Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 1 of 5)
Kristel St. Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

Rating: EXTREME NC-17
Classification: SR
Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with 
headers and disclaimers intact.)
Spoilers: Umm, early Season 7, I guess.  Definitely "Amor 
Fati.  "Timeframe: Undetermined Season 7
Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut, PWP
Summary: After their first D/s encounter, Scully struggles 
to reconcile what she wants and needs with the identity she 
has constructed for herself.

Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings:

First, thank you to everyone who sent encouraging feedback 
for Book One.  

Thank you also to my betas and test-reading crew: Heather, 
Tiff, Shelba, Nancy, Beth, Sybil, Indi, Christy, Jen, and 
Cal.

Credit where credit is due: "Screw the Roses, Send Me the 
Thorns" was written by Molly Devon and her top, the late 
Philip Miller.  It is available through Mystic Rose books 
(www.mysticrose.com) and is considered by many to be the 
BDSM bible.  In this chapter I also quote passages from 
Molly Devon's lecture notes from her seminar "Altered 
States: The Biochemisty of S&M" which I had the remarkable 
good fortune to attend at Folsom Street Fair in San 
Francisco this year, and I even had the luck to converse 
with Molly privately in the hotel hot tub later that 
weekend.  "The Bottoming Book: or, How To Get Terrible 
Things Done To You By Wonderful People" is written by 
Dossie Easton and Catherine A. Liszt and is available 
through Greenery Press (www.bigrock.com/~greenery/)  "Story 
of O" is by Pauline Reage and is available just about 
everywhere.

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, 
And The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property 
Of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David 
Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without 
permission.  No profit is being made by their use in this 
story. 

SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: This story contains graphic depiction 
of sexual activities between consenting adults, including 
BDSM-related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form 
intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 
17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. 
Thank you. 

Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust, and Desire


It was late Monday evening before the "glow," as Mulder 
called it, finally wore off.  I spent most of those two 
days of that week in a haze of pleasure and contentment.  I 
felt happier, lighter, freer...  I couldn't remember the 
last time I had felt so good, and I had Mulder to thank for 
it.  I missed having him in my bed Sunday night.  We had 
talked on the phone, but it wasn't the same.  All I wanted 
was to be in his power again.

Monday night, reality made its way back into my brain, 
striking with devastating force.  I don't know how it 
happened.  One moment I was happily humming in the kitchen 
as I prepared dinner for myself, thinking back upon the 
scene we had played, and the next I was slumped against my 
countertop, my eyes wide with horror.

All of a sudden, the things I had said and done came 
rushing back to haunt me.  I remembered how I had begged 
him--begged him!--to fuck me, how desperate and needy I had 
become.  I remembered telling him how, in those moments, 
nothing had mattered to me but pleasing him and giving him 
pleasure.  I remembered how completely I had surrendered to 
his demands.

I was mortified.  The woman who had said those things 
wasn't me.  I didn't even recognize her.  She had been weak 
and helpless and utterly without thought for her own needs 
and desires.  How could I possibly have become that woman, 
and gone for days that way without realizing it?  I didn't 
know what was worse; that I had let it happen, or that I 
wanted nothing more than to let it happen again.  God help 
me, I wanted to go back and become that woman again.

Dinner forgetten, I shuffled weakly toward a chair at 
the table and slumped into it.  I should have known, I 
thought bleakly.  I should have known better than to give 
in to the part of me that told me it was okay to let go, 
okay to relinquish control.  Ten years I had spent trying 
to get to a point in my life where I was my own person and 
made my own choices, and in a single evening I reverted to 
the behaviors I had despised so much in my youth.  But what 
made it worse by far was I had been happy to be that way; I 
had enjoyed it.

I'd worked so hard, for so many years to get to where I 
was.  Professional, respected, competent...Why the hell 
couldn't I be happy with that?  Why wasn't it enough?  Why 
was it that once I had finally, finally gotten control over 
my life, I wanted to give it up all over again?  There were 
women on this planet who would sell their souls to be like 
me.

Sell their souls.  There was a disturbing thought.  I had 
made some sacrifices to get where I was, certainly.  But I 
thought they had been worth it; I thought control was what 
I needed.  And it was!  I wouldn't go back to that person I 
had been when I was with Daniel if you paid me.  But had I 
given up something I needed in order to become the person I 
wanted to be?

How could Mulder possibly respect me again?  He hadn't 
acted any differently toward me at work, but how could he 
ever possibly see me again as the strong, controlled, 
determined woman I had made myself to be in his eyes?  Even 
if he loved me, even if he managed to work with me, how 
could he ever regard me the same way he always had?  I had 
let him see me weak.

The word echoed in my mind: weak...weak...weak...

I was unaware of the setting of the sun.  Suddenly, it was 
dark and I was sitting alone in my unlit kitchen.  I 
finally stood from the table and made my way into the 
living room.  Just as I was settling on the couch, the 
phone rang.

Mulder.  It had to be.  Mulder.  Who now had seen me become 
that pathetic, spineless creature I had rid myself of all 
those years ago.  Mulder.  Whose respect meant more to me 
than anything else on this planet.  Mulder.  How could I 
talk to him?  How could I ever look him in the eye again, 
knowing surely the respect he'd had for me must be 
diminished?

After four rings, the phone fell silent and my answering 
machine kicked in.  I heard my own cool, confident voice 
instructing the caller to leave a message.  As I had 
predicted, Mulder's voice filled the room.  It was the 
voice that had left a message on my machine Friday, telling 
me his demands.  It was the voice I had obeyed without 
question or hesitation, the voice to which I had 
surrendered everything.  I couldn't bear to listen to it 
and yet I couldn't hope to stop myself.

The voice, even at a distance and on a tape, evoked a 
physical response from me.  It was a voice I had come to 
irrevocably associate with passion and devastating 
pleasure.  Self-assured, deep and gentle, I imagined his 
voice entreated me to give in, to pick up the phone and let 
the caress of his words wash over me.  I wanted to let it 
draw me back in, let it strip away my control again.

I couldn't do it.  I had to clench my hands in my lap to 
keep from picking up the phone and dialing Mulder's number, 
but I didn't call him that night.  I couldn't face him, 
couldn't talk to him until I had this weakness of mine 
under control.

It was very late when I finally fell asleep on the sofa.  
In my dreams, I was again under Mulder's power, with his 
whispered command, "Give yourself to me," echoing in my 
ears.  I woke up at dawn panting and trembling from a 
climax I could barely remember.

I arrived at work Tuesday morning pale and tired.  Mulder 
was already there, immersed in a file.  If he noticed my 
tension and distraction, he didn't say anything.  Within 
the hour we were on the road for a possible spiritual 
possession in Pennsylvania.  It was nice to have something 
else to focus on.  With the issue of a case looming, I 
didn't have to figure out what I needed to say to Mulder 
about what had happened that weekend.  Absurdly, I felt as 
though I should apologize to him for getting so carried 
away.  He didn't seem particularly concerned with it, but I 
sure as hell was.

Nathaniel Androvich, age 11.  He had a mild case of autism, 
and was generally sweet and mild-tempered.  He excelled in 
school and was even able to attend a few classes with his 
peers rather than strictly special education courses.  He 
was also a talented artist.  Up until two months ago, he 
had been very well liked by his teachers and anyone who 
knew him.  Then something had changed.

Practically overnight, he had become a holy terror.  He had 
become uncooperative and withdrawn, and violent when 
pressed to do something he didn't want to do.  He had quit 
eating and was losing weight.  He had quit paying attention 
in his classes and had started cutting up until he had to be 
removed.  He became destructive of both himself and his 
surroundings, banging his head against walls in his room 
until he suffered a mild concussion, breaking things, 
striking out at people who came near him.  Only one person, 
a social worker by the name of Dominic Krause, seemed to be 
able to reach him.  Dominic spent an hour every other day 
working with Nathaniel, but while Nathaniel seemed to calm 
down when he was with Dominic, he reverted back to being a 
terror when Dominic left.

Nathaniel's parents, strict Eastern Orthodox immigrants, 
were convinced he was possessed.  Their church, however, 
claimed not to find any proof to support the theory of 
possession and would not perform an exorcism.  Through 
various connections, they had somehow gotten Mulder's name.

Needless to say, I wasn't sold on the possession theory.  
Which is not to say I don't believe in evil--I do, 
emphatically.  In my experience, evil tends to come from 
within rather than without.  I personally didn't believe a 
young autistic boy was inherently evil, and barring demonic 
possession, that meant something else was causing his 
behavior.  In Nathaniel's case, that left many options.

"What do you think?" Mulder asked when I closed the file 
and set it aside.

"I think there could be any number of factors for his 
altered behavior, not the least of which is his autism.  
It's quite common for autistic children to undergo this 
sort of change."

"Except his parents adamantly deny it's a possibility.  
They say they've seen him experience behavior changes 
before, and whatever is happening now is entirely 
different," Mulder pointed out.

"Are his parents doctors?" I asked.

"No, but they have lived with Nathaniel and his autism his 
entire life," Mulder replied.

"But they're not objective," I pointed out.  "They simply 
might not be able to accept that his condition could cause 
this sort of behavior.  They want to look for an outside 
cause rather than accept that this kind of change is 
something they're going to have to live with for 
Nathaniel's entire life."

Mulder nodded, frowning.  I don't think he was really sold 
on the possession theory either.  He'd give it a whirl, 
sure, but the odds were good the cause of Nathaniel 
Androvich's altered behavior was all too earthly.  It was 
unlikely we'd see anything unusual here, and all too likely 
we would find something highly unpleasant.

Eight hours later, we were back in the car headed for a 
local motel.  As I had predicted, nothing good had come of 
the case.  When I attempted to speak to Nathaniel, he had 
tried to attack me.  During the struggle to subdue him, I 
discovered his jaw was hurting him.  That was why he hadn't 
been talking or eating.  I stood by while his pediatrician 
examined him and diagnosed that his jaw had been severely 
sprained.  It would need to be wired shut to heal.  At 
that realization, little doubt remained that someone was 
abusing Nathaniel.

There were no bruises on his body, but he had panicked when 
his pediatrician attempted to examine his groin.  A sick 
knot had formed in my stomach; it was all too easy to 
imagine how the child's jaw had come to be injured.  Our 
attempts to interview his parents, Serbian refugees, were 
rendered difficult by the language barrier and an 
interpreter had to be called in.  Several hours later, we 
learned, of all the people who might have hurt Nathaniel, 
it couldn't have been his father.  Mr. Androvich had been 
injured during the turmoil in his homeland and was 
impotent.  He was physically incapable of inflicting the 
kind of injury Nathaniel had suffered.

The case then became a matter for the local police and 
child services to take care of.  They would be responsible 
for determining who had been abusing Nathaniel and seeing 
justice met, or so we hoped.  Nathaniel's social worker, 
Dominic Krause, was high on Mulder's hit parade of possible 
Suspects.  Mulder made certain the police understood just
because Krause was the only person in whose presence Nathaniel 
*didn't* become agitated was not an indicator of innocence.  
Quite the contrary, often abused children will often act out 
around everyone except their abuser.

I could see the sickened expression in Mulder's eyes and 
knew it mirrored my own.  Sometimes we saw far too little 
good in our work.  It made us wonder occasionally why we 
kept at it, when so often it left us frustrated and shaken 
in our sense of justice.  Unless we made certain to keep tabs 
on the investigation into Nathaniel's case, we would possibly 
never know what had become of him or the man who had been 
hurting him.  It was too late and we were both too heartsick 
to make the drive back to Washington, so we checked into a 
motel, weary and disappointed in our day's work.

We were subdued throughout dinner and the remainder of the 
evening.  My awkwardness over my behavior during the 
weekend warred with my desire to comfort Mulder and take 
comfort in return.  It was, as always, Mulder who solved 
the dilemma.  When we returned to the motel, he followed me 
into my room rather than retiring to his own.  I looked at 
him warily, unsure of his intentions.  I wanted him to 
stay; I wanted him to go.  I wanted him to hold me, and I 
wanted to push him away.  Jesus, I was so tired of fighting 
with myself all the time.

"Do you mind if I stay here, Scully?" He asked softly, his 
eyes dark and somber.  He lowered his head and plucked idly 
at a loose string on his jacket, his shoulders slumped.  I 
had to realize he took this sort of outrage as hard as I 
did.  If he needed me, then wasn't that more important than 
whatever superficial embarrassment I might be suffering?

I nodded and without words, we washed up and crawled into 
bed, Mulder in his boxers and me in the pajamas I kept in 
an overnight bag I stored in the trunk of Mulder's car at 
all times in the event of an unexpected out of town stay.  
I know Mulder must have wondered about the pajamas--it had 
been months since I had felt the need to wear any when I 
shared a bed with him--but he didn't say anything and I was 
content to leave it at that.  I felt I needed a barrier, 
however flimsy, between us until I sorted myself out.  I 
laid my head on Mulder's chest and sighed as he wrapped his 
arms around me.  This was okay.  This was Mulder taking 
comfort from me and letting me be strong for him.  That he 
had allowed me the choice to say whether he could stay with 
me or not, rather than simply assuming, or worse, 
demanding, made me feel a little better about my ability to 
reclaim my own sense of control.  It also reassured me that 
his respect for me was still intact.  I lay awake for a 
while as he slept, thinking over the panic of the last 
twenty-four hours, but I had reached no conclusions by the 
time I finally drifted to sleep.

*     *     *     *     *

I had another dream, as I'd had the previous night.  I was 
with Mulder, yielding to him, bound to my bed with him 
thrusting into me.  The pleasure was unimaginable, 
blossoming and exploding inside me again and again.  Soon, 
he had climaxed and was rolling off my body and falling 
asleep, but he hadn't untied me.  I struggled and yelled at 
him to release me, but he wouldn't wake up.

I awoke with a strangled cry, rubbing my wrists as though I 
could feel the pain from struggling against my bonds.  
Mulder apparently had been roused when I bolted upright and 
he reached out, stroking my back.  I couldn't help myself; 
I shrank from his touch.  Unfortunately, that was not the 
way to prevent him pursuing the matter.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong?" he asked finally, his 
voice groggy, when I failed to look at him.  I was too 
damned tired for this and far too uncertain of what I 
wanted to say, or what I wanted, period.

"Nothing's wrong, Mulder, just a dream," I finally replied, 
still not glancing toward him.  "I'm just tired.  Go back 
to sleep, we'll be busy tomorrow."

"Scully--" Mulder started, then stopped, sighing.  He sat 
up and turned to me.  "Scully, come here.  Please?"

I didn't want to do it, didn't want to meet his eyes or 
feel his touch.  I was too vulnerable, too confused.  But 
to reject his hand would be to reject him, and though I 
might not know how I felt about what we had done Friday 
night, I did know I wasn't ready or willing to do that.  
Whatever happened, whatever I decided, I didn't want to 
drive a wedge between us again.  Our relationship was more 
important than my insecurities.  I reluctantly reached for 
his hand and he enclosed my fingers in his.

"Talk to me, Scully," he said, playing with my fingers as 
they intertwined with his.  Beyond touching my hand, he 
made no other effort at physical contact with me and I 
appreciated his restraint.

"I can't right now, Mulder.  It's just--I'm trying to 
figure some things out.  You told me to take some time away 
and think about things, so I am.  But I haven't got it all 
worked out yet and tonight I'm just too tired to try.  So 
please--give me a while, all right?"  I finally looked up 
to meet his eyes, afraid of what I might find there.  If 
there had been impatience, or contempt for my confusion, I 
couldn't have borne it.  Instead, there was just concern 
and affection.  After a long moment, he nodded, sighing.

"This is about this weekend, then?" he asked.

"Yeah, Mulder, it is.  I--um--I don't know what to think 
about the things I said and did this weekend.  I, uh, I 
feel like I made an ass out of myself."

"Scully--no..." He shook his head, denying my claim.  
Frustrated, the words began to tumble from my lips in an 
undisciplined stream.

"Mulder--whatever happened to me this weekend, whoever that 
person you were with was...Mulder, that wasn't *me*.  And 
what terrifies me, Mulder, is I enjoyed it so damned much.  
You said it was easy to fall into this thing and you were 
right.  I fell. But I can't be that person, Mulder.  I 
can't do it; I won't let myself do it."

Mulder was silent a long moment, staring at me 
thoughtfully.  Shit.  Now I was embarrassed about my 
outburst as well as my behavior the previous weekend.  I 
was on the verge of apologizing when he finally spoke.

"Scully--what we did this weekend we did because it seemed 
to be something you wanted and needed.  Now, that's not to 
say I didn't enjoy it.  I enjoyed it a hell of a lot," he 
gave me a wry grin.  "On Sunday, you said you felt you had 
visited someplace special.  Why do you suddenly believe if 
you visit that place, you can't come back?"

I didn't answer.  The question was rhetorical, at any rate.  
We both knew there was no logic to my fear.

"Whoever that person was, Scully, she's a part of you.  If 
she's a part of you, then I love her.  And she's brave, 
Scully, so brave.  I know you see it as weak, but what you 
did--sharing your fantasy with me, sharing *yourself* with 
me, trusting me to do what I did--it took guts," he sighed, 
and his expression was distant for a moment.  I knew he, 
too, was replaying what had happened that weekend in his 
mind and relishing the memory.  "But just because that 
person is a part of you doesn't mean she has to rule who 
you are.  You're still in control; you can say when it's 
time to go back."

"Just Sunday you were warning me I could get sucked in too 
deeply to go back," I pointed out, unwilling to be 
reassured just yet.  "Why wouldn't I be?  It's happened 
before.  God, it's the story of my life."

"First, I was being overcautious," he admitted.  "I 
panicked for a moment when I saw how into it you were.  I, 
um--I almost got sucked in once.  Phoebe--that's who I had 
been talking about when I told you I'd had some experience 
before--she knew just what buttons to push to play upon all 
my neediness at the time.  But I'm not the person I was 
back then, Scully.  I'm stronger now, and a large part of 
that I owe to you.  And you're not the same person you used 
to be, either.

"The fact is, Scully, neither of us seems to have all that 
many outlets for the things we keep inside all the time, 
and at the risk of playing psychologist with you--which I 
know you hate--I don't think that's healthy.  Maybe that 
person inside you, that woman who needs to surrender 
control, can find an outlet, in a controlled and safe 
environment.  Maybe the person inside me who sometimes 
needs to have control can be released for a little while, 
too."

"I don't know, Mulder.  I liked what happened.  I liked it 
so much I didn't *want* to come back, and that's what 
scares me."

He didn't answer and I didn't expect him to.  This was 
something I was going to have to work out on my own.  
Finally I said, "I just need time to think it over, Mulder, 
to figure out what I want.  I mean, I *know* what I want, 
but I don't know if it's something that's necessarily good 
for me.  Just give me time, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded.  "Whatever you decide you want is fine 
with me--it doesn't matter.  If it's not good for one of 
us, it's not good for either of us.  But Scully--" his hand 
tightened on mine, "--don't shut me out, okay?  We've come 
too far for that, and I don't want to go back to where we 
were before."

"Okay," I whispered, nodding.  I felt ridiculously near 
tears.  I wanted Mulder to hold me and comfort me and let 
me know everything was all right, but I couldn't ask him 
for it.  I had to feel strong right now, had to rebuild the 
shields I had rashly and foolishly let down.  I couldn't 
let myself be weak; if I did, I might never be able to go 
back.  I would fall into Mulder and never emerge.

Mulder regarded me for a long moment, very obviously not 
satisfied with my response.  He seemed ready to press the 
issue, but he didn't, and I silently thanked him for it.  
We lay back down on the bed and I turned my back to Mulder 
and let him wrap me in his arms from behind.  As his warmth 
soaked into me, I sighed, feeling inexplicably content 
despite my confusion.



End of Part One of Five

Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 2 of 5)
Kristel St. Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

The contentment didn't last long.  As much as I knew I 
should sleep, and as tired as I was, the warmth and scent 
and feel of him awakened all the instinctive responses my 
body had spent the last two months growing used to in his 
presence.  I could feel the tension deep in my belly, the 
unconscious clenching of the muscles of my sex, the 
acceleration of my pulse.  I wanted him, and against my 
backside I could feel the proof he wanted me as well, 
though he had made no move to do anything about it.

Abruptly I sat up and began unbuttoning my pajama top.  
Mulder lay there silently, his dark eyes taking in every 
movement in the dimly lit room.  He neither touched me nor 
spoke, but instead waited until I had shrugged off the 
shirt and tossed it to the end of the bed.

Drawing a deep breath, I went one step further and pushed 
my pajama bottoms and panties off my hips and down my legs.  
They joined the shirt at the foot of the bed.  Only when I 
was naked did I turn to face Mulder, my breasts heavy with 
my desire and pointed toward him, and spoke.

"I want you to touch me, Mulder.  I want you to make love 
to me."

There.  I had told him what *I* wanted, seized the 
initiative to make it happen.  I had taken control over my 
own desires and decided what to do about them.  As long as 
I had made the decision, I didn't feel threatened by it, 
didn't feel as though it undermined my own sense of 
control.  Rather, I was exercising my control by making 
demands of him.

As if in slow motion, Mulder reached out for me.  "What do 
you want?" He asked, his voice barely louder than a 
whisper.  His hands stroked my skin lightly, almost 
casually.  A feeling of power rushed through me at the 
knowledge he would do whatever I asked of him.  I lay back 
upon the pillows and drew a deep breath.

"I want your mouth on me," I said.  "I want you to suck on 
my nipples and then I want you to go down on me."

Mulder sat up and leaned over me, his hands falling on my 
breasts.  He stroked and kneaded my flesh with his long, 
elegant fingers.  Slowly, his mouth descended on my right 
nipple and began to suckle--gently at first and then 
harder, drawing it into his mouth and caressing it with his 
tongue.  He nibbled softly and I moaned.  "That's 
it...harder."

He closed his lips over the turgid peak and pulled hard, 
evoking small, sharp lightning flashes along nerve endings 
all over my body.  I could feel the nipple becoming 
engorged, could feel the rush of blood to the crest and the 
corresponding flood to my clitoris.  It began throbbing in 
time with my pulse, growing hard and hot as moisture wetted 
my labia and thighs.

Mulder changed breasts and gave the left one the same 
exacting attention he had lavished upon the first.  Another 
rush of blood, another spasm of pleasure, another flood of 
moisture...Then his lips were trailing down my body while 
his hands continued to massage my breasts and tweak the 
nipples.  He stroked my abdomen with his tongue and dipped 
it into my navel, then slowly slid his lips and nose 
through the tight curls covering my mons.  He rubbed his 
face against the bristly hair, then removed his hands from 
my breasts and slid them over my hips.  He combed the pubic 
hair back, damp and slick with my own moisture, and used 
his thumbs to part my lips and expose my clitoris 
completely to the cool air.

His tongue darted out, quickly, like a cat licking cream 
from a dish.  Once, twice, three times he stroked across my 
clit with short swipes of his tongue.  I moaned deeply in 
response and threaded my hands in his hair, pressing his 
head closer as I thrust my hips up at him.

"Harder..."

He ran the entire length of his tongue, as far as he could 
extend it, over my clit with agonizing slowness, then 
closed his lips over the sensitive nubbin and began to suck 
on it.  Within minutes I was thrashing and writhing on the 
bed, giving short, breathless cries as I ground shamelessly 
against his face.  He took his lips off my clitoris for a 
moment to thrust his tongue into my body and then began to 
alternate between sucking on my clit and penetrating me 
with his tongue.

His thumbs still held my labia open, leaving me fully 
exposed.  He tongued me and sucked on me mercilessly.  My 
moans and whimpers grew louder and more urgent and he 
worked me with his mouth, lapping at me, making wet sucking 
sounds.  I could feel my body tense, the pressure in my 
womb building, and knew I would soon be sliding over the 
edge into blissful oblivion.  Soon I would lose control...

"No, stop!" I gasped.  Mulder withdrew immediately, concern 
written all over his face.  He opened his mouth to ask me 
what was wrong, his lips glistening with moisture in the 
dim light of the room, but I forestalled the question.

"I want you inside me when I come," I panted.  Immediately 
and without question or argument, Mulder shucked his boxers 
and began to crawl up my body between my thighs.

"No, roll over," I instructed, and again he obeyed, 
reclining on his back upon the pillows.  I moved over him 
and straddled his hips, kneeling over him, then taking his 
cock in my hand, plunged down onto the shaft.  I cried out 
loudly, having thrust myself onto him too quickly, to the 
point where pleasure became pain.  I drew a deep, hissing 
breath and could feel Mulder tense, ready to withdraw at a 
moment's notice.  "Don't move," I muttered, concentrating 
on breathing deeply and relaxing, giving myself a moment to 
adjust.  Mulder waited, his body quivering with need, until 
I braced myself with my hands over his heart, almost as 
though administering CPR, and began to raise and lower 
myself with my thighs.

The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of my still-
tight body was beyond incredible.  Even the lingering 
discomfort from that initial, abrupt penetration couldn't 
dispel the pleasure I felt.  In this position, he 
penetrated me so deeply I could feel him butt up against my 
cervix with each stroke.  After a moment of slow movements 
while I relaxed around him, I pushed myself up and leaned 
backward slightly.  This brought his penis into firm 
contact with my g-spot with every stroke.  The pressure was 
marvelous.  I closed my eyes and moaned, knowing my face 
was contorted with pleasure.  I pulled at my lip with my 
teeth and supported my weight with my hands behind me, 
braced on his thighs, moving faster upon his shaft.

Soon my movements lost all semblance of rhythm and became 
a wild, animalistic pumping.  I didn't object when 
Mulder grabbed me by the hips and began to lift and lower 
me faster; my thighs were getting tired.  Mulder was 
grimacing, his eyes intent upon me, and I met his gaze.

"Are you close?" I gasped.

"I'm...about to...explode, Scully," he replied, his voice 
harsh and ragged.  "You're killing me here."

"Rub my clit.  I want to come when you do."

"God, yes..." he groaned and took one hand off my hips to 
press on my clitoris with his thumb.  He stroked in hard, 
deep circles and I could feel the lightning bolts flash 
through my body with each rotation.

"Ahh, ahhh, ahhhhhh, ohgodohgodohgod!!!" my breathless 
cries bled into one another until they became one 
continuous wail.  My body jerked as the climax hit me, and 
I stiffened, my hair hanging over my face and my mouth open 
and gasping as spasm after spasm rocked me.  Somewhere, 
seemingly a million miles away, I heard Mulder yell and 
felt him buck his hips into me hard one last time.  When 
reality returned, I was laying collapsed on Mulder's chest 
with his body trembling beneath mine.  I lifted myself 
weakly to meet his eyes.

"Thank you," I murmured.  I was a little surprised by my 
own behavior.  I had never done that before, never so 
selfishly demanded a lover meet my needs like that.  But I 
had needed to feel in control and it seemed like taking 
control sexually, the way Mulder so often took control of 
me, was the only way to do it.  But I couldn't help feeling 
like I had used him somewhat.

I leaned forward to kiss him gently on the lips, the first 
time I had done so since he had entered my motel room.  The 
kiss deepened and soon our tongues were meeting and 
dueling.  I sighed into his mouth and let myself relax onto 
his chest, let myself revel in the feel of his arms around 
me, warm in the chilly air.

"Thank you," I repeated, a little stronger this time.  I 
wasn't just thanking him for the sex.  Now I understood 
what Mulder had meant when he said I had given him a gift 
when I let him guide our lovemaking.  He'd just given that 
gift back, given me my control when I felt I needed it the 
most.

It was late and now my weariness was overcoming the 
incessant tumbling of my thoughts.  I relaxed for a moment 
as Mulder pressed gentle kisses over my jaw and neck and 
shoulders; then I rolled off of his body and snuggled in 
beside him.  We'd still have to talk later.  I hadn't 
figured out what I thought of my uncharacteristic behavior 
in the aftermath of our "scene" Friday night, but I was 
feeling considerably reassured I wasn't beyond reclaiming 
my control.  I was also certain that whatever I had done, 
it hadn't altered Mulder's respect for me.  Truthfully, it 
had been a ridiculous fear, and yet I hadn't been able to 
help myself.  But now, knowing without a doubt that it 
wasn't true made it easier to relax into his arms.

I drifted to sleep feeling his lips lovingly brush my 
forehead.

*     *     *     *     *
Talking to Mulder Tuesday night eased some of my knee-jerk 
fears about my visit to the land of submission.  By the 
time we returned to Washington on Wednesday, I decided I 
could handle the decision intelligently and without panic.  
Mulder had mentioned he had done some research when 
planning our scene.  I was a scientist; I could do 
research.  It wasn't until after I had decided to do that 
research the realization struck me I had gone three days 
before it even occurred to me to do so.  Normally, I would 
try to learn more about the issue and get the facts before 
making a decision, but this time I hadn't even considered 
it.  At that thought, I was once again very nervous.

I realized why Mulder had been afraid we could lose 
ourselves in these games.  I had demonstrated his point 
perfectly by virtue of the fact it had taken me 72 hours to 
even think to do something that normally would have been 
second nature to me.  If what I had experienced was so 
powerful it could make me forget who I was, then it did 
need to be approached cautiously.  At the same time, 
however, I couldn't deny how *right* it had felt for me, 
how much I had enjoyed it, or how much I craved feeling it 
again.

I was much more solemn as I began my search Wednesday 
night.  My first stop was the Internet, under the logic 
most alternative lifestyles had founded a community there.  
In Washington and the surrounding area I found a number of 
establishments and social clubs that catered to the bondage 
community.  They had web-sites that usually provided some 
sort of resource guide, including FAQs and recommended 
reading materials.

In a way, it was like learning a new language.  Luckily, 
I'm good with languages.  The concept in general was called 
BDSM, which I learned was actually a combination of several 
acronyms: B&D -- bondage & discipline; D/s -- Domination & 
submission; and S&M -- sadomasochism.  Upon learning more 
about each particular segment of the whole, I decided my 
primary interest was in Domination and submission.  Bondage 
and discipline piqued my interest, but only as a means to 
emphasize my partner's dominance.  The moment I saw the 
term "sadomasochism" my mind shut down and I steadfastly 
refused to delve any further into that concept.

Domination/submission focuses on a phenomenon called "power 
exchange," where one person gives complete authority over 
their body and will to another, for however long a time 
they decided upon.  Some do it day in and day out; others 
dabble in it occasionally.  This usually involves some in-
depth negotiations between the partners and sometimes a 
contract is written up to dictate the terms of those 
negotiations.  The end result is to make both parties feel 
more empowered and fulfilled.  Judging by my own reaction, 
I would have to say when done properly, it worked.  The 
first couple of days after we played I had felt better 
about myself than I had in years.

I realized I am what's known as a sexual submissive, 
which means I'm interested in the aspects of BDSM which 
lead to deeper and more powerful sexual gratification, but 
beyond that I had very little need to submit or be 
controlled.  I was relieved to find a description so 
closely describing my own needs.  When I considered many of 
the varieties of submission described included a total 
relinquishing of control of self, my desires seemed 
relatively benign.  There are those who actually enter 
into a form of voluntary slavery, giving up all their 
rights as a human being to another, willingly.  I shuddered 
at the idea, thinking I could never do such a thing.  I'd 
spent too many years trying to seize my own rights as a 
human being to ever willingly give them up.  But it was 
nice to know is it possible to be a submissive in one part 
of your life without it invading your entire existence.  
It is possible a submissive in the bedroom and still be 
strong in the world outside. After the rosy haze of our 
scene on Friday, I'd had my doubts.  But now I felt 
reassured--if others could do it, so could I.

I went to a "woman friendly" adult bookstore (which is to 
say it was cleaner, brighter, and less sleazy than your 
normal adult bookstore, and had more merchandise that would 
appeal to women) to look for some of the texts that had 
been recommended on the web-sites.  "Screw the Roses, Send 
Me the Thorns" was one.  There was another called "The 
Bottoming Book."  While they offered more information about 
sadomasochism than Domination/submission, there was still 
enough data to help me understand the concepts and 
practices a little more clearly.

By the time Thursday rolled around, I felt I had been 
sufficiently enlightened.  I was getting impatient to see 
Mulder again.  After Tuesday night, we had been carefully 
and excruciatingly professional to each other while we were 
together at work, but I was missing the personal time.  We 
had called each other once an evening, but our 
conversations had been of inconsequential things.  I think 
we were both reluctant to bring up the particular topic 
that was first and foremost in our minds when we didn't 
have much of a chance of getting in-depth with it or 
resolving it.  That was a discussion we needed to be face 
to face for.

I would have waited, however reluctantly, for Friday.  But 
Mulder didn't.

I had just sat down with a reheated plate of pasta and a 
small salad for dinner on Thursday night when Mulder called 
me.  We made small talk for a moment as we had been doing 
all week; then Mulder took a deep breath and plunged 
straight into the subject.

"I know it's early," Mulder began, sounding a little 
hesitant, "but I've been thinking a lot about what we 
discussed.  Have you--?"

"I haven't been thinking about anything else," I admitted, 
realizing for the first time this was something that was 
important to Mulder, not just to me.  "I've been doing some 
research, trying to figure out what exactly it is I'm 
interested in and what I want to do about it.  I feel I 
know quite a bit more about the subject than I did this 
time last week."

"Did you decide anything?" He sounded tense, anxious.

"I think so," I replied.  "I think what scared me the most 
was how different my own behavior seemed--I didn't 
understand what could make me behave that way.  Then I came 
across something interesting.  You know more about this 
than I do--have you heard of the concept of headspace?"

"Headspace" was the general, multi-purpose term derived 
from the play-on-words used to describe a submissive's 
state known as "subspace."

"I've heard of it, yes," Mulder answered.  "It has to do 
with the mental and emotional condition someone experiences 
while playing."

"It's basically an altered state brought on by endophins 
and other neuro-chemicals.  Listen to this," I picked up 
the printout I had made the night before from a web-site I 
had visited.  "Sub- or bottom-space is a type of altered 
consciousness identified with feelings of falling into a 
state of submission...Characterized by diminished ego 
awareness, less active cognitive behavior, surrendering of 
will and/or inability to verbalize.  The individual may be 
giddy or uncoordinated.  Frequently these functions are 
assumed by the dominant partner who becomes the 
submissive's center of focus.  Rational thought is replaced 
by a meditative state, similar to tantric yoga..."

"Ooh, Scully, tantra--" I could practically hear Mulder's 
eyebrows wag lasciviously.

"Maybe later," I said in my best school-marm voice.  
"Seriously, Mulder, you don't think that sounds a little 
familiar?"

"Scully, you'd know better than I would what you 
experienced.  From an observer's standpoint though, I'd 
have to say, yes--that seems to describe the way you 
behaved last weekend.  So what does it mean?"

"It means," I could feel myself smiling, remembering the 
relief I had experienced when I had read this same text the 
night before, "that I understand what happened to me now.  
It's not unusual or even unexpected.  It's just 
biochemistry."

And biochemistry I understood a hell of a lot better than 
the uncharacteristic behavior I had experienced the 
previous weekend.  I continued reading the description to 
Mulder.

"The submissive response is visceral.  Tone of voice, 
pheromones, body language, role-play and personal emotional 
triggers cause a recognition of the other partner as 
dominant--" Which explained why I seemed to react a certain 
way when Mulder spoke to me in a particular tone of voice.  
"--This is responded to by a rise in PEA; followed by 
oxytocin and endorphins when touching begins.  This creates 
a state of intoxication to which the submissive surrenders.  
Testosterone, norephedrine, estrogen, vasopressin and 
dopamine also rise..."

I stopped when Mulder burst out laughing, then realized 
that I was relating all this in the same tone I would use 
to discuss research on a case we were working.  I laughed 
sheepishly at myself.

I remembered my thoughts the previous night about how 
learning about this lifestyle was like learning a new 
language.  Now, however, we were talking my language.  This 
I could understand and accept.  I had found myself smiling 
at my computer as I read the words and my heart had assumed 
a trip-hammer rhythm in my chest.  I had realized that with 
these reassurances, I felt much more at-ease with the idea 
of what I had done and what I wanted to continuing doing.

"What it means," I repeated, "is that I don't need to worry 
about being unable to come back from--wherever it was I 
went.  Headspace.  Whatever.  This is a state that's sought 
after and enjoyed by people who lead normal, productive 
lives outside these activities."

I took a deep breath and took the plunge.  "I want to do 
it, Mulder.  I--I need it."

Mulder let out a long breath, and I realized he must have 
been nervous about what I might say.  He had told me Sunday 
he relied on me, and I knew he did.  The outcome of this 
discussion had the potential to affect our entire 
relationship, and what affected our relationship could very 
well affect our partnership.  Things had not been strictly 
professional between us long before we became lovers.

"Okay," he drew the word out in a sigh.

"Okay," I agreed, a tingle of pleasure running through me.  
There was a short, awkward silence before I plunged ahead, 
"I suppose this is the point where we begin negotiations?"

Mulder gave a snort of laughter.  "You did do your 
research.  Yeah, that's exactly what I was just thinking.  
I, um, I'm gonna email you a file.  It's a little 
questionnaire I'd like you to fill out.  When you come over 
tomorrow, bring it with you.  I'll make us dinner and we 
can discuss some of this, maybe decide how we want to 
handle this."

"I'd like that," I murmured.  "I'd like that a lot."

"All right," Mulder said briskly, exhaling loudly.  "I just 
sent the file, so you should have it by now.  I'll see you 
at work tomorrow."

"Yeah."  I stopped and took a deep breath, then told him 
softly, "I love you."

Silence greeted me and I knew I had surprised him.  I'm not 
a terribly demonstrative person, and I certainly have a 
hard time expressing my emotions verbally.  Though I have 
no doubts Mulder knew I loved him, I think that was the 
first time I ever actually told him.  But our relationship 
would soon be making a very significant change, one 
involving a strong leap of faith and a huge amount of 
trust.  I didn't think it would be appropriate to enter 
that arena without letting him know without question how I 
felt.

"Thank you," he said after a long moment, sighing.  I was 
glad he hadn't responded with an automatic "I love you, 
too."  I knew he loved me.  He'd told me before, and it 
meant more to me for him to say it spontaneously than as a 
reflex.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, my voice barely over a 
whisper.  "Bye."

I hung up with his soft "good-bye" still caressing my ears.

I went straight for my computer and booted up.  As 
promised, Mulder's email was sitting in my inbox.  My pulse 
quickening, I opened it and began to read.

"Scully:

"Please fill this out and return it to me.  
I have omitted some items I didn't feel
would apply.

"Mulder."

Attached was a long list of various sexual and BDSM-related 
activities.  The instructions indicated that next to each 
activity, I should first indicate whether I had any 
experience with it with a "yes" or "no."  Then I was to 
indicate my level of interest or willingness to perform the 
aforementioned activity on a scale of NO and 0 to 5.

NO would indicate I absolutely would not consider the 
activity under any circumstances, what's known as a 
"hard limit".  0 meant I disliked and might even loathe 
the activity but would do it if the Dominant partner 
demanded it, also known as a "soft limit."  1 indicated 
indifference, something that had no appeal or interest, but 
which I would do if the Dominant instructed me to. 2 was 
something I wasn't sure about but would be willing to try 
once to see how I liked it.  3 was something I might enjoy 
on an occasional or infrequent basis, 4 something I would 
enjoy doing regularly, and 5 meant the activity was a wild 
turn-on and I couldn't get enough of it.  I was also to 
make notes next to points I felt required clarification.

From there, I began to go down the alphabetically ordered 
list point by point.

I passed through the A's relatively quickly, though 
occasionally I had to stop and think.  Most of the activities
mentioned, I had had no experience with.  Many were 
activities I wasn't sure about.  I wasn't indifferent to them, 
but neither did I know if I would enjoy them, even on an 
infrequent basis.  I found myself giving a lot of the items a 
rating of 2, with the logic I could downgrade or upgrade 
depending on how I liked an experience.  I also found 
myself putting a question mark next to many of them, unsure 
what they meant.

Then I came to the item titled "Anal play/sex."  That one 
stopped me cold.  My heart began to pound, but I couldn't 
be sure whether it was with excitement or fear.  When I was 
fifteen and read "Story of O" for the first time, I hadn't 
known men and women could have sex anally.  I hadn't even 
known men had sex with each other that way (by that point, 
I knew just enough about the world to have heard whispers 
about homosexuality, but I was ignorant of the mechanics 
involved.)  I probably would have been appalled if I had 
known.  So my introduction to the concept had been O 
struggling with Sir Stephen as he forced himself into her, 
and then later told her she would bleed until she became 
accustomed to being taken that way.

This impression had been reinforced sometime later when in 
the Q&A section of a women's magazine someone had written 
complaining her husband demanded anal sex of her, even 
though it hurt her and made her bleed.  The response she 
had gotten was basically a treatise on what an 
insensitive pig the husband had been and how she should 
tell him off.  The gist of the advice was to "Ask your 
husband that if you enjoyed some unsavory activity that 
caused him pain and made him bleed, would he do it for you?  
If he has the gall to say yes, tell him that each time he 
asks for anal sex, you feel an equal desire to penetrate 
his nostril with a rolling pin."

As I studied medicine and learned more about the world in 
general, I found out people could and did have anal sex and 
enjoyed it without injury, when it was done properly.  That 
the "expert" in the magazine I had read hadn't pointed this 
out was an indication of the lingering prejudice many had 
against "deviant" activities.  Still, that knowledge never 
quite managed to eradicate the instinctive fear I had at 
the thought of it.  I'd had a lover ask me once or twice if 
I would be willing, but I always adamantly refused, too 
afraid to allow it.  And yet...

My memories of reading "Story of O" are some of the first 
memories of sexual arousal I have.  That arousal is 
inextricably intertwined with the shock and fear I had also 
experienced reading it.  In retrospect, I know I had no 
business reading it at that age.  I hadn't been mature 
enough to understand any of it.  It had shaped many of my 
early ideas of what sex should be like and in truth I think 
I expected less pleasure than I should have from sex 
because of it.  I think it also lead me to the idea if I 
loved a man, I should be willing to do anything for him, 
even if it wasn't the right thing for me.  The activities 
described in that book were dangerous.  Forbidden.  It was 
easy to see why I had been drawn to it.  But if I could 
admit to having a submissive streak, then I could admit it 
also seemed to be a very submissive thing to do, to be 
taken that way.  So while the concept of anal sex 
frightened me, it also aroused me desperately.

I had to fight against the instinct to put a large "NO" 
next to "anal play/sex" on the list.  I remembered last 
Friday when Mulder had inserted a finger into my anus.  I 
had been nervous, but he hadn't hurt me.  The sensation had 
been quite intense, if somewhat foreign.  And with Mulder, 
things were different than with anyone I had known in the 
past.  I trusted Mulder beyond question or doubt; I knew he 
would never harm me.  I'd never had such confidence with 
anyone else.  If I was being honest, I was intrigued and 
excited by the prospect, by allowing Mulder to do what no 
one else had done with me before.  Drawing a deep breath, I 
indicated I had not had any experience in that area and put 
a 2 next to that item, as well, and continued making my way 
down the list.


End of Part Two of Five

Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 3 of 5)
Kristel St. Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com


"Blindfolds".  After last Friday, that one was a piece of 
cake.  I happily marked it with a "Yes" for experience and 
a 4 for level of interest.  I didn't feel any further 
explanation was necessary.

There were four different categories of bondage: light, 
heavy, multi-day, and public-under clothing.  Light got an 
effortless 4.  Heavy I had to consider, not quite sure what 
"heavy" entailed, then put a 2, figuring if I didn't like 
it if we tried it, I could amend.  Multi-day got a 0 for 
being impractical.  Public I also had to consider.  The 
idea of being in public and bound under my clothes without 
anyone else's being aware of it intrigued me.  I finally 
settled on a safe 2 for that as well.

"Cock worship."  Wasn't quite sure what "worship" entailed, 
but if it involved Mulder's cock and me, I was all for it.  
I enthusiastically marked it with a 4.

"Collars (worn in private)" and "Collars (worn in public)."  
Private I thought I might be interested in.  A mark of 
ownership, of possession...I could get into that.  I chose 
3.  Public I marked with a 0, not sure it would be a wise 
idea for us to take our play out of the bedroom.

"Corsets."  Hmm, fetish wear.  Given Mulder's reaction to 
the shoes the other night and the fact he tends to be a 
very visually cued man, I thought that might have some 
possibilities.  It got a 3.

Through the rest of the list, my most common answer 
remained 2.  It made sense; I had no experience with 
probably 90% of what was listed, but I wanted to try a 
little of everything to begin with, maybe more if I ended 
up enjoying it.  Leather cuffs, dildoes, double 
penetration...the list went on.  A few items gave me pause, 
though.  "Fantasy Rape" was one.  As a woman and law 
enforcement professional, the idea of rape was abhorrent to 
me.  But I already knew I liked feeling helpless and being 
totally in Mulder's power.  What could possibly evoke those 
feelings more than his pretending to wrestle me down and 
force himself on me.  I was embarrassed to find I was 
getting wet just considering it.  I struggled with my 
reticence and then marked it with a 2, amending a note 
that I might be willing to try it in the future, but not 
yet.  "Fisting (vaginal)" got a similar response; I 
was discovering I was a little more adventurous than I had 
ever really imagined myself.

Some of the items were simply impractical or absurd.  
Infantilism, legal/permanent name change, plastic surgery, 
sleep deprivation.  I suppose they might have had their 
place in some peoples' lives, but certainly not in mine and 
Mulder's.  If these were left after Mulder had gone through 
and edited out everything that he felt was inapplicable, 
what had he removed himself?

It was a very long list.  Breast whipping, nipple clamps, 
spanking, paddling, restrictions on speech and behavior, 
whipping...Some of the prospects thrilled me; others 
confused me.  Often I found myself questioning my initial 
knee-jerk reaction to a given activity.  Everything from 
various forms of bondage to various forms of servitude was 
covered.  I gave most of the sadomasochistic activities 
listed a 0 or 1, struggling with the urge to put "NO" by 
them instead.  I couldn't imagine possibly enjoying 
sadomasochism is any way-nor could I imagine Mulder doing so-
but at the same time, if I were turning myself over 
to Mulder's control, then he had to have the right to punish 
me for disobedience.  Implicit in the concept of punishment 
was pain, or at least unpleasantness.  Of course, since I 
didn't plan to disobey him, I didn't figure it would be an 
issue.

When I had finished, I saved the file and emailed it back 
to Mulder.  I went to bed feeling very content and excited 
by the possibilities for the future, but found myself 
unable to sleep.  All the sexual possibilities on 
Mulder's survey had aroused me to the point where I could 
think of nothing else but being fucked and fucked hard.  It 
was nearly midnight when I finally picked up the bedside 
phone and called Mulder.

"Are you okay?" was the first question out of his mouth 
when he heard my voice.  If it had been him calling me, I 
wouldn't have blinked, but I didn't often call him in the 
middle of the night.

"I'm fine.  I just can't sleep," I murmured, feeling 
somewhat foolish for calling him.  What did I expect him to 
do?

"You just want to talk a while?"

"Mm hmm," I sighed, settling back into bed.

"I got the survey back," he said softly.  "I'm going over 
it now."

"That's part of my problem," I responded.  "Lots of food 
for thought there."

"Like what?"

"Well...maybe I'm naive, but I didn't know what the hell 
some of it was," I said.

"So ask me."

"Okay, Mr. All-Knowing," I replied tartly.  It made sense 
Mulder would know more about this stuff than I would, with 
his predilections, but I still felt rather unworldly.  "For 
instance, what's 'age play'?"

Mulder paused, then asked in his sexiest voice, "Do you 
want to be daddy's little girl?"

I shuddered and cringed.  "Oh, God, no," I answered 
immediately.  I'd had one father in my life and that 
relationship had been quite satisfactory, thank you very 
much.  I'd made a huge mistake early on in trying to 
imitate that dynamic in my later relationships, dating 
older authority figures.  I did not want to go there with 
Mulder.  I mentally scrawled a big 0 next to "Age play" on 
the list.

"There are other age games," he said, chuckling at my 
reaction.  "You could be an innocent school-girl and I your 
devastatingly sexy, much older and worldly principal.  You 
could be sent to my office for chewing gum in class..."

Now *that* had possibilities.  I upgraded the 0 to a 2, 
possibly 3.

"What else?" Mulder asked after a moment.

"I'm just--I found myself considering a lot of things 
tonight I didn't think I'd ever consider," I said after a 
moment.  "I guess I'm a little confused by what it all 
means."

"Well, Scully, some of the point is to try things you've 
never done and might not normally do.  That's why 
it's called fantasy."

"I know, but--" I stopped.  I couldn't explain my reaction 
to myself yet, much less Mulder.  There would be time for 
us to discuss this tomorrow night.  Mulder didn't press me 
for clarification.  Silence settled between us, and over 
the phone line I could hear Mulder's soft breathing.  Even 
at such an innocent sound, my nipples tightened as I imagined 
Mulder's breath upon them.

I groaned.  "Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm horny."

Mulder burst out laughing and I joined him.  I had to laugh 
about it, or I was going to lose my mind.

"It's fine for you to laugh," I said petulantly.  "You're 
the one who decided we should take a week off."

"You think I'm not suffering here, Scully?"  I stopped 
laughing, because Mulder's voice wasn't amused.  It was 
tight, tense, rough...

"Then what the hell are we doing this for, Mulder?"  I had 
passed petulant and was approaching whiny.  It was a voice 
I recognized from when Mulder dragged me out on a case I 
saw no point to.  Hard to believe only two months ago, I 
hadn't had sex for years; now I couldn't even stand a few 
days without.  I wanted him to get his ass over to my 
apartment and lay me, but it was already midnight, so I 
suspected that wouldn't be happening.  We did have to work 
tomorrow.

"I don't remember, Scully.  To heighten the anticipation, 
maybe?"

I snorted, letting him know just what I thought of *that* 
idea.  "My anticipation is sufficiently heightened, thank 
you."

We were silent for another moment, and then Mulder spoke 
again.  "Go get your vibrator, Scully."

My pulse raced as I realized what he was planning; my body 
shouted a loud "hallelujah!"  Phone sex was something we 
hadn't done before--we were always together, so we never 
had the need.  My thrill was increased because Mulder had 
assumed what I was quickly coming to think of as his 
"command voice."  It wouldn't be as good as having Mulder 
here, but in a pinch...

"I'll be right back," I answered with more calm than I 
felt, and set the phone down on the bedside table.  I 
crossed the room to my bureau and pulled my Hitachi Magic 
Wand and G-Spotter attachment out of the top drawer.  The 
vibrator had been a gift from one of my college friends.  A 
few years ago, I had complained over drinks about how 
little (read: none) sex I'd had in recent years.  My next 
birthday, she had sent the vibrator with a card that read: 
"For your enjoyment until that hunky partner of yours 
(whom, of course, you care nothing about) gets his act 
together..."

The Hitachi and I had become close friends over the years.  
Mulder knew I had it, but this was the first time he'd ever 
asked me to use it.  And to tell the truth, he and I were 
together so regularly these days it had been gathering dust 
for near two months.

It was heavy and bulky, but it was the most powerful 
vibrator available.  There were times I regretted the 
Hitachi didn't come with an attachment that more closely 
simulated the length and girth of an actual penis, but it 
served its purpose.

I plugged the massager into an outlet behind my nightstand, 
lay back down on the bed and picked up the phone.  "I've 
got it," I said breathlessly into the receiver, feeling as 
though I had just done the hundred-yard dash.

"Good.  What are you wearing?"

"The beige satin pajamas with the short sleeves."

"Good.  I want you to turn the vibrator on and I want you 
to run it over your nipples lightly, while you're still 
clothed.  Get them standing up for me.  I want them so 
erect you can see them through the satin shirt."

That was the voice, calm and low. I don't think I've ever 
heard anything sexier than Mulder when he starts speaking 
in that voice.  It was a voice made for use behind closed 
doors where illicit pleasures were given and received; 
there was nothing I wouldn't do for Mulder when he spoke to 
me in that tone.  I could feel myself sinking into the 
spell of his words, growing languid and heavy, becoming 
sensual rather than cerebral.

Sighing with pleasure, I turned the Hitachi on low and, 
foregoing the attachment for now, began to draw the rounded 
head in slow circles around my nipples.  The higher setting 
might be quicker, but the vibrations of the lower setting 
penetrated much deeper.  I could feel it all the way in my 
chest.  When I spoke, I imagined I sounded like a traffic 
reporter in a helicopter.

"It almost tickles," I murmured.  "But I can feel myself 
getting wet.  I've got my left nipple erect, and I'm moving 
to my right."

"That's good, that's good.  Once you're done, I want you to 
set the vibrator aside and unbutton your shirt.  Don't take 
it off yet."

I fell into a breathless silence while I stroked my right 
nipple with the appliance.  Soon, it too was jutting 
forward, feeling tight and sensitive.  I was very aware of 
the softness of my satin pajama top rubbing against the 
peaks of my breasts.  After a pleasant, relaxing moment I 
shut the vibrator off and laid it on the bed.  I held the 
phone between my ear and shoulder and unbuttoned my pajama 
top.  It hung from my shoulders, the cloth sweeping back 
and forth against my skin as I moved.

"Can you see your dresser mirror from where you are, 
Scully?"

"If I sit up, yes."

"I don't just want you to sit up, I want you to stand and 
look in the mirror.  Tell me what you see."

Moving slowly, I did as Mulder instructed, rising from my 
bed with the phone on my shoulder to gaze into the mirror.  
The woman I saw there wasn't the same woman I usually faced 
every day.  The woman I normally saw was very composed and 
dignified, neatly dressed and well groomed.  The woman 
staring back at me was none of those things.  She was--

"Talk to me, Scully.  Tell me what you see."

"I look...wild," I said softly, my gut clenching with 
desire as I spoke.  "My hair's kind of messy because I was 
tossing and turning earlier.  My cheeks are really flushed 
and my eyes are sparkling.  My pajama top is hanging open 
with my breasts sticking out.  I look...wanton.  Slutty.  
Like I'm moments away from getting the fucking of my life."

"Good, Scully.  Very good.  You want to know something?"

"What?" I whispered.  Wearing the satin pajama top seemed 
sexier and more alluring than if I had been nude.  Without 
thinking about it, I lifted the hand that wasn't holding 
the phone and watched as the woman in the mirror cupped her 
breast, playing idly with the nipple.

"When we're together, when we're making love, that's 
exactly how I see you.  And though you are always beautiful 
to me, in those moments, you are the most stunning creature 
on this planet."

I gave a soft sigh of pleasure, letting his voice and words 
wash over me.

"You're touching your breast, aren't you, Scully?"

Surprised, the movements of my fingers on my nipple stilled 
as I answered.  "Yes, I am."

"Good.  That's exactly what I want you to do.  Now tell me-
-Friday night, did you like it when I ppinched your 
nipples?"

I thought about it, about the pressure of his fingers 
tightening on my nipple.  How the sensations had gone from 
pleasure to discomfort to pain, and then faded away like 
they had never been when he stroked me softly.  His 
pinching my nipples had hurt, but I had enjoyed it.

"Yes," I replied.

"I'm glad.  I enjoyed doing it.  I enjoyed your whimpers 
and the movements when you tried to get away from me, and 
the way you bit your lip to keep from crying out," Mulder 
paused, and I heard a deep, shuddering breath across the 
line.  I suspected I wasn't the only party in this 
conversation with their hands on their body.  "I want you 
to do that, Scully.  Pinch your nipple, as hard or as soft 
as you like.  Let me hear you when you do it, though.  No 
biting your lip to hold back the sounds."

My fingers closed over my nipple and began to squeeze.  The 
gentle pressure I applied didn't seem to be enough, so I 
tightened my grasp.  The pleasure-pain of the sensation 
made me moan softly into the phone.

"That's it.  Keep going."

I wanted more.  I wanted to feel what I had felt that night 
with Mulder's fingers on me.  Drawing a deep breath, I 
moved from squeezing between the tips of my thumb and 
forefinger to gripping the nipple between the thumb and the 
side of the knuckle of the forefinger instead.  I squeezed 
with as much pressure as I could muster the courage for.  I 
could feel my wetness starting to seep into the crotch of 
my panties as I cried out sharply and released my nipple.  
It tingled and ached and I rubbed it softly as Mulder had 
done that night.

"Mmm, I like that sound, Scully.  I like it a lot.  You 
wanna do the other nipple?"

"Yes..." I whispered.  Sliding my free hand to the other 
breast, I repeated the process.  I applied increasing 
pressure until I reached a plateau, then used my thumb and 
the side of my forefinger to squeeze sharply.  I yelped 
again and began tenderly stroking the offended nipple.

"That's perfect.  I love the way you sound when you do 
that.  Now stroke it softly.  Soothe away the pain.  Does 
it feel more tender now, more sensitive to the slightest 
touch?"

"Yes, it does," I replied, still watching my actions in the 
mirror.

"I want you to take off your shirt now, Scully.  Don't move 
away from the mirror, though."

Maneuvering carefully so as not to drop the phone, I did as 
Mulder told me, letting the pajama top fall into a small 
pool of satin around my feet.

"Look at yourself again," Mulder said huskily.  "See how 
pure and white your skin is, how dark your nipples are?  
Hold the phone with your shoulder and use both hands to cup 
your breasts and lift them.  Feel how heavy they are, how 
soft and warm and smooth the skin is?  Rub them, Scully.  
Mold them with your hands, feel how the flesh yields to the 
pressure of your fingers.  Can you feel that?"

"Yes..." I sighed, seduced by my own touch and the sound of 
Mulder's voice.  The muscles in my sex were throbbing in 
time with my pulse as my arousal mounted.  I could see and 
feel all that Mulder described and more.  I was stunned at 
this person staring back at me, this woman I never seemed 
to see.  I found her beautiful and wild and alluring.  The 
weight of her breasts was heavenly and warm in my hands.

"Good.  I love it when I feel your breasts in my hands, 
love the way the flesh feels.  They're perfect, Scully."

Silence fell while I continued caressing my breasts for a 
long moment.  Once or twice, I thought I heard a gasp from 
Mulder.  I could imagine his hand on his cock, stroking 
softly up and down.  His fingers would travel back and 
caress his sac; then he'd close his palm over the head of 
his penis, squeezing firmly to simulate the pressure of 
being inside me.  How close was he to coming, I wondered.

"Talk to me, Mulder," I murmured, squeezing the soft flesh 
of my breasts.  "Tell me what you're doing."

"You know what I'm doing, Scully," he said softly, his 
voice a little breathless.

"I want--" My voice trailed off as I toyed with my nipples.

"What?" Mulder asked.  "Tell me what you want."

"I want to feel your cock in my hands," I whispered.  "I 
want to taste you..."

"Oh, God..." Mulder groaned.  "I'm supposed to be the one 
seducing you," he protested weakly.

"Welcome to the nineties, caveman," I chuckled huskily.  We 
fell silent again, savoring our mutual pleasure for a 
while.

"Take off your pajama bottoms and panties, Scully," Mulder 
said at last.  I did so still standing, lifting one leg and 
then the other.  The cool air touched my damp crotch, 
chilling the wetness there.  "Are you still standing in 
front of the mirror?"

"Yes."

"Good.  Look at yourself.  Look at how beautiful and 
natural you are standing there naked.  Look at the lovely 
shape of your body, the softly swelling breasts leading 
into the curved waist, the flatness of your belly before it 
gives way to the dark red hair between your legs.  Do you 
see all that, Scully?"

"I see it, Mulder."  And I did.  Normally, I wouldn't find 
myself even remotely exotic but when I saw myself through 
Mulder's eyes I saw a different person entirely.

"I want you to slide your hand down your belly, Scully, and 
slip it between your legs.  I want you to rub it back and 
forth.  Are you wet?"

"God, yes..."

"Good.  Now, spread your legs and watch yourself in the 
mirror as you fuck yourself with your fingers.  Start with 
two, then three, and then four, if you want.  Do it, 
Scully. Now."

I moaned softly with a combination of embarrassment and 
desire.  I thought I had looked slutty before, but now I 
appeared downright lewd, semi-squatting before the mirror 
with my hand disappearing and re-emerging from between my 
thighs.  Why was I doing this?  Would I have done it if 
Mulder hadn't asked me to?  Somewhere inside, my good 
little Catholic cringed in horror at my own abandon.  That 
I was wildly aroused at this point was an undeniable fact, 
and yet there was a bashful part of me that shrank from 
this wanton display of my own sexuality.  I hadn't realized 
before how much more comforting it was to be uninhibited 
when I couldn't actually see myself.  If Mulder hadn't 
assured me of how beautiful he finds me when he sees me 
like this, I would have been mortified that he had ever 
seen me this way, humiliated at the image of myself--cool, 
calm, collected Scully--doing these things and more 
importantly, enjoying them.  But it was Mulder on the other 
end of the line and he wanted this, wanted me to pleasure 
myself in his stead.  And because it was Mulder, I would do 
it.

I slipped my fingers into my dripping canal and pulled them 
back out, covered in wetness.  I added a third finger and 
began to thrust, slowly at first, then gaining speed.  It 
was hard to bend over far enough to reach myself and still 
glance into the mirror, but I managed.  I could hear myself 
making throaty, breathless noises into the phone, giving 
sharp moans and whimpers.  I curled my little finger into a 
bundle with the others and thrust them all the way in.  I 
almost dropped the phone as I cried out from the sensation 
of fullness.

"Oh, Scully, yes.  That's it.  Yes..."

It went on for some time that way, each of us getting 
louder and more explicit in our exclamations of pleasure.  
Finally, Mulder spoke again.

"Okay, Scully, stop.  Take your fingers out and go back to 
the bed.  Lay down and get comfortable.  Find a comfortable 
way to support the phone by your ear so you can use both 
hands."

I obeyed, wiping my hands briefly on my discarded 
underwear, and soon had myself arranged in a fairly 
accessible position on the bed.

"Pick up the vibrator, Scully.  Have you got the attachment 
on yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Put it on now, then turn the vibrator on low."  I did as 
Mulder told me, and the vibrator began humming in my hand 
again.  "Okay, I want you to touch it to the top of your 
mound, just above your pubic hair, and move it slowly 
downward toward your clit.  Slowly.  I want you to feel the 
gradual intensity of the vibrations as they get closer to 
your clit.  Don't touch your clit, though, until I tell you 
to."

"Okay..." I followed his instructions carefully, paying close 
attention to the increasing sensation the closer I got to 
my clitoris.  When I got to the point right above the hood, 
I began to moan softly, the deep, penetrating vibrations 
reaching my clit even without being in direct contact.  It 
was, in some ways, better than direct contact--gentler, 
deeper, less overwhelming.  I stayed there for some time, 
making soft sounds of pleasure, which were echoed by 
Mulder's own guttural moans.

"Okay, Scully, now...touch your clit.  Just for a second, 
then go back to what you were doing."

I moved the vibrator down just a centimeter and the rubber 
cup with its curved protrusion covering the head of the 
vibrator came into direct contact with my clitoris.  I 
yelled loudly, the feeling so intense as to be nearly 
unbearable.  It shot through me like a thunderbolt, and 
then was replaced by gentle, deep vibrations as I moved 
the massager back to the point just above the clit.

"That's good...I want you to do it again, but hold it there 
longer this time.  Hold it until I tell you to stop."

Oh, God...I prayed Mulder wouldn't ask me to hold it too 
long.  It really was nearly too intense to take for more 
than a few seconds at a time.  I touched my sensitive clit 
again and held it, fighting against the urge to pull away 
from the electrifying vibrations.  It seemed to go on 
forever, with me giving a never-ending series of moans and 
gasps, before Mulder finally told me to stop.

"Now I want you to fuck yourself with the vibrator, Scully.  
Don't wait for instructions from me.  Just do what feels 
good until you come, okay?  Be sure to let me hear you."

"Okay," I whispered.  I slid the curved end of the 
attachment into my convulsing vagina and groaned loudly.  
The end curled up toward the front wall of my canal and 
with a little bit of shifting, I found my g-spot.  I 
pressed there for a long moment, making incoherent noises 
and listening to Mulder's gruff, breathless encouragement.  
Then I began sliding it in and out of my body.  I quickly 
found a rhythm.  Push it in, find the g-spot, hold, 
withdraw, find the clit, hold, then in again.  The 
attachment wasn't long or thick enough to make a simple, 
fast, deep fucking very effective.  The Hitachi was a 
precision tool.  I followed that careful pattern, 
alternating the point of pressure for different sensations, 
and soon I felt my muscles growing tighter and tenser, 
winding up toward a release.

"Oh, God...Mulder...feels so good...wish it was 
you...inside me...God..." I babbled a breathless commentary 
on the sensations to Mulder before I lost my ability for 
clear or coherent speech.  I was aware of Mulder's steadily 
increasing groans and exclamations that finally erupted 
into a strangled shout.  Mulder would now hear me come 
without being distracted by his own orgasm.  The tension 
was becoming unbearable, approaching the point where 
something simply must give, and in desperation, I shoved 
the smooth side of the attachment hard against my clit and 
held it there, grinding roughly.  I came with a sob, 
shuddering and quivering, still holding the vibrator to my 
clit to drag out the sensations until at last I lay limp 
and sated on my bed.

"So, Scully," Mulder said after a long moment.  I realized 
the Hitachi was still turned on and shut it off.  "Was it 
good for you?"

I laughed, still gasping, with the occasional tremor 
running through my body.  "It was fantastic for me," I said 
at last.

We fell silent, quietly coming down from our climaxes, 
until I broke the silence with a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Think you can sleep now?" Mulder asked affectionately.

"I have no doubts whatsoever," I replied, stretching.  My 
body was growing heavy and my eyelids became increasingly 
stubborn in their refusal to remain open.

"Then get some rest.  I'll see you tomorrow," Mulder 
replied.  I managed to mutter a sleepy "good night," then 
fumbled with the phone until I found the base.  I set the 
Hitachi on the bedside table, knowing I should get up, get 
dressed and clean it, but I was unable to summon the 
energy.  I crawled under the covers, delighting in the 
decadent feel of the soft, cool cotton percale against my 
bare, sensitized skin and was soon asleep.


End of Part Three of Five


Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 4 of 5)
Kristel St. Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com


I made pasta.  Linguine with clam sauce to be exact.  I may 
have a tendency to live off junk food, but that doesn't 
mean I can't cook when I put my mind to it.  One of the 
benefits to an eidetic memory is you see a recipe once and 
it's yours for life.

I bought a French loaf, sliced it down the center, smeared 
it with butter, real minced garlic and parsley and put it 
in the oven to bake for fifteen minutes.  While it was 
baking, I opened the bottle of wine I had purchased, 
letting it breathe for a moment.

I had planned for Scully and me to have only a small glass 
with dinner, and even then I'd had to think hard about the 
decision.  On one hand, we were going to be doing a lot of 
heavy talking and it might help us to relax a bit, but I 
didn't want us to be impaired in any way.  In fact, if we 
had decided to do any playing that night, I wouldn't have 
bought the wine, period.  One thing I had discovered in my 
research years ago, after my relationship with Phoebe had 
ended was that any responsible practitioner of BDSM agrees 
that alcohol or drugs do not mix with scene-play.  The 
Dominant needs to have all his faculties intact to perform 
safely and responsibly, and the submissive needs to be aware 
enough to call a halt to things if she's in distress.  Not 
long ago, a story had made the news about a woman who had 
left her female lover chained to a Saint Andrew's cross 
while she went into the bathroom to shoot up.  The window had 
been open and the breeze had blown the curtains across the 
candles.  The submissive had been badly burned.

Scully wasn't the only person who had spent our time off 
doing research.  I had left her apartment last Sunday 
determined that if, after giving it some thought, Scully 
still wanted to pursue the matter, we would decide how to 
do it in as responsible and thorough manner as possible.  
The questionnaire I had sent Scully had been one such tool.  
I had found it on an online resource guide.  Actually, the 
list I'd found had been much longer than the scaled-down 
version I had sent her.  A great deal of it had been 
inapplicable, and quite a bit more had simply been 
distasteful.  I didn't need Scully to tell me what 
experience or interest she had with such things as 
bestiality, forced prostitution, scarification and scat.  
The list was to give me an idea of where Scully's limits 
lay, but I had limits myself.  Even if Scully had been 
willing to go there--which, knowing her as I did, I highly 
doubted--I wasn't; and as I had said to Scully earlier in 
the week, if it wasn't good for one of us, it wasn't good 
for either of us.  Besides, I was afraid that including 
those options would only muddy the waters, as it were.  
Leaving those possibilities in might have only served to 
make her more uncertain about whether what she wanted was 
something she should really be pursuing.

I was looking forward to discussing her responses.  Having 
a clear guideline of what Scully would do, wouldn't do, or 
might at some point be willing to do would be a tremendous 
help in determining how to go about conducting our scenes.  
Part of me feared I was perhaps rushing things, getting 
this involved so quickly, but I didn't want to take the 
chance of doing something that might hurt Scully out of 
ignorance.  I would rather be thorough, even at the risk of 
moving too fast.

It was seven o'clock when Scully arrived bearing her 
overnight bag.  I looked up from the clam sauce and felt a 
foolish grin break across my face.  She looked spectacular.  
Though we had spent Tuesday night together, I had missed 
her desperately.  Seeing her at work didn't count; often I 
thought of the Scully I knew at work and the Scully I knew 
at home as two different people.  One was Special Agent 
Dana Scully, a woman of formidable will and intelligence; 
the other was simply my lover, soft and gentle and 
wonderfully passionate.  An ache of happiness filled my 
chest when she smiled back, and before I knew it, I had 
dropped the wooden spoon into the sauce and was striding 
across my small kitchen to pull her into an embrace.  I 
cupped the back of her head firmly and kissed her hungrily, 
starved for the taste of her lips, delving into her mouth.

"Christ, I've missed you," I muttered feverishly against 
her lips.

Her hands toyed with the short hair at the back of my neck, 
sending shivers down my spine as she returned my kisses, 
her lips pulling at mine.  She hummed something at me that 
might have been a reply, but it was lost inside my mouth.  
I began pulling her knit top out of her jeans, seeking the 
feel of her skin beneath my hands.  The second I touched 
her warm flesh, though, it wasn't enough.  I pulled back, 
looking into her eyes, which were glittering with desire.

"Don't move," I said firmly.  I went back to the stove and 
turned the burner off beneath the sauce and took the garlic 
bread out of the oven.  When I turned around, Scully was 
right there behind me.  I pulled her back into my arms and 
shoved my hands inside the back of her shirt to touch her 
satiny skin once more.

"I can't wait anymore.  I want you, Mulder," she murmured, 
rising on tiptoe to kiss my neck.  "Here.  Now."

Who was I to argue?  Within moments, I had her pants and 
shoes off, and she was perched on the edge of the counter 
with me standing between her thighs, my cock pressing 
against her center, seeking entrance.

"Jesus, Mulder," Scully whispered harshly.  "Do it.  Make 
love to me."

I plunged forward with my hips and slid into her waiting 
body.  Our groans were simultaneous and loud.  She was hot 
and tight and soft all at once, and being within her was 
paradise on earth.  I felt I might explode from sheer 
pleasure.  Dragging her forward slightly with my hands on 
her ass, I withdrew and thrust in again hard.

"Oh, God, yes," she panted.  "More, Mulder."

"Not gonna...last long...Scuh--Scully," I warned her, 
feeling my control disintegrating.  I pumped wildly in and 
out of her body, feeling her muscles contract around my 
cock with exquisite tension.

"That's...okay," she replied.  "Neither will I.  
More...Faster...God, yes!"

I cut loose, slamming into her receptive body, listening to 
her moans and cries while her nails gouged painfully into 
my back and shoulders.  I pulled one of her hands away from 
my back and thrust it between our bodies, and picking up on 
my cue she rubbed her clit while I gripped her hip once 
more.  A high-pitched keening emerged from her throat, and 
I pressed harder, thrusting faster.  Soon, Scully's body 
tensed and then the spasms began, wave after wave of 
overwhelming pressure surrounding me.  Her head fell back 
against the cupboard behind her and her flushed face 
contorted in a grimace of pleasure.  I registered all this 
in an instant, delivering a few uncontrolled thrusts, 
before I felt myself slide over the edge.  I poured into 
her with a shuddering groan, breathlessly gasping her name.

I came back to myself slumped against her, my face buried 
against her neck, her arms and legs holding me.  For a long 
time I couldn't utter anything more coherent than a 
satisfied "Hmmm..."

I wrapped my arms around her torso and held her close for a 
moment, her soft breasts pressed against my chest.  It felt 
good to hold her after so many days of doing without.  
After a while, I drew away and began picking clothes off 
the floor, handing them to Scully while she remained seated 
on the countertop.

"Now that we've gotten that our of our systems, how about 
dinner?"

Scully smiled warmly.  "I'm starved," she replied.

*     *     *     *     *

Scully took the disinfectant spray to the countertop while 
I finished preparing dinner.  It wasn't until after we had 
finished eating that we began discussing the matter at the 
forefront of both our minds.

I sat on the couch, relaxing, with the survey Scully had 
emailed me printed out in my hands.  I was silent as I 
scanned her answers and Scully sat on a chair across from 
me, looking somewhat nervous.  I was surprised by some of 
her answers, particularly those relating to pain play.  A 
great many of the activities I thought she would have 
vetoed without consideration she had put down as future 
possibilities or at least something she would consent to if 
I demanded it, whether or not she enjoyed it.  She also was 
open to behavior modification activities, such as limiting 
the eye contact she could make with me, forms of address 
she could use, and so on.  I had originally assumed 
Scully's submissive tendencies mainly centered on sexual 
activity, but I now suspected they went deeper.

I began questioning her about her answers, trying to 
understand the thought processes behind them.

"Why did you rate whipping as something I could do even if 
you hated it?" I asked, watching her reactions intently.

"I almost didn't," she replied, looking away.  "But I was 
thinking about it--about all of it, not just the whipping--
and I realized I want more than just to be tied up and 
taken.  I might have mentioned last weekend I enjoyed the 
fact you pushed the boundaries of what I thought I wanted.  
When I started looking into all this earlier in the week, I 
realized I truly want to be controlled, and that if you feel 
you have no recourse for my disobeying you, then I wouldn't 
be able to feel as though I had fully turned myself over to 
you...given you control of me. 

"I wouldn't consider myself a masochist, though admittedly 
I've never really given a great deal of thought to the 
concept.  I'm frightened by the idea that you would ever--
do that.  But you have to have the freedom to correct me if 
I step out of line. I don't think I'll feel I'm truly in 
your power otherwise."

I blew my breath out in a hard sigh.  I remembered the 
times when Phoebe had whipped me far too well.  There was a 
part of me that had wanted it, but not for anything close 
to those reasons.  At twenty-something, I still blamed 
myself for my sister's disappearance.  My parents hadn't 
been abusive; my dad never laid a finger on me from the 
night Samantha was taken.  Instead, they had simply withdrawn 
and left me alone with my own feelings of guilt and remorse.  
They never made any effort to assure me Samantha's abduction 
*hadn't* been my fault and, therefore, I could only assume it 
was.  I hated myself for that, and Phoebe's punishment felt 
right.  Essentially, I allowed Phoebe to abuse me as a form 
of self-castigation.  I hadn't *wanted* to be whipped, hadn't 
gotten off on it, felt terrible about myself when she did it, 
and yet I emerged from the experience feeling shriven.

It was another example of how essentially wrong my 
relationship with Phoebe had been.  In place of acceptance, 
she had given me pain.  She had used my own self-loathing 
to meet her own sadistic ends.  I had lapped it up because 
I was starved for the attention, for someone to acknowledge 
my existence.  That realization served to emphasize how 
healthy and appropriate Scully's reasons for wanting the 
same things were.

I frowned, looking away from Scully.  "I should be honest 
with you--I doubt my ability to do that--to punish you that 
way, even for disobedience."

"Why?" She asked softly.

"I'm not a sadist, Scully.  I can't think of anything in 
the world I would want less than to cause you pain.  I've 
seen you hurt, and I would give my right arm never to see 
it again."

I looked up at Scully and her eyes glittered compassionately.  
"I didn't think about that, Mulder," she said quietly.  "I 
didn't think what such a prospect might mean for you 
emotionally and I should have.  I'm sorry."

I nodded, some of my earlier elation abandoning me.  How 
badly did she feel she needed this?  I didn't want her to 
ever feel that she was missing something important because 
of me.  I wanted to be the man who fulfilled all her 
desires, but the hesitant, insecure part of me wondered if 
I could be everything she needed.  Damn.

"If it's not something you feel right about, then we don't 
need to do it," Scully said softly.  "The only important 
thing here is that we're together.  I wouldn't jeopardize 
that for anything.  But I trust you, Mulder.  Besides, 
there's a difference between hurt and harm, you know.  
You're the only man on this planet I would trust not to harm 
me.  I think you need to recognize that difference as well.  
Just in the last week, you've shown me that pain--being 
*hurt*--can be accomplished without being harmed.  When 
you've done things such as pinching my nipples, or poking 
my clitoris something pointy, that's essentially what you 
were doing."

I nodded.  She was right, of course.  I'd sooner die than 
harm her, but I hadn't balked at causing her a bit of pain 
last weekend during our scene.  Still, there was a world of 
difference between that brand of erotic pain and the kind of 
punishment she was proposing.  I would need to think that 
detail over before deciding what I was and wasn't capable 
of doing for Scully.

I drew a deep breath, afraid I might be treading on 
dangerous ground.  "There's another reason I worry, Scully.  
Sometimes...sometimes you have trouble communicating with 
me when you're in pain or distress.  You try to be strong 
and stoic and not let me see how it affects you.  You trust 
me with your life and your body, but you don't trust me 
enough to let me know when you're hurting, to let me know 
when you feel--weak.  If--*if*--we were to pursue this, 
you're going to have to trust me with a hell of a lot more 
than your life.  You're going to have to trust me enough to 
show pain in front of me; to be weak, if that's how you 
insist on seeing it.  Because this whole thing revolves 
around communication, and I am going to need to know 
everything you're thinking and feeling, or it won't work.  
If we do this, the words 'I'm fine' can't exist in your 
vocabulary anymore."

Scully was silent for a long moment, frowning pensively.  I 
think she was trying to decide whether to be offended or 
not.  Finally, she gave a stiff, jerky nod.  "That's fair 
enough," she answered at last.  "You're right.  I don't 
like to admit when I'm hurting.  If I am going to trust you 
to have that sort of power over me, then I suppose you have 
to be able to trust me to be honest about what I'm feeling."

We fell silent for a moment and I set Scully's list aside.  
"How much of our time did you want to spend on this?" I 
asked at last.

She shook her head.  "I'm really not sure.  Quite frankly, 
I think you might be a better judge of what we should do 
there than I am.  After last weekend, I'm not confident I 
won't be...over-enthusiastic."

I was helpless to prevent laughing.  Scully was looking to 
me to provide moderation.  Would wonders never cease?

Sobering, I thought about it.  "I'd say once a week would 
be enough to start with.  Perhaps on a Saturday, so we can 
start early and go as long as we want.  We can decide later 
if we want to spend more or less time on it.  I enjoyed 
what we did last weekend, but I still need you as just my 
lover and friend.  I enjoy that time together, and I don't 
want to lose it or spend too little time on it."

"Of course," Scully murmured.

"From what you've indicated here about behavior 
restrictions and such, I assume you're talking about more 
than just physical domination.  You want to get into the 
mental aspects?"

She nodded.  "I've thought about that a lot," she said 
softly.  "I think part of what worked the most for me last 
weekend was the way you commanded me, the way you made me 
*believe*...I wasn't just pretending after a while.  I 
believed in your control over me.  I want to explore that 
more...I want to feel it's more than a game."

I swallowed.  This was it then; this was where we tested 
the boundaries.  I cleared my throat and spoke.

"If that's how you want it, then you should know I plan to 
be demanding when we're in these scenes together," I warned 
her, my voice firm.  I had to make sure we were absolutely 
clear on this.  "You've mentioned punishment.  If you're 
putting yourself in my hands, then I won't take no for an 
answer and your only out is your safe-word.  Do you 
understand?"

"Yes," she replied, looking away.  After a long moment, she 
met my eyes again and gave a shuddering sigh.  "That's what 
I want, Mulder.  That's how much control I want you to have 
over me."

Amazing.  Simply amazing.  Scully was an intriguing 
combination of trepidation and arousal, sitting across from 
me with her hands clenched in her lap and her pupils dilated.  
Despite the seriousness of the moment, I was getting 
aroused. I shifted uncomfortably and tried to focus on the 
matter at hand.

What Scully was offering me was the ultimate act of 
faith.  She was offering to let me have what she had never 
willingly turned over to anyone, and I wasn't unaware of the 
responsibility that came with that honor. 

Taking a deep breath, I met her eyes squarely.  "I won't be 
me, and I doubt you'll be you when we're playing together 
like this," I said.  "It's like you said--you became a 
different person for a while.  That's the point; for us to 
let go of who we are and be who we want to be for a while.  
I want to be sure, though, that who we are when we're 'in 
scene' together doesn't spill over into who we are in our 
other times together, so I don't think we should call each 
other by our names.  Scully is my partner and my lover.  
She's not my pet or my sex toy or...or whatever.  I don't 
want her to be.  So...we need to come up with something else 
for me to call you when we're playing."

Scully didn't answer, and her expression was distant and 
dreamy.  After a moment she blinked and looked at me, 
smiling abashedly.  "Sorry.  I was still stuck on 'sex 
toy.'"

I laughed and Scully gave me a grin that let me know what 
had been her intention all the while.  Scully always could 
give me a run for my money in the innuendo department.  I 
was taking this perhaps *too* seriously, my previous 
negative experience having made me leery of the whole 
thing.  We were serious about it, but that didn't mean we 
couldn't enjoy it.

"I'm going to have to be on the lookout for this 
mischievous streak of yours," I said, chuckling.  "In your 
research, did you come across the term 'brat-bottom'?"

"No, I didn't.  What is it?"

"It's a submissive who intentionally cuts up for the 
express purpose of being disciplined," I said.  "The 
practice tends to be frowned upon as a form of 'topping 
from the bottom' where it's the sub who's actually running 
the show, even if it's the Dominant wielding the paddle."

"Sounds intriguing," Scully replied with a smirk.  I wagged 
a finger at her in warning and she subsided.  "Where were 
we?"

"I was asking if you had any suggestions on what I should 
call you when we're playing."

"Well, you could always call me Dana."

We both considered a moment, then shook our heads in 
unison.  "No..."

Scully thought about it a moment longer.  "My great-
grandmother Katherine used to call me Katie."

I thought about it.  "Katie..." I said finally, trying the 
name out on my tongue.  It didn't work for me.  An idea 
struck, something I knew Scully would hate, but which might 
just work.  "Kat..." I tried the name out for size and 
Scully narrowed her eyes as I continued, "That's it.  I'll 
call you Kat."

She grimaced.  "Oh, come on, Mulder.  At least make it 
Kate?"

"What would the fun in that be?" I asked.  "Now, whenever I 
call you Kat, you'll remember I chose that name for you and 
*that is* your name, whether you like it or not."  I watched 
her reaction carefully.  If she wanted me to have total 
control over her, then this was the time to accept it.

Scully squirmed.  "Damn.  I'm way more turned on by that 
idea than I should be."  She paused for a moment, then 
asked, "So what should I call you?"

The test was passed; she was accepting it.  "Well, I don't 
think you should call me Mulder, and you're sure as hell 
not going to call me Fox.  A lot of subs just call their 
Dominants, 'Sir.'"

Scully considered and shook her head.  "I don't think that 
would work.  I have to use the term 'sir' for too many 
superiors at the FBI to want to associate it with you."

True.  I did not want our play-time evoking images of 
Skinner, or worse, Kersh, in Scully's mind.  "You could 
call me Master," I said, finding the idea rather ridiculous 
myself.  I had thought it would make her laugh.  I was 
wrong.

Scully blinked, looking stunned.  "I guess that's pretty 
accurate, isn't it?" she said after a long moment, her 
voice muted.  "That's what I've been asking for."

"Are you all right with that?" I asked, surprised she was 
taking the suggestion seriously.

"Yes," she sighed.  "Yes.  That's what I want; that's what 
this is all about.  But hearing the word makes it all so 
much more real.  It's one thing to say you'll have control 
over me, and quite another for me to acknowledge you as my 
master.  They essentially mean the same thing, and yet it 
feels different..." she paused.  "It's going to take some 
getting used to."

"I'll give you a while to adjust," I promised, understanding
that since I had thrown the word out there, there was no 
chance that Scully would consider calling me anything else--
not that I had any other suggestions that weren't downright 
absurd anyway.  "After that, when you address me 
inappropriately during a scene, there will be consequences."

She gnawed on her lip and nodded solemnly.  Suddenly I'd 
had enough of the talk.  I knew where to begin, and if we 
had other issues to work out, we could discuss them later.  
Now, I just wanted Scully.

"Come here," I murmured.  Scully rose from the chair and 
moved over to where I sat on the sofa.  She didn't seem to 
know what to do with herself.  I stood and looked down into 
her face.  "We'll start tomorrow," I said, taking her face 
in my hands.  "Tonight, I just want the woman I love.  I 
just want you..."

I kissed her gently, interlocking my lips with hers for a 
long moment before pressing forward with my tongue.  She 
opened willingly, and with a small sigh wrapped her arms 
around my torso.  I pushed her backward until her knees hit 
the edge of the sofa and she sat; then I went down on my 
knees in front of her.

"You're beautiful," I murmured, reaching up to kiss her 
again.  I quickly removed her shirt and bra, tossing them 
to the far end of the sofa, then kissed my way down her 
neck and over her shoulders, closing my mouth over her 
nipple.  Scully gave a sharp gasp and I began to apply 
suction.

"Ohhh, God, Mulder..." She crooned, threading her fingers 
through the hair in back of my head.  "That feels so 
good..."

I changed breasts, devoting equal time and attention to 
both.  I worshipped the hard, dark nipples with my tongue 
and massaged her soft flesh between my lips.  Scully arched 
her back, her head resting on the back of the sofa while 
her breasts thrust forward to meet my mouth.  I softly 
stroked up and down her torso with my hands.  Her skin was 
soft and slightly chilled under my touch.

"Are you cold?" I asked, pulling my lips from her pebble-
hard nipple for a moment.

"No!" She shook her head emphatically.  "Just don't 
stop..."

I turned my attention back to her breasts and began to 
remove the pants she had donned again after our interlude 
in the kitchen.  She lifted her hips, enabling me to draw
her pants down her thighs and, at the same time, causing
her to thrust her breasts closer to my face.  Soon she was 
naked, her white skin luminescent against the black leather 
of the sofa, and I made my way down her belly with my 
mouth.  When I closed my lips over the moist heat of her 
sex, Scully shuddered violently and moaned.

I was without mercy, working her clit with my lips and 
tongue for what seemed like forever until she was bucking 
and moaning on the sofa.  She came once with thunderous 
force and then again only a moment later when I thrust my 
fingers into her dripping center.  Still I kept at it, 
feeling the damp perspiration on her thighs as they cradled 
my face and reveling in the unrestrained writhing of her 
body.  Thrusting my fingers rapidly and forcefully into her 
body, penetrating hard and fast, I then closed my teeth 
softly over her clit and she shrieked, fingers pulling at 
my hair painfully, wracked with uncontrollable spasms and 
shudders as she came yet again.  I continued to gently kiss 
her sex and inner thighs, moving my fingers in and out of 
her canal slowly as she slumped on the sofa, panting and 
making small, weak whimpering noises.

"Please, no more," she whispered, and I looked up to see an 
exhausted tear trailing from her eye, mingling with the 
sweat dotted on her brightly flushed face.  She gave me a 
trembling smile and I felt my chest constrict, my heart 
missing a beat as I was overwhelmed with adoration for her.  
Never had my emotions run such a gamut.  There were times 
when I admired her for her courage and intelligence and 
times she drove me up the wall with her stubborn insistence 
on proof in the face of the undeniable.  There were times I 
wanted nothing more than to hold her and protect her and 
times I wanted nothing more than to be held and protected 
by her.   And then there were times when I was simply left 
in stunned astonishment at the selfless way she had 
dedicated her whole life to me.  I loved her with a power 
that frightened me as much as it elated me, knowing she 
held my whole life in the palm of her hand.

I told her as much in whispers as I kissed my way back up 
her body to her lips.  Finally I rose from knees gone stiff 
with kneeling and reached out my hand to help her to her 
feet.  She tried to rise and her legs wobbled and buckled 
beneath her, so I caught her and held her gently against me
until she had regained her balance.  Without a murmur of 
protest, she allowed me to lead her to the bed.  She sat on 
the edge while I undressed, and I watched her face, taking 
in that enigmatic Scully smile as she viewed my raging 
erection.  I was in agony, desperate to bury myself in her 
body, but I took my time stripping, giving her time to 
recover her energy.  When I was nude, I crawled onto the bed 
and sank into her open arms and legs.  I pulled a couple of 
pillows down, and Scully lifted her ass to allow me to 
tuck them under her hips; then I sank my shaft into her 
waiting heat.

I kissed her while I made love to her; slow kisses, fast 
kisses, hard kisses and butterfly soft kisses.  I took my 
time thrusting in and out, savoring her exquisite tightness 
and scalding heat.  When I finally lifted myself up on my 
arms and began to thrust in earnest, I stared into her 
wide-open eyes.  She gazed back, biting her bottom lip 
and occasionally gasping.  She was tired and perhaps 
a bit too overly sensitized from her earlier orgasms for 
this to be entirely pleasurable for her, and I doubted she 
would come again.  I'd like to say I was a strong enough 
man to pull out and go to sleep with this burning need in 
my balls, but I wasn't.  Nothing short of her asking me to 
stop could keep me from finishing.  But I kept watching her 
eyes for any indication of distress.

"Don't worry about me," she finally whispered between 
gasps.  "Let go.  I want to feel you come."

With a strangled groan, I buried my face in her neck and 
she clasped her arms tightly around me.  Her whispered 
entreaty signified the end of my control, and I began to 
pump hard into her body, moving quickly but with little 
finesse or rhythm.  Only seconds later I came, my shout 
muffled against her soft, damp skin, my penis burning with 
the force of my orgasm.  I sank down upon her, my muscles 
failing me and drew deep, harsh breaths against her skin.  
She stroked my hair and back softly, crooning words of love 
and reassurance, kissing the top of my head where it lay 
just above her breasts.  It was a long moment I lay there, 
knowing I was too heavy for her but too drained to move.  
Finally, I mustered up the strength to roll off her body 
and flopped over onto my back beside her.

I lay there slowly regaining the ability to move or think 
again while Scully rose from the bed and padded naked into 
the bathroom.  I heard the sounds of water running as she 
washed her body and face and brushed her teeth.  I finally 
moved and stripped the cases off the pillows that had been 
underneath Scully's backside and tossed them into the 
hamper, and fluffed the remaining, clean pillows for us to 
sleep on.  I straightened the covers that had been twisted 
and disarrayed with our lovemaking and then took my turn in 
the bathroom when Scully emerged.

When I had finished wiping the sweat off my body with a 
damp washcloth and brushing my teeth, I returned to the 
bedroom to find Scully already sound asleep, naked beneath 
the covers.  I crawled into bed behind her and snuggled 
close, folding one arm beneath the pillow under her head 
and tucking the other around her waist.  Unconsciously, she 
wiggled until her bare body was pressed against mine, and 
pulling the blankets over myself, I too fell into an 
exhausted sleep.


End of Part Four of Five


Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust and Desire (Part 5 of 5)
Kristel St. Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com


As soon as Scully stirred Saturday morning, so did I, 
awakened by the movements of her body against mine.  At 
first, I didn't think--I just nuzzled her neck, my morning 
erection cheerfully pressing against her backside.  Then I 
remembered it was Saturday, the day we would begin 
exploring the other side of our relationship as Dominant 
and submissive.  I considered how best to approach the 
issue; I had made some plans, but I didn't know how to 
smoothly segue into those roles once we had started the day 
as ourselves.  The last time we had tried this, we had 
started out in the mindset we had needed.  I figured that 
was as good a way to go as any and decided rather than
waiting, to begin now, before we could fall into our normal
roles.

I was nervous, I realized.  As much as I wanted to do this 
myself, it was especially important to me that I not screw it 
up for Scully's sake.  The concern that I might grow too used 
to being in control where Scully was concerned was a real 
one.  I had struggled long and hard in my life to gain some 
control, rather than being everyone's puppet.  Perhaps I might 
be unwilling to yield any once I had it.  I had to trust that 
Scully wouldn't let me do that, that just as she could return 
from the place where she relinquished control, I could return 
from the place where I claimed it.

There was also the fact I'd never been a Dominant before, 
and the one example I'd ever had of a top was far from 
being a good one.  How the hell was I supposed to know if I 
was doing it right?

I didn't know, and I wasn't going to find out until I did 
something, so taking a deep breath, I combed my hand into 
Scully's hair and, gently pulled her head back so that her 
face was turned to me.  Her eyes were still half-lidded 
with sleep and a small smile curved her lips.  Putting my 
lips against her ear, I whispered, "Who are you?"

"Wha--?" She blinked, waking slowly, and gave me a puzzled 
stare.

"It's Saturday," I said, not releasing her hair.  I ran the 
forefinger of my other hand down her cheekbone and over her 
lips before dragging it down her neck and collarbone to 
claim one breast territorially.  Today I had full 
possession of this woman's body, I reminded myself.   She 
was mine.  "Who are you?"

She was suddenly completely awake as she understood my 
meaning.  Her eyes were wide and her mouth worked 
soundlessly for a moment before she whispered, "Kat."

"Say it again," I commanded.

She looked away, squirming.  "Kat," she whispered again.

"Say it to *me*," I said insistently, pulling her head back 
up to look at me.

"I'm Kat," she said, her voice firmer, and she grimaced as 
she spoke the name.  I could see her pulse fluttering in 
her throat.

I moved my lips along her cheek, a mere breath away from 
her skin.  "And are you mine?" I breathed against her face.

She swallowed hard.  "Yes," she murmured.  Her nipples grew 
hard as she spoke the word, and her breathing accelerated.  
She was becoming aroused as I exerted control over her.  
Suddenly I wasn't so unsure of myself.  This was what she 
wanted.

"Say it to me again, all of it," I instructed her, my voice 
still low and soft and calm.  "Who are you, and who do you 
belong to?"

"I'm Kat," she said softly, her pupils dilated.  "And I 
belong to you."

"Very good," I said and kissed her mouth gently.  She 
sighed and yielded to the kiss, melting against me, and I 
lingered, stroking her skin with my hands.  After a long 
moment, I pulled away and rolled onto my back, half-reclined 
against the headboard.  My cock tented the covers over my 
hips, and I pulled them back, revealing my arousal.  

I softly pushed on Scully's head.  "Take me in your mouth," 
I told her, and without hesitation she slid down to the 
foot of the bed and crawled between my legs.  Pushing her 
tousled hair back from her face, she bent over and slid her 
lips down my shaft.

I sighed heavily and closed my eyes, relaxing as she went 
to work with her lips and teeth and tongue.  I could take 
my time; I knew I wouldn't be able to ejaculate until after 
I had made a trip to the restroom.  I left my hands lying 
loosely at my sides, not touching or rushing her in any way 
but simply enjoying her efforts.  She ran her tongue around 
the head of my cock, teasing the slit in the end and the 
sensitive backside before engulfing me in her mouth until I 
touched her soft palate.  She drew back, encircling my 
shaft and sucking hard while she pulled away.  I groaned 
and shifted my hips when she wrapped her lips around the 
head and sucked it rapidly in and out.  Occasionally she 
would release my shaft, or stroke it with her hand and lick 
my sac, pulling the halves gently into her mouth and 
running her tongue over them before releasing them and 
returning to my cock.  After several minutes, I told her to 
stop.  She looked up at me, her face flushed with exertion 
and her lips full and red and glistening.  She looked wild 
and exotic with her hair uncombed and floating around her 
face and her eyes dark and wide with arousal.  And she was 
mine.

"I want you to go and start a pot of coffee, then meet me 
back here in bed," I said, rising to get out of bed.  
Scully slipped out the other side and reached for one of my 
button-down shirts, which she habitually wore on the 
mornings she spent here at my apartment.  I walked around 
the foot of the bed and caught her wrist as she slid one 
arm into the shirt.

"Did I tell you to get dressed?" I asked.

She blinked, looking stunned.  "No, but--"

"Go make the coffee," I said firmly, pulling the shirt off 
her arm and taking it from her hands.  "You can close the 
blinds if you feel the need, but you're not to get dressed 
until I tell you to."

She looked on the verge of rebelling and I wondered briefly 
if I was pushing too far, but she nodded jerkily and left 
the room, her naked derriere swinging as she disappeared 
through the door.

While Scully made the coffee I used the toilet and brushed 
my teeth.  I would shower a little later when I was done 
playing with Scully.  By the time I emerged, Scully was 
back, perched on the edge of the bed looking nervous.  I 
could hear the sound of the coffeemaker burbling in the 
kitchen.

"You can use the bathroom if you need to, and brush your 
teeth, then come back to bed," I instructed her.  She rose 
silently and began to walk past me when I stopped her by 
closing my hand over her shoulder.  She froze in place, her 
body tense, and I pushed her chin up with my fingers and 
forced her to meet my eyes.  I stared at her for a long 
moment, looking for any indication something wasn't working 
for her, but in spite of her tension, her eyes were placid.  
I nodded and released her, and she went into the bathroom 
and closed the door behind her.

A few moments later she returned and approached the bed, 
looking at me uncertainly.  I held out my hand and she 
placed hers within it.  Gently but insistently, I tugged 
her to the bed.  "I'm going to take you now," I announced, 
still taking care to keep my voice soft and calm.  "I want 
you to get on your hands and knees and hold the headboard."

Eyes wide, she did as I had instructed her, climbing onto 
the bed and positioning herself as I had told her to.  I 
tucked a pillow between her head and the headboard to 
protect her from any accidental collision and then moved in 
behind her.

I draped myself over her body, wrapping my arms around her 
torso to grab her breasts, which I massaged and kneaded 
until she moaned softly.  I pinched the nipples gently, 
eliciting a sharp gasp and a wriggle.  Pulling one hand 
away, I slapped her quickly and lightly on the hip.  "Don't 
move," I said and returned to playing with her breasts.  I 
pinched her nipples again, harder, and again, increasing 
the pressure until she gave a sharp cry, then I rubbed 
them softly.  I slid my hands down her back and over her 
buttocks before slipping one between her slightly parted 
thighs.

"Spread your legs," I commanded, and she obediently shifted 
her knees further apart.  I pressed my finger between her 
folds to find her moist and pulsing.  Wetting my finger 
inside her, I moved it forward and began to circle her 
clit.

"You're wet, Kat," I commented, the name feeling strange on 
my tongue.  Perhaps someday I would grow used to it.  I 
supposed I must if I were to truly believe that, on 
Saturdays, she was not Scully.  She was mine...my pet, my 
toy, my property.  "I think you like this."

She sighed, humming with pleasure, and I rubbed her 
clitoris harder.  "Do you like this, Kat?"

"Yes," she murmured, her voice muffled against the pillow.

I took my finger away from her clit, wiping it dry upon her 
hip, and seized her nipple again, pinching firmly.  "Yes, 
what?"

She hesitated, moaning softly until I released her nipple 
and rubbed it gently.  "Yes!" She said again, ignoring my 
demand for specification.

"Yes, what?" I said, my voice louder and firmer, and 
pinched her again, even harder.  She yelped at the pain and 
squirmed, making a noise somewhere between a whimper and a 
moan deep in her throat.  Without letting go, I asked, "Who 
am I, Kat?"

"Mmm---" She faltered, trying to pull away from my pinching 
fingers and only succeeded in causing herself more 
discomfort.  She cried out loudly.  I almost released her, 
instinctively inclined to give her mercy, but I didn't 
allow myself to do it.  I had promised her I would be 
demanding, and I would keep that promise despite my own 
initial instincts.  It was what she wanted, what she had 
agreed to.

"Say it!  Who am I?"

"M--Master!" she gasped, her voice high and breathless.  
"Master," she breathed again, softly.  I stroked her 
offended nipple gently, soothing it as she trembled at the 
resulting pain and tension.  "Master," she whispered 
finally, sinking weakly into the pillow.

"Look at me," I said softly.  After a long moment, she 
turned her reddened face to the side and looked up at me, 
still on her knees with her head on the pillow.  Her eyes 
were bright and wild.  "Are you all right?" I asked gently, 
falling out of my dominant role for a moment.  I wasn't 
sure yet of how far to push this.

She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip slightly.  I 
breathed a sigh of relief.

"So you remember the safe-word I gave you last week?"

Another nod as her breathing gradually slowed.

"Tell it to me."

"Flukeman," she whispered.  I nodded in satisfaction.

"That's right.  You can stop this by saying it, you know 
that, don't you?"

"Yes," she murmured, then: "Yes, Master."

My heart skipped a beat, a thrill of elation and arousal 
rushing through me as my concern abated.  She was still 
into it.  I lay down on the bed on my back and slid my head 
underneath her torso, taking her sore nipple into my mouth.  
She whimpered as I stroked it with my tongue and sucked it 
softly between my lips.  At first, her sounds were of 
discomfort, but they gradually transformed to pleasure.  
Withdrawing from beneath her, I bent down and kissed her 
lips gently.  Her lips clung to mine, her sigh contented, 
and she lifted her head from the pillow to deepen the kiss, 
which I allowed.  She opened her mouth in mute invitation, 
and I thrust my tongue inside, devouring her.  Finally I 
pulled away and moved in behind her again, running my hands 
over her back and ass soothingly.  I slid my hand between 
her thighs again to find her, if anything, wetter than she 
had been before.

"You do like this," I said, half-wonderingly.

"Yes, Master," she answered automatically, though it had 
been a statement rather than a question.  I closed my eyes; 
overwhelmed for a moment at the responsibility I faced in 
possessing her this way.  She was mine to care for and 
protect as well as command and instruct.  When we were 
together like this, she was totally reliant upon me.  It 
was an awe-inspiring thought, and again I considered the 
trust it took for her to give herself to me this way.

"I love you," I said softly, and began rubbing her clitoris 
firmly and kissing the small of her back, just above her 
buttocks.  After a moment she was groaning and sighing with 
pleasure, her hips moving uncontrollably, which left me 
staring at her marvelously shaped back and ass as she 
writhed.  I gripped my cock in my other hand and positioned 
myself at her entrance.  I nudged forward and she moaned 
loudly.

"Yes, oh yes..."

"You want me to fuck you?" I asked.

"Yes, God, yes please..."

"Please, what?"

She whimpered desperately.  "Please, *Master*, fuck me..."

"Well, since you ask so nicely..." I thrust forward, 
increasing the pressure of my fingers on her clit 
simultaneously, and slid into her waiting wetness.

She wailed--there's no other word for it--a low, keening 
sound that started in the back of her throat and 
crescendoed, getting louder and higher pitched as I drove 
further into her body, until I was seated to the hilt, at 
which point she sighed loudly.  I stroked her back with my 
free hand, following the fine ridges of her spine with my 
fingers and watching the subtle movements of her muscles 
beneath her skin.  She was exquisite.

I pulled out and thrust back in again quickly, grunting 
with the effort as I did so.  Her internal muscles clamped 
around my cock with overwhelming pressure and I knew this 
wouldn't last long.  Continuing my firm circles around her 
clit, I began to move, thrusting fast and hard, her soft 
exclamations with each new thrust driving me closer to the 
edge.  Within moments I felt her shudder and her walls 
tightened around me.  She gave a breathless shout and 
buried her face in the pillow, grasping the headboard in a 
white-knuckled grip as she rode the spasms out.  I removed 
my hand from her clitoris and gripped her hips, pumping 
furiously into her body as her back arched and her 
breathless moans continued.  It was only a few moments 
later when I poured myself into her, cursing through 
gritted teeth and giving a few more jerky thrusts with my 
hips before I sagged against her.

I only remained there only for the few moments it took me 
to regain enough strength to move.  I lifted my weight off 
her and rubbed her skin lightly.

"Here, lay down," I said and she slid her legs out from 
beneath her and rolled onto her side, facing me.  Her knees 
were reddened from being pressed into the mattress, and for 
as long as she had been in that position, I knew they were 
stiff.  I began to massage her calves and knees gently while 
she lay silent and pliable before me.

"That was wonderful," I said approvingly, smiling at her.  
She returned the smile tremulously, looking rather shell-
shocked.  I leaned forward and kissed her softly, 
whispering praise and reassurances in her ear.  After a 
moment, she flexed her legs experimentally and sighed in 
relief.

"Better?" I asked, sliding one hand up her thigh and over 
her hip to rest at the dip of her waist.

She nodded and I gave her a stern look.  "Yes, Master," she 
amended the response.  I had expected a grimace to 
accompany the words but it didn't.  She seemed calm and at 
peace, even happy.  "Thank you."

"Very good.  Now go take a shower, then you can join me in 
the kitchen for breakfast," I told her and gave her a firm 
pat on the bottom to motivate her to move.  She moved, but 
rather than getting out of bed, Scully wriggled closer to 
my hand, smiling widely and stretching.  Seeing that 
caressing her wasn't going to convince her to obey any 
quicker, I pinched her butt firmly and she gave a startled 
yelp.

"Ow!"

"See, that's what you get for not obeying my instructions," 
I told her, unable to force myself to sound as firm as I 
knew I should be.  I was simply too thrilled to see her 
smiling.  Despite my words, she seemed disinclined to move, 
and I pinched her other cheek.  She yelped again, but still 
didn't rise from the bed.

"I don't want to move," she said.  "Let's go back to sleep 
for a while, please?  You wore me out."

"Too bad," I answered.  "I have plans for us today and we 
need to get moving.  Now go."

I slapped her butt lightly, unwilling to hurt her or punish 
her when she was so obviously cheerful, but it had no 
effect.

"Are you trying to provoke me?" I asked incredulously, 
unable to resist smiling myself.  "Do you think I won't 
punish you for disobedience?"

She giggled--giggled!--and I shook my head in warning.  I'm 
sure my stern demeanor lacked something, given the fact I 
could not for the life of me banish the grin from my own 
countenance.  "I think you are trying to provoke me.  I 
think you want to see what I'll do if you don't obey, 
right?  What do you think I'll do, spank you?  Pinch your 
nipples again?  Is that what you want?"

She didn't answer, but simply stared at me, her eyes wide 
and her lips parted.  I realized she really was trying to 
figure out what I would do to her if she disobeyed.  The 
specter of punishment was there, and rather than allowing it 
to remain an unknown quantity, she wanted me to reveal what 
would happen so she could weigh the merits of obedience 
versus disobedience.  I frowned at her.

"The last thing you'll get for willful disobedience is what 
you want or expect," I said, forcing myself to be serious.  
"Therefore, you *will not* get a spanking, or any other 
kind of physical punishment.  Instead, you get to go make 
breakfast for me while *I* take a shower."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, 
striding toward the bathroom.  When I looked back, she was 
staring at me in amazement.  "Eggs and toast will be fine," 
I tossed over my shoulder, then paused again in the doorway 
to the bathroom when I heard her sigh and move on the bed.  
"And Kat--" I added, looking at her again.  She was now on 
her feet and definitely not looking amused.  Rather, she 
looked embarrassed and irritated.  "--no clothes," I 
reminded her.  Her eyes narrowed in an expression that 
looked suspiciously like a scowl.

I closed the door behind me before she could reply.  Only 
after I had the shower safely running did I allow myself to 
give in to the laughter building inside my chest.

*     *     *     *     *

I must say, when Scully does something, she doesn't do it 
by half-measures.  I emerged from the shower to find her in 
the kitchen in nothing but her skin, her delectable 
backside turned toward me while she buttered toast at the 
counter.  It was among the most erotic sights I had ever 
seen.

She turned around when she heard me behind her.  She had 
scrambled some eggs and had them dished out onto two plates 
and had just finished with the last piece of toast.  As I 
drew near, I could see she had crumbs dotting her breasts.  
I leaned down and cleaned them off with my tongue.  "Let's 
eat."

Two cups of coffee and small glasses of orange juice were 
already on the table, so only the plates remained.  She had 
been busy.  We sat at the small two-seater table against 
the wall, Scully squirming at the cool varnished wood of 
the chair against her bare skin.  By that time, we were 
both starved.  I decided not to set any restrictions on her 
sitting at the table or eating, because I enjoyed having 
her there, naked, across the table from me.  I also felt 
forbidding her to eat or sit at the table bordered on 
humiliation play, and I really didn't want to go there.  If 
she was going to be my submissive, I wanted her to be proud 
of the fact, not humbled by it.  It also could prove a 
powerful punishment tool, to take away such assumed 
privileges if the situation called for it.

"May I ask what you have planned for us today?" Scully 
asked after we had both taken several bites and the edge on 
our hunger had dulled.  Her voice was stronger than it had 
been in the bedroom as she gained confidence in her role.  
I allowed the fact she hadn't addressed me as "Master" to 
slip.  There's respect, and then there's affectation; I 
preferred the former.

"We're going shopping for supplies," I answered.  "There 
are some toys and equipment I want to have.  I'll be 
choosing what I want to get, and I'm taking you along to 
try things on for size."

"I see," she replied, her voice muted.  Several moments 
passed with us eating in silence, until we were almost 
finished.  "Where will we be going?"

I could practically read her thoughts; if we went shopping 
for the kind of supplies I had in mind here in Washington, 
there was a chance, however minor, of being spotted by 
someone we knew in a place she would really prefer not to 
be seen.

"Come here," I said.  With surprisingly little hesitation, 
Scully rose and stepped around the small table to approach 
my chair.  I put my hands on her waist and pulled her 
close, until she was straddling my legs, facing me as I 
continued to sit.  I pressed her downward until she was 
seated on my knees.

"What would you do if I said I planned to do the shopping 
here in Washington?" I asked seriously.  I genuinely wanted 
to know; we hadn't discussed what level of discretion we 
wanted to maintain in these games the previous night.  I 
stroked her bare breasts softly.

Scully blinked and thought for a long moment, and I could 
see the struggle on her face.  Finally she took a deep, 
trembling breath and answered, "I would go with you as you 
planned.  It's your prerogative to decide where we go, 
whatever I may think of it."

A thrill of elation ran through me at her words and her 
commitment to this game.  Sublimating her own wishes in the 
matter didn't come easily or readily to her, but she was 
doing it.  She was doing it because some part of her I 
could never hope to understand actually wanted to belong to 
me.  I ran my hands up her ribs, caressing her.  "Kiss me," 
I ordered her.

Without hesitating, she leaned forward and pressed her lips 
to mine, stroking softly, waiting to see if I would take 
the lead in guiding the kiss.  I pulled back just a 
fraction of an inch.  "You can touch me.  Put your arms 
around me and kiss me."

She leaned forward and slid her arms around my bare 
shoulders.  Her breasts pressed warm and soft against my 
bare chest and I felt my cock stir within the confines of 
my jeans.  She opened her lips and slanted her mouth across 
mine, stroking my lips with her tongue.  I made a soft 
sound of pleasure and encouragement and she became bolder, 
sucking and nibbling on my bottom lip, and when I opened my 
mouth, she thrust her tongue inside and kissed me 
demandingly.

I parted my knees, spreading her legs further apart as they 
straddled mine, and began fingering her folds, finding her 
slick with new arousal and her thighs sticky from our 
earlier coupling.  I thrust my fingers inside quickly and 
she moaned into my mouth, a soft mewl of pleasure.  I moved 
my fingers in and out, stroking her clit with my thumb, 
until she forgot about kissing me and arched backward.  She 
thrust her hips forward against my hand, her head falling 
back and baring her long, slender neck.  I pressed hot, 
moist kisses to her throat and shoulders and listened to 
her whimpers and sighs for a long moment, then slowly 
withdrew my fingers and sucked them into my mouth, cleaning 
our fluids off them.

"Go take your shower," I commanded, kissing her one last 
time.  "I'll clean up from breakfast.  You can get dressed 
afterward; we have a lot to do today."

She nodded and rose from my lap, sliding off my legs and 
walking away.  When she reached the archway leading into 
the rest of the apartment, I called out to her.

"Kat?"

"Yes, Master?" She answered automatically, turning to face 
me fully.  I smiled; realizing that using the name I had 
given her would prove to be a powerful instrument in 
triggering her submissive state of mind.

"We're going to Philadelphia," I said, answering her 
earlier question.  She smiled softly in relief and I 
watched her, enraptured.  She looked beautiful and wild and 
elegant standing there in the doorway as bare as the day 
she was born.  She was magnificent.

"Thank you," she murmured, and turned away.


End of Aphrodisia II - Fear, Trust, and Desire


I apologize...I was so busy remembering who all I needed to give 
credit to in my author's notes that I forgot to mention this story is 
the second in a series in which Mulder and Scully explore a D/s 
relationship.  It's not going to make much sense unless you've read 
"Aphrodisia I" which you can find (along with my other fic) at my 
website:

http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns/

Thank you,

Kristel