, then with 
increasing pressure. 

"She licks that spot over and over, keeping you right on the 
edge.  You're squirming and bucking against the hands holding 
you, whimpering and moaning as that man watches you.  Your body 
is completely in their control: legs spread, arms pinned, head 
held in place so he can see your face."

"Oh, God," she moans, leaning into my touch.  I follow 
instinctively, keeping my cock trapped between our bodies.  

"He gives a command to the woman between your legs, and she goes 
faster and faster.  Your body arches.  You're so excited..."
 
She whimpers as I hit the right rhythm.  "Please, Master."

I kiss her temple.  "Do you want it, baby?  Do you want her to 
lick you until you come?"

"Yes...uh...yes."

My fingers quicken.  "Tell me.  Tell me, and it'll happen."

Her breathy voice is nearly my undoing.  I let myself go, 
rocking against her as she gives the fantasy back to me.

"She's between my--uh--between my legs.  Her tongue is on my 
clit, and everyone's--everyone's watching me, and it feels 
so...feels so--oh!"

And then she's coming, rubbing frantically against my hand.  I 
pull her hard against my body, thrusting against her round ass 
as I think of her stretched out on a table, head thrown back in 
ecstasy as a raven-haired beauty licks between her quivering 
thighs, making her writhe and pant for me, making her come for 
me....

Dimly I realize that Scully has quieted, but I'm still rutting 
against her.  Gritting my teeth, I bring myself under control.  
Lips at her ear, hand still between her legs, I continue the 
story. 

"Your eyes open to see the man still watching you.  He's 
standing right next to the table, looking down at you.  You 
realize that they're holding you tighter now.  Your legs are 
quickly bound in place, wide open, as he steps in between them."

She sinks back against me in post-orgasmic fatigue.  I stroke 
her clit with a nearly imperceptible caress.

"You think he's going to fuck you, but he doesn't; he's not the 
master of the harem.  Instead one of the women brings him a 
little jar.  He dips his fingers into it and begins rubbing a 
warm ointment into your sex."

In the fictional harem world of women's erotica, I discovered, 
there's very little girl-on-girl action.  There is, however, a 
pharmacopoeia of aphrodisiacal potions, salves, and unguents 
that permit chaste Victorian maidens to be driven to guiltless 
ecstasy by the strangers who hold them captive. 

"He works it between your labia, into your vagina, especially 
your clit.  It's like fire on your nerve endings."

Patient circles between her legs, gradually restoking her 
need...

"He ignores your protests.  You're a task to be accomplished, a 
job.  And he's very good at his job."

She lets out a shuddering breath as fresh arousal dampens my 
fingers.

"And when you start to moan again, they release you."

I stand, offering her my hand.  She lets me help her to her feet 
and follows as I lead her into the bedroom, the bells at her 
ankle jingling accompaniment.

Her eyes widen as she sees my recreation of a harem setting.  A 
gold throw blanket made of plush silk velvet and a deep blue 
shawl from the dance shop are strewn in artful--if I do say so 
myself--disarray on the bed.  In a less-tacky version of the 
"shirt-over-the-lamp" trick from college, I draped a wine-
colored silk veil over the lampshade to soften the lighting.  
The rich fabrics and dim lighting transform her cheerful, 
comfortable bedroom into a mysterious, decadent chamber where 
very little sleeping is done.

When she has looked her fill, I bring out the last prop for the 
evening.  

"To maintain the illusion," I explain as I tie the blindfold 
around her eyes.  She nods a shaky acquiescence.

With lingering caresses, I remove her pants.  She is more nude 
than if she were naked as she stands bathed in the dim light, 
her breasts framed by the halter, the jewelry decorating and 
possessing her body, and the black silk stark across her face.  
Dropping to my knees, I cup her buttocks, pull her forward, and 
bury my face in her pussy.  She shrinks back, still too 
sensitive from her earlier orgasm, but I show her no more mercy 
than her companion did earlier.  Relentlessly I stroke and 
nibble until her knees buckle.  I look up at her flushed face 
and parted lips, and suddenly I can't wait any longer.

"And they put you on the bed."  I guide her onto it, laying her 
on her back.

"They don't restrain you.  There's nowhere you could escape to, 
and you don't even want to now.  You can still feel those cool 
fingers on your pussy, those soft hands on your breasts.  The 
flesh between your legs is burning, aching."

She lets me move her into position with her arms above her head 
and her legs parted.  My final instructions come in disjointed 
bursts as my tongue dances on her, coaxing her to the fever 
pitch now gripping me.  

"And they leave you there, stretched out, waiting.  Waiting to 
be fucked by an anonymous stranger."  

I crawl up on the bed to hiss directly into her ear.  "Can you 
picture it, baby?  Are you there?"  I rub her temples, willing 
her to immerse herself completely.  "In here, baby.  Is it real 
in here?"

She shifts, spreading her legs wider.  "Yes."  

I tear my remaining clothes off and kneel over her, feeling the 
velvet beneath us in a sensual change from her crisp sheets.  
She moans as I sink into her.

It's torture, absolute torture, to control my strokes as I push 
into her welcoming heat.  She wants it, the voice in the back of 
my mind whispers teasingly, she wants me to fuck her hard and 
fast.  I can let go now.

But that isn't the plan.

I grab her hips, warning her of my intent, and roll us over.  
Barely noticing the beaded fringe of the blanket under my ass, I 
maneuver her over me until she's in a position to pleasure me 
like a proper odalisque.  I squeeze her hips once, firmly, and 
release her, watching to see if she gets the message.  

She does.  She is the picture of carnal indulgence as she puts 
her hot little hands on my chest to balance herself and begins 
rocking.  One of her legs is resting on the blue shawl, the 
other on the gold blanket, and I imagine the velvet tickling her 
shins and the tops of her sensitive feet.  The metal of her 
anklet is cool against my outer thigh as she straddles me.  

I groan, letting my hips bump up to meet her.  I've been aching 
for this for hours, it seems, and my head swims as her tight 
heat encloses me, sending those waves of bliss through me...

Scully gasps above me as she moves faster, leaning forward for a 
better angle.  Her head is thrown back now as she stares blindly 
at the ceiling.  I'm so lost in the sight and sensation that I 
barely notice her hand creeping between her legs.

Oh, no.  This won't do.  I catch her wrist sharply, exerting a 
pressure just short of bruising force as I pull her hand away 
from her cunt.  She shivers, and her lips form a little "O."  
Placing her hand back on my chest, I reach out and toy with her 
belly chain, reminding her of her place.

Never let it be said that Scully isn't sharp on the uptake.  
Realizing exactly what I mean, she contracts her inner muscles.  
I stifle a grunt.  Much better.  She does it again, and again, 
and again...

Much, much better.  And different from how this position usually 
feels.  Normally Scully would be setting the mood and pace, but 
now I'm in control even as I lie passively on my back watching 
her pleasure me.  I feel my orgasm building as she speeds up, 
coaxing me toward my release so that she can find her own.  
Another exquisite squeeze pushes me over the edge.  With a shout 
I gush into her, feeling the orgasm from my scalp to my toes.  

When the throbbing in my cock subsides, I press my thumb against 
her clit in quick, impersonal circles.  Her lips part in the 
most beautiful anticipation before her gasps turn to cries as 
the orgasm takes her.  Then she collapses, panting, into my 
arms.

The air in the room is cool on our sweat-dampened skin as we 
recover.  She nuzzles my chest as I untie the blindfold, then 
sits up and presents her back to me in a silent request to take 
off her scarf.  I unknot it and remove the halter, kissing the 
occasional mark left on her skin.  

She lies down with me again, resting one hand on my chest as a 
prop for her chin as she looks up at my face.  

"How did you know?" she asks.

I leer at her.  "A good Master knows these things."

She snorts inelegantly, her free hand drawing idle patterns on 
my chest.  

The hand stops. "The book.  You found the book on my shelf."  

"That, too," I concede.  

Her gaze drops from my face.  "I should have realized that from 
the start."

I thread my fingers through her hair, smoothing the disarray 
caused by the blindfold.  "You should have done exactly what you 
did--respond to my directions.  It's not the time for you to 
think or analyze."

For a while she's content to trace her patterns again.  Then she 
begins speaking in a contemplative voice.

"It started with an art class--art history, I mean.  The harem 
theme was a big part of our unit on Romantic art.  There was 
just something appealing about the setting.  It was so tactile, 
so sensual.  And the unabashed focus on sexuality..."  She 
trails off.

"This was in college?" I ask, curious about the origins of the 
fantasy.

"Yes.  I had just become sexually active, and something about 
the motif struck me.  That was before I'd even learned about the 
appeal of submission, but I guess the attraction is the same: 
loss of control giving the freedom to be completely sexual."

She's watching her finger rather than looking at me.  "The harem 
thing is probably a little silly.  I know it has nothing to do 
with reality."

"Scully, we should be long past the point where we have to 
qualify or make excuses for our fantasies.  It's just about what 
feels right for you.  For us."

She nods.  Silence falls for a moment, but I'm too curious to 
let it go on for long.

"So did this--" I wave to indicate the entire evening--"live up 
to your fantasy?"

Her finger stills once more.  "It was good, but different."

"How so?"

Her expression lightens as she shoots a teasing glance at me.  
"Well, normally there's less homoerotic content."

I probably could have guessed that.  "Were you okay with it?"

She nods.  "It wasn't really a surprise.  I *have* seen your 
video collection, you know."  She grins wickedly.  "Although I 
didn't realize you went in for the shaved look."

"Variety is the spice of life," I defend myself tritely.  
Shooting for a casual tone, I ask, "Did that interest you, by 
the way?"

She considers it.  "I wouldn't have a problem with being 
commanded to do it in-scene."  

I'm briefly distracted by the possibilities, but give myself a 
mental shake and return to the topic at hand.  "I wasn't sure 
how you'd react to me introducing the whole harem scenario, 
since we haven't talked about it."

She rolls to the side, propping her head on her arm, and looks 
pensive again.  "It's hard to verbalize.  It was a little 
frightening that you knew my secret fantasies, but frightening 
in a good way.  Exciting.  It made you seem very much in 
control."

"If you have secrets from me, the possession isn't complete?"

"Yes, that's it."  

I maneuver the blanket out from under us and pull it up to ward 
off the chill.  "What else worked for you?"

She fingers the gold cloth.  "Everything about the setting was 
perfect.  At first I was afraid the costume would feel silly or 
artificial, but in fact it strengthened the illusion."  Her 
voice drops.  "And being made to walk around, showing off for 
you--that worked."

I read between the lines.  "You liked being a sex object."

Her voice goes very soft.  "Yes."

"What didn't you like?"

She purses her lips.  "The anonymity of the final scene, the 
term 'slave' itself--those were less appealing.  When we're 
together like this, I like the sense of giving you total 
control, not having it taken from me and exercised by a 
stranger.  But those elements were exactly what was appealing 
about the fantasy."

She squeezes my hand.  "A lot about these games has been 
different from my fantasies.  Sometimes that's unsettling, but 
it just makes the experience more intense."

She sits up and lifts the shawl, shaking out the wrinkles and 
folding it neatly before picking up the gold throw.

"Where did you get all these things?  They must have cost a 
fortune."

"Money well spent," I assure her, helping her to fold the 
blanket.  I shake my head when she tries to give it back to me.  
"I want you to keep it.  If you get cold in the winter when I'm 
not here, I want you to curl up in this blanket and think of me 
topping you."

Her cheeks color as she accepts it.  I love the way she responds 
to even the suggestion of my dominance.  She doesn't admit it 
often, but she loves it too.

Figuring I might as well go all out, I retrieve the silk bodice 
from my bag and hand it to her.  "You know, I couldn't very well 
ask for a harem-slave costume, so it's actually a dancer's 
outfit."  

She holds up the long-sleeved top, giving me the eyebrow when 
she realizes how much of her midriff it will expose.  

"Did I ever tell you about my secret belly dancer fantasy?" I 
ask with another leer.

She smiles sweetly.  "And did I ever tell you about my secret 
cabana boy fantasy?"

I quail.  "Of course, every relationship needs its secrets."  


*********************************************



I watch Mulder out of the corner of my eye, silently willing him 
to bring out that magical swatch of silk that signals the 
beginning of our power games.  I want it tonight.  I definitely 
want it tonight.
 
By unspoken agreement, only Mulder can initiate the game.  I'd 
hoped he would today, but my optimism dimmed when he drove us to 
his apartment after work.  Mulder can take command at any time 
and place provided we're off duty--and sometimes does at the 
office to signal the end of the workday--but we usually end up 
at my apartment with its larger bed, softer carpets, and more 
things to tie me to.  

So it seems he has nothing planned, and I have family 
obligations for the rest of the weekend.  If I don't want to 
wait another week, I have to start playtime myself.  As Mulder 
putters into the kitchen for some wine, I steel myself to do 
something daring.  Something I haven't done before.

"What are you up for tonight, Scully?" he calls out.  "Chinese 
and a movie?"

I don't respond.  Slipping off my shoes, I silently creep after 
him.

His head pops around the doorframe.  "Scully?  Did you hear--?"

I drop to my knees and bow my head, a warm flutter beginning in 
my belly.  "Whatever my Master wishes," I murmur.

He takes in a sharp breath.  I startled him.  

There's a long, uncomfortable pause.  Suddenly I can't tell if 
the flutter in my stomach is arousal or fear.  Too nervous to 
look up at his face, I watch as his feet come into view on the 
floor in front of me.

"I wasn't aware that we were playing today," he comments 
levelly.

A hot blush creeps up my neck and cheeks.  Maybe I shouldn't 
have done this.  

His voice lowers, making me shiver.  "Is it now your choice to 
decide when to play?"

My pulse pounds in my ears.  If he rejects me, I'm going to feel 
so humiliated.  But he's using the voice, and I can see his cock 
tenting his dress pants...

"No, Master.  Only yours."

I struggle not to fidget under his silent scrutiny as he lets 
the pause drag on interminably.

Finally his voice comes again.  "Would you like to ask me for 
something?"

I close my eyes in relief.  "Yes, Master."

He grips the hair at the base of my neck and pulls my head back.  
"You may ask me."

He's wearing the cool, implacable mask that is so much a part of 
his dominant persona.  I'm instantly wet.

I lick my lips, seeing his nostrils flare.  "Master, please, 
will you use me tonight?"

A wicked smile crosses his face.  "I believe I will."

Releasing my hair, he looks searchingly up and down my body, 
noting the visible signs of my desire.  His hand stretches out 
and clinically traces my nipples in turn.  When he gives one 
turgid peak a firm squeeze, a hot pulse echoes between my legs.

"You want it bad tonight, don't you?" he asks.  The hand toys 
carelessly with my breast.

I stifle a moan, surprised at how quickly the arousal is taking 
over my body.  "Yes, Master," I respond.

He pinches my nipple once more.  "That's not true."

I look up at him blankly.

"You *need* it."

The words send another pulse through me, and he smirks 
knowingly.  "Yes, Master," I reply once more.

He releases me and turns away.  "I want you naked when I get 
back," he tosses over his shoulder as he vanishes into his 
bedroom.

I quickly strip and kneel again right where he left me.  When he 
returns dressed only in his jeans, he's carrying a pillowcase in 
one hand and my scarf in the other.  He makes a production of 
winding the scarf around my throat, stroking and caressing the 
tender skin as he arranges it.  By the time he finishes I'm 
almost quivering with excitement.  I want him to push me down 
and fuck me, quick and hard, right here on the floor.
 
Instead he kneels too, putting himself on my level.  His hands 
begin running over my body, cupping my breasts, circling over my 
belly and hips, and delving between my legs.  As he arouses me, 
he guides my body into the pose that he wants: back arched, 
breasts thrust forward, and knees parted wide.  His voice coaxes 
me as he puts me into position, telling me how pretty my body 
is, how he can see the sexual energy flowing through me, how he 
wants me to feel it too.

And I do.  I feel beautiful and sensual, and so alive.  He 
pushes my thighs wider apart, then cups my sex possessively.  I 
arch into his hand, hoping he'll soothe the ache there.

He chuckles.  "I'll give you what you want, baby, but on my 
terms.  Don't think you have control because you started the 
game."  Sparks shoot through me as he flicks at my clit.  
"That's not what you need."

His other hand reaches into his pocket as he continues, "Never 
forget that I run the show."  

The hand opens to reveal a pair of nipple clamps.  I cringe 
involuntarily.  He used clamps on me once before, and I accepted 
them eagerly, expecting an erotic pinching.  Instead, I had to 
use my safeword to have them removed when the pinch became a 
gripping pain that made my submissive mindset impossible to 
maintain.

Later I wondered aloud why they had that effect, when the pain 
of spanking never did.  

"It's a different sort of pain," Mulder responded.  "Or maybe I 
introduced them too soon.  Next time I'll use them to intensify 
your subspace, not to induce it."

His finger was lazily stroking my temple in an unspoken reminder 
of how much of the game is mental, and I remember shivering at 
his casual reference to the ease with which he manipulates my 
mind as well as my body.  Below the studied casualness was 
another message, however: he was offering me the chance to 
refuse further use of the clamps.  I didn't take it.

Now I look warily at the cruel little devices, my excitement 
rapidly draining away.

"This is a different set," he informs me.  

I know what is unsaid in that statement.  He doesn't need to 
reassure me that they won't hurt, doesn't need to ask my 
permission.  If he wants to put them on I must let him--even if 
they hurt.  He can hurt me if he wants to.
 
Taking a deep breath, I arch my back further, offering him my 
breasts.

He smiles his approval.  Leaning forward, he sucks my nipples 
erect again and screws on the clamps.  He stops tightening when 
the pressure reaches a light squeeze, just enough to hold them 
on firmly.  Then he pulls at the chain joining them.  It feels 
as though he's biting or pinching both nipples at once.  It 
feels...oh, it feels good.  

He cups my chin, forcing me to meet his predatory gaze.  His 
thumb strokes between my lips, though I can't remember parting 
them.  The calloused skin is rough and stimulating.

"You are shameless, baby, totally wanton.  You're going to do 
things tonight that you've never done before.  And remember that 
whatever happens, happens because you begged for it."

The eyes that burn into mine are not Mulder's, but my Master's.  
I tremble in anticipation.

Releasing my chin, he sits back on his heels and reaches into 
the impromptu toybag.  "Have you ever given a prostate massage?"

My mind needs a minute to process the sudden change in subject.  
Belatedly I respond, "Yes, Master.  But a long time ago."

He hands me a bottle of lubricant and a finger cot, a small 
latex sheath that slides over the finger.  "I'm sure it will 
come back to you."

I slip the cot on my index finger, careful not to tear the 
rubber with my nail, as he rises and undresses with slow and 
unhurried movements.  He steps out of his jeans and stands 
before me, his swollen cock jutting arrogantly toward my face.  
I lean forward to take him into my mouth, but he stops me.  

Reaching down, he catches my chain in the crook of his finger 
and tugs gently.  A moan escapes my lips as the squeeze goes 
straight to my sex.  His cool possession of my body helps me 
sink deeper into my submissive mindset, the sharp need to come 
yielding to the growing urge to obey.

His other hand goes to the back of my head.  "You may begin 
now."

I start to mouth him gently, feeling the tight pressure on my 
nipples.  As my mouth moves up and down his shaft, I squeeze 
some lubricant onto my finger and let it warm up before I circle 
his anus.  He gasps, his cock twitching in my mouth.  Another 
tug at my nipples sends a searing bolt through me.  It makes me 
quicken my movements, eager to bring him to climax so he'll turn 
his attention to me.  Banishing the thought, I remind myself 
that my role is to serve.  

I lavish his cock with lingering strokes of my tongue as I apply 
more lube.  Engulfing him in my mouth again, I gradually 
increase the suction as my finger carefully pushes into his 
tight heat.  He grunts, and my nipples throb with excitement 
under the clamps.  I slide my finger forward until I reach the 
swollen gland, and stroke gently.  Another grunt, another light 
pull at my nipples.

I establish a rhythm of steady stimulation with my mouth and 
light pressure with my finger.  I want him to match my pace with 
the chain, want him to make my clit pulse with every throb of 
his cock in my mouth, but he doesn't.  The tugs come at 
irregular intervals, with no discernible pattern. 

I can't feel the power that usually comes with a blowjob, not 
when he has my nipples trapped and squeezed like that.  Not when 
he can make my sex clench with the lightest pull of his finger.  
Not when his cool aloofness is making me squirm.  He's groaning 
openly now, making shallow thrusts into my mouth, but still 
controlling me even as I service him.  I'm panting with arousal, 
the ache between my legs consuming all my thoughts.
 
At last he begins tugging and releasing in a regular pattern.  I 
match it with my mouth as my body gratefully slides into the 
rhythm of a building orgasm, hips pulsing in excitement.

"Close...," he grunts.

I redouble my efforts.  With a long groan, he climaxes.  I 
swallow rapidly, still massaging the small gland to draw out his   
pleasure, and moan with vicarious pleasure and anticipation.  
Now it will be my turn....

Finally he lets go of the chain, withdraws from my mouth, and 
tilts my face upward.

"Very good."

Praise is nice; an orgasm would be better.  His eyes glint 
wickedly at my expectant expression, and he steps back, leaving 
me unsatisfied.  Picking up the pillowcase in one hand, he helps 
me to my feet with then other.  Then he turns toward the living 
room, pulling on the chain between my nipples in a silent 
command to follow.

Startled, I stand rooted in place.  Glancing back with a frown, 
he gives the chain a little tug.  Sweet fire blossoms in my 
nipples.  Grinning smugly at my gasp, he moves toward the living 
room again.  I follow, captive to the desire that he knows how 
to manipulate so well.   

He lets me discard the finger cot and clean up while he pulls 
his jeans back on.  I bring him a glass of water at his command, 
suspecting that he gave the order just to watch me pad through 
his apartment naked and flushed.  

When I return he informs me, "Since a movie is out, you're going 
to provide entertainment for the rest of the evening."  

"Yes, Master," I agree, trying to hide my growing frustration.  

His eyes linger on my erect nipples.  "Are you horny tonight?"

My cheeks color anew, but I gave up the right to modesty when I 
knelt before him.

"Yes."

"Tell me."

Can't he see?  "Master, I--I'm horny tonight. I just--God, 
Mulder, please!"

He swats me on the ass.  My voice breaks off.

His breath in my ear makes me shiver.  "Baby, you don't call the 
shots because you started the game.  That's not how it works.  
If you'd just wanted to have sex, you would have said so.  But 
you wanted to be dominated."

Roaming fingers trace fiery trails down my belly.  "Remember?  
You begged to spend the evening pleasuring me."

I barely hear his words as his hand creeps between my legs.  
Driven by need, I begin rubbing against it.  He doesn't stop me.  
Instead, his other arm goes around my waist to steady me as I 
part my thighs awkwardly and thrust faster.  He watches 
placidly, letting me move until I begin moaning in anticipation.

Then his voice drops to an icy whisper.  "Sorry, baby, but there 
are things that will give me more pleasure than watching you 
hump my hand."

He releases me abruptly.  "Back on your knees," he snaps.

Anger flashes through me as I comply.  My headspace is odd 
tonight: I'm partially in my submissive mindset, turned on by 
his orders and eager to obey them, but I can't quite shut off 
the critical part of my brain.  Maybe he's right: maybe a part 
of me thought that initiating the game gave me control over it.  
Or maybe it's because *he's* pushing harder tonight, his words 
and actions rawer than usual.  Is it a response to my boldness?  
Whatever it is, it's driving me crazy.

He picks up the pillowcase he brought from the bedroom and 
reaches into it, grinning at the sudden alertness in my posture.  
Mulder wasn't joking when he told me he had a toy fixation--or 
boasted that he could instill one in me.  Even so, I'm 
disappointed when he brings out an unfamiliar dildo with a 
strangely wide base.  It's not what I want right now.  I want 
him. 

Face impassive, he lays it against the side of my face.  It 
feels slightly warm, almost like human flesh, and it's 
noticeably larger than he is.  I understand the command implied 
by his action: when I'm on my knees he loves to see me rub my 
cheek against his cock affectionately, and now he wants me to do 
the same to the dildo.  Shyly I comply, but to be perfectly 
honest, I'm not sure about this.  It's strange, almost 
embarrassing.  

Oh, God, it's vibrating.  He's never fucked me with a vibrator 
this big.
 
Okay, it's embarrassing, but it's pretty hot too.

He joins me on the floor.  Still holding the vibrator to my 
cheek, he swoops in and claims my mouth.  The kiss is possessive 
and domineering, branding me as his.  

"Still horny?" he asks, lips moving down my chin.

"Yes, Master," I whisper.

He chuckles against my throat.  "You hate that word, don't you?"

Without waiting for a response, he draws back.  Leaving me on my 
knees, he pushes the coffee table against the sofa and studies 
its wide legs.  With a start, I realize the strange base is a 
suction cup.  He's going to affix it to the table leg and make 
me....My mind shies away from the image.
 
"You're always so refined, baby, so demure," he remarks as he 
mounts the dildo at the right height.  "Have you ever taken 
anything this big between those pretty white thighs?"

My throat has gone dry.  "No, Master."  

He unwinds the long cord of the vibrator's battery pack, 
fingering it casually.  "I didn't think so.  Let's see how 
demure you are when you're on your hands and knees, making love 
to this huge cock."

Making love.  The words were not chosen casually--they never 
are.  He won't give me the control even to use the dildo for my 
pleasure.  Instead he wants me to kneel before him, this chain 
decorating my nipples, and make a show of myself.  What could be 
more submissive than servicing a mere toy while he watches?  I 
knew Mulder liked pornography, but for me to do that....

As if he hears my thoughts, his head snaps around and he fixes 
me with an implacable gaze.  I stare at him, transfixed, the 
protest dying in my throat.  My pulse quickens as his eyes burn 
into mine, and the relentless throb in my clit begins again.

Without a word he turns back to the table, leaving me to squirm 
at the growing wetness between my legs.  Not because of the 
vibrator.  Because he subdued me with nothing but a glance.

"Come here."

Oh, God, that voice.  My body knows that voice.  I crawl toward 
him, the fire burning in my sex compelling me to obey. 

"Suck it first, baby.  You're so good at sucking cock."

I cringe from the coarse words even as dizzying anticipation 
spirals through me.  The dildo juts lewdly out from the mounted 
base, seeming to grow before my eyes.  

I lean forward and cautiously kiss the round head, then run my 
tongue up the shaft.    

His hot hands come to rest on my shoulders as I suck the tip.  
"You can do better than that."

With a shiver, I lower my head and take it into my mouth.  I'm 
blushing to the roots of my hair as I obediently fellate it.

"Don't stop," his voice comes from behind me.  Cool fingers part 
my labia.  Squeezing my eyes shut, I chant a silent plea when 
his hot breath teases the overexcited flesh.  Please, please, 
please...

"Mmmph!"

The cock muffles my moan as he laps at my clit.  He works me as 
I work the dildo, his tongue fluttering with just the right 
pressure.  The delicacy of the touch strikes me as incongruous, 
given what he is preparing me for, but it does its job well.  
Soon he has me quivering, my vagina weeping with need.  

I can't control the images that flow through my mind now.  I can 
see him rising up on his knees and driving into me, fucking me 
as I suck the toy.  His voice would goad me on as his hips 
pumped into me, making me take it deeper and deeper into my 
mouth as he pounded harder into my body.  I can see him standing 
before me, forcing me to love him with my mouth as I ride the 
cock.  He'd make it buzz fast and strong inside me, and he'd 
hold my head close so he could feel every moan and whimper as it 
drove me wild in spite of myself....

As if he can feel my rising excitement, he mutters against me,  
"The lube is on the table.  You'll need to prepare it more."  

He returns to eating me out as I gratefully stop sucking the 
dildo.  Balancing awkwardly on one arm, I find the bottle and 
begin slicking the lube onto the shaft, measuring it with my 
hand as I do so.  It will not be an easy fit.  His tongue pushes 
in and out of my vagina, fucking me, making it impossible to 
think of anything else.  Letting my arm fall to the floor, I 
arch my back, inviting him to lick me faster, deeper, harder...

He stops.  "Ah, I think you're ready now."

I groan in frustration.  

"Look at it, baby," he commands.  "Looks almost obscene, doesn't 
it? Think of how you'll look screwing it."  His thumbs are still 
parting my labia, holding my sex open and vulnerable.  

I stare at the glistening cock.  "Master," I plead, but he cuts 
me off.

"You asked for this, sweetheart.  Begged for it."

I hang my head in defeat as he releases me.  He's right.  I 
begged for it.  And worse, he's made me ache for it.

I turn around and guide myself to the tip as he watches, 
fiddling with the battery pack in his hand.  When I'm poised to 
sink down on the dildo he touches the control, and the shaft 
begins to vibrate gently.  My clit twitches in response, 
indifferent to my trepidation.

The stern command in his face tells me I've stalled long enough.  
I thrust backward, feeling graceless and exposed.  He settles 
down cross-legged in front of me, putting himself at eye level 
as the blunt, thick head nudges between my labia.  With a deep 
breath, I force myself to meet his eyes as I take the cock into 
my body. 

He smirks with satisfaction as it fills me.  His fingers move on 
the control, rewarding me with stronger vibrations for each inch 
that I take in.  The cock, which seemed only large when he 
brought it out, now feels enormous and intimidating.  I can't 
tell which is burning hotter: the walls of my sex as the toy 
stretches me, or my cheeks as he drinks in the sight.   

"You're completely naked now, baby.  Don't close your eyes.  I 
want to see all the way to your soul."

I struggle to follow his command as I push backward on the fat 
shaft.  The vibrating mechanism is in the base of the toy, 
enticing me forward, but the sheer size of the thing forces me 
to hold back.  Grateful for the lubricant, I ease downward with 
a gentle rocking motion, stopping when I can't take any more.

He leans over to peer around my body.  My cheeks redden even 
more as I imagine how pornographic I must look: on my hands and 
knees, legs spread, impaling myself on that lewd toy.

And liking it.

"Just another inch, baby.  God, you look tiny on it."

The vibrations grow stronger.  My clit pulses in anticipation 
but I still hesitate, steeling myself to take that final inch.

His face hardens.  "All the way down.  Now!" he barks.

I obey, grunting at the strange pressure.  Before I can adjust 
to the intrusion, he increases the vibrator's speed, then gives 
the chain joining my nipple clamps a few swift tugs.  The 
excitement ratchets exponentially higher.  I cry out, grinding 
back until I can go no further.

"That's right.  Now move.  Show me how much you like that huge 
cock in your hungry little cunt."

Again his voice seems harsher than usual, and the words cruder.  
Heart beating like a trip hammer, I recoil from his commands 
even as I crave them.  His eyes burning into mine are too much.  
I drop my head, letting my eyelids fall shut.

Instantly the vibrations stop.  He grips my chin, fingers 
tightening until I open my eyes again.  

"What did I tell you?" he asks.

"To keep my eyes open, Master," I whimper.  I feel both stuffed 
full and split open, my body violated for his pleasure.
 
"That's right.  No secrets.  Not now."  He releases my chin, a 
calculating look on his face.  "Tell me, baby, have you ever 
felt so completely penetrated?"

Pinned fast as I am, the only motion I can manage is a shake of 
my head.  My vision swims as the world begins to shrink to just 
this room, just this space.

With lightening speed, he tightens the screws at my nipples.  I 
groan, loud and needy, when they reach that firm pinch that 
drives me wild.  My cunt clenches on the plastic shaft, 
shamefully aroused by the rough handling.  The dildo feels like 
it's spearing through my whole body, and those little clamps 
will hold me fast in this heightened arousal until he chooses to 
release me.

I sway on the cock, sinking down to that place where my will is 
enslaved to his, where obedience and pleasure on the same. 

His face softens.  "That's better," he says.  

The vibrator springs to life again, tearing another groan from 
my throat.  My hips begin to rock infinitesimally, in spite of 
the impossible fullness within me.  Patiently, implacably, he 
builds the intensity until I'm squirming.  I feel my wetness 
coating the shaft, and I wonder if my entire body will vibrate 
when he turns the toy to its highest speed.

"Now make love to it."

I obey.  Starting with careful strokes, I slide slowly up and 
down, letting my muscles adjust.  I fuck the massive cock as if 
it were my Master's, slowly, deferentially, waiting for 
permission before I take my own pleasure.  It feels huge, 
leaving no room for breath, no room for thought....

"Oh, you're good, baby.  You look so hot."  Picking up my right 
hand, he lifts my fingers to my clit.  "Play with yourself."

My fingers move in tentative circles as my hips move forward on 
the next upstroke.  My clit throbs impatiently, not yet 
receiving the stimulation it wants.  Yielding to its command, I 
shimmy backward until my sex meets the cock's heavy balls. 

He increases the power, and the vibrations from the base flood 
my cunt.  Electricity shoots through me, sparking in the base of 
my spine and in my trapped nipples.  My body begins grinding 
back against the toy, seeking more of that incredible 
stimulation, and my moans become guttural as even my throat 
seems to vibrate.  My fingers move with a mind of their own, 
crushing my clit against the vibrating balls.  

"There you go.  You're not so refined now, are you?"

I undulate on the thick plastic, feeling the delicious stretch, 
feeling the strange buzz.  I'm fucking it in earnest now, the 
insistent pulse in my clit driving my entire body.

He watches me, his expression eminently pleased.  "I saw the 
look on your face when I brought the dildo out.  I could see 
that you wanted to resist.  But your little pussy is so needy 
that it didn't care, did it?  You would have fucked anything I 
told you to."

My cheeks flame with embarrassment at his smug words, but I just 
keep getting hotter and hotter.  I'm mortified to hear rhythmic 
grunts emerging from my throat on every downstroke.  

His voice is silky and dangerous.  "You like this, don't you?"

That distant, demure part of me balks at giving up the last 
shreds of my pride.  "I don't--uh--I don't know, Master."

He grins cruelly as a twitch of his finger on the remote makes 
me wail.  I lose my rhythm, jerking wildly at the overload of 
sensation.

"Don't lie to me, baby.  You like this, don't you?"

I mewl and gasp, thrusting harder.  I'll be sore in the morning, 
but that doesn't matter now.  Nothing matters now but the bite 
at my nipples, the pulse in my clit and the awful, thrilling 
fullness in my cunt.
 
"Don't you, baby?"  The vibrations cease with shocking 
suddenness.  

I find my voice.  "Master! God, Master, please..."

His eyes are burning, but his voice is smooth, even affable. 
"Tell me, baby.  You fucking *love* this, don't you?"

My supporting arm trembles in fatigue as the fingers of my other 
hand work frantically on my clit, trying vainly to make up for 
the lost stimulation.  "Yes," I whimper, still thrusting back 
against the now-inert shaft," "I love it, please, Master, I love 
it--oh!"

It springs to life again.  The need in my clit goes white-hot, 
all my nerves screaming in anticipation.  I writhe like the porn 
star he wants me to be, controlled by the ecstasy now rising 
inexorably as his finger moves on the remote. 

He tilts my chin up, smiling.  "See, baby?  You can't hide 
anything from me."

I'm panting, past speech, my eyes glazing but still locked on 
him. 

"Oh, you're close now."

I yelp as the contraction in my sex tells me that orgasm is 
coiled and ready to strike.  A little more, just a little 
more....

His words are still flowing, harsh and demeaning in the most 
loving tone of voice.  "You are such a shameless little slut."

I come with a howl, fingers flying on my clit and the humming 
toy buzzing in my cunt.  Animalistic sounds wrench from my 
throat as the spasms jolt through me, over and over, washing 
away all pride and thought.

When the waves fade away, the vibrator goes still as well.  My 
head falls forward, too heavy for my neck to support, as I 
weakly gasp for breath.  Warm fingers stroke my cheek, then 
loosen the nipple clamps until they're just tight enough to stay 
on.  Smiling gently, he holds out his arms in invitation.  With 
a final shudder I pull away from the toy and collapse with my 
head in his lap, barely noticing the hard floor beneath me.  I 
feel thoroughly sated, but wrung out and exhausted too. 

His smug voice comes again.  "God, you've been naughty tonight."

The question that has been nagging me all night won't be denied 
any longer.  "Master, did you make--"

I stop to correct my words.  He doesn't make me do anything.  I 
always have the right to say "no," and my obedience is a choice.  

I start again.  "Did you tell me to fuck the dildo because I 
displeased you?"

There's pause before he responds, "We use new toys all the time.  
Why do you ask that?"

Because you've never made me feel so shameless and wanton 
before.  Because you've never gloated so coldly as you made 
revel in every sensation.  

"Because you called me a slut."

His voice is perfectly level.  "I knew that you wouldn't like 
that word, but do you really think anything tonight was 
punishment?"

"I don't know," I falter.

Tender fingers brush my hair back from my face.  "When I punish 
you, I promise you'll know."

Lifting me to my feet, he leads me to the bathroom and pulls me 
in front of the mirror.  He stands behind me as his hands grip 
my arms, holding me tightly.  His voice comes again, soft and 
unyielding.

"Say it.  Tell me what you are."

Reluctantly, I whisper, "A slut."

He murmurs into my ear, "What else?"

I meet his eyes in the mirror, his tender hazel eyes.  The 
answer comes to me in a flash, and my voice is a shade more 
confident as I reply, "Yours, Master.  I'm your slut."

His smile lights up the small room and he drops a kiss on the 
top of my head.

"That's right.  You're mine.  I can do anything I want to you, 
can't I?"

"Yes," I whisper, but the thought of how I must have looked 
still makes me cringe.

He nuzzles my hair.  "You were so hot tonight, baby, so 
desperate for anything to fill your cunt.  Watching you get off 
on being stretched by that toy was fantastic."  

Seeing me shy away from the words, he shakes his head.

"Your desire, your neediness, your willingness to do anything to 
come is what makes you mine.  I would *never* use it to punish 
you.  But I will teach you to embrace it without hesitation, to 
give in to what your body wants without caring what your mind 
says."

The raw sincerity in his voice is unmistakable.  I watch him in 
the mirror, willing him to reassure me.

"You can be as refined and controlled, as prim and proper as you 
want any other time.  But when you wear this--" he fingers the 
scarf that means so much more than we put into words "--none of 
that matters.  Your body exists for my entertainment."

Something thrums inside me at his words.  His eyes meet mine in 
the mirror, watching coolly, expectantly.

"The only thing in your mind is obeying my commands.  You'll say 
whatever I tell you, do whatever I demand, be whatever I want.  
I will not accept anything less, because deep in your heart, 
sweetheart, that's what *you* want."

His words evoke the same blend of unease and excitement I felt 
when he surprised me by reenacting my "harem" fantasy.  It's 
frightening that he knows me so well, and it's erotic that he 
knows me so well.  I close my eyes, unable to look him in the 
face as he wrings this last admission from me.  

"Yes, Master," I whisper.

He lets my words hang in the silent room for a moment.  I can 
sense his triumph, the rush of power he feels at my surrender.

"Open your eyes," he commands.

I look at myself in mirror, at the flush coloring my cheeks and 
the chain dangling from my clamped nipples.  

"Do you know what I see?"

I shake my head.

"The most beautiful, wanton creature in the world.  Always so 
hot and eager to get fucked.  Perhaps not quite as obedient as 
you should be, but you're learning, aren't you?"

The gentle reproof stings.  "I'm sorry, Master."

His hands close over my shoulders.  "I accept your apology.  But 
I'll tell you a secret."

"What, Master?" 

"I like to see you squirm a little.  I like to see you struggle 
before you give in."  He rubs his clothed erection against the 
small of my back, arousing himself on my body.  "It makes me 
hard to know that I've stripped away another bit of your pride 
and forced you to bend to my will."

I groan aloud at the deep, involuntary clenching in my sex. 

"See?  You're learning so well."  His voice is a caress in and 
of itself.  "I'm so proud to be your Master."

***** 


I think of his words now as I wait for him to come to me.  In 
spite of his promises, the rest of the evening has been pretty 
quiet.  He left the clamps lightly clasped and permitted me to 
put on a pair of silk pajama bottoms, but nothing else.  "You 
look too pretty walking around with your nipples like that to 
cover up," he said.

He had dinner delivered from a nearby restaurant.  When the 
doorbell rang, I got up from the couch to go into the bedroom.  
Mulder pinned me with a glance.

"Did I tell you to get up?"  

I shrank back into the cushions, knowing that the delivery boy 
couldn't see me--unless Mulder let him into the foyer.  The 
possibility of exposure, rather than cooling my desire, 
rekindled it.

We watched a movie after dinner, lying together on the couch 
with my back to his chest.  He tweaked my nipples casually 
whenever he felt like it, giving me no other contact, just 
enough stimulation to keep me keyed up.

And so now I kneel on his bed, my back to the door, while he 
closes up the apartment for the night.  I play idly with my 
clit, as he instructed, but it isn't really necessary.  I'm more 
than ready for him.

The sound of the door shutting behind him alerts me that he has 
entered the room.  I go down on all fours with my legs spread as 
the bed shifts under his weight.  His hands and lips roam over 
my body, stroking, licking, sucking so tenderly.  He teases me 
for an endless time, until I'm aching for the one thing he had 
denied me all night.

"What do you want?" he growls when I whimper in sheer 
frustration.  

"Your cock!  Please, Master, your cock!"  I spread my legs wide 
and arch my back, revealing my dripping opening to him.  Part of 
me is cringing at my shamelessness, but that's nothing next to 
the aching emptiness within me and the dark thrill I always feel 
when he makes me beg.

He takes me from behind, sliding into me while he rubs my clit 
and tugs the chain at my nipples, always with just enough 
pressure to excite.  He strokes in and out easily, but the 
lesson isn't over yet.

As his body makes tender love to me, his words are darker and 
rawer than anything he's said to me before.  "Slut" is the least 
of what he calls me.  I'm his whore, he tells me, a slave to my 
body's desires, a sextoy for his use.  And I'm beautiful, 
perfect, the most precious thing in the world.  He swears that 
he'll never let me shrink or hide from him.  He'll tease, train, 
and force me until I've lost all shame, and he'll never let me 
go.  I'll be his perfect submissive, his obedient pet.  I'll 
ache to serve his needs, get wet at his voice, shiver at his 
touch, and come at his command.

I moan helplessly, the images flitting through my mind as his 
words sink into my brain.  I want it, want it so badly, want to 
submit so deeply that I obey without conscious thought.  More 
than that, I want him to *make* me submit.  I want him to steal 
my will with a word, and make me feel things I've never let 
myself feel before.

His voice comes again in my ear, soft and calm in spite of his 
steady pumping.

"Who do you belong to?"

I struggle to find the words as his deft touch makes thought 
nearly impossible.  

"You, Master.  I belong to you--ah!"  My clit is pulsing, 
throbbing under his fingers.  How can he command such effortless 
responses from my body, responses I didn't know I could give?
 
"What are you?"

The question gives me pause.  I don't know--he has called me so 
many things tonight.  He thrusts into me again, and the answer 
comes.
 
"I'm whatever...unh...whatever my master wants me to be."

Stopping abruptly, he pulls out and flips me on my back.  My 
howl of disappointment turns into a shriek as his mouth closes 
over me.  I lose all control as his tongue lashes at my clit.  
Moaning incoherently, legs flailing helplessly, I surge up 
against his restraining hands.  I gasp and babble as he drives 
the need higher and higher.  My moans become embarrassingly 
loud, but I couldn't stop to save my life.  It feels as though 
I'm outside my body, watching myself wriggle and scream, with no 
hope of controlling my actions.

Finally I climax, my vagina contracting around nothingness.  I 
sob in relief as his body covers mine again.  He rams into me in 
short, hard thrusts, his pubic bone against my clit, and I'm 
stunned to feel another climax building.  He works me ruthlessly 
with his cock, letting out a dark laugh as I scream and spasm 
again.

Only when I go limp does he take his pleasure from me.  I drift 
in a haze, my body shuddering under his thrusts.  Even half-
conscious, I feel a rush of satisfaction when he grunts and 
spills into me.

His weight rests heavily on me for a few moments before he 
withdraws.  He rises from the bed and goes through our normal 
routine of bringing me some water and bathing me gently with a 
wet cloth.  Finally he removes the clamps, but not the scarf.  
My exhausted body is floating near sleep as he climbs back into 
bed and draws me in to spoon against his chest.

"You liked it tonight, didn't you, baby?" he asks, stroking a 
lock of hair back from my cheek.  "You like a firm hand."

Too sleepy to consider the implications, I let the response slip 
out before I can censor it.  "Yes, Master."

He hugs me tighter.  "Then you shall have it."


*********************************************



Some days I hate my job.

Days like every day last week, when it sank its claws into my 
brain and wouldn't let me shake myself free.  Days like 
yesterday, after we closed the case too late to catch a flight 
home, and I spent one more night alone in a motel room, dreaming 
of murdered girls.  Days like today, when there's a beautiful, 
naked woman kneeling at my feet, and I can't feel anything but 
numb.

I gather my scattered thoughts and try to focus for Scully's 
sake.  I know she wants this tonight; we were overdue for a 
session even before we were unexpectedly called from our homes 
into a grueling hunt for a serial killer.  Then for two weeks 
and across four states we did what we do best: I profiled and 
Scully autopsied.  Neither of us ate or slept half as much as we 
should have.  Twice she broke our unspoken rule of no 
fraternizing on the job and crawled quietly into my bed late at 
night.  Once we made love; the second time she simply held me 
until we both fell asleep.  Other than that we never departed 
from a professional demeanor even off-hours.  To do otherwise 
would have meant letting down the emotional barriers we had each 
constructed between ourselves and the case, and that way lay 
despair. 

The perpetrator was a typical--and I hate that there is such a 
thing--missionary killer, seeking to rid the world of the 
prostitutes and runaways on whom he preyed.  Once we'd 
accumulated enough evidence, his profile was by the books.  It 
didn't require the soul-draining trip into his twisted mind that 
profiling sometimes does; I could distance myself with the 
charts and statistics.  

But there's no distancing in an autopsy, and Scully grew more 
demoralized with each one.  The victims weren't children--that's 
the one thing that could have made the case worse--but they were 
all young women, in their teens or barely out of them.  All 
girls whose lives had been shattered by abuse or addiction long 
before he picked them up and destroyed their hopes forever.  
Long brunette hair, all of them, all thin and scarred from life 
on the streets.  All of them died alone, without families to 
turn to for shelter or protection....

I saw Scully's face grow more tight and drawn with each victim, 
and I swore to myself that when we were finally home, I would 
take her away from all the ugliness, at least for a night.  

I look down at her now, kneeling so patiently at my feet, and my 
brain simply goes blank.  Not a command, not a word comes to my 
mind.  My eyes close and my fists clench in frustration.  
Dammit, she needs this.  *I* need this.  We have to leave the 
horror of the past two weeks behind us.

When I open my eyes again, she has lifted her head and is 
watching me.  Technically, that is a break in her training.  She 
is not supposed to look up until I give the word, which I 
normally do only after some moments of silence.  It's easiest 
for her to get into her role if she spends a few moments in her 
own head, and the thought of her kneeling before me becoming 
more and more aroused makes *me* hot, so I often leave her there 
for longer than I have tonight.

But today she knows that my silence isn't part of the game.  
Without even looking at me, she must have felt the frustration 
and anger rolling off me in waves.  And now her slim fingers go 
to her throat, removing the scarf.  Gracefully she rises.

"Come to bed, Mulder."

She takes me by the hand and leads me to the cool sanctuary of 
her bedroom.  I undress as she lays the scarf on the nightstand, 
turns down the covers, and stretches out on the bed.

"Come to bed," she repeats.

I loom over her, touching and kissing softly, seeking comfort in 
her body.  She meets my kisses tenderly as she strokes and pets 
me.  Her hands run over my back and down my chest.  

When she touches my cock, flame bursts through me.  I kiss her 
harder, devouring, trying to escape the images in my head.  
She's silent, motionless except for her caresses, but she's 
ready for me when I enter her.

I slide in and out of her welcoming body, first slowly and then 
with increasing urgency, but can't find release.  My breathing 
grows ragged against her neck as I pump into her.

"Shh.  It's all right, Mulder."

Hands circle my biceps and slide over my back again.  Cool 
fingers flutter over my face, tracing my eyebrows and running 
down the bridge of my nose to rest on my lips.  I kiss them and 
they slip inside my mouth.  I suck them lightly.

"It's all right," she says again as the fingers withdraw.

And then she's gripping my butt, pulling me closer, urging me 
into her.  A wet little finger slides between my cheeks to 
circle my anus.  The caress pushes me over the edge.  I climax 
with a gasp of relief, tears dampening the soft skin of her 
neck, her voice whispering soothing nonsense into my ear.  

Finally I roll to the side and slip my hand between her legs, 
seeking to give her the solace she just offered me, but she 
deflects me gently.  She holds me for a few minutes, then gets 
up and vanishes into the bathroom.  

When she returns, she glances at the scarf on the bedside table 
for the briefest second before climbing back into bed.  I reach 
out and pick it up, dangling it over her breasts.  She sighs.   

"Do you still need it tonight?"  I ask.  

Her response is short and honest.  "Yes, please."

The simple appeal nearly undoes me.  I wrap the fabric around 
her neck and cover her breast with my hand, kneading softly.  
"Tell me what you need."

She closes her eyes and there's a long silence before she meets 
my gaze again.  "Catharsis."

Catharsis.  It takes me a minute to catch her meaning, but it 
makes perfect sense.  Scully has been bottling up her emotions--
all her emotions--for two weeks.  She needs to release them to 
feel again.  

I guide her up onto her hands and knees.  When she's in place I 
cover her left hand with my own, running my other hand over her 
body.  I stroke her smooth curves with tenderness, even 
reverence in my touch.

Then I slap her hard.

She jerks and moans.  The sound is heartbreaking: raw and 
vulnerable, aching and yearning.  I give her a few more quick 
slaps.  

"Yes, please," she sighs.

I continue.  Her body is tense, unmoving as the sound of skin 
striking skin resounds through the still room.  

I spank her until her cheeks turn red, to no avail.

"Please, please..." she whimpers.

Gritting my teeth, I swing harder.  She shrieks, and finally the 
tears begin to flow.  They come in a torrent as the anger and 
frustration that have been choking her for two weeks comes 
rushing out.  I lighten the blows but keep up a steady rhythm.  
Soon she sinks down to lie on her stomach on the bed, sobbing.

I spank her until she is limp and the tears have finally been 
cried out.  Only then does she squeeze my hand.  I slow the 
slaps, then finally stop.  She remains limp on the bed, her face 
blank and her eyes half-closed.

I rub her shoulders soothingly.  "Are you all right?"

"Think so," she mumbles against the pillow.  "Tired now."

She needs to sleep.  We both do, but there's one more thing I 
want to do for her.  I run my hand up her inner thigh and find 
her still hot and wet.  Tentatively, I probe at her clit.

"Uh!"

I repeat the caress.  "It's all right, baby.  I'm going to take 
care of you."

I place the pads of two fingers against her clit and begin to 
circle.  I start slow and steady, building the speed and 
pressure gradually, until...

"Uh! Uh! Uh!"

...her soft grunts tell me that she is coming.  When it's over, 
I lie next to her with one hand still cupping her sex.  For the 
first time in days, her expression is peaceful.  I kiss her damp 
cheek.

"You did well, baby," I whisper, my voice breaking.  "It's over 
now.  You can rest."

With a touching, almost childlike trust, she snuggles against me 
and complies.  Sleep eludes me for a long time, but Scully's 
even, steady breathing is a comfort as I wait for it to come, 
feeling as if a weight has lifted from my chest.

This won't exorcise all our demons.  But it's a start.

*****


I awaken uncharacteristically ahead of Mulder, who is snoring 
softly, his arm draped heavily over me.  I knew we were both 
exhausted, but he must have been sleeping even less than I 
thought.  I creep out of the bed, pulling the covers over him 
when he stirs restlessly.  His furrowed brow relaxes.

I fix myself a cup of tea as I wait for him to wake, noticing a 
slight soreness as I sit down.  I sip from my mug slowly, 
mulling over the previous evening.  He'll want to talk it over, 
but will let me choose when and how.  I've resolved to do it in 
person, not over the phone, and I need to compose my thoughts.

I've just finished my tea when Mulder drifts in, his hair mussed 
and spiky, scrubbing his face with his hands.  I get up and 
start some coffee, not ready to meet his eyes yet.  He follows 
me into the kitchen.  As I flip the machine on, I feel his hand 
on my back.

"Are you okay with last night?"  His voice is still husky from 
sleep. 

I lean against the counter for a few seconds, letting his touch 
warm me.  Without turning around, I reassure him, "I'm okay." 

Silence reigns in the kitchen as the coffee brews.  He lets me 
busy myself with the mugs and milk, giving me the space that I 
need.  When we're back at the table, I take a deep breath and 
plunge in.  

"Last night was different for us, I know.  But it was what I 
needed.  I didn't realize how much until we started."  

"We both needed it," he responds.  In spite of his full night's 
sleep, his face is still haggard.  "All the way home, all I 
could feel was the weight of that--"  He doesn't finish.  He 
doesn't need to.  

I nod, staring into the teacup.  "I'm used to adopting a 
professional detachment.  Normally, I don't even think about it 
anymore.  But with this case, it was a constant struggle to 
maintain it.  And when was it finally okay to let go, I 
couldn't.  Couldn't feel anything else until..."  

My voice trails away.  They tell you at Quantico that the 
stresses of the job can "carry over" into your home life, 
euphemistically alluding to the toll that law enforcement takes 
on marriages and families.  They never mention cases gripping 
you such an emotional stranglehold that you'll need your lover 
to beat you to tears before you can feel anything else. 

"Until you were pushed into it," he finishes for me.

I look at his face again, seeing mirrored pain there, and 
confront my fear about the previous evening.  "I asked for last 
night, and I'm glad that you did it.  I just wonder if that was 
a healthy way to deal with things like this."

The waxing morning light shows new lines etched in his face.  
"Scully, there *isn't* a healthy way to deal with things like 
this.  I remember back in VCS...."

Now his voice trails away.  Something dark and grim stirs in his 
eyes before he shakes it off.  "Think of it this way.  How would 
we have dealt with it before we became lovers?"

I consider his question.  I would have done what I did in the 
hotel last night: turned off the phone, taken a bath so hot that 
my skin reddened, and gone to bed still feeling cold.  And 
Mulder?  Even now, I don't know how he would have handled it.  
Because, like me, he would have dealt with it--

"Alone."

Reaching across the table, he takes my hand.  "Yeah.  And when 
you look at it that way, this is an improvement."

I squeeze and release his hand, struggling to maintain my 
composure.  There are more tears to cry over this case, but not 
now.

Picking up the empty coffee mugs, he retreats into the kitchen 
and rattles around ostentatiously for a few minutes.  My eyes 
are dry by the time he returns.  

He stands behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders.  "What 
would you like to do today?"

The answer springs to mind immediately.  I want to get as far 
away as possible from the dark, gritty alleys and sterile 
autopsy rooms where I've spent the last two weeks.  I want to do 
something frivolous and wholesome.  

"I'd like to go to a park.  I just want to feel the sun on my 
face."

"Sounds good," he agrees promptly.  "Why don't we pick up a 
picnic lunch while we're at it?"

Relief colors his voice, and I don't think it comes from the 
prospect of spending a few hours ducking incoming Frisbees.  I 
remember that we came here straight from the airport, and recall 
how bare the refrigerator was when I got the milk for our 
coffee.    

"We don't have any food in the apartment, do we?" 

His tone is lighter than it has been in weeks as he replies, 
"Maybe a picnic breakfast too."

I chuckle, covering his hand with mine, and we head off to the 
shower together.



END
*********************************************

All feedback welcomed at subrosa31@yahoo.com.

From: SubRosa <subrosa31@yahoo.com>
Date: Sun, 29 Feb 2004 19:33:50 -0800 (PST)
Subject: New Story Submission
Source: direct

TITLE: A Gift of Silk V
AUTHOR: SubRosa
RATING: Hard NC-17 for graphic consensual sex and language
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and all other characters of 
     the X-Files belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions 
     and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting, and to the actors who 
     portray them.  They are being used without permission, and 
     no profit is being made.
DISTRIBUTION: Okay to archive, but please let me know.


FURTHER AUTHOR'S NOTES:

A note on how this story relates to my other fic: the GoS fics 
and the Troika stories are two independent series.  I often write 
them simultaneously, however, bouncing ideas back and forth.  I 
may use the two series to take a single idea in different 
directions, and will occasionally reuse a line that I really 
like.  T7--if it ever gets written--is likely to share some 
themes and language with this story.  So if you see me 
plagiarizing myself, that's what's happening. 
 
I owe thanks to adara and Jemirah for beta, and to Philiater for 
putting up with a series of e-mails asking "Could I kill somebody 
like this?  What about like this?"  And a quick (belated) wave to 
sybils the birthday girl.

Finally, as with all the GoS stories, this fic is rated NC-17 for 
graphic, consensual, and occasionally kinky sex.  Please do not 
read it if you are under the age of seventeen or if this subject 
matter may offend you.  This story is a work of erotica set in a 
fictional D/s context; it is not necessarily an accurate 
representation of a BDSM relationship.

*********************************************


There's a damn good reason why I've never worn stockings and a 
garter belt to work, I thought irritably as I strode down the 
main corridor of the Hoover building.  Rationally, I knew no one 
could see what I was wearing under my suit, but it was still a 
relief to escape into the relative privacy of the elevator to the 
basement.  At least I had panties on.

It was Mulder's fault, of course: part of a scheme he set in 
motion last night.  He coaxed a dinner invitation from me with a 
seemingly innocent question about my plans followed by a 
smoldering look that he probably practiced in front of a mirror.  
The dinner itself was quiet and uneventful; we have more of those 
these days.  But the light in his eyes turned mischievous after 
we finished.  Dropping a kiss on my head, he murmured, "I need to 
get some things from my car."  

That was unexpected--we usually reserve more elaborate scenarios 
for the weekend.  I busied myself cleaning up in the kitchen as 
the front door opened and closed again before his footsteps 
headed off to the bedroom.

When I finished the dishes, he was waiting for me in the living 
room.  I looked to him to make the next move.  To my surprise, it 
was toward the closet for his coat.

"You're leaving already?" I asked with a touch of petulance.  I 
don't expect Mulder to put out just because I cook him dinner, 
but his eyes made certain promises when he wangled the invitation 
from me in the first place.

"Yeah.  And you should go to bed early," he replied.  

I quirked an eyebrow suspiciously.

Stepping in close, he clasped my upper arms and looked down at me 
smugly.  

"You're going to need some extra time to get ready in the 
morning.  There's a note in the bedroom explaining everything."

He kissed my cheek, scooped up his coat and headed for the door, 
only to pause with his hand on the knob.

"Oh, and Scully..."

"Yes?"

"Follow the instructions to the letter."

With a wicked grin, he slipped out.

I went to the bedroom at a pointedly sedate pace to find out what 
he meant.  He'd laid a stylish but conservative burgundy suit, my 
clothing for today, on the bed.  On top of it rested a new set of 
matching panties and bra in midnight-blue silk and lace.  And, of 
course, the stockings and garter belt.

Next to the clothes sat a brown paper bag.  I delved into it, 
pulling out a small, heavy box.  The silver cylinder pictured on 
the front looked like a vibrator, but that was only a guess--the 
packaging was entirely in Japanese.  Thank you, Mulder, I thought 
sourly.  

At the bottom of the bag was the note, which instructed me to 
shave "completely" in the morning.  Glancing at the box again, I 
surmised that it must have been a shaver, not a vibrator.  "You 
may play with yourself," the note continued, "but don't come."  I 
rolled my eyes at the thought that such an inconvenient act of 
personal hygiene was likely to inspire a spontaneous round of 
masturbation, but the idea of going about shaved and dressed in 
the lingerie under my suit was intriguing.
 
The note finished by directing me to wear the clothing to work in 
the morning.  "If you don't follow these instructions," it 
concluded, "you will be punished."

The last line sent a quiver of heat through me.  Erotic 
anticipation of the punishment wasn't the only reason I 
considered ignoring his injunctions, though: we've agreed from 
the beginning that work and pleasure don't mix.  After a few 
minutes' internal debate I decided the lingerie didn't cross the 
line.  They were just clothes; they'd be completely invisible 
under the suit he'd selected.  And a long tease, the building 
anticipation--those I could get behind.  

As he suggested I went to bed early, practicing a set of 
relaxation exercises to get to sleep at the unfamiliar time.  I 
rose an hour earlier than usual and went through the elaborate 
process of denuding my entire pubic region of hair.  I awarded 
Mulder a mental point when the intimate vibrations from the 
shaver made me hot and slippery, and another one when I 
discovered how stimulating the silk panties were on my newly-
exposed skin.  

And as I made my way down the hall, spending the day in these 
clothes suddenly seemed like a far greater challenge than I'd 
first anticipated.

The lights were on and a pot of coffee was brewing when I entered 
the office.  I walked over to the filing cabinet, where Mulder 
slipped up behind me.

"Did you follow my instructions?" he asked in his low, smoky 
voice.

I shivered as his breath teased my ear.  "Mulder, you know the 
rule about work."

"Work hasn't started yet."  His arm circled around me, close but 
not touching.  After a beat I realized he was showing me his 
watch, which read two minutes to eight.

"Did you follow my instructions?" he repeated, the hint of a 
threat lurking in his tone.

"Yes," I replied.  The scent of his aftershave surrounded me.

"Did it turn you on?" he probed.

I stared at the glossy black face of his watch, wondering how I 
could possibly make it through another nine hours.

"Scully?" he prompted.

"Yes," I murmured again.  

"Are you getting wet right now?"

My breath caught in my throat.  I could feel my panties clinging 
to my damp skin, feel my nipples peaking under the concealing 
wool of my suit.  "Yes," I whispered once more.

Satisfaction radiated from him as he leaned closer to my ear.  "I 
bet I'll be able to smell you by lunchtime."

The minute hand moved to eight o'clock.  He stepped away.  "So, 
filing or expense reports?"

Relieved and bereft, I turned to start the day.

*****


By the close of the afternoon, though, the warm glow was lost.  
Rather than floating from the office in a comfortable haze of 
arousal, I found myself locking horns with Mulder across his 
desk, the lingerie forgotten.

The monotony of paperwork had consumed most of the morning, 
offering no distraction from the silk caressing my bare sex with 
every move.  Around midday I shrugged off my jacket to relieve 
the heat, only to realize how visible my dark bra was under the 
lacy ivory shell he'd selected to complement my suit.  Mulder 
noticed too.  Grinning, he raked an appreciative gaze over my 
chest.  I blushed as I felt my nipples tighten once more, and 
pulled the jacket back on.  

Unfortunately, the day took a sharp downturn right after lunch.  
Skinner didn't get where he is today by putting off unpleasant 
tasks, and doesn't see why anyone else should either.  So he sent 
around a memo ordering departments under his supervision to have 
their annual audit prepared for his personal review two weeks 
earlier than the normal deadline.

The idle day of paperwork and erotic stimulation crumbled under 
the migraine-inducing process of tallying our annual expenses, 
comparing them to FBI means, and analyzing them against 
projections of future crime trends--the last undertaking a 
distinct challenge when one deals with the inexplicable, the 
paranormal, the allegedly extraterrestrial and a healthy dose of 
the simply irrational.  It was not a task designed to bring out 
the best in either of us.  Which, for better or worse, distracted 
me from the scratchy lace of the garter belt.

The final straw came late in the afternoon.  Not wanting to give 
Mulder an excuse to halt his thus-far futile search for receipts 
last seen in his custody ("Relax, Scully, I know exactly where 
they are"), I responded to the knock at our door.  Skinner's 
secretary stood in the hallway bearing an armful of envelopes and 
a put-upon expression that suggested she had decided to deliver 
the mail in her in-box personally in an effort to escape bearing 
the brunt of any further directorial efficiencies at four o'clock 
on a Friday.  I gave her a sympathetic smile and took the 
proffered envelope, which contained the disallowed travel request 
for an investigation Mulder had neglected to mention to me.

The *rightfully* disallowed travel request, from what I could 
tell.  The last thing we needed with an audit hanging over our 
heads was to rack up travel expenses pursuing a case that was 
dubious at best.

I shot an unfriendly look at Mulder, who was bent nearly double 
as he rummaged through the back of a filing-cabinet drawer.  The 
sight of his dress slacks pulled tight over one of his better 
assets did nothing to mollify my annoyance at him for requesting 
the case without checking with me. The omission wasn't unusual, 
but it was still annoying.

Just then he emerged from the cabinet, receipts clutched 
triumphantly in his fist.  "What is it?" he asked with a nod 
toward the papers in my hand.

"The 302s for the Blackstone case," I replied.

His eyes lit up.  "When do we leave?"

"We don't."  I handed over the papers.  "Skinner disallowed it."

He cursed.  Slapping the receipts down on the desk, he pulled a 
file from the middle of a stack and thrust it at me.  "Tell me 
there isn't a case in there."  

Biting back the obvious rejoinder, I skimmed through the complete 
file.  A woman named Sibyl Blackstone had written to Mulder with 
her suspicions about the company, Demeter BioLabs, where she 
worked as a greenhouse assistant.  Since the company changed 
hands several years earlier, security procedures had tightened 
sharply and the biologists with whom she worked had suddenly 
become brusque and secretive.  When her health took a sharp 
decline the previous year, she concluded that something the 
company was up to was responsible.

Her theories, however, lacked a certain coherence.  Ranging from 
suspected genetic alteration of the greenhouse plants to a 
hypothetical toxic fertilizer, they were more indicative of 
paranoia than of corporate malfeasance, and I told Mulder as 
much.

That led to a...spirited discussion about the alleged mysterious 
nature of Mrs. Blackstone's illness.  In her early forties, Sibyl 
was a little young for the hypertension and atrial flutter that 
afflicted her, but hardly off the chart.

"Mulder, I don't deny the woman is sick.  Or that she's 
suffering.  But this isn't an X-File, and we have an audit coming 
up.  You know those reports are always an excuse to cut budgets 
and reassign agents.  They could even shut us down."

He shoved a hand through his hair, looking away from me in 
frustration.  Then his expression changed, and he just stopped.  
I followed his gaze to the wall clock, which read quarter past 
five.

"Weekend's started," he said.

*********************************************


It's Skinner's fault that Scully isn't almost naked right now.  

Maybe he didn't set out to throw a monkeywrench into my 
meticulously planned kinky sex game, but he sure didn't help it 
along.  The scavenger hunt for receipts and statistics was bad 
enough, but the disagreement over the denied case put both me and 
Scully completely out of sorts. 

I insisted on stopping at five just on principle.  Then I drove 
us back to my apartment--I wanted her in my space tonight.  If 
the evening had proceeded on schedule, she'd be stripped down to 
her stockings and underwear now.  Then I pictured myself sitting 
at my computer, officiously doing paperwork and reveling in the 
knowledge that the soles of two size-six pumps were peeking from 
under the desk as Scully knelt beneath it giving me an exquisite 
blowjob.  And reveling in the blowjob, of course.

But thanks to Skinner, that part got shelved.  Neither of us is 
angry about the spat this afternoon, but the mood I'd cultivated 
so carefully was lost.  We had an early dinner instead, shooting 
each other the occasional commiserating glance across the table.

When we've finished dinner I offer to clean up the dishes if 
Scully wants to "freshen up."  Recognizing the code for "last 
bathroom break before the kink starts," she nods and vanishes.  
I'm waiting for her in the living room when she reemerges a few 
moments later with her lipstick touched up and her jacket folded 
over her arm.  She lays the jacket neatly over a chair and waits 
diffidently for my next move. 

Brushing my lips over hers, I wrap the silk scarf around her 
neck.  "Let's see what you've been hiding under that suit all 
day."

I settle down on the couch as her hands go to the bottom of her 
shell.  She pulls it over her head, tousling her hair, and lays 
it over her jacket.

"Leave your shoes on," I instruct when she bends to take them 
off; I've been waiting all day to see her in those stockings and 
her high heels.  Her hands go instead to the zipper of her skirt, 
and she shimmies out of it as well.

She stands before me in the clothing I selected, her expression 
still diffident.  The underwear is the same shade of blue as the 
harem outfit I gave her some time ago.  Being dressed for my 
pleasure aroused her instantly then.  It doesn't now.
 
At my gesture she walks across the room and back, showing off the 
clothing.  She tries to make her gait properly sultry, but the 
swing in her hips appears forced.  And lovely though Scully's 
semi-nude body is, I'm also having trouble shaking off the 
lingering frustration of the day.

"Take off your bra, and then another turn, baby," I order when 
she stops.  A barely perceptible grimace crosses her face as she 
follows the command--a clear sign that she isn't in the mood yet.  
In-scene is the only time she likes that endearment.  

I arch an eyebrow at her when she completes her second circuit.  
She hasn't complained, but it looks like this is turning her on 
about as much as walking to the shower at the gym.

"Are you wet?"  I ask bluntly.  She shakes her head.

I click my tongue in reproof.  "You should be wet, baby.  As soon 
as your scarf goes on, you should be ready for me to just bend 
you over and take you."

Not that I'm ready to take her, but it's the principle that 
counts.
 
"I'm sorry, Master," she offers dutifully.

I watch her until she shifts uncomfortably, then let my 
expression soften.  "Just not in the mood, huh?"

She shakes her head again.

I shrug philosophically and appear to drop it.  "And I had such 
high hopes for that outfit."

Faint relief lightens her expression as I rise from the couch and 
kneel before her.  Wrapping a hand around her ankle, I prompt her 
to lift her foot and slip off her shoe.

"We'll try again another time," I continue, repeating the process 
with the other foot.  I set the shoes aside and sit back on my 
heels to admire the sight before me.

The silk and lace of the garter belt circles her waist, holding 
up her stockings by four blue ribbons.  The panties are high-
cult, tracing a V over her pelvis.  They make the skin of her 
abdomen even fairer, and leave no doubt that she followed the 
rest of my instructions.  

"Scully," I murmur appreciatively, feeling my interest stir.

I trace the delicate fabric of the garment lightly, raising 
goosebumps on the skin beneath them.  Leaning forward to grasp 
her panties, I make sure my breath plays over her clit as I pull 
them down.  Then I sit back again, staring at the bare skin the 
action reveals.  Her mons is completely smooth, exposing the 
folds of her sex.

I stroke the shell-pink skin with the tips of my fingers and then 
the back of my hand.  "Very nice."

Leaning in again, I lightly kiss the newly-shaved skin.  She 
jumps at the touch, not as indifferent as she appeared.  I work 
my mouth over her, kissing the velvet-soft skin above her sex as 
I unfasten the garters, and let my breath play over her clit 
again as I roll down the stockings.  I finally unsnap her garter 
belt and toss it aside, kissing the marks left by the elastic.  
The muscles of her abdomen tighten.

I grin up at her.  "In the mood yet?"  

"Getting there," she replies, her expression relaxing as she 
smiles back at me. 

My hands run up and down her legs, stroking as if to commit their 
shape to tactile memory.  My tongue sneaks out to taste her, then 
strokes with the lightest pressure, just enough to get her 
attention.  Like she has mine.

It's working.  I tease until a familiar flavor tantalizes my 
tongue and her hands thrust into my hair, pulling me closer.  
Then I stop and look up, feeling my face slip back into its 
dominant mask. 

"You know, baby, there are all kinds of ways of getting you in 
the mood."

Her breath catches and her hands tighten in my hair.  

"Tell me, who do you belong to?"

There's a risk in that question.  It's the first time I've asked 
it when she wasn't already drunk with pleasure, riding the 
endorphins that carry her into my possession.  Scully is my 
submissive, not my slave; her answer could be that she belongs to 
no one but herself. 

She closes her eyes, comes to a decision.  "You, Master."

I grin inwardly.  "That's right.  And what can I do to you?"
 
"Anything you want, Master."

Yes, the mood is coming back nicely.  For both of us.    

"That's right.  *Anything*.  "You're mine to tease, play with, 
fuck--" I give her clit a flick with my tongue "--or discipline, 
if I want."

"I know," she whispers.

Another flick.  "But in your heart, do you believe it?"

Her hands loosen their hold on my head, and there's a long pause.  
Hesitantly she replies, "No, Master."

"Then let's see what we can do about that."

I stand and guide her over to the sturdy round table in the 
dining area.  With gentle pressure on her shoulders, I bend her 
over so her upper body rests on the polished wood top.
 
"Spread your legs and arch your back."  

She complies.  I stroke a hand over her curves.

"All kinds of ways..." I murmur again.

And I deliver a quick blow to her bare ass.

*****


The sudden smack makes me cry out, and Mulder chuckles.  The 
dark, rich sound lingers in my ears as he begins spanking me in 
earnest.  The blows are stinging rather than hard, alternating 
with caresses.  He varies the speed, making them fast and then 
slow, a quick flurry of slaps followed by a pause until I squirm 
in anticipation.
 
Before we became lovers, I never recognized the intimacy inherent 
in violence.  I had experienced it: anyone who trains in hand-to-
hand combat knows the bond that springs up with a trusted 
sparring partner.  But until the first time his open hand struck 
against my skin in admonition, I didn't understand how punishment 
could be erotic.  

Now I do.  The pain itself doesn't arouse, but feeling his 
strength brought to bear against me does.  Knowing the blows 
could fall so much harder, feeling the control in his hands with 
every stroke--discipline became an intimate act of trust.  It 
hurts.  I don't like it; I try to avoid it.  But when it happens, 
it excites me.  Softens me.

And Mulder knows it.  Between the blows his hands run over my 
rear, back and thighs, total possession in his touch.  When the 
punishment stops, his hand spreads across my lower back and 
exerts a brief pressure.  The meaning is clear: don't move.  

I stay in place, my body warming the wood, feeling the polished 
grain smooth against my cheek.  As his footsteps leave the room I 
picture myself: legs spread, ass bare and raised, sex engorged 
with blood.  I flush in excitement as I imagine how I would look 
to anyone who walked through the door.

Mulder made it clear from the beginning of our relationship that 
no position he chose to put me in was undignified.  I must admit 
that once you've been licked to screaming ecstasy while being 
held implacably in a given pose, you develop a certain fondness 
for it.  Mulder, bless his thorough little heart, was willing to 
repeat the process as many times as it took until I automatically 
remained in whatever position he guided me into.  What I saw as 
undignified exposure, he soon taught me, was making myself 
accessible: accessible to his fingers, his tongue, his cock, and 
the wicked little toys that he introduced me to.  I came to love 
the feel of his strong hands moving me about like a rag doll, 
knowing that it was the precursor to some rough but wonderful new 
delight. 

I part my legs a little wider as the sounds of him moving in the 
other room drift to my ears.  One thing he has drilled into me is 
that when I sub for him, I must remain open at all times.  My 
mouth and cunt must always be ready for penetration, of course, 
but my body language should also show my readiness to receive 
him.  If I need to bend over to pick something up I do so from 
the waist, not the knees.  I'm not allowed to fold my arms across 
my chest, and when I sit my legs must always be parted, whether 
I'm clothed or not.  He has taught my body to feel deliciously 
open in his presence, always vulnerable to penetration.

Like now.  I'm ready to be licked or probed, taken from behind--
ready for whatever he wants to do to me.
 
Oh, I realize--he's done it.  The irritations and frustrations 
that impeded my arousal earlier have dissipated like smoke.  My 
lips curl into a smile as his footsteps approach me again.  Much 
better.  

His hands are between my legs, guiding something cool and hard 
into my vagina.  He eases it in carefully, until the heel of his 
palm rests against me as he pushes it all the way into my body.  

"Stand up."

I stand, very conscious of the hard object inside me.  It's 
thick, but not uncomfortable.  

He turns me to face him, a coil of smooth white rope in his hand.  
I expect him to bind my wrists, but instead he circles my waist 
with the looped rope and pulls it into a quick lark's head.  He 
kneels before me again, measuring, and ties a knot into the 
length of cord.  I start in surprise as he parts my labia and 
runs the rope between them, drawing it between my legs.  Next he 
turns me back around, pulls the rope up tight between my 
buttocks, and knots it at the small of my back.  Finally he 
rotates me to face him once more.  

The thick cord bisecting my ass feels strange and intrusive.  I 
would never accept it outside a scene--which makes it wickedly 
intriguing now.  It doesn't detract from the excitement of the 
rope holding the dildo in place, the little knot nudging my clit, 
the silky pressure against my hairless mons.  

Mulder knows what I'm thinking.  "Some women can rub themselves 
to orgasm on these ropes."  He takes my hand, stroking it with 
his thumb.  "If you're very good, I'll let you try later."

He leads me into the living room, stopping near the couch.  His 
hardback desk chair is at the left side of the sofa, positioned 
at a right angle to it.  Opposite the chair, against the wall by 
the window, is the freestanding full-length mirror that appeared 
in his bedroom soon after we became lovers.  The coffee table is 
pushed back against the far wall, leaving an empty space between 
the chair and the mirror, and more rope rests on the couch.

He tosses a pillow to the floor in front of chair. "On your 
knees."  

He arranges me so I'm draped aesthetically over the chair, arms 
folded on the seat and supporting my head.  I can't see the 
mirror, but know it is reflecting my bound ass back at me.

"You will hold that position until you're given another one," he 
commands, his warm fingers resting on my shoulder.

"Yes, Master," I reply.  The title comes easily to my lips this 
time.

"Good girl."  The fingers trail down my back, make a minute 
adjustment to the rope. "I want you to think of yourself as a 
very fine piece of erotic sculpture."

"Yes, Master."  With a discreet shiver, I tighten my muscles 
around the thick rod inside me.

I hear him settle down on the couch.  The television switches on, 
followed a minute later by the rustling sound of him paging 
through the newspaper.  I've been relegated to an erotic prop in 
the background, not even the focus of his attention.

I squeeze around the dildo again.

He has me hold the pose for some unknown period of time before 
casually ordering me into a new one.  The next position is on the 
floor, body folded over my knees, rear lifted slightly in the 
air.

Eyes closed, I think of my body as he commanded me to: as a 
medium for his art.  It's not for me to decide when to move.  I 
put the stiffness in my knees out of my mind, concentrating on 
holding the pose as precisely as possible.

Eventually his footsteps approach again, and he lifts me to my 
feet.  Cupping my chin, he fixes me with a long, searching gaze.  
I moan, startled and aroused by how exposed I feel.  With a 
little nod of satisfaction, he pats my cheek approvingly and 
reaches for the rope on the couch.

This time it begins in a wide loop around my neck.  He wraps the 
cord in a complicated series of twists around my body, 
periodically running a finger between it and my skin to check the 
tension.  The evening news drones on in the background as he 
encircles me over and over, working in a criss-crossing pattern 
over my torso.  I stand passively as he binds me, feeling myself 
spiral downward into deeper submission with each knot. 

When he finishes, he turns me to face the mirror.  He has 
fashioned a latticework of diamonds down my body, stopping at the 
rope around my waist.  My arms are still free, but I feel 
completely imprisoned in a rope harness.  The effect is exotic, 
somehow more possessive than restraining me with cuffs.  And much 
kinkier.  Another flush of arousal spreads through me, leaving a 
now-familiar floating sensation in its wake. 

His eyes travel over my reflection's form before he guides me 
back to my knees on the pillow.  "Arms above your head.  Reach 
up."  

I clasp my hands above my head and arch my back, striving for 
pleasing lines.  

"Very good," he praises.

He leaves the room, returns, and sits down on the couch with a 
bottle.  "You may lower your arms whenever you need to rest.  
This isn't an endurance test," he tells me as he picks up the 
remote.

This time I can see him.  Except for his jacket he's still 
wearing his office clothes, with his tie loosened and collar 
unbuttoned.  It's like I imagined his bachelor days--him sprawled 
on the couch, beer in one hand, idly flipping through a girlie 
mag.  Only now, the object of his casual attention is me.  I'm a 
sex object in the purest sense: a living doll, posing for his 
pleasure.  

Picturing the line of my arms and kneeling body, I lower my gaze, 
turn my neck to a more graceful angle and hold the pose.  I keep 
the image in my mind even when I rest my shaking arms, returning 
as quickly as possible to the position my Master desires.  I feel 
like a strange combination of porn and high art, my whole being 
focused on displaying my bound, penetrated body for him.  The TV 
fades to a soft hum as I drift into a meditative state punctuated 
only by his occasional commands.
 
...My arms are still arched prettily over my head, but now I'm 
flat on my back, feet together and thighs spread, showing the 
rope snug between my labia...  

...I'm lying on my stomach, the rug rough under my skin.  I'm 
propped up on my elbows with my upper arms framing my bound 
breasts.  The position lengthens my torso and makes me very 
conscious of the ropes encircling me and the hard rod inside 
me...

...I'm sitting on the chair facing the mirror, hands clasped 
behind my head.  My legs are spread, and now I can see as well as 
feel the ropes.  My clit is a hot little bump in the smooth 
furrow between my legs.

Mulder is somewhere else in the apartment, but I don't have 
permission to move.  I don't want to.  I'm captivated by the 
erotic, nude form reflected in the mirror.  I understand the 
appeal of visual pornography for the first time as I stare in 
fascination at the woman before me, admiring her curves, her firm 
breasts and the intricate rope pattern decorating her body.  I 
arch my back, shift my hips, and feel the rod held inside me 
move.  Mulder isn't even in the room, but he's still fucking me.  

Mulder returns.  At his gesture, I kneel on the floor once more.  
He draws my wrists together behind my back and wraps them in a 
heavy cuff of rope, completely immobilizing my hands.  As he 
fastens the cord at my wrists to the knot at the small of my 
back, a soothing sense of completion washes over me.  I sigh, 
enraptured.

His hot breath comes in my ear.  "Squeeze around the dildo, 
baby."

With another delicious shiver, I clench my muscles around that 
thick presence in my cunt. His hand cups my ass as I do it again, 
then leaves me.

He stands in front of me, looking down at me.  I gasp as his eyes 
meet mine once more.  His gaze is palpable, arrogant, utterly 
commanding.  I've never felt so naked.

"What does it feel like to have that in your sweet body?" he 
asks.  "Do you feel like it's me there, in so deep that you'll 
never be free again?  I want you to feel transfixed, baby, I want 
you to feel me piercing your soul."

My body sways.  "I do, Master."

He smiles fiercely.  "Do you? You should feel me here"--he 
touches my chest over my heart--"and here"--he touches my temple.  
"Everything belongs to me.  Your body, your mind, all your 
secrets."

A little thrill goes through me.  This is right, right that he 
should claim me so completely as I kneel at his feet, marked as 
his by the ropes he wrapped around me and the rod he put inside 
me.  "Yes, Master."

"Then show me."

I arch my back, offering him my breasts.  Chuckling indulgently, 
he toys with my nipple even as he shakes his head.

"Show me your secrets, baby.  Tell me one.  Tell me a fantasy 
you've never told me before, one so secret you never imagined 
telling anyone.  One that turns you on like flicking a switch."  

He crouches down, bringing himself closer to my level, and 
watches with detached interest as I obey his command.  My voice 
is breathy as I describe my fantasy, a dark, deeply private one 
involving a remote-controlled vibrator and my total capitulation 
to him.  

Whispering the forbidden secret creates a feedback loop in me, 
intensifying my desire exponentially.  When the fantasy finishes 
I fall mute, almost overcome.  My arousal seeps around the rope 
that parts my labia.

His finger runs down that rope, creating pressure in just the 
right place.  "Do you want to come now, baby?"

My body tenses in anticipation.  "Oh, yes, Master."    

"Then do it.  Come for me."

Almost instinctively I begin moving my hips.  The action shifts 
the dildo but doesn't quite give me what I need.  I rock harder, 
seeking the friction of the hard little knot at my clit and the 
wet, silky rope.  

My whimper tells him I've succeeded.

"That's right, baby.  Show me."

I pump my hips faster.  Each thrust, each stab of pleasure in my 
clit is accompanied by a tug on my wrists, a tightening and 
loosening of the harness.  My world narrows down to the friction 
between my legs, the pressure in my cunt, and the cords wrapping 
my body and binding my hands.  

I can only distantly hear my guttural moans resounding through 
the room, but I'm intensely aware of his scrutiny as my hips 
undulate, fucking the air as I grind against the rope.  His eyes 
burn as I writhe for him, making the heat within me build faster, 
hotter...

And I come with an endless groan, glorying in my surrender.

My body slumps, exhausted.  I feel empty--not numb, but as if all 
thought and emotion has been washed away.  I'm not wondering what 
he thought of my fantasy or trying to anticipate his next desire.  
I'm simply existing in this moment, on my knees before him.

Rising, he lifts my chin and smiles down at me.  His fingers 
brush my cheek, silently conveying his love and approval.  
Turning my head, I kiss the caressing fingers.  They still.  I 
kiss them again, then take them into my mouth.  I stroke them 
with my tongue, loving the faintly salty taste.  No words come to 
my mind.  My thoughts are too simple and deep, too visceral to 
verbalize.  

Mulder pulls his fingers from my mouth and trails their wet tips 
over my cheek before he unzips his fly and frees his cock.  
Palming the back of my head, he draws me forward.

I lavish his cock with the same adoration I gave his fingers, 
savoring the taste and texture of the warm flesh.  Both his hands 
cup my face, urging my mouth wider open.  He tilts my head, 
adjusting it to the angle he likes as his hips begin to move 
lazily.  Soft grunts come from above me as his cock swells and 
pulses between my lips, his grip on my face still holding me 
captive.

I begin drifting again as he fucks my mouth, using me.

*****


A few hours later I wake up to find my bare legs entwined with 
Mulder's pajama-clad ones.  He untied me before we went to bed 
but left me naked except for my scarf, which he knotted around my 
breasts so I would feel restrained even in my sleep.  Rising 
quietly, I go to the kitchen for a glass of water and drink it at 
the dining-room table.  My mind plays over the evening again: the 
constant penetration, the confining bondage, the erotic exposure 
of my secrets.  

A soft beat begins in my clitoris just from thinking about it.  
One orgasm a night may satisfy Mulder, but he's taught my body to 
expect more.  I shift into a more comfortable position in the 
hard chair, unthinkingly letting my hands wander in search of 
relief.

"You okay?" Mulder ambles in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

I jump.  "Yes, Master."

Now alert, he realizes what I've been doing.  Guiltily I rest my 
hands on my thighs.  A slow smile spreads across his face as he 
moves to stand behind me.    

"What are you thinking about?"

"This evening, Master," I tell him.  "About my fantasy."

"I liked your fantasy, baby.  I liked seeing you on your knees 
telling me about it."  His fingers stroke lightly around the 
fabric framing my breasts.  "Is that why you were touching 
yourself?"

"Yes, Master," I respond, letting my hand drift between my legs 
again. 

"No," he chides.  "You should know better than to play with 
yourself without permission."

With a groan, I stop.

"Do you remember that we talked about your secrets once before?  
About you giving them up to me?"  He speaks in an offhand tone, 
seemingly uninterested in his effect on me as he traces circles 
around my peaked nipples.

The memory is oddly imprecise, but I remember discussing the 
eroticism of baring myself to him and my fears about doing so.  
That was "out of scene:" I can call up the conversation now, but 
not the trepidation that accompanied it.  

"Yes," I tell him.

"I want all of them.  I want you to tell me all your secrets so I 
can use them to make you mine.  Would you like that?"

Before I can answer, his finger rests over my lips warningly.  
"Think first, because I'm going to push you harder if you say 
'yes.'  I don't want just your body, baby.  I want your mind and 
your soul, but only when you give them to me."

I picture myself kneeling before him, his cock in my mouth.  I 
can almost feel the total possession and the utter peace that 
came with it.  I want that again.

He rolls my nipples idly, amusing himself with my body.  "You may 
answer now.  Are you ready to give me more?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good girl," he murmurs, quiet triumph in the words.  I bask in 
his praise.

"Are you turned on again, baby?"

"Yes, Master."

He leans in to whisper into my ear, his voice hot and demanding 
now.  He stimulates me nearly to orgasm with nothing but words: 
whispering how much he liked what he did to me tonight, hinting 
at what he'll do next, telling me how erotic it will be to coax 
out my secrets and use them to bind me closer to him.  He teases 
until I'm trembling and pleading with him to soothe the ache 
between my legs....  

And the next thing I know, I'm spread out on his table 
masturbating while his fingers pluck at my nipples and his voice 
fills my mind with the darkest, most delicious promises 
imaginable.

*********************************************


Scully navigates around the piles of papers strewn through the 
dingy bedroom as I flip through a file one more time.  It's in 
here, dammit.  The key.  And if the damn local cops would just 
let me investigate instead of *protecting* the company, I could 
find it.

Sibyl Blackstone, the assistant horticulturalist dismissed as a 
paranoid hypochondriac by her physicians, family, and the FBI, 
fell ill in her greenhouse six days ago and died in the hospital.  
When a middle-aged woman with a history of hypertension and 
arrhythmia dies of heart failure, few people suspect foul play.  
Her doctor certainly didn't: he seemed more concerned about 
forestalling a malpractice suit than helping us investigate the 
death as a criminal case.  I'm convinced there's something else, 
though.  I've been up for the past twenty-four hours looking for 
it, but Scully probably doesn't need to know that.

We didn't see much of each other today.  Our liaison with the 
local police, a wiry, weather-beaten man named Chilton, couldn't 
seem to lift his eyes above the second button of Scully's blouse.  
When he insisted on accompanying us to the lab, we split up so 
she could get some work done.  She interviewed Sibyl's family, 
including the sister who had belatedly called me after the 
funeral, while I went to Demeter Labs with Texas's finest dogging 
my every step. 

Sibyl's coworkers expressed dismay but not surprise at her sudden 
death.  She had made no secret of her health problems, and her 
fellows at the company claimed they thought her heart ailment had 
simply caught up with her.  They admitted readily enough that 
Demeter BioLabs was developing genetically modified crops as they 
tried to catch the front wave of the next stage of the Green 
Revolution.  They denied, however, that Sibyl would have come 
into contact with anything harmful and politely referred all 
further questions to the lab director and his attorneys.  

I wanted Scully present at that meeting, ogling local authorities 
or not.  So I ended up at the Blackstones' modest house, going 
through Sibyl's things in the final violation of the crime 
victim: loss of all privacy.

"Why is Demeter located here in Thebes in the first place?" I 
asked absently.  My mind should have been wholly on the case, but 
half of it was thinking that I needed to find a better place than 
my sock drawer to store the currently-deflated inflatable woman I 
use to practice the intricate knots of rope bondage.  My brain 
followed the natural progression of that thought, until 
irritation in Chilton's voice shook me out of a daydream 
featuring Scully bound from her neck to her pretty ankles.

"Why wouldn't they be here?" he was demanding.  "Plenty of space 
for the company to grow, low crime, good schools for the 
employees' kids, and we're only ninety minutes away from Dallas."

I patiently tried to deflect his defensiveness while hiding my 
astonishment that anyone would consider proximity to Dallas a 
selling point.  The upshot of his response was that the company 
was located here for "tax reasons," which probably meant he 
didn't know.  In the end, nothing useful came of the trip to the 
Blackstones' house, and I was not in the best of moods when 
Scully and I finally met back in our motel.

"The ME finally handed over the autopsy record.  Over there," I 
tell her distractedly, waving toward the small desk in the corner 
of the room.  

I hear rustling sounds as she shuffles through the folders.  "Did 
you learn anything at the lab?"

"Just that they're hiding something.  I need to you redo the 
autopsy."

Her voice goes carefully neutral.  "I don't think we have a 
reason to exhume the body, Mulder."
 
Oh, no, Scully.  Not you too.  

She continues, "We don't have enough evidence to justify putting 
her family through that," and my temper frays.

My voice brooks no room for debate.  "Scully.  Just do as I ask."

A long silence before files slap down on the desk.  "I'll see 
what I can do."

As the door closes firmly behind her, I lift my head from the 
files for the first time.  Something was wrong--her voice was 
cold, even flinty, in that final acquiescence.  But I'm on the 
ragged edge of exhaustion and can't think about it now.

I try to go back to work, but my concentration is shot.  My 
fantasy of this afternoon keeps coming back, bringing with it 
memories and plans for the future.

I've been subtly exploring with Scully how intense she wants to 
make our power exchange.  The night I initiated her into the art 
of rope bondage convinced me it was time to stop exploring and 
start enacting.

I was awed by the sublime bliss on her face as she worked herself 
to orgasm on the rope between her legs.  Watching her make love 
to my fingers because she wanted to, not because I ordered her 
to, nearly shredded the control I'd maintained all night.  And 
her transcendent expression when I replaced my fingers with my 
cock was almost more gratifying than the climax that followed.  I 
wasn't feeling triumph, exactly, but rather inordinate 
satisfaction that I had given her that experience, taken her so 
completely out of herself.    

What my mind dwelt on the next morning, though, was her agreement 
to tell me her fantasies on demand.  Privacy is one of Scully's 
most treasured possessions; her willingness to give it up 
suggested that she wanted me to push her past her comfort zone, 
and we both knew it.  

"I think we had a breakthrough last night, Scully," I told her in 
a final subtle probe.  "I want to suggest something."

She stretched, arching her body with her natural grace but no 
intent to arouse--it had taken a while, but I'd finally worn her 
out the previous night.  Rolling onto her side, she offered me 
the back of her neck.  

"When we negotiated starting a scene," I continued, unknotting 
the scarf in response to her cue, "we agreed that you could 
decline if you didn't want to play."

"Mm-hmm," she confirmed drowsily, spooning up against me.

I tried to make it sound as though I was conferring a privilege, 
not withdrawing one, when I continued, "I think you're ready for 
me to rescind that right."  

That woke her up.  "What if I'm not in the mood?" 

I trailed the silk over the soft skin of her belly.  "I can get 
you in the mood."

I remained silent as she mulled it over, giving her space to 
reach the decision.  If she gave me the answer I anticipated, I 
was going to change the tone of the games whenever I saw fit.  No 
more hesitation or warnings.

Her hand clasped mine as if in a silent appeal for reassurance, 
but her voice was resolute when she replied, "All right."

Relieved, I pulled her closer against my morning erection.  After 
a moment, she relaxed and snuggled up obligingly.  

"I was so proud of you last night," I murmured, letting my voice 
drop into its "dominant" range like a fleeting kiss.  "You looked 
so natural on your knees.  Like you belonged there."

A shiver ran through her.  I groaned in response, pushing my dick 
against her warm body.  I muttered into her ear again, not in my 
dominant voice, but with honest need, "I want you again, Scully.  
Are you ready?"

She wasn't quite ready, but was sweetly accommodating.  My hand 
moved over her breasts while hers worked between her thighs, 
until she pushed her rear against me in invitation.  She didn't 
come that time, but after exhausting her a few hours earlier, I 
took that as a compliment.

I haven't followed through on the implied promise of that 
morning, though I did manage to surprise her with our next scene.  
Just to keep her off guard, I called her unexpectedly on a Sunday 
afternoon to inform her that I would be at her apartment in half 
an hour and wanted to find her naked in front of her bedroom 
mirror when I got there.  

The heat was on full blast when I entered.  Grinning to myself, I 
went to the bedroom and found her standing just as I'd 
instructed.  I claimed her with the scarf and ran my hands over 
her body as she watched our reflections.  I rubbed the hard 
little kernels of her nipples and let my hands drift down her 
abdomen.  My fingers danced over her mons; she was still shaving 
completely, and I admired the look.  Holding her gaze in the 
mirror, I parted her labia.  She was wet.

"Were you touching yourself?"  I rumbled warningly.  As far as I 
was concerned, the scene had begun when I had called.  She had no 
right to stimulate herself except by my explicit order.

"No, Master," she murmured shyly.  "I was thinking."

"About what?" I purred.  

"About what you're going to do to me," she whispered, her cheeks 
pinking prettily.
 
I patted her rump affectionately.  "Good girl," I replied, pride 
in my voice.  "Now close your eyes and just listen."

"Yes, Master."

That day, it was her turn to hear one of my fantasies.  I began 
by painting a verbal image of taking her to a body-art shop and 
selecting the gold rings that would adorn her.  Savoring the 
satiny feel of her skin, I ran my hands over her body as I 
described lovingly stripping her to the waist for the technician 
and standing back to watch him mark her as mine.  

He began with the rings through her nipples.  Delicate but 
strong, they would be perfect, I assured her, for affixing bells, 
bangles or a fine but versatile chain.  As I described the needle 
biting into her tender flesh, I slipped on her favorite clamps 
and tightened them to a nice, firm grip.  She liked that.  I 
liked the whole story--what I had already told her and what was 
still to come--so we were both breathing heavily when the 
imaginary artist held up a mirror for her to admire his 
handiwork.  

"Can you picture it, baby?  What do the rings mean?"

Eyes still closed, she whispered, "I belong to you, Master."

"That's right. And you're so proud that your body is mine to 
decorate."  

I grinned when she arched her back unconsciously, as if she were 
preening for the mirror.  The crowning touch, though, was a much 
more intimate decoration.  I knelt before her to continue, 
palming the object I'd brought with me.  She was a little wetter 
than the instructions said she should be, but I figured I could 
handle it.   

"You're not done yet, baby.  Your nipples are still throbbing 
when I lift your skirt and open your legs for him.  You're not 
wearing panties, of course.  You're blushing now, but you hold 
still as he makes you ready.  I watch you the whole time.  I can 
almost see the endorphins flooding your body.  You're breathing 
hard, wonder on your face--you didn't think you would enjoy it so 
much."

As I described his forceps gripping her in preparation, I 
carefully slid her new jewelry over her clitoral hood.  She 
gasped as I settled it behind the erect little organ.

"Picture it, baby.  Think of that needle getting closer.  Think 
of yourself practically naked in that chair, legs spread, waiting 
for a strange man to...*pierce* you while I watch."

She moaned.  Safe in the knowledge that she couldn't see me, I 
permitted myself a little smirk.  This time I marked the bite of 
the needle with a sharp pinch of her clit, hard enough to hurt.  
She gasped again, but neither moved nor protested.  

I rose and stood behind her before instructing her to open her 
eyes again.  "Is this comfortable?" I asked, indicating the clit 
clip.  "You should feel it, but it's not supposed to hurt."

She stared at it in the mirror, captivated by the dangling chains 
and tiny crystal beads.  "Yes, Master."

"It *should* intensify the sensation."  With her still watching, 
I delicately stroked her clit. 

"Ohh..."

I laid my other hand on her shoulder and pressed downward in a 
signal she knew well.  "On your knees, baby, and suck me off."

She sighed again, aroused by the coarse language as much as by my 
touch, and sank gracefully down.  Just to test the clip 
thoroughly, I let her play with herself while she tended to me.  
It did its job.  After I came she looked up at me with such 
anticipation that I seriously considered letting her climax--for 
all of ten seconds.

"That's enough."

Her face fell, but she stopped and rested her hands on her thighs 
in her "waiting" position.  The fingers of her right hand were 
wet.  I smiled down at her benignly before ordering her up.  

We spent a quiet afternoon in her apartment reading, watching TV, 
and preparing dinner together.  Scully adapted easily enough to 
doing these tasks in the nude; with a little encouragement, in 
fact, she was soon prancing around the apartment showing off her 
new jewelry.  I'd always thought there was a bit of the 
exhibitionist in her.  I didn't think *she* knew, but that would 
make coaxing it out all the more fun.  

It was just as well that she enjoyed displaying herself for my 
entertainment, because conversation was a bit limited.  I was 
focused on ensuring that she couldn't think about anything but 
her nipples and her clit, and Scully--well, she couldn't think 
about anything but her nipples and her clit.  Still, she was 
adorable as she watched me with those big eyes, waiting for me to 
let her come.  When I finally took her to bed she was a little 
tigress--tamed, but a tigress nonetheless. 

My hand on my cock jerks me out of the memory.  I look around the 
hotel room, noticing for the first time how tired and faded it 
is, and move my hand away.  I don't want solitary comfort 
tonight.

Giving myself a mental shake, I indulge in a final daydream.  

Our earlier discussions about power games were absolutely 
necessary; I had to have Scully's unambiguous consent before 
proceeding to the next stage.  The downside, though, is that now 
she's expecting me to pull out something more intense.  She's 
ready for it, and that won't do at all.  

I go to my briefcase for another file, taking a moment first to 
finger the silk scarf tucked away in a side pocket.  When this 
case is over, I silently promise us both, I'm going to surprise 
her.

*********************************************


When you come right down to it, I don't like Texas.  I don't like 
the weather.  I don't like the ubiquitous, twangy country music.  
I don't like the beefy men with big trucks, big hats, and--one 
can only assume--small penises who assert their manhood by 
refusing to let you pass them on the freeway.  And while Texas is 
arguably not responsible for Mulder's behavior, the state never 
seems to do him any good.  

There was one option to try before pursuing Mulder's suggestion 
that I exhume and examine Sibyl's body.  Collecting the tissue 
samples from her previous autopsy, I drove to the lab in Dallas.  
If truth be told, I was glad for the excuse to work separately 
for another day.

The officer assigned to work with us on the Blackstone case, 
either by luck or practice, managed to behave toward me in a way 
that straddled the line between "offensive" and "actionable," and 
Mulder made an executive decision that we would split up 
yesterday.  When Mulder glowers at someone who checks me out too 
thoroughly while we're on a date, it's slightly--very slightly--
amusing.  When he starts defending me from the louts we have to 
work with, it's worrisome.  Specifically, it's worrisome because 
he never did it *before* we became lovers--Mulder actually 
figured out before I did that the best way to deal with people 
like Chilton was for him to back off and force them to deal with 
me.  I can't do my job if he starts intervening to "protect" me 
whenever he feels uncomfortable, and so I was more than a little 
miffed with him.

The drive to Dallas turned out to be an exercise in testosterone-
laden, pickup-dodging aggravation that did nothing to improve my 
mood.  Once I got to the lab, though, the techs were professional 
and competent, and I got what I needed without difficulty.  I 
reached for my cell phone to call Mulder; if I was right and luck 
was with us, we'd be able to wrap up the case that day.  

When he answered, I didn't bother with a preamble.  "A gas 
chromatograph analysis showed that Sibyl died from digoxin 
toxicity: digitalis poisoning."

"Overdose of her heart medication?" he asked.

"Digoxin can be prescribed for people with her condition, but she 
wasn't taking it.  So they didn't test for it at the autopsy." 

"Somebody gave it to her, then.  We've gotta get a search warrant 
for Demeter--"

"Mulder--"

"She must have known something--"

"Mulder!" 

Finally, I had his attention.  "The liver-tissue analysis 
suggested some overdosage of the medication she *was* taking, but 
her doctor had prescribed the right amounts.  I need you to go 
talk to her husband.  He was in the best position to do it."

"What?  We checked him out.  She was happily married."

"That's not what her sister told me yesterday.  Just go pick him 
up, okay?  I'm on my way back."

Sometimes the obvious answer is the right one.  By the time I got 
back to Thebes, Mulder and Chilton had Robert Blackstone in 
custody.  Armed with the data I brought back from the lab, we got 
a confession.

Tired of his marriage and unwilling to accept the financial 
consequences of divorce, Blackstone had coldly, methodically 
capitalized on his wife's illness.  A few months after she 
developed the atrial flutter, he got a duplicate prescription of 
her arrhythmia medication filled and began occasionally slipping 
extra doses into her morning coffee or glass of wine at dinner.  
He was good--Sibyl went back to her doctor several times to 
complain of a racing and irregular heartbeat, but the overdoses 
were too mild and sporadic to pin down.  Sibyl's own wild 
theories about the origins of her illness did nothing to help her 
case.  Her doctors, friends, and family came to conclude that her 
symptoms were those of hypochondria--until she died.  Then they 
interpreted the complaints as signs of the disorder that led up 
to her untimely but natural death.

Blackstone recited his confession in a flat, emotionless voice, 
broken only by his faint pleasure at his own cleverness.  Of all 
the monsters we deal with, the human ones are the most chilling.  
I couldn't escape the interrogation room fast enough.
 
I barely noticed when Chilton congratulated Mulder on solving the 
case.  There was a brief exchange between them, and then Mulder 
was next to me again.   "You want to finish up here?"

I sighed, cracking my neck in a futile effort to relieve the 
tension and telling myself that the sooner I explained my 
findings to the people who would make the case against 
Blackstone, the sooner we could get out of here.  "Yeah, I'll do 
it.  Can you look into flights home?"  

"For tonight?" he asked in surprise.

"If we can."  I'd had enough of the leering local cop and the 
insidious betrayal that had ended Sibyl's life.  I'd had enough 
of Texas.

Mulder's gaze was disconcertingly sharp, but after studying me 
for a moment he simply nodded.  "I'll make some calls." 

I had just wrapped up at the police station when my cell phone 
chirped again.  

"We can't catch any flights to DC tonight except red-eyes," he 
said brusquely, "but we're going back to Dallas for a decent 
hotel.  Meet me back in our rooms as soon as you can."

And he hung up.  Not quite bristling at his preemptory tone, I 
pocketed my phone.

Now we're stopped at a Marriott in Dallas, which Mulder must be 
paying for with his own credit card.  We're not here on Bureau 
business.

When I went back to my room to pack, I discovered he'd already 
done it.  The stockings, garter belt, bra and panties he'd bought 
for me last month were sitting on top of my suitcase, and the 
rest of my underwear had mysteriously vanished.  Part of me had 
an embarrassingly enthusiastic reaction to his blatant 
announcement of his intentions for tonight; the other part was 
angry he'd brought that aspect of our lives on a case.  I changed 
into slacks and a tired old button-down shirt--the least sexy 
outfit in my suitcase.  But I put the lingerie on first.

Mulder was waiting for me by the car.  His gaze traveled 
deliberately over my clothing and his mouth quirked, as if 
accepting a challenge.  His hand brushed mine as he took my 
suitcase.  "I know what you need tonight, Scully," he told me.

I let him drive back.  He was silent for most of the trip.  The 
empty time helps me shake off the case, but I'm not there yet by 
the time we arrive at the hotel.  I feel fidgety, restless; 
excited, but more than a little uncertain about moving straight 
from a case to--well, to *this.* 

We stopped for dinner at a small but clean diner along the way.  
Ever the gentleman, Mulder came around to open my door for me.

"Wait," he told me when I started to get out of the car.  With 
nimble fingers he unbuttoned my blouse right down to my bra, so 
that the lace would peek through whenever I moved.  "That's 
better," he said in satisfaction, and escorted me into the 
restaurant without another word.  

The waitress didn't seem to think it odd that he ordered without 
consulting me.  I sat across from him, accepting the way his gaze 
roved possessively over me, alternately enjoying the attention 
and thinking uncharitable thoughts about Texas because it's 
easier than thinking them about Mulder.

"What?" I finally asked after an especially open leer, thinking I 
knew the answer.  

I didn't.  

"I was just thinking of you interrogating Blackstone this 
afternoon," he replied.

"And?"

"I was watching the way you took charge: crowding his space, 
slapping your hand on the table, your eyes flashing."  He leaned 
forward.  "And all I could think about was how I was going to 
make you writhe naked on the floor and beg."

My eyes widened in shock that he would think about sex games at a 
time like that.  An instant later I caught my breath as I 
pictured it too.  The contrast with our carefully balanced, 
largely asexual professional lives made the unbridled sexuality 
of the image all the more enticing.  

That didn't mean I wanted our two worlds to intersect.  "I'm not 
sure I want to play tonight, Mulder."  

He shrugged.  "You will."

We finished the meal in silence, but when we returned to the car 
he pounced again.  Reaching around me to unlock my door, he 
suddenly trapped my body against the cool metal.  

"I'm going to have so much fun with you tonight," he told me.  
"I'm gonna suck your nipples until you whimper, and lick your 
clit until you beg.  And then, Scully, I'm gonna fuck you until 
you *scream.*"

'Scully.'  Again I shrank from the juxtaposition of the two roles 
we have always kept separate--but the jolt that shot through me 
when his hand cupped my clothed sex was strong enough to make my 
knees weak.
 
He returns from the registration desk and drives around to our 
room at the end of one of the hotel's wings.  I make no protest 
as he guides me in with a firm hand at my elbow; in fact I've 
barely spoken at all since I donned the clothing back in Thebes.  
Even so, I follow him reluctantly.  

I freshen up as he retrieves the luggage and drift over to the 
little workspace at the far side of the room, which has a small 
desk and chair beneath the window.  I open the curtains and stare 
out idly.  Light from the room next door spills out into the 
courtyard, and the faint sound of someone entering it filters 
through the wall, but the hotel is otherwise mostly quiet.  I'm 
still trying to sort out my feelings as Mulder opens the door, 
mumbling a soft greeting to someone in the hallway.  I want it 
tonight, but I can't quite let go.

Silk caresses my throat.  Mulder's hand closes over mine on the 
curtain pull, and he tugs them shut.

"You know why you're here, baby.  Were you planning on putting on 
a show?"

I shrug away and put up a token protest, not sure if I want him 
to stop or be more aggressive.  "Maybe you're pushing too hard 
tonight, Mulder."

He recaptures my hand.  "No, Scully, I'm not.  You're tired, 
you're tense, you need to relax, and I'm going to make you.  You 
know how to stop it if you really want to."

With a gentle smile he places a row of soft kisses up my wrist.  
It's a trick, of course.  The next thing I know, he's trapped 
both my wrists in one hand.  He spins me around with my back to 
his chest, and palms my breast through my clothing.  The nipple 
goes erect, earning it a firm pinch.

"Good girl," he praises as he slips loose a button of my shirt.  

Some part of me, the part that smoked forbidden cigarettes and 
stayed out past curfew, twists against his restraining hand.  

"Behave yourself," he purrs as he releases my hands.  A sharp tug 
at my half-open blouse, and the remaining buttons pop free.  The 
sound of the tearing fabric stimulates that shameful desire I 
have always hidden: to be forced.  To have all choice taken away.

Light kisses tickle the nape of my neck while his hand creeps up 
the back of my open shirt and unclasps my bra.

"Mulder," I protest feebly.

"Shh."  

My clit pulses at the hint of steel lurking under his indulgent 
tone.  He tugs the blouse off my shoulders, but the buttoned 
cuffs trap my hands in the sleeves.

He chuckles.  "That's useful." 

A hand slips under my loosened bra to massage my breasts 
tenderly, even reverently.  He kneels before me, a slight smile 
playing over his lips, and unfastens my slacks.  His fingers 
dance over the waistband of my panties before he jerks down the 
slacks, the roughness of the act contrasting sharply to his 
gentleness of just a few seconds before.  They end up around my 
ankles, threatening to trip me if I move.  I'm standing before 
him now in my lingerie, trapped by my own clothing.  Without 
warning, his mouth covers my sex.

"Oh!" I squeal as another searing jolt bursts through me.

Another one, then another, as he tongues me through the wet silk 
of my panties.  I struggle briefly, but the rebellious side of me 
isn't quite rebellious enough to reject cunnilingus when offered.   
God, I was expecting blows or force, not this persistent, 
implacable erosion of my will.  I groan, arching helplessly 
toward his mouth. 

"That's right," he mutters smugly.  "You *need* it tonight, don't 
you?"

I don't respond.

*Crack!* His hand falls heavy on my ass in a hard, stinging blow.  
"Don't you, baby?"

Some small part of me still holding back, I shake my head.  I do 
need this, need for him to take what I haven't offered.  Being 
compelled to submit is my deepest, darkest fantasy, and I want it 
badly.  But I always imagined confronting it after a slow 
buildup: over a long romantic weekend, perhaps, sometime when I'd 
told him I was ready.  Not unexpectedly, in this grey area 
between our personal and professional lives.  

He stands.  Gripping my hips, he pulls me against his clothed 
erection.  In the same even tone he asks, "How does that feel?"

"Hard," I reply.  My heart is pounding.  

"That's right.  Hard.  But you're soft, baby.  Soft and sweet."

"No..." I murmur, my protests losing strength as he rocks the 
arrogant swell of his cock against my clit.  

"Yes.  You're melting, going limp, getting wet.  You can't help 
it."

"Mulder, I don't think--"

He releases me so suddenly that I moan at the loss.  "You don't 
need to think, sweetheart.  You need to obey.  Listen to your 
body.  It aches to serve me."

Another involuntary moan escapes my throat.  I raise my voice to 
cover my reaction.  "Mulder--"

Crack!  "'Master.'  And don't use that tone with me."

The slap falls on my breast this time.  I jerk at the unexpected 
blow.  Another one, and then his mouth is on me, working my 
nipple hard.  I cry out, my head thrown back.  He slaps my thigh 
before his hand moves between my legs.

"See how wet you are?  Your body responds when I want.  Don't 
fool yourself into thinking otherwise."

The fingers circle and caress, proving how aroused I am, making 
me more so.  They play over me as only he knows how to do, 
telling me he isn't going to stop unless I use my safeword.  His 
indifference to my resistance is a little frightening, but deep 
down, isn't it what I wanted?

His voice snaps like a whip.  "On your knees."

I drop, my cunt weeping.

He lifts my chin, his sharp gaze probing into my mind.  His deft 
hands remove my shirt and the bra hanging loosely from my torso, 
handling my nipples roughly.  Already erect, they love the 
attention.

"You want it bad, don't you?" he asks.  He forces his fingers 
between my lips, making a response impossible.  "You want me to 
top you so bad you can taste it."

I try to shake my head, but he grips my chin to hold me still.  

"That's why you're misbehaving now--you want me to force you, 
take everything away but your submission.  And that's exactly 
what I'm going to do."

I close my eyes as heat washes through me.  I *do* want him to 
force me out of myself, pushing me to a new level of surrender.  
It's just that I want it on *my* terms, not his....

And that's why I began melting the minute I discovered he'd taken 
all my underwear, why I didn't object when he unbuttoned my 
blouse, why I'm embarrassingly wet already.  It's impossible to 
have this fantasy on my terms. 

Mulder would never truly coerce me; if I use my safeword now he 
will stop.  If I ask, he would probably enact the seduction I 
envisioned later, when I choose.  It would be safe and scripted--
and stripped of the thrill of knowing that just a touch of the 
force is real.

Maybe I'll regret this tomorrow.  But as he begins teasingly 
fucking my mouth with his fingers, I know I'm not going to stop 
him.

He pulls his fingers away.  "You may stand," he tells me in his 
most arrogant tone.  

Trembling, I rise.  I don't resist as he removes my flats and 
frees me from my slacks.  His expression is aloof as he plays 
with my clit through the wet fabric of my panties, but those 
clever fingers know exactly how to touch me.  I have a curious 
sensation of losing myself by degrees: my mind obeys only 
grudgingly, but my body is dancing to his tune when he stops and 
turns away.  

It feels smutty, naughty, and oh, so hot.

He rustles around in the suitcases and returns with a couple 
neckties and the highest heels I brought on this trip.  Pulling 
down my panties, he removes them and slips the shoes onto my 
feet.  He makes a twirling motion with his finger, and I turn in 
a slow pirouette.  He smirks down at me for a long moment when I 
finish, enjoying towering over me fully clothed as I stand there 
in my tarty outfit.  

"Open your legs and bend over."

I obey, leaning on the desk for support.  

He laughs.  "All the way, baby.  Spread your legs and reach for 
your ankles."

Reluctantly I bend nearly double.  He binds my wrists to my lower 
calves with his neckties, keeping my body bent over.  The bonds 
have enough slack for me to raise or lower my upper body a bit, 
but not much.  My buttocks jut out pertly, emphasizing the garter 
belt and stockings and making me feel totally vulnerable.

Mulder walks around me, admiring his handiwork as my cheeks burn.  
He's my Master, I remind myself.  I choose to do as he says, and 
I'm tied in this revealing, humbling position because he wants me 
that way.  It's no different than the night I posed for him.

But it feels different.

I gasp as he touches me.  The fingers of one hand part my labia 
while those of the other probe my vagina experimentally.  He 
handles my exposed sex casually, coolly. 

"I don't think that there are words for the way you look like 
this, baby.  Open.  Decadent.  Perfectly fuckable."

I get wetter.

The next sound takes me a second to identify: the tear of a foil 
condom packet being opened.  That's my only warning before he 
pushes into me and begins pumping.

I wobble on my heels, losing my balance, and his fingers dig into 
my hips.  He thrusts harder, steadying me as his balls slap 
against the backs of my thighs. 

He groans contentedly.  "God, baby, I can't believe how good it 
feels to use you like this."

I bite my lip to check the automatic response, but my harsh 
breathing gives me away.  He thrusts a little harder, grunting 
with his pleasure and seemingly giving no thought to mine.  I 
squirm to change the angle.

*CRACK!*

I cry out, my eyes stinging with tears.  He hit me harder than 
usual.  

"Hold still," he growls through gritted teeth, pulling me closer.

He talks to me in his 'Master' voice as he fucks me, telling me 
how hot and tight I feel, how hard it makes him to have me 
helpless.  I whimper, jealous of the pleasure he takes from my 
body, and squirm again.  Another heavy slap.  I gasp, my vagina 
clenching around him.

"I think you want to be punished, baby.  You're trying to goad me 
into spanking you."

He's right: I am.  I want that pain, that ritual to mark my 
transformation from Mulder's cool, competent partner to his 
cherished, obedient submissive.

His voice lowers and his fingers tighten on my hips.  "So I'm not 
going to."

He rams himself in deep, fingers biting almost painfully.  My 
clit is swollen, pulsing, he could bring me off with a few 
careless flicks of his finger...

He comes with a deep, satisfied groan.  Then he pulls out, 
leaving me empty and aching.  I bite my lip again, but can't 
quite stifle the disappointed moan.

Mulder taps my clit just to make me jump.  "If you ask nicely, I 
might let you come."

It would be easy to give in: my body is more than ready.  But I 
want him to push just a little bit harder.

When I remain silent, he releases me.  "You'll be more 
comfortable if you don't lock your knees," he offers as his 
footsteps retreat.  

I lift my head, but can't see anything except the floor, the bed, 
and the legs of the desk and chair next to me.  I let my head 
hang limply and rely on my ears instead.  The rattle of a drawer 
or cabinet opening tells me he's on the far side of the room.

He flips on the television, filling the room with the 
unmistakable gasps and moans of a porn movie.  I expect him to 
settle on the bed to watch, but instead he goes about the room, 
turning on every light. A minute later he goes into the bathroom 
and turns on the shower.  I can hear it running clearly--he must 
have left the bathroom door open.  

Immobilized by the bonds, I stand where he left me, listening to 
the movie he left on to arouse me.  If I could see the 
television, the fake breasts and cheesy scenery of the typical 
porn flick would only amuse me.  Hearing a woman begging for 
release and then screaming her ecstasy, though, makes me ache for 
the same thing to be done to me.  As I listen, the lights harshly 
illuminate my position of extreme sexual accessibility.  I feel 
like a toy, left out on the floor because he knows he's going to 
play with me again shortly.  And thanks to the movie, my nearly 
Pavlovian response to being restrained, and my own imagination, 
I'll be ready for him when he returns.

Eventually the shower goes off and Mulder emerges from the 
bathroom.  He moves soundlessly, but in my doubled-over position 
I can see his bare legs and feet when he approaches me from 
behind.  Fingers stroke over my rear and inner thighs, then 
circle my clit.  I'm no longer on the verge of climax, but the 
little organ is still hot and swollen.

 "Oh, very nice."

The soundtrack of moans, gasps, and squeaking bedsprings 
continues as he moves around the room again, making preparations 
I can't see.  He phones down to the front desk to request more 
towels, and a few minutes later a knock comes at the door.  The 
TV snaps off.

No.  He wouldn't...

The door opens.  

My face, already flushed from my position, burns with 
embarrassment and a strange excitement as Mulder exchanges a few 
words with the person on the other side.  

The door closes.  More rattling of drawers and preparations 
before footsteps bring him to me once more.  Warm hands caress my 
ass.  

"When you were reading about things that doms do to their subs, 
baby, did you come across the term 'forced exhibitionism?'"

It takes me a few seconds to find my voice.  "Yes, Master."

"He didn't see you.  But if you don't behave, I just might call 
him back and let him."  

I open my mouth and then close it again, blushing furiously.  I 
think the threat is like his startlingly erotic story of having 
me pierced for him--only a fantasy.  But it's just possible that 
he's serious.  "Forced exhibitionism" called up the ludicrous 
image of me standing in a park in a trenchcoat, exposing myself 
at Mulder's command; it was so absurd that I never mentioned it 
when we established the groundrules for the game.  Only now do I 
realize the range of actions those two little words could 
encompass.
 
A flutter begins deep in my belly.  I don't want him to let some 
stranger see me like this.  But I want to believe that he might 
do it.  

He finally unties me and lets me straighten and stretch before he 
lays the towels on the floor.  I sink to my knees on the 
makeshift cushion without being told.  The position feels 
comfortable, familiar, and I know my posture is appropriately 
deferential.  In my mind, though...my mind is harboring that last 
bit of stubbornness just so I can feel the rush when he sweeps it 
away.

He pulls out the desk chair and sits down in front of me.  I 
don't know what he wore to open the door, but he's nude now, and 
the sight of his flaccid penis resting in its nest of dark curls 
is paradoxically exciting.  There's something indescribably 
wicked about keeping me fully aroused while he remains 
indifferent; the contrast proclaims that he intends not to share 
my excitement, but to control and manipulate it.  To control and 
manipulate me, make me do to things I would never do myself.

Aware of my scrutiny, he smirks and shifts casually.  "Tell me, 
baby, who am I?"

I lower my gaze.  "My Master."

He lifts my chin.  His fingers feel cool on my heated skin.  "And 
you are?"

"Your submissive," I reply.

"That's right.  Do you have the right to refuse me?"

My nipples are painfully tight.  "No, Master."

"But it's my right to make you do things you don't want."  His 
thumb traces my lower lip.  "If you need to struggle a little, I 
understand.  But if you misbehave, I will punish you.  And no 
matter how hard you struggle, I will *always* subdue you."

The shudder starts in my clit and washes through my whole body.  
"Yes, Master."

He observes my reaction with clinical satisfaction.  "Arms above 
your head."  

I stretch my arms above my head and clasp my hands, as I did the 
night he had me pose for him.  He had to get me in the mood then 
too, but his overt dominance is more intense tonight, and darker.  
Maybe it's darker *because* it's more intense.

He sits back in the chair.  "You may speak, but don't even think 
about putting them down without permission."

He didn't order me into this position for its aesthetic 
qualities.   As I learned earlier, the pose becomes uncomfortable 
in scant minutes and quickly progresses to painful.  Maintaining 
it will require much greater force of will than simply accepting 
a swift spanking, which is why he's doing it.  He wants me to 
make a conscious, sustained effort to bend myself to *his* will.

As punishments go, it's an effective one.  My arms soon shake in 
fatigue, demanding greater and greater exertion to be held aloft.  
It's approaching agony when he lets me rest.  

He gives me only a brief respite before gesturing for me to 
resume the position.  "I know it hurts, baby.  Ride the pain to 
where you're supposed to be."

"Yes, Master," I whisper, lifting my arms.   The pins and needles 
in my arms and hands return quickly, and I can feel my face 
reddening under the strain.  

"Good girl.  Open yourself," he continues. "Feel the pain driving 
out all your stubbornness, all your resistance."

I focus on his words, letting his voice envelop me.  I'm supposed 
to be in that place where he can punish me however he sees fit 
and I accept his correction willingly, even gladly, because it 
reinforces his control over me.  Finally ready to go there, I let 
that last wall start to crumble.  As it weakens, the emotional 
rawness that always accompanies discipline grows stronger.  With 
the ache in my arms becoming nearly unbearable, I bite my lip to 
hold back the tears.

"No," he says in his gentlest tone.  "You know the rules.  No 
hiding."  

"Please, Master," I whisper, my eyes watering.

"One more minute.  You can do it."

My hands are going numb, my arms shaking--I want desperately to 
please him, but can't keep them up for another second. Just as my 
arms begin to fall of their own accord, Mulder leans over me.  
One hand closes around my wrists, holding them up, while with the 
other he lands a series of fast, hard slaps on my rear.  

I burst into tears as the blows push me over the edge.  When he 
releases my wrists I collapse to the floor at his feet, sobbing, 
free-falling into total surrender.  

"Good girl," I hear him murmur.  He lifts my shuddering body to 
the bed and sits next to me, petting my hair and whispering 
soothing nonsense.  The pain was real but fleeting; I'm crying 
for no reason now, crying because it feels strangely good.

He looks down at me, smiling faintly.  "You're beautiful when you 
cry, baby.  Radiant."  His hands run over my body in long 
strokes.  "Sometimes I'm going to make you cry just to see that 
radiance."

He reaches for a glass of water when my tears slow.  Rather than 
handing it to me, he lifts my head and brings the glass to my 
lips.  I sip, feeling a strange triumph in my defeat.  The 
punishment was real, not a play spanking, and I endured it.  
Endured it, and emerged more subject to him.  

He sets the glass aside.  "That's better.  I can see it in your 
eyes, baby.  You're mine now."

"Yours, Master."  My words are slightly slurred, as if I'd been 
drinking.  I feel like I've been drinking; a gentle, hazy 
euphoria is clouding my mind and seeping into my limbs.

"Good girl.  Now, I want you to look around the room."

I let my gaze travel around.  Luggage rack by the door, TV 
cabinet opposite the bed, locked connecting door, desk under the 
window--it's all unremarkable.  The room is a little larger and 
more tastefully appointed than those in many of the hotels our 
work takes us to, but nothing out of the ordinary.  I look at him 
questioningly.  

"I'm doing you here for a reason," he tells me as his fingers 
circle my nipples, skillfully teasing them to full erection.  
"There's nothing here to remind you of who you are or what you do 
outside this room.  You're here because I want you to be.  You're 
dressed for my pleasure."  

A warm hand caresses my knee.  It drifts up my inner thigh, 
toying with the lace at the top of my stocking, skates over my 
garter belt, and returns to my breast.  

"In this room, baby, you exist only to satisfy my desires.  
You're a toy: a beautiful, exotic, priceless"--his voice lingers 
over the words--"toy."  

I sigh.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" he chuckles.

Without warning, his fingers tighten *hard* on my nipples.  The 
bolt that shoots to my sex is more pain than pleasure, but the 
two are so entwined that my back arches and my thighs part.   He 
draws my arms over my head again.  Pulling the scarf from my 
throat, he ties it around my wrists.  His lips quirk in 
satisfaction as he looks down at me.

"In this room," he continues, "your desires, your fears, your 
inhibitions don't matter.  Not to me, and not to you."  

He pushes my thighs further apart, until my body is sprawled wide 
and offered up to him.  I've always snickered at romance novels 
that can only describe the sensations of sex as "throbbing."  But 
now, the only word to describe the feeling between my legs is 
"throbbing."  The hot flesh is throbbing so hard that I wonder if 
he can see it.

He slaps my inner thigh lightly.  I look up to see him watching 
me with amused expectation.  

"Yes, Master," I agree obediently.

He looms over me on all fours.  He's erect now, his cock pointing 
unerringly at the vee of my spread thighs.  After coming once 
already, though, he'll be able to hold out a long time if he 
wants.  

Straddling my body, he rains soft kisses on my ears and face, 
long, lingering ones on my lips, hot and quick ones down my neck 
to my breasts.  I arch my back, pleading for more.  In response 
he nips me sharply with his teeth, then soothes the sting with 
his tongue.  

"You wanna get fucked now, baby?"

"Oh, yes," I moan.

He sucks my nipples until I whine low in my throat.  My hips 
begin undulating slowly.  He strokes between my legs, coaxing my 
hips to move faster, my whole body to writhe.

I yelp in shock at the sharp pinch at my clit.  When my eyes 
focus on him, he gestures peremptorily at the floor.  Head 
swimming, I kneel by the desk and wait while he shuts off most of 
the lights.  My sex feels heavy and flushed; it aches for his 
touch.  I focus on the chair in front of me.  The polished wood 
looks so hard and inviting...

I straddle the leg of the chair and rub my heated clit against 
the smooth wood.  The unyielding hardness feels strange, but so 
erotic that I repeat the action.

A choked groan from Mulder freezes me as I remember the rule 
about masturbating without permission.  "I'm sorry, Master."

"Keep going," he says hoarsely, crouching next to me.  His 
fingers slip into my mouth again.  This time I suck eagerly as I 
slide up and down, pacifying my greedy clit.

"That's naughty, Scully.  Do you wanna be naughty tonight?"

His use of my name sends a little shiver through me.  Thrilled by 
my own shamelessness, I groan affirmatively around his fingers 
and shimmy on the chair.  The action is very un-Scullylike, but 
I've discarded my normal inhibitions as if they were a pair of 
torn pantyhose.

His hand descends on my ass once more, and sparks shoot behind my 
eyelids as the blow grinds my clit against the rounded wood 
between my legs.  The flashes of pain don't dampen my arousal--
quite the opposite.  Punctuating his otherwise gentle touches, 
they give the excitement simmering within me a delicious, wicked 
spice. 

His finger trails over the garters laying over the swell of my 
ass and holding up my stockings.  When he dressed me in these 
clothes once before, the experience that followed was 
transcendent.  Tonight it feels gritty, even dirty.  

And just as exciting.  I pump faster, performing my desire for 
him.

His voice stops me.  "That's enough."

He repositions me on my hands and knees and knots the long end of 
my scarf around the leg of the desk.  I spread my legs eagerly, 
my appetite only whetted by my lewd performance.

"Now, what was I going to do with you tonight?" he muses.

I rest my head on my forearms, remembering the conversation in 
the diner.  "Make me beg, Master."

"That's right.  You think it's a fun little game to beg, don't 
you?  Well, not tonight."  

He parts my labia with his thumbs as I quiver in anticipation.  
He knows just how to play me.

"Aching desperation, baby."  A loud, unabashed groan escapes me 
at the first lingering stroke of his tongue.  "Arousal that you'd 
do *anything* to relieve," he continues.

Holding me firmly in place, he works me over slowly at first, 
until a deep but languid arousal suffuses my entire body.  Then 
strong, progressively faster licks build the desire as surely as 
a rollercoaster climbing a hill.  Just as I'm about to plummet 
over the peak, though, he stops.

"Master!" I pant.

He chuckles.  "Were you close, baby?"

"Yes," I gasp as his tongue returns at that slow, deliberate 
pace.  Lifting my head, I look at the fabric tied around the leg 
of the desk and shiver.  I'm helpless now, completely at his 
mercy as he whips the need up again and leaves me hanging once 
more.

"Oh, but I'm going to take my time with you.  Want to know what 
you're gonna do before you come?"

"Uh," I gasp feebly, still panting with frustrated desire.

His voice continues implacably.  "You're going to plead and beg"-
-a few soft strokes--"and wriggle."  A slow stroke that ends 
probing my vagina.  "You won't be able to help yourself."
 
My eyes are squeezed shut, mouth open, lips working but no sound 
coming out.  My back arches like a bow as I lift my ass, offering 
myself to him.  His tongue makes swirling motions over my clit, 
then a few more thrusts into my eager opening.  

"But nothing you do will matter."  Quick, feathery flicks.  
"You'll come when *I* want you to."

He tongue-fucks me for a minute and returns to my clit.  My limbs 
feel loose and uncoordinated as he laps at me.  His voice echoes 
the need pulsing through me, magnifying every sensation.  It 
washes everything else away, my thoughts scattering before it, 
nothing grounding me but his hands on my ass and the silk around 
my wrists.

"Feel the rush?  Your pride is so little, so insignificant."

He tongues me with just the right pressure.  Body aching for 
release, I throw back my head and cry out a primal plea.

"Tell me!" he barks.  

And I'm babbling about my clit and his tongue and the need, oh, 
please, Master...

He croons at me.  "There.  Doesn't it feel good to let go?"

It feels wonderful.  I feel weak and insignificant; his voice is 
more powerful than ever, his presence overwhelming.  Random 
sensations flood my brain: the rough towels under my knees, his 
masculine scent, the strain in my thighs as they ache to spread 
wider, the incoherent pleas still flowing from my lips.

"You're beautiful like this.  So pretty, so desperate.  No other 
thought in your mind.  You're reduced to your most animal 
instincts."

A liquid rush floods my whole body.  I exist now as nothing but 
abject, aching need.   "Yes, please, please..."

"And you're all mine."

"Yours, Master, yes, please let me come, yours, oh God, yours..."

My voice chokes off as he teases me to the plateau once more, but 
my mind is still screaming the pleas.

"Feel that, baby? I *own* you now.  Don't ever forget that.  Burn 
it into your soul."

The silent screams explode into blinding white shards as I come.

I'm still gasping with the aftershocks when he frees the scarf 
from the table leg.  Hauling me to my feet, he bends me over the 
desk and slams into me.

"OH!" I screech, trying vainly to stifle the sound.  

With a chuckle and another affectionate slap, he begins pumping.  
I feel deliciously slutty with my hands still tied and my breasts 
and cheek pressed to the cool varnished wood of the desktop.  His 
breathing is harsh but controlled, and each slow thrust is 
calculated to not please him, but to claim me. 

He fucks me steadily for a few minutes, then pauses.  Still 
inside me, he repositions me so that I'm supporting my upper body 
with my arms rather than resting flat on the desktop.  He roughly 
widens my stance so that I sink down further on his cock, and 
begins thrusting again.  He feels huge inside me.

"Did you notice the man next to us in the diner?" he asks.  His 
hand slides to the juncture of my thighs.  "He was looking down 
your blouse."

"Oh," I gasp.  The fluttering in my belly resumes as his fingers 
work expertly between my legs.  

"Yeah.  Running his eyes over your pretty breasts, staring at 
your tight little nipples.  Were you just excited, baby, or did 
you know I was showing you off?"

Still rubbing my clit, he flicks on the desk lamp.
 
"Because everyone else knew, sweetheart.  It wouldn't have been 
more clear if I'd brought you in naked on a leash."

A shockingly vivid picture of him doing just that invades my 
mind, making me gasp again.  The action itself would be 
unthinkable for us, even abhorrent, but the totality of surrender 
it represents is intensely appealing.

"You like that, huh?  You'd blush and try to look so demure, but 
you'd get wet just from everyone looking at you."

Reaching out casually, Mulder jerks open the curtains.  My 
startled cry rings loud in the room.  

"They heard *that* next door," he murmurs smugly as he angles the 
lamp to shine on my face.

"Oh, God," I whimper.  My pulse is racing, but I'm too emptied of 
my own will to protest.  In fact, the jolt of fear just makes me 
hotter.
 
The hand at my sex moves between my shoulder blades as the desk 
drawer opens and closes.  I hear a hum, and a strangled scream 
tears from my throat when the vibrations hit my clit.  

"Master," I gasp, struggling feebly against the thought of being 
made to come like this.

The hand on my back holds me firmly in place.  "Keep your chin 
up, baby."

The courtyard is well-lit enough to show that there's no one in 
it--for now.  But we're on the ground floor, and any minute 
someone could pass our window and see me.  My arms would hide my 
breasts from view, but my open, panting mouth and the way my body 
shudders with his thrusts would reveal everything. 

My traitorous body doesn't care.  Somehow my struggles turn to 
eager participation as our rocking hips rhythmically push my clit 
harder against the toy, and my heart hammers as the vibrator 
forces me toward another peak.  Mulder groans and thrusts deeper.  
I realize he's using my body to feel the vibrations in his cock. 

"I can feel your cunt quivering."  His voice is still perfectly 
controlled.  "You're going to squeeze me so tight when you come.  
Can anyone see you?"
 
"No, Master," I sob, feeling my face twist in ecstasy.  The 
climax is swelling fast and hard, dragging me in its wake.

"But they could," he mutters.  He rams himself deep and stills, 
making me pant frantically as the action pins me against the 
vibrator.  "Anyone who walks past this window is gonna see how 
much you love getting fucked."

I orgasm again, crying out, my face exposed to the world.  

He works the vibrator in tiny circles, prolonging the climax.  
Whimpers tear from my throat as my hips make shallow thrusts, 
greedily milking the last bit of pleasure from the orgasm until, 
with a final shudder, I go limp.  

When he shuts off the toy I let my head slump down to rest on my 
arms, feeling like a floppy, sexually sated rag doll.  Rather 
than scolding me, he begins thrusting again--Mulder loves fucking 
me while I float in a post-orgasmic haze.  He turns off the desk 
lamp and tugs the curtains closed.  I mumble some incoherent 
expression of relief.

His warm chuckle fills my ears.  "Don't act so modest, baby.  I 
know you've fantasized about people watching you come."  

His hands run over the curves of my hips and ass, over the lace 
and garters of my lingerie as I try to remember when I told him 
that.  

As if reading my thoughts, he continues, "You've never told me, 
but I know."

I suck in a breath when his fingers stroke my too-sensitive clit; 
they still but don't pull away.

"So I think it's time you tell me.  In explicit detail."

I hesitate.  I only have one fantasy that meets this description; 
it's not one I'm eager to share, but it's strangely appropriate 
tonight.  

He pinches my hip.  With a faint spike of relief, I remember that 
I don't have the choice to withhold secrets anymore.  And so I 
describe the scene as he pumps into me.

"Is it just men watching?" he asks when I finish.  "Or couples?" 

I search my memory.  "Uh...mostly men.  A few couples."

The fingers on my clit circle lightly.  The post-orgasmic 
sensitivity is gone, but I'm too sated for the action to arouse 
me.  

"Is there any audience participation?"

It takes me a moment to catch his meaning.  "Oh, no, Master.  
Just you."

"And why am I doing that to you?"  Nothing but curiosity is 
discernible in his tone.

"I had misbehaved," I explain.  "You said I needed to be reminded 
who was in charge."

"I see."  He's still fucking me lazily.  "It's a punishment--you 
were bad, so I force you to come in front of all those people?"

"Not exactly."  My face is warm.  "You've already punished me.  
This is just to...reinforce the lesson."

"Hmm."  He thinks for a minute, then pulls out of me.  "Well, I 
don't think I would do that."

A sick feeling of humiliation starts in my stomach and spreads 
outward.  I shouldn't have told him...

He wraps his arm around my waist and hauls me to my feet.  
"Because we both know there are better ways to put a little slut 
like you in her place."

I close my eyes in relief.  His arm tightens around me 
reassuringly, holding me against his body so that his wet, hot 
cock presses against the small of my back.  He tucks a lock of my 
hair behind my ear before murmuring, "But that's where we'll 
start.  Close your eyes and picture it."

Eyes already tightly shut, I set the stage in my mind.  I'm nude, 
without my scarf--the way my mind distinguishes fantasies that 
will always remain solely in the realm of the imaginary.  Mulder, 
fully clothed, is leading me by a fine chain attached to the 
clamps on my nipples...

No.  The leash is padlocked to a black leather circlet around my 
neck, and my nipples are pierced by beaded rings.  Light flashes 
off the rings, the chain, and the silver bosses on my collar as 
he parades me into the room.  It's arranged like a nightclub, 
with everyone seated at round tables, and we stop at the front of 
the room.  I'm blushing furiously, but servile to my Master's 
will.  I can feel all their eyes on me...

The vibrator starts humming quietly between my legs, and I fast-
forward the scene to catch up with him.  He has me turned to face 
the audience, holding the leash close in his left hand to keep my 
back arched and my head up.  His right hand, just as it does in 
reality, holds a vibrator to my clit.  I'm trembling, my face 
crimson with the knowledge that it won't be long before the toy 
and his iron will turn me into a panting, frantic wild thing in 
front of everyone.  

The fantasy is very simple.  Mulder implacably builds the power 
while I struggle against the inevitable.  He touches me only to 
hold me in place and on display, watching me writhe in 
embarrassment until I scream as the orgasm takes me in spite of 
myself.

But Mulder isn't following my script.  He holds the vibrator in 
place until my hips start to rock, then pulls it away. 
 
"Play with your tits," he orders gruffly.

Staying in my role, I comply hesitantly.  As soon as I lift my 
hands, still bound loosely at the wrists, the vibrations start 
again.  I knead my breasts, shivering at the dual stimulation.

"That's right.  Think about all those men getting hard while they 
watch you play with yourself."

I let my hands falter.  Instantly, he pulls the toy away.  "Do 
it."  

I begin touching myself again, and he rewards me by bringing the 
tip back to my clit.  "No need to be shy.  They're going to see 
you do a lot more than that."

"Please, Master," I whimper, feeling the creeping pleasure 
clouding my thoughts once more.

This time he shuts off the toy rather than withdrawing it.  
"Who's in charge here?"

I tremble in defeat.  "You are."

My hips jerk helplessly when the vibrator jumps to life again, 
makes tight circles on my clit until I moan, and off goes off 
again.  Mulder knows my body well, knows what the intermittent 
stimulation and denial will do to me.  And I know why he's doing 
it.  He wants to show that he is not bound by my body's 
limitations: he can take me to the point of satiation, even 
exhaustion, and still make me crazy with need again.

He touches my cheek with incongruous gentleness, recalling me 
from the fantasy.  "Tell me something, baby.  Have you 
surrendered to me completely tonight?"

I misbehaved at the beginning, but otherwise... "Yes, Master."

A soft kiss now, achingly tender.  "You think you have.  But 
there are depths of submission that we haven't even begun to 
explore.  You know that, don't you?"

Suddenly I'm standing on a precipice.  "Yes."  

"I'm going to take you to all of them.  And sooner than you 
think, you won't need to hide behind a fantasy while I do it."

Without waiting for me to respond, he encircles my waist once 
more.  Voice hardening, he asks, "Now, where were we?"

Disoriented, I try to recapture the scene in my mind.  "You--
you're in charge, Master."

"That's right."  He nudges my clit with the inert tip of the 
vibrator.  "And I can do anything I want with you or to you.  
Don't forget that again."
 
His cold, almost sinister tone sends another shiver through me.  
"No, Master," I promise.

"Squeeze your nipples.  *Hard.*"

I squeeze tight, tighter, to the verge of pain.  A burst of 
sensation from the vibrator surges from my cunt to my breasts and 
back, amplified by the pressure of my fingers.

"Harder!" he snaps.  

Crying out, I crush my nipples between my fingers.  My mind dimly 
recognizes the sensation as pain, but my intensely aroused body 
perceives it only as erotic stimulation.  *Intense* erotic 
stimulation.  I grunt in frustration when he lifts the toy again.

"Oh, yeah.  Every man in the room is thinking about bending you 
over a table and just slamming into you."

The toe-curling vibrations return once more.  I arch into them 
like an eager cat, moaning as he imposes his version of the 
fantasy on my mind.
 
"They all know your blushes and shyness are just for show.  They 
know what you really are."

Though the men can't touch me, their desire still penetrates me.  
He's prostituting my arousal not for money, but to show me his 
power.  All of them fucking me--their lust makes me writhe.  I've 
never felt so completely sexual.  

"Please, Master," I gasp.

He pulls the toy away.  My hips follow it desperately, arching 
forward until I strain against his restraining arm. I don't care 
how wanton it looks.  I'm still following his script but no 
longer acting.  I want to come.  Badly.

Mulder relents, shoving the vibrator almost roughly between my 
legs.  I squeal, my body going rigid in anticipation.  His cock 
is rock-hard against my back.  

"Tell them what you are, baby."

In my fantasy it was always he who spoke the words, whispering 
them as endearments while I strove to maintain control.  I gasp 
for breath--it won't be long before the driving need renders me 
speechless.  "A slut, Master."

Still pressed again my clit, the vibrator goes still.  I struggle 
helplessly.  

"Oh, yeah, you love being teased, don't you?"  I yelp as it goes 
back on, feeling my hips pump automatically.  "And they're all 
still watching you.  Tell them what you are."

"A tramp!"  I rub myself frantically against the buzzing head.  
Just a little more...

"I could keep this up for hours, you know.  Until you're crazy 
for it.  I could make you drop to your knees with a word, or have 
you on the floor spreading your legs and babbling."  The vibrator 
pulls away, and I wail despairingly.  "I can tease you until 
you'd do *anything* to come.  And they'd see it all."

"Please, Master!"  I'm sobbing in earnest now.

His hands grip my hips.  With a shove, his thick, hard cock is in 
me once more.  I nearly orgasm from that single stroke.  I *need* 
penetration when I submit to him, need to feel my body invaded by 
his presence in whatever form he chooses to give it to me.  

He forces the vibrator back between my legs as he wraps his arm 
around my waist once more.  He doesn't move--just makes me 
squirm, impaled by the hot arrow jutting from his body, as he 
stimulates me ruthlessly.  I'm shaking violently in his arms, 
unbearably aroused for the third time this evening.

"Tell them what you are, Scully," he growls into my ear.  

My eyes fly open, staring blankly at the curtains in front of me.  
The tenor has suddenly changed; this is no longer a game within a 
game.  My desperation and his unyielding dominance are 
thrillingly--and terrifyingly--real.

"A toy!"  I pant.  "A sex toy.  Please..."  

"Tell me who I am."  He lifts the head away by just inches, 
making me sob aloud, then gives it to me again.

"Master!  Oh! Please, Master!" 

"And are you *ever* going to misbehave again?" he snaps.

"No!"  I howl.  

I acted up at the beginning of the evening because I wanted a 
rough seduction, just a little twist on his usual benevolent 
mastery.  But Mulder knows, better than I knew myself, that this 
crack in our normal routine opens onto a deep fissure of dark and 
nameless desires.  My ears are ringing and my whole body tenses 
in anticipation.  So close now, please...  

"One more time.  What are you?"

"*Your* slut!  Oh!  Your tramp--oh, God!--your toy!" 

My body is jerking and twisting on his cock.  The arm around my 
waist tightens, virtually holding me up.  I can't balance, can't 
make my legs do anything but spread wide.

He flips it on high.  "Say my name!" he snaps.

"Master!" I wail, knowing they'll hear me next door but powerless 
to stop myself.  I'm on that precipice again, and he's forcing me 
inexorably toward the edge.  

"Louder, baby.  I want everyone to know I'm screwing you silly."

"MASTER!" I shriek.  

The orgasm slams into me.  "OH!"  I'm coming and my ears are 
pounding and "Oh, GOD!" I'm coming and I can't breathe "Oh!" 
never come this hard never "oh God, oh GOD--"

Another scream tears from my throat and everything goes black.


*****


When I open my eyes, I'm lying on the bed.  "What happened?"

"You passed out."  A cloth slides between my legs.  Impossibly, 
my clit warms at the contact.  "You came, and then you just 
sighed and went limp in my arms."  His tongue retraces the 
cloth's path.  "I've always wanted to do that to you."

My wrists are no longer tied, but the silk is wrapped around my 
left forearm.  Still clad in my lingerie, I lie passively until 
he sets the cloth aside.  

"How do you feel?"

I consider the question.  My body feels limp and malleable, and 
my mind is blissfully clear and peaceful.  "Good, Master."
 
"Good.  Because I haven't finished with you."

Oh God, he's still hard.  He parts my legs wider, not roughly but 
firmly, and positions himself at my entrance.  Lacing his fingers 
through mine, he pins my hands to the bed as he slides into me.

His body moves within mine for a minute, an hour, I don't know--I 
have no sense of time.  I love being pinned to the bed with him 
covering me completely.  I want to drown in him, want him to 
consume me.

Mulder's eyes are closed, his face rigid in concentration.  He 
fucks me slowly then fast, alternately gently and hard, shifting 
position, savoring the variety.  He doesn't even bother to tell 
me what he wants--just moves my limp body as if I were a life-
sized doll beneath him.  I never imagined it was possible to 
simultaneously be so objectified and so beloved.

Opening his eyes, he looks down at me.  He knows what I'm 
thinking.  He always knows what I'm thinking.

He releases my right hand.  "Make me come, baby."

Mulder knows my body well, but I'm just as familiar with his.  
Licking my finger in preparation, I slide it down his back and 
between his taut buttocks to his anus.
 
"Oh, yeah," he groans.  His hand tightens on my left wrist as he 
pumps into me faster.  

I tease him with tiny circles until he buries his head in my 
neck.  His thrusts become harder, almost brutal; his grip around 
my wrist feels like a vise.  I've never felt so completely 
possessed.  Emotion too powerful to contain wells up inside me.

"I love you, Master," I whisper into his ear.

With a growl, he thrusts deep and comes in me, claiming me 
irrevocably as his own.

He holds himself still for a minute, then rolls to the side and 
wraps his arms around me.  I snuggle closer, feeling his lips on 
the crown of my head.

I'm dozing lightly when he rises and finally takes off the wisps 
of clothing I've worn all night.  In our normal post-scene 
ritual, he bathes me with a warm cloth.  When he finishes, I 
notice for the first time how damp and mussed the linen beneath 
us is, but I'm tired enough to doze off again anyway.

I wake up when he lifts me from the bed.  Wordlessly he carries 
me through the connecting door to the empty room adjoining ours 
and lays me down on the fresh sheets of the bed.  After shutting 
off the lights in both rooms, he joins me.

He pulls me against his body, his breath hot in my ear.  "What 
are you, baby?"

This time, the answer comes from my soul.

"I'm yours, Master."

Dark, dark satisfaction colors his voice.  "Good girl."


*********************************************

END.