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

Feeling post-finale angst?  Have some mind candy.  

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

"So Scully, what are you wearing?"

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

I let out a sigh of pleasure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What, right this second?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder?"

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

"Feel better?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes crinkle with delight as he realizes I intend to play 

along.  "Oh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes.  I'd like that."

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So tonight we're going to take it deeper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May I use my hands?"

Oh, yeah.  She's with me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does that feel good?"  

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

"Did you like that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nod hesitantly.  

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

God, I'm wet.

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

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

"Are you ready to serve me tonight?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

by the pressure on my sensitive flesh.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My clit throbs.

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

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

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

"You may join me whenever you feel ready."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do the cuffs make you nervous?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's easy enough.  "My clit."

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

"In me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes.  Please, yes."

"Will you obey me now?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

"Do you remember your promise?"

"Yes," she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She tenses slightly.  "Yellow light."

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

God, I love her.

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

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

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

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

She hums affirmatively, enjoying the massage.  

"Did it turn you on?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

"Did you make yourself come?"

"Yes," she sighs.  

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

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

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

"Mm-hmm."

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

"Oh!"

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

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

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

"Soon, baby."

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

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

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

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

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

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

She cries out, her hand pumping faster.

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

"Scully?"

"Mmm?"  

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

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

"Anything for you, Scully."

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

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

End "A Gift of Silk."

*****

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

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