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.