SubRosa "A Gift of Silk II" 81K NC-17 Thank you! ===== Visit my fic at http://www.geocities.com/subrosa31 ***** TITLE: A Gift of Silk II AUTHOR: SubRosa (subrosa31@yahoo.com) RATING: Hard NC-17 for graphic consensual sex and language. CATEGORY: SR KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance SPOILERS: None DEDICATION: To the ladies at the Topica Smut list, who like toy!fic. DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Broadcasting, and to the actors who portray them. They are being used without permission, and no profit is being made. DISTRIBUTION: Wherever you like, but please let me know. SUMMARY: Mulder. Scully. D/s. 'Nuff said. THANKS: To Jemirah for beta work. All remaining mistakes, of course, are mine. FEEDBACK: Cherished at subrosa31@yahoo.com. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is work of erotica, rated NC-17 for graphic sex in a D/s context. Please do NOT read if this may offend you. Readers under 17: please respect the age restriction on this story. As the name implies, this story follows from "A Gift of Silk." I'd like it if you read that one first, but it's not absolutely necessary to understand this fic. All my fic can be found at http://www.geocities.com/subrosa31 Further author's notes and disclaimers at the end. ******************** Settling into a D/s relationship with Scully has been a lot easier than I expected. I was initially afraid she would have second thoughts, but those worries were unfounded. She made her peace with the idea before we began, and had no intention of backing out. "It was wonderful, Mulder," she said softly when I questioned her the morning after her first night as my submissive. "I felt...I can't quite put it into words, but it was so good. Beautiful." No, I was the one nagged by doubts. I was disturbed by my complete absorption in the thrill of dominating her, causing me to forget, however temporarily, that I had arranged the evening for her pleasure. I was afraid, I told her, it could become too real for me. She considered that carefully. "Did you think about ignoring my safeword?" I shook my head vigorously. "Never. Not for a second. That's what brought me back to myself." She nodded. "And I never thought you would ignore it, no matter how you felt. 'Real' dominance, whatever that means, doesn't mean ignoring my well-being and pleasure. Not to you, at least." She asked the next question in a cautious, inflectionless voice. "Leaving aside that concern, did you enjoy it? Enough to want to do it again?" I thought of her thrashing beneath me, panting for my cock, and remembered my vow to make her crave my mastery. "Yeah. Definitely." "So do I. I want it very badly, in fact. But more importantly, Mulder, I trust you to do this. I don't care how intense or real it feels to you--you would never hurt me or push me into something I don't want. Period." I couldn't disagree with a word she said. Relaxing a bit, I asked, "But you're sure it doesn't bother you that I get into it so much?" She considered for a long moment before responding, "Actually, I'd prefer that. It felt real to me, Mulder, and frankly, I'd rather that it's real for both of us than that it's something you do to humor me. It's...it's more exciting that way. A lot more." I don't believe I'm pushing this after that comment, but there's one question I have to ask. "Scully, I'll do this if you want. I'd do it to make you happy even if I didn't enjoy it--and I do. But neither of us has made power games part of a relationship before. Are you afraid it will affect how we deal with each other elsewhere in our lives?" For the first time, doubt crossed her face. "Yes. That's the only thing I'm afraid of. Not at work--we're too set in our ways to change there. But I am worried about carrying the submission into the rest of our sex lives. I've never been very aggressive in bed, and I'm afraid this might set a pattern for becoming passive as a whole." She gave me a shy, beautiful smile. She doesn't know it, but I'd do anything for that smile. "But I want to try." I spent the rest of the week researching D/s relationships. Most of the safety rules I already knew, but I wanted to review them. I came across some fascinating research on the biochemical changes that occur during a BDSM scene, making a note to have Scully look at them as well. And then I turned to looking at websites put up by individuals in the lifestyle who shared their experiences. I wasn't looking just for techniques to try with Scully, but also for ways to adopt the persona of a dominant. If she wants this to be real, I'm going to make it real. That means immersing myself in the scene just as deeply as she does, and making sure that I guide and direct it in ways that constantly emphasize her subordination and the pleasure she receives from it. The key to topping Scully isn't going to be technique or force; it's going to be confidence. If she believes I can throw her into an altered state with the mere touch of her scarf, then the task of getting her in the right mood is half done. The endorphins released during a scene should do the rest. I came away from the research feeling much more convinced of my ability to give her what she needs. Over the week we had some general discussions about her preferences, likes, and dislikes. She put a few things off-limits but resisted narrowing our options down any further, saying that she found it more exciting to be in the dark about what I might do next. She came home with me last night. This morning, after a late breakfast and separate showers, I set her on the couch with my laptop and asked her to do some reading I'd pulled out for her. I've been puttering around for what seems like hours, letting her work through the material at her own pace, when I finally hear her calling me into the living room. "I've found a few more things we should talk about," she tells me in her most businesslike tone. I come into the room and seat myself on the opposite end of the couch. She puts the laptop on the coffee table, the screen facing away from me. Her eyes are bright and her color is high. I grin to myself as I realize she's aroused by her reading but trying to hide it. I'll let it go for now--we do need to establish some guidelines. But when we're done, I'll show her that her little act doesn't fool me. "Of course. Where do you want to start?" She's fiddling with a small notebook where she's been jotting things down. "I was reading diaries and experiences published by other...other..." "By other submissives?" She falls silent. I understand; society does not teach anyone, male or female, to willingly apply that term to oneself. As I told her from the beginning, though, we have to communicate honestly about this. Scully needs to recognize what she wants, accept it, and embrace it. I deepen my voice at bit. "Don't hide from it, baby. That's not how this works." Her shoulders tremble and relax. "Yes. By other submissives. Some of the experiences they describe...well, listen to this." She reads aloud a bit of a post where a woman describes what is known as "deep subspace," in which the submissive experiences a remarkably powerful altered state comparable to the "runner's high" experienced by marathon competitors. "What if I can't do that?" I keep a straight face with some difficulty. "Well, what if you can't?" I haven't yet had the pleasure of seeing Scully on vacation, but I bet she plans them with the same precision she applies to the rest of her life. I'll bet she decides she must see x number of museums and read y number of books before she considers herself properly relaxed and recreated. Part of the allure of submission, I'm sure, is the freedom it offers from the rigid structure she otherwise surrounds herself with. "There isn't a goal or a roadmap for how this goes," I tell her. "There's one unbreakable rule: D/s is a consensual relationship based on communication. Beyond that, as long as neither of us feels coerced or pressured and we're both enjoying it, I'm happy. I'm not following some master plan to turn you into the perfect submissive--unless that's what you want." From the look on her face, I suspect it is. I file that away for future reference before raising my one continuing worry. "Since we're on the subject, there's only one thing I'm really concerned about. Putting yourself completely in my hands is going to be difficult for you. Trust isn't the problem--you trust me implicitly, as I trust you. But you're going to have to let go of your tendency to try to handle everything alone. "I'm responsible for your well-being and safety before, during, and after a scene. It's not uncommon to have a delayed reaction to something you enjoyed at the time. So if something we do upsets you after the fact, you *must* tell me. If you agree to accept my dominance, you agree to accept my care afterwards. That's not negotiable." Her gaze is level and direct. "I understand." She understands? That's it? Hell, if I'd know Scully would let me take care of her because it's a *rule*, I would have started following the damn things a long time ago. There's another reason she's being so amenable, though. In spite of her claim to like the element of surprise, she wants our roles more precisely defined. There's some comfort in knowing what is expected of you, even if that means knowing how little control you have. I glance at her notebook. "No??" is written on the top of the first page. Yeah, I expected that to come up. "A common rule in BDSM is that the top doesn't have to heed the word 'no.' Only the safewords carry that meaning. Is that what you want?" Her nod is barely perceptible. I lean forward and cup her face with my hand. "This is important, baby. You need to tell me. Non-verbal communication isn't good enough here." Her gaze flicks to the computer screen before returning to meet mine. "Yes," she whispers. "That's what I want." "Very well." I regard her appraisingly and adopt my commanding tone. "From here on out, you don't have the right to say 'no' to me in a scene. This does not take away your right to refuse an act--your safewords have the meaning we've agreed upon. But unless you use them, nothing you say or do affects what I do to you. You can sob, beg, or struggle as much as you want. None of it matters." I watch her reaction carefully. On one level, it's probably a moot point. I don't think her fantasy scenes include being forcibly subdued. Scully doesn't like force; she likes a subtler domination, wants to feel velvet seduction over the steel will imposed upon her. On another level though, this further establishes my control over her. Absolutely nothing emphasizes her subordinate position more than the knowledge that her protests are meaningless to me. The idea excites her; her breathing has become fast and shallow. Looking into her dilated eyes, I know that at this moment I could tell her to do anything and she'd obey me. I'm not going to just yet, though. This is fun--like a long tease leading up to the final seduction. She'll be pleading to work on the practical applications of our discussion by the time we're finished. I go back to my normal speaking tone. "All right, that's settled. What else do you want to talk about?" She needs a moment to compose herself. "If I disobey, how will you punish me?" Good girl. I would have raised this issue if she hadn't. "That's something which varies a great deal according to the relationship. We haven't talked about this, but I've sort of assumed I have the right to spank you or strike you, as long as it's only with my bare hand. Is that all right?" She fidgets. "Yes." I pull the scarf from my pocket and finger it lightly as I speak. "I don't just mean an erotic spanking, by the way. I'm talking about a blow hard enough to hurt, anywhere on your body. I'd never strike your face, of course, but perhaps your thighs or your breasts if I want. It will be my decision how to punish, and you are not supposed to enjoy it." Her eyes are focused on the scarf. "I understand," she repeats softly. "Since you generally don't find pain erotic, I'm not likely to take it further. I might send you away as sort of an adult 'time-out'--and that *will* be a punishment if you're in the right mindset. I might satisfy myself but refuse to let you come." She looks stricken. I file *that* away before elaborating. "For us, this is always going to primarily be a sexual relationship. Neither of us is interested in taking the power exchange into the rest of our lives. But when we play, you're giving me control of your sexuality. Period. I can deny you satisfaction or make you come until you pass out. Either is my right." She squirms with arousal and nods. What blind idiots did she date before, who never explored the depths of her wonderful sexual capacity? "But to return to the subject of punishment, if ever you find you really can't get in the mood to obey, I'd rather we stopped the scene. Use the safeword, or remove the scarf. We'll try again another time. Eventually, you might want to take it to the next level. We could decide you don't have the right to not be in the mood, and we'd establish a range of punishments for me to use as I see fit. That, again, would have to be negotiated in advance." She glances at the screen again for a second. There's just a hint of shame in her eyes--this is tough to get used to. I try to reassure her. "There's nothing wrong with finding a little punishment erotic. It doesn't mean you get off on pain-- though you might learn to, when it's properly applied. What it actually means is that I possess you so completely that I can discipline your body and mind as I see fit." She moans, actually moans, and I can't suppress my grin any longer. "I love that. I love making you hot with just words." My voice drops without my conscious intent. "You like the thought of me punishing you, don't you?" Her eyes go soft and hazy. "Yes. I do." She gives me a shy smile and looks back at her notes. "Mulder, many of these women talk about how their masters push their limits, making them do things they don't like. In the short term it's difficult, but in the long term they feel like they've achieved a deeper submission. I'm supposed to give you control unless I feel endangered or distressed--but I have a safeword that just means 'change what you're doing.' That gives *me* a lot of control. What if I misuse it?" That's another thing to file away for future reference. Later I'm going to have to sit down, review all of her questions, and figure out exactly what she wants me to do to her. For now, though, I have to concentrate on making sure she's totally comfortable with the boundaries that we establish. "I'm reluctant to say there is any such thing as misusing a safeword, not in our relationship. After all we've been through, I want to err on the side of giving you power. It's your call, but a good rule of thumb is to use 'yellow' if you feel like you'll have to use 'red' if the stressor doesn't stop." I pause to emphasize my next point. "I'm not just talking about physical discomfort, by the way. The words are there if you find something emotionally distressing as well." Another peek at the computer and a nod. "If you use them that way, we'll be fine. If you use them just to change something you don't happen to like, or to avoid punishment, I will always heed them, but we'll have to talk." I hold up my hand to forestall the hurt rejoinder I see forming on her lips. "I don't expect you do to that, Scully. When you agree to do something, you always do it. But the experience itself may be different from your expectations. That's true for both of us, and if it happens we can and should renegotiate." I search her face for agreement before I continue. "And this isn't a contest to see how much you can take. Yes, you'll do things that might be uncomfortable, and yes, I'll push you a bit. But I never want to go past the point where the discomfort excites you." I stroke her petal-soft cheek with the scarf. "I'd expect you to endure discomfort because you're too proud to complain, but when you wear this you must rethink what pride means." She sneaks another look at the laptop screen, and I turn it around to see what is so fascinating. It is an image of a woman lying on her side on the floor. Her hands appear to be tied behind her back, her legs are bound at the ankles and thighs, and her nipples are tight in the grip of weighted clamps. If that isn't enough to demonstrate her complete subjection, her studded leather collar and its attached silver chain leave no doubt. The other end of the chain rests casually in the hand of the man who kneels behind her. He is largely cropped out of the picture, but his hands on her body leave no doubt as to his mastery over her. His left hand, the one holding the leash, grips her shoulder, posing her for the camera. His right hand is between her legs, the middle finger on her clit. Her face contorts as that finger makes her come for him, for the camera, for us. The woman's top has stripped her of any conventional idea of pride or modesty. She doesn't care that she's leashed, writhing on the floor, her orgasm being recorded for public viewing. His complete control gives her the freedom to feel complete ecstasy. Take away the camera, and I'll bet this is what Scully wants. I push her a bit harder. "How I dress you, what I permit you to say and what I tell you to do may seem undignified, or worse. I won't humiliate you, but you *will* do things your brain tells you a modern, self- sufficient woman shouldn't do. That doesn't matter. All your ideas of dignity, autonomy, self-sufficiency, and endurance are irrelevant. The *only* thing you should take pride in is how well you obey me." God, she's responsive. Her face is flushed with arousal and I can see her nipples poking at the thin material of her bathrobe. She touches the picture on the screen, her fingers resting on the woman's silent ecstasy. "Would you do this to me?" I carefully go into investigator mode, gathering information without offering any indication of my own thoughts. "Do you want me to promise I won't?" Her lips part, but no words come out. After a moment's pause, it is clear she will not make that request. I reach out and deliberately tweak one of her erect nipples. "I'll remember that." Her mouth closes on a shuddering breath and she watches me silently, completely under the spell of my words and her own wonderfully active imagination. "Do you have any more questions?" She shakes her head. I lower my voice. "Then take off that robe and get on your knees." Her face lights up as she complies, making my heart swell with love and something darker. I put on her scarf and then undress slowly, letting her watch me. When I'm finished, I kneel down and cup her face, tilting it up. "I can see the submission in your eyes, you know. I see more now than I did last week. By the end of the day, I'll see more still." A soft sigh escapes her. I stand up without releasing her face and draw her toward my painfully hard cock. "Suck me, baby. Make it good, but I don't want to come yet." She applies herself to her task with consummate skill, enveloping me in her wet mouth. As she laps at me gently I murmur down to her shining bowed head, trying to allay all the concerns she brought up. I've answered her questions as her lover and partner, now it's time to answer them as her Dominant. "Don't think this is going to be easy, baby, because it won't be. You're going to do things you never thought you could do. And it will be hard. Some days you're going to struggle and resist. And do you know what will happen then?" She makes a noise that could be interpreted as a query. I pause for a minute, steeling myself against the pleasure washing through me. "I'm going to push you harder. I'm going to push you until you feel your will crumble and you find yourself yielding to my commands. That's a promise." She whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut. I wonder what she's imagining as her hot little tongue strokes over me. She can't be more excited than I am right now. I'm swelling within her mouth, and I know I'm not going to last much longer like this. "Feel how hard I am? I get that way every time I think about what I'm going to do to you. I'm going to make you fight me, and I'm going to subdue you. I'm going to strip your soul of every guilty pleasure, every hidden secret, and I'm going to make you revel in them." Her long moan reverberates in the quiet room. My dick twitches at the sound. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to wait. Just a little bit more.... "And you're going to love it. You're going to choose to give up all your pride, all your modesty, and give in to the need to submit burning inside you. Every step of the way, baby. You're going to beg you me to take you deeper." She's grunting around my cock, her hips thrusting but meeting only air. Both of us are on the edge now. God, I want to grab her head and hold her close as I explode in her mouth, but that's not the plan. She groans in disappointment as I pull away. I'm damned tempted to plunge back in, but I control myself. My hardwood floor isn't suitable for the next phase, so I scoop her up and carry her into the bedroom, promising myself that the next time we're at her place with its softer carpet, I'll take her on the floor. She needs to learn that she's far too wild and wanton to care about ladylike conventions such as fucking on a bed. But today my bed is ready for her, the covers turned down invitingly. I lay her down, pull off her panties and climb up next to her. As she watches me passively, I place my right middle finger on her lips. They part invitingly. I slide my finger into her mouth and she begins working it with her tongue like she worked my cock. Such a sensual creature. I withdraw the finger from her mouth and slowly run it down her body. It circles her nipple with a light teasing touch before moving down to her clit. I dip into her cunt, hot and dripping wet, and move up again to circle her clit. She moans languidly and rolls her hips. I return to the lecture I began in the living room. "I know you, baby. I know that deep in your mind, you crave domination. Nothing excites you more than the thought of being bent to my will." Her lips move almost soundlessly. "Your will..." "That's right. My will." My finger is making the tight, precise circles that she loves. At this stage in our relationship, nothing is more important than teaching her that submission is always associated with pleasure. Her flushed, slick sex says she's learning her lesson well. I lean down and whisper confidingly, "Your clit is so swollen that it looks like a ripe little cherry." "Oh, God..." I pull back, again adopting my pedantic tone of voice. "There's so much submission in you, but you tamp it down and hide it. So it grows until you can't bear to hold it back. It's swelling inside you now. You want to give in to it so badly you can't stand it. Can you feel it?" She nods, her face flushed and her lips parted. I touch the scarf around her neck with my free hand. "What does this mean?" She licks her lips. "It means I belong to you." "That's right. When you're wearing this, you can't hold back. It lets me reach into your mind"--I rub her temple gently--"and release all that submission. It's washing over you now." My finger crooks upward, jabbing her G-spot. She gasps, her eyes going wide. I repeat the caress again and again, picking up speed. "You can feel it through your whole body..." "Yes...uh...please..." she whimpers. "You can feel it filling you up, driving away every thought"-- she's panting--"every distraction"--writhing pleadingly-- "everything but your desperate need to obey me." Her body arches. I pull my finger from her cunt and work her clit mercilessly. "Oohhh!" That does it. She's gone, hips thrusting, eyes screwed shut, voice breaking as she surrenders to her climax. I ram my finger back into her spasming channel. "AAH!" Her eyes fly open as I pump her roughly, forcing her into the rhythm I want. Obediently she matches my movements, watching me even as she shudders in ecstasy. I can't stand it. I was going to fuck her, but the sight of her riding my hand in ecstasy is too much. Hoping this isn't too big a step, I straddle her, grasp my cock, and begin jacking off in the same rhythm my other hand is using to fuck her. Her eyes go even bigger, if possible, but she's far beyond speech. I feel like a god as she surrenders to me. Her orgasm is fading but still wracking her body as I bring myself off in a few more strokes, semen landing on her chest and belly. My chest is heaving as if I'd just run a marathon. It's a long moment before I can speak again. "All it took was one finger, baby. You needed it so bad that I made you wet, I made you beg, I made you come with one finger." She throws her arm over her face and whimpers softly. I pull it away. Shyness isn't an option for her. She'll need to learn to display her arousal and orgasms for me, whether they're brought on by my hand or hers, but we can build up to that slowly. "You were made for this, baby," I tell her for now. "Don't ever doubt it." I clean us both up and adjust her scarf, emphasizing that we are still in our roles, before moving on to my plans for the afternoon. "Submission isn't just about being tied to a bed and getting fucked, you know. It means you actively dedicate yourself to my pleasure. Whenever you wear this, you should be thinking about how ready you are to serve me, in bed and out of it. That's what we're going to work on today." ***** The rest of the afternoon is spent on her comportment, demeanor, and actions when she is subbing. My real interest is to see how she responds when sexual gratification is not the immediate goal. True, most of our time in these roles will probably be spent having sex or building up to it, but if she wants to be serious about this game, we need to go further. Obedience will be the end in itself, not something she does because it will be rewarded by an orgasm. By the end of the day, I'm so proud of her that I can barely contain myself. She's performed admirably, taking every instruction perfectly. I glance over at her as I finish closing up the apartment for the night. She's kneeling back on her heels, legs spread, eyes lowered, waiting for my command. She's supposed to use these "waiting" periods to concentrate on putting aside her own wishes, focusing instead on her desire to serve me. The dreamy, open look on her face makes me want to scoop her up, lay her down on my bed, and devour her with infinite tenderness. So I do. This aspect of our relationship is going to have all variations of lovemaking, from rough and wild to soft and slow. Tonight it's sweet and gentle. I lavish kisses on her body as I praise her generosity in giving herself like this. She opens herself like a flower for me, spreading her pale limbs with their rosy blush to embrace me, sighing and trembling with unchecked emotion at my touch. I make love to her for what seems like an endless time, feeling her shiver as I spill myself into her body. Finally I coax her to orgasm with my fingers, carefully timing her climax with praise for her perfect submission. She kisses my hand afterwards and curls up like a kitten against me before promptly falling asleep, but I stay awake for a long time, running my hands over her softly and marveling at my good fortune. ******************** I wonder if it'd be all right if I touched myself. Just a little. Just to take the edge off. I sneak a sidelong glance at Mulder. He couldn't possibly know I'm looking at him, but he suddenly turns his head and pins me with his eyes. I melt back into my seat, feeling my skin flush as that look sends memories of the evening flashing through me. It was past six when Mulder made his move. We were probably among the last people to leave the building--even at the FBI, people leave promptly at five on Fridays. Except for us, of course. Mulder had suggested we stay a little later to finish up some paperwork, and I agreed in the hopes of clearing our weekend for other activities. I was typing away at a report, cheerful about the prospect of a free weekend but otherwise unsuspecting, when he made his real plans for the evening quite clear. He crept up behind me, leaned over my shoulder as if to read the screen--and I felt the smooth caress of silk around my throat. My jaw dropped. We've been scrupulously careful about avoiding any kind of unprofessional conduct in the office; it's been bugged too many times for us to ever feel safe there, and we do try to separate our work and personal lives. It never occurred to me that he would start anything here. The act of putting on my scarf is technically innocent, since it would be meaningless to an observer, but to me it was as blatantly sexual as if he'd walked up and fondled my breasts. And it had the same effect. Concentration on the report became impossible. All I could think about was the fabric at my neck, stimulating me long after he had returned to his desk. Lassitude spread through my body as my panties steadily became damp. I jumped when his hand covered mine--I hadn't heard him approach. He guided my hand on the mouse, saving the file and shutting down the computer. His breath teased my ear like a kiss. "I'm taking you to dinner now. We'll finish the report on Monday." "Yes," I agreed vaguely. "Monday." I let him guide me to his car and sat placidly while he drove. He didn't ask me where I wanted to go, and it never occurred to me that he should. I sat in the car, my skin humming, still thinking about the kiss of silk at my neck. As he pulled into the restaurant lot, I lifted my hand and stroked the end of the scarf, brushing my erect nipple in the motion. It felt good. I felt more than saw him glance at me. "That looks good on you, baby." Only then did I realize I wasn't just aroused--I had slipped into a state of submission completely unawares. It surprised me that I would react so profoundly to the single cue of the scarf--we hadn't used it that often. But when I looked back at the times we had, warmth pooled through me as I realized Mulder took complete control of our lovemaking from the instant he put it on me. Not just the lead, but control. Whenever I wore it, the sex was peppered with commands and sweet rewards when I obeyed. Gradually, he pushed our sex play beyond what we've done before. He now freely demands oral sex, smiling at the sight of me on my knees performing his favorite oral technique. Once he had me wind the scarf around my breasts and lift them, offering them to him to suck and tease. And even though I'm shy about the position, he delights in having me bend over a table or kneel on the floor and offer myself to be taken from behind. I loved it, loved all of it. Even in the short time we've been doing this, I've discovered an odd, wonderful dichotomy of freedom in my submission. I had repressed my sexual desires for most of my adult life, afraid of what would happen if I expressed them and hiding them from myself and my partners. Instead I tried always to be demure and ladylike--embracing a passivity of a different sort. Not so with Mulder. He loves to see me wild and forbids me to hold back. Mulder knew more about my preferences after a few times dominating me than my previous lovers ever learned in an "equal" relationship. He would have learned anyway, of course, because that's what Mulder does. But it was easier for me to tell him when he tied me up, kissed my lips, and ordered me to narrate my every reaction, however small, as he explored my body. My body belonged to him, he said, and it wasn't my place to censor its needs. If my nipples ached to be pinched, my clit yearned for his tongue, or my cunt wept for his cock, well then, my lips existed to tell him that. He might ignore my body's demands, of course, but he knew them better than any lover I've ever had. And he satisfied them better. He used his knowledge about my body and mind to so thoroughly ensnare me in pleasure that my very thoughts change when he puts on my scarf. I can't remember how we got to the car after work or what he ordered for my dinner, but the entire evening I've been intensely conscious of the soft fabric around my neck and the hot throbbing between my legs. He has delighted in pushing and teasing me all night. It started at dinner, as I sat only half-listening to his easy conversation. "...and so I told him we'd be *happy* to postpone the interview, but it couldn't be Tuesday because that day we're meeting with our IRS partners for the teambuilding workshop to promote better cooperation among federal agencies. Turns out he can meet with us Monday after all. I can see your nipples, by the way." That jolted me out of my reverie. "What?" "They want to be touched, don't they? I can see them all tight and erect right through your blouse." I'd removed my suit jacket when we went to dinner; it didn't match the creamy silk now twined around my neck. The thin shell underneath did a poor job of hiding that my nipples *were* rock hard. I nodded cautiously. "I want you to touch them." I blinked at him in consternation. We were in a public place, after all. But the restaurant was dark, we were in a secluded corner, and I was seated with my back to the rest of the room. He must have arranged that deliberately. He simply watched me, wearing his best cool, pleasant expression. He didn't need to say anything else. This was a test, and we both knew it. The command was simply going to hang in the air between us until I either obeyed it or asked to stop the game. In a move that would have sent my mother into fits, I set one elbow on the table so my arm partially hid my body from anyone who might pass by. Then I rested my other arm lengthwise on the table, my hand just in reach of my breast. Goaded by the heat in his eyes, I cautiously stroked my nipple. "Harder. Pinch it." I squeezed, feeling an electric jolt run through me. "Very good. You may stop--for the moment." His eyes flicked behind me, signaling the approach of the waiter with our appetizer. Oysters, of course. Mulder doesn't see a need to be subtle at these times. "I want to see your nipples erect for the rest of the evening," he informed me when we were alone again, grinning wickedly at the discomfort on my face. "I'll remind you when to pinch them again." The rest of the meal passed in a bizarre parody of normal. Conversation (his chatter, my monosyllabic answers) stayed on work and current events, but he kept me on a slow simmer the whole time. The scarf alone wouldn't let me lose the arousal, but having to tweak my nipples throughout the meal was pure torture. When the plates were cleared away, he started again. "Your nipples are very pretty like that, and I like the blush on your face. Are you wet?" I wasn't sure whether to be ashamed or turned on. My body felt no conflict, though. "Yes." "Put your hand on your thigh. That's what I'd do if I were sitting next to you. Run it up your leg." I slid my hand over the fabric of my pantsuit as he watched my face coolly. "Where is your hand now?" "Uh...my upper thigh." He adopted a chiding expression. "I wouldn't stop there, you know. Touch your clit." I touched myself through the pants, catching my breath as my clit twitched at the stimulation. That cool, reserved smile was back. "That's better. Now rub yourself in little circles, like I would." I shut my eyes against his burning gaze for a second, stifling my automatic protest, but he would have none of it. "Open your eyes, baby." He waited until I met his gaze again, and repeated gently, "Rub yourself. Touch your clit the way I would." Conflict swelled within me. I didn't want to masturbate in public, even if the tablecloth and dim lights protected me from discovery. I didn't want to do something so tawdry, something that, under the circumstances, was very unlikely to give me any pleasure. But his eyes reminded me of the promises I had made to him. They burned hot and expectant, waiting for me to live up to those promises--and oh, how I wanted to see them glow with approval. I began moving my fingers in slow, light circles over my clit. A gentle pleasure welled through me, not from the action itself, but from yielding to him. He smiled at me with obvious pride and the pleasure grew stronger--until the waiter suddenly reappeared, making me gasp in surprise and chagrin. The young man glanced at me in confusion, and I could feel my cheeks burning anew. Mulder gave me a stern look before calling the waiter's attention to himself. I ducked my head as Mulder ordered coffee for us both, hoping that the dim light would hide my flushed cheeks. I couldn't have said whether the heat suffusing my face came from embarrassment or excitement. When the waiter left, Mulder fixed his gaze on me again. "It's amazing how much of this game is mental, isn't it? Now you're learning what submission really is. It isn't in giving me your body; it's in doing something that you want to resist, just because I tell you to." I could only nod silently, my fingers still tracing slow circles. My heart was pounding with a mixture of fear that I would be discovered and arousal at the audacity of my actions. I was still embarrassed, but the feeling was becoming oddly blunted, subdued by the pleasure of my own touch and the force of Mulder's presence across the table. He licked his lower lip sensually before speaking again. "I know you aren't touching yourself like I would." I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He leaned forward, speaking in a soft, intense whisper. "Because if I were doing it, you wouldn't be so quiet. You'd be panting with need." I inhaled sharply as the image formed in my mind of Mulder seated next to me, coolly driving me mad as he chatted idly with the waiter. My head fell back as my sex clenched, sending a wave of sensation through me. I whimpered, barely regaining control as the waiter returned with our coffee. It was so wrong to touch myself in front of him, but it felt so good.... When the boy left again, Mulder gave me a satisfied smile. "You may stop now, sweetheart. Drink your coffee. You're going to need the energy." Stopping did nothing to alleviate the tension thrumming through my body. If asked, I would have said that the excitement was more nervous than erotic, but Mulder soon proved me wrong. He politely offered me his arm when we left the restaurant and walked me over to the passenger side of the car. On the pretext of opening the door, he grabbed me. One arm wrapped around my chest, pinning my arms to my sides. The other hand shot between my legs, going straight to my clit. I gasped as pure desire, hot and uncontrollable, flooded my body. "As I said, you'd be making those noises if I were touching you." His fingers moved just once in a slow, firm caress. I gasped again, this time in surprise, as my body simply took over. My hips started pumping against his hand of their own accord, creating the friction I desperately wanted. My head fell back against his chest as the pulsing in my clit made thought nearly impossible. He murmured, "God, you're shameless. I can feel how wet you are right through your clothes." I writhed, trapped in his hold, my heart pounding with adrenaline. My mind cringed at our public exposure, but I couldn't form a word of protest as the need spiraled through me, building unbearably. I was whimpering helplessly, desperate to climax. His erection was hot against the small of my back, but his voice was as cool as if we were discussing expense accounts. "I'm going to let you come now because you have a long night ahead of you. This is just to take the edge off. But you'd better hurry before someone sees you like this." I pumped against his hand frantically. Just as the sweep of headlights indicated that another car was pulling into the lot, I threw back my head and came. He rubbed me in soft circles, prolonging the climax, shielding me from view with his body as the car drove past us. Only when *he* was ready did he lift his fingers, letting me collapse against his chest. My mind reeled as he finally seated me in the car and shut the door. He'd just brought me off in public, and I'd been powerless to stop him. He climbed into the driver's seat. Rather than starting the engine, he leaned over and pulled me in for a kiss, our first of the evening. One hand cupped the back of my head while the other squeezed my breast before running down my body, slipping between my legs again with a knowing touch. I moaned in surprise as fresh arousal flared up in my belly. He pulled his lips from mine, his fingers still on my clit. "How did it feel to lose control like that? To be so turned on you couldn't command your own body?" I stared helplessly into his eyes. When he looks at me like that, it's impossible to pull my gaze away. I gave him the only answer possible. "Good." The voices of the couple in the other car approached. Mulder deliberately released my head and lowered his hand to my breast. Instead of complaining about our public place, I leaned into the caress, as shameless as he wanted me to be. My body tingled as his hands teased me, indifferent to our possible exposure. His voice was soft but commanding. "That's what's in store for you the rest of the night, baby. I command your body. It's out of your control." A deep, scorching kiss. "That's the only thing you're to think about on the way home." So I'm thinking. Thinking about the raw power emanating from him, thinking about the residual throb still pulsing in my sex. Very slowly, I let my hand drift up my thigh. "Hands in your lap." I sneak another look at him, but his eyes are on the road. He's smiling gently. "Obedience, baby. Focus on obedience." I finger my scarf again and focus, trying to escape the now- constant ache by dissolving my will into his. ******************** As I guide Scully into her apartment, I'm awed by the soft, dazed look on her face. I did that to her: I taught her to open herself completely to my wishes and her own body's needs. She has taken to submission beautifully, sinking into it so deeply that she's seemed barely aware of her surroundings for most of this evening. I suggest that she refresh herself and prepare for the rest of the evening while I do the same. When she disappears into the bathroom, I retrieve my duffel bag from the trunk and change into jeans and nothing else: the outfit I normally wear when topping her. As I wait for her to return, I review my plans. I've been keeping her tense and off-balance, starting right with initiating the game in our office, the place where she is never submissive. I wasn't certain that was a good idea, so I deliberately waited until the workday was well over before slipping the scarf around her neck. Then I returned to my own desk, letting her imagination take over. It was a very good idea. When I looked at her a few minutes later, she was just sitting there, staring blankly at the computer screen. Her cheeks were a delightful shade of pink. I grin to myself as the thought brings to mind my other plans for this evening. She doesn't know it yet, but her horizons are due for a little expansion. I led her from the office when it was time to go, taking her through less-used corridors so we wouldn't encounter anyone. She was perfectly docile during dinner, not even noticing when I ordered on her behalf. I was so erect that it hurt when I made her touch herself in front of the unsuspecting waiter. But the best was definitely bringing her to orgasm in the parking lot without a word of protest. She looked a little surprised that I'd done it, but more relieved that I'd let her come. I'm pushing her harder than I ever have before, blatantly exercising my dominance over her. This is all part of the broader plan for the evening. I want to up the voltage on our games, encourage Scully to be a little more uninhibited. That means going past her comfort level and doing things she hasn't done before. My particular goal for tonight is penetration. Scully loves clitoral stimulation; she comes easily at my touch, under my mouth, or by rubbing herself against my cock. While she finds intercourse pleasurable, though, orgasms from it are another matter. She's always found it difficult to climax when her lover is inside her, and she confessed to me once that when she masturbates, she never feels the urge to go beyond touching her clit. So tonight is going to be all about penetration. I don't intend to give her an iota of stimulation unless there's something in her cunt. But there's a broader goal, and that is letting her be wild. Scully has some performance anxiety. She hides it well, but at times I know she worries that she's not responsive enough or skilled enough to satisfy me--as if her mere presence in my bed weren't more than I ever hoped for. The appeal of power games is the way they short-circuit her inhibitions, proving that she can be wild and responsive to her heart's delight--or rather, to my heart's delight. I'm presenting sexual freedom to her as proof of my control. Things she can't do if asked, she *will* do if forced. And so I can repay her gift of submission by giving her pleasures she hasn't previously been able to experience. I think Scully also has trouble simply enjoying sex for its own sake. Many women feel sex should only be combined with love, and Scully's no exception. Intellectually, she believes nothing two consenting adults do together is wrong, but emotionally she has some lingering guilt about just having a good fuck. My guess is this tendency was really exacerbated by her last two relationships, especially the one with Daniel Waterson. Dating a married man is so contrary to Scully's deep-rooted integrity that she must have preferred to think it was all about love, not physical gratification. And even though Jack Willis wasn't married, a student-teacher relationship breaks social rules, if not actual ones. Scully wouldn't do that just for cheap thrills. So I think in her past two relationships, she couldn't choose on her own simply to enjoy sex. That must have contributed to her domination fantasies, and her guilt about a healthy desire turned into a fetish. Sex with love is okay, but sex for the sheer fun of it must be forced on her. That's exactly what I'm going to. Tonight is going to be a decadent, hedonistic night of pleasure for the sake of pleasure alone. She might not accept it when we make love as equals, but tonight she'll give in to the cravings of her body, animal instincts that don't care about who is touching her, or why. Or in this case, what. We're moving to the next stage now. Since beginning these games, we haven't done anything really new in our lovemaking, although I'd never previously tied her to the bed before fucking her or simply ordered her to suck my cock. But tonight there will be new intensity to my demands and new elements in our play. Specifically, she's going to be introduced to the first in a series of sex toys I hope to use on her. And with her. The dildo I've chosen for tonight is a bit smaller than my cock, but hard and inflexible. Made of acrylic, it's not designed to appear realistic; rather, it looks like a series of increasingly larger crystal balls fused together. I don't want it to feel like there's a man's penis inside her. I want her to know she's spreading her legs and welcoming a foreign object into her body because it's going to make her feel good. I want to make her revel in the fact that sexual pleasure isn't always about the joining of bodies for mutual satisfaction. Tonight, it's about pushing her buttons, manipulating her until she begs for release and doesn't care how she gets it. She emerges from her bedroom with her hair brushed and wearing fresh lipstick--Scully would insist on touching up her lipstick before boarding a lifeboat to flee a sinking ship--but with the same vague look on her face. She is, as I instructed, completely nude. I step behind her, pulling her against my body, and push my clothed erection against the small of her back. She trembles as I remove her scarf. "Lift up your hands for me, sweetheart." Obediently she stretches out her arms. I wrap the silk around her wrists, twining it over and over in a figure eight between them before knotting it. She'll have some use of her hands, but it will be restricted. Her eyes flick to the canvas bag on the couch, the one that I usually carry her cuffs in. Since I've already restrained her hands, she must be wondering what else I'm planning. Reaching into it, I pull out the dildo. Her eyes widen even before I speak with deliberate coarseness. "I'm going to do you with this tonight. Would you like that?" Not surprisingly, she shakes her head. I lean in and kiss her until she whimpers. "That's what I thought you'd say. But we agreed on this. You obey me no matter what, don't you?" Her head lolls as if it's too heavy for her neck to support. "Yes, Master," she whispers. My cock jumps at her unprompted introduction of that term. I'd suspected that was what was going on in her brain, but the confirmation is pretty damned hot. "That's very good, baby. I like hearing those pretty lips"--I touch them with the toy in my hand--"call me 'Master.'" A little tension goes out of her body, as if she'd been afraid I might reject the title. As if I would. My mind is already working on how to incorporate this new twist and, by the time the evening is over, the term will come naturally to her lips when she addresses me. Which is, after all, what she wants. "Tell me, baby, who do those lips belong to?" She gasps as I run the smooth head over them. "You, Master." With my free hand, I cup her breast and squeeze it possessively. "Who do these sweet breasts belong to?" She leans into my touch. "You, Master." Still holding the dildo to her painted lips, I slide my other hand down to cover her sex. She groans as my middle finger parts her wet labia and just touches the entrance to her body. "It aches down here, doesn't it? Feels empty?" She sways. "Yes." "Who does this needy pussy belong to?" A shiver. "You, Master." "Tell me." "You, Master. My needy pussy belongs to you." Scully has made great progress in talking dirty even outside a scene, and it's a hell of a turn-on. My new favorite masturbatory aid is the memory of Special Agent Dana Scully gasping out how well I filled her cunt as I bent her over a desk, fully dressed in her work clothes with her silk panties and pantyhose in shreds around her ankles, and rammed into her again and again. We did it on my desk at home, of course, but it was still the realization of a long-cherished fantasy. "That's right. So I can pinch it, squeeze it, lick it, or fuck it with anything I want to, can't I?" She nods in defeat. "Yes, Master. Anything you want." "Good girl. I like to see you give in to me even when you're trembling." I stroke her clit lightly to reward her obedience. Her lips part on a moan and I slip the tip of the rod into her mouth. "A little fear makes the sensations so much more...intense, don't you think?" Her eyes flutter closed and she sucks softly on the tip of the plastic phallus. Just for a moment, but that's all the permission I need to keep going. I lean forward to whisper into her ear. "Don't worry, sweetheart. You're going to love it." She whimpers. Pulling the toy from her lips, I lift her hands by the silk binding them together and give it to her. She looks more apprehensive than I would have expected. "Have you ever used one of these before?" She shakes her head, her big eyes fixed on the toy. It's a little shorter than the length of my cock, narrower at the top and widening to a bit larger at the bottom. She shouldn't have any qualms about taking it in, but perhaps it looks intimidating to a novice. I'm a little surprised to learn she is unfamiliar with dildos. I know the stodgy older men she dated wouldn't be likely to use toys, but the boyfriend she had in med school was no choirboy. "What about a vibrator?" "Yes, Master. But just on my clit." It must have been good-- her eyes have gone glassy at the memory. "So nothing like this has ever been inside you? You've never taken anything but a cock or fingers or a tongue into your body?" She shakes her head. How her cornflower-blue eyes could look so innocent right now, I'll never know. But they do. Tonight we're moving into virgin territory. That turns me on more than I'd anticipated. "Well, this is your best friend for tonight, sweetheart. You're going to become *very* intimately acquainted with it." Her eyes get even wider. I pitch my voice lower as I continue. "It feels so good when I use your body that I forget to watch you. So tonight, you get that instead of my cock. You're going make love to it with your sweet mouth, you're going to take it into your needy body, and you're going to come on it. Does that turn you on?" She just blinks at me, her hands clutching the base weakly. "Answer me, sweetheart. You know you can't hide anything from me. Does it turn you on to picture me watching you sucking it, screwing it, getting off on a plastic toy between your legs?" Painting those verbal images for Scully always does it. "Yes, Master. But I'm nervous." I step in closer and run my hands over her coolly, possessively, as if I were the proud owner of a very fine racecar. "Oh, baby, that doesn't matter. This little body is so wanton that very soon you won't care. When you follow my commands it will make you feel so good, you'll beg to come." Her body relaxes a little as she opens herself to my will. I love to see her like this. "We'll start with your mouth, I think." She lifts the pseudo-cock to her lips and licks the tip. I nod approvingly and step back. Shyly, she takes it into her mouth, sliding her tongue over it. That shy expression always makes me crazy. I love to make it give way to raw lust and then orgasmic abandon. "Doesn't that feel good on your tongue? Think of how it's going to feel in your body." Her eyes close again for a moment. When they open I sit back on the couch, deliberately parting my legs to give her a good view of the bulge in my jeans. She drops to her knees, whether to keep my crotch on eye level or because that's how she's now accustomed to performing oral sex, I don't know. I stroke myself through the denim as I watch her fellate the plastic rod. Her eyes fix on my hand and she begins sucking with more enthusiasm. "Oh, you like that, do you?" She nods emphatically. Unzipping my pants, I tell her, "Do a good job, and I'll give you more." I free my cock from its confines and grip it lightly, watching her expectantly. She moves her mouth over the dildo again, watching my hand. I stroke myself in time with her actions. My moan is echoed by hers. My hand synchronizes with her mouth in an erotic pas de deux. She quickly loses her shyness as she sucks and licks the toy as if she were touching me. As I match my movements to hers, I swear I can feel her little tongue as she runs it teasingly up the shaft. The tightness in my balls builds rapidly--unlike Scully, I didn't experience the release of orgasm in the restaurant parking lot. I'm grunting as I thrust into my fist, regretting that I have implicitly given her control over our pace. Suddenly she lifts her eyes to meet mine, a look of feral lust on her face. She gives one last lick up the shaft and engulfs the toy in her mouth. I come with a muffled shout, intensely aware of her eyes on me. It's a few moments before I can focus on her again. She's still kneeling there, sucking lightly on the plastic tip. She gives a soft moan when I meet her eyes--whether of desire or disappointment, I don't know. I guess it's pretty clear now that I'm serious about fucking her with the dildo only. I catch my breath and clean myself up with a towel I pull from the duffel bag. She's still on her knees. My chest swells with pride at her sweet, docile patience as I join her on the floor. I reach out to tweak a nipple casually and she moans. Watching me get off has made her hot. I know the feeling. I retrieve the dildo from her unresisting hands. "That was very good, sweetheart. Now, I believe I promised you something else tonight. Spread your legs a bit more." She complies quietly, still watching me. I move the toy down between her legs, stopping when it is a few inches from her wet sex to admire the sight. The clear plastic looks amazingly phallic as I hold it poised to enter her. Her eyes drop, staring at it. "Open yourself for me." Startled, she focuses on my face again. I pause. Scully likes the commands to be repeated, likes to feel the bonds of my control pull closer and tighter around her until she's entangled inextricably in her submission, but this is new for us. She could be having second thoughts. "What color is the light, baby?" She is silent for so long that I'm afraid I've pushed her too far, but finally she lets her breath out on a sigh. "Green." I don't change my tone. She isn't upset by a threat in my voice, but it doesn't do anything for her either; a threat implies she can disobey. What makes her melt is a voice so soft and assured that she knows she has no choice. "Then move your hand down to your pussy"--she does so awkwardly because her hands are still bound together--"and open yourself for me." She slides the index and middle fingers of her left hand to her labia and parts them with a wet smack. "That's better." I bring the dildo to her lips again, holding it lengthwise against them. She dutifully parts her lips and presses her tongue to the shaft. I move it back and forth, twisting it to be certain every bit is again coated with her saliva. She shivers as the graduated balls bump over her tongue. "Now keep your eyes on me." As her eyes meet mine obediently I lower the rod from her mouth, bringing it to where her fingers still hold her labia open for me. She gasps as it breaches her entrance, a heartbreaking vulnerability in her eyes. Keeping my expression implacable, I begin to press the rod gently but firmly into her body. She gasps again as each ball slides in, giving her the full sensation of its increasing thickness. "Squeeze around it. Feel how hard it is?" "Yes, Master." Oh, I do like the sound of that. I twist it a bit, just to hear her whimper. She's breathing hard by the time the toy is halfway in, moaning softly as I rock it to tease her. Her forehead is creased in confusion. She likes the fullness and pressure within her, but can't accept that she's deriving such pleasure from an inanimate object. The conflict on her face is beautiful. I kiss her hard, pushing my tongue roughly into her mouth. When her body softens and leans against mine, I pull the rod out and thrust it in firmly. She grunts. Breaking the kiss, I nibble my way over to her ear. I tongue the delicate shell, making her shiver, before whispering, "On your hands and knees." She leans forward to rest on her elbows, making a funny squeak as I push the toy in another notch. When she is in place I slide between her open legs, lying on my back so she's straddling my face. Propping my head up with a few throw pillows from the sofa, I pull her legs wider apart and breathe on her clit. Her whole body is quivering in anticipation. I pull the dildo out a few notches and push it back in. She chokes back a moan. I repeat the tease again, getting a louder moan in response. On the third time I lick her clit, just once, as I slide the rod in. "Uh!" I twist the toy gently. "I love doing this to you, baby. I could keep it up for hours." Her groan is gratifyingly desperate. I smirk to myself, glad that she can't see my expression. "And I want you to hold still while I do it." ***** I'm shaking like a leaf as Mulder performs that endless, slow tease. The acrylic shaft feels odd--smooth and absolutely unyielding, not like his penis, with its baby-soft skin over its inner hardness. Feeling him put something foreign inside me after I protested is more than a physical invasion. My will feels soft and weak, unimportant next to his, and my pride is irrelevant. The resulting arousal is almost enough to make me forget the strangeness of the penetration, but not quite. Now he's pushed the dildo in deep enough that he has access to my clit. He sets up a teasing pattern of licking, then thrusting, licking, then thrusting. Soon I'm whimpering, internally begging for more attention to my clit. My body aches for the release of orgasm, but how can I come with that thing in me? I gasp in frustration when he pulls his mouth away. "What do you want?" What do I want? "God, I want to come. I want you to take it out of me and lick me until I come." Another gentle thrust. "Of course you do, sweetheart. But that doesn't matter, does it? You know it's not your decision." I moan softly. The more powerless he makes me, the more turned on I get. I obey his instructions to remain motionless until a sudden prod at my clit makes my hips jerk, the inadvertent movement taking the toy deeper. I let out an unrefined grunt. "I told you to hold still." He delicately traces the entrance to my vagina with his tongue, caressing the flesh as it clenches around the intruder. "I--oh!--I can't." "You can't, hmm?" His words are muffled and punctuated by soft lapping sounds as he eats me out. "You're always so strong, so disciplined, but because I'm licking you, you can't control your own body?" Tears spring to my eyes as shame suddenly overwhelms me. God, does he have to rub it in? He's taunted me with my lack of control all night: as I touched myself in the restaurant, as I came in the parking lot. Does he think I'm proud of these needs that compel me to humble myself like this? A particularly skilled stroke forces a pleading whine from my throat. No, I realize. He knows I'm not proud. And he knows his words make me hot, make me melt, make me want to give him anything he demands. He knows I'm embarrassed--and he's giving me exactly what I want. Just as he said he would. Now I realize what he meant when he told me this would be hard. "I asked you a question." The question. Control. Can I control my body when he touches me? "No, Master. I can't." I shiver at the eroticism of my admission. A flurry of licks on my throbbing clit. "I know you can't, baby. But I can." His words send another rush of heat through me and my hips thrust, instinctively fucking that strange invader in my cunt. He smacks my ass casually before pushing it deeper. "Don't move." Curious what he'll do next, I move again. He spanks me harder this time. I jolt at the sensation and feel a new gush of wetness between my legs. He chuckles in satisfaction and gives me a few more lazy thrusts. "This turns you on, doesn't it? I can see your muscles squeezing it. You like being fucked by this toy. Or maybe you like being spanked?" I squirm at the sheer arousal his words evoke and he slaps me again. "I told you not to move. If you want to come, you'll do as I tell you. More than that, baby. You won't come until you give in to me completely." God, his words make me wet and that plastic rod is hard, so hard within me, and his probing tongue makes me want to move *so* badly but the smack! of his hand on my ass reminds me to hold still.... And he forces the dildo in deeper and firmly licks my clit again. I jerk and another slap reminds me of his command, then another, and another. They make me whimper as I rock myself on that hard intruder until his third warning finally penetrates my mind. I'm not supposed to move. I'm supposed to hold myself here, head down, knees spread, ass in the air, because that's what he wants. What *he* wants. I touch the fabric round my wrists and a blanket of peace falls over me. My body is still quivering with excitement, but the need to pump against the dildo as if I were making love to a man fades. I'm not making love to Mulder. I'm being made love to. I'm also being fucked, used, and subordinated to his will. All I have to do is obey. My head falls down to rest on my arms and I feel the weight of my body force the dildo in another notch as my legs spread wider, making me sink down further. He hums in satisfaction as he recognizes my surrender. "That's very good, sweetheart. I can see you giving in to me. But I still want to see your ass turn a pretty shade of pink." He slaps me again before twisting the shaft. "Tighten your muscles, baby." Obediently I tighten my vaginal muscles. He slides out from between my legs, caressing my wet sex one more time before he kneels behind me. He pauses long enough to make me squirm in anticipation before his hand falls again, stinging my ass sharply. My clit throbs as he begins spanking me steadily, using both hands now. "Keep squeezing." Realizing what he means, I begin a rhythmic working of my muscles, fucking myself with the toy buried in my cunt as my cheeks heat up under his punishment. No. He's not punishing me. He's spanking me because he wants to, and that's reason enough. It doesn't occur to me now to want anything except for him to use me as he likes. The skin is burning where his blows fall. I moan as I keep tightening and releasing my muscles, shivering in excitement as they squeeze around the hard plastic. I don't mind the strange feel of it anymore; the odd smoothness is incredibly exciting. I'm in an altered state now, where the pressure of the thick shaft in my vagina, the sting of his blows, and the swipes he gives to my clit all blend into the dark excitement holding me in thrall. His slaps are becoming less frequent and he fondles my rear possessively after each blow. His voice comes in my ear again. "You like that toy in your pussy, don't you? I told you that you would." I moan against my bound hands. "Oh, yes." I can't remember why I doubted him. The slaps finally stop and I sigh in relief. The dildo shifts again as he reaches for the base and begins to thrust it in and out of my body. "Yeah, I love watching you get fucked. Watching you display yourself for me, watching a toy drive in and out of you from every angle. Maybe next time I'll get you one that vibrates. I'd like to see you get yourself off with a vibrator so thick that it feels like you can't take it in. But you will, because I tell you to." I can picture myself as he would see me, sitting on the bed naked except for my scarf. My legs are bent at the knees with the soles of my feet pressing together to keep my thighs as far open as possible. I'm slowly pushing the large, buzzing vibrator into my body, rocking slightly as it fills me fuller than I ever have been before. "Of course," he muses, "you're so pretty when you're tied down. I'd spread your legs so wide that your lips would open for me, showing that hungry little mouth begging to be filled." The scene in my mind changes. Now I'm bound to the bed, straps pulling my knees up and away from my body until my gaping, glistening sex is completely exposed. "And I'd fill it. But I wouldn't neglect your clit." I cry out as he strokes my clit with his free hand. "I'd get you a nice toy that teases it too. I'd stroke in and out of you, making you burn with need." His hands mimic his words as he moves the dildo while plucking gently at my clit. My ragged breaths are loud as I wait for him to speak again, hanging on his every word. "Can you picture it, baby? I wouldn't turn it on at first. I'd just fuck you, letting you feel that hard, smooth toy inside you, stroking at your clit with every thrust. Then, when I decided you were ready, I'd bury it in you and turn it on high. I bet you'd scream." My body arches as I imagine the sudden sensory overload. He's pumping me harder and pinching my clit more firmly as his words paint those unbearably erotic images. "Can you feel it? Buzzing away inside you, flicking at your clit even faster than my tongue can. And you tied down the whole time. I wouldn't blindfold you. I'd prop your head on a pillow so you could look down and watch me screw you senseless, see your body jerk and writhe helplessly as that little toy drives you crazy. I might have to gag you so the neighbors don't hear you screaming." There's something so decadent about being fucked like he describes. I can see his face, placid and disinterested as I writhe and try to impale myself on that tireless little machine, controlled not even by his will but by a mindless object that hums away, indifferent to its effect on my over-stimulated body. Even as my fantasy self struggles in her bonds, my body has gone nearly limp. I feel a trickle of moisture down my inner thigh as his hands work me with consummate skill. He isn't finished yet. "And you'd love it. You'd part your legs mindlessly for it and offer yourself. Because when you're like this, baby, all you know is submission. My voice, my fingers, my cock, my toys--you'll yield to anything that can make you come." God, how does he know what I'm thinking? His expert fingers play me like an instrument, coaxing just the response he wants until the need suddenly explodes within me, forcing me onto the plateau where orgasm beckons if only he will give it. I begin to beg brokenly, helplessly. Dignity is irrelevant here. All that matters is that only he can give me what I need more than my next breath. "Please oh please please please..." "Please what, baby?" "Please let me come." "Let you come, hmm?" I don't know exactly what he's doing to my clit, but it pulls a short scream from me. "Let you come like this?" I lift my head enough to look up at my body. With Mulder still kneeling behind me I can't see much of him, but I certainly can see his hands. One holds the base of the dildo, still moving it steadily in me. The other has captured my clit, squeezing it between his first and second fingers as he rubs at me rapidly. I imagine that I can see the flesh pulsing as it sends waves of aching need through me. The sight of those seemingly disembodied hands tormenting me is too much. Panting, I let my head fall back on my forearms. "Yes, Master. Please let me come like this." An extra spike of arousal pierces me as the title rolls off my tongue without conscious thought. "Or like this?" He pulls the dildo out of me and forcefully replaces it with what feels like three fingers. Now the smooth acrylic head is rubbing my clit. I groan in ecstasy. "Yes! Yes, please." His voice nearly growls in my ear. "Which is it, baby? How should I make you come?" I can't think. He ties me up and teases me like this so I don't *have* to think. All I know is that I need. "Please. Whatever you want. Please just make me come." Satisfaction radiates from him as he takes his fingers out again, leaving me screamingly empty. Moving me like a rag doll, he flips me over onto my back and spreads my legs wide. My bound hands fall limply above my head. "That was the right answer. Good girl." His lips cover my clit just as the dildo impales me; there's no other way to describe the feel of it driving into my unresisting vagina. I squeal as he forces the last, thickest ball at the base into me and uses the hard rod to hold my jerking hips in place as his tongue lashes my clit. A few slaps remind me to remain still while he drives me mad. Body screaming for release, I return to my broken pleading. "Please please oh please..." He hums, his tongue prodding me harder, pulls the dildo out a few inches and pushes it home. "AAH! Please!" He mumbles into my overheated flesh, "Please, what?" "MASTER! Please let me come"--I sob as he pulls it out and rams into me again--"let me come, Master!" God, he's driving me higher and higher and he's going to make me come with that hard toy inside me and I love it loveitloveit getting so tight around it... ..."Oh GOD!" I'm coming on it! "Oh!" He's still licking and I'm coming coming "OH!" hard squeezing coming hard licking coming hard... "Ooh! Ooohhhh!" Finally the convulsions fade and I lie panting, legs sprawled, as he slows the motion of his hand. His voice comes smug in my ear. "We can do that again sometime, you know. All you have to do is get on your hands and knees, lift your pretty ass, and say 'Please, Master, fuck me with the dildo.'" "Ah!" A last spasm takes me as I picture myself doing just that. He captures my mouth, swallowing my cry as he twists the shaft one more time. When he finally lets me go, I'm weak and limp. I don't think I could move a muscle. He lets me rest for a while before touching my face. His fingers are wet with my juices. "How do you feel, baby?" I love that endearment. "Tired, Master. Good." He gently pulls the dildo out of my body. I notice that my thighs are damp and sticky. "I'm going to clean up," he tells me. "I'll be right back." I lie on the floor, feeling peaceful but drained and empty. Suddenly, nameless emotion swells through me with an overwhelming force. It tightens my throat, rendering me speechless as he returns and kneels beside me. When he starts to bathe me gently with a wet cloth, the tenderness is too much. I burst into tears. "Scully! Are you all right?" He drops the cloth and pulls me into his lap. I shake my head, rejecting the name he called me as the tears flow faster. "Yes, Master. I don't know why I'm crying." He touches my vagina carefully. "Are you hurt? Sore?" I sigh at the oddly soothing touch. "No, Master." He starts to untie my wrists, but I shake my head once more. "Please, no." If he does, I'll have to be myself again, and I'm not ready for that. He stops, returning to petting my sex. His cool fingers are soothing on the hot, overstimulated flesh. Face tender, he slips a finger gently into my vagina and I sigh in relief. There's no arousal from his action, but his soft repossession of me grounds me even as I sob harder. I curl into his chest and let the storm take me. ***** I shift awkwardly, settling Scully in my lap. Keeping one hand between her legs, I wrap my other arm tighter around her trembling shoulders as she weeps. I let her go, murmuring soothing nonsense words, calling her "baby" and "sweetheart." She called me "Master," so she wants to stay in scene. And in scene, I take care of her. This sudden flood of emotion doesn't surprise me--actually, I was waiting for it. I would never call Scully "repressed," but most of the time she does keep things bottled up. I expected that eventually, the vulnerability she embraces here might loosen her tight hold on her emotions. I'm just a little surprised it came out so openly. I keep whispering to her. "I told you this stirred up emotions. This is it, sweetheart. Cry it out. Those tears are going to wash away all your fear, all your tension, going to leave you so clean and peaceful. I'm here. Nothing bad will ever happen when you give yourself to me like this. Ever. Let it go." It's a long time before she cries herself out, but I just rock her, heedless of the stiffness growing in my legs. Maybe I should remember that the next time I have her on her knees for an extended period. Finally her tears stop. I hold her tight as I ask, "Feel better now?" Her voice is soft but clear. "Yes. I don't know why I started crying. It just--it just happened." Carefully I withdraw my finger from her body and stand up, lifting her in my arms and carrying her to the bedroom. "It's all right. That happens sometimes in a scene. Sometimes you just find catharsis." She looks at me as I place her on the bed, mild surprise in her eyes. "Catharsis. Yes. That's it exactly." I lean over and kiss her forehead. "Will you be okay if I get ready for bed? I'll be right back." Her eyes are already closed. "Yes, Master. Thank you for taking care of me." I stop in mid-motion, stunned, before whispering gruffly, "I'll always take care of you, baby. I love you." It doesn't take me three minutes to clean up the living room and shut off the lights, but when I return she's already fast asleep. As I undress I look at her hands, still bound in the silk. I debate removing it, but decide let it go. She'll have no trouble releasing the knot if she wakes in the night. I turn out the light and climb into bed, cuddling her close. She sighs softly. Asleep, she seems small and fragile. Her fair skin and delicate features are almost ethereally beautiful in the dim light filtering through the curtains. 'Thank you for taking care of me.' The phrase runs through my brain over and over again. Those are words I never expected to hear from Scully in any context. I never before realized how badly I wanted to. I'm gently tracing the soft fabric around her wrists when she opens one eye. "Y' all right, Mul'er?" she mumbles around a yawn. I give her a squeeze. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just planning what I'm going to do to you next time." "Mmm." Her eye closes again as she snuggles into my chest. "Did you like it tonight, Mul'er? I did. Never felt like that before." Her words fill me with satisfaction and determination to repeat the experience. "I loved it, baby. And that was just the beginning. You're *really* going to like what comes next." "Yeah," she murmurs. "I think I probably will." She sighs again and slips back into sleep. I give her forehead one last, feather-light kiss. "You will, baby. I promise." End "A Gift of Silk II" ************************* Liked it? Hated it? Want more? Let me know at subrosa31@yahoo.com. MORE AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic endeavors to treat the subject of BDSM responsibly, but does *not* come from informed personal experience. (My penname has led some readers to that conclusion; in fact, it comes from the phrase "sub rosa," a Latin idiom meaning "in secrecy.") I therefore relied heavily on the works of others in writing this fic. Within fanfic the greatest influence, of course, was Kristel St. John's "Aphrodisia" series. The second installment, which gives a more comprehensive and realistic depiction of establishing a BDSM relationship, was invaluable when I wrote the first scene of this story. Throughout the "Aphrodisia" series, Kristel deals much more thoroughly with the complexities of a BDSM relationship, especially the emotional adjustments required of each party. Her website, http://www.cchg.net/ksaintjohns/, also gives links to other BDSM sites. Nonfic resources consulted for this story can be found at: http://www.sexuality.org/bdsm.html http://www.sexuality.org/l/subnet/AboutBDSM.html http://www.soj.org http://www.unrealities.com/adult/ssbb/faq.htm http://latches.beautyscastle.com/content.htm